#clement celtigar

[maidragoste]

3 people you thought you might marry + one of the people you married.

Hi, this is part of the universe of "The Queen and her husbands" but it can be read independently without having read the series.

Thanks for all the support, it always makes me happy to answer your questions and comments. REBLOGS and likes are always appreciated 🥰🥰💕💕💕

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

I. Jacaerys Velaryon

No one could blame you for thinking you would marry your brother after all it was your family's customs. Aegon the Conqueror married his two sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys; Jaehaerys also married his sister Alysanne; and your great-grandparents Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen were also siblings. So it was only natural that you thought that you and Jace would follow in his footsteps.

Jacaerys would be king and you would be his queen. Your grandfather, King Viserys, told them once when he was sitting on the iron throne with both of you on his lap. From there you and your brother began to imagine what your future together would be like.

Sometimes in the early morning, you would crawl into Jace's bed and the two of you would discuss the things you would do once you were both king and queen. They were silly things like forbidding bedtime or forbidding vegetables in your meal after all you two were just kids. Even so, they both dreamed of being as loved as King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne once were. Then they both began to take their role seriously and tried harder in their lessons, Jacaerys tried to speak her Valyrian more fluently and you tried to pay more attention to numbers so that in the future you could manage the kingdom's currency well.

You were sure you would be happy with Jace. He already made you happy, listening to you, bringing you flowers from the gardens when you were sad, and being your accomplice when the two of you went to steal cakes from the kitchens. You know him better than anyone and he knows you. You two are half of each other. You love him and he loves you.

Every time Jace smiled at you you felt warm. Every time he takes your hand you feel safe and when they hug you, you are sure you can hear both of their hearts racing as if they were just one.

None of that matters because a year after you and Jace began to dream of a future together, your mother forbade you from going to Jacaerys' chambers alone at night again because she was planning an engagement between him and Helaena.

You got angry with your mother but especially with your brother because you thought he would fight for you but he didn't do anything. You locked yourself in your chambers for days without wanting to see either of them. You ended up getting out thanks to Aegon, who took you flying with Sunfyre.

II. Clement Celtigar

You weren't stupid. You knew that your mother was thinking about a possible match between you and Bartimos Celtigar's son. Lately, every time you went to Dragonstone to visit your siblings the Celtigar family was also there and your mother pushed you to spend time with Clement.

You didn't like him. Maybe if your mother didn't force you so much to be with him you'd probably like him more. But you only came to Dragonstone to see your brothers and spending time with Clement took away valuable time with your family. Jace was also upset by this, you think this is the first time you've heard him turn against your mother.

The truth is you were bored spending time with Clement. He didn't make you laugh like Aegon did and his conversations weren't as interesting as the ones you had with Aemond.

Clement seemed more interested in your dragon than you. You didn't blame him, after all, Nix was beautiful and it was normal for people to be curious about dragons since they were such magnificent creatures but you couldn't help but feel irritated because it seemed like the only attractive thing about you was your dragon. He looked at you with boredom every time you talked about something other than Nix, which made you feel insecure because you were starting to think that maybe the problem was you, that in reality, you were the boring one, not him. You even started to think that maybe you were boring Aemond too but he was too kind to pretend that he was interested in listening to you talk about the books you read and your visits to orphanages.

When you returned to King's Landing, Aemond noticed that you were quieter and the few times you spoke it was in short sentences and without elaborating so much. So he knew something had happened on your visit to Dragonstone. He couldn't stand seeing you withdrawn anymore, nothing to do with your bubbly and radiant energy, so he decided to ask you what happened in the hope of being able to help you solve whatever was bothering you so you would be your usual self again.

“Will you tell me once and for all what happened in Dragonstone?” the prince asked, pulling you from your reading. The two were in the gardens reading. Normally the two of you would take turns reading aloud but now you found yourself reading different books because you told Aemond that you were sure your book would bore him.

If it were someone else you probably would have lied and claimed that everything was fine. But it was Aemond and he knew you better than anyone. For some reason, he always seemed to be the first to notice when you were upset or sad.

“Do you think I'm boring?” You closed your book and left it on your lap.

"Of course not," the prince responded instantly. "Who told you that?" he asked, annoyed, already thinking of ordering whoever had bothered you to join him in his training so he could attack him without anyone scolding him.

“Clement Celtigar. He didn't tell me but I think he thinks I'm boring” you admitted embarrassedly, nervously grabbing the necklace that Aemond had given you on your last name day. Now you were afraid that your uncle would think you were stupid for caring so much about a boy's opinion.

"Since when do you care about Clement Celtigar's opinion?" He asked with a frown. Weeks ago you were complaining about having to spend time with the heir of Paw Island and now you were suddenly worried about him.

"I want him to like me. I could marry him one day" you said regretfully. Every time you tried to imagine a future with Clement you always found yourself unhappy. You wouldn't say Clement was a bad man but right now you didn't think you could ever love him. A part of you thought that it didn't matter who you married because you would still be unhappy having to leave King's Landing. You knew it was your duty but you always felt sad thinking that you would no longer be able to see Aemond or Aegon every day. Although you barely saw Aegon lately he seemed to prefer spending more time in Flea Bottom.

Your words seemed to irritate Aemond even more because he seemed angry now.

"You like him?"

"No" you responded instantly and couldn't help but grimace.

"Your mother is a fool," he said, earning a nudge from you.

"Aemond!"

After your father's death, the relationship between you and your mother was not the same, you were no longer as close as before, and sometimes you couldn't help but hate her, but you still couldn't allow anyone to speak ill of her.

"You are a Targaryen princess, you can't marry just anyone, a Celtigar is beneath you. You should marry someone of your level. Plus we have to keep the Valyrian blood pure" he said passionately.

"So should I marry you?" You couldn't help but laugh as you watched Aemond's cheeks turn red at your question. Normally the prince would be angry that someone was laughing at him but after not having heard your laugh for days He was happy. He looked at you with a small smile, trying to ignore the rapid pace of his heart.

"Someday, if you want" Aemond responded, trying to remain calm but his heart did not return to its normal rhythm and he felt suddenly hot, especially on his face.

You didn't say anything else, you just walked up to the prince and kissed his cheek making him blush even more.

Anyway, you didn't have to worry much about Clement because weeks later any possible engagement between you was forgotten after Jacaerys had beaten him.

III. Kermit Tully

You were tired after dancing with Kermit. You lost count of the number of songs you danced together. Your feet hurt but if he asked you again to be his dance partner you wouldn't hesitate to say yes. You were happy. You enjoyed his company, you liked listening to him talk about Riverrun and the pranks he and his brother sometimes got into. Besides, Kermit was brave, or at least brave enough to be the only one who dared to ask you for your favor despite the angry looks of your uncles and Jace. He was handsome too. Sometimes you felt like running your hand through his red hair and bringing your face closer to his to see what color his eyes were, but that wouldn't be seen well.

You couldn't help but let your eyes wander around the room until you found Kermit, he was talking to his family, and as if he had felt your gaze, his clear eyes soon met yours. He smiled at you and you smiled at him, trying to ignore the heat you felt on your face. You couldn't help but wonder what your children would be like if you two ever had children if they would have Kermit's smile or yours, have your traits, or gain the Tully genes. You loved your family but you were already bored seeing so many platinum hair, so it wouldn't bother you if your children came out with red hair, they would be unique. Anyway, regardless of their hair color, you were sure they would have cute children.

"Oh gods, he's just a boy. There's nothing special about him," Aegon said, sitting next to you, making you look at him.

“He only seems like a boy to you because you're older than him,” you responded, rolling your eyes.

"He is a boy. I'm sure he doesn't even know how to satisfy a woman. I can satisfy you,” he said, taking you by the chin. You suddenly felt warm at the intensity of his gaze. If he came a little closer, his lips would touch yours. You were sure you weren't the only one to notice that so you pushed his arm away.

“Oh, uncle, you shouldn't drink so much. Your jokes aren't as funny as you think!" you exclaimed louder than normal, hoping that the people closest to you would think it was one of Aegon's drunken nonsense instead of thinking there was something between him and you. The last thing you needed was for the court to start gossiping that you were Aegon's mistress. Aemond would be furious with you as would your brothers and your mother. Besides, you might lose the chance to get engaged to Kermit.

The prince frowned at you before taking a long drink from his cup.

“Why do you want a trout when you can have a dragon?” he asked, not bothering to hide his displeasure. He didn't surprise you. Your family's custom was to marry each other, for that reason, your uncles thought that any man who was not a Targaryen was not worthy of you.

Aegon was wrong. You couldn't have a dragon. Your mother needed you to make alliances that's why she wouldn't let you marry Jace and much less would she let you marry Aemond or Daeron. But maybe if you asked she could let you marry Kermit. You'd rather choose your own fiancé before she chooses one for you.

“Maybe I'm tired of so many dragons.”

Of course, you were lying. Actually one of the reasons you wanted to get married was to get away from King's Landing. Riverrun sounded wonderful and you hoped that there you could forget about your feelings for Aemond. Lately, you had spent your nights thinking about him, dreaming about a wedding that would never happen and when you were together you couldn't concentrate on what he was telling you because you got distracted thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. Your heart seemed to jump out of your chest every time he smiled at you or complimented you. Gods, you felt so stupid, you needed to forget him or you'd end up heartbroken because nothing would happen between the two of you. The family wouldn't approve.

You hoped that if you didn't see Aemond every day you would realize your feelings for him would be forgotten. Besides, you believed that Kermit Tully would be able to win you over as well. You could see yourself happy next to him.

What you never imagined was that after the celebration was over, Aemond, jealous of your approach to Kermit, would appear in your room and kiss you. The most sensible thing would have been to kick him out and continue with your plan to marry Kermit Tully, but how could you do that when you now knew that he also felt the same way as you? How could you move on now that you know what his lips taste like? How could you do it when you finally had what your heart longed for? You knew that now that you had tasted what it was like to have him, there was no turning back. You couldn't marry anyone else.

+

I. Aemond Targaryen

You should be furious with Aemond after how he treated your brothers at dinner. You should be kicking his ass after he calls your brothers bastards. Because of him, your family had returned to Dragonstone, and you were barely able to say goodbye to Jace.

You should want to keep Aemond away after what he did tonight. How could you be with someone who treated your brothers like that? What did that say about you? But you couldn't help it. The heart wants what it wants. For that reason, you find yourself in the middle of the night on the outskirts of the Red Keep with only the company of a septon and you Aemond. Getting married secretly.

If someone had told you that same morning that you would end up marrying Aemond tonight you would have laughed. Sure, you've been in a relationship for a while, and from time to time you talked about what your wedding would be like but you honestly didn't think you two were brave enough to get married and ignore your families' wishes. But today you realized that you were wrong. Aemond was angry because your mother in the middle of dinner asked your grandfather for her blessing to arrange a marriage between you and Cregan Stark. An hour after dinner ended, he entered your chambers and told you that you would marry him, that he was not going to let you go to the North, that he was not going to allow your mother to separate you, that your place was at his side, that you both belonged to each other and most importantly that he loves you.

You never imagined your wedding would be like this. You always thought your family would be by your side. When you were a little girl you imagined your father giving you away but after he died you thought he would be your grandfather. But now you were alone.

You also imagined that you would make your maiden cape with the help of your mother, your grandmother, and your cousins. But not. You were getting married without a cape because there was no time to make one. At least Aemond had managed to take the cloak that Aegon had worn at his wedding to Helaena so when he arrived in time he could put the cloak on you.

Your hand didn't stop shaking as the septon tied the ribbon over both of your hands. You honestly didn't know if your trembling was due to the excitement of finally being able to be Aemond's wife or because of the nerves you had knowing the repercussions that your marriage would have. You just hoped your brothers didn't hate you. Your vision became blurry for a moment due to the tears that were forming in your eyes. Jace couldn't hate you, he would understand, you couldn't let your son be a bastard.

You took a deep breath and focused on ignoring your nerves and sudden sadness. This is your wedding and it is a happy occasion. This is what you wanted. Now no one can separate you from Aemond. You smiled. You would stay at home with him, you wouldn't go North.

When your husband took you by the shoulder and kissed you, you forgot your fears. You focused on the addictive taste of his lips and how he seemed hungry for you like he couldn't get enough of you. You kissed him with the same passion. Now only you two mattered. Tomorrow Aemond and you would face anything together.

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 13: Condemned From The Start] [Series Finale]

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

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), death, angsttttttt, more children than usual, Wolfman!

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 8.1k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

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

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy the finale.🦀💚

In the Eyrie, one of Rhaena Targaryen’s three dragon eggs has hatched at last; the creature is small and pink, and she has named it Morning. When Rhaena’s tears fall onto the scales of her diminutive wings, they glitter like flecks of rose quartz. Deep within the snow-laden labyrinth of the Mountains of the Moon, Nettles is in hiding with Sheepstealer; already the nearby clans are bringing her offerings of meat and treasure, axes and clubs and daggers, hairpins carved from the ribs of enemies and necklaces made of bear teeth. Silverwing is settling into a lair on an island in the Red Lake at the northwestern corner of the Reach. Word of this has travelled back to King’s Landing, and Borros Baratheon implores Aegon II to seize Silverwing for himself; but the king does not want a new dragon. He wants Sunfyre back. That grim truth aside, Aegon is unable to trek across the continent to tame the beast anyway. Some days he cannot even cross a room. At the bottom of the Gods Eye, bodies are dissolving into bones, threads of long white hair breaking loose to flow in the currents like weightless strands of spider webs torn free by cold drafts. And only a few miles from the border of the Crownlands—preparing to cross the icy waters of the Blackwater Rush—the army of Northmen camps under a full moon in a clear, indigo sky heavy with stars like glinting coins.

“There are passageways under King’s Landing,” Clement Celtigar says. He stands by the bonfire with his sword in his hand, his face flame-bright and eager, forever licking up drops of the Kingmaker’s approval, a stray cat lapping milk splashed in an alley. Increasingly, Cregan Stark finds him tiresome. Clement is brash and dramatic, forever swearing vengeance, reveling in his newfound position as the head of his house. The Warden of the North has never had to beg for attention, admiration, acclaim. These things come to him like snow falls to the earth in winter: effortlessly, inevitably. Yet Cregan tries to be patient. Clement is soon to be his brother-in-law, and it is dishonorable to fail to extend courtesy to one’s kin. Furthermore, it seems, Clement has his uses.

“Are there really?”

Clement nods. He wears the banner of his house on a strip of fabric looped around his upper arm: crabs red like blood, a backdrop of white like snow. “That monster’s disciples used them to kidnap my sister from the Red Keep. But she fought hard. When we searched her rooms, all the furniture was upturned and the sheets ripped from her bed.”

“She is brave,” Cregan murmurs in agreement, though he is distracted now. The air tastes like smoke and ice, the wind rubs raw spots into the soldiers’ faces. They are arriving just in time. The depths of winter is no time to wage war. Cregan Stark imagines how you will greet him when he liberates you: a desperate embrace, hands that refuse to let go, whispered gratitude and breathless kisses on his earth-stained knuckles, bones of steel softened by the innate weakness of womanhood. You will love him, of course you will, fervently and entirely. Then when the realm and succession are secured, the Kingmaker will take you North and wed you in the tradition of his people, under the heart tree where the Old Gods can witness it. And then there will be the wedding night. In Cregan’s understanding, women receive little pleasure from the act itself. It is a burden they bear for the men they love, for the children they are divinely tasked with bringing into existence. Cregan Stark intends to alleviate your suffering in this regard as much as possible…yet he has already begun to choose the names of the sons he will make with you. He especially likes the sound of Brandon, sturdy and grounded and thought to mean leader or prince. “This is the last night your sister will ever spend in the clutches of the Usurper.”

“Praise the Seven.” Then Clement adds diplomatically: “And the Old Gods too, of course.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Cregan Stark says, gazing up into the night sky where constellations tell the stories men deem worthy of remembering. “And the start of a brand new one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“How did you learn to braid hair?” little Jaehaera asks you in her lilting, reedy voice like a bird’s. You are sitting behind her on the floor in Alicent’s bedchamber. Nearby, Autumn is flipping through a child’s book with Rhaenyra’s ever-solemn son, murmuring as she points to colorful illustrations of ravens, dolphins, bears, dragons, crabs. They are learning to read together.

“My sisters taught me,” you tell the princess. Firelight turns her silver hair to gold, her pale skin to flames. Logs crack and pop as they melt to glowing embers. Alicent glances over at you and sighs despairingly. The dowager queen, so thin she might disappear, is hunched in a chair by the fireplace. She has an unshakeable, rattling sort of cough that reminds you of how Sunfyre sounded on Dragonstone when he was near the end. Her long auburn tresses are falling out in handfuls. She will not survive the winter, this is a certainty.

“You have sisters?” Jaehaera says, surprised. “How many?”

You smile faintly as you weave her hair into one thick braid like the kind Aemond once wore when he went to battle. “Three. Piper, Petra, and Penelope.”

“Where are they now?”

“Back on Claw Isle, where I came from. With our mother.” Mourning Father, mourning Everett, writing letters to Clement to keep his spirits high as he and the Warden of the North march towards King’s Landing to slay the Greens’ king and bind me to a different man’s will.

“What’s Claw Isle like?” Jaehaera asks with a child’s clear, boundless curiosity.

“Rocky, misty, grey. But the ocean is beautiful.” You think of Aegon’s eyes, the same as his daughter’s, a murky storm-blue that is deeper than it looks.

“What brought you here?”

You consider this before you answer. You see it, you feel it: cinders like dark snow in the air, Aemond’s iron grip on your forearm. “When your father was burned at the Battle of Rook’s Rest, he needed someone to help heal him. Your uncle Aemond found me.”

“And he asked you to stay with us?”

He would have slit my throat if I said no. “Yes, he asked very politely, as any gentleman would. And of course I agreed. I wanted to make the king strong again. I wanted to take his pain away.”

Jaehaera stares down at her tiny hands, palms crossed with lines that are long and shadowy in the shifting firelight. She does not speak of Aegon. She does not know him, and he frightens her: the burns on his skin, the suffering in his glazed eyes. She has no memories to impress his true character upon her. If she does not make them herself, she will believe whatever she is told. “I miss Aemond. I miss Daeron.”

“I know, sweetheart.” They were formally laid to rest yesterday on two funeral pyres. Daeron’s bloodied, charred, seafoam green cape was burned to ashes on one. All that was left of Aemond—his favorite books, his quills and ink, small leather eyepatches from when he was a boy—were torched on the other. “I miss them too.”

Jaehaera’s braid is finished. You reach into a pocket of your emerald green velvet gown to retrieve what you have brought for her: a thin golden chain necklace with Aegon’s ring as a pendant. He can’t wear it anymore. His fingers are too swollen. “What is this?” Jaehaera says as you place the chain around her neck. She lifts the ring and peers at it, gold wings and jade eyes.

“It’s supposed to resemble Sunfyre,” you explain. “Your father loves you very much, Jaehaera. He wanted you to have this ring and keep it with you always.” Aegon didn’t say that; he rarely mentions Jaehaera at all. Sometimes you think he forgets she exists. But she is a part of him, she is his legacy, and you cannot look at any piece of her without seeing the man you love.

“He gave it to me? Like a gift?”

“Yes. A gift.” A gift, an inheritance, a relic, a reminder.

Jaehaera turns around and looks up at you hopefully, vast wave-blue eyes like winter oceans. “Do you think I’ll have another dragon someday?”

Her own infant beast, Morghul, was killed in the Dragonpit before Rhaenyra fled the city. “Maybe,” you tell her. “There are eggs that could hatch someday. And there are a few unclaimed adults left, Silverwing and the Cannibal. Perhaps you’ll tame one.”

She wrinkles her nose in confusion. “What’s a cannibal?”

Someone who murders, devours, fuels their body to the detriment of their soul. “Someone who eats their own kind. Like a dragon who feeds on other dragons.”

“So just like in the war. Dragons killing dragons.”

“Exactly,” you say, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Now go show your new necklace to Grandmother.”

Jaehaera wobbles to her feet and dashes across the firelit bedchamber to where Alicent is slumped in her chair. “Look, look! It’s Sunfyre!” you hear Jaehaera chirping. Alicent examines the ring—skeletal hands trembling, large dark eyes slick with tears—and dutifully fawns over it, telling the little girl how beautiful she looks, how brave she has been. Then she bundles Jaehaera into her boney arms and holds her like she’ll never let go. Autumn catches your gaze from the other side of the room, and when you leave to return to Aegon she follows.

“What is your plan if the Greens lose the battle?” she says in the hallway under an arc of grey stones. Her tone is urgent, her hazel eyes sharp. Everyone knows the Northmen are within days of King’s Landing. Borros Baratheon—a large, loud, abrasive man, but with a bottomless appetite for combat—and his soldiers will march out of the city tomorrow to meet Cregan Stark’s army on the fields of the Crownlands, sparse and grey with winter. The Lord of Storm’s End has spent hours locked in the council chamber discussing strategy with Larys Strong, Corlys Velaryon, and the misfortunate yet courageous Tyland Lannister, maimed by his months of torture at the hands of the Blacks.

“We won’t.” We can’t.

Autumn slams her palm against the wall behind you; the sick thud of flesh against stone reminds you of the day Helaena died. “Wake up. We might. You’d better have your options figured out.”

And you recall Larys’ words on Dragonstone: I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable. “We’ll run,” you say weakly. “We’ll take Aegon and we’ll escape through the corridors under the Red Keep, just like he did before. Cregan Stark will kill Aegon if he finds him. I can’t let that happen. We’ll have to run.”

“Run where?” Autumn snaps pointedly, pushing you towards a conclusion you refuse to acknowledge.

“I don’t know.”

“Where? Where could we go that is beyond the grasp of your wolf if he seizes the capital?”

“Dorne, Essos. Somewhere, anywhere.”

“The king won’t survive a journey like that.”

You cover your face with your hands, feel the biting cold of snowflakes melting in your hair, see the stains of earth on your thighs as Cregan Stark forces them apart. How can I lie with a man who hailed the deaths of people I loved? How can I spend the rest of my life listening to him being called a hero for killing Aegon? How can I give him children? How could I love a baby that was half-made of him? “We ran before. We’ll have to do it again.”

Autumn scoffs. “You have no idea what it means to be a woman on your own in the world. What will you become without a great house, without protection? A prostitute? A peasant? Will you eat scraps covered with rot or mold? Will you live in a tree? Will you beg some family to take you in? And then when the father who is oh-so-gallant in daylight starts fumbling under your blankets once the candles are blown out, will you let him inside you? Or will you fight him off and risk a blade in your guts, your throat? You have no fucking idea what it’s like out there.”

“I don’t care what happens to me if Aegon’s gone.”

“You would abandon Jaehaera? You would abandon me?” Autumn demands. “You speak for us now. You are the only one who can. Our fates are twisted up with yours.”

That’s true. And I promised Helaena I would look out for her daughter. You can’t imagine a life without Aegon; there was a time when he was only a name—and an infamous one, a terrible one, soulless and monstrous—but now he has broken down the eaves of what you were once resigned to call your life and painted colors in the sky you’d never glimpsed before, never even dreamed of. You ask Autumn with genuine, painful bewilderment: “What is the point of learning that something exists only to have it taken away? Why would that happen? Where is the justice in it, where is the reason?”

Autumn smiles, sad and patient. “Ah, this is an affliction of the highborn. You still believe that there is a design, and that life has some amount of fairness in it. There is no divine judgment being passed, my lady. There is no god weighing the worth of your dragon or your wolf or yourself. Life is random, and it is ungovernable, and it is very often cruel. And that makes it all the more remarkable that you knew the king for the time you did. That you ever met him.”

It wasn’t enough. And I can never go back to who I was before. “I’m sorry. I should not complain to you. Your losses have been terrible.”

“It is no contest,” Autumn replies, weary now. “But I should go back to check on the children. They need me.”

“No. They love you.”

And now she beams, sparkling eyes and copper ringlets. She doesn’t need to say it, you can both feel it in the winter-cold air. She loves them in return. She loves them fiercely. As long as they live, she will have reasons to.

When you reach Aegon’s bedchamber, Grand Maester Orwyle is just leaving. He bows to you and grins, pleased that you have both survived the fall and retaking of King’s Landing. He is haggard from his months in the dungeons when Rhaenyra ruled the capital, but he endured. Who would have guessed at the start of this war that the old man had more years left than Aemond or Daeron or harmless little Maelor? You wait in the hallway for the maester to amble sluggishly by, but then when he is gone, you peer through the slit of the half-open door to see that Lord Larys Strong is speaking to Aegon, who is propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows and wearing only his cotton sleeping trousers. He is thin, frail, ghostly pale with the exception of the scars that are a mosaic of white and scarlet and bruise-like violet. Aegon and Larys have not noticed you. You linger just outside the doorway, watching, listening.

You can take care of Aegon as much as you wish now: feed him, clothe him, clean sweat from his brow, dose him with milk of the poppy, rub rose oil into his scars, stretch his legs, test the heat of his skin for fever. He’s too weak to stop you. He can’t walk, can’t stand, can’t stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time, can’t even pour his own wine or milk of the poppy; the glass bottles are too heavy when full. Yesterday, Aegon had to be carried outside in a litter to see the remnants of his brothers burned on the pyres. And he had exchanged a brief, somber glance with Autumn that you neither anticipated nor understood. He acknowledges her so rarely. And yet her small hazel eyes had been alarmed, knowing.

Larys is saying with a grave expression and his restless hands propped in the handle of his cane: “Lord Borros Baratheon is asking for your assurance that as soon as the war is won, you will take his eldest daughter Cassandra as your wife.”

Aegon stares at him, incredulously, impatiently. Aegon has not called you his wife in the company of others since his homecoming. You do not ask why. You already know. It is not because his intentions have changed; it is because if he is not the victor, your life is in less danger as his captive than as his queen. “Surely even a man as brainless as Borros can surmise that there would not be much benefit for the lady now. I am a worm. Useless, pathetic, deformed, no longer virile.”

“He is willing to take the chance, I gather. And he is placing his eggs in more than one basket. He would like another daughter, Floris, to be married to me.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon mutters. Then he turns determined. “I cannot marry another. I won’t do it. I am claimed already, body and soul.”

“I fear how enthusiastically Borros’ men will fight for you if you do not agree to the match. He is risking his life for your cause. He will expect generous repayment.”

Aegon is quiet for a long time. He stares fixedly at his bedside table: a full cup, a large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. His dagger is still there from when you cut and braided his hair for him this morning; he cannot do it himself anymore. At last Aegon says, almost too low for you to discern from the doorway: “He’s not cruel, is he?”

“Who? Borros Baratheon?”

Aegon glares at Larys. “No.”

After a moment, Larys realizes what his king means. “Cregan Stark isn’t cruel. I’ve heard many whispers from many mouths, but I’ve never heard that.”

“Look at me. Don’t lie to me.”

“He isn’t cruel,” Larys says again. “Perhaps the truth is worse. He is measured, competent, merciful, wise. He is honorable. The Manderlys want to torture everyone and the Boltons itch to sharpen their flaying knives but Stark forbids it. He respects the laws of war. He tries to avoid the slaughter of noncombatants. He forbids his men from burning farms or raping women. He is devoted to the woman you call your wife. He takes no mistresses, visits no brothels. Cregan Stark is not a monster. He’s not soulless. He’s just on the wrong side.”

Aegon nods slowly, then his face breaks into a humorless smirk. “Tell Borros Baratheon that I’ll marry whichever daughter he wants me to when the war is over. I’ll marry all four if that is his preference, and bed them all on the wedding night too, one right after the other. Agree to anything he asks for. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

It doesn’t matter because none of it will ever happen, even if the Baratheon army does win the Iron Throne for the Greens. It doesn’t matter because Aegon does not believe he’ll still be here in a month, or two weeks, or perhaps even days.

But he can’t mean that. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain, you tell yourself, before remembering that Aemond said it first.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Larys is subdued, sorrowful. He bows deeply to his king. Then he turns to depart.

“One more thing,” Aegon says, gesturing to something on the side of his bed you can’t see from where you’re standing. “I hate to impose upon you further, but I can’t manage it myself. Can you take that and empty it somewhere? I don’t care where. But you must keep it hidden from my wife. The red-haired girl Autumn knows, and so do the maesters now. They are all sworn to secrecy. Can I trust you to exercise the same circumspection?”

Larys is gaping down at an object that is a mystery to you. He begins to stammer out a reply, stops to collect himself, and starts again. “Yes. Yes you can.”

“Good.”

Larys picks up the object; you are puzzled to discover that it is a chamber pot, white and porcelain. And as he navigates around Aegon’s bed and towards the door where you wait, you see that the vessel is full of blood.

You gasp before you can stop yourself, a razor-sharp inhale of breath that both men hear. They spot you, lurking in the doorway like someone lost, someone far from home. Shock bolts across Aegon’s face, and then frustration, and then defeat, and then profound misery.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just knew…I knew you’d be upset and I…I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“How long?”

“It doesn’t matter, Angel.”

“How long?” you ask again. “Just since this morning?”

“Four or five days now.”

“Four or five…?” Your mind whirls like storm winds. He’s dying. He’s really dying. His kidneys are failing and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t cut him open and stitch him back together. There’s no wound to scrub clean with vinegar and then bandage with honey and linen. There’s no brew that can restore the rhythm of his blood and bones and nerves. He’s just dying. That’s all there is. That’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Please don’t cry,” Aegon says, reading your face. “Don’t do that, please don’t, I’ve hurt you enough already.”

His hands stretch out to close the space between you, and as Larys slips from the room you go to Aegon, climb into bed beside him, collapse into him as his arms catch you and rest your head against his bare, scarred chest, his feverish skin mottled with the history of wounds you helped close all those months ago. “I’m sorry,” you sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you go after Baela and Moondancer on Dragonstone. I should have stopped you. I should have dragged you inside the castle to wait until Aemond and Vhagar could help you. I shouldn’t have let Aemond go to Harrenhal. I shouldn’t have let Daeron fly south. I shouldn’t have let Autumn go back to King’s Landing, and I shouldn’t have let Everett stay there. I shouldn’t have let Helaena leap from the window. I should have stopped Maelor from being sent to the Reach. I should have stopped Rhaenys and the Red Queen from taking flight to burn you in your armor at Rook’s Rest. I should have stopped this! I should have done something! The only good thing I’ve ever had to offer the world was healing but I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop their suffering, I can’t do anything!”

“None of it was within your control, and none of it was your responsibility. I am the king. The fate of my kingdom and my followers rests with me. I wear their spilled blood, not you. I am so full of red I’m overflowing with it.” And he chuckles, sardonic, exhausted. He’s already battling unconsciousness again; you can hear his heartbeat slackening, the slow laborious expanding and contracting of his lungs.

“Aegon,” you say softly, as if afraid to speak it into existence. “What happens if the Baratheons don’t win tomorrow?”

“They will. They have to. There’s nothing I can do for you if they lose.” Then he winces and groans. It’s his back again, his failing kidneys, overrun with so much ruin—burns and breaks and pressure and heartache—that their cadence faltered and then ceased. You grab his cup of milk of the poppy and tilt it against his lips; and how many times have you done this since you met him, burned nearly to death and half-mad at Rook’s Rest? A hundred? Aegon drinks it down, his arms still tight around your waist. They do not loosen until he’s out like a snuffed candle.

You refill the cup on his bedside table with milk of the poppy in case he needs more when he wakes, pick up the dagger you use to cut his disheveled hair, take it to the dresser. And in the cascade of silver moonlight flooding in through the windows, you practice laying the gleaming blade against your wrists, pressing it to the throbbing arteries of your throat, angling the sharpened point of it between a gap in your ribs and towards your racing heart.

Autumn. Jaehaera. Aemond’s child that Alys carries. I still have promises to keep. I still have tasks that cannot be left unfinished.

Helaena’s words surface like a drowned man dredged from the waves: You must whisper into the right ears.

You set the dagger down on top of the dresser and roam to the castle library where Aemond once spent so many hours. You collect a stack of anatomy books and carry them back to Aegon’s bedchamber. There, before the roaring fireplace, you devour them for any scrap of hope, any last resort. You turn pages until one illustration stops you. It is an unclothed man, his major veins etched in blue and his arteries in red, his nerves a faded yellow, his bones white and unshattered, his body a roadmap of the bricks and mortar used by the architects of nature. You have seen this image before. It is the same page Aegon teased you for studying when you were travelling by carriage back to the capital from Rook’s Rest.

You rip out the page, crumple it violently, pitch it into the fire and watch it burn.

~~~~~~~~~~

At dawn, Lord Borros Baratheon leads his men out of the city. You hear them through the glass panes of the windows, closed against the winter chill and flecked with frost: boots marching, hooves of warhorses clomping against cobblestones. They carry with them swords and spears and bows and morning stars like the one Criston Cole was famed for using. Meanwhile, throughout the city, civilians are arming themselves with anything they can find to ward off an invasion of Northmen, creatures they believe to be bestial and mindless. Men carry kitchen knives and clubs fashioned out of bits of furniture or driftwood. Women hide their young children in cupboards and under creaking wooden floors.

“I should be going with them,” Aegon says. He’s just taken another dose of milk of the poppy and is struggling to keep his eyes open. His long, slow blinks close his vacant eyes for ever-increasing intervals. You’ve changed his clothes and cleaned the sweat from his skin as best you can, but he’s burning from the inside out.

“You’re not able to fight, Aegon. Nobody faults you for that. Everyone knows you were wounded in battle.”

“They must think I’m a coward.”

“No, you inspire them. They love you. I love you.”

Aegon doesn’t say it back. He never says it back. He only offers you the same drowsy, mournful phrase of High Valyrian he always does, not knowing that Aemond told you what it means: To your misfortune.

Autumn is with the children in Alicent’s rooms. The castle is tense and as quiet as a crypt—Alicent weeps soundlessly, Larys paces the halls with Corlys and Tyland Lannister, everyone peeks out of windows constantly to see if bannermen of the victor have appeared on the horizon—but she keeps them distracted with stories and games. You cycle between Alicent’s bedchamber and Aegon’s. He is in and out of consciousness; sometimes you perch beside him on the bed, sometimes you lie curled up against him counting the beats of his heart, sometimes you help Autumn read to Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger. It is just after noon when the city bells begin to toll and screams rise from the streets outside the Red Keep. You and Autumn hurry to a window. In the distance, beyond the city gates, there is a swarming mass of infantry, cavalry, archers. Their banners, when you strain your eyes to decipher them, are not the brazen, vivid yellow of House Baratheon. They are night black and an icy, steely grey. They are the colors of House Stark.

“No,” Autumn says, denial in a protracted, helpless exhale. Alicent shrieks, frightening the children. You grab Autumn’s hand and lead her out into the hallway to warn the others if they don’t know already.

Lord Corlys Velaryon comes bounding up a staircase. “There are soldiers down in the secret passageways!” he booms. “Northmen! Armed! I’ve helped our guards bar the doors, but that won’t hold them back forever.”

Autumn looks to you. “Get the children ready to travel,” you tell her. “Find Larys and inform him.”

“Yes, my lady,” she says, and is gone. You sprint in the opposite direction towards Aegon’s bedchamber. You blow the door open like a strong wind, and Aegon startles awake. You rip through his dresser for things he will need: warm clothes, boots, his dagger, bottles of milk of the poppy.

“Get up, Aegon. We have to go. We’ll run, we’ll flee, there are Northmen in the tunnels but we’ll find another way out, we have to try, we have to, if they catch you they’ll—”

“Come sit with me,” he says from the bed, calmly, like you have all the time in the world. He is reaching out for you with one hand.

“What? No, we have to hurry—”

“Angel,” Aegon says. “I need you to come sit with me now.”

Why isn’t he afraid? Why isn’t he frantic? You cross the room with slow, numb footsteps. When you reach the bed, Aegon takes both of your hands in his own. And suddenly you know exactly what he is going to say. You remember what he told his brother in High Valyrian the last time Aemond left Dragonstone. Your voice is trembling and hoarse. Your throat burns like embers. “Aemond was supposed to be here to help us win. But he’s gone. Daeron, Criston, Helaena, Otto, Everett, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Autumn’s baby, so many people are gone.”

Aegon whispers, smiling softly as tears spill down his cheeks, one scarred and the other pure: “I’m not going to get better this time.”

“No,” you moan. “No, Aegon, no. You can’t say that, you can’t tell me that—”

“I’m not going to get better.” Now his palms cradle your face, forcing you to listen. “I’m not. And it’s okay. I’m not angry, I’m not scared. You’ve done everything you could and you’ve bought me more time and I’m so grateful. But I don’t want it to hurt anymore. I’ve been in pain for so long. I’ve been in pain my whole goddamn life.” He kisses you, like tasting something rare and fleeting. His thumbprint skates along the curve of your jaw, memorizing the angles of your bones, the rhythm of your pulse. “Please, Angel. I don’t want to try to run and die on the side of the road somewhere. I don’t want to die with Cregan Stark’s blade at my throat.”

You shake your head, unable to believe, unable to understand.

Aegon glances to the empty cup on his bedside table, to the large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. Then his eyes return to you. “You know how to do it.”

No. Never. But beneath those cold, dark, stormy waters: It would be painless. “I can’t,” you say, overwhelmed with horror.

“Listen, listen to me—”

“No—”

“Angel.”

“I can’t do that to you. Not to you. I can’t, I can’t.”

“When I’m gone, go to Cregan Stark,” Aegon says. “He is an honorable man, he will ensure your survival. He is the only person who can now. He wants to put his mark on the world. He wants to play Kingmaker. Let him. He can decree that my daughter will marry Rhaenyra’s son and ascend to the Iron Throne. He can end the war. Cregan will keep you safe. Tell him that I kidnapped you, that I forced myself on you. Tell him that I wanted an heir with Valyrian blood. Tell him that I was a drunk, a degenerate. Tell him whatever he wants to hear.”

“You would become a monster?”

“To protect you? I would become anything.”

He’s holding you, he’s pulling you into him until you can feel the fever bleeding from his flesh into yours, until you can number the knots of his spine and the ladder-rungs of his ribcage, counting them with your fingers through the sweat-drenched fabric of his cotton shirt. You draw back to look at him, to really look at him, sunken bloodshot eyes and rasping breaths, scar tissue of the body and the soul. You remember the day you met him, how he’d begged to die and been refused, how you brought him back. You postponed a debt, but you never paid it. It’s not possible to ever pay enough. You stack up gold coins in a vault until they touch the ceiling and still the Stranger comes knocking, jangling his purse sewn with scorched skin and chanting: more, more, more.

Aegon glances to the cup again. “How much?” he asks you, hushed like a prayer.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand and go to the dresser. You open a small wooden door beneath the mirror. Your reflection is a woman you don’t know, someone who walks through fog and memory, someone made of ghosts. You take four clean cups from the cabinet and set them on Aegon’s bedside table. As he watches—eyes glassy with agony, lungs rattling—you fill them all with smooth, pearlescent, lethal liquid, as well as the empty cup that was already there. “Five,” you say, and it sounds nothing like you. “I think three at once would be enough. Five to make sure.”

He sobs with relief, and only now do you realize how badly he needed this. “Thank you. Oh gods, thank you.”

Your own words come back like an echo: I preserve life, I don’t take it. But that was a different lifetime, a different you. Aegon’s fingers are lacing through yours. He is drawing you back onto the bed, he is brushing your hair back from your face, he is kissing the path of tears down your cheeks so he doesn’t waste a drop of you. He’ll never get another taste, another chance; not in this life, not on this earth.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the end with you,” he says. “I really tried.”

“I know, Aegon.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

He looks down at his left hand, then remembers where his ring has gone. He chuckles, darkly, bitterly, dismayed by all the failings he is built of. “I don’t even have anything to give you.” Then he remembers. “My dagger. Can you get my dagger?”

You are petrified. “Why?”

He grins, dull teeth beneath dazed eyes. “I’m not going to hack off a finger or my exemplary cock or something. I promise. Just get it.”

You fetch the dagger and bring it to the bed, and only then do you realize what he means for you to have. He points to it, then threads it through his pale, swollen fingers: his thin lock of hair that you’ve been weaving for him since the day you met. He wants you to take his braid.

“You’ll have to cut it yourself,” he says. “I don’t think I can.”

You hook the blade beneath the top of his braid, and with a few cautious slices of the dagger it is free. You tuck the braid into a pocket of your gown, thick black velvet to guard against the winter cold. Then you lay the dagger on the bedside table and pick up one of the cups filled to the brim with milk of the poppy. Your tears are scalding and torrential; it is almost impossible to see through them. You smooth back Aegon’s white-blond hair as you pour the blissful, deadly brew through his lips and down his throat, hating yourself, knowing it is the kindest thing you can do for him.

Suddenly, when the cup is half-drained, Aegon pushes it away. “You don’t have to be here. You don’t have to watch,” he says. “I can do the rest. Go, now. Right now. If the Boltons or some other house finds you before Cregan does, they might not recognize you. They might not care. You’re only safe with Cregan Stark. He has to find you first.” Aegon takes the cup with one shaking hand and presses a palm to your shoulder with the other. You haven’t moved. You can’t move. “Go. Leave me. Now. Please go. I love you, but you have to go now.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“You have to.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

“Angel,” he says tenderly, smiling. “I’ll see you again. Just not too soon.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and you kiss him, traces of milk of the poppy on his lips that deaden the thunderstruck horror faintly, powerlessly, like small clouds drifting over the sun.

“If there’s anything interesting on the other side, I’ll find a way to let you know.”

The dreams, you think. “Okay,” you say again, barely audible.

“Now go. Right now. Go.”

You wipe tears from your face with your sleeve as you turn away from him. You can’t look back; if you do, you’ll never be able to walk out of this room. You take the dagger from the bedside table. Your bare feet pad across the cold floor. As you step through the doorway, on the periphery of your vision you can see Aegon swallowing down each cupful of poison as quickly as he can. It won’t take long to stop his heart. Minutes, perhaps. Seconds. You walk into the hallway. Autumn has just arrived with Jaehaera’s tiny hand clasped in her own. A few paces behind her, Alicent and Larys stand with Rhaenyra’s son. Two orphans without choices, two pawns in a much grander game.

Autumn is panicked. “Where should we go? What should we do?” Then she takes another look at your face. Her eyes go wide with terror. “What? What happened?”

“Follow me.” Your voice is low, flat, dark like deep water. Your eyes flick briefly to Lord Larys Strong. “Keep the boy here. He’s not safe with the smallfolk yet. But the Northmen won’t harm him.”

Larys knows. It’s over. He is devastated; and yet you think a part of him might be relieved as well. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“I’m not the queen anymore. I never really was.” You give him Aegon’s dagger. “I don’t think you’ll need this, Lord Larys, but now you have it in the event of any danger. Or in case I can’t convince Cregan Stark to spare you and you decide you’ve had enough of this world. You should get a say in how your life ends. You’ve earned it.”

Then you break away from them and glide through the Red Keep, Autumn and Jaehaera trotting swiftly behind you to keep up. You pass the rookery where Aemond wrote his letters. You sweep through the gardens where Helaena loved to collect her insects. You gaze down to the beach where Daeron landed on Tessarion under a dazzling sun before winter came like a plague to King’s Landing. From inside the castle, you can hear Alicent wailing as she discovers her last child’s lifeless body. What was all of this for? Why did this have to happen? Why didn’t anybody stop it?

Out on the streets of the city, the smallfolk have flocked with their makeshift weapons to defend their homes from the Northmen. But their eyes are darting everywhere and their faces are uncertain as they clutch their clubs made out of the legs of chairs and their rusty kitchen knives. They haven’t decided if it’s futile. They don’t want to be butchered for nothing.

“That’s Autumn!” they shout and sigh, especially the women. “The mother of the king’s bastard son, the one murdered by the half-year queen!” They reach out to skim their hands over Autumn’s gown, her long coppery hair, as if she is a saint or a spirit who can impart good luck upon them, who can change their fates. They fall to their knees to bow to Jaehaera, their king’s only living child, and she blinks at them with benign confusion.

But the smallfolk have a different reception for you. You hear their venomous chattering: “Is that the Celtigar woman?” “Her family put this city through hell.” “They served Rhaenyra.” “She’s a traitor, she’s a thief.” A few of them venture close enough to tug at your gown, to strike at you. A woman’s knuckles rap against your cheekbone, raising a bruise there like lavender in a dusk sky. You think dully: I wonder if they’ll gouge out my eyes with those knives like they did to Everett.

“Get back!” Autumn hisses, shoving the smallfolk away. And when she speaks, they listen. “She is going to the Wolf of Winterfell. She is my protector. She is your protector now too. She is the best chance you have left.” And the crowds open up and the three of you pass through King’s Landing unimpeded, though cloaked in thousands of fascinated gazes.

The King’s Gate has been abandoned; the guards must have feared the Boltons’ flaying knives or Lord Stark’s dark justice. Autumn instructs several hulking men of the smallfolk to open the gate if they wish to be spared from the wolf’s wrath. They are reluctant at first, but do as she asks. When the massive doors creak open, the people of the capital huddle behind the wall and peer out skittishly as you, Autumn, and Jaehaera advance to meet the Northmen, who are bloodied from battle and now within a hundred yards of the city. Above, the sky is thick and iron-grey and frigid. Snowflakes—the first of this winter to touch King’s Landing—begin to fall and land in your hair, and you are reminded of how embers rained from the smoldering pine trees at Rook’s Rest.

“Can you catch one on your tongue?” Autumn asks Jaehaera, and the little girl giggles as they both try.

The Warden of the North rides an immense, shaggy warhorse at the head of what remains of his army. He recognizes you immediately, dismounts, approaches with determined, unbreakable strides. Clement is close behind him.

“You’re alive!” your brother shouts joyously. “And apparently not pregnant with a Targaryen bastard! Praise the gods!”

Cregan Stark does not act as if he’s heard this. The Warden of the North is not as you remember him; he is larger, heavier and broader from the muscles won in battle, coarsened by weather and war. His hair is long and dark and pulled back from his face. He wears a sword at his belt that is taller than you are when it’s unsheathed. He is entombed in leather and furs. He does not hesitate before he lays his hands you. You are betrothed to him, you are his property, would a man ask before he grabs his horses or his dogs?

The Warden of the North does not seize your forearm roughly like Aemond once did. Instead, his massive palms and fingers clasp your face as he marvels at you. You can feel the stains of dirt and ashes he leaves there. You want to scream when he touches you, but you can’t. You want to burn with rage and heartache until you crumble like ruins. Your life is already over. Your life has just begun.

“You have suffered greatly,” Cregan Stark says, a marriage of shock and reverence.

“You have no idea.” Perpetual Resurrection, you think. It doesn’t mean you come back better. It just means you’re still here.

“You are safe now,” Cregan swears. “The Usurper will never harm you again.” And it ends the same way it began: with a man mistaking your allegiance and beckoning you into a destiny that he wholeheartedly believes is greater than any you could have envisioned for yourself.

“He’s dead.”

This stuns Cregan. “When? How?”

“Today. Of old wounds sustained in battle.”

He looks at Jaehaera, noticing her for the first time. “Is that his daughter?”

“Yes,” you say. “She must always be treated with kindness. She must be protected.”

“You have an affinity for her,” Cregan notes, intrigued.

You hear Aegon’s voice, so clearly it cuts like a blade: Tell him whatever he wants to hear. “We have been through great trials together. We survived the same monster.”

The Warden of the North nods. This is a story he craves to be told. “Very well. If it is your wish that she not be discreetly disposed of as a Silent Sister, I will betroth her to Rhaenyra’s surviving son. They will unite the noble houses of Westeros and end this war.”

“The worst of the Greens are dead already. Those who remain should be shown mercy. Alicent is old and ill and broken from loss. She poses no threat. She should be permitted to remain in the company of her granddaughter. Corlys was loyal to Rhaenyra until she falsely imprisoned him for treason, and he belongs on Driftmark with Rhaena. Larys Strong, Tyland Lannister, and Grand Maester Orwyle, if no pardon can be arranged for them, should go to the Wall instead of the scaffold. And Autumn, my companion there with Jaehaera…she was a true friend to me. I owe her my life several times over. She must be permitted to stay with Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger as a caretaker, and reside in comfort in the Red Keep for the remainder of her days.”

“Who do you think you are, sister?!” Clement exclaims. “You’re speaking to the Kingmaker, not some handmaiden! You do not command him!”

“I am not commanding,” you counter levelly. “I am pleading for mercy on behalf of imperfect souls who showed me kindness during my captivity. If granted, I will consider these my wedding gifts.”

“She is remarkable, is she not?” Cregan Stark says, grinning to Clement and several other men who have ventured closer. They wear the sigils of Northern houses: Bolton, Cerwyn, Manderly, Hornwood, Dustin. They chuckle in agreement, stroking their wild beards with huge filthy hands. “Dauntless but merciful. Clever but obedient.” And then the Warden of the North claims your lips with his, chaste but overpowering, the first of a thousand kisses you never desired, a thousand acts of affection for a woman who isn’t really you, feigned resignation and bitten-back rage, eternal war with the interminable knowledge that there is something more, more, more…you just aren’t permitted to have it. It was taken from you, it was ripped from your hands like stolen treasure.

All your life you will have to murmur in wounded agreement when people recount the terrible sins of the Usurper. All your life you will have to praise Cregan Stark for killing millions to rescue you. And the days will pass, weeks, months, years, summers and winters, the births of your children and their own marriages; and when Cregan’s boy Rickon, born of his first wife, produces only daughters, your son Brandon and his descendants will become the heirs to Winterfell. In the desolate North—so far from the ocean, so far from everything Aegon ever knew—your greatest solace will be letters from Autumn as she learns to read and write, books that your husband orders for you from the Citadel, setting bones and treating burns, a tiny lock of braided silver hair that you keep in a hidden drawer of your jewelry box, dreams that you never want to wake up from.

But one day, decades after you leave King’s Landing, you will receive a raven from Queen Jaehaera Targaryen, and she will ask you: You knew the Greens in your youth, Wardeness Stark. You knew Aemond, Daeron, Helaena, Alicent, Otto, Maelor, Aegon the Usurper. What can you tell me of them? What was my father like? Who was he really?

And you’ll pick up your quill and begin writing.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader

[unicorncornflakes]

Dark Desire - Modern AU! | Chapter 16

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming soon)

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary: Aemond doesn't know how he feels every time he sees you. Neither do you when you look at him. Your father Aegon has always been absent from your upbringing ever since he divorced your mother. That role has been filled by Aemond until last summer, when everything changed.

Tags:  Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes  manipulation, violence, death, and inc3st, at some points. Reader has purple eyes and her mother is from Dayne House, the rest is complete free :D

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know):  @thedamewithabook @afro-hispwriter @chainsawsangel @thetrueblackheart @atherverybest @itsabby15 @boundlessfantasy @partypoison00 @glame @tempo-rary-fix @tssf-imagines @aaaaaamond @imaloserbby @youngcomputerpuppy @aemondsfavouritebastard @cloudroomblog @queenofshinigamis @bluevxnus @wooya1224 @serving-targaryen-realness @darkenchantress @padfooteyes @mariannnavao @moonlightfoxx @jennifer0305 @ammo23 @iloveallmyboys @tempt-ress @bellameshipper @okfashionista @shelbyteller @dahlias-and-marigolds @the-knights-of-ne @bellaisasleep @watercolorskyy

Author´s note:  Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 5K

Acknowledgment: To @ammo23 for the brilliant corrections and the wonderull work as beta reader, for all the amazing rewiews, comments and refletions, for all the patience and the love that always shows for my writing. Thank you so much for all the time that you spend with this. Thank you so much for everything. :D

Someone made a joke again in High Valyrian, and everyone at that table laughed. Everyone except you.

The truth is that what was so characteristic of the Targaryen’s, to speal in their mother tongue, was something that you had not even dreamed of. Your mother had tried to take you to school when you were just a little girl to please your father's family, but she had stopped when she got mad at your father again over some stupid custody term. You had only heard High Valyrian occasionally from your uncle's lips during the summers. But, you had yet to learn. It was just another of the many things that separated you from that part of your family. Yet at that moment, at that table, where you were having dinner with some of your uncle's college friends, all silver and blond heads and sunset eyes, you couldn't feel more out of place.

You had arrived at Sunspear that same afternoon, and after simply leaving your suitcase in what was to be your supposed room and taking a shower, Aemond had asked you to go down to dinner with some of his friends that he only saw at that conference. You had put on a short, tight dress, heels that made you look much taller, and you had painted your lips with Aemond's lipstick. Almost like a trophy that your uncle had claimed and obtained, you walked out of the room. Aemond smiled an approving, arrogant, proud smile and placed his hand on the small of your back as he led you into the hotel's dining room.

Clement Celtigar commented in High Valyrian, and your uncle and Alyn Velaryon laughed, the latter slamming the table hard and causing his wife, sitting right next to him, to narrow her eyes. You sipped shyly from your glass. The Targaryen necklace dangling from your neck, and yet everyone sitting at that table had more Valyrian blood running through their veins than you ever would. You weren't a Targaryen, even though Aemond insisted on calling you his ‘little dragon’.

Celtigar's wife, a stunning woman with long hair, full lips, and rosy cheeks, asked you something in High Valyrian. She had a sincere smile, but in her eyes, you saw something akin to sly, suggestive amusement. Alyn Velarion's wife smiled as well. Both were waiting for your answer. They were both, like their husbands, of a similar age to your uncle. You couldn't be more out of place at that dinner. Your uncle leaned back in his chair, putting his arm around the back of yours, almost expecting you to answer what they had asked you. You bit your lip and looked nervously at your uncle to quickly lower your gaze back to the plate that had your food.

"Sorry, I don't speak High Valyrian," you whispered, Aemond remained impassive. You could see the disappointment in him, almost as if he had expected you to speak it because of the simple fact of your last name. You saw how Celtigar's wife looked at Alyn's with a smirk, and Clement raised the glass to his lips, amused.

"Well, don't worry, our children have a hard time learning too. They are about your age," BeatrithCeltigar commented as she looked at her husband, almost amused and with a smile that hid almost an underlying contempt.

"You could have at least told us that you didn't speak it. We would have spoken in the common tongue." Loren Velaryon smiled at you with a wide, sincere smile while her husband looked at Celtigar, who smiled back in almost the same way. "Bea was asking you where you met."

You looked at your uncle, who was about to speak when you responded almost automatically. "In a bar," was all you said. You had noticed that no one at that table knew you were Aemond's niece. He had simply introduced you by name, and then the others had started talking about what you thought was business and anecdotes from his college years. Aemond left his other hand on the table. Arm outstretched as he timidly tapped his glass. You knew he only did it when he was nervous, but his face was unfazed. A Valyrian statue. That's what he was. You thought that everyone there knew of your existence, that everyone thought you were his niece, and you couldn't be more wrong. Aemond had introduced you as his partner, even though you hadn't understood. He wanted to give you your place, although, at that moment, he realized his mistake. Perhaps all of them had seen the images of the charity gala, but it was too late. It had been a stupid mistake.

"I can't imagine Aemond having a drink in a bar." Clement laughed, and Alyn did exactly the same. Both friends started laughing while Aemond continued undaunted. You had never met a single friend of your uncle's, but it was clear that all of them were not what you had expected.

"At least tell us that you found out she was already 18", laughed Alyn while his wife hit him on the arm for the profanity of his comment.

"Of course I did, asshole", Aemond roared, quite annoyed at the laughter of his friends. You blushed at that spectacle and tried to take another sip from your drink under the watchful eye of Celtigar's wife. "The Celtigar live in Yi Ti and the Velaryon in the summer islands", your uncle whispered in your ear, almost as if that was an explanation of why none of them had seen on television what had been repeated for weeks until your uncle bought absolutely everything. Money bought silence, and from what you understood at the time, those people were rich enough to live in an ivory tower where the rest of the news that concerned other mortals did not reach. You didn't like those people. They just looked down on you because they could. Their money and their status allowed it.

"She's very pretty, mind you," Loren commented, almost as if you weren't there. "And you'll probably learn High Valyrian soon. The best way to learn it is between the sheets. Aemond always said that to his girlfriends in college." Everyone laughed, and you saw your uncle smirk, but the truth is that he had never spoken to you in High Valyrian in bed, that he would have done it with other women. It just got on your nerves. Jealous. Really jealous. That was the word.

"Yara learned it super well", Bea commented while her husband nodded in silence. "And you were only there a couple of months, but she was an intelligent woman." Yara must have been one of your uncle's ex-girlfriends. She was smart, not like you. That comment let you know what that table was thinking about you at that moment. Clement agreed.

"I always thought you would marry her. All that bullshit about PhD and ancient Valyria. It was your stuff," Celtigar commented as he cut into his steak. "At least it was what I bet with Alyn", he said, pointing at him with the knife, while the man Velaryon felt uncomfortable before that conversation. Almost as uncomfortable as you felt. Aemond looked at you for a moment. You just looked sad, and he said something in High Valyrian that made Clement almost stop chewing. Both Celtigar’s were the ones now looking uncomfortable.

"The nice thing is that I've never seen Aemond so happy", Loren commented while her husband smiled sincerely. Aemond held your chin and kissed you in front of all of them. It was almost like a statement of what he felt. Your first kiss in public. He didn't plan to hide anymore. He was tired. You made him happy. That was all he needed. You were having dinner in that VIP room. The six of them alone, but it was certainly a statement that he wasn't going to hide anymore.

"Where are you from, (Y/N)?" Alyn asked almost innocently, and you went almost pale after that brief contact of your lips with your uncle's. You thought of something quick to say before Aemond spoke up and answered for you.

"From Starfall", you tried to smile "(Y/N) Dayne." You smiled, and Alyn was pleased with your answer. You continued eating in silence while they all returned to their conversation about money and luxuries. They toasted you and Aemond, and though you did not see it, your uncle's gaze darkened.

As he toasted, he looked at his glass, full of meaningless bubbles. You would never see yourself as a Targaryen. He would never make you feel like this. As much as he tried, you’re identifying yourself as a Dayne was proof of that. Not a Dayne. Not a Targaryen. You would always feel out of place. Always.

The room that Alys had booked for you in that hotel was right next to Aemond’s suite. It was intended for the small children of those who were staying at that hotel. The journey there had been silent until you got to the door of your room. Aemond had opened it with his hand leaning on it, and you had slipped into the shadows, closing it behind you. You heard your uncle's hesitant footsteps as he entered through the huge door of his suite. It was bullshit. What you just did. You took off your heels and dropped into Aemond's suite through the connecting door. Your uncle hadn't bolted the bolt that joined them, and that only served to prevent small children from sneaking into the intimate moments of the older ones. That situation was stupid, and you just sat on Aemond's bed in silence.

With his back to you, he undressed without much desire. That dinner had been tense. His best friends from college had always been a bunch of assholes, but after the comments they'd made to him about you while saying goodbye,they weren't people he liked very much.

He knew what they thought. They saw the difference in age, they saw your innocence, and they almost despised it. Luckily, no one had seen the bond that united you, and that greatly relieved him. He had been an asshole that night. He had tried to play house with you and had almost ruined everything. However, he still seemed annoyed with you. He unbuttoned his shirt as he looked at you, and you smiled at him beautifully, although he could see some sadness in your eyes. It was there, more accentuated than usual.

"You should, you should have said you were a Targaryen," he spoke without looking at you, still undressing, and your smile faltered, almost as if you hadn't heard him correctly. But, you had. "We've had this conversation before..." he said as he approached the bed and sat beside you. You nearly stirred like an attacked cat, though you tried to hide it. You've always been good at faking it.

"When we had it, we didn't sleep together, Aemond," you said without looking at him, remembering that night two years ago when he had encouraged you to wear your father's heraldry. It seemed almost like a lifetime had passed since that moment. "I don't want anyone to suspect. Fine if your friends live in their bubble, but the rest of the world doesn't, and…and…also, I'm not a Targaryen. I don't have the hair. I don't speak High Valyrian or…" there it was. The truth behind all those years. You were confessing it to the same man who seemed to be crazy about you for that simple fact.

Aemond looked ahead. He remembered all the times he had messed with the Strong boys for that very reason. but you were different. You were. You weren't a bastard. You were born to a Starfall woman, yes, but so had he been to a Hightower. You two were true Valyrian blood. He was more into that archetype of beauty, but your eyes... your eyes marked you as one of his. Yes. "You are a Targaryen in your own right, even if you don't speak High Valyrian or have the hair." He held your face in his hands. "And even if you weren't, I would still love you just the same." He swallowed hard while his one eye was fixed on you, who looked at him with bright eyes. "You are my everything."

"But your college girlfriends…and Alys…" you whispered. You had never been worried about jealousy until that moment when they all seemed like a better choice than you. At that moment, a tear ran down your face, and Aemond wiped it with one of his thumbs while continuing to hold your face, forcing eye contact,never to be lost.

"They are not you, (Y/N), and they never will be. You are above everything. You are everything to me, don't you see?" He whispered to you, almost desperate for you to understand that you were everything. "I would be willing to do anything for you. Absolutely everything"

"But we are always going to live in the shadow..." you whispered, coming back to the real world after those weeks of pure fantasy. This was the first time you talked about something truly momentous to your relationship, where you didn't just end up tangled between the sheets of a very expensive hotel room.

"No. Not always. I wanted tonight to be proof of that," he confessed to you. "There will be places we don't have to hide because no one will know who we are." Aemond almost said it as if it were a fantasy, but he was convinced it was a fantasy his money could buy. He had worked hard for it, for this moment, where he was really happy.

For the first time in a long time, he was happy, and no one was going to take that away from him. Although he had no idea how wrong he was, "I want you to trust me. I want you to tell me what worries you, what makes you sad, what makes you happy... I just want us to be together because you are what I need, what I've always needed," he whispered to you, closing his eye and leaning his forehead against yours. His closeness made all your hair stand on end, and you simply kissed him because, finally, that Aemond you had always known had returned to you.

"It's not what I asked for. It doesn't look like what I asked for at all." Alys looked up from her phone screen at the sound of a familiar voice. As she had showered, she had gone with the rest of her coworkers to have a drink at the hotel bar, but as always, she had stayed up late, almost waiting for someone to spend the night with. The prospect of sleeping with Meg wasn't something that excited her, and she needed company right now. She knew there would be others like her. Therefore, she had remained in that bar until well into midnight. Although she had realized something, she no longer aroused the same interest as before, and she had ended up playing with her mobile phone bored. However, at that moment, upon hearing that familiar voice, all her alarms went off. Perhaps she would sleep with someone that night.

"But it's art, Mr. Dayne", a boy who must have been your age, was talking to Gerold Dayne. Both were sitting at one of the tables near the bar. The boy, who had long white hair, almost looked like a copy of the Aemond, Alys had known of that young boy. The oil tycoon's son was talking to him while showing him some pictures on a laptop. Gerold must have been there for the simple fact that this congress moved millions, and, without a doubt, his father must have sent him there as an ambassador for the oil company. Gerold Dayne was not in business of his own accord. He had always been rather uninterested in all that, but despite his lack of interest in business, he was a man Alys had found likeable…and quite attractive.

"I am not arguing that it is art. I'm just telling you; it doesn't look like what I asked for. I am an entrepreneur. Not an artist," Gerold snapped at that boy, and that made Alys smile. Something must have changed in that wayward man from Starfall. "Try again. If you want that position in my advertising section, you are going to have to do better."

"Okay," the boy just sighed and looked up from the laptop at the same time that he closed it. Then, the boy's one-eyed gaze met Alys'. And she looked at him amazed. He was so similar to Aemond, even missing an eye, although this boy hid it not under an eyepatch but under a lock of hair. Albino with a red mark that covered a small part of his face. Alys couldn't take her eyes off him. That boy must be some Targaryen bastard. She was sure, but her thoughts were interrupted when Gerold saw her too and waved. The Dornishman shook the young man's hand and walked over to Alys.

Gerold's cute, teasing smile had always made Alys smile back, and he simply leaned against the bar. She stretched and sucked on the straw of her glass. "Alys Rivers alone. It must be my lucky night." Gerold smiled charmingly, and Alys laughed in a flirtatious way.

"I guess I'm not what I was any more." She laughed, without losing that sensual grin that had always turned so many men upside down, and Gerold sat next to her at the bar. He opened his purse and paid for the drink Alys was having. "Thank you", she replied, almost purring, and caressed her hand. Gerold just smiled, almost tired, as if all his seductive and scoundrel facets had disappeared at that moment.

"I know it was you who picked up the phone. I'm the one who should thank you," he answered without looking at her. He only asked to be served and took a drink in silence. Alys looked at him strangely, not knowing what to answer because she really didn't know what he was talking about. "The images of Aemond and (Y/N). I know that it was you who made the arrangements for them to disappear from the television and almost from the web. Even if it was with Aemond's money, I know it was you who arranged it all. Thank you," he repeated again. He looked at her with a sincere smile, and Alys simply put on her serious face.

"I was just following orders", she lied and took another sip from her drink, this time draining it to the end. "But if you want to buy me another one, I'm not going to complain." She finally smiled, and Gerold Dayne gave a half smile as he indicated to the waiter to get another drink for the secretary.

"I know it was to protect her, although I don't understand why" the Dornishman replied. Seeing Alys's bright eyes, he knew he hadn't been wrong. If anythingit attracted him to Alys. It was her almost feline cunning. "I have always liked your ability to handle everything in the shadows. Just before I picked up the phone, you already did it," he laughed.

"Were you going to buy the silence of the media?" Alys laughed as if it seemed impossible. The Daynes had money, but she didn't think it was as much as the Targaryen’s. That was impossible.

"I want her to be happy and my sister not die of disgust when she finds out what makes her happy." Gerold shrugged and took another sip of his drink, looking honestly at Alys. "Everything I do is for them. They are my family. It was hard for me to see it, but that's how it is." Gerold smiled when he saw how Alys's eyes shone. She was a good woman, even though the world had forced her to become the monster they thought she was, but she wasn't. Gerold was sure of it.

"It reminded me of when I was younger. That's all, and how I would have liked someone to help me," Alys swallowed, confessing what she did not want to confess. Because that confession unravelled more than she would have wanted to say, she had tried to change. She was getting it, and it made her feel better, even though it was pretty clear she was going to lose with it, or so she thought.

"You're a good person, Alys, even if you think you're not", he whispered in her ear and Alys, that Alys who thought she was cold and distant, blushed. "The first time I saw you so innocent on Daemond Targaryen's arm, I knew it." ended up smiling, completely disarming the woman who believed herself to be indestructible.

"So now you're getting serious about business, huh?" Alys smiled, trying to regain control of the situation. And Gerold laughed at that change of conversation. He knew women like Alys well; it was very difficult for them to ever let their guard down, but that was something he liked. It didn't bother him at all.

"Yeah, I told myself that if I wanted to leave anything for (Y/N) it was time to get to work. It's not that I like it, but I've discovered that I don't dislike it either," he commented again. Alys chewed on her inner cheek, trying to find a new topic of conversation. Truly, she didn't want to let Gerold go that night. For the first time in a long time, she was really at ease.

"The boy that was with you." Alys started to speak, and Gerold laughed. He had never taken her for someone so curious, but the Dornish only smiled in defeat and moved even closer to her.

"Yeah. He looks too much like Aemond. I even investigated to see if Aemond had had an affair that we didn't know about," he laughed. And Alys went pale, almost not believing what she had just heard. "No, he's a Targaryen bastard, but he's not Aemond's son," he laughed again, almost trying to reassure Alys. The truth is that she didn't care if Aemond had had a child. She cared that something like this could have escaped her information network. "(Y/N) was dating him. His name is Bryen Rivers, and I like him," he replied in a playful and amused tone, simply seeing how Alys's face went from worry to relief in a single instant. "If you like it and it brings back memories of better times, I can introduce you to him," Gerold joked, alluding to that time when Alys had been everything to Aemond.

"No, leave it. I'm tired of dragons," she replied, following her game, and Gerold laughed, fixing his violet eyes on her.

"Great, because I thought you were going to say you still had a thing for guys with silver hair. That would mean I'm out of the game," he replied in a suggestive tone, and Alys laughed. It was obvious that she wouldn't be sleeping in the same room with Meg tonight, but she was a spymaster, and she really needed that information.

"So, does he work for you?" Alys shrugged, wanting to know more about that boy. The more she knew, the better she could protect you, even if it was a task, she had ordered herself.

"He wants to work for me. Soon, he will study in the same school as (Y/N), and I guess he thinks that if he works for me, she will be interested in him again. I liked him for her, but I know she wasn't with him because she was in love." Gerold stretched again. "So, since I like him, I let him try to get into my publicity department. He's quite talented," he commented as if it were yet another corporate action, and that made Alys laugh. Gerold had changed. Very much. And that made her come to him like a moth to a flame.

"Tomorrow, I have a date to have lunch with (Y/N). We are both in the same conference, and I would find it ugly not to see her," he commented without looking at Alys. "I suppose she will be brought by Aemond. Which won't be a pleasant experience." He winked at Alys but then leaned closer to her, almost as if he were whispering in her ear. "I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me then. Tomorrow. The two alone."

"I thought we were going to have breakfast together," Alys replied in a suggestive purr that made Gerold laugh.

"I would love to, but for once, I would like to do things right. I think it would be quite an experience for both of us if, for the first time, we didn't sleep with that person that we are so attracted to, and we did things step by step." He smiled sincerely, honestly, as if Alys were not a toy but a person, and that made her heart race. She felt butterflies in her stomach, and she wanted the next day to come. It was the first time that she felt that they were not going to use her. There were two feelings in Gerold's words that Alys had rarely experienced: gratitude and honesty. She remembered that girl who had entered Daemon Targaryen's office for the first time, and her heart raced. She wanted to be that girl again.

She just nodded, and Gerold escorted her to her room like a real gentleman. Just reaching the door, Alys turned to say goodbye after opening her card, but the Dornishman didn't let her speak. He just kissed her silently. A touch of their lips that indicated something more than passion and desire. An underlying affinity began between them that Alys had never experienced.

She had been Daemon's lover, Aemond's confidant, but she had never felt what she felt in that moment. She had no words to explain it. "See you tomorrow, Alys," Gerold whispered to her again, and Alys slipped into her room. Not caring if it woke Meg up, she could only try to stifle a nervous, happy laugh against her bedroom door just after she closed it.

Aemond had fallen asleep. Almost after making love, he had snorted tiredly, and after telling you that he loved you, he had fallen asleep while looking at the ceiling with a satisfied smile. Normally, he would have hugged you, but you could feel that he was tired after the flight. But you didn't care. You just snuggled up against his bare chest. You were just as tired, but you sure couldn't sleep. After so many confessions, so many fears and insecurities, you had finally confessed a part of them to Aemond, but now that things seemed to be better, you were going to walk away from him to start college. He would visit you. He had promised you. But, something inside of you told you that that fantasy that Aemond had in his head of being together was not going to work. Now you wanted to be with him. You wanted to shout it out to the world, but how was the world going to react? Nobody would accept it. You knew that your mother would think you weren't well, that your grandmother Alicent would die of disgust, and your father you didn't know very well, how your father would react, if at all? You slipped onto the bed and grabbed your phone; leaned against the headboard and did something you'd never done before.

You searched for information on Daemon and Rhaenyra. They, like you, had suffered that passionate and secret love like the one you two also experienced. They were you. Exactly the same, or, if not, similar. You saw a couple of gossip magazine covers where they talked about the close relationship between the two. You saw the news starring both of them, together or separately, and you read about the scandal. Your skin stood on end when you saw how the press had branded them as monsters. They were monsters for the fact they loved each other.

You thought about putting the phone down while you kept reading and reading about them. However, you couldn't. Something inside you wanted to know more and more about it, but you froze when you read the news about Rhaenyra's death. That made you shed a tear. They were all talking about Daemon's manipulation of her. Nobody came out in defense of what only two monsters could feel. Another shudder, another strangled sob. Why should it be better for you and Aemond? There was no evidence for it. Heavy tears rolled down your cheeks. None of this was going to end well.

Daemon had had as much money as Aemond, and yet he had failed to protect the one he loved most. How was Aemond going to defend you? The press had been merciless with them, but you also knew that they would be relentless with you. Your heart was breaking at times. It was almost like seeing the consequences of the relationship you had. It was too hard a blow with reality. Maybe too much.

Your sobs woke Aemond, who just looked at you in confusion. Just when he saw what was on the screen of your phone, he hugged you and threw the device away. He just hugged you while rocking you in silence. He only broke it to say that you would not suffer the same fate. He was going to take care of everything. He would. You wanted to believe him, even though you knew that he himself had warned you a long time ago.

And as he held you silently and stroked and kissed your hair, a message came on your phone from Bryen. You would only see him the next morning, but he was informing you that he was at Sunspear and that he needed to see you before the course. That boy was still in love with you, although you had already forgotten him. Your entire world was Aemond.

#aemond x y/n #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen modern au #aemond targaryen x you #aemond modern au #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x fem!reader

[in-my-own-opinion]

Valyrian Names

masterlist

These are names we have record of from canon and semi-canon sources!

She/Her Common Valyrian Names

Aelinor, Alysanne, Baena Daella Daena Daenerys Elaena  Jaenara Rhae Rhaelle Rhaena Rhaenyra Rhaenys Rhaera Visenya Vaena

He/Him Common Valyrian Names

Aerys Aegon Aegor Aemon Aemond Aenys Aerion Aethon Aurion Baelor   Daemon Daeron Haegon Jaehaerys   Jacaerys Lucerys Laenor Maegor Maekar Matarys  Orys Rhaegar Rhaegel Valarr Viserys Vaermon Vaemond

She/Her Names for House Targaryen

Alysanne, Aerea, Alyssa, Aelora, Baela, Calla, Daella, Daena, Daenerys, Daenys, Daenora, Elaena, Gael, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maegelle, Naerys, Rhae, Rhaelle, Rhaella, Rhaena, Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, Shaera, Shiera, Saera, Shaena, Visenya, Vaella, Viserra

He/Him Names for House Targaryen

Aerys, Aegon, Aegor, Aelyx, Aemon, Aemond, Aenar, Aenys, Aerion, Aeryn, Aelor, Baelor, Baelon, Daemon, Daeron, Daemion, Gaemon, Haegon, Jaehaerys, Maelys, Maegon, Maegor, Maekar, Matarys, Maelor, Orys, Rhaegar, Rhaegel, Valarr, Viserys, Vaegon, Valerion

She/Her Names for House Velaryon

Alyssa, Daenaera, Laena, Lianna, Larissa, Valaena

He/Him Names for House Velaryon

Aethan, Addam, Alyn, Aurane, Corlys, Corwyn, Daemon, Daeron, Daemion, Jacaerys, Jorgen, Lucerys Laenor, Malentine, Monford, Rhogar, Vaemond, Victor

She/Her Names for House Celtigar

Prudence, Prunella

He/Him Names for House Celtigar

Alton, Bartimos, Clement, Crispian, Edwell, Terrence

#hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #valyrian names #valyrian #Targaryen #Velaryon

[isefyres-archive]

finally made a few bios:

princess orysa baratheon (oc).

lady elyra brax (oc).

lady barbara bracken.

lady mara mormont (oc).

ser edmund blackwood.

ser arthur dayne.

balerion blackfyre (oc).

elmon tully (semi-canon).

ser terrick tarbeck (oc).

lady cerenna lannister.

ser daven lannister.

lady fuchsia fylgjar (oc).

lady jeyne poole.

king viserys i targaryen (fire and blood).

lady cassandra baratheon (fire and blood).

lady eleana vyrwel (oc).

lady desmera redwyne.

princess gaia of haen, commander of lysani armies (oc).

queen rhaenys i targaryen (conquest).

val of the free folk.

lady alysanne lefford.

lady claypso upcliff (oc).

ser wallace waynwood.

sigorn of thenn, magnar of thenn.

lady laena velaryon (fire and blood).

lord orys baratheon (conquest).

lady guienvere dayne (oc).

king aegon i targaryen (conquest).

princess argella durrandon (conquest).

lady ashara dayne.

lady lyanna stark.

lord addam whitehead.

lady quira qorgyle (oc).

prince jacaerys targaryen/velaryon. (fire and blood).

princess rhaena targaryen (fire and blood).

princess arianne martell.

lady medysa webber (oc).

lady alynne connington.

lord alyn velaryon (fire and blood).

lady rhea royce (fire and blood).

lady serafia celtigar (fire and blood).

lord clement celtigar (fire and blood).

lady mysaria (fire and blood).

aurane waters.

lady florya royce (oc, fire and blood).

kyra kingsblood (free folk, semi canon).

doreah of lys.

lord ardrian celtigar.

lady tessaria velaryon (oc).

lord crispian celtigar (conquest).

lady obsidia celtigar (oc, conquest).

lady elinda massey (fire and blood).

#out of character ╲ when you play the game › mun. #are you proud of me #finally did addam whitehead

[presidenthades]

I am doing very minor revisions of Daemon’s Handbook (mostly formatting and continuity errors), and I wanted to do some behind-the-scenes commentary before too much time passes and I forget my original thoughts. Here’s Chapter 11!

(Note that these commentaries aren’t canon to the verse until/unless the author writes them into the series. I might change my mind on a few points later, but these are the thoughts I had while writing.)

In my early outline, the big scandal in the last chapter was supposed to be Luce and Aemond getting caught in flagrante by somebody aligned to Otto (the servants’ passages scene in Chapter 9 didn’t happen in this version). I was writing it as a parallel to the Episode 4 brothel scene, so I was going to have it take place in the city somewhere, and there was going to be a lot of drama with Luce and Aemond being forcibly separated while Daemon searches for Luce. But the pacing was off and the necessary sequence of events was too contrived, so we got the version that currently exists in the fic.

I kept wondering if it was plausible Clement Celtigar to be stupid enough to unwittingly act as Otto’s lackey. I decided the answer is yes. I try not to character bash, but the Celtigars make it too easy. 😭 Seriously, read about them on the ASOIAF wiki (and look at Edwell and Bartimos’s pages).

I imagine that Otto pretended to be more familiar with Rhaenyra’s side of the family than he actually is, and he dropped some hints (without outright saying it, because like Daemon thinks in this chapter, young men want to believe they come up with their own ideas) that Luce favors Clement, and that she enjoys visiting the library late at night. Then Otto had the note forged in Aemond’s handwriting and left it for Luce. I’m sure this scheme was a lot smoother and sneakier than my bullet points can convey.

I picked the library as the setting so I could play with the trope in a lot of Aemond/OC fanfics (which I really enjoy! But I also enjoy flipping tropes) where Aemond and his love interest rendezvous in the library.

ASOIAF has names for hours of the day (eg hour of ghosts), but GRRM hasn’t revealed all the names. So I extrapolated names for all 24 hours of the day. “Hour of the cat” in the forged note is 11PM.

I spent a while debating how badly Luce injures Clement. I considered making it a lot more grievous (with a knife involved, as a redux of Driftmark), but that would have drastically darkened the story’s tone and changed the fallout from the event. So Clement gets away with a bit of testicular torsion, which Dr Google tells me *can* be serious if not quickly given medical treatment.

Bartimos comes close to calling Luce a whore. If he said it, Daemon would probably have given him the Episode 8 Vaemond treatment. Again, that would’ve been a very dark tonal shift, so Barty stays quiet.

Clement wants 8 sons and 2 daughters because a crab (his house sigil) has ten legs total, two of them being pincers. But Luce doesn’t care about the symbolism, and she ain’t having that many kids.

Normally Luce would have sneaked off alone to meet Aemond in the library. But she brings Rhaena because the argument with Daemon is still fresh, and she’s smarting from his (reasonably accurate) accusation that she doesn’t think enough with her upper brain. So in a strange way, Daemon’s diatribe benefited Luce because if she’d gone alone, there wouldn’t be any witnesses to defend her.

Daemon’s snooping around the girls’ letters is also proving to be surprisingly helpful several years later! If he hasn’t read Aemond’s letters to Luce, Daemon wouldn’t notice the handwriting discrepancy.

Daemon spends the entire fic paranoid about Hightower schemes, and he’s FINALLY right! He finally gets validation! 😂 But he also has zero evidence, literally just gut feelings and vibes.

Baela has been having a great time with Cregan Stark (who canonically has a thing for bisexual tomboys). The Northerners are staying around longer than most wedding guests because the distance is so far, so Baela has plenty of time to keep seducing him. By the time Cregan leaves, I imagine he’s going to make an offer to Baela, but she’s going to put him off for a while longer; she’ll *probably* accept him eventually, but she’s not sure Moondancer will like the cold.

After Daemon confronts Aemond, Aemond goes to the Tower of the Hand to confront Otto. I’m not sure what exactly they say to each other, but afterwards, Aemond tears his room apart looking for the present he planned to give Luce three years ago. I don’t know where he eventually finds it, but it’s probably a laughably obvious spot he totally overlooks at first.

Jace has already been setting up a gossip/whisper network in the Red Keep, so she’s able to hear first thing the next morning about the library incident.

I like Paddy Considine’s take that Viserys *does* have the “blood of the dragon,” he just forces himself to control his temper because he’s trying to be a good king. Also, when he’s a walking corpse in Episode 8, he has the wherewithal to draw his dagger and threaten to cut out Vaemond’s tongue. Viserys would 100% call for Clement to be gelded and gossipers to be silenced. So, for once, Viserys strongly approves of Daemon’s violent streak. 😇

I spent a while debating Clement’s punishment. He kissed Luce when she didn’t want it, which, for most girls, would unfortunately be swept under the rug since he’s the heir to a notable house. But things are different with the royal family. Luce doesn’t want an unnecessarily cruel punishment; she was friendly with Clement until recently, and in Chapter 7, she’s restraining Aemond from violence against Ulf. Even though she’s quick to defend herself by any means necessary, she’s by no means a sadist. She was also deeply affected when Aemond lost his eye (which she partially blames herself for), which leads to her resisting punishments that involve maiming.

Jace also advocates for less violence, but not because she’s a softie. She prefers the diplomatic route, which is harder if you’re trigger-happy to forcibly amputate your vassals. But she knows a monarch has to make hard decisions sometimes, and she’s willing to do what it takes. For example, if Clement had done worse than kiss Luce, Jace *would* want him to be gelded, and she’d have no qualms about it.

Helaena did not have a vision or prophecy about Aemond and the book. She just saw him panicking in his room and figured out what he was up to, because she’s his sister and she knows him. 😂 And because she knows him (and Luce) so well, she can deduce they’re probably going to patch things up, so she packs his bags for him.

No God’s Eye duel in this verse, but I couldn’t resist slipping in a reference about Luce jumping into Vhagar’s saddle 😭

ASOIAF book readers can probably deduce what Joff’s candle is. And that’s all I’m gonna say about it until we get Joff’s POV. 👀

Joff kisses Daeron’s cheek purely to distract Daemon from asking more questions about the candle. Daeron is now very confused. I like to imagine he runs off to Jace and Aegon’s room screaming “Aegon, Joff kissed me, what do I do????” But Jace and Aegon are newlyweds so Aegon isn’t going to appreciate Daeron’s interruption 😂😂😂

That’s it for the Handbook commentaries! Fingers crossed that I have an update this weekend about my next fic in this AU-verse. 🤞

#my writing #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #meta #hotd fic #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon’s handbook

[velcryons]

The Ladies of Daenaera Velaryon pt 1: the Celtigar Sisters

Cressida Celtigar The oldest of the three Celtigar sisters, as well as the eldest daughter of Lord Clement Celtigar. Married to Lord Aelon Blacktyde in a weak attempt to mend crownland ties with the Iron Islands. Following the cradle death of their son, Aelon took several salt wives and Cressida returned to King's Landing, where she remained in service to the young queen Daenaera.

Callysta Celtigar The second daughter of Clement Celtigar. Said to be very pleasant and well spoken, Callysta was perhaps the most devout of the three sisters. With Daenaera's permission, she went onto become a Septa, though she continued serving the little queen.

Caliandra Celtigar The last and possibly strangest of the Celtigar sisters. Odd and hard to pin down, Caliandra was the most devoted of Daenaera's ladies to her service.. Much like her ancestor, Nesaena Celtigar, Caliandra never married and stayed with the queen until her own death a few years before Daenaera's.

#ooc ; #my edits ; #headcanons ; #c; daenaera #mutuals can reblog and interact etc etc

[oookay68]

I Can't Decide

Summary: The incoming war leaves Aemond with two choices: his family or the love of his life? Inspired by the song, 'I Can't Decide' by the Scissor Sisters.

TW: Incest, Toxic Aemond, Possessive Aemond, Death

A/N: It starts off wholesome and then dark and then kinda funny then sad.

WC: 5879

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She was from one of the three remaining Valyrian houses in the world. House Celtigar was often overshadowed by the mighty Targaryen and Velaryon houses. They had no dragons or ships to their name. Just the silver hair and lilac eyes of Old Valyria. Her grandfather Lord Bartimos Celtigar always pushed his family to align with the Targaryens in hopes that one day Claw Isle would have a dragon in their possession. And it worked. On the twelfth day of the third moon, one hundred eight years after Aegon’s Conquest, Lord Celtigar’s son, Clement, married Daena Arryn, daughter of Rodrik Arryn and Daella Targaryen. This gave dear Caspiana just enough Targaryen blood to claim a dragon.

Terrax was his name. He was a blue dragon that came from one of Dreamfyre’s clutches. When the dragon hatched on Caspiana’s fifth name day it was said that her grandfather leaped with joy. Claw Isle finally had a dragon. But his hopes were quickly crushed when her mother died when she was nine. King Viserys wished for the niece of his late wife to come to King’s Landing in order to ensure the child was given a proper Valyrian upbringing. He knew how much his love adored her younger sister and knew that she would have cared for her niece just as much as she cared for Rhaenyra. And so in 119 AC, Caspiana and her dragon left Claw Isle on a ship carrying twenty guards and five dragon keepers.

She was to be Princess Rhaenyra’s ward. Young Caspiana didn’t know her older cousin very well and she feared that the age gap would leave nothing for the two to bond over. But she was wrong. When she arrived the Princess had welcomed her in open arms. After having two sons, Rhaenyra had a feeling that the babe in her belly would also be a boy. The Princess embraced her cousin and whispered, “Welcome home” to the young Celtigar. 

Caspiana Celtigar learned and played with the royal children. She and her best friend, Jace often visited their dragons together and dreamed of the future when the beasts would be large enough to ride. Her younger cousin Luke was a gentle soul whom she enjoyed running around the courtyard with and shirking their responsibilities together.

The strong animosity between Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent led Caspiana to stay away from the two Targaryen princes. She always feared making eye contact with the two, especially Aegon. He was the eldest which made her cousins look up to him. They always followed his lead and the trio always found themselves in trouble. Aegon looked down on all of his siblings and cousins, especially Caspiana. She was from an irrelevant house that kept taking advantage of her Targaryen blood. He barely considered her to be one anyway. Aemond always felt bad whenever he heard his brother talk negatively about their sister and cousin. They were girls who did nothing bad to them yet Aegon only called them mean names. 

Aemond thought the opposite of his brother. Helaena was their sister. She was beautiful and fun to play with. Yes, she was a little eccentric but he could always overlook her strange obsession with insects and weird poems. He loved his sister and it was wrong for Aegon to speak in such a vulgar way. Caspiana was a true Valyrian. She came from two of the only Valyrian houses left. She spoke the language and her egg hatched. It was enough evidence that she was a Targaryen. He had never really talked to her because every opportunity was always interrupted by one of their cousins or a servant.

But one night changed that. Aemond always read a chapter of a book in the library before bed. If he couldn’t prove himself with a dragon then perhaps he could gather as much knowledge as he could to make his father see him with value. 

The sound of falling books startled him from his book and he walked to the source of the ruckus. He found Caspiana on the floor with several dusty books surrounding her. He knelt down to help her pick them up.

“Thank you.” she said timidly. When she saw who helped her she instantly closed her mouth. 

“You should be more careful next time.” Aemond said calmly, not intending for her to take it as a scolding comment.

Caspiana bowed her head, “Y-yes Prince Aemond. I am sorry!” She quickly grabbed the book in his hand and made her way to the door.

“Wait! Why don’t you stay and read with me?”

Caspiana feared the Targaryen boys. They had more power over her and could easily get her in trouble. She could be sent home if they wished and she wouldn’t be able to do anything.

“I’m-I’m sorry my prince but it is late and-”

“Then as your prince I demand you to sit and read with me.”

Caspiana relaxed her stiff shoulders in defeat and took the chair by the fire. Aemond took the seat next to her and the two read their books in silence.

It soon became a routine for the Prince and the Lady to read their books by the fire every night before bed. Aemond often spent the time pretending to read and instead studied her face and how the firelight would highlight the bridge of her nose and how it brought out the dark purples of her eyes. He noticed the small freckles around her eyes and how the corner of her mouth twitched up whenever something pleasant happened in the story. 

But their nights came to an end when Rhaenyra decided to take her family and her ward to Dragonstone. She was a dragon and would no longer endure the cruel rumors of the court. 

Aemond found out about their departure when Caspiana didn’t show up to the library one night. He frantically knocked on her door only to be met with an empty room. He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

But his chance came during the funeral of Laena Velaryon. Caspiana stayed with her cousins and avoided the Greens. She tried not to look in Aemond’s eyes. She had no doubt that he was cross with her for leaving without saying goodbye. It was one of her greatest regrets. The fire felt so cold on Dragonstone and the books seemed to keep going on and on with no interesting moments. She felt lonely without his stare and quickly gave up her nightly ritual of reading before bed.

Aemond thought that she didn’t think he was good enough. Of course he wasn’t. He was the Prince of Westeros and yet he didn’t have a dragon. But on a solitary walk on the beach the sight of the monstrous Vhagar sparked an idea in his mind.

Once he claimed her then Caspiana would see. She would see that he was worthy of her friendship and her hand in marriage. He would fly to Dragonstone on Vhagar’s back if he had to. Take her without Rhaenyra’s blessing and wed her in the Faith of the Seven. 

Aemond swaggered back to the castle after the best hour of his life. He finally flew on a dragon for the first time and he claimed the largest and oldest dragon alive. But his good mood was quickly ruined at the sight of the Strong boys and his Uncle Daemon’s kids. His smile dropped when he saw Caspiana with them, holding onto Rhaena’s hand. 

It happened so fast. Baela swung first, she wouldn’t take Aemond stealing her dead mother’s dragon and she wouldn’t take his cruel insults. He quickly threw her aside as his nephews charged to attack him. It was a four against one and Aemond found himself on the ground taking their punches and kicks. Caspiana spectated, out of fear. She didn’t want Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena to hate her if she helped Aemond but she wanted to help him. 

But Aemond swiftly removed the four from him and grabbed Lucerys by the throat. Caspiana acted quickly and shoved the prince to which he instinctively threw her back onto the stone wall. He would have killed Strong bastards if it weren’t for the sand. The next thing he knew, hot blood and an instant searing pain filled the entirety of his left face.

The incident in the throne room did nothing but feed the flaming hostility between the Queen and the Princess. Rhaenyra defended her sons and her ward while Alicent demanded justice for her son’s eye. But Aemond kept his eyes, no his eye, on Caspiana who tried to cover herself with Rhaenyra’s dress.

Caspiana felt alone. Baela and Rhaena clinged onto their grandparents who hugged them tightly. Jace and Luke hid behind Rhaenyra and Aemond clutched onto his mother’s hand. She had no grandparents to hug or mother to feel protected. Rhaenyra’s priorities were Jace and Luke so Caspiana settled for gripping her warden’s dress. 

The Blacks left Driftmark the day after Laenor’s burnt remains were found. They returned to Dragonstone where they raised the Princes Jacerys and Lucerys with the Princess Rhaena and Lady Caspiana. Baela stayed behind as a ward to her grandmother, Rhaenys. 

Five years after the Driftmark incident, a letter from King’s Landing arrived. It was written by the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. It was a marriage proposal for the Lady Celtigar. Now eighteen, she was considered to be too old to be unmarried. Proposals flooded in everyday but Rhaenyra always rejected them on the basis that none were good enough for her ward. But this one was different. The King himself proposed it. He often dreamed about his Aemma and in his dreams she whispered about their daughter and her niece. 

Seeing it as a King’s order, Caspiana accepted and flew to King’s Landing where she would wed Prince Aemond Targaryen. It was with regret that Rhaenyra and her family could not attend the joyous occasion. In truth, Rhaenyra did not want to see what she thought would be a miserable pairing. She wanted better for her little cousins but she could not deny the dying King’s request. Caspiana understood and assured Rhaenyra that she would be okay. That she would learn to love the One-Eyed Prince.

And she was right. Upon meeting him after five years the two felt their spark reignite. Aemond disregarded the role she played on the night he lost his eye and the two fell in love. They resumed their nightly ritual of reading by the fire before bed and added a kiss every night before they departed. The wedding was festive and filled with lots of dancing and drinking. It was perhaps the first time that Alicent saw her son truly happy since he lost his eye. Even Helaena appeared to be having fun. She danced with Caspiana and the twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera, and even convinced Aegon to leave his wine cup for two minutes.

It came to no one’s surprise that the Lady Caspiana was with child four months after their wedding. As she grew larger the maesters confined her to the bed. She no longer made appearances at court and spent most of the day in her nightgown. She felt lazy and ugly for doing nothing the last few months of her pregnancy but Aemond assured her every night that she still looked as beautiful as she had when he fell in love with her.

The birth was painful and long. Two agonizing days of labor gave the happy couple a beautiful girl whom they named Daella, after the baby’s great grandmother. 

But every good thing came to an end. Two weeks after birth, Princess Daella passed. It was said that the wail Lady Caspiana gave after discovering her child’s corpse was heard throughout the city. One more pregnancy but Caspiana never gave birth. She felt lonely and depressed. Only Aemond could make her smile. She truly loved him with all of her being. 

The arrival of Rhaenyra and her family to defend Lucerys’s claim to Driftmark greatly lifted her mood. Caspiana was seen roaming the halls of the Red Keep once again and stayed by her cousin Rhaenyra’s side. It seemed cruel. Her cousin was blessed with fertility with five children and a sixth on the way while it was rumored the Caspiana’s womb was cursed. But the company of her cousin distracted her from her barren womb and she felt like a child once more with her cousins. 

The family dinner started off tense but eased after several reconciling toasts were made. Caspiana held the hand of Aemond as she listened to the speech Jace made, praising his uncles and wishing for a happy future. Things were going swimmingly until the roasted pig was brought out. Memories of The Pink Dread filled Aemond’s head and a faint snickering led him to slam the table, raising his cup.

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews Jace, Luke, and Joff.” Caspiana tapped his leg, signaling him to behave. But he ignored his wife, “Each of them handsome, wise, hm Strong.”

“Aemond.” his mother warned.

“Come, let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again!” Jace challenged.

The night ended with a fight and Caspiana giving him the cold shoulder. She stayed silent as she dressed in her nightgown and crawled into bed. Not one to be ignored, Aemond ignored her too, knowing that his silence would lead his wife to give up hers.

“You’re an ass, you know that?” Caspiana broke the silence.

Aemond smiled and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek to which she squirmed away, “I love you.” He reached for another but she crawled out of the bed.

“I’m being serious! This was a chance at reconciliation. It doesn’t have to be this bitter all the time.” 

Aemond sighed, “My love that will never happen. If I didn’t say anything then someone would have tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that. We are fated to always war with each other.”

“How do you think that makes me feel? To have the people I grew up with, Rhaenyra is practically my mother. Jace and Luke are my brothers and you are my love. I cannot choose a side in your silly war.”

Aemond lifted the blanket and opened his arms, “If I promise to apologize to them in the morning will you come back to bed?”

Caspiana remained standing with her arms crossed, “You should want to apologize to them because you know that it was wrong to question their legitimacy.”

“Fine. I want to apologize to them because it was wrong of me to question their legitimacy.” But his words were empty. Caspiana relented and crawled into the bed.

The next morning Caspiana bid Rhaenyra and her cousins goodbye while Aemond checked on his sister and her children. His eye widened when he saw his frantic mother sitting with his sister. He felt the castle feel more solemn than normal and the angry footsteps of his grandfather confirmed his suspicions. King Viserys was dead. 

Caspiana quickly returned to her room after bidding her family goodbye. She left her embroidery needle by her bedside table and grabbed it. She felt like working in the godswood today. But she panicked when she realized that the door was locked from the outside. She tried it again but it did not budge. 

“Help!” she pounded. “I’m locked inside help!”

Her pleas were left unanswered for hours until the door unlocked and Aemond entered. She rushed into his arms and kissed him. “What has happened?” She sensed his stress and sat him down by the fire. 

“Father is dead.”

Caspiana’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth. “No. He can’t be.”

“We always knew that this day would come. We just never realized it until it happened.”

“Is Rhaenyra here then? Surely they would have let her know before she returned to Dragonstone.” Aemond stayed silent. “Rhaenyra knows right? She has to be here they must crown her as soon as possible-”

“We have a new king.” Aemond answered coldly.

Caspiana looked at him with horror, “What do you mean?” Her eyes widened even more at the realization of his words. “You can’t! Aegon isn’t the heir! Viserys-”

“Is dead. Aegon is the heir, he always has been.”

Caspiana shook her head, “No, Viserys declared her as his heir. Rhaenyra is the queen-”

Aemond stood and grabbed his wife’s shoulders, “Listen to me! Aegon is the King, his coronation is today and we will witness it along with thousands of the townspeople.”

Caspiana started to tear, “You! Stop it! You’re usurping the throne! Is this because of Alicent? That Green bit-”

Aemond did it before he realized what he was thinking. His hand swiftly slapped Caspiana’s cheek. It was always an instinct to defend his mother from all who would speak ill of her. After being his only support after losing his eye he grew fiercely loyal to her.

Caspiana’s tears flowed as she touched her cheek.

“My love I’m-I’m sorry I-”

She grabbed the knife attached to his belt, “Come any closer and I will cut your eye!”

Aemond held his hands out cautiously, “Okay. I promise I won’t touch you again.”

Caspiana pointed toward the door, “Let me out!”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I hold the knife! Let me out now!”

Aemond quickly disarmed her and threw the knife across the room. “Your maids will come soon. The coronation is tonight at the Dragon Pit.”

“No!” Caspiana shoved him into the wall, “I will not bend the knee to your traitorous brother!”

Aemond flipped their positions and trapped her between his arms and the wall. “You will. As your lord husband I command you to.”

Caspiana spit in his good eye and he flinched. 

“You can’t make me!”

“If you refuse to then I will order Vhagar to tear Terrax apart in front of you!”

Caspiana looked at him with hate in her eyes. Something that he thought he would never see. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t test me.”

The two were interrupted by a knock on the door. Aemond allowed Caspiana’s handmaidens to enter and left the room. A carriage brought the two to the Dragon Pit and she stayed silent despite his pathetic attempts to make conversation. He even asked her if she was wearing a new dress but she just coughed. 

The crowning of Aegon was quick and the crowd cheered for their new king. But the moment was interrupted when the Red Queen Meleys crashed through the floor, crushing and killing hundreds of viewers. On top of the dragon sat Princess Rhaenys who donned her full battle armor. 

Caspiana braced herself for the dragon’s hot breath. No doubt that Rhaenys would tell Rhaenyra of her presence on the platform. Caspiana would die with Rhaenyra thinking that she was a traitor. Aemond cradled her head to his chest, forcing her look away from the dragon while he stared at his distant cousin atop the beast. 

Instead of a hot death, the dragon roared. Caspiana kept her eyes closed the entire time. Only after Meleys and Rhaenys left did she realize that she was still alive. 

That night Aemond and Caspiana laid in each other's arms in silence. Her heart still raced from the previous events and it felt like ten days had passed. He stroked his thumb on her arm and pressed a kiss onto her head.

“We nearly died today.” Caspiana croaked out.

Aemond shushed his wife and held her tighter, “But we are alive my dear. This is the brutality of my sister. She and the Blacks will stop at nothing to murder us, the Greens. You my love are a Green whether you acknowledge it or not.”

“But Rhaenys did not kill us.” She placed her hand on his chest, “Our hearts are still beating.”

“Yes we are. Rhaenys very well may have ignited this war with the murder of the innocent townspeople. What do you think will happen when we encounter her or Daemon next? Do you think that he will show you any mercy when you meet him? He will not care that you were Rhaenyra’s daughter.”

Caspiana stayed silent as she stared at his sapphire eye. 

“My love you must know that there is nothing you can do that will convince Rhaenyra that you are anything but a traitor. So please, truly bend the knee to Aegon and you will have the protection of the one true crown.”

Caspiana stayed silent for a long time. Aemond thought that she fell asleep and tugged on her hair to make sure that she was awake.

“Alright.” she answered. “I will bend the knee.”

She did good on her word and bent the knee to Aegon the next day. She had no time to spend with Aemond for he kissed her goodbye and left for Storm’s End, the ancestral seat of House Baratheon to gather their loyalty with the promise of a marriage pact between one of Lord Borros’s daughters and his brother Prince Daeron who resided in Oldtown at the moment.

The next day the Green Council decided to put their faith in Aemond’s wife. Caspiana mounted Terrax with the mission of gaining House Celtigar’s fealty to King Aegon. A mission that she had no intention of fulfilling. 

Terrax took off to Claw Isle. The shortest way was to cut through Dragonstone to cut through the Blackwater Bay which Caspiana was specifically warned not to take. Once out of sight from the highest tower in King’s Landing, she made a detour to Dragonstone. But in order to arrive at Dragonstone she had to cut through the sea that stood between Storm’s End and Dragonstone.

It was unfortunate that a terrible storm stood in her way and Caspiana struggled to guide Terrax as they dodged lightning while rain pelted down on them. The shriek of a dragon caused her to nearly fall off her saddle. Against her rational thoughts, Caspiana investigated and found a petrified Luke and frantic Arrax who flapped his wings rapidly.

“Luke!” she yelled.

“Cassie!” he exclaimed, slight relief in his voice. “Help me! It’s Aemond!”

“What?” Before Luke could answer, the menacing form of Vhagar dwarfed the two. “Holy fuck! Get under me!” Luke obeyed and drove Arrax to fly close underneath Arrax. 

Caspiana flew up to meet her husband whose eye widened at the sight of his wife. “Caspiana!” It was one of the few moments when he called her by her name. 

“Stop this at once, Aemond!”

He snarled, “Get out of my way Caspiana, I won’t ask you twice.”

“What have you become my husband? Turn around now and return to King’s Landing.” Terrax flapped his wings rapidly, fearing Vhagar’s presence. 

Vhagar knocked the blue dragon to the side, leaving Caspiana barely hanging onto her dragon as he gained his balance. The larger dragon continued on as Arrax took refuge in the small crevice between two adjacent islands. Caspiana followed her husband but it was no use, her dragon couldn’t keep up with the larger.

“You owe a debt!” Aemond taunted in Valyrian. “Boy!” 

Knowing that her smaller beast wouldn’t have an effect on the larger, Terrax released a stream of fire onto Vhagar. It did what she intended, perhaps a little too much. Vhagar turned away from Luke and his dragon, allowing them to escape and fly back to Dragonstone.

The she-dragon opened her jaws which Terrax avoided. The blue beast was small yet fierce. He clawed the elder’s neck prompting her to release a cry louder than the thunder. Vhagar released a jet of hot flames onto the smaller and Caspiana yelped as her left sleeve caught on fire. She patted the flames out and prayed that there were no burns on her skin.

“No! Vhagar!” Aemond scolded. “Serve me!” 

The dragon ignored him and continued to pursue Caspiana. “Aemond!” she cried out in fear when Vhagar nearly bit Terrax’s neck. An injury that was sure to have been fatal. 

Terrax retaliated with his claws and slashed at the elder’s eye. Vhagar was a fierce war dragon but also grew slow with age. She shrieked out in pain. She would never see in her right eye again. 

The pain spurred Vhagar on, completely disregarding Aemond, she flapped her wings harder and opened her jaws. They closed on the lower region of Terrax and she bit clean through. 

Caspiana could only watch in horror as her dragon started to tumble down. He screamed in pain as the two hit rocky cliffs but shielded his rider from the damage as much as possible. They landed on sand and Caspiana was flung onto the ground from the impact. 

Vhagar angrily landed and Aemond commanded her to stay put. After seeing Caspiana slowly stand his relief at seeing her alive quickly transitioned into fury. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he yelled. He pulled her arm to make her stand. “Why were you even there?” 

Caspiana pulled her hand from his grip, “Your mother sent me to Claw Isle to gather their support!”

Aemond scoffed, “Do you take me for a fool? If you truly intended to carry out your orders you would have gone by land, far from the sight of Dragonstone. You intended to be caught!”

“No I did not! I flew above Rosby when I heard your dragons call and went to investigate!”

“You’ve always been a horrible liar.” Aemond looked at Terrax whose eyes were slowly blinking, trying to regain consciousness. He turned to Vhagar and gave the command to kill. A death blow now would be merciful. 

“No!” Caspiana cried. She gripped Aemond’s coat and fell to her knees. “Please! Please don’t kill him! Please!”

Aemond smirked, “Death is merciful to your dragon who will die in several days' time.”

Caspiana shut her eyes as Terrax’s painful screams filled the air. She sobbed into Aemond’s coat and he took his last breath before releasing one long stream of fire then dropping for the final time.

Aemond grabbed her hair, “Do you see what I can do wife? I hold the power here and you must obey me.”

“Or what? You’ll feed me to Vhagar? Then do it already because I won’t be obeying you in the future so you might as well kill me now!” 

Aemond felt no pity for her. “Perhaps I shall. But as your merciful husband who loves you, I will give you a chance at redemption.” He spoke no more and she heard no more as he hit her head with the hilt of his sword, rendering her unconscious.

Caspiana woke up in a hot cell on the filthy floor. The cells adjacent were filled with noble men and women alike. She sat up and crawled to the bars, noticing that she was alone in her cell. 

“Lord Caswell!” She called when she recognized him. 

“Oh, my dear you too?” he said. “They’ve starved us for three days, and only gave us enough water to keep us barely alive.” he spoke slowly and quietly.

“Why?”

“They want us to bend to the knee. But Rhaenyra is the true heir.” he answered.

Caspiana figured that was something that Aemond was trying with her. She already broke one oath. The break another would make her an enemy to the people of Westeros for there was nothing worse than an oathbreaker. 

Aemond sat in his shared chambers quietly in thought. While he definitely felt like killing her, he couldn’t. She was his wife and he would then be known as a kinslayer. What was worse than being known as a kinslayer? Not only a kinslayer but an oathbreaker. He would break his oath to protect her at their wedding. 

Surely she would be nearly dead by the time her three days were up. She would embrace him and tell him that she loved him and that her loyalty was to him. Not to Aegon and not to Rhaenyra but he who should be the king. 

But then again, he didn’t suspect her to betray him like that after she had bent the knee to Aegon and vowed to protect the crown. She went back on her word and intended to fly to Dragonstone before Aemond caught her.

But she said that she loved him. He didn’t question her love for him and never did but he couldn’t help but think of her motives. Perhaps she felt inadequate as a cousin of Rhaenyra. With her mother dying at a young age she was desperate to have a mother figure in her life and that was Rhaenyra. But his sister had her own children to worry about. She had no time to be a mother to Caspiana while having children and loving the others. There was simply not enough love in Rhaenyra’s heart for Caspiana. Yes, that must have been it. She thought that she could still get Rhaenyra’s approval and love if she betrayed her husband, the one she loved the most. 

Aemond practically leapt from his chair and raced down to the dungeons. It was the middle of the night but the night shift servants watched as the prince skipped giddily down towards the lower floors.

He reached the dungeons and opened the door to Caspiana’s cell. She sat with her back on the wall and opened her eyes to find Aemond standing above her. He smiled and kissed her forehead.

“I love you.” he planted a kiss on her mouth. 

Instead of welcoming him in her arms, Caspiana recoiled and pushed him away, “Is that why you killed my dragon and imprisoned me in this filthy cell?”

Aemond grabbed her hand and ignored the nobles in the neighboring cell who watched the two as if it was a dramatic play. “My love, you must have suffered greatly growing up as Rhaenyra’s ward. Always second best to her children and never deserving of her love. But it is okay. You do not need her love. You will grow to accept that just as I had with my father.”

Caspiana pulled her hand away from his, “Are you serious? Rhaenyra treated me as if I were her daughter. I was put on the same pedestal as Jace and Luke. What are you talking about?”

As if suddenly aware of all the eyes on them, Aemond turned to give a nasty look at the nobles who were too tired to be frightened. “Don’t do this to me, don’t betray me like that again!”

“Again? What do you mean again?”

Aemond ignored her question and continued, “Aegon wants you dead. He wants to make an example of you. To let everyone know that any traitors will not be spared. Even if she is married to the prince.”

“The second son. The spare.” Caspiana spat.

Aemond grabbed her jaw and tightened his grip. “Things were so lovely before Rhaenyra came along.” He let go of her and angrily stomped out of the cell.

To rub salt into the wound, Aegon declared that if Caspiana did not swear fealty to him within five days time, then Aemond would be forced to execute her. “I’ll let you choose how she dies. Just be creative brother.” He said cheerfully.

Aemond now felt the immense pressure to not only convince his wife to swear her vows to Aegon once more and to come up with a creative way to kill her that would please his brother. Would he drown her in the murky waters of Blackwater Bay? Poison her last meal? What was he thinking? Killing his wife? Who would he be without her? She was his everything and if he was the one to take it away then he had nothing to live for. He could bury her alive. That was a creative way that Aegon would surely enjoy. But he would complain that he would not be able to see the life leave her eyes. And there was a possibility that she could escape and come back to enact her revenge on her lord husband as he slept.

Aemond couldn’t decide whether she should live or die.

But he couldn’t deny the toll that this decision inflicted upon him. He felt weaker and found it difficult to carry out his duties. He rarely left his room and left Ser Criston alone in the courtyard, waiting for the prince to arrive to train. Aemond looked at his sword in disgust at the thought of using it on his wife. Was this who he was? His dead heart, cold and petrified, filled with so much hate that he would choose his revenge on his nephew over his wife’s life?

After five days Caspiana had not sworn anything. Aegon even gave her an extra day to think about her decision but she was so hungry that she had no energy to think and spent the majority of the day sleeping. The nobles in the adjacent cells were already executed, publicly hanged for their treasons against the Crown. 

Aemond made peace with the fact that Caspiana would not live much longer. He cradled her head in his lap as he allowed himself to cry. One of the few moments he did so since he lost his eye and was forced to grow up. He stroked her hair softly and she opened her eyes weakly.

She managed to muster a smile, too weak to feel any anger toward him. Only love filled her body. “My love.” she whispered.

Aemond’s tear dropped onto her cheek and he wiped it off. “You will go to heaven my dear. With our babies. Our little Daella and our son Aenar.”

“Aenar? We have a boy?” she asked in happy disbelief.

“Yes, my love. And you will meet him soon. I envy you for that.”

“Where am I going? Can’t you come with me?” she smiled.

Aemond shook his head, “I’m sorry my stars, I cannot.”

“But why?” she started to cry.

Aemond wiped her tears with his thumb. “I have my duties here. But as soon as I finish them I promise. You will go to the better place first and enjoy your time there so do not cry beautiful.”

“Am I still beautiful? Even though I’m crying right now?” she asked.

Aemond nodded, “The most beautiful I’ve ever seen. The most beautiful in all of the lands.”

“Even Essos?”

“Especially Essos.”

Caspiana sighed, “That’s good.” The two stayed silent before she broke it once more, “I think I see them Aemond. Our Daella and Aenar. My mother is there too! And Aunt Aemma!”

Aemond allowed his tears to flow freely. “Good, my love. Go to them, I will see you soon.”

Caspiana mustered a weak nod and closed her eyes, “I will see you soon, Aemond.”

He sniffled as tears crawled down his face uncontrollably. “I love you.” But he received no response. And it was announced the very next day that Caspiana Celtigar Targaryen was executed on charges of treason against the Crown.

When Rhaenyra heard of her daughter’s death she collapsed to the ground and wailed for her lost daughter that never was.

A/N: Please let me know your thoughts this is my first tumblr fic!

#hotd aemond #aemond imagine #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x oc #rhaenyra targaryen #dark!aemond targaryen #dark!aemond #possessive!aemond #asoif

[west1rosi]

LIKE THIS POST for a starter from my crownlands houses muses during the DANCE OF THE DRAGONS ERA. specify if you want a specific muse (or several and i'll pick). if you are a multimuse, choose your muses, or else I will ignore because I'm not good at choosing.

❝ HOUSE . . . .—targaryen

❝ DAEMON TARGARYEN . . . — TARGARYEN [the rogue prince.] the blacks, prince consort ︱bisexual, he/him. ︱ matt smith. ❝ VISERYS I TARGARYEN . . . — TARGARYEN [the king.] targaryen ︱bisexual, he/him. ︱ paddy considigne. ❝ HELEANA TARGARYEN . . . — TARGARYEN [curse of cassandra.] targaryen ︱bisexual, she/her. ︱ ida marie nielsen. ❝ RHAENA TARGARYEN . . . — TARGARYEN [the could be queen.] targaryen, the blacks ︱bisexual, she/her. ︱ phoebe campbell. ❝ DAENA WATERS . . . — TARGARYEN [the gentle dragonseed.] the blacks, a dragonseed and dragonsrider, bastard daughter of Jaehaerys I. ︱het. , she/her. ︱anita briem.

❝ HOUSE . . . .—valaryon

❝ CORLYS VALARYON . . . — VALARYON [the sea snake.] the blacks. lord of driftmark.︱bisexual, he/him. ︱ Steve Toussaint. ❝ AEGONNA VALARYON . . . — VALARYON [the siren snake.] the blacks. daughter of veamond.︱bisexual, she/her. ︱ jessica parker kennedy.

❝ HOUSE . . . .—celtigar

❝ CLEMENT CELTIGAR . . . — CELTIGAR [the crab lord.] the blacks. head of house celtigar.︱bisexual, he/him. ︱ jack lowden. ❝ SELIRA CELTIGAR . . . — CELTIGAR [the fair.] the blacks. sister to clement.︱bisexual, she/her. ︱ imogen waterhouse.

❝ HOUSE . . . .—cole

❝ CRISTON COLE . . . — COLE [the kingmaker.] the greens. sworn shield to queen alicent.︱bisexual, he/him. ︱ fabien frankel.

#⸻ . ✷ ❛ interactions❜ 〉starter calls .

[bbygirl-aemond]

The Bachelor(ette): Stormbreak Edition

Hello all! Given some of the recent speculation about certain characters' marriages I was going through my research from back in October and found my first list of candidates for the various engagements that will be formed over the course of Stormbreak. I thought I'd share them so you guys know which candidates are options for going forward, as a little hint. For any characters where a specific age wasn't stated, I still made sure the ages would be canon compliant considering the ages of their parents.

Also, to address some of the guesses I've received that didn't make it to this list: Lord Cregan Stark lost his first wife like a few months ago and is not back on the market; Princess Aliandra Martell is married to Drazenko Rogarre in canon; Royce Baratheon hasn't been born yet but will be later this year; and Clement Celtigar is way too old considering his father, Bartimos Celtigar, was grandpa age even before the Dance started.

Here are the lists below of all the characters I considered, from oldest to youngest:

Bachelors:

Dalton Greyjoy, son of Lord Greyjoy (first name unknown 🙁), age seventeen

Jacaerys Velaryon, son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, age seventeen

Lyonel Hightower, son of Lord Ormund Hightower, age sixteen

Daeron Targaryen, son of King Viserys Targaryen, age sixteen

Kermit Tully, son of future Lord Elmo Tully, age fifteen

Addam Waters and Alyn Waters, bastard sons of Lord Corlys Velaryon, ages fourteen and twelve

Viserys Targaryen, son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, age six

Jaehaerys Targaryen and Maelor Targaryen, sons of Prince Aegon Targaryen, ages six and two

Loreon Lannister, son of Lord Jason Lannister, age three

Lord Lyonel Tyrell, Warden of the South, age one

Bachelorettes:

Alys Rivers, bastard daughter of the late Lord Lyonel Strong, age unknown but purported twenty

Sara Snow, bastard daughter of the late Lord Rickon Stark, age eighteen

Baela Targaryen, daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, age sixteen

Cerelle Lannister and Tyshara Lannister, daughters of Lord Jason Lannister, ages sixteen and seven

Laisa Strong and Shana Strong, daughters of the late Lord Lyonel Strong, ages thirteen and eight

Cassandra Baratheon, Maris Baratheon, Ellyn Baratheon, and Floris Baratheon, daughters of Lord Borros Baratheon, ages seventeen, fourteen, twelve, and ten

Grayce Arryn, daughter of future Lord Joffrey Arryn, age six

Happy guessing! 😘

#fic: stormbreak #stormbreak #hotd #house of the dragon #baela targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys strong #daeron targaryen #jaehaerys targaryen #maelor targaryen #viserys targaryen #viserys ii targaryen

[beautifulsnake2162020]

Higher Intervention: Aemond x FemReader (House of the Dragon x Sandman fanfic) Part 4

Disclaimer: This is a fanwork to show appreciation for the intellectual properties used. I also haven't read Fire and Blood and most if not all that I know is from the TV show.

Premise: Alys Velaryon, older twin sister of Jace Velaryon is the only member among Rhaenyra's children whom Aemond cannot completely hate. As their love story progresses, a newer and larger threat complicates things and reveals discoveries that neither the greens or the blacks had ever imagined.

AN: Okay so this will be my last writing post for awhile till after December 17. Please wish me luck for my final exams.

If you wish to read the previous parts it's here:

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Taglist (comment down below if you want to be included): @winxschester @memento-mora

Also tagging:

@lady-phasma @aemonds-war-crime @adderess because some of their ideas of Aemond have undoubtedly influenced my work.

You weren't sure till now what really differentiated a minor ball from a major celebration ball. Maybe it was because this is your first ball you've attended as a woman. You were dressed in another one of your grandmother's embroidered violet gowns that was changed to your measurements. Your hair was in a half bun and was securely in place thanks to many smaller hairpins. Your sole accessory was a gold necklace that sat just above your collar bone with a tulip pendant.

"Tell me Lord Baratheon."

"Princess Alys, I insist that you call me Raymont. We are both young after all." He wasn't wrong, the age difference between the two of you was only three years with him being older. But that didn't mean you were necessarily compatible personality wise. For one thing he almost stepped on your feet just then and luckily you had quickly went out of his way without compromising the dance.

"Lord Raymont, I am curious about what you may think may be a possible solution to the crisis that may erupt once the King dies."

"I will be honest Princess, I'm not sure if there is a long lasting solution."

"Oh surely you must have some thoughts."

"Well if you really must know, I think once the King dies your mother and your uncle will just order each other dead and we're all just waiting to see who surivives it. Ultimately it's sadly not up to us to decide who wears the crown as long as there is someone in charge." He spins you around almost too suddenly that you almost fell on his chest had you not been agile enough to regain your balance right away.

"Then may I ask why did you volunteer to become my suitor?"

"My mother wanted us to be the ones responsible for your safety. Since there will most likely be a war and you are so far the only neutral party, it will allow us to provide you with shelter and safety away from the chaos."

"Let me guess, in exchange for my safety during the conflict, you want me to exercise influence on whomever comes into power once the upcoming civil war has concluded."

"Of course, we have seen how much influence you wield in your days at court so far. We have no doubts you could do the same for the next ruler." The dance has ended, and you were thankful that Borros Baratheon's young brother readily gave you the information you needed during the course of the dance. Your Lannister suitor was less open until a few goblets of wine had him opening up to the same if not similar answers. You are yet to decide if being a rather popular marriage choice was a good thing or a bad thing.

In your periphery you spot Clement Celtigar talking with your parents as they were in the "black" area of the room alongside with other Velaryons and the Arryns.

"Enjoying the party so far?"

"Oh Aegon, you startled me." He laughs as he quickly downs a goblet of the wine served and gives it to a servant passing by.

"I was just waiting for you to finish your dance with the younger Baratheon brother. You've been pretty elusive from me dear niece, and I plan to rectify that. Let's have the next dance together."

"Actually I was planning on eating and resting my feet. Maybe you could direct us to a spot that's less crowded? Raymont Baratheon was a ... unique dancer."

"Hahaha very well. Just stay by my side niece." You take his arm as he leads you to a spot in the "greens" area that allowed only for two people.

"I'm starting to regret that we aren't the ones married. Had I known back then what I had known now, I think things would have turned out very differently."

"Oh? And what made you think that we would have been a better pair?'

"For one thing, maybe I would be more willing with someone to incentivize me to study." Two servants pulling out the chairs and await the two of you to settle into it. Another servant quickly serves you two a pie containing three different pieces of poultry inside it. You forgot the fancy word for it but you remember it by it's common name - a turducken pie. You were given a slice by the same servant who served it to both you and Aegon. Your goblet was filled with your much preferred apple juice, while Aegon's goblet was filled with wine, this time the wine was clear or "white" as they say.

"I'll be honest Aegon, I don't think you would have enjoyed studying even if I were your wife."

"Oh? And what would you think I would've been better in?"

"Hmm let's see, I actually wouldn't mind your partying as much as I thought." This caught his attention as feeds himself the turducken pie.

"Really?"

"Yes." You give him a smile before taking a drink from your goblet.

"My mother and my siblings detest that about me. Why won't it bother you?"

"Aegon even you have your own strengths. It's just that for you those strengths are more social rather than academic. From what I hear you could definitely be the life of the party sometimes."

"And what use would my preference for parties and wine benefit you as Queen had we been married? I already know that you would be the one mainly in charge of the realm, and do all of these politicking shit, but it's the first time I heard of my indulgences as a strength."

"Plenty actually. Tell me Aegon are people more willing to share things in this stuffy obviously political ball or in a real wild party in the streets or in some tavern?" His eyes begin to light up as he begins seeing your point.

"I see."

"If given the right training by a spy master, many people wouldn't mind sharing their secrets to you since we both don't like the politicking we are forced to do. You have the privilege of ignoring it entirely while I have to do it just to make sure I live long enough to be a crone."

His eyes roam around your form for awhile.

"I bet even in the form of a crone you would still be desireable."

"Let's not delude ourselves Aegon. One day even my alleged beauty will one day fade into obscurity and by then you will have more than tired of me."

"If you were my Queen, I wouldn't mind any affairs you would have." This made you raise an eyebrow at him.

"And what brought this up?"

"This whole dispute - it's mainly because your mother had an affair with a member of the Strong family. Don't worry I'm not one to rub salt on very obvious wounds. But frankly I'm bored and tired of it. We both know that I don't want to rule and Aemond is better for the job. Had we been married I would've found a way to ignore the fact that our children are most likely Aemond's rather than mine." This startled you. Is he perhaps referring to the rumors at court that maybe he wasn't the father of Helaena's children? That Aemond possibly may have been the father all along?

"Oh don't act so surprised. I'm not blind to the fact that around here everyone prefers Aemond over me. Even you spend the most time with him out of everyone in this side. For all his intelligence I'm surprised he hasn't found a loophole that would make him be King instead of me. But it seems the only possible way for that to happen is if I sneak away to Essos or commit suicide."

"Is this why you wanted to speak with me alone? Away from the prying ears of everyone else?" He nods as he refills his goblet once again.

"I hear you are seeking a peaceful solution to whatever this is. If you can remove me without killing me from becoming King then I will be forever greatful to you."

"But your mo-"

"My mother doesn't love me Alys. Surely that should be obvious by now. The only reason why I'm still here is because she has connections that prevent me from escaping to Essos. But it's obvious that neither she, my father the King, or even my grandfather the hand - cares about me beyond being their piece in their court games."

The herald suddenly calls everyone to attention.

"Odd, everyone in the guestlist has already arrived. Or so that's what the chief servant told me."

"Well the more the merrier. This will definitely make my mother and my grandfather worried. The meticulous thinkers they are."

The trumpets were sounded. This means that it must be either another diplomat or representative who has chosen to make a late appearance. Ensuring that all if not most of the important houses were already in the ball.

"Announcing his royal majesty, Qoren Martell of Dorne."

"Fuck" You hear Aegon say as he puts his head into his hands before downing another goblet full of wine.

You move to stand as you make your way to have a look at the prince you've only ever heard of.

He was definitely handsome, head full of curly hair, lean in built and though he seemed to be of average height, his confidence in every step made him all the more larger.

"King Viserys."

"Prince Qoren, no one was expecting you. You are of course welcomed here."

He chuckles, though his stance was relaxed.

"It is alright your majesty. If anyone was expecting us then what use would our surprise be? Hehehe. I hope you don't mind if my delegation and I join in on the festivities."

"Well at least this is going to be interesting." Aegon says, as he walks beside you albeit less stable than before.

"Maybe I could secretly negotiate with them to abduct me."

"Based from what I've been told about him he doesn't want anything to do with us or the Seven Kingdoms. I'm more confused as to why he is here." As the dance resumes, you see Qoren Martell making his way to your parents and dining with them.

Just as you are about to enter into the black's side of the room you feel someone grab your wrist.

"I don't know how but it seems you might just get the match you wanted all along." You look up at Aemond's face whom did not bother hiding his disdain.

"I thought you said that he wants nothing to do with dragons?"

"He's not, but it seems your neutrality and your lack of one are the very things that have attracted him to you in the first place."

"No - there must be something else, something hidden that we do not yet know of. From what I've heard of Qoren he doesn't want Dorne involved with the Seven Kingdoms. I don't think he's talking with my parents about a marriage alliance with him."

"Oh it's definitely a marriage alliance. It may or may not be with him, but a marriage alliance is the topic of what they are talking about."

You hear the musicians begin the opening notes to the next dance and it just occurred to you that Aemond has not let go of your hand.

"May I have this dance?"

"Of course." Never letting go he leads you to the dance area as some of the other courtiers begin to gather with their respective dance partners.

"It just occurred to me that this will be our first dance since we were children."

"Hahaha well let's see if you could still keep up with me."

"Shouldn't I be telling you that?" You give him a teasing grin as the two of you get into position. In your periphery you notice both Aegon and both sets of your siblings noticing who you were with. Both were too far for you to see their exact expressions. But given that they even noticed who you were with, Aemond must be trying to send a message to all of them. What that message is - you have yet to find out.

The dance begins with the women slowly twirling around their men. You take Aemond's hand as he now follows your momentum as he twirls you under his arm.

"What were you discussing with my brother?"

"For someone observant you seem to ask plenty of questions that may have been obvious to you."

"You know me, I like to be sure of what I've observed."

The music begins to slowly add a few more beats, a bit faster but not fast enough to allow spontaneity.

"I would prefer to hear what guesses you have with what we were discussing. So far it has simply been me giving you the answers. I wouldn't want to let your skills in observation go to waste."

He makes a twirl to go behind you before he once again twirls you underneath his arm.

"Alright since you insist." He whispers in your ear as he leads you in his arms. Safe yet really confident as he guides you through the other dance partners nearby. Some of whom have decided to dance more advance variations. A lot of it in bad taste since there wasn't enough room for such movements.

"From what I could tell he's telling you of his support for your research endeavors. No doubt Helaena has told him of it since you've visited her yesterday. He's desperate to not be made king and be the political pawn of my elders. He has appealed to your mutual dislike of politiciking."

He quickly moves in the way and placing you in his previous place. He bent slightly towards you as you realized two sets of enthusiastic dance partners had almost accidentally hit both you and him and his quick thinking spared both of you from that fate. You couldn't help but giggle a bit as they hit each other instead while you and Aemond were well out of their way.

"Well, did I get it right?"

You spot an incoming dancer from his blindside and guide him the other way. He picks up quickly and turns the two of you to another area. Using the momentum from that turn he pulls you in closer by grabbing your waist from behind.

"I would say so. Otherwise I wouldn't rely on your observations and just simply tell you. He opened with wondering what may have happened had your mother not rejected the marriage alliance with me."

"Mmmhmm and no doubt his self-pity of not wanting to be the puppet was able to get you to talk with him."

"Perhaps - and maybe I'm just an outsider but from what we've discussed it seems the two of you agree on some important things. He doesn't want to be next to rule and has no interest in staying in this type of environment. There is no question that you would be the better choice if it were up to the two of you."

"If only."

"He does raise a good point though."

"What?"

"That it's startling for someone as hardworking and ambitious as you to have not found a solution by now that benefits both of you. But I have my own guess about that."

You untangle from him now that the space around both of you isn't so suffocating as you continue to dance around each other.

"You either haven't found a solution and have decided to use him as a puppet as well despite your individual desires. But knowing you this is highly unlikely."

"What's the other guess?"

"That you have found a solution that could benefit not just both of you but the entire realm. Your problem is that there are many obstacles that you face in actually doing it. Or there is something or someone else stopping you. Perhaps the love of your mother since Aegon is her main piece to put on the throne and for her to influence affairs through him."

"Don't talk about my mother that way."

"You're proving my point."

"Tsch and you think your mother is so innocent?"

"I am more than aware that she isn't. But I don't let my love for her blind or hinder me to what is possible."

"You say that now as you revel in your neutrality."

"I became neutral because I'm doing my best to find a solution actively. But then again you already knew this."

He nods at you as you spend the rest of the dance in semi-comfortable silence. You two didn't need words that this is more of a mutual compromise rather than either of you conceeding to your debate. It was in your periphery as the two of you continue to dance that other dancers have now retreated to the sides and now it seems you and Aemond were the only ones dancing, yet the music hasn't stopped yet.

Never leaving his gaze for too long the two of you move along with the music and each other. You weren't sure if it's because of how your discussion has ended, or if it's just because now you are aware of how the two of you are well matched for this dance. But this newfound tension with a mix of underlying passion - probably from your discussion - was now evident and only made your movements with each other line up even more.

The music begins to slow as the two of you make one final twirl around each other. Some other pairs would grab each other's waist, raise their right hands and have them touch within the final turn. A part of you want to, but it didn't feel right. There was an invisible barrier still between the two of you that you both feel. Perhaps just as equally as your movements just seem to match each other.

You both use the momentum to go your separate ways before turning back facing each other as the music finally comes to an end.

You make a courtsey as he bows. How funny that even in this your movements match.

Soon you hear slow yet emerging clapping all around you. You're not sure what to really make of it. The sound of clapping could either be mocking or congratulatory, and you're not sure which one what they were doing now.

Still

If anything is in doubt, you fake a smile and begin softly clapping along with them.

"My that was a wonderful dance between the two of you." The King says as he and Qoren make their way to the two of you.

"It seems the rumors are true. Princess Alys is indeed one of the best dancers there are in this realm." Qoren says in his Dornish accent.

"Thank you so much your majesty. I'm unaware of such rumors about me being gossiped about."

"Rumors proven true are just news, my lady." He takes your hand and presses a light kiss on it. You feel his stubble as your skin touches his lips.

"Well of course Aemond here is such a fine dance partner for her. My boy has been well educated in various fields."

"I agree, but from what I hear since I've arrived - he is still unmarried, noh?" He releases your hand as Aemond moves closer to your side, now facing the King and Prince Qoren.

"I am in no rush to enter into such a lifelong commitment Prince Martell."

"Ah you must want to savor the delights of being an unmarried man. I don't blame you. I was extremely invested in worldly pleasures before I married."

Oh so he wasn't here for a marriage alliance with you or anyone. It must be for something else then.

"I did not know you had married your majesty."

"My marriage is a new one, one I just consummated before I made my trip here. I came to talk about our dispute involving the triarchy. Something your stepfather seems to be more than happy to simply take up arms against us. But ah this is a party, we should be enjoying ourselves. Come Princess Alys, there are some people from my delegation that I would like to introduce you to." You take his arm as he introduces you to many members of the Dornish delegation. At the back of your head you feel Aemond's presence close by as he accompanies the King conversing with various members of the delegation.

"Ah and here is Arari, he is not formally a part of my delegation but I did promise him that my delegation would bring him here for his studies. Arari!"

The man named Arari turns and face you. You were surprised at how different he is from all the other Dornish. His hair was was long jet black. He was broader than Ser Ion's build, but based on how he looks so far, he's closer in age to you. Possibly the same age with Aemond. He wasn't ugly. You can see why some people would find him attractive, but you just couldn't find yourself drawn to him the way you were with Aemond and Ser Ion. By the way he makes his way toward you, you could tell he was confident and energetic.

"Arari, this is Princess Alys Velaryon. Eldest Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and the first grandchild of King Viserys."

"A pleasure to meet you Princess." He bows to you as he goes closer to you.

"A pleasure as well dear Ser. I hope you are well with your travels. I know how it isn't always pleasant."

"Why thank you Princess. Based on the party going on my trip coming here has been well worth it."

"May I ask why you aren't considered a part of the delegation?"

"Simple your highness. I'm not Dornish. I'm originally from Saath. When I wanted to be a scholar I made my way to Lorath since I had relatives there. Their resources were not enough so with the recommendation of my teachers I began my journey towards anywhere with a library. In exchange I teach them about Saathi and Lorathen culture."

"Oh you have the same profession as Ser Ion as a travelling scholar. Ser Ion works the same way but his field is on Valyrian culture and what remains of it till this day."

"Well I hope to meet him soon once I am able to settle down here."

"Forgive me for my lack of manners but I didn't know that many places valued travelling scholars."

"Oh you would be surprised Princess. After all knowledge is one of the most important tools a person could have. Without the right knowledge, even a soldier could suffer greatly."

"Then he is a mere foot soldier and not a well-trained one." You hear Aemond says as he goes to your side. Placing you in his right side.

"Also true, his highness certainly knows what makes the difference between a soldier and a commander."

"And this is venturing into something that I lack any knowledge of. I hope you enjoy the party." You make a small courtsey towards him.

"Thank you for the dance Prince Aemond." You give him a small nod as he gives you one in return. His gaze reassuring as you retire for the evening. You'll need some time to reflect on the events that happened tonight.

That night a rather strange dream comes to you.

You awaken facing a cluttered writing desk. This time it felt different. Whereas before it seemed like you were acting and travelling knowing that it is your dream, this felt more like you were reenacting what already has been done. More like a memory.

But weren't memories supposed to be recalling the past? Why did this feel like a memory when you were more than sure that you have not seen these things before?

You stretch your body as you step out of your bed and you hear music playing from beyond what appeared to be your bedroom. You feel yourself be delighted and your body eagerly goes to the source of the music.

As the sun rises in what appeared to be a living space. Just out of reach from the emerging ray of sunrise was a somewhat familiar figure. The figure was holding what appeared to be a fiddle or a similar instrument to it. But you couldn't pick out why.

"I hope you've drunk your sun medicine before coming here." You feel yourself say. You are then reminded that this somehow feels like a memory playing itself in your dreams.

"Hahaha, I wouldn't have played my violin if I hadn't. Shall I prove it to you?" That voice. Was it...?

"No need darling. I trust you. I always find myself delighted when I hear you play the Angel of Music instrumental." Your body feels joy as the figure finally faces you in the light.

Ser Ion was there in an expression of joy, love, and sensitivity towards you.

Or rather he looks like Ser Ion.

He definitely didn't act like him.

Ser Ion had an air of loneliness despite being surrounded by many people. There was an impatience in him which turned to reluctant patience when he began helping you with your powers. He was always enthusiastic about sharing Valyrian culture and any discourse surrounding it. Almost as if he was urgently trying to ensure that many people who would listen to him knew.

Whomever this figure was. Whomever he was that shared his form and voice was softer yet there was an underlying strength to him. He was confident in playing for you that even if he seemed to be both a stranger and yet familiar to you.

The tune he played with the object called the violin was undoubtedly beautiful. Your heart couldn't help but soar and swell with love and delight.

When he finished he goes toward you.

"This is just my first gift to you for today."

"You're making me blush."

"I like it when you blush."

"Now I'm concerned that I haven't prepared anything to give you today."

"You don't have to. You being in my life is a gift in itself."

He comes closer to you and you feel yourself leaning in towards him as your foreheads touch as he softly holds you closer to him.

"Happy Anniversary, wife."

You feel shock as your body reaches up to kiss him.

And then everything shifted after you felt your lips touch.

This time it was much more vague than the previous scene. Again it felt like a memory rather than an abstract dream.

This time you find yourself just removing your hands from a man shackled. Stepping more out of the way it turns out the man was shackled by both hands and feet by vines restraining him.

"Please, just kill me!"

"This is my punishment to you, for what you have done." You feel yourself say as you get a better look at the man still restrained by the vines. He was of average built, his unruly brown hair and full unkempt beard gave the impression that he was dirty. You felt yourself feel like you have given a relatively fair punishment.

"Fuck you! What makes me different than the vampires and the zombies? Why punish those who would like to see what Frankenstein sees?"

"You have clearly not finished the entire book. But no matter once the vines let you go, you can find out the entire story for yourself as you suffer."

You turn towards what appeared to be the exit from wherever you were.

"And if you think Vampires and Zombies are the same then you are gravely mistaken. One group does not violate my laws, the other does. You're a smart man, I'll let you figure that out on your own."

You make your exit as the man continues to curse you.

Then you wake up.

What a bizzare dream. Or rather it seems more like memories. But memories of what? You haven't been married yet and you don't recall punishing anyone of anything that was worse than death.

"Your instincts are right child. They are indeed memories. They are memories of your soul before this lifetime." The Prophetess Agnes says after she hears your consultation about your dreams.

"Is there a reason why they are invading my dreams?"

"Yes, I cannot tell you the full reason why. That would only be detrimental to you."

"It's fine, what can you tell me?"

"For now, as far as your dreams are concerned: Accept that you do not yet know the full meaning behind why they are occurring now. But once you recall everything, you will have an epiphany amidst a dire situation."

"Dire situation? It's the upcoming civil war isn't it." She gives you a sad smile.

"I cannot say child, but the seeds of such situation...they are already planted. What I can tell you is to be cautious, for there are those targetting you. But if you are clever you may use it to your advantage."

"...Can I not convince you to be a little bit more clearer?"

"My apologies child. But that is as clear as I can tell you without sacrificing your growth."

You nod as you give her a pouch of coins. She quickly checked it before she nods and gives you a reassuring smile. You stand as the Priestess Kara enters the room with a young man. More on the lanky side with his hair shortened as much as possible. He would have been mistaken for being bald had it not been for his seemingly black hairline and black area on his head.

"Oh Princess Alys, I would like to introduce you to one of our acolytes who will spend some months here. This is Kormy, I believe you two are the same age. Kormy this is Princess Alys Velaryon, eldest child of the Princess Rhaenyra and older twin sister of Prince Jacearys Velaryon."

"Hello your highness, I am Kormy from Braavos. I went to Asshai to be more devoted to the Red God. I hope I used the right greeting for you Princess."

"Oh don't worry I'm fine with simply 'My lady' Ser Kormy. It's my mother, my stepfather Prince Daemon, Prince Aegon, Prince Aemond, Princess Helaena, and Prince Daeron who should be addressed as 'Your Highness'. Although I can tell you right now that my parents wouldn't mind outside of formal settings."

You give a slight courtsey after he bows before you.

"It will be his name day in a few days Princess. We will be having a modest gathering for him."

"Priestess Kara - "

"He has been wondering if you would be able to attend."

"You don't have to my lady." He blushes in embarassment as Priestess Kara laughs.

"Where will it be?"

"Just here among us in the room next door. It wouldn't be as grand as any balls that are organized. But there will be good food and maybe some music."

You smile at him, your expression is reassuring.

"I'll do my best to make it Ser Kormy. I hope nothing will hinder me from attending."

"Don't worry acolyte, the Princess will be there." The Prophetess Agnes says with a lighthearted tone before she and Priestess Kara laugh and Ser Kormy's face became even redder.

"I'll see you in a few days for your name day celebration, Ser Kormy. Just be sure to send someone to remind me."

"Yes, thank you so much Princess." His boyish delight touched your heart as you exited the room. In the room to your left, Helaena also exits from what presumably was a session with the mystic Reyna.

"Oh Alys what a delight to see you again. I need your help." She grabs your hand as the two of you walk side by side moving towards her quarters.

"Alright but with what?"

"I need your help with dancing."

"Dancing? Helaena you know all the formal dances to these balls."

"Just because I know them doesn't mean I'm graceful like you are. In the last ball I only danced with Aemond and a few other familiar faces."

"What's wrong with that? You and Aemond seem to be having a good time while I had to struggle with Tyland Lannister wanting to only embrace me and not follow the steps-"

"But you made it so beautiful even in spite your struggles."

You both reached her quarters and her children were in a corner playing with their toys and with their nurses.

"Alys come play with us!"

"Tell us more stories please!"

"Oh I'm sorry my loves. But I need her help more."

"Don't worry I'll just be here with your mother. And if you're good, maybe I'll tell you a story again."

With them temporarily sated you and Helaena sit on her couch.

"I want to be able to dance like you. You are so stunning and magnetic when you dance. It's no wonder why both Aegon and Aemond want to dance with you." You raise an eyebrow at that.

"This is the first time that I've heard of this."

"You can't be serious."

"I know I'm one of the better dancers among my siblings, but that was for informal spontaneous dances. I still don't know if I'm any good in any of these formal dances."

"Have you really not noticed how many were watching you and Aemond in the last ball before you retired? They were entranced by how well you two moved."

"I think they were mainly watching Aemond."

"No, it was you they were definitely watching. It was a mix of envy for Aemond and desire for you."

"Well it was hard to notice those things while dancing and trying not to accidentally hit someone dancing close by. A part of me was worried that I was too stiff since I've only just learned the dances. But then I just let myself move with Aemond and with the music."

"But see you are a really good dancer. Please teach me Alys."

"Why do you want to learn so badly? I have no experience in teaching this."

"Because I also want to help." She takes both of your hands in hers.

"I know I'm rather unusual among our family but I don't think I would do any good just dancing with the people I know. I'm not good in politicking, but if dancing with the right person would help things even just a little bit, then I would really like to improve. Especially since Aegon doesn't really care about mine or our children's safety. I know you don't how to teach what must come naturally for you but even then maybe just a little bit of insight is enough. It's definitely better than nothing."

You could see the desperation in her eyes, and she did have a point. It was one thing for her to be mainly concerned for their children but since Aegon just cared about drinking and sleeping around, she needed to find as much people who are willing to support her and the children. If this civil war was not prevented then Aemond, Daeron and other people who may support her may die or be otherwise unavailable to help her.

"Alright, I'll do my best to help. But I'm not even sure if I'm a good teacher."

"Oh thank you so much Alys!"

You two embrace just as you hear her chamber doors open.

"Helaena dear - oh I wasn't expecting you had a ... visitor." Queen Alicent says as she looks at you with suspicion. Beside her was a man you haven't seen before.

"I was just asking Alys for some help mother."

"On what matters?"

"Just to help improve on my dancing that's all."

"I see, well it's time for your religious studies Helaena."

"With all due respect, your grace. I think it's wonderful if both of them would be involved. Aemond is unavailable and the Princess Helaena does better with at least one other person she knows." The middle-aged man says as his eyes scan your body.

"Oh Alys this is Ser Callan Kurztos, one of my teachers for religious studies under the faith."

"Ser Kurztos? The magistrate in King's Landing?"

"One of many. You have been adjusting to life here in the capital?"

"Honestly speaking Ser Kurztos, I feel I am still adjusting and haven't really settled quite yet."

"I find that hard to believe. I saw you and your siblings dance in a street party quite recently."

"Yes that was quite enjoyable dear Ser. But that was just a casual party, not the grind of daily life."

"Alys would you like to join us? I'd be really pleased if you could." As much as you would want to stay with Helaena, the tension in the room was suffocating. Queen Alicent was tense with you and Ser Callan Kurztos was staring at you strangely and in a way that made you feel uncomfortable.

"As much as I would like to, I have a prior engagement that I have to take care of. I'll see you around Helaena. Good day your grace, Ser Kurztos."

You make a courtsey to each of them before hastening to exit the room. Once you were outside you take a large breath. You still were not completely sure how Queen Alicent saw you. She was mad at your brothers and your mother, certainly. But you cannot read what she thinks of you.

However if anything these past few days taught you, it was better to be reasonably safe. And it seems it was safer to presume that you were included in the most hated people on her list. After all for all you know, she had someone in mind for Aemond. Probably a daughter of Borros Baratheon if not a lady of either the Lannisters or the Tyrells. Your presence around Aemond may make him more reluctant to have a marriage alliance with whomever she needs.

Your assurances that Aemond was too duty bound to not fulfill his duties to his house would fall on deaf ears.

"Need a time of contemplation?" You hear a voice which startled you from your thoughts as you were walking by the garden.

You look up as you see Arari pass by holding a bunch of books by his hands.

"Oh good day Ser Arari. I was just taking in some air. The past hours have been quite eventful for me."

"It looks like you need some rest Princess. Maybe I should escort you to your room."

"Thank you Ser Arari, but don't you need to go back to your studies?"

"Not to worry, I am quite used to the weight of books on my hands. Come you should rest."

"While escorting me, maybe you could enlighten me about Saathi and Lorethan culture. As much as the library here is quite extensive, the only thing available here about Saath is that it survived the doom of Valyria and that it used to be a part of the Kingdom of Saar."

"Are you sure you wouldn't just fall asleep on the way to your room?" You both chuckle. Even you can't deny how drained you feel.

"Start with the things people get wrong then. Maybe I'll absorb it as I sleep."

"Very well then." He then tells you tales of Saathi culture and how they the Tagaez Fen or the Taller men survived the doom of Valyria. Many of which were just more detailed accounts of what you've read.

"Since coming to Dorne I was amused by the beliefs of the Ironborn."

"You mean their practices surrounding the Drowned God?"

"Yes, but I'm referring to how they paint his rival as a Storm God. To them he is the evil that must be pushed back. But to us the Saathi and in some parts of Loreth, our main deity is the Storm God. Or rather we refer to him as the God of the Heavens. Responsible for either bringing storms or good weather. What else could be more unpredictable than when a lightning appears from the sky?"

"You have a point Ser Arari. I guess I've been surrounded by the idea that it is fire that is the most powerful." He chuckles as you both pass by the turn which would ultimately lead to your room. The sun was setting and the sky was turning dark. There was not much people around because everyone is rushing to a place to have dinner.

"Thank you again Ser A-AAhchoo!" To your horror some sparks flew out of your nose and mouth. You managed to redirect it away from Ser Arari, but there was no denying that he had definitely seen the sparks exit from you.

"Princess? Are you-"

"I'm fine it's just a-aaahhchoo!" Oh no. It was fortunate that he was able to go out of his way to dodge the sparks.

"You have powers Princess?"

"Please don't tell anyone. Is it alright if we could talk about it tomorrow?"

"Very well. Where shall we meet?"

"Well I usually meet with another scholar, Ser Ion, in the library after I visit my grandfather in the morning. He also knows of my hidden talents. Please don't speak of this to anyone."

"You have my word Princess. I will see you tomorrow."

Tomorrow came after a dreamless night. You must be so worried that it had concerned Aemond enough as he escorts you to the library after giving the King his daily pain relief.

"Alys what happened?"

"Why do you think something happened?"

"Because by now you would usually be talking about your strange dreams or any observations about court. Instead you are rather silent. And I'm left to be the one to extract from you." He guides you toward a semi-private alcolve that allowed the two of an adequate amount of privacy while being public enough not to give anyone any illicit ideas of what the two of you were up to.

"Come on, what is it?" After making sure that no one has seen the two of you or is possibly eavesdrop on your conversation, you step closer to him to ensure that he could hear your whispers.

"Yesterday, Ser Arari was escorting me to my room. I sneezed in front of him and sparks flew out." You meet his gaze as you don't bother hiding how worried you were.

"I asked him not to tell anyone, maybe he has, maybe he didn't but I am worried about more people knowing -"

"Should I accompany you then?"

"No, it's already worrisome to me that even you and Ser Ion knows about this. Ser Arari is practically a stranger and I don't know what he wants from me."

"Then allow me to join you in whatever meeting the two of you have -"

"That's not good for you though."

"How?"

"When I visited Helaena yesterday your mother was staring at me with suspicion just because she asked me for help with her dancing. I bet it's because you've been spending more time with me than with other possible wives."

"That's not an issue at all. Daeron is still unmarried and she doesn't bother him. It may just be surprise that you've been visiting Helaena. Besides if she wanted a marriage alliance through me, she would be asking me to have meals with the family members here. Not fly to wherever my potential wife may be."

"Well...if you're sure."

"Alys I wouldn't be offering if I knew it would compromise any of my selfish interests. Allow me to help you with this." He brushes a hand against your cheek. It was gentle, meant to be reassuring. But from his gaze you could tell that he wanted to be with you facing whatever problem this may face for you.

"Are you sure you won't miss your training?"

"I think it's about time I give my sparring partners a rest. Beside it's good for them to always be waiting on me. Keeps them in check."

"You sadist."

"You can't deny it's effective...well? What's your call?" You take a breath before relenting.

"Very well - but I'm the one going to take charge."

"Isn't that what you already do?"

You both chuckle and taking his arm you make his way to the library.

At the entrance of the library it turns out Sers Arari and Ion had been talking for awhile.

"Princess Alys you've arrived, and good day to you too your highness."

"You've both been talking while waiting for me?"

"Indeed my lady, perhaps we should continue our discussion inside-"

"I agree, let's finally settle any problems you have." Aemond says as he follows you inside. Giving the librarian one glance and the librarian directed your group towards a table separated from the main library where you may freely talk without interrupting other readers.

"Forgive me lady Alys, but may I ask why his highness is joining us over a potentially sensitive matter?"

"He knows, Ser Ion."

"I'm here to make sure whatever happens is for her benefit. Especially when a stranger has witnessed her ... hidden talents."

You felt his gaze staring them down from your periphery.

"No need to worry Princess. As a matter of fact I think I may be able to help with the ... sparkling problem."

"May I ask how Ser Arari?"

"You see Princess, sparks are just the smaller version of lightning. And my people, especially the ones who worship the God of the Heavens are known for magical practices of the lightning kind."

"Lightning? I'm sorry Ser Arari but I have problems believing that another travelling scholar just so happened to be able to help me with this."

Ser Arari places a hand facing upwards with the other hand hovering just above it.

And then a small bolt of lightning passed from one hand to the next. The bolt then travelled again in the opposite direction. And soon a steady stream of lightning was trapped in the confines of his hand.

"As you can see my Princess, I know how to manage this kind of power. Would you like me to teach you?"

The discussion afterwards was thankfully more straightforward. You may not entirely trust Ser Arari but if anything were to happen to you, at the very least Aemond would know if anything were to happen.

"I'm going to see you both tomorrow night." The King says as you finish placing energy in his blood circulation.

"Couldn't we move it to the evening after father? Alys has a party tonight and she might be too exhausted from it." You could hear the teasing underneath the sarcasm. His expression also belied his true intentions.

"It's just a modest name day dinner Aemond. I might even be able to retire early."

"I doubt that, especially with the name day boy being one of your admirers."

"Oh as if you don't have admirers of your own! You must be aware of the ladies swooning whenever you pass by."

He smirks at you as you hear the King chuckle.

"Well give my blessings to the name day boy Alys. Were I more able I would've made a visit too."

"Don't push yourself grandfather, besides I'm sure you would rather ponder the options of Aemond's potential wife to be."

"At this point my dear Alys, I'm would even accept someone from Dorne to be his wife."

"Let's not be hasty now father."

"Aemond, I'm not getting any younger, I could die any day now. I just don't want you to be alone for the rest of your life. Oh the maesters have arrived."

As soon as you and Aemond exit the chambers you make your way to the courtyard for practicing your powers.

"Good luck with your combat training Aemond."

"Good luck with you too Alys. One day you'll have to allow me to watch you."

"Maybe when I'm no longer a beginner and at risk of accidentally killing you."

"Then how come Ser Ion is still alive?"

"Geros Ilas Aemond." He chuckles as you turn towards the courtyard to begin your training.

Since it was just your first day, Ser Arari mainly lectured on how Saathi magic users controlled lightning. Lightning tends to accompany fluids such as the rain and in your case, your nose and your mouth.

Afterwards you begin your fire exercises with Ser Ion. This time you were to light up a room full of torches.

You sadly were only able to light up only half of them.

"Make sure you don't run out of breath. Even dragons need air to make fire."

"Had I known it would be this exhausting I might have skipped training today."

"Your party is still later in the evening."

"Ser Ion maybe she should be finished early. Women have grander preparations for social gatherings than we do."

"And I've been doing these fire exercises for hours now." Ser Ion looks at you with frustration, but relents after seeing how exhausted you are.

You take a small nap in order to regain your energy. Telling your handmaiden that if it's time to dress she should awaken you.

As you fell into deep sleep. You find yourself dreaming once again.

This time you found yourself watching a peculiar scene. A part of this feels familiar in a way that you may have watched a performance of this sometime before.

An old man whom you don't recognize, dressed in black robes began singing.

🎵"Beata Maria, you know I am a righteous man Of my virtue I am justly proud (et tibit pater)"🎵

He then moves toward the big fireplace, his voice getting louder more declaratory.

🎵"Beata Maria, you know I'm so much purer than The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd (quia peccavi nimis)"🎵

You don't know how you know but it was at this moment onwards that you knew this was a nightmare. You wish you could look away but you can't.

🎵"Then tell me, Maria, why I see her dancing there? Why her smoldering eyes still scorch my soul? (cogitatione) I feel her, I see her The sun caught in her brunette hair Is blazing in me out of all control (verb o et opere)

Like fire Hellfire This fire in my skin"🎵

He takes out a translucent scarf and begins caressing it on his face. And you felt violated, you want to runaway but you were trapped watching him.

🎵"This burning desire Is turning me to sin"🎵

A mass of red hooded figures emerge around you. Singing in a language that seems familiar but you couldn't quite recall right now.

🎵"It's not my fault (mea culpa) I'm not to blame (mea culpa) It is the bastard girl the witch who sent this flame (mea maxima culpa) It's not my fault (mea culpa) If in God's plan (mea culpa) He made the Devil so much stronger than a man (mea maxima culpa)"🎵

They return to the fire, and to your horror you notice a figure that vaguely resembles you. Alluring the old man to embrace her while dancing around.

🎵"Protect me, Maria Don't let this siren cast her spell Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone Destroy Alys Velaryon And let her taste the fires of hell Or else let her be mine and mine alone"🎵

You really wish you could escape as he becomes even more manic. But anything you try to do you feel suffocated, as if you really were on a burning pyre struggling to breathe.

🎵"Hellfire Darkfire Now bastard, it's your turn Choose me or your pyre Be mine or you will burn"🎵

You feel yourself crying out tears as you try to scream out your pain. But your voice doesn't emerge. No one can hear you as the old man leans against the wall as the shadows of the hooded figures grow.

🎵"Kyrie eleison God have mercy on her Kyrie eleison God have mercy on me Kyrie eleison But she will be mine Or she will burn"🎵

Your eyes open quickly with you breathing heavily.

Of all the nightmares to have before a name day celebration it had to be this one. You couldn't help but feel the tears fall from your eyes as you feel violated. Who was that man lusting after you? You don't even remember him let alone what you've done to cause him to react this way.

"Are you alright my lady?" The acolyte Ser Kormy asks as he finds you staring intently at the fire place. Your goblet of ale still unfinished.

"Oh Ser Kormy, I'm sorry if I seem lightheaded in your name day celebration."

"It is no problem my lady, I was actually frightened you wouldn't appear. Tell me what is troubling you." His eyes reminded you of the expression that Luce would sometimes give you when he knew something was troubling you. It was a mix of the eyes of a puppy dog and a baby dragon.

"I wouldn't want to damper your party."

"The party is slowing down now. I think we can afford to discuss anything at this point."

You would prefer it if you would discuss this with one of the Holy women, but all three have retired for the evening and for their individual rituals.

Since he is so willing, you supposed there shouldn't be any harm sharing this with Ser Kormy. He was an acolyte after all and maybe it was a nightmare just scaring you more than it should.

"Earlier, while I was napping, I had a bizarre nightmare. I don't know why it's still scaring me now that I am awake." His expression was contemplative as he offers you his arm.

"Come with me, I may know something to help clarify your nightmare."

"But you can't leave your own party." You exclaim.

"I can, especially if it's to help someone in need. Besides more people are retiring already." It was then that you looked at your surroundings and you see and hear people bidding each other good evening and that they are now going to retire for the night.

He leads you to a room near the three rooms mainly used by the Holy women. In the room there was a rather large table with a large candelabra at the center of it. You take a seat opposite each other as he puts an unlit candle in between the two of you.

"The flames of this candelabra was blessed according to the traditions of R'hllor. In these flames comes enlightenment and a clarification of truth. We can use these flames to help clarify why you had that nightmare and what does it mean."

"How are we going to do that?"

"You've seen Priestess Kara do it. I'll be acting as a medium while you ask questions. Priestess Kara could do it without the candles, but I still need to rely on them." You feel yourself be a little bit disturbed. It must have showed on your face because he's immediately concerned.

"Oh I'm sorry my lady, I should've asked if you were comfortable with this first."

"It's fine but...does this mean you're going to have multiple voices?"

"Maybe, I know I have two voices coming out of me. But sometimes it could be more than that. Don't worry the voices are benign, it's just to show that we really are tools for the divine more than anything. That is if you're still willing to try."

Some parts of you wanted to turn around and run away. But you also couldn't lose this chance to know about what your nightmare could mean.

"I'm ready."

He nods and then focuses on the fire in between the two of you. After some time his pupils vanished and his mouth began speaking in a voice drastically lower than his speaking voice. His normal voice was now there just to remind you of the impossibility of an ordinary person not within the R'hllor faith to have this ability.

"You come here seeking answers because of your nightmare. Ask your questions truth seeker."

"Thank you. First I would like to know why I had such nightmare."

"You were given the nightmare by someone who loves you."

This is puzzling.

"Loves me? Why would someone send something so traumatizing if they loved me?"

"It's one of the few ways he could warn you about what's to come without risking too much of what will happen."

"So he sends a nightmare?"

"How else would you remember it once you've awaken? Plenty of times dreams are forgotten at the moment of waking."

Hmm he had a point.

"Then may I ask, what was it trying to warn me of? I just feel violated, horrified, and suffocated by an old man lusting after a figure of me emerging from the fire."

"Then you have recieved the warning truth seeker. There are many around you who lust after you, and who would not mind it if you were to be tortured or persecuted if you rejected them. You will feel the trauma you are feeling now. Which is why you must prepare yourself."

"Prepare myself? How? Why didn't this someone - whomever he is - just tell me the names of those who would wish to harm me?"

"Simple, he and many others who love you cannot interfere with the free will of these people. There is still a chance that they may not act on it, and there is a chance that they will chase after you. All they can do is send you an unforgettable warning to take care, find your own strength, to not give up on your beliefs...and most importantly to have hope."

"Hope?"

"Yes, truth seeker. Hope. Never give up the hope that your actions have made an impact, even if it doesn't seem like it. Have hope that some tragedies are necessary to prepare you for the future."

As you lay down in your bed that evening you begin to recall what the Priestess Kara had told you when she arrived.

"Speaking of hope...When you are in doubt of what to do or where your journey is headed Princess Alys, just remember the words of your father. The words that allowed him to defeat the morningstar."

From what your mother and those around both of your fathers have said, they too were also puzzled because neither Sers Leanor Velaryon nor Harwin Stong had an opponent whose moniker was "The morningstar" or anything similar in meaning. Neither did it refer to any weapons any of their opponents wielded. And with a name like "Morningstar" it's bound to have some sort of fame.

But what did this have to do with hope?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you so much for reading, I'll be back in writing gear after Dec. 17. Part 5 starts with the infamous last supper scene but this time with Alys in between Aegon and Jace. Directly across King Viserys.

Some other notes:

1.) I know the made up names are strange and seemingly unnatural. There is a purpose for that (and also because I just pormanteau'd some names) later in the story when the drama really happens;

2.) The angel of music instrumental that the Ser Ion look alike from her past life memories (I can't say his name yet) is this one. This is in honor of my late grandfather who passed away in May of this year. But I also genuinely love Phantom of the Opera and the musical will forever hold a place in my heart;

3.) Hellfire is composed by Alan Menken and performed by Tony Jay with some lyrics modified to fit the story (btw check out Hellfire in Latin or in an Epic Orchestra version);

4.) It's only now that I realized that I have given her a moment with each of the three siblings (since Daeron is not yet in the show), Aemond is a given of course but I actually wasn't expecting to write a moment with Aegon and Helaena (but that's where the writing muse lead me to);

5.) This is on the "filler" episode side because I need to introduce many of the main suitors players as much as possible. You'll see why later (Hint: If you know what famous story the amphora in my Spoilers with no context post is from, then you already know why there are many suitors).

#aemond targaryen #aemond fic #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #Aemond one eye #House of the dragon #Hotd #The sandman #Zaldrizo Lentor #Crossover fanfiction #Aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #Aemond x Alys Velaryon #Hotd fanfiction #Sandman fanfiction

[echos-muses]

ASoIaF OCs

HotD

Rayanna Mormont (Helaena’s lady-in-waiting)

Maegelle Velaryon (product of that one time Criston and Rhaenyra fucked)

Tamora Stark (Cregan’s older sister)

Argella Baratheon (younger sister of Borros, definitely the reason their mother died)

Selyse Hightower (POV: Otto remarried soon after Vizzy T cradle robbed Alicent and this is his only child from the new marriage)

Daeva Celtigar (Bartimos Celtigar’s daughter, younger than Clement but older than Arthor)

GoT

Clea Greyjoy (Theon’s older sister, Asha/Yara’s younger sister)

Rowena Stark (Robb’s twin sister)

Theia Velaryon (The last Velaryon daughter; after Robert’s rebellion, House Velaryon largely died off due to their support of House Targaryen)

Devana Lannister (Tygett Lannister’s daughter, Tywin’s niece)

Cressida Tyrell (Margaery’s younger sister. What if she married Tommen instead?

Bellenora Baratheon (Younger sister of Robert, Stannis, and Renly)

#house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #got #echo’s ocs #kristen stewart #anya chalotra #caitlin stasey #bia arantes #florence pugh #morfydd clark #alycia debnam carey #anna popplewell #jessica parker kennedy #tamsin egerton #daisy ridley #adelaide kane

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 6: I Am Missing You To Death]

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

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, a Wolfman update, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), dragons, murder, suicide, say hello to the Crab Fam! 🥰🦀

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 9k (she chonky!).

Link to chapter list: HERE.

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

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

There’s fire on the table, ice in your blood. Alicent and Helaena are prisoners in their rooms, and tomorrow Otto will be beheaded in the Dragonpit, but you are here in the Great Hall surrounded by candles, cider and beer and wine, rare roast boar sweating blood like rubies, raucous celebration.

Your father and Clement are laughing with Medrick Manderly, Lorent Marbrand, Luthor Largent, other men of Rhaenyra’s council; when they toast their wine, it sloshes carelessly out of the glass goblets. Corlys Velaryon—whose navy helped secure the city—is pensive and withdrawn, saying very little. At the center of the high table, the woman who calls herself queen is manic: color in her cheeks, light in her eyes, but not a warm life-giving glow, a hollow glint like the flash of coins or swords or moonlight. She is receiving a litany of congratulations for her victory from the lords of loyal houses: Blackwood, Bar Emmon, Costayne, Tully, Frey, Dustin, Cerwyn, Grimm. Frequently and unmistakably, Rhaenyra glances across the hall to where Daemon is conspiring with her military commanders, his back to the wall and arms crossed and face daunting yet distracted somehow, reminding you very much of Aemond. He does not look at his wife. He looks elsewhere, into the future, into the past, into the northwest where Nettles and Baela are waiting for him to return to the cursed corridors of Harrenhal.

“Please eat something,” Everett says quietly. He is carving off the least-bloody pieces of roast boar and laying them on your plate, where they remain untouched. He doesn’t have much to talk about with the other men as long as the topic of conversation hinges on combat. He knows books, not blades. Everett can walk, though only slowly and with great difficulty; he does not ride horses, he does not fight, he does not have a wife and in all likelihood never will. He reads and he watches, sharp eyes like a hawk’s.

“I’m alright,” you reply with effort that feels like lifting iron, stones, the dead weight of a man.

“You’re not,” Everett says, pained.

“Cregan Stark is a good man!” your father is telling his compatriots. He has grey hair and a crafty grin and speaks with dramatic sweeps of his arms. “When he heard of my daughter’s tribulations, borne with such courage, such resilience, he assured me that his intentions to wed her were unchanged. He pledged to forgive her any transgressions suffered at the hands of the Usurper.”

“A better husband than any of us!” Clement trumpets, toasting his wine glass with anyone who will accommodate him. Clement does have a wife—and two sons so far, the infant heirs of House Celtigar—but he spends far more time writing to Lord Stark than his family back on Claw Isle. “Gallant! Merciful! The most clever and civilized Northerner to ever live!”

“Hear hear!” his audience answers spiritedly, though Everett only frowns.

“And soon Cregan will leave Winterfell,” your father continues. Rhaenyra is now listening attentively. “He will finish rallying and fortifying his men, and then march south to crush the last vestiges of this infernal, traitorous uprising!”

Resounding cheers, fists drummed against the table. Clement picks up where your father left off: “Already Roddy the Ruin and his Winter Wolves slaughtered 2,000 Lannister men at the Fishfeed. Can you imagine the carnage when Cregan arrives with his host of young, fresh, able-bodied warriors?! We will eviscerate the Kingmaker! We will avenge Rhaenys, Lucerys and Jacaerys! And when we find the Usurper, when we drag him out of whatever hovel he’s crawled into on his belly like a snake, we will cut him open to see if his guts are green as well!”

As men roar all around you—men who have killed, men who are starving to do it again—you stare down at the reflection in your wine, a vacant face that barely resembles yours. You cannot write to Aegon. He cannot write to you. Where and how he is will remain a mystery until you meet again…or until the Blacks uncover his fate. In your mind, he is both alive and dead; he is sick, he is well, he is suffering, he is finding solace in another woman’s bed, he is lying broken on the side of the road, he is sailing under the cover of darkness into Dragonstone on a borrowed ship, he is drunk, he is sober, he is burning up with fever, his is reunited with Sunfyre, he is in desperate need of you, he has forgotten you completely.

“I bet he’s at Storm’s End!” Medrick Manderly bellows, motioning with a turkey leg as if it’s a dagger. “We should send assassins to slay him!”

“No, no, the Reach!” Luthor Largent counters. “He’s probably on his way to meet his brother Daeron there!”

Theories are lobbed back and forth like the arrows of archers, none of them right. No one asks you. No one has asked about the abuse you supposedly endured either. It was taken for granted as truth; what else could anyone expect from a captor as notoriously depraved and insatiable as the Usurper? Your melancholic demeanor is proof enough. Inquiry beyond that would be impolite. And then Rhaenyra says, startling you: “Is there any chance he’s gone to Dragonstone?”

“He cannot be there, Your Grace,” your father assures her. “It is impossible to take Dragonstone without there being signs, ships in the sea and smoke from the kitchens and the like. We would have heard from the lords of the Crownlands who reside near the island.”

Unless they have silently abandoned Rhaenyra’s cause. Unless Aegon and Larys have won them over. You have to protect him. You have to distract the side you once called your own. You twist the dragon ring on your left hand, gold wings and jade eyes. No one asks about that either; sometimes you think they don’t really see you at all. You say softly: “He spoke often of Dorne.”

“Dorne?” your father muses, stroking his short beard.

“Of course he did,” Clement says. “Degenerates are quite at home there.”

Medrick Manderly is muttering: “We’ll never find him if he gets past the Marches…”

Rhaenyra gazes at her husband again, a hollow, vulnerable sort of desperation, a plea that echoes against stone walls. He knocks back the last of his wine, turns his back on her, and strides out of the Great Hall. Rhaenyra’s pale eyes—a treacherous, oceanic sort of blue like Aegon’s—are glossy with despair. You’ve crossed paths with her before, of course, usually from a distance; but you are fascinated by how much she has changed. With each person she loses—King Viserys, infant Visenya, Luke, Jace—another piece of her is cut away like a man being flayed. The so-called queen is more erratic, more cold. She has had her remaining children brought to King’s Landing: Joffrey, Aegon the Younger, Viserys who is a sickly and disengaged toddler, his eyes and nose always running. They are tucked safely away in their rooms currently. They are glorified prisoners, just like you; they have no role in shaping the world they will one day inherit.

“My lady?” Autumn says, tapping your shoulder. The Blacks know her only as a handmaiden who assisted you in escaping the clutches of the Usurper when he fled King’s Landing. They have no idea who might have fathered the child in her rounded belly. It would not be safe for them to know. Before her time comes to deliver, Autumn will have to go someplace where the Blacks will be unaware if her son or daughter has the silvery hair of a Targaryen. You promised her a new home, but you cannot give it to her yet; nothing you own is truly yours, and Aegon left too suddenly to gift her property on your behalf. Autumn, curiously, does not seem to be in any hurry to leave you.

“I’m alright,” you say again, another leaden lie. The men are now discussing how the Usurper should be executed once they’ve found him: beheaded, hanged drawn and quartered, fed to a dragon, burned alive, some combination thereof. Medrick Manderly is suggesting that they have him flayed alive. When Cregan Stark arrives at last, surely there will be Boltons in his retinue.

“You are exhausted,” Autumn announces, loudly enough for the others to overhear. “You have been through so much. Please, my lady. Allow me to escort you back to your rooms.”

“Will you, please?” Everett asks Autumn. His eyes flick to hers, his fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll check on her before I retire for the evening.”

Autumn offers you her hand. This is a kindness, an escape. You take it and rise from the table.

“My daughter!” Bartimos Celtigar laments, gesturing to you. His spectators, men rabid with bloodlust, nod and murmur sympathetically, like it is almost something too distasteful to speak of. Murder can be discussed openly, torture, weapons, war; but the violence women collect and carry in their bones? Those are details best left unsaid. Perhaps it strikes too near to their own deeds, if they dared to think hard on them. Your father approaches and kisses you twice, once on each cheek. Rhaenyra drinks her wine and stares blankly at the place where Daemon had stood. “So wronged, so mistreated, and yet she is still with us. She will rise again. She has a glorious future ahead of her. We all do. All of us who serve Rhaenyra, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. To the words of my house: Perpetual Resurrection!”

The men lift their cups and shout, none more deafeningly than Clement: “Perpetual Resurrection!” Everett mouths it quietly to himself. Corlys Velaryon says nothing. Rhaenyra holds her head high, sorrowful but defiant. You retreat from the Great Hall with Autumn, the hem of your gown flowing out behind you, black like the faction the Celtigars have aligned with, black like mourning.

“No,” you tell Autumn as she starts up the stairwell that leads to your bedchamber.

She is puzzled. “Where then?”

“Take me to the dungeons.”

“What? Why?” Then she understands. “Oh. Oh no. You don’t want to go down there. It’s awful, dark and grimy, dried blood on the walls, handprints and fingernails. Spiders and bones. Rats everywhere.”

“So you know the way.”

“Yes,” she admits cagily, tugging at a coiled lock of her coppery hair.

Your eyes narrow. “When were you in the dungeons?” You met Aegon there? He took women there? Before the war, before he was burned, before he met me?

“Don’t ask questions you wouldn’t want the answers to,” Autumn says primly. Then she ushers you through doorways and shadowy stairwells that lead down, down, down.

Grand Maester Orwyle is in the black cells. Jasper Wylde has already been executed; Tyland Lannister is being tortured until he reveals the location of the Greens’ stores of treasure. Otto Hightower, condemned to death, is housed on the floor of the dungeons reserved for prisoners of noble birth. There are torches burning in the corridor, rage-orange luminescence like dusk bleeding into the cells through gaps in the iron bars. Autumn does not leave you alone there, but she does wait at the end of the hall to give you—and the man who three times served as the Hand of the King and was twice removed from the same office, first by King Viserys and again by Aegon when Otto proved too cautious for his liking—some semblance of privacy.

Otto peers up at you from where he sits on the floor of his cell, strewn with dirty straw and glowing firelight. He appears old, impossibly old; the flesh has evaporated between his skull and his yellowed skin. He already looks like the skeleton he will be soon. He once counseled Aegon against flying into battle with Sunfyre, and Aegon hated him for it. But Otto was right, wasn’t he? “Did you tire of all the merriment upstairs? Or have they run out of roast boar? I could smell it cooking, you know. All day long as rats chewed at my ankles.”

“I imagine you now regret not running when you had the chance.”

Otto shrugs haggardly. “My odds would have been as good on the road as here. Out there, I might have been descended upon by a bear or a shadowcat or a band of thieves who left me gutted on the roadside. At least my death will be clean and swift.”

“Is there anything I can bring you?” you ask him, gently now. “Anything I can do for you? Before…tomorrow?” Before your life is ended. Before the Greens lose one of their greatest assets.

His gaunt face stretches into a slow, taunting grin. “You have chosen a side, Lady Celtigar.”

That’s true, isn’t it? By not spilling the Greens’ secrets. By falling in love with their king. “If Rhaenyra wins, I have to marry Cregan Stark and Aegon dies.”

“And you want him to live so he can marry you.”

It stuns you so much it takes a moment to find your words again. “Well, that’s not possible.” He already has a wife, no matter how insane she is now.

“I would not assume that any form of depravity is beyond his skill.” Otto sighs deeply. “Before that bitch took the city, I was corresponding with the Dragonseeds called Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer. They claim they will switch to our side for titles that Rhaenyra denies them. Ulf wanted Storm’s End—delusional, the drunk could not manage a fishing village, he spells half his words wrong—and Hugh asked the Blacks for Casterly Rock. Apparently Daemon was actually amenable, but Rhaenyra refused the notion entirely. How fortunate for us. If we offer these Dragonseeds the seats of lesser houses—Costayne and Merryweather, I’d suggest, both traitors to Aegon’s cause—I think they’ll declare for us. Alicent must write to them. With Aemond, Criston, and Daeron on the battlefield, and Aegon gods know where, she must be the one to negotiate for our side now. She is capable of it. I know she is.”

“She can’t get to the rookery.”

Otto smiles up at you cunningly. “I suspect her letters will somehow find their way there,” he says. “And you are now more knowledgeable of the would-be betrayers’ whereabouts than I am.”

You nod. This is true, for the Blacks speak openly around you. While Corlys’ alleged bastard Addam Velaryon—who accompanied the navy into King’s Landing—now patrols the skies above the city on Seasmoke, Ulf and Hugh are currently stationed at Maidenpool in a remote corner of the Riverlands and awaiting further instruction. Rhaenyra dislikes them, you can sense this already. She has heard tales of boasting, drinking, whoring, brawling, bottomless greed. She does not trust them. She does not understand how the gods allowed her sons to be killed and those scoundrels to live.

Otto says: “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“What is it that draws you to Aegon?” He speaks with profound, genuine confusion. “What is there to admire? To yearn for?”

You see him, playful crooked smile and dazed eyes, careful hands, tiny silver braid. Unaware that you’re doing it, you twist the dragon ring on your finger. “He’s brave. He’s kind. I don’t understand why none of you can see it.”

“Ah.” And now Otto at last comprehends. “I was in love once,” he says wistfully, very far away, gazing at the stone wall, gazing at nothing. “I don’t remember what it felt like. But I remember that it happened. I suppose I will see Alicent’s mother again tomorrow. I hope she still recognizes me.” His eyes return to you, reflecting torchlight that shifts and distorts. “These dark, contagious facets of life change us all. They ruins us. Time, heartache, violence. You become capable of inconceivable things. You would scheme and deceive. You would murder.”

You can hear Aegon’s voice in the silence of the dungeons: I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you. “I’ll help your side however I can.”

“Do not allow the Blacks to discover your treason. You are far more valuable to us as someone who can drift between worlds than as a professed ally, assuming you cannot turn the Celtigars.”

“I can’t.” You could convince Everett, perhaps. But he isn’t the heir to Claw Isle.

Then Otto smiles, and it is the softest, most tender thing you’ve ever seen him do. “Please tell Alicent that I love her.”

“I will.”

“Now go,” he says. “Before you are witnessed here. Before you endanger what you want most.”

To end the war. To stop this suffering. To be with Aegon again. You hesitate, not knowing how to say goodbye. What is there left to say when the man in front of you is already dead?

“Go,” Otto Hightower orders again; and this time you obey.

He dies at 9:00 the next morning. Sunlight streams fierce and blinding into the Dragonpit. The smallfolk applaud and cheer, though perhaps mostly because Syrax and Caraxes are perched atop the domed roof and waiting, fangs bared, to devour anyone who dissents. In the people’s eyes, you see less savagery than terror. You can read the thoughts that dart between them, infectious like fever: We do not trust Rhaenyra, this ruthless queen, this Maegor with teats. We do not trust her bloodthirsty uncle-husband. We do not want to burn if Aemond and Vhagar return to reclaim the city.

Daemon swings the blade himself. It takes three blows to sever Otto’s head. This must have been intentional; you know what an expert swordsman Daemon is.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit compliantly with your family at meals, dances, executions. You stroll in the gardens. You bring Helaena flowers, lilies, irises, tulips, daisies, roses. You bring Alicent paper and quills and ink. You take the letter she writes to the rookery above the chambers where Grand Maester Orwyle once resided. As the raven departs for Maidenpool, black wings flapping in cerulean summer air, you stare through a window that looks out onto Blackwater Bay towards Essos, Driftmark, Dragonstone.

Is Aegon there now? Is he alive?

You have no way of knowing; while ravens pass between King’s Landing and the Riverlands frequently, you cannot risk someone noticing correspondence with Dragonstone. But you feel that Aegon is safe on that fearsome, windswept island. You feel that he might even be gazing out of his own window, back towards the mainland, back towards you.

When you return to your bedchamber, Everett is there. He is seated at the writing desk and pointing to pages in a book about animals of the Crownlands, bears and dragons and crabs. The book is for children; the words are large and accompanied by colorful illustrations. Autumn is sitting in Everett’s lap, giggling as she repeats the words that he croons through her firelight hair.

You pause in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Learning how to read!” Autumn replies brightly.

“I thought you weren’t interested in that.”

“I’ve been struck by sudden and forceful inspiration to shed my commoner ignorance.”

“Autumn, dear,” Everett prompts. She climbs out of his lap, sweeps him a teasing girlish courtesy, and sails out of the room. Everett looks to you. “Come. Sit.”

“Not in your lap, hopefully.”

He laughs. “Where on earth did you find her?”

You take a seat at the edge of your bed, toying with your ring. Your fingertips glide over the bumps of those gleaming jade eyes. “A brothel here in King’s Landing. I don’t know what sort of family she was born into.”

“Oh,” Everett sighs sympathetically. Your father and Clement would be viciously pejorative, would demand Autumn’s removal from your service immediately. But Everett is a different sort of man. He was even before he was burned, and he’s far more so now. “The poor thing.” Then his eyebrows leap up. “Wait. How did you end up visiting a brothel…?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You peer out the window that overlooks the beach. You’re always watching the sea now, as if it can tell you its secrets, as if it can whisper to you in a language made of gull cries, breaking waves, starlight and moonbeams reflected on indigo currents in the dead of night.

“It’s strange,” Everett says. There is a soft, sad smile on his face. “Your body is here with us, but your soul isn’t.”

You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to explain everything that’s happened.

“The Usurper must have harmed you terribly.” Everett is not asking, but he is opening the door; you can tell him anything that is burdening you, and he will keep it to himself. You once sat with him as he lay dying, or at least when everyone believed he was; everyone but you and Maester Arthur back on Claw Isle. You once helped bring him back to life. That is a bond forged with something stronger than iron, something deeper than blood.

Aegon? Harm me? “He would never do that.”

Now Everett’s eyes are fixed intently on you. He is reading you like calculations of taxes, expenses, accounts, gains, losses. He realizes, hushed and alarmed: “You weren’t taken to King’s Landing by force.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

His jaw drops open, his eyes blink incredulously. “Do you…do you think he’s the rightful king?!”

“It’s not about that for me.”

“You are betrothed to another man.”

“Yes,” you agree.

“The Usurper is married.”

“Yes,” you say again. “And yet…”

“Seven hells,” Everett exhales. He shakes his head. “But…the Usurper…Aegon…he…he…he’s a monster, isn’t he? A rapist, a degenerate, a slothful and selfish wastrel?”

“No. He’s not. Just like Rhaenyra isn’t a sweet, serene mother to her kingdom.”

Everett smirks ruefully. He can’t argue with this.

“Aegon will pardon any Celtigar who rebelled against him. All they need to do is swear fealty upon being captured.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“I know where he was planning to go. I don’t know if he made it there.”

“And you worry for him,” Everett says softly.

You nod, unable to speak. You can feel the threat of tears scorching in your throat, dark churning clouds that forecast lightning, cyclones, floods.

“His burns have healed?” Everett asks. “Everyone knows he was horribly wounded at Rook’s Rest.”

“They’ve scarred over. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be alright.”

Everett understands this, he remembers the discussions the two of you once had with Maester Arthur. Severe burns weaken the organs, even years after the flesh is no longer raw and weeping. Survivors are prone to failure of their kidneys, liver, heart. They must be careful to avoid further trauma. Aegon does not have that luxury. “I don’t know what remedy to offer you,” Everett says remorsefully. “Rhaenyra met with Alicent, and the dowager queen put forth a generous compromise. Alicent proposed that the realm be divided. Aegon’s seat would be at Oldtown, and his jurisdiction would include the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Stormlands. Rhaenyra would continue to rule from King’s Landing and preside over the Crownlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Iron Islands, and the North. Both branches of the family would survive.”

“Rhaenyra could have ended it.” You marvel at the simplicity, the doomed slighted possibilities. “Here and now. The bloodshed would be over. Aegon could return to me.”

“Rhaenyra rejected the notion of any concessions whatsoever. Our father and Clement encouraged her. I would advocate for a peaceful resolution, I would advance your interests, sister. I would, I swear I would. But it is futile. You know they don’t listen to me.”

No, not in the arena of warfare. Everett is the heir to your father’s skill with trade, but Clement is the future Lord of Claw Isle, and it is he who wields swords and shields and leads men into combat. Everett cannot fight. Other men will never regard him as their full equal. “You have listened to my treason and not condemned me. I cannot ask for more from you than that.”

Everett stands from his chair, a slow, laborious undertaking. He crosses the room gingerly, lifts your chin to break the trance as you stare down at your ring, beams like the sun. “You want him.”

“Yes,” you admit helplessly.

“You’ve never wanted any man.”

“Just him. It can’t be anyone but him.”

Everett nods, thoughtful, amused. “Then I will pray that Lord Cregan Stark takes a wrong turn on the Kingsroad and ends up in the Vale, or the Iron Islands, or Essos, or perhaps even walks right into the sea. He’d sink, I’m sure. All those furs must be heavy when wet.”

“If anyone asks, you believe Aegon to be in Dorne.”

“I certainly do.” Everett smiles, touches his lips to your forehead, shuffles off to find Autumn and tell her that she can come back now.

Some nights, if you can enter without being noticed, you steal into the bedchamber that was once Aegon’s, the place where you brought him back from the dead, the place where he made you crave things that had once only filled you with dread, fear, revulsion. No one else has claimed Aegon’s rooms. No one else wants them. They make jokes about the debaucheries his walls must have seen, the unholy stains that surely riddle his mattress, rugs, curtains. They don’t know him at all, and nothing can make them want to. Tonight, there are quarreling voices coming from outside. You go to the open window, your lungs expanding with cool indigo air, and look out.

“Where are you going? Daemon? Daemon!” Rhaenyra is raging after him, following him onto the wet sand of the beach. “Back to Harrenhal? Back to your whore?!”

He does not answer. He strides arrogantly, he storms away from her, this woman he once loved for her tenacity and pride. He has no appetite for weakness. He has no patience for pruning those creeping, thorny vines of madness that are growing into her mind, her veins. Already Caraxes is landing in the surf to take him back to his foothold in the Riverlands, to Baela, to Nettles.

“Then go!” Rhaenyra screams after Daemon. And if you can hear this, surely others can as well. “Just go! We don’t need you here! I don’t need you here!”

Lies, lies, lies. Desperate and transparent lies.

Daemon and Caraxes take flight and disappear into the nightscape darkness over the ocean. You climb into the bed that was once Aegon’s, curl up in a nest of his blood-flecked sheets, breathe in lingering wisps of rose oil and the echoes of his low, drowsy voice, thick with wine and milk of the poppy and forbidden desire for a woman who sheds and replaces her skin again and again and again.

~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, you go to the gardens and read under the heart tree about cures and poisons. When you return inside—clutching a glass jar containing sticks, leaves, grass, and a single wriggling caterpillar, a gift for Helaena—the Red Keep is in chaos. Servants and guards are gossiping feverishly. Upstairs, Alicent is howling with grief. You glimpse Autumn racing up a staircase towards the dowager queen’s rooms to comfort her. There are sounds of celebration in the Great Hall, cups being toasted and cheers loosed like dragonfire. You follow them, suffocating terror constricting your throat like a noose. Is it Aemond, Criston, Daeron? Is it Aegon? Have they found him, have they killed him?

At the center of the high table, Rhaenyra is wearing a gown of black and red on her body and a smile of soulless satisfaction on her face. She holds a glass of maroon wine high above her head. “To vengeance!” she calls, and the lords that fill the hall thunder the words back to her. “To victory!”

“Father…?” you say, rushing to Bartimos Celtigar’s side. Clement is shaking hands with Manderlys and Blackwoods and Costaynes, grinning radiantly. Everett and Corlys are peering around grimly, looking uneasy, looking ashamed.

What have they done now? Who have they murdered in cold blood?

“Father, what—?”

“He has no more heirs,” Bartimos Celtigar tell you, as if it is the most joyous of surprises, as if is a gift like a gemstone or a rare book.

“Who?”

“The Usurper. Both of his sons are now dead. Neither of his brothers have children. Aegon has no heirs!”

“Maelor,” you whisper, envisioning that defenseless white-haired child, giggling, affectionate, anxious, sobbing in the arms of Sir Rickard Thorne. The jar tumbles out of your grasp and shatters against the stone floor. “Maelor is…he’s…he’s been killed…?”

“By a mob of Black loyalists at Bitterbridge,” your father says. “The Greens were trying to smuggle the child to Oldtown. Our supporters attempted to seize the boy so he could be brought to us. Alas, they were too boisterous. He did not survive, and neither did his keeper Rickard Thorne.”

They tore Maelor apart? They clawed and yanked at that little boy until there was nothing left but shreds of muscle and moon-white bones? You gape up at your father, unable to recognize him, unable to keep the horror from your face. “You’re celebrating the murder of a child?”

“They did the same when Luke was killed.”

Because Aegon thought they had to. Because he wanted to protect his brother. “It was wrong then and it’s wrong now.”

“You are too compassionate, daughter,” your father says, smiling with a puddle-deep, patronizing fondness. Was he always this way? Has he changed so much, or have you? He touches your cheek, and you want to flinch away from him. “You lose sight of the scale of this war. Each child of the Usurper that dies spares thousands of others. Aegon now has no heirs left, not unless you count that little girl who’s hidden away somewhere, and don’t the Greens reject the right of a daughter to inherit the throne? Isn’t that what all of this havoc has been about, preventing Rhaenyra’s ascension? This is a resounding triumph for our side! This is something to commemorate!”

They tore Maelor apart??

Corlys gets up from the table and leaves the Great Hall. Everett is watching you with wide, fearful eyes. He is pleading silently: Don’t react. Don’t panic. Not where they can see you.

“Are you well?” your father asks you, concerned now.

“I feel ill,” you hear yourself answer. You grip the back of his chair so the floor can’t rip itself out from under you.

“Just a moment,” Everett says, rising in that labored way, the scar tissue straining painfully at his ankles and knees and hips. “I’ll accompany you back to your rooms…”

But you can’t wait for him. The tears are already flame-hot and misty in your eyes. You rip away from the Celtigars, away from all the Blacks, and escape upstairs. Breathless, sobbing, you go first to Helaena’s bedchamber. Aegon’s wife is standing in front of her window that overlooks the sandstone courtyard, cobblestones of muted earthy gold. You can hear courtiers chattering far below. You can hear the carousing reverberating from the Great Hall. Helaena does not turn when you arrive; she does not give any indication that she is aware of you.

“Helaena,” you gasp. “Your Grace, I…I’m so sorry…what has happened…it’s despicable, it’s soulless, I cannot stop Rhaenyra’s men from reveling in it but I would never defend their actions, I would never join them, I am horrified and heartsick and appalled—”

“It’s a travesty,” Autumn says from the doorway, and you glance over at her. When you look back to the queen, she has vanished.

“Helaena?!” you shout. You and Autumn bolt to the window. Down in the courtyard, courtiers are shrieking and fleeing from the mess. On the cobblestones, Helaena lies sprawled; her arms and legs are bent at impossible angles. A pool of blood spreads out from under her like a river swelling in a storm until it spills over. Guards are hurrying to the scene, their armor jangling. “Helaena!”

“She’s gone,” Autumn says, bundling you into her arms before you can make for the hall, the stairwell. Her belly presses unyieldingly into you. “There’s nothing you can do. Don’t go down there. You can’t help her now.”

You cover your face with both hands and scream: for Maelor, for Helaena, for Alicent, for Aegon, for the world full of people who can’t stop paying the debts others incurred.

“Don’t go down there.” Autumn’s voice is warm and hushed, her grasp strong. “You can’t help Helaena now. You can only hurt yourself. You don’t need to see it. You don’t need her blood on your hands.”

Everett appears, looks out the window to investigate the commotion in the courtyard, backs away with a hand covering his gaping mouth. “Oh, gods. All the gods, Old and New. What a goddamn fucking disaster.”

Autumn at last releases you, and you dash into the hallway with Everett following as quickly as he can and Autumn walking with him, one arm looped through his. You find Alicent in her rooms, standing motionless beside her bed in an emerald green gown. She is trembling and speechless, she is in shock. You embrace her. “I’m sorry,” you say, tears falling on the velvet of her dress. “I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I am.”

Everett and Autumn enter the bedchamber and shut the door behind them. “What—?” Everett begins.

“I have to go to him,” you say. You step away from the dowager queen and wipe your eyes with your sleeves, black like onyx, like obsidian, like death.

“Who...?”

“Aegon. The king,” you tell them. “He’s going to hear of this. He’s going to know what happened to Maelor and Helaena. I can’t let him face that alone. I can’t let him fall into despair.”

“But he…I mean…” Everett is trying to choose his words sensitively. The state of the royal marriage was no secret anywhere in the realm. “Was he even…involved with his wife and children? In any meaningful way?”

“It’s not about them, it’s about him thinking that he’s responsible, that he’s a curse to anyone he touches, that he ruins people, I…” You shake your head franticly. “I can’t stay here. I have to go. I have to be with him.”

“Go where?!” Everett exclaims.

“Dragonstone,” Autumn answers for you.

“Dragonstone,” he repeats numbly. “You can’t be serious! How will you get there?!”

“I’ll take a horse to Crackclaw Point and then pay a boat to ferry me across the water.”

“Alone?!” Everett says.

“I’ll have to be. You cannot travel by horse, only carriage. And your absence would be noticed too swiftly. Father would send soldiers after you if he feared you’d been captured.”

“You’ve never gone anywhere alone, now you’re going to travel a hundred miles over earth and ocean to Dragonstone?!”

“She won’t be alone,” Autumn says. You and Everett turn to her. She is grinning. “I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.”

“You can’t ride a horse either,” you object. “You’re with child. It could be dangerous.”

“I’ve done far more vigorous activities while pregnant, believe me.”

“You’re really going?” Everett says, quiet, mournful. It seems that you’ve only just reunited with him.

“I have to. Aegon thought I’d be safe with the Blacks, and I am, I suppose…but I’m not really a Black anymore. And I can’t let him suffer alone. I…I…”

“You love him,” Alicent says. She gazes at you with huge, glassy, void-dark eyes, like those of a doe felled by arrows. She is half-here and half-not, and thank the gods for that. Her loss is too great. She cannot bear it all at once. Part of her knows her only daughter is dead on the cobblestones outside, her last grandson was torn apart by a mob that were more beasts than men. And then part of her is only aware of this room. “Properly. Entirely. In a way he can understand.”

“I do,” you confess. I do, I do.

“I’m glad,” Alicent says dully. “Someone must.”

She staggers to her bed, lies down on it, curls up like a wounded animal, rips away her golden necklace of a seven-pointed star and throws it to the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the night, you and Autumn leave King’s Landing on horses Everett procured. There is only a skeleton crew of guards left in the Red Keep; the rest are partaking in the festivities that pulse in the Great Hall like a heartbeat, candlelight and music and manic glee. Yet among the smallfolk, no one is celebrating. They are in mourning for their misfortunate, benign queen and her toddler son. They are hissing venomously about Rhaenyra, Daemon, Bartimos Celtigar.

The court will not notice Autumn’s absence, not for days at least, perhaps not ever. Everett will upend your bedchamber before he goes to sleep, knocking over chairs and tables, yanking sheets from the bed. In the morning, he will tell your father that he assumes you are still resting from your illness, from the insurmountable stress of the past months. Women are so fragile, after all; their lives are one tragedy after the next. When at last someone checks on you—hopefully not for a few days—it will appear that you have been taken after a struggle. You did not leave. You were kidnapped by fiends using the secret passageways. You are a prisoner of the Greens again, and likely spirited away to the Stormlands or the Reach or perhaps even the remote, golden sands of Dorne.

You and Autumn travel by night and sleep through the day, staying at roadside inns paid for by the heavy sack of coins Everett gifted you. It is not difficult to blend in among countless travelers and refugees displaced in the wake of the war. You have no distinguishing characteristics, no Valyrian-white hair or ragged burns or sapphires in place of eyes. In fact, Autumn attracts more attention than you do. She is beautiful, talkative, effortlessly flirtatious. Men trail after her at every inn. You receive exemplary service, the hottest soup and the cleanest rooms. She complains to you about how difficult it is becoming for her to rest as her belly grows: perhaps five months along, perhaps six, she isn’t certain, her cycle was already irregular from the lemonweed tea brewed at the brothel.

In a small town called Eagle Harbor at the base of Crackclaw Point, you need to hire a sailor to take you across the narrow strait to Dragonstone. You fumble through stilted inquiries at a tavern until Autumn takes charge, half-drags a bald, bearded man back into the pantry, emerges with him five minutes later, and orders a pint of ale that she sips with a lazy, arrogant smirk.

“May the Mother have mercy!” the sailor says unsteadily, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’ll go to Dragonstone and back ten times for this red-haired demon!”

You and Autumn board his humble vessel at the end of the town’s lone pier and set off through choppy, night-draped waters towards Dragonstone. On the way, the sailor informs you that he’s made this trip a handful of times in the past two weeks, delivering an assortment of workers to the island: servants, guards, maesters, cooks.

“Rumor has it,” the sailor says with a conspiratorial grin. “There is a very illustrious occupant currently holding Dragonstone. He is scarred, but he is growing stronger. Surely you know of whom I speak. He must have beckoned you to join him. Perhaps you are servants. Perhaps you are whores. He has a famed appetite for them.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Autumn offers casually.

“Many here in the Crownlands are aware,” the sailor continues. “But you will not catch anyone being too loose with their gossip. The Beggar King is no enemy to us. The Bitch Queen is an enemy. That money-grubbing Bartimos Celtigar is an enemy. But the Greens will end the taxes he put on us. The sooner the Beggar King is well again, the better. He and his dragon too.”

When the sailor docks at Dragonstone, Autumn helps you up onto the pier and then gets back in the boat. “You aren’t staying?” you ask her, baffled, troubled. You have grown terribly attached to her. Cold night rain falls onto the island, growing heavier by the minute. Lightning snaps through the darkness and strikes near the castle.

“No. I want to be with Everett.” Autumn smiles. “And I know the king would not wish for me to impose upon Dragonstone.”

She’s probably right. “Why is he so cold to you? So avoidant?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Autumn says. “He doesn’t want you thinking about him fucking anyone except you.” She grins, winks, gestures for the sailor to unmoor his boat again. “When the Greens come to retake the capital, please ask them not to incinerate me.”

“I’ll pass the message along.”

“Good luck,” she says, waving. “We’ll wait to set sail until you’ve started up the steps.”

Through the darkness, through the driving rain, you trudge up the beach and then ascend the stone steps carved precariously into the cliffside. The grey stone is slippery; for parts of the climb, you walk on your palms as well as your boots. Your ring clinks against rock. When the clouds momentarily blow away from the moon, the gold wings glimmer in the silver light. There are torches burning in the mouths of iron dragons as you near the entranceway of the castle, towering walls that disappear into storm clouds. There is candlelight flickering in the corridors and chambers within. You can see dots of miniature infernos in the windows.

Aegon is in one of those rooms.

Suddenly, a screech startles you so badly you nearly plunge off the steps. Fire blooms in the night air only yards from your face. He’s clutching the cliffside, glaring at you with molten gold eyes set in an angular skull, snarling, smoke drifting skyward from his nostrils. You scream before you can stop yourself.

Sunfyre!!

You crouch down on the steps, squeeze your eyes shut, and wait for him to burn you alive. Seconds pass, ten, twenty, thirty. When you look at Sunfyre again, scales shimmering in the moonlight, he is observing you not with hatred but with curiosity that is clever, almost catlike. You have never been this close to a dragon before. You’ve never wanted to be, and now is no exception. He smells like smoke and sulfur, earth and ash. Sunfyre clambers nearer to you, his muzzle outstretched. You flinch away, whimpering, but he is not deterred. The dragon sniffs and nudges at you, his breath hot, his snout bumping against your arm and shoulder.

“Stop!” you squeak, petrified. “Sunfyre, don’t!”

At last, he seems to realize he’s frightening you. The dragon retreats with a low grumble from deep in his chest. You scramble up the remainder of the steps before he can change his mind.

There is distant shouting, and someone cranks open the castle gate for you. You hurry into the courtyard, running now, as rain pours down on you and thunder booms. There is a figure in a hooded cloak trotting out of the castle entrance. At first you don’t believe he can be Aegon; he is standing too tall, moving too brisky. You have never seen him so well before. But then he calls to you, and there is no doubt.

“Angel?!” Aegon shouts in disbelief over the drumming of raindrops. He is rapidly closing the distance between you. The wind tears off his hood. Beneath it his hair is longer than you remember and wild except for a single small braid down the left side of his face. His cheeks are ruddy. Tears stream from his eyes. He has heard what happened to Maelor and Helaena; he has been weeping for them, for the impending ruin of anyone he’s ever touched. “What the hell are you doing here—?!”

And instead of waiting for an answer he kisses you, or you kiss him, or you both do it at once, an unspoken covenant written not in ink but in the blood that whispers to each other through the veils of vessel walls, muscle, scarred skin. His hands are cradling your jaw, his lips ravenous. He smells like rose oil; he tastes like wine and rain and the clean salt of tears, the ageless mineral blue of the ocean.

“It has to be you,” you tell Aegon, a ghost of a voice in the maelstrom of the storm. Your thumbprint skates across his full bottom lip before you kiss him again, more slowly now, entwining yourself with him, hipbones and ribcages and handprints that will never wash off. Do you see what I’m offering? Do you feel what I want? “You’re not ruining me. You’re saving me. And it can’t be anyone but you.”

Aegon studies your face, stunned eyes murky like the waves, and then hungry as well: depths that swallow ships, watery graveyards that feast on bones. Then he takes your hand and leads you into Dragonstone. Inside, Larys Strong is waiting under a cascade of torchlight. He blinks at you as if you might disappear. When you don’t, he tilts his head to the side, intrigued.

“Lord Larys,” Aegon says curtly. “Make yourself invisible for the rest of the night.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys purrs with a bow. Then he vanishes into the shadows.

“This way,” Aegon says, and you follow him up a staircase and down a corridor to a bedchamber illuminated only by a few flickering candles and flashes of lightning. In the corner of the room, you glimpse swords and armor; on Aegon’s bedside table, there is a glass bottle of rose oil and the hollowed-out shell of a crab, boiled red like fresh blood. And then you are on the bed and Aegon is beside you and there is not a single thread of you, muscle or marrow or nerve, that is afraid. “Are you sure?” he’s asking between deep, insatiable kisses, his fingers working on the laces of your gown. “We don’t have to. We can stop.”

But does he want that? No, no, he’s starving just like I am. “I’m sure, Aegon.” And you uncover each other with hands that rip away cotton and silk like trees are stripped bare in the winter.

His clothes are gone, cloak and trousers crumpled on the floor, and he pauses with trepidation in his eyes. His scars riddle him with uneven swaths of white, pink, red, a burgundy so dark it’s almost the violet of a bruise. The macabre patchwork stops at the lowest part of his belly, where his skin becomes abruptly pristine, pale, velvet-soft. “I guess…” He swallows noisily. “I guess this isn’t what you imagined the man you’d sleep with would look like, huh?”

“No,” you agree, smiling, pulling him in close again. I never imagined enjoying this at all. “And I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Aegon helps you tug off your gown and loosen your hair; it spills freely over the bedsheets. He’s on top of you, his warm weight perfect and welcome and right. Too swiftly for you to be nervous, his hand has settled between your legs. He strokes you, only on the outside where there is no threat of pain, as his tongue darts into your mouth and wetness soon coats his fingers. Then his fingers venture lower, seeking to enter you, the first time anything ever has. And you feel it, though you wish you didn’t, involuntary and uninvited: your body tensing just as his finger attempts to glide inside, a biting pain that makes you wince.

“No,” you yelp softly, a betrayal of your own flesh.

“Okay,” Aegon murmurs reassuringly. “That’s okay. Not a problem. Here…” He sits upright, draws you to him, bites lightly at your throat as you settle in his lap. “You’re in charge. You decide if and when it happens. And if this time doesn’t work, that’s fine, that’s completely fine, we can try again later, I can wait—”

“Are you alright like this? Am I too heavy?”

He grabs your face with his left hand—fingers hooked around your jaw, his eyes locked with yours—and says roughly: “Don’t ask about me again.”

“Okay,” you moan into him as his right hand skims down to touch you, to coax the fear out of you, to draw powerful circles around the place where your pleasure is greatest.

“This is about you.”

“Okay,” you say again, only a whisper this time, obedient, desperate.

“Please let me have this,” Aegon begs, resting his forehead against yours, his silver hair grazing your cheeks. “Please let me take care of you this time.”

“Yes,” you sigh, breathing him in, roses and heat and wine and sharp, oceanic, mineral lust. You lay your palms against the gnarled scar tissue of his chest and Aegon chuckles bitterly.

“I can’t even feel it. I’m a monster.” Then you press your bare hips to his, gradually finding a rhythm, slipping his cock through slick, warm folds that are aching more ardently than you ever knew was possible. “Oh fuck,” he gasps. “I felt that.”

“I want you,” you plead. “I want you, I want you.”

“Not yet…”

You are aware that your tension unraveling, your muscles opening as Aegon massages you until his hand is soaked, until you’re so wet the friction is almost nonexistent. Outside waves crash and lighting flashes and thunder growls like a dragon. I can’t wait. I need him. You lift up and Aegon holds his cock steady, coating it in your wetness with a quick pump of his hand, so you can lower yourself onto him. Slowly, you can feel his cock sinking into you, an indescribably foreign sensation, fullness and stretching and dull, strange contentment that is more like the potential of pleasure than anything else. There is discomfort as well, yes, a burning and a stinging that swells as he fills you. You try to keep it from your face; still, Aegon can read the pain there like black ink on pages.

He shakes his head and murmurs: “Stop, stop, I’m hurting you.”

“I want it. I can take it.”

He’s kissing your lips, your cheek, the slope of your jaw. “Give yourself time to adjust. There’s no rush, Angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You wait until the pain seems to have vanished, then—carefully, tentatively—you rise up and lower yourself again. Yes, there’s definite pleasure now, less sharp than where he touched you before but deeper, more total. You try this again, again, faster now. Aegon’s breath hitches. He’s trembling; sweat glistens on his forehead and dampens his hair.

“I’m going to show you something,” he pants. “But you have to help me out.”

“Help how…?”

“Tell me what I’m doing right.” His fingers are on you again, pressing, circling. And there’s something about this combination of two very different colors of pleasure—dull fullness inside, intense ecstasy dancing over the skin—that lights a spark in you like striking flint.

You cry out, your pace as you ride him quickening, any last remnants of pain banished to distant memory. You are conscious now that you are working towards a peak of some sort; you can feel it building in you like fire in the mouth of a dragon.

Aegon asks: “Faster? Slower?”

“Faster,” you reply, and his hand obeys. You moan, fingers knotted in his hair and lips against the scar tissue of his throat, grisly webs that you cherish for knitting him back together, for saving his life.

“Harder or softer?”

“Harder,” you beg him in a whisper. And all at once, the pleasure is overwhelming, unstoppable, incomparable to anything you’ve ever experienced or ever wanted to, anything you thought was possible, anything you believed you were worthy of. It wrenches everything out of you, desire as well as turmoil, every thought in your skull and fear in your bones. It passes, leaving your heart thumping violently and an involuntary throbbing that squeezes Aegon’s cock, releases it, squeezes it again.

Aegon lays you down on your back and thrusts into you, shallowly at first to make sure you’re alright, then deeper and more powerfully. There’s no pain at all, only a hazy calmness, a need to be near to him, to tangle up closer and closer until you share everything, veins and arteries and the capillary beds of lungs. He’s exhausted already; you notice a few needle-thin split seams in his scar tissue. There are faint stains of crimson blood on your belly, your chest. His fingers link through yours, his moans grow louder and more jagged. He comes so hard tears spring into his eyes, and you feel one more thing you hadn’t expected to: not vulnerability but power, pride, satisfaction.

“It’s like that every time?” you ask, drowsy and amazed as he rolls onto his side and pulls you against him. The rain is still falling outside. Lightning paints the windows; thunder quakes them.

“If it’s done well.” Aegon is pink-faced, breathing heavily, staggeringly beautiful. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.”

“No wonder you’ve fucked hundreds of women.”

He laughs. “Not that many.” He grins as he kisses you, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’ve rid me of them all. You’ve burned them away.”

“I love you,” you say without planning to.

Aegon replies, but not in words you can understand. He whispers something in High Valyrian, his eyes dip closed, he is asleep before you can ask him what it means.

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

[444namesplus]

all character names used in the song of ice and fire pile

addam addison adrack adrian aegon aegor aelyx aemma aemon aemond aenar aenys aerea aerion aeron aeryn aerys aethan aethelmure aggo agnes ahai aladale aladore alan alannys alaric alarra alayaya alayne albar albett albin alchemist alekyne alerie alester alfyn alicent all allar alleras alliser allyria alton alvyn alyce alyn alys alysanne alyssa amarei amerei amory amos and andar andrey andrik andros androw anguy annara antario anya archer archon's ardrian aregelle areo argella arianne arlan armen armond aron arra arrana arrec arryk arryn arsa arstan arthur artos arwood arwyn arya arys asha ashara ashford aubrey aurane aurion axell ayrmidon azor b baelish baelon baelor balaq balerion ball balman balon banefort bar baratheon barbara barber barbrey barneby barra barre barristan barthogan bass bastards beesbury bella bellanora bellegere bellena bellonara belly ben benard benedict benfred benfrey benifer benjen benjicot bennard bennarion bennifer benton beren berena beric bernarr beron bertrand bess beth bethany bettley bharbo big billy biter black blackbar blackberry blackfyre blackshield blacktyde blackwood blade blood bloody blount blue boarkiller boisterous bolton boremund boros bors borys botley bowen boy bracken bran branda brandon brax braxton breaker brella brienne brightstone bronn broome brother brother brune brus bryan bryce bryen brynden bryndon buckler bullock bulwer bump burley burton byan byrch byron bywater c cadwyl cafferen caleotte calla captain captain's cargyll caron cassana cassel cassella caswell category catelyn catspaw cayn cedric celtigar cerelle cerenna cerissa cersei cerwyn ceryse character characters characters charlton chataya chayle chett chiggen children clarent clayton clegane clement cleos cletus cleyton clifton clydas cockshaw codd cohollo coldhands colemon colin colmar commander commander's connington corbray corlys corne correy coryanne costayne courtesan cousin cox craghorn

crake crakehall crane cregan cregard creighton cressen creylen crow culiper cuy cynthea cyrelle cyrenna d daario dacey dacks daegon daella daemion daemon daenerys daenora daenys daeron daeryssa dagmer dagon dale dalt dalton damion damon danny danos danwell dareon daring darke darklyn darlessa darnold darry daryn daughter daughter daven davos daxos dayne deana deceased deem delena demonlover denyo denys desmera desmond devan deziel dick dickon dobber donal dondarrion donel donella donnel donnis donnor dontos doran doreah dormund dorna dornishman dragons drogo drumm drunkard dryn duckfield duncan dunstable dunstan duram durran durrandon durwald dusk duskendale dusky dustin duur dyanna dykk dywen e ebrose eddara eddard eddison edgar edgerran edmund edmure edmyn edric edwell edwyle edwyn edyth eerl egen elaena elder eldred eleyna elia elinda elinor ella ellard ellaria ellyn elmar elmo elric elwood elyas elyn elys elysar emberlei emma emmett emmon emmond emory endrew erena erenford erich ermesande erren erryk essie estermont estren ethan euron ever eye eyed f falena falyse farman farring farwynd father fenn fergon flatnose flement fletcher flint florent florian florys flowers folk follard fool foote for forel fork forley foss fossoway fox franklyn free frenken frey from g gael gaemon gage galbart gardener gared gareth garibald garlan garrison garse garth gaunt gawen gendry genna gerald geremy gerion germund gerold gerrick gevin gilbert gilliane gilly gilly's glendon glover godry gold goodbrook goodbrother goode goren gormon gormond gorold gower graceford gran grance greatjon green greenbeard greenfield greenhand gregor grell grenn grey greydon greyiron greyjoy griffith grover groves guard guncer gwayne gwenys gwin gwynesse gylbert gyldayn gyles gysella h h'ghar haegon haereg haggo haggon hagon haigh hairy hake hal halder hali halleck hallis hallyne halys hammer hardy hardyng hareth harlan harlaw harlon harma harmen harmond harmund harrag harras harren harrion harrold harron harry harwin harwyn harys hawick hayford heddle helman hendry henly herndon hero herrock heward hibald high hightower hill hilmar historical hoare hoarfrost hoat hobb hobber hobert hodor hogg hoke hollard holly hop horas horgan horn

hornwood horpe horse horton horys hosman hosteen hostella hoster hot hotah hotho howard howland hubard hubert hugh hugo hullen humble humfrey hunter huntsman husband illifer illyrio ilyn imry irri iv ix j jacaerys jacelyn jack jacks jaehaerys jafer jaime jalabhar jammos janei janna janos jaqen jared jaremy jason jasper jast jax jayne jennis jenny jenye jeor jeren jeyne jhiqui jhogo jirelle joanna jocasta jocelyn joffrey johanna john jojen jommo jon jonah jonnel jonos jonothor jonquil jorah joron jorquen jory joseran joseth joss josua joy joyeuse jurene justin justman jyck k kaeth kandaq karlon karstark karyl kedge kegs kella kenning kermit kettleblack kevan kezmya kindly king king kings kingsblood kingsblood's kingsguard knight knights kurleket kyndall kyra l lad laenor lake lambert lancel langward lanna lannister larence lark larys last laswell leana leathers leek lefford lelia lem lemoncloak lenwood leo leobald leona leonella leonette leslyn lester lew lewyn lewys lharys lia lianna lickspittle lily locke lodos lollys lomys long longbough longleaf longthorpe longwaters lonmouth lonnel loraq loras lorch lord lord loren lorence lorent loreon lorimar lorimer loron lorra lothar lothor lucamore lucas luceon lucifer lucimore lucinda lucion luthor luwin lyanna lyarra lydden lyle lyman lymond lyn lynara lynora lyonce lyonel lysa lythene m mace mad maege maegelle maegon maegor maekar maelor maelys maester maia maid maldon malegorn malleon mallery mallister mallor man mance manderly mandon manfred manfrey manfryd manly marbrand

margaery margaret marghaz margot mariah marillion maris mariya mark marla marlon marna maron marq marqelo marsella marsh martell martyn maryam masha maslyn massey matarys mathis matthar mattheus matthew maz meadows medgar medrick medwick meera megga meha melantha melara meldred melesa melessa melisandre melissa mellario melony melwyn merianne meribald merlon merlyn mern merrell merrett merryweather mervyn meryn mikken milk mina minisa mirri mo mohor mollander mollen monarchs moon moore mooton mopatis mord mordane moreo morgan morgarth morgon mormont moro morrec morrigen morros mors morya moryn mott mounts mullendore mullin mully munda murenmure musgood mya mycah mychel myles myr myranda myrcella myre myriame myrielle mysaria n naerys naggle naharis nan narha night's norbert norcross norjen norman normund norne norren norrey norridge norvos notch noye nute nymeria o o' oak oakenshield oakheart oarsman obara oberyn of old olene olenna ollidar olymer olyvar olyver omer ondrew orbert orkwood ormond ormund orryn orton orys osbert oscar osfryd osha osmund osney osric oswald oswell oswyck oswyn othell otherys othgar otho othor ottyn owen oznak p paege pahl palehair patchface pate pater patrek paul paxter payne peake penny pennytree penrose perceon peremore perianne perkin perra perriane perwyn petyr philip pie piper plummer podrick polliver poole porther pov praed pree prentys prester preston prince

princes promised prudence prunella pryor puckens pyat pycelle pyg pyke pypar q qalen qarl qarlton qhored qhorin qhorwyn qorgyle qotho quaithe quaro queen quellon quenten quentin quenton quentyn quincy qyburn qyle r ragged rakharo ralf rambton ramsay randyll rast raven ravos raya rayder raylon raymont raymun raymund raynald raynard reach red redbeard redfort redpool redwyne reed reference regenard regis regnar renfred renly rennifer reynard reyne reysen rhae rhaegal rhaegar rhaegel rhaella rhaelle rhaenyra rhalla rhea rhogoro ricasso richard rickard rickon rivers rob robar robard robb robert robett robin robyn roderick rodrik rodwell roger rogers rognar rohanne roland rolder rollam rolland rolley rolly rolph romny ronel ronnal ronnel roone roose roote rorge roryn rosamund rosby rose rosey roslin rowan roxton roy royce rufus rupert rus russell ruttiger ryam rycherd ryella ryger ryk rykker rylene ryman rymolf rymond ryswell s saan sabitha salladhor sallei saltcliffe samantha samgood samwell sand sandor sansa santagar sara saranella sargon sarra sarsfield sarya satin sawane scales scarb seastar seaworth sebaston selmond selmy selwyn selyse senelle septon serena serra serry serwyn sevenstreams shadrich shae shaena shagwell sharp she shella shepherd shett shiera shierle shireen shirei shortear shrike shrykos sigfry sigfryd sigorn simon sister sisterton skahaz skinchangers sloane slynt small smallwood smike smiling snow son son soulless sour sparr spicer spotted squire stackspear stafford

stallion stannis stark starvling staunton steffarion steffon stevron stillwood stiv stokeworth stone stonehouse stonetree storm stout strickland strong suggs sumner sunglass surly swann sweet swyft sybell sylas sylvenna sylwa symond syrio t taena tagaros talbert tall talla tallhart tally tanda tanner tarbeck targaryen tarle tarly tarth tawney templeton teora ternesio terys tess that the the theo theodore theomore theon thoren thorne thoros three timeon timotty tion titus tobho todder todric togarion tollett tom tomard tommen torghen torgon torrhen torwyn torwynd tower towers toyne trant tree tregar tristifer triston trystane tully tumitis turnberry turnip tyana tybolt tyene tygett tyler tyrek tyrell tyrion tyrion's tysane tysha tyta tytos tywald tywin u ulf uller umber umfred umma urragon urras urrathon urrigon urron urswyck uther utherydes uthor utt v vaegon vaellyn valaena valerion valiant vance varamyr vardis vargo varly varys vayon velaryon veron vickon victaria victarion victor vikary vines visenya viserra viserys volmark vorian vortimer votyris w waif walda walder walderan waldon walgrave wallace wallen walter walton waltyr walys was waters watt waymar wayn waynwood weaver webber weeper wendamyr wendel westerlands westerling westling wex whalen whent white whittlestick who wick wife wildling will willamen willas willem william willis willow wind wineseller winterfell wode wolves woman woodcock woolfield world woth wulfgar wull wyl wylde wylis wylla wyman wynafrei wynafryd wynch wynton wythers x xaro xho xhoan y yandry yarwyck yew ygon ygritte yohn yorbert yoren yorko youngest yronwood ysabel ysilla z zo zollo

[westaeros]

Basic info for my OC, Daenara Targaryen:

Born in 101 AC, shortly after the Great Council. Second daughter of Viserys and Aemma, four years younger than Rhaenyra.

Eleven years old when Aemma and baby Baelon died.

Married Clement Celtigar the year Lucerys was born.

Honey-blonde hair, like her great-grandmother, Queen Alysanne, rather than the traditional Targaryen silver-blonde.

Was given a dragon egg after her father became king. It was silver with streaks of gold, and hatched into a dragon with the same coloring. Daenara named the she-dragon Caerys, after the Valyrian goddess of luck and good fortune.

#♔ ∵ * ∴ 𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 › headcanons

[isefyres-archive]

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖 𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐀

DURING THE CONQUEST.

Lord Crispian Celtigar was the Lord of Claw Isle and head of House Celtigar during the reign of King Aegon I Targaryen. He served as the first master of coin. After Aegon was crowned as King of All Westeros, he established the first small council and Crispian was named the first master of coin. In that office, he advised Aegon on matters relating to taxation, debts, and incomes. Canon.

Lord Alton Celtigar was the Lord of Claw Isle and the head of House Celtigar during the reign of King Aegon I Targaryen after his father Crispian. Alton was named Hand of the King by King Aegon I Targaryen, following the resignation of Lord Edmyn Tully in 9 AC. Alton served ably as Hand until he died from natural causes in 17 AC. He was succeeded as Hand by Ser Osmund Strong. Edwell Celtigar, was his nephew by his sister Obsidia, he succeeded him as head of House Celtigar during Maegor's Rule. Canon.

Lady Obsidia Celtigar was the only daughter of Lord Crispian and joined the offorts in the conquest. She managed a small fleet on the sea and arranged Claw Isle as it is today. She became a companion to Queen Rhaenys and upon her death, her father proposed her as a second bride but the King never took a second wife again. Obsidia eventually would marry a Stormlander and have a son, Edwell who would succeed her brother as Lord of House Celtigar. OC.

DURING THE DANCE OF DRAGONS.

Lord Clement Celtigar. Canon. was the Lord of Claw Isle and the head of House Celtigar during the late part of the Dance of the Dragons. He was the son and heir of Lord Bartimos Celtigar and a supporter of Queen Rhaenyra. Clement became the Lord of Claw Isle after the death of his father during the riot in King's Landing in 130 AC. He would later serve during the ascension of Aegon III and Viserys II, and propose his own daughters as brides but both proposals were rejected despite having aided in the war.

Lady Serafia Celtigar. OC. Youngest daughgter of Bartimos Celtigar and an attendant to Queen Rhaenyra when she becomes Queen, however, due to the war, she is send back to Claw Isle to secure it and make it a safe haven for refuges. Serafia was a potential bride to King Viserys I alongside Laena for his second wife but the match, as usual was rejected. Serafia is the one who begins a log of every item of magic and collection that House Celtigar has, having visions that some of them might help in the future.

DURING THE SONG OF ICE AND FIRE.

Lord Ardrian Celtigar. Canon. known as the Red Crab, is the Lord of Claw Isle and the head of House Celtigar. Ardrian is known for his avarice and his wealth. He is considered a sour old man. Prideful of his house and bitter over the years of mistreatment from the other Valyrian Houses, Ardrian remains quiet on his opinions regarding Valeryons and Targaryens. As a vassal of Dragonstone, Lord Ardrian supports Stannis Baratheon when he lays claim to the Iron Throne, but without real enthusiasm. He is forced to bend the knee to Joffrey, again without real enthusiasm. House Celtigar's wealth is said to be greater than Lannister in gold.

Ser Atlas Celtigar. OC. Atlas is Ardrian eldest son, currently in Essos, hoping to get close to Asshai and the shadowlands, seeking the Origin of Magic and Old Valyria. He wille ventually cross paths with the Dragon Queen, however, Atlas does not give away his ideas and thoughts regarding the house before him. Though he does make it clear that House Celtigar has suffered being sidelined by the other two houses and sees the Rebellion and the Dance as some sort of fate or karma for denying Celtigar blood.

Lady Regent Odessa Celtigar. OC. While her father is in King's Landing, forced to bend the knee, Odessa remains at Claw Isle and secures the isle itself for any future attacks and acts as Regent of her house in abscence of her father and brother. Odessa was a prospect bride for Prince Viserys III when she was a child, despite being only 3 when the Rebellion broke out.

Details about Celtigars:

One of the wealthiest families in Westeros and very reluctant to give away in loans. Very strict when asking for money or favors back.

Most Celtigar women have been offered as wives to Targaryen Kings and even Velaryon men but often refused as Celtigars were not on the same status in Valyria as the other two houses, this is why Celtigars are not dragonriders.

They possess a Valyrian forged axe, a mythical horn that can summon krakens from the seas as well sea dragons.

Their eyes are a shade of Bixbite, Jade and some do share purple tones like the rest of the Valyrians. This is because most Celtigars descend more from families from the Empire of the Dawn and Ghiscari Empires.

During the Dance, they were on the side of the Blacks.

During Aegon's Conquest, they offered their daughter Obsidia asa second wife to Aegon after the death of Rhaenys but the offer was refused.

They often hold position of treasures or masters of coins.

Claw Isle is highly secured with valyrian steel and one of the few rare places where it remains in Westeros besides swords.

#out of character ╲ when you play the game › mun. #artwork╲ houses › mutuals can interact. #updated with new muses #anyways i will make their bios soon but you should love my underrated valyrian house