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valleyof-goldenlilies · 10 months

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Avarice and Arrogance (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Aemond Masterlist | HOTD Masterlist

Synopsis: Aemond was always confident that he could protect you and his family from any threat, but the Gods had to dole out a lesson for his impunity, and a particularly cruel one at that.

Warnings: TW! Character death, violence, torture, angst, Aemond being somewhat toxic??

Word Count: 2.6K words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for the reader. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: You guys asked for angst, I delivered an overdose. I hope you enjoy, although I’m not very proud of this one shot. Inspired after overplaying the epic version of Aegon’s Coronation theme. Ramin Djawadi is my true King of the Seven Kingdoms

wonderful dividers credited to @firefly-graphics

“He whispered his final wish that his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him!”

To anyone, Prince Aemond seemed the portrait of composure: his arms clasped behind his back, his expression cool and disinterested. Yet if one looked closely enough, they would see the tension in his jaw, his teeth gritted, his posture bordering more on stiff than of calmness. His lone violet eye glittered as he observed Aegon walking under the raised swords of the knights, looking as recalcitrant as always.

‘Had that been me…’ he thought bitterly, ‘I would’ve carried myself with pride. The smallfolk would’ve took one look at me and trusted that I had the greatness, the capability, to lead House Targaryen into the apex of our power.’

‘And yet,’ Aemond mused to himself as his mother kissed Aegon on the forehead, ‘reality is often disappointing.’

His fists clenched at his sides. It was unfair, his brother was naught but a wastrel, a fool constantly drunk in his cups and oft found buried in the tits of some common whore. What right had he to rule, save for being the firstborn son? How could someone as useless as him be Lord of the Seven Kingdoms? Even with their grandsire by his side giving him counsel, when his half sister received word of the coronation, and of their father’s death…Aemond dreaded to think what would happen. Would Aegon be able to rise up to the defence of their family?

Aemond took a deep breath to steady himself, when suddenly, he felt a warm hand grasping his, gently unclenching his fingers from his tightly formed fist. Surprised, he looked over to the unexpected source of comfort. His lady wife stood next to him, an indifferent expression on her lovely face as she kept her eyes fixed on the smallfolk. He noticed that she was holding his sweet sister, Helaena’s hand in her other hand, and his mind halted in its baleful, raging course to settle on her instead, admiring her.

My beautiful, brilliant lady wife.

She would’ve been the most wonderful queen, he thought, and the wave of resentment began its course once more. As if sensing the switch in Aemond’s thoughts, she squeezed his hand lightly in hers. Aemond marvelled at his wife, amazed at how she always could sense the slightest shifts in his moods, even when her eyes were not on him. And just like that, the worry and the resentment fell away, and his envy for his brother became a little easier to bear, even just for that moment.

But…he felt a sense of strangeness creep over him as he took in his wife’s features. Her face was impassive, but it was hard and cold, as if she did not approve of this very scene. As Aegon raised Blackfyre and rallied the crowd, and his wife squeezed Helaena’s hand tighter, Aemond realised that mayhaps her gesture was not done solely out of comfort, but for anxiety.

For fear.

You were chewing on your bottom lip, Helaena’s hand still in yours as you both stewed in contemplative silence, each engulfed with thoughts and worries of your own. Aemond frowned as he watched his sister and his beloved. Aegon had ridden in a separate wheelhouse with their mother and grandsire, and mayhaps it was for the better, given the gloomy atmosphere.

When they were back in the safety of their apartments, Aemond followed his wife’s every movement in rapt attention. You began unravelling the tight updo that your hair was in, running your hands through your long locks pensively. It was done now…you were true traitors to the Crown. You sighed, wanting nothing more than to crawl in bed and hope that this was nothing but an unpleasant dream.

Suddenly, you felt warm arms engulfing you from behind. Aemond dropped his chin onto his beloved’s shoulder as he embraced her, breathing in her scent. “Tell me what troubles you, my love,” his voice husky.

You shook your head slightly, trying to mask your thoughts. “Tis nothing, my love. I swear it.”

Aemond chuckled, a dark and soft sound. “Liar.”

He spun his beloved round to face him, taking note of her expression. “I know you are worried,” his voice was soft, “We are husband and wife, my love. Whatever troubles you hold, I want to know all of it. We swore before the Gods, did we not? To share each other’s burdens? We will honour our vows, do we not?”

Your lips twisted slightly, trying not to grimace. “If vows were of any matter to us, then we would not have committed such a grave sin.” Aemond frowned, the reasons for his wife’s anxiety suddenly becoming apparent to him. “Aegon is the King now,” he reminded her, “My father named him so.”

You let out a humourless snort. “He was an old man, half senile and drunk on the Milk of Poppy.” Aemond opened his mouth as if to protest, but you continued before he could. “The late king had named Rhaenyra as his heir. Even when the Stranger drew close, he had forsaken his health and braved through his pain to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim during Vaemond’s speech. Does the Hand expect all of Westeros to believe the King changed his mind all of a sudden on his deathbed? It is insanity, and even a deaf fool would know better.”

“Enough,” Aemond’s voice was low, tinged with warning. “You will not insult my grandsire like this. It is done now, and that is the truth.” You persisted, however. “Putting that aside, Rhaenyra will seek to have all our heads when the news breaks. How can your grandsire be as foolish as to put all of us in danger like this?”

Aemond arched a brow, “Is that what you’re worried about?” “Are you not worried about that?” Aemond laughed, “We have dragons, my love. I should think Vhagar, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre are enough to defend us. That whore on Dragonstone will soon realise that she can get angry, and she can spit and curse all she wants, but she cannot match against our might.”

You looked unconvinced, which irked Aemond a little. Why was she so worried? “Do not tell me,” his voice was low with menace, “That you are loyal to Rhaenyra. That you are sympathetic to that whore’s cause.” You kept mum, but your eyes told Aemond everything he needed to know. He snarled, moving to pin you against the wall.

Your eyes widened with panic, your hands moving to push Aemond away, but he held your wrists in a vice grip. You had never seen him so angry with you before. “You are my wife,” he hissed angrily, “Your priorities should lie with me, with my family. Our family. In keeping us safe from that accursed whore and my uncle.” “And making Aegon king, usurping the rightful queen, is supposed to keep us safe?” You argued, unintimidated. “Have you lost all your senses, Aemond? We are traitors! Usurpers! You claim protecting your family is your priority, but yet you allow your grandsire to risk our lives for his mad grab for power!” Aemond’s grip tightened on your wrists, causing you to wince and fall silent. Aemond took notice of that, but he couldn’t let you go. Not just yet. He needed to make his point.

“I said, do not speak of my grandsire in that manner,” he seethed. “He is my family, and I will not tolerate you insulting him.” He took a deep breath, letting go of his wife’s wrists, and she took the chance to push him away before fleeing to their bed. He sighed and sat down next to her, but she only moved away and folded her arms, turning her back on him. He heard a soft sniffle, and he realised with horror that she was crying. He had made her cry.

A pang of guilt shot through Aemond’s heart, and he tentatively reached out to put his hands on her shoulders, dismayed when she flinched away from his touch. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier, my love,” he said quietly, “I got carried away, and I hurt you. I apologise for that.” He saw her shoulders lose some of their tension at his apology, and a glimmer of hope shone in his violet eye. Mayhaps he could make her see his viewpoint after all. He knew of her house’s loyalty to Rhaenyra’s claim, and how she might be swayed to support Rhaenyra’s claim, but she had to see. That this was the best for their family.

“My love…” he bit his lip, “I know my words were harsh, but it is true. What is done is done. Even if I dislike Aegon being on the throne, he is my brother. If Rhaenyra had taken the throne, she would’ve had us executed. She would not suffer any presence that could be a threat to her claim to the throne. Even if she did not, there is no doubt Daemon would.” He took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “Rhaenyra is impulsive, violent and reckless. You saw how she took off Vaemond’s head when his only crime was speaking the truth. Her son blinded me when we were naught but boys,” Aemond’s voice became hard. “If we allow her to ascend the throne, that means that the Strong bastard, Jace, would ascend the throne after her. Do you really think the realm would really bow before him?”

Your hard gaze softened a little, and Aemond saw a window of opportunity. “Think rationally, my love,” Aemond pleaded softly, “My father may have named Rhaenyra the heir, but it is an irreplaceable fact that the lords of Westeros would never bow before her. The Seven Kingdoms would plunge into chaos, do you really want that?” Aemond raised her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “I know you’re afraid of Rhaenyra’s wrath, but I ask of you to trust me. Trust that I will keep us safe, no matter what.”

“...I’m not sure if you can, Aemond.” Aemond’s heart dropped, “Whatever do you mean?” You finally turned to face him, and he was alarmed when he took note of the tears glistening at the corner of your eyes. “Aemond…I’m with child. For nearly three moons now.”

Aemond swore his heart stopped at that very moment. But his shock only lasted briefly before he pulled you into his arms, voice filled with excitement and wonder, “You’re with child? Our child?” When he broke the embrace, you were surprised to see the corner of his violet eye wet. Aemond dropped to his knees in front of you, stroking his hand over your stomach reverently, in disbelief almost. “We’re going to be parents…” he murmured, “I’m going to be a father.”

But even in Aemond’s joy, you could not find it in yourself to smile. Not with the threat of the impending succession war. Aemond noticed your discomfort, but nothing could take away the happiness he felt at the moment. “My love, you don’t have to be afraid,” his voice was reassuring, “I swear on my honour, on the Old Gods and the New, on the Seven and all my ancestors, that I would burn the world to ashes on Vhagar before I let anyone lay a finger on you or our child.” He took your hand, cradling it in his, tilting his head upwards, a pleading look in his eye, for you to believe in him, to trust him to keep you safe.

“But even all the dragons in this world will not keep us from reaping the fate we sowed,” you said quietly, eyes never leaving Aemond’s. “The gods will strike us down for our treason.”

Aemond rolled his eye, exasperated that his wife just didn’t seem to grasp the true extent of their power. “We are Targaryens, my love,” Aemond said self-assuredly. “We possess dragons, the largest, most dangerous and powerful creatures in the world. The gods may try as they might, but they can never strike us down. Seven hells, I would dare say we are the gods, my love,” Aemond chuckled at how your eyes widened at his brazen words. “For what other than a god can mount a dragon, and command it?” “Don’t say things like that, Aemond,” you were aghast, “The Seven will-”

“Fuck the Seven,” Aemond said bluntly. “When men pray, the Gods never answer. Why should we fear the consequences inflicted upon us by some unknown higher power?” He resumed his seat on their bed, pulling you back into his embrace and gently stroking your hair. “We need not fear the Gods, my love,” he murmured softly. “You will see soon enough, when war comes, and the Gods do nothing to interfere, then you will come to revere them less. In the meantime, you will come to see who the true gods are, when our dragons raze the earth and win this godforsaken war.”

It was known to all that the gods despise hubris, and perhaps they were watching that evening, when you laid your head on Aemond’s chest with a sigh and allowed him to soothe and comfort you, making promises that he would keep you safe no matter what.

Aemond had been so sure in his words, so confident in his beliefs and in his abilities, and blinded by his ego. Mayhaps this was what drove him when he bade Vhagar prowl around Lucerys Velaryon and his dragon Arrax in the stormy skies of Storms’ End, shouting for the Strong bastard to repay the debt he owed.

Mayhaps his pride was what had blinded him to the possibility that he could never keep his family safe after his act of kinslaying.

But he knew for sure that he had regretted making an enemy of the gods when he saw you, eyes wide with fear, a sharp dragonglass blade to your throat as you were held hostage by some cutpurse. An eye for an eye, a son for a son, the cutpurse had grinned, before slitting your throat and lodging the dagger into your stomach.

It mattered not how much Aemond had howled with grief as he held your lifeless frame in his arms, begging for you to wake up. It mattered not when Aemond personally tortured your assassin with the most vicious methods he could devise, flaying every inch of skin from his body until he had expired. Even in death, he was not spared of Aemond’s wrath. His body was marked with incisions when it was finally fed to Vhagar, courtesy of Aemond cutting out his heart and crushing it with his bare hands. It mattered not when Aemond had sworn to avenge you no matter the cost, to cut down Daemon Targaryen and give him the same treatment he had for the cutpurse. It took the combined efforts of the Queen Dowager, Queen Helaena, King Aegon, the Hand, and many other lords and knights of the Kingsguard to prevent him from mounting Vhagar upon the cutpurse’s death to fly to Dragonstone. A fool’s folly, they called it, but Aemond had drawn his sword and snarled at them to get out of his way, lest they wish to be the recipient of Vhagar’s flames. It was only when Alicent motioned for Ser Criston to deliver a blow that rendered Aemond unconscious that they could restrain him at all.

A part of Aemond had died that day, and he rained curses upon the Seven, on his uncle, on his wretched half-sister as he took his seat in the Small Council, being the advocate for absolute and brutal violence against the Blacks. And yet he did not repent for looking down upon the gods, not even till the day when he faced his uncle Daemon in battle and died in the cursed halls of Harrenhal. Another casualty of the Dance of the Dragons.

After all, even the Valyrian dragonlords of old had not been able to escape the Stranger’s clutches when death came for them. And Aemond Targaryen was no different.

...i’m very sorry :( but I swear, happier Aemond one shots are coming 😭

Aemond General Taglist: @aiyaiy

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maisiestyle · 7 months

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"Ned Stark's Precious Little Girl"

Arya is a mix of both her parents. But as her story unfolds, with every new chapter and book, Arya has moved beyond her parents and into a far more dynamic character.

Ned was a role model to Arya, she loved him more than almost anyone (she loves Jon most of all). She holds on to Ned's memory now more than any of his children.

Ned is stubborn, quick to anger, loyal to a fault, and deeply devoted to his family to the point where he sacrificed his honor and died for his children.

Both Arya & Ned had a dislike for Southern culture. Which is double odd considering Ned was fostered in the South: That was never truly his place. Whereas Cat and Sansa are very much creatures made for the South.

Treatment of the smallfolk and not judging those lower than their station... That says a lot about their character, something Ned, Lyanna, Arya & Jon have all shown in the books.

Arya & Ned are similar but different as well. Where Ned was lacking, his ability to not see the truth in the lies around him - Arya has developed beyond that point. Ned was too slow and unyielding until it was too late and he died. Cat was to heedless, prideful, and emotional - that cost her life. At the beginning Arya was a mix of both her parents BUT her journey so far has made her grow and develop where her parents had not. By Book 5, Arya is extremely artful and considerate, patient and willing to face the truth in all its ugliness, adaptable and fluid like water - a changeling. That's how she'll survive where her parents did not.

While Sansa is learning how to flirt, organise a glorified party and remain passive and isolated.

Arya lives out in the open, has escaped death and captivity by her own wits, travelled all over Westeros leaving her memory imprinted on the people she met along the way, and her unyielding desire to never be helpless again which brought her to Braavos. The Sealord of Braavos stood up to a King and his dragons and won - all he did was whisper the "faceless men" and King's Landing yielded - that is true power. Arya will return to Westeros having grown in many ways. But like her father and mother, her family will always be her guiding light.

I love how the Northmen constantly connect Arya to Ned and want to fight for them both:

When White Harbour (a place Arya has visited twice with Ned) hears of "Arya Stark" marrying Ramsay.

“Was ever snow so black?” asked Lord Wyman. “Ramsay took Lord Hornwood’s lands by forcibly wedding his widow, then locked her in a tower and forgot her. It is said she ate her own fingers in her extremity…and the Lannister notion of king’s justice is to reward her killer with Ned Stark’s little girl.” - (Davos, A Dance with Dragons)

~*~

As "Arya" suffers in Winterfell, they connect her to Ned:

"The bride weeps," Lady Dustin said, as they made their way down, step by careful step. "Our little Lady Arya." ... What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl." ...

"Lady Arya's sobs do us more harm than all of Lord Stannis's swords and spears.

~*~

The northmen want to fight for Arya:

“Even ruined and broken, Winterfell remains Lady Arya’s home. What better place to wed her, bed her, and stake your claim? […] Let Stannis march on us. He is too cautious to come to Barrowton…but he must come to Winterfell. His clansmen will not abandon the daughter of their precious Ned to such as you. - (Reek, A Dance with Dragons)

[…]

Lord Arnolf shoved himself up, a vulture rising from its prey. One spotted hand clutched at his son’s shoulder for support. “We’ll take [Winterfell] for Ned and for his daughter.” - (The Sacrifice, A Dance with Dragons)

~*~

"Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue." - (Dance with Dragons)

#arya stark #sansa stark #asoiaf #anti sansa stans #house stark #game of thrones #gotaryastark #grrmartin #ned stark #braavos #asoiaf art #jon snow #arya

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nightswatchdisbandmentera · 9 months

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Thinking about poor, doomed Young Griff and how it’s not even important if he is or isn’t Rhaegar’s real son. Because what makes him a fake goes beyond blood - it’s really down to intent and experience. He’s a poor rich man’s Aegon V, but like without the organic hero’s journey.

He’s a lab experiment pretty much. However well intentioned he is, there isn’t much indication that his journey has been authentic. Varys and Illyrio are trying to recreate Aegon V with a fake...literally down to the “let’s hide his hair” scheme. They even gave the boy Aegon’s freaking name (it’s a king’s name after all so I can’t blame them). But they missed like the biggest, most important lesson of all. Aegon V CHOSE to go out. HE made himself, no one else did. His journey was organic as it was derived out of his own autonomous decisions, not manufactured down to the smallest detail (does YG really know what it means to starve and be homeless and hunted?). And there was no promise of a reward (I.e., kingship). Egg didn’t know that he’d be king and even after his dad rose to the throne, there were a ton of people ahead of him. FFS he’s called Aegon the Unlikely. Bro just woke up one day and was like “ay wouldn’t it be nice to actually experience this realm from the perspective of a disenfranchised person?”

Meanwhile, our poor Young Griff is being made to go through all this with the expectation that it’s all going to pay off when he becomes king. BUT (big but!), who’s to say that he actually gets it? Like does he really get why he needs to see how this horrible feudalistic society preys on the smallfolk and makes corpses out of them? Wait, does he even know or recognize that the system needs changing? Like did Varys and Illyrio just tell him “people poor” and leave it at that? Why are they poor Young Griff? How did they get there?! Do Varys and Illyrio even get it? Do they understand that Aegon V was a radical change maker?

How hollow is it that it’s not Young Griff making the conscious decision to actually try and see how his subjects live. He’s not making the conscious decision to be a change maker, no matter what Varys and Illyrio say. People in this fandom will talk about how Young Griff will be the perfect king but…perfect for whom? In what way? In a series that critiques this entire system, what about YG screams that he’s going to actually tackle some of the systemic issues that need tackling - the systemic issues that Aegon V tried to tackle after organically going through his own journey?

WELLLLL….isn’t it cool that Jon and Dany are the true heirs to Aegon V’s legacy not because of blood, but because they actually get to the heart of Aegon V’s journey? Say what you want about them but they are radical as it gets (Jon at the Wall and Dany all over Slaver’s Bay). No one manufactured them. No one told them they had to care about people. No one told them they had to do this lab experiment to become king/queen. They actually did their own thing, while themselves being disenfranchised (GRRM identifies both as outsiders). And without the expectation of a reward (like Jon is literally told that his entire life will basically amount to nothing).

And it’s even better that they were unlikely. Young Griff is meant to happen - well someone is pulling the strings to make sure he works. He’s taking the role of someone who was always meant to be king - for Rhaegar’s son was meant to be king. But Jon and Dany are actually following the Aegon V blueprint because they weren’t meant to happen. Jon is a second son who is presumably a bastard with a contentious claim, and Dany is a daughter who was never meant to survive being sold off to slavery let alone rise to queenship. Neither one of them was meant to be on the throne. No one told them to do the things they did. No one took them and placed them in the positions they’re in. They rose to the occasion by themselves and made changes by their own volition - just as it was with Aegon V. And what makes it even better is that just as Aegon V was chosen to be king, so were Jon and Dany (Jon was literally elected into office and basically won over the wildlings while Dany was dubbed “mhysa” because of her actions in Slaver’s Bay).

#asoiaf #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #young griff #aegon v targaryen #varys #illyrio mopatis #valyrianscrolls #my stuff #like they took an imposter and were like let’s recreate this cool king from decades ago #wasn’t it nice how he cared about people and stuff?#how we actually journeyed among the smallfolk and lived among them and directly experienced what it means to be disenfranchised?#yeahhhh let’s do that…..but we won’t do it organically #meanwhile prince in hiding jon snow doesn’t even know he’s a prince in hiding #he gains power and is just like yeah isn’t it cool to be nice to people and give them basic human decency?! let’s do that from now on #and he has zero expectation for a reward - like he KNOWS that the only reward he’ll get is at best being forgotten at worse infamy and death #dany literally sees people being slaves and is like that sucks ☹️ lemme do something about it #and she DID #she freaking did #like I’ve always felt that we’re not going to get on page confirmation that Aegon is a fake #because it’s not about that #it’s about a boy whose been forced to wear boots that don’t fit #so he’s tap dancin and tap dancin until he can’t anymore and dies #Dany doesn’t need to be YG’s undoing #YG all be his own undoing and that’s more interesting from a character level #the lesson isn’t ohh he’s not the hero because he doesn’t have the right blood #y’all I could go on and on like!!!

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calummss · 2 years

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Love Resembles Misty Dream | Aemond Targaryen

masterlist

summary: as daughter of the hand of the king, not everything comes to you. aemond and you are madly in love, the only problem? there is a slim chance of getting married. it seems the old and new gods have not decided your fate just yet

pairing: fem! reader x aemond targaryen

words: 2.3k

a/n: wrote this bc i only found smut and we need fluffy aemond fics. this aemond is written canonically, but he would only act like this for that one specific person, no one else. i also changed the timeline slightly so that otto was disposed of after alicent gave birth to aemond. okay enjoy

‘Dragonpit after sunrise. I’ll see you then my love.’

Your heart fluttered in excitement as you read the letter, written with the black ink you came to know so well. You have received similar scrolls over the years, yet every time the words swirled around your mind, you could feel your heart beating faster. It was a reminder that even after all these years he still made you nervous; excited; over the moon. You knew it was love by the way you felt, and knowing him, he loved you so much he would start a war over you.

The light of the moon did not seem to want to leave the dark sky anytime soon. Only the flicker of a candle lit up your chamber, illuminating orange between the misty air.

You stroked the parchment with your thumb, the other hand hidden under your head as you waited for the sun to rise.

Your father was a guest at the court, turned Hand of the King when Otto Hightower had his position taken from him. Days at court were boring, considering that there were barely any girls at court your age with the exception of Princess Helaena Targaryen. But her brother Aemond was who took your interest. You had observed him the first few weeks and noticed he was bold, wild, willful, hot-tempered and unforgiving. He grew up to be a proficient and dangerous swordsman. He had a weird calmness to him which made him scary to most, but somehow you had befriended him. You knew how odd that was when people started to stare at you, following the news of the “Prince’s First Friend”. Ridiculous title if you were asked. One particular night he had accompanied you through the gardens and when no one was looking caught you by surprise, sneaking a kiss on your lips as you had stared at the ground seconds before. Aemond loved the risk of being with you, but also grew tired of it at the same time.

When the moon did decide to disappear you wasted no time. Your handmaiden helped you braid and tie your long silky hair, helping you into your pink dress that was your favourite. You were grateful that the castle was not yet awake with the exception being the household personnel tending to breakfast, cleaning and whatever else had to be done by the time the King would awake.

The halls were empty, your shoes gently echoing against the harsh stonewalls trying not to cause a racket that would lead its way back to you. Finding your way out of the Keep and covering yourself with a cape, you started heading towards the Dragonpit. Walking past the drunks and unconscious men that belonged to the smallfolk, made the sweat in your nape roll faster. The winds felt exceptionally cold that morning, as did the narrow streets seem to have shrunken the last time you traveled the way. Small but fast paced steps had you standing in front of the Dragonpit quicker than last time.

The Dragonkeepers were the one thing you hated amongst the sneaking around. Any sound, any movement, any sense to be alarmed, and they would swing their swords, find you and send you back to the Red Keep, telling your father of your shortcut adventure of the early morning hour. Luckily they had never been aware of you until now.

Flattening yourself against the rough stones of the building, you slid against the wall, carefully getting past the four guards that were deep in conversation. Clenching your teeth, you detached yourself from the wall and headed towards the basement that led you to the individual caves the dragons were held in. Small torches lit the wet structure, shining in the light. The wind breeze blew your face softly, your hair moving away from your face as you got closer to the entrance.

‘Aemond.’ You whispered as quiet as you could, not to wake the dragons or to alert the Dragonkeepers of a break-in.

The heels of your shoes left an echoing click in the air, but Aemond was nowhere to be seen.

‘Aemond.’

Suddenly someone grabbed you by your side and pulled you in against one of the cave walls.

‘Aemond.’ You smiled, greeted by blond hair and a blue eye, one hidden behind the black eyepatch.

Aemond pulled you into his embrace, so tightly it felt like he was craving your touch more than was humanly possible. He rested his forehead against yours, smiling ear to ear before lowering his head. Your heart pounded in your chest as your knees got weaker. It wasn’t the first kiss but Aemond’s presence made you nervous like a little girl. Your whole body tingled, the movement of his chest coming closer, as his arms wrapping even tighter around you felt forbidden. Your chest filled with air as his lips brushed against yours; softly, delicately, like you were a porcelain figure, a crack away from falling to pieces and being broken forever. You could only focus on how soft he felt against your mouth, how addictively he invaded all your senses. He kissed you long enough that he could inhale your breath, feel the warmth of your skin, and the smell of your perfume that would linger far after you had gone. His lips were soft and his tongue as wet as water. Aemond gently grabbed your chin, slowly pulling back from the kiss, deep down not wanting to break apart from you.

‘I missed you hm,’ His deep voice mumbled against your lips, his thumb gently rubbing against your cheek, holding your face close to his. ‘So much.’

You placed your hand over his, also rubbing against his skin. ‘I missed you too.’ You kissed him one more time. ’But we can’t stay here.’

‘Hm.’ Aemond slightly smirked before grabbing your hand and pulling you further down the caves.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Going to take Vhagar for a ride.’

‘Really?’ Sound of surprise coated your question.

‘I was reluctant to let you ride on her, my love,’ Aemond’s arm pulled your shoulder closer to his side. ‘But I know you love dragons and desperately want to ride one so why not be the best-only-boyfriend you have and let you ride with me.’

Your stomach churned in excitement and nervousness as you were finally confronted with one of the biggest dreams you had ever had. Vhagar was the biggest dragon amongst all living and a giant compared to you. Aemond made the mounting of the animal look so easy and graceful so that when it came to your turn to climb onto her back you lost your balance a few times before taking Aemond’s hand which pulled you up and swung you onto the seat in front of him so that he could ensure your safety at all cost.

‘Hold on tight.’

‘Where are we going?’ You turned your head back but Aemond already uttered the words ‘Sōvēs’, and Vhagar started to move, making loads of noise. Her walk was like an earthquake, the flapping of her wings like thunder.

You held on tightly, your hands hurting from the amount of pressure. Aemond’s front was pressed to your back, his hands holding on to the rope in front of your stomach making you feel a little less anxious, yet it was still your first time on a dragon and you could swear you could feel your heartbeat outside of your chest.

There was a remote island just off the coast off Dragonstone. No one ever went there so it had become a sacred hideout. The island was big in size; sand, mountains, stones, all making up the solid ground.

You were laying in the sun, the warmth of the rays making you take off the cape. At the same time you felt a different warmth against the skin on your neck, slow wet kisses going down to your collarbones where his fingers played with the hem of your dress. Using your index finger, you pushed his chin up so he was looking at you and locked your lips with his. Again and again he invaded every corner of your mind and all your senses, his slow passionate kisses turning hungrier.

‘We can’t,’ you pushed Aemond’s hand from your chest, disappointment coating your words. ‘It is too big of a risk to take. I would rather just stay here and be able to kiss you as much as I want to then to be banned from court and seeing you with someone else.’

‘I do love you, Y/n.’ Aemod said, his fingers tangled in your hair as you rested your head on his chest, feeling it rise and fall as you enjoyed each other’s company under the old blooming tree.

‘I know that Aemond.’ You absentmindedly traced circles on his abdomen.

‘I will make sure that I am to be your husband. And if you are to be with child, I will make sure that that child is from my seed and my seed only.’

‘Aemond—‘

‘I know you don’t wish to have a lot of kids,’ he repositioned his head so that he could stare at your face, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, ‘however if you are to be my wife we will have to have one child to make sure our succession is secured.’ Aemond smiled genuinely. ‘I do not ask for more than just one. That is all you have to do, my love. After that, all my love and devotion will be to my wife,’ He inched closer. ‘Our child and our marriage.’ He locked his lips with yours as he mumbled the last words.

‘One might think this is a prayer.’ You grinned up at him, your heart full of warmth.

‘Hm, maybe it is.’

‘You are aware that there is a slim chance we are to be wed, Aemond, right?’ You shifted uncomfortably, pushing yourself up against the tree.

‘Yet my father is a king and you can find me to be very persuasive.’ He smirked.

‘I know.’

‘Now,’ Aemond adjusted himself to lie down comfortably, closing his eyes as he relaxed beneath the sun. ‘Let us just rest here. We can’t be gone for too long.’

When you returned from your morning trip, you saw that Aemond was immediately approached by one of the King’s Guard to whom he followed inside.

Must be important.

You ignored the scene you had witnessed and headed towards your quarters, having no further duties for the day.

‘M’lady’, a guard strutted towards you as soon as you walked through the hallway that led to your quarters at the end of the hall.

‘Ser Criston Cole, what a surprise to see you here, tucked away from kingly duties? What is it you need from me?’

He returned a blank stare. ‘Your father the Hand awaits you in his study about an urgent matter that requires you to be present right this second.’

‘In the name of the Old and New Gods why the fuck would you wait for me to climb up all these stairs to send me back down again, Cole.’ Your voice echoed through the halls, your feet already picking up pace to run down the very steps you had just ascended.

The stairs felt like they never ended. Every time you were done with a staircase a new one appeared in front of your eyes, slowly making you run out of breath as you raced towards your father’s study.

‘My darling daughter,’ your father greeted you as soon and you entered the room, huffing desperately for air.

‘Ser Criston just told me you needed to see me.’ You coughed mid-sentence. ‘Urgently.’

‘Well, yes. You see the news came…rather unexpected without being able to have some sort of say in it. However I do not feel to cause a scene since the recent agreement made is nothing but a good arrangement.’

‘You lost me.’

‘You are to marry the Prince Aemond this summer.’

You stayed completely silent.

You pinched yourself good to make sure that if this was a dream you would wake up, but everything stayed the same. You were still in that room with your father, him now growing more concerned about your quiet state.

Without thinking further you rushed out of the room, hearing your name being called after but you only had one thing on your mind; find Aemond.

Back on your feet you started picking up speed again. This time there was joy in the run. You had to find him. Every second felt like your heart was about to explode. When you rounded the corner in front of the throne room you could see Aemond stopping in his tracks as soon as he saw you. He had also run.

His small smile from across the room shined brighter than any light that had casted above the halls. You crashed into him, arms flung around his neck as his arms snuck around your waist and pulled you into his embrace, his face hidden in your neck as he spun you around in circles.

‘So I can finally call you ‘my love’ out loud hm?’

‘Please,’ you whispered, closing the gap between you once more, no longer having to hide from everyone.

‘Kiss me.’

‘I could never deny that order, my love.’

Your bodies pressed together against each other heatedly, tighter than ever before, breathing heavily as your lips pressed together. You could taste your shared breath, feel the thud of your combined heartbeat as you breathed him in like he was your air.

‘It seems as though we are getting that child of ours afterall, hm?’

‘Only one.’ You giggled against his lips.

‘One is all we need.’

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gojuo · 11 months

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Showrunners claiming being "feminist" is the whole circus. They screwed every woman's characterization for high Rhaenyra up:

Book!Helaena was an political advisor who usually participated on Councils,don't shy away from disagreeing with Aegon and he actually listens her advises. She was incredibly loved by the smallfolk and was brave enough to claim Dreamfyre. On the show she did not even have a Coronation or her crown neither(another woman wearing a crown except Rhaenyra is a crime).

Book!Alicent was a witty,smart and incredibly charismatic woman dutiful at the old King Jaehaerys and her sons. She was so interesting: she was disrespected on so many ways for Viserys and had every right to be upset. No other woman in Westeros had to suffer having her first born son be desinherited and ignored by his father (except Ellia from the show and on the book Jon is just a bastard) Alicent,Helaena and Aegon could had been such incredible characters on the show

The Helaena treatment is ssoooooo beyond evil. I can't believe that this fandom is still bitching about the same old tired 3 talking points months after season 1 has finished but not a single peep about how misogynistic the writers have been towards Helaena.

Being beloved by the Smallfolk is not something that randomly happens. It has to be a deliberate move, because technically, Helaena is a public figure and near every public outing she makes has to be a thought-out decision to a certain extent. She can't just willy-nilly go out into the streets of King's Landing, mingling with the people and getting to know them and have an impact on them in such a way that they would love her so much to rise up in revolt in her name. In a way, the cultivation of her public image is reminiscent of Margaery, with one major difference: no deliberate manipulation at play. There is, after all, not a single indication anywhere in any canon that Helaena was a manipulative person in the way that Margaery was, no. What this was — what the Smallfolk adoring her was — was the tangible proof of Helaena's bravery to be out in the streets with the people of King's Landing, the fortitude of her to break down the invisible line between high-born royalty and low-born commoners, a testament to her graciousness and gentility and the affirmation of her adventurous heart. She was the first one of the Targtower siblings to claim a dragon, she showed her political acumen when she and her mother drafted the more than generous peace terms for Aegon to send to Rhaenyra, she had an incredibly complex relationship with her husband who she shares such a horrific trauma-bond with which is, to this day, still unparalleled by any other couple in this entire franchise, and she was a truly witty and humorous person ...

... and all of that characterization was thrown out of the window for the show. She is an extra to someone else's story in every. single. scene. she appears in. Her first scene as a child was to cement to the audience how "weird" and "unorthodox" she is. To show the audience that she is now on the autism-spectrum apparently. She is a dragon dreamer but all she does is utter some vague one-sentence prophecies no one can make any sense of, now always having to live psychologically in isolation because of this, which is the complete opposite of how life was for her in Fire and Blood. She speaks two or three sentences during the dinner scene, and it was to service the contrast between Jace and Aegon as people, it wasn't about her. We get a two-second shot at her children and she isn't even interacting with them. Do not even get me started on how the show completely erased how Helaena used to bring the kids to Viserys every single night to sit down together and hear him speak of tales of the past as he lay dying. These passages in the book weren't without reason, they were there to humanize all four of them — Helaena, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor — and to garner sympathy from the reader. Blood and Cheese is one of the most disgusting things to have ever happened in all of the books, but the brutalization of all of these characters was that much more awful because we had actually spent some time together with them in the text, because we had gotten to see them be loved, because we had actually gotten to know them, even if only a little. And the show erased every single fucking thing concerning this point. Everything.

And if that wasn't enough, showrunners and writers then went on to make her an extra during her own coronation scene. That coronation was about Helaena just as much as it was about Aegon and they fucking took that from her! And for what? For what did they change her character this much? All to turn her into the fucking female lead of a fucking incestuous love triangle which is a fucking plotline straight ripped off from three fucking different characters in a different fucking part from canon. FUCKKKKK!!!!

Don't even get me started on Alicent. They gave her raw as fuck book character and motivations and narrative purpose to fucking Otto of all people in the show. She has become the abeyance of her own storyline! And instead of the fandom putting attention to this type of misogynistic writing Helaena and Alicent have been victim of by the writers, I'm having to suffer through the same played-out takes on how being an Aegon fan means being a rape apologist or how Alicent is an evil person because Helaena doesn't like to be touched. For fuck's sake GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!!!!!

#anti hotd #hotd critical #helaena #alicent #i have an ask abt alicent in my inbox im gonna go more into depth on her character there so thats why i kept it short here anon #hotd #anonymous #answered

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drakaripykiros130ac · 7 months

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Loved this Council meeting.

Princess Rhaenyra making a good point…

And Alicent drowning in her sorrows because she can’t stand Rhaenyra being right. But she doesn’t have any counter argument against her reasoning in relation to the Bracken - Blackwood incident, does she? She acts like a “mature” woman, rolling her eyes, smirking and drinking (*cough* Cersei 2.0 *cough*).

And then there is the matter of the Stepstones. Daemon is a war hero, fought hard and single handedly killed the Crabfeeder. He was named King of the Narrow Sea, but gave up this honor, gifting the Stepstones to the Crown. He deserves the utmost respect for that.

And some bearded idiot (I don’t even know who he is), dares to belittle his great victory. Alicent doesn’t miss the opportunity to put the whole blame of losing the Stepstones on Daemon (even though it wasn’t his responsibility) simply because she dislikes him.

And when Rhaenyra makes valid points once more, defends Daemon and rightfully scolds the Crown for not protecting their own lands…

This woman is desperate to prove her wrong and fails miserably. She doesn’t even present a counter argument to prove her reasoning that Daemon is to blame. She immediately moves to “We cannot afford it.” Aha. So you admit that it was the Crown’s responsibility to defend the Stepstones, not Daemon’s.

As for the costs, like Rhaenyra says, “Cost of war is greater.” One way or another, the people have to pay taxes. Either they pay a more reasonable amount for fortifications or they will pay a humongous amount when war is on their doorsteps. But Alicent doesn’t have the capacity to understand that, and doesn’t provide reasonable arguments, just unreasonably rebuffs anything Rhaenyra has to say. As if it would kill her to admit that Rhaenyra is 100% right.

How mature of her. She has no leg to stand on (they’re probably off to be polished for her special night with Larys), acts like she is the smartest person in the room (Cersei impersonator), and then cries that she needs her father, because no one else is partial to her.

The Realm suffered greatly under the time she ruled in Viserys’ place. She and Otto ignore the smallfolk (confirmed in episode 9) and have no other interest other than promoting those of House Hightower and advancing their family’s position.

They’re a bunch of social climbers who are truly simple minded when it comes to politics. Reminder: Otto made the same reasoning mistakes at the Council meeting in episode 1, when he was trying to undermine Daemon, and Daemon pretty much check-mated him. Otto has no counter argument and changed the subject to Rhea Royce just to try and get a rise out of Daemon. This just proves what terrible political minds Otto and Alicent actually have. I mean, what can you expect from a handmaid turned queen through deception and a power hungry father?

Alicent had a good time abusing her position to make Rhaenyra’s life miserable. Can’t wait to see the tables turned.

Rhaenyra has demonstrated diplomatic finesse, a good strategic mind and potential to rule, which is more than can be said for Alicent, her snake of a father or her “precious children”.

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asongoficeandfiresource · 2 years

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The Year of the Three Brides in The Rise of the Dragon

The 49th year after Aegon’s Conquest gave the people of Westeros a welcome respite from the chaos and conflict that had gone before. It would be a year of peace, plenty, and marriage, remembered in the annals of the Seven Kingdoms as the Year of the Three Brides.

Rhaena Targaryen and Androw Farman The new year was but a fortnight old when news of the first of the three weddings came out of the west, from Fair Isle by the Sunset Sea. There, in a small swift ceremony under the sky, Rhaena Targaryen wed Androw Farman, the second son of the Lord of Fair Isle. It was the groom’s first marriage, the bride’s third. Though twice widowed, Rhaena was but twenty-six. Her new husband, just ten-and-seven, was notably younger, a comely and amiable youth said to be utterly besotted with his new wife. Their wedding was presided over by the groom’s father, Marq Farman, Lord of Fair Isle, and conducted by his own septon. Lyman Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, and his wife, Jocasta, were the only great lords in attendance. Two of Rhaena’s former favorites, Samantha Stokeworth and Alayne Royce, made their way to Fair Isle in some haste to stand with the widowed queen, together with the groom’s high-spirited sister, the Lady Elissa. The remainder of the guests were bannermen and household knights sworn to either House Farman or House Lannister. King and court remained entirely ignorant of the marriage until a raven from the Rock brought word, days after the wedding feast and the bedding that sealed the match.

Alyssa Velaryon and Rogar Baratheon When the day of the wedding finally arrived, more than forty thousand smallfolk ascended the Hill of Rhaenys to the Dragonpit to bear witness to the union of the Queen Regent and the Hand. (Some observers put the count even higher.) Thousands more cheered Lord Rogar and Queen Alyssa in the streets as their procession made its way across the city, attended by hundreds of knights on caparisoned palfreys, and columns of septas ringing bells. “Never has there been such a glory in all the annals of Westeros,” wrote Grand Maester Benifer. Lord Rogar was clad head to heel in cloth-of-gold beneath an antlered halfhelm, whilst his bride wore a greatcloak sparkling with gemstones, with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen and the silver seahorse of the Velaryons facing one another on a divided field. Yet for all the splendor of the bride and groom, it was the arrival of Alyssa’s children that set King’s Landing to talking for years to come. King Jaehaerys and Princess Alysanne were the last to appear, descending from a bright sky on their dragons, Vermithor and Silverwing (the Dragonpit still lacked the great dome that would be its crowning glory, it must be recalled), their great leathern wings stirring up clouds of sand as they came down side by side, to the awe and terror of the gathered multitudes. (The oft-told tale that the arrival of the dragons caused the aged High Septon to soil his robes is likely only a calumny.)

Alysanne and Jaehaerys Targaryen The following morning, as the sun rose, Jaehaerys Targaryen, the First of His Name, took to wife his sister Alysanne in the great yard at Dragonstone, before the eyes of gods and men and dragons. Septon Oswyck performed the marriage rites; though the old man’s voice was thin and tremulous, no part of the ceremony was neglected. The seven knights of the Kingsguard stood witness to the union, their white cloaks snapping in the wind. The castle’s garrison and servants looked on as well, together with a good part of the smallfolk of the fishing village that huddled below Dragonstone’s mighty curtain walls. A modest feast followed the ceremony, and many toasts were drunk to the health of the boy king and his new queen. Afterward Jaehaerys and Alysanne retired to the bedchamber where Aegon the Conqueror had once slept beside his sister Rhaenys, but in view of the bride’s youth there was no bedding ceremony, and the marriage was not consummated.

#rhaena targaryen (daughter of aenys)#androw farman #alyssa velaryon #rogar baratheon #Alysanne Targaryen #jaehaerys i targaryen #asoiaf #asoiafedit #the rise of the dragon #official art #asoiaf art #targnation

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atopvisenyashill · 11 months

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annoying to already see people discoursing about this “meleys the traitor” scene.

greens will say, pretending to care about the smallfolk, that they have a right to be mad about the attack on Aegon’s coronation because of the collateral damage to the smallfolk, which, fair enough, however stupid I may feel that scene was, it did do some unnecessary damage to the smallfolk of king’s landing.

HOWEVER.

if the scene is uncritically people buying into otto’s propoganda, it’s not only stupid it’s also an annoying departure from the books and a continuation of got writers (first d&d now condal and hess) treating the smallfolk as if they’re stupid which they are not. Look at the actual text of F&B:

Eight hundred knights and squires and common men lost their lives that day as well. Another hundred perished not long after, when Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole took Rook’s Rest and put its garrison to death. Lord Staunton’s head was carried back to King’s Landing and mounted above the Old Gate…but it was the head of the dragon Meleys, drawn through the city on a cart, that awed the crowds of smallfolk into silence. Septon Eustace tells us that thousands left King’s Landing afterward, until the Dowager Queen Alicent ordered the city gates closed and barred.

Yes, in both the books and the show, the Greens managing to kill Meleys the Red Queen and Rhaenys the Queen That Never Was is a big victory for them and of course Otto is going to turn it into a propaganda moment. It's even understandable that some of the smallfolk would turn on Rhaenys (in the show only) after her (stupidly written) stunt at the coronation. But those last two lines are crucial because it shows us what the smallfolk are really thinking as the Dance kicks off - "If the Greens are willing to disrespect even the nobility after their death, if they are willing to parade around the head of one of their great, terrifying, beloved, and respected dragons, treat Meleys the Red Queen like she's nothing but game hunted for sport...seven hells what are these people going to do to the rest of us nobodies?"

And that is why, if the show takes the route of erasing how terrified the smallfolk are after the Battle of the Rook's Rest, it's a complete disservice to the smallfolk just to have them buy Otto's propaganda hook line and sinker. They are not stupid, and when they realize very early on in the Dance just how awful and violet this conflict is going to get, they attempt to leave for safety and it's only Alicent locking them into King's Landing like lambs to the slaughter that stops the exodus from King's Landing.

Cutting that scene takes away not just the perceptiveness of the smallfolk of King's Landing to make the Greens look better, it also takes away one of the crucial moments that leads to the Storming of the Dragon Pit; after realizing that dragons can be killed by regular humans and not just dragonriders because they are forced to look at Meleys' severed head, then locked into a city that gets progressively more dangerous, with dragons that are getting increasingly more aggravated because of the continued violence of the Dance, the smallfolk take the only course of action they feel they have left to them and that's to rise up and massacre the dragons in the pit in a vain and violent attempt to protect themselves from the endless slaughter that the Greens forced them to live through.

#anti greens #rhaenys velaryon #meleys the red queen #getting on my soap box #pro team black #anti team green #smallfolk rise up #is gonna be a tag bc the nobles in this series are always acting up and so many pretend they care but they Do Not. its cool tho bc germ wil #and before anyone comes at me yes i am aware rhaenyra's tax policies suck and also lead to problems. she unknowingly adds more kindling to #an already raging fire and it explodes in her face. but CRUCIALLY that fire is not started nor even exacerbated by her. she merely inherits #an already out of control kl while stuck in the middle of a war with the northern army still months away from backing her up.#hotd spoilers

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perfinn · 8 days

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the heat that drives the light

aemond targaryen x tyrell!oc - part iii

wc: 3.1k

summary: a tourney is held to celebrate aemond and cecily's wedding, and aemond finds himself participating despite his outspoken disdain for tourneys.

cw: period typical ableism, jousting inaccuracies, brief sexual fantasies and sexual references

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

The day following Aemond and Cecily’s wedding boasts a grand tourney. It boasts the attendance of many of the realm’s noble houses, much of them coming from the Reach given their fondness for tourney, and given too that the union celebrated is that of their future wardeness.

Aemond rises in his bedchambers long before Cecily awakes, lifting the blanket and nodding in satisfaction at the specks of blood that stain the sheets. They have done their duty, and with any luck it will take right away and he will not need to put either of them through this again. He glances to Cecily’s sleeping face. Her hair – still half-braided as it was for the wedding – is a mess around her, and she sleeps with her mouth open ever so slightly. Still, she is beautiful. Even now. He cannot deny that, not a man alive could deny that.

He looks away, huffing softly to himself and standing. While he cannot deny she’s a work of art to look upon, he also cannot let himself be fooled by it. Weaker men are slaves to their desire. Aemond is not.

He dresses and leaves before she has even stirred, making his way from the Red Keep and toward the tourney grounds. He denies the offer of a litter, but accepts the escort of a gold cloak, knowing his mother will worry if he doesn't. It is not as though he could not protect himself from smallfolk if provoked, but he is not so arrogant as to think he will notice every little pickpocket that scurries the streets.

He reaches the tourney grounds with no issue, seeing a number of tents pitched bearing the sigils of many great houses. He pauses outside of one tent, gazing up at the insignia of a white tower for a moment. He clenches his jaw, glancing away before moving on and ducking into the tent emblazoned with the Three-Headed Dragon.

It is empty, of course. He is the only Targaryen to fight today, though he does not wish it so. Someone must. Aegon is no doubt being dragged from some pleasure house, Daeron is too young. And his uncle, along with Rhaenyra and her bastards have not even bothered to come. Aemond does not know if they were even invited, though he cannot say he blames them if they were. He would not go were he offered an invite to any of their weddings.

Aemond is left to represent his house, represent his half of the marriage. He huffs as a squire ducks into the tent, wide brown eyes meeting the prince. He wears a green and gold shirt, and Aemond clenches his jaw to hold back a sigh.

Another Tyrell. No doubt another of Cecily's cousins. Another benefit afforded to the Tyrells through this union, he’s sure. What else have they been given in this? How heavily they benefit from this marriage, and what does Aemond get? Perhaps the Greens have gotten security, have gotten Cecily's dowry and the likely promise of support when the issue of succession inevitably arises. But Aemond? What has he gotten? He has gotten nothing from this, nothing but humiliation and shame.

He glares at the boy as he approaches, flexing his hand before holding it up. He does not need to be dressed in his armour yet, he’s not going to waste his time. “Fetch my grandsire. I wish to speak to him.”

The boy pauses in his footsteps, mouth dropping open. Aemond supposes he’s frightened of him. Or just a fool.

“The Hand of the King, boy,” he snaps. “Lord Otto Hightower. Go.”

The boy nods, bowing clumsily before rushing out of the tent and leaving Aemond alone once again. He takes a seat by the table, fingers flexing as he awaits his grandsire’s presence. He respects him, of course, but he cannot help but want to chew the man out for organising this, and all but forcing him to participate.

(Though in truth Otto did not force him, but it’s his own wedding tourney, what kind of man would not participate in his own celebration? To let other men fight for his own wife would be all but declaring himself a weakling and a cuckold.)

Otto arrives soon after, and Aemond stands to greet him with a scowl, an all too comfortable expression. “Grandsire,” he says before the man can say anything. “This tourney is a farce.”

“I am glad you think so,” says Lord Otto, amusement on his face. “And yet you participate?”

“Well, I must, mustn’t I? But I should not have to, this should not be happening. She is blind, grandsire. She cannot even watch the proceedings.”

“No, but she is from the Reach. Her house and their banners would not be pleased if we stole from them an opportunity to show their support for her by way of their favourite tradition.”

Aemond’s jaw clenches for he knows his words are true. “Was her opinion on the matter considered?”

“We did not ask her. Her father agreed.”

Aemond laughs bitterly. At least they are equal in that regard. It is a sobering reminder that this marriage is not theirs but rather their parents’. Their names are joined but not their souls.

Otto tilts his head at his grandson. “There was no obligation for you to participate,” he reminds him. “I am well aware of your disdain for tourney. I would not have asked this of you.”

“That is not what this is about. It is a humiliation, like this marriage is.”

Otto sighs, approaching the tense prince. “This is what must be done to secure the safety of our house, Aemond. We must all make sacrifices, and this is yours. Marrying a comely, clever young woman is not exactly the heaviest of sacrifices.”

Comely, he knows. She is beautiful, and for prayers to the old gods and the new he cannot get her smiling face out of his head. Clever, he doubts. She has not spoken anything particularly shrewd or insightful to him yet.

(He ignores the voice that tells him he has not given her the chance to. If she were truly clever, she would have shown it without needing to be asked.)

“Do you wish to withdraw from the joust?”

“No!” Aemond snaps, not even making the Hand flinch. “I will not add to my growing pile of humiliations. I will fight today. And I will win.”

Otto chuckles dryly. “Do so with honour,” he reminds. “The Reach likes chivalry. They will like you better if you show it.”

Aemond says no more, watching Otto duck out of the tent and considering his words a moment. He is right, of course. He does need the Reach to like him, whether he wishes it or not. Aemond was not planning to fight without honour, but he decides then that he will be chivalrous. Whatever that fucking means.

Some hours later Aemonds rides out onto the tourney ground on a horse the colour of Arbour gold, thankful for his helmet so that the crowds cannot see his frown. He turns his eyes to the king’s box, urging the horse toward it. He has but little care for the horse beneath him as anything more than a vessel, though he knows men of the Reach treat their horses like an extension of themselves.

He cannot imagine troubling himself with such a fickle beast when he has a dragon. This farce would certainly be over faster were he able to ride in on Vhagar.

He spots Cecily easily in the box, seated between his mother and Flora. She wears a structured blue gown draped and lined with pearls, and her dark hair is pulled back and similarly secured with a winding string of pearls.

When Aemond approaches and lifts the visor of his helmet, Flora gently coaxes her to stand, and Aemond can see the upset and concern on Cecily’s face as she approaches the balcony with a ring of white flowers clutched in her hands. “Lord husband?” She calls over the balcony, leaning forward as though she might be able to see him.

“Yes, my lady,” he calls back, trying to force the annoyance out of his voice. Why else would Flora have guided her to him? “I hoped I might be so lucky as to earn my wife’s favour.”

He wonders if the words sound as ridiculous to Cecily as they do to him. He lifts his lance to rest against the balcony, sparing Cecily of the need of trying to throw it. She gently grabs the end of it, carefully lacing the ring of flowers over it and letting it fall down toward Aemond.

“Fight well,” she calls to him, offering him a smile. “Be careful.”

He hums, though he knows she can’t hear it at this distance. His gaze shifts to Flora, who grants him an apologetic smile.

“Many apologies, my prince!” She calls. “I have promised my favour to my brother, Ser Leo. You understand, of course.”

Aemond supposes he does. He would not accept her favour regardless. Flora is not his wife, as much as he might prefer it.

Flora offers him a big smile, leaning forward. “He is set to join the Kingsguard! Is that not exciting?”

She certainly seems excited enough, though Aemond cannot much see why. He glances back to Cecily, who is smiling more now and seems at ease with the idea. Ah, he realises. Flora is naive not to notice what he and, evidently, Cecily have. Promising Ser Leo to the Kingsguard removes him from the line of succession to Highgarden. He is a threat to Cecily’s ascension, but swearing the white will have him neutralised. A fine enough idea on Lord Martyn’s part–

“‘Twas Cecily’s idea!” Flora declares proudly.

Aemond fails to hide the surprise on his face when he turns his eyes to Cecily. Despite himself, he finds himself inching closer to the willingness to admit she is clever indeed.

“Good luck, lord husband,” Cecily says, all but dismissing him.

Aemond nods, lowering his visor and riding off. He hopes this is over with soon. Were he weaker, he’d throw it and knock himself out of the running in the first round, but this is his wedding. And they’re already underestimating him, he knows it. They think because of his halved vision he will be weak, incapable of the joust. They are wrong.

He will prove them wrong and crown his wife the queen of love and beauty in the process.

And prove them wrong he does, reaching the final joist with little trouble. His last opponent is Leo Tyrell himself, with Flora’s favour still settled on his lance. His face is uncovered so that he might shoot his handsome smiles toward the crowd, and Aemond rolls his eye. There is not yet a Tyrell he’s met that he can stand. Even Flora has begun to bother him. Weak, naive, narcissists that he is now bound to by marriage.

At least he can knock one from his horse now.

He spares a glance toward the stands to see his wife, who has Flora whispering into her ear and a worried expression on her face. No doubt Flora is commentating the entire event for her, though she does not seem to be enjoying the proceedings. Does she worry for him, or for her cousin?

He huffs, putting her out of his mind and instead waiting for the bell to ring so he might knock Leo off his horse, and hopefully knock some sense into him in the process.

The bell rings, and Aemond urges his horse forward, lance poised for Leo’s shield. He grits his teeth as he goes forward, but instead of knocking his opponent from his mount, Leo’s lance hits his shield. He feels every bone in his body rattle upon impact, but he manages to keep his seat, riding past Leo and taking a deep breath in to settle the rattling in his skull.

They’re doubting you, Aemond, he says to himself. Prove them wrong.

When he surges forward again, he refuses to be humiliated. This time the lance strikes Leo, sending the young knight toppling off the back of his speckled mare. Aemond lets out a shout, allowing himself to smile since he knows no one can see it.

But by the time he returns to Leo and lifts his visor his face is trained back into his practised neutrality. Leo stands to meet him, smiling jovially as he bows his head to Aemond.

“Well done, good-cousin!” says Leo, offering a hand to Aemond. Aemond hesitates, but joins his hand with Leo’s in his best attempt at chivalry. Good-cousin. Gods, he despises that. Still, Leo does not seem the least bit bothered by his loss. Aemond cannot find it in himself to understand how that is– but perhaps when one has not been doubted all his life he does not fear the threat of second place.

“You were a worthy opponent, Ser Leo,” Aemond says. It sounds wrong on his tongue, but he hears his grandsire’s voice echo in his head. The Reach will like him better if he’s chivalrous. This is as good as they’ll get.

He leads his horse away and takes a crown of yellow and white roses from his squire. He turns it over in his hand slowly before he rides toward the box. There is no other choice in his mind, and he does not quite realise he never even considered another woman.

Though he will tell himself he wishes he were wed to Flora, his gaze finds only Cecily. He calls out to her, “Lady Cecily!”

She rises, and Flora gently guides her to the small stairway that leads down to the grounds so that she might be face to face with him. He does not quite realise it, but he is smiling as she greets him.

“My lady,” he greets, reaching out to her with the crown in his hands. “Hold up your hands?”

She does so with some hesitation, a conflicted smile on her face. He places the crown in her hands and gently guides it onto her head. “The realm may never see a queen of love and beauty more deserving of the title.”

“Thank you, lord husband,” she says, gently adjusting the crown so it sits securely over her dark hair. “It is an honour.”

“The honour is mine,” he tells her, and though he can scarcely believe this, he means it.

Once Aemond is back in his tent and freed of his armour, he is about ready to dismiss his new squire for the day when a familiar voice calls inside the tent.

“May I come in?” says Lady Cecily, her silhouette illuminated against the closed flap of the entryway.

Aemond nods to the squire and he rushes to the entrance, opening it for Cecily. The boy greets her politely and gently leads her in by the arm. She looks radiant this close, this intimate. Before, the eyes of the realm shrouded them in their shadow, now it is just them and the squire that Cecily is speaking gently to.

“Thank you, sweet cousin,” she says to the boy, giving him a warm smile. “You did very well today. I am most proud. Leave us for a moment?”

The squire rushes from the tent, and Aemond and Cecily are alone again, as they had been last night. Suddenly Aemond feels the thorny vines of insecurity wrap around his ribcage. No one is expecting them to lie together, not here so close to other ears. But part of Aemond fears that is why she is here.

Cecily stands before him in silence for a moment, hands clasped together as she picks at her nails.

“You need not have fought today,” she says after a long bout of silence. “I know this is not an opinion shared by any of my peers but I find tourney to be a dangerous and ridiculous pastime. Perhaps it is because I cannot see it, but I–”

She stops, taking a steadying breath and lifting her head, as though to look right at him. “It is a brazen display of pride, but it goeth before the fall.” Aemond fails to hide the surprise on his face. She would quote the Seven-pointed star at him? “You do not need to prove your bravery to me, lord husband.”

Aemond steps forward, placing one hand over both of hers, putting a stop to her fidgeting. “I did not fight today to prove anything to you or myself. This is your wedding tourney as much as it is mine. I could not let it pass with some other woman named the queen of love and beauty. Nor could I allow another man to give you the title.” He glances down at her hands and guides one of them to the lace on the cuff of her sleeve. He trails a gloved thumb over her nail beds, wanting to tell her off but instead only speaking gently to her. “Wear your embroidery. Fidgeting with it is not ladylike but it suits you far better than harming yourself.”

Cecily’s lips part in surprise as she takes in Aemond’s words, a soft ‘oh’ escaping her. “I see,” she says, beginning to play with the lace on her sleeve. “Well… that is very kind of you. Thank you.”

Aemond nods, hand still touching hers. He longs once more for the intoxicating heat of her bare skin touching his, cheeks heating at the memory of last night. He glances down at her lips, never more thankful that she cannot see it. Though he cannot delude himself into thinking she has not heard the rattling breath that escapes him.

I am not a slave to my desire, he reminds himself. But in doing so, he can no longer deny that he desires her. He cannot help it, to desire a woman so beautiful and smart so carnally. But he will not fall victim to his urges. That will make him no better than his brother. He clears his throat, dropping his hand and settling it behind his back, clasped with the other.

“If that is all, Lady Cecily,” he says, seeming to break her from her own reverie. “I will see you tonight.”

Cecily steps back and nods, smoothing her hands over her dress. “Yes, of course,” she says, voice softer than usual. She calls gently for her cousin, and Aemond watches as the boy leads her out. A traitorous image forces its way into Aemond’s head, of Cecily on her knees taking him from behind. He inhales sharply, looking away and clenching his fists.

Damn it.

#one day these two are going to have a conversation where no one is supressing their emotions #people will DIE #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond #my work #aemond targaryen fanfic #ableism tw #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #thtdtl #fyeahhotdocs

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mejcinta · 2 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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daenysthedreamer101 · 16 days

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Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Ch 4 - Blood of the Dragon

HOTD x Targaryen!OC, eventual Targaryen!OC x Harwin Strong

Warnings: none, it's actually a really cute chapter imo, there's like one swear word

Masterlist

"Nobody truly knows what happened when young Daena entered the cave of the Bronze Fury. We can only speculate as to what happened. What we do know is that in the early hours of the next day, the local smallfolk of Dragonstone heard a deafening roar and witnessed the great bronze beast flying alongside the shore. On his back was the little Princess. It is said she flew over the entire Gullet and some say Vermithor's song was heard as far south as Massey's Hook.

Her absence was only noticed when one of the maids tasked with waking her up realized the Princess was missing from her room. The entire castle was in an uproar. Daemon was furious and swore he would mount the head of every man who failed to find her. To his relief, she was found on one of the cliffs near the castle, and next to her was the dragon of the Old King. She was petting and kissing him like he was a giant cat and to everyone's surprise, the dragon seemed to enjoy it. She would forever be known as Daena the Audacious."

(Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros, by Archmaester Gyldayn)

107 AC, Dragonstone

Daemon was woken up by someone obnoxiously banging on his door. "WHAT?" He yelled, annoyed. A young maid came in quickly, the one that was assigned to Daena.

"M-my Prince..." She stuttered, terrified of further angering the Rogue Prince.

"Spit it out, woman! What happened?" He yelled.

"P-Princess Daena...she's g-gone. She's not in her b-bed chambers..." She managed to say.

"WHAT!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S GONE!?" Daemon jumped out of bed, dismissed the girl, and quickly got dressed. He walked out into the hallway and started barking out orders.

"If you don't find her, I'll mount all of your fucking heads on a spike! Do you understand me!? " He yelled, furious.

The entire castle was on its feet, trying to find the missing princess. Every guard, every maid, every single servant was looking for her. "Where could she have possibly gone?" Daemon murmured as he gripped the pommel of his Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister, his anger rising by the second.

He was currently in her bed chambers, looking to see if there were any signs of a fight or if she was forcibly taken. Nothing like that was found. Besides a messy bed, everything was fine...except the riding suit she came in and her boots.

"She must have slipped out during the night, unnoticed." Maester Gerardys said. Daemon sighed and pinched his nose. Then, high above the castle, a thunderous roar could be heard.

"My Prince! It's the Princess! She...she's with Vermithor!" A guard informed Daemon, who was sprinting down the castle toward the main gate. This news stopped Daemon in his tracks.

"What did you just say?" Daemon asked, not believing his ears.

"She..she flew on Vermithor." The guard repeated. Daemon laughed, not caring for what anyone might say.

"My brave little girl..." He said with the biggest smile on his face. He then ran outside of the castle. What he saw next would become one of his favorite memories ever.

Daena's POV

Daena has never felt happier. She was flying on the back of the second-largest dragon in the world. After singing him the lullaby her father always sang to her, she experienced something she only ever dreamed of - she bonded with a dragon. And not just any dragon - Vermithor the Bronze Fury was now her mount and she his rider. They flew over the entire Gullet and if Daena was correct, even flew over the island of Driftmark. She didn't have time to fasten the belts on the saddle so she was holding on for dear life. At one point a flock of seagulls almost hit her in the face, had she not ducked down.

She didn't know how to feel, or what to think. Her heart was full of joy and pride, for she had finally become a dragon rider, just like her father. Excitement was flowing through her veins, her dragon blood singing with happiness. It was cold and windy, but she felt nothing but the warmth that radiated off of Vermithor. She held tightly to the handles in front of her. All she could see was the sea beneath her and the stars above her. This is what freedom feels like, she thought as they flew even higher above the clouds.

Once the sun began to rise, she thought it was about time to head back. Vermithor complied with her wishes and headed back for Dragonstone. In what felt like no time, she could see the outlines of the island. Vermithor circled the island one more time and with a mighty roar landed on one of the cliffs near the castle. From atop Vermithor, she could see many people running toward her: guards, dragon keepers, and...her father. She sighed and climbed down the ropes. Once her feet hit the ground she was met with the stern lilac eyes of her father.

"Skoros lo ao morghūltan? Ao dovodedha riña...Ao drējī issi ñuha tala." (What if you died? You silly girl...you truly are my daughter) He said with the biggest smile Daena had ever seen.

"Are you upset with me?" Daena asked carefully.

"What? No! I...I am so proud of you, my love. I have never been prouder!" He told her sincerely and hugged her tightly. Daena could feel that he was being honest.

Daemon has never been prouder in his life. He has never been happier, besides the day Daena was born. His little girl claimed Vermithor, the Bronze Fury. He felt like the proudest father in the world! But he knew what Daena did wasn't right and it needed reprimanding. In the privacy of Daena's room, he sat her down on her bed. He looked at her and saw the biggest smile on her face.

"My sweet girl, what you did was brave...and foolish." He started and saw the smile disappear from her face.

"I want you to know that I'm proud of you and you have proved to everyone the strength of Targaryen blood, but you shouldn't have gone out alone. You could've been killed! What would I do then, hmmm?" He continued and she looked down, embarrassed.

"What would I do without my favorite girl? You're my everything, you know that? I would pluck the stars from the sky if it meant you were happy. But you mustn't be so reckless, do you understand?" He asked as he lifted her chin with his finger. She nodded, refusing to look at him.

"Jurnegon rȳ nyke." (Look at me.) He told her. She looked up at him with glossy eyes. Her lip trembled and tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Iksan vaoreznuni Kepa. Nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon skoros māstan toliot nyke." (I am sorry Father. I don't know what came over me.) She said quietly. He wiped the tears from her face.

"Don't cry, sweet girl. I do want you to be happy but I also want you to be safe. No more running around without my permission. Understood?" He asked again. She nodded and sniffled.

"Now. You will go and take a bath and then we can have breakfast together. How does that sound?" He asked softly.

"It sounds wonderful. Thank you, Father." She replied with a smile.

After taking a bath and dressing in a simple silk dress in a pretty shade of dark red, her hair was braided by one of the maids. She was escorted to her father's personal bed chambers. There he was, looking out of the window while holding Dark Sister in his hands.

"Father." She calls, and he turns. He smiles at her and tells her to sit down. She does and they start eating. He asked her about how she got into the caves and how she bonded with Vermithor. She answered all his questions to the best of her abilities. Once they were done with the food, Daemon beckoned her over.

"I'll have to teach you how to control him, how to talk to him, how to fly." He says to her as he caresses her cheek. She smiles.

"I would love that. Thank you, Father, for being so understanding", and with that, she left to further explore her ancestral home.

Daena walked around the castle with no particular goal in mind. She walked through the meandering halls and came upon a great stone door. She carefully pushed the door and the sight in front of her took her breath away.

"The throne room..." she whispered to herself as her eyes fell upon the magnificent throne that was cut into a giant slab of stone. She slowly walked across the room. The room was bathed in the faint light of the late morning. No one else was present and the only thing that could be heard were the slow footsteps of the princess.

"Would it be treason to sit on the throne?" Daena thought as she eyed the throne. She approached the throne, standing on the staircase that led to it. "It looks more comfortable than the Iron Throne, that's for certain" she mused. She was about to touch it, but at the last second, she pulled her hand away.

Instead, she turned her head left and saw an archway leading to another room. She followed it and came upon a room with a beautiful balcony and sea view. There were dragon carvings on the wall, a table, and some chairs in the middle of the room. She leaned her elbows against the balcony and looked at the waves below. "I could live here..." she thought as a light breeze kissed her skin.

---

High Valyrian:

Skoros lo ao morghūltan? - What if you died?

Ao dovodedha riña...Ao drējī issi ñuha tala - You silly girl...you truly are my daughter

Jurnegon rȳ nyke. - Look at me.

Iksan vaoreznuni Kepa. - I am sorry Father.

Nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon skoros māstan toliot nyke. - I don't know what came over me.

***

Little Daena is finally a dragon rider! Daemon is ofc, the proudest dad in the whole of Westeros. Next chapter we'll see how the other characters react to the news.

Hope you liked it, and thanks for reading! ❤❤❤

If you have any opinions feel free to comment!

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thevelaryons · 17 days

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The Dragonpit

The Storming of the Dragonpit is one of the notable events that occurred during the Dance of the Dragons, and GRRM built it up quite subtly that it almost makes you think, could it have been avoided? Ultimately, it is one of those tragedies that is very much a consequence of character choices that were made.

It begins with Rhaenyra acting on the false accusations against Addam which results in him fleeing from the city, in fear for his life. This is specifically described as Rhaenyra's undoing:

And thus did betrayal beget more betrayal, to the queen’s undoing. As Ser Luthor Largent and his gold cloaks rode up Rhaenys’s Hill with the queen’s warrant, the doors of the Dragonpit were thrown open above them, and Seasmoke spread his pale grey wings and took flight, smoke rising from his nostrils. Ser Addam Velaryon had been forewarned in time to make his escape. Balked and angry, Ser Luthor returned at once to the Red Keep, where he burst into the Tower of the Hand and laid rough hands on the aged Lord Corlys, accusing him of treachery. Nor did the old man deny it. Bound and beaten, but still silent, he was taken down into the dungeons and thrown into a black cell to await trial and execution.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant

The book previously mentioned that Addam was residing at the Dragonpit, as part of his duties:

It had long been the custom for at least one dragonrider to reside at the pit, so as to be able to rise to the defense of the city should the need arise. As Rhaenyra preferred to keep her sons by her side, that duty fell to Addam Velaryon.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant

After Addam's escape, Corlys was arrested. Rhaenyra's actions towards the Lord of Driftmark and his heir had a very major repercussion for her:

By ordering the arrest of Addam Velaryon, she had lost not only a dragon and a dragonrider, but her Queen’s Hand as well…and more than half the army that had sailed from Dragonstone to seize the Iron Throne was made up of men sworn to House Velaryon. When it became known that Lord Corlys languished in a dungeon under the Red Keep, they began to abandon her cause by the hundreds. Some made their way to Cobbler’s Square to join the throngs gathered round the Shepherd, whilst others slipped through postern gates or over the walls, intent on making their way back to Driftmark. Nor could those who remained be trusted. That was proved when two of the Sea Snake’s sworn swords, Ser Denys Woodwright and Ser Thoron True, cut their way into the dungeons to free their lord. Their plans were betrayed to Lady Misery by a whore Ser Thoron had been bedding, and the would-be rescuers were taken and hanged.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Overthrown

The Velaryon soldiers would have been well armed and armored. They're specifically described as joining the Shephard (who later leads the attack on the Dragonpit). With their many numbers, its enough to lend great strength to the paltry bunch of smallfolk gathering together in discontent. Some of the Velaryon soldiers were even captured by Rhaenyra and executed, in which their bodies were displayed outside the walls of the Red Keep. King's Landing descends into rioting shortly afterwards.

The Shepherd’s rats were armed with spears, longaxes, spiked clubs, and half a hundred other kinds of weapons, including both longbows and crossbows.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Overthrown

It's rather unlikely that the smallfolk would be armed with such weapons that are typically carried by soldiers in service to noble houses. So these are clearly the Velaryon soldiers that abandoned Rhaenyra previously. It's said that more than half of Rhaenyra's army was made up of soldiers sworn to house Velaryon and many hundreds abandoned her cause. So you can imagine the kind of numbers the Shepard would now have amongst his followers.

Their rioting through the streets eventually leads them to the Dragonpit, as that seems to have been the Shephard's intention:

As the one-handed prophet shrieked his curses at “the vile queen” in the Red Keep, a hundred severed heads looked up at him, swaying atop tall spears and sharpened staffs. The crowd, Septon Eustace says, was twice as large and thrice as fearful as the night before. Like the queen they so despised, the Shepherd’s “lambs” were looking to the sky with dread, fearing that King Aegon’s dragons would arrive before the night was out, with an army close behind them. No longer believing that the queen could protect them, they looked to their Shepherd for salvation. [...] Then he raised his right arm and jabbed the stump of his missing hand at Rhaenys’s Hill behind him, at the Dragonpit black against the stars. “There the demons dwell, up there. Fire and blood, blood and fire. This is their city. If you would make it yours, first must you destroy them.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Overthrown

Eventually the crowd does march on the Dragonpit and kills all the dragons there. Though the Dragonpit was not left defenseless, but having a dragonrider in their midst could have made all the difference in that chaotic situation. That is, after all, the reason why a dragonrider was stationed there in the first place.

The Dragonpit had its own contingent of guards, the Dragonkeepers, but those proud warriors were only seven-and-seventy in number, and fewer than fifty had the watch that night. Though their swords drank deep of the blood of the attackers, the numbers were against them. When the Shepherd’s lambs smashed through the doors (the towering main gates, sheathed in bronze and iron, were too strong to assault, but the building had a score of lesser entrances) and came clambering through windows, the Dragonkeepers were overwhelmed, and soon slaughtered.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Overthrown

Once the Dragonpit falls, Rhaenyra decides to leave King's Landing, as the city is no longer safe for her:

The loss of both her dragon and her son left Rhaenyra Targaryen ashen and inconsolable, Mushroom tells us. Attended only by the fool, she retreated to her chambers whilst her counselors conferred. King’s Landing was lost, all agreed; they must needs abandon the city.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

Wild tales and rumors followed about the deaths of the dragons: that some were hewn down by men, others by the Shepherd, others by the Warrior himself. Whatever the truth, five dragons died that bloody night as the mobs broke into the huge dome and found the dragons chained, and people perished in droves. Half the dragons that began the Dance were already dead, and the war was not yet over. Rhaenyra fled the city shortly after.

— The World of Ice & Fire, Aegon II

The encroaching Green army certainly helped enflame the residents of King's Landing into a panic. On Addam's part, he was tasked with the duty to "rise to the defense of the city should the need arise", and he died fulfilling that very same duty:

The accused turncloak Addam Velaryon, born Addam of Hull, had saved King’s Landing from the queen’s foes…at the cost of his own life. Yet the queen knew nothing of his valor. Rhaenyra’s flight from King’s Landing had been beset with difficulty.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

In an ironic turn of events, Rhaenyra later ends up as the one fleeing from King Landing, in fear for her life.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #addam velaryon #rhaenyra targaryen #addam & rhaenyra #meta #addam being described as rhaenyra's undoing AND the saviour of her city is so iconic of him <3

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jaimeslanisters · 1 year

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the pawn in every lover's game (part seven)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you're ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 7.1k notes: sorry for the late update!! but this is a big one (: it's time for the tourney folks!

The tourney grounds are alive with the sound of horses braying and people laughing and cheering. Squires run around, carrying swords, shields, and armor as they rush to find their masters somewhere in the crowd. Other members of the royal court mill around, speaking cheerfully to the knights representing their families or eying up the ones that aren’t. It’s loud and joyous, making the Red Keep look more alive than you had ever seen in all the years you had lived there.

It’s headache-inducing.

Your cousins had woken you up far earlier than you were used to in their excitement to get ready and even your grumpy countenance could not quell their anticipation. A part of you had wanted to point out that they had been to tourneys before, fairly recently, as your father had thrown one at Casterly Rock after Loren’s birth to celebrate the arrival of his heir, but, even in your annoyance, you knew that would have been an unfair thing to say.

After all, there’s nothing quite like a royal tourney.

Upon arrival at the tournament grounds, your family had scattered, leaving you with Uncle Tyland and a handful of red cloaks to serve as guards. It was a bit unnerving to have soldiers following your every move - you were so used to walking through the Red Keep completely unencumbered - but you weren’t in the Red Keep. In a clear move to garner support among the smallfolk, Queen Alicent (or Otto Hightower - you weren’t entirely sure of who had had the final say) had opened up the tourney for all of King’s Landing to watch. While there were clear dividers between the nobles and the smallfolk, your father hadn’t had wanted there to even be a hint of foul play and had assigned some of his red cloaks to serve as guards - at least, until you joined up with Helaena in the royal box.

It had been a thoughtful enough gesture but it had made you wonder if there was something in particular that Jason was concerned with. Perhaps you had become complacent in King’s Landing, too used to the relative physical safety of the Red Keep to consider it could ever turn on you. Your years here had been peaceful but Driftmark had proven to you that situations could just as easily turn before you could blink or react. The relative calm of the Red Keep would not hold - you knew this just as surely as you knew that the sun would rise tomorrow. Sooner or later, the shaky peace of House Targaryen would break and erupt into fire and blood and you didn’t want to be caught unaware as you had been as a child. You quietly resolve to push your father to leave you and Tyland some of his soldiers when he returns to Casterly Rock. Even if the gold cloaks and the Kingsguard were sworn to protect the people, it wouldn’t harm to have soldiers sworn to you above all others. You’d rather be overly paranoid now than live to regret it in the future. Your father had just been quicker on the uptake than you.

You shake your head, trying to knock yourself out of your musings. Such dark thoughts had no place on the tourney grounds and you look up to try and start a conversation to distract yourself with your uncle only to see him frowning down at you.

“A gold coin for your thoughts, little one?” Tyland asks, emerald eyes scanning you carefully.

“I’d like to think they’re worth a good bit more than that,” you respond quickly, grinning when he laughs. “It’s nothing, uncle. I’m just thinking about… about the future.”

He hums in response, leading you past rows and rows of tents set up for different knights and other would-be tourney participants.

“Weddings tend to trigger that - though I don’t imagine your thoughts are on whether or not your own wedding celebrations will be as grand as this. Playing a game of cyvasse in your head, little one? Trying to see all the pieces out in front of you and which way they can move?”

“I know the pieces I have available,” you reply. “There are some things I can control easily enough. It’s the pieces that I don’t control that have me lost in thought. There are endless possibilities, endless decisions that other people can make. Right now the game is easy enough, the stakes high but not too dangerously so. I move my piece here or move someone else there and no one tries to check me. No one even knows I’m playing. My concern is wondering when it’ll stop being a game and when someone will just tip the board right over.”

“The game doesn’t cease when that happens,” Tyland says, his voice casual and breezy as if he’s talking about the weather and not your own paranoid fears for the future. “The rules change, the stakes rise, and you’re no longer hidden but the game continues. It never stops. You should have never moved to King’s Landing if you did not wish to play.” Despite his words, his tone is soft, gentle, and when you look up, he’s calmly watching you.

If you told him you were scared of the future, of the consequences of being so entangled with the Targaryens, he would ship you back to Casterly Rock without a second thought, any potential matches be damned.

The thought causes a smile to flicker onto your face. “And leave you alone in a pit of dragons?” You tease. “Banish the thought. We’re at a royal wedding, the likes of which haven’t been seen in decades! Let us focus on getting through that first.”

Tyland gives you a moment, as if giving you one final chance to try to leave court politics behind, but your smile never drops. You couldn’t leave. You wouldn’t leave. As much as the future worries you, leaving Aemond and Helaena behind is such an unthinkable sin that you can’t even fathom doing it.

Eventually, however, your uncle breaks and he starts telling you about the last royal wedding, tactfully ignoring the disaster that was Rhaenyra and Laenor’s. It hasn’t been nearly as grand as this one - the death of Aemma Arryn years prior loomed over the festivities - but it had been a decent enough time if Tyland was to be believed. Of course, he had spent most of the time awkwardly trailing behind Jason and Johanna, then pregnant with Cerelle, but he had still managed to create connections that he would later leverage into being named Master of Ships. All in all, he brags to you, it had been a very successful social event for House Lannister.

You would be expected to accomplish something similar but, in lieu of a position of repute, you would have to claim a powerful husband.

You think of Helaena’s teasing words from the opening feast - Lions will ride dragons someday - and as much as they bring an embarrassing flush to your cheeks, you knew better than to place any heavy weight on them. Helaena’s prophecies, if they could be called that, were nearly nonsensical, more poem than any true look into the future. For all you knew, her words were simply saying that eventually, somewhere in the future, a Lannister would bed a Targaryen with no guarantee of a marriage. You could be a Lannister who beds but does not wed a Targaryen.

It would be foolish to place everything you had into the hope that Helaena was right about you and Aemond. You had to make it happen and one way to do that was to ensure that Victor Florent did not place you into a socially precarious situation by asking you for your favor.

That was where Tygett Lannister would have to assist you.

You hear his laugh before you ever see him though, to be sure, your cousin is difficult to miss. Even among other House Lannister members, most of them more visibly Lannister than you, he stands out. Long before he had reached his age of majority, Tygett had grown to be taller than most adult men, towering over his own father. While he wasn’t as broad in the shoulder as Lord Jason and Tyland, he certainly did not lack in muscle and cut an imposing figure even if you knew that he was not as nearly an intimidating warrior as he looked. He was handsome, as all Lannisters tend to be, and, as you approach his tent with your uncle at your side, you can see he’s gathered a small crowd of admirers around him as he tells jokes and charms them all.

He’s a Lannister, through and through, and when you were a child, you had resented him for that reason precisely. Prior to Loren, Tygett had been the preferred potential husband for Cerelle if no male babe had been born to your parents. Of course, that would only be if your father could wrangle his bannerman into obeying him without needing to make concessions such as a marriage to his female heir, something that was far from being a guarantee. Adulthood had taught you your family would have been right in believing that that would have been the easiest, cleanest solution. Despite not being from Casterly Rock or the main line, a Lannister was a Lannister and Tygett would have been preferable compared to a son of an upstart lord with dreams of supplanting the lions of the Rock. Child you had not seen it like that, however. All you had seen through your immature eyes had been your father’s dream - a son of House Lannister, tall and handsome and strong - just out of his reach and you had hated Tygett for representing the one thing you and your sisters could never be for Jason, no matter how hard you could try: a son.

Time and distance had worn down your ire and now, when Tygett spots you and grins widely at you, you easily smile back.

“Cousin!” He greets you exuberantly, reaching you in a few steps and wrapping a warm arm around you in a quick, affectionate hug. He turns to Tyland and gives a quick bow, never losing his cheerful expression. “Lord Tyland. I thank you for coming to see me before the event begins1”

“I see you already have fans,” Tyland responds, a smile working its way onto his face.

Tygett shakes his head, bashful. “Just friends. They’ve all visited once or twice in Lannisport and wanted to wish me luck before the joust.”

“Speaking of which,” you cut in, clearing your throat. “Have you heard which listing you’re in?” You try to sound calm as if his answer wouldn’t dictate your mood for the rest of the day, but judging from your uncle’s suppressed snort, you’ve failed at that.

Your cousin grins, not minding how you leap into business first. “First. I’ll be facing a Stokeworth household knight. I’ll be counting on your favor to tip the odds for me.”

You sigh in relief, readily nodding your assent at Tygett. As an unmarried man with no acceptable noblewoman to charm, tradition dictated that he ask you, the highest-ranking lady of his house at the event, to gift him your favor. If he asked any other lady from any other house, it would be a loud and clear message to the court that he was interested in courting her, and a betrothal meeting would be sure to follow afterward, if only because it was simply what was done. By asking you, however, he could hold off the marriage discussions and declare himself as an uninterested party even if you technically were an available choice to him.

It solved both of your problems neatly enough and it prevented you from having to awkwardly hand your favor to a man who would mean all the implications it would bring.

“Are you feeling confident?” You ask him and your cousin laughs, loud and booming.

“I’ll make it a few rounds,” he says without a hint of embarrassment or disappointment. It doesn’t bother him at all to admit his fault. If not for Loren, he would have been loved as Lord Lannister. “I won’t shame you, cousin, though I’m afraid that I won’t be able to crown you Queen of Love and Beauty unless several notable knights happen to trip getting on their horse.”

You smile wryly. “You’re terribly lucky. Perhaps they will.”

“I’ll put money on you regardless,” Tyland says as he claps Tygett on the shoulder, giving his nephew a firm shake.

Your cousin immediately shakes his head. “I thank you for that vote of confidence but save your coin for the archery event. I’ll win a prize for myself there and, hopefully, bring you a greater return.”

Your uncle smirks. “We’re Lannisters, Tygett. I can afford to lose some coin on you. But if you insist, any tips on who is best to bet on during the joust then?”

“Lord Tarly’s brother is a surefire bet. Same with Ser Edwyn Sand from House Dayne in Dorne. I heard he’s been promising in past tourneys.”

You blink at that. “Dorne sent knights? Has the Lord Hand made progress toward negotiating unification?”

Tyland laughs out loud. “Unlikely. House Dayne has always been closer to Westeros than the rest of the region, however. They trade often with Oldtown and Lannisport even if they refuse to break away from the Martells to formally join with the Iron Throne.”

You hum in response, mind whirring even as Tygett begins to list off other potential champions (alarmingly, Victor’s name comes up and you manage not to react). Ever since Dorne had managed to shoot Queen Rhaenys out of the sky and survive the rage that Aegon and Visenya had rained upon them after, relations with the region had been tense, to say the least. House Targaryen’s official stance was that the dragons had conquered the desert lands to the South and that Dorne was one of the Seven Kingdoms, a position that Dorne firmly rebuked.

Years before you were born, there had been a chance to unify the continent finally. Just before his dismissal in favor of Lyonel Strong, Otto Hightower had very nearly brokered a betrothal pact between Rhaenyra and the Prince of Dorne but dreams of that had been squashed when Rhaenyra had been ushered into a marriage with Laenor Velaryon to soothe Lord Corlys’ wounded ego and quiet the rumors surrounding her maidenhead. It had been enough of a scandal that you can remember hearing whispers about it even as a child; about how Rhaenyra had rebuked several suitors - including Tyland - and how it had seemed that she had planned to go unwed until her father and House Velaryon had forced her hand. House Lannister had been soothed by Tyland gaining the position of Master of Ships but there had been no consolation prize for Dorne. The kingdom had not taken the insult well and negotiations had reverted back to their icy standoff, slightly worse off than it had been before.

House Dayne sending a knight, even if he was a bastard, was promising, however. It opened doors where there otherwise would be none and you silently note to yourself to try and speak to Ser Edwyn and his retinue when you had the chance or encourage Tyland or Tygett to do so in your place.

A herald shouts that the opening presentation is due to commence shortly and you reach out to grasp Tygett’s arm.

“May the Warrior grant you strength, cousin,” you solemnly tell him, your lips quirking up in a smile when he bows deeply in response.

“And may the Maid grant you luck,” he replies, bright eyes knowing, and your smile grows.

——————————–

The actual tourney grounds are a marvel and you feel like the childish little girl you once were as you climb the steps to reach the royal box, high above the rest of the stands. At Alicent’s direction, the grounds are decorated with black and red Targaryen banners, the blazing green beacon of Hightower cutting into the otherwise dark color scheme. Most of the nobles are already sitting and in the distance, you can see a massive crowd of smallfolk, gathering where they can so they can catch a glimpse of the heraldry.

The royal box itself is already buzzing with activity, House Velaryon and House Hightower making up the bulk of the occupants. Your uncle leaves your side to join up with the other members of the small council and, after a moment, you step forward, moving towards the seats Helaena had told you yesterday were to be yours and hers. In the very front of the box, in front of the Lord Hand and Queen Alicent, there’s a row of empty seats, solely occupied by Aemond.

Even without seeing his face, you can already imagine his bored expression and when you drop into the seat next to him and he turns to face you, you exaggerate a scowl. “Is the tourney not to your liking, my prince? I can force everyone to do something more worthwhile such as reading philosophy if it pleases you.”

He rolls his eyes and your expression quickly clears into a grin. “I can’t imagine even you being able to pull that off but it would, in fact, please me greatly if you’d somehow work out a way for me to leave this complete farce. There’s a pile of proposals for the city’s budget that I need to summarize before the week’s up that I need to get to.”

“Lord Otto will understand if you’re a tad behind,” you say, jerking your head in his grandfather’s general direction. “Besides, it’s important that the smallfolk see you and the rest of your siblings here. They’d like to think that they know their royals and, by being here, you show that you care about them.”

Aemond shoots you a disgruntled look without any heat behind it. “The proposals are for their benefit. They include building more orphanages and bettering the sewage system.”

You smile. “That’s all well and helpful but, just as important as that, is public appearance. There’s a reason the smallfolk sing songs about Good Queen Alysanne’s women’s courts and not about King Jaehaerys constructing the Kingsroad.”

He hums in acknowledgment and you know he understands you even if he’s unlikely to admit it. He’s never liked tourneys and it’ll be even more years yet before I get him to admit they can be useful.

“Will Helaena and Prince Aegon be joining soon?” You ask after you give the box a quick scan to make sure they’re not hiding amongst their family. You even give the Velaryons a cursory glance to be certain but, aside from Princess Rhaenys and Baela, you don’t recognize any of them.

Aemond smirks. “You’ll know when they arrive. You’re not the only one who is preaching the importance of appearances.”

You open your mouth, ready to ask him what he meant, when the roar of a dragon cuts you off and you jump in your seat, hand flying out to grip Aemond’s arm in shock. A hush falls over the tourney and there’s another earth-shaking roar that rattles you down to your bones. Your grip tightens on Aemond and, after a beat, you feel one of his hands come up to grip your own, pulling it off of his arm and instead holding it tightly, intertwining his fingers with your own.

You don’t even turn to look at him, however, too stunned by the sight of two dragons descending onto the tourney grounds, covering the stands in shadow even as the creatures themselves glimmer in the sun. Dreamfyre’s blue scales shine brightly, glittering like the Sunset Sea, but it’s Sunfyre who you can’t drag your eyes away from. You’ve seen Aegon’s dragon before, off in the distance, but this alarmingly close, you suddenly realize why Aegon was so prone to bragging about the beauty of his mount.

Sunfyre glitters like gold, almost blinding in the light, and, from the gasps and exclamations coming from the crowd, you know you’re not the only one who’s noticed. From the curve of his neck to the pink membrane beneath his wings, Aegon’s dragon is more a work of art than a creature that could easily burn entire cities to the ground.

The two massive beasts land, somehow neatly avoiding crushing the fences set up for the jousting, their wings flapping to steady themselves while sending out a massive gust of wind to the rest of the onlookers.

As you stare, marveling, you’re suddenly struck with the memory of seeing Aemond fly with his siblings, of Vhagar dwarfing Sunfyre and Dreamfyre, and your mouth drops as you imagine his dragon being the one to have to land on the tourney.

She’d crush us all under her size you realize with wonder and you finally rip your eyes away from the sight in front of you to tell Aemond that exact thought when you meet his eye already watching you.

His gaze is fond, warm even, and it softens his face in a way you haven’t seen in years, so markedly different from the careful mask he wore around the court. His mouth is curved up in a tiny smile and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of his hand holding yours. The palm of his hand is rough, worn down by calluses formed from years of swordplay, but it’s warm around your own soft skin.

Your mouth dry all of a sudden, you lick your lips and his gaze drops and something in you clenches at the sight of him staring at your mouth so unabashedly.

For a moment, you’re not sitting in the royal box at a tourney, visible to hundreds if not thousands, the most important members of the court all sitting behind your back. You’re sitting in the library and it’s just you and Aemond - the way it has been meant to be.

His eye finally flits back up to meet your’s and the look in his eye makes your breath hitch.

More than an alliance, more than what it will bring to your family, you want him. You’ve always wanted him just for him.

The mad desire to tell him just that almost takes over but before you can do something as foolish as professing your love in front of the royal court, the crowd roars in approval and you’re knocked out of your revelry, looking over in time to see Sunfyre and Dreamfyre take to the skies again, leaving Aegon and Helaena standing hand in hand in the middle of the jousting field.

From this distance, you can’t see the fear in them, the desire to pull away from each and run to the hills, far far away from this marriage that could choke the two of them to death. Instead, you can only see two beautiful Targaryens, dressed in finery that absolutely gleams in the sunlight, tied together by blood, power, and soon-to-be by marriage.

“They’ll write songs about them,” you realize with a murmur and Aemond squeezes your hand, in acknowledgment and in comfort.

“Songs will help,” he gently reminds you and you jerkily nod, looking back at him as Aegon and Helaena approach the royal box to finally be seated.

After a moment, you find your voice. “I hope the singers will write beautiful ones. Helaena deserves that nicety.”

“And Aegon does not?” Aemond asks, his tone low and teasing, and you laugh.

“I think the songs he wants about himself are rather bawdier in nature,” you reply, cheeks warming when he shoots you a look in response.

After a few more minutes, Aegon and Helaena finally reach the seating area and, as Helaena bolts ahead while Aegon flags down a servant carrying a flagon of wine, you turn to face the chair that the princess will occupy, your hand slipping out of Aemond’s as you do so, his fingertips brushing yours.

You find you miss the warmth, even as Helaena snatches up your other hand immediately, squeezing it tightly as if it was the little bug toy Aegon had gifted her that she carried around in her pockets to fidget with.

“Careful, princess,” you playfully scold, voice low and quiet as Otto Hightower stands to officially announce the beginning of the jousting event. “I’m afraid I plan to still have some use for my hand in the future.”

“Sorry,” Helaena says quickly in response, her tight grip loosening only a fraction. “I was nervous and scared of making a mistake.”

You smile encouragingly. “You did marvelous, Helaena. No mistakes.”

Her eyes dull. “No choice. There will be no choice.”

Your heart seizes in your chest and you curl your hand around her’s protectively.

No choice. No choice.

Her most repeated phrase haunts and mocks you, filling your brain with endless doubts and worries. Biting back the pleads that you know will never bring you answers, you nod your head, turning your attention back to the jousting field. The various knights that will be participating in today’s lists ride in front of the box and you can easily pick out Tygett in front of the procession, a golden lion roaring on his impossibly shiny armor.

“I wonder how long my cousin’s squire slaved away polishing to achieve that gleam,” you wonder out loud.

Helaena giggles nervously. “If he’s anything like Daeron, I doubt he got any sleep. I’m sure even now, Daeron is fretting over some aspect of Lord Ormund’s armor that he thinks he didn’t get to prepare to his highest standard.”

You laugh at that. “I’m sure Prince Daeron is out there pacing a hole in the field from his nerves.”

“Lord Ormund is probably calmer than him right now,” Aemond joins in on your gentle ribbing, nodding at the calm Lord of Hightower as he rides past the royal box to the cheers of his family.

Aegon, having gotten his drink, drops heavily into the seat next to Helaena, somehow avoiding splashing Arbor gold all over him and his sister. “Little prick hardly let anyone in the apartments sleep with the way he was worrying all night as if he’s going to do something more taxing than handing our cousin his lance or fetching him some water.”

Aemond rolls his eyes. “And you were beside yourself at the idea of having to open the tourney with Sunfyre as if you haven’t flown countless times in the past.”

Aegon doesn’t seem at all annoyed with his brother’s barb, instead smiling wide. “Careful, brother,” he nearly sings as he takes a sip from his chalice. “Little Daeron and I weren’t the only ones getting worked up about the joust.”

Helaena shakes her head, shooting her future husband a look. “We were all nervous,” she scolds without any bite.

Her older brother merely shrugs, still looking impossibly pleased. “The worst part of it is over for us. Can’t say the same for everyone else.”

You watch the siblings squabble with interest, always intrigued when the Targaryen children duke it out amongst themselves as if they were normal siblings rather than royal children in line for the throne. Your attention, however, is taken away when the first listing is announced and you sit up straight in your seat at attention.

On the field, Tygett steers his horse, a massive white stallion, to stand in front of the royal box. “Lady Lannister,” your cousin calls, his voice booming even over the roar of the crowd. “I humbly ask for your favor in order to bring our house pride.”

“Is it because of the whole lions bit?” You hear Aegon ask sardonically even as you rise to your feet. You hear Aemond let out a warning hiss and you bite back a grin as you stop by the table that held piles of rings of flowers, easily picking out the one you had half-heartedly made on your journey back to King’s Landing, before heading to the railing.

“May the warrior grant you strength,” you call down to your cousin, echoing your earlier words to him. As a child, you had often imagined this moment: tossing a handsome knight your favor as the court watched, letting them all know that your love was real and true like in the songs. You had thought the first time you got to do it that it would be a romantic moment, one that you would remember for years and years into the future, a beautiful story to tell your grandchildren one day.

You feel nothing as you toss the ring of flowers down to Tygett, only a vague sense of pride when you manage to get looped onto his lance. Your cousin bows his head solemnly before galloping off to get ready for the joust and you turn back to your seat, none the worse for wear.

“Thank the Gods that’s out of the way,” you grumble as you sit down, keeping a careful eye on Tygett’s preparations even though you know he’ll easily unseat the household knight the Stokeworths have sent.

“What?” Aemond asks, similarly watching Tygett with keen eyes. “Does your cousin not set your heart aflame? Make you sing beautiful songs of courtly love?”

You roll your eyes. “If he did, I would have spent more than five minutes on the flower ring. As it were, I tried to offload it on one of my other cousins but everyone was too caught up in making and perfecting their own to make mine as well.”

“Shame poor Ser Victor won’t get to ask,” Aegon calls over to you, grinning as you shoot him a glare. “How will the poor man’s heart ever recover?”

“Hopefully it won’t,” you shoot back. “And I’ll get to enjoy the rest of this week in peace.”

Aegon snickers. “I doubt it. Victor Florent will pledge his undying love to you and then promptly meet a terribly tragic end that the court gossips about for a maximum of two weeks before moving on to the next scandal.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” you say even as you clap for Tygett as he easily unseats the poor Stokeworth knight. “That’d distract from the wedding and I’d never do that to Helaena.”

“I never said you would,” Aegon says, snapping his fingers for a refill, and Helaena coughs into her hand in order to poorly disguise a laugh.

“Enough of that,” Aemond cuts in, voice cold. “Ser Tygett Lannister has already claimed her favor. She doesn’t have another to give.”

His brother laughs gleefully. “But he might win a crown to bestow. Love has a way of making men stronger than they normally are.”

“He is not in love with me, my prince,” you say, keeping your eyes on the field so you don’t turn to snap at Aegon.

“Of course, of course,” the prince responds, his voice light and laughing, and you fight the urge to snatch his wine away.

“At least he’s enjoying himself,” you grumble under your breath to Aemond and he lets out a huff of air.

“He’ll always find his amusements,” he replies, his voice tight and annoyed.

You look over at him so he can see the exasperation clear on your face. “I suppose I should be glad it’s at my expense rather than something unbecoming.”

“Victor Florent’s behavior is unbecoming,” Aemond says in a steely tone. “You’ve expressed your disinterest and yet he continues unperturbed.”

“Some songs would say that’s romantic,” you point out. “I can name you at least five right off the top of my head right now.”

“Life isn’t a song,” he shoots back, ignoring how the crowd cheers as another knight is unhorsed. “Ladies deserve a choice in their husbands. You deserve a choice and you clearly haven’t chosen him.”

You watch as his jaw clenches in anger and, slowly, your hand reaches out to brush the top of his hands, him having curled them into fists on his lap. His hand immediately relaxes and he tilts his head down to look at you, his platinum hair falling over his shoulder in cascades.

“I don’t choose him,” you say, voice low. “And I wouldn’t choose him. I’m polite because he’s popular in the court and if I dismiss him out of hand without another prospect, people will wonder why .”

I keep him around to rile you into doing something you silently add in your head, pleased as his body loosens and his hand turns to capture yours yet again.

You think you could hold his hand forever if you could get away with it.

“And if there is another prospect?” Aemond asks, his voice heavy with intention, and you stare at him, heart pounding in your chest. His thumb slowly rubs the back of your hand. “Will you reject him then?”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “I would. He’s the last man whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

“And who is the first?”

You already know the answer.

“My shining lady of Lannister!” Aegon sings and Aemond’s face grows so cold so fast you actually marvel at the speed. “Your knight of the Brightwater rides!”

Reluctantly, you tear your gaze away from Aemond to scowl fiercely at Aegon, uncaring that he outranks you by far as a royal prince and the most probable inheritor of the Iron Throne. You idly wonder if you could get away with smacking him - anyone who has ever met him would probably agree that you had the right of it.

“Does he…” Helaena trails off and you glance at her stunned expression before glancing at the field and your blood runs cold.

Victor Florent is sitting proud as his squire runs around him doing last-minute preparation. His eyes are glued to you and, the moment he realizes your eyes are on him, his face lights up and he raises his arm in greeting and that’s when you spot it.

Tied carefully around his bicep, there is a red and gold handkerchief, the colors the exact same as the dress you are wearing. You, and the rest of the court, can tell without seeing that there is a golden lion stitched onto it.

A favor.

A favor you didn’t give but was made to seem as if you did.

Already, you can feel curious eyes on your back, can hear the gossipy whispers, and you suddenly wish you were actually the lioness that your mother liked to call you. If you were, you could leap from the royal box onto the ground and tear out Victor Florent’s throat if only to watch him realize that you weren’t the demure lady of his dreams.

“He has bravery,” Helaena whispers. “And that is all he will have.”

You’re too livid to register her tone, too furious to say anything other than an incoherent hiss of anger. You can only grip Aemond’s hand tighter and pray that the Tyrell knight he is facing will unseat him.

Except the knight doesn’t. None of the knights do and you watch with mounting fear as Victor rises in the ranks, unseating knight after knight until only three stand between him and the crown.

You want to be sick.

“He knew I would never give him my favor,” you finally say after your cousin is unseated to Lord Roland Tarly, the brother of the lord so desperately in love with your sister Tyshara. “So he fakes a personal favor from me so the court will whisper about a courting that doesn’t exist. He wishes to force my father’s hand.”

“He doesn’t have respect,” Aemond’s voice is dangerously still and you tear your eyes away from the next competitors’ preparation to look at him. His face is a mask, a far cry from the gentleness he had shown earlier, and wiped completely clear of any emotion. “He’s a fool.”

You don’t bother to watch the joust anymore, keeping your gaze on him. “He’s a bold fool,” you finally reply. “That’s more dangerous than a fool.”

“He’s a fool nonetheless,” his eye gleams and you don’t have anything to say in response, only squeezing his hand.

Since Victor Florent had ridden out onto the field, Aemond has not let go of your hand and you wonder if anyone has noticed. Your seats are close enough that it’s not automatically visible that your hands are intertwined, that he refuses to let go and you refuse to do the same. You wonder what the court will think.

You glance over your shoulder, to see if anyone is watching, and meet Queen Alicent’s eyes.

She at least sees.

You only meet her gaze for a few scant seconds before she looks back at the field but you had recognized the look in her eyes.

Fear.

But of what?

Ser Edwyn Sand unseats Lord Ormund Hightower and you don’t even have it in you to feel pity for poor Daeron because your heart immediately begins to pound loudly in your chest.

The next match is the final.

Ser Edwyn Sand vs Ser Victor Florent.

“If he wins,” you murmur under your breath. “I’m petitioning the crown to allow Dorne to live undisturbed in perpetuity.”

“If he wins,” Aegon calls over, his tone oddly contrite for once. “I’ll let you.”

With bated breath, you watch as the two knights ready themselves. Victor’s face is solemn but, just before he puts on his helmet, he shoots a glance at the royal box, staring for just a moment.

Before he raises his arm and kisses the handkerchief, grinning all the while.

Your blood boils and Aemond’s grip on your hand grows tighter.

For a moment, all stands still as Edwyn and Victor stare each other down.

Then the horn blows and they shoot off toward each other, their horses almost impossibly fast. The crowd screams in excitement.

The first pass is a miss and, as they turn quickly to face the other, you pray to the Seven that Victor’s horse will crumble beneath him, that his lance will shoot off to the side while Edwyn’s will strike true.

But the second pass is a miss too.

The crowd jeers and begs for a hit while you pray for a draw at the bare minimum.

Do not give Victor Florent that crown. Please. Please. Please.

This was the piece you couldn’t control. The move you couldn’t predict.

The horn blows once more and the two knights race towards each other again and, for a moment, you think Edwyn has done it.

But then there’s a loud crack! and Edwyn falls to the ground, showered by the wooden splinters of Victor’s lance as it shatters against his armor, knocking him down.

The crowd explodes into incomprehensible screams, so loud that you can feel your ears pop, while the royal box cheers, but you, and the rest of the front row, sit in stunned silence.

Aemond’s grip on your hand has grown so tight that it hurts but you can’t find it in you to shake him off, to tell him to let go, not when you want to keep yourself tethered to him.

You can’t reject the crown. You can’t.

In centuries of tradition, the Queen of Love and Beauty has never been able to reject the title. Even when the Queen in question is married to another, she has always been made to accept it and weather the storm that follows.

There is no choice. None you can make.

Victor Florent has laid out the perfect trap and you will be forced to step right into it.

You watch, your blood pumping in your ears, as Otto Hightower rises to his feet. On the tourney grounds, a squire runs out to Victor, carrying a pillow with a crown of blood-red roses placed on it.

You don’t even have it in you to laugh at the irony.

“Congratulations to Ser Victor Florent for unhorsing all of his opponents and winning the tourney,” Otto pauses to allow the crowd to roar their approval. “Alongside the pot of gold, you have won the crown for the jousting event. Who shall you crown your Queen of Love and Beauty?”

The crowd screams and screams and Victor beams happily up at the royal box.

For a moment, you manage to delude yourself that he’ll call his good-sister’s name or even Helaena’s. It’s her wedding. It’s only right to honor her like this.

It won’t be you. It won’t be you.

“I humbly ask my lady love, the beautiful Lady of Lannister, to accept my crown,” he declares, voice loud and firm, and you want to snarl at him, you want to rage, you want to scream.

I’m not yours. I’m not yours. I’m not yours.

But you can’t do any of that.

You can only rise in muted anger, the rest of the court rising with you so they can get a better look at your crowning. Aemond holds your hand, firm and unyielding, and he only lets go at the very last moment, arm outstretched to do so.

You know the court saw that but you can’t even find it within you to care about the gossip and the scandal that will follow.

All you can think is that you want to cave in Victor’s chest for putting you into this position, maneuvering his way into appearing to all the world as your only choice in marriage.

Just like the songs, you walk down the steps of the royal box and out to the field where Victor is waiting, the crowd screaming all around you. Just like the songs, you bow your head as Victor places the crown of roses on your head and allow him to grab your hand to press a sweaty kiss on the back of it.

Your hand still in his, you turn to face the royal box, keeping your face perfectly still as you look up at them, not smiling or blushing like you know they expect you to.

You look up and you see Aemond.

He’s not watching you. His eye is on Victor. While the court claps and cheers around him, he stands stock still. Even from here, you can see the hungry and vicious gleam in his eye as he stares down at Victor.

You’ve only ever seen it once before; when King Viserys had thrown him away on Driftmark, when Aemond had been aching for blood and retribution.

In this moment, you realize that he is all the worst things people say about him. He’s cruel and he’s vicious and he will tear out Victor’s throat for this. The look on his face is cold and frightening and next to you, you can feel the exact moment Victor notices, when his overeager waving slows as he realizes that he’s drawn the ire of a dragon.

In the distance, you hear Vhagar roar, loud and distinctive even over the crowd’s cheers, and finally, you allow yourself to smile, a thrill running down your spine.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #as promised some pre-marital hand holding! (:#and also a bunch of other stuff that's going to propel the plot forward but we're all here for the hand holding right?

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witchthewriter · 11 months

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𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

ISFP

Ravenclaw

True Neutral

4 of Wands Reversed

Aries Sun, Sagittarius Moon, Aquarius Rising

The eldest daughter of six, her parents were Aenys I Targaryen and Alyssa Velaryon.

As a child, Rhaena was dreamy and more comfortable around animals than other children. Whenever she was around strangers, she would hide behind her parents, and never warmed to any of her companions.

That was until she bonded with the dragon, Dreamfyre, a beautiful blue mount. From then she outgrew her shyness and after her first flight, she made her first friend; Larissa Velaryon, her cousin and later on in their lives, they would become lovers. However, in their youths, Larissa was betrothed and sent away to marry. It was then that Rhaena befriended Samantha Stokeworth, the daughter of Lord Alyn Stokeworth, the Hand of the King.

Rhaena was born on Dragonstone and considered a match for her uncle, Maegor, however her parents disapproved. This would not be true for her later years, as Rhaena was one of Maegor’s, ‘Black Brides.’ In which he had a ceremony marrying three women at once, because he was desperate for an heir.

Rhaena was close to her brother, Aegon, and would take him flying as he did not have a dragon of his own. They would become so close in fact, that they married.

It was Rhaena who started the tradition of placing a dragon egg in the crib of a Targaryen baby. She chose the eggs for Jaehaerys and Alysanne.

The marriage between Rhaena and her younger brother enraged the smallfolk, as well as the Faith. They thought it an abomination. Aenys, a usually indecisive and fickle man, was stern in this match.

Together, Rhaena and Aegon had two daughters, twins; Aerea and Rhaella. And when Aenys passed, the crown went to Aegon, who claimed his father’s dragon; Quicksilver. However, he was never able to claim the throne. He was known as Aegon the Uncrowned.

Dowager Queen Visenya had brought Maegor back from Exile and he rose up to claim the Iron Throne. Even with rallied forces, Aegon and Quicksilver were no match for Maegor and Balerion. Aegon died in the battle against his uncle, and it was called, ‘The Battle Beneath the God’s Eye.’

The throne was then passed to Jaehaerys. Although, Rhaena and her daughter Aerea were candidates (they were passed over due to their sex.) Aerea would go on to be Jaehaerys heir until he produced his own, and Rhaella was sent to Oldtown to train as a septa.

After Jaehaerys had claimed the throne, Rhaena felt free to do as she pleased. Gathering a group of companions; Elissa Farman, Samantha Stokeworth, and Alayne Royce. They become inseparable.

The four lived on Fair Isle, where Rhaena married Androw Fairman, the second son to the residing lord. He had no skill of any kind - and could barely read. Some say she married him out of thanks to Androw’s father, for sheltering her after Maegor killed Aegon. Maester Smike speculated that Rhaena had taken Androw for her husband because she loved his sister Elissa.

Rhaena didn’t leave Fair Isle until Androw’s father died and his eldest son ascended into the position. He ordered Rhaena, her dragon and her companions from the island, but bid Elissa to stay. She defied her lord brother and went with the Targaryen Princess.

Rhaena and her companions were taken in at Casterly Rock by Lyman and Jocasta Lannister. But when Rhaena realised they only wanted to marry her off to one of the Lannister sons, she left. She encountered this problem everywhere she travelled. Every lord and his wife wanted something from her. And she did not like that.

So, she went to King’s Landing as a wedding guest to King Jaeherys and Queen Alysanne’s second wedding, and afterward, she requested the seat of Dragonstone and to have her daughter Aerea back in her care. Both requests were granted.

Soon Rhaena would be known as The Queen in the East, but Elissa Farman and her daughter, Aerea grew unhappy there. As Rhaena and Aerea had been separated for years, Rhaena knew nothing about her seven-year-old daughter. In turn, Aerea couldn’t remember her mother. As well as this, she did not care for the dullness of Dragonstone. She longed for the exciting Red Keep.

Within time, Elissa departed Dragonstone but stole three dragon eggs. Neither she, nor the eggs were ever located...

Along with this, Rhaena lost her mother; Alyssa. Who had died in childbirth, delivering Rogar Baratheons second child. The Dowager Queen and Rhaena were never able to reconcile, as Rhaena did not like that Rogar and Alyssa married.

Rhaena blamed Rogar for her mother’s death. As soon she saw him, she had grabbed him by the beard and warned him to take care of her two half-siblings. She also threatened that if Rogar ever married again, she would kill him personally and make Storm’s End another Harrenhal.

While Rogar swore he was not frightened of Rhaena, he indeed never married again.

As Rhaena returned to Dragonstone, a plague set upon the island - killing those closest to her. All her companions, including young Lianna Velaryon, who died in Rhaena's arms.

It ended up being Androw’s doing. He was angry at Rhaena for being treated for a fool. Rhaena ordered Androw to be gelded, with his private parts to be cooked and fed to him before he would be allowed to die. Yet the cowardly Androw jumped from a castle window. In turn, Rhaena had his body hacked apart and fed to her dragons.

Despite their cold relationship, Rhaena encouraged Aerea to bond with a dragon. She allowed her daughter to be aquainted with all Dreamfyre’s hatchlings and the island’s dragons.

However, one night Rhaena found out that Aerea had fled Dragonstone on the back of Balerion. And even though great effort was put into the search, it wasn’t until a year later that Aerea returned to King’s Landing, riddled with sickness. She died the same day, and Rhaena did not arrive in time.

After her daughter’s death, Rhaena couldn’t bear to be on Dragonstone, nor King’s Landing. She did not want the company of others and went to Harrenhal, where she became a guest of House Towers. There she dropped into a deep depression.

She made home in the Widow’s Tower, and befriended a sickly young Lord Maegor Towers, the last of his lineage. When he died, she took over his household.

Never again did Rhaena visit Dragonstone or King’s Landing. Once a year she would visit her daughter, Septa Rhaella. Otherwise she remained at home.

With age, her hair turned white and the smallfolk in the riverlands thought she to be a witch. Nevertheless, she never turned down a traveler who came to Harrenhal (but never sought their company).

Rhaena continued to ride Dreamfyre until her death.

She was cremated at Harrenhal, and her ashes were interred where her husband had died by the Gods Eye.

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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The Silver Dragon (28/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 3150

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

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

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Six years after the beach on Driftmark, the Queen of All Dragons and Emrys, the young black dragon called Balerion, Second of His Name, by the smallfolk of King’s Landing, finally meet.

Warnings: None

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Vhagar & Emrys

“Wake up, Aria,” Aemond whispered softly, brushing a hand through her hair. “It’s almost dawn, and I have great plans for us today.”

Arianwyn groaned, rolling across the bed and out of his grasp. “What ‘great plans’ could possibly require my getting out of bed before the sun has risen?”

He laughed, “As I recall, you woke before the sun rose yesterday.”

“Yes,” her voice was muffled as she buried herself beneath the blankets, “but you may also recall that I did not get out of bed until much later. Of course, you may try and tempt me with more lecherous activities. But I have had very little sleep these last two nights, and I will not make promises I may not be able to keep.”

Aemond leaned back from the bed, unsure how to proceed. He had been awake for some time and had already dressed in his riding leathers, something he was surprised that she had not noticed. After six years apart, he had forgotten just how much mornings disagreed with her.

But as much as she hated mornings, she loved dragonriding more.

“I suppose we can just laze about,” he said, lying beside her atop the blankets and furs, “but Vhagar is always in a better mood earlier in the day. And I would not want her in a bad temper for her first meeting with Emrys.”

The soft morning light was blotted out by fur as Arianwyn threw her blankets off – and on top of him – as eagerly as a prisoner ridding himself of his chains. Then, without a word, she leapt out of bed and ran to their dressing room to begin donning her own riding leathers.

Aemond laughed, “So your husband cannot tempt you, but Vhagar can?”

“Vhagar is a Queen!” she shouted back. “The ‘Queen of All Dragons!’ I cannot disobey the wishes of a Queen. A mere Prince, on the other hand…”

Her teasing was cut off when Aemond snuck into the dressing room behind her, wrapping his hands around her waist. She giggled, leaning back into his chest.

“Surely, I am more than a ‘mere Prince,’” he whispered, pressing his cheek against hers as he began to lace her leathers. “I am also the Lord of Runestone. That must elevate my standing.”

“Lord Consort of Runestone, my love,” she corrected, turning her head to kiss him. “And in my eyes, there is no higher standing.”

He yanked on the cords of her cuirass, squeezing another delightful laugh out of her. “I am honored, my Lady.”

Once he finished with her cuirass, she let him continue to dress her, stealing a kiss whenever he came close to her lips. After one such kiss, he dropped one of her bracers on the floor as he instinctively moved to cup her face.

“If you don’t stop, we’ll never make it out of the castle,” he scolded with a grin.

Arianwyn pouted, “You really want me to stop?”

He sighed as he knelt to pick up the bracer. Few dragonriders wore actual armor when they flew outside of battle, but Arianwyn always did. Her once ordinary brown riding leathers had been fortified with thin plates of engraved bronze – the symbol of her house.

It was not one of the original sets of plate armor that had been passed down by her ancestors, but a reproduction. None of the ancient suits would ever fit Arianwyn – she was far too small, and the Bronze Kings had been massive men. Still, the Lady of Runestone needed her Runes.

As he finally latched her bracer in place, he examined the writing wrapped around her wrist. An incantation, a plea for strength, agility, and the blessings of nature. Perfect for a cavalryman, or a dragonrider.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he admitted. “But I also don’t want to take all this off only to have to put it back on again. And Vhagar is waiting for us.”

“And Emrys,” Arianwyn added, looping her arms around his neck. “He has missed you.”

Aemond smiled. He had always shared an unusually close bond with Emrys – closer than most bonded dragons would ever be with anyone other than their riders. It had always puzzled the Dragonkeepers, but it gave him comfort. He always knew that should he never claim a dragon of his own, he could ride with Arianwyn atop her little black dread.

“I have missed him as well,” he said, pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead before leading her out of the dressing room. “I expect he must be as large as Meleys by now.”

Arianwyn laughed as she left their bedchamber and sat at the breakfast table. “Not quite that large, but large enough that I expect we terrified some of the smallfolk on our way into the city.”

As he sat across from her, Aemond beamed. But his smile faded as he watched her pour a cup of grey tea and take a sip. He said nothing, instead focusing on keeping his expression neutral.

They had made an agreement last night. One year, just the two of them. To allow them time to make up for six years spent apart. To make Runestone their home. After that one year was up, then, and only then, would they start their family.

It had been a compromise – Arianwyn wanted to wait longer, and Aemond didn’t want to wait at all. He was so desperate for a family.

One that would love him unconditionally. They would love him for the man he was, rather than the position he had been born to. To them, he would be a father, rather than a second son. The spare, should anything happen to Aegon. The warrior Prince expected to gladly lay down his life for his brother, to fade into the pages of history, noted only for his forgettable place on the great Targaryen family tree.

At Runestone, with Arianwyn and their family, he could be – would be – so much more.

For now, he would have to wait. But waiting could be bearable, so long as he was with her.

“Where shall we fly today?” she asked as she finished the tea, breaking Aemond from his musings.

“I had no particular destination in mind,” he said, loading his plate with boiled eggs, bacon rashers, and a thick slice of fresh bread. “We can go wherever the winds take us.”

“Or wherever Vhagar takes us, if she is truly as stubborn as you’ve described,” she laughed.

Her wide, giddy smile was irresistible. At that moment, Aemond thought that a year with just the two of them was, in fact, a wonderful idea.

They took separate coaches, as while Aemond was going directly to the Tourney Grounds, Arianwyn went first to the Dragonpit to retrieve Emrys.

The Dragonkeepers had been informed of the Prince’s plans, and the young black dragon was already saddled and waiting for his rider when she arrived. As soon as she emerged from her carriage, he let out an excited trill and pulled against his restraints.

“Lykirī, Emrys,” Arianwyn called. “Nyke jāhor sagon konīr aderī. Yn istin ȳdragon naejot Dantis ēlī.” Calm down. I will be there soon. But I must speak to Dantis first.

He whined, a pitiful noise from such an intimidating beast, but indeed settled, however impatiently.

Arianwyn turned to Elder Dantis, the highest ranking Elder of Dragonkeepers. He was a stern old man, but his love for the dragons was strong and true. And he had always been sweeter with Arianwyn and Helaena than the boys – they were far more interested in the scholarship of the dragons.

“How has he been? I regret that I have not come to see him,” she asked, speaking in the common tongue to prevent Emrys from listening to their conversation – he always pouted when she spoke about him to others. She donned her gloves as they strode across the courtyard, thinking for a moment that the old man may not reply. It would be like him to do so.

But her fears were unfounded. Dantis stopped some yards from Emrys and turned to Arianwyn. He reached forward, toward the collar of her riding leathers, pulling it aside so he could see the bruises there.

“This happened two nights ago, yes?” he asked. More of a statement than a question.

Arianwyn nodded.

Dantis grimaced, “He felt it.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, bewildered by the statement.

But the Dragonkeeper only pointed to Emrys, and to his throat. The smoky grey-black of the scales on his neck were marred by two pink gashes just beneath his jaw.

“Two nights ago,” Dantis explained, “he awoke from his slumber, greatly disturbed. He roared with such ferocity and desperation. When we made it to his den, he was clawing at his throat as though something was restricting his breath.”

Arianwyn knew well how that felt.

“We could not get close to him. His fire was burning so wild and so hot. For a moment, it even…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. “He has Balerion’s blood. That much is certain.”

But Arianwyn could not tear her eyes from the marks on her beloved dragon’s neck. He had done that to himself. Because he felt her pain, as her father came so close to killing her.

“Do not fret, my Princess,” Dantis said, his stern demeanor fading if only for a moment. “The wounds are small; they will heal quickly. This is a sign of the strongest bond between rider and dragon. One that few, even in your line, have possessed.”

His words provided some measure relief from the guilt that swept over her. But it also piqued her curiosity. “Who else has possessed such a bond?”

“Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes are the first that I am aware of,” he replied, seemingly excited that someone was finally interested in the history of the Targaryen dragons. “King Aenys and Quicksilver. Some believe Queen Alyssane and Silverwing also shared this bond, though I have my doubts. And, of course, your new husband and Vhagar.”

At that, Arianwyn turned away from Emrys to look at the old Dragonkeeper. “Aemond and Vhagar?”

From what she had learned from his letters, she always thought their bond to be strained. Aemond often wrote about Vhagar acting on her own accord and disobeying his commands, particularly when it came to flying upside down. It was why he had ordered so many restraints put on his saddle.

“You were there that night, Princess,” Dantis said, equally as confused as her. “Surely you heard her roar when he lost his eye.”

Arianwyn laughed, though she was not sure why. “I’m afraid I was too busy roaring myself, Elder.”

She had also been crying as she attempted to staunch his bleeding. And fainting. But he did not need to know those particular details.

“Oh, she roared like I had never heard,” he confirmed. “It was a breathtaking sound. Not unlike Emrys, two nights ago.”

“Why are these bonds so rare? Each rider must bond with their dragon. They could not mount them otherwise. What makes some stronger than others?”

Dantis had a faraway look as he pondered the question. “I do not know, Princess. Nor do I think it is our place to know. The dragons are beyond us, it is folly to think we can ever truly understand them.”

With that, he bowed to Arianwyn and motioned for the novice Dragonkeepers to bring Emrys forward.

Emrys bounded toward his rider like a happy pup, unable to contain his excitement. He nudged her with his snout, prodding her until she embraced him. Though at his size, it looked more like her simply splaying her arms across his scales rather than a true embrace.

“Ēza mērī issare hāre tubissa,” she laughed. It has only been three days.

He snorted, shaking his head dismissively as if to say, “Yes, but it has been a difficult three days.”

Bringing his nose to rest against Arianwyn’s neck, his hot breath soothed the aching pain of her bruises as he looked into her eyes and whined softly.

“Iksan sȳz. Kessa giēñagon,” she said. “Hae kessa ao.” I am fine. It will heal. As will you.

He squinted his large icy-blue eyes in an expression of suspicious disbelief that would look at home on the face of a cranky toddler, but seemed to accept her words.

Arianwyn patted his jaw. “Gaomagon jaelā naejot jikagon rhaenagon Vhagar?” Do you want to go meet Vhagar?

His eyes went wide, and his tail swung with wild excitement as he pushed her toward his side with his snout. Laughing, she walked alongside him, running a hand across his smooth scales until she reached the saddle.

“Ziry se Aemond issi umbās syt īlva,” she whispered as she strapped herself into her seat. “Sōvēs!” She and Aemond are waiting for us.

Emrys hardly needed the command. He was already surging forward in the courtyard, building the speed he needed to take to the air. As he soared higher and higher, he let out a jubilant trill, the sound echoing off the red tiled roofs of King’s Landing.

In the sky, Arianwyn felt her heart beating in tandem with his. Even as he twirled excitedly through his ascent, she never felt afraid.

Dantis was right; their bond was strong.

For a moment, she could almost feel a tugging on her heart, a thread connecting her to this great beast. But as she chased that feeling, trying to take hold of that thread, it faded.

Even when undetectable, the connection was still there. Emrys turned south toward the Tourney Grounds without needing a command, leaving Arianwyn free to simply enjoy the flight. To savor the cool air and the wind. To relish in her freedom.

Daemon and Caraxes were far away, their threats without teeth. There was nothing stopping her from flying forever, from going wherever she wanted.

Nothing except for the fact that she was already precisely where she wanted to be.

As the city fell away behind them and the sprawling fields of the Tourney Grounds came into view, Arianwyn saw Vhagar for the first time in six years.

The sight of the massive beast still took her breath away. To think that there were once hundreds of dragons even larger than her in the world, that her ancestors wielded such unfathomable power was, at once, humbling and awe-inspiring. And the fact that her husband had not only claimed her, but formed an extraordinary bond with her, made Arianwyn’s heart swell with pride.

Aemond was standing by Vhagar’s head when Emrys landed on the opposite side of the field, his hand on one of the many ropes attached to her saddle. The she-dragon was tense, her tail flicking back and forth rapidly as she assessed the new, small creature across from her. But Aemond kept speaking to her, telling her – again – of how he had spent years loving Arianwyn. How they had grown together. How it had been him, at only a few months old, who had selected the glistening black egg for her cradle.

How, since the last time he saw Vhagar, he had married Arianwyn.

Indeed, Vhagar turned to him, drinking in his scent to find it mixed with another. The smell of cold wind and smoke.

“Issa ñuhon,” he whispered. “Se iksan zȳhon.” She is mine. And I am hers.

Vhagar made a hesitant sound, still unsure. Ever since she had felt his pain on that first night, she was always so protective of her rider.

Sensing her skepticism, Aemond leaned in to reassure her. “Īles konīr bona bantis. Ao ruaratan zirȳla lēda rizmon. Skori īlen ōdrikagon, ziry mīsatas nyke. Ēza va moriot mīsatas nyke.” She was there that night. You covered her with sand. When I was hurt, she defended me. She has always defended me.

At the memory of spraying that scared little girl with sand, Vhagar let out a rumbling growl that Aemond had always interpreted as laughter. At least she was relaxed enough to find humor in his words.

He turned to Arianwyn, now standing beside Emrys, who was staring at Vhagar with wide eyes, and beckoned her forward with a wave of his hand.

“Gaomagon daor sagon zūgagon,” she said quickly to Emrys before leading him forward. Do not be afraid.

He leaned into her as they walked slowly across the field. When they were close enough for Vhagar to make out the details of the young dragon, she rose from her crouch, her head tilting like an owl spotting its prey.

“Lykirī, Vhagar!” Aemond shouted, tightening his grip on her reins. “Iōragon ilagon!” Stay calm, Vhagar! Stand down!

But she did not. She huffed, the sound almost a command.

A command that Emrys obeyed.

While Arianwyn had frozen where she stood, Emrys continued forward, despite his rider’s shouts for him to return to her. He did not stop until he stood directly before the Queen of All Dragons.

Though he was nearly as large as Syrax, a dragon twenty years his elder, he was still dwarfed by Vhagar. But he stood perfectly still as she craned her neck to examine him. Arianwyn had told him not to be afraid, so he would not be.

Aemond continued to shout commands to Vhagar, begging her to withdraw.

But she did not. Rather, she pressed her cheek against Emrys’ neck, purring with affection when he nuzzled her in return.

The Prince was still frozen in shock when Arianwyn came to his side, out of breath from her sprint across the tourney field. “What are they doing?”

Vhagar had wrapped her tail around Emrys as she carefully inspected each horn on his head, the younger dragon crooning under the attention.

“I think…” Aemond laughed, wrapping his arms around Arianwyn, holding her just as his dragon held hers. He had never seen Vhagar like this, especially not with another dragon. She had always been happy to keep her distance from the others, but something about Emrys sparked something new within her, a youthful joy he had never seen before.

And then it was clear. “I think he reminds her of Balerion.”

Arianwyn laughed with him as they looked upon their dragons, the fearsome beasts that had given their family the power to conquer the realm, snuggling each other like a pair of cats. “Her and all the city, apparently.”

The dragons continued their display for so long that by the time they finally turned to their riders, Aemond was sitting on the grass, leaning back on his arms as Arianwyn slept soundly with her head in his lap.

“Issi ao olvie tetan?” he asked, somewhat sarcastically. Are you quite finished?

Vhagar blew a defensive puff of smoke, while Emrys ducked his head sheepishly.

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head as he nudged his sleeping wife. “Wake up, Aria. We’re finally ready to fly.”

Next Chapter

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