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targaryen-dynasty · 4 months

Text

SEMPITERNAL.

final part of Precious Delights

Dad!Maegor Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, p in v, breeding kink, slight praise kink, kinda medieval daddy kink (?), size kink, lactation kink, lactating, pregnancy, pregnant sex

WORDS: 4.3 K

NOTES: Precious Delights comes to an end with this. I‘m a bit sad, because I really started to love the series, but I think I've managed to end it in a good way. Thanks to everyone that joined me on this journey.

It was going to be a day of revelry. The construction of the Red Keep had been completed, and your husband found it fitting to throw a feast in celebration for those who had taken part in it.

Taking on a fatherly aura the moment your twins took their first breaths, Maegor didn’t want the festivities to start without his precious family present, even though you were meant to depart for your chambers once they started to indulge themselves in bawdier things.

“You have to sit still if you want Mama to finish the braid quickly,” you warned the little girl sitting in front of you, though there was no sharpness to your tone, knowing you could not expect your daughter to sit still for so long. She was just three summers old after all, and just as excited about the feast as everybody else.

Your own flowing locks loosely cascaded down your back and shoulders, not combed and unbraided as you had been taking care of your children the whole morning, often taking their care into your own hands as they were a blessing from the Gods above. And, while Visenya was clad in a black dress that once belonged to you when you were around the same age, your swollen curves still were concealed by a white nightgown.

The raspy chuckle you heard, as your little girl didn’t remain still long enough for you to finish the task properly, prompted you to turn your head towards your husband, sitting in a stool not too far away while the barber tended to his hair and neatly trimmed beard.

You raised an eyebrow in innocent enquiry at the sound, which briefly changed into something different while your eyes flickered over his frame. He was dressed, but barely. His cloak, and most pieces of his wardrobe, still were draped over a chair across the room from where he sat. His torso was exposed from the waist up, covered only by the leather breeches he wore.

Maegor had a grin on his lips – entirely different to the expression he usually wore around servants and maids. In the confines of your chambers, he often lowered his guard, not too concerned about what others thought was proper. But in the presence of other people, he was always focused on remaining harsh and cold, wanting to display his dominance and power.

“Have you been at this all morning?” Maegor asked, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes trailed over your body just like yours had done before. A hint of nervousness filled your veins, and you scolded yourself internally for your thoughts to stray towards things you should not be thinking at that moment.

Not bothering to hide the blush that covered your cheeks, you finally replied. “Yes, I started at first light, not long after you left. I was hoping to finish before sundown, but this little one…,” you emphasized the word, causing your daughter to glance over her shoulder, flashing her father a big smile, “... has other ideas.”

You continued to braid her hair, trying to stop the braid from becoming too tight whilst also keeping the little princess’ fidgeting at bay. The barber was done trimming Maegor’s beard at this point, packing his utensils and scurrying off at once.

“You would think that at three she would be more disciplined,” you sighed, smiling softly at your daughter. “But she takes after you.” Briefly pressing your lips into a thin line, you wondered if you had overindulged yourself in the bantering the moment the words slipped past your lips, and if Maegor knew you were just joking. Partially, at least.

Visenya was the spitting image of your husband in more ways than one. Not when it came to the looks, as she was taking after you in that, but her rambunctious spirit was most definitely one of the attributes she shared with him. Aerion, however, was a different story. His looks resembled Maegor’s more and more with each passing day, while he had inherited your gentle presence.

As Maegor chuckled, your frayed nerves calmed again. “You might have been better off dressing yourself before attempting to braid her hair,” he jested.

“And I thought you might have helped, instead of sitting there and making witty comments,” you replied, glancing at Maegor, and trying to disguise your slight frustration as playfulness, directing your husband to your current predicament.

You knew you couldn’t expect the King to take care of his children, not on an important day like this, but you also knew that Maegor more often than not had deferred his duties in the past in order to bond with the twins.

Not wanting to admit defeat, you continued to braid your daughter’s hair, fighting against her lack of patience, and trying to finish before she kicked the entire braid off her head. Eventually, you were successful, pulling the braid into a bun behind little Visenya’s head.

Maegor rose from his seat, and walked over to where you sat behind your daughter. He focused his attention on her, admiring her and your work for a moment, a soft sigh escaping him as he scooped her up into his arms.

You smiled at the sight, your heart swelling in your chest, more so as you watched the gentleness with which he handled her. In a feeble attempt, Visenya tried to escape his bear hug, grumbling slightly as he snuggled her head and smelt her hair. It was the same as whenever you did it, but something in your children’s scents was just too intoxicating.

Tilting his head back, Visenya’s little hands grazed over his beard, seemingly enjoying the feeling of the coarse hairs under her fingers just as much as you did, before she placed them at the sides of his thick neck for stability.

He smiled softly at your daughter, a smile that scarcely graced his features when looking at you. It was gentle and loving, and whenever his eyes met yours, his expression was tinted with desire and longing.

“Does Mama not know that your Papa is a skilled swordsman, and not a hairdresser?” Maegor asked your daughter in a playful tone, swaying her in his arms and pressing his lips to her temple. She was giggling uncontrollably, barely comprehending what he said, clearly keening at his affection and attention.

When the doors to your chambers opened, the wet nurse came in with a styled and dressed prince at her side. Getting Aerion ready had taken you one hour at most, and was far less complicated.

Upon spotting his father carrying his sister in his strong arms, the boy all but barrelled towards him in jealousy. The wet nurse failed to pull him back, leaving him as he tugged on the leg of Maegor‘s leather breeches, demanding to be picked up as well.

You used the opportunity and leaned past Maegor, trying to fix a stray strand of Aerion’s silver hair – but the excited boy didn't have any of it.

“My my, look who is here,” Maegor said with a smile, kneeling down while carrying Visenya on his hip.

The boy hugged his father tightly, squeezing him with all the strength he could muster with his tiny arms, which left Maegor chuckling. You could not feel any greater joy than seeing the brute of a man, mostly known for his harshness, so soft and full of affection for his children.

“I want up, Papa. I want up, now,” the boy demanded, wrapping his arms around Maegor’s neck. The sight was adorable, and you could see on your husband’s face just how much he basked in your children’s affection.

“Up you say, mh?” Placing a hand under the boy’s bottom, your husband lifted him up with ease, carrying both children on his hips.

You sighed, bringing a hand to your swollen belly as you planted your feet firmly on the ground, and slowly rose from your seat. It was evident Maegor had wanted to help you, to reach out to support you, but with both arms filled with your twins, he could merely offer you his forearm for you to hold onto.

This pregnancy was not as woeful as your first one, truly a blessing from the Gods above. And your husband was more generous this time as well, allowing you to walk the gardens and the keep all by yourself, despite it taking you a bit longer to be with child again. The pregnancy in general was not that strenuous for your body, though your breasts and bump had swollen to ridiculous proportions already, and you barely exceeded the fifth moon.

Approaching them, you brought both hands up to their cheeks, the pad of your thumbs brushing along their soft skin as they leaned into your touch. “That is enough, you two,” you hummed, smiling softly. “You must go with Erena now. We have guests arriving soon, and Mama is not ready yet. It would not do to keep our guests waiting.”

The twins pouted, but with neither you nor Maegor being too lax with them, they knew there was no chance they could stay for any longer. You motioned for the wet nurse to approach, before you cupped your children’s faces one by one, and pressed a kiss to their foreheads.

“Aye, you have heard your mama,” Maegor said, having your back. His eyes had taken over a half-lidded look as they were all but glued to your features, your lips mostly, watching you and admiring your motherly aura.

He put both of them down, but not without ruffling your boy’s hair in a way that had you taking in a deep breath, trying to keep the anger of him destroying Aerion’s hairdo at bay.

Clinging to the wet nurse's hands, they left the room at once, no doubt going to their chambers for her to read them a book. There were merely two servants around you at this point, stopping in their tracks as Maegor’s deep voice rang out. “Leave us,” he ordered sternly, his usual demeanor crawling back to the surface.

It was the side of him your children were not meant to see, at least for now, and with Maegor’s paw coming to your swollen belly once you were alone, the softness returned. Cupping your bump gently, he looked down at it in awe.

“Are you ready for the feast?” you asked, smiling softly at him before your eyes trailed over the expanse of his bare chest.

“I am, for as long as you’re by my side,” he said, his other hand trailing over the slight curve of your waist. Both his hands now rested where the swell was, feeling the gentle curve of your bump. When he spoke again, you could hear a tinge of jealousy in his voice, his words making you chuckle. “But I fear the crowd will pay more attention to you than me.”

Bringing your hands up to his face, you cupped it just like you had done with the twins before, your thumbs brushing the stubble on his jaw. His eyes softened, fixing yours. “I can not wait for you to be with my fourth child,” he spoke with a mischievous grin.

You raised a brow. “Oh, only if you will be the one carrying the babe,” you retorted, the tease in your voice and sparkle in your eyes hinting at something only he would understand. “I doubt this pregnancy will spare me from the terrible birthing pains, and I do not know whether I can endure it for a third time.”

Maegor sighed at your words, his hands running over your sides once more, before one moved to the back of your head, threading into your thick locks. Gently tugging your head back, he leaned down to press a kiss to your jaw.

“Would you like me to try?” he chuckled against your skin, pulling back just enough for you to spot the smirk on his lips. His tone had taken on a huskier edge, one that always forced you to squeeze your thighs together. “The Gods will be on our side this time. There will be only one babe, I am sure.”

Licking his lips, he kept his grip on your hair, and pulled your face towards his. You anticipated a kiss, but alas, he kept a few inches between your faces, your heavy breaths fanning over each other's lips.

You tried to chase him for a kiss, but Maegor kept your head in place. “I hope you know the dangers of challenging a Targaryen man,” he teased.

Oh, you did know. More than once had he proven that it was just not wise to challenge him. It was impossible for him to resist a good challenge, no matter how bold or brazen. Your late brother Aegon was the perfect example, and also the reason he and his dragon Quicksilver were slain by your uncle in the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye.

Slinging your arms around his thick neck, you kept your eyes locked with his, a mischievous glint flickering in them. “I shall take my chances,” you replied, biting your bottom lip.

That was the last bit that caused his resolve to crumble. Bowing his head forwards, he pressed his lips to yours fervently, void of any gentleness. Your hair was released, only for him to snake one arm around your waist and bring the other to your arse. Cupping it, it was easy for him to lift you up, holding your body to his in a cradle carry with your lips still connected.

You pulled back from him to chuckle breathlessly. “We can’t… not now,” you laughed, bringing a hand to his bare chest as if you meant to stop him. “Our guests will soon arrive.”

But he was not having any of it. “Oh, is that so?” he taunted, slowly walking towards your marital bed, shrugging his shoulders when he came to a stop. “Let them, they can wait.”

You stared up at Maegor with wide eyes as he placed you down on the bed, one of your hands cupping your bump, while the other just rested on your chest, your full breasts hard and heavy. He stood at the side of the bed, and began to undo the laces in the front of his breeches.

As much as you wanted to lock your gaze with his, your eyes always trailed down to where his fingers were fumbling with the laces, your breathing growing heavier and your mouth running dry.

Maegor was the most handsome of all men, and his other skills were unparalleled. Even though his cock was the only one you had seen, you knew Maegor was very well endowed, and probably possessed one of the most beautiful cocks in Westeros.

Unable to wait any longer, you tugged the skirts of your nightgown up as much as your bump allowed, and shimmied your way out of your smallclothes. Your swollen belly was obvious, but you hadn’t thought of it as so obtrusive. But your husband didn’t seem to mind, if anything, he was even more determined and motivated to have his way with you.

Maegor eyed you just as hungrily, and his jaw set as he noticed the slight glistening of your womanhood as you spread your legs. You were eager and ready to take him.

Stripping the last of his clothes off, Maegor joined you in bed, making himself at home between your parted legs. Leaning over you, careful not to put any of his weight on your bump, he planted kisses to the side of your neck, trailing up to your lips. His large frame completely covered your significantly smaller one, making you feel protected and safe as your fingers entangled into his silver strands, tugging on them gently and keeping his lips locked on yours.

His cock was hard, pressing snugly against your soaked womanhood, sure to coat the underside of it and the sac of his stones in your arousal. You couldn’t help but to grind your hips against him, rutting your swollen folds against his hard member which prompted him to groan against your lips.

“Be still, would you,” Maegor scolded, but his tone was void of any harshness.

But you couldn’t. Not when your body craved to be filled by him so badly. And Maegor seemed to notice your despair. He sat back on his haunches, looking down at you. The pout on your lips had him smirking smugly. “You have teased me long enough,” you whimpered, innocently batting your eyelashes at him. “It’s what I deserve after this strenuous morning.”

Raising his brow, Maegor sighed – he was admitting his defeat. “I shall make it quick for you then.”

His hands roamed over your bump, the white silk allowing them to slide over it with ease. He then proceeded to lean to the side, fetching one of the pillows next to you and folding it in half.

Maegor hooked one hand beneath your knee, and used that grip to lift your hips, slipping the pillow beneath them to slightly raise your body for him, and make your back arch in a way that was not uncomfortable. It caused your swollen breasts to spill from the low neckline of your nightgown, the white silk dampened and darkened by the droplets of milk that had oozed out of your hardened buds.

“Let me take care of you, mama,” Maegor drawled, his dark blown eyes traveling over your frame. Despite most of your body still concealed by your nightgown, he couldn’t be any more attracted to and aroused by you than he was in that moment.

Gripping the base of his cock, he used your arousal to tug on him once, twice, before aligning the tip with your throbbing entrance. He was completely focused and careful as he pushed inside, moving slow enough for you to feel every vein and ridge of his cock drag along your walls.

“Gods be good,” you moaned, enjoying the feeling of being stretched out by him, bliss taking over your senses.

Your husband remained upright, his hands on your knees as he started with a slow, deep grinding. Your smaller one found his and held onto him for stability and to feed your longing for his touch, your eyes never leaving his. You felt the familiar heat building in your belly quicker than usual, the coarse hair around his member grazing over your sensitive pearl every time he moved and fueling the pleasure you felt.

“You truly were made for me,” he grunted, a large hand moving to splay over your bump, covering most of it. “The most beautiful woman in the realm, swollen with my seed and carrying my children.” With a blush covering your cheeks, you bit your bottom lip, stifling a wanton moan.

Noticing the color on your cheeks, Maegor smirked, slightly increasing the pace of his hips, his cock hitting deep enough to drag over the spot that had you whining and whimpering. You were squeezing him so well, making it impossible for him to keep going for much longer – not that you had time to do so anyways.

Your pearl throbbed with anticipation, and your cunt clenched and convulsed around his member, announcing your approaching peak and coaxing grunts and groans to escape his parted lips.

You tipped your head back into the pillows, unraveling beneath him as you closed your eyes in bliss.

“So good,” he groaned, reaching to rub your bump before trailing his hand up to your full breasts. “I shall fuck you full of my seed, and bed you until your womb runs dry.” You weren’t sure if it were his words, the thoughts accompanying them or the sensual rolling of his hips, but your brain went fuzzy with pleasure, clouding each thought to the point you couldn't think straight and answer him.

His big hand tugged the neckline of your nightgown down to the point it ripped at the seam, freeing your breasts from their confines. It could have been a growl or a groan rumbling in his chest – either way it sounded threatening and dangerous, lured out by the sight of your leaking breasts. Clamping one of your darkened buds between his calloused fingers, he squeezed it to force some more droplets of milk out of it, coating his fingers in it.

Bringing them up to his lips, he sucked them clean with a groan, only for him to pay equal attention to your other breast not long after. It was not much, but already helped enough to relieve some of the pressure and ease the fullness.

You bit your bottom lip and started up at him with half-lidded eyes, a teasing grin on your lips. “Want to get your fill, papa?” you asked, feigned innocence weaving itself through your tone.

Maegor panted heavily, his eyes glued to where his fingers were milking you. “You little minx,” his husky voice drawled, interrupted by strained breaths. He was close. “Later.”

The coil in your belly tightened each time his body rutted against your pearl in combination with his fingers on your breasts, and it eventually snapped and allowed your peak to wash over your body with a loud cry. Maegor watched you mesmerized, relishing in the way your cunt fluttered around his cock with relief etched onto your features.

He seized the opportunity, and bowed his bull-like body forwards, placing one hand next to your frame to support his weight as he increased the pace and intensity of his thrusts. Your cunt melted around his hard member, sucking him in with each snap of his hips.

You couldn't deny the slight aching that started to blossom between your legs, growing more apparent with the repercussions of your peak slowly subsiding, but you knew Maegor was racing for completion at this point, his breathing ragged and his jaw set.

“When this babe is born…,” he rambled, panting in between the words. Strands of his blonde hair fell in front of his eyes, a sheen of sweat on his skin. “… I shall fuck another into you. I can not get enough of watching your body swell with my seed, making it clear to everyone that you are mine.”

“Y-Yes, Gods, please.” The flush on your cheeks grew hotter, matching the growing volume of your whimpers and moans. Suddenly, the thought of another babe growing inside of you didn’t seem too bad.

It was with a final thrust of his hips that his body finally relented, his cock spending in a burst so strong Maegor stilled his movements. You felt him twitch and throb inside of you, spilling his seed and painting your walls as you milked him for every drop.

The sight was divine. His muscular body crouched forwards slightly, blonde strands framing his chiseled features, beads of sweat highlighting his flexing muscles, and his jaw set tight enough you feared for his teeth.

If you weren’t with his child already, you would have mounted him to make sure his seed would bear fruit.

Every muscle in his body was tensed, until he eventually collapsed into the vacant spot right next to you, careful not to put any weight on your swollen belly. His flaccid cock slipped out of you in the process, causing you to pout at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

But you were quickly distracted when you looked to the side, studying him carefully. The blissful smile on his lips sent heat straight through your veins again, reigniting the fire and longing for more. You traced your fingertips over his sharp cheekbones, while his hand had remained splayed over your bump in a protective manner.

Moving to lie on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, mischievous thoughts filled your head, inspired the moment you glanced down at his thick cock. Teasing and arousing you was a weapon only Maegor possessed, and he wielded it so perfectly – intended or not.

“Mh, our guests may have to wait a little longer,” you said, voice laced with desire.

It was a bit troublesome for you to get up, but once you managed to do so, you moved to straddle your husband’s hips, his cock trapped between your soaked womanhood and his lower stomach.

He watched you with an eyebrow raised, but made no move to stop you. You rutted your hips over his length, coating him in your mixed essences and coaxing him to full hardness again.

Maegor propped himself up on his elbows, a groan leaving his lips, and brought his paws up to graze over your sides. He understood what you wanted, and was eager to give you just that. With unsurprising strength, he fisted the silk of your nightgown and tore it in half, exposing your whole body to him.

You gasped, more because of the chill air hitting your hot skin than the shock of the sudden movements.

Licking a flat stripe over the curve of your full breast before wrapping his lips around your hard bud, Maegor sucked on it a few times to swallow some of your milk. You moaned at the stimulation, tipping your head back as your cunt clenched around nothing.

He pulled back with a string of saliva connecting his swollen lips and your skin, glancing up at you mischievously. And when he spoke, his voice was husky and strained, teasing you with a smug smirk on his lips. “I think they will understand.”

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @watercolorskyy @xxxkat3xxx @baedebnam @simonedk @heavenhatesme @valyrianglass

General Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @melsunshine @docmartinis @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @nockerin @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @goldyfishsstuff @connorsui

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howyouloveyourdragon · 11 months

Note

threesome with margaery and robb please please i BEG

Taking Charge

pairing: margaery tyrell x reader x robb stark alternate universe: Margaery allies with Stark instead of Lannister, Robb survives (no necrophilia here thank you babes) pronouns: she/her anatomy: afab warnings: power dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, brief discussion of trauma (the red wedding) kinks & positions: threesome, dom/sub dynamics, brat taming, light bdsm, being gagged, oral (reader receiving), riding, masturbation, face riding, orgasm denial, fingering dividers by: saradika wordcount: 3,388

A/N: only the best for you ma'am, you told me i could go feral and i always deliver >:) i really hope you enjoy this bby! ♡ also margaery lowkey acts as a medieval marriage counsellor but we'll touch on that later ☠️

Margaery Tyrell is beautiful. You know it. Your husband knows it and the gaggle of raucous men know it as she flits her eyes over Robb. Her lips move but you are too entranced to doubt her words. You hear Robb gulp beside you and your own breath hitches as her shoulders roll back, a lithe hand exposes her neck by sweeping her hair behind her. She smirks as she curtsies--slow and deep. "Thank you, your grace for understanding my position." "Of course." Robb's voice utters but you can hear a familiar gruffness. He glances at two of his men as he gestures for two of them to lead her to a spare tent. You let a gentle hand rest on his forearm. "You need not," You tell the men, ignoring when your husband snaps his sights back to you. You smile pleasingly at Margaery. "We will find somewhere together, it has been a long time since I entertained guests." She returns your grin with the hint of surprise in her crystal eyes. The flicker across your form and her parted lips close. "Perhaps I should be entertaining you, my Queen." You feel as Robb tenses and squeeze gently. You merely hum to Margaery and begin to glide toward her but your husband snatches your arm quickly and tugs you back. His eyes stare deeply into yours as he guides a hand to cup your face, an intensity as he draws closer--prolonging each movement. He connects your lips effortlessly and drinks in the gentle gasp when his tongue treads along the seam of them. Your eyes flutter like the flap of a butterfly's wings until they shut closed. His fingers twist the hair at the back of your head and tugs just enough to let him drink in your soft whine. You don't have the chance to see as Robb's sights turn hard and warning as they lock with Margaery's. Her smirk only deepens.

Eventually you gather the inner strength to pull away with a wet smack and stumble back. As your eyelids slip open his darkening stare greets you, a quick tilt of his head permitting you to step away. His gaze stays locked on you as you leave, linking your arm with the new woman's. "He is rather protective of you." She notes as you walk throughout the camp. You hum in agreement and nod softly. "There was an incident a number of moons ago where he was supposed to marry one of the Frey daughters, we supplemented another man in his place but..." You pause, discomfort crossing your skin like a spider's thick web. Margaerys collects your free hand in the bed of her own hand and squeezes gently. It gives you the courage to continue. "The matter was not resolved. There was bloodshed and we lost a babe but we escaped and so..." Margaery steps in front of you, now holding both your hands. Your breath stutters but still you paint a sad smile across your lips. "I understand." She assures with a gentle smile. She wishes to reassure you. Two of her fingers rise to lift your chin to encourage you looking up into her eyes. "I would feel the same if I had a petal such as yourself. I would take my vows of protection over you just as carefully. And I would take those vows." Her voice purrs like a kitten curled in your lap, like it is a soft tail wrapping itself around your forearm instead of her hand.

The days pass with your forms close at every turn and under your husband’s watchful eye. Your nightly activities increase, a deeper need clawing up Robb’s chest. Tonight, you writhe in the sheets with Robb's pants fanning over your neck as his fingers bury deep within your core. He moans at the wet stickiness, letting it drip down his hand. You feel it growing–the wave about to crash–swirling deeper and deeper. It’s like a whirlpool that you are begging to let swallow you down. You want it, you need it and then–Then Robb retracts stops. “Say it,” His unusually gruff voice murmurs in your ear, ignoring your flailing legs. You try to grind back and forth but his spare hand pushes your hips down in warning. He leans up to your ear. “Say it.” He demands once more, rougher. “I love you.” You concede easily, gentle whimpers pouring out. His fingers roll fluidly again and the waves return. “Again.” “I love you.” The water spins you, an overwhelming heat distorts your sight. “Again.” “I love you.” And finally he lets the dam break inside you. Your heat gushes over his hand. His mouth drops down onto yours with a resounding kiss. His lips move sloppily but demandingly. He grumbles as he turns to lay his back on the bed and sling and arm around your own. “So good for me.” He rumbles. “My best girl, hm?” You mumble in approval while he moves to kiss your cheek before standing. Your whines return as he begins to leave you, presumably to visit the tent of your living quarters. Not for the first time you are grateful your husband is given special privileges but detest the sight of his back. He chuckles low. “A moment, my love.” He leaves, presumably to find a cloth and water. Your slick glistens down your rear.

Minutes pass, possibly twenty, possibly thirty but either way you are unsatisfied with your missing husband. You rise on shaky legs, bare all except a silk robe. Your feet lead you to the connecting tent, surprised at the closed sheets of it. Your breath hitches as you step toward the dark tent, your fingers about to part the sheets but two familiar voices interrupt the movement. “I heard you of course…” A Tyrell voice tuts and your eyes go wide. Surely she does not mean… “Denying your wife? I thought Starks were honourable.” A deep blush treads up your face with the wisps of wind. You shiver as the cold air creeps through your dress, hardening the pebbles beneath. You peek through the curtain and instantly clasp a hand over your mouth at the sight of your husband stiffened, the woman opposite trailing her fingers up his tunic. He snatches her wrist quickly and squeezes it harshly. You can hear her breath hitch. “What are you doing, Lady Tyrell?” Robb snarls to which she merely chuckles. She steps onto her tiptoes and leans into his ear. “I am going to teach you how to please your wife, how to please your Queen, how to…worship her.” She purrs the words like a playful kitten. His grip loosens enough for the highborn lady to grow bold and raise her other hand to his shoulder. He is silent as his eyes track her palm. It is almost soothing, the circles she rubs against the loose fabric. The wolf King clears his throat before he speaks. “How?” You would pity his vulnerable tone if it didn’t charge the throb of your pearl, if the pebbles of your breasts were not growing more sensitive with every word that flowed through your ears.

You almost gasp when you see her unravel two snakes of rope from beneath her skirt, letting it feed through her fingers as she pushes Robb down into a wooden chair though you are both aware it could not truly hold him unless he demanded his own body to still. Her hands glide down his arms, thick with muscle, her nails play with the top threads of his linen undershirt. The rose unlaces the ties of his shirt slowly, torturing. Your eyes hook their gaze to her fingers, mouth going dry at their graceful movements. She is a lot more experienced than she let on but it does not upset you...in fact it rather does the opposite, your pearl beginning to throb again. He watches her, eyes tracking her every motion. “Well first you are going to have to calm yourself. I would hate for her to join us too early, before we even have you prepared for her. You cannot see her face but you can imagine her serene smile. Her hands glide across his chest and push him down into a waiting chair. The bridge of rope between her hands follows down to slither between his legs. He grunts at the contact, his member still heavy from the activities before. He bites his lip. Margaery chuckles as she sinks to her knees and begins to bind his forearm to the wooden chair. “Do not worry, my King, we will fix that in a moment.” Your eyes widen and drink in the sight, watching as she binds his other arm as well. You gulp as she straddles his lap.

“Oh such a good boy…” Margaery coos, running her hand into the northerner’s hair and then gripping the curls tight. Having a King bound to a chair before you–inside a tent or not–is a rather quick way to encourage your confidence. For it to drip through your veins and pump the blood raucously. She smirks down at him as he groans. His eyes are as fierce as the wolf he is. “I almost feel guilty for playing with you but if you want to be a King, you will have to earn that right.” She licks her lips and dips a hand between her breasts. The King gasps, matching you simultaneously but then she pulls out a grey fabric and brings it to hover before his mouth. His eyes snap up to hers. “You must trust my practice, King Stark.” He growls but begrudgingly parts his lips enough to bare his wolfish teeth. Her giggling attracts your ears as she slides the gag in his mouth. She raises a single hand in the air and beckons you close. You freeze. “Come, my Queen.” Her free hand runs along his jaw then hardens it, pulling him closer with an intensity you didn’t expect. “He’s pretty isn’t he, dearest?” You merely nod, looking at your husband as the Tyrell tugs at him. Her eyes flit over to you as she smirks. “This is not the first time you have both played this game, is it?” Her grin deepens when your reluctant nod pleases her. Robb bites his lip, trying to hold back the moan. “I was wondering why you do not mind me playing with him but now I see…You enjoy it. Seeing someone else in power for once, taking him…” She slowly tilts her head. “Would you like to tame him? The big bad wolf? You will need to find your voice, pet.” A tentative step forward is all she needs to see to broaden her wicked grin. She slaps Robb’s cheek sharply and climbs off his lap. “There’s a smart girl.” Her hands reach you while her face squeals in girlish delight—a sight you are not used to.

“We are going to have so much fun.” She purrs and releases one of your hands to stroke her index along a lock of your hair. Her eyes darken with a sea of lust pushing desperately against a restraining barrier. She brushes back your hair and leans closer until her breath is fanning across your lips. “And so we have acquired another player.” The sea crashes—taking your kiss with it—as she presses her lips to yours and drowns in it. Margaery Tyrell is a woman of many talents and one of those talents is knowing exactly what she wants but more importantly how to get it. A gasp slips from your mouth to hers as her fingers trail up your thigh. She slowly lowers herself until she has to pan her head to look at you. Her eyes stay misty. “I’ve always wanted to taste a Queen.” With the flick of her tongue, she pushes you back to lie on the table and spreads your legs with ease, rustling the wretched grey fabric. “Always so modest.” She tuts as she dives her face beneath and skips her tongue along your inner thigh. A rumble burns at your throat, your eyes squeeze as tight as your fists in anticipation. “So sweet,” Margaery commends before darting her muscle across your hidden pearl, wetting the fabric above. “Yes, I think I would like to join you on that throne of yours, we are going to have a lot of fun, sweet blossom.” Her hands turn commanding. “Oh such a good boy…”

“We are going to have so much fun.” She purrs and releases one of your hands to stroke her index along a lock of your hair. Her eyes darken with a sea of lust pushing desperately against a restraining barrier. She brushes back your hair and leans closer until her breath is fanning across your lips. “And so we have acquired another player.” The sea crashes—taking your kiss with it—as she presses her lips to yours and drowns in it. Margaery Tyrell is a woman of many talents and one of those talents is knowing exactly what she wants but more importantly how to get it. A gasp slips from your mouth to hers as her fingers trail up your thigh. She slowly lowers herself until she has to pan her head to look at you. Her eyes stay misty. “I’ve always wanted to taste a Queen.” With the flick of her tongue, she pushes you back to lie on the table and spreads your legs with ease, rustling the wretched grey fabric of your robe. “Always so modest, hm? Don’t worry, we’ll fix that.” She tuts as she dives her face beneath and skips her tongue along your inner thigh.

A rumble burns at your throat, your eyes squeeze as tight as your fists in anticipation. “So sweet,” Margaery commends before darting her muscle across your hidden pearl, wetting the fabric above. “Yes, I think I would like to join you on that throne of yours, we are going to have a lot of fun, sweet blossom.” Her hands turn demanding, her nails sinking into your thighs. A yelp rebounds from your lips in time with a distant growl. You sit upright on shaky elbows to let your heavy-lidded eyes gaze upon your needy husband, a dribble of saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, gag wet. Perhaps fabric is not a desired material. She rolls an ‘r’ along your bud, delighting in your sharp intake of breath. Robb rumbles once more. Margaery sighs. “You can either behave or wait even longer. I will bring your wife to her peak once more for every sound that comes from your lips but you will receive nothing until you have learned to prioritise your beloved.” Her voice is muffled but resounding. She commands him as well as she would command a disobedient mutt. Her tongue licks up your residue. “If you were my wife, I would drink from you every waking moment and if I were your King, I would keep my face tucked between your thighs. Escaping my lips would be your hardest battle.” Margaery moans. Robb growls at the rose’s words but the soothing strokes of her tongue please you.

She pulls back, smirking at the whines that drip from your mouth. “And so needy too.” She chuckles as she pulls away, her curls tickling up your thigh. You jump in sensitivity but it all makes her coo like caressing a flightless bird. “Aw, sweet darling. Need us to take care of you, huh? Is he not taking care of you? Poor thing…We’ll just have to take care of you, ourselves.” A deep growl permeates from your husband, his arms straining against his ties but as your eyes linger on his form, his cock looks aching as it strains through his trousers, the tip of it wetting the fabric. The poor man must be absolutely throbbing and yet that doesn’t make you pity him, it only entices you. Margaery raises a finger to rub pressured circles on your bud. She chuckles when you hiss and your elbows collapse you to lie back on the table again. The image of your husband’s hungry face lingers in your mind but it’s Margaery’s hair that you move to grasp between your fingers. Your hips grind as her tongue returns to lap at you. “That’s it,” You encourage, delighting in the wet noise.And then it comes again, the sensitivity crashing over your cunt. Your eyes shut tight and your face scrunches up as a long pitiful whine pushes past your lips. The whimper of the Stark King only sends another wave to flow onto Margaery’s tongue who doesn’t lessen her pace until she can swallow down every drop.

Your body falls imp, sprawled out. Your legs tremble as they hang off the side of the table but finally Margaery’s greed softens and she pulls back. Your glistening wetness still coats her lips as they grin up at you. Her hands slither up your body, starting at your thighs until they settle on your waist. She squeezes gently before spreading them. You hiss briefly but are quickly hushed when she kisses up your neck in soothing patterns. “I will not mark you yet.” She whispers in purring vibration. “But if you ever tire of wolves, I will be but a moment away.” She kisses the space behind your ear. A tempting little rose she is as she pulls away, cupping your hands as she tugs you to stand on your shaky legs. She tuts. “So used today, don’t worry, it’s your turn.” The scent of her hair wafts thickly up your nose, clouding your other senses as she pulls you, one arm now around your waist. When you finally look up from the floor, you see Robb’s piercing eyes waiting for you with the patience of a wild boar. She slowly winds your legs so you can straddle your husband who quickly nuzzles against your neck. Margaery delights as she wraps around you from behind, kissing up your opposing shoulder as her hands help yours to slip down Robb’s smallclothes. However, it is you who raises your fingers to tear open the offending fabric on your husband’s chest and who rips the gag away to replace it with your lips. He grunts and ruts his hips. His member throbs, the top purple and preening for attention. You can almost feel it begging. Margaery’s warm palms roll your hips, grinding you against it but you do not complain. His lips are wet with saliva and sweat but it doesn’t deter you, letting the salt flit across your tongue.

Margaery praises you as you gather the strength to slide onto his length, gasping out as it fills you for the first time in a week. He groans loudly, eyes already rolling back, it’s the final straw for him to snap off the ropes and capture your hips while you sink onto him. When you finally drop onto him, your arms hook around his neck. “Be good for me, that’s it,” You encourage as he whimpers like a pup. Margaery beams with pride as she brings her fingers to roll your nipples back and forth. “Tell her how much you want it.” Margaery prompts, voice growing gravelled. “That you want her, that you want to fill that sweet little pussy, hm?” Robb nods, and thrusts hard into you, a yelp streaming from your lips. “I want you.” He moans, hot breath panting as his grip tightens. “Want you more than I’ve wanted anything. Iw ould give up my crown and my line for you.” A high pitched noise escapes you as your hips rock faster back and forth. “Want to keep you full of me. You want that? You want me to keep you full?” Your nods are all he needs to finally let loose and spill, you tighten as Margaery flicks the pebbles of your breasts. You throw your head back but the rose of Highgarden is quick to rake one hand into your hair and tug you to face her. “That’s right, my queen. Release for us.” And you do, your womanhood spasming as a thick cream rings around your husband’s who sighs breathily and kisses up your neck. A line of wetness slides up as your companion chuckles low.

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 8 months

Text

Birth of Dragons Pt.2

Pairing(s): Aegon i Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader, Aegon i Targaryen x Rhaenys Targaryen, Aegon i Targaryen x Visenya Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: canon Targcest, rivalry, jealousy, targaryen kid ocs

Words: 7167

Summary: Aegon the Conqueror’s family has grown to a substantial size. But with so many young and cocky dragons, someone is bound to be burned.

Part 1

*Also it’s raining like a motherfucker in CA rn

The birth of your twins had been a joyous occasion for the Targaryen king. You’d given him two heirs who were strong and robust babes.

The seed of the dragon would prove to be resilient. Two years later, you gave birth to another son. A beautiful boy named Rhaelor. He reminded you of your Renoxa for he possessed the pale lashes and resplendent crimson irises. When Visemarys and Baelyx first met their baby brother, they were terrified of Rhaelor’s eyes and burst into tears.

Another year passed before Rhaenys would be round with Aegon’s third child. Everyone expected her to be the next one to bear the dragon king another heir. The third son of Aegon was named Aenys. He, unfortunately, had not been blessed like his older brothers in health. Aenys was a sickly baby. Small and his limbs unbelievably stick thin. It was a wonder how he survived through infancy. You and Rhaenys would stay up so many nights watching vigil over the babe. She was beside herself and for the first time you were her pillar of strength. Fiercely supporting her, you treated Aenys as your own and did your best to care for him when you forced Rhaenys to rest. By the grace of the gods, he thrived.

Visenya however took longer to produce a child. Not until the year your twins turned seven did she finally conceive. Even then, she absolutely hated the entirety of being pregnant. Loathed the restrictions it put on her body. While Rhaenys hadn’t been too thrilled about the rounding of her body, you had absolutely adored your pregnant belly for it housed your boys who were the greatest joys of your life. At the same time she was pregnant with her first child, you were already showing symptoms of your fourth pregnancy. Visenya gave birth to a large boy she named Maegor. His screams into the world shook the glass in the windowpanes and had Aegon flinging his hands up to his ears in a vain attempt to block out the ear piercing wail.

A few months later your only daughter Aella was born. The first contractions hit you when you were flying in the air alongside Visemarys’ small dragon, teaching him how to direct Rahu to where he desired to go. Neither Renoxa or Rahu were too far off the ground in case an emergency landing was needed. A good thing considering you would have to land quickly to alert your family who had been watching from the ground. Aegon was quick to get to you with Rhaenys and Visenya (little Maegor was back at the High Hill with plenty of nannies since he was to young to be out and about) running after him. Baelyx watched with wide eyes but also kept vigil over his smaller brother Rhaelor and half-brother Aenys. You were hauled back to Aegonfort.

To your surprise, Aegon was absolutely thrilled to FINALLY have a daughter. Sons were revered above all in both Valyrian culture and Westeros. For him to be so joyous over having a daughter to call his own was heartwarming.

“I have enough sons to hold up the Targaryen legacy.” He earnestly told you. “Five to be exact. I want to gift Westeros with another you though. A Targaryen princess will be much loved indeed.”

You and your family learned early on though that beneath her sweet and innocent countenance, there lay a headstrong and spirited personality that was as delightful as it was unpredictable. Aella was a remarkable blend of her family's qualities: tenacious like Aegon, valiant like Visenya, playful like Rhaenys and. . .

Aegon had put his hand to your chest. “She has your heart.”

A mighty heart.

As much as you were scolding the boys, you had to discipline Aella just as much. She happily got the skirts of her dress dirty when playing outside with her brothers. Little spitfire would even lick at any scrapes she got and carried on her merry way as if nothing happened. Falls did not phase, not even as a baby when she was first learning how to walk on stumbling feet. Visemarys and the younger twin Baelyx thought it was the funniest thing to teach their sister how to be an absolute gremlin. And she adored her older brothers for it. They were the ones to teach her words that were not something a lady should say (although you and your sisters said plenty of the same words). Aella got herself into many brawls with the young sons of different lords who dare say a harmful thing toward Rhaelor’s odd eyes or Aenys’ weak constitution. She would always be there to rouse them up and offer her support in any way possible.

Then there was Aella and Maegor. . . Gods help anyone who fell upon their mischief. They were especially close having been born but months apart. If you were being honest, you did not particularly like Maegor’s influence over Aella. You loved your sister, but her son was another story. He was made of grittier material than the other children of Aegon. You knew if the throne ever fell into the hands of Maegor, well, that would be a dark day for the seven realms. Maegor would not be a kind or virtuous ruler. Thankfully, Maegor’s way to the iron throne would be a long way. Something terrible would have to happen to Visemarys first and as he grew, it was becoming unlikely that anyone besides his own father could defeat him in a sword fight. He was tall with broad shoulders and lithe limbs. You’d seen your son unarm many men who were twice his age and more seasoned a warrior. Motherly pride made you glow every time you watch him train with the others. For being the youngest son though, Maegor grew like a weed. Resilient like one too. When sparring against Rhaelor or Aenys, Maegor was the usual victor. Rhaelor despite his adventurous heart was not much of a fighter. Instead of honing his skill at the blade, Rhaelor would take off on his dragon Imorth. The dragon’s serpentine body, sinewy and elegant, stretches to an impressive length across the sky. Imorth shimmered with a myriad of greens, from deep emerald to a vibrant jade green. Many times, there would be sightings of your son and his dragon all over Westeros when he became an independent young man. He was your diplomat in spite of his odd appearance. His fair complexion and red eyes tend to spook people on the first meeting but he had quite the charming personality and managed to win over even the biggest skeptic. And Aenys, poor Aenys would never be the swordsmen the twins were or even young Maegor. Not even like Aella who had been loudly vocal on her desire to learn whatever her brothers were learning. But he was a kind boy and a scholar and had the sweetest voice when he sang. Even not being a warrior like his brothers, he still managed to receive his own female admirers.

Perhaps it was for the best she learned. Both you and your sisters were trained with a blade and fought alongside Aegon when he called upon you for assistance. Aella would be able to protect herself if the occasion called for it. She wouldn’t have to rely on any man and could fight atop of her mount, Yldri. Yldri boasted a mesmerizing appearance, scales shimmered with the softest lilac hue, like the petals of the most exquisite flowers in the kingdom. If anything, at least Aella would have a traditional Valyrian dragon rider death like her aunt Rhaenys. Rhaenys died in the war with Dorne when Aenys was just three years old. Both her and her silver dragon Meraxes. You kept yourself together for her son. You were the closest thing he’d have to his mother even though you ached for the loss of your beloved sister.

There were moments in your grieving when you would momentarily forget her death and turn to say something to her, only to be painfully reminded that she was no longer there. Neither Visenya nor Aegon knew how to console you when you’d grow quiet in realization at your own blunder. The tears that would prick at your eyes fell without Rhaenys there to wipe them away as she always did. It was considered an honor though for one to die atop of their dragon. A fate that you and the remainder of your siblings desired.

Your grief for Rhaenys lasts for years as you’re slow to come to terms to her no longer being by your side. Late at night you longed for her arms and her kisses. The way she completely molded to your body. She was the one you always turned to as both your sister and lover. Constantly your bedmate whether it be in a sexual way or just to sleep and protect one another. Aegon’s presence was a comfort but by no means a substitute or replacement. No one could take Rhaenys’ spot in your heart.

After the Dornish War, there was a long time of peace where the children grew and prospered under its influence. The skies were filled with dragons as was the High Hill.

Two dragons fly side by side with ease. The beautiful, sleek body of Imorth is larger than that of the younger Yldri. Even so, both dragons boast the most magnificent scales among the Targaryen’s seven dragons.

Atop of the lilac mount Yldri rode the only Targaryen princess, Aella. Her silver hair grew tangled among the beating of the wind but her smile was ever prominent and cheeks bright pink. Yldri felt her joy and released a happy crowing noise as her wings beat against the open air. In response, Imorth shrieks out his own noise of enjoyment. He dives underneath the she-dragon, giving Aella a perfect glance of the top of Rhaelor’s snow white head. His emerald robes billow behind him, almost fusing with Imorth’s color. The two dragons spiraled around one another, a beautiful dance of dragonkind, their wings brushing against each other in a show of camaraderie. All the while, their riders laugh in a carefree spirit. Their responsibilities were not like those of their elder twin brothers: Visemarys and Baelyx. They were freer to goof off and spend their days in the skies with their dragons. They were not bound by the constraints of the world below. Roars reverberated across the open horizon, not in aggression but in exuberance.

An ear piercing dragon’s cry has their laughter dying down and turning in their saddles to see the larger form of Zypheros, Baelyx’s smoke gray dragon, advancing on them. Stilling their dragons into a steady gliding in place, Zypheros easily catches up with them.

Baelyx’s bangs whip around his face, his long ponytail like a ribbon behind him. When he smiles at his younger siblings, the indentation of dimples grace his face. “Both of you are requested by mother.” He calls over to them. Speaking so high up in the air tend to be difficult, especially on blustery days. “Aunt Visenya and Maegor will be arriving soon.”

Really, all Baelyx had to do was mention Maegor to get Aella’s attention. She can’t help but perk up at the prospect of seeing her other half-brother. Maegor lived on Dragonstone with his mother Visenya. Unlike herself and her other brothers, Maegor had no dragon. For as long as she could remember, Maegor always said the only dragon worthy of him was Balerion. Maybe it was true, maybe not for Balerion was a fine mount; the largest in the continent.

Rhaelor knew his sister better than he knew anyone else. He rolls his scarlet eyes at her obvious excitement to see him though he was not as keen to see his aunt and half-brother.

Her face plastered with a wide grin, Aella urges Yldri to land just outside of the newly constructed capital of Westeros: King’s Landing. The populace still jumped at the cry of dragons above but were slowly getting used to being around them. Aella tries to squint her eye in an attempt to see across Blackwater Bay to Dragonstone in hopes of catching sight Maegor atop of Vhagar with his mother.

Getting closer to the Red Keep, the other dragons of her family rouse their heads as Yldri screeches her greetings. She glides by the training yard where she spots Visemarys, Aenys and Aegon the Conqueror. Their father was the picture of masculinity and authority. Already Visemarys stood at the same height as his father and only required a few more years before his muscles matched Aegon’s. Compared to them, Aenys could be a waif. Not as skinny as he used to be, he still lacks the bulk of his brothers and father. That was okay. Aenys made it up with his kind nature, smarts, and singing voice. Aella appreciated each brother for who he was. She didn’t think any less of Aenys for the fact that he was never going to be a great fighter.

Aegon lifts his head up first to catch his daughter’s lilac dragon pierce through the sky like an arrow. He smiles to himself. She shined brightly, just like Rhaenys and (y/n). Catching even Visemarys gazing up with an expression of pure softness and affection. He’d been seeing it for some time now since Aella came of age. Visemarys AND Baelyx.

(y/n) had noticed it as well and concern flashed on her face when she took note of her twins squaring the other up when Aella was between them. She didn’t want there to be strife among her children. Especially fighting over another sibling. Something like this would certainly prove to be a problem when Aella decides when she is ready to marry for even her mother was loathe to have her marry. After all, the mother and daughter duo was always close. As a babe (y/n) would strap Aella to her chest and take her on flights with Renoxa. Aella would be full of giggles the entire time, loving the open air and wind brushing against her fat cheeks. Her family’s pride and joy despite how often she’d be naughty.

Taking into consideration both of his son’s interest in Aella, Aegon had thought about the perfect match for her. A union between her and Visemarys would be beneficial. She’d be queen once Visemarys was crowned king. She wouldn’t have to face any major life changes. The Red Keep would still be her home and she’d still be near (y/n) and Aegon. But he took into consideration Baelyx’s feelings as well. He was second son, youngest of the twins and the closest in line to the iron throne. An excellent marksmen with a bow and a well phrased in politics. The perfect weapon in the Targaryen belt. Baelyx even wield an assassin’s marked blade. Visemarys was brawny in strength but Baelyx was sleek like a predatory cat. Each movement he made was calculated.

Neither parent had an idea if Aella was aware of the twins’ affections for her. They’d try to support their daughter any way they could though. Whoever she chooses. Similar to his wife, one thing Aegon would never be able to get behind was Aella with Maegor. Thinking of it didn’t sit well with him. Maegor would never hurt Aella, that was not what concerned the conqueror. She’d sooner have his head on a spear if he tried to force himself onto her. His youngest son’s ambitions worried him. He saw the hunger in those eyes, the hunger of another conqueror. Westeros didn’t need one anymore. They needed a king who could continue to keep the peace and balance of the land. He’d be an amazing general were he able to be satisfied with just that. No, Maegor longed for the pinnacle of authority. Aegon didn’t want to scare Visemarys with the potential of an assassination by his own blood. That was the reality. He hoped he would be wrong in the end and perhaps Visemarys and Maegor could work things out civilly.

A few miles away, Yldri finally lands her feet firmly upon the earth. Easily sliding off her back, Aella dusts off her skirts and pats her she-dragon on the neck. They walk the rest of the way to the mouth of what would become the Dragon Pit, a place where her family’s dragons could call home after long hours of being with their rider. Workers were still buzzing around, building the walls higher and higher to especially accommodate Belarion’s great size.

She inhales deeply, happily. Her home was a beautiful one. Her kingdom even grander all thanks to the efforts of her father and his sisters. Aella felt immense pride in being a Targaryen, even more for being the daughter of the conqueror himself.

Yldri playfully shakes her neck, bumping the girl in the back with her large snout. Her giggles are light as she watches her she-dragon make her leisurely way to the entrance of the Dragon Pit, already knowing that as her home. Workers scramble immediately at the sight of her and make way.

Aella scampers down the hill where the pits were situated to the outer walls of the Red Keep itself. The iron portcullis groans and lifts up from it’s stationary position in the ground. She waits patiently, waving to the guards on duty who greet her cheerfully. Above she hears the screech of Imorth and Zephyros gradually catching up to the trail she’d blazed with Yldri.

“Welcome back, princess.” A knight smiles at her. His own eyes glance up to the smoke gray and jade green dragons twirling in the sky.

“Did you hear Maegor’s coming?” She excitedly replies. The reminder makes the knight grimace in response. There was little love for Maegor in the Keep.

She doesn’t pay attention to the disgruntled grunt he gives her. Aella moves right past him but not to the front door of the castle. Walking around the outer bailey leads her to the training grounds where knights and soldiers alike practiced the dance of swords. The shrieking sound of steel against steel rings in her eardrums like the beginning of a song. That’s how she felt whenever she held a sword and trained with her brothers. It was all so much like dancing except more fun. There was a thrilling element to it. The dance of swords was also the fine line between life and death. One balanced on the razor’s edge when performing the intricate steps that were required to assure your life was safe.

Men from either side of her stop what they do to give her the briefest of bows or acknowledgment. Not many men in Westeros approved of a woman taking up a weapon. But she wasn’t any woman. She would be like her mother and aunts, who didn’t need a man to protect them from danger. They could very well take danger by the horns and force them into submission. Although Aella had only seen her mother use a sword once in front of her it made a lasting impression. She became a different person when there was a sword in her hand. In that moment, (y/n) had resembled her eldest sister Visenya.

Aenys’ hair, with pieces of hay sticking out of it, looked like a porcupine when he noticed Aella happily wandering on the training grounds. His watery hyacinth gaze crinkles as he smiles. “What has you all smiles, jorrāelagon mandia (dear sister)?”

Chipper as a bird, Aella grabs his hands and twirls him around now drawing the attention of her father and Visemarys. “Maegor and Aunt Visenya are coming! Mother sent word out to me and Rhaelor. Isn’t it exciting!”

He shared the sentiment of everyone else as his own smile dimmed. Forcing his mouth to keep the shape of a smile, Aenys attempts to sound as lighthearted as his sister. “Is that so?”

At that moment, (y/n) Targaryen appears. Normally when she went to watch her husband and sons train, she’d shed her lovely gowns and dawn her leather trousers and tunic. Not that day. She was dressed in a gown of the softest green, perhaps thinking to match her son Baelyx. This was something endearing (y/n) did. Often she wore colors that matched those of her children’s dragons. Yesterday had been burgundy, taking after Rahu’s dark red hue.

Immediately Aegon catches the emergence of his youngest sister-wife. If possible, there were hearts in his eyes when he gazed upon her like it was the first time. Every edge of his face softens and he pats Visemarys’ back before sprinting to the stone steps that led up to the door. (y/n)’s grin is wide as she lets him sweep her up in his arms. The affection they showed to one another publicly tend to make the boys uncomfortable but Aella loves seeing her parents still enamored with one another after so many years. That was the kind of love she wanted. One to last a lifetime. Visemarys turned his face away when Aegon captures (y/n)’s lips in a passionate kiss. When he spots Aella giggling, he pretends to gag. Aenys chuckled at his family. While his mother was no longer alive, (y/n) became his surrogate mother. She cared for him the same as with her four other children. In Aenys was the last piece of her beloved sister Rhaenys left to the world.

(y/n) whispers something to her husband that has him drawing away partially. “So Visenya is finally returning.”

His sister nods enthusiastically but her smile was stiff and Aella, from the shapes her lips moved in, knew her mother was talking about Maegor being with her as well. Aegon’s long silver-blonde hair had been tied into a braid for sword training, courtesy of (y/n)’s skilled fingers. It trailed down his back, almost to his rear. Swaying as he steps back and holds (y/n)’s hand as they both descend the stairs.

Periwinkle eyes take in her daughter who bounds up to her. She chuckles and smooths the hair on Aella’s head even though the girl was almost the same height as her. “I see the news has reached everyone.”

“Baelyx is an efficient messenger.” Aella happily nods and holds her mom’s hands in her warm grasp. “I’m happy that Aunt Visenya and Maegor are coming after being away for so long, but is there a specific reason?”

The males of her family pay even more attention. This was something they had all been wondering. Four years ago, Aegon cut off contact with Visenya and subsequently Maegor. A big fight tore the elder Targaryen siblings apart. To begin with, Aegon held almost no romantic feelings towards Visenya. That was well known. Evidence being that (y/n) gave birth to four of Aegon’s children while Visenya only conceived one son. (y/n) however still kept in contact with her last sister.

“It has been too long since I’ve seen my dear sister.” (y/n) confesses. By then Baelyx and Rhaelor were now entering the grounds and caught the last words of what their mother had said.

“How long until they get here?” Rhaelor asks after giving his mother a kiss on the cheek which always delighted her.

In return she pats Rhaelor on the cheek. “I can’t imagine it will take them long. Possibly within the hour. All of you are to wash and dress in your best. And boys, please, try your best to get along with Maegor.”

All of the Targaryen boys, even Aegon, look down at their feet. All having been guilty (except for Aenys) of antagonistic tendencies toward Visenya’s only child.

Their maids were already waiting for them each to assist in anything they needed as all five of them were already young adults. Aella would require actual help for putting on her dress as it was many layered with ties that needed to be secured.

They obey their mother’s instructions, but for Visemarys and Baelyx, they in particular were unhappy with Maegor’s arrival.

Aegon was always handsome, whether streaked with dirt and blood or cleaned up like he was now he was exquisite.

Reclined on the chaise lounge in his dressing room, you watch the strong muscles of his shoulders as he puts his arms through the sleeves of his clean tunic. Your eyes helplessly rove to the tapering of his waist and down to the perfect lift of his rear.

Later. You tell yourself as you’re already imagining wrapping your legs around that delicious waist as he pounds into you, perhaps pump another child into.

For now, you had to remind your husband. “Do try to be gentler with Maegor. He already knows that he is not the favorite son. You don’t have to rub it in.”

He pauses before shoving his other arm into the corresponding sleeve. “He’s different than our boys (y/n).”

Pursing your lips, you acknowledge what he says as the truth. Maegor was definitely not like your four boys. Something unhinged about Maegor that made even you wary of him. “Regardless, you are his father.”

Turning around, his mauve eyes turn soft in regard to you. You’d voiced this before, the anticipation of discourse between the sons of the dragon dangled above your head the more Maegor was isolated. Aegon kneels in front of you, pressing your knuckles against his silky lips. “I’ll be as gentle as a lamb.”

A laugh bursts out of your chest. “Yes, gentle as a lamb coming from the dragon king himself.”

His grin curls to show off his sharp canine. “I can be gentle.”

Yes, he was capable of being sweet and gentle to you and the rest of the kids but that was the extent. Visenya and Maegor were not granted the same kindness. He still wouldn’t tell you what exactly he and Visenya had argued about before she relocated to Dragonstone, but it must have been big. The two of them never got along, not as much as he got along with you and Rhaenys. Childhood had been no different. The eldest of the Targaryen children bickered nonstop and would even be reduced to brawling out in the courtyard.

Lightly, you drag your lips down the bridge of his straight nose that seemed to have been sculpted by the most talented artist before placing a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. He’s practically purring at all the affection you lavish on him. Sometimes it goes to your head how he immediately becomes pudding in your hands. No one else would ever see Aegon like this. Only you. An incredible power that you alone possessed.

The shrieking of dragons that pierce from outside alert your family that Vhagar was here.

Before allowing any of your children out into the yard to greet her, you double check their attire and move a few stray strands of silver hair that was hanging in Baelyx’s face and to tamper down Rhaelor’s naturally wild hair. A brooch on Aenys’ cloak was askew and you promptly fixed that too. He smiles down at you and you can’t help but lovingly pinch his cheek. He’d been born the weakest, but nearly towered over Aegon now.

Prim and proper, you nod to yourself. Your wildlings, Aella and Rhaelor, could clean up nicely when they actually put their minds to it and weren’t on their dragons. Aella especially was radiant in her cream gown. Maybe too radiant. The twins were gazing adoringly at her, you could practically read the lovesick thoughts going through their head in that moment. If everyone got through today without any bloodshed, you would count it as a success. You just had to get through it then hopefully it would be smooth sailing from there once Visenya and Maegor settled in.

In the distance you could make out Vhagar’s mighty size descending to the entrance of the Dragon Pit. They’d be here shortly.

Aegon laces his fingers with your’s. “Breathe my love. You’re making the children nervous.”

So many things could go wrong. Tragedies of all sorts pierce you so that you listlessly pace in the courtyard. You miss Visenya, but you were ultimately scared of what her arrival would bring.

You give Aegon’s hand a vice-like squeeze. “Good. Maybe they’ll be on their best behavior then.” Particularly Baelyx. He had the shortest temper of all your children. His surliness could match Maegor’s which led the two to constantly butting heads when they were smaller. It didn’t take much to set off either boy.

Shouts from guards atop of the guard tower shout the arrival of your sister and nephew. You press yourself closer to Aegon in both excitement and nerves.

The gate rises and there stood the firm figure of your sister Visenya and the young man beside her. His hair and eyes scream Targaryen. Maegor. Unlike his brothers and father, Maegor wore his silver-blonde locks short. Suits the harsh features of his face much better in all honesty.

They stride past the threshold, movements in perfect synchronicity that you wonder if they intended for that or if mother and son were just that much alike.

Regardless of the bruised feelings among your elder siblings, you smile and open your arms wide to embrace Visenya. Usually she detested physical contact. She didn’t even like holding or carrying Maegor around when he was an infant. For you though. . .

A rare and beautiful smile makes her regular stoney face crumble as she enters your arms, her own arms encircling around you. She presses you close to her body and you could practically hear her sigh in relief. “Ñuha prūmia (my heart).” She nuzzles her face against your hair. “Skorkydoso eman bōsa naejot ūndegon aōha laehurlion (How I have longed to see your face).”

Tears burn behind your eyes but you’re still smiling, even more now after her words. “Ao kesīr leghagon nyke (You here completes me).”

Before she could completely break in front of everyone, Visenya tears herself away first and rapidly blinks her eyes clear. Her stoic expression returns when she glances at the rest of the family behind you. Specifically at the King of the Seven Kingdoms himself.

“Aegon.” Her voice is frosty.

Your husband returns the sentiment in kind. “Visenya. You and Maegor appear to be doing well.” For Aegon, that was as friendly as he could be with her right now. Looks like he hadn’t forgotten nor forgiven whatever transpired between them.

To break the iciness, you beckon your children forward. Happily, Aella is the first to greet Visenya and Maegor. Her aunt pleasantly hums and pats her on the head. “How grown you are.”

“Welcome home.” Aella tells her earnestly. Then she turns to Maegor who already has a cocky smirk plastered on his mouth. You chew on the inside of your cheek at the look he gives her. “Hello, Maegor.” She tilts her chin up to dazzle him with a smile.

His voice is a deep rumble. “Aella.”

The other boys politely greet them in turn. You bid everyone to retire inside so that your sister and nephew could relax from their dragon ride although Visenya didn’t know the first thing about relaxing, always alert and ready for battle. War time was over but the way Visenya was, you’d think conflict was still array in the land. Rhaelor worked well as a diplomat and was constantly going to visit all of Westeros’ wardens. Not even a whisper of friction. A few bandits here and there but nothing dire.

In the private sitting room of the Red Keep is where your get together was reconvened. Refreshments and sweets were offered as mainly you and Aella kept up conversation. Aenys helps as much as he could as does Rhaelor so that tensions may be eased but it’s difficult when the twins and Maegor are having a staring contest. Visenya and Aegon were no better. You felt the chill coming off of them.

“Your children are of proper marrying age.” Visenya brings up randomly as the conversation lulls to just you and your older sister. “When will you be arranging prospective partners?”

You’re caught off guard back her sudden question. You glance at the five of them. Visemarys and Baelyx will be four and twenty come the next season while Aella had just turned seven and ten two months ago.

“We’re in no rush.” You tell her tentatively. Visenya had certain ideals that you didn’t share with her. She always thought you and Aegon coddled your children and that they grew up spoiled.

Her eyes narrow. “What about Visemarys? He should get a start on producing future heirs.”

He stiffens next to you in his seat, uncomfortable with his aunt’s scrutiny landing fully on him. Vis was not one to be easily intimidated though, especially not by an aunt he hadn’t seen in years. She held no sway or authority here. Not like you did as the official Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“I have already decided on my bride.”

That stuns everyone and Visenya’s eyes visibly round at him. He keeps his face cool and collected with a slight smirk curling at the corner of his lips. You and Aegon wordlessly gape at each other before addressing Visemarys.

“You have?”

“Who is it?”

“Have we met her?”

Dozens of questions flew from you and your husband. You should have known though. There was only one girl he’d ever wanted to take for himself as a wife.

“Aella.”

Baelyx jumps to his feet and growls at his twin. “You can’t just claim her as your’s.” He gestures to their sister who sat completely perplexed that Visemarys had named her his bride. Without even discussing it in her. Her face grew red with both embarrassment and discontent.

You put a soothing hand on Baelyx’s arm but it’s too late. He’s furious and you fear that Maegor will feed off of this negative energy as well. But he’s still sitting, perfectly restrained and smirking at his half-brothers in an arrogant way that had you wondering what he was thinking. Or plotting.

Aegon leans to breathe something into Visemarys’ ear. Father and son stand. “Excuse us.” Without another word, they leave with Baelyx right behind them still fuming and yelling at his brother who seemingly became deaf to his irate brother.

Heaviness still hung in the air though as the rest of you flounder for something to say. Aella angrily trembled as Aenys consoles her. He knows when a battle has been lost though as Aella, just as quickly as her father and brothers, storms out of the room.

The vile audacity to claim her in front of everyone. He’d never even mentioned any sort of feelings that would hint that Visemarys felt something more for her other than brotherly love. Aella would be a fool not to notice how Baelyx and Visemarys looked her way. She knew but she wanted to hear them say it to her directly, not be sneaky but abruptly bringing it up with the rest of the family. Baelyx wasn’t really mad on her behalf. He was mad because he hadn’t been the one to publicly claim her first.

Rage boiled her from the inside and heats up her checks with the fires of all the Seven Hells. When she got ahold of them, Aella would throttle both brothers into the ground. Didn’t matter that they were stronger and older than her. She would find a way to bring them down to their knees and BEG for her mercy. If only they weren’t so consumed with their alpha male bullshit to even asked her who she favored more. Were she to be faster to leave the sitting room, maybe Aella could have followed them to wherever they went off to. This involved her after all. Who she chose as her husband was her decision. Her parents promised her that she could choose whoever she wants to take as a partner. They said they would support her. This was a discussion that required her presence as well. She’d smother the flames of her fury in order to put up her petition to remind Aegon that she was in charge of choosing.

First she went to the chambers of the king and queen. Empty.

Stalking through the halls of the Keep, Aella realized that they weren’t in the main dwellings of the family. Aegon must have took them where he carries out all important duties. The throne room that housed the infamous iron throne, built by her father the conqueror. He was always wary when the young ones were too close to it. The swords were still sharp like they were freshly pulled from their owner’s hands. Swords of his fallen enemies. It wasn’t uncommon to receive small cuts from it. Aegon was never maimed when he sat on the throne since it was made for him. Not even his own chair would harm him.

This forces her to leave the Keep and cross through the outer yard to get to the throne room which also housed a granary and a kitchen. Each step she took, Aella let out another curse toward her brothers. She’d give them the tongue lashing of the century. It will be ringing in their ears even as they lay on their deathbed. The never ending presence of soldiers milling about didn’t garner a second glance at them though even they noticed her wrath filled strut. Their princess rarely grew as impassioned as she was in that moment. Whatever argument was had in the Keep was enough to stoke her fire.

The soldiers standing at the front bow at her presence and let her easily pass through. Aegon had been in the middle of saying something until the clacking of her heels hit against the ground. Visemarys smiles as if nothing of interest was going on while Baelyx’s seething lightened up. She walks straight up to Visemarys and shoves him with a house.

“What kind of power trip are you on?” Teeth grit down hard as she goes to push him again despite her father calling her name.

Her anger toward Vis and not Baelyx as his glare turning into a self-righteous sneer. “See! I was only speaking up in Aella’s interest.”

Wrong thing to say.

She whips around and smacks Baelyx across the face. “You’re no better! You caused a scene.”

“Aella.” That stern command has Aella balling her hands into fists but obeys to face her father. She knew when to pick her fights and she would not win a fight with her father no matter how much Aegon loved his daughter. When he used that tone with her there was little choice but for her to simmer down. But her rage was still heavy in her mouth. She couldn’t even look at either brother who are positioned on either side of her. Baelyx, though his cheek was turning red, he sadly glances at his sister before pressing his lips firmly together.

Aegon sighed, lines running across his face in the light of the throne room. A blessing he thought his children were. They behaved with the common childish mischief that arose with many kids in proximity. Never really caused him any real problems. But this was very much a problem that Aegon dreaded addressing.

“Is it true you didn’t even speak this over with Aella, Visemarys?” He knows the answer.

Visemarys being the eldest tend to let that go to his head. Crown Prince of Westeros and Heir to the Iron Throne, he thought whatever he said would be law. At least he has the common sense to shift his eyes away from Aegon with shame. “Yes, your grace. I figure it was inevitable though. Who better for me to take as wife and queen?”

His sister scoffs in disgust but keeps quiet under Aegon’s intimidating glare.

“You do not have immediate claim of Aella just because you are first born.” Aegon sternly informs his son. In response his heir flinches. He’d been hoping his father would be on his side. Really, who would Aegon rather Aella marry? Visemarys would make her a queen. “She was promised she could choose her own husband. You’d be wise to respect that.”

Newfound admiration blossoms for her father. She hadn’t expected him to take her side in all of this. But she realized she would not be exempt from being scolded as well.

“Baelyx may have deserved your words but he didn’t deserve your abuse.” Aegon gazes from one pair of lilac eyes to another. Their father cast quite the shadow. “All of you are to go to your rooms for the rest of the night. Your dinner will be brought to you. You’re to reflect on how your actions may have harmed the other. Put yourself into their body and empathize. We’re family first and foremost. The house of the dragon cannot survive if we’re squabbling amongst one another.” He appeared to catch his own words. Momentarily he hangs back to gather his thoughts. “Tomorrow morning report straight to the throne room. No breakfast.”

They bow to their illustrious father. His final words were law and even his offspring must bend the knee to their sovereign.

Guards were sent along with them to make sure the trio went to their respective rooms.

In her room, Aella seeks out a distraction in the form of embroidery, to darts, hells she even tried to practice the lute but even boredom couldn’t help her enjoy that monstrous instrument that her teachers insist her learn to play. By the second hour, Aella was near ready to smash her lute into a thousand pieces against her bedpost. Were it not for the playful knock at her door, she may have gone through with her destructive impulse. A quizzically arched brow, Aella stares at the door.

“Who is it?” She called out.

“Jaesa (Goddess).” That fine serpent’s voice has her heart fluttering.

“Maegor. Unfortunately I have been banished to my room for the night.” She chuckled and tents her fingers on the door. “I don’t think father intended for me to have any visitors.”

His laugh is a low baritone that has Aella smiling fondly at the door. “Open the door, Jaesa.”

She doesn’t bother to think about the consequences and pulls on the handle of her door. Maegor is by himself, and easily manages to squeeze his way through the slim opening she offered him. Four years didn’t change Maegor’s personality, but it certainly transformed his body into swelled muscles and a proud stance.

Still furious with her brothers, Aella eyes him up and down with a coy grin that mirrored her half-brother’s. He read her mind easily, always had. He’s already lifting her up by her rear as she grabs for his face to kiss him.

Only she could say who were husband would be.

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #Game of Thrones fandom #A Song of Ice and Fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fanfic #A Song of Ice and Fire fandom #ASoIaF #asoiaf fandom #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fic #asoiaf fanfic #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the conqueror #aegon i targaryen x reader #aegon i targaryen

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redwolf17 · 25 days

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Rickon Stark, Prince of Winterfell, 305 AC

by @ohnoitsmyra

#rickon stark #the weirwood queen #asoiaf fic #asoiaf fanart

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lillianastras · 2 years

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“To the Lands of Old Valyria” | Daemon Targaryen

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: Angsty, but not really triggery

A/N: This was written in a few hours on a Sunday night, so it isn’t proofread, but I decided to post it anyway. Enjoy some angsty bitchy attention whore boy.

“It is good you consider this funny.” Daemon Targaryen spits the words out through gritted teeth as he turns his burning violet eyes to the woman next to him. His reaction seems to amuse her, which in his turn angers him some more. “I certainly do not.”

She makes an obvious effort to erase the grin from her features, pursing her soft lips together, but still fails miserably. We must all grieve our own way. “I would never jest about anything as serious, my prince.” Her eyes turn to the wall and she breaks, her lips stretching to a toothy grin. “But you have to admit this is hilarious.”

Daemon has enough of it already. He pushes himself from the chair, so hard he makes the silverware on the table rattle, and makes his way to the window. It was suffocating him, the room, the castle, the whole gods forsaken city. He could saddle Caraxes and…

“It is even so practical, you see, instead of two separate weddings,” his thoughts are interrupted and he turns around to look at her, her eyes focused on the ceiling, as if she is deep in thought, “we could simply have one. Good old Otto should be made Master of Coin, don’t you think?”

Otto Hightower. He was going to kill him. One day, sooner than later, he would drag him down the corridors of the Dragon Pit, beaten and bloodied, and feed him to the beasts.

“Do you think my new Lord Husband would wonder if I am a maiden, or he won’t be that stupid?” Her last words make him physically sick. The thought of some other man’s hands on her is one thought too many and the look he gives her is enough to finally, oh gods finally, silence her. The moment she shuts her mouth, her face changes and he finally sees it. The fear, the desperation, like an animal cornered. The realisation that this is really happening.

“They are really making us go through with this, aren’t they?” She asks, her voice is throaty, like she is choking back the tears. She is going to marry some lord far in the North and he would get to spend the rest of his days in Runestone, in the bloody Vale. If he isn’t so angry, he thinks, he might even feel sorry for himself.

One look at his lady’s teary eyes makes that thought leave his head immediately. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Viserys nod fervently to the plan his Hand had presented, the fine and rich match Lady Rhea Royce was for the younger brother of the king. What about me? Can’t you once listen to what I have to say? I am your brother, for fuck’s sake! And marrying off his paramour right away, taking her to the other end of the Continent, what a sick, cruel joke that was, nothing to do with politics, but only for the sake of wounding him. Can’t you see how she makes me feel? Otto already took his place by his brother’s side away from him, he would now take his lover away as well. Gods, he really hated him.

His eyes dart down, his thoughts interrupted when he feels her arms wrap around him, her face burying in his chest as her body shakes in silent sobs. He places a kiss on the top of her head, pulling her even closer to him, as if he let go, she would disappear. Which, when he thinks about it, isn’t really far from the truth.

“I am not going to let it happen,” he declares, raising his hands to caress her hair. “I’ll let them all know I took your maidenhood and no one would want to take you anymore. ”

The words earn him a muffled laughter, and when she looks up at him, her chin resting on his chest, her eyes are wet and puffy. “How noble of you indeed.”

“I will, then I will take you and Caraxes and get far away from here, somewhere East, to the lands of old Valyria and then… ” Then what? They both knew those were empty words, empty promises of a desperate man.

“Please, let us talk no more of this.” She begs, resting her cheek against his chest again, letting a deep sigh. “Let us stay like that… just for a while.” And he doesn’t speak a word more, letting her presence soothe the pain that the future was bringing, silently swearing in the Old Gods and the New that he would not let anyone take her away from him. And make that sorry bastard Hightower wish he was never even born.

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sunshineofmoon · 23 days

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alright, listen to me

An Aemond x reader story where the reader (I imagined this in the feminine, but it could be adaptable) is not a Targaryen or, at least, has never had/flown a dragon, and Aemond takes her flying in Vhagar, and we have a dialogue based on that scene from Scooby-Doo

"promise not to drop me?"

"only a fool would drop a girl like you"

And yes, it could be anything, angst, fluffy, platonic or whatever. It's just a random idea that I liked a much, lol

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xfancyuu · 10 months

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~ a different kind of spicy, cheongyang chilli pepper vibe. [rhaenyra targaryen] 18+ SMUT

happy pride! i hope my lgbt+ people are enjoying themselves this month, i know i am! alt title could be if you wanna know how i can show you right now, anyways stan ateez, stream the world ep 2 and fuck your gf. reader is afab with she/her pronouns. my requests are OPEN please send away! i'd assume this takes place somewhere during rhaenyra's marriage to laenor. [1,555 words]

i am in NO way responsible in your fanfic consumption MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! i don't even know where to begin with the tags on this fic, lesbian sex, dom/sub dynamic, overstimulation, talks about wanting children, dirty talk, daemon reference and i think(?) it's positive. lmk if i missed any.

Spending your nights with Rhaenyra had given you solace you never knew you needed. From the feeling of her soft skin pressing against yours while the two of you slept, from the comforting presence she had provided you continuously. You knew your love for each other could never be shared publicly and it often times made you sad but when the two of you were together alone it made up for all the secrecy.

Nobody had bothered to question why you shared Rhaenyra's bed more than her own husband, but you were her lady in waiting, you were the person she was closest to and if Laenor was happy nobody could say anything against the arrangement.

It had been an unusually warm spring night, the sun had trouble setting at a decent time and you had almost stripped down to your undergarments in the garden. It was just too hot, you didn't know if being in Rhaenyra's presence made you feral or the heat was truly getting to you. So much so you had stripped yourself of all clothing while Rhaenyra waited in bed for you.

She, too, had chosen to sleep naked, claiming the heat was also too much to bare — you knew the truth, though. Rhaenyra had a dragon, the weather wasn't the cause of her nakedness.

Your night had been mostly uneventful, the two of you had laid in bed, Rhaenyra reading to you while your head was in her lap, the closeness you felt to her was much different than anything else you'd ever felt, the two of you often read in this position though you'd never felt the softness of her thighs in such a position before. You didn't know what possessed you to kiss the tops of her thighs but she never complained, her breathing getting heavier as you continued to do so, though you had promptly stopped when she had closed the book.

"We need to sleep, Y/N." Rhaenyra spoke, playing with your hair after placing the book on the bedside table.

"I think you may be right, Nyra." Came your response, your head moving from her lap and choosing to place a kiss on her lips, the kiss remained chase with Rhaenyra's hands placing themselves on your hips as to make sure you didn't lose balance.

She was the first one to pull away, and while it took you a second to compose yourself, you laid on the left side of the bed, choosing to forgo covering yourself, the heat was far too unbearable for you even with the moon blessing you with its presence.

Despite the heat it didn't stop you from cudding into Helaena, your head was placed on her chest and while she too complained about the heat, she didn't complain about your current position.

Your dream had been so vivid, choosing to show you images of yourself and Rhaenyra in various positions and committing various acts you doubt her real life counterpart would ever allow you to put her in.

Perhaps you could bring yourself to your peak rather quickly, the fear of waking Rhaenyra was within your mind but the way your fingers were playing with your bud felt too good, you wanted to prolong it. As long as you didn't stick your fingers within yourself, Rhaenyra had claimed your cunt as her own, not allowing even yourself to place your own fingers in there. She was possessive over you, wanting to give you as much pleasure as you could take and even more. You often left her room on a morning feeling as though you were on cloud nine though having to ignore the overstimulation, she did make it hard for you.

You were being loud, moaning, moving around the bed, trying to bed as quiet as you possibly could yet that didn't help you, Rhaenyra had woke up, not happy in the slightest. Disturbing her sleep was one thing but touching yourself had truly flipped something within her, she was on top of you within seconds, removing your hand away — almost instantly killing your impending orgasm.

"Who gave you permission to touch yourself?" It was rhetorical, Rhaneyra very rarely allowed you to answer back to her, "I swore you promised you were mine, body and soul, yet you think you have the right to touch your body?"

You didn't respond as Nyra had opened your legs further to gain access to your already wet cunt. You could tell she wasn't happy. She was the one who would do this to you, the one to turn you on and make sure you were satisfied.

"You've done this to yourself?" She asked, her fingers entering you without much resistance, the wetness you'd caused leaking out of yourself while her fingers continued to enter you.

"Only thought about you." You responded, legs opening wider, feeling her so deep within you almost had you reaching for your bud once more but stopped when you saw the look on Rhaenyra's face.

"Is that meant to make me feel better?" She asked, increasing the speed of her fingers,

"I only ever think about you" you reiterate, though the words had come out breathy, the feeling of Rhaenyra's fingers within you had started to build up your previously killed orgasm. Rhaenyra knew you were sensitive but she hadn't realised you were this sensitive, being able to cum in few seconds after she'd entered you.

"That's it baby, cum all over your queen's fingers, be a loyal subject, give me what I want." Her words had tipped you over the edge, the orgasm you so badly wanted had been given to you though Rhaenyra hadn't stopped her movements while your thighs shook and tried to close on her hand though with her own leg being between them it was almost impossible.

"Nyra, please." Your words were cut off by Rhaenyra kissing you, it wasn't soft nor chaste, it was with hunger and purpose, brutal even. She hadn't stopped, though her lips found their way to your neck, leaving marks as she went along.

"You want another one? So insatiable, you'd think i've left you untouched for months." Despite your begging she had chosen to interpret you wrong. Rhaenyra got like this sometimes, and most times it left you unable to walk or to fulfil your duties properly. "You can give me another one, can't you?"

"Want to, so badly." Telling Rhaenyra no would have been fruitless — you also enjoyed when she was like this, giving you everything you wanted and then more.

"Tell me what you want."

"Want you to stay inside me so badly, wish you had a cock so you could put a baby in me." You were babbling now, though it was true, you wanted to be filled with Rhaenya's heirs, to give her a life that was expected of her.

"We could make that happen, have you fuck Daemon so he can give you Targaryen babies."

"No, no, no, no, no," you repeated like a mantra as she continued her brutal pace within you, "only want you, I'm only yours."

Rhaenyra had taken your whining as a sign you needed more, her thumb had begun to play with your enlarged bud and it had made you cry out, moving your hips to meet her hand easier.

The two of you continued, Rhaenyra whispering filthy things in your ear, about how you were her perfect girl, about how she'd get Daemon to fuck you next, about how you'd be perfect with your and her child and it was enough to make you to come undone a second time. The intensity of this one hitting you harder than the last.

"I can't do another one Nyra." You choked out, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her down to kiss you once more, this was sweeter than the last, portraying nothing but love and tenderness rather than the lust filled ones you'd shared before.

She pulled away, both from inside you and away from your kiss, making you pout. "I think I want to see you pregnant, you've seen me pregnant with three children yet here you are without a child."

"Jace, Luc and Joffrey are my children too." You insisted, "But if you want me to birth a child myself, you have to find the man and I won't fuck anyone without your permission, you can even tell me what to do." You joked, your own husband had not so tragically passed moons into your marriage. An old disgusting man who only wanted you for your body and the children you could have provided him with, ironically he lived as he died, fucking you from behind — you wouldn't admit it to anyone but the sight of him on the floor was hilarious. Despite this you'd played the mournful wife, crying at the correct things, wearing all black. Though nothing could stop you from entering Rhaenyra's chamber and truly letting the one you love have you.

"We should seek a man worthy to give us a child." You knew who Rhaenyra wanted, you yourself wouldn't be too opposed to him either, especially if Rhaenyra was there. "But right now, I'm not done with you just yet, you won't be leaving this bed for at least three days." your exhausted state couldn't wait, she made you tingle in all the right ways and you'd happily provide her with as many orgasms as you could provide, even if it destroyed you.

i hope you enjoyed this! i've never wrote nyra before and i'm obviously team green but i love her and i believe in gay rights/wrongs and she fits the bill. sorry if this is bad it's the first time i've written sapphic smut.

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chic-beyond-the-wall · 4 months

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More natural dyes! I honestly love stuff like this so much.

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targaryen-dynasty · 5 months

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ZĪRTYS PERZYS.

Prev. Part | Next Part

Maegor Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, p in v, teasing, breeding, size kink, size difference, slight humiliating/gaslighting?, slapping, teasing, mentions of blood, cutting of lips and hands, Valyrian wedding, female reader (no mentions of appearance besides purple eyes)

WORDS: 3.7 K

Maegor had kept true to his words. A sennight had passed until you stood in the Throne Room opposite him, the High Septon carrying out the wedding ceremony.

But no matter how lavish it all was, how many people attended the wedding and its feast – it was not what you wanted.

And your husband knew.

For all the years you had been around Maegor, following him from a very young age, there had been enough occasions where you two had talked about your ancestors and the Doom that came over them. Therefore, you had more than one chance to tell him about your desire to wed in their traditions one day, regardless of whether you and your betrothed would share the blood of Old Valyria or not.

Your wedding in front of the people of court and the High Septon merely seemed to be a means to an end to keep the smallfolk satisfied. You were wife number four ever since he ascended the throne four years ago, even though you currently were the only wife he had. The women that came before you had been dead for less than a year – something you hadn’t known of until he had told you the morning you followed him and Balerion to King’s Landing.

And with the bedding following the ceremony and feast, you were officially wed… in the eyes of the Faith.

But that did not mean it was official to you.

Not more than nine days had passed since you left the castle of Dragonstone for the Red Keep, but it still felt completely different when you set foot on the island again.

Many hours had you spent in Aegon’s Garden prior to your father’s death, surrounded by its roses and tall trees and basking in the peace and quiet. The familiar and pleasant scent of pine was enough to calm your fluttering nerves and brought back the memories of when your life had not been plagued by death and war.

A gentle breeze blew through the tresses of your hair as Grand Maester Benifer led you through the ceremony, acting as an officiant and the third witness to your union – your mother and aunt being the other two.

The ancient headpiece adorning the top of your head was not heavy, yet your pounding heart made you overly aware of it being there, and you could not wait to be allowed to take it off again. Even though dozens of Valyrian women before you had worn it to their weddings, it merely was a coincidence you had found the traditional marital robes you and your uncle now wore. They had been neatly stored away in a dusty chest in the depths of the Sea Dragon Tower, not even Maegor had been able to find them for his wedding to Alys.

Sitting somewhat tautly around his muscular arms and shoulders, Maegor’s robe did not fit him as well as yours fit, appearing as if it had waited all its life to be worn by you on this special occasion.

Having read about the ceremony and traditions over and over again, you knew by heart what was to come, yet your eyes still widened a bit as Maegor raised a fine shard of dragonglass, zīrtys perzys in the tongue of your ancestors. Awe and fear alike blazed through the purple of your eyes, whereas you spotted a hint of something different in the gaze of the man opposite of you. Affection? Or even love?

Your hands trembled slightly as Maegor placed the shard in one of them, knowing exactly what was to come and to do since this was not his first wedding in the customs of Old Valyria. Hesitantly bringing it up to his face, the tremors did not ease with you dragging it over his bottom lip. The blood that gathered at the cut was no surprise, however, it still unsettled you to think of your lips undergoing the same procedure just a few moments later.

The gentleness with which he took the shard from your trembling hand was little comfort, and as he cut your bottom lip in return, you wondered how he had endured it without wincing as you did.

After he had gathered some of your blood from the cut on the pad of his thumb, he dragged it over your forehead, drawing the Valyrian glyph for fire on it. You did the same, the glyph for blood written on his.

A shiver ran down your spine as you carefully watched him cut his hand without any sign of discomfort or pain, figuring he was just as savage and brutal as everyone around you had said, used to the pain and to worse. But this was not about savagery or experience, it was about your union, to be wed by blood and fire.

Only then it dawned on you just how much you had longed for this to happen – and how long you had waited for it.

All the years you had spent cross with your father for not offering Maegor your hand in marriage, and even sending him into exile to Pentos, seemed ridiculous now. If only you had known back then that you were going to end up in his arms anyways.

“Issa aōha pālegon,” Maegor whispered, his gruff voice barely audible over the rustling of leaves and excited roaring of dragons in the far distance. It is your turn.

Staring at his cut palm for a bit too long, you examined how the blood gathered in the curvature of it, and how much it actually was. The shard of dragonglass was in his other hand for you to take, and everyone around waited for you to repeat the gesture and cut your hand.

But you could not bring yourself to do it.

Every time you thought about your wedding, you had never considered the pain that came with it. And now, it was all that was on your mind.

Shaking your head, you swallowed thickly, flexing the fingers of your still outstretched hand. “Kostan daor,” you muttered, your voice breaking slightly, causing Maegor’s eyes to widen. Was he afraid? you wondered. “Kessa ōdrikagon.” I can not. It will hurt.

When he tried to place the shard in your palm, you pulled it back, yet your uncle was quick enough to seize your wrist with a strength he had only rarely displayed towards you before. “Gaomagon ziry,” he warned, a sharp edge to his voice that prompted the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. Do it.

You whimpered, more so as the cold dragonglass pressed against the thin skin of your wrist, close to cutting it. “Gaomagon–Gaomagon ziry syt nyke,” you stuttered, “... kostilus.” Do-Do it for me… please.

He tilted his head to the side at your words, sizing you up, the grip on your wrist loosening almost at the same time. The slight crease showing between his brows indicated his confusion - or mayhaps even annoyance - yet he still complied. Taking in a sharp breath as the shard sliced your skin, the singing pain did not lessen, especially not when your hands united in a firm grip to make your one bloodline stronger.

Replacing the shard of dragonglass with a goblet whose content was unknown to you, it was Grand Maester Benifer speaking, while you both took generous swigs of the dark liquid.

“Let it be known that Maegor of House Targaryen and Y/N of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

Your heart pounded in your throat, and the coppery taste on your tongue made you aware that you had licked your nicked lip in anticipation of what was to come.

“You may speak the vows,“ the Grand Maester continued.

“Iksan zȳhon se issa ñuhon. Hen bisa tubis, ēva se mōris hen ñuha tubissa,” Maegor said, looking down at you with admiration flickering in his eyes. I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.

And then it was your turn.

“Iksan zȳhon se issa ñuhon. Hen bisa tubis, ēva se mōris hen ñuha tubissa,” you replied, with eyes locked with his. I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.

Your husband recklessly threw the goblet aside to snake his arm around your waist, drawing you closer towards him with your cut hands still connected. He briefly looked over to the Grand Master and the Dowager Queens, before focusing his attention back on you.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” he cited in the Common Tongue, to which Grand Maester Benifer bowed his head once, and dipped forwards to claim your lips in a kiss that was shy of being reserved.

Your marital robes and smallclothes lay in a scattered trail from the door to the bed, some still pooling around Maegor’s ankles as he held you tightly in his strong arms with your legs slung around his waist. His hard cock was nestled between your bodies, pressed against his lower abdomen and generously coated in your arousal.

It felt as if your lips had not parted once since your kiss in Aegon’s Garden, still as fervent and demanding as it had been back then.

Maegor tipped his head back slightly to break the kiss, yet yours tilted forward to chase his lips eagerly. He tsked at that and grabbed your chin to keep your head still, allowing him to press his lips to your jaw before they wandered to the curve of your shoulder. His teeth nibbling your skin, in combination with his tongue dragging over the light marks they left, sent you into a frenzy, distracting you enough from the sudden pressure of his cock prodding at your entrance.

He had placed a large hand under your arse, effortlessly lifting your body so he was able to grip the base of his stiff member, tugging on himself twice before holding it steady to line himself up with your entrance.

You felt him slide inside inch for inch at an agonizingly slow pace as if he wanted to make sure you were aware of every vein and ridge of his cock that dragged along your quivering walls. But the tightness of your cunt was practically sucking him inside, eager for him to fill you to the brim

Where you took in a sharp breath to brace for the sting that came with the intrusion, Maegor released a husky groan, slightly muffled with his lips still on your shoulder. You tilted your head back to moan shakily, the grip of your legs around his waist tightening in an attempt to lure him inside quickly.

Your back arched against him, but the tight squeeze of your arse was enough to stop any further movements, pain and pleasure alike blossoming within your belly.

“Gods be good,” you whimpered, burying your head in the curvature of Maegor’s neck the moment you spotted him carefully studying your face contort in pleasure. You felt his hand trailing from your arse up your spine with feather-like movements, until it settled at the back of your head, entangling in your hair and tugging on it to yank it back.

You winced slightly, which probably made him aware that he had used a bit too much of his strength, immediately releasing your tresses. “Do not hide from me,” he crooned, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. “Let me see how good I am making you feel.”

Swallowing thickly, a meek nod was all you could do in return. It was the admiration in his gaze and the determination in his voice that rendered you speechless. Despite the fervor in his pleasure and the long-suppressed desire he felt towards you, Maegor had never been more careful, rawer and more vulnerable with you.

He had one arm snaked around your waist and the other hand still buried in your hair, solely relying on them to support your body, keeping you mounted on his cock as he slowly prowled towards the bed. And even though you had adjusted to his size, neither of you moved.

Carefully laying you down on the bed, it was inevitable for him to slip out in the process, leaving you pouting and yearning for him to fill you again.

He stood in front of you completely naked, truly a sight to behold, and it still had not fully settled that you were to witness that sight for as often as you wanted from now on for the rest of your lives.

The light the candles granted was dim, yet bright enough for the beads of sweat to highlight his pale skin, accentuating his rippling muscles. His cock stood tall against his lower abdomen, appearing painfully hard as it glistened with your arousal.

“Stop the sulking,” he said, though there was a hint of amusement in his gravelly voice.

You licked your lips, your eyes flickering between his and his cock. “Come here and make me.”

Maegor chuckled dryly but was convinced enough to join you on the bed. You scooted further towards the headboard and spread your legs for him, making enough space to accommodate his bulky frame.

Kneeling between your parted legs, he leaned forward and grabbed the headboard with one hand, towering over your small frame. The other clasped around the base of his hard member, aligning it yet again with your entrance.

You anticipated him to enter you right away, a little moan of excitement leaving your lips even before you felt him prodding against your cunt. A mocking scoff left his throat once he noticed what had happened, shooting you a knowing glance that had you cowering beneath him from embarrassment.

Mayhaps it was you eagerly anticipating it, just wanting to tease you and keep you waiting a few moments longer, but Maegor instead dragged the tip of his cock through your soaked mound, generously coating it in your slick. As he repeatedly rubbed it over the little bud at the apex of your legs, you couldn’t stifle a whimper from slipping past your lips, your hips rutting against him instinctively.

A wide smirk was plastered over his features, his gaze wandering down your frame, settling on what was happening between your legs. “Aren't you a naughty one, mh?” he said, making eye contact as he still teased your pearl, clearly enjoying the way your body reacted to him.

Heat blossomed on your cheeks, and you looked to the side. “Stop the teasing… please,” you whimpered, coyly. “I-I need you.”

Maegor stopped the teasing to pinch your chin, tilting your head for you to meet his eyes, the tip of his stiff member nestled between your soaked lips but not pushing inside. “But sweetling,” he started, the name spoken in a condescending manner that made your skin crawl. You definitely should not have liked him talking to you like that. “I am not teasing you in the slightest,“ he crooned, “I am simply being affectionate. Do you want me to stop?”

With your eyes wide and lips parted, you meekly shook your head, the intensity of his gaze as he awaited to hear your voice putting your body on fire. “N-No.” You weren’t sure what to expect if you would ask him to stop, somewhat anxious to offend him in any way.

His cock was so close but also too far away, and while you were certain he could go another hour without being inside of you, you lacked that composure. Trying to angle your hips to the point the tip of his cock was breaching your entrance, Maegor firmly connected his hand with the side of your thigh – not as strong as you had anticipated, but still strong enough to have a hot pain spread from your flesh right to your cunt. A renewed wave of arousal seeped out of your core right onto his cock.

“My my, would you look at that?” Maegor cooed, bathing you in a sense of feigned safety and calmness. “Who would have thought that my little niece is such a harlot?”

He placed his large hand on the spot where he had slapped you, soothing the stinging flesh with gentle movements. It was a stark contrast to the initial slap, and even though it confused you, you relished in the gentleness.

“Mae-Uncle,” you mewled, pressing your lips into a thin line to stop them from pulling into a pout. “... please.”

An impish smirk pulled on the corners of his lips. “Please, what?”

“By the Seven,” you whined, balling your hands to fists at your sides in frustration. “Just-Just give me what I desire!”

Maegor raised his brow, seemingly impressed by that little outburst and the lack of coyness with which you said it – completely different from how you had acted before. “Oh, how could I ever say no to you?” he rasped, hungrily licking his lips. His hand wrapped around his cock again, and he kept it in place as he pushed inside in one, swift thrust, forcing himself into your tight heat.

You forgot how to breathe as you tried to adjust to his size again. It felt as if he was harder than before, if that was even possible, filling you to the brim at once. You clenched down around him, and the choked gasp he released made your heart swell with pride.

Despite the slight aching of him being a bit too rough and big for you, an immense pleasure started to blossom in your belly, granted by his curved length plunging in and out of you.

A dip in the mattress next to your head, and Maegor had supported the weight of his bull-like frame on one elbow, inevitably bringing his chest closer to yours. His other hand had long abandoned the headboard to grab your thigh, hoisting your leg around his waist.

You drowned in the proximity. His weight pinning you to the mattress, the warmth that emanated from him, his scent — it all pushed you into a frenzy.

Maegor was balls deep inside of you, bullying the spot that had you seeing stars and hiccuped your breathing. As you looked to the side with your eyes squeezed shut, he was quick to cup your chin, tilting it back to force your eyes to meet his.

“How does this feel?” he asked, uncharacteristically tender.

You arched your back, arms wrapping around his thick neck to bury your hands in his short hair. “So good,” you whined, the words swallowed by Maegor pressing his lips to yours.

You tugged on his silver tresses, walls squeezing him so tight you couldn’t even tell if they had even unclenched before. The kiss was fervent, full of passion, and was all teeth and tongue – unlike any kisses you had shared before.

It might have been the feeling of your marriage finally being legitimate to the both of you, or you two being completely alone without any prying eyes and ears or people of court, but even the bedding was different from the many times you had shared a bed before.

“Such a good girl,” Maegor grunted against your lips, rutting his hips into yours. “Mayhaps I shall reward you tonight and put a babe in you. Would you like that?”

Keening at the praise and the significance of his words, your walls started to flutter around him, clenching and unclenching without a rhythm.

“Yes, please,” you slurred, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. “Please, give me a child.” You were not sure if it was the thought of being round with his seed or the sensual rolling of his hips, but your mind went fuzzy with pleasure, clouding each thought to the point you could only think of his cock dragging along your walls.

Where you could have sworn you could have indulged yourself in his proximity just a little longer, your body seemed to act on its own with your peak suddenly washing over you. Your body was taut, convulsing as he fucked you through the sensations, reveling in the way your moans grew louder and wanton. He mouthed along your neck, his hot and heavy breath fanning over your skin.

In your state of bliss, you had barely noticed the increasing pace and intensity of his thrusts. “I shall give you what you desire,” Maegor rasped to which you merely replied with a breathy ‘yes’.

The snaps of your husband's hips grew harsh and uneven as he crested the horizon, spilling his seed deep inside of your quivering cunt. His fingers dug harshly into your cheeks now, still cupping your chin while groaning into the crook of your neck. Maegor was relentless as he fucked his seed deep into you, desperately wanting it to take and bear fruit.

Once the throbbing of his cock became less, he collapsed onto his side, purple eyes squeezed shut and needing a few seconds to steady his breathing. You watched him with a tired smile on your lips, reaching out to scratch your nails over the coarse hairs on his chest.

“What?” he asked as he opened his eyes to you smiling at him.

Hesitating to ask the question, afraid of the answer breaking your heart, you licked your lips. “What if I do not give you a boy?”

But it seemed that the failed pregnancies of his wives before you had softened his heart, even if only a bit, because he brought his hand to yours on his chest, lacing your fingers. “I do not care, for as long as it’s healthy.” Bringing your joined hands to his mouth, he pressed his lips to the back of yours while maintaining eye contact.

The gesture and his words had your heart fluttering with nothing but love and admiration for the man everyone dubbed ‘the Cruel’, yet he was not cruel to you.

Pulling you close, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Sleep, wife,” he crooned, “we shall reside here just a little longer.”

And sleep you did. The best you had slept in a very long time.

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @watercolorskyy @xxxkat3xxx @baedebnam @simonedk @heavenhatesme

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searchingforserendipity25 · 4 months

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i just want it to be known. for the record. i think sansa should survive all that and grow to be a competent ruler and to stretch the limitations of benevolent feudalism (no such thing) and to forcibly skid to a halt in its face.

no i don't want the starks to find democracy. that's not the point. the point is that sansa has a very intimate understanding of what absolute power does (corrupts absolutely). i want her to have a taste of it, and to feel the rot climbing up her every choice, and to have 'when i am queen, i will make them love me' come true, wholly true.

they do love her, sansa stark, who opens the castle walls and feeds all that she can feed, and finds work for orphans and consolation to mothers orphaned of their children. and of course it is not enough, being loved, when the metric for love is desperation and control. sansa knows that.

she braids her hair in the northern fashion, and her face in the mirror is her mother's, her father's, robb's. but her hands are folded as she leads the court is cersei's. what can she do. of course there is always a choice, and measures and measures of autocracy, and she is loved, she does her best - through the longest winter, the greatest terror.

it's not enough. the thing about being queen is, you do not get to ever be a person worthy of being loved. you do not get to be a person.

that is a terror, too - she trusts no one, not truly, not ever again. only herself, and that is a ruthless thing, a faith invented a hundred times over. she has to be all that she appears to be, and more, to get men to raise up her standards, call out her name in battle. to survive - to live. and if she does ill she must believe it is for good; and if it is not good, it must be bourne, and made into a pretty lie.

she lies prettily. she gives the north hope, and the north survives - lives, a meager portion of it.

the girl who thought she could do better is dead; the woman wears the crown, and has minstrels brought to her court, northern bards from the mountains, to sing in her halls and go to through the land, in the spring, to sing of her kindness, her beauty, her grace and wisdom.

when she dies, they will burn her to keep her from rising up again, beautiful and terrible and dead, and close winterfell's crypts forevermore. good queen sansa, they sing, and no one will ever know how she had to grit her teeth to stare herself in the mirror, how her nails dug into her palms every day of her rule.

she sends men to die in the name of her house, and feeds their widows on the fruits grown in the winter gardens. for generations, maybe - no kingdom is ever complete without violence, or the threat of it.

when sansa stark dies, there will be songs. she makes sure of it.

#sansa stark #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #asoiaf fic #got fic #house stark

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year

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A Lion's Vow

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x Stark!Reader

Warnings: canon character death

Words: 7251

Summary: This game the both of you played was your only real entertainment in the mess that was the Red Keep. Knowing it’s true nature, your father attempted to keep you close to his side. Reminding you not to trust anyone easily, especially those that belonged to the House of the Lion.

“What are you up to today, Lady Stark?”

You whip around, long dark hair swishing from the movement and instantly plaster a cheesy smile once you see it’s Jaime Lannister himself. “Whatever are you talking about Ser Jaime?” This game the both of you played was your only real entertainment in the mess that was the Red Keep. Knowing it’s true nature, your father attempted to keep you close to his side. Reminding you not to trust anyone easily, especially those that belonged to the House of the Lion.

He would not approve if he knew of the interaction between you and the Kingslayer.

Humoring you, Jaime cocks an eyebrow suspiciously. “Looks like you’re up to something.”

Posing a hand to your chest, you gasp and feign hurt. “Me? I am the good Lord Eddard Stark’s daughter. There is no mischievous. bone in my body, Ser.”

Jaime’s lips curl fiendishly. “Oh we both know how false that is. Your father would be disappointed if he discovered you tried to lie to someone in the Kingsguard.”

Ned did instill a strong sense of truth and justice in all of his children. Often he would drone on to how powerful the truth was and to live an honest life.

This was harmless lying though. Jaime knew it to be all part of your fun.

With a roll of your eyes, you cluck your tongue. “What we should really be talking about is why you aren’t doing your job. Shouldn’t you be guarding the king and his imperious family?”

Unconsciously you walk next to him, resuming your gentle stroll with Jaime. His armor makes clattering noises as he moves. White coat billowing in the breeze that lazily rolled through King’s Landing; an overall lovely day made better by the Lannister knight by your side.

“There are six others protecting them. Doubt they’ll miss me for an hour or two.” Jaime’s voice grew distant when his duties were brought up, l;Ike he didn’t want to think about it. Not when he was with you.

“Aren’t you the best swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms?” Teasingly, you boost his ego just a little bit and earn a broad smile from his handsome face.

“Won’t argue that.” He comments with a roll of his shoulders causing you to laugh at his outlandish display. “Even someone as amazing as me needs a break though.”

That’s how you really got to know him. Not that much after first arriving did you stumble upon Jaime during one of his breaks. He’d been relaxing on the grass, back pressed against the trunk of a tree, with his sword laying upon his lap. You and Arya had escaped your septa and were running around the keep gleefully. There were many hidden doors and stairs that you and your youngest sister enjoyed exploring.

You felt after that interaction, Jaime purposefully planted himself there since it was near the tower of the Hand of the King.

If anyone was with you, he would merely offer you a nod and a small smile. When alone, he spoke to you. Small conversations here and there until you both started to linger together for longer periods of time. While most times he carried himself like an arrogant bastard, you got to know the other side of this infamous man. He loved to tease and be playful.

You enjoyed your sister’s company but it was a breath of fresh air to have finally made a local connection in the Red Keep and not feel so isolated. How wild life was to make that connection in Jaime Lannister. Brother to the queen and the slayer of the Mad King. He was a legend walking on two legs.

Your fatrher’s worries were never too far from your mind though. After a few days as Hand of the King, Ned warned you of the green eyed lions and how they could not be trusted. Jaime may have liberated the Seven Kingdoms, but now he is condemned for the act of killing Aerys.

Shaking off the echo of Ned’s words, you gaze up at the tall trees that lined both sides of the cobbled walkway. Small white flowers flutter in the breeze like specks of snow. Home sickness prods at you not for the first time.

“My sister Arya is learning how to use a sword. By some Braavosi.” You lightly tell him, waiting for his reaction. Uncommon was it for a woman to learn how to fight, you knew your father wasn’t happen that Arya was interested but found her an excellent instructor nonetheless. Even your septa and Sansa regarded Arya with disdain after that.

Jaime wasn’t phased by this information. He continues to smile and hums. “She is a feral child. It’s not surprising. Just one look at her and you can see the Stark direwolf. You didn’t want to join her?”

Instantly you remember Robb, Jon and Theon teaching you the basics of how to use a sword once it was decided that Ned would be leaving to the Crownlands. They were understandably worried about your safety and took it upon themselves to sneak you out of your chambers late in the night to show you. You protested in the beginning. Robb begged you though so you caved in.

“Because not all men will act like chivalrous knights.” Robb had told you. This wasn’t just for you, it was so you’d be able to better protect Sansa and Arya.

“No. . . No, I’m not one for violence.” Images of bloody direwolves flash in your mind. A lump develops in your throat as you try to banish them. Your own wolf, Storm, had escaped with Nymeria. Lady was their sacrifice. Feeling like it was your duty, you bore witness to your father executing poor Lady under the whim of that damned Joffrey. It had truly pained him to do so. You would never forgive Joffrey or Cersei for forcing this brutal act upon your father. “I never want to wield a blade.”

Jaime stops, addressing you with a soft and understanding expression. “Hopefully you’ll never have to, Lady Stark.”

"What a surprise, Ser Jaime and the Lady Stark." came the chilling voice of the queen, Cersei Lannister.

Dread made you put a distance between yourself and Jaime. "Your Grace." You detested Cersei. Still, you were the daughter of a warden of the Seven Kingdoms. You still maintained court etiquette and gave her a low curtsy.

Her bright green, cat-like eyes regard you with reservation. Regal chin tilted up, her attention moves to her brother who also gives her a perfectly acted bow. "Pray tell what the two of you were doing alone?" Behind her are two ladies-in-waiting hiding behind their hands as they whisper conspiratorially. No doubt there would be a bit of gossip to be produced from this interaction. Flanked behind them are three guards. All wore the insignia of the Lannisters.

That's the last thing you or your family needed was speculation involving the Starks.

"I bumped into the Lady Stark all by her lonesome. Figured I should escort her back to her father's keep. I'm sure Ned will be missing her." Jaime comes up with the lie just as easily as he would breathe.

"Is that so." Cersei's voice was flat in reply. She didn't buy any of what her twin told her but would not reprimand him in public. You hope you didn't get Jaime into too much trouble but second guessed yourself as to why he would get in trouble. There was no rule or vow that forbade him from speaking to you. In the eyes of others, he was doing the chivalrous thing that everyone expects from a knight.

Expelling your own trepidation, you force a pleasant smile to the golden queen. Sweet syrup laced your tone. "It is, Your Grace. Apologies if I unexpectedly detained Ser Jaime."

Eyes flick from you to her brother before she clasps her ringed hands in front of her. "Of course. Well, Ser, finish escorting the Lord Stark's daughter and get back to your main priority, protecting the king."

Jaime's smile is full of charm as he nods. "Yes, Your Grace."

Once Cersei and her squadron went around the corner, you and Jaime started a fit of giggling.

"She is not happy." Jaime chuckles with a shake of his head. "My sister has always been a temperamental thing. She hasn't changed one bit since childhood."

"I can't imagine Cersei as a child." You comment dryly as you and Jaime change your course to the Tower of the Hand. To you, Cersei may as well have sprung from her mother a full grown woman. Childhood was reserved for innocence which you doubt Cersei ever was.

Jaime smiles. "Even she was small and defenseless once upon a time. But she was always regal and knew her value. That has never changed."

The way his tone was so tender when he spoke fondly of Cersei made something ugly in you take wing. It hissed and spat venom making your insides twist and contort with bitterness.

Of course he loved his sister. It was natural to love your sibling, but to love one that was so foul like Cersei. . . This was unthinkable to you.

He was quick to catch your sudden silence and the subtle furrow of your brow. His smile falls. The tension between your two families started when Jaime was found sitting on the Iron Throne after killing Aerys. Your father found him there once his forces had finally stormed King's Landing. From there, Ned knew the Lannisters should never be trusted.

"I'm truly sorry for what she did to your sister's direwolf." He whispers and you can detect the genuine regret. "A mother's love is blind and irrational at times. Still. . . the wolf shouldn't have been killed. I can't tell her the truth, that she's spoiled Joffrey rotten. Not like she would listen to me anyway."

You toe a rather large pebble that was in your path off to the side. Anything so you wouldn't have to look at Jaime. The backs of your eyes burn, a warning that if he spoke anymore about Lady, tears would fall. "I'm just happy Nymeria and Storm were able to get away. Even if I can't have her by my side anymore, at least she's still alive."

Danger permeated the atmosphere in the Red Keep. This unnerved Jaime even more than the skittish attitude of (y/n). Since the death of King Robert Baratheon, the Starks had begun to act differently. This included the eldest daughter (y/n). Jaime barely saw her anymore and when he did, she was personally escorted by a few of her father’s bannermen. A solemn expression drawn on her face as she hadn’t even noticed Jaime off on the sidelines.

The death of his close friend took it’s toll on Ned Stark and caused much friction between the Hand of the King and the capitol. And according to Cersei, he’d started poking around things he shouldn’t be. The implication being that he might find them out soon. This in particular caused Jaime worry. Did Ned divulge his findings to (y/n)? She seemed to be his confidant in King's Landing and he revered his eldest daughter. That could explain why she'd been avoiding him for weeks on end.

On top of it all, Tyrion was recently captured by Catelyn Tully on the accusation that he had some part in the attempted murder on not just Bran, but herself as well. Great strife was the result causing quite the headache for Lord Tywin and Lord Ned. The new King Joffrey was definitely using this to his advantage as he drank in the chaos and animosity of the two great houses.

Each day, Jaime's concern rooted deeper into him for (y/n). A premonition perhaps had been a dream he'd have of a direwolf being beheaded.

Then came the arrest.

Those who swore their loyalty to Joffrey and House Lannister hunted down bannermen of the northern lord. Cersei, acting quickly within the hour, had already obtained Sansa Stark as a hostage. The auburn haired young lady was locked up in her rooms where she had been accosted.

"You can't let Joffrey do this." Jaime hissed to his sister who was leisurely drinking an elegant glass of blood red wine. "You need to release Ned and Sansa. . . Wait, where are (y/n) and Arya?"

She arched a golden brow. Why was he so concerned about them? Slowly Cersei sets down her glass. "Men have been sent out to retrieve them. They will be locked with the other sister."

He felt something tighten in his chest at the thought of (y/n) in chains like her father. Had they not suffered enough?

"Sit, Jaime." Patting the chair next to her, Cersei couldn't fathom why her twin was acting so riled up. He paced back and forth like he was the caged animal. Did he not realize that they were relatively free now? Their son was finally king and she, the queen mother. All the Seven Kingdoms were in the control of the Lannisters now.

Jaime couldn't though. Couldn't sit down and wait to hear of the other two sisters.

When was the last time he experienced true panic? If this was it, well, he didn't miss it. The fate of (y/n) made him feel panic. Gods, he had grown so attached to her in a short amount of time.

"Jaime."

Impatiently he looked at his sister. His beautiful, cruel sister. His first and only lover.

"I have to go."

She called after him as he fled. From windows he caught glimpses of soldiers and knights alike dashing all over the place. The search for the last two Stark sisters seemed to prove to be a difficult one.

He began his own frantic pursuit of them. Hoping that he could find both of them in time. Then what? Helping them to escaping would be in direct betrayal of not just the throne but Cersei as well. He would be an oath breaker. A crime like this would be cause for his execution.

Death did little to scare him.

Convicted with his decision, Jaime perhaps for the first time prayed to anyone who would listen to him that he would find (y/n) before anyone else did.

You didn't see where Arya had dashed off to. While you were worried for your sister, it was the least of your concerns at the moment. You were running for you life. Complete confusion drove your flight instincts.

Yesterday, Ned had told you and your sisters that he planned to ship all three of you back to Winterfell. Sansa had been bereft, not wanting to leave her betrothed. This sudden news was alarming to you. Fear had begun to control your father since Robert's death. You saw it in the way he gazed at you and your sisters.

Wanting to take such a burden off his shoulders, you'd gone to Ned in his private quarters to find out what was going on. He was more inclined to tell you the truth than the younger ones.

He didn't tell you though. Ned was determined to keep whatever worries to himself.

Maybe if he had told you, you wouldn't be running around the Red Keep like a frantic idiot. Where was there for you to hide? You were in enemy territory. There was nowhere safe for you. The bannermen who normally guard you had been slaughtered right before your eyes. Their blood still stained your face and gown. Such had been the bloodshed that caused you to freeze and watch the whole thing. Until Lannister guards started advancing toward you.

Blindly running for your life, you try to conjure up all of the hidden doorways you and Arya had discovered. One was in the bedchambers of the Hand. But that area was most likely surrounded. You couldn't risk it. That's where you had seen Arya being accosted alongside her Braavosi mentor.

Unconciously your feet were running toward the godswood of the Keep. You didn't realize it until you saw the all too detectable face on the trunk of a large oak tree. It may not have been a weirwood, but you knew from that solemn face that you were in the godswood.

Between thick, white tree trunks, you sought refuge in something familiar. You hid under foliage and attempt to calm your mind enough to think of a plan. The godswood looks out onto Blackwater River. A river that stretched through the near entirety of Westeros as well as leading to Blackwater Bay.

Debating which way was more optimal, the fast crunching of leaves and grass alert your ears to someone else entering the godswood.

You further hid into the shrubs, heart racing.

The intruder stops just a few feet away from your hiding spot. Leather clad feet idle, a blonde head swiveling this way and that. There was no armor but you'd recognize Jaime even when he was in civilian clothes. His sword swayed on his hip.

"(y/n)?"

Nearly sobbing out your relief, you topple over and out of the brush; startling Jaime. He slides onto his knees and gathers you in his arms. Spotting the blood on your face and clothes, you see a coldness overcome his face.

"I-It's not mine." You quickly tell him and that severe expression dissipates into worry. "What's going on?! I don't understand!"

"Your father has been arrested on charges of treason." He hastily explains while helping you get to your feet. "We need to get you out of here."

You shake your head. "My sisters-"

"Cersei already has Sansa detained. There's no news of Arya. We don't have a lot of time to get you out of the city." Jaime tells you, pleading in his voice. Still you kept shaking your head, insisting that you had to help your sisters.

Maybe it was the trauma from what you had witnessed that made you so adamant. Jaime was right, you were aware of that and how you should heed his words. Abandoning them to Cersei and Joffrey though?

Reading your mind, Jaime holds your hands. Striking green eyes crinkle and tell you of his own unease. Vocally he would not beg you to leave with him. You read it on his face. Even if you wanted to, it was not feasible to save your sisters.

You let Jaime lead you out of the godswood. He had you cover your head and yourself with his white cloak that he had torn off his armor before going to look for you. You tuck away your thick sections of dark hair under the white cloth.

The Old Gate, despite it being quite the walk from Aegon's High Hill, was the best way out. "There are secret tunnels all through the capitol."

"I know." You say and his brow raises. "Arya and I did some snooping around the Keep and found a few of them. It's difficult to navigate the tunnels themselves though."

"Ah, so that's what you were really up to." Jaime grins your way.

You return his grin with a beaming one that could be considered prideful.

Jaime said he knew a few of the tunnels but not all. One, if he could follow it correctly, led out to an opening in Flea Bottom.

Traversing the labyrinth of tunnels, Jaime kept you close to his side. The two of you spoke softly. The sound of your echoing voices still bounce around you. He tells you what exactly was happening. Ned being accosted by Lannister bannermen. The charge was treason for attempting to usurp King Joffrey and take his birthright away from him. Obviously it was a load of hog shit.

An itch in the back of your brain kept going back to that last conversation you had with him. You’d caught him flipping through page upon page in a rather large book. Grave lines shadow his features. It hadn’t been the first time you had spotted him in such a state. What had he been reading?

Like wildfire though the news of Ned’s arrest had already spread through half of King’s Landing. By the time you and Jaime had resurfaced in a dirty alley, there were scores of City Watch soldiers patrolling the streets.

Both of you kept your heads down on the off chance anyone might recognize you. Venturing onto the streets, Jaime makes sure to have a secure grip on your arm so neither of you are separated.

The amount of soldiers congregating toward the direction of the Old Gate didn’t bode well to either of you.

“What do we do if we can’t get through the Old Gate?” You whisper. You felt sick to your stomach with anxiety.

Jaime keeps his eyes ahead. “One way or another, I’m getting you out of the city and taking you to your mother and brother. I may have to use some unsavory methods though.”

“But-“

He pulls you aside and stares at you. “Do you trust me, (y/n) Stark?”

You let your apprehension seep onto your face. Why was he doing this? He had nothing to gain but everything to lose.

Then in the middle of broad daylight, he gets down on one knew and bows his head low. “I, Ser Jaime Lannister, make this oath to you, (y/n) Stark, that I will get you back to your family safely. I will honor this oath and defend you with my life.”

Getting selfconcious with the attention you might draw, you urge him to get back up. “Okay okay!!” You hiss. “Get up! I trust you!”

His crooked grin lightens the severity of the situation. When he gets back up, Jaime holds out a hand to you. Gingerly you lace your fingers with his; relishing in the roughness of his callused hands. You did trust him, well, you wanted to trust him. No matter what your father claimed about the Lannisters, you at least wanted to trust this one.

Thinking back to Ned's warning, you feel a lump in your throat as Jaime leads you through the dirty streets of Flea Bottom. "They're going to kill him, aren't they."

Jaime's hand tightens on your's. "A trial will be held for him. There is a proposition to be made for him most likely."

Joffrey was in power now. A trial under Joffrey's jurisdiction could hold no justice for your father. You felt it. Whatever Jaime may have been told could go right out the window when the trial actually happens.

You look back to the red structure of the Keep. Jaime could give you no other words of comfort. Maybe he was thinking the same thing you were. He's acknowledged the depravity of Joffrey many times before. He had to know that much like with Lady, he would order the death of Ned Stark for even posing a threat to his reign.

The Old Gate was indeed riddled with heavy patrol. No one was permitted to leave the city unless they had written consent from the crown. Many having been turned away skulked back to wherever their living quarters were.

Jaime analyzed the situation while keeping you under his arm.

"Ser Jaime?" A gold cloak squints his eyes when he spots you and Jaime lurking around the gatehouse. You feel Jaime's body tense and he subtly pulls your hood over your face a little more. "What a surprise to see you out here." The man eyes you suspiciously but looks back to Jaime. He was timid in front of the Kingslayer which served a good purpose.

Squaring his shoulders, Jaime puts on an air of self-importance. "Yes, considering the arrest of the Lord Stark, I have been sent out by the king himself to check the security of the gates. They're worried that a Stark loyalist may try to escape." He explained his clothes as attempting to blend in and not cause more of a stir in the city.

"Y-Yes. Of course."

They pass by a few others as Jaime sits you down inside of the gatehouse. A warm fire crackled in a hearth. The men who had been occupying the inside were promptly forced out by Jaime and the gold cloak that was attending him.

Jaime leans down to whisper in your ear. "Stay here until I come back. Don't speak to anyone and keep your hood drawn down. I'll be back in a few minutes." he promised.

You nod and anxiously watch him leave. The entirety of your time by yourself in the guards' room, the pounding of your blood filled your ears and your hands shake. Jaime said that he might have to use some unsavory methods in order to smuggle the both of you out. Somehow you knew that meant killing anyone who opposed him.

Suspicions were confirmed when you hear a few close by screams, Jaime came back in to retrieve you after fifteen minutes. He was holding his sword in one hand and motioning for you with the other. Blood glints off his blade.

The old rusty gate was lifted up a few inches from the ground. A dead sentry sat propped up against the wall. You promptly avert your gaze when you caught sight of bright red across his throat.

Crawling underneath the opening, both you and Jaime book it into the open fields outside of the city. Both of you kept low to the ground until the city walls were but speck behind you.

From his pack that Jaime brought with him, he pulls out an expertly drawn map. "Alright, it will take us several days to reach Riverrun. Here's the thing though, the north will not be taking too kindly to the arrest of their warden. I'm guessing once the news reaches them, your brother will call upon his bannermen to march to King's Landing. Your mother is possibly still in the Eyrie with Tyrion. The track to the Eyrie is too far and dangerous. Your grandsire should be able to house you until either your brother or mother come."

There was so much to take in that you were quiet for a while.

Frowning while examining the map, your eyes trail from where Jaime had pointed to your position. You eye the territory of the Riverlands, remembering that Tywin Lannister had planted a small army near your grandsire's home. "What about your father?"

His lips purse. "I'll deal with that if it comes to it." Jaime rolls the map back up and puts it away. "We'll use the rest of the evening and night to travel to the God's Eye and recoup there. I hope you're ready for the trek."

You bend over to tighten the laces of your boots in affirmation.

By the time they reached the shores of the great lake, (y/n) collapsed on the ground. She'd laid out the white cloak Jaime had given her and passed out soon after.

Late at night, God's Eye lake appeared to be filled with black ink. Across the water Jaime barely made out the outline of the Isle of Faces that was right in the middle of the lake.

Jaime took his place right next to the sleeping (y/n) and drew the edge of the cloak over her body. Her lips were parted as she slept.

He'd forsaken his own family for her.

If forced to do it again, he would. Jaime was her sworn sword now. His loyalty lay with her.

By himself though, he allowed his mind to think of Cersei. For most of his life, he had clung to her. She was the very reason he was in the Kings guard so he wouldn't have to marry anyone.

From childhood he revered his older sister who he often compared to the Maiden. After getting to really know (y/n) though, that image was morphed into the true reality of Cersei's character. Much like with their own brother Tyrion, Cersei had been tactfully cruel to the Stark sisters. She followed the whims of Joffrey blindly, as only a mother could. Jaime did feel sorry for (y/n)'s two younger sisters. There had been no time to even think of rescuing them too. He'd been too focused on (y/n). She was his priority.

Deciding to keep watch for the night, Jaime kept his ears trained to his surroundings and his eyes fixed on the stillness of the lake.

The sun crept up into the sky not too long after. With the rise of the sun, (y/n) stirred and opened her gray eyes. They flutter so prettily that Jaime is forced to avert his gaze. He'd once heard Robert mention how (y/n) was like a prettier version of Lyanna. She had the structure of lovely Catelyn Tully's face with alluring pale gray-blue eyes and the darkest lashes he'd ever seen.

Dried blood was still on her face from when she witnessed her father's bannermen being slain. He worried if she had nightmares about it while she slept but she didn't mention any when she sat up and rubbed sleepily at her face.

Nodding toward the lake, Jaime suggests she wash up. Before leaving, he'd gathered a few extra clothes with him. They were men's clothes but that was probably better for (y/n) while they were traveling.

A bashful blush livens her pale cheeks as she nods. Jaime, to give her some privacy, turns his back to the lake and keeps an eye out toward the trees.

He's hyper aware though of the rustling of her clothes as she removes them. His own ears reddened with warmth when he heard movement in the water. Not for the first time, he wondered what she looked like naked. What did the slopes and contours of her body feel like? Was the rest of her body soft like her hands?

(y/n) didn't spend too much time in the water. Just enough to scrub her face and wash the rest of her body from the grime and sweat that had accumulated during her flight from the capitol.

She nervously cleared her throat once she was fully dressed. Jaime turned around. (y/n) in his clothes didn't something carnal to Jaime. His large tunic did little to hide her figure as he could still make out the shapeliness of her breasts. Trousers had been cinched tightly at her waist and accentuated her wide hips.

Her long, black hair was still wet as she was in the process of tying it up into a ponytail.

She didn't need gowns and jewels to look exquisite.

"Cat got your tongue, Ser Jaime?" (y/n) grinned when she saw his outward gawking.

"I've never seen a woman wear my clothes with such finesse before." He smirked.

Laughing, (y/n) picks up the white cloak that was still sprawled out on the grass and wraps it once more around her shoulders. "If I could, I would wear men's clothes more often than dresses. You can imagine how uncomfortable it is being laced into a bodice for hours on end."

He startles both of them when Jaime tucks away a stray, soggy lock behind (y/n)'s ear. It had been bouncing around her face, begging for attention. Jaime apologizes in a halfhearted manner. At least it was an excuse to touch her. "Lets get going. We have a long way till our next stop."

Looking once again at the map, it was decided to take the longer way along the river in order to avoid populated areas.

During their walk, they shared a piece of bread between one another and spoke more about their childhoods. Maybe it was a way to soothe the aching wound of (y/n)'s heart after having to force her to leave her family defenseless in King's Landing.

There was great love in the Stark household, evident from the tenderness of her voice. Something that hadn't been present in Casterly Rock since the death of his own lady mother Joanna.

He liked imagining (y/n) as a spunky little girl playing with the boys and struggling to thread her needle for embroidery, braiding Sansa's rich auburn hair and reading under the grand weirwood tree in her family's personal godswood.

She painted a beautiful picture.

Jaime didn't really have such stories. His childhood had been filled with his endless need to be the best swordsmen out there. He trained from dusk till dawn and kept his mind focused on his goals. For him, there was no time for childish whimsy.

They stop to rest for a bit. (y/n) took off her boots to rub at her sore feet and Jaime knelt by the river to fill up their canteen that had been bone dry for hours. There wasn't much food he had packed since there was urgency to get out. Plenty of bread was still available in his pack but not much else.

Bare foot, (y/n) went about searching for wild berries and mushrooms. Jaime couldn't resist watching her through her wanderings. Ned had taught her and her siblings many things about wild berries back in Winterfell. She used this knowledge to gather an armload. While it wasn't meat it still filled their bellies along with chugging mouthfuls of water.

After that little respite, they were up and at it again until the sun dipped back down behind the mountains, replaced by a sliver of the moon and a multitude of stars. Starry skies always reminded (y/n) of her mother’s gown, she told Jaime as they walked. The Lady Catelyn possessed a gown of the deepest blue. Woven intricately onto the fabric were small crystals. They dazzled in thee light and as she moved about.

Joanna passed so long ago that Jaime could barely recall her. Something that he was able to share with (y/n) was his mother’s laugh.

She was a snorter.

For all her grace and beauty, when Joanna Lannister laughed, she really laughed. So much so that it resulted in her snorting during such throes.

Odd how that was the sole thing Jaime could think about when trying to remember her.

He must have sounded sad to (y/n) for sure grabbed his hand with warmth. Strong radiance flowed from her to Jaime. His insides flutter. Around her, he felt like such a young and naive boy. He was a man grown. She was the only woman to make him feel like this; not even Cersei made his heart thump vulnerably. With his sister, it was all about lust and satisfaction. There was no coyness to her seduction. Cersei always was straight forward.

If Jaime didn’t know any better, he would say he was falling in love with the Stark girl. That couldn’t be it though, right?”

For the following nights, Jaime insisted that he stay up to keep watch. A ridiculous thing considering that even the great Jaime Lannister needed sleep. No human could go so long without slumber.

He compromises. When the two of you take a break from your walking, he would take that opportunity to nap.

“You still know how to use this?” Jaime holds out his sword to you making you widen your eyes.

You stare at the hilt. The same sword he used to kill many people. Fingers twitch forward and brush up against it. “Yes.”

He nods when you finally take hold and put it off to the side of you on the grass. Situating himself onto hiss makeshift blanket and pillow, Jaime closes his eyes and is asleep in minutes.

This was an opportunity for you to outwardly admire him. He really was quite handsome. A perfect aquiline nose paired with cheek bones to die for. His upper lip was a perfect bow arch and absolutely kissable. You wonder what he dreams about.

While he rests, you go over the map. There’s bits of Jaime’s handwriting on the parchment too. Sloppy letters smashed together. You grin reminiscing that that was the way Robb wrote as well. Was that a habit of all men? No, your father wrote properly enough.

Naturally, Jaime would start to wake after an hour’s worth of sleep then back to the road it was.

All together, it took near a week to reach the Red Fork of the Trident. The river where Rhaegar Targaryen was slain by Robert Baratheon. The Red Fork lead all the way to Riverrun.

You were almost there. Considering why you were traveling in the first place, you would admit there was fun had while with Jaime. Away from the city, Jaime was freer. Boyish sides of him that he wasn’t able to display while in the Kingsguard. His smile, oh. . . This new smile of his was breathtaking. A bright beam that almost blinds you.

Certainly he was still arrogant, but a little less now.

“What will you do once you deliver me safely to my grandfather?” You ask him as you refill the canteen for one last time.

“Well, that’s if your family even allows me to leave.” Jaime chuckles. “Can’t imagine I’ll be welcomed back in King’s Landing or Casterly Rock. Don’t suppose you will employ a knight such as myself?”

The muscles on your face automatically make you smile at his confession of wanting to stay with you. You tamper it down and cough into your hand. “I can try to work something out.”

A light moment like this was bound to be ruined soon after.

Men on horseback and on foot surround you and Jaime. Swords aimed at the both of you.

Jaime holds up his hands to show that he was harmless and you immediately shout “I’m (y/n) Stark! Daughter of Catelyn Tully. Granddaughter of Hoster Tully!” Their red and blue livery reveal their allegiance.

Slowly, they lower their weapons; those on the ground get closer to see you better.

Then they register the man beside you. Their weapons went back up until Jaime forfeit his sword and allowed them to tie him up. One of the men helps you onto a horse while you beg lenience for Jaime the entire time. Proclaiming that he was actually helping you and bore no ill will.

All fell on deaf ears as they drag Jaime all the way back to the Riverrun fortress.

Spotting you from Hoster Tully’s chamber balcony, your mother met you at the front gate. She was indeed a sight for sore eyes.

As you’re assisted to the ground by helpful hands, Catelyn is already pushing aside men to get to you. She throws her arms around you and pulls your body tightly to her chest.

“Thank the gods!” Her fingers tangling them in your thick hair and buried her face in your neck. “(Y/n)-“

You encircle your arms around her. In her arms was the smell of home.

“Lady Catelyn,” came one of the soldiers. “Jaime Lannister was found with her.”

She sharply inhales and in one swift move she has you behind her as she steps forward for the rest of the men to present her Jaime.

They force him onto his knees in front of her.

“Mother please, Jaime helped me escape the Keep.”

Her eyes turn to you sharply. “(Y/n), the Lannisters are the reason for all that has befallen our family.”

Not Jaime though. He had done everything to help you. You grab Catelyn’s arm. “Without him I would have been like Sansa.”

“I swore myself to your daughter, Lady Tully. I am her sworn sword.” Jaime passionately declares. “Made an oath to protect her from this day to my last.”

“I recall you made that same oath to Aerys.” Scrutinized Catelyn.

His eyes are hard and unrelenting. Jaime doesn’t cower or back down. “It’s different with (y/n). She is worthy of protecting. I want to dedicate my life to her.”

Gods.

His words made you soar.

Narrowing her gaze, your mother folds her arms in front of her chest. “Well, Ser Jaime, it sounds like you have certain. . . Affections for her.”

Jaime turns to you with a hint of a smile. “I would say so.”

“(Y/n), go inside.” She snaps at you and with a wave of her hand, her father’s men take ahold of Jaime and bring him to the prisons of Riverrun.

Desperately you watch as Jaime meekly follows them. He doesn’t put up a fight, not once.

“He’s trying to make you a fool, (y/n).” Catelyn accosts you once inside the secure walls of the castle. “Please. . . Please tell me you don’t share these feelings he’s pretending to have?”

You were still stunned at what Jaime had admitted.

“(Y/n)?”

He swore his sword to you twice now in the presence of others. Catelyn made a point about Aerys, but what else was Jaime supposed to have done in that moment? Aerys was about to blow up King’s Landing with enough wildfire to wipe it off of the map.

Turning your spine to steel, you straighten your back and address your mother. “He’s not pretending. And if you must know, yes I do.”

You hate the pain that flashes across her face. “No. . .”

Before she could pull away from you, you grab her hands firmly and keep her there.

“I would not be here had it not been for Jaime.” You tell her sternly. “I am holding your hands now because of him. He kept his word to me that he would safely return me to you and even wanted to stay my sworn sword after the fact he had accomplished his goal.”

Squeezing her hand tighter, you add “He had everything to lose and nothing to gain.”

She was conflicted but you were adamant that she have Jaime released.

“Give him a chance.”

You were fierce, reminding Catelyn of Ned. Unwilling to back down to what you believed to be the right thing.

“I honestly can’t believe I was let out so soon.” Jaime muses.

Not without conditions of course as you glance at the Tully guards that watch him like a hawk. He wasn’t allowed his sword back. Not yet.

“Did you mean what you said? Before they took you away.”

He pauses to watch a low flying birds swoop down to the running water of the river. It pulls out a small silver fish and carries it away.

“I’ve thought about it a lot.” He admits. “What I feel for you. It’s confusing but it makes me feel alive. I’m not going to pretend that I’m even worthy of you. (Y/n), I’m not a good person. No one in the Kingsguard is except maybe Barristan Selmy. I’ve done some things that would horrify you. I didn’t like who I was in King’s Landing. But I like who I am when I’m with you.”

Your first instinct is to kiss him. You’re sure that the guards wouldn’t be too happy about it. Might even report it to Catelyn who was already uneasy with letting Jaime walk free. She’d given him the option to even leave the Riverlands but he refused.

“Bet you wanted to kiss me just then.” His grin is stretched from ear to ear.

You laugh and shove his arm lightly.

Like the first day following your exodus from King’s Landing, Jaime tucks a stray strand of hair that had escaped it’s confines. “I really meant what I said. My life is your’s, my lady. If war is to come, I will gladly protect you from my own house. This I vow.”

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aegontaargaryens · 1 year

Text

of love and duty | aegon ii targaryen

summary: the love you bore your mother is what prompted you to agree to the duty of marrying your uncle. the duty aegon bore to the crown and to his family is what forced him to agree to marry his niece. it would never be a marriage of love, but always a marriage of duty.

pairing: aegon ii targaryen x f!reader

note: there is literally no canon in this at all. aegon is genuinely not nice in this, but he's also terrified sooo. let me know what you think!! and if you want a part 2 <3

word count: 2.8k

They say, oftentimes, that a sense of duty can be found in an action of love.

What they often forget to mention is that a sense of love can oftentimes be the catalyst for unwanted, but wholly necessary actions of duty.

The Conquerors Crown, the magnificent piece of Valyrian steel that once sat on the white hair of Aegon the Conqueror, now rested atop the head of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the first of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. The Realm’s Delight truly looked the part as she stood in front of those kneeling in front of her. The cries of joy were electrified, the roars of the dragons flying through the sky rumbled the floor below.

The history books would say it was a sight. The Greens kneeling alongside their niece and nephews, their swords promised to their half-sister and the woman their grandfather had sworn to defeat in hopes of his own blood sitting the throne.

Although, said grandfather’s head was rumoured to have been a favoured treat for the notorious Blood Wyrm. So, it seemed to many that his years of hidden treason had been for naught. Others would say it differently.

There were many things that prevented the Dance of the Dragons. The Blacks never left Kings Landing after the family dinner King Viserys I had orchestrated the night he met the Stranger. Ser Otto Hightower met the Stranger just hours later while his daughter begged for the life of her children to be spared, her knees pressed to the ground as she begged her childhood friend to remember that her children were the Queen’s own kin.

Instead of responding to the accusations that she would willingly slay her own kin, Queen Rhaenyra no sooner announced the betrothal of her eldest child, her only daughter, to the eldest child of Alicent Hightowner and King Viserys I, Aegon Targaryen.

Their marriage would dispel all the concerns of potential kinslaying, the Blacks and Greens would be united. One day, the grandchild of Queen Rhaenyra and Dowager Queen Alicent would sit the Iron Throne.

The tears had slid silently down your cheeks in the comfort of your own chambers after the news was brought forth. The Queen, your mother, had gripped your hands so tightly as she looked at you silently, awaiting your confirmation that you would do your duty to her, to the realm.

Trying to keep the tears at bay as you nodded your head towards your mother, willing yourself to speak. “I will do my duty, my Queen. Not because I wish to, but out of the love I bear for you, for my mother, for my brothers... and for the future of this realm.”

“This was not the life I ever wished for you, my heart. I would have seen you travel the world on dragonback like you always so wished. See the great wonders across the Narrow Sea and eat only cake. Perhaps one day, you will still.” The devastation in her words was evident in your mother’s features as she placed a gentle kiss against your forehead.

Aegon was... Aegon. He was a selfish drunkard, his endeavors in the Street of Silk well known by the small white-haired bastards that found themselves paraded through the streets by their mothers, by those wishing to gain a favour with the Royal family.

You knew your duty; you had accepted that the love you had for your mother would one day be the push for necessary but unwanted duty.

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

The wine dribbled down his chin as he tried to contain his guffaws, his stomach hurting as he bent forward in an attempt to contain himself.

“This is no laughing matter, Aegon! This is our saving grace, the protection you and your siblings needed. You will do your duty as your sister; the Queen has demanded.” Aegon quirked an eyebrow towards his mother as he pressed the sheet closer to his bare stomach, the wine staining the white sheets a pretty purple.

“Ah yes, dear Mother. I have done everything you have ever asked; I suppose allowing myself to be a dragon dressed for slaughter will be no different. If you truly loved me, you would have allowed me to disappear on Sunfyre when you told me the news of my father’s death.”

He didn’t have time to react before Alicent’s hand connected with his cheek, his eyes closing in fear of a ring scratching his cheek as it had so many times before. Aegon could feel the involuntary tear slip down his cheek as the animosity grew in the room. Regardless of how much love he showed, his mother would never love him, no one ever would.

“You are a fool, my son. I have only ever pushed you to do your duty out of my love for you, your duty is what will keep you alive. Love will not.”

With that, the Dowager Queen turned on her heels and out of the room, her dog of a sworn shield following closely behind as the door shut tightly. Seconds later, a wine goblet splattered against the wall, Aegon’s fists tightly gripping the sheets as he felt himself fall to the bed.

There was no love in duty, of that, he was sure.

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

It didn’t take long for the wedding preparations to begin and be finalized. The joining of the two sects was necessary for peace in the realm, for those against the ruling of Queen Rhaenyra in favour of her half-brother Aegon Targaryen to finally be put to rest.

It took less than a full turn of the moon, to be exact. Your dress had been commissioned by your mother, it was meant to be a glorious display of the houses Velaryon and Targaryen. The sea blue and the blood red mixed well with the black undertones included, your maiden cloak a beautiful display of everything you were not, a beautiful display of a true Velaryon.

Even you could admit, despite all of this, you did look like a true Princess of Old Valyria in your wedding attire. Your husband-to-be likely did as well.

“Oh, my heart. You look beautiful,” cupping your cheeks while she spoke, your mother’s eyes reflected in your own as the unspoken words travelled amongst you. She was grateful that your love for her knew no bounds, that you would bind yourself to a man to guarantee her ruling would be successful, would be smooth.

“Thank you, mother. The dress you had made is beautiful, the silk underneath is far more comfortable than I was expecting. I’m sure Aegon will be pleased.”

Rhaenyra smiled slightly at your words, her hands moving up to gently press a fine comb, embroidered with that of a Seahorse, into your hair. "Your grandfather had this comb commissioned for you upon Driftmark. I think your father would have been honoured to know that you’ll carry a piece of him with you on your wedding day.”

“Which one?”

Your mouth snapped open before your brain could process the words falling from your mouth, the instant look of regret flashing in your eyes at the hurt expression that fell upon your mother’s face. A sigh left her lips as she made her way to sit on your bed, gently patting the spot next to her.

“It does not matter, not to me at least. You came from my womb; I endured hours of labour to push you from inside of me. No one can take that away from us, not the realm, no one. Your husband, especially, cannot take that away from us. You are my daughter, a true Targaryen, and that is all that will ever matter.”

Pressing your head gently to the side of hers, you nodded slightly at your mother’s words. The door swung open a moment later, the sauntering figure of Daemon Targaryen entering the room.

“I believe it is time we make our way to the sept, Tala. Perhaps you should go find your husband and instruct him that he will ride with us as well.”

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

“What do you mean, you can’t find Aegon?”

“Sunfyre remains in the sky. He could not have gone far; he is likely bedding a whore in the Street of Silk or drinking himself into a stupor, so he doesn’t have to remember marrying our half-sister's bastard.”

Alicent gripped Aemond’s chin harshly, shaking his head tightly as she glared at her son. “You must remove those thoughts from your mind, and the words from your vocabulary. Those words are treason, and they will have your head on a spike if you speak them again.”

The door slammed open, startling both of them away from each other as the missing man in question stumbled into the room. His tunic was crumbled, his hair greasy, and his cheeks likely stained with whatever Dornish blend had found its way into his hands that day.

“Aegon! We are to be at the Sept in an hour’s time, where have you been?”

Shrugging, Aegon grumbled incoherently in response. “Avoiding my doom, perhaps. Wed Aemond to my betrothed, he’s always been able to complete his duty with little complaint.”

Aemond scoffed in response to his words, preparing to argue against the proposition only to be interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door. The wood creaked open a moment later, as your eyes took in the sight in front of you, you attempted to withhold the grimace that threatened to take over your face.

“Princess! I didn’t realize you were meant to meet Aegon in his rooms before going to the carriages.”

You shook your head with a neutral smile upon your face as you looked at the three faces in front of you. “I would like to have a moment alone with my betrothed, if that is acceptable with you, lady Alicent?”

Nodding her head with a pained smile, Alicent ushered Aemond and herself out the door, allowing it to gently shut behind her as you turned back towards the man who would be your husband in an hour’s time. You could immediately tell he was likely drunk or was facing the consequences of his actions from the night prior.

“Do you plan on bathing before our wedding, or is your intention to show up and make it seem as if we’re holding you against your will?”

“Hm, aren’t you?” Clucking his tongue at your words, Aegon’s backside connected with the bed as he sat down and glared across the room at you as his hair fell into his face.

Scoffing at his words, you gestured towards the window where the dragons could be seen flying. It had been decreed that the dragon pit was hindering the growth of the dragons, preventing them from prospering in ways that they could in Old Valyria. They would fly free unless they begin killing those who lived in Kings Landing or nearby keeps, they would not be held in a dark pit, or chained any longer.

“You could leave at any moment you want. There are no guards holding you hostage here, Sunfyre remains free and I’m sure willing to take you wherever you wish. You’ve had no issue hiding at other moments, Uncle. No one is stopping you from leaving, I’m most definitely not.”

Aegon’s anger had him pushing himself to his feet and towards you, a fiery look in his eye as he looked towards you. “And give your mother more of a reason to kill my family? More of a reason to feed my mother to your stepfather's dragon?”

A sarcastic laugh left his lips before he continued, “I have never been one to care about duty. I bear no love for your side of the family. I can acknowledge that I owe the Queen, your a mother, a sense of duty. The only reason I have not taken flight on Sunfyre is because I have a duty to protect my mother, a duty to protect my brother’s and my sister.”

“Your duty is to abide by the decrees set by my mother, the Queen. My mother has decreed that we are to marry to guarantee your family and all their allies fall in line with her. You have a duty to our future children, the future Kings and Queens of the realm.”

Another sardonic laugh left the man in front of you as he gripped your chin, his Indigo eyes glaring into yours. “Do you truly think me a stupid man, sweet niece? I will put no children in your belly, I will fuck all the whores in the Streets of Silk before I lay with you. I will be the first to die, the moment you have a babe. The only use I have for your family is that of a breeder, and you the one to be bred.”

He laid a hand on your stomach to emphasize his words, pressing a hand against your empty stomach to prove that it would remain that way. Empty.

Feeling yourself shiver at his words, Aegon was obviously not yet done, “I have no love for you, sweet niece. When I fuck you during our wedding night, I will likely be so drunk nothing will come from it. I owe you no duties, I owe you nothing. I will do what I have to, to keep myself, and my mother alive.”

A small tear trickled down his cheek, your finger subconsciously moving up to wipe it from his face. His words cut deep, you knew he held no love for you, nor for your mother, but you never realized how distrustful he was of your mother and your kin.

Gently caressing his cheek, you could tell he was embarrassed to lean into your gentle touch, “No one will kill you, Aegon. My mother is not a kinslayer, you are still the child of my grandfather, her father. We are family, uncle.”

Pulling back from your hold, Aegon glared at you, his eyes still full of unshed tears and his mind full of worries that would never be settled. “You will know no love from me. Our marriage shall be one of duty, one of convenience. Never one of love, I will take paramours and quite frankly... I do not care what you do.”

Walking back towards the bed, you could see the remainder of his wedding clothes staring up at him. “I’d like to finish getting prepared for this horrible day. If you’d make your leave, niece.”

Not even bothering to dignify him with any more words, you immediately left the room, your own unshed tears finally making their way down your cheeks as you made your way down the hall.

You had always known your marriage would not be one of choice, or immediate love. The eldest child of a Queen, her only daughter. You knew one day you would be wed to the highest bidder, the string that would tie two families together and guarantee the loyalty of another house to your own. It was always a subconscious hope that perhaps it would one day lead to love, one day lead to a type of kinship that would be written in the songs, and in the stories. In a matter of a few simple moments, those childhood hopes had been dashed and replaced with a sense of mourning for what would never be.

-----------

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby see these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words,” the Septon gestured for you and Aegon to begin, the guests holding their breath as they waited for the fated words to leave the mouths of the bride and groom.

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day, till the end of my days.”

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, till the end of my days.”

Aegon’s unshed tears from before were never more evident, his hands shaking as he gripped yours, his eyes conveying every concern that rippled through his mind and body. You felt almost... sympathetic towards him. The concern that this necessity for duty prompted, the terror that made its way through his body.

The ceremony continued as your mind wandered, before you knew it, Aegon’s hand was pressed gently to the back of your head as he guided your face to his own. His chapped lips pressed against yours, a quick connection binding two sides of a family out of duty, not of love.

The cheers from the crowd were ignored as you stared directly into your husband’s eyes. The resentment, the anger, even the fear, were never more prominent than in that very moment. To Aegon, his biggest duty was done. His duty now was to guarantee that he and his family remained alive, in whatever way he had to do so, it would be done.

A love for you would never stand in his way.

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