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minteaspoon · 1 year

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What if Luke took over Daenerys’ place, but make it HOTD?

****Like most of my stories/headcanons, this will be ABO!!!!

The Greens win the civil war, and all of the Blacks perish, except for three; Viserys II, Aegon III, and Lucerys. Unfortunately, they spend months trapped in the Red Keep, paraded around by the Greens for their own amusement and pride. Aemond had taken Luke’s dignity in front of the court in a mock bedding ceremony.

Lucerys gets pregnant, and long into his pregnancy, about five more weeks before the expected due date, he is attacked by guards under the orders of Aegon II, and lost the babe. Once again in front of the court, Luke is shamed and made fun for it with his brothers in his arms. Aemond, over and over for a year and a half, attempted to get the former prince of the Realm pregnant, but the stress and humiliation kept killing off the babes

However, Corlys was able to find a way to get them out, and directed them to a set of islands he once came across during his travels as a budding man, and advised them to escape and set a home for themselves there

Soon, the trio were able to flee to said abandoned archipelago far off from any other country, and take residence there. The islands were once great with ties to Old Valyria, and was a safe house - well, a castle carved deep into the island’s mountains - for dragon eggs and knowledge of Old Valyria which were all frozen and kept in (semi-)safe conditions by the ones who once guarded them

With Luke being a prodigy at Valyrian thanks for Rhaenyra and Daemon, he deciphers all he needs to know from the texts, and reads them as bedtime stories for his brothers. Thus, the siblings start to learn and conduct experiments from the books containing Old Valyria’s magic - the same magic Queen Visenya was said to have involved herself with before and in the reign of King Aegon Targaryen, First of His Name and even after his demise

Luke then finds three dragon eggs, and puts them over a fire in one of the many rooms in the castle carved within the island. Months have passed, and Luke was now nearing nineteen when the eggs hatched, with all three dragons immediately bonding with Lucerys.

Aegon the Younger, gonna call him Egg here to make it easier to tell which Aegon I’m talking about, and Viserys II, who I’m gonna call Vis for the same reason, aren’t jealous, and are rather ecstatic as it meant they had some protection.

The dragons consists of a silver-purple female named Silvermoon, another reddish female named Ruby, and a bronze scaled male named Ashe. While all three dragons are bonded with Lucerys, they do still find fondness over Egg and Vis. Egg and Ashe are close despite his initial distrust due to his witness of Sunfyre burning his mother. Vis and Ruby often nap and eat together, along with playing with one another to the joy of Lucerys. Silvermoon and Luke are each other’s anchors when their siblings are out playing or hunting.

As the years pass, the three surviving members of the Blacks continue to live in peace and happiness.

Back in Westeros, the Greens have found themselves in quite the predicament; With the dragon eggs soon going cold, their only living dragon being Vhagar, and with their increasing unpopularity with the townsfolk and pressure and claims of promises they must fulfill from the Lords of Houses who sided with them, they knew it was the start of their fall from grace. The Greens pretty much walked so the Lannisters from GOT could run.

About three or four years have passed since the Dance. And Luke is suddenly met with a fleet from House Greyjoy, led by the Red Kraken, Dalton Greyjoy himself.

The man was sailing his ships, raiding villages and taking treasure when he comes upon Luke and his brothers’ island home. When Luke comes to deal with him alone, Dalton threatens to finish what the Greens have started, before Luke calls for his dragons and brothers to spearhead a surprise attack on the Greyjoy Fleet.

Luke had seen the fleet from the horizon sailing for them, and immediately sprung himself, his brothers, and his dragons to action. With three medium sized dragons, not even fully done growing yet, and two extremely peeved and held back boys, who know Black Magic mind you, now allowed to go wild caused his men some arms and legs and even their lives, so Dalton halts his forces and attempts to broker a deal; If Luke lets the Greyjoy men safely go, he’ll make sure the island knows no suffering or pillaging or death.

Luke agrees, but when Dalton is about to board the ship, the former prince stops him, and says that the deal only secured the safety of the men under the Red Kraken’s command, and not the Kraken himself.

Amused by his trickery, Dalton surrenders to staying behind, but does make a small adjustment to allow him letters and occasional visits from his people to keep them in check.

A year passes, and the Red Kraken and Blue Dragon fall head over heels together, and marry in the ways of Old Valyria and of the Drowned God. They consummate their marriage in their own section of the castle, with the other sections lived in by the dragons, Egg, and Vis.

Nine months later, Luke pops out twins; an Omega girl named Rhaelys and an Alpha boy named Rhaemon.

The islands Luke had taken up residence over soon had a small port and villages containing wayward travelers, outcasts and those exiled start popping up, and the Greyjoy Fleet, and soon the Ironborn, named the place Dragonborne Islands - the Isles that Birthed Dragons.

House Stark and Arryn soon catches wind of Luke, Egg, and Vis’ existence, and secretly sail to meet with them. At first, the family of four, with the twins protected by Ruby, and two active dragons were prepared to burn the ships down, but it wasn’t long before they welcomed and brought inside for talks.

House Stark and Arryn still remember their oath to Rhaenyra Targaryen, and their promise to see a Black on the Iron Throne. They remember every slight against them by the Greens and their allies, and wish revenge for both their disgraced Houses and for Rhaenyra Targaryen and her line.

Lucerys, at first refuses, but after some prodding and convincing from Egg and Vis, who both do still feel bitter about their beloved mother’s harrowing and disgraceful death and the trauma the Greens inflicted on both them and their big brother, Lhke agrees to lead a charge to take back the Iron Throne.

Of course, his husband Dalton Greyjoy is most certainly happy to participate - the same could be said for House Stark and Arryn.

Corlys Velaryon hadn’t died yet, and was still living large, and when he was sent a letter by House Greyjoy, informing him of his grandson’s plans, he jumped to the chance to join them immediately. The man abandoned his Driftmark Throne, and sent his entire fleet to the aid of Prince Lucerys Velaryon of the Dragonborne Islands.

The same could be said for Nettles, whom sought revenge for the death of Daemon Targaryen by the hands of the cowardly and weak Greens.

Soon, the Greens are informed by Larys Strong of the uprising far off the shores of Westeros.

That Prince Lucerys Velaryon is alive and well, and is sailing and marching to take back his due.

With the support and backing of the great Houses of Velaryon, Greyjoy, Arryn, and Stark.

With the knowledge of old and ancient, powerful and dark, glorious magic and scriptures of Old Valyria.

And with the strength and might of three dangerous and prime dragons, whom laid an active clutch for Viserys II and the Twins of Lucerys, and the additional war-hardened dragon Sheepstealer with his bloodthirsty rider.

Across the seas and across the lands, in uncharted territory and in front of his people, surrounded by relics of a past great Kingdom,

Lucerys Velaryon of House Targaryen, First of His Name - the Velaryon Pearl, the Mother of Dragons, the Blue Targaryen, Lord of Dragonborne, Wife of the Red Kraken, the Unbroken - named himself King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm on his throne of Old Valyria.

#lucemond #dalton greyjoy #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #hbo house of the dragon #hbo hotd #hotd #hotd fanfic #dalcerys #WE HAVE TO MAKE THIS TAG AS POPULAR AS LUCEMOND #SAME WITH TOMLUKE AND LUCEFERTH #AND OTHER AEMOND VARIANTS X LUKE #dalton greyjoy x lucerys velaryon #corlys valeryon #house stark #house arryn #house targaryen #house velaryon

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thevelaryons · 3 months

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ALYN VELARYON - Insolent Boy

Fire & Blood, George R. R. Martin // 'Bugs Bunny's "No"' meme // tumblr textpost by @/baelpenrose // tweet by @/geminiqueen_exe // 'High angle view of a powerful whirlpool at the surface of green water with foam' - Olrat // tweet by @/CATBOICARTIZ // reddit thread on r/childfree by ICanHazWittyName // tweet by @/collapsingtruth // 'I'm Literally Neurodivergent and a Minor' meme // tweet by @/sandroneism

#valyrianscrolls #velaryonedit #alynvelaryonedit #asoiafedit #asoiaf #alyn velaryon #aegon ii targaryen #dalton greyjoy #unwin peake #edit #*mine #he’s so silly 😌#modern au alyn would be such a menace if he had access to the internet

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drakaripykiros130ac · 6 months

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Green stans chastising Rhaenyra for having Dalton Greyjoy (the Red Kraken) as an ally, but conveniently forget that the greens are the ones who contacted him first and offered him the position of master of ships so he would be on their side.

*sigh*

And then when that didn’t work, the greens/Hightowers allied themselves with the Triarchy, a most dangerous enemy of Westeros. That’s basically treason against the entire Realm. Which just proves that the greens don’t give a damn about the people. They usurped the throne and now would do anything, ally themselves with anyone just to keep themselves in power.

#team black #rhaenyra targaryen #pro team black #anti team green #anti team green stans #house of the dragon #hotd #queen rhaenyra #dalton greyjoy #anti greens #pro rhaenyra #anti green stans #hotd rhaenyra #the blacks #the black queen #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

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shesjustanothergeek · 8 months

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His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Three

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hey, besties; sorry for the delay. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. First, one of my coworkers called off (she doesn't even work here anymore because she missed too much), and I had to do two 10-hour shifts. Then my freaking internet went out because some tree trimmers cut the connection line for everyone! And after that, I had a crisis and lost the inspiration and drive to write. This chapter is a two-parter, which I usually wouldn't say I like to do, but it would've been over 10k words. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: The reader has severely unresolved trauma, angst, Arryk is a white knight.

"The axe forgets; the tree remembers." - Zimbabwean Proverb from the Shona tribe.

You were still determining your place inside Maegor's Holdfast, unfamiliar with the royal wing layout like you were with the rest of the Keep, having found an abandoned terrace that the court long forgot. Leaves of green ivory crawled up the side of the castle, wrapping around the red rock banister like an unkempt tree in the Godswood.

Your eyes gazed at the iron mote of spikes that protected the Holdfast. They shined wet like a predator's teeth, grinning back at you in misery.

Your body felt full, yet empty, full of swirling emotions and thoughts you had long buried, stirring the formerly clear water into a murky pool. Yet in that same emotion, you felt nothing, the well dried up from a summer's prolonged drought left with dust and sand at the bottom. You were uncertain if the nothingness was a blessing. Conceivably, it was your psyche's way of coping with the trauma of your life's story. You were fearful that if you suddenly felt those surges of memories, thoughts, and regrets, the iron spikes would be dripping with your blood.

Your title was called out from behind you so softly and so tender it was a whisper in the wind, almost causing you to disregard it as a trick of your mind. The sound of armor clanking and fabric rustling told you otherwise.

"Princess, the hour is late. You must get your rest," Ser Arryk expressed, his voice as compassionate as a mother. You refused to answer, the energy to move your lips and tongue long sapped out from crying.

He stepped onto the balcony until he was beside you, his arms stiff behind his back, shoulders tense at the silence. Arryk was conflicted about what to do. He knew he could not order you to sleep. His position was not one to command the eldest daughter of Daemon Targaryen, but he was assigned to be your sworn protector in all matters, whether defending you from a foe or yourself.

"My Lady, you need not speak of what has stolen you from sleep, but let it take no longer. I shall lead you to your bed chambers," the kingsguard offered kindly, leaving no room for rejection.

Finally, your eyes met his blue ones, seeing your black lashes clumped together from tears. Arryk wanted to comfort and embrace you as any good-natured person would but refrained, simply placing an inviting palm on your shoulder. He had seen you at your worst years ago after your brawl with the Septa, knuckles swollen and red with the blood of the older woman, beautiful face pink and glistening with tears down your cheeks.

Otto Hightower, be damned. Damned to the fiery pits of the Seven Hells to burn for all eternity for what he made Arryk do. You were too dear to the knight to betray your trust anymore. Though Ser Arryk never discovered any hurtful information other than the peculiarity of you and the eldest son of the King's relationship. He spent every waking moment inhaling the same air as you, breathing in each exhale like it was his last. How could he ever betray your trust in good conscience?

"Aegon was the one who discovered Lyra's plans to smuggle me out of Kings Landing. He killed them." Your words tore him from his internal struggle with shock.

Arryk's brows scrunched in confusion, trying to recall what you were saying. His face paled when he did, remembering the blotchy grey faces displayed on the battlements of the Red Keep for all to see, for all to see the Hand's justice. May Lord Hightower's death be long and painful for what he did to you, Arryk thought.

"I wish Aegon were dead," you spoke aloud without realizing it.

The knight became worried, suddenly closing the distance between you to make somehow your confession disappear. "Princess. You must be careful what you say here. The walls have ears, and the ears have eyes."

"No, Ser Arryk. Let them hear it," you protested, your nails digging crescents into your palms. "Mayhaps they will understand the agony I have suffered all these years. The mornings and nights I have laid awake in bed, praying to the Old Gods and the New for them to somehow bring her back and make it so nothing happened." You sucked in a ragged breath, hiccuping from the remnants of your tears as your body became too challenging to carry. "I cannot do this anymore. I cannot be here."

The kingsguardmen did not understand your true meaning of how you desired greatly to leave this whole charade behind, to return to Dragonstone and watch little Joffery and the younger Viserys and Aegon grow into their skins, to watch Lucerys become the man you were confident for him to be. Instead, Arryk thought the worst, believing your words to be final and life-ending, as he firmly grabbed your biceps.

He said your name gently yet sternly, causing your glazed eyes to widen. "You must not think like that. I shan't allow it," he commanded. "You are the strongest maiden in the realm. You ride the fiercest dragon, feared by humans and its species. You have endured hardships and trials a girl of your age should never have to, and even when your blood was stolen from you, you did not turn to resentment. You were not bitter to those undeserving."

You attempted to move your face away from Arryk's, unconvinced at his words. He was so close that you could smell the mint leaves on his tongue. "You are stronger than you know, and until then, each moment like this, you will feel as if it is too much, but you will always find yourself emerging on the other side."

No words made their way to your lips, and you suddenly felt the rush of emotions you had thought dried. You stepped away from Arryk, embracing your torso as you faced the opened doors that led inside. You didn't want to feel anything. Not now, nor ever again. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you returned to the silver-armored knight of the Kingsguard.

"I seem to have lost my bearings, Ser Arryk," you whispered into the chill night air. "Will you help me find my way back to the guest wing?"

The request was a peace offering, a silent "thank you" for his unfailing kindness. If he had not dedicated his life in service to the King, he would've made an excellent father and an even better husband.

Ser Arryk nodded stiffly, taking long strides ahead of you until all you could see was his pristine white cape flowing like a field of wheat in the wind.

***

You desperately desired to stay within the confines of your bed, as if laying underneath the thin cotton sheets would protect you from the outside world. It was silly, and you felt childish, but truly, that was all you were—a child disguised as a woman painting a facade of fierceness and maturity on your skin. But the pigments had cracked and bleached from weathering winds, rains, and suns until it revealed the canvas underneath. You wished desperately for the chips to be covered, groping at your flesh to hide them from the world.

But it was too late, for they had seen the peeled paint and what lay beneath—a frightened young girl yearning for acceptance and love.

Tears returned to your eyes, a common occurrence over the past fortnight. Your maids had become used to seeing you sniffling in your bed as you were now, covers tucked underneath your nose to hide your sobs. They had tried more than once to find the root of your sadness, but you were a closed door, keeping those who cared for you locked from entering.

Helaena had moved your quarters to the Holdfast as she promised, something you were initially looking forward to. It meant less sneaking around the halls and the corridors of the Keep like a mouse to find Aegon, but that was why precisely you dreaded it now. Though you had scarcely seen him, no doubt drunker than a Bravosi sailor in the pillow houses, the fact that he resided within the same wing made your skin prickle with disgust.

He had yet to return your dagger, small and silver with dragons on the hilt, and you had half a mind to storm inside his chambers for it, but each time you were within eyesight of his door, profound nausea and the sting of tears would stop you.

How could you have lain with the man who bore the blood of two innocents? How could Aegon lay with the kin of the people he sentenced to death? You knew him to be cruel and unusual, but that was something even you could not rightly justify.

Aegon was no matter, you told yourself, rising from your bed at the smell of ham and boiled eggs. All that did was ensuring your Mother's smooth succession. You could achieve it in other manners of not seducing the eldest son of the King. Your presence was something enough to stop them should the Stranger take your Grandsire, and if Queen Alicent and Lord Otto Hightower try to place Aegon on the throne, you would gut her, then her Father, then her beloved first son before the following morn.

You would kill a legion of men before Aegon ever sat upon the Iron Throne, even if it meant your demise.

It's what your Father would want. He would proudly let his daughter lay down her life in service to the crown, just as he would. There would be no nobler of a death.

Jeyne had readied your bath and outfit for the day, a high-collared dress made of black satin. Small silver plates of metal and beads that looked like dragon scales were sewn on the torso in a 'v' shape, accentuating the scandalous low cut of your gown. The sleeves were a long, unsewn style, the stitching keeping them together ending just before the crook of your arm and flowing around you like a cape at your sides. You paired it with an ornate belt, the design of swirling dragons with their teeth bared melted into the steel, matching hammered cuffs on your wrists. Your necklace was a simple chain, needlelike links dripping down your sternum until they looped into your house sigil.

You looked to be in mourning garbs rather than the typical court colors, a common occurrence. Perhaps you were, in a sense, mourning. Mourning a loss you should have accepted years ago, weeping for happiness free of politics and schemes, mourning the connection from someone you tried so hard not to form one with.

The three ladies had learnt not to ask why you made such decisions in your clothes. They would only be met with a lie and a smile that stretched a bit too wide. They understood that something had happened and did their best to tread carefully. You were not cross with them, no matter how hurt, vengeful, or angry. Fiora, Jeyne, and Dyanna were innocent in all this, as Sara was, and you refused to have them involved with any of your personal affairs in fear of what would become of the three women.

You paused momentarily, adjusting the designed belt to rest comfortably on your waist, realizing the littlest maid was not there.

"Where is Dyanna?" you asked calmly, curious but not concerned about where she could be. "Is she unwell?"

"No, Princess," Fiora answered, ushering you to the vanity. "She's been assigned to care for Princess Helaena's children after one of the nursemaids fell ill and had to be sent home."

Your brows scrunched in confusion, frowning at the memory of your time with the young Prince and Princess. You have seen the little ones almost every day since the beginning of the planting season, and you haven't noticed any ailments in their caretaker.

You reasoned that illnesses always had the potential to be a sudden onset of symptoms. You had seen in your childhood on the merchant streets how a vendor was acceptable one day, selling different fruits and vegetables you could never afford, then the next, gone without a trace due to a fever. You hoped Jaehaerys and Jaehaera did not catch whatever it was. The first decade of a child's life was the most precarious, their tiny bodies not used to the dirt and disease the realm had to offer.

You left the thought at that, hoping to see the skittish, fair-skinned girl with them. A grimace made its way to your face, attempting to ignore how the wooden comb snagged on a tangle in your hair. Fiora styled it into a braided updo. Two thick plaits in a 'u' shape lay at your skull's base, a silver three-layered chain with black star sapphires pinning it to your hair. Clasping a pair of fan-shaped earrings in your lobes, you stood, stealing one last boiled egg before bidding your ladies farewell and greeting Ser Arryk at the door.

He followed wordlessly, as any knight should, observing how your hips slightly swayed with each step of your leather slippers. Arryk had tread carefully since that scornful night. Since the night you reeked of sweat, alcohol, and tears. He remembered seeing the stars reflected in your dark eyes, the violet hidden during the hour of the wolf, and he couldn't help but think how things might have been if your Father wasn't a Targaryen.

Perhaps he could've met you before he swore to take no wife and bear no heirs. Possibly still while he was a simple bannermen, living from allowance to allowance. Arryk would not have the luxuries he had now if it happened, but if ever given a chance, he might leave it all behind. It would be a shame to leave the highest rank a knight of lower-born descent could achieve, but he would do it for love, for only if you loved him back.

Your guard had suddenly stopped following behind you, standing idly with a slight wrinkle on his forehead and hand on the pommel of his sword.

"Ser Cargyll?" you questioned without words incredulously, tilting your head to the side.

He was silent for a moment more, seeming to come back from wherever he was inside his mind. It was a dangerous place to be inside one's head for too long. It sent some men mad, some women to despair, and some to where they could never leave. You knew what it was like when one would stay inside too long. It sent you reeling in anger, sadness, and joy. There is too much inside not to get lost in.

"Princess, this is not the way to the Godswood," Ser Arryk stated, the crease on his forehead gone.

"I know, Ser. We are not going to the Godswood today," you answered politely, not elaborating further as you continued walking.

"If you don't mind me asking, your Grace, where are we going?"

You flashed a bright smile at Arryk, glancing behind before coyly turning away. He started at the back of your intricately braided hair, mesmerized by the being that was you. His eyes traced how your ebony strands crossed in on themselves, the way the golden chains bounced with every stride. The knight noiselessly cursed the Maiden and the Mother for making you in their image.

While Ser Arryk did recognize the halls you traveled, he was sure you didn't. Your head twists and turns each way, peering into every door and threshold, searching for something he was unsure of.

"Princess, I may be a knight, but I am your protector. 'Tis my right to know your plans and destinations," he commanded as kindly a man could in hopes of not securing your wrath.

He had seen it once before in the training yard at the hour of ghosts, Prince Aegon standing too close to be considered appropriate, his sworn protector nowhere in sight. Despite Arryk's place on the ramparts above and the sun having long set in the west, he could spot the twitches underneath your eye, barely containing malice on your pursed lips as you pulled your bowstring. The knight hadn't noticed how you did it, but a rock was within the place of the arrow as you shot it at the crown Prince's foot, earning a yelp from the twenty-year-old lecher.

You turned back to him, crossing your arms with an undignified huff. "I am not gallivanting off into the Kingswood, Ser Cargyll. I do not understand your persistence with the matter." Arryk attempted to hide the frown that pulled his lips, but you saw him sighing softly and looking to the floor to think over your words more carefully. "We are visiting Grand Maester Orwyle. He has a collection of history and law books that has peaked my interest."

You stepped towards him, breathing a calming breath through your nose, and dropped your arms. Ser Arryk was a fragile soul, simple almost, only following the linear path of honor and duty with no concern for whether it was right or wrong. If the King said it, he did it. If the Queen said it, he did it. If you said it, he did it. His singular vision of things was almost admirable at times. To blindly follow orders without the moral guilt of your actions was something you hoped for. It would make things easier in this game of thrones and less heavy to bear.

But that wasn't life. That wasn't the fate the Gods intended for those with responsibility, though many attempted. Rhaenyra tried, and if you were her, impending the ever-looming doom of the crown, you too would stay tucked away in the little world where life felt light.

Arryk took your stillness as an invitation to walk alongside you, silently leading you to the Maester's quarters and saving your pride from ignorance. You ordered him to stay outside, and he obeyed without a second thought, dipping his head and muttering, "Princess."

Maester Orwyle was hunched over a large oak desk, tomes scattered across it, pieces of parchment covering most of the surface; peeking between them were lighter patches on the wood worn from centuries of usage. It was a simple room with a cot at the far end of it, large bookcases occupying most of the space. Multiple candles were lit throughout the dim room, the smell of incense burning heavily. Shelves lined the bare walls, glass bottles of liquids, salves, and dried herbs occupying them.

The brown-skinned man looked up from his work upon your entrance, sitting the quill he was writing with inside the inkwell and standing.

"Princess, how can I help you?" he asks sincerely. You could still recall when you first met him, scribbling notes and assisting the former Maester Mellos as he tended to you.

"I was inquiring if I may borrow some books of laws from your collection. I find myself not reading the correct ones in the library to assist my studies."

You weren't lying. You couldn't find the text you were searching for because it was not only laws. It was the death records of prisoners, and only the keeper of those things had access to them in their collection.

"Ah. I see," Orwyle nodded, rising from his desk and clasping his hands behind his canvas robes. He led you across the room, showing you to the section. "May I ask what specificity you require so that I may lead you to the correct tome?"

You planned for him to ask you this, and as you rehearsed a dozen times in your head, you smiled, bobbing politely. "Of course. I am in search of the laws regarding war aid. We have provided some to the Stepstones, and Lord Corlys brought to my attention that they require more. I do not want to make it seem like the Crown is inserting itself into the conflict."

He beamed slightly, a sight you never recalled seeing on the man before as he directed you to the section of law. An entire side of the bookshelf dedicated to just that, tomes of varying shades of green, brown, and black, and you blanched at the sight. What would the records be like if this was only the law section? Would you have time to sort through them all to find the one you need?

"Thank you," you said, concealing the sudden rush of anxiety within your gut. "I realized that your collection was vast, but this is..." you trailed off, gesturing to everything around you, "expansive. How do you ever keep track of them all?"

Orwyle chuckled, seeming to preen under what he took as praise, bowing in gratefulness. "It is not all from me, Princess. Each book has been added with every Maester since they were brought to the Keep. We simply divide each shelf by memory, though we try to keep the subjects together."

"That is..." you couldn't find the right words, truly at a loss for them as you stared at the collection before you, "extraordinary. You must show me everything!"

You took his arm in yours, leading him out of the secluded area like a child with their playmate, giggling like an unwed maiden as you skipped along. Orwyle was surprised by your giddy demeanor, contrasting the dim and almost gloomy atmosphere despite the late morning sun shining through the tall stained glass windows. The Maester was alone within these four walls, writing, studying, and mixing away with the occasional Lord or Lady stopping by. To have such radiant company was a welcomed intrusion to his duty-filled days.

Men are so easy. All you had to do was smile demurely, flutter your lashes, and they would eat shit out of the palm of your hand.

Orwyle guided you, explained how each section was organized, and added his anecdotes. You listened intently, nodding along to every word, no matter how minute it seemed. This endeavor had proven more fruitful than you intended. The Maester had enjoyed your company so much that he invited you back, insisting that you could pick whatever book you wished before he left to return to his work.

And so you did. Traversing to your rooms with six tomes piled high in your limbs before Ser Arryk insisted he carry some, keeping one hidden between the stack within your hold.

Once you reach your chambers, your sworn shield follows you, placing the stacks on a table with neatly stacked parchment, a letter sealed with the Targaryen emblem in black wax resting beside your writing set. You catch Arryk eyeing it for longer than appropriate, and you purposely meet his gaze, a raised brow on your face.

"That is all, Ser Cargyll. I thank you for your assistance." You never fail to detect how he stiffens when you say his title, a quirk you've been unable to comprehend.

As always, he bows and takes his leave, shutting the door noiselessly behind him. When the lock clicks, your hands immediately snatch the letter, knowing who it's from. You lived for the notes from your family; they were the lifeline that kept you afloat in the brackish waters of Kings Landing. It was your only form of communication with them, and you looked ahead to whatever they had to say, no matter how asinine or mundane the contents were.

You ripped the wax seal without care, devouring each word, your eyes moving too fast for your mind to keep up. You could quickly tell it was from your Father, the lines of his letters thicker and more potent than your Mother's, his writing purposeful.

"Daughter,

I hope you find yourself well. Your Mother missed you dearly at Jacaerys' nameday this spring, but she looks forward to seeing you for Luke's later this year. I informed her that you are dealing with matters of importance that require your attention and would be unable to attend. Death comes when we least expect it with crowned heads and ambitious hands."

Tears stinging took you from reading, pursuing your lips to keep them from wetting the document and making the ink illegible. You longed to return to Dragonstone and see your family. Smell the scent of brimstone and salt and feel the damp sea air on your skin as you rode Cannibal high above Dragonmont.

Daemon's reasoning was understandable, but it hurt. It made your heart clench and your chest feel hollow. Resting your forehead on the heel of your palm, the letter in the other, you continued.

"I know this will upset you, but I trust you'll understand my reasoning. We must make sacrifices until your Mother sits on the throne uncontested. You see the concept of duty and loyalty to your kin. You've always been the one out of my children to unwaver in your will, and that is something I admire.

I received word from Lord Dalton Greyjoy, who has proposed marriage just as you said. Your wit and cunning never cease to amaze me, daughter. I still need to send word regarding my decision. I wanted you to be the one to decide.

Lord Greyjoy is a fine match for you. His fleet of long boats and swords rivals that of the crown itself, but I hold my reservations regarding his intentions with you. I believe you have outdone yourself, for he seems bewitched, intent on making you his Rock Wife, and I am unsure if that is harmful or helpful. I've heard the rumors of his treatment regarding his Salt Wives, and I will not tolerate such things toward my eldest child. Should you accept his proposal, and he does not honor his duty as lord husband, I shall cut off his cock and throw it into the sea as a gift for his Drowned God.

Think over this. I do not expect an answer within a moon. If he truly desires you in such a way, he will wait as long as you deem fit. My daughter is not a shiny coin to be plucked and placed in a crow's nest.

Expect a letter from Lucerys soon. He's been inquiring about your happiness. I believe he misses you more than your Mother and I put together. I await your next raven with patience.

Yours Respectfully, Prince Daemon Of House Targaryen"

You scoffed, throwing the letter haphazardly across the table. You knew the proposal from Lord Dalton would come eventually, as you had corresponded for the past seven moons. It was a gratifying distraction you should have taken seriously, your letters filled with much less pomp than was expected for a woman of your status. Possibly, in your lack of care, you inadvertently wooed him as his last raven was treading the line of inappropriate. You remembered how his words made you, a girl who spent her early years in a whore house, blush.

He would be an excellent match politically, and perhaps you could grow to love him, even better his treatment of his Salt Wives. But you knew better. Lord Dalton Greyjoy only loved two things in this world: bloodshed and women. He would grow tired of you swifter than you would him, and it was not proper for women of the realm to have paramours, hypocrisy be damned.

You didn't want to give the situation more thought. Your Father permitted you to mull; you would gladly take it, opening the records book hidden between the stacks.

The pages were easy enough to navigate. The Masters, if not anything, were thorough, creating an index of years in ascending order to the most recent. Your finger paused on the one you remembered so well. The year in which you were stolen everything that might have been. The year that the Stranger claimed two souls earlier than they should have.

You turned the pages.

The smell of aged leather and parchment wafted into the air, nearly choking on its scent in the back of your throat. They arranged the death records from the first of the year to the end of it, and you searched for the seventh moon. On the fifth day, only two deaths are recorded, that of two prisoners named Lyra Black and Sara Smithe. The cause was beheaded by members of the City Watch.

It did not say the names of who, an intelligent choice on the Maester's part, for if you knew, their deaths would become sooner. They were lucky Mellos or one of the many others had the foresight not to write them down, as other Maesters had, but it only made this all the more exciting. The satisfaction as you plunged your dagger into their necks, slicing through tendons, muscles, and vertebrae, ensuring they felt every bit of suffering, anguish, and fear Lyra and Sara felt.

It would be messy. There were many veins and arteries within one's neck. You needed to bring some water with you to wash before returning to your chambers. It would all be for naught if someone saw you walking the halls with blood dripping from your digits and face.

You wished it would be the dagger Daemon had gifted you for your first name day to cut through their flesh, but Aegon still possessed it.

It was no matter. You had four more from the past, but that one, with its silver handle and roaring dragons engraved on both sides, held a place deep within your heart. And Aegon took it, as he always did with things. Take, take, take without concern about who he stole from. You would get it back, but not now. That would raise too much suspicion, and you would not put it past the eldest Prince to run to his Grandsire or Mother as he has done before.

You tried to recollect that fateful night, searching your memory for any detail you could sounder up, but it was hazy. The years you had blurred the picture of the throne room in your mind's eye. It was too painful to remember. Each time you thought of it, it was flashes, little glimpses of faces and bodies and heads. When you thought of it, all you could see was Lyra's smile, spending her last moments trying to reassure you, the fear behind Sara's eyes within her shackles, Otto Hightower's indifference, and Alicent's inaction in the face of two innocents deaths. You would never forget that, nor ever forgive.

You were scarcely in the Great Hall for a moment, and even then, your attention was elsewhere. You witnessed Ser Criston Cole grabbing you, pulling you back, the Queen turning away, and Lyra's comforting grin. Then, you saw them, gaze following the loops of the metal chain attached to Lyra and Sara, hands gripping at it as if the two women were nothing more than dogs. You met the eyes of two Gold Cloaks. You did not know their names, but you would soon; their countenance now burned into your mind.

Masterlist of Series

I've decided to change my uploading schedule from Sun/Mon to whenever possible. I'll always let you know before I post so you won't have to ask, "when are you going to post?!" I know that's not fun, but it works best for me because I get myself so worked up over updating on time when I'm in control of the situation. Also, I'm going to be getting rid of people in my taglist who haven't interacted with this fi since the list is so big. I want to have it all in one and make room for those who are active. So if you've been in my notifs in the past two months, you'll be fine. Welp, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The chapters are gonna get a little messy from here! xD

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @daenerysqueenofhearts, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @prettylittlelady, @hjgdhghoe,

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starkslydia · 2 years

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HOUSE GREYJOY is a noble house founded by the son of the Grey King during the Coming of the Andals. Their seat is Pyke, on the Iron Islands of Westeros. The Greyjoy heir is to be named Lord or Lady of the Iron Islands, Lord or Lady Reaper of Pyke and Son or Daughter of the Sea Wind, historically its heir also assumed the title of King or Queen of the Isles, as well as King or Queen of Salt and Rock. Their sigil is a golden kraken. The Greyjoy family words are “We Do Not Sow”.

A short HISTORY of the NOBLE HOUSES of WESTEROS (4/11)

#house greyjoy #greyjoy #the iron islands #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #got #game of thrones #hotd #house of the dragon #theon greyjoy #asha greyjoy #balon greyjoy #yara greyjoy #euron greyjoy #dalton greyjoy

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lucemond-defender · 1 year

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⚠️‼️ Marriage Hunt + a/b/o

As an omega of the house Targaryen, when Lucerys turns sixteen, King Viserys announces a marriage hunt.

Ravens are sent out inviting all the noble alphas in the kingdom to participate.

When the day comes, Aemond is so confident that he can easily defeat the other alphas, and finally get Lucerys for himself.

What he doesn't anticipate is that Dalton Greyjoy is also interested in Lucerys and determined to win the hunt.

#lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #lucemond #aemond x lucerys #dalton greyjoy #dalton x lucerys #dalcerys #prompt

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poppyreader · 1 year

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Imagine a Jace's female twin and her mother Rhaenyra sends her away to deal with Lord Dalton Greyjoy, aka big dick kraken and there is some HEAVY flirting and Dalton craves the little dragon but eventually she has to leave to Winterfell to tell the bad news to her brother (RIP Luke) and she meets Lord Cregan Stark who is stunned by her beauty. She has to stay for a while, and Cregan falls madly in love with Jace's twin, and on the other side of Westeros, Dalton thinks about her every day. Both swear to support Rhaenyra but in reality they are doing it for her daughter and the war turns into a dick swinging fight between Cregan and Dalton trying to show off for their beloved dragon lady omfg I need these men.

#cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #i need cregan stark fanfics #dalton greyjoy #house greyjoy #house stark #dalton greyjoy x reader #fire and blood #hotd men

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lazychildoflife · 9 months

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Bisexual Lucerys Velaryon has my whole heart.

Luke + Aemond = Fuck yeah Enemies to lovers

Luke + Rhaena = Fuck yeah Childhood friends to lovers

Luke + Dalton = Fuck yeah Blessed by the ocean

#house of the dragon #lucerys velaryon #lucerys strong #aemond targaryen #rhaena targaryen #lucerys x dalton #dalton greyjoy #dalton x lucerys #dalcerys #prince lucerys #lucemond #lucerys #lucerys targaryen #aemond x lucerys #lucerys and arrax #lucerys valeryon #rhaena of pentos #rhaena and lucerys

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milyavild · 9 months

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"Stormbreak" by @bbygirl-aemond, side couples edition:

aegon targaryen x helaena targaryen

lucerys velaryon (-targaryen) x rhaena targaryen

jacaerys blackfyre x alys rivers

alicent hightower x jeyne arryn

baela velaryon x dalton greyjoy

+ (there's also a separate post dedicated to jacaerys/baela/daeron dynamic)

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lukeeloover · 10 months

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I posted it on twitter and will post it here too ✌️

Lucerys is a young journalist fascinated by serial killers, he wants to write a book about them, so Luke bribes the prison guards (with Grandpa's money) so he can interview them.

Aegon "the priest": a killer of women, all of them middle-aged and religious women, all victims were found with a seven-pointed star cut into their bodies.

Jacaerys "breaks bones": all of his victims were older men with criminal records for child abuse, all were brutally beaten to death, had their bones broken and their skulls crushed by a baseball bat.

Dalton Greyjoy "the red kraken": without a pattern of victims, he killed from children to the elderly, women and men, no one was safe from his carnage, all were quartered and thrown into rivers and lakes.

Aemond "Eyes Collector": The most dangerous, his victims were young pretty boys, they were rap*d, beaten and tortured, all found missing their left eye.

if anyone wants to turn this into a fic feel free just send me the link so i can read it 😊😊

#lucerys valeryon #lucemond au #lucemond #lucerys x aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x lucerys #aegon ii targaryen #jacaerys targaryen #Dalton Greyjoy

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minteaspoon · 1 year

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“I am anything but”

a/n: a little moment between viserys ii and luke reminiscent of a moment between the black queen and her second son:)

****THIS IS SET IN THE SAME UNIVERSE AS THE “LUKE AS DAENERYS BUT HOTD AU” BUT BEFORE ANY OF THE STARKS, ARRYNS OR VELARYONS ARRIVE

(pls comment any suggestions you guys have for what to name this au, my creative juices suck when it comes to naming😭)

••••••••••

Luke caresses his baby-bump as he walks alone in the corridors of his castle.

It was getting dark, and he and his family had decided to all halt their duties to join together as one during dinner. And all but one arrived on time, so Luke offered to go and find the missing one.

As he enters the war room, he sees it. White locks framing a face out of his view, dressed in blue, black and red.

“Viserys, I was wondering where you were. It is time for us to dine together with the rest of our family, we all agreed after all,” Luke gently whispers, though loud enough for the teenager to hear.

The adolescent turns to the brunette, one hand on the table in front of him, the table that resembles the Painted Table back in Dragonstone - their old home.

“Brother, I apologize. I must’ve been lost in my thoughts and didn’t take into account of the time passing by so quickly,” Viserys mutters, as Luke closes the distance between them.

He pushes his hand out towards the younger’s cheek, he knows better than to believe an excuse such as that. He’s used it much in his life after all.

“Vis, tell me what ails you, truly, and I shall do my best to guide you.”

Viserys turns his gaze away from his brother’s knowing eyes, and goes still and quiet.

Luke sighs, and gently grasps the silverette’s face to turn towards him, seeking his eyes to make contact with his own dark ones. When he gets what he wants, Luke opens his mouth, before Viserys beats him to it;

“I’m not like everyone else,” he whispers, as Luke’s thumb sways on his cheek, back and forth. “What do you mean?”

Viserys balls his hands, which Luke notes to be trembling. Again, the younger reaffirms, “I’m not like the rest of our family.”

“I’m not like Dalton, fierce and fearless.”

“I’m not like Egg, smart and your heir.”

“I’m not even like your twins, my nephew and niece, who are our people’s joy and pride.”

Luke frowns, as Viserys lifts his eyes to gaze upon the dark abyss of his older brother’s. He always found comfort in losing himself there.

“I’m not like you,” he mutters.

“I am not… perfect, like you,” he finally rasps out, eyes again finding its way far from Luke’s own.

The elder goes still. He’s seen a scenario like this before. He’s been in Vis’ shoes before.

“…My sweet boy,” Luke starts in a soft tone. “You are right, you are nothing like us.” As Luke says the final word, he sees and feels Viserys flinch, and hears his breath hitch.

“Yes, you are nothing like us, you are not fierce nor fearless like my husband, not smart or stubborn like Egg, nor are you our people’s cherished like Rhaelys and Rhaemon, but you are something else.”

Luke goes to bring his boy’s eyes back to his.

“You are clever, mischievous, and always full of joyful quips and tricks.”

“A jokester and prankster you are, my dear - you make the whole of our Isles laugh and smile.”

“You are our people’s smiles and laughter, my sweet boy. It’s hope for a better tomorrow.”

Luke smiles, his frown had long since disappeared as Viserys’ eyes gleam.

“And remember, whenever you think low of yourself, whenever you think I am nothing but perfect… I am anything but,” he finishes.

Viserys continues his silence, before he brings his palms to lay against his brother’s. The two stay where they are, uncaring of anything else but this moment.

“…Come, I feel our family has gotten restless in their waiting for us to start dinner. Let us go to them before they finish all the lemon cakes, my sweet boy,” Luke jokes, smiling brightening as he sees his brother’s face contort to a playful grin.

“Race you there?”

“In the condition I am in? As if!”

The brothers laughter echo on the war room, as they walk hand-in-hand to their awaiting family.

#lucemond #dalcerys #omega lucerys #dalton greyjoy x lucerys velaryon #justice for lucerys #viserys ii targaryen #dalton greyjoy #aegon iii targaryen #omegaverse #rhaenyra targaryen #I’m not perfect like you #I’m anything but #lucerys velaryon

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neonsentient · 5 months

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I honestly don't give a shit about Daeron, but if HBO dares to take out the Red Kraken from the show I swear to god.....

#game of thrones #hotd #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #asoif/got #got #team black #team green #daeron targaryen #dalton greyjoy

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drakaripykiros130ac · 6 months

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Gotta love being Team Black 🖤

Not only do they have just cause and great anti-heroes to root for, they also have the coolest allies:

Cregan Stark

Jeyne Arryn

Kermit Tully

Benjicot Blackwood (Bloody Ben)

Roderick Dustin (Roddy the Ruin): “We have come to die for the dragon queen!”

Alysanne Blackwood (Black Aly)

I am even excited to see that bloodthirsty maniac, Dalton Greyjoy, wreak havoc on Lannisport (with how much I despise the Lannisters, I ain’t even sorry. Go Red Kraken! ✊).

Could you repeat what you said, Otto? It was something about how the Realm would not accept Rhaenyra ? To which Realm were you referring to, pray tell? Certainly not the one which holds 53 Houses loyal to a woman.

Stale oaths? Just because the Hightowers and the Lannisters have a reputation of being opportunists and oath-breakers, doesn’t mean other houses are the same.