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bucknastysbabe · 2 months

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criston cole in a greens win au really is the kingmaker if he’s cucking aegon. slapped a crown on the king and now he’s making bastard kids to go on the throne. u go king.

Now I must write a blurb hnghhhh cuckingggg this is prob ass bc I’m sick rotting in bed with flubonic plague but OH WELL

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dayne!reader, greens win AU, Criston is dark and manipulative, Aegon sad sacking around the place, cukolding, exhibitionism, breeding kink, crispy creme pie, infidelity, v!fingering, oral (m!receiving), pnv!sex, no beta I die like Ned stark, jealousy, one-sided-ish

Taglist: @starogeorgina @moncherri @bambitas @aemonds-holy-milk @targaryenbarbie @arcielee @valeskafics @sugarpoppss2 @fairysluna @lovelykhaleesiii

Do Your Job - C.Cole

Criston stopped caring long ago, pulling himself out of the layered filth of blood, gore, and dirt. Bodies of his men. The butcher’s ball they called it. Criston made sure that the Winter’s Wolves, Benjicot Blackwood, and Roddy the Ruin got a nice death by dragon. After some torture.

He saw through with that, as the Hand of the King and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Criston had to attend to such matters. Such as what to do with Rhaenyra’s last child. Or the fucking mess that was Aegon. Aemond was still lurking around Harrenhal— said to return when his child was born. Aegon meanwhile, made Criston’s blood boil. Alicent was a maddened gnat in his ear.

Aegon had been recently remarried to a Dayne of Starfall, seeking out the ashen hair and Valyrian eyes of the Dornish house. She was gorgeous, eager to please, and could suck Criston’s prick under his desk for hours. The adorable queen had trouble with Aegon— considering the man was a bag of shattered bones and burns. The maesters had been attending to the two’s fertility plan.

She was not hard to woo, seeking Cole’s comforts as Aegon still wanted to hoard playthings and whores, uncaring much of his wife at the moment. He bedded her regularly— but they had to be careful with his bad leg and hip. Criston’s little star, beautiful as one, was the shiniest thing in the dreary keep by far. But horribly lonely, so he’d been keeping an eye, asking the Queen to help him with letters and tasks of the realm.

It wasn’t long before she was in his lap crying about how terrible the Red Keep was. Criston had his proverbial claws sunk deep into her by then. He meant his words of praise, how special his star was, and meant doubly on how much he too hated the Keep. Criston’s fingers crawled up her dress as he cooed, bringing the girl to likely her first orgasm since arriving.

They sat together in the Hand’s foyer, Ser Cole writing a letter to some raucous lordling. He ran a hand through his hair and sat back, dark eyes meeting a strange indigo of sorts. “Have there been any advancements with the maesters and your womb?” She shook her head, blush dusting her cheeks.

“Go on, what’s the issue my star?”

She leaned over the table to grip his hands, pleading in her body language. “Do not grow wroth when I tell you this okay?” Criston nodded, there was no chance he would not be pissed. Just a feeling. The Dayne sighed, “He’s impotent but he swears it’s me, I don’t know, they’ve started transferring his, seed, into me. By now I’m not sure, he berates me about it.” Criston’s eyes narrowed and she squeaked.

The smaller figure was picked up by him, striding to the King’s chambers. Where Aegon was like to be making two court favorites defile themselves. The queen begged, “My lord, please, I know you feel strongly for me but-“

He growled, “No!,” then softer, “No. He’s being a fool, a lady’s desire should help the process. I’ll oversee you two. We need heirs to the throne.”

He kicked open the door, startling a half-awake Aegon. Criston gently laid the Queen on the bed then turned to a glaring Targaryen. Aegon’s burnt face twisted in annoyance, slightly slurring, “The hell is going on here Cole?” A goblet of wine sat in front of him— of course he was drinking.

Criston folded his arms. “You’re drunk right now? It’s barely even past midday.”

“Sorry, one tends to get bored when his wife would rather cavort around with the Hand,” he acridly spat back.

She protested from behind, “Alright, I can stay around, it’s fine!”

Criston eyed his star and back to Aegon. He asked “You have a beauty like that and can’t fill her belly with seed? You have the maesters stuff her like a turkey instead? Pathetic.”

Aegon’s form shook with rage, reaching for his crutch, Criston swiftly kicking it out of the way with a clatter. Aegon barked, “I’m your goddamn king, bring that back now! Maybe she’s the one barren, dirtied by lowborn seed!”

That little fucker! Criston’s eye twitched. He had not put his cock into her sacred place but now? Someone had to do the job— and it would be him. The taller brunette forced Aegon’s chair closer to the bed, the king hissing in pain, violet eyes wide. Cole chastised, “Since you’re so smart, I’ll do a little test, see if my lowborn cock has sullied her womb.” Aegon’s soft face pulled into a frown, squirming in position.

Criston began to pull at his gauntlets in quick snaps, then the bracers, and the chest plate along with the heavy shoulders. He decided to keep his chain of hands on as an ego boost. Lowborn cock raised to the second highest position in the realm, doing the highest position’s job.

Dayne stared at him, eyes flicking to the strangely silent Aegon, then back. Criston smiled at the queen, winding a tan hand into her ashen locks. He murmured, “Don’t worry dearest, we’ll have you feeling wonderful in no time, right your Grace?” Aegon remained stone cold— lips pouting.

The hand began to ease off the simple Dornish layers of her dress, baring that gorgeous body. How could she not be fertile? His star was all curves and soft skin, she would be great as a mother. Criston told her that, earning a whine, her legs wrapped around his waist. He panted to the king, “First, they need to be actually attracted to you.”

Cole pressed lush kisses to her neck and shoulders, his big hand testing the waters between her thighs. She was a little wet, not yet how he could get the Dayne, sopping. He rasped just for her ears, “Relax for me, he’s so jealous you might get an obedient king. Gorgeous star doesn’t know her own wiles.” She writhed a bit, tits pressed tight against flat chest.

“Oh, oh, there my Lord,” the blonde panted.

Criston was pumping one finger into her velvet heat, sliding in a second one to crook upwards. His thumb swirled around her swollen bud. He laughed carelessly at Aegon, whose scarred hands dug into the sides of his chair, puffy lips open. The brunette snarked, “See how easy it is not to be a selfish prick? It’s quite rewarding to make your lady come— although I think she’s already too attached to me.”

The king whined softly.

The queen moaned louder, crying Criston’s name and wetting his fingers further. The knight pulled from her full tits, purposely working her cunt over while asking. “Doesn’t that feel good little star? Don’t you wish your King would take care of you like that?” The queen gasped and mewled, cheeks a deep flush, eyes guiltily looking over at the squirming Aegon.

Criston patted her cheek, pressing a kiss over plump lips. Inky eyes and smug lips turned again to talk down to the Targaryen. He added in a dark voice, “Obviously you can’t do the fucking job so I will until you get it up and pump her with a blonde one. Although I am quite attached myself, she’s a wonderful little star. I’m going to fuck her good and thorough. Our first time too.”

Aegon whined, begging, “Ser, stop, I didn’t know, don’t!” But his hard cock was pulsing and the king had made no attempt to call for help. He couldn’t move either, the crutch out of his grasp. Aegon watched Criston work his wife into a peak, her pretty breasts heaving, thighs twitching. Utterly gorgeous. Jealousy swelled within his burnt chest.

The Dayne beauty sloppily mouthed against Criston’s mouth, trailing down to press kisses against his lower belly, grabbing his cock before asking. “You want to impregnate me sir? Give me an heir?” She could almost explode at the thought. Criston nodded, eyes hazy as her plump lips enveloped his cock, hands expert on rolling his balls and the other working in tandem with that warm mouth.

Aegon made a gutted noise.

Criston groaned deeply, watching his length disappear down velvet throat. The queen kept her indigo eyes on him, teary and wide. Fucking beautiful. He swallowed down a weak noise and rasped to Aegon, “She’s quite good at this, willing to please and eager to learn your Grace. But there you are, quickly back to your old ways.” She shuddered at the praise, Criston easing his star off so the real fun could begin.

He murmured, “On your back sweetling.” He pecked her once, shivering at the taste of him. The queen laid on her back, instinctively tucking a pillow under her hips. Criston rumbled, playfully giving her ass a smack. “Good girl, mmm, you just want to be a mama hm?” The shared noises of Aegon and his Queen made the Knight laugh.

He eased himself on top, making sure her thick thighs spread around his waist. The knight laid forward, grinning and nuzzling her nervous face. He cooed, “You’re safe with me star, pretty baby, doing so good.” Her arms slunk around his shoulders, their bodies fitting with together as Criston eased himself into her slick, swollen folds.

Fuck, she was tight and pulsing already, inner walls aiming to milk the man. Lady Dayne cried out, busty tits heaving as she was filled up by Ser Criston’s heavy cock. It was foreign, having so much care put into her pleasure. She moaned in surprise when he bottomed out, rasping nonsense against her neck.

Aegon sniveled now, watching his Queen get something he couldn’t possibly provide. Ser Criston, the crafty fucker, already worked his magic and cock into his queen. The blonde regretted many an action against his wonderful wife— seeing how she mooned over fucking Cole. Cole; a common born conniving oathbreaking madman, he truly enjoyed seeing suffering and agony. But there he was, giggling and gently fucking Aegon’s queen, the picture of chivalry. He needed more wine, and to tug his miserable cock.

Criston hiked her legs up, the back of her knees in the crooks of his arms— a mating press. She cried out, little hands scrabbling at his shoulders, eyes getting teary with pleasure. He moaned low, forcefully fucking himself inside her tight cunt, making sure she could feel every little drag and thrust. She mewled in ecstasy, “Criston, Ser, breed me, breed me please! Ohh I want it, need it!”

He grinned at Aegon’s sobs and pulling of his own prick. Criston teased “You want my seed star? Want to be all pretty and round, knowing your Lord Hand made you swell? Tits and hips so ripe for me, such a pretty mother you’ll make.” She tightened around him, arching her back, practically drooling. He focused on fucking her deep, swiping his thumb around her button, earning the cutest little mewls.

“Yes! Gods yes! Criston,” she howled, clamping down on his prick. He pressed his lips to hers, grunting as he fucked her to the point of no return. He cooed at his cute little star crying out her peak, gushing all over his still-moving cock. She weeped, “Please, give me your seed, want to be a mama, please!” Cole couldn’t deny her request, groaning long and low as his tummy tightened, emptying pump after pump of his cum into her tight pussy. He bit his lip bloody in the process, feeling feral, but the knight wouldn’t tear her skin like that.

He let go of her legs, gently holding her canted hips, humming, “How long do they say wait Aeg?”

A sharp cry, gasp, and tortured, “15 minutes.”

The Dayne didn’t even seem to be worried about her broken husband, smiling and holding Criston’s big hands. She kissed at each knuckle, eyes full of adoration and love. How they should be. How he deserved all along. What a special little star.

The first two came out with brown hair and eyes, sending a familiar shock across the keep. Then the third had ashen hair, just like the Queen. Mayhaps the Targaryen gene wasn’t that strong within Aegon, people whispered. Criston would smile, not indulging a secret. He’d rub her pretty bump alone, let Aegon play the daddy. He did alright enough.

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #one sided feelings #aegon ii targaryen #ser criston cole #ser criston cole x reader #Criston cole x reader #Ser criston cole imagine

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feyhunter78 · 1 year

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The Scar on Your Palm (and the One on Mine)

Description: Your father has written of your betrothal to another, and Aemond reminds you of vows made years ago. Ñuha dōna means “My sweet”

Part two here!!

You’ve been in love with Aemond since you met him when you both were children. Even when Aegon took him down to the Silk Streets on his ten and third nameday you had no fear, only a heavy grief in your heart as you held him in your arms afterwards.

He cried into the crook of your neck, clinging to you as if you’d disappear if he relaxed his grip. You shushed him and reassured him you would never leave him, no matter what happened.

When you turned ten and five, he kissed you. A fleeting thing that left you breathless and fumbling to pull him closer, desperate for that taste of peppermint on his tongue. He whispered his devotion against your lips. Telling you how much he treasured and adored you, how you were meant to be together, but that you would need to wait to be betrothed, that his family’s troubles needed to settle first.

At ten and seven, both of you drunk on Dornish wine fell into his bed together. Limbs intertwining, the taste of peppermint on your tongue as Aemond thrust into you, singing your praises all while claiming your maidenhood as his. He’d brought you moon tea in the morning with promises that one day you wouldn’t have to drink it. That one day you would raise your children together.

Now two years later you stood across from him, hands clasped together, eyes rimmed with tears as he refused to approach you. “Aemond, please, you know I have no say in this.”

He even refused to look at you, the letter from your father in his hand. “You swore to me, you swore you would never leave.”

“It is not as if I wish to leave. I had no knowledge of this betrothal, until I received the letter.” You quickly wiped away your tears. “My father worries I have remained unmarried for too long; he does not wish for rumors to spread.”

“Rumors?” He asked, finally looking at you.

You nodded. “I am unmarried, and many have witnessed the closeness between us, they will talk, and I will be ruined.”

He slammed the letter on the table and stalked over to you, pulling you flush against him. “You are mine; I have the blood stained sheets to prove it. Perhaps I will send them to your father along with an offer for your hand.”

“You saved them?” You weren’t sure how you felt about that.

He bent down, brushing his nose against your cheek, his voice low. “I feared one day I might need proof that we are bound together in more than just words.”

“If you are so desperate for my hand, why did you not ask for it sooner? I am already betrothed, to be married in a week. My father is here, we will depart in two days’ time.” Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you turned your face from Aemond.

He kissed your temple, and his hand rubbed your back soothingly. “We are already married, Ñuha dōna, do you not remember?” He gently turned your face. “We were bound in fire and blood years ago.”

You remembered the campfire, the dagger, the metallic taste of blood as it passed your lips. You were so in love with him, binding yourself to him at ten and six was the easiest decision you’d ever made. “Aegon said that wasn’t binding.”

He took your right hand in his and pressed lightly on the scar that ran across your palm. It matched his own. His precision with a dagger ensured they were nearly perfect copies, a contract made gladly in blood. “Aegon is a fool who fell asleep in all our lessons.”

“Then why do you entertain the ladies your mother brings, why do you let men dance with me and pursue me?”

He pressed your palm to his lips reverently. “We must do our duties, both you and me, until the dust has settled.”

You ripped your hand from his grip and took a step back, needing space to breathe. “That is not how marriage works. Why does our marriage only seem to matter when I am to be taken away from you? You are acting more like a child throwing a fit when his favorite toy is taken than a husband.”

Aemond’s hand twitched, but he let the distance remain. “Y/N you don’t understand, Aegon is not yet fit to be king—”

“If I am to do my duty, then I will marry Lord Borris. Let him rut into me like an animal, bear his heirs and once the dust has settled, you can fly Vhagar to my new home and demand my return. That sounds like a wonderful plan, Aemond.” You cut him off, grabbing a satchel and shoving your possessions in it, back turned to him. “You are a coward, hiding behind a shield of supposed duty.”

Aemond threw you over his shoulder, and you yelped, dropping the gown you were attempting to shove in your bag.

He adjusted your skirts to protect your virtue, then pushed open his door. “You are my wife, the only man who will rut into you will be me, the only heirs you will bear will be mine.”

You pounded your fists against his back, cursing him as he carried you to the throne room. “Aemond, put me down. This is mortifying and undignified.”

“What is mortifying is the idea that you would ever doubt my affections.” He set you down right outside the throne room doors before cupping your face.

You leaned into his touch despite your earlier anger. “I have waited years for you to finally announce that you love me, to tell the court that I am yours, and you are mine.”

He kissed you, quickly and gently. “And you have been so patient, my sweet wife. I am sorry, I was a coward, afraid that my family would disapprove, that they would attempt to come between us.”

You shivered as his lips brushed against yours with each whispered word.

“No one could ever come between us.” You promised, gripping his tunic, and kissing him, seeking his familiar taste.

A cough from one of the kingsguards broke you both apart, and Aemond straightened his tunic. “Come, my sweet lady wife, we must inform our fathers of the news.”

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96

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fruitageoforanges · 6 months

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the dragon prince and the dornish princess

this piece is a love letter to rubicon: a dreamer’s sextet by eldritcher, possibly the best asoiaf fic i’ve ever read

#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #rhaegar targaryen #elia martell #house targaryen #house martell #asoiaf art #asoiaf fanart #a dreamer’s sextet is homework for anyone inclined to clown on this post #i block liberally <3 #but god that fic is a masterpiece #unlike this drawing fkfkflf the orange trees and lighting were so hard #scribbles

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themotherofblood · 1 year

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Dear author, you don't know how happy I am to see that your ad requests are open. That said can I get an extremely romantic, overwhelming, passionate and rough smut with Daemon x Martell fem reader inspired by the song "Ang laga de", please?

you have no fucking idea how happy this ask made me, like kicking my legs and smiling like a lunatic happy. I have envisioned this very smut scene at least a hundred times. It is a little dark, both Daemon and Y/N are kinda crazy in this. Madly in love, literally

masterlist

smut, talks of murder, blood, loss of virginity, oral (f), more blood, fingering and evil daemon being a softie.

Daemon Targaryen x fem!Martell Reader

“I refuse to be your mistress!”

That is the last thing you had said to your beloved dragon prince.

The Dornish were said to be a shameless lot regardless, and here you fell for a married man.

The Rhoynish gods were laughing at your stupidity, there wasn’t even a lure placed for you to catch. You simply fell for him, hard.

What had been a month long endeavour to see your younger sister wed a distant Targaryen cousin. Turned to your own nightmare. You had never craved for something as much as you had Daemon Targaryen. His flirtatious deeds, bringing your flowers and trinkets had bouncing like a little girl. It was frustrating, you had tried courting before and yet it felt flat, you truly believed that men simply were not capable of pleasing you. Until he came along, him and that stupid red dragon that made you want Daemon even more

He became the thing you wanted to cry to the gods about, the sweets yours parents wouldn’t let you have or that fine silk dress that was far too big for you to wear. His niece Rhaenyra, also egged this fire further and not once had either of them mentioned that he was married! It was painful, really fucking painful, learning that his loyalty was sworn to another.

You’d spent nights unable to sleep on foreign beds, awake in the royal gardens of the Red Keep, where the prince kept you company till the sun graced the horizon and you had succumbed to slumber with your head in his lap. There was serenity, shared comfort that dwelled between the two of you. You had heard stories, counted first hand of the nights he’d spend in brothels with his whores. You didn’t care, you wanted him.

“I refuse to be your mistress.”

It was a lie, you would happily become his salacious secret should he have asked a second time. There was no dignity, no obligations or customs, to you there was just him and the one truth that boiled your blood hot. You had already given him a piece of you heart as you boarded the ship to return home. You wanted him to ask again, to whisk you away on his dragon and yet he allowed you the curtesy to return home with your honour intact.

“If there is anything the crown can provide for Dorne, do not hesitate.” Viserys coughed his words out as he presented his farewells to you in a crowded court

“Should I ask, you wouldn’t be able to provide it your grace.” You wandered, keeping your head low in respect for the man and your wants

“What is it that a king cannot provide,” Otto Hightower questioned, taking offence to your wording.

“Daemon Targaryen.” You stated, gasps echoed across the throne room. You had committed a crime, stained your honour for good. You didn’t care nor did you give Daemon a last look before boarding your ship.

Honour- what was it compared to feel of being in his arms? What was devotion if not sound of his voice relaying Valyrian poetry? What was love, if not your heart that drowned in his blood?

What was love- if not the letter of his wife’s untimely injury?

Rhea Royce, bedridden of her paralysis, remained frozen and useless to her husband.

There was much that Daemon Targaryen was capable of, much that you were capable of. The sheer fire that burned your passions would have soaked your own hands in Rhae Royce’s blood.

She didn’t love him.

You did.

Then came your brother, his stupid alliance and vengeance against the Targaryen’s was costing you your sanity, you had pleaded with him for weeks and then you succumbed to the insanity that perhaps there was venom in your heart for whoever kept you from your dragon prince.

It festered for days, the mirrors in your room painted with clay. Refusing to look at yourself until he laid eyes upon you as his wife.

You had sat at supper with your brother, his disappointment was clear. You wanted to lay with the enemy, if loving Daemon was treachery then you would happily lay your hands forwards retribution. There should have been sorrow, a searing burn of guilt- he was your family, your blood. You shared a cradle and a mother; nothing more. Your sweet brother, for now was thorn digging into your palm as you admired the flourishing bud of devotion. He had to be plucked out.

The forbidden subject was brought up once more, there wasn’t a request in sight but a demand from his brazen sister.

“Let me be his, let him have me.” A prayer, Qoren grew irate over your insolent behaviour.

He loved you dearly, his sweet sister who was blinded by the rage of love. He wouldn't allow it, claiming to chain you to your chamber if you made an attempt to contact him. You said nothing as you nibbled on your food, spatters of blood dripped onto your pie. You could feel your throat constricting and yet it was nothing compared to the agony you had been in without Daemon.

Qoren coughed profusely, blood dripping from his nose as his eyes widened at your betrayal. In truth he had betrayed you first, choosing to keep you away from the one thing you had ever truly wanted. You could taste the copper on your lips, corners of your eyes welling with tears as you ripped the small pendant from your neck; even with the antidote to the poison in your system. The despair never stopped.

An unpleasant event truly, yet what was anyone to do, Qoren had no heirs and your blood-bled mustard. In the true picture of your house’s words, you remained unbent; raging on in sheer will for one man.

Even tainted in blood, you wore white for him; to remain pure, awaiting him to paint you in the colours of his house

He will return for me, for my love

There was no assurance that he would fly to you, no evidence that Rhae Royce’s accident wasn’t a mere coincidence; yet your arrogance had you rubbing rose oil onto your skin.

My dragon would return to me, you were sure of it.

For days the men sworn to the Martells had sighted the skies day and night, all in hopes of seeing a red dragon looming over the palace. The very ladies that had dressed you since you were a child urged for you to see reason, men often toyed with naive noble ladies for their amusement. He hadn't toyed with you, you were his cherished doll, one he stole because he simply could.

“Princess,” A young squire heaved, a folded parchment in between his fingers. Sealed with a three-headed dragon.

Your wish was my command princess.

Even without a name, the curls on his lettering were indicative enough an answer for you.

He had indeed harmed Rhea Royce for you, just as you had killed your brother Qoren for him. In your heart, you knew he would find you soon; just as your orders for exotic flowers and wines were distributed to merchants, people in your household began to whisper of your delusions.

Then the black skies graced your hopes, almost taunting all those who questioned your faith in him. The moon, full as is lit the ocean in its milky glow, from those very black skies came your faith. Loud whistles of a dragon echoed through Old Palace. Yet another young squire mumbled out in laboured breaths.

You smiled to yourself as your ladies sat in silent shock, their efforts in dressing you in white and gold would bear fruit tonight. Their feet sprung to action, the jangles from their anklets were muffled in your ears, and you just smiled to yourself. You hiked you skirts up as you skipped down the corridor, the jangles on your gold anklets seemed to have been cursing everybody who questioned you.

The doors to the Old Palace opened as Daemon Targaryen rode in on horseback, and along with him came a small entourage. He sat tall atop his horse, finally a Targaryen worthy of conquering Dorne. You were sure your ancestors were screaming bloody murder, shunning you and wishing you ill will, and yet as you stood at the enterance of the Old Palace, your father’s name meant nothing infront of the man you loved.

“In a bustling court you asked for me, may all see; I have arrived.” Daemon proclaimed as he stood with his arms out. You feet hurried down the steps, hoping to grace him with an eternal embrace and yet he raised his hand to stop you dead in your tracks

“I applaud you, for a devotion even I was unknown to. You stripped yourself bare of your honour and dignity for a relationship you had no right over.” He retorted, you couldn’t understand was her perturbed? Is that what he was here for, to lecture you?

“What reasoning do you have for this madness?”

“Love.” You stated, even the word in itself felt lacking for the true tempest that swirled in your environs. It had to be bigger, all consuming.

“The one revolts against the mightiest of dragons, that love,” You walked towards him “The one that fearlessly professes her devotion at court, that love.”

“When she sees her beloved and forgets her family, that love.” You eyes glossed over, consuming your skin in wild fire, begging him to claim you already

His hands harshly grasped your forearms, shaking sense into your as he spoke.

“The Faith and my brother’s court will never see you as one of theirs,” He warned.

“I accept.” You smiled.

“Marrying me would have you walking on fire!” He reasoned, hoping you would back away; a flower far to delicate for him to touch. He would give his life for you to not wither.

“I accept.” You nodded.

“I have a wife, Rhea.” He grimaced at the thought of his bronze bitch “I shall never be able to provide you the title of my first wife.” His hand trailed up to hold your cheek, stroking away the moisture that had looked below your eyes.

“Taking my name as yours will bring nothing but notoriety.” He kissed you cheek.

“I accept.”

“Then let it be known, the world would remember us as one,” He moved backwards gesturing towards the priest in his entourage.

“The Watergardens,” You stated, gesturing your servants to lead the priest to the location.

Daemon had allowed you moments alone, your household torn over what was happening. While many sighed in relief, perhaps you would finally eat; let life make your skin glow yet again. The storm gave away and your lamp was still burning bright. He presented you with a head piece made of khaki cloth, amber and rubies with stray pieces of shells. You handmaidens were quick with it, pinning it onto your hair as Daemon made his arrangements. Caraxes looked over the Watergardens, whistling just as ecstatically as his rider as he perched himself on the beach mount.

The universe seemed to have been in agreement of your emotions, the wind on the beach picked up; cooling your overwhelmed and hot skin. The skies were clear, twinkling in stars and the full moon as the complimented the low tided waves crashing ashore. Your own servants had been quick, decorating the gardens with yellow and red candles and exotic Bravosi flower arrangements placed on vases. Daemon awaited you by the shore line.

Your hands held a dhanuchi, clay burners that held sizzling coal pieces accompanied with sandalwood. You hiked your skirts up, walking towards Daemon, counting your steps as your bare feet hit the sand, you were trying your hardest to breathe; he stood their awaiting you looking as galant as the day he received you at the Blackwater ports, it was from that day you knew your fate would be painted black in his name.

Daemon turned, toying with a black obsidian dagger as his eyes softened the second he saw you. He held his hand out for you take as you stopped next to him, placing the dhanuchi at the alter.

“This will hurt,” He whispered, gesturing to the dragon glass daggers. You shook your head, no pain would compare to the three moons you had spent without him. He lifted the edge against your bottom lip, drawing blood as he gently slashed a cut, he guided your hands to do the same. The taste of copper filled your mouth, a stinging sensation ran through your lips; one you knew would only soothe once you felt his lips on yours.

Blood of two, joined as one

You cut a gash on your palm, wincing as blood trickled to the surface; Daemon did the same with his before grasping your bloodied palm within his. The priest wrapped a silk across your palms, your lover’s lilac eyes held concern for your pains and yet wild adoration. You were to be his. Blood began to trickle into the cup of wine placed under you as the priest continued.

Ghostly flame and a song of shadows

Daemon marked your forehead with his blood, you followed his lead as the priest instructed the symbol you drew, he then offered you the cup of wine laced with your blood. You eyes never once left Daemon’s as you sipped on the strong wine before giving him the cup to do the same.

Two hearts as embers, forged in the fourteen fires

His hands came to rest at your cheek, both growing restless of the vows as he wiped the dripping blood from your lips.

A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness.

You pulled yourself closer to him, one might say you were dazed from the blood loss, in truth it was Daemon’s lilac eyes, how his hands caressed your skin. The wanting fires that engulfed the alter seeming leave everything in ashes but the two of you.

The vows spoken through time, of light and darkness.

He whispered along with the priest.

There was no shame in the way your lips crashed against one another, you tasted his blood on your tongue and yet his hands scorched your skin, almost consuming your body whole as his hands wandered everywhere as his lips claimed you. A stray tear fell from your eyes as your held onto his face, letting his tongue explore yours. You couldn’t breathe from the passion of it all, not that you cared; you life was now his to do with as he pleased.

You rested on Daemon’s lap as he lounged on your window bed, working a healers poultice on the cut of his palm, still lingering in the after effects of wedding. His hands gently returned the favour as he wrapped yours in gauze, you prayed that it would scar; it was a testament for your devotion.

“There- all fixed sweet wife.” Daemon whispered, nudging his nose against your cheek. Heat immediately rose to you cheek as you looked away, you were his wife.

You shuffled off of him, you walked to the steaming dhanuchi that you had carried back to your bed chambers, you bed chambers smelled sweet from it aroma. You had lit in hopes of being blessed by the fertitly goddess, that your marriage remaind pure and secure for eternity. You pushed you skirts always as you climbed onto your bed, letting the steam grace and bless your bed with your unconditional wish.

You dropped the burner on the floor after, letting it submerge the room in its sweet smoke. You awaited your husband as he rid himself of his tunic, you shuffled closer as you sat on your knees. Admiring his toned body and taking account for every battle scar on his skin that you would spend the rest of your life healing with your love.

“Will- will you bed me now, husband?” You whispered, your lips dangerously closer to his, begging for another kiss.

“Oh, I plan to do more than just bedding you.” His lips moulded against yours once more as his hands tugged on the ties of your blouse.

“I conquer Dorne tonight,” He teased, peppering kisses to your temple down to you cheek. He pushed you back on the bed, almost immediately pouncing on top.

He grasped your wrists with one hand, pushing them above your head as he laid siege upon your neck. Laying warm- wet kisses and bruising nips at your neck; his hair tickling at your bare skin as your squirmed underneath him. There was no reasoning to the gentle throb that began pulsing at your core- you rubbed your thigh closer to make it halt. He pushed aside your unlaced blouse, your chest heaved as he suckled on your breast, pulling and licking the hardening pebble in his mouth.

You back arched if the bed, pushing your chest into his mouth, small open mouthed gasps left your mouth as his fingers danced past your navel; yanking on the fastening strings of skirts. His hands pushing your skirts and small clothes down at once, unwrapping you like present as your laid in his ordered positioning.

You succumbed to your exposure, you moved your head in shame, opting to look out at the glaring moon as it witnessed your de-flowerinng. Daemon took offence to your actions, using his fingers to guide your chin towards him as he groaned in disapproval.

“Three moons apart and you dare look away from me?” Daemon cocked his brow at you, freeing your hands as he ventured lower on your body.

“I- forgive me, my prince.” You whispered, your lungs refraining you from speaking any louder

“Husband,” He corrected as he pushed you legs apart.

“Husband.” You mewled in shame as his fingers stroked your folds that looked by the minute. His lips latched onto your inner left thigh, sucking and nipping at the skin.

All the while his eyes remained devious yet absurdly comforting, the two fingers that drew circles on your thighs or a small groans he left against your skin, indicative of how much he was truly enjoying himself. Just for his own satisfaction he marked your thighs at several spots, leaving darkening marks for you to reminisce over in the coming fortnight.

You felt intoxicated, revelling in the way his tongue wet your outer folds before indulging in the saccharine delight that was your cunt, a shameless moan echoed through your bed chambers as you felt his tongue flicking at a much sensitive spot. He moaned against your mound the second your taste hit his tongue.

His palm, large enough to lay flat over your soft belly to hold you flush a against the bed as he took his liberties, lapping at your like his last meal had been consumed days before. His eyes bore into yours, his own demeanour turning to command, strumming the pleasures of your body to his own rhythm.

“Such a sweet delight,” He complimented, mostly to distract you from his finger easing into your tightness. You immediately clenched down on the intrusion. “This shall ease the discomfort.” He elaborated before spitting onto your folds

Your head fell backwards in shame, focusing on the comforting caresses in your torso as Daemon plunged his finger in knuckle deep. You couldn't take the prolonging tasks no longer. You whined, pawing at Daemon’s trousers.

“Please, please have me already.” You begged, you wanted to feel him within you. You could careless of the pain or discomfort, you just wanted to be one

“Take them off,” He instructed, your hands immediately worked on unbuttoning his pants, before digging your fingers into her rear to pull them down. His cock- that thing hung pliant between his legs. Part of you looked up at him curiously, and the other half wondered how your envious would engulf such a monstrosity. Your eyes silently asked for permission, to which Daemon simply stroked your hair as your wrapped your hand around the warm appendage. You were unsure of what to do.

“Stroke it, gently.” He guided you as you followed, feeling his cock twitch in your hands as you moved your hands back and forth. His tip soon glistened in moisture leaking from within. All Daemon could think of were your sweet lips wrapped around his cock and yet there was an eternity to teach you of the pleasures of the flesh. “Good girl,” He cooed.

He urged you to lay back against the pillows, working his length to harden to its full potential. He hesitated, having taken many maiden heads before, he needed this to be delicate as he tore through yours. He circled his tip at your sensitive rose bud before pushing at your entrance. You gasped out loud, letting you arms wrap around his shoulders as he inched forwards.

The stretch of his efforts shot a stinging sche through your pelvis, and he halted. Kissing your cheek and cooing at you in an attempt to alleviate even a fraction of the discomfort you were in. He advanced all the way in, hoping to let your ride out the waves of pain; you cried out louder and yet there was a little more left to go

“Look at me, just me. I shall make it better.” He groaned, hoping to suppress his own pleasures that coursed through his body, your tightness strangling his cock with threats of nearly milking him dry before anything had even begun. He felt selfish for feeling bliss as you silently wept underneath him, he caressed your cheek, the thing he held onto as his lips kissed your face. Peppering kisses to your forehead and your lips, over and over again as he inched forward

“Dae-” You shrieked as he finally bottomed out within you, the pressure of the stretch making your eyes well in more tears. You pulled yourself closer to him, trying to muffle your weeps on the crook of his neck. His arm reaches under you to support your neck. His deeper voice whispered encouragements as he awaited you to adjust to the pain.

“Look at how well you take me,” He whispered in between kisses that he pressed in your temples “Made just for me, aren't you? My sweet little wife.”

“Just for you,” You sniffled, letting yourself rest back against the pillows.

There was a humiliating familiarity in the way your aches encouraged your actions, you shuffled underneath him. Hoping to get him to move and yet he solely focused on doting on your body.

“Husband-” You whimpered, making his eyes shoot to you as they were focused on where the two of you were connected just moments before. He hummed in acknowledgement

“Can you- um please.” You stuttered, almost frustrated at yourself for losing your wording this easy.

“You have to tell me sweet wife, show me what you need.” He asked, urging his will into your answer.

“Please move- I need you to move.” You requested, he smiled before angling his hips backwards; hissing wantonly in the process and you mewled under him. There was pain within the first few thrusts and yet the deranged tendencies of your blood milked pleasure from the pain that subsided to a subtle pressure in your belly.

Daemon lost his composure, uttering vulgarities in your ear; the most obscene of sentences paired with the sweets of names he had picked for you.

“Perfect little hole, taking me so well,” He’d compliment one minute.

“Should have fucked this cunt the first day I laid eyes on you sweet girl,” The next he’d complain of the things he’d regretted.

He held your jaw, a feral smirk adoring his lips as he took your apart, your bangles clicking as your body bounced with his determined thrusts.

“Daemon!” You shrieked, such hurtful pleasure causing you to bed for such sinful things

“Just like that, scream your husband’s name.” He grunted, “Let all of Dorne know who owns this pretty body. Go on tell me.”

“You do, you do.” Cries poured from your lips as you held onto his forearms. “My Daemon,” You moaned as pulled yourself up to kiss his lips.

“Yes, yes sweet girl. All yours.” His deviant smile widened. Your cunt began to flutter around him, such flattery could mean just one thing as Daemon pushed his pelvis against yours, his thrusts grinding at your nub.

“That’s it, just lay there and take my seed,” He growled, his playing again harshly grasping your jaw to make you look at him.

“Dae- Daemon!” The ever impending storm began to paw at your insides,

Not long now- “I want it, I want babes and so much more. Please, please.” You begged to hope that itch would finally give way, and so it did. With no warning and only a scream of your husband’s name, your body erupted in ecstasy.

Daemon groaned out loud, muttering praises of your name, good girl, his sweet girl. Yes, you were. All for him as you loomed on a cloud perched high above the ground, you only registered Daemon’s thrusts faltering and warm filling your core, and then you felt Daemon’s caresses on your skin as you coaxed your heaving body to stability.

“Still with me?” He whispered against your hair and all you could muster was a lazy nod against his chest. You hissed feeling his cock leave your opening, he pushed you through it all. Letting his body weight do the work for you as he pulled himself to sit up along with you.

You finally opened your eyes, blinking away stray tears as he wiped at the trails of moisture on your cheeks. He bundled your exhausted body against his as he lifted you off your bed, walking you along to your chaise before wrapping a spare blanket against both your bodies, almost rocking your vulnerable body to a humming under his breath.

Maids poured into the clear martial bed, they all frowned at the image of their beloved Lady Martell curled against a dragon without a care as you nuzzled against him. Daemon snapped his fingers at them as they began to carry the bloodied sheets away, gesturing to the corner of the room for them to leave it behind. He planned to gift it to his brother’s council, as a warning.

There was nothing anybody could refuse Daemon Targaryen from- that and that he had a new wife. A wife of his choice, a wife he intended on loving until his death bed.

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swordsandarms · 11 months

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Saw this post by @queenaryastark and just wanted to add my two cents in spite of the problem always having been that people just want things to be what works better for them and "to make sense" in a simplified way and don't want to hear otherwise-

There are a very few things known about Elia Martell - that the author finds relevant enough to even share with us about a small background character - and yet one of those few things is that she had a good relationship with her arranged husband (political, non-romantic and all, "complex", but he took the time to outline that it was not one of those cases when these things have negative connotations). The only other relationship I can think of that he finds relevant enough to be known the quality of is that with her brothers - because it is a key element to the Dornish plot, no less. And he places her dynamic with Rhaegar beside it!

# No, we do not know that she was best friends with Ashara and depended on her and that she would have done anything out of love and how she was angry because her life was actually awful because of her husband! (she's merely one of a dozen ladies in waiting - a political position meant to benefit one's noble family - who just happens to be the only named one, and that for other plot reasons than Elia)

# No, we do not know that Rhaella loved her dearly and hated her son and thought he was so awful and they both see him as awful and (a silly puerile little fic that made me laugh once) wanted to make her "Crown Princess" ...instead .... somehow! We don't even know if they had a relationship. They didn't live in the same city, and Rhaella's day to day life is heavily monitored and controlled at ths point in her life. It's questionable whether they could even be in any amount in eachother's confidence, hence, even through letters, even if you take out the distance.

ETC.

We don't even know what kind of relationship she had with her own mother. People just want it to be good. They don't want details like putting a daughter with frail health in a very dangerous situation no matter how "responsible" Rhaegar turned out to be for ambition and spite against a political adversary to speak of anything negative. And I'm not saying it is a must for it to have been negative. What I am trying to get to is people are trying to write any other relationships of hers we know nothing about, or might not exist, or might actually have negative correlations from as much as we know as definitely deep and good and rewrite the only other relationship we are given other than her brothers that we are actually told what it was, and make it bad and weak instead. We don't know her dynamic with her own mother to be good, yet we know it is with Rhaegar.

It is a noted fact in the story, and the fact that the author cares little or not at all about others on the other hand but this was noteworthy to write makes it significant, too. And it isn't even a matter of being isolated and lonely and making do because she has no one else to have a pleasant relationship with. She is surrounded by men and women alike, Dornish no less, loyal to her, and they also get along with Rhaegar.

And if we are to take most of Dany's vision of them as real (as there are details like him seeming to talk to her at the end that may be skewy) then they are on good terms until nearly the end. If fanon that claims she hated him/thought herself as slighted and humiliated after the flower crown were true, then this would actually do characterise her as a simpleton/'doormat' instead, which there being an understanding behind his action would not and it doesn't seem to me that the author wants Elia a simpleton.

Yeah, yeah, consequences of his actions ultimately hurt her, though. And so people walk backwards then on the apparent idea that if someone's actions hurt you in any circumstances, then it can only be willful, and someone doing something that ends up hurting someone can only be an 'abuser' and such. All over the place, there are dramatic fanon theories about these two to rewrite what is canon of their dynamic as 'abuser' and 'victim', so that it would simplify the concept of his actions indirectly hurting her.

Canon doesn't support that. Canon gives the fact that he removes his arranged wife from the capital where there is the danger of his father, although that means the removal from the centre of political power, during a very tense political dynamic (literally described as 'like before the Dance'!). Canon says that when Aerys' cruel actions start a Rebellion, and he removes Elia and her children from the relative safety of Dragonstone (with authority no one can undo), Rhaegar comes forth to lead Aerys' armies. And fanon (against previous signs) paints it as him being a one-dimensional evil creature (from the author praised to write things complex) who cares not about fighting Lyanna's family or his lawful spouse and children being in danger near that man... rather than the fact that he is known as looking out for Elia's safety from his father, told to have had his last straw after said father rejects his daughter that he seems to have inspired love and trust in - hence the likelihood of him being caught in between and having no more choice than Dorne. Less, because he also has to go against the family of the girl the author says he's 'lovestruck' about also, because Aerys is dangling Elia and the children, that the author cared to give hints he cares about. Or the fact that he hints of having reached THE breaking point about his father as a follow-up fact at this point through Jaime's memory.

"Are you saying she was complicit in endangering herself? On purpose?"

It is very exhausting to hear such a train of thought from people who supposedly read books, and understand how conflict works, and that being a 'realistic story' with complex characters it means they don't know/understand everything and things are out of their control and happen unexpectedly.

That's how you get ridiculous theories such as "Rhaegar then planned it all to go exactly how it went and knew each thing that would happen and it was for some magical mass sacrifice or whatever!!" Because this is how things work. People make plans and it happens exactly as they expect, bullet points and all. And you'd have millions claiming that's a good writer who does well foreshadowed 'shocks' that the character would not know about and needs to be re-read to fully comprehend and appreciate.

Yeah, it doesn't mean that the plans and goals they may have had would be summarised as 'choosing Rhaegar mistresses from a catalogue' the way I saw it put somewhere. Yeah, that is dumb. But if we don't have the information on characters' train of thoughts from a point in time we don't fully understand, it doesn't mean it is fine to change base facts (the relationship of the two) to make a simple version that explains it away.

"Are you saying she is dumb to think this or that would work certain ways, whatever they thought they were doing/going towards for whatever reasons?"

Again, are we even reading books here? Have we not seen smart characters (sometimes older than these 2) making certain sound sounding choices with certain predictions at the time, and in the end none working out and everything falling apart? Don't we applaud it as good writing? Isn't Varys for example cathegorised as one of the BIG manipulators of history and planner, yet what we hear from people working for Young Griff is the frustration of plans changing all the time because what he predicts/wants/plans doesn't work as intended multiple times?

And since we're on the topic and fanon has mythologised characters like her into ridiculous heights, let's stop for a second to think who Elia Martell would be as a (actually honest) baseline. Young, inexperienced, sheltered by privilege as anyone of her rank and more so for her own health (according to her brother), very optimistic sounding, etc. Yes, most likely intelligent (described as witty), but it doesn't change the implications of the previous qualities. Rhaegar is also most of that (at least idealistic if not optimistic) - though I would say he would at least have the perspective of "harsh realities" due to his family situation, while hers was a loving one as far as we're concerned. So, yes, she could have even made/agreed with "naive plans" as well as him, and they could even have been intelligent about it too, as they both seemed to have been, but it being beyond the point because the world works chaotically and there's no smart enough character that never had plans go wrong ever in ASOIAF.

Another thing that I mentioned but want to emphasise again, though it is hard to believe that a fandom that wouldn't give a break even to characters 16 and younger for 'miscalculations' and not having it all figured out and not doing everything perfectly is... they are both young, too! I don't know what's the overall age demoraphic in this fandom, but it always baffles me that this is not addressed - early 20s is clueless, young, and inexperienced. If one is past it they should know it. There are way too many young characters I guess to conceptualise that (but, again, it is not like this fandom give the VERY young characters a break also so I don't know), but it is very odd when these two are seen as 'very adult' who should have known better (Rhaegar) or knew 100% everything like some 'hit by godly visions' Cassandra (Elia), especially, again, when you account for both being inexperienced and privileged. The 16 and lower characters we know would rank above them both (especially sheltered Elia!) simply by actually being forced into learning experiences.

All in all, whatever the details are or how things can be explained from that point on, people have to accept the fact that the writing makes it more understandable that they would have been 'in cahoots' rather than a cartoonish evil being and a young woman without agency whatsover that is cutie pieing with the man who she is also angry at for doing some great misdeed against her.

Would she think otherwise by the end, when all fell apart? Would there be targeted hate and blame? We can theorise either way, but I am thinking how Lyanna is theorised as such in spite of the author writing roses in her hand when she dies in the same wavelength as writing her brother's hand holding hers - just like we only know of noteworthy positive relationships in Elia's life being a brother and Rhaegar, to the writer.

Sorry, but we're reading a story, and if you don't like what the author writes and implies it's fine. But at the same time you are wrong by default in 'predictions' as to what he would write next instead.

"You are victim blaming if Elia thought or did anything ever than being a silent perfect victim who just had things happening to her while having the foresight of a God and the wisdom of a 100 years old and if it were up to this sheltered inexperienced early 20s woman she would have REAISTICALLY Mary Sued her way through it and everyone would agree and kiss her feet. REALISTICALLY!!!"

No, you are. This fandom is famous for victim blaming (young) female characters most of all who have no control over circumstances around them, not being able to predict the future, not having experience, or just mean well and think better of the world, as long as they are anything but 'perfect victims' whose whole act is expcted to be being pitiful stoned mummies that things happen to, and are held up to unfair standards by the heavy in expectations pedestal that's supposed to be a compliment.

#elia martell #asoiaf #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #rhaegar x elia

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lya-dustin · 5 months

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The Dornish Princess

Aemond x fem! Dornish!reader

Cw: mentions of murder, false identity, theft

Tag list: @valeskafics @queen--kenobi

You arrive in King’s Landing as a poor survivor of a shipwreck. All your nice things and clothes and servants and knights gone when the Wyldes found you on their lands.

The only proof of your identity was a waterlogged scroll naming you Coryanne Nymerios Martell, Princess of Dorne.

You looked the part, tan skin, dark hair and the haunting purple eyes of your Dayne mother and the manner of a gentlewoman. By the time you arrived at Court, you had been given all a woman of your station needed and letters were sent home to your sister to tell her of your rescue and invitation to court.

No one knew why your dead handmaid looked so much like you until you quietly explained she was your bastard sister and companion. But you didn’t really cry for her, she was just a bastard after all.

The bastard of Qoren Martell and a dragonseed from Lys.

“My congratulations on your betrothal, may the gods bless you and your intended, your highness.” You say quietly when you encounter the Prince Regent avoid his three and ten year old betrothed.

Little Floris Baratheon had been picked because it would be a good three years until she was old enough to be bedded, a smart move to prevent Baratheon from having too much power over the Greens and keep one’s freedom for as long as one needs it.

You were in a similar boat, your hand merited more than a vassal lord so your sister decided to sell you to the Prince of Pentos because she refused to wed. You were Aliandra’s heir; you were older than Qyle and next in line to be Princess of Dorne, you were everything Floris Baratheon and the rest of the ladies in Westeros were not.

Now it was all a matter of seducing the infamous kinslayer beside you.

His mother distrusted you, a smart decision, no one should trust you. If anyone looked too closely, they’d see it was not snake scales you wore.

“I am engaged to a child, and you are engaged to a man older than my dead father.” He said bluntly and you agreed. Both matches were bad, especially if you were a romantic at heart. It seemed the prince despite his appearance and cold exterior was one.

It wouldn’t be difficult to convince him you love him, or to make him love you. Everyone you met had that misfortune of loving you and becoming blind to your true nature.

It wasn’t the shipwreck that killed your sister, you had held her under the water until she stopped thrashing and came up with the story you fed to Lady Wylde and her company.

Aemond believed himself to be the exception to the faults of men, but he was only a man even if he rode the largest dragon since Balerion.

“A betrothed is not a spouse; the Prince of Pentos is not the first of my suitors to propose and die before the negotiations begin in earnest, you know.” You admit, hinting at the tragic and sudden deaths of all the men ---young and old--- who courted you since you first bled.

You sampled some of them when you grew older, those who didn’t satisfy you usually had hanger-ons who did, and tradition dictated that no bride prices cannot be returned should the groom die before the wedding takes place.

You had amassed quite a fortune in Essos, that was where you were heading. To find more unsuspecting men after your sister was forced to toss you out of Dorne after you slipped up and was almost caught.

Perhaps you could stay here instead. All signs pointed to the Prince Regent becoming King before the first chill came south.

If Prince Aemond was as good with his cock as he was with his sword, he’d be worth staying in Westeros.

Queen Coryanne, now that had a better ring to it than Queen Floris.

“And Lady Floris is not the first of mine to seek greener pastures.” His lips quirk slightly in amusement. He was notorious for evading matchmaking mamas and their daughters, Borros Baratheon may think a war would prevent Prince Aemond from going back on his word, but he’d never played against you.

“Shall we put it to the test?” you ask in a whisper knowing little Floris will be shuffled off to the youngest boy like an old shirt before the sun even sets.

You like him, despite it all, you cannot help but like him.

You are betrothed now, a small feast thrown in your honor as the Baratheon contingent leave and wage war against the Vulture King to spite both the Greens and Dorne at the same time.

But House Targaryen does not care, they got the better deal in you.

Gifts of money and finery and jewels were given to you by your soon to be husband, his mother and the nobles currying favor with the woman who is queen in all but name.

Your dowry would be partially paid in gold and in men. While Dorne was far less backwards than the rest of Westeros and women held equal rights like men, and end to the hostility between the realms.

“We can wed as soon as your dowry comes, my love.” he says as you lounge in your bed after a particularly trying morning. Aegon was growing weaker, Helaena and Jaehaera doing so terribly they had to be taken to the motherhouse in Oldtown to heal away from prying eyes and the need for men and heirs was as important as breathing.

Letters from Dorne had come, mainly thanking your prince and his mother for their hospitality and the promise of sending a proper envoy to negotiate the wedding. You pray the envoy comes by land instead of sea.

Who knows, perhaps Dorne would join the six kingdoms without bloodshed.

But it won’t happen.

The moment the envoy comes, you are fucked.

He won’t want you if he knew the truth. Loathes bastards, killed one even if the little fucker had his blood. Worse, you made a fool of him as you rob them all blind as you plan your escape before Aliandra exposes you as the fraud you are.

What would he do to you when he knows you are Y/N Sand and not your dead sister, Coryanne?

“Why wait, my love?” you kiss him to show how much you care for him, how little it bothers you to see him without his eye as he fucks a bastard into you as he calls you by a name you spit like a curse.

And like the lovesick fool he’s become, the two of you elope in the night. Two strangers stand witness, and you give your real name as a jape as a drunken septon names you man and wife.

Aemond will hate you and hunt you down, you know this you spend your wedding night in his rooms and see how happy you’ve made him.

“I love you, Y/N.” he breathes out and your heart catches in your throat. The boy he was under it all didn’t deserve it, but you can’t have him and no matter how much you pray for the envoy to drown, you know your past will catch up to you.

You are gone when he wakes.

Nothing, not even the furniture, is left in your rooms, nor is there a speck of gold left in the royal treasury except a valid marriage certificate signed and dated with your true name.

He will hate you, but you’d rather he hate you than ever forget you.

Part ii

#aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x dornish!reader #ewan mitchell

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alicenttully · 3 months

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quite frankly, if they're gonna insist on doing something as boring as the conquest, they should just focus on the most interesting part of it which is dorne!

dorne like the other kingdoms refused to submit to the targaryens, but it was dorne alone that actually succeeded. and the person who was instrumental in that victory (albeit a heavy one) was princess meria martell. she was no dragonrider, just an old woman who quite frankly probably didn't relish the idea of war, but respected the meaning of her house words more. y'all can call that selfish, but how is that any more selfish than aegon deciding he needed to have westeros? at least dorne was meria's home and she was doing what her people wanted.

all the other kingdoms was solved fairly quickly but the first dornish war took 9 years. they killed rhaenys and her dragon. it would end with princess meria's death and her granddaughter travelling to a city that was full of people who wanted her dead or worse with terms for aegon, and ended up leaving it with dorne remaining independent due to aegon finally agreeing to it. and this was all thanks to a letter from prince nymor that nobody besides aegon knew the contents of.

edit: oh and poc writers being heavily involved would be necessary, a must

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #house martell #princess meria martell #princess deria martell #I said what I said

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jedimaesteryoda · 8 months

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What was in Prince Nymor's Letter to Aegon I? (Updated)

Background

Aegon the Conqueror managed to forge the Seven Kingdoms into one with his dragons, but there was one exception: Dorne. The First Dornish War marked the only war where a kingdom managed to avoid subjugation by the Iron Throne.

The Dornish avoided open battle as well as holing in fortresses. Rhaenys found all the castles in Dorne empty as she flew on Meraxes as the Dornish forces melted away.

Meria: I will not fight you, nor will I kneel to you. Dorne has no king. Tell your brother that. Rhaenys: I shall, but we will come again, Princess, and next time we shall come with fire and blood. Meria: Your words, Ours are Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. You may burn us, my lady, but you will not bend us, break us, or make us bow. This is Dorne. You are not wanted here. Return at your peril.

Princess Meria waited for her in Sunspear just to tell her off. Aegon placed his men to control castles, and declared victory only for the Dornish forces to return. Meria threw Lord Rosby from a window herself.

Also, apparently the Dornish didn’t play nice. Entire garrisons were put to the sword. Knights were tortured, and Lord Wyl cut off the hands of captured prisoners-of-war, including Aegon’s Hand, Orys Baratheon. These actions violated the codes of chivalry, and had Aegon and his bannermen howling for vengeance, which led to a bloody cycle of retaliation and reappraisals.

Aegon’s retaliation was swift as he and his sisters took to their dragons and burned Dornish castles. The Dornish responded by burning half the rainwood and sacking half a dozen towns and villages. The Targaryens then responded by burning more Dornish castles in dragonflame. The Dornish response to that was Lord Fowler capturing Nightfall and taking its occupants hostage and razing the nearby villages and towns. The Targaryens, then predictably, responded with their dragons again, but this time, miraculously, the Dornish managed to take down a dragon. A scorpion bolt in a one in a million shot, hit Meraxes in the eye, killing the dragon and ostensibly, the rider, Rhaenys.

The death of Aegon’s favorite sister-wife was of course a huge personal blow, and it marked the start of the next two years of the war appropriately named the Dragon’s Wroth, the nadir of the war. Aegon and Visenya's initial response was to burn every castle in Dorne, except Sunspear. Some castles were even burned more than once with Hellholt, the site of Meraxes’s death, being burned three times. Aegon and Visneya also placed bounties on the heads of Dornish lords to which the Dornish responded by placing bounties on their heads as well as those of their allies. Half a dozen Dornish lords were assassinated while Aegon and Visneya survived several assassination attempts, and Lord Fell was murdered in a brothel.

Finally, Meria Martell died, and was succeeded by her son, Nymor. Nymor took a different approach compared to his mother, and sent his daughter and heir, Deria, to King’s Landing with Meraxes’s skull and a letter. While Aegon’s queen and advisors pushed for Aegon to harm Deria, Aegon refused and heard out Deria.

Dorne wanted peace, according to Deria—but the peace of two kingdoms no longer at war, not the peace between a vassal and a lord. Many urged His Grace against this, and the phrase "no peace without submission" was often heard in the halls of the Aegonfort. It was claimed that the king would look weak should he agree to such a demand and that the lords of the Reach and stormlands who had suffered so much for his cause would be angered.

Swayed by such considerations, it is said, King Aegon was determined to refuse the offer until Princess Deria placed in his hands a private letter from her father, Prince Nymor. Aegon read it upon the Iron Throne, and men say that when he rose, his hand was bleeding, so hard had he clenched it. He burned the letter and departed immediately on Balerion's back for Dragonstone. When he returned the next morning, he agreed to the peace and signed a treaty to that effect.

Aegon read Nymor’s letter, burned it, and left for Dragonstone on Balerion that day, only to return the following morning and to his court’s surprise, agree to Nymor’s terms of ending the First Dornish War with the Iron Throne recognizing Dorne’s independence.

No one knows the contents of that letter, but there are theories as to what was in that letter that led Aegon to forgo his aim to conquer Dorne and agree to Nymor’s peace. Let’s look at the possibilities offered.

1. Did he threaten to take all the wealth of Dorne to hire the Faceless Men to kill Aegon's young son and heir, Aenys?

The problem with this one is Aegon "flew to Sunspear on Balerion on the tenth anniversary of the peace accords to celebrate ‘a feast of freindship’ with Deria Martell” with Aenys accompanying him. I doubt Aegon would willingly celebrate such a treaty with Princess Deria, and do so, by bringing along the son they threatened to kill if he didn’t sign. That would just make things awkward.

Also, the whole point of hiring an assassin, especially a Faceless Man, is to get someone killed without you being implicated. If you say that “if person A dies, it's definitely because of me,” that would be a clear invitation to retaliation from the victim’s family and allies.

The man whom this threat was made to burned every castle in Dorne in retaliation for Rhaenys’s death. It doesn’t take much speculation to imagine how he would have responded to the death of his son borne by that same woman. A threat like that likely wouldn’t have intimidated Aegon into signing the treaty, but more likely angered him and provoked threats of retaliation.

One must also note that by the time of the meeting (13 AC) Maegor had just been born the year before (12 AC). Even with Aenys dead, Aegon would still have had a son to continue the Targaryen line, and it wouldn’t have been a permanent end to the Targaryen threat.

2. Did Nymor reveal that Rhaenys lived still, broken and mutilated, and that he would end her suffering if Aegon ended hostilities?

It doesn’t take a genius to see the problems with this one. The proposal is basically to tell Aegon "Hey, remember your beloved queen Rhaenys, she's alive, we've just been torturing her for the past two years. Agree to this peace and we'll kill her, the thing that you burned Dorne over thinking we did."

For Aegon, the idea of Rhaenys having been left broken after being tortured and mutilated for two years undoubtedly would have enraged him in such a manner that would have befit his sobriquet “the Dragon”, and had him threatening swift and brutal retaliation. He would have demanded Rhaenys back, no matter what condition she was in. I also seriously doubt Aegon would take Rhaenys’s son, Aenys, to celebrate the peace with Deria that was signed on the condition of killing his tortured mother.

Nymor would also have demonstrated himself to be an idiot by needlessly endangering his daughter, Deria. By sending her, he would have handed Aegon a potentially valuable hostage on a silver platter that Aegon could use to counter any threats against Rhaenys. It also undermined the message of goodwill by bringing the skull of Meraxes.

There is also the question of if they had Rhaenys alive this whole time, why the hell didn’t they use her before, the moment they had captured her? The Dornish would have to be complete fools to not see how valuable a hostage Aegon’s favorite sister-wife could be. They at the very least could have used her to negotiate a ceasefire, and given themselves some respite.

3. Was the letter ensorceled?

Short answer: no. I don’t think we’ve seen magic capable of influencing someone’s consciousness with the most being tales of love potions.

4. Some claim it was a simple plea, from one father to another, heartfelt words that touched King Aegon’s heart.

This seems a little too romantic. I mean even if the words did touch Aegon’s heart, there were still political realities to consider, and I don’t see how relating as a father would move Aegon enough to forget about Rhaenys, the woman who first made him a father to begin with.

5. Others insist it was a list of all those lords and noble knights who lost their lives during the war.

I admit while showing a king the human costs of his war isn’t unappealing to me, one must note that “the Reach, the stormlands and the marches had suffered grievously during the fighting, and would never forgive and forget.” The relatives of those same lords and knights who died in the Dornish War largely wanted the war to continue to avenge their relatives, and would potentially have seen a Dornish peace without submission seemingly make those deaths in vain.

It also wouldn’t be the first time Aegon suffered a personal loss in his conquest. He lost his distant cousin and one of his family’s closest friends, Daemon Velaryon, in the first Targaryen assault on the Vale. Yet, he continued his conquest regardless.

What actually was in the letter?

Think back to Robert’s Rebellion with Dornish anger over the horrific deaths of Elia and her children as well as the death of Lewyn at the Battle of the Trident. Jon Arryn managed to avoid rebellion by the Dornish by returning Lewyn’s bones to Dorne, and negotiating with Prince Doran.

Returning the remains of a fallen relative is an act of respect. It is mentioned that Rhaenys’s bones were never returned. Neither were the bones Elia and her children, but that was because they were given the Targaryen custom of cremation.

I think Rhaenys’s body was likely given the same treatment. What Nymor may have mentioned in the letter is that he was returning Rhaenys’s ashes from her funeral pyre to Dragonstone. That is why Aegon left for Dragonstone that day on Balerion, he wanted to meet up with the ship carrying her urn.

That leaves the question of why Aegon burned the letter. It likely mentioned how Rhaenys died. It must be mentioned that in the Dance of Dragons, dragonriders have survived their dragons falling to the ground like Aegon II on Sunfyre (twice) and Baela on Moondancer, though with serious injuries. Rhaenys actually may have survived the fall, and they put her in bed and gave her a maester to recuperate.

Note, that "his hand was bleeding, so hard had he clenched it," or his hand was stained with Targaryen blood, a trope going back to Cain's hands being stained with the blood of his brother Abel. The letter likely stated that when Aegon attacked Hellholt in retaliation for Rhaenys's purported demise, she was in one of the towers Balerion had burned. In other words, Rhaenys had died not by Dornish hands but by his own hand. The crime he had pinned on the Dornish, and made them suffer for was his own. In his pursuit of vengeance, he had destroyed the one thing he had loved most.

The kinslayer is cursed, and that meant that House Targaryen had been tragically cursed from the start. The tradition of dragons slaying dragons would continue to plague the generations of Aegon's progeny.

Throughout the war, both sides did a lot of awful stuff with the Targaryens burning everything in Dorne in dragonflame, and the Dornish responding by engaging in torture, mutilation and assassination (which the Targaryens did first). All those actions did was escalate the war, and result in more brutal retaliation from the Targaryens with each side upping the violence, brutality and destruction. However, by performing this one honorable gesture, Nymor managed to succeed where his mother failed in ending Aegon’s attempts to subdue Dorne. Aegon having learned he had inadvertently killed his own beloved wife made him realize the futility of the Dragon's Wroth and agree to the terms to end the war.

#asoiaf #house targaryen #aegon the conqueror #balerion #rhaenys targaryen #dorne #house martell #dragons #queen rhaenys targaryen #aegon i targaryen #iron throne #sunspear

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thesithdiaries · 2 years

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One-Sided Love (part 2) (Criston Cole imagine)

Pairing: Criston Cole x female!reader

Requested: no

Warnings: this is yandere behavior im sorry, pregnancy cause being in westeros means you had to pop out those babies quickly, angst, delusions, spoilers for episode 6, criston being a complete creep, like joe from you creep

Part 1

The past ten years were eventful in the Red Keep. The King now had three children with Alicent Hightower and Princess Rhaenyra and Lord Laenor Velaryon also had three children, of suspicious paternity.

After the wedding feast, Criston became Queen Alicent’s sworn shield and a close companion. That was also the last day he ever heard of Y/N.

She did not return to King’s Landing. The only thing he is aware of is that she often visits Driftmark and Dragonstone, but nothing else. Nobody around him speaks about her, and if they do, they wait until he is not present. King Viserys and Rhaenyra often write to her but he also never read those letters.

His love and fixation for her never faded, it only grew more potent thanks to so much longing on his part. He truly missed her presence and companionship. He always wished that he had done more, and fought for the women he desired the most even after all of those years apart. He spent his nights wondering if the thought of him ever crossed her mind if she had missed him as well.

Criston was guarding the door of Alicent’s bedchamber during the night when he heard noises. His hand immediately reached for his sword.

As the sounds grew closer, it was easier to identify. Children laughing and the soft pitter-patter of their feet. He was more confused, the only young child in the castle at the moment was Rhaenyra’s third son. The following sight almost made him faint.

Three children, all boys. Their hair was dark and all of them had a small streak of silver hair, sort of like a birthmark. They kept smiling while looking down the corridor.

Her. Criston’s blood ran cold at the sight of Y/N. She was still as beautiful as the last day he saw her.

“Mother, hurry. We want to see our cousins,” the older boy rushed causing her to laugh.

Mother? Oh. Oh, gods. Those are her children. Criston could not stop staring. That was when he noticed she was pregnant. Another child?

The smallest one pulls her skirt softly to get her attention. She immediately placed him on her hip. The little boy looked tired as he rubbed his eyes but it was clear he did not want to miss the excitement. The other two walked side by side with their mother.

Criston felt chills through his body as they made their way toward him. My beautiful wife and my boys. It was such a dull day without them but none of that mattered now. Y/N looked precious, the way the boys talked to her made his heart beat faster. All of them looked just as beautiful as her, they shared all of her features. He smiled thinking about the next babe, hoping it looked like him with dark hair and similar “dornish features”. His body started making its way towards her, not being able to contain the happiness he fel-

“Y/N! Wait for me, love!” A man’s voice made him snap out of his fantasy. As he refocused, he saw Jon Arryn, the man he hated the most. “You were right next to me. How did you get here so quickly?”

“Your sons would not stop rushing me,” she tattled while giggling.

“That is not true, father,” the middle child said with a laugh. “We would never.”

They all walked down the corridor, turning in front of Ser Criston to go somewhere else. He wanted to greet Y/N, but his voice failed him. His hopes were slightly crushed. She did not even look at him as she walked by.

That night, the hours moved slowly. The only way Criston spent that time was dreaming about Y/N and the children. If only he had taken her with him to Braavos, those could be his kids. He could've gotten them a beautiful home. Y/N would have stayed with the children while he worked because he wanted to provide for his family and make sure they were taken care of.

Criston was walking towards the small council room when he saw Y/N, this time speaking with a maid. He hid behind a pillar to listen to their conversation.

“Lady Y/N, how wonderful it is to see you again.” The maid gushed excitedly. “I saw your children, they look just like you.”

“Thank you for that,” Y/N laughed softly. “Jon never lets me forget it.”

“What are their names?” Yes, tell her the names.

“Rhaen is the oldest, his tenth nameday is coming soon. Next is Silas, who is six and the little one is Aemmet, who is four.”

“And the babe? Is it nearly time?”

“I believe so. Our maester said I had until the next full moon but I believe it will be before that. The babe is moving too much.”

Criston left after hearing this information. He wanted to scream in frustration. The oldest is almost ten. That means… that means she let Jon put a baby in her right after she left for the Vale all those years ago. She gave him all these kids and now she was waiting for another one.

Criston had been charged with training all the princes. Of course, it was sort of an annoying task but it was better than doing nothing.

Harwin Strong was always there supervising and getting too invested in it. He was painfully obvious, not even bothering to hide the affection for his bastards.

It was not a normal day. Y/N’s sons decided to join. They had a close bond with Harwin, Jace, and Luke and wanted to be with them. They were courteous toward Aegon and Aemond but did not bother to include them in their play or conversations.

Criston was nervous and decided to let the boys do what they wanted. He did not know how to treat Y/N’s sons. He feared that if he pushed them around or trained them too harshly, she would be mad.

Since Aemmet was the smallest, he could not participate. From what Criston heard, he was offered to stay with his parents but refused, saying he wanted to spend time with his cousins.

“Momma!” The little boy exclaimed, running towards her, Harwin following close behind.

Oh, gods. She looks beautiful.

“Hello, my love,” she greeted him. The boy hugged her legs as she ruffled his hair. “I hope this one is behaving,” she told Harwin.

“He's a good lad, no trouble at all,” Harwin promised her.

Criston felt jealousy as he watched them talking quietly amongst themselves. That should be him talking to her, not some brute with no manners. The hate he had for Harwin grew bigger by the second.

The time seemed like it was not moving for him. The children were having a nice time, although Aegon and Aemond were not with the others. A whimper was heard throughout the yard, making everyone stop.

Y/N eyes were squeezed shut as she held onto Harwin for support. Her other hand pressed tightly on a side of her stomach. Criston wanted to sprint towards her, to ask her what was wrong and how he could help. Unfortunately, he could not do that.

“Mother, are you alright? Should I go find father? Is it time?” Rhaen asked her as fear crossed his face.

Y/N let out a breath, shaking her head. “No, there's no need to call him.” She motioned them to come closer, “the babe is moving.”

“Really?” Silas gasped, almost running toward his mother. Y/N placed his small hand on her stomach and smiled at his expression. “It is true!”

Rhaen felt glad that it was just a scare. He remembered being very attentive to her during the other pregnancies. Aemmet shyly lifted his hand to touch as well, he giggled at the strange feeling. Aegon and Aemond stared in curiosity from afar. “Come here, boys. You can feel as well,” she encouraged them. Harwin looked at her in awe, remembering when he felt his own sons kicking.

Our babe is moving. Y/N is so wonderful. She is carrying the product of our love. I cannot wait to mee-

Criston shook his head at those thoughts. All the boys were talking amongst themselves, sharing stories about their own mothers when they were with child. Harwin escorted Y/N back inside the castle, probably to her bedchamber. The children follow close behind, leaving Criston by himself.

Cristin wanted to speak with her. They had not crossed paths alone and he was dying to explain why he did what he did during the wedding feast.

After finishing his duties with the queen, Harwin went to his assigned chambers and removed his armor. He needed to be quiet as he did not want to draw attract any unnecessary attention to himself.

Y/N was staying in her old bedchamber, the same one she had ten years ago. In reality, nobody slept there during that time. Criston was glad for that, he did not need anything disturbing it.

The feeling of sadness and emptiness was still asphyxiating him almost six months later. Criston sat in her bed when he was not on duty, letting his mind wander to a fantasy world he had created. The bedding had been washed, and the smell of her was gone. He often laid on the bed, imagining she was next to him after being apart all day.

Criston walked down the corridor, clearly on a mission. The castle was empty as it was so late in the night. He heard voices not so far from him as he approached the bedchamber, making him stop in his tracks.

“Come on, boys. Time for bed,” Jon Arryn called, making the children groan.

“It is still early,” Silas begged. “We are not even tired.”

“Your little brother fell asleep at the dinner table,” Y/N reminded him as she carried Aemmet.

The family entered a bedchamber at the end of the corridor. Criston hid in the shadows, waiting. It took some time for Jon and Y/N to walk out again, holding hands. They had smiles on their faces, happiness oozing through their veins.

Criston waited more since he was in no rush. Good things happened to those who wait.

When he felt it was appropriate, he approached the door to their bedchambers. His hand was on the handle but a noise made him freeze. It sounded like… a moan.

He did not know what to do or how to feel. Listening to the woman he loved while she felt pleasure was one thing, but another man, not him, was pleasuring her. Criston had imagined the noises she made and he was not disappointed. However, the anger and jealousy at that moment were greater than any fantasy.

He stood there, motionless, waiting for them to stop. When there were no more noises, he quietly opened the door.

They were sleeping.

The chamber was quiet and peaceful. Y/N and Jon lay on their bed. He was shirtless but she had put on her shift, which did not cover much of her skin. As Criston got closer, he could see the outline of her breasts through it. He took a deep breath to stay focused.

He stood there, at the foot of the bed, staring. The dagger he had on his hip was burning him. Criston could end this now, kill Jon Arryn in his sleep and take Y/N away to the Free Cities. Nobody would go and try to find them.

Y/N had betrayed him so long ago, by choosing Jon Arryn over him. As if that was not enough, Rhaenyra betrayed him as well. He was alone, the only people he spoke to were the queen and her children. Since he sided with her, nobody cared about him. He knew Y/N felt the same, he knew she supported the princess above all else, and seeing him with the opposing side hurt.

Criston heard the sound of the door opening. He quickly moved to hide behind a wall, peeking around to see that Aemmet was the one that walked in. He was dragging a small quilt and had a frown on his face. He rushed to the bed but stopped, looking right at where Criston was hiding. He stared for a few seconds but saw nothing.

The little boy move to his father's side and tapped his arm softly. Jon Arryn stirred and slowly tried to open his eyes. “Aemmet? Are you alright?” He whispered.

“Scared,” Aemmet confessed. Jon pulled him up on the bed. The boy settled between his parents, Y/N had slightly woken up at the movement. Subconsciously, her body reached for her son’s, placing her arm around him. She quickly fell asleep again. “Father?” He quietly called for him. “I saw a shadow…”

Jon hummed. “It was probably your imagination playing tricks. We are safe here.” He reassured him. Aemmet was not entirely convinced but decided to not push it, especially at this late hour.

Criston stood there watching them sleep, plotting his plan. Y/N was his and he would have to do whatever it takes for her to be with him.

Part 3

taglist:

@my-dark-prince / @Daemonloversblog / @littlemoonash / @mypatrochilles / @beefbaby25 / @sweetybuzz2 / @Fin-never / @asexualaromosafezone / @nerdy4itall / @yelchinweasleylothbrok / @Juless_world / @thatgaytevinter / @kaitieskidmore1 / @chevelledahuman / @rozendiors / @claudiajacobs / @savagemickey03 / @multifandom-loser / @direluvr / @dandycandy75 / @bitchyglitterfox / @rumandtearsflowerisevil // @camschansenpai / @ilovoysters / @Larslaen / @m1tzifa1ry

#hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #criston cole imagine #criston cole x reader #there's a little bit of #harwin strong x reader #here

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sunspearesque · 8 months

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The Bereaved Dunes

Summary:

In the Bereaved Dunes, where shadows weep, A tale of love and sorrow, bound to keep. Elia, my sun, in your memory I tread, Through sands of despair, where tears are shed. I should've taken you far away, my dear, To Dorne's warm embrace, where skies are clear. But fate had other plans, a cruel twist of hand, In the Bereaved Dunes, where sorrows expand.

A/N: I've often wondered, 'How did Oberyn receive the news of Elia's death? How did his mind grapple with such a profound tragedy?' This curiosity served as my inspiration for writing this piece. It is crucial to delve into the pivotal event that laid the foundation for all of his subsequent actions. This prologue marks the genesis of my upcoming series, 'Whispers of Vendetta,' wherein Elia's death remains canon (and I made use of some famous lines from ASOIAF books), though I've allowed myself creative freedom in depicting Oberyn's reaction and the events that follow. Big thanks to my sweet, sweet friend @palioom for her unwavering support <3 I hope this piece meets your liking xoxo

Rating: M

CW: angst; canon character death (Elia Martell); grief/mourning; sibling loss; brief description of death/injury

WC: 1.6K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

283 AC

"We cannot simply remain still… spineless, awaiting news of her safety and that of her children!" Oberyn's voice rang out, filled with fervor, as he directed his words at his elder brother.

Doran, vexed by his brother's persistence, hissed back in retort, "I've entrusted four of our most skilled soldiers with her protection, Oberyn! They will ensure her safety. Cease your incessant hovering!"

Oberyn's eyes bore into Doran's, smoldering with anger and worry, "They had better return with her unharmed, or I shall part their heads from their bodies myself!"

Twelve agonizing hours passed without any word of Elia. Silence hung heavy in the air, and Oberyn's unease deepened. He understood that the Dornish princess was not their highest priority, knowing that no one would make her safety their concern—not even her husband, the father of her children.

Her husband, that fucking bastard.

I should have spirited her and her two children away to Dorne the moment she sent for me. The instant he crowned that Stark girl as the queen of love and beauty, forsaking his own wife. I should have sensed the despair in her ever-saddened eyes. She sat there, abased and broken, her belly swollen with his child. Those smudged words in her letter, likely stained by her tears, should have served as reason enough to bring her back to Dorne, where she truly belonged among her people and her land.

Elia was no viper; she was more akin to a dove—gentle, serene, fragile yet resplendent, graceful, and generous to a fault. She was too generous for the rapacious beasts that surrounded her. Here in Dorne, she walked among vipers, none of them would ever harm her. In King's Landing, she had found herself surrounded by dragons and lions… who had torn her asunder, both figuratively and literally.

Every hour drifted by like a languid stream, sowing a tempest of dread deep within Oberyn's core. Why does no one share in my fear? Neither her kin, nor our people dwelling here. Why does the world remain unperturbed? Am I truly the only one who understands the depth of their malice? Their hatred for us? For her?

Oberyn paced his brother's solar ceaselessly, a restless specter, his sword ever-present at his side, primed for any declaration. Doran, seated nearby, muttered words beneath his breath, prayers? curses? who knows; their nature concealed in the shroud of his quiet contemplation.

Suddenly, the reverberation of frantic footfalls pierced the air, accompanied by the panting of a disheveled soldier. "My... My Princes, Your Highness," the soldier stammered, his voice trembling as tears welled up in his eyes. Words eluded him, his courage shattered. "They have… they've killed the King... they've taken the Princess's life... and her children's." Oberyn lunged forward, seizing the young man by the throat, his rage ignited like wildfire, "I will sever your vile tongue if such words pass your lips again!" he hissed, fury coursing through every fiber of his being. How dare he utter such blasphemy?

Doran shouted at him, a frantic plea to prevent his brother from inflicting harm. Oberyn's grip on the soldier's neck tightened, threatening to snap it in half, "how dare you speak her name with such lies!" Oberyn's face was but a hair's breadth away from the man's.

"Oberyn!" Doran's voice boomed louder now, snapping his brother from the abyss of his wrath.

Reluctantly, Oberyn released the man, who fell to his knees, coughing and gasping, muttering apologies amidst his tears, "I apologize, my prince... I apologize... I apologize," he babbled frantically, his form trembling.

Oberyn stood frozen in place, the world around him becoming a cacophony of muffled sounds. Blood surged in his ears and pounded in his head, rendering his limbs feeble and numb. The frantic movements of those around him and his older brother's inquiries and orders blurred into obscurity, leaving only the sensation of his own scalding skin, burning him alive. He longed to rip his garments from his body, to tear his flesh asunder, as the air grew oppressively thick and sweltering, suffocating him as if he were submerged beneath water. The tingling sensation in his fingertips and the throbbing pain in his right eye pierced his consciousness. It was as though he were aflame from within, feeling the molten flow of his blood beneath his searing skin.

Their shared life flashed before his eyes in an instant. He remembered her fragility, how he cradled her in his arms and heart. Those days when he pushed her wheelchair with gusto, eliciting laughter from her. She was a year his senior, yet her fragility and ailment demanded his physical protection. In turn, she fortified his spirit, offering solace in a world that sought to alter him. He visited her chamber daily, sharing tales of their parents and elder sibling, and she listened, offering comfort and understanding. He was her bastion, and she was his serenity. He was her army, and she was his peace. They were inseparable, and the notion of existence without one another seemed unfathomable.

The sun no longer bathed Dorne in its usual warmth on the day her remains returned to their homeland. That Dornish sun, once radiant, now dawned upon a lifetime burdened by sorrow. She had been his sun, his compass… and he, the unwavering sunflower, had turned to follow her every step. But now, he stood alone, adrift in a sea of grief and rage.

The maesters had begged him to avert his gaze, especially from her visage—or what remained of it, to be precise. They wished to preserve her memory, to shield the image of her serenity from the abhorrent tragedy she had endured. Oberyn, however, bore the weight of her demise squarely upon his own shoulders. He harbored the belief that it was his heedlessness, his momentary acquiescence to his brother’s commands, that had led to her tragic end. And as penance, he needed to engrave the gruesome sight of her shattered skull and broken mandible to his brain, so that the searing memory might forever scar his psyche.

He craved the pain, the unrelenting thirst for vengeance, for it was this anguish that would serve as a relentless reminder. He needed her tragic fate etched into the very fiber of his being, so that if ever a trace of empathy for these monsters dared to creep into his thoughts, the vivid memory of what they had stolen from him—the essence of his sweet Elia—would rip through his soul, leaving him wounded, but resolute in his pursuit of justice.

The absence of a sibling is an ineffable experience… alexithymic; one that defies the boundaries of expression. You see, a person's existence in this world is akin to that of a tree; the parents, the grandparents, and all the ancestors serve as the unwavering stem, the robust trunk that grounds and anchors one's very being. Your children, they are the intricate roots, extensions of your essence that traverse the world, existing as a continuation of you, and you, in turn, live life through them. But siblings... they are the branches.

To lose a sibling is to lose a part of yourself, a limb perhaps, one that may not kill you but certainly inflicts the agony of phantom pain. It lingers, this spectral ache, an ever-present reminder that punctuates your happiest moments, like a persistent thorn in your side, incessantly prodding you to remember what you have forfeited. It leaves behind a lingering melancholy, not potent enough to suffocate you to death, yet substantial enough to hinder the prospect of living life to its fullest.

But how does one even go about living life in the semblance of normalcy?

For a sibling is more than a mere bearer of shared genes; they are witnesses to your enduring connection with stubborn parents, companions in the labyrinthine maze of childhood, fellow travelers through the terrain of trauma. They are the ones who have beheld every facet of your being, every iteration of your existence.

In the years that followed, he embarked on a ceaseless flight, fleeing from her shadow, from the haunting memory of their love. Her name, once a melody on his tongue, now tasted acrid, too laden with pain to be cherished or recollected. His heart, once a sanctuary of devotion, was now filled with a venomous brew of hatred, anger, and an insatiable thirst for retribution. He yearned to hunt down every man across the Seven Kingdoms, to rend their flesh from bone with his own bare hands. Yet, deep within, he nurtured a more profound loathing—for himself, for his own frailty and cowardice.

Her death had sapped his strength, of that he was certain. He could no longer gaze upon the sun without wincing, nor could he behold the graceful palm trees that adorned every corner of Dorne without feeling his gut wrenching, as though it were on the verge of rupture. Even the taste of figs, her favored fruit, had become an agony to bear. And when he cast his eyes upon his own brother, he could not help but wish it had been he who suffered such a wretched fate, rather than his sweet Elia.

On bended knee, he knelt beside her sandstone tomb, on the eve of his departure from Dorne, where he would spend the impending years in solitude, far removed from the land they had once shared. Whispering amidst tears that welled in his eyes and his aching heart, And unbowed, unbent, and unbroken, you must rest, my Sun.

#oberyn martell #elia martell #pedrostories #asoiaf #dorne #game of thrones #oberyn nymeros martell #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #angst #whispers of vendetta #wov #fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #my writing #aura’s fics

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bucknastysbabe · 1 year

Text

Half-mad with lust

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen/Reader

Tags: Aegon is a drunk asshole, vaginal sex, switch!Aegon, Dornish!reader, some oc’s made for ~immersion~, targs everywhere, other HOTD characters mentioned, dirty talk, tit sucking, power dynamics, general filth

Synopsis: The princess Aliandra Martell’s lady-in-waiting attends a royal tourney with her. She expects to bed a lord, but not the wayward dragon prince. Aegon won’t forget to ever disappoint a Dornish lady again.

Find me on ao3 at secretsun :)

The tourney celebration was soon to be in full swing. It was in honor of Prince Aegon’s children Jaehaerys and Jaehaera’s second name day. Bannermen and houses from all over the Seven Kingdoms had come. Even the queer folk of the free cities and the feathered ebon-skinned men of the Summer Isles. All to celebrate the twins making it past the perilous years of toddling.

Dorne and it’s people were on rocky terms with the Targaryens, but would come up for a grand tourney. You were a lady-in-waiting to the young princess Aliandra Martell. As an Uller of Hellholt you were of noble heritage and chosen to be the girl’s guide since you were young. It had been wonderful so far— you’d been all over the world with the precocious princess.

The royal in question bounced on her sand steed, ranting about handsome knights. You nodded along, keeping your eyes peeled for the familiar red and yellow colors of your house. They had not sent you any letters of late. House Uller did not have the best reputation, known for being merciless and the slayers of Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes. Your family tended to keep up in the sand next to the stinking sulfurous Brimstone. Noble house Dayne or proud Yronwood would be more like to show up besides the Martells.

The hand had promised the Martell’s a sumptuous tent in the Kingswood. The men-at-arms would have to camp in lesser circumstances. Aliandra’s wide brown eyes turned to you, asking, “Do you think you’ll find a comely knight to bed?” You laughed brazenly and chided, “Keep that language to a minimum m’lady— we’re out of the Marches. Among noble and decent folk’.”

Aliandra giggled and the knight next to you snorted under his helm. The kingdom outside of Dorne worshipped pious gods and stuck to stuffy rules but acted the opposite. Even at Sunspear rumors swirled of the tension between the Targaryens and Hightowers at the Red Keep. The weak King Viserys kept a blind eye and claimed Rhaenyra as his heir. How Rhoynish of him.

Your party slowly made it’s way down the King’s Road, surrounded by vassals of House Martell and it’s men. The Red Keep loomed in the distance and the crystal towers of the Sept sparkled under the sun. You could hear the voices from the throngs of people set up in the fields outside the city’s walls. You scrunched your nose at the stench of the city and the Blackwater.

Aliandra snarked, “You grew up next to the Brimstone why are you green?”

You sniped back, “Sulphur is much more palatable than dead fish and swine.”

“House Martell and it’s members, it’s an honor!,” came a voice.

Lyonel Dayne, the castellan of Sunspear laughed under his breath, “Of course they send a Dornish to welcome the Dornish.” Ser Criston Cole in the white cloak of the Kingsguard arrived on a sturdy courser. His handsome face beamed at Aliandra. He announced, “Warm welcomes from the on behalf of the Targaryens to my countrymen and Princess. Follow me to your tents please.”

Lyonel nodded brusquely and motioned for everyone to follow. Ser Criston asked the young Princess, “Why are you not in a litter or wheelhouse m’lady?”

Aliandra flirted easily for a young girl, coyly remarking, “A Princess of Dorne rides with her people.”

The crowd murmured in agreement, Cole lauding her bravery. Tall banners of the three headed dragon littered the grounds along with many others of the great houses down to the smaller nobility. Your lips quirked up at the sigil of the Direwolf— even the frigid northmen came. A grand tent was erected with the familiar symbol of a sun pierced by a spear. Aliandra cheered, “How beautiful! Anserys make sure to decorate it…more at home!” The mute Lyseni servant nodded from behind, a cart loaded down with costly silken pillows and woven Myrish rugs attached to his horse.

Lord Dayne helped the Princess down and her Martell cousin assisted you from your gelding. Taron smirked down at you, his dark skin gleaming in the hot sun. He murmured, “Say, you might need to hide now. I don’t know how the Dragons might feel of an Uller in their nest.”

You rolled your eyes and lamented, “It’s been years Taron, begone you fool.”

The castellan barked orders at the men and servants while Aliandra awed at the sights around. She tugged on your silken sleeve and asked, “Can we take a walk around? C’mon hellmaid!“ You laughed at her crude nickname and ushered the girl to move along. There was some time to be wasted before the quarters were set up.

You stood silently while the girl chatted up some of the great houses; Lannister, Arryn, and Stark. The Tyrells sniffed and looked the other way. You had to pull the Princess away from her glaring at the Baratheon party. Lord Borros had made the marches bloody many times. Walking by a babbling stream she said, “I’d like to meet the Targaryen’s already. Or the Velaryons. Make me a Queen someday!”

You laughed bitterly, “I’d run away little Ali. Queer folk, marrying into eachother and claiming themselves closer to god than men. Their own Septon doesn’t condone it but obeys or will be eaten by Dragons.”

“Oh! Dragons! I hope to see one! I’ve heard Prince Aegon’s Sunfyre is the most beautiful one of all. Or Vhagar!,” she grew quiet, “No not that one.”

You frowned slightly. Hellholt stood but the desert around was still so scorched in places it had turned into black glass. Vhagar and Balerion had turned Dorne into a fire pit for many a moon. Your father told you stories of the Dragon’s Wroth. You’d rather see the dragons from a distance. Aliandra bounded over a couple of mossy rocks, causing you to snatch the dark girl.

“Don’t get filthy now, we have a feast to attend tonight foolish Princess!”

Later on you had idly watched, offering advice as the handmaidens dressed Aliandra. She looked beautiful as ever, clad in burnished orange silk. The sigil of her house was delicately painted on her sleeves. Gold rings adorned her hands and wrists, and a small circlet topped the swath of black glossy hair. They smudged her dark eyes with kohl. You murmured sweetly, “Breathtaking my Princess. Once you’re of age I think more lords will line up than Rhaenyra’s ball ages ago.”

Aliandra smugly did a twirl, batting her eyes in the mirror. She declared, “I will conquer a dragon tonight.” You laughed again, tucking your own glossed hair behind an ear. The Princess of Dorne had picked out your outfit to your chagrin. The dress was handsome but was very low cut. Which was no problem in Dorne, but the Crownlands might differ. You were grateful for the airiness of the gown, as it was muggy outside.

The silks of your dress were layered with the fiery colors of Uller. You wore thick gold jewelry with rubies and citrine. Aliandra’s old wet nurse

provided you with a perfume of citrus, it reminded you of the oranges and sour fruits outside of Sunspear. The princess herself doted on you, applying kohl to your eyes. She huffed, “Find yourself a lord for the night! I want gossip.” You acquiesced, “Sure sure, maybe I’ll entice old Lyonel. I’d like to see his sword of the morning.”

The pair of you descended into giggles. One last brush up and your party was led to the set up for the feast. There were fine ironwood tables set up facing the dais adorned with dragons. The royals sat their with their blonde hair and purple eyes— save Rhaenyra’s curious sons and the Hightowers.

A dwarf announced, “Hailing from the desolate unconquered lands of Dorne! The Princess Aliandra of House Martell. Accompanied by Ser Lyonel Dayne and her motley party of southron deviants!”

The crowds laughed and the King clapped his hands in glee. The princess took it in stride, giving a saucy wink to the crowd. She nodded at a servant. Now stepped forward the child spoke evenly, “I bear gifts for the young dragons.” The squat boy kneeled with a large box. Ser Criston grabbed it and handed it to princess Helaena who was smiling softly.

She opened the gift. It contained two child sized coats of beautiful white fur. Helaena nodded and thanked the princess. Aliandra announced, “Two fine coats for drafty weather. Made of the little Valyrian lemurs from the great forest of Qohor.” The king Viserys rasped, “How wonderful, thank you princess.” The queen lifted her cup. The rest of the Targaryens seemed unphased.

Unfortunately your table was next to the proud Lannisters. Somehow Lord Jason’s ego rubbed off on the young Martell. You sipped your wine and halfheartedly listened to the lion lord’s tales. Your eyes wandered around. On the dais the King was suspiciously now gone. He looked ill earlier. Princess Rhaenyra smiled coyly as the infamous Daemon whispered something in her ear. Her brown headed boys chuckled about something. To the left the queen held a pinched face next to the hand.

The second son Aemond Targaryen glared about the crowd, his one eye piercing. Helaena bounced her youngest child. Your eyes widened when they met with purple. Prince Aegon stared right back at you. His full lips quirked up and violet glassy eyes seemed to take off your clothing. You were not going to bow to this drunken dragon.

You raised one brow daringly, the prince’s eyebrows furrowing back. One of his ringed hands pushed back his platinum hair. You brought your hand up and blew a kiss at the prince with hooded eyes. His once blasé expression morphed into a lecherous grin. He mouthed, “A dance later?” You mouthed back, “I would hope so.”

The prince blushed and turned away when one of his family said something. You gulped your wine and sniggered. The prince may have a reputation for whoring but he’d never lain with a Uller. Taron whispered, “Have I had too much strongwine or I just saw you and Aegon Targaryen eye-fucking?”

“Mayhaps Taron, mayhaps,” you replied enigmatically.

A jaunty tune started to play as lords and ladies filtered out to dance. Aliandra lept up with you behind. Jason Lannister offered his hand to the princess graciously. You waited for the great houses to pair up before getting in line. You partnered up with a comely knight bearing the sigil of House Bracken, sullen and intense. Round and round you went breathlessly until you met the violet eyes from earlier.

“There you are,” Prince Aegon mused. His hands followed yours in a pattern. You replied, “Here I am your grace.” The pair of you twirled in the throng of people. From a distance you could hear your princess’ childish giggle. Aegon inquired, “You’re not a Martell, what house? Gods know you all wear red.”

Slight uneasiness warped your voice when you managed, “Uller of Hellholt.”

Aegon laughed, a manic sound. He sneered, “Ah- the burners and dragon slayers from the stinking river.” Your eyes narrowed as his warm hands pinched your waist. He smelled of herbs, smoke, and sweet wine. You jabbed, “So that makes your family the sister-fucking usurpers then?”

Aegon’s full lips split into a grin as he twisted you round and pulled your back to his chest. He hummed into your ear, “Maybe Sunfyre and I can take a trip to Hellholt and see if it still burns? I like you, much more fight than the usual lady.” He nipped at the shell of your ear. The nobility danced on around you. “You must not know what they say about us your grace,” you craned your head to stare, “Half of the Ullers are half-mad, and the other half are worse.”

“Fine with me,” Aegon said. You raised up to bite his lip playfully. You drew blood and threw yourself into the throngs of people, spinning through the crowd to evade detection. The prince gasped and touched the now-throbbing flesh. He licked at the blood and shivered, his interest in you fully awakened.

Aegon zig-zagged through the crowd, shrugging off old Hobert Hightower in his pursuit. He caught a glimpse of your fiery dress and shoved a lad in the bronze colors of House Royce aside. You turned to beckon him with a wink, the prince huffing and calling out, “Quit playing hell spawn!”

“After you dragonspawn!,” you laughed.

He chased you to the edge of the encampment. The creek you walked along with Ali still babbled on in the darkness. You tripped on the silks of your dress, stumbling forwards with a squawk. Prince Aegon swept you up into his arms with a delighted cheer. You playfully struggled against him, stamping a foot down on his own. Aegon yelped and grabbed a fistful of your hair, craning your head painfully.

With a delighted moan you relented. The silver prince growled, “Done with your games now?” You breathed, “I think so- the chase just gets the uh, blood up Hm?” You tilted your hips back into his straining member, the other’s violet eyes falling shut with a groan. Aegon’s hands pinched at the yielding flesh on your hips and ass. His lips found their way to the sensitive column of your neck.

You impatiently uttered, “Your grace? Are you going to hump me like a green boy or fuck me senseless? I can tell you’re used to pillow houses.”

Aegon’s lips stopped and he sucked in a breath. In hurried jerks he shoved you down to the ground. You groaned as your face was shoved against the cold loam of the ground. He hissed from behind, “You Dornish are insolent— I’d have your tongue for speaking to your prince like that!” Gloved hands hiked up your dress, exposing you to the cool breeze. You gasped and bit out, “You love it,” you tossed your hair, “Someone to show you how to actually work your cock.”

Aegon shoved himself to the hilt in your sex, the pair of you crying out. He started a brutal pace, gripping your ass roughly. He growled into your ear, “I doubt your kind cares, you’re bred to be sluts. Shut the fuck up and take it.” You rolled your eyes and clenched down on the Prince, him making a weak noise in response. Your fingers dug into the ground as he pounded into your most sensitive spot.

You replied, much breathier than intended, “Do you even know what a clitoris is?”

A pinch to your swollen button was his response.

R’hllors blood red fires please.

You bucked back against Aegon’s eager pumps, whining in pleasure. One of his ringed hands curled into your hair, pulling roughly. Your lashes fluttered and you clenched again, the Prince abusing your wet cunt. One of your hands drifted between your legs and rubbed at your clit. Aegon yanked harder and slurred, “Slut.” You could feel his thighs tremble against your own.

Your moans pitched up when he used a hand to bend your back further, sliding his cock impossibly deeper. You hissed, “C’mon and make me come your grace, fill me up.” Aegon’s hips stuttered and he suddenly released— hot spurts of come painting your cunt. He groaned throatily, pressing his hips tightly against your cheeks. Your mouth set in a thin line at his early climax.

He slid out of you with a wince, falling onto his back with a silly smile. He waved a hand and haughtily laughed, “Not much of a difference between you and the Sands on the street of silk.” You clambered onto your haunches, hot anger filling your chest.

You’d show the bratty Prince.

Quickly you turned and straddled the drunk Targaryen. One of your slim hands encircled his throat, the bangles on your wrist clinking in the night air. His purple eyes widened and the smirk fell off his plush lips. Your other hand pulled out a small blade from the layers of your dress and held it to his pale throat.

You grinned down at him, watching the fear and lust wrestle in his expression. You darkly whispered, “I’d say you are no better than any other green boy looking for something exotic, cumming so fast. You owe me, your grace.” Aegon’s soft cock stirred to life against your weeping opening, him gaping at you.

You laughed, “What? Nothing to say? Not very similar to your namesake.”

He leveled, “Put down the blade.”

“Ask nicely.”

A thin whine left his lips, his cock jumping again. He begged, “Please m’lady— put down the blade. I’ll play nice.”

You carefully laid the shank down, giving his pretty throat a warning squeeze. You leaned into his face and smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of Aegon’s full lips. He moaned softly, squirming under your powerful thighs. You cooed, “That wasn’t so hard. Princeling just needed a firm hand.” You nipped at his swollen bottom lip again, before sliding your tongue in.

His hands moved to your thighs, so gently as if he were asking permission. You groaned against his lips, “No farther.” Your tongue danced against his own, lips slotting together eagerly. Aegon’s hands twitched as he fought for purchase. He failed with an aborted whine when you gingerly suckled on his tongue.

Moving downward you mouthed against his jaw and murmured, “You have such pretty skin, I think I’ll mark it up.” Aegon’s head and cock jerked eagerly. You sucked a blooming mark into his throat, rutting your hips downward at his soft noises. Soon a necklace blossomed on the thin skin in mottled purples and reds. Aegon’s dick leaked against your own sex needily. He pled softly under his breath for you.

You asked meanly, “Does the dragon prince want my pussy?”

He sniveled, “Please, please, need it.”

You licked a salty tear up and slid down the top of your dress, exposing your breasts. Aegon’s eyes bugged and his fingers dug into the meat of your thighs. He begged again, “Oh please- let me have a taste- I’ll be so good.” Thumbing at his cheek you grinned down at the poor thing. It’s always the ones who strut around like an inflated peacock who cry under a little pressure.

“Since you’re being so nice now, sure.”

He eagerly pressed his face into your tits, sucking at a nipple. You moved his hand to the untouched other bud, the prince thumbing and pinching. You took the moment to slide onto his flushed cock, throwing your head back. Aegon moaned around a nipple, his eyelids fluttering in ecstasy. You rode him at a brisk pace, angling your hips forward for more stimulation.

You moaned, “That’s a good fucktoy, see how much better it is when you’re not a brat?”

Aegon babbled something incoherent, completely under your spell now. You slapped his cheek, the flushed skin turning redder at the contact. You hissed, “Speak whore.” He mewled, eyes glassy with lust, “Y-yes fuck it’s s’good!” You shoved his platinum head back to your swollen tits, yanking so hard some hair came out.

“C’mon and make me come this time,” you moaned.

You were close, just from your intense bouncing and Aegon’s wide watery eyes. He weakly cursed you, “D-Dornish witch- fuck!” He obediently rubbed a thumb in circles on your clit, bucking up into your tight cunt. You cried out and trembled as your belly tightened. Your flesh erupted in goosebumps as you milked his flushed cock, releasing with a deep groan.

Aegon sobbed at the feeling of you gush around him, shaking with the intensity of it all. He pleaded, “Ah- ah- lemme’ cum again I’m so fucking hard!” Your fingers and thumbs dug into the vessels on his mottled neck and assented, “You can come silly boy.” He bit his lip bloody again, whimpers and sobs escaping as his seed splashed inside of you. Some escaped from the fullness of your pussy, mixing with older spend and your own release.

Your thighs clamped down on his slim hips again, a smaller orgasm wracking your frame. You gutturally moaned his name and fell forward, still sheathed onto his twitching cock. You laughed at his struck expression, the Targaryen’s face turning into a pout. You gently kissed his abused lips and slid off of the Prince, more spend leaking out and staining his fancy breeches.

He gazed up at you as you sat onto the moist ground next to him. Aegon asked, “Wha- what are you doing?” You dusted yourself off and stood up on coltish legs. With a shrug you replied, “I have to get back to the Princess. She’s going to be ecstatic when I tell her the dragon prince cries like a bitch.” You began your way back to the camp, Aegon staring at you like a lovesick wench. He squawked, “Don’t leave! I have my own tent! Please!”

You called over your shoulder, “The tourney lasts a week, I’m sure I’ll see you in the morn.”

Princess Aliandra waited in her cot, glaring at you petulantly. She questioned, “Who have you been carousing with?” You smirked and whispered as you poked her nose, “I’ll let you guess tomorrow. He’s already smitten.”

Seeing her dark eyes widen when Prince Aegon spilled his wine on his doublet at the sight of you made your morning. You idly looked at the man, eyeing his high collared shirt. He cursed under his breath but his violet eyes were soft. This would be a fun week for you.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #Aegon ii targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #TARGGSSSSS

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sweetbonniebel · 8 months

Text

Unbent,unbowed,unbroken

Chapter 3

Aemond/ Aegon/ Jacaerys x fem! Targaryen! Martell! reader

Synopsis: Time flies by quickly, tensions rise in the court of King Viserys the second, his wife and daughter take opposing sides. (y/n) finds herself in the middle of the conflicts, as her marriage might change the tides of history.

Chapter one Chapter two Chapter four

125 ac

It has been three years since the lady (y/n) Martell has arrived in King’s Landing. Numerous letters have been shared between her father, step mother and her younger brother Quentyn. She described what life was like in the court of king Viserys and the queen Alicent.

In turn her father spoke of the life in Dorne, the birth of his son Mallor, the seventh sibling of the princess. Her father often spoke of marriage as it was one way of securing the family line and gain allies to the house Martell as well as keep yn safe in a foreign land.

The noble lady was approaching her tenth and fourth day of birth, the Queen and the sick king have decided to throw a celebration in the name of yn Martell.

…

You knew what it meant to be a lady of such noble birth, half Dornish half Targaryen. Your own mother was betrothed to your father around the same age as you are now, and soon after the ceremony, she was with child.

The princess Rhaenyra took a liking to you, inviting you to join her strolls through the gardens, any meals that she ate with her sons as her husband the lord Laenor was somehow occupied. The dragon princess treated you like her own daughter that she never had. You studied with her sons as well as the children of queen Alicent, sharing more lessons with her daughter as most of the lessons were for men, not women. That was something you never experienced in Dorne, you studied the same subjects as your brother. You learned science, arithmetics, history, art and swordsmanship, but here in Kings landing it was different. You were not allowed to do certain things as a woman, or were frowned upon if you have done something unladylike. Loudly laughing, running, sharing your opinions on multiple topics but especially politics as that was the field for men, women were supposed to be dutiful wives and mothers. Nothing more than an objects which’s only job was to squeeze out heirs, tend to her husbands urges and repeat.

Things were not the same in your homeland, your step mother was a woman of science, your siblings raised the same way, not divided by gender.

Her grace Queen Alicent also treated you with fondness, as you were the best friend of her only daughter Haelena. Talking of the many insects that the princess took interest in, as well as embroidering together and going on walks in the gardens of the keep.

You were present during the birth of the twins Jahaerys and Jahaera, holding Helaena’s hand during her labours, as prince Aegon was occupied with a goblet in his hand. You were fond of the little children, and took care of them along with their mother.

Helaena was a sweet girl, completely different from her brothers, Aegon the drunk who almost always was in some brothel in flea bottom, and Aemond a rather quiet, cunning and talented swordsman, he was made fun of by his own brother and his nephews for lacking a dragon. You didn’t support their antics, it was rude and childish. So Aemond found some comfort in you, he would spend time with you in the library, talking of history and art, going on rides on horseback through the forests of kings landing, the activities and interests you shared were endless. He didn’t treat you as a frail object, nor did he dismiss your interests in science and the arts, he actually encouraged them. Studying together and exchanging theories was something you often found yourself doing with Aemond.

“My lady?” Your maid’s voice interrupted your scribbling on the gentle paper of the letter to your father.

“Yes, Talana?” You answered, putting down your quill and glancing at the woman.

“His highness the King has requested your presence” She spoke quietly, playing with the hem of her burgundy dress.

“Really?” You muttered, it wasn’t often you spent time with the King as his health was worsening by the day. But you enjoyed the talks you had with his grace, he spoke fondly of your mother and grandmother. Viserys found comfort in your presence, you worked with him on the Valyrian sculpture, and talked of the great civilization, but that was the only topic you were allowed to talk about with his grace. He was not interested in your other thoughts, dismissed your talk of the current political situation in the country, as well as conversation about his later children.

“Talana could you help me change?” You asked the servant girl and she nodded. She brought a black and emerald green dress, and helped you in it, she braided your hair in an updo adorned with a hairpin that held many onyx gemstones.

The Kingsguard escorted you to the kings solar, the heavy doors were opened by the guards stationed outside. You thanked the two men and gracefully stepped inside, you noticed that the King was sat in front of the crackling fire that warmed the stone quarters.

“Your grace?” You spoke gently moving next to the king, you held his hand as he jolted awake. Probably falling asleep waiting for you.

“Ah, my sweet (y/n)” He spoke breathlessly, you smiled in return and took a seat next to the king.

“You have asked to see me your grace.”

Viserys looked your way, his thinning hair, lack of arm and a tired look on his face made him seem as if he was on the verge of death, but you knew better as the King’s health was deteriorating for over ten years, but he still kept fighting. His disease was greatly hidden by the small council, but any fanatic of legends could match the symptoms of the ailing king to the curse of the iron throne.

“As you know your fourth and tenth celebration is coming, which makes you a woman now. Gael was your age when she wed Morion, a grand celebration it was. Grandmother was sad to see her only living daughter being wed and shipped to the south, but she knew it was for the best. An alliance with Dorne was desperately needed, and Gael sealed that treaty giving birth to you.” He spoke fondly of his cousin and you knew where this talk was going, you were to be wed.

“What a fine woman she was, kind, beautiful, compassionate, a bit naive but that made her even more endearing.” Viserys smiled at the memory of his cousin. “Now (y/n) it is your duty to continue to strengthen the house of the dragon.”

You nodded at his words caressing his hand gently. He coughed slightly, you jumped towards a goblet of wine to help him ease his throat. He gratefully took the drink and gulped it down.

“You will make a fine wife (y/n).” He mumbled when he stopped coughing. You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the words of the king.

“Thank you, your grace. I just hope to share my life with a decent man.” You mumbled quietly suppressing your displeasure of the way you were perceived.

“Rhaenyra and I have been thinking of a possible match for you.” You smiled at the mention of her highness, this meant that your match wouldn’t be half bad, and you wouldn’t be shipped of to gods knows where.

“We think that Jace would make a fine husband.” He mumbled. “But the Queen proposed to wed you to Aemond.

You stayed silent, the thought of marrying either of them didn’t bring you any emotions, you cared for both of them. They were your good friends, but any fool could see that this was a power play. If you married Jacaerys you were a supporter of Rhaenyra as heir to the throne, and if you married Aemond you would stand being Aegon as king. That was not something you would like to see happen, Rhaenyra would be a much better monarch, but kings landing was the Queens domain, and you had to play right to not be shunned or worse. This was a game of life, death and the throne.

“Your children either with Jace or Aemond would become dragon riders, and serve loyally to Rhaenyra once she becomes queen.” He smiled at the thought of his beloved child.

What he missed to mention was if you married Jace, you would become queen once Rhaenyra has passed. Of course that would only happen if Jace would outlive his mother, and be crowned King, but you knew the realm would not stand for that and certainly the hand of the king lord Otto would oppose. The Hightowers and the Queens loyalists spread rumors that Rhaenyra’s sons were illegitimate, sired by the commander of the city watch ser Harwin of house Strong.

“I am honored that you think I’m worthy of marrying their highnesses.” You murmured to the sickly King, a fit of coughing interrupting his speech. “I should call a maester.” You announced standing up and walking back to the guards, your dress swaying behind you elegantly. That put your conversation of marriage to an end, your engagement is a state matter, and will be treated as such, meaning that a meeting of the small council will decide your fate. Men you do not know will decide your marriage, your fate for the “good” of the realm.

You wanted to scoff at that prospect, some puny lords shall decide whom to wed you to, not even your father has been alerted of the news. As his opinion did not matter much when the king was involved, his decision was the final one. But perhaps the King would not want to start war with the south over the mistreatment of the princes eldest daughter.

…

This was new information, you were to be married off. Either to Jacaerys, opposing the Queen and ignoring the rumors of illegitimacy. They did not know that the blood of the dragon ran thick, princess Rhaenys, the queen who never was had Baratheon blood, she had dark thick curls from her mother. That could easily explain the chestnut hair that Rhaenyra’s sons possessed.

And then again there was Aemond, betraying the Heirs trust. He was only the second son of King Viserys and his second wife Alicent Hightower, rather thin and half the size of his brother at birth but nonetheless ferocious. Bold, willful and hot tempered just like a true dragon. But that was his downfall a lack of steed that his brother and nephews possessed. He was bitter about the lack of a dragon, and the rage and humiliation bubbled inside him until one day it will explode.

The rift between the blacks and the greens were worsening by the day. Queen Alicent and princess Rhaenyra once best of friends, now enemies that could not stand each other. The King did not do much to fix the tensions rising in his court, more possible was the fact that he was oblivious to any happenings in kings landing.

The only reason that the princess Rhaenyra stayed at court was the Kings health, she knew that her father was weak and on the verge of death. When the King dies, the power rested in the person quicker to crown the new ruler. That could not be done if the crowned heir was hundreds of leagues away on dragon stone.

You understood politics and were rather clever, so the succession crisis was no strange matter to you. Even with your knowledge you were not sure of what to do. Turning to a trusted person such as your father for advice was the only thing on your mind at the moment. Maybe your father would have a wise word to say as to who would make a finer husband and a better ally.

“My lady Martell”

The voice of the prince Aegon, echoed through the stone hallway of the red keep. You stopped dead in your tracks and took a deep breath preparing for a unpleasant conversation with your cousin.

“My prince” You answered and turned around gently and curtsied before facing the white haired man. He was slightly slurring his words, probably to over indulgence in wine or other alcoholic beverage. He was often that way, drunk or suffering from morning fog, it depended on the hour of the day.

“You are growing more beautiful by the day” He murmured walking over to you with a slight limp, he draped one of his hands on the small of your back. “Tis a shame that my lowly dragon less brother will be the one to steal your virtue.”

You swallowed thickly at the sentence that left his lips, probably the Queen told him of her plan for you, to marry her favorite son. You knew of the lack of fondness between the brothers, the difference of personalities as well as their contrasting opinions have made it impossible for them to have a good relationship.

“Has her Grace told you so?” You answered with a bit of a bite in your tone, but not enough to startle the prince or insinuate any ill motives.

“Ah mother, she barely tells me anything.” Aegon murmured sadly “No, one of the maids that serve her told me over a passionate evening.”

You clenched your teeth at the mention of the mistreatment that the prince has put countless women through.

“Is that so? His grace my uncle proposed that I either marry your brother, or your nephew.” You answered smugly, taking Aegon by his arm.

“That bastard?” He sounded almost shocked. “Pardon my language my lady but Jace is no more than a son of a lowly knight, he is not fit as your husband.”

“You should watch what you say my prince, what you’re saying is treason. His highness Jacaerys is the son of the princess Rhaenyra and lord Laenor.” You said, your voice hard. Bastard or not he was the son of Rhaenyra, a dragon.

“Oh you don’t have to be so uptight with me princess, we both know he’s a bastard.” He mused, you stayed silent at that comment, preferring to hear what the prince has to say.

You have known Jacaerys for a long time now, he was just and bold as well as caring and protective of his family. He may have not been fathered by ser Laenor, but his mother was still Rhaenyra. The heir to the iron throne, Jace was the next in line of succession.

The brown haired teen was a great friend to you, you spent time together, learning, playing, dancing. So hearing Aegon insult his name did not sit right with you.

Aegon walked you to your room, not exchanging much words between. He was rather monologuing, not saying anything important or of value, rather talking of his daily life, like a diary. You curtsied gently to the prince, as was the custom, once he walked you to your chambers.

…

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visenyasdragon · 3 months

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Sea Dragon Queen. Chapter II

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen, though they do not interact in this particular chapter

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: An AU where Targaryens have braincells. Alicent visits Viserys in the evening even though his betrothal to Laena Velaryon had already been announced.

Taglist: @arcielee @vhagarswar

Read on Ao3

Alicent I

“Are you going to see the king tonight?”, her father asked one chilly early spring evening, as they were having supper in their dining room in the Tower of the Hand. “I had several new gowns made for you, in the fashion of our late Queen Aemma. They should be already laid out for you in your bedchamber. It seems your mother’s old clothes aren’t quite doing the trick.”

A gust of wind howled beyond the closed stained glass windows. The beeswax candles in their wall sconces swayed in unison. Alicent knew perfectly well it was not really a question.

“And what kind of trick would that be, father?” asked Alicent quietly, before she could stop herself. She’d known since before she could remember that it was never a good idea to contradict Ser Otto. It was not through pure luck that he ascended to the office of Handship, after all. Even her own mother of blessed memory, the Lady Elinor Cuy, shrinked from challenging him too often. But Alicent felt herself growing bolder as of late. All the realm, from the Wall to the Dornish Marches, knew of their monarch’s solemn betrothal to Laena Velaryon, and such promises were not lightly broken, not even by the blood of the dragon. She felt almost safe. She took a larger sip of her watered Oldtown red to give herself courage.

“You know very well, Alicent. You are the most beautiful girl at court after the Princess. I heard Lord Rowan say so himself not three days since. Surely with a little effort you can enchant an old man enough to make him forget about a slight girl of twelve” he said, while cutting up his venison roast with a knife, his eyes not meeting her.

Alicent’s cheeks reddened. This went directly against everything she’d been taught by her mother, her septas, every woman of her rank and station she’s ever met. She had no more idea of seduction than of the inner politics of the Empire of Leng. Feeling equipped only to soothe his grief and to offer him friendship, that was the course she’d taken. Alicent knew the Kingsguard and the servants were already talking, and she dreaded the day when the word of her half-secret rendezvous reached Rhaenyra. Or maybe it already had, and she was only waiting for the right occasion to confront her about it?

“I have no knowledge of such tricks” countered Alicent sullenly, her eyes anchored on the polished brass plate in front of her. She nibbled on her roasted vegetables, her stomach in a painful knot.

“Then perhaps you might be persuaded to pay a visit to your uncle Lord Hobart in Oldtown” he said, locking her gaze with his watery grey eyes. “It has been so long since they’ve seen their beloved niece. In the last letter my brother sent me, he mentioned that one of his bannermen is looking for a wife” her father chastised with a smug expression she knew very well.

“Father, I…”, Alicent interrupted weakly.

“Do not interrupt me when I’m speaking, Alicent!” Ser Otto boomed with an angry voice. “Like I said, Ser Waymar Mullendore, a younger brother of the Lord of Uplands, is looking for a fertile, young consort, having no sons of his own. And besides, House Hightower ought to maintain good relationships with its vassal houses, would you not say so, Alicent? Ser Waymar is but three-and-fifty and is currently serving as one of the senior officers of the City Watch of Oldtown. He stands to inherit exactly nothing, but I’m sure my modest, obedient daughter will not mind a spartan life in the barracks, having been born to a second son and ill-equipped to manage a castle herself. You will never see Princess Rhaenyra again. What say you to such a match, my daughter?” His teeth caught in the candlelight as he smiled at her.

Alicent felt lightheaded. Her eyes pierced, her cheeks white-hot, and her throat was dry, so she quickly doused it in her red wine. She found herself wishing it was sweet Arbor strongwine, not the tart, watered variety of her hometown. With a shaking hand, she placed her empty cup back on the table. A pale red winedrop ran down the brass goblet, landing on her bitten fingernail.

“I’m grateful for all your efforts to secure my future, father.” she said quietly, looking at her white fingers resting on the table. She could barely control the urge to bite them. Instead, she took a bite of her roasted turnip. It tasted bitter on her dry tongue.

“I know you are, sweetling. We all must do our part to ensure our House’s prosperity, fathers and daughters alike. Just like princess Rhaenyra will serve the crown by being the Sea Snake’s ward, I would like you to do your part for your House” he explained calmly, as if he had not shouted at her a moment before. She wondered if the servants had heard. She wished they did. “And trying on a few new dresses is such a small price to pay for all your family does for you, is it not?”

She could only find the strength to nod.

Alicent followed their old servant, Kyra, up the serpentine candlelit staircase to the upper floor above the Hand’s dining room, where Alicent’s solar and bedchamber were located. It was dusk; through the Tower’s tall windows she could see the empty training yard and the setting sky. The sunset had painted the thousand clay tile roofs of the capital a variety of shades of amethyst, lavender and lilac.

“Make haste, my lady, the seamstress is waiting” Kyra called in a kindly voice from ahead of her. “She is a busy woman, mark my words, m’lady. One o’ the best tailors in King’s Landing she is, everyone in the keep says so. Made gowns for good queen Aemma, she did. Don’t say she didn't. No, we mustn't keep her waiting, m’lady” she chattered. If it were anyone other than Kyra, Alicent would be well within her rights to disparage her for addressing a highborn lady of the court in such a manner, and a daughter of the Hand himself at that. But Kyra was Oldtown-born like herself, and it did Alicent good to hear the familiar, lilting accent so far home. She’d been in Ser Otto’s employ since Alicent could barely walk, long before they ever saw King’s Landing. And besides, Alicent was so fraught in spirit, she could hardly find the will to berate her if she wanted to.

“I would never dream of claiming otherwise” Alicent said with a weak smile as she climbed the last steps. Kyra opened the heavy oaken doors to her solar and revealed a short, grey-haired woman of about fifty or sixty arranging an array of colorful silk and velvet dresses on her sofa in front of the hearth.

“Good evening, goodwife” Alicent said, a polite greeting to lowborn women taught to her long ago by her septa, one she rarely had occasion to use. The old Kyra collected the dirty linens and wine cups from her bedchamber and quietly disappeared with a smiling nod towards Alicent. “I hope you’ve not been waiting long?”

“Only a few moments, m'lady,” the woman said. Alicent could take a closer look at her now that she stepped closer to the fire. The famed seamstress was small of frame, with veiny hands that spoke of a life of hard toil. A pair of Myrish lenses rested on her aquiline nose. She was dressed in faded Essosi silks and frayed wools embroidered in the Vale style, clearly odds and ends from her business. “M’lord Hand said you must be ready after your supper today, and dressed like our gracious late queen. I asked the servants in the kitchens downstairs what the court was celebrating tonight, that m’lady Alicent needed new gowns at a few days’ notice, but they could tell me nothing,” she blathered on while fastening the stays of a modest blue gown with a high neckline around her slender waist. Thank the Maiden the poor woman does not know the occasion, or she’d be ashamed to speak to me, Alicent thought.

“Just a small evening supper, nothing that the servants could know about”, she lied quickly. Alicent knew very well that there was little the servants did not know about.

“Her ladyship will forgive me, for the embroidery is so little to speak of, but the Hand had given me so little time! Half my apprentices worked on m’lady’s gowns alone for half a fortnight. If it pleases lady Alicent, I might take all but the one m’lady chooses for tonight back to the shop and finish them” she assured as she spread the wide skirts of her gown so she could examine them. “But the fabric, m’lady! I had my best apprentice Sigrin go to Spicetown to buy it herself. She told me that a Velaryon ship brought it directly from Qarth not a fortnight since. The princess Rhaenys herself wears no better raiments'', the seamstress guaranteed as she looked over the garment to confirm it fit. Sigrid’s reassurances were likely true, or close enough; the Hand’s annual salary was very generous, and he was determined to spare no expense to achieve his goal. She looked at herself in the tall mirror. The dark blue silk gleamed in the firelight. The bodice, embroidered with thick silver thread in dancing arabesques, was close-fitting but concealed her collarbones, a fact she observed with gratitude. This evening she would not have a large book to cover her cleavage with. It was probably the most expensive dress Alicent had ever worn.

“I will wear this one tonight, thank you” she said calmly, wishing this ordeal to be over. “You can leave the rest here as they are. You are thanked for your service. You may go.” Alicent dreamed of nothing more than to kneel at her praying stool in front of the window, the cool evening breeze on her face, hands clasped around her mother’s old crystal prayer beads. After every evening spent with the king alone behind closed doors, she liked to find solace in an hour of quiet prayer to the Maiden, asking the gods for forgiveness and guidance. The sooner she visits Viserys, the sooner she would be able to soothe her troubled conscience. But the seamstress was aghast.

“B-but my lady! It needs to be adjusted in a few places,” she took some pins from her belt pouch and installed them near her waist and around the sleeves, where the fabric was in excess. “Let me at least pin you in place so I don’t shame my shop -”

“I will tell every soul in the Red Keep who will listen that your clothing is the best in the realm. Now, please leave so that I may get ready for the festivities.” The festivities of my ruin , she thought bitterly. My ruin or my queenship, though the latter is hardly likely. The seamstress said her goodbyes uneasily, bowed, and left. Alicent put out the candles in the solar with her long extinguisher and quietly closed the bedchamber door behind her, eager not to alert any servants. She sat in front of her looking-glass and began brushing out her curls with her hairbrush. Knowing she must mold herself after Aemma Arryn was obvious, but accomplishing it less so. The late queen had silver tresses of hair straight as a reed, while the gods had seen fit to give Alicent a thick mane of tight brown curls. No amount of combing could straighten them out, but Alicent did her best to shape them into soft waves at least. She took two strands in the front of her face and joined them together at the back with an aquamarine-and-silver clasp shaped like a seven-pointed star, similar to the sapphire one Queen Aemma had liked to wear. Her stomach felt like a pit of vipers, twisted in an aching tangle of heightened nerves. She took off her small gold necklace and rings she’d been wearing since morning, and adorned her pale digits in several silver ones, the first ones she could distinguish in the weak candlelight. Again she felt an urge to bite her fingers, and again she smothered it. She dabbed a few drops of Highgarden rose perfume on her wrists and neck, and took her leave.

The corridors of the Red Keep were still busy with servants, fetching their masters supper on brass trays. They still wore black aprons or ribbons tied around their arms in mourning of the dead queen her father sought her to replace. She crossed the distance between the Tower of the Hand and the king’s bedchamber in Maegor’s Holdfast in quick, hushed steps. Ser Harrold Westerling as usual held the night watch.

“I would like to see the king,” Alicent said quietly. The Kingsguard gave her a puzzled look and opened the great oak door without saying a word.

“Good evening, Your Grace”, she addressed King Viserys when the door shut behind her with a loud thud, though she could not yet see him. The scent of marble dust and melting beeswax hung in the air. She took a few steps and saw King Viserys hunched in a chair at the far end of the Old Valyria model, chiseling away bits of white marble, his back facing the open window behind him, his moon-white hair disheveled by the wind. “I see you’ve been working hard”, she said softly.

“As hard as any King worked on a model of the legacy of his more illustrious ancestors, to be sure”. Viserys put down his chisel while sweeping away white dust from his lap. In the faint candlelight Alicent could see small beads of perspiration shining on his forehead. He was only wearing his linen shift, with silvery tufts of chest hair poking out. Alicent took a heavy wool blanket from the king’s bed, shook it gently free of dust, and settled it atop his shoulders. He smiled weakly in lieu of thanks, and his dark violet eyes met hers for a moment.

“Please do not be so hard on yourself, Your Grace. Everyone in the city knows that every day you strive to do what’s best for the realm.” she said with what she hoped was her best smile.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure they do,” he said impatiently. “What brings you here, Alicent?”

“I… I only meant to check on Your Grace, hoping to ease your grief”, she replied, startled. Viserys was rarely this forthright. Usually they merely danced around the subjects that really mattered, talking about Old Valyria, her own family, matters of religion and history, the books they both enjoyed. Often, they shared their evening meals and prayers. Today was different, though. Alicent no longer felt entirely welcome here. She felt a surge of panic rising in her chest.

“No doubt at your lord father’s instigation”, Viserys said quickly, looking out the window. She made an effort to calm herself. She had a ready answer for that, drilled into her long ago by Otto.

“My-my father and I only wish to attend to your wellbeing, my king. The Lord Hand, so latterly widowed, is conscious of the great sorrow the queen’s passing caused you, Your Grace. My only desire is to ease my sovereign’s pain”, she recited, remembering her father’s words. Hearken back to the death of Queen Aemma and watch him shrivel inside with pain, my daughter, he had said once. Tend to his sorrow and his grief. Make him want to seek comfort, and then be the first one to provide it. There you will find an opening for us. This evening Alicent found her father’s lessons of little merit.

“That is very generous indeed of Ser Otto. Here I am, newly betrothed, the wedding preparations ongoing, and my Hand worries still about my mental state”, he said in a sarcastic tone that he only used when he was angry. Alicent felt “Why are you here, Alicent? Do you wish to be here of your own will?” he said, boring his deep violet eyes into her.

“Your Grace, I…”

“Tell me the truth, child. It is a great sin to lie to your king.”

Alicent felt hot tears slowly fall down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away. It was the first time Viserys called her a child.

“He-he said…” she struggled to form words, as a ball of panic and fear formed in her throat.

“What did he say?” Viserys said impatiently. “Alicent, please know that it is with your lord father that has trespassed on my goodwill, not you. I do not reproach you . By the gods, a blind man could see that you are naught but an obedient daughter. Now, what did he tell you to do?”

Alicent took a deep, shaky breath to steady herself. She anxiously wiped her palms on the skirt of her dress. There is my opening, she thought.

“He said that if I do not visit Your Grace in the evenings… he had this gown made for me for the occasion, from the late queen’s own dressmaker… He said that if I do not obey him, I’d be sent to Oldtown and I’d never see Rhaenyra again…that I’d have to marry an old squire and… and… “ Alicent choked on her words, hot tears flowing freely down her face. Her whole body was shaking with emotion. While she covered her eyes with her palms to steady the tears, she felt the plump, long arms of Viserys form a circle around her neck. To her astonishment, he pressed her wet face to his portly chest in a gesture of comfort. This was not an act Ser Otto often indulged in. Gradually her breath slowed to a normal pace, the stream of tears stopped. She freed herself from Viserys’ embrace and faced him. She could barely make out his face in the darkness, but somehow she knew him to be furious.

“Do not worry, child. You will not be forced to leave the capital anytime soon. I am grateful for the friendship you have offered me so far and ask for no more of it.” He took both her hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “In return, I promise you and Rhaenyra will not be separated. I know how much she values your friendship. Only trust in me, and make no mention of this to your father. I will deal with him. Do you understand?”

“I do”, Alicent said quietly. Trusting men never came easy to her, but she had no other choice.

#alicent hightower #otto hightower #rhaenicent #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x alicent #viserys targaryen #fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #sea dragon queen #hotd #house of the dragon

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themotherofblood · 11 months

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CHAPTER 1| RIVER OF GOLD |

The Lady | T.L x READER |

series masterlist | main masterlist

~ and if I was a child, did matter? If you got to wash your hands. ~

“He scares me, just a little. Not a violent way I suppose but as if he knows everything about me, though he might if he paid for spies. I am to be his wife, never thought I’d lay with a Lannister and yet here I am. Father has forbade me from writing to Doran, he would be mad at me. Lannisters and us have had a bitter history, my sweet aunt lost at the cost of war but perhaps this would be my first taste of power. I would be his wife, I would hold the sword.”

Grey, the skies were grey in the Westerlands. Black adorned every noble lord and lady's bodies as they stood by the falls. Five children stood as they mourned the death of their mother, along with many other houses who had only come to pay respects; out of obligation. Only five young bodies knew the truth of what had happened.

"Our princess took a terrible fall." the Maesters and handmaidens said, a truth laced with an ugly lie.

Our mother killed herself

The silk that wrapped the former princess's body held the further truth, if one peaked in they would see her bashed left cheek from the impact, a little lower they would see her crushed collar bone and even lower they would see blackened bruises from the fall. They would also see scars, yellowing bruises and fingerprints all over her skin, the testament to the brutality she had to suffer at the hand of her lord husband.

She was gone, and a candle that all five children held in the storm; blew out with her. The oldest boy Jeagir stood with his arm around his sister, you. Her hands rested on the shoulders of her two younger sisters Ellia and Nyela and their Maester Crasden, that stood next to them with an asleep toddler in his arms; the youngest Loren.

While the younger girls wept silently, their older siblings silently boiled in rage. All four children were handed torches as they walked to the four corners of the pyre their mother laid on, a Dornish priest went on with words that were muffled in the noble children's ears. While some remembered the screams from that night, some could only hear the crackling fire in their hands. In unison they lit the four corners of their mother's final rest. She would be safer now, nobody would hurt her now.

Your mother had written to you six moons ago, "Fly back to me, child." She had written. Her Martell uncles had managed to get her on a ship within the next day of the letter's arrival. The ship flung the banner of House Martell and delights filled the cargo of the ship for their dear sister.

"Give her my love." Doran Martell had said as he kissed the top his niece's head, a girl he had raised as his own for the past twelve years.

The morning you arrived to Lannisport, your receiver and long friend Fredrick also brought the doomed message.

"Princess Elina took a terrible fall."

One look at your mother's dead body and the guilt in your mother's handmaiden's eyes, the horrified sullen eyes of your sisters and the rage in your brothers eyes. You knew.

Your mother killed herself.

Lannisport was controlled by the most powerful family in the Westerlands, the Lannisters. More specifically Tywin Lannister. That man knew everything that went on in his lands and surely a Dornish ship with Martell sails entering his harbour was to be brought to his attention. He had ridden out that day, as he did every other day to visit Lannistown and the port. Mostly to set his own eyes upon the visitors from Dorne, he had taken extra guards as a welcome party.

He watched from high ground as the ship docked itself, five boats emerged from the ship. One with a golden pavilion shade, harbouring most likely a person of noble decent. He wondered if the Martells finally had come for his head, but out emerged a young lady at best in a pink Dornish dress, you.

His brother Kevan had rode down to the ports to enquire about the arriving party before riding back to his brother. Tywin watched as a man stood with the banner of his sworn house Maerilys, he watched as the man greeted you dressed in pink, then he watched you speak and for a moment all the colour drained from your face. It seemed as though everyone around you had frozen too, then he watched as your hand came up to your forehead, your lips widen as all the men and women that came with you hung their head low. A message came for him too, a rider rode out from Casterly Rock with the message.

"Princess Elina Martell of House Maerilys has passed."

Kevan too returned from the ports.

"That's Lord Maerilys's eldest daughter."

Tywin had arrived to Deep Den after the funeral, he had known Princess Elina personally having been a close companion to his late lady wife Joanna, the woman wasn't much older than him but he knew wits when he saw it, though he never liked the man she married. Lord Loren Maerilys, clearly named after his ancestor but Tywin knew that man held no kingly qualities. The house provided a good chuck of the Lannister fleet and armies, siege weapons and other labour personnel to Casterly Rock.

Lord Maerilys was a cruel man, the Mad King had his own reasons but Maerilys was another kind of evil, he flaunted his affairs in his lady wife's face, he beat her and humiliated her. Princess Elina on the other hand suffered through it all, many never understood why, she was Dornish. If she had written about the true brutality of her husband to her brothers. They would have landed an army right at her front gates to take her home. She never did, she suffered it all.

When you were born to the household, Lord Maerilys was not pleased, had it not been for his advisors and Maesters, he would have thrown your babbling form into the sea to wash off your existence, to another father you may have been a delight, a gorgeous little girl. But to your father, you were weakness, you couldn't carry their house's name.

Maester Crasden protected you as alittle girl as best he could, keeping you for longer lessons or away from your father's sight most times. However she you fell in the trap of your father's violence, instead of staying in your bedchambers one night as your mother's muffled wails rang through the halls, you hid a dagger stolen from the armoury in your skirts and walked into your parents chambers. Your little hands were ineffective, the blade you wielded ended up giving you a bigger cut than her father and a swollen bruise to her cheek from a backhanded slap.

"You insolent cunt! I could have your head for this." He screamed like a mad man as the little girl's glare never left him. That night her mother wrote to her brothers for help for the first time. She urged them to take her daughter, to raise her as their own with her nieces and nephews.

"Protect my girl, do not let her flame die." She had written.

Tywin had strayed from his riding party for a while, he rarely got to breathe in the country and the serenity of its views. He wanted to tarry a bit, as his riding party prepped for his arrival. The Old Lion had taken a guard along with him, surely he was learned enough to know that he was safe no where. There was a faint rush of water from the great falls in the mountains by Deep Den, the birds sang their songs as the air in the forest remained thick and humid, and Tywin walked through it all like he owned the forests. He had taken a long deep breath, closing his eyes as his head lifted upwards, allowing himself to unravel for just a moment. Though his moment of peace was interrupted by the whoosh of an arrow that nearly missed him and lodged itself onto the tree trunk behind him.

His guard drew their swords, at alert as Tywin sat strong on his horse. All of them looking around to find the source of the attack, a rustle in the bushes and most of them were prepared to fight. Until from the bushes and vines emerged your figure dressed in commoner rags, out of breath and sharp as you looked around before your eyes widened at the men with their swords out. You hands instinctively held tighter on your bow as your chest heaved, looking at all three men skeptically; until the armour they wore gave their true identity away. Lannisters.

You dropped the bow, raising your hands in defence. Gulping at the glare, the lord had fixated on you. If you weren't mistaken, you stood in the presence of Tywin Lannister. Comely and stern looking man.

"Forgive me, my lord. I thought you were a deer," you looked at him apprehensively, as you prayed to the gods, that this man knew nothing of your identity.

"Clearly not," He nodded at his men to sheath their steel.

Tywin didn't trust the girl, and the only way he knew that he would make out of these woods without killing you, was to take you with him. You were clean, too clean for a commoner. Your posture and nimble fingers, too relaxed to be an assassin. You looked familiar and yet he couldn't quite put a name to the face.

"Who are you girl?" Tywin commanded, his eyes capturing every detail of the sweet maiden before him. The velvet of your dress pointed that you were no mere peasant girl, though your unruly hair and mud over your hands would unlikely make you of noble birth.

"I am a kitchen wench, from the Den my lord," you tried to hold his gaze to not seem as if you were lying through your teeth. The lord gave you a grunt of answer before turning his horse around.

"Come along then. No girl like you should be out here alone." He ordered but you stood your ground

"Forgive me my lord, strange men offering escort in the middle of the woods, not exactly reliable," you made your case "I can find my own way home." With that you ran, abandoning your weapon. You ran through the very well known forests as the Lannister guards wandered deeper into the forest with no avail.

You huffed in exhaustion as you returned home, sweaty and covered in dirt. What was to be a trip to clear your head turned out to be a rat chase. The maids all looked scared for their Lady, for surely if Lord Maerilys saw his daughter in this condition, not only would he have your head but also the gaurds that were supposed to be escorting you.

"You must change, before your father sees you my lady." A man called out, Fredrick Serrert. When you had left the shore he was merely a boy but when he came to receive you, he stood a man grown at nearly six foot three.

Down in the Deep Den's hall, Lord Maerilys. A stubbed, and disgruntled old man greeted their liege lord. Both lord exchanged words of formality before Tywin walked himself to the rear gardens, where a burnt out pyre of ashes remained, still gusts of simmering smoke emitted from it. There laid Princess Elina, he still remembered her face, how young him and his betrothed were when his father had brought him along to their wedding. An elaborate affair, the Dornish princess was set to marry the older Maerilys brother, yet tragedy struck Daven Maerilys and her "condition" (the birth of your brother) left her in choice but to wed the younger brother Loren Maerilys instead.

"They say you look for a wife, Lord Tywin." Lord Maerilys asked, the old lion just nodded in reply.

"I have three. The older one just returned from Dorne, and my two younger one's are yet to bleed but should be of cause my lord." Tywin's face scrunched up in disgust, though his face looked away from Loren, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sure Tywin had imposed a marriage on his daughter, but sell out your daughters that young. Then out of the blue, it hit Tywin.

"Kitchen wench." He scoffed under his breath. He hadn't been outsmarted in a while but surely he was looking forward to meeting this Lady as he put a name to the familiar face. He remembered you from the docks

All the Maerilys kids poured out one by one. Olyvar came first, head held high and the spitting Dornish image of his mother, behind him trailed the two younger girls, Nyela and Ellia. They stood in a line as Tywin was introduced to them, he shook the oldest boy's hands and charmingly complimented the little girls on their hair. Then burst through the doors was another, your hurried feet found you standing next to your little sisters, with a toddler in your arms. You gracefully bowed.

"This is my eldest daughter." your father introduced you, every cursed word you could think of you used on yourself internally. You prayed that he would keep his mouth shut about earlier, and thank the gods he did.

"And who might this be?" Tywin gestured at the child wriggling in your arms, your sweet brother you had only seen painted palm prints off in your mother's correspondences

"Harolld Maerilys, my lord." you voice spoke up, a lot gentler then earlier, almost a whisper as you tried to not startle the child.

Tywin that night thought of the proposition Lord Maerilys put forth, there was something about this girl that just made you tick. Tywin wasn't a child that merely beauty would sway him, though you were quite a sight he had seen in a while, full lips, expressive eyes. There was something commanding about you, the way your eyes never left his, your head held high even admist all this sorrow. He saw a gain in this too, an alliance between Martells and Lannisters, you were important enough for them to send you home with Martell sails.

The next morning he made his wishes heard, he would court you for the week he was to reside at Deep Den, and leave with a bride by him.

You were having none of it, a screaming match broke out in the hall. As servants and soldiers turned a deaf ear to them yet again. You had nothing against this wedding but you refused to leave you little sisters behind at the hands of a monster.

"The girls will leave with me to Dorne!" You yelled over your father's voice

"You watch it girl, I could sell you and sisters for a lump sum and no one would bat an eye!" Your father threw back, menacingly nearing your proximity. However you weren't a child anymore, you stood your ground glaring up at your father. His hand shot forward, yanking your head up from the root of your hair making you yelp out in pain.

"Hurt me, go on. My uncles will cut your hands off if I tell them about this." your words were laced in venom and yet the truth. Doran Martell, was viciously protective over you and Oberyn, your sweet uncle Oberyn. You were his sunshine, though he may never see you more than just his little niece, your heart once yearned for more with your Uncle Oberyn. Many whispered at Sunspear that you had given your maidenhead to him and how you wished that were true.

"My lord." Maester Crasden's voice made Lord Maerilys push his angry daughter away, as tears threatened to roll down your face. You sat on the chair with your head on the table, rubbing the spot your father had held onto. Crasden came over, his fingers gently parting your hair to check for injury, you sweet lady would be fine.

"Marry him child." you scoffed at Crasden but he looked at you as if he wasn't finished, he sat down next to you.

"You would be the Lady of Casterly Rock, our liege lady," he cleared his throat before going on "you could order your sisters away to Dorne." His hand patted your cheek "You would hold power, I could not help your mother child. Let me help you."

The old maester's words had sunk deep within you as you began to ponder on the topic of your marriage and finally gave in, other than Tywin's cruelty on the battlefield and politics, there was no account of him ever imposing himself on women, you began to think of if you'd be safe and the only way to confirm your queries would be from the source itself.

You and Lord Tywin had found yourselves in your mothers gardens, you had called for him yourself and Tywin was curious to hear what you had to say.

"I realise how auspicious of a union this is, however I have questions and terms of my own before I agree to this." you kept your voice strong as you voiced yourr feelings on the matter.

"Go on then, my lady." Tywin walked past you to sit down.

"I truly hope that you know my disdain isn't toward you my lord, but merely a worry for my prospects." you stated as you sat down across from him, you didn't want to elaborate further, not wanting to slander your father in front of his liege lord.

"I am aware, my lady" Tywin's stress on the word made you look away. If your mother's troubles had been so known, how come none of these vast noble lords come to her aid.

"You needn't worry about me imposing myself on you" He suggested making you look at him, grateful and confused

"You would be well looked after and eventually sponsored for when the time came for your duties at Casterly Rock." He elaborated further.

"I knew your mother, I have a debt that still needs to be paid." The mere mention of your mother made the your eyes gloss over.

"And I would be safe?" There was a gentle crack to your voice.

"You would be safe." He reassured you, the green of his eyes glinting against the sun.

So it was setttled, Lady Maerilys was to wed Lord Tywin Lannister, ravens flew from Deep Den to Castley Rock, The Red Keep and to Sunspear. The news of this alliance spread through both families, both his children and the Martells were furious at about the wedding but it was done. A small affair at the Great Hall, you wore your mother's ivory dress that was fit to your sizing, that morning your mind nearly changed again as you tried to make a break for the ports but was stopped by Olyvar. If not for yourself then you performed her duties to protect her sisters.

"Father."

"Smith."

"Warrior."

"Mother."

"Maiden."

"Crone."

"Stranger."

"I am hers and she is mine."

"I am his and he is mine."

"From this day until my last day."

A chaste kiss between the two sealed this union. You were now Lady Lannister of Castley Rock, and hell was to pay if anyone tried to hurt you.

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winter-soldier-101 · 1 year

Text

Did you really think I loved you? Part 6

Word count:1165

“Cregan please stay with me I don’t want to be alone when I birth the baby”(Y/N) tells Cregan as the midwives get you ready to lay down and push.

“(Y/N) I will stay with you always you are my wife and my love, the children have been asking for you all day they’re worried about you” Cregan tells (Y/N).

(Y/N) tells Cregan to get the children so you could talk to them before you give birth as he leaves the room the midwives help you lay down and leave to get more towels and water for you.

Rickon, Daenys and Aemon run to your room and see you laying down and they see all the midwives move around and he sees the maester walking in and out the room.

“Mother, are you okay?”Daenys asks you.

“Yes my little dragon I’m okay I’m going to be having your sister or brother soon”(Y/N) tells the children and sees them all smile at each other and at you and Cregan.

“My lady my lord, a letter has come from DragonStone from Princess Rhaenyra”Maester Lead says handing Cregan the letter.

“Cregan what does the letter say”(Y/N) asks him.

“My dearest (Y/N) I’ve put a dragon egg in the cradle for you. I would love to have you and your family at DragonStone for a visit soon. I miss our conversation” sincerely Princess Rhaenyra.

(Y/N) smiles at the letter and hands it to Cregan to read and he looks back at you and smiles and kisses your forehead and whispers to you “we may need to visit the princess soon”.

(Y/N) smiles at him then lets out a loud moan.

“Mother, are you okay?” Rickon asks.

“Yes my little wolf I’m fine your little sister or brother is getting ready to come out and play with you three” (Y/N) tells him and smiles as his face lights up.

“Ser Edwards I think it’s best if you take the children to their rooms now”(Y/N) tells Ser Edwards to take the children.

The door closes and you let out a loud cry and Cregan rushes to your side and holds your hand the maester looks over you and tells the midwives to get you ready to start pushing.

“My lady you need to push now” a midwife tells you as you start to push and let out a loud scream and push again as the pressure blow starts to get worse and you push one last time and feel all the pressure disappear and the midwives take the babe and clean the babe up and walk over to you and smile.

“It’s a little girl my lady” a midwife says as she gives you your daughter.

“Hello my little dragon looks over there it’s your father”(Y/N) whispers against the babe’s forehead.

“Did you think of a name yet my love?” Cregan asks you.

“I want to give her a strong Dornish name, my little Olina Stark”(Y/N) tells Cregan.

“You want her to be a Stark?” Cregan asks you.

“Of course I do my love, she is your daughter”(Y/N) says, kissing his cheek softly.

Cregan looks at you and kisses your lips softly”I’m going to get the children they will be excited to meet their little sister”

Cregan leave the room and (Y/N) looks down at Olina and smiles she looks just like Aemond but she will only ever know Cregan as her father as her only father as the one who truly loves her and her siblings.

The door opens to your room and Rickon and Daenys and Aemon run in and make sure you are fine and see you holding a little baby and asked so many questions about their little sister.

“What is her name?” Aemon asks you.

“Her name is Olina Stark”(Y/N) tells them and sees them smile and walk over and kiss her little head as they say hello to her.

DragonStone

Rhaenyra and Daemon welcome you and your family when you arrive.

“I’ve missed you so much (Y/N)” Rhaenyra says, hugging you tightly.

“I’ve missed you to where are the boys at?” (Y/N) asks Rhaenyra as you pull away from her.

“Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey are at the dragon pit. Would Daenys and Aemon and Rickon like to go see them. I'm sure they miss their dragons very much” Rhaenyra tells (Y/N).

“Please mother, can we go and we can show Rickon our dragons please?”Aemon asks (Y/N) and Cregan.

“Yes of course you can as long as you stay with your uncles”(Y/N) tells them as they run off with the guards to the dragon pit.

“What is this little one's name?” Daemon asks you.

“This is Olina Stark”(Y/N) tells Rhaenyra and Daemon as they look at her and see her white hair and violet eyes.

You Cregan, Rhaenyra and Daemon all make their way to see the dragon eggs and pick one out for Olina. Walking into the room and seeing all the dragon eggs Olina looks at the eggs and makes hands at a black and gold egg Rhaenyra gets the egg and brings it closer to Olina and she smiles and giggles and babbles at the egg.

As everyone sat down and eat dinner the children were all laughing and smiling at each other after dinner Rhaenyra shows you and your family their rooms and leaves you all to get ready to go to sleep.

“Goodnight my love”Cregan says, giving you a kiss.

“Goodnight my wolf”(Y/N) says back and kisses his lips softly.

A loud scream wakes you and everyone else up, you and Cregan get up and run out of your room and make your way to the room where the scream was coming from and you see Daenys sitting up and crying after she finished screaming.

“My little dragon what’s the matter”(Y/N) asks while holding her trying to calm her down.

“I…I had a dream that kapa killed uncle Lucerys.” Daenys whispers out to you and cries into your chest. (Y/N) waits for Cregan to calm her down and you make your way over to Rhaenyra and Daemon and start to tell them what happened.

“She had a dream that Aemond killed Lucerys and for that it starts a war.”(Y/N) tells Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“Are you sure she said this?” Rhaenyra asks (Y/N).

“Yes Rhaenyra this is what she told me that Aemond kill’s Lucerys on dragon back in a rainstorm.”(Y/N) tells them.

“It’s very late, let's all get some rest and talk about this all in the morning”Daemon says to you and Rhaenyra. But little did any of you know that everything would change that morning when news reaches them that King Viserys is dead and they’ve crowned Aegon in front of the mass.

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