The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Sixteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen

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Author's Note: And we're back! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I took some time away. I'm honestly glad I did. TL;DR (or read the update in the previous chapter) I lost my job, things were rough. I'm feeling a lot better now and here we are with the final Aegon birthday chapter! As I stated as well, we'll be moving to something closer to a three week posting schedule for the last few chapters of this fic and continue on that posting schedule for the sequel.

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my eternal love to @vampire-exgirlfriend, whose been my rock. I love you. Please go join her as she finishes up her Aemond fic, They Say I Killed You (Haunt Me Then)!

Warnings: Larys Strong Jumpscare, and MURDER!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Flew Like a Moth to You

Aegon's birthday hunt includes some fantastic girl action and some murder! OH! And Some Jacelaena biting. You love to see it.

Floris Baratheon could not sit still, clutching her bow and quiver, peering out the carriage window as they approached the Kingswood. “A-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go-”

“Hi-Ho the derry-o, a-hunting we shall go,” Abby sang in turn, the song a familiar one from childhood. The Baratheon girl had been quite annoyed that she could not ride a horse the way the other men did, but with the promise that she would not have to sit with her sister in a carriage, she had been content enough.

Abby sat beside Lythene Ryger, who had been quite speechless at the invite to the carriage. Wylla would have normally been with them, but with her soon to be good-sister, Alys Bracken, coming along, she was off playing chaperone and overly curious and mischievous younger sister to Alys and Harrion. Abby was glad she had the opportunity to do so, for her dear friend was giving up much to stay in the south as her Mistress of Keys instead of returning home to the Karhold.

On the other side of Helaena, Margaery Crane of Red Lake sat. Her lush, light brown hair was braided in a crown around her head, and her face was square with large, unnervingly green eyes. Her head was bent towards Helaena’s, threads of evergreen and butter yellow woven in her fingers as she taught the princess how to finger knit. It was an easier pastime during the long carriage ride to the camp than Helaena’s embroidery. Her twin sister, Desmara, sat on Abby’s other side. The only difference between the pair was her dark, chestnut hair and the scar across her full mouth.

“I’m sure if you ask Daeron when he goes out with the party, he’ll retrieve the stag antlers for you,” Helaena said, her eyes focused on the thread between her fingers. “He’ll love the opportunity to prove himself.” Floris rolled her eyes in only the way a girl of one and ten could, her black braid wrapped around her head with stubborn tendrils escaping. She tugged on the ties of her raven black cloak.

“Nay, Your Grace,” she said primly. “I would show my own mettle, and face the stag myself.” Her cheeks were pink all the same. Abby bit her lip to hold back her chuckle, not wanting to tease the girl. She caught Desmara’s own amused look, the scar across her mouth pulling at her own smile.

“Well, I don’t think they’ll let you go hunting the stag, Lady Floris,” she said. Floris looked pleased at the kind address from the elder girl. “But we’ll be going hawking and the spoils are certainly yours. That’s how I obtained the rabbit fur for my gloves.”

“That’s true,” Abby chimed in. “And you are a child of Nightsong, are you not? I’m sure falconry is in your blood.” Floris’ mother was a Caron, with a lineage of fierce warriors nestled in the Dornish Marches. Lady Ellyn Caron had songs sung of her, and how she, in part with other lords of the Stormlands, defeated the Vulture King. It was exactly the kind of family lineage Abby could see Floris idolizing.

Floris nodded seriously, running her fingers along her bow. “This is true. I suppose I should practice.”

“Practice until you come back dragging the stag behind you,” Helaena continued. “My elder sister is said to have taken down a boar with her own hands, only a dagger as a weapon. I think you have that same mettle in you.”

Floris preened, leaning into Helaena’s side to watch the magical weaving of the yarn. Abby’s heart ached with fondness for the girl, pleased that she had been taken on as Helaena’s ward. The girl was not meant to be stuck behind her three eldest sisters. The Smallest Storm would blossom, she hoped, beneath Helaena’s care and attention. It did not go past Abby’s notice of Cassandra’s harsh attentions to her sister. It reminded her of her own sister’s lack of understanding; always critical, always focused on some perception that her behavior would reflect poorly upon her. Floris was exuberant and curious, but she was not into reckless mischief or excessive rudeness.

She’d be good for Helaena. More importantly, had been good for Helaena, who had taken on Margaery Crane as one of her new ladies, and Abby would take Desmara. The Crane twins had endeared themselves quickly, Margaery introducing herself by way of teaching Helaena a new fiber art, and Desmara had gifted Abby a book on Asshai, a knowing wink in her verdant green eyes.

As the carriage pulled into the camp, cheers had already started from the other gathered lords and ladies. “With all that noise, they’re sure to scare away all their quarry,” Abby laughed, peering out the window to look on ahead.

The boys had ridden on horseback, Aegon in the lead on Kostōba, Aemond, Daeron, and Jace on their own horses beside him, with their own small retinue. Their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, was with them, as were a few other lordlings that Abby was unfamiliar with. She spied Alyn Hull’s silver braids from where he was on his own horse, smiling at the sight of the brash young man there within Aegon’s retinue. He had been a true friend to the prince over the years and it was good to see him brought into the fold officially.

Alyn would serve as steward when they departed for Harrenhal, taking on the household duties from Uncle Simon and learning under him. Aegon had been pleased that he’d agreed to the offer, brushing off his mother’s gape mouthed indignation about it. “He’s the reason I still live, Mother,” Aegon had said, unusually mild in the face of Alicent Hightower’s anger that morning as they broke their fast. He’d brushed a kiss against her forehead, and Abby wondered if he had found strength in the security they were building between them, that not even his mother could shake.

Seeing Aegon’s confidence was intoxicating, so rarely did he come off so sure of himself, and she craved to see more of it. Her teeth scraped her lower lip, belly rolling with heat.

“Good tidings to Prince Aegon, second of his name!” came the booming voice of his Uncle Hobart, leading the call of cheers. “Good tidings to him on his nameday!”

“Good tidings!” came the call of the gathered crowd. “Prince Aegon!”

As Abby settled back in her seat to wait for the footmen, she caught Helaena’s gaze. Anxiety crackled between them, mixed with the joy and love there for Aegon’s nameday. After the hunt, Abby was certain Helaena would cocoon in her chambers, barring the door should anyone try to get her into another crowd. Abby didn’t blame her, and in fact, might even join her for a bit.

The cheers had begun to die down by the time Daeron’s smiling face helped them out of the carriage. Windswept, dark blonde hair fell across his forehead as he bowed. “Allow me, my sister, ladies.”

As he helped Floris from the carriage, their eyes met, both faces going pink at the cheeks, and Abby saw her future good-brother’s hand tighten slightly around the girl’s fingers for the briefest of moments before her feet met the ground and she pulled away, her eyes on her shoes. It was not often that Floris fell quiet and blushed so red, and it did not appear that anyone else had noticed. Daeron clenched his hands to himself and his eyes met hers, his own flush deepening before he quickly hurried away.

The king had stayed behind in the Keep, as did several lords and their families. Lord Grover’s health had also kept him behind. Lord Otto had stayed to facilitate court, leaving the festivities that day in Aegon and the queen’s hands.

Her hands, Abby knew, as young ladies of the noble houses began to approach her and the princess, a few mothers in tow.

“Baela’s a Targaryen too,” Helaena muttered. “Why can’t they flock to her?”

The lady in question had rode on horseback, her red leather jerkin fitted against her lithe form over a gray tunic and black breeches tucked into black polished boots. The rings in her hair glinted in the late morning sun, sparkling as she turned her head with a laugh and dismounted her mare by Jace. Abby shook her head.

“Because they’re afraid she’ll be a bad influence, I’m sure. How are they supposed to get husbands if they dress comfortably?” Abby posited, smoothing her hands over her riding jacket. It was a warm evergreen color, deep azure and crimson soutache snaking over her shoulders like the red and blue forks of the riverlands. The crimson lined wool jacket fell just past her knees, and she wore a pair of warm trousers tucked into polished black boots. Helaena was dressed similarly, her jacket the same shade of deep azure as Abby’s decoration, embroidered with silver dragons with black beaded buttons carved in the shape of dragon head clasps running down the front.

“Hasn’t Mother decided that you should remain here to entertain all those ladies?” Helaena asked, their arms linked as they headed to the main tent. Ahead of them, Alicent Hightower was resplendent in a warm cloak of the deepest verdant green lined in black fur, her gown not one for riding or hunting, but far more comfortable for the outdoors. It lacked excessive ornamentation, the black and green skirts swirling around the tops of her own boots. Her hair was much like Helaena’s, wound in a braided crown about her head. Lady Fossoway was a half step behind her with Ser Criston as they always were, with the rest of the ladies trailing after like a gaggle of geese.

“We’re doing the receiving line,” Abby said, the fingers of her free hand fidgeting against the fall of her jacket. “Aegon’s receiving his gifts and then we’ll have congratulations on the betrothal.” She flexed her fingers, the soft leather of her gloves creaking slightly with the movement. They were lined with soft fur, luxurious, indulgent, and while she was certainly never dressed in rags before, it was rare to accept and let herself have new things when they often felt so unnecessary.

It was a new feeling to be excited about the new clothes that she had, more sumptuous than what would normally be allowed at her station.

Wylla joined them as they passed into the pavilion, warm from the braziers placed strategically about the place, each guarded by a cage of decorative wrought iron to prevent unfortunate accidents. On one end of the great tent, a small dias with a simple, dark wood throne, crested with a dragon, wings spread in welcome.

It was the King’s chair, but the king was not here.

“Are we to accompany you while you receive them?” Wylla asked. Her long hair was bound tightly back and wrapped in a coiling knot along the back of her head. Her padded black jerkin clung to her over a long tunic of gray, black riding trousers tucked into a pair of matching boots. Like Baela, she was dressed for a day in the wilderness without the cumbersome dealing with skirts.

“You look nice,” Abby told her with a small smile. “Not quite the Wildling I heard rumor of,” she teased and Wylla snorted.

“It’s a hunt and the opportunity to ride and get the fresh air. We’ll be going hawking while the men go to shove their pricky things into…” She trailed off with a twist of her mouth, the small scar along her top lip pulling at it. “Men waving around their big pointy things.”

“In a far more acceptable manner than what it implies,” Abby added on, giggling at the silly implications of it all. “And yes, I think you should. We’re receiving gifts, so you best take Desmara and Lythene with you to Lady Fossoway for instruction.”

“And then we’ll go hawking,” Wylla said with a nod.

“I have to stay here,” Abby corrected with a shake of her head. “It is my duty to entertain with her Grace.”

The northerner’s brow furrowed and both of them looked in the direction of the queen, her cloak handed off to a servant while she spoke with Lady Johanna. Wylla shifted beside her and Abby could feel the questions and arguments flitting beneath her friend’s skin. She rested a gloved hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “As I told Aegon, these are some of our new duties, no matter how dull they seem to be. Hopefully there’ll be time for me to go exploring later.” Hopefully. Abby loved exploring the Kingswood, and she’d been looking forward to going hawking, even if she did not particularly hawk herself. However, fun and indulgence could not be had in favor of duty and responsibility.

No matter how much she craved the freedom of it.

Wylla gave her a long look, teeth biting at her lip before she nodded and getured for Lythene and Desmara to follow her. Helaena had already left with Margaery and Floris and Abby was left standing alone, for the moment, amidst the steady flow of nobility pouring in for refreshment and talk. Alone, Abby was relatively unnoticed. Just a small girl in the midst of a crowd, no crown on her head to shout out who she was.

“Abrogail.”

Larys was taller than most people realized, for he did everything he could to make himself small. Few knew that Larys was as tall as Harwin had been, for her elder brother preferred to have such a small cane, to shrink himself into spaces where he could slip in. It was strange, Abby realized, that she had never noticed that it was a trait she shared with him. No desire to be the center of attention, no desire to be noticed, both for their own reasons.

The smile he gave her was an awkward twitch, but Abby noticed that it did reach his eyes, which was a rare thing, and she found herself returning it. Small and shy, perhaps, as if she were still the somewhat muddy little girl she’d been who he’d look at curiously across the breakfast table in the family solar.

He was subdued in a quilted doublet of the same deep azure and brown leather, his cloak a dark green-blue to match, clasped at the shoulder with a firefly broach. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow of his free arm, languidly walking toward a clutch of plump seating not far from the currently empty dais. The smell of cooking food caught on the woodsmoke in the air, and Abby’s stomach rumbled with hunger. They’d only had some fresh bread and cheese on the ride over, and the idea of warm, spiced pumpkin soup and a turkey leg the size of her own face was rather appealing.

“You’ve conducted yourself quite admirably under all the attention as of late, little sister,” Larys complimented, taking a seat on one of the padded benches. She perched beside him, smiling her thanks at the servant who came by with mugs of hot, mulled wine. She inhaled the scent of orange and lemon, the warmth of cinnamon before taking a sip. “Even with your, shall I say, antics at the tourney, they were quite well received.”

“Antics?” she asked lightly, feeling the curl of heat spread across her chest. There was no way for Larys to know what sort of other antics they’d gotten up to. The bite Aegon had left along her shoulder had turned bruised and tender, the imprint of his teeth still deep in her soft flesh. That mark was quite well hidden beneath her jacket and shirt beneath.

Larys only hummed and took a sip of his drink. “The other lords have expressed concern at my choice of husband for you, but I have assured them there is no reason to fret. I simply wanted my sister to be cared for and happy.” He gave her a sidelong look, placid expression barely shifting, his dark eyes large and innocent in his expression. “And everyone can clearly see how happy you two make one another. The queen…” he trailed off with a sigh, “has not quite been pleased but…”

Abby looked down at the deep purple-red wine swirling in the silver goblet. Anxiety prickled through her, confusion at her brother’s attempt, it seemed, to try to bond with her on something more personal. “Her Grace has been very indulgent,” she said softly, mouth twitching into an awkward smile that her brother returned. He inclined his head towards her only just.

“We both understand how passionate the queen’s frustrations can run, little sister,” he said softly, the scent of him cold and clean, like a tomb. Abby blinked, the awkward smile falling from her face. Her throat bobbed, the sting of bile in the back of her throat was almost painful. Had the queen told him what had occurred? Or had Larys, with his strange talents, found out what happened himself. “You will not be her ward for much longer. I imagine, like any mother, she is feeling the maternal ache over the loss of her son to his wife, and the loss of you, who is like a daughter to her.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, busying herself with another sip of wine so she might find the words. They were receiving glances from the bustling court as they found their places, platters and great soup tureens being set out along the tables. Her stomach growled again. “She was quite concerned about… the dishonor I would bring upon the royal family.” Her voice was little more than a shamed whisper and the insinuation was as painful as the day she’d been accused when coupled with Ser Edmund’s harsh words in the gardens. She straightened her shoulders, trying to push past the hurt and shame that lingered still, tilting her chin up, refusing to be cowed. “Apparently some of the other lords are quite concerned about your heir marrying into House Targaryen.” She smiled at the passing servant, plucking a small apple tart off the platter he held. “I have made my own assurances that our children will be raised in the customs of our people, that regardless of dragon blood, we are the Riverlands.” Whether or not Edmund Vance believed her, if he mocked her to those he could find for such statements, well, she could do nothing about that. She could only mind herself.

“It will be a hard road, Abrogail, given that they do not see you as one of them. Lo, they barely see me as one of them, what with all my work here,” Larys said with a nod, looking at the cake he’d plucked for himself. “What matters is that you greatly impressed Lord Tully, and his son has been amenable and welcoming-”

“I may not have grown up in the Riverlands but even I know there’s only so much influence they have,” Abby cut in, chewing her lip after the words tumbled from her, her voice a soft, biting thing. Larys said nothing to that while he chewed on a bite of cake, and she shifted slightly in her seat and took another sip of wine. “It will not be a smooth transition, not for all. A prince? Becoming vassal to a mere lord?”

“Prince Daemon was Lord of Runestone through the dear, late Lady Rhea,” he reminded her after swallowing. “I don’t recall any such problems between him and the Lady Arryn.”

“Jeyne Arryn was kin to his goodsister,” she retorted. She had spent countless hours in the library with Aemond, taking meticulous notes of the lessons the boys had that her and Helaena did not. Part of that involved wiling away a week of stormy, frigid weather, tracing out the family trees of the Great Houses. The Targaryens rarely married out, even before King Jaehaerys, but there had been Aemon and Daella to houses Baratheon and Arryn, and Queen Aemma’s siblings and half-siblings. She’d even traced her own tree: Harwin’s mother, Lysa, had been Lord Elmo’s sister. Larys and Corynna’s mother had been a Frey. Abby’s mother had been a Westerlander, already outside, already suspicious of the clannish houses of her homeland. “And if all the mutterings and murmurings are true, he cared as little and less for them as they did for him.”

She’d heard the rumors of Daemon being responsible for his first wife’s death, and the occasional muttering that he was responsible for Laena Velaryon as well, but in the past few days being with the mercurial Baela, she did not think that was the case. Abby looked back at her brother again, briefly, before smiling in greeting as Lady Redwyne and her sister settled nearby. The queen had sat on the opposite end of the circle of seating, the corral of it split evenly between the pair of them. Her shoulders slumped minutely and she kept her genial smile as the older women settled in.

Laughter caught her attention, Helaena and Baela both with shaking shoulders near the pavilion entrance as other girls joined them. They would be going hawking soon. The sun caught upon Helaena and Baela’s silver heads, giving them a golden shine. A sigh caught in her throat. How nice it would be to join them, to frolic in the lack of responsibility.

Larys shifted, still sitting at her right hand as the rest of the guests filtered in, and her attention drew back to him. “Ah, yes, the princesses and the other ladies are going hawking. Did your grandfather not gift you a new hawk for your engagement?”

Lord Rodrik had indeed. Abby had hawked some when she was a little girl at one of the hunts for Princess Rhaenyra’s nameday, but had never had a one of her own. But Lord Rodrik and her Reyne family were prodigious hawkers and the beautiful Peregrine she’d named Caelus was a little wonder. He’d been trained by her cousin, Emrik, who had fancied himself a falconer, and had sent a kind letter that she was quick to return. Letters had been rare over the years, but there’d always been well wishes and tidings on her nameday.

“He did, and I know we brought him. The queen…” Abby trailed off, her eyes darting to the other side of the tent where Queen Alicent was smiling at the younger Lady Redwyne. “She said that it was our duty to host while Aegon goes hunting. That it’s my duty. To make friends, to comport myself as the future princess.”

“Oh, did she?” Larys asked mildly, cocking his head to the side and leaning on his cane. “Yes, I can see what she would want that. It was, after all, what has been expected of her when she was your age, already with two children. She had far more in common with the matrons of the court at that point. You are here when others who should be are not.”

Rhaenyra should be here. She was the King’s eldest, his heir. Discomfort prickled along Abby’s spine, a latent spike of anger at the woman who had put her family in danger, hurt at how quickly Rhaenyra had moved to Daemon Targaryen after what happened to Harwin. Her fingers curled against her knees before she forced them to relax and stretch. The Crown Princess had always been kind to her, but could Abby even trust that? After what happened at Driftmark, and what happened to her family?

Alone now, save for Larys.

‘Not alone anymore’, she immediately reminded herself, because Aegon was with her now; Helaena and Aemond cared for her too. They too were her family. Not alone, for she had her grandfather and he loved her truly. Yet, she had felt this loneliness for so long. Rhaenyra was not responsible for her loneliness, but in many ways she felt it keenly. It felt as if everything changed because of her.

This marriage, Alicent’s desire for control, Lord Otto’s keen and watchful eye were because of Rhaenyra. Aegon’s pain was because of Rhaenyra.

Her father and brother were dead and gone because of Rhaenyra.

“I am here when others are not,” she said softly, eyes watching those who watched her, her smile flashing as she murmured her greetings as the ladies began to gossip. Larys was murmuring his own greetings to Lord Piper’s wife, complimenting her on the recent betrothal for her son. Abby’s gaze darted towards the front of the tent, where the girls were still gathered as they prepared to go off for their own little adventures.

Alicent Hightower made sure she was there. She made sure that people saw her as queen, someone to be trusted and counted on, someone that could be reached. She was here, as Abby was here.

“If the Targaryens mean to exercise power in our realm, they will be in for a rude awakening.”

Abby was not queen. She wasn’t certain what that future held, but she did know, with certainty, that she was the future Lady of Harrenhal, and that Lythene Ryger, Melony Piper, even Sarra Frey who was lingering nervously with a goblet in hand, they too would be future ladies of houses that she needed to be friends with. Abby could not just rely on the fact that she held the title, not when she did not grow up in her home, not when people like Edmund Vance were so eager to tell her that it didn’t matter, they would see what they wished.

“Lady Sarra,” Abby called, rising with a smile and handing over her goblet. She could feel Alicent’s eyes on her, and that over the other ladies. “I did not have the opportunity to speak with you at the feast last night. Pray, will you join me and the others out hawking?”

Sarra Frey was a tall girl, broad shouldered with high cheekbones and dark hair bound in a twist of three braids down her back. She wore a simple but lovely jacket of deep blue and silver, the colors of her house. At being addressed, she straightened up, green eyes wide with surprise at being noticed. They narrowed slightly, mouth parting before closing. A flush crept across her cheeks.

“I don’t have a hawk with me, Lady Abrogail,” she said softly. At her full height, she was as tall as Aemond, more softly spoken than her severe expression might have said. Abby smiled.

“That is quite fine, there are plenty to go around.” Sarra nodded, handing off her goblet to one of the passing servants and Abby looped her arms through hers and tugged her towards the others. “My legs are exhausted from that carriage ride, shall we go?”

Even Baela’s mask of judgment faded as they walked towards the edge of camp where the Master of the Mews was minding the hawks and preparing to move out further from camp. She was stuck between Helaena and Wylla, the princess’ silver head shining beneath the sun. Lythene was laughing with the Crane twins and even Sarra was pulled into conversation with Zara Celitgar, who was eyeing the tall Frey girl appreciatively.

“Are we not taking a carriage?” Margaery Crane asked as Helaena led the way past the line of them set aside for their later return.

“It is not a far walk,” Abby assured her. “And it’s nice to stretch our legs after all that sitting.” She nodded towards the Master of the Mews and his apprentices carting the hawks ahead of them. Margaery hummed in agreement, confusion placated, and Abby was set to continue onto another subject when there was a commotion from behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see Cassandra Baratheon striding behind them.

“You all left so quickly!” she announced, censure and jovial all rolled into her crisp tone. A slight smirk crossed her sharp features as they approached. Among the three ladies that accompanied her, Lady Elinor kept close at her side. Cassandra’s dark eyes swept over Abby as they drew closer, and she felt picked apart by the gaze, something sharp stabbing between her ribs at the continued haughtiness of the eldest Storm. Abby straightened, offering her own wan smile. Like hell would Cassandra set foot into Harrenhal, but this?

This she needed to be easy with; this she could allow.

“Of course, Lady Cassandra,” she said. “We would be happy to have you.” Helaena made a soft sound that Abby ignored but felt deeply. Her eyes flitted to Lady Elinor at Cassandra’s shoulder, giving her a warmer look. It was her family’s strawberry wine that had been highly spoken about over the course of the festivities, and Elinor’s responding smile was kinder.

“Congratulations are in order, Lady Abrogail,” Lady Elinor murmured. Cassandra’s eyes tightened, her smile frozen on her face.

“Yes, congratulations on your coming nuptials,” she parroted, smoothing her kidskin gloves over the fall of her woolen hunting jacket. “How comforting it must be to wed one’s childhood playmate. No surprises or excitement to worry about.”

The words were harmless enough, but the barb beneath them was clear. Abby tilted her head slightly, her own smile still on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Baela who spoke, angling her head between Wylla and Helaena to peer at her cousin.

“Not to mention wedding a childhood playmate means there’s no barrier to intimacy, and no secrets kept,” she said, then bit into the apple she had in hand. “Now let’s fucking move before I start hunting with my bare hands.”

Helaena was meant to be in bed but sleep eluded her. She waved away the maids and headed out into the night toward the great bonfire in the center of camp. There was no danger here, much like there was no need to fear in the Holdfast. Her slippers grew wet after only moments, the night dew soaking into the soft fabric and chilling her toes.

She wanted to dance around the fire, stare into the flames like she heard the Red Priestesses did, and wonder to herself if her dreams would make more sense then. Aemond said she was touched as Daenys was, a gift precious to their Targaryen line. It helped ease the fearful strangeness to know that her strange dreams were not simply the ‘odd workings of an overactive imagination.’ That they did mean something, but what? Helaena was never certain. Sometimes she never knew the outcome, other times they became starkly clear.

‘He’ll have to lose an eye’.

“Would you care for some company?” came a low, curious voice, a slight crack on the last word. She looked over to see Jace lingering at the edge of the firelight, his jerkin long discarded with just his gray linen shirt and trousers, a dark blue cape wrapped around him. The bright flames danced in his lavender eyes, giving them a shade of deep purple-red she found curious indeed. Did her own look the same?

“You’re not gallivanting with the boys?” Helaena asked, not meaning anything by it until the words hung in the air, and Jace’s gaze glanced to what he held in his hands. The only ‘boys’ for him to gallivant with were her brothers. Of course there were other lordlings about, but given that Jace was lingering around the bonfire caused her to wonder if he too liked the quiet.

Or if he were lonely.

“I didn’t want to…” Jace trailed off, rubbing his thumb over whatever he held in his hand. The motion of it reminded her so strongly of Abby, Helaena didn’t know how she was supposed to process it. The curl of unease and her mother’s frustration and anger coated her insides. Her own frustrations, deeply buried but still there, like the ever smoking fires of the Dragonmont, bubbled and burbled in response. The king who loved Jace more, loved him like he loved Rhaenyra more. The blind man who ignored Aemond’s nameday even though it had just happened, who only thought of Aegon’s day because of everything that happened.

The dead look in Mother’s eyes that was more and more frequent, when she stared out the window of her solar, her hands twisted and knotted into her skirts. The things that Sire-Father had done to her for no reason except his own dragon feelings, Helaena thought. His need for more and more, consuming him the way the anger would consume Aemond, and the drink would consume Aegon.

All of them pinned to boards in the king’s Freehold miniature; all of them frozen and set on display in his own gallery, for him to take down from time to time to play with.

The burst of a log in the fire startled her and Helaena realized, uncomfortably, that she’d been staring, vacantly, at Jacaerys, who was watching her, still as water, quiet as an orb weaver. He watched her, the fire throwing orange and red across his fine features, catching at the warm red in his dark, dark hair. His right eye was a sheen of red from the fire, his left cast in shadow. Half fire.

Her right side was chilled, when her left was so warm, mirrors of each other.

Half fire.

Jace held out his hand, palm open, offering to her the smooth stone that he had been fiddling with. The ridges of the sea creature who died in it caught upon the light, throwing its own little shadow as it was unable to in life, living in the sea as it did. Only now, in his hand, had this creature found warmth and light.

Helaena reached for it, her hot fingers scraping against his as she took it, feeling his own hot skin beneath her touch.

Half fire.

‘But I am full flame,’’ Heleane thought, for she was dragonflame and lighthouse flame. Lighting the way with fire in her wake. Jace was fire, yes, but he was river water, the way it rippled through him. Still and steady, but crashing and flooding with the ferocity of a dragon’s power. ‘Would this be what her nieces and nephews be?’ Is this what a union of fire and water entailed? Deadly and quiet, steady when they were full of heat and flame.

She rubbed her thumb over the fossilized creature and it felt pleasant against her skin. Soothing, tactile. Grounding. “Thank you,” she said softly and Jace smiled at her. “Pity it’s not another marchpane tentacle.” He laughed, a soft sound that sounded like water over stones and they came to sit on the bench. She shoved her feet closer to the flame and watched the steam rise from the fabric from how hot it was. There was a few inches between them, the warmth emanating, and they sat together, no words spoken. These were her favorite moments, ones she missed. It scraped at her insides, like pushing dirt away from the stone so she could find the worms beneath. They were the memories of the gardens in childhood, Jace beside her, mud and damp soaked into his knees, helping her push the rock up to find the pill bugs and the beetles and the centipedes in the dark, damp earth.

“It was nice to dance with you at the feast,” he ventured, and Helaena looked at him, the shadow along his jaw where he’d wake up fuzzy and prickly in the morning. She reached up to rub the back of her fingers against his jaw, looking at the slight pout of his mouth, the dark fan of his eyelashes. Freckles faint against his skin.

“You're a good dancer. I should know, I’m a good dancer myself.” She smiled at him and he shook his head, a flush on his face and she felt her own spread across her cheeks. He scraped the toe of his boot in the dirt and she nudged her foot against his. He was familiar, in the way Aemond was, but he was new in the way Warren had been. Someone she knew, but didn’t. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t pushing and probing at her, looking for a bruise to elicit feelings from, or the thrill of a princess. He didn’t look at her like she was odd, or startle at her staring, her distant sight.

Jace was simply patient, and he waited, and did not seek to chatter. It was new, it was old, it was like pressing against the ground and the dirt giving way, a little tunnel inside that one didn’t know was there, and Jace peered in and made his way inside. A dragon roosting in a cave.

His knee bumped against hers and she looked at him, their matching lavender eyes meeting. It was nice, Helaena thought, that they had this piece to share. Like two different butterflies, different colors and different patterns, but the markings were the same. The wings were the same. Simply… different.

“The mint winds and chokes like ivy,” she said, instead of what she meant to say, which was asking him if he would come looking for stag beetles with her the next day. “The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.” She blinked, startled, but the words that she had not known, had not meant to utter, remained heavy between them. “I-.”

He blinked back at her, brow furrowed. “Helaena, are you-”

A horrible scream ripped through camp and for the briefest moment, Helaena thought it might have been a fox shriek. But this was too loud, too close. Another scream, this time two high pitched ones and then a guttural yell. Jace’s hand gripped hers, pulling her to her feet and away from the fire. She tugged at his hold to move towards the commotion, but he tugged her back. “I’m taking you back to your tent, Helaena,” he said firmly. “We don’t know what’s- Ow!”

She had lifted their hands, sinking her teeth into the plump flesh at the back of his thumb so he’d let go and hurried towards the tents without a second glance, knowing that he’d be following her. She gripped her skirts, grateful for the warmth of Jace’s cloak around her shoulders and her heart sank, panic seizing her chest when she realized it was Abrogail’s tent that was the source of the screaming.

Three of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston, were already there, as were the gold cloaks that had been patrolling around the outskirts of camp. Their cloaks reminded her of Sunfyre’s scales in all the torchlight, and half-dressed nobility coming out of their tents, bleary eyed in confusion.

On the ground lay a servant with a blade in his chest, blood burbling from his mouth. Helaena looked at him, wide-eyed, Jace trying to get her to look away, and her gaze went up to Wylla Karstark. The northerner was shaking, gray eyes wide as dinner plates, her hair bound for bed, her dressing gown haphazard and sprayed with blood from where the man must have coughed it at her.

“He-he came in. He was on Abby so quickly-”

“I don’t know where he came from!” Abby’s trembling frame was right behind her, clutching one of the pokers from the tent brazier in her hands, still ready to strike. Her curls were twisted and wrapped around the crown of her head, shivering in the night air in just her own nightgown, sleep mussed and clearly straight from bed. “I don’t…” She gulped. “I don’t think he meant Wylla to b-be there.” Her free hand was gripping the back of Wylla’s dressing gown, and Ser Criston laid a hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“Give me the poker, Lady Abrogail,” he was saying in a calm, steady voice like he did when Helaena was younger, cowering in a corner and unable to flee the commotion. “There’s a girl.”

Harrion Karstark was shouting his sister’s name, just as Uncle Gwayne was calling hers. Helaena turned her head to see him coming up, half dressed with his sword belt slung over his shoulder. He reached for her shoulder, tugging her back. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, and Helaena stumbled back into Jace as the crowd parted.

Then, Aegon’s shout of, “Abby!” came crashing over the gathering crowd, pushing his way through with Aemond at his back. She caught her younger brother’s frantic look, seeing the worry ease somewhat at the sight of her before going over to the girls. Abby surrendered the brazier poker as Aegon reached her, frantic over the state of her, pulling his cloak off to wrap around her, fear and fury warring on his flushed features. “What happened?”

The man on the ground was rasping, wheezing, but it was hard to tell if he was alive or not, or if this was how his body signaled death.

“This man came to attack Lady Abrogail, Your Grace,” Ser Erryk said. “Lady Wylla got him good.” His twin nudged the attacker with the tip of his boot as Aemond looked at the man, then at Wylla. His face was carved in hard lines, but his gaze was softened.

“Did you throw it?” he asked. “Or did you pounce on him?”

Wylla blinked, her brother’s broad hands holding her shoulders. “I stabbed him.” Her voice was faint and she took the blade handle, clutching it to her. “He… I was putting away our dresses and there was a commotion… I thought…” Wylla’s brow furrowed, shaking her head. “He came in through the flap beside the bed and crawled o-on top of her. Abby screamed and I just…”

Harrion’s hands tightened on his sister’s shoulders and the girl fell silent with a soft squeak. Aemond’s mouth pursed and he knelt beside the man. His hair fell in a curtain, the band of his eye-patch not holding it back from the vantage that Helaena had. He reached down, and twisted the blade, a wet crack sounding in the sudden hushed anticipation. The wheezing sounds the man was making tapered off as Aemond pulled the blade from his body.

It squelched, a gout of blood spraying, and a strange, hissing sound like wind through a crack sounded. Aemond jerked back as some of the blood caught on the ends of his hair and he rose slowly, wiping the blade of the dagger. “Well he’s dead now, Lady Wylla. Your bravery and quick thinking is to be commended. House Karstark should be proud to have such a brave daughter.” He handed her the dagger, hilt towards her. “Keep this close, since you can be well trusted to use it.”

Wylla’s brother held her tightly as the gold cloaks hoisted the dead man between the pair of them, dragging him somewhere.

“I was half asleep,” Abby said. Aegon clutched her to his chest as his gaze swept darkly around, hands rubbing her arms. “At first I th-thought it was Wylla…” Helaena watched Abby’s hand clutch Aegon’s arm tighter, her voice falling silent. Her other hand reached towards Wylla again, the girls clinging tightly to one another.

“How the fuck did that bastard manage to sneak into my lady’s tent?” Aegon demanded, his voice not a shout like Uncle Gwayne’s had been, but more of a warning growl, like Sunfyre. “Where were the patrols, Ser Criston?”

Their mother’s protector - and Helaena realized that Mother was not there and that Ser Criston must have commanded her to stay in her own tent - shifted only slightly. “The patrols largely keep around the outside of camp to keep people from getting in, my Prince. The patrol that was walking through the tents had not made it back around yet.”

Aegon’s jaw ticked, assessing what Ser Criston had said and knowing it to be true. Helaena knew that Aegon and the others had been lingering in Aegon and Aemond’s tent for whatever gossip and giggling boys got up to in the middle of the night.

“Lady Abrogail and Lady Wylla will share my tent,” Helaena broke in, for she was the princess, and her mother was not here. “And we will have extra guards stationed around our tents, so that our Kingsguard are not stretched thin.” She straightened her shoulders and closed the distance between her and the girls. “This is enough horrible commotion for this night, and you should all be ashamed of yourselves for staring so,” she said, frowning at the crowd that had gathered. “These ladies have been terrorized, and you gawk at them. To bed, everyone! Let us gather your things and get you cleaned up.” The last was said to Wylla, who needed a fresh gown and the blood cleaned from her face.

And like the princess she was, she did not wait to be obeyed, reaching for Abby’s hand to pull her toward her tent.

Thank you for being here! If you loved this chapter, please give a reblog and I would adore hearing what you thought about the chapter! What did you think about the Larys and Abby convo? Baela Targaryen continues to be a force to be reckoned with. I for one love the ladies that Helaena and Abby have been gathering around them. Man what was UP with that attack at the end? And also, Jace clearly doesn't mind Helaena biting him. Good.

THE WRATH OF FIRE

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

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CHAPTER 8

The rumors surrounding Rhaenyra’s children only got worse when her third child had been born.

Ysilla was now a girl of fifteen. She was very different from the skinny little child that had left Runestone so long ago. People would describe her as elegant, intelligent, and beautiful. She had grown to be graceful, as much as her dragon was. And as Dārysyr, her fierce was known by now. Her dragon had grown large and powerful; his muscles were well-formed, and his wings were strong. Ysilla went flying on Dragonback once a week. She would have liked to do it more, but she had her studies and her duties.

Just a couple of years before, Ysilla had the chance to speak with the Alchemists of King’s Landing, and she had been left very fascinated.

“Vysenia was said to be familiar with dark magic,” she said one day, sitting beneath the Hearth Tree as she observed Aemond practicing combat movements with a stick.

“You want to be Vysenia born again?” He asked, fighting against air.

“Do you think I’d made a fool of myself?” She asked with a little smile as she looked at the boy.

“No,” he answered, turning to her, “I think you are as willed as her. But with the grace of Rhaenys.”

Graceful. Yes. Ysilla had grown up to be very grateful. She knew how to bow, to speak, and to dance. The court was well impressed by her. And from Runestone, her aunt Jeyne was hoping for a good arranging for Ysilla. Not only because she had become very well respected by the people in King’s Landing but also because Queen Alicent seemed to have high expectations from Ysilla. She called her her ward.

“She probably wishes for you to be wed to one of her sons,” that rumor had reached her aunt Jeyne as well. And she seemed pleased by it in her letters. A Royce on the throne.

Ysilla, on the contrary, had no thirst for power. The thought of ambitions and schemes only reminded her of her father and what he had done to be always a step closer to the Iron Throne. But she was not her father.

The lack of personal ambition, though, did not make her blind to politics and schemes. It was because she knew how harmful they could be that she was always vigilant and observant of what happened in court. Fully aware that knowledge and duty were what was required to keep alliances and peace. She had grown up side by side with the Queen, raised by the same people that raised the princes. She knew that the health of the King was faltered, as did the respect some people had for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms when her children started to grow up to become more similar to the Captain of the Guards than her own husband. Everybody knew, and yet the King did nothing. This had also happened ten years before when her father had killed her mother.

“Are you not coming to the pits?” Aegon asked that morning when they were breaking their fast.

“You heard that right,” she answered, smiling at him before taking a sip of her milk.

“You cannot ditch me like this,” he said, leaning towards her with playful eyes, “I’ve promised you today would have been fun.”

Aegon had grown up, but his search for fun and enjoyment had remained the same. “Helaena wished to dance today. You know how I love her and how I enjoy dancing.”

He cocked his head to a side, “More than riding Dārysyr?” Then his hands moved to touch a strain of her hair, “Did I say how I like your hair today?” Ysilla took his hand to push it away. Aegon had always had a fascination with her hair, and since he had started to grow and notice women, he had begun to voice his compliments on her hair and appearance more often than not.

“I love nothing more than Dārysyr,” she answered, looking at the boy. "And we already flew with him and Sunfyre last week.”

Not so long before, Aegon managed to bend Sunfyre, becoming his dragonrider. Sunfyre was known to be the most beautiful dragon alive, and he really was. He had golden scales and pink shades, and even his flames were golden.

“I wasn’t meant to go fly together,” he said, a mischief light in his eyes.

“What’s with the face?” She asked, making him laugh.

“What face?”

“The one that always brings you trouble,” she answered with a glare. He was planning something. She knew him too well to be mistaken. She didn’t have time to ask because the wooden door opened to let Aemond enter the chamber.

“Good morrow, Aemond,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Ysilla, brother,” he answered shortly. It was how Aemond was, very different from his older brother. He was composed and dutiful. Less impulsive than Aegon was. “Mother is looking for you, Ysilla.” He said, sitting down.

“That’s why you’re not coming. Because of Mother,” Aegon said, making Ysilla turn to him.

“I wasn’t supposed to,” she said, standing up. Her eyes went from one brother to the other. "I’ll see you both when you return from the pit,” then she looked at Aegon.

“Behave.” He blown her a kiss.

“Like always, my sweet.”

“Stop that,” Aemond said, focusing his attention on the plate in front of him. Ysilla ignored Aegon, making her way towards the door. She wondered why the Queen wanted to see her. Ysilla knew she would have been busy with Rhaenyra after the princess’s labor ended and the third of her children would be born. Rhaenyra had been screaming for hours, and Ysilla stopped to observe the corridor that led to her chambers on her way to the Queen. By the screams, she seemed to be suffering very much. That made her anxious. She knew that it was a woman’s duty to give children to her husband. She just hoped the gods had mercy for them and an easy way to bring life to the world.

“Princess,” Ser Cole was guarding the door, bowing his head as she walked closer.

“Good morrow, Ser,” she answered politely. “I hope your day has been good so far.”

The man smiled, “It is, Princess.” His smile would have made her blush just a few years before. But the more she grew up, the less embarrassing it became to share words with men, even handsome men such as Ser Criston.

When Ysilla entered the chamber, the Queen was standing next to the window, and a serving girl was fixing the back of her dress.

“My Queen,” she greeted, bowing. “Have you asked for me?”

“Good morrow, my dear,” Alicent Hightower smiled kindly at her, “Indeed. Helaena is a little... agitated today."

Helaena had stayed the same in those years. She was still the sweetest girl that Ysilla had ever met. Sweet and gentle. But her queer behavior sometimes agitated even herself. Ysilla had seen Helaena in those moments, and she knew that the princess didn't like to be alone when she was feeling like that.

"We'll find something else to do then," Ysilla answered. They could have taken a walk or talked about bugs. Helaena liked bugs. Ysilla would have found something to ease Helaena's mind.

The Queen smiled at her, putting a hand on her arm. "What a blessing you are." Ysilla returned the gesture, bowing her head in gratitude and respect.

At that moment, the door behind them opened to reveal Rhaenyra and Laenor. Ysilla widened her eyes to see her cousin.

"Rhaenyra," the Queen gasped, "You should be resting after your labors."

"I have no doubt that you would prefer that, Your Grace," Rhaenyra answered, trying to keep her trembling voice steady. The pain that she had experienced was well visible on her face, and it was not surprising.

Ysilla had heard Rhaenyra screaming only a few moments before. She knew what happened during labor, and the septa had explained that to her. How could her cousin possibly walk? Or even walking up the stairs?

"You must sit," the Queen said, turning to one of her serving girls, "Talya, fetch a cushion for the Princess.” The girl bowed and turned to attend Rhaenyra.

“There’s no need,” Rhaenyra said. By the Queen insisted.

Ysilla followed Alicent as they walked towards the couple. Rhaenyra had finally accepted sitting down with Laenor's help, but seeing her in pain and holding her newborn baby, Ysilla felt like moving so that she could help her cousin sit. As the girl touched her arm, the Princess turned to look at her. A small smile appeared on her lips, probably still trying to hide her pain. It was well-known how stubborn Rhaenyra was.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“There’s no need,” Ysilla answered, then exchanging a look with the Queen.

Alicent was observing the baby like she had done with Lucerys just a few years before. Ysilla knew what she was thinking: even this child had nothing of Ser Laenor in him.

As Ysilla went back to stand next to the Queen, King Viserys entered the chamber with a huge smile on his face. “What happy news this morning,” he exclaimed.

The years had not been gentle to the King. His body was weaker and more fragile. His skin had gotten paler and his hair thinner. The condition of his left hand had gotten worse. He first lost just three fingers, but it kept getting worse until the Maester decided that it was better to cut off the entire arm. Even so, Ysilla’s uncle tried to maintain a positive attitude, always smiling at everyone.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” said Ser Leanor, taking the child in his arms to present him to the King. Ysilla observed Rhaenyra’s husband’s face as he looked at the baby. He smiled happily and proudly. Could he really be so blind? He had never seemed such a man to Ysilla. It was true, though, that he was not very present as a father.

He is more present than mine, anyway. She thought as she observed the unbothered son of Corlys Velaryon pass the child to the King. But even in his expression, Ysilla could not see surprise or disappointment. She could not understand why both men acted so blindly about the behavior of the future Queen? Why did her actions have no repercussions? Everybody knew, everybody whispered. And yet the King did nothing.

He must truly love her, if he is protecting her like that. Ysilla thought, observing the happiness on Viserys’ face.

“A fine Prince,” he said, his eyes looking at every one of them. Ysilla smiled, lowering her eyes. “Sturdy. You will make a fearsome knight.”

Surely, Ysilla thought. If the rumors were true and his father was Ser Harwin Strong, he surely could have become a terrific fighter as an adult. Breakbone was the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Does the babe have a name yet?” The Queen asked with curiosity.

Rhaenyra took a breath, “We haven’t spoken-”

“Joffrey.” Ser Leanor interrupted his wife. “He’ll be called Joffrey.”

Ysilla looked between them, hoping that her face did not give away the kind of thought she had in mind. Had they spoken of it or not? Did Rhaenyra agree with such a name?

“An unusual name for a Velaryon.” The Queen was speaking the truth. Velaryon came from Valyria as much as the Targaryens. Their names came from Old Valyria to keep the traditions. But it wasn’t only their costume: in the Seven Kingdoms, all the Noble Houses had names and family names. Ysilla’s name was a Royce name. Her mother, Lady Rhea, had done it on purpose. Ysilla’s father could be a Targaryen, but she had Royce’s blood in her veins as well.

“I do believe he has his father’s nose,” Ysilla would have frowned at the King’s words, but she had to keep her composure, so she decided to look at Rhaenyra and smile at her. The Princess did the same, but there was no truth behind that gesture. They were both aware of what was happening.

The King chuckled, still focused on Joffrey, and soon after, Laenor did the same before clearing his throat.

“If you don’t mind, Your Grace, your daughter has exerted herself heroically and should rest,” Ser Laenor said, ready to help his wife get on her feet.

“Of course,” the King answered. The Queen was soon at his side, taking Joffrey in her hands. Ysilla moved aside when she saw the King walking closer to his daughter, but she didn’t walk very far, curious about what they would have talked about.

“Well done, my girl,” Viserys said with tenderness. Such a tone forced Ysilla to lower her eyes, fully aware that her father would never have such sweetness for her. If she’ll ever see him again. She knew that he was an Essos with his lady wife and their two twin daughters. She wondered how he was fathering them. If he was cold and cruel like he had been to her so long ago. Ten years had passed, and yet she remembered the way he had looked at her as he said that he felt nothing for his firstborn daughter.

“I do hope the labor was easy,” the King said as Ysilla walked towards the Queen, who was giving the baby back to Ser Leanor.

“Do keep trying, Ser Laenor. Sooner or later, you may get one that looks like you.” She had said it so politely, but her intentions were quite clear—she was voicing the thoughts of the entire court. The man looked startled, and when he noticed Ysilla standing there, she didn’t say anything. She only smiled, with no true intention behind it.

Rhaenyra then walked towards her husband before they both left the chamber. Ysilla bowed gracefully as they disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.

“What a happy day,” the King exclaimed full of happiness.

The Queen lowered her eyes from next to him. “Indeed, my love,” she answered.

The whole situation was against everything that politics and duty required. Ysilla could understand why her uncle was protecting his daughter, but her King was making a fool of himself. And whispers could only get louder and louder, not only against Rhaenyra but against the King as well. He was not only Rhaenyra’s father; he was the Protector of the Realm, of the peace of the Realm. How would the realm answer once the King had left that world? What was ahead of them? That uncertainty was heavy in her heart. Politics could be ruthless, and it could reclaim anyone’s life.

“You wanted to dance, I’m sorry,” Helaena was saying as they walked in the corridors of the Red Keep.

“Nonsense, Helaena,” she answered honestly. The events of that morning had left little room for light emotions in her heart. “I don’t feel like dancing today.”

“Running from the back is important,” her cousin said. Ysilla turned to observe her. It didn’t matter how many years they had known each other; Helaena’s strange sentences left Ysilla confused all the time. She knew better than to ask. Helaena didn’t know how to explain the meaning of her words, and the more people asked her to, the more she got agitated. That was one of those days. One where Ysilla stood quiet, listening to all the strange things her cousin felt to say. She loved Helaena, but on those days, the hours went on slowly.

I wish I was at the Dragonpit, she thought. Ysilla wished nothing more than to be with Dārysyr, especially during days that felt so heavy in her heart.

They were back in Helaena’s chamber when the Queen arrived. Ysilla was set next to her cousin, who was very interested in counting the rings of a centipede. They have been there long. And Ysilla decided to take one of the many books that she had in her chamber to keep herself occupied until Helaena was satisfied with her counting. When the Queen entered, Ysilla was ready to stand up and bow, but the woman gestured for her to sit still and keep with her reading.

“This one has sixty rings and two pairs of legs on each, ” Helaena whispered, looking closer at the centipede, “It makes two-hundred-twenty-four.”

“Yes, it is,” the Queen said in a soft tone, even if her expression could not hide her worry. It was difficult to communicate with Helaena when she acted like that. They had to be patient.

“It has eyes,” the girl spoke, looking closely at the creature in her hand.

“Does he?” Ysilla asked, keeping reading her book.

Helaena muttered in agreement, “Though, I don’t believe it can see.” Ysilla looked at her with a confused frown.

“And why is that so, do you think?” Asked the Queen.

“It is beyond our understanding.”

Beyond mine, for sure, Ysilla thought at her cousin’s words. Those were too much of abstract concepts for her mind. She liked history better.

“I suppose you’re right,” the Queen answered. Some things just are.” As she finished speaking, though, the door opened to reveal Aemond. Ysilla put aside her book. Her eyes widened, seeing how dirty his face and clothes were.

“Aemond,” the woman gasped, walking to her son, “What have you done?”

“He did it again.” Ysilla stood up after Helaena’s words. He must have entered the Dragonpit. That place was dangerous for someone without a dragon, and Aemond was the only one of them without one. Dragons bend only to one person, and when they did, they will only listen to their rider. They could become very dangerous for anyone else. But Aemond had always been very fascinated by dragons. The pain in his eyes was always visible when they went to the Dragonpit.

Ysilla could understand him. She had been fascinated, too, before Dārysyr’s egg hatched. Being a Targaryen without a dragon hurt a lot.

“After how many times you’ve been warned,” the Queen reproved him, “Must I have you confined to your chambers?”

“They made me do it!” Aemond argued angrily. Who made him do it? Ysilla moved forward, feeling for her cousin. He truly seemed so upset. What had happened? But the Queen didn’t seem to share Ysilla’s same thoughts.

“As if you needed encouragement,” the woman said, worryingly observing her son to be sure he was not harmed. "Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding.” When she spoke like that, the Queen truly reminded Ysilla of her mother's skepticism about dragons.

“They gave me a pig!” Aemond exclaimed. Ysilla’s eyes widened.

“A what?” The Queen asked in confusion.

“They said they found a dragon for me. But it was a pig!” Aemond answered, trembling with anger.

I’ve promised you today would have been fun. Aegon had said to her that morning. He was behind it. Ysilla could not believe it. He knew how Aemond suffered since he was the only one without a dragon. Even Rhaenyra’s sons had one each, but not Aemond, a son of a King. How could he be so stupid to do that to his own brother?

“You will have a dragon one day,” Alicent said trying to calm her son, “I know it.”

Aemond deserved a dragon. It was saddening to know that his egg hadn’t hatched. He had asked Ysilla many times how she did it as they grew up, but she truly wasn't sure how or why. Dārysyr was just born one day. It had been a very normal day. But Aemond’s didn’t, and it was not fair. Why did the Gods play such games?

Aemond lowered his gaze, “They all laughed.”

And why did the Gods make Aegon to be such an idiot?

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Anniversary

summary: swimming & face fucking || you and aegon relax at a snowy cabin in winter town for your first anniversary

pairing: modern!aegon x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, oral sex (m receiving), face fucking, breast/nipple play, dirty talk, i love him idk, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 1.8k

a/n: happy day four of 12 days of smuff!! surely this counts for swimming they are at least in some water lmao

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @gameofthronesdaily!

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You let out a soft sigh and relax further into the balmy water, letting your eyes slip shut as wafts of steam warm your face, which contrasted nicely with the cold mountain air that blew in breezes all around you. Your lips can’t help but curl up into a soft smile as bubbles gently break across the surface of your bare skin, tickling slightly as they rise to the surface of the water. 

“Okay,  you were right,” Aegon rasps next to you, his signature soft smirk audible in his words, “Maybe celebrating our anniversary in Winter Town wasn’t such an awful idea.” 

You blow a huff of laughter through your nose as you crack open an eye to peer at him — watching as he lets out a contented sigh, head tilted back against the lip of the hot tub, along with his stocky arms. Your eye opens a bit more as you let your gaze linger for a second longer, taking in the soft pink blush smattered across his full cheeks and the way silvery strands of hair stuck against the top of his forehead from the steam billowing up off the surface of the water. 

“Better than Dorne?” You tease, letting your eye slip shut once more. 

You hear him let out a soft laugh next to you before he sighs happily again, “Better than Dorne.” He agrees, voice strained as though he were speaking through a stretch. 

The two of you stay that way for an indiscernible amount of time, minutes seeming to blur together as jets massage every inch of you. 

Suddenly, you feel the water seem to shift around you and you open your eyes, smiling when you see that Aegon has chosen to move much closer, his shoulder nearly bumping against yours. 

“Hi,” you say simply, peering up at him through your lashes before you turn and lay back against him, your back against his side. 

He quickly readjusts and hooks both of his arms around your middle, his hands resting idly just underneath your breasts. “Hey,” he chuckles, tilting his head to press a soft kiss to the damp hair at the top of your head, “Come here often?” He teases; you can practically feel his chest swell with pride as you laugh against him. 

“As it just so happens, this is my first time,” you reply, tilting your head back to look up into his violet eyes, “Although, I happen to be on an anniversary vacation with my boyfriend.” Your smirk quickly turns into a pleased hum as he cups your breasts in his warm hands, your nipples hardening as you arch your back enough for them to rise out of the warm water. 

“He sounds very lucky,” he rasps, savoring your gasps as he kneads the fat of your breasts, eyes glimmering at the whimpers you let out every time his thumbs skim across your nipples. 

You reach a hand up and twine your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “He tells me quite often he is,” you breathe before tugging his face down to yours and hungrily pressing your lips against his. 

Both of you sigh into the kiss, your lips moving together lazily, unhurried. Aegon groans above you when he feels your tongue brush over his bottom lip, his hands grasping tighter to your breasts as he parts his pouty lips and lets you lick eagerly into his mouth, a gesture he happily returns as your tongues languidly swirl together. 

The two of you kiss for a while, moving against one other leisurely, each of you drinking down the other’s small noises of pleasure. 

Before too long, though, Aegon started to become restless and you smiled into the kiss when his touches became more desperate — harder, more incessant. You squeak against his lips when one large hand comes down and suddenly cups your center, already bare from when you’d both decided to forego swimsuits. 

“Wait!” You breathe, sitting up and disentangling yourself from your boyfriend’s arms. 

“Everything okay?” He asks with concern, one eyebrow quirked up. 

You can’t help but smile, endeared at his concern, although you quickly correct yourself with a sly smirk before you lean in and press kisses in a trail, starting at his chest and working your way up and over his collarbone and neck until you reach his ear. 

“Just want you in my mouth…” you tease, biting your lower lip as you pull back just enough to peer into his eyes.

“That can be arranged,” he says around a gruff laugh before tilting his head toward the sliding glass door that leads back into the small, cozy cabin you’d rented for the weekend, “Shall we head inside?”

You nod with a small giggle as you pull yourself from the bubbling water, squealing playfully when he takes the opportunity to smack a hand against your ass. The two of you quickly skitter inside, the cold air instantly nipping at your skin. 

You sigh a sigh of relief as you make it into the cabin, happy to be out of the cold breeze. Aegon makes quick work of the sliding door, quickly locking it into place before he takes one of your hands and leads you to the soft leather sofa in the middle of the room, a pleased smirk on his face. 

“I believe someone said something about getting their mouth on me…” he said, quirking his head to the side in mock contemplation as his hands settled on your hips; he presses a soft kiss to your lips before plopping himself down on the couch, one hand wrapping loosely around his already half-hard cock as he stares at you expectantly. 

You merely give him a playful eye roll before sinking to your knees between his thighs, the plush fur rug cushioning your knees from the wood floors of the cabin as the heat from the small fireplace in the corner of the room warms your back. 

He meets your gaze with a groan, tongue darting out to wet his lips when you place your hands on the tops of his thighs; the hand around his cock relaxes at his side. 

You lean in and press soft kisses to the light trail of hair that leads down from his bellybutton, taking your time before softly licking at the head, a pleased hum bubbling up from your throat at the salty taste of his pre-cum. 

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs above you, dark eyes nearly black as he watches you gently lick and kiss around the tip of his cock, “That’s it.” He praises when your lips wrap around him and eagerly suck him into your mouth. 

You groan softly, relishing the heavy weight of him on your tongue, before you begin bobbing your head. You wrap one hand around the base, stroking what little of his considerable length you can’t fit into your mouth, as you look up at him through your lashes, your eyes scanning over the pale planes of his chest before locking with his eyes once more. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he huffs above you, pushing a stray lock of hair out of your face, “So beautiful with my cock in your mouth, hm?” 

You nod as best you can, eyes watering slightly as the head of him pokes against the back of your throat. You can already feel his length twitch in your mouth, feeling cocky as you cup his stones with one hand, smirking when you find them already tightening up as you roll them gently in your hand in a way that makes Aegon’s head tilt back with a loud, drawn out groan. 

You move against him for a minute more, your other hand gripping at the top of his thigh as lewd wet noises fill the cabin. He can’t help but curl in on himself slightly when you run your tongue over that one sensitive area at his head, a hiss leaving his lips as one hand cups the back of your head. 

“Seven Hells,” he mutters, swallowing thickly before just barely canting his hips up, eyebrows furrowed in a silent question as his eyes meet yours, “‘M close, princess, please — fuck!” 

You can’t help but giggle around his length, nodding the best you can. He makes a soft sound of relief before the hand at the back of your head tightens in your hair; you steel yourself, groaning as he begins rutting his hips up into your waiting mouth. 

He lets out a beautiful whining groan above you, relishing the way his cock slides so easily in and out of your mouth as his tip prods deliciously at the back of your throat. 

“Shit,” he grunts, guiding your head down at the same instant he snaps his hips up, watching intently as your eyes roll back into your head, pleased at how you seem to enjoy this just as much as he does, “Gonna cum down that pretty throat, fuck.” He warns, gripping tighter at your hair as he starts to lose himself. 

You nod as best you can, sealing your lips around his cock a bit harder, squelching noises filling your ears as you choke around his length. Tears spring to your eyes as he thrusts a handful more times before his hips still, cock buried down your throat for a second as he all but growls above you. 

Pride fills your chest as you feel his length twitch against your tongue, the heady taste of his spend fills your mouth as you swallow around him, careful to breathe through your nose. 

After a moment, the fingers in your hair relax, allowing you to pull yourself off of him with a soft pop, smirking as you press soothing kisses to the insides of his thighs before you push yourself off the floor, wiping a hand across your mouth as you join him on the sofa. 

“I take it you enjoyed that?” You ask softly, chuckling at the soft moan that sounds from his throat as you straddle his legs, your breasts pressed up against his warm chest as you settle yourself in his lap. 

“You are goddess,” he murmurs, half-lidded eyes peering up at you as his hands come to rest on your hips. 

You merely chuckle as you card your fingers through his hair, gasping as he pulls you to him, violet eyes flicking up to yours before he runs his tongue over one of your nipples, sealing his soft lips around the bud for a moment as he suckles it into his mouth. 

“Aegon…” you breathe above him, whining as his hands sink down to cup your bum, pressing you harder against him still, as if he can’t be close enough to you. 

“Give me ten minutes and I’m yours,” he promises roughly, nose digging into the fat of your breast as he busies himself against your chest. 

You sigh softly and pull him up, slotting your mouth against his.

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Throne

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x fem!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: smut, sugar daddy themes (not au), undefined relationship, dominance, teasing, aegon can be such a fucking asshole, guilt tripping, neck play, angst, public pleasuring, punishments (yay), dirty talk, fem!receiving oral, fingering, begging, delayed orgasm, blood play, degradation, aftercare, aegon's ownership of reader

a/n ok ok ok i actually really enjoyed writing this smut. so much. i just love me a good dominant man that does what he wants (within reason ofc we love consent here)

summary Y/N is taught a lesson by Aegon

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read time: 11 mins 1 second

“What is it?” she asked, bursting into the throne room angrily. No bows, no titles, just anger.

Aegon smirked at her devilishly, watching her approach him with such an angsty tone.

“I cannot just simply ask for you to pay me a visit?” he asks, unfolding his legs from the childish position on the Iron Throne and straightening his back.

“I don’t like being torn from my studies just because you wish to see me.”

He laughs out loud, almost mockingly. “A ‘Hello your Majesty’ and perhaps a bow would have done.” Aegon scoffed, staring her body up and down like she was a new shiny toy. He noticed the dress she was wearing; the one he had commissioned for her after she was such a good girl after their previous endeavors together. She earned it- she deserved it. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Aegon said, rubbing his legs until he got to his knees and finally stood.

“Have you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and walking closer to him.

“It’s rude to deny your king of what he wishes. I called upon you nearly an hour ago.” Aegon declares as he skips down the stairs, meeting her halfway and softly grabbing her wrists. He was just as an impatient man as he was a gruesome King. He holds her at arm’s length, looking her up and down once again with hungry eyes. 

“And you are what I currently desire.”

She catches her breath as she stares at him. “You called me out of my studies… for this?”

She stares at him, her heart pounding against her ribcage. The room feels suffocating as if the tension between them has thickened the air. Her initial confusion morphs into a wave of disappointment and frustration, evident in the deep furrow that forms between her brows.

Her disgust was off-putting to him. With a menacing glare, so different from the adoring one he had for her moments ago, he pulled her close and brought his fingers to her chin, and forced her to stare into his gaze. His face contorts, momentarily betraying a flicker of vulnerability, as her disgust pierces through his facial facade. In response, his expression transforms, and his previously adoring gaze is replaced by a cold stare that bores into her soul. “I can do what I want, when I want. I am the King. Do you understand?” 

The weight of his words hangs heavily in the air, a chilling reminder of his position of authority. 

She does not reply, her lips tightly sealed as she gazes into his tired eyes. It looks like he hasn’t slept in days. In fact, it was clear that he hasn't slept in days. The exhaustion seeps into every fiber of his appearance, affecting his posture, his movements, and even the cadence of his voice. His shoulders sag, burdened by the weight of ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and perhaps watching over her every movement. She wasn’t obedient enough yet for his liking, evident by her previous actions of the day. 

“Do you understand?” he asks once again, this time with more anger backing up his tone. Aegon was not one to be denied, especially when he felt such ownership over her. His grasp on her wrists became tighter as his breath now drew on her ears. “You act like you don’t deserve this dress. I had it made for you. Act like you deserve it, love.” 

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, closing her eyes as his words flew through her. She let out a shuttered breath. 

Aegon smirked at her, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. It was a kind smirk to most, but she could recognize the evil behind his mask. “Not good enough,” he groaned. 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t wear it anymore. You are misbehaving, hm? What happens to disobedient girls? Do they get to keep all the presents they were so gracefully gifted?”

Aegon’s hand moved to her neck, softly squeezing it. It didn’t harm her, if anything it would be seen as comforting. But she knew, she knew how Aegon worked. His hand traveled from her neck to her collarbone, touching the stone necklace that rested on her chest. “So pretty,” he whispered, fingering the stone. As he got bored of that, his hand traveled to her neckline. Right between her cleavage, he dipped his fingers under her hem, feeling the top of her breasts. 

She looked beyond him and to the Iron Throne, feeling the oh, so familiar guilt mixed with pleasure wave crash upon her once again. 

Aegon’s fingers moved from her chest, following the hem of the neckline of the dress up to her sleeve, and pushed her left sleeve down exposing her shoulder. “What shall your punishment be?” he asks her, bending over slightly to kiss her shoulder ever so softly. His hand moved to her cheek now, cupping it and forcing her to look at him once again. 

“Punishment? What for?” she asked. He couldn’t tell if she was toying with him or being serious. He let out a cruel little laugh. “For being late to my summoning and disobedient to your King.” he scoffed, stating his words like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You treat me as such even though I treat you so kindly. Do you know how many coins this dress cost the crown?” he asked, pulling down her other sleeve. She shook her head no.

“More than I pay any one of these useless studs in a year.” he said, looking around at the six guards that stood obediently in the throne room. They all looked the same and sat perfectly still, their only intention to protect this arrogant man and the crown. 

She quite adored the dress. Aegon really did well with this gift, it was spot on to what she wished for. Perhaps above her wildest dreams of what it could be, it most definitely exceeded her expectations from their… their strange agreement. The dress, in every aspect, seemed tailor-made for her. It was neck tied with a few buttons around the back of her neck and with a short sleeve. It was colored a deep gold and bronze. The colors seemed to breathe life into the fabric, casting a radiant glow that shimmered with every movement she made. The neckline plunged, showing off her assets quite nicely. It had beautiful traditional embroidery, one fit for a noble of quite high standings. The waistline, designed with precision and purpose, hugged her curves in all the right places, accentuating her frame with a subtle grace. A bust of gold adorned the ensemble, meeting at her navel and drawing attention to her slender waist, creating a beautiful pattern that enhanced her natural beauty. It was floor length and seemed fit for a Queen. 

“You will behave. Even if I have to teach you a lesson. It’ll do you better than any of those stupid Septas teaching you how to be a Lady.” he whispered to her, now grabbing her hand at her side and entwining his fingers with hers. It was a surprisingly kind gesture, one she didn’t expect from him. 

He led her to stand in front of the Iron Throne, her back to the chair and he stood a step below her. It felt almost wrong, as he was the King and she was just a noble Lady. She looked at him with a confused face, unsure of what he was doing. Aegon had a terrible grin displayed as he looked her up and down once more. Aegon placed his hand on her stomach, pushing her back into the throne. 

“Aegon what are you…”

He shushed her quickly and harshly. 

“You will obey. Do you hear me?”

She nodded. He got down on his knees, reaching out one of his hands for her to place her hand in. He graciously accepted her hand, kissing it slowly, giving each finger its deserved attention. She was flushed, embarrassed at what the guards must have been viewing at that moment.

Little did she know, that was the easiest part of this she would have to endure in terms of embarrassment. 

“Did I ever tell you how pretty your hands are? So gorgeous.” he kissed her palm. “Especially when they are around my cock. That’s my favorite, seeing your pretty little fingers work for me.” 

Her eyes widened as he said these words. A red tint came to her cheeks, but that only made Aegon want more of a reaction from her. 

Aegon dropped her hand, now placing his hands on both of her thighs over her dress. “I want no complaints from your lips. Do you understand?”

She was hesitant to answer him again. Furrowing his brows, he was angered by her rebellion. He grabbed down on her thighs harder now, his thumb trailing dangerously close to her core. His eyes met hers once again, waiting for a response. 

“Mhm,” she whined out, feeling the pressure building between her thighs. 

“Good girl.”

With a sudden movement, his hands left her thighs over her dress. Aegon lifted her legs to his shoulders, each leg resting on each shoulder. He moved his hands to cradle her lower back, pulling her closer to his face. She squirmed, as she did not expect this move from him at all. She didn’t have time to complain. His hands delved under her skirt, pulling at her undergarments and swiping a finger over her bundle of nerves. 

He laughed at her reaction, watching her squirm under his touch was one of his favorite sights. 

“Hold your pretty present for me.” he ordered, speaking sweetly with a hint of cruelty as he bunched up her skirt, holding the expensive fabric in his hands for her to grasp. She listened. 

“B-but Aegon, the guards.” she protested. He looked at her and rolled his eyes, smirking and staring at her with a look that she was the most idiotic woman in the world. “Fuck the guards, my love. Perhaps they’ll enjoy the pretty little noises you’ll make for me. Stroke their own cocks to the memory of your wails after their shift.”

She gasped at his words in shock. Her gasp was followed up with another one, but a pleasurable one. Without warning, Aegon delved his face between her thighs and began lapping eagerly at her cunt. There was no warning, just an over sense of his tongue on her. 

Y/N let out a guttural groan, her hands moving straight to his hair. She pulled ever so lightly, her head resting against the back of the throne as he worked his magic. “But if anyone… if anyone were to see.” she says between breaths, now looking down at his blonde head between her thighs. He stopped momentarily and looked up at her. He licked his lips, as her juices dripped off his chin. 

“Then they will see that I am very obviously busy.”

He returned to his place between her thighs, but this time brought a finger to her and inserted it. 

“Aegon!” she cried out as he did, pushing herself forward and more eagerly into his grasp. She could feel his chuckle on her cunt as he stopped momentarily. He kissed her and continued his multitasking of eating her out and fingering her. His nose sat perfectly within her. It was almost as if his nose was made just for her cunt. 

He works for a while more, he could feel her pulsating around his fingers. This only drove him more mad, as if he was drunk off of her. He inserted another finger, revealing another groan from her that went straight to his cock. He pumped in her faster by the second, he was sure she was going to cum any minute now. “Are you close?”

She nodded eagerly. A smile came to his lips. “Do you want to cum?” he asked, his wrist beginning to hurt with the angle he was pumping his fingers in and out of her. Oh, how he would suffer for her pleasure. 

“Use your words,” he says sharply. “Tell me how you want it.”

“I-I…” she could barely form a sentence. “Tell me,” he ordered her. “Beg for it,”

Her hips rolled against his touch as she cried out for him. “P-please, let me cum.” she whispered out, with all her might she had left. 

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, dear.” Aegon teased her cruelly, her words weren’t enough to satisfy his needs. “Say my name like I’m yours, like you fucking mean it.”

“Aegon,” she breathed out, trying her best to keep her eyes open. “Louder,” he demanded. “Say it like you mean it.”

“Aegon!” she blurted out, loud enough for anyone down the hallway to hear her voice. “Just like that, yes.” he praised her, brushing his free hand up her thigh. His touch sent chills down her spine, a foreshadowing of what was about to come. He could feel her heat rising, her climax was definitely near. He kissed her thigh, looking up at her pretty face as she moaned, her head bowed back and her left hand in his locks. This is exactly how he wanted her; this was what she deserved. A fitting punishment for a brat such as herself. 

“Yes, you can do it. Come on my fingers, pretty girl.” he says, moving his fingers to her clit and circling it just as he knew she enjoyed it. She tried to speak his name, but she couldn’t process the syllables to do so. She had used the last remnants of her voice moaning his name only seconds ago as he had requested. Only a strange mutter mixed with a moan came from her. “Oh yes, just like that.” he says, adding now a third finger temporarily, stretching her out. Aegon was pleased by her lack of words. She nods as he does so, with her hands moving from being entwined in his hair to absolutely anything around her. 

Usually, when they were in bed, she would grasp the sheets when she became close. It was something to ground her, making her feel stable in her weak state as she would cum. Now as she was surrounded by swords, there wasn’t much to hold on to. But that thought didn’t occur to her, as she was too obsessed with the orgasm that currently racked through her body. She let out a cry as she stupidly grasped a sword, slicing her finger as she came.

Aegon didn’t notice this at first, all he could do was watch her cunt clamp down on his fingers. He smirked evilly as he kissed her slit once more, then grabbed the bunched-up dress from her waist and made her modest once again. 

She was still breathing heavily from her orgasm, but her eyes were on her now sliced finger. “Fuck,” she whispered. That caught Aegon’s attention. He now stood in front of her, ready to scold her for her language, but then saw her wound. 

“You stupid woman.” he scoffed, grabbing her wrist. He inspected the cut. “How could you be so dumb? Grabbing the Iron Throne?” he asked, looking at her with a certain look of disdain. 

“I suppose you want me to fix it.” he groaned, looking into her eyes. A sense of embarrassment has filled her, more than already had. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. 

“Good. You’ve learned your lesson.” he smiles with dead eyes, his power trip coming to its height as he praised her. 

He takes her finger into his mouth, licking off the blood. Y/N groaned as he did, as his tongue swiped the cut roughly. Aegon enjoyed watching her in pain, swirling his tongue on her cut as he did with her clit just minutes ago. 

After the wound was empty of blood, he swallowed hard. So obviously, letting her know that her blood now rested in his throat. As a way to let her know that he truly does own her. 

“Do you want a bandage? I would hate for that to get infected.” 

He lets go of her hand.

She inspected her now-cleaned cut, but more blood seemed to seep through. Y/N knew all too well that it wouldn’t be that easy with Aegon.

“Do you want one?” he asks her. She nods. He comes close to her once again, grabbing her chin like he did before, and looked into her eyes, their faces only inches apart. “Use your words, love.” he says quietly but dominantly. 

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” he asks, raising her chin slightly.

“Yes, please.”

“Good girl.” he purred once again. Aegon snapped his fingers at the nearest guard, and within seconds a bandage is delivered to him, along with some sanitizing liquid in a vile. The guard returns to his place. Y/N struggled to look the man in the eyes, knowing all six guards heard her moments before. 

He carefully took her hand, treating it with such grace. “Such a shame to see your pretty fingers hurt. Be more careful next time, dear. I don’t like my things to be broken.”

Aegon took some of the sanitizer and placed it on her cut. It made her pull back her hand slightly as she seethed at the pain. “You could have warned me,” she hissed. Aegon rolled his eyes. “Watch your tongue, girl. I am doing you a favor.”

He closed the vile and placed it in his pocket, and began to unwrap the bandage. “Is it too tight?” he asked her, looking up at her with kind eyes. She knew that his care wouldn’t last long, so she enjoyed it while she could. “No, my King. Just right.” she replied. He smiled as she used his proper title, the feeling of love he had for her returning momentarily. Aegon tied off her bandage, lifting her wrist and kissing her finger. 

"There we go," he says proudly, looking from her hand and back to her. Aegon was in awe of what was his. She looked absolutely gorgeous in her post-orgasm state. He huffed proudly.

“All better.”

-

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The Sunflower and The Dragon: The Dragon’s Sunflower

Summary: No one would have that Aegon Targaryen would settle down, and commit to someone. Then he met you. Aegon started to become a better person since he met you. The two of you just made sense when you are together.

Author Note: Just another cute little series that I want to do.

Warnings: Suggested Sexual Content

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The Dragon’s Sunflower

It was early morning, Aegon was dead to the world. He usually doesn’t wake up at ass crack of dawn. So when he turned to your side of the bed, expecting you to be there. Instead he feels your side of the bed empty. Aegon should have known that you are already up, he looks at the clock that was on the bed table. It was 9 in the morning, Aegon groaned as he got out of bed. He loves you dearly, even though you love waking up before noon is a mystery to him. Aegon puts on gray sweatpants, and decide to just go shirtless because why the fuck not. It’s yours and his apartment, he can do whatever he wants.

Aegon walks out of your shared room and turns to the kitchen. He starts to hear music, and then he sees you with your hair up in a messy bun, and only wearing one of his black shirts. He couldn’t help but to smirk at the sight. Aegon sits on one of the chairs on the island, watching you sway your hips. The shirt is a little long, but it left room to the imagination. His goldendoodle Sunfyre came up barking happily. You turned and saw your boyfriend sitting on the chair, smirking at you. 

“Oh goodness. Aegon you scared me.” You were startled at his sudden appearance, but smiled regardless.

“Good morning my sunflower, what are you making?” Aegon asked.

“I am making french toast.” You said sweetly, putting the bread on the frying pan.

Aegon chuckled a little bit, since your back was turned you didn’t see him walking behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist, you jumped a bit but relaxed. Aegon starts kissing your neck.

“Aegon.” You called out his name.

“Yes, my love.” He replied.

“I’m trying to make breakfast for us.”  You said, but not really trying to pull away from him. Leaning into him closer, you love feeling his touch. 

Aegon smirked into your skin. “I’m not hungry at the moment. I’m craving for something else.” He continues to assault your neck, moving his hand to your hips, rubbing circles on them. Wanting to feel your lips, he spins you around so you are facing him. Aegon immediately smashed his lips against yours. He licks your bottom lip, asking for access and of course you gave it to him. Your hands begin to travel to his hair, gripping it. Aegon couldn’t get enough of you, you have become his addiction. The both of you pulled apart for air, his lips made their way back to your neck this time he wants to find the little special spot that makes you weak in the knees. His hands travel to the bottom of the shirt you are wearing a little bit, exposing a little bit of the dark green lace panties that Aegon loves so much. 

“Aegon.” You moaned a bit.

“Yes sunflower?” Aegon said against your neck, still raising the shirt a bit more.

“The stove is still on, and I really don’t want to explain to our landlord why we burned our kitchen down.” You explained, feeling Aegon sucking on the spot on your neck that makes you feel weak.

Chuckling a bit, Aegon skillfully turns off the stove and he picks you up and places you on the counter that is next to the stove, earning a yelp from you. He places himself between your legs, and you wrap them around his waist. The two of you start kissing again, his hands gripping into the shirt that you are wearing, and sliding it up more. While your hands explore his neck and his hair. Aegon pulls you closer, and moves the collar of the shirt, so he can kiss the space between your neck and shoulders and starts marking you up again.

“My love.” You said so sweetly, one hand gripping his hair while the other grips on his bareback.

“I’m a little busy Princess.” He said, kissing your neck this time.

Giving up, you just let Aegon do what Aegon does. Not that you are complaining. Wanting to mark him up too, you make him pull away from you for a bit. He looks at you with puppy eyes, and pouts a little bit. You giggled at his reaction, and started kissing his neck. Aegon moans a little bit when you start to suck on the spot on his neck. Once you pull away, you admire your work. Aegon smirks and starts kissing you once again.

“Gods I want you sunflower.” Aegon growls in your ear.

“What’s stopping you my dragon?” You asked.

Aegon chuckles a bit, he was about to pull the shirt off but then his phone begins to ring. Usually he would just ignore it but he recognized that ringtone, and knows that it’s his mom that’s calling. He grunts in frustration, a little irritated that the two of you were interrupted. 

You giggle a bit. “You should probably go get that.”

Aegon groans again. “Fine.” He gives a quick peck, and leaves to answer his phone.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. You hop off of the counter and start making breakfast again. You hear his footsteps again, hearing Aegon talking to his mom. “Just give me one sec mom, I’ll put you on speaker.”

“Alright mom, you’re on speaker.” Aegon said. As he sits on the chair that he sat on before.

“Hello Y/N.” You hear Alicent.

“Hey Alicent.” You yelled back, still making french toast.

“I was wondering if you would like to come to a family dinner at our place tomorrow night.” Alicent said over the phone.

You looked at Aegon, mouthed if he wanted to go. Even though his relationship with his mother and the rest of his family has gotten better, there are still wounds that need healing. As much as you love his family, Aegon’s well being is more important to you. Aegon gave you a nod, telling you that it’s okay.

“We’ll be there Alicent.” You answered, putting the last of the french toast on the plate. Putting them on the island where Aegon is sitting.

“Great! We will be seeing you tomorrow night. It’ll be nice seeing you both.” Alicent said.

“It’ll be nice seeing you too Alicent.” You said.

“I have to go. Love you both.” Alicent said.

“Love you too mom.” Aegon replied, and hung up on the phone. Aegon sighed, you reached one of your hands to hold on to his. Without hesitation he holds your hand back. Rubbing his thumb across your knuckles, grounding himself a little bit.

“Are you sure you want to go, baby? We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” You suggested, looking over your boyfriend with a worried look.

Aegon shakes his head no. “No, sunflower. I want to go. Mom has been trying, and I want to show her that I am too.”

You walk around the island and sit on Aegons lap. Wrapping your arms around his neck, while Aegon has his arms around your waist so you wouldn’t fall.

“You have been trying my love. You have made so much progress, and I am so proud of you.” You said. Putting your forehead against his, smiling at him. 

Aegon smiles back at you. “Thank you, sunflower.”

“Of course, my dragon.” You said back, giving him a quick peck on the lips. The two of you started feeding each other the french toast you made. The both of you were laughing, smiling and having a good time. Moments like these, makes you feel so thankful that you fell in love with Aegon. Even though things started rocky between the two of you, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You and Aegon are happy together, and both of you have become better people for each other. You love this man, and he loves you too.

Uncle Aegon

Ok, I wrote this when I was bored at work... It’s basically porn without plot. And this is obviously targcest, so if you don’t like this kind of stuff don’t read it... 

Paring: Aegon x niece!reader Word count: 2, 100 Warnings: dirty talk, incest (uncle/niece), adultery, voyeurism, fingering A/N: English is not my first language

You were Y/N Velaryon, the oldest child of Rhaenyra and Laenor, they were your official parents, but everyone in the Red Keep knew that you were Daemon’s daughter. And maybe your parentage was one of the reasons why your traitorous heart fell in love with Aegon. Just like your mother you fell for your older uncle. But Aegon wasn’t Daemon. He didn’t care about you, he barely noticed your presence at the castle. But you always followed his every move with your violet eyes. You had spent most of your days daydreaming about your future, hoping that your mother would betrothed you to him. It broke your heart when they forced him to marry Helaena. You knew that he wasn’t happy about it, you wanted to comfort him but you didn’t find the courage to do that. He gave Helaena three children but you knew that they were not sleeping together. He spent too many nights in the brothels in Flea Bottom and you would never admit to anyone that you were jealous about all the whores in those establishments.

Your love and lust for him didn’t fade away with time, it was getting worse. You were making excuses to be somehow in his presence, you were sad when he left the castle for few days. Like today. Alicent and Viserys sent Aegon to Dorne to achieve some political goal there and you knew that he won’t be home for a few days. He and Sunfyre left 3 days ago, you watched them fly towards the cloudless sky, his platinum hair shining brightly in the morning sun, his golden dragon looked like a moving gem. You missed his presence so much that you did something very risky and sneaked into his chambers. You knew that he forbid the maids to clean his rooms while he was gone - gods know what he is hiding there - they whispered. So when you slipped inside, you found it very messy, like everything related to Aegon. You took a deep breath and smelled the familiar scent of your uncle. His expensive perfume mixed with wine, dragon fire and fine linens. You sighed happily and you could swear that you just wanted to stay at the door and be somehow closer to him, but his giant messed up bed was calling to you. You slowly walked there and noticed the sheets were   discarded around, his pillows all wrinkly and little bit dirty.

You sat gently on the edge, trying to not move anything, but it was so messy that you doubted that Aegon would notice that you were here.

You hesitantly lied down on his bed and closed your eyes. Aegon's scent enveloped you and you hummed happily. You imagined that he is there with you, holding you gently in his arms, your back against his naked chest. You knew that having these kinds of thoughts about your uncle wasn't right, but you couldn't help yourself. You desired his touch and attention.

You kept your eyes closed and imagined his hands caressing your arm slowly, touching your skin lovingly, starting at your wrist, running his fingers over your shoulder and gently angling your head so he can kiss you. The kiss would be slow and full of passion. You whimpered softly at the idea. You looked around yourself making sure that you were alone. You took one of his pillows and buried your face into it, smelling more of his intoxicating scent. You groaned and felt yourself getting wetter and wetter with every passing second. Your hand sneaked between your legs, rubbing your pussy lightly and moaning at the contact. You were so turned on just by the lingering scent of him, you couldn't imagine what would happen if he was here with you. You would probably explode. Your imagination ran wild and you got a very naughty idea. Sometimes you used your own pillows to give you pleasure. So this time you could use Aegon's pillow to do that. It would be almost as if Aegon touched your pussy himself. No one would know about this, you were here alone and the pillows will dry quickly. You bit your lip nervously, hesitating for a while, but then your horny young brain decided that it's OK. You took off your panties and folded Aegon's pillow into a suitable shape and placed it under you. You sat on it, imagining that it's Aegon's lap. You slowly started rocking your exposed pussy against the soft material of his pillow. You frowned in frustration because it didn’t feel good so you reshaped the pillow again. This time it rubbed against your pussy perfectly and you purred happily. You starred rubbing your dripping cunt against the pillow, your eyes closed again as you imagined riding Aegon's cock like this in his private chambers. You untied the laces of your dress, your breasts spilling out, your own fingers started playing with your hard nipples, imagining that it's Aegon's much bigger palms. You rocked harder against the pillow, your imagination running wild. Aegon was now fucking into you from below while he sucked on your breasts.  "Aegon," you moaned out his name quietly. Almost hearing his deep voice in your head calling you his good little girl, you saw his thumb toying with your clit, teasing you. "Aegon, please," you moaned louder this time, totally lost in your fantasy.

When Aegon arrived back to King's Landing a week earlier than he planned he expected a lot of things. He expected his mother and father yelling at him for fucking that Dornish Princess and getting banished from the Sunspear, he expected Aemond to look disappointed, he expected Rhaenyra to look satisfied with his another failure, he expected Helaena to ignore his presence as usually. But he would never expect to find his little niece in his chambers, with her hands on her perfect tits and her pussy rocking against his own pillow. 

At first he thought that this is some sick prank his stupid nephews are playing on him. Forcing you to ruin his pillow like this for him to sleep on the remnants of your arousal when he arrives back home. He quietly sat on the chair close to his bed and watched you, arguing with himself, if she should startle you or keep watching you, because that view was very arousing. You were beautiful, true Targaryen Princess, he always wanted you, but Daemon and Rhaenyra would have his head if he tried something on you. He was still confused about the whole situation when he heard it. You moaned his name quietly. Was he imagining things?? Did you just moan his name?? "Aegon please," you moaned again louder this time, your needy voice made him hard in his breeches. He smirked and licked his lips. He shifted on the chair and you opened your eyes.

First you just smelled it - the unmistakable stench of a dragon. You thought that it's just a part of your fantasy, but it was followed by a feeling of somebody's presence. You quickly opened your eyes and the last thing you expected to see was a pair of violet eyes staring back at you. Aegon sat on the chair close to his bed, looking at you with cocky smirk on his pretty face.  "Don't stop because of me," he grinned and you panicked. "What are you doing here?" you cried out. "You are in my room, kitten," he chuckled. "Who told you to stop rubbing that wet cunt against my pillow," he looked at you with look full of lust and wickedness. "Aegon, I am sorry, I shouldn't do this. Please forgive me, I will leave and..." you babbled. "Didn't you hear me? DON'T. STOP!" his commanding voice sent a zap of pleasure through your body. You rocked your body against the pillow again the intensity of the pleasure much higher now. "Aegon," you moaned desperately. "Fuck!!" He cursed and his cock was straining against his breeches. “Do you do this often, dear niece? Rubbing your soaked cunt against something, thinking about me?” he asked you and you nodded. “I asked you a question, answer me,” he demanded your words not just your nods. “Yes Aegon, I do this every day,” you admitted and whimpered in frustration. You were so ashamed that he found you like this in his room but at the same time you wanted to cum with him so close to you. But suddenly the pillow wasn’t enough, you were sure that your own fingers won’t be enough, when he was so close to you.  “Naughty girl, thinking about your uncle while you play with your tight virgin pussy,” he gave you a wolfish smile when you blushed. “What is it, kitten?” he asked you with faked concern. “You can’t cum, do you?” he could see right through you. You were rubbing your soaked pussy against his pillow, your delicate fingers were pinching your nipples but you were frowning in frustration. “Nooo,” you whined desperately. “Do you want your good uncle Aegon to help you?” he grinned wolfishly and you felt a new wave of arousal. “Only if you want to,” you said shyly and his violet eyes turned dark. He lazily walked to your bouncing body, the tips of his fingers grazing over your shoulders and you shivered, your nipples tightened almost painfully.  “Tell uncle Aegon where you need him, my sweet niece,” he teased you. He dragged his thumb over your bottom lip. You whimpered at the simple touch and he smirked. “So responsive, little kitten,” he grinned before he captured your lips with his. There was nothing sweet about the kiss, it was possessive, passionate kiss that made you stop the movements of your hips.  “I didn’t tell you to stop moving your needy pussy over my pillow, Y/N,” he scolded you and you started rubbing your cunt over his pillow again. “Good girl,” he purred into your ear and you moaned, obviously happy with his praise. “You have such a gorgeous pair of tits, Y/N,” he groaned into your ear, replacing your small hands with his bigger, rougher ones. “Aegon, fuck, this feels so good,” you whimpered. He cupped your breasts, his fingers pinched your nipples and you tossed your head back against his shoulder letting out a strangled moan. “Do you like feeling my hands on your body, kitten?” he chuckled and suckled the skin between your shoulder and neck. “Yes, more, please,” you whimpered, desperate to cum, your body melting under his touch and gaze. “Do you think you deserve that?” he teased you. “Yes, Aegon, please,” you begged him with tears in your eyes. “Say please, uncle, please make me cum,” he grinned wickedly.  “Please, uncle, please make me cum, please I need it, I will do anything!” you babbled, frustrated tears already running down your face and he loved to see you like this. The only daughter of his “perfect sister” begging him to touch her. He kept teasing your nipples and you reached behind you and your hand found his crotch, rubbing his cock desperately.  “Please,” you whined and he cursed. You were surprised to find him rock hard. He was obviously as aroused as you were. “You little cock slut. Who told you that you can touch me,” he pinched your nipple painfully hard and you moaned harder than before. “Interesting, you like it rough, my dear niece. Good to know,” he smirked and his hand finally moved to your clit. He softly rubbed it and you cried out happily. “Yes, yes, yes,” you kept moaning as he started rubbing your clit in circles. You were so close and he knew it. “Hold it for me, little one, don’t cum yet” he whispered into your ear and you whined desperately.  “Aegon, please, don’t be cruel. I need it, I need you, please,” you begged again. “Oh, Y/N. Who am I to deny you anything,” he sighed and his fingers slipped into your wet pussy. He groaned at how wet and tight you were around his fingers. You moaned loudly, his fingers were much bigger and longer than yours, he was stretching your pussy almost painfully but you loved it. His thumb rubbed your clit firmly and he whispered into your ear. “Cum for me, my niece. Soak your uncle’s fingers!” he ordered and you obeyed, you moaned his name loudly as you cum around his fingers. He silenced your moans with bruising kiss as his fingers slowly thrust in and out your pulsing pussy.  “What a good girl Y/N. You did great, little one,” he praised you and at that moment you would do absolutely anything for him and he knew it. Aegon saw the look in your eyes and he knew that you were in his grasp and he didn’t want to let you go before he will be finished with you.

How to Write Medieval Smut - A Guide to Insanity

Well, hello. You’re here for that very important reason, aren’t you? You got a hankerin’ for some dude in a tunic and breeches or a lady in a sexy-ass gown, sayin’ some old-timey stuff in a swag accent. They make you feel things. You wanna do things with them. You wanna write about doing things with them. But how to go about it?

Please keep in mind I was asked if I could share some tips; I’m not a writer by any means, but I AM a fanfiction addict, so I like to think I’ve picked up on some important stuff over my years as a horny reader. Without further ado, let me just - well. Get into the nitty-gritty.

1. THE BASICS

If you are going to write anything, you need to consider some key things. Firstly, are you confident in your punctuation? This is one of the biggest elements to readability, and English is one of those languages that totally sucks when it comes to the rules of properly punctuating sentences. And even then, in narrative writing, you CAN play fast-and-loose with the rules; but the key is to know when to do that.

We can’t cover everything here, of course, but I’ll just share one of the most important things when it comes to writing dialogue. You must always punctuate within the quotation mark. If someone is just saying something, it’ll look like this:

“They’re over there,” he said.

We use the comma (,) to join these two clauses together. This is because ‘he said’ is NOT a complete sentence by itself - it needs the previous clause, ‘They’re over there’, to make sense. If you have someone exclaiming or asking, you do exactly the same thing as above, just switch out the punctuation mark:

“They’re over there?” he asked.

“They’re over there!” he exclaimed.

Even though we traditionally understand that (!) or (?) ENDS a sentence, it functions differently inside a quotation mark. That is why the next phrase ‘he exclaimed’ does not start with a capital ‘H’. I admit I am guilty of forgetting this rule at times!

If you are unsure of your punctuation, see if you can find a beta - someone with a little more confidence in writing who can pick up those little mistakes and correct your grammar. Hell, hit me up here if you want - I’m a demon with the grammar, and I’m always down for it. Just know I’m quite merciless with the edits, haha!

2. WORDS TO AVOID IN MEDIEVAL SMUT

If you’re writing medieval smut, you have to think about the types of words that might not be used in old-fashioned time periods. One of the quickest ways to jolt someone out of the immersion in your story is to start using commonly-accepted euphemisms for acts or parts from today’s world. SOME words are from the approximate time period, e.g. clitoris, but aren’t traditionally used in medieval entertainment. Here’s some of the words I can think of that you shouldn’t use (bold), as well as some suggestions for what you can replace it with (= italics):

Clit, clitoris = pearl, bud

Dick, penis = cock, length, member

Balls, testicles, sac/k (only use this one in conjunction with one of the latter list) = stones, jewels, pouch

Boobs, titties, boobies, badonkadonks = bosom, breasts (polite), tits (vulgar)

Vagina, vag, pussy, vulva = cunt (vulgar), cunny (a little less vulgar), entrance, core, womanhood, mound (for vulva)

Asshole, anus = arsehole (English sp.), hole (personally hate it but appropriate)

Butt, buttcheeks, bum = arse, rear, backside, bottom

I’ve actually researched the above and these are all era-appropriate! When in doubt, consult a thesaurus or dictionary to determine time period of origin! Also, might be worth adding this little addendum below - appropriate names for ‘slutty’ or ‘skanky’ characters.

Ho, skank, slag = slut (only as ‘slut’, if you want ‘slutty’, use ‘sluttish’ instead), tart, trollop, hussy, whore

Hope this helps!

3. DESCRIPTION

Don’t be afraid to describe beyond actions - so much smut has the bare minimum ‘he sticks his peen in, in-out-in-out, nut, goodnight’. Describe the experience - what does something look like? Feel like? Taste like? Don’t be afraid to get weird with it. For example:

While your husband takes his respite, you look inquisitively down at his softening length – your dealings with this part of him only ever feature him firm and forbidding, a lance with which to impale your depths with raw impunity. Even lying sated against the sac of his stones, its dimensions are considerable, and you do not think even in its current size that it would be effortless to take within you. A fleshy fold of tissue has extended itself over the purpled head, no doubt protecting it from injury in its unused form.

Basically, this is an extended piece about what a soft dick might look like, lol, including some foreskin action. Try where you can to reference body parts like this euphemistically - especially if writing as a highborn individual. They won’t know terms like ‘foreskin’, because it’d be considered impolite and vulgar.

My absolute number one tip is to use a thesaurus - try to find ‘smart’ ways of phrasing what you want to say. When I’m writing conversationally, I sound like a literal child or a moron (or both, honestly); but the bit in bold above is ALSO me, written specifically for the purpose of narrative. People in past eras spoke differently, and they likely would have had a wordier internal dialogue. Don’t be afraid to shy away from that. But please - PLEASE - cross-reference your chosen word to make sure you’re understanding it’s meaning, as I’ve seen all too many times someone using a word that must have had a similar meaning to their original word, but the translation over does NOT work.

This is all I can think of for right now. Anon, I hope this works for you. Thanks to anyone who bothered reading this, haha! My final piece of advice - read the writing of other people. Pick it apart, and figure out how to emulate that style if that’s what you like. Human beings learn best by imitating others; it’s how we learn to speak as babies, and move around, and interact with people. If we can do all that, then by GODS we can write detailed smut, haha!

Good luck!

RUNAWAYS

-

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

Summary: With no interest in the crown, Aegon decides to run away; taking only his favorite commoner with him.

Word count: 1377

-

Aegon never used to care for or take much notice to any of the commoners in King's Landing. Why would he? As prince he was far above them all.

However, that all changed when he met you.

Him and Aemond had been playfully fighting in the streets, and as his brother pushed him, he knocked directly into you. At first he had chased after you simply because he found you attractive, but after a while it had blossomed into something more.

He was in love with you, and wanted to spend as much time as possible in your presence. Even if it meant having to sneak out, and by that avoiding his royal duties and his own wife.

Whenever Aegon's family or the staff found him missing from the castle, they assumed he had gone to Flea Bottom to indulge in certain females' company.

At times they were correct. Aegon was far from perfect, and had plenty of faults - such as his addiction to milk of the poppy and his inability to be faithful.

But mostly, when he was missing from the Red Keep, it was because he was with you.

-

The two of you laid next to each other in your bed, cuddling. His fingers lazily tracing figures on your skin. Apart from your occasional giggle when it tickled, the two of you laid mostly in silence.

"Have you ever wished to run away?"

Lifting your head up so that you faced him, you furrowed your brows slightly in confusion. The question came seemingly out of nowhere, but you decided to indulge him and answer truthfully.

"Sometimes, but I know that it would be pretty much impossible."

"I think about it a lot," he confessed with a sigh. He knew there were several people in the kingdom who wished to see him sit on the iron throne, yet he had no interest of a life as king. Nor did he wish for a life as a prince.

If he had it his way, he would live a rather simple life. It would consist of many adventures, several parties and lots of alcohol. And he would have you by his side as his precious lady wife.

It didn't really matter how he pictured his life, whether it was as king or as runaway - he would always picture you by his side.

It would however be impossible for the two of you to be wed. Not only was he already married to his younger sister Helaena, but the two of you were an impossible match. He was the king's firstborn son - a prince - and you were a simple commoner.

Of course that wasn't how he saw it. Not anymore at least. In his eyes, it was you who were above him. You were beautiful and kind, whilst he was nothing more than an addict and a disappointment to everyone. It was a miracle that you allowed him to be near you at all.

"If I were to run," he eventually asked and looked at you closely, "would you come with me?"

You felt how his entire body tensed as he finished the question, and how he chewed on his bottom lip as he waited for you to answer him.

Before you met Aegon, you had assumed that all princes would be strong and confident. And while Aegon certainly acted as if he was sure of himself, you eventually realized that he, deep down, was extremely insecure.

It was no secret that is was largely due to his parents and his upbringing. His mother, who had her own struggles that made her less attentive than she should be, and his father who wasn't attentive of him or younger siblings at all. You understood his feelings far too well, and so you always tried your best to reassure him. Reassure him of his worth and of your love for him. He really had no reason to be nervous of your answer.

"Of course I would, Aegon."

Relief flooded through him at your answer. Wrapping his arms around your frame, he kissed the top of your head before inhaling your scent. "I'm glad, because I don't think I could leave without you. The only thing that would be worse than being trapped here is to be away from you."

-

Several weeks passed since the conversation you shared, and you had forgotten all about it. But Aegon definitely hadn't forgotten.

Unknown to you and everyone else, he started plotting. He planned everything down to the last detail. How he would pack his essentials, sneak away from the Red Keep at dusk and get on the first ship to leave King's Landing. He would disappear without a trace, taking only you with him.

The two of you could start a new life together. In some far away place where his last name and his title held no meaning. And maybe he would have a shot at happiness all the time, no longer having to settle for small stolen moments of it.

His plan was nearly finished, and all that remained was to gather up the courage to actually execute it.

Little did he however know how fast plans could change.

-

It was by pure coincidence that he overheard the guard and his brother without being spotted, and he had never been more thankful. If he had been only a minute later, he would not have managed to leave the castle at all.

Not bothering to grab any belongings, Aegon pulled his cloak above his head and made his way towards your house as quickly as his legs could carry him.

He reached your house after what felt like an eternity. Careful to not be seen by your parents or anyone else, he made his way to your garden - where he knew you were most likely to be. 

You were busy tending to the vegetables that you had planted, but immediately noticed as Aegon entered through the rusty gate. At his shriveled state and panicked face, your eyes widened. It was obvious that something serious had happened for him to show up at your doorstep like this.

Rushing over and taking his hand in yours, you noticed how it was sweaty and slightly trembling. "My prince, what has happened? Are you alright?"

Aegon was still out of breath from all the running, as he was no athlete like his brother, but he tried his best to make his words understandable. "Did you mean it when you said you would run away with me?"

You pursed your lips as you waited for him to give a further explanation. "I don't quite follow?" You were confused, did he show up with the sole purpose of bringing up a past conversation?

However, Aegon seemed to have little time for your confusion as he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I mean it, Y/N! Did you mean it?"

"Yes!" You exclaimed, almost worried by how stressed he was acting. "Yes, I meant it! But what is happening, Aegon? Are you actually running away right now?"

"My father is dead. I overheard my brother and a guard talk about how they are looking for me."

His eyes widened slightly as he continued, "Y/N, they want to make me king. I do not know why or how, but I will not allow it to happen. I do not wish for the crown, all I want is you."

Despite the urgency of the situation, his words made your heart flutter. You wanted nothing more than to kiss, and then comfort him, as you knew he also deep down grieved his father, but you now understood that you needed to act. With a nod, you removed your hand from his and started to make your way into your house.

"Okay, we will need to leave now then. Give me a short moment to pack, and then I'll be ready."

True to your word, you reappeared shortly after. Gripping your sack of things in one hand, you took Aegon's hand with your other; holding on tight. "Alright, let us go then."

And so the two of you hurried towards the docks, hand in hand. Both of you giving up everything, but knowing that you were making the right choice.

12 Minutes Of Rain

Aegon Targaryen x Reader The prince runs away from the Red Keep, jumps off Sunfyre into your family’s estate and asks you to dye his hair.

Wordcount: 1,657 Warnings: There’s one mildly mean guy to both you and Aeg, Aegon trying to be a funny guy, your father being an even funnier guy

"You can't be serious." "I am. I have a bottle of pigment right here." Prince Aegon shakes a leather satchel attached to his person. He came all the way from King's Landing to your family's seat. You witnessed his beautiful dragon- Sunfyre, scoop low from the cloudy skies to drop off a chunk that rolled down the green hills, and then the dragon flew off into the distance. You pick up your skirts to see what the dragon has dropped, hoping it wasn't dragon droppings. Instead, you find something worse: it was the Prince Aegon Targaryen.

Months ago when you were staying in King's Landing with your father, Prince Aegon found a confidant in you. He complains and vents out to you how he is unfit to be a prince, let alone a king. Minding your embroidery work, Aegon must've mistaken your silence for agreeing with his sentiments. In all honesty, you're not quite sure about his situation at the moment. Aegon puts on his hood and grabs your arm, leading you back to your family's castle. Upon entry, you took the lead in sneaking him into your quarters. So here you find yourself in front of your vanity dresser, dyeing the prince's beautiful platinum hair with dark brown pigment he's smuggled from gods know where, combing it and applying oils to keep it from clumping together and smelling awful. "So hang on, you ran away from the capital because...?" "Because I'm tired of having to be a prince.  I don't want to be a prince, let alone a king! They want to betroth me to some stranger I don't even like!" Aegon blurts out, feeling refreshed to finally say it out loud. All the whispering and silent scheming in the Red Keep made him feel like he was constantly choking. "... and dyeing your hair brown...?" "Hides the fact that I'm Targaryen. Come on, Y/n, keep up" He rolls his eyes at you, a pretty bold move considering you're holding a whole jar of dye. "Wait, are you planning on staying here? How am I going to explain that to my father?!" You ask the prince, looking at him through the mirror, a million thoughts running through your mind. "I can help with the farm, or a stablehand, anywhere! Just not the kitchens." He said, having the audacity to be picky. Aegon seems quite pleased with his freshly dyed hair, closely studying his reflection and muttering something about how he eerily looks like his mother the queen. Sorting out the prince's clothing was another challenge. Although he isn't dressed in his princely regalia, his current clothing was still unbelievably luxurious for a stablehand or farmer. Hidden at the bottom of your clothes chest lay a few sets of commoner clothes for when you sneak out to town- a fact that causes an issue with the prince. "Sneaky sneaky y/n, I never thought you'd be the type!" He says, giving you an almost dirty look. You move to grab the clothes back. Aegon laughs and moves away, taunting you to chase him around your quarters. 'I'm the bigger person. I'm the bigger person' you chant to yourself, praying for strength and patience. Aegon unceremoniously unlaces his trousers, dropping them at where he stood, and then stepping into the less glamourous sack-cloth trousers. Then he pulls off his shirt, whipping it and tossing it away, fully expecting a maid to pick up after him. His behaviour almost distracts you from his pale and spotless skin, almost glowing under the pale, silver-oyster sunlight streaming through your windows. His strong chest muscles ripple from the movement of putting the shirt on. Your eyes drag down to his soft and perfectly cuddly tummy. He catches you staring. Before Aegon starts opening his mouth, you run through your impromptu checklist of the things to be done for him to get settled. Sneaking out of the room is a lot less trouble than getting in. An average servant following the young lady of the castle was less of a deal than a silver-haired man. Heading toward the stables, Aegon takes his time to look around the field, freely enjoying the wind on his face, not getting weird looks for being a prince. Just then, another man stops the both of you on your path. Aegon notices you visibly stiffening in your steps. "Lady Y/n!" The man stops in front of you. "Isn't it too hot for you to go about? Why don't you stay inside, maybe finish up your embroidery, eh?" You looked like you wanted to escape the situation as soon as possible.  It wasn't even that hot, in fact, it looked like it was about to rain. You did not appreciate Lord Harren's son approaching you, especially when you had such precious cargo in tow. He thinks he's a gentleman but every word he says to you is an insult. "I've got some business to attend to, Axell." You answer, eyeing the stables a few paces ahead. Axell follows your line of sight. "Yikes," Aegon whispers. "Are you going riding? Let me escort you then!" The lord's son reaches for your hand which you quickly retract, earning another 'yikes' from Aegon. Axell frowns at your behaviour. "Y/n, there's no point for you to show disrespect to your future intended," His tone darkens all of a sudden. ", especially in front of the servants." He eyes Aegon standing behind you, who has run out of 'yikes'. "Don't flatter yourself, Axell, no announcement has been made for my betrothal." You give him a pointed look, immediately shutting him down. The arrogant future lord seems fairly embarrassed, checking his surroundings if the rest of the servants heard your conversation. No one else seemed to mind, except Aegon, who is now the recipient of his wrath. "And what are you looking at, simpleton?!" He points at Prince Aegon Targaryen. This time the 'yikes' came from you. "I'm looking at a massive egotistical idiot who's probably compensating for something small." The prince answers, raising his eyebrows at something below Axell's belt. Before swords could be drawn, you take Aegon's arm to pull him towards the stables. "Okay, you can't do that!" You tell the prince off. "And you can't let him do that!" Aegon answers back. Since when did he become a champion for women?? "You don't know the situation here, so don't go messing about with the affairs of this jurisdiction. I am doing what I can to keep my father happy, to hold this realm together, and if marriage to that twat you've just insulted will save us all then so be it." You defend while pacing about, sorting out a suitable living space in the stables. Aegon is silent for a while, thinking if "I am a prince of the seven kingdoms" was a good response to the argument considering he was literally trying to get away from his duties. It wasn't. Rain begins to pelt the hay roof of the stables, causing the horses to whine out in irritation. You continue to sort out the place which remains unsuitable for an average stable boy. Your frustration is evident in your face, eyes distressed and annoyed. Aegon now feels unwelcome and apologetic. "I'm sorry, we can't make this work. We have to return to the castle, I can't let you stay here." You beat him to an apology. Aegon felt it was wrong to protest so he remains quiet and follows you out. The way back somehow felt longer. Mud begins to cake up your shoes, the rain soaking your clothes, and the awkward tension between both of you felt heavier than the rain. You continue to walk a few paces ahead of the prince, knowing well that he's following due to the awkward splash of his footsteps in poor-quality boots. The castle is now within reach when Aegon calls your name, asking you to wait. You stop in your tracks, waiting for him to catch up with you. "I'm sorry too. It was irresponsible of me to just show up and inconvenience you with whatever troubles I had back home." He apologizes, standing next to you. He sounded so close to you, it sent a shiver down your spine, blaming it on the rain. You had no response. "Are you going to marry him?" "That's a very illogical question, Aegon." "Answer it anyway. Your prince commands it." He couldn't hold back anymore. "I don't have much of a choice now, do I?" You finally face him. You were shocked to see that most, if not all of the dye, had washed out of his hair. Glorious streaks of silver frame his face. He was absolutely glowing at that moment. Before you could alert him of his washed-out disguise, the prince pulls you by your arms and snakes an arm around your waist, leaving less than an inch between your faces. "What if I tell you that you actually have a choice?" He whispers, lips so deliciously close to yours. Your mind fizzles blank and you couldn't tell which one of you closed the gap between. His lips were cold but almost immediately warms up against yours. His hand rests on your cheek to keep you closer, chasing the cold away with everything he was trying to convey through that kiss. At some point the rain stopped, and so did your kiss. The skies cleared up almost immediately, a rainbow appearing in the distance. A loud, booming voice rattles you just then, your father had witnessed you and the very recognizable Prince Aegon Targaryen kissing. Standing beside your father was Axell, who probably attempted to protest your behaviour to your father, telling on you like you were some child. "Interesting developments today regarding your courtship, eh daughter?" Your father's tone, ever playful. He then eyes the prince and invites him inside to warm up, winking and raising his eyebrows at you.

----------------------------- A/n: Thank u for all the love! Comments, reblogs and reactions are highly appreciated. Support your writers! <3

Masterlist ✴ by bittersweetarts

Fandoms: House of the Dragon (TV), The Bear (TV), The Boys (TV)

Little Lamb  –  Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: As a maiden of a noble house, it is your duty to wed well. But how will you manage to, with a curious and possessive Prince in the picture?

Status: Complete

Spotify Playlist – AO3 Page

Chapter 1: The Summer Solstice Festival

Chapter 2: Jealousy

Chapter 3: Dead of Night

Chapter 4: Morning Sins

Chapter 5: Family Line

Chapter 6: To Be Alone

Chapter 7: Homecoming

Chapter 8: Yearning

Chapter 9: The Tempest

Chapter 10: Solemn Oaths

Chapter 11: Cherry Wine

Chapter 12: Tenderness

Chapter 13: Bound By Blood

Chapter 14: Mercy

Chapter 15: Absolution

BTS Interview by @arcielee

The Great War - Aemond Targaryen x OC , Aegon Targaryen x OC

Summary: A war is brewing, but only some know this – Camyla Peake, daughter of Lord Unwin Peake, is sent King’s Landing to wed the Hand of the King. It is a shame though, that she garners the attention of his grandsons instead.

Status: Work in progress

Spotify Playlist - AO3 Page

Chapter 1: The Flowering 

Author’s Note: This story is currently on hiatus

Shades of Cool - Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto x OC

Summary: Carmy Berzatto never considered himself to be lonely, just frequently alone. His neighbor however, makes him think otherwise.

Status: Work in progress

Spotify Playlist - AO3 Page

Chapter 1: Strangers

Chapter 2: French Toast

How to Disappear - Soldier Boy (The Boys) x OC

Summary: Eden Reid can't help her curiosity, and Soldier Boy can't help but take advantage of that curiosity.

Status: Work in progress - AO3 Page

Chapter 1: An Act of Kindness

Chapter 2: Sweet

Chapter 3: Out of the Woods

Chapter 4: Talk

The Mark of the Dragon [Aegon Targaryen x Reader]

Previous chapter || Series masterlist || Other HOTD stories [requests open]

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Summary: You grew up on the streets of Fleabottom for the majority of your life being orphaned at the young age of ten. Apart from your striking hair color, the only thing you inherited from your family was a birthmark on the back of your left shoulder blade. On the week of festivities to celebrate the King’s eldest, Aegon the Second, you end up encountering him. You help him forget about his duties of being Prince and Heir to the Iron Throne until one fateful night…. [AU based where Aegon was crowned heir instead of Rhaenyra].

Warnings in this chapter:  Abduction; very, very brief mention of necrophilia; light groping.

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Chapter II

Your face was pale, shivers erupting on your skin as you bolted upright in bed, your breath coming in heavy pants. You ran a hand through your silver hair while a slight frown tugged at your lips. It was that same dream.

The same dream plaguing your mind for many years caused you to wake well before the birds. You breathed to calm your beating heart before shaking your head.

“It is just a dream,” You mumbled, pulling back your blanket.

You let out another shaky breath, trying to push the dream to the dark corners of your mind while you grabbed your cloak once you were ready and headed out for another day of pickpocketing. The streets seemed even more crowded than they had been all week. Today must have been the big celebration for the eldest’s name day. 

Your mind kept wandering back to that night with Aegon, a temptation in human form brought to you by the Gods, it seems. You knew rejecting him was the right decision in your heart, but your mind kept telling you what if. What if you had taken up his offer to bed him? Your mind was a cruel mistress at times, plaguing you with false hope of something that will never be.

Your eyes wandered around, trying to sense the most vulnerable to steal from. Often, it was easier to take from the wealthy through the art of seduction with men, especially being very susceptible; however, it was harder being in broad daylight and with bodies all around. You narrowed your gaze on a skinnier man with scraggly dark hair, his clothing telling you he was from the lower end of Fleabottom. Certainly not the kind of man you would take from, yet he seemed simple enough to fall for your charm. 

“Excuse me, sir,” You called softly, clutching your cloak tighter as you approached him. 

The man turned to look at you, a snarl coming onto his features. His face was similar to a rat’s, matching with dark beady eyes- a starved rat is more what he looked like. “Piss off,” He snapped, waving his hand at you.

“Please help me.” You pressed your chest against his to corner him up against the wall, flashing a look of pity. “I’m lost and need help finding Fortune’s Smile Inn.”

The man seemed frozen in place, his eyes wandering over your body before connecting with your violet-swirled eyes. His thin hands were shaky as he placed them on your waist, his mouth agape. Your brows knit in confusion by his actions, and you tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened, his strength surprising for a man of his size.

“You look like ‘im, you know,” He whispered, his voice hoarse.

“W-what?” Your voice quivered from the fear that was coursing through your veins as the man’s demeanor changed. 

His lips quirked up into a smirk, his arms going fully around you, capturing you into an iron grasp. He chuckled when you tried to leave, hitting his chest. “You will do nicely, sweetling.” He hummed, reaching up, twirling a strand of your silver-like hair. 

His eyes darted around as he tried to tug you down the alleyway, only to let out a shriek when you stomped down on his foot. “You fuckin’ cunt!” You heard him yelling, but his shouts became distant as your feet carried you down the alleyway that seemed to stretch for miles.

You glanced behind you to see if the man was chasing after you before you collided with someone, your eyes meeting that of a round man’s. His breathing was heavy as you clutched tight onto his vest.

“H-help me,” You whimpered out.

The man stumbled upon his words, his eyes focused on the valley of your breasts. “Bart!”

You glanced over, hearing the familiar voice, your eyes widening in fear at the rat-looking man. “Bart! Grab her!” He shouted.

Your body shook as you looked back up at the man called Bart. He offered you a smile that showed no more than ten yellowed teeth. “I betta’ listen to the boss man. We don’t want a pretty thing like you escaping now.”

“P-please.” You felt the tears springing in your eyes while the man reached for the club hanging on his belt. 

“You won’t feel a thing,” Bart assured you before he raised the club above his head.

Vynce winced a bit, trying to catch his breath when he came to a stop in front of his partner, who was holding onto your unconscious body. He pulled down the shoulder of your dress, clicking his tongue at the sight of the birthmark.

“We need to be careful with this one.”

“Got it, boss.” Bart grunted, lifting your body over his shoulder and tossing you onto the floor of the covered wagon.

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As you came to, a small groan passed your lips, your eyes fluttering open. You looked around, taking in your surroundings. Many girls of various ages huddled together, tears glistening in their eyes. 

“Where am I?” You grumbled, trying to sit up, but winced at the throbbing pain in your head. 

“The poachers,” An older woman spoke up. “They’re taking us to an auction house where they will sell us to men who will do as they please before throwing us back into the streets of Fleabottom.”

“Or slit our throats and continue to fuck our corpse once we are dead like what they did to Anyette,” A younger girl piped up, causing a few of the others to wail out.

Your eyes flickered across the faces of each girl. Some were plumper, and some had as many wrinkles as their age. It was clear a few of them also had a run-in with the poachers previously. You braced yourself when the wagon suddenly stopped, a weight jumping down after a moment. 

“Do not fight them,” The same elder whispered to you as the wagon curtain opened.

Your eyes connected with the rat man’s from earlier, who offered you a wide, sinister smirk. “Time to clean up, lovelies. We don’t want you lookin’ like pigs, now do we?”

The man- Vynce- began to pull each of you out individually while Bart peeled the dresses off each shaking girl’s body. The grubby man’s grip was tight around your waist, a hearty laugh passing his lips.

“Remember your manners, Bart,” Vynce said, narrowing his eyes. 

“Oh, come on, Vynny,” Bart whined as though he was a child who had their favorite toy taken away from them. “There ain’t nothing wrong with touching.” He licked his lips hungrily while he ripped the bodice of your dress, his eyes examining your breasts as your clothing fell to the floor. 

You fought against Bart when he reached down, squeezing your left breast firmly. “Nothin’ wrong with that at all,” He whispered, beginning to lean down but letting out a howl when Vynce hit him upside the head. 

“Do not spoil the wares,” Vynce warned, pushing Bart away and causing you to stumble. “Especially this one. She will go for a pretty gold piece. Now, you,” He snapped, turning his attention to you. “Finish cleaning up,” He instructed, pushing you to the wash basin.

You gripped onto the bowl, your reflection staring back at you. The violet tinges seemed dull like your fire was becoming snuffed out. Whatever predicament you find yourself in, no matter how difficult the situation might be, always remember to keep your fire blazing bright. No one has the right to put it out. Your father’s words rang out in your mind; he would always say them to you before he left you to provide for the both of you. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a deep breath. You tried to let your father’s words calm you even in this dark time, although it did little to help. Your hands were shaky as you picked up the dirtied cloth and dipped it into the bowl of ice-cold water. You glanced up at the pair of men- two predators watching over their prey.

“How many maidens did you count?” Vynce questioned Bart with furrowed brows.

“At least three, including ‘er,” Bart responded, nodding towards you. “Do you reckon he’s comin’?”

“He’s been comin’ for the last three moons. I am sure tonight would be no different.”

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You hugged your knees to your chest; the other two girls huddled together a ways away from you in an embrace. Vynce and Bart had left the three of you alone while leading the other captives onto the stage. The cheers of drunken men could be heard, muffled, from where you were sitting. 

“D-do you believe they are going to set us free?” The younger girl asked through her sniffles.

“Do not be so daft, Ellya,” The older girl responded, her cheeks containing dried-up tears. “Perhaps they wanted us for themselves and their twisted desires.”

Your eyes lingered on the pair, a slight frown tugging at your lips. It seemed the younger one had not even hit her tenth name day. Both were too young to be at the mercy of the poachers. Your head snapped over when the door suddenly opened.

“We know how much you like them maidens, My Prince,” Vynce explained. “The kingsguard had been crackin’ down real hard as of late, but we were still able to get three of them for your picking.”

Your eyes connected with the familiar Prince’s violet ones, his brows furrowed while he looked over your state. Your body was shivering, and you could not tell if it was from how bare you were or the chills that Aegon had given you.

“My rose,” Aegon breathed out.

“What?” Vynce’s brows knit in confusion before he shook his head. “Three thousand gold dragons for that one or eight thousand for all three,” He explained. 

Aegon snorted. “That is one steep price. Last time, it was only fifteen hundred for one.”

“As I mentioned, the maidens are harder to come by as of late,” Vynce stumbled upon his words, intimidated by the Prince.

“And this one is the prettiest we’ve seen in a long time.”

You yelped when Bart yanked you up by your hair, gasping as he roughly pushed you up against the brick wall, pinning you there with his round belly. 

“Why is she three thousand?” Aegon asked with a cocked brow. “Does she have a golden cunt?”

Vynce clicked his tongue. “I am sure you know of her kind. We know you are not an imbecile, My Prince.”

“Not as much of an imbecile as you lot,” Aegon mumbled before he let out a sigh. “I only brought fifteen hundred with me because that is how much the other girls were.”

“If he does not want to pay the gold, I will just take her maidenhood here and now.” Bart laughed as he forced your legs to spread apart, one of his hands squeezing your bum. “Then I will slit her pretty little throat.”

You closed your eyes, whimpering as you felt his grimy hand sneak between your legs. “Wait!” You blew out a breath at the sound of Aegon’s voice and opened your eyes. You felt the tears stinging, but you refused to cry.

“Fifteen hundred gold dragons. It’s all I have on me, but I will give you the rest on the morrow,” Aegon said quickly offering Vynce the velvet pouch jingling with coins. “You know I am good about keeping my word.”

Vynce eyed the coin purse hungrily as he took it in his hands. He opened the purse, licking his lips at the sight of the gold. “Give ‘er to him,” He told Bart. 

Bart scowled but did as he was told, roughly pushing you over to Aegon stumbling into his arms. Your gaze met his, feeling a few tears pool over your eyes. Aegon slowly took off his cloak, wrapping it around you and hugging you to his side.

“Let us get you someplace safe, my rose,” He whispered, leading you out.

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Tagged readers: ✨ @mrsdaemontargaryen ✨ || @aleemendoza2425-blog || @clairacassidy || @fictionalcomforts || @ladybug0095 || @namelesslosers || @neenieweenie

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy

Rating: Explicit Chapters: 14/25, part 1 of 3 (maybe 25, might be less) Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong, Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen- Love the World Like I Should Grandfather Rodrik shows up with love and gifts, and there's some smooching on the dance floor at Aegon's nameday feast. Also some political anxiety.

“You’re eating enough for the both of us, Prince. I couldn’t possibly keep up with you.” His appetite was a voracious one, and the plate he’d pushed between them had already started inching back towards him. She stabbed a piece of meat and gave him a look as she ate. He looked only somewhat abashed and popped a piece of crust in his mouth, licking juice from his fingers. She was reminded of the lakeside picnic, and the way his lips felt against her fingers while she fed him, the blushing heat as he fed her cakes in return and the kisses shared. It must have shown on her face because a wicked gleam flashed across his eyes, gaze drifting to the low neckline of her gown and the gentle swell of her breasts. A voracious appetite indeed. He laughed when she busied herself with her goblet. “Everyone is staring,” she whispered, unsure if she was chastising him or reminding him. Aegon’s gaze raked along the bare expanse of her shoulders, his hand twitching along his stolen goblet as if he was keeping himself from reaching for her again. “Of course they are, hunītsos. Let them. Let them see how happy you look.” His gaze grew uncertain for a moment and she understood what words he held back. “How happy you make me,” she offered softly. It was finally Aegon’s turn to blush, the expression uncharacteristically shy, and Abby could not help but lean over to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. Satisfaction was bright in her chest when his blush deepened before his own satisfaction crossed his features. Let them witness. Let Edmund Vance and whatever moody River Lord conspired against them see that Aegon was hers, claimed by the rivers.

@fyeahhotdocs, @ocappreciation, @stannisfactions, @fragilestorm, @starcrossedjedis, @darkwolf76, @arrthurpendragon, @dopedaegus, @hiddenqveendom, @mantillon, @lightofthearrow, @songsonacliffside, @acrossthesestars, @insabecs, @moireia, @dragonsbone, @corporalicent, @jadore-andor, @selfproclaimedunicorn, @gwenllian-in-the-abbey, @notbloodraven, @impales, @arcielee, @thesunfyre4446, @duxbelisarius, @dream-beyond-the-fantasy, @godswood-girl, @mimikoflamemaker, @murmel-malt, @rainwingmarvel7, @aegonx, @tremendouswolfsaladranch, @theothermaidoftarth, @lullaebies, @julyzaa, @jotterjots, @zae5

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Season 1

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair were dark, but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen and her wrath was not different from the one that burn in the members of the House of the Dragon.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Freedom Song

modern Aegon Targaryen x FemaleReader   Summary: Your boyfriend impresses his family when you all go out for karaoke.  Warnings: Mentions of rehab, but this is purely fluff.   Word Count:  1284 Author’s Note: This story is dedicated to my muse @f4ll-for-you​ ♥ A huge thank you to her and @aspen-carter​ for beta reading this story. This idea was inspired by the lovely @foxee-writes​​ who was gracious to let me write this drabble. I just wanted to continue to add to my not-really-a-series series about modern Aegon. I write him as more of a golden retriever bf after he has successfully completely the rehabilitation and therapy that poor bb desperately needed.

For you, Aegon was an open book; he was animated when he talked, but with his silence, his mannerisms were flags to indicate what brewed behind his beautiful lavender eyes. 

You watched his hands and their blatant tics of agitation, from drumming his fingers against the inside of your thighs and how it evolved into the rapid bounce of his leg; he scratched the underside of his jaw, a seemingly ceaseless itch that came with the beard he was allowing to come in. 

He hated to be halted, so you did not rest your hand on his knee but moved to take his palm into your own, your touch gentle and it allowed his attention to return to the little lobby the two of you waited in. Aegon turned his head and you watched as his lilac eyes refocused onto you. 

“Hey,” you said with a smile.

His relief was visceral and he reached his other hand, interlacing his fingers with your own. 

We fit so perfectly together, he had said to you when he first held your hand, the memory of his words brought a rose color to your cheeks.

His own smile spread across and with his exhale, you watched some of the tension lift from his shoulders. “Hey,” he said back to you, the low crack of his voice. 

“We do not have to do this,” you offered him an escape. “We can always go home…” 

He pursed his lips into a line and shook his head so that his silver waves moved with. “I have already missed too many birthdays and I need to make amends. Besides,” his eyes flit over the karaoke lounge, sparsely filled and drawing in the colors of the RGB lights overhead. “This is something Daeron really wants to do, so I will do this,” and he squeezed your hand, his other hand reaching into his pocket. “Besides, I want to show them this.”

It was his sobriety chip to celebrate his eleventh month mark and you could not have been more proud. 

It was little larger than a half dollar and was the reminder of the dark times that were, but also how it too shall pass. He held onto it, something he could fidget with when his anxiety flared up, but it also was a medal of honor, a token of proof to show that he had persevered and would continue just that. 

The peace continued when he saw it was only his mother and siblings who showed up; his father was not in the best of health and had little energy to much of anything these days, and his grandfather was too wrapped up in maintaining what his father could not do.

You felt relieved. His mother, Alicent as she asked you to call her, obviously loved her son, but her father would get into her head about how it was best to raise them, and his siblings were aware of his shortcomings, but loved Aegon still in their very unique way. 

Daeron bubbled with excitement, in part because he loved to sing but you also imagined he took pleasure in the discomfort of his older brothers, Aemond and Aegon. Aemond was a silent force, with a severe expression and dark clothes, his eye looking over their surroundings as they were led into the rented booth. And Helaena was rosy, her excitement glittered in her eyes with the prospect to sing her heart out, also aware of the discomfort for her brothers and wilfully ignoring it. 

They took their seats and Daeron bounded to the stage, choosing some pop song and singing along. Aemond, long and lean, sank into a corner part of the couch, legs stanced wide and his gaze solemn, as always. Alicent and Helaena were seated together and you leaned back into the couch, watching Aegon pour over the log of songs available on the tablet; his brow furrowed and his lips moved wordless as he read through the titles, the light from the screen highlighting his handsome features.  

He was aglow when he handed you the tablet. “This one?” You confirmed, your finger resting on the song. 

Aegon nodded, wiping his palms against his jeans before clapping along with his mother and sister when Daeron finished. “You next?” He asked and Aegon nodded, wetting his lips with his tongue and moving to take the microphone.

Part of his rehabilitation was relearning himself, but sober. With this, he had a newfound passion for music that he had never touched before. You remembered the first time you heard him singing in the shower; you were flushed by his voice, your mouth agape when he exited the bathroom. You always encouraged him to sing, well aware of the brief reprieve it allowed him with every song he disappeared into. 

And now, you leaned back to watch the reactions of his family as Aegon cleared his throat. 

Daeron’s skittish giggled stopped the moment the timbre of his voice poured into the speakers, though the sound quality was what would be considered for a karaoke bar, it did not take away from the fact that Aegon could fucking sing.

His younger brother’s eyes were wide and he sank back into the sofa to watch him. Alicent’s eyes were just as wide and glassy as she took in her son, as if she was truly seeing him for the first time; Helaena just closed her eyes and swayed her head in rhythm to the music.

You dared to glance at Aemond and even his stoic nature cracked slightly, as his brow arched while he listened. 

Aegon was beautiful when he sang, of course; his eyes were closed and there was color to his cheeks from the natural smile that accompanied the lyrics. He moved along with the music, his passion for this habit did not allow him to hold still. 

When he finished, he slowly opened his eyes and looked at you, smiling still. 

His mother and Helaena bound to their feet, clapping and singing praises, while Daeron was flabbergasted. “Holy shit, you can sing,” he managed. 

Alicent flipped on her mom-mode, her dark eyes locked onto him. “Daeron. Language.” 

He grinned sheepishly and even Aemond hummed a compliment, “Well sung, brother.” He had the hint of a smile to his lips.

Daeron clasped his hand on his shoulder, bright eyed with a newfound respect for his brother. “What else are you keeping from us?”

Aegon shifted his weight and glanced at you; you nod reassuringly, subtle with your smile. He reached into his pocket and presented the token.

You saw that Aemond recognized it, as he had also been present with the prior attempts of his sobriety, but his expression softened when he saw the color, a forest green, a color he had not seen in his brother’s palm before. 

For Aegon, it is a wordless gesture and it is met with the support he deserved. Daeron and Helaena both threw their arms around him, smiles and congratulations on their lips, while Aemond only reached to touch his shoulder, the curl of his mouth enough to let him know he was proud of Aegon. 

You enjoyed this moment, content to be a spectator, until you felt the gentle touch of Alicent as she wrapped her arm around your waist and pulled you into her side. “Thank you,” she whispered in your ear. 

But it was not necessary. You, like Aemond, had always been around and presented him with the opportunity, time and time again. You also knew that Aegon had to want it, or it would never work. 

Most importantly, you would always be grateful for the day he had taken the help offered.

Arcie’s Masterlist

Find my body covered in confetti

pairing: modern!Aegon Targaryen and F!Reader summary: Aegon is a regular at your bar but he doesn’t come only for the drinks. warnings: a bit of angst, a pinch of violence, brief mentions of blood but it does have a happy ending (he deserves one) words: ~5000 author’s note: my first time writing for Aegon! I’m not nervous at all song inspo: Charlotte Cardin — Confetti (Spotify / YouTube)

>>> He’s broken from the inside out but the pieces he’s assembled of are not sharp and don’t cut like glass. The blunt edges of them are hidden behind his shirts, covered with the ink of tattoos, splatters of scars you want to trace with your finger and know more of. He doesn’t stay long enough for you to ask questions.

The first time he comes in, it’s a summer evening, the air veiled with humidity, the dancefloor is filled with heated bodies and flooded with blinking lights. He goes right to the bar counter, asks for a glass of whiskey, and smiles at you but says nothing else. He dawns the alcohol in two sips and orders a second one and then a third almost immediately, and your curiosity peaks just as fast. It’s a routine you’ve gotten used to — the more people drink, the more they want to talk, even the most quiet and prideful ones, and it works with practically everyone. Yet, with him, it doesn’t. He’s wearing dark colors — a grey tank top, black shirt thrown over, and matching jeans, and you descry a dice inked into the inside of his forearm. The cube is as blank as his face: it betrays nothing of what he’s feeling, what he’s thinking of, and his fingers stay glued to the glass.

The music rumbles, and some girls — in short, glittery dresses, glamorously pretty — come by to say hi to him, to lean in closer, their lips grazing his cheek, leaving shimmering strokes of gloss. But he looks through them, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes which are the depth of the sea and hide just as many secrets. He is carelessly polite, he makes dry jokes, he buys more whiskey. A few times your gazes meet, and he doesn’t look away.

You learn his name from the check he leaves. He asks for yours the second time he comes to the bar.

>>> Aegon starts coming every weekend, and two weeks turn into three, then into a month, and he quickly becomes a regular. He sits on the barstool in the farthest corner, where the scattering light of the disco ball can’t reach him, he doesn’t cause problems, he drinks way more than you think he can handle. Still, his gaze stays sharply sober, and the green of his eyes reminds you of storm waves raging with unexplainable, deep-rooted sadness.

He’s generous with tipping but never with his words, and it seems wrong to disturb his melancholy, so you don’t allow yourself to, only pouring him more whiskey and keeping your empathy from pouring out of you. But with Aegon, the silence never feels heavy, and you catch yourself thinking that walking up to him is like retreating to an oasis of calm in the midst of a roaring torrent of voices. You also sometimes think there are glimpses of his eagerness — to talk to you, to be in your presence, and when you give him his drinks, your fingers brush more often than not. And yet, something holds him back from making the first step. But maybe you’re only imagining that.

And then it turns out that you aren’t.

“I find it weirdly coincidental that the guy only comes here on your shifts”, the bouncer nods in Aegon’s direction while stopping by to grab a bottle of water. It’s one of the last days of August, its agonizing heat finally fading away. “Does he want to make a move on you or something? Does he ever move from that spot? Looks like a part of the interior, I swear.”

You laugh it off, but your face flushes, and you feel Aegon watching you even before you turn to him. He calls for you barely a minute after the bouncer goes away. Aegon’s wearing a dark green shirt, silky and carelessly unbuttoned, and there’s a hint of a smile in the corners of his lips.

“Am I in trouble?” he leans in on the counter ever so slightly and taps on his glass.

You pour more alcohol in, and even though he’s the one drinking, you suddenly feel tipsy. You wonder if it has something to do with how his gaze feels on you — like a touch of warm summer breeze, like he wants nothing more than to have you in his arms. And you’d love to know what it’s like.

“I think you’re the only one here who doesn’t bring trouble,” you tell him as his fingers hook around the glassy surface — and he’s looking straight at you. With the bravery that usually only comes after three shots of tequila, you add: “You’re quickly becoming a favorite customer of mine.”

When your eyes lock, you catch a spark of mischief in his. It’s the first evening when he leaves without finishing his drink.

>>> September brings in some fresh air, and while the trees start dropping out their leaves, Aegon slowly drops his guard: there are layers to it put over the years — brickwork over concrete, and you tear them down with patience and care. He opens up to you cautiously but with so much candor, you wonder if anyone ever bothered to look past his feigned restraint before.

There are a lot of good things about Aegon — you get to them first, and it feels like you’ve never laughed as much as you do with him. He’s charming but with no underlying motive behind it, he talks with his hands and fiddles with his rings, he is childishly enthusiastic about the things he enjoys. He can play guitar, and you talk him into showing it to you one night, when most of the customers have left, and the approaching dawn is hidden by a veil of the rain clouds. The blasting music is turned down, and he only had one Gin & tonic so far.

He touches the strings with tenderness, with focus, and the flow of the melody is so perfectly smooth, he plays the song like he owns it. You busy yourself with wiping cocktail glasses just so you can fight the urge to touch him. When Aegon starts singing, it comes out almost accidentally, as if the lyrics slip out of his mouth on its own. He stops the very next second.

“ ’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” he mumbles.

“I quite liked it,” you assure him — and you are not lying. His voice is soft but with veiled depth, and you want to listen to him singing until the rain stops; maybe even longer. He’s sitting across from you, your bodies only separated by the counter. Sometimes it feels like if you take a layer off too fast, he’ll grow another one, so you tread lightly. “Who taught you how to play?”

“I’m self-taught,” Aegon gives you a short smile. “But I never took it seriously.”

“It looks to me like you made some effort,” you tilt your head at him. “Do you play often?”

“Nah, only when I’m in the mood for it.”

“And what mood is that?”

His fingers absentmindedly follow the contours of a guitar he’s got tattoed on his wrist.

“A weird one,” he manages. “But music helps to take my mind off it, I guess.”

That thing he doesn’t want to think of — you fear that it never goes away, always lurking up there in his head, with its eyes glowing in the darkness of the worst of his thoughts that he’s yet to share with you. He eagerly welcomes any distraction — you are eager to provide him with one.

“What was the first song you learned how to play?”

The grin comes back on his face, and his sadness recedes, like the water at low tide, and the unnamed weight is temporally lifted off his shoulders.

“Oh, it’s silly,” he starts playing again, and the rhythm builds up, cheerful and catchy, and you instantly find it familiar. You’re trying to remember where you heard it before — and the realization brings a smile to your face.

“Is this from Duck Tales?”

“Yeah,” Aegon chuckles. “My youngest brother Daeron used to love it, could spend hours watching the telly,” he’s maybe a little abashed but he isn’t ashamed of talking about it. “It was an easy tune to learn. Kinda helped to negotiate the terms of his bedtime.”

“Well, I’ll take Duck Tales over... whatever it is that our DJ loves,” you share a laugh. “And what’s your favorite tune?”

Any other guy, you think, would’ve tried to impress you and rushed to strum some rock or botch some classics (you’ve had that unfortunate experience before) but Aegon doesn’t play pretense. At least, not with you.

“It’s usually just a mix of everything I can think of,” he shrugs. “Like, maybe some Oasis, Rolling Stones, The Black Keys,” he trails off, eyes not leaving your face.

He’s so obviously hesitant about sharing that as if his music choice is what can scare you away. Not him drinking, or regularly staying up late, or bottling up decades-worth of feelings — all that is seemingly a given. But somehow his playlist is the real secret, and it wrings your heart to know he trusts you that much.

“That’s an intriguing mix,” you smile wider in a sign of approval. “What will it take to convince you to play me a snippet?”

“That’s a suspicious amount of confidence that you have in my abilities,” Aegon narrows his eyes with a fake concern. He beams at you in barely a second.

“You can call me an optimist.”

“Well, you’re getting a front-row seat to my impromptu concert, then. No predictions on the genre, though.”

“I think I’ll like it either way,” you put the last glass aside to give him your full attention.

Aegon adjusts the guitar and swiftly gets it in tune, and the intricate melody comes to life in his hands, made of bits and notes both known and unfamiliar to you. He’s in his element, and for a few minutes it’s smooth sailing, and your heartfelt excitement is his tailwind.

But then you notice the slightly lost look in his eyes like he’s got reminded of something he wants to run from, and he knocks down the rhythm a little — and then he picks it up, and it quickens as if he’s racing against the past that will inevitably catch up to him. He’s got no guitar pick, it’s just his fingers against brass-plated strings, and his movements are violently concentrated, visibly too harsh. You’re unduly afraid the metal will cut into his skin in no time.

You lean over the polished benchtop to intercept his hand, and Aegon flinches at the touch, and the flow of the music is cut off. While his subconsciousness is swimming out to the surface of reality, you pull his palm away from the instrument and intertwine your fingers with his, his skin heated and pale, the guitar inked into his arm being the only bright spot. And then, without really wanting to, you realize that the tattooed horizontal strings were meant to cover something of a similar pattern. You run your thumb over the black stripes laid on top of the long-faded white ones, barely visible but still palpable.

“Did it hurt?” you ask him in a whisper, careful as if you’re tiptoeing around a sleeping beast. And you are not talking about the tattoo.

The silence only lasts for a heartbeat.

“It was bearable,” Aegon tells you, not entirely avoidant of the truth but maybe still tormented by it. “I’m all good now,” he adds in a soothing tone, even though he is the one whose heart needs to be soothed and patched up. Pressing him for details feels like asking to rip open a wound, and you don’t think his have healed properly.

He’s still holding your hand but you know he’ll flee away soon like he always does, and you have no right to hold him back. You wish he could stop holding on to the things that left him so anxious and scarred.

“It’s fair for the last drink to be on the house,” you grant him another smile and let go of his hand, and there’s a flash of regret on his face that you can’t help but share.

It also feels fair to not make him dive into that black void of his memories so you put a clean glass in front of him and reach for the ingredients. Aegon curiously watches you adding cubes of ice, mint leaves, lemon juice, slices of lime. Then you pull out a cooled glass bottle of San Pellegrino.

“An interesting choice,” Aegon notes joyfully.

You actually don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone being so thrilled about drinking water. While it fizzles and fills the glass, it dawns on you: he does want to break the cycle of his self-destruction. He’s just so used to it, he stopped looking for a way out.

“Anything can pass as a cocktail if you make it look fancy enough,” you drizzle the drink with orange-flavored syrup and push it toward him.

Aegon takes a big sip and grins. “Tastes like Fanta,” he gulps half a glass, then chews on ice, his lips glistening with melted liquid. “Haven’t had it since I was, like, fifteen or something.”

“Well, if you are ever in need of some sweetened water, you know at least one bartender you can ask,” you joke as he pulls out a phone to get an Uber.

His finger stops an inch away from the screen, and Aegon gives you a long, wistful stare, but you struggle to read the meaning behind it, as his eyes are a kaleidoscope of emotions. You wish you could discern just one so maybe you’ll have a reason to justify whatever it is that you are feeling for him.

“I don’t go to any other bars,” he says, looking through car options. “So you better stock up on that water. Because your bartending talents are quickly winning this cold heart of mine.”

Aegon makes it sound very casual, like a joke made in passing, and you try not to think too much into it. But right before leaving, he glances at you again, and his whole face lights up. And then comes the awareness, like the sun emerging from the clouds: he is winning your heart, too.

>>> October is muddy and grey, lacking sunlight but not rainfall, and you think it’s the brightness of neon lights that beckons people in, and the bar stays packed night after night. You can’t seem to catch a break, your hands moving on their own accord, repeating all the well-learned steps, memorized recipes — swirls of orange and cranberry juice in Sex on the Beach, Bloody Mary garnished with a celery stick, the balance of sweetness and the tang of lime in Margarita. Surprisingly, Aegon is deadset on drinking nothing but fancy-looking water. Not surprisingly at all, you still think about him every spare minute that you have.

Getting to the deeper layers of him feels like drilling through an iceberg, and the baggage of his past is so big, it will hardly fit in any plane’s luggage compartment. You try not to pry, cherry-picking the words, the topics, the questions. Aegon lets you without ever resisting. Each evening, he chooses a different flavor of syrup as he tells you more about himself: he was a menace in school, hated chemistry and never been good at sports, prefers to avoid vodka since that one time he tried it in college and it didn’t end well. He has pictures with his mom, with two brothers and a sister, but not with his dad, and he never talks about him. You think he does it instinctively — like avoiding a bump on a road he’s taken even since he was a kid.

There are a lot of blank spots in his retelling of the childhood years but he does mention he got his first tattoo at fifteen. It’s a razor blade, and he taps on the area of his shoulder where it’s at, covered by the material of his blue shirt. You don’t dare to voice the question but it’s ringing in your head: has it all started when he was fifteen? Or that’s when he got better? Did he actually get better?

Some days, by the looks of it, he is getting better. When he’s excitedly stirring his drink with a straw, when he’s asking about your day, when he comes up with playful descriptions of every customer in the nearest proximity to make you smile (it works wonders). In these moments, you dare to think that he seems bored with everybody else but you.

But there are other days too, when he is joined by the motley crowd of people consisting, as you guess, of his friends. It feels like they hardly have anything in common — they are loud, giggling, making toasts for no reason, throwing money away. None of them notice that his tastes have changed; none of them are aware of all the little things you notice. That his fingers drum to the rhythm of the music but he refuses to go dancing, glued to his chair, clinging to his glass. That he’s the life of the party but he looks out of place, and his loneliness is the only thing that stays by his side. Sometimes it seems like he doesn’t even want to be here — drinking, thinking, cursed with his desire for solitude — and you wonder why he keeps coming, then.

And it’s horrifying how much it hurts you to think that one day he might stop.

>>> November passes almost in a blink, and the weather cools down, but the crowds of customers don’t get smaller, and you think your smile looks too pained to even bother forcing it. With the cold season comes bitter Old Fashioned with a cherry on top, spicey Mulled Wine, blood-colored Sangria. There is the never-ending clinking of glasses, chattering, cozy jazz playing in the background, and you save your energy for Aegon only — for when he comes with his tireless jokes, his sincere laugh, his gaze enveloping you like the fuzziest blanket.

The month is nearing its end, and so does your patience which some drunk man has been testing for almost two hours. You keep watching the clock — Aegon usually comes around 10 p.m., and you all but count minutes, and then seconds... and then it’s half past 10 but he hasn’t shown up.

In thirty minutes your worry grows, spreads, takes the form of a tsunami. It dawns on you that you don’t even have his phone number. He can just disappear, like a homeless man swallowed by the ocean, and you won’t ever find him.

“Hey, are you retarded? Come fetch me another drink, I’ve been calling you for five minutes,” the drunkard whines from the other end of the bar.

You hold back a huff and give an insincere apology and whip him up another Whiskey on the rocks. Your gaze absentmindedly scans the crowd when you see Aegom coming — and it looks like he emerged from a blizzard. For a second it seriously confuses you — it’s too early for snow, and you don’t remember what was the weather forecast. But after Aegon plops on his usual spot, you come closer and realize: it’s confetti. He is covered almost head to toe in the tiniest pieces of paper, multicolored and shiny, stuck in his hair, sprinkled over his shoulders, sparkling on his snow-white shirt.

Aegon looks like he might as well be covered in ashes — he is unbearably beautiful but also visibly, tragically unhappy. You all but dart to him.

“Can I have, like, a glass of vodka or something,” he asks morosely. “Vodka on the rocks maybe? I don’t know if it’s a thing.”

Your eyes are watchful, searching for clues, but you can’t dissect his mournful gaze, can’t see through his despondent face expression.

“Is there a reason for —” you are thinking of a word but he cuts you off.

“No reason,” and his tone is cold like ice, and he isn’t looking at you.

Aegon blinks once, twice, shifts on his seat, sighs. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” his gaze finds yours, almost desperate as if he’s drowning and looking for a life ring. “It’s my birthday. And I hate it.”

You involuntarily reach for his hand — you almost touch him but then the annoyed voice comes again:

“Can anyone get me whiskey in this godforsaken bar?!”

Aegon turns his head and looks in the man’s direction, very obviously displeased. You go to the disgruntled idiot again, put some ice cubes in his glass (he loudly counts them), pour him whiskey (he demands you add more), fight the urge to throw it in his face (maybe that will sober him up). Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that one of the security guys stealthily moves closer.

You come back to Aegon, your chest overflowing with both relief and concern.

“Why don’t you like your birthday? I mean, I also don’t throw parties on mine so I get it. But if you don’t want to celebrate it, you can pretend it’s just another day.”

Another day of him not drinking, another day of him staying on track to some happier future, you mean. A future where you’ll manage to finally help him heal every scar of his. You see a small, weary, somber smile growing on his face, and Aegon opens his mouth and —

“Your whiskey is some horseshit!” the familiar voice cries out.

Before you can react, Aegon interjects. “What the hell is your problem?” he looks at the man again without a smidgen of fear. The drunkard bores his gaze into him in return, red-faced and sweating with anger.

“Aegon, it’s not worth it, really —”

“No, he’s being disrespectful toward you, and you don’t deserve it,” he punctuates, specks of darkness in his eyes.

“O-oh, am I offending your darling?” the man mocks. “Are you two fucking? Maybe I should also bend her over the counter so she’ll give me some decent booze.”

He is quite irritating, yes, but you see men like him as just a part of your job, and you are used to them being armed with pathetically exaggerated self-esteem. But Aegon doesn’t see it that way, and ire sweeps him over like a tidal wave.

“You need to apologize,” he insists, looking the man dead in the eyes.

“Or what, huh? I’m the one with the money here, and the customer is always right!”

“She isn’t paid to tolerate your fucked-up behavior,” Aegon bristles, and the man jumps down the barstool and clasps the glass, spilling what’s left in it on the counter. You don’t care about it. You can’t care about anything but the fact that Aegon also gets up. It’s a new layer of his — with stubbornness, bitter temper, a frown plastered on his face. But you are not afraid of him. You are afraid for him, and fear leaves you frozen on the spot.

“I bet she gets paid enough for her to move her feet instead of making customers wait,” the man snarls, raising his voice, attracting attention. “These bitches can only flash their tits and complain! Never get their fucking job done!”

You think he isn’t talking about you anymore — drunk people will take any chance to overshare, — and you want to reassure Aegon you are not insulted or upset, and you see the security guy wading through the crowd and toward you. But then the situation escalates with a speed of a shot arrow.

Three things happen, barely a few seconds apart: the drunk man swings the glass at you, Aegon moves to stand in his way, then comes the sound of the glass breaking. It shatters into pieces that go everywhere — on barstools, on the counter, and behind it, some even reach the wall you are standing next to. You only come to your senses when the troublemaker is pried away from the bar.

“It’s not even Halloween yet, and I’m already seeing nonhuman creatures,” the security guy scoffs, grabbing him by the collar, then shoots Aegon a cool glance.

You rush to intervene. “He only tried to help!”

The bouncer gives him a look over. “Man, you are bleeding,” he notes and then drags the boozer away.

The manager comes running up to you, suggesting you take a break, but your gaze is drawn to Aegon — he’s got a cut on his cheekbone, and blood is coming out, bright maroon running down his face. He raises his hand to touch the wound, then looks down at his stained fingers in disarray.

“I didn’t really feel it, I —”

“We’ve got a first-aid kit, come on,” you take him by the hand and lead the way, taking big steps, rounding the counter, pushing the back door wide open.

Aegon doesn’t make a sound, only following you obediently, his fingers tugging at yours. You reach the utility room, and you sit him down on some impromptu chair made of stacked-up boxes, then go to look for medical supplies. He keeps his eyes on you.

You bring a cold pack, antiseptic wipes, bandages, and turn on the flashlight on your phone to examine the cut.

“It’s not that deep so you won’t need stitches,” your voice comes off too stern, and you notice how he shrivels at the sound of it.

You feel determination, guilt, and anger — not at him but at yourself, and the fear still hasn’t left, and the words that are filled with it flow out first.

“That was very stupid of you,” you tell Aegon, applying the cold pack to the wounded side of his face, “You could’ve been injured, seriously injured,” with your other hand, you wipe the dried blood off his skin. “You got lucky the man was too wasted to aim well. He could’ve cut you way deeper, or poke your eye, or —”

It’s the lack of response that makes you stop, and your eyes glide over him. Now he does look ashamed, but his shame comes off as a meek, habitual reaction to yet another mistake he made. You think back to his deep-rooted sadness, scars covered with ink and shirts, pain hidden under layers of mirth.

You don’t want to add to his misery, you want the exact opposite.

You throw away the wipe streaked with blood, get another one. And then you place a finger beneath his chin to lift it.

“I mean, it was also brave,” this time, your movements are more gentle, and so is your gaze. “No one ever did anything like that for me. And I should totally thank you.”

He considers the change in you — and welcomes it, grinning boyishly again, his irises the color of the sea that merged with the sky.

“What can I say? I’m doing my best to maintain my very manly image,” Aegon cackles, taking the cold pack from you, wriggling his face a little at the numbness.

“This might sting a little,” you warn him and put the wipe soaked with the antiseptic right to his cut.

“Ouch-ouch-ouch,” he mutters, eyes squeezed shut, nose scrunched.

You let out a short laugh. “That’s a crack in your macho image,” you remark, lightly pressing on his wound for just a moment. “But I am willing to look past that.”

Aegon is suddenly in no hurry to open the eyes. His smile falls away, his glee disappears as if swept away by a gust of wind. He’s both the drifting ship and the force of nature that ruins it.

“I am not the best company, you see,” he says sullenly after a pause, averting his gaze. “I’m all cracks and hollow.”

His wound isn’t bleeding anymore, but his heart is, and you can only patch one thing at a time. You take a band-aid, unwrap it and carefully place over his cut, smoothing out the adhesive edges.

“Leonard Cohen would’ve disagreed,” you respond, your fingers delicately brushing his cheek. “He said that’s how the light gets in.”

Aegon is quiet at first, positively stunned as if you are a guiding star, and he’s only seen utter darkness before that. You almost get shy with nervousness but then he stands up. “Dance with me,” he says, in a voice low and pleading.

“But there is no music, how can —”

He lays a thumb on your lower lip, silencing you. “Shhh, just listen,” he murmurs.

For half a minute you hear nothing, wondering if the walls are soundproof, but then you catch it — the notes of music echoing from the bar, muffled but still audible. You don’t know what song is it, what the lyrics are, what’s it about. But Aegon takes your hand in his — and it’s just you two in the middle of the dimly lit room, the walls separating you from the outside world, your bodies only getting closer, slowly swaying to the faint rhythm.

Him cautiously laying a palm on your waist is what gives you the courage to speak up.

“Someone told me it’s a weird coincidence that you come only on my shifts,” you mention, watching his reaction.

Aegon doesn’t shy away from your gaze. “Not a coincidence,” he confesses. “Does it bother you?”

“Not at all,” you assure him quickly. “I find it flattering that you appreciate my cocktail-making abilities that much,” and then you draw in a deep breath as if you’re about to dunk underwater. “But maybe there’s more to it... Maybe there is another reason?”

You notice his cheeks flushing with a touch of pink, and you expect him to take time to unravel the tangle of excuses or to make some. Instead, he lists fervently, like it’s something he’s always wanted to tell you:

“You are caring. And funny, and gentle. You are easy to talk to, accepting and calm. And you listen, without judgment or disapproval. And you never... you never ask me to be someone else,” that last part is the hardest one — and yet, he adds, “With you, I feel like I’m enough.”

There are no layers left, you realize, — it’s just him: sad and broken and lost. But with his eyes still shining with warmth, his gaze searching and hopeful. He is still beautiful, no matter how scarred.

Your fear crumbles into pieces, small like confetti, and you close the distance between you two, your mouth finding his, hands gliding up his shoulders. For a second his lips don’t move, and his breathing hitches. He blindly tucks away your lock of hair, and his finger slowly traces the angle of your jaw, as if he wants to make sure he’s not dreaming.

And then Aegon tugs you closer, and his hand cradles your face — and he kisses you.

He is tender, his lips soft like the foam of a wave, their movement steady, like he’s writing down all the words left unsaid, leaving you infatuated, breathless, and enamored of him. There are no secrets, no doubts, no regrets. In place of his darkest memories, you are planting new ones, and his affection is blooming already.

When you open your eyes and meet his, his gaze is nothing but loving, and Aegon holds you in his arms, the way you’ve always dreamt of. You brush a few pieces of confetti out of his hair, and you hope that one day his pain will disappear just as fast.

He is broken from the inside out but you find it easy to love every single piece he’s assembled of.

✧ technically, I got inspired by the piano version of that song (it’s sad) and the live version (it’s even sadder), and that was the reason I decided to add a kissing scene. not that anyone asked but now you know lmao ✧ this photoshoot of Tom deserves way more attention ✧ as does his band! go give them a listen ✧ Duck Tales theme guitar cover as a bonus

✧ another one-shot inspired by some music (Aemond x reader) ✧ my HOTD multi-chapter fic because why not ✨my masterlist

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

modern!aegon getting so piss drunk at his birthday celebration at an expensive members club and it would’ve been fine any other day but his mother was staying at the apartment he shares with his siblings that night and you being his close if not best friendworries after him. aegon’s confided in you about his mother’s disappointment in him so you make it your duty to get him to sober up to the best of your abilities. you employ the help of a tipsy aemond and a lightheaded giggly helaena to get their older brother to the car. you ask them to get arryk to drive instead of criston because you were close with the family to know the latter would report back to alicent about her eldest son’s behavior.

aegon’s arms were slumped in between you and aemond as the three of you stumble and struggle to get into the limo, a still laughing helaena recording a video with the flash on.

arryk was confused when you barked out an order to him, “the nearest mcdonalds!” and when he did not move to drive you yelled “now!” blood running hot as aegon gurgled next you and you knew you had to get food into that boy’s system immediately. while worrying over aegon resting his head on your shoulder little did you know he was fighting to keep his eyes open in order to gaze at you, a feeling of love rushing through his veins and he knows that it’s always there, sober or not.

it was nearing 3 in the morning as you three order some burgers and fries and you all much in silence, letting the effects of alcohol slowly go away. never in a million years would the targaryens step into a fast food restaurant again but with his thigh pressed against yours and you offering him your fries every once in a while, aegon targaryen couldn’t think of a better way to spend his birthday than with his siblings and you— his loved ones.