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shesjustanothergeek · 5 months

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Seven

Masterlist of Series

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

Author's Note: I just wanted to start by saying thank you, and I'm sorry. Life has been so hectic these past few weeks. I met a guy, and we dated. Then we broke up, celebrated my birthday, got another job added to my current one, and got invited to parties while trying to care for myself, which is already a struggle. It may take some time, but this story will be finished! Everything is planned out; I have to write it. I promise!

Chapter Warnings: Misogyny, sexism, blood supremacy, the iconic dinner scene.

After the much-awaited arrival of your family came, it quickly went. The Keep was a buzz with a tense thickness of worry for what would come. With the petition of Vaemond Velaryon for the Driftwood throne and the other faction of Targaryen's appearing, the Lords and Ladies of the Court were anxious. The last time the entirety of the House of The Dragon was together, a Prince was maimed, and a Princess was cut, creating an irreparable divide.

You thought nothing of it. The court was always tense in your presence. What was the added chance of another physical confrontation?

Rhaenyra had sent you to fetch your brothers, saying she needed a moment to gather her bearings after being away for so long. You bid her farewell as you strolled along the stone halls, already having a place in mind for where the troublesome duo could be.

As you suspected, the boys were in the training yard, Jace enthusiastically wielding a short sword and showcasing a prideful stance to Luke. Rolling your eyes, you descended the stone steps, focusing on not tripping as your brothers approached a crowd of cheering onlookers. You had your suspicions of who would be within the circle, cautiously hurrying your slippered feet.

Just as you were moments away from pulling Luke, a smooth timber carried throughout the yard.

"Nephews, have you come to train?" the One-Eyed Prince asked. You knew the query was rhetorical, swiftly pushing yourself between your brothers and taking their hands.

You challenged Aemond with the firm line of your mouth, an arched brow within your hard stare. Before either of you could think to do something foolish, the thundering creak of the courtyard doors opened, revealing Lord Vaemond and his entourage of blue-grey seahorse banners.

Instinctively, you put Lucerys behind you, the sword Daemon gifted you hidden beneath your cloak of crimson and black. Both your brothers clutched at your hand as if it were the only thing keeping them from withering under their Great Uncle's stare, and perhaps it was. You heard a chuckle from behind, your head quickly snapping at Aemond to fix him with a stern look.

"Come, brothers," you announced, tugging their larger fists in yours, "let us find Mother before we must attend this farce."

Jace and Luke followed solemnly behind. The elder hunched over with a wrinkled brow, the younger desperately clinging onto you like a babe to its rattle.

***

The Great Hall was bustling with the sounds of anxious voices. All the court members were gathered in a display of what you could only think to be an attempt at public embarrassment by the Greens. Petitions such as these only required some of the Lords and Ladies to be in attendance, yet here they were, making a chilled and open space incredibly stuffy and small.

The Iron Throne stood imposing with its presence, the swords of Aegon the Conquerer's enemies smelted into a seat that could cut those who came too close to its rug of pointed metal.

Your Father was conversing with Rhaenyra, his strong fists clasped over his stomach, leaning into your Mother's ear. Lucerys was at her side, his slender fingers picking at each other as he cowered beneath his cloak. Rhaena and Jace were beside you, and you glanced at your half-sister, her white hair knotted into thick, cylindrical locks piled atop her head. She nodded toward your brother, and you stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his more petite body.

He tried not to show how your gentle actions comforted him, subtly leaning into your side as the announcement for the petition commenced.

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds," Otto Hightower spoke, his voice booming across the Great Hall, "we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As the Hand, I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters." You couldn't help but roll your eyes, removing your arm from your brother and replacing it with your palm. "The Crown will now hear the petitions."

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, the sense of someone watching your movements too closely to be fleeting. Aegon's violet eyes were trained on you and your connection with your brother; his lips curved into a frown. You brought Luke tighter into your side, fighting the urge to get him into your chest as a mother would, only to spite Aegon. The Prince could no longer stand the infuriating sight of you holding someone so close and trained his darkened eyes on the floor.

"Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon," the Hand spoke, announcing the challenger to the room.

The man who caused this stepped forward, dressed in a rich velvet doublet of deep navy, nearly black, and sparing a glance to the wife of Lord Corlys, the Queen Who Never Was, Princess Rhaenys.

"My Queen," he greeted with a nod, "my Lord Hand."

Luke bristled beneath your touch at his Great Uncle's voice, retreating further into his cloak.

"The history of our noble houses extends past the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Valaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Old Valyria, our House became the last of their kind." You glanced at your Mother while Vaemond droned eloquently, her gaze downcast with a disapproving smirk. "Our forebears came to this land, knowing they were to fail; it would be the end of their bloodlines and name."

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Princess Rhaenys, her stare boring holes into the back of her good brother's skull. Your worries that the Queen Who Never Was would not side with your Lucerys and his claim vanished as you noted the anger on her face, the fury at Vaemond's claim that he had the right to be Lord of the Tides and not her, as if her rule during Corlys' absence meant that the Driftwood Throne was not in safe hands.

"I have spent my entire life on defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys' closest kin, his own blood," the second son petitioned.

Otto stared at the man with a neutral expression, but his eyes betrayed his genuine emotions. Arrogance and pride shine through. "It's a true, unimpeachable blood of the House of Velaryon that runs through my veins."

"As it does in my son's, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon," your Mother interrupted, causing everyone in the room to direct their attention to her.

You sucked in a nervous breath, your gaze flickering to Rhaenyra as you gnawed on your lip. She knew better than to interrupt during a petition to the King. Perhaps since it wasn't her Father, she felt the ability to speak out of turn was appropriate. Even the daughter of the King shouldn't be allowed such liberties.

"If you cared so much about your House's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and your own ambition-"

"You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra," the Queen interrupted, causing your simmering anger to spike into a rolling boil. "Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard."

You understood Queen Alicent's opinion but couldn't quell the rise of frustrated tears at her words. It was not her place to order your Mother. She was a wife to the King; she held no real power, and remembering that would do her well.

Ser Vaemond turned to stare smugly at Rhaenyra, continuing with his rant of blood purity and superiority. "What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn't recognize it."

A tugging at your dress sleeve brought your attention to Luke, swiftly nodding that you were all right as he stroked the back of your white knuckles. Your hand long forgetting its comforting touch as it blanched from ire.

"This is about the future and survival of my House, not yours," Vaemond finished, staring hard at your brother as he cringed.

You did not let the Lord frighten him for long, standing in front of Luke like the moat of iron spikes surrounding Maegor's Holdfast. You came face to face with Ser Vaemond for the first time in your life, his facial hair a mix of salt and pepper from the decades of life he held above you. You were still determining if you could best him in a battle of swords. Yes, you were skilled, but you were not a fool.

The Lord turned from you, his prideful grin duller as he addressed the Queen and Hand. "This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my House and line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor," Vaemond finally concluded, taking a few steps back, "the Lord of Driftmark-the Lord of The Tides."

"Thank you, Ser Vaemond," Otto announced, the second son giving one last sneer toward your family.

With the retreating of the Lord, you were given the perfect view of the Green children, the eldest still very much disinterested in what was happening around him, shifting on his feet as if he was itching to leave the room, which you supposed was true. The second child was attempting to dissociate from the world around her, uncomfortable with the animosity between the two houses, her golden dress the opposite of her appearance. The third and final member seemed to match his Mother and Grandsire, an air of superiority radiating from his toned body.

"Princess Rhaenyra," the Hand called, "you may now speak for your son, Prince Lucerys Velaryon."

Your Mother approached before the steps of the Iron Throne, her body language openly depicting her ire at the whole matter. Her complete disregard for the seriousness of the situation caused you to crack a smile, looking at Luke in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"If I am forced to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding this court that nearly twenty years ago in this very room-"

Rhaenyra's words were cut short by the creaking of hinges, the grand doors to the Great Hall opening to reveal the rhythmic tapping of a cane.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of The Andals, the Roynar, The First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

Gasps were heard collectively around the large room, your Mother turning to see her Father in public for the first time in years. Lord Vaemond watched the King of The Seven Kingdoms as he hobbled across the great expanse of the throne room, a golden mask covering the right side of his face.

You recalled that nearly a year ago, there was only a tiny sore on his cheek, such a minuscule gash that festered and grew to eat away at his flesh until you could see the rotting teeth within his skull. Tears pricked at your eyes as you listened to the steady tapping of your Grandsire's cane, your heart unable to watch the hunched figure. You knew it was only time until Viserys became the Lepers you saw within the slums of Flea Bottom as a girl, but your memories did not serve the disease any justice. It was worse than you could have imagined.

The Hand seemed more shocked than any. His stoic face of pride morphed into one of stunned surprise as your Grandsire made his way to the bottom steps of the Iron Throne.

"I will sit the throne today," the King rasped, his entire weight resting on the dragon head of his walking stick.

"Your Grace," Otto acknowledged reluctantly, taking his place next to his daughter and her children.

A kingsguard quickly rushed to the side of his ruler, briefly assisting before Viserys weakly shoved him away. You couldn't watch this, watch someone once so full of joy and love for his kin struggle to walk the stairs of his ancestors.

The sound of fallen metal echoed in the room, bringing your attention upward. Your Grandsire's Crown had fallen onto the stairs before the throne as a quiet grunt of discontent puffed past his chapped lips. Daemon was behind his brother before anyone was the wiser, assisting the last remnants of his late parents' love to his ruling seat and placing the golden Crown of Jaehaerys on the remaining tatters of silver hair.

Luke tugged your hand at your side, making you lift your gaze from the floor to him. "Sister, you're crying," he whispered just below the shell of your ear. You nodded silently, whipping away the stray water that collected on your warm cheeks.

"I must admit my confusion," your Grandsire spoke, his frail voice reverberating through the high walls of the hall. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession." You did not need to look at Vaemond to see his outrage. You could sense it from where you stood twenty paces away, your tears slowly drying as you gazed at the disappointed Queen. "The only one present who might offer keener insights into Lord Corlys' wishes is the Princess Rhaenys."

Everyone turned to the woman as she processed her cousin's words. "Indeed, Your Grace," she nodded, taking a moment to look at her brother-in-law.

Eyes followed the Queen Who Never Was as she spoke, her voice so smooth and elegant you felt envy for it at the back of your mind. "It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed."

The collection of emotions within the room was a whirlpool. Anger, betrayal, shock, and relief whirled around the Great Hall like the beating of a dragon's wings. Ser Vaemond was fuming, indignant at his good sister's words. He was a true Velaryon, not his bastard nephew born of a harlot disguised as a Princess. Rhaenyra Targaryen dishonored his family and the realm with her illegitimate offspring, parading them as pure. He would not stand for this. Vaemond's blood was thick, and it ran true like the sea.

"As a matter of fact the Princess Rhaenyra has informed me of her desire to marry her son's Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys' granddaughters, Princess Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartedly agree."

The rate at which your head snapped to Luke was supernatural, nearly causing you to lose your balance. His expression mirrored yours, shocked with mouths parted like a fish, then turning to look at your Mother. A graceful smile painted her pink lips, swiftly lowering her gaze with a protective hand over her round stomach.

No one besides your Mother shared the proud sentiment, the Queen's countenance souring far more than you thought possible, the Hand still aghast at the sudden turn of events.

"This will be good," you leaned into your brother's ear, his gaze unsure.

Aegon had suddenly perked up at the revelation, uncharacteristically grinning as he watched the drama unfold. You couldn't pinpoint why he had an abrupt interest in the conversation. Perhaps he enjoyed the misfortune of others, even if it was his kin.

"Well," the King spoke, his breathing now calmed, "the matter is settled. Again."

You leaned your head atop Luke's, wordlessly expressing that everything would be well, that there was nothing to worry about anymore. He reciprocated the notion with a squeeze of your hand.

"I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, to the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of The Tides."

The proverbial sigh of relief let out by your family was deep, the heavy-bearing weight of the future being lifted off your shoulders and placed onto the Greens. Princess Rhaenys sauntered to her position beside her eldest granddaughter, an almost annoyed yet prideful gate to her walk.

A scoff cut through the moment of joy, your head directed to the sound. "You break law, centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir," Vaemond spoke, venom laced within every syllable. "But you dare tell me who deserves inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it."

Your brown and violet orbs flickered from the man to the King, your posture changing from the reserved and proper Princess to a warrior, ready to protect.

"Allow it?" Viserys echoed, testing the word on his dry tongue. "Do not forget yourself, Vaemond."

The fallen silence was too thick to cut even by the sharp blade of Darksister, everyone waiting with contained breaths to see what would follow.

"That is no true Velaryon!" the second son shouted. Your hand went to the sword concealed within your large cloak, the other going over Luke as you stepped before him. "And certainly no nephew of mine."

"Take him to his chambers," Rhaenyra ordered you before swiftly turning her attention to Vaemond. "You have said enough."

"Lucerys is my true born grandson," your Grandsire declared. "And you no more than the second son of Driftmark."

"You," Vaemond stated, taking menacing steps forward, "may run your House as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine. My House survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides."

He turned to you and your brother, feet firmly planted with the grip on your longsword. Your gaze stared fire at his, jaw clenched as he spat his vitriol. "And Gods be damned I will not see it ended on account of this..."

You tilted your head to the side, eyes wide as you dared him to utter the words that desperately wanted to leap from his tongue.

"Say it," a voice whispered behind you, your Father's soft and menacing timbre.

Onlookers watched with bated breath as Vaemond thought over his words, his gaze flickering from your Father to you, your Mother, and then finally, Luke. A sneer slowly pulled his lips, righting his posture as he bellowed.

"Her children are bastards!"

You inhaled, a near-inaudible growl emitting from your throat as you took a charged step forward only to be yanked back by your kid brother. Soft murmurs sounded, the Greens all sharing the same look of begrudging disappointment. Jace seemed just as furious as you, his lips curling into a snarl.

"And they," he glared at you, then to your Mother, his jaw tensing, "are whores."

Your gaze immediately flicked to Aegon, your body moving on its own accord as he stared at Vaemond. His eyes were no longer their sullen purple but a near black, shining like dragonglass shards, fists blanched. Did people know of you and the Prince's dalliances? Had you not been as careful as you thought? Your mind raced with the possibility of your secrets being understood, with the chance that Helaena that your family knew of your sins.

You were unable to hear the sound of raised voices expressing facts of treason, threats of violence, and the unsheathing of a sword until you felt blood splatter on your cheekbone, seeing the sliced head of Vaemond Velaryon laying a few paces from your feet.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon declared, looking at the limp corpse below.

"Disarm him!" The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard yelled, his fellow members drawing their weapons.

"No need," your Father protested, wiping the blood of his kin from his blade and exiting the room.

Your eyes could not leave the bleeding form of Vaemond Velaryon, the top half of his dreaded white hair discarded as the crimson liquid seeped into the cracks of the stone floor. Viserys groaned above, collapsing onto the Iron Throne like a sack of bones, Alicent and your Mother running to his aide.

You felt nothing of the inferno of emotions from before, your mind replaying the images of bloodied hands stabbing, stabbing, stabbing and slicing, cutting, tearing at muscle and tendons until you saw nothing but red.

"Little one?"

The name startled you into reality, your hands no longer dripping the essence of life, Vaemond's body carried away.

Aegon stood before you, his face etched with worry. You merely stared at him, your mind blank and body numb. What could you say to him after everything that had happened? After the night he cared for you so tenderly, it rivaled that of a mother's touch, proving that he would keep your secrets without being asked.

You parted your lips to speak, suddenly finding your throat too dry as you swallowed. Aegon extended a hand to yours, fingers brushing each other as fire ignited in your veins, sending bolts of heat through your limbs.

Oh, how you missed his touch.

"I-" you started, the Prince's amethyst orbs searching your own.

"Sister. Mother wants us in our chambers to prepare for supper," Lucerys called, his tone clipped.

You yanked your limb away from Aegon as if it burned, nodding curtly to Luke as he replaced it with his own. You followed your brother out of the Great Hall, refusing to look back as the Prince's stare bore holes into your head.

***

The sun had set upon King's Landing, but none slept. The flagstone streets bustled with life, men with several drinks searching for a championship with anyone willing for some coin.

You, too, nursed a goblet of firewater, your cloak long forgotten as the drink slid down your throat. The intricate strings of bronze fabric woven into your gown glimmered with every movement of your body in the dim candlelight.

The atmosphere of the dining hall was tense on both sides, idle chatter amongst family filling the space as servants prepared for the first meal. All waited patiently for the King to enter, joyful albeit subdued smiles on their faces. You observed your brothers' interactions with their betrothed, each dutiful and respectful, speaking with them in hushes about the future and what it might be.

You and Aemond were the only occupants without a respective partner, Alicent with her Father, Rhaenyra and Daemon with each other, Aegon and Helaena worlds apart but still connected by the rope of marriage. It made your skin crawl to have more in common with your estranged one-eyed cousin than your own family, taking another hearty swig of your Arbor Gold as the Prince locked gazes with you.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, leaning unceremoniously into the back of your high chair, staring at the dozens of foods before you, begging to be eaten. You were growing impatient with waiting for your Grandsire and decided to steal a purple grape from the platter before you, your Mother scolding you with a tsk.

Aegon was six cups into his wine before the King arrived, his face sullen as he observed his sister-wife delicately stroke something within her hand.

Viserys was escorted into the hall on his makeshift throne, all rising in respect for his title, his crown long forgotten as he was placed between the Queen and your Mother. Sores you hadn't seen before in the throne room were more apparent, causing your eyes to sting with the threat of tears and stomach churning. He leaned heavily onto his cane despite already sitting, his extravagant Targaryen robes weighing on an already frail body.

You were not to cry. Not here. Not in front of the very people who already held little respect for your existence.

"It both gladdens my heart," the King spoke, his voice straining without much effort, "and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table, the faces most dear to me in all the world." Viserys looked toward his left, your Mother, Father, and brothers in his line of sight. Your hand gripped the stem of your glass, ignoring the heated glares from across the table. "We've grown so distant from each other in years past."

You forced yourself to hide the scoff at his words, taking another long drink. And why would that be? Perhaps it was because of the Queen's unwavering grudge against your Mother that festered into a hatred of her life and choices. Or the Lord Hand, previously removed from his position for his corruption, created an environment hostile to those who interfered with his plans. The permanent injury of a young boy only solidified the foundation of hatred.

Viserys paused his speech, wheezing and supporting his weight on the table as a hand came to remove his mask. The sight was nothing you could have imagined. The space where his bright violet eye should be was sunken in a hole of partially healed and rotting flesh in its wake. The wound in his cheek had eaten away at the skin and muscle, revealing his decaying grey teeth.

Aegon's previously intense stare faded, looking at anything except the live corpse before him. The urge to comfort the Prince as you would Luke manifested into a twitch of your fingers, crossing your legs to distract yourself.

"My own face is no longer a handsome one, if it ever was." Phlegm was stuck within your Grandsire's throat, creating an almost repulsive noise. "Tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your Father..."

Aegon met the eyes of a man who was his Father only in name, his glare dark, filled with an anger you had never seen before. You bit your lip, hard to focus on anything other than your heart aching to run and kiss the malice from his face. Why were you thinking this way? Aegon murdered your kin, murdered an innocent maid who was simply doing good.

He deserved this.

But why did it hurt?

"...who may not walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold your feelings in your hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong as long as the House of The Dragon remains divided."

The Sullen Prince's eyes turned to you, your gazes locking with thousands of unsaid emotions, unsaid truths.

"Set aside your grievances!" Viserys declared passionately, startling those at the table and causing you to break your revere momentarily. "If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly."

Silence fell across the table as the King stumbled into his seat, the metal of his mask and cutlery clanging as Alicent dutifully came to his aid. Your Mother stood abruptly, not giving the room to process the King's words as her chair scraped against the stone floor, a cup in her hand as all eyes turned to her.

"I wish to raise my cup to, Her Grace the Queen," she started, her eyes downcast. You watched your Mother skeptically, brown orbs flickering from her to Alicent. "I love my father, but I must admit no one has stood more loyaly by his side than his good wife."

The Queen stared at Rhaenyra, so full of emotions. Years of harbored pain and resentment from events you did not know, bleeding from her chest and onto her finely tailored green dress.

"She has tended to him with unwavering devotion, love, and honor; for that, she has my gratitude. And my apology," Rhaenyra concluded, returning to her seat.

You felt like you were intruding on an intimate moment between lost lovers, the happy moments of their history flashing before each of their minds' eyes. Turning to Aegon, you realize that he did not remove his stare from you, his violet eyes a glassy pool of amethyst. You were sure you mirrored him, your chin slightly quivering as you focused on the empty plate before you.

"Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We're both mothers and we love our children. We have more in common then we allow," Alicent spoke, her voice barely stuttering. "I raise my cup to you and to your House. You'll make a fine Queen."

Otto's disapproving stare did not go unnoticed by you, and Aemond reflected on his expression. Each person raised their goblets individually, taking sips in honor of their current and future Queen.

Aegon threw his drink back twice, going for a third time, but stopped once he caught sight of you. Droplets of Arbor Gold slipped past your lips, lurching forward to catch the liquid before it ran down to the aperture of your chest. The Prince swallowed audibly, his throat clicking as his trousers grew tight.

It had been so long since he felt his love's warm embrace, the softness of your skin on his, and the melodic laughter at one of his raunchy jests. Aegon longed to have anything of you, whether it be your smile or the icy sting of your glare. You ruined him. No one could compare to you, the finest ambrosia he ever tasted, forever aching for another sip. The Prince truly and deeply loved you and needed you to know.

Supper commenced, and you wasted no time feasting, eating the savory vegetables cooked in butter and smothered in rich spices. Smoked cheeses, both hard and soft, found their way to your plate, nearly moaning at their hearty combination with slices of meat.

The frigid environment from before left and was replaced with the warmth of laughter and music. Even the old King himself wore a smile on his cracked grey lips.

You ignored the piercing stare burning on the side of your face, focusing your attention on your Father and adoptive Mother. Daemon whispered something into your Mother's ear, gently grasping her lithe fingers as she giggled and a blush bloomed.

The sight caused an ache to rise in your chest. The hollowness of your heart knocked on your ribs, longing to find a love like your parents before you, but it could not be. Men like your Father were rare in more ways than one. He was more devoted and loyal to Rhaenyra than her sworn shields, ready to defend her honor even at the cost of lives. It was a love you could only dream of. You were a bastard, nothing more.

Ignoring the fist cinching around your lungs, you downed your half-empty goblet of Arbor Gold, summoning a servant to refill it. You did not want to feel like this anymore. The ache. The constant throbbing in your head and heart. It was sometimes too much to bear, seeking solace in a few things. Your days were spent with the swirling storm of thoughts and memories. They plagued your mind like the diseases of your childhood, culturing into an amalgamation of sadness, rage, guilt, and isolation.

It was small at first, smiling and shaking your head when Helaena and your maids questioned what was wrong. Gradually, anger backed every motion you made, and guilt for acting in such a way, for the actions of the past. Your lust for revenge soon consumed you, not long after. Your only focus in the loneliness was to wrong those who wronged you, and now that it was done, all that was left was... nothing. Simply nothing.

"Sister," a kind voice whispered beside you, a gentle hand coming to land on your shoulder. You placed your own over your younger brother's, flashing him a brief smile. "Would you like to dance?"

You accepted Lucerys' invitation, the sudden rising movement causing you to lose balance slightly, resting your weight on him. You both giggled as he glanced down at your awkwardly positioned body, helping you upright as any gentleman would. The musicians started a lively tune, Luke beginning to lead you in dance as several pairs of eyes turned to you.

Daemon and Rhaenyra watched their children with a smile, sharing looks as your Mother leaned against him. Rhaena observed with a wistful look, her gaze to the future rather than the present. It looked bright-- distant time with the sound of running feet and laughter, living in the seat of her ancestors.

You turned to peak a look at your half-sister, ready to congratulate her on securing a good husband as you saw Aegon. His face contrasted with the others-- blue-black circles sunk underneath his violet eyes, his pale skin devoid of the flush of life. You brushed his stare off you and followed your kid brother's lead, catching the glimmer of a look that made your stomach churn.

The murmur of Viserys' voice registered in the back of your mind, too focused on your slightly unbalanced movements to comprehend them. You heard a deep sigh, the soft screech of a chair, and a flash of green. Aegon was on the other side of Jaeceryes, glass in his hand as he whispered something into his ear. The loud cutlery clanking sliced through the air, and you pulled yourself from Luke, watching the eldest Prince saunter back to his seat, and two others stood.

"Jace," Baela called noiseless, her mahogany eyes flickering between her betrothed and the One-Eyed Prince.

Beats of silence echoed in the dining hall as everyone stared at Jace, waiting with curious yet cautious expressions.

"To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond," your brother spoke, raising his drink. "We have not seen each other in years, and I have fond memories of our shared youth." Jace turned, exchanging a sidelong glance with Luke. "And as men, I hope that we may yet be friends as well as allies. To your family's good health, dear uncles."

Each table member raised their cup, Aemond, albeit reluctantly, and took a drink. You took that as your cue to return to your seat, the next course soon to start. Princess Helaena stood moments after you sat, hiding a laugh at yet another toast.

"I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They'll be married soon. 'Tisn't so bad," Helaena's melodic voice said. "He mostly just ignores you. Except sometimes when he's drunk."

Daemon's chuckle pierced through the unease, the two full goblets of wine gone to your head as you stifled one of your own, hiding it behind your digits. Aegon refused to meet anyone's gaze, finding his half-eaten plate much more interesting than the people before him.

The next King rose from his seat with a groan from the wood and excused himself from his betrothed, walking to the moonlit Princess, extending a hand. Aegon stared at the pair as they went to the open space you and your brother once were, his face one of surprise. You brought your cup to your lips, swallowing a smirk.

It serves him right. His treatment of Helaena, or lack thereof, was appalling. Though he may not be in a marriage of love, she was still his sister and the dreamy-eyed Princess deserved more.

Adding a few more spoonfuls of boiled potatoes, you observed the returning smiles of your kin, a warm fuzzy feeling replacing the hollowness.

It was over a year since you had been with them like this, laughing and merry as you feasted until your stomach was full. If you closed your eyes, you could picture yourself on Dragonstone, your darling Cannibal curled inside the caves of the Dragonmont, the smell of Brimstone and salt in the air.

A glint of gold caught your eye, breaking you from your fantasy. Viserys' brilliant mask shined in the candlelight as his head lulled to the side, fighting off a bout of pain. Rising from your seat, you went over to him before Alicent or Rhaenyra could react, kneeling on the side of his Lady Wife.

"Grandsire," you gently spoke, bringing his attention to you. "Would you like a drink?" He nodded as you grabbed his goblet, head tilting to the nonmarred side.

You could feel Alicent's gaze from behind, disregarding it as you continued to help him. Perhaps it was guilt that made you feed your dying uncle and Grandsire. Or perhaps it was instinctual to care for someone moments away from meeting the Stranger. It did not matter. Not now, at least. All that did was ensure Viserys' time would be filled with the love and kindness he desired, no matter how short it may be.

"Thank you, Granddaughter," the King rasped, smoothing a bony hand over your braided hair. "You always bring me such... peace when you are around. Please, before I rest tonight, read to me... The stories of Old Valyria."

You nodded hastily, a downturned smile on your lips as you grabbed his fist, your thumb rubbing the crepey flesh. He had never asked this of you before, and though you agreed without a thought, it set an uneasy feeling in your stomach. Signaling the guards, they swiftly went to his side, lifting the chair as you kissed his scalp. The skin was so cold it nearly froze your lips as the men carried your Grandsire out of the dining hall.

The merriment soon returned, melody and song embracing all who sought to take it. Jace and Helaena quickly returned to dance as if their King had not been escorted from the room with a wail of pain. Lucerys conversed with Rhaena and Baela, speaking of things only betrothed couples could as your Mother and Father continued their private conversation.

Once again, you were out of place and next to your family. It had always felt that way. When you were whisked away from all you knew on the back of Caraxes, it felt like you did not belong—constantly teetering on the edge of being legitimate but not being treated as such. You didn't have the powerful ancestry of your half-sisters nor a claim to any lands or titles like your brothers. Yes, you were of noble descent, but only partially. Bastards should not have the privileges that you do.

Sometimes, you convinced yourself it would be better if you had not been born. Your true Mother would still be alive, and Lyra and Sara would, too. Your Father would not have to live with the shame of having a child born of sin, and Aegon would not have to know the pain of never having the one he desires the most.

As if the Prince could read your thoughts, he looked at you, his annoyed expression disappearing into a concerned crease in his brow. You flew away from his inquiring one, focusing on your Mother and Father's joined hands. When you were sure he was no longer staring, you found yours returning, Aegon's eyes now on his younger brother as they spoke without words.

Soon, the main course arrived. A succulent pig glazed in a coppery crisp of honey, cloves, and cinnamon lying on a large platter with a crimson apple in its mouth. Your own began to water as you eyed its tan skin, hearing a snicker to the left of the long oak table.

Luke barely subdued his delight as the pig was placed in the middle, his dark brown gaze connected with the One-Eyed Prince. You were unsure of the reason for his laughter, seeing as Prince Aemond did not share the same sentiment, slamming his fist down onto the table with an attention-grabbing thud.

"Final tribute," he announced, his pink lips in a firm line. "To the health of my nephews Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise," Aemond paused, sparing no one but the boys a glance, his violet eyes wide with something feral, "and strong."

The soft plead of the Queen and a disapproving look from your Mother were cast aside as the Prince continued, Aegon raising his drink far too enthusiastically as you released an irking sigh, rolling your eyes.

"Come. Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys."

You followed as Aemond said and downed your drink, not for his insulting excuse of a toast but to tolerate the inevitable uproar he created.

"I dare you to say that again," Jacaerys shouted, his chin high.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment," Aemond countered, rising from his seat. You mirrored his actions, standing from your own far too quickly as you fought for balance, the wine gone to your head. "Do you not think yourself strong?"

Before anyone could blink, Jace swung, hitting the One-Eyed Prince on his good side. Luke shot up, ready to defend his brother, but was thrown forward as his face was smashed into his plate, rattling the silverware. Your legs carried you surely despite your sway as you grabbed Aegon by his choppy silver hair, yanking an arm behind his back.

"First, you take my only kin from me and now you feel you are entitled to their misfortune." The Sullen Prince whimpered as you brought his wrist higher, shoving it between his shoulder blades. "Hurt my family again, and you will wake up with your cock flayed and no hands to drown your sorrows."

"Daughter."

You need not look to know who it was and what he was asking, releasing Aegon as he struggled like a caught fish.

A dull sound captured your attention, and Jace was on the ground with a smirking Aemond standing above him. Guards made their way over to you and your brothers before you could even think to retaliate, restraining you all with iron-like grips as your Mother and Father surrounded you.

"How could you say such a thing before these people?" Alicent's heated words spat into Aemond's face, her fist gripping his forearm.

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother," Aemond cooly spoke, removing himself from her touch. "Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs."

You had never wanted to kill the One-Eyed bastard more than you have at this moment, shoving free from the guards. How could he think he could get away with saying such a thing? Had the Prince not seen a man beheaded hours prior for spouting those words? Just because he was the son of a King, he felt laws and declarations did not affect him. No.

Hiking your skirt, you reached for the dagger hidden at your ankle, charging forward without the repercussions of attempted kinslaying.

"Wait! Wait!" Daemon shouted sharply over the sound of stomping feet, holding you back with a mere finger. "Not now," he whispered so only you could hear, glancing at your Mother behind you. You slowly retreated, obeying your Father's command as any good daughter should, Jace gripping your shoulder roughly.

"Go to your quarters," Rhaenyra commanded, repeating her words as you hesitated. "All of you. Now."

Aemond's smirk left his thin lips as quickly as it came, face to face with your sighing wall of a Father as you exited in acquiescence.

You did not visit Viserys that night as you promised; your mind was a maelstrom of thought and emotions not even the most skilled seaman could navigate safely as you fell into the warm fur of your bed.

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Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry4, @daenerysqueenofhearts, @justarandomfloewerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @prettylittlelady, @hjgdhghoe, @im-sidney, @aurorathi, @marihoneywk

Y'all know the clip of 50 Cent where he says, "fuck T.I., fuck Nelly, fuck 50. I'm like, what he'd say fuck more for?"

That was literally the reader when Vaemond called her a whore. I just thought that was so funny, lol.

Also, special thanks to all those who kept up with me during my small hiatus. Now that there ain't no boys in my life no more, I can finally do what I love again! Never give up what you love for anyone. Ever.

Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason. Message me so I can fix it!

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