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“There is something resentfully delicious in it for Rhaenyra, in that she so rarely gets definitively the backing of her father. Early on, she loses both her best friend and her father because they get married. These moments where she gets publicly chosen, and chosen instead of you — there’s a really violent quality of vengeance for her.” — Emma D’Arcy
#hotdedit#hotd#h s1#rhaenyraedit#house of the dragon#rhaenyra targaryen#viserys i targaryen#daemon targayren#usermali#107#110#g#by mal
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If Daemyra and Alys/Aemond are foils, how will they be presented to us on screen?
I'm bad at predictions, anon, so try not to be too disappointed with me. I also despise the notion of getting into Ryan Condal's -- and any major writer there -- mind.
To many in the audience, Daemyra is OTP and one of the biggest draws to the show (aside from actually hating Rhaenyra and loving Alicent for many Rhaenicent-shippers).
Since Aemond has been modified into:
a way calmer, less volatile version from the book, a person who seems victimized instead of the woman-hating victimizer
a guy who accidentally, rather than intentionally as in canon, kills his nephew while his younger nephew tries to run away from him -- Lucerys thinking Aemond will kill him because of years of hate AND Aemond literally just having told him to put out his own eye then chasing him for more than 10 minutes (let's imagine this happening, it would be a long-enough chase)...
Then I expect that the writers would present Aemond/Criston's capture of Harrenhal and taking Alys as his war prize as him "saving" her from destitution and/or him having inner conflict over how Lucerys' death went down. Others have already argued or suggested that HotD Aemond might regard Alys as something like his repentance for his actions against Lucerys (her being a Strong bastard). That the writers will pair these two either as Aemond trying to use her as his private penance or/and Alys victimizing him because she is the older one...ignoring the fact that Aemond killed all the Strong male issue and takes her as a war prize/sex slave.
You know what, I can believe that they will have Aemond lose control of his own emotions again, raze Harrenhal again (like Aegon I), see how he killed the Strongs "accidentally", and then take Alys as his publicized war prize so that he can make up for the fact that he accidentally killed her means to live (the Storng house). And then, the "whore" and "groomer"/"pedophile" Alys will encourage or begin to change their relationship into a real sexual one so she can use his authority for her own use and protection and seek revenge against those she lived with (the survivors of the House and their followers or servants) with such power. Because they probably will also present Alys living under the Strongs as being destitute as mistreated, as I already suggested.
Thus twisting Alys into some sort of gold digging tramp and repeating this current misogynist nonsense of women "trying to take men's money and only wanting them for their money" that you see bouncing around in Instagram, TikTok, etc., and real life people's own mouths. Instead of, say....a war prize trying to just survive?
I already wrote how Daemon and Aemond are foils HERE and what a Byronic hero is (what Daemon is modelled from) HERE. The show would have us think Aemond is the Byronic hero, or what it thinks a Byronic hero is.
HERE is a post I made that has pics of an NY Times interview with Condal. Here is what he says about Daemon:
We established right out of the gate, in the pilot, that Daemon is a fascinating guy, but he’s not Ned Stark. So I didn’t see it coming.
To me, Daemon is the antihero of this story. He’s a character with a real darkness to him, who’s dangerous and charming in equal parts. I knew people would be fascinated by him and latch onto him, but I figured they’d do it in the way they did with Jaime Lannister or Bronn or the Red Viper. I did not think they would oddly apply this sort of super-fandom to him and try to justify every single thing he’s done as being intrinsically heroic. It simply isn’t. It’s not the case. Nor will it be in the future.
[...]
I see Daemon as having heroic aspects to him, and I understand why people would. I mean, he’s incredibly charismatic, he’s handsome, he looks great in that wig, he rides a dragon, he has a cool sword. I totally get it. But if you’re looking for Han Solo, who’s always going to do the right thing in the end, you’re in the wrong franchise, folks.
Basically, Condal thinks/thought people justifies everything Daemon does as something that is inherently, morally good or innocuous. He believes people love Daemon because he is handsome, charming, a dragonriders, confident, etc. Basically he is a bad boy, Condal says, and people love a bad boy, but Condal's says people mistake him as a good person when he isn't.
But Condal also said some contradictory things about Daemon, seeming to flip-flop:
My post HERE of him talking about the choking scene.
LINK to post by @eschercaine
Which goes to show how much Condal knows about how fans of this series think and feel. Fans love Daemon yes for his self confidence, but many do not just love him for that. Many love that he is willing to do whatever it takes, especially violence, to protect both his family's lives and their dignities. He has been doing things like this even before Viserys became king. It is Viserys who troubles their relationship by causing Mysaria's miscarriage in canon.
And there is absolutely no indication that either Rhaenyra or her kids feared him while she was married to him in their years on Dragonstone together. But in HotD, his relationship with Rhaenyra apparently has physical abuse?! Daemon fucks Rhaenyra trying to get close to his brother?!
Keeping that in mind, as it is beyond obvious that Aemond and Daemon are thematic rivals (I already explain how in the linked post above), Condal makes Aemond the "better" person. Therefore, Aemond must and will come out looking like a victim and a "better person" next season. And apparently because these relationships hinge on the man's psychological state more than anything, their relationships will reflect the man's inner woes.
Daemyra is a relationship of wounded envy and little to no communication, a high chemistry non love posing as real love in HotD. AlysxAemond will be one of repressed angst, manipulation, and guilt, another non love but this time the war prize element will hammer in how boys can't be abusers of adults but Aemond is "just trying his best". Daemyra will spiral, falter, and disintegrate with Daemon's increasing violence corresponding to his growing frustrations with Rhaenyra's increasing paranoia. Feelings of betrayal will be presented from both characters -- Daemon wondering where her trust has gone after years of him proving it to her, and Rhaenyra just from feeling him grow more and more distant (hinted at with Daemon not being there when she lost Visenya).
#asoiaf asks to me#hotd comment#hotd predictions#rhaenyra and daemon#alys and aemond#alys rivers' characterization#alys rivers#aemond targaryen#daemon targayren#rhaenyra targaryen#hotd characterization#asoiaf#hotd
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Flames of Deceit
Summary: Aemond and Visenya reunite amidst the Dance of the Dragons.
Words: 13,005
Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x OC, Cregan Stark x OC, Alyn Velaryon x OC
Warnings: canon-typical incest (Aemond and Visenya are cousins, as well as uncle and niece), book and show spoilers, Westerosi geopolitics, mentions of imperialism and slavery, canon-typical violence, war, blood and gore, fire and burning, mass death, mention of amputation, mentions of torture and captivity, mentions and threats of execution and physical harm, mentions of poverty and starvation, parental neglect, food and eating, alcohol and drinking, sexism, victim blaming, slut-shaming, ableist language, explicit language, nudity, smut (vaginal sex in flashbacks), unresolved sexual tension, grief/mourning, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, survivor guilt, mutual pining, emotional/psychological abuse, verbal abuse, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, and death in childbirth, mentions of child/infant death, mentions of infidelity. If I missed any warnings, please let me know! Under no circumstances can you copy, plagiarize, steal my work, or post it somewhere else!
Notes: This totally didn’t take me almost 7 months to write. Cregan Stark is the protagonist of Fire & Blood. Rise, Cregan nation. My OC Visenya is Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s daughter, and Jace’s older twin. Superfecundation, baby. Visenya and Jace are born in 111 AC, not 114 AC. The Battle in the Gullet still occurs in 130 AC, soon after the events of this one-shot. Reblogs and comments are encouraged and immensely appreciated. If this does well, I’ll post a reader version.
Credits: Huge thank you to my betas @maharani-radha-writes 💛 @aereth 💖 and @revolution-starter 🩶, and to @haystack-boy @lavendertales @buttercup--bee @agirllovespancakes and @oloreaa for their constant patience and support. It means a lot, and I’m immensely grateful. Apart from my OC Visenya, all characters belong to George R.R. Martin. Gif by @aemondtargaryensource (x)
Ao3 | Masterlist
EARLY 130 AC
HARRENHAL, THE RIVERLANDS
The sheer immensity of Harrenhal had provoked dizziness in Visenya. She had heard the story innumerable times. For four decades, King Harren Hoare had built greedily and obsessively, sacrificing thousands of slaves, and beggaring the riverlands and the Iron Islands. The indestructible construction had been no match for Balerion, whose fire had consumed the tyrant and his sons inside it, ending their line. Most Westerosi believed that the phantoms of the Hoares wandered the castle halls. The fortress is costly to maintain, and it devours its possessors. Qoherys, Harroway, Towers… All extinct. Whether cursed or not, Harrenhal remained a strategic location – the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms.
The current castellan – and Larys Clubfoot’s great-uncle – Ser Simon Strong had recently surrendered Harrenhal to Daemon Targaryen. The presence of Caraxes might have contributed to his hasty decision. Following the victory at the Burning Mill and the subsequent submission of Stone Hedge – terminating Green strength in the riverlands – Queen Rhaenyra’s allies had commenced their gathering at Harrenhal, in accordance with the Prince Consort’s stratagem.
Visenya had departed Dragonstone on the same night that Daemon had summoned her, having been granted safe passage by the Velaryon ships patrolling the Gullet. At the outbreak of the war, the Sea Snake’s fleet had closed off Blackwater Bay, choking trade to and from the capital.
As soon as she had dismounted her dragon in the castle yard, she had sensed the eerie ambience that had haunted Harrenhal’s colossal curtain walls and fissured, melted towers. Formidable and dreadful. Harren’s monument and tomb. Blackwing had responded to Caraxes’ fervent shriek with her own, flapping her wings at him. Happy to be reunited.
Her father had offered her a warm welcome and a tight embrace, had even insisted that she sit on his war council, wherein she had befriended Alysanne Blackwood, whom she had grown quite fond of.
At last, Visenya had thought, on the morning that Daemon had sent for her. Though she loved him dearly, her father hadn’t invited her there because he had missed his daughter. Visenya had met with Daemon alone, in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths – she had counted thirty-five – grander than the throne room in King’s Landing, the discolored ceiling looming loftily above them. Her father had donned his chain mail over his crimson tunic.
Does he sleep in that? Or am I the threat?
‘Ser Crispin and the Kinslayer are marching on Harrenhal,’ Daemon had informed her, instead of “good morrow”, pressing a rolled parchment into her palm, ‘They mean to join forces with the Lannisters’, at Stoney Sept.’
Her heart had jolted at the mere mention of his title. Aemond… At the Usurper’s farce of a coronation that the Hightowers had compelled her to attend – dressed in green – Visenya had kissed him farewell, forsaking any glimmer of hope for a future with him. I have demonstrated where my loyalties lie. I have chosen my family.
Her lilac eyes had skimmed over the scrawled message on the sheepskin, the wax sigil foreign to her. The White Worm?
‘You are strangely poised,’ Visenya had observed, suspicious, studying her father’s amused expression.
‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ he had confirmed, smirking wickedly, curling his hand around the hilt of sheathed Dark Sister. Another one of his traps… and he’s pulling me into it. Daemon had gently cradled her cheek, purring, ‘I have a mission for you, sweetling.’
EARLY 130 AC
STONEY SEPT, THE RIVERLANDS
Her host had encamped half a day’s ride from the town, with sufficient provisions for a fortnight. The arduous advance and the muddy soil had wearied men and horses alike, so Visenya had relied on the Greens’ tardiness to provide the respite that they had needed.
Her dragon had brazenly exploited that ploy – napping during the day and hunting at night, increasing the risk of being discovered. Surpassed by Vhagar in age and size, Blackwing had never been ridden before a seven-year-old Visenya had claimed her. They shared a temper, a wildness, and a fierce devotion to each other. My twin in dragon flesh, Jace would jest.
‘You have become too spoiled,’ she had reproved, affectionately, tapping Blackwing’s dark scales, heated to the touch.
The beast had objected, idly, releasing a guttural noise, smoke rising from its nostrils.
For five days, her scouts had reported nothing of enemy activity. Her anxieties had continued to fester and to gnaw at her. What if I fail? What if I die? I would condemn my people in vain. And Aemond… What am I to do about him?
On the sixth day, they had burst into her tent, blurting that the Greens had arrived at Stoney Sept. The maester had quickly dispatched a raven to Prince Daemon, at Harrenhal.
‘We attack at dawn,’ Visenya had declared, resolute.
I’ll do my best, father.
The fray had been gruesome, stretching for hours upon hours. A thick mist had settled over the Blackwater Rush, impairing visibility. Visenya had been the surprise element, concealing herself to deceive her foes, and striking unexpectedly, in the midst of battle. She had flown on her daunting Blackwing, laying waste to men and reserves indiscriminately, amongst the sounds of steel clashing with steel, shields splintering, arrows whistling, and soldiers screaming as they fought, suffered wounds, and perished. Hundreds of Greens had been engulfed in her dragon’s flames.
Aemond had been slow to deter the princess. Afraid to face me? Visenya and Blackwing had used the fog to their advantage, climbing higher and higher into the sky – the Kinslayer chasing after them on hoary Vhagar.
‘Dracarys!’, she had ordered, and Blackwing had descended on Vhagar, unleashing a cloud of fire that had only incensed the latter.
The dragons had spun, locked in a vicious struggle of claws and fangs, wings thrashing, until Aemond had suddenly swiveled Vhagar, slamming her into Blackwing. Their deafening roars had pierced the air. The collision had knocked Visenya from her saddle – the searing flames licking at her arm – and had sent her plummeting towards the Blackwater below. Having crashed into the Rush, she had surfaced seconds later, her hefty armor and the river’s currents hindering her endeavors to stay afloat. Visenya had looked up, able to distinguish a faint form lunging at another – the beasts’ screeches reverberating far above.
Blackwing will not be coming to my rescue.
Her tribulations hadn’t stopped there. A glimpse at the golden dragon banner of the Pretender, and she had realised that the currents had pushed her in the wrong direction… too late. She had already been spotted by the scouts on the shore, who had alerted their captain. They had aimed their crossbows at her, waiting for the Blackwater to present her to them on a silver platter. I think not.
Visenya had bitten into the hand of the man who had dragged her out of the water, then she had tossed him into the Rush.
‘Cunt!’, the next attacker had bellowed, charging at her.
Slowed down by her injuries, her movements had been clumsy. Visenya had ducked under his first blow, stumbling to retain her balance. She had unsheathed her sword to parry his second blow, and had driven her blade through his breastplate. She had slashed a guard’s belly, his entrails spilling out. A soldier’s glove had caught her weapon, yanking it from her grasp. Disoriented by a swift welt to the side of her head, Visenya had been tackled to the ground – the impact rendering her breathless. Two fists had savagely pummeled her face, again and again and again – a massive weight crushing her. She had desperately fumbled for her scabbard, had withdrawn her dagger, and had slit her aggressor’s throat. Hot blood had spurted out, blinding her. She had been hoisted to her feet, her dirk wrenched away. Howling with rage and frustration, Visenya had scratched at the man’s eyes with her nails, had kneed another in the groin, and had torn off an archer’s ear with her teeth.
Alas, she had been one enfeebled person against all of the odds… and a dozen Greens. Her apprehension had been inevitable.
The capture of the commander had prompted the capitulation of her army. Visenya had been delivered to Ser Crispin in chains, covered in blood, dirt, and grass, braids disheveled, dragonscale armor soaked, body aching, left arm throbbing. I will not quail. Those traitors will receive no such satisfaction from me.
Attired in the white garments of the Kingsguard, Ser Crispin had been the living depiction of virtue and chivalry. Lickspittle. He had immediately discarded courtesy, referring to her as a “bitch in dragon’s clothing.” In retaliation, Visenya had dubbed him a “sheep in sheep’s clothing”, earning herself a cuff across the face from his steeled gauntlet. Blood had flooded her mouth, her cheek stinging sharply.
Ser Crispin had further commented that her men had been rather committed to her, alluding that she had fucked them to obtain their service. Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.
‘It’s not as high of an honor as warming the Dowager Queen’s bed,’ Visenya had admitted, slyly, and had spat on his boots, ‘Hand of the Usurper. Does he wipe his ass with you?’
Crispin would have hit her again, had the Prince Regent not intervened. Wary, she had surveyed her surroundings for Vhagar – not in evidence. I might wind up her supper.
‘Enough, Cole,’ Aemond had interrupted, solemn, causing Visenya to tense, drawing their attention to where he had been standing, imposing, smeared with ashes and smoke, ‘She may be our prisoner, but she is still a princess, and shall be treated as befits her station.’
Any shred of scorn had abandoned her, ousted by fear and uncertainty. Her father had foreseen this. If you bend, you will break. Remember who you are. She had inhaled deeply, striving to even her respiration. I am the blood of the dragon, daughter of Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, and heir to the Iron Throne. I will not cringe for them.
Aemond had instructed the maids to prepare her a bath and a warm meal, and to fetch her dry clothes. Visenya had grinned, baring her bloody teeth at Ser Crispin, as the guards had led her away. She had been escorted along the smoldering ruins of houses, inns, and brothels, trampling charred corpses – mindful of her step. Carrion crows had circled above, the timid sun peeking from grey clouds. The foul, stifling stench had twisted her stomach, tears needling her eyes. Mine and Aemond’s handiwork. Only the sept, the square, and the trout-shaped fountain had remained intact. When dragons flew to war, everything burned, her mother had warned at the Black Council. What have the people of Stoney Sept done to merit this devastation? What power do they have over their lives? We play our grisly game of thrones, and the commonfolk bear the immeasurable cost.
The encampment had spread interminably – miles of pavilions, armories, forges, stables, latrines, wagons, and baggage trains – crawling with Greens cussing, mocking, and shouting at captives, pages distributing letters, squires polishing armor, honing weapons, feeding, watering, and combing horses, patrols walking to their posts, smiths hammering boisterously, cooks chopping vegetables, skinning rabbits, disemboweling deer, and roasting boars, giggling washerwomen hurrying by, and maesters ministering to the wounded. The turmoil had imbued Visenya’s senses. Mesmerised, she had watched a wailing, writhing man have his leg amputated, until one of her assigned guardians had shoved her forward.
She had assumed that Blackwing had flown away… but, having escaped the battle unscathed, and always loyal to a fault, her dragon had landed in the enemy’s camp, razing barracks and roaring ferociously, seeking its rider. After it had mauled the Greens who had attempted to approach it and shackle it, Aemond had begrudgingly permitted Visenya to comfort her feral companion. Blackwing had nuzzled its snout against her, coiling its tail around her, protectively, while Visenya had murmured “lykirī”, caressing its scales – her taut restraints impeding the action. Her chest had constricted agonisingly when the traitors had forcibly separated them. I will return for you, I promise.
She had been ushered into a vacated chamber, where the maids had obediently unchained her wrists, had removed her armor, had unbraided her hair, and had helped her undress for her bath, evading her glare and her nakedness – scarcely addressing her. What grim tales have they been told about me? Under the ewerers’ supervision, Visenya had washed herself – her uninjured arm vigorously scrubbing her skin with a bar of soap – and had dried off on her own, using cloths and rags. They have taken away my gear. Her indignation dwindling, she had slipped on the plain shirt, brown breeches, pelts, and a pair of flat shoes that they had brought her – tucking her salvaged brooch in her pocket. Is this meant to humble me?
She had sluggishly eaten her bland yet nourishing food, on a bench, by a candle, goggled at by blushing serving lads.
Aemond had summoned her to his tent, along with the maesters, who had cleansed her burns, had applied a poultice that had reeked of lavender and vinegar, had bandaged her arm, and had rubbed balms on her cuts, bruises, and split lip. Visenya had endured their ministrations in utter silence, grinding her teeth and clenching her fists. She and Aemond hadn’t exchanged a single word.
The pavilion had been modest for the Prince Regent, consisting of a firepit, an oaken war table – stripped of its tomes, maps, scrolls, ink, and wax – chairs, rugs, and a featherbed, with books scattered atop it. The colors red and black dominated the tent of a proud and eminent Green, who carried the golden banner of the Pretender. Aemond cannot deny his Targaryen heritage. Had Otto Hightower dyed his locks silver-white and ridden a dragon, he could have sat his ass on the Iron Throne and ruled in his own name. Instead, he urged the King to make my mother his heir, coerced his daughter to seduce him, and installed his grandson on the throne. Puppets upon puppets, plots within plots.
With the maesters dismissed, Visenya finally had the opportunity to regard Aemond. He hadn’t changed much since she had last seen him, at his brother’s false coronation. In the fire’s light, he had been a sight to behold; the flames illuminating his attractive, distinctive features, his mouth seemingly lodged in a permanent smirk, his eyepatch obscuring his missing eye, his tresses cascading down his back. Aemond had cleaned himself up, shedding his armor – now resting on a rack – for his usual black leather tunic, fastened with a belt that had his sheathed dagger attached to it, and a lengthy coat sewn with fur around the neck. He cast a tall shadow in the pavilion, his posture impeccable. Half dragon, half feline.
‘There’s a lack of dresses,’ informs Aemond, obdurately calm, retrieving a flagon of wine and two cups from the servant at the tent’s entrance, ‘And we had to find clothes that would suit you.’
‘I gather that there’s some poor stable boy currently running around naked,’ quips Visenya, tugging the pelts around herself.
Aemond huffs through his nose, amused, and sets one of the goblets on the table, proceeding to fill it with Arbor Red for her. The war evidently hasn’t affected the Usurper’s notorious love of drinking. Lord Redwyne smelled profit, and pledged his support to the Greens, to ensure that their wine supply never dries. An onerous task. The Pretender has ample ambition in that respect.
‘Don’t fret,’ assures Aemond, upon heeding Visenya’s skeptical, arched eyebrow, ‘It’s not poisoned.’
‘Surely someone spat in it,’ she guesses, convivial, swirling the liquid in her cup.
Aemond smiles, drinking his wine. Visenya tentatively lifts her goblet to her lips, and sips. Delectable flavors invade her mouth, soothing her nerves – albeit a little. She mulls over her next words… half carefully.
‘I reckoned that you and Ser Crispin would share a pavilion,’ she confides, lewdly, crossing one leg over the other, ‘Though your prides would not fit together.’
Aemond’s gaze darkens, his mouth subtly pressing into a thin line. His disposition could make Mushroom miserable... and it has.
‘You could lose your tongue for such insolence,’ he cautions, sternly.
‘What’s new?’, suspires an indifferent Visenya, ‘I can write this down as well.’ She pauses to take a swig, then demands, bluntly, ‘Where is Blackwing? And my men?’
‘The dragonkeepers are tending her,’ explains Aemond, irritation in his tone, leaving his empty cup on the table, ‘Your men are being questioned.’
Good fortune. They know nothing. The laughter and singing outside contradict Aemond’s claim. Drunk on victory. A weakness that she could later exploit. If I could reach Blackwing… lest they harm her.
‘Blackwing was your companion prior to Vhagar,’ she mentions, heatedly, flexing and unflexing her hand, ‘If you touch her–’
‘You are in no position to launch threats, Visenya,’ chastises Aemond, coldly, prodding at the logs with a poker, the wood crackling in the fire, ‘Your treatment depends on my good will. As does your fate. You have my word that Blackwing will not be harmed.’
‘The word of a kinslayer,’ spits Visenya, venomously, eyes darting to him, ‘If you are under the impression that minor acts of benevolence shall convince me to talk, you are gravely mistaken. You overestimate my family’s trust in me.’
‘They trusted you enough to put you in command of an army four thousand strong,’ reminds an earnest Aemond, ‘And you expect me to believe that you have no knowledge of your twin’s whereabouts?’
I wouldn’t trade Jace for the Iron Throne. ‘We shared a womb, not a brain,’ she corrects, tracing the rim of her goblet with her digits, contemplating refilling it. I need my wits about me. ‘You are wasting your time, nuncle. Mine, too. Fetch your torturers, and be done with all this bother.’
‘I will do no such thing,’ he rebuffs, inclining his head.
‘You will torture me yourself?’, asks Visenya, feigning innocence, brushing her loose silver-white hair over her shoulders.
‘You are being difficult, Visenya,’ he accuses, exasperated.
‘What do you intend to do with me?’, she interjects, involuntarily fiddling with her absent rings, ‘Executing me would be unwise. I presume that you will have my dragon killed, and me delivered to King’s Landing, where your usurper of a brother awaits, warming my mother’s rightful seat… or is he still broken and bedridden, lost in poppy dreams?’
‘Mind your tongue, Visenya,’ warns Aemond, louring at her, melting some of her resolve.
‘The Clubfoot will probably throw me in a cell and dispatch his floggers to visit me,’ she concludes, scratching her thigh. Stable boy must have had fleas.
‘I’m not sending you to King’s Landing,’ announces Aemond, with apparent mirth towards her gesture.
‘You will ransom me to my father?’, taunts Visenya, smirking wickedly, ‘He’s the poorest man in the Seven Kingdoms.’ Aemond’s demeanor refutes her insinuation. She continues, all semblance of jest vanishing, ‘You cannot justify keeping me here. Once the Pretender learns about my capture, he will order you to send me to King’s Landing.’
‘Aegon does not concern me,’ he grumbles, clasping his hands behind his back.
‘Pār ivestragī nyke jikagon,’ she advises, coyly. Aemond hums, musing, a glimmer in his eye that doesn’t indicate outright negation. ‘We are at war, and you allow your feelings to cloud your judgment?’ (Then let me go.)
‘Iksi daor rȳ vīlībāzma,’ argues a mild Aemond. (We are not at war.)
So, you did not slaughter Luke? That’s a consolation. ‘Iksis bona skoro syt emā daor ossēntan nyke?’, inquires Visenya, masking her anger. (Is that why you have not killed me?)
‘Killing you would be as imprudent as freeing you,’ he reasons, purposely oblivious, ‘You are worth more alive than you are dead. You lost a fair battle, you surrendered, and now you are my prisoner.’
‘I’ve heard stories about how you and Ser Crispin treat your prisoners,’ she disputes, mordant, ‘And I never yielded. You ride the largest dragon in the world. That’s hardly a fair match.’
Cole and the Usurper’s forces had sacked the port town of Duskendale, putting the ships at the harbor to the torch, hundreds of men, women, and children to the sword, and beheading Lord Gunthor Darklyn for supporting her mother’s cause. Hundreds more had been massacred at Rook’s Rest, where Lord Staunton, too, had been relieved of his head. Besieged by the Greens, he had barricaded himself inside his castle walls, and had requested assistance from the Blacks. With Prince Daemon at Harrenhal, and Queen Rhaenyra griefsick in the aftermath of her son’s murder, command of the Black Council had passed to the Velaryons. Rhaenyra had forbidden her children from answering their ally’s plea, so Princess Rhaenys had flown to Rook’s Rest instead. She and Meleys had fallen in battle against the Pretender, the Kinslayer, and their dragons. Sunfyre had been rendered flightless, the Usurper had suffered severe burns, and Aemond had assumed the title of Prince Regent – to rule in lieu of his older brother.
Visenya’s side hadn’t fared any greater. A wroth Sea Snake had blamed Rhaenyra for his wife’s demise. Jace had named him Hand of the Queen, to appease him – a measure that Visenya had commended. Better than Ser Crispin.
‘You ambushed us,’ reiterates Aemond, incredulous, ‘We would have presented you with terms, to avoid bloodshed.’
Oh, please. You don’t believe that. ‘Fuck your terms,’ curses Visenya, waving dismissively, ‘I suppose that being twice a kinslayer would have marred the carcass of your reputation.’
‘I spared your life,’ he chides, vaguely baleful.
‘A clemency that you did not extend to my brother,’ she sneers, bilious, her nails digging into the table’s surface.
‘Half-brother,’ deadpans Aemond, promptly.
‘If you had to slay your own kin, personally, I would have picked your dear brother, the Pretender,’ proffers Visenya, honeyed.
‘Perhaps you should have killed him,’ he retorts, untroubled, ‘You had your chance.’
Her family had gone to King’s Landing for the Driftmark petition, where her father had created a ghastly spectacle – publicly beheading Vaemond Velaryon for defaming her mother and her brothers. The Targaryen method of solving quarrels. Viserys himself had sat the throne, and had favored Luke as the heir to Driftmark – adhering to the Sea Snake’s wishes.
Due to his declining health, the King had been the first to retire during the subsequent supper that they had all attended. Visenya hadn’t been surprised by his condition; she had frequented the capital, unlike her parents and her siblings. The gathering had soon turned disastrous. Jace had invited Helaena to dance with him – offending Aegon and Aemond. She is so sweet. Alicent had been evil to marry her off to that cunting demon. None of them deserve her. Visenya herself had danced with Daeron, grinning the entire time. We had once been engaged... I could have loved him. He would have been a dutiful Prince Consort and a doting father to our children. Aemond had toasted to her Velaryon brothers, referring to them as “strong.” Fighting had erupted betwixt her siblings and her uncles, and her father had intervened to break them apart.
That evening, her family had sailed for Dragonstone, but Aemond had insisted that she stay in King’s Landing with him. Against her better judgment, Visenya had accepted. She ponders whether it had been a ploy of the Greens to take her hostage, and Aemond had simply played his part. Her grandsire had tragically expired overnight – poisoned by the Hightowers, according to her father. Visenya isn’t so certain. He hadn’t required meddling. He had been rotting for decades.
On the morrow, the Greens had locked her in her chambers. Visenya had refused to swear obeisance to Aegon – had even spat in his face – and to bow at his false coronation. Blackwing and the Princess Rhaenys had come to her rescue – emerging from underneath the Dragonpit on Meleys. Visenya had mounted her dragon, and had addressed the crowd, her voice clear and fierce, laced with fury.
“People of King’s Landing! The Hand and the Dowager Queen deceive you. King Viserys named my mother the Princess Rhaenyra heir to the throne. For twenty-four years, the succession remained indisputable and unchanged. Rhaenyra is the rightful and lawful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By crowning Aegon, the Hightowers have committed the highest of treasons and have usurped the Iron Throne, violating the King’s will. Aegon shall show you neither kindness nor wisdom. Remember today. Remember that you lived by the mercy of Rhaenys the Queen Who Should Have Been and myself. If the Hightowers do not cease in their treachery and do not bend the knee, I vow to return with fire and blood!”
Blackwing had roared so intensely that the Conqueror’s crown had been hurled from the Pretender’s head.
Aemond has the right of it. We could have bathed Aegon in flame, quelled their rebellion then and there.
On Dragonstone, the news of Viserys’ death and the Hightowers’ betrayal had driven her mother into an early labor. Her father had descended into madness, determined to levy war. Their losses had continuously piled… and the Seven Kingdoms would bear the cost.
‘I am no kinslayer,’ snarls Visenya, slighted by the idea, tearing her gaze away from Aemond.
‘I made you a generous offer that would have foiled the war,’ he broaches, the grievous memory still raw for him.
Oh, how could I have displayed such ingratitude? She wouldn’t describe his proposal to marry him and rule together as “generous.” It had been an odious humiliation. Aegon – who had not wanted the throne, declaring himself “unsuited” – would have embarked upon a ship and departed Westeros permanently. The Iron Throne is not his to relinquish. Visenya knows that Aemond has no love for his father, but asking her to usurp her mother’s throne? An audacious affront. She had vehemently spurned him, and they had traded sour words – their prides injured.
‘Our families would have started a war to kill us for it,’ drones Visenya, flatly, ‘And what of my parents? They would have never abided by your… solution.’
‘They have no consideration for your happiness and welfare, yet you still toil in their service,’ observes Aemond, provocatively.
‘And you have?!’, she opposes, her fist slamming on the table, ‘You conspired to usurp the throne and slaughtered my brother, the Princess Rhaenys, and their dragons. You are in no position to launch accusations.’
‘Even now, you feel compelled to defend them,’ he comments, dejected.
‘Lucerys was my blood!’, snaps Visenya, wrathful, standing from her seat and storming up towards him – stopping a couple of feet in front of him.
‘As am I!’, booms Aemond, towering over her, ‘And you have never defended me half as much as you did him! He took my eye when I was but ten, and to even that the imp felt entitled, while you gladly dismissed it as an accident and moved on!’
Outside, Blackwing and Vhagar grow agitated, shrieking and flitting their wings, stirring the wind. It seemed to Visenya that Aemond had often been harsher on her than he had been on Lucerys. He loves me… or he used to.
‘It was an accident,’ she maintains, tamer, ‘We were children. Our parents mishandled everything. I’ve told you numerous times that I profoundly regret what happened to you. It’s the truth. I cannot undo Luke’s actions.’
It’s been ten years since then, and forgetting the incident has been impossible. Aemond wears the consequences of it on his face, in his daily life. Our unease at the sight of his gash is a small price to pay.
He had delivered several blows – and had broken Luke’s nose – afore he had been overwhelmed by all five of her siblings, and Lucerys had slashed one of his eyes. Visenya’s absence from the fight had spared her from the interrogation, wherein Rhaenyra had suggested that Aemond be “sharply questioned”, Alicent Hightower had demanded Luke’s eye to compensate for Aemond’s, and Viserys had been eager to abandon his conciliatory obligation. The discord had exposed the personal feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent – their rhetoric diverting from “vile insults were levied against my sons” and “my son has lost an eye” to “duty and sacrifice are trampled under your pretty foot” and “you have been hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness.” The Queen had gone so far as to attack the Princess – slitting her arm with the King’s dagger.
Visenya hadn’t spoken at all – displeasing Aemond and her siblings. To her, matters hadn’t been so absolute. Although Aemond had claimed Vhagar too soon – disrespecting Laena Velaryon’s memory – his assault and maiming had been unwarranted. I love Rhaena dearly, but Vhagar was not stolen. The dragon never belonged to her. Aemond and Vhagar chose each other. Visenya had later communicated her opinions to him, and she had reassured her sister that she would have a dragon.
The next morning, the Targaryens and the Hightowers had exchanged false courtesies and falser apologies. Her family’s exile to Dragonstone hadn’t prevented Visenya from writing letters to Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, or from flying on Blackwing to visit them in King’s Landing.
Alas, the bloody seeds of strife had been sown.
‘No, you cannot,’ concurs Aemond, glancing at her lips, ‘No one can. That is why I sought justice for myself.’
‘Justice?’, echoes Visenya, disdainful, her glare piercing, ‘Had you had your other eye, you would still be as blind as you are now.’
Aemond growls, lashing out and grabbing her roughly, their lower bodies pressing together. Visenya glowers at him defiantly, placing her hands on his breast, to preserve some distance betwixt their upper bodies. The effort shoots a jolt of pain along her arm.
If he meant to scare her, he failed. Aemond would not harm me.
‘Hold your tongue, Visenya,’ he exhorts, through gritted teeth.
‘Or what?’, she challenges, her face inching closer to his, ‘You will have it removed? You will butcher me as you did my brother?’
‘You are brazen, to speak of your half-brother, of my wrongdoings and my crimes,’ berates Aemond, his jaw clenching, ‘What of your family? What of my nephew Jaehaerys?... Iā tresy syt iā tresy. Nyke gīmigon īles aōha kepa.’ (A son for a son. I know it was your father.)
Aware of what Aemond alluded to, Visenya hesitates, her response withering on her tongue.
After the tragedy at Storm’s End, a raven from her father had arrived at Dragonstone. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged. She had deduced that Daemon had hired the assassins who had executed Prince Jaehaerys – the Usurper’s six-year-old heir – with Alicent, Helaena, and the latter’s other children as witnesses. Visenya had confronted him about his heinous deed at Harrenhal. Undaunted, her father had firmly admonished that the “pious one-eyed flea of a traitor who slobbers over you” had slain her brother.
In retaliation for Jaehaerys, the Pretender had sent Ser Arryk Cargyll to Dragonstone, to assassinate Jace and Joffrey. The knight had entered the castle in his Kingsguard attire, disguised as his twin Ser Erryk – Queen Rhaenyra’s loyalist – whom he had encountered on his way to the royal apartments. By the conclusion of their duel, the two had mortally wounded one another.
I owe the Hightowers nothing, least of all my sympathy. Children should not be the target of our ire. How do we differ from the Greens if we perpetrate and perpetuate the same crimes that they do?
‘Nyke ēdan daorun naejot gaomagon rūsīr bona,’ clarifies Visenya, sincerely, albeit faintly. (I had nothing to do with that.)
‘No, you are merely the spectator,’ scoffs Aemond, haughty, ‘Proudly passing judgment while others bloody their hands. You are passive. Passive in your beliefs, your guilt, your love.’
Visenya blinks against the tears that prick her eyes, her breath hitched. His cruel and bitter words cut deeply, rooted in years of grievances, enmities, neglect, and abuse. Aemond had once been a sweet, innocent boy – her closest friend, her betrothed. He’s the product of his conditions, his upbringing, and his parents’ influence… as am I. Both confined in a prison of our parents’ sins. Perhaps we inevitably inherit the burdens of our forebears.
Though Visenya may not be the sole reason for his resentment, she is present. Aemond hadn’t blamed her for her family’s actions. He condemned her for not loving him enough. That is unfair. I’m not culpable of that.
A consuming poison has been dribbling inside of her, on the verge of gushing. Visenya has strayed too near to the edge – now wavering, uncertain whether she wishes to tread the line and unravel the truth. That is not why I am here...
... but her decision has already been established.
The truth is important to me.
Summoning her courage, Visenya reaches behind Aemond’s head to peel off his eyepatch, lifting the veil between them. I need to see him, so that he cannot deceive me. She tosses the item aside, neither shrinking nor averting her gaze. She caresses his face, drinking him in – his scar, the sapphire in his eye socket, the flesh that had healed crookedly. Aemond tenses, watching her intently, his respiration ragged. His grip on her slackens.
‘Gōntan ao ossēnagon zirȳla kesrio syt hen issa?’, murmurs Visenya, circling his wrists, impeding his retreat. (Did you kill him because of me?)
At the Black Council, Jace and Luke had offered to act as their mother’s messengers, to acquire support for her claim. The twins had been tasked with the difficult mission – negotiating with the Eyrie, the Three Sisters, White Harbor, and Winterfell. Lady Jeyne Arryn would declare for Rhaenyra if dragonriders defended the Vale. Jace and Visenya had met with Lords Borrell and Sunderland at Sisterton, and at White Harbor, they had arranged for Joffrey to marry Lord Desmond Manderly’s youngest daughter.
The news of Luke’s death had accosted them in the Vale. Visenya had collapsed in Jace’s arms, wailing as her twin had embraced her tightly. She had agonised over her brother’s demise every night, plagued by what she could have done to save him, weeping into a tumultuous sleep. Visenya had never listened to the rumors and the gossip. Lucerys had been her family, her brother, her blood. I fed him, bathed him, read to him, sparred with him, played with him… yet I could not protect him from Aemond.
She possesses little knowledge of what had occurred betwixt Luke and Aemond at Storm’s End. The weather had been atrocious, her brother’s dragon too small to withstand it. In the following days, bits of Arrax’s carcass had washed up on the shore of Shipbreaker’s Bay. Luke had never been recovered. He may have died a dragonrider’s death, but he had died alone and afraid. Had his demise been slow and painful, or swift and painless? Her brother had sworn on the Seven-Pointed Star that he would not fight – merely deliver the Queen’s message. Aemond had taken no such oath. Had Visenya known, she would have held on to Luke and besought him not to go.
If I had flown to Storm’s End in his stead, Aemond could have slain me, and my brother would still be alive.
‘Daor,’ whispers Aemond, at last. (No.)
Visenya stifles a sob, tears escaping her eyes, dampening his thumbs. She foolishly believed that her grief would wane. His confession barely scrapes the surface. Visenya feels no relief, no closure. Has she been on an erroneous campaign to absolve herself of any responsibility, to alleviate her own conscience, and to forgive Aemond – chasing these ends to the detriment of Luke’s memory? If I wanted to bring justice to my brother, I would have slit his killer’s throat and let him bleed out on the ground.
When Aemond succumbs and pulls her into him, Visenya doesn’t resist. The buckles of his tunic are cold and rough against her cheek, contrasting the warmth that he radiates. She releases the exhale that she has been withholding. Her greatest flaw rears its hideous head – a flaw that has sown division amongst her family and has rendered her an outcast. Visenya had suffered for her refusal to forsake her friendship with Aemond, enduring disapproving scowls from her parents, mean jests and malicious accusations from her siblings, and a lack of compassion – all serving to remind her of her tenuous position.
Her proximity to Aemond had even prompted her mother to spurn her as her heir – arguing that he would undermine her as Queen. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. I am the eldest child. By all rights, the throne should pass to me.
Shoving those thoughts away, Visenya clutches his sides, sobs wracking her body. Aemond timidly buries his mouth in her locks, breathing in her scent.
‘Daor,’ he repeats, definitively, cradling the back of her head. (No.)
The remainder of her defenses crumble. Visenya loathes that she errs, that she seeks and welcomes comfort from the man who is the source of her sorrow. With the realm plunged into war after Lucerys’ death, there has been no time to mourn – not for her grandsire Viserys, nor her sister Aemma, nor her brother Luke.
An unavoidable war. We are Valyrian, and prone to violence. A testament to power corruption. Prior to the blood magic, the dragons, and the conquests, Valyrians had been a peaceful community of shepherds. They had become increasingly tyrannical and ambitious as their power had soared. The peak of our Freehold… and its ruin. Forewarned about the Doom by Daenys Targaryen’s prophetic dream, her forebears had fled to Dragonstone – a venture that the other, unsuspecting dragonlords had considered cowardice and had ridiculed. We had the last laugh.
Targaryens have always been stubborn, passionate, fierce. Visenya is no exception. Despite their families’ hopes and despite his crimes, her love for Aemond hasn’t dwindled. Their bond is too strong, their souls and fates entwined. I am the blood of the dragon. Nobody dictates whom I love.
And love is seldom simple.
Aemond brushes his lips over her temple, causing her skin to tingle. Visenya lifts her eyes to meet his, and recognises the same ache and longing that lay dormant inside her. Affection blooms in her chest. She could stop this from flourishing, spare them both the misery. As children, they had found solace in each other’s company whenever their families had been the reason for their anguish, so they had promised to never hurt one another.
A part of Visenya still yearns to love Aemond freely. Must her logic always be at odds with her emotions? The only man that I have ever desired, and I have been deprived of him my entire life. I have never been in control. The forbidden aspect merely furthers the appeal of the dalliance. She wants to surrender to the temptation, repercussions be damned.
Visenya traces his mouth with her fingertips, reverently, and strokes his face – recommitting it to memory. Aemond leans into her touch, reveling in the gesture, his respiration shallow. The tips of their noses graze against each other. He wipes her tears before his digits fall on the sides of her neck, feeling her quickening pulse under the pads of his fingers. Aemond’s eye gleams with lust, igniting the same blaze within her. She peers at him from underneath her lashes, drowning in the depths of his blue eye. A shiver runs down her spine. Her lips tremble in suspense, the proximity making her dizzy.
Aemond dips his head to capture her mouth in a tentative kiss. Visenya surges upwards to reciprocate, inhaling sharply through her nose, eyes slipping shut. Their lips mold together, their flame rekindled. His large, calloused hands grip her jaw, to guide her. She splays her hands over his chest, fisting the lapels of his coat, desperate to draw him closer. Visenya parts her lips, granting him entrance, tasting the lingering flavor of the wine that they had shared earlier. A familiar ardor seeps into her belly, immersing her body. Her fire has burned quietly for too long. Now, it has stirred again, emboldened to emerge.
Aemond sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, splitting it and sucking the blood, famished. Visenya groans, her breath blowing the loose strands of hair that cover his forehead. Her knees weaken, and she grasps his shoulders for support, grateful that he wraps his arm around her middle. Her pelts land on the floor. Aemond steps forward, backing her into the table, and hoists her on it impetuously.
Aemond kindly adjusts his belt, to remove the dagger betwixt them. The irony isn’t lost on Visenya. She spreads her legs, inviting, allowing him to settle between them. He sprawls over her, caging her in, his heavy weight almost crushing her against the table’s rigid, uncomfortable surface. His silky hair cascades around her head, framing his face, conferring a strange sense of privacy. Visenya peppers delicate pecks over his chin, continuing along his jaw, her digits prodding at his smooth neck.
She fervidly awaits a kiss that never comes. Aemond hums affably, his arrogant smile shooting to her core. Their breaths mingle, his hands traveling up and down her sides with modest curiosity. Visenya huffs in exasperation, and shifts, ticklish, the heels of her feet digging into his ass. Her thumb catches his lower lip, pressing into it. Aemond holds her gaze, parting his lips enough to engulf her thumb. He swirls his tongue over it afore sucking on it gently. She watches him, captivated, her mouth slightly agape.
The knot in her belly snaps, her patience having thinned, ousted by resolve. She pushes him off, so she can sit up, impelling him to stand. Aemond obliges without objection. Visenya hooks her fingers in his belt, to bring him nearer, and deftly unbuttons his tunic, revealing his bare chest – inch by inch. She drinks in the sight, caressing his glistening skin. The intolerable heat induces sweat to drip betwixt her breasts and to trickle down her spine.
She leans in, only for Aemond to jerk his head away and deny her another kiss – the tip of her nose bumping against his cheek. He smirks, conceited, despite his ruddy complexion. Visenya gnashes her teeth, intent on retribution. Straightening her body, and looping her uninjured arm around Aemond, she licks his earlobe and bites it softly, eliciting a growl from him. He squeezes her hips in silent warning, and sneaks a hand under her shirt, to fondle her breast and pinch her nipple until it stiffens. Visenya moans, hushed, her head lolling back into her shoulders.
Aemond rests his free hand on the base of her throat, his digits winding around it, lips latching onto her exposed neck. Visenya suppresses her whine, the air deserting her lungs. He incessantly strokes her bosom, his teeth abusing the sensitive skin of her neck. She drops her arms – mindful of her wounds – one hand surrounding his wrist, her other fumbling, blindly cupping his hardened member through his breeches. A salacious grunt rolls out of Aemond’s mouth, filling the tent.
His fingers release her throat to tangle in her tresses, and yank, his hips grinding against hers, creating friction. He withdraws his lips from her, and tugs her hand away, his other hand raking down her abdomen. Her chuckle turns into a gasp as Aemond languidly rubs the wet area between her legs, his breath fanning her face. Visenya relishes in the waves of pleasure enveloping her body, her spine arching, though her soaking cunt clenches around nothing. She heaves her thighs higher, hugging his waist – lest he dare pull away from her.
A metal item pokes at her thigh.
My brooch.
Visenya peels her eyes away from him, scrambling to salvage her composure. Aemond ceases his ministrations. He raises her chin with his thumb and forefinger, coaxing her to look at him. Her heart stutters, her vision bleary beneath his suffocating leer. The clouds in his eye have cleared… or he conceals them well. Their lips crash in a frantic kiss – her veins aflame, scalding. He swallows her wanton moan, kneading the flesh of her ass. Aemond cannot fool me. A constant tempest festers within him, ravenous for blood and revenge. Visenya would never be able to tame it. Nothing would.
Numbing remorse smothers her fire. She had forgotten herself and her loyalties. She breaks the kiss, tasting ashes on her tongue. His mouth chases hers, his hand curling around the nape of her neck, to reunite their lips. Aemond bends her back, cradling her against him – the pressure on her shoulder tearing a whimper from her. He lays a tender, apologetic kiss there. Her digits slide into his locks, thwarting him. Visenya stares at the shadows dancing across the ceiling of the pavilion – Aemond’s head pillowed on her breasts.
What am I doing? Where am I going? With him? Distant limbs envelop her, lips ghosting over her skin. He licks a stripe up the column of her throat and nips at it, nuzzling his nose against her neck. I would never betray my family. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. The dream is over. Bury it, and crawl out of this bottomless pit of vipers.
He has been stretching seconds into minutes, delaying the inevitable, but he cannot stop it. The die has been cast.
‘Aemond, wait,’ pants Visenya, her own voice foreign to her, her nails clawing at his back, ‘We cannot. I am–’
‘Betrothed?’, deadpans Aemond, cocking his head to peek at her, crimson lips swollen, hair and clothes disheveled, ‘I’m aware. Your half-brother told me, at Storm’s End.’
Her heart leaps into her throat, yet Visenya falters, preferring to disregard his comment and its implications. If Aemond and Lucerys had exchanged insults – and her brother had mentioned her betrothment – it might have incited the former to attack the latter. A door best left shut.
‘Lord Stark is a good man–’
‘Have you sunk so low?’, criticises Aemond, reproach etched on his features, ‘You are a Targaryen princess, the blood of Old Valyria. Dragons do not mate with other beasts, and we do not consort with lesser men.’
Visenya blinks in incredulity, scanning his face for any indication of pretense. He has been collecting dangerous beliefs. Undoubtedly the result of Ser Crispin’s and Alicent Hightower’s influence. King Viserys had been too neglectful to bear any blame in that respect. He’s overly culpable in innumerable other matters.
‘If I have sunk low, I do not wish to imagine what hell you wander in,’ she retorts, dour, shoving him away, her lower back pressing against the edge of the table, ‘I do not require lessons on our heritage. Valyria is gone. I do not adhere to the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, nor do I delude myself about our superiority. According to this logic, your Westerosi mother is lesser. Everybody has their history and their pride. The Starks are the blood of the First Men, descendants of Bran the Builder. Cregan is my equal, and I will not bring him dishonor. You once said something similar to me, when we were younger.’
Visenya purposely omitted that Cregan would have taken additional offence if Aemond – a usurper and a kinslayer – had been her choice of paramour. Following the annulment of her betrothment to Aemond, she had snuck into his bedchamber, and had urged him to claim her maidenhood. It would have compelled our parents to marry us to each other. He had adamantly refused, reiterating that he would dishonor her by doing so. Visenya wonders whether his consent would have changed the tide, whether he rues his decision now… were he capable of it.
‘I remember,’ mutters Aemond, cupping her cheeks, brushing his nose against hers, ‘Yn īlon issi daor riñar dombo.’ (But we are not children anymore.)
‘No, we are not,’ she assents, doleful, undeterred by his lingering lips on her forehead, ‘I am a woman grown, my mother’s daughter, and I vowed to marry Cregan. My word is not fickle. A foreign concept to you and your family.’
She had suggested the match herself, on Dragonstone, prior to hers and her brothers’ departure. Supposing that the Queen’s appeal failed to persuade Lord Stark to pledge the North to their cause, Visenya would offer her hand in marriage.
The memory of beholding Cregan for the first time still exhilarates her. She had been climbing down from Blackwing while Jace had approached Lord Stark, to greet him. Cloaked in furs, he had been an imperious presence – tall, brawny, handsome, graced with grey eyes, dark, wavy locks that cascaded to his shoulders, and a dense beard. His gaze had frequently drifted towards her. Jace had suavely introduced her, and Cregan had curtsied, addressing her as “princess.” Visenya had answered with “my lord” – her smile timid, her eyes wicked.
The harsh weather hadn’t spoiled the northern capital’s beauty, magnificent structures, and rich culture. The twins had received a warm welcome at Winterfell, amidst the winter preparations, and Lord Stark had been a most hospitable host, entertaining his guests with drinking, sparring, and hunting trips in the wolfswood. Visenya had mingled with the commonfolk, conversing with them, helping them with their errands, and teaching their children how to read and write. Cregan had often watched her, fondly, from afar. Some servants had been intimidated by her appearance and her station, stammering through their responses. She had instructed them to simply call her “Visenya.”
Whenever his duties had permitted, Cregan had accompanied her on walks around the castle, to the library, the ancient godswood and its hot springs, and the disturbing crypt that had contained the tombs of the deceased members of House Stark. His direwolf Splinter had ambled after them everywhere. They had discussed history, politics, trade, and their families, and had comforted one another in their grief, as Cregan’s wife had recently perished in childbirth. He had even confessed that Jace had reminded him of the brother that he had lost more than a decade ago. She had met his sweet babe Rickon, whom she had doted on. Cregan had bestowed upon Blackwing the highest distinction, deeming her a “formidable beast” – with his habitual morose disposition. Visenya had become besotted with him, regarding him as virtuous, conscientious, tenacious, and reputable.
By the end of the twins’ stay in Winterfell, the Pact of Ice and Fire had been formed, whereby Visenya would wed Lord Stark, and the North would side with Queen Rhaenyra. He had forged a direwolf brooch for her, and she had gifted him one of her rings, to wear it as a necklace. Cregan and Jace had sworn an oath of brotherhood, sealed in blood.
‘You sold yourself to a wolf pup so that you may rally his army to your mother’s cause, and you boast about honor,’ accuses Aemond, scornful, satisfied that he discerns her imagined act, ‘Twas a different kind of sword that you required.’
Sold myself? Visenya’s mouth twists downwards, her latent, crude contempt quivering. Blackwing rattles her shackles, screeching viscerally. He views me as property. I paid my price in kindness and youthful promises, so I am constrained into being his property. I have no freedom, no intuition, no capacity for judgment. I am a frail puppet dancing on my family’s strings, dependent on Aemond to rescue me. He would rather I were a fly in his web. What sort of person expects me to fulfil the vows that I uttered as a child?
‘Cregan would have honored his late father’s word,’ she contends, smoothing her garments, heedless of Aemond’s eye roaming over her body, ‘Lord Rickon Stark swore an oath in the throne hall, and acknowledged my mother as King Viserys’ heir. All of the Westerosi lords did, great and small.’
Upon his lord father’s death, Cregan had inherited Winterfell at the age of thirteen, so his uncle Bennard had ruled as regent until his nephew had reached manhood. Bennard’s reluctance to relinquish power had spurred Cregan to imprison him and his three sons. Akin to Queen Rhaenyra’s plight, his kinsman had attempted to supplant him. Lady Jeyne Arryn – Queen Aemma’s cousin – had thrice endured uprisings that had contested her inheritance of the Eyrie.
A hereditary curse. A woman’s curse. In this world of men, we women must band together.
‘Over twenty years have passed since then,’ specifies Aemond, shrugging blithely, ‘Most of those lords are dead, including the wolf pup’s father. Bones are all that is left of them and their vows.’
Pup. A peculiar term to use for Cregan – a man older than they are. Aemond’s vanity confirms that, to the Greens, King Viserys’ succession amounts to nothing. Their cause is false – founded on quicksand, conspiracy, and murder – and they bury themselves deeper and deeper into an abyss of lies and treachery.
‘They represented their Houses and spoke on their behalf,’ corrects Visenya, her shoulders slumping from the sheer absurdity of having to explain this, ‘Enlighten me, nuncle. How does your situation differ from mine? Are you not betrothed to one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters for her father’s troops? Or is it all four daughters? I have heard varied accounts.’
The illiterate Lord of Storm’s End – another traitor responsible for Luke’s demise. Her brother Joffrey had sworn a terrible oath of vengeance against him and the Kinslayer. The Velaryons had prevented Joff from instantly mounting his dragon Tyraxes to exact revenge. Would I have done the same? He is merely a boy, too young to know such hatred and grief. He and Rhaena are in the Vale, out of harm’s way. Willful Baela remains on Dragonstone, to fight by Jace’s side. Aegon and Viserys, the youngest, are with them. We must ensure their safety, else the war will strip them of their innocence… and their lives.
Dragonstone, Harrenhal, Winterfell, the Vale, King’s Landing, Stoney Sept… My family is divided. If only I could protect them all…
‘I did what was asked of me,’ defends Aemond, forlorn, resting their foreheads together, ‘I never intended to wed her.’ He adds, his words scattered among hasty, consecutive kisses, ‘We have always agreed that we would marry one another. I have neither forgotten, nor forsaken that. I want you.’
‘I thought that we were not children anymore,’ she echoes, shrewd, bending to retrieve her discarded pelts, ‘Our parents annulled our betrothment years ago. You would have us marry without your mother’s blessing? I value my well-being, even if you do not.’
‘You are mistaken,’ coos Aemond, holding her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, her palm, her inner wrist, ‘It’s not too late. There’s still a chance for us.’
Visenya had once shared that sentiment. He lives in the past, clinging to it, misconstruing it. Matters betwixt them would never be the same – a truth that he hasn’t accepted. I would have waited for him... Aemond had usurped the throne and had slain her brother. Now, he hopes to abuse her clemency. What stops him from mistreating her, from hurting her? Why must I always be patient and compassionate? Why must I always forgive and forget? What will I gain from it? Aemond? It’s not enough. His redemption is a prolonged, tedious endeavor that she will not partake in.
I’m severing my noose.
‘A chance?’, snarls Visenya, in conjunction with Blackwing’s shrieks, ‘Is that what you offered my brother when you unleashed Vhagar on him?’ She folds her arms over her chest, her furs caught between them. ‘You have already spilled my blood. I will not present you with a chance to do it again. Aye, I once wanted to marry you. A summer dream of summer children. Winter is coming.’
Ripping the cord that binds her to Aemond will be excruciating, like slashing a part of herself. He is the thorn lodged in her side, her twin flame, his scent and touch imprinted on her, haunting her asleep and haunting her awake. The only power I wield over him is denying him myself.
‘You have returned to threats,’ chides Aemond, buttoning his tunic, visibly irritated by her usage of the House Stark words, ‘Parroting words that are not your own, chirruping tales that others have stuffed your head with, like a little bird.’
‘‘Tis not a threat, beloved,’ purrs Visenya, woven with venom, savoring his indignation, ‘It is a fact. The maesters of the Citadel will release the white ravens soon, to announce its arrival.’
She had witnessed the foreboding signs with her own eyes, at Winterfell – the resplendent snow, the howling winds, the bitter cold. Winter is upon us… and we are vying for the throne.
‘‘Tis also a fact that your wolf pup has a wolf pup of his own,’ jeers Aemond, donning his eyepatch, ‘A son whom he fathered on another wench. A son who will inherit Winterfell and all of its attendant lands, titles, and incomes. A vile indignity, a humiliation, to you and your brood. You would submit to a puny northern savage, as his second wife?’
Puny northern savage? Innovative.
“Our children will sit the Iron Throne,” Visenya had told Cregan in the godswood, with the snow floating around them, piling in thick layers on the ground, the trees, and the castle walls. I kissed the snowflakes on his lashes, and they melted on my lips. Her heart flutters at the memory. My sullen wolf. She longs for him more than she can express.
Would that appease Aemond? Nothing would. He has become spiteful. “Wench.” Lady Arra of House Norrey had been Cregan’s late wife and cherished childhood companion. She had dismally died birthing Rickon. I will not debate Cregan’s family with Aemond, a jealous craven threatened by suckling babes.
‘Rickon is an innocent babe,’ reasons Visenya, hugging herself, suddenly feeling naked without her armor, ‘Aye, he is the heir to Winterfell, and no threat to me. I will not set my children against their brother, nor will I encourage them to steal his birthright. I am not your mother.’
And, oh, how you despise that…
‘I suppose that you will be no threat to him, either, should you die in childbirth,’ ventures Aemond, elated at the notion, his eye shimmering in the light of the flames, ‘And your wolf pup would be twice widowed.’
Visenya lashes out, striking him so viciously across the face that his head whips to the side. Blackwing’s mighty roars rumble outside. Aemond doesn’t even blench.
She had never hit him before. If he is startled or enraged by the assault, he masks it – devoid of any emotion. Visenya quashes the temptation to shout at him, to call him a dog, a pig, a rat. He is beneath these creatures. He has no conscience, and his cruelty is boundless. Her grandmother Queen Aemma and her aunt Laena had both expired in childbed. Her sister had been stillborn. What does Aemond know about the perils and throes of women? Nothing.
I could flee, go anywhere but here... Her flesh crawls. I’m his captive in so many ways. Briny tears well in her eyes.
Tears cannot quench dragonfire.
‘Do you love the wolf pup?’, challenges Aemond, his demeanor impassable, though she distinguishes a crack in his frigid tone.
And if I do? You would flay him alive, and force me to watch. The question of Visenya’s suitors continues to be intricate and contentious. The Disputed Lands of Westeros. She had been engaged to Aegon, to Aemond, and to Daeron, and had been courted by Westerosi Houses, Essosi princes, triarchs, archons, nobles, magisters, merchants, and generals. The Red Kraken would have made me his salt wife. Visenya had rejected all of them. Adulterers and drunkards old enough to be my grandsires and fat enough to crush me beneath them.
Rhaenyra had been sympathetic to her daughter’s predicament; she herself had initially opposed marriage. My mother had been younger than I am when she had birthed me and Jace. Visenya shudders at the thought. Her father hadn’t been concerned, confiding that she could wed out of duty and fuck whomever she pleased. Men always do so. Why shouldn’t I? Her twin had convinced her that she would find a suitable pair, to her liking. Jace had the right of it. I chose Cregan, and he chose me. She touches her brooch through her trousers. I’m assuming control of my life and my future.
‘I will,’ declares Visenya, seething, jutting her chin, ‘He is neither a usurper, nor a kinslayer. Cregan is worth a thousand of you, and more.’
‘Yet you delay marrying him, and the wolf pup delays assembling his banners and marching,’ admonishes Aemond, his reddened cheek beginning to swell, ‘Perhaps you are not as devoted to each other as you think you are.’
A surrounded animal, slinging its final, pitiful blows. Her wolf’s motives for not marching had been warranted. He awaits the collection of the harvest, so that he can feed his subjects throughout the winter. The Southrons seal themselves in their castles with their bountiful harvests, whereas the Northerners bear the brunt of the burden – snow, frost, famine, death. Cregan’s obligations lie with his people and his lands.
As for herself, Visenya prefers to marry him during peace and stability. He could mourn his wife properly, and he would not be widowed again, if I were to… to…
‘His Winter Wolves are at the Twins,’ she states, noting Aemond’s mouth twitching, ‘They have joined their forces with the Freys’, and will resume their advance south. They are merely a fraction of the North’s strength. I assure you. Cregan will honor his vow.’
She had wept upon reading Lord Roderick Dustin’s words to Lady Sabitha Frey. We have come to die for the dragon queen. Cregan had taught Visenya about the Winter Wolves – elderly men who leave their homes in order to conserve supplies for their kin. Grisly custom. Those warriors hope to die for glory and plunder. They will never reunite with their families. Wretched conditions, wretched measures.
Aemond must have observed a spark in her eyes, heard something amiss in her voice that aroused his suspicion.
‘What have you done, Visenya?’, he demands, narrowing his eye, fixing her with a hawkish glare.
I fucked the wolf pup. And Alyn Velaryon… Not both at the same time. She had befriended Alyn and his older brother Addam shortly after hers and Jace’s return from Winterfell. Her twin had summoned Targaryen bastards – “dragonseeds” – for the riderless dragons, promising wealth, lands, and knighthood for those triumphant. Addam’s feat of claiming Seasmoke had emboldened the Sea Snake to petition Queen Rhaenyra to legitimise the Hull boys. Conveniently, their mother Marilda had revealed that they had been sired by Ser Laenor Velaryon. And Mushroom is seven feet tall. My stepfather had no interest in women. Lord Corlys had proceeded to name Addam his heir.
Alyn, however, had been less fortunate. Sheepstealer had bathed his cloak in flames. His brother had doused the fire, saving his life. At least Grey Ghost had vanished. Those had been wild dragons. Alyn is lucky to be alive. Grand Maester Gerardys had tended his burns, and Visenya had changed his bandages thrice a day – delighting in his insolence. The habit had blossomed into clumsy intimacy. She had seldom stayed the night – a decision that hadn’t troubled Alyn. He never judged me. Visenya misses him; his jests, his smile, his company.
A furious Jace had reprimanded his twin for her recklessness and temerity, arguing that Cregan was a good man, a second chance – everything that she had ever dreamed of. Her involvement with Alyn could compromise their indispensable alliance with the North. Visenya had listened to his warning, remorse slithering around her throat.
I have been remiss… but Alyn is only a matter of brevity. I have to tread prudently.
‘I do as I please,’ she asserts, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips, ‘Do not fret, cousin. Cregan treated me well and was most gentle with me… the first time.’
Her admission slices him to the bone. Aemond’s expression sinks, desolation flooding his eye. A child looks at her, into her, agony engraved on his features. Have I been too austere? Spoken too harshly? He had betrayed her trust, had usurped the throne, and had murdered her brother. My sins pale in comparison.
Aemond recoils, turning away from her, his head lowered. His fists clench at his sides. The table behind her shakes at Vhagar’s menacing growl. Visenya maintains her composure, sheathing herself in steel. I will not cow. I am the blood of the dragon.
And I will not regret Cregan.
While she hadn’t lacked for suitors, those men had sought to marry her out of pride and ambition. My Targaryen heritage brings their House closer to the Iron Throne, and my dragon is power.
She had proposed to Cregan that she would willingly surrender her maidenhood to him, as a token of her intention to wed him. Fighting a war a maiden seems particularly dreadful. Should anything befall her, Cregan wouldn’t feel cheated or insulted – he would have claimed her gift of innocence.
I lost my innocence long ago.
Visenya hadn’t abused her station to compel him to lie with her. She wouldn’t have been offended if he hadn’t desired her.
“I would be,” her wolf had responded, earning a chuckle from her.
Two nights – and numerous fiery kisses – later, he had accepted her offer. A timorous ardor had washed over Visenya, her heart hammering against her rib cage. Cregan had led her out of the godswood, past the hot springs, the main iron gate with its walls, across the inner yards, into the castle, and up the winding stairs – retreating to his solar, where they had shared half a flagon of wine. He had kindly asked her if she had been nervous.
No. I am a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider… and the wine soothed my nerves.
Their intimate moments had been sweet, passionate, exhilarating. Visenya remembers them so vividly. His large hands cupping her face, disrobing her with deft precision, caressing and fondling every inch of her. His darkened eyes reveling in her figure. Cregan lifting her into his arms as though she weighed nothing, laying her down on the bed. His tongue licking her stiffened nipples, his mouth sucking on her plump breasts. Her fist stroking his leaking cock, guiding him into her heat slowly. Cregan swallowing her soft whine when entering her, the stretch burning deliciously. The overwhelming need to hold him nearer. Wrapping her limbs around him as he vigorously thrust into her, the featherbed engulfing her. The chambers brimming with their moans, gasps, and the lascivious sounds of sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin. Cregan intertwining their fingers, Cregan driving her to the heights of pleasure, Cregan spilling his seed inside her, blending with her maiden’s blood.
Slick pools between her legs, and Visenya squeezes her thighs shut, salivating at the memory.
He had collapsed on top of her, and – at her insistence – had lied there, panting, his face buried in her neck, his beard tickling her. An equally breathless Visenya had threaded her digits through his damp hair, pecking his cheek and his temple. Cregan had rolled off of her, grunting at the effort, and had pulled her into him, allowing her to rest her head on his chest, and to hook her leg over his. Her wolf had attentively inquired whether he had hurt her.
“Not at all,” she had murmured, demure, draping her arm over him, their combined fluids trickling on her groin, “You have been so good to me.”
Visenya had drifted off to sleep in his safe embrace, lulled by his heartbeat and his snores. His body had been a hearth underneath the pelts. I am the blood of the dragon, allured by warmth and fire.
She and Cregan had spent most evenings together – to the dismay of his bed. Days had been dedicated to duties, negotiations, and furtive glances, nights for themselves and for each other; for raw lust, hushed laughter, and the solace that they had been starved of; for their satiation and contentment. Her loins had often ached by the next morning. A good ache.
Cregan had even taken her in the godswood, under a starry sky, before the heart tree, following their sword sparring. Afterwards, he had suggested that they retire to his solar.
‘To sleep?’, questioned Visenya, coyly, tangling their feet together.
‘If that is what the princess wants,’ granted her wolf, amiably.
‘The princess wants you,’ she mumbled, nestling against him, their clothes and furs providing scant shelter from the cold.
‘She has me,’ vouched Cregan, carding his fingers through her locks, ‘All of me.’
Oh, yes. He has had me in the sight of the old gods, and I have bled for him. Targaryens have always had a grievously deep connection to blood. It’s one of our House’s words. Our forebears used blood magic to bind the winged beasts to them. We cut ourselves and drink each other’s blood in the marriage ceremony. We practice incest to ensure the purity of our bloodline. The blood of Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Blood unites, and blood divides.
Their stealthy meetings might not have been shrouded in such secrecy. Jace had dared to tease Visenya about the marks that he had glimpsed on her throat. She had thrown a snowball at him, hitting him in the nose.
‘Locking myself in a castle is more appealing than waging war against my own kin,’ admitted Visenya, in an instance of fragility, atop one of Winterfell’s towers.
‘You’re not destined to hide in a castle,’ proponed Cregan, petting Splinter, basking in the sun – reminiscent of their early mornings abed. I would trace the lines of his back, the scars on his chest, admire his naked form as he opened the shutters… ‘Your hair is akin to the snow around us, your eyes the color of the sunset sky. Why would nature make you so lovely, if not to behold you and to reflect on you? The sun must see you to shine, the moon to glow.’
Visenya tore her gaze away from him, misty-eyed.
Her Valyrian appearance had protected her from japes about being a Strong bastard. Is that term so preposterous? My parents hadn’t been married at my birth. I had borne the name Velaryon for a decade. People had viewed her as a Myrish carpet – to be gaped at – and had treated her like a stud-mare, to be bought, owned, and mounted to produce sons – her beauty a mere instrument to that end. Devious motives behind hollow adulation.
‘You are gracious, my lord,’ rasped Visenya, flustered, the gossip of the commonfolk below muffling her answer slightly, ‘I am flattered.’
‘I have spoken the truth,’ affirmed Cregan, tipping her chin up, coaxing her to peer at him, ‘You are meant to be kissed.’
‘By you,’ she assented, his gloved digits wiping her tears, delicately.
On the day of the dragon twins’ departure from Winterfell, Vermax and Blackwing had been impatient to leave the North and its freezing temperatures. Visenya hadn’t shared their zeal. I’m not a little girl anymore. The winds of winter are rising. There is a war to be fought and won.
“Come back to me,” her wolf whispered to her, their joined hands concealed in their cloaks and pelts.
I will.
Aemond’s subtle movements wrest her to the present.
We’re at war with the Greens. I’m a prisoner at Stoney Sept, in the Pretender’s camp. My Cregan is leagues away.
I must not forget my mission.
Aemond’s insidious posture betrays him, his shoulders on the brink of crumbling under the burden of his pride and envy.
‘A dragon rendered a broodmare by a wolf pup,’ he chastises, repulsed, his features drawn into solemn lines, ‘Have you spread your legs for his army, too? I wouldn’t be surprised, given your taste for depravity.’
Visenya refrains from guffawing, albeit with great difficulty. Oh, may the Crone’s lantern light my path to wisdom, and may the Father judge me justly, and may the Mother show me mercy, for I am a filthy wanton, and Lord Stark does possess a generous… host.
‘I would rather be his broodmare than be your wife,’ she spits, defiant, baring her teeth, ‘The wolf pup is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.’ And you are insufferably obtuse. ‘He and his bannermen will liberate me, should the Winter Wolves and the river lords fail to do so, and should you yourself refuse to release me. Are you so mad that you would oppose the might and wrath of the entire North?
‘I have heard enough about your wolf pup,’ announces Aemond, his nostrils flaring, ‘He has dishonored you. Perhaps I ought to march on his bleak castle, after I seize Harrenhal.’
You ought to dress up in motley. Visenya shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her brow creased. The Hightowers must have abandoned their wits putting him in charge. Aemond is utterly inept. Their Lannister friends will find trouble at the Red Fork, and he will never take Harrenhal from my father.
‘Your men are unlikely to survive the muds of the riverlands, whose lords have unanimously declared for my mother,’ argues Visenya, twirling a lock of her hair around her forefinger, ‘I doubt that they will endure the dire conditions of the North… also pledged to Queen Rhaenyra.’
‘I have Vhagar,’ reminds Aemond, his arrogance oozing like pus.
‘And what of it?’, she hisses, squinting her eyes, ‘You would torch the North, from the Neck to the Wall, on hoary, old Vhagar? Tens of thousands would perish.’
Despite rivaling the combined size of the other kingdoms, the North is scarcely populated. Their lives, lands, history, and culture matter all the same.
‘Your wolf pup amongst them, if the gods are good,’ drones Aemond, looping his digits through his belt.
‘Cregan will die of old age, in my arms,’ corrects Visenya, keeping her furled fists at her sides, lest she strike him again, ‘You cannot vanquish the North. It is too vast and too wild. The Neck is impenetrable, filled with swamps and bogs. Moat Cailin is a choke point, and it has shielded the North from southron invasions for millennia. This is folly, Aemond. It will be your doom.’
Then why am I trying to dissuade him?
‘Or on the contrary, the glory will be mine,’ boasts Aemond, his permanent smirk bolstering his confidence, ‘Those savages might dare to resist me, but in the end, they will pose a minor obstacle. Aegon the Conqueror brought the North to its knees.’
‘Because King Torrhen Stark bent the knee after the Field of Fire, to avoid bloodshed,’ objects Visenya, scowling, ‘Do not attempt to revise history. Ours will not redeem you. The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men. The lickspittles that buzz around you will never be sincere, so I will bestow the truth upon you. You are cruel, despicable, and you nurse a grievance like a suckling babe. You are not Aegon the Conqueror. You are a prideful fool playing at war.’ You’re not good at it, either. ‘And winter is coming. That is the truth.’
‘The truth?’, repeats Aemond, creeping up on her, his eye boring into hers – a predator scenting its prey, ‘What do you know of the truth, Visenya? You lie and deceive and plot with every breath that you draw. You are a traitor to the realm, daughter of traitors, sister of traitors. You chose the Iron Throne over me.’
You chose for me.
‘My mother is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,’ she pronounces, her smile ominous, ‘The only traitor here is you, nuncle. You cower from the truth, and you retain it from everyone.’ Visenya tiptoes, and their lips almost touch. ‘You are looking with the wrong eye. Perhaps you will have to close the other to finally see.’
Aemond cups her face roughly, pressing her against the table.
‘Your mother will never sit the Iron Throne,’ he sneers, ‘And neither will you. She still spurns you as her heir, but I vow to pay you the homage that you so desperately crave, and to lavish you with precious gifts – the heads of your family, your betrothed, and your stepson. They shall decorate the spikes of the Red Keep–’
Visenya swiftly yanks his dagger from his belt. Aemond seizes her wrist too late. The tip of the blade digs at the underside of his chin.
‘Enough, Aemond!’, bellows Visenya, and for a moment, she is her ferocious Blackwing incarnate, ‘Are you deaf, as well as blind? You have usurped the throne, murdered my brother, and butchered hundreds of innocents. Your actions have consequences. Heed my words, for the love that you claim to bear me.’ She drags the point of the dirk down to the base of his throat, nicking him. ‘You will not make me an orphan and a widow. You are surrounded by enemies in every direction, and more are gathering as we speak. We have the armies, the fleet, the dragons, and most importantly, the legitimacy. An advantage that you will never have. So, either kill me or let me go, and flee to Essos, because you cannot – you will not – survive what’s coming for you. The choice is yours.’
Aemond’s malicious eye studies her, a forlorn wall of blue ice.
The boy I grew up with is gone. Hasn’t Visenya sensed it all along? We are not children anymore. The time has come to accept it.
When has it all gone so awry, become so twisted? She mourns the boy that she had once shared everything with – a childhood, hopes, dreams. Those died with Lucerys.
Dreams didn’t make us kings. Dragons did… and tears cannot quench dragonfire.
It ends as it had begun, with fire and blood.
Bloodlines will burn.
Visenya licks the blood off of the tip of the dagger, spins the weapon, and presents it to Aemond, hilt first.
TAGLIST: @a-dash-of-random-magic @aaleksmorozova @aemondsversion @aereth @agirllovespancakes @another-life-addict @burningshewolf @buttercup--bee @cecespizza01 @cleastrnge @crazylokonugget @five-seconds-of-socialising @flosaureum @haystack-boy @lavendertales @lordsrks @maharani-radha @mandaloresson @masset-fotia @missusnora @moonlight-prose @oloreaa @poppyreader @prettyboyeddiemunson @revolution-starter @sofietargaryen @stargaryenx @strawberrypeachesss @sullho @sweethoneyblossom1 @s-we-e-t-t-ea @that--thing @valyriians
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Burned to the unrecognizable
Ñuha = mine/my
sỹz toaba = good boy
riñnykeā = child
Female Targaryen reader!
Ship is not specified, is only a fic with your dragon
iksan vaoreznuni = I'm sorry
Draegan = name of your dragon
summary: You're dragon is wounded by some of the Dragonkeepers
Tw: beast cruality, death
You could feel the fear and pain from your dragon in your bones, your hair blew in the wind and with all your strength you ran towards the Dragon Pit, your guards hot on your heels.
You didn't know what the cause was, but in that moment you dropped everything you were doing and ordered the guards to come along.
You couldn't see a thing, the morning fell with a heavy mist that covered Kings Landing. Your foot slipped away, but just in time you could rebalance yourself.
A deep agony grazed your abdomen, you couldn't help but call his name while tears slipped from your eyes.
Time slowed by each minute down, you almost reached the Pit, just a few steps more. The roaring cry of Draegan could be heard from kilometres away, you and the guards quickened your steps.
You almost flew on the stairs, your brows furrowed with concern and fury. You heard him more clearly now, his broken cries clenched your heart, but the realisation of him being hurted shattered your heart.
Hands balled up, you spotted your dark red dragon shuffling in big metal entrapments.
What the fuck happened in the week that you were gone for duties?
Smoke appeared underneath the belly of your boy and horror snuck on your face when you realised the foul stence. "Draegan!" you screamed so loud as you can. "Line everyone up who dared to hurt my child."
The Dragonkeepers heard your voice and with shock they stopped what they were doing, in the hope you didn't notice. But alas, you saw, felt and heard everything.
Draegan looked up, a soft huff escaped his jaw and he lowered his body and head. With swift steps you walked towards him, your lips were quavering. Out of the side of your eye you saw your guards one by one dragging the Dragonkeepers on the ground.
Good, a small smile graced your lips.
But when you focused on him again, you couldn't help but let slip more tears on your cheeks.
"Ñuha ri��nykeã," you began softly. You rested your hand on the snout of his nose. "Iksan vaoreznuni, you didn't deserve to be treated like that." He leaned with his head against your hand, you gave on top of his skin a kiss and nuzzled your head against his scales.
Calm settled between the both of you.
One of your guards scraped his throat and after a few seconds you lifted your head, acknowledging that he may speak. "We already informed the maesters, they are on their way."
"Thank you."
"What will we do with them, Your Royal Highness?"
"Nothing, yet. Make them sweat a bit, I will be there in a minute."
Slowly you pulled away from your dragon, making him huff. "Wait a minute my boy. I need to see your injuries." you walked around him. "And someone please uncage him!" Your voice boomed through the large chamber.
In no time Draegan was freed, but still he wouldn't lower his belly. Smoke still sizzled underneath him and large chunks of skin and scales were burned off, leaving a bloody and burned surface.
You tried to pet the unharmed side of him, but your dragon gave a fair warning that quickly made you retreat. When you tried to see more of his injuries he simply pushed you away.
The Dragonkeepers would suffer.
"I have seen enough," voice laced with calmed rage. You walked calmly to your guards, the maesters were in the distance. At this point they were the only one who you could trust Draegan with. You didn't know if they even knew how to heal a dragon, but under watchfull eyes they should. Your hands were clasped behind your back, you stood next to some of your guards when they announced your name.
"Y/N Targaryen, first of her name. Princess of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men."
" I, Y/N Targayren saw for the first time in my life my child in pain by the hands of the people who swored to protect him." you watched the six Dragonkeepers with fury. "My child who was hurten by his very own people and indirectly they have been hurting me. Not only you have been hurting me and my child, you showed your true colours towardsthe Crown. Therefore I declare the highest from of treason.¨
Some of them gasped in shock, but you continued. "You will be punished in the same way you did to Draegan." Stopping for a moment you whispered to the guards next to you. "Take them in a few minutes to the cellars."
You watched the six Dragonkeepers and you drew your breath, "burned to the unrecognizable."
Therefore your speech was done, their feet were dragging on the floor and your guards slept them away.
You drew your attention to Draegan again, the maesters already treating his wounds. A genuine smile maked his way on your face. You petted his snout again while they were helping him, "Ñuha sỹz toaba." you whispered towards the dragon.
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Comments are really appreciated!
#game of thrones#house of the dragon#got fanfiction#rhaenyra targaryen#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#alicent hightower#alicent hightower x reader#daenarys targaryen#daenarys targaryen x reader#jon snow#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targayren#aegon targaryen#helaena targaryen#aegon targaryen x reader#hotd#jace velaryon#jace velaryon x reader#daemon targeryan#daemon targeryen x reader
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Simplicity of Winds - Daemon Targaryen
Authors note: I hope you enjoy it and thank you so much for requesting! MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND I LOVE RECIEVING THEM so feel free to send some in. (Especially for Aemond)
Warnings: SMUT, a lil angst but not a lot
Word Count: 1485
Description: REQUEST - Hello! Could you write something about Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader? Friends to Lovers. Daemon is very sweet with the reader and he feels insecure about his feelings for her. When he thinks he's going to lose her, he confesses and they end up giving in to passion (very sweet). I think this is not very Daemon, but I always wanted to read a soft smut with him. Thanks in advance ✨
You watch him from afar, just as you always did, watching the former heir of the king stand on a cliff and look out into the waters surrounding. His hair had been dreadful when he came back from the war, tangled and unkept.
You remember a time when he would never let his hair get that bad, a time where you would see him everyday. Smiles and conversation had never been hard for you when you were around him. You had considered him a best friend at one point, but you would never admit to loving him the way you did. He had been perfect back then.
Not a hair tangled or out of place, charming and cocky all in a smooth manner, he could have you blushing in a mere moment while leaving you laughing the next. He had also been a Targayren.
You knew better than to fall hopelessly in love with him, you knew their ways and manners. But you did it anyway, because you were a fool.
You had been such a big fool you hadn’t seen your biggest opponent for his affection, although it should have been obvious. His niece. The poor girl was ages behind him, a mere 10 years younger than you, but she was Targaryen and this was their tradition. Not to mention she was beautiful in a vicious type of manner.
Then there was his wife. A female mature and strong. Brilliant in all things, especially hunting from what you have heard.
But, even with those two in his life, you had fooled yourself. Make yourself believe that he loved you the same way you loved him.
The last night you ever spoke to Daemon Targaryen he was planning on asking his brother for his niece's hand in marriage.
You had found him with the intent of implying a courtship, feeling bold for your ladies talked you up. That all shattered right in front of you, you had excused yourself on the pretense of illness and never looked back.
That had been years ago, when you left him on that cliff with the wind in his hair and a fire in his eyes, walking away with tears burning your own.
You hadn’t seen him since, doing your best to avoid him any chance you got. The first few weeks were tough, once the man figured out you were avoiding him he became hellbent on finding out why. But then your father took you home, and Daemon became just a memory.
Until now.
Your father had sent you back in order to meet suitors from all over the land, and though you hoped Daemon would not be in Kings landing your prayers were unanswered by the sight of him landing his dragon on the first night.
You had kept to yourself since then, that had been a week ago. You spent the days listening to suitors and the nights eating in your chambers alone. The man could not break your heart if he did not know you were there.
You watched from afar, trying to figure out how to get into the castle without him noticing you, as he stood in front of your only option inside. Maybe you could wait him out, he’ll get bored of looking at the ocean and leave, and you wouldn’t have to hide behind a stone wall-
“Are you really going to make me wait all night?” Your heart drops at the sound of his voice, of course he was meeting someone here, of course he had lovers. You held your breath, listening for the person he was waiting for. “Are you seriously going to make me drag you out from behind that wall?”
The realization that he knew you were there settles in, along with a thick wave of embarrassment heating your cheeks. Your feet don’t move an inch and yet your entire body is begging to go near him.
“Y/n.” He calls again, this time stronger and firmer. You finally give in and slowly turn the corner of the wall, keeping your hand on it at all times. “Is this what we’ve come to? You hiding from me and ignoring me?”
“I simply did not want to intrude on your even-” The lie comes out smooth but Daemon is far too quick to argue.
“I haven’t seen you in years.”
“I was with my father, Daemon. At home.”
“This is your home, this has always been your home so don’t sit there and tell me that you wanted to go to that wretched land your father calls home because that isn’t true.” He snaps, walking towards you after giving up when he realized you would not be coming closer yourself. “What did I do wrong?”
“You did nothing wrong-”
“Please. Stop. Lying.” His voice is hoarse, and one of his hands slams on the stone wall behind you to stop you from escaping, leaning down to make you look at him. “I haven’t seen you in so long, you’ve…….you’ve cursed me.”
“I assure you I would never-”
“Then can I not stop thinking about you? Why do you plague my mind every second of the day and dance in my dreams every night. Why have I been asking everyone I possibly could on your whereabouts. Why have you abandoned me so?”
“I did not abando-”
“Then I find out, through Alicent fucking Hightower, that you are coming here to meet suitors and I fly out here only to be met with silence-”
“I am here to meet suitors, Daemon.”
“And you do not consider me well enough to court you then?”
“I need an actual candidate. Someone who will want me!”
“Please, please please PLEASE TELL ME WHERE YOU WOULD GET IT IN YOUR HEAD I DON’T WANT YOU!” He yells, both hands now on the stone behind you as he fully cages you in, a desperate look to his eyes while your heartbeat starts to fight against your chest.
“Last I heard you were going to ask for Rhaenyras hand-”
“You mean when I was still a prince? Looking to help my niece acquire the throne?”
“We both know that there was more to it than that-”
“Maybe there was. Maybe I was trying to make you jealous.” He admits, forehead against yours. “Maybe I was scared that you would never see me as anything more than a drunken secondborn-”
“Daemon.”
“Allow me to court you…… or….or at least allow me the honor of meeting you as a suitor. I’ll walk into that hall and do anything you’d like. Please Y/n.” He begs, taking a step back before getting to his knees.
“What does it matter Daemon? You could simply ask the king for him to allow you my hand-”
“I would never trap you like that, I want you. I want you to choose me and not hate me for it.”
“Then yes.”
“Yes I can meet you as a suitor?”
“Yes I will marry you.” The answer shocks you both, but your next move shocks you more. Reaching down to grab the sides of his face and drag him to stand up from his knees, pulling him into you for a kiss.
He stills for a moment before giving in, hands wrapping around your waist as he gently lifts you to his height, using the wall behind you as leverage, his lips softly moving against your own.
You’re the one that reaches down to pull your skirts up, allowing him a moment of shock at your boldness. “Take me. Take me against the wind.”
And so he does, wrapping your thighs around his waist as he undoes his own pants and thrusts into you as slowly as possible. He takes pleasure in the way you whine in pain, arms wrapping around him for comfort, gripping his hair.
“I’m sorry it hurts.” He whispers, holding you up and pressing your foreheads together as the sun begins to set. “If I could ease the pain I would”
“Move Daemon.” You groan, allowing him to thrust softly, keeping a hand on you at all times while you moan in pleasure. He gasps against your neck at his own pleasure, muttering praises as he speeds up. But he wasn’t getting everything he wanted.
Within moments he has you both laid out on the grass, him above you as he moves faster and faster and faster, but with this position he gets full eye contact.
He watches you come undone, bouncing with each thrust he gives, moaning at the feeling as he comes undone as well, muttering more praises in high velaryon.
“I will offer my hand tomorrow, and we will be wed on dragonstone, where I will take you against the wind any moment you would like.” He whispers, rubbing your cheek. “So long as you never run from me again. I cannot survive it.”
“Promise.”
(I reallyyyyyyy hope you like it. I had no clue how to make him soft in smut )
#daemon targaryen x reader#daemom targaryen#daemon targaryen imagine#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen angst#House of the dragon#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon imagine
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The Mad Queen (II)
pairing: Aemond Targaryen × Velaryon (Targaryen )!Oc Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon (Targaryen) Oc!,Cregan Stark x Oc
Content: Incest, Age-Gap,Angst
Author's Note:Follow me on tik tok, I upload edits of my fics:)),my user is targayrens
Visenya was nervous, it took so many years for this moment to finally come.
Today she stopped being Visenya Velaryon to finally call herself Visenya Targaryen She couldn't stop moving the rings on her fingers, she knew that her wedding would mark a before and after in this war.
"You look beautiful, my little dragon, I wish I wasn't about to give you up to that one-eyed Hightower cunt."
-Thanks, Dad
Daemon kissed her daughter's forehead before starting to walk towards her future husband.
The day before they had had a Valyrian wedding, which Alicent completely disapproved of saying that they hadn't really been close since that day.
Visenya could only admire her husband, seeing how her cuts were still red, the ceremony was fast and she only thought about how she had married twice with the man she loves so much.
Visenya danced with her younger siblings, while Viserys and Aegon were in her arms, Joffrey played with her dress.
Aemond thought how lucky he was, he rode Vhagar and was now married to Visenya Targaryen.
What more could she ask for?
Visenya screamed and moaned in pain, her mother held her hand as she calmed her down but she was still terrified.
What if the baby didn't come? Or did they have to cut her off?
"Bid one more time, Princess."
"Shit, you don't understand that it hurts me!"
"It's almost here, sweet girl, just bid one more time."
Visenya pushed and screamed until her scream mingled with the baby's cry.
—A child, princess, healed and kicking like a goat
"Let me see it." Visenya held the child in her arms.
He was red and ugly but she could see the little white streaks on his head.
—Aerys, his name is Aerys
Daemon entered with his daughters and the velaryon children.
"Look at you, sweet girl, you did well" Daemon kissed her head affectionately.
"Is it a boy? What's his name?" Luke approached her so he could get a good look at the baby in her arms.
—Yes, sweet boy, he is a little prince and his name is Aerys
Baela took the baby in her arms while her brothers admired him.
Aemond entered the room with young Aegon and young Viserys.
—Sorry for the delay but your brothers wanted to choose the egg for our son, I heard that he is a boy
"See for yourself, my love.
Baela reluctantly handed over the child, Aemond admired the little boy, caressing his cheeks delicately.
—What is his name, or have you not decided yet?
—Aerys Targaryens
—The perfect name for a future warrior—Viserys's voice caught everyone's attention.
The King and Alicent moved closer to see him.
"It's beautiful, dear, I hope the delivery was easy?"
—I don't think I've ever insulted someone so much, grandpa.
Alicent was furious, she knew that her husband's request to get up from his bed to see his new grandson was only for Rhaenyra's daughter, since he only gave his own son a little shoulder squeeze, not even a congratulations on becoming a father.
"I think she looks a lot like him, Prince Daemon, I was hoping she might have a bit of a resemblance to Laenor Velaryon, or his own father."
Visenya understood what the Queen was hinting at, she was accusing her of having a bastard.
—The resemblance between my husband and my father has always been a topic of conversation for the inhabitants of King's Landing, I think that the one who should be questioned about her son's resemblance to the rebel prince is not me.
The queen and the princess smiled at each other, neither was a real smile.
#daemon targeryen x reader#Daemon targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x oc#cregan stark x oc#daemon x you#aemond targaryen x reader#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#aemond imagine#Daemon targaryen smut#cregan stark x reader
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I want to add only one thing to daemyra discourse here or whatever.
Daemon’s parents - Baelon and Alyssa - were infamous for having incredibly loud and enthusiastic sex. Like, this isn’t speculation, this is part of the written lore. In their Wiki article, them having great sex is of equal notoriety as their general history.
Also they were notable for, despite showing romantic interest in each other since they were young (they’re siblings, #targayren-things), were able to hold off going at each other until they officially wed. Which then led to the infamous loud wedding night sex.
Daemon’s mom was basically a female version of him but also prolly less psychopathic, let’s be real. Brave, bold, gave no fucks, very in love and loyal to Baelon, great fun mom.
Baelon himself also, super loyal. When Alyssa died and his other sister tried to seduce him, he wasn’t having any of that shit. Stayed single even tho his sons could’ve maybe needed a mom, till his untimely deaths
What I’m just saying is that, especially in the show, Daemon right now has got a combo of his parents’ qualities, for better or for worse. Live and love hard, turn into emotional depressed mess. Mixed in with his psychopathic ways.
Also that he needs to live up to his parents’ legacy for the beach-shack-sex moment. It was audible throughout the Red Keep man!
#daemon targaryen#daemyra#hotd spoilers#house of the dragon#I’m a bit slushed so I wrote this cos yeah#I mean GRRM made a point of noting that Baelon and Alyssa had crazy good sex#gotta have plot relevance some time#tho I personally think it should be quiet emotional intimate sex first but we’ll
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So was Laena Daemon's second choice in the books or not?
It wasn't about "second choice" so much as different connections and timing.
Context
In the book, Daemon and Rhaenyra have a mysterious incident at King's Landing (we do not know if he did or did not have sex with her and "ruin" her, if they just kissed and were seen, if they just glanced at each other many times and were caught, or if they really did nothing and were just accused) and Daemon gets sent away before he ever meets Laena for the first time. He more or less immediately goes to Driftmark to kill Laena's freeloading and unwanted (by Corlys too) Braavosi betrothed after staying for a bit, and then he marries her.
Answer
I think that he pursued her for both personal and political reasons (the political: mainly for Rhaenyra/the Targs and himself so that the Velayrons would have a vested interest in the Targ's succession and continuance. And honestly, he pursues Rhaenyra both because he loves her and because he himself gains much politically, with her being heir/future Queen regnant AND having dragonriding/"pure" Valyrian kids with her as he always wanted. He and Laena also had dragonriding/Valyrian kids together.
But he was definitely attracted to Laena, if not in love with her, in the first few months they met and interacted in Driftmark, and he definitely loved her throughout their marriage:
He moved her and the first kids they had from Pentos to Driftmark and asked Viserys to allow them back in a letter.
He mourned her after she died, as the text especially states.
They rode their dragons together.
These are acts that you don't expect from a person who supposedly is not very in love and is very attracted to their spouse.
(Viserys should have been the one to marry Laena instead of Alicent for the same reasons, but you know). Afterward, since we never hear of any discord or him leaving Driftmark, I say he came to love her as a partner/someone he could trust and respect her as an individual.
It is very possible for people to be in love with more than one person, even simultaneously, in their whole lifetime. Even if they cannot do polyamorous arrangements. but Daemon loved Rhaenyra differently. More passion. And he's a very passionate guy.
It's better to call Rhaenyra the first real and most enduring love Daemon had.
#asoiaf asks to me#daemon targayren#laena velayron#laena and daemon#fire and blood comment#asoiaf love#rhaenyra laena daemon#asoiaf shipping#canon shipping#asoiaf#fire and blood
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Demon very well could prior to their arrival in Harrenhal, requested adjoining rooms for himself and Nettles, primarily because the two did not know anyone else in Harrenhal, and wishing to remain close in order to maintain/have some sense/assurance of security as the only riders present in Harrenhal in the midst of war, wanting to try to plan for all eventualities.
Why do people necessarily think it was due to a sexual relationship between the two? Let's be realistic, with the context of war it would be a bit stupid for the only two dragon riders present to have rooms far from each other, without the possibility of accessing them respectively as easily as possible. What if they had an emergency? Anything that would require the immediate presence of the other? How would they do it? Can people take the time to reflect a little...
@the-king-andthe-lionheart actually argued similarly in a reblog of one of my posts HERE. Specifically about their feeling for vigilance. And I agree with you both. The whole point of Daemon even going with Nettles was so that they had a better chance of taking Aemond down -- who had Vhagar, the biggest and oldest and most battled-hardened dragon alive.
And I agree in several posts under the tag "Daemon and Nettles" in my blog (including the post I linked already) that people think they had sexual relations because they hate Rhaenyra and Daemon/the Daemyra ship, or just Rhaenyra, or just Daemon, or they hate Dany and the entire Targs. Thinking the house as colonizers and inherently evi, volatile, crazy persons needing to be put down.
So seeing Dameon cheat on Rhaenyra with a young girl when he may have had sex with virgin sex workers and being attracted to their virginity (they hate this in particular, some believing raped these people or is just misogynist, shallow and gross) feels like karma, feels like justice to them, or reveals his ill intent and inherent evil. (Meanwhile, there are any of the who genuinely ships him with the 17 year old Nettles, so there's your hypocrisy. If you think he'd be gross with ten sex workers because they are teens and then think it romantic for him to sleep with Nettles and paint Rhaenyranas this evil evil bitch who was herself married at 17 to Laenor, you just hate Rhaenyra and are a hypocrite). So the history with the virgin sex workers.
Finally, I also have said that they think they are correct in that Daemon sleeps with Nettles because of his past with Rhaenyra, what Mushroom (yes they use Mushroom and his words as one of their main sources) tells us was Daemon "teaching" Rhaenyra sexual "tricks", see Daeron described as teaching Nettles how to dress and bathe and some manners, and then say that he is also having sex with Nettles, because that is his supposed MO.
So they are really desperate to see Daemon as a sexual monster even to the victimization if Nettles in order to be proven right. And so they also do not take into account the mission Rhaenyra sends them on/allows and they project the nightmare fuel of a sexual relationship regardless of the context of the situation. They cannot and could not fathom it because they already decided Daemon, etc. are evil, so everything they would do in the future is evil and gross and predatory.
#nettles#daemon and nettles shipping#daemon and nettles#daemon targayren#asoiaf asks to me#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf shipping#fire and blood comment#fire and blood
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What is Daemon's inner motivation in the show? What he lacks? Esteem? Sense of belonging? Self-Actualization? Aemond clearly wants to gain recognition for his special qualities.
...What "special qualities", anon? Until he claims Vhagar, we don't see anything about Aemond that is special, just his contradictory writing and his wanting obedience to custom from others for the sake of going against Rhaenyra. And even then, the show doesn't dwell on Aemond, doesn't allow us to see him as a real person because of the jump cuts.
As for Daemon, it appears that he is either there to groom Rhaenyra or to desire his brothers’ power for himself. (Meanwhile we have a lot of reasons or suggestions that he’s way more complex in the canon lore: his family history before Rhaenyra is ever born and his marriage to Rhea at age 16).
#daemon and aemond#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf asks to me#daemon vs aemond#daemon targayren#aemond targaryen#Fire and Blood#hotd#hotd commentary#hotd comments#hotd comment#hotd critical
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Why it is a Better Story to Have Aemond Intentionally Try to Kill Lucerys (Beside it Being Already Canon) -- Context around Him
House of the Dragon deliberately encourages the viewer to see Aemond as a much more sympathetic character and more of a victim than he is told to be in Fire and Blood.
The show is now and still headed towards a tone that wants everyone to be victimized to the point where there is doubtful accountability on anyone’s part. Which all undermines Rhaenyra’s legitimacy and thus Daenerys “Stormborn” Targayren’s. Which the show claims to be trying to “fix“ with what happened in GoT.
A)
It would be consistent with how the Old Valyrians, Aegon I, his sisters, Jaehaerys I and Alysanne, and all those before them all managed to rein in and use their dragons successfully with no disastrous hiccups.
Jaehaerys had Vermithor, his dragon, since he was a baby and rode him by the time he was in his early teens.
Alysanne was even younger.
Their sister Rhaena was 12 when she began riding Dreamfyre.
The Valyrian dragonriders, as both the show and the book tells us through Daemon (episode 10), lets us know that the Valyrian dragonriders battled each other. I don’t think that they would frequently wage wars against each other if they knew that they had so little control over these dragons.
(“Jaehaerys and Alysanne -Their Triumphs and Tragedies”):
To posit that the Targaryens/Valyrian dragonriders could have so little control or at least not that great of understanding--even in their teens and as kids--as to have their dragons totally disregard their explicit demands at critical moments or life and death moments is trifling and absurd. It's better to put forth the idea that Aemond didn't have the best emotional/self control, didn't bond with Vhagar all that well, and this when he stormed after Luke to try to make a point, he wasn't able to stop his dragon from anything crazy because he put her in that position in the first place.
Especially when you consider that the show never, ever expands more on what human-dragon interaction besides dragonriding and bonding is like apart from Aemond claiming Vhagar, Rhaenyra jumping down from Syrax, her riding Syrax twice onto the Dragonstone bridge, and the “accident” at Storm’s End. So we’re encouraged to swallow this logic because they offer nothing else to hint at this beforehand.
There are only a few, rare and special instances where dragons disobeyed (or just made it more difficult for their riders) Targs and they were all either because some magical, "higher power" as ozymalek on their YouTube video HERE calls it, OR (as they explain as well) the dragon and rider were likely not properly or were never bonded in the first place,:
Alysanne's dragon Silverwing is blocked or repelled from going further beyond the Wall by an unknown force or the dragon herself trying not to meet an ancient evil there.....
(SPOILERS) Syrax threw Joffrey off when he tries to ride her because she already bonded with Rhaenyra who was still alive
Aerea couldn't control or command Balerion properly since their bond didn't form properly
Drogon snaps at Daenerys because: she tried to imprison him/didn't find the right balance as to how tomeet the needs of both dragon and her people; their bond didn't form within the average Targ customs and practices and she grew up with no guide on how to even approach bonding so she has to go by her wit, observations, etc. and will make a few mistakes
B)
But if Aemond had been left to actually attempt to kill Lucerys, thematically it would not make Show!Aemond as inconsistent and logically contradictory in his character, actions, and motivations. Inserting that doubt in his intentions to assault his own neowhew, in the skies, reads as absurd.
In the book/original story, Aemond goes after Luke not only for his eye, but is he's motivated into actually running after Luke from Maris Baratheon's words. Maris Baratheon basically calls his manhood into question after this first confrontation in Borro's castle (1st confrontation b/t them: when Aemond tells Luke to put out his own eye) ["A Son for a Son"]:
And even before he lost his eye, we learn that he and both of his brothers always hated the Velayron boys; he is characterized as “fierce” in the books from a very young age...again, before he lost his eye (MORE BELOW).
The purpose of making him like this in the books is to make it clear he's willing to assault/kill/maim who he sees as/should be beneath him and has little to no emotional self-regulation BECAUSE of that pride. That the greens are the villains AND antagonists in the Dance for thinking that they were entitled to the throne despite the King's word to fulfill their own ambition. Despite how this then strengthens a precedent to not care that much about a king's word, which would have affected Aegon the Elder's own authority even if he had properly won and settled his own dynasty. All especially because their contender is a woman. They are all the worst sort of misogynist and the "evil" usurpers.
Even in death, if they really were the people who were claiming “duty and sacrifice” above all (suggesting self sacrifice as the series allows us to think with any strong rebuttal against Alicent's claims), then they would not go against this rule of disobeying the monarch’s word. A part of the feudal obligation of a subject to their ruler.
In other words, if we argue that they are doing “duty” and “sacrifice” and just trying to do “what’s right”--they are not. This would be hypocrisy and a lie. And it's not a good idea to utterly remove their culpability and make it seem as if this civil war has no moral grounding anywhere, when there were high stakes for Westerosi wen, illegitimate children, etc., as we later see with Daenerys and Jon Snow.
So Aemond should have been presented as the villain that he was.
C)
We constantly hear Aemond saying that he despises “craven” deeds and attitudes: him responding to Maris Baratheon’s challenge and following Luke; him not going to meet Daeron and the Hightower army south by Criston’s suggestion; how he characterizes Rhaenyra’s womanliness as inherently “weak”. Truthfully, it seems that he despises the chance that he be labeled or “fall into” weakness & cowardliness that comes with not being the ideal Targ male.
Aemond is motivated by his need to gain something like the respect Daemon has even from those who fear him, the sort of respect that comes with an acknowledgment of determination, skill, etc. However, Daemon’s determination definitely comes from the unity & exclusivity of a family unit. Which Aemond does not have: it’s shown how he wasn’t willing to join Daeron to attack the blacks when Criston suggested it; his unwillingness to save Helaena & Alicent when it meant giving up his chance at facing Daemon or any of the riders at KL (again, Criston’s suggestion of joining Daeron); and we hear of no actual interactions, even arguments, between him and any of his green-side siblings.
Likely, his side of the family do not practice care or simple reciprocity like the blacks did; he simply does not have the sort of validation from said family, so he is searching for it elsewhere, as young Daemon did. So he’s desperate for the warrior renown--a type of “love” in of itself. Add this to his male entitlement that Alicent & Otto would have drilled into him--
PLUS the societal showing him that since birth
PLUS him being a royal having class privileges over most people
PLUS him wanting to be the quintessential Targ prince with the Targ heritage (having a dragon is a huge p[art of that, more below)
PLUS how he has a Hightower mother instead of a 1/2 Targ or full Targ mother like either Daemon or Rhaenyra
and we got a recipe for a very frustrated, repressed guy who uses violence to self-affirm. What ties the green side together is not really love or care, but envy for what others have, they should have had:
Rhaenyra's position both in Viserys' heart and esteem? All those kids didn't experience it the exact same way (Viserys actually spent time with Helaena and her kids many times, as the bk states. While with the boys, it's negligible as Daeron was sent away, Aemond and Viserys cant have clicked at all, Aegon was...Aegon, etc., in large part due to them grown up seeing Rhaenyra as their enemy/danger AND block to Viserys' esteem; Viserys' favor towards her would reinforce those feelings...Alicent may have instilled in her boys that they must act as protectors and thus they wereless able to really connect with the man who was characterized as enabling their would-be enemy)
Alicent wanted to be the highest ranked woman; Rhaenyra would have been the undisputed one if she were to rule and she was definitely a contender even before she married Laenor; it was her side, not Alicent's, who Viserys took when Aegon was born when he insisted on keeping Rhaenyra as his heir and sent Otto away, so again Alicent may have though Viserys put his daughter "unfairly" above the woman who "gave" him a son. It could have looked to her like Rhaenyra had an almost "unnatural" place in his heart she could never access.
[headcanon?!] Otto's experience and conception of the familial/societal connections/structure is built more on obedience to a higher authority(ies) & submitting yourself to their command: parent's way is the way; the gods'/Faith's rule over human needs; man over woman. Deference, orderliness, conformity. He might have felt that Daemon had a confidence or a sense of self (AND didn't deserve) that he lacked & didn't deserve, AS WELL AS hating him for not being able/willing to be manipulated or put off through his ego like Viserys. Otto, like Daemon, is a second son. He wants to make some sort of name for himself but has grown up to not receive an inheritance or honors or power equal to anything like what his brother, thus he's also seeking the validation through political self advancement. Daemon obviously, like Otto, would be proud to be an direct ancestor of a ruler. Unlike Daemon, Otto is neither an enforcer nor a warrior but a politician. He could have looked at Daemon--the born prince who had to do nothing to deserve his closeness and possible influence on any monarch, much less Viserys--and believe he, Otto, had to "work" to get his position as Hand while also believing he was most entitled to said position bc of his family and his belief in his ability to serve the king's ruling the land he thinks should be more Faith-dominant, more Andal tradition bound. Funnily enough, it is bc he is a noble and from the Hightower house that he's even able to get his foot in the door so to speak, and later effectively rule the kingdom both through Jaehaerys' grief from Baelon's death and later through Viserys' decline. So, Otto could have been jealous of the level of "tolerance" he could have interpreted from Viserys' relationship with Daemon & how Viserys dealt with Daemon's "insubordination". How many times Viserys "forgave" Daemon. When such a thing isn't likely possible in a more strict household like Otto's--evidence suggests that noble Andal-descent households raise children to be a lot more distant from their parents and for them to follow rules of conduct more than to really think for themselves or allow room for them to make mistakes/act out/display emotion in more disruptive ways…like Jaehaerys with his own children, or at least his girls. Baelon & Alyssa Targaryen seemed to not have done the same, going by their personalities. He's trying to accrue power through the means of aligning himself more within a man's power/the Faith's teachings and preference of men ruling/men's authority and value prioritized bc that's how the Hightowers' have been maintain their esteem in Westerosi history. Daemon does something similar except time the Targs it's been about their dragons and continued insistence on bending the rules or making new ones to shape the society they are ruling.
Therefore, the bonds are more about obligation than about liking each other or helping each other out, perpetuates a cycle of apathy & repressed/unaddressed resentment.
Aside from being royals, these are royals who are trying to outdo another set of royals and gain the throne--the stakes are higher and the entire group will have different dynamics than if Alicent & Otto accepted Rhaenyra as the future Queen. They will have grown up with their most of their actions guided toward gaining an advantage over others as if it were some kind of mission. A “mission” to take down this sibling they’re not supposed to care about because she dares to be a woman looking for power. Which really undermines the chance of a personality developing apart from, again, hate.
Directing one’s sense of self into destroying another and therefore removing or diminishing both self awareness and an independent, stronger sense of self.
It would seem as if their only purpose is to win & be better, but also conform to a certain hierarchy that Helaena (as a girl)/Daeron (as 3rd born son and “spare-spare”)/Aemond (as 2nd born son and “spare”) also fall under Aegon (boy AND firstborn); the problem is that to emphasize how “princely” you are but also socially confine that seeming supreme power to create another layer of resentment--in Aemond’s case.
Alicent and Otto worked for Aegon, not Aemond, to become king. Her other kids would have been told that they must do much for Aegon to be king, or at least comply to plans or presentations to support Aegon’s claim. Helaena marrying Aegon is another way in which Alicent can bolster Aegon’s claim by ensuring BOTH that his kids/heirs can be old enough to ride dragons a soon as possible, for when Viserys dies and there is a war to get the throne AND for Aegon to gain that image of Targness by performing that Targ tradition of sibling marriage and continuing that legacy that ironically Alicent probably hates.
Aemond already feels that he would be the better ruler over his older brother who didn’t even want to fight for supreme power/the throne, but because Aegon’s older Aemond doesn’t have access to pursue the thing the Targtowers want above all: power over most others. Until at least Aegon is flamed out of commission for nearly a year after Rook’s Rest. When he’s 10 at Laenor’s funeral/Dragonstone, he’s not satisfied with having an egg or a small young dragon to bond with because he needs to prove himself a “true” Targ and warrior that Viserys promises him, esp in lieu of his so-called bastard/”untrue” nephews all having bonded with a dragon not long after their births. Why should they, bastards, have something that him, a legitimate Valyrian-looking prince, doesn’t have? It presents a troubling negation of him actually being as impressive as he wants to be and has wanted to be and has been told unsubtly or subtly that he needs to be. This is why he is described as being “fierce” not long at all after he’s born and started actually being able to communicate. He’s blind(er) rage and destruction. This need to be the best drives him to be the absolute worst, morally and logically (he didn’t see that Daemon tricked him into abandoning KL).
Therefore he cannot handle challenges to his masculinity, as he got with Maris Baratheon, which also motivated to go after Luke but HotD didn’t include, as I already described.
Especially with him attending the actual feast his older brother Aegon orders for him for having killed Luke, we can see what sort of guy this was: entitled, angry, unremorseful, brutal. Again, he shares those traits with Daemon, but Daemon is both more patient, smarter, (at the time of the Dance) more experienced, and knows/experiences real love and therefore has a better grasp on who he is without having to go to drastic measures to affirm himself.
So for Aemond to not at least be very okay and eager in killing Luke diminishes his own agency and undermines his character.
Direct Comparisons
House of the Dragon:
In episode 10, Aemond chases Lucerys down after having thrown his knife at him to put out his own eye, recalling how Lucerys cut out his eye in episode 7. He chases him for a very long time, yelling about how he still needs to give him his eye as retribution. All the while, Aemond is on a behemoth that, as we saw later, could destroy Arrax and Lucerys with little effort. Aemond is also laughing while he chases Lucerys.
Before they take to the skies, Aemond also demnaded Lucerys put out his eye twice. The second time, he had burst towards him, making as if he were actually going to attack him when Lucerys refused and stayed silent.
It is as if someone had chased you down in a huge Jeep while you’re riding a small bike, yelling about how you should cut off your own nose for doing the same to them years ago. And they are laughing while they chase you down. and that both your vehicle scan breathe fire, of course.
There is violent intent towards Lucerys here. To then portray him or claim that he didn’t want to hurt nor kill Lucerys, just scare him, is beyond stupid. Bad writing, too. Contradictory.
Fire and Blood:
Borros Baratheon’s second, least conventionally attractive daughter Maris basically calls him unmanly for not chasing down Lucerys after he had demanded Lucerys to put out his own eye. So Aemond gets angry and goes after Lucerys, now with further motivation to prove his “bravery” and “strength” as well as get revenge for his eye.
The secondborn daughter of Lord Borros, less comely than her sisters, she was angry with Aemond for preferring them to her. “Was it one of your eyes he took, or one of your balls?” Maris asked the prince, in tones sweet as honey. “I am so glad you chose my sister. I want a husband with all his parts.”
Aemond Targaryen’s mouth twisted in rage, and he turned once more to Lord Borros, asking for his leave. The Lord of Storm’s End shrugged and answered, “It is not for me to tell you what to do when you are not beneath my roof.” And his knights moved aside as Prince Aemond rushed to the doors.
(“A Son for a Son”)
(I must bring up that there was a maester beside Borros, who--like Maester Norren recording Daemon and Nettles’ interaction at Maidenpool--would have recorded what went on here at Storm’s End. that and multiple other witnesses--the daughters, Borros himself, the guards....)
Especially after Maris Baratheon's emasculating comment, Aemond definitely had all the malicious, murderous intent towards Lucerys in the book and he definitely intended to kill him.
There is also no mention of him really having trouble with Lucerys’ death. Between this, right after he goes back to the Keep:
Aemond Targaryen…who would henceforth be known as Aemond the Kinslayer to his foes…returned to King’s Landing, having won the support of Storm’s End for his brother Aegon, and the undying enmity of Queen Rhaenyra. If he thought to receive a hero’s welcome, he was disappointed. Queen Alicent went pale when she heard what he had done, crying, “Mother have mercy on us all.” Nor was Ser Otto pleased. “You only lost one eye,” he is reported to have said. “How could you be so blind?” The king himself did not share their concerns, however. Aegon II welcomed Prince Aemond home with a great feast, hailed him as “the true blood of the dragon,” and announced that he had made “a good beginning.”
(“A Son for a Son”)
If he regretted killing Luke or if this was an "accident", why does he go to a feast his brother prepares for him and allow him to say that he was the "best" & get them all on the right path?
(SPOILERS!!!!)
And when he murders all of the Strongs based on a suspicion that Larys Strong--a staunch Green from the start--is a traitor and helping out his living nephews (Jacaerys and Joffrey) after Rhaenyra takes King’s Landing:
First to suffer for it was Ser Simon Strong. Prince Aemond had love for any of that ilk, and the haste with which the castellan had yielded Harrenhal to Daemon Targaryen convinced him the old man was a traitor. Ser Simon protested his innocence, insisting that he was a true and loyal servant of the Crown. His own great nephew, Larys Strong, was Lord of Harrenhal and King Aegon’s master of whisperers, he reminded the Prince Regent. These denials only inflamed Aemond’s suspicions. The Clubfoot was a traitor as well, he decided. How else would Daemon and Rhaenyra have known when King’s Landing was most vulnerable? Someone on the small council had sent word to them…and Larys Clubfoot was Breakbones’s brother, and thus an uncle to Rhaenyra’s bastards.
Aemond commanded that Ser Simon be given a sword. “Let the gods decide if you speak truly,” he said. “If you are innocent, the Warrior will give you the strength to defeat me.” The duel that followed was utterly one-sided, all the accounts agree; the prince cut the old man to pieces, then fed his corpse to Vhagar. Nor did Ser Simon’s grandsons long outlive him. One by one, every man and boy with Strong blood in his veins was dragged forth and put to death, until the heap made of their heads stood three feet tall.
(“Rhaenyra Triumphant”)
And make no mistake that Aemond hated all his nephews, even if we argue that his anger was only towards Lucerys for the eye thing; no it was there before:
The enmity between Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra was passed on to their sons, and the queen’s three boys, the Princes Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron, grew to be bitter rivals of their Velaryon nephews, resentful of them for having stolen what they regarded as their birthright: the Iron Throne itself. Though all six boys attended the same feasts, balls, and revels, and sometimes trained together in the yard under the same master-a-arms and studied under the same maesters, this enforced closeness only served to feed their mutual mislike, rather than binding them together as brothers.
(“A Question of Succession”)
Therefore, it is much more likely and probable that Aemond and is brothers would have bullied the Velayron boys. Especially considering how bastard children of nobles are reviled outside of Dorne in Westeros, we can see how the entire court would have treated the boys with as much disdain as they could without getting too much in trouble with Viserys and Rhaneyra. Therefore, Aemond and his brothers all would have felt even more entitled and motivated to hate and antagonize the Velayron boys. Even with Ameond not having a dragon.
Yet the show only shows us Aemond suffering from the Velaryon boys being lead by his own older brother’s taunts and mocks.
But what if we had added some more truthful nuance here and had Aemond and his bros bully the V boys, then the V boys try to retaliate with their own mocking?
Then there is Aemond’s canon character:
Two years later, she produced a daughter for the king, Helaena; in 110 AC, she bore him a second son, Aemond, who was said to be half the size of his elder brother, but twice as fierce.
AND
[After Vhagar] Prince Aemond, despite the loss of his eye, had become a proficient and dangerous swordsman under the tutelage of Ser Criston Cole, but remained a wild and willful child, hot-tempered and unforgiving.
(“A Question of Succession”)
Like Maegor the Cruel, Aemond displayed a volatile streak in his early youth and became even more violent. Both under some pressure to prove their mettle, but in different ways and w/stakes & motivations.
And if we argue that his misogyny is typical and not fostered by a hatred, I refer to the quote above about his hatred for Rhaenyra’s sons and this quote
Whatever the reason, Ser Criston and Prince Aemond decided to part ways. Cole would take command of their host and lead them south to join Ormund Hightower and Prince Daeron, but the Prince Regent would not accompany them. Instead he meant to fight his own war, raining fire on the traitors from the air. Soon or late, “the bitch queen” would send a dragon or two out to stop him, and Vhagar would destroy them. “She dare not send all her dragons,” Aemond insisted. “That would leave King’s Landing naked and vulnerable. Nor will she risk Syrax, or that last sweet son of hers. Rhaenyra may call herself a queen, but she has a woman’s parts, a woman’s faint heart, and a mother’s fears.”
(“Rhaenyra Triumphant”)
And then there is his act of setting fire to the riverlords’ domains/the riverlands itself.
Finally, there is the case of Alys Rivers. (SPOILERS!!!!)
Even with her being more than 20 years older than him, let’s think about what positions of power these two have. She is a bastard from the Strong House. The same house that he executed and destroyed before having sex with her (“Rhaenyra Triumphant”):
Prince Aemond had taken her into his bed as a prize of war soon after taking Harrenhal, seemingly preferring her to all the other women of the castle, including many pretty maids of his own years.
.....................
The castle stood empty no more than three days before Lady Sabitha Frey swooped down to seize it. Inside she found only Alys Rivers, the wet nurse and purported witch who had warmed Prince Aemond’s bed during his days at Harrenhal, and now claimed to be carrying his child. “I have the dragon’s bastard in me,” the woman said, as she stood naked in the godswood with one hand upon her swollen belly. “I can feel his fires licking at my womb.”
She maybe older, but Aemond as a male prince who has literally destroyed her past support system and means of survival--the Strong House--has the sole authority & ability to decide whether she lives or dies. And easily. Which throws doubt on the absoluteness of Alys’ feelings for Aemond and vice versa.
You could argue that they genuinely found some sort of common ground, that Alys hated her family for some reason--maybe suffering some mistreatment that the maesters would not feel necessary to tell or even have knowledge of--since one might look at her proclaiming that she has his kid is a positive experience for her.
But we don't have evidence of that. And you'd be ignoring how much power Aemond has here and how he literally eliminated the stabler security of a whole continuing house who likely had no ill will against her (even if she hated them, which there is no evidence of) after Aemond is dead. More likely, Alys was in a terrible position and she was out here mainly out to survive. She was also useful to Aemond, with her reported visions.
And here's a kicker. IF Alys had visions and told him how he would meet Daemon and fight him....why didn't she tell him Daemon would kill him?! And Daemon wasted no time, he immediately unchains himself before the fight and jumps on Aemond to stab him right through his leftover eye. There can be no claim of a lengthy fight where there were many variations of moments in the fight where Alys couldn't see a definitely outcome. Alys most likely sent Aemond to his death to be free of him, even with her supposedly using their child. Possibly out of self preservation both when Sabitha Frey comes and after when the royal supporters and army comes to Harrenhal. (Which doesn't mean that she couldn't come to love the kid, but really that itself is not likely because of the circumstance of his birth.)
In All
As with many stories in ASoIaF, the Dance of the Dragons is a story about the different kinds of abuse: domestic abuse, abuse of political power, entitlement, and power struggles between those in a family whose members strive to validate their personhood or existences in the context of a feudal patriarchy. That includes Aemond and Rhaenyra, Daemon and Aegon II, etc.
It tells one consequence of the contradictoriness of a monarchial, feudal state’s transfers of power--when other royal members ignore the word of the past king despite the knowledge that a King’s word is law, even when he is dead just because they want to and want power.
Both is true: the king’s word is law, yet when they die, it is up to the one around them to follow.....yet what does this mean for when the new ruler ascends? Does this mean that anyone could try to just usurp the ruler if they feel like it, that they are “justified”? Then that means that Aemond is perfectly in his right to depose Aegon II if he feels that his brother is not right for the throne. That Rhaenyra’s followers should ignore their oaths and immediately follow Aegon II after she dies. But that would mean that no monarch is a “true monarch” (at least when we look at things as a person living within this system and trying to assess and reassess its own ethics). Which just brings one back to questioning why Rhaenyra shouldn’t be considered queen and why it is “immoral” or disastrous that she become queen?! Using any argument against her having extramarital sex doesn’t work ethically because men are wallowed and the “order” is just fine--answer, Rhaenyra being a female heir/ruler goes against the desire and order of male privilege itself.
This shows how contradictory the greens are for trying to depose and later usurp the heir based on her gender, saying that having a female heir is against custom........yet some think that greens are in the absolute right? Or they have a strong, positive moral basis?
The Dance is a story tells the story of the antagonists take advantage of the king’s death and the official heir’s absence to make way for themselves. How they used the heir’s gender as pretext and justification.
Aemond being more sympathetic is both a lie and seeks to undermine Rhaneyra’s claim, not make anyone more “complex”. You can still have depictions of Aemond be resentful towards his father and Viserys dismiss him or how Alicent’s dependence on him--and how she’s passed on her patriarchal submission and expectations from Otto’s abuse to her kids--to be “strong” layers on top of his “ferocity” and make him complex in that way while retaining his villain role. While showing how and what he does/stands for is nevertherless evil.
Therefore, this show, even if Fire and Blood didn’t exist, is not well written and not fairly depicting human psychology.
#aemond targaryen#lucerys velaryon#aemond vs lucerys#hotd critical#aemond's wrongs#aemond's characterization#hotd accountability#hotd accidents#history is a series of accidents#hotd comment#dragonriders#dragonriding#the dragonlords#asoiaf dragons#book vs tv comparisons#fire and blood#hotd#asoiaf
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Fire and Blood/HotD Characters
Aegon I
Visenya the Conqueror
Rhaenys the Conqueror
..................................................
Aenys I
Rhaena Targaryen (Dreamfyre’s rider)
Aegon the Uncrowned
Alyssa Velaryon
Rogar Baratheon
..................................................
Maegor I
Tyanna of the Tower
Elinor Costayne
..................................................
Jaehaerys I
Alysanne Targaryen
Septon Barth
Saera Targayren
Viserra Targaryen
Daella Targaryen
Vaegon Targayren
Alyssa Targaryen
Baelon Targaryen (Vhagar’s rider)
..................................................
Aemma Arryn
Viserys I
Rhea Royce
Daemon Targaryen
Rhaenyra Targaryen
Jacaerys Velaryon
Lucerys Velaryon
Joffrey Velaryon
Baela Targaryen
Rhaena Targaryen (Morning’s rider)
Rhaenys Targaryen (Meleys’ rider)
Corlys Velaryon
Laena Velaryon
Laenor Velaryon
Alicent Hightower
Aegon II
Aemond Targaryen
Alys Rivers
Helaena Targaryen
Daeron Targaryen (Tessarion’s rider)
Otto Hightower
Larys Strong
Harwin Strong
Nettles
Mysaria
Criston Cole
Vaemond Velaryon
..................................................
Alysanne “Black Aly” Blackwood
Benjicot “Bloody Ben” Blackwood
Sabitha Frey
Roderick Dustin
Cregan Stark
Borros Baratheon
Maris Baratheon
Samantha Tarly
Lyonel Hightower
..................................................
Aegon III
Viserys II
Jaehaera Targaryen
Daenaera Velaryon
Unwin Peake
Myrielle Peake
Marston Waters
Larra Rogare
Sandoq
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A World of Ice and Fire/Dunk & Egg Characters
Daeron I
Baelor I
Daena Targaryen
Elaena Targaryen
Rhaena Targayren (Septa)
..................................................
Aegon IV
Naerys Targaryen
Aemon the Dragon Knight
Daeron II
Daenerys
Daemon Blackfyre
Aegor Rivers
Brynden Rivers/Bloodraven
Shiera Seastar
..................................................
Baelor Breakspear
Aenys I
Maekar I
Aegon V
Betha Blackwood
Ser Duncan the Tall
Aerion
Aelora
..................................................
Duncan (Prince)
Jenny of Oldstones
Shaera
Jaehaerys II
Rhaelle
Onmund Baratheon
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