#house wylde
Text
Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV
Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Chapter Eight
“You do not know what you are asking for, but make no mistake, you are asking a great deal.”
Aemond found himself back at Harrenhal mere hours after the ball had ended, seeking solace away from the hustle and bustle of the Red Keep. As the first rays of light filtered through the window, they flickered off his sharp features, casting shadows across his furrowed brow as he leaned his head against his arm, his silver hair falling forward.
In the quiet of the room, Aemond felt the weight of desperation pressing down on him. Time was running out, and with Maera's reputation restored and the allure of the Master of Coin's dowry drawing every nobleman to her side, the Prince knew he needed to act swiftly. He couldn't afford to lose her to another suitor if he was to secure his great destiny.
Alys's penchant for speaking in riddles only served to exacerbate Aemond's frustration. Despite her purported great powers, he found her presence irksome. Her dull, long dark hair and cat-like green eyes got on his nerves, as did the enigmatic smile she always seemed to wear. The fact that he was entertaining these fantastical notions of magic and prophecy grated against his sense of logic and reason. Yet, the overwhelming desire to claim Maera for himself had clouded any semblance of judgment he had left.
"A daughter of a minor House will never be betrothed to a prince, especially during times of war when marriages are needed to secure allies," the Prince proclaimed with an edge of exasperation as he rose from his seat, his movements agitated as he inspected Alys's array of trinkets on the nearby table. “She needs to have something of use to the crown.”
Turning to face the witch, who lounged in her chair beside the hearth, Aemond's gaze bore into hers with intensity. "I don't care how you do it but find a way," he commanded, the tension in the room thickening with each passing moment.
Alys furrowed her brow, her green eyes meeting Aemond's with a piercing intensity. After a moment of contemplation, she broke the silence. "She has an aunt, does she not? In Morne?"
Aemond nodded curtly, acknowledging the mention of Maera's maternal aunt. "Her mother's twin, married to Lord Byron of the Fortress of Fog," he confirmed, his tone clipped with anticipation.
"Lord Byron controls quite a fleet," Alys continued, her voice taking on a thoughtful tone as she retrieved a scroll from her shelves and unfurled it to reveal a world map, laying it on the table beside the Prince. "And while the Lannister fleet is strong, the fleet of Morne possesses superior knowledge of the East Waters, akin to the Velaryon fleet."
The Prince shook his head in disbelief, a furrow deepening on his brow. “Lord and Lady Morne have children. The fortress and the fleet would pass to them,” he stated firmly, his voice edged with incredulity at the suggestion.
Alys merely shrugged in response, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Not if something were to happen to all of them,” she retorted, her tone tinged with an unsettling confidence.
Aemond recoiled slightly, taken aback by the brazenness of her proposal. “You’re talking about erasing an entire House,” he protested, his words heavy with disbelief and moral indignation.
The witch's smile only widened, her gaze unyielding. “I’m talking about securing the fleet to Lady Maera’s dowry in order for her to be your bride,” Alys persisted, her words cutting through the air like a blade. “Or do you not wish the prophecy to come true? For the King of Kings to be born?”
Aemond's eye flashed with frustration and anger, his jaw tensing as he struggled to contain his emotions. “I know, witch!” he snapped, his voice sharp with irritation. He turned away from her, his gaze darting around the room as he grappled with the weight of Alys's proposition. “She will never forgive me. Lady Viserra is the last connection to her mother. She writes to her.”
Alys remained unmoved, her demeanor devoid of any semblance of empathy or remorse. "Her heartache will pass," she declared coldly, her words ringing out with a callous certainty that left Aemond feeling unsettled and conflicted. “You will be King. And she will be your Queen,” the witch reminded him. “Through the binding of a son and daughter the King of Kings will be born, to unite and conquer the world.”
His jaw tensed as he contemplated the ramifications of Alys's plan. While Aemond didn't care about wiping out an entire House, he couldn't ignore the fact that the news would devastate Maera. He remembered her speaking fondly of her Aunt Viserra, the twin of her late mother. Losing her mother at such a young age had already inflicted enough pain on Maera, and the thought of causing her more suffering didn't sit well with him.
However, Aemond couldn't deny the strategic advantage their deaths could bring. Maera would inherit the fleet, a valuable asset for the war effort. This would give Aemond a reason to marry her, fulfilling the prophecy and potentially bringing forth the King of Kings. It was a tough decision. But Aemond also thought about all the years Maera had not been in his life, all the dark and twisted turns fate had led him down. He could not lose her again.
“Just see it done,” Aemond relented through gritted teeth, his frustration evident in the tense set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow.
The witch grinned wickedly, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I will need something from you. After all, the Gods need payment for granting you this path.”
“Fine,” Aemond said tersely, dismissing her request with a wave of his hand. “More hair, more blood, whatever, just take it.”
But Alys shook her head slowly, a coy smile playing on her lips. “No, my Prince,” she replied, her voice taking on a sultry tone that sent a shiver down Aemond’s spine. “I need something much, much more valuable.”
As she attempted to brush her finger across his jawline, Aemond reacted instinctively, seizing her wrist firmly to halt the contact. His grip was firm, his violet eye flashing with a mixture of anger and suspicion as he stared into her emerald gaze. “The bloodline will come from your seed, my Prince,” she continued, undeterred by his reaction. “Therefore, that is where we must start. We must join together physically, to enable old magic and the blood of old Valyria to bind together as one.”
Aemond’s grip tightened further, his nails digging into her flesh as he struggled to contain his fury. “You expect me to lie with you?” he spat, his voice laced with contempt. “A witch, a whore?” With a forceful push, he shoved her hand away from him, his gaze burning with indignation and disgust. He could not believe she had the sheer audacity to ask this of him.
Stooping so low to sleep with a whore was one thing, but the potential consequences of this was an entirely different matter- children. Illegitimate children. Bastards. Aemond thought back to all the times his mother received news that another silver-haired babe had been born in a brothel in Flea Bottom. The shame and disappointment that would cloud Queen Alicent’s face was a horrendous sight to behold. There was no way Aemond could let that happen.
And then there was Maera, the woman he would be doing this for. If a child was born from lying with the witch, there would be a high possibility she would never know. However the thought of that ate away at his soul. It would be the ultimate blow to her. To kill her family in order to secure him to his side, and bring a bastard into the world through doing so?
"I will have no bastards running around the Riverlands," Aemond spat, his words laced with venom as he glared at the witch.
Alys met his gaze with equal fervor, her expression hardening as she retorted, "I can have no more children. My last birth damaged my womb, nothing can grow there."
Aemond's resolve remained unshaken, his tone resolute as he declared, "I am not risking it. The answer is no."
Turning away, he moved toward the chair where he had been seated moments before, intent on gathering his belongings and leaving. But Alys's voice cut through the silence, her words dripping with malice. "Very well. I am sure Lady Maera will make a gracious wife to Lord Warren Tully. If he is named Lord Grover’s heir, she will be the Lady of Riverrun. And she will give him many children."
Aemond froze mid-step, his muscles tensing as he processed her words. Memories of the harvest moon ball flooded his mind—the way Maera and Lord Warren exchanged smiles, the subtle blush on her cheeks, the intensity in the Lord’s gaze when he spoke to her. Despite the pain it caused him to even consider Alys’s proposal, the thought of Maera in the arms of another man felt like a stab to Aemond’s stomach.
A cold fury boiled within him as Alys continued to taunt him, her voice like a dagger twisting in his gut. "Then you can return to being the second son, the loyal lapdog of your brother, carrying out his duties with no thanks or rewards to show for it."
Unable to contain his rage any longer, Aemond stormed back across the room, his movements swift and purposeful as he seized Alys by the throat, his grip firm and unyielding. Despite Aemond's firm grip around her throat, Alys remained composed, her defiance unyielding as she continued to provoke him. "You are angry because I speak the truth. It is a hard thing to swallow, isn't it? Reality?"
Aemond's silence only seemed to fuel Alys's audacity, her taunts cutting through the air even as his fingers tightened around her neck. But she met his gaze with a steady smile, undeterred by his fury. "Your time is running out. This is your last chance."
The Prince hesitated, biting his bottom lip in contemplation. Despite his disgust at the idea of sleeping with her, he couldn't deny the power of her foresight. It was thanks to her abilities that Maera's reputation had been restored. Yet the urgency made him feel that he was being backed into a corner, like a trapped animal. He despised the idea of succumbing to Alys's demands, but he couldn't shake the allure of what her plan could offer—a marriage that would lead to glory, perhaps even happiness.
With a dark glower, Aemond released his grip, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions as he grudgingly acquiesced. "Let's get it over with."
He made his way over to Alys's small bed in the corner of the room, feeling the contrast with his own grander accommodations in the Red Keep. As he lay back, Alys climbed atop his lap, straddling him as her hands moving to unbutton his doublet, a sly smile on her face. With a scoff, Aemond shoved her back, refusing to let her touch him more than necessary. He felt a surge of revulsion at the thought of being intimate with her. This was a means to an end and he would not bear himself before her.
Instead he slid his hand down to his dark trousers and unlaced them, releasing his cock and began pumping it quickly to make it hard. His gaze flicked up momentarily to Alys, who watched him with bated breath. The look on her face caused him to recoil, and he tore his gaze away from her, focusing on a distant point in the room. After a moment he looked down, to see that his body had reacted to the stimulation before his head hit the pillow in defeat.
The Prince could hear the rustling of Alys's skirts, and feel the warmth of her hovering about him had him desperately trying to find a way to occupy his mind, focusing on anything but the situation he found himself in. Yet as he felt her move his cock and her slowly slide down on it with a groan, he froze. It was all too similar to his first night in the brothel with Aegon. The seedy atmosphere, the unfamiliar room, the feeling of being trapped underneath someone. It was too much to bear.
He steadied his breathing, knowing if the task was to be completed, for the spell to be cast, he needed to focus. Alys’s gasps filled the air, yet the sound transported him somewhere more pleasant. Aemond vividly pictured Maera's ferocity with the sword, her determined expression, and the intensity of her breath as she faced him in the courtyard for the first time a few moons ago.
He recalled the moment he had pinned her beneath him, forcing her to yield. The flush on her face and the glistening beads of sweat on her forehead were captivating. He remembered how he had sliced her tunic, revealing more of the expanse of her chest, a sight that had stirred something within him.
And then, he remembered the cut he had inflicted upon her, just above her left breast. The image of the blood staining her turquoise tunic and running gracefully across her pale skin remained etched in his memory. Gods, if it had not been for the crowd of onlookers, he would have bent down and ran his tongue across her soft skin, tasting the coppery red liquid with glee. To see her completely submitted to him in that moment stirred something primal within him, and it was a sight he wanted to behold every day until the end of his days.
With a quiet groan, Aemond released his seed, Alys continuing to rock against him until he was completely spent. Once it was done, he shoved Alys aside and rose abruptly from the bed, his demeanor cold and distant as he stuffed his cock back into his trousers and began gathering his belongings.
"You are leaving?" Alys inquired, her tone tinged with curiosity, and slight hurt.
Aemond shot her a disdainful glance, his lip curling in a sneer. "Well, I certainly would not stay," he retorted, his voice dripping with contempt. "I need to bathe before I return to my duties."
As he made his way to the door, Aemond paused, casting one final glance back at Alys sitting on the bed. "This was disgusting and it will never happen again," he spat, his words laden with bitterness. "And you better pray that it will work. My patience has reached its limit." With that, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
After a number of days of attending to duties on his idiot older brother’s behalf, Aemond soared through the sky on the back of Vhagar towards Kings Landing, the setting sun painted the horizon in hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the landscape below. Despite the beauty of the scenery, Aemond's thoughts were consumed by the disturbing memory of his encounter with Alys.
The image of Alys climbing atop him, her touch repulsive and unwelcome, made his stomach churn with disgust. He felt a profound sense of regret and shame for allowing himself to be manipulated into such a degrading act. Even as the wind whipped through his hair and the rhythmic beating of Vhagar's wings filled the air, Aemond's thoughts remained troubled. He couldn't rid himself of the unease that lingered, casting a pall over what should have been a serene flight home.
When the dragon began her descent, Aemond's keen eye caught sight of a vivid splash of turquoise atop the sand dunes below. His heart quickened as he recognized the color, knowing it belonged to Maera's distinctive attire. However, his excitement turned to a bitter taste in his mouth as he saw her accompanied by a man, their figures silhouetted against the setting sun. Fuelled by a mixture of curiosity and a rising tide of jealousy, Aemond commanded Vhagar to land behind a cliffside, seeking a vantage point from which he could observe discreetly.
With a powerful beat of her wings, Vhagar gracefully descended, her massive form casting a shadow over the rugged terrain below. As her claws touched down on the sandy ground, Aemond dismounted, his mind racing with questions and uncertainty. As the Prince ducked down towards the ground on his approach, his determination to observe without being seen intensified. The sound of Maera's lively chatter reached his ears, carried by the gentle sea breeze, stirring up conflicting emotions within him.
Peering up, Aemond's gaze fell upon the man accompanying Maera, and a surge of anger coursed through him. It appeared the wretched Tully cunt had used Aemond’s absence to sink his claws even further into Maera, demonstrated by their apparent courting on the shoreline, chaperoned by her newly appointed supposed protector. The sight of them together fueled Aemond's frustration, and he could no longer stand idly by. With a determined stride, he made his way towards them, his anger barely concealed beneath his stoic facade. His tense jaw and piercing stare locked onto Maera's, betraying the tumult of emotions raging within him.
The Lord and Lady stood to acknowledge Aemond's presence, and the Prince couldn't help but notice the irked expressions on their faces. Ignoring the tension, Aemond enjoyed the momentary satisfaction of seeing Lord Warren bow respectfully and Lady Maera curtsy, and decided to play along with the ridiculous charade for a moment.
"It is a beautiful evening to be walking by the sea,” the Prince commented, gazing out to the shoreline momentarily before setting his gaze back onto the couple.
"Indeed,” the Tully Lord concurred eagerly. “Though the night is not half as beautiful as Lady Maera."
Each word the trout spoke grated on Aemond, fueling his frustration as he dug his nails into his palm to suppress his rising anger. Seeing Maera's receptiveness to the compliments only intensified his inner turmoil, causing him to grit his teeth in frustration.
As Aemond's frustration mounted, he found himself not only seething at Lord Warren but also at Lady Maera. Why was she so obstinate in resisting the potential fulfillment of their shared destiny? Though she remained unaware of it, Aemond couldn't help but feel that the Gods should be guiding her towards him, not away.
Eager to disrupt this mummers farce unfolding before him, Aemond began sarcastically divulging information about Lord Warren's courtship of other ladies at court. He could not be seen as the valiant attentive lover that he so obviously was not. Lord Warren was a vile little serpent, like every other ridiculous man who appeared at court and wanted to gain power.
Observing Maera's reaction, Aemond noted the fury in her eyes, yet it wasn't directed at Lord Warren as it should have been. Instead, it was aimed squarely at him. Despite her anger being misdirected, Aemond found himself strangely grateful for the intensity of her emotions. Being the recipient of her fury felt like a peculiar blessing, amplifying his resolve to assert his claim over her.
As Lord Warren stepped forward, matching Aemond toe-to-toe, the Prince stifled a laugh. They were of similar height, but Aemond exuded a quiet confidence in his own prowess. Oh, how he longed for Lord Warren to make the first move so he would have an excuse to gut him like the fish he was, right in front of Maera.
However, fate intervened in an unexpected manner. Suddenly, distant shouts pierced the air, drawing everyone's attention. Out of the sky descended the wild dragon, Ēbrion, its deep blue and black scales glinting in the sunlight as it landed on the beach with a resounding thud.
The beast skulked along the sand towards them, its scales gleaming in the fading light, each step seemed to shake the ground beneath their feet. Its massive form cast a daunting shadow over the four figures below, its wings folded against its back, and its orange eyes fixated on them with an unsettling intensity, glinting with a primal intelligence.
Aemond, feeling an innate urge to move, positioned himself in front of Maera, his stance protective and resolute. His muscles tensed, ready to react to any sudden movement from the dragon, his single violet eye narrowed in focus.
Glancing back at Maera, he observed her reaction closely. Her lips were slightly parted in silent awe, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her green eyes fixed on the gigantic beast hovering above them. Despite the looming danger, there was a curious glint in her eyes, a hint of fascination mixed with a steely resolve.
Aemond attempted to command the dragon, his voice firm but futile against the creature's primal instincts, the beast responded with a low, bone-chilling growl. Its massive form remained imposing, its orange eyes burning with a wild intensity, as if challenging any attempts to control it.
Uncertain of what would happen next, Aemond felt a sudden movement behind him, the sensation of someone reaching for his belt. Whipping around, he saw Maera standing there, a dagger in her hand, her gaze fixed on the dragon with an unexpected calmness. It was a sight that left Aemond, along with Lord Warren and Ser Arryk, utterly astounded.
Maera's demeanor was strikingly composed as she gently shushed the dragon, as one would soothe a restless child. Her actions defied logic and expectation, yet there was an undeniable air of authority in her presence, a quiet confidence that seemed to resonate with the beast. As Aemond watched in awe and admiration, Maera took the dagger to her palm, slicing through it with a swift motion. Blood began to drip onto the sand below, and despite her wince of pain, she remained resolute.
Stepping in front of the Prince, Maera presented her palm to the dragon, her expression determined yet strangely serene. Aemond held his breath, his gaze fixed on the unfolding scene, his heart pounding in his chest. Studying the dragon's response intently, Aemond noted the subtle changes in its demeanor. The beast's pupils dilated, and its tense muscles seemed to relax ever so slightly in response to Maera's soothing efforts.
Ēbrion slowly leaned forward, bridging the gap between them, Aemond watched in amazement as Maera reached out to touch its snout. The dragon seemed to inhale deeply, its nostrils flaring as it took in the scent of her blood. Despite the inherent danger, there was an undeniable sense of trust in the air.
Aemond couldn't help but release a shocked laugh, a mixture of disbelief and awe. His understanding of dragon body language, honed from years of experience with Vhagar and extensive research, confirmed what he was witnessing. The blue dragon was accepting Maera's presence, calmed by her command in a way that was truly extraordinary.
As the beast seemed content and began to depart, his massive form turning gradually, Aemond couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him. The tension in the air began to dissipate as the dragon made his way back towards his cave lair, leaving them behind on the beach.
However, Aemond's attention quickly shifted when he heard Maera let out a shaky exhale. He turned to see her momentarily losing her balance, causing her to step backward. Acting on instinct, Aemond reached out and caught her, his hands gripping her upper arms firmly. In that moment, he offered her support after the harrowing encounter, silently reassuring her with his presence.
She had a faced a dragon head on, yet Ser Arryk and Lord Warren hovered around Maera, fussing over her like she was a fragile creature, causing Aemond to roll his eye in annoyance. The sight of them coddling her as if she couldn't handle herself grated on his nerves. It was ridiculous. Despite the commotion, Maera let out a shaky laugh, her emotions still raw from the encounter with the dragon. Aemond couldn't help but admire her resilience, even in the face of such danger.
Growing tired of Lord Warren’s familiarity with Maera as he cupped her face, Aemond forcefully shoved him aside and stepped closer to her. With a soft touch, he tilted Maera's chin up to inspect her face, concern evident in his one good eye.
After a moment more of shaky laughter, Maera synchronized her breathing with Aemond's, a gesture that helped to calm her nerves. As they settled into a shared rhythm, Aemond couldn't help but feel a sense of connection with her, as if they were in sync not just in their breathing, but in their understanding of each other.
Lost in the depths of her forest green eyes, Aemond felt a silent understanding pass between them. It was an unspoken bond that seemed to transcend words, a connection that he couldn't deny. In that moment, with his finger lingering beneath her chin, Aemond felt as though the Gods were with him, guiding them both towards a path they were meant to follow.
"She's just a bit shaken, but she'll be fine,” the Prince assured the knight and lord.
Lord Warren, however, was far from pleased. His anger flared, and he retorted sharply, emphasizing Maera's wounded hand. "She has a gaping wound on her hand; she needs the Maester to look at it." His words were laced with frustration.
Aemond, his patience wearing thin, responded with equal vehemence. "Maera is tougher than she looks, and she doesn't need a mere trout like you to protect her," he spat out, the tension between the two men palpable, their gazes locked in a silent battle. But Maera intervened, her voice steady as she insisted that Aemond was correct. It was merely shock, and she was fine. She expressed her desire to continue her walk with Lord Warren, her words serving as a diplomatic bridge between the two proud men.
Aemond, in response, repeated the phrase he had spoken to Maera at the ball, coveting it in High Valyrian so Lord Warren could not understand; "Se zaldrīzes se klios gaomagon daor rholagon.” The fish and the dragon do not mix
With a stoic face, Aemond accepted Maera's request for him to leave, acknowledging silently that he had achieved his goal of disrupting her time with Lord Warren, and that was enough satisfaction for him. With a curt nod, he bid them farewell and turned to walk away.
However, as he strolled away, an inexplicable feeling urged him to linger for a moment longer, to observe the couple from a distance. Aemond made his way towards the dragon keepers, using the opportunity to scold them for their lack of control over the massive blue dragon. Yet even as he chastised them, his lilac eye remained fixed on Maera and Lord Warren in the distance, unable to shake off the curiosity and concern that gnawed at him.
The Prince watched as Maera glanced in his direction while Lord Warren conversed with her, a smirk playing on his lips, knowing he had captured her attention. Yet his satisfaction was short-lived as his expression twisted from gleeful to enraged. Maera extended her hand to cup Lord Warren's face, muttering words before boldly pressing a kiss to his lips. Aemond seethed with fury, his fists clenched at his sides as he stormed away from the dragon keepers who were still talking to him.
With swift, purposeful strides, he marched along the beach towards the Red Keep, the sand crunching beneath his boots as his mind raced. He was done being tested by the Gods, by the witch, by Maera, by everybody. It was time for Aemond to once again seize control of his destiny. And the first step would be getting rid of the trout. He needed to go.
Night descended upon the Red Keep, the torches lining the corridors flickering to life, casting dancing shadows that seemed to stretch and sway with the gentle drafts of air. The once bustling halls now grew quiet, the echoes of footsteps fading into the background as the inhabitants of the castle retired to their chambers. In the depths of the Keep, where the shadows clung eagerly to the stone walls, the darkness seemed to deepen. The torchlight struggled to penetrate the gloom, casting eerie silhouettes that lurked in every corner and crevice.
Alone in an alcove, Aemond sat with his back against the cold stone, his fingers absently tracing the intricate patterns of his dagger's hilt. The soft glow of torchlight barely reached him, leaving him enveloped in a cocoon of darkness as he grappled with the tumultuous thoughts swirling in his mind.
The Prince’s one-eyed gaze flicked up as he heard the telltale sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor. His jaw clenched instinctively, anticipating the source of the intrusion. As Lord Warren's figure came into view, striding purposefully down the corridor, Aemond's lip curled with disdain. The ridiculous smile adorning Lord Warren's face only served to deepen Aemond's irritation, his grip tightening on the hilt of his dagger as he realised the Lord was making his way to the Master of Laws’ chambers.
In the dimly lit corridor, Aemond emerged from the shadows, his voice carrying a casual yet pointed tone. "A little late for political visits, do not think, my Lord?"
Lord Warren, with a hint of exasperation, turned to face him, plastering a forced smile on his face. "With a matter such as this, my Prince, I do not think it can wait."
Aemond took a deliberate step closer, his gaze unwavering as he pressed further. "And what matter would that be, hmm?"
Lord Warren chuckled softly, his expression shifting to one of sincerity. "Speaking with her at the ball piqued my interest," he began, his smile growing warmer. "Spending time with her this evening has only made me more sure."
As Lord Warren bid the Prince a respectful nod and made to depart, Aemond halted him with another question, his tone laced with skepticism. "You think yourself worthy of her hand?"
The Tully Lord pivoted back around, meeting Aemond's gaze with a confident demeanor. "Do you, my Prince?" he countered, closing the distance between them until they stood face to face. His smile took on a sly edge. "I only ask because you seem very interested in her."
The Prince’s lips curled into a knowing smile, a facade concealing his true intentions. He refused to give the satisfaction of confirming such a notion to someone so beneath him. The dragon need not concern himself with a the opinion of a mere trout.
“You wish to be Lord of Riverrun, do you not?”
The Tully Lord furrowed his brow, silent for a moment before stating, “I only wish-“
“Spare me,” Aemond waved his hand dismissively, cutting through the man’s excuses like a sword through parchment. He had no interest in hearing platitudes about family, duty or honour; in Aemond’s view, all men of the court were nothing but power-hungry leeches, and Lord Warren was no exception.
During his two weeks away from King's Landing, Aemond was diligent in attending to his duties. Despite the regrettable encounter with Alys, he remained focused on the matters at hand, which were a welcome distraction. At Harrenhal, Aemond had established a miniature council of nobles to assist him in overseeing the war effort. This council served to keep him informed on war plans and to delegate tasks effectively.
Among its members were the sharp Lord Peake, the elderly Lord Vance, and the skeptical Lord Butterwell. It was Lord Butterwell who had just provided Aemond with an important update in regards to House Tully, an update that the Prince could use in this moment.
"I have information to secure Riverrun for you. Information about your cousins and their whereabouts," Aemond declared confidently, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
Lord Warren responded with a skeptical smile and a disbelieving laugh. "You do not," he countered, his tone tinged with doubt.
Aemond tilted his head, his gaze steady and unwavering. "You find that so hard to believe?" he questioned. When Lord Warren offered no immediate response, Aemond pressed on. "The crown is at war. We receive information about our enemies much quicker than you do."
There was a brief moment of hesitation in Lord Warren's expression, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. After a beat, he relented. "What do you know?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of curiosity.
Aemond's smile widened, sensing his advantage. With a mockingly playful gesture, he wagged his finger in the air. "Ah-ah. On one condition," he declared, his tone laced with cunning. Lord Warren furrowed his brow, awaiting the stipulation. Aemond's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he delivered his ultimatum. "Abandon these notions of proposal to Lady Maera. And swear by the Seven that you will leave at first light."
Lord Warren's gaze flickered between the corridor leading to the Master of Laws' room and the path back to his own quarters, as if weighing the potential outcomes of his decisions. A sense of conflict danced across his features, mirrored by the uncertainty in his eyes.
"You want her for yourself," Lord Warren accused, his tone edged with defiance, as he turned his attention back to Aemond.
Aemond responded with a dismissive roll of his eye. "Do we have an understanding, my Lord?" he pressed, his voice firm and resolute.
Lord Warren held Aemond's lilac gaze with his own blue eyes, a silent battle of wills passing between them. After a moment of tense deliberation, the Tully Lord relented, dropping his gaze and nodding in defeat.
"Good," Aemond sneered, a smirk playing at his lips as he cleared his throat. "Your cousins have set up their base near High Heart. There is a weakness of guards on the east side of the camp."
Lord Warren sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his decision, before offering Aemond a respectful nod. With a resigned air, he turned on his heel and began to make his way back to his chambers.
As Lord Warren departed, Aemond couldn't resist one final taunt. "Go now, little trout," he called after him mockingly. "Return home upstream."
With Lord Warren manipulated and Maera's suitors thwarted, Aemond's plan was falling into place. The prophecy was on the verge of realization, and all that remained was to seek the King's approval for a marriage proposal. Maera would soon be his.
Notes: whoooo this took a while to write. It was hard to write, I feel so sorry for our boy. I feel sorry for Maera. I feel sorry for everyone 🤣
Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88
Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤
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will include: brief introductions, links to art and writing featuring the OCs, if there is any.
fandom OCs
Star Wars
Xelxus Marak
ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (fanfic)
A Zabrak Mandalorian foundling who struggles with his identity. He's seen and gone through a lot, but he remains a rather mild person. He likes to crack jokes and is exceptional at making everyone at ease in his presence. That isn’t to say that he won’t act on his intimidating appearance if need be. He is serious about his job, and will not hesitate to murder, maim or injure, although it might not always be his favourite way of solving issues.
Ethelsus Devarian
Darth Xemran, the young man who went from Acolyte to Emperor's Wrath. The intimidating Sith Lord, however, has a secret, Lighter side to him. To someone who doesn't know him very well, Ethelsus can seem cold, even like an asshole. He glares and frowns a lot, but it's all a protective façade, one he needs to maintain considering his positiom. In fact, he is quite caring and kind, especially soft on those who are close to him. Most of the time he is cautious, constantly expecting to get hurt. When you get to know him, he is a loyal friend. Despite this, though, he never lets his authority be questioned.
Can also exist in the prequels verse as an Inquisitor.
Valkeiel Salahai
The Jedi Padawan that holds vengance in his heart. Valkeiel is an arrogant, impulsive and difficult young man. He had always been, but it got much worse after the passing of his friend. Ever since then, he has become vengeful and cruel. His devotion to the Jedi Order makes him a good student, but his hatred makes it difficult to manage him. Valkeiel doesn’t trust people easily, rather choosing to rely on himself. He doesn’t hold back from using lies and deception to get his way. His hatred for the Empire is his main driving force.
House of the Dragon
Lucian Lannister
you could drag me through hell; if it meant I could hold your hand (fanfic)
The younger one of Tyland Lannister's two sons, Lucian had always been a troublemaker. It got him in a fair share of trouble in his youth, especially with his strict, borderline abusive mother. He never cared, though, and continued to have his way, until he got to properly meet Prince Aemond. Ever since then, his priorities shifted drastically. After befirending the prince, Lucian's life goal has been to protect him and stay by his side as his sworn sword at any cost.
Also exists in a Modern AU as a bandmate to Aegon, Helaena and Jacaerys.
Lancel Lannister
(appears in the same fanfic as Lucian)
Tyland Lannister's eldest son, Lancel grew up seeking approval and ways to prove himself to his father, as well as ways to insert himself into court life. In his youth he was very fascinated by the royal family and tried his best to get close to them. Over time he gave up on his ambitions, got admitted to the City Watch, and grew to resent the royal family that he once admired so much. He and his brother often clash over their values and support for the Targaryens, but, in times of need, there is no one the brothers can turn to but each other.
Also exists in a Modern AU as a straight A student who frowns upon his brother and Aegon's way of life, but secretly envies them.
Julian Wylde
(fanfic in the works)
The eldest son of Jasper Wylde of Rain House, and brother to four sisters, Julian baers a heavy burden on his shoulders. When his family moves to King's Landing upon his father being appointed Master of laws, Julian is forced to spend time with the Queen's children and he immediately takes a strong disliking to Prince Aemond. Julian finds him to be arrogant, a know it all and a show off, both in front of the maester's and on training grounds. At a banquet, Julian takes a Lady he saw Aemond eyeing to dance, just to spite him. His sister Jane, however, later reveals that the Prince wasn't looking at the lady, but at Julian himself. After this incident, Julian makes more of an effort to be friendly to the Prince, if only to test his sister's theory.
Marvel
Elias Dominik
Shadow in the MCU (series featuring Elias in various Marvel movies)
The Sokovian-American spy and agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. turned Avenger hasn't had an easy life. A delinquent in his childhood, Elias' desperate mother sent him to a military camp in his home country of Sokovia, only for it to turn out to be a HYDRA research facility. As soon as she found out about the conspiracy, Elias' mother, being an agent herself, gathered an elite team and rescued Elias. However, the team, everyone save for Elias, who holds no memories of these events, died by the hand of The Winter Soldier, a fact Elias would learn years later during his investigation into S.H.I.E.L.D. with Steve Rogers. In the research facility, Elias gained shadow manipulation powers through experiments. This earned him the names Koshmar (Nightmare) and Shadow.
non-fandom OCs
Veles
Redemption (an original story)
An elf (in the Slavic sense, meaning half fairy half human) that lives by his own rules and shuns the fairy side of his heritage, Veles is a petty thief with little ambition in life but to be content, enjoy himself and simply have fun. In his pursue of simple pleasures, Veles starts a relationship with a powerful warlock, but it quickly turns out that they aren't a good match and he leaves, rather cowardly, without a goodbye. Decades later, Veles accidentally offends a fairy and as she threatens his life, he finds himself needing the help of none other than his ex, the warlock.
Demyan
(appears in the same story as Veles)
The powerful Warlock fo the South, a mysterious recluse who helps the residents of nearby villages. He lives in an idyllic little cottage in the woods, he loves to bake and cook, even without his powers. He is devoted to the gods that have granted him his powers, and he tends to use his powers for good. However, he is often lonely, especially after being dumped by the petty elf thief, Veles.
Nesim
never let me go. (fanfic)
closer and closer. (fanfic)
confession. (fanfic)
A descendant of the warrior god Triglav, Nesim is a member of an order of warriors devoted to his ancestor god. With a mysterious past that he is ashamed of, Nesim tries to make up for his past misdeeds by fighting for the weak and the poor. Fighting isn't welcome in all places, and Nesim does try to do good deeds regardless of his status as a warrior. When Nesim realizes that the Order he has been a part of for many years takes part in destructive wars that only benefit the rich and the powerful, he defects and sets out to forge his own path.
Nesim also exists as an OC for The Witcher verse as a witcher of the School of the Bear.
Daniel
Danny deals with a terrible home life, mostly due to an emotionally and at times phyiscally abusive father. After a group of friends saves him from some bullies, his life is changed forever.
Jackson
Jax is an adoptee who suffered an injury in his youth during a car crash that killed his parents, and was left with a limp. He's an eternal optimist, a lover of music, particularly hip hop and visual arts. He and Danny form a strong bond after Jax and his friends save Danny from a group of bullies.
Kai
Living in a loving family of immigrants, Kai was a very promising dancer, up until an injury ruined his career. His struggles with depression were amplified as a result, and he often finds escape in hanging out with his group of friends.
Mateo
Mateo chose to turn his life around after several attempts on his own life. He's been fighting for his happiness and tries to bring joy into the lives of those he cares about. Despite being hopelessly in love with Kai, he knows that it isn't a good moment to confess, so he mostly just suffers in silence.
Axel
Jackson's adoptive brother, Axel is as edgy as a twenty year old can get. He listens to angry music, never steps down from a fight and defends those he cares about most. His anger issues were mostly caused by past, and admittedly present, drug abuse. A little lost, Axel is just trying to find his way in life.
Elio
Elio is an ex drug addict and an ex friend to the group of bullies that attacked Danny that fateful night. He has gone through a lot considering his young age, it all having started by him causing trouble on purpose to attract the attention of his neglectful parents. It never worked, and he eventually found a new family among his friends, even though he worries for his crush Axel, who seems to be returning to his vices.
Valeriy
my boy gets a separate category because he works well as a stand alone character (related to Nesim) or a fandom OC
The Arcana
Valeriy is my version of The Arcana's main character, the Apprentice.
The Witcher
(genuinely have no idea what's going on with my Valeriy Witcher fics so I won't link them, but they're up on my ao3 if anyone's interested)
Valeriy is a witcher of the School of the Viper. He is most unsual for a witcher, option to spend time in the comapny of the people he helps and, for what is stranger yet, he manages to make friends without intimdating or repelling the people he appraoches. He rather aliantes himself from fellow witchers.
as a stand alone character
Valeriy is a blind traveling mercenary. Not much is known of his past or his powers, except that he is not entirely human. He hides the fact that he is a demigod son of the goddess of death and winter, Morana and as such hides and refuses to use his powers of necromancy, ice manipulation and thermokinesis/cryokinesis. He would always much rather display his ability with various weapons, his martial arts skills and similar. It is known that sometime in his youth, Valeriy had joined a pirate crew, but his days of piracy ended sourly when the crew turned on him and blinded him. Not much is known of the circumstances of this mutiny. Valeriy and Nesim are... friends according to Nesim, and occasional partners at best according to Valeriy. The truth is that they are in love with one another, but Valeriy is far too caught up in his own messes to make a move on Nesim, and in turn turns down all of Nesim's advances.
#oc list#original character#the witcher#star wars#house of the dragon#mandalorian oc#star wars oc#sith oc#jedi oc#house lannister#house wylde#the witcher oc#house of the dragon oc#hotd oc#got oc#non fandom oc#non fandom#original work#mythology#slavic mythology#mythology oc
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September was a good month for reading ! I've already started on my first October book, Black Leopard Red Wolf. I can tell you right now it's unlike anything I've read before, is dark as heck, and I'm loving it.
I've got three books under my belt for the 23for23 challenge so far, here's to twenty more. 📚🏳️🌈👏
#noahs book recs#september reads#books i read#october reads#fall books#queer books#queer bipoc books#bipoc books#book recommendations#fantasy books#house of always#the salt grows heavy#the mermaid the witch and the sea#criers war#witchmark#kings of the wyld#silver in the wood#drowned country#bro and the beast#silver under nightfall#black leopard red wolf#the alchemy under moonlight#venom and vow#light from uncommon stars
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Your blog is awesome and your arguments against TG are brilliant, I saw many of them, you ate!!
Imagine this:
The blacks win the war even before it begins so there is no war. However, the greens are still guilty, they tried to steal Rhaenyra's throne and they must be punished.
What kind of punishment would you give to each one of them?
Thank you!!! I’m glad you’re enjoying my posts.
As for your question, hmm…let’s see.
It’s best to start with the main conspirators:
1. Otto Hightower: executed for High Treason against the Crown. Lord Hightower has to publicly swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family, as well as offer a public apology for the conspiracy in which members of his family were involved in. House Hightower offers compensation in gold to the Crown Treasury in perpetuity. If House Hightower refuses to comply, Oldtown will be burned to the ground.
2. Ser Crispin Cole: executed for High Treason against the Crown, as well as for the murders of Ser Joffrey Lonmouth and Lord Lyman Beesbury.
3. Ser Tyland Lannister: executed for High Treason against the Crown. Lord Jason Lannister has to publicly swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family. House Lannister has to offer compensation in gold for the next 20 years to the Crown’s treasury. Given that “a Lannister always pays his debts”, there is no need for threats.
4. Alicent Hightower: sent to become a Silent Sister. She is not allowed to see her children or her grandchildren ever again.
5. Ser Gwayne Hightower: executed for High Treason against the Crown.
6. Lord Jasper Wylde: sent to the Black Cells in perpetuity.
7. Grand Maester Orwyle: sent to the Black Cells for 5 years for being part of the Green Council.
8. Larys Strong: executed for High Treason against the Crown and for the murder of his father, Lord Lyonel Strong and his brother, Harwin Strong.
As for Rhaenyra’s kin:
1. Aegon Targaryen: made to swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family. He is to remain in the Red Keep with his wife and children but obliged to do acts of penance for having abused servant girls. If he proves his loyalty, Queen Rhaenyra will offer him a place on her Small Council.
2. Helaena Targaryen: made to swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family. She remains in the Red Keep with her children.
3. Aemond Targaryen: sentenced to the Black Cells for life (if the Blacks win after Lucerys’ murder) OR made to swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra and join the Gold Cloaks, under the close supervision of Prince Daemon Targaryen and his men (if the Blacks win and Lucerys isn’t killed).
4. Daeron Targaryen: made to swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family. He is to return to Oldtown.
#house of the dragon#team black#rhaenyra targaryen#pro team black#anti alicent hightower#hotd#anti team green#queen rhaenyra#anti greens#anti otto hightower#anti jasper wylde#anti criston cole#anti gwayne hightower#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#daemon targaryen
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#grand maester mellos#jasper wylde#polls#a song of ice and fire#game of thrones#house of the dragon#fire and blood#george rr martin#grrm#hotd#got#asoiaf#westeros#2024: hotd best character round 1#2024: hotd best character round 1 polls
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All is bliss
Chapter 9
Cw: mentions of underage sex, refrenced statuory r*pe and loss of bodily autonomy(basically just a regular day in westeros)
Gif by @behindfairytales
Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @sweethoneyblossom1 @aemondx
Jena Mertyns of Mistwood had risen in court using her gods-given gifts of charm and beauty in record time.
Lord Jasper Wylde had no need of more children ---he had a total of nine and twenty children with the bulk of them being illegitimate--- and while the Ironrod was prodigious with his cock, he was not a prince.
Bookish, violent, and misunderstood Aemond had been her second lover.
The first being her now husband who educated her in the ways of carnal pleasures.
She had been only six and ten when it began, Jena had been a Mertyns by birth and heir to Mistwood given her cousin ,brother of the first Lady Wylde, died without issue less than ten moons onto their marriage.
Ironrod had already had her by the time she arrived at court that year to make her case on the matter of her husband’s will, so she knew there was no one else to seduce to gain what was rightfully hers.
But then she met Aemond.
Aemond who was pleasant company when he wasn’t being the cold and indifferent prince with a talent for violence.
Aemond was she is very sure was a man maiden when she first brought him to her bed weeks after his sixth and tenth nameday.
She made him a man and now he had left her in the dust and replaced her with his six- and ten-year-old niece a year later.
Of course, Jena was a beauty with hair like ebony, a sharp tongue and powerful allies, but Princess Aemma with her silver gold ringlets, sweet demeanor and high rank had made her lose her coveted spot in both court and Aemond’s heart.
You are a servant, she is a queen, her husband had said when both began to feel the loss of her status as the One-Eyed Prince’s mistress.
They did not feel the waning of their influence for too long.
Not now that Prince Aegon out of spite had bent her over a card table after his little wife fucked his brother like she loved him.
Love.
The one thing few have and that you sure as hell do not find with your husband.
This morning she received jewels, gold and a gelding as dark as her hair.
Aemond had not been as generous, how could he be when a second son had less than the firstborn?
“Did you like the gelding, Lady Wylde?” Princess Aemma smiled sweetly as she asked.
She could be a bitch; marriage had made her a delightful creature.
The Pearl of Dragonstone had been as sweet as naïve as her goodsister, only the Pearl’s sweetness had begun to melt away to reveal sharp edges after her return from the progress.
A shitty husband and goodmother does that to a girl.
“Yes, his highness was rather thoughtful to gift me such a beautiful horse.” Jena thanked her knowing this faux kindness will leave once she hears the rumors of her and Aemond.
Jena had the advantage of the court gossip mill and friends amongst the ladies.
Aemma spent so much time playing the lord of the castle and bettering the lives of the smallfolk she had not bothered with making the vapid hens her friends like Jena had done.
Her name was not enough here.
Not when Alicent Hightower ruled with an iron fist.
The girl giggles, “He deserves no such praise, Lady Wylde. The gelding was my gift to you. He wanted to give you a mare, but the gelding seemed more fitting.”
Ah, so it is true then! The lady catches onto the meaning quickly.
Oh, poor, stupid, Aemond.
He was being used as a stud and fell in love with his brother’s wife.
Really the mummers in Braavos could never write something as good as this.
“Yes, even more than you think, your highness. I heard you have acquired a stud worthy of a kingdom, a stud I broke in myself, I might add.
Rode him till he cried for mercy the morning your highness returned from the progress.” Jena lowered her voice and tried not to look too gleeful when the princess was caught unawares by her words.
She didn’t know, sweet Aemond had not told her about her.
“I suppose I should thank you; he is a great fuck.” The princess tries to shake off the surprise and returns fire like a natural when a handmaiden comes to tell her letters from Dragonstone had arrived for her. “Good day, Lady Wylde and I hope your new gelding satisfies you as much as he satisfied me.”
Nothing like fucking the same man to bring out the bitch in you.
“Bitch.” Jena mutters knowing she can hear her.
“Princess Bitch.” Aemma corrects with a disarming smile.
This will be the start of an interesting friendship.
Because her mother will be returning to court, Aemma must get her tonic ---which is a vial she must drink without fail once a week--- early and have enough in supply for the next moon.
Even meeting Aemond’s former lover has not hampered her joy at having her family and her ladies returning here.
Even grandmother is supposed to be coming for a visit.
Something about Uncle Vaemond wanting to contest grandfather’s will.
Why he’d do so when grandfather is perfectly fine and Baela and Rhaena are above him in the succession, is not said in the letter.
But that is a question for another day.
The first question of the day is why the apothecary’s shop is closed?
And the second is, why is Ser Criston here?
“Your goodmother has had me follow you ever since the agreement.” He says keeping things vague as if their silver hair peeking from their hoods and hats didn’t give them away already.
They wore hooded cloaks and while Teora in her Septa’s robes could hide her, they were too fine to not draw attention to them.
“I was buying fertility tonics; it is not my fault it did not work. If you will excuse me, Ser, I need to find another apothecary willing to keep their mouth shut for a reasonable price.” Aemma lied and tried to return to her unmarked carriage without him tailing her.
She had known the carriage was a bad investment.
“Lord Strong had the apothecary questioned, the ruse is up, your highness.” The Dornish knight whispers as he helps her into the fucking carriage like a little girl caught running off to cause mischief.
“Fuck.” Aemma mutters and gestures for him to join them inside the carriage.
“Language, Aemma.” Her Septa chastised her as if that even mattered now and she tells her so.
“I cannot, will not, have a child. I would rather have Silverwing burn me alive than give Aegon an heir.” Aemma digs her nails onto the leather seat to stop herself from crying at how much she fucking loathes the hand she has been dealt. “I do not want to live my mother’s life.”
“It is for the better of the realm, your highness.” He repeats the same phrase she hears from the septons, the maesters, the members of the small council and now the man who fucked her mother and has the audacity to call her a whore.
“As if that makes it any better!” She scoffed at his words. “My mother did the same and was branded a whore, by her no less! Her grace may feign to be righteous and good, but whatever hell my mother will burn in, it is a consolation to know Alicent will be right there beside her.”
The knight tries to counter her, spread the gospel about poor queen Alicent who only wants to protect her children and make the perfect puppet king for her father because gods forbid that woman grows a damn spine and tells her father to go fuck himself.
But Aemma does not listen.
Once she is queen, she will send her on a long walk off a short pier.
#aemma velaryon#aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc#asoiaf fanfic#ocappreciationtag#house of the dragon#aegon ii x oc x aemond#oc:jena wylde#all is bliss fic#ewan mitchell#fyeahhotdocs#fyeahasoiafocs
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Green council (Fire & Blood)
Gathering in the queen’s chambers as the body of her lord husband grew cold above were Queen Alicent herself; her father, Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King; Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; Grand Maester Orwyle; Lord Lyman Beesbury, master of coin, a man of eighty; Ser Tyland Lannister, master of ships, brother to the Lord of Casterly Rock; Larys Strong, called Larys Clubfoot, Lord of Harrenhal, master of whisperers; and Lord Jasper Wylde, called Ironrod, master of laws.
#f&b#fire & blood#hotd#hotdedit#house of the dragon#green council#otto hightower#alicent hightower#queen alicent#ser criston cole#criston cole#lyman beesbury#larys strong#larys clubfoot#tyland lannister#grand maester orwyle#jasper wylde#1.09
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below the cut you will find various information about the history of house wylde of the stormlands, including bits about culture, architecture, foods, trade, climate, and folklore.
@wyldewillow @magnuswylde
culture : hunting and wildlife hold great importance to house wylde, its rainier climate often bringing out interesting creatures which wylde's have studied since they settled upon the northern part of cape wrath. hundreds of books written by wylde's over the years can be found in their library discussing findings of many distinct crops and wildlife ranging from bugs, to birds, berries, and various breeds of deer. archery is taught at a young age, though it is also important for children of house wylde to understand not to stray too far, for the brushy areas of the rainwood can become confusing and dangerous if one were to get caught within it unprepared. given their proximity to the water as well, it is important that children of house wylde are taught to swim early and well, given the currents of the bay can be unforgiving. as with many houses of westeros, it is not uncommon for wylde's to be lords and ladies, septons or septas, maesters, or knights.
architecture : with the much-jagged shoreline, there are many man-made shelters carved directly into the cliffs themselves. homes are built dome-like, with rocks to weigh much of them down as hurricane-force winds often plague the lands during especially stormy seasons. homes are built on higher ground, to avoid storm surges and flooding. the rain house itself is made of stone, strong and stretching high. the bottom level has a stone floor in case of flooding.
foods : the rainier climate has influenced much of the foods that house wylde prepares most often - this especially includes hearty vegetable and meat stews consisting of the following ingredients in various instances: venison or boar, eggplant, sweet potatoes, sweet leaf, pumpkin, cowpeas, and even certain peppers. this is often served with fresh bread.
trade : there are few small ports amongst the shoreline that allow for trade through the rainwood, but given the most catastrophic of storms seem to tear through this area specifically, it has taken some finesse to build strong enough ports. business that house wylde deals in is mostly timber, furs, and amber.
climate : due to the great many storms that happen on the coast of the rainwoods, the shoreline has eroded quite a bit, creating large cliffs made of limestone that hang over shipbreaker bay. paths have been paved along the shoreline in many areas, but there are parts of the coast that are unable to be navigate as they are treacherous. whirlpools have been seen from atop the cliffs during especially stormy weather given the currents of the water below, which the sigil of house wylde pays an ode to. it is also known that many ancient villages and forests now rest beneath the water, due to the many storms that have wreaked havoc upon the shore over the years, causing many floods and landslides.
folklore : while wylde's have a tendency to document every waking thought (given their vast library of self-written books), oral storytelling of myths passed down from generations is also a common practice. some are quite ghastly, and others are lovelier. one tale is that of blodeuwedd, the most beautiful and fairest woman there ever was, she was made of various flowers picked throughout the rainwood. it is tradition to pick and give flowers to wives and daughters of house wylde, to recognize their beauty. another story is that of the murigen, a sea goddess, it is said if one hears a woman's song coming from outside the home or down at the shore during a heavy storm, to not be drawn to it, or never be seen again.
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Darling Bonnie's Art House: 'WYLD CHILD' - DeMarcus Allen (Available at House Of Spoils). #Societythings
#darling#darling bonnie#darling society#darling bonnie land#high class hip hop#high street culture#art#culture#style#artist#creative#beauty#black girl magic#house of spoils#demarcus allen#wyld child#wild child#lifestyle#lifestyle blog#music#music blog#chic#glamour#societythings
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Otto Hightower : Most of the lords who swore allegiance to Rhaenyra are either dead or too old.
All Northerners of Hotd and Got (except the Boltons) : THE NORTH REMEMBER!!!
#I swear I heard Lyanna Mormont's voice when they said that#If there was a man from the north on the small council of Viserys#this shit would never have happened.#Specially a Stark (except Ned lol sorry Ned)#I NEED TO SEE THE STARK HOUSE RIGHT NOW#but I don't need to see the Boltons again don't make me remember#otto hightower#lyman beesbury#maester orwyle#ser tyland lannister#lord jasper wylde#larys strong#ser criston cole#the stark of winterfell
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Of Dragons and Maelstroms
Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Chapter Seventy-Three
The war council room in Harrenhall exuded an atmosphere of gravity and urgency, illuminated by streaks of daylight filtering through the narrow windows carved into the ancient stone walls. At the center of the dimly lit chamber stood a large wooden table, its surface cluttered with meticulously drawn maps depicting the shifting tides of battle between the Blacks and the Greens. Figures representing the forces of each faction were arranged strategically across the maps, their positions and movements subject to intense scrutiny and debate.
Around the table, half a dozen men of varying ranks and stations gathered, their faces etched with determination and resolve. Some were adorned in the regal garb befitting their noble status, while others wore the practical attire of seasoned warriors, their armor bearing the insignias of their respective Houses. Among them were representatives from influential families such as Peake, Vance, Butterwell, and Tarbeck, each bringing their own perspectives and strategies to the discussion.
As the murmurs of conversation filled the room, the councilors delved deep into the intricacies of military tactics and diplomatic maneuvers, their voices rising and falling in heated debates and calculated deliberations. All sound stopped when Maera entered the room, the men rising from their seats, heads bowed as a sign of respect of her station as Princess.
Her graceful stride carried her confidently into the chamber, her gaze fixed upon the figure standing at the head of the table—her husband. Even Maera, with her resolve and determination, couldn't help but feel a stirring of excitement at the sight of Aemond commanding the room with his authoritative presence. His tall, imposing figure exuded an aura of power and strength that demanded attention and respect from all those in his midst.
Turning her attention to Aemond’s left, Maera’s eyes alighted upon Alys, standing by his side with a finger tracing a path on the map spread out before them. A fleeting pang of resentment flickered within Maera as she beheld the woman who had inserted herself into their lives, her features composed but her presence a constant reminder of the complexities of their situation.
Undeterred, Maera continued her movements across the room. Her attire, a masterful blend of regal elegance and practicality, featured layers of supple leather adorned with intricate golden dragon motifs. The loose black cotton skirts accommodated her growing belly with grace, cinched at the waist by a gleaming golden belt that accentuated her noble bearing. Compared to Alys’s simple attire, Maera’s ensemble exuded an undeniable majesty, a visual embodiment of her status as a princess of House Targaryen.
With a forced smile, Maera addressed the room, her tone polite but tinged with an underlying edge. "I was not aware there was a meeting scheduled for this morning," she remarked, her eyes meeting Aemond's briefly before turning to address the others.
Aemond replied smoothly, his expression betraying nothing of the tension between them from the day before. "I did not wish to disturb your rest," he said, his tone casual.
As Maera reached Aemond’s side, she maintained her regal composure, the graceful tilt of her head belying the underlying assertion of her presence. The other counsellors may have interpreted her interactions as nothing more than the love a wife held for her husband, yet that was far from the truth. It was a silent challenge, a reminder of their discord from the previous night. “Always so considerate of my well-being, husband,” she chirped, a gentle smile on his face.
With practiced poise, she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek, a seemingly tender gesture that carried a subtle undertone of ownership, a silent reminder of her place by his side. "But alas," she continued, "the war does not sleep when I do." Her comment elicited chuckles from the other lords as they took their seats around the table. Maera's gaze flickered past Aemond to Alys, who stood beside him.
The witch shifted uncomfortably, her hand instinctively moving to cradle her swollen belly, a protective gesture that seemed almost instinctual. After a moment of reluctance, Alys curtsied to Maera, a gesture that did little to mask the tension between them.
“I am sure your counsel has been valuable thus far, Alys,” Maera remarked with a forced politeness. “But if you could take a seat beside one of the other attendees, we can commence the discussion.”
Alys’s face contorted into a fleeting scowl before quickly smoothing into a mask of forced civility as she gently protested, “I was just in the midst of exploring army movements in the Westerlands, Princess.” There was a subtle defiance in her gaze as she faced Maera head on, causing Aemond to clear his throat against the backdrop of awkward silence.
Though her outward demeanor remained composed, there was a steely determination in Maera’s eyes, a silent promise of the consequences that would befall any who dared to challenge her authority. Beneath the surface calm, a simmering resolve burned, fueling her determination to assert her dominance and put Alys firmly in her place. "I am eager to hear of these developments as well," she replied evenly, "but I'm sure you can do so from the other end of the table.” Alys held Maera’s gaze for a moment and did not move, but the princess didn’t waver. Maera asserted herself once more, “It seems more fitting that the Princess should be situated beside the Prince, as opposed to a… seer.”
A tense silence hung in the air as Alys held Maera's gaze for a moment before relenting with a respectful nod. She made her way to the other end of the table and took her seat, her expression unreadable. Maera settled herself on the right side of her husband, her presence a silent declaration of her authority and position. “Now then, could someone explain to me what has been discussed so far?”
Ser Adrian rose respectfully, nodding at Maera before addressing her. “Princess, the Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, or Targaryen as he is now styling himself, has returned to Dragonstone after securing an alliance with the North.” He gestured to a black dragon figure now situated on the island on the map. Maera acknowledged his report with a nod, prompting him to continue. “The North has contributed eighteen thousand men to support Rhaenyra’s cause, along with an additional two thousand known as the Winter Wolves.”
Another Lord, bearing the sigil of House Peake, spoke up. “This indicates an imminent invasion of King’s Landing from the North. Something that can be prevented so long as we hold Harrenhall.” Maera nodded in agreement, offering the lord a small smile in appreciation for his contribution. Despite feeling her husband's intense gaze on her, she remained focused on the discussion.
Ser Adrian moved across the table, positioning himself between two other lords as he shifted a Hightower beacon figure across the map. “Lord Ormund Hightower commands an army of nine thousand strong, preventing any invasion from the Black allies of the Reach,” he explained. As Maera scanned the map, Ser Adrian continued speaking. “However, even with our supporters in the Crownlands, Reach, and Stormlands, in terms of preventing an invasion…”
“It won’t be enough,” Maera interjected, finishing his sentence with a grim determination.
Ser Adrian gestured towards the Westerlands. “Before you entered, the Lady Alys suggested—oh no, wait, forgive me, not Lady. I—uhm,” he stumbled over his words, causing Maera to sigh with a small smile, the subtle twitch at the corner of her lips betraying her amusement.
However, as she pondered the implications of Alys being referred to as “Lady,” a deeper thought crossed her mind, prompting a fleeting furrow of her brow. The realization that Alys wielded significant influence in Harrenhall and held sway over Aemond, coupled with her pregnancy, suggested that perhaps she was indeed regarded as a Lady by some members of the council. Despite this realization, Maera masked her contemplation with a chuckle, and a raise her hand as a signal for the knight to stop.
“No offense caused, good brother. Given everything that has occurred, I can understand how these things can get confusing,” Maera laughed, offering a reassuring nod to Ser Adrian. She glanced briefly at her husband, noting the tension in his jaw at Maera’s jibe directed at him, before turning her attention back to the matter at hand. “I’m sure Alys is honored to be mistaken for a Lady. Now, Alys, what were you saying before I entered the room?”
Alys’s reaction to Maera’s laughter was swift, a fleeting tense of her features before she composed herself. Without missing a beat, she rose from her seat and approached the map, pointing to the Westerlands.
“As a good number of the King’s Army is currently indisposed through executing the traitors of the Crownlands, we need greater support from the West,” Alys began, her voice carrying a hint of urgency, her hand lingering on her swollen belly in a gesture that seemed almost pointed, as if to emphasize her status and authority. She picked up a green figure shaped like a lion and placed it in the Riverlands on the map. “The Lannister army can support us here at Harrenhall and defend King’s Landing from an attack from the Northerners.”
Maera studied the map with a furrowed brow, her gaze tracing the movements of the figurines representing the Blacks and Greens across the Riverlands. The disparity in numbers, with Harrenhall seemingly surrounded by enemies, did not escape her notice, prompting a deepening of the crease between her brows as she pondered their strategy. “We have more enemies than allies in the Riverlands. And those closest to the Westerlands in the Reach are Blacks. Are we so sure these armies will not be ambushed?”
“That is what I said, Princess!” exclaimed the Peake Lord from earlier, echoing Maera’s concerns. With his support, Maera’s expression softened slightly with a glimmer of hope. She recognized the significance of finding support in the midst of adversity, and the possibility of forging alliances provided a ray of optimism amidst the gloom of her precarious situation.
Alys interjected confidently, “There will be no attack from the Rivermen or traitors in the Reach. I have seen the lion swim through the river and make it onto dry land unharmed.”
Maera huffed in frustration at Alys’s supposed prophecy, her annoyance evident in the way she rubbed her temples and sighed heavily. Despite the logic behind their strategic analysis, Alys’s insistence on invoking prophecy introduced an element of uncertainty and doubt, complicating their plans and undermining Maera’s efforts to navigate the complexities of their situation with pragmatism and reason.
“What are your thoughts, my Prince?” inquired a knight with the sigil of House Butterwell adorned on his chest plate, addressing Aemond.
The Prince’s one-eyed gaze swept across the room, absorbing the opinions of the council with a thoughtful expression. With a quiet hum, he rose from his seat and strode purposefully across the room, his movements deliberate and confident. His tall and lean form exuded an aura of authority, clad in black leather garments that accentuated his imposing presence.
As Aemond stood before the map, his eye lingered intently on the marked regions, his mind calculating the strategic implications of their next move. With decisive gestures, he shifted a black dragon figure from Harrenhall to the border of the Riverlands and the North, signaling a shift in their tactical positioning. “If I patrol here daily, where an attack is most likely, we will be able to identify it sooner,” he concluded, his voice firm and decisive, earning nods of agreement from the attending lords.
Maera's eyes followed her husband's movements, her expression thoughtful as she studied the map. Despite the complexities of their situation, she couldn't help but admire Aemond's adeptness at command and his astute grasp of battle tactics. Rising from her seat, she stepped beside him, her form brushing against his as she pointed toward the Westerlands, offering her own insights and suggestions in unity with her husband's strategic vision.
“Half the Rivermen are sworn to Rhaenyra. What is stopping them from invading Harrenhall or preventing the Westerlands forces from reaching us?”As Maera spoke, Aemond’s gaze drifted down to her, a twinkle of admiration shimmering in his violet eye, his stare carrying a depth that momentarily left her breathless. A subtle blush tinted her cheeks, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips, buoyed by the pride of earning her husband’s respect.
Their shared moment was abruptly interrupted by the grating voice of Alys, clearly disgruntled. “That will not happen, as I have already said.”
Maera chose to ignore the interruption and with deliberate movements, she maneuvered black figurines across the map, mapping out their strategic maneuvers. She then fixed her gaze back to her husband, her tone firm. “You patrol the North. Daeron patrols the South, stopping traitors in the Reach from invading Kings Landing. Yet here,” she gestured to the West, “we are vulnerable.”
Aemond nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing in contemplation, echoed by murmurs of agreement from the other lords. Before he could respond, Alys interjected again, confidently, “I have seen that the Westerlands are safe from attack.”
“And I have seen with my two eyes that I command a dragon almost as large as Vhagar. It would be foolish not to use him,” Maera retorted, her voice laced with disdain as she turned her attention back to her husband. “I suggest I patrol this border, as a cautionary measure.”
Aemond met her gaze, his expression thoughtful as he considered her proposal. “Are you sure?” Aemond asked Maera, concern evident in his tone as he glanced at his wife. Maera replied with a determined nod, her eyes reflecting her resolve, before Aemond turned his attention to the room. “Are we all in agreement?” With nods and murmurs filling the room, indicating their consensus, the decision was made.
A rush of validation surged through her, her insights held weight in his decision-making process. In that moment, she felt empowered and respected, her contributions valued by the one person whose opinion mattered most to her. It bolstered her confidence and reaffirmed her belief in their partnership, igniting a sense of purpose within her.
However, Alys who was clearly unhappy with this stood from her seat as if to protest, her defiance radiated from her posture. Her cat-like green eyes bore into Maera, filled with resentment and challenge, while strands of her dark brown hair fell forward as she stood.
Maera, taken aback by Alys’s insolence, quickly intervened with words that appeared polite on the surface but carried an undercurrent of authority and command. “You look tired, Alys. Perhaps you should rest,” Maera said with a sly grin. “I have spoken with Maester Cain; he is awaiting you in his chambers for an examination.”
Alys clenched her jaw, her gaze briefly shifting to Aemond, hoping for support. However, Aemond’s reaction was not what she had hoped for. Instead of backing her up, he responded with a distasteful expression, merely raising an eyebrow in a reproachful manner, signaling his disapproval of her outburst to his wife. The witch huffed in frustration, her agitation palpable in the air, she reluctantly offered a small curtsy to the Prince and Princess, her movements stiff with indignation. The swish of her simple green dress as she turned to storm out of the room echoed her inner turmoil.
Maera's reaction was one of restrained triumph, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her features as she watched Alys depart. She knew that while this victory may have tilted the scales in her favor for the moment, the conflict between them was far from resolved.
“Have we received an update from Cole?” The Prince addressed the room once more as he returned to his seat at the opposite end of the table, his long, straight silver hair cascaded down his back, framing his sharp features. His posture exuded confidence and authority as he resumed his position, his violet eye scanning the room with a keen gaze.
Maera followed him, her eyes briefly capturing the elegance of his movements as he pulled out the chair for her. She couldn’t help but appreciate his gesture of care, a small warmth blossoming within her. As she sat down, Aemond pushed in her chair before taking his own seat, his presence beside her reassuring in the midst of the council’s deliberations.
“Yes, Prince Aemond,” an elderly Lord from House Vance began, unfurling a scroll for reference. “The Lord Commander has executed Lord Darklyn. Unfortunately, there has been quite an uproar in Duskendale.”
Maera furrowed her brow before strange sensation fluttered in her lower stomach, like a gentle fluttering of wings. Instinctively, she placed her hand over her abdomen, attributing the sensation to nerves regarding the topic of discussion. She listened intently as the Lord continued. “His guards and the common folk have protested, causing our forces to attempt to restore order.”
“Why do they not simply leave?” Maera inquired, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern. She did not want to appear ignorant, but surely if the execution was done then the host of soldiers could return to the task at hand? Thankfully, Maera’s brother-in-law was able to explain the reasoning behind it.
“It is a port, Princess,” Ser Adrian replied, offering clarification. “It may affect trade if balance is not restored.”
The Peake Lord elaborated, “And given the state of the Gullet at present, we need every port we can get to maintain trade.”
Of course, Maera thought. It was still difficult to get food, livestock, and weapons into the Crownlands due to the Velaryon fleet blocking access. Maera’s inherited fleet from Morne was providing security for trade ships but the loss in products meant the arrangement could not last forever. By turning Duskendale green, it would allow trade to arrive easily into Kings Landing.
“Has any headway been made with Essos? Perhaps they could assist with moving the Velaryon naval forces?” inquired the Butterwell knight.
“No, the Essossi are even more stubborn than the Dornish. They only protect their own, and since we have no relationships with the magisters, the chances are slim,” replied the old Lord Vance.
Essos had previously ignored pleas for aid made by the previous Hand of the King, Lord Otto, citing they did not wish to involve themselves in a war that did not concern them. However with the East trading so much with the West, the events that of the Dance of the Dragons was bound to affect them sooner or later.
A thought occurred in the Princess’s mind; she received updates every few months from a link who had travelled across the continent of Essos, one who had said they would offer support however they could, if she asked for it.
Maera interjected swiftly, “My brother Dermot is currently staying with a magister in Myr.” Her words commanded the room's attention, including that of her husband. “I could ask my brother to implore the magister on behalf of our cause.”
Ser Adrian was the first to respond, “That just might work, Princess.” The other Lords nodded in agreement, including Aemond, who displayed a faint smile.
A few hours had passed with the discussion of battle strategies within the council, yet even though Maera attempted to immerse herself, she found herself in awe of her husband’s ability to command the room. Her irritation from the night before seemed distant, and she couldn't help but be impressed. He listened to his advisors but was also able to assert himself using logic and the unique knowledge of riding on dragonback whilst jotting down notes of points that had been mentioned.
Aemond wanted to win this war, that was plain to see. She was unsure of his reasons, but supposed they could be many; an attempt to prove himself to his family as the more adept Prince, through duty of upholding is brother’s rightful claim to the throne, or to make the world a safer place for his House and its descendants. The Prince also divulged plans to the Lords for the royal children to be sent to ward in distant lands. One of the Lords even disclosed that Rhaenyra had similar intentions for her youngest children.
The old Lord Vance rolled his eyes. “I do not see why we don’t just kill her little bastards already. We should not risk bastard blood on the Iron Throne.” Maera's reaction was unexpected as she slammed her fists onto the table and rose from her seat in anger, surprising both herself and the other attendees, her green eyes flashing with intensity. As she stood, she felt that odd sensation in her lower stomach once more.
Closing her eyes briefly, Maera couldn't shake the haunting image of young Jaehaerys's blood staining the stone floor, his headless body cradled in Helaena's arms. A tear welled in her eye, a silent testament to the grief and horror that still gripped her heart.
Suddenly, Maera's eyes snapped open, her senses sharpening as she realized where she was. She couldn't afford to show emotion, especially not to these Lords who viewed such displays as weakness. Her actions needed to be driven by logic and principle, not by the haunting memories of a lost child or the fear for her own unborn child's safety. “The Blacks murdered the King's first-born son. If we do the same, how does that make us any better? What would the Realm think?”
Maera felt a reassuring hand on her lower back, a gentle pressure that grounded her as tension radiated through the room. Glancing up, she met her husband’s concerned gaze, finding solace in the silent understanding that passed between them. With a subtle nod, she relaxed her furrowed brow, silently acknowledging that her outburst was fueled by deep-seated emotions.
“Let us be done for today,” Aemond declared, swiftly ending the meeting. The other lords and knights rose from their seats and filed out of the room, leaving only the prince and princess in the heavy silence that followed. With a shared glance, Aemond and Maera wordlessly acknowledged the weight of the meeting and the unspoken understanding between them.
However, Maera was not quite ready to face her husband after the tumultuous events of the day before and the emotions it stirred within her. Without a word, she turned abruptly and made her way out of the chamber despite Aemond calling after her, retreating to the solitude of her chambers to gather her thoughts in private.
That evening in their shared chambers, the atmosphere was markedly different from their quarters in the Red Keep. The room was spacious but dimly lit, with heavy drapes covering the windows, casting long shadows across the wooden furnishings. The air held a chill, seeping in from the ancient stone walls of the fortress.
Upon the table between them lay a modest spread of food, far less extravagant than what they were accustomed to in King's Landing. There were simple dishes of roasted meats, bread, and vegetables, accompanied by a jug of wine and a few goblets. The fare lacked the refinement of royal feasts, reflecting the more austere conditions of their current surroundings.
As Maera and Aemond sat opposite each other, the atmosphere was palpably tense. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, casting a heavy weight over the room. Despite the flickering candlelight and the warmth of the hearth, an undeniable chill lingered in the air, a reflection of the strained relationship between husband and wife.
Throughout the day, Aemond and Maera had been occupied with their respective duties and interests, scarcely crossing paths since the morning council meeting. Aemond had attended to his princely responsibilities, while Maera had wandered the grounds of Harrenhall before immersing herself in the depths of the castle's library.
As they finally reunited at the dinner table, the couple sat in a subdued silence, each absorbed in their own activities. Their plates were filled with food, though neither seemed particularly focused on eating. Aemond diligently worked on his ledger, his attention devoted to the meticulous task at hand. Meanwhile, Maera delved into the pages of a book chronicling the history of Aegon's Conquest, the familiar tale offering her a convenient refuge from conversation with her husband.
Engrossed in her reading, Maera was startled when she heard the distinct sound of Aemond setting down his fork. Raising her gaze from the pages, she found herself meeting the Prince's eye, a subtle tension lingering between them as unspoken thoughts hung heavy in the air.
“I must commend you, wife,” he began, his voice carefully measured. “Your contributions to the council meeting were impressive.”
Maera scoffed softly, her gaze never leaving the pages of her book as she turned them with deliberate precision. “At least my ideas are grounded in logic, unlike some who prefer to chase after fantastical prophecies,” she retorted, her tone laced with subtle disdain.
Aemond paused, his jaw tightening imperceptibly as he tore his gaze away, a fleeting shadow crossing his features at the mention of Alys. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “I will speak with her regarding her conduct,” he stated, his eye meeting Maera’s briefly before darting away.
Maera absorbed his words in silence, a myriad of emotions swirling within her despite the veneer of composure she maintained. Despite the betrayal that still lingered between them, she couldn’t deny a glimmer of gratitude towards Aemond for attempting to mend the rift, as well as his support for her ideas in the meeting. With a nod of acknowledgment, she murmured a quiet "Thank you," before returning her focus to her book, her appetite waning as she picked at her food.
An odd sensation stirred in Maera's lower stomach once more, drawing a frown to her features as she contemplated its source. A memory from her childhood flashed before her eyes, her mother's gentle voice and the sensation of laying her head on her stomach. Suddenly, the pieces fell into place, and Maera placed a hand on her abdomen, feeling the subtle movements beneath her skin.
Aemond's brows furrowed in concern as he noticed Maera's expression, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "Is everything alright?" he inquired, his voice tinged with worry.
Maera's lips curved into a faint smile as she glanced up at him, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. "The baby's kicking," she replied softly, a mixture of awe and wonder dancing in her eyes.
Aemond rose from his seat with a sense of urgency, his ledger forgotten as he closed the distance between himself and Maera. His steps were swift yet deliberate, each movement betraying his eagerness to be by her side. "When did it start?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and excitement as he approached her.
Maera's laughter bubbled forth like a melody as she glanced up at him, her eyes alight with mirth. "Just this morning," she replied, her tone filled with amusement. "It's not quite what I expected it to feel like."
Kneeling beside her, Aemond's gaze drifted down to her delicate bump, his hand hovering uncertainly in the air before pulling back, unsure if Maera would welcome his touch. A soft sigh escaped Maera's lips, her resolve softening despite the lingering anger between them. She reached out, gently guiding his hand to her lower stomach, her own hand covering his as she pressed it against the curve of her bump.
In that moment, as the tiny babe stirred beneath her touch, Aemond’s breath caught in his throat as he marveled at the movement. "How big is the babe now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eye never leaving the swell of Maera's abdomen.
"About the size of a potato, if I recall correctly," Maera replied, her voice soft and tender as she met Aemond's gaze with a fond smile.
Aemond’s brows furrowed slightly as he contemplated her words, his gaze lingering on her with a mix of concern and curiosity. “Does it hurt?” he asked tentatively, his voice laced with genuine concern.
Maera’s laughter echoed softly in the intimate space between them as she shook her head, her hand tightening gently around his. “No, it’s actually quite nice,” she admitted, a hint of fondness coloring her tone. “Knowing that our little one is here.”
As the silence enveloped them like a warm embrace, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows across the room, Aemond's gaze lifted to meet Maera's, his hand still resting against her stomach. "Do you think all will be well? In our marriage?" he asked, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
Maera's expression softened as she considered his question, her gaze searching his for a moment before she replied, her tone gentle yet uncertain. "Time will tell," she said softly, her fingers intertwining with his as they shared a fleeting moment of connection amidst the uncertainty of their future.
Notes: Bitchy plus fluffy equals this chapter 🤣 also next chapter I’m thinking of posting an Aemond POV just to break it up. I’ve got about 6 so far and I just know these are going to increase. So imma just litter them about and stick them in another section on the contents page
Tags: @0eessirk8 @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek
Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤
#maera wylde#aemond targaryen#aemond x oc#aemond fanfiction#chapters#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic#house targaryen#house wylde#hotd helaena
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The greens, originally known as the queen’s party, were the faction of House Targaryen and their loyalists who supported the ascent of Aegon II as King of the Seven Kingdoms during the Dance of the Dragons and the years that preceded it. They were opposed by the blacks.
Symbol: Queen Alicent’s green gown
Type: Political faction
Seat: Red Keep
Region: Westeros
Allegiance: Aegon II Targaryen
Founder: Alicent Hightower
Prominent Greens
King Aegon II Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm
After his meeting with the small council, the fatigued Aegon climbed into his litter and asked to be carried to the royal sept. The king had his customary flagon of sweet Arbor red along the way to ease his pain. When his escort arrived and Ser Gyles Belgrave of the Kingsguard lifted the litter's curtains, Aegon II was found dead with blood on his lips.
— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons - The Short, Sad Reign of Aegon II
Queen Helaena Targaryen
On the twenty-second day of the fifth moon of 130 AC, at sunset, Helaena jumped from the window of her room in Maegor’s Holdfast. She died on the spikes below, with her throat impaled, only twenty-one years old.
— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons - Rhaenyra Overthrown
Prince Aemond Targaryen, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm
On the twenty-second day of the fifth month of 130 AC, Aemond and Daemon, mounted on their dragons, engaged in the Battle Above the Gods Eye. The duel ended with the two dragons crashing to the floor while Prince Daemon stabbed Aemond in his eye with the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister. Aemond’s body, chained to Vhagar’s saddle, sank into the lake.
— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons - Rhaenyra Triumphant
Prince Daeron Targaryen
Two days later, the Second Battle of Tumbleton began. Prince Daeron died during the battle, though it is not known exactly how he died. The story most often told claims Daeron was cut down by Black Trombo with a morningstar whilst stumbling out of his tent with his clothes on fire, after the attacks of the dragon Seasmoke had begun. Another claims the same, except that the prince was slain by a man-at-arms with a sword, who was unaware of the identity of his victim. The third account, agreed upon by Munkun and Gyldayn, states that Daeron’s burning tent collapsed on top of him.
— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons - Rhaenyra Overthrown
Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, firstborn son of Aegon II
As was her custom, Queen Helaena Targaryen took her three children to visit their grandmother at dusk, before they went to bed. Once Helaena entered the chambers with Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor, Blood barred the door and slew Helaena’s guardsman while Cheese snatched Maelor. Cheese told Helaena that they were two “debt collectors,” and asked which one of her sons she wanted to lose. The queen offered herself but the two killers refused, telling her that it had to be a son, a boy. The weeping Helaena eventually named her youngest child, two-year-old Maelor. The grinning Blood slew Prince Jaehaerys instead, striking off the boy’s head with a single blow from his sword. The two men did no further harm to Helaena, Jaehaera, or Maelor, fleeing with Jaehaerys’s head in hand.
— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons - A Son for a Son
Princess Jaehaera Targaryen, daughter of Aegon II
Two years after her marriage, Jaehaera died when she reportedly threw herself from Maegor’s Holdfast and was impaled on the spikes of the dry moat below. She lived for a half hour in agony before her death. With her ended the line of the marriage of King Viserys I Targaryen and his second wife, Queen Alicent Hightower.
Jaehaera’s death was officially deemed a suicide, akin to that of her mother, Queen Helaena Targaryen.
— The World of Ice & Fire, The Targaryen Kings: Aegon III
Prince Maelor Targaryen, secondborn son of Aegon II
During the fall of King’s Landing, the master of whisperers Lord Larys Clubfoot smuggled Maelor and his sister Princess Jaehaera to safety, charging Ser Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard to bring Maelor to Oldtown. At Bitterbridge, Rickard was brought down by a mob, while the manner of Maelor’s death is disputed: Mushroom claims that Willow Pound-Stone accidentally crushed Maelor to death, Eustace says he was chopped into six pieces by a butcher, and Munkun writes that Maelor was torn apart by the mob.
— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons - Rhaenyra Triumphant
Green Council
Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower
Rhaenyra Targaryen’s son took the throne as Aegon III Targaryen in 131 AC. During the Hour of the Wolf, Lord Cregan Stark sentenced to death the men who had arrested Alicent. The Dowager Queen opposed the marriage of Jaehaera to the new king and was absent from the ceremony. She once terrified her granddaughter by suggesting she slit Aegon’s throat. Since Alicent refused to be reconciled, Ser Tyland Lannister, the Hand of the King, ordered her confined to Maegor’s Holdfast.
Alicent remained in her chambers for the last year of her life. Her only company was her septa, serving girls, and guards. Alicent often wept, began talking to herself, and came to dislike the color green. She died in 133 AC, during the outbreak of the Winter Fever.
— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents - The Hooded Hand
Ser Otto Hightower
Otto was the first to be beheaded as a traitor by Rhaenyra after the fall of King’s Landing in 130 AC.
— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons - Rhaenyra Triumphant
Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Hand of the King
While marching from the Gods Eye to the Blackwater Rush, Criston’s surviving host was met at a ridge by an army of thousands of blacks led by Ser Garibald Grey, Ser Pate of Longleaf, and Roderick Dustin, Lord of Barrowton. Criston offered to yield if the blacks would spare the lives of his men, but he was refused. When Criston then challenged all three of his counterparts, Pate had Robb Rivers and his archers strike down the Kingmaker with three arrows. Hundreds of Criston’s men were then killed by the rivermen and Winter Wolves in the ensuing Butcher’s Ball in 130 AC. Garibald and Pate brought Criston’s head on a spear to the First Battle of Tumbleton.
— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons - Rhaenyra Triumphant
Ser Tyland Lannister, master of ships, then master of coin
Tyland returned to King’s Landing from Myr shortly after King Aegon II Targaryen’s death. He was made Hand of the King for King Aegon III Targaryen at the start of his regency.
In early 133 AC, when it was discovered that Winter Fever had broken out across the city and the realm, Tyland ordered the gates of the city and the Red Keep closed, to prevent the disease from spreading. But as the Winter Fever was nearing its end, Tyland himself fell ill. He died after only two days, in the presence of Septon Eustace and King Aegon III, who took his hand as Tyland took his last breath.
— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents - The Hooded Hand
Lord Jasper Wylde, master of laws
Jasper was taken captive by Rhaenyra during the fall of King’s Landing in 130 AC. Rhaenyra had several nobles executed for treason, with Jasper being beheaded after Ser Otto Hightower. Ironrod insisted to his death that the Iron Throne goes to a king’s son before a daughter.
— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons - Rhaenyra Triumphant
Lord Larys Strong, master of whisperers
While most of those found guilty followed Perkin in taking the black, Lord Larys and Ser Gyles of the Kingsguard chose death over the Wall. Cregan beheaded the pair with his Valyrian steel greatsword, Ice. Cregan granted Larys’ last request, that his clubfoot be removed from his corpse so Larys would at least be free of it in death.
— Fire & Blood, Aftermath - The Hour of the Wolf
The heads of Larys and Gyles were mounted on pikes by the gates of the Red Keep. Lord Strong’s corpse was given to the silent sisters, and years later his bones were taken to Harrenhal as his final resting place. Cregan ordered that the removed foot be buried in a field, but the limb disappeared before that could occur. As Larys was the last of his line, his death brought an end to House Strong.
— The World of Ice & Fire, The Targaryen Kings: Aegon III
Maester Orwyle
When Ser Tyland Lannister died from the disease, the young King Aegon III ordered Orwyle to dispatch a raven to Goldengrove, summoning Lord Thaddeus Rowan to take the office of Hand of the King. Orwyle, possibly hoping for a royal pardon, was quick to obey his orders. He was later seized by the men of Lord Unwin Peake, one of Aegon III’s regents, who installed himself as the new King’s Hand. Orwyle was sent back to his cell to await execution. After Ser Victor Risley had been named as the King’s Justice, Orwyle was finally executed as a traitor and a deserter of the Night’s Watch. Due to his age, high birth and long service, he was granted the honor of dying by the sword.
— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents - War and Peace and Cattle Shows
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd spoilers#greens#aegon ii targaryen#helaena targaryen#alicent hightower#otto hightower#criston cole#jaehaerys targaryen#jaehaera targaryen#maelor targaryen#aemond targaryen#daeron targaryen#tyland lannister#jasper wylde#larys strong#maester orwyle#if you hate the greens... i got u fam#fire and blood#asoiaf
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House of the Dragon 1x08 (new still): Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws.
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starting the new authorized hill house novel
#i LOVE elizabeth hand for wylding hall i’m so excited#also just finished my hill house reread and it’s somehow still one of the most unsettling things i’ve read#jen talks books#personal
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The Fall of King’s Landing
When this hits the screens, it’s going to be the most epic thing ever! With the constant misery going on in the ASOIAF world, GRRM wrote something which screams JUSTICE.
Alicent: “Let the people remember the ancient strength of House Targaryen.”
What does someone like her know about the ancient strength of House Targaryen?
She thinks it’s how she makes her halfbreed Hightower son wear the Conqueror’s crown and wield his sword, while forcing smallfolk to witness his “coronation” and bow to him (laughable).
No, no, no.
She will have a front row seat to the ancient strength of House Targaryen. She will watch six dragons surround King’s Landing and force her on her knees for her treachery.
The Gold Cloaks will deliver their epicness with their loyalty to the right person : “Daemon gave us these cloaks and they're gold no matter how you turn them.”
The head of Otto Snaketower will roll, as will that of his idiot son (Seriously, Oldtown is a snake pit. Aegon the Conqueror, Visenya and Rhaenys should have burned it to the ground when they had the chance), and Jasper Wylde will meet his end too. Hundreds of other greens perish for treason against the Crown.
It’s going to be one of those few moments where justice will be served, and I can’t wait to enjoy it.
Bring the fire & blood!
#house of the dragon#team black#pro team black#rhaenyra targaryen#hotd#anti alicent hightower#anti team green#queen rhaenyra#anti greens#anti otto hightower#anti gwayne hightower#anti jasper wylde#asoiaf#asoiaf meta#game of thrones#got#the blacks#the black queen#daemon targaryen#house targaryen#aegon the conqueror#visenya targaryen#rhaenys targaryen#hotd rhaenyra#hotd daemon#anti aegon ii targaryen#anti green stans
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#game of thrones#my ocs#house of the dragon#otto hightower#talya#a song of ice and fire#lyman beesbury#tyland lannister#harrold westerling#unwin peake#asoif fanfic#got fanfiction#orwyle#jasper wylde#hotd spoilers#queue#addam of hull#gwayne hightower#alyn of hull#erryk cargyll#queued post#my stuff#hotd fanfic#original character
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