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thewriterwithnoplan · 3 months

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THE HIGHEST TOWER (1/2)

Summary: As a Princess of the Realm the chance to escape political marriage and abscond with your Promised was beyond anything you could wish for. When the time is right, your dragon will lead you to them and your mother will support your union. In return, you must do all you can to protect her claim, even if you must do so from within the very heart of the Greens.

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader (eventual), Aemond Targaryen x Reader (mentioned)

Word Count: 4296

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, just general character awfulness, some espionage, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd.

Masterlist

You had lived the better part of eight and ten years in the Red Keep. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen handed off to the Queen like some paltry trinket. The King’s first and final word on the matter of his granddaughter. Thrust carelessly into Alicent’s care at the fresh age of ten, a peace offering and a trade for Lucerys’ life. You scarcely remembered life beyond the borders of the castle. Only that one moment your brother's life had been under threat and the next yours was all but forfeit.

Your mother had clasped the back of your neck, pulled you toward her and begged her father for mercy. You who had not even been in the room when Aemond had lost his eye, lost to your own midnight flight atop dragon back. And then the curtain of Rhaneyra’s hair parted, and from over her shoulder Daemon met your eyes. For a single poignant moment, he stared and then a smirk broke across his face as if he knew.

Knew that you were not the innocent that your mother would have the King believe you to be. Knew that your midnight rendezvous with your dragon at the exact moment of Vhagar’s claiming was not mere coincidence. Your intentions had been innocent at first. A trip to the kitchen for a cup of milk which you would warm on the stove – a feat the late Sir Harwin Strong had taught you. Past your brothers’ room, your mother’s room, the servants' quarters and a balcony overlooking the beach. And then you had seen him. Aemond scaling your cousin’s dragon. And that just wouldn’t do.

Targaryens – true Targaryens who did not cower under the cover of darkness – needed their dragons if they had any hope of finding their Promised. Your cousin, Baela who always shared her sweets and let you borrow her wooden sword, deserved the chance to meet her Promised in the wake of her mother’s death. The man or woman that Vhagar would lead her to when the Old Gods saw fit. In the game of thrones when Targearyens already found so few chances for happiness, how could Aemond strip his cousin of her chance at true love? True, as an eldest daughter Baela’s future husband was most certainly decided – likely one of your brothers. But you were certain that Jacaerys or Lucerys would be understanding and gracious when the time came for Baela to claim her Promised, as she would be when the time came for her Lord-Husband. Such was the way of things. At least for the lucky.

Imagining your dragon, Laesuvion, claimed by another and leaving you with no guide to your Gods-given Promised made you feel ill. And so, you set out on bare, hurried feet to find and mount Laesuvion. You were a Targaryen born of the blood of dragons, of true Valyrian features. Vhagar was your cousin’s dragon by right and it was your duty to protect that claim. She was a formidable, indomitable beast but shackled with a new rider on his first flight. If you had one chance to disrupt the yet fragile bond being formed by dragon and rider, it was to dislodge the green boy and send him toppling toward the sea.

Laesuvion had hatched for you in your cradle. He was much younger and smaller than Vhagar but all the faster. It would be no trouble to fell your traitorous cousin. The difficulty became disguising the shock of white scales along the elongated arch of Laesuvion’s neck whilst searching for Vhagar’s camouflaged breadth.

“Aderī Laesuvion. Dokimarvose.” (Quickly Laesuvion. Focus.) You urged him.

Despite your efforts, you only caught sight of them twice. Once among the clouds, though you were sure Aemond got a greater view of you than you did him. And again, as Vhagar was returning to land Driftmark. Your hunt had been unsuccessful. But you had been sure no one would suspect you of such vengeful intent toward your uncle. Except perhaps Daemon.

“It is a fair price, Rhaenyra,” Daemon’s smirk was cunning, “They will not harm her.”

The betrayal on your mother's face heated your blood. How dare he tell her what to do? Your mother, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the iron throne. This man who was no one, husband of no one, Prince of nowhere, heir of nothing. Who was he to command your mother? And now, to step toward you and attempt to pry you away from her. So close you could almost-

Almost hear the two of them whispering. To each other. To you.

“Think.” Daemon hissed, “They will demand her for Aemond sooner or later.”

“She is my only daughter.”

“She will still be your daughter in the Red Keep.” He kept up the pretence of fighting your mother, despite her arms having gone lax around you. “Not a bastard. Not a bargaining chip. Your daughter. At the heart of the greens.”

“She is a child.”

“A Targaryen child.”

“She is my child.”

“Then let her prove it.”

“Mother,” You warbled. “I don’t want to go.”

“Tala.” Daemon shifted, and his eyes met yours again as if you should know this word. You did not. “You will go. Make your mother proud. Learn at court. Find those who support her claim and those who will side with the Hightowers. You are weak and a girl, they will not suspect you. When the time comes you will be our most valuable weapon.”

“But I want to go home, Kepa.” (Father or paternal uncle)

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Rhaenyra held your face and brushed away your tears. “You will.”

“’Nyra.” Daemon warned.

“But not today.” She kissed each of your cheeks. “Today you must be strong for me. You must be strong for your brothers. You must do as Daemon says, we must keep them happy.”

And then your mother pulled you toward her firmly, pressed her lips to your ear and whispered a promise. A reward should you embark on this mission. Beyond sweets and silk dresses and extra time on Laesuvion. Beyond anything you had ever been promised or ever dreamed of asking for. Do this for your mother and she would exempt you from the chains of political marriage that would shackle each of your brothers. There was no guarantee you would be lucky like your brothers, married to one who would understand. But do this and you could have your Promised under the eyes of the Seven, the Old Gods, and the traditions of old Valyria itself. Even at 10, you knew that for a Princess and a second-born, there was no greater boon.

So, you did what you had to do for your one shot to truly be with your Promised. You squared your shoulders, kissed your mother's cheek, and stumbled toward Queen Alicent. She gripped you by the shoulder, tucked you into the folds of her skirt, and stared cruelly down her nose at your mother.

“Now I will have no more fighting.” Said the King and having satisfied his wife for the first time in their long marriage, he ambled off to bed.

As the crowd dispersed, Sir Criston Cole flanked the Queen and as a unit, the three of you marched from the room. Your mother, scarcely held together in Daemon’s embrace, gave one last warbling cry as you passed the threshold and disappeared, not to be seen again for nine long years.

You were kept that night in the Queen’s own quarters to thwart rescue or escape. Behind a bolted door and no less than three kings’ guards. And yet, that morning, upon waking with puffy eyes from silent tears and aching limbs from the harsh sitting room sofa, you found something that had not been there before.

A gift from Daemond, most assuredly, tucked under the pillow you had slept on. The handle was perhaps an inch too long for your small age, but the blade was curved and wicked sharp and would require little finesse to cause harm. Inlaid in the pommel was a single ruby, the size of your thumb and wonderfully smooth. Carved into the cross-guard flowing Valyrian script read valar morghūlis. (All men must die.)

You would call the dagger gaomilaksir, duty. You would carry it as a reminder of the promises you and your mother had made one another. One day, as Daemon had said, you would become her greatest weapon.

There had been few bright spots in your life as the Queen’s ward. So, few in fact, that you could count them on one hand.

One.

You could not fly. Such a thing would only encourage escape back to Dragonstone and your mother. But you could visit Laesuvion and watch him sweep through the clouds. He had grown much in your teenage years. Still lithe in build and elegant in frame, but more angular like an arrow strung tight. He did not take to Kings Landing, not in all your years trapped there. So used to the comfort of Dragonstone and your family’s own dragons, he often abandoned the Dragonpit entirely. Kept tethered to the Keep by your presence alone.

“Where is Laesuvion?” You were just shy of ten and two when you approached the Dragonkeeper Acolyte.

“Hunting, my lady.” He knocked his quarterstaff against the ground. “He flew north not three hours ago.”

“Do you not offer him food?”

The keeper lowered his head, “He refuses it, my lady.”

“Offer him better.”

“We give him our very best, lady. He is a magnificent but stubborn creature.”

“He is a dragon, not a creature.” You conjured up a playful grin. “And I am a princess, not a lady.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” The Acolyte blustered, “Shall I inform you upon his return?”

“That won’t be necessary,” You strode to his side and plunked yourself down to lean against the stone entrance. “I shall wait for his return here.”

And so, you did. Silently, for the better part of twenty minutes as the Acolyte threw furtive glances your way.

Until finally, “Truly, my lady. Your Highness. He could be hours still.”

Wonderful. You thought and cast a dazzling grin up at him. “Perhaps you ought to keep me better company then.”

And so, you began your mission. You charm the Dragonkeepers – Acolyte and Elder, all seventy-seven of them – who knew the princes and their dragons, their strengths and weaknesses. You befriend the maids, the scullery, the wet nurses, and the servants they bunk with. Piece by piece, inch by inch, you win back your mother's share of Kings Landing.

Two.

Strange though she was, your Aunt Heleana always welcomed you into her chambers. In your shared youth, she always had a critter clutched between her hands as if it were the most precious thing she owned. You are four and ten, a year younger than your aunt when she is forced to split her time between her menagerie of insects and the chubby masses of her twin babes.

“The young prince has lungs,” You smiled at Heleana as the wet nurse rocked a wailing Jaehaerys. “He will make glorious speeches when he is grown.”

“Only one.” She examined the creature in her hands. Today she favoured a centipede, passing Jaehaera onto you.

You had long since learned to ignore her ramblings, “The sweet Princess must be the wordsmith, then.”

“The fourth in an age.” Heleana startled as if only just noticing your presence. “Apologies, Hāedar. You wished to speak?” (Younger female sibling or cousin)

“No apologies necessary, Mandia.” (Older female sibling or cousin). The Valyrian word tasted foul. You had your own siblings on Dragonstone, those whom you had been stolen from and those whom you had yet to meet. But Heleana liked it when you pretended that you were not a prisoner, that you were her mother’s daughter and not her forcibly attained ward. And so you swallowed it with a smile, “Might we talk privately?”

Heleana startled again as she turned to the wet nurse. “Take the children to the nursery, Bria.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Bria gave an awkward curtsy, shuffled the still-wailing Jaehaerys to one side and received Jaehaera from your arms. Heleana turned to you expectantly as the trio disappeared through a side door.

“It is a sensitive matter I am afraid,” You eyed the centipede as it escaped her hands and crawled across her skirts. “I do not wish to cause offence.”

Heleana’s eyes pinched at the corners, “It is not such a terrible burden – to be a wife. Mostly he ignores you.”

“You misunderstand me,” You hurried. “I only wished to speak of your grandfather.”

“Not my brother?”

“Do you wish to speak of your husband?”

“No,” Heleana gave you a quizzical look. “I speak of Aemond, who will be your husband.”

“Aemond?” Your uncle who’s selfishness had trapped you here. One of Alicent’s precious children married to her living doll. The thought would have been hysterical were it not so frightening. Surely not.

“It is the natural progression of things. I was given to Aegon and now you to Aemond.” Heleana’s attention returned to the centipede. “One pairing to strengthen our house, another to mend its bonds. So says grandfather.”

“Oh Mandia. I am entrusted to your mother. There need be no marriage to bring me into the fold. We are family.”

“Yes. So says mother.” Heleana stared. Not so blind as she seemed. “But grandfather always gets what he wants.”

And so, you are four years into your mission, having sat patiently by the Queen's side. Having listened and learned and noted those your mother can count on. Four years in and the time to begin quietly making moves had arrived with a head start from your oblivious Aunt.

But then you see the centipede crawl from her hands again and writhe across her skirt. And you think maybe Heleana’s warnings have more to do with where the critter is trying to lead her than it has to do with you.

Three.

It took you longer than you would like to admit to worm your way into Otto Hightower’s confidences – if there were such a thing.

You had quickly learned in your first year at the Keep that Alicent feared her father, distrustful of his greed and power lust. Not much unlike yourself, she had been sent into the greedy hands of a different house in pursuit of the Iron Throne. Were Otto not so blinded by his ambitions you might have begun to worry that Daemon’s strategy might ring familiar. But Lord Hightower’s strength was also his greatest weakness. So careful in his scheming, gently coaxing his will unto others, moving his pawns about the board, sacrificing all but himself, he could not see his tactics turned against him. Beyond your connection to Rhaenyra, you barely registered as a piece in the game.

Daemon had been right. Weak and a girl and not a threat. Not yet.

So, you worked tirelessly to endear yourself to Alicent. Just as you learned from her, you began to teach in turn. When you are in the room Otto Hightower dares not spin his lies about succession. When you appear around corners in search of your Queen-mother talk of hastening the king's condition ceases. When you are near, Alicent is safe. She begins to wear you like the expensive accessory you are, a decorative shield.

Hours trailing your Queen-mother to and from meetings of the small council, waiting patiently at her side as she sat in place of the King. Serving wine to fat and foolish lords.

And then finally, on the eve of your ten and fifth nameday, the Queen brings you along to the Hand's Tower.

“Father.” She greets.

“Alicent,” Otto brings you to his office, where a tea set for two lays steaming. “I see you have brought your shadow.”

The Queen barely glances your way as you serve her tea and then her father’s, before retreating to stand at her shoulder. She glares across her father’s desk, “This does concern her.”

“She is approaching her fifteenth year, two since her first blood. Time has well arrived for her to marry,” He stares directly at you then, “Have you any fondness for your uncle, Princess?”

“My lord, the Princes and I are often kept busy by our duties.” Your friends among the servants have divulged their schedules. You stay firmly away from drunken Aegon and selfish Aemond, remaining civil only with young Daeron.

“You must see reason.” Alicent implores her father. “They hold no affection for one another. Aegon and Heleana have already wed in the name of strengthening our family. To marry her would serve only to anger Rhaenyra.”

“And to bind her eldest daughter to us.” Interesting that he would say so openly in front of you. Perhaps you have been more effective in playing a Green than you had thought. “Aemond will be a good husband to her.”

“I have no doubt,” Alicent says and as silence stretches you suspect she is losing conviction; you have not saved her this time.

You clear your throat delicately, “If I may?”

“Of course, sweet pet.” Alicent reaches out to fuss with your hair. She likes it long and keeps its length to your hip despite how cumbersome it can be. Short hair is unbecoming, she claims.

You look to Otto in false deference, “My lord?”

“Very well.”

“I think,” You begin carefully. “Aemond and I may be of better use to you.”

“And how might that be?” He is condescending but you have his attention.

“When the time comes that grandsire passes on, I suspect the lords of the realm will need cause to back a claim to the Iron Throne. My Septa says that peace such as we have seen under his rule may bring unrest. I do not doubt that Aemond will make a fine and just husband. All I mean is that mayhaps it would be wise to keep us unwed until we may serve a greater purpose.”

No mention of your mother nor their ill-begotten plan for Aegon. Hightower's methods played against him.

“And when the time comes you will do this?” He demands.

“It is my duty to my house.”

He tilts his head as a predatory bird might. “You must swear it, to myself and to your Queen, upon your young brothers.”

To pause would mislay your ruse. To hesitate would be to sign your life away to Aemond Targaryen.

“I swear it, upon the lives of my brothers.”

He considered you for a moment, and then his daughter.

“You have done well with her, Alicent.” Your Queen-mother sighs as Otto Hightower stands. “Enjoy your tea, I have matters to attend to elsewhere. Perhaps you will be of more use than we originally suspected, Princess.”

Your first true victory. You will not be shackled to the Keep; you will be kept safe until your mother comes for you. Until such a time that you and Laesuvion can seek out your Promised.

Four.

The Queen held a strange fondness for you. Platinum-haired and purple-eyed, the spitting image of the Realm’s delight and perhaps the only trueborn among your siblings. She took pains to brush and braid your hair, dress you in green and flout you at court. Her perfect tamed Targaryen. Who would eat from her hand, take tea by her side, sit prim and silent as her Queen-mother decorated her. You were her walking-talking glimmering triumph over Rhaenyra.

At ten, Alicent’s obsession stole you from your mother. At ten and four, it protected you from a hasty marriage. And now, at ten and eight, it was your path to freedom.

“Mother?”

Oh, how Alicent loved it when you called her that. One more thing ripped from Rhaenyra’s thieving hands. Alicent pushed into your room with a tired facsimile of a smile and took the seat across from you by the roaring hearth.

“My sweet pet.” She was dressed head to toe in full regalia. “I am so sorry to have missed you today.”

You tucked a piece of scrap paper into the book you had been reading, buying yourself time to school your features into innocent confusion. “As am I. My door has been locked. I am sorry I could not come to you.”

“A precaution – one that I fought.” Alicent reached for your hair, running her fingers through its length. “But we cannot trust you to betray your mother. Regardless of the years you have spent in our care.”

“I do not understand, mother.” But you do.

“Your grandsire is dead.”

You close your eyes, “Aegon is king.”

“Yes.”

“You did not wish for this.”

“I wish Viserys were still a living corpse. That he would outlive us all so that none could claim his cursed throne. Not Aegon. Not Rhaenyra. Not my father.”

“That is not a solution.”

She tugs at your hair harshly, “Foolish pet, there is none.”

You blink harshly. Your eyes scarcely holding back tears. For the first time since you left your mother's embrace, you are truly scared. No longer are you the meek girl who walks in the Queen’s shadow. Given liberties and protection in a twisted echo of her love for Rhaenyra. You are a living embodiment of what House Targaryen will be to House Hightower. A pretty little puppet kept from your dragon, cloistered away like some trophy, scrambling for a scrap of power to delude yourself that you have some control.

“What is to become of our house?” You whisper.

“Your mother and Prince Daemon remain on Dragonstone. No blood has yet been shed.” Alicent brushed your hair softly behind one ear. “We have sent Aemond to Storm’s End to do as you once suggested. To offer himself to one of the Baratheon girls, that Lord Borros might see reason and acknowledge Aegon as rightful King.”

Good, there were those beyond the Keep who remained steadfast and loyal. It was time to return to your mother, then. To tell her all you had learned these last eight years. To name her allies and set Daemon loose upon her foes. Now was the time.

“What of my brothers?”

Alicent leant back, “Scouts have spotted Vermax flying north likely as an envoy to rally support among the lords.”

“How could they have mobilized so quickly? Was Aegon not crowned mere hours ago?”

“He was, indeed.” Alicent’s gazed into the fire. “The Lady Rhaenys was not so welcoming of solitude as you have been.”

“She has gone to Dragonstone?”

“She has.”

“And no one has come for me?”

“They have not.”

For a moment you each stared listlessly into the hearth. When Alicent shifts back to face you, she has a letter clutched in her hand. It is crisp and of fine quality but most strikingly, stamped with the King’s seal.

“I am under no delusions,” Alicent says softly, mournfully. “You can no more contest your mother's claim than I can Aegon’s. We are matching pieces in this game, I think.”

Your fear swells, “Mother.”

“Please, my sweet girl.” She smooths the hair atop your head. “You must do me one last favour as my ward.”

“I don’t understand.”

She presses the letter into your hands. “Jacaerys will fly first to the Vale, to treat with House Arryn and then to Winterfell. You will take this and beat him there. You will do as you swore to do those years ago.”

“I ca–”

“Listen!” She jerked you by your shoulders. “You must listen. You will wed Lord Stark. He is as fine a match as any. The north is loyal to Rhaenyra and will remain steadfast, you will be well treated. You must go, with this missive from the King, his final wish to send you north to snow and safety. In return for your hand, they will take no part in the fighting, they will protect you as their own, until such a time that the victor is crowned. Do you understand me, pet?”

“The King never cared for me.” You said foolishly.

“And yet, with his dying breath, he spoke of you and of Aegon. That you would carry his legacy, that you would see out his dream to the North. That Prince Aegon was Promised to this kingdom. You must believe me. You must do this for your grandsire.”

“I do believe you mother.” She was deluded. “I will do what must be done.”

Alicent has offered you one gilded cage for another. You will not be fool enough to fall into this one. You will find Laesuvion and be gone in the dead of night. You tuck the King’s missive into your book and smile at the Queen.

“Shall we call for tea, mother? You have much to tell me. I hear I have missed a coronation.”

Five.

You shape your fifth and final joy as the Queen Alicent’s Ward whilst escaping her clutches. You take three sharp detours on your path to the Dragonpit. First, to the chamber of the small council where you snatch the King's ball of quartz, you will make a gift of this to your mother. Then to the creche where the Keeper’s turned a blind eye as you pilfered three precious Dragon eggs. Finally, you find yourself ascending the steps of the Lord Hand’s Tower. To take the Dowager Queen from the Greens would be the greatest gift to your mother and her cause. But Alicent, despite her many faults, had been as kind to you as one might be toward a favourite pet. And so you do as a pet would – you do not bite the hand that fed you. Instead, you do both your Queen-mother and the woman that birthed you, a favour. You find Otto Hightower asleep in his study and you pass onto him your final gift from Daemon Targaryen.

You leave gaomilaksir in the heart of Hightower as you flee north, your duty complete.

(Part 2 : The Winter Keep)

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #queen alicent #alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen

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blakeswritingimagines · 3 months

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Reaction to you asking for a kiss

Aegon: He smiled and leaned towards you, allowing you to close the distance the same as he does, as he reached out to lay his hands on your waist. As you get closer, he presses his lips to yours softly and tenderly. The passion he holds for you burns brightly and warmly, and he presses his lips more firmly to yours as passion begins to take hold.

Aemond: He'll hold your face in his hands and pull you into a long passionate kiss. He holds you close pulling you into his chest. Making you feel safe in his arms. He then runs his fingers through your hair, down the back of your neck, rubbing your shoulders and caressing your skin. Causing you to shiver.

Jacaerys: His lips curl up into a confident grin, and his dark eyes shift their focus from your face to your lips as he leaned in close. Your noses brush against each other and the warmth of your breathing creates a small cloud of condensation between you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, the heat of your bodies mingling together as you share this moment of passion. Your lips touch and the world fades away, the only thing that matters is the sensation of your mouths and tongues melding together.

Rhaenyra: "Come here" She'll reply, leaning down to kiss her partner. Your lips lock softly at first. Your tongues twine, exploring one another with passion and ease. Her hands run up and down the curves of your body, enjoying the way you fit against her. Your lips part and you kiss deeply again. This time your lips stay open and your breaths mingle as your tongues explore one another. You'll break apart, both breathless and hungry for more.

Daemon: It depends on how he feels in the moment. If he is just doing it for the sake of doing it, he would feel nothing - no warmth, no rush of endorphins. But if he truly loves you, then he would feel that rush, that warmth, and his body would tingle with every kiss. It is as if your bodies and minds were merged together, and every kiss would be an intoxicating bliss.

Alicent: She pulled you in close and pressed her lips firmly to yours. Your lips respond willingly, meeting hers with passion and warmth. As your tongues gently dance together, she slides her hands between you and pulls your body close against hers as your bodies melt together.

Helena: She would wrap her arms around your waist, bringing herself fully into your embrace. After gazing into your eyes for a moment, she would place her hands gently on your face and lean in slowly, taking care not to make it too sudden. Her hand would hold the nape of your neck as the kiss began, with her fingers sliding through your hair as she brought her lips to meet yours.

Harwin: He would look you in the eyes and wait. He would wait for a couple of seconds, and in those moments, he would take in your beauty. your delicate features, sharp and vibrant, and your soft lips. He would watch your breath slow and still, and he would notice how the air would catch in your throat and then leave in a sigh. And then... He would move in slowly and kiss you. Gently and softly, but with longing and passion.

Cregan: Cregan would probably react by kissing you tenderly, pulling you in close, and wrapping an arm around your hip. He would start off slowly and sensually, then speed up as he felt the desire growing and your responses becoming more passionate. He would tease your lips with his tongue before opening his mouth fully and allowing your tongue to explore his mouth as well. He would make you feel so desired and loved in his embrace, the heat of your bodies filling the air.

Criston: He smiles at you and leans forward, pressing his lips against yours softly. Your tongues intermingle and your breath becomes tangled between you both. Your arms wrap around one another, pulling each other closer. As your lips part you continue to stare into each other's eyes, letting your thoughts and senses intermingle together in a deep connection of passion and understanding. Your heartbeat pulses in sync, a symbol of your eternal love.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys valaryon x reader #lucerys velaryon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #alicent hightower x reader #helena targaryen x reader #ser harwin x reader #cregan stark x reader #criston cole x reader #house of the dragon

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axelsagewrites · 8 months

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Main Masterlist Here

Game of Thrones Masterlist Here

Warnings/Guides

【P】Platonic【P】 🆇Smut 18+🆇

Request Line Up and Request Rules

♡ Aemond Targaryen ♡

Lemon Cakes - Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Modern Aemond HCs

Courting HCs

Jealousy HC's

🆇Polaroid's Part 1🆇 🆇Missed You Part 2🆇

🆇Collar🆇

♡ Aegon Targaryen ♡

Modern Aegon HCs

Promise

Artist

🆇Reward🆇

🆇Passageways🆇

Wrapping Presents

Birthday Celebrations

Neighbour part one Daughter part two

♡ Helaena Targaryen ♡

Modern Helaena HCs

🆇Wife🆇

♡ Jace Velaryon ♡

Modern Jace HC's

Cocky Part One 🆇Part Two🆇

🆇Nsfw Alphabet🆇

🆇See You Again🆇

Modern Crush Headcannons

🆇How to Treat a Princess🆇 (featuring Aegon)

🆇Yours🆇

Frat Party Part 1- Frat Baby Part 2

🆇Perfect Wife🆇

Studying

♡ Luke Velaryon ♡

Modern Luke HC's

Dance

Study date - part one - part two

♡ Daemon Targaryen ♡

Modern Daemon HC's

🆇My Sweet Dragon🆇

🆇Partition🆇

🆇In Charge🆇

My Moon & Stars (sequel to in charge)

【P】Swear it【P】

Sugar Baby Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - 🆇Part 4.5🆇 - Part 4 - Part 5 Wedding - Honeymoon

🆇Missed You🆇

🆇Rings🆇

🆇Moved In🆇

♡ Rhaenyra Targaryen ♡

🆇Perzītsos🆇

🆇 Worth it🆇

♡ Harwin Strong ♡

🆇Take Care of You🆇

Suitable Match

♡ Criston Cole ♡

🆇Test my Devotion🆇

♡ Cregan Stark ♡

🆇 Princess🆇

🆇Perfect Little Prisoner🆇

♡Alicent Hightower♡

🆇Dreams🆇

Preferences/Multicharacter

How they react to you being drunk – Aemond, Aegon, Heleana 🆇How he is in bed🆇 – Aemond, Aegon, Jace, Daemon, Harwin 🆇Modern NSFW Heacannons🆇- Jace, Daemon, Aegon, Aemond How they react to your period - Aemond, Aegon, Jace, Cregan, Luke

Modern boyfriend Headcannons - aegon, aemond, jace, luke

New Years Countdown - aegon, aemond, jace, luke

Thanks for any support I appreciate it all xoxo Sage

Dividers from here and here from @saradika

Post topper made on Canva

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valyriantarg · 1 month

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Dance Of Dragons

1.Harsh truth

Winterfell

Once in Winterfell, Prince Jacaerys had taken his chance and won the trust of Lord Cregan. He was a young lord used to ruling his vassals and even more used to the harsh weather and the wild things that roamed the north.

Cregan and Jace became close friends, hunting together, drinking together and discussing political issues. At night the two exchanged stories of their families. Lord Stark was happy to meet another man like him and found his equal in the prince. Jace spent many days in winterfell enjoying the company of the Stark Lord.

It was a calm afternoon, Cregan and Jace were sitting by the fireplace in the main hall of Winterfell as the autumn wind howled outside the great keep. They were discussing the events that were about to unfold in the continent, but both were surprised by the sound of a dragon's screech coming from the horizon.

"Did you hear that?" Cregan asked his friend, raising his head to listen.

Both Cregan and Jace listened carefully in silence as the sound of the dragon's screeching echoed through the castle. There was no doubt that a dragon was near and judging by the sound of its screeching it was flying towards Winterfell.

They exited the main hall and walked out into the great courtyard of Winterfell. The massive black dragon was hovering right above the castle keep, its wings outstretched as it kept up its wailing scream. They stopped outside the main doors and looked up, Cregan observing the dragon with a mixture of awe and fear.

The mighty black dragon made its descent from the sky and landed outside the great doors of Winterfell. It filled the entire place with its enormous size, its wings outstretched and its tail lashing dangerously from side to side. Cregan watched with awe and cautious as the dragon landed, its massive claws gripping the ground.

Jace saw none other than his step sister Jaehaera. The princess dismounted the cannibal and walked towards Jace and Cregan; she was a vision to behold, Cregan thought, her silver hair flying in the wind, and her amethyst eyes staring at the pair.

“Sister, what brings you to winterfell?” Jace asked her as he approached her. Her dragon remained still behind her thrashing its tail back and forth.

“I’m afraid I carry bad news”. She said and looked at her brother with a solemn face, her amethyst eyes filled with sorrow. The growl of the cannibal making the situation worse.

"What is it?" Jace asked, his voice also soft and worried.

“Luke has been killed. I’m sorry Jace.” she revealed .

Jace's heart froze and his breath caught in his throat as his sister delivered the devastating news to him. He had expected that she came to Winterfell with a message, but not that it would be this harsh.

"Luke is dead?" He spoke in disbelief his eyes already watering.

Jaehaera placed her hand on his.

“When he arrived to Storms End Aemond was already there. He taunted him, threatened to take out his eye as a debt was left unpaid. Luke tried to run away. Aemond chased him on vhagar and…” she paused

Jace listened to his sister, his eyes widening in disbelief as she told him the story of his little brother's death.

"And?" Jace asked her, his voice tense. "What happened afterwards? Jaehaera speak!"

“Vhagar ate Luke and Arrax….” She spoke the final words her eyes already filled with tears.

Jace felt like someone had punched him in the stomach at those final words. His breath catching in his throat as he collapsed on the ground.

“Rhaenyra wants you back for his funeral” she kneeled down and spoke more calmly to him.

“Mother must be devastated. The two of them had a special bond” Jace spoke as he shed tears.

“I promise you brother, Luke will be avenged. They will pay for what they have done.” She said firmly to her brother.

“I’ll stay in winterfell to continue the plans with Lord Stark. But you, you must head back to Dragonstone.” She said and helped him back to his feet.

With these last words Jace was off to Dragonstone leaving Jaehaera back in Winterfell with Lord Cregan Stark.

Taglist

@littleshadow17

@lightdragonrayne

#hotd fanfic #rhaenyra targaryen #cregan stark x reader #daemon targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #cregan stark #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

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doxypsychlean · 2 years

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Hi <3

I loved everything you wrote about Aegon. Could you please write some oneshot/headcanons (you decide) in wich Reader is Rhaenyra’s daughter and Aegon always loved her since childhood but they had a enemies to lovers relationship (she is a girl just like Arya/Lyanna personality and is always teasing him). But in episode 8, she is bethroed to Aemond and he needs to say to her his feelings. You can decide the ending, thank you :)

(Sorry my bad english :/)

Quick up 📅 - I kinda forgot abt the part where she's Rhaenyra's kid. It may have slipped my mind as soon as I read Arya's name lol. Anyhoo-

The Wolf And The Dragon

Aegon II Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Oneshot

Warnings: Explicit language

Thou shan't repost/copy/ translate any of my work or I'll sneak into your home late at night and bite your nose off! Maybe indulge in a battle to the death with your sweet ol' granny. Probably steal your beloved pet.

English isn't my first language. I don't proofread. I slap commas wherever I feel they're needed.

A/N: It's kinda long ngl, but sickeningly sweet! Oh, yeah. Aegon isn't married to Helaena in this one. For my own sake, she's with her loving husband, Lord Sth-Sth of Sth-Sth. Cheers!

One of her father's men was dragging the young lady through the training grounds as the boys trained with Ser Criston and Ser Harwin. They all stopped to stare at her and the knight. She was biting, scratching and kicking at him.

"What do you care?! Seven Hells, let go!"

The man stopped and grabbed her by her small shoulders. He'd had enough of the little lady's antics for one day. He shook her as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Child, I've been there for all your life, I won't stand to watch you try and get yourself killed." The knight's face was turning red with anger. "You're of one and ten, you can't be walking around the capital without anyone to keep you safe! Do you realize what could have happened?!"

"Fuck. You." The girl hissed as she stomped down on the man's foot and spat in his eyes. She bolted, the man following close behind, while still trying to wipe the spit from his eyes.

"You wild beast, get back here!"

"She truly is a beast..." Aegon whispered to his brother and nephews as they all watched the knight tackle the kid to the ground.

"Ser Karstark, don't you think that's enough!" Harwin yelled out.

"Oh, want to come and deal with this thing yourself, Breakbones? It's not as easy as I make it look." Ser Brennard Karstark choked on his last few words, a small elbow slamming into his neck.

The girl got back on her feet, making a run for it once more.

On the next day, Ser Karstark was dragged the girl in the opposite direction, towards the training grounds this time. He was sporting a big purple bruise on his neck.

"I've told you so many times now, cub. You want to train, fine! I'll teach you! But picking attacking the guards is not the way to do it!"

The little lady only huffed in response as she reached down to her blade. She turned her head to the side, then struck.

Ser Karstark took a step back, the tip of the dagger almost making contact with his face.

"It is customary to wait for your opponent to bear arms before you try and chop his head off, wildling."

"As if anyone would wait for me."

She struck again, the knight dodging once more. Lady Stark circled around her opponent, her small eyes sizing him up.

To everyone's shock, the knight actually swung at her with his sword. The girl fell to the side as she rolled over, her silk tunic now covered in dirt.

"Good, good!" The knight nodded before he swung sideways.

She lowered her head, the blade of his sword passing right above it.

"Don't stay close to the ground for too long, cub..." Brennard warned as his took ahold of his sword with both hands. "The enemy will catch up on it eventually. And maybe do this!"

He yelled out as he put his whole strength into trying to lodge the sword into the girl's skull. She got back up. Her dagger was quick to find its target, slicing the knight's hand open.

Brennard looked at the blood that was spilling out of his hand, then at her.

"You play dirty, girl..."

"I do not wish to fight with honor when I can just do this."

Her small fist was now aiming for Brennard's nose. He let go of his sword, leaving it to stand there with the tip lodged into the ground below their feet. He caught her small hand by the wrist and punched her instead. The girl fell on her back, head slamming into the ground.

"Karstark!" Both Criston and Harwin yelled out, making their way towards the student and her teacher.

"Stand back! She wants to fight, so she'll fight!" Brennard yelled in return."Get up!"

Lady Stark jumped to her feet, eyes narrowing as she wiped the blood from her mouth. She used the moment to tackle her opponent to the ground.

"Finish the job." Brennard whispered to the child. "Do not let your enemies walk away. Do it!"

The girl's fingers found their way around the dagger that was hanging on the knight's side. She pulled it out and put it to his throat. The child was smiling down at him, eyes glowing.

"I win?"

Brennard laughed out as his hand ruffled through the short locks of hair on her head.

"You win! We'll make a fine soldier out of you, you'll see."

The two got up, each sporting a warm smile.

"Ya promise?"

Brennard nodded his head.

"But your training is not over yet." He turned to look at the two knights that stood close behind him. "We've seen you can tackle a grown man down to the dirt, but how will you manage with someone closer to your age and speed? Perhaps you should go against one of the young princes?"

Criston nodded. Him and Harwin went back to the boys.

"Prince Aegon against lady Stark then." He said as he motioned for the boy to take a step forward.

Aegon didn't move an inch towards the younger girl that was now staring at him with a devilish grin on her face. She scared him. She fought dirty and wasn't scared to take a blow to the face, even when it came from a grown man that was thrice her size. The girl didn't stand above stealing her enemy's weapon and using it against them either. On the contrary, if it were a real threat in front of her, she would have sliced the man's throat. The young prince realized everything he'd learned from both Ser Criston and Ser Harwin was useless against someone like her. Aegon had only heard of tales of the northmen, of their cold hearts and brutal ways. But now there was one in front of him. A child of winter and ice. A ball of rage with unruly, short hair. If Aegon didn't know her already, he would've thought it was a boy that stood in front of him.

There were no lavish dresses for her. No needlework. No singing. She was dirty nails. Unkempt hair. Grime. Blood. Sweat. Dirt. Adventure. Flying arrows. Hiss of daggers. Clash of swords.

"Ye fighting or what, aye? Don't have a whole day to wait ye." Her strong accent came through. She'd gone over and picked her weapon back up. The girl was waiting for the prince to come back to his senses, foot tapping impatiently as she twisted and turned the blade in her hand.

The fight was over pretty soon. The lady had knocked her prince down, elbow to his face. Ser Brennard knew what was going to happen, but made no move to stop his student. She broke his nose with that hit.

"I'd say ya fight like a girl, but... ya know..." She shrugged her shoulders at him as Karstark dragged her away with a proud smile on his face.

Eight years later Aegon had grown into a handsome young man. He'd grown into his soft features. His pale blue eyes stared at his feet, as kicked at some small rocks. Short strands of silver-white hair framed his face perfectly. He kept his hair on the shorter side. It was easier to manage.

Him and his brother stood next to the wide open gates that led into the castle's grounds. Aemond, unlike his older brother, had his hands folded neatly behind his back, waiting patiently.

"I don't understand, why did mother have to send us..."

Aemond nodded his head, signaling to his brother to look ahead. A group of sturdy looking men, covered in steel from head to toe, were coming fast towards them. At the front,just a few feet in away from the rest, a hooded rider. The jet black stallion this mysterious person was riding held its head high. The stomping of the horse's hooves had stopped.

"Prince Aemond! Prince Aegon!" A melodious, yet strong voice rang from underneath the hood.

"Lady Stark." Aemond greeted. "Welcome to the capital!"

The stranger hopped down from the horse and took their hood off. Aegon stared at her slack-jawed. There, in front of him, stood the most magnificent creature that had ever walked the earth. Porcelain skin w a scar here and there she'd most definitely got in battle. Sharp features, almost as sharp as the sword she had on her. Two big, bright eyes that shined with laughter. The only thing that reminded of the girl she once was, was her short dark hair. And her clothing. She'd never been the one to wear dresses. That hadn't changed either. Her long legs were covered in threadbare black pants that matched with her black tunic and boots.

"I trust your journey was pleasant?" Aemond asked out of politeness.

A short "aye" left her full lips, eyes trained on Aegon.

"Yer nose healed well, me Prince. Though it would seem there's something wrong with yer jaw..." She pointed towards his face, calloused fingers showing from underneath the sleeve. Her northern accent made a shiver run down Aegon's spine.

He couldn't bring himself to say something, the words refusing to leave his mouth. He nodded with a faint smile.

"Shall we?" Aemond's voice could be heard again.

"If ye don't mind, me and me men had spent long time on the road without a good challenge. We need a good fight"

Her men had jumped from their horses too, now waiting for their lady. Ser Brennard Karstark was standing next to her.

"Training grounds are that way, aye?" She nodded to the left, her eyes never leaving the older brother.

"Right, let's get ye to the stables, big boy." She finally looked away as she turned towards the stallion and ran a hand through his black mane.

Lady Stark handed the reins to the stable boy that had approached her with a soft smile and a nod of her head. The lad melted at the sight, tripping over his feet as he walked away.

"Ye two comin'?"

The woman walked away, her father's bannermen following close behind.

"Would love some audience while I kick this old bastard's arse to the ground." She pointed towards Ser Karstark as she and her men laughed.

"We'll see about that, Young Wolf." Ser Brennard said, even though he knew that was going to be the most likely outcome.

Two weeks had passed since lady Stark had arrived to the capital. For Aegon, it felt like it was years ago. They'd been spending most of their time together, much to the Queen's dismay. At least they had the decency to drag Aemond along.

On the first night in the capital, the young woman suggested they go for a drink. When the second born son of Viserys the Peaceful suggested they stay in the Red Keep, both Aegon and her laughed in his face.

They snuck out of the castle later that night in search of a tavern. Aegon, being a frequent visitor to most of them, made the choice.

Soon after they'd entered the establishment, lady Stark challenged them to a bet, saying she'd drink them both under the table. Aemond, being Aemond, refused. Aegon accepted almost immediately.

He was in shock. The woman that sat in front of him was perfect. She cursed like a sailor. Told all the dirty jokes she could think of. Even challenged some stranger to a fist fight to celebrate her winning the bet. The Young Wolf didn't even bother to take his hundred gold dragons she'd won fair and square, but instead slapped his hand away.

"It's not about the money, me Prince!" She laughed out as she punched the stranger square in the jaw. "It's the thrill!"

The three returned back to the castle only when the light of the sun had started to bounce off the waters of Blackwater Bay. Aemond walked in front of them, impatient to get as far away from the two drunk idiots. They walked with a slow pace, hands thrown over eachother's shoulder and words slurring.

"One of them cods got ya good, me Prince, no offense meant" She said to Aegon with a grin. "If it weren't for me, that arse would'a split yer head open."

"Good thing you were around to save me then, my fair lady..." Aegon responded. He came to a sudden stop, his face contorting in agony. His hand unwrapped from the woman's shoulders as he bent forward and let out all he'd consumed right where they stood.

Instead of cringing in disgust, the Stark laughed hard, tears pricking at her eyes. She ran a hand through her short hair.

"Now from that yer knight in shinin' armor can't save ye, I am sorry."

Aemond grabbed his brother by the scruff, pulling him back up.

"We'll get caught with all the noise you're making, we have to go. My lady..." He looked at her, hoping at least one sober thought would make its way back into her head.

The Young Wolf howled again, hand patting Aegon on the back as he choked.

"What got yer knickers in a twist, hm? We've got all the time in the world."

" 'Tis but the truth!" Aegon said through coughs. "Do not worry, brother. I'll escort my, how did you say it...Ah, yes! Knight in shining armor back to her chambers."

Aemond didn't need to hear much else. He turned his back to them abruptly and left. The two snickered as they watched him walk away.

"Yer brother-" The woman threw her hand back over his shoulders as they began walking once more.

"Tell me about it." Aegon interrupted, doing the same as her.

After a detour that led them to the Kitchen Keep where they stuffed their faces with whatever was left from the dinner, Prince Aegon and lady Stark made their way towards her chambers. He'd promised to escort his savior back and he intended to do it.

As they neared the door, Aegon stopped her.

"This was the most fun I've had in a long while. Thank you, my lady."

"Aye, same here. Hanging around those old farts ain't as fun as it may look." She snorted.

The two laughed once more, then she dissappeared into her chambers, ready to sleep off the remainder of the day.

Aegon felt the same. He flopped down on his bed the second he found himself close enough to do it without smacking his head in the floor.

The same thing repeated the next day. Except Aemond wasn't with them. As the good prince he was, he'd ran to tell his mother about what his older brother and the lady Stak were busying themselves with.

The lady found herself sitting between the two brothers on that feast. She'd pulled her chair as close as possible to Aegon. On their last "walk" around the capital, she'd introduced him to the Skull and Dice game. The two now sat close to eachother, whisper-shouting the word "skull" as they rolled the dice and drank from their cups.

Aegon's grandsire and Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, was sitting across them. He smiled softly. The two were perfect for eachother. They shared the same interests- be it in books, hobbies or drinks. Why his daughter refused to give her oldest to the Young Wolf, he had no clue. She came from a great house, was trained in battle and proved to be quite intelligent, from what he'd heard her say. Sure, she liked drinking and venturing out of the Red Keep, and would also pick fights left and right. But so did his grandson.

Otto had come to the realization that the woman that sat next to his grandson was the way she was, not because she got to grow up in a castle where servants tended to each and every need of hers, but because she was raised amongst soldiers. Something her father had made sure of, once he agreed with the fact he won't be getting a proper lady out of her. The soldiers' ways had simply rubbed off on her.

Another thing that Otto had come to realize was how observant lady Stark was. She could be laughing and telling jokes, enjoying herself and her youth, but her trained eyes and ears were always turned to what was going on around her. She was a true northerner- rough and savage, but also loyal to the core and honorable. She'd be the perfect match for Aegon. If only his daughter would come to listen...

"This is an occasion for celebration, it seems." Everyone's attention turned to the King. His gold mask was shimmering in the light of the candles as he spoke. "My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena..."

Viserys turned to face his second son, eyes darting to his first one and the Stark girl. He could sense it, all Hells were about to break loose with next couple of words.

"And my son, Aemond, will marry lady Stark, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Princes..."

They all raised their cups, except the silver haired man and the woman that was sitting next to him.

"Hear, hear!" Came from the Prince Daemon as he turned to smile at his brother.

Aegon didn't hear him. He was now staring at the Young Wolf, silently asking if what his father had said was true.

"If you'd excuse me!" He damn near shouted, eyes trained on Aemond, who in turn was staring in shock at their mother. Unlike Aegon, he knew a third betrothal would be announced on this feast. What he didn't know was that he'll be the one marrying the Stark.

"Aegon! Come back!" Alicent yelled after him, ready to follow.

"Don't, me Queen. I'll bring him back."

"Did you know?"

The halls were silent, all that could be heard were the muffled, hushed voices of his family, as the lot tried to listen in on the conversation.

"Did you know about it?!"

The woman stomped her booth on the ground, the sword that was hanging on her side shaking with the intensity. It was a warning for the prince to lower his voice.

"Aye, my father sent me for a reason. I didn't know I'd be marrying yer brother though..."

The young woman had shut the doors as she made her way out and into the corridors. There was no point, the whole room was now sitting in silence, listening on Aegon scream his lungs out.

"You can't!You won't!" The prince yelled out.

"Oh, what do ya care? Yer not the one gettin' tied down against yer will! Yer free to do as ye wish!" She said, her voice booming over his.

"So you don't want to marry him?"

"Are ye fuckin' jokin' , Aegon, yer brother is a twat and a half!"

Inside the room, Daemon could be heard laughing without shame. Aemond's jaw clenched, his smirk dissappearing as he stood up. Rhaenyra slapped her husband's arm, even though she herself was sporting a smile.

"Then don't fucking do it!"

"And what am I supposed to do, huh? Get back in there and tell yer father, my King, that I don't approve? That I, the daughter of the man that had sworn an oath to him, will not do as I'm commanded?"

"You and your oaths and orders... Is your pride so important that you'll willingly go against what your heart desires?!"

"Pride?" The word came out as growl." If it were for me pride, I wouldn't even be here. But I gave a word to me father and did as I was told... And what do ya, ye spoiled cod, know of what me heart desires? Hm?!"

"I know I've come to love you. Just as you have." Aegon took her hands in his, soft thumb rubbing over her rough skin. "I know that I love spending time with you. Just as you do."

Silence fell upon the halls once more as the prince thought of his next words.

"I've never met someone like you before. Someone that is so...me. You like to drink, you curse, you fight. You know all the dirty jokes and all drinking games. And even with all that, you know when to put an end to it, even if you don't want to. You're not afraid to sock me in the face when you know I'm being an arse. Or drag me all the way to the small council meetings, so I could fulfill my princely duties. Sit with me through those never-ending history lessons, even though you'd rather go outside and train. You keep me grounded. You always know what to do. You always know what is right. I'd like to think that I, for once, know too. It's you. But if you insist on carrying out this order..."

His hands reached for her face.

"Marry me instead. You came here to a marry a dragon, right? There's one in front of you right now. Begging, pleading for you to take him."

Silence. Again. Aegon searched for her eyes, searched for an answer in them. But found nothing. He sighed heavily, hands falling to his sides. The prince walked around her, head hanging low in embarrassment. He reached for the door handles, ready to get back inside and drink himself into a stupor. Or untill the high-pitched ringing in his ears went away.

"Ye sure talk a lot... It's a good thing though, I won't have to waste my breath no more...with ya around."

Their eyes met.

"What? Ye plan on standin' there all night?"

The doors swung open before Aegon could reach her. He turned back around, his eyes meeting those of his father.

"Or both of you could just come back inside and sit down? Your King is to make a new toast..."

Rough fingers wrapped around Aegon's. She was standing right there, next to him. He looked up from their intertwined hands. A toothy smile had found its way on his future wife's face.

"As me King commands..."

Viserys turned his back to them as he slowly made his way to his seat. The two followed close behind.

"We're finishing the game, right?" Aegon whispered to her.

"Go find the dice, ye threw it as ya stormed out." She laughed quietly.

The Wolf and her Dragon entered the room once more, hand in hand.

#aegon ii x reader #stark!reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the second #hotd fanfic #dance of dragons #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd #game of thrones #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys targaryen #baela targaryen #rhaena targaryen #accepting requests #requests open

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bluemargotrobbie · 5 months

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LAS CONSECUENCIAS | FANFIC EDIT| AEMMA QUEMA OLDTOWN 🔥☠️😭

La quema de Antigua llegó a los oídos de Desembarco del Rey, pero lo sorprendente fue conocer quién fue el responsable...

📚: 𝗔𝗘𝗠𝗠𝗔 (publicado)

🖋: LunaticaBlack (wattpad)

🎵: gsaleskie ( tik tok)

🌎: HOTD

💌: Aemond, Aegon T& Cregan Stark

👤: Aemma Velaryon

#house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #cregan stark #aemma velaryon #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #rhaena targaryen #baela targaryen #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #alicent hightower #otto hightower #fanfic #fanfiction #wattpad

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wackapedia · 1 year

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House Of The Dragon masterlist

Aemond Targaryen X reader

Resent - You and Aemond have been seeing each other, and its getting serious. His family hears about it and is unsettled with the fact that you’re not highborn.

Nothing Is Ever Enough - It’s been a week since your ship was lost at sea. Aemond hasn’t gotten a peaceful wink of sleep since then. He is afraid, and no god nor man can help him.

Just One Day - Aemond gets his oh moment when his betrothed gets really ill and is at the brink of death Maybe Another Day - Sequel in which Aemond invites himself to your hometown

Stay - Aemond questions you why you won’t accept his love Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Play god With Me - Your betrothal to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon gets because of the imminent war

Lucerys Velaryon x reader

Lucerys Velaryon And The Color Blue - Its a lonely life, being the only sea creature of the world, until a gentle young prince discovers you and keeps you company.

Aegon Targaryen x reader

Soldier, Poet, King - You hang out with your husband one lazy afternoon inside your quarters

12 Minutes of Rain - The prince runs away from the Red Keep, jumps off Sunfyre into your family’s estate and asks you to dye his hair.

Cregan Stark x reader

The Snow Fairy - Rickon finds a snow fairy in the woods and asks his dad to kiss her so she can grant him a wish. The Wolf Prince - Sequel

#hotd x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #Lucerys velaryon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader

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vhagars-dementia · 1 year

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Send me a possible fic title and a character and i'm gonna tell you a synopsis :)

#aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #osferth x reader #cregan stark x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #lucerys velaryon x reader #title game

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madame-fear · 1 year

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Request, Enemies to Lover, Stark!Reader X Lucerys Velaryon.

(Also a lil bit smut, hehe...)

*ೃ༄ 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 .ೃ࿐

— ☆ amira speaks : ok so, few notes: the starks and targs made alliances first and a short while after luke was sent to storm's end bc this is my own canon, yes? also, conceptually this is a mix of enemies to lovers + slowburn (kinda??) but with the relationship being fastforwarded, iykwim. And, dialogues in italics are from past events. Lucerys is briefly aged up. — summary : [ — ✧ request ] after your brother Cregan became allies with House Targaryen, you are occasionally forced to stand the smartass Prince Lucerys Velaryon, whom always knows how to get on your nerves. Eventually, you soften for each other after he has certain gentlemanly acts with you. But, your relationship drastically changes for the better good when Lucerys is gravely injured on Storm's End, and you are asked to "take care of him." — word count : 4.7k

— pairing : lucerys velaryon x stark!reader — genre : smut, enemies to lover, some fluff.

TW | mentions of near death, unprotected sex, P in V, slight profanity, creampie.

After your elder brother Cregan made strong alliances between House Stark and House Targaryen to support Princess Rhaenyra's birthright to the Throne, you are occasionally forced to tolerate her cocky, smartass secondborn son: Prince Lucerys Velaryon.

No one knew why your relationship was as complex as that, even if your Houses got along together pretty well. Lucerys just knew how to have an ease to pick up on you with small, silly things, and you just always dismissed Luke, retorting back to any remark he would make. If you had to stay in the same room, you would simply whine and hesitate the entire time you're together, not tolerating each other's presence near one another.

“Why don't you like each other?” is a question you'd both hear frequently, simultaneously. The answers are always: “Because he's a spoiled, cocky, and annoying prince”, and also “Because she's boring. I'd rather die than be on the same room as her”. Yet, none of the responses helps your relatives to make you properly bond together.

With the brief passing of time, you learnt to stand whatever thing you thought about each other, and ignoring yourselves. The main situation that helped you slightly tolerate him, was one time you were in the library and you couldn't reach a certain book you fancied to read. There, his hand appeared from your side, and took the book, reaching it down for you with a rather cocky smile on his rosy lips.

“Thank you.” you spat out, taking the book from his hands, staring at him intensely into his eyes. “No need to thank me, Lady Stark. I am simply being a gentleman.” luke would reply back, ruffling your hair in a stupidly teasing manner, with his prideful smile remaining. Afterwards, and strangely enough, you both leisurely softened for each other even if you simply tried ignoring one another; not finding your presences so bad, after all.

Another situation that helped you bond slightly with each other, was the very first time that, during dinner between House Stark and House Targaryen, Lucerys stood from his seat only to offer you his hand, and take you dancing. He mainly did it because his mother suggested him to do so, and he did as he was told even if he protested against it. Obviously, you took his hand a bit hesitantly, and danced together in the centre of the dinning room.

“I figured, I'd much rather take you dancing, than hear continous political chaos, no?” as the princeling gently swirled you around with constant grace, he whispered to you, breaking the silence. You scoffed, humming briefly in response. “Finally, something we can agree with.” you retorted back, making him widely smirk. “Funny girl.” lucerys replied in a murmur, as you both continued dancing around the centre of the dinning hall.

“I would've thought of you as a terrible dancer, but it seems I was mistaken.” the young prince continued talking in a whisper. In response, you chuckled. “And I would've never guessed you would admit being wrong for once, yet, here we are.” the young Velaryon rolled his eyes at you, as you kept talking. “But, thank you. You aren't a bad dancer yourself as well.” you finished, widely grinning at him.

Despite none of you would ever admit it, you realised you actually had more fun dancing together than you originally would've thought. Some chuckles and giggles were heard coming from both of you that night, and it was a relief for your families to see you both in that state.

Luke occasionally loves to bother and annoy you, but what used to be a tedious rivalry where you couldn't even be in the same room, slowly became mere fun teasing to each other, even if you both preferred to keep the 'we can't stand each other' facade with the rest of your relatives. None of you either wanted to admit to yourselves that you didn't find each other as annoying as you used to.

Curiously enough, the feelings that grew for each other was unwanted as well. You found yourselves focusing and thinking on one another more than you should. Occasional mutual staring because you think of one another as... Strangely attractice, feeling the need of defending each other when someone disrespects you, and using random excuses to be near your presences. Oh, and with all of this, you still manage to roll off a 'gods how can they be so annoying?' from your lips. An overwhelming sensation of bittersweet, mixed feelings with each other.

By the time you were already less bothered with Lucerys, eveytime you had to return to Winterfell from Dragonstone, the thought of not being around Luke and tolerating the way he playfully picked up on you constantly made you feel unused to not being around him. To a certain extent, long for his presence, but you try to wash away those feelings.

Upon arriving back to your home in Winterfell a few days after one of your many visits to Dragonstone, you found yourself sitting down on the floor in a calm manner. The direwolf you tamed rested his head on your lap, immersed in a profound slumber, while your fingers leisurely caressed it's soft, fluffy grey fur. The only sound heard resonating through your room was that of the fire crackling coming from the small chimney in your quarters to keep it warm in the usually cold atmosphere of Winterfell.

Your eyes stood fixed on said crackling fire, being drowned on your own sea of thoughts. The mere idea of feeling the slightest of longing for the — now less — annoying Prince Lucerys made you feel confused regarding your own feelings. Despite you insisted to your own mind that you could never feel attracted to that cocky future Lordling that always found a way to get on your nerves, your heart always reminded you of how gentlemanly, and more delicately he's been treating you on your latest visits to House Targaryen.

A sudden knock on your door interrupted your waves of thought, making you turn your head to stare at the door, as well as awaken your sleeping direwolf. Before you could reply, your brother Cregan swiftly opened the door. His facial expression seemed to be tinted with concern, and inner conflict. “(y/n),” he sweetly greeted you, as always. A brief grin formed on your lips. “Cregan.” you greeted back. “Is something the matter?” you inquired, intrigued at his notorious worry.

“Indeed,” he rapidly retorted, standing at your door. “We must return back to Dragonstone as a matter of urgency.” your brother stated, making you furrow your eyebrows, even more confused. Before you could ask why, he continued. “Prince Lucerys has returned from Storm's End gravely wounded, and we must travel to Dragonstone to support House Targaryen.” a huffed sigh escaped your lips as your brother finished speaking, your eyes widening in surprise at his statement.

“How unfortunate.” you replied to Cregan, continuing to leisurely pet your dire's grey fur. Even if you didn't want such feelings to overwhelm you, you couldn't help but feel a scintilla of deep concern and... fear, for his safety. 'How severe are his wounds?' You wondered to yourself. The feeling of growing worried for Lucerys seemed like a foreign concept for you, but here you were; your heart pounding fast against your chest with nerves, hoping for the best.

A sigh came from Cregan's lips as well. “I know that, even if your relationship is... strangely complex, to put it in a way,” a scoff escaped your lips in response. But your brother wasn't wrong; your relationship with Lucerys had been oddly mixed lately, especially after the certain situations you had together where you found his actions to be proper of a gentleman, but you still picked up on each other and constantly mentioned how much you hated one another.

“But please, meet Lucerys on his chambers, and use the situation as an opportunity to bond together. I am certain the Prince will appreciate your actions after having nearly faced death.” your lips were formed as a thin, straight line as Cregan finished talking. Without responding much, you nodded in agreement.

“Very well, then, I will do my best, and I will go see him.” the tone of your voice seemed weary, but only because you tried to cover the true concern that tightened your chest at the thought of a badly injured Lucerys. And, even if you hated it, a hint of enthusiasm grew on you at knowing you'd see him.

Traveling from Winterfell back to Dragonstone was, fortunately, a rather fast trip. As soon as you arrived to your destination, you were warmly welcomed and thanked by House Targaryen as always, now more than ever, as you provided full support to their House, and for the health of Rhaenyra's secondborn son. A polite, courting smile remained on your lips as Rhaenyra guided your brother and you inside the rocky castle.

Both your brother and you hastily made your way inside Dragonstone, with quick steps following Rhaenyra from behind. Your heart oddly thumped loudly against your chest, and you tried remaining calm with your clasped hands resting in front of your body, attentively listening to Rhaenyra as she briefly spoke about what the inconvenient in Storm's End had been, with overwhelming concern.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” you suddenly spoke, as a moment of silence was made. A soft, low tone came from your lips, yet vehement. “Would it be too much trouble, if I go visit Lucerys and wish him well on his health recovery?” despite your voice being slightly quivering, you somehow managed to inquire Rhaenyra about visiting a recovering Lucerys on his quarters as Cregan suggested without stuttering for a bit.

A warm, polite smile danced on her rosy lips, giving you a single bow with her head. She knew how your relationship with her son was a mix between tense, yet had been latelt formal enough to slightly tolerate one another in the same room. And, even so, she could see the way you occasionally stared at each other, or often found yourselves being on the same room under some dumb, plain excuse. “You may, my sweet girl.” she replied, seemingly happy about your question. “I am certain Luke will be fond of your presence.” Rhaenyra added, and you briefly curtsied as a way of saying thanking her.

Afterwards, a Royal Guard fleetingly guided you through the grey, large halls of Dragonstone, towards the chambers of the Princeling. Fortunately it was a rather short walk, and you quickly found yourself standing in front of a large, dragon-carved wooden door, meaning you had already arrived to his quarters. A respectful, single bow with the head was given to you by the guard, and he left back to where Rhaenyra and your brother where conversating.

Taking several deep breaths, you prepared yourself to be less awkward with the usually teasing future Lord, disliking the feeling of being too nervous at the sight of him badly injured. Your fist was raised slightly, and you knocked the door twice. Not allowing anyone to answer, your hand swiftly opened the door, allowing you to enter.

As soon as you were inside the quarters of Lucerys, your breath sharpened, flinching briefly. A maester stood by his side, Luke laid on bed with a pale face. The princeling wore a silky, white gown, and his face was full of fresh, slightly bloody scars and scratches. Tossed aside on a chair rested his dragonriding clothing, noticing they were dirty, and stained with dried blood. His hair seemed to be wet, and messy. Luke's facial expression was weary, and yet, his green eyes slightly widened at the sight of you entering to his quarters; clearly, he had not expected you to show up.

“Lady Stark.” the maester greeted curtsying you, as Lucerys shyly descended his gaze to his lap upon noticing you, with a tint of pink on his scarred cheeks. Giving the maester a single bow with your head as a form of greeting back, you then fixed your stare on Lucerys. “Hello, maester.” you spoke, with a little grin, and a gentle tone. “May I have some alone time with Prince Lucerys, please?” you kindly asked, and the maester, without hesitation, rapidly left both of you alone on Luke's chambers, bowing down at the two of you before closing the door shut behind of him.

Hesitatingly, Lucerys lifted his stare, shyly taking a look at you. It was annoying to realise how fast, and tight his heart had recently began to feel against his chest at the mere sight of you, but at the same time, he had to admit he enjoyed having you around. “So, you came, Lady Stark.” lucerys mumbled, fixing his eyes on yours, as you gracefully walked to his side of the bed.

“Indeed.” you replied, your lips drawing a genuine smile. “The second my brother and I received the news of your inconveniences on Storm's End, we fleeted to see you, and your family.” as you kept talking, you daintly sat on the edge of his bed, but close enough to his face, resting your hands on your lap, gazing at him. “I must admit, I was deeply concerned for your wellbeing. But... Hearing, and seeing that you're safe and sound relieves me.” the young Velaryon could tell by your gaze, and voice tone, that you were honest. Not even a scintilla of doubt grew on him at your words. A weak smirk formed on his delicate lips. “Thank you, (y/n).” he retorted.

Briefly making an awkward moment of silence, his eyes fell to stare at his own lap. There, the previous pink tint formed on his cheeks, being notorious amongst the freshly bleeding injuries and scars on his face. “I know our relationship is... Strange, to say the least,” lucerys began, as he fidgeted with his trembling fingers. “But even if we're supposed to despise one another, I...” the brunette-haired boy paused. The words seemed to get stuck on his throat, struggling to roll off from his rosy lips. “I... Was frightened of never being able to have your presence near me.” with a sudden keen feeling of courage, Luke lifted his gaze from his lap, staring at you.

“I don't truly care what you think about me, or the things I say to annoy you... But, I genuinely care for you; your presence never fails to lighten my day, as much as I dislike admitting it outloud.” at his words, your lips were briefly apart with surprise. Your face slowly became near to his, being able to admire the precious glint his hazel eyes carried. With shame, he nearly lowered his face back to his lap with slightly weak movements, but you managed to gently take his chin with your fingers, and make him stare back at you.

“You silly, silly boy.” you began speaking, with a stupid wide grin forming on your lips. His eyebrows were furrowed for a brief moment, but you didn't reply, as you boldly pulled yourself closer to him, and planted your lips to the corner of his mouth, dangerously close to his lips. The Prince swallowed nervously as you did so, goofily grinning at you as you leisurely pulled back, staring back at Lucerys.

“I should keep hating you, but I figured... I think, I just love you too much to keep despising you.” you mumbled, as his hazel eyes unconsciously fell down to your beauteous lips, admiring every inch of them. Your own eyes did the same on his enticing, rosy lips. It seemed the tense atmosphere was fervidly felt between the two of you, but it was a passionate, fiery type of tension.

Without saying any other word, you abruptly clashed your own lips against his, while the future Lord of the Tides followed the movements your lips did to kiss his very own. It was alluring to kiss each other, just like two missing pieces of a puzzle that had just found each other. The more intense it became, the more your panting increased; resonating through his quarters.

Despite both of you briefly pulled apart from one another to catch some air, you rapidly returned to keep clashing your lips and kissing, nibbling on each other's lips occasionally, and feeling your accelerated, hot breathing against one another. One of his hands was tightly gripped on your shoulder, and the other one desperately clawed on your back. The way his hand clawed on your back, tugging on your dress, indicated that he so needily wanted to pull you closer to him; and you understood his signals perfectly.

Not breaking the passionate, moist kissing, one of your legs slowly creeped to his side, helping you get on top of him. A breathless moan escaped from him at the feeling of your weight pushing down on his erected bulge that you could feel poking on your in between leg. “Sȳz riña.” luke whispered breathlessly in between the kiss, allowing his eloquent High Valyrian come to light in such heated moment.

'Good girl'. That, you understood. Being a Stark that was deeply immersed in historical readings and had an appreciating thrill for the language of Old Valyria, you had taught yourself how to read and understand High Valyrian. The reaction you were getting from Lucerys made you smirk in mischief, raking your nails on his wet, messed hair, pulling it back, and your other free hand rested on the large, wooden bedheader to keep your balance on top of him.

His shaking hands went to firmly grip on your waist, only to leisurely travel lower to your legs, and slightly hike the skirt of your dress up; giving Lucerys more access to slide his hands under your dress. Even if his hands teasingly moved under your dress to make their way towards your underwear, he managed to, somehow, control your body and keep pushing you on top of his fully erected member. Some strangled noises unwantedly escaped your lips as you rubbed your still clothed, dripping wet core against his bulge.

“You have no idea, how badly I've been lately fantasising about wildly fucking you, every single night.” he husked, beginning to place kisses on your neck, causing you to hitch your breath as you slided your trembling hands through his chest. “Fuck,” you whimpered, feelings his hands precipitously remove your underwear, willingly helping Luke to toss them aside. The windy feeling of the atmosphere hitting your exposed, pulsating genitalia, plus his hands holding a tight, firm grip on your hips, sent shivers down your spine.

Needily, your hands rapidly travelled all across his clothed chest, to all the way below his silk-textured nightgown, rushedly hiking it up to his waist. Your fingers gently — and hurriedly — began working on sliding down his underwear, as your face leaned down to continue placing sloppy, wet kisses on his lips. As you removed his underwear, your exposed, wet core immediatly sat on top of his erection, rubbing yourself against him; his tip already releasing pre-cum from the arousal. The hand that raked it's nails through his hair remained there, holding a tight grip on the back of his head as he released a quivering pant at the pleasure being received.

“You can't tease me, princess.” lucerys kept mumbling in between kissed, intensely fixing his hazel eyes on you as his nails dug deeper on the skin of your hips. “I know you want to desperately fuck me, as much as I wish to.” in response, you teasingly scoffed, and bit his lower lip as to provoke him. Without giving you a warning, you suddenly felt his cock harshly being shoved inside of your wet, throbbing core, causing you to release a sudden gasp against his lips, feeling a brief stinging pain. A strangled noise escaped him, feeling how your walls tightened around his rigid size.

“Fuck, Lucerys...” you groaned, closing your eyes shut, tightening your hand firmly on the bedheader, as you adjusted to his hardened size. Both your breathing was accelerated, hitting against one another's skin. Lucerys descended his lips to trail some small, provoking kisses on hour jaw, and lower his way towards your sensitive neck. As his nails were digging on your skin, he softly began thrusting inside of you a bit deeper, making sure of being as delicate as he could without causing you any type of pain.

You threw your head back, with lips being partly open. Quivering pants and some quiet moans escaped from your lips, as you felt him entering his size deeply inside of you. “You like the way I feel inside of you, no? You're already dripping wet for me, sweet love.” he whispered in a breathless manner, trying to so badly contain his own moaning, widely grinning against your neck, continuing to kiss and nibble gently on your neck to stimulate you even more.

“S-Shut up, and fuck me faster.” you whimpered, nearly begging to feel more, as Lucerys moved dreadfully slow inside of you. “Hae ao jaelagon.” luke growled, briefly pulling apart from biting on your neck's sweet spots, and harshly pounding his entire size against your pussy, leisurely beginning to make an in-and-out motion, having full control of your body. The feeling of your moist genitalia tightening it's walls around his shaft made him throw his head back, parting his lips as some grunting escaped from him.

“Tepagon ziry ry naejot issa, jorrāelagon...” he whimpered, moving your body inside of his erected member. Some slight drops of sweat began appearing on your bodies, as you clenched your jaw, with desperate hope of containing the moans and panting that escaped from you. The wet noises of his own member fervidly pushing inside against your wet core began echoing through the room, slowly being accompanied by your whining moans.

One of trembling his hands kept it's tight grip on your waist as to help his ridge enter deeper on your shaft, as the other one went to take hold of the back of your hair, slightly pulling your hair. “Fuck, you feel so good, p-please, don't stop–” you whined, stuttering and being occasionally interrupted by your own moans, which got louder with every thrust. His twitching cock knew exactly where to continue hitting continously, as to make you reach your orgasm faster.

“Seven Hells, you feel so good” he yelped, fluttering his eyes shut, as he groaned in pleasure. “You are so tight and wet around my cock, y-you feel better than I-I imagined...” as he kept whispering breathlessly, stammering, your own body began shoving itself all the way down to the end of his rigid member, pulling your hips down hard, penetrating as profoundly as he could. “Lucerys...” you whined, barely being able to form a proper sentence.

The rougher he kept pounding against your dripping pussy, getting moister every passing second, the more dumbfounded you felt. You could barely think to form a proper thought, or sentence. Both of you were misted by a cloud of pure ecstasy, beginning to feel an aching inner heat tightening inside of your chests, as an uncomfortable knot inside your stomachs formed. “L-Lucerys, I-I think...” pausing for a second, a crying, loud moan escaped from your lips. Luke's own moaning continued, being joined by growls.

“I-I'm going to cum...” you cried, tightening your hand, whose fingers were deeply interwined around his messy, already sweaty hair. His lips once again went to your neck, but only being placed against your skin, harshly breathing on you. “Māzigon syt issa, dōna jorrāelagon–” lucerys commanded, a cry of pleasure abruptly escaping him.

Hearing his High Valyrian coming from him while he fucked you roughly, made you shudder in pleasure. Your legs were violently trembling at feeling how he continously hit said sensitive spot, making your knees buckle; feel weak and vulnerable under his touch. The uncomfortable knot formed on your stomach was suddenly released, making you scream with pleasure, as a shockwave was felt travelling all across your body. For a second, Lucerys stopped his penetrating motion as his warm cum was rapidly discharged from his twitching cock, to inside of your fluttering walls, accompanying you in your screaming of pleasure, throwing his head back as a trail of fire invaded his insides.

Your hands were firmly, and tightly placed on his shoulder as you had a simultaneous release, having your mutual orgasm. His semen dripped out from your pussy, along with your own wet liquids; it was a rather pleasuring sight for Lucerys. Both your bodies were heavily sweating, as you panted together, deciding to take a small break from all the intensity. Your eyes were shut, your chest arose and fell trying to catch some air. Feeling your weak legs trembling, you lost some balance, and suddenly let your head fall to the crook of his neck.

“I didn't know you could fuck so well.” a breathless chuckle escaped from your lips, relaxing your body on top of his own as his member remained inside of you. One of his hands went to be wrapped around your delicate body, and the other one sweetly played with some sweaty strands of your hair, vastly grinning at your comment. “Now you know, and I have so much more to give, byka jorraelagon.” lucerys murmured, planting several soft, little kisses on top of your head.

“I can only hope my brother didn't hear us. Otherwise, he'd send our direwolves to bite off your cock and balls.” you joked, fluttering your eyes shut. Another chuckle — this time, louder — escaped from his lips, stupidly grinning. Lucerys couldn't care whether or not his brother liked the fact that he was now head over heels for you. All he needed, was to have you by your side, and fill you with all the love he tried to contain for you.

A brief moment of silence was made, as you tried coming down from your high on top of his body, with your eyes shut and your head on the crook of his neck. Lucerys peacefully caressed your silky hair, looking down at you with admiration. “You know, (y/n),” the Lordling began, breaking the silence. “I know we're constantly talking about how much we despise each other, but I suppose it's time for me to admit, that I actually love you. Your personality, your beauty, your grace, your courage, everything.” a deep, crimson flush took over his face, as you once again opened your eyes, and lifted your sight to gaze into his hazel eyes.

A shy smile formed on your own lips, mimicking his very own tint on his cheeks. One of your quivering hands travelled to be placed on his cheek, caressing with your thumb a fresh scar all across his angelical face that still contained some blood, now dried. His face flinched briefly, but rapidly, he gave into your warm touch. “As I now love every inch of your being, Lucerys Velaryon. And when my brother told me about your near death in Storm's End, I realised, I would be so lost without you.” your voice was soft and delicate, making sure to fix your gaze on him, so he could see the glint of certainty on your (e/c)-coloured eyes.

Without allowing him to say another word, you delicately leaned closer to him, tightening your grip on his face — as your hand remained on his cheek —, and tenderly placed your lips against his own trembling ones, savouring his sweet taste. Lucerys wasn't used to such display of affection coming from a Lady, and it was quite a surprise all that it had just happened, but he realised... That with you, he could begin to get used to it.

The mutual hate vanished away rapidly, being turned into something much beauteous and graceful, provoking the feeling of butterflied fluttering on his heart whenever you kissed, stared, or caressed him. Even if he had nearly faced death at the hands of his uncle back on Storm's End, it didn't matter anymore.

The situation made him realise how he would fervidly miss your presence, and how you helped him forget about all his troubles, and he would forever cherish you for such thing by constantly providing you with love, and undying protection.

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thewriterwithnoplan · 3 months

Text

THE WINTER KEEP (2/2)

Summary: You have fled the Red Keep, the Greens and Alicent's poison. It is time to play your hand and herald your mother's ascension on a larger scale. You will fly to Winterfell, treat with the Lord Cregan Stark and await your brother. You are weak and a girl, no longer. You are a dragon ready to spill blood to ensure your promises are kept.

[Part 2 to The Highest Tower]

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader

Word Count: 5631

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd, pretty sure I'm missing something...

Masterlist

Laesuvion had taken to the skies through a hole in the dragon pit. Swift and lethal and stealthy as a white dragon against dark clouds could be. Come morning the whole of Kings Landing would know that you had fled. Come morning the usurper King and his council of snakes would be plotting your demise. You would need every advantage, every inch of distance you could gain before they found the wherewithal to send men after you. The Queen could protect you no longer, your time as her ward had passed. As Laesuvion crested the skies above the Red Keep, and you urged him north, you left just as you had arrived all those years ago. Rhaenyra’s only daughter. Her greatest supporter. Her most loyal weapon.

It took some days to fly north, you rested only once. On the second night of flying, setting down in the swamplands just beyond Greywater Watch. You swaddled yourself in your flying cloak and huddled in a hollow tree as Laesuvion hunted. Sleep came in fitful bursts, each gust of wind and animal sound convincing you that despite your head start from having flown through night and day and night again, the king's loyal men had somehow found you. You awoke around dawn to find Laesuvion’s bulk curved around your tree, his breathing deep and rhythmic in sleep. You crept toward his front claws and the charred mass caged there.

Your first food in some hours, since the day prior when you had polished off the meagre supplies you had smuggled out of the Keep. You tore charred clumps from what might have once been a deer or livestock from a nearby farm. You set these aside in case Laesuvion woke hungry, as you shredded his offering until– There, protected by the cocoon of hardened char, well-cooked meat. You gorged yourself.

You took to the skies an hour later, dehydration your greatest enemy so close to the searing sun. You wrapped your cloak around you, tied yourself firmly to the saddle and tried desperately to catch another snatch of rest. Through that morning, that evening and night, Laesuvion tore through the skies of Westeros.

You landed in the Northlands on the third dawn of your travels. The south gate of Winterfell rose to greet you, a small host of men waiting under its shelf. Dehydrated, exhausted, terrified, you could have wept with joy.

“Holt!” You startled. It was a woman.

“I mean no harm.” You dismounted Laesuvion carefully, moving purposefully to disguise your limb's feeble shakes. At eye level, though separated by a good fifty yards you repeated, “I mean you no harm.”

“Your dragon?” The woman demanded.

The men shifted nervously as Laesuvion gave a chest-deep rumbling purr. “Merely glad to have found our destination.”

“Come forward.”

“To whom do I speak?” You inched forward, Laesuvion nosing at your back.

“Sara Snow.” Up close you found Sara Snow to be very beautiful. With ebony hair twisted in intricate braids and eyelashes so long they caught snowflakes. A true northern beauty, with a sword strapped to her back and a pelt secured to her shoulders.

“I seek an audience with Lord Cregan Stark.”

“He is in a meeting with his men.”

“He will want to speak to me.” You smiled pleasantly, “He owes loyalty to my mother, the Queen.”

“House Stark owes loyalty to King Viserys.” Sara jutted her chin, “No oaths were sworn to his lady-wife.”

“You misunderstand me, Sara Snow. I speak of my mother, the Realms Delight. Queen Rhaenyra to whom Lord Rickon swore fealty.”

The men sent furtive glances to one another. Sara paused and then curtsied. “Forgive me, Princess. The North had not heard word of you for some years now, we feared you had been lost.”

“Ah, I have been kept to the Keep for some time.”

“Winterfell is most honoured to–” Sara turned.

The sound of crunching snow, hurried footsteps, quickened breath. One of Sara’s men toppled to the ground as a dire wolf barrelled through his legs. Pitch black but frosted with snow, it careened toward you. The man giving chase shouted the wolf’s name, skidded around the line of men, and stumbled to a stop mere inches in front of you. In what seemed to be perfect, practised coordination, Laesuvion jammed his snout into your back as the dire wolf danced around his owner's legs. In a heap of limbs, winter cloaks, and riding leathers, you collapsed on the man and fell to the snow.

You wheezed; the air knocked from your lungs. Your limbs shook as you scrambled up, plating a hand on the man's face as leverage.

“Sir.” You hissed; with all the royal poise you could muster. Alicent would be appalled. Your mother would be beyond amused.

“My apologies, lady.” The man grabbed your hips to lift you from him. Mortified you slapped his hands away and fought to your feet. “If you would just let me–”

You struggled, “Unhand me!”

“Here, just–” You planted a knee in his groin. He tried to curl up beneath you.

“Get off me!” You gave him a harsh shove and fumbled to your feet. “How dare–”

Sara Snow launched into raucous laughter. Hand clutching her side as she howled in delight. Her men shuffled as if wondering whether to intervene. Your assailant hobbled to his feet, one handheld protectively over his front, the other outstretched toward you as if to keep you at a distance.

You whirled toward Sara, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Apologies, lady.” The man heaved, his dire wolf prancing about his feet. “It was an honest accident. Shadow has been tense of late.”

“You let your wolf run wild in such a way?” You sneered.

“As wild as you allow your dragon to be.”

As if on cue, Laesuvion pressed the length of his head to your back again. The dire wolf herded his owner.

“Laesuvion?” You turned, pressing your freezing fingers to the scales of his nose. “Lykirī, iōrās aril.” (be calm, stay back).

He huffed and shoved at your hands. You toppled again; this time the man caught you against his chest. Laesuvion shuffled back, his tail swishing through the snow in a great arch. A growl rumbled up his throat as one of Sara’s men tried to approach.

“Ah.” The man smiled down at you in understanding.

You tried shoving at him again, but his grip held firm. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I am a wolf pup or a precious stone, or some covetous thing.”

“You are more precious than both I fear, and certainly something to covet.” He held your forearms to contain your struggle. “I have waited many years to find my Promised. I did not imagine you would be so violent.”

Sara coughed, “Welcome brother. Might I be the first to introduce you to our Princess, daughter of Rhaenyra. She has come from King’s Landing to treat with you.” She sketched a bow, her lips still trembling, “Your Highness, my brother, the Lord Cregan Stark.”

You gaped, your mouth opening and closing. A myriad of emotions warmed your face. Bone deep mortification. The purest delight. Wonderment. Utter confusion. Behind you, the dire wolf, Shadow, ran playfully around Laesuvion. Your dragon moved to face the tiny yipping creature, stealing his warm breath from your back. You shivered the cold striking through you like a physical blow.

“Princess?” Cregan Stark asked softly. “Are you well?”

“I am cold and hungry and tired, and I wish to bathe.” You said in a rush, utterly horrified with yourself.

But your Promised only smiled, “Of course.”

Cregan Stark was a most gracious host. In the hours since your arrival, you had been given quarters in the same hall as that of the Starks. A maid had gone about filling the tub in your rooms with water warmed on the fire, to which she added fragrant oils and sweet-smelling soap. As you bathed the maid returned – Atara, you learned – to ply you with cheeses and fresh bread, soft meats, and stewed root vegetables. Once you had been thoroughly scrubbed and fed, you dressed in the soft night clothes Atara had brought with her and curled up in the thick expanse of blankets atop your bed.

You were allowed to sleep for far longer than you might have suspected. Only being roused by Atara once the sun had well and truly set.

“Your Highness, Lord Stark asks that you join his family for dinner.”

You tumbled out of bed, and over to the dresser where you let her braid back your hair in the northern style. She handed you a thick winter dress that Sara had sent for you to borrow and allowed you to don it yourself. Stepping in only to tighten the taught laces at its back. You delighted in the simple joy of dressing yourself, so used to the Queen’s maids who scrubbed you raw and laced you tightly into dresses all shaded the same insidious green.

Atara whispered to you as she led you through the halls of Winterfell, “Lord Stark is a good and generous man. He has been Warden of the North for some years now, he is a just leader and kind to those in his employ. It is his uncle, who was his regent, and his power-hungry cousins you must watch.”

“Will they be at dinner?”

“No, they are north and east in Karhold. Though his sister will be present.”

“Sara Snow. She is his sister born? I assumed the Lord was her brother-at-arms, not a true blood relative.”

“Indeed,” Atara corralled you down another cavernous hall. “She is his sister and among his most trusted advisors.”

“Why does she bear the name Snow?”

“It is the surname given to those born out of wedlock in the north.”

“And this is not an issue in the north?”

Atara considered it for a moment, “For some it is. But Lord Stark is a better man than most.”

You wondered if she had been sent to sing his praises or if the people of the north were truly so enamoured with their lord.

“Is he not married?” You asked hesitantly, the thought had not yet crossed your mind.

Atara grinned, “He is not, Your Highness.”

“Nor betrothed?”

“Nor does he have a lover.” She assured. “We servants would know.”

“Thank you, you have been most enlightening.” You smiled as you reached the Stark’s private dining hall, “I will see to myself tonight. Please, enjoy your evening.”

Atara curtsied, “Have a most wonderful night, Your Highness.”

You most certainly would.

The Starks took private dinners in a humble hall. Three places had been set at the far end of the dining table with a generous spread laid out between them. Cregan and Sara looked up from their conversation as you crossed to your seat.

“My apologies, Lord Stark, Lady Snow.” You bowed your head. “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

Sara snorted into her cup, “Please, Princess, formalities are for the feasting hall and for those whose names you cannot remember.”

“Sister,” Cregan hissed.

You fought a smile, “Forgive me, Sara, I would not have you think I had forgotten your name already.”

“How does the dress fit?”

“Wonderfully,” You swished from side to side, “You are most generous.”

“I have never had a sister,” she said thoughtfully.

Cregan spluttered into his cup. You grinned, “Nor I.”

You thought only briefly of Heleana and her mother and their glittering cage.

Cregan leapt from his seat to pull yours out for you, “Please, ignore my sister, she is overly friendly.”

“Please, ignore my brother,” Sara mocked. “He is overly nervous.”

“Tis not everyday one meets their Promised.” He met your eyes fleetingly.

What a soft demeanour for the Warden of the North, you thought. Though you supposed you had smiled more today than you had in all your years in the Red Keep, so perhaps today was not a good judge of anyone’s character. You allowed him to serve up your plate as Sara kept up a steady stream of conversation. First marvelling at the fit of her dress on you, then the colour of your eyes, your hair in northern braids, your improved state after some well-needed rest.

“Is she not a sight, dear brother?” She teased.

“I apologise for my earlier state of unkempt.” You winced. You had hit the Lord of this castle, your Promised rather hard.

“I thought you looked marvellous.” Cregan argued, then seemed to realise what he’d said and hurried to add, “We have received reports that your dragon has taken to the Wolfswood.”

You exhaled slowly, “Laesuvion flew through day and night twice over to get me here so swiftly. He will be in need of food and rest as much as I.”

“Laesuvion. That is a beautiful name.” He said softly. “We can send meat if you wish?”

“He is a good hunter; he has fed himself since I was ten.”

“Still to have flown so fiercely, with so little rest…”

“It does not do well to deprive a dragon of its hunt. Especially in such times as these.”

Cregan placed his utensils down carefully, “Princess, what has brought you to Winterfell?”

You lowered your fork. Good, time to stop dancing around the subject. From the pocket of your skirt, you withdrew the King’s missive.

“I am not sure how far and fast word has travelled,” You looked to the siblings and frowned. “King Viserys is dead, and Aegon has been crowned in my mother's place. The night of his coronation Queen Alicent gave me this letter for you, Lord Stark, she wishes for us to marry.”

Cregan broke the seal of the King’s letter and read silently.

“There are worse things than to be told to marry ones Promised,” Sara joked lamely. You smiled weakly in the tense silence.

Finally, Cregan folded the letter and turned to you, “Why were you with the Queen, not with your mother on Dragonstone?”

“I have been the Queen’s ward for some nine years now.”

“And are you loyal to her?”

“As a dog is to its owner.”

“They are very loyal in the North,” Sara said.

“I was traded to her as reparations when my brother gorged her son's eye.” You said plainly, “I was her possession, but I remain my mother’s daughter.”

“House Stark swore fealty to Princess Rhaenyra when she was made heir,” Cregan watched you carefully. “There has never been a Stark who has forgotten an oath.”

“I too have made a promise to my mother. I intend to keep it.”

Cregan brandished the letter, “This offers your hand in return for the North’s neutrality in the coming conflict. Is that what you wish?”

“May I speak plainly, my lord?”

“Please.”

“That letter is likely a forgery by the Dowager Queen’s hand. She is mistaken on many fronts, I fear, the least of which was Aegon’s ascension to King. I do not wish to go to war with my kin, but if it becomes inevitable I would rather do so with strong allies and in support of my mother.”

His head tilted, “House Stark is already an ally of your mother.”

“Yes,” You folded your hands on the table. “I should tell you, Lord Stark. My mother has sworn to marry me to my Promised for my service as her spy in the Red Keep.”

“You wish us to marry?”

“I wish to offer you my hand, outside my mother’s promise or the Queen’s demands.” You cleared your throat, and just as you had carefully prepared on your journey here you said, “I have been trained in the ways of the court, I will be of use to you in councils and in handling the affairs of your territory. I am of royal breeding, you will be made Prince-Consort, our children Princes, and Princesses of the realm. I have dragon eggs for their cradles and Valyrian blood for their veins. I would ask only that you allow Laesuvion to stay with me in the North. If not, I shall wait here until such a time as my brother Jacaerys comes to treat with you, that I might return with him to Dragonstone.”

You watched the Lord, his eyes dancing with an unnamed light as he listened to you. “I will need time.”

“Of course, my Lord, speak with your advisors.”

“You misunderstand him, Princess.” Sara grinned.

Cregan smiled, “I will not marry you hastily. I will need to summon my family and prepare a feast. It is a special thing, for those of our station, to be given leave to marry our Promised.”

“I–” You were unsure what you expected. “I suppose it is.”

Sara clapped gleefully, “Shall we call for dessert?”

You wore the soft nightclothes once more as you sat at your vanity and penned your mother a letter.

Mother,

How I have missed you. Know that I have thought of you often and never strayed from my mission nor my loyalty to you.

I have fled King's Landing and taken the Lord Hands life with me. Though the smallfolk have no mind to protest whichever Targaryen collects their taxes, you have many allies in the Red Keep. I have interred a list of those Lords and Ladies who remain loyal to you as well as those I have heard of beyond and some whom we may turn with careful diplomacy.

I am at Winterfell with my Promised, Lord Cregan Stark, whom I will marry in the coming weeks. With your blessing, of course. I await Jacaerys, with news of our family and our strategy. In the meanwhile, I intend to discuss what supplies and men Winterfell may have to offer you.

Mostly I am writing to you because I can. I am overwhelmed with the freedom to do so, to be able to tell you once more how much I love you. I cannot imagine how this week has been for you, know that though we are separated I am your most fierce supporter.

I have had a thought, in my hours here, about how far Winterfell is from the capital. How far we will be if we are forced into battle and bloodshed. Perhaps you might consider sending Joffery here, to mine and my soon-to-be Lord Husband's care.

I hope you are well, Mother. I love you from the very depths of my heart.

You signed the letter with a careful flourish and set it aside. You would ask Atara where you might find a raven-master to have it sent. You touched your fingers to it softly, your first contact with your family in nearly a decade. To tell your mother that you were preparing for marriage and war.

As you blew out your candles and settled into bed, you hoped your mother would like Lord Cregan Stark.

On your fourth morning in Winterfell, you took morning tea with Sara. She had taken lengths to make you comfortable in the days since your arrival, and you took great joy in breaking your fast with her each morning. Today, you spent the early hours humming and haring over the tiny sample cakes you had been sent to taste for the upcoming feast. As you ate, Sara told you all that she could about the castle, the arriving lords, the Stark territory, and their histories.

Northern marriage traditions, you had learned, were not so different from those celebrated at King’s Landing, there would be the exchanging of cloaks and binding words spoken before gods but there would also be a hunt. Women such as yourselves would not be invited but you would find your own fun, Sara assured.

“It is tradition to have the pelts in your quarters and the meats on the feasting table.”

You lifted a citrusy cake between your thumb and forefinger, “Husband and wife share quarters here?”

“Most,” Sara said thoughtfully, “Though I’m sure Cregan would accommodate you if it is different in the south.”

“What happens if their hunt is unsuccessful?”

“I imagine there will be much embarrassment among the North, that we could not bring our Princess quarry for her wedding table.” Sara snatched the half-eaten cake from your hands and winked, “Fear not, Cregan is a good hunter.”

“If he is not,” You smiled fiendishly, “I suppose the two of us will have to find meats for the feast ourselves.”

Sara snorted, “I think my brother would be rather put out at being unable to provide you with a gift on your wedding day. But the look on his face as we return from our own hunt is almost worth it.”

You jolted, “Am I to bring him a gift?”

“You have brought him dragon eggs.”

“For our children.” You argued.

“For his heirs,” She assured, “I think he is already downtrodden at the idea of only being able to bring you fur and meat.”

“I bring only scales and fire.”

“You will be a very warm family.”

“And very well-fed.”

Sara snatched another cake from you, “Only if you keep eating all of these before I get a taste!”

You guffawed. “I am hungry, and they are so tiny!”

“They need be, so you can keep eating.”

“And I shall!”

“Your Highness, Lady Snow,” Atara curtsied as she entered, “Lord Stark has requested your presence in the courtyard.”

“Another lord has arrived?” Sara sank her teeth into another teacake. “Which house does he hail from?”

“No Lord, my Lady.” Atara looked to you uneasily, “A Prince. Of House Targaryen.”

After nearly nine years kept apart by the waters of Blackwater Bay, and three long days separated by your duties, the time had come. You caught your first look at your eldest brother as you left the comfort of the Great Keep and nearly crumpled to the ground. Sara laid a steadying hand at your shoulder as Atara whispered sweet comforts. But nothing could prepare you for the sight laid out in the courtyard.

Jacaerys, with Vermax perched atop the walls of the keep. Jacaerys, with tousled dark hair. Jacaerys, once the awkward boy you followed dutifully, now an emissary of the Queen. Jacaerys, your brother. Jacaerys, your mother’s son.

“Jacaerys!” You ran. Past Sara and Atara, past Cregan and his warning cry. You ran. Almost straight into the end of your brother’s sword. You pulled to a halt, the blade a whisper away from your sternum, “Jacaerys?”

“Sister,” He sneered. ��How far you are from your castle.”

“I have escaped.”

“You have been sent as an emissary of the usurper and his cunt-mother.”

“She did not tell you?” Your arms slumped at your side. “Mother sent me as a spy, she and Daemon trusted me to–”

“Her trust was misplaced. You have betrayed us.”

“I have come here to rally the North for our mother’s claim, just as you have.”

“You have come here to better your station.”

“I am a Princess.” You hissed, confused, and insulted.

“You are Princess of nothing, of no house.”

“I am of House Targaryen,” You pressed forward until the tip of his sword tore through the bodice of your dress and blood welled. You turned, held out your hand and gave Cregan a pleading look, he shifted but stayed back. “I am Princess of loyalty, of oaths and duty. I have come to the North to escape the Greens, to tell our mother, the Queen, all that I have discovered these years.”

“Where was loyalty,” Jacaerys shook with rage. “When they dragged us before the Iron Throne and called our mother a whore and our brothers bastards? Where was duty, when Lucerys was nearly stripped of his birthright? Where were you when Laenor died? When Rhaenys flew to our mother's side to tell her of–”

“Our father is dead?” You whispered.

“Your father is Daemon.” He growled under his breath.

You reeled back, “My father is Laenor Velaryon.”

“It is Daemon. He told us so himself when he married Mother.”

“Daemon and mother are married?”

His sword sagged slightly, “The Greens did not tell you? What of Viserys and Aegon?”

“Our grandsire and uncle?”

Jacaerys looked pained, “Our brothers.”

You fell to your knees, shoved your face in your hands and wept. Jacaerys jerked his sword backward and staggered away from you as Cregan rushed to your side.

“Princess?” He wrapped a protective arm over you. “What is the matter?”

“The question of Driftmark’s succession,” Jacaerys stared at you in horror. “Where were you?”

“I did not know!” You sobbed. “I did not know!”

“Otto Hightower said you would not see us, that you felt abandoned and betrayed when Mother gave you to the Greens.”

Cregan pulled you closer to him as Jacaerys inched forward. He growled, “Stand back. You have no enemies among the Starks. Do not make one.”

“I went willingly, for mother, for Lucerys.” You glared up at your brother. “You watched me! I traded my life; you watched me do it!”

“Otto Hightower–”

“Is dead!” You bared your teeth. “I fled King’s Landing, and I killed the man who usurped our mother, and you as her heir. I am loyal, I am steadfast, I am your greatest supporter as heir.”

“Tis true.” Cregan attested. “She has come to the North in support of your mother's claim. She has offered her hand to me, and we have talked much of giving your mother’s children sanctuary here.”

“You are betrothed?” Jacaerys whispered.

“I am.” You said proudly.

Cregan smiled at you softly, “The North is yours, my Prince. So long as my Promised wills it.”

“Sister.” Was all Jacaerys could say. “Sister.”

“Come,” Cregan lifted you to your feet. “My betrothed will catch a cold out here, let us speak inside.”

Cregan sat you gently by the fire swaddling you in the great expanse of his cloak. Sara brought tea to your side while your brothers sat at the other end of the room to discuss politics.

“Did you hear?”

Sara blew on her cup, “I heard a lot.”

“Did you hear what he said about my father?”

“That you lost one? Or that…” She pursed her lips.

“That I am Daemon’s bastard.”

“I did.”

“Do you think Cregan heard?” You burrowed into his cloak.

She gave you a secret smile, “Does it matter? You are a Princess, twice over. And Cregan keeps me around, does he not?”

“I only meant…” You turned away. “I fear he may think me liable to follow in my mother’s footsteps.”

“Will you?”

You stared at her, “Cregan has been kind to me, listened to me, protected me – given me more than anyone has ever offered me. And he is my Promised. Why should I stray from him?”

“Then there is no reason to fret.”

“And the King’s Hand?”

“What of him?”

“I killed him.” You half hid your face in your teacup.

“Do you regret it?” Sara asked curiously. “It is no small thing, to kill a man.”

“He has haunted my family for generations. I would do it again.”

Sara shrugged, “Then we will speak no more of it, justice has been served. I’m sure Cregan will more than agree.”

“Will he?”

“He has been forced to make decisions even further North of here, at the wall.” She took a long sip of tea and stared into the flames. “Some even I do not agree with. But we are family, and he is your Promised. So, it does not matter, does it?”

“No.” You stared into your cup. “I suppose not.”

“Princess!” The man in question came over with a charming grin, “Your brother has offered to escort you at our wedding.”

Jacaerys looked at you timidly, “If you will have me, sister.”

You looked first to Cregan who nodded, and then to Jacaerys with a soft smile. “Of course, brother. Nothing would please me more.”

The letter from your mother arrived another four days later. It came to you clutched in Jacaerys’ hand with the seal broken. He had caught the raven just south of Winterfell as he, Cregan and the Northmen returned from the ceremonial hunt.

“I apologise, sister, I have never been accused of being patient.”

You scoffed, “Some things do not change.”

“Indeed,” Jacaerys said rather gravely. “I must ask a small favour of you before I give you this letter. It is on behalf of myself and our mother.”

You straightened, “Of course brother.”

“You will not open it until after you have been blissfully wedded to Lord Stark.” He paused at your dubious look, “Mother has words she wishes to share only after your wedding. Congratulations and such.”

“I suppose that is agreeable.” You took the letter carefully, “Though we require her blessings to move forward.”

“And you have them.” He tapped the letter. “In there. You shall marry your Promised tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

And so, you married him that night.

The Godswood was eerie in the darkness of night. Though lit by the torches of countless Northmen, it felt as if the darkness were reaching cool unnatural fingers toward your procession. Coaxing you, in your red-black Maiden Cloak toward the foot of the weirwood heart tree, where your Lord-Promised, his uncle, and the dire wolf Shadow wait. Jacaerys held your hand tightly as if frightened to let you go. Around you, Lords and honoured guests planted their torches in the snow, lighting the way for you and your brother. The wind whistled through the silence, broken only by the great rumbling in Laesuvion’s chest where he perched on the lip of the keep’s gate.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Called Bennard Stark.

Jacaerys whispered your name, then cleared his throat in embarrassment and announced it proudly, "Daughter of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Cregan, of House Stark,” Your Promised sent you a small secret smile, “Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?"

"Jacaerys, of the House Velaryon, who is her brother and Prince." Jacaerys gave your hand a firm squeeze as he gave you to Cregan.

"Princess,” Lord Bennard made an admirable effort to say your name without disdain, “Will you take this man?"

You took Cregan’s large warm hands in your own and smiled, “I take this man.”

Silently, hands joined, you knelt to the cold earth. Around you, the Lords of the North fell to their knees and bowed their heads in deference. Foreheads pressed together, you and Cregan offered silent prayers to the Old Gods. When you stood as one, Sara was there in her uncle's place, a cloak of thick, luscious fur in the silver-grey of House Stark.

You tipped your head back as Cregan fiddled with the ties of your Maiden’s Cloak. You smiled at the sky as he struggled gently against your neck. Finally, it loosened, there was a brief shock of cold and then there was wonderous heat, the furred collar tickling your chin. You look to Cregan then, donned in his colours, wrapped in his protection. You smile softly at one another and lean into a soft kiss.

The black sky lights up with swashes of red as Laesuvion spits fire at the stars.

All at once sound returns to the Godswood as the witnesses of your nuptials cheer, chief among them is your brother. You laugh in delight as Cregan grips your cheeks and plants another kiss on your lips. Shadow yips at your heels as your husband sweeps you up into his arms and carries you toward the Great Hall.

He whispers sweet promises for your future, and you have never been more grateful to know how fiercely a Stark is at keeping their word.

It was the wolf’s hour when the festivities swelled through the Great Hall and you found yourself drawn to a quiet corner. You excused yourself from your husband by pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. He smiled softly at you and trailed his fingers from yours as you walked toward the hearth roaring at the far end of the hall. You pulled your mother's letter from your pocket and pressed your fingers against her seal as if you could fuse the two halves back into a whole. She and Jacaerys would not mind, you were sure, it was your wedding day after all, and you craved an inch of your mother’s presence.

You unfolded her letter and read:

My dearest girl,

I have never doubted you and I do not do so now.

You have my blessings. Marry the Lord Cregan Stark and take joy in your Promised. I will entrust Baela and Rhaena to bring your young brothers into your care.

You have served me well, which is why I write to you now, though my heart tells me to spare you.

Aemond has taken Lucerys’ life. War has come.

You looked up gripping the letter until your fingers drew indents in the paper and made desperate eye contact with Jacaerys’ pained face. A sound halfway between a scream and a sob tore from your throat, drowned by the thundering roar of Laesuvion overhead. Cregan stood, fighting to stumble his way toward you, as the walls of Winterfell rattled with your fury.

Nine years you had spent in the Red Keep, learning your enemies inside and out. Carefully ushering pieces across a board too vast for you to comprehend, hoping desperately you could stop a war conceived long before you. It all narrowed to this moment. Wrapped in the cloak of your husband’s house, framed by the hearth fire, as your dragon raged above.

Your Brother. Your Dragon. Your Husband.

By Blood. By Fire. By the Old God’s Promise.

You would avenge your brother and bring war to the Greens.

339 notes · View notes

blakeswritingimagines · 5 months

Text

Kissing over their scars

Aegon: The touch of your lips on his scars is one that gives him chills each time. It not only feels physically good to have your attention on those marks on his body but also emotionally. It makes him feel loved and desired, even with such imperfections.

Aemond: He appreciates that you are not repulsed by his scars. He is thankful for your acceptance and appreciates your desire to caress the area surrounding them. While he feels uncomfortable discussing the details of the injury itself, he is not opposed to the showing of affection to that specific part of his body.

Jacaerys: As Jacaerys felt the touch of his partner's lips upon his scars, the sensations stirred beneath his skin. The memories and pain that were once associated with those scars turned to comfort and warmth. He knew that you understood his past and accepted him for who he was. As you continued to kiss, he let go of the pain and embraced your love.

Lucerys: He would blush madly, feeling a rush of both happiness and embarrassment. His scars represent a dark, painful chapter of his life, and he wouldn't want anyone to know the full truth. But the feeling of someone close to him kissing them would be so sweet and intimate that he would find it hard to look away. He might even move around slightly to give you better access to his scars.

Rhaenyra: If you were to kiss her scars, she would likely react by being both surprised and touched. She may pull away at first out of surprise, but if she felt a deep connection with you, she would likely lean into your affection and allow you to continue. This would be a deeply intimate and meaningful moment for her, as it would show her that you are accepting and supportive of all parts of her and your relationship. She may also feel a sense of vulnerability in allowing someone else to see her scars, which could further strengthen your bond.

Daemon: As the warm caress of your lips lingered on each scar, he couldn't help but close his eyes and revel in the sensations. The comfort and connection of your touch were more potent than any pain or fear he had before. Time seemed to stand still as you slowly embraced him with an intimate kiss. He leaned into you, feeling a deep sense of vulnerability but also trust. Your mouth, warm and supple, teased a deep and primal desire within. His entire frame was awash with pleasure until you pulled back, and he opened his eyes slowly looking at you with a smile on his face.

Alicent: Her face reddens at the boldness of the action, the surprise and pleasure from the kiss combined. She moves slightly closer to you, wanting more contact and intimacy. She can feel her face heat up, and she closes her eyes for a moment when the kisses end, to savor the sensation for a little longer. She wants you to keep kissing them, wanting to keep feeling your soft lips on her scars. The sensation is so powerful that it makes her forget her previous shyness and pulls you closer.

Helena: As you kiss her scars, she'll close her eyes and allow herself to be vulnerable and feel the moment. The light caress of your lips awakens something deep within her soul. She longs for the intimacy of your connection. Her body reacts to the touch of your lips, and she knows you feel it, too. She opened her eyes slowly and met your gaze, your faces so close to each other that you could kiss. It is only a matter of time, she thinks to herself. She leans in and...

Harwin: The first time he was kissed on his scars, he felt a mixture of emotions. On one hand, he was happy to be loved and accepted for his flaws. But on the other hand, he felt very vulnerable and exposed. The kiss reminded him that even though he had overcome difficult times in his life, the scars were still visible, and it was still a part of his past. He was also reminded that someone else knew the pain he had endured and that someone else's lips could heal what once had cut deep and wounded him.

Cregan: Kisses on his scars bring a warm and intimate feeling, as if you doing it is showing your affection and appreciation for him and his past. Each scar marks a unique experience, and it brings him joy to know that you appreciate and value these experiences as much as he does. He is always reminded of your care and attention towards him whenever you kiss or touch his scars, and it brings him deep satisfaction to know that he is being loved and accepted despite the physical flaws and imperfections.

Criston: He is taken aback by the sudden contact, but slowly begins to relax once he realizes the care and love underlying the act. He may blush at the unexpected attention, and his heartbeat quickens out of anticipation. The sensation of your soft lips on his damaged flesh sends tingles throughout his body, and he'll find himself longing for more.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #lucerys velaryon x reader #rhaegar targaryen x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #alicent hightower x reader #helena targaryen x reader #ser harwin x reader #cregan stark x reader #criston cole x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon headcanons

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axelsagewrites · 8 months

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I'm nosey and wanna know. Might do a GoT poll too but I wanna see if this correlates to my top posts lol

#HOTD #House of the dragon #daemon targeryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #Lucerys velaryon x reader #Aegon Targaryen x reader #Aemond Targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #Viserys Targaryen x reader #Corlys velaryon x reader

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valyriantarg · 29 days

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Dance Of Dragons

5.A son for a son

Kings Landing

Jaehaera used the boat to reach Kings Landing. The town was dark and silent during the late hours of the night. Not many people were walking in the streets, only drunk men and guards of the city watch now and then.

She managed to sneak into the town and reached the back gates of the Red Keep.

She approached the gates, the cloak not revealing her identity yet.

She saw two gold cloaks doing their shift. She picked up some rocks and threw them through the gate to catch their attention.

Her plan worked and the guards looked intrigued at the sound. She saw the opportunity to approach the gate.

She whistled and put her hand through the gate’s bars shaking the pouch with the gold coins.

“You two! Come here” she whispered-yelled.

The two men approached the gates. “What do ya want boy?” One of them asked

She removed the hood revealing her identity.

“U-Uh Princess Jaehaera” they stuttered and bowed to her.

“I don’t have much time. There are guards everywhere and they might find me. Do you know the plan?” She whispered to them.

“Yes Princess.” They nodded

She handed them the pouch with the gold coins and the prints. “Two men will come in a while. Their names are Blood and Cheese. You’ll open the gates, give them the prints and let them pass. The rest is up to them and what Prince Daemon commanded.”

“You know nothing of what happens from the moment they enter. Prince Daemon will reward you soon. We appreciate your loyalty.” She finished speaking and turned to leave as her time in the city was limited.

The plan was already in action.

Lucerys would be avenged.

Taglist

@lightdragonrayne

@littleshadow17

@deeeeexx

@davinashifts333

#hotd fanfic #cregan stark x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #cregan stark #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #lucerys velaryon #blood and cheese #mysaria #asoif/got

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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

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❝I am going to make him bow to me, brother. Mark my words.❞

[ Jace does not yearn for you. Does not wish for you. Does not want you. But oh, lies are bitter and brittle under a tongue that yearns to taste. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,753 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), might be small aegon ii x reader but it's one sided on aeg's behalf, sorry.

contains— manipulative reader, targarcest, mild nsfw, angsty - CANON DIVERGENCE - use of bastard, mentions of alcohol and slight phys. abuse (otto's a dick) - sort of non canon compliant, timeline is loosey goosey; in the books, rhae & dae visit kings landing frequently even after moving to dragonstone, so im going by that - nsfw: male masturbation, strong allusions to sex but no actual woohoo, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas. unedited.

a/n— for my boy jace, the prettiest dark haired prince there is. simp!jace you will always be loved by me. comments, reblogs & like at will! + dividers by @danowh0re + accompanied song: SWEAT— HAYZ.

Aegon, under the guise of weighty cups and half-mast eyes, slides beside you, following your gaze as you appraised the entrance of the Strong bastards into the courtyard.

"Are you sure about this, sister?"

"Does wine taste like heaven under grandsire's scolding, brother?"

Aegon snorts. As your twin, the difference between the two of you are more stark than people might think. Though you share the childish, almost babe like features that usually got women to bow down to Aegon— with your doe eyes, the soft cheeks, and the curled pout — where people think Aegon is a horrible mess of a git, your shared grandsire the forefront of this slander, you are quite the opposite. Beloved, dutiful, and innocent in the eyes of many.

It didn't matter that you wore green as prettily as your mother, or that your twin is a mess of wine and women— you were different. You were kind, pretty, and enticing.

A precious flower among green thorns, the smallfolk whispered.

People had even commiserated how, despite the typical Valyrian looks of silver-gold hair and lilac eyes, your Hightower lineage softened your edges. Your looks.

Your personality.

Snort.

"You know Aemond would rather see you insult the little bastard in half, than whatever it is that you are thinking of doing."

You hum as you don't remove your gaze from the dark haired prince, making jokes with his younger brother, Lucerys. From the corner of the courtyard, you and your twin could see Aemond sparring with Ser Criston with more vigour than he usually did, especially at the time of day. Occasionally, he spared the younger Strong bastard a glance that spoke of trying to unearth his insides from his body, no doubt imagining the very same as he swung his blade.

Aegon and you shared a look, stifling laughter, before you focused back on your prey. Jacaerys Velaryon. A name he uses like a shield despite having not a single drop of the sea in his blood. All you had to do was look at the dark hair, the skin and the nose of the First of Men before him.

How your half-sister Rhaenyra can say he was a Velaryon with a straight face is beyond you.

Your gaze might be searing as Jace looks up at the balcony from where you had been idly staring at him for the better half of the time, and you give him a wry sort of smile. A soft sort of smile. An acknowledgement. Just as he makes a nod of hesitant acknowledgement— unlike your brothers, you had not join in on the hostility and mean-spirited comments — you had already turned fully to Aegon as if you are enraptured by conversation.

"It's a contingency plan, my darling Aeg," you say softly as you brush the back of your hand to his face. You are aware of Jace's gaze now focused on you and your twin and you make it good for him. You make a performance. You follow the steps you've practiced so eagerly.

And eager for your soft touch, Aegon's eyes flutter in response. Ever since you were young, and seeing how harsh everyone is of Aegon and his failures, you decided you would be the kindness to him.

Though you do like him, another contingency plan for him wouldn't be so bad, would it? After all, you can bet on a lot of things, but your grandsire's award-winning thirst for power and your mother's malady to anxieties are good tidings to see them planting Aegon on the throne and usurping everything from your dearest, oldest sister.

Aeg didn't need to know that, of course.

What he can know and what he can help with, is making sure Jacaerys was looking as you smiled softly at your brother, your gold and silver spun hair bathed in morning light, and in one of your favourite dresses— a white silver dress lined with black lace and green embroidery of dragons — you were angelic personified. The Maiden come to gather and soothe your dearest brother.

You capture Aegon's face in your hands, ever soft, ever sweet, as you smile at him. He's so deprived of physical touch that doesn't harm him that he sighs against your palms. You do feel a little bad, but you need this plan to work.

"I am going to make him bow to me, brother," you whisper, giving him a soft kiss to his temple. He shudders, hands placing them on your waist, enunciating the kind curves you sport. "Mark my words, that boy king will stifle under my hand and foot. Mother's fears will not come to fruition. All will be well."

"I am older than you," he says softly, half smiling.

A gaze sears at the side of your face, as strong as the concussive heat radiating off a dragon's maw as your thumb brushes across your twin's cheek.

There is that, you think amusedly. No one can deny the little heir is his mother's child. Bastard he maybe.

"And I am better," you whisper, snickering.

"That you are." But his gaze is past you, back at the courtyard, at the reason for the heat in your skin. A spark of jealousy is quick in his mulish blue eyes but you only laugh. Light but loud, echoing.

"Come," you say with finality, taking a step back and offering your hand as you make the conscious choice of not daring even a peripheral glance, and heading back inside the keep. "We shall see them at dinner. The king's orders."

Your brother makes a sound crossbred from a huff and a groan, and you are already making plans to ensure his wine is controlled for the night, lest he makes a fool of himself in front of the King— or gods forbid, your grandsire — and mayhaps ensure the seating arrangement once again with your mother.

But everthing else is background noise; your schemes and your plots, your facades and faces, because a faux Velaryon has made it known that he cannot keep his gaze away from you.

Everything else is moot.

Jacaerys Velaryon, firstborn son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, soon to be Heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, does not understand himself.

Perhaps you are just eye-catching. Your hair is more gold than silver, but it shifts like a mirage against sunlight. You yourself seem to change under shadows and light, as if you're casting a new spell again and again. Your eyes, your lips, the slivers of presented skin (have you really shown this much skin, all this time?), and your hips.

They sway, like a panther's.

Like a dragon's.

Jace has always known you to be pretty; Helaena has always been his favourite aunt with the fact that she's quiet and doesn't antagonise him like your brothers. Because Helaena simply cared little for him not because he was Rhaenyra's son, or that he didn't look like his father, or because he was a prince of the realm set to become heir once his mother was crowned.

Helaena simply just didn't care about him as a human not as hisn ame or his blood, her thoughts lingering more in her bugs and the fat babes she had with her brother, humming nonsensical under her breath. Not insults.

You were different. You looked. Jace knew you looked but he had never caught you before. It's a dance, he later realises come dawn he is awoken and there is a weight on top of him in rings of gold and silver, breathing softly— alive and so very warm, and from that moment, his — but for now he doesn't know.

Doesn't understand.

Your gaze is weighty, leaving searing imprints like a dragon marking it's favourite horde. But it's so hard to catch.

It started at the training grounds. As if his Uncle Aemond's wasn't enough, there was yours. He knew but could only see once, and even that felt like it was deliberate, a mere nod. As if you controlled how he worked around your sphere, and by gods, were you beautiful. Then you had turned to your twin brother as if he was nothing to you— really, he was, in the scheme of things, you were the secondborn daughter of the Queen, no matter how pretty your visage or blood is, you are a woman and a third child (right after the firstborn daughter and son), and in the other end, Jacaerys was the first son and heir of the Princess of Dragonstone, soon to be Queen. In fact, you should be nothing to him.

He was to become King, and you to be offered to a lord. To be someone's wife, to relinquish your surname and become someone's mother. Rear your new lord husband countless of babes and live your life having fulfilled your sole duty.

It is a fact that tasted brittle and bitter in his tongue, like soot and ash, and he doesn't understand it. You had crossed his mind, idle as it maybe, from time to time, but nothing concrete. You are pretty, you are kind, mischievous at times, playful, and you purposefully don't keep him long in your orbit.

You were just another aunt. Aegon's Twin Flame.

Misbegotten to not even marry your brother.

It was at dinner that night, amongst clinking goblets and fat foods spilling the edges of the table, his grandsire having arrived, even Aegon, rumpled hair and sunken eyes but dressed and suspiciously sober— and you, your mother's favourite, her most affectionate daughter, late.

"Where is she?" Jacaerys heard the Lord Hand asked, but the Queen had no reply, as confused.

And then you arrive, not ten more minutes later, and Jace's entire body had locked.

Though he did not know why or what, he knew you were up to something. You arrived in a new dress from this afternoon— close to it's style, nothing like the Queen's or Helaena's, conservative high necks and pious ever green— no, you came as a surprise with a flutter of a silken hand and an embarrassed laugh, tipping to your father a kiss on the side of his good face.

Even as you sat, it took a good, long while before the chatter would arose again (from your gracious laugh at your father's compliment no less), before everyone's eyes— even Criston Cole's, ever loyal rat — would lift from your visage.

You were ethereal, simply put, in a dress that is not of pious ever green or high collar trim; but in a flutter of what Jacaerys remembers as his mother's gown when she was pregnant with Aegon, and the days got too hot. When the babe inside her, made of pure dragon, had made her a furnace burning from the inside out.

It was the same lightweight material draped over your skins, a thin material bunched up several times so it is not too sheer. Not too inappropriate. Jace doesn't know what the fabric is, doesn't care to, but it looks like flowing water against your body. It moulds to your movements. Your shape is obvious, so are the expose arms, collarbones, your chest dipping low, too low sometimes when you lean over and laugh, eyes alight— Jace's eyes cannot stay away, they are glued to your necklace, to the top of your smooth breasts — and the dress is held together in links of golden dragons, your hair made up in braids, in pearls and small emeralds, with curled strays framing your cheeks and smile, your exposed neck.

It was meant to garner looks, compliments.

But it was the colour that Jacaerys knew it was meant for him.

At the centre of your chest— your bosom that dips, two mounds, so soft looking and the urge to reach over and press his fingers down, see how soft and pliant you really are, hear the kind of noises you make, in pain or pleasure, his thoughts make him hiss, tightening his hold on his wine, pinching nails to skin to ground himself — it starts off a darken green, shifting, blending to a winter green, a bluer green, a seafoam that he is more than familiar with, before escaping the edges in deep water blue.

The colour of his father's house had never looked so good, so charming, so sinful before.

He tears his eyes away from you because it is improper to be staring so, to be looking at you and feel like he is feasting when he is rooted in his chair and still so hungry, especially with the plans of betrothal with Baela, his mother had already asked him if she is ever in his thoughts.

Baela who sits beside him, ramrod straight and keen-eyed, respectable Targaryen lady, a confidant and a good friend. She would make a good queen in the future, he had thought so before. Respectable and fearsome, the best parts of his stepfather and the late Lady Laena.

He shakes his head, swallowing down his slice of veal before he kicks Luke's leg under the table.

His brother yelps, a mournful irritated sound for his eyes had ogled far longer (just like he, but would never admit) on you than was proper, reminding him, and yet when you look up at the sound, your eyes— have they ever been so violet? — lands on him. Again.

When your gazes meet, he is enraptured, but he clears his throat and nods. "You look good, aunt." And because he cannot step, because his thoughts are cloudy and you are looking at him as if you know he can't stop looking at you, as if you can read each filthy thought he tries to stifle, as if you like it, he continues, "The sea green is a nice colour on you."

He can feel eyes on him, even the Lord Hand's. Even Aegon, goblet pressed against his lips, hiding a smirk. He burns, but he doesn't burn as bright when your smile stretches, your lids lower, and he burns so bright he fears he might be on fire.

The flames are licking him and he does not mind, so long as you keep your gaze.

"Thank you, nephew," you hum. "That is so very sweet of you to say."

And Jacaerys blushes, coughing once when he notices his lady mother giving him a look. Knowing. Curious but not probing, not yet. What he doesn't notice is the Queen's perceptive frown as she gazes at her daughter, the Lord Hand's raised eyebrow, or Aegon trying so very hard to stifle his laughter, turning to Helaena as if he is saying something to her.

But what Jacaerys does see is Aemond's intense glare, sharpened and rekindled and suspicious, and Daemon... The Rogue Prince is eyeing you differently. No longer just another Targaryen bleeding Hightower green, no longer just another offspring of the Hightower cunt.

No, Jace can almost see inside his stepfather's brain and see the Valyrian looks. The body of a woman freshly sloughed off the body of a child.

You are pretty and young and Daemon Targaryen is looking at you.

It shocks Jace how much he despises it.

It is for my mother, his thought persists even as he looks at you again and his insides whirl. I am upset for my mother.

Daemon Targaryen can see plainly what you are doing.

You've always hated that about men with good insight, who do not care for what is between your legs, only for your actions. For what it might do for what he cares about.

And Daemon cares for Rhaenyra, for Viserys, for the Targaryen legacy, pure and untainted.

(As if the blood of the First Men is okay to bastardise his bloodline but gods forbid the oldest and greatest of the Great Houses).

And he is now looking at you as if he has noticed the steps and webs you have spun around for his stepson, the direct legacy, and he is amused.

The dinner comes to a conclusion to a small dancing, and your twin, dutiful to you and your orders you had told him as you cleaned and prepared him for dinner; stood up, brushed himself off, and politely asked Baela for a dance— the latter looking so surprised he was fully sober, much less asking for her hand — that she found no excuse, and reluctantly accepted as they pivoted to the centre.

As Daemon continues to look at you, to unravel you as if you are an enemy in a battle map, you stand up quickly and turn to Aemond, smile wide and fake.

Jacaerys won't ask you to dance. He had drawn looks with his compliment, suspicion. Grandsire was right, they are planning to marry him off to Baela to strengthen their cause. Jace will not entertain anything anymore publicly.

Duty bound, honour bound.

But, but, but.

you are not a fool, you know men and their pissing contests. You are a daydream hiding a nightmare.

For the past few minutes, he had noticed Daemon's inquisitive, amused appraisal of you, and his brown eyes (pretty for a bastard's; Ser Harwin's lashes must have been long) had burned a different fire and it gives you an idea, an exhale of relief.

Jealousy can salvage anything.

You just need to push him.

And Aemond is beautiful, a true Valyrian King in visage, the Warrior come alive. You look so much softer when you are beside him.

"Sister?" Aemond looks up at you, curious, confused since the beginning of the night. There is a plot he isn't privy to, and he has been spearing glances at you, at Aegon, at his grandsire just in case he knew anything.

You were unmarried while Aegon had married Helaena. Your time is coming, and he loathes the idea of a betrothal to the Strong Bastard. He had made his complaints known when the missive came from your sister, asking sweet Helaena's hand for your son thinking your mother would have surely betrothed you to your twin.

Neither side knowing you had almost sent back your name, offering your hand.

"It has been a while since you had asked me to dance, little brother," you say, hands behind your back, framing yourself soft and playful. There are so many gazes on you, you play with it well.

"I was ten and one then, mandia sister, a boy."

"Too long," you tease. "Kessa ao daor lilagon lēda aōha mandia, valonqar? Will you not dance with your sister, little brother?"

He hums, acquiescing easily, and standing up. You peel a laughter that attracts a chuckle from the king. This is how you dance around the palm of Viserys I. Men like it when you play a part. Not to cost trouble, not to step over the line.

You aren't the elder sister, the firstborn child. You are means to further a line, not to have any important position. Rhaenyra is the exception only from the womb that bore her. You, like Helaena, are likened to fall in line and act like you like it. Like being a fat, old lord's wife has always been your dream. Bear his babes and suffer the trauma of hanging your life in the balance to produce them into the world.

It makes you burn with rage most days.

"What are you doing, mandia sister?" Aemond whispers against your cheek after having brought you close, dancing through the steps swiftly, keenly. It truly is a shame that Aemond doesn't dance oft.

"Won't you just believe and put your faith in the sister that you adore?" you snipe playfully. It's easy to use Aemond's hair to hide the glance you drop Jacaerys and see the seething glare he burns through your baby brother's head. Lust, yearn, jealousy— they dance and cook in his gaze. You giggle despite yourself.

"Grandsire will not allow you to marry that bastard," Aemond hums, unable to hide his irritation. You roll your eyes. Clever little brothers.

"As much love as I can grasp from my heart for our grandsire, valonqar, I am a dragon. I will take what I want. A tower is nothing to dragonfire. Grandsire oft forgets I am a princess of the realm and he is only a lord." You step back and bow as the song ends, as your father tires and wishes to go to bed. He only stays this long, or even leaves his chambers, when Rhaenyra decides to deign Kings Landing with her presence.

Always more for the heir. More effort, more love, more care.

And what is left for the other daughters of Viserys I?

He remembers Helaena's existence less, and if you do not make it a point to visit him everyday— to entertain him, read to him, laugh at being mistaken for Rhaenyra — you are sure you will be nothing more than a faint dream to him.

Your anger licked dark and green. Inside, it rages.

You watch as Jacaerys Velaryon says something to his mother, a rushed farewell, an excuse— a press of your fingers against your lips as you catch his breeches are tight, that his jaw is clenched — you step closer to Aemond once more, Aegon now drifting away from Baela and back into your orbit.

"Don't worry, little brother, I do not actually desire the Strong bastard. I want his crown."

Aegon giggles breathlessly, eyeing as Aemond's eye widen a fraction before he composes himself. "And what do you need now, sister, to accomplish such a beguilingly easy task?" Aegon snorts softly. There is only a faint scent of alcohol on him. You take it as win. "He's like a green boy from a quick flash of your chest. What more your tits in full display?" He leans close, mean and adorable. "You do not want a husband who is too quick for your own pleasure."

You swat his arm, pinching the soft flesh of his stomach before Aemond fully throttles him.

"Watch your tongue," Aemond hisses, fists clenching.

"It is okay. I take no offense, he is just being silly to rile you up," you placate him, pulling your twin closer to you just as Helaena approaches, shuffling close to your other side, burying her head against your collarbone. You hum, letting her quietly choose which physical affection she can take from you.

The four Green children, missing one. Scales of the dragon they may have, green fire burning from their maws. The four Green children, miss one. Sons and daughters of Viserys I. Nothing more than wombs and seeds for his legacy.

You finally turn to Daemon's probing stare and you keep it. "Keep his family away from him," you whisper to your siblings. You do not care if he understands. At this point, even your grandsire may have an idea for your plots.

And for the crown, for his lineage, no ambition is too small.

If he can send your mother to an old, grieving man after he had butchered his first wife, what ease it is to send a granddaughter willing to dance a scandal?

"I need him alone tonight."

You do not come to him immediately, more than knowing what he is doing. Maegor's Holdfast is a fun little place, with its secrets and tunnels. You had already studied the path to his apartments beforehand, and you are there, against the hidden way, hearing him fuck his fist to the vision of you, your name dripping and spitting from his pretty red lips.

You catching him after the high, chest up and down breathing hard. There is a self-loath, a disgust. You can just read his thoughts. When you enter, he is alarmed, a sword in his hand, guarded replaced to shock at the sight of you.

"Aunt," he whispers, appalled. Lustful. Righteous.

You tilt your head, unsmiling. You guard your thoughts as you approach, hands behind your back, voice soft. "Do you always reach to completion with my name in your tongue, nephew, or is today an exception?"

Jacaerys Velaryon flinches, sword hand dipping. "I—"

You are close, a hair's breadth away. Amusingly, he is struggling with himself. His honour in one hand, his desire in another. He wants to leap away from you and pull you close.

His choice is still open.

You answer for him.

"Would you like to know whose name falls from my lips when I reach completion?" you whisper against his lips. So close but still so far. Your fists are clenched behind your back, nails drawing blood. You cannot fail now. The Rogue Prince might be wandering now, ready to yank you or kill you.

You are a viper in a vipper's nest, and Daemon Targaryen is too late to realise you only want one true victim.

Jacaerys is drawn, the shock of your words melting to make way for the flutter of his eyes and the full shudder of his body as you lick a strip across his bottom lip, staining him.

Break yourself for me, Strong Boy, you think as he opens his eyes and stares at your lips. Break your oaths, your promises.

"Whose?" he asks, voice hoarse.

The surrender is at the hands he has brought first to your hips before he rose it slowly up and up, until his warm palms cupped your jaw, your face, swallowed in his hold. It is a delight to know his hands are bigger than your face, that he is told to tower over you. A boy king grown.

"Yours."

He groans but does not let you go. "I am betrothed."

You still. Such a Good, Strong Boy, resisting until the very fucking end. "I have not heard of such announcements, nephew."

"Mother will announce soon."

"Is that what you want then?" You grip his hands and stride forward until your are chest to chest. Until he can feel every outline of your body against his, until you can feel the hard line of his manhood against your stomach. Until he feels his own body breaking his oath.

"Please, Jace," you whisper, you beg. Your eyes begin to water. "I want you to take me... Only you. I have longed for you for so long. Your mother— my sister betrothed you to me first." He leans back, surprise flitting. "Yes, my love. But my mother had refused. I— I thought you would see it nevertheless. The affection in my gaze, the smile I give only to you. That I am offering my heart, my soul, my body to you. Only to you, Jacaerys."

Your tears are running down now, your voice so soft and so desperate. Where lust had clouded him, it is now tinged with a flattered adoration.

Men are so simple. Boys far simpler.

"I thought you knew," you say at last in a voice as broken as your heart. You take his hands away and step back. He grasps but you turn away, a sob wracks from your chest as fake as when you were a child, trying not to get in trouble with your mother so she can fire the septa that you hated. She had sneered at Aegon's drunken folly and was disgusted by Aemond's fresh wound.

You wanted her gone.

"Aunt, I—"

"It is alright," you cut him off. You turn back slightly, your smile watery, your gaze to the floor. "Aegon did not choose me either, unlovable as I am. Men only want me for my body and nothing more. I-I'll leave you be. Good night—"

You never finish your spiel because he had yanked you, hard, against him, his lips moving against yours— clumsily, not enough practice but aggressive in its desire — pressing you against him as if he is trying to swallow you whole.

Jacaerys is not bowing, not yet. But that night with his seed warm and full inside your womb, his body encased against your own, tightening whenever you made a movement, as if in fear any step you take away from him would slip you so freely from his fingers— his mouth, his lips, bruised by your own making, pressing featherlight soft against the side of your head, your hair — it is not too soon to think the boy king will bend the knee to you and only you.

And maybe the babe you bear him, but there is no need to rush. These steps are delicate but sure.

After all, he has only just cemented the thought that he will whisk you both to Dragonstone at first light, a traditional Old Valyrian wedding.

He will bow soon enough.

For now, you will enjoy your glowing win.

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