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humanpurposes · 1 year

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Come So Close That I Might See, part i

Desperate to secure her position, Aegon's wife turns to Aemond for help // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Warnings: 18+, language, infidelity, smut (p in v, female receiving oral), breeding kink (kinda), and also a bit of fluff.

Words: 4800

A/n: this is my first oneshot! I've been sitting on this for literally months and finally got round to editing it. Also available to read on AO3.

Every breath Lucia took was like ice in her throat.

Her fingers came to toy with the Valyrian steel band around her ring finger. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Five years of whispers behind her back, agonising audiences with the Queen, the Hand and her Westerling and Lannister uncles. “The realm needs a son,” they all said, as if she hadn’t known that the moment she had said her vows to Aegon fucking Targareyn.

Her husband knew what he was doing. He had all but confessed countless times how he resented his position, how he did not wish to be crushed under the weight of duty despite the ambitions of his mother and grandsire.

She knew her duty, to give King Viserys another grandchild to dote upon, give the Hightowers the heir they needed, and secure her own position as the wife of a future King.

For Aegon, a child would be a burden, another duty to squander. He demanded use of her hands and her mouth of the few occasions he bothered to visit her bedchamber, but otherwise he was content to pounce upon the nearest serving girls or fuck his way through Fleabottom.

Five years of humiliation.

She anticipated what talk might stir with the arrival of the King’s guests at court. A great feast had been planned, to celebrate the new additions to their family. Helaena and Martyn Hightower were due to arrive from Oldtowen to present their daughter, Rhaella, while Princess Rhaenyra had delivered her second son with Daemon, another silver haired Prince, named in honour of the King.

She delighted in seeing Helaena again and could hardly contain her excitement when she saw a flash of cobalt blue in the sky that marked the arrival of Daeron and Tessarion. The Prince and Princess had been both sent to Oldtown so soon after Lucia’s marriage to Aegon, but she missed them more than she did her own siblings in the Westerlands.

Then came the party from Dragonstone, Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their small army of children. Aemond had tested her memory before their arrival; Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Baela, Rhaena, Aegon and Viserys.

Aegon was nowhere to be found when they were welcomed into the throne room. Lucia half hoped the captain of the city watch would come to her with news that his corpse had been found on the floor of a tavern. Instead she stood between Queen Alicent and Prince Aemond.

When the three boys with Velaryon blue cloaks and unruly dark hair bowed before the King, Aemond leaned into her ear. “That’s the bastard I have to thank for my sapphire,” he whispered.

Aegon eventually made an appearance at the feast later that night, sauntering in as the main courses were brought out. He already had a glazed look in his eye and dark purple stains in the corners of his mouth. Lucia shared a pointed glance with Aemond as her husband took his place beside her.

She did not have to suffer Aegon for long. Once the music picked up and the dancing began, Daeron was the first to lead her to the floor. Then, from the other side of the table, Jacaerys took Baela’s hand and joined them, the four of them dancing, twirling and laughing together, regardless of the scowls that came from Prince Daemon and Otto Hightower. Then came Lucerys and Rhaena, and after them followed Helaena and her husband.

After a few exhaustive rounds, Lucia thought she might need a glass of wine to recover her strength, until her eyes fell to Joffrey, looking a little abandoned. She took his hands and led him through a dance, which mostly involved them spinning in circles rather than following the steps. The boy looked up at her in awe as she twirled them around the floor.

“The Strong boys” were not so bad, she thought, they were gracious and lively, but in the back of her mind she couldn’t quite forget the terrible scar that slashed across Aemond’s face. She looked back to him as she danced. She expected to see that stoic, silent fury she had become so accustomed to, instead he looked rather… she settled on amused. His eye was softer than usual and his lips curled ever so slightly into– not quite a smile but it was hardly a frown either.

And each time she turned her head he was already looking at her.

She felt the whole thing had been a success. Until Lord Tyland came to her the morning after Rhaenyra’s departure for Dragonstone.

He barged into her chamber, standing over her as she took her breakfast. “We cannot delay any longer.”

“Good morning to you too, uncle.”

“How often do you share a bed with your husband?” He hissed.

Lucia swallowed her mouthful of blackberries. “Not often.”

“Speak plainly,” he demanded. “You are the wife of the King’s oldest son, you are not entitled to privacy.”

Clearly. She took a breath. “He will not come to my bedchamber, if he can help it, only if he is too drunk to remember he despises me. And then he… is never able to fulfil his marital duties.”

“This cannot go on.”

“And yet it has been the case for four years, uncle. Aegon simply does not wish to make me a mother. You may seek to ask the Queen to lecture him, but I am not the one at fault.”

“That is simply not good enough.”

“So what would you have me do?”

“Whatever it is you must do. You have seen how disputes of succession cause instability, and without an heir, Aegon’s position, our position is not secure.”

She knew little of the arrangement between the Hightowers and the Lannisters. Perhaps her family thought her too young to understand when the pact of loyalty was made, and yet they were happy to let that alliance rest upon her shoulders. As long as her womb was empty, she would remain a Westerling orphan to the eyes of the court.

“She will never give Aegon a son,” she had heard one of the Tyrells say, “the King should cast her aside, make her a septa and marry the Prince to one of our girls.”

She spent the rest of the day in the gardens, walking for hours until she came to the rose garden. There was a bench, concealed amongst bushes of red, pink and gold flowers, looking out over Blackwater Bay.

Had the small council truly been so startled by the very presence of Princess Rhaenyra in the capital? Even with the rumours surrounding her three eldest sons, her extensive family was a show of strength and stability, something she and Aegon had so far failed to provide.

The sun seemed to go black for a moment and there came a colossal roar that shook the foundations of the city. She looked up to the sky to see Vhagar soaring out over the water. She couldn’t make out much of her rider, save for a small glimmer of silver hair.

An idea came into her head.

She tucked her knees into her chest and began to gnaw at her lower lip until she tasted blood. She sat there, frozen in thought until the sun began to set and a chilling evening breeze swept in from the sea. Her gown was relatively thin, a day dress for Spring, but she did not shiver and she did not flinch.

As twilight approached, she heard footsteps crunching against the gravel path.

“You’re expected for dinner,” Aemond’s voice came from behind her.

She rose from the bench and came to stand before him, close enough to smell the leather on his jerkin and the faint scent of smoke in his hair.

He frowned and brought his thumb to her bruised and bloodied lip. She watched his eye as he inspected it, gently swiping and tugging. “What’s this?” He asked in a soft and scathing tone.

“It was my own fault,” she muttered, “I didn’t realise I was doing it.”

He pulled back with a dissatisfied “hmm,” but his gaze soon softened. “The Queen was getting rather worried.”

Lucia weaved her arm through his and began to lead him back towards the castle. “We should not keep her waiting then.”

Aemond followed Lucia into the dining room and settled in the seat across from her, beside Daeron. Helaena and Martyn Hightower were not present, apparently Rhaella had managed to come down with a cough and they would not leave her side.

The King had decided to dine with them this night, a rarity. Mostly they sat in silence, the Queen occasionally attempting to make conversation. She asked Aemond how Vhagar had been that morning. He said “very well mother,” and drew his fingers along his knife. She turned to Daeron and asked how his studies were progressing. He said “very well mother,” and went back to eating.

“Sunfyre is well too, dear mother,” Aegon added sarcastically.

Aemond caught Lucia’s eye as she tried to stifle a small smile.

“Rhaenyra is with child again,” the King said, “I do so desire a granddaughter.”

His mother pursed her lips. “You have a granddaughter, dear husband.”

“And perhaps I desire more.”

Aemond watched Lucia as she toyed with her duck breast, tearing apart the meat but never putting it near her mouth. He had watched her rather closely over the last five years, as her life had become a well rehearsed act, feigning smiles and indifference when she needed to, but he always saw right through her.

When Aegon glanced at her, she kept her gaze down and tightened the grip on her fork.

“I might ask Helaena to stay a while longer in the capital,” the Queen said, “so we might spend some more time with our grandchild.”

“Do you presume the presence of my sister’s babe will offer us some encouragement?” Aegon sneered.

The table paused. No one dared to breathe, except Aegon, who took a long draw from his cup and finished it with a gasp of satisfaction. He glanced around at the bewildered faces of his family. “Is something the matter?”

Aemond kept his eye fixed on Lucia as she drew her lip between her teeth. Her cheeks glistened in the low candlelight as tears began streaming from her eyes. She stood quickly and calmly, and was out of the room before Alicent could even utter a single word.

The room fell to silence.

Until Aegon decided otherwise. “Do you think I upset her?”

Aemond made a point of hitting his fist against the table as he followed her.

She was in the corridor, standing with her back against the wall and her hands clasped behind her. At the sound of a single footstep her eyes darted to him.

He came to stand before her. Her cheeks and eyelashes were still damp, but she had stopped crying.

The Queen’s furious shouts began to bleed into the corridor.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

Lucia nodded.

He offered his hand. “I’ll walk you to your chambers.”

She looked up at him with those wide and glistening eyes as she placed her hand in his. His heart ached to feel her skin, their fingers curling over each other, his thumb settling against her knuckles. She felt cold, but he would have been content to stay within her hold, as long as she would allow him to.

She stayed close as he led her through the stillness of the Red Keep, her skirt brushing against his leg with every stride.

Ser Arryk Cargyll waited outside her chambers, and she slipped from his grasp as easily as she had accepted it. She stopped as the guard opened the door though, and turned back to Aemond. “Would you stay with me?”

Aemond held his breath, hoping neither she or Ser Arryk would somehow notice his heart drumming furiously in his chest.

“Not for long,” she added, “but I wish to speak with you.”

“Of course,” he said, and followed her inside.

The Princess’ chambers were not entirely unfamiliar to him. With Aegon’s elusive nature and Helaena and Daeron’s absences, it only felt natural that he and Lucia often found themselves in each other’s company. She enjoyed the library as much as he did and as she had developed interests in riding on horseback and marksmanship, he was all too happy to entertain her. Her chambers were not a place he visited often, not unless he wished to return a book, or take her on a walk through the gardens before dinner.

The room was immaculate, and it smelled like her, bittersweet and warm.

She stood before the fireplace. The glow of the flames flickered across her face and caught the faint strands of gold in her dark hair.

“Aegon will not give me children,” she said.

He kept his expression soft. “What makes you think that?”

With every word she spoke, the gentle facade began to fade, the light and shadows of the fire only added to the look of fury on her face. “He knows a lack of an heir undermines his position. He will happily fuck whores and sire bastards but he will not fulfil his duty to me, his wife. He is a coward.”

Gods, she was beautiful when she was furious.

Her lip was still red and swollen. Before he knew it his thumb was against it again, hypnotised by the way her lip moved under his touch. His eye drifted up to hers. “On that much we can agree,” he muttered.

She took a slow step into him, bringing her hand around his wrist, gently pulling him away.

His heart stopped. Perhaps he had overstepped a line.

But she leaned in further, until their noses touched and all he could see was her. He felt her other hand settle against his jaw on his blind side. She leaned in further still, and pressed her lips into his.

He froze for a moment, but as her lips moved over his, he found himself unable to tame his impulse, the impulse that he’d been fighting for little less than five years. He allowed himself to melt into her softness, her warmth, the bittersweetness and the sharp taste of her tongue.

His hand snaked down to her waist, and only when he squeezed her flesh through her gown did he realise what he was doing.

He knew what he should do. He should leave her, lock himself in his chambers and forget her. Forget her smile, her wit, the way his heart felt brighter when he watched her dance, the way he craved her sparse touches and her eyes finding him across the chaos of a crowded room.

Everything about her was perfect, his brother’s wife.

In his hesitation he retreated slightly. He could hardly think, hardly breathe…

And her voice cut through the fog of doubt in his mind. “You could help me.”

“How so?”

Keeping her hand on his jaw, she brought the other to trace the highest silver buckle on his jerkin. Her thumb stroked against his cheek, featherlight over his scar.

And suddenly he understood.

He clamped his hand over hers. “It would be treason, Lucia.”

Her eyes were longing, pleading. “No one would need know,” she whispered, “there would be no question of parentage.”

His heart felt heavy. It would be a complete and utter betrayal of his family, not just Aegon, but his mother, his grandsire, and a risk to everything. They’d be no better than Rhaenyra, trying to pass a bastard off as an heir, and yet, there would not be much room for doubt, so long as the child had silver hair.

But suppose he gave in, bent to the will of those pretty eyes and perfect lips, only to stand aside for Aegon to claim what he would never deserve.

He could feel himself on a knife’s edge, to stop, or to linger and let his desire consume him. He wasn’t sure what scared him more.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he breathed, but with every moment he felt himself leaning deeper into her touch.

“Aemond,” she said his name like a spell and brought their foreheads to rest against each other. “There is hardly an aspect of my life which is under my control. If I should have some choice in this matter, then I would choose you.”

“Over him?”

Her breath echoed over his skin as she whispered, “above all else.”

His grip of her waist tightened, noticing the way her breath hitched as he traced his thumb over the fabric of her gown.

“Aemond,” she whispered, bringing her lips to the corner of his mouth, “I want this, please.”

He caught her lips between his, kissing her with all the want he had spent years trying to suppress.

His sudden urgency seemed to take her off guard but she met his efforts with just as much fervour, now with both hands cupping his face and fingers teasing over the soft skin of his neck, pulling him in further and further.

Lucia began to groan, falling into him arms and grinding her body against his.

He pulled away and took her hands in his. “Patience, Princess,” he hummed, and led her to stand at the foot of her bed.

Her eyes trailed over his jerkin while she ran her teeth over her lip.

“Turn around,” he ordered and she followed.

Cautiously but effortlessly, he undid the braid keeping her hair from her face. He ran his fingers through it, until he gathered it over her shoulder, exposing her neck to him.

He breathed in the bittersweet warmth as his hands traced over her body, over her torso, along the curves of her waist, the soft pouch of her stomach.

“Tell me,” he whispered, grazing his lips over her cheek, “how does my brother fuck you?”

“He doesn’t,” she uttered, watching his hands as they roamed, “he takes his pleasure in other ways, but never in such a way that would lead to a child.”

It was a dangerous confession to hear. If he wanted her before he was almost ravenous now, starved and fulfilled by every breathless gasp, every little twitch of movement in her body, desperate to feel her, claim her.

He hummed hungrily, and began to drag a hand further down, skimming over the fabric that covered her centre. “And would you like to be fucked, Princess?”

She nodded.

“I said–” he pressed his hand firmly between her legs– “would you like to be fucked?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, writhing and leaning against him at the friction, “please, I want you to fuck me.”

He smiled into her. How could he ever deny her when she asked so nicely?

His fingers traced over the laces of her bodice before he began to pull them apart, agonisingly slowly, but he relished the anticipation and the little hitches in her breath. Once it was off, he moved to the clasps and drawstrings of her skirt, letting it pool around her ankles.

He offered a hand so she could step out and went to lay her clothing over a chaise. When he turned back to her she had removed her shoes and stockings, left only in a corset and a linen shift.

He allowed his eye to rake shamelessly over her. He had never seen her in such a simple state, without the ornate gowns or the jewellery, her hair loose and tousled about her shoulders, the bare skin of her arms as she held her hands behind her back, her teeth running over her lip– a nervous habit, he realised, one that had somehow managed to evade his notice after all this time. He was the same with his hands.

He came closer and drew his fingers through the laces of the corset, while her eyes looked up to him. He made no protest as she reached up to slide off his eyepatch.

She looked between his violet eye and the sapphire, and smiled dreamily. “My beautiful Aemond.”

His heart was shattered and welded back together. Hers.

He watched her as she began to undo his belt and the buckles on his jerkin. Once it was off he pulled his undershirt over his head, leaving his chest bare. She traced her fingertips from his collar, over the hair of his sternum, the lines of his abs, until she let her fingers snag at the waist of his breeches–

He grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her to lie down against the mattress. “All in good time,” he promised with a glimmer of a smile. He released his hold of her wrists. “Keep your hands where they are.”

He dragged his hands down over her scarcely covered body, to gather the hem of her shift and bring it past her waist. He almost growled at the dampness of her small clothes, and pulled them from her legs, uncaring of where they fell. He gripped her thighs, prising her legs apart to reveal her glistening cunt to him.

He brought his thumb through her folds in slow, upward strokes, swiping over her bud just enough to make her squirm before he withdrew again.

“We can’t be too loud,” he whispered, “can you keep quiet for me?”

She hummed impatiently. “Yes, Aemond but oh–”

Her voice faded into a sweet moan as he licked through her. He liked the teasing, dragging his tongue to her entrance and savouring her taste before he moved up, flicking over her clit until her hips were moving against him. He pressed a wide palm over her stomach to keep her in place while he brought all of his attention to where she needed him most.

When he slipped a finger into her she groaned, pressing and biting at her lips to keep herself quiet, but her breath betrayed her pleasure, haggard and heavy.

He could already feel how tight she was, stroking slowly against her tender flesh while his tongue circled over her pearl. And through it she kept her hands in place, just as he had asked.

The hardness in his breeches was starting to strain now. He couldn’t wait to feel her around his cock, soft, wet and warm.

Her hips started to buck again and her cunt twitched around his finger.

“Are you going to come for me, Princess?” He muttered against her.

Her voice was breathless and hazy. “Yes… I want to, please… please…”

“Not too loud,” he muttered, pushing a second finger into her, “you don’t want your husband to find out, do you?”

She clasped her hand over her mouth, shaking her head as he pushed her further and further towards her high, until her body tensed at her release. He stifled his own moan against her flesh as she clenched around him.

She was utterly breathless, sprawled before him, drenched and dripping onto the mattress. He thought he could have kept her like this for hours, drawing orgasm after orgasm from her, savouring the sound and the taste of her pleasure.

But he had already stayed long enough, and he had no intentions of giving the guard something to be suspicious of, especially not when his family had seen him chase after her from the dining room.

Another time, he promised himself. For now he knew what she needed.

He finally rid himself of his boots and his breeches, freeing his hard and weeping cock. With her wetness still on his fingers he began to stroke over himself.

She watched him with wide eyes and parted lips, coming to sit up with her palms behind her.

Suddenly he stopped. “We don’t have to,” he said quietly, “are you sure this is what you want–”

Lucia came to her knees before him, silencing him with a soft and gentle kiss to his lips. Her hand brushed down his front to replace his hand around his cock, sending white hot shocks of pleasure rippling through his body.

“I want you, Aemond.”

His restraint snapped. He tugged her shift up over her head and then his hands were everywhere, gripping at her breasts, her hips, her rear, while she continued to tug at his cock.

Somewhere in the mess of hunger and lust his mouth moved along her jaw, teeth, tongue and lips grazing over her skin. “Lie down.”

Lucia stared back at him, resting her hands against his chest.

“I said, lie down.”

The darkness of his voice had her shuffling back until her head fell against the pillows.

He came to kneel on the mattress and hovered over her, his silver hair falling around her face and brushing against her breasts. Finally he lifted one of her legs and hooked it around her waist, lining his tip against her entrance. “I’ll be gentle,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

With that he began to press into her. He immediately felt how resistant she was to him, even with her slick, but inch by inch, he buried himself into her.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, “so tight for me, my sweet girl.”

Her back arched against the mattress as her eyes fluttered close and her face began to twist.

“Tell me how it feels,” he said, his voice rough as he fought the urge to fuck her quickly, thoroughly. She’d suffered enough these last years married to his cretin of a brother, he wanted to be the end of it, he wanted her to feel safe and adored, as she should have always been.

She brought her arms around his neck and her other leg around his waist. “Deep,” she whined, “so deep… so good…”

“Open your eyes," he pleaded, "let me look at you."

She pulled her face from his neck and opened her eyes, those perfect eyes, as deep, dark and endless as the night sky, glazed slightly with tears of bliss.

He could feel her easing into his size now, and he was getting restless, still gentle, but pushing in and out at a heightening pace.

He’d been wondering what she might be like longer than he cared to admit, dreaming of having her skin against his, his name on her lips, clawing at the memory of her when he entertained his carnal desires with his cock in his hand. And now, holding her, fucking her, having her beneath him and begging for her pleasure was beyond what he could have ever imagined. He felt euphoria with every thrust in her, so tight, so perfect, so willing.

While one of her hands gripped the side of the pillow she lay against, he guided the other down between them. “Stroke that pretty clit for me,” he said, “I want to see you cum again.”

Her voice was a slur of moans and curses. “Please, Aemond, please.”

“I’ll give you what you need,” he hummed, “my perfect girl, I’ll always give you what you need.”

She came with a pleading cry, milking him of his own release. He kept thrusting until he had spilled himself completely inside her, biting down on her shoulder to muffle the sound of his pleasure.

He pulled away to watch his seed drip from her twitching cunt before he dove in with his tongue again, pushing it back into her.

He felt her fingers in his hair and glanced back to her dazed expression. They stayed there for a moment, gazing once again into the eyes they each craved.

Until he crawled up the bed to lay beside her, pulling her into him, bodies intertwined under the bedsheets.

She traced a finger over his scar. She had never known him without it, never known the weak, naive child he was before Driftmark. “I used to be terrified of you,” she said.

He hummed a small laugh. “You hardly spoke to me for almost a year.”

“I always thought you were formidable, always absorbed in your studies or your training. That and the eyepatch.”

“It is better than what lies underneath.”

Her fingers came down to his cheek, turning him to face her. “No, I think I prefer you like this.”

He held her a little tighter. He knew he’d have to pull away, eventually, but for now he was content to have her in his arms, the girl who hadn’t cowered when he had finally shown her his scar. The girl with wide brown eyes, who looked upon him as he was, broken, marred, damaged, and had managed to find beauty.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x original female character #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond “pussy eater” targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #my fics

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leliosinking · 3 months

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Okay wild thought, but what if after Avatar 4/5 are done filming.. Bailey came back? But hear me out.. what if she was recast as Merrick? Like the character would have to be massively overhauled, but imagine the surrealist potential of having both Bailey and Delainey on screen and using the séance/possession sequence to essentially alternate the role within the space of that scene? Like they would still be playing separate characters but they would also both be playing both roles? I’ll try to explain.

I should say that this will only work if you ascribe to the theory that 2022 Dubai is occurring in a hybrid of the Merrick and Prince Lestat timelines. But essentially imagine Armand filling in for David Talbot (and we would be scrapping the grooming) and Louis would be working towards the séance. It would also immediately give him something significant to do once his primary arc is finished after season 2.

So I was thinking about how you could essentially film the summoning scene 4 times, and then use the edit and lighting to strategically alternate between Bailey-as-Merrick conducting the ceremony, Bailey-as-Ghost!Claudia posessing Merrick (maybe even in Claudia’s costume???), Delainey-as-Ghost!Claudia, and finally Delainey-as-Possessed!Merrick.

And they could really play this up throughout the course of the season. Like maybe when Louis initially encounters Merrick he confuses her with Claudia (similar to Joel mistaking strangers for his daughter in The Last of Us) but you can also play with the audience’s perception, as by this point we will be more familiar with Delainey as the character and occasionally having either actress fill in for the other could add to a deliberate sense of confusion and mysticism that comes with the character.

Louis and Merrick’s relationship could also be more of a surrogate father/daughter thing, rather than romantic, thus filling in more of Talbot’s excised role (but again, without the grooming) while still keeping an air of mystery around Merrick.

I guess I was just thinking about how Game of Thrones was able to recast/upgrade Dean Charles Chapman from playing Martyn Lannister to playing Tommen Baratheon and this could be a similar opportunity to create a sort of full circle moment for an OG cast member, while sort of winking at the audience.

Or maybe it would all be annoyingly meta I dunno lol.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #anne rice #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #vampire chronicles #the vampire chronicles #tvc #lestat #armand #Claudia #claudia iwtv #delainey hayles #bailey bass

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 1 year

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Can I please request a darkMaegor x reader fic where Maegor forces the reader to marry him after he killed her husband?

A/N: I hope you like this! I think I may have went too far with this so I hope you don't mind. I just view Maegor as a cruel man who would feed off of such actions.

pairing: Fanon!Maegor Targaryen x Reader

summary: darkMaegor x reader fic where Maegor forces the reader to marry him after he killed her husband.

Word count: 2,1K

Warnings: Angst, killing, kidnapping, forced marriage, rape

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

"There you go darling" You grinned happily at your eldest son, Darrick, of eight namedays. He was finally going on a hunt with his father after begging for moons and getting rejected.

"My boy will do a fine job, don't you think so, my love?" Your husband asked, Norrwin Lannister. He was stood by the door with a hand on your second son's shoulder, only six namedays and too young to participate.

"Of course, he is his father's son" You responded standing up to your full height. Your second born ran to hug your leg trying hard not to cry and in need of comfort, he wanted to join so bad but was not allowed to.

"Oh my darling, come here" You picked him up and rested him on your hip. He buried his face in between your neck and shoulder.

"Take care of the boys while I am away, darling" Your husband walked over to you. You welcomed him with an open arm while the other ached slightly holding your son's weight on it's own, he was growing fast. You placed a kiss on his cheek lovingly.

"Do not worry about us my love, you take care of our lion" You whispered. Your hand moved from around your husband to run through your son's golden locks. He grinned up at you accepting your affections, always a mommy's boy.

"I will, do not worry" Your husband kissed your forehead before taking your son's hand and made their way out of the room, leaving you alone with your second born.

"When will I get to go, mommy?" Your second son, Gerold, questioned raising his head off your shoulder to look at you. You grinned at him and kissed his cheek.

"Soon, my love, you just need some more time" You responded. You placed him down on his own feet again, still feeling some discomfort from birthing your fourth and last son.

"Come, let us check on your brothers" You took hold of his hand and pulled him out of your room towards the nursery where three years old Lancel and three weeks old Martyn.

"They're asleep as always" Gerold groaned hearing the soft snores of his brothers. You chuckled picking him up again as you sat down and placed him down on your lap.

"So should you be as well, you will not grow if you do not nap" You murmured not wanting to wake up your other sons. You have done your duty after birthing Gerold but your husband always the sweetheart won you over with his romantic ways and that is how you ended up with four children, all sons.

"Will you tell me the story of father saving you?" Your son asked. He laid his head on your shoulder convinced to go to sleep.

"Maybe when you wake up for I have some preparations I need to do" You answered. You swayed the grumbling child attempting to sooth him to sleep.

You sighed saddened at being all alone in your rooms and in your bed. You sat under the cold sheets with a book in your hands finally having some time to yourself but still you would chose the company of your husband over sitting here all alone.

You jumped at the sound of a roar echoing in the distance. You were no idiot, you knew who rode a dragon large and old enough to make such a loud noise. You threw the book on the bed scrambling off the bed still tangled in the sheets. Your feet have never run so fast in your life. Your boys could be in danger because of the brutal Targaryen for all you know.

"My Lady!" The wet-nurse that was awake cried seeing you scramble in. You sighed in relief seeing that your sons were asleep except your youngest who was up for his nightly feeding.

"Did you hear the beast, my lady?" The wet-nurse questioned. You held out your arms to take your son from her. She handed him to you with no question. He cooed at being in your arms sweetly. You would have melted at the action if it were not for the guard who barged bringing in with him the sound of loud men yelling.

"My lady, the king is here and he demands an audience with you, forcibly if it came to it" He had a sympathetic glint in his eyes.

"What does he want?" You questioned tightening your grip around your son. He squirmed uncomfortable with the tight embrace.

"I do not know, my lady" The guard shook his head. You placed a small kiss on your son's forehead before handing him back to the wet-nurse.

"I will change and follow you" You pulled the blanket around you to hide some of your nakedness showing under your nightgown.

"I am to follow you, my lady" The guard shook his head in dismissal. You gulped feeling fear crawling inside of you. You wished dearly that your husband, Norrwin, was here to protect you from the monster that barged into your home unannounced.

"Alright then, follow me" You kissed Martyn on his forehead before making your way to your bedchambers that you shared with your husband, no need for separate bedroom seeing as you two were in love. You changed into a simple Lannister red gown, simple yet showed who you belonged to.

The guard escorted you to the main room in your home. There he stood facing away from you, a tower for a man with short white-blonde hair. He wore his black and red armour and it clanged as he made the move to turn around and face you at the sound of the doors opening and closing, purple eyes clashed with your own filled with a crazed haze.

"My king" You curtsied shakily. What did he want? What was he doing here all the way in Casterly Rock?

"Lady Lannister, come closer" His voice boomed demanding respect but foreshowing his cruelty. There was no negotiating his demand. You walked closer cautiously not wanting to anger the dragon beast even more.

"I have a gift for you, fair lady" He gestured to a box sitting to the side. You moved over to the box feeling your heart hammer and your head telling you not to open it. You stood frozen there not knowing if you should listen to the king or your head.

"Open it" he demanded with a strong voice. Shaky finger touched the lock pulling it open slowly to show your worst nightmare.

"Norrwin" Your stomach dropped at the sight of you husband's mangled body and his head on top, eyes rolled back but lids still wide open and his tongue sticking out with nothing holding his jaw close.

"Norrwin!" You fell to your knees with a cry. Hands holding his ice cold cheeks. Tears spilled down your eyes and onto his beautiful face, dead face. Your son! Where was Darrick? You whirled around to glare at the smug king.

"Where is my son?" You demanded feeling enough strength to stand up on your feet again. The king's demeanour did not change for a second and a smirk was still very much present on his face.

"Bring the boy" He ordered the guard who had escorted you here. The guard opened the doors to speak with someone outside. In the meantime you turned back to your husband's corpse feeling bile rise in your throat but you pushed it back. Leaning down to touch his forehead, Norrwin did not deserve this.

"he put up a fight, but not strong enough to defeat his king" Maegor boasted proudly. Your head snapped in his direction anger coursing through your entire body.

"You monster!" Your words were harsh but impacted not the beast. The screams of your son cut his answer. Darrick was dragged in by the back of the neck by some guard who threw him to the first guard and left. He was covered in blood from head to toes, his father's blood.

"My boy" You cried fearing that maybe some of the blood was his own. two steps were all you could take in his direction before you were pulled back harshly.

"Where do you think you are going? We have things to do first" He smirked cruelly showing all his teeth. You did not know if you wanted to punch him in the mouth and run away or submit to this monster knowing there was no escape.

"What do you want?" You asked horror filled your words. Body shaking and it was obvious he knew, he felt your body against his. You squirmed trying to get out of his hold but to no use he was much stronger build like a bull.

"A fertile wife, like yourself" He answered. You shook your head in denial.

"NO!" Your voice was loud and you were sure the entire Casterly Rock could hear the despair, fear and anger in it as well.

"You have no choice" His words were just as harsh as his hand on your face forcing you down on your side. He moved to pull you to your knees and kneeled down behind you.

"We should educate that son of yours and show him how his siblings will be made" The king whispered bitting your earlobe. You tried getting out of his hold with a cry but he held you arms behind your back with one of his while the other fumbled with the layers of your dress.

"Let go of her!" Darrick screamed squirming in the arms of the guard but he was no match to a fully grown man.

"Please no" You sobbed. chest heaving, red faced with tears streaming down as your cheek felt like it was on fire swelling slowly where his hand slapped harshly.

"Shut your mouth or I will pull out your tongue" He growled. Finally he hd reached where he wanted under your dress. Finger pushed your lower lips open with a smirk he spit on it.

"Not in front of my son" You begged squirming. That earned you a spank to your bottom.

"Mommy! No!" Darrick cried harder not knowing what was going on. The king made quick work of his breeches and shoved himself inside of you in one quick thrust. You screamed in pain trying even harder to get out of his arms but nothing worked.

One hand held both of your arms behind your back while the other snaked forward and wrapped around your much smaller neck threatening to cut off your airway. You cries of pain fell on deaf ears as he thrusted harder and faster, nothing about this was pleasurable like it used to be with Norrwin, a man who cared for your pleasure and well being.

"Stop! Please stop!" Darrick's voice was turning hoarse from the screaming and his fight was ceasing, exhausted with no real positive outcome of it.

"Look away" You begged your son eyes on him for a second before turning away ashamed. Maegor laughed darkly behind your back giving one sharp and hard thrust making you scream in pain.

"Make sure he watched thoroughly" He demanded the guard who was looking anywhere but you two. Maegor thrusted and thrusted for what felt like forever with the guard forcing your son's head in your direction to not only hear your cries of pain but to see what was causing them but at this point you did not know if you cried from the physical pain or the emotional pain.

Finally the cruel king came deep inside of you, spurting his hot seed into your womb to create his white-blonde haired heir. He pulled out watching with pride as his cum leaked out of your abused hole. He pulled himself back into his breaches before standing up.

"Come, my whore" He grabbed hold of your hair letting go of your arms and pulled you over to your husband's corpse.

"Show him your cunt filled with your king's seed" Maegor demanded turning you around. His eyes watched as yours slowly stopped spilling tears and turned dead, with no spark and your body stayed slaked, watching as your eldest fell in the arms of the guard cursing the king for what he did so he took it up himself to pull your dress up to show your bottom to the corpse smacking the skin there again prideful of the cum still oozing out.

The king's cruelty extended when he forced you to leave your eldest at Casterly Rock as it's heir and moved you along with your three youngest to King's Landing and the Red Keep forcing you to marry him in a Valeryian wedding officiated by his mother, Queen Visenya and threw the biggest feast just to spite you, his new whore bride.

#hotd #hotd imagine #maegor x reader #maegor x oc #maegor the cruel #maegor targaryen #maegor imagine #request #house of the dragon imagine #house targaryen #house of the dragon #house lannister

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warsofasoiaf · 6 months

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You had mentioned that Varys could potentially be holding Tyrek Lannister hostage and is training him to be a loyal retainer for Aegon, in order to set him up as the new Lord of Casterly Rock. However, now that Kevan is dead, after Cersei, isn’t the next heir to Casterly Rock Martyn Lannister?

So would Janei, under Andal succession law where "daughters inherit before uncles" which also means that daughters inherit before the sons of those uncles. But I hardly think that matters to Varys. Varys simply will induce newly-crowned King Aegon VI to indict the Lannisters for their previous crimes and award Casterly Rock to Tyrek "for his loyalty to the kingdom in attesting to their crimes and to preserve the noble heritage of the House of Lannister." And if necessary, he'll murder Martyn and Janei without a second thought to prevent any counter-claims.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#feudalism #predictions #succession #varys #lord varys #tyrek lannister

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redwolf17 · 3 months

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if you update your tags maybe you should put like "fans of tywin lannister: proceed with caution", so you don't get another lannister fan boy weirdo whinging

but seriously you could argue that the fic wasn't even anti lannister, just tywin lannister and his line + kevan we got

genna lannister escaping with her sons and a ton of gold; they'll live in exile but they'll be comfortable. and only doing so because genna was decent to the servants!

willem and martyn "betraying" the twins not because they hope to get casterly rock but because they're horrified by their actions (ie jaime flinging Bran out the window) and want House Lannister to make amends, condemning their father for supporting tywin/castamere but also making sure kevans remains didn't suffer the same fate as tywin's

the fact that you wanted really badly to let either cella or tommen live, but couldn't

I mean you could have been a lot more rough on them overall if you had wanted, but that wouldn't have been interesting/fair

Lol, as baffled as I am that a Tywin fan ended up reading The Weirwood Queen, I don't think I need to add a tag announcing that the fic is not a fan of Tywin 😂

Also, nice analysis! House Lannister definitely did not come out well, but they did have a few family members who managed to flee the self-inflicted nuclear mushroom cloud

#the weirwood queen #always enjoy a good ask

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asoiafreadthru · 10 months

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TYWIN LANNISTER, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport,

His wife, [LADY JOANNA], a cousin, died in childbed,

Their children:

SER JAIME, called the Kingslayer, a twin to Cersei,

QUEEN CERSEI, wife of King Robert I Baratheon, a twin to Jaime,

TYRION, called the Imp, a dwarf,

His siblings:

SER KEVAN, his eldest brother,

His wife, DORNA, of House Swyft,

Their eldest son, LANCEL, squire to the king,

Their twin sons, WILLEM and MARTYN,

Their infant daughter, JANEI,

GENNA, his sister, wed to Ser Emmon Frey,

Their son, SER CLEOS FREY,

Their son, TION FREY, a squire,

[SER TYGETT], his second brother, died of a pox,

His widow, DARLESSA, of House Marbrand,

Their son, TYREK, squire to the king,

[GERION], his youngest brother, lost at sea,

His bastard daughter, JOY, a girl of ten,

Their cousin, SER STAFFORD LANNISTER, brother to the late Lady Joanna,

His daughters, CERENNA and MYRIELLE,

His son, SER DAVEN LANNISTER,

His counselor, MAESTER CREYLEN,

His chief knights and lords bannermen:

LORD LEO LEFFORD,

SER ADDAM MARBRAND,

SER GREGOR CLEGANE, the Mountain That Rides,

SER HARYS SWYFT, father by marriage to Ser Kevan,

LORD ANDROS BRAX,

SER FORLEY PRESTER,

SER AMORY LORCH,

VARGO HOAT of the Free City of Qohor, a sellsword.

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lemonhemlock · 1 year

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https://twitter.com/sanedeshi/status/1634540601441132546?t=5GgXoAtlJUpmp3s62K9htg&s=19

i understand they're upset about how people conveniently call rhaena and baela 'velaryons' despite being daemon's daughters so their surname is actually targaryen

But i do actually want to hear your thoughts on this twitter thread about how the twins being cheated out of an inheritance of Driftmark is false because corlys and laenor already agreed to naming luke heir of driftmark and never renouncing him as a bastard.

(i hope your inbox isn't too full, thank you for being an awesome blogger and giving such thoughtful answers!)

First off, thank you for your appreciation, I am grateful you guys put so much faith in me to provide you with ammunition against these bad takes. 😅

The thing about women inheriting is not that they're prohibited, it's that they just get shoved to the back of the line, but they can and do inherit - remember: a daughter comes before an uncle. So everything about the Velaryon succession goes through Corlys. Laenor is his heir, but he has no true children. So, had Laenor not "died", his inheritance should have gone to Laena, because she is next in line. Laena is not disinherited just because she gets married, lol. Daemon is immaterial in this conversation. Thus, Laena's heir is Baela and, after that, Rhaena. The girls are not skipped just because they're girls or because their father is not a Velaryon, that's not how this happens, it's the law. And, in instances where it does occur, it's a violation of the law (for whatever reason).

I don't know why they keep focusing on the surnames, though, since surname change is not unheard of and even happens in the lore. Joffrey Lidden became King of the Rock after marrying the previous King's daughter and taking the surname Lannister. Even in the show, Corlys and Viserys debate this very issue! Viserys decides that Jace will bear the surname Velaryon until he becomes King, after which he will change his surname to Targaryen. The fact is, had Baela or Rhaena become Lady of Driftmark, they could have just taken Velaryon, their mother's surname. Team black just pretend this option doesn't exist because it contradicts their arguments. But in their quest to defend Rhaenyra, they only end up skipping over other women's inheritance rights (much like Rhaenyra herself).

So let's make a pitstop by our favourite problematic family to see how that looks like in practice. When Tywin dies, Jaime cannot inherit, as he's a Kingsguard. Tyrion is disqualified from inheriting since he's a wanted criminal who committed actual patricide, killing the former Lord of Casterly Rock. Killing someone after whom you stand to inherit is, for obvious reasons, a big no-no. So what happens? Well, my friends, it will come as no shock to learn that Cersei is styled as the new Lady of the Rock in AFFC and ADWD. She is the one who inherits, not Kevan, even though she's a woman, even though she's the queen. She hasn't relinquished it to Kevan, even though she could have. So, if something were to happen to Cersei, Tommen would inherit the Rock from her. A Baratheon. Shock and horror.

Ofc, there are legal subterfuges one could employ, same as with Baela and Rhaena. Tommen could pass over the Rock to Myrcella, since he's the King already and he can't reasonably be expected to fulfill two jobs and it would also be in his interest to keep the Lannisters happy. So a blonde Myrcella who takes on the Lannister surname could be a solution.

Certainly, we, as readers, know that is not going to happen, since they're doomed, so the Rock is going down the family line to Kevan's branch. Kevan is dead and Lancel is doomed, too, but he still has two living children left: Martyn and Janei. Martyn is a squire, so, if he dies in the war, Janei might as well be the next Lady of the Rock. She has to die first before it could pass to Genna's branch of FREYS. That's if GRRM doesn't decide to resurrect Tyrek somehow.

Anyway, to come back to Corlys and Laenor, this is the law and they cannot do as they please without breaking it. That's the long and short of it. It is not textbook legal for you to pick your own heir. Tywin really REALLY wants to disinherit Tyrion and prohibit him from getting the Rock, but he can't, and it makes him real mad. His grandson is King, he has the connections, but it's illegal. Tyrion is only legally disinherited because he kills his own father. So, what Corlys and Laenor want is absolutely irrelevant. You can't disinherit someone just because you don't like them or because you want to. Corlys and Laenor are screwing over their House and their trueborn relatives, Corlys because of his personal vanity and Laenor because he is careless and irresponsible. Laena played by the rules and had legitimate daughters, yet she and their daughters' rights are sacrificed for these two men.

Not to mention that later Corlys prefers to have one of his bastards legitimised instead of letting Driftmark pass to Baela.

#ask #anon #bastardposting #asoiaf succession crises #anti corlys velaryon #anti laenor velaryon

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beyondmistland · 7 months

Text

The Dance of the Two Hands: Its Origin and Conclusion

PART I

The Dance of the Two Hands, as mummers and singers alike have dubbed that most heinous conflict maesters prefer to call the Hundred Years War*, can trace its roots back to the reign of King Titus III Gardener, who ruled the Reach more than a thousand years before Aegon Targaryen began his conquest of Westeros.

*As Maester Myrddin noted somewhat dryly in his history, Lords and Ladies of the Dance: Their Lives and Deaths, the war actually lasted ninety-eight years.

Titus III came to sit upon the Oakenseat under less than auspicious circumstances. The Winter Sickness had trimmed the line of House Gardener down to just two branches*. Moreover, recent defeats had seen Nightsong ceded back to the Storm Kings and Cornfield back to the Kings of the Rock. Worst of all by far though, Titus III found his vaults empty and he himself indebted to, amongst others*, the Starry Sept. A man decisive in thought as well as action, Titus III moved swiftly to address each of these issues, beginning with the matter of succession. His Grace took Lady Rhea Fossoway to wife whilst his brother, Prince Tristan, was wed to Lady Yseult Lannister*, the later in exchange for forgiveness of a loan lent to their late father, Boniface I. By the Lady Rhea, His Grace had the following children:

Bertrand II Gardener Manfred Gardener Morgan Gardener, twin to Manfred Myrielle Gardener, wed to Lord Martyn Redwyne and had issue

*The only other survivor amongst the royal family was the king’s elderly cousin, Princess Henrietta, who had joined the Silent Sisters forty years prior to his birth. *Of the Lannisport branch.

When Queen Rhea died of a summer fever, Titus III, though saddened, quickly remarried. His choice this time was Lady Clarice Oakheart. In this Titus III was no doubt motivated by growing tensions with the new King of the Rock, Lorimar I*. Together, they had the following children:

Ceryse Gardener*, wed to Lord Amaury Crakehall* and had issue Malora Gardener, wed first to Lord Uther Leygood, then to Lord Theobald Manderly, and lastly to Lord Tancred Peake, had issue by all three*

*Known later in life as “the Leper King” and “the Masked Monarch.” *Became a septa at the great motherhouse in Lannisport upon her husband’s death. *Second son of Lord Joffrey Crakehall, who joined the Warrior’s Sons upon his wife’s death and rose to the position of Grand Captain**. **In that capacity, he led a campaign against the Iron Isles, thereby freeing hundreds of thralls. *This led to a rare instance of amiability between Dunstonbury and Starpike.

Titus III later perished of the bloody flux whilst warring with the Storm King and his Dornish allies*. (By this point, Queen Clarice had herself already passed away of a winter chill.)

*An alliance sealed by the marriage of the Storm King’s heir (Prince Durran Durrandon) to Princess Ysabel Yronwood.

PART II

Upon ascending the throne, King Bertrand II proved his mettle by avenging his father in a most spectacular manner. Leading ten thousand hastily-gathered men on a series of forced marches, he took the combined Stormlander-Dornish army by surprise as it sat encamped beneath the walls of Ashford. In the rout that followed, the Storm King was captured along with a dozen lords and threescore knights. As a result of this great feat, singers* began calling him “Bertrand the Bold” and “Bertrand Stormquencher.”

*Their verses tend to omit the finer details, such as the ruinous ransoms Bertrand II used to build additional riverine defenses.

To celebrate this victory and the peace it brought, Bertrand II hosted a great ball at Highgarden. Amongst the attendees was Lady Alyce Hightower*, the unwitting source of so much woe to come.

*The daughter and only child of Lord Hugor Hightower by his lady wife, Desdemona Dayne, who he wed to end a feud** between Ser Iago Dayne, Sword of the Morning, and his vassal, Lord Robeson Cuy. **What’s more, Lord Cuy’s second son, Barris, was fostered with King Othello Dayne and Ser Iago’s daughter, Emilia, made cupbearer to Lord Cuy.

With her raven hair and violet eyes*, Lady Alyce was hailed as one of the greatest beauties of her time. Little wonder, then, that both Prince Manfred and Prince Morgan asked her for a dance and in doing so, nearly came to blows.

*Often omitted from the songs is her dusky skin, which gave Lady Alyce a somewhat exotic flair.

Though identical in appearance* and inseparable as children, the twin sons of Titus III were, as grown men, implacable foes. To avoid being mistaken for one another, Prince Manfred took to wearing white gloves and Prince Morgan to wearing green gloves. When that failed to suffice, Prince Morgan carved a seven-pointed star into his left cheek.

*Tall, lean, and handsome, with brown hair and grey-green eyes.

A fortnight after the ball, Prince Manfred took the Lady Alyce to wife. While King Bertrand and Queen Bethany* were both displeased the marriage had taken place without their leave, Prince Morgan was apoplectic with rage. Indeed, so much so he almost strangled the squire* who brought him the news.

*Bethany of House Blackbar. Sister to King Bertrand’s boon companion, Lord Brandon Blackbar, and mother to his successor, Lyonel I Gardener. She died of a stroke. *Adhemar Conklyn, who went on to become a sworn enemy of Prince Morgan.

The following year Lady Alyce delivered a healthy boy her lord husband named Edmund. Alas, Prince Manfred did not long enjoy the pleasure of fatherhood for a moon’s turn later he perished in a hunting accident*. *Though nothing was ever proven, many found the timing of his death suspicious, especially in light of later events.

The royal court was still in mourning when word came that the Lady Alyce had remarried, this time to Prince Morgan. Naturally, the news was met with outrage by king, queen, and commons alike. When His Grace tried to have the marriage undone though, declaring it a form of incest, the High Septon surprised everyone by allowing the marriage to stand*. King Bertrand then decreed that his nephew was to be fostered with Lord Aragorn Hewett*. Furthermore, he assigned Ser Braxton Cuy* to be Prince Edmund’s sworn shield and in the same breath forbad his brother as well as his goodsister from ever returning to court in his lifetime*.

*Some say His High Holiness was driven to this by a desire to assert the Starry Sept’s independence and authority. That said, His High Holiness also forbad them from living together for two years so as to avoid any ambiguity in the matter of their first child’s parentage. *Much later, Prince Edmund was, at his own request, betrothed to Lady Lucy Grimm, a companion of Lord Hewett’s daughters. *Cousin to Lord Triston Cuy and son to Ser Damon Cuy, who served as the master-at-arms at Sunhouse. Called “the Knight of the Sun” for his golden hair, the suns that adorned his personal device (Blue, three yellow suns, with a yellow tressure), and the time he defeated seven knights (Ser Addam Ambrose, Ser Humfrey Ball, Ser Floris Footly, Ser Bayard Mooton, Ser Philip Payne, Ser Leo Farman, Ser Joscelin Redfort) in a melee that lasted from morning to midday. (Lord Robeson had recently died of a bad belly.) *King Bertrand later reversed this decision at the behest of his second wife**, who successfully argued that the shedding of family ties was anathema before the Mother. **Jadis of House Florent. Cousin to His High Holiness (born Frederyck Florent) through the male line. She bore King Bertrand a single daughter, Flora Gardener***. ***When the deaf and simple-minded princess choked on a lamprey pie at the tender age of six, her mother grew sick with grief, so much so many feared she might die. (The queen would indeed come to die of grief but for her stepson rather than her daughter.)

Over the course of the next decade, Lady Alyce had the following children by the second of her princely husbands: Eustace Gardener, promised to Lady Melisende Peake Morgan Gardener* (Morgan the Younger to distinguish him from his father, Morgan the Elder) Maris Gardener, wed to Lord Guy Graceford and had issue

*Fostered with Lord Mace Mullendore. Wed to Lady Melisende Peake after Prince Eustace’s death.

Shortly after Prince Eustace won his spurs at the great winter tourney held in honor of his parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary*, he was accused by Ser Arthur Appleton of having raped the knight’s maiden daughter, Adara. Most believed Prince Eustace would insist on proving his innocence at hazard of his body. Instead, he surprised all by demanding a trial by seven. As accused and accuser were both highborn knights, King Bertrand had no choice but to wash his hands of the matter*.

Prince Eustace’s champions: Prince Eustace Gardener, died after the battle Prince Morgan Gardener (the Elder) Ser George Hastwyck of the Order of the Green Hand, slain Ser Artys Dunn, slain Ser Thierry Mullendore (the Knight of Butterflies), slain Ser Addam Ambrose (the Fighting Ant), slain Lord Conrad Costayne (the Mighty), slain

Ser Arthur’s champions: Ser Arthur Appleton (the Sour Apple), slain Ser Balian Osgrey (the Lionheart), slain Ser Adhemar Conklyn, slain Ser Everard Cuy of the Order of the Green Hand, slain Ser Raynald Chester of the Order of the Green Hand, slain Lord Theodwin Tarly (the Terrible), slain Lord Bohemond Serry, slain

*This took place in Oldtown. *King Bertrand’s health was failing** at a time when war between the Westerlands, the Riverlands, and the Iron Isles loomed large over Westeros**. **Consumption. **Given these circumstances, it should come as no surprise that King Bertrand sought to secure his southeastern flank by betrothing the future Lyonel I to Lady Sibylla Caron.

Three centuries later, Archmaester Anselm would argue most persuasively in his treatise, The Virgin Apple: Being an Account of the Fates of Prince Eustace Gardener and Lady Adara Appleton*, that Ser Arthur had, in truth, been no more than a catspaw for friends and supporters of the late Prince Manfred. Regardless of the actual truth, the most immediate effect of the trial’s outcome was to bring to a boil the long-simmering tensions that had undermined King Betrand’s reign. Luckily, His Grace did not live to see the storm break.

*Lady Adara Appleton, daughter of Ser Arthur Appleton and Lady Elinor Strong, would disappear under mysterious circumstances shortly after the trial.

A hundred days after the trial, King Bertrand II breathed his last. Highgarden mourned and all the Reach with it.

Meanwhile, in Oldtown, Lady Alyce Hightower herself succumbed to an infection of redspots.

PART III

Once Lyonel Gardener’s grief had passed, he was crowned, per tradition, with a circlet of vines and flowers. Amongst the first to do him homage was Prince Morgan, who pulled the king aside and asked to be confirmed in his use-rights as Lady Alyce’s widower. A wiser king would have consulted with his councilors and perhaps the Queen Dowager as well before responding. Alas, Lyonel I did neither of these things*. Instead, the young king upbraided his uncle in front of the whole court and accused him of trying to rob Prince Edmund of his birthright. Prince Morgan’s denials were met with scorn and he himself ordered to vacate the Hightower within a moon’s turn on pain of exile. Thus, the third son of King Titus III returned to Oldtown in a black state.

*Maesters debate to this very day why King Lyonel I responded as he did**. Some argue it was out of a love for justice, others out of love for Prince Edmund, whom His Grace was closer to than he was to Prince Morgan. Still more claim Lyonel I saw his uncle to be a threat and overmighty besides. A handful are of the opinion that King Lyonel, in his youth and inexperience, sought simply to save face by over-asserting himself. Regardless of the truth behind His Grace’s motives, the price the Reach ultimately paid remains the same.

**One such work is Maester Hendry’s Dayfly Kings and Dancing Princes: An Account of the Reign of Lyonel, First of His Name, and the War That Came After.

Once there, Prince Morgan sent ravens to every town, keep, and castle in the Reach, denouncing his nephew as a tyrant as well as a bastard*. Lyonel I and Prince Edmund then raised an army with which to invest the city*. On the thirteenth night of the siege, Prince Morgan and a hundred handpicked knights sallied out a postern gate, slaying twoscore men, amongst them King Lyonel I. Prince Edmund, come morning, lifted the siege and rushed to be crowned at Highgarden. Prince Morgan responded to this by having the new High Septon crown him on the steps of the Starry Sept*. Thus began the Dance of the Two Hands.

*Queen Bethany had been more than passing fond of the sellsword-turned-septon, Fergus Bolton**, who served as her sworn shield for two years before being abruptly dismissed by King Bertrand II for reasons that remain unclear to this day. **The fourth son of a fourth son, Fergus journeyed south to make his fortune rather than join the Night’s Watch, fighting first for Lord Robert Royce against pirates out of the Narrow Sea, then for Lord Dorian Blackwood against Lord Berenguer Bracken, before stumbling upon the begging brother known to us only as Lamb at a crossroads inn. There, Fergus was witness to the miracle of Lamb’s healing hands and so he cast aside the Old Gods in favor of the Seven Who Are One. Parting ways from Lamb, Fergus then entered the service of King Davos IV Darklyn, only to be captured when Duskendale fell to a Stormlander army under the command of the Horned Knight, Ser Benedict Rogers. In exchange for his freedom, Fergus agreed to serve under Ser Benedict, who knighted the northman after he saved the life of a squire (Julian Rogers) during the Sack of Maidenpool. Growing weary of war, Fergus made his way to Highgarden, where he won the tourney being held to fill vacancies in King Bertrand II’s personal guard. For his boon, the northman asked to be named the queen’s champion. (Singers claim Fergus lost his heart to Queen Bethany as soon as he laid eyes upon her and for once there may well be some truth to that.) This, King Bertrand II grudgingly granted. Upon his dismissal, Fergus retired to a septry near the Cockleswent, where he wrote an account of his life and travels***. ***The only surviving copy sits in Bandallon’s library. *Prince Morgan had previously done much to win support amongst the commons. Now his efforts bore fruit. The smallfolk rallied to the aging prince’s side, as much out of familiarity as out of respect for his piety and largesse. *Morgan I Gardener died of his wounds half a year later and was succeeded by his second son, Morgan II.

The Dance of the Two Hands would come to a bloody end at the Battle Beneath the Red Lake, wherein fell the last scions of both branches. In such a manner did the line of Prince Tristan come to sit the Oakenseat*.

*Prince Tristan had one son by his Lannister bride, Bors Gardener. Prince Bors, in turn, had one son (Galahad I Gardener**) by his lady wife, Elaine Crakehall. (Prince Tristan died of a burst belly, Prince Bors of a pox. Lady Yseult died in childbirth, Lady Elaine of a sweating sickness.) **Galahad I was past sixty when he became king***. (Because he was the last of his line, the High Septon released him from his vows as a septon.) ***His Grace lived just long enough to sire an heir (Galahad II Gardener****) on his young bride, Arwen Durrandon. (Princess Arwen’s mother was Lady Eowyn Lannister of Casterly Rock.) ****Galahad II would die at an advanced age of crabs in the belly.

Oldtown itself passed to Baldwin Hightower and from him to his grandson, Hugh Hightower.

#asoiaf worldbuilding #asoiaf fanfic #house gardener #the reach #asoiaf #house hightower #oldtown #highgarden

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agentrouka-blog · 1 year

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Say Tywin and Joanna had a daughter before Cersei and Jaime and Tywin focuses on that daughter becoming queen instead and she's the one who ends up married to Robert, who would Cersei marry in this scenario and how would she turn out with an older sister who becomes queen?

Hi there!

Unfortunately, I’m pretty rubbish with these Very Specific What-If questions.

The mere existence of an older sister would already have profound effects on how Cersei herself develops as a person, her relationship with Jaime, with her father, with her treatment as a girl (compared to Jaime)... everything.

She might be a very different person, for better or worse. A lot would depend on the character of this sister, and her own relationship with Tywin and her role as a Lannister daughter. It’s almost impossible to speculate, really.

Assuming, somehow everything plot-relevant still goes down the same way during the Rebellion, Cersei would marry whoever Tywin considered expedient for House Lannister at the time.

(Mostly just me looking at what Tywin’s been up to on that front in general.)

Here’s what he claims to have considered in the past for Jaime and Tyrion:

"I once hoped to marry your brother to Lysa Tully, but Aerys named Jaime to his Kingsguard before the arrangements were complete. When I suggested to Lord Hoster that Lysa might be wed to you instead, he replied that he wanted a whole man for his daughter."

So he wed her to Jon Arryn, who was old enough to be her grandfather. Tyrion was more inclined to be thankful than angry, considering what Lysa Arryn had become.

"When I offered you to Dorne I was told that the suggestion was an insult," Lord Tywin continued. "In later years I had similar answers from Yohn Royce and Leyton Hightower. I finally stooped so low as to suggest you might take the Florent girl Robert deflowered in his brother's wedding bed, but her father preferred to give her to one of his own household knights. (ASOS, Tyrion III)

We can’t know how honest Tywin is about any of this, because the offer toward Dorne was obviously meant as an insult he expected to be rejected, since they had come expecting Jaime the heir. The Tully match was very much serious, so he had intentions toward the Riverlands, and if the others are true, toward the Vale and the Reach as well. (Though I don’t buy the Florent girl story. Tywin would NEVER take that risk if there was still any chance Tyrion might inherit the Rock against Tywin’s will.)

Cersei is a touch older than Edmure Tully and Willas Tyrell but as sister to the queen and daughter to Tywin Lannister she would have been a highly desirable match for literally any House. What matters most, of course, is what would be useful to Tywin.

Looking at the Lannister matches that Tywin likely had a say in:

We have his brothers Tygett and Kevan who both married within the Westerlands (Marbrand and Swyft).

We have his Lannister nephews Lancel and Tyrek who both squired for Robert and married to gain control over other castles (Hayford in the crownlands and Darry at the Riverlands Crossroads), plus Willem and Martyn who were a squires presumably in the Westerlands, since both fought in Jaime’s army. (No information on plans for daughter Janei.)

We have Genna’s Frey-born sons who married Riverlanders (Darry) and westerlanders (Crakehall) respectively, or squired in the Westerlands. Tywin’s goal for Genna’s grandchildren by Jeyne Darry and her son Cleos also tie them to the Riverlands (inheriting Riverrun from Emmon Frey) and the westerlands (squiring at Ashemark).

Basically, Tywin was primarily shoring up a secure base in the Westerlands where he destroyed two enemy Houses and then built ties to the others through marriages or sending squires.

His doesn’t do much to exploit the ties Tytos built to the Riverlands through Genna, and mostly focuses specifically on Lannister descendents taking over the rulership of other castles (Hayford and Darry and Riverrun and arguably Winterfell) when the opportunity presents itself. It doesn’t always work out but that’s the tendency.

Which... doesn’t really help us with “What if”-Cersei, but helps suggest that he may have most strongly pushed for Edmure Tully or Willas Tyrell, who are both heirs to their Great Houses, placing Cersei’s kids in prime positions of influence over entire regions bordering the Westerlands. Andar Royce could have been an option, but perhaps more likely Baelor Hightower, son and heir to Leyton, depending on if he was still available at the time or already married.

But really, I am not nearly well versed enough in the intricacies of the individual regions and Houses to make good guesses here. I’m probably missing some brilliant option.

#rouka queue #what if #cersei lannister #tywin lannister

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goodqueenaly · 1 year

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@publiusmaximum reblogged your post “What might hypothetically happen if a Lord...”

House Lannister is in a bit of a bind in the near future:

Cercie refuses to wed (and thus have legitimate children) again.

Lancel and Jamie are part of celibate knightly orders.

Tyrion is an attainted traitor.

Tyrek is missing.

Tommen is alive... But he's not a Lannister King, he's a Baratheon King.

Who does that leave for when Cercie dies without a new legitimate child? Martyn, I guess? Or one of his kids?

House Lannister is looking at extinction in the near term. Unless I'm missing something.

Oh, I’m not worried about the continuation of House Lannister. You’re certainly right that the line of Tywin (legitimate, anyway - again, hi Dancy and Marei) may well be headed for extinction: Cersei’s doom has been long prophesied (as has the doom of her children, even if they were considered legitimate), and I don’t love the odds of Jaime or Tyrion surviving the series (much less having legitimate children of their own). However, Tytos’ other (male-line) grandchildren are a bit of a question mark: again, I agree that Lancel is permanently out of the running (and, I think, not long for this world anyway), but the ultimate fates of Martyn (Kevan’s son, last mentioned by Genna as a possible replacement groom for Amerei Frey in the newly Lannister-sponsored holding of Darry) and Janei (Kevan’s toddler daughter, presumably still with her mother Dorna in the westerlands), as well as Tyrek (missing, but I think too often mentioned to be left as simply an open mystery) are as yet unknown. And that’s without mentioning the female-line descendants of Tytos Lannister via his only daughter, Genna: assuming any of them survive the series, such Lannister-Freys could make a claim on the basis of their relation to Lord Tytos (as Genna herself predicts might happen with Riverrun, if Robert Arryn would be tempted to make a claim to the holding of his maternal Tully grandfather).

And all of that is only discussing Tytos’ (legitimate) line (which of course excludes Joy Hill, the bastard daughter of Gerion Lannister). Tytos’ younger brother, Jason, has quite a few descendants around in the era of the main novels, from both his first marriage to Alys Stackspear and his second marriage to Marla Prester (not counting, once again, his own bastard daughter). Indeed, Jason has at least two living male-line grandsons today (Damion, the son of his eldest son, Damon (who himself might still be alive), and Daven, the son of his son Stafford), as well as a male-line great-grandson (Damion’s son Lucion). Nor indeed does this count include Jason’s other sons by Marla Prester (and whatever children they may have or may have had), or Jason’s female and female-line descendants (such as his other two daughters by Marla (and whatever children they have or may have had), Daven’s sisters Cerenna and Myrielle, and Damion’s daughter Lanna, with Jast sons of her own).

And that is only going to the (known, legitimate) descendants of Lord Damon Lannister, the “Grey Lion”. We don’t have a Lannister family tree beyond Damon, and while F&B certainly added more Lannisters, there is nevertheless a definite gap between young Lord Loreon Lannister (who is about 10 when F&B concludes in 136 AC) and Lord Damon Lannister (who was lord around the turn of the third century AC). There could be any number of Lannisters of Casterly Rock out there that are simply beyond our scope of knowledge for the moment.

In the words of Catelyn, “The Lannisters of Casterly Rock were a damnably large and fertile house”.

#tumblr replies #house lannister

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librosamarillos · 11 months

Text

passed down like folk songs

chapter 24: what could've been

Maegor Targaryen x OC

Also on Ao3

chapter index

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, angst, mature themes, targaryen incest, violence, Maegor is a red flag himself, characters are ooc probably, MINORS DNI

Sitting atop of Balerion, Maegor felt like he was spiralling. He was supposed to be in Harrenhal about three hours ago, but he knew it would be unwise to see anyone with the temper he had at that moment, so he was flying around under the guise of patrolling from the skies. The celebration in his name had gone well, so well that many lords had made comments about their own trust being in him, implying that they trusted him to get the job done and not the King. The number of allies he was gaining was increasing by the day, that should make him happy, shouldn’t it?

But no, instead, his mind was on Rowan. She looked radiant in her purple gown, he could barely keep his eyes off of her. Amongst the crowd, he could immediately spot her, like he could find her with his eyes closed. She had been sat next to her father, near the Tyrells, whose daughter she was friends with. She was always around Ceryse and Lana, it was like the gods did not allow him any time alone with her anymore. As people began to dance, he wanted to smirk, seeing as the Lannister boy could barely move from his seat to make a move on his love or rather have his hands all over her under the excuse of dancing. She did end up dancing with a few men, some lowly lords, no one important but it still made his blood boil that it wasn’t him.

They all got to dance with her, little, insignificant lords of nothing, and they got to dance with her, to hold her hands, to see her eyes light up as the music picked up, to twirl her around and hear her laugh, but not him. No, he had to remain seated on the head table, for it would be a ruinous scandal if he only were to dance with her and not his own wife. Ceryse, at least, was having a blast. Despite being sat next to each other, they were on different planets and perhaps it was a good thing. She was beaming from seeing her brothers again and to some extent, that made him glad, knowing what he planned on doing a few days later, she would at least be with her family.

And then his eyes caught something that made him grip his goblet so tightly he was sure it was going to shatter in his hand. The youngest of the Hightower siblings, Morgan, took an interest in Rowan, an interest that made Maegor want to leap across the hall and bash his head into the wall. Even worse, Rowan herself was enjoying his company. Her smiles were more genuine than any interaction she had with that stupid Tybolt, and Morgan, despite standing the appropriate amount of distance away, asked her to dance more than four times. It wasn’t something inappropriate, but it definitely caught the attention of those around them. He even heard Ceryse chuckle with Martyn about it. Maegor was trying to not lose his mind, trying to keep himself sane, but it seemed Aenys had noticed.

His brother was never supposed to get this close. Maegor had been content with Aenys just fearing him, as long as he let him do what he wished to, but his need to get closer to him and his mother was proving to be… troublesome. He didn’t hate it. In fact, getting some things off his chest sounded fucking amazing at this moment where he didn’t know what to do, flying circles on Balerion for hours. Having Aenys understand even a tiny bit felt a bit comforting. But he shook his head. Talking to him about feelings was useless, it would only complicate things and mess with his head. Was he foolish to even entertain a conversation with him about Rowan, his Rowan? Maybe, but there was no changing that now. But perhaps it wasn’t so terrible, to have his brother understand him, maybe Maegor was just being paranoid because of what he was on his way to do.

Yes, things were about to take a turn after today. He had left the keep right before dawn, before anyone could see him, before he could bump into Rowan by chance. He knew that just one look from her would make him crumble and admit it all to her, dragging her into his plans, something that could put her in so much danger. No, he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t think of her too much, the thought of hurting made him want to drop everything and fly back to the red keep, forgetting all about the crown and throne.

He had to push his feelings aside to think clearly. The kingdoms would collapse under Aenys. Maegor was the conqueror’s son with his first wife and he was the more capable choice of the two. He had a solid claim, but he needed heirs. Ceryse would make a good Queen, but she was unable to provide him said heirs. He could not be with Rowan in a way that would not disrespect her and her faith. Sooner or later, she’d be married off to that Lannister, or even maybe Ceryse’s brother, and as much as it made his blood boil, he could do nothing about it. Would it not be cruel to hold her back from having the family she wished for? He wanted that with her, he wanted Rowan to himself, to marry her and have a family with her, but they could not have that. For all this to work, he needed someone else. He needed Alys.

He landed outside of Harrenhal some time before noon. Following the guards inside, Lucas Harroway greeted him with a bow, leading him to a room where they could freely speak alone. The man seemed eager, happy even. It didn’t surprise Maegor at all. Lucas had read between the lines.

“My daughter is beyond honoured to be given such an offer. She is looking most forward to your union, as do I, my Prince.” Lucas spoke, looking extra chirper as he did. Maegor didn’t doubt it, Alys seemed quite eager to leave her family and town behind, eager to live a life of excitement. Maegor wasn’t sure if she’d find such a life in the half-built Red Keep, but he did not pretend to understand the minds of women. Perhaps a life in court, with all its feasts and gossips, that could maybe be what she was looking for. As long as she gave him an heir, she could do as she pleases.

“Good. I will take us both to Dragonstone to see it done.” he replied plainly. He still hadn’t spoken to his mother about this, which made him feel uneasy. They were a team. They had been a team since he was born, and they often spoke of the suitable steps to put him in the best position possible. He never spoke of this to her, but he would, as soon as he returned to Dragonstone. She’d understand. She knew how important it was.

“If I may ask, my Prince, may I not be present at the wedding? She is my eldest daughter.” Lucas asked, but his eyes did not betray much love for her. Not in the way Duncan spoke of Rowan. Maegor frowned. It would be impractical to have him there. It would take too long for him to travel there, and if he were to take him with them on Balerion, Maegor still didn’t want him there on the island as he spoke to his mother.

“No. The wedding must happen soon. As soon as the protests settle, you will join your daughter in court. Know that if you keep up your support, you could even join the council.” Maegor thought back to his youth. He often complained to Rowan about having to deal with these scheming, social climbing lords. She would always say that sometimes, a little honey could do the trick, where you must do something disagreeable, give something in return. He didn’t think this would be what she meant, but when he saw the satisfied smile on Lord Harroway’s face, he knew it worked. That was what his father did, was it not? He was ruthless to his enemies and generous with his supporters.

“You are most generous, my Prince. Know that I will never forget the generosity you have shown to my family. Whatever you may need, I am your most devoted servant.” Gods, his voice was getting annoying. Maegor only nodded, getting up to get this over with. It would only take him a few hours to get to Dragonstone, so he wanted to get there right away. He had left a small letter with a trusted servant to give to his mother at noon, a letter calling her to come to the ancestral seat of their house, alone. He was eager to get this over with.

Alys was waiting for him outside, the servants handling two large suitcases of her belongings. Maegor nodded at her, taking them, as the servants could not secure them on the dragon. As he was securing the ties of the cases to make sure they wouldn’t slip off, he felt the young woman’s eyes on him. Balerion stirred, as if feeling his wariness. He sighed. It was necessary, he had to remind himself. This was important. He motioned to her to come closer to the ropes to climb up to the saddle. She was hesitant for a moment, before taking the rope in her hand. Balerion was getting annoyed, but Maegor patted his scales to calm him. The last thing he needed was for him to eat her.

“Stay still. The belts will secure you so you won’t fall off.” he said, or moreso commanded. Alys was not looking at him, rather preferring to look around, making note of how high up they were, even as the dragon was sat on the ground. She had the wonder of a child in her brown eyes, looking down at Balerion in awe.

“I can’t believe I’m actually on a dragon, about to fly!” she said with a smile, finally looking at Maegor, who was now strapping himself on the saddle in front of her. He made note of her family, her father and siblings, gathered right at the entrance of the castle, maybe too afraid to come closer. Maegor made eye contact with Lucas Harroway, who looked very pleased, unlike his daughters, who looked confused and concerned. So he hadn’t told them. Good.

“Have you said your goodbyes? It may be a very long time until you see your family again.” he warned, glancing back at her. She spared them no glances, and had he been in a better mood, he would’ve asked her about it. Alys nodded absentmindedly as Balerion grew more restless by the minute. They’d have to depart soon. His mother would be on her way to Dragonstone soon, they didn’t have much time to spare.

“Yes, I have. I wouldn’t mind it if it’s years, if I’m perfectly honest.” she replied, her voice lacking any worry over it. For most it would be heartbreaking to say goodbye to their family- for Rowan, he knew she’d be crying had she been in this situation, but then again, the Evergreens were a family that was so close to one another in a way that was rare in Westeros. Duncan would never allow Maegor to even think of pulling such a stunt with her, her uncle, aunt and cousins would run to her defence. Even if they all agreed, Maegor knew that they’d be embracing her so tightly before they took their leave. But Alys wasn’t Rowan, and the Harroways were not the Evergreens.

He frowned. He supposed his own family wasn’t perfect, but this was the woman who would raise his children. If her view of her family was so insignificant, what would that teach their future children? He wasn’t looking for a perfect mother, in his eyes there was only one, but he supposed she wouldn’t be seeing much of the children anyway. Alys was restless and eager to explore, not one to be weighed down by a commitment as heavy as motherhood, and that could be in his favour, the more he thought of it. He’d entrust their children with the best wetnurses he could find, and his own mother to teach them of their histories and culture of their Valyrian heritage, Alys would only need to be there for the sake of appearances. Then again, how could he be so sure of that now? Motherhood was something so monumental in a woman’s life, was it not? It could change someone entirely, maybe Alys would want to be involved in the raising of the children after all. It made him ponder.

He never wanted to be like his father, that was certain. He’d never push one child aside for the sake of the other. He wouldn’t spoil one rotten and keep the other away, out of sight and mind. Even if somehow Ceryse managed to give him a child, he’d love them both the same. It wasn’t something he spoke to anyone about, no one but Rowan, of course, but fatherhood was something he yearned for, not just to cement his rightful claim, but as something from deep within him. The few times he was around Rowan’s two youngest cousins, Lewis and Archie, he loved it. He imagined having two little sons of his own, taking them to the skies with him, teaching them the ways of the sword just as his mother did for him, speaking to them in their ancestral tongue. Even the more exhausting parts of parenthood he yearned for, the sleepless nights, teaching them to walk, helping them learn how to use cutlery.

All of this he wanted to do by Rowan’s side. Ever since they were young, he knew. Something inside him, a selfish, horrible part of him, wanted to keep her on Dragonstone once he became King. Even if she married and had children of her own, he wanted her there, by his side, by his children’s side. It was messed up in so many ways, he knew, he’d never allow it to be anything more than a selfish thought, but it soothed him in a way. He could keep Alys and Ceryse busy in court in King’s Landing, while Rowan would reside in Dragonstone. Maegor would find a way to send whomever she married away, but he’d never send away any children she had. Never. If anything, he hoped they’d look just like her. Maybe he could ask her to nurse his own children alongside her own, and in the confines of Dragonstone, they could live the fantasy of being a family.

It would be so cruel to do that to her. He knew his actions would hurt her, and he was depending on her brilliant mind to understand that he had ulterior motives in taking a second wife in such a manner. Once he was King, once everything was safe for her to know, he’d explain it all, begging for her forgiveness. He’d grant her family with gold and wealth, positions in court, anything. He frowned. How pathetic was this whole situation, truly?

Alys clung to him from behind as Balerion moved, his giant form moving slowly, before taking flight. She squealed, her fear turning into laughter as the dragon took to the skies. Soon, he felt her let go of him, holding onto the sides of the saddle instead, looking down at the land becoming smaller and smaller. He wondered if Ceryse would like to fly at any point. After all of this, he’d indulge her if she wished for it. It was only fair.

“Does your wife know?” she asked, taking Maegor by surprise. He did not expect her to be in a chatty mood, let alone bring up what was on his mind. He held onto the reins, guiding Balerion through the familiar path in the clear skies. He had hoped the ride there would be silent, but he supposed she had the right to know what she was getting into.

“She will know after it happens.” he replied. He focused most of his thoughts on how Rowan would react, how hurt she would be, but he barely gave any thought to Ceryse’s feelings. She was his wife, as much as it felt so unnatural to call her that. She held no love for him and he held no love for her. This would be an inconvenience for her, perhaps an annoyance, but she’d get over it soon. It was a cruel way to go about things, but it was necessary. Ceryse would be his Queen one day, she’d come to realise that him taking a second wife was nothing but a necessary evil in her pious eyes. She’d make a much better Queen than Alys, that was for sure. Alys was far too carefree and was about to taste freedom for the first time, she wouldn’t be able to handle the true responsibilities of being a Queen. It was a good thing that he only needed her for an heir. He’d then station her somewhere else, Ceryse would hold court in King’s Landing and he’d finally take house Targaryen to its deserved glory.

“I don’t think she will take kindly to our marriage.” Alys stated, but her voice wasn’t really concerned at all. If anything, she sounded happy about the drama that was about to unfold. Was she truly that bored in her town and home? He sighed. She’d fall in line once she realised how things are run in the capital. Once she gave him one or two children, he’d give her leave to go where she wanted. Things would be easier that way at first, until everyone got used to each other.

“She won’t. But she’ll see with time, she’ll understand.” he responded, his eyes betraying an anxiety he was happy she could not see from behind him. She did not respond, he felt her shift around on the saddle to get a better view from above. The difficult part was coming as they neared Dragonstone. His heart was pounding as the island came into distant view. He couldn’t see Vhagar there yet, but that only meant he didn’t have much time to calm his nerves before having to talk with his mother. He could only hope the speech he rehearsed in his head convinced her. He could only hope that Rowan would come to forgive him.

Visneya rushed through the halls of Dragonstone, trying to mask her worry with a cool and collected mask of indifference. Her heart was pounding as soon as she read Maegor’s note. The worst came to mind. Had he been hurt? In her fits of grief over Aegon, had she missed a potential attack that put her son in harm’s way? His note had been brief and revealed nothing, which made her anxieties worse. She knew she raised him to be capable and strong, a warrior since he could walk, but she was his mother, he was her babe. The thought that he could be hurt was enough to send her spiralling. After the death of her sister, she took to wearing chainmail under her clothes, paranoid that assassins would try to take her life. It was with time that she had stopped, finally relaxing when peace was reached, but just the thought that someone could have harmed her son, was enough to make her consider the chainmail again, for him especially.

She barged in the room with the painted table in a less than graceful manner, after being directed there by the servants. Maegor didn’t even have time to say anything before Visenya began inspecting his face and arms for any hidden wound, sighing in relief when she confirmed he was safe. She eyed him carefully, noting that he looked uneasy, very unlike his normal, confident self. Her guard was down and her eyes betrayed confusion. She noticed the servants whispering, sharing looks and gossip in hushed voices, but in her hurry, she had not stopped to ask them.

“Maegor, what has happened? You nearly gave me a heart attack.” she said, crossing her arms. Her son looked like he was building up the courage to say something, but Visenya winced at her own words. They were in the very room Aegon’s heart gave out. How many moons had it been? It felt insensitive to even utter such words, but she decided to forgive herself, as it was out of worry for their son, her only son.

“Forgive me, mother, I did not intend to cause you any worry. I just wished to get you here as soon as possible, there is something of great importance I wish to discuss with you.” he spoke in an apologetic tone, a rare thing. Visneya nodded, walking to pour herself some water, to calm her nerves. She noticed Balerion flying freely outside, but he looked… uneasy. Which only meant that Maegor himself felt like so.

“Go on then. You have me here now, tell me. I suppose it has something to do with certain plans that could not be discussed in front of Aenys?” she asked, drinking from the cup, sighing in relief of the cool water. She had been parched in her hurry to get to Dragonstone. Maegor nodded, his hand tracing over the painted table lightly.

“It was in this very room where you taught me the most important lessons you ever did. Our histories, our language, our culture. It was here where we both knew what is rightfully mine, it was here where we discussed everything for the first time, just as it was here where you planned to conquer the very Kingdoms we now rule over." His voice held a nostalgic feeling, a fondness and longing for those times. Visenya remembered holding him in her arms, teaching him to speak, helping him walk, and now here he stood before her, a King without the crown.

“And it is here you will reveal something big.” she added, folding her arms. Maegor nodded once more, his eyes trailing over the carved details. If only he knew how many memories a single room could hold. This was where Visenya grew up, this was where she raised Maegor, this space held all of that, the pleasant and the heartbreaking. Maybe one day she’d tell him of it. Rowan was the only one who knew. She was the only one she had opened up to. She wasn’t entirely sure why not Maegor.

“I have everything I need to take the throne. If we bring things to Aenys in such a way, he will accept to step aside, he knows he stands no chance should he choose to fight. We must do this in such a way where our house appears united, thus making the transfer smooth and with no room for questioning. But for that, there’s still something I need. An heir.” he took slow, steady steps toward her, his eyes meeting hers as he stood tall in front of her, as Visenya nodded along. “Ceryse cannot provide that for me. At least, not in the time I need her to. Therefore, I’ve decided to take a second wife.” he said, after taking a deep breath.

Visenya stood still, as if she had somehow misheard him. She set the cup down, slowly taking in what he had just said to her. A second wife.

“Who?” she asked him bluntly, almost harshly, as she set her cup down. She looked into his eyes and he almost looked down in shame, but decided against it.

“Alys Harroway.” he replied. Ah, there it was. The reason he had been flying out to Harrenhal. The daughter of the new Lord of Harrenhal. She frowned. He must’ve brought her here, for why else would all the servants of the castle be whispering. How many people already knew? Even more importantly, why in the seven hells had he not told her before he brought the girl here?

“I see.” she began, but stopped herself from speaking further, to collect her thoughts. It was shocking for her, that he had made a choice so drastic without talking to her about it or even mentioning it at all. Visneya felt conflicted.

Her raw, emotional response was to refuse this, the wounds Aegon and Rhaenys’ union left her with had barely begun healing before Aegon died. She wanted so badly to yell at him that she did not want him to inherit his father’s worst qualities, that she wanted him to take only the good and become even better than he ever was. But maybe Maegor shared more than just a spitting resemblance to Aegon, to her dismay. It was in this very room that Aegon argued with their father to set their betrothal aside for Rhaenys’ sake, to set Visenya aside.

Then, her mind ignored her wounded heart for a moment, gently telling her that although the situation felt familiar, it couldn’t be the same, and it was not. Ceryse was not in love with him the way Visenya was with Aegon. This girl, Alys, was not someone Maegor had fallen in love with. It was logical, the way he was thinking. Ceryse hadn’t given him a child.

“I know the Hightowers will protest this, but once I take over and crown Ceryse a Queen, Oldtown will stand behind her, and by extension, the faith, once they see one of their own in power next to me.” he explained, turning his eyes to the map of Oldtown. Visenya crossed her arms and slowly let out a sigh.

“I see you’ve thought this through.” she said, eyeing him. Part of her was frustrated, and part of her was proud. She raised him to be a King, and he knew better than to act with no thought on possible rebellions. Maegor nodded once more, turning to face her. He knew she had a million things to ask him, and he waited patiently for her to do so.

“And if Ceryse gives you an heir after this Alys girl does? What then?” Visenya asked, turning back to take another sip of her water. Such a situation was a possibility. Perhaps Ceryse was not barren at all, and simply needed some more time. Visenya had Maegor after Rhaenys had Aenys. She looked at her son carefully.

“As she is my first wife, her sons will take priority in line to the throne after me, over those that Alys will have. Is that not the very reason I am taking the throne, mother? Because as the son of the first wife, it should be my birthright?” he asked her, stepping closer to her. He turned his eyes to the map once more. “Of course then, we’d have a problem of loyalties. Both houses will support their own. But Oldtown is a far stronger and more important ally than the Harroways are. Should Ceryse give me a son, he will be my heir. Should she give me a daughter, she will marry my heir and they shall rule together. Any rivalries between my sons, I will prevent. I refuse to raise my children the way father raised Aenys and I.'' he almost spat out the word father. Despite her undying love for Aegon, she knew Maegor was right in his anger. She was angry too.

“How do you suppose Ceryse and Alys will see this? Ceryse doesn’t even know, does she?” she asked, not expecting an answer. Of course he wouldn't have told her.

“Ceryse is far more suited to be Queen than ALys will ever be. Alys will give me an heir or two and she will have my leave to do as she pleases. She is not a person I can see committed to the life of court, I think she’d be more content to travel and be spoiled. My children will not be under her care, for she lacks the ability to raise true dragons. I shall have my children with me at all times, and Ceryse will be the one in charge in the capital. They’ll be raised together, in our language and traditions, not divided between mothers. If pregnancy changes Alys’ mind about this… she won’t have much choice in their upbringing anyway. You will have final say in that, mother.”

Visenya took in everything her son was saying. She nodded along, her hands still crossed. She understood his thought process. It was as solid as a plan like that could get. If raised together, under her own eye, Visenya could ensure that no other succession crisis would arise. She’d make sure no rivalries arose between the children, and lay things down clearly for them. It tugged at her heart, the topic. She did not want her line to end with Maegor. She did not put in all that work, the blood, sweat and tears that went into the conquest, only for Rhaenys to be laughing at her beyond the grave.

“You cannot marry without the King’s leave and blessing.” she stated, as her mind travelled to Aenys. He had looked like the stress of ruling had aged him, his crown weighing him down, the organisation of the feast being the only time she saw him carefree and joyful. What a poor excuse of a King he truly was. But he was still the King.

“I’m his brother, and his hand. He’ll come around. He’ll never give me leave to take a second wife, not with all those lords whispering in his ears. But once the deed is done, he’ll have no choice but to understand.” her son spoke. It was clear to Visenya that Maegor was beginning to get closer to Aenys. He only used to refer to him as his half-brother, correcting anyone who dared call them brothers at all, and now, his voice almost held a fondness for him. It was a good thing. The closer they were, the clearer it would be for Aenys to step aside and see who the true King was.

“The girl, you brought her here?” she asked, walking around the table, her arms still crossed and her mind trying to find holes in this plan. Her eyes stopped at a familiar location on the map. The Evergreen forest in the Starfall mountains. Rowan; what of Rowan? Her sweet girl, who had been her daughter in all but name and title, the one she had trusted with her deepest thoughts and worries, the one who stood by her side holding her hand throughout her tumultuous marriage to Aegon. It saddened her to think how this would affect her. Visenya could’ve never imagined that an innocent childhood crush would develop into something this intense.

She found herself wanting to ask him, why not Rowan, why not the one he loved, but she knew the answer. Rowan was a woman of faith and virtue, her faith saw polygamy as a disgusting sin, it would be an insult to her if he had asked her. Not to mention, any woman Maegor would marry, would face vitriol for accepting the position of a second wife. Maegor would never let that happen to Rowan- Visenya wouldn’t let that happen to her. Another reason was the close bond between the Hightowers and the Evergreens. The bond of the two houses was a deep one. Should Maegor take her as a second wife, the rift between the houses would be horrid, especially since, unlike Alys, Maegor would clearly prefer Rowan. Such favouritism would not calm the Hightowers nor Oldtown. Not to mention the friendship Ceryse and Rowan had would be ruined.

Despite being hurt over the news, Rowan was a brilliant mind, she’d understand why he did such a thing. But it was a cruel thing, was it not? To simply expect her to be understanding without explaining anything to her. It was a double edged sword. Not even Duncan knew. If Rowan knew, she would be in danger. Should anything in the plan go wrong, she could be punished as an accomplice in treason. She would never put her in such a risk, no. Things would be revealed when Maegor took his rightful crown. Then she’d explain it all to her.

“She’s here. She’s waiting to be introduced to you.” he said, his voice going soft for a split second. “Are you on board with this, mother?” he asked her, and in that moment, it was like she was staring at her little boy of eight once more. She knew he strived for her approval, it warmed her heart.

“Are you asking me for my permission?” she asked, the sarcasm not lost on her son. She took another sip of water, pinching the bridge of her nose. She felt a headache coming in. Maegor walked to where she stood, his voice now much more candid and soft, as he poured himself some water.

“Yes. Do you think I’m making a mistake?” he asked her, his eyes searching for the answer in hers. He had his father’s eyes, but the colour was Visenya’s. He felt vulnerable, his mind travelling to the person he truly longed for. He cared not for what the Kingdoms thought, he was asking her if she thought he was making a mistake with Rowan. She was who he was truly worried about.

“...no.” she spoke up after a moment of silence. She had to set aside her feelings to see things as they were. Maegor needed an heir to get his birthright. He found a woman willing to give him that. That was all this was. Rowan, as much as she loved and adored her, was never going to be able to marry him, not with how things were now. To sit and dwell on their doomed love would be foolish for both of them. Maegor had Kingdoms to rule, a dynasty to raise, he needed to act and he needed to act now.

“Yet you seem hesitant, mother.” he said, looking into his cup. Visenya had made up her mind. And so did Maegor. She didn’t fault him for his heart holding him back, he could not help it. It was a safe place to speak such hesitations, in the safety of the privacy Dragonstone provided.

“Things are happening too fast.” she said, rubbing his shoulder as he stood close. It was a reassurance, a soothing word in its own strange way. An acknowledgment of how everything felt like it was moving so quickly. It was like yesterday that her Aegon died and Aenys was crowned in Oldtown, and now the Kingdoms she had given it her all to conquer, were in danger of falling apart with Aenys in charge.

“The sooner I get an heir, the sooner I get the crown.” he sighed, welcoming his mother’s soothing touch, closing his eyes for a moment. It didn’t sound like the first time he had said this. She wondered if that is how he was reassuring himself to do all of this. To go through the wedding with Ceryse, to go through another wedding, to go through hurting Rowan. It was a cruel reality, to have to choose his birthright over the one he loved.

“Bring her in. Let me see this girl.” Visenya concluded. It would lead them nowhere if they stayed like that, reminiscing on what could’ve been, what should’ve been. It would only hold them both back and plunge them into misery.

A servant escorted this Alys girl into the room. It was clear as day that she was nowhere near as highborn as the ladies of the court. Her eyes were eager to take everything in, not a single serious thought behind them, as if this was some fun adventure she’s going on. Her curtsy was clumsy, one that betrayed that she knew little of the world she wanted to get into. She became uneasy under Visenya’s harsh stare, looking to Maegor for any kind of reassurance, which she would not receive. Visenya observed the girl carefully. If she were as harsh as some perceived her to be, she’d make a comment that he chose someone who could resemble the one he longed for, if the room was dark enough. But she was not, and so she kept silent.

The tension in the room could be cut through with a knife. Maegor stood next to his mother dutifully, like he always did, as if he were presenting his mother with some kind of project he needed reviewed. Alys Harroway held her breath, as Visenya’s harsh eyes studied her.

“Very well.” she said, stepping back. At her words of approval, Alys visibly relaxed her shoulders. Maegor nodded at her in gratitude and awaited her next words. “Let us go find a septon and get this over with.” she said, walking out of the room, Maegor’s footsteps closely behind hers, and Alys running to catch up. Although surprised, she didn’t seem to hesitate, nor care. It was of no concern to Visenya, as long as she did what they needed her to do.

As she had expected, the septon of Dragonstone refused to perform the ceremony. He held his more scathing comments to himself, knowing the threat of dragonfire was close and ready to find him with a mere word. She knew what he would say. This was an abomination, a ridicule of the meaning of marriage, that only two belonged in a union, all things she had heard before. But who were these little men to tell the Valyrians, who were closer to the gods than they were to mere men, of what was right and wrong? They would not wait for any septon to make up his mind, no.

By the evening, Visenya Targaryen performed the ceremony herself. The smallfolk of the island, as well as the servants and cooks of the castle were called to be witnesses. Balerion and Vhagar were sat together, watching them as well. Visenya was the only one in ceremonial clothing, as Maegor insisted that he and Alys would wear normal clothing. She understood why. He wanted this to be done as quickly as possible, with as little fuss.

And there, as the sun was setting on Dragonstone, Maegor Targaryen took Alys Harroway as his second wife, in a ceremony of Old Valyria, in front of a hesitant crowd.

Now, it was only a matter of time for things to fall into place.

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#maegor targaryen #maegor targaryen x oc #maegor the cruel #visenya targaryen #visenya the conqueror

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humanpurposes · 1 year

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Come So Close That I Might See, part ii, Aemond

Desperate to secure her position, Aegon's wife turns to Aemond for help // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Warnings: 18+, smut, infidelity, mentions of past non-con, fluff, (cameo from dad!Aemond at the end).

Words: 3300

A/n: pwp but went heavy on the plot. Also available to read on AO3.

Tags: @padfooteyes @darkenchantress @blackdreamspeaks @kezibear143

The dull light of dawn dragged her from a dreamless sleep. The sun hadn’t yet risen, the fire was long dead and Lucia’s bedchamber was cold.

She kept her eyes closed, vaguely aware of a distant birdsong and the noises of the city beyond the walls of the Red Keep. She breathed into her back and felt where it met the mattress beneath her, and as the haze of sleep began to fade she winced at the slight stiffness in her neck and the tenderness between her legs.

Her fingers crawled to the other side of the bed where the sheets were neat, seemingly undisturbed. She was alone then. She opened her eyes, part of her hoping it might not be true. The pieces of her gown were still laid over the chaise, the smell of sweat and sex lingered on her sheets, but any other traces of Aemond were gone.

One night, she told herself. One night and she would allow herself this indulgence for the sake of duty. Duty to her family. Duty to the realm. Duty to her husband. Duty to herself.

She never could have imagined how it might have felt to finally be so close to him, to hold him and feel every part of him. She felt herself fading from the world around her, consumed by the memory of his skin, his sapphire gleaming in the gentle candlelight, the smell of smoke and leather–

“The Queen mentioned your outburst.”

She looked up slowly from her plate of salted pork and eggs, at the three faces looking at her.

The Lord of Casterly Rock sat directly opposite her, his dull golden hair falling limply around a furious expression. Nothing good ever came of her meetings with the Lannisters, not for her anyhow.

Aunt Johanna– Lady Lannister, suited the colours of her husband’s house, red and gold against her Westerling features. Often she was quick to defend her niece, but in the last year her rebuttals of Lord Jason’s usual lectures had become few and far between. Her expression now was soft and unsure as she took small sips of her tea in silence.

“Before this morning’s meeting of the Small Council,” Lord Tyland added. He was a little more put together than his twin, more stately, his hair neatly combed, his scowl more stern than irritated. “She said there was some kind of disagreement with your husband that was only resolved at the intervention of Prince Aemond.”

Lucia held her tongue between her teeth. Aegon’s insults were hardly a disagreement. There was no conflict, it was just… him. She had sat passively for so many years and now rage boiled through her blood.

But she knew her duty.

She took a deep and gentle breath. “As it happens my husband and I have resolved our differences.”

The Lannister twins exchanged a brief look of disbelief.

“To some extent,” she added.

“How so-”

“I will not be elaborating,” she said, “the state of my marriage may be of concern to you but the details are certainly not.”

She spent the day in her chambers, reading, embroidering dragons into scrap pieces of cloth, picking holes in her bed clothes only to stitch them back together, anything to keep her busy so that she wouldn’t have to think.

But all she thought of was Aemond.

The invitation to take dinner with Helaena and Martyn Hightower came as a surprise.

Little Rhaella was thankfully starting to recover from her ailment and was a bright presence. The girl had her father’s brown eyes, but everything else was Helaena’s, the delicate silver hair and dreamy look on her face. Less than two years old and she was running frantically around the room, presenting Lucia with her collection of small wooden animals before she came toddling from the nursery with a dark blue dragon egg.

Martyn started to panic that she might break it but Helaena simply said in a soft and melodic voice, “hold it tight, my love,” and the girl did just that.

When the hour grew late for the little dragon, Lucia followed Helaena, Rhaella in one arm and the egg in the other, into the nursery. Helaena dressed her daughter herself, fed her a spoonful of honey and a few sips of tea for her throat, and sent her to sleep with Valyrian lullabies.

“It can feel like such a burden,” Helaena said, as they walked back to the dining room, “I was terrified of the whole ordeal, and at the end of my suffering came Rhaella.”

“She’s an angel,” Lucia said as they reached the dining room. A sliver of warm light shone through the door into the otherwise darkened corridor, bathing Helaena’s silver hair and pale blue gown in gold.

Helaena reached for Lucia’s hand and traced her finger over her palms, studying her skin as a scholar studies a book, or a healer studies a wound. “I do not envy your position,” she said. “It is easier with someone you love.”

Lucia tried to swallow but her throat was suddenly dry.

She tried to love Aegon. She still remembered their first meeting, in the throne room, before the court. She might have found him handsome if it weren’t for the distant look in his eyes, and the fact he wouldn’t even look at her.

Despite his initial indifference, he had showered her with affections on the day of their wedding. As they stood before the eyes of Gods and men to recite their vows, she saw only him, violet eyes bearing into hers, and when he kissed her, her fear faded. She allowed herself to hope that the Prince she had married was a man who embraced his duty, who would be kind, gentle and cherishing. He even did away with the bedding ceremony. The marriage would be consummated when she was ready, he said, a promise sealed with a chaste kiss to her cheek.

The first time he visited her chambers was a year into their marriage. He stumbled in as she was readying herself for bed, dragging with him the smell of stale wine and the streets of Fleabottom. She had never seen him in such a state. She had heard whispers, of course, of his exploits and his affections for serving girls, but never had he presented this part of himself to her.

At least he had been gentle when he guided her to her knees and entered her mouth. “A mercy to us both,” he slurred when it was over. He didn’t even seem to find much pleasure from it, just a motion to reach a release, and then he was gone.

“I love my husband,” Lucia whispered.

Helaena hummed to herself. “That’s rather not what I meant, dear sister.”

She frowned, but before she could press her further, Helaena swept into the dining room, singing a lullaby under her breath.

She didn’t care to eat much, save for a few cuts of beef and half an apple cake.

When she returned to her chambers, her eyes fell to a book upon the desk that had no place on her shelves. It was large, an old philosophy text with delicate pages and fraying binding, from Prince Aemond’s personal collection. He had leant it to her some weeks ago, but even after finishing it she had found herself reluctant to part with it. She couldn’t say why, if her interest was in the rhetoric of the Maester long since dead, or the fine calligraphy and illustrations drawn in colourful ink and plated with gold leaf. Perhaps it was the simple act of tracing her hands over the pages Aemond had studied so devotedly, having a part of him with her.

True, she had found his scar and constant intensity rather intimidating at first, and warmer friendships with Helaena and Daeron, but with Aemond she had found something more innate.

It began with comfortable silence. The library was a wonderful place to seclude herself, escape her husband and the prying eyes of the court, losing herself in tales of history. She had a particular fascination for the Conquest at the time and devoured chronicles of Aegon and his Queens, and their dragons, of course.

She was rather surprised one morning to see Aemond walking towards her reading table. They exchanged few words but mostly she was happy to simply sit beside him. The next day she returned the favour and, eventually, they managed a few formal conversations.

She lit up the first time he mentioned Vaghar.

“It is remarkable that such a beast of war should remain among us,” she said one gloomy afternoon as rain pelted against the window, so heavy they could not see Blackwater Bay beyond the gardens. “A living piece of history.”

Aemond smiled a little stiffly. “Indeed.”

“How did you first come to claim her?”

But her face fell with regret the moment she asked. By the way Aemond thinned his lips and clenched his fist, she had overstepped a line.

“It was simple really,” he said before she could utter an apology, “I offered myself to Vhagar and she accepted me.”

Her eyes flashed to his eyepatch, no longer fearful, but curious. “Were you scared?”

“Yes, and I overcame my fear.”

She did not question him further.

As years went by, Aegon slipped into his cups and the onslaught from the Queen, the Lannisters and every other Lord and Lady of the court began.

When she retreated to her usual hiding places, the library or the bench in the rose garden, Aemond was always the one to find her, to sit with her in settled silence with that soft expression she dared to think he reserved only for her.

So it was out of duty she found herself walking through the Holdfast with Aemond’s book under her arm.

There was no guard stood outside his door. She took a shallow breath and gave three gentle knocks.

He understood the moment he opened his door to her.

They concerned themselves little with the preamble. The book was forgotten on his desk as their lips met. She loved the desperation of it, the way he pawed at her dress and whimpered when she tugged on his hair.

“I’ve thought of nothing but you,” he uttered between their kisses, “I thought I might come to you tonight… I did not wish to presume.”

Always courtly and composed, it thrilled her to hear Aemond’s voice so breathless and raw. A warmth swelled in her chest, pride and lust, feeding off each other and intertwining until she could hardly form any thought other than him.

He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

She pulled back just a little, resting her thumb over the pillowy pink of his lips. “I cannot stay long,” she whispered, “someone will notice my absence.”

His hands settled on her waist, holding her gently, as though she were something precious, but with a firmness that fuelled her desire. “Let me take care of you, Princess.”

It was quicker than before. He turned her around and brought her to lean against a table, making quick work of hitching up her skirt and pulling down her small clothes.

He groaned to see her desire already dripping onto her thighs, tracing featherlight patterns over her skin and teasing her needy centre.

And then his hand came around her throat, a delicate hold, but it made her head spin as he inched his cock into her entrance and started to fuck her.

She gripped the edge of the table, unsure of what else to do with herself but moan and make breathy attempts at saying his name. The stretch of his cock inside her, his fingers working over her pearl and his light grunts in her ear, it all felt so perfect.

“Good girl,” he uttered, hot breath sending shivers over her skin “you take it so well for me, Princess.”

“This excites you, doesn’t it? That I’m his and not yours,” she teased.

“I think you like it,” he rasped, driving his hips faster against her rear, pushing himself deeper and deeper until he met that spot that left her body weak. “You need me, to fulfil your duty… your desire.”

If he was intending to tease her it was working. She could feel herself clenching around him, as her pleasure began to rise in her.

She nodded, hardly aware she was doing it. “I want you, Aemond, I need you.”

“Beg me for it. Beg me to paint this perfect little cunt.”

“Please… I want it… I want it…”

She fell against his chest as they came together. She could feel him draining inside her, fucking every last drop of his seed into her as his hand pressed against her stomach to keep her close against him. She gripped his hand and he didn’t seem to mind the crescent marks she left behind.

She savoured the stillness for a moment, the closeness, the fullness of his cock inside of her and the afterglow of her release.

“I meant it,” she said, “I find so little to be happy about. I do not love my husband. I resent my position. I allow myself so little hope.”

Aemond pressed an achingly light kiss to her temple. She leaned into his touch and held his hand a little tighter.

“I just want you,” she whispered.

“You may have me whenever you wish, Princess,” he said, trailing his lips down her cheek before he tilted her head back to meet him in a slow, contented kiss.

Once she had fixed her small clothes she headed to the door.

“Will you take me riding tomorrow?” She asked.

He raised his good eyebrow. “Riding?”

“To the Kingswood.”

The brow dropped. “Oh.”

“You didn’t think I meant…”

Aemond smirked at his own assumption. “Well, who am I to deny the wishes of my Princess?”

She passed one other person as she walked from Aemond’s chambers, a young maid with a timid face and a bundle of laundry in her arms. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor as she passed the Princess.

“Where are those from?”

The girl froze, like a squirrel catching sight of a dog. “Pardon, your Grace?”

“These–” Lucia gestured to the white lines, “where did they come from?”

“They are Prince Aegon’s, your Grace.”

“An unusual hour to be changing his bedclothes.”

“They… needed to be changed.”

Lucia sighed. “Has he overindulged himself in his cups tonight?”

“Quite so, your Grace.”

She thought for a moment. She could still feel Aemond’s seed spilling from her.

After briefly thanking the maid she walked on, past the corridor that led to her own chambers and towards her husband’s.

Aegon’s room smelled sour, of spilled wine and vomit. She could taste it on her tongue as she breathed. A loud snore sounded from the bed. Aegon was sprawled on his front, his clothes discarded on the floor around the bed.

The heels of her shoes clicked against the floor as she approached the bed, and he did not stir. She pulled back the covers on one side, and still, nothing.

She chewed on a piece of flesh in her mouth. Part of her thought she might regret this, but if it worked, she might never need to find herself in such a position again.

She undid her gown and removed her corset and shift, leaving them atop a chest by the window. The air was surprisingly warm against her bare skin.

With Aemond’s seed still spilling from her, she slipped into the bed, as far away from Aegon’s unconscious body as she could, though with his arm laying out it was difficult to avoid him.

She lay there, eyes closed and limbs stiff, and waited for the morning to come.

By the time it did her eyes were sore and she felt as though she had not slept, but she must have fallen asleep at some point because the early light took her by surprise.

Someone needed to see her in order for this to work, either a maid, come to leave the Prince his breakfast, or Aegon himself.

By some miracle of the Gods, the snoring stopped, and his fingers drifted over the skin of her arm.

“Wife,” Aegon muttered into his pillow, “I don’t recall summoning you.”

“Have you considered your memory may be improved if you drank less?”

“I drink just the right amount,” he grumbled, falling onto his back and stretching his arms out in front of him. He rubbed at his eyes, then he stared at her. “Did I fuck you?”

She rolled her eyes and hauled herself from the bed, fully revealing her bare body and the stain in his sheets. That seemed to be enough, and he muttered a crude curse as she started to dress herself.

“Congratulations husband, it only took us five years.”

He would only need to be fooled once.

As for Aemond she felt no need to deny her desires.

Their encounters in the library became stolen kisses hidden amongst the shelves. Rides into the Kingswood left her with swollen lips, tangled hair and bruises against her back. In every other aspect, their lives became a game, a hand on the small of her back as they walked through the gardens, whispers of sweet nothings as helped her practise her marksmanship, all to tease each other, to see how far they could push each other until one gave in.

They knew to avoid being seen alone after dark. Sometimes he visited her before breakfast, or else she would meet him in the training yard and walk back to his chambers with him. They often found themselves in more formal company, receptions, feasts, tourneys, and there was always a corner to stow away into, a brief moment for them to claim as their own.

Their familiarity did not raise any suspicion, as far as she could tell. Of the King’s children she had always cared less for Aegon than his siblings. Sometimes she thought the faces around her seemed to look at her a little curiously, but she and Aemond had already been friends for years and faced no scrutiny for it.

When she realised their efforts had become fruitful, Aemond was the first person she went to, breaking their usual rule of avoiding each other after dark. They sat together on a settee before the fire in his chambers, his arms around her as she leaned into his shoulder.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispered, “both of you, until my last breath, whatever may come.”

The labour lasted days, but at the end of it came Jaehaerys.

The whispers of the court were quelled, the Hightowers at last seemed to view her as something more than an inconvenience, and the realm celebrated the birth of a new Prince. A Prince with silver hair and violet eyes, just like his father.

Aemond visited the nursery every day, sitting by the cradle, stroking his finger over the babe’s delicate skin, or simply looking over his face. He read to him too. Lucia laughed at the ridiculousness of Aemond bringing volumes of his philosophy books and reciting arguments of ethics and existence to an infant. But it had some kind of effect, Jaehaerys’ eyes would always go wide at the sound of his uncle’s voice.

Lucia entered the nursery one evening. Aemond was leaning back in an armchair, with Jaehaerys cradled into his chest, their lips both parted and their breaths, fluttering as they slept, in perfect unison. They looked so content and peaceful, her boys.

Her fingers came to the Valyrian steel band around her ring finger and her heart sank. She had everything she wanted, her son, her Aemond, her position, and it all rested on a lie.

Even with Aemond’s love and promise of protection, she had never felt so unsure of herself.

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