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theothermaidoftarth · 28 days

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Exposure

T | pre-Cregan Stark/Nettles

Takes place between chapters 1 and 2 of World on Fire. A small ficlet in Cregan’s pov.

Word count: 1,444

Cw: ableism, angst, complicated relationships, family dynamics

When would he stop for breath?, Cregan thought, looking at his son in mild amusement. An amusement which waned as he heard Rickon speak of ‘Missus Nettles’ for the third time in as many minutes. It would have been of little note had he not also done as much the day before while visiting his grandmother. Cregan could feel Lady Gilliane glancing at him with increasing amusement.

She laughed at the last thing his son had said, hands flapping in his excitement, a gesture she never thought twice of from him. Had it been Cregan... “The undercrofts. Fine place for snares. But would our guest think so? Do you mean to send her running south so soon, my lad?”

Cregan only just held back a snort, though he knew his mother to be japing. Of course a young woman who claimed a dragon the size of a small keep was not faint of heart. Mistress Nettles’ diminutive stature belied her mettle. On the first night of her arrival he saw as much firsthand, many times over. Much of that in his study as she sat before his desk in that ridiculous dress which hung from her like a set of drapes, or a shroud. And he, cold-hearted scoundrel that he was, chose to proceed as if she were not the spirited girl from Jacaerys’ last letter, giving free reign to his ire when their circumstances were no more to her liking than his. He looked at her in the way which had made grown men quail since he was four-and-ten and she looked back with not so much as a startled blink.

It was his undoing. He only acknowledged as much to himself after she came across him in the hot springs. And by then it was too late. He had fallen, hard; his every other thought of her, her wants, her needs, her comfort. Her hopes and dreams and future plans…

Cregan forbeared to cease his son’s babbling; it would only look the worse for him, fermenting his mother’s suspicions. If he had nothing to fear, why put a stop to the boy’s chatter? It was not as if it reminded him that Rickon still had no mother; that Arra was dead and gone, never again to grace the world with her cutting wit; that the young woman whose kindness had so warmed his son could not stay; that Nettles could not remain a part of Rickon’s life. Not as his mother, not as Cregan’s wife. Why would she want him, Cregan was not Osric; he was not as Brandon had been or even Elric.

It seemed no time at all when the lunch hour approached and Bessa bustled Rickon away, leaving Cregan quite alone with his mother. Terrance Snow would be here soon with her medics and mayhap Hollys to tidy the room but for now it was just them.

“I hear you still seat her to your right.”

And who had told her that? There were too many fucking answers. “Should I not? Last I knew she was still a envoy.”

Gilliane knew every one of his silences, every one of his stony looks. Just as he knew her hums and tuts, mysteries it had taken half his life to solve.

“If you were not you, shall I tell you what I would suggest?” she began and he grit his teeth around his ire. Not the first time she had said so. At least twice in his memory, mayhap not as much as other mothers in her place would have but each time it was a blade in his gut. If you were not you; if you were different.

His father never said similar when he lived but the way he looked at Cregan told it true. Would that you were the younger son and Willam the elder. Or worse, would that you had died and he had lived. Centuries before the dragons came, Northmen used to leave unwanted children out in the snow to die, exposed upon the mountains. Cregan wondered sometimes if Lord Rickon would have done so, had the practice still thrived by the time of his birth, a too-quiet babe who squirmed away from all touch as if being branded, who hardly responded to his own name or smiled or laughed or babbled. He knew this because of his mother, some from servants’ whispers but mostly his mother who told him straight to his face. He wasn’t sure if he loved her more for such honesty or not.

“You will tell me all the same,” he said now.

“Take her to your bed. Or go to hers, whichever.”

He stood at once. “Good day to you, Mother.” He did not even stop to bow as he crossed to the door. A few paces from the door, he halted but only to turn and say, “Do not think that Mistress Nettles is only her dragon.”

His mother affected a look of mild affront. “Oh now you insult me. I thought nothing of the sort. But such a look in your eye, as if you’d fall on even your own sword in defence of her… Is this how it is then? Ah, fine, do not answer. But you know as well as I, he would turn in his crypt to see this.” Father. The man he’d tried to honour all his life. Had he been proud of him at all at the time of his death, even a little?

Cregan flexed his jaw. “Then let him do so. He does not dictate what I do, how I live my life.” He’d accept if Nettles didn’t want him and let it be, but to cease for the sake of a ghost? To never be touched by her, body and soul for the sake of a dead man who half despaired of him in life? No, Cregan would not live his life so. He might well be dead himself then.

Gilliane smiled then, small and sly. “No son of mine ought do any less.”

“Are you winning?”

He turned from the mannequin, startled, to see Nettles just at the edge of the training yard. She had seen him naked and he had not been as flustered. He was in his element here, steel in hand and muscles aching. He did not need to worry she’d be impressed; most who saw him were. But still he was flustered, like a boy at his first bout. She had not seen him here before; he had not expected to see her now. And they were alone, as they had been by the hot springs. It gave the moment an unexpected weight. There were no judging eyes to stare, or mouths to smirk behind hands if his wits proved too dull, his tongue too graceless.

He did so want to say something to make her laugh. He wanted to see those dimples of hers again. Laughter limned her voice more oft than not but rarely lit her eyes; she was more serious than she first appeared. Less so now than her first night here. He had been happy to see it, to bask in the rays of her joy. To be touched by her again.

“If you came afore midday, you would see me win against men of flesh and blood.” He rolled his shoulders backwards but she did not look at his muscles, did not giggle, bite her lip, glance up at him through her lashes with a smile. Was he doing this wrong? He had not done so with either Arra or Jacaerys. Things fell into place differently with them both. He had been different; with her, and with him and now.

“Tomorrow then,” her smile was small, sad. “Tomorrow is…” her last day. His stomach roiled. So little time. Nettles smiled brighter, counterfeit gold. “Tomorrow is a fine time for me to experience the north in full. Bring everything full circle. I shall see your finest sword,” she tipped her head to him and he felt hot blood sweep up his neck to his cheeks, “dance my last jig, mayhap find a shadowcat to tame.” As she walked backwards, she grinned at whatever look must have passed across his face. “Think I couldn’t?”

“I think you could. That’s what worries me.”

“And then when I triumph, you will feel awe instead.”

She was too far away to hear when he said, “I already do.” Do you not know what you have already won? He would tell her, would overcome his clumsy tongue and find a way to tell her until she knew without doubt. In my eyes, you are crowned in glory.

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#asoiaf #f&b fic #f&b au #cregan stark #nettles #nettles x cregan stark #cregan x nettles #cw: ableism #pre relationship #rating: t #rare pair #rarepair #oneshot #part of a series

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asongoficeandfirehistoryau · 5 months

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Lord Vimond Targaryen [158 B.C.--135 B.C.]

Lord Vimond Targaryen was the first-born child of Lord Vaellar Targaryen and Lady Naelarys Aereneos born in 158 B.C. and the presumed heir until his early death in 135 B.C.. Unfortunately, it is unknown which specific battle or war he died in. Lord Aenar’s records, however, make it clear that he looked up to his eldest brother, naming him the fiercest dragon rider of their generation, claiming that it was the reason he was targeted during the battle and from this it can be inferred he was indeed a brave warrior, not shying away from the front lines. In addition to his prowess in battle he also carried a Valyrian steel blade known as heartfyre. Aside from these specifics, like his father, Lord Vaellar, very few details of his life were known aside from his wife and their children and grandchildren.

Lord Vimond was born in 158 B.C. and was a strong and healthy child as was predicted when his mother claimed a dragon while pregnant. However, unlike most Valyrians, he was born with bright red hair, earning him the nickname “Fireborn”, he did however have the dark brooding violet eyes of his father. As the first born child and son, his mother Lady Naelarys, doted on him and they had a very special bond as he grew up. Lord Aenar claimed in his journals that Vimond grew to be incredibly handsome and could have had his choice of bride but did his duty by his mother’s traditions and married his sister Lady Velaenora (still a beautiful woman but was more athletic and lither than feminine and delicate) in 142 B.C. They were happy during their short marriage, but they weren’t ever truly at peace together. Aenar recorded that his sister would often complain about the way women would stare and throw themselves at Vimond leading her to mistrust him. However, according to Aenar, Vimond remained a dutiful and faithful husband during their 7-year marriage, but it was with little enthusiasm for his chosen wife. As a result of their tensions, it would lead Vimond to spend a lot of time away from home serving as a commander in the Valyrian army, spending most of his days in the saddle of his dragon. Vimond loved to fly, he claimed his dragon when he was young, at just 5 years old. In 147 B.C. he claimed Cytu “the Eternal Fire”, a borderline wild young dragon whose coloring made it look like a shimmering flame. They had a deep bond and Lord Vimond could control his wild natured dragon better than any of the dragon tamers and mages that belonged to the Targaryen’s.

[Lord Vimond and his dragon Cytu "the Eternal Flame"]

Lord Vimond, like his brothers, was schooled in the ways of war but their father, Lord Vaellar, saw to it that they were also studying the history of Valyria, the cultures of their colonies, and expected them to be leaders in the next generation and lead with honor and chivalry. Vimond, according to Aenar was the very epitome of these things and was riding his dragon into battle by the age of 14. Lord Vimond also spent time with his brothers studying with their father on how to rule their own house, their own territories as governors, and the politics of court. Lord Vaellar wanted to make sure that even if he was not accepted by the Great Lords, his sons would be. Part of their tutoring involved their duty to the family and how important it was to put the family above all else. Lord Vimond took these lessons to heart and when it came time to marry, he married his younger sister Lady Velaenora in 142 B.C.. Within the first two years of their marriage Velaenora was pregnant with their first child, Rhaesella Targaryen, in 140 B.C. Rhaesella was named for Vimond’s and Velaenora’s younger sister Relaenna, whom they were both close with. Lord Vimond remained at home for the first year to welcome their first child, Rhaesella, and as a result Lady Velaenora quickly fell pregnant again within that same year however, her joy at being pregnant was cut short when their mother passed away from childbed fever 5 moons later. Every one of Lady Naelarys children took her death hard but for Vimond and Velaenora they were particularly afraid of what that could mean for Velaenora’s pregnancy. They were both also extremely close with their mother, being her first son and daughter respectively, and they mourned her loss deeply together bringing them somewhat closer together through tragedy. Thankfully, due to their support for one another during their grief, Velaenora’s pregnancy went smoothly, and in the first few moons of 139 B.C. she gave birth to another girl, Naeresa, who they named in honor of their mother. Unfortunately, despite their renewed relationship, Lord Vimond was not able to stay away from the battlefield any longer and left to fight for the next two years. In 137 B.C. he returned for 6 moons and left just after it was announced that Lady Velaenora was pregnant again, he was able to take leave to see the birth of his first son, Daemion, in 136 B.C., but unfortunately he was only home for three moons before having to leave again, and tragically this would be the last he would see of his family. He was killed in an unspecified battle somewhere in the empire when an enemy scorpion bolt took out his dragon and he plummeted to his death in 135 B.C.. His loss hit the Targaryen family hard, Vimond had been the clear heir to his father, Lord Vaellar, and House Targaryen and he was everything his father wanted. He was charming, charismatic, thoughtful, and careful in his actions, he was a smart and confident leader and above all else was an excellent warrior and dragonrider having been known to fight even upside down cutting down foes on castle walls and mountain ledges. Lady Velaenora took his death the hardest, not stirring from her bed for almost a month. However, one visit from the crying 6-month-old Daemion roused her from her deep depression and she moved forward for the benefit of her children. Surprisingly her father never required her to remarry, seeming to understand how deeply she felt her loss for Vimond. Eventually however, Velaenora overcame her heartbreak and remarried however, while she remained in Valyria she would always visit his tomb in the family mausoleum on the anniversary of his death and paid her respects.

#ai art #asoiaf #au #game of thrones #got #got au #midjourney #asoiaf fanart #fan art #ai artwork #pre asoiaf #valyria #house targaryen #targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones au #game of thrones fan fic

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elizxbethofyork · 1 year

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a rhaena targaryen story ♛ a dragon doesn't fear 1/2 inspo and gifs by @queensend

warning! depictions of incest, harsh language, murder, violence, abusive relationships, and mentions of rape

She would later learn what had driven him to her bedchamber that notable evening. Her husband was either gentle or caring, and only came to her when he deemed it fitting to leave his seed within her, but other than that he had barely spoken a word to Rhaena. He was never a man of words, even as a child she would remember how her uncle barely acknowledge her or her siblings existence. The only incident that she can recall was when the Dowager Queen Visenya demanded that she should be given to as wife for uncle; stating the bloodlines of the conquerors uniting will strengthen our hold on Westeros as well as maintain our pure Valyrian blood. Maegor would take Rhaena as his wife, but many years as well as many wives later. She remembered that horrid day when she stood between beautiful Jeyne and sweet Elinor because one wife was not enough for her uncle. He had taken three to the marriage bed that evening, whilst his sorceress witnessed it all clutching onto Rhaena’s daughters as the precious hostages they were.

Tyanna.

Rhaena did not know it was her blood Maegor was covered in whilst when he held her; had she known she would relish knowing the witch had met a horrific end. She recalled that night by the fire, for it was only in that moment did she ever felt something for him, and it was pity. She sat by the fire in her empty chambers with a small book in hand, reciting the same poetry that had brought her comfort as a child. The sounds of the fire crackling echoed against the stone walls of the room, the rooms she use to share with her sister wives but Jeyne died bleeding out Maegor’s son, and Elinor prayed to gods for she also carried his child. That only left Rhaena, she was the last of the brides that her uncle has not left with a child. The twisted irony was not lost to her, for Maegor’s first wife remained barren for him and as his last wife so would Rhaena, she would make sure of it no matter how hard he fucked her.

She remembers muttering the Valyrian words against her lips when she heard the echoing of his boots, as she squeezed her eyes shut as if she could make him disappear. Rhaena was the only wife remaining for her uncle to take to bed tonight. And though it was not the first night alone with her husband, she had little comfort in the fact that he would visit his other wives the next. But all of them were gone, she bitterly reminded herself, leaving Maegor all to herself in the coming darkness. The sound of his thundering steps grew louder by the second until they didn’t, the locks that kept in her prison turned and the great oak doors opened. She felt the hairs on her skin rise in goosebumps: she could feel his presence a few feet away, she could hear his heavy breathing, and his smell always filled the air with rosemary, ash, and blood, always blood.

“Rhaena”, his voice was low and coarse when it spoke. It was the first time she ever heard him utter her name, for it acknowledged her person, it made her into a human being, it gave her power. And when it came to Maegor, it was him and him only that was allowed to hold such power.

In an instant, she rose and faced her husband, lowering her eyes and placing her hands in front of herself. “Your Grace”, she said meekly. Rhaena was disgusted with herself, whatever happened to the girl that dared to take a dragon into the skies, what happened to the fire that burned in her veins? She knows, she remembers for it had died when Aegon did when Maegor ripped open her husband's throat.

Rhaena tried so hard not to flinch when he walked toward her, she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. For she was a dragon, and dragons do not fear. A dragon doesn't fear, she repeated the words over and over again in her head trying to remain calm. He towered over her, leaving her in the shadow of darkness like the wings of Balerion. She could feel the tension, the fear, the agony thick in the air for it made it hard to breathe. Maegor began to trace her exposed collarbone with his hard calloused hand as she felt his cold gaze burning down at her.

“What do you have in your hands?”, he questioned noticing the small book she held, her grip tightened around it .

Rhaena felt her mouth go dry, she flicked her eyes up at him for a second and lowered them instantly when they met his lavender eyes and quickly answered, “A book of poetry, your grace”.

Maegor sat upon the couch, his burning gaze never leaving her, he hummed and reached out to take the book from her hands. Rhaena simply obeyed and gave him what he desired. He began to flip through the pages, thinking he could find treason within its words. “A cup of wine, wife”, he simply said as his eyes continued to search for whatever delusions plagued his mind.

She walked away from him toward the tray of wine, she can feel her entire body trembling as she began to fill the cup with the sweet burgundy drink. A dragon doesn't fear. She tried to calm down by taking deep breaths. A dragon doesn't fear. She must face her fears like a dragon would, head-on. Rhaena turned around and returned to her husband's side with the cup in hand.

When she approached Maegor, he shut the book close and threw it to the side. She handed him the wine he had asked for. She watched as he finished the entire goblet, “Dornish shit”, he murmured before dropping it onto the floor and once again his attention turned towards Rhaena.

Before she could move, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. Holding her under his firm grip, Maegor stared into her eyes. “So much like Aenys in the love of pretty words and songs. But unlike him, I can see the dragon hiding beneath your soft flesh”, he pushed a strand of her silver hair behind her ear. He pressed his head against her body, and then placed his face in between her breasts as he inhaled her scent. She forces herself to hold him then, trying to stop herself from repulsing against his touch.

“You were always meant to be my wife, and now you shall be my last wife. For the dragon in you will burn away Tyanna’s poison and you shall give me the son I was promised”, he mused. She never thought him to be the nostalgic type. No, he wasn't, he was making a vow, acknowledging the cards fate has dealt him.

“You honor me with such a duty, Your Grace”.

“The others were unworthy with their polluted blood”, he spat with hatred in his voice. Maegor turned his head and once more stared into her eyes. “You, however, have proven that you are fertile by giving our house not one but two children. Ours is true, ours is pure and it will be our son who is a true dragon worthy of the name Targaryen, worthy of the iron throne”.

“A true Targaryen prince” — you are unworthy to have such a son, Rhaena thought.

“A true dragon to carry on the legacy of the conquerors. Uniting the bloodlines of Aegon and his wives. They have built us this empire, but your father was weak and allowed our enemies to grow. But I will burn them out leaving behind steel and strength allowing the house of the dragon to rule for centuries to come”. He spoke of legacies, of weakness and strength, of the future as if it belonged to him and him alone. Or maybe Maegor finally understood that his reign of terror was coming to an end. No, he wouldn't of understood for that was the only thing he was oblivious too.

“Will you sing for our son?” he asked as he once again pressed himself against her. He closed his eyes and leaned deeply into her touch.

“Sing?”, she asked confused. As if you would ever let me hold him, as if Tyanna would ever let him call me mother, as if I would ever give birth to that son you so desperately desire.

“Aye, sing. Father always beamed with pride for your talents, for it reminded him of his favorite wife and you do have a lovely voice. Will you sing for me, wife?”. Rhaena stared down at her uncle in utter shock, it was usually his action that left her in this state, and now it was his words. She felt his strong arms snake around her waist as if he was a little boy holding onto his mother.

Rhaena forced the words from her lips and began to sing. It was a common Valyrian song, one that her father would sing to his dragon. A song fitting to put a wild dragon to sleep. She ran her fingers through his short-cut silver hair, and she felt his muscles relax under her touch. His breathing lightens but she still felt it heavy against her skin. Time moved slowly or fast, she couldn't comprehend for there was a beast between her breasts. A beast that looked so much like a scared little boy. A trick of the mind, Rhaena reminded herself, he was no little boy, he was a monster. She would finish singing the song, but he did not move. His arms tightened around her and she continued to hold him, cuddle him, allowing her fingers to continue touching him. The room was quiet if not for the wood burning and crackling, she turned her face to the fire and stared at the dancing flames. A dragon doesn't fear. She told herself as she felt the tears roll down her cheeks. A dragon doesn't fear.

Rhaena closed her eyes for a moment and she shot them open when she felt the presence of another. She looked towards the doorway and saw her Uncle Daemon staring at them. Traitor — she thought, he was the reason Maegor took her for his wife. She glared at him with utter hatred in that moment.

“My King”, he said.

Maegor opened his eyes and stirred, his grip loosening but nevertheless still there. He turned his head and shot an angry look towards Daemon. “What is it? What is so important that you dare to disturb me?” he growled.

“The small council gathers, Your Grace. We have news of the traitors” Daemon replied cautiously as his eyes flicked from Maegor to Rhaena. She knew then, they have news of the rebellion, of her family.

“Hmmm”, he grunted at his words. He finally let Rhaena go, allowing her to stand and walk a few steps away from him. Maegor nodded and rose from his seat, he once more towered over her. She felt her knees go numb and instead of averting her eyes, she dared. Rhaena started back into those cold lavender eyes and saw a grin form on his face. “I will return to your bed tomorrow, wife”.

“As is your right, husband”, she replied stoically, that was the first and only time she addressed him as such, her husband.

Maegor gave her a short nod of acknowledgment and turn leaving the rooms. However, Daemon continued to stare at her, though he dared not to look her in the eyes. She followed her uncle’s gaze to her nightgown. The white cotton gown was utterly ruined, covered in stains of deep dark red. It took her a moment to realize it was blood and she thanked the gods it wasn't hers. Daemon’s eyes finally met hers, and they looked at her with pity. He gave her a soured smile and closed the doors behind him as he left.

Leaving Rhaena utterly alone in the darkness covered in blood and tears, whispering the words. A dragon doesn't fear.

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synkverv · 6 months

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(Jaehaera & Daenaera modern metal band AU; playlist)

Introducing the Little Queens, an up-and-coming duo with their unique blend of doom and groove.

Vocalist and bassist, Jaehaera Targaryen (17), and drummer, Daenaera Velaryon (14), are eager to prove their "metal" in the scene and empower other young women to do the same.

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viscardiac · 1 year

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A season left of summer - XIV

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 𝐗 𝐎𝐂

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: “But know this,” she rose an eyebrow. “I think Ceryse Hightower a poor match for the prince.” “And should Aella, a babe, suit him better?” He shook his head with a smile, pulling Visenya closer. “She just might.” “Let her be. Soon, Lady Ceryse shall give him an heir to care for, and this shall be long forgotten.” “I do hope you’re right,” Visenya sighed, leaning on his chest. But I don’t think you are, she thought.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.535

𝐗𝐈𝐕 - 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 '𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 || 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓

"Dear Rhaena... And all the rest of you, who will, no doubt, read this letter. I hope you fare well, and know I will not return until I see fit.

I write in good spirits, later, perhaps, than I should have. My child came to this world safe and alive, as am I now. A boy, large and beautiful, whom we named Viserion, after the queen. I am confined to bed by the midwife until she sees fit, or as she calls it, "until I am fully recovered". My son has occupied the better part of my days as he grows. When he sees me, it is with his father's eyes, that which brings me great joy. Had this senseless exile been lifted, you would meet him sooner, but alas, you shall wait. I trust all is well with your dear friend Alayne, as well as with our brothers and sisters. I shall tell you more about Viserion as he grows and finds his footing, but for now, he sleeps on my breast.

Your sister, Aella."

***

"Dearest daughter, I am overjoyed in receiving word of your successful labor, albeit through Rhaena.

She told us you found offense in your mother's letters, and therefore, I write it in her stead. Though the situation is unsavory, to say the least, I am nothing if not proud of your accomplishment, proud to say I am Prince Viserion's grandsire. I would like you to keep us apprised of his development, and look forward to meeting him, as you said, when you see fit to return to Westeros.

Your father, King Aenys."

"I am still livid that you married the prince, but I should tolerate him for as long as he should treat you with the due care. I am sure my nephew is a beautiful boy, or else he would not be my nephew, after all. Father needed days to recover from the news of Viserion's birth, but he will be well. You know how he always was, fainting any time he would need to make a decision. Mother wants me to tell you to return — but I tell you to stay put.

Vaella is unwell, though I don't think any of them want me to tell you. I don't think she will survive the year, and Alysanne is the saddest of children. She looks forward to meeting her nephew, though, as do I.

Queen Visenya has returned safely, as I'm sure you already know.

Your sister, Rhaena."

***

"Dear Rhaena, I am distraught over the news you have for me about Vaella. We all hoped she would have fared better, and she is often in my prayers. I hope for the best, as I do for Viserion, though he was never as frail as Vaella is. Relay my sympathies to mother, as I am sure she will be terribly sad, as am I, and surely you too.

However terrible the times are to do it, I have news of my own to give, as I am once more with child. Maegor insists he is to have another son, but the fate belongs to the gods. I will be glad with however many children the Mother deems right to give me, and I should love them all the same. Viserion has learned to laugh, and will do so at any given opportunity. You must visit me soon, to know him, to tell me the gossip of the court.

Your sister, Aella.”

***

“ALREADY?

Your sister, Rhaena.”

***

“So will the gods. And my husband.

Tell me news of Vaella, Rhaena. Queen Visenya tells me she grows fainter by the day. It guilts me to see my own son so well and have news that my sister is to die.

Your sister, Aella.”

***

“I delayed sending this letter. Unlike you, I have no sort of good news to relay. Dark wings, dark words, though no crow carried this. Vaella continued to sicken. The maesters say there was nothing that could be done, and I think they just didn’t do enough. They seldom do anything that does not align with their agendas.

She was burned, as we all are. Father had Quicksilver do it, and there is a gloom over our heads. The court says she was an infant and infants die more often than they do not, and I pay it no mind. These are the same people that spread out vicious lies about me and my travels, of how my maidenhead is gone, given to a common man. Mother has finally convinced father to do something about it, and now they wish for me and Aegon to be married.

The High Septon opposes it, as he opposes everything — I'm sure he would have me wed to his Hightower nephew as he did with Lady Ceryse. I don't believe either me or Aegon feel anything about the subject. We always presumed we would be wed after all, as I was closer to him in age than you were.

I forbid you of dying on your new child's labors as much as I did the first.

Rhaena."

***

"I never knew what to write you. Grief written doesn't seem like enough of a word. Is it ever, even spoken? Fool that I am, I pictured Vaella grown, perhaps even betrothed to my son. Mother would never allow it, but one can dream. The gods will have her, they must. She was but a babe.

The court is comprised of liars who know nothing about anything that matters. When they find no gossip, they invent it at our cost. They wouldn't dare say it to your face, though.

The maids have managed to convince my husband I am to have another son, but I am not so sure this time. It feels different. This child grows at the same rate Viserion did, likely, I will be just as huge when the time comes.

I do not intend to die in childbed anytime soon, Rhaena. I will be back to haunt the halls of our home. But it seems like our fate is to be wed without the other.

Your sister, Aella."

***

"It appears that fate has nothing but annoyance in its schedule. It'll be fine, I believe, however much of a nuisance the High Septon has decided to make himself.

As far as courtly gossip goes, I must tell you, Lord Celtigar has married that Harroway girl, in hopes she might yet give him the son he seems to need. I feel sorry for her. For a valyrian, Lord Celtigar certainly lacks a character to love or hate.

As for a son of your own, well, it would be terribly lucky. Does the lighting strike twice on the same spot? We must see. Would it not be a beauty, to give Viserion a sister to wed?

Your sister, Rhaena."

***

"I presume it would be all the easier, if there was a sister to wed Viserion to. As much as everything ought to be less complicated if we were men. The court wouldn’t mind something so trivial as whom we choose to bed, for one.

Mother seems to have given up sending patronizing letters that do nothing but sour my moods when they arrive. She has taken to tell father to write them, and however much I may know he means no harm, it is also due to his indulgence of her will that we stand as we do now. As much as I love them there is some share of it which will never stop being unforgivable.

When is the wedding planned to happen? I must send you and Aegon gifts.

Your sister, Aella.”

***

“Mother claims our wedding should be as soon as possible, but father seems tired enough, his lords wish to make an event of it and he has the bad habit of failing to tell them no. It is yet to be announced, and all hell will break loose, I’m sure of it. Mother is sure Viserion will be spoiled by your husband, but I trust you will do a fine job with them.

I will be expected to bear children, and I regret not being able to do it with the same joy you do. I don’t think I ever will. One will suffice. It will be enough for me, and it will be enough for Aegon, he may face Dreamfyre if it displeases him. I expect my nephew is growing strong, both of them, if your maids and husband are to be believed.

Your sister, Rhaena.”

***

“Viserion will outgrow me faster than I could ever imagine. He is not a year old, and yet, he is terribly big. His nursemaids have a hard time carrying him around, and so do I. The babe grows at the same fast rate Viserion did. Maegor has agreed to let me name it after our grandmother, after you. Should it be a girl, she will be Rhaella. If a boy, we are to name him Rhaegel.

I regretted you wouldn’t be here when labor came for Viserion, and for this new babe it shall be the same, for you need to focus on your own wedding. And Aegon has more to fear than just Dreamfyre’s breath if there’s a demand for more than you will to give. You must give me notice of how things went if I cannot be there myself.

Your sister, Aella.”

***

“As I predicted, things are at odds.

Father announced the match between me and Aegon, and the Faith… did not like it. I’m sure that hateful High Septon would rather I marry one of his Hightower nephews, as he did with Lady Ceryse. They were not all that happy with your wedding either, might I say, but the match you made seems to be… acceptable in face of wedding brother and sister. None of us cares the least for the High Septon’s opinion on the matter, valyrians did it for millenia, and so did the Targaryen. We will continue to do so long after they’re gone.

For once, father took a stand about it, and there has been talk among the court of things I shall not repeat. It is all the better that you need not hear it.

Your sister, Rhaena.”

***

"The court speaks because father serves no justice for their words. Maegor says this High Septon ought to be burned to the ground, and I tend to agree. His meddling has caused enough trouble as of now. Burn you, yourself, this letter if you must, but should you face trouble for that miserable old man's babble, I will be more than happy to ask of my husband to go and fulfill that wish with Balerion. And he would oblige.

Father should be controlling all this nonsense instead of planning a wedding. The gall! Talk about a princess, a prince in such a manner you yourself dare not repeat. Father should have his tongue at the very least. How does mother even tolerate it? It's absurd.

Aella."

***

"The High Septon has no use for that tongue of his, it would seem to me, except to cause discord. And yet, the plans for the wedding stand strong. They preach on the streets, ridiculously, might I add, calling us abominations as if they themselves were not so for the sheer boredom they cause me.

Aegon is more worried than I am. I advised him to take a dragon for himself, and he will not do so, for no reason I can ascertain. He should. If anything happens to me, you have my leave to send that terrible husband of yours atop the Black Dread to reduce the Starry Sept to ash and gravel.

Your sister, Rhaena."

***

"It gladdens me to see you accept the help I can offer, even if it breaks exile. What will father do, exile us?

Sometimes I think he and mother wish for an early grave. They must. Else, why do they have so little regard for what happens right in front of their eyes? Things are not fine, nor will they be until this behaviour is excised. But of course, who am I to give an opinion? The midwife says much of my anger must be to blame on the babe, but I think her wrong. I am justified in wanting things done right.

Don’t allow them to place you in danger of becoming something you’re not. I was so close to it, and I would regret it my entire life.

Aella.”

***

“The wedding was… eventful. I’m sure you already know. Queen Visenya left it in protest, and no doubt has either sent you letters or told you in person. The Sept of Remembrance was full, and the streets were even fuller with all that hateful mob that listens to the High Septon’s detestable discourse.

We then had the banquet. I’m sure this was mother’s work, no doubt, and yet… Father has taken the title you and Prince Maegor carried, Prince of Dragonstone, and laid it upon Aegon. He cares not for the title, it is no more than words to him. I cherish it, but it is in truth his, not mine, as it was your husband’s, and not yours. It is bound to stir worse trouble, as Queen Visenya keeps this court in one piece. I’m afraid father cannot manage it on his own. Never could.

I feared these news, who are sure to anger your lord husband, would cause you or the babe harm. Even if I were not the one to give them. You are well within your term, no doubt just as big as the last time I saw you, if not bigger still. Please be well.

Your sister, Rhaena.”

***

“I delayed this one letter for one too many reasons.

For the first, Maegor was livid father would do such a thing after sending us into a senseless exile. I was, too. I will not lie to you, we took offense, and for long, I was angry at you for taking something that belonged to me. But you’re right. It was never mine to begin with, it was his, just as now it is Aegon’s.

For the second, labor came earlier than I thought it would. Perhaps it was the anger, perhaps it was the babe that wished to leave on its own accord — and I wouldn’t put it past him. Maegor blames father. He will not hear it otherwise — though he will still take any chance to burn the hateful mob you tell me of to a crisp. No doubt there are many more hateful words to my own children, who are babes at arms.

And it would seem the maids were right again. This babe is a boy, Rhaegel, as I have told you he would be called. While his brother was calm, he is fretful, and will make noise at all things he can. Not all cries, mind you, but I think he will hever tire of using his words when he learns them. Rhaegel reminds me of the paintings of our late lady grandmother, Queen Rhaenys. I wished she could have met them, the two of them. With enough hope, you still will, though.

Your sister, Aella.”

#my writing #my art #a season left of summer #oc/aella #maegor #maegor i targaryen #maegor the cruel #maegor targaryen #maegor x oc #oc #asoiaf oc #got oc #pre asoiaf oc #pre asoiaf #asoiaf #targaryen #house targaryen #targaryen oc #targaryen fic

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rosieofcorona · 11 months

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Any Man’s Bride

A little fic about my OTP (Tywin x Joanna) and the lengths they would go to for their house and their relationship. Also on AO3. <3

Joanna’s fingers wander lazily down the pathways of Tywin’s skin, grazing every now and then against the golden curls on his chest. She traces fine lines along his collarbone, over the empty hollow of his throat where his heavy chain of office usually rests. In the corner of her eye, she can see it on the table at his bedside, set aside but never forgotten, starlight from the window making it shine in the dark.

Beside her, Tywin is still and comfortable, his sharp features softened into something close to peaceful, or as peaceful as he is capable of being. His eyes are closed, but Joanna knows he is awake. She can always tell by the way his breathing deepens, his heartbeat slows.

It seems a shame to trouble him in this state, when he has finally set down the burdens of the day, but she has held the bad news long enough. A better time will never come.

“Tywin?”

He only hums in reply, a low and weary sound, and waits for her to speak again.

Suddenly, she doesn't know how to begin. No matter that she has rehearsed this conversation many times in recent days, rolled the words over and over on her tongue until they are worn smooth as river rocks. She knows it will make no difference in the end. Even polished stones bruise when thrown.

“A raven came from the Rock,” she says, exhaling the words in one long breath, making certain that her voice does not waver. “From Stafford?” “From your father.”

The air seems to go still within the chamber. It is rare enough that Lord Tytos writes to his eldest son and heir, much less to any of his other children—and never, never to Joanna.

Tywin is immediately suspicious. He sits up on his elbows and twists to face her, his brows furrowed in an expression that is equal parts aggravated and concerned. “And?”

“He hopes I understand,” she continues cautiously, reciting the words as clearly as if she were reading them on the page, “That in accordance with my late father’s wishes, I am to be married by year’s end.”

The stare that Tywin gives her is one of genuine disbelief, hard and unblinking, as though he is waiting for Joanna to explain herself, as though it has never crossed his mind that this day might eventually come, as though it is utterly incomprehensible that she should become any other man’s bride.

Several long moments pass before he decides it is not merely another of Joanna’s attempts to vex him. When he finally speaks again, his voice is dark. “To whom?”

At first, she says nothing.

It feels wrong to speak of marrying anyone else when she is still naked and warm in his bed, when she wants nothing more than to pull him close to her until he is tangled in her arms and her legs and her hair. Her hesitation hangs heavy in the space between them, and only makes him more impatient.

“To whom, Joanna?” “Lewyn Martell,” she answers, too quickly this time.

The silence that follows seems to stretch between them, widening like a crater, like a maw.

Tywin rises from the bed and crosses to the farthest window, looking out over the city below.

On the surface, the match seems suitable enough. Lewyn Martell is young and strong and handsome, the glory of Sunspear, and quick with a blade. The son of a great house, and already a knight at his age. A fine suitor for any woman, by all appearances.

But Tywin, at least in his own mind, knows better.

They called young Lewyn a prince of Dorne, but he is no true prince at all. The Dornishmen, Tywin thinks, are fond of their titles, false though they may be, and fond of their vices. Gambling and whoring were not least among them.

By rumor, Lewyn Martell is no stranger to the Dornish way. He could take as many consorts as he chose, even when married, could fuck and fight like a wild dog in the streets, could fill a dozen bellies with half-bred pups, could cast Joanna aside for his own pleasure.

Joanna does not belong there, in their foreign city with their foreign customs, was not born to share her bed with whores and heathens. She is proud and noble and beautiful, and a Lannister overmore.

Above all, she is Tywin’s, has always been Tywin’s. That alone is enough to deem any other match ill-made.

Finally, he draws a long breath. “Have you accepted?” “Not yet.” “Yet?” He turns his head toward the word, his profile cutting a sharp silhouette against the night sky. “You plan to?”

It is more accusation than question, and Joanna knows there is no sense in lying now.

“Yes.”

The way Tywin looks at her makes the heat rise in her cheeks. His eyes flicker with the kind of fury that crackles like a forest fire, uncontrolled and spreading. “So this is what you want.”

“Don’t be absurd, you know it isn’t.”

“Then refuse.”

“I cannot.”

Tywin’s patience is stretched taut as a drumhead, and every word she speaks threatens to strike a thunderous blow. “Very well, then. You may go. I require no further use of you.”

“Use of me?” Joanna’s anger is kindled by her cousin’s, and she struggles to smother it before it catches flame. “Take care how you speak to me, ser. I am not your whore.”

“No. But you mean to be Lewyn Martell’s.”

For a moment Joanna is dumbstruck, as if Tywin has just slapped her across the face.

He moves as far from her as possible, pulling on a tunic and doublet and breeches even though it is the middle of the night. Joanna, unwilling to let him have the last word, scrambles from the bed and slips into her shift, following close behind.

“Have you lost your mind?” She demands. She catches him by the arm, forces him to look at her. “Do you know how it will look if I defy your father? Will it inspire confidence in his allies or fear in his enemies if he cannot even command his own house, his own niece?”

With a scoff, Tywin turns away, but Joanna is never so easily dismissed. She overtakes his long strides and spins around to face him again.

“Would you have me deny him this alliance, and Dorne as well? You know as well as I do the Martells will not bear such a slight.”

They’re near as proud as you, she wants to say, and twice as stubborn, but she thinks better of it.

Tywin does know. All reason tells him that Joanna has the truth of it, but he cannot bring himself to admit that, not yet, not aloud.

The next time she reaches out to touch him, he does not recoil, does not turn away.

“Tywin,” she urges, taking his face in her hands, her eyes wide and pleading and honest. “You must understand. It is not for love of Lewyn Martell that I would accept this offer. House Lannister cannot lose what respect you have only just won back.”

Tywin sighs, and waits. Waits. Waits.

At last, he takes Joanna’s hands in his, sets them down at her sides.

“Fine,” he says, in a tone so impassive it makes her stomach drop.

Tywin has never been one for surrender—especially not where Joanna is concerned—but now it seems there is no fight left in him. Briefly, she considers taking it all back and assuring him that of course, of course she would never wed another, that she would let houses and cities and kingdoms fall if it meant they could be together.

But in the end she says nothing, leaving Tywin to break the silence, and her heart with it.

“You must leave me now. I have work to do.”

In the weeks that follow, Joanna takes great care to avoid her cousin. She does not seek him out, does not look at him or speak to him or draw attention to herself on the rare occasions when he passes her by. It is not such a hard thing to do, she thinks after the first few days, but if she is being honest with herself, it is only because Tywin is also avoiding her.

**********

It is a full moon’s turn and a half before she gets a good look at him again, and all the while the city fills up with visitors. They trickle in slowly at first, a few caravans at a time, but then come faster and thicker, in droves and hordes and masses.

Most of them are copper-skinned and raven-haired and beautiful, dressed in the sleekest Dornish silks. By month’s end, Joanna imagines that there must be more of Prince Lewyn’s kin in King’s Landing than there are left in Dorne, but it comes as no surprise. They have come to celebrate with him, to honor him on the most important day of his young life.

On the morning of the ceremony, Joanna’s nerves are as tangled as a sailor’s hitch.

It does not help that the Great Hall is overwhelmed with spectators, lords and ladies, merchants, princes, singers, knights. As the vows are spoken, Joanna finds herself praying for the whole thing to be over, for the High Septon to cease his dreadful intonations, for the crowd to disperse, for a chance to be alone.

And then she sees him.

Ahead of her on the dais stands King Aerys’ faithful right hand, Lord Tywin, all in black, a stark, defiant contrast to the knight that kneels before him in gleaming white plate.

It is Tywin himself who descends the stairs to present the white cloak of the Kingsguard to Lewyn Martell, who smiles and bows as if there is purely honor in the gesture, as if he has not just committed himself to a life of loneliness, celibacy and servitude.

Lewyn does not know what Joanna knows.

He does not know the dread that filled her, body and soul, as she wrote and rewrote the letter that would bind her to a man she did not love, in a land she did not know.

He does not know the relief she felt the day he took her by the arm and led her through the queen’s gardens, full of apologies for why he could not marry her after all.

“An appointment from the king himself,” he’d said, his honeyed voice dream-laden, consumed with thoughts of glory. “You understand, I hope, why I could not refuse.”

Of course she understood, she’d told him, such an honor must be acknowledged and accepted, and he’d smiled and patted her hand sympathetically. Joanna had pretended to be sad.

He does not know of Tywin’s wrath that night, when he learned that his beloved would be stolen from him. The wrath that convinced King Aerys that Lewyn Martell was the most worthy, the most able, the most skilled knight in all the Seven Kingdoms to protect him, should such treachery ever come to pass. The wrath that robbed Sunspear of her darling son, and her only male heir. The wrath that doomed Prince Lewyn.

He will not know how Tywin kisses her tonight, harder and hungrier than ever before.

As Tywin turns to climb the stairs once more, Joanna catches his gaze and holds it for one small moment, each recognizing the familiar glimmer that so often accompanies a secret between lovers.

And Tywin Lannister smiles.

#tywin x joanna #Joanna Lannister #Tywin Lannister #house lannister #game of thrones #asoiaf #pre-canon #pre-asioaf #I'm obsessed with them #my fic

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mneiai · 1 year

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Cos your other fic got me intrigued maybe something Jon/Daemon Blackfyre?

Ides of March Themed Fills

"There, in there," the voice echoed in his head and Aemon did as instructed, ducking into the storeroom he wouldn't have even noticed on his own.

Moments later, the clank of armored figures running by sounded. They did not stop to check--they didn't notice the concealed door, either.

He leaned back against the wall, allowing himself time to catch his breath and access the situation.

Something had gone horribly wrong. This was a holy day of Old Valyria, a day for various rituals long forgotten, and his father the king had decided to practice one anew. Whether he through his own mistake or the power of Westerosi magic had interfered, Aemon didn't know.

What had been meant to simply to wipe clean their past, to purge the taint of the last king's rule, had instead pulled their ancestors to them.

The strongest willed of them could reach forth through the veil, yes, but only those with unfinished business had done so.

Unfinished business in House Targaryen was rarely a good thing.

The others had no natural defenses: Aemon was the only warg among them, the only one who could shield his mind from the power-given spirits.

That didn't mean he was alone, of course. As grandfather, and Maegor, and Aegon II stole the bodies and memories of his family, he found Daemon Blackfyre still at the edges of his mind, not making attempts to take him over.

He was as horrified as Aemon was. Daemon had started a war, a series of rebellions that caused untold suffering, but he had believed his cause righteous and when he'd been alive, so had many of the realm. He wouldn't have been a bad King, if he'd been sooner or later he might have even been the accepted, seen-rightful one.

At no point did he want suffering and destruction for their own sake.

Or, Aemon hoped the was true, because he had no one else to trust. Servants and highborn thought there had been an attempted coup, assumed that House Targaryen was pulling itself apart naturally, and he did not know who may be loyal to which supposed side or where they thought Aemon fell.

"To the North," he whispered in his mind, feeling Daemon's trepidation.

"To Dragonstone, this was Valyrian magic," he countered.

Aemon shook his head, already collecting himself to make another go for an escape route few bothered using and fewer still would be able to--past the kennels, where anyone else running by would set the dogs into a frenzy of noise.

He started moving, stretching out his senses. "Bloodraven is in the North."

Daemon's shock was amusing enough to lift Aemon's spirits, momentarily. And then he consented, clearly aware the his brother knew more about magic than most others they could find.

They were stuck together, perhaps forever, perhaps simply until the spell was finished. And they were both reasonable enough to know that meant they had to work together.

The fate of House Targaryen, the realm itself, rested on them.

#ironicallypresant #ask answers #asoiaf fic #this ended up more pre-slash but just assume they slowly fall in love or something over their quest to exorcise the others lol

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sweetestpopcorn · 2 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage Relationships: Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen Characters: Daemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Viserys I Targaryen, Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower, Rhaenys Targaryen, Corlys Velaryon, Harwin Strong, Criston Cole, Valaena Velaryon, Laenor Velaryon, Arryk Cargyll, Erryk Cargyll, Steffon Darklyn, Lyonel Strong, Syrax | Rhaenyra Targaryen's Dragon, Caraxes | Daemon Targaryen's Dragon, Helaena Targaryen, Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen Additional Tags: Genderbending, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Story: The Rogue Prince (A Song of Ice and Fire), Story: The Princess and the Queen (A Song of Ice and Fire), Book: Fire and Blood, House Targaryen (A Song of Ice and Fire), Targcest | Targaryen Incest (A Song of Ice and Fire), The Dance of the Dragons | Aegon II Targaryen v. Rhaenyra Targaryen Era, This story is based on the canon asoiaf events and has no link to any adaptation Summary:

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen is the Pride of the Realm. Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, there is not a maid in the Seven Kingdoms who does not dream of conquering the heart of King Viserys's son and heir. And still, barely do they know another one already owns it... Princess Daena Targaryen, the King's sister.

Based on the characters and events created by GRRM.

#daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #the rogue prince #the princess and the queen #fire and blood #genderbend au #dance of the dragons au #pre asoiaf fic #sweetest fics #for alinahams #daemon is daena and rhaenyra is rhaegar #if you ever wonder what I am doing that not updating my main fic this was amongst those things lol

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onthesandsofdreams · 2 years

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Happy News

Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire Pairing: Rickard Stark x Rhaella Targaryen Summary: "I love you," she whispered. "So very much." She felt Rickard smile against her chest, "And I you, my she-dragon. With everything that I am."Words: 1078 Prompt(s): 29.- You Love This, Don’t You - from @fictober-event

Read @ AO3

Rickard all but collapsed on her chest.

Rhaella felt sore and tired, but deeply satisfied. Her marriage had been a good, passionate one so far. She cradled Rickard to her chest and felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her even close. She loved moments like this, when their gave each other to the passion that had been bubbling so close to the surface, thankful that they were now wedded and able to express the love they held for each other with their bodies.

"I love you," she whispered. "So very much."

She felt Rickard smile against her chest, "And I you, my she-dragon. With everything that I am."

She purred with contentment and kiss the top of Rickard's head. "I am so happy. I don't think I could ever be thankful enough to my grandparents for this betrothal."

If anything, Rickard's smile widened and he placed a kiss between her breasts. "You love this, don't you?"

"Yes." She admitted without shame. "I love it here. I am far away from Aerys, from my parents, I love being your wife and being addressed as Lady Stark. I am so happy. The North and its people has been so kind to me."

"You have been no slouch in winning the North to your side, my love." Rickard said and twisted so they could be laying side by side. His whole face was so different than the one he wore while shadowing his father, from attending the needs of Winterfell and its people. It was a face he saved for her, and her alone. "And I consider myself a blessed man to have such a wonderful lady at my side. You know, you have charmed everyone so thoroughly, that my own mother has told me she would disown me should I ever hurt you in any way... well, beyond the birthing bed. That is something unavoidable."

It was her turn to smile, "That is sweet of mother. I love her too, you know? She has been kinder and gentler to me than my own mother was." Her face clouded for a moment. "My mother heard the prophecy and she and my lord father were ready to marry me off, I was a child. And now that I am here, and I am a woman grown, I can see how terrible that would have been for me."

"And we owe it all to your grandsire," Rickard said softly. "To the late Queen too, but ultimately, it was the King who made it possible."

"That is true," she said just as soft. Then, she leaned forward and gave her husband a kiss. "And how fortunate I was that I got to have you? You are a good man, Rickard Stark. And you - and my grandfather - have given me the time to grow and learn. That way, I can appreciate what I have all the more. I have found family, friends and love here."

"And I have found a woman worth dying for."

"You had better not, else my bed will be very cold indeed."

Rickard laughed, and kissed her with renewed passion. And she let the fire she had on her blood to grow and gave herself into the desire that she felt for her husband without shame.

They have been married for three moon turns when she realizes that her moon blood has not come. She knows what that means, but she is frightful that she is simply late. So, she goes to Marna first.

"I think I might be with child, mother."

Marna, who is going through the things they will need for the coming winter, freezes on the spot. A second later, her head snaps to look at her, "Think, or know?"

"Think, I have not seen the maester yet. But I missed two moon bloods now."

Marna stands, leaving behind everything and rushes to hug her, her grin wide and her eyes are wet with tears. "Oh, Rhaella, that would be fantastic news! Come, let us see the maester now."

And they do, and yes, the maester confirms that she is with child.

She and Marna weep holding onto each other.

"You ought to tell Rickard, and I shall have a feast prepared. Oh, a grandchild. Gods be good, I am so excited. Off you go, Rhaella, find that son of mine and give him the news. And your ladies too. We shall feast tonight."

She finds Rickard in the training yard.

She watches him for a while, admiring the grace and strength in his movements. She has been getting better at the bow and arrow thanks to Lady Mormont and Lady Flint had taught her to use a dagger. Rickard had given her one when he found out. She takes a deep breath, "Rickard, may we speak for a moment?"

Rickard and Rodrik stop at once. Rodrik bows to Rickard and to her, "My lady," he says as he leaves them alone.

"Is there something wrong, my love?"

She shakes her head no, "No, I would say that thing are better than ever."

Rickard looks perplexed at that. "Then, what is it? You seldom interrupt a training."

"I know, but what I have to tell you is simply more important than that. Well, at least, I think so. But you will have to decide about that." Rickard waits, and she smiles, takes a hand of his and gently places it on her stomach. "I am with child, my love."

Rickard blinks and then, his whole face lights up. "A babe? We are to have a baby? Am I to be a father?"

Her own face breaks into a wide and happy grin, "Aye, my love. We are to be parents. The maester has confirmed with. We're having a child!"

Rickard sweeps her off her feet in a bridal carry, and laughs as he spins her around. "A baby! We're having a baby!"

She laughs, and throws her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek. "A baby. We are to have a baby."

That night during the feast, they make the announcement. Edwyle hugs her gently, as if he were afraid to break her. Her ladies cheer her the loudest, Marna beams like a proud mother and Rickard ends up with a sore back from all the congratulatory pats.

But life is good, and if the Gods bless her, she will have a healthy baby boy. A little Starkling to one day sit on his grandfather's sit.

#fictober22 #rickard x rhaella #rhaella x rickard #rhaella targaryen #rickard stark #asoiaf #asoiaf fic #pre asoiaf #pre asoiaf fic #au: canon divergence #the rhaella stark chronicles

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thesilverlady · 1 year

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“Daemon praised her beauty, declaring her to be the fairest maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

please do not repost without permission

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luckylucerys · 11 months

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Right Hook Collision

Summary:

Luke hasn’t seen Aemond since the man tried to murder him nearly five years ago.

Little does he know that they’re about to run into each other again.

Literally.

#my fic #hotd #asoiaf #lucemond #house of the dragon #pre relationship #aemond targaryen #lucerys valeryon #series: terminal velocity

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gffa · 5 months

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Over the last week, I decided to go ahead with bookmarking all the fics I've recommended over the years on AO3 since I abide by tumblr poll results always (and man pour one out for all the fic that never made it to AO3 or has since been deleted, sooooo many gems lost to time!) and it was a bit more than the ~3,000 I was expecting:

Hopefully, this will be easier than browsing the hundreds of recs posts I've made, since you can filter for any of the author's tags now! These are mostly focused on Star Wars and DC fandom, but I did my time in the anime mines and occasional tours through some TV fandoms or movies. You can dig into everything unfiltered and start your own filtering, or the bigger fandoms you'll find:

MAJOR FANDOMS: Each of these should have 100+ at minimum and, in the case of Star Wars, literally almost half of them are in that fandom. Look, Star Wars fandom might be a trash fire in a lot of ways, but it is ON FIRE with some good fic. (Older bookmarks not guaranteed to match my current sentiments, especially re: the Jedi, but they did catch my fancy at that point in time!)

STAR WARS: - All Star Wars -OR- All Star Wars minus the Obi-Wan/Anakin ship - OR- Nothing BUT Obi-Wan/Anakin

BATMAN/DC: - DC can sometimes be tricky, but you can do a Batman* search and get most of them (though, sometimes Nightwing* or Young Justice* or Superman* will catch some of the others). Honestly, though, you might want to just do a search for what character or dynamic you like and have fun from there, because otherwise you're getting a face full of my Dick Grayson Is The Center Of The Universe And I'm Making That Everyone Else's Problem agenda. ;)

MARVEL/MCU: - Marvel* will probably get most of the various properties, though you may want to filter for Defenders* or Guardians of the Galaxy* if you're interested -OR- Marvel* without the Thor/Loki - These focus a lot on the Thor* fandom if you want to witness the results of like 8 years of constant voracious reading in that fandom (Minus the ship), because, seriously, I read a LOT of Odinson family fic. - Bonus, just do a search for Maximoff* to find some really good X-Men: First Class-verse because, listen, I have been ALL ABOUT the Maximoff twins since long before the movies or MCU brought them over and I will DIE ON THE HILL of "Marvel, make Magneto their bio-dad again or I'm never reading another comic of yours ever".

TOLKIEN/LORD OF THE RINGS/SILMARILLION/HOBBIT: - Tolkien* -OR- Hobbit* -OR- Lord of the Rings* searches will turn up most of my Elf-hunting, I primarily focus on the Sindar Elves, but look I can't resist my problematic Feanorian faves or that I will die on the hill that Fingolfin is the best ever. (You have NO IDEA how sad I am that so much fic on Stories of Arda or FFNET is not easily bookmarked on AO3, sob. I externally bookmarked a few of the bigger ones, but sooo many shorter faves are missing from my recs tag.)

CLAMP: - X/Tokyo Babylon legitimately bums me out because it's not a huge fandom and yet so much of what was written was pre-AO3 and lost when CLAMPesque went down or was never brought over from Livejournal, yet this fandom (well, the Seishirou/Subaru pairing) still burns brightly in my heart.

BOOKS: Chrestomanci | Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

DRAMAS: Nirvana in Fire | The Untamed -OR- Modao Zu Shi

VIDEO GAMES: Dragon Age: Inquisition | Final Fantasy 8 | Genshin Impact | Okami

BANDS: Arashi

All right, whew, that was actually a fun project, despite how much work it was to hunt down a lot of older faves to see if they were on AO3, hopefully you'll find this useful!

#lumi.txt #fic recs #star wars fic recs #batman fic recs

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thebeesareback · 6 months

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The big Robert Baratheon thoughts

There are several characters within the ASOIAF universe who could comfortably be the protagonist of their own book/series, and GRRM has spoken about how, when writing a character, he tries to see all the major events through their eyes and how it would have affected their lives. Dany and Oberyn are good examples of this, and a shorter book/series could comfortably have either one of them as the main character. If a fic writer is looking for any inspiration, I think a lot could be drawn from Dany in Vaes Toloro.

Another of them is a character who almost seems like a false protagonist in GOT: King Robert Baratheon. The people who don't know him think he's amazing, the people who do know him despise him. He has a fleshed-out backstory, character and the power to influence the plot in many different ways. Yet he's killed off quickly, and I think the fan community often overlooks him as a simple drunken idiot. So I'd like to dig a little deeper.

Robert's life can easily be sectioned into three parts: pre-rebellion era, the rebellion era and the post-rebellion era. Most of what we see comes from Ned Stark, and later we have flashbacks from Cersei which show a much darker and thoroughly rotten man.

To start: Robert is the first born son of House Baratheon, a clan with significant power and influence. He's exactly the kind of young man the Westerosi patriarchal "might makes right" system rewards -- the sort of son Randyl Tarly would love to have. He's an excellent fighter, charming, good looking ("muscled like a maiden's fantasy", oh Ned). There's also a kindness there. When he's fostered at the Eeire he sends for a gift of oranges for Jon Arryn, and although the fruit goes bad, he's not upset and instead plays with the other teenagers. It's silly and funny and the most childish we ever see him.

He isn't always lovely, of course. In Stannis' memory, Robert is unpleasant. He mocks Stannis' falcon and, therefore, Stannis himself. However, Stannis is a miserable shit, and this comment comes after they've spent years disliking each other, so there's obvious bias. Robert seemed to be happy to be away from his family, and so some alienation from his brothers does make sense. Robert and Stannis go through the ordeal of watching their parents die, and it's understandable that this would cause issues in their relationship. Perhaps that's why they pushed each other away. Having a walking, whining reminder of that trauma can't have been pleasant, and the desire to pretend that everything is ok and ignore problems gets more persistent as the years go on.

The third thing we hear about from Robert's pre-rebellion era is his relationship with Mya Stone. I'm not totally clear on the timeline, so I don't know if it's 1. parents' death > 2. Mya's birth > 3. the rebellion or if 1 and 2 are the other way around. Either way, Robert seems to adore his daughter. Ned thinks about how frequently they visited her, and how much Robert enjoyed spending time with her. In a kinder story, Robert would have always been close to Mya. Then the rebellion starts.

There are, of course, lots of things which lead to the rebellion. I don't think Tywin was going to put up with the Mad King for much longer, and Rhaegar felt the same way. Then you have the coalition between the Starks, Baratheons, Tullys and Arryns, and at some point Varys and "Young Griff" would have popped up. For Robert, though, things were straightforward: he wanted Lyanna, and Rhaegar took her away. He remarks to Ned that "Seven Kingdoms couldn't fill the whole she left". It's clear that he didn't actually know Lyanna that well, and it could easily be argued that the reason he worshipped her memory was a mix of affection for Ned and a desire to return to a time where he wasn't traumatised.

Obviously, war is traumatic. That's kind of the point of the series. Everyone who fought in Robert's Rebellion is changed in some way and the scars, literal and metaphorical, run deep. Stannis broods over his "rewards". Ned misses his sister, brother and father. Catelyn is aware of the loss of her betrothed, and Lady Dustin crystalises her rage. Jamie is ostracised and bitter. Jon Connington promises more violence. The list goes on. The things Robert sees during the campaign clearly change him, and this brings us back to Mya.

One of the key themes of the series, most prominently in the first book, is the idea that the innocent should not be sacrificed. That's why Ned works so hard to protect Jon and why he resigns his handship when Robert wants to kill Dany. Something happened to Robert during the rebellion, where his hatred of the Targaryens solidifies so much that it becomes the only thing he really wants. Other things, like his love of his daughter or the belief that children should be protected, all go and he's left with Tywin Lannister and the corpses of Rhaenys and Aegon.

Robert doesn't have to make peace with the Lannisters. In fact, lots of people (the Starks, the Dornish and the people of King's Landing) would be much happier if he didn't. Tywin ordered a horrific thing, and Robert rewarded him. For me, this is where Robert becomes the man we meet in Game of Thrones. He's so broken inside that he does nothing, and tries to pretend that he's still the person he was as a teenager.

After the rebellion, Robert goes on to have plenty more children. If he loved Mya and wanted to see her all the time, after the rebellion he forgets her. And she's the lucky one! Robert must know that Cersei has his twins drowned, he ignores Barra and Gendry, and he only acknowledges Edric Storm because he has to. Then there are the kids who are legally "his", even if biologically they're not. I don't think we ever see him interact with Tommen or Myrecella, and his relationship with Joffrey isn't good. Sure, Joffrey is a little shit, but you could argue that it's partially because of Robert's treatment. Stannis thinks, at one point, that Robert might have killed Joffrey because he hit him so hard.

Why does Robert detach? Well, there's the trauma, the general depression, the loneliness, the disconnect between *conceiving* children and *the actual children*. I think, as well, there's the knowledge that, by allowing Tywin to get away with the murder of the Targaryen children, he's set a precedent whereby the same thing could easily happen to his own kids. If someone needed to get rid of Robert -- and there are people who would like him gone -- they would come after Joffrey, Tommen and Myrecella, and perhaps his bastards, too. He can't protect them, and it shames his chivalric ideals, so he disconnects, doesn't care, and drinks excessively. It might be a way of dealing with guilt, or a way he protects himself from losing anyone else. Ultimately, Joffrey, Tommen and Myrecella are doomed; Edric only escaped sacrifice because of Pylos and Davos, and might well get mixed up in a Varys/"Young Griff" scheme; all of the bastards in King's Landing are killed; and if Gendry survives, it's because of plot armour. Nobody cares about Mya, really.

There's plenty to say about the Robert/Cersei match. Firstly, I'd like to mention how much I enjoy the show-only scene where the two discuss their marriage. It's heartbreaking, well written and beautifully acted, and gives some depth which makes the experience richer.

None of the Lannisters like Robert, with the exception of Tyrion. Tyrion likes Robert because Cersei doesn't, but their creepy and destructive bond is a whole other issue. Ned thinks that Robert was a man with "big appetites", and a clear desire to be loved. It probably means he wasn't ever going to be a good husband, which Lyanna points out (in a line which I cannot imagine a 14-year old ever saying, but I digress). Robert loved the thrill of the chase and the first few weeks of a relationship, but wasn't willing to really emotionally attach to anyone. Perhaps it's because, like with his children, he had to keep people away in case he lost them, like Lyanna.

Cersei is her own woman and, to be honest, not a very good wife. Robert thinks he would have been happy with Lyanna, Cersei thinks she would have been happy with Rhaegar: both are wrong. She starts her wedding day by having sex with her brother; she regularly cuckolds her husband, and then she finishes off by murdering her husband. You could argue that her behaviour is driven by Robert's physical and sexual abuse, and his emotional distance and obvious disdain. I don't think that's incorrect, per se, I just think there's a nasty mix with the two of them. They're bad alone and worse together. They're a toxic, unhappy, traumatised mix, and a solid argument for Westerosi divorce.

Finally, there's Robert's alcoholism and his love of food. There are a number of reasons for this -- the genre's enthusiasm for descriptions of feasts; parallels with Henry VIII of England; possibly GRRM simply likes adding his favourite meals, similar to how he created House Estermont so there could be turtles, because he had pet turtles. Obesity is the sort of thing that's pretty common in middle age men who used to be very physically active, because they had to eat lots to make up their calorie deficit, and when the exercise stopped, the food continued. As for alcohol, it gives Robert an opportunity to forget his (admittedly plentiful) responsibilities and woes, makes him feel like a hero, and gives him an excuse for his abuse of Cersei. He rapes her, and when she brings it up, he says "it was not me, but the wine", then REACHES FOR A BEER. I'm certainly not qualified to talk about addiction and trauma, so if anyone has thoughts on this, please add a comment.

In Shakespeare's Macbeth, the eponymous character snatches the crown at his wife's goading, and then finds that things disintegrate around him. There's a scene in the play where two servants talk about what's going on in Scotland, and one says that two horses fought, and one ate the other. When a monarch is usurped, in literature, nature goes against itself. In real life, revolutions are messy and complicated and difficult. Robert Baratheon fought a rebellion to get his fiance back, whilst others used him and worked alongside him for their own reasons. He was left holding a rotten crown. Abused and abuser, surrounded by toxicity and exuding his own hatred, one could easily create a novel about his disillusionment.

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esta-elavaris · 7 months

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Flufftober Day 2: Family, friends, loved ones. ~ Aemond Targaryen/OC [1,243 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

A/N: So I do intend to write a full-blown Aemond fic one day, I have vague plans in place for how it’ll go, and it’ll probably be with this OC. That being said, as of right now I probably wouldn’t recommend going into that with whatever oneshots I write for him now in mind, because there’s every likelihood that there won’t be any consistency plot-wise between these and that, other than bare bones characterisations – which is why I’m using the same name here for the OC. Sort of test-driving her character, if nothing else.

Also, her name being Jeyne was something I went back and forth on because of Jeyne Poole in the ASOIAF books, who this character is definitely not, but we’re in a world with twenty Viserys’ and fifty billion Aegons, so we can deal.

Though Jeyne would never admit it, she had – when she was younger – fallen into the pastime that many other young ladies did of imagining what her wedding celebrations might look like. Occasionally. When there was nothing else to do. For a moment or two.

Not that interrogation under threat of torture could ever pry that fact out of her.

Still, in her imaginings there were two things she’d never once dreamed of, both of which were now a reality. The first was the groom in question. As the firstborn daughter of a House of some significance, it was expected that she’d marry reasonably well. Lord something-or-other with either gold, good land, or useful connections. Perhaps two of those three.

If she was very lucky, she would like her husband. Somewhat lucky, and he’d leave her to her own affairs beyond seeing that their duty was conducted. Mostly she felt herself daring when she hoped for the latter.

Which was why she was left pinching herself when it was announced that House Greenstone would join with House Targaryen, through the marriage of Lady Jeyne to Prince Aemond. There was no shortage of tittering over her House name when it was announced, but she was much too distracted to heed it much because it turned out she actually liked the Prince. Not even in spite of his notoriously surly demeanour, but perhaps because of it.

Were he his older brother, she would find herself more inclined to distrust the surprising rapport she’d built with her intended throughout their carefully orchestrated courting process. Yes, she was not so naïve as to think that there wouldn’t been a bit of artifice to it in the beginning. Prince Aemond was a man of duty, and if his duty was to behave in a courtly manner to her in the run-up to their wedding, then he would do so. But could the same not be said for any who were polite to those they hoped to one day call an ally?

But polite, if not awkward and stilted, conversations, had – to her shock, as well as that of everybody else – morphed into real conversations. One where her mind was on simply talking to him, and not what Lady Jeyne should be saying to Prince Aemond.

If she had to mark when exactly the change had happened, she would have said it was during their third meeting. They’d exhausted the gardens, and the galleries, and so he’d asked her where in the Red Keep she might like to see next. Without thinking, she’d answered the library – and then faltered, wondering if the correct answer wouldn’t have been the personal sept used by the family here. But Prince Aemond had blinked at her, watching her carefully with his one violet eye, and then slowly informed her that the library housed historical accounts, factual accounts, more than they did song and legend.

Something in his prim and proper princely act had threatened to slip through then – not that all that came beforehand had suddenly felt false, but his words to her in that instance hadn’t felt quite so pre-prepared and indifferent.

Then, the unamused expression had slipped onto her face in response to his assumption before she could think better of it – and he’d liked it.

Which was how, over the weeks of their long engagement (for short ones led to rumours of accidents, as her mother liked to insist), they’d gotten here. To Jeyne sitting by her intended’s side – situated to his right, so he could easily look in her direction - at their final engagement feast in the run-up to the wedding, blushing as he looked at her like she was some sort of strange and wonderful phenomenon that he had yet to figure out. He kept his face impassive, gazing straight ahead as whispers reached them of how some gathered felt sympathy for her despite her sharp rise in station, for he would surely eat her alive. Jeyne followed his lead, and offered no reaction when other whispers floated by that while she was not bad looking, a prince surely could have found a fairer bride. It was easier to do when his fingers found hers beneath the table, tentatively toying with them, growing bolder but never inappropriate when she did not quickly pull back.

The crowd, she reasoned, would likely blame all of the eyes upon her for her blushes.

No, she never could have foreseen this.

The second thing, however, was something she should have seen coming. Her family. Although, to be fair to herself, it was no wonder that they held no place in her idealised daydreams.

So great was the royal family, even without Rhaenyra and her branch present (apparently Prince Daemon’s response on behalf of he and the princess to the wedding invitation did not bear repeating), there was no room for any of the Greenstones to sit. Bar herself, of course. Which meant that Jeyne was afforded the opportunity to watch in horror, from her seat at the high table in her pretty mint-green dress, as her kin made fools of themselves.

Her mother, it seemed, was determined to pick apart every aspect of the event – the décor, the bards, the gowns of the other ladies; the latter of which she made a distinct point of looking up and down with a wrinkled nose…before quickly becoming meek as a mouse the moment any of them looked back. Her father, meanwhile, was attempting to swap war stories with the seasoned knights in attendance…despite never having swung a sword in his life. Not at a moving target, anyway.

Her younger sister – who clearly felt a particular way about plain Jeyne being betrothed to a prince, even if it was “the dour one who’s missing an eye” and not the “funnier, handsomer” Aegon – was doing everything she could to commandeer the attention of all within a twenty foot vicinity of her. Prince Aegon openly laughed at the spectacle at the other side of Prince Aemond…but in a way that seemed to be laughing at her sister, rather than with her. Her brother, at least, seemed to feel much the same way Jeyne did, his head down, enduring the feast as best he could. When he met her gaze, he offered a rueful smile and lifted his cup to her.

Jeyne breathed a laugh, but that was enough to get the prince’s attention.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Before she could think better of it, too. For would it be worse to acknowledge the spectacle they were making of themselves? Or would politely pretending not to see it make him think she really did not see.

“For laughing?” he responded, just as quietly, his fingers still toying with hers. “It’s a feast.”

“For…” she trailed off. “All of that. My friends, family…loved ones…”

She did love them. Truly. She had to, did she not? They were her family. At the moment, however, she just wasn’t much of a fan of their behaviour. Prince Aemond was silent for a moment, and she was too nervous to look over and see how he responded to that. But then he made a low sort of hm noise in the back of his throat, and properly took her hand in his then beneath the table.

“In less than a week’s time, you’ll have new friends. New family…”

New loved ones. The words were unsaid, but her cheeks blazed all the same.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

#esta's flufftober '23 fills #flufftober #flufftober 2023 #flufftober2023 #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen/oc #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic

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