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When a satirical text post understands Daemon better than most of the fandom, the showrunnerd, and the writers. (Credit to @noctis-tempestus)

I just saw a Syrax hate post. Guy, please. You can hate the characters you hate and love the characters you love, but why do you need to bring the dragons into it? This isn’t about them, it’s about their riders. If you hate Rhaenyra, you hate Rhaenyra. You don’t need to start bitching about her dragon because of it. The dragons are innocent. In fact the whole show is about how the dragons suffered and died out because of people. Please don’t hate on the dragons.

ok I wasn’t going to say anything but this is really starting to get on my nerves

IF YOU DON’T LIKE INCEST SHIPS THEN YOU SHOULDN’T BE WATCHING THE INCEST SHOW

fyi it isn't considered fandom drama when fellow creators are being treated with disgusting racism, xenophobia, misogyny, or being told to kill themselves, or bullying anonymously.

boiling it down to just 'fandom drama' makes this kind of shit less serious than it is and it is INEXCUSABLE, unforgivable! especially in regards to racism/wishing death threats. you are not welcome nor allowed back into fandom afterwards and deserve to be shunned and shamed hence forth for your despicable behavior. do not let these loser bitches worm their way back into this fandom. you had a platform built upon gross behavior towards fellow creatives/peers that thought of you as friends, while you were secretly and vehemently treating them horribly, and you deserve to see everything you achieved crumbling before your very eyes. (and those in the dms at the time are just as complicit for not coming forward when they saw the disgusting behavior at hand. i don't care who the fuck you are, it's not okay!!!)

i'll just say, we need to stop putting creatives on a fucking platform or pedestal because we are all equal here and no one is better than anyone. also, we need to build these people up who were these gross bullies victims and support those, especially the BIPOC affected by this nasty bigotry behavior.

The Aegon writers in this fandom better not have a fallout because if we all dip then there'll be nothing left for the crusty lil dog.

Warmth & Stories - Aemond Targaryen x Wildling!Reader

Next Part

Summary: Love can bloom in the most unusual ways. The love between a stoic prince from the South and a wildling storyteller will be written in history as one of the strangest but truest of loves.

Author's Notes: To my very lovely and wonderful friend and beta reader Bel, aka @valeskafics, I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's! This is the first part of this fic gift I wanted to give you, and I promise the next part will have smut! I hope you like this fic and can feel my love and appreciation for you. Bel, you are one of my favorite writers of all time and a huge reason I began posting fanfics and writing in the first place. I am so grateful that you opened a whole new world for me, and I hope this year gives you lots of happiness.

Warning(s): Slight cursing, Reader's parents were killed, Daemon's an ass, Viserys is a negligent father, Westeros is Westeros, dysfunctional family shenanigans

Prince Aemond Targaryen was known to be many things. Proud. Serious. Studious. All things one should be proud of in a young man’s position. Every single one of his teachers and wet nurses sung praises of the young prince since he began to toddle. And although it might seem cruel to admit it, the second prince was the apple of the Queen’s eye and the clear favorite of her four children.

Her sweet Aemond was a mild, studious young boy who practiced his faith in the Seven despite his blood lineage belonging to the Old Gods of Valryia. Besides Aegon, he had always been respectful to his siblings–especially to his elder sister, Helaena. Aemond would often humor his sister’s strange ramblings and gift her with little creatures he found as he wandered the ancient walls of the Red Keep. Helanea, despite all her reclusiveness, only seemed comfortable enough to be touched with her younger brother and often offered comfort whenever he complained about how unfair it was that he still had no dragon. His sister was as fond of her younger brother as he was of her and would usually humor his requests.

Except now.

“Please?” Aemond had been pleading for over an hour, reaching a point where most would pity him.

“No,” replied his sister sternly, “I’ve already told you my answer won’t change.”

“But why?” he pathetically asked as his voice cracked. It was good that Aegon was still in his room, too drunk to start the day. Aemond would never have lived it down without allowing his brother to see him like this. “I won’t ask for anything else from you, I swear it.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But why?” demanded Aemond. “I would never harm (Y/N). Name one person in the Seven Kingdoms who would treat her better than I?”

Too upset by his sister’s refusal, the prince stormed out of the room in a near-blind rage.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was no noblewoman or someone with any particularly wealthy connections or background. You weren’t even someone born within the Walls in the North.

No, you were from a tribe of wildings that hailed outside the Wall and were brought within the borders after your parents were caught stealing. The Starks decided to spare when they realized their daughter was just a tiny child with an incredible talent for storytelling. Within a year, the tales that Y/N wove with her tongue had reached the ears of Aemond’s father, King Viserys of House Targaryen. The King was fascinated by the young girl beyond the Wall, who spun tales of giants and spirits from the Land of Always Winter. He spared no expense in bringing you to King’s Landing.

Aemond could remember the day so clearly, as you arrived very shortly after his bastard nephew took his eye in Driftmark, and his father did nothing but protect his whore of a half-sister. When brought into the keep, you could hardly present yourself to a room full of nobles, let alone the King. You stood before his father and family barefoot and filthy. Your clothes looked closer to rags and torn cloth, and your (h/c) mane was wild with a few braids and feathers. But that hardly mattered. As soon as you opened your mouth, it was as if everyone in the Great Hall had been transported to another world.

The story you told started with a young princess given a toy soldier named the “Nussknacker.” The young princess loved her little toy soldier so much that her sweet Nussknacker came to life one night. He told the princess a prince to a winter wonderland full of fairies, sugar plums, and magic. His home had been overtaken by a maniacal Rattenkönig, and he turned the prince into his current form. The soldier and princess had to face many trials, but they were successful in defeating the evil Rattenkönig and saving the prince’s kingdom. The Nussknacker turned back into the handsome prince he had always been, and he and the princess married to lead his kingdom into prosperity.

By the time you finished telling your story, the Royal court went ablaze with applause. Your pretty words and skillful tongue enraptured every noble. They longed to hear more of your stories and were starved for entertainment. His father was in an especially jolly mood after hearing your tale. He immediately appointed you as the troubadour of the Royal Court held in protection under the Royal Targaryen House. A proclamation that horrified both the king’s Hand and the Queen, to say the least. It was no secret that Aemond’s mother and grandfather did not look favorably on you. More than once, he heard his mother seethe in anger at the attention her husband gave to you as you sat beside him during his father’s pain flares. In her eyes, you were a savage hellion who likely spread her legs up from the Wall in the North to the Great Hall of the Red Keep in the South.

But in Aemond’s eyes, you were an angel. It was not only his father’s pain you soothed with your stories, but also his own. He tried his best to keep his distance from you, but it wasn’t long until you gained his sister’s favor. From then on, whenever he spotted Helaena, you were by her side. The tall and icy walls he tried to maintain around you came crashing down before he knew it. His mother so loved him because he always did as she instructed, including to remain far away from the new child from beyond the North.

But one night, the scar on his eye had been so painful that he gained a fever that lasted for nearly a week. The maesters weren’t sure if he would survive the sickness, as it was a result of his lost eye being inflamed. His mother had resigned herself to crying by his bedside while his sister would sit with him and talk about her day. But one night, when he was delirious with pain, you somehow managed to sneak in from one of the secret tunnels within the keep’s walls. He couldn’t see you, but he recognized your voice. He wanted to scream for you to leave his room, threatening that he would call over the guards standing outside. But then you spoke, and it seemed as if his world of pain had just washed away. You spoke to him about the history of Old Valyria and the beautiful tales of dragons and knights that were lost in time. This continued on every night during his ailment.

“Do you miss your parents?” Aemond asked you one night. But he immediately regretted his question when he saw how your shoulders tensed.

“Sometimes,” you replied after a few moments of silence, “I understand that they are in a better place, wherever they are. But sometimes I wish they were here so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“But you have Helaena to be with you. Even my father adores your company.”

You only scoffed in response.

“Helaena is wonderful,” you bitterly continued, “I am glad to have a friend as sweet and kind as her in this poisonous hellhole you call home. But your father-” you paused a moment to lick your lips to figure out how to phrase your thoughts – “all he sees me as is a toy. A commodity. A funny little object that he bought to entertain him. He never mistreated me but does not respect me as a person, let alone as a subject.”

The tears in your eyes welled to the point where they almost spilled, and you immediately stopped talking to prevent further incriminating yourself.

“You have no idea what it’s like-” you let out a bitter laugh before continuing to cry – “to have your family taken away from you. To watch your parents be executed before your eyes when you were only a small child. And for what? Stealing a loaf of stale bread? What should that matter to the Starks? They have their pretty castle with warm fires and fur blankets. My mother and father worked for everything they had in order to care for me. Now here I am, away from the silver winter I called home and stuck in the shit-odor that covers precious South.”

“However much you hate your family, at least you still have them. I have no one. No one to share my culture and past with, no one to understand your customs and way of life. Call my parents whatever you want. Savages. Thieves. Scum. But they loved me. However little it was, they taught me to be proud of myself. They were my whole life, and now they’re gone.”

You ran out of his chambers and back into the wall. Aemond didn’t see you for several days, even after his fever broke and the maesters told his mother he would live. Two weeks passed, and Aemond felt as if he were going mad. When he finally spotted you in one of the more secluded areas of the library, he grabbed your arm before you could scurry off.

“Tell me,” he told you. “Tell me everything about your parents, your home. Tell me about how the air was clean and clear. Tell me about how everywhere you looked, you saw white snow and clear ice. Tell me how much you loved your family, pets, friends – if you had any. I don’t care what it is. Tell me everything.”

At first, you only stared. He couldn’t tell if you were furious or in shock. But soon, your eyes lit up as if you had been given five hundred gold dragons.

“Where do you want me to start?” you asked him, eyes wide with joy and a heart finally learning to trust.

Lo and behold, he found his heart beginning to feel the same.

“Wherever you want.”

The smile you gave him was worth more than all the money locked within the Royal Treasury.

So many nights since that day, you would sit by his bedside, speaking so prettily that even the most brutal of their acts and customs fascinated Aemond. You would burn the midnight oil, telling him about the adventures and raids of the Free People beyond the Wall. That’s how you referred to yourself as a “free woman.” While you despised the title “savage,” you did not mind being labeled as “wilding.” You claimed that since you were born outside the Wall, the laws of Westeros did not apply to you. You have been seen as wild, but you knew in your heart that you were born free. And what was more impressive to Aemond was how you honestly and sincerely believed that you were born as a free woman.

He saw it in the way you would make little shadow puppets shows to bring a smile from Daeron after it was announced that he would leave for Oldtown.

He heard it in how you got the cooks to spit on your name after stealing bread from kitchens and then giving it to the small folk children living in impoverished areas of Flea Bottom.

He smelt it in how your hair would always smell like the wind in the Godswood to ride his horse when you were supposed to be learning your letters with the Head Septa.

He tasted it when you let him take a sip of that rotten ale you made in secret when you went through one of your horrible bouts of homesickness.

He felt it in how you raced to his chambers to hug him after he woke up from another nightmare of the memory of that night when he lost his right eye.

You were the strangest mystery Aemond had ever and will ever know. No matter how long he spent searching for answers in his favorite corner of the library, Aemond could never understand how someone with a heart as warm as (Y/N) could come from the frozen wasteland she loved to call home.

With a single but powerful stroke of his blade, Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s upper jaw fell as the rest of his body dropped to the floor. Visenya’s Dark Sister had once more bathed in its victim’s blood. Gasps and shrieks filled the Great Hall at the sight of dark blood oozing from his corpse. The members of the Royal members all had varying reactions. From his mother’s side, Helaena immediately covered her eyes and turned away – utterly horrified by the swift mutilation. Aegon grimaced but was otherwise unaffected. Not surprising. He’d seen similar carnage from the illegal fight rings run in Flea Bottom. Aemond took a slight step back in shock as he gaped at the now-deceased lord in mild admiration.

He had no idea tongues were so long.

Prince Daemon Targaryen stood before his ailing brother, tall and proud. There was not a twinge of remorse or regret on his youthful visage as he towered over the spilled blood soaking his boots. Undoubtedly, this man carried the blood and fire of the proud dragons that graced their house.

“He can keep his tongue.”

Brutish as Daemon was known to be, Aemond respected his uncle’s instinct to remove objects that voiced slander against his wife. However much of a whore his half-sister may be, she was still of royal blood and their father’s firstborn.

However, he wasn’t sure how much that last fact mattered, considering how she spread her legs to swill only to produce bastards as her heirs.

His grandfather ordered the Kingsguards to disarm his uncle, but Daemon only scoffed as he wiped the blood off his ancient blade with an old rag. Moments later, Aemond’s decaying father collapsed on the Iron Throne in exhaustion after over-exerting himself. His mother immediately rushed over to aid him when she heard his pained groans.

“Call the Maesters!” she shouted before reaching him. And when his father fell into her arms, that was the first time Aemond saw you throughout this entire proceeding.

You stood close to the walls, remaining present but unseen. It was not until his father called for you by his side that he removed you from your hiding place. You and an apprentice Maester took Viserys to his chambers, leaving behind his wife, children, grandchildren, and every member of the Royal Court. As Aemond watched you carry his hobbling sire to his chambers – likely to recite to him a passage of the History of Old Valyria or one of the many tales surrounding Queen Visenya’s practice of the dark arts – his blood froze as he noticed Daemon’s gaze was focused not on his brother, but on you.

An hour had passed since Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s unfortunate passing, and Aemond was still no closer to finding you. He felt as if he was going mad in desperation. He checked everywhere. The kitchens, catching you sneak bites of freshly baked honey cakes. The stables, to find you feeding the mares and stallions carrots and apples. Your chambers, spying through the keyhole as you sat at your desk writing new stories. He even went so far as to ride to the dragonpit, hoping that you were reading to Vhagar again. He was close to announcing an order to search for you to the closest Kingsguard when he spotted you standing underneath the Heartstree. When another figure approached you, the one-eyed prince was about to call out your name.

Daemon. And judging by the way his violet eyes leered at your womanly form, it was clear to Aemond that this meeting was no coincidence. Aemond stepped out of view and pressed himself close to the garden’s entrance. The silver-tressed prince cursed himself for not publicly claiming you so everyone knew you were his and his alone. Differences in stations mattered little when you grew up so beautifully.

A fact he was sure that did not go unnoticed by his uncle despite meeting you for the first time.

Not for the first time did Aemond find himself cursing the gods for creating perfection in a single woman. Time had been unkind to many but seemed to spare you of any misfortune. While you were far from the polished and perfect image of a proper lady, you slowly but surely assimilated yourself to life in the South of the Wall. You traded your hides and furs for dresses and trousers. Your wild (h/c) mane became untangled by his sister’s ladies-in-waiting frequent brushings. Regular meals and proper care took a starving child with sharp, bony jabs to a woman with soft, feminine curves and beauty rivaling the Maiden herself.

“How have you found your time so far from the wall, little wilding?”

“I spent every waking second soaked and flushed from sweat and heat. To make it worse, I can’t escape the shit and piss that stains and bathes your pretty keep. Tell me, does that answer your question, my prince?”

Daemon barked a short laugh, amused that his brother took in someone so clearly different from the court’s usual vultures.

“When I heard my brother had taken in a little girl from outside the wall as his little entertainer, I was expecting a hobbled cripple caked in dirt with no sign of grooming. But here you stand, appearing more like a proper lady than a savage wildling.”

“You can take the girl from the North, but you can never take the North from the girl.”

No truer words had ever been spoken.

Aemond smiled at your quick wit and tongue. You were still every bit of the girl dragged before his father when he was only ten name-days old, even if you changed a little bit.

You still styled your hair with the little braids commonly worn in the North, but sometimes, he would catch Helaena tucking feathers in your locks.

You still carried your father’s old hunting knife on your person, but you also kept the Valyrian steel dagger Aemond gave you on Yuletide Eve from three years past.

You still made frequent trips to pass the bread to the small folk in Flea Bottom; you always made sure to help lead Aegon back to his bed after he drank himself stupidly.

It was a challenge, but you’ve adapted and made a life here with the Royal Family, whether you liked it or not.

“Do you ever plan on coming out from behind the wall, my prince? Or do you plan on renouncing your title and becoming Master of Whispers on your father’s small council?”

Realizing that his cover has been blown, Aemond brought himself in view to face the wildling girl who had stolen his heart almost eight years ago. He was relieved that his uncle had left the gardens, probably to inseminate his half-sister once more. It was as if she needed more children to convince all of King’s Landing that her claim on his brother’s throne was legitimate and valid. It did not matter that the evidence of her whorish nature was growing before their eyes.

“Careful, my lady,” replied Aemond, “one might think your words as treason towards the prince.”

“Please,” you scoffed, “the only people who continue to insist on taming my tongue are your mother and grandfather. And we both know my opinions of both parties.” Your cheeks began to flush, and your demeanor grew shy as you whispered your following words. “Besides, why would I need to be afraid of anything when I have you?”

Oh, how his cold, bitter heart grew ten times warmer with your sweet words. He removed his black riding gloves, reached for your hands, and was taken aback by how cold your skin felt against his own.

As if afraid of his voice, he cradled your hands softly as if he were the hunter and you were a little snow rabbit on the edge of running away. Your unblinking observation persisted as you silently watched your silver-haired prince raised both of your hands to his pink lips. He took in a deep breath before exhaling out. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent chills down your back. His mouth was opened just enough for you to see his tongue, bringing a deep sense of shame to wash over you as you dreamed of how good it would feel to have his tongue feast on your cunt.

“What possessed you to come outside without a cloak?” The low timbres of his voice broke you from your lust as you just now realized that you brought yourself into his trap. “It is already winter (Y/n). You could grow sick if you are not careful.”

“You forget yourself, Aemond,” you replied, tearing your hands from his grip. You almost wept at how profoundly you felt the loss of his warmth. When did his hands become so rough and big? “I have the true North in my veins. Such meek and pitiful clouds and winds could never get me ill.”

“Why were you outside at all?” Aemond had hoped to find you in one of the rooms with a fire roaring inside. Even if you were not alone, you would have been warm.

“Thinking about home, I suppose. I was tiny, but I would help gather whatever wood was available and put it in a big pile. We would put on our ceremonial furs and robes, along with masks we painted from the skulls of our kills. After that, the adults would drink themselves stupid on ale and heated yak’s milk as they and the children would gather around the wood pile and then burn it. I remember dancing with my parents around the fire as we sang praises for the old gods and yelled out prayers for the sun. A few boys would probably try to sneak some kisses from the girls with mistletoe.”

The silence that followed only added to the tension.

“I think I would have been stolen by now.”

“Stolen?”

“Your Southerners version of ‘marriage,’ I suppose,” you stated as you lightly shrugged, “at my age, if you weren’t stolen, it meant that something was wrong with you. If I remained with my tribe, some man would have stolen me by now and pumped me full of his babies.”

Aemond saw red. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles further paled to an almost translucent view of his veins as he imagined some savage, wildling man forcing himself on you. He wanted to ride Vhaghar beyond the North, if only reaching beyond the Wall and burning it all to the ground. No man other than him was allowed to touch you. He had only touched your hand and already decided that the rest of you belonged to him and him alone.

Taking a few steps closer to you, he removed his leather patch and lifted your chin between his fingers to force your focus on him. His ears caught a slight intake of breath when you saw his sapphire eye as he was so close that he could practically feel your heart racing in anticipation. He preened in satisfaction when he caught your perfect (e/c) irises dart down to his lips before resting his face again. Aemond didn’t need to look down to know that you were clenching your thighs in an attempt to stop your arousal from leaking.

His sister’s approval be damned.

If your traditions dictated that you must be ‘stolen’ to be a wife, then he would be the one to steal you.

“Sweet (Y/n), you’ve grown so cold.”

Do you wish to go back?

His face was so close to yours that you could feel breaths mix with your own. You could smell the fine leather of his tunic, and the fragrance of spices from his silvery locks wrapped you in a blanket of comfort. His violet eye’s gaze showed a vulnerability lost since that night in Driftmark. The night when he gained a dragon at the cost of becoming a cripple. If Aemond was to risk everything he’s worked for, he had to know.

Would you, a Free Woman, let yourself be called as his?

“No, my Aemond” - you took his hands in yours to tenderly kiss his knuckles- “not anymore.”

I am right where I belong.

And he believed you.

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @lady-ashfade , @faesspace, @its-actually-minicika, @aphroditesmoon, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @leavemeoutofitlay

Warmth & Stories - Aemond Targaryen x Wildling!Reader Part 2

Summary: Love can bloom in the most unusual ways. The love between a stoic prince from the South and a wildling storyteller will be written in history as one of the strangest but truest of loves.

Author's Notes: I had to get this out before January ended. This part does have smut! It is the second part of the holiday fic gift I gave to @valeskafics .

Warning(s): MDNI 18+, sex, breeding kink, blowjobs, 69 sex position, clothes ripping, loss of virginity

Usually, when it was late, you would often find Aemond in the library. You and he would swap stories about your day that often resulted in both of you giggling and gossiping like two shopkeepers’ wives. So when you find yourself in your two’s usual section without him, you think it a bit strange but do not enough to leave. You figured he was still enjoying supper with his half-sister and nephews. However, when the grand doors swung open to reveal a raging one-eyed dragon, you deduced that the dinner was less than a success. You were prepared to de-escalate his temper when he grabbed your arm. He then dragged you out of the library and inside his room.

He promptly caged you in his arms when he violently closed the doors shut.

“Aemond, what are you –”

Your outrage was silenced when your prince slammed his mouth against yours as he locked you in a crushing embrace. His lips were moving so feverishly that you could hardly match his pace. You tried your best to remain angry, but you quickly felt your body melted with his and realized that you wanted nothing more than to be devoured by him.

So efficient, your prince, he had managed to both quell your fury while also driving you mad with lust.

So often, you’ve dreamed of kissing Aemond, your sweet silver-haired Southern boy who captured your heart when he asked you about your life in the real North. You never expected to feel these feelings, let alone for a Southern man, let alone for a prince as beautiful as he. So many nights, you brought pleasure from your fingers by just imagining how his lips would feel against your skin. It was by no means as delicate as you imagined, but it was damn satisfying.

As he crowded you against his door, all of your senses felt heightened by his presence. Despite the cold winds blowing in from the window, you remained lost in the heat and haze that came from being loved by Aemond Targaryen. Pulling away for a moment of reprieve, your chest heaved in an attempt to catch your breath as Aemond made no effort to hide the ocean of love and lust in his eye. When enough air finally reached your brain, you could focus your vision enough to see the tips of your prince’s ear turn pink from his actions.

You closed your eyes as you inwardly preened at knowing that you made such a stoic man fluster. However, you may not have hidden your expression as well as you believed, given how Aemond shot his hips forward and let you understand how mad you’ve driven him. Even underneath the layers of fine leather and underclothes, you could feel the outline of his hardened cock press against your stomach. You tried to rub your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to ease away your arousal, but Aemond saw through your scheme. Nudging his knee between your legs, he lifted his leg until your wet center was grazing against his leather-clad thighs. His head dipped, and you wondered if he could feel your breath shaking under his lips as he mouthed along your jaw and down your neck. Meanwhile, his leg remained steady, and you continued to grind against the firm muscles of his thigh.

Riding on Vhagar certainly did wonders for his physique.

Ecstasy overtook you as you pathetically cried out your pleasure as Aemond’s lips continued down your body and lathered the swells of your breasts from your dress with his tongue and kisses. There was a knot inside you that coiled tighter and tighter as you ground your cunt in hopes that it would cause your release.

Aemond raised his head as he felt you ground harder down his thigh. When he saw the state you were in, he damn near tore your dress apart and threw you on the bed. But he refrained from any movement to aid you in your plight, delighted by the sight of you so completely enraptured by his actions as he was from your presence. But when he witnessed you thrusting your hips so pitifully, he couldn’t stop the smirk creeping on his face as he leered down at you. Lowering his head till his lips barely grazed your ear, you could tell how much it pleased him to feel how desperate you were for him.

“A few kisses,” he breathily whispered, “and already you’re thrusting your hips like the whores in Flea Bottom.”

“I ’m-I’m not a-a w-whore,” you whimpered out.

Gods, it mortified you at how pathetic your voice sounded. You tried to steady yourself by placing your hands on the stone walls of his room, but all it achieved was making you appear more vulnerable to your one-eyed dragon.

“Oh really?” Aemond was having so much fun teasing you. “Because only whores would try to reach their peak with such lustful abandon. Is that not your cunt currently soaking my trouser leg? Gods, you’re leaking so much I can practically smell it from here.”

Ever so swiftly, he moved his hand underneath your dress and immediately plunged two of his fingers into your sopping cunt. The knot inside you coiled so tightly that it snapped. Your eyes shot open, but all you could see was white and stars. Your body trembled as you opened your mouth, but no noise was made. The pleasure you just experienced was too great for words to describe it.

Aemond knew that you did not need to be prepped for his fingers, but he did not expect you to peak so quickly.

You felt your face ablaze in embarrassment. Where did your stoic yet kind prince go? Where was this silver-tongued cad come from? You reminded yourself to swap Aegon’s favorite wine with vinegar and beetroot juice. While the concoction would not deter him from drowning in his cups daily, you hoped it was enough to keep him in bed for at least a day.

You wondered if your prince could see you were lost in your thoughts and no longer paying close attention to him. He must have since his eyes showed a new determination. He flipped your position so that your chest was hard-pressed against the walls before firmly grasping the back of your dress. With half-lidded eyes, you opened your mouth to question him.

Rippppp

Immediately, your eyes shot open as you quickly realized that Aemond had ripped a clean tear down your dress and underclothes, leaving you as bare as the day you were born. Not even having enough time to shout your indignation, your prince swung your body onto his shoulder like you were just a flour sack. In a few short strides, he reached his bed and tossed you on top of the covers. Each curve on your body, from your full breasts to your soft thighs, beckoned him like a moth to a flame. Your tresses framed your face like a (h/c) halo, giving you an aura befitting of a divinity. Aemond had dreamed of this sight for as long as he could remember since he met you. It was almost enough to make him kneel before you and weep his praises while begging for your love and devotion to belong to him and him alone. He instead stripped himself of every layer of clothing until he was as exposed as you.

You watched in enraptured adoration as he continued tearing away each layer that hid his beautiful physique. It was torture to wait, but it was more than worth it. You felt your breath hitch as you took in each line and shadow of that creature, this magnificent being. Aemond was by far the most beautiful person you ever had the pleasure of witnessing. To see him with any clothes almost seemed like a crime with how he presented himself to you. The growth spurt from his thirteenth name-day, along with years of training under Ser Criston Cole and riding Vhagar brought forth the Warrior in mortal form. Your Aemond had a likeness that resembled a marble sculpture, with his lean and firm muscles under the unblemished pallor that made up the tall, elegant man standing before you.

But as much as you trusted Aemond, a small part of you was also scared. You were no Southern beauty. For the first ten years of your life, you had to hunt and fight for your right to survive. Such skills were remembered. You have grown beside royalty for eight years, but many would still find you lacking. And the pain - the pain terrified you. The women in your tribe and the small folk maids would warn against noblemen. Such men would often break a young girl’s maidenhood without any regard for her reputation – only to throw her on the streets to fend for herself.

Sensing your discomfort, Aemond realized he had acted too brash. While you would always be a wildling at heart, you spent years hearing horror stories from the maids of what happened behind the chamber doors of the highest nobility. He remembered how much Helanea had cried after her first night with Aegon, and he cursed himself for behaving as brutish as his pathetic brother. Leaning forward until he just barely hovered over you with his arm to keep him steady, Aemond softly dotted kisses across your face – your temple, your cheeks, your eyes, and even your nose – before placing a tender kiss on your lips.

“My sweet, wild girl,” he cooed, “I swear to you that I will make sure that this will be enjoyable for us both. Such love between two equals, such as us, means that we were meant to be each other’s firsts and lasts. But if you do not wish to continue, I swear we will stop and only have each other’s company as proof of our love and devotion to one another. There is nothing but time for us.”

“Aemond,” you whispered, “you would do that? Would you truly wait for me?”

“(Y/N), your love is everything and more. So long as I have that, is there truly a need for anything else?”

Searching in his eyes to see if there was any trickery or deception, you only saw unadulterated and steadfast adoration. If Aemond were true to his heart, so would you. You summoned as much courage as you could and leaned forward from your back to kiss him this time. Relief filled your heart when he kissed you back.

Cupping your beasts with gentle hands, your silver-haired prince broke away for you to catch your breath and for him to look in awe at your naked splendor. The sight of you flushed and gazing at him with lust and reverence, with your breasts perfectly fitting in his hands, made his cock twitch. Pinching one nipple between his two fingers, Aemond watched with enraptured worship at your reactions. Boldness overtaking him, he lowered his mouth on your other breast and sucked hard on your mound’s peak. Breathless gasps and high-pitched sighs played a symphony in his ears. Having his fill of one, he switched his ministrations to the other. Your voice and desperation were growing only stronger.

“Aemond!” you exclaimed. “Something’s coming. It feels – it feels s-so strange!”

Knowing you were reaching your peak, Aemond took his free hand and flicked your clit. When he heard your wails, it pleased him more than any duel won. He began to press more against your soaking button, taking in the song of your lust.

Biting your lip, you squirmed and squealed at the shock of ecstasy coursing through your veins. Why was Aemond touching that place? And why did it feel so good?

“A-Aemond!” you keened as tears trailed down your cheeks. “What’s happening?”

“Let go, my darling,” he purred, “let me give you more pleasure than you have brought for yourself.”

The coil snapped, and your release was so much stronger than anything you have ever done to yourself. The release that Aemond provided for you was so powerful that you soaked the sheets and Aemond’s abdomen when you came. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths, and you swore you saw white at your peak.

“Aemond,” you sighed, “I wish to taste you.”

“(Y/N),” he stated with widened eyes, “there is no need. I do not expect such things from you.”

But you only asserted yourself by raising your torso from your elbows.

“Ameond, I want to taste and please you. Won’t you let me?”

“Alright,” he agreed, “but only I am allowed to do the same for you.”

“How would that be possible?”

His leer brought butterflies fluttering in your heart. “Let me show you.”

“There you go, my love. Spread your legs – let me see you. Gods, you’re perfect. Your cunt is so pretty and pink. Your scent alone is driving me mad with want. Do you not see the evidence of it before you?”

By the Old Gods and New, you have never felt so exposed in your entire life. Even your capture by the Starks and being brought before the King dressed in heavy chains and torn rags was less humiliating than your current position.

“Did he have to be so vocal?” you thought. “Is he trying to make me pass out from his words alone?”

Seeing you tremble from his voice as your arousal further soaked your lower lips brought such perverse fulfillment to the prince underneath you. Taking his hands from your waist, he palmed the cheeks of your ample bottom before spreading them for a better view.

“So nervous, aren’t you? There’s no need to fear my little wildling. There is only us in this room – there will never be another whom I will taste that way I will for you.”

You were only half-listening to your beloved prince – as you were still enraptured by the sight of the stiff, long, hot rod standing upright before you. His tip was pink with a bead of his pearly seed just leaving it. Being so close, you breathed in the scent of its musk of leather, sweat, and dragon’s smoke. Its pungency – although strong – captivated you and made you salivate instead of putting you off. So often, you would sneak into his chambers while he was riding, take any clothes put away for washing by the chambermaids, and breathe them in.

Just last year, your boldness allowed you to steal one of the undershirts he discarded. It was soaked and stained with his sweat from a particularly challenging sparring match with Ser Cole. You knew that he would not miss one out of dozens of similar articles of clothing, so you tucked it under your skirt and hurried away to the secret tunnels before you were caught.

It remains under your pillow, and you wear it to sleep every night.

“Are you going to begin? Or do you need my help?”

“Shut up!” you hissed with flushed cheeks. “Don’t rush me.”

“Just make sure not to use your teeth.”

Leaning forward, you stuck your tongue to kitten-lick the bead of his pre-cum. When you heard his guttural groan, you continued by swirling your tongue over the tip before wrapping your lips around the head. You then lowered your head so that your mouth could try and take as much of his length as possible.

“Oh, fuck!” Aemond gasped at the feeling of your warm, wet throat enveloping his cock. “Gods, you feel so good. Take more. Take my entire length down your throat. Oh, fu– yes, just like that. Now bob your head up and down.”

Doing exactly as he instructed, your eyes watered, and tears spilled as saliva dribbled from your mouth. How was he so big? When you took his entire length in your mouth, the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. You nearly gagged, but you fought against the impulse to keep bobbing your head down to take him in your mouth. His scent became only more potent as you continued, and you wanted so badly to taste his essence.

Watching your head moving up and down his cock only strengthened Aemond’s appetite for you. Finally, focusing on your lower lips, he slowly swept his tongue across your cunt. You were still soaked from your previous climax brought from his fingers, so the taste of your body’s nectar was heavy on his tongue.

What use was wine if he could get just as drunk from the ambrosia that came as the evidence of your pleasure from his actions?

Just a taste was enough to make Aemond’s mind rave with lust. Plunging his tongue into your heat, he was eating you out as if he were a peasant man who had been starved for months instead of the prince who lived in comfortable luxury. To Aemond, you tasted beyond exquisite. You were the greatest treasure in the entire keep.

Meanwhile, you were going insane from his tongue as you tried to keep up with pace. Faster and faster, you bobbed your head to quicken his release. You weren’t able to hold out for much longer, and you wanted him to come in your mouth at least once before you came twice from him. But the feel of his velvet tongue was too much to bear, and the coil in your stomach had tightened once more. Before you could even recognize the signs, Aemond’s mouth dragged out your release faster than before. It was not as strong as your first, but it was enough to make you release his cock from your mouth as you cried out your pathetic whines. You had not collapsed from the shock of it, and you maintained your position on your knees.

Fighting back the tears in your eyes, you once more wrapped your lips around his pink head. But this time, you felt a slight twitch in your mouth. Realizing that he would soon spill his release, you took the entire length of his cock in your mouth and stayed there. You only swirled your tongue across the veins on his member. Aemond’s lower muscles tensed as he felt his seed fighting to escape.

“FUCK!” he yelled out – loud enough for the entire castle to know what the two of you were doing.

 Soon, your mouth was filled with his white and thick seed. Aemond slid his limp member, and despite your face hidden from his view, he spied a small stream of white fluid dribbling out of your mouth.

“Turn around,” he ordered, “and face me when you swallow my seed.”

Slowly turning your body, your cheeks bulged from the volume of his release. When you swallowed his cum, he could see it go down your throat. When you felt the last of his spent trickle down your throat, you crawled up to lay your head on his chest. You laid little pecks down his throat and across his collarbone.

Having your body lain on top of his without the barriers of fabric and station blocking their love was heaven. A few minutes had passed before he felt himself harden again, and Aemond had one question left to ask you.

“Are you ready to be stolen?”

Tilting your head up to face him, your (e/c) irises were drowning in your want for the man in front of you.

“Yes.”

“Lay on your back with your head against the headboard.”

Positioning yourselves to be ready for what was to come, Aemond looked at you again for your approval. You slowly nodded, silently informing your royal love that you were prepared to accept all of him and his devotion.

He took his member, leveled it to your center, and slowly pushed the head in. He tilted his head to whimper and gasped at the profound heat surrounding him. When he pushed further, he marveled at how tightly your body gripped him despite him only being halfway inside you. The whimpers that left your lips implied him of your pain. But you dug your nails into his arms when he tried to stop.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you ordered him, “you sweet, wonderful fool.”

When he fully inserted himself inside you, you opened your mouth – but no noise left. There was pain, but you were so aroused that the sting only added to your ardor. Aemond leaned forward and pressed his forward to yours – it did not matter how you would insist he push on. This was your first time – and his too. You both needed a few moments to adjust.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked you when a few minutes had passed. “Are you sure you wish to continue?”

You nodded in confirmation. “Yes, my dragon prince. Please – I think I am ready now.”

Spreading your legs further apart so he could push himself deeper inside you, he thrust into you back and forth just slowly enough for you to feel every inch of him inside you. He prayed to the Seven Gods that you were drowning in the same ocean of desire he was. He listened to each gasp and sigh pass through your lips. If he focused himself enough, he was sure he could recognize the beat of your heart apart from any person in his father’s kingdom.

You wondered if you were in a dream with how much joy overflowed inside you. Cradling his cheek, you brought Aemond down to kiss him to show him the depth of your feelings. You brought him into your arms without breaking the kiss while wrapping your legs around his waist.

You wanted him to devour you.

Breaking the kiss, Aemond was in your arms as both of your chests were pressed against each other in each other’s embrace. Feeling your arousal wetting his cock, he began to quicken his pace.

“A-A-Aemond!–” You were gasping for air, but it would never be enough. “–I feel you! All of you – you’re so big! Oh Gods!”

Aemond bit the inside of his cheek for the pain to distract him from your cervix tightening around him.

“How does it feel to be stolen? Do you feel how tightly you’re gripping me?” he knew he was being cruel in his taunting, but he wanted to show that there was only him for you – not some barbaric hunter who didn’t bathe and likely lost all his teeth.

“You are mine – only mine. You were made for me (Y/N), as I was made for you.”

Placing one elbow on the spot next to your head and pushing himself up, he slid one hand down your body to press against your swollen clit. Your pupils dilated at the additional pleasure your silver-haired dragon knight gifted you. As your cries confirmed him of your satisfaction, he pistoned in and out of you.

“Tell me,” he hissed, “could another man bring you such pleasure – such love and devotion as I have for you? Do you think there would be another man who could provide more than I, the rider of Vhagar? If you must be stolen, it will not be done by anyone but me. Not my father, not my brother, not even by fucking Daemon – only me. Do you understand?”

You could only frantically nod. But it was not enough to satisfy your prince. He gave you a very hard thrust.

“Answer me!” he ordered.

“YES!” you answered. “Only you! There was and will only be you, Aemond! I am yours – please don’t stop! Don’t stop – I want your seed inside me! I want to carry your child!”

Taking a handful of your (h/c) tresses, Aemond pressed his nose to the crook of your neck. His scent was mixed with you – a harmonious combination of the trees in the Godwoods you took from and dragon smoke locked into his skin. He bit your neck before sucking it enough for it to turn into a lovely purple hue by the coming morning.

You only screamed out for more.

“Come for me, (Y/N). Soak my cock with your nectar so that I can implant my seed into your womb. Our child will hold the powers of my Old Valyria and your Old Gods. Can you see it? Do you want to see our beautiful child?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Using his fingers to pinch your clit, he gave you one final order.

“Then come.”

“AEMOND!”

Intense pleasure flooded your entire body as you screamed out his name, and you entirely gave all of yourself to Aemond. The waves of desire crashed and rocked the boat that held whatever was left of your sanity as your vision flashed white. A dull thudding pounded in your head, and your body continued vibrating as a result of your powerful climax.

Gasping at the feel of the vice grip that your cunt had on his cock, Aemond took all of his previous inhibitions and threw them to the wind. Babbling out his declarations of his love to you, he wildly thrust deeper and deeper into your cervix until the tip of his cock hit the entrance to your womb. And spilled everything inside him into you – holding himself there so that his seed would take.

The world around him disappeared. Everything outside of you and him faded into the background as white noise and the sound of your heavy breaths filled his head. He collapsed on top of you, bringing the sheets and blankets to cover your bodies as sweat sheening on your pair’s skin cooled. Aemond shifted his weight to next to you and took you into his arms.

He was exhausted – both of you were – but a feeling of contentment and serenity filled the room as you basked in the love you showed one another.

“Your mother and grandfather,” you whispered, “they will never accept me. They will never accept our child. Our child will be a bastard – the very thing you hate the most in life.”

“My love,” Aemond tried to alleviate your fears, but you only continued.

“It’s true, my dragon.” Your eyes held your strength but also showed your terror of what was coming. “Do not attempt to play me for a fool. Do not dare disrespect me in such a way.”

The prince knew every word you spoke was the truth. On the brink of war, his happiness mattered little to his mother and grandfather. They would tear his child out of your womb with their own two hands if it meant that his hand was free for political alliances.

All to keep Rhaenyra off the Iron Throne.

But there was a solution. It was one he wished wasn’t the only option left – but it was the only one he saw could work and keep you and his child safe. In a solemn voice, he revealed his plan.

“I could swear to Rhaenyra.”

Not believing the words left from his mouth, your jaw dropped as you openly gaped at your lover. But anger replaced shock only seconds later.

“Aemond, that is not funny.”

“It is no joke, my (Y/N). Listen to me.”

He explained that he and you will travel to Dragonstone by daybreak tomorrow. With Vhagar on the Blacks’ side, the threat of her ancient fire burning everything to mountains of ash would stop the war before it could even begin.

“For compensation, I will only request that you and I be wed in the tradition of both of our ancestors.”

“Yours,” you interjected, “just yours.”

You softly giggled at the befuddlement on his face – the sweetness of the picture was such a stark contrast to the events that just transpired.

“You have stolen my heart so long ago already. And now you have stolen my body. Have I not told you that this is my people’s way of marriage?”

“Of course,” Aemond chuckled, “now all that is left is for us to be wed in the traditions of Old Valyria.”

He leaned in close to press a kiss on your forehead. “I hope you are prepared, little wildling. By the latest, at the end of this week, you will no longer be a free woman – but the wife to a prince and the mother of his children.”

“Our children,” you insisted, “the mother of our children.”

“Yes, dearest. Our children.”

Stories were legends, and legends were lessons that ring with truth.

This was the first lesson your mother shared with you.

You learned every story you told in court from your mother. Your favorite story was about how the Children of the Forest sometimes gave that child a rare gem when a free child survived their tenth winter. But to prove themselves worthy, the children needed to endure many trials and meet many new people.

On your tenth winter, you traveled South to Winterfell with your parents to steal a loaf of bread. Your parents were killed, but alone you remained. You cried and cried until your body no longer had any tears left to cry. You cursed the Children of the Forest. You cursed the Old Gods your parents swore would protect you.

You met a boy with only one working eye during your third and tenth winters. His other had been slashed and taken by his nephew. It was replaced by an orb of the prettiest blue stone you had ever seen.

It was your fourth and tenth winter that you learned that his eye of blue stone had a name, “sapphire.”

You were eight and ten winters when your and your dragon’s hearts beat to the same tune, and your bodies joined together as one.

You were still eight and ten winters when you realized that the Children of the Forest kept their word. They had indeed gifted you a rare gem – they just didn’t tell you that gems could be people.

Aemond was your gem, and you were his.

And Aemond and you raised your 12 kids in Westeros peacefully while Rhaenyra reigned as Queen of the Iron Throne and Daemon and Alicent take turns having sex with her!

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @valeskafics , @dreaming-for-an-escape, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @lady-ashfade, @faesspace, @aphroditesmoon, @immyowndefender, @katzarantos, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @boxedpandas, @lokiofasgard12, @aemondsbabe, @aemondslove, @axelsagewrites

I am so sorry if I forgot to tag you! It's hard to keep track bc I lost the list

the ASOIAF / HotD / GoT fandom does not talk about the Velaryons enough, (and i know y’all know why. work on that.) so let’s talk about them. I present:

Velaryon Appreciation Day 1:

Corlys Velaryon

The lack of recognition for Corlys is DISGRACEFUL in this fandom.. I genuinely didn’t know he was a main character until I watched the show this week.

So here are some reasons you should appreciate or at least recognize Corlys:

1. He loves his wife more than anyone on that show. Easily the best husband out of the lot.

2. Literally Rhaenys’ #1 fan

3. Puts aside his long-held ambition to have his blood on the throne when Rhaenys asks

4. Is one of the biggest supporters of Team Black

5. ..I’m not kidding, do y’all remember how he kept vying for Rhaenyra’s claim long after her death? Yeah

6. Dude got arrested and sentenced to death for plotting to unseat Aegon AFTER RHAENYRA WAS DEAD

7. Like instrumental to Team Black and Rhaenyra’s line succeeding the throne, especially post-dance

8. Some of the best hair in the series i mean COME. ON. :

the gold bands? that length??? outdid.

9. Some of the best outfits, especially among the men of HotD

10. He is THE Sea Snake, ruler of the seas!!!!!! Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark, Head of House Velaryon, and Princess Rhaenys’ husband (the final is obviously his best and most important title).

11. My dude is HARDY. Recovered from a near-fatal stab wound and intense fever at 70(ish) years old.

12. He is so sweet to Luke. Fights for him as heir to Driftmark despite knowing they are not blood related (“it was just so the Velaryon name stays on the throne!” so? he could’ve supported Vaemond’s claim but he chose to support Rhaenyra’s child, his grandchild)

(look at little Luke and his grandsire😞)

13. Driftmark is cool as fuck and he’s the Master of it so that’s another point to Corlys.

14. I said it once I’ll say it again: GILF.

15. (extra credit): Steve Toussaint (Corlys’ actor) seems to be a great guy. He’s funny, v entertaining in interviews, comes across so genuine, bffs with Eve Best (Rhaenys’ actress), and is a huge GoT nerd (seriously. he is the only one who can answer any questions about GoT in the interviews i’ve seen him in). And fun fact- as I was looking to see if he’s overtly problematic, I discovered that all of his twitter likes are just “human kindness” and funny animal videos.

And the worst thing is that if he looked like his pre-HotD fancast/fanon version, people would not shut up about him.

“He’s soo fine”

“I need a husband like him”

“We need to talk about him more.”

..and you know i’m right!

FINALLY:

I am not saying you have to like Corlys (especially if you do not fw any asoiaf men, which i deeply respect), but free him and House Velaryon from this double standard you hold them to.

Like I better not see anyone who appreciates, recognizes, or likes Daemon or Aemond or Criston or even Alicent talking about how Corlys is “too prideful,” “too ambitious,” because look the fuck around!!!!!!! who isn’t in this goddamn verse!!?!??!!! and also you know what?? if my beautiful amazing badass wife was denied her rightful throne, i’d be mad about it too!!!!! even after she said she was over it!!!

if you made it this far, i’m thoroughly impressed and even more grateful that you have heard me out in this Corlys Velaryon rant!

The urge to give back the same fucking energy.

I saw this post and it just shocked me. That they had to delete the video was no secret, but I didn’t know of the extent of it. This is insane.

What else is there to add to this? Nothing. This fandom is so embarrassing, considering we’re mostly adults and not many minors. All the drama, the hate — it’s seriously giving the ick. Not just this, but everything that has happened. You‘d think grown ass people could behave better. But obviously not.

Are people delusional or just straight up dumb? Do some people need lessons to learn to separate the character from the actor?

Via @/daemonthinker on Twitter.

My moral compass is wanting Jace to pop off this season , I need to see him fuck some shit up.

baela's face is sending me into a fit i'm sorry, jace is (presumably) just finding out that his little brother got straight up eaten ten days ago and she's over here just not giving a shit, nary a care in the world, full "aw...well, anyway!" about it as the man right next to her is having a breakdown

I know as soon as she hears Caraxes on Dragonstone she's like "Yall here comes my stupid ass cousin."

rhaenyra: why on earth are they blaming me? WHO would do such a thing?

daemon, guilty asf right next to her:

rhaenys knowing it was his ass instantly:

oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time. You and I drink the poison from the same vine.😭

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 1.01 "The Heirs of the Dragon" HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 2.06 "Smallfolk"

Gotta love the greens on reddit , once again.

SWEET SUMMER ORANGE

Targaryen Dynasty x Fem!Teen!OC

"Green must find her way to orange, or all is lost. The dragons will dance and die, surrounded by fire and blood.”

Multiple Main Pairings!

Main Focus ~ Fem!OC and Targaryen Dynasty (Yandere, Obsessive, Protective)

Warnings ~ Nostalgia, Heartbreak, Anger, Alicents Person Feelings of Rhaenyra, and Denial.

Spoilers ~ Tons!!

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No Beta Lmao)

Word Count ~ 2k Words.

Chp Summary ~ Alicent tries to eat lemon cakes on her own to quell her sadness after speaking to her father. Vhagarhā Qo, who perfers oranges, is a child unlike any other the Queen has ever met, but she reminds Alicent of all her children; as if she mourns the idea of who they were and cannot fathom who they are now.

Chp 3 ~ Sweet Orange Tart, Sour Lemon Cake, Bitter Apple Turnover

Alicent had grown to enjoy the smell of lemon cake in her youth.

Now looking down at the sweet treat displayed on top of the serving table, Alicent breathed in the sweet citrus smell and refrained from gagging.

It was too sweet, not enough lemon present; the recipe had changed. Alicent favored granny smith apple turnovers, the bitter apple pleasant to her taste buds.

What followed in the wake of lemon cake at the red keep was what she really enjoyed.

The smell of wooden fire and sweet lemon followed the air wherever Rhaenyra Targaryen walked. None knew that the Princess had a breeze of brimstone on her skin after a day of dragon riding.

Alicent knew as the Princess curled under her arm and in her lap when they were frolicking kids in the Keep.

Meeting Rhaenyra had been the downfall of Alicent's life.

The Princess had involved her deeper into politics by proxy of her company, and Alicent resented the fact the Princess betrayed her trust.

That is why they do not speak, that is why Rhaenyra left Kings Landing to live at Dragonstone with her cowardly ways.

Picking up a lemon cake, she placed it over a small glass serving plate and bit in.

The crunch of the candied lemon on top invited her with a sweet tang; the sweetness being followed by an even sweeter soft cake that had icing dribbled on top.

The lemon cake was sweet by itself naturally. Alicent realized what was off, the candied lemon was too thick with melted sugar and it was canceling the natural sourness.

“They are quite sweet aren't they, Queen Alicent?” Alicent whirls around, her plate still in hand and lemon cake shifting with the haste of Alicent's movements.

The newcomer had a sweet bell-like voice that reminded Alicent of Helaena when she was younger.

The shy kindness is all Aemond – before the incident however. Alicent clears her head of the thoughts.

The Queen's hazel-green eyes first catch the ginger-orange of the girl's hair.

The boldly colored hair is thick like a Velaryon's. The Queen can tell despite the corkscrew curls being slicked back into a neat bun at the back of the girl's head.

Curls spill outside the bun elegantly as there are autumn-colored faux flower hairpins inside of her tresses.

The next thing the Queen notices is an expensive-looking gold circlet that wraps around the child's head.

The design is simple with a small gemstone that rests in the middle of the child's forehead.

A sign of royalty.

Alicent squints her eyes at the gem, the pink teardrop shaped stone glittering in the sunlight.

“Yes, Indeed. And you might be?” Alicent places her plate down on a space the serving table has.

She clasps her hands in front of herself as she takes in the child's brightly colored gown, trying to associate her with a region.

“Princess Vhagarhā Qo, of The Sweet Lotus Vale in Jhala,” The girl bows her head and curtseys to the Queen.

Alicent curtseys back out of respect.

She swallows a bit of her pride.

Alicent Hightower studied like no other within the Keep, always staying up to read her books and retain knowledge.

Alicent shakes away a memory of a blonde that comes to her mind, and covers it up with a tilt of her head.

She'd never heard of the Summers Isles before.

Alicent licks the bottom of her lip quickly as she attempts to store away and make note of the exotic name.

It sounded traditionally Valerian, with a twist of words at the end.

The girl's accent sounded like liquid amber; smooth and sweet as the common tongue escaped her mouth.

“If it pleases you Queen Alicent; you may call me Vhae Summers,” The girl's teeth are an unnaturally blinding white, the viper notices.

Without changing the expression on her face, she scrutinizes the child under her harsh gaze.

The child seemed unnaturally pure, like soft fallen snow that hadn't been stepped on.

Her marmalade colored dress was one of fall, with different brightly colored leaves and flowers stitched into the fine fabric.

Small fake flowers, made up of a sheer material alicent didn't recognize, started from the left side of where her ribs sat to make a sleeve.

The other sleeve was the same way with the sheer fake orange flowers covering her arms but it started from behind her on her back.

The Summers Isle had an elevated taste for fashion beyond anything Alicent had seen or studied.

The child looked truly regal as she stood covered up enough for the fall breeze.

Large golden hooped earrings, thick bangles, chunky rings with colorful gemstones, a gold necklace filled with different cut gems.

Whoever the child was, she came from money beyond Oldtown or the Lannisters.

Alicent quits her staring as she notices the child fiddling with her fingers.

Alicent blinks, rubbing her hands down the sides of her gown.

“Would you like to join me by the weirwood, Princess?” Her hands ball tightly into fists, the words escape her mouth faster than she can think.

She imagined repeating those words to one with silver-white gold hair and deep lilac eyes.

The child has light brown skin, a smooth nutty color with speckles of teak that splattered across her face and hands.

Another happy reaction is pulled from her heart-shaped face, displaying the pink of her gums and joyous smile on her thick lips.

“Of course! I would love to!” The girl's gown flows against the gentle breeze of autumn as she moves to link arms with Alicent.

Alicent blinks again in surprise at the gesture.

She can see a pair of knights at their station start to move before she lifts a hand to beckon them away.

The woman of forty and three shivers at the childish affection, unused to another person initiating wholesome skinship.

Vhae's dress is a long one, the expensive cotton garment brushes the floor with a gentle sway, breathable and moveable.

Swallowing a sigh of anxiousness, Alicent decides to speak first but rethinks her words before she speaks them.

“So Queen Alicent, anything exciting going on in King's Landing this month?” The child's other hand goes to grasp Alicent's hand, free of wounded flesh and cuticles nicely manicured by a servant.

The Summer child's nails are covered in nail varnish, a lively pink, with delicate leaf detailing in multiple different colors.

Alicent thinks to ask the girl of her home country, their fashions quite different from Westeros.

At the darker girl's question, Alicent's mind drifts to the battle of succession that will be held in court soon.

“Well, there is court being held in five days' time. And of course, the ladies of the realm are planning a charity event that will take place here on the twelfth moon,” Alicent's tone is a bore as she recites over the larger events outside of her small council activities.

“Oh, court? How exactly is your court held here? In my country, court is held with the Ladies of Judgement,” Alicent's eyebrows raise as she takes in women having a station of absolute power for themselves.

Clearing her throat she responds to the question diligently, “Here court is held in the Red Keep when lords in higher power petition it so. The King will usually handle such matters but the King is feeling unwell at the moment.”

The girl hums and the pair stop in front of the carved face weirwood.

Breaking away from the Queen's hold that seemingly tightened through their walk, she lifts a hand to the face of the tree hesitantly.

Alicent sees a past memory of Rhaenyra, white long hair staring back at her as she traced the face of the sacred Weirwood.

A flock of servants break her out of her trance as they pass under the open walkway of the gardens.

They bow respectfully with straight faces and go rigid when she lifts her hand for them to stay.

Vhagarhā is circling around the thick white tree, hand tracing the thick bark of the red leafed tree.

The girl has that wide smile again that makes the Green Queen reluctantly grin.

“Fetch us a spread for a picnic,” The Queen demands. She gives the servants a small quirk of a smile as she watches the girl no older than ten and five.

Turning back to the child, she lays backwards with her entire body laying on the lush padded grass. She has no care about her delicate dress getting dirty with Earth.

It reminds her of the young Princess, she reminds her of the young Princess.

Carefree and wild, taking to life like a duck in water or a dragon to fire.

Alicent represses a grimace to give the child a small tight-lipped smile.

Alicents nails start to dig into the flesh of her palms, indenting crescent moons into soft skin.

A hand pulls her out of her thoughts, and she retracts her nails from her flesh.

The Summers Isle child is marveling at the leaves as if it was the first time she's seen them before.

Only then does Alicent notice it.

She casts a glance at the child's eyes and catches a glimpse of purple.

Vhagarhā looks up at Alicent, her irises shining a pale lilac purple, almost white as if she were blind.

Near the child's pupils, a molten orange color swirls against her slitted purple, similar to a beasts.

Alicents eyes go wide, and she squeezes the foreign girl's hand in a panic; accidentally catching her attention.

“Oh, I do hope you guys have orange tarts! They are one of my favorite pastries,” She remarks with a questioning look on her face.

Rocking forward on the tips of her heels excitedly, she averts her gaze to the plethora of servants who lay out a picnic sheet and baskets of food.

The Green Queen goes steady, fear ebbing away from her as she analyzes the child's features once more.

Copper-orange hair with strings of white diamond laced between the curls, a trait of Old Valarian blood.

A button nose, small, but ethnic like a Velaryon's.

Her skin is a shade lighter than Laenors, a red undertone to the brown skin and freckles spread out all over her face.

A oval heart shaped face, similar to a celtigar, but with more fat on her cheeks rather than sharp and hollow.

Lilac swirling eyes with hints of coral and slitted pupils similar to a – Dragon.

Alicent knew nothing of the Summers Isles – but this child was special.

Vhagarhā didn't resemble Rhaenyra, she even didn't look like any Valyrian Alicent had ever seen.

Vhagarhā Qo is positively a stunning child.

One with features she cannot match to any region but of Old Valerian blood beyond the Targaryens.

Alicent wants to rip her hand away, and walk back to her solar but – Vhagarhā gives her a smile that brightens up the Keep, despite the sun out in full effect.

Vhagarhā is not Rhaenyra or one of her brood, she's a foreign child for the Sevens sake.

Vhagarhā was unnaturally stunning, but didnt have the sharp features of a Targaryen besides her eyes.

She was soft, pure.

Even with the eyes of a Dragon hidden within her pupils, her eyes were wide and inviting.

Alicent thought that she would always resent the classic aristocratic look of a Targaryen.

The purple eyes, and majestically stunning features beyond human understanding.

She thought she hated them, but that hate melted into sorrow when she saw her children's faces.

The child's soft way of speaking reminds her of Aemond as a child – sweet and kind before he lost his eye.

Her smile reminds Alicent of Aegon's previous sunny spirit before he drowned in his cups.

Her fascination is a mirror of Helaena as she discovers a new insect; before her nightmares and flinching away.

Alicent cannot even try and sic a trait of Daeron onto the child; she hardly remembers his face before he was whisked away from her to Oldtown.

Alicent didn't know this, but she needed someone to just be around. She was lonely even in the presence of her children – regardless If she made them turn out mad.

She didn't think so though, she was just ensuring their safety.

Any thought of that white haired lier makes Alicents stomach turn sick and her heart pound ferociously.

For the first time in many years, Alicent smiles, huffing out a laugh, “Of course sweetling, we have plenty.”

Lady Rhaena Targaryen

- Hiya my lovelies!! 💕

Please send over some requests for house of the dragon, I’m dying to write for my baby girls <3

Or you can check out my master-list here! for other fandoms, love you lots!! 💕

—Spoilers!!

It was really awful imo, so much of the writing this season felt so bad or just completely betrays the foundation of the characters especially with Alicent. And for what?? A ship that has long sailed and sunk??

Rhaenyra saying ‘son for a son’ as if b&c never happened biggest ‘huh?’ of my life… like did she forget her pedo husband ordered for the decapitation of Jaehaerys?? Aegon’s son?? Have the writers forgot already??

Daemon saying ‘Winter is coming’… girl don’t piss me off… that whole dream sequence was *sigh*

They’ve butchered team green, the writers just continually humiliate them for no good reason and I can go on and on and on.

Honestly I think the show was doomed from the beginning.. idk I’m tired and annoyed.

It's impossible to like this fandom just based on how they talk about sexual abuse and the female characters that have suffered through it. 🙄

It's either they degrade abuse victim characters they dislike or act like those bad things totally never happened to their faves.

Omg the amount of times I've seen this on a post or had this commented on my fics. Someone’s personal interpretation of a character or story shouldn't affect my writing. Yet people like to complain.

If one more post of people complaining about other people writing certain things, tropes or plots they think aren‘t fitting for a certain character crosses my dash, I’ll fucking riot. What is it with people being too pressed to let others just enjoy fanfiction, and more importantly the stuff they write for themselves? Unless it‘s stated otherwise by the master himself, GRRM, I‘ll write whatever the fuck I want for these characters.

i can feel him, that me when the teacher speak something in other (science or history) that came from other world (╥﹏╥)

Sunfyre learning Common Tongue because Aegon never learned how to speak in Valyrian