I Feel Like Ser Criston Would Be Very Offended To Know How Highly Senya Thinks Of Rhaenyra And Ser Harwin

Yan!Parents Alicent and Viserys Headcannons (Platonic)

(Forgive me for any mistakes this is my first time)

Mention of death, suicide, obsessive, possessive behavior, manipulation, unhealthy father, force pregnancy, and not good writing.

Pairing: Platonic Alicent and Viserys × female reader

To be honest Alicent was looking forward to the arrival of her first child well Viserys was excited. She was still young to have a child but hoped it was a boy for Viserys duty.

When she first gave birth to you and hold you...she felt like she was at the end of the world. Childbirth hurted is what she always said but when she get to see you put in her arms she couldn't help to smile in joy.

Viserys wasn't mad that she gave birth to a girl but he was happy to hold you in his arms. He looked up at your lilac eyes, a combination of his white hair and Alicent brown hair he just couldn't help to cry a bit.

They both swear to themselves to always protect you and your innocence. They turn extremely protective when you grown up close to your marriagable age. Alicent wouldn't let nobody have you. You are HER child and nobody is going to take you away from her even if she have to manipulate you in the process.

Viserys wouldn't let NOBODY Absolute NOBODY disrespect you not even Rhaenrya or any of his family. He feels like he own you, like he's entitle to you since of his inner dragon (per Viserys saying). He would get rid of anybody that do wrong to you, he would even have his guards kill someone if you demand it.

Alicent wants to do as she says. She wants to control you (kinda like how her father did) and not really follow in her footsteps but for you to have a better life then her. She would go a little mad if you get her depending on how mildly it is. If it's a paper cut you'll get caring Alicent if you are seriously injured then you get crazy mad Alicent.

If you want any suitors then they would go through serious questions about them and their house and many other things. If you really like your suitor then they let you marry them only on one rule and that's to kill him if he hurt you in any way.

They would go thick and thin to do anything for you and I mean EVERYTHING. You want this? You can have it! You would get spoiled anytime they can get stuff. Now your suitor on the other hand....

They are just like your mother and father. Another hand to deal with but maybe a less crazy one. Oop nevermind he tried to kill Aegon and Aemond because they was kinda plotting on stealing you away.

He did forcefully get you pregnant and when he heard he was SO happy about it....a little. His plan kinda backfire now you are just giving your baby more time then giving him time with you.

Jealous Boi until you actually give him time in which they just melt in your hand.

Your parents on the other way is happy to have a grandchild despite Alicent having Aegon marry our Helaena and having children. Alicent and Helaena like to make things for them and Viserys just loves playing toys with them. Your brothers are jealous that they don't have their sister love anymore.

When the war started Alicent hid you away and wanted to protect you even if it cost her life. She would do anything to make sure you're safe.

dragons' scars

summary: And after the events that happened during Lady Laena’s funeral at Driftmark, two dragons were left scarred.

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 6.4k

warnings: blood, fighting, grief, graphic description of wounds, vomiting, probably medical inaccuracies, representation of alicent and viserys' failmarriage at its best

author's note: whoof. this was a whole lot to write. sorry for the delay, I've been on vacation, but I still hope you all like it! in the next few chapters we'll see reader head first in her position as heir and enter a bit of a rebellious phase. i'm not sure i'm completely satisfied by this chapter, but i hope you all enjoy!

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The raven announcing Ser Harwin Strong’s death arrives at Dragonstone barely a day after the one announcing Laena Velaryon’s passing — as if moving to Dragonstone hasn’t already been hard enough on your family. Now not only is your father unresponsive, but your mother, too. 

Laenor had taken quite badly Lady Laena’s passing. He disappeared until supper, only to come back completely black out drunk after, carried by Ser Qarl. Your mother didn’t have the heart to get mad at him, and simply asked the knight to accompany him back to his chambers; she is closing off, too. 

You’re left to look after your brothers, since your parents are still barely at the start of their grieving; you visit them in the nursery, you play with them, you tell them how good they did with their lessons. You suspect Jace knows the truth about Ser Harwin probably being their real father and maybe he would like to drown in his own misery, too, but you won’t let him. Not when your parents are already going downhill. 

None of you knew aunt Laena, even if your father had promised multiple times to bring you to Pentos to visit her, but her death is still a tragedy. Burnt by her own dragon, per her own request, during childbirth. The fact that your mother survived the same thing not too long ago makes you shiver. 

It’s night when you hear the door of your chambers being opened, and you rouse, a bit alarmed, until you recognize the silhouette of your father under the moonlight. “Father? Is– is everything alright?”

He sniffs, standing beside your bed, then sitting down on the ground. “Do you mind if I stay here? Even for a little while will do.”

“I… sure. For as long as you think you need, father.” He reeks of wine, but you don’t point it out to him, turning in the bed so that you’re facing him. You give him your hand and he gladly takes it, squeezing it. “You know,” Laenor mumbles, “She would’ve loved you.” he wipes his nose with the back of his free hand, eyes red and cheeks blotchy. “I promised you that one day you would have met her, but I couldn't keep my promise. I was waiting for her to come back to Westeros — but I should’ve just flown to Pentos once you were born. Now my sister never got to know my daughter — nor any of my children.”

He laughs; a bitter, teary laugh. “She would’ve really loved you. You could’ve ridden Vhagar and Nādrēsy together — the biggest dragons in the world finally flying together.” another sniff, “I always wrote to her about you, and she said that she had bought some jewellery to give to you. That was years ago, though.” he lets out a choked sob, “I haven’t heard from her in what feels like a lifetime.”

You can’t even imagine being away from Jace and Luke for more than a sennight — Joffrey, maybe, yes, but that’s just because he only cries, eats, sleeps and poops. In a few years you won’t be able to part from him either, let alone grieve for him. You’ve known your brothers for most of your life, while they’ve known you for the entirety of theirs. Losing them, in such a way… you don’t even want to think about it. 

“Where’s aunt Laena now?” you ask him. She may have passed, but she has to be somewhere, right? How can a person just… stop existing?. She still has to be somewhere. Maybe she’s with Merrax.

Your father shakes his head. “I don’t know. For us Velaryons, once we die, the sea takes us back. We’re buried in it, so that it may take back all that we owe it. But Laena was also a Targaryen, and for Targaryens death means going back to Old Valyria with their dragons — but Vhagar’s still alive, so I don’t know how she could be able to reach Old Valyria. For the Faith of the Seven, there are Seven Hells and Seven Heavens, and everyone is judged for their sins and actions, and put where the Gods find adequate.”

“I don’t want to be judged when I die. Isn’t death a punishment enough as it is?” 

“I…” Laenor shakes his head. “I understand that for you it might be hard to comprehend, but death isn’t exactly a punishment. Truth is, men are executed just to prevent other people from committing their crimes by scaring them, and also to prevent them from doing it again; but death itself isn’t a punishment. Sometimes it’s a relief. I suppose that’s how your aunt perceived it.” 

You confusedly nod, still not understanding how she could find it a relief. She had two daughters, a husband, a good name for herself; some people would have given anything to be her. So, why? 

Your father has tears in his eyes. “There are fates way worse than death. I guess Laena thought she had enough.”

He leaves you to sleep with a choppy kiss on the forehead and a cracked goodnight, but you barely close an eye. You ask yourself if your mother would have ever left you and your brothers in favour of a quick death, had the situation been the same. 

Three days later, you depart for Driftmark on your dragons. Your parents carry one of your brothers each, while Joffrey is left on Dragonstone under the attentive care of the wetnurses and maids. The ride to Driftmark isn't too long, and you're one of the last ones to arrive for the funeral — as your grandsire, along with your uncles and his entourage, is already there, and so are many others. 

You see what probably is your uncle Daemon with his daughters, Baela and Rhaena, talking to your grandparents — Corlys a collected expression on his face, Rhaenys with teary eyes. There are a few Velaryon family members, who you recognise from your various visits to Driftmark in the last few years, and your grandsire, sitting on a makeshift throne under the gazebo of High Tide’s courtyard — where the tables with wine and refreshments are already placed. 

A guard announces the start of the ceremony, for Laena’s casket has been placed and is ready to be honoured, and you all move towards the cliff, where your aunt's body is ready to be dragged down and thrown onto the sea; you hold on tight to your father's hand as uncle Vaemond starts his eulogy. He squeezes back, sending you a tender glance full of tears. 

The eulogy is in Valyrian, and you are surprised to find barely any mentions of Laena's life. It sounds more like a praise to House Velaryon, of the thick blood that runs through it, and somehow an attempt at something. You can't decide if he's referring to your brother's not-so-Valyrian features or if he's simply trying to get on your grandfather's good side. Probably both.

“Salt courses through Velaryon blood. Ours runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin.”

Laena's casket is slowly dragged down the rocks, and soon enough, it falls into the waters below. 

You look up at your father, tugging on his vest. “Father, will we be buried like this too?” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “I will be. One day, I shall be united with my sister again and join her in the sea. But you'll be buried like a Targaryen, sweetling. You are destined to be something far greater than to be just a Lady Velaryon.”

You don't like it. You don't like the way he's saying it, like being a Velaryon is a curse. “Why? I want to be buried with you.”

He shakes his head again, almost stoically. It seems this is a talk that, at this moment, is too difficult for you to understand. “You'll be a Targaryen, sitting on the throne. You're destined to be burned by dragonfire.” he sniffs. “Or, or maybe you'll be buried by your lord husband’s family traditions; that's not unusual. I'll be a mere Lord, one day. I am your father, but I am not your duty.”

Your lower lip is trembling, and you bite it to hold in the tears that almost manage to escape. “Father, what are you even saying?” it isn’t fair that you can’t choose where to end up, even in death.

He grimaces. As soon as the ceremony ends, he lets go of your hand and simply disappears, as you all gather back in the courtyard stationed on the cliffside of High Tide. Your mother quickly comes to the rescue, holding you under one arm and your brothers under the others, promising you all lemon cakes and sweets once the ceremony is over.

You soon go to your grandparents, giving them your condolences like your mother told you to and then hugging them tight. Rhaenys almost bursts into tears, but actually, she’s great at hiding them for someone who just lost her only daughter. She pats you on the cheek and just stares for a moment, like she’s searching for something, before your grandfather brings her out of her stupor, gently nudging her to other courtesans. 

You greet your grandsire after that, who kisses your temple and hugs you tight, blabbering about how much he has missed you. “The Red Keep has become dull,” he murmurs, coughing a bit. “My children are in no way as bright as you are. Why don’t you come visit sometime? I could use some laughter, you know, and with your witts you often bring me to tears from it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Grandsire, I’ve been gone for not even a moon.”

He huffs. “Forgive this old man for missing his only granddaughter. You and your brothers are children, behaving like children; that's why your presence is dearly missed.” his gaze goes to your uncles; Aemond is staring dully in the distance, and Aegon is eyeing the maids while being on his… what? Fourth cup of wine? “Meanwhile, I’ve got… children behaving like forsaken adults. A drunkard, a spiteful brat, and… I don’t even know what to say about Helaena. At least she’s quiet.”

You’ve never understood why everyone describes Aemond as spiteful. He’s awkward, maybe even unpleasant at moments, but you wouldn't say exactly spiteful. “Grandsire, that is not a nice thing to say. Helaena is very good at embroidering, for one. Aemond is good with books. Aegon… well, I’m not really sure what, but there has to be something good about him.”

He lets out a disappointed noise, shaking his head. “They all excel at giving me headaches. But you know who’s best at it? Their mother.” he grunts, “She’s been insufferable as of lately. I fear I will go mad.”

You desperately try to take the conversation away from your uncles and aunt, not liking the way he talks about them. “If the Queen gives you trouble, I have a dragon. We could either run away on Nādrēsy or make sure he takes care of her.” as if on cue, a dragon roar is heard from the other side of the cliff.

Your grandsire chuckles and pinches your cheek. “Aren’t you a little rascal? That could be considered treason, sweetling. You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

Soon after you leave him, too, in favour of your cousins Rhaena and Baela. They stay out of the crowd, sitting on a little bench, looking completely inconsolable. You near them, not quite knowing how to start a conversation, since they must have heard condolences all day. 

“Uh, I, uh,” not really the best ice breaker, but you surely have their attention now. “I have some dresses — they do not fit me anymore. But I think that they’d fit you both nicely. If you ever need to take a breather, or, or, some time to think and have some fun, you could come to Dragonstone.” you try to smile, but surely it comes out crooked. “I’d be delighted to have you there. I’m always available if you need me.”

Rhaena tries to smile, too, while Baela barely nods. “Thanks, cousin.” 

Corlys comes up to you three, laying a hand on your shoulder. “Could you go fetch your father, dear?” He looks stiff, and you soon understand why: your father is standing in the waters below, on the beach, kneeling in the saltwater and looking completely lost. It does not take you long to join him, holding up your dress so that only your shoes and collants get wet. 

“Father,” you call out. You can’t go too much farther. “Father, are you alright?” He doesn’t reply. He just stares ahead of him, into the vastity of the Narrow Sea, like he can almost see his sister again. You’ve never seen your father so lost, so… unlike himself. It’s like Laena brought with her a part of him. Is he buried in the sea now, too? Am I destined to never see him again? Not even in death?

“Father,” you try again. You get a bit closer, the cold water biting your skin. “Please.”

Laenor barely turns his head to look at you. He looks like a shell of himself, and you think that maybe, it’s just now that he has realised that Laena’s never coming back. Earlier, he had you to ground him; but once he let go of your hand, he suddenly understood that he was alone. His sister is dead. There’s no one else with whom he has shared the same experiences he shared with her, no one else so willing to understand him as she was, no one else who will look at him as an older brother. 

Laena Velaryon is no more, and you are sure she has dragged your father with her in the depths of the sea. 

It’s well past midnight when you are rudely woken up. It’s Rhaena, you realise, and she is calling your name quite insistently. “What?” you hiss, softening once you remember that you were the one to tell the twins that you were always available if needed. You intended by day, but if they need you, then you’ll gladly get up and get going. 

“Someone has stolen Vhagar,” she murmurs, tears brimming in her eyes. You can hear the she-dragon roaring outside, and she doesn’t sound too happy. “Jacaerys, Lucerys and Baela are already going out — but you have a dragon. Can’t you just… follow her?”

She doesn’t have to repeat it twice, because you’re already putting on your riding pants and a tunic, going for the balcony and calling for Nādrēsy. The infamous Cannibal doesn’t take long to arrive, always at your beck and call, and you soon mount him, as Rhaena runs off — probably to where your brothers and her sister were headed. 

It’s almost impossible not to spot Vhagar: she’s an old, gigantic dragon, that in the years has lost all her spikes and now looks like a giant lizard. Her scales are green, fading into a deep bronze, and her saddle is vacant — not really, you think, as you see your uncle Aemond barely clinging to the ropes of the saddle, almost flying away. 

Nādrēsy roars, unhappy to see his mother, you imagine. He moves to turn away, away from her, and you try to hold tight on the reins, keeping him in place. “Daor, Nādrēsy, daor!” No, Nādrēsy, no!

He whines, rebelling against you for what is maybe the first time in over two years, and you can feel how unsettled he is. It radiates off of him, and before you can even understand what is happening, he’s turning back and going for the beach — searching for a landing. Every attempt to stop him, to make him obey, is vain; he roars over your voice, tuning you out, even when you punch and kick at his neck — it seems the only one hurt by this is you, actually. His spikes are not going to fall off for a while, it seems. Unlike Vhagar he still has them all. 

He lands on the beach, roaring loudly and huffing fire. Since now Vhagar is landing, too, and she is pretty far away, you decide to forget about the stunt your dragon has just pulled in order to catch up with the others — you’d hate to miss Rhaena and Baela, or anyone really, going ballistic against Aemond. 

Except, once you finally reach the entrance of High Tide, you find yourself in front of a scene that will surely haunt you in your dreams for a good while. 

Now, you don’t like Aemond. Not really, since he supports his brother in constantly calling your brothers bastards and mostly keeps to himself. That doesn’t mean that him being beaten up by four children way younger than him isn’t honestly pitiful. You had hoped for a fight, yes, but the kind with screams and insults, not the kind with punches and blood, where one of your brothers could easily get injured. 

Aemond is three-and-ten. The twins are a year younger than you, while Jace is six, barely a year older than Luke. The way they easily win against him almost saddens you, and despite the fact that you have nothing against seeing him beaten to a pulp, your mother is already having a hard time adjusting to the changes of the last few weeks — Joff’s birth, Harwin’s death, moving to Dragonstone — and, you think, your brothers and cousins killing your uncle surely wouldn’t help her. So, against all your best wishes, you stand up for Aemond.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?” you scream, prying them all off of him. You take Jacaerys and Luke by their ears, making them whine as you throw them around. “Is this what Ser Cole taught you? Four against one? It’s not a fair fight!” 

“Whose side are you on? He stole my dragon!” Rhaena screeches, outraged. “Vhagar was supposed to be mine!”

“Well, now it isn’t!” you find yourself saying. “I lost my dragon too, and guess what? I found another one! If he was able to claim Vhagar, then maybe she wasn’t meant to be yours. And I say that with the utmost respect and affection for you, cousin, trust me. If Vhagar accepted him, then maybe she’s not worth that much.”

You turn, leaving your brothers with red ears, looking at your uncle, left groaning on the ground. You offer him your hand, leaning a bit. “Uncle, let’s just go to sleep and forget about all that has happened.”

He glances at you, then at your hand. He takes it, and before you can react, he drags you down towards him. 

He’s got a pointed rock in his free hand. 

Luke and Jace scream before you even feel the impact of the stone with your temple, and it’s not a light throw. It’s one with intent, probably aimed to kill. The pain explodes and leaves you in shambles on the ground where your uncle was just a moment ago, and as he prepares himself for another hit, Jacaerys tackles him. 

Aemond lets go of the rock to fight against your brother, who apparently didn’t come here unprepared, because he’s got a knife that he promptly sheathes. “How dare you?” he roars. “My sister helped you! She reprimanded us about not fighting fairly and you maim her!” 

He tries to fight off the grip on his wrist, his knife pointed at Aemond’s throat. “She should’ve let us kill you!”

His uncle manages to shove him off, throwing him on the ground right next to you, barely conscious and hopefully still breathing. “Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” you never quite understood why people described Aemond as spiteful, but now, laying on the ground in a pool of your own blood, you incoherently understand why. “You will die screaming in flames like your father did, bastards!”

The knife is on the ground, too, but as Aemond reaches for it, Lucerys is quicker. 

When the Kingsguard finally comes to the scene, they find a disfigured prince and an unconscious — dead-looking — princess, both still bleeding, both in immense pain. 

The first to snap out of his daze is Ser Harrold, who immediately comes to your side, glancing at the open wound and reaching for his handkerchief, pressing on the bleeding gash with it. This seems to snap you out of your trance, too, because you let out a blood curdling scream, thrashing against him. “Princess!” he exclaims, trying to calm you down. “I am merely trying to stop the bleeding!”

But it looks like you don’t comprehend anything anymore, blood covering your face and teeth, you find yourself spitting it. All you can think about is the fact that Aemond was going for a second strike. And suddenly, you hold no more pity for him, and find yourself agreeing with your grandsire. A spiteful brat, he had described him. 

Your grip on Ser Harrold’s arm would surely draw blood if it wasn’t for his armour, and you can see the terrified gazes of your brothers and cousins, clouded with tears, as the guards keep them away. As your vision darkens and your head spins, you think you can hear Nādrēsy roaring from outside. 

You are unable to stay conscious for much, slipping between being completely passed out and being awake but quite comatose, and you barely register Ser Harrold taking you in his arms — a guard with a screaming Aemond right behind — and getting you out of there. The thundering from your dragon outside just keeps getting louder and louder, pounding in your ears and shaking High Tide. 

The Grand Maester looks horrified when Ser Harrold brings you into his chambers, screaming about needing immediate help, but soon gets to work. Him and his apprentices work overtime, roughly patching Aemond up for the meanwhile because they have a dying girl in their hands, and it doesn’t take much for you to be mostly drunk off of milk of the poppy. 

When you wake, your head is in a tight bandage, and you’re laid down on a daybed, Rhaenys and Corlys by your side along with your brothers, still covered in blood. Their little butchered faces make you want to cry — you failed. As an older sister, you have one job — protecting your brothers — and you have failed. 

“Mummy,” is the first word that comes out of your mouth — like the scared little girl you are, you are searching for the comfort of the same person who has always given it to you, ever since you were but a blob in her womb: your mother. It’s rasped and barely a whisper, but Luke hears it. 

“Sister!” he screams, jumping on the daybed. “You are awake!”

Your head is pounding and your vision is blurred, but you recognize this room to be the best guest chambers of High Tide, the ones your grandparents sometimes let you to sleep in. If you are correct, right now it’s your grandsire who resides in them. There are murmurs around you, a maester nearing, and a heavy hand settling on your shoulder. 

“She’s not here, sweetling,” it’s your grandfather Corlys, but you don’t recognize him. “Daddy?” you ask, as the maester puts in your trembling hands a calice. You hesitantly drink from it, but as soon as the liquid touches your lips, the first instinct is to spit it out. Corlys grimaces. “He’s… he’s not here either, but we sent for them. They both should be here any moment now.”

“I thought you had died,” Jace sobs, “I could see your skull.”

“It will surely scar,” the maester murmurs, tightening the bandages. “Hopefully, it will do only that.”

A wave of nausea comes over you. The maester seems to notice, and he’s quick to ask for a bucket, passing it to you and patting your shoulder as you vomit in it, ears ringing. “That’s normal. She’ll probably have constant nausea for a while.”

The people around you murmur, and another voice makes itself known in the crowd. “—re’s my granddaughter? Where’s my granddaughter?!”

It’s your grandsire, the King, and he stops once he sees you, bandages bloody and bleary eyes, skin pale and covered in sweat. “What have they done to you, my girl?” he whispers, shaking his head in disbelief. He looks at the maester, “Is it serious?”

“I– we have no actual idea of how much it’ll affect her in the long term. In the best scenario, it’ll only scar and leave her with migraines every once in a while,” he grimaces, probably fearing for his life as the King looks furious, “I– in the worst… it, it could have some… permanent effects. Intellect-wise.”

Your grandsire shakes his head. “If you really value your head, dear maester, then you’ll make sure she doesn’t have any repercussions. Don’t forget you have the heir to the Iron Throne in your hands.”

The maester gulps, and Viserys sits by your feet on the daybed, gently placing a hand on your knee. “How are you feeling, sweetling?”

You whine, too nauseated at the moment to speak. The door is thrown open, your mother and uncle Daemon running in, Rhaenyra screaming your names. “Jace, Luke– dear Gods, my girl, what has happened to you?”

Her trembling eyes are frantic, looking at your bandaged wound and the blood splattered on your face, but she is quick to compose herself, putting up a facade in front of the whole court. Later, in the privacy of her chambers, she will hold her three babies and weep as much as she needs, but for now, she has to stay strong. 

Unexpectedly, it is you who starts crying first. Just a little girl crying for her mother, covered in blood and scared for what’s to come. Are you going to be ridiculed for your scar as Mushroom the fool is for his height? You sure hope not.

This enrages your grandsire even more, and he raises back on his feet, throwing his hands in the air. “Gods be good, how could this happen?” he turns to Ser Harrold, “How could you allow such a thing to happen?”

“The princes were supposed to be abed, my King,” the knight replies, tense himself. 

Viserys snarls. “And who had the night watch?”

The Lord Commander’s eyes dart towards Ser Criston, who speaks before he can even be interpelled. “The Prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace.”

Viserys barely spares a glance at Aemond, sitting by the fireplace, his left eye socket being stitched by the Grand Maester. “The Prince?” he says in disbelief. “The Prince? The heir to the Iron Throne could've been killed! You swore to protect my blood!”

A moment of silence. Ser Harrold speaks up. “I’m very sorry, Your Grace.” 

Ser Criston straightens. “The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from other princes, Your Grace.”

“That is no answer!” your grandsire yells, shaking his head. He looks at the Grand Maester, who is now almost finished with Aemond. “It will heal, will it not?” 

“The flesh will heal, but the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

The King sighs. Rhaenyra nods. “That is not even near enough punishment for what he has done to my daughter.”

Alicent’s eyebrows raise up to her hairline. “What he has done? My son has lost an eye. Over what? An innocent scuffle?” “That’s not true!” Jace screams. “He attacked Baela!”

“He broke Luke’s nose!”

“He stole my mother’s dragon!” 

“He tried to kill our sister!”

“Enough!” Viserys rages, immediately shutting down the children. He looks over to you, eyes softening. “My dear, dear girl, are you able to tell me what has happened?”

You sniff. The tears have stopped by now, but the ringing is persistent. “I arrived a bit later than the others.” you murmur, eyes downcast, to your hand, tightly held in your mother’s grasp. “I… I tried to help Aemond. Gave him my hand.” 

You raise your eyes, still full of fear and regret. “Grandsire, he went for another strike.”

“It should be my son telling the story!” Alicent interrupts, voice cracking. “Lucerys Velaryon had a knife– Aemond was ambushed! They meant to kill my son!”

Before your grandsire can reply, you shake your head. Your mother is surprised to find no rage in your words, only… confusion. Disbelief, maybe. “Your son maimed at me when I was simply trying to help him.”

She scoffs. “He was merely defending himself.”

“I gave him my hand to help him off the ground. I had no bad intentions nor weapons with me.” 

You are just discovering one of the bad traits of the human species, Rhaenyra realises. Betrayal, and the worst kind. The one that comes when the intentions are the purest, but the receiver takes advantage. She wonders if after this you’ll be able to help anyone without doubts or second thoughts ever again. 

“He aimed for a kill.”

Viserys turns to his son. “Aemond, I will have the truth of what has happened, now.”

He looks lost. A little kid coming up with a lie. He’s older than you and yet so stupid. “T… they attacked me.”

“That's not true!” Jace bursts. “You called us bastards!”

Silence falls upon the room; you stare at your brother. Had you known that was the motif of the whole ordeal, you would have happily let them beat Aemond till he was no longer recognisable. Your mother pales, and opens her mouth to speak again. “Your Grace, my sons were attacked and forced to defend themselves and their sister, already struck down. My daughter is heir and my sons are in line for the Iron Throne; this is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might know where he heard such slanders from.”

“Over an insult?” Alicent asks, voice trembling. “My son has lost an eye.”

“Your son has permanently damaged the heir to the Iron Throne,” Viserys corrects her. “Now, you tell me, boy. Where did you hear these lies?”

“The insult was but a training yard buster,” his wife interjects, again. “The lot of boys. It was nothing.”

“Aemond,” your grandsire presses firmly. “I asked you a question.”

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? Where is the children’s father? Perhaps he might have something to say on the matter.” 

“I…” your grandsire seems to agree, even if doubtfully. “Yes. Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” your mother quickly replies. “ I... could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.”

“Entertaining his young squires, I would venture,” the Queen mumbles. The King chooses the best strategy — just ignoring her. “Aemond, look at me. Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

This is turning messy, you think, too many cards on the table. Your injury, Aemond’s lost eye, your brother’s questioned legitimacy, your father’s absence. For what specific thing are you here? For the fight that broke out or the years of bottled up rage and hatred? 

Aemond’s trembling too, you realise. Yet, for the first time in your life, you can’t find it in yourself to hold even a little bit of pity for him. “It… it was Aegon.”

His brother stands straighter beside him, taken aback. “Me?” 

“And you, boy? Where did you learn such calumnies?” the boy hesitates, “Aegon! tell me the truth of it, now!”

“I…” your uncle sighs, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “We… we know, Father. Everyone knows. Just look at them,”

Your grandsire is silent for a moment, shaking his head. “This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your King demands it!”

You’ve never seen him so enraged — Viserys The Peaceful, the smallfolk calls him, and not as to jest. He really is a calm and collected person; he has simply had enough, it seems. 

“That is insufficient,” Alicent declares. “My son has been damaged permanently, my King. ‘Good will’ cannot make him whole.”

Your grandsire sighs. “I cannot restore his eye, Alicent. He has wound the heir to the throne. He should repute himself lucky to not have lost his head.”

His wife shakes her head, bewildered. “He is your son, Viserys, your blood! There is a debt to be paid!”

“My granddaughter has already paid more than enough for your son’s thoughtlessness!” Viserys screams. “He wounded an innocent child who was acting in good faith! She helped him and he spat in her face! That is how you are raising your children, Alicent? Aemond is three-and-ten, almost a man, and yet he attacked a girl not even nine summers old! He should be ashamed of himself.”

The Queen looks dazed. “He has paid more than it is acceptable.” her eyes flicker to you; a glimmer of greed, typical of HIghtowers, sits in them. “We… we could wed the children. Who would want the Princess, now that she has been ruined? My son would have a bride as consolation for the lost eye and she wouldn't have to worry about her future husband finding her… hideous, or worse, not finding a husband at all.”

Viserys takes a deep breath. “Alicent, the girl is only eight…”

Rhaenyra's eye twitches. The only thought of one of Alicent’s spawns getting on the throne by marrying you would've been enough to send her on a rampage. "So that she can say that her husband abused her even before the start of their marriage and you can have one of your children on the throne? I would rather my daughter die a spinster than to see that happen. Besides, she’s a Princess — a scar inflicted by your animal of a son could never manage to taint her beauty. It surely won’t help him in the search for a bride, though, so I can’t say I’m really surprised by this proposal.” your mother is trembling in anger as she says this, “I had already proposed something like this, Your Grace, so I don’t see why my proposal should be denied while you expect yours to be happily welcomed.”

A piece of information is missing, you realise, because you have no idea what your mother is talking about. “Very well,” replies Alicent, voice stone cold. “There is still a debt to be paid, and if the King doesn’t bring justice, the Queen will. I shall have one of your sons’ eyes in return. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

Luke screeches and you jump up from the bed, fighting nausea and headache, just to try to keep him safe. Your mother is already making sure of that, hiding him behind her, grabbing you too in the meanwhile, holding you close to her. “Mother!”

“Alicent,” your grandsire chastises.

“He can choose which eye he wants to keep — a luxury that was not granted to my son.”

“You will do no such thing,” the King commands to the knight, who looks conflicted. “Stay your hand.” 

“No, you are sworn to me!”

It seems Ser Cole is not that much of a fool to cut a prince’s eye out of his socket, and he takes a step back. “As your protector, my Queen.” 

“Alicent,” your grandsire starts, “this matter... is finished. Do you understand? And let it be known, anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra's sons should have it removed.”

Your mother takes a breath, and her grip on you and your brothers loosens. “Thank you, father.” 

It all happens so fast. 

In a second or two, Alicent has a knife in her hands — snatched from your grandsire’s belt — and your mother has bolted forward, holding her wrist in place, preventing her from attacking any of you. “Stay behind!” she yells, barely looking at you all — and before you can move to obviously disobey and try to smack Alicent as hard as you can, it’s uncle Daemon who comes up behind you to hold you back as the guards do the same to your brothers. 

You shriek, “Let me go, let me go! I’ll cut her eye out since she wants one so bad!” 

“And then what?” he taunts, putting a hand over your mouth. “For this all to escalate even more?”

“Stay with the King!”

“Alicent!”

“Hold your approach!”

“Stay your hand, Cole!”

Your trashing and turning against Daemon’s hold doesn’t cease, only worsening as your mother grunts in fatigue. “You’ve gone too far,” she grits, glaring at the Queen, steadily holding her wrist and preventing her from wounding her. 

“I?” Alicent asks. “What have I done but was expected of me?” she shakes her head, trembling. “Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law, while you flout it all to do as you please!”

“Alicent, let her go!”

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It's trampled under your pretty foot again!”

“Alicent, release the blade!”

“And now you take my son's eye, and to even that, you feel entitled!”

“Your son almost killed my daughter!” your mother screams, her rage finally exploding. She snickers, but it’s clearly sarcastic. “Exhausting, isn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness.” she shakes her head, and her voice softens. “But now they see you as you are.”

Alicent manages to free herself from your mother’s grip; Rhaenyra is sent tumbling behind, but luckily there’s your grandfather to catch her. Her arm is profusely bleeding — the wench managed to cut her — and the dagger falls on the ground with a loud thud. 

Daemon finally lets you go, and you sprint to your mother, holding her wounded arm tight and sniffing into her dress. Despite everything, she still manages to hold you close — as she always does — pressing her nose into your hairline, murmuring sweet nothings and reassurances. 

Your grandsire is speechless; his eyes dart to your mother, then to Alicent, then to your mother again. In the end, he looks at his wife, an unreadable gaze in his eyes. “I accept Princess Rhaenyra’s proposal of marriage,” he declares, the room eerily silent. “and I declare my youngest daughter, Helaena, and my oldest grandson, Jacaerys, betrothed, to put an end to this rift between our family. They are to be married once the boy reaches the age of sixteen.” 

His face holds something you’ve never seen in his face, as he looks at the Queen. Is it disdain? You are too young to really know. “I hope you are happy now, wife.”

a father’s love

synopsis: a character study of emperor geta and his dearest daughter (1.6k)

pairings: emperor geta & his daughter: julia domna & her granddaughter

contents: attempted infanticide, unhealthy relationships, mentions of violence, geta is doing his best to be a father! the daughter is never explicitly named in this work, but im sure in future works she'll be named! a/n: also, I'm slightly tweaking the years of geta and caracalla's rule, but that doesn't matter much other than they're ruling much longer than they realistically did. ientaculum is a form of breakfast!! it's a meal romans used to eat right after they woke up! it's nothing lavish! (also peep the marie antoinette movie reference)

divider by: @saradika !!

masterlist!!

ten years prior

the woman tries to hush the small baby, ignoring how soft hands putter against her arm in a pitiful attempt to escape. 

her baby is no older than three weeks, yet the woman has already let her live too long. there is no telling what the emperors would do if they learned of her child.

she had let the baby live out of pure selfishness, knowing her freedom from the emperors was only temporary until the conflict with a neighboring country ended.

she had selfishly ridden out her pregnancy, fooling herself into the belief that the emperor would cherish this child, and then it ended up being a little girl.

then she knew the child was doomed to death if she was caught.

so, with a gentle kiss goodbye, the woman wraps an old robe around the baby’s face, crying as she wails and twists underneath the material, trying to evade death.

-

the doors to the concubine quarters are slammed open, splintering off the wall as guards rush in, spears and swords brandished into the dark room. the woman splutters with shock as she pushes down harder on the wailing child, trying to fight the stronger hands pulling her back. 

she only surrenders when the tip of a sword meets her exposed neck, a slight gush of blood welling up to the cut, and a guard unwraps the baby’s face, the reddish skin slightly cooling as the night wind blows in through the windows. 

for a minute, she prays that the gods take mercy on her child and that the guards are only here to finish what she had started. but when the familiar smell of cinnamon and opobalsam fills the air, she knows her prayers weren’t answered. 

from the corner of her eye, a pale hand wraps around her baby, engulfing her child in a blur of golden rings and pale skin.

she knows that her prayers weren’t answered when imperator geta leans down to study her baby, lips twisted into a cruel scowl. 

she knows her prayers weren’t answered when imperator geta leaves with her baby, and a sword is plunged into her neck. 

-

rome, 211 ad

the moon seemed to cast a shadow on the entirety of palatine hill. there was little sound, besides the gentle whispering of the wind ruffling leaves and grasses, accompanied by the occasional animal noise.

if one strained their ears, they would hear the gentle pitter-patter of bare feet on the floors, accompanied by the minuscule shushing of julia domna.

the former empress leads the redheaded child through the halls of palatine hill, ignoring the multiple guards bowing their heads in respect as they whisk through the halls.

before they reach the main atrium, julia soothes down a curl on the girl's head before she lifts her veil, "neptis, this is where we part".

the child's lips quirk down into a frown before she smiles once more, the promise of being with her father soon. after their nighttime walks through the halls of palatine, julia always stopped before entering geta's section of palatine. she wasn't sure if it was out of respect or out of fear of her son.

at times, she wished she was like her granddaughter, fearless and full of love for the emperors. whilst the child was always stuck firmly on her father's side, she had indulged in caracalla's occasional affection for his niece.

on the occasion, when geta allows the child to accompany them outside of palatine to the occasional gladiator fight, julia could pretend her children weren't at each other's throats for full control of rome, and that her family had more concerns than a throne.

but for now, julia is content with watching the child hurry off into the dimly lit hallways leading to her son's chambers, getting intercepted by one of his personal guards after a few seconds.

she will see the child tomorrow, hiding in her father's shadow as they loom over the citizens of rome.

-

geta stalks the halls, waiting for the familiar sound of his child's poorly hidden laughter. she adored circling the guard as they walked through the halls, easily entertained by the sway of the guard's cape.

with a loud laugh, his child rushes into his hallway, grinning back at the guard, illuminated by the dim torches. perhaps if his child paid more attention, she would've been alerted to his rapidly approaching figure, closing in on her. he watches as the guard backs away, disappearing into the shadows of the halls as he reaches his child.

striking like a snake, geta collects his child in his arms, laughing at the terror that paralyzes the smaller body, stiffening in shock. however, once gathered in her father’s arms, resting her cheek against exposed skin where his armor ends, the child soothes, growing boneless as she slumps against him.

for a minute, he indulges in her childishness before they walk once more, striding through the heavily guarded halls as they near their chambers. the child keeps her hand firmly clasped around the material of his cloak, rubbing it between her fingers.

the sound of his armor and her breathing seemed nonexistent as they walked together, her eyes drooping with fatigue as the halls stretched on.

selfishly, geta tugs her impossibly closer before picking her up, allowing her to curl up against the chilled gold of his armor, tugging his cloak to the side, covering her upper body as they walked.

it was moments like these when geta was content with having a daughter. a son would be the child of rome, the future imperator. a boy whose only purpose in life was to lead rome.

but a daughter? a daughter would be his.

alas, this child is his. while his citizens adored seeing his child and celebrated her birth with the same festivities, feasts, and ceremonies that he and caracalla had, there was nothing that could harm his child. her every move wasn't analyzed and scoured with harsh eyes, instead, she was celebrated as an offering of peace, a soothing balm to the tensions within his empire.

even though rome hadn't been born an heir, geta had been blessed by the gods with an endlessly smart child, sweet and unharmed by the lurking horrors that hid within their empire.

even if she wasn't a boy, geta selfishly loved his child. he should've sent her to the vestal virgins, she could've been loved and treasured by the priestesses and the vestals, learning the duties of a roman matron and being safe within holy walls.

but he couldn't seem to let her go far.

when she had first been born, geta had grown obsessive over finding her and her mother. he and caracalla had both banished their concubines and servants alike, paranoid about a potential traditor during their conflict with the neighboring countries.

caracalla had learned of her life first from a drunken concubine who had seen the child, who had been present for her birth. the concubine had seemingly talked for hours, continuing on and on with her story before the news had reached geta.

they had found her in his mother's old concubine quarters, being smothered to death by a robe.

he can still remember the wailing of her mother as his guards yanked the woman away, peeling the robe off his baby's reddened face. he was quick to move through the room, ignoring the woman who screamed and kicked at his guards, spluttering curses and begs alike.

he had leaned down to look at the pitiful child, breathing rapidly, but not a sound escaped her. she had laid there silently, helpless and struggling for breath as they looked at each other.

he remembered the burning heat of her skin as he collected her in his hands, wide eyes blinking up at him as her breathing eventually evened out, still silent as she slept against his chest. perhaps it was the trust that likened him to the child so much, a curious presence, uncaring about his brutality as she grew.

it was a weakness that could be easily exploited, a child too weak to overthrow a potential assailant, a child that would succumb to even the smallest ounce of poison slipped into her chalice. whilst caracalla was constantly paranoid over assassination attempts on his own life, geta worried for his child.

she brought nothing to his reign, no comfort in knowing he had a successor to carry on his legacy. she had no claim to the throne, but geta held claim over her, and she held a claim over him.

she was worryingly loyal, even as unrest between the emperors grew and roman citizens grew hostile. she was blissfully unaware of the unrest, of potential wars and conflicts burning their way closer to rome.

she held no expectations of him. there was no need to continue being an emperor once he was inside his side of palatine hill, hidden away from the eyes of his brother and guards alike. inside his chambers, all he needed to be was a father.

so, for now, geta will keep her locked away in palatine, and perhaps one day she will grow to hate it, to hate her father, and perhaps her loyalty will shift to caracalla.

perhaps she will stare out of the windows and down to the streets of rome, endlessly enviable to the children roaming the streets, and grow to hate the stiffness of palatine hill.

but for now, his child is content to curl up and sleep, uncaring of anything outside of her father and what cheese she will have for ientaculum tomorrow.

Daeny Targaryen costume design

Daeny is the 3rd legitimate child of Aegon IV The Unworthy. I have decided she's a court icon when it comes to her clothing. Someone said she took up too much space once and she took it so personally she takes up as much as possible now. She's probably my most petty character, and that's saying something. That tweet that says something like "I only do things for two reasons, spite and the aesthetic" is literally her.

Yandere House Targaryen Headcanons (Platonic)

“Fire and Blood.” — House Targaryen.

❝ 🐉 — lady l: I don’t think I’ve ever written a headcanon this big! But I liked how it turned out and I hope you like it too. I made some changes to the ones that participate, in this case, it’s Viserys I, Aemma, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon III, Viserys II, Rhaena, and Baela. I did this because it’s easier to organize, but don’t worry, the others will come later! Good reading and sorry for any mistakes. :)

❝tw: yandere themes, possessive and obsessive behavior, unhealthy platonic relationshipsa , child being taken from its parents, mention of torture, murder, war and blood.

❝🐉 pairing: yandere!platonic house targaryen x gender neutral!reader.

❝word count: +2,5k.

The way you entered the life of the Targaryen family was very unconventional, but for them, it was the work of the Seven. You were brought at a young age into the arms of Queen Aemma, King Visesrys I and Princess Rhaenyra, only a year older than you. Your origin is unknown to all who are not part of the family. Some say you were the child of peasants who lived in the Vale and on a trip there, Viserys and Aemma met you and were enchanted by you, as did Rhaenyra and decided to take you with them, others say that Daemon killed your parents and when he was about to to kill you too, he was “bewitched” and decided to take you with him to King’s Landing where the King and the Queen took you as their child, but it’s not really important anymore because now you’re with them and they don’t mean you let go.

Aemma became especially attached to you as you grew older, she really came to love you like her own child and the way she always tries to keep by her side as long as possible made that very clear. The Queen just wants you happy and well, she sees you as her “precious baby” and she can’t let anyone ruin that. Aemma goes to great lengths to see you smile, she gives you everything you need and more. She is a devoted mother and very attached to her children, Rhaenyra and you, but in a way, she is even more to you. You, like her, are very attached to the Queen as well, as she is what you know as a ‘’mother’’ and anyone who tries to deny that you are not really her and the king’s child will lose their tongue. It doesn’t matter if you are completely different from them, if you have dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin, you are their child and no one can say otherwise. Those who dared to do so lost their tongues.

Viserys also spends as much time with you as possible, for as King he doesn’t have as much free time, but what he does have, it’s all spent with you. Viserys tries to be as rational as possible in this family dynamic that has developed around you, but he can’t deny the situation they’ve gotten themselves into by stealing someone’s child. He knows it’s wrong and he feels guilty about it, but hearing you call him “daddy” makes those thoughts disappear in an instant. He’s a good father actually, always taking care of you, pampering you and protecting you as much as he can from the evils of the world which made you an extremely naive person, but Viserys won’t say he doesn’t like that innocent side of you, because he does. It just forces him to think that you must be protected forever, that you will never stop being your daddy’s little girl/boy. That you will always need him to protect you and ward off the monsters of your nightmare.

Rhaenyra is your older sister, protective and possessive of your attention. She, from her family, is one of the most possessive with you, she feels entitled to have you because you are sibilings and, therefore, she is the one who should have you whenever she wants and she always wants you with her. The Princess is the one who you are closest to in the family, only after Aemma, as she is always by your side even if you are with your parents she will still be around. She claims it’s because she’s taking care of you like a big sister would, but in reality it’s because she doesn’t want you to spend time with other people, even if those people are her parents. She loves to take you flying with Syrax and read to you, her favorite moments spent together are when you are hugging her tightly as you fly your dragon. Rhaenyra’s possessiveness is often overwhelming as you will never truly be alone, she insisted on sharing a room with you and she is very insistent. She is suffocating, your alone moments will never really be alone as the princess will always be lurking around, watching over you like a good sister.

Daemon is, without a doubt, the worst of the Targaryens. At first, he didn’t really like the idea of ​​having you in his family, as you weren’t one of them, not by blood at least. You, in his eyes, were nothing more than a stranger your brother clung to, but he would make him see the truth, after all, you didn’t even possess valyrian traits so how dare you be called Targaryen? But to everyone’s surprise and himself, Daemon also became so obsessed with you as soon as he laid eyes on you. Aemma and Viserys were worried at first about Daemon as they knew what he was like but they were relieved a little bit to see that he got along with you, in fact, more than well. Daemon is the most dangerous of all your family, he is possessive and violent, and he saw you as a property to be claimed by him, to be raised and loved by him alone. He didn’t see Viserys capable of raising you, as his brother is weak in his vision and he was too protective of you, but Daemon wants you to be able to fight for yourself and he’ll be more than happy to teach you how. He spends all the time that is available to him with you (and the time that is not his) talking about the future with you, about how he will be King and that you will stand by his side. Daemon’s unpredictable and volatile nature should not be ignored as he is more than capable of taking you away with him and he will if the opportunity arises.

Family is what you all are and what you will be forever and ever. They’re all obsessed with you to different degrees, but if there’s one thing they all agree on, it’s: protecting and loving you above everything and everyone else. Aemma and Viserys are the ones most aware of what you’re being forced to deal with, at a such young age, and they know the delicate situation and what they did in taking you away from your original family, they know all of that, but they selfishness and the love they feel so much for their precious child speaks much louder. Rhaenyra has grown up to believe that you are indeed her sister/brother, she doesn’t care if you don’t look alike, you are sibilings and that’s final, she loves you and is always by your side, you have become everything and the one person that she trust and she will be cursed if she lets you go. Daemon doesn’t care about any of that, he just wants you with him and will be offended and furious if anyone questions his intentions with you. How dare they? You are his niece/nephew and he loves you like a father and only wants the best for you, and the best for you is to staty with him, he very often quarreling with Viserys over this. Daemon has no morals and would kill many, but he would never lift a finger at you. Never.

However, after Aemma’s death, the situation became unbalanced and everything became even more fragile. You were in tears and Rhaenyra and Viserys looked to you for comfort, all three of you suffered the same: the loss of the woman you loved so much. Rhaenyra would cry in your arms and Viserys would often just hold you without saying anything, just letting the tears fall onto your shoulders. Both were coming after you for comfort, but you went to Daemon for that, as he was the only one who wasn’t shaken by the Queen’s death. To say that Daemon was happy to have you all to himself isn’t enough to express what he felt, happiness and triumph perhaps? Triumph because you chose him over Rhaenyra and Viserys to be consoled, you chose him and that only adds to his illusion that you only trust and love him. Only him and Daemon will always keep that in his head.

When Viserys remarried and to Rhaenyra’s friend, she didn’t react well to this situation. Not only did she feel betrayed by her father and friend, she felt threatened, threatened with the promise of a male heir and being replaced. Rhaenyra implored you to keep as far away from Alicent and any children she might have as possible, for she couldn’t handle the fear of losing you, especially after she saw that the new Queen seemed interested in you. Sure, you and Alicent have seen each other a few times, but Rhaenyra has always tried her best to keep you away from her friend because you are hers alone and after her betrayal, she couldn’t imagine you leaving her for Alicent Hightower. No, she will not allow that to happen. Although Alicent has more ways to reach you, as the Queen, everyone knows that Viserys is very supportive of Rhaenyra and he will do what she asks. Rhaenyra knows you are safe from Alicent, but who knows for how long?

Daemon was exiled again and he hoped he could take you with him, but Viserys wouldn’t allow it. He knew he could try to force you to go with him, after all, he had Caraxes, but after seeing that you didn’t want to go, he ended up forgetting about it. For a while. Although he was busy fighting at the Stepstones, you never got out of his head, to the point of being a distraction, even after taking an arrow, you were all the prince could think about. Would you be safe? Do you miss him? Daemon is a danger to himself and having you in his head all the time just makes the situation worse. But on the one hand, you are his biggest motivation to live and win, he wants to see the pride on his face when he comes back victorious and feel your warm embrace that he so missed.

The Targaryen family dynamic never changed over the years and the affection for you only grew stronger and stronger, to the point where you became the only one capable of holding this family together. Viserys spent the most time with you over the years, you became the center of his attention as he grew older, the influence you have on the King is superior to any. Rhaenyra even after getting married and having children, was still stuck to your side, nothing will be able to separate the two of you and your support of her is what keeps her strong, her children would eventually develop their yandere tendencies for you like their mother. Although Daemon spent time in Essos with Laena and his daughters, he still sent letters daily and when he could, he would pay you a visit. Not even time will be able to take you away from them. From their obsession.

Jacaerys is extremely overprotective of you. He doesn’t care if you’re older and even better than he is at fighting, he still feels the need to protect you as you are part of his family and Jace is very protective of his family but even more so of you. The prince developed his obsession for you since he was a child, you have always been by his side and his mother, helping to take care of him and protect him and he is immensely grateful for that. Besides, you’re like him, both different from the rest of your family physically, you didn’t have valyrian traits but you were both Targaryen and that’s all that matters at the end. He is very intelligent and somewhat manipulative and he won’t mind having to manipulate you to get your attention and approval. Jace wants to impress you, he wants you to feel nothing but pride in him and when you praise him he melts. He just loves you so much, like the rest of his family.

Lucerys, of his brothers, is the most attached to you. He is possessive of your attention and will complain if anyone else has it, as he considers himself the most deserving of it. Luke is an intelligent and adorable boy by nature. He doesn’t quite understand these twisted feelings he and his family feel for you, but he knows that you are precious and should be protected and adored, as his mother told him so. Lucerys is always seen around you, often holding your hand as he snuggles up to you, demonstrating to everyone that you belong to him, that you belong to them.

Joffrey, Aegon III and Viserys II for them being very young, they don’t understand what’s going on, they don’t understand why their family is so involved with you, why they are so protective and obsessive about you. None of them understand what’s going on, except what their parents tell them: you are their one priority. As the youngest in the family, they are, along with Lucerys, the most demanding of his attention. Little princes invite you to play and be a part of their pranks, as they know they amuse you. They’re naive, the only thing they understand is how much they love you like the rest of the Targaryens did and there’s nothing wrong with loving, right?

Rhaena and Baela didn’t spend much time with you, having grown up in Essos, they lived most of the time with their mother and father, but things changed after Laena’s death. You all met at her funeral, and you went to try to comfort the princesses. Baela and Rhaena had already heard of you, as Daemon always mentioned you when the opportunity arose, so they knew almost everything about your life and the love Daemon had for you, they just didn’t expect to be obsessed with you either. They are quite calm in their obsession with you in reality, and they accept as long as you can spend time with them in an acceptable and dignified way, you will never see them complaining about not being able to spend enough time with you. But make no mistake, Rhaena and Baela are possessive like their father and they won’t tolerate being left out by anyone.

The Targaryens are said to be closer to the gods than to men, but to them, you are the goddess/god they so adore and are madly obsessed with. You have so much power over them that people say they are your tamed dragons. This family is full of problems and disputes, but they will all be united when it comes to you. Unfortunately, the entire responsibility of a kingdom has fallen on your shoulders and your family’s overwhelming possessiveness only makes the burden more unbearable to bear. Be wise in your future choices, (Y/N), for one wrong step could start a war, a war for you.

Marie Antoinette (2006) + Headpieces

Marie Antoinette's headpieces.

the daughter

synopsis: or, a small blurb about a rumor of another child, and how geta must deal with his daughter's anxiety. (1.8k)

contents: implied murder, implied infanticide, geta being geta, anxiety, grabbing, fluff and angst, mentions of sex, short n sweet a/n: a softer post after these last two hard hitters! meus puella means my girl!

masterlist!!

there was unease in palatine that had carried into their chamber.

geta could see it from his chair, multiple scrolls laid out in-front of him on a table, but he could not tear his eyes away from his child. his child who is adamantly avoiding him.

at first, he had just assumed she had gotten in slight trouble with a servant. geta had created a strict set of rules for his child when she was outside of his sight, and his child had created a small habit of breaking them on occasion. perhaps she had wandered away, or she had gotten herself in trouble by clambering up trees once more.

whatever it was, he had assumed it would pass.

they had settled into their chambers, and he had prepared himself for the endless chatter of his child, recounting her day with vivid descriptions. instead, she curled herself into a seat shoved into the corner of the room, and promptly refused to talk.

they had sat there for hours, on opposing sides of the room, never breaking the silence. his child was curled into the cushions, wrapping linen around herself as she stared at the wall, refusing to look at him.

-

the sun sets when he strikes.

striding across the room silently before grabbing an exposed shoulder, quickly turning his child around before she could pull away.

she fights him for the smallest moment before she's bawling, throwing herself into his arms, threatening to throw him off balance as he clutches her back. she shakes in his arm like a linen in the wind, choking on her cries as he tries to soothe her.

but nothing seems to work as she balls up fistfuls of his toga in her hands, choking on her cries as he lifts her from the cushions, carrying her to the bed. she seems to cry harder once she's placed on the linens, twisting in the sheets as she scrambles to leave his arms, face planting into a pillow.

anger snaps in his stomach as he watches his child, blatantly avoiding him as she curls into the pillow, shoulders shaking. she wraps herself in linens, refusing to look at him once more.

geta has half the mind to drag her back by her ankles, to grasp her cheeks and demand her to stop this absurdity. instead, he settles for a glare as he walks back to his chair, lowering his eyes to look at her.

she clamps her eyes down, eyelids flickering as she flips over once more, showing her back to him once more. anger rises once more, clawing at his chest, but, ever the patient man, he sits. turning his attention to the scrolls in-front of him, he tries to tune out the sniffling.

eventually, she stops sniffling, and her shoulders stop shaking.

he creeps across the room, rolling the scrolls back up, lying a gentle hand on her shoulder, waiting for the smallest sign she's awake. it never comes.

he's careful to strip the linens away from her, letting her head roll back onto the pillow, facing the ceiling as she sleeps. his stomach clenches at the sight of her reddened cheeks, lined with the remnants of tears.

he rests a hand on her warm cheeks, lying a hand on the top of her chest as it rises and falls with steady breaths. for a minute, he just sits there, feeling the rise and fall underneath his hands before he's tucking her back into the linens.

-

in the morning, geta awakes before his child.

he watches her sleep, curled into his side, a ball of warmth compared to the chill of their chamber, wrapped in the linens. she's enviously peaceful when she sleeps, unbothered by responsibilities and duties.

she slowly comes to, twisting and turning away from him as she stretches her arms, blearily blinking at him. a small smile is sent his way before he strikes, grabbing her by her shoulders and yanking her back.

she's lying on her back as he throws his arm across her stomach, pinning her to the bed as she rubs sleep away from her eyes. she's painfully tense, eyes darting every which way as she squirms against his hold.

tears start to brim at her waterline before geta leans down, resting his cheek against her shoulder, letting her wrap her arms underneath his.

"father, please don't leave me," his child is sobbing once more, wildly gasping for breath as he holds her tighter, concern growing, "my child, why would i ever leave you?"

his voice is deeper and scratchy from sleep, but it carries nonetheless as his child cries harder, avoiding his gaze.

"there are.. whispers of a concubine with child," a hiccup escapes her, "they say she has birthed a son. a son who will take my place.”

geta knows that's the only reason why his child is sobbing uncontrollably. he and caracalla had been swarmed with alleged children after he revealed their daughter, and endless concubines had swarmed palatine, claiming pregnancy with their child.

yet, their claims held no truth.

geta had hidden his daughter for four years. four years where he refused to share his bed, four years where he had refused to allow anyone into his chambers. his time was devoted to his child, and there was no need to tarnish the place where she slept.

geta hadn't laid with a woman since he accidentally impregnated the mother of his daughter. no other woman had seen his chambers, and no woman would ever see them in the future.

"and then, then she told me.. she said that once her son is revealed, you won’t want me anymore. that they'll be the only ones you love, and that I won’t matter, and you'll-," another hiccup, "you'll send me away to live by myself by seaside!"

it's silent in the bedchamber as he stares at his child. her eyes have blurred over with tears as she twists in his hold, thrashing her head from side to side as she cries.

his grip goes harsh as he grabs her cheek with a free hand, squishing her cheeks together as he stares at her.

"child," he struggles to keep his cool as she avoids his eyes, glancing to the ceiling, "you really think i'd let you leave? that i'd let a bastard take your place by my side? rome belongs to us, meus puella".

his child sniffles, tears sliding onto his hand as he holds her face in an unforgiving grasp, trying to catch her eyes. when he finally does, his daughter cries harder, her arms tumbling around his neck.

it's an odd position, as he keeps her cheeks in his grasp, not letting her object his say.

"tell me has been telling you these lies," for a minute, he worries his child might shake her head off.

she cries even harder as she shakes her head rapidly, yanking his hand side to side as she shakes, murmuring objections as she twists side to side.

"enough!"

his entire hand seems to span over her face as he forces her head still, stopping her from flailing. his rings dig into her skin as he muffles her sobs into his palm, bringing his other arm up to cradle her head into his chest.

-

eventually, she soothes herself. she's murmuring an apology into his palm as he smooths out her hair, shushing her as tears spring back into her eyes.

"meus puella, just let me know their names, i won't do anything to them, i just want to know where you heard such an ignorant rumor"

for a minute, his child falters, and his fingers twitch in anger before she looks down, "it-it was caracalla's concubine, camillia, she was holding a baby and talking to one of your servants"

her voice is taut with exhaustion, scratchy and raw from her crying, but geta can hear the unease in her voice. a heavy silence hangs between them, anger igniting in his chest.

the thought of a woman, a concubine no less, belittling his child's worth ignites anger within him. how dare she—how dare any of them—doubt his devotion?

"which servant?" he demands, his voice low and steady, deceivingly calm. “tell me their name.”

his child is too smart for her own good, as she catches onto his anger within seconds, widened eyes reflecting fear of his temper. despite this, his daughter knows better than to lie, "it was tuellis, father, but he didn't know better!"

he feels her flinching as he rises from the bed and stalks toward the door. “stay here, meus puella,” he commands, casting one last, soft look at her. but he knows he can’t fight this battle with gentleness, not now. not when his child's peace with him could be shattered at any misstep from a concubine or servant.

“father, please!” she cries out, her voice trembling as she grips the edge of the linens, listening to his command despite her panic. but, he shakes his head, unwilling to budge.

-

when geta returns to his chambers, three people are dead. he's void of blood this time around, choosing to not dirty his hands with blood as camillia, her son, and tuellis were killed.

he leaves the bodies to the servants, allowing his guards to return to their posts before he's back in his bedchamber, staring at his child. she looks right back at him, worry streaking her face, "father?"

"my beloved," he kneels at the side of the bed, resting a palm on a warm cheek, "even if i had more children, you would always be mine to keep. nothing could take you away from me"

her voice wobbles as she speaks, closing her eyes against the warmth of his palm, "i just want you to be happy father, i didn't mean to worry you with the rumors"

geta sighs, “i am happy, my child,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head, his heart swelling with love. “i am happy because i have you. you are my daughter, my only love. nothing else matters as long as you are content.”

his daughter's eyes peek open, slits of blue finding his as she scoots closer, wrapping her hands around his other hand. he's not too sure how long they sit there, letting palatine function outside of their chambers.

but inside these chambers, there is nothing to harm his child. there is nothing to harm him. so, he pulls back from his child before returning back to the linens, letting the familiar weight settle itself into his side.

his hands wander to her hair, letting the soft strands engulf his hand, scratching his nails into her scalp. his child melts into his side, lying in the silence of their bedchamber as the outside world passes.

It was the perfect day for the start of a tournament. There was a pleasant breeze that helped cool the mass of people packed into the stands and the sun was partially hidden by the drifting clouds. There wasn’t much else you could hope for. A tourney to celebrate the news of your upcoming marriage, the perfect weather to enjoy the day, your family surrounding you, and the joyful return of your best friend.

It had been a while since you’d seen her in person and it filled you with a joy that had been recently absent to see her again. Laena had taken off from Kings Landing and Driftmark the minute she claimed Vhagar and you only got an occasional letter to let you know how she was and where she was currently calling home.

You had taken the chance and wrote a letter to her last known place, some manse owned by a Lord in Pentos, asking her to come home to visit you. You might have put on a happy and content face for the masses, everyone sure that your betrothed was to your liking, but it was only to Laena that you could confide your fears too. You wanted her there with you, not across a sea. The announcement of your betrothal came on the heels of your letter and let Laena know the real reason you called for her.

She left the very next morning.

Now, she sat next to you, her hand held tightly within yours, you playing with the rings that lined her fingers. It had long been a nervous habit of yours that Laena thought you’d broken. It sent a small shard of pain echoing through her to see it again. It had been too long she’d been away from you.

She was using your hand holding to help keep you in the moment, your eyes going unfocused and dreamy. Laena knew that you liked to daydream — wishing to leave the life you had led so far. Laena had planned on taking you away on Vhagar, flying across the known world. It had been a childhood dream of the two of you, Laena spiriting you away from the drudgery of Court life. She guessed it was too late now.

But you needed to show a strong face to the vipers that would now surround you and that meant you couldn’t disappear like that anymore. Not when everyone could see you do it. So she was squeezing your hands, pinching slightly at the skin between your fingers.

“If there was anything in the whole world you could have at your wedding, what would it be?” Laena wondered if your dream ceremony was still the same as it was the last time the two of you talked about it, happy and grand and fit for you.

You leaned against her, allowing your weight to be entirely supported by her, whispering in her ear a secret she already suspected. “A different person to wed too would be nice,” the words were soft and simple but the emotion in them was anything but. There was a wreath of sadness and despair and desperation, a hint of anger and resentment, and the worst of it was the resignation that Laena could hear. She hated that there was nothing that she could do to help you but stand by your side.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered back to you. “If I could do anything…”

“…just stay with me? My family will be heading home after the ceremony. They said Court life doesn’t agree with them. I just want…—”

“A friend,” Laena finished your thought.

“A friend,” you agreed.

@whumpuary

Necklace

c. 1775-1795

England or France

Cleveland Museum of Art

being the targtower’s youngest sister would include…

pairings: platonic!alicent hightower x daughter!reader, platonic!aegon targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!helaena targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!aemond targaryen x sister!reader

synopsis: what it’s like to be the youngest daughter of the green queen.

includes: reader being the only somewhat normal targtower, i went overboard on aegon’s are we surprised, might be ooc, sorry for how short alicent’s is i wasn’t feeling much inspo for her

a/n: one of my favorite things about alicent’s dynamic with her children is that they all represent a part of her: aegon, being used for politics, helaena, her innocence that she used to have, and aemond, her rage and thirst for power. so i decided to have reader represent alicent’s devotion to her family and her “duty”. hotd is so weird abt character ages so for my sanity aegon is 20, helaena is 18, aemond is 17, and reader is 16 in this. forget daeron pls

Alicent

Alicent has incredibly complicated relationships with her children. They are mirrors of her anguish, but her blood nonetheless. She will protect you and your siblings with her life, if necessary, but she also cannot look you in the eye without a pit of guilt settling in her stomach.

She feels nauseous when Viserys has you betrothed to a Lord from the Crownlands, but apart of her is satisfied with the match, though only because it means you will be allowed to stay in the Red Keep instead of leaving her.

She is just as gentle as she is with Helaena as she is with you. You are one of the only good things that have come from her. She cherishes you. When word of your pregnancy spreads through the Keep, Alicent orders an abundance of maternity gowns for you from Myr. She will always, without fail, offer you a guiding hand when going up large sets of stairs.

By all means, she is not a perfect mother, but she does what she can. She gifts you lots of her own accessories, like the hairnet she wore during Aegon’s second nameday celebration. Helaena is her “dearest love”, and you are her “sweetness.”

Trying to include you in her own private matters is one of the only ways she can spend time with you. She takes you to the Sept with her when she can, though her eyes are always averted from you.

That is one of the other strange things you’ve noticed about your mother; she can never make eye contact with you. Perhaps it is because you are with child just as she was at your age.

When the time comes, she cannot be by your side to hold your hand while you give birth. It’s improper. But she is overjoyed that both you and your son are healthy.

— “You have done well, my sweetness,” Your mother whispers, voice soft and melancholic and warm. Grand Maester Orwyle, bless him, had propped you up on great plush pillows after you’d finished your labors. He’d quietly congratulated you and helped you get comfortable in your bed, then had left you to rest.

She sits on the edge of your mattress, right by your side, thumb gingerly tracing your cheek. The forest green she’s clad in brings out the auburn of her hair. “The babe is a beautiful one. A handsome son for the realm. I am… proud of you.”

Articulating her thoughts has never been her strong point. It is the hour of the owl now. The only sounds you can hear are the padding of raindrops against the tall windows in your chambers and the crackling of the hearth.

“Aegon’s birth came quick for me as well,” She mutters, almost to herself. Peculiarly, she clings to the little ways you are alike to one another; they are fading as the days pass by. Her brows furrow as her mind begins to race.

Your firstborn sons’ births had come with ease. You were both married off far too early in your lives. In girlhood, you had both favored naive stories of brave knights and pretty ladies and romance. You both committed yourself to duty to further the family—

She stops the list she’s making in her head there. Far more resolutely than before, as if putting a wall around herself again, she kisses your forehead and retracts into herself.

“I shall leave you be. Good night.”

Aegon

For Aegon, news of a new sibling is unsurprising. It’s the same old thing to see his mother waddling around the castle, belly swollen. He’s a little indifferent when you’re born.

As a teen, though, Aegon is certainly the type to smack you a bit too hard in the training yard and then shush you, begging for you to hit him just as hard before you wail too loud and one of your mother’s handmaidens hear and alert her of it.

It makes him feel shameful, the first time you see him drunk, stinking of the whores of Flea Bottom and sweat. You promise to not tell anyone of it, if he, in exchange, does not do it again. He still does. You still do not tell.

After the events of Driftmark, you are the one to cut his hair short. Seeing Aemond bloody and bruised had frightened you, caused you to weep in front of the crowd in the great hall, and you’d tearfully asked Aegon if you could sleep in his bed together that night. He forces you to help him trim his waves the next morning as “repayment”, though he did not actually mind it.

You grow closer as you become older. To Aegon, you are the only one who has a semblance of faith in him; your mother was constantly repulsed by him, as was your grandsire and own father. Aemond had given up on him a long, long time ago, and Helaena focused on the children far more.

On his better days, Aegon likes to fly on your dragons together. Seeing you windswept and almost free is strangely satisfying for him; he misses when you both hadn’t been burdened by what your parents had put on you. In the dead of night, he likes to imagine what life would have been like if he hadn’t been forced to marry Helaena, and you your “fat, old husband”, as he put it.

Speaking of, he’d made a great fuss at your wedding. That was the angriest he’d ever saw you; he’d drunk himself half to death at the celebration afterward, made a fool of himself when he got into a fist fight with one of your husband’s brothers. Even the bards had stopped singing to stare at the spectacle. You’d almost lost your voice that night from how loud you’d yelled at him, asking when he’d ever think of anyone but himself, cheeks flushed from deep embarrassment.

“You know of my apprehension when it comes to large events such as these, and yet you cannot steel yourself for one night for my sake? What will you do when Jaehaera is married? Light the castle aflame?”

(You do not know the reason he’d done such a thing was to make such a big scene your consummation ceremony would be an afterthought. That, and the fact he was drunk and angry.)

Some part of him feels guilty when you get pregnant. He knows, deep down, that he had no part in it, and he could not control your fate, no matter if his efforts were weak or strong. But he was still your elder brother, was he not?

One day, while you sit in a rocking chair and he plays with the twins in their nursery, you tell him, “I should like for my son to be like you.” Aegon says, quietly, that yours will be better than he ever was, with you as his mother. He vanishes back into the Street of Silk soon after that.

One of his best qualities is being able to make light of anything, and he does just that after your labors, laughing at how disheveled you are and kissing your forehead. It’s hard not to laugh with him.

Days later, at his coronation, you are the first he looks to for approval, after your mother. The subtle nod you give him makes him wonder how you would’ve reacted if he had been successful in running to Essos. He hopes neither Aemond or Cole told you of what he’d said.

After becoming king, Aegon grows to value your input more and more. On his council, he feels you are the only one to genuinely listen to his concerns and thoughts when it comes to winning the war, and so he ignores the disapproving looks the men around him give him when you come to the meetings.

He does not mention your dragon when discussing battle plans, almost seems to ignore it when Lord Jasper brings you up; your dragon is great and strong, and he knows he will have to utilize you one day, but he refuses to think of it until it’s absolutely necessary. His mind has already been spoiled by what he has seen in brothels and taverns, and he imagines it will only further be by the sights of war. Aegon will do everything he can to avoid what happened to him happening to you.

The assassins Daemon hired infiltrate the Red Keep. They kill his son, leave with his head in a sack. Aegon rages and drinks and rages. He will not allow even you to see his tears, but he cannot stop them from soaking the cloth of your dress when you hug him tenderly, as if afraid he’ll slip through your hands like sand.

Bile floods into his mouth when Otto suggests wheeling his son’s body through the city to secure the approval of the smallfolk. The image of you insisting on going instead of his mother is burned into his brain. “If you will force Helaena, then at least spare Mother and allow me to go,” You’d begged. It does nothing.

As foolish as he can be, Aegon is also not one to forget what others have done for him. You were the only one who’d taken his side against your grandfather. He is glad he was not forced to marry you, glad that he did not force you to a brothel as he did Aemond; he is glad that he has not ruined you.

Aegon’s visits to your child become less and less frequent. He loves the boy dearly, like he’s his own, but he cannot stand to look at him. It’s only a reminder of what happened to his little Jaehaerys.

Rook’s Rest destroys him. He does not even need to tell you that it was Aemond who did it, you just seem to know. There is no way for him to verbalize that he is listening to you while he is in his milk-of-the-poppy induced coma, but he does appreciate the stories you tell him while sitting at his bedside.

He specifically forbids you from looking at him while the Maesters change out his bandages, but he’ll allow you to sit on the other end of his bed with your back to him and hold his unburnt hand while they do so.

— “I feel a monster,” He admits to you one night while you light a candle on the stand next to his bed. You’re clad in a warm nightgown; many whisper that winter is coming, and it’s hard not to notice with how cold the breezes have been lately.

“Why is that?”

“You know why.”

You can’t even fight the scoff that comes from you, and you turn back to him with a frown etched deeply into your face. “You should not. You are king.”

Aegon rolls his eyes. “That did not stop our cunt of a brother from burning me like the Conqueror did Harrenhal.”

Huffing, you smooth out your dress, then walk to the other side of the bed and slowly crawl on. You’re careful not to move around too much, so as to not cause him any more injury, and sit next to him, back against the headboard. You bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. His eyes are slightly glossy when they meet yours.

He takes a sharp breath. “…If it had been my decision, I would have named you regent.”

You laugh incredulously at that, shaking your head. “They set aside Mother for Aemond. They would have forced you to do the same.”

Aegon raises his remaining silver brow. “I am not as feeble and weak-minded as Father. I speak truly. It is you I trust the most.”

Helaena

Helaena is perhaps the least expressive out of all of your siblings, but even she felt happy when Mother’s babe had come a girl.

She does genuinely appreciate that you do not judge her and make fun of her behind her back; she has never felt like she has been able to fit in with her ladies-in-waiting.

As mature as she is, Helaena does like to indulge girlishly sometimes; she enjoys matching her gowns with you, as well as hairstyles and (light, so as to not overstimulate her) jewelry.

Observant and introspective, Helaena also has a great memory. If you tell her you’ve had a fascination with direwolves as of late, or have particularly enjoyed reading about Valyrian history, suddenly the dresses she gifts you will subtly be embroidered with subtle little wolf icons or ancient Valyrian imagery. She is very thoughtful.

Unbeknownst to most, she also gives very good advice. There have only been a handful of times her council has not helped you. Wise and empathetic, she is, and she is always willing to listen to you explain your troubles while she plays with one of her bugs.

It pains her to see you inflicted with the same fate as she was; married off to a man you had no love for, forced to be his incubator. Just as it was during Aegon’s coronation, her head is bowed at your wedding. She does not want to look at your doom.

Despite this, she is perhaps the most supportive of you during your pregnancy; she likes suggesting names for the babe as well as crafting him little clothes for him to wear when he is born.

Although you do not understand her prophecies, it does quell her anxieties a bit that you at least listen to them instead of dismissing them like all else do.

When noise gets to be too much for her, you are the first to cover her ears with your hands, guiding her to the lush gardens of the Keep to breathe. You are the only person she has a likeness of boundaries with; when she does not want to be touched, you leave her be. It’s why you are the sibling she is fondest of.

Her hand immediately flies to grasp yours when Meleys erupts from the boards at Aegon’s coronation. The look on her face had confused you. She’d appeared fearful, but simultaneously also put at ease, as if she’d known that this was going to happen.

After Blood and Cheese, she cannot find rest at night. She takes to pacing about the Red Keep, almost looking like a ghost; pale and silver and paranoid. Despite the fact that it distracts you from your own slumber, you insist on her staying in your chambers with you. She still paces, never sleeps. Some nights you even walk with her around the castle.

— “This one will not live,” She blurts out randomly, interrupting you from one of your tangents, confusing you. She never interrupts you, always listens to whatever your qualms are for the day without complaint.

“What?”

You feel like you’re about to burst; partly from the grand lamb you had for your midday meal and from how heavy the babe in your belly feels. She seems surprised that the words had actually come out of her mouth.

She pushes her face closer to the fly she has somehow managed to capture in her palm, a perturbed glint in her eye. “I do not think this one will survive.”

You decide to indulge her, tilting your head to the side from where you sit across from her, lounging on a velvet sofa. “Why is that?”

“The art of the spider is subtle. It shall trap another in its web.”

(Later that day, you can only wonder if she was speaking of Lord Vaemond after he’d been beheaded by Prince Daemon from behind.)

Aemond

Aemond can barely remember the day you were born, much less the day a celebration had been held for Mother’s pregnancy.

Alike to his siblings, Aemond is not one to forget what you did for him when you were children; how you always offered to take him on rides on your dragon before he’d claimed Vhagar, how you were the only one uninvolved in the “pink dread” incident, how you cried for him after he lost his eye.

After the loss of his eye, Aemond begins to put a wall around himself. Unfortunately, that does include you. Before Driftmark, you were closest with him, but afterward, you had slowly drifted toward Aegon; nevertheless, he shows his affection for you in his own way.

However, he does keep the little gifts you’ve given him over the years safely hidden in his chambers, away from the eyes of curious maids and servants, like the eyepatch you’d embroidered a little Vhagar in in the weeks after his eye was cut out.

When Vaemond’s head is cut off, Aemond immediately places a hand on the pommel of his sword, lest Daemon himself attack you next. When he becomes regent, he is the one who orders you to be given a sworn protector. He is the one who’d help you learn Valyrian when you struggled, even after all your lessons.

Aemond never, never shows much affection to anyone in the family publicly, but he doesn’t mind it if you place a hand on his forearm or his own hand. He prefers it if you keep things like cheek or forehead kisses private in the sanctity of your or his own room.

In his immediate family, you are perhaps the most normal of all, which does make him seek out your company the most. The mornings after he seeks out Madame Sylvi’s assistance are the mornings he spends the most time with you. The shame of it all almost eats him alive, and you are a welcome distraction.

Additionally, the one-eyed prince does genuinely appreciate how you show your devotion to the family, though of course he’d never verbalize it. Almost every training yard session he has, you sit on the balcony, embroidering a dress or two while he swings his sword at Criston’s morningstar.

Your wedding to some old Crownlands lord was a memorable one, mostly because of when Aegon had pinned your new brother-by-law to a table and began beating him senselessly. Aemond was the one who had pried him off, mercilessly tugging him by the collar of his doublet away from the man.

You become pregnant quick. Aemond says that when your son is born, he will bring him to meet Vhagar himself, stating that a “new Targaryen babe should learn the ways of his predecessors”.

As the moons pass by, the Maesters order you to bedrest. Your elder brother likes to visit during his free time, sometimes bringing a book with him to read or nothing, just to converse with you quietly. You are the only “quiet” Aemond has ever known.

When Rhaenys bursts through the boards at Aegon’s coronation, Aemond’s palm finds your wrist, gently grasping it with his long fingers.

Just as your mother does, you begin to shun Aemond after Luke’s murder. It does not make him resent you as much as it does Alicent, but it does make him spiral a bit quicker.

Many a time have you slept in Aemond or Aegon’s bed because of nightmares. The only time he’s ever slept in yours was the night Aegon had found him in the brothel with Sylvi. You had not been awake when he’d crawled into bed with you, just laying beside you and shutting his eye. He makes sure to leave before you wake. Aemond does not know that you were quite aware of his presence, but had chosen not to say anything. If Aemond of all people had decided to find sleep in your bed, something awful must’ve happened. Why take that moment of respite from him?

He knows that you know he burned Aegon, but he does not ever bring it up in a conversation with you, much less acknowledge it. However, Aemond is observant. He notices the fearful glint in your eye when he is around you, now, but this is what he has always wanted, has he not? To rule?

— Aemond is with you the morn after Blood and Cheese, standing in one of the Red Keep’s balconies as you watch the wagon carrying your mother and Helaena depart. Your eyes are sunken in from crying, cheeks swollen; you wear a veil of mourning yourself, though there is no crown settled on your head. The way you lean over the railing to peer at the ground, the way your back is hunched, the way you grieve so openly.. it does not befit a princess. It does not befit someone from the Targaryen family, someone who is supposed to use honeyed words and cunning tricks to protect themself from the environment of King’s Landing.

You sniffle. “Where were you?”

Aemond’s eye goes wide. A deep pit was already settled in his stomach, but it only seems to get worse at your questioning. Even his throat seems to tighten up, make it impossible for him to even choke out an answer.

“When news of… the boy spread,” You begin, “I went to find you myself. But you were not in your chambers, nor in the library. Where were you?”

“Patrolling.” It’s an obvious lie. He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth, jaw clenching immediately. There was no use in patrolling at night, when he could barely see anything. His hand unconsciously squeezes the stone railing.

He’s ready to leave with haste when you nod to yourself, face blank and detached from reality. “…I won’t tell anyone,” You mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. “Wherever you were.”