In 111 AC, a great tourney was held at King's Landing on the fifth anniversary of the king’s marriage to Queen Alicent. At the opening feast, Alicent wore a green gown, whilst Princess Rhaenyra dressed in Targaryen red and black.
idk every time I glance at the flower piece, it scratches my brain in the right place. What is supposed to be sapphires as the petals, I think, look very nice.
During S2 I first thought that since Hugh was not the son of one of Jaehaerys but rather one of his daughters then it would have been Gael and not Saera because how would Hugh have even gotten to Westeros or why would he have gone and not stayed in Lys where he was most likely born and where he mother was. But if Hugh was the son of Gael, since we know that she did have a child, but instead of that child dying and then Gael killing herself it was taken away by Jaehaerys who either told Gael that the child was dead or that he gave it away.
idk but I feel like that would have made more sense in the show instead of Hugh being Saera's son.
I was looking at Westeros' funeral customs, and Asoiaf Wiki says this:
"If a dragon is available, it is used to light the flame of the pyre."
And I LOVE that wording, because it made me imagine a dragon being like, "Ooh I'm sorry, I actually can't that day, I already made plans... I'm available Thursday morning though?"
Aemond had never been good at understanding his feelings, and after claiming Vhagar and what happened at Driftmark, it was like a tub of wildfire was poured onto the anger of fire that burned within him. Anger was the easiest of his emotions to understand and the most common.
Anger at the king and queen. At his brother. His sister. His nephews. Aemond felt as if anger and pain were his true nature.
He could tell himself that the blood of the dragon made him so hot-tempered and resentful, but he knew the truth that the lack of retribution made him such, the torment he faced at the hand of his brother and for the eye that was taken from him.
He had thought that he would spend the rest of his days hating the bastards of House Strong and the rest of that entitled false-nobility house.
But then there was Lyanna.
Kind and sweet, Lyanna. Who loved her flowers. And never showed false interest in the conversations that they shared. Lyanna, who would gift him her personal annotated books and flowers, pressed herself.
He did not know why his anger toward House Strong did not apply to her. She bore the same head of curls as Harwin Strong and Lucerys Velaryon. The same mischievous smile and freckled face as Jacaerys Velaryon.
He did not see those traits as belonging to another whenever he looked at her. They were hers.
He enjoyed being in her company, listening and talking with her. Even the silences he enjoyed. He found himself aching to sit within her presence simply, smell the floral oil she wore, and hear her small snickers and side comments. To merely exist near her. For breathing the same air was enough for him.
Yet he had overstepped. Allowed his ambition and hope to control his actions. He should have simply stayed within their comfortable friendship.
The events that transpired that day kept playing over in his head. How soft her skin felt against his lips. How her breath quickened as he got close to her, the heat from that came off her skin.
The memories often came to him at night, and he was ashamed at how he pleasured himself to them.
He was ashamed of the dreams that would plague him night after night. Of him pleasuring her, her pleasuring him. It was a consistent fact that he would wake up in a cold sweat after a point in his dreams. The same part every time, with his head between her thighs as he feasted on her arousal before the hearttree. Her breast exposed for the night sky to see as she moaned and gripped his hair.
He would not be able to face Lyanna the next day, would turn and walk the other way if he saw her in the corridor, and would stand on the opposite side of the room during court. The two had not spoken to one another, yet Aemond still sought Helaena out to see how Lyanna was doing.
He spent too many hours at the threshold of the Godswood, wanting to join her kneeling figure, but he could never bring himself to. He would feel like a creep as he watched her prey, but it seemed that was all she was doing lately. The few times he could find her outside of the Godswood, she was often in the presence of the hand.
Aemond had found himself seeking the solace of his dragon more often, taking to the skies in the early morning so that he might feel the heat of the rising sun on his face. The wind was like a danger against his exposed skin. It was a way for him to feel something other than shame and guilt.
But now he was not on his dragon. His protector. But beside his mother as she lit her candles. The sept was not a place he wanted to be but there was one sure fact about visiting the sept, Lyanna would not be there. He wanted to see her. Truly, but he did not know what he could do. How he would be able to hold back his desire.
Aemond gazed at his mother, the queen, with her head down as she preyed. She was the symbol of virtue in his mind. He turned his gaze back to the table of candles, watching the fire dance and mix together.
He felt no better than Aegon, just as depraved.
He needed to talk to Lyanna. He needed to beg for her forgiveness so things might return to what they once had.
– –
Lyanna’s chest was tight, and the muscles of her thighs were cramping, yet she could not care about the pain. Each movement she made was worth the small moment of pain for the waves of pleasure that would follow.
Her skin had a layer of sweat, and her hair was stuck to the back of her neck. The throbbing feeling of her heartbeat thumped in her head, and the smell of sweat and the smouldering fire filled the room. The man between her legs also smelled smoke, citrus, floral, and wood, but there was a hint of spiced oils that could only be bought from dorn to the higher buyer. The small whimpers and groans could no doubt be heard in the hallway, but the occupants in the room couldn't care less.
The pains in her knees were almost enough for Lyanna to stop, the same pain she would feel when she knelt before the heart tree, but the firm grip of his hands kept her up.
His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs and lower back, guiding her. But they held a sense of possession as if he was afraid she would disappear if he were to let go. If his nails had been any longer, then he would have drawn blood with his grip.
Lyanna’s breath held an unheard beg as she leaned forward against his body, chest in his face as she gripped his shoulders.
Her eyebrows were pulled together, eyes clenched so tightly closed as his lips continued their savage attack against her skin. With each kiss, she knew that he was committing the feeling and taste of her skin to memory, the rise of her chest with each rise and fall, and the thumping of her heart against her chest.
Lyanna let herself sink into his arms, the exhaustion taking over, but that did not stop Aemond.
He drew her close, arms wrapped around her body as he planted more sloppy kisses against her skin. The feeling of her walls clenching around him made his head spin, but he continued to thrust–
“Lyanna?” Helaena's sweet voice snapped Lyanna out of her daydream.
Lyanna turned away from the paper before her and toward the princess. Part of her felt ashamed and depraved for thinking about Helaena’s brother in such ways, in front of her no less. But those thoughts had been worming their way into her mind every hour of the day and night.
No matter where she went, all Lyanna could think about was the lewd things she wished to do to Aemond and what she wanted him to do to her.
Lyanna might have been a proper lady, a virgin and innocent, but that didn’t mean she didn’t understand what happened when people succumbed to their lustful desires. She had attended weddings and taken part in the bedding ceremony. She had male cousins who found it funny to see how interested she got when they talked about their conquests.
She had first seen such things when she was no older than ten and three, sneaking away with a few other Riverland ladies around her age to spy on the married couple. All of them had been giddied for the rest of the night.
“Sorry, my princess, my mind was wondering,” Lyanna relayed, her throat dry, and Helaena nodded as if she understood the feeling.
Helaena had been talking for nearly ten minutes until she realized Lyanna had not been paying attention. She did not mind; she enjoyed the presence of Lyanna.
“I asked who the letter was for,” Helaena repeated as she returned to the peonies she was embroidering for her friend.
Lyanna sighed as she leaned back in the wooden chair and stared at the finished letter on the desk and her ink-stained fingers.
“My cousin, he is riding to the Keep, and I hope to send a letter for him when he arrives at Brindlewood,” Lyanna answered as she stood and moved to sit next to the princess.
It was just the two of them in the room; the twins were off somewhere and Aemond was avoiding being anywhere near Lyanna, as if she had some kind of skinness that he would catch if he were even in the same hallway.
But Lyanna did not mind today; she was happy to be with Helaena. The two girls offered each other protection in some kind of way. When Lyanna was near, the queen and Aegon were sure to leave Helaena alone. When Helaena was near, Larys was nowhere in sight.
Lyanna made herself comfortable next to Helaena. She rested against the princess's shoulder as she watched Helaena’s fingers move like a spider weaving its web as she embroidered.
Helaena did not mind Lyanna's touch; she had no alternative movies to touch behind them.
Helaena leaned her cheek against Lyanna's head, humming for her to continue speaking. There was more troubling Lyanna; Helaena knew as much.
“Though I think that it will go unread. I just wish for a word from him to ensure that he has not been killed by thieves or wolves…It is hard being away from my family,” She told Helaena, her voice getting quieter toward the end of her words as the worry seeped back into her gut.
She hardly thought of Larys as family; he was just kin, not family. Lyanna had grown up around family. She loved them and would go to any means to help them. Her meals were spent with her family, with laughter and talk that wasn’t about how she failed to find a husband and do her duty as a heiress and a woman.
She hoped that the arrival of her dear cousin would brighten her days, and then she could be confined to someone about her problems. She did not want to burden Helaena, nor was it appropriate to say such things to a princess.
“You have me,” Helaena assured Lyanna, who could not help the small laugh that escaped her.
Not a mocking laugh, a happy one. Lyanna was happy with her friend's words.
“I am grateful for that. Your company keeps me sane,” Lyanna assured back. The two girls were more grateful for one another than they could express.
The two of them sat in silence as Helaena worked away, the only sound being the faint song of the birds outside. They could spend the rest of the day in the presence of one another and be happy with the time they wasted.
But that peaceful afternoon ended the second the door opened.
Aemond knew that Lyanna would be with Helaena. But as he entered, everything he was planning on saying and doing burned to ash, and he spotted Lyanna and Helaena practically snuggling one another.
Lyanna looked away from Helaena's movements and toward their visitor. She straightened instantly at the sight of Aemond. The two of them held a second of eye contact before Lyanna quickly stood up, giving Helaena a quick goodbye before practically running out of the room.
Lyanna could feel the shame burning her skin at the sight of the one-eyed prince. Shame at the moment the two shared in the Kingswood—the shame of the thoughts and dreams she had.
She felt dirty. Her skin. Her thoughts. Her soul.
Aemond watched her as she moved, holding himself back from grabbing on her arm to stop her. He stared at Helaena for a moment, waiting for Helaena to break the silence, and Helaena waited for Aemond to leave.
Helaena turned her attention back to her work as if nothing was happening. She did not care to know why Aemond and Lyanna were avoiding one another. It was not her business.
Aemond quickly moved to follow Lyanna, his shoulders back as the courtiers of the Keep moved out of his way. He should have stopped her in the room, not allowed her to leave before he could get two cents in. Now, he was practically chasing her through the keep.
He spotted Lyanna's dark blue dress amidst the sea of green and red. He quickened his pace to catch up with her. His gaze was set on her, and the second he was close enough to her, he wrapped his hand around her forearm.
Lyanna snapped her gaze behind her shoulder, her eyebrows pulled together, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the sight of the prince. He could not face her this morning, but now, in a hallway filled with court members, he not only followed her but grabbed her.
“I am busy, my prince,” Lyanna quickly spoke, her words spoken so fast that Aemond could barely understand them.
He knew Lyanna well enough to know that she would not stay put. As she tried to remove her arm from his grasp, he could not help the slight smirk grow on his face. With one quick and soft yank, Aemond pulled Lyanna closer to him.
The action was enough to gain the attention of a few passing couples, who gave both Aemond and Lyanna looks of worry and disgust.
“As your prince, I command you to wait,” Aemond told her, keeping his voice as calm as he could, but Aemond could feel the bubbling of anger and frustration grow in his stomach.
His voice held no kindness that Lyanna was used to. It held bitterness and anger that she had never heard from the prince. The prince who, in her mind, could do no wrong. But his tone only reminded her of her bitter male relatives who held ill feelings towards the seat of Harrenhal being given to a girl.
Lyanna’s shock at his grip and tone quickly turned to anger. Anger at his entitlement. They had been ignoring one another for almost a week at this point, and the first time Aemond dared not to flee at the sight of her, he was putting her reputation at risk.
The shock and anger growing on Lyanna’s face was enough for Aemond to understand he should have taken a different course of action.
“Command?” Lyanna asked. Aemond was a prince, but she never thought he would command her to do something.
Aemond grabbed her arm before pulling her away from the watching eyes of the passing bystanders. He needed to talk to her alone.
But they were being watched, the usually composed prince pulling the young lady of Harrenhal into a corridor.
Lyanna did not try to struggle against Aemond guiding her away; she wanted to get this over quickly, and complying was the best way to do so.
“Do you lack a basic understanding of what you're doing?” She asked the prince as he finally let go of her arm, yet she felt just as trapped even now.
She was trapped between Aemond and the wall. She was aware that if anyone were to see them, they were too close to one another for there to be an excuse. Both of their chests heaving as they scared down one another.
The fire and blood of old Valyria burned in Aemond as he stared down at Lyanna, his one eye darted between her eyes and lips. He made himself remember why he chased her down and pulled her into this corridor.
He needed her to understand that he was sorry that he overstepped, but the proximity to her forced all the blood to leave his brain and move elsewhere. All Aemond could think of was how her skin felt against his lips, how her naked body would feel against his own.
“You need to listen to me,” Aemond whispered to her. He needed to make her understand that he was sorry, but with each passing moment, his guilt was slowly being replaced with lust again.
Lyanna took a deep breath and shook her head. Part of her just wanted to fulfil the desires she had. To pull Aemond closer to her and just give in.
But that desire was quickly being replaced with anger. She and Larys had worked hard to rebuild House Strong's reputation. But Aemond was putting that all at risk; a simple rumour of Aemond and Lyanna being alone in the corridor could ruin everything and put Lyanna on the wrong side of her uncle. Would prevent any chance of her getting a husband.
She was no better than her father. She was falling for a Targaryen who would face no repercussions for their actions.
“Listen to you? People have heard you have seen us just now. I must leave,” Lyanna spat at Aemond. She was more scared than angry—scared of what Larys would do to her if he were to find out this.
Aemond moved his hand to hold her forearms in place to stop her from leaving this conversation. His grip was loose; he did not want to hurt her, but he needed to keep her in front of him.
“Wherever you are going, it can wait,” He told her, leaning down more so that his hair created a cage around them. Lyanna’s hair was done up in a crown of braids, he noticed now.
She was dressed up. Maybe she was dressed up to meet a suitor. Perhaps she would expect a rushed offer for her hand before he could stop it.
Lyanna shook her head softly; she wasn’t talking about leaving to go to an engagement, but rather the suffocating land of King’s Landing.
“Here, I can’t stand this anymore. I am returning to Harrenhal,” She whispered, her voice tired. She wanted to go home.
“You have yet to secure a match,” Aemond told her, as if he could not understand why she would leave before fulfilling the reason why she came here.
“I will make my uncle Simon officially my heir and allow the lordship to pass to him or his sons on my death,” She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself rather than Aemond, her head slightly shaking as if her mind was disagreeing with her words.
She had fought hard to keep her inheritance. Making pleas at Riverruns, threatening her male relatives with demanding a trial by combat for being the head of the house, and even resorting to allowing Alys to deal with those who would dare to deny her her birthright or conspire against her.
“Just wait,”
Aemond did not let Lyanna say a word to stop him before he lunged at her, his hands going to grip her waist as he leaned down to smash his lips against Lyanna.
It was not like the kiss he had shared with the few lovers he had in the past. This was different, a sense of need that he could only compare to a person eating after being starved for weeks without food.
The feeling of the embroidering of her dress was a reminder of their status, but that didn’t matter anymore. He pulled her closer by her hips to the point where the hilt of his sword was sure to be digging into her stomach.
Lyanna could not believe what was happening. The feeling of Aemonds lips against hers, the grip of his hands on her hips, and the sword digging into her. She might be a virgin, but that did not mean she had not kissed anyone. She had spent plenty of time at Riverrun with lads around her age. Sharing a kiss or two in the stables was a right of passage.
But she never thought she would be kissing a prince, even after what happened in the Kingswood. Much less kissing a prince in a dark corridor like some common whore. She wished she had enough self-restraint to not give in.
But this is what she wanted so badly.
His lips were soft just as he thought, and he smelled the same Dornish spiced oil. Lyanna couldn’t stop her hands as one wrapped around his bicep and the other around his back to pull him closer.
She didn’t want him closer; she needed him closer.
Lyanna pulled up her left leg, and Aemond was aware enough to move his tight grip away from her hip and onto her thigh. Her dress had been pushed up her leg enough for Aemond to grip the flesh of her thigh. He could feel the end of her stockings and the heat from her skin.
Gods, she was warm.
His hands were not as soft as she thought they were. She could feel the calluses on his hands from his training. But gods, did they feel good gripping her skin, she did not care about the bruises or marks that might appear. She did not care or know how she would explain them to her handmaiden.
Aemond let his hand wander further up her skirt until he realized what they were doing. He didn’t want to stop, but he knew at this rate that they would be ripping each other's clothes off and rutting on the bare ground just steps away from courtiers.
With every piece of self-strength, Aemond pulled away from Lyanna. His hands were still holding onto her as if she might slip away.
“Stay,” He said, his voice and tone much different from the one he had before.
Aemond leans down and places a small kiss against her forehead, then her left cheek, then her right. A smile on his face as he did so.
Lyanna shook her head. A simple kiss could not sway her to change her plans.
“Stay,” He repeated, his lips brushing against hers.
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also the way some people are saying grrm should keep his opinions to himself and focus on finishing twow is so?? sickening?? authors are so much more than their books and they don’t owe anyone anything !!
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