Plot: Y/N is a damsel who captures the heart of a rogue, misunderstood prince named Aegon Targaryen in 14th century England… with no civil war to disarray the family.
It’s fluffy, very mediæval like; smut; long post.
(+21)
***
Even sun sets in paradise.
Clouds rumble in the skies, a sign of storm, a bad omen to all those who fear the ire of the divine. Many were the peaceful years of King Viserys’s reign. Some would incline to judge this monarch as fool, others, wise, good even.
Whatever epithet this king deserves, it goes to wind, blown away by the first evidences that peace is yet to be supplanted by something worse. What might that be… is yet to be found out.
With the sun eclipsed, new events are setting stage. Aegon and you are forced to be apart by these circumstances and you fear to remain a shadow in his memory, praying to the divine that he does not forsake you .
On his part, this redeemed prince has renewed his vows to you. But he’d come to find that easier is said than done for his attentions are required elsewhere. Demons are coming out to reclaim his soul and he’s the target of evil again.
Indeed, to be surrounded by such creatures requires an inner strength that a fragile faith cannot knock down. Here, Aegon finds difficult to shake ‘em off.
Oh why Lord hast thou forsaken me?
Masking his pain, his porcelain skin turns to ivory. Sweet Prince is now a king… who faces the opposition of partisans who threaten to replace him with Rhaenyra.
Where there is smoke, there is flame. And someone might get burnt.
You, despite yourself, feel inclined to let be consumed by these unnatural flames.
Already pained by how politics are preventing one to find the other, you swallow your pride and discreetly search for him.
Aegon is found in secretive talks to Lord Daeron, his brother and councilor, who thinks best to marry off his sister in order to prevent political troubles that could arise in her state— and none seems to suspect, though, that the Lady Rhaenyra is holding the reigns of her life by taking her own uncle, Lord Daemon Targaryen, as her husband.
How bold, the scandalized court would whisper.
Part of shadows, you are invisible to the eyes of men—and to those of the women, too. For who are you if not part of a nobility that few are familiar with? Your family possessions may give them some credit, but no name, no blood, nothing… could commend you to His Grace.
The tentacles of the Devil hereby try to persuade you of your insignificance, thus trying to work against the designs of the Cupid by pushing you away from him, the one your heart desires.
To the most pious, though, this is read as an announcement of a heavenly battle for two lost souls. Which one is going to be the victor?
One could only pray to fight away such impertinent demons…
But a soul when linked to the other is prompted to recognize its other significant half… regardless the crowd that tries to part them.
Which means to say that His Grace’s lilac eyes find the y/c eyes of yours. So lost. Plagued by this intermittent chaos.
In silence, screaming for the lover stolen.
“Lady Y/N!”
The stunned group of councillors, and here his relatives are included, follow the cause of the king’s disrupted distress.
To many, the evident surprise in their faces when seeing it is you the very reason why Aegon II is more concerned to a damsel than politics may lead to that old superstition, understood as a sort of common sense, which places the blame of wrongs in women… simply because they are not obeying the natural orders.
Regardless, spotlight is on. The Cupid dances, the Devil threatens. Fate is about to play deadly its cards.
“I could not reach out for you. I pray you forgive me for being…”
Even if staying at the center of this stage is something you do not wish for, it is too late to storm out. Your destiny escapes your hands, it’s been woven by the divine. This is all you know.
“Do not apologize, lord. There is nothing to be forgiven for”, you smile, but Aegon sees sadness in your irises. “What can we do before duty? Should be me the one to ask you forgiveness for my meekness, my spirit so prompted to be passional…”
“I see nothing in you to be faulted for. Reason cannot conceive it. Lady Y/N, I aim to reclaim not your body, even if it arises the desires of my flesh, but your soul, so only I before it can be whole.” He cups your face with his hands, in complete ignorance of his mother’s baffled countenance. “Even so, unworthy of thee as I am, take me not as king, but as a man.”
“Poet of mine heart”, you sigh, to the delight of the Goddess of Love who claps before this chaotic profession of most profound sentiments. “I could not refuse you, whether as a beggar, whether as a king. Likewise, my heart is yours to be commanded… despite my most inappropriate station.”
Aegon smiles and it is as if sun shines the brightest. To a general astonishment, the king loves. And such a love is above mortal, fable laws; above lust, inferior desires that have made no other victims than himself.
“I care naught about the laws of men, for I stand before them. My wife you will be, lady of this court, mistress of the realm”, says he in a tone that leaves no argument to it.
Devil is finally fought off. Victory is placed in the hands of Cupid. Heaven smiles below… even if skies remain grey still.
***
Nothing evokes a greater scandal than unexpected unions. Disregarding reason and every sensible advise, the king intends to make his word law of the realm.
All of this is suffice to say that making you his queen attracted great disapproval of the court. Something unseen since the days of Maegor the cruel.
But Aegon may be many things. Cruel he is not. And you are unlike any of his consorts.
Despite the gleefulness of finally being tied to Aegon, you know that working for peace is part of your queenship.
Therefore, days before the wedding you come after the dowager queen, lady Alicent Hightower. You hope to be as convincing as possible in arranging domestic peace, for you do this overall for the man you love—never forgetting, however, how uncommon this union is, out of the Targaryen inbred and hierarchically mismatched.
The redhaired lady, once praised for her piety and discreetion, who once possessed a crown over her head, welcomed you with distrust in her eyes—even if you see how queenly she is in manners. That is to reinforce the regal obligations one has… out of habit, perhaps, when dealing with others she is less… inclined to like.
“Madame the Queen”, you address her accordingly. “I thank you for welcoming your humble servant.”
Your speech definitely surprises the dowager queen. The lady Alicent has judged you as some sort of gold digger, who craved your nails in her son and whose manners were most undignified of Aegon—even if he is not, as she knows well, the great moral of her house.
However, when studying you, your modesty and meek speech, she realizes she’s been wrong. Not many could surprise Alicent Hightower, but you, Y/N Y/LN did.
“Please rise, child”, she softens towards you. “I am not a queen… not anymore.”
“One never ceases to be a queen, even if the crown is legated to another. You are the force behind this house, my lady. I would do harm to all of us if I only followed my heart.”
Wise move. Oh, this lady possesses a sharp wit. Certainly not like any of the mistresses Aegon had conquered to warm his bed.
And yet… hasn’t Lady Alicent been remembered of that heroine whom she admired, Isolde being the character’s name?
Though the dowager queen envied you for being who she aimed to be since the days of her girlhood, she is not unreasonable where you are concerned.
“I appreciate you come after me for that. I admit all of this caught me out of surprise, for little I expected seeing my son so besotted.”
You try smiling, charmingly if you dare.
“Indeed it has baffled me as well that the king considered me in high esteem. Unworthy as I am, I, however, feel likewise.”
“But you surely must be aware of his flaws”, the dowager queen could not help herself. You remind her of sweet Helaena, who, however, even in her sweetness had a driven force that led her elope with Aemond, her brother.
“I am, my queen. I do not love for the king he is, but for the man he is becoming. I too have my flaws.” The final card is yet to come… “Before the divine, we are inferior beings, all longing for redemption.”
The Queen smiles. You’ve succeeded in captivating her.
“This is very true. Sometimes… when we least expect, we come to learn that love sent from above is yet to redeem us all.”
From this day on, you and the dowager queen become close, perhaps occupying the vacant position left by the princess Helaena.
***
It is the ceremony day. Here you and Aegon are, lawfully married. A banquet is held on your honor, as well as tournaments are drawing high and low born men alike who spots in the jousts an opportunity to write their names in history.
Most want to be the lady Y/N’s champion, but you’ve already granted your favour to Lord Daeron, the king’s youngest brother, who used to be your childhood playmate.
As wine is poured in your silver glass, you and your lord husband speak as if there is just the two of you in a gold and green salon.
“I espoused you”, says he with his typical smug.
“Indeed”, you side smirk. “But I pray you are reminded daily that I was not any conquest of yours.”
“No”, he agrees, looking deep into your eyes as he takes your hand to his lips in a lingering kiss. “You are the redemption of a lost sinner, my lady.”
But this sweet, intimate moment is interrupted by Aemond’s boast.
“It appears”, he announces in his own way, “this is the moment we have all been waiting for. The bedding ceremony.”
You look away, crimson pink painting your cheeks all the whilst Aegon raises his eyebrows at his brother—though he’d indulge in lies if he didn’t admit he’d been looking to it. Perhaps too much for a man who until recently was slaved by his flesh.
*
A path of flowers follows your steps as the gentlewomen remove every piece of your green gown. Your carefully embroidered hair is now loose in your back and every jewel that embellished your skin is carefully removed.
Never before you felt so nude, so exposed. Specially under the cries and giggles of the ladies, some of which behave in what you judge to be somewhat in the old ways.
“Be merry, my dear. Today is the day your queenly duties begin”, someone tells you.
You smirk at them, but pay little attention to their sayings, detesting this exhibition. Until your mind suddenly goes blank before the view of perfection that stands right under your eyes.
Aegon Targaryen hasn’t seen you yet. Perhaps to drink away his nervousness, he downs his glass of wine. His hair is somewhat a mess, falling short down to his neck; but your eyes scan his muscles, perfectly shaped after years of sword training.
The lines of his body that reinforce his shape awake something different in you. And when he turns at you….
Your face goes instantly red.
“My queen”, and it doesn’t help you that he scans you with the eyes of a predator.
And you like it how he smirks and moves all the way to welcome you properly.
“You look beautiful like always”, his whisper is like a summer breeze, warming and cozy; his arms are like a fortress, strong and safe. “Do not shy away from me, my dear.”
He is right behind you, his arms snaking around your waist, thus involving you in between. His chin is resting over your shoulder, his lilac eyes staring at your heart-shaped face as he uses one hand to play with your hair all the whilst the other is resting over your belly.
“You are gifted with a beautiful out of this world. As a sinner, I should not dare to look at you, but because of my weakness, I have my feebleness exposed.”
“Oh Aegon, you are no man, nor king, nor something in between. You are above all, and as your subject I boldly commend myself to you.”
Speeches are silent from the moment his lips meet your skin and your mouth drops in an “o” right as you give in under his touch. His slender fingers caressing your belly, squeezing gently your waist before cupping your breasts make you experiment—truthfully this time—this dragon fire.
And you want to get burnt so desperately.
“Aegon…”, you moan softly, dropping your head at shoulders.
Sinful has never been so tempting. Where there is a flame someone is about to get burnt, and you place yourself willingly in this position, notwithstanding the morals of the Church against lust and the dangerous of having pleasure in marital bed—everything must be balanced.
You certainly do not feel condemned by any means when he’s kissing your neck and cupping your breasts; nor guilty when his tongue paces slowly towards your neck.
Aegon too revives his old self, though he is now controlling his lust, not the other way around. As when he lowers his right hand and through forest he finds waterfall in you, diving in you and together finding pleasure in sin.
“Oh yes”, he groans in your ear, pleased to please you. “Give yourself to me, my dear”.
When your gazes meet, you know it’s your end. You are doomed.
And Aegon, has truthfully been tamed.
***
As when sun and moon meet, so it occurs a significant event the moment your body meets his. When he holds your thighs and pushes within you, when he looks at you with a mix of love and lust… you know it’s nothing regular.
It’s supernatural.
Divine.
Like when Mars met Venus and in her he planted his seeds, so the king plants his in you.
When does profanity begin? When does sacred end? A line so fragile between extremes is yet to be traced.
But one gaze, one kiss… one bliss is enough to bring altogether what has ever been apart.
Victory thus falls upon the hands of the Cupid, and Heavens will too bless this unique match. No one could have foretold the plans of the divine… as no one could have fought them either.
***
• Epilogue.
The king sits on his throne, eyes glued on his dancing queen. A smile dances over his lips, some might say Lady Y/N is a witch.
A love for a crown?
A crown for love?
When all eyes are set on their offspring, doubts are quietened. A pair of twins is seen dancing with their mother, whilst another, the elder and heir, is found by his father’s side.
All is well that ends up well… with you.
Aegon smiles. Against all wishes, the peace he provides. And he rises, uncontestedly victorious.
Their family is yet to grow further, with Lady Y/N, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, mothering at least ten more children. Their lives will last… until spring comes and summer passes.
During the autumn of life, when marriages thrive, you outlive your husband only to see Jaehaerys II with Jaehaera by his side.
The Legend of Sir Gawain & The Green Knight🌿
illustration by Egor Gafidov
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is a classic medieval poem that begins when a mysterious and imposing Green Knight interrupts a Christmas feast at King Arthur's court. He proposes a peculiar and dangerous challenge: a "beheading game" where one knight can strike him with his axe, provided the Green Knight can return the blow in one year's time. The young and honorable Sir Gawain accepts the challenge. The story follows Gawain's subsequent quest to uphold his solemn vow, a perilous journey that tests his bravery, integrity, and adherence to the chivalric code as he faces wilderness, temptation, and the inevitable confrontation at the mysterious Green Chapel.
