#tideslucemond

Sl-Slowly?

Friends, I wrote over 635k words in 3,5 years (and that’s just for one story). That’s like a book per year, and not a short book.

And mind you, this is fanfiction. I am not getting paid for this, this isn’t my source of income or my obligation.

It’s just my passion, something that I love to do and choose to share with you.

Chapter 45: Second Sons

Out now.

Sweet Mother and Maiden.

Alicent was forced to watch her son drool over the bastard for what felt like a century, but she knew how that tale ended. She had witnessed it before.

There were times when she thought she could sacrifice everything for Rhaenyra, but those thoughts got swallowed down and sealed in the furthest corner of her mind, because that had never been possible. It was a smart choice. Alicent believed that Aemond would make the same one when the time would come.

Instead, he chose differently.

“I can’t believe you did such a thing,” she said when Aemond still hadn’t responded, or moved, or assured her that it was all a part of a great plan, “how could you put your… desires above the fate of this land? How could you be so selfish?”

“Because I am!” Snapped back Aemond, losing his composure at last, “I am selfish, mother, and I don’t need you to lecture me on this, because I don’t regret my decision for one. Moment,” he breathed through his teeth, “and I will choose him over this bloody land again and again if I have to!”

❧ excerpt from “Tides”

Hatred and revenge.

He knew now that there was only one thing more powerful than those two. And it was hope.

In Otto’s view of the world, hope was useless. He didn’t believe in it, but used it to his advantage because other people did. His mother, in contrast, thought that hoping was enough to tilt the axis of the world.

And Aemond, raised by both of them, got stuck somewhere in the middle.

He wondered whether Daemon had hoped for anything in his life or simply twisted and turned the world to take it. Their tale wasn’t the one of Maegor and Aegon the Uncrowned: Daemon didn’t usurp the throne and Aemond wasn’t the one leading an army against him—still, it had been the nephew of the tyrant king who died in that battle, which later had been written into history books as the Battle Beneath the God’s Eye.

Life had a good sense of humor when it came to House Targaryen. ❞

I know last chapters lack Lucemond, but here *evil giggling*:

Jacaerys caught her hand, and Baela swallowed the rest of the sentence, eyes locked on the spot where his fingers touched her skin. She had a healed cut on her wrist, skin there tight and pink, about to scar into dusty white.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he said, fingertips rubbing in small circles around the cut. Baela shrugged, but there was tension in her movements when she softly freed her hand, looking up at Cregan and then away, leaning against the tree with her hands jammed into the pockets of her cloak.

“You were losing limbs and purity all around Westeros, Jace, that’s hardly a sin. By the way,” she leaned forward, “we can speak plainly, as there are no spies in this goddamn forest, so tell me—what will the Queen do about Ormund Hightower’s army? You said yesterday they reached Highgarden, so I can’t stop wondering,” Baela’s frown deepened, “will she negotiate? Use Alicent as political leverage? Oh, and once we’re done here, I want to find that sneaky pig Aegon and feed him his own balls, because he truly—”

“Baela!” Jacaerys’ and Cregan’s voices merged into one.

“—deserves it,” calmly finished Baela and pursed her lips. “You know what? This is my war, too! I don’t want to mourn anyone else. I am a dragonrider. I’ve read the same books as you two and studied the same battles. So stop looking at me like that and let’s decide what we do next.”

Jacaerys half-expected Cregan to crack a joke, like he did back in Winterfell, or change the subject of conversation, do anything but nod and hand Baela his flask. And that made Jacaerys look between the two of them, wondering once again what else did he miss.

Because Cregan always respected Baela: as a woman, a princess and as Jacaerys’ wife, but he never treated her like… like he treated Jacaerys. Like he would’ve trusted her with his life. Like she was his closest friend.

Seeing them together like that didn’t help. Together, he repeated in his thoughts, eyes caught between Baela’s lips and Cregan’s stubble, their shared breaths like little swirls of steam in the northern air, and felt a jolt like a streak of lightning skimming down his spine.

Maybe his heart was broken for wanting both.

Right in the middle.