𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖙 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌

for  as  hard  as  it  was  for  the  princess  to  admit ,   this  was  her  own  fault ,   her  own  doing .          perhaps  continuing  to  ignore  the  boy  as  she  had  once  tried  to  do  would  have  been  far  easier   ―   especially  for  him  who  now  felt  alone ,   lonely ,   lacking  that  attention   &&   affection  rhaenyra  provided .          the  guilt  gnawing  at  her  in  her  chest  could  not  be  ignored  any  longer ,   not  with  her  half-brother's  big  eyes  looking  so  incredibly  sorrowful   &&   filled  with  anger .          still  a  child ,   he  probably  blamed  himself ,   wondered  what  he  did  wrong  to  drive  his  eldest  sister  away ,   rhaenyra  knew .          what  was  she  supposed  to  do ?          she  was  a  mother  now ,   she  could  barely  see  eye  to  eye  with  his  mother   &&   the  more  his  claim  was  pushed ,   the  more  the  heir  drifted  away  from  him  even  if  unwillingly .          (    she  had  said  it  before ,   she  was  not  a  son .          despite  how  much  she  wanted  to  deny  it ,   she  resented  aegon  for  being  what  she  could  not  be .          shouldn't  it  be  enough ,   either  way ?          their  father  clearly  favoured  her .          the  heir ,   the  favourite .          the  boy  could  barely  understand  what  some  expected  of  him .    )

an  expected  reaction  an  answer ,   one  that  has  rhaenyra  expelling  an  exasperated  sigh  deep  from  her  chest .          her  patience  was  running  thin ,   but  she  did  not  want  to  treat  him  as  many  others  did   ―   with  anger   &&   harsh  words .          she  was  trying ,   why  could  he  not  see ?          aegon  was  still  far  too  young ,   that  was  why .          still ,   that  feeling  in  her  chest  was  impossible  to  shake  off .          it  was  nearly  irritating .          ❛ ⠀ aegon . ⠀ ❜          the  name  rolls  off  her  tongue  in  a  more  stern  tone  that  she  had  intended ,   lilac  gaze  fixated  on  him  as  he  turns  his  back  at  her .          the  intentions  he  had ,   they  were  reflected  in  those  round ,   violet  eyes  of  his   ―   he  was  somewhat  predictable  as  was  expected  of  a  young  boy  like  him .          pressing  him  further  would  only  complicate  the  situation  more ,   she  assumed ,   so  rather  than  standing   &&   going  to  him ,   she  stays  in  that  same  crouched  down  position  in  silence .          watching  him.

       𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴  𝙾𝙽  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙴  𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎  𝚑𝚒𝚖  𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑 .  𝚊𝚗𝚢  𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝  𝚘𝚏  𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚗  𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝  𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍 ,   𝚑𝚎  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚢  𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎  𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗  𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 .  𝚑𝚎  𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝  𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚊𝚜  𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢  𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗  𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏  𝚊𝚜  𝚑𝚎  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 ,  𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕  𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚢  𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍  𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛  𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚢  𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍  𝚊𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚖𝚊𝚗  𝚠𝚑𝚘  𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍  𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢  𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 .  𝚊  𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝  𝚘𝚏  𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 ,   𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜 ,  𝚍𝚘  𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎  𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗  𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕  𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 .  𝚢𝚎𝚝 ,  𝚒𝚝  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚏𝚘𝚛  𝚊  𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔  𝚘𝚏  𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚗𝚘𝚛  𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜  𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎  𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 .  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎  𝚔𝚗𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜  𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚍  𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝  𝚊𝚜  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚝  𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜  𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕  𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜  𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 .

❛  i could do it,  ❜  𝚑𝚎  𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 .   ❛  if i hit her, that would teach her — just as father has taught me.  ❜

       𝚊𝚜  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜  𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍 ,   𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎  𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎  𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍  𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑  𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚛𝚎𝚍  𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚜  𝚗𝚘𝚠  𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 .  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜  𝚑𝚊𝚍  𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍  𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍  𝚢𝚎𝚝  𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 ,  𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛  𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚋𝚘𝚢  𝚠𝚑𝚘  𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍  𝚒𝚝  𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 .  𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑  𝚑𝚎  𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 ,  𝚑𝚎  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 .   𝚑𝚎  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚋𝚎𝚍  𝚒𝚗  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚘𝚠𝚗  𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 ,  𝚒𝚗  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚞𝚎  𝚘𝚏  𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍  𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜 .  𝚑𝚎  𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚘  𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎  𝚒𝚝 ,  𝚝𝚘  𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎  𝚒𝚝  𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 ,  𝚝𝚘  𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎  𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚋𝚎  𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎  𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖  𝚒𝚝  𝚊𝚕𝚕 .

@zaldarias

       𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗  𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚍 ,  𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 ,   𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔  𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 - 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 .  𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗  𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚜  𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑  𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎  𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 ,  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢  𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏𝚕𝚢 .  𝚊𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚗  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗  𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔  𝚊𝚜  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜  𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍  𝚜𝚘  𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 ,  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢  𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗  𝚊𝚕𝚕  𝚒𝚝𝚜  𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍  𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚊𝚒𝚛 .  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚕 ,   𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚗  𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍  𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎  𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚕  𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗  𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚗𝚢𝚛𝚊’𝚜  𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚔 ;  𝚊𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚗’𝚜  𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜  𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎  𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚣𝚎𝚍  𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝  𝚊𝚜  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 ,  𝚊𝚝  𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 ,  𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚕 .  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎  𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏  𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠  𝚒𝚏  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢  𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎  𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖  𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎  𝚘𝚛  𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 ,  𝚏𝚘𝚛  𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝  𝚘𝚏  𝚑𝚒𝚖  𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝  𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑  𝚊𝚝  𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎  𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑  𝚊  𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚏  𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚒𝚗  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚐𝚞𝚝 .   𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗  𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍  𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 ,   𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚒𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎  𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 .

❛  i said, go away!  ❜

       𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚊  𝚑𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚎  𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚔 ,  𝚊  𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛  𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚍  𝚋𝚢  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜  𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 .  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚖  𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚘  𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕  𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝  𝚊𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙  𝚘𝚏  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 ,  𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑  𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚢  𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚗  𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛  𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗  𝚝𝚘  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 .   𝚑𝚎  𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝  𝚒𝚝  𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎  𝚑𝚒𝚖  𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕  𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 ,  𝚋𝚞𝚝  𝚒𝚝  𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 .  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜  𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚘  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚗  𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍  𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎  𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 ,  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗  𝚝𝚘  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚗  𝚠𝚑𝚘  𝚑𝚊𝚍  𝚗𝚘𝚠  𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚗  𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 .  𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 ,  𝚊𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚗’𝚜  𝚘𝚠𝚗  𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝  𝚑𝚊𝚍  𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗  𝚘𝚏𝚏  𝚒𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚜  𝚝𝚘  𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚎  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎  𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 ;  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑  𝚑𝚒𝚖  𝚒𝚏  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑  𝚑𝚒𝚖 .

      ྀིა༉༷    ░      @zalisdarys   sent a prompt .                        ↪       ❛   if i could be a different person, i promise you, i would be .   ❜

this was not the babe she held in her arms as soon as he was born ,   the one boy she'd have loved dearly as he was her own blood if it wasn't because of his own grandsire pushing for his claim to the throne   ―   her inheritance by law   &&   birthright .          he had grown into something she barely recognized ,   something she had never expected him to become .          this young man who used to follow after her as a boy ,   tugging at her skirt for her attention ,   placing his toys on her lap or pushing them into her hands .          now drowning in his cups ,   one after another ,   showcasing a behaviour unfit for a prince .          at times ,   she wonders if paying more attention to him ,   if not distancing herself from him would have helped at all or if he was just doomed from his birth .

       𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚁𝚈  𝚁𝙴𝙳  𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽𝙴𝙳  𝙻𝙸𝙿𝚂  𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍  𝚊𝚝  𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 – 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛’𝚜  𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚜 .   𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎  𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚝𝚘  𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑  𝚘𝚛  𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚔  𝚊𝚗  𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢  𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢  𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔  𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔  𝚒𝚗  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 .  𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎  𝚜𝚑𝚎  𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛  𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍  𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 ,  𝚑𝚎’𝚍  𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎  𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍  𝚏𝚘𝚛  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛  𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 .  𝚢𝚎𝚝  𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝  𝚘𝚏  𝚑𝚒𝚖 ,  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚑𝚎  𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛  𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚝  𝚝𝚘  𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎  —  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗  𝚝𝚘  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚘𝚠𝚗  𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 ,  𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕  𝚑𝚊𝚍  𝚊  𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜  𝚏𝚘𝚛  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 – 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 .   𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜  𝚒𝚝  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊  𝚘𝚏  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎  𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚍 ,   𝚘𝚛  𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜  𝚒𝚝  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎  𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝  𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜  𝚘𝚏  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑  𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕  𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚐  𝚝𝚘  𝚏𝚘𝚛  𝚜𝚑𝚎  𝚑𝚊𝚍  𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚍  𝚑𝚒𝚖  𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗  𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚗𝚘𝚝 .

❛  aegon’s rebellion.  ❜  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚔 ,   𝚊𝚝  𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 ,   𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 . ❛  it does have a nice ring to it, sister.  ❜

       𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑  𝚊𝚗  𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝  𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎  𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 ,   𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚎  𝚘𝚏  𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎  𝚒𝚗  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚌𝚞𝚙 .  𝚒𝚝  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚊𝚗  𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎  𝚍𝚛𝚢  𝚛𝚎𝚍  𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚘𝚛 ,   𝚒𝚝𝚜  𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚎  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚊  𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑  𝚝𝚘  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚐𝚞𝚝 .   𝚊𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚗  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏  𝚊𝚜  𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚔  𝚊𝚜  𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎  𝚝𝚘  𝚋𝚎 ,   𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑  𝚒𝚝  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚊𝚢  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎  𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏  𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚐𝚎𝚝  𝚜𝚘  𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍  𝚜𝚘  𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 .  𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗  𝚊𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚗  𝚑𝚊𝚍  𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜  𝚝𝚘  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚘𝚠𝚗  𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 .

❛  but, alas, i would sooner be out of your hair were that i was another man. would you like that?  ❜

       𝚒𝚝  𝚑𝚊𝚍  𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗  𝚘𝚗  𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕  𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎  𝚑𝚊𝚍  𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚘  𝚏𝚕𝚢  𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 ,  𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚙  𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚢𝚛𝚎  𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑  𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜  𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛  𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 .  𝚢𝚎𝚝 ,   𝚑𝚎  𝚑𝚊𝚍  𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜  𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 .  𝚑𝚎  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛  𝚛𝚞𝚗  𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 ,   𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚢 ,   𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚜𝚝  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛  𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛  𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕  𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 .  𝚑𝚎  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛  𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 .  𝚊𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗  𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝  𝚘𝚏  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚜𝚎𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚌𝚞𝚙  𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 .

❛  or, perhaps, you might prefer i grappled at your skirts like a babe?  ❜  𝚑𝚎  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗  𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚍  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜  𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚝𝚘  𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍 . ❛  oh please, mummy dearest, be so kind as to coddle me more.  ❜

       𝚊  𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 ,   𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍  𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑  𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜  𝚊𝚜  𝚑𝚎  𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍  𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 ,   𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚝𝚘  𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚛  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝  𝚊  𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 .  𝚑𝚎  𝚑𝚊𝚍  𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗  𝚝𝚘  𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚍  𝚘𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎  𝚘𝚏  𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 ,   𝚒𝚝  𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛  𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖  𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚖  𝚒𝚝  𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 .  𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚊𝚕  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚊𝚕𝚕  𝚑𝚎  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚗𝚘𝚠  𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚍 ,  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚜𝚘  𝚑𝚎  𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎  𝚝𝚘  𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚒𝚗  𝚒𝚝 .  𝚊𝚕𝚕  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 :   𝚊  𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠  𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚏𝚘𝚛  𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 .  𝚒𝚝  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛  𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜  𝚠𝚊𝚢 .

it would be easy, to kick the chair from beneath his brother, send him sprawling to the floor. maybe he'd crack his head open and have to be rushed to the maester's rooms, leave aemond in peace, for once. but no, no, that would only draw his mother's ire, if he is too obvious, and aemond is... unaccustomed to being the object of alicent's ire, not when aegon performs that duty so admirably, as he does no other. it had been foolish of him, of course, to even offer his assistance to aegon, he should've known his brother would be ungrateful, would spit in the face of their shared heritage. he's never taken it seriously, not like aemond, who has taken to the study of their house's histories and culture with the upmost devotion.

      𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒, part of him still wishing to make sense of it all. how could aemond seem to so easily understand it all? aegon would sooner recover from a morning - star to the face than to face whatever was written before him. for all the eldest son knew, what was written could be nothing more than slurs and profanities to belittle him ― he would not have put it past aemond to do so. aemond hated aegon, he knew that to be true, and so the elder always sought to enforce their dislike of one another. he would find another way to remove that ever - present smug look upon his brother's face.

      ❛ uh, because it should be as dead as they are. ❜

      there was a roll of his eyes as he spoke, as though every word uttered should have been plainly obvious. if their ancestral tongue was truly so influential and powerful, why was it now only those highest up seemed to speak it? aegon enjoyed the life of the nobility, but even he could not deny the divisions between he and those in the darkest pits of flea bottom. perhaps he saw it more than most in the keep, for he fled to the streets in the latest hours of the night in the hopes to feel something other than the ever - crushing nothingness he felt within the keep.

      ❛ what is tradition if not the scrum of the dead? ❜

"Hush," Alicent murmured softly, smoothing a hand through his silver locks. Her eyes flicker over the dragon and it doesn't look horribly beyond repair. Viserys' stonework had seemed in much more chaos, and even then the stonemasons had been able to fix it. Aegon's dragon seemed easy enough to fix--even the queen could do it.

Helaena looked up, her little lip quivering, before returning her attention to the nurse--attention and potential tantrum avoided.

"It will, my love," Alicent assured her firstborn gently, giving him a small, if weary smile. Her skin was pale, eyes slightly hallow from her third pregnancy. The maesters were not worried--Viserys was not worried. No one worried about her it seemed. She could fade away with a gentle breeze and her husband would have a new mother for her children in a matter of weeks.

Sometimes she wondered if it would be best for all if she did disappear.

      𝐖𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 pleadingly to his mother as she spoke softly to him, his hands feeling hers as that gentle touch came at last. he should have felt better now that he was getting what he wanted, and part of him knew that, but he still yet felt all those emotions in him coming to surface. it was those days he had been sent to play with the wet nurses for hours on end ( though he only managed to cry ) , the ever - begging of his father for half as much attention as he gave to his elder half - sister, the pulling and pushing of loyalties and emotions for rhaenyra. there was simply too much going on for him, and although he could speak now, he could never quite find the words to express himself. screaming and crying had always done the trick anyway.

      he thought for a moment to let out another scream, one so high - pitched that even those in flea bottom would hear, but he didn't. instead, he clambered closer and buried himself within the arms of his mother. he tried wrapping his hands right around her back, though they were not quite long enough yet to meet. his fingers curled tightly into the fabrics of her skirts, not daring to let go of her in case she was whisked away from him. he wanted that least of all.

      ❛ what if it can't fix? i want my dragon! ❜

      aegon was spoilt, as any prince of the realm might be, though perhaps that was why viserys had begun turning his back to him. he held tighter to his mother, squeezing his eyes shut and taking in her scent through his sniffling nose. the tears had ceased, but the hitching of his breath always seemed to catch in his throat. it was not that aegon enjoyed screaming and crying, it often left him with an aching head and an empty heart, but rather he was coming to learn that this was the only way to return his parents' attention to him.

      ❛ why does it have to break? why can't it just be good? i don't want it broken, i want it good! ❜

the only thing that could tear down the house of the dragon was itself.

independent & selective RHAENYRA TARGARYEN of george rr martin's FIRE AND BLOOD and hbo's HOUSE OF THE DRAGON. book based with show and heavy headcanon influences. penned by lexi. ©

aegon had been the last person on his mind as aemond had vaguely considered who his mystery visitor might be. his brother hasn't shown his face before now, and aemond had thought it was because aegon simply did not care enough to. did not care about aemond. he never has before, why should even this, even his brutal maiming at the hands of their nephew, move him to sympathy? he'd never even considered that aegon had the capacity for it at all.

but here his older brother comes now, shame - faced and with false apologies falling from his tongue. aemond sits in his stony silence as aegon fumbles with his words, tongue ever clumsy when it is not a snide remark, crude innuendo, or cruel taunt that it contends with. sincerity sits awkwardly on his brother's shoulders, or as close as aegon may come to something like it. aemond wonders, absently, if their mother has put him up to this. has scolded him again, unleashed another furious tirade about his responsibilities and failures. it is the only reason that he can think of that his brother would be here.

the disgust on aegon's face is plain to see, and aemond digs his nails into the tender flesh of his palms, until his hands shake, knuckles bleached white and blood welling in the half - moon impressions he leaves behind. he'd smashed the looking glass one of the maester's attendants had foolishly brought before him, only a day before, had ripped it from the man's hands and smashed it on the stone floor. then he'd emptied the meagre contents of his stomach and would have bellowed for all of them to get out, if mother hadn't cleared the room first. every surface in the room that might have shown him his reflection is covered, now.

aegon reaches out to touch him and aemond nearly slaps his hand away, nearly flinches, nearly recoils violently from the hands that have only ever hurt before. but he forces himself still, feels the empty socket where his eye should be throb, the pain radiating to the back of his skull. something is pressed into his hands and aemond stares down at the box. of a fine make, surely, undoubtedly something frivolous his brother has spent his coin on, in a futile attempt to soothe a hurt that will never truly mend.

      𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆, aegon still loved aemond. all it had been was some light teasing, a touch of bulying ― nothing more, aegon thought, and now it had come to this: his brother was irreparably wounded. had the shock of the scene not shaken aegon ( though he had still been somewhat asleep in the hall despite standing alert ) he would have forced that bastard son to the ground and taken both eyes from him. but this was not his debt to take from the velaryons, he would not steal more from his already stolen - from brother ― and so he didn't.

      perhaps, and how aegon so hated to admit it, their mother had been right. the velaryon bastards could not, and would not, be things for him to play with any longer. the truth of his mother's words had always lingered in aegon's mind, oft like riddles swirling and beckoning, but he thoughtlessly cast them aside. her words were like toys he no longer desired to play with; the irony in his ardour of youth, aegon hated it. even standing here, he could feel their mother's snide smirk curling on her lips with unshed words of, i told you so. he knew he should have listened, but why should he listen to her when she had never once thought to hear him?

      aegon sharply bit his tongue, swallowing back those metallic thoughts as he silently reminded himself of why he was here: to be present for his little brother. he could not be present for aemond if he was so caught up in his hatred of their mother, even if he so genuinely believed her to be deserving of it. aegon made no attempt at lightening the mood here, he knew he would simply say or do something wrong, and sever their already torn bond. he should have been a better brother to aemond, and a worse uncle to their bastard nephews, jace and ... not jace.

      ❛ my intentions are not to ... assuage mine own guilt. ❜

      his voice was soft, as not to worsen any ache though he doubted it would help at all. violet eyes glanced away for a moment, to a chair that he supposed their mother had sat in. aegon stepped aside for a moment, grabbing the chair and then placing it by aemond's bed in an easy line of sight for him. he then sat facing his brother, not lankily and lazily as he was so accustomed to but rather upright and proper, as their mother had always taught them. it was not often he bade good manners in private, though he was hoping to show aemond that he was willing to try for him now.

      ❛ i cannot restore what was taken, but i― i have spoken with the maester. he says this may help with the pain, even if only slightly. and to ... to, um, help with the shape of your face. i―i don't know. you can sell it if you don't like it. ❜

for  as  much  as  she  tried ,   it  seemed  impossible  to  form  some  kind  of  bond  with  her  half  siblings .          in  the  beginning ,   with  aegon ,   it  had  worked  some .          he  was  just  a  small   boy ,   following  after  his  eldest  sister   &&   seeking  for  her  attention ,   her  affection .          she  had  tried  to  teach  him  say  her  name ,   all  to  no  avail   &&   she  had  accepted  the  way  he  began  calling  her   ―   nyra ,   a  name  she  was  already  familiar  with ,   one  his  mother  used  once  upon  a  time .          how  did  it  end  like  this ?          the  incessant  pushing  for  his  claim  as  the  first  born  son  was  probably  the  reason  why  rhaenyra  had  started  resenting  the  young  boy .          was  it  really  his  fault ?          perhaps  not ,   but  the  princess  was  not  one  to  easily  admit  to  her  wrongdoings . 

      𝐈𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐂𝐄, then his glare was the storm. violet hues burned violently as he watched his elder half - sister crouch to his height. he wanted to hit her with the sword in his hand, he wanted to beat the ground and yell and cry and scream ― perhaps then the gods would listen to him, perhaps then they would see that he was still there and that he existed. as young as he was, he doubted it. his prayers always seemed to fall on deaf ears; whether he pleaded to the old gods or the new, it mattered not. it seemed even the gods hated aegon, punishing him with silence when he so craved attention. he had even started wondering if there was some ill deed he had done to so deserve this, but he did not think that sneaking a second helping of honey cakes after supper deserved such severe punishment. or, perhaps, it did warrant it ― aegon was only a boy, he did not truly know right from wrong. all he knew was that he was hurting, and these hurts were not being tended to as they once had.

      ❛ no! ❜

      one of his hands left the training sword, for it was still too heavy to be held in only one, and then sharply pushed his half - sister's hand off him. the training sword tipped to the ground, the blunt pointed edge digging into the soil. her touch was burning his flesh; he would not have minded so much if it was from sunfyre, but this was a burn he could not tolerate. it was an acid dripping onto his skin, not a bare flame engulfing him.

      ❛ you're just going to tell father! you're going to say i stole it! ❜

      his hand immediately reached back for the training sword, and for a moment he thought of hitting her with it. his eyes glared up at hers, he had the perfect target, he would hit her right in the face. that would teach her, he thought. his muscles twitched, shifting the wooden sword ever so slightly for a better grip. his heart was pounding faster, he wanted to hurt her like he had been hurt. yet before he could allow himself to bring the sword up, he stopped himself. he heard only their father's voice in his head, the endless yelling he would endure if he so much as laid a finger on the favourite his half - sister. his lips curled downwards even further, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. aegon quickly turned his back to rhaenyra so that he could not accidentally ( or not so accidentally ) smack her with the sword ― and, too, to hide his tears. he would not let her see him cry.

      his fingers curled tighter around the wooden handle before lifting the sword up to his shoulder. he took a step towards the straw man he'd been earlier practicing on, then grunted and heaved the sword down on it. his movements were slow and sloppy, entirely untrained. he had not yet built up the strength or the muscle or the knowledge to wield even a wooden sword in his hand, but there was a determination fusing with his anger. he squeezed his eyes shut, still swinging with all his might to hit the straw man again and again.

      ❛ go away! go away, i hate you! ❜