What Do You Mean I Have To Wait 2 Years To Watch The Next Season Hotd?

What do you mean I have to wait 2 years to watch the next season hotd? 🤠

Facts.

Guys what are your thoughts on this. I wrote the comment the very first one ,on a tiktok where it was talked about how deanerys was 13-14 when she got pregnant. My second comment was how devastating I find it that she expected to marry her brother who is a lot older than her actually ( I know it's an age gap about 8 years but I'm not so sure). And someone asked why it is devastating since it is tradition. I think I made my point clear in my response and would like to know how you see this? My opinion stands that I think it is really sad that she expected to marry her brother who is also her abuser.

So what are your thoughts , is it wrong to finde it devastating that a childe expected to marry her brother who abuses her just because it is tradition?

What magic do I have to use to have hair like this , just look at it. Hair goals.

When my lord husband is not in the next season hotd I will lose it

Hot take:

Okay so, I don't really understand the Sansa slander, especially in the first few seasons. Beauces my girl is a child, can you blame a child for being scared of the queen and the king. Can you blame a child for having a crush and wanting said crush to like them back? I don't think so. The whole Arya is better,oh Sansa is so bad thing ,I don't understand. Both of these characters are great in my opinion and you can't really compare them.

Arya just likes swords and stuff like that, and Sansa likes embroidery and stuff. And I think they have a relatively normal sibling dynamic, cause I remember I was like that with my older sister.

Since it was five years ago for me when I watched the show and I now finished the first book, I can't really understand the dislike for Sansa.

Like she went through shit , in the show. Like watching her father die, getting humiliated as a child, getting married as a humiliation, getting married to a psycho and abused from him.

And one thing I once read in a comment section was "well we don't like her because she didn't trust Daenerys." Well why should she trust someone she doesn't know from the beginning.

I get people disliking characters, but Sansa is just a character I don't really understand why.

Can someone explain to me, because every explanation has been I've seen especially on tiktok, kinda sexist and biased, no offense.

Guys read this story and support this writer, it is an amazing story,with a deep understanding of the emotions the characters are going through in my opinion.

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Five: The Princess and the Queen

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Hello, besties! How about that finale... I wanted to thank everyone who has left lovely comments and support about the story. It really makes me smile. I hope I continue to write y'all a story you like as it progresses. Thanks again!

Chapter Warnings: mentions rape, trauma, and symptoms related to childhood SA, mentions self-harm, emotional abuse.

The halls of the Red Keep were a vast expanse filled with candelabras, torches, paintings, and tapestries. If it was night, one could pass by a person and not notice them. The tremendous shadows held many secrets, causing you only to venture alone if there was no choice. 

But in the day, with the help of the warm sun shining through archways and open windows, it was a magnificent sight. It made you feel deeply grateful and amazed that your ancestors built a place like this and stood the test of time with its beauty. 

A tapestry, in particular, caught your eyes as you walked the grand halls to your lessons with the old crone Septa Marlow. It was woven with the finest colored wool with shiny red, green, brown, and white silk threads, depicting a scene between men, women, and dragons. Studying it with furrowed brows, you felt perplexed as you tilted your head, trying to understand the story told through the fabric. It looked like the people were naked, enjoying a festive party filled with wine, smiles, and dragons that devoured each other, mouths of men, women, and beasts on bodies in odd places.

The artist showed one man with his head buried between a lady’s thighs and a dragon pressed closely behind him. Another was a woman and a dragon resting between her legs, leaning over the top of her with its pointed tongue touching her chest. The memory of what Aegon did to you on the ramparts that night came to the forefront of your mind, and it sent a hot, nauseating wave to your stomach and privy parts. It was such a bewildering piece of art that you never noticed until now, making you wonder if it had always been there and if there were more of them.

“Do you like it?” A voice asked beside you, causing you to release a shriek as you jumped out of your skin. 

As you tried to calm your nerves, Aegon suddenly stood beside you, touching your chest. Every fiber of your being told you to run. To scream, kick, or hurt your uncle after what he did, but instead, your body betrayed you, anxiety filling your shoes with rocks.

“Personally, it’s one of my favorites. It shows how our dragon blood came to be,” he continued, jutting his narrow hip to the side as he flicked his frizzy mane. 

You couldn’t think, breathe, or scratch at the prickling hair on your arms. You were mad—that is what you were feeling. You were upset because your uncle stole you from your thoughts and didn’t listen when you told him to stop. 

“You hurt me, Aegon!” The words echoed against the pale redstone as he flinched like you had struck him. He briefly stared at your scowl as you did with the tapestry, thin lips pursed as he tried wrapping his mind around what you could be referencing. 

“Oh! You mean the other night?” Aegon chortled and shrugged his hands in the pockets of his trousers as if this was the most basic of revelations. “Twas nothing, niece. You know it. We cuff each other about all the time and think nothing of it. This was no different.” 

Fire filled your veins at his passivity, digging your nails into your skin until they left crescents in their wake. “No, this was different. You hurt me, uncle. It still hurts there,” you confessed, attempting to keep your anger instead of the gradual wetness that itched your nose. 

Worry flashed in Aegon’s amethyst eyes as he fully faced you, taking a step closer as you took one back in return. He pretended not to feel the slight at your wordless rejection and held out a sinewy hand. This was how it always was when Aegon did something you didn’t like. You would pout for a few days until he begrudgingly apologized without the words, and then you and your brothers would tease Aemond. He believed this time would be no different.

“Come on,” he sighed with a slight roll of his eyes. “Let’s skip your lessons today and go to the Godswood. You can pick those pretty flowers you like. It’ll be like nothing ever happened,” your uncle offered with his typical lopsided grin.

The action startled you, causing your muscles to tense and your spine to go rigid as you hugged your stomach for comfort. Fear replaced any anger you felt at the notion that you would be alone with Aegon and have no one to help you if he didn’t listen to you again. Without knowing it, your skirt became damp, a dark spot slowly forming on the sky-blue fabric between your legs as you soiled yourself. 

Your face heated in shame as your uncle waited for your answer, too stunned by the involuntary action to think of running away when he abruptly noticed the liquid flowing into the cracks of the stone floor. He jumped away with a disgusted yelp like it would burn him if he touched it as you covered your eyes in embarrassment. Tears leaked from them, unable to stop the thick droplets as they ran down your cheeks like rivers and stained your sleeves. Your uncle would surely use this against you for the rest of your life.

This was all Aemond’s fault, Aegon thought. It’s not enough that he is their mother’s favorite. He had to take the one thing that was his—the only person who was solely at his side and his side only. Now, his being in his niece’s presence caused her to wet herself out of fright. He didn’t mean to hurt you. You both were having a bit of fun. The serving girls never seemed to act the way you were.

Aegon stared at you. Unsure of what to do and if you would still avoid his touch, he took another step forward, preventing the urine from touching his shoes, and reached out to extend tense words of comfort. 

“All is well, niece,” he awkwardly consoled and patted your shoulder like you would a rabid dog. “Tis nothing-”

“Princess!”

The title was screamed down from the end of the hall, interrupting your uncle and distracting you from your shame. Both you and Aegon turned to the commotion and saw Septa Marlow storming towards you at a speed faster than a woman her age should travel. You were severely late to your lessons, and per your mother’s orders, Marlow was allowed to search for and punish you as she saw fit for your misbehaviors. 

Releasing a defeated groan, you hung your head and mentally prepared for the tongue lashing you would receive from her and your mother later as she stood before you, huffing with her bony hands on the waist of her grey skirt. You attempted to hide the damp spot on your dress and covered it with your hands.

“Little Miss, I’ve been waiting for you in the lesson room for half an hour! Your mother told you what would happen if you skipped them again,” the old maid sighed exasperatedly, shaking her habit-covered head in disappointment. “You are a woman of the crown, and yet you toss your duties aside as if they are no more than rotten fruit. When will you learn?” 

Your eyes focused on the pool that glistened in the daylight as it reflected your face. A countenance puffy with tears and wet with snot, plump, moist lips pursed into a deep frown framed by a head of dark waves. At this angle, you could see the small patch of hair you plucked out of your scalp, the urge to touch it coming over you. You wondered if others could see it, too.

“Look me in the eyes when I’m speaking to you, Princess,” Marlow ordered with a strict tone. You gradually lifted your gaze to match hers, fighting back another onslaught of tears. 

You were tired of getting in trouble. You wanted to be the good girl your mother said you were, but it was hard. It seemed as if everything you did was wrong, and you began to believe you deserved harsher punishment because of your continued failure. The urge to feel the sting of hair pulled from its follicle was too strong. You needed to be alone, away from irate Septas and parents, and with your brothers or Aemond—people who understood your sadness and would listen to it.

Your Septa observed you with calculating eyes, flicking from the sorrowful arch of your brows to the downward bow of your lips to your stained skirt. You tried to obscure it more from her view, twisting your body to the side, but it was for naught as she pulled at your wrist, displaying your disgrace for all to see. Marlow’s gaze was piercing, trying to pull puzzle pieces together as she looked from you to Aegon. 

Without warning, she yanked you behind her by your arm, feeling as if she wanted to pull it from the socket and put her body between yours and your uncle’s. 

“What did you do?” she interrogated sharply, her thin lips becoming even thinner with her jaw set. Aegon stared at her, stunned, and you began to weep in horror. “What did you do to her?” 

The question sent chills down your limbs, making the hairs stand on end. What did he do to you? All you could comprehend was that Aegon hurt you with a part that was supposed to be covered, like when you would get into fights that developed into blows. You knew it was wrong, but how Marlow shielded you with her body like a soldier on the battlefield made you think it was more than what a simple scuffle would be.

Aegon stared at Septa Marlow, shocked. His mouth agape as he stuttered to explain, his hands gesturing when he couldn’t get the words out. “Nothing!” he shouted in defense and stepped back from the elderly woman. 

“Liar,” she staunchly declared as she grabbed your uncle by his ear, bringing him closer to her seething gaze.

“Unhand me wench! I am a prince!” He screeched like a kicked dog, yelping and hollering in astonishment. You never thought Septa Marlow was so hearty or bold enough to scream in the crown prince’s face, and it scared you to no end as you hid in the fabric of her scratchy wool dress.

“People respond to pain according to where they were hurt, my Prince,” she spat as you listened with surprise. 

Did she know?

Aegon was awful. He felt slighted and would upset everyone just because he was. You worried Marlow would get into trouble with the Queen for touching her son and tried to lead her away, but your little arms were useless as she spoke through gritted teeth. 

“She isn’t one of your toys you can use as you see fit. When Rhaenyra hears of what you’ve done to her daughter, you’re mother won’t be able to protect you.” 

With that, Septa Marlow released Aegon as he whined, rubbing the afflicted area like she had ripped his ear from his head. You didn’t want her to get reprimanded on behalf of defending you, so you tugged at her sleeve again, begging with your eyes for her to leave. 

“Please, Septa, I want to go to my lessons now,” you implored, the words hiccuped.

She faced you then as if she suddenly recalled your presence beside her and stroked a comforting hand down your loose hair, coming to cup your cheek with a tenderness she had never given you before. It startled you into silence. Anguish glistened in Marlow’s blue eyes, as light as the sapphire bedsheets you slept on every night as she took your balled fist into her cold one. 

“Let us get you cleaned first,” she kindly replied, disregarding Aegon as if he didn’t matter. 

Septa Marlow seemed almost mournful like she suddenly discovered that she had lost a loved one as she led you down the many halls to your chambers in silence.

Your ladies-in-waiting greeted you with startled expressions as they tended to their duties, surprised to see you and Septa Marlow at an odd time. The first one to bow was Edwina of House Karstark, the youngest of Lord Rolan Karstark and his Lady wife. She was a few years older than you and was stout, standing on tall, sturdy legs and hips. Her shoulders were broad underneath her crimson servant gown, which featured wide blue-gray eyes and long brown hair styled underneath her cap. 

“Princess,” she politely greeted with a curtsy as the others followed. 

Septa Marlow wasted no time ordering your ladies to draw you a bath, the women ceasing their actions as they hastily ran to the kitchens to gather hot water. Staring at the older woman with a wary expression, you played with your fingers as you felt the overwhelming fluttering sensation of nerves bubble in your stomach. You hadn’t bathed since before that night, and the idea of multiple people seeing you in a vulnerable state made you want to run away. This wasn’t something you had experienced before. 

Typically, you loved baths, even bathing with your brothers on occasion as you played with toys and the servants scrubbed your bodies, but now, it seemed as if an abrupt aversion deep within you spawned, and you were powerless to stop it.

The maids finished with their last pail of water, dumping it into the metal tub and sprinkling in slices of oranges and nectarines, which were your favorites. Yet you still looked at the steaming water with reluctance. You didn’t want to bathe. It would take too much time, and having your body bare, feeling the hands of people gripping, scrubbing your flesh, water sloshing… 

It was too much. 

“Come, princess, let’s undress,” Enith, another of your ladies from House Blackbar, kindly ordered you with a wave of her dainty hands. 

Without warning, you ran to your bed, resting on your knees as you shook your head vehemently. “No! I don’t want to take a bath. I want to go to my lessons with Septa Marlow!”

The women exchanged confused glances, multiple pairs of colored eyes waiting for the other to do something about your out-of-character disobedience. They knew something must be wrong. You were never one to tolerate having the slightest bit of dirt underneath your fingernails, and not only did you deny cleaning yourself despite being covered in urine, but you wanted to go to spend time with Septa Marlow. You despised your lessons. You would kick and scream until your voice gave out, saying you didn’t want to go. Now you were doing the same.

“Princess,” Marlow called her gaze disbelieving and holding a look of challenge. “You must bathe before you can be seen. Your skirt reeks of piss.” You comprehended her reasoning, but something inside you refused to listen as you shouted disagreements.

Your Septa, the boldest of the women, came forward to grab you, but you swiftly dodged her, sliding across your wrinkled sheets. She dealt with your mother before you and knew how to handle troublesome young girls, though the years weighed heavily on her parchment-thin skin and brittle bones, and she was unable to get a hold of you. 

“I don’t want to take a bath!” You shouted as Edwina took a step forward, attempting to help Marlow undress you. They managed to snatch your leg and remove your dress as you wiggled and squirmed in their grasp, the fabric catching on your ears.

You quickly scampered away after they let go and flung open the adjoining door to your brother’s room, running over each of the neatly made beds as Septa Marlow and your ladies chased you. Swiftly, you ran to the exit, attempting to run out and down the hall. To where they couldn’t find you but were hastily stopped by Enith in front of you.

“Get, Princess Rhaenyra,” Marlow ordered Enith as she and Edwina restrained you, kicking and screaming in their grasp. “What is wrong with you? Does this have something to do with Prince Aegon?” Marlow pointedly questioned, on the verge of coughing with exertion.

Refusing to answer, you continued to thrash against them. You didn’t want to hurt your Septa despite disliking her, but if she told your mother about Aegon being the cause of your accident and she started asking questions, you would have no choice but to tell her about that night. Perhaps you could try to lie and say your uncle startled you in the corridor, which is why you wet yourself. You prayed to the Gods that she would believe you.

What felt like hours of struggling against a girl a few years older than you and an ancient Septa was moments as your mother emerged, a startled, wide-eyed look on her face as she watched you bite Edwina’s dress sleeve. 

“Enough!” your mother shouted over your dispute, ceasing all three of you as you panted.

Without hesitation, you ripped your arms away from the women, stomping to your room and curling face-first into a maroon settee. They were powerless to stop you now that your mother was here. You could hear their mumblings through the wall as a new wave of tears crashed over you, burying your cries into the soft cushions. 

You were uncertain what the reason for your sobs was. It could be that you had just experienced a rush of emotions you weren’t ready to handle or the guilt of making your ladies and Septa Marlow chase you around your shared quarters like a mouse, yet you knew the real reason. You tried denying it briefly, but the conscience your mother instilled in you made you see the truth. 

You were terrified about what she would do if she discovered you snuck out with Aegon, drank stolen wine, and ate desserts from the kitchens when you were supposed to be asleep.

The door to Jace and Luke’s room clicked shut, and you briskly raised your head at the sound, seeing your mother. You swiftly buried your face back into the cushions as you heard the delicate tapping of her shoes come closer. She said nothing for a long moment, sitting beside you and rubbing a gentle hand in soothing circles on your back. 

Rhaenyra wasn’t upset with your behavior; she was more concerned than anything. Like Septa Marlow said, this was unlike you. Your nursemaids taught you how to use the privy, and you hadn’t wet the bed since you were four. For Seven’s sake, it was everything your mother could do to get you out of the tub! 

She knew something had happened, something terrible.

“Little love?” Rhaenyra tenderly spoke your name as she leaned closer. “Will you tell me the cause of this?” 

You merely sniffled in response, rendered into tearful silence. 

Rhaenyra gave you a pitying unseen smile and released a sigh through her nose. She hadn’t seen you this worked up since Aemond pushed you into the garden fountain, smacking your mouth against the stone and knocking out your front tooth. With the tooth, it was an easy fix. All she needed to do was explain that another would grow back since you were young. With this, she was unsure of the cause and did not know how to get the reason out of you. 

“I can see this is hurting you, and it pains me deeply. You must know that whatever transpired will never make me love you less,” your mother confessed, her free hand clasping yours. “Whatever has you feeling in such torment is far more harsh of a punishment than I could ever give you. I could not bear to do more.” 

Slowly, you removed your face from the pillow, turning to rest your plump cheek on it. “You won’t be mad at me if I tell you?” you asked with a childish softness to your voice. 

“You know that I won’t ever lie to you. I cannot guarantee I won’t be upset, but the inner torment you currently face suffices any consequence I could give you,” your mother replied honestly, sighing and scrunching her brows.

While the words didn’t make you feel better, you did feel a lightness in your soul. You fully faced her then, tearful eyes glistening in the natural light like polished mahogany obsidian. Hiccuping your breaths, you leaned on your mother’s shoulder as she wrapped her long arm around you, uncaring about the foul-smelling gown. 

“Aegon, he sn-snuck up on me while I went to my lessons. He scared me,” you explained, thoughts and memories all mumbled together as you began to twist your hair to soothe your nerves. 

“Is that all?” she inquired in disbelief. “Your uncle scared you, and that caused you to…” Your mother didn’t finish the thought before you shook your head, impulsively tugging at your dark locks. 

“No, Mama. It happened before then. A few-a few nights ago, Aegon left me a note underneath my pillow and said he had something to tell me. He told me to follow a secret passage and that he was waiting for me.” 

You saw the color drain from your mother’s face, her violet eyes widening in horror as she swallowed nervously. “We went into the kitchens and wine cellars, helping ourselves to food and drink. A scullery maid caught us, and then he took me outside to the battlements of the Holdfast. We sat, ate, and drank, and he told me about Queen Alicent’s plan to arrange a marriage between us.”

Your mother clenched her jaw, clutching your shoulder and forcing you to face her, gaze searching for something. “Is that all?” You swiftly nodded your head. “Nothing else happened? Your uncle didn’t take you anywhere? He didn’t touch you?”

You stared at her, confused, examining the delicate slope of her nose and the intensity of her eyes. “No. Aegon didn’t take me anywhere. We stayed in the castle,” you answered hastily, trying to appease her unrest. “But he did hurt me. That’s why I don’t want to bathe; it still hurts.”

“What do you mean? How did he hurt you?” The severity of her gaze didn’t lessen, her strong fingers digging into the meat of your shoulders as she said your name. 

“He put his privy part inside-” 

You were unable to complete your sentence as your mother suddenly let out a heart-wrenching cry, pulling you close to her chest as she sobbed. Her outburst took you aback, but instinctively wrapped your arms around her, trying to offer comfort.

“Tis alright, Mama. It’s like when I lost my front tooth,” you said calmly, but she shook her head. 

“No, no, it’s not. Aegon did something to you, something you are far too young to comprehend. Does Alicent’s bitterness for our youth blind her from decency and honor?” 

And with that, you learned what Aegon did to you. 

Rape. 

Your eldest uncle raped you before you knew the meaning of the word—before you inquired where children came from. The tapestry you saw in the hall made sense now, except they were experiencing pleasure while you experienced pain. Your mother told you that what Aegon did was something that should only happen between two people who understood the consequences of sex. 

Your uncle took advantage of your innocence and abused his power over you. He knew you would allow him to do whatever he wanted because you sought his approval like nothing else. 

Your mother told you she also experienced something similar with her Uncle Daemon when she was much older and comprehended what sex was. She recounted how he left a note for her that led to a passage in her chambers just like you did, though he led her out of the safety of the Red Keep to the Streets of Loom and Silk to see her people where he abandoned your mother. You decided then that you didn’t like your Great Uncle Daemon. 

“Did he…” Rhaenyra couldn’t finish her question, tears choking her. “Did he reach completion? Did his… his seed…” 

You stared at her in confusion, still grappling with all she had explained. “Aemond caught us and took me back to his room. I didn’t see any of his seed afterward,” you answered plainly as your mother grimaced at the words. “He hasn’t told anyone. He promised not to. We’ve spent time together reading, and I think he’s becoming my friend.” 

Rhaenyra wiped the water from her face and gave you a forced smile, her mouth wet as she bobbed in acknowledgment. 

“Wonderful. I’m happy for you. You’ve always been a kind girl,” she thickly said, swallowing the excess moisture and smoothing your loose strands of hair. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hmm? I can show you how so you don’t have to become bear with anyone you don’t want to.”

“But it’s going to hurt, mama,” you whined, tugging on her satin gray dress sleeve.

“I know, sweetheart, but you must,” she sighed, stroking you in a gesture of comfort for you or her; you didn’t know. “How about we bring Jace here? He’s due for a scrub.”

Rhaenyra would do anything to control this uncontrollable situation. 

Fidgeting with your hair nervously, you nodded in acquiescence, allowing her to undress and lower you into the water. The warm liquid burned you between your legs like you thought it would as you clawed at your mother’s arms, releasing whimpers with tensed muscles until you adjusted. She comforted you with sweet nothings until you calmed, kissing your forehead and calling for a servant to fetch your brother. 

Jace arrived begrudgingly moments later from his lessons and stripped himself bare. You couldn’t help how your gaze drifted below his waistline as you unwillingly compared it to the memory of Aegon’s. You wondered what it would look like, “aroused,” as your mother called it. It sent an unwelcomed yet not entirely unpleasant tickle into your stomach as he got in with a huff. 

As Rhaenyra declined the assistance of your attendants and Jace’s manservants in bathing her children, she deftly took the supplies from them and dismissed them with a swift gesture. Guiding you on scrubbing your body and washing your hair, she momentarily paused as she came upon the small patches of missing hair. A sense of anxiety gripped you as you felt her fingers inspecting the area, but to your relief, she made no comment and continued as if nothing occurred. 

You appreciated her kindness and understanding more than ever at that moment as Jace mischievously splashed you with soapy liquid, and a water fight between giggling siblings ensued.

The sun casts its faint glow from behind the gray clouds of King’s Landing, rays of light shining as if from the heavens above. Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen stood atop her high balcony with her newborn in her sturdy arms, swaying him gently as she hummed a tune and looked over all the splendor the city offered. It was a land she would one day rule over and her children after her as she smiled at the sleeping bundle near her heart. 

The Princess loved her children dearly, especially the man she had them with. Despite having a name that would strike fear into his foes, he had a gentle heart. She felt her allies severely dwindle when he left. In a place Rhaenyra called home, she began to feel like an outcast. Suppose Alicent’s elaborate charade of parading a newborn child and its mother around the Red Keep was any say. The lengths her old friend would go to humiliate Rhaenyra were limitless. 

She recalled balking at her husband Laenor abandoning his post at the Red Keep to escape the rumors of the court and martial unhappiness to fight in the Stepstones with his father. But as time passed, the idea of leaving became more and more reasonable to Rhaenyra. On the chance that she would leave her home, it would not be for her, but for her children, for her only daughter whose innocence was taken before she knew what it was. It made her ill to understand that a child who was far too young to wonder where children came from would experience such depravity. 

Now more than ever, Rhaenyra questioned her children’s safety.

The Princess didn’t care about the concept of purity in this situation. No one knew what occurred other than the two involved, her and Aemond. If word happened to get out, she would fight for her daughter’s name. She was sure her half-brothers would not tell anyone, as it would be death to Alicent’s and her family’s pious image. It was mutually assured destruction. 

The door to Rhaenyra’s bed chambers opened, and a guard bowed and announced the unexpected visitor. She didn’t invite anyone. At the thought, her heart began to race, and she worried it could have something to do with you as she put Joffrey down. 

“Queen Alicent of House Hightower,” he boomed, bowing his helmeted head as the woman entered. 

Rhaenyra had half a mind to send her away. How dare she come into her quarters after everything that happened? After decades of torment and snide comments, she approaches her old friend with an air of ignorant, entitled kindness. 

“My Queen,” Rhaenyra acknowledged, refusing to extend a bow as she clasped her hand behind her back. “What do I owe the pleasure?” 

Alicent smiled briefly, encircling her fingers over her olive and gold waist as she stepped closer. The pointed star of the Seven glistened around her dainty neck. She swallowed as the Princess studied her with calculating eyes, sensing an unusual aura of hostility.

“Excuse my intrusion, Princess. I needed to speak to you. I know that we’ve had our share of differences as of late,” she began with a deep breath, wringing her digits, “but I believe that we agree on the decency of the realm and the future of our Houses.” 

Rhaenyra raised a manicured brow at the woman before her, and her peony lips curled into a snarl of disgust. She knew the next words that would undoubtedly follow.

“I know you are not blind to the rumors about the plainness of your children-”

“Vile accusations fueled by those lusting for my ruination,” the Princess interrupted, standing behind the golden-colored settee that separated her from the Queen.

Alicent sighed and pursed her lips, refusing to admit her part in the gossip. She knew it was fact, but that didn’t matter now. She could sense a change in the air, could feel the future in which her light slipped away into the darkness. It was a desperate proposition, seeing as Rhaenyra had already made one. 

“I recall in the days prior that you proposed a marriage between your son Jace and my only daughter Helaena. I wish to offer a compromise, your eldest daughter and my eldest son. They would make a fine match. No one would seek to undermine your inheritance if our Houses were united if we allied ourselves,” she rushed, worried that Rhaenyra would interrupt her like before and spoil her dream. 

She desperately wanted to call you her own, to turn things into how they were meant to be. Alicent itched to tear at the skin of her nails as the Princess stewed in the silence. 

Rhaenyra was insulted at Alicent’s desperation and audacity in countering a marriage alliance that her father told her she vehemently refused. One didn’t do these things. Alicent, the woman who spouted about decency and propriety, dared propose a marriage after the atrocity her son committed before the eyes of the Gods.

A scornful laugh erupted in Rhaenyra’s chest as she traced the wooden engravings of the furniture. “Do you truly think me so desperate?” she challenged bitterly, shaking her loosely tied hair. “You approached my negotiations with such repugnance, and now you come asking me if I will sell my only daughter to that wastrel you call a son. No. You’ve already taken too much.” 

Hurt and confusion laced the wrinkles of Alicent’s face, her doe eyes wide with a helplessness Rhaenyra hadn’t seen since they were girls. She felt as if the Queen pierced her heart with her amber orbs, but she swiftly pushed it aside as she recalled the swollen patches of missing hair on your scalp. Distress was not the expectation Rhaenyra had in mind when she denied Alicent, and it briefly perplexed her before the realization dawned. 

“You don’t know,” she enunciated more to herself than the woman in the room. “Of course, he wouldn’t tell you, but why not Aemond?” 

The Queen became distressed at Rhaenyra’s ambiguity and finally began to pull at her cuticles, attempting to distract her from the anxiety and turn it into pain. She wanted to ask what Aemond and Aegon didn’t tell her, but the words stuck in her parched throat.

Rhaenyra let out a sharp breath through her nose as she walked around an armchair and became face-to-face with her forgotten friend. A sense of superiority came over the Princess at finally having the upper hand after years of pining for Alicent’s kindness. At the moment, she had no desire to end the strife between them. 

“Aegon stole my daughter into the night and led her to the ramparts of the Holdfast, where he raped her,” Rhaenyra described with a pointed fury. “Do you know what it’s like to hear your child cry in your arms because someone debased her? She didn’t know the name of what happened to her.” 

Gasping in horror, Alicent covered her lips in shock, bracing one hand on her stomach as if she would vomit. Her son, her firstborn, the child that she loved dearly but also doomed her to eternal suffering, had raped his young niece. Aegon raped the Gods’ Light. If anyone got word of the atrocity committed on the small folk’s favorite Princess, the realm would turn on House Hightower. No one would support Aegon’s claim despite him being a son.

“Who else knows of this?” Alicent hastily asked, her face pale with fear. A small, desperate part of her still wished to continue with the proposal. Maidens were forced into unhappy marriages as a part of life, and this one would be no different. 

With a dismissive snort, Rhaenyra pivoted away from the Queen and strode back to Joffrey’s cradle. It was no shock to her that the Queen had made such a request. Her preoccupation with appearances and how she was perceived always seemed to overshadow genuine empathy, a characteristic that she appeared to have inherited from her father.

“Aemond, and now, you,” Rhaenyra answered as she stroked the button nose of her newborn. “That is the boy you want my child to wed. Her rapist. What do you think my father would do should he find out?” 

Alicent inhaled sharply, nerves winding themselves into a ball as blood trickled into her nail beds. “There is no need to get the King involved. His health is far too precarious. I shall see to it.” 

The Princess stood in the dimly lit chamber, her emotions simmering beneath the surface as she gazed down at Joffrey, nestled amidst the soft white linens that cradled him. It was nearly time for his feeding, and she didn’t want to continue discussing with the wetnurse present, knowing that any whispers or speculation about her daughter would spread like fleas.

“Good. Out of our shared blood, I will spare Aegon from his fate at the Wall. Know that I will be the one to decide where my daughter’s hand goes. You may take your leave,” Rhaenyra dismissed with a flick. 

Alicent stood frozen in place, her wide brown eyes shimmering with tears as her hand instinctively reached for the delicate Seven-Pointed Star pendant resting at the base of her neck. This object symbolized her unwavering devotion to Faith, virtue, and sacred things. However, in this moment of distress, it felt as though the points of the star were searing into her flesh, cutting into her tender palm like a mark of condemnation. The Queen’s fury, initially directed inward at herself for the perceived failure of raising a son she deemed unworthy, swiftly turned towards her eldest child. 

One thing remained unanswered as Alicent swallowed the lump in her throat, inhaling a deep breath before the question came from her plump lips. 

“How does Aemond know? Did he…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, choked at the idea that both her sons were the wickedest men. 

Rhaenyra shook her head scornfully, sneered, and took Joffrey into her arms, refraining from the bitter laugh that threatened to erupt. “He stopped Aegon from reaching completion inside her, but there was no point. He’d already damaged my daughter beyond comprehension. She wets herself at the sight of him and refuses to bathe without her brother.” 

The Princess’s gaze traveled to the floor, a scowl on her face. The recollection of you whimpering as you lowered into the tub played in her mind’s eye. She sat on the lavish settee that separated her from the Queen, exhausted, the effort of standing still too precarious after her labors. 

“That is your decency,” Rhaenyra jeered as Alicent stood with her back ramrod straight. 

The wetnurse entered the Princess’s chambers before she could respond, wordlessly understanding that this was not a subject to discuss in front of the staff.

The act of Aegon fraternizing with maids and indulging in excess was already troubling, but he deliberately destroyed one of the few things that brought Alicent joy. It felt like a personal attack. He shattered your innocence and the light that used to brighten Alicent’s dreams. Although conflicted about the fact that it was her son who committed this act, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of rage inside her, causing her to drop her arms to her sides swiftly.

Sins such as these will not go unpunished, she thought.

“I thank you for your time, Princess. I will see that the matter is duly handled.” With a heavy heart, the Queen bid farewell to her old friend, lingering momentarily at the chambers’ door before leaving. Little did she know that it would be many years before she would set foot in that place again.

As Rhaenyra observed the Green Queen’s departure, her auburn locks cascading gracefully with each subtle movement of her hips, she resolved to assume dominion over Dragonstone. Despite the perils of her leaving, her children’s safety took precedence over her own. The Red Keep was no longer a secure place for any of them. 

Alicent waited until twilight blanketed the castle as she tentatively nursed a goblet of wine, candles flickering in the darkness. She rarely indulged in this vice, but this day required such comfort. She didn’t think one’s world could end in mere moments, yet for her, it did. The future that helped lay Alicent to rest atop her silk pillows was no more. 

After years of tolerating Rhaenyra’s and Viserys’ arrogance, upholding duty, the kingdom, and the law, she felt she was due this one thing. It was not so much to ask. If her old friend were a better ruler, she would understand that marriage to the one who took advantage of you would be a minuscule sacrifice to make for the good of the realm. But Rhaenyra was a good mother, not a ruler—something which Alicent both envied and disliked. 

Downing the last contents of her cup, Alicent stood still in the day’s attire as she nodded to Ser Criston, who returned one in kind. He knew her destination without her speaking it into existence, escorting her the few rooms to her eldest son’s. She didn’t bother the courtesy of knocking as she shoved open the sturdy oak door to reveal her son resting on the mattress near his window, sheets at his thighs and prick in his hand. Bile briefly burned the Queen’s throat, covering her sneered lips to prevent it from spilling.

It wasn’t the first time she caught Aegon pleasuring himself, nor did she think it would be the last as she witnessed him with a pocket portrait of you in his grasp, stroking his glistening member. Alicent felt sick, turning away from the blasphemous sight before her and into Ser Cristion’s armored chest. This is not her son. 

“Fuck!”

The commotion alerted Aegon to their presence as he shouted obscenities, swiftly covering his hips with the discolored sheets. Was he not afforded the same privacy as others? The Keep was his home, too.

“You are in the presence of your Queen Mother. Act as such,” Criston ordered, the whisper of his hand gliding over Alicent’s back. She stepped away from her sworn protector, brown curls loose as she swallowed her tears.

“What have you done now?” she interrogated with a resentful shake of her head, a scowl on her plump lips.

Aegon peered at her confused, mouth opened as he craned his neck upwards. It was hard to tell what his mother implied, seeing as he got into his fair share of mischief alone and with his nephews and niece. “I don’t know what you mean,” he answered honestly, and Alicent believed him. 

She knew her son would survive daily with nothing but firewater and was unsurprised by his dispassionate attitude. This was another one of his jokes, she realized. Aegon was so ignorant of his bullying that it became his nature. He was incapable of understanding the magnitude of how his actions affected others. 

“What you did to the Princess, how you lured her from her bed at some unholy hour and raped a child! She is a child, Aegon!” Alicent roared, her velvet voice rattling in her throat with anger, arms trembling at her sides. “She does not understand the relationship between man and woman, and you took advantage of her. She trusted you!”

Tears pooled in Aegon’s amethyst eyes, his mouth pouting from his mother’s tirade. “She told me I could do it. I didn’t mean to hurt her!” he protested, recoiling. Aegon felt like a child who destroyed a precious vase after his parent told him not to touch it. “Did Aemond tell you? You know he’s lying. He’s still upset about the pig.”

“Another depiction of your cruelty,” the Queen snidely retorted, face curled in disgust. “Rhaenyra will never agree to a union of our Houses after what you’ve done. You’ve ruined all prospects of my happiness. How does it make you feel to treat your mother this way?” 

When her son did not answer, choosing to lower his head and cower, she stormed towards him, causing Aegon to scamper upright in fear and clutch the sheets in his trembling fingers. Without warning, Alicent struck her son across his cheek, pink blooming across his pale skin. Her son cradled his face as tears began to fall, but she roughly yanked Aegon’s hand away, hitting him like before and causing his lip to split as she screamed.

“How does it feel to have destroyed a child’s life? To have effectively decimated all chances of peace with your repulsive desires? She would have solidified your claim. No one would have thought to raise their banners otherwise,” she fumed as her arms gestured wildly, Aegon flinching with her move. “The realm’s blood is on your hands.”

He hiccuped, unevenly breathing as snot dripped into his mouth, stinging his bloodied lip. Aegon rubbed his swollen cheek that would no doubt bear the mark of his mother’s rage the next morn, swallowing his tears, spit, and mucus. 

“I’m sorry, mummy,” he remorsefully expressed, looking down in shame. 

He was only sorry because Alicent found out. Had it not been for her proposition to Rhaenyra, his mother would have never found out.

She sneered, glaring at her son as Alicent abruptly recalled a quote from a book about motherhood she read as a young girl. It stated how deeply a mother’s love for their child went. It was like nothing else and knew no law or pity. How its mere existence dares all things and remorselessly crushes down all that stood in its path.

Alicent could find evidence of herself in her children, no matter their Targaryen queerness or the silver hair and violet sparkle in their eyes. She saw herself in Helaena’s gently sloped nose, Aegon’s round and sleepless eyes, Aemond’s straight-backed bearing, and how his expressive brow always gave away his genuine emotions.

On the worst of days, she reminded herself that she left a legacy—that Viserys didn’t devour every evidence of her girlhood with his cursed blood. She clung to these shards of herself, reflected at her from her children, and it felt like trying to pick up splinters of colored glass from a broken Sept window with her delicate fingers.

The Queen loved Aegon but could not do so as she did for Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, and you. She would drink poison for her eldest but couldn’t embrace him. Alicent would step into dragon fire for him yet refused to say the words he desperately longed to hear. She tried to tell Aegon that she would love him no matter what he did, that he could not stop her from doing so, but the confession refused to roll off her tongue.

“You are no son of mine,” she declared, inhaling a shuddering breath. There was nothing more for her to say, and she left her son, whimpering and sniveling in the confines of his bedroom. 

Aegon stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, his eyes fixated on seeing his mother’s departure. Overwhelming agony and disgrace filled his being, and he found himself utterly wounded beyond words. It cut him deeply to the core that the person who was meant to love and protect him unconditionally could cause him such anguish. He couldn’t fathom how the one stable relationship he had hoped for in a tumultuous life had turned out to be the source of his deepest pain. It seemed as though his mother’s love was limited, only granted to those who could fulfill her expectations.

It seemed as if taking the place of his mother’s favorite wasn’t enough. Aemond also had to take his only true friend. 

Aegon concluded that Aemond must have made the situation far worse than it was in an attempt to direct Alicent’s wrath onto him. No doubt his younger brother did something to displease her. Without Aemond’s interruption, none of this would have happened. His mother wouldn’t be upset with him, Aegon would still have his pride, and you would still be his friend. After all, you were his first.

You were not naive. You comprehended why your mother chose to depart from the Red Keep, and you felt responsible for it all. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the idea of residing on Dragonstone. In the summer, it was a magnificent place. Aegon the Conqueror’s garden was a breathtaking sight that could rival the Keeps, and the perpetual breeze that swept across the island made the high temperatures quite bearable. Nevertheless, you were apprehensive about living there.

It wasn’t your home. 

You were born and grew up here, surrounded by companions and starting a new beginning with your Uncle Aemond. The Keep was all you knew, but it wasn’t all joyful memories. You often faced relentless teasing from your uncles for not having Valyrian features and simply because you were a girl. Despite the challenges, you wanted things to stay the same, even after what Aegon did. When your mother revealed important news during supper, you didn’t complain about your shared feelings, unlike your brothers. 

As the sun dipped below the western horizon, casting a warm yellow-orange glow across the sky, your mother gently reassured you that Aegon would never trouble you again as she tucked you snugly into bed. Rhaenyra, taking no chances, commissioned the palace locksmith to forge a sturdy iron bolt for the tunnel door and generously compensated him for his secrecy. She doubled the guard outside your chambers also to further ensure your safety. 

Knowing that your eldest uncle could not breach your defenses brought you immense relief, finally allowing you to rest your head. However, that sense of peace shattered as you awoke suddenly, a flutter of anxiety gripping your chest.

Your mother arranged to leave King’s Landing within a fortnight, and with your guards becoming more of a presence than before, you worried when you would see Aemond to tell him goodbye. Your mother had expressed her displeasure at you spending time with any of the Queen’s children, and you didn’t want him to think you abandoned him. 

Laying in your soft bed, surrounded by your plush pillows and fluffy duvet, you tossed and turned, battling the idea of if you should do what started this in the first place and sneak through the tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast. You were scared about becoming lost in the vast passages, but you inhaled an encouraging breath and threw your covers off. A shiver ran through your body, whether from the sudden lack of warmth or anxiety; you were unsure as you snatched the lit candle from your bedside table. 

You planned to go into the first door you saw and take yourself from there, which proved problematic when it didn’t budge, no matter how hard you pushed. It sent a surge of panic into your soul as you glanced around the dark hallways, the sounds of rats squeaking and water dripping adding to the storm of fear that formed. You felt helpless, afraid that from the blackness, a monster would emerge and devour you whole, leaving nothing but bones for your parents to find. 

Exhale. Inhale.

The steady breathing of your lungs calmed your nerves enough to think clearly. All you needed to do was find the next exit. Eventually, the tunnels would end. 

As you went to step forward, a rock rolled under your shoe, causing you to stumble briefly before an idea came to mind. You recalled days when you spent outside with Helaena or your brothers drawing on the stone walkways of the Keep, creating pictures of your family, dragons, and all sorts of animals before they were washed away by rain. There was no rain in here. You could use it to mark your path and retrace your steps if lost. 

Dragging the stone along the walls created a line lighter than the rock as you felt it vibrate along uneven surfaces. Finally, you found another door. You moved the indentation with the shove of your shoulder, and it opened, revealing a dark room lit by only the silver moon glow shining through the windows. 

You realized it was the library as you saw the towers of bookcases lining the room and felt a surge of victory. Quickly, you scribbled the word onto the passage wall as you shut the portal, a painting depicting a fierce battle between men and dragons hanging on it. You could navigate yourself from here and stealthily walk the torchlit corridors of the Red Keep until you find Aemond’s quarters and enter as you did before. 

He wasn’t startled this time and only sleeplessly turned on his side to face you, opening his covers, which you crawled in greedily. You stuck yourself to Aemond’s side, pinning his arm uncomfortably between your bodies until he unwedged it with a sigh and put it under your neck. You were silent for a long moment with your hands tucked near your chin, unsure how to tell him you were leaving.

Aemond realized as he stared at the top of his canopy bed, violet eyes focused on the fabric that swirled in the night. The more he got to know you, the more your presence stopped irritating him. He liked that you respected his boundaries despite having different ones. You knew that Aemond preferred silence and hated it when someone took his things or disrupted whatever plans he made for the day, which was why he was so affronted when you decided to make a regular appearance in his life. 

“My mother is taking us to Dragonstone,” you blurted, unable to express yourself otherwise. 

Aemond blinked at you in the darkness and unhurriedly turned, his brows arched. “For how long?” he questioned. 

“I’m not sure,” you softly soughed, gazing downcast. “I think forever. Mother doesn’t think we’re safe after what Aegon did and the rumors that we’re…” You couldn’t finish your thought. It was as if the word bastard was something you could not say aloud. 

Aemond knew what you meant and pursed his thin lips as resentment swirled in his stomach. It felt like he couldn’t have anything that made him happy. Born without a dragon, he was forced to be the odd one out, and now he was losing the only person his age who seemed to care for him. Something or someone would permanently ruin his happiness. In this case, it was his brother. Hatred burned in his heart for Aegon. 

“I don’t think Mama will allow me to visit the Keep. She doesn’t want us to be around Queen Alicent or any of you,” you sullenly confided, melancholy tugging your eyes. “A part of me wants to leave because of Aegon, but the other wants to stay with you.” 

“I don’t need you to be my friend. I don’t need your pity,” Aemond barked, causing you to flinch. It was the only way he knew to be when he was uncomfortable with the notion of vulnerability. 

You sighed, squirming closer to him and putting your palm on his chest. “I don’t feel bad for you, Aemond. You’re my only friend besides my brothers. Why would I want to leave you behind?” 

He didn’t know how to respond, unused to someone other than his mother speaking with candid emotions. 

“I enjoy spending time with you, uncle. You’re the first person I told that I wanted to be like Nymeria and find my Mors Martell,” you confessed, playing with the fabric of his nightshirt between your fingers. He didn’t know why the idea that you needed to find your prince consort vexed him. 

“We all must make sacrifices for family,” Aemond stiffly explained. 

You could only get Aemond to offer you comfort by explicitly telling him. He was locked within his mind’s fortress, refusing to let anything or anyone in. 

“When Gaelithox is big enough, I’ll ride him and visit you. I promised that we would fly together.” Aemond’s purple orbs flicked to you at the reminder of your oath, and after a long stretch of speechlessness, he took your hand. 

“Very well,” he nodded, and you nestled closer to your uncle, resting your temple in the crook of his neck. That was good enough for you. You could rest easy now, but your uncle’s mind still whirred, stuck on one thought. 

“Do you think you’ll ever find your Mors Martell?” he asked, stirring you from your slumber. “I heard my mother talking one day, and she said that there was no place for a woman to have expectations for her husband. She must accept whatever match her father deems necessary.”

You hushed for a long moment, and Aemond thought you might have fallen asleep before you rose in your arms, looking down at him in the darkness. “I’m a Targaryen princess, not some regular noblewoman. My mother said I may choose who I want to marry, whether he be a knight, a dragon rider, or a second son—so long as he’s worthy.”

Seeing the hesitancy in his gaze, his silver-blonde hair loose and draped over the green satin pillows, you leaned down, bestowing a short yet sweet kiss to the top of his sun-spotted nose with a grin. He lay there, shocked, unable to speak or move, his cheeks blooming a vibrant pink that you could see in the darkness as you lay back down, feeling satisfied in your gut. 

“All I ask of him is that he has a good heart, cares for me as I do him, is someone with whom I can trust my secrets, and protects me from my enemies. That is the type of man who’s worthy. Dragon or not, it doesn’t matter,” you sighed contentedly, feeling the claws of sleep overtake you.

You stirred with a blink when Aemond’s hand rose slowly and tentatively touched your cheek, your brown eyes wide and glimmering in the moonlight. He swallowed hard, feeling how pleasant, soft, and warm your skin felt under his fingers.  He pressed his forehead against yours, feeling your breath quicken. Your uncle was hesitant about expressing what he wanted so as not to frighten you. Aegon was experienced with this sort of thing, not Aemond, and understood that you would see him the same way if he went about it like his brother did. 

As unworthy. 

A monster.

As he leaned in closer, he gently ran his thumb across your skin, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers traced the curve of your neck, causing your breath to catch in your throat. Even in the dimly lit room, he could feel the heat of your blush.

“May I?” he asked, voice mumbled as you nodded quickly, a giddy feeling in your heart.

You gently traced your fingers along his chiseled jawline, savoring the unfamiliar intimacy of Aemond’s proximity. It sent a surge of warmth through his stomach, and his heart raced as he tenderly cupped your cheek in his hand. 

When your uncle’s lips finally pressed against yours, he was surprised by how soft and moist they were, pulling swiftly in slight embarrassment with a noiseless click of flesh. He turned away with hot ears and abruptly shut his eyes, feeling like he was about to die simultaneously from bashfulness and excitement.

“Let us sleep,” he tenderly ordered, settling back into his former position. It was too much emotion for one time, and you didn’t want to push him further. Aemond felt ashamed that he was sharing the same bed as his bastard niece, yet her presence had a calming effect on him.

You answered nothing, settling beside him like before as he put his arms around you, sending a flutter in your heart. It was his first kiss, just like yours, and for the first time in many years, he felt proud, fulfilled, happy, and worthy. For the time being, he didn’t worry about what a life without you and your brothers meant for him, focused only on your comforting warmth and scent that reminded him of a cool, bright summer day as you both fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

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I hope y'all enjoyed that last scene because it'll be the last sweet one for a long time! XD

Bedwetting, refusing to take baths/showers, and uncontrollable bladder and bowel movements are all common signs of childhood SA. I didn't add that scene in there just for the shock factor. While I didn't experience those symptoms, they are textbook signs.

Some of you shared your experiences in the comments and said what happened to the OC was validating. I wanted to give y'all a public thank you for sharing your experiences even when you didn't have to, and FUCK YOU to whoever did those things to you. Still, there are so many different ways people react to trauma that there isn't a "right" or "acceptable" way to cope with it. Just remember to get professional help if you're able and find ways to channel those feelings that will benefit you positively. It's a lifelong process that can be exhausting at times, but what I like to tell myself (even if it's morbid) is that if I'm dead, then I can't be anything, and if I'm not anything, then the wrong that person did to me is nothing. I don't recommend that line of thinking to everyone, tho. XD

Thank you again for reading!

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