Chapter Text
Vaegor Targaryen's addiction to control and domination started at a young age. When he was 14, he suffered a blow to the head that resulted in a worse blow when he hit the ground during sparring practice. His nephew Jacaerys was apologetic, his elder brothers Aegon and Aemond laughed and simply watched with that cool, judgmental eye respectively. His elder sister Helaena was the one who fled for help. He had to spend two months bedridden, attended by Maesters and handmaidens while he felt a useless fool who couldn't even feed or bathe himself…until he met Ella. A beautiful ginger girl, full bodied, she was a decent bit older than Vaegor, and was the first one to give him the gift of a hardening since the accident. She came in the late hours of the night, and he wondered if this was intentional after the fact. She blushed at first, and Vaegor thought he would too. That's how he normally reacted when he would brush against Helaena's hand at dinner, or when he locked eyes with a handmaiden, or when his mother would grip his arm or shoulder to tell him off. But no, that is not what happened.
She hung over him, brushing his chest with a wet washcloth, the cool liquid feeling splendid against his body, warmed by the candles of the room. Before he knew it, his trousers were taught, and he was moving to release himself from the discomfort in his delirious state. He freed himself, and whether intentional or not, it felt amazing when the cool water running down his chest reached him there. After that went on a while, and Vaegor’s whimpers slowly got louder, a blush hit her face as Ella supposedly just then noticed. She attempted to move away, but a grab of her wrist and a mutter of an order, "Please me, I beg of it" kept her there. The cold water then coated his loins as he became covered in sweat, and Ella's eyes darkened as she came to his neck to kiss it, the salty sweat flavoring her mouth. He still remembered her sweet voice. "Do you like girls with ginger hair, my prince?" He had muttered an agreement. "I know you powerful Targaryens have some unique customs...would you like me to pretend for you?" He opened his eyes. "W-what?" She raised herself above him, and slowly lowered down, helping him slide into her. He gasped loudly, and she covered his moaning mouth with her hands. "Would you like me to be the Queen for you?"
The Queen. His Mother. Alicent Hightower, second wife of the King Viserys Targaryen, his father. Pious, loving, beautiful ginger hair. Ripe, virile body despite her handful of kids and truthfully, the object of Vaegor’s darkest desires. His mother made it clear from a young age that her children were as much Hightowers as Targaryens, and the customs natural to House Targaryen would not be accepted by her. Ironically, telling a young and curious boy not to look lustfully at his sister or mother whilst wearing a low-cut nightgown and having wine on your breath most likely did not warrant the message she had wished. He had ejaculated for the first time later that night.
He nodded as much as his body allowed. Ella massaged his member, squeezing and grinding as she quieted his moans. If he had the opportunity to say yes, he would have said so enthusiastically, but Vaegor didn't think she cared one way or the other. His hand rose to grip her sides and help her, and after a moment he swatted her hand from his mouth and freed a breast from her shirt, taking it in his mouth. Now she had to quiet her moans, and Vaegor rose and sat her on his lap. She moved to his ear again. "Come for mother. Fill your mother up with that Targaryen seed. Use me, breed me." He then knew that Ella had her own sick, twisted desires, but it mattered not to him. He released aggressively and filled her so much it spilled out. He passed out, and was carefully set back down. Maybe seconds or hours later, he could not tell, he was approached by a ginger haired figure, who began tucking him back into his resting area and covered his member with the bedsheets, but not after giving him a kiss on the forehead, which made him leak more.
He never saw Ella again. More Handmaidens came, one would sit across him in a chair and reveal herself, allowing Vaegor to touch himself to her body. Another would only kiss him, which did enough for Vaegor. One, a blond one, the youngest daughter of House Lannister, she was remarkable. She once made him climax while a Maester was preparing his tools to inspect him a handful of feet away. But never Ella. He wondered if he dreamed of her, until the meeting, that was. Otto Hightower was his grandfather, Alicent's father, and best friend to King Viserys Targaryen, as well as his servant via his position as Hand of the King. He sat down with his grandfather in Otto's chambers, wringing his hands with nervousness. "First matter of discussion, you were bested in combat so bad that you needed to be bedridden." Vaegor shrugged. "Jace has been training long-" Otto cut him off. "That matters not. Any time one of Rhaenyra's children makes one of my grandchildren a fool, it is an affront on all of us." Rhaenyra, Viserys's first child with his first wife. His first choice for heir as well. The King had not reinforced his position for years, but technically, Rhaenyra Targaryen and her sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys were heirs, fathered by her since passed husband Laenor Velaryon. As he thought of this, mapping out his mental family tree, Otto’s voice cut through Vaegor’s thoughts. "You will train with Ser Criston Cole daily now. I want you to be as good of a warrior as Aemond. It should be easy as you have twice the eyes." He muttered the last line. Aemond's injury was the result of an encounter the two sides of the families had suffered against each other years prior. Rhaenyra's children, Jacaerys and Lucerys were the object of vitriolic claims of legitimacy leveled by Haedy's brothers. Vaegor was elsewhere when this occurred, playing in the gardens with Helaena. Angers had since been dissipated, but not after Alicent shouted that she would have an eye of Rhaenyra's in retribution. This led to Rhaenyra and her flock fleeing the capitol of King's Landing for some time. That would change soon however.
"The next order..." Otto's voice was annoyed. "You are coming to the age where your interactions with the...women of the court are becoming more important." Vaegor stared at the floor. "Let me be clear: I am not claiming you are not allowed to interact with these girls. For several reasons, I am not. It is not my station, it would be fighting against your nature, et cetera. But, choose wisely. The woman you...interacted with while healing. Ella. She has been...proudly repeating the fact that she has now slept with two of Viserys's sons." Vaegor stared even more intensely at the ground, and while he knew it didn’t matter, he wondered which brother she had been with. "Rumors persisted that she claimed she took Aegon's virginity...and I allowed it. Perhaps she was trying to take power of the situation after Aegon's perverted gaze landed on her. But now, she is bragging that she has taken two prince's virginities. She is also making asinine claims of your fantasies." Vaegor’s vision started to blur from fear, focusing on the inconsequential cracks in the table. "Involving my daughter.” Vaegor mumbled. "I never-" Otto stood. "Silence. my point is...years ago these claims could have eneded a monarchy. But now? We have a network. Spymasters. Solutions to these issues. If one of your misadventures...of any orientation...becomes an issue, you come to me, and they will be dealt with." Vaegor nodded slowly. "Come back here tomorrow morning. Your intelligence requires cultivation, and I don’t want to see it go to waste. That is all." Vaegor arose, lightheaded. He was confused what has even happened, but years later, looking back, he could tell. Otto was all but saying "Aegon only cares about sex, Aemond only cares about fighting. You have enjoyment of both but need your interest in higher things encouraged so you do not become consumed like your brothers." Looking back now, days before his nineteenth nameday, Vaegor had realized how much Otto had saved him. He was nowhere near as good with a blade as Aemond, or as charismatic and beloved as Aegon, but he had considerable skill in both regards now and was more knowledgeable of the histories and warfare tactics than both combined.
Now Vaegor was a man of ten-and-eight, and he had to deal with three elder siblings of varying value. Vaegor, Aegon, Aemond and Helaena sat at the dinner table with their mother, and surprisingly, their father. King Viserys could not usually attend such trivial meetings, but he fought through his sickness for this meal. The two boys present watched the handmaidens as they placed food upon the table, though Vaegor was much more subtle. Alicent noticed both of them, scoffing. After they began eating, Aegon's obnoxious voice rang out. "So, Vae...how are you liking manhood? Your next name-day is soon, it will be a full year of your misadventures!" Alicent smacked his arm. "Do not speak of such things at the table." Vaegor fought a smirk. He liked when his mother was commanding. Heleana spoke up, suddenly paying attention to the conversation at hand. "Are you excited for the celebration, brother?" Vaegor nodded. "I am, yes!" He thought to himself. The handmaidens are going to love giving me gifts. Viserys mumbled weakly. "You should be...Rhaenyra, and Daemon will be in attendance hopefully! As well as the Velaryons." Alicent turned in surprise. "I told you, I invited the whole realm! They should be arriving any day!" Viserys said. Vaegor smiled at the idea of the lovely Nyra returning home...but if the Velaryons were to arrive, it would be difficult looking Rhaenys and Corlys in their eyes. He needed to relieve stress.
The next morning Vaegor sat in his chambers, nude, enjoying the cool air. He admired his body in his full length mirror, his pale hair wavy and messy, reaching his shoulders. He attempted to straighten it out with his hands, and looked over his gently scarred body, results of vigorous training and encounters. One specific gnarly scar in his shoulder was a gift from a bandit. One day when he was 16, Vaegor elected, without the consent of any member of the royal family, to assist the City Watch in a sprawling melee. A sect of thieves had planned an ambitious robbery, and it had resulted in a handful of deaths. Vaegor killed his first man. He thought he would feel something, hoped even. He didn’t care if it was sorrow or glee, if the feeling tormented him or rejuvenated him. He felt naught. Simply put, a Targaryen is not taught to value a lowborn life. He slid his sword through the back of a man, easily, only to turn and be struck down by a slash to his shoulder. He was saved by City Watch Commander Harwin Strong who bashed his assailant's face with a mace before hoisting Vaegor to safety. He still considered it a worthy endeavor, however, because he saved a commoner who was paralyzed in fear, liable to be slaughtered. He felt good saving her, and he felt even better when she was very appreciative and skilled with her mouth when Vaegor returned to greet her a week or so later. He thought of her.
Her name was...Lucinda, Liviera, something foreign. He hardened. He turned to his bed where a woman lay, face down, ripe ass exposed. He knew this one's name. Mya. Dark long hair, flirtatious, adventurous. When he felt especially daring he sought her out, and she was always glad to get out of her Handmaiden duties. He approached as he touched himself. He crept onto the bed gently, and began kissing at her feet, then her ankles. She moaned gently in her sleep, but she definitely awoke when Vaegor began tasting her ass. She shot up, pushed against him instinctually, and whimpered. "Well...good morning my pri-oh, fuck..." Vaegor continued his work, grabbing a nearby vial of lubricant. He began applying it to her hole with one hand while he fingered her pussy with the other hand. "You are so fucking...Gods you're fucking amazing, my prince. Please take me. He rose higher and began pumping into her ass as she moaned, gripping the bedrests. She pushed back against him further, and Vaegor enjoyed it as he looked out over the sea through the large window next to the bed. The rhythmic wet slap of skin rang out proudly. "Round...ruh...round three, huh? W-what's got you so excited?" Mya clearly was struggling to not break down, and Vaegor was proud of it. He normally couldn't get her like this. "Oh, nothing much." He sped up slightly as a ship flying the banner of House Targaryen came into view, striding into the harbor. As the mental image of his mature older half-sister Rhaenyra entered his mind, bent over a bed, whimpering and restrained by him, begging for more. "I have family visiting." She whimpered. "How exciting." She reached back and rubbed his abs. "Would you like me to pretend for you?" He shook his head, grabbed her hand and reached for her other, holding her back as he fucked. "All I need is you, Mya." He thought of Rhaenyra screaming in lust as he filled Mya, and she came as well. "Only you."
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Daemon sat in his quarters aboard the Dreadclaw, his nautical vessel. His brother Viserys had been clear, no Dragons were to be rode to the celebration, as not to encourage rumors of hostility. He had more and more rage in his bones as they neared King's landing, and he needed to deposit it. He approached the bed where a resting Rhaenyra layed, his darling niece and wife. He remembered how good it felt to wed Visery's daughter after her husband died, forever winning their competition to see who could best the other. He approached his wife who was over a decade his younger, and took the covers off her sleeping form. He began massaging himself, and he crawled onto the bed. "Fuck, Daemon!" Was the response he heard when he entered her ass roughly. "You know you love it" he growled. It was hard for her to disagree. For years, it's been like this. It's hard for her to claim he can't be rough, or be perverse in their relationship when the entire reason they formed a union was born of lust. He was so much older and experienced, her father didn't like him. It was a tale as old as time. The fact that Daemon found it more and more difficult to reach hardness in recent years....why not? Why not just let him have his fun, even if she hurt. It wasn't like it would result in any unwanted heirs if he migrated locations, they had tried to produce one enthusiastically to no avail. She already had two sons, so Rhaenyra knew her equipment was fine. As the Dreadclaw pulled into the King's Landing Harbor, Rhaenyra lay there as Daemon grunted.