mitzukiyapping

[mitzukiyapping]

A Dragon Queen’s Council - Part II.

Summary: The queen is pregnant. So, Aera made it her mission to help her, to ease her worries. And so, it was also her duty to overlook what she’s eating, that wouldn’t harm the baby.

Pairing: platonic! Cersei Lannister x fem!targaryen!oc, platonic!Jaime Lannister x fem!targaryen!oc, platonic! Tyrion Lannister x fem!targaryen!oc

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: tbh, none

Author’s note: this story is also soon available on ao3!!

prologue || part I.

It began on a quiet afternoon.

The sun warmed the stone corridors of the Red Keep, and through the arched windows drifted the lazy scent of blooming rose trees from the gardens below. Queen Cersei, ever regal in gold-threaded green, sat upon a cushioned chaise in her solar, one hand gently draped over her stomach, her other cradling a goblet of watered wine she had no intention of drinking.

She looked tired.

It has been three months since the wedding, and not even a handful of weeks since the maesters confirmed the pregnancy of Queen Cersei. At first it were only rumors, whispered between maids who passed the halls. But, ever since the announcement, everyone was trying to be as silent as possible around her.

Her golden hair was twisted high, her face pale. Even the usual tight line of her mouth had softened, just slightly, with the weight of exhaustion. And seated beside her, like a shadow of light, was Aera. The seven-year-old princess sat on a stool she had clearly dragged from across the room herself, her legs swinging gently as she peered up at the Queen with wide violet eyes.

"I read that ginger helps with sickness in the morning," Aera offered, voice soft, careful. "And mint tea. I made some. The kitchen ladies helped me." Cersei looked down at her, one brow rising. "Did they?"

Aera nodded eagerly. "Yes. I asked them what my mother might have liked too. She was pregnant with my little sibling until... well." She shrugged, looking away briefly, then back up with a soft smile. "I wanted to help."

Something flickered across Cersei's face then. Suspicion? Confusion? A ghost of memory? It passed quickly. "I didn't take you for the mothering type," she said dryly. Aera tilted her head. "I'm a dragon, not a monster."

"Not yet," Cersei muttered, sipping the tea. But she drank it. And when she didn't spit it out, Aera gave a proud little smile, as if she had conquered a kingdom with leaves and sweetness.

—

They made a habit of it.

Aera, slipping into the solar in the mornings under Gregor's watchful eye, bringing odd little gifts: a silk pillow she said was "good for the back," a small pouch of lemon and dried rose petals "to calm the nerves," and once, even a wooden toy lion cub with wings. "For the baby," she said.

Cersei snorted at the sight of it. "What a terrifying creature."

"I thought it looked like what he might be," Aera said with a mischievous grin. "A lion, but born in a dragon's den."

_

And of course, Tyrion and Jaime were not far behind.

"You're either grooming her," Tyrion said to Jaime over a goblet of wine, "or she's grooming you." Jaime, leaning against a column, arms crossed, said, "No, she's grooming Cersei. That girl's going to rule half the court before she reaches ten."

"Seven and a half," Tyrion corrected. "And already more dangerous than a whole battalion of Unsullied."

"She's just being kind."

"Kindness is the most effective disguise of all." The younger man stated with serious. They both turned just in time to see Aera walk past them in the hall, trailed by a sleepy maid and a sullen Gregor, holding a basket full of lavender sachets and a small leather-bound book titled The Midwife's Companion: A Tonic for Every Month.

She gave them both the sweetest smile imaginable.

"Good day, uncles." Tyrion grinned. "Planning to deliver the baby yourself now?" At the question her face shine with glee. "I've already read five books," she said matter-of-factly. "I'd do better than most maesters."

Jaime gave a small laugh. "If you ever decide to become a maester, let me know. I'll lend you my sword for the graduation ceremony." Aera nodded. "I'll knight you for it." She then turned on her heels and continued down the corridor, humming softly.

Jaime waited until she rounded the corner before saying, "We're all going to die, aren't we?" Tyrion drained his wine and said, "Oh, undoubtedly."

—

The solar was warm with the scent of mint and rosewater. Cersei reclined on her cushioned chair, the sunlight filtering through sheer green curtains casting patterns over her golden hair. Across from her, perched like a hawk, sat Princess Aera, her small fingers flipping through pages of a thick book laid open on her lap.

"So," she said, tapping a page, "you shouldn't wear anything too tight around your ribs. It affects your breathing and could upset the baby." Cersei blinked at her. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Aera replied with great authority. "And your feet. They're going to swell. That's normal. But don't ignore it. Elevate them. I have a step stool if you'd like." Cersei stared. "You brought a stool?" The girl nodded happily. "I painted little dragons on it."

"...Of course you did."

Behind them, the maid stood awkwardly with a tray of sweet biscuits. Ser Gregor, the Queen's new favorite threat, loomed in the corner, looking confused but dangerous, as always. That was when the doors slammed open.

"Where in the bloody seven hells is—" King Robert halted, one hand still on the door frame. His eyes swept the room, taking in his pregnant wife seated smoothly on a chair before a very smug looking seven year old Targaryen, who sat there like she owned the place. A big book, who looked like it had seen better days, laid opened on the girls lap. And Gregor Clegame, the mountain, looking like he was guarding a secret garden tea party.

"...What," Robert said, "am I looking at?" Aera looked up brightly. "Oh, hello, Your Grace. We were just going over second-trimester essentials." Cersei, never missing a beat, sipped her tea. "She's rather informed, actually." Robert blinked. "You're meant to be in your room."

"I had permission," Aera lied smoothly. "From who?" he asked, suspicious. She smiled. "From me." Gregor made the faintest noise, like he was choking on air. Robert let out a long, tired groan and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You're seven!"

"Seven and three quarters," she corrected.

He opened his mouth again but said nothing. He had once gutted a man for calling him fat — and now a tiny dragon girl was politely explaining uterine positioning to his Queen while sipping lemon water.

"This is my life," Robert muttered, looking to the ceiling like the Seven would give him mercy. They didn't. "And Your Grace?" Aera added sweetly. "What now?"

"You really shouldn't interrupt. Stress isn't good for the baby." Robert turned slowly to leave. "I'm going to the godsdamned feast hall," he grunted. "Where the wine doesn't talk."

"You shouldn't drink so much either," she called after him. "It affects virility!" The door slammed shut. Silence. Cersei burst out laughing. "Did you just insult the King's—"

"I was helping," Aera said, folding her hands primly. "He'll thank me later." Cersei shook her head, chuckling into her tea. "Seven save us all."

—

It began innocently, like always.

Ser Jaime Lannister had done what he always did after his early patrol - wander into the Queen's solar to check on his sister, dodge responsibility, and steal a peach or two. What he didn't expect was to be met by a very stern Princess Aera, perched once more on her velvet stool, parchment in hand, brows furrowed in deep, scholarly concentration. "Ser Jaime," she said before he could even open his mouth. "You've been very irresponsible."

"...What?"

"You're the Queen's twin. That makes you legally, emotionally, and ethically 25% responsible for her pregnancy." She shut the parchment close. Her eyes glaring at the knight. He blinked. "Is that so?"

"Yes," she said seriously. "And as such, I've made you a list." She handed him a scroll she got out of nowhere. Jaime unrolled it slowly, eyes scanning the thick, neat handwriting. His brows rose.

"Foods the Queen Should Not Be Allowed to Consume Under Any Circumstances."

"Wine? Fried eel? Honeyed locusts?" he asked, reading aloud. "Where in the seven hells would she get honeyed locusts?" He looked at her in confusion, trying to think of ways where his sister could get that from. "I don't know," Aera said, "but they're dangerous. And slippery. Also, no goat cheese. Or swordfish. Or overly salted pies. My mother always had a way of getting it from somewhere."

Cersei, from her seat, looked bored and murderous. "Tell her to leave." She practically whined, to feed up with the food rule. "She has a second list," Jaime said, smirking. "I do," Aera replied, pulling it from her stack like a maester unveiling divine scripture.

"Herbal Tea Alternatives to Alleviate Swelling and Mood Swings."

Cersei sat up. "Mood swings?" She was offended. "You threw a chalice at a maid yesterday," Jaime said, remembering what happened the day, shuddering slightly. "She oversteeped my tea!"

"And I'm trying to fix that," Aera added brightly. "See? Chamomile. And lemon balm. It's known to calm nerves. I read about it in—" But the girl got interrupted by the queen. "I will put your dragon egg in the river." The princess took a deep breath before continuing. "That's rude," Aera now said calmly. "Also, I don't have it anymore. It hatched like two weeks ago. Haven't told anyone yet." Jaime gave a strangled laugh, pressing a hand to his mouth.

Aera narrowed her eyes at him. "You laugh, but you haven't even been helpful. Did you deliver the prenatal pillows I asked for?" Immediately the smile fell from his face. His eyes narrowed down at her. "I'm a knight, not a nursemaid." He tried to defend himself, but Aera ignored him. "You're a brother. Which, again, makes you 25% responsible."

"Don't let Tyrion hear that," Jaime muttered. "He'll start charging the crown for the remaining 50%." As if summoned, Tyrion peeked into the room. "Oh gods, she's still at it?" Aera then waved a new scroll in his direction. "You're on this one too." A smug smile overcame Jaime's face. "I knew I felt my ears burning," he said, walking in. "Tell me, what crimes have I committed now?"

"You made Cersei laugh too hard during a coughing fit yesterday," Aera said, handing him the "List of Visitation Restrictions During Third Trimester." Tyrion examined it. "You put me below the dog that lives in the kennels?" The youngest Lannister was offended. "He's quieter," Aera only replied.

Jaime doubled over laughing, bracing himself on the windowsill. Even Cersei chuckled despite herself. At that exact moment, King Robert burst in. Again. And stopped. Again. "...Nope," he said, turning around before Aera could speak. "Not this time. I'm going to the training yard. Where swords don't give medical advice."

As the door slammed shut behind him, Aera turned to the Lannister twins and Tyrion with a regal nod. "You're all welcome." Cersei picked up a cushion and threw it at her. Aera ducked. Tyrion caught it midair and made it a hat.

—

Now, the royal kitchens of the Red Keep had faced many terrors over the years. Ravenous kings. Drunken knights. Even Queen Rhaella once setting a pudding on fire during a fit of royal rage. But none... none had ever terrified them as much as Princess Aera on a Mission.

She burst through the kitchen doors just after noon, with the dramatic swirl of a red velvet cloak and the confidence of a seasoned warrior. Behind her waddled Beauty, her snow-white dragonling, wearing what could only be described as a custom leash made of embroidered silk, trailing behind like the world's most judgmental lapdog. His wings fluttered every few steps, and he sneezed fire twice before they'd even made it to the bread counter. Behind them both came Gregor Clegane, ducking to get through the door, glowering like a thundercloud made of muscle. The kitchen staff froze.

"Stop everything!" Aera called. "Where's the cook?" She stood there like a tiger ready to pounce onto its prey. "Wh-which one, Your Grace?" a terrified baker whispered. "All of them!"

Within minutes, five very nervous chefs were lined up beside the hearth, each holding ladles like shields and smelling vaguely of panic and rosemary. Aera marched before them like a general before battle. Beauty growled softly, sniffing a pan of roasted duck. "I've been informed," she said, pacing, "that the Queen—who is in her delicate and most treasured condition—has been suffering from indigestion." The chefs glanced at each other. No one spoke. Beauty snorted smoke at a turnip.

"I have questions," Aera said. "And I expect honesty. Because if I find one more salted pie in her chambers, there will be consequences." She pointed a finger. "You," she said, gesturing to the youngest cook. "What herbs are in the stew today?"

"B-bay leaf, parsley, and- " He barely was able to finish his sentence when he got cut off by an annoyed Aera. "No ginger?" Her brow furrowed as she glared at him. "We - we ran out..."

"Unacceptable." Aera turned to Gregor. "Ser Gregor, remind me to write a royal decree about ginger imports." Gregor only grunted. Aera spun back around to face the nervous chefs. "Where's the sweet wine you were supposed to substitute with fig water?"

Another cook looked like she might faint. "We—figs aren't in season yet, Your Grace." The glare of the princess was now on the woman. "Then substitute with pear. Or apple. Or—just anything that won't poison the Queen's liver!" Beauty, delighted by the raised voices, tried to pounce on a loaf of bread. The head cook screamed. "Stand down, Beauty," Aera said absently, patting his head like one would a misbehaving cat. He flopped down by the hearth, smoke curling lazily from his nostrils.

"Now," she continued, unrolling another list she got from Gregory's arms, who held countless other scrolls, "we're going to go over the entire pantry and mark what's safe, what's dangerous, and what's so spicy it might make the Queen breathe fire before the babe does." She paused dramatically. "And yes. I will be tasting everything."

By the time the inspection was done, five pies had been confiscated, two wine bottles shattered "by accident" (Beauty's tail), and a loaf of bread declared treasonous for being too dry. Aera was seated on a flour barrel, eating an entire lemon tart while explaining the benefits of dandelion tea. Gregor stood guard, occasionally blocking the dragon from setting things on fire. Beauty had managed to steal a leg of lamb and was now gnawing on it under the spice rack.

And the cooks? They were whispering prayers to every god in every language, all while promising to write down everything Aera suggested, twice. She finished her tart, wiped her mouth, and stood tall. "I expect a full menu revision by tomorrow," she said with a proud smile. "This is a royal pregnancy. Not a pub feast."

As she marched out of the kitchen, dragon leash in hand and Gregor trudging silently behind, one of the sous-chefs finally dared to whisper, "...The Queen might give birth to a child, but that child's already acting like their mother."

[mitzukiyapping]

A Dragon Queen’s Council - Part I.

Summary: After being imprisoned in her ‘room’ for three weeks, she was finally given her old room back. Not out of kindness, that’s what she knows. During the wedding of the new king, Robert Baratheon, and his new wife, Cersei Lannister, she got company by funny visitors. Together the three went on a mission to gossip about the lords that were in the castle tonight.

Pairing: platonic! Tyrion Lannister x fem!targaryen!oc, platonic! Jaime Lannister x fem!targaryen!oc

Word count: 2.8k

Warning: underage drinking

Authors note: this is my first time writing for got, so I hope you like it. Later on, if I write it, it won’t follow the series. It’s mostly just going to be an AU. And English isn’t my first language!

prologue || Part II.

The halls of the Red Keep no longer echoed with screams, but silence could be just as loud. The princess's name was whispered like a curse among the maids. Afraid of angering the new king, Robert Baratheon, if he heard her name.

Gone were the banners with the dragon symbol of house Targaryen. They had been stripped and burned, along with the body of the former king. Black and gold now hung in their place, the symbol of house Baratheon, antlers raised in triumph.

She passed them with her eyes downcast, one hand brushing the cold stone walls she had once run past with her younger brother, not even a week ago. Nothing smelled the same. No cinnamon from the kitchens, no burning lavender from her mother's quarters. Only steel, sweat, and the sharp sting of lemon oil used to clean away the blood.

She had not been given her old rooms. Robert had made sure of that. Instead, she was placed high in the Maiden vault, a tower meant to house ladies of courtly virtue, and more importantly, to keep them inside. Her windows were tall, but narrow. Her door thick. And outside it stood Ser Gregor Clegane.

The Mountain.

Twice the size of any man she had ever seen. Shadow-faced and stone-voiced, he spoke rarely and glared often. The first time she'd opened her door to ask for more ink and parchment, he had only stared at her. "You may write," he'd said, flatly. When she asked if she could visit the godswood, he answered with silence.

It wasn't until three days into her strange captivity that Robert came to see her again. Not alone, he would never come alone when it comes to her, but accompanied by Lord Eddard Stark and Lord Varys, the Spider. Aera sat on the cushioned window ledge, legs tucked beneath her, hair brushed back, wearing a pale blue gown that once belonged to Queen Rhaella. It had been found in the ruins of her mother's old wardrobe, and it was the only thing that still smelled like home.

"Still alive, are you?" Robert grunted. She didn't rise. "Should I not be?" Robert narrowed his eyes, but there was no fire in them today. Only something heavier. Tired. "You've been quiet," he said. "Too quiet."

"I was told that's how prisoners should behave." Eddard shifted beside him, arms crossed, his face unreadable but not unkind. Varys, ever smiling, made a small noise of amusement. "She's sharp," Varys said softly. "Like her mother." Aera tensed up upon hearing her mother being talked about. The three man noticed.

Robert ignored the bald man. His gaze fixed on her like he was trying to decide what, exactly, she was. "I don't trust you," he said at last. "Not yet. Maybe never. But you haven't tried to run away yet. Haven't made demands. Haven't screamed or cried or begged for a crown."

"I don't want a crown," Aera said quietly her voice softly but broken. "I just want to live."

A strange expression flickered across Robert's face. Regret, maybe even something that he remembered. For a moment, she thought he might say something. But then he grunted again, as if that was answer enough. "You'll stay here. For now. Under watch."

"Under the Mountain?" she asked, with a glance at the door. She didn't hide the bitterness in her voice. "If he keeps you alive, I don't care if you hate him," Robert snapped. "You're still a Targaryen. And Targaryens burn people."

"I've never lit a candle," she said coldly. Robert actually laughed. It was short, but real. "She's got fire, Ned," he muttered. "More than I thought."

"I told you she was different," Eddard said, finally stepping forward. He looked down at Aera with the solemn eyes of winter. "You are not your father. But you are your blood. It's a hard thing to live with. Even harder to outlive."

Aera didn't look away. "Then what am I to be?" Robert raised his brows. "That's the question, girl." He turned to go. "For now, you'll be raised here. Fed. Watched. If you behave, maybe I'll let you live in your old room."

"And if I don't behave?" she asked. Robert's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then the Mountain does more than watch." The door slammed behind them.

⸻

That night, Aera didn't sleep. She sat by the window, watching the stars rise behind the towers of the city that once worshipped her house, her family. Somewhere beyond the horizon, her mother and Viserys were in hiding. Somewhere further still, maybe her dragon egg would one day crack open, and something greater would return. But for now, she was alone. A ghost in her own home. And the Mountain stood at her door.

____

It had been three weeks since the bells rang through King's Landing.

Three weeks since the wine flowed and whores danced and gold cloaks filled the streets with laughter and blood in equal measure. The city had not seen such joy since before the war — since before the dragons screamed their last.

It was a wedding, they said. A time for celebration. Robert Baratheon, the Usurper King, had taken a lioness to wife.

Cersei Lannister had arrived at the Red Keep draped in silk and suspicion, her eyes colder than the winds that rolled down from the Vale. Her father had sent her with wagons of gold, and servants trained to smile. Her brothers came too — the golden twins, and the dwarf who watched more than he spoke.

And in the quiet, between the cheers and feasts and shifting banners, Aera was moved. Without ceremony. Without warning. She'd been sitting in the Maidenvault, combing out her hair with a silver-handled brush, a silent gift from Lord Stark, when Ser Gregor arrived.

"You're to come," he said. No more, no less. Nervously she followed him through the narrow halls and secret turns, her unhatched egg protected between her arms. Steps echoing until they reached a door she hadn't seen in what felt like another life. Her room. Her real room.

Not some tower meant for ghosts or virgins, but the chamber where she'd slept beneath stars painted on the ceiling. Where her mother once kissed her forehead goodnight. Where the windows faced the land behind the houses of folks, and the curtains had once been embroidered with dragons dancing in fire. Now the dragons were gone. The curtains were plain. But it was still hers.

She stepped inside slowly, as if expecting the stone to crumble. Everything was different than she remembered. The walls still bore the faint smoke stains from the fire — not her fire, but the soldiers' torches when they'd searched for gold and secrets. The bed had been changed. The carpets too. But the fireplace remained, and the old crack in the ceiling where a sword had once swung wild.

"Why?" she asked, turning back to Gregor. He stood like a wall. "Orders."

"From Robert?" He said nothing. But she saw it, in the slight twitch of his jaw. Not Robert. Cersei. Of course. It was no kindness. No gift of mercy. Cersei Lannister did not want the girl with silver hair beneath her roof. Not under the same tower. Not within breath's reach of her future sons.

Better to give her the ghost chamber. Let her haunt her own blood-soaked memories. Let her choke on what was taken from her. Aera stood in the center of the room and turned slowly. Everything felt wrong, but... there was something else. Beneath the dust and silence. A hum. A whisper of power, tucked in the stones.

Her fingers trailed along the mantle, where once her father had set her dragon egg. She laid it inside, careful not to break it. It hadn’t even stirred. But sometimes, at night, it had glowed, just faintly, like something sleeping deep within.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared out of the closed window. And for the first time since the rebellion, she breathed.

⸻

Later that evening, as the castle began to quiet, Aera received a visitor. He knocked once. She did not speak. He entered anyway. Tyrion Lannister, the shortest man she ever saw and wearing a half-smile that gave away nothing.

"Well, well," he said. "A dragon princess in exile. Back in her perch. How poetic." Aera didn't rise nor did she react emotionally to his choice of words. "This is no perch. It's a cage with nicer curtains. "He laughed. "And yet, you're still here."

"What do you want, Lannister?"

"To see if the ghost girl was real," he said. "There's talk, you know. That Robert keeps you alive only so the realm remembers what could have been. A living lesson. A silent dragon."

Aera's mouth twitched. "He must enjoy irony."

"Oh, he doesn't enjoy much of anything anymore," Tyrion said, strolling to the wine pitcher she hadn’t noticed till now. "Except drinking. And maybe Cersei—though I doubt that it will last." She didn't reply. Tyrion poured two cups he magically pulled out of his cloak, set one by her side.

"No poison," he added. "Though if I wanted to kill you, I'd simply let you marry a nobleman and die slowly of boredom." Her voice was cold when she responded "I'd rather marry poison."

"You're not the only one." He countered back as he purred wine into each of the cups. Aera, seated cross-legged on the rug before the cold hearth of her reclaimed room, was beginning to suspect that the walls themselves whispered after what seemed like hours of drinking the wine.

She was half-listening to one of them, either the wall or Tyrion Lannister, sprawled on her bed, mid-way through a story about a Dornish woman and a bowl of grapes he got out of the nowhere, when the door handle jiggled.

Tyrion stopped. Then came a thud. A muttered curse. Then, “Seven bloody hells - he’s asleep?” Aera stood slowly as the door creaked open, revealing a golden flash of armor and a glare that could cut steel. Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer. Lord Tywin’s heir. The golden twin. And he was glaring at the unconscious, and unknown, guard slumped against the wall beside her door.

“Of course he’s asleep,” Aera said, tone cool. “What else is a sworn protector for, if not naps?” Jaime’s eyes flicked to her, surprised. “You’re awake.” At that she on,y raised her eyebrow. “She doesn’t sleep,” Tyrion called lazily from the bed. “She haunts. Didn’t you hear?”

“You’re in her room?” Jaime asked. “I was bored. She was bored. The wine’s better here with her. And her walls are gossiping.” Jaime stepped in, looked between his brother and the silver-haired girl with narrowed eyes. “Have you both lost your minds?”

Aera grinned, her cheeks as red as roses from the alcohol. “Probably.” There was a beat of silence before Tyrion sat up. “You’re late, brother. I thought you would have left feast even sooner. You know, the one where half the nobles pretend to love Cersei and the other half pretend to love Robert.”

“I was looking for you,” Jaime muttered. “Didn’t think I’d find you curled up in a dragon’s den.” Aera tilted her head. “I’m the safest one in the Keep. Who would dare kill the king’s prize ghost?” Her voice full of pride. “True,” Tyrion muttered, sipping on his cup. “He likes his trophies.”

They should’ve stayed. Should’ve let the silence settle again. But Tyrion had already risen. Jaime was already pacing. And Aera? She walked to her window, glanced out at the flickering lights of the feast still raging below. The music had started again. Laughter echoed faintly.

“I know a way down,” she said without turning. Tyrion raised a brow. “Of course you do.”

“You’ve snuck out before?” Jaime asked, folding his arms.

She turned, a soft smirk tugging at her lips. “You think I don’t know this castle better than my own skin?” The boys looked at one another. Jaime gave the faintest shake of his head. Tyrion grinned. Moments later, the trio slipped out, the two still having their cup in their hands. Past the sleeping guard, through a half-hidden servant door, down narrow stairs slick with condensation and cobwebs. Aera led them like she had been born in the stone. Like she belonged in the darkness of old secrets.

And when they emerged, just outside the great hall, the feast still roaring behind iron doors, Tyrion looked around and whispered, “We should hire you.” Aera snorted. “You couldn’t afford me.”

Inside, the court was loud — nobles red-faced from drink, ladies fanning themselves with gold-trimmed silks, and Cersei seated like a bored statue beside her already drunk husband. Aera kept to the shadows, the two beside her like her guards. That didn’t stop her from whispering.

“See that lord with the red sash?” she said, just beside Tyrion’s ear. “He’s been hiding coin in the Sept’s catacombs. Thought I wouldn’t hear his squire talking about it in the laundry chamber.” Tyrion raised a brow. “Blackmail?” - “Insurance,” she said sweetly.

“And the maid with the braid? By the wine?” she added, eyes flicking. “Poisoned the last three cups she served. All her targets? Coincidentally owed debts to House Lannister.” Tyrion looked delighted. “You are the most dangerous thing in this castle.”

“Not yet,” she said, “but I’m practicing.”

“What about him?” Jaime muttered, nodding to a thick-chinned lord slumped near the hearth. “Oh,” Aera murmured, “he talks in his sleep. Said some rather unfortunate things about Robert’s mother last night. And I might have told the kitchen boys to repeat it to the wrong ears.”

“You’re a menace,” Jaime said, trying not to grin. “And you’re late to realize it.”

Her silver-blonde hair shimmered faintly in the dim torchlight, and her expression, mischief incarnate, was aimed squarely at Lord Halmer of the Reach, who stood across the room, drunk and laughing too loudly at something he didn’t understand.

“Tell me again,” Tyrion whispered, eyes gleaming, “is it true he once tried to bribe a septa to say he was a Targaryen bastard?” Aera leaned back against the pillar, sipping from her goblet. “That, and he claims he was kissed by a dragon egg. Claims he still has the scar. I’ve seen it. It’s a freckle.”

Jaime chuckled. “Poor man. I almost feel sorry for him.” Aera smiled. “He once asked if he could ‘help me repopulate the line.’ I told him he couldn’t even repopulate his own hairline. They all laughed. Until—

“I see the dragons still breathe fire.”

The words weren’t loud. But they echoed in their bones. Aera froze mid-sip. Tyrion nearly dropped his cup. Jaime blinked, shoulders tensing as if instinctively expecting a blade at his back. Because Eddard Stark was standing directly behind them. How long he’d been there was anyone’s guess. He looked at the three of them with the kind of calm that was infinitely worse than rage.

Aera turned slowly, not even a flicker of guilt on her face. Instead, she took a step forward with all the grace of someone who owned the room now. And then, to everyone’s surprise, she turned toward Lord Halmer, raised her voice loud enough for half the hall to hear, and said sweetly:

“My lord, forgive me. Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion dragged me away, demanded I tell them every secret I know about the noble houses. I resisted, of course, but… they insisted.”

Tyrion gaped. “Traitor.” Jaime just blinked, fighting a smile. “I told you she’d feed us to the wolves if it meant saving face.” Eddard raised a brow, arms crossed as he watched this little theater unfold.

Lord Halmer, who had barely noticed the group before, now looked absolutely thrilled to be the center of attention. “Ah! No offense taken, Your Grace! If I’m the subject of court curiosity, well - I suppose I must be important enough to be mocked!”

“Oh no,” Aera said gently, “we weren’t mocking you. I was only explaining your theory about your noble birth and the dragon egg scar. A very noble scar.” Tyrion turned and walked straight to the wine table. Jaime looked up at the ceiling like he was praying for it to collapse. Lord Halmer turned a bright shade of red.

And Eddard? He gave a soft, weary sigh. “Seven save me from court politics and dragon tricksters.” Aera turned to him, beaming. “You’re welcome to join us next time, Lord Stark. I’m sure you know far more secrets than I do.” He looked at her. Really looked at her.

Then said, dry as winter wind, “And I’ve kept them all. That’s the difference between us.” She gave him a wink and raised her goblet. “For now.”

⸻

That night, the torches outside her window flickered like stars fallen too close. The bells of the city had gone quiet again. The new queen was crowned. The old princess was remembered only in whispers.

[mitzukiyapping]

A Dragon Queen’s Court - Prologue

Yes, this is not walking dead, but yeah. This is the prologue to a story that I’m currently writing on Wattpad. I have actually been planning to write this for a long time. I decided to post it on tumblr first.

Oberyn Martell x fem!oc x Renly Baratheon

Part I. || Part. II

It was the year 281. The Red Keep burned.

Not with flame but with the heat of madness, blood, and steel. Screams echoed through its stone halls, the scent of smoke and crimson carnage painting the walls with the final strokes of House Targaryen's reign. The city had fallen. Robert Baratheon's rebellion was no longer a rebellion. It was a reckoning.

The Mad King was dead. Jaime Lannister's sword had silenced Aerys II before he could give the order to "burn them all." But his death had not been quiet. His guards had turned on each other, and the fire he had sowed in the hearts of men still raged wildly.

Somewhere deeper in the castle, a girl cried.

She was small. Not yet ten. Hair pale as moonlight, eyes like twin violets, bare feet stained with soot and blood. A crown, too large, sat on her head. Not golden, but silver. Not earned, but inherited.

Aera Targaryen. The last daughter of House Targaryen.

She had hidden in the shadow of her father's madness for years, clinging to the kindness of her mother, the few soft-spoken servants still loyal to her family, and the books she devoured in secret. Her dragon egg, pale and bone-white, lay cold and lifeless in the warmth of her arms, wrapped around it, untouched by the fire her blood promised.

Aera was meant to flee. Her mother had begged her to come, had tried to carry her away in the night with Viserys clinging to her skirts, but the child wouldn't move. The gates had closed. The Queen had been forced to choose, escape with her unborn child and her son, or die with her daughter. She had whispered apologies with tears streaming down her cheeks. Promised she would return. But Aera knew the truth. Even at seven years old, she knew what it meant to be left behind.

And so she stayed. Sitting on the stairs before the throne, the body of her lifeless father lying in front of her. Until the doors of the throne room were thrown open, and the world changed again.

Eddard Stark stood first. Sword bloodied. Face grim. Behind him came Robert Baratheon, taller, broader, cloaked in black and yellow, warhammer stained with red. They were men forged in war, crowned in violence. And they did not expect to find her.

The hall was a ruin of shattered glass and broken ambition. The Iron Throne sat jagged and waiting. Barefoot. Crowned. Shaking. There she stood.

Robert's hand went to his warhammer, but Eddard stopped him with a glance. "She's just a girl," Ned said.

"A girl with Targaryen blood," Robert growled. "How many died for that blood?"

But as the two men approached, Aera did not run. She stepped forward. Chin high. Lip trembling.

"My name is Aera of House Targaryen," she said, voice too quiet for such a hall. "First of my name. Daughter of Aerys, the Mad King. I... I do not wish to claim the throne. Only mercy is what I desire."

Robert stared at her like she was a ghost. Like some vengeful shadow of the family he had sworn to destroy. But it was Ned who moved first. Kneeling before her. His voice soft. "You have it, child. Mercy. And protection."

Robert didn't speak for a long time. He only watched her - the silver hair, the haunting eyes - and perhaps he saw something different than what he expected. Not the tyrant's heir. Not a queen of fire and blood.

But a frightened girl left behind.

He grunted. "Bring her."

"Alive?" one of the men asked that stood by the doors.

Robert's hammer slammed into the stone. "I said bring her."

⸻

That night, the Red Keep fell silent.

And from its ashes, a new story began. One not of fire and madness — but of tea-stained councils, a dragon with the name Beauty, children who named themselves warriors, and a silver-haired queen raised not on a throne, but among wolves, lions, and storm-born steel.

The last dragon had not been slain.

She had been adopted by love.

[mitzukiyapping]

Idk what to post, and I feel bad posting nothing, so…

[mitzukiyapping]

Just imagining s1!Daryl Dixon whimpering and groaning while eating you out.

Now, him rutting against whatever surface you are laying on while his tongue is lapping up your flowing juice. Whimpering against your folds as your legs are locking around his head, locking him in place. Groaning as your hand is tugging on his hair. His hands locked on your waist, surely leaving bruises.

Just, s1!Daryl Dixon...

[mitzukiyapping]

YN: This really didn't go as planned..

Daryl: Is it the fact that everything is on fire that made you come to that conclusion?

[mitzukiyapping]

YN: Is that blood?

Daryl: Don’t worry it’s not mine.

YN: That’s supposed to reassure me?!?!

[mitzukiyapping]

Gif from Pinterest

YN: I have a solution.

Daryl: Thank Goodness.

YN: It involves fire.

Daryl: Absolutely not.

[mitzukiyapping]

YN trying to gaslight the saviors after getting kidnapped by them

Negan: We brought you here to get an answer on our proposition.

YN: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Negan: Stop playing games with me.

YN: Im not playing games. Of anyone is playing games, it’s you guys.

Dwight: A simple yes or no, is what we wish.

YN: A simple no, then, for the simple reason I haven’t an idea of what you’re talking about. You’ve got the wrong person or something; mixed me up with someone else!

Simon: You’ll regret that answer.

[mitzukiyapping]

Daryl and YN babysitting Judith

Daryl: It’s crying.

YN: Baby’s cry, that’s what they do.

Daryl: Ya, but what do I do to stop it?

YN: Have you fed her?

Daryl: Yes.

YN: Has she had a nap?

Daryl: Yes, she just woke up.

YN: How about a diaper change?

Daryl: Uh… can we just skip that one?

[mitzukiyapping]

Michonne: What is a proper way to deal with someone that annoys you?

Rick: A knife.

Michonne: No!

Carl: Two knives?

Michonne: No!

YN: You guys are savages. The proper way is an untraceable poison.

Michonne: … you’re all insane…

[mitzukiyapping]

Headcanon

-Beth Greene x gn!reader

Dating Beth Greene would include;

-Farm & prison arc-

-will sit in silence besides you, staring at the sky and imagining all the things you two could of have done without the walkers going around

-likes to talk about music and musicians, whether she’s half asleep or just to get her mind off of whatever is going on currently

-calls you sometimes: my hero or sweetheart, whether she does it by accident or on purpose, her ears always goes red

-she stays by your side, if she doesn’t have any chores or tasks to do, she really feels comfortable in your presence

-Beth would try to get your attention by softly humming a melody, while she does her tasks she would randomly begin to hum, or when she’s taking care of Judith

-will ask Maggie for dating advice, hoping not to get too nervous when you’re acting romantic

-teaches you about flowers and their meanings, trying to impress you about her knowledge about plants

-takes pictures of you with an old Polaroid camera she found, she try’s to not forget any special moments so she’s freezing them on pictures

-makes flower-crowns for you almost everyday, it calms her when she sees you wearing them, a proud feeling blooming in her chest as her creation sits on your head

-she loves to get her hair braided by you, the feeling of your fingers running through her hair

-would also love to play with your hair, no matter the size

-will lay on the grass besides you, counting the clouds or guessing their shapes

-holding pinkies, rather than holding hands she’s more comfortable with hooking her pinky finger with yours

-sometimes falls asleep on your shoulder after a long day of working, the warmth of your body relaxes her

-Beth would look at you and study your face to memorize every detail, admiring your eyes and lips

-she will randomly grab your hand and dances with you, even if no music is playing, she only wants to dance with you in synchron

-drags you out to play in the rain, ignoring the fact that you two would probably falls ill the next day

-reading together in her bed, leaning against you and listening to your voice as you read aloud to her

-patches you up after you got yourself hurt, whether it was after a run or simply after your fell, she will scold you that should be more careful

-blushes when you just look at her, maybe even say something along like, “you’re as stunning as the day I fist saw you”

- goes as red as possible if you even just kiss her on her cheek, the warm feeling of where your lips were makes her giggle

-Beth loves to make food for you, even if not much is available to cook, she still would try to make something

-she would lay besides you in night, telling you about the nightmare she had, while silently crying for the people she lost

-scared of losing you, beth will come up behind you and hug you, just seeking your comfort