spacelatinoluvr

[spacelatinoluvr]

neighbor across the hall (part 1) 18+

summary: newly divorced, you move into an apartment complex, living alone for the first time in years. while you're still adapting and making friends you find that the single father and his daughter across the hall find you very fascinating. word count: 6.8k pairing: modern!Logan Howlett x fem!reader tags: modern au, smut if you squint really hard, rough Logan, dad Logan, boxer Logan, neighbors to lovers, Logan is a softie, !mdni!

“I know Mom-“

You sang, your feet leading you up the creaky staircase to your third floor apartment. You were fiddling with your purse, trying to find your keys as the phone was tucked into your shoulder and pressed against your ear. Your mom’s muffled voice rang again, more upset than before.

“I told you I don’t want you to be by yourself. What about your friend, uh what was her name… Margie?”

You sighed, still digging through the messy purse.

“Darcy, her name was Darcy, Mom.”

“Well why don’t you two become roommates? She was a sweet girl-“

You paused trying to find the missing keys when you reached your apartment door.

“She’s living with her girlfriend… Besides, I'll be fine. I need to be on my own for a while. This neighborhood isn’t too bad, a few drug dealers here and there.”

Your mom gasped lightly and you could almost see her hitting your shoulder through the phone. She said your name loudly, almost in a warning to not joke about that.

You giggled lightly, letting out a quick “Aha!” when your fingers found the keys.

“Kidding. Ok, well I gotta let you go Mom. I have to do dishes, clean, y’know what single people do.”

“Ok sweetie, just be safe.”

“I always am.”

You both said your goodbyes before you hung up the phone and opened the door of your freshly furnished apartment. You entered and it was still slightly messy from unpacking and it had the smell of old mildewy carpet. You set your phone and keys on the counter, sighing as you glanced around the small apartment. The room was quiet and still, and the only thing that you could hear was the feet pounding in the room above you and the honking of cars outside your open window.

The rest of your day was boring to say the least. You cooked yourself dinner, a frozen pizza and a glass of red wine. You then proceed to waltz around your living room, with said glass of wine in hand, trying to decide what to unpack first with your eyes flying to a box of old wedding gifts labeled “Shit asshole didn't want!”. You thought about it then and there that maybe you should've thrown away the ‘shit’ from your cheating ex-husband but you couldn't. You paused, the sound of bass rumbling through the walls, vibrating your kitchen. You stopped in your kitchen, pressing your ear against the wall. The melody of some old rock song you didn't know flowing through your walls. And then it stopped.

You walked towards your door, hearing the yelling of an old lady who lived a few doors down. You had briefly met earlier that week, her name slipping from your mind. You opened your door to find your neighbor next to you and the older woman arguing. You leaned against the doorframe, the wine glass was still in your hand, and you swirled it before taking another sip as you watched the conversation play out.

“-turn the music down!”

“It wasn't even loud, Sheryl, it was like…quiet.” Sheryl. That was her name. A name to suit a cranky old lady that was for sure. You couldn't see the neighbor, due to a head of gray curly hair blocking your sight.

“Quiet?!”

“For me, yes.”

“Just turn it down before I tell the landlord, again.”

“No wait- ok fine i'll turn it down.” They both said something, but it was too quiet and they were too far away for you to hear. And then the old lady turned around her eyes meeting yours before she scolded you, and walked down the stairs. The elevator was broken, and had been for a few months from what your landlord told you. You were glad you didn’t live on the fifth floor. You watched her until she was gone and met the eyes of your neighbor. She was wearing a large baggy t-shirt with the band Metallica plastered over it and her hair was black and short, ears length. She was wearing plaid pajama pants and bunny slippers, which made you slightly surprised.

“Just to let you know, it doesn't bother me.” You said as she stared at you, her eyes squinting at you.

“Noted.” She said before she turned around, about to shut the door but you were fast and you stopped her door with your hand, and she gazed at you through a small gap.

“What are you doing?”

“Introducing myself.” You said, and you gave her your name. She stared at you, and you waited for her to introduce herself too but she just stood there staring at you for a few seconds. But, then she looked down at the glass of wine in your hand and opened the door a little wider.

“I’m Lee.” She introduced, sticking her hand out to you. You shook it lightly, and she was about to close the door again when you spoke up.

“Uh, I live next door. Three-sixteen”

“I know.” She said before she slammed the door in your face and you were stuck staring at the numbers 314 before music blared again, slightly quieter than before but still loud. You turned around sighing, walking back to your door but stopped when you saw a girl, no older than twelve, sitting at the stairs staring at you. You smiled at her and waved, but she didn't even budge. She made no move to wave back or even manage a smile.

She just stared at you, eyes not moving. It was slightly intimidating. She kept staring at you until you made it back to your door, and entered your apartment. You blew air out of your mouth, and stared at the boxes again, your hands on your hips as you set the empty glass of win in the sink. They were haunting you waiting to be put away. And that's what you ended up doing for the rest of the night and only one box sat, untouched by you.

The next morning you planned to go job-hunting. You had tried every place in the area hiring for servers, but none seemed the least bit interested in actually hiring people. Before your divorce, you had planned on becoming a professional ballet dancer, and you were quite good, amazing even, but your ex-husband had demanded you do something to at least make a little more money. And you did. You quit going to dance school to become a full-time bartender at some lousy bar. You always thought your ex-husband was jealous of you, and now you truly believed he had crushed your dreams because he was envious of your talent. The last place on your list was a bar a block from your apartment complex, walking distance. It was small, but loud as you entered the bar.

You sat down at the bar, all the way at the end, waiting for someone to speak to you, but a few minutes went by before you heard yelling from the kitchen.

“Fine! I don’t give a fuck, fire me! Good luck finding someone to get you money!” A girl, with curly black hair and gold hoops on her ears, exited the kitchen as a chubby bald man trailed behind her. Both of them looked heated, in some kind of argument and you sat up, listening.

“Maria, you can't solicit guests here, that's prostitution!” He yelled, his hands flying in the air.

“Why do you care?”

“Because you're my niece and I really don't want your mother-”

“Ok well I quit!” The man put his fingers to his forehead, and they both started yelling in a foreign language you couldn’t understand before Maria stormed out of the bar with a scream, the door slamming behind her. The man, possibly the owner, looked around the bar before his eyes landed on you. You looked away quickly, to hide yourself but he started to approach you.

“Hi, uh sorry about that,” He cleared his throat. “Can I get you anything?” He asked and you looked at him before replying.

“Are you hiring?”

“As of three seconds ago, yes.”

“Need a new server?”

Within three minutes of speaking with the owner, whose name you learned was Pascal, he had hired you on the spot and asked you to come in the next Friday, prepared for training. You assured him you had loads of experience and didn't need to train but he insisted. He told you the bar was always slow, mostly consisting of older men and told you to be ready for anything these men tried. After training that Friday, you got home late that night, around twelve in the morning, exhausted. You entered your apartment, showering and changing into shorts and a tank top (It was summer-time and the AC didn't work on your floor).

As you got into bed, ready to fall asleep for the night, a loud guitar bass sounded through your apartment. You groaned, grabbing a pillow and shoving it to your face and you could still hear the music coming from your neighbor. After about ten minutes of this, you sat up walking to your door to speak to your neighbor and their music. It usually didn't bother you but tonight you were not in the mood to not get sleep over AC/DC. You knocked on Lee’s door not once but five times, the final time banging both of your fists loudly against the door before the music stopped and Lee opened the door, a guitar pick in her mouth.

“What?” She questioned, as if she were clueless.

“Please turn it down, I really need some sleep.”

“No can do, I have a showcase tomorrow.”

“Just turn it down, my room is right next door.” Lee nodded before she slammed the door in your face, the music blaring again seeming more loud than before. You groaned loudly, kicking her door annoyingly with your foot.

“If you ask her to turn it down, she just makes it louder.” You turned to find a man you hadn't met before, keys in his hand as he was watching you, a smug look on his face. As if this was amusing to him. He was wearing jeans and boots, and a large jacket, as if it wasn't eighty degrees outside. He had brown hair, and gray hairs were poking through. He looked permanently angry, the lines across his face showing that. He was across the hall from you, the only thing separating you were the stairs. You crossed your arms over your chest, scoffing.

“You can't hear it from my apartment.” He said, and you stood up straighter, your hands dropping at your side, his invitation surprising you. Was he actually inviting you into his apartment? You laughed, slightly offended.

“If you think-” He turned his back to you, opening the door with his keys before he slammed the door shut, the sound echoing down the hallway. You stood there in disbelief before you entered your apartment, the sound of guitars and drums the only thing you heard for the next two hours.

“Darcy, you have to visit me. This place is wack, there's an annoying emo girl next to me, some old lady downstairs that's always complaining about something, this Firestarter lookalike and some creepy guy across the hall.” You complained on the phone the next night, talking to your best friend, Darcy. You met Darcy at college, she was a music major and actually graduated pursuing her dreams of becoming an Opera singer. She was fantastic and you always loved watching her.

“Sounds fun. All of our neighbors are old couples.” You groaned, plopping down on your couch.

“I wish.”

“How are you holding up? And don't lie to me.” You glanced at the untouched box of things from your ex-husband.

“I'm fine, really.” She said your name over the phone, almost like a warning. “I'm fine!” You said, laying down on the couch.

“Ok well it’s only been a couple months. How’s your new job going?”

“It’s good. Enough to keep me going for now, my boss is…weird but not creepy. The place is-” You stopped talking when a knock sounded throughout your apartment coming from your door.

“Hey, I'll talk to you later Darcy.” You got up from the couch, hanging up the phone. You opened your door to find no one there except the mysterious girl on the staircase. You exited your apartment, closing the door and you leaned against it. You two stared at each other for a while before you spoke up.

“Do you like staring at strangers?” She didn't move but continued to stare at you. For the past week she had been always sitting at the staircase when you left or entered staring at you.

“Ok, which apartment do you live in-?” The door across the hall opened, and the man from the night before exited. He got caught off guard seeing you and looked a little surprised. He ignored you, and walked towards the staircase picking up the girl's hand and dragging her towards Lee’s apartment. He banged on the door, and a few seconds later a very upbeat Lee opened the door.

“Oh, Wolvy, got a hot date tonight?” Lee’s eyebrows went up, wiggling suggestively.

“Just watch her please.” He said gruffly, before pushing her lightly towards Lee. Lee sighed, turning back to look into her apartment and turning back to an annoyed ‘Wolvy’. He rolled his eyes, muttering to Lee about not calling him ‘Wolvy’. He turned around to leave and as he was going down the stairs his eyes met yours and then he was gone.

Before they both entered Lee’s apartment, the girl pulled Lee’s ear towards her mouth, whispering something in her ear. Lee burst out laughing before telling her a straightforward ‘No. Absolutely not.’. The girl just stared at her before Lee sighed, turning towards you.

“She wants to know-“ The girl growled, glaring at Lee. “I want to know if you’d like to join us for the evening.” You blinked, smiling.

“Of course, I would be delighted. You know-“ Lee shushed you.

“Just come on.”

Lee's apartment was exactly how you imagine it would be. Multiple posters of rock bands you didn’t know were decorated across every wall. There were multiple guitars and a set of drums in the corner of her living room. Her apartment was a mess but it seemed to suit her anxious state as she’d frantically ran around trying to clean up old Chinese takeout sitting on the counter and clean laundry on her couch.

“Just uh- sit on the floor.” Lee said as she ran to her room quickly. You and the little girl sat far away from each other, as you waited for Lee to come back. You looked at her, awkwardly smiling. She just stared at you, no emotions.

“So uh- how’s school?”

“She’s homeschooled!” Lee yelled from where she was and you clicked your tongue feeling embarrassed.

“How’s um homeschool?” She just kept staring, before she began to open her mouth to speak. Then Lee bounded into the room loudly, cutting her off.

“Ok what should my Halloween costume be, kid?” She was holding up two costumes, shaking them in front of the kid’s face.

“It’s August?” You questioned, and the girl smiled before she pointed at the one with Jean shorts and a black tank top.

“Exactly what I was thinking!” She yelled before running off to her room again. “Oh and her name is Laura!” She yelled from her room again and you nodded.

“Well, hello Laura.” You said before you told her your name, introducing yourself.

“Hi.” She said quietly, almost shyly. Lee then ran into the room again.

“Did she just talk to you?” She said, smiling at you. “That’s awesome! Logan is going to be psyched when he hears-“

Logan.

“Logan?”

“Her legal guardian. Y'know the big gruff dude that’s all ‘I’m big and angry because I’m lonely’” She said the last part in a deep voice and you laughed nodding your head.

“If he has Laura, why is he lonely?” You asked, but you knew what she meant.

“In all the years I’ve been here he’s never once brought a girl home. Ever. And I mean never.”

“Where does he go then?”

“To box.”

“Box?” Lee nodded, sitting on the ground next to Laura.

“He used to be this really big professional boxer. The Wolverine,” That tracked. “He got hurt real bad and just never went back. He’s just recently been training again. I guess that’s his release besides sex. Because the guy never gets puss-” She said before she laughed again and you looked at Laura embarrassed.

“Don’t worry she’s heard me say way worse things. Right, kid?” She said, ruffing her hair with her knuckles. Laura groaned, pushing her hand away.

“I’m not a kid.” She grumbled, glaring at Lee.

The rest of the night consisted of Lee and Laura arguing occasionally. Lee would make fun of Laura and then Laura would return that with a glare. You sat quietly in the corner, laughing at them. At the end of the night, the doorbell rang at around midnight and Laura and Lee were fast asleep while you were wide awake watching some cartoons with them.

You stood walking to the door, and opened it to find Logan looking less angry than before. He looked surprised to see you at the door, he must have been expecting Lee. He just stared at you, not saying a word, and you cleared your throat standing with the door open. You pointed your thumb at them.

“They’re sleeping.” You said before stepping outside, closing the door quietly. “Here for Laura?” You asked leaning against the door with your back. He stared at you for a second before he shook his head, like he was in a trance.

“Um, yeah.” He said, tucking his hands in his coat pockets. It wasn’t even cold outside. Yet he still wore that damn jacket. You stuck your hand out, telling him your name and his eyes widened before he reluctantly cupped your hand. His hands were large and rough, and they were bruised with red and purple slightly bleeding. You stopped shaking his hand, to grip it and bring it to your eyes.

“What happened to your hand?” He pulled his hand away fast, hiding it in his coat again. He got flustered, shaking his head.

“Work.” He replied shortly, and you hummed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Laura’s a great kid.” You said, motioning with your head inside the apartment to where Laura was fast asleep. He nodded, trying to hide a smile.

“Yeah. I know.”

“I can wake her if you want-“

“No, no she needs the sleep. I’ll just grab her.” You led Logan inside, and he carried Laura bridal style until you guys were outside Lee’s apartment again.

“I can open your door if you want.” You said, smiling invitingly at him. He stood there for a second before he nodded telling you that his keys were in his coat pocket. You moved closer to him, grabbing his keys, close enough to smell him. He smelled like leather and cedar wood, and you fought the urge to get closer. His head was turned the other way, away from you and you took the keys from his pocket following him to his apartment. You opened his door before letting Logan enter first, to go lay Laura down.

You stood outside for a moment, looking at the dark apartment through the open door, before you muttered fuck it walking inside. You set the keys on the kitchen counter, observing the layout. There were no lights on, and it was extremely cold. There wasn’t any decor from what you could see through the darkness, on furniture and utensils. It was also very clean, the opposite of Lee’s apartment. It looked like Logan didn’t have much to clean. Logan’s boots sounded and he found you standing at the kitchen counter, a shocked look on his face.

“Oh uh- sorry I just-“ You started to say, before Logan stopped you putting his hands up.

“No, it’s alright.” It was silent for a few seconds before Logan moved to turn the light on in the kitchen. It looks like you were taking up his offer after all.

“You can uh sit down if you want.” He pointed towards his brown leather couch in the center of the apartment and you closed his apartment door, before sitting down with a loud plop. He slowly sat down next to you, on the opposite end of the couch. It was awkwardly quiet again before you spoke.

“Is she your daughter?” You asked, turning your body towards him. He was silent for a moment and you were scared that you overstepped.

“No.” Was all he said and it was quiet once again. You nodded, getting that it was a sensitive topic.

“If you’re wondering, Laura asked me to come with them, for some reason.” You said, laughing quietly.

“Yeah, I noticed she’s been stalking you.” He said, turning to look at you for the first time. He looked away from you quickly, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry about what I said to you. The first night I met you- that was-“ You furrowed your eyebrows shaking your head.

“No, it didn’t bother me. I’m here now anyway.” You awkwardly laughed not realizing the meaning behind your words. Fuck. That’s not what you meant to say. You got slightly embarrassed, your cheeks feeling hot. He just kind of stared at you, swallowing roughly.

“It’s late um-“ You stood and he stood with you.

“Yeah.”

“Good night,” You paused to look at him. “Logan.”

The next morning was even more awkward. You left your apartment, to run to errands to find Logan leaving his apartment at the exact same time. You both stared at each other, before you said a quiet hello before trodding down the stairs.

The next two months consisted of both of you bumping into each other, awkwardly saying hello, before trying to avoid each other. It was kind of hard, you both arrived and left at the same time. You had day shifts and he always seemed to be leaving when you would arrive.

You were currently in Lee’s apartment, and she was eating a bowl of cheese puffs with chopsticks. You were sitting on her couch, chowing down on potato chips, watching her skeptically.

“And tell me why you’re eating with chopsticks?”

“My grandmother gave these to me!”

“And you’re using them for… Cheetos?”

“Yes.” She replied, before stuffing another cheese puff into her mouth.

“So what are you wearing to my Halloween party?” Lee asked, wiggling her eyebrows. You fought the urge to laugh at her, watching her mouth slowly become covered in orange dust.

“I’m not going.” You said, hugging your knees to your chest and setting the bag of chips down. Lee looked at you with a mouth open full of Cheetos.

“What?!” She yelled at you, throwing the chopsticks on the table near the couch.

“I don’t know. I’m not a partier-“

“There isn’t going to be that many people. Just like my band, the people in this complex, others-“

“That sounds like a lot. Besides, I haven't gone out since the divorce.”

“Exactly. That gives you all the reasons to go.” She was right of course. You hadn’t dressed up in months. You hadn’t felt confident since your ex-husband gave you those papers to file for a divorce. You groaned, flopping your belly on the couch.

“Fine. I’ll go. But, I’m not saying for long.” You said and her smile soon fell.

“Sure…what if I told you I could convince Logan to come?” She said, a mischievous look in her eyes.

“What about him?” You were acting like you didn’t know what she was talking about. You had been avoiding Logan for about two months after your awkward encounter. You told Lee about it and she told you he was always giving you ‘fuck me’ eyes. You laughed it off, but you kind of hoped he was.

“If I tell him you’re going he’ll definitely go.” You shook your head.

“I doubt it. He’s very…introverted and quiet.” You noticed how much he liked to be by himself. You wondered if it was by choice or not. He did have Laura, and that might’ve been all he needed.

“He’s lonely. A lonely old man who needs a release.” She said, sighing and sitting next to you again. Whenever she got excited about something she opted to stand when talking to you.

“So, you know my sister right? Complete opposite of me?” Lee had told you about her twin sister, Kim, and how she was a fashion designer. “Well, I sort of kind of told her to make you a costume.”

“A costume? I’m not twelve.” You said, slightly grumbling.

“But, that’s the fun!”

“Well, what costume is it?” Lee looked like she was holding her breath before she told you.

“A sexy devil.”

“Lee…”

“Come on! It'll be fun! I’m going to be Marilyn Manson-”

“Marilyn Manson? Really?”

“I already told Kim you'd wear it.”

“Lee!” You pushed her lightly, and she laughed as she fell on the couch.

The next thing you knew, it was the night of Lee’s infamous Halloween party. You were uncomfortably adjusting the latex suit Lee had given you. You had no idea just how slutty this costume was. It was incredibly tight in all the right places and was low-cut leaving no one any room for imagination. You accompanied it with black heels and two red devil horns on your head. God, what were you thinking?

Lee gasped, a loud squeal leaving her lips as she opened the door to find you standing there, playing with the top part of your outfit. She was wearing white face paint and black eyeliner to look like Marilyn Manson but she ended up looking like a Kiss member with her layered straight black hair and alternative outfit.

“Is this too much?” You asked, still adjusting. Lee pulled your hands away, her jaw at the floor.

“Damn mama! I see you! It's Halloween! Nothing is too much.” She said, pulling you into the apartment that was blasting music already. There were a few people present, not many faces you recognized except some people from downstairs. Lee quickly pulled you into the kitchen, and handed you a red solo cup with some sort of neon green liquid. You both leaned against the counter-top.

“Okay, so I did some convincing and I’m most certain Logan will be here tonight. Probably to steal a beer and leave but, that's better than nothing. Mrs. Baker downstairs is taking the kid trick-or-treating.” You still didn't understand why Lee always told you about Logan’s whereabouts. It’s not like you cared. You somewhat cared. You always found yourself looking back at his apartment every time you left or entered your own apartment. He was only across the hall. One door away. You nodded, trying to seem nonchalant about it, as you took a sip out of the drink in your hand and quickly started to cough.

“What the fuck is in here?” You asked, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Tequila, tequila and more tequila. And a drop of green food coloring.” You laughed lightly, before setting the cup back on the counter.

“Yeah, I'll pass.”

Soon enough, the apartment was filled with about 30 or so people. Not a lot, but there were a ton of people in Lee’s small apartment. You had been sitting on her couch for the past hour watching people come and go. You were bored out of your mind. You didn't know anybody besides Lee, and she was busy mingling with her guests. You stood up from the couch, about to leave for the door, when a certain neighbor entered the party.

Logan didn’t see you at first as he scanned the partygoers. He kept his head low as he entered, probably not wanting to draw any attention to himself. You watched as he made a bee-line for the kitchen and you followed him into the empty room. You found him tucked below the fridge as you entered, probably looking for a beer. You spoke up as he was moving things around, still searching.

“The beer’s in the cooler over there.” He jumped up, hitting his head on the top of the fridge as he turned around to find you standing there. He said nothing as he stared at you, his eyes moving up and down your figure in that costume. He swallowed loudly, before he looked around to find the cooler, pulling a beer can out of it and cracking it open. He took a long sip, his eyes falling upon you again. You were still standing there staring at him. He wasn't wearing a jacket but a regular t-shirt and you realized this was the first time you had ever seen his arms. And you couldn't stop staring at them as he took swigs from his can of beer.

You quickly decided to distract yourself by grabbing a red solo cup and filling it with whatever god awful concoction Lee had made. You took a sip before you moved to stand on the same side as Logan, hopping on top of the counter to sit. It was quiet again between the two of you, even though Logan had not spoken a word yet, and the only sound was the drowned out music in the background. You both were fairly close to each other, about as thigh’s width apart. He was leaning his back against the counter while you were sitting upon it. You turned towards him, hiding your smile below your cup as you took a sip.

“So, what's your costume?” You asked, as he stiffened slightly, taking another long sip from his beer before slamming it on the counter and grabbing another one from the cooler.

“The Wolverine.” He said, cracking open the can and you swore you saw him smirk a bit before taking a sip. You snorted, taking a gulp from your own drink.

“Can you guess what I am?” You asked, tilting your head to the side, gesturing with your hands at your costume. His head turned to look at you, scanning your frame and the way it sat atop the counter.

“Yourself?” He asked, turning his head away from you and hiding his smile beneath his beer can. His hands were gripping the beer can and you couldn't help but stare at them. They were large and thick, almost encompassing the can whole beneath his grip. You shook the thoughts away.

“Funny!” You said, narrowing your eyes. You both sat in comfortable silence, sipping on your drinks when you turned to him again, your body facing his. “What made you come?” You asked innocently. He took another long gulp from his beer before answering.

“Lee begged me to come. I wasn’t going to take the kid out trick-or-treating just because well… I just never have. Mrs…” He paused as if to remember her name.

“Baker?”

“Yeah her… she asked to take her this year because her grandchildren weren’t coming.” He took another sip from his beer before setting it on the counter.

“What made you come?” He asked, turning his head to look at you.

“Lee insisted.” You said, laughing as Logan shook his head. Just then, as if you summoned her, Lee barged into the kitchen, laughing as she did. You and Logan both jumped, turning to look at her quickly. She stopped laughing as soon as she saw you both.

“I knew it!” She screamed, running back out into the party. You furrowed your eyebrows, turning back to Logan to see him grabbing a third beer from the cooler. You downed the last bit of your drink, before hopping off the counter and Logan looked up at you, his eyebrows raised.

“I’ll uh- see you around?” You said, leaning against the counter.

“You leavin’?” He asked, setting the unopened can of beer on the counter, his hand next to it as he leaned. You didn’t realize how close he was until you could feel his breath on your neck. He was staring at the uncovered spot on your neck, as he spoke to you.

“Yeah- I have work tomorrow and-“

“So?” Why was he so adamant? You tilted your head, smirking at him.

“Do you want me to stay?” Say it. You wanted him to say it so bad. You wanted him to tell you to stay, to go back to his apartment. But he didn’t. He just shook his head, moving away from you and a frown made its way on your face. You sighed, slightly annoyed.

“Tell Laura happy Halloween.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest and leaving the kitchen, leaving Logan alone with his beer. You didn’t even look at him before you left. Why was he always making insinuations but never acting on them?

The next few weeks you had been ignoring him whenever he looked to you across the hallway. He looked hurt, but you didn’t care. You were so annoyed. But you didn’t know why.

Your boss had recently put you behind the bar, assigning you to later shifts. And one particular night, the neighbor across the hall was now at a stool in front of you. You were pouring a bourbon for a regular across the bar, you looked up for a second meeting the eyes of Logan who was watching you intensely. Your mouth fell open and you jumped slightly not expecting to see him at all.

“I didn’t know you worked here.” That was a complete lie. Logan had actually known for weeks that you worked here. You ignored him, walking across the bar to hand your customer their drink. You hastily returned to Logan, a beer in your hand. You set it in front of him and his eyebrows went up, taking the bottle into his hands. He was about to say something else when another customer to your left rang out.

“Hey, sweetheart! Another one?” The man jiggled his empty beer bottle in the air and your face visibly dropped, your shoulders stiffening. Logan noticed, perking up to look at the man across the bar. You clenched your jaw, forcing a sweet polite smile on your face as you turned to the drunken man.

“Sure thing.” You muttered, keeping your voice steady but Logan’s gaze lingered on you as you moved around to grab another beer. Logan took a long swig from his drink, before setting it on the counter still staring at the oblivious man across the bar. When you gave the man his beer, he winked at you making your skin crawl. Logan’s hand tightened around the empty beer bottle when you turned around oblivious to the man very obviously staring at your ass.

“What the fuck you looking at pal?” The man snarled at Logan and Logan growled deeply.

“Mind your business, bub.” He said grimly, and the man at the bar stood abruptly. Logan was staring straight on at the man his hand clenched tightly around the neck of the bottle until-

Crack!

The bottle split open, falling into Logan’s palm and onto the counter of the bar. Glass was all over his hands and he was slightly bleeding. Your mouth fell open, and you rushed to grab a rag from underneath the bar. You appeared back in front of Logan as he looked up at you. You sighed loudly, grabbing his hand and wrapping the white cloth around his wounds.

“What the fuck?” You muttered quietly, still holding his hand. He didn’t shy away from you or move away. He just swallowed harshly as you held his bleeding palm. “How did you do that?” You let go of his hand sighing, and walking around the bar to meet Logan. You turned to face the kitchen as you stood next to Logan.

“I’m taking my break now!” You shouted, cupping your hands over your mouth and grabbing Logan by the hand out the back door towards an alleyway. Logan didn’t even have time to react before you were harshly pulling him by his uninjured hand towards the back door. You exited the door slamming it shut before shoving Logan down on a crate.

“What the fuck, Logan?” Logan was confused why you were upset, and you anxiously paced in front of him digging your fingers through your hair.

“You’re mad at me?”

“Yes! Why the fuck are you here?” Logan didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know why he was there. He was there for a drink, that was it. At least that’s what he told himself. He found out weeks ago where you worked. He hadn’t worked up the courage to see you. Until now.

“I…” You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping you.

“See you never seem to have an answer do you?”

“An answer for what exactly?”

You stopped pacing, narrowing your eyes at him. The tension was thick, thicker than the cold November breeze that rang through the tight alleyway. You tried to keep your emotions in check. You tried so hard. But you couldn’t. It was hard when you were so angry. So mad. And for what? Because Logan had been avoiding you? Because you did the same? Truly what were you mad about? A second later your voice betrayed you, as if it had a mind of its own.

“Do you not get it?”

Logan froze. Logan looked down at his hands, softly raising the hand that you had put a rag on, blood softly soaking through. The hand you had touched so delicately. So softly that he wanted you to touch it again. Touch him again.

“Why did you get so angry back there?”

Logan looked up at you, flexing his hands into a tight fist, his biceps pulsing through his flannel.

“I don’t like seeing women getting disrespected-“

“No, Logan. What really made you angry?”

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed as you kneeled, getting on his level in front of him as he sat on the crate. You set your hands in your lap, peering up at him questionably. Awaiting an answer. A part of you knew exactly why he was so angry. You just wanted him to say it out loud. You needed him to say it out loud.

“I was…” He stopped talking as you tilted your head, shaking it tightly, disapproving of his trailed off sentence. You rose, now sitting up on your knees gazing at Logan. You moved closer to him, now right in front of his face.

“What made you so mad? Was it that another man wanted to touch me? Look at my ass? Another man wanted me? Is that it, Logan?” You purred, and Logan growled at the thought. It made him furious. You smiled, clicking your tongue. “I see…”

“No man should be touching you…”

“But…?” You trailed off, waiting for him to finish. You moved closer to his face, your breath panning over his cheek and Logan shuddered the closer you moved towards him. Logan didn’t know why he wanted to be closer to you. To feel you. You were so close. So close that he could feel your steady breathing, he could feel the heat as it radiated from your body, he could smell the perfume you wore every single day. The perfume that had haunted him for months. The perfume he chased in the halls, waiting to smell it. He wanted to smell that smell forever. He swallowed roughly, inching towards you.

“But…”

The back door slammed open, and your boss appeared calling your name.

“Your break’s over! Stop fucking the drunk-“ You stood quickly, awkwardly standing next to Logan who looked slightly embarrassed as he looked the opposite way from your boss.

“He cut his hand. I was just-“

“I don’t give a fuck. Come do your job.” Your boss slammed the door shut, and you sighed walking towards it. You started to open it, but paused to look back at Logan. You gave him a small smile, which he didn’t return.

“I’ll see you.” And you pulled the door shut behind you, entering the bar as Logan sat on that crate only thinking of his neighbor across the hall.

a/n: lmk if you guys enjoyed this and if i should write more (possibly smut). itll be a two parter, maybe three im not too sure! i love hearing feedback so please let me know! :) i love the soft side of logan and especially showing that soft side of him because of laura.

cross-posted on ao3:

[spacelatinoluvr]

THE WOLF & THE DRAGON (6/?) - aemond targaryen

series masterlist, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC word count: 4.2k tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage warnings: depictions of blood rating: 18+, !MDNI!

BLOOD UPON THE SNOW

To my dear sister Alarra,

The days are longer without you here. Ser Wildrow seems more bored than ever, not having you to torment him. I hope you are well and I hope your sword has not touched the scales of any dragons yet. I have been busy with duties so I have not had the time to write. I assume you are just as busy as I have not received a raven from you just yet. I hope to hear from you soon, I am only a raven away after all.

Cregan

Alarra set the letter down, leaning back in her chair. She missed Cregan terribly. And now the guilt was beginning to eat away at her. She didn’t know exactly what to say to him. She could tell him the good things, how great things were with the little princes. She would not tell him about how awful Ser Criston Cole was, how he tormented her at every waking moment. And she doesn't know why. She assumed he was envious. But why should a knight be envious of a princess? Alarra picked up her quill, filling it with ink before she started to write to her brother.

Dear Cregan,

I am angry at you for not warning me of the waves. They made me terribly sick. My food did not rise like the others but it was still awful! I am well, my dagger has not been in use just yet. I do miss pushing you to the ground. The princes have been a pleasant replacement for you. Jacaerys reminds me of you. I want to come home

Alarra erased the last bit, putting a thick line through it. She crumpled up the piece of parchment, throwing it somewhere across her room. The door creaked open, a knock sounding after.

“Still in your nightgown, my lady?” Eyla entered the room, heading for Alarra who was sitting in her vanity, her hair a tangled mess. “‘Tis early.” Eyla countered, her hands running through Alarra’s hair before she reached for a brush on the table. Eyla noticed a pile of crumpled paper by her bed and let out a tiny snicker.

“Writing is not as easy as it seems.” Alarra grumbled as Eyla tugged through a rough knot in her hair.

“Not as easy as swinging a sword, is it?” Eyla teased, working through the knots. Alarra sighed, leaning her head back as the brush glided through her hair, the knots disappearing slowly. “Just tell him what you truly feel. That is what letters are for are they not?”

“But I do not want him to worry. He already was skeptical about this arrangement-”

“Your brother cares for you, my lady. He only wants to hear from you,” Alarra glanced at the discarded letters on the ground, the words “I want to come home” still etched freshly in her mind. Alarra was still unsure of what to say to Cregan. Maybe she should just pour her heart out to him, telling him exactly how she felt. But, Alarra would not do that. That would only make the girl seem weak. And Alarra knew one thing for certain: she was not weak.

“Jace, you need to fix your posture.” Alarra reprimanded the boy, standing behind him as he was hunched over slightly. Alarra pushed his back lightly, so that he would stand up more. And he instantly stood up, turning his head to glare lightly at Alarra. Alarra grabbed a wooden sword from off of the ground, the one Lucerys had been previously using, and set it between Jace’s shoulder blades, within his arms. He looked like a duck flapping its wings, and he groaned, turning annoyingly to Alarra.

“How am I supposed to yield a sword now?” He slashed mindlessly and unsuccessfully (the sword barely raised above his head), unable to move his arms properly.

“You have to keep your body upright. No more slouching. This will teach you.” Alarra was now in front of him and he gave her an unsatisfied look.

“Go on!” Alarra waved a hand, gesturing for Jace to swing his sword. Lucerys was lightly giggling from behind Jace, and Jace whipped around facing his younger brother. Lucerys quickly stopped laughing, and cleared his throat.

“What is funny Luke?” Alarra had instructed Luke to work on his balance by standing on one foot. He was no longer doing that, and was laughing at his brother instead. Luke straightened up, looking at Alarra with wide eyes. He quickly stood back on one leg and Alarra tried to hide her laugh.

“Alarra?”

“Yes, Luke.” Alarra sighed, her hands on her hips. She had decided to wear a tunic and pants today, for she and the princes were alone in the courtyard early that morning. No one else was to be around, so Alarra deemed it appropriate.

“How much longer do I have to stand like this?” He was wobbling slightly, starting to fall but he caught himself.

“Until I say,” Alarra responded, and Luke paled, starting to wobble more. Alarra let out a laugh, approaching the boy. “Alright, that’s enough for today.” Luke sighed, standing on both of his feet. Alarra had been training the boys for about a week. They were both skilled in swordsmanship but they had a lot of improvement ahead of them. Alarra enjoyed spending time with both of them; they reminded her of home. Alarra felt like Cregan whenever she reprimanded them. She felt closer to him every time she picked up a sword. Jace and Luke left the courtyard after thanking Alarra for her time. Alarra always told them to not thank her because she was glad to share her skill with others. She was happy to help them, it may help them later on.

Alarra was walking through the halls, ready for a bath after sweating all morning, when she passed by a room, the door slightly ajar. Coughing was coming from the room, loud and it echoed into Alarra’s ears. She jolted for the door immediately, instantaneously thinking of her father. The door creaked open loudly, and the king was hunched over his desk as another cough rang out of him.

“Your grace!” Alarra rushed over to him, her hands reaching for his shoulders. The king waved his hands before Alarra could help him, a cough coming from him again before he spoke.

“No, no I am alright!” The king was irritated, his voice coming out harsh like pebbles hitting rocks. He coughed again, breathing in a ragged breath. It was quiet while he breathed in and out and Alarra cleared her throat.

“I apologize, your grace. I was only concerned-”

“What is your name?”

“Alarra, your grace.” He hummed, sitting down harshly in his chair.

“And you are a servant? What are you doing in these parts of the Red Keep?”

“No I-”

“A harlot then? Get on your way-”

“No!” Alarra’s voice was louder than she proposed, and her face was contorted into one of pure disgust. She cleared her throat, wiping her face clean of any open expressions. “Your grace.” She muttered, stepping back a foot.

“A handmaiden, perhaps?” Alarra rolled back her shoulders, tucking her tongue beneath her throat holding in a remark.

“Yes, a…handmaiden.” He clicked his tongue. Alarra figured he wouldn't remember her anyway, a tiny lie would not hurt. He was old and deficit, his brain slower than molasses.

“I knew I’d seen you before.” He muttered quietly to himself, staring at the desk in front of him as he smiled, hundreds of papers laying untouched. Alarra hesitated, glancing at the frail, hunched form of the king as he looked over the pieces of parchment. The king was barely recognizable now, weakened and tired, his hands trembling as he rose them. Alarra slowly backed away, turning to leave the room when the king rang out once more.

“Faces are a blur, and names fade yet you remind me of...” Alarra stopped walking, turning around to look at the king again. The king shook his head, mumbling something before turning back to the scattered pages. “A woman with pants! Now that is a sight to see.” The king yelled as Alarra left the room hurriedly, closing the door tightly. She stood outside the room, looking around the halls to find no one in sight. Alarra really needed that bath.

Otto Hightower scoured the halls, the king nowhere to be found. The king couldn’t have wandered off, somewhere not too far. The hand stopped walking when he heard a cough from inside the king’s study. Otto burst open the door, scaring the king slightly. Otto bounded towards the king, looking exasperated.

“You are assigned bed rest, your grace. You cannot just-“

“I am the king! I will do what I want.” Viserys looked up from the desk at the hand, dropping the papers that were in his palm. Otto glanced at the pages among his desk.

“I told you- the council and I will take care of your affairs.”

“Only I can take care of my affairs. I don’t need you or a girl with pants and a sword at her hip to tell me what to do.” Otto ignored the last part: the king was old and sick after all.

“You can barely speak or walk. I will get a guard to carry you to your chambers.” The king was silent and Otto left the room to find a guard.

Alarra stood outside her chambers, just about to enter when she noticed her door was left cracked open. Alarra knew that she locked her door, she knew for certain that she shut it at least. Her hand hovered above the knob, gazing into the thin gap.

Someone was in there.

It was now nighttime and Alarra did not remember the time of day and how the sun had slipped past her. The room was dimly lit with candles in every space and crevice lighting up the room. She ventured into the room and realized it was unfamiliar.

This was not her room.

Alarra felt that everything was strangely distant, as if veiled in a cloud of mist. Alarra walked further into the room and pale blonde hair appeared in her view. The figure turned around and it appeared to be Helaena who was in her room. She looked deathly afraid, her lip trembling slightly.

“Helaena-” A babe’s cry erupted from Helaena’s arms.

“Protect them.” Helaena whispered, soothing the saddened babe as the crying got louder and louder. The babe had a head of black hair and Alarra gasped as the room seemed to shift, Helaena and the babe now gone from her sight. Alarra’s hand reached out but all that was in front of her was her own hands. She looked down at herself to see a thin white nightgown on her body. When had she put that on?

“Helaena!” Alarra turned, her breath getting caught in her throat. She was now in the hallway but not in the Red Keep but Castle Ward. Her home. Alarra's heart pounded as she took in her surroundings. She hadn’t set foot in Castle Ward in months, yet here she was, standing in the very corridor she knew so well: the cold stone walls, the flickering torches casting shadows along the tapestries she remembered from childhood. The familiar scent of pine and firewood lingered in the air, yet everything felt unnervingly hollow, as though a fog hung over the hall, dulling its colors and muffling its sounds. Alarra paused at an unfamiliar painting. It was larger than the rest and Alarra realized quickly that it was a painting of herself.

Alarra froze, staring up at the painting that loomed over her. In the waving torchlight, her own likeness gazed back yet it wasn’t quite her. The face was familiar, yet older, with shadows cast beneath her eyes and a hint of sorrow etched into her expression. She looked regal and hardened, her hand resting on the hilt of a sword, her posture proud yet burdened. She wore armor emblazoned with the sigil of her house, though it was marred by scratches and dents, as if she’d been through a long, grueling battle. Alarra’s fingers brushed over the frame hesitantly, feeling a chill run through her as she did. A low, distant sound, faint but clear, echoed down the corridor. It was the cry of a babe, the same haunting sound she’d heard moments ago.

A bright light shone down the end of the hall, and Alarra followed the path, the wails getting louder. Alarra peeled open the door at the end of the corridor to find the source. What lay in front of her now was her mother, laying on a bed with a babe in her arms, the crying ceased. Alarra’s eyes shimmered, able to see her mother again now. Tears pricked at Alarra’s eyes as she took in the scene before her. Her mother lay on the bed, looking as she had in Alarra’s memories: soft-eyed and gentle. Her mother held a newborn, swaddled tightly in soft cloth, the babe’s tiny fist clenched around a lock of her mother’s hair. The child’s cries softened at the gentle touch, settling into soft whimpers as her mother rocked him, humming a lullaby Alarra hadn’t heard in years.

“Mother.” Her mother did not notice her, for she was engulfed in the baby before her. Her mother spoke quietly.

“I shall name you…” And then her mother was gone, and Alarra let out a muffled cry, shaking her head. Alarra’s fingers passed through the empty mist that was once her mother and she staggered forward falling to her knees as the ground turned soft. Alarra was in a field of long thick pale needles and flowers of marigold and plum. Her fingers whispered amongst the shrubbery, lightly feeling the tall grassy hill. It was vast, and spread all around her but she could not see too far in front of her for a thick fog encapsulated the air. And then it started to snow.

She first saw a tiny spec of ice fall from the sky and land delicately in her hands. And then the ground was flooded with snow, encasing her legs as she knelt on the ground. It was not cold nor was it hot. Alarra felt at peace. Alarra closed her eyes just for a moment. For what felt like a second, letting the cool icicles settle on her skin as they softly melted away at the touch of her warm face.

The atmosphere around her was still and tranquil, almost as if Alarra was suspended in time and nothing could disturb the serene spirit of the snow. Alarra opened her eyes, the pure white snow had now been stained with a dark crimson color. The snow had been littered with blood all around her and Alarra’s breath caught in her throat again and again. She gulped in the air, turning head in a panic to find more blood scattered in the snow.

“Blood?” Alarra whispered to the emptiness and of course there was no answer for only the stillness of the snow clung to her.

“Vezhvenor.” A figure had appeared through the mist, approaching Alarra. Alarra’s head rose as she looked around her, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. Helaena was with her once more and she kneeled in front of Alarra.

“Wolves bite…” She started, her eyes scanning Alarra. Alarra finished the sentence for her.

“And dragons take flight.”

Alarra jolted awake in her bed, the sweat slick on her forehead. She was breathing heavily, and she felt her heart as it beat out of her chest. Alarra swung her feet over the edge of her bed, trying to comprehend her dreams. Her visions. The book she had been reading was frozen on her nightstand, and it lay untouched since she had grabbed it from the library. She was scared to read it. To see what it had within its pages for her to read. Alarra rose from her bed to grab a lit candle by her desk, returning to the edge of her bed. She sat the candle next to the book, reaching for the spine.

She sat the book in her lap, flipping open the first page. A picture of Bran the Builder was printed, and she traced the picture. Alarra grew up hearing stories of her ancestors. She knew almost everything about her family. Except what Aemond had shown her. And she was afraid of what the rest of the prophecy entailed. She had marked the page and she played with the book before turning open to the page of the prophecy. She scanned the page, reading the prophecy as a whole.

A prophecy forgotten by the Gods…

A Wolf from the North will bleed into the South.

Blood of a Wolf can start wars, but the blood of a Dragon will end the realm.

When one dragon meets fate, a Wolf will seek refuge.

Packs are large but dragons are much larger.

A Wolf from the North. A Dragon from the South.

Wolves bite, and dragons take flight.

The dragon's flame will burn the sky,

But in its ashes, a Wolf will rise.

Beneath the door, a path will unfold,

A bond of blood to be known by both shadow and light.

The Wolf will reign where it once bled.

For blood and bone is thicker than fire and steel.

Alarra finished reading the page, looking to the next to find that the rest of the next page had been ripped out. Alarra flipped through the rest of the book and it contained nothing but her past. Her house's legacy. Alarra scoffed, slamming the book shut. She knew exactly who did this and where he would be.

“Why did you rip out a page in this book?” Alarra slammed the book down in front of Aemond and he raised his eyes to meet hers, an irritated look on his face. He glanced at her before looking back down at the book on the table. His hair was draped carelessly over his shoulders and Alarra watched as he paid no mind to Alarra’s intrusion.

“That book is centuries old-” He started but Alarra would not have him avoid her inquiry.

“Answer the question.” Alarra bent down, setting her hands on the table inching forward towards Aemond. Alarra knew that she could not intimidate the prince but she still tried.

“The book was like that when I read it.” He responded while maintaining a steady gaze with Alarra. Alarra pushed herself backwards, away from Aemond. She huffed starting to get agitated with him. Liar.

“You are deceitful. And a liar-”

“I do not lie.” Alarra’s gaze hardened.

“That was a lie. All men lie.”

“Well I do not lie.” Alarra paced the floor while looking through the slim windows at the shine of the moon. How had she found herself alone with Aemond again?

“Do you dream during the moon’s rule, my prince?” Alarra raised an eyebrow at him and Aemond froze for a moment before responding softer than before.

“Dreams are not real.”

“But they can be. Your sister-”

“Do not bring my sister into your nightmares.”

“I never said they were night terrors.”

“I can see on your face that they were not pleasant,” Alarra gripped the table with her hands, a flash of anger contorting her features. “Alarra the Fierce scared? I did not think I would rue the day to see such a frightening individual cowering at ink on paper.” Alarra turned around from staring through the window to shoot him a sharp look.

“I am not scared.” She gritted below her teeth.

“Mhm, you call me a liar but you are a liar. Something is bothering Alarra the Fierce.” He said her name like he was mocking her and Alarra’s eyes hardened even more.

“You mock me.”

“I mock no one.”

“You lie again!” Alarra yelled, starting to move gradually towards Aemond. “I knocked you on your royal arse and you would be wise to not humor me.” Aemond stood from his seat, a small smirk on his face.

“Is that a threat?” Alarra was getting hot now.

“A promise.”

“You speak with such certainty…like a dog.” He snarled, slowly making his way over to Alarra. He now stood in front of her, his body towering over hers slightly. Alarra did not know what to do at that moment but remained still. “Do you obey your master like a dog as well?” He questioned, his head tilted to the side. He wanted to get a rise out of her. His hand rose as if he were going to grab her, and Alarra flinched. Aemond hummed lowly, his hand sinking back at his side. Aemond leaned down his face dangerously close to hers. Aemond didn’t know why he touched her. Why did he feel the urge to trace her scar, her face? Why was he so close to her?

The proximity was close; too close and Alarra held her breath for what felt like minutes; hours, waiting for the prince to speak. Aemond’s eyes scanned her face and his hand rose to her face, tracing the line of her scar. He dug his finger, his nail catching the healing skin, and Alarra blinked rapidly, her eyes watering, biting her tongue to swallow down a low groan of pain.

“Threaten me again and you will learn to obey.” His breath fanned over her face now, and Alarra swallowed as his finger traced her scar towards her lips before his hand stopped abruptly and he pulled away from her. He looked at her for a pregnant pause before swiftly turning and leaving the library. Alarra stood there, her thoughts a mess inside her head. Aemond had touched her. He had touched her face. Her scar. He had reached his hand voluntarily to touch her. Alarra raised a hand to touch her scar, feeling the blood already dripping on her cheek. Aemond was provoked by Alarra. But, Alarra was not angry.

No, she was fierce.

In the morning, the first thing Alarra did was visit the princess Helaena. She felt obligated to speak to the girl after her odd dreams. She wanted answers. And she thought that Helaena would give them to her, no matter how confusing her words might be. Helaena was standing on her terrace staring outside at King’s landing before her. At the structures and buildings, at her city. Alarra was behind her and Helaena turned, unafraid as if she was expecting her.

“Lady in Red.”

“Princess, I don't mean to intrude-”

“We spoke last night.”

“I'm sorry, I do not recall-”

“In the mist, we spoke in the mist.” Alarra approached the princess slowly, setting her hands on the railing of the balcony as she looked out into the city. Birds flew past in the morning dew and the sun was just starting to rise from below the skyline.

“I’m…scared.”

“We should all be scared for what is to come,” Helaena walked towards Alarra, standing next to her as Alarra still stared at the city.

“But, why-”

“I do not know. Answers are a precarious thing. Answers are something we seek but cannot find. They are hidden for a reason,” Helaena paused, seeming to gather her thoughts and sucking in a quiet rasp. “I dreamt of you, Lady in Red.” Alarra was getting slightly agitated now.

“Helaena, I do not wear red.” She said swiftly but Helaena’s eyes widened as if she were on the verge of tears and she grabbed Alarra by the shoulders tightly.

“It is not red that you will wear but the blood of those you have slain. Alarra the Fierce; Lady in Red,” Helaena shook Alarra as she held her and Alarra blinked, her face scrunched up in pure astonishment. “You, Alarra, have already begun the path. The door has closed and there is no return from what is to come.”

Cregan,

I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home.

A/N: Thanks so so much for continuing to read! I'm really excited to get more into the fantasy aspects and what roles Helaena will play in this story.

Tags: @mamawiggers1980, @kritara

[spacelatinoluvr]

THE WOLF & THE DRAGON (5/?) - aemond targaryen

series masterlist, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 6

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC word count: 4.5k tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage warnings: violence rating: 18+, !MDNI!

THE BLADE OF A WOLF

Alarra hadn't touched her sword in weeks. When she arrived at Dragonstone, she swore off carrying it and it laid untouched in a cabinet for one moon. Her sword remained in that cabinet even in King's Landing. It had been sitting for days since she’d arrived. She didn't figure she'd need it. Even as much as she wished to have it by her side, the dagger at her thigh would suffice for the time being. 

Alarra entered the training grounds, peeking behind the walls of the castle to watch the one-eyed prince and his dog train. She did this multiple times each day. Wishing it were her sweeping the men off of their feet onto their arses. 

But that would never happen. 

“Looks like we have a new onlooker, my prince.” Ser Criston Cole rang, loud enough so that Alarra could hear from whichever wall she was hiding. Aemond turned and saw a head of red hair behind a pillar. 

“I wouldn't mind a new opponent,” Aemond started stalking towards Alarra. 

“You, Ser, are predictable.” He muttered, and he felt the offended gaze of the knight on the back of his head. 

“Alarra the Fierce.” Alarra jumped, turning to face the prince. She bowed out of respect, feeling slightly embarrassed, her cheeks becoming red and warm. 

“Prince Aemond,” Aemond inspected her with his eye, and Alarra felt like a bird in a bear’s trap. 

“I was just watching. In Winterfell, I used to train with my brother with a proper sword I-” Alarra stopped herself, realizing she was talking too much for the prince’s interest. “I apologize. I overstep-”

“Do you own a sword?”

“Yes.”

“Is it with you?”

“In my room-”

“Fetch it.” Was she a dog? Some hound to fetch something for the prince? Alarra’s eyebrow rose, but she decided to not argue with the prince. She had already done that enough with his brother. Alarra arrived in her room to grab her sword, the sword of pure Valyrian steel. Alarra’s hand wrapped around the hilt tightly, and a small smile appeared on her face. It was nice to hold it again, to feel the coolness of its composure and its weight beneath her fingers. Alarra felt slightly embarrassed walking through the halls with a sword at her hip. Why was she so embarrassed? Alarra the Fierce does not get embarrassed. Alarra does not get flustered over a boy. Alarra lifted her head as she entered the training grounds, and both Aemond and Ser Criston Cole turned to her. 

She was Alarra the Fierce. 

“I have fetched my sword,” Alarra said as she joined Aemond and the knight where they were standing, men beginning to circle them as they awaited. “Am I to be your squire? Fetch you wine and water. Fetch you your sword. Perhaps feed grapes into your mouth?”

“No. Show me your skills.” Aemond said and Ser Criston Cole whipped his head so fast at the prince Alarra thought his head might have fallen off of his body. 

“What?” The knight said, his eyes thinning onto Alarra. “She is a woman-” The men around them started to laugh. 

“I am Alarra the Fierce. Would you like me to show you?” They stopped laughing. Ser Criston Cole was stunned for a moment, before a condescending grin grew upon his face. 

“Gladly.” He said his hand pointing towards the training area, motioning for Alarra to go first. Alarra stared at him as she passed, barely grazing her shoulder over his wishing she bumped into him. He grabbed a shield and Alarra looked back at him, smirking. 

“You need a piece of wood to protect you?” Ser Criston looked down at the shield before throwing it on the ground and waltzed over to her a smug look on his face to find Alarra who was already in stance, her sword unsheathed in her hand. Oh, how she wished to wipe that smirk off of his face. 

“Pure Valyrian steel…” He muttered looking at her sword then unsheathing his own sword, it glimmering in the sunlight. Aemond was watching them from afar, silently rooting for the Stark girl to put Ser Criston Cole’s dignity in the dirt. Someone had to. “Fighting in a dress? Isn't that…difficult?” The knight scanned Alarra’s frame, wearing a dark blue dress, quivering an eyebrow. 

“Maybe for a man like yourself.” She responded cooly, her sword now at eyes width. Alarra then lunged widely, her sword pointed at the man and Ser Criston Cole quickly lifted his sword, catching hers. He huffed letting out a small laugh. 

“Not fair.”

“Nothing is fair, Ser.” Alarra swiped again this time quicker but the knight still caught her. She hadn't practiced in three moons. Anytime Alarra advanced, the knight kept stopping her, his sword always colliding with hers no matter how much she succeeded. He was skilled, and it seemed he was too cocky for his own good, like most men. His ego was something that would not be tarnished by a woman. Especially a young girl from the North. 

Ser Criston Cole was slowly losing his confidence, and Alarra was gaining the upper-hand. His overbearing smile soon diminished, and he was scared of the girl he saw in front of him. She was no longer a princess but a fighter. She was fierce. And in that moment Ser Criston realized that the rumors were in fact not a lie but the truth. Alarra was fierce. And any man that faced her would soon regret it. 

But then Alarra found an opening. Ser Criston Cole’s eyes widened, almost as if he knew what she was about to do before she did and Alarra sweeped the knight off of his feet onto his back, her sword pointed directly at his neck, his sword sitting above his head. There was a beat of silence, only the heavy breathing coming from Alarra being heard. Then the men around them started to clap, cheering for her. 

For her. 

Alarra smiled to herself, sheathing her sword as Ser Criston Cole sat on the ground, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at Alarra. 

“How did you do that? You managed to not only disarm me but land me on my-”

“Arse?” Alarra questioned, moving to stand in front of him. Ser Criston gave her a look of pure disbelief, and her confidence lingered in the air as the crowd's applause diminished. The knight was in awe for a moment before he became angry that she had embarrassed him. 

“The men of the North are skilled but-”

“You forget yourself, Ser. The Wolf of the North has taught me everything I know. I am a man from the North.” A man with tits, she wanted to say that to him also, but she was still a guest. But her Northern honor would not hide from the South. Her pride would not cower. From the corner of her eye, Alarra saw Aemond push through the crowd, and men made way for the Targaryen prince. She still had a smile on her face and Aemond was now in front of her, a look of dignation on his face. 

“I bet you won't do the same to me.” Aemond said, his sword unsheathed from his side and Alarra relished in his statement. Oh, how wrong the prince was. 

“Would you prefer to meet the same fate as Ser Criston Cole or something much less humiliating for a royal?” Alarra took her own sword out and the crowd grew quiet once again. Ser Criston Cole was now standing, looking tense, his eyes narrowed on Alarra. She had upset the knight. 

Aemond was the one who moved first, a grunt leaving his lips as he slashed at Alarra but she was light on her feet, able to miss the graze of his sword. Aemond huffed in annoyance, slashing again but her sword caught him.

Their swords clanged, echoing through the courtyard’s silence. Alarra felt the strength of Aemond’s strike reverberate down her arm, but she held her ground, smirking at him over the steel of their locked blades. Alarra tilted her head to the side, her hair falling over her face, and Aemond’s eye narrowed, his grip tightening on his hilt. He pressed forward, pushing Alarra back towards the crowd. 

Alarra twisted her wrist breaking their lock that forced Aemond to stumble back a few steps. Aemond had slowly become more and more agitated the more Alarra had taunted him. Aemond lunged again, seeming more ruthless this time as his blade whistled over Alarra’s head. Every move he made, she already saw. She anticipated everything he did. And this infuriated the prince. 

And then she fell, her sword on the ground and Aemond’s sword at her neck. Alarra’s shock was not hidden on her face, as she stared at the steel, her eyes wide. But, Alarra knew better than to let her guard down. She knew better than to yield just yet. 

Alarra’s hand went under her dress and Aemond’s eyebrows furrowed as she pulled out her dagger, pushing his blade away from her face with it and the sword fell to the ground. Alarra stood, her blade at Aemond’s neck. Aemond and Alarra stared at each other, their heavy breathing synchronized. She had never been so close to the prince, so close to his face, her blade at his neck. One swipe and he would be choking on his own blood. 

“Yield.” She said, lightly pressing her dagger against his throat. He stared at her, neither scared nor smug. Aemond was shocked. Ser Criston Cole was now in front of her, pushing her harshly away from the prince. 

“He yields.” The knight said, glaring at her. Alarra lifted her dress to put her dagger back at her thigh, her sword soon following now sheathed at her hip. She watched as Ser Criston Cole was saying something to the prince but he wasn't paying attention because he was only looking at the wolf from the North that had just bested him. 

Alarra turned, stomping away a few feet from the crowd and Ser Criston Cole when Aemond had trailed behind her, shoving past the knight and the crowd. 

“You are insufferable.” He was right behind her now and she turned fast, her hair almost hitting his face.

“Am I?” Alarra took a step forward, her face nearing Aemond’s steel gaze. 

“You are a dirty dog.” Aemond spat, his eye scanning her face. 

“Mhm…” Alarra smiled, her eyes never looking away from Aemond’s. “And yet, this dirty dog still handed you and your shit-wiper your arses.” She whispered, bumping into his shoulder as she walked past him. But, Aemond was quick and grabbed her wrist forcing her around to look at him again. His eye trailed over her face, no doubt staring at her scar. His eye always gravitated towards it, like it was haunting him. His hand stayed on her wrist, gripping it. Then suddenly, Aemond ripped his hand away, striding away from her back towards Ser Criston Cole who was watching their exchange closely. 

“You bested two of the best swordsmen in King’s Landing. That is something to be proud of.” 

Alarra was laying on the ground in the grass somewhere outside the Red Keep and Rhaena was sitting beside her, trying to comfort her. They were on a hill, watching the water in front of them. 

“I am not proud of it. Only embarrassed.” 

“Embarrassed of what exactly?” 

“That I let my ego get the best of me.” Rhaena laughed, looking back towards the water in front of them. 

“And I’m embarrassed of many things but I do not dwell on it.” Rhaena said, beginning to stand, wiping her hands on her dress. Rhaena was basking in sunlight as she opened her hand out to Alarra. Alarra grunted, taking her outreaching palm to pull her up onto her feet. Alarra paused, looking at the water again. 

“I never learned how to swim.” Alarra admitted, the wind blowing her hair and giving her a chill down her spine. 

“I can teach you if you’d like.” 

“I fear I’d only drown the both of us.” 

Alarra and Rhaena had just entered the Red Keep again, finding the three Velaryon boys playing in a grass courtyard. They were laughing maniacally, the musings of their voices heard from the depths of the castle. The older prince was chasing the younger two, and he caught up to them pushing them to the ground with him. Alarra laughed as she watched them interact, starting to miss her own brother. 

“My brother and I used to play like that. When we were children.” Alarra said, and she watched as they giggled rolling around in the dirt. 

Just then, the three boys stood up quickly, seeming to react to something or someone. Alarra turned her head to find Ser Criston Cole approaching them furiously, a determined look on his face. Alarra was quick to make the decision to walk over to them, interrupting what the knight was telling them. 

“-princes do not play.” The knight had just finished speaking when the disgusted look on his face grew even more when falling upon Alarra. 

“Is something the matter?” She questioned, and he turned towards her his hand falling upon the hilt of his sword. 

“Nothing is wrong. I am only telling these immature princes what royalty actually does-“ 

“What else are they to do? They are children-“

“Princes do not roll around in the dirt.” He said, taking a step towards her now. Alarra stood her ground, not to be intimidated by the knight. 

“You do not reprimand them, Ser.” She said, her hands forming into fists at her side. Jacaerys intervened, standing between them. 

“We will no longer play in the grass, Ser.” Jacaerys said, his eyes telling the knight to walk away. And he did. Alarra watched as Ser Criston Cole stalked away from them, seething as he did. Alarra watched as his shining armor shimmered through the halls. As if the knight had the honor to be wearing it. Alarra didn’t feel that he deserved it. He deserved his skin and bones beneath the dirt. 

“If you shall play in the grass, you shall play in the grass.” Alarra muttered, still watching the retreating body of Ser Criston. 

Nighttime came, and Alarra could not find peace in her bed. She twisted and turned unable to find rest beneath her linen sheets and feather pillows. The bed wasn’t the issue but her mind. She could not stop thinking about what she had done. She felt stupid. Stupid for allowing the knight and his prince to lead her into a trap. 

When Alarra could not sleep, she found herself reading in the library. She did not care what she read, as long as it was something to keep her brain from running circles. She even did this in Winterfell. Her brother would find her fast asleep on a table, a book beneath her face. He would scold her for sleeping in that position telling her that when she was old and gray, her back would be her enemy. 

When she first went to the library, a certain one-eyed prince had found her there but she had disappeared out the door before he could see her. After that, she never went to the library again at night. But tonight, she was desperate to find sleep. 

Alarra opened the large doors of the library, and they creaked slowly as she did. She hoped that it wasn’t too loud, but the library was hidden from most of the chambers that lay within the Red Keep. It wasn’t the main library, but one of multiple. This library was small, about the size of a council room but it held many books Alarra found interesting. She had managed to steal a book about the beginnings of Valyrian steel, and wanted to return it after finishing. 

Alarra quietly approached the shelf where she originally found the book, a lit candle in her hand as she did. The library was eerily quiet and her candle light was the only thing that she could visibly see. There were tall, narrow windows on the opposite side of the library, and the moon light filtered through the room, giving Alarra some other form of lighting. Alarra was browsing the books, her finger lightly tracing the spines when the door creaked open again. Alarra gasped quietly, ducking below the shelf. Another candle light shone through the room and Alarra quickly blew her own out. 

“I can see you.” A voice said, and Alarra closed her eyes lightly in disappointment. 

“I am sorry,” Alarra stood, playing with the ends of her night gown as she stared at the ground. She was encased in a dark blue robe her brother had gifted her. “I was only looking. I apologize if I am not allowed-“ Alarra looked up from the ground to see Aemond, his eyepatch gone and face illuminated solely with a single candle, her words getting caught in her throat. She hadn’t meant to stare or get flushed but she just did. Now she understood. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, lowering his candle from his face. His hair was down, and he wore what looked to be his night time attire. 

“I could not sleep. I know the hour is late but-“ 

“How did you find this place?” Alarra closed the robe around her body tighter. 

“I wander when I cannot sleep.”

“You should not be here. I shall get a guard to escort you to your bed chambers-“ Aemond moved to the door but Alarra jumped towards him, throwing her hand out. 

“No! Wait-“ Aemond stopped, turning back towards her. Her hand fell back at her side. “I just want one book and I’ll be on my way. Please.” She whispered the plea and Aemond seemed to pause, setting the candle down on a nearby table. Alarra couldn’t see him now, only his frame encased in black shadows visible. 

Alarra assumed he could not see her at all, and she moved back towards the book shelf to where she was previously browsing. Then Alarra remembered she blew her candle out, and she blindly looked at books. She frowned, unable to see any books in front of her. She picked the first one in front of her, turning around but she jumped gasping. Aemond was now closer to her, the candle still sitting on the table, but she could see the outline of his body a few feet away from her. 

Aemond picked back up the candle, and it slowly illuminated his arm up to his face, and Alarra watched him move towards her again, this time closer. The light made Alarra’s own shocked face visible and Aemond was looking at the book in her hand. 

“History hen Valyrio.” He said, his eyes reaching hers and Alarra furrowed her eyebrows bringing the book to her eyesight. It was thick, and the only language on it was something she did not recognize. “I did not know the princess from the North spoke high Valyrian?” He jested, a small smirk on his lips. Alarra’s face got deep red and he leaned down to take the book from her hands. He was so close to her. Close enough to where she could smell the faint scent of soap and pine. She could even see his missing eye clearly. And she was mesmerized. It was a glowing purple, and Alarra quickly looked away when his eyes met hers. When he retracted the book from her hands slowly, she took a step away from him.

“I was just curious.” She said, crossing her arms over her chest. Aemond moved towards the table, sitting down at a chair, setting the candle and book next to him. Alarra stood there, watching him with a curious glance. What was he doing?

He opened the book, his fingers tracing over the pages lightly. Alarra watched him flip through the pages filled with history in a language she didn’t understand. 

“Have I taken your tongue? Are you going to just stand there, zokla?” Alarra stiffened, and Aemond was still looking through the book, the soft rustle of paper as he turned pages interrupting the sanctuary of the library. 

“I…” She started, her words in her throat once again. 

“You?” He prompted, his voice low. The turning of pages promptly stopped, and Alarra watched as Aemond looked up from the book at her. 

“I… know a little high Valyrian. My handmaiden speaks it.” Alarra confessed, moving towards the table. 

“But enough to read it? I assume not.” Alarra huffed, feeling vulnerable. They were in a library together, speaking in a civil manner. Alone. 

“I only know one word because my handmaiden says it a lot. Aek-” Aemond cut her bad pronunciation off, finishing the word. 

“Aeksio. It means lord…where is your handmaiden from?” 

“Essos…she was enslaved there and was sent here when she was young.” She said, sitting down at the chair in front of Aemond. Aemond stared at her for a moment, almost stunned that she had sat down, but he composed himself quickly and began scanning the pages of the book again. “What does the book say?” Alarra leaned over, to peek at the pages but Aemond slammed the book shut, standing with his candle in hand.

Alarra watched as he walked back over to the shelf, scanning the books with his candle before finding a particular book and bringing it back over to the table. This book was much larger than the one before, and had a wolf printed on the front of it. It was titled The Wolf in the North. Alarra sat up quickly, and Aemond opened the book skimming to find a particular page. 

“Why is there a book about-“ Aemond shushed her and Alarra slouched back in her chair reluctantly. Then Aemond stopped turning pages, and flipped the book so it was facing Alarra. He pointed to a particular paragraph. 

“Read it.” He muttered sternly, like a father scolding a child before leaning back in his chair. Alarra obeyed, reading the specific passage. 

“The prophecy in which is forgotten by the Gods. A Wolf from the North will bleed into the South. Blood of a Wolf can start wars, but the blood of a Dragon will end the realm.When one dragon meets fate, a Wolf will seek refuge.” Alarra stopped reading, her eyebrows forming into a straight line. 

“Continue.” Aemond said, his fingers pointing to the rest of the page. 

“Packs are large but dragons are much larger. A Wolf from the North. A Dragon from the South. Wolves bite, and dragons take flight.” Alarra looked up at Aemond quickly. Helaena had said those words to her. 

“What-“ 

“The rest of the book is about your heritage and family. But, why would a prophecy be in a book about the history of the North?” Aemond questioned, snatching the book back from Alarra, shutting it quickly. Alarra was quiet, not quite sure how to respond. But, Aemond was only questioning himself. 

“Why did you choose to read that particular book?” Alarra asked, her eyes falling upon the book again before raising to meet Aemond’s gaze, his sapphire eye staring back at her. 

“I’ve read every book in this library.” Alarra snorted, covering her mouth with her hand and Aemond’s face contorted into annoyance and anger. The library wasn’t too large, and there weren’t many books, maybe five shelves full, but Alarra still did not believe him. Aemond arched an eyebrow at Alarra’s skepticism. 

“You are a woman who is a skilled swordsman. I am sure there are less shocking things in the realm.” Aemond echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly to form into a satisfied smirk. He had called her skilled. Alarra laughed, her hands falling on the table to grab the book from him again. 

“I will be needing this to fall asleep. Thank you for the humor, my prince.” She stood, and he stood with her grabbing his candle. 

“Your candle?” He questioned and Alarra moved towards the floor where her candle lay. She reached Aemond, and he touched his candle with hers letting her candle ignite, two flames now glowing in the dim of the library. They both stood in silence, both of their candles burning slowly. Aemond then nodded his head, before turning and leaving the library, his candle light now gone. 

The night had gone cold when Alarra ventured to her chambers after her encounter with the prince. And sleep had found Alarra that night. Alarra had not been able to sleep properly in weeks since leaving Winterfell. But that night, Alarra snuggled closer into her sheets, and for the first time she slept peacefully. 

The next morning, Alarra had been summoned to speak with Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra was in her chambers, tending to one of her white-headed children Alarra did not know the name of. Rhaneyra smiled as Alarra entered and she approached the princess, respectfully bowing. 

“Please, sit.” She pointed to a chair with her free hand, still holding the babe in the other. She passed the babe to a handmaiden, before sitting across from Alarra. “How are you this morning?”

“I am well.” Rhaenyra crossed her hands on her lap, clearing her throat. 

“Your brother has sent a letter for you, but that is not why I have asked for you.” Alarra perked up, her eyebrows instantly raising at the mention of her brother. Rhaenyra was skeptical at first, but she smiled at Alarra again, but this smile was more reassuring. 

“What is it, my princess?” 

“I wish for you to train my sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys,” Rhaenyra shook her head, eyes closed for a moment. “If you are up for it, of course. I had heard the rumors of your…skill. I will say, I doubted it at first but Jace had convinced me otherwise telling me of your bravery,” Rhaenyra reached across for Alarra’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “You remind me of when I was young. I see myself in you.” Alarra swallowed harshly, before she squeezed the princesses hand back. Alarra could never refuse the words of a princess. Of a future queen. Alarra knew her answer the moment Rhaenyra had asked her. 

“I will train them. If the princes can keep up with a Northerner.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'm so excited to dive into Alarra and Aemond’s relationship. While it is enemies to lovers, the beginning will not be as ‘enemy’ as the middle of the story. The worst is yet to come! They will start out as “friends” and then turn into enemies. So don't get disappointed just yet! I'm also very excited to see where Eyla’s character ends up because she is such a crucial character to the story and Alarra.

Tags: @mamawiggers1980, @kritara

[spacelatinoluvr]

THE WOLF & THE DRAGON (4/?) - aemond targaryen

series masterlist, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 5, chapter 6

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC word count: 4.0k tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage warnings: mention of sexual content rating: 18+, !MDNI!

LADY IN RED

“Rhaenyra and her family plan to visit King’s Landing.” Aegon laughed, and his hideous cackle echoed through the hall and Aemond scowled lightly at his brother’s immaturity. 

“She dares show her face here-?” 

“Your father insisted-“ 

“My father has no solid thought in his decaying brain.” Alicent stood up fast, waving her finger towards Aegon's face and he shrunk down the smile leaving his face. 

“Do not talk about the king- your father.” 

Silence. 

“And the Stark girl will be with them-“ This time Aemond turned towards his mother, eyes wide. A Stark at the Red Keep?

“Stark?” The question had slipped from Aemond’s lips before he could think or even comprehend what his mother had said. She let out a huff before sitting back down in her chair.

“Yes, a Stark.” 

A wolf from the North had wandered into the South. 

Dragons were not what Alarra imagined. They were magnificent creatures, and not the terrible beasts her father had told her they were. Alarra remembered how her mother told her stories of flying flames and women with whispering hands of magic. How her mother filled her head with fairytales and myths while her father told her the truth and history. But sometimes myths can be proven true, and those are the stories Alarra wishes to create for herself. 

The myth of Alarra the Fierce. 

“My Alarra, my beautiful girl…“ Her mother’s eyes stared at her, blue and wide. She sat on her bed, next to her, running her fingers through Alarra’s red hair. Alarra smiled adoringly at her mother. 

“Dragons are beasts of fury, of fire. They guard the sky with their scales of iron and eyes of gold. They roam the Earth for their riders, and are lost without them.

“But you my rose are a Stark. You do not need a beast of fire to proclaim your fury…” Alarra’s mother pointed at her chest. 

“You have your heart. Your voice. Use it.”

Alarra’s mother died a fortnight before her fourth name day. She remembers crying for days, like she had wept for her father, but the days after her mother died were a blur. Something she didn’t quite recollect. But she does remember meeting Eyla. The woman with hair as black as a direwolf’s fur and eyes as enchanting as the movements of a great stallion. 

“My lady, I have been awaiting your arrival,” Eyla was in Alarra’s temporary room at the Red Keep. Rhaenyra had taken the initiative to send all staff ahead of time on a boat, and Alarra was thankful her handmaiden would be there with her in an unfamiliar place. “I haven’t been on a ship since I was…” Eyla paused, staring at the floor before she looked up at Alarra again smiling. 

Alarra smiled at Eyla, entering the large room. It was much larger than any room she’d stayed in. But Alarra was still skeptical. She was still unsure. 

“How was your trip?” Alarra asked, walking towards the woman. 

“I should be asking you the same!” Alarra laughed. 

“The air felt nice. It was cold. But I enjoyed it. I felt like a bird.” Alarra whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Have you met the king? The queen? The princes and princess?” Alarra shook her head. 

“I’ve merely just arrived and was instructed to head to my room to unpack but it seems you have done so. We are meeting them tonight. Told to freshen up, smell nice and not like old meat.” 

“Oh how insulting the South is!” Eyla giggled, shaking her head. “Well I have laid out two dresses.” 

Alarra had chosen to wear the dark blue dress that was laid out for her. A color that always suited her best. A color that meant peace and innocence. The color of Starks. 

Alarra had been wandering the halls of the Red Keep by herself, admiring. She was feeling the walls with her fingers, how differently it was built than her own castle. Quick footsteps sounded behind her and then they stopped just as fast as they started. Alarra paused, turning her head around to find the one-eyed prince staring back at her. 

It was her.

Aemond froze. The rumors were true. Alarra Stark wasn’t just beautiful; she was breathtaking. The air had grown stale and Aemond was finding it hard to compose his heartbeat. No one had ever taken Aemond’s breath from his chest like Alarra Stark had done. And he hated her for it. He hated the way she made him feel the first time he saw her. 

Princess Alarra of the North, the Flower of Winterfell, the Cub and Alarra the Fierce.

Alarra approached Aemond, her steps soft yet calculated. She carried herself with a certain grace, but there was a dark shadow behind her eyes. And when his eyes met hers, Aemond could see that darkness within her. Stark women could freeze a man with a single glance, and Alarra had done just that to the Targaryen prince. 

As she neared, Aemond couldn’t help but notice the scar on her face. A scar so large it was hard to miss at a first glance. A scar that was long and white, done healing: but it still pained her no matter how much it healed. Alarra knew he was staring, opting to scorn him verbally.

“It’s quite rude to stare, Prince Aemond,” Alarra greeted, her voice low as it carried like the faintest chill in the northern winds. Aemond ignored what she had said, wanting to keep his manners in place. “Never seen a strikingly beautiful woman before?” 

Aemond had to keep from snarling. 

“I trust the hospitality of the Red Keep has been to your…liking. I imagine the Red Keep cannot compare to Castle Ward.” Alarra shifted on her feet, smiling and Aemond fought the urge to scowl once again, his anger rising to his face. Alarra noticed and picked up on the subtle way he bit the inside of his lip, his hands shuffling behind his back. Alarra noticed how his hair was pushed back just right, and his eye patch placed perfecting, shielding it from public view. Alarra noticed a lot about Aemond in those few seconds, but she still didn’t know what the prince was thinking. 

“Yes, my prince. Nothing is quite like Winterfell,” Her words were polite, but Aemond could read her tone. “Although, I imagine the North is far too cold for a dragon.” A knowing smile appeared on Alarra’s face yet again but this time slowly. 

“Mhm…and I assume the same for you,” Aemond’s gaze lingered on Alarra for a moment before he spoke again. “Wolves don't stray too far from the pack.”

“I am no ordinary wolf, my prince.” Alarra said, and Aemond’s eyes creased as he watched her. 

“I can see,” Aemond pursed his lips slightly and Alarra tilted her head to the side, an antagonizing grin growing on her face. “I shall see you at supper.” Aemond walked right past her, not giving Alarra a second glance before he was gone from the hallway, his steps no longer echoing. 

Alarra then found her way to the gardens where she stumbled upon Helaena, dipped below the ground playing with flowers and plants in the courtyard. 

“Oh! Princess Helaena,” Alarra watched as the princess did not move, still picking up flowers from the ground. “I did not mean to intrude-”

“You are always welcome, lady in red.” Helaena turned, looking at Alarra and Alarra got on the ground, sitting next to her on her knees. Her dress was bound to get dirty and muddy at one point, something common in Winterfell. Yet, it felt wrong to do it in the castle. 

“Lady in red?” Alarra smiled at the girl, questioning her nickname. 

“You were in my dreams…wearing red.”

“I do not wear red, princess.”

“But, you will,” Alarra tilted her head to the side, with so many questions racking her brain. “Wolves bite and dragons take flight.” Helaena whispered to herself. 

Alarra plucked a small flower, twirling it between her fingers as she stared at it. 

Wolves bite and dragons take flight. 

“Your hair looks beautiful, my lady.” Eyla combed her fingers through Alarra’s hair, as it was curled and splayed over her shoulders. 

“You should be complimenting yourself.” Alarra stared at her hair adoringly, as it was beautifully set into ringlets, a silver pendant with a red jewel sat atop her head. Eyla had gifted her that pendant as a form of love and was told it would ‘keep her safe’. Alarra only wore it when Eyla insisted, and this night she had guided the girl to wear it. 

Rhaenyra had instructed Alarra to sit next to Joffrey, but that would mean she would have to sit across from Aemond. Viserys and his hand were not present, only Alicent and her children. He must have been instructed with bed rest. Aegon was laughing drunkenly as he threw grapes into his mouth like a child. Helaena was next to him, playing with her food, not a single emotion present on her face. Lucerys, Joffrey, and Jacaerys were all talking lively to each other, ignoring their family members across the table. Rhaena and Baela were speaking to each other as well, bursting into hushed laughter occasionally. Daemon and Rhaenyra were speaking quietly, while Alicent glanced over at them once and awhile while she downed her own goblet of wine. Alarra was in her own bubble, chowing down on her food and keeping to herself. Until she noticed the person in front of her. Aemond was staring at Alarra, a small smirk placed upon his face. A smirk that brought Alarra pure anger. Alarra stabbed at her food, glancing up at him once and awhile. Aemond had grabbed his wine, looking at her over the top of it with that stupid, stupid smirk- 

“Is something the matter, my lady.” Aemond pulled Alarra out of her trance. She hadn’t realized she had been angrily staring at his face. And his dumb smirk. 

“Everything is well, my prince.” Alarra gritted the last part out of her teeth. Aemond’s smirk widened, if that was even possible. 

“Enjoying your duck?” 

“Very much so. And you?” Alarra stabbed a piece of the meat, bringing it to her lips slowly. Aemond watched her, his hand gripping his fork harder, his knuckles almost turning white. 

“Quite delectable.” Aemond wasn’t talking about the meat, but Alarra didn’t know that. 

“Your sister hasn’t touched her plate.” Alarra observed Helaena who was sitting quietly, pushing around her peas and carrots with her duck untouched, a small frown on her face. 

“She feels bad for the duck.” Aemond said it as if it were an insult. But, Alarra gazed at Helaena, sympathizing with the girl. She’s just a child. 

“Don’t make fun,” Alarra sniped, and Aemond tilted his head. “She is an empath. It is a wonderful thing to be.” 

“Until it gets you killed.” Aemond muttered. Alarra caught the disgust in his tone, scanning his face and his features and how he looked angry. But that anger was hidden by sadness. And she could see right through it. Right through him. 

Rhaenyra stood, clearing her throat as the sounds of laughter and talking died down, everyone turning their attention to the princess. 

“Since my father cannot be here tonight, I trust that he is in the Gods’ hands, free from pain this evening. Hopefully he will feel well soon enough to meet his newest kin.” Rhaenyra smiled at Baela, Rhaena and Alarra. 

“And to Alicent,” Rhaenyra looked at Alicent, her smile different from the one she gave the young girls. “I pray for your well being during my fathers torment.” And Rhaenyra nodded at Alicent before sitting down again. Nobody spoke for a few seconds, before Alicent smiled at Rhaenyra, nodding her head at her. 

The talking ensued again, and Alarra resumed eating her food. Aemond was no longer staring at her, but staring at his brother who was next to Helaena. Alarra watched as Aemond glared at Aegon, who was mindlessly drinking wine, seemingly making a fool of himself. She knew exactly what Aemond was thinking at that moment. How much hatred he had for his older brother. The misfortune that he was older. Alarra admired her older brother, yet Aemond showed no signs of admiration for Aegon. Aegon then stood, stumbling lightly as he did, reaching for his wine, and it spilled on the table as he grabbed it roughly. 

“A toast! To my nephews and their…” he snorted, laughing his head in the air. “Women. That one is quite pretty-” He pointed to Alarra and everyone looked at her. “-besides that ugly thing on her face. Maybe you won’t have to look at her when you fuck her dear nephew.” Aegon cackled again, his laughter filling the room. Alarra’s lip curled as her hands molded into tight fists under the table. She couldn’t help but open her lips. No one would speak to her like that. Even a foolish drunk prince.

“And what scars do you have to show for your skills in swordsmanship, my prince? Oh that’s right…” Aegon hummed, looking Alarra up and down, taking a big gulp from his goblet. He paused before slamming it back down on the table, the remains of red wine spilt.

“And she talks back. Most do not speak back to me. Maybe a slap across the face will do her well.”

“Likewise, my prince.” The prince’s eyes widened as he pointed an accusing finger at her across the table. He leaned over as far as he could reach.

“Excuse me-“

“Aegon, sit down.” Alicent had ordered her son, her voice loud. Aegon obeyed immediately, huffing as he fell back into his chair, glaring at Alarra. She looked away from Aegon to see Aemond with a small smile upon his face, obviously trying to hide it. This was amusing to him. Alarra raised an eyebrow at him as if to ask, is this funny to you? All Aemond did was smirk at her before he took another sip from his wine. Alarra couldn’t stand that smirk on his stupid face with his stupid blonde hair and his stupid eyepatch. But there was one thing Alarra knew for certain. She hated Aemond Targaryen.

Later that night, Alarra was bathing in warm water and lilacs speaking to Eyla about the dinner she had with the Targaryen family. 

“It was an interesting family reunion…” Eyla scrubbed at Alarra’s shoulders, the water cascading down her back. “It was…tense.” 

“I can imagine it wouldn’t be a joyous reunion.” 

“What makes you say that?” Eyla stopped scrubbing at Alarra’s naked body, pondering on what to say next. 

“The rightful heir to the iron throne is Rhaenyra Targaryen. But, Aegon Targaryen is the king’s first-born son. Who’s to say he won't overtake the throne once his father dies.”

“Aegon Targaryen is an idiot. A fool. He is not fit-” Eyla shushed the girl, her finger closing over her mouth. 

“The walls have ears, my lady.” Alarra snorted, her face contorting into a blissful grin. 

“The walls are walls. If anyone dares to use my words against me, I will cut their throat.” Alarra laughed at Eyla’s shocked face. A second later, a laugh emitted from Eyla’s throat and she shoved Alarra in the bath, water splashing on her dress. 

“My lady! Now you are speaking like me, not yourself. I fear you have been around me too much.”

“And is that such a bad thing?” Alarra now washed herself, drenching her hair in water. 

“You need to speak like a lady. Not a whore from Essos.”

“Eyla!” Alarra scoffed, pausing her cleanliness. The only sound that was heard now was the occasional splashing of water, as Eyla continued to clean her. 

“The princess calls me a silly name.” Alarra smiled at the memory, a nickname she thought was cute and had no meaning. 

“Does she call you a wet dog?” Alarra snickered, as Eyla’s hands moved towards her stomach area. 

“She calls me lady in red.” 

Eyla stopped cleaning Alarra, a concerned look crossing her features. 

“Lady in red?”

“Yes, but I insisted that I do not wear red-” 

“My lady, Helaena, is a dreamer. She sees things that others cannot.” 

“I have heard of her odd inquiries.”

“They are not just odd, my lady. There is talk that her dreams are prophecies from God.”

God. 

Eyla never spoke of what higher being she believed in. Alarra always wondered what she believed because she never brought it up until now. 

“Besides, red has never suited me.” Eyla sighed, beginning to scrub Alarra's body more harshly this time. 

“Every color suits you, my lady.” Alarra shook her head, her nose scrunching up in disgust. 

“Except yellow.” Eyla laughed, turning around to grab more lilacs and throw them into the bath that had grown colder. 

“Except yellow.” She repeated. 

“Aemond hates his brother. That is one thing I know. I see it in his eyes everytime he looks at him. Pure jealousy and rage.” Alarra whispered, thinking about his eyes and the way they glared at Aegon. Alarra almost felt bad for the prince. Almost. Something in her understood him. Something was telling her that maybe he wasn’t so bad- but that couldn’t be true. He was a Targaryen after all. And she was a Stark. Wolves and Dragons don’t get along. 

Ser Criston Cole was a man of honor. A man’s honor is something that can corrupt him, make him manic with power. And Alarra knew that all too well. Her uncle had surged, his hunger for power devouring his mind. Ser Criston Cole reminded her of her uncle and his unending thirst. The first moment she saw the knight, she saw the monster that lay between his gaze. Awaiting any moment to strike at anyone or anything that dares threaten him. But he could never scare her. For he was only a man with a tiny blade to save him. And Alarra had much more than that. 

Alarra approached Ser Criston Cole, as he stood outside the hall, not even meeting her gaze below him. He was frozen still, not even acknowledging the princess before him. Alarra was offended, but declared that it wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth her might. 

“Ser Criston Cole,” She rang, and he finally glanced at her, his head still forward but eyes scanning. 

“Alarra the Fierce…what a pleasure.” 

“I am sure it is a pleasure, Ser.” Ser Criston straightened, clearing his throat. 

“Do you need something?” He questioned, his eyes again falling forward. 

“I wish to break my fast.” Ser Criston Cole glanced at her again from the corner of his eyes. 

“Prince Aegon wishes to not be interrupted-“ 

“I wish to break my fast.” She said again, more loudly and clearly this time. Maybe he hadn’t heard her, from two feet away. 

“You will have to wait.” 

“My stomach is growling, do you hear?” Alarra pointed to her stomach, and the quiet was loud around them before her stomach growled. 

“Break your fast elsewhere.” 

A loud euphoric moan sounded from the hall, and Alarra’s eyes widened as Ser Criston Cole visibly stiffened. 

Alarra chose to break her fast outside. The hall was not inviting to her. She watched the water as she ate, as the blue sea crashed in waves against the cliffs. Alarra had never seen a sea so blue before.  

“Enjoying the view, my lady?” Alarra was in the middle of chewing, when she turned to find Rhaena standing behind her. Alarra almost choked on her pastry, as she turned to face the princess, who had a bright smile on her face

“Yes, very much so. I’ve never seen water so blue.” 

“I forget you don’t have seas in Winterfell.” 

When Alarra first arrived at Dragonstone, getting there by ship, she was in awe of the sea. She recalled never seeing something so blue. Something so vast and large, as it stretched before her. Rhaena moved to sit at the seat across from Alarra, the sunlight making her white hair look even brighter. 

“I haven’t gotten the chance to speak to you yet.” Rhaena folded her hands across her lap, a hint of shyness in her demeanor. 

“Likewise.” Alarra responded, swallowing the piece of food she had been chewing on with some effort.

“My brother never let me leave Winterfell,” Alarra said, shaking her head before speaking again. “That’s why I’ve never seen the sea before.” Rhaena’s eyebrows furrowed as Alarra spoke. 

“Why let your brother control you?” Alarra hadn’t thought about that before. Why had she let her brother dictate her choices? Her life. She could have left. She could have never seen her brother again, adventuring away from the North. But she didn’t. Alarra shook her head, looking away from Rhaena, her gaze drifting back towards the sea, its vastness pulling her inward.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Alarra looked at her again, the scar on her face more prominent in the sunlight. Rhaena had been the one person to not stare. Alarra remembered that act of kindness, and it had made her heart ache a little less. “I have duty there, I have a place in the realm, I am not a princess but a valiant knight.” Alarra knew she wasn’t a knight. She knew she could never be one. But she always dreamed of it. She always felt she was more than a princess at Winterfell. That she had a purpose other than producing heirs. Rhaena was silent, listening to the words that Alarra was saying. She didn’t need to respond for Alarra to know she understood. She just did. 

“I admire you. And your courage. The way you stood up for them, without even truly knowing them-“ 

“I know what is right. That is all I need to know.” Rhaena smiled, her cheeks rising to her ears. 

“Anyone would be honored to have you as their knight.” 

“I am not a knight. Only a lady.” 

“I know,” Rhaena smiled, beginning to stand. “Well I shall leave you to your sanctuary. And please,” Rhaena’s eyes glimmered as she looked at the girl. And Alarra knew just how well they would soon get along. “Talk to me at any time.” Before she left Alarra wanted to say one more thing. 

“Rhaena?” Rhaena looked at her, awaiting her words. “My brother does not control me. Only I control myself. Don’t let any man, no matter their title, tell you what you do. How you do things. They cannot touch you. You are a princess. Use that title to its purpose. I promise it will get you far,” Rhaena knew she’d liked Alarra just by meeting her. And this had just made her assumption much more true. 

“As women we don’t get much of a title. We don’t get much of anything. But what we can get, what we can earn, we must conquer. Do you see?” Rhaena could only nod, taking in the wise words of Alarra the Fierce. And then Rhaena was gone, only the wind and the sea to accompany Alarra with her meal.

Aemond could not sleep that night. He opted to wander the halls, get his mind out of everything but he assumed that would do more harm than good. Wandering only led to more thinking and more thinking led to bigger thoughts- it was turmoil. Aemond had decided to visit the library instead. The door squealed as Aemond opened it, only a candle in his hand to lead him through the dark room. 

Aemond thought he was alone as he walked through the rows of books, until he saw another light flash before him. Someone else was in there with him. Aemond moved his candle all around, trying to find where the light had come from but found nothing but darkness. Somewhere in the back of Aemond’s mind he had hoped it was the Stark girl. He hoped to get one more glimpse at her face before he slept. But he knew he’d see her in his dreams again.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I truly love writing Alarra, she's such a good character. Her and Rhaena's platonic and sisterly relationship is one I look forward to writing.

Tags: @mamawiggers1980, @kritara

[spacelatinoluvr]

“he’s so babygirl”

babe he just killed somebody.

[spacelatinoluvr]

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍

dragonriding outfit in 2x08.

[spacelatinoluvr]

THE WOLF & THE DRAGON (3/?) - aemond targaryen

series masterlist, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC word count: 3.6k tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage warnings: mention of sexual harassment rating: 18+, !MDNI!

BREATH OF FIRE

A Stark has been betrothed to a Velaryon.  

The word had slipped, spreading quickly among the Seven Kingdoms, the engagement reaching the ears of Aemond Targaryen. But, not to just any Velaryon: the youngest child of Rhaenyra Targaryen. 

Aemond didn't know why it had angered him. Why the thought of a Stark girl ruining the Targaryen line made him so furious. But, Rhaenyra had already done that bedding the plain featured man, he figured. Aemond remembered Rhaenyra had proposed the idea of Jacaerys and Helaena but his mother was quick to turn it down. 

“Aemond dear, what has plagued your thoughts?” Alicent’s sweet voice rang through the room, and Aemond was brought out of his running mind. 

“Nothing, mother.” Helaena was next to him, braiding Jaehaera’s hair. His fingers drummed mindlessly against the arm of his chair, staring at a doll with blonde hair on the ground. Aemond didn't realize how deep his scowl had become until Helaena pulled him from his indignation. 

“I had a dream about you brother,” She started, still braiding the hair of Jaehaera. Aemond turned to look at her from across the room. “Wolves bite and Dragons take flight.” Helaena whispered, her eyes unwavering.

Aemond had learned to ignore his sister's questionable inquiries, but this one intrigued him. Alicent’s gentle voice broke through the silence once again that enveloped the room. 

“You're always so pensive these days, my son.” Alicent waited a beat, her eyes studying her son and his cold demeanor. 

“My thoughts are only bare, mother.” Aemond muttered, before he glanced at Helaena again. Aemond was lying. His thoughts were never naked. His thoughts consumed him. And only one thing was on his mind.

“Did you hear?” Ser Criston Cole was standing next to the prince, breathing heavily from their training minutes before. “The cunt of Dragonstone has sold her bastard son to a wolf.” He rang, snorting. 

Aemond paused, turning his head to look at the Knight. 

“Princess Rhaenyra,” Criston Cole paused, his eyebrows scrunched together as he stared at the prince. “She is still a princess and you will address her as such.”

“I apologize my prince I-” 

“And yes, I had heard the rumors. So, they are true, yes?” Ser Criston Cole slowly nodded his head, adjusting the plate on his chest. 

“Alarra the Fierce is what they call her, my prince.”

Alarra the Fierce. 

Aemond had heard that name before. He had heard of her strength as much as her beauty. But she was a Stark, with rough features and dark hair. She was no Targaryen. 

“And is this Alarra truly fierce?” Criston Cole laughed, shaking his head. 

“She cannot be…she is a woman.”

“I wouldn't underestimate her because of her birth. If the stories are true…” Aemond pondered remembering hearing the story of the Princess who Lived at a young age. He never believed it, but if it were true…

“If the stories are true, then I will resign!” Ser Criston Cole joked, laughing again. 

But, Aemond had a feeling that the wolf from the North would bare her teeth at the dragons. 

It had been three days since Alarra’s visit to Castle Black when they received the Raven from Rhaenyra Targaryen. 

“The Princess and her family are to be in King's Landing with her father…” Cregan read, his eyes scanning over the letter again before he looked back up at Alarra. “She requests your presence at Dragonstone immediately.” Cregan’s voice was wavering, like he was uncertain. His fist was holding the paper tightly, his eyebrows furrowed into a singular line above his eyes. The further he read the more tense his face became. 

“Why so sudden?” Alarra questioned, leaning forward to glance at the letter, but Cregan ripped it away from the table. “What is it?”

Cregan remained still, his finger beating against the table. 

Thump, thump, thump.  

“Leave me, Alarra.”

“But-”

“Leave.” Cregan had started to gather a fresh piece of paper, ink and a quill. Alarra sat there for a moment before she slowly stood quietly leaving the room.  

Alarra was brushing one of the many horses in the stable, something she enjoyed doing. It was a way to calm herself and stay collected. She brushed one of the brown horses, a small smile on her face as she whispered to the animal, receiving no reply. Alarra was too focused, letting her guard down, and she didn't notice a figure standing behind her, watching. 

“Alarra.”

Alarra jumped, becoming alert, turning around to find her brother approaching her. His face was pale, and he looked like a boy at that moment. Not the lord of Winterfell, not the king of the North but her brother. He looked like he did when they would play in the creek, splashing water until the sun fell beneath the trees and their father would tell them that night time was not safe. He looked like himself. 

“Cregan.” She replied, turning around to face him and her back towards the horse. He stepped towards her again, slightly skeptical, like a fox approaching a bird. 

“I seem to always find you here when you are upset.”

“I find solace in the most accepting creatures,” Alarra started, turning back around to pet the horse’s face with her palm, and it moved towards her hand, inviting her. “Horses are kinder than humans.”

“I am…sorry.” Cregan began.

“Now you are sorry?” Alarra’s tone was steady and calm, no trace of being indignant. She wasn't angry nor was she upset, just curious. 

“It was an irrational decision- I…” Alarra stopped petting the horse to turn back towards Cregan. He was staring at the floor of the stable, thinking. He looked back up at her before he continued. “But it was necessary.”

“You say that a lot.”

“What?”

“You think that every decision you make is justified because it benefits you or our house. Every decision, every choice you make is based on one emotion, whether you like to admit it or not,” Alarra paused, smiling lightly and Cregan’s shoulders sank, a breath of relief leaving him. “You're scared.”

“I just want to keep you safe. That is all I want.”

“And you can't do that here? In Winterfell?”

“Alarra you have to understand that I am your brother. I am your protector from all things evil. I am your guardian. Father bestowed upon me that I keep you safe. Always. I almost failed him that day- the day that the Gods almost reached you.” Cregan’s eyes were watering, and Alarra knew how he never let his emotions get the best of him. She knew he loved her, as much as he didn't say it, he showed it. He never let himself cry. Cregan sniffled, his lips forming a thin line. 

“You know that I-”

“I know, Cregan.”

“Everything I do is for you.” Cregan’s voice cracked at the end, as he stared at Alarra most likely fighting the tears. The last time Cregan cried in front of Alarra was when she had almost endured the end. When she almost died. And after that day, Cregan never let her leave his sight, unless she was under supervision of Ser Wildrow of course. It pained him as much as it did her for her to leave him. But, Cregan knew where his duty lay; where his morals sat. And Cregan had regretted it the moment the approval left his mouth. The moment he agreed to give his little sister away to a child. “And the last thing I want is for you to leave, hating me.”

“It's alright, Cregan, truly. I do not resent you for it. I will learn to accept it. And besides, it will be a dutiful task, no?” Alarra smiled again, her eyes glossy. And Cregan sighed, pulling Alarra in for a tight hug. 

I love you.

“Be safe.” Cregan whispered into her ear, not pulling away from the embrace just yet. Not ready to let go of his little cub.

“Always,” Alarra rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent of leather and smoke. “I am Alarra the Fierce after all.” She spoke into his shoulder, and he pulled away from her his hands stationary on her shoulders. 

“But, if anyone lays a finger you-” Cregan’s eyes were hard, piercing into Alarra’s face as his hands gripped her shoulders firmly. “I will pursue them myself, fuck the arrangement. They will meet the Wolf of the North.” Alarra smiled, nodding because that was the Cregan she knew. The Stark she had known all her life. 

“They would be utterly stupid to even try, brother.”

That night, Aemond dreamt of a girl he had never had the pleasure of laying his eyes upon before; a girl with red hair. A girl named Alarra Stark. He dreamt of her long hair, her blue eyes, her sword swinging in the air, her freckles. He awoke in the night, gripping his sheets, seething. And he lay awake, the rest of the night, angrily staring above him, his thoughts corrupted of a girl he never knew. And that is what angered him more. 

Alicent noticed the way Aemond stomped into the hall that morning, his composure radiating pure hatred. The way he hastily dragged the chair out from the table. The way he ate in silence, stabbing at the food on his plate. The way he left without a word, no announcement upon his arrival or leave. She didn't question him, as she assumed he didn't get enough rest. It wasn't until he had brought that mood into a visit with his father, that she approached Aemond. 

“Aemond, what is the matter?” Alicent’s eyes fanned over him, her eyebrows furrowed, worriedly. Alicent and Aemond had quietly left the king’s chambers, standing outside his door. Aemond turned towards his mother, still tense. His mind flashed, going back to the red haired girl. The beautiful red haired girl that poisoned his brain and made him feel so angry he could vomit. So full of hatred he felt utterly sick at the thought of her. 

“Aemond?” Aemond blinked, staring at his mother again. She was gripping his hand tightly, and he pulled it away. 

“Nothing. I am fine. Just tired.” Aemond responded quickly, feeling as though his mother could see through his lies. And she could, like looking through glass she could see his emotions clearly. Aemond was unsure of how to tell his mother what was really bothering him. 

Enraged by a dream? A figment of a woman who walks in his sleep? Oh, how he imagined she'd laugh. 

“Aemond…” Alicent prodded, stepping closer to the prince. 

“I shall bid you goodnight.” And that was the last thing Aemond said for the night, before he left for his chambers. Sleep was not his friend that night, and when he did enter slumber, his dreams were again overtaken by the Stark girl. 

Alarra was not ready to leave Winterfell. As much as she knew she had to, she did not want to. Cregan had hung onto Alarra, not ready to let go of her. Not ready to let her leave him and his sight. Cregan squeezed her one last time before ruffling her hair and kissing the top of her head. 

“I'm only a raven away.” He said, smiling at her, still gripping her shoulders. 

“And so am I!” Alarra laughed as he hugged her again, lifting her off her feet. He was hugging her still, his hair in her face. 

“Just promise to take care of yourself. Please.” He said into her ear, and Alarra laughed again, pulling away from him. 

“I always do. You know this,” Alarra patted her thigh, where her dagger always sat, hidden. “Just in case.”

Cregan laughed, admiring his sister and the woman she was becoming. And that he would miss out on the bigger parts of her life. He wouldn't see her for years he supposed. Wouldn't see her blossom into the beautiful woman he knew she'd become. 

“You are destined for great things, Alarra.”

Before she got in the carriage she hugged her brother one last time. And she watched as her brother got smaller and smaller, his frame no longer visible. And then Wintefell was gone, only trees surrounding her.

Alarra had just gotten done laughing at a joke Eyla had made, and could barely get a sentence out. Through her laughter, Alarra questioned her. 

“And how do you know that this servant boy was staring at your…” Alarra snorted, her eyes trailing to Eyla’s breasts. 

“His eyes were not meeting mine, my lady.” Eyla let out a short laugh, and after their shared laughter the carriage became quiet again. 

“Does that not make you uncomfortable?” Alarra questioned, her cheeks red from laughing and a smile resting on her face. 

“No. I am used to it. You forget how long I have been in this realm, my lady.” Alarra never questioned Eyla about her life in Essos. She never had reason to; it was her business and her business only. Eyla and Alarra had shared respect for each other; they were friends. 

“You shouldn’t be used to it.” Alarra stated, mourning slightly for the woman. 

“As women-”

“No, no excuses because we happen to spill milk from our breasts,” Alarra was getting heated now, her face red because of her irritation. 

“Alarra, it is how things are here-”

“Well, things can change. The color of the sky changes, why can't we?” 

“I cannot answer that, my lady.” Silence encased them again, before Alarra spoke up, shaking her head.

“Sometimes I wish I were born a boy, like my brother,” Alarra confessed, her voice meek. Like it was a terrible thing to say. But truth holds so much more meaning than a lie. “I wonder if I would even be fierce, if I would even have to prove myself fierce.” Eyla was quiet, never looking away from Alarra, her face frozen and eyes a dark void before she spoke. 

“Women don't just earn a place in the realm from birth…we must take it,” Eyla paused, her voice proud and mighty. She had a determined look on her face but quickly covered it up with her usual airy smile. Alarra always noticed how Eyla’s accent thickened whenever she was extremely passionate. Whether she was angry or excited, Eyla knew how to use her words. 

“And that is exactly what makes us different from men.”

Dragonstone was much more different than Winterfell. Alarra noted quickly how the air was much warmer, much more salty. She noticed how the sun was blocked by clouds of gray and the wind wasn't as harsh. Alarra was terrified, but she chose not to acknowledge her fear because it would only encourage a scared Alarra; and Alarra was to be fierce, not tuck her tail between her legs. 

When Alarra arrived, the first person she met was Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra was wonderful, truly. As much as Alarra hated that she was there, away from her brother, Rhaenyra brought a certain comfort to the girl. Rhaenyra then introduced her to her oldest son, Jacaerys, and he was as handsome as the people said. Maybe even more than the rumors. Alarra then was introduced to Lucerys, he was lively like his older brother and Alarra noticed that he had a confidence about him. She then met Rhaena and Baela; both beautiful and elegant. And last, she was met with her betrothed. The only person missing was the rogue prince.

The little one, presumably Joffrey, was hidden behind his mother’s dress, staring at Alarra’s face. At her unmistakingly large scar. Alarra frowned as he just continued to stare, his face contorted into one of curiosity. 

“This is Joffrey.” She said, and Alarra looked down at him as he hid behind his mother.

“How old is the little one?” Alarra questioned, meeting the gaze of Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra looked down at the bashful boy, petting his head with her hand. 

“Seven.” She said, swallowing as she said it. Alarra hadn't realized how young he was, how long she would have to stay in the castle, locked away for years and years awaiting the Velaryon boy. What a fool her brother was. A fool. 

Three moons with the Blacks had already come and gone, and Alarra was starting to enjoy her time spent with the Velaryon boys. She was in the courtyard, playing with the youngest boys, Joffrey and Lucerys. Joffrey was somewhere running around but Lucerys had been talking to Alarra, asking her questions. 

“Do you miss him? Your brother.” Lucerys asked innocently, a sad look upon his face. Lucerys could never imagine being without his brothers. 

“I miss my brother…but dragons are much more fun than wolves.” Lucerys giggled, his face now bright and teeth shining. Alarra laughed with him as he sat closer to her, eyes wide with wonder. 

“What is Winterfell like?” Alarra stared at the boy, her eyes glimmering with thoughts of her home. Her old home. Winterfell was home, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him how much she missed it, how much she missed her stubborn brother, how much she missed teasing Ser Wildrow, how much she missed her horses, how much she missed the cold air and wearing thick clothing. But, she opted to tell the young prince this:

“Winterfell is nothing like Dragonstone. Instead of dragons we have horses. Instead of gray skies we have blue ones. Instead of warm air we have cold air. Instead of Targaryens we have Starks.” Alarra teased, poking Lucerys lightly on the chest and he whined, pushing her hand away and running to find Joffrey.

“My brothers seem to like you, lady Alarra.” Alarra turned to find Jacaerys watching as Joffrey and Lucerys ran around the courtyard, playing like children. 

“I would hope so.” Alarra rang, not trying to jester but Jacaerys let out a small laugh. 

“Do you like it here?”

“I am managing,” Alarra didn't know why she was being so honest with the boy. Maybe it was because he reminded her so much of her own brother: of Cregan. “You resemble him. Cregan.” She muttered, smiling as Lucerys and Joffrey sat on the grass playing with the leaves on the ground. 

“They remind me of…” Alarra paused the words stuck on her tongue, pushing to leave her throat. Alarra saw herself in both of the boys. Their liveliness and their innocence. So young and little. Jacaerys moved to sit down opposite of her on the bench. Alarra turned towards him, putting her hands in her lap. She was about to speak when Rhaenyra appeared, walking towards them hastily. Alarra stood quickly, bowing her head.

“Princess.”

“Lady Alarra,” Rhaenyra smiled at the girl, before she quickly turned to her son addressing him. Jacaerys stood, glancing at Alarra. They both bid her goodbye before he followed Rhaenyra out of the courtyard and Alarra was left alone with the two little princes.

The first time Alarra met Daemon Targaryen was before they were to depart to King's Landing. Alarra was excited to leave the castle and travel to a new one. She was finally going to explore Westeros, however long it took her. But she was most excited to meet the dragons. Rhaenyra had assured her that she would be fine as a passenger on Syrax and had nothing to worry about. But, Alarra was still skeptical as she was curious.

Daemon was not what Alarra expected. She expected a brute and confident man: someone she would not like. But he seemed closed off and quiet, mostly keeping to himself. Until he approached Alarra, standing next to her as she took in the large dragons before her. She had only heard stories of dragons from her father. And now she was standing in front of the creatures she was taught to hate. 

“First time seeing a dragon?” Daemon spoke first, the wind was howling now and Alarra shivered. 

“What do you think, my prince?” Sarcasm dripped from Alarra’s tone, and Daemon's eyebrows raised. Alarra feared she had offended the prince until he smiled at the sky letting out a small laugh. 

“I forget you Stark’s are warm-blooded.” Daemon muttered, it sounded like an insult but Alarra looked at Daemon for the first time laughing. 

“Funny. I would say the same yet your blood runs cold.” Alarra laughed again and Daemon just stared at her and the only thing that they heard was the wind and growl of dragons. 

“Usually people run and cower and hide yet you're…” Daemon started, looking back at the dragons. 

“I was always scared of dragons because of the stories my father would tell me…how they were horrible beasts with breath of fire,” Daemon was quiet, just watching Alarra as she gazed at the dragons in front of her. She hummed before she spoke up again, reminiscing. “‘Little flame, you are the one that should breathe fire’ he would tell me,” Daemon watched her, his eyes calculated but a small smirk made its way to his face as he snorted. 

“And do you breathe fire, lady Alarra?” 

“Fire is meant for dragons,” Alarra turned her head to look at the rogue prince.

“And I breathe ice.” 

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This chapter might have been a boring one and slightly rushed just because this was to set up the bulk of the rest of the story. And Aemond and Alarra will meet in the next chapter so I’m super excited about that! I'm going to miss Cregan but he'll be back...

[spacelatinoluvr]

THE WOLF AND THE DRAGON MASTERLIST - aemond targaryen

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage rating: 18+, !MDNI!

masterlist:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7, in progress

[spacelatinoluvr]

THE WOLF & THE DRAGON (2/?) - aemond targaryen

series masterlist, chapter 1, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC word count: 4.1k tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage warnings: violence, angst rating: 18+, !MDNI!

A LADY KNIGHT

Alarra was always fascinated with fireflies. She remembers leaving her room, late at night, when the air was cold, just to hold the fireflies in the courtyard. To watch them glow in the grass, and trapping them within her fingers. Cregan caught her one day, out at night not a guard in sight. He had yelled at her telling her it was not safe. She was only six, and did not know any better for she only wanted to see the glowing bugs. She cried as Cregan scolded her and after that night, he had made a secret promise to never make her cry again. But now, Cregan had feared he had hurt his sister in the worst way possible.

“You are to wed Joffrey Velaryon when he is of age and that is final!” Cregan shouted, slamming his hands upon the table, standing abruptly. “I am your Lord, and you will do as I say.”

“A hypocrite! You are a hypocrite! You say you want my safety- you prioritize me but now you're sending me away?”

“You will be safe with them. Daemon Targaryen is the most skilled knight-”

“I am to be locked in a castle for the rest of my life now? Waiting for the day, a child is of age to marry me?” Alarra paced the hall, her hand running through her hair.

“Alarra-”

“Am I just a hand to you? Something to give away? An export? A breeding-hole?”

“Alarra!” Alarra flinched at the tone her brother was using. He never yelled at her, never raised his voice. She must have struck a nerve. “Why would I ever send you somewhere that is not within your best interest?” He said, softening his voice, his eyes pleading with her.

“Because I am a woman.”

“No, because you will be a true princess. Not a princess of the North, but a princess of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“‘And I will tie our two houses together’- yes dear brother I get the picture.” Alarra tilted her head to the side, condescendingly, eyes shaped into crescent moons.

“Alarra you're not listening,” Cregan, still standing, walked around the table to stand next to her. Alarra knew that the responsibility of being the Lord of Winterfell from the ripe age of one and six was weighing on his shoulders. Their uncle had reigned as the Lord of Winterfell until Cregan was of age and Alarra didn’t have much memory of him besides the disdain he had for her brother. Alarra didn’t understand why because their uncle took the responsibility as if he had always been the King of the North. He was a Stark after all. And Cregan was strong; stronger than any boy she ever knew. “This is about our duty; our house; our legacy to lead.”

“And what of my legacy? What life do I want to lead? Don't I get a choice-?”

“You have every choice, Alarra. But this one is not yours to make.”

“This is my life, Cregan!” Alarra screamed, her lip quivering lightly as she pointed at his chest. “And you- you can’t just take my freedom away from me. If father were still here-” Cregan sucked in a breath, stepping towards her.

“If father were still here you wouldn't even be having this conversation with him.”

It was deathly silent before Cregan looked away from Alarra, gnawing on his mouth. There was so much Cregan wanted to say to her. But, what he chose to say remained with his duty as the Lord of Winterfell and not Alarra’s brother. His honor remained with his house, not his blood.

“My decision remains. You will wed Joffrey Velaryon. You will do as I say.” Alarra stepped backwards, in shock of her brother. She shook her head letting out a sarcastic snicker as she stomped out of the hall, the door slamming loudly on her way out.

Alarra was furious. She knew she'd end up in an arranged marriage with someone- someone kind and her age. Someone she knew and someone Cregan knew. She would be married when she was older, when she had seen all of Westeros. When she had fulfilled her wishes. She would have a say in who she married, who she grew to love. And Alarra accepted that; she was okay with it. But, a betrothal to a child? Alarra was certain she'd marry some Cerwyn boy, someone that her family trusted. A house that they knew would secure their allyship. She’d be close to her family, remaining in the North. But, a Targaryen? To be eventually sent with them, at the Red Keep. A rumored bastard of princess Rhaenyra. An unknown son of Harwin Strong.

When Alarra had first bled, she feared that she'd be sent away. She feared Cregan would abandon her, giving her away to the first man to want her. But, that day never came. And Alarra knew how much Cregan wanted her with him; wanted her around forever and to be by his side. Now he was giving her away. And she had no choice. She had no say.

And that was the worst betrayal.

During the day, Alarra refused to see her brother. He had requested that she train with him, like any day before, but she never showed and Cregan was left standing alone in the training hall staring at his shadow. After so many years of training with his sister, Cregan didn’t know how to train without her. They were never separated when it came down to a sword.

Alarra was brushing her hair, sitting at her mirror. The length was now at her stomach. Alarra loved her hair, it was one of her favorite things about herself. After the incident and scarring left on her face, Alarra took great care of her hair. She always styled it away from her face, always in the way of her duties but when she was not training with her brother or Ser Wildrow: she was a dainty flower for people to pick. She loved to be a woman. To brush her hair, wear dresses and bathe in lavender.

The moon was full that night, and it shone through her open window. Candles were scattered around her room, dimly lit.

Even in the moon's rise, Alarra was still thinking of her brother. After locking herself in her room all day, she had become more furious. Alarra the Fierce? That name now felt like nothing to her. Like words instead of encouragement. Her strokes on her hair slowly became more violent the more she let her thoughts race.

“My lady, I believe you've brushed enough.” Eyla proposed from behind Alarra, who was sitting upright in a chair. Alarra blinked, letting out a breath before dropping the brush on the table. Eyla ran her hair through Alarra’s hair, petting it lightly. Her hands were always delicate and soft, soothing the girl's sorrows away.

“Your hair has grown so much, my lady.” Eyla stopped, turning back to the girls closet, and grabbing a night gown, setting it on her bed. A knock on her door sounded and Alarra stiffened.

“Do not allow Cregan to enter.” Eyla nodded before walking towards the door, beginning to open it.

“You cannot ignore your brother forever.” Eyla stated, before she fully opened the door.

A male figure was standing at the door and Alarra refused to look. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ser Wildrow approach her, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Alarra stood quickly, curtseying.

“My lady.” He bowed his head, walking towards her.

“Oh- I- Ser Wildrow.” Alarra rose from her curtsey, meeting his line of sight. “What brings you here at this hour?” Alarra smiled, her face glowing in the candlelight.

“Your brother has sent me,” Alarra’s inviting smile fell, and her arms stiffened like sticks.

“He wants to take you to Castle Black.” Alarra let out a laugh, quick and sharp, crossing her arms over her chest.

“That's a days trip!”

“Yes, my lady but your brother…insists.” There was a glimmer in Ser Wildrows eyes, and Alarra noticed it. “We've sent a raven for the Lord Commander to await our arrival.”

“I haven't even accepted.” Ser Wildrow smiled, a sly smirk. He knew she'd accept. He knew she couldn't refuse. “Besides, I have already gone to the wall and one visit will suffice.” Alarra was lying through her teeth.

“Cregan doesn't know that.”

When Ser Wildrow had taken Alarra to the wall it was a quiet affair, only the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch had known and he swore to secrecy. Thankfully, Cregan was good allies with the Night’s Watch, and easily traveled there with her companion. Ser Wildrow knew how much Alarra wanted to leave and explore so he gave that to her. Alarra had a suspicion that is why he took her in the first place. He knew she'd be trapped away in a castle for the rest of her days, producing heirs for a stranger when all she really wanted was to be close to her brother. She wasn't ready to leave just yet. But, Cregan had pulled her from the flock and now she was ready to fly. But wolves don't fly, they heard.

“Tell him I am feeling unwell-”

“My lady…” Ser Wildrow gave her a sad look, his hands at his side now. Alarra hugged herself with her arms looking at the ground. She nodded to herself before she looked back up at Ser Wildrow.

“Tell my brother I'll go,” Ser Wildrow let out a sigh of relief.

“Of course, my lady-”

“Tell my brother I will go to Castle Black with him. But tell him I wish to never speak to him after that.”

Ser Wildrow was silent.

“He said I have choices? Well I am making my choice. With what freedom I have left.”

Ser Wildrow bowed his head, a sorrowful look on his face.

“I am feeling quite tiresome.” Alarra declared and Ser Wildrow took that as his sign to leave, before he bowed and announced his farewell for the night.

The carriage ride to Castle Black was not joyous in the slightest. Alarra and Cregan had made small talk, but Alarra still refused to speak at him fully, speaking towards Ser Wildrow instead.

“Aren't you overjoyed, Alarra?” Cregan asked, his hands folded neatly, resting on his lap. It was sarcastic, meant to be a jab but Alarra didn't feel like arguing.

“Ser Wildrow, please tell Cregan that I am pissing myself at the thought of seeing unbathed criminals.” Alarra announced, looking solely at the knight across from her. Cregan grumbled, a warning.

“The lady is… um,” Ser Wildrow started but looked at Cregan unsure.

“Please, mind your manners-” Cregan spoke slowly, rolling his eyes.

“Manners? Ser Wildrow please tell-”

“Enough!” Cregan yelled, putting his hand up. “You are a child! One and six and acting like a babe begging for her mother’s tit.”

“Yes, I am one and six. I am merely one and six. I am a child.” Cregan always seemed to forget that Alarra was still technically a child.

“You said you wanted to leave Winterfell. I am giving you what you wanted, what you asked for-”

“I didn't ask to be sent off to a stranger though, did I?”

“Either way you would end up marrying a stranger at some point, Alarra.”

“This is different.” It was different. At least to Alarra it was. She didn’t think Cregan would spring upon her betrothal. She thought she’d have a little opinion on the matter. She thought her brother was different but Cregan was like every other man.

“Please. Enlighten me.”

“Well, if I may, you randomly leave Winterfell to Dragonstone without giving me any input on why you’re going-“

“It is none of your concern. Besides, you have no interest in political affairs-“

“So, my marriage is political? My marriage is none of my concern-” Alarra scoffed before finishing. “It’s my marriage!” Cregan’s mouth shut, forming a tight line. He was stunned for a moment before he spoke up again.

“Yes. It is political,” Cregan started, and Alarra scoffed sitting back further in her seat. Ser Wildrow was sitting there, still as a statue, staring ahead.

“But you have to understand I did it for you, Alarra-“

“You say you did it for me, but I do not believe you.”

“Everything I do is for you, for our house.”

Alarra stared out the window, her arms now crossed against her chest. She remained quiet, as the carriage shook. See Wildrow cleared his throat.

“It appears we have arrived, my lord.” Alarra turned her head to the opposite window, watching as a large black fortress appeared before her.

“Welcome to Castle Black.”

Alarra was bad at keeping secrets from Cregan. No matter how hard she tried or managed to think she got one past him, he found out somehow. She always thought the Gods were whispering in his ear, telling him all of her prayers, but she was just a bad liar. She got that trait from him, he was awful at keeping things from her as well. He always had a certain look on his face, as if he were going to explode at any moment.

When she was ten, Alarra had accidentally broken a vase, from running through the halls. Her face was beet red the whole day, and Cregan asked her why she broke it. She never even told him, and he somehow just knew.

Alarra and Cregan entered the Black Castle together, side by side and were instructed by Ser Wildrow to not be separated. Ser Wildrow had left them to speak privately with the Lord Commander, and Alarra and Cregan stood in silence inside the large common hall, filled with tables and seats. It was cold, freezing, even inside a barrier that was meant to keep them warm. Alarra was sitting at a table, her hands folded in front of her and she could hear the faint clashing of swords and grunts from the Night’s Watch outside. Cregan was peeking outside through a gap, most likely watching the criminals and unwanted.

“You should come watch them…not nearly as skilled as us.” Cregan muttered, turning away from the gap to face Alarra who was staring at the table.

“I can't imagine they would be…they are scoundrels.” Alarra muttered, distastefully. Cregan huffed, shaking his head.

“Not all of them. Some orphaned, some abandoned, some banished, some just boys.” Cregan glanced at the door again before he opened it leaving the hall without a word. Alarra gasped, standing from her seat quickly.

“Cregan-!” Alarra ran after him, slowly following as he stood outside, the wind blowing in his hair. Alarra let out a loud breath, standing next to Cregan now. “You can't just-”

“I can. And I will.” He said before he stalked off towards the group of men training. His feet crunched loudly beneath the dirt as he approached them and the clashing of their swords halted quickly, all of them huddled together speaking in low whispers.

“Well don't stop because you have an audience… go on now!” Cregan scanned all of them, walking in circles around them. They stood there for a moment, before they resumed their training and the wind picked up speed. Alarra’s hair whipped past her face as she stood by the door of the hall, watching her brother circle them like a hawk. Cregan’s face was growing darker as he watched them, the frustration clear as day.

“Stop!” He yelled before he approached one of the men adjusting his arms, holding the sword in an unsafe angle. They all stopped, turning to look at Cregan again. “Who’s taught you to fight? The horses?” Cregan turned from the man he was helping, to glance at every single one of the men. Then he turned around, his eyes meeting Alarra’s. He nodded his head, gesturing for Alarra to approach him. Alarra shook her head, puffing out a breath of air, her disdain clear. She grumbled curses under her breath, calling her brother names; names a lady should not be saying. The men watched her approach, smirks slowly making a way across all of their faces. They watched her, their eyes never leaving her figure, most likely never seen a woman inside or out of Castle Black.

“Unsheath your sword.” Alarra did as Cregan demanded, slowly pulling her sword out of its scabbard, the slick sound of it slicing through the air. The men’s smiles dropped, now gazing at Alarra with wonder. “A volunteer?” Cregan had a small smile on his face as he looked around the camp. None of the men moved, until one had a snarl on his face and he stepped forward.

“A woman? Showing me how to yield a sword?” A man spat as the rest of the males around him laughed, their deep cackles fueling Alarra’s anger.

“That woman is Alarra the Fierce. And you dare question the judgment of your Lord?” Cregan walked closer to the man, his face nearing his. The man backed down, lowering his head lightly.

“M’lord, I did not mean-” Cregan threw his sword on the ground, in front of the man's feet.

“Pick it up.”

“What?” The man’s head snapped upwards, his eyes wide.

“Pick up the sword.”

“M’lord I- this is Valyrian steel I cannot-” The man stuttered, obvious fear in his voice. He was meek, like a mouse, under Cregan.

“I command you. Pick. It. Up.” The man swallowed, his throat bobbing as he bent down to pick up the sword. But before he could touch it, a voice broke out against the crowd's murmurs.

“You dare command one of the Night’s Watch like some whore?” A man from the back of the crowd spoke up, pushing between the various groups. “You're not me lord.” He spat on the ground before Cregan’s feet, finally reaching him and before Cregan could speak up, Alarra stepped forward.

“I think we’ve found our volunteer, brother.”

“I’m not fightin’ a girl.” The man turned to Alarra, sneering as he spoke.

“Why? Scared?” Alarra tilted her head, gripping her sword harder now.

“I am a Ranger. You dare say I’m scared-“

“Not scared. Terrified.” Alarra whispered the last part, before the man growled under his breath, unsheathing his own sword.

“Now let’s make this even.” Alarra kicked Cregan's sword towards the man.

“Steel makes no difference to skill.” The man got into stance, a poorly strong stance, and bared his teeth. Alarra shrugged, getting into her own stance.

“Alarra the Fierce… I’ve heard stories ’bout you, girl.” The man was circling her, as was she, as he spoke in a deep baritone. Alarra grumbled from deep within her chest, glaring at the man.

“You’ll find them to be true.” Alarra gloated, before she shouted lunging at the man, her sword aiming for his shoulder. The man, unready, moved out of the way, his sword loosely catching hers. They danced back and forth, steel hitting steel, and Alarra realized she had the upper hand. She pushed him down hard, so that he was laying on his back on the ground with the sword falling out of his grip. Alarra pointed her sword at his neck, and he was breathing heavily, arms covering his face. The fight lasted ten seconds.

“And now a girl has you on your back, begging for forgiveness.” Alarra sneered, sheathing her sword and outstretching her hand to the man. The man’s hands lowered to reveal his surprised features, eyes wide and mouth agape. He stood up quickly, gathering his sword and ignoring Alarra’s open palm. His reputation had been ruined by a cub. Cregan had his arms crossed over his chest, scanning Alarra and the Ranger.

“I'll speak to the Lord Commander about enriching your skills in swordsmanship,” Cregan bellowed before he turned away from the group, heading back towards the hall. But, before he could leave, the Lord Commander and Ser Wildrow were standing at the ends of the crowds, watching. The Lord Commander's gaze was fixed solely on Alarra.

“Alarra the Fierce…good to see you, my lady.” The Lord Commander spouted, walking towards her and Cregan. Cregan’s head whipped, fast and hard, to look at Alarra. His eyes aggressively inspected her face, for signs of confusion. But he found none.

“Lord Commander.” She bowed her head, as a sign of respect. Cregan would figure it out soon. Secrets were not an unknown thing between the two siblings.

“I don't mean to intrude but I wish to speak to Cregan…alone.” The Lord Commander looked at Cregan and Cregan nodded before he turned to face Alarra.

“Don't get into too much trouble, little flame.” The two of them left Alarra alone with Ser Wildrow, to speak inside the hall. Alarra was about to turn around when she stumbled, almost tripping on a foot. She caught herself and turned around to face a ghostly faced boy, skinny and tall, his skin a dark caramel.

“Are you a knight?” The boy, not much younger than Alarra, approached her, his hands full of armor.

“I’m no knight. Just a lady.” The boy's eyes widened.

“Well you sure fight like a knight. Better than any man here.” Alarra laughed, her head tilted back towards the sky.

“I doubt that.”

“I’m no liar.”

“Thank you…” Alarra paused, giving the boy room to give her his name.

“Liram.” He said, before she threw all the armor on the ground. “Women aren’t allowed in here. How’d you manage to get in?” Alarra smiled, her head tilted to the side.

“I am certain I’m the only woman to enter here, Liram.” Liram’s eyebrows scrunched together.

“What? But how-?”

“Lady Alarra! You must not speak to the men-“ Ser Wildrow approached her, standing by her side to somehow protect her from the linky boy in front of her.

“It is alright. Liram here was just about to give me a tour.” Alarra smiled at Liram, before gesturing for Ser Wildrow to leave her. Ser Wildrow looked Liram up and down, warning him. Liram shrunk beneath his gaze and that was enough convincing for Ser Wildrow. Ser Wildrow bent down to whisper into Alarra’s ear.

“I will be your shadow, my lady.”

And then Ser Wildrow walked away, back towards his stationary spot at the door of the hall. Alarra turned back towards Liram, scanning him. He was a tiny boy, maybe sixteen, the youngest shed seen at Castle Black.

“Where are you from?”

“The Iron Islands, m’lady.”

“Hm, House Greyjoy.” Liram slightly snarled, scoffing and Alarra noticed the distastefulness upon his face. But she ignored it, opting to not push.

“Let me give you a tour, m’lady.”

Liram gave Alarra a wonderful tour, Ser Wildrow closely behind them. He showed her every part of Castle Black that he could, including the various towers and buildings. The three of them stood under Hardin’s Tower, gazing at its size. Alarra glanced at the Wall, made of ice towering over Castle Black.

“Have you been outside the Wall, Liram?” Alarra questioned, still staring at the Wall.

“No, never. I am merely a steward.” He said, watching the Wall as well. “I've heard whispers. About what's beyond. Men made of snow and ice live just outside it. Waiting.” Alarra was entranced by the Wall, she wanted to be the one to go outside of it. She wanted to slay these things outside the Wall. She wanted to be a Ranger. She wanted to defend the Wall. Go into the Haunted Forest. Be a Knight. But, she couldn't.

“My lady, I believe your brother is ready to depart.” Ser Wildrow was now standing next to Alarra, a hand on her shoulder. Alarra looked at Liram, bidding her goodbyes and thanks before Ser Wildrow whisked her away.

The carriage ride back to Winterfell was more palpable than the previous. Tensions had fallen, but Alarra still had a promise to uphold.

‘But tell him I wish to never speak to him after that.’

But, promises can be broken.

“Do you truly wish to never speak to me again?” Cregan muttered sadly, as the carriage rolled to a halt at Winterfell.

“No,” Alarra replied and Ser Wildrow exited the carriage, holding out a hand for Alarra.

She stood, taking Ser Wildrow’s hand, turning her head behind her shoulder to look at Cregan.

“But, promise me you'll write.”

A/N: Thanks for reading! I promise next chapter will be better, I feel this isn't my best work. Please give feedback, it’s greatly appreciated!

[spacelatinoluvr]

THE WOLF & THE DRAGON (1/?) - aemond targaryen

series masterlist, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC word count: 5.3k tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage warnings: blood and gore, extreme violence rating: 18+, !MDNI!

LITTLE FLAME

Alarra Stark was truly the most elegant in all of the North.

As a girl, Alarra was known for her beauty. Even amongst the seven kingdoms, her beauty was spoken of in hushed whispers amongst all that witnessed her: as if she were a myth or story to be proven false. Those who encountered her never second guessed her alluring blue eyes, like staring into the deep blue of The Narrow Sea. Her long red hair, always braided away from her face, displaying her breathtaking features. Freckles adorned her youthful face, like a painter had splattered brown specs across her face. Even though Alarra’s beauty was now a fact, not a myth among the inhabitants of Westeros, the people of the North had always remained in awe at the princess’s beauty. And through the years, her hair was the thing they remembered the most. Her long, thick red curly hair, that always blew in the wind as if the God’s were doing it with purpose. And when winter came, Alarra’s beauty flourished.

In all her years, the Seven had only blessed her with one winter. It lasted two years of Alarra’s youth, and she always remembered the feeling of her nose turning into a frozen nub, her cheeks pink and rosy as the air grew colder and bit at her skin. She remembered her and her brother playing in the harsh winter cold, throwing snow and laughing as their father yelled at them to get inside before they caught a cold. She remembered the good.

Winter is coming, she remembered her father spewing as he drank the sweetest wine of the Arbor.

Winter is coming, she remembered Cregan saying as he groomed the horses with her.

Winter is coming, she would repeat, as she held her head high and proud. Like a true Stark.

When winter did come, and the days got longer, it was brutal. But, Alarra found it tranquil; she found the beauty in the most unearthly things.

And that would ensue to be her downfall.

“Give it back!” Eight-year-old Alarra screamed as her older brother, Cregan, stole her knife made of wood hanging it teasingly above her head.

“Do you even know how to hold one of these properly?” Cregan tilted his head to the side, the question hanging in the air.

Silence.

And that was all Cregan needed before he smirked and waved the knife around once more. Alarra resumed her jumping, unable to grab the knife from her brother. Cregan had freshly turned one and three, and was now much much taller than Alarra. He seemed to like flaunting it.

“Cregan!” Alarra yelled, stopping her continuous jumping. Cregan paused his waving to let out a laugh.

“Here, let me show you…” Cregan motioned for Alarra to get closer and she did, a sour expression still on her face. Cregan paused, crouching down on her level.

“Now this here is the blade… see?” Cregan traced the pointy part of the wooden knife. Alarra’s expression then changed from glum to one of immense interest.

“And this… is the handle, you put your hand here- and don't hold it like you're holding a firefly-” Cregan then held Alarra’s hands guiding her to how to properly hold a real dagger. Alarra held the wooden dagger, stealing it from Cregan’s hands with a triumphant hum.

“And now my prince I must defend myself…” Alarra said, holding her head high, the dagger above her head. She slowly let the dagger fall, reaching the heart of Cregan Stark, twisting and making squelching noises as she went. Cregan groaned, falling to the ground, a tongue out of his mouth for great measure. Alarra giggled lightly, still clutching the dagger in her hand. But, as Alarra looked at Cregan, he had stopped moving, his eyes closed in bliss as he laid on the ground.

“Cregan?” Alarra got down on his level, sitting by his head, worry etched on her features. Cregan was always there for Alarra and she couldn't remember a time when they were not together. Being apart from him was like stealing the moon from the sun. She could not bear it. But, then all of a sudden, Cregan let out a roar, making Alarra squawk and jump backwards.

“Cregan! That’s not funny. I truly thought I had pierced your heart!” Cregan laughed loudly at this. How could his kind little sister hurt him?

“Oh.. with that?” Cregan questioned, still laughing. Alarra reached towards him, hitting him on the arm, making him let out a loud noise in protest.

“I'm telling father!” Alarra exclaimed, standing quickly and running out of the room. The large doors closed behind her as she ran out, through the garden outside and up the large stairs towards her fathers chambers. But, when she arrived, guards and servants were frantically running around, in and out of his chambers. A guard ran past Alarra almost running her over and she gasped, clutching her chest. A hand was then placed on her shoulder, making her turn around quickly.

“My lady…” Alarra’s handmaiden, Eyla, was staring at her with concern.

“You should not be here- where is your brother?” Alarra glanced behind the handmaiden to see Cregan, face grim and hard, approaching her.

“Cregan, what's going on?” Cregan ignored her, continuing his path towards their father’s chambers. Alarra followed closely behind, ignoring the protests of her handmaiden.

Two guards were posted outside of the chambers, frantically scanning Cregan, proud and tall and Alarra’s frame, meek and small. Cregan had said something to the guard but Alarra was not listening because only the worst scenarios had started to display in her mind. Then suddenly, Cregan barged past the two guards, opening the chamber doors with immense force. Alarra followed shortly behind him, her hands clutched tightly in front of her.

Cregan seemed to have a mind of his own, walking towards the large bed across the room. The maester stood by the bed, seeming to be speaking to their father. At the sight of that, Cregan’s shoulders visibly lowered tension leaving his back.

The room smelled old; like dusty books or an old library. Alarra paused her movements when she got to the edge of the bed, and Cregan walked towards the maester.

“What's happened, Maester?” Cregan asked, standing next to him. The maester’s expression dropped, turning to face Cregan.

“Please sit, my lord.” Cregan paused, looking behind his shoulder at Alarra.

“Leave us.”

“But, my lord-”

“I said: leave us.” Cregan bellowed, staring at his father lying on the bed, unmoving.

The maester bowed silently, shuffling out of the room, his quiet footsteps echoing around them.

A cough, sounding like the last gasp of a ghoul, carried through the room and Cregan instantly moved to sit beside their father. Alarra stayed at the edge of the bed, now able to see her fathers deathly pale face. Her father was an alabaster statue, as if he was frozen in time and breath. Another cough rang, and Alarra could visibly see the strain it left on her father.

“My boy…” He whispered, turning to Cregan.

“Father what-”

“No, Cregan you mustn't speak. Listen to me.”

Cregan stopped, like he was holding his breath waiting for father to speak.

“You are my heir. The Lord of Winterfell in a moon’s set-”

“Father-” Cregan protested, his voice cracking.

“Let me finish, please,” Their father started, breathing heavily. Cregan swallowed down his words, nodding.

“You are my boy. My heir, my only boy,” He paused to take a breath.

“You will be the Lord of Winterfell. You will be the King of the North, do you hear me?” Father said, more sternly this time. Cregan had become quiet and still before he spoke again.

“Yes, Father. I-”

“Protect her. Always. I will be right beside you.”

“Always.”

“You will see me again. Whether it’s in the wind whistling the trees before bed or under the dirt, you will see me again, my son.” Their father grasped Cregan’s hand, tightly holding it as best as he could in his weak grip.

“Alarra,” Cregan whispered, turning his head to meet her eyes.

Alarra was standing quietly at the edge of the bed still, her eyes red and she was gasping quietly as she cried. Her father put his hand out, calling her to him. Alarra ran to her father’s side of the bed, getting on her knees beside Cregan.

“Father…” She weeped, eyes wet and cheeks red.

“My firecracker…” Her father said, reaching a hand to her face, using his thumb to wipe a tear away. His hand shook as he rose it, using all of his remaining power. Alarra sniffled her nose running now as she let her tears flow. Cregan put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“Alarra Stark, you will always be a firecracker. Don’t you ever let anyone stop you. No boy, no prince, no scary spider wanting to bite you!” Her father smiled, as Alarra laughed through her sob. Her father started to cough again, this time into a white rag. The cough was more violent, and the lord’s eyes were red and bloodshot. But, it was not from crying.

“When you were still a babe, your mother would say you had not cried once when you came into this world. Into our arms. A babe, silent as the night sky but the stars could not compare to your beauty, my love.” Alarra smiled as best as she could manage through the tears.

“My flourishing flower,” He whispered, grasping her cheek. “You are a true vision of your mother.”

“But, promise me one thing,” He started to say, coughing as he spoke. Alarra’s eyes were glued to her father, as he smiled with love for his children.

“Promise me that you will be true.” He spoke in a hushed tone, eyes glossed over with endearment.

“I promise.” She said, her head held high, lip quivering. I promise that I will always remain a true Stark. And no one, not a boy, a man, or a creature will stop me.

Rickon Stark smiled, glancing at both of his children, a Stark’s visionary.

“You must shine bright my little flame…no matter how small you feel, always shine bright.”

And that is exactly what Alarra did.

On Alarra’s one and three name day, she had begun her path to womanhood. And that path to womanhood had skewed into a path of knighthood.

Alarra had awoken early that morning, before the birds were chirping and the sun began to stream into her room. She was ecstatic. Today she was to be a woman.

“Eyla?” Alarra was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting her dress. She was wearing something new, something that she wasn’t used to. She didn’t realize how much her…chest had seemed to grow overnight. Or at least it felt like that to her.

“Yes, my lady?” Eyla was bent down on the ground, fanning Alarra’s dark blue dress around her.

“How do you know you're truly a woman?” She asked meekly, as Eyla stood wiping her hands on her legs.

“Well that’s up to you, my lady. You choose what makes you feel like a woman.” Eyla stated.

“How did you know?” Alarra questioned, playing with her fingers. Eyla smiled, still looking at the ground.

“When I was ten, I bled in the night. And my mother threw me out, telling me I was a woman and I could fend for myself. But, I didn't feel like a woman. I was still a child. It wasn't until I was one and five that I knew that women have power. More than a man ever will.”

“I haven't bled yet and-”

“My lady, enjoy it. Bleeding is not a celebration.” Eyla wrapped an arm around Alarra, stroking her arm.

“Then why do people rejoice at the sight of it?”

“Because men’s heads are hollow, my lady.” Eyla clasped her hands together.

“Now, let me see your dress! How beautiful you look.” Eyla looked Alarra up and down, scanning her. Alarra’s cheeks turned red and she laughed, rolling her eyes.

“Thank you, Eyla.” Alarra whispered, smiling at the ground, putting her hands on her cheeks. Bashful as a rabbit.

“Since you are one and three, let me teach you a lesson.” Alarra groaned, dropping her hands from her face.

“A lesson. It’s my name day!”

“It’s fun, trust me my lady.” Eyla smirked at Alarra, and turned her so she was facing the mirror again, Eyla behind her.

“Women have something men don’t…” Elya started, stopping behind Alarra, looking at her through the mirror.

“We can speak with our very eyes.” She whispered, clutching Alarra between her hands, grasping at her shoulders.

“How so?” Alarra questioned, eyebrows furrowed into a line.

“Men cannot help but express their emotions,” Eyla said, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. “It is in their blood.”

Alarra’s eyes watched her handmaiden through the mirror, waiting for her to speak again. Eyla stepped next to Alarra, still looking at her through the mirror.

“Watch my eyes…” Alarra nodded quickly. Eyla’s eyes were wide and doe-like at first; like large brown deer pupils. But, just as fast her eyes darkened, a seductive look on her face. Eyla then returned her gaze back to a more tame and blissful look. Eyla smiled at Alarra through the mirror, moving to stand behind her again, before speaking.

“As women we must use our… assets to our advantage.” Eyla pushed her hand between Alarra’s shoulder blades, and Alarra subconsciously bound her chest out.

“Assets?” Alarra blurted out, uncertainty in her voice.

“Our bosoms of course!” Eyla then chuckled at Alarra’s red face.

“You know what a breast is-”

“Yes, I know,” Alarra huffed, slightly annoyed. “I'm not a child anymore. I am one and three!”

“And what a special age that is, my lady.” Eyla grinned at Alarra through the mirror again, putting both her hands on her shoulders and squeezing.

“I trust the Gods will treat you well this year.” But, Eyla had been wrong. And the Gods’ had punished her that year.

Throughout the day, Alarra had been rained with compliments on her new attire. How grown she looked in blue. How her eyes popped, the blue more prominent, in this dress. Her brother had gotten her a gift, and sat with her in the garden, as the sun was starting to set.

Cregan pulled the gift from behind his back. It was long and pointy and covered in a white cloth.

“Open it.” He said handing it to her. Alarra slowly slid the cloth off to reveal a long slender dagger. Alarra gasped, feeling its hilt and tracing her fingers along the dull side of the blade.

“This is Valyrian steel- how did you-”

“The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch gave it to me… I feel better acquainted with a sword than a tiny knife.” Cregan’s eyes had creased as he flashes Alarra a thin-lipped smile. He seemed nervous and he was visibly fidgeting with his hands; something Alarra regularly did when she was uncertain.

Then, Alarra jumped pulling Cregan into a tight hug. Cregan let out a groan at the harshness (his shoulders were sore from training maliciously), but wrapped his arms around her small frame regardless .

“Thank you.” She whispered, as he tightened his grip on his little sister, his arms almost engulfing her whole.

“I'll teach you how to use it properly, now that this one isn't wooden.” He said teasingly, as she pulled away from him her hands still on his shoulders.

“I promise not to pierce your heart.” She giggled after her statement, taking her hands away from Cregan’s broad frame.

“Now that is true Valyrian steel. Keep it wrapped in the cloth until tomorrow. I don’t want you to cut yourself.”

That night, while Alarra lay in bed, still awake deep into the Castle’s slumber, she laid next to her new friend: the dagger of Valyrian steel. The dagger was sitting next to her, on the thin white bed sheets and Alarra couldn't help but admire its craftsmanship-

Wind blew through the window, the white curtains waving in the soft breeze, and she held her breath. But Alarra had not left the window open. In fact, she specifically remembered closing them. Alarra briskly sat up, looking around the room, scanning for something out of place.

“You're supposed to be asleep.” A low, deep voice rang through her quiet room and Alarra jumped, opening her lips to scream. But, a hand wrapped around her mouth, shoveling her cries down her throat. She wept and wept, kicking and waving her hands above her head as a man, whose face she couldn't see masked by a black cloth, put a knife to her throat. She squirmed, but stopped when the cool metal of the dagger was at her throat.

“Stop. Moving.” He gritted out. Alarra could feel the shake of his hand, a sign he was either nervous or very close to slitting her throat. Alarra screamed loudly in his sweaty palm, as she slashed with her fingers at his face. Her fingers caught his skin, and he let out a groan, covering his left eye.

“You bitch-” He grumbled moving towards her again, but she put her arms out in front of her, speaking for the first time.

“You have about five seconds to kill me before the guards find you… 5, 4-” The man yelled as he slashed at her but she moved slightly, so he'd miss his dagger going into her feather pillow. Alarra rolled off the bed, grabbing her own dagger as she did, staring at the man across from her. Then, her vision got blurry and- red? Alarra groaned as she lifted her hand to her face, red blood covered her sight and hand, smelling the metallic. She laughed, looking up at the man that was now staring at her. His dagger tightly clutched in his hand.

“You nicked me…” Alarra huffed in disbelief, staring at the blood on her hand. Suddenly, the man launched forward across the bed, yelling as he crawled across the bed reaching her. Alarra gasped, dropping the dagger as he pushed her against the wall, choking her throat with his hand. Alarra coughed, hitting his hand, over and over again but he didn't budge. He was strong, stronger than a thirteen-year-old girl, but not skilled. He was messy, and seemed to be running on his anger and not his strategy. Alarra had noticed how he was still shaking, and he breathed heavily squeezing tightly on her throat. Now, Alarra could no longer breathe and she let out short gasps of air.

The man had made a mistake. He was facing her, his lower area facing her in the perfect position- and she kicked, hard, at his prized jewels. He released her, falling to his knees in agony, groaning and moaning. Alarra fell to the ground, coughing violently. She held her chest, looking around for the dagger- her dagger. The dagger was still on the ground and she grabbed it quickly.

“Cunt!” He screamed, and he opened his mouth again to yell but before he could, a dagger positioned itself between his eyes, and blood curdled slowly, covering both his eyes like tears. He was crying blood. She pulled the dagger out, letting a sob fall out from her pink lips. Alarra screamed as she let the dagger hit his skull again, cracking through skin and bone. And she slashed down again and again and again until his body was limp against the bed frame. Alarra straddled his unmoving waist, letting her dagger fall on his face again until his eyes were red holes and his face was spotted in cuts. And now, it wasn't only her own blood that covered her but one of the armed man.

I will always remain a true Stark. And no one, not a boy, a man, or a creature will stop me.

And she kept hitting until hands reached around hers, and she screamed, fighting the person behind her. Her brother had to pull her off of the man, his face now mutilated and unrecognizable.

“It’s me, Alarra.” Her brother whispered, and she dropped to her knees on the ground as he swept her into a hug. Alarra let out a cry of relief as she smelled the musk of her older brother. And she was safe. Cregan held her that night, until morning came, as she cried and the guards took away the disfigured body of the unknown man.

The next day, Alarra bathed until her fingers turned to prunes and the water was ice cold. Her handmaid told her that the water would leave her with a runny nose but she never felt clean. She scrubbed herself until she was raw, like a newborn babe. But she still saw the blood; the way his face felt soft and slick after stabbing it so many times, the way she felt him die beneath her, the way she had almost died, the way she had beat the clutches of death. She escaped the hands of the Seven.

Alarra demanded that her brother teach her how to protect herself, for there would be a time when he would not be there to keep her safe. Alarra was already learning hand-by-hand combat and archery, but decided to focus solely on her swordsmanship. Soon enough, Alarra was a growing prodigy. Courtesy of her older brother of course, but a prodigy nonetheless. Death from the Mother above taught Alarra how to preserve, how to push herself. After beating death, Alarra became a beautiful yet valiant knight with no title to claim.

The first time Alarra looked at her face she wept. She wept for hours. Her face was ruined. A princess with a scar. And it wasn't minuscule. It wasn't a small scar, it was a ginormous line running from the top of her forehead, to the bottom of her chin. Instead of whispers of her heavenly beauty or her hair, they were now filled with whispers of the girl that defeated death. Whispers of the princess with a slash. Whispers of a killer: a savage. Whispers now contained a new nickname, one Alarra was proud to coin.

They called her, Alarra the Fierce.

“Alarra you must not attack your opponent with your sword- lead with your legs- yes just like that!”

Alarra was now freshly one and five, and through two years her swordsmanship had increased and her level of fighting was, as Cregan liked to put it, incredible. The sound of their swords clashing against the other echoed through the training room, and the castle’s staff walked in and out and about the halls but not before glancing at the pair. Both were breathing heavily before Cregan laughed, losing his balance a little at Alarra’s push. Alarra let her guard down before she eventually fell backwards, the tip of Cregan’s sword at her neck.

“You lost focus. And when your life's on the line, will you lose focus then?” Alarra scoffed from the ground as Cregan held his hand out to her. She took it, begrudgingly, and stood next to him. Alarra bit her lip, taking her gloves off before throwing them harshly on the ground.

“I thought you were going to fall-”

“Excuses.” Alarra let out a loud sigh, shaking her head. Both of the siblings removed their armor, before exiting the training hall. One thing about Alarra was that she was stubborn. Whenever she messed up she vowed to never make the same mistake twice. They walked in silence, comfortable silence, until two servants passed them, whispering to each other, their heads low. Alarra caught the last bits of their conversation and realized they were talking about her.

“They whisper as I pass them, brother.”

“Let them. It means they are fearful. And fear will only take you far in this world.” Cregan’s strides were wide but Alarra was able to keep up with him, walking next to his now manly body.

“And what if I don't want people to fear me?”

“Would you rather them love you? Admire you?”

“Yes! I very much would.” Cregan stopped walking, and turned his head to look at Alarra. Her hair was loosely tied into a braid that had been falling out due to their training.

“I want people to love me like they did father. I want them to admire me not… “ Cregan stared at her as she looked beyond him at another passing servant, who hurriedly walked past them. “The first thing they see is this.” Alarra pointed at her scar.

“The first thing they see is your face.” Cregan smirked, crossing his arms.

“No I mean- I only mean that they think I'm some savage.”

“You are Alarra the Fierce, are you not?”

“Yes, but-”

“That name was given to you. You earned it. Don’t let the opinions of others dictate how you carry that name. Embrace it. You are Alarra the Fierce. You are The Princess that Lived. People respect you because of that, and fear is just the outcome of deep honor,” Cregan paused to gather his thoughts.

“Respect is something to be earned, and you earned it the day you were born. You have always been Alarra the Fierce…it was just a matter of when you would realize it.” Cregan then pulled Alarra into a deep hug, smelling like sweat and dirt. Alarra scrunched her nose, as Cregan pushed away from her.

“And Alarra the Fierce smells like she needs a bath.”

The raven had arrived in the morning, calling upon Cregan Stark to visit Dragonstone. The letter had no details that Alarra knew of, and she had remained curious until the day of his departure.

“Can I please come? I hear Jacaerys Velaryon is one of the most handsome in the realm.” Alarra started biting her lip, knowing she'd get a rise out of her older brother. Cregan stopped walking to turn to her, a piece of hair over his right eye.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Alarra sighed, kicking at the grass on the ground.

“And why not?” She asked quietly, still walking closely behind him.

“Because I said so, Alarra.” Cregan said sternly this time and Alarra huffed, rolling her hazel eyes. “You are not coming to Dragonstone with me. Have I made myself clear?”

“I am not a child.”

“Yet you act like one, no?”

Alarra bit her cheek, staring at the ground. She was now one and six, slightly annoyed that her older brother always teased her of her age.

“I have never left the North-.”

“Alarra you know why-”

“Yes, yes you vowed to protect me. But, you know damn well I can protect myself.” Alarra spat, walking towards Cregan.

“If I have the ability to protect you, I would do it over again if it means you are safe. I do not care how angry you are at me, as long as you are breathing.” Cregan stepped towards her, as much as he was annoyed, and left a kiss on the top of her head whilst pulling her into a half-hug.

“Cregan-” Cregan stepped away from her and started walking backwards.

“I will see you in two moons. Ser Wildrow will be with you when I am not.”

“Cregan-!”

And Cregan turned, stomping towards a carriage and disappearing beyond the wall.

Prick.

Two moons had come and gone, and all Alarra had done was train with Ser Wildrow. As much as Ser Wildrow didn't want to admit- he knew Alarra was just as skilled as her older brother. But, there was something different. Something in her eyes that shined. Everytime she had the upper hand her eyes gleamed, a frightening look overtaking her soft feminine features.

“I yield!” Ser Wildrow shouted, breathing heavily as his knees buckled under Alarra’s push.

“Your age is showing, Ser.” Alarra smirked as she started to take off her armor. Though Ser Wildrow wasn’t very old, not much older than her father would've been, she still enjoyed teasing the man.

Ser Wildrow was still on the ground, gradually standing.

“And you just seem to be getting better by the moon, Alarra the Fierce.” Alarra flinched at the nickname. Her alias had come from a night she wanted to forget. She lightly traced the scar with her hand, turning to face Ser Wildrow again.

“Will you bring me to the Wall?”

“Absolutely not, my lady.”

“But, I am Alarra the Fierce. And Alarra the Fierce should be able to visit the wall if she pleases.” Alarra declared, her nose pointed upwards.

Ser Wildrow stared at her for a moment, before he sighed.

“It’s as if you wish for my head on a stick, my lady.”

Ser Wildrow and Alarra were now thousands of feet in the air staring down at the deep, deep snowy landscape beneath her. Her breath fanned around her and she shivered at the cold, having not felt it since she was a child.

“Tis cold.” She murmured, shoving her hands beneath her fur coat.

Ser Wildrow laughed.

“I warned you, did I not my lady?” He smiled at her, burrowing further into his own fur coat.

“Mhm…” She grumbled, whispering profanities under her breath.

“Cregan will have your head if he finds out.”

“You worry too much.”

Silence ensued and the only sound was the wind blowing harshly against them.

“We are very high.”

“Exactly seven hundred feet that spans across three hundred miles from the Ban of Seals to the Gorge, my lady.”

Alarra stared at the fire next to them.

“Why has my brother gone to Dragonstone?”

“It is not my place to say.”

“The Heir to the Iron Throne must have a reason to summon my brother.”

Ser Wildrow remained silent, gazing at the sky that was darkening.

“It is getting dark, my lady-” Ser Wildrow started, looking back up at Alarra from the fire.

“- and your brother will be back in the morrow.”

Cregan stepped out of the carriage, his feet meeting the thick grass of Winterfell. Cregan’s eyes first met his sister’s. She encompassed a wide smile as she ran towards him, giving him a large hug. She pulled away, grinning widely.

“So, is Prince Jacaerys as handsome as they say?” She asked, laughing as her brother rolled his eyes pushing her away lightly.

“You will have to make that decision yourself.”

“Mhm… and you'll let me beyond these walls when I am merely dust and bone.”

Cregan remained silent, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. He’s hiding something.

“Alarra-” A smile graced Alarra’s face and her eyes widened, almost popping out of her skull.

“You’re letting me leave? I get to leave the North? After all these years?” Alarra stepped towards Cregan surveying his face, but he sighed putting two fingers on his temple.

“Alarra, let’s go inside-” Cregan reached a hand to pull her arm with him, towards the hall but Alarra shoved his arm away.

“No. Tell me now.” She ordered, tipping her chin upwards. A confident gesture. But, the next words that escaped his mouth were not something the Princess of the North were thinking she’d hear. She was hoping she could be free. Travel the country of Westeros with her elder brother by her side. Hence never leaving his side or the city of Winterfell, she yearned to escape. To leave. To see what lies beyond the clutches of an eerie landscape with nothing but trees and people like herself. But, she was now to be locked away in another castle, far away from her brother.

“I have given your hand to Joffrey Velaryon.”

A/N: Hi! Thank you so so much for reading! This is my first time ever posting or writing a fanfiction so please leave me some feedback. LMK if theres any corrections to be made or grammatical/spelling errors! This chapter is mainly to introduce you to the FMC (Alarra Stark, my OC) and to give you a glimpse into her past and future. Her and Aemond wont meet for two more chapters, so stay tuned!

PS I am NOT finished with Game of Thrones but I AM finished with House of the Dragon so let me know if i made any canon mistakes and if not it is now fanon! Lol and no spoilers please