#❝ | HER HEART WAS A SECRET GARDEN AND THE WALLS WERE VERY HIGH → ( aes / chloe )

[s-telar]

slowly and softly

drop r𝑜se 𝒑etals on my

closed lids ✿.

her heart was a

secret garden and the walls

were very high

seu coração condensava

e se espalhavam como orvalho

da manhã ♡ idol

[gardenofafterthoughts]

22/11/23

"Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high."

- William Goldman; The Princess Bride

[lady-arryn]

Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high. ― William Goldman

[goghwilde]

I love the imagery used for Elain's mind,  “Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers…the blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds…” it reminds me of this part of The Princess Bride:

"I have come to terms with my life, and that is my affair—I am not cold, I swear, but I have decided certain things, it is best for me to ignore emotion; I have not been happy dealing with it—” Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high. “I loved once,” Buttercup said after a moment. “It worked out badly.”

I think Elain's mind had blooming flowers once, but the trauma from the Cauldron may have sealed the buds. I hope we get to see how this image of her mind changes once she's with Lucien.

[redheadspark]

Hello love! Could I request an Azriel fic with #1? I feel like it would be really wholesome! 🌹💜

A/N - AAHHHH! This is adorable! Simply adorable! Thank you for requesting this, friend!

Crown

Summary - It's the simple things in life that bring out Azriel's joy

Warnings - Just some cute fluff :D

"This is quite the collection, High Lady,"

"I know, I hate it! Oh, please don't tell Rhsyand anything, it'll break his heart!"

"Your secret is safe with me,"

Feyre giggled as you two strolled through her smaller chamber that housed all of the crowns, tiaras, and other jewelry that was given to her by her husband, High Lord Rhsyand. She was searching some of the jewelry she wished to keep and other pices that she could donate, and the rest will be in the Night Court Archives that were nestled deep under The House of Wind. Rhysand gave her permission to choose which ones she wanted to keep for her own use and the rest will be sorted, which was rather nice on his end some most of the pieces were handed down to him by his family. Feyre was no lover of jewelry, and even with the smallest earrings or necklace, she would rather decline wearing them. However, she was strickign when wearing her crowns or tiaras when meetings were held or visiting anoter Court.

Yet she was showing you this room for another reason.

"So, which one do you like?" She asked as you were a bit conflicted. You saw massive crowns with gems the size of your palm embedded on the headpiece, tiaras small and dainty with precious little rocks that looked more like raindrops or morning dew. Feyre could see the hesitance on your face, giving yoru arm a pat as she manuvered the pair of you to another section of her collection.

As part of her wedding gift to you and your fiance Azriel, Feyre offered you to wear one of her crowns at the wedding ceremony. You two were close friends, ever since she came into Velaris and she was introduced to the Inner Circle. You loved her spirit and stubbornness, not being a cookie-cutter mate to Rhsyand. You instantly loved her art and painting, taking a few pointers from her after the Battles against Hybren and when there was peace in Velaris again. You two grew close, and she was the first friend you told about your engagement to the Spymaster himself. Feyre and Rhysand wished to contribute to the wedding planning as much as they could, and although you and Azriel made them swear to keep the ceremony and reception very small and intimate, they still planned everything out for you two.

All the way down to the attire, in which you were going to wear the High Lady's jewels.

"Azriel told me you two were going to be married in Elaine's garden at the Townhouse, right?" She asked, you nodding your head as she then reached out into a small pocket in the wall, taking out a very delicate and intricately designed crown. The base looked like vines wrapped around one another making the circle, leaves made of pure gold, and some yellow gems that looked molded into gold. Throughout the rest of the piece, there were small emeralds and yellow diamonds, making the crown look more like a halo of enchanted leaves.

You gasped, Feyre's face beaming as she held it in her delicate yet deadly fingers.

"I think we found the right one," She commented, reaching up to place in your hair. It wasn't heavy, nor was it light. The weight almost threw you off for a moment, but Feyre moved some of your hair from your eyes and along your jawline to see how the crown would look.

She moved you over to a mirror that was propped on a cabinet, you saw your reflection in the mirror and the shock ever leaving your face. You felt like a princess with a crown on your head, something you never thought you would feel. Coming from humble beginnings and needing to survive on your own to get your own food, you always had to endure and adapt to what life threw at you.

Yet ever since Azriel came into your life, blessings were coming in left and right. He made sure you were loved, that he supported you in all the choices you made, and he always made sure you never had to go hungry again.

You were seeing the reflection of your inner soul wearing that crown: a Princess about to marry her Prince.

"Perfect, simply perfect," Feyre said from behind you. You nodded with evident tears in your eyes.

It was perfect. Beyond perfect

"Almost done back there?"

"Mmmm nope. Are we being impatient?"

"Never!"

Azriel chuckled behind you as you were facing the view of Velaris in front of you, sitting cross-legged on the blanket that you brought for your picnic as you were working on the cross stitch that you also brought along. The small buzzing of bumble bees to your left, the soft wildflowers along the right side, and the howling winds that were swooping down from the mountains were in front of you.

The perfect day for an outing.

Being married to the Spymaster of Nigt Court was nothing short but adventurous. You knew going into the marriage that Azriel would have to make some compromises. If he had to go give aid to Rhysand or the safety of Velaris was at risk, if he had to go in the middle of the night to spy on another Court, it was always up in the air with your husband. Yet you never once grumbled about it, because you knew he would always come back into your waiting arms. It was his promise to you on your wedding day and in his vows that he swore he worked on for months on end: Azriel promised to never have you be alone in your bed or in your relationship with him.

He has fulfilled that promise.

It's been a good 5 years since you two were married, only the Inner Circle and a handful of priestesses in attendance. He wanted it that way since Azriel thought a massive wedding and mating ceremony would be far too much for you two. Yet you had the best night of your life with him as your husband and surrounded by people who loved and supported the pair of you. After your honeymoon, you both found a small little house that was near the outskirts of town, near the farmlands and the forests that seemed to be more of a fixer-upper. Yet you found it a challenge, rolling your sleeves up and getting right to work with a shocked husband right behind you.

Within a month, the house was liveable, and within a year's time, it was perfect.

"Alright, I think it is finished!"

You placed your cross stitch down and turned around, seeing your husband and your 8-month-old daughter named Eve in his lap grinning at your as Azriel was holding a flower crown in his hands.

"A crown fit for a queen," he said lightly, Eve babbling in his lap as she tried to reach up to take the crown with her chubby fingers. Both you and Azriel chuckled while he placed the flower crown on your head. Massive twigs were molded into a circle, with daisies and wildflowers laced around along with a few poppies that were nearby. Once the crown was placed in your hair, Eve shrieked at the sight of her mother wearing flowers and Azriel beamed.

"Just as gorgeous as the day I married you," He hummed, leaning over to kiss you softly on the lips.

There were trials and struggles coming your way with Azriel, but you two always faced them together. Small spats and fights were had late in the night about his well-being and safety, yet they always ended with you two holding each other in bed and whispering apologies. Stress from work and from working with the High Lord and High Lady would try and defy the pair of you, yet neither of you would let it.

And lastly, a small health scare you had left you with more questions than answers. The smallest possibility that you couldn't bear children broke your heart for some months. Azriel held you close as you cried into his chest after Madja told you the news, having you feel more broken than ever.

"You mean more to me than anything. If being parents is not our path, then I'll live with that. I can't live in this world without you or your joy, and if it's just the pair of us in this life, I'll take it," Azriel reminded you as a vow when you two were wrapped in each other's arms in bed. You knew it was true, and although it was a saddened feeling that you may not have a child, you would rather have Azriel.

However, your daughter Eve came into your lives a year later. Her father's wings and eyes, your hair and freckles, she was perfect. Seeing her swaddled and held in her father's arms, watching his eyes fill with tears as he kissed her dark mop of hair hours after she was born, it was all worth it.

"My little Eve Star," he cooed at her.

Eve cried out in Azriel's lap, not getting attention from either parent. You pulled away from Azriel, laughing as you scooped her into your arms and kissed her cheeks.

"Did you help your father make my crown, my little Eve Star?" You said to her playfully, tickling her sides and hearing her giggle in delight.

"Of course she did, she had her mother's creativity you know," Azriel joked.

Sometimes you thought back to the crown Feyre lent you for your wedding, which later was given to you as a Winter Solstice and Wedding Anniversary gift, and you thought of it as a blessing. But the true blessing was the flower crown on your head, made by the one being that brought you more joy than anything.

You would take flowers over gems any day.

The End.

Spring Prompt Session

[her-stars]

The woman who wears the moon as her crown 🌙🌠

she twirls like a galaxy slow-spinning through my night sky. Cheeks blushing July sunsets. casting spells with her eyes. kissing me, beneath the milky twilight. she smelled of lavender with skin of pearls. To love her eternally, like the sun does the moon, always lifting her up with light. just with her touch it was electric. I am wildly dreaming of escape painting a portrait of the life of her and I. her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high. my darling my flower, I'll never let you wither. wind stirring the scent of wildflowers, summer nights feel like velvet on my skin. silvery threads of moonlight tangled in my hair shimmered like pixie dust. she kissed goodbye with a bite like a luscious peach and it felt so sweet. I'll see her again in dreams spinning in my night sky.

[something-tofightfor]

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #4: Oberyn (Aphelion) - A Kiss in the Rain

The fourth prompt response for this event is one that I combined thanks to requests from @the-blind-assassin-12 and @oberynslady - I hope you don't mind!

This features the pairing from Aphelion, and takes place after the place the current chapters leave them - roughly a week and a half or so into the future. It's not much, but I hope it tides anyone that's waiting for a new Aphelion chapter over for a little while.

Thank you both for requesting this, I hope you like it!

Word Count: 2,379

“It never rains in LA.” You were standing in front of the windows in the main room, arms crossed over your chest. “I mean it does, but not often. This is …” Trailing off, you closed your eyes and took a breath. “This is perfect weather.” 

“In Dorne,” Oberyn spoke up from behind you, the man’s voice carrying from where he laid on the couch. “In Dorne, my home was right against the water.” 

“I’ve read a lot about Sunspear.” You uncrossed your arms, using a fingertip to trace along the same path one of the raindrops took, following the movement with your eyes. “The pictures made it look beautiful, Oberyn.” 

“It was.” He paused. “It is.” You heard the couch springs creak gently as he moved, and then saw the faint outline of him in the glass as he stepped toward you. Oberyn stopped just behind where you stood, one of his arms winding around your waist, his other hand landing on your upper arm and squeezing. “Someday I will show it to you.” 

The possibility of that happening made your heart slam against your ribs, lips parting in shock. It meant that he was still banking on the plan working, that even though the Lannisters knew he’d survived the Mountain’s attack and the element of surprise was all but gone, Oberyn still believed that there would be an after for him. And for me. And for all of us. “I’d like to see it. I’ve heard the tour’s really good.” 

“It’s even better when I am the one leading it.” I don’t doubt that. He urged you to step back and lean into him, Oberyn supporting your weight against his broad chest. “They only know so much. And there are plenty of secrets hidden within the walls. The same is true for the Water Gardens.” 

You didn’t doubt it - and the idea of being shown around either place by Oberyn himself made you smile, both hands settling over his on your stomach. “What does that have to do with the rain, though?” 

“The Summer Sea is very warm and usually very calm.” He hummed, resting his chin against the side of your head. “But when it turned stormy?” Oberyn paused, his grip on you tightening. “The rain was mesmerizing. Doran and Elia and I used to watch it for hours as children, staying safe within the palace. We would get wet sometimes, of course, especially when the wind was strong, because the places with the best views had no glass in the windows.” 

“My apartment has …” Swallowing hard, you winced at the thought of your apartment, the rooms sitting dark and empty, all of your belongings inside. “The balcony. It’s not as big as this one, and I’m not as high up, but it’s covered. I sit out there and enjoy the storms, but like I said, it doesn’t happen much.” 

“Ellaria hates the rain.” He laughed quietly, pressing a kiss against your hair. “It is probably because of where and how she grew up, so I cannot blame her, but …” 

“So she’s probably miserable right now.” He agreed, but then went silent, giving both of you time to think. The woman, Tyene and Toban were out hunting, though they’d all left at different times to ensure that they weren’t putting themselves at risk. Oberyn, on the other hand, had decided not to leave the apartment, choosing to stay behind and ensure your safety - because you couldn’t leave, and with the exception of the balcony and rooftop, hadn’t stepped foot outside of the building since the week before. 

You didn’t mind staying in that day, the quiet of the penthouse and your first real time alone with the man in over a week a welcome change. Especially since we probably won’t get another chance like this until … after. That was something you didn’t want to dwell on, and when Oberyn said your name, the sound of his voice filled with concern, you shook your head to clear your thoughts, turning in his arms to face him. “You look worried.” 

“I’m not worried, Oberyn. I’m just …” Settling your hands on his waist, you bit your lip. “It’s nice to have the place to ourselves for a little while, but it’s weird, too, because -”

“Because we haven’t been alone in days.” He nodded, the man’s eyes glinting with amusement. “But you are worried. I can feel it. Ellaria’s blood is not as prevalent inside of me anymore, but I can still…” He ran his hands up and down your bare arms, briefly frowning. “I can sense it.” 

“The closer we get to the wedding, Oberyn, the more I wonder…” You leaned back, resting your head on the glass. “The more I wonder how many more minutes like this we’ll have. Even if… when our plan works, it’s all going to move so quickly. And then afterward, you’ll have so much to deal with, and you and Ellaria and Toban and Tyene will be -” 

You stopped speaking when Oberyn backed away from you, his hands sliding from your body and falling to his sides. I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have … I ruined it. “Give me your hand.” The words were a gentle command, and you did as he asked, settling your palm against his. He curled his fingers around yours, pulling you away from the glass and to the right. What are we doing? Where is he - 

He unlocked the door and slid it open in one smooth movement, pulling you outside and into the rain without speaking again. “Oberyn, what are you -” 

He didn’t let go, though he put space between you, squeezing your hand as he tilted his head back, his lips curving up and into a smile while the water began to soak into his hair and clothing. Mine too. We’re going to be… fuck it. 

You laughed as you pulled your hand free from his and stepped to the edge of the balcony, gripping the railing and then leaning over, watching the cars inch their way through traffic 20 stories beneath you. It was a warm rain, and when you looked back at the man a few seconds later, you smiled at the sight. I’m never going to get tired of looking at him.

Oberyn’s face was still upturned, his hands on his hips and the material of his t-shirt molded to his body. He was grinning, the smile bright against the dark clouds behind him… and when he lowered his head to meet your eyes, it grew wider. “What?”

“When we were in the other apartment, and I took you outside to be in the sun, you looked …” Swiping a hand over your face to get the water out of your eyes, you shook your head. “The sunlight suits you, Oberyn. But somehow, so does this.” 

“I am very adaptable.” He sauntered toward you, hands still firmly in place. “The only thing I do not like is the cold. I tolerate it, but I prefer warmth, even if it means getting wet at the same time.” 

“A true viper.” He smirked at the words, lifting one hand and settling it against the side of your throat. You leaned into his touch, his thumb sliding slowly back and forth over the mark he’d put there. The familiar heat spread from the source, your feet shuffling a half step forward, but Oberyn never took his eyes off of your face, the man staring down at you wordlessly. 

You reached up then, pushing his hair back and away from his forehead, fingers curving as they raked through the hair behind his ear. He let you touch him, standing absolutely still while you traced the line of his jaw. Beads of water collected in his beard before they dripped down, splashing to the concrete beneath your feet. 

You searched his face, focusing on the details: the honey tones in his irises, the freckles that stood out against his golden skin, the slight furrow of his brow, even though his expression was otherwise relaxed. He was almost impossibly beautiful, the set of his lips and the curve of his neck the embodiment of every fantasy you’d ever conjured up - but he was solid beneath your touch, his presence undeniable - just like the look in his eyes as he stared right back at you. 

Standing with him in the rain, the man’s full attention on you, it was difficult to believe that you’d only known him for a short time - that Oberyn’s appearance in your life had signaled the type of change that meant you could never go back to what your life had been before. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.  If someone had asked a few weeks earlier, you would have said there was no way someone like him could actually exist. But he’s real. And he’s here. And for right now, he’s … with me.

You wondered what you looked like - clothing stuck to your body, hair plastered against your skull, the mascara you’d applied that morning just for a little bit of normalcy likely running down your cheeks and leaving muddy streaks against your skin. What do you see, Oberyn? Whatever it was, he must have liked it, because he finally moved - keeping his hand in place and bringing the other one up to rest it against the center of your back, pulling you closer. 

“We should get back inside. Can’t risk you getting sick.” Of course. It was another reminder that you were human and he wasn’t - that something as simple as getting too cold or damp put your health at risk when it was something that he and Ellaria didn’t even have to consider. “But first …” 

The words trailed off as his eyes dropped to your lips and then rose. You knew what he intended to do, but you moved before he did, surging forward and closing the distance between you. The kiss was messy, water dripping from your lashes onto your cheeks when you closed your eyes, Oberyn’s lips wet as they met yours - but you didn’t care. And I don’t think he does, either. 

His grip tightened on your neck for a few seconds and then he let go, sliding his arm under yours and curling his fingers against your hip. You pulled on the ends of his hair, sighing when Oberyn licked into your mouth, the tip of his nose dragging along yours. 

He pulled away from you when you shivered - not from the cold, but from the way he was touching you  - and disappointment coursed through you. Inhaling through your nose at the suddenness of the broken kiss, you gaped at him, lips parted and still tingling from the intensity of his mouth against them. “Come inside. That shower is waiting.” 

“I can think of another way for you to warm me up.” It was bold and you knew it - but even though he grinned and you saw the want in his expression, Oberyn shook his head, hand sliding down to lace your fingers together. 

“We do not have time tonight. They’ll be back soon. Patience, remember?” Oh, I remember. Grumbling, you agreed, letting Oberyn lead you back into the apartment, the man closing the door - and locking it - behind you. “Put your arms around me.” 

“What?” Shivering - for real - at the feeling of the air conditioned interior of the apartment, you turned to face him. “Oberyn?”

“Ellaria is forgiving of many things. But if we drip all over the apartment, it will take more than me charming her to make it right.” He held out his arms. “Put your arms around my neck, and I’ll carry you.” 

You had no idea how it would help, but you weren’t about to say no to the opportunity of being held by him. Before you’d even had a chance to link your fingers together against his nape, Oberyn scooped you up and was moving toward the hallway - much faster than you’d anticipated. Oh. Right. Increased strength and speed. Of course. 

Too soon, he was setting you down on the tiled floor of the bathroom, the man opening the shower door and turning the water on before he even looked at you again. “Oberyn, that -” 

“That was nothing.” He looked up, winking. “And not at all what I usually enjoy using my strength for.” Oh, he means… shit. “Hand me a towel.” You did, staying silent. After he’d swiped it through his hair a few times, Oberyn peeled his shirt off, letting it drop to the floor, and then wrapped the towel around his shoulders. ��Don’t give me that look. I’m not trying to tease you right now because that wouldn’t be fair to either of us.” No, you covering up isn’t fair. “Take your time. I’ll be waiting for you.” 

He turned toward the door but you moved to stop him, reaching for his elbow. The steam from the water was filling the small room, and when Oberyn turned to look at you over his shoulder, you saw confusion on his face for a split second. “Did you mean it when you said about showing me Sunspear?” 

“Of course I did.” He turned to face you again, nodding. “Say the words. We will go. Once this is done and we are free of the Lannisters, there will be nothing to stop us.” You wanted to believe him and so you chose to, leaning in to kiss him gently. 

“Sounds great.” Smiling, you kissed him again and then straightened up, pointing at the door. “Now get out, Oberyn. I know you’ve already seen just about everything, but since you just said ‘no not tonight’ and all… it’s time for you to let me shower.” 

He let out a laugh at your words, the sound loud and genuine - and it sent another shiver through you. I want to hear him sound like this all the time. He grinned at you one more time and then hummed, mumbling something that sounded strangely like a mixture of swearing in Valyrian and the common tongue. But he left the room, closing the door softly behind him - and leaving you alone with the swirling steam that filled the bathroom.. 

— 

[sofiewilde]

“Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.” William Goldman, The Princess Bride 

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (II): Bad Blood.

Imagine you were Aemond's good friend when politics turned you in enemies. What then?

Warnings: drama, angst, smut--fluff endings as always tho.

***

• Before the War

The beginnings are usually sweet, colored with a degree of naivety. These can be also the high of peace, but many forget that to keep it at all costs, should every single being be prepared for wars, regardless of positions. For wars and death walk hand in hand, seizing every life without considering rank nor gold.

As previously said, the start is always embellished with hopes, but shades of grey are already painting the walls of the Red Keep. Aemond Targaryen knows best than all that his presence is not desired by his melancholic mother or his phantom father.

He’s heading to the dragon’s cave, prompted for another ride at Vhagar when he tumbles onto you.

“Lady Y/N”, he whispers your name with a hint of surprise. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Shouldn’t you be at court?”

“No one would notice if I left for a moment”, you say with a sigh. “I went to the gardens to write some poems.”

Aemond is quickly distracted by your presence. You were once playmates as children, but even now as young adults the interests remain the same. For now, Vhagar occupies the second place.

“I remember how well you used to write”, he offers you a smile, pleased to see a faint shade of pink in your cheeks. “May I read a few? Perhaps we could go back to the tree?”

In reference to the spot you used to spend time as children, you agree at once. And there you two go.

“I don’t think I write well, my prince.”

“Aemond”, he cuts you gently. “You can call me by my name.”

Another exchange of smiles.

“Aemond, you flatter me more than I deserve.”

Once reaching the said tree, the prince takes hold of the parchment you hoped to keep to yourself, ignoring your protests. Eventually, though, you go silent, watching his reactions in agony. For he was always able to hold his emotions back, so you constantly found difficult to read him.

But alas! If only you could dive into his intimate thoughts! Then you’d find a rising delight in his chest because the rebel prince feels the same thing for you.

However you’d never know how he truly feels…. Because at this very moment you are discovered by Ser Criston Cole and your father.

You don’t know, but this is the last time you ought to see your cherished prince.

***

• Enmity.

So take a look at what you’ve done… ‘Cause baby now we got bad blood.

You are soon married to Lord H/N of the House Tully. Obliged to move to the Riverlands, you are unhappily tied to a very old man who’s been living with his mistress for decades. The marriage, apparently, is to force an alliance that—you are to discover soon—is meant to support Rhaenyra Targaryen. Therefore, by chance and by marriage, you are now associated to the Black party.

There are, however, some good advantages as you are left on your own. If you do your duties straight as mother to your stepchildren—who are older than you—, look well after your household and not meddle in your husband’s business, you can practice your archery, ride freely and even sharp your mind through accessing the library.

It’s not that bad in practice—your marriage hasn’t been consummated, mostly because Lord H/N is not very, eh, powerful in bed, a secret you vowed to keep—, but you feel lonely. Your friends are now a memory of your life at court and people at Riverlands could be very… strict somewhat.

What’s worse: where is Aemond? Why hasn’t he written to you?

Melancholy starts to crawl over your heart and mind despite the peaceful, almost boring life you lead. Until you perceive a dark shadow creeping over the clouds.

You’d think Lord Aemond came to rescue you, but your heart breaks when you see a dark haired lady on his back, waiting as he helps her leaving Vhagar carefully.

Your heart parts before the view. Why’d you assume he corresponded your feelings, stupid girl? You wish to vanish, a natural response in these circumstances, but you are discovering a little too late that these are trying times.

The gates of the castle are now open and you are forced to act on your husband’s behalf next to his son and heir. After all, duty is one of the mottos of your new house and you never failed to fulfill it so far.

When Aemond finds you, however, he freezes. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting to see you there.

My lady, you look horribly sad. Where has your freedom gone?

A thought he doesn’t bother to voice.

“Lord”, he greets your stepson cooly, and you in the same tone. “Lady.”

“Prince Aemond”, your husband’s elder child, H/N, doesn’t let you act as a bridge between the two parties. “We do not welcome you here.”

A shadow of displeasure crosses the prince’s face.

“By denying me thus you are proceeding with treason, Lord Tully. Is this how we ought to be?”, the silver haired Targaryen prince acts as if you are not there. Unlike him, though, you have never been good in disguising your sentiments. “You are not in position to support the Usurper. Harrenhal is mine.”

And he indicates Lady Alys Rivers as proof. You don’t like her arrogance, her looks nor the influence she exercises over him. Or perhaps all of your judgement comes from jealousy.

Regardless, you feel brutally betrayed.

“Bend your knee, otherwise you shall burn.”

You pale before the prince’s threat. It’s when a sudden courage—or perhaps a moment of recklessness—rises in your spirit. For your stepson might hesitate before Aemond’s treason, but you would not.

Therefore, you take a sword from the young man—who is older than you—and step towards the prince, himself taken aback by your behavior.

You were never the one to act so imprudently, my dear Y/N.

“What is this?”

“Where is duty?”, you yell at him, eyes puddled with tears as you raise the sword to him. “Where is sacrifice? For years you’ve been nothing but a spoilt man who followed freely what your own heart commanded you to! No burden to carry, you play with whores and take what’s not yours so carelessly?”

“Lady Y/N, I strongly recommend you to be reasonable”, says Aemond, cooly, but in his eyes there is shock. You are the last person he’d expect to find resistance.

“Reasonable? To whom? You threat my stability, my family, for what purpose, lord?!”

You press your sword against him, but he makes no move, skeptical about your intentions. Surely, you’d not harm him, not when he read your soul not so many moons ago.

But something eclipses the goodness in your heart. And though the world seems to spin slower, Aemond doesn’t let guards to interfere.

These beats of a dark heart, use basslines to replace you. Take time and erase you, love don't hear no more, no, I don't fear no more. Better yet, respect ain't quite sincere no more.

“Is this your choice?”, he frowns at you, a hand resting on his waist, ready to unsheathe the sword. “Do you opt for enmity?”

Is this what you’ve become? His eyes yell silently at yours, but you are blind to such accusation. And Aemond knows he’s the cause of it.

“Madame!”, lord H/N thinks wise to interfere. “It is unwise to opt for enmity!”

“He is our enemy now!”, you turn at the stupid boy. “He’s been waging wars, burning castles and fucking whores!”

Aemond doesn’t excuse himself from such offenses, but the same cannot be said of lady Alys.

“My lady, these are not manners of a woman who is expected to rule Riverrun”, she smirks. “But since you are putting your family at risk, perhaps a cage would do you good.”

“She doesn’t mean to”, the redhead male insists anxiously, taking from you the opportunity to defend yourself. “We’ll bend the knee, lord, if you spare us. I’m sure you’ll understand the advantages that comes from our loyalty.”

By now you feel double betrayed. Aemond, the man you loved, shows off his power over you and chooses a whore to accompany him everywhere. Lord H/N, the one son you judged reasonable, does anything he can in his father’s absence to retain some influence.

You are useless. And yet you are too proud to let tears show the path for defeat. Nonetheless, even that is better than to burn in flames. After all, you live to honor this family with the duty you’ve been taught.

Therefore you are silent. Aemond reads all that has not been said. Part of him chooses to amend what he judges to be misunderstandings, but his conscience knows precisely why you behaved the way you did.

A lioness’s pride when broken is worse than hearing a ghost’s haunting. So he thinks, taking in consideration your ties with the Lannisters, in spite of you belonging to a minor house.

***

• War

Now we got problems. And I don't think we can solve 'em. You made a really deep cut…

A cage is a cage even if it doesn’t look like one. To consider weaving revenge is useless. Despite the early disagreements with your husband in light of recent events, with now war openly declared between Aegon and his sister Rhaenyra, all you do now is focus in your womanly doings, which is looking after your new home, trying to amend relations with your stepson and so it goes.

Time begins to fly, albeit slowly. You haven’t produced any heir, but to your stepchildren your allegedly infertility is welcoming news. Ironically, this is when they start to improving relations with you.

Forgotten by your family, though, you seem forcibly content with yourself when news arrive that Lord Aemond desires to have a feast with the Tully’s. His unwanted arrival, especially regarding his royal status, means that you should dress beautifully and play the role to perfection.

“And if you point the sword once more, I’ll gladly remove your privileges”, so your husband warns you.

You agree. What else could you do? Like a creature in jail, you’ll be exhibited to enemies as if you are some sort of war prize.

Before the feast begins, though, Aemond needs a conversation with you first. He would not admit, naturally, that he’s been dreaming about you—and such dreams might reflect well his remorse in his behaving towards you. Yet, something should be done.

When you meet him in a private quarter destined to important guests, you are dressed in your best clothes. Your y/c hair is tied in a fashion braid, but your gown is red and reinforces your curves. Aemond’s eyes discreetly undress you, and the idea leaves the man to an almost bone he quickly controls.

“Lady Tully”, he begins the conversation softly, greeting you regally from his seat. He wears something to keep his lack of an eye in secret, dressing dark shade of green robes. His silver hair falls loose behind his back, giving the prince a royal look.

“Prince Aemond”, you echo his coldness, taking a seat once he indicates with a nod of his head. “I pray your journey has been safe and well.”

Aemond sees you well and part of him wishes to take you in his arms and tell you all that he never could. But this isn’t the time yet.

“Indeed I did, thank you.”

You ask the servants to fetch yourselves some wine and fruits.

“What’s the need to talk to me alone like this?”

Band-aids don’t fix bullet holes. You say sorry just for show. If you live like that, you live with ghosts.

Aemond studies you, not responding you immediately. He strokes his chin, playing with his fingers on table.

“I needed to see you.”

You scoff.

“Did you, now?”

“Yes.”

You don’t say a word. Atmosphere is heavy with tension. Aemond, sitting on the edge side of the table, watches you with his intent eyes.

“So much has happened since that day”, he begins to say. And it’s when he shows his sapphire eye. “I lost an eye, Y/N.”

For the very first time, you show some reaction.

“And because of it you sought war?”

It’s when he closes his fist and hits on the table. But you are not frightened by his temper, familiar with it.

“I did what I had to do! I was humiliated!”, and now staring into your eyes, he adds: “I thought you would understand that!”

“That is the difference between us, Aemond. Content never makes amends of broken things. It only worsens it”, you speak softly.

He shakes his head, skeptically.

“You speak like a fool.”

“You underestimate me”, you retort. “Like most men do.”

“I am not like most men”, he stares at you and now you are able to read his emotions.

“You should not, but by looking for battles you presented me with wars.”

Aemond sighs heavily, impatiently so. But he is not ready to give you up yet. This bad blood would have to cede.

***

• Winds of Spring.

You are riding by yourself early this morning. Dressed in red, you take this time to enjoy yourself. To have some peace. It’s when you spot him.

“Aemond”, you freeze before seeing him. Your heart races and your first instinct is to turn your horse and ride away.

But you dismount instead.

“Y/N”, he walks to you, distressed. “Run with me.”

“What?”, you pale before his suggestion. “What are you saying?”

“Fuck this war. Fuck them all”, he takes your hand with one all the whilst delivering you the old parchment. “I remember this.”

As you take it and open it, you read the poem about your prince of spring. Tears rise to your eyes and you stare at him in disbelief.

“You’ve kept this.” It’s not a question.

“I have, yes. I’ve never had the chance to say I love you too, my princess. But your father swept you away from my sight. I had no idea where you were… I was forced to follow my duty to my family”, he explains in a whisper.

You lean to cup his face with both hands.

“Oh my dear Aemond. But what about lady Alys?”

“She was just a trophy of my conquests”, he murmurs. “This isn’t about her. It’s about you.”

And without waiting further for your response, the silver haired prince takes you in his arms and presses his lips against yours. You don’t resist him, finally letting love blossom from hatred and frustration.

“I love you, my prince of spring.”

“I love you, my summer princess”, he smiles at you with the purest devotion. “Let us leave this life behind. This world is not for us.”

As much as you want to, you hesitate.

“I am still a married woman, Aemond”, you smile weakly, sadness evident in your eyes.

“Fuck them”, he pulls you against him. “They won’t dare to reclaim you anyway. My brother’s on the throne, therefore, we can rely there shall be no uprising against his authority. Less so against his brother’s.”

When you look into his eyes, you know you see someone so similar like you, a mirror of your soul.

“I came to release my lady from this golden cage”, the prince says, taking your hands and there kissing each. “Be my wife, lady. It’s all I ask for.”

You smile down at him.

“When have I ever refused you anything, my lord?”

And this is how it ends. A princess freed by her prince. You are finally able to be yourself.

***

• Epilogue

You cling onto your husband’s arms, ignoring the scandal you left behind, which had your name erased from the Tully’s records, but added to the Targaryen’s.

Politics aside, you are now Lady Targaryen by marriage, but what does it matter when he loves you so dearly, so intently every day?

Harrenhal is yours, but mostly important is his. As you watch him sleep, you prepare to wake him up with naughty intentions. As you begin to kiss his shoulder, you use one hand to caress his face, his neck, not stopping until you reach his manhood. Praising the Gods for his nude state, you do not need to slow down before you start to stimulating him, all the whilst your kisses go to his neck and more.

“Mm…” the prince groans, not entirely awake nor fast asleep. “My lady…”

You feel your own body react in response, but this is about him, you want him to come undone in the first moment of the day.

As your delicate fingers play with his now erected member, your lips move slowly downwards and now Aemond’s eyes are starting to open. And his eyes go wide when seeing what you are about to do.

“My lady, what have I turned you into?”

You give him a mischievous look.

“Good morrow, husband.”

And just like that you take him with your mouth. You still have in mind when, right after taking you as his wife, he enjoyed being your first man. How he touched you, making you discover every bit of a sensual pleasure you’ve only dared to know in books. You took such a linking in these domestic activities that the fire of dragon has you burning alive.

“Y/N!”, he groans louder, properly awake this time. “You are such a good lass. You learned so quickly. Oh!”

But as good as this is, Aemond does not intend to release his seed on your mouth, so hence why he throws blankets away and gently rises you, turning you under his strong body.

“No, lady. I have a better place to seed you”, he smirks at you, pleased to make you blush as he lifts your hands above your head and starts to kiss you fervently.

Aemond is well aware you like to submit to him easily, and he dominates you promptly. He finds his equal, and it shows in every part of this marriage. But in truth, as his body now tangles with yours, he knows that he’s been tamed by such a damsel.

Little wonder why is that in two weeks you are about to discover you have conceived. And a long list of children will be written by a surprised chronicler of King Aegon II’s reign.

[venusiandoll333]

“Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.” 🌹

[treatmewkindnesss]

“Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.”

[a-araiguma-a]

Prologue. Between the serving and Her smile.

Chapter 5. Your legacy

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: in the future Oliver Wood x fem!reader Warning: - a/n: The prologue is over, I'm very happy about it. But why didn't you like the previous part? Please put a like, I think my Tumblr is broken, I want to see if it is.

Start - Prolog (Episode 1 - Episode 2 - Episode 3 - Episode 4 - Episode 5) - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

The road was long and winding, stretching through dense forests and hills. Inside the car, there was silence. Margaret stared out the window, pondering what awaited her ahead. She had already said goodbye to the home where she grew up and to the people who had become her family. Now, a new home awaited her, a new world full of magic and unknown mysteries.

When the car finally approached Shadowpeak Keep, or "Peak Hidden in Shadows," Margaret's heart skipped a beat. The castle, perched on the slope of a high hill, was majestic and mysterious, just like the tales Miranda used to tell her.

The grand castle towered over the surroundings, its dark stone walls rising high into the sky, as if trying to reach the clouds. Its gray stone walls were covered with creeping plants that seemed to embrace it, adding to its mystery and charm. The windows, tall and narrow, overlooked the surrounding area, enclosed by massive walls. It seemed that the castle was a living, breathing entity, hidden from prying eyes by magic.

Ornate towers, adorned with Gothic elements, stood out against the backdrop of the dense forest that framed the castle on all sides. The vast grounds around the castle were well-maintained and beautifully landscaped. At the forefront were massive gates, carved and decorated with the Fairchild family crest, through which Margaret passed, accompanied by the soft crunch of gravel under the wheels. Beyond that, garden paths lined with shrubs and flower beds in every shade of the rainbow stretched out. Tall trees cast long shadows, creating a sense of seclusion and tranquility. In the depths of the garden, carefully laid pathways led to ponds and gazebos, where one could enjoy the peace and quiet.

Margaret thought she could smell roses and jasmine in the air, mingling with the light scent of pine and fresh greenery.

Noticing how her granddaughter was looking at the castle, Mrs. Fairchild smiled and began to tell the story of this place.

“Shadowpeak Keep is our ancestral castle,” she began. “It was built many centuries ago by one of our ancestors. The name is tied to its location—it’s always shrouded in the shadows of the mountains and forests, making it invisible to outsiders. Muggles can’t find it, even if they come close. The castle is hidden from view by ancient spells that protect our family and guard our secrets, so no one without magic can see it, let alone find the way here.”

Margaret gazed at the castle in awe, imagining how it was hidden from the world, like some mystical fortress. Her childhood dreams of castles and magical lands suddenly came to life before her eyes.

“It’s... incredible,” she finally whispered, still not quite believing her eyes.

“There are many secrets here,” Mr. Fairchild continued. “This castle is not just a home; it has a life of its own. It will help you but also test your strength. Don’t be surprised if the walls start whispering or doors open on their own. In Shadowpeak Keep, you’ll feel that this place is a part of you.”

Margaret listened intently to every word. When the car stopped in front of the huge carved doors, Margaret took a deep breath. Her heart was beating faster, but her excitement was mixed with a sense of anticipation. She knew her journey was just beginning, and whatever awaited her ahead, she was ready to face the challenge.

“Welcome home, Margaret,” Mrs. Fairchild said softly, taking her hand. “This place is your inheritance. I hope you find here what you’ve been looking for.”

Margaret nodded and, gathering her courage, took her first step toward her new life, full of magic, history, and unexplored adventures.

As Margaret stepped over the threshold of the castle, she immediately felt the air around her was thick with history and magic. The interior halls of Shadowpeak Keep were just as impressive as the castle’s exterior. High vaulted ceilings, adorned with dark wood, created a sense of space, while the walls, decorated with ancient tapestries and paintings, spoke of the long history of the family.

The marble floor was cool under her bare feet, but its patterned tiles gave the home a sense of elegance and grandeur. In the center of the grand hall stood a wide staircase leading to the second floor. The staircase was made of dark wood, with intricately carved railings entwined with ivy and magical creatures. The staircase spiraled upward, splitting into two wings leading to different parts of the castle.

At the top of the staircase hung a large painting. Margaret stopped, unable to take her eyes off the canvas. The painting depicted a family dressed in rich but tasteful clothing. The faces of the people were stern yet noble. But her attention was drawn to the girl who stood at the center of the painting.

The girl was extraordinarily beautiful, with light hair flowing over her shoulders, and blue eyes smiling subtly at the viewer. In her features, Margaret saw something familiar, something dear. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized who it was. She had seen those eyes, that smile—on the old photographs she had looked at with her father. It was her mother, Charlotte, immortalized on the canvas.

“That’s... Mom,” Margaret whispered, not taking her eyes off the painting.

Mrs. Fairchild gently placed a hand on her shoulder and stood with her granddaughter, gazing at the painting as if seeing it for the first time.

“Yes, dear,” Enola quietly confirmed, her voice full of tenderness and quiet pride. “That’s your mother, Charlotte. She was a true lady, full of grace and kindness. This painting was made when she had just finished Hogwarts. She returned home, and we decided to immortalize that moment.”

Margaret couldn’t take her eyes off her mother’s face, her heart brimming with emotions.

“She was beautiful,” Mrs. Fairchild continued, her eyes also fixed on the painting. “We were so proud of her, and when she decided to marry your father, we knew she had made the right choice. She loved him with all her heart, and you are the product of that love, Margaret.”

Mr. Fairchild stood a little behind, his face as stern as ever, but a softness could be seen in his eyes, a rare sight. He looked at his granddaughter, seeing in her the continuation of someone he had once loved so dearly.

“Charlotte was special,” he added quietly. “And so are you. You are her legacy, and it’s in your hands to preserve it. She would be proud of you.”

Margaret remained silent, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. Seeing her mother in this painting, she felt a true connection with her for the first time, a connection she had never felt before. This painting was more than just an image; it was a living reminder that her mother would always be with her, even if she didn’t realize it.

She didn’t know yet that paintings in the magical world weren’t just things hanging on walls. She didn’t know that they could move, speak, and preserve memories. But standing here, before this image, she suddenly felt something subtle yet important stir within her.

“We’re here to help you, Margaret,” Mrs. Fairchild said softly, sensing her granddaughter’s need for support. “This castle will be your home, and all its secrets are now yours. We’ll be here so you can learn everything you need to know.”

Margaret nodded, still unable to take her eyes off the painting. This was the first step in her new journey, and she knew that many more discoveries awaited her. But now, standing before her mother’s image, she felt that this journey would be special and that somewhere deep inside her, a strength was already beginning to awaken, one that would help her overcome all challenges.

Mrs. Fairchild gently took Margaret’s hand, leading her closer to the painting.

“I’m sure she’s proud of you, just as we are,” she said, holding back tears. “And I know you’ll find your place here, just as she once did.”

Margaret felt tears welling up in her eyes. This place, this castle, this painting—all of it was connected to her mother, and now she too had become part of this world.

“Thank you, Grandma, Grandpa,” she said quietly. “I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations.”

After a long day filled with new impressions and emotions, Margaret finally found herself in her new room. Mrs. Fairchild led her to the second floor of the castle, down a long corridor with walls adorned with ancient tapestries and paintings. When she opened the door, Margaret held her breath.

The room was large, spacious, and bright, despite the massive walls of the castle. The ceiling was high, with decorative beams, which added even more air and space to the room. The light pastel tones in which the room was decorated immediately created an atmosphere of coziness and tranquility. The walls were a soft cream color, and the floors were covered with a plush beige carpet.

Near the window stood a neat wooden desk with a few books on magic, meant for beginner wizards. Next to it was a comfortable chair with soft upholstery. A small wardrobe against the wall was already partially filled with her clothes, neatly arranged by house elves. In the corner of the room stood a bed, also in light tones, covered with a fluffy blanket. The bed looked very cozy, and Margaret eagerly anticipated the moment she could lie down on it.

On the shelves next to the desk were study materials prepared for her upcoming time at Hogwarts: parchment, an inkwell, quills, and a few books. Margaret walked over to the shelf and ran her fingers over the spines of the books, feeling herself sinking deeper into this new world with each passing moment.

When Margaret had unpacked her things, Mrs. Fairchild returned to the room, smiling.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable here, dear,” she said, glancing around the room. “If you need anything, you can always ask the house elves. They’re always here to help.”

“House elves?” Margaret asked curiously, hearing about such creatures for the first time.

“Yes,” Mrs. Fairchild nodded. “They’re small creatures that help around the house. They are very hardworking and loyal to their masters. They’re usually small in stature, with large ears that resemble bat wings. They may seem strange at first, but don’t worry, they’re very kind and always happy to help.”

“I see,” Margaret replied, feeling a slight thrill at the thought of soon meeting such creatures.

Mr. Fairchild, who had joined them, also looked at his granddaughter.

“We’ll need to go to the shop to get you a wand,” he said. “Without it, it will be difficult for you to practice magic. It’s one of the most important things every wizard should have.”

Margaret nodded, understanding that many new and unusual things awaited her. She felt a bit lost, but at the same time, she was determined to learn everything she could about the magical world.

After dinner, where the whole family gathered around a large wooden table in the spacious dining room, Margaret felt the fatigue slowly creeping up on her. The evening passed in quiet conversation, where everyone tried to support each other. For her, it was a new but pleasant feeling—to be part of something bigger, something familial.

When Margaret retired to her room, she looked around it once more, enjoying the peace and quiet. Walking lightly around the room, she finally lay down on the soft bed, feeling all her worries and fears gradually fade away.

Closing her eyes, she imagined the amazing world full of magic and adventures that awaited her. She couldn’t know for sure what would happen next, but her heart was filled with the feeling that everything would be alright.

And that evening, under the soft light of the moon shining through the castle windows, Margaret drifted into wonderful magical dreams, full of magic, mysteries, and new discoveries.

Several days had passed since Margaret settled into Shadowpeak Keep. During this time, she managed to explore every corner of the castle, from the ancient libraries to the secret passageways, and gradually began to get used to her new home. She enjoyed finding secluded spots where she could hide away with a book and breathe in the scent of old volumes steeped in magic. Her room had become a true sanctuary for her, but there was one task her grandfather had long spoken of that she still needed to do.

One morning, Mr. Fairchild decided that it was time to go to London to buy Margaret her first wand.

“It’s time to visit Diagon Alley,” he said over breakfast, setting his newspaper aside. “You need to choose a wand before you can begin your real magical practice. This is a very important step for every young wizard.”

Margaret felt a slight thrill at the thought of the upcoming trip. She had already heard from her grandfather and grandmother that Diagon Alley was a place where you could find everything necessary for magical life. But what excited her most was the idea of choosing a wand—the very one that would accompany her on all her adventures.

Soon, they arrived in London and, passing through a narrow alleyway between two buildings, entered the bustling and lively Diagon Alley. Margaret couldn’t help but be amazed as she looked at the many shops selling cauldrons, robes, books, potion ingredients, and much more. But their destination was the most famous wand shop—Ollivanders.

Entering the shop, they found themselves in a cozy room filled with the scent of wood and old paper. The entire shop was lined with narrow boxes stacked to the ceiling. The atmosphere was one of mystery and ancient wisdom.

Ollivander, an elderly man with gray hair and piercing eyes, appeared from behind the counter, greeting them.

“Welcome to my shop,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “I believe we’re looking for a wand for the young lady?”

“Yes,” Mr. Fairchild replied, introducing his granddaughter to Ollivander. “This is my granddaughter, Margaret. She needs a wand to begin her studies at Hogwarts.”

Ollivander looked closely at Margaret, studying her with curiosity.

“Excellent,” he said, nodding slowly. “The wand chooses the wizard. Let’s see which one is right for you.”

He began pulling wands from their boxes, trying one after another. For a while, nothing happened, but suddenly, when Margaret took a certain wand in her hand, the shop was filled with a soft light emanating from its tip.

“There it is,” Ollivander smiled, pleased with the result. “The wand has chosen you.”

“What kind of wand is it?” Margaret asked, looking in surprise at the glowing object in her hand.

Ollivander examined it, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“Red oak, with a core of jackalope antler. Rigid, 13⅓ inches,” he explained. “It’s a very interesting combination. This wand is unusual, just like its owner.”

He looked at Margaret intently and continued:

“You may excel at Quidditch, but your strength lies not in playing the game but in your ability to form and lead a team to victory. You are skilled in potion-making, but you’re more interested in teaching others than in your own achievements. For you, leadership and overcoming challenges are more important than the victory itself. It’s a rare combination of qualities, where a person can be energetic, cautious, rational, and even ruthless at the same time.”

Margaret listened to him, not taking her eyes off the wand she was holding. Every word Ollivander said resonated with her inner feelings.

“This wand was drawn to you by your charisma and charm. It stands out among others and loves to take on challenges,” Ollivander continued. “But its core, the jackalope antler, is somewhat selfish. This may make you more stubborn and authoritative. Therefore, you’ll need to learn to control your emotions and express your feelings. But know this: this wand will definitely help you cast spells more effectively.”

Margaret felt her excitement mix with a sense of satisfaction. She knew that this wand truly suited her, that it would be her faithful companion on her journey to mastering magic.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, looking at Ollivander. “I’ll do my best not to let it down.”

Ollivander smiled, sensing the sincerity in her words.

“Good luck to you, miss,” he replied. “And may your wand always remain loyal to you.”

They said their goodbyes to Ollivander and stepped out onto the street. Margaret held the wand, feeling its gentle yet confident warmth in her hand. She knew this was only the beginning of her journey, but with this wand, she felt ready for any challenges that might come her way.

When they returned to the castle, Margaret laid out her belongings and the wand on the table in her room. During dinner, she recounted her experience of choosing the wand to her grandparents, and they listened with interest and pride.

Later, lying in her cozy bed, Margaret thought about the future that awaited her at Hogwarts. The dreams that came to her that night were filled with magic, adventures, and new discoveries. She felt that with each passing day, her life was becoming brighter and more exciting, and now, with a new wand in hand, she was ready for whatever the magical world had in store for her.

The remaining days before the start of her studies at Hogwarts flew by for Margaret in a blur. She immersed herself completely in the world of magic, trying to grasp at least the basics before arriving at the school. From morning to night, her days were meticulously planned: practical lessons with her wand, reading books on magic and history, studying the structure of Hogwarts and its centuries-old traditions. Each new piece of knowledge added to her confidence, but also filled her with awe about the upcoming school year.

One of the first lessons she decided to master was simple but important—levitation. Using the spell *Wingardium Leviosa*, Margaret tried to make a feather rise into the air. At first, nothing happened, but with each passing day, her wand responded better. Finally, after numerous attempts, the feather gently floated into the air. Thrilled with her success, Margaret smiled, feeling the magic beginning to flow through her veins.

During the day, she spent hours poring over the books Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild had left for her on the shelves. Books on the history of magic, ancient spells and potions, legends of great wizards of the past—all of these became her guides to a new, mysterious world. She enjoyed learning about the history of Hogwarts, about the four founders of the school, about ancient traditions, and the amazing creatures that inhabited the castle grounds.

One day, her grandfather, noticing her interest in a book about Quidditch, suggested she try her hand at flying on a broomstick. At first, Margaret was nervous, but as soon as she took off, her fear gave way to excitement. Flying was just as exhilarating as she had imagined. Though she still needed to learn how to control the broom properly, she had taken her first steps, and that was what mattered.

Every evening, before going to bed, Margaret wrote letters to Miranda. She told her about how her days were going, how her grandmother cared for her, how her grandfather, who seemed constantly occupied with reading newspapers or books in his library, still kept an eye on her progress and guided her when necessary. In her letters, she shared her thoughts, describing her new discoveries, her successes, and her challenges. She wrote about how she had managed to make the feather levitate, how she flew on a broom for the first time, how she read books about the great wizarding battles of the past with fascination.

“Grandma and Grandpa are very caring,” she wrote in one of her letters. “Grandma is always nearby, ready to help when I don’t understand something, and she tells me about our family. Grandpa, though he seems strict, closely monitors my progress and is always ready to offer advice. It’s very nice here, but I still miss home.”

Time flew by unnoticed. Roderick and Enola reassured Margaret, telling her that in her first year, she would have simple lessons, and that Hogwarts had professionals who would teach her everything. But despite these words, Margaret couldn’t resist peeking into her textbooks and trying to understand what lay ahead. Some terms were unfamiliar to her, and complex spells seemed almost incomprehensible. But this didn’t discourage her—on the contrary, it made her even more determined to keep studying, dreaming of the day when she would become a true witch.

“I know there are many challenges ahead,” she wrote in another letter to Miranda, “but I really want to learn everything. I want to become a real witch, with a broom and maybe even a black cat, just like in the stories you used to tell me. It feels like here, in this castle, my dreams are starting to come true.”

Every morning, as she woke up in her new room, Margaret felt her heart fill with joy and anticipation. The magical world was opening up before her, and with each passing day, she felt her life changing more and more.

[theredsowing]

Dance of the dragons

Chapter 1

The sky over Peyredragon was a uniform blanket of gray clouds, heavy and menacing, as if the gods themselves had decided to deprive the island of all light. Rain fell in incessant droplets, a constant murmur that mingled with the distant roar of the raging sea. Each wave struck the basalt cliffs with a fury that seemed intent on reducing the fortress to dust. But Dragonstone, ancestral and indomitable, still stood, dark and austere, defying the elements as it had done for centuries.

The wind howled through the battlements, whistling between the turrets and whipping the black flags adorned with the three-headed dragon. The citadel's great gates were closed, jealously guarding the secrets of those who resided within. Around the walls, the sparse vegetation, bent under the weight of the elements, was a silent testimony to the harshness of the island's climate. The few trees that managed to survive on this barren soil were twisted, their gnarled branches stretched skyward in mute supplication.

The cobbled paths of the fortress were transformed into muddy rivers, where water seeped between the black stones, and every step resounded with an eerie glow. The air was saturated with humidity, and every breath was a struggle against the oppression of the elements. Mist rose from the sea, curling its ghostly fingers around the ramparts, sometimes completely concealing the outlines of the fortress and surrounding mountains.

The dragons, masters of the skies, lurked in their shelters, their massive forms barely visible in the gloom. Their eyes, glowing embers in the darkness, silently watched over the island, the only witnesses to the natural chaos outside.

At this moment, Dragonstone seemed to be the very heart of the storm, a castle forgotten by the gods, where even the dragon's flames struggled to pierce the darkness that reigned over this cursed land.

The sea was restless, its waves rising like raging beasts, striking the ship's side with an unnatural violence. Laenyth stood at the bow, her hands clutching the slippery rail, her black hair whipping across her face like the straps of a vengeful whip. The icy wind howled in her ears, making every thought difficult, every breath an effort.

Her piercing gray eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the menacing shadow of Dragonstone Castle loomed. Even from this distance, the fortress seemed defied by the elements, its dark walls rising like fangs against the stormy sky. Laenyth felt the weight of terror that this place inspired, and part of her wished that the boat had sunk into the abyss before reaching these cursed shores.

She had never wanted to come here. This island, with its legends of dragons and volcanic rocks, had nothing to offer a woman who cherished the warmth of southern cities, the sweetness of fragrant gardens, and the security of a life far from the intrigues that plagued the families of the high nobility. Yet here she was, forced by a destiny that never seemed to belong to her. Her father had sent her to this island to cement an alliance with one of the kingdom's oldest and most feared families. An alliance she didn't want, even if it was only a military one.

The rain began to fall, fine at first, then heavier, seeping beneath her thick coat and chilling her skin. She could stand the cold. It was the thought of what awaited her in Peyrdragon that chilled her to the bone. She'd heard the tales: rumors of ancient rites, of dragons still slumbering in the depths of the island, and above all, of the ruthless nature of her future allies.

A crack sounded, and the boat pitched violently under the onslaught of a wave larger than the others. Laenyth clung desperately, the taste of salt invading her mouth as a spray of water splashed her from head to toe. All around her, sailors shouted to be heard above the roar of the waves, their faces taut with fear. This voyage was as much a journey for them as for her, and Laenyth wondered if they would all survive the ordeal.

As the boat drew closer to the island, details of Peyrdragon came into sharper focus. The fortress looked like something out of a nightmare, with its dark towers and sharp peaks, and the cliffs on which it stood gave the impression of being ready to collapse at any moment under the force of the elements. A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, revealing the island's menacing outline. Laenyth felt a shiver run through her, not from the cold, but from growing apprehension.

Finally, the ship docked with a violence that shook the entire crew. The sailors, tired and soaked to the skin, hurried to cast off, and soon the gangway was lowered. Laenyth froze for a moment, her feet anchored to the deck, her gaze riveted on the black earth stretching out before her. There was no welcome, no warmth to greet her. Just wind, rain and the muffled roar of the sea against the rocks.

With resigned heaviness, Laenyth slowly made her way down the gangway. Every step seemed to bring her a little closer to the fate she dreaded. She had always been a woman of conviction, but at this moment she felt vulnerable, a displaced pawn on a chessboard she didn't fully understand.

When she set foot on Peyrdragon soil, a wave of despair swept over her. She looked up at the dark walls of the fortress, then up at the tormented sky, wondering if she would ever see the sun again. But it was too late to turn back. The fate had been decided, and Laenyth stepped forward, her heart heavy with doubts, towards the unknown that awaited her behind these walls of stone and secrets.

The wind was still howling around her, but she paid it no more heed. Behind her, her parents followed, adding an extra weight to the already oppressive atmosphere.

Her mother, Lady Maelis, descended first, her frail, huddled figure seemingly about to break under the weight of her soaked cloak. Laenyth's eyes rested for a moment on this woman who had always embodied passivity and submission, a model Laenyth had sworn never to follow. Maelis stood straight, but there was no strength in her posture, only silent resignation. Her empty gaze did not linger on her daughter, nor on the imposing fortress. She seemed a mere shadow, a being reduced to the state of silent companion to her husband, and now her daughter, towards a destiny she had no control over. For Maelis, every step on this foreign soil was a funeral march, a continuation of a life that had never belonged to her.

Then came Lord Vaeron, Laenyth's father, a man whose mere presence seemed to make the air even heavier. He strode down the gangway with unbridled confidence, ignoring the storm raging around him. His dark cloak fluttered behind him like a raven's wings, and his dark eyes were fixed on the fortress, where he could already see the price of his ambition coming to fruition.

Lord Vaeron was a man whom Laenyth had learned to fear more than to respect. He had always been ruthless, ruling his house with an iron fist, without tolerating the slightest sign of weakness. To him, Laenyth was merely an asset in a game of political chess, a pawn he was willing to sacrifice to curry favor with the Targaryens. His ambitions went far beyond the borders of their domain, and Peyrdragon represented much more than a simple journey for him: it was a chance to rise, to inscribe his name among the most powerful in the kingdom.

He finally set foot on the island and turned to Laenyth, his piercing gaze searching hers. There was a calculating coldness in his eyes, an unwavering determination. He advanced towards her, each step sounding like a hammer on an anvil.

" Hold this moment well, Laenyth, " he said in a deep voice, his stern tone leaving no room for emotion. " This is where your future is sealed. Do not disappoint me. "

She held his gaze, despite the fear that knotted her stomach. She knew what he expected of her: total submission to his plans, unquestioning acceptance of the role he was imposing on her. But deep in her heart, a silent rebellion was rumbling. She was not his mother, submissive and self-effacing. Yet in this moment, under the driving rain and her father's merciless gaze, she felt as insignificant as the last drop of water on the gangway.

Laenyth turned her gaze towards the fortress, whose walls seemed to tower over her with cruel indifference. The Targaryens awaited her inside, lords draped in legend, bearers of fire and blood. She gritted her teeth, aware that the hour of confrontation was approaching, and that in this battle she would have to find within herself a strength she wasn't sure she possessed.

Lord Vaeron gently pushed her back, a firm gesture that meant it was time to march towards her destiny. Behind them, Lady Maelis advanced in silence, her gaze lost in the void, indifferent to the outcome of this dark undertaking.

And Laenyth set off, each step bringing her a little closer to the massive gates of Peyrdragon. The storm was not abating, but inside her, another storm was brewing, a struggle between imposed duty and the deep desire for freedom. She knew she was just one piece in a game much bigger than herself, but she silently promised herself never to let herself be broken, whatever happened behind those walls of stone and secrets.

✨

Dragonstone's massive gates stood before them, austere and menacing, carved from wood so ancient it seemed to have absorbed the very essence of the island. Two guards clad in black armor stood on either side, their faces partially concealed beneath dragon-head helmets. Without a word, they pushed open the heavy doors, revealing the dark entrance to the castle.

Laenyth paused for a moment, her breath caught as she contemplated the interior of the fortress. A long stone corridor stretched before her, dimly lit by torches attached to the walls. The air was heavy, impregnated with the smell of ash and damp. There was no sign of warmth or welcome, only an oppressive darkness that seemed to absorb all light and hope.

Lord Vaeron advanced first, his gait confident and conquering, as if entering an arena where he was certain to triumph. Lady Maelis followed close behind, her frail figure almost swallowed up by the shadows of the corridor. As for Laenyth, she hesitated for a moment before crossing the threshold, feeling the invisible weight of the fortress closing in on her. As soon as she stepped inside, the doors closed with a dull roar, cutting her off from the outside world as if she'd just entered another realm.

The floor was slippery beneath her feet, worn by centuries of footsteps and secrets. With every movement, the clanking of armor echoed in the empty space, but no other sound could be heard. Even the wind, so violent outside, seemed to have died away, as if it had never existed.

Laenyth pulled her cloak tightly around her, trying to protect herself from the cold that permeated every stone of the castle. Her eyes roamed the walls adorned with bas-reliefs depicting dragons in flight, their sinuous, menacing forms seeming to follow her every step. These mythical creatures, symbols of the power of House Targaryen, seemed almost alive, ready to emerge from the walls at any moment to devour intruders.

At the end of the corridor, a door opened onto a great hall, the heart of the castle, where the Targaryen family awaited them. Dragonstone's throne room was unlike any other great hall in the kingdom. Here, the volcanic stone had been carved to resemble a cavern, with columns in the shape of coiled dragons rising to the ceiling, their open jaws spitting imaginary flames. The lighting was dim, a reddish glow coming from braziers set around the room, adding a sanguine hue to the already sinister atmosphere.

At the back of the room, on a black stone throne, sat Lord Viserys Targaryen, his silver hair glistening in the flickering light. He was surrounded by several members of his family, all wearing the same piercing gaze, as if they could see beyond physical appearance to penetrate thoughts and souls.

Lord Viserys was a man of average stature, but with an imposing presence. His signature silver hair fell in loose curls around his stern face, framing piercing lilac eyes, often veiled in a distant melancholy. His pale skin contrasted with the rich purple and black fabrics of his clothes, embroidered with draconic motifs. Although his face bore the marks of age and responsibility, he remained a man of a certain grace, with a gentle yet authoritative voice, capable of commanding a room with a simple word.

Laenyth felt her heart clench. She wasn't ready to face these people, these living legends who had tamed dragons and conquered kingdoms. But her father, ignoring her confusion, stepped forward with an assurance that left no doubt as to his intentions. He stopped in front of Lord Viserys and bowed slightly, a respectful salute but far from total submission. 

" Lord Viserys, it is an honor to finally meet you in person. Your reputation far precedes that of any other lord in the kingdom. "

Viserys, impassive, bowed his head slightly in response. " Lord Vaeron, Lady Maelis, welcome to Peyrdragon. Your journey must have been tiring, but I hope it has allowed you to appreciate the grandeur of our island. "

Lady Maelis, standing beside her husband, remained silent, her gaze lowered as usual, her hands trembling slightly beneath her cloak. She finally dared to look up at Viserys, but froze, unable to find the words. Viserys scrutinized her for a moment, perhaps guessing at the unspoken words that marked her erased presence.

Lord Vaeron, sensing the weight of silence, hurried on. " Maelis and I have come with our daughter, Laenyth, to discuss the alliance between our houses, as we spoke of in our letters. We have every confidence that this union will strengthen our lineages and bring glory and prosperity to both our families. "

Viserys straightened slightly on his throne, his slender fingers playing absentmindedly with the carved armrest. He stared at Lord Vaeron for a moment, weighing each word before answering. " The union of great houses is always a delicate matter, Lord Vaeron. But if your daughter, Laenyth, possesses the necessary strength of character, then this alliance could indeed prove fruitful. "

He turned slightly to Lady Maelis, his gaze becoming a little softer, almost comforting. " Lady Maelis, how do you feel about this alliance? Your opinion counts too, and I wish to know your thoughts. "

Lady Maelis, surprised by this unusual attention, stammered a few words, her weak voice barely audible in the great hall. " Lord Viserys... I wish what is... best for our daughter and for the house. " She paused, unable to continue, and lowered her eyes again.

Viserys watched the frail woman before him for a moment before turning back to Lord Vaeron. " Very well, we'll discuss this further. But know, Lord Vaeron, that the strength of an alliance lies not only in the benefits it brings, but in the true will of the hearts that form it. " 

Viserys' gaze shifted to Laenyth, waiting in the background, her figure taut with expectation. The time had come for her to enter the political game of Peyrdragon, a game where every word, every gesture, could seal her fate.

[coolfamousquotescom]

Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.

William Goldman

[floralpoeticss]

Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.

–William Goldman (The princess bride)

[gloriousncss]

{katherine mcnamara, 28, cis woman, she/her} We are so glad to see you safe, QUEEN CLAIRE STUART of SCOTLAND! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are GRACEFUL and WITTY enough to handle it. Just don’t let your CYNICAL NATURE bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out YOU WISH TO ALIGN YOURSELF WITH YOUR GREATEST ENEMY TO ENSURE PEACE.

Basics:

Name: Claire Alexandra StuartForbes Title: Queen of Scotland Age: 28 Birthday: October 1st (Libra) Sexuality: Heterosexual Marital Status: Widow of Laird James Forbes Positive Traits: Graceful, intellectual, witty, empathetic, outdoorsy Negative Traits: Cynical, logical, sassy, emotional. Hobbies: Horseback riding, tending to flowers and plants, archery Aesthetics: Whispering to plants in the window, long and elegant words that no one can pronounce, a sunny summer afternoon, journals filled with scribblings Family: High Rulers of Scotland (elder siblings), Ruler of Scotland (younger sibling)

Physical Attributes:

Height: 5 feet 4 inches Hair Color: Red/Ginger Hair Length: Just a bit down past the shoulders Hair texture: Light and wavy Eye Color: Moss Green Markings/Tattoos: None Accent: Modified English Accent (think Mary Queen of Scots from Reign) Languages Spoken: English, Gaelic, French, German Skin Texture: Smooth and soft

Prologue: (tw; illness, death)

It is often foretold by the greatest of historians that nothing is impossible... but those historians never tried to bring little Princess Claire out of the sunlight as a child. Inner walls and shadows were utterly boring, and terribly cold (as she often did), but the sun and the stars, the flowers and trees, the wind and the fresh smell of the day, always invigorated her. Were her tutors not so accommodating for the princess's desires to study outside, she would not have grown to carry such vastly intelligent vocabulary like she does now. Often, Claire's desires for big words leave her peers stunned and confused, which makes it oh-so-very difficult to have a stimulating conversation with, well, anyone. But she always held her frustrations to herself, keeping her hands folded, her smile sweet, and her manner genteel for the greater good of her nation, and the family, she loved. It was the very love in her heart that drove her to be the most dutiful and obedient daughter. There was even a time where Claire believed that obedience was rewarded when her betrothal came about to Laird James Forbes of Aberdeenshire. He was gracious, kind, a profound listener, and a scholar, just as she was. He appreciated her passion for nature (despite being allergic to pollen), her steadfast vegetarian diet, and shared her love of words. He would write her letters filled from corner to corner with illustrious phrases that were etched in her heart. It was by the age of six and twenty that they were married in the Summer with the cathedral windows wide open. They moved into the humble Craigievar Castle, famous for its pink tone. She tended to the gardens with her own two hands, encouraging the ivy to grow all the way up the walls. The libraries, kitchens, and her private studies were filled to the brim with fresh flowers and plants. They spent their evenings reading history together by the fire, practicing new languages, laughing over riddles and antic dotes. It was their perfect little paradise. The storm cloud came in the form of the Croup. It began with a small cough that persisted long enough to make his voice sound less like the sweet tone that soothed her nightmares. When his breathing turned to whistles, the physicians began to set up a separate room to hide his contagious condition, but Claire insisted on staying by his side. It was only when he knew his dying breaths were approaching that he whispered his final wish to her; love again, marry again, but be greater and be remembered so that history will love her just as much as he did. James Forbes, Laird of Craigievar, died peacefully with his loving, grieving wife weeping by his side. They were married only but 10 months. Everyone expected Claire to lose hope and catch the Croup as well, but for some mysterious reason... she never did. She lived.

Chapter 1: While everyone was at Lal Qila...

In the months after his husband's passing, Claire grieved in the walls of Inverness Castle. The town surrounding it was silent, as well, mourning with their dear princess. It was the support of her people that made Claire realize that she could, possibly, gain support to win herself the crown over her eldest siblings. Only then would James's request to be remembered throughout history would be honored. When her father, at last, found his eternal rest, the conflict began.

After The Reckoning:

Thankfully, the conflict did not last long when her and her three siblings agreed to create the Royal Regency of four regents together. It worked out, seemingly, perfectly; keeping peace with her family while also honoring James's final wish. Claire vowed to her siblings that she would never marry again, as to maintain the regency they shared, but she's far too smart to see they were headed down a dark path. In her mind, the only solution is to create a constitutional monarchy... the same government as their greatest enemy; France. Surely, without it, the conflict would arise again between her and her family, would it not? And so Claire has to find a way to end a generations-old feud in order to save her family from ruin.

TLDR: Claire is 100% a flower child, vegetarian, plant mom who loves learning and using big words (she's the type that would read your text, correct your grammar, and then go "sorry, I had to") and loves her family and country, willing to do anything for them. Thankfully, the match her family made for her was actually PERFECT?? Laird James Forbes was a bookworm with a pollen allergy who loved to listen and she LOVED HIM. They lived in a literal pink castle for about 10 months before he died of the Croup. His final wish for her was to love again and for her to be remembered so that history will love her as much as he did. Now, after a year and some months since he died, the system of the four royal regents has offered her an opportunity to always be remembered... but also to never marry again, so that she will always hold James in her heart. But it won't last forever, and Claire knows that. France seems to be doing fine with their constitutional monarchy, so now she must find a way to make peace with them in order to adopt their government and save her family.

SIMILAR CHARACTERS: Jane Clayton (Legend of Tarzan), Susan Pevensie (The Chronicles of Narnia), Mary Queen of Scots (Reign), Fawn (Tinker Bell), Pocahontas (Pocahontas), Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables), Jane Villanueva (Jane the Virgin), Danielle (Ever After).