#'sent them away with fleas in their ears'

[fideidefenswhore]

Her erstwhile chaplain William Latimer later reminisced [...] about a preaching campaign which Anne launched in the last month of her life. She ordered Bishop Hugh Latimer (no relation) to use his first available sermon before the King to implore him not to persist in the 'utter subversion of the said houses and to...convert them to some better use'. Latimer says the Queen then bullied heads of monastic houses who came to her encouraged by this message into providing money for university scholarships, and it is true that in the later 1530s there was a surge in monks taking university degrees. Archbishop Cranmer, out of the loop of court politics down at his Kentish palace of Knole, was alarmed at the confusing messages he was getting, and wrote to Cromwell seeking face-to-face clarifying word as 'the cause of religion [monasticism]...goeth all contrary to mine expectation, if it be as the fame goeth'. Anne was bidding to wrest leadership of reformation from its other chief champions, especially Cromwell.

Surrenders and the Scaffold: 1536, Diarmaid MacCulloch

[shrimpybbq]

affection is a remedy for many a problem

continuation of a contended husband is no menace to the kingdom

______________________________________________

Aegon doesn't entirely change just because he feels loved and cared for, no. The trauma and lack of affection in his childhood still incites his drinking, but it's to a lesser degree. Still, it's not uncommon for his niece to wake to his slumbering frame reeking of cheap Flea Bottom ale, his late night antics with his sleazy friends having ended with the guards dragging his body into their shared chambers in the early morn. One would think she would be repulsed by such situations, and yet, Aegon often finds himself in the large tub with his wife washing his hair, her delicate hands bringing a soothing pressure to his waning headache. The Prince would be silent as a deep sense of shame settles over him, his expression settling into a grimace as he remembers the conversation that led him to Flea Bottom this time. His mother had been yelling at him for declaring his lack of desire for the throne - a desire that had never increased no matter the number of conversations they had. A sharp slap to his cheek before she sent him away from her chambers had been his final straw. He didn't remember much after that. Aegon is thankful that his sweet wife understands him, knowing he is trying to be better for her. She is always by his side.

The one thing that cheers him up the most is seeing his sweet little babies. The twins had come soon in the course of their marriage and though he'd been reluctant to become a father, there was soon nothing more important to him than caring for his children. He saw opportunities for redemption in them, and his wife was so good with them. She was motherly in a way that his own mother had never been, always coddling them and squeezing them tightly, praising them and laving them with affection. To see his own children loved so much healed something in Aegon. The married couple spend many hours together with the children in the nursery each day, playing with them and conversing. When the Twins had learnt of their mother's second pregnancy they had become even more excitable, always babbling to the babe and asking when their brother or sister would be born. As Jaehaera clings to her father and plays with his matching silver strands, Aegon can only look over at his wife and Jaehaerys as he presses his ear to her stomach, seeking to hear the babe. His heart swells at the realisation that he finally has a family that love him, and he who loves them more than anything in the world.

(I 100% believe half of Aegon's problems could be solved with a lot of love and affection)

[howdoesagrapewrites]

����𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬

Plot: Imagine being the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen, and having a very devoted family.

Cw: fem!reader, cisgender female reader (I'm sorry mascs and nbs, I'll make something for you later) incest/targcest implied for later, platonic and romantic yanderes, yandere EVERYONE x reader, here's a list of every character that will be featured (not all of them are romantic):Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, Rhea Royce, Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower, Viserys I Targaryen, Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Haelena Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen, Lucerys Velaryon, Jacaerys Velaryon, Laena Velaryon, Laenor Velaryon

Notes: I go by a very strange mix of the series and the books, I haven't seen the series in a while so the timeline will most likely be a mess. I'd like this to be a series but I've been incredibly busy. Extra: at first I thought about making reader Mysaria's daughter, but this is a self insert, so it's best that you look however you like, leaving the mother anonymous. The only physical reference I'll make will be reader's silver hair

>After Rhaenyra was declared the heir of the iron throne, Daemon, insulted, flew away with his mistress, the white worm, who he would conceive a child with, even asking for a dragon egg for the prince or princess to come

>However, Viserys demanded him to go back to his home and wife, he sent Mysaria off to lys, where the stress of a storm in the trip back made her lose the baby

>Daemon never fully forgave his brother, and this left him less than eager to have another child anytime soon

>So imagine his surprise, when 7 years later, there's a rumour spreading in flea bottom like wildfire, about a girl carrying Daemon's bastard

>Many women had claimed to carry a royal child before, thinking this could give them any sort of prize, so Daemon didn't think much of it at first, but when he heard her name, he recognized her as one of his previous "favorites" who disappeared without a trace months ago

>She was said to have taken residence in Essos, and Daemon went on dragonback to find her. She was from the free cities, five years older than Daemon, and a heart as cold as a northern winter, or so they said. She was not expecting Daemon, running away to have the child in peace

>"They said I was too far along when I found out, moon tea would've only harmed me. Besides, it was lucrative in its own way" said the woman. Daemon did little to suppress the disgust on his face when thinking about her being defiled by other men while carrying his dragonseed babe

>She wanted no part in the baby's life, and Daemon, in his particular fashion, informed her he'd take the youngling as soon as it's out of her, may even pay her a few coins to make sure she won't do much as think about keeping it

>A few months passed, and he returned to king's landing with a babe in arms. Demanding an egg in honor of the birth of princess Y/N Targaryen

>This egg would later hatch into the dragon Dagahrion, the princess' bound dragon

>The court was a hot mess, according to Otto, he wouldn't be surprised if the young creature lost its left ear because of all the gossip and ill-speaking of her, just like her father. This was a scandal, considering he was still married to Rhea Royce, who he gravely dishonored time and time again, Daemon was always shameless, but this was crossing a limit, even for him, to call his bastard a princess while refusing to lay with his own rightful wife, disgraceful

>Daemon tried to use you as yet another attempt to get his brother to annul his marriage to "the bronze bitch", but even when he failed, he did everything in his power to legitimize his daughter

>Despite everyone on the council telling Viserys how foolish it'd be to do it, making enemies out of the Royce house, further insulting Rhea, and putting a whoreborn on the line of succession (no matter how far from the throne), all it took was a little yawn and the bright twinkle of your eyes to make him melt, he is fully committed to his role of uncle, even as a doting grandfather, considering his father passed long before her birth

>Viserys sent Daemon back to the Vale, saying he should do his best to give lady Rhea an heir, to make up for the slip and avoid causing the Targaryen house any more trouble. Viserys, for totally not selfish reasons wanted to keep the princess in KL, saying Rhea should not be made to raise his bastard

>Daemon said he'd rather be exiled again than to leave his daughter in Hightower hands to go try to fuck his wife. Viserys was greatly offended by the implication that the Hightowers truly ruled and schemed while he reigned

>To his outmost displeasure, he finally had to let his niece go to the Vale with her father

>Rhea loved you as soon as she set eyes on you, completely separating you from your father's actions, and seeing you as a pure angel in this horrible situation

>But it was so difficult with Daemon around, she just wanted to whisk you away and love you, she'd pray to the mother to be able to breastfeed you, crying when she heard you wail in frustration of your hunger, since it took several wet nurses to get you to drink milk

>But Daemon was always around to remind her you were not hers, that he considered her lowly, not worthy of you. He'd correct you when you learning to speak, and dared to refer to her as "mama"

>It was said the ground of the vale would shake upon them yelling when fighting over you

>But this joy to Rhea was short lived, as Daemon sent you to KL when he had to fight in the war of the stepstones, saying the "nest of vipers" was more deserving of you than she was. When you were three, your step mother had an accident while hawking, many said Daemon orderded for her to be poisoned when she was bed bound, others said the distress of your parting made her lose skill

>It was Viserys greatest pleasure when you were left at his care, his adorable baby niece was now an infant, and somehow you were even more charming, being able to speak, sing and walk

>To no one's surprise, Viserys' reaction was not generalized, with many not being keen on having a bastard running around the castle playing with the princes, by that point, Aegon was 8, Haelena was 7, Aemond was 5, and Daeron was 1, and almost all of them could see people treated you differently

>Rhaenyra was welcoming, baby Lucerys had just been born, and she was delighted to have a girl to spoil, it only helped that Jacaerys loved you as well, and would often fight his uncles for the chance to be with you

>Alicent in particular was not pleased with your presence, thinking you were an uncomfortable conversation to have with her children, especially resentful of the fact her youngest son would be attached at the hip with you

>To Otto, you were an annoyance, a living proof of Daemon's pure disregard for the norms, however, he could rest at night knowing you were ninth in the line of succession, and a girl, who would someday marry a son of a minor house and be too busy bearing children to present a claim to the iron throne

>Even though the Hightowers were tougher than the king, they did eventually succumb to your spell, and became just as enamoured with you as everyone else, in their minds, you were almost a product of spontaneous generation, completely ignoring your shameful father and prostitute mother

>Your arrival also caused the birth of Lucerys (who was again, born with a striking resemblance of Harwin Strong, just like his older brother) to be less gossiped about, after all, your case was much more interesting

>Some people in court starting referring to you as "The princess of flea bottom", this title costed quite a few tongues around the castle, ordered by Viserys, happily approved by Otto

>The Hightower hand was careful not to show too much affection to you, as it was improper and he knew how zealous was Viserys when it came to you

>Aegon was "already too old to be playing" in his words, and kept his distance from you, you reminded him to much of his sticky handed little brothers

>But as if you knew, you chased him around and praised him for his knightly demeanor (in your eyes) and how he's just like the heroes in Viserys' stories. It was not a long time before Aegon now appointed himself as your guard, watching like a hawk over his brothers and nephews when he thought they were being too rough on you

>Haelena loves you from the start, sees you as a little doll, she loves showing you her bugs, you're the only one who listens to her attentively

>Jacaerys and Daeron are only a year old, but always search for you, you think they're cute, something that spikes jealousy on Aemond, he wants you to think of him as someone worthy of admiration, like you see his older brother, he'd even accept being cute in your eyes, but he has none of those traits to appeal to you. You love him and love playing with him nonetheless, but he thinks he needs something else to win your favor

>The Velaryons dote on you too, with Laenor married to Rhaenyra and once your father marries Laena that same year, they are maybe too eager to become part of your family, and regard you as theirs

>Especially Laena, who Daemon allows (unlike with Rhea) to pamper and care for you, but still corrects you when it comes to remembering your origins, Laena may love you, but she's not your mother

>Maybe Daemon does this as a way to imagine you're only his, he doesn't care for the woman who abandoned such a precious treasure, she has been wiped away from your life and memory, you're only familiar with your father, you only belong to him

>You have his silver hair, you have his name, no matter who your mother was, you are his true valyrian heir, his dragonseed

>Unfortunately, Daemon is not the only one whose eyes light up when thinking of owning you

[kristenwell]

(Not) Jealous - Leo Valdez x Reader

(Okay so I've had this idea for a while and I thought it was cute but it's my first fanfic so it's probably cringe 💀 Also : g/p = godly parent)

Leo glared and huffed in annoyance. He was sitting on a bench near the docks, observing a certain person.

This particular habit of his s/o was starting to get on his nerves.

It’s been a few days since they found a stray cat near the camp and since they’ve started to neglect him.

The demigod in question kept on cuddling the small calico in content. Few kisses on its little head here and there along with careful hugs.

The son of Hephaestus had hard time admitting to his jealousy.

„You’re gonna burn a hole in their head if you keep staring like that.“ The voice next to him spoke, slightly amused by his behavior.

„Maybe it’ll finally take their attention away from that stupid cat.“ Leo grumbled. He didn’t even need to look at the person speaking to know it’s Jason, and he knew he came to tease him.

The blond boy chuckled. He sat on the bench next to his curly haired friend as he kept his eyes on y/n.

„Maybe you should join them,“ Jason suggested: „and show that you’re interested instead of sulking here like a little kid.“

Leo huffed and ran his hand through his dark curls. The gentle wind doing little to no help with cooling down his red face.

„You don’t get it, they haven’t given me their full attention for like whole two days, how am I supposed to survive?“ He whined dramatically.

Jason’s eye caught a figure approaching the two boys.

„Here they come. Good luck, dude.“ The taller male gave Leo a reassuring pat on his shoulder before scurrying Zeus knows where.

The sight of wind blowing in their hair, sun kissing their skin as they walked in his direction made his heart pound loudly against his chest. Leo could feel himself melting, he was whipped.

„Hey, fire boy.“  Badump. Normally if anyone else were to call him that he’d hate it. But  Y/N was an exception.

The child of g/p sat in Jason’s previous spot next to Leo. They still held the tri-color cat in their arms.

Before the shorter male should utter a word his s/o beat him to it.

„So what’s got you so down? Usually you’d be all over me in a second.“  That sentence alone made Leo straighten his back and snap his head in their direction.

„Why don’t you ask that stupid animal since you’ve been spending SO much time together.“ Irritation was evident in his voice as he kicked the poor ground.

„Cookie is not stupid, she is one of the smartest cats I’ve seen. Aren’t you, sweetie?“ They cooed at at the tiny creature in their arms before the realization hit.  „Love, don’t tell me that THE Super Sized Mcshizzle is jealous.“ A smirk made its way on their face.

A red hue spread across the male’s face as he looked away.

„Of course not, look who you’re talking to. I’m the bad boy supreme, “ He stammered.“I’m just suggesting that you should spend more time with your boyfriend than that stray that probably has fleas.“

Y/N covered the Cookie’s ears and started at their lover in disbelief.

„Don’t treat her like some sort of animal.“ The look that he shot them spoke for itself.

A short silence left them both looking into each other’s eyes. Y/N was the first one to break it.

„I’m sorry if it seemed like ignored you, it wasn’t my intention.“ They gently took his hand into theirs as they looked for a sign of uncomfortableness in his face.

„I’m sorry too, for lashing out at you. It wasn’t cool of me.“

His s/o shook their head and slid closer to him. „So, we’re good?“

„Yep, we’re good.“ He smiled and kissed them gently on their lips.

„Since we’ve established things I need to do one last thing,“ Y/N grinned and quickly placed the relaxed cat in their boyfriend’s arms. „hold her for a while.“

Leo sent a puzzled look his lover’s way as they pulled out a camera and aimed it at him.

„What? She needs a father as well.“  They giggled and snapped a few photos.

„Gotta have something for the family album.“

[disgraceful-writings]

Meant To Be

Chapter 6

Y/n and Aegon were born on the same day, with velvet eyes and white crowns. Y/n is sent to Oldtown by their mother to keep her pure. What happens when she doesn't return so? How will her twin react?

Y/n was laid in a field of wildflowers. The wind dancing through the tall grass and flowers. The sun kissing her cheeks. Suddenly, a tightness overtook her throat. She began clawing at her throat in an attempt to relieve the pressure, but it seemed in vain. When her vision went black, she rose in her bed, sweat dripping from her hairline. She gasped and looked around her room for reassurance. When she realized she was in her room back at the Keep, she relaxed a bit. Still, she decided to request some wine be sent to her room and put her housecoat on to speak to the guards. However, when she opened the door, Xavier was waiting for her. She screamed and stumbled backwards, crashing into the table. He lunged at her and his hand encircled her throat. “You will never escape me”, he whispered in her ear. 

The princess bolted upright to find a maid trying to shake her awake, “Your grace, are you alright?” Y/n pushed her hands away and tried to adjust her eyes to the morning sun. “How long was I asleep”, the princess asked, while the maid wiped her forehead with a cool cloth. “You slept through dinner and the night, your grace. Your mother asked we let you rest.” Y/n nodded and stood up to be washed of the sweat and dressed by the maids. Afterward, still shaken from her dreams, the princess visited her mother’s chambers. “Y/n, how are you, my love?” Alicent raised both arms to her elder daughter. Y/n sunk into her mother’s hold, “y/n? You look white as a ghost.”

“Mother…I-”, y/n was interrupted by a guard entering the room. “Your grace”, he bowed, “the maester has asked for you in the king’s chambers.” She nodded and looked to her daughter, caressed her cheek, “We will speak later, dear.” Alicent kissed y/n’s forehead and stood to follow the guard to Viserys’s chambers. Y/n watched her walk out of the room and sighed. Will he haunt her forever? She knows she is safe, her uncle made sure of his death, and now she is with her family. Her mother wouldn’t let anything happen while she is within her grasp. She decided to go to the Sept, maybe the gods will bring a sense of calm to her. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid”, Aegon gradually shouted in his chambers, kicking a candle stand over, then falling onto his bed face first. Why did he have to open his mouth? It isn’t like anyone was asking him to say those things, especially y/n. Y/n…he doesn’t deserve her. She’s too perfect and proper for him. He should just put an heir in her and stick to the whores of flea bottom. That’s all he’s good at. He looked over to the drawer that held his peasant clothes. Not that he needed them, with the white hair and all, and the whores always welcomed their favorite cock…at least the coin that had come with it. He rose from the bed and changed into them. Before climbing out of his window, he secured a pouch of coins to his belt. Tonight, he was going to do as he pleased. 

The prince made his way to flea bottom, specifically one of the more curious whorehouses. After fucking two women, he laid on his back with them cuddled up to his sides, feeding him and keeping his goblet full. He was curious of the woman on display, nude, and inserting the handle of a blade into herself. She was loud and fake, but that didn’t stop his mind wondering how y/n was in bed. “Shall I suck your cock, my prince”, one of the girls asked. He grabbed her by the throat and kissed her deeply, when departed, he whispered, “I’ll put a prince’s bastard in you.” At this she climbed onto his lap, lined him up, and sunk herself onto him. She let out a fake moan like the other girl had been doing, and Aegon huffed, putting his hands on her waist to quicken her pace. When she let out another exaggerated moan, he picked her up off of him and shoved her to the floor, where he stuffed his cock down her throat. 

“Now I don’t have to hear you”, Aegon grunted out, the sounds of her choking being music to his ears. When he finished, he pushed her off of him, collected his clothes, dropped a bag of coins, and left the whorehouse into the morning sun. “Always happy to house our favorite prince for the night”, the madam said as he walked out. He walked towards the Keep, however, he felt the need to go to the Sept. He had never cared for the gods, why would they be calling him of all people? At the last turn, he decided to go to the Sept. The room was dark and musty smelling. People shuffled around like they couldn’t make noise for fear the gods would strike them where they stand. Then he saw her, y/n was on her knees, praying to the gods. What would she need to pray to the gods for? 

Then he noticed the tear stains on her cheeks and the quiet sobs threatening to leave her mouth as she whispered her prayer.

Y/n heard someone walking in her direction and suddenly turned to them. Aegon. What is he doing here?

“Y/n”, Aegon looked puzzled, “are you alright?”

Y/n hadn’t noticed she was crying until he changed her thoughts. She turned back to the candles and said, “yes. I just felt the power of the gods come over me.” She wiped her tears with the backs of her hands. 

“I don’t believe you.” She looked scared and small to him. He decided to sit beside her with his back to the table holding all the candles. She looked into his eyes, but stayed quiet. His hand reached to wipe her cheek of a fresh tear, and she fell into him, sobbing. He just held her, not knowing what to do for her. 

When she had calmed a bit, she pushed herself off of him, “Sorry, I-.” She couldn’t finish her sentence, or she would cry again. She stood and started walking back to the keep. Aegon quickly rose and caught up to her quickly. Holding onto her arms, out of breath from getting up so quickly, “Y/n, what’s wrong?” She opened her mouth, however, no words could exit. She just stared into his eyes. Could she trust him? With her mind intact currently, she decided to get a proper look at him. He smells of wine and sex, he just came from flea bottom. Maybe he is as cruel and sick as the people say. “Prince Aegon, Princess Y/n, your mother has requested your presence”, the guard who had come with y/n said after receiving word from another.

Taglist : @watercolorskyy, @xitsemm, @d3nny,

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Masterlist

[luxtout]

Flames Unveiled (Chapter 5- Red Eyes) Aegon II Targaryen X (Bastard Velaryon) Reader X Aemond Targaryen

Summary: After six years living away from Kings Landing, you and your family are summoned back, for reasons unknown. Your mother, Rhaenyra, has different plans for you. You swore to always protect your family, but at what cost?

Warning: References to / sexual content (18+), injuries, cursing, drinking, fights, angst

Tagged: @faesspace

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Hands gripped your waist, squeezing your flesh. Your breath hitched as the hand slid up your frame and stopping underneath your chin.

Your eyes remained close, no one spoke, only the feeling of hands roaming your body sent a wave of madness over you. Lips kissed the skin that was bit, causing little gasps and moans to escape your lips.

"Please," You moaned, your voice was needy, you reached for the figure's hair, but could not find anything. The voice was unrecognizable, only humming resuming its sucking on your neck.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, as you pressed your thighs together, pleasure rushed over you. A moan slipped from your lips, as your eyes cracked open to see a flash of silver hair...

The sensation of hot water pouring over your head brought you back from your daydream. You had awoken earlier from the dream, the aches from your core still lingered from the pleasure the dream gave you.

"Was it exciting?" Mara asked, her hands busy lathering soap on your scalp. She had pieced together your nighttime escapade when she noticed the rags beneath your bed, stained with wine and emanating a distinct odor.

"It was different," you sighed, glancing over at your handmaiden. Her fingers worked through your hair, but your mind wandered to the hands that had explored your body. You grappled with the confusing sensations in your stomach, a mixture of feeling both wrong and right. "Mara, I have a question. I didn't understand the sounds. The sounds the women in the pleasure house were making—were they in pain?"

Your handmaiden stifled a laugh, "Oh, let me think of how to explain this... The women were experiencing delight. It is normal, my Princess."

You fell silent, responding only with a thoughtful hum. As Mara rinsed your hair, she observed you clenching and unclenching your fists, lost in your thoughts.

"Are you alright, Princess?" Mara's voice was soft as she applied oils to your body.

"It's just," you began, "I felt off last night. It feels sinful to feel this way." You hesitated to reveal the details of your dream to her.

Mara continued to work, rinsing your body, and then spoke gently, "No, it is not sinful. Those are very normal feelings. They are what drive men and women..."

"Drive them to what?" You asked.

"Has your mother ever discussed... how to perform the marital act?" Mara whispered in your ear; her tone hushed.

You shook your head, a blush rising to your cheeks. "I'd rather not ask my mother about that. It would turn into a very long conversation."

Mara hummed and assisted you out of the tub, her gaze falling on a slight bruise on your waist. "Is that from riding Lyrax?"

You followed her gaze, feeling a slight pang of pain. You hadn't remembered what could have caused it – perhaps a bump or a fall, or maybe it had resulted from Aegon's firm grip when he pulled you away from the man in Flea Bottom. "Perhaps," you replied.

Your riding leathers were laid across the bed, and you instructed Mara to leave and instruct the guards for a carriage to take you to the dragon pit. As you dressed, you watched your reflection in the mirror, noting the light purple bruise on your waist, faintly resembling the impression of a couple of fingers.

The air was moist outside, and you knew that rain was expected later in the day. Lyrax enjoyed all kinds of weather, but he particularly loved storms, blending in with the grey clouds and rain. When you were ready, you made your way to the carriage waiting outside the Keep. Guards stood at the ready, nodding as you approached.

"Princess."

The carriage was comfortable, and you leaned against the cushions, ready for the short journey to the dragon pit. As you settled in, you heard someone enter through the door.

"May I join you?" Aemond was dressed in his riding leathers, and he didn't wait for a response before taking a seat. The carriage door closed, and it started moving along the stone path.

"Well, I don't see why not." You crossed your arms, attempting to avoid his watchful eye. His dagger, one you hadn't seen him carry before, was strapped to his hip, and he lightly tapped his fingers against it. "Have you seen Helaena?"

Aemond adjusted his position in the seat. "Yes, she's well. She wishes to apologize. As do I."

"Why must you apologize?" You responded almost too quickly, clutching at your leather, a noticeable anxious tick.

"For my brother," Aemond began, his hands falling to his knees.

"You don't need to apologize for him, and neither does he," you stated firmly, a slight smile curling at the corners of your lips.

Aemond's chuckle was low, "I knew you would say that. Aegon gets off too easily."

Your smile dropped, and your eyes took on a distant look as you remembered Aegon's growing problems. His once occasional drink at dinner had escalated into replacing every empty cup with more wine, his wandering eyes peering down the dresses of handmaidens. The change was nearly too much for you to bear. The two of you had been great friends, bonding as the eldest siblings in the family, but the mounting pressure seemed to have taken a toll on him.

"Why have you come to the dragon pit, uncle? I thought you had training to attend to," you asked as the carriage came to a halt.

Aemond nodded, "Yes, but Vhagar hasn't taken to the skies in weeks."

There was a lump in your throat as he mentioned Vhagar. "Well, I will leave you to it," you said before quickly walking from the carriage toward the dragon pit. The eager cries of Lyrax reached your ears, bringing a smile to your face.

"Māzigon kesīr, Lyrax," you called out to him, and like a child running to its mother, he squalled and rushed toward you, causing a few men to chase after him. "Easy."

The bond you shared with Lyrax was unique; even after years apart, you both acted as if no time had passed. Lyrax had missed you, and the loyalty he showed you was something you cherished.

"Ivestragī's sōvegon," you cooed in his ear as you mounted him. Let's fly. His grey wings spread, running slowly before pushing up into the air. Your fingers wrapped around the reins as you leaned to the side. You felt the light droplets of water as you rode into the clouds. Underneath Lyrax, you heard the roar of another dragon, and Vhagar nearly knocked Lyrax off balance.

Your heart leapt into your throat as Aemond eyed you from Vhagar. Vhagar's towering presence over Lyrax caused him to roar at the giant.

"That was a very dangerous move, Aemond," you scowled, trying to adjust yourself in the saddle.

"Why not ride together?" Aemond proposed, his smirk widening as he issued the challenge.

"Fine, if you can catch up with us," you responded, feeling Lyrax shift beneath you. He let out a triumphant roar as he dropped down, spinning through the wind. Such daring maneuvers were not uncommon when you rode with Lyrax, and you loved the exhilaration and the sense of freedom that came with them. Riding on the back of Lyrax was where you felt most alive. His speed and agility made it seem as though he could slice through the air like Valyrian steel.

Aemond made every effort to keep up, but his dragon struggled to match your speed. Vhagar's massive body dipped low, and his wings stretched wide above you. Lyrax shot forward, twisting and soaring upward before plunging down, sending you both freefalling toward the ocean below. You braced yourself for Lyrax to halt the descent and shoot back upward.

"Sȳrī gaomagon," you praised him, rubbing his head. Well done.

Aemond peered down at the scene from above, his heart sinking until he saw Lyrax gracefully ascend to meet him. He couldn't help but laugh at your boldness and audacity.

You both flew like that for hours until the rain started to coat your face. Landing the dragons in the rain proved to be the most challenging part, with the wind picking up as you closed in on the dragon pit.

Lyrax darted inside the pit, cooing in contentment before disappearing from your sight. The carriage was just a few paces away, but someone stood at the opening: the Queen.

Aemond remained behind, his gaze fixed on you until you nodded your goodbye. "Come here, dear. Before you get sick," the Queen's soft voice beckoned.

"I apologize, Your Grace. I hope you were not waiting long," you said as you took the seat opposite Alicent. She was attired in a dark green dress, with a black cloak draped over her, and her hair was elegantly coiled around her head.

"You do not need to apologize. I have heard that once you and your dragon are in the sky, you will stay up there for hours," she remarked, reaching out to take your hand. "You remind me of your mother when she was younger. Always with her dragon."

"I have heard stories. Is there a reason for this meeting?" You asked, your anxiety growing, waiting for her to mention your escapades with Helaena.

"We must make proper preparations for your name day celebrations," Alicent smiled, and the carriage started moving as you both discussed the upcoming event.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘

"Se dāria emagon ivestretan issa hen aōha kȳvana syt issa brōzi tubis." The Queen has told me of your plans for my name day, your voice softened as your mother's fingers ran through your hair.

"Gaomagon ao daor raqagon skoros īlon planned?" Do you not like what we planned? She sounded eager to know, her fingers halted, causing you to quickly shake your head. They both planned a three-day event, on the first day would be a grand feast, the second day a tournament, and the final day a ball.

Switching back to the Common Tongue, you addressed Jace, who was sitting in the corner of the room, and Luke beside him. "No, I think it's brilliant. But is it too much? I am only turning eighteen."

Rhaenyra smiled, "You are the daughter of the heir to the throne, my future heir. The King has approved."

Jace, however, changed the subject, "What were you saying before in Valyrian? It was hard to keep up." He was grinning, and his comment prompted laughter from both you and your mother.

"Jace, you never truly liked to learn Valyrian unless on dragon back," you replied with a laugh. Your mother joined in, and the tension seemed to ease.

"Sister, what about your flying today? I believe I heard two dragons overhead," Jace pressed.

Squirming in your seat, you began to explain, "Uh, Aemond was going to Vhagar-"

But your brothers' groans and your mother's stiffness interrupted you. Jace spoke firmly, "Do not go near him, sister."

"He did not try to feed me to his dragon. It was a friendly race," you defended yourself, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I will always remember what he is, brothers."

How could you forget.

Rhaenyra decided to change the subject, "That's enough now. Boys, why don't you take the air with your sister?"

Groaning in unison, your brothers reluctantly stood from their seats. You glanced at your reflection in the mirror; your hair hung loose, and you wore a simple blue dress that was a bit too long.

The courtyard was teeming with people, gardeners meticulously tending to the flowers, and the ladies of the court huddled together, whispering as you walked by.

"Dear sister, do you not bathe?" Jace sneered, his voice carrying so that the ladies could hear, and Luke began to gag.

"I will feed you to Lyrax," you retorted through clenched teeth. Your face burned with embarrassment as the ladies around you laughed and quickly walked away. "Did you find pleasure in that?"

The boys were consumed by uncontrollable laughter, Jace wrapping his arm around your shoulders as he gathered his breath. "Y/N, do you realize this will be our last moon together as a family?"

Your head cocked to the side, puzzled. "Why would you say that?"

The smile faded from Luke's face as his brother explained, "After your name day, you are to be married. Some lord will take you away to a part of Westeros, and it won't be long until you become Queen."

You shook your head, whispering softly, "I will not become Queen in this lifetime. You've seen how they challenge our mothers, right? For the realm to follow a second woman, it would shatter. No one would pledge fealty to me."

"I will kill anyone that tries to-"

"You will do no such thing, do not be stupid, brother," you admonished Jace, pinching his side. "Be smart, if anyone overhears this talk..."

"Niece, nephews, what a pleasure to see you all here today!" Aegon's voice interrupted your conversation. He stumbled into the courtyard, not holding a drink, but his brother was at his side.

You took a step forward and addressed Aegon, "Aegon, I thought you would be piss drunk by supper."

Aegon drew nearer, laughing as he pointed his finger. "That time cannot come soon enough, right, brother?"

Aemond straightened his posture, glaring at your brothers behind you. Jace attempted to hold you back, but his grip loosened with a shrug.

"Then I should not deprive you of your drink, uncle," you said, waiting for him to leave. But he didn't. He clasped his hands in front of him, smirking and unable to contain his excitement, rolling back on his heels with a chuckle. "May I ask what's funny, uncle?"

Aemond turned to his brother, appearing just as bewildered as the three of you. Jace and Luke attempted to reach for your sleeve, but Aegon finally stepped forward and leaned in close. His lips grazed your ear as he whispered, "Nothing. I was just thinking you would be such a lovely bride." He paused, then added with a wicked tone, "Or whore."

Your vision was blurred with anger, and neither of you noticed your hands raising, delivering furious strikes to each other. Anger seethed through both of you, with his hand finding your head and chest as your retaliation came in the form of slaps. Jace, Luke, and Aemond stood still for a moment, watching in disbelief as you both exchanged heated words in Valyrian, and the fight escalated from punches to slapping.

"Cease this!" Guards began to rush into the yard. Jace and Luke restrained you, while Aemond did the same with Aegon. Both of you were now bruised and bloody, with Aegon flashing a pathetic smile, revealing teeth stained with blood. "What is the meaning of this?"

Your chest heaved as you listened to Aegon speak, "We were just having fun."

The guard looked between the two of you, "You both will have to report to the King."

"The King?" You both whined, as the guard already started to escort both of you up the stairs. Embarrassment was all you felt as you walked shoulder to shoulder with Aegon, who seemed to share the same feeling.

"This is your fault," you accused, keeping your gaze on your gown, your fingers curled over the fabric, noticing specks of blood on the material.

"My fault?" Aegon laughed, sounding astounded by the accusation. "You struck me first."

"You started it. You got mad that I got the best of you in a fight." That comment caused Aegon to stop moving, and he only glared at you with clenched fists before resuming his steps.

The guard left both of you in the King's bedchamber, even though it was empty. Your lip quivered as you looked around, and Aegon had already made himself comfortable, helping himself to a glass of wine and pouring a second. "Here."

You were hesitant to take the glass, but you needed a way to soothe your anxiety. The wine was a sweet Dornish blend. Aegon downed his glass, and you followed, placing the glass back on the table.

"What is the meaning of this?" The King hobbled in, his breath was rigid as he tried to balance himself on his cane. The Queen and your mother ran in behind him, and you prayed to the Gods that Daemon did not show up.

Both of you spoke in a jumbled rant, trying to explain what happened, but the King, your grandsire, did not want to hear it. "Enough."

"Y/N, tell me why you struck him," Rhaenyra demanded, her lips pressed in a firm line as she waited.

"I do not know." Your words shocked Aegon, his eyes widened slightly. "We were talking, and I-"

"It was a playful jest," Aegon interrupted, pouring himself another glass of wine. "My niece and I were at a crossroads on dueling. She wanted to try since she could not hold a sword, and she decided to use her hands. It was a fair fight."

The Queen's lip quivered in anger, glaring at her husband. Your mother looked down at you, as if she did not know what to do. The King moved closer, saying, "Say your peace with each other and be done with it."

Alicent's face reflected the same look she had when Aemond lost his eye. She did not think that was sufficient. "She struck the prince."

"He struck the princess," Rhaenyra interjected, watching her father for a response.

You and Aegon felt like spectators in the verbal war that was about to start. Alicent turned to look at your face, noticing a bruised forehead, cheek, and a split lip. Her eyes shifted to Aegon, who had blackened eyes, a split lip in two places, and a gash on his cheek. She quickly made her way to Aegon, striking him where he stood.

He held his head down after the blow, but you heard him sniff, adjusting his posture to avoid any eye contact.

"He did not mean it, Your Grace," your voice faltered, noticing the tears forming in his eyes. "I am equally to blame."

Everyone stood still, watching to see what was to happen. "The both of you leave as we discuss your proper punishments."

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, nodding as you turned to leave the room. Aegon stood frozen for a moment, but he quickly turned and followed you as his mother came near him again. You could hear the murmurs of the three adults inside before the door closed behind you, leaving you both out in the hall.

Aegon's eyes were glossed over, his jaw clenched in anger or sorrow. His fists clenched and unclenched, letting his guard down.

"Aegon," you started, your hand reached for his, but he hastily turned away, his face contorted with emotion.

"Don't you touch me," he spat, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Like you said, you're equally to blame, yet I get punished, always. You cloud their judgment because you were born a girl, and I, a disappointment. Now they are furious that I am taking you down the same path."

You stepped closer to him, licking your lips, tasting the blood. "If you weren't an asshole, you would not be treated like a disappointment."

Aegon licked his teeth, laughing bitterly. He did not respond, just stood in silence. The blood on your dress darkened, and you tried to rub it off with your nail. You fought the burning sensation in your eyes, but a tear rolled down your cheek. You were once friends with this man, shared jokes, played games, danced, and now you beat each other senseless.

A click of the doorknob made you both stand straight, and everyone walked out in a line, the King struggling to keep up with the women. "We have come to a decision. You both have confirmed it to be a game, but at your age, you should know better. Both of you, back to your bedchambers at once. You will stay there until prompted."

Your eyes found their way to Aegon one last time before he stomped away. Rhaenyra took your arm, guiding you with her free hand on your lower back. The Queen stood watching everyone disperse before following her son to further his punishment.

"How dare you make a fool of this family?" Your mother shouted as she closed your bedchamber doors.

"I made a fool? It is not I who started it!" You finally let the tears fall.

"Then tell me, why did you not speak the truth to your grandsire, the King?" Her hand rested on a chair, motioning for you to sit, but you refused.

"I do not know." You lost your voice again, causing your mother to laugh.

"If I bring your brothers here, will they tell me the same story? That they 'do not know?' Please, Y/N, the Queen wanted you to be as equally punished as Aegon. Be grateful she pardoned you."

You hated Aegon, and you were glad he was getting punished, but why did the thought bring tears to your eyes? "Leave me be."

Rhaenyra sighed, placing her hands in yours, "You are to be a woman grown. Your name day will change everything you know. If the gossip of this fight came to light... You are lucky."

You bit your lip, causing it to sting, "Leave."

Rhaenyra nodded, kissing your forehead as she made her way to the exit. You let out a sob; the air in the room was suffocating. Your dress was ruined; you grasped for the strings, ripping them from the corset. Torn fabric and string pooled around your feet, leaving you in your chemise.

You spent hours sitting on the floor, whether it be to read or to think. No one came to relieve you from your chambers, but you did not mind. A knock at the door startled you from your book, quickly finding your red and black robe, tying it around your waist. "Come in."

Aemond walked in, and Mara followed after, "I thought you could do with some dinner."

A smile formed on your lips as you watched him help Mara place the plates of food on the table. Mara eyed you with a wide smirk, but you lifted your hand to leave. "Thank you, uncle. You did not need to go to these lengths."

"No bother. The least I can do after my brothers... antics this evening." His voice was low, like Aegon could hear the conversation. He pulled out a chair at your table, pushing it in after you settled in.

"I apologize for my appearance..." You looked to the floor, the remains of your dress still coated the carpet and wood. "How is he?"

Aemond poured you a glass before speaking, "My brother knows his stunts will leave him in a compromising position with our mother. He does them anyway, but this time I truly do not understand why he did what he did."

You sipped at your glass, "I thought he would grow from these... He was never like this when we were children." You glanced at your plate, meat pie and roasted vegetables, making you suddenly aware of how hungry you were.

"It has been years since you had last seen us. Before, you were just a girl... now you are a woman grown." His eye lingered over every part of you, making you wish you had a gown on. "Your name day will come soon enough."

"I would rather wait. Your mother has come up with a very elaborate three-day celebration leading up to the day. It is something to entertain all in the realm, that is to be sure." You started cutting at your plate. Aemond moved his plate around, looking at the food in distaste.

Silence engulfed the both of you, turning your stomach sour. You watched his hand drop his fork, leaning forward as his fingers grazed yours. "Uncle, is the food not to your satisfaction?"

You did not know why you asked that, if it was genuine or if it was to cut the tension, but Aemond didn't respond. His hand rested on yours, his cold stare sent shivers down your spine, thinking of the dream you had.

"Uncle?" Your gut twisted as he scooted closer, his hand trailing up your arm to your face. Panic welled up inside you.

You sat looking at him for as long as it took for the food to grow cold. His eye never met yours, only glaring at how his thumb and forefinger rubbed your soft features. Your hand crept up to his, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. In a flash, he let go, lifting from his chair and leaving the room.

You sat unbelievably still; shock went through you as the door clicked shut. Your eyes shifted to your plates; the food now turned your stomach upside-down, raising from your seat with a tremble.

"I thought he would never leave." A voice spoke from behind, and Aegon entered the front room with a stumble.

You jumped, "Aegon, what... How did you get in here? Did the guards relieve you?"

Your uncle was dressed in the rags he wore the night before; his shirt was a tad oversized for his frame. He discarded his cloak on the floor as he eyed your table.

"The passageways, remember?" He brushed past you, his hand brushing against your back and arm before sitting at the table. He picked up the fork Aemond was holding, shoving the food into his mouth.

"Did they not feed you?" You noticed his pace, clearing his plate and moving to yours.

"What was my brother doing here?" He questioned, ignoring yours. His eyes were focused on you, raking over every detail.

"It is not out of the ordinary, he comes here with supper, and we talk." Your voice was quiet as you watched Aegon pour two glasses of wine. "Why did you lie to them?"

He halted, his glass barely touching his lips, "We are not friends."

You nodded, "Of course not. You are my uncle."

"Not even that." You did not understand, "Drink."

You slowly reached for the glass, sipping the sweet blend. Aegon followed, his violet eyes staring into yours.

"I did not tell them because my sister cares for you. Last night, she begged to show you mercy. Aemond made me swear not to tell anyone, and I don't know why. I honor my family. You, I do not."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, drinking more of the wine. "You hate me that much?"

Aegon laughed as he refilled both of your glasses. "I don't hate you... I loathe you. Ever since we were kids, if you got in trouble, you were never punished, it was me being punished. When you left, it was like a weight lifted from my shoulders, but then you returned. You can speak out whenever you like, strike whomever you like, sneak about, and yet face no retribution. When I cut your hair, I felt a piece of you crumble, finally showing some weakness. I wanted to leave you in Flea Bottom with those people, but I didn't-"

You interrupted, "Then why didn't you? You said it yourself; you loathe me so. Trust me, Uncle, I abhor you. You claim I can do as I please, yet you can disgrace your wife by visiting whores in a pleasure house. You drink every moment of every day, beat on my brothers, and whisper cruel comments in my ear. The blood of the dragon flows through me just as it does through you."

He smiled down at you, raising his glass to his lips. "Seems you have gotten me all figured out, haven't you?"

You gulped your wine. "You blame me for your beatings, but maybe it's because you shame your wife, your mother's daughter, and the King doesn't love you because you're not his daughter."

After those words left your lips, Aegon slammed his glass against the table, standing up. His lips formed a straight line as he licked them, watching you squirm. You attempted to straighten up in your seat, waiting for him to speak.

"Is that so?"

You nodded, "Why are you here?"

He let go of the table, stumbling around it. "Just wanted to stop by before I left."

Confused, you snapped out of your chair, "You're planning on leaving? Are you going to Flea Bottom?"

You were both face to face, not uttering a word to each other. You wanted to leave with him, to see what he does, who he sees. You wanted to leave the confines of your room. His eyes raked over your face, leaning in closer. "Go to bed, niece. You've gotten into far too much trouble for this day."

"I wish to go," you demanded, "Take me with you."

He pushed you aside, walking to his cloak. "No. Do you want a repeat of last night? I suggest you stay here, or else I tell the Queen of your times spent in a pleasure house."

You followed him, "If I am to be with you, nothing will happen."

"Did you forget about our conversation? I loathe you; you abhor me?" He cracked a smile, fastening the clasp before fixing his hood.

"I understand, and my hatred towards you will be pushed aside if you take me with you. Just for tonight, then we can ignore each other forever. Please, I want the freedom before I am to be sold off as some old lord's wife."

You saw the conflict in Aegon's eyes, anger and pity mixed together as he sighed. "Get dressed."

A small smile appeared on your face, and you rushed to the clothes underneath your bed. You turned around to Aegon. "Don't look." You would normally be shy about changing in front of someone other than a handmaiden, but your excitement clouded all anxiety. As you slipped on all your clothes and grabbed your hat, Aegon made his way to you.

"How did you know I was finished?" You cocked your head, annoyance lacing your words. Aegon grabbed your hat, shoving it on your head to cover the white streaks.

"At least hide these." He quickly took his hands from your hat, walking to the secret passageway and pushing back the door.

The familiar rush of adrenaline filled your body as you both rushed down the stairs. Aegon shushed you as you both hit the open air. Flea Bottom was just as lively as the night before, with music and laughter.

As you made it down the stairs into the streets, Aegon kept you within arm's reach. You tried to pinpoint where the music was coming from, wanting to listen to the drums all night, but Aegon gripped you by the arm, dragging you down an alley.

"Hey! I wanted to—" You protested, but Aegon placed his hand over your mouth. His face was close to yours, making it hard to see who he was hiding from. In the corner of your eye, you noticed the flash of a gold cape.

"If you don't want to get caught, I suggest you pay attention to your surroundings," Aegon whispered harshly, letting go of your mouth. His hand reached for your forearm, and he weaved in and out of the crowds of people before leading you into a tavern.

The tavern was different from the one you and Helaena had visited; this one had lively music playing as people danced and sang. You couldn't take your eyes off the musicians, watching their feet tap to the rhythm.

A bump to your shoulder pulled your attention away. "Here, drink." Aegon had two glasses of wine, handing one to you. You nodded, taking the glass and raising it to your lips. You gulped it all in one go, and Aegon followed suit, turning to the barkeep, "Another."

This time you were both served something stronger in spirits. As you lifted the glass to your lips, you both twitched from the strong taste. The beat of the drum vibrated in your bones, and the animosity you felt between each other seemed to disappear. The drinks piled on as you both clearly became intoxicated.

Hours passed as you both left the tavern, returning to the Keep became more of a challenge. You both hummed, running into walls and each other, stumbling up the stone steps. Your hat fell to the ground as Aegon's hood slipped while he tried to bend down to pick it up.

"Forget it," you hiccupped, "I have no... no need for it."

His hand still wrapped around the hat, "You forget, no one can notice you."

Your legs twisted in front of you, stumbling in the passageway hall. Aegon barely caught you, laughter echoed as he stumbled over you.

"We... We must find my chambers," your speech slurred as you finally found your footing. You reached your hand out to him, and he hesitantly accepted, his body shaking as you tried to guide him to your room. You found your chamber with the door cracked slightly.

Your eyelids felt heavy as you spoke, "I must take my leave, uncle. It's late, and I am... drunk."

Laughter spilled from his lips, and he walked closer, "Why should we stop now?" He pushed past you and walked back to the table where your wine was left. The passageway door was left open, and the cool air filled your room. You watched Aegon discard the glasses and bring the pitcher, drinking straight from it.

Laughter left your lips as you watched the wine spill down his chin. He slowly walked closer, and his fingers gently lifted your head, bringing the pitcher to your lips, feeling it drop down your chin. You both stood in silence, drinking your wine for hours.

"I still loathe you, Y/N," his voice croaked, his eyes were glazed over, almost as if tears were going to fall.

"I know," you felt a burning in your face as you swallowed a lump in your throat, "I still abhor you too."

[arcielee]

Date With the Night

Summary: Aegon is obsessed with you and will do anything to keep you for himself. Paring: AegonTargaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 2763 Warnings: Masturbation, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, little bit of spit, and p in v.  Author's Note: Okay. So, this is going to be a short series set within the same timeline as Aemond and his Modern!FemaleReader. Thank you so much @f4ll-for-you​ and @squirmhoney​ for being my beta readers, my muses ♥  I hope you all enjoy! Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess​​ @babygirlyofthevale​ @randomdragonfires​ @httpsdoll​  Series: Call It Dreaming 

You were unsure how to explain to your friends that the heartbreak that your suffering seemingly evaporated overnight. The only one with any insight as to why was your roommate; she had burst into your room with smiles, wanting to verify that you finished the water she left you and her eyes rolled over you with the compliment on the collection of love bites that Aegon somehow left on your skin.

It did not make sense, you could not comprehend how your subconscious literally fucked away the name of whatever asshole you had dated. You slipped into the bathroom attached to your room and looked over the marks that decorated your neck and your chest.

You decided the day would be for recovery, nursing the slight hangover you had with lots of water, and that night you curled up to fall asleep, only to wake up in the dimly lit room that clearly belonged to a king. 

Aegon Targaryen and he was a man obsessed.

The morning after, he mourned his empty bed, rolling towards the side you had slept on and drinking in your fragrance, his mind recalling the softness of your skin and the hint mixture of something floral with vanilla. He felt drunk on the memory of you and fucked his first to completion, with your name spilling from his lips like a fervent prayer. 

That evening, he called a Cargyll knight to accompany him to scrounge every inch of Flea Bottom; Ser Erryk made a face, but could only agree with a reluctant, “Yes, your grace.” 

They slipped through every alley, visiting every brothel and stopping every whore in search of you, only to return to the Red Keep empty handed. Aegon felt defeated, refusing Lord Larys’ offer of any cunt within the kingdom. Instead, he wished for quiet and for wine, demanding the pitcher to be left for him. The handmaiden was quick to fill his goblet and leave the king; he sensed her trepidation but he had no appetite for flesh or food, so instead he drank. 

This is how you found him. 

You were confused at first, but brightened at the sight of Aegon. He had been sulking in a chair and straightened when he heard you say his name, the sweetest sound to his ears. His pupils swallowed the lilac of his eyes as they washed over your figure, hidden beneath an oversized shirt that was barely long enough to touch the peaks of your thighs, your face flushed with your smile. 

He bound from the chair like a man starved, pressing against you and his lips crashing against your own. “You came back to me,” he moaned and your tongue curled into his mouth, tasting the same bittersweet wine as before. His large palms roamed your curves, falling to your hips and grabbing into them, crushing you closer to his chest. 

Your sigh was as sweet as your voice and Aegon adored how your body reacted to his touch, to his kiss, how you arched against him until you were flushed against his chest. His face nuzzled into the curve of your shoulder to your neck, the feeling of his lips, of how his teeth bit into the flesh sent the shiver of goosebumps that rippled over you. 

“I must taste you,” he hummed into your neck, between his sloppy kisses. He took a staggered step backwards, dragging you towards the bed. “I must have you,” he nearly whined. 

His palms were warm and clammy when they grabbed onto your hips again, twirling you to face him, a quick kiss to your lips before he pushed you back against the mattress. You were gleeful, a giggle spilling from your lips that stopped when you noticed his stare. 

You pushed up to your elbows and looked at him. “What is it?” 

Aegon looked at you for a moment and his tongue wet his lips. “Tell me, what are these called?” he groaned the question, his fingers reaching to touch the thick lace of your thong you wore underneath your nightshirt. 

You giggled again, remembering how he lusted over your modern underwear the last time. “It is a thong,” you told him, reaching to grab the hem of his shirt and pulling him until your lips nearly touched. “It is a kind of… undergarments, from my world.” 

His brow quirked like an internal debate to question the latter half of the sentence. However, lust won over in that moment once he felt the lace beneath the pads of his fingers and he surged against you, his hot mouth finding your own. 

You moaned into the kiss as he deepened it, an urgency to taste you and his tongue clever. His hand grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, your nipples pebbling in the cool night air. You lay back onto the bed and his lips set to worship your body, his large palm cupping your breast to latch onto the soft flesh leaving a flush of pinks and reds as his mouth continued over your curves. 

His fingers curled into the lace and he carefully pulled away your thong, dipping forward to trail kisses towards your center. You feel the shiver of pleasure run the length of your spine, blossoming at the base and its sinuous spill into your lower abdomen from the tentative licks of his tongue. He moaned into your cunt, drunk off your taste that was as intoxicating as your scent.

You whined with the stretch of his finger, then another added, curling within your warmth wet and pressing deep within. You mewled in response, trying to shift your weight, but his other palm clasped onto your hip to hold you in place, his eyes dark and watchful with his probing, searching until he found that sweet spot that caused your eyes to roll into the back of your head, your back arching into his fevered touch. 

Aegon hummed and finger fucked you to the precipice of your release; you nearly cried when he pulled away, the flutter of your velvet walls as you watched him lick his fingers clean. “I wish to feel your pleasure,” he murmured darkly, unlacing the ties of his trousers, “but only around my cock.” 

“Aegon,” you breathed and he leaned forward, his lips silencing you and you felt his length pressing against the softness of the inside of your thigh; you moaned at the touch.

He hovered over you and his smugness displayed on his wine stained lips, then tilted his head forward to allow a line of his saliva to break from his mouth and onto your cunt. You whimpered when his fingers pressed to mix his spit with your arousal, his hand then grabbing his shaft and his head running the slickness of your folds, relishing with how you squirmed beneath him. 

“You are beautiful,” his voice was low, lust laden, “with how desperate you are for my cock.” 

You moaned as he sunk into you, the stretch, his girth that filled you so completely. “You take me so well,” he murmured. 

You felt his hold on your hips and his pace was brutal; his hips snapped against you, his eyes watchful as you unraveled beneath him, wanton with your cries and clenching with your peak. Aegon pulled back with a guttural groan, the pearly ropes of his own release across your stomach. 

There is almost a tenderness with the after care, how he peeled off his shirt and wiped you clean. His hands would not leave you, out of his desire for you but also out of fear that you will leave again, which you assumed that you would. 

But you returned the following night and the one after, unsure as to what brought you to Westeros but eager to fall into his arms again, enjoying how they wrapped around your abdomen, crushing you against his body, his pleading whispers into the soft divot beneath your jawline, “Why must you leave me? Why can’t you stay with me?” 

His lovely lilac eyes are red rimmed from the lack of sleep with your late night rendezvous as well as the wine you knew he over indulged as he waited for your return. There was the fraying desperation that boiled beneath his skin as he struggled, and failed, to keep his hold on you in King’s Landing. 

“Aegon,” your voice is soft, gentle to remind him, “I do not belong in your world.” 

“Neither do I,” and he meets your lips with a crushing kiss that draws the very breath from your lungs, as if you are the lifeline to his own sanity. 

Each night would end the same, the insatiable fucking that left a delightful ache between your thighs and him so cuntstruck but still in want for more. He would pull your bare body against his own beneath the covers and sprinkled kisses over your features, you giggling with how it tickled partnered with his end of day stubble. 

For him, every sound you made was musical. “Stay with me,” he begged again. 

Your fingers rested on his jaw, your thumb pressing gently onto the mole on his chin. It was an exhausting topic between you both, one where you could not even give any insight as to how you ended up here to begin with, or if it was even fucking real. Every night was spent entangled in his embrace and the next morning you would wake back in your bed, naked and missing yet another pair of your underwear. 

Instead you kissed him and he responded hungrily; his large palms pulled you closer still and you felt how he hardened once again, how it pressed into the softness of your stomach and the trill of pleasure that curled in your core. You shifted when his arm snaked around your abdomen, pulling your backside to be flushed against his bare chest and his cock pressing against your ass.  

Aegon nuzzled into your neck with sweet kisses, the warmth of his tongue that ran from the curve of your neck to your earlobe, a soft nip as his hand dipped between your thighs. “So wet for me already,” his exhale was warm and tickled your skin. 

The pads of his fingertips moved with familiar precision, knowing your intimate touches and he relished with your visceral response, your breathy sighs. You moved your hips back to press against and he bit into your shoulder, his groan a low vibration and it made your skin rise. His hand moved to slip his length between the warm flesh of your thighs, a rhythmic rubbing against your slick slit. 

It was slow, allowing him to caress every inch of your body, pulling you so close you felt his heart beating against your backside. He pushed against your entrance and you gave a shuddered sigh; his palm had its hold on your hip and the steady thrust of his hips until he sheathed inside you, his breath bated between your shoulder blades and your mewled cries in response to how he hit that sweet spot within you. 

That next morning, Aegon woke up and saw that his bed was empty and his frustration spilled from his seams, throwing the bedsheets aside, storming around his chambers as the servants scampered underfoot, trying to help him begin his day. His skin felt agitated, aflame with the touch of their hands and he barked at them all to leave the room, then a bellowed demand that he must speak with his brother.

Aemond will know what to do.

Instead the Lord Commander came into his room and informed him that Prince Aemond had left yesterday for Harrenhal and had yet to return. 

His witch, Aegon remembered. 

Sunfyre soared above the Red Keep and westward until he heard the roar of his brother’s dragon. Vhagar was waiting on the shores of the God’s Eye, the large, reptilian eyes watchful as he abandoned his dragon and moved inside the castle, following the thick smell of sage that led towards the throne room. He found the witch perched on the throne, with a mortar cupped in one hand and a pestle in her other; there was a white chalked design that stretched in front of where she sat.

Her eyes were bright beneath the smeared, dark kohl and her painted smile was almost knowing, as if she expected him to show. “My king,” she almost purred. “How may I be of service?” 

Aegon balked for the words, unsure of where to begin. “I am looking for someone,” he finally said.

“And she is not of this world?” She finished with the curl of her lips, pushing from the cracked throne and moving past him, towards a large oak table to set down her herbs. 

His brows raised in response but he remembered something Aemond had mentioned about her, she sees much and more. “I am unsure where she is or how I can find her…” 

Her Riverland accent was thick and cut him off, “I would need something of hers, to find your woman.” 

Aegon pulled out a pair of your laced underwear, unabashed, and Alys just watched him, her eyes blinking slowly before she took it from him and dropped it onto a marble slate. “My king,” she searched through the collection of glass vials, plucking one filled with a lavender powder that she sprinkled on top of the fabric; there was a small burst of flame and she continued, “I know she is not of this world. There is a portal, something bridged between our world and hers. I cannot allow it to stay open, as my path is meant for this change of events, so you will not have long to return–” 

“I will not be returning.”

She stopped and looked up to see his eyes that now burned with a renewed passion, his want for you. “I am unsure where Aemond is,” he continued, “but I need you to give this to him.” And he removed the conqueror’s crown and placed it on the table, amongst the vials of her makeshift alchemy. “He was meant for this role and I trust he will be a fair king until Jaehaerys is of age.” 

Alys said nothing, but only hummed as she returned her attention to the table and picked up a piece of chalk. She kneeled to the cobblestone and moved her arm to retrace the lines; when she finished, she faced him as she wiped her hands together. “Once you step through this portal, you will be unable to return to Westeros, my king.” 

“Yes, you mentioned that already,” his tone was irritable with how she repeated her words, presenting it as if he was making a poor choice or her form of judgment.  

In truth, it could be viewed as such, but it was a choice that was his to make. The weighted responsibility was heavy on his shoulders, always unwelcomed, always unwanted with how it affected every aspect of his life. Growing up, he often shirked the burden to his brother, with the hopeless dream to sail away to Pentos, Issos, somewhere, anywhere across the sea to be rid of the politicking of King’s Landing, his damn Targaryen bloodline. 

Instead, he had been dragged to the Iron Throne and the ancestral crown placed on top of his head curled his spine with the weight of the duty, the expectancy that gleamed in the rubies that decorated it. Even after the war was won, with Rhaenyra and Daemon tried and executed, he found what he said remained true: he had no wish to rule, no taste for duty. 

He was not suited for this life.

Aegon knew this was the better option for all involved. He would leave and allow his sister Helaena the peace she wished for, as she did not desire him or their false marriage, and he hated the forced action that was required for the sake of an heir to the Iron Throne. His mother would grieve, perhaps, but soon she would gloat when the crown was rightfully placed upon Aemond’s head; he was meant to wear the crown, he had shouldered the lessons and the responsibilities, and Aegon knew this. 

And Daeron, well, he could not really remember much of him anyway. 

“Please tell my brother that this is for the best,” Aegon watched the witch. 

Alys nodded, the shimmer of her glossy, dark hair with the deft motion. “Of course, my king.” 

He stepped forward and left Westeros behind. 

[lifenconcepts]

Horrid Henry headcannons  (the show one, there is a distinction) (not going into the basics of him being abused or whatever)

Undiagnosed adhd.

Has issues with falling asleep and/or staying asleep.

Has probably gotten in trouble for doodling rude characatures of his teachers and people he dislikes.

Definetely snuck out a few times at night.

Love language is quality time.

Loves to get a rise out of others by pretending to like things that people find disgusting (like pineapple pizza) but in reality doesn’t like them either.

Loved to cover and uncover his ears quickly in a school cafeteria to get that funny audio noise.

Wears long clothes practically religiously to avoid being perceived.

Probably daydreamed of tons of things he wanted but into his adolescence wanted a car to “get away forever” or atleast travel out of home often.

Had a time period where he listened to the group “The Smiths”.

Loves the musical group Mindless Self Indulgence.

Is deep in denial about having self confidence issues, and tries to pull off the idea he has a god complex.

Had a burner phone he got tons of songs on and whenever limited in tv or other things can always rely to have the phone (since his parents don’t know about it).

Likes to collect CDs and loves to go to flea markets or thrift shops for cheap ones, for a few from finding them near trash bins.

Loves the night but is too wimpish to actually go out alone unless it’s to Ralph’s.

Hates anything touching his neck (clothing tags, long necks/collars, necklaces).

Has likely grown out a mullet at least once in his life.

Likes to dance unless it’s for someone or something.

Has been left home alone multiple times and learnt to deal with it well.

Neglectful when it comes to keeping relationships as he doesn’t really know how to show attention or love to ‘em.

Loves 80s synth pop.

Touch repulsed and yet touch starved, has probably cried from receiving a genuine hug (likely from Ralph)

Liked to hum or whistle tunes and often gets told off for it.

Has probably broken dozens of chairs before, accidentally.

Is the guy to volunteer eagerly when the teacher calls for a “strong boy” to help stack plastic chairs.

When riding a bike loves to speed up until his legs ache and then fail to stop in time and crash into bushes.

Likely gets into antics which result with him getting dozens of bruises or scratches.

Has probably bitten people before.

Would laugh at queers before realising he is one himself.

Secretly wants to put make-up on himself like how some rock bands do but doesn’t want to be seen in it as it could make others think he’s girly.

Parents don’t believe him when he cries and so he gets sent to his room when he actually needs some comfort and cries himself to sleep while hugging Mr. kill or a pillow, has gotten a conditioned response of fleeing the scene of feeling genuinely threatened, but can stand up to himself.

Confident in his abilities and at the same time thinks he’s the worst person to ever exist in them.

Likes to lick his own blood or pick his own scabs.

Likely aromantic (I get his distaste to getting married is just a kid thing but I like to believe otherwise). Also take the episode “horrid Henry looks at love”.

Liked to chase cats or other small animals but wouldn’t hurt them for real, maybe just aggressively pet them but not anything more.

Prolly listened to Radiohead.

Likely has a small collection of different scrap bits and pieces from toys and other objects he found outside, from random bolts to lost keys from unknown locks, to even shards of metal from a broken bus.

Has probably slept across two seats on some sort of family gathering.

Probably would be into kandi beads and loom bands.

Liked black and red checkerboard patterns.

Probably would wear goth/punk clothes into his adolescence years. From depictions of skeletons and bones to spikey collars and leather jackets.

Pierced his own ears.

Tried to at some point control the universe or atleast take over the world.

Has stuck a fork into an outlet before.

Online likes to pretend to be a real life vampire or werewolf and has told people that he lives in an old castle.

Sweet tooth!

In school liked arts and crafts and often made makeshift creatures or robots.

Would love to partake in certain after school clubs but isn’t allowed due to teachers thinking he’s always gonna be a problem child.

Has a medal he won genuinely and hides it as his most prized possession, only boasting with the one he cheated in/stole.

[storiumemporium]

Sliver by Sliver

Aegon II Targaryen/Reader

| Word Count - 5.1k | Angst | Hair Cuts, Mild Trauma, Self Hating, Aegon has a lot of feelings about his bodily autonomy |

It's not perfect, but I actually like this one more than I thought I would! I was just considering when it was that Aegon finally cut his hair in defiance of his family, and how that might feel.

"I can feel the road I’m on." A mourners slur crossing the threshold of a youthful Princes' mouth. You think you should clap calloused hands over exposed ears, the same way one is meant to shield their eyes from the sun. "Have you ever felt it..? The way you can look ahead and know that whatever person you are then, is looking back and wishing you were different... But you don't change it anyways?"

Feelings are a powerful thing. They can put you on top of the world, can make you feel invincible, can crush you under their bootheel, can make you gullible, vulnerable, pathetic, glorious.

Even at your poorest, fetched up longside craggled forgotten flagstones. Gray, not red. Because your ilk were met with such disdain that you weren't even allowed to tread the same brick as those who built this city astride scaled spines. You'd had moments where wealth was just another chip off your tooth. The sky could catch fire and you would have grinned up at it, thankful for the warmth on a chill day.

There have been days, at your wellest-off, that you'd been sat on a bed nicer than you'd ever touched- and all yours too, as a new servant of the Keep- and felt that even a stiff breeze could have stung out your heart and stolen your liver, so lonely were you.

Feelings are a powerful thing, and you stand aside blinking daisies off your eyelids and watch as they claim even royalty.

Prince Aemond has lost an eye while the whole world had theirs closed. The screaming loud, had been raucous and vicious and hissing even to your Flea-borne ears. And in the midst of confusion and a sort of abject befuddlement that a Prince could lose his eye beneath the noses of all these self-important people, you managed to steal away a bit of entertainment in the shapes of them. That you, a young girl, could look at the flickering shadows in the firelight and see animals instead of the pale haired divine.

The way that these people- closer to Gods than men- are just as mucusy and wet and thrashing as you are. Spitting, screechy people who make poor decisions and cut each other and cry. And then, almost as soon as the events had crested their peak, you were sent off to do your work. To make sure that Prince Aegon- somehow culpable, though you weren’t keen enough to catch where he’d gone wrong in the midst of all the angry birdsong gurgling out their necks- went back to his room instead of finding some long beach to wander down and drown himself by accident.

This was not the first time you’d been called to order for him, and it would not be the last. Servants did not come from Flea Bottom, it just did not happen. They were at the very lowest, middleborn women who were of a higher pedigree than even their own mothers, dispositions naturally so sweet and so timid that they could mouse around the shadows and get their tasks done with neither complaint nor notice.

Fleas, did not become servants. And yet here you were.

And perhaps that was the reason they chose you to deal with him. They felt less inclined to guilt, seeing a lowborn lugging this boy around. All legs and absolutely no weight, as he belched and made uncouth comments into your ear and threatened always to vomit out the contents of his wine that— for some Seven’s damnable reason they’ve elected to simply keep giving him.

Were he raised by your parents, the boy’d have been smacked so hard he’d lean into the graces of Queen Alicent’s hand.

You’d told him as such, and he’d laughed. Laughed. Somehow, grudgingly, it hadn’t felt like it was at your expense, either.

But that, you suspect is why they keep you around. Not even for the dirt beneath your fingernails or the way that they feel they do not owe you respect or decency. No, they keep you around because Aegon laughs and leans and chats and no matter how hard he tries, he does not hike your skirts up by the time the sun shutters its eye. You refuse him, and he does not hate you for it.

So now, the closest they can give you to begrudging respect for it, is to make you his handler. Sent to fetch and retrieve and leash Aegon the Second with little more than a sharp wave of Alicent’s shaking hand, head beginning to sag against the bloodied visage of a boy. Her boy.

"You... you are good with him," Queen Alicent always spoke of Aegon as if she were a fretful mother and not the Queen, you’d noted it duly. She's winding fingers about fingers until the skin might redden and turn raw with her endless worrying as she convinces herself of the words she might not truly believe. "Prince Aegon can be fickle at best to deal with, as I’ve no doubts you know yourself. Unfortunately, most of the other girls your age are… disinclined to reject him.

I would only ask that you keep an eye on him. You will be paid in kind.”

Paid to not let him do as he pleases with you, she meant of course.

Easy enough, easy. Easy.

Aegon is- startlingly- almost completely sober when you approach him. Possessed of the same air as overly intelligent livestock headed for slaughter. Eyes that are dull and near-beady, and only too aware of the butcher’s cleaver primed for its neck. Even now with the crowd funneling away to their chambers, his eyes have not found purchase anywhere else other than the high backed chair— the bowl of crimson with an eye settled at its center.

“My Prince?” You’d never been able to get the appropriate tone down, that wilty, fleeting, feathery sing-song that all the other servants would use no matter their age, batting their lashes and wielding deference like a blade to fluff up the nobles they were meant to service. No, you come out flat, and your tone down-curves instead of bubbling up, you sound almost aggressive as you take your place beside him, assessing his state like you might an unpleasant piss pot.

Not that he was unpleasant and- well, he is often foul smelling- but not this time. Now he is sea salt and cold air. Even the wine is little more than a pleasant note carried about his clothes. You know he’d been worse off than this in the hours earlier, had the eve’s events truly done so much to clear him?

Aegon startles belatedly. Disjointed and feverish when his eyes skitter through the flagstones and up, fetching sharply against you as you turn orange in the flamelight, much closer than he’d realized. Off-white linen and rugged hands and a hair bonnet and scuffed shoes and cracked lips and—

“Yes? Yes.” Aegon croaks, his voice coming out all twisted and fractured. And later he would be hurt by the mere act of your presence, because he knows that it meant his mother sent him away again.

When his brother needed him.

When it was his fault.

He knew it already, could feel it ruminating about in his bones. He’d never been able to get things right, he learned very quickly. Couldn’t have been more than ten when he pieced together that if he thought he had the right idea, it was anything but. He’d done it again, he had. Bastard boys with their soil hued hair that would never once have passed for Targaryen- he’d meant to make a friend of them, at least. Figured that it couldn’t hurt to have fun playing pranks with them, little jokes.

It was just a joke.

You’re staring at him expectantly, you’ve been saying something. Your mouth always moves in these odd shapes, it’s not the way his mother or father speaks, nor his siblings, nor anyone he’s permitted to be near. Sharper and more clipped- so that when you’re genuinely miffed with him he can hear your yellowed teeth click together. It contributes to that hammer way of speech that you’ve got. Blunt.

“Prince Aegon?” You say, a little more firmly because the entire time you’ve spoken to him he’s stared at you like he didn’t really believe you were there. You didn’t know if he was thinking about something, or simply still so beside himself that he was in shock- letting you bounce your words off his skull. “My Prince, we must go. Her Grace would like for you to return to bed.”

Only to bed, not the beach, not the cellars. Bed. Bad enough one son is maimed.

“F’course,” he says- overly squeaky and a sharp reminder that he’s not as grown as he’d like to pretend he is. Your expectancy is all he has to cling to now, the only thing to go off of following the sudden and deafening silence of everyone returning to their chambers after the sky fell down. So, Aegon lets himself be guided down halls that remain unfamiliar, decorated blue and green and ocean against the world of red from which he was nursed- and he tries to lie to himself that he’s not clinging to your skirts like he would his own mother.

A lie that is not convincing enough for even Aegon to believe, even as good as he is at it. Because the moment your blunted nails and workers’ digits fetch against salted splinters and the rough, cold grate of an iron handle, the ferryman passing him to his rest- he’s already beginning to come apart in notches.

It’s subtle, which is strange for a boy so dramatic. You’d always thought him the type to explode, to screech and wail and break things, to wax poetic- a runaway he already is, what’s destruction to go along with it? But no, Aegon breaks rather quietly. He is self deprecating in his finest moments, and the harrowing echo of the door finding its nook is a death knell. You turn to face it, teeth set sharp in expectation of anything other than what you get.

He’s crying.

No, no red faced theatrics indeed. No throwing a fit and stomping his foot and sniveling. Instead he’s rather silent, rather unforgiving. His hair falls in billows of white, a scratchy mess unkempt and sorely disliked to be touched- you’d been witness to the fights he’d had with particularly bold older servants of the Keep. It seemed as if the very thought of fingers near his hair could set him into a frenzy. He loathed every strand. As if to affirm your thoughts, Aegon finds his corner on the bed and he clings with one hand to the post so tightly that you suppress a grimace at the scratches readily forming. Not for the wood- wood means nothing to you, but to the way you know the splinters are getting beneath his fingernails and ripping him up, now. The other hand, insistent and trembling, digs into his scalp and begins to tug.

You think you might be seeing moon white rip free in his fingers. If it is, Aegon doesn’t seem to notice it.

"I can feel the road I’m on." A mourners slur crossing the threshold of a youthful Princes' mouth. You think you should clap calloused hands over exposed ears, the same way one is meant to shield their eyes from the sun. "Have you ever felt it..? The way you can look ahead and know that whatever person you are then, is looking back and wishing you were different... But you don't change it anyways?"

You couldn’t honestly say you had, standing there awkwardly in the center of his room. Wasn’t it funny? To be out of place even in a castle like Driftmark, much less the Keep that you call home. You were like a novelty some Lord collected to be gossiped over, not a living creature.

Though, you suppose with a weariness unbefitting your age, that many Lords do keep living creatures as trophy. Even if they can beg otherwise.

“M’sorry, my Prince. I can’t honestly say I have.” You weren’t inclined to think of the future, because it wasn’t made for you. The only people who spent their time thinking of the days ahead had enough wealth and power to be confident they’d live to see it. “I try to live my days simply. Keeps me out of trouble, I found.”

Aegon squints around your words, eyes blurred, into the dim firelight stoked in his hearth, tries to picture himself older than he is, and finds he cannot fathom waking up that many days. Cannot imagine his flesh managing to push for so many more years.

Nevertheless, if that man exists, he knows he hates Aegon. And Aegon is sorry.

“It was just- we were just-” justifications that Aegon is too ashamed to finish. He keeps gaping like some great old fish dragged out of the water. He wants some sort of absolution that you cannot give, a random serving girl that happened to tolerate more of his shit than the rest. The sort of relief in his heart he knows he could only ever get from Alicent, from Aemond.

They will not forgive him.

Viserys creeps into his mind, the sort of moist-sweet of rot that clings to his fathers fibers. His hair falling away along with the skin that used to hold it. He can feel warmth of Viserys’ breath cascade over his nose and cheeks if he shuts his eyes too long to it, can imagine the way his eyes stung and the way he would lie and say it’s simply because of how foul the odor was. Not the words, not that Viserys had yelled into his ear. Not that they had slapped him. Not that it was his fault.

They dug at him, it’s like they knew there was a bruise, or some sort of open wound. They were crows, or vultures. Opportunistic. They kept biting at the hole in his soft belly, the one that opened and never sealed when they sliced his umbilical cord, with the removal of him from his mother. The last moments that Aegon had ever been pure, ever been good, or ever been worth anything to his family. Was there a time he was loved after the fact? Was there a moment that they fell out of love for him? When had he lost it? What had been the precise mistake he had made?

Had he been two? Five? Ten? Had it only been a year ago, when he was ten and three? It couldn’t have, because Viserys had never looked at him with anything more than the depth of the empty wine pitcher that Aegon would demand be filled over and over until he could no longer feel his own skin, much less the walls of his own heart that he kept scratching at.

Where had he gone wrong? What did he do? How does he fix it? Why can’t he fix it? Why does he keep hurting people? Why do they keep hurting him?

Ice water, your hands gently cupping around his. Suddenly he can feel the tenderness in his scalp, the searing pain. You’re looking at him with pity and he hates it, but you’re not looking at him with disgust and he loves that. He could take the humiliation and indignity of being pitiful in the eyes of a lowborn girl if it meant having someone who didn’t hate him. You’re peeling his fingers back— both hands, though the one bleeding through splinters meant less to him.

He was occupied on all the white tangled around his fingers. It looks like spidersilk, his hair. Too ratty and crinkled, though. Spidersilk was smoothness and prefection, without even the slightest crook to its threads. He knew this from the times he would swallow down rude words at the behest of his mother to play with Helaena’s… bugs. And now, for just a moment, he envied those creepy things.

Not even his hair was exempt from his flaws.

You’re still holding his hands, he finally notices. Blinks and inhales after such a long moment that you feel a shiver of relief fetch on your shoulder-blades. It seems like recognition is attempting to wade into the vacancies that Aegon had hidden inside. Fled towards.

“Ow…” He finally drawls, weak, and you don’t know if it’s him trying to recognize what he’d done to his own scalp, yanking harder and harder until you could hear the hair giving way to his fist. Or if it was some incredibly, embarrassingly weak attempt at deescalating the scene he’d created for himself.

He hates his hair, you can’t move away from that recognition. Noting it again for a second time that night, as if you were trying to figure out a riddle while illiterate.

But maybe you didn’t need to know. Maybe you just needed to act.

“Want it cut?” Short, gruff. But it has Aegon looking at you as if you’d lost your mind. His hands shiver within your grip, and then they don’t stop.

“What do you mean?”

“I think it’s easy enough, what I mean. Your hair, Prince Aegon. Never seen you like it, nor care of it much. Looks like y’put wool on your head. D’you want it cut?”

You don’t know what you’re doing to him, he’s confident of it. You can’t possibly know what you’re doing because only his mother and father had ever been capable of being so exceptionally and effectively cruel to him. You would not be, because you were a Flea and he’d learned that you brutish people didn’t like to trade in cruelties of the mouth. You preferred to beat the shit out of each other and then forgive the transgression within the same hour.

And yet you offer him something you must know he can’t accept. He can’t.

“Why not?” You answer to the refusal he whispers looking at you, as if begging you from behind violet hues to stop and to drop it. To leave it be. He can’t. He can’t. “They can’t stop you. Once it’s done what’ll they do? Can’t magically force it to grow back. It’ll be gone, least for awhile.”

And it isn’t that simple. But it is. But it’s not. But it truly is. Aegon makes it complicated. Because Viserys won’t even acknowledge he exists beyond distaste, but Alicent would be furious at him cutting away at his- his-

The clear and blatant sign that despite all his efforts to be otherwise. He is a Targaryen, in the end.

“They’d beat you, for it.” Aegon’s hands slip weakly free of your own, finding their place in his lap. “She’d have your hands caned. She’d force you from the castle. You’d lose everything you’ve gained, were I to do that.”

“Were you to let me do that, you mean.”

Aegon’s brows furrow at the correction, perplexed that this is what you would choose to focus on, in the face of your misguided kindness. “I- I guess, that’s- not the point. You can’t do it.”

“You hate it, though.” And perhaps the sentiment is so obvious that you should be embarrassed. But Aegon still fixes you with a look as if you were the first person to ever see him. “I’m right, aren’t I? S’why you fight so fuckin’ hard against the other girls when they try to clean it for you. You despise your hair.

So- so fix it. Cut it off. At least it’ll be easier to take care of that way, right? I- I mean- better clean hair that’s short’n long hair that looks like it came off a mangey dog—”

“Okay.”

Aegon cuts you down in a single word, you’d been prepared to keep pestering him. To make a real fight of it, and yet he acquiesces just like that.

“O-Okay? Okay. I- I’ll need shears, if you’ll not change your mind by the time I come back?”

Aegon didn’t think he could keep his mind in one place if he tried once upon a time, and yet you ask him in a warm brogue and he feels himself folding apart for you. He could wait, he could keep his mind focused. Just a trim, just a cut, yeah? Just little pieces fading away.

You’re slipping out of the room more effortlessly than he’s ever managed, and he’s left to the fire and his thoughts. To the way his mind begins to circle round on you. You hate it, though. The words are etched into the top of his skull, he’s sure of it. He’d ask not to be burned the day he dies, just so that a Maester could cut him open and prove it.

It’s not much, he barely knows you beyond the incessant picking he’d done from the moment he realized his mother gave him a keeper. From the moment he realized that he could push and you wouldn’t stumble. But now, waiting for you with the world growing too quiet for his sober mind— things about you start to change, to him.

He still doesn’t know you. But for the first time in Aegon thinks- perhaps- his entire life, he finds he’d like to try.

It might be fun. To know you.

It’s by sheer blind luck that the servants quarters are unoccupied as you slip into and out of them in the dark— you wouldn’t have been surprised if the older women had stayed up a few hours longer to gossip over the turn of events, over the loss of the little Prince’s eye. It would have been stifling, to fumble excuses as to why you needed hair shears when your greatest duty is simply to make sure Aegon doesn’t tumble down a flight of stairs, anymore.

But by the time you return, Aegon seems to have already taken his position. He’s on his knees, sitting back on his ankles, slouched against the side of the bed. Enough space that you could sit there with his back between your thighs and have easy access to the mountain of raggedy strands that fold one over the other over the other to form a nightmare of knots.

Fortunately, for what you were doing, you wouldn’t need to brush it out.

As you begin to gather his hair up, to lay it as flat as it could get— you’re overwhelmingly aware of what you’re doing. Your knuckles grazing against a million and one strands of violet eyed superiority, knowing that this thing that grows back is worth more than all of the parts of you that never would.

The first cut is deafening, and Aegon shudders like you tickled him. The white that falls away is nearly matted together, and the secondhand catharsis that grips your throat at the sight of it makes you fear for what state you will leave him in, when you’re done.

Snip, snip, snip. Pieces begin to fall away more and more, quicker and quicker. You’re by no means a barber, you’ve no true expertise in the hair- but you’d had plenty of experience carving away at the locks that belonged to boys you were too young to realize had fancied you. His hair isn’t much different, despite the way the color is exalted within Westeros and Kings’ Landing especially. Just hair, it’s just hair. More valuable than you’d ever be, and yet a tiresome soul crushing burden for the person whose shoulders are beginning to jump with the sobs he suppresses.

It’s the most invigorating experience of Aegon’s life. A hypnotic process follows. This sort of repetitive motion that Aegon think is closer to holy than any prayer he’s been forced to participate in. His scalp pulls taut, but no pain is found, only the strange tingling sensation as the blades grip and slide clean through. The loud noise that it emits, the way his head grows lighter and lighter. Aegon cannot tell if it is from the literal loss of weight— or if he’s getting dizzy.

So many people had touched his hair, ogled his hair. Pretty Valyrian hair. So shiny and white, such an irrevocable piece of what he is and what he’d never escape being in the eyes of those around him. People almost valued it more than him. (They did, they did value it more than him. He would accept this in the years to come). And yet the girl with the poor grammar and the clicky teeth and the flagstone voice cuts away at it and hums a soft tune as she does. He can’t recognize it, thinks it must be from where you were raised.

You hate it, though. Had anyone ever cared what Aegon hated or loved? What he liked or despised? Had you been the very first to say that? The first to notice?

It’s creeping higher and higher, and despite the flickering nervousness that he might grow to regret this and be furious with you- the inches just don’t seem to inch high enough with each and every cut. To the shoulderblades, to the tops of the shoulders, to the base of the neck, to the nape—

It takes you half an hour to meticulously carve away at all the pieces until they were something close to presentable. And by the end, deceptively curly hairs hug his jawline and duck shyly into the shells of his ears. It still needs washed, bushy and unkempt- but the thick patches of filth that’d congealed were no longer there, and the strands could all move and sway and bounce they were so light and lively.

When you look away from your work, satisfied and with a proud little smile touching at the corners of your lips, Aegon is covering his face with shame. Blotchy and red because the emotion is trying to beat him into submission. It feels good, and Aegon gasps in deep aching breaths. He can breathe. For the first time he can breathe.

Everyone loved his hair, everyone touched his hair when he didn’t want them to, everyone commented on his hair when he wished it was ignored. Now it was as close to gone as it’d ever been. When was the last time he could feel the very ends of his hair caress the sides of his face? He must have been too small to remember.

It steals the wind from your sails. The nearly smug joy that you’d done this from him is undercut by a nausea. You’re afraid of him, for him. It seems too obvious that he isn’t well. He’s heaping up hysterical gulps and whimpers, violently muffled as to not cause any more commotion within these halls than had already transpired within the hours before.

“…Aegon?” It is perhaps the first time you’d had the courage to say his name without his title attached in some way. It’s too familiar and it gives you the goosebumps, makes your tongue taste sharp. But he’s not getting better, and he’s not getting up. He might curl into a ball on the floor at any moment, and you’re not sure what you can do for him.

But Aegon is still slipped away in the soft womb of all his tragedies laid out. Of all the times he’s had noblewomen and their daughters pet and tug at his hair. All the comments of how pretty and white it’d been, how they’d slowly turned sour as he let his hair go to ruin more and more over the years. He’d enjoyed for brief moments the vindictiveness of ruining it for them. But it felt hollow when in the end he still had the hair, and in the end it still hurt to have them look at him like he was disgusting, because he didn’t want the pearly strands on his head.

Free. Free. Free.

Something shimmers, and his painfully red eyes peak between fingers to look at what it was glinting into his gaze. It makes him fetch on a gasp, to realize that you’ve crept around the room quiet like a cat, gathering up a looking glass to put in front of him.

His hair- it’s one thing to feel, and another to see.

So short, so short. Alicent would screech at him, he’s sure of it. She would hit him again, he’s sure of that too. Would curse him for making everything worse when his brother is already in pain. And it would ache, but it would be the good kind. The freeing kind. Because he would fly on Sunfyre come morning, and he would feel the wind in his short hair.

He almost… thinks he might look good like this. In spite of the discoloration of his face and the way his eyes and the surrounding are bright red. If he were to picture himself without snot and disgrace, he thinks it might be a handsome length. A defiant little trademark.

He finally unfurls then, so that his legs nearly rest atop your feet and his hands sit slack on his thighs. His mouth is working, eyes moving. Aegon forcing emotions into coherency, animalistic urges into civility. He wants to thank you properly, he wants to—

“Y’should go,” he says instead. And the little part of him he got from his mother, the part that had any sort of competency, wails with anguish. “Don’t want anyone to know what you’ve done here, tonight.”

For me. Because you noticed.

It seems almost cold, almost dismissive. But of course it was, yes? Because you were not a Princess, nor a Lady. You held no weight in his eyes and his world, and certainly not his court. You just gave him the ability to be spiteful, and the most he could do is not get you into trouble for it.

You should be thankful for that, after what you’ve done.

Rising still aches, though. To leave him here looking like a babe’s soiled toy. To leave knowing that he might very well continue on ignoring you outside of when he needs to you drag him to bed in the night. To know that he might very well change his mind and sell you out, come morning.

You don’t think he would, somehow. Insane as that is. And when you approach the door, hand tightly wound against the iron handle- his voice reaches you.

“I did hate it… Thank you.”

You do not find the courage to turn around again, that night. To look at the white hair upon the stones or the boy who lays there- discarded by his family and himself. Your fist tightening for a brief moment around the handle until your knuckles poke through angrily.

“It’s your hair, my Prince. It belongs to you, first. You shouldn’t be thankful y’got to do what you want with it.”

That wasn’t true, and he knew it wasn’t. Nothing about him belonged to him, but the sentiment still wraps around his heart fondly. Yes, he would like to know you indeed.

You slip from the room, leave him alone in the quiet. But it doesn’t feel lonely, tonight.

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Manga Update 229 Review:

No reason for this image, just me enjoying Saitama's meaty thighs. That's all.

Story: Like putting lipstick on a hyena

We open with Tatsumaki taking a phone call. She's dismissive of the idea of shooting a commercial to promote the Hero Association to prospective heroes -- until she remembers Saitama talking about how he'd once been weak and agrees. Let it be noted that Tatsumaki doesn't do anything half-assed: she throws herself into the role of ambassador with such enthusiasm that she ends up trashing the studio.

She is less than impressed with what comes out of the session: a cutesy, saccharine call girl simpering in a commercial, about as true a reflection of Tatsumaki as lipstick and a pink bowtie on a spotted hyena. Fubuki, unfortunately, comes home [1] just as Tatsumaki gets hung up on. Oh, dear, there goes the roof. Looks like they'll be staying in hotels for a bit -- ar at Hero Association HQ -- while the damage is fixed.

More goings on under the cut.

I'd love to blame Amai Mask for producing the AI-edited monstrosity. But the true blame lies with McCoy. He orchestrated the campaign. The public lap it up, it conforming to an image that's palatable to see [I have A LOT to say about this but that's another post.]

Nastier-minded people would have asked, 'which organization', but so it goes when one has the benefit of the doubt

After the HA executives praise McCoy for his adroit management of the HA's image, they (especially a guy I'm calling Walrus 'stache) turn to the recruitment figures to find...

...ah, let me wind back a second. It's true that the Hero Association is always recruiting, but it's taken on additional urgency with Metal Knight having apparently thrown billions of Yen away on infrastructure and weaponry that don't work [2] and Tatsumaki being unmanageable. We return to the story...

...that...

...the ad campaign had made no difference. The Hero Association approval ratings were up, but recruitment was still on its downward slide.

What gave?

The answer comes from two other conversations happening contemporaneously. One is between a Hero Association scout and Axel, the leader of a vigilante group known as The Hunters, the other between another scout and a super-sumo champion named Raiden. In each case, the scout is sent off with a flea in their ear as the prospect in question has another engagement.

Yes, there's another hero organization in the wings, and it's hoovering up as much talent as it can find. It's even reaching out to current heroes.

We cut to a very dapper-looking Genos being asked by a very tired-looking Dr Kuseno what his intentions are, given this information and the former's feelings about the Hero Association. Genos starts to answer, but we'll have to wait for the answer as the scene switches to Saitama doing a spit-take as he sees the commercial.

Meta: Finally, some good fucking food

Everything can be faked (except truth)

Many people have already noted the jab at AI fakery inherent in 'Tatsumaki's ad,' so I won't belabour the point. I shall leave it to another post.

Alas, heroes don't grow on trees

The Hero Association's newfound desperation to find new heroes has been a long time coming. People who make good heroes are rare critters. There is not only the need for exceptional ability (even C-Class heroes are incredible), but there's also a need for willingness to serve as a hero, moral principles, and stability under very trying circumstances. Fooled by the previously buoyant numbers of applicants, leading to 55 Hero Tests being conducted as of the time Saitama and Genos applied, they've applied an 'easy-come, easy-goes' attitude to their recruits. When they should instead have recognised them as rare talent to be nurtured, even the lower-class heroes. Looks like there have been seven more Hero Tests since those two joined, and the news has not been good.

At no point does the HA appear to have had more than 600 heroes on the books: retention seems to have been a big problem. It fits in well with the executive Gobrich's frustration with the situation that support for heroes is too top-down and hasn't listened to their actual needs and concerns. Bushohige (the Bearded Worker) has made similar points -- but no one's listening to him, either!

Sekingar at least appears to have seen the light in this regard and at least appreciates that heroes, whatever their abilities, need to be used *well* rather than be treated as a disappointment for not being S-Class heroes. But he's just one person and has only recently been promoted.

And now... with the advent of actual competition, the spigot of fresh new bodies to take in and use up has largely dried up. What a to do!

Speaking of drying up

Genos is draining the very life out of Kuseno at the moment -- it reminds me of Uu and Reigen. Yes, the doctor made him a cyborg, and so on one level, he can't really complain if he's the it man when it comes to giving him upgrades. But Kuseno is all alone. The stress of worrying about Genos when the latter casually dumps horrors on him and the burden of designing upgrades (how do you God-proof a person, anyway?) is really getting to him. And he has no one to talk to, let well alone share the burden with. [3]

Try not to die of overwork, doctor! At least not before you can find Genos a new situation.

Asides

[1] Looks like Fubuki lives with Tatsumaki in the manga. Either that or she lives close by and has a key. Love to see it.

[2] Truly an eavesdropper hears no good of themselves. The manga change from Metal Knight being scolded in person to overhearing it is brilliant.

[3] In a kinder world, Kuseno would be able to call Bang to at least have a sympathetic ear (heh, and Bang had a personality transplant). Kind and ONE don't mix, at least when it comes to his fictional characters, so too bad.

[untitled5071]

yo idk if you're still taking requests but could you write a smth about Lisa taking the creature to see a ballet. i had this realization that the creature died before Tchaikovsky was even born and i think it's criminal that he never heard of the nutcracker, swan lake or even the 1812 Overture (where Tchaikovsky used actual cannons 💀). it could be any of his ballets btw ^_^

You had me at Tchaikovsky, I played violin for ten years and he's one of my favorite composers, though I've never seen one of his ballets, a mistake I'll have to rectify soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

It was a gift for both of them, really.

As a general rule, they were very big on date nights; every day they were together was bliss, but they loved finding new things to experience together, new ways to celebrate the strange second chance at life they were given.

Luckily for them, the smallish city they had settled in after Brookview offered a plethora of activities, from checking out different restaurants, going ice skating in the winter and having picnics in the park in the summer to walking around different craft fairs and farmer’s markets to examine the wares of local artisans.

They thoroughly enjoyed every endeavor as long as they did it together, but by far one of their favorite things to do was attending concerts and dances, their shared love of music and dressing up for special occasions making those dates extra meaningful.

So when Lisa surprised her husband with two tickets to a traveling ballet troupe’s production of Swan Lake, neither could contain their excitement at the thought of the upcoming event.

Creature had discovered Tchaicovsky’s work after he had found a book of sheet music in a thrift store while they were shopping for new clothes, and he had spent the next several days learning as many of the pieces he could on the keyboard Lisa had bought him for their anniversary. The sound wasn’t nearly as good as it would have been on a proper grand piano, but it sufficed, his talent overcompensating for the poor quality of the instrument. Lisa loved to dance to it, and when the event was announced, she knew it would make the perfect date night for the two of them.

But first, they had to get ready.

They stood together in front of the cracked mirror in their rented apartment (Lisa insisted it stay that way, since it ‘reminded her of old times’), Lisa applying a pale shade of foundation to cover her more stubborn burn scars and her husband adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket, humming one of Tchaikovsky’s more nationalistic works-a piece called “Marche Slav”-to himself as he went. Lisa joined in, and though the rhythm was mostly wrong, her husband beamed and sent a praising smile her way.

She caught his eyes, and neither of them could resist leaning in for a kiss, one of those several they already had and would continue to share that day, just like every day since Lisa's resurrection.

They parted from their kiss, and Lisa giggled when she realized some of her foundation had rubbed off on her husband's chin, and she reached out to wipe it away with a thumb, cupping his cheek as she did so.

“I don't think that's really your shade, honey.”

Her husband smiled, holding his hand on Lisa's to keep her there for a moment before releasing her and letting her continue her cover-up job.

Normally they wouldn’t bother; they were both proud of the physical quirks that came with being the living dead and city folk had a tendency to overlook things. But since they were going to be out with the refined public, they both chose outfits that would cover their more….inhuman traits, with Lisa donning a long black velvet dress and opera gloves, and Creature opting for sleeves that covered the stitches on his right wrist and a hairstyle that covered his left ear.

Once they deemed themselves ready, they posed in front of the mirror, Lisa taking a picture with a Polaroid camera she had purchased second hand at a flea market. She waited for it to develop before hanging it up on the designated photo wall in their miniscule living room, covered floor to ceiling in polaroids from different date nights over the years, their smiling faces looking down on them from all angles, all reminiscent of other nights spent enjoying each other's company.

Like the others, this night promised to be a wonderful one.

Neither of them felt particularly hungry at that moment (a consequence of being undead and also their pre-show excitement) so they walked to the theater with Lisa hanging off of Creature's arm, the two giggling and speculating about what they were about to see all the while.

The lobby of the theater was crowded, and the couple clutched each other close as they shuffled their way through the mass of bodies. They skipped the massive drink line and the somehow longer one for the women's restroom, and they presented their tickets to the usher, who showed them to their seats.

They were at the front of the balcony, and Creature helped his wife into her seat like a proper gentleman before he took his own, and he leaned into her space as they read the same program, their heads resting together as they looked over the extensive list of performer and crew names.

Lisa looked up at her husband, a twinkle in her eyes.

“It looks like we're in for quite the treat tonight.”

Creature smiled back, nuzzling his nose against hers briefly.

“Any night we spend together is a treat, my love. This one just comes with a show.”

Lisa giggled, but she didn't have time to respond before the lights dimmed and the first round of applause started, which both of them joined. The curtain rose on the stage to reveal a yard outside of a castle where a grand party was taking place, numerous dancers moving to Tchaikovsky’s jovial score in perfect sync. Lisa ‘ooh’ed quietly under her breath, and Creature’s heart swelled as his wife scooted up in her chair slightly, wanting to be closer to the performance.

The festivities continued, the prince was given his weapon and as he ran into the woods after the flock of swans, Lisa rested her head on her husband's shoulder, lacing their arms together as they settled in to enjoy the rest of the performance.

As expected, the music was impeccable and the dancing was breathtaking, and by the time the titular waltz began and the enchanted swan maidens began their graceful steps, both undead lovers were fully entranced in what they were seeing, their full attention turned towards the stage, though Creature did keep sneaking glances at the hidden orchestra pit and wondering what it would take to be a part of one.

Before they knew it, the show ended, the dancers receiving well-earned and rapturous applause during their final bows. Lisa and Creature were on their feet with the rest of the audience, and when the crowd began to disperse, they sank back into the plush red armchairs of the theater while they waited for the waves of people to leave and make their own exit easier.

And, as they usually did to pass the time, they talked.

Creature immediately launched into a passionate tirade about the orchestration and skill of the people tasked with delivering it, throwing around musical terms Lisa didn't fully understand but nodded along enthusiastically to anyway, delighted to hear that her husband had adopted her penchant for passionate ramblings.

“--and the violins in the Allegro giusto were absolutely phenomenal, the dynamics were–what’s wrong, Dove? You're thinking so loud I can practically hear it.”

Lisa chuckled distractedly, falling silent for a moment and staring at the stage. He ducked his head down to hers and placed a finger under her chin to turn her gaze his way, but all worry about what she was pondering over dissipated as she blurted out,

“Would you still love me if I was turned into a swan?”

He couldn't help it; the bluntness of her farcical statement made him chuckle, and the adorable pinch of her eyebrows wasn't helping matters. He pulled her close, holding her to him and placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Of course I would, darling, I would love you in any form. If you were turned into a swan I would move to the lakeside so you could swim happily, and I would read you poetry as you did. I'd help you chase away anyone you wanted to terrorize–because let's be honest, my love, you would be an absolute menace–I would find you the best things to eat that you could still digest and, if that still wasn't enough, I would find a way to get myself turned into a swan too so we could be together that way, since I never wish to be apart from you, regardless of the measures I would have to take to do so.”

Lisa watched him deliver his impassioned answer with wide and lovestruck eyes, and the last words were barely out of his mouth before her lips were on his, and she was kissing him with an endless gratitude and adoration.

And of course, he reciprocated in kind.

By the time they parted the crowd has mostly cleared out, giving them an unobstructed path towards the exit. Creature got up first, stretching a bit before offering his arm to Lisa with a wink and a fond smile.

“Shall we go, my dearest? I do believe there is a warm bed waiting for us at home, as well as a keyboard that is dying to be played.”

Lisa blushed and took his offered limb, slipping her arm in the crook of his and leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Lead the way, honey.”

They left together, still linked by their arms and chatting quietly amongst themselves as they continued to absorb the wonderful experience they had just had.

As they passed under the lights of the theater marquee and turned in the direction of home, Creature leaned down and kissed Lisa's cheek, savoring the blush that blossomed across his wife’s face.

“What was that for?”

He smiled, his eyes soft and tender.

“I just wanted to thank you for this night, my beloved Lisa. I'll never forget it, as with all of the time we spend together.”

She hummed affectionately and squeezed his arm tighter as they strode down the city street in tandem.

“No, thank you, darling. I can't wait to see what we do for the next one.”

[thesashawick]

Chapter 1. The Lord of the Tides part 1

 

VALAENA I

126 AC

The Red Keep, King’s Landing.

Royal Nursery. Maegor’s Holdfast.

 

 

DAY ONE.

 

 

 

 

The song had a quality to it that had her remembering the timbre of Clario; as boisterous as was deep. The voice of a jubilant man, one that despite the odds had been victorious of countless battles that sought to bring him down. It reminded her of the late eventides and early morns spent together, enclosed in her chambers; of the mirthful yet serious demeanour that would grace the clear-as-water eyes of the man when they trained. Of the soft and firm touches that he gifted her, the touch of a father that she would have never received from King Viserys. The memory left a bittersweet taste in her mouth as it faded into the far corners of her mind. It was a beautiful song, there was no doubt in Valaena’s mind.

The mellow and maternal voice of her Queen Mother, it surrounded her like a warm hug in a cold night after a bad dream. A loan of the memory from a place that never was.

Her conscientious ears captured the sound as clear as if she was inside the children’s nursery. A placid rise of the corner of her lips, a pale imitation of a smile, but one that expressed all the joy blooming inside her like a flower in spring, making itself present at the sound of childish giggles coming from inside the nursery. She recognized her niece and nephew, the little two-headed dragon that they were, and her son and daughter, their little laughs irregular due to movement. A world where she wouldn’t recognize them does not exist, she thinks, a far-away look in her eyes. Nor would a world where she isn’t her Queen Mother’s daughter, or her sibling’s sister or her husband’s wife. A memory of a distant childhood that never quite existed resurfaced from the depth of her mind; one of insecure footing and facades that crumbled the very moment anyone looked away. She willed it to be gone from her awareness, focusing in the sweet melody that came out of her beloved Queen Mother’s mouth. It would be uncouth to lose herself in these low-bred thoughts, when they brought nothing but disarray to her life. It would do her well to remember that.

Happiness was an emotion that the children have known intimately since the moment they were born. Nothing at all like her own childhood where happiness and security were scarce as warmth in the North, or food in a siege. Yet she persisted, as did her siblings. All the work they put towards their aim had been worth it. And the children were the living proof of it. If not for them, and for the encouragement of their Queen Mother and Ser Criston, Valaena doubted of their success.   

The song came to an end just as she began to lose herself inside her mind, the storm brewing in the skies of her inside world receded with the last word pronounced and intoned by her Queen Mother. She took a moment to gather herself, banishing all thought’s but those of great importance from the front of a great list of matters of consequence, least of all she presented herself before her Queen Mother as lowly educated as the smallfolk from Flea Bottom. At the two extremes of the doors, Willam and Erand, distant cousins from her Queen Mother’s side, who were the guards on duty outside of the nursery, gave her a smile and a bow once she was back to her senses. This won’t do, she thought with the hint of frown in her brow with enough composure to smile brightly at the men, two knights can’t guard every single person inside the nursery, much less the Queen and the royal children, in case an issue arises. As much as the Blacks do not represent a threat to us now, it doesn’t mean we can be lax with the security of our family. A cornered dog will jump over the wall. I harbour no doubt about Daemon’s proficiency to make trouble, and as such, I will treat him with as much caution as the Rogue Prince merits. Only a fool would underestimate his adversaries, and I am no fool.

Additional guards must then be sent, haste in their steps to fulfil the most important task in their lives: to guard her family with every ounce of strength found in their bodies, to the death. Of course, the task would be rewarded as highly as it should, and the Green Cloaks knew this well. As long as my Queen Mother and the children are well taken care of by this knights, then not even a lordship and towers of gold are outside of the realm of possibility.

A knock in the dark and thick wood door from the right with her scarred hand, a soft one, one that is firm but gentle. Just to make her presence known to the Queen inside. It is permitted by the knights, who keep her in sight with their hands close to their swords. A point of pride for the Green Cloaks, a gesture that will always be remembered by her.  “May I come in, Mother?”

Willam and Erand stand their guard, firm and unmoving, not even giving her a hint leeway to make her way in, waiting for her Queen Mother’s allowance. Valaena nods approvingly, intent on rewarding them for their fierce protection once the matters for the day have been dealt with. Not a few moments later, the doors open from inside, revealing quite a bit of the nursery. The knights move from their spot and allow her to pass. As she comes in, she notes the difference from when she and her siblings used it as their own: the lack of ribaldry hanging from tapestries in the walls and the obscene paintings it’s a breath of fresh air. The decorations are less bold, less Targaryen, in a manner of speaking, and much more adequate for children. The room is made to be a place of comfort and delight, of childish games and delighted laughs. Not a mere place for sleep and to be sequestered, away from the prying eyes of every noble in court. The emotions felt inside her chest are ones of warmth, of dragonfire and burning flesh. It brings her comfort, a strange notion, for comfort it’s a luxury more adequately afforded to the children, who are kept outside of the reach of anything related to politics and life outside of their nursery, of the gardens and the skies. Yet, it’s a welcome feeling. As her and her siblings grew, quickly becoming men and women grown, the tension and the danger grew with them. As much as they had taken control of the Seven Kingdoms in all but name, the threat to their lives and the lives of those they loved, remained. Until the day the last of the Blacks drew their last breath, no one would be truly safe. The time nears for events to come to a close. Soon, the only blood of the dragon alive, will be those of pure hearts. We light the way in fire and blood.

Inside, the chamber is even bigger than it appeared from the open doors. The space utilized to its maximum gain, yet the feeling is one of cosiness. The quick but thorough glance she deigns the room, is enough for her to feel assured that the children have everything they need. As for the nursemaids… perhaps sending a couple more would not be a wrong option. Especially now, when the children would need to be watched with the attention of a hawk. Though maybe that would have to wait until the end of the day, when she could converse with Aegon about it. Indeed, I would certainly feel much secure if the children were to be taken care of by more than three nursemaids. I wonder why my Queen Mother did not inform either me or Aegon about this matter. I shall ask her at a later date.

It is not often that she ventures towards the nursery, much less common that she steps inside. In fact, it’s the first time since she saw to the matters of securing Maegor's Holdfast for her family, that she has entered this chamber. It prevails, the tried and tested method of standing outside and waiting for her Queen Mother to come out of the nursery to regale her with a request for the children, either in person or by the voice of a lady-in-waiting. The memories associated with the place are less than endearing to her. Yet, it is needed that she ensures the message is delivered, as is much of her selfishness to see her Queen Mother to bring herself a shred of comfort before facing their adversaries. She much preferred to spend time with the children in the gardens or in her chambers, though she is not averse to visiting the nursery if the children were to ever ask, as are her siblings.

As soon as they see her, the children run towards her, little bare feet making little to no noise in the carpeted floor to protect them from the cold and hard stone floor. “Muña!” Their bodies, small as they are, yet with the force of a dragon inside them, collide with her legs. Almost knocking her down to the stone floor, she remained on her feet out of sheer force of will and sharp reflexes.

“Talī, Trēsī. Ruo jorrāeliarza.” She said in response to their excited hugs, an amused half-smile in her red lips. She keeps her eyes looking at the children, who smile at her and hug her legs tighter in the little circle that they have formed.  “I have missed you as well, children. No need to act as if I’m taking Maiden and riding her towards Sothoryos.”

­That, in hindsight, it is not the adequate thing to say, for the children break into a wail that could make that joke of a dragon of Rhaenyra’s bow her head in shame. She frowned, a grimace passing through her face before smoothing into blankness. A glance at her Queen Mother allowed her to see the dark half circles underneath her eyes, the tiredness that clung to her graceful frame even as the older woman pretended everything was in order. If she loathed anything more than she did her half-sister’s family, it would be her Queen Mother to be hurt. It didn’t matter if it was because of her children or Aegon’s. For her Queen Mother to suffer, that was an unacceptable thing. “Aōle lykemās.”

Perchance, it is her tone of voice, serious and devoid of any warmth, that forced the children to cease wailing. Or maybe, it is the way she looks at them, not quite as fond as she first did upon seeing them, but neither as icy as her voice.

Upon seeing their little frighten faces, she forced herself to change the way her face looked. It would not do to hurt the children for something that they had no control over. “Rȳbās. It was merely a jape, I did not mean to cause you to cry. Beloved children, you know very well that I love you, I would never go away.”

Sweet Helaenar, the child that came from her loins before his twin, the sweetest and gentlest of the children, gentler than even her brother Daeron, looked up at her with bright eyes that shone with unshed tears, spoke in a voice so soft that it almost seemed to have a silky quality. “Truly, muña? You… would you never leave us?”

A loving smile bloomed in her expression. She raised her right hand from her side to hold her boy’s cheek. Her touch tender and motherly. “No, beloved boy, I would never leave you.” Then, having anticipated the question, she said. “Neither would your Kepa.”

The moment is continued by the victorious cheer from Jaehaera, the most animated child out of the four. “I told you! Neither muña or ñama would leave us!”

For a moment, confusion takes hold of her mind, not allowing her to understand what is happening. Then, realization of the events leading to their wailing. The memory of messages about the children’s increasingly irritated state, while she and Helaena were supervising the charities and security in the city. A sennight that they spent outside of the Red Keep. Adding insult to that injury, it seemed, that neither parent had visited the children for a fortnight due to their increasingly overloaded schedules. That would have to be solved, sooner than later, for the children could not be behaving untowardly towards neither their grandmother, or the nursemaids. For none held the blame in this, but she and her siblings.

She let her hand fall at her side, and with a graceful movement, she fell to her knees to be able to look at the children in a relative equal eye to eye. She held a child by the shoulder, one in each hand. Helaenar and Jaehaerys, with Aegelle and Jaehaera in the middle. “I have to apologize, my children. It is not an excuse that me and your parents have been too overwhelmed with work for us to come see you. But it is all I can offer as a reason for not visiting… yet, I can offer you this: we will spend however long you want with you in turns, in the next sennight, for we must take care of an adversary that threatens our family, before we can occupy our time as we wish.”

She made sure to modulate her voice as if she were telling a fearsome tale. In order to influence the children and made them see sense in a way that was understandable for them. And sure enough, the children stared at her, wide eyed, their expressions worried. Then, she whispered to them, as if she were telling them a secret. “But worry not, because me and your muña and kepa, will make sure they will never threaten us never again.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

After sending the children away with their respective nursemaids, succeeding many allowances and promises to pacify the children due to the low time. It is that Valaena is left alone with her Queen Mother and her Ladies-in-waiting. Ladies that have, very graciously may she note with a hint of satisfaction, retreated to a far corner of the chamber where furniture has been moved by them in order of granting as much privacy as there can be in such circumstances.

The chamber is lit by its two fireplaces on opposite sides; the light from the various candles an added source of light that nevertheless make the graceful and beautiful form of her mother look almost daunting. The shadows creating a contrast with that of the shadows born from tiredness in her mother’s face. She’s not seen her mother this tired since the day Aemond was maimed by the bastard. She does not like the implication that this has been brought by their careless handling. Yet, what other answer there is? Mother’s life had always been hard because of them, if not for the interest shown to her by King Viserys, she would not have married the father of her friend, or delivered a babe within such short span of time. It, most of all, is the fault of King Viserys, who looked with lust towards the long-time friend of his daughter in such a short time after the death –caused by him as all the Realm knows– of his wife, the Queen Aemma. And now, nine and ten years later, her mother is the one that pays the price.

Despite the regal bearing of her mother, who is as suited to queendom as no other beyond her sweet twin, she can see the fragility underneath the armour of courtesy and queenly countenance that her mother has used as both shield and sword since the birth of Aegon. The years have not been most kind to the one who had birthed five dragons, and if they have, then surely they lack the necessary gentleness and reward that her mother deserves more than anyone. It is then, the duty of Valaena to right the wrongs that the world has done onto her mother. As is the duty of her siblings.

Seated across one another as they are, she can see the tense lines that stiffen her mother’s commonly delicate posture. The tightness of her mouth, no doubt hurting her teeth due to the constant and hard clenching. And most revealing of all, the state of her mother’s nails and hands that are of the most horrendous condition. A topic which has to be spoken about at urgent brevity, most certainly, among my siblings and I. And the ladies-in-waiting shall be punished accordingly for not reporting the state of my Queen Mother. For it to reach this level, things must be serious. It is most obvious to her, that this is not a recent development, nor one that should have been kept secret from either Daeron or Valaena, as the primary caretakers of everything related to their mother. Yet she can see the loyalty in the eyes of the ladies, and the nursemaids, and for that, the punishment shall be lessened, if only because Valaena believes the women had the best in mind for her mother. No doubt remembering the times under surveillance of Otto Hightower and King Viserys. Yet, she thinks, her siblings and her have proven to have been cut from a different cloth altogether. Proof enough should be all what they have accomplished in six short years to change the destiny of their family, and yet, it seems, nothing much has changed in the eyes of those of lower status. For she remembers the faces of those in the service of her mother, and the way they looked in the times past, as well as she remembers what she ate as she broke her fast in the early morning.

Her mother, kind and merciful as the Mother, cannot look any more different to her eyes. Valaena resented such thing. Felt the guilt bubble up like the last breath of a dying man drowning. She squashed the feeling, deciding that she would do her most to begin to change what had her mother in such a state to the best of her capacities.

Gentle as she could ever manage to be, with a hint of fangs and claws, she does her best to appear as soothing as she is not. She, very placidly and slowly, reaches her hands to grasp her mother’s, and once she does, she graces caresses upon them the same way her mother used to do for her as a child. She modulated her voice to be reassuring, instead of the princely tone that she and her siblings have adopted after many years shifting between personas for the court, keeping her voice steady and low enough to not be boisterous. It does not escape her that her mother does not look at her, a stormy look upon the gentle eyes that had always looked at her with nothing but love.

“Dear mother, look at me and feel reassured from what worries you if you can and see the truth in mine own eyes.” It is a request, it borders on begging, and Valaena would feel, perhaps ashamed or angered to be reduced to such lowly thing for anyone who was not family, if it were not for the look of her mother.

It is with reluctance and much more begging that her mother graced her with a single look that sent the older woman in a fit of tears. It broke her heart to see her mother in such a state and be able to do nothing but be the shoulder where she could cry. Moving from her seat across her mother and into the seat beside the older woman, her movement swift and efficient. Despite the urgency, she did nothing but be there, as solid as Valyrian Steel, and as gentle as silk. The tears soaked her deep green tunic and the part of her neck that was exposed and free from her silver hair. It was with the motherly touch of a woman not much experienced, but still willing to give comfort that she caressed her mother’s hair, not much differently of the way that she caressed her own children’s after a bad dream. She received the most of the upper weight of her mother with no effort whatsoever, as she embraced her with as much love as she could embed in her hold. She whispered sweet nothings into her ear, speaking clearly of how much well loved her mother was by her family and the Realm. Never slowing despite the tight knot in her throat that threatened to make her spill her own tears into her mother’s hair. Slowly, but surely, her mother calmed enough to speak her worries. What she told was worrisome for the state of her mother’s mind, and intriguing, for it rang too closely to Helaena’s own dreams. Of the doom of their family at the hands of the Blacks. Things that would not come pass after the dedicated effort that Aegon and her had put into securing the future. Her twin’s dreams had slowly changed during the years, until they showed no resemblance to the originals. This too, would be true for her mother’s.

The inquiring trait of her personality wanted to investigate further, to know how her mother, a woman neither from the North or of Valyrian descent, could have dreams that predicted the future, or a would be future that had already been changed for the most part.

For her part, now with the strong certainty that such a future would never be realized, and that her mother was simply seeing the would be, before they took the reins, did her best to console her mother.

“Worry not, mother, for that future you dream of, will never come to be. My dear twin dreamt much of the same, and yet her dreams changed as the board filled with our pieces. You see a future that has already changed. That future will never come to be.”

The whisper strained her hearing, and despite being in such closeness to her own mother, she had to lean her head down to catch the desolate mumble. “But everything seemed so real… you were not there, sweet girl, and we failed.”

That made her pause, her eyes turning calculating, showing much of her true nature before she pushed the revelation from her gaze. A future where she did not exist? That was not quite what her twin had told her… but neither was what she had not told. This matter needed further investigation, much more than the facts she already had. Many matter call to my attention… so little time and so much to do.

Having already dismissed ever asking her Queen Mother what Aegon requested she required of their mother, she very much rose from the long seat with her mother held firmly in her arms, the weight of her mother barely a something that required more strength than she had. Mother lost weight… this is not good. I shall remedy that as soon as I can, I will leave orders to the Queen’s kitchen to send nutritious meals. Hearing none of the soft spoken orders to put her down, Valaena beckoned with an upwards nod to the ladies to follow her.  She ordered that the knights open the doors, and once they did, she left them with orders that were to be followed with no objection.

She walked with purpose, ordering left and right. The ladies, to much of her surprise, heard her and muttered their agreement with less than a word of hesitancy. The royal apartments that belonged to the Queen were not much longer from the nursery, as it was designed to keep the royal children and their mother close together. Usually, the nursery was occupied by the children of the queen, and not the grandchildren, but Valaena had deemed that the arrangement was much needed, as mother required the distraction, and the children needed someone from the family to watch over them while the rest was occupied. As such, she needn’t walk much longer than it would have been tiring to her strength.

One of the ladies, Sara Snow, the sister of Lord Cregan, opened the doors to the queen’s apartments. The woman looked as much a Northener as her true born brother, with her grey eyes and dark hair, though she did not suffer the wolf’s blood that accursed the Starks. Valaena entered the chamber after giving the woman a look of appreciation, taking a direct path towards the room where her mother slept. Depositing the older woman atop of the green and silver bedding, knowing that the queen’s room guarded the heat better than the nursery, she kissed her mother in the cheek, tenderly as any mother on her own right would.

“Get well mother, please do try to rest.”

She rose from the position where her back was bent, and straightened as much as she could without looking like she was putting in the effort. A silver of conflicting emotions crossed her mind, making her pause and blink away the accumulated tears on her eyes. She swallowed, trying to ease the persisting knot in her throat. She did not have much luck, but at least the knot was not as painful as it initially was.

“Rest mother.” She insisted once she caught the slight movement that showed the resistance of her mother. A welcome sight, despite the urgent need of rest that mother had. Yet, it reminded her of the way her own children would twist and turn in their beds as they were put to sleep. “Please, for us.”

Mother settled with a sigh, nodding and closing her eyes to sleep.

She waited a few moments, certainly long enough for mother to fall asleep. Once she deemed the time enough, she departed the room. The ladies waited for her with anxious faces that should have been concealed, yet she said nothing admonishing. It was to be expected that the ladies were to be preoccupied with her mother to pay much attention to their expressions.

“Thank you for taking care of my mother. Please do watch over my mother’s rest and recuperation in the next sennight… My siblings and I will be occupied with matters of the Realm before we can take rest.” For once in her life, she allowed her true feelings to come through in the face of strangers. The pure and unaltered relief, the gratefulness and the fear that she felt deep down. She saw as it did most of the job of convincing the ladies, the vulnerability shown aiding her with the tender hearts of the women that had seen her grow up.

“Tis but our duty, Your Grace… moreover, the Queen Alicent has always been most kind to us, it would be a disservice to not return her favour in her time of need.” Spoke Dia Sand, the bastard child of the previous ruling Prince of Dorne. A most beloved sister of Prince Qoren and aunt to the future wife of her younger brother Daeron, Aliandra.  She spoke in that soft silky tone of hers, one that little Aliandra tried to imitate often. Yet Valaena saw the cunning shining in the eyes of the woman of similar age; she did not believe Valaena was saying all there was to say. It was obvious, and troublesome. Though she did not think that the natural born woman would do anything about it. 

Valaena nodded, smiling without ever truly communicating warmth. “That is much true.”

“I must ask of you to not leave the queen’s apartment. Your necessities will be delivered at brevity by servants, as will be food and anything else you require, you need just ask. Knights will be sent to guard the children as well as the queen’s apartments. You needn’t worry about your safety.”

Agnes Tully, the spinster sister of Lord Grover Tully, who was Master of Works, spoke. Her voice more aged and scathing than a young maid’s. It befitted the old crone well.  “The final battle against the whore of Dragonstone is finally beginning, then. It was about time your lot did their biggest and most significative contribution to the Realm. If you had taken any longer I would have taken one of your dragons and burned that whore and her brethren myself.”

That brought a sincere smile to her lips. “I do not doubt you for a second, Lady Agnes.”

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ser Jonntan, please do send four squadrons of the best knights to the royal apartments. I need them to guard the nursery and the queen’s apartments. I need them to take turns guarding the Queen and the royal children, they are to guard them day and night until I relieve them of their duty.”

The lad, young as he was, barely as old as Aegon, nodded, though he looked confused as a newborn foal. He went away soon after. Confident that the lad would do his task well, and already seeing streams of knights filtering from the Green Cloaks Wing not a few moments later, ready to do their duty with faces filled with joy for being selected. She turned to her attendants, her own guards and the members of the Royal Guard that had come at her command. It was common of her to go on her own, needing no guard but herself, though her shadow guard, much jokingly called that way by her older siblings, was the one that usually took the shape of her husband and brother. Though it was not unusual of her to take members of her own guard with her on missions where she needed to appear the part of the weak defenceless princess, or where their strength and numbers were needed. The attendants were another tale altogether, for she had at least five of them, at all times accompanying her wherever she went. The knights faced her solemnly, loyalty in their eyes and strength in their bodies, ready to unsheathe their swords and die at the first sign of danger.

She was pleased with the sight. Pleased enough to smile at them brightly, her eyes crinkling, shining with the light of the stars. “Emi, I need you to stay at the royal apartments, keen to anticipate any request that comes from the ladies and children, as long as it is not to come out of their apartments. See to it that they have anything they need. Take with you a team of attendants if you need. I trust you to do your task wonderfully…oh, and do take with you at least three other nursemaids, the children need them.”

Emi, dear and loyal maid that was barely twenty, and who had accompanied her since she was seven years old, nodded and quickly disappeared in the direction of the staff’s quarters. Valaena watched her go with a smile filled with teeth.

As she turned to face the knights, she subdued her smile to a more acceptable manner. Her voice as cold as the Wall. “Please do coordinate with your brothers and sisters to follow Plan Dragonfire at the brevity. Today is the day.”

The knights knelt on the stone floor, their right hands to their covered chests. “As you command, Your Grace.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

The Great Hall, Throne Room.

The Great Hall had been transformed from the dreary, lacklustre hall that it was in the years of King Viserys, to a beautiful, functional hall ready to receive hundreds of people if needed. Her twin’s work showing in every part of the hall, from the carefully embroidered banners to the fresh food on the long tables. It is certain that Helaena had a gift for these things, for Valaena would have just added their banners and chairs. But then, Helaena would be the queen and not her. Their roles were very well suited to their personalities and skill sets, one thing she was grateful for.

She made her rounds around the hall, greeting and exchanging pleasantries with the nobles in hall, going from one noble to another, and then to the commonfolk. She was, after all, a Princess of the Realm, the woman whose net is as vast as the ocean, and as high as the sky. She does not dislike this commonfolk, nor does she think them sheep, but the subjects of the royal family that are under their protection, and that as such, have every right to be here as any other noble. It took her a while, long enough that Andrei, another of her attendants, whispered in her ear to remind her of the incoming mummers. Her eyes shone with delight, and quickly, she bid her farewells. Not before kissing and embracing whoever had spoken to her.

With steps that exuded grace and nimbleness, she moved towards the Iron Throne, where Aegon, his Small Council and the Advisors sat in the stairs that led to the monstrosity that was the Iron Throne. They had done their rounds much earlier than her, as she was preoccupied with their mother, but seemed content enough to speak with anyone that came up to them. In the entire hall, corner to corner, the hall was lined and packed with knights, both Royal Guards and Green Cloaks, and some of them mingled among the attendees in the guise of kind chatter. At the sides of her family and the Small Council, both Kingsguard and Queensguard stood strong, their eyes vigilantly scouring every inch of the hall, and every person in the lookout of a threat. Valaena approved of their incessant work, and she was proud of their vigilance instilled by her at every moment. She had done wonders training them and imparting the importance of their duties, as had done Aemond and Ser Criston. Clario… would he be proud of me? Of what I have become? The thought brought her an immense sadness that bloomed from her chest. If anything, Clario would have been content with the safety of my family.

As she stopped at the beginning of the stairs, she bowed slightly to the lords and ladies, winking at Aegon with a cheeky smile, receiving in turn the sight of the teasing tongue of her older brother. To the rest of her siblings and her husband, she gave bright smiles and a wave of her hand. “My Lords, My Ladies. It is an honour to see you as it has always been. Please do excuse my tardiness, I lost track of the time as I played with the children.”

Dismissing their instant need to rise and pay their courtesies to her with a gesture from her hand, she sat on the floor, removing her sword’s scabbard from where it was clasped, and holding it with her left hand, looking up at them and behaving as if the mummers were not moments away from the Great Hall. No doubt irate at not being able to speak with the carcass that King Viserys. Thank goodness I wear breeches and a tunic, and not a dress. That would have been most awkward.

“Beloved,” She called out to her husband and brother. Aemond’s sharp violet eye looked at her with single minded focus. His attention solely on her. “Hen sȳndrāzmā qurdalbri imastō daor. Don’t you think?”

The father of her children, and the only man that Valaena loved in a romantic way, hummed. “It is, wife. Though it improves by the second you are here.”

She giggled, feeling younger than she was. And less tense since the moment she received word of the Blacks trip to King’s Landing. Then, unable to continue with that mood with victory so near, she grumbled. “Mittys.”

Her siblings stopped their conversations at once, and turned to her. In their eyes shone the same fire that she felt inside her, their blood boiling, no doubt, at the slight whiff of their adversaries coming so close within their reach. The end of an era, and the beginning of another.  

“Truly?” Said Daeron, his soft voice shifting towards a bloodthirsty edge. Despite being the gentlest of them, Daeron was a force to be reckoned with. His gentleness was simply an inheritance from mother, one that he used in his little plots and machinations just as Helaena did.  At his side, little Aliandra smiled at him. The girl still did not understand the politics of King’s Landing well, but she understood enough.

She nodded firmly. “Any moment now.”

Just in cue, as if they had been waiting for her to confirm their appearance to her siblings, the Blacks and the Velaryons entered the room. Announced with little fanfare and care, barely anyone heard them, and even less moved aside to allow them to pass, if the way their party of little traitors behaved, as if greatly offended by not being allowed to do as they pleased. Valaena refused to look back at them instantly, as did her siblings. At the sides, the members of both the Small Council and the Advisors followed their example, speaking quietly among each other.

“It is time for court to commence, brother.” Aemond told their older brother, who nodded with an agreeable smile.

Aegon rose, and with him rose the rest. As he climbed step by step the Iron Throne, the rest took to their places with practiced ease. The Advisors went to right, while the Small Council went to the left. The guards of both king and queen moved to the front, protecting the entirety of both hands of the king. Ser Criston took Ser Arryk to guard the stairs that led to Aegon, who had sat down, appearing quite comfortable in the chair that had been his for the last six years.

Valaena shifted her expression to the warm and welcoming mask she adorned whenever in court, and walked to the right, placing herself at the left side of her husband, clasping her scabbard back at it place hanging from her belt. At her side, Lord Cregan and at his side Daeron. Following him were Princess Meria Martell and Ser Alester Tyrell.  She surveyed the way the commonfolk mingled among the nobles, the way some even spoke with faint smiles on their faces, and felt the pleasing emotion of pride warm her belly. This was all the work of her siblings and her. This, belonged to them in a way that nothing else did. The fruit from their labour and their effort.  Something that the whore of Dragonstone and her Rogue Prince could never hope to accomplish.

Then, she saw that their adversaries had been herded to some far corner behind the petitioners, not as many as they would have in a busy day, but still a mighty number. Around a hundred, if she counted every single commonfolk that was at the left, no doubt some of them came as a family, or were petitioning for the resolve of an issue. Each day less came to petition, with the increasing aid to the commonfolk and their issues, with justice available at hand, and with Aegon doing his best to improve the Realm.

The Hand of the King, Aelys of Lys, stepped forward, his soft features and delicate body moving swiftly. The man looked every inch Valyrian, he certainly could pass as a relative to Helaena, who had the softer features of all of them. Certainly, he looked much more a Valyrian than the Strong bastards that her half-sister kept trying to pass for Laenor Velaryon’s. He spoke, his voice differing greatly from his appearance, for it was dark and rich. “Prince Aegon will hear your petitions now, so please, do come forward with your grievances.”

Then the man stepped back, hiding the shadow of the Kingsguard.

Orderly came the first petitioner, a woman of Dornish features and a strong accent, behind her stepped two boys with their hair hidden and faces obscured by their dark hoods. She wore expensive clothes, yet more revealing than any noble this side of Westeros. A whore, Valaena deduced by the way the woman’s body held herself, as if inviting a patron, and a bit of pity rose among her. And one of the highest paid. Yet, her position must not allow her to take care of the children very well.

“Your Grace, today I come to plead for aid of the crown to raise my children.” She then gestured at the boys to come forward. The boys obeyed, standing at each of her sides, their pale hands clutching their hoods. They continued to hear her case, for surely, she must have a reason to ask such thing of the crown.

“These boys are the result of me laying with Prince Daemon, five and ten years back. When the prince came back to the tourney.” Then, she whispered something to the boys, and they took their hoods off. Valaena watched with interest as their silver hair was revealed, and their lilac eyes. Their features were Valyrian, no doubt of that, and from this far, they had some likeness to the Rogue Prince. She whispered to Aemond to bring the boys closer. He commanded a Kingsguard to do so, Ser Willis, as soon as the woman finished speaking. “A brothel is no place for boys… or children to be at, where each day more men come to inquire about their price, Your Grace, so I ask for your help.”

“Lies!” Came the shriek of her half-sister. Valaena’s gaze went straight to where the brethren of the so called Realm’s Delight was. Then she moved her gaze towards Daemon, who looked every inch the Rogue Prince, even at his five and fifty years. He looked unbothered by the woman telling the court of his bastards, no doubt he believed the indulgence of King Viserys would be in Aegon. “My Prince would never lay with your kind!”

The scoffs that were heard around the hall were telling enough that even the whore shut her boorish mouth.

Aegon spoke then. “If you cannot behave yourself, Princess Rhaenyra, then I will remove you from this hall.” A gesture from his hand had Green Cloaks stepping from behind the whore and her party, their swords unsheathed, ready to follow any order given by their future king. That certainly settled the whore. Vaelena frowned, when she saw that Daemon’s eyes were on a lass that was dressed in a plain red dress, her skin was dark as was her hair, and she looked uncomfortable in the setting of this court session. Through her eyes passed images that revealed to her the truth. She looked down, in order to avoid being seen with her eyes clouded by the white fog that plagued her visions. It would bring complications she did not have the time for.

A whirlwind romance that awoke something in him that no other woman or man ever had.

Nettles. The beloved woman of Prince Daemon. The one that made him challenge everything he was, the woman that certainly was everything that Prince Daemon would have never looked at before. She could see the moment where he left her go, despite the orders of his queen that he slay her, and the way even Caraxes had wailed with grief at her parting. The way he had gone straight to a certain death towards Aemond in order to give her more time to run away. I can use this.

Ser Willis moved towards the presumed bastards and the Dornishwoman that had yet to reveal her name. He beckoned them gently until they were behind the Kingsguard, and in front of Vaelena.

Raising her face again, she smiled at them, so close to her, their faces looked even younger than their years told, and she was reminded that some did not need to shed childhood to protect themselves. Though she was in no form convinced that they were not boys that had lived a rough life, their clear eyes told her of their innocence. They looked almost like a copy of the Rogue Prince, their mother’s features shining in their lips and the shape of their eyes. There was no doubt inside her mind that these children were Daemon’s. Their blood called to her, strong and vivid. She knew these children were Targaryen’s.

“What says you, sister?” The voice of Aegon behind her gave her a fright. She flinched almost violently in her place. Her heart felt as if it had stopped for a moment before beating again.

“I have told you in countless occasions not to do that!” She turned and hit him in the ribs as hard as she could.

“Ow! Ow! No need to be violent, sister!” Aegon whined, touching his side with a pained face. “Defend me from your brutish wife!” He told Aemond, looking at him with big eyes.

“Hmm.” Was the only response he got from their younger brother. Aegon stared at him, as if betrayed.

Valaena refrained from reacting too much, already slightly embarrassed of having shown so much emotion in front of strangers. Calculated as it was, she sighed. “I say they are our uncle’s.”

Lord Cregan agreed from her side. “I have seen the Prince Daemon but once, when I was a young lad, and I can say that these boys look almost identical to him.”

At this point, the Small Council had flocked to their side. Their chorus of agreeing voices settled the matter.

Valaena continued, once everyone had been heard. “The royal treasury can take supporting a couple of boys. Furthermore, it is our duty to take care of our family.”

“Well, then I say…” Aegon made himself purposefully slow to have the dramatic reception he was so fond of getting. Valaena could see the anxiety on the faces of the boys and the worry in the woman’s. It would serve them well to remember who helped them in their moment of need. Not the whore of Dragonstone, and not her Rogue Prince, but her brother, the Prince Regent.  “welcome to the family, cousins.”

To the woman, he said warmly. His eyes were full of that boyish charm that had all the women, and some of the men, at court falling for him.  “We will take care of them, for they are our family, worry not.”

The woman broke into a cry, her body almost fell to the ground, if not for the timely intervention of her twin. “Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you.”

Thank you, woman, for you have given two more dragonriders to our cause.

Helaena embraced the woman, giving her the warm comfort of another mother, promising her that she could visit whenever she wanted. Valaena held no opinion on this, she did not care if the woman came or did not, beyond the use that it could give them in the minds of the commonfolk. Daeron went to speak with the boys, and they fell into a comfortable chatter.

The three of them that were left, spoke quietly in High Valyrian. Aemond, as always, was the brashest, while Aegon was the fiercest. Valaena was the cruellest. Yet, their schemes needn’t for them to plan, for they revealed themselves to Valaena in the form of visions.

“The boys shall be left alone… we do not need them to bring Daemon down. But fear not, we can use them, four dragons would be welcome into the cause.” She said, turning their heads towards the girl, Nettles, her hands gripping their heads from behind. “We have that lass there for that. Prince Daemon loves her, and she loves Prince Daemon. Why not use that?”

“Did you see it?” Aegon asked.

She nodded. What she saw never led her stray. Her will and magic were resourceful enough to fix any wrong, as were her visions. “I did, and I can assure you, what I have seen ensures that Rhaenyra’s most staunch supporter leaves her defenceless. It was a long time coming.”

Like the dragons they were, the way they grinned full of teeth, made her feel vindicated.

[thistledown-au-warriors]

fire and ice - chapter 27

< Chapter 26 || Index || Chapter 28 >

Violet Fang and Stone Pelt rushed forward and joined Fore Heart in a defensive row, and the queens lined up behind them. Fire Heart saw Blazing Cinder hobbling to join them, but Sand Storm leaped down from the Highrock and meowed to the small gray cat as she raced by. Blazing Cinder scrabbled clumsily back into the healers' den with a wounded expression as Sand Storm joined Violet Fang's side.

The elders grabbed the kits, bundled them into the nursery, and squeezed inside after them. Brindle Face picked up Cloud Tail in her jaws and passed him to Hop Speckle. Golden Flower protested before going into the nursery while Frost Shine and Rose Fall followed Brindle Face. The three mollies tugged at the brambles with their paws, ignoring the thorns, and covered the entrance before turning to join the rest of the Clan in the clearing. Fire Heart arched his back and hissed at Broken Tail. “You lost the last time we fought, and you’ll lose again!”

“Never!” Broken Tail spat back. “You might have taken my Clan away from me, but you can’t kill me — I have more lives than you!”

“One ThunderClan life is worth ten of yours!” Fire Heart growled. The ThunderClan warriors yowled and the clearing exploded into battle.

Fire Heart leaped straight for Broken Tail and grasped the dark brown tabby with his claws. Life as an outlaw had treated the former Clan leader harshly — Fire Heart could feel the ribs of the flea-bitten tom beneath his fur. But Broken Tail was still strong. He twisted around and sank his teeth into Fire Heart’s hind leg. Fire Heart yowled and hissed with rage, but kept his grip. Broken Tail struggled forward, scrabbling with his paws on the frozen ground. Fire Heart felt his claws raking along Broken Tail's bony flanks as the rogue warrior ripped himself free. Fire Heart lunged after him, but other claws were grasping at his hind leg. He looked over his shoulder to see who it was. Claw Strike crouched there, staring at Fire Heart with narrowed, mocking eyes.

Fire Heart looked back at him in disbelief. He had never expected to see this cat again. He forgot Broken Tail instantly. It was Claw Strike who had killed Leaf Spots in cold blood in order to steal Frost Shine’s kits for Broken Tail. Rage roared in Fire Heart’s ears. He twisted around and threw himself on top of the scrawny brown tom.

Fire Heart hardly noticed the pain in his leg as he tore it free from Claw Strike’s grasp and flew at him. The tom reared up and flailed his wide front paws. Thorn-sharp claws caught Fire Heart behind his ear. Pain ripped through him like fire, and he staggered. Claw Strike was on him in an instant, pinning Fire Heart to the ground and sinking his teeth into the back of his neck.

Fire Heart screeched in agony. Suddenly the weight was wrenched off his back. Fire Heart sprang to his paws and spun around. Gray Stripe! The gray warrior stood motionless, his eyes filled with horror. Claw Strike’s body hung limply from his jaws. Gray Stripe opened his mouth and Claw Strike fell to the ground, dead. 

Both toms backed away from the lifeless body. The cat that Fire Heart felt so much rage for, who had been trying to kill him heartbeats ago… was now a corpse. It could've been me who killed him , Fire Heart realized with a chill, if Misty Step hadn't stopped me that day . In this case, it seemed like Claw Strike wouldn't have given up without taking a life. But Gray Stripe had taken his instead, to save him.

Fire Heart gave himself a shake, heartbeat fast once more. They weren't safe yet. He took a step forward. “Gray Stripe! Is Blue Fur with you?” he asked urgently.

Gray Stripe shook his head, barely out of his shock. “She sent me back to fetch Tiger's Claw.” he replied. “We found bones. Blue Fur believed she recognized Broken Tail’s stench on a tuft of fur caught on a bramble nearby, and guessed he must be leading the rogue cats.”

A hiss sounded nearby and two cats crashed into Fire Heart. He leaped out of the way. It was Frost Shine battling with another of the attacking cats. The molly was fighting with all the power of StarClan. These were the cats who had stolen her kits. Hate shone in her eyes as she struggled. Fire Heart held himself back — Frost Shine didn’t need his help. A moment later the rogue warrior was sent screeching away, through the bracken camp wall.

Frost Shine chased after him, but Fire Heart called her back. “You have given him enough wounds to remember you!” There was no need to litter their territory with corpses. The molly skidded to a halt by the bracken wall and turned, her sides heaving and her white fur stained with her enemy’s blood.

Another rogue warrior screeched past Fire Heart and headed for the camp wall. Stone Pelt and Rose Fall chased after him and managed to give the mottled tabby a fierce blow before he let him scrabble out of the camp. 

Sand Storm had a rogue warrior pinned to the ground. The tom was lying motionless beneath her. Watch out! thought Fire Heart, remembering his favorite trick of letting an enemy think he had won. But Sand Storm was not deceived. When the tom leaped to his paws, she was ready. She sprang off him, and then lunged, grasping the warrior with her claws to flip him over and rake his belly with her hind legs. Only when he squealed like a kit did she let go of him. The rogue tore out of the camp entrance, still wailing.

There was an eerie moment of stillness. The ThunderClan cats stood in silence and stared at the blood and fur that was scattered around the clearing. In the middle lay Claw Strike's body.

Where was Broken Tail? Fire Heart spun around in alarm, scanning the camp. Could he have broken into the nursery? He was about to spring toward the bramble den when a wretched howl from Violet Fang's den tore the air. Fire Heart tore across to the fern tunnel. Blazing Cinder! He raced into the den, expecting the worst, but saw instead Broken Tail lying in a heap on the ground. The old healer stood over him.

Broken Tail’s eyes were closed and bloody. Fire Heart saw his sides heave once, and stop moving. He recognized from the deep stillness in the rogue warrior’s body that he was losing a life.

Violet Fang’s claws were unsheathed and glistened red. Her face was twisted and her eyes glazed.

Suddenly Broken Tail gasped and began to breathe again. Fire Heart waited for Violet Fang to lunge at him with another killing bite, but she hesitated. Broken Tail didn’t get up.

Fire Heart ran to the healer’s side. “Aren't you going to finish him off?” he whispered. “He murdered his father, banished you from your Clan, killed your kin and tried to kill you.”

“It’s not his last life.” she rasped. “And even if it were, I couldn’t kill him.”

“Why not? I'm sure StarClan would understand...” Fire Heart could not believe her words. The name Broken Tail had always made this old molly bristle with rage. 

Violet Fang dragged her gaze from Broken Tail and looked at Fire Heart. Her eyes clouded with pain and grief as she murmured. “He is my son.”

Fire Heart felt the ground lurch under his paws. “But… you said healers are forbidden from having kits.” he blurted out.

“I know.” answered Violet Fang. “I never intended to have kits. But then I fell in love with Shadow Ragged Claws.” Her voice was thick with sorrow. Suddenly Fire Heart thought back to the battle when Broken Tail was driven out of the ShadowClan camp. Just before he fled, the cruel leader had told Violet Fang that he had murdered his father. Violet Fang had been devastated, and now Fire Heart understood why.

“There were three kits in my litter.” Violet Fang went on. “But only Broken Tail survived. I gave him to a ShadowClan queen to bring up as her own. I thought that losing two of my kits was punishment from StarClan for breaking the warrior code. But I was wrong. My punishment wasn’t that two of my kits died. It was that this one survived!” Violet Fang looked in disgust at Broken Tail's bleeding body. “And now I cannot kill him. I must accept my fate, as StarClan wishes it.”

Violet Fang staggered, and Fire Heart thought she was going to collapse. He pressed his body against her flank to support her and whispered. “Does he know you’re his mother?”

Violet Fang shook her head.

Broken Tail began to wail pitifully. “I can’t see!” Fire Heart realized with horror that the rogue cat’s eyes had been scratched beyond repair.

He cautiously approached the rogue. Broken Tail lay still, eyes covered with his paws. Fire Heart poked him with a forepaw. “Don’t kill me.” the rogue whined. 

Fire Heart backed away, feeling a shudder of revulsion at the warrior’s fear. This cat who had done so much harm with no remorse was now reduced to a terrified creature begging for his own life.

Violet Fang took a deep breath. “I will see to him.” She walked over to her wounded son, grasped him by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him to the nest that Patchy Shade had left.

Fire Heart let her go. He wanted to check that Blazing Cinder was all right. He caught sight of a dark shape moving inside the split rock where the healers slept. “Blazing Cinder?” he called.

She poked her head out.

“Are you okay?” Fire Heart asked.

“Have the rogue cats gone?” she whispered.

“Yes, except Broken Tail. He’s badly injured. Violet Fang is seeing to him.” He waited for Blazing Cinder's shocked reaction, but she just shook her head slowly and stared at the ground.

“Are you okay?” Fire Heart repeated.

“I should have fought alongside you.” her voice was choked with shame.

“You would have been killed!”

“Maybe.” The small cat’s eyes were full of despair. “But I wouldn’t have minded being killed. What good am I like this? I’m just a burden on this Clan if I can't even fight to defend it.”

Fire Heart felt a thorn-sharp pang of pity and horror. He searched for words to comfort her, but before he could speak, Sand Storm crashed through the bracken. Her face showed that she'd overheard Blazing Cinder's words.

"Sand Storm…" the small apprentice breathed.

"Don't ever say that again." Sand Storm meowed, firmly but also softly. The ginger molly marched straight for her apprentice, stopping less than a tail-lenght in front of her. "It's a great gift to me that you are alive. I wouldn't forgive myself if you weren't."

Blazing Cinder looked at her with wide, watering blue eyes. "But… Sand Storm, Fire Heart said I could be a warrior if I wanted, but… I already did before the accident and I just proved myself too dumb to listen to anyone and-"

"Hush." Sand Storm placed her chin on top of the gray molly's head. "Fire Heart was right, you'll be a great warrior. I'll train you, like I promised I would, as soon as you heal."

"But I…" Blazing Cinder's voice cracked, and she dug her face into her mentor's chest fur. "I did nothing today."

"You did. You were safe, and I could fight better because I knew I had to protect you. I'll always prefer to know you're alive than dead on a battlefield. Not only me, but your siblings and mother too." She pulled the small cat closer. "You'll be a warrior who fights and makes it alive out of a battle, okay? But be safe until then, for me."

Fire Heart heard a sob, and backed away slowly to give them space, realizing he wasn't needed in this exchange.

Violet Fang's rasping mew sounded from the nest where she'd placed Broken Tail. “Fire Heart, you there?” she called. “Fetch me some cobwebs, quickly! And some comfrey root while you're at it.” 

He blinked in surprise, then turned and disappeared inside the rock. He quickly found one of the knobbly roots near the entrance and grabbed it between his teeth, then rushed further in until he could feel cobwebs clinging to his fur and pawed at it until he'd wrapped a paw in them. On three legs he ran back to Violet Fang's side and thrust the cobwebs inside the nest.

“Leave the root here.” ordered Violet Fang. "And now go fetch me Stone Pelt." Fire Heart nodded and turned to leave. 

Hardly any cat had moved in the camp clearing. Fire Heart padded straight to Stone Pelt and meowed. “Violet Fang is tending to Broken Tail's wounds. She called for you.” He ignored someone's gasp of disbelief. Stone Pelt looked over at the healers' den, hesitated, then meowed. "Right. I should be in there." he murmured, rushing to meet his mentor.

Fire Heart looked at the den as the bracken swished behind the gray tom. Sand Storm is in there if Broken Tail tries anything, at least , he thought.

He went over to Gray Stripe. The gray warrior was still staring at Claw Strike's body. “You saved my life.” Fire Heart murmured. “Thank you.”

Gray Stripe lifted his gaze to Fire Heart. “I would give my life for you.” he answered simply.

Feeling choked, Fire Heart watched his friend turn and walk away. Perhaps their friendship was not over after all.

The sound of paws pounding through the gorse tunnel broke into his thoughts. Blue Fur came rushing into the camp, followed by Pale Tail, Dusty Earth and Swift Bird. Fire Heart felt his shoulders droop with relief at the sight of his Clan leader. She looked around at the blood-spattered clearing, her eyes wide, until her gaze rested on Claw Strike's body. “Broken Tail attacked?” she meowed.

Fire Heart nodded.

“Is he dead?”

“He’s with Violet Fang and Stone Pelt.” Fire Heart answered, forcing out the words in spite of his exhaustion. “He’s been wounded — his eyes.”

She frowned. “And the other rogue warriors?”

“We chased them off.”

“Are any of our Clan badly hurt?” Blue Fur demanded, looking once more around the clearing. The cats shook their heads. “Good.” she meowed. “Dusty Earth, Swift Bird, take this body out of the camp and bury it. No healers or elders need be present. A rogue doesn't deserve to be buried with the honor of StarClan ritual.”

Swift Bird and Dusty Earth began to drag Claw Strike toward the tunnel.

“Are the elders safe?” Blue Fur asked.

“They’re in the nursery.” Fire Heart told her. As he spoke a rustling sounded from the bramble den, and Sparrow Nest appeared, followed by the other kits and elders. Fire Heart saw Cloud Tail tumble out and scamper excitedly across the clearing to Brindle Face. She greeted him with a brisk lick, and the kit turned to watch Claw Strike's body as it disappeared away through the tunnel.

“Is that a dead cat?” the kit asked curiously. “Can I see?”

“Hush.” whispered Brindle Face, tucking her tail around him.

“Where’s Tiger's Claw?” Blue Fur asked.

“He’s taken a party to attack a ShadowClan patrol.” Fire Heart explained. “We found bones on our patrol. They smelled of ShadowClan so Tiger's Claw decided to attack. I sent Bracken Leaf to stop him when Violet Fang realized it was Broken Tail’s scent on them.”

“Bracken Leaf?” meowed Blue Fur, narrowing her eyes. “Even though he might have to cross the Thunderpath?”

“We needed all the warriors in camp. There was no one else to send.”

Blue Fur nodded, the concern in her eyes giving way to understanding. “You didn’t want to leave the camp unguarded?” she meowed. “You did well, Fire Heart. I think Broken Tail hoped to lure all our warriors away from the camp. We found bones, too.”

“Gray Stripe told me.” Fire Heart looked around for his friend, but Gray Stripe had disappeared.

“Send Violet Fang to me when she’s finished with Broken Tail.” Blue Fur ordered. She pricked her ears at the noise of more paws in the gorse tunnel. Tiger's Claw came racing into the camp, followed by White Flower and the rest of the raiding party. Fire Heart craned his neck to peer around the warriors until he saw Bracken Leaf, right at the back. The young apprentice looked exhausted but unhurt. Fire Heart let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Did Bracken Leaf reach you before you found a patrol?” asked Blue Fur, walking over to her deputy.

“We hadn’t even entered their territory.” Tiger's Claw answered. “We were just about to cross the Thunderpath.” His eyes narrowed. “Was that Claw Strike they were burying?”

Blue Fur nodded.

“Then Bracke Leaf was right.” meowed the deputy. “Broken Tail was planning to attack the camp. Is he dead too?”

“No. Violet Fang is tending to his wounds.”

“Surely not!” Mossy Patch exclaimed, exchanging a glance with Black Leopard beside her.

Tiger's Claw’s face darkened. “Tending to his wounds?” he snarled. “We should kill him, not waste time making him better!”

“We’ll discuss that once I’ve spoken to Violet Fang.” meowed Blue Fur calmly.

“You can discuss it with me now, Blue Fur." The healer molly padded into the clearing, her head drooping with exhaustion.

“Have you left Broken Tail alone?” growled Tiger's Claw, his amber eyes flashing.

Violet Fang raised her head and looked at the dark warrior. “Sand Storm and Stone Pelt are guarding him. And I’ve given him poppy seeds, so he’ll sleep for a while. Broken Tail is blind now, Tiger's Claw. There’s no way he’ll try to escape. His injury hasn't healed and he doesn't know how to navigate being blind. He’d die of hunger in a week, if a fox or a gang of crows didn’t kill him first.”

“Well, that makes it easier.” Tiger's Claw snarled. “We won’t have to kill him ourselves. We can let the forest deal with him.”

Violet Fang turned to Blue Fur. “We cannot let him die.” she meowed.

“Why not?” Blue Fur challenge, eyes cold. "He's a murderer."

Fire Heart held his breath as he watched the leader and deputy stare at Violet Fang. He wondered if the healer was going to tell Blue Fur that Broken Tail was her son.

“If we did, we would be no better than he is.” replied Violet Fang calmly.

Tiger's Claw’s tail flicked in anger. "That's fox-dung!" He spat.

Blue Fur let out a humorless chuckle. "How, exactly, would we be any worse?" She asked, her tone almost mocking. "That cat endangered and killed kits. He drove out a whole Clan. Killed his own father. We don't have to throw him in the woods - if we kill him now, it would be merciful compared to what he deserves."

Violet Fang seemed to barely be able to contain her shock, but Fire Heart could only stare at his leader in horror. Kill a cat in cold blood? How could any of this be part of what a Clan cat should do? Where was the honor in meaning to kill a cat and carrying it out? He gulped. Would Violet Fang have to watch her only kit be killed?

"My Thunder, if may I speak?" White Flower stepped out of the crowd. Blue Fur looked at him like he'd snuck up on her. The white warrior hesitated, unsure, but went on. “It would be a burden on our Clan to look after him, and it's more than what a cat like him deserves, yes. But Violet Fang is right — if we send him out into the forest to the predators, or kill him now when he can't fight back, StarClan will know we have stooped as low as he.”

"He's not helpless. Broken Tail is a danger as long as he breathes." Tiger's Claw shot back, eyes blazing. "Would you really consider keeping this rogue inside our camp?”

With a pang, Fire Heart couldn’t help agreeing with the dark warrior’s words. The thought of killing Broken Tail appalled him, and he'd never taken a life before himself, but Broken Tail was a fearsome enemy, even in his current situation. Keeping him in the camp would be difficult and dangerous for all the members of the Clan.

"ThunderClan warriors are capable. It won't be easy, but we can keep him prisoner. We've done so before." White Flower meowed, looking the deputy in the eye. "A warrior needs not to kill."

Blue Fur seemed to flinch, turning her face away from her kin, eyes shut. The air was filled with tense silence as the ThunderClan leader's tail twitched in thought.

Finally, her meow sounded in the clearing.

“Is he really blind?” Blue Fur asked Violet Fang.

“Yes, he is.”

“Does he have other wounds?”

Fire Heart replied this time. “I clawed him pretty badly.” he admitted. He looked over to Violet Fang and was relieved when the old molly dipped her head just enough for him to know she forgave him for wounding her son.

“How long till they heal?” asked Blue Fur.

“About a moon, maybe more for his eyes.” Violet Fang answered.

White Eye stepped forward. “Blue Fur.” she meowed in her croaky old voice. “In the past we have sometimes kept prisoners for many moons. We could do it again.” Fire Heart remembered that Violet Fang herself had been a prisoner when she first came to the camp. He waited for the healer to remind Blue Fur of this, but she said nothing.

The blue molly opened her eyes. She glanced at White Flower quickly, then raised her chin.

“Very well, then. You may nurse him until he heals, Violet Fang. After that we will discuss his future again. And from now on, no cat must use his title. He's just Broken Tail. We cannot take away the lives that StarClan gave him, but this cat is no longer a Clan leader.” 

White Flower dipped his head. Fire Heart saw Violet Fang let go of a breath she'd been holding, although there was no relief coloring her expression, only weariness. The Clan began to disperse, concerned murmurs rippling through the clearing.

As Blue Fur began to pad to her den, Tiger's Claw tried to speak to her, anger twisting his face, but she cut him off. “It is decided!” Blue Fur spat without looking at him, a strange glint in her eyes. “Broken Tail stays.”

[capsensislagamoprh]

The Paper Army: Twisted Time

A Pathfinder Chronicle

Chronicler: Dela Lerias

Monday, 30 October, 2085 A.D.

I almost lost myself to the painful silence. So lost, I thought the clunking thwacks of humanoid feet against the black streets were simply the chaos in my ears. A nudge from Dutch gave me a moment's calm. I looked at Sorcha, her dragons eyes narrowed in thick concentration. Assessing my situation, I realized several important things at once. George could not shift. My first line of defense. Sorcha was warry. Dhampir was still really tall, and convenatly, wearing his cape. I hid behind it. It may seem cowardly. Please be kind to my child's form. I am small, and rather easy to harm.

Knowing I could not rely on Sorcha to carry me, nor Dhampir to balance my form on his shoulders, I caught Sorcha's eye. Touching the lance like hair stick my locks were twisted around, I asked without words: Was it safe? Should I? She nodded. I pulled my hair stick out, and spoke, "VAZAR!"

I felt something happen. I know it did. All of our eyes watched as colorful streaks of blue and purple light left lance I now held, flowed around a corner causing a flash of light, accompanied by a rather odd yelp. We shared gazes before Sorchia looked around the wall. Stifling a chortle, red painted talons calling Dahmpir forward, she shared a joke. Frustrated, I too looked, seeing a large, shaggy dog dressed in Erastilian armor, saddle shimmering and helm bright.

"I… that… where is my elk?" I asked confused, surprised, blanketed in terror muffled by disbelief. Wibble-Wobles is a magnificent steed. When in war from, he stands as tall as a grown dragon's knee. This… was a smelly, raggy mutt. I approached the dog anyway. A bow, a hesitant touch, and a very long held breath allowed me to mount the dog - once it stopped turning in circles, trying to figure out what was going on.

Sorcha waved her hand, causing a light wind to cyclone the dog, taking the stench away. Dhampir suggested that perhaps the range of magic - being from another time at the very least - meant that Wibbles could not be summoned here. The dog was the next animal in range who fit the values of Erastil, and so was chosen as a worthy mount. Despite the fleas. I very much intend to deal with that as quickly as possible.

Faced with this maze of stone and buildings, I looked at Sorcha for guidance. The sorceress told us the goal was to reach the towering wall. We almost made it.

Faced with beasts that seemed necromantic dreams, I cringed deep inside. They had skin chalked white, eyes sharp pinpricks of white in a sea of black icorr. One carried a pipe while another walked with a … dog? of some sort. It, too, was hairless, skin and bone sharply taunt. I barely had time to register pity for the animal before they screamed, attacking.

George struggled to shift, his little rat form racing from one shoulder to the next, puffing up, his squeaks of rage sharp. Dutch sat on high alert, ears tracking danger, as he used his basic ability to keep me focused. Dhampir was not having any of this 'zombies that are not zombies' nonsense. A flick of his hand sent two scorching hot rays of plasmatic flame towards one of the man shaped terrors. The flesh burned, holes dripping white instead of blood. "Well, that works," he said with casual ease.

Sorcha followed suit, tossing fire from her soul with masterful ease. Another monster fell, head obliterated by darts of dragons flame. I wanted to help as well. Fire, fire, and me? I was never good with flame. Not as good as they. But zombies have working hearts, but not minds. It's part of the magic that lets them 'live' without 'being'. How could I counter that? Suddenly I recalled the Heart Drum. Slapping my hands on slender thighs, I prepared to rummage my pocket when suddenly it appeared strapped into place. Sticks in hand, I blinked and, with nothing to loose, tried to activate the magic trapped with in. I felt nothing. It was just a soldier's drum. Frustration blushed my cheeks as I hurled the drum with both hands like the improvised weapon it had become, I startled as the drum smacked into the head of the same creature Dhampir had gravely wounded. The drum puffed out of existence as the monster fell, immediately giving off a rancid smell.

The not-dead dog jumped, ready to take a chunk out of my life, causing my mount to spin back, trying to live. George squeaked, eyes blazing green light as he managed to shift into his war-rat form, holy sword forming in his taloned grip. Before he landed, the weapon stabbed deep into the black walking path below the zombie-dog's belly, the beast's back snapped, stomach rendered. George poofed back into a rat, unable to hold his form for long, the sword disappearing when he changed.

As I scooped George up, cleaning his paws, we watched with curled lip as the not-quite- zombies turned into goop, wreaking, and fizzing like defeated ooze.

A second latter, Sorcha spun around, listening, her pointed ears twitching. Eyes flinging this way and that, she paused, ran to a busted door of metal, then called us over with a wave of her hand. "In here. Quickly!" We obeyed. We sat listening as what could only be a hundred, perhaps more, of those things came by. Hunting, searching for the source of the battle - short as it was. Once, a skin-dog-thing got close, but was quickly called away. We must have spent hours in that dark, damp place, waiting, daring to breathe.

When Sorcha gave the order, we slipped free, racing towards the wall. Several more times we had to take down a stray zombie or two, until at last, we were faced with something Sorcha called the 'Arcology Doors'.

Sorcha pointed to long tubes slowly spinning, then a pink lit tunnel with a metal plate to the side. "Bio scanners and turrets," she explained. I asked about the range on this city siege device. She simply answered, "Yes." It was then she spied danger. Pointing it out to the rest of us, I backed the dog up several paces. Quietly, Sorcha slipped from cover to cover, getting closer to the gnomish devices. When she ran out of cover, the turrets turned as one to her, a light grazing her form, red and ominous. It blinked, turning a sickly green before resuming their normal pattern of rotation.

Meanwhile, the danger noticed. It was a different type of ghoul. Long fingered, cloaked, eyes covered in some sort of device. It stood, tall and strangely thin, aiming at Sorcha with a bow made of metal. In an instant I called upon the Bow of Erastil, refusing to consider failure. My mind pictured a serrated arrow. As I drew the shimmering string, the arrow formed. I let loose, the enemy slipping back, the arrow grazing his flesh, leaving a jagged cut. The soft green light of spring growth, lit with holy hearth warmth, blazed with godly might. Sorcha, alert to the weak spot, threw bolts of force into the wound, opening it more. Dhampir followed suit. I was very sure this would be a quick defeat when the red light flared towards my position. My arrow called the gnomish devices! I unsummoned the bow, backing the dog up, trying my best to get away from that dangerous light. It stopped at a distance, turning green, leaving me exhaling a cloud of stress. Then Sorcha hissed.

The ghoul-thing let loose a long arrow, piercing her shoulder despite the chain shirt she wore under her gown. Despite her artful dodge. Despite her powerful deflection. The black bolt twisted, changing, bending until it caught her. It seemed to think, to follow her every move. I have never seen such an arrow not shot by Erastil, yet I saw no magic - cursed or divine - in that miniature lance. The pain on Sorcha's face etched a mark of agony between her eyes, lighting them with golden fire. Whatever else the arrow was supposed to do, her dragon's blood refused.

The monster dropped off the roof, cloak spreading like tattered wings as it glided towards the sorceress. I could hear George squeak mean things as he tried again to become large. Dutch readied his jump, prepared to harry the villain into submission, and I screamed. "No! Don't! Stay Where You Are!" I felt magic go off. I had no idea why. Something inside seemed to glimmer from that crack in the soul. What ever it did, I do not know. Sorcha stumbled back, missiles of pure magic blasting from her hands, putting distance between herself and the creature.

I heard music I had never known before. The slip of a sword, eleven made, drawn from a sheath in time with another. Dhampir moved as one with his Lady. In a feat of speed he closed the distance, sword sinking into flesh, cutting through to the other side, white icorr flying across the black streets. The thing screamed, swearing words I did not know. It spun with force, facing Dhampir, nails growing green and long, mouth splitting its face into a poisonous, sharp toothed maw. As its cloak fell I saw a missing ear, the other long and pointed, chinked as if chewed upon. It slashed, claws digging into Dhampir's biceps as it drew the arch mage closer for a bite. Lord N'Resh is no stranger to the Vampire's Kiss. He knew how to counter. But as he did so, the look of dawning horror on his face caused panic to show on mine. He couldn't move. I could see him trying. George raced across the dog, ready to leap into the fray - rat sized or not. Feeling my panic, Dutch licked my head, his little lagomorphic tong shifting my headband back and forth. I couldn't think what to do, so I called out. "Hit Him Real Hard!" I don't know why I thought that would help. Sorcha, seeing Dhampir in mortal danger, unable to defend himself, made quick work of the monster, spearing its heart with her blade. The body dropped, things falling out of torn and broken places. The eye covers fell off its face as the head bounced on the black rode. White pinprick eyes in a sea of unreleased black. It was a ghoul. An eleven ghoul.

I stared as Sorcha checked her shoulder, calling me forth. I was set to the task of finding my anti venom. A vile I searched for a long time to find. So long, Dhampir shook off the paralyzation himself. Where did all my stuff go? My pockets were all but empty. Even the one with the magic hole. As Sorcha tucked things into her bag of holding, I looked at Dhampir, his wounds having to bleed out the vile green stuff. Should I heal him now? Later? I looked at the iron snake about his waist, dangling limp like a belt, rather than a magical thing. If it did not activate, then it should be okay, right?

[writer-akihiko]

hiii! can I get a similar scenario like this but with vice dorm leaders and floyd? I love your works!!! I hope you have a nice week <3

Vice Dorm Leaders + Floyd + Valentine's Jealousy

Thank you for this request! It was a while to post this because I kinda forgot the prompt for the previous one, but I hope you enjoy some equally jealous Vice Dorm Leaders and Floyd!

Lilia Vanrouge

Many knew that you were quite famous, and he was well aware of how others saw you too. You weren't one to accept the presents because you had Lilia, but it was hard to reject them most of the time when they'd all gang up on you.

From the day started, you planned out the day. You planned to take an alternate route back to the dorms, but through every step, some student would stop you with a present. With so many eyes on you, it was overwhelming.

A couple of Savanaclaw boys stopped you in your tracks, with the supposed leader of the pack holding a box of chocolates towards you.

"YN! Please accept my gift!"

The sudden approach made you trip and fall on your butt, but before a hand could reach out to help you, the wall of students collapsed. You smelled smoke, supposedly from something burning, but as you looked over it more, it was the students that were burning…

Lilia stood over them, sneering at the other students that looked on. He gave a deep bow, and you noticed that one of his heels dug into the side of the one who wanted to give you a gift.

"Ara ara... as Vice Dorm Leader, there shouldn't be any fleas disturbing the peace."

The bodies of those students were well stepped and pranced over as Lilia prattled on about 'appropriate' rules for a NRC student. His lecture was done, but you found it odd that Lilia cared about the rules at all...

"Now that you get my point, leave."

All students, burnt and normal, scattered when Lilia said that. You were the only one left, and you began to get anxious once more. Surely... Surely your lover wouldn’t punish you too?

As your boyfriend stepped closer, he got on one knee, somehow conjuring a bouquet of flowers? On further inspection, the flower buds appeared to be your favourite snacks on sticks in... a bouquet. Lilia had his mysterious ways, but the silly bouquet got a giggle out of you.

He got up, pulling you by the waist. "I take it as you love your snack bouquet~" He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "Happy Valentine's Day YN."

Trey Clover

Trey didn't want you to know that you were well-known so instead of doing anything to the other students, he tells you to stay in your room instead as you wait for him to pick you up for a romantic Valentine's date.

As the morning of Valentine started, he could watch in envy at the other students with present clearly meant for you. He did ask Vil for a favour to doll you up for the date, but he wasn't sure if you were going to stay put with Grim around...

He had to curse himself for getting caught up in one of Professor Crewel's ramblings, but he wouldn't be so rude to get up and leave. If he had to be honest, it was very tempting to do so.

It was finally over, and he tried not to let out a sigh of relief. The moment he walked out of the classroom, he was already frowning at the sight that he saw.

Many surrounded you, but particularly those with sweet treats caught your attention the most. They begged you to try their treats, but you never thought it as anything romantic. As someone who was fond of making sweet treats like Trey, you thought that they were asking for your input instead.

One of the students dared to hand-feed you a piece of the sweet he made. Trey being pissed off was an understatement. Cater, who was busy filming the decorations and vlogging, paused when his camera neared Trey's line of view.

Trey knew he wasn't going to get to you in time, so as he saw the treat inch closer to your mouth, he used his magic to alter the flavour of it. You winced at the bitter flavour unlike the sweet flavour before you expected.

You coughed out the piece you had in your mouth, dropping the food. Your head bumped against someone, and an arm wrapped around you. You relaxed once you felt Trey's familiar scent, but with your ear pressed against his chest, the sound of his thumping heart rang through your ears.

"You really dared to poison YN..."

The students backed away, but with a teacher nearby, they were quickly taken away. Trey didn't mind his little lie, after all, you were adorably blushing in his arms.

"Are you okay my love?" He patted your head, checking you for any injuries. It was only then he realised that you were dolled up, and your cheeks were flushed whenever hi fingers touched your skin.

Trey wasn't usually tongue-tied, but the way you just looked made him speechless.

"H-Happy Valentine's... my gorgeous YN."

Jamil Viper

He was an observant man, so the day before Valentine's he knew who was targeting to give you gifts, even if they hadn't made their intentions public. He never made your relationship public, but he targeted those who thought they were the 'perfect' candidate for your love.

It all began with spreading rumours, particularly about how someone was going to be your fiancé. He only had to wait for the rumours to settle in, and then the chaos would commence...

By the morning of Valentine's, many had gathered at your doorstep leaving gifts but some insisted on waiting for you... like a stalker... Oh well, Jamil could remedy that easily.

He couldn't hypnotise to most due to the limitations of his magic, but he was still good at manipulating those around him. He couldn't help but feel such jealousy towards the other students for getting you such expensive gifts, especially when he could never get those gifts for you himself.

He was so distracted with his jealous thoughts that he missed the moment that you walked out of your room. You were hopeful that your boyfriend Jamil was waiting, but you couldn't hide your disappointment when it wasn't.

The more aggressive 'suitors' caught on to your disappointment, and you shrunk in fear as they approached you.

"Hoi, why are you making that fa-"

BLAM!

Before any insulting things were said, a basketball went flying and hit the student in the head, knocking him flat.

"Get away from her."

Jamil's piercing gaze sent a shiver down everyone's spine, causing them to scram. Even those who had the strength to beat Jamil were outmatched by the sheer bloodlust and the objective authority he had, which was better not to mess with if they valued their school life.

It wasn't long before you jumped into Jamil's arms, which caused both of you to topple over. Your large grin was fitting for Jamil's flustered state, as you bestowed your hero a loving kiss.

Jade Leech

If any student in NRC were to say to their fellow friends that they wanted to confess to YN on Valentine's Day, their friends would ask them if they wanted a death wish. This was because it was a well-known fact that you were dating Jade Leech.

And in NRC, you'd never want to mess with the Leech brothers.

Jade wouldn't want to scare you, but he may have overheard some other people talking about giving you a Valentine's gift. Even if it was out of obligation, he wouldn't allow that.

He could personally alter the ingredients of their drinks so that they'd... fall asleep before any present giving...

You always hung around the Lounge but this time around, Jade didn't allow you to walk out onto the floor, so you accompanied Azul with helping him with his papers. He waited for the serum to kick in, and when they were asleep he informed Azul of some loiterers in the Lounge.

Before they fell asleep, Jade couldn't help himself from revealing his tiny plan to the victims.

"Don't try your chances."

They were quickly disposed of, thanks to Floyd. It'd be better not to mention specifics.

Jade did promise you a romantic date, so you were surprised how much the Lounge changed after hours. The simple candlelight shone on the extravagant meal with Jade's specially brewed tea.

You felt the merman's arms wrap around you, as he leaned down, whispering in your ear. "YN, thank you for being my Valentine."

Floyd Leech

Whoever had the idea to confess to you besides Floyd Leech was asking to die by getting squeezed by a merman.

He wasn't sure how did you gain so much attention, but then he remembered that he'd always glomp you whenever he saw you... and then he remembered that Valentine's was today. Oh well, he'll figure something out.

The person Floyd had his eyes on though, was a student who was part of a band that Azul drove into debt. The entire band then on went to work for the Lounge as entertainters, but how could Floyd trust such a scheming bass player?

He heard from Jade that they were going to practice, but he had an inkling that it would be a confession to you. Only when it comes to you, he's observant.

"Hey YN! I just wanna show you-"

You shrugged off the bassist's enthusiasm. "Sorry... I'm a bit worn out. A lot of people have been giving me presents today."

He still took your hand. "Well... um if it helps you relax, I wrote a song for you!"

"A song?" You inched away since he was too close for comfort, but you'd doubt he'd listen to you since those other students didn't listen to you anyway...

"Hands off my Shrimpy."

Floyd couldn't hold it, watching from the sidelines. Jade told him to stay put, but it was impossible. He grabbed the student by the shoulders, squeezing him until he screamed. Once Floyd saw your worried face, he abandoned every thought of 'torturing' the boy and flung him across the room instead.

It was just his luck that the boy landed in your pile of presents, destroying about half of them. That was the presents dealt with...

You eagerly hugged Floyd, finally seeing him after a long day. Floyd couldn't help but twirl his Shrimpy around, joy filling him from your giggles. Oh well, Valentine's was too materialistic anyway. If he could get a laugh out of you just like this, that was all that mattered to him.

"Love ya Shrimpy~"

Ruggie Bucchi

Having so much responsibility in Savanaclaw meant that he had the slimmest of chances to be with you during Valentine's. Sure, most knew that you were his but there would be those idiots that would approach you regardless of your relationship status.

He gritted his teeth as he thought of all the possible presents he couldn't give you, and others could. The moment he stepped out his body simply shook with envy at how lucky those students were to have the spare money to get you something nice.

It honestly made him feel terrible that he couldn't provide those for you. It really did.

He wasn't one to lash out, but he was a hyena beastman after all. He had his limits. The moment he spotted you, he couldn't stop his tail from wagging. What pissed him off though was the idiocity of the students who can't comprehend that you didn't want to deal with them.

A Scarabia student had been following you around, and it was getting on your nerves. He showed off his 'assets' in front of you, which was embarrassing enough but it really struck a chord when the said student disregarded your beloved Ruggie.

"Surely you have better chances with me than some filthy beastman like him..."

You huffed, your fists shaking. "That's my boyfriend you're talking about!"

The student, of course disregarded you entirely. He grabbed you by the wrist, but in the blink of an eye, his palm was bleeding. There Ruggie was, claws out and holding you in one arm.

"She said she has a boyfriend, scum."

He didn't care how much he'd get punished. Knowing how much the teachers favoured you, they might let it pass... He didn't want to deal with the aftermath, so he lifted you up bridal style and ran with you to the Savanaclaw dorm.

"W-Wait Ruggie! I might be heavy..."

"You're not," He bluntly said, angling his face so he could check you for any injuries. His chest swelled up with pride with how much you defended him. "YN, it's okay though. You didn't have to defend me that much..."

You were not one to stand for your boyfriend to insult himself. You kissed him, surprising him to the point he almost dropped you. As you stared at your confused Ruggie, you comforted him with words he needed to hear the most.

"Ruggie, you're my one and only love."

Rook Hunt

This man had a plan. He had a plan and he planned it the moment he realised Valentine's Day was coming which was roughly after the first few months of dating. He never realised that it would be such a meticulous operation.

He runs the grapevine of gossip, so he knows exactly who to target. Sure... some methods were not as graceful as the Pomefiore standard but he had to do what he had to do.

Valentine's rolled around. D-Day. The D stood for Date... as he highlighted in notes. He'd leave you be, because you were the main star of his plan. His star, his moon, his every- Oh and he caught himself before getting sidetracked...

The first mistake was leaving their presents unattended. The second mistake was going to talk to you.

In a sudden moment, many shrieked at their presents getting vandalised by someone's arrow. It wasn't a humble mistake. Someone was doing this on purpose.

While other students panicked, you had stooped to your knees, observing the words on the shaft of the arrow...

'From YN's boyfriend~'

Oh... Oh Rook... How adorable of you... You thought to yourself. You were surprised that none had caught on so far, but you were sorely mistaken as the person who was about to gift you a bouquet of flowers grabbed you in fear.

"Y-Your boyfriend?! Who is he-" The student shrieked and fell to the ground as an arrow flew past his head, cutting off some of his locks. Then and there, Rook stepped out, bow in hand, bowing to his lady.

"My apologies. I was aiming for your head."

Rook was quick to take you in his arms, but that was not before he oh so graciously stepped on the student's hand. You didn't expect him to-

"You didn't think I would get jealous, Mademoiselle," He laughed, getting on one knee with a rose in hand that you were sure was from another student's bouquet. "Ah, I take it you enjoyed my gift!~"

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before Rook was scolded by some teachers and Vil himself. As much as you thought he would put up with the punishment, that didn't stop the hunter from bringing you to the final date spot, a quiet, peaceful forest date with your favourite hunter.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

iv. couch.

read on ao3

To Lena: r u busy??? U didnt answer my calls. Dinner later?

To Lena: my place.

To Lena: Or yours! Can totally go to urs. If u want.

To Lena: Lena????

To Lena: where are u??

To Lena: Answer my calls

To Lena: Pls?

Kara rounds the corner of her hallway, keys bitten, dangling from her lips, as she types with both hands. Her 67th text message of the day to an MIA Lena Luthor sent. She fails to notice the creature lurking around the front of her door; dark fur shining under the cheap LED lights of Kara’s corridor.

She’s still deeply absorbed in her phone with worry, in the middle of jamming her keys in with one hand, when something furry brushes against her legs and Kara yelps.

She pulls the knob clean out of the wood in shock, her phone dropping to the floor loudly, the cat doing a duet with her with a startled yowl of her own.

Heart hammering and adrenaline racing, Kara looks down and sees the cat for the first time.

“Oh! Oh!” she gasps, “I didn’t see you there, buddy. I’m sorry for startling you!! I didn’t mean it.”

The door knob clatters loudly to the ground as it falls out of her grasp. And Kara sheepishly feels guilty for the hole in her door. But the cat meows loudly, catching her attention, as if in response to her apology.

She crouches down low, and reaches out a hand to touch the furball. She snaps a quick pic, sends it to Lena and pockets her phone.

To Lena: KITTY!!

“Oh, oh come here,” she coos, “where’s your collar? How’d you get here huh?”

The cat reminds her of Streaky. The first stray who ever took to her kindly. Although upon closer inspection, Kara realizes this one has striking emeralds for eyes, Streaky’s eyes were a more softer blue.

The cat surprisingly seems friendly, immediately leaning into Kara’s touch. Nosing at the inside of Kara’s wrist and it’s such a familiar gesture but she can’t seem to remember why.

And...oh, a small rumbling echoes through Kara’s palm!

Oh, they’re purring!

Kara doesn’t know how long she stays there crouched low exactly, but eventually, she stands up, takes her hand away, and picks up the damaged doorknob.

“Well, time for you to go home now, buddy,” she tells them, giving their head one last pat before dusting off her hands on her jacket.

“Go on, shooo. Shoo. Go home. I’m sure your human is looking for you.”

But the cat remains unmoving. It looks like they’ve decided to sit firmly in front of Kara’s doorstep, casually licking a paw, as if waiting for Kara to open her door.

“Are you actually waiting for me to open my door?” Kara makes a mental note to thank Rao that none of her neighbors can see her trying to hold a proper conversation with a cat.

“Look, kitty,” she says firmly, “I’m not your human.”

The cat just blinks owlishly at her. Eyes too green, too intelligent and-

Kara makes up her mind.

She turns her face skywards, takes a deep breath (This will probably backfire, she already knows. But she's always had a soft spot for strays.) and then she pushes her door wide open.

The cat races inside, cutting through Kara’s legs and almost tripping her.

“Well, somebody’s excited,” Kara mutters under her breath, she watches the cat head for her living room couch; watches as they pause all of a sudden, changes course and jumps onto Kara’s coffee table instead.

Where the cat then proceeds to knock down everything in close vicinity, even the picture frame of her and Lena together.

“Hey! No! Bad kitty-”

But the cat is already hopping down from her pedestal, landing on the frame directly.

And then things get weird.

The cat proceeds to stomp all over it, meows loud, like really loud; insanely loud for a cat their size.

Her paw seems to be almost pointing? At the other person in the frame.

“I-” Kara seems taken aback by the bizarre behavior, sure she knows cats are vastly different from dogs, but this…

This is just weird.

The cat’s meowing only seems to get louder.

How you land yourselves in these situations, Kara. I really just don’t know, at this point. She can almost hear Alex say.

“What are you- Are you- are you pointing? That’s- That’s Lena, yeah. That’s my best friend.”

At that, the cat seems to vibrate. They start clawing at Kara’s pant leg, meowing and meowing and meowing—

And then it hits her.

"-but it turns out that she’s a witch. And apparently, so am I."

The green, green eyes.

A pink nose nuzzling against her wrist.

“Lena?”

******

“Oh, Rao! Lena you’re a cat! What happened?! Oh, no, baby what did you do?”

Lena-

Lena The Cat—and okay, so she’s still wrapping her head around that one—just stays silent. She’s sitting on her lap, looking regal than any cat has any right to be. A judgmental look in her eyes.

Lena’s a cat. Cat’s can’t speak. Can’t answer Kara’s questions.

“Right. Sorry. Only meow,” Kara murmurs, embarrassed. For some reason even in cat form Lena manages to be intimidating.

“Okay so, uh d-does that mean you still understand me? Two meows for yes. One meow for no.”

Kara gets two meows.

“Okay, cool, cool. Great. You can still understand me, that's good.” Kara runs a hand down her spine, “Gosh, your fur is just so soft.”

She hears Lena give a small growl, body tensing, “Right. Right. Sorry. Not the time for pets.” Kara retracts her hand away.

“Uhm, so next question then, I guess? D-did you become a cat this morning? Were you testing out your uhm...gift?”

Lena meows twice. Kara nods, clenching and unclenching her fist underneath her chin. Fingers itching to run themselves through Lena’s soft fur again. Lena seems to sense this, and nuzzles her face into Kara’s hand, bumps against her repeatedly.

“Really?” Kara double-checks, giddy. If she were human Kara bets Lena would be rolling her eyes like she always does when Kara does something particularly dorky, but she just pushes her head firmer against Kara’s hand and meows twice.

“So uhm,” she starts, cautiously, noting Lena’s increasing purr, “is there like a spellbook for this or something? Something that can help you transform back?

Lena meows yes.

“Is it in The Tower or back at your place?”

There are no responses.

“Sorry, sorry lemme rephrase, is it in The Tower?”

She gets two consecutive meows.

Okay, to The Tower it is.

******

“Are you going to tell me why you’re cradling a cat in your cape or??” Alex raises a brow at her, a hand on her hip, left foot tapping impatiently. Her sister was heading out for the day, it looks like. It was just tough luck that Supergirl landed one minute before the elevator took Alex.

Crap. Now they have to explain. They didn’t talk about this. Lena still hasn’t told her if it was okay to tell people about her gift.

“I-I rescued it,” Kara says.

Well, that isn’t so far from the truth, right? She stares at the bundle in her arms, Lena the traitor staying silent all the while—green eyes shining all innocent at Kara.

Alex’s stares intensifies.

“From a tree,” Kara flounders, and Lena The Cat has the audacity to yawn, squirm and jump away from her arms. She lands gracefully, tail swishing up in the air and heads straight for the lab.

Alex eyes the cat suspiciously before turning back to Kara. She jabs a finger to her chest. “It better not have any fleas. It better not touch my training mat.”

“She won’t.”

Alex just shakes her head, rolls her eyes, grabs her helmet and walks to the elevator.

Before she goes though, Alex says, “You know, this is gonna sound weird, but I swear I think I saw that same cat slinking out of The Tower earlier this morning.”

“Alex, she’s literally a black cat. There are hundreds of black cats in the city.”

“You're being weirdly defensive about this. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not.”

Alex seems like she wants to say more, but the elevator dings, and she’s never been more grateful that Kelly makes Alex pick her up from work. Alex huffs out breath, before conceding and disappearing into the lift.

******

The camera flash is what gets Kara busted.

But is it really her fault if she walked in on a cute kitty, hunched over, meowing adorably, trying to flip over the pages of a thick spellbook, with her teeny-tiny bean paws?

Lena hisses at her, teeth-bared and fur puffy.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But you were just really, really, really cute okay?” She walks closer to the desk, carefully lifts a hand and scratches Lena behind the ear.

The hissing slowly devolves into purring, and Kara grins triumphantly. Lena lets herself be picked up after a few moments, Kara leafing through the pages for her.

“So, found anything yet?” She asks, cradling Lena close to her chest. A warm weight on Kara’s arms, and as much as she wants to get her real Lena back, she also isn’t too eager on giving up this version anytime soon. Then again, Kara thinks, it would be impossible for her to give up any version of Lena Luthor.

“Spell? Charm? Anything? Do you need to make a potion? Are we gonna get to make a potion? Oh, oh do you need a wand? Do you have a wa-”

Kara’s words get muffled as two black paws press against her lips. Lena’s green eyes narrowing at her. She meows at Kara. Loudly.

“Mkay, mkay. Shut up. Got it.”

Lena removes her paws, and Kara makes a gesture of zipping her lips together. This seems to appease Lena enough because the next second, a pink tongue darts out and she...licks Kara's nose.

“Did you- did you just lick me?” Kara gasps out.

Lena doesn’t even acknowledge her with a meow, just turns away and jumps out of her arms again. Before Kara can do anything about it though, her phone rings.

The screen lighting up with Andrea’s name.

“Danvers, I’ve got a story for you.”

******

“Alex, please, I’ll be quick. I promise. I’ll only be three hours at the most. Please just look after her,” she pleads, pouting and puppy eyes in full power.

It also helps that the cat burrito in her cape looks to be cooperating. Lena The Cat staring at Alex with wide round eyes.

Apparently, some governor was found dead downtown, and now Andrea wants her on the scene. She can’t just leave Lena all alone in The Tower. No matter how hard Lena’s been protesting, this is brand new territory for both of them. Nobody knows the extent of Lena’s powers.

Point is, Kara would feel a lot better if she were to leave Lena under the care of someone she trusts. Even if said someone, accuses Lena of being a stray with fleas. It's still better than leaving Lena all on her own.

“Ugh.” Alex groans and Kara knows she’s won. “If this cat causes trouble I will throw it out the window, Kara.”

“No!” Kara yells, distressed. “Don’t do that. She’ll behave. She promises.”

She puts her hand under Lena’s arms and raises her up to eye level—Simba style. “You promise to be good for Alex, don’t you?”

All she gets is a lot of squirming and screaming, there were also a lot of attempts at scratching Kara’s nose.

“See?” Kara says, chuckling nervously. “She’s telling you she’s good.”

Alex looks skeptical, her arms crossed against her chest.

Kara sets her down on the couch, and crouches down low.

She tries to pet her head, but Lena bites at her finger, she catches her teeth on the skin of her supersuit’s thumb slot. She bites deeper, her teeth accomplishing nothing but a few dents.

And oh, Rao she thinks she’s such a feral little cat but her pink adorable gummy snarl says otherwise.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be back. I promise,” she whispers, careful not to let Alex hear. “And then we’ll figure it out later, okay? The safest place for you right now is to be with Alex.”

She really doesn’t want to go, and based on Lena’s protests she doesn’t want Kara to go either. But well, Andrea had finally threatened to fire her if she disobeyed...which is...fair.

She’s aware she’s been doing a less than stellar job at being a journalist lately. Rao, what an understatement. This is basically her make it or break it.

“Look, I’ll be quick, promise. Be good to Alex,” Kara murmurs. She presses a kiss on Lena’s furry forehead. Lena finally unclenches her jaw and lets Kara go. The little whine she lets out, letting Kara know that she knows the battle’s lost.

“Both of you, be good,” Kara tells them sternly. “Alex, please don’t yeet my cat out of the window.”

Alex shrugs, staring at the cat with suspicion. “I make no promises.’

Lena is staring at Alex just as hostile. Great. They both deserve each other.

Kara sighs exasperatedly. Well, at least she tried.

******

She gets a very angry Alex Danvers on the line, right after she’s finished talking to some sources. It’s nighttime now, and when she checks her watch—yep, she’s left Lena in Alex’s care for more than six hours.

Crap.

“Hey, Al—”

“KARA IF YOU DON’T PICK UP THIS THIS THIS GODDAMNED HAIRBALL RIGHT NOW, YOU WILL NEVER SEE IT EVER AGAIN.”

There is loud meowing, and then, “What the- Get off! Get off me right no-”

The line clicks dead.

Kara Danvers quickly changes into an alley, manages to break the sound barrier.

******

It’s Kelly who opens the door.

“Hey, Kara,” she greets her. Kara is impatiently rocking on her heels, trying to peer past Kelly’s shoulders.

The place was quiet; ridiculously quiet, and Kara feels fear swoop in her belly.

“Please, tell me my cat is still alive,” Kara bursts out, Kelly just gives her a pained smile and oh, no, oh no.

She muscles her way past Kelly to a brooding Alex on the couch.

Lena is nowhere to be seen.

“Alex, Alex where’s my cat? Where is she? Where did you put her?”

Alex finally looks up at her, Kara taking notice of the red marks on her arm.

Oh no, Lena, what did you do?

“Calm down, I didn’t throw the little demon away. She’s-" Alex sing-songs before finishing, "on time-out.”

“Time-out?” Kara asks, voice shaking. Rao, does she really want to know.

Alex takes too long to answer, taking a swig of her beer first before pointing to a corner in the living room.

And there, she spots it.

It, being a small pile of laundry on the floor, next to an upside down hamper. A big white hamper housing one Lena Luthor. There's a crude cardboard sign stuck on it; "Kitty Jail". Alex has also stacked a few encyclopedia on top of it, no doubt an attempt to keep Lena from escaping.

“Oh! Oh, Lena!”

Kara superspeeds her way and scoops Lena up, the cat meowing immediately and curling into Kara’s chest.

“You named the cat after Lena?!”

Crap.

Kara turns around slowly, “Uhm yeah?”

Alex just shakes her head. “Unbelievable.”

“Her eyes reminded me of Lena, okay?!” Kara yells defensively, pressing tiny kisses onto Lena’s fur.

“I’m sorry that Alex has been such a meanie to you," she coos, "I know you didn’t deserve it, baby."

Alex seems to perk up at that, because she raises up from the couch. “That,” Alex jabs a finger in their direction, Kara cradles Lena protectively, “That baby ruined my couch and she so totally deserves all the mean! All the mean in the world, Kara!”

Lena hisses in her arms.

“No, no. That’s not true. Lena is baby and she’s perfect and you’re just a meanie.”

“She ruined my upholstery! She left hair all over the place and that’s not even to mention the scratching!”

“Because you were mean to her!”

Alex scoffs, eyes bulging wide in disbelief.

“Get out,” Alex says, her brows pinching comically, “Get out of my apartment before that little devil causes more damage.”

“Gladly,” Kara says, and Lena meows her assent. They make their way past Alex, Kara unaware that Lena has stuck out her little tongue at Alex over her shoulder.

“And she’s not a little devil!” Kara calls out.

Alex slams the door in her face.

******

That evening, Kara pores over a thick spellbook, eyes swimming with Latin symbols with a purring machine on her lap.

By midnight, Kara has managed to pass out on her couch, a black cat curled on her chest.

The spellbook lay open on her coffee table, forgotten.

******

The first sight that greets Kara when she wakes up are green eyes.

Green human eyes.

And then it hits her.

“Lena!”

The spell had blessedly wore off by morning, and Kara’s never been more glad to see the sunlight lighting up Lena’s face.

For a moment, Kara’s assaulted with the mental image of laying in a pool of sunlight with a black cat stretching leisurely next to her.

“Good morning,” Lena purrs, and oh Rao, that sound is much, much better than her meowing.

“You’re back!” Kara gasps in awe.

“I’m back,” she whispers, she’s still draped fully over Kara on the couch. A blanket covering them both.

“Rao, I missed you.” A palm comes up to cup her cheeks, Lena automatically nuzzling into the inside of her wrist.

“Mm, I missed me, too,” Lena tells her, face breaking into a small smile. Kara traces her fingers up and down Lena’s spine. Oh, how she’s missed touching Lena’s skin.

Wait-

Skin.

Is she-

“Lena,” Kara begins, swallowing. Her nerves not going unnoticed.

Lena raises a brow at her. “Kara?”

“Are you- uhm- ah. Are you naked right now?”

Lena’s eyes light up like a cat’s and Kara knows she’s in trouble.

“Mm. It seems that I am,” Lena says, and all Kara can do is gulp.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

special shoutout to @mike-wachowski, @sexybread-png and @thebreakfastgod for their cat expertise without whom this silly little fic would not be written.