#( in the end it's death note but with kings and queens lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

controld3vil · 2 months

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𝗖𝗥𝗬𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗖𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗟𝗘 (II)

𝘀𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗹 𝘁𝗼 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗠

pairing(s): jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader, aemond "one eye" targaryen x targ!reader (you are daemon and laena's firstborn)

synopsis: You arrive at Harrenhal seeking to reconcile with your father, only to find his disastrous decisions have caused chaos. The grief over your grandmother’s death casts a dark shadow, making any prospect of recovery seem bleak.

notes: daemon fr had to face some of his demons at riverrun lol. but on a side note, be aware this is much more story dense. cw: daemon being a bad dad:(

Daemon awoke to the dawn’s harsh light, his dreams of uniting the fractured memories already unraveling in the cold grip of reality. His morning was not one of renewal but of stark reminders: the promises broken, the alliances fraying, and the ever-looming threat of rebellion. As he stared out over the restless waters, the weight of his failures pressed down upon him, each wave taunting the unity he still sought but had yet to achieve.

His days became numbered and restless very quickly. The Rogue Prince’s patience falters as he stomps down Harrenhal’s halls, they are looming with light and motionless calmness. Dark Sister is strung by his side, clinging to his belt and waist. When will it end? What could possibly make his day any worse?

“Dragon!”

A distant envoy’s screech. Oh, he’s heard. Anyone who dared to come to Harrenhal would know of his prowess simply because Caraxes await them. No matter foe or friend, Daemon grips his Valyrian blade tightly before turning toward the Weirwood tree. Caraxes usually resided near the old tree, it was wide and unbound by anywhere else in the castle. Undoubtedly, he would sense his rider’s stride, gradually becoming anticipated hungry for battle.

Despite his commanding presence, he is stopped by a small servant who wobbles his feet uneasily. My prince! They holler when he does not mean to halt, ignoring the random babbles from the man’s mouth. “Lord Simon Strong requests your presence!” A feverish shiver as the servant trembles under the gaze of Daemon. King Consort to Queen Rhaenyra. Yet here, alone with his dragon, he should be considered King.

“It seems we have company though,” The silver-haired swordsman blatantly takes no notice of the servant’s distress. It would be the least of Simon Strong’s problems if Daemon would deal with the unannounced dragon rider. But the castellan had a knack for appearing at the most inopportune moments. Should he leave now to deal with the foreign enemy, he wouldn’t have to meet with Lord Strong at all. The Rogue Prince had magnifying eyes. His lavender orbs pierced the man with intensity and undeclared rage. It felt suffocating to be looked under as the servant could only muster a feeble plea, hands scrambling together to keep his calm.

“It- It is your daughter who was seen!” Your name was pronounced, oddly by the man’s tongue. It is you who he wishes for to soothe Daemon’s grievances. In response, the possible emergence of the prince’s benevolence could perspire. Still, it was unlikely that King Viserys' brother would abide simply because of his king's presence. For his daughter, the man could only anticipate so. “Her dragon resides on the other side of the Keep! And she wishes for an audience with you and Lord Strong…”

Wonderful.

Perhaps, in the absence of the Black Council, he has grown irritated and longing for a sense of direction. He lacks it here clearly. No Riverlord would consider his commands even if they were put down to be eaten by Caraxes. This was how stubborn Southerners were. They are adamant to follow the old ways, never embracing the new. In turn, they’ve become grumpy old men and women.

You sure made a grand entrance which terrified most of the people in the castle. Daemon can only assume you came under Rhaenyra’s obligation. Why else? It has been days since he left Dragonstone without a word or raven. The Council must’ve spiraled into madness without their most skilled warrior by their table. A permanent scowl was on his face as Daemon treaded heavily to the Grand hall. His mind is blinded with thoughts, as his judgment deters. The swift clatter of the double doors being pushed and bouncing as they close is unmistakable.

An unpleasant frown was on the face of Daemon as he entered unprecedentedly. “What are you doing here?” You did not move from your position, bizarrely calm, and in doing so sat on the edge of one of the chairs accompanied by Lord Strong. The castellan himself is seated beside you, with his usual robes and heavy garments. Pure vexation was what you heard from Daemon’s accent. Whether it was directed at you or Lord Strong, both of you felt the underlying intensity a man of the Rogue prince’s caliber can do.

You rise, with a grim expression. “I came here to help you,” Now Daemon sees it. Your expression was hardened by the stoic frown and concentrated stare. It was like staring into the eyes of a viper. Alluring and dangerous as it was, Daemon rarely witnessed this side of you. It is plain how distinct you are from your sisters, Baela and Rhaena. You were all of the blood of the dragon, yet it was your heart and soul that resembled the Rogue Prince’s ambitious nature.

“Harrenhal has been handled,” He scoffs, advancing in the manner reminiscent of an irritated cat. The rhythm of his steps was concise and slow like he would approach a troubled animal.

“Then why has it taken you so long to return home?” You snap, and the lines of your disappointed pout are apparent now. Indeed was the harsh blaze of daylight that hit your face perfectly. It accentuates your bright-hued view, fondly. Knowing the gods, they have blessed you with a burning spirit and charm. Your coin has flipped long ago. And Daemon sees for the first time what will become of your destiny. “Have you not heard? Rhaenys died at the battle of Rook’s Rest against Cole’s army!”

Daemon believes you would become mad if you hadn’t left Dragonstone. Grasping your inherent qualities, a death such as Rhaenys would devastate you. And it has, for how much time has passed since the Battle of Rook’s Rest he had no idea, but confirmed that you came here out of your own volition. What you intend to do is something he hasn’t foreseen yet.

A deafening silence passes when your father says nothing in response to your anger. But then he says, “She did what had to be done.” A soft-spoken retribution on Daemon’s part. His gaze follows your shallow breath when you sniffle laboriously. A prominent shine is transparent on top of your eyes. You did your best to stay restrained in front of your father. Your appearance brought bitter news along with an imprinted image of his daughter’s unfortunate disintegration.

Seemingly his words struck a chord in you. “And what have you done?” Sneering, you disregard the ache in your chest to pursue your father further of his drawn-out disappearance. More than ever, you needed him. You needed Daemon, your father there to comfort you. Especially then when victory is forfeited in the worst-case scenario. You weren’t there. And you felt even more compelled to define every mistake he has made. The murder, the destruction, and the divide. “Nothing!”

“Mind your tongue,” He snaps when Daemon is suddenly provoked by your words of spite.

Your head shifts, intimidatingly. “No! Because while you ransacked innocents with the Southern lords, Rhaenys fled and defended a lord at our council!” You clenched your fisted hands, restraining your further temper. “It’s barbaric.”

“Well we need to be ruthless to win a war, don’t we?” Daemon guffs, his hand landing in the familiar space where his Vaylrian blade was. It was his way to warn you. To dominate and show you he is superior despite your lineage. “You are a child. What do you know of war? I presume nothing because your actions have demonstrated ignorance and naivety.”

“I’m not a child!”

“Yes, you are!” Your father authoritatively steps forward and merely breathes away from your own. “You are naive and weak like one! You lash out when you see fit and choose to lament when the lords have something else to give you!” Word by word, and piece by piece, you can feel your heart shatter. You’re silent, unable to mumble another word to your father, afraid and rectified by his brutal dispute. You are young but the blood of the dragon ran thick. You were just like your father when he wanted to please and grab his brother’s attention. You were desperate to find the comforts of him yet found yourself left abandoned and cast off.

The tears you had been holding were free now. An overwhelming amount flooded your vision as you dared not to turn away from your father’s relentless gaze. Even though he knew, his words were harsh and sharp. Under further silence, Daemon notices the tremble of your lips and puffed cheeks. His heart crumbles with guilt but he does not so much as return an apologetic gesture.

Perhaps in your distorted view, you did catch his slight hesitation. Nevertheless, you paid no heed and dashed out of the room before the guards could open the doors. The absence of your presence left a regretful mark on Daemon’s chest as he dismissed Lord Strong’s pleas entirely.

And not far from the Weirwood, a sound resembling Sheepstealer’s cry can be heard.

No defiance was left unchecked in your family. You figured this out long before you left Pentos with a heavy heart. When your mother was alive, she and your father were avid parents. Happy and easily pleased with their three daughters. You could not remember when your relationship faltered as badly as now. Disobedience was something foreign as the consequence of your peaceful time in the East. On the contrary, you were more distant with your sisters and father than ever before. You spoke less as the days passed. Barely offering a fleeting look of solace, that not even your father could reassure.

For the rest of your time, you became oddly acquitted with Lord Strong and his men. He was a timid character but all of most, welcoming of your presence and cooperation. Much contrast to the Rogue Prince, you were at least willing to seek out the other lords of the River lands and speak on reasonable terms.

“I do appreciate your service, Princess,” The castellan meekly grins as the two of you stroll in unison to the ancient Weirwood tree. A magnificent monument and staple of the castle of Harrenhal you had heard. For generations, the tree had spouted its roots deeply into the defiled castle like a parasite, relying on its nutrients to stay alive. You acknowledged how important the old ways were with the old folk and Southern houses. It was their way of living and for many was what they relied on during these times of turmoil. “Much was needed after your father’s arrival, I’m afraid. I wasn’t sure if sending a raven to the Queen would’ve been necessary.”

A grim sigh escaped your breath. “I’m glad to be of service, Lord Strong. I’m sure after today, we can put all this behind us.” A passive promise, as you weren’t sure if the River Houses would be willing to listen to you. Surely the daughter of the King consort’s would bring attention to some. However, Daemon’s actions as of late became a domino effect in causing distrust and provocation with the lords.

“I do hope so,” Lord Strong’s feeble words meant nothing to you. The eerie entrance of the garden itself was dreary and dry. Dead leaves scattered all across the floors. Empty and broken carts of nothing were laid to be disregarded. And in the far center, was the Weirwood tree, standing tall and glum. It was the most spectacular sight you had seen since arriving at Harrenhal. Its luscious red leaves were full of life and blood. The many faces on the tree, each resembling a different person with a different story. Out of everything, it was the only thing that gave you security and clarity.

The Weirwood tree itself was essential to many people of Westeros. Whether they worshiped the old gods or new, it stood as a staple, to allow empathy for those who know they are watching. And you knew the gods were watching you.

In front of the majestic timber, was a young boy. Most likely close to the age of Lucerys if you had imagined. He was a meek and wide-eyed little thing. Wearing the sigil of House Tully, he carried those prominent features a Tully should have. Red curly hair and honest blue eyes.

“Princess,” The boy welcomes, stepping forward, timidly. He utters your name in respect and soft admiration. “Welcome to the Riverlands, I am Oscar Tully, heir and lord of House Tully.”

You halt before glancing behind at Lord Strong with a soothing nod. The castellan takes it valiantly, returning with a tender smile. He returns to close the doors before walking back inside the castle. Both you and the Tully boy stood alone outside with the winds and distant tides now.

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Tully,” You say, attempting your best to appeal more invitingly. More pleasant and sincere at his hospitality. The strained guilt you feel for the destruction constructed by Daemon makes your chest heave heavily. It was not your doing but you regardless were remorseful for the chaos the Southerners must have endured. “Never in my lifetime was I blessed to visit the River lands. And now that I’m here, it’s obvious that Harrenhal was never my first choice.”

The boy laughs. “Yes, well Harrenhal certainly has that kind of reputation,” Oscar smiles cheekily as though relieved and infatuated at your calmer personality and aid. He was ignorant to believe you would be like your father. Of course, the resemblance was uncanny. However luckily, you did not pout and have a commanding tone with your words. Rather you were calm and docile like a majestic wolf from the North. Oscar cannot seem to pinpoint it but there is a magnetic ease he feels when you gaze at him with your keen eyes. “But on other matters, I hope you’re aware of the certain situations with the Riverland army?”

“Of course,” An exaggerated groan as you crossed your hands behind your back to cruise around the abandoned garden. The leather black boots you wore gave you easy access away from the mud and dirt. You neared closer to the heir of House Tully. “Has my father considered instating the terms you have given to him?”

Knowing Daemon, an apology was out of the question. He was a man of action. The Rogue Prince demonstrated as much when he burned some of the Bracken men for not bending their knees. The least he can do is force his hand and then have to negotiate with them with reasonable terms. Though your father has always been a difficult man.

A delayed cough comes from the boy. “I’m not afraid not, Princess.” Almost as if afraid of how you might react to his failed attempts. There was no reason to be scared yet it was an accidental reflex on his part to estimate the Princess of Dragonstone.

“Then what are your terms?” Your attention was entirely on the Weirwood tree. You see the leaking red blood dripping from the many faces and you can feel the nervous energy from the boy. “I’ll agree to them as long as you accept and do your part to assemble the lords of the River lands.”

Oscar looks at you, startled. “I- Our terms… Well then I suppose justice.” You meet his sapphire blue one, as captivating and electric as your deep indigo pools. Much resembling the night sky. “Your father has condemned one of the lords to treason and outright murder. I believe as a Southerner, a follower of the old ways, that he should stand for his crimes.” A courageous feat on his part which you could not help but respect. A boy as young as he is now holds the responsibility of many Houses. They all look to House Tully for guidance and Oscar is now their precedent ruler.

“Then that is done,” You shrugged with a nonchalant pout. Simply one man to face his crimes was enough to receive the largest army. Then you should have it. It was something Daemon would most likely not accommodate. His bowing and agreeing on someone’s terms was not his style. He needed to have something more out of the bargain. Still, you’ve grown restless of your father and needed the army urgently. “See that Lord Blackwood be executed here by the Weirwood tree when all of the lords are present. Should they be convinced we do not tolerate murder and anarchy, they can be a witness of the beheading.” You shake your head, with a smile.

The Tully boy feels a chill run down his spine. "I appreciate how accommodating you've been given our situation, Princess." He feels flustered but at the same time, relieved. He did not expect this was how your conversation would pan out. But he was pleasantly surprised and would honorably accept your terms. He would only hope now that your father could comply and that you would persuade him on the matter.

With a brief nod, your fixed stare turns to Oscar’s House sigil. He wears it proudly on his chest, carved out of leather, an imprint of a trout, jumping out of the water. “Tully's honor their promises, so I only ask you to do the same.”

He stands there, looking in awe at you. He doesn’t so much as return with a stutter, as if not catching you the first time. His delayed response makes Oscar regain himself and clear his throat. “Please forgive me, Princess, but you are not what I had anticipated from the daughter of the Rogue Prince and King Consort to the Queen..."

Unexpectedly, you chuckled, much to the Riverland Lord’s expectation. Gods, why were you so unpredictable? Not to mention, your laughter was rather magnetic to listen to. How could he resist a princess such as yourself, who rides the wild dragon, Sheepstealer, and has a father as one of the most pronounced fighters alive?

House Targaryen in its history had many beautiful women and men over the years of their reign as Rulers of Westeros. They were known for their profound and striking qualities, signaling out any other candidate for beauty charm. You embody it wholly, with the way you stand and present yourself. You’re courageous and strong-willed, admirable talents anyone should have. For Oscar Tully, it fascinates him.

“Then what do you think I would be like?” You’re intrigued, giving a sly smile when you beam at his shy and embarrassed state. It had been some time since you felt this giddy. Since Lucerys death, your family has dealt with another grief. Then came the death of King Viserys which shifted entirely your lives to madness. You never did have enough time to grieve. Even for your mother, you considered it now, no one would let you rest and had always expected you to be fine with things.

Maybe that was the reason why you refused to visit Dragonstone many times before. When Rhaenyra married Daemon, you were obligated to live in the ancient Targaryen home with them. Even though you complied, you never stayed long, always finding ways to be on Driftmark with your sister and grandparents. It was a way to distract your mind and soul. You did not want to be in the same room as Daemon. So perhaps Corlys and Rhaenys truly felt more like your parents.

Oscar looks at the tips of his feet, unable to meet your penetrating periwinkle gaze. “I don’t know. I- I thought you would be more aligned with your father.” He raises his tone slightly on the last part, unsure if his words meant offense to you. “And I apologize, I mean no offense!”

“And you’re not wrong to believe so,” Your tone teased, indifferent to how you glanced at him, endearing and eternal much like a sapphire, cherished by the island of Tarth.

Jacaerys was worried for you. He could not understand why you would be so reckless to leave Dragonstone with Sheepstealer. There was war! For all he knew, you could’ve already been killed airborne alongside your wild dragon. But he digresses, the Prince of Dragonstone should not underestimate your worth as a dragon rider and aggressive nature. You were careless but knew how to ride a Sheepstealer well, everyone else couldn’t.

Regardless, you were his betrothed. The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! You should not fly in this condition! He would tell you if you had been still present and he berated you around the castle like an annoying servant. He would have it, Jacaerys could not stand not knowing of your well-being. News from Harrenhal? No raven has been flown there since Daemon’s disappearance. You were driving him mad and you were not even aware of it!

The Queen’s son paced around his room, exhausted. Your leave did not surprise his mother, which as expected he should’ve anticipated. You and Daemon. Two born from the same blood and now, he understands what his mother felt when he left for Harrenhal. You do as you please, he supposes. Though most of the time he knew of you, it was ever unlikely for you to be so daring. You were brash but never went as far as abandoning your home. Jacaerys feels a small sort of guilt for not letting you leave. He willingly let you. He isn’t sure if you have some sort of sorcery against him or more so he cannot control you as much as you do to him, but the crowned prince still thinks of you.

He can still recall the day he and you were renowned as betroths. It was the hearing for the heir of Driftmark. The entire hall was consumed by people and servants. The iron throne sat in the center, all and menacingly. His mother stood by his side while Lucerys and Rhaena were slightly behind. Alongside Daemon who lurked around the crowds, watching everyone. On the other side was Rhaenys Targaryen, the standing figure for Corlys Velaryon. You and Baela were behind her, always so close to each other. Your presence comforted one another as it did to him.

“It was ever my husband’s decision to pass Driftmark to our son, Laenor, and his son, Lucerys,” Rhaenys confidently speaks in front of the Hand of the King as Otto’s daughter can only frown in silence. While the rest of the crowd stayed awning. “And Princess Rhaenyra had just proposed to her two sons to be wedded to Laena’s daughters,” She motions to you and Baela. And when he catches a glimpse of you, butterflies flutters. As you meet his eye with a cheeky smile. “Which I wholeheartedly agree.”

The looks you gave to one another spoke greater volume than the words from your mouths. Jacaerys understood that yes, you were satisfied with the marriage proposal, And he was as well. You two couldn’t be more relieved and happier. You had always assumed he would marry your cousin, Helaena. However Alicent claimed she was to be married to her older brother, Aegon, you believed the odds of it happening to be more promising. And it has.

Also across where you stood from the throne, Aemond’s eye catches your elevated expression. Those simple words of your engagement troubled him. So much so that he could feel the vexation that began to build in his chest. It was unlike the second son to feel this emotional towards marriage. He always avoided the subject. But somehow when you became the topic, his mind suddenly scrambled into mush and his attention followed you willingly.

It was more obvious when dinner came. His cold stare pierced the side of your head as you continued to converse with your sisters. You sat beside Jacaery as promised. It irks Aemond immensely to see you happily and comfortably with his sister’s bastard. It was unfair and unjust. Just how was he considered legitimated as a Targaryen? He had no characteristics of his ancestors, only those of his father. Harwin Strong. The one-eyed prince made sure to make a scene when he decided to toast in front of everyone.

You were seated, content with a plate of food in front of you. As you listened to him speak for the first time, holding a chalice up to your lips.

To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. As his words died down from silence, you knew what was coming. Aemond had constraints but sometimes even he could break. Each of them… handsome… wise… strong. His attention was solely on you now. His one good eye glistened under the candlelight. Its hue is dark and sinister. As if believing you would be ecstatic with his insults. Did he expect you to be pleased? You were not sure, everything afterward was a blur.

A few punches and tensed stares divided the room apart. Rhaenyra consoled her children while Alicent attempted to get a hold of her sons. The boys, Aemond and Jacaerys did not stand comfortably in the tense environment. The one-eyed prince couldn’t help but feel satisfied with his efforts. At the same time, his nephew tries to refrain from anything else brash. Out of the corner, Daemon appears, effectively separating the two. His calm and contented expression rather irritated Aemond, allowing him to leave without haste. In comparison, Jacaerys contended to his mother’s orders and left the room. You were expected to follow behind your betrothed footsteps.

Despite having other plans.

Under the dark coven of King’s Landing, you whisk away into the shadows. It was like running around in a maze, every corridor you seemed to pass looked similar. You had no clue where you were heading or your intention to go this far away from your chambers. But your cousin’s actions confused you. If you could speak to Aemond, you would dissolve whatever strain he feels under this obligation.

“Have you no shame?” You voiced, coming into the moonlight’s center. The simple garden of the Weirwood tree where the two of you found each other. It was a comforting place to read poetry or listen to a musician play. You found yourself here too many times now. “It seems like your grievances have gotten the better of you, cousin.”

Aemond hums with a sneer. “Aren’t you bothered by it?”

“Bothered by what?” you retort, your irritation rising at his insolence.

“You’re betrothed,” he says, pausing before adding, “to a bastard.”

“Why should I be?” you snap back, icy and curt. “His mother is a Targaryen and heir to the Iron Throne, so he remains a Targaryen.”

The second son turns, catching your angry expression. It bothers him how fitting you believe having Jacaerys as your betrothed would not bring any consequences. “His blood is not pure.”

“Because his father is not Ser Laenor?” You joust, moving closer to where he was. Close to the roots of the many-faced tree as it stares back at you blankly. “Does it matter? He is still Rhaenyra’s child and your nephew by right and blood.”

“And you don’t think this would affect you? Your future? Your family?” On and on, the one-eyed prince pushes nonsensical questions. You clearly did not understand the faults of marrying a bastard, one so close to the proclaimed heir. It would falter your status. “You should have a better suitor that will elevate your status, not dishonor it.”

“And who could you provide that for me?” A humorless laugh escapes your mouth, grinning like a hysterical maniac. You did not take his words seriously. Even so, you had never looked more magnificent, bathed in the purest light the gods could provide. The maroon gown you wore draped flawlessly over your figure, embodying the combined beauty of the Targaryens and Velaryons. You were the epitome of both beautiful Valyrian lineages. Your curved, sly smile accentuated your playful nature. You beam under his sight because simply he’s enamored by you. Why couldn’t his mother propose him to you? Not with anyone else. You.

Nothing comes out of the prince’s mouth. He was not sure why.

His delayed response gave you the chance to speak once more. “It’s just like you said,” you whispered, barely audible from where you stood a few paces away. “I’ll have a husband soon enough.

Jace. When the Weirwood leaves ruffled, you cupped your hands together. You sat in silence for a while before thinking of all the ways to approach him when the time came for you to return to Dragonstone. I had to leave. Yes, staying on Dragonstone felt intolerable. You would only be reminded of Rhaenys remains, how her last moments were of your playful banter of burning the Greens. How did it compare now when her body is underneath rubble along with her mighty Meleys? She was the one who taught you how to fly. Did he know that?

Amid the chaos, your name is hollered out. “Princess of Dragonstone, future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” You depart your solemn eyes away from the stormy skies of Harrenhal to the witch that approaches. You recognized her from your lord’s description. “I see you’ve taken a liking to the Godswoods.”

Alys Rivers remains a mystery to you. She seems to wander the grounds alone much like the owls roaming the halls. She appears with the lords, she’s there with your father. And she is here, alone with you, as the Weirwood tree stands witness. Her black-painted locks are enchanting, and her enigmatic beauty captivates you with curiosity. She was a bastard but if you’ve learned anything coming from your family, it shouldn’t be considered a burden.

“What do you want?” Your attention bounces back and forth from her to elsewhere, she assumes your thoughts. Your voice was laced with gentle sarcasm and lightheartedness. It seemed to her you too became acquitted with her. You had gotten used to her disappearances and reappearances quicker than your father.

“I noticed you come here often,” The witch mentions, making you feel spellbound by her words. “A princess who flees from the safety of her home. To reconcile with her father only to be let down by his anguish. Surely she is feeling overwhelmed…”

She tries to lure you in yet you concur. "Is it wrong to aid my father when he fails to do what he intended?”

“Greed comes in many different ways, Princess,” She perks up, wide-eyed like a nocturnal barn owl. Her stare invites intrigue and bizarre curiosity to those who would allow her to indulge. Yet you felt sort of unease the way she looked at you. As if she could read your mind.

You allow silence to sit a few seconds longer. With a stoic expression, you state. “Yes, it does.”

“Mm,” She grins, much like a mischievous cat. "I hope it doesn’t lead you to act recklessly. Gathering the largest army does not ensure you will achieve glory."

At this, you tilt your head to the side. “Do you expect treason from me, Rivers?”

“Oh not at all, Princess,” She exclaims with a touch of sarcasm. “But you should know the lords here aren’t as accommodating as the ones you find at home.” It was as if a mix of mockery and degradation was interwoven into her words. Alys did not seem at all worried about your reaction. It looked as if she was playing you, to get a reaction out of you. "Your fate was sealed long ago; it is clear what the gods have planned for you."

"Whatever the gods intend," you said slowly, your tone dropping to a dangerous whisper, "matters not, for I shall carve my own path." A sudden screech rings out, alarming and shaking the leaves around you. The ancient tree stands solemnly, its crimson leaves fluttering against the storm. Out of the corner of her eye, Alys spots your dragon with scales of mottled green and copper, his disordered appearance piquing her curiosity.

His exotic wings are both powerful and fierce, mirroring your own nature. He grunts and prowls around the Weirwood tree while you maintain a gaze of striking boldness. Dragons surpass mere prophecy, being molded by blood magic and incantations. Many see them as formidable beasts and deities, a notion that terrifies her with its sheer incomprehensibility.

And with that, she cannot tear her eyes away from your beast, caught between terror and awe, her sapphire gaze frozen. As if sensing her fear, Sheepstealer sneers wickedly, revealing his sharp canines.

“The River Lords will be arriving shortly,” You clasped your hands together, “Find my father, will you?”

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kazutora-kurokawa · 8 months

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Shion Headcanons

♡ SFW, a hint of fluff but it's Shion so not too much lol, gender neutral reader ♡

note: Shion is lowkey underrated ngl, also this is set during the Tenjiku arc

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

💟 He cleans the blood off his brass knuckles with his tongue (this is actually canon, we've seen him do it)

💟 The exact opposite of a neat freak (he's lazy asf honestly)

💟 He bit someone's ear off during a fight once

💟 Likes picking on people weaker than him because he finds it funny

💟 Is ultra jealous of the members of Tenjiku because he feels inferior next to them

💟 He's closest with Mochi and always jokes about him being a gorilla (Mochi takes it seriously tho)

💟 If you two are dating he lets you wear his Tenjiku jacket

💟 You probably have matching bracelets and brass knuckles

💟 He teaches you how to fight and you end up whooping his ass (you have a thing for losers, but it's okay because I do too)

💟 He gets really nervous whenever you bring up Tenjiku because he doesn't want to introduce you to them

💟 He eventually takes you to a gang meeting and realizes that he was overthinking things

💟 You tell everyone that you beat him up once and most of them laugh at him (except for Kaku, our polite king 👑)

💟 Izana would try to recruit you into the gang, but Shion shuts that shit down immediately 💀

💟 Ran and Hanma would 100% flirt with you (jealous Shion activated)

💟 He's lowkey insecure in his skin and is always trying to impress you to win your approval

💟 You have to convince him that you like him for him and that he doesn't need to try to impress you

💟 You're the only one who's seen him cry

💟 After he and the remaining members of Tenjiku got arrested, you would visit him consistently

💟 He almost broke down when you visited him for the first time

💟 He tells you he's sorry for getting arrested (as if it's the end of the world 🙄)

💟 He's a drama queen fr (he might not hit poses like Ran or Rin, but he definitely overexaggerates things)

💟 He let you paint his nails once and someone made fun of him because you painted them pink (he proceeded to rock the shit outta them, as he should)

💟 Will defend you to the death, has definitely threatened to kill someone over you

💟 Brags about you to his friends and even to the guys he beats up

💟 Tells everyone you're lucky to have him, but knows deep down you're one of his main reasons to live

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers headcanons #shion madarame

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asumofwords · 1 year

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels, here is another chapter! As always thank you all for the love you show me and all your kind words, I love reading all of your messages and comments/replies!! Everyone seems to love Gwayne Hightower lol !

Setting a boundary here: Please stop asking me when the next update is going to be when there has been a ONE DAY BREAK, its really rude and fucking annoying hehe (i'm at my breaking point with these dms).

ANYWAY... I wrote this chapter ages ago ahead of time and have been itching to get you all here... hehe... Enjoy <3

Chapter 64: A Bee

You walked around the Keep aimlessly, looking at the different Lords and Ladies who shuffled aimlessly through the castle, thinking of who you could pursue. You thought of how Aegon and Aemond had both happily, and openly found pleasure with others. And how women like your mother were punished for doing the same.

You had left your chambers with clarity in your mind. You would find someone else. If Aemond was to travel and love another, then you would too, only minus the travel.

They could be your ally in the Keep. You could spend your time talking to them and enjoying your days in each others company. You would not be so alone in the Keep. And above all of this, it could be advantageous.

When you left your chambers, you walked with no destination round the Keep. More specifically, the areas were Lords and Ladies would frequently pass. You had walked and observed, watched and deliberated on who would be a good match for you.

You thought of the names you already knew.

Perhaps the Lannister? But even the idea of taking him into your bed made your skin crawl, for all of Aemond’s cruelty, you knew that he would at least bring you pleasure, and doubted that the Lannister even knew how.

You thought of Cregan Stark. Now he would be a good match. He was about your age, a few years older, maybe the same as Aemond. He was, from what you had been told, a handsome and respectful Lord. He was said to have the famed dark, curly hair of the Starks and eyes to match. But he was in the North, and thankfully allied to your mother, and you doubted that he would be able to sneak into the Keep unnoticed, nor you be able to send word to him by raven.

It would have to be someone who came to the Red Keep frequently.

Or resided in Kings Landing at least.

You let yourself lean against a wall in a hallway, watching potential suitors walk past you. To your dismay, most of the Lords were old and balding, whilst the women refused to meet your gaze. You thought of Ser Criston Cole, but shrugged the thought away quickly with a shiver. He would not come to your bed willing and at the slightest hint of your plotting he would tuck tail and run to his precious Hightower Queen. You would do well to avoid him at all costs.

Lest you end up like you mother.

You shuddered at the thought and continued to watch the people walk about the Keep.

And then you saw someone promising.

He was tall, though not as tall as Aemond, and with a regular build. His skin was pale and dark curled hair was cut close to his head. He was not the most handsome man you had seen, but in a Keep with limited options you thought he would be a good enough.

Lord Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws, member of Aegon’s small council, walked through the halls slowly, large tome and parchment in hand. His eyes were a light brown, and he had a trimmed dark beard around his face. His face was stern and his eyes were hard, a most serious looking man.

You smiled at him gently as he walked closer towards you, moving to pass you in the halls.

“Lord Wylde.” You greeted, straightening your posture as you smiled sweetly at him.

You had not spoken once to the man, merely been in his presence a few times, including once when you has dined with Aegon on your wedding night. The Lord slowed his step and looked down at you, hint of interest in his eyes.

Perfect.

“Princess.” He greeted back, and moved to continue his walk. You pushed away from the wall to come beside him, his eyes watching your move.

“Might I accompany you on your walk?” You asked sweetly, hands behind your back as you pushed your chest forward subtly. You felt a prickle run along your skin.

You had heard from Saria that the Lord was known as Ironrod to the small folk, for he was unbending and immovable with his beliefs. A small voice wondered that if he was called Ironrod for another reason. Lord Jasper had sired over twenty-nine children, and had wed four wives, three of whom you knew had died in child birth.

“Of course, My Lady.” Wylde responded, uncertainty in his voice as you slowly began to walk together through the halls of the Red Keep.

“I must apologise for my behaviour in the Throne room the other day,” You began, knowing that he had witnessed your outburst. You needed to be sweet, saccharine, a docile woman he may take advantage of, “I was finding myself emotional after so long apart from my husband.” You looked down shyly at your feet as you walked.

The Master of Laws stayed quiet beside you as you continued. Perhaps he would not be as easy as you had thought. You turned another corner, looking at the man as something moved in the corner of your eye.

“Does your wife reside here in Kings Landing with you, My Lord?”

“My late Lady Wife passed away in childbirth two moons ago.”

Four wives then.

You slowed your step, frown pulling your lips downwards. A shiver rolled down your back and your hairs stood on end.

“My condolences. Are you being looked after?”

Jasper smiled down at you softly, “Of course, Princess. King Aegon provides all that I need here.”

Ugh.

“I am gladdened to hear this.” You paused looking back down at your feet as he slowed his step, curious eyes looking over you.

“Do you not get... lonely?” You asked, looking up at him as you came to a complete stop.

The Lord of the Rain House stilled and looked down at you, hands adjusting the tomes and parchment in his hands. A silence stretched between the both of you as you looked at each other.

Why was he not saying anything?

More importantly, who was watching you?

It set you on edge.

“I only ask as my Lord Husband is away for so long, and I find myself anxious for his return.” You made a show of the sadness you supposedly felt, lifting a hand to come touch the man, before rethinking it and tucking back behind you to move forward.

“It does get lonely, at times.” Lord Wylde spoke quietly, “Though I have promising news of a potential betrothal to Lady Ellyn Baratheon.”

Here comes wife number five.

Shit.

“Oh, that is wonderful news then, My Lord. I must congratulate you. I would hate to know the you suffer the same affliction as I do.” You continued.

The prickling of your skin started again and you turned your head. You and Lord Wylde had walked beside the Godswood in the open courtyard coridoors, where not too far from you stood a man with his cane.

You were definitely being watched.

“This is where I must leave you,” You told him, “Until we meet again.” You smiled, turning and leaving Lord Wylde without hearing his farewell.

You crossed the courtyard not too far away, to where Lord Larys Strong, Master of Whispers, stood watching you with a knowing smile, leaning on his cane.

“Princess Y/n.” He greeted you, as you came to stand in front of him.

“Lord Larys. Do you ever grow tired of watching me from afar?”

The man hummed, “A fine day in King’s Landing.”

“No finer than the last. I would ask you to join me on my walk, but… I fear it may not be of interest to you.” You pointedly look down at his club foot.

Larys smiled, “It would be a pleasure to join you, Princess. My club foot would not restrict me from such an honour.”

You hummed.

Turning on your foot, you waited until he came to your side and began to slowly move out of the courtyard. You moved around the Keep, leading out to the garden.

Caution arose inside of you as you walked beside Lord Larys. You did not trust the man, nor did you like him. He was one of the many vipers in this nest, and had whispered in Alicent’s ears for years. For the most part, he had made himself scarce, barely acknowledging you, nor your presence for many years growing up, but now his sudden interest in you was a warning for you to keep a level head.

You would do well to not let your guard down around the man and not show him any weaknesses.

“Lord Larys, forgive me for my brazenness, but I must ask you.” You stopped walking and looked at him.

He did not look much like Ser Harwin. He was smaller, and weaker and ill-made. He stood crooked and thin, skin pale, and resembled a weasel more than a man. But his dark eyes and hair were the resemblance of his House.

“I am sure what you are about to ask is neither brazen, nor offensive, My Lady.”

You gave him a small smile.

“How does it feel...” You began looking down at the floor in mock innocence, as you begin to walk again through the garden, dirt path beneath your feet, and blooming flowers of all colours and shapes surrounding you.

You left him in limbo of the question a little while longer, before continuing, “...To the be the last of Strong blood? I was shocked when I had heard the news of what my Lord Husband had done in Harrenhal to your House, and I feel as though I must apologise to you for his actions.”

“My Lady, you know more than I, that I am not alone.” He looked at you pointedly.

Your brothers.

You clenched your jaw.

“Ah, yes. Alys Rivers.” You looked him up and down, “I suppose with her still surviving, you are not the last Strong after all.”

Larys lets out a small, knowing laugh, quiet for no-one else in the garden to hear, but loud enough for you.

You steered the both of you towards where you always sat. Where you and Helaena had watched sunsets and sunrises, looked at bugs and talked of your futures together.

Not at all what it was for now.

You sat at a small steel table, and held out a hand for him to take the one opposite you. He bowed his head and sat, leaning his long cane against the table. It was well crafted, with a gold top, a small bee in its centre. It reminded you of the cane that had been left in your chambers.

A servant boy came to join you once he saw the two of you seated.

“Please bring me and Lord Larys some tea and fruit. " You smiled at the boy, "Thank you.”

The young boy, no older than ten-and-five, bowed his head, and scuttled out of the garden towards the Keep. You held your hands together on the table.

“I will withdraw any pleasantries from this conversation henceforth. You know better than I,” You mocked his previous words, “That you are no ally to me, and I simply cannot stand the sight of you.” You smiled gracefully.

To any passing in the garden, it would look as though you were having a pleasant interaction.

“For years I had thought of how Ser Harwin and your late father had died so quickly on their return back to Harrenhal. I had slept on it as a child, you see. Ser Harwin was good to us,” You smiled and nodded your head to behind him, "He trained me in the yards just on the other side of this Keep. He was like a father to me.”

Larys watched as you spoke to him, relaxed in your chair. All falseness had left his face, and what was left in its wake was a viper. He certainly played the defenceless and meek man well.

“At first, I had my suspicions that Alicent had to be behind it, but it did not make sense for the man who could be put on trial for treason, to be put to death first. And so quietly too. "

You leant forward on the table as you looked at him, "Alicent loves a public spectacle, we saw that the day she tried to take my brothers eye. So I ruled her out. And then I thought some more.”

The servant boy came back with a large silver tray, pot of tea and teacups sitting atop, with a small plate of cut up fruit. You paused from your thoughts as the young boy placed the cups down in front of you, pouring them high and placing the fruit in its centre.

“Thank you. That will be all.” You thanked the boy, dismissing him, watching as he left.

Reaching across the table you picked up a small sugar container, mother of pearl spoon inside. You scooped a small spoonful of sugar out of the bowl and held it towards Larys.

“Sugar?” You asked.

The man nodded, and you let the small soft grains fall into his cup of tea, before placing the sugar back in front of you. Picking up your unsweetened tea, you brought it to your lips, the steam brushing against your mouth warmly.

You took a small and polite sip. It was steeped perfectly.

A soft bitter aftertaste, just as you preferred in times of stress like this. Larys picked up his spoon, stirring the sugar into his tea gently, before bringing it up to his lips to drink.

“It was not hard to figure out. Who would have something to gain from the death of the Lord Lyonel Strong, and his first born son, Ser Harwin?”

You placed your teacup back on the table, letting the china clink softly against one another. Larys mirrored your movements. He did not seem nervous at all by your accusation, nor comments.

“Of course, it always comes down to the second son. You had a title to gain, lands and wealth, and not only that, but I suspect something to hold over the Queen’s conscience. Am I wrong?” You asked, and Larys stayed silent, "I’m sure you made it seem as though you did it for her, yes?”

“Quite the accusation, Princess. What you accuse me of would be treason, and kinslaying.” Larys mused, picking up his cup to sip at again.

“Of course. Forgive me, ’tis merely just speculation and a child’s mind left to run through endless possibilities.” You shrugged, and reached forward to pull a grape from its bunch, popping the round fruit into your mouth, feeling your teeth slice through the juicy flesh.

“It was an unfortunate accident. They say that Harrenhal is cursed.” The Strong man began, “Not at all like what had happened to the poor Prince Daeron.”

You let your head lazily look down as you sighed, “An unfortunate accident,” You parroted, “A casualty of war. Thank the Seven that we now have a treaty, to prevent further losses such as that.”

You sipped your tea in tandem, a tense silence filling your area of the garden.

“And how are you faring? Have you settled back into the Keep?” He asked.

“With my Lord Husband so frequently gone, I find myself more settled than ever.” You smiled, “It is relaxing to know that I do not have two monsters, watching me at all hours. Though I do worry for his absence. What whispers will the courts concoct once they hear of his whoring?”

“Trouble in paradise in such a fresh marriage is concerning to hear. But I would not worry on any opinions of the Lords and Ladies at court. They would not care for a bastard born from another.”

“And what of this bastard, Lord Larys, Master of Whispers? I have heard whispers of my own. They say that she is a witch, and has put a spell on my husband. That is why she still lives. Is it true?”

“I seemingly recall you reminding me that I am neither your ally, nor you mine.”

“Mm. That’s true. You can’t blame me for trying. It is terribly dull, locked in this Keep. I am just desperate enough to sit and have tea with you, let alone look at you.” You smiled, and he smiled back.

“Is this why you peruse the Keep in search of somebody? Is your Lord Husband not satisfying your needs, warming your bed chambers?”

“Unfortunately for me, my bed chambers are warmed enough. Though they lack a certain, want. I am sure you would know all about this, having known about Aegon and his wondering cock. You know, it truly is a mystery at how it has not fallen off yet.”

“A mystery indeed, Princess.” He paused, drinking from his tea, watching you, thinking, and when he comes to a conclusion, he places the cup back down, reaching to refill it.

“But Alys Rivers is less of a mystery.” He began, “I have heard tales of her beauty. An older woman with hair as black as the night sky, and eyes of green that pierce any mans soul. Rumours are about that she is a witch, and she claims to be one. Though who knows if it is real or not. I have been told she wears a chain of Valyrian steel around her neck, with three emeralds dripping from it. A gift from a Targaryen Prince.” The man shrugged, “Depends on what you believe.”

He brings the cup to sip again, eyes watching you over the rim.

“Are you a man of Faith, Lord Strong?”

“Of course, My Lady.”

“And what do you believe?”

“I believe what I am told.”

“And what a good little dog you make for it.” You smiled viciously, pulling another grape from the table to pop into your waiting mouth. “For a Master of Whispers, you sure do miss a lot of things.”

“Like what, Princess?”

You laughed.

“If you truly are a Master of Whispers, I am sure you will find out in due time. Need I remind you that I am neither your friend, nor ally?”

“You need not. Though may I give a word advice?”

You sighed, cocking your head, “No. But I have a feeling that you are going to anyway.”

“If you are to look for a man to warm your chambers in the absence of your husband, it is best that you don’t do so, so brazenly.” He smiled brightly, “Though he has lost an eye, he is not blind and has his ears.”

“Of no doubt you will be whispering your poison into.”

Larys smiled a sickly smile, “Of no doubt. Who knows what the courts may begin to whisper. Of course, only if my hand is forced.”

“May I offer you a word of advice, Lord Larys?”

The mans hand touched the top of his cane, its engraved bee sitting pretty in the expanse of the tip. A smirk wound its way on his lips in confirmation, head tilting to tell you to speak.

“Don't fuck with me." You smiled, and enjoyed the way the man blinked in shock at your harsh words, “I have found that throughout my life, men with ambition are a great threat to the realm and to the people living within it. I doubt that any man,” You looked him up and down in disgust, “Or woman, would lay with you. And without the lust of flesh, you are free to lust after power. A dangerous man indeed.” You smiled falsely, leaning back in your chair, listening to the waves behind you before you continued.

“Dragon or no dragon, I have not forgotten your place in this war, nor what you had done to Ser Harwin. I will rip your throat out with my teeth if I must. But of course,” You stood from the table looking down at the man who’s brow had hardened, “Only if my hand is forced.”

You walked around the table to stand beside Lord Larys.

“Thank you for an… inspiring conversation, Lord Larys.” You smiled down at him, “I had almost forgotten of your presence in the Keep.”

You grinned at the man, letting your hand come to touch his shoulder in a friendly manner.

Lord Larys Strong, Master of Whispers, stared at his empty tea cup as you walked away, leaving him to his thoughts and your unprovoked threat.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

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phyrestartr · 8 months

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The Starved King [Miguel x M!Reader]

(King!Miguel x Knight!Reader)

Note: Just a drabble that I want to throw out into the universe while I consider how to continue it lol I like the idea, I just don't want to dwell on it too much and get stuck in analysis paralysis 🫠 lmk if you'd like to see me continue this!!

Miguel found you. Amidst the plethora of flashy royals, he somehow managed to pick you out of the crowd–that handsome face, a fox-like smile, dragon-fire eyes all rang true in his memories of dying and bleeding on the battlefield until a young knight from a cursed kingdom chose to spare him instead of spear.

Memories curled around him in the same way your fingers once did, buzzing with something rich and sinful that'd mend his wounds over the coming weeks left in that war-wrecked cottage. Miguel, the enemy king, was so close to death, yet you, injured and exhausted yourself, kept him breathing.

“Why do this?” Miguel asked one night while you busied with the fire, working whatever magics you had to make the flame dance.

“Why do what?” You wondered, not looking away from the glow.

“Keep me alive.” Miguel coughed and winced. Still, he forced himself to sit, and earned the sharp snap of your gaze on him.

“You shouldn't–”

“I'll keep what dignity I have left,” Miguel scoffed. Then, sitting back against the wall, he got a good look at you; it seemed you’d run into some trouble with a knife, so suggested the long streaks of red tearing across your young face. A sword would have taken your head clean off. You wore typical armour of a knight from your kingdom, yet the flash of a muddied brooch caught his attention a moment before you looked away from him and back at the fire.

“Where are you from?” The tired king asked.

“Does it matter where I hail from? Right now, we’re two men simply trying to survive, yes?” You jabbed at the fire with a half-burnt stick. “I’m not interested in being a king-killer, so you needn’t worry; in fact, be glad it was I who found you and not one of my beastly brothers. They’d have had your head strapped to their horse in a second.” Your accent was foreign, not one that he could say was even a bit familiar. It struck his nerves as much as it piqued his interest further.

“Then you come from a damned kingdom.”

“A rightfully damned one, yes. Small. Unremarkable. Yet still hated, or perhaps just feared.”

“Most wouldn’t say that about their home.” Miguel adjusted his posture and took a moment to take a look at his wounds: bandaged torso, splinted leg, a splinted arm. Fantastic. “Unless you despise your people.”

“Oh please, I don’t despise my people,” you spat, eyes growing fierce and venomous. “They’re just people. Peasants. Workers. The poor, the hungry, the needy–the people are subjected to the idiocy of greedy elders and mislead ways. The queen wants to change things, and yet–” You took a deep breath and rubbed your face. “And yet things cannot change as they are. More time is needed. Until then, we participate in useless battles with your ilk. To, what, prove something? To show our might?”

“Killing a king would turn the tide,” Miguel said. He really shouldn’t have. That one statement might have changed your mind, might have ended his life and shirked the responsibility of a kingdom to his daughter.

“Do you want me to kill you?”

“No, I–”

“Then shut up. Your blabbering isn’t useful.”

“I just–if your kingdom is in such a state, then why–”

“I don’t want to.”

Ah.

“Kill-shy?” Miguel asked with a slight smirk. “Doesn’t seem very righteous of you.”

“Excuse me?” Your face, suddenly animated and brimming with heat, turned to him again. You moved closer, half-crawling, half-scooting on the dusty stone floor to his bedside. “Look at you. You should be glad I’m more interested in healing than I am killing, you prick.” You sat up on your knees and leaned into his space. Miguel’s mind swirled in a way it used to when a pretty woman leaned into him during his courting days.

“I still don’t see a point in mercy,” Miguel whispered, his voice caught between his mouth and his heart.

“Because I’m gifted. An asset. A good pick for an ally.” You tilted your head and gazed up at the older man through your lashes. Your hand, bare, pressed against Miguel’s skin, smoothing over the gauze wrapping around his chest. “Perhaps once I’ve secured my place as king myself, you’ll remember me, and what I can do for you.”

What I can do for you. Ah. That sent blood rushing south and ideas flooding north.

Miguel’s hand grasped one of your wrists, and he too leaned in the slightest bit. “And what is it you can do for me, exactly?”

“Everything,” you whispered. “Anything.”

A wave of warmth pulsed through his chest, radiating from your palm. It came in one wave, but so suddenly like an explosion easing into the steady comfort of his chamber hearth, glowing quietly throughout the night. The stiff warnings in his chest melted and eased, and suddenly, he could move freely again. His arm and leg still ached terribly, but his chest seemed to have been…healed?

“Magic,” he breathed.

“Magic,” you whispered.

He closed the gap and kissed you. You whimpered something soft and sweet into his mouth as he took the lead, his one good hand digging into the space connecting your neck to your shoulder, not allowing you to run away. But he learned quickly you’d no desire to leave with how you clambered onto the bed and shed just enough of your clothes to take him.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #male!reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #phyrestartr

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bellofthemeadow · 9 months

Text

Dawn Ends the Night | Chapter 4

Aemond Targaryen x FemReader (Dayne)

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: After Aemond saved you, you are presented to court.

Notes: New character unlocked! Hello you guys, I am so happy to be back with a new chapter, its not necessarily a filler chapter, but it is definitely a "move the plot along" chapter. Can you believe that we are still on the same day the Lady Dayne arrive to King's Landing?! Sorry for the snail's pace. but I really like to dig deep into the psyche of the characters. It should start moving a bit faster now.

ALSO, omg you guys were so kind with all the love you gave me, and I am so happy that you are enjoying this story 🥰 Your comments and reblogs are fueling this story, so thank you so much xxx

Unto the story, LMK what you all thinks and if there are some things you would like to see, feel free to tell me 💜💜💜

Love you all

Taglist: @duds31 , @snh96, @lol-im-done, @heavenly1927, @whimsywilde , @queen-123s-posts , @httyd-marauders , @singhfae ,

The Iron Throne

Perros despised King’s Landing he hated everything about it from its oppressive heat to the humidity that was always thick with a constant, putrid stench that reeked of death and desperation. Having lived most of his youth on the streets of Sunspear, he had thought himself familiar with poverty and misery of those of lesser means. Yet, after just a day navigating the Captial’s streets, he realized how mistaken he had been; even the most destitute street urchin in Dorne seemed to live like a king compared to those in Flea Bottom.

As the evening sky started to fall and dim on their first day in the city, Perros was dumbstruck that his lord would still consent to leave his only daughter to languish in such a dismal place. Perros had always felt a close connection to his young lady. He had after all, witnessed the young lady’s youth and had watched her grow from a little sapling to an elegant and beautiful cherry tree. He had even been present at her birth, and Perros was certain he was the first outside the immediate family to cradle you after you entered the world –screaming and crying face scrunched up and as red as a little tomato. Perros still vividly remembered how small and fragile you had looked in his large, scarred hands. The future Lady of Starfall, your father had declared. Perros had also been there for your first steps, the first time you went in the Dornish Desert, the first time you had swum in the Torrentine. Perros had seen all of the work and expectations placed on your young shoulders as the future ruling lady of Starfall – and he had seen it all snatched away after the birth of Gerris.

Perros could still remember when life was simpler, in those days he would follow you around Starfall, ensuring your safety – running after you as you would try to evade your tutors, twirling on your small pudgy legs. Perros may not have been your father by blood, but his love for you was no less than that of a true parent and he had always taken immense pride in your achievements and when your birthright was passed over in favor of your younger brother, Perros had felt such a deep outrage. So much so that he had been willing to take arms in your name. Despite his respect for your father, he could never fully reconcile with the decision to favor Westerosi customs over the Dornish practice of absolute primogeniture, which held no bias against gender in inheritance and would have seen you on the starry seat. This injustice had always kindled a flame of discontent in his heart, and he had vowed that if your father would not, he would always do right by you.

And today he failed you.

When your party had just arrived in the city, like when you were a child, you had managed to elude Perros' vigilant watch. He had been so preoccupied with surveying potential threats around the carriage that he hadn't noticed your discreet departure. The mere thought of what could have happened had the one-eyed prince not intervened sent shivers down his spine. He shuddered at the possibilities and although he could not help but find the boy an arrogant sniveling prince that was unworthy of even licking the ground you walked on; he was nonetheless grateful for the boy’s intervention.

Only a few hours had passed since the turmoil at the market, and following the Queen and the Hand's directive, The Dayne retinue had taken some time to recuperate and prepare for the formal introduction at court. Much to Perros’s amusement, you had taken much of that brief respite to caring for the scruffy young boy you had rescued from the market. You diligently scrubbed him clean, his skin eventually taking on a healthy glow. Later, after Prince Aemond had insisted on being led to your chambers, you even spent part of the afternoon in his company, a fact that Perros found utterly unbecoming of royal decorum.

He stood guard, silently observing as the prince awkwardly assisted in managing the boy. Aemond held Davos firmly, yet his stiffness and apparent disconnection from the warmth of your smile struck Perros as wholly unsuitable for someone of your worth. In the guard’s eyes, the prince's rigid demeanor and aloofness did not befit someone worthy of your affection or regard.

After an hour, Perros had gruffly shuffle the dragon prince outside of the room, refusing to listen to his backward grumbling or your insistence that he could stay. While you were changing? Absolutely not. Perros had remained firm, you needed time to prepare before meeting the rest of the dragons and their Hightower kin. Snakes. Snakes wearing dragon skins, but snakes nonetheless, Perros thought.

Following Prince Aemond's departure, you entrusted Davos and your brother Gerris to the capable hands of your trusted maid, the same one who had taken care of you alongside Perros’ watchful eyes. Athna, with her years of experience and her motherly touch, gently herded the two boys, softly silencing their childish protests, away for a much-needed nap. Gerris, though the young heir to Starfall, was still too tender in years to be formally introduced at court and the bond he had swiftly formed with Davos, it seemed already impossible to separate them – the boys had become friends since their introduction earlier in the day and Davos’ presence in the throne room would be deemed inappropriate. For common born lads do not belong at court with well-bred folk, Perros thought, yet he was welcome and regardless of his birth he was the captain of the guard for House Dayne, had been for the past 15 years. Birth mattered less so in Dorne, perhaps the lad could come with them and leave this putrid city behind, Perros pondered, and Lady Dayne could come back with them and they could all forget about this business.

Upon his return to escort, you to the throne room, Perros was met with a vision that nearly brought tears to his eyes. There you were, no longer the little girl who hung unto his legs and begged for stories of the desert, but a captivating beauty with wisdom in her eyes. Your dress, a delicate lilac silk intricately embroidered with stars, hugged your form in a way that highlighted your softness and elegance. It was a sight that filled Perros with immense pride, yet also a twinge of sadness. The young charge he had watched over for so many years had blossomed before his eyes into a dignified lady, ready to step into the world.

"You are a sight for these old eyes, my lady," Perros uttered, his voice quivering with emotions.

You faced Perros with a gentle, self-effacing smile. "You know, after the day's events, you'd think I'd feel more prepared for this. I mean, I barely escaped having my head chopped off in the street," you said with a light, self-deprecating laugh. "And I have even met my betrothed. And surprisingly, I think we might get along well. But I am still so nervous.”

Perros let out a snort at your observation. "That boy should count himself fortunate just to breathe the same air as you, my lady," he remarked.

You playfully rolled your eyes at his comment. "Oh, please, Ser. Le us not speak ill of him. After all, Aemond is a prince – and a most gracious one at that." You teased.

"A prince of a realm that holds no sway in Dorne," Perros countered dryly.

Your laughter rang out, light and carefree. "You have quite the knack for diplomacy, Ser," you teased.

Perros responded with a half-smile. "My sword is the only diplomat I need."

Your eyes sparkled with mirth. "Perhaps it's best to keep that sort of diplomacy sheathed when we enter the throne room," you suggested with a wink.

Perros let out a soft snort and watched you attentively as you stood before the mirror, expertly arranging your hair under the elegant hairnet your mother had given you, the shiny strands of your hair framing your face with grace.

The room fell into a heavy silence, filled only by the soft rustling of your gown. Perros's gaze remained fixed on you, his expression a mix of fondness and concern. His voice, when he finally spoke, was thick with emotion. "My Lady, just give me the word, and I'll whisk you away on the next ship. We can escape to somewhere far from here, away from dragons, from politics. I could take you back to Dorne – to Princess Aliandra. The Martell would look after you!"

You offered him a melancholic smile, "Your loyalty has always been unwavering, ser Perros," you replied gently. "But we both know fleeing is not an option. It never was an option. I love my family too deeply to abandon them. And as for Prince Aemond..." You paused, your gaze lingering on your reflection as you blushed slightly. "He saved my life. Perhaps being his wife won't be the dreadful fate I once imagined."

"A cocky dragonling, that's all he is," Perros grumbled under his breath.

"You have always been overly protective, dear Ser," you said with a soft chuckle. Hugging yourself, you looked thoughtful. "Do you think I can handle it? This life at court?"

Perros met your soft gaze in the mirror, "There's no one more gracious or better prepared for such a task than you, my lady." His voice betrayed a hint of sadness. "Even if it pains me to say it as it means acknowledging how much you've grown."

Your smile was bittersweet, as you let out a breathy laugh. "I remember when you'd carry me back to bed after I'd sneak out to watch the stars on the ramparts."

"I've earned many gray hairs because of you," Perros snorted warmly, "You were a handful, my lady, but you touched my heart. I'd do anything to see you happy."

"I might not find happiness," you mused, "but perhaps I can find contentment."

"That's not enough," Perros insisted softly.

You looked at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "You know what would truly make me happy, Perros?"

He straightened, ready for your command. "Just say the word, my lady."

"I would like you to take care of Davos. Teach him everything you know. I want more for him than the life he's had so far. I do not want him to be alone anymore.”

Perros snorted gruffly "That little Davos, eh? He's a scrawny thing, but with the right care, I suppose he could grow strong. He's got spirit, that one."

You nodded. "He is a fighter; he just needs a chance. And with Gerris already taking a liking to him, I'm sure he shall fit right in with the rest of the family."

Perros raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear in his voice. "And you think the royal family will just accept a Flea Bottom urchin in their midst?"

You smiled, a hint of mischief in your expression. "Maybe they will have to. I've already spoken to Prince Aemond about it, and he has agreed to discuss it with his mother."

Perros huffed, "And you trust him?"

"He's given me no reason not to trust him," you replied steadily. "He saved my life, Perros. And he seemed genuine about helping Davos."

Perros sighed, the lines on his face deepening with worry. "My lady, your heart is too open, too trusting. It worries me, what others might do with such kindness. You wear this cloak of a ghost, trying to shield yourself, but I see through it.” Perros took a small breath, before softly continuing “Your heart is too large, too exposed. Be cautious, my lady. Don't let them take advantage of your goodness.”

Approaching Perros, you reached out and wrapped your arms around the seasoned guard, holding him tight. "You've always been my rock, Perros. Believe in me a little, will you? You have taught me everything I know after all. " You softly admitted.

Perros returned the hug, his tone laced with a hint of regret. "I only wish I had more time to teach you... But you remember, don't you? How to defend yourself if necessary?"

Your laughter was light at his words, "I don't anticipate the need, Perros, but yes, I remember. Between the ribs to make it hurt, straight to the heart to make it quick.”

He nodded sagely. "And subtly, to leave no trace?"

"I'm not planning on poisoning my betrothed, Perros!" you chuckled, shaking your head.

"Just ensuring you're prepared, my lady," Perros replied protectively.

You smiled warmly. "Thank you, Perros. But let us keep discussions of poison out of these walls, please."

"I'll do my best, my lady," he promised, his expression softening.

The sound of knocking interrupted the moment. "My lady, it's time. The court awaits," called a voice from outside.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself. "No backing down now,” you took a deep breath “Time dance with some dragons.”

The grandeur of the Targaryen (or perhaps Hightower?) court was a striking blend of both everything you expected and the unimaginable. Its vastness and opulence were just as you had envisioned – expansive windows casting brilliant light across the room, the pervasive symbols of the Seven adorning the walls, and the hall itself, immense in its scale. Dominating the space was the Iron Throne, a chilling emblem of Aegon the Conqueror's might, forged from the molten swords of a thousand defeated foes.

Yet, as you beheld the throne, a surge of Dornish pride swelled within you. Dorne, after all, had never yielded to the dragonlords. The words of House Martell, "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken," resonated with a deeper meaning, but it was your own house, House Dayne, that had historically been the shield of the Torrentine. You remembered the tales of your ancestors, steadfastly repelling invaders, or in times of desperation, slowing their advance to buy precious time for the other houses of Dorne to prepare.

House Dayne had endured much at the hands of the dragons and the Hightowers, but in this moment, amidst the intimidating splendor of the Iron Throne, you felt a sense of covert triumph. Today, it was your family that held a pivotal position of influence, and this knoweldge filled you with quiet confidence as you stood before the throne, the legacy of your house a silent yet potent force at your back.

Upon nearing the foot of the Iron Throne, your attention was inexorably drawn to Prince Aemond. Positioned regally to the right, he presented a stark contrast to the man you had encountered earlier. His silver hair, which had previously hung loosely, now was arranged in an elegant half-updo, lending him an air of refined sophistication. Dressed in what appeared to be the finest black leather, he exuded an aura of princely dignity, enhanced by the presence of a longsword at his hip. With his hands neatly clasped behind his back, he observed your approach with a piercing blue eye, sharp and discerning. Almost predatory.

This frigid version of your intended seemed worlds apart from the one who had awkwardly, yet warmly, helped you with Davos. The raw protectiveness he had displayed in the market was now cloaked behind a facade of cool detachment. Standing there, he seemed carved from marble, exuding an air of untouchable, statuesque grandeur, he appeared as a figure from the legends, the embodiment of a Dragon Lord. Observing him in the shadow of the Targaryen throne, standing tall and imperious, it was easy to believe the tales told by the smallfolk – that the Targaryens were more akin to gods than men. Yet, as you stood there, a small smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. This fearsome Dragon lord, Aemond One-Eyed, was the same man who had been struck by a soapy sponge just hours before. The memory of Aemond, momentarily caught off guard and spluttering with indignation, as Davos and Gerris were cackling with glee had somewhat shattered the formidable image he now presented.

Your gaze swiftly swept past Prince Aemond, landing on the figure seated next to him – from the dark green doublet with the golden pin on his breast, the man could only be Otto Hightower, the hand of the king. Notably absent was the King himself, rumors of the King's failing health had reached Dorne, but to see the throne unoccupied during such a crucial introduction – your presentation as his son’s betrothed and as the first Dornish retinue on Westerosi soil since the Conquest – hinted at a deeper malaise within the realm.

You pondered whether the King's absence played into the Hightowers' favor. With no monarch to potentially disrupt their schemes, Otto Hightower's influence was unmistakably clear – no number of dragons or wildfire would change that fact; the Hightowers ruled here. Otto’s eyes, sharp and calculating, met yours. There was an almost tangible weight to his gaze, as if he were measuring your worth, gauging whether you would be an asset to his plans or an unforeseen hindrance.

Next to the throne, your gaze settled on a woman of sophisticated poise with a cascade of dark auburn hair. She was clad in an exquisite gown of deep green samite, the high neckline accentuating her stately bearing. Her attire was accentuated by ruffles of a darker shade at her wrists, and her neck was adorned with a striking necklace of emeralds and onyx, shaped into the symbol of the Seven-pointed star. This must be Queen Alicent, you reasoned.

Yet, for all her poised appearance, you could discern a subtle undercurrent of anxiety that seemed to ripple beneath her calm facade. It was as if each of her measured movements and serene expressions were carefully orchestrated to mask an inner turmoil that screamed to be released. What mask would you need to wear after your marriage? A face of practiced contentment? Or would you need to seem as cold and lethal as the blades forming the throne, and keep your Dornish warmth to the confine of your husband’s arms? Would he even welcome your warmth, a traitorous voice murmured in your head.

The Hand of the King's voice broke the silence of the court. "It is my privilege to welcome House Dayne to our court. We greet our Dornish brothers and sisters, and the realm rejoices in embracing them back into its fold." The words, spoken with a calculated warmth, hung in the air, but their reception among the courtiers was mixed. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and you could feel the undercurrent of barely veiled disdain for your kin.

As you stood there, your mother's firm grip on your bicep served as a silent reminder of the facade you needed to maintain, while your father's smile, a practiced mask that barely concealed the distaste in his eyes, echoed the sentiments of your own heart.

“Dorne has long sought friendship between our two noble and valiant kingdoms," your father began, his voice smooth and measured. "As lord of house Daynes, whose lineage traces back to the Dawn Age, it is my honor to mend the rifts that have long divided our kin. And given today’s events, perhaps a touch of Dornish wisdom is precisely what this city needs.”

Otto visibly bristled at your father's veiled critique. “Indeed, an unfortunate incident," he conceded, his words tinged with a forced calmness. "Though, it must be said, had your daughter adhered to the expected bearing of a lady—safely ensconced within her carriage—such an unpleasantness might have been averted.”

Your father opened his mouth to respond, but you swiftly interjected, your tone honeyed yet edged with steel. “Or perhaps the crown should offer a timely reminder for the city watch that an overzealous exercise of power is not always necessary or justified."

A collective intake of breath echoed through the room; Otto's face contorted like someone who had sucked on a sour lemon. He quickly masked his reaction, regaining his poise. "Indeed, my lady. A most astute observation. Perhaps you would grace one of our small council meetings with your insights. We would be most delighted to benefit from your wisdom."

The throne room buzzed with suppressed snickers and whispers. Mocking. Mocking you. Mocking your ideas and your lineage, bastards you thought. Meanwhile, you noticed Aemond, his fists clenched in barely contained anger seething next to his grandfather.

With a poised smile that belied the storm brewing within, you replied, "I would welcome such an opportunity, Your Grace. I am heartened by your gracious invitation."

Otto's brow furrowed, readying a sharp retort, but before the words could leave his lips, Queen Alicent smoothly stepped in. "We are indeed relieved that you emerged from the ordeal unharmed, my lady," she began, her voice calm yet carrying across the room. The murmur of courtiers filled the air as she continued. "My son Aemond has spoken highly of your courage, particularly your selfless act in defending a young boy at great risk to yourself." Her gaze swept across the assembly, her expression one of sincere admiration. "Such gallantry is truly commendable and speaks volumes of your character. It has always been my belief that the woman who would marry my son must possess a resilience of spirit. I am glad that it turned out to be the case, my lady."

Trust. This was the unspoken question that hung heavy in the air. Are you with us or against us? Her gaze seemed to demand. What role will you play in this game of thrones, and how will you influence my son? The queen’s warm gaze seemed to demand.

What was your endgame? Even you could not definitively say. Your heart pulsed with your love for your homeland, the desire to serve your family, to protect those you cherished. But could you extend that loyalty to this new, intertwined Hightower-Targaryen lineage? Could they become your family too?

Your eyes flicked towards Aemond, whose demeanor was a volatile mix of restraint and simmering anger. A wrong word and he looked like he might explode. The words of his grandfather seemed to have struck a nerve, yet there was something more beneath that tempestuous surface. In the brief hours since your paths had crossed, he had shattered the rumors of his cold-hearted nature, showing glimpses of kindness and vulnerability. Could you learn to understand... nay to love this enigmatic prince who had saved your life? To become his partner, a bridge between Dayne and Targaryen, nurturing future heirs who would one day soar the skies on dragonback? Your mind wandered, envisioning a child with silver hair and laughing eyes, astride a majestic purple dragon, Dawn gleaming in their small hand.

"I too am relieved, Your Grace," you replied respectfully. "Prince Aemond's actions were both brave and just. His courage in defending not only me but also the ideals of his house was commendable. You have every reason to be proud of him."

Alicent's expression softened at your words, you had said the right thing apparently. She stepped forward, her movement graceful and composed, and gently took your hands in hers. She smiled, and there was warmth in her eyes, trying to get a read on you, on your intention. She seemed satisfied with what she saw because she slowly tugged you with her toward the dais. Your parents' expressions briefly registered surprise and a touch of apprehension at this unexpected development as you were drawn away from them.

With your hands still clasped in the queen's, she led you closer to the throne, positioning you beside Prince Aemond. A flicker of panic crossed his features as you stood there, a mere breath away from him, you could feel the twitches of his fingers next to your hands- his presence was so overwhelming it was almost crushing. You could hear Queen Alicent (or was it the Hand?) drone on in front of the court, but all you could feel, hear and see was Aemond.

"Prince Aemond," you whispered playfully.

Aemond, his voice equally low replied, "Lady Dayne."

"It is a pleasure to see you again, my prince," you continued, the corners of your mouth curving into a subtle smile.

"We saw each other merely two hours ago, my lady." he pointed out.

"A lifetime for some prince Aemond," you quipped lightly. "I would have thought my absence might weigh heavily on my betrothed's heart."

Aemond appeared momentarily lost for words, his usual composure faltering. While Queen Alicent continued her discourse on duty and loyalty, you maintained a facade of rapt attention, though a sly smile played on your lips.

"Surely, you have missed me in these past few hours, my prince?" you murmured under your breath, the hint of a tease in your tone. "A betrothed left unmissed is a grievous oversight, would you not you agree?" Aemond, caught off guard, struggled to respond.

Reproachfully, Aemond looked at you with a glower of distrust "You find amusement in mocking me, my lady?"

"No, only in the delightful shade of pink you turn when lightly ribbed," you teased, observing as his ears flushed a deeper shade.

Aemond cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "It has been some time since anyone dared to make such jests with me. To tease a dragonrider takes a certain fearlessness. Some would say stupidity even."

"Is the great Vhagar present in this room, then?" you inquired with mock seriousness. "I see no mighty she-dragon poised to devour me."

A soft chuckle escaped Aemond's lips, but it was cut short by a stern glance from his grandfather. The Hand's disapproval was evident and was seeping through his every pore, which you could see even from his position on the throne. Was Otto Hightower regretting the alliance already? How quickly to make an antagonist of one of the most powerful men in the realm, this calls for an award, you thought morosely.

“I pray that Davos has recuperated from the ordeal?”

You smile, “It depends; the attack in the market or the forced bath? If it's the former, I believe he has bounced back quite resiliently. As for the bath, well, I fear the poor boy might carry that trauma for some time, given the intensity of his protests.

You glanced at Aemond's hair playfully, "I must say, your hair seems to have weathered the soapy siege remarkably well. I'm relieved, really. It would have been a tragedy to see such fine, silken locks come to any harm."

Aemond's response was a tad unimpressed "You do me too much honour with your flattery, my lady," he sarcastically uttered. Then, in a softer voice, he added, "I'm relieved to hear the boy has not been too deeply affected by today's ordeal."

You nodded, "Davos is a resilient child. For now, I have entrusted him to the care of my knight, Ser Perros. He is to teach Davos everything he once taught me. I have every hope that he will grow to be strong and fearless, never again to be a victim of brutality."

"Is it a customary practice in Dorne for a knight to oversee a young lady's upbringing?" Aemond inquired.

You offered a light shrug, "Ser Perros was not responsible for my formal education, but he ensured I would never be defenseless. Despite what transpired in the market, I assure you, I am far from helpless."

Aemond's voice was soft, his gaze still fixed ahead as Queen Alicent continued her discourse. "I would not dare to think otherwise, my lady," he said. "Your courage outshines that of many men of greater size and strength. I myself know of a young boy who would have wished for nothing more than to have a guardian as valiant as you when the time called for it."

Twice now, Aemond had mentioned this young boy - once at the market and again just moments ago. Curiosity bubbled within you. Who was this boy? Did Aemond genuinely know him, or was this some sort of strategy to charm you? To humanize himself to you? Your gaze discreetly swept over his striking profile: the pronounced aquiline nose, the defined jawline, and the sharp cheekbones – you feared you could cut yourself on him if you got too close. By the Gods, it was so unfair – this man was such a beautiful specimen, a perfect blend of sharp angles and elegance. You could almost feel homely when standing next to him. Almost. You had seen the hungry looks from some of the male courtiers when you had first entered the throne room, Perros had almost taken some heads before the formal introduction had begun.

As you stood beside Aemond, carefully positioned by Queen Alicent on his unscarred side, your eyes couldn't help but drift to his face. The sight of his lone, good eye, clear and intense, pulled at something deep within you. A curious urge overtook you, a desire to reach out and gently touch the leather patch that covered his other eye, to silently convey that his imperfections held no sway over your perception of him. The loneliness and hurt that lingered in his gaze were palpable, almost tangible in their intensity. You knew little about the prince beside you, but perhaps, in time, you and Aemond would find the words to share your stories, to reveal the journeys that had shaped you both into who you were today.

The commanding voice of the Hand resonated through the hall, snapping you back to reality and away from the small bubble you had created with Aemond.

"With the formalities now concluded, we can finally rejoice in the joyous celebration to mark the betrothal of my grandson, Prince Aemond, to a noble daughter of House Dayne. May their union be enduring and bountiful, heralding a new era of prosperity and unity for both our houses. This wedding, under the watchful eyes of gods and men, shall be a beacon of hope and unity, shining brightly against the backdrop of our bloody histories.” Otto Hightower paused, his eyes sweeping over the assembled courtiers with deliberate calculation. "In four moon’s time," he began, his voice laden with nuanced implications, "the Seven Kingdoms will welcome a new princess into its fold. This auspicious union will not only fortify the bonds between our houses but will also herald a new epoch of strength and unity for House Targaryen and all its true and devoted allies. It is a time where loyalty shall be rewarded, and the true power of allegiances will be unveiled. Now comes the time when we must take care to distinguish friends from foes, and I am grateful to call House Dayne, and the whole of Dorne, true friends of the crown."

The weight of Otto's words hung in the air, its sinister undertones sending a shiver down your spine. You felt a wave of apprehension washed over you. You knew why you were here, your father and Prince Quoren had warned you of the green’s plot and yet, your heart raced nonetheless. You had not thought that Otto Hightower would be so... blatant in his desire for power and the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a physical force.

It was then you felt a gentle but firm pressure on your hand. Glancing sideways, you saw Aemond, his expression inscrutable, not even looking at you, but his warm, large hand enveloped your smaller shaking one in a soft grip. It was as if he, too, sensed the burgeoning unease within you, and offered a silent reassurance. His touch, surprisingly warm and grounding, was a small comfort amidst the rising tide of fear and uncertainty. In that moment, the prince, spoken of in whispers of terrors, felt less like a stranger and more like a friend.

Leaning closer, his presence a comforting shadow, Aemond's lips hovered near your ear, his breath a warm caress against your skin. His whisper was barely audible, yet clear, "Might I have the pleasure of your company tomorrow to break our fast, my lady?"

The soft intimacy of the moment caused a warm blush to rise on your cheeks. "It would be my joy," you responded with surprised. You did mean it truly; you would be delighted to eat with Aemond tomorrow.

"Shall we say at dawn?" he suggested, “Or is that too early, my Lady?”

"Dawn is quite perfect, my prince– any later and I would feel robbed of your presence” you ribbed.

"Is this to be our fate? For you to tease me until the end of days?" Aemond’s good eye slides over to you, inscrutable yet vulnerable.

Biting your lip in a moment of contemplation, "If it displeases you, I can refrain, my lord." you offered shyly trying to tug your hand back – but Aemond refused to let go.

His reply was swift, his tone soft yet earnest. "No, please... never stop," he murmured with a naked vulnerability that touched you. "My lady."

You gently squeezed his hand, offering a silent gesture of comfort and understanding, "Dawn it is then," you affirmed softly.

Next Chapter - Interlude

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mywatchhasnotended · 3 months

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HotD 2x01 - My Recap

a/n: i used to do the analysis thingy back in 2022 which was fairly popular but i cringe reading those cos just 🫡 (hence on priv now) so anyway, moving on and learning from my mistakes but not breaking the tradition— i present, my recap of the episode! :)

warnings: s2 spoliers, mind the language, might delete later lol

They've changed the intro, perhaps foreshadowed in the last season with Helaena saying, "Dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread." Blood courses through the characters already dead, much like the S1 intro.

A raven flies through the woods, above the water body and a voiceover begins— not of any character we've known until now. "Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood", a heavy northern accent is noted as we're reminded of Rhaenyra's duty towards the realm— and we finally see Winterfell. It hints at the prophecy, of course.

"Winter is Coming."

Jace (Harry Collett) and Cregan Stark (Tom Taylor)— the latter looking reminiscent of Ned Stark with the former looking eerily like Jon Snow. Thanks for keeping the curls btw, last season's wig was atrocious. (But again, this is just me describing what I see, you don't have to agree.) As Jace is recounting the story of Torrhen Stark and ending it with "The war is coming... We cannot wage it without the support of the North." he finally looks at what lies beyond the wall. Cregan mentions how Jaehaerys and his wife stood at the same spot that Jace is standing at now and, "...watched as their dragons— the greatest power in the world— refused to cross it."

And what is beyond the wall? Jace asks. "Death", says Cregan.

Remember the raven we saw earlier? Yes, that's the "Urgent news from Dragonstone", and the look on Jace's face— he knows something is wrong, very very wrong.

We then cut to Rhaenys riding Meleys, and then unmounting— clearly looking exhausted. They've been patrolling the skies waiting to be attacked at any moment by the greens. They (Aemond) killed Luke. The blacks are threatened and on alert.

"We're flying out," Daemon says, least bit tired or worried. He runs on the chaotic energy, we've seen that before, haven't we? Daemon is not tired of this at all, he's excited, he wants Rhaenyra to do something— anything at all.

Daemon saying, "I cannot face that whorey hoary old bitch alone." Dude you can wtf "..with my dragon and yours together we can kill Vhaegar and her rider", that's right Daemon— make it a son for a son. He's lived with Vhaegar, knows about the dragon perhaps more than Aemond does, but he undermines himself. (Now I'm wondering if it means that there's going to be some kind of treachery at the final showdown?)

Daemon is clearly pissed, "The mother grieves as the queen shirks her duties," he roars. Rhaenys explains how she herself mourned Laena's death, she understands Rhaenyra's pain. Daemon, on the other hand, feels trapped because he could've instead been at Harrenhall but he remains powerless in the matter. I think it annoys him quite a bit.

"She was a fool to go alone," Daemon says, "What if Aemond were to happen upon her?" and I think in that moment perhaps Rhaenys knew Rhaenyra better. Daemon always saw her as a small (vicious, nonetheless, but still a small) thing. Daemon hasn't been there when she fought the most brutal physical and mental battles. The attack in the woods, the birth of her child, even during her miscarriage— he abandons her. Regardless of the fact that he himself was preparing and perhaps grieving in the manner he knew how to.

Daemon taunts her, or perhaps complains to Rhaenys again about the fact that she could've simply killed the greens when she had the chance to while escaping King's Landing, emphasizes that "Luke would be alive."— tell me if that's not father!Daemon at all like? He cared for the kid, enough about the psychopathic allegations. (Maybe calling him babygirl is too much for the creators to handle but don't tell me Daemon isn't human. He's got feelings too, he just knows how to hide them well behind his sharp tongue.)

"Fly with me, it is a command", he declares to Rhaenys but she continues to walk away from him. "Would that you were the King," she taunts back.

The scene transitions to Rhaenyra on the shore, lifeless with grief, lifeless with perhaps hope too. That her son might somehow crawl out of the water alive, or descend from the sky on his dragon. She's holding it in, but barely. She's never been away from him for so long, it is pointless to hope because something terrible has sure to have occured.

Cut to Corlys on the (Dockyard?) of a ship that has miraculously survived the Stepstones. It would take weeks to get these ships back to sea. "The smithey delivered this earlier," and Corlys is handed a weapon— a dagger that was commissioned for the heir to the Driftmark's throne— Lucerys Velaryon.

"They tell me you're the one that dragged my body out of the sea. I'm indebted to you— Alyn." Corlys says. And thus we're introduced to another new and important character.

The scene changes to one overlooking the Red Keep, kingsguard wearing green cloaks and holding the Hightower shield. Much has changed.

Arryk (I think), tells them to focus, someone shouts "Dragon" and the weapon (scorpion is what it's called) is drawn towards an incoming target. They're on high alert too, waiting for consequences. But it is only Aemond riding Vhaegar. She seems to be listening to him now, doesn't she?

Helaena's muttering as usual, and embroidering. Aegon walks in and asks for Jaehaerys, his son. Well, at least he can tell his kids apart. (Are they trying to redeem this man?) Anyway, he asks Helaena and she responds with "Why?", perhaps Aegon has learnt a thing or two because he wants to take his son to the small council. He himself was never the heir, never treated like one, perhaps he realises this.

"I'm afraid," she says as Aegon is leaving her chambers. "Don't be, they'd be fools to attack with Vhaegar protecting the city." But it isn't dragons that seem to scare her, it is rats. Aegon and the maids look around— there are no rats, not in her chamber. But she's a dreamer, she rarely talks of the present. "The Queen is an enduring mystery. Is she not?" Aegon asks dismissively. (The children with wigs— I cannot lol)

The scene then transitions to Alicent digging her nails into the armrest. Something, someone between her legs. Guess who? Crispin fucking hypocritic Cole. That's right, he's the dowager queen's whore. Apparently, he seems to be carrying out these activities in Rhaenyra's chambers. (Are they both thinking of her when they do it? Who knows lol) "We cannot, again" Alicent says to Criston but it looks like it has been happening for a while. Failed promises much, Criston? (Not to quote the duty and sacrifice thing again because Rhaenyra and Alicent were clearly trying to amend things before the men around them decided to make it worse. How does it feel to hate Rhaenyra now that you're being a whore anyway Crispin?)

"Yes, your grace" Cole says, "If you wouldn't mind" — handing her the cloak (remember how they showed young!Rhaenyra taking it off of him? And now Alicent is putting it back on? Yes, please, make Rhaenyra the devil for something that she did once and Alicent does over and over.)

They, Alicent and Cole reach the small council kind of together and that doesn't go unnoticed by Otto. Wonder what are his opinions now? Little Jaehaerys is being little and playful with Tyland Lannister.

Alicent asks if her letters to Rhaenyra have been returned. (How'd you even thunk it, woman?) She's apparently useless now that Aegon has been crowned and she has fulfilled her duty (or whatever she thought it was) towards Viserys. Aegon clearly listens little of her, like Joffrey did Cersei.

Aemond walks in and apparently Alicent doesn't know that Aegon has invited him. Aemond seems just as interested with Harrenhall as Daemon was earlier. Aegon has a valid argument, his dragons are bigger. But is it really? valid? (Does it matter whose balls dragons are bigger?)

Aegon outright dismisses his mother's opinion. Alicent shares a look with Criston. Perhaps they're questioning whether Viserys really wanted this or not. Power doesn't look good on her son.

Larys foot-fetish shows up with a "Good Morrow" and a subtle threat and warning both— nothing goes on here without his notice. (Does he know about Alicole? I think so. Probably doesn't like the idea of another man seeing her feet or whatever.) Ends that with, "I've chosen your new staff personally" sure you did Larys, sure you did. Also probably why Alicent dismisses everyone during her bath? She's clearly paranoid about the man (and the staff he's chosen for her).

Arrax's wing, and a part of whatever remains of Luke's coat is found. Rhaenyra is fast with Syrax, in tune with her (very unlike Vhaegar and Aemond), glides down swiftly. She finally finds confirmation that what she heard was, in fact, true. She breaks down there, and it is a very heart clenching to watch her unravel like this. Syrax roar-cries with her as well in the background.

Back at the Red Keep, Aegon is announced into the throne room as "Aegon the Magnanimous" and that's really funny because he seems to doubt its merit as well. But he nonetheless tries to live up to the standards that his mother and grandfather have set him up for. For once in his life, he feels driven and purposeful and perhaps that is the reason why he's generous and kind to the small folk (or at least acts as such)— he has a reputation to uphold, the one of his namesake's.

Otto is positively annoyed with him, not thinking his actions through. Aegon's clearly never been "prepared to rule" as he had told Alicent to do so all those years ago. And Aegon is aware of the disappointment he's causing. Larys plays a nice game, recognising the mismatch of opinions between the "King" and his "Hand", he gently nudges Aegon into considering appointing a new hand. (Perhaps him, as he's been so kind to suggest the idea.)

Otto and Alicent discuss their frustrations. There's honestly no big takeaway from these scenes other than hearing Rhys Ifans say "Daughter" over and over. Twice actually, that's all. 👀

A more interesting event takes place when Erryk Cargyll discovers Mysaria (alias, 'The White Wyrm') on a Velaryon ship, fleeing from King's Landing. Daemon is frustrated at her definition of loyalty, but he doesn't understand the small folks' lived lives. Erryk tries to explain the conundrum but Syrax roars and Daemon understands that Rhaenyra has returned. "Did you find what you needed?" he asks her, a gentle forehead touch because that's what their language is. Despite the taunts thrown at Rhaenys earlier, Daemon is loyal to Rhaenyra to a fault (and gentle too, now, from whatever tumoultous thing he'd transformed into during the finale, but we'll be seeing that side of him again—no worries there)

Rhaenyra enters and the council around the painted table brings her upto the events of the present, she's not listening though. She has fire in her eyes (no, really, there's the refection) and she says, "I want Aemond Targaryen." And Daemon's really just an uncle trying to please his niece-wife, you want it? you got it.

So that's the story of how blood and cheese begins, comparatively short-lived and different than what GRRM mentions in Fire & Blood.

Jace arrives, seemingly normal before his voice starts to break while informing Rhaenyra that he has secured allies in the Vale and Winterfell. Rhaenyra cries as well, relieved that her firstborn is well, but is hurt from his and her own grief. Once again we see how very differently Rhaenyra and Alicent treat their children. (Coming back to this in the last paragraph.)

So, Daemon is back in his murderous cloak, and he wants a "Son for a Son". The way Aemond never intended to kill Luke; Daemons seems to be following the same path because he instructed them to kill Aemond'. Would've been quite useful too if it worked because Vhaegar would be useless without her rider. But they miss him by minutes.

Aemond was there, plotting behind his brother's back about how to defeat the blacks. He's interested in power more than his brother. He also says that his mother speaks two tongues— he knows her well.

They find Helaena instead. Decide not to kill her because a daughter is worth nothing. Make her point out Jaehaerys and then murder him in front of her while she quietly picks up his twin sister and runs to her mother's chambers. Who btw is in the middle of having sex with Criston despite the— we cannot, again. Helaena is too traumatised to notice though. But yeah, the difference between these two mothers becomes apparent once again.

One who is there for her child when he needs it the most and the other who cannot even bring herself to comfort her daughter when her grandson is slaughtered under the same roof.

#back at my shit #okay this show is much more than daemyra to me #jace targaryen #dany analyses #house of the dragon #daemyra #criston cole #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #hotd #hotd spoilers #house of the dragon spoilers #hotd analysis #daemon x rhaenyra #game of thrones #matt smith #milly alcock #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd season 2

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vbecker10 · 5 months

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Loki's Silent Sentry (alt. ending Part 2 - final)

Part 1

Alt. ending Part 1 is meant to be read after part 2, instead of the original parts 3 - 7

**Seriously please do not read this without reading the trigger warnings**

TW: death of a main character (if you message me I will tell you who in case that will change if you read this or not), mourning the loss of a loved one, loss of a family member, having to mourn in secret, depression, feeling alone, brief mentions of previous loss of parents, inability to move on, guilt

(Please let me know if I missed anything and I will add it)

A/N: I wrote the fluffy, happy ending for this story but I got this song (tagged below) stuck in my head and it felt like a really tragic way to end this story. The idea just kept getting more depressing and heartbreaking so I had to write it. I understand this is not for everyone, it's not even something I would usually read.

Please, please do not feel the need to read this because we are mutuals or because you read the happy ending version. I will absolutely not be offended if you skip it.

...Last chance to turn back lol 🫣

You walk through the common room of the soldier's quarters, your head down as you desperately try to escape to your room. Several people congratulate you on receiving your award this morning and you nod vaguely to each as you pass by.

Slamming closed the door to your room, you rest your back against the wood and close your eyes as you breathe deeply. Your fists clench as your mind replays the king's words of praise. Heroic, brave, loyal, dutiful, all the things a good soldier should be you were but you were still not enough to save the one person on Asgard who mattered to you.

You reach for your chest and your fingers brush against the cold medal Odin pinned to you. Opening your eyes, you rip the medal from your uniform and throw it across your room. You pay no attention to where it lands, you want it as far from you as possible.

You pull the end of the black fabric tied around your arm and let it fall to the floor as you walk to your bed and sit down heavily. You bend down to pry off your heavy boots and when you sit up your eyes catch the painting of your parents that you keep next to your bedside.

Picking up the small frame, your fingers trace their faces slowly. Your father has been gone for nearly ten years, his life given defending the Bifrost from a Jotun attack. Your mother was killed while protecting the queen's father when you were still a child. You hold the picture tightly to your chest. Your mother and father, your grandfathers, three of your aunts, your uncle, your cousins... you slowly list the members of your family who gave their lives in service to the crown and the realm.

You slowly lower the picture to your bed as the thoughts that haunted you before you met Loki returned. You are once again completely alone in this world. No family, no true friends, no one to love and to love you in return. Loki was the only person you were able to connect with in recent years and he knew you were terrified of being alone, of being the last one left. He promised he would always be with you, that he would never leave you alone but you made him break that promise when you failed to save him.

You get up from the bed and walk angrily across the room. You swipe everything off the top of your dresser as you scream. Glass bottles shatter and items slam to the ground around you. You are not a hero, you are not brave, you did not do your duty. You move to your small bookshelf and grab the books by the handful, throwing them to the floor, crying tears of anger and regret and guilt and pain. You should have died protecting Loki, you should have died in his place. He should be alive, your mind screams as you pick up a small metal box you keep on your desk and throw it against a wall.

You stop suddenly as dozens of folded notes spill out of the broken box, walking towards the pile slowly you wipe away your tears with the back of you hand. You sit on the ground next to the pile and pick up one of the pieces of paper which fell out. The one you picked is still neatly folded, not like the others you've opened and refolded after having read them over and over. This is the note Loki passed to you shortly before his death, you have not been able to force yourself to read it. You hold it tightly to your chest and try to hear his voice but all you can hear is your own.

You lost the love of your life and you will be alone forever. Loki is gone and it is your fault.

You stand next to Captain Skye as Commandant Thorn prepares to read the charges for Loki's former sentry. Odin sits on his throne and Thor is seated next to him, the queen is not in attendance this afternoon. Only selected council members are present and a handful of soldiers, all captain or higher except for you.

The private kneels in the center of the room, a guard from the dungeons on either side of him. His hands are bound behind his back and he hangs his head low.

You force yourself not to look at him, to keep your eyes straight ahead and your expression emotionless. Last night you visited him in the dungeon and agreed to speak on his behalf even though you know it will have no effect on the outcome. Your captain informed you that he is going to be made an example of. Regardless of his low rank and lack of experience, his one duty above all else, was to keep Loki safe and he failed to do so.

You feel a pit grow in your stomach as a member of the council motions for you to come forward. Your heart pounds as you take your place next to him, he looks up at you and you can see how lost he is. A part of you wishes you could place the blame solely on him for Loki's death. If he had done his duty, Loki would be alive but you can't. You know in your heart that he had been purposefully selected because of Loki's desire to see you.

You take a breath to steady yourself. "It is my professional opinion as a lieutenant in the royal guard that Private Rok is far too young and inexperienced to have been allowed to guard Prince Loki. There is no doubt or argument that he did not follow his training or his duty but he is only one month out of the academy. There is a reason sentries are meant to spend their first year after training shadowing more senior sentries. It is so they can understand the enormous responsibility that comes with being a sentry. Guarding a royal or council member is more than silently following them around the palace. A sentry must truly be willing to lay their life down for the person they are protecting and unfortunately Private Rok was not willing or ready to do so," you look at Odin as you speak.

Odin sits back in his throne and asks, "Who is responsible for assigning this soldier to Prince Loki so soon after completing his training?"

The room is silent until you realize he is asking you. "Prince Loki requested him," you answer but give no further explanation. The last thing you want to do is make it seem as if you are attempting to say Loki's death was his own fault.

Odin nods and is quiet for a moment, the whole room waits for him to speak again. He motions for you to return to your place next to Captain Skye then he stands. You hold your breath as he sentences the young man to fifty years in the dungeons.

Two days later, you open your eyes to the sound of the morning bells. Loki's funeral is at sunset, you remind yourself as you sit up. You throw off your sheets but you can't find the strength to stand, you've cried it all out. Sitting motionless, you look around your room and sigh as you flex your bandaged hand. You had cleaned everything yesterday and cut yourself more than once on broken pieces of glass. The black tie and medal you "earned" sit next to the painting of your parents, waiting for you to put them back on.

Forcing yourself up, you take a few steps from the bed and go still when someone knocks on your door. You have no idea who it could be, the soldiers you live with have all giving you their condolences for the prince and congratulations on your award. There was no one left who would wish to see you.

You shake your head and decide to ignore whoever it is in the hopes that they will go away, you do not have the mental capacity for small talk today.

After a few moments there is another knock and you suddenly realize how quiet it is. The drone of constant talking and laughing that radiates from the common room is gone. Even at night, there is always chatter as the shifts vary greatly, someone is always awake.

You take a deep breath to steady your nerves and open the door. Your heart stops as you come face to face with the queen. You are so shocked you freeze, forgetting to bow or greet her or even blink it seems.

Her new sentry stands just to the side of her and says, "The queen would like to speak with you, Lieutenant Y/L/N."

Your heart aches at the thought of inviting the queen inside your private space, Loki had never been to your room before. There was never a chance for you to show him the book where you pressed the flowers he gave you or sleep with him on your bed so your sheets smelled like him. He hadn't seen the painting of your parents or your childhood stuffed animal. There were so many things you still wanted to share with him but you would never be able to now.

You shake away your thoughts and step out of the way so she can enter, her sentry remains outside. Closing the door behind her, you keep your eyes down and take a few steps away from her. You are terrified to be near her, afraid she blames you for Loki's death as much as you blame yourself.

"Y/N," she says softly and you look up slowly to meet her eyes.

She looks as distraught as you feel and without thinking, you begin to apologize, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-."

She moves quickly and wraps you in a tight hug, cutting off your words. You break down as soon as you are in her arms, she is the first person who has hugged you since Loki passed. Unable to hold back your tears any longer, you cling to Loki's mother while you shake from the force of your sobs.

When you finally let go of her, you wipe your eyes and apologize again, "I'm sorry your highness, I-"

"Shh," she pulls you back into her arms. "You have done nothing to be sorry for," she says quietly and you nod but you don't believe her. She takes your hand and leads you back to your bed, sitting on the edge she motions for you to join her.

"This was not your fault, Y/N," she tells you as you sit close to her.

"I know but..." you want to believe her.

"I don't blame you and you know Loki doesn't either," she says and you look up at her.

"I just... I need you to know I really tried. I tried so hard but I just... I couldn't get to him fast enough. I couldn't find him. I wanted to, I needed to save him but I couldn't," you try to wipe your eyes but the tears come to quickly. "I know my duty was to protect you and everyone calls me a hero because I did but..." the thought that haunted you at night slips free. "I didn't save your son, how could I be a hero? He died because I failed."

She pulls you into her arms and rubs your back lightly. "The outcome does not make you a hero, your actions do. I have never doubted that you did everything you could to bring my son back to us," she says softly. You nod and she adds, "He would never want you to let this eat away at your beautiful spirit."

You look up at her and rub your face with the back of your hand. "I know how much Loki loved you and how happy you made each other," she says, her eyes full of tears but she smiles. "He told me so many wonderful things about you and his hopes for your future together. You truly were his whole world."

"And he was mine," you tell her, your heart aching at the knowledge that he told his mother he was planning a life with you.

You take her hand, "Loki, told me how lucky he felt to have you as his mother. He said you were always there for him." She smiles as tears roll down her cheeks. "I want you to know how much he and I appreciated all of your help after the ball. I never... I never thanked you for giving me that extra time with him on Sundays. I cherished every second we had together but I wish we had more time. I would give anything for just one more day with him."

"So would I," she agrees.

You sit together in silence for a moment then she says, "There is a reason I wanted to see you this morning." She wipes her eyes and clears her throat before giving you the best smile she can gather in the moment.

She reaches into a pocket on her black gown and takes out a small golden box with a snake etched into the top. "Loki would have wanted you to have this," she offers it to you.

You shake your head no, your heart sinking as you open the box. A thin gold band with diamonds around a large emerald sits on a dark green piece of velvet. You touch the ring slowly, running your fingers over each gem then you close the box quickly as you feel your head spinning.

You look up at her and she is holding a folded piece of parchment paper. She sighs deeply and looks at the paper without unfolding it, running her fingers along the crease, "He figured out how to bypass the marriage law..."

You look from Frigga to the box in your hands and find it hard to breathe as she talks. Your hands shake as you hold the box tighter.

"He was going to propose during the Harvest Festival next month..." she says. "He wanted to do it in front of all of Asgard so no one would ever question how in love you two were."

Your heart shatters at hearing how close you were to being Loki's. One more month and the two of you would have had your happily ever after. You open the box again slowly and take the ring out, you slip it halfway onto your finger and stop. You whisper no and you begin to take it off but Frigga puts her hand over yours.

"You should wear it," she says, "And you should be with his family tonight."

"I can't..." you look down. "I'm supposed to be on guard during the procession," you explain but she shakes her head.

"You will walk with us," she says simply. "It is what Loki would have wanted."

"But the king said I'm not to mourn him in public, it would be..." you worry about his reaction to seeing you at the funeral.

"Leave the king to me," she says in a determined voice. You can't help but smile a little when you remember Loki once telling you that Odin may rule Asgard but Frigga ruled Odin.

"You are not just a soldier. Odin and the council may try to deny it, but you were not just his sentry nor even his friend," she sighs deeply and takes your hand again. "You should have been allowed to be his wife, Y/N. It is what you both wanted and deserved. I'm sorry these idiotic political issues kept you two apart while he was alive but I refuse to let anything stand in the way of you grieving him the way you should."

You can barely believe what you are hearing and you are at a loss for words.

Loki's body is dressed in full armor with his horned crown, his favorite daggers crossed over his chest as he rests in a wooden boat, surrounded by flowers from the garden he shared with his mother. The king and queen walk a few steps behind as the boat slowly floats towards the water. Civilians, council members and soldiers line either side of the long path, heads hung in respect and mourning. You walk next to Thor, your black gown flowing around you gently in the light breeze, your hands folded tightly together so you can feel the ring he wanted to give you. Tears stream steadily down your cheeks but you hold your head high and continue on.

The dark water ahead grows closer and when you see the mist from the falls beyond, your feet refuse to walk any further causing you to stumble. A hand reaches out and catches before you fall.

"I have you," Thor assures you, tears in his eyes as you take his arm for support.

"Thank you Thor," you look away as he fails to hold back the first of many tears. "I'm sorry you lost your brother."

He nods quietly and walks with you a few more paces before he says, "I'm sorry sister. I had not known how much you meant to Loki, I never would have treated so you poorly if I knew the truth. I only ever wanted my little brother to find peace and happiness. It seems as if he had found both with you."

You grip his arm tighter as the boat gently slips into the water, guided forward by Odin's magic. Odin halts a few feet from the edge of the water but Frigga continues to follow the boat until the hem of her dress becomes wet from the soft waves. Thor leaves you so he can stand with his father but you follow the queen. You cannot bear the thought that this is as close to Loki as you will ever be again. You want to follow him out into the water and over the falls to his life after this world.

All of Asgard watches in silence as Loki's body floats across the water in the wooden boat. Odin taps his scepter once on the sandy shore and the sound echos, somewhere behind you a single archer let's loose a flaming arrow and your heart stops. The boat catches instantly and your knees give out as he draws closer to the edge of the great falls.

You hit the ground hard and watch from your knees, tears streaming down your cheeks as the boat vanishes from view. Loki's spirit is set free, hundreds of beautiful green orbs float towards the sky above. You watch until the last light fades into the stars and cover your face with your hands to quiet your pained scream.

A few days after Loki's funeral, you accepted the queen's request to return as her sentry. Over the last month, you have force yourself to rejoin the world around you but inside you feel as if you are still drowning in your grief.

Every second you stand alone in silence outside of the queen's office is spent reliving past conversations with Loki. Each hallway you walk down holds a memory from your time spent following him as his sentry. The winding staircases where he held your hand secretly or stole a kiss when no one was around cause your chest to ache. You can't breath inside the palace, the very air reminds you of him.

Today is Sunday, a day you used to look forward to above all others, a day where you were once able to show Loki your love for him and feel his love for you. The queen opens her door and steps out, there is no need for her to tell you where you are going. You already know the destination.

You follow Loki's mother into the garden and a wave of emotions hit you so hard you find it hard to breathe. Every Sunday since Loki passed, you have taken his place beside her although it pains you both greatly.

You walk next to her slowly as she recounts stories from her son's childhood and teen years. You can hear the heartache in her voice as she corrects herself each time she speaks about Loki as if he still here. The stories vary over time, some are funny while others are seemingly random memories with no true focal point.

You listen to each story but you are simply performing for the queen, you smile and laugh at all the right moments but you have lost your ability to feel joy. Your eyes scan the garden while she talks as if Loki might somehow appear on the path ahead. As if he could be hiding behind every tree or tall hedge even though you know you will never see him again. The garden has become one more place on Asgard where Loki haunts you.

As you leave the garden, you both pause next to a tall, full rose bush with flowers that are marbled green and white. She touches the petals gently and takes your hand.

You stand at the top of the stairs and think about the nightmare that awaits you if you return to your room. Your sleep has been stolen by a single reoccurring dream every night for the last month. Smoke and ash cloud your vision, you feel heat burning your skin as the flames surrounding you grow steadily closer. The roar of the fire drowns out your screams for Loki and you always wake up suddenly to the same sound, the cry Loki's mother let out when she found him in your arms.

"Loki would have loved these," you tell her with another practiced smile.

She conjured them in honor of Loki after she spoke to your on the morning of his funeral. She gives you a hug and tells you that your are dismissed for the night. You nod and turn, leaving her to watch the sunset alone.

My beautiful Y/N,

You had decided tonight would be different, you were not returning to your room. You turn down the long dark hallway to your left, to the office where Loki had created a duplicate of his chambers using his magic.

Lighting a single candle, you take off your armor slowly and sit on the worn out couch. The cushions are flat and the legs are uneven but you are not worried about being comfortable, not tonight. All you want is to be somewhere you used to share with Loki. His office and chambers had both been sealed upon his death but even if they were not, you doubt you could bring itself to go in either.

You close your eyes for a moment to stay yourself then take out the note he gave you just before his death. You take a deep breath and open it for the first time.

I miss you more than I can put into words, I cannot wait until I have you in my arms again. I promised you that I would find a way for you to be mine forever and I think I finally have. We will be together soon and I will never let you go. I love you more than anything in the nine realms.

Love always, Loki

You fold the note carefully and hold it to your chest as you lay down. The tears you have kept locked away all day run down your cheeks. Wiping the tears from your eyes, you catch a glimpse of the ring he would be giving you at the Harvest Festival tomorrow if he were still alive.

You close your eyes and imagine Loki down on one knee in front of all of Asgard professing his love for you. You cry with joy and jump into his waiting arms, telling him you love him as you kiss him over and over.

The images fade and you roll over to face the back of the couch. You sniffle, wiping your eyes again and decide you will soon be with Loki forever. Tomorrow, before the festival, you are going to tell the queen you are leaving Asgard. You have made the decision to be sent to the front line of the ever raging war on Jotunheim.

If the Gods are good, you will meet Loki and your family in Valhalla before long.

This is the song that inspired me, if you listen to the end you will see why. Again... I'm sorry to everyone who reads this that I hurt you but I just needed to get this story out of my head. If you want the happy ending version please read the original part 3 (linked at the top) 💙💙

If you did like this, please like, comment and share! Thanks! 💚💚

@siconetribal @soubi001 @lulubelle814 @newtomofgods @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen

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intuitively-her · 2 years

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Who wants to be your valentine? pile 1 (Death, The Magician rx, 2 of cups, 9 of swords rx, Page of cups, 2 of wands rx) Angel answers: No, There's something better This is definitely an ex. This person could've been possessive over you in the past. They want a new beginning in love with you. You bring out their inner-child. This person has been trying to change their ways so they can come back and prove themselves to you. I keep hearing "step my game up". I feel like they want to surprise you with some type of romantic proposal. However, I feel like this person is playing it safe, because they're not sure how you feel. Also, if you've been contemplating on doing something, now is not the right time. There's something better on the way. *Channeled song: Lost Without U by Robin Thicke

Pile 2 (The High Priestess, 5 of wands, Queen of pentacles, The Hermit, The Lovers, The Hierophant) Angel answer: Don't stop! This is a feminine energy. For my males, this is an authority figure in your life. For my girls, this is another friend of yours. This person could like to challenge you or debate with you on certain things. They feel like you guys share similar values and ideas. They also feel like they can't get ahold of you sometimes. This person definitely wants a deeper commitment with you.

Pile 3 (Strength, King of swords rx, 9 of cups, Page of pentacles, King of cups, Ace of pentacles) Angel answer: Trust This is somebody that's in your vicinity everyday. Either you work with this person or you go to school with them. For some reason, I feel like your initial impression of this person rubbed you the wrong way. You could've been asked to do a group project with this person and outsmarted them. You tame their inner-beast lol. Im getting "enemies to lovers" vibes ngl. They definitely have a sweeter side to them though. They see an opportunity in love with you as a "happily ever after". They really wanna shoot their shot. They feel like y'all could really build something.

Pile 4 (King of cups rx, 6 of cups, 7 of pentacles, 3 of wands, Ace of pentacles, 8 of pentacles) Angel answer: Wait This is someone from your childhood. You could've recently moved away or y'all are just at a distance. Things could've ended on a bad note between you guys. They want to clear this up with you. They want to show you the type of person that they have grown into. They're committed to their self-improvement. I keep hearing "you're my baby". This person could be a little insecure due to their finances and feeling like they don't measure up.

#tarot #tarot reading #pick an image #pick a card #pick a pile #pac #pap

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esther-dot · 11 months

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Lately I've been toying with the idea that Jon will indeed become king of the FF. It's the only reasonable ending for him, the only one that matches both Jon's show ending and Sansa's book foreshadowing (to marry a king, not a prince, not a king who had been). I think the show ending on such ambiguous (and bitter!) terms for Jon was decided because of the sequel. In other words, I'm considering the possibility that M. will transfer his 5year gap at the end, and we'll see them again at the end after some time will have lapsed and they'll be older and firmly in their positions. But, with this ending I'm afraid we'll only get hints of Jon and Sansa's romance on page, and nothing too explicit (although I guess that it might have a role in Daeny's death).

I think that, throughout the book, the famous "the FF don't kneel" is only meant to be subverted: they will kneel to Jon, after everything he has done for them, and he will probably settle them in the Gift(s). In my opinion, this ending is truly poetic. If ASoIaF is a fairytale, then the hidden prince does not become king because of his inheritance (which he has already foresaken just as he will reject the Targaryen inheritance: so vividly given as "I don't want it!" in the show, lol), but has forged a kingdom for himself, because he is truly worth it. I am not sure that he will go to the Wall because he will be punished, but regardless, he will become king of the FF. If it will be like this, then Jon's ending is the apotheosis of subversions.

And only as an equal will he be able to marry Sansa: when Sansa becomes queen, everybody will want her for her claim twice over, unless her husband is already king. I think this ending is foreshadowed in her ASOS, Sansa IV chapter: two castles in the sky, one black, one grey, become one in all the colors of spring. Note that this is something Sansa sees in the morning sky, meaning after dawn.

And with this explanation I've made peace with the disastrously ambiguous ending of GoT.

I wish you'll make your peace too, Esther!

(old anon btw, anxiously waiting for your posts for years, and now this darn thing made take a name. So be it).

It's so nice to finally "meet" you @justleaves!

I like that reading of book foreshadowing and the mess GoT gave us. You know I can't agree with most of the fandom that we can entirely or even mostly dismiss the show's ending. Too much of it gave me that, "it was always meant to be this way" feeling and since the ending of the show, Jonsas have turned up a lot of foreshadowing for Arya sailing away, King Bran, Dark Dany, Jaime and Cersei dying together...so many things were kinda-sorta right, just presented so horribly they felt wrong!

I've always felt very weird about Jon becoming King of the FF, most of us Jonsas reject that out of hand because it really rubs us the wrong way, but I had a series of anons critical of Martin's handling of aspects of Dany's POV some time ago, particularly how he characterized the Dothraki, and I did go back to read/re-watch some interviews, and I've accepted he doesn't share our sensibilities there, or on a handful of other issues. I hadn't even realized I was projecting when I dismissed the possibility of a kid from a different culture becoming the leader of an indigenous group. To me that is inherently negative. But of course, at the time when Martin began all this, it wasn't generally perceived that way, and we have Mance so...

Right after GoT ended some of us speculated that not including the Gift was why they had Jon ride off past the Wall with the FF, while in the books, he might be responsible for the Gift, so I really like how you've blended the two. I've written before about how it would make sense to me that Jon rejects the Stark/Northern claim and then rejects the Targaryen/Southern claim, and is rewarded in he end for those decisions, and I think it would be a more satisfying resolution to the bastard struggle if he is chosen as a leader because of who he is rather than who his "father" is (whether we mean Ned's son -> KitN or Rhaegar's son -> Targ heir). The way Jon is of the North, has such connections to the Starks (whether as Ned's bastard or Lyanna's boy post parentage reveal) as well as his time with the FF, the understanding he has and care he has for them which others do not, well, it certainly sets him up as a great bridge between the cultures. A person uniquely capable of creating a lasting peace.

I also really like your idea of the time-lapse because a) Sansa's age b) allowing all these revelations time to settle. I can't rationalize how the cast of characters would accept Jon as the legitimized son of Ned, only to turn around and accept that actually he's Lyanna's son, and how they'd be ok with a Jonsa marriage immediately thereafter. And that's not even dealing with how he'll be perceived/the rumors that will be swirling around him post rez and whatever his actions are immediately after. Love it in fics, but when I think about it in Martin's words, hard for me to imagine, so the idea that in a few years after Jon has established himself they'd be able to marry, that makes sense to me.

I think this ending is foreshadowed in her ASOS, Sansa IV chapter: two castles in the sky, one black, one grey, become one in all the colors of spring. Note that this is something Sansa sees in the morning sky, meaning after dawn.

That is a beautiful reading of the scene! I can easily see that being the idea! The other reading I've seen on this is that it's the Jon and Sansa competing claims being joined as the solution to the Northern succession crisis (that may be @agentrouka-blog's spec? I'm not successfully turning anything up atm). I had actually written into the margins in my copy "sounds like Winterfell" by the line about a castle in ruins, and later in ASOS, we have back to back Jon and Sansa chapters that talk about Winterfell and have a weird number of similarities (link). But, specifically, the ruins/rebuilding idea seems like it points to Jon and Sansa's stories converging and allowing them to restore Winterfell together:

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins. (Jon XII, ASOS) The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood. For the gravestones in the lichyard she used bits of bark. Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care. The castle was all that mattered. Some things were hard to remember, but most came back to her easily, as if she had been there only yesterday. The Library Tower, with the steep stonework stair twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge bulwarks, the arched gate between them, crenellations all along the top . . . (Sansa VII, ASOS)

So as always, I see the pros, I see the cons, I can't make up my mind, but I'm ok with that. I have no problem talking about GoT/my frustrations when I get an ask, but after I wrote my post canon fic Free, I just...wasn't angry anymore. D&D's choices will always baffle me, I'm disappointed we don't have TWOW yet, but I enjoy the different spec, fics, gifs, and art we have in the Jonsa fandom, so as long as we're all having fun, I'm happy.

I'd love to read any other observations you have about ASOIAF and fairytales, I think posts about parallels with other lit are fascinating!

#jonsa #jon's ending #dot chat #< for filtering

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wyked-ao3 · 2 months

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writer questionnaire

Tagged by @ink-flavored here and @the-letterbox-archives & @mundanemoongirl & @nczaversnick & @thecomfywriter

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/Writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

I post story's on ao3. But snippets and stuff here and a few months a little before April?

What led you to create it?

I saw a few other ao3 people had Tumblr and I joined...got confused then came back to try again a few days before the boop war and I ended up staying after the boop war due to making a few friends

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

The support, getting to see others hard work. Making friends along the way and of course the OC's that we all fall in love with.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

I love talking about books, wips and fanfictions or just your characters or world building. I admit sometimes I don't know what to reply so if I'm silent I'm probably thinking about a reply or you managed to hit a time slot I'm busy or sleeping but I will reply eventually... 0_o

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

My mutuals stories, I love to follow them as they are written and get insight into the characters. Chances are you will have at least one oc i will fangirl over and I'm going to apologize now lol

WIP it Good

Which Works-in-Progress (WIPs) or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

The Pirate king of deaths redemption which will be book one of the pirate's cursed god series. I'm thinking it will have 4 stories and 2-3 mini stories

How long have you been working on them?

The idea since I was about seventeen

The plot I'm still figuring out

The characters some are old and some are new...infact two new ones arrived to the story yesterday ken will not be getting a major role he's just a background character.

World building since I was 19

Actually writing started about a month ago in seriousness and little snippets a month before that

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

Tbh I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking but it's happening so let's roll with it

But I have always had a fascination with lore and supernatural beings and I was in a pirate phase do that might have something to do with it

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

Way to often..when I'm not writing I'm usually plotting out the next few scenes and consequences to it

When someone asks the dreaded, “What do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

No one offline knows I write, but if I was asked the question by one of y'all.

I'd say mostly fanfiction but I'm starting a queer fantasy pirate story...just don't ask me about their cursed god yet as he is staying silent. I figure book to or three he will start talking or I may have to break out the threats again 0_o

What do you want to say (if it’s different from what you do say)?

Whatever the characters tell me to write and then I get to have the fun of tagging it 0_o (side note to myself I need to find a place I can find genres and stuff with a base description )

Let’s Rotate Blorbos

Name any characters you created. Side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

Daimhín,Oisìn, Jade,Galen, Briath, Morana, Heather, Coinín, Mal, Adoh, Taz, Amon, Oscar , Rob, Queen Kia, Queen Coral, princess Anne, Hill, Eric, Nimue, Death, Nyx, Davey jones, Nereza, Kieran pirate queen Eris, ken, pirate king cutthroat, and a ton of others who are not coming to mind right now

Who’s the most unhinged?

Amon, Briath and Morana are fighting for the title

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Oisìn at the moment, but I have a feeling Jade and Briath will both be easier to write when I get to them

Do you ever cringe at them?

Yes especially when writing certain things, yes I want to include them but some things just don't come naturally to me

How much control do you feel you have over your characters? AKA, do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

🤣 they write themselves mostly while arguing with me so it's a blast sometimes and change things frequently well most if that can be blamed on Amon

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? And do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? For example, as Asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on AO3, etc.

No preferred method I will interact with them all although sometimes I don't get notifications on tags for some reason

I will talk about my wips or OC's or we can talk about your wips and OC's ...or mutual interest or anything you want to info dump on.

On Writeblr Engagement

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account? Do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? Do you follow based on WIPs, or vibes?

I like most genres so I usually just scope for vibes and see what their wip is about or a published/posted work. I'm not picky so I follow quite a few writers lol

What makes you decide against following?

I try to avoid politics I don't mind a few post but if it's all politics I tend to back away or if I see them bullying or harassing people or threatening animals.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

Sometime but I usually like to scope people out first as I have stated in the past, I'm shy so sometimes I have to work through that first.

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

Yes to list a few

Ari from a starwars fanfiction by @lillybaaaka

Val and Kaz by @jev-urisk

Ashley by @gioiaalbanoart

almost all of @the-golden-comet s OC's

Royston is my favorite oc of @fortunatetragedy s story and that's not going to change easily.

And several others I'll stop listing now or we will be here all day and I do mean that literally.

Np tag @jev-urisk @the-golden-comet @thatuselesshuman @gioiaalbanoart @fortunatetragedy @aintgonnatakethis @lillybaaaka @evilwriter-originals @stars-forever

#Ask game #writing tag game #Writing questionnaire #Part 4 #my intro post

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aemondswifexoxo · 11 months

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Blue Hydrangeas

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original stark female character

Summary: Anora Stark, the younger sister of Lord Cregan Stark, is sent south in order to do her duty and marry the prince Aemond Targaryen. She has heard the rumors about the One Eyed Prince, both the good and the bad, and is uncertain where the prince stands in regards to her and their arranged marriage. Will they grow to love each other? And what will happen to the Stark family once the Dance of the Dragons starts?

Notes: Ok so, just to clarify, the action of this fanfic starts in 128 a.C. (after conquest), one year before the death of Viserys and the start of the Dance. I head canon Aemond to be 19 in the end of season 1 (is it really a head canon when it is canon in the books? idk, but also i do not believe that the producers expected us to believe that Ewan Mitchell was a 16 yr old lol). So, both Anora and Aemond are around 18 in this first few chapters. Enjoy!

Chapter I

Chapter II

Beautiful.

“Beautiful” was the first thing Aemond had thought of when his betrothed stepped out of her carriage, in her soft furs, with her cheeks rosy from the biting cold that haunted Kings Landing that day. Her hair was of a cold brown color, and fell in soft and full curls down her back. Her eyes were round and seemingly blue, though he was told that she sported the staple gray eyes of the Starks. Her skin was fair as snow, and she had some beauty marks scattered along her face.

He had seen many women throughout his life. Tall and short, young and old, light and dark skin, slender and curvy. He had seen women from all over the world. From the dornish marches till the deep vales of Arryn, from the valyrian settlements and even from the far east. But never in his life had he been so infatuated by any lady like he was right now, looking at his future bride.

If she was nervous, she masked it well, all soft eyes and kind smiles. She courtesies, and when she looks up at him, she smiles. His heart stopped. He knew he was being pathetic, but to have such a beautiful woman look at him, see him and all of him, and give him a genuine smile was something that he didn’t think would ever happen.

He did not want to be married. He was happy - or whatever happy meant - as he was, not being tied down to someone. He liked his life of training, studying and being a dutiful son and prince, he did not want a wife to be scared of him and despise him. Nevertheless, it was his duty and he would follow it. And he knew that he was probably thinking too much into Lady Stark's smile. She was, in all likelihood, just being as well mannered and respectful as she was bred to be. It wouldn’t matter if it was him standing there or the dying and decaying king himself, she would still smile and flutter her lashes at him. But still, he could not deny his reaction to her. He, who had never cared much for love or even simple pleasures, was stunned by this northern girl who looked in his direction for a total of five seconds.

Aemond stayed silent while his mother welcomed his wife-to-be, and stayed like that until much later, when they had already dispersed from the keeps gates, when he was already in his room for what seemed like hours, restless. He only spoke again when his mother knocked at his door, wanting to talk to him about his future bride.

“So,”, the queen started, after taking a seat in the chaise that faced the fire, “what did you think? About Lady Anora, I mean.”

He could see that his mother was nervous about his response, wanting for him to be content with his betrothed. She had scoured half a world until she finally found a respectable young lady, who came from a noble enough family, had a good reputation and was said to be a great prospect for a wife. She looked to the Baratheons, the Tyrells, the Redwynes and the Lannisters, before deciding that the Baratheons were too power hungry, the Tyrells too upjumped, the Redwynes too arrogant and the Lannister girls too young. When Anora Stark, member of one of the noblest, oldest and most powerful families in the realm, sister of a Lord, who was born the same year as Aemond and was said to be smart, comely, pious and dutiful had been mentioned in one such small council meeting, the queen was quick to act before any other man took her. She sent a letter to Winterfell by raven, but was ready to make the trip north herself in case it was needed. The day a letter came back, not written by a maester or Lord Cregan, but by Lady Anora herself, accepting the proposal and saying yes to life at court, his mother came to him with the biggest smile he had ever seen on her face.

So, you could say that Aemonds opinion on his betrothed was very important to queen Alicent.

“What would you want me to think?” He was being difficult, he knew it. Aemond could simply say - I think she’s beautiful and when she smiled at me I almost died right there and then. Or even put it more simply, just saying - I liked her. But today, unlike most other days, he felt like being a little difficult.

“What do you suppose I want you to think, Aemond? I want to think that you can see a happy marriage with this girl, that you like her. But this isn’t about what I want you to believe, this is about how you felt.” His mother was annoyed at him, yes, but also tired of his avoidance. She looked at him straight in the eye, awaiting his actual response to her question. But the thing was, that Aemond didn’t know what to say or how to say it.

“I… well…” He looked away from his mother, embarrassed. After a moment of silence, he heard his mom sigh, and speak:

“Let me rephrase it. Did Lady Stark please you?”

“Yes.” Aemond spoke truthfully. He was grateful for his mothers change of approach, but was still unreceptive to further talk about the matter. There’s a few more moments of silence, where Aemond just gazes into the fire, while Alicent looks at him. It’s neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, just familiar.

“I’m happy, then, my son.” Alicent says. Aemond turns his eye to her, and sees her giving him a small but proud smile. The queen gets up from her seat, and Aemond stands with her. She squeezes his arm and kisses his forehead, ready to take her leave. “Don’t forget, you’ll have to be in the Throne Room in time for supper.” And with that, she departs from his rooms.

Aemond spends most of the afternoon alone in his chambers. He tries to read but his mind always leads him back to Anora Stark and her damned smile. When he finally comes to terms with his inability to concentrate, he goes to the training grounds to practice a little and to channel his frustrations into something. Ser Criston is not there to train with him on this day, so he decides that his adversary might as well be the hay dummy that he used to train with as a child. He’s there until the sun starts to set, when he has to go back to his rooms to get himself ready for the feast. He bathes, he gets dressed in his finest clothes, he even puts a bit more effort into his hair, braiding the two pieces that connect at the back of his head. He doesn’t know, or better, doesn’t want to admit to himself, the reason for his elevated attempt at looking presentable, but he does it anyway.

When the time comes, he leaves for the Throne Room, choosing to enter it through one of the doors that flank the throne, instead of arriving via the main entrance, in order to be as discreet as possible. Aemond takes his seat at the center of the dais, his brother Aegon seated at his left, and an empty chair to his right, where his betrothed is to be seated. Next to the empty space is his mother, and next to her, his sister Helaena. The room started to fill with people and conversation, but Aemond kept his eye locked in the door, waiting for her to arrive. It took her more than he had wished for, but finally, she passed the great doors into the Throne Room, and stole his breath away.

The dress she wore looked magnificent, it fitted her so well that Aemond was convinced the Gods themselves had made it just for her. She looked as beautiful now as she looked when she’d arrived at the castle, but her attitude held more poise. She walked gracefully towards the long table, and when she ended her bow Aemond shot up from his seat, though he tried to seem cool and collected, and made his way to her. He bowed when he got near her, and offered her his arm. He took the time to look at her, and realized somethings about her face that he hadn’t noticed before, now that he was closer to her. Like how her eyes were gray, they just looked blue at a distance. Or how her nose had a bump, which possibly meant that it had been broken before. Her lashes were dark and long, and she had some freckles speckling her nose and cheeks, which might mean that she enjoys spending time outdoors.

When she grabbed onto his arm, his heart skipped a beat. Her touch was gentle and cold, thought not in an uninviting way.

They finally got seated in their place, and with that, his grandfather got up to give a speech.

“Tonight, we are here to celebrate the betrothal of my grandson, prince Aemond Targaryen, to Lady Anora Stark of Winterfell. May their union be joyful and fruitful. And may we commemorate this alliance, by dining, drinking and dancing along this young couple-to-be. Enjoy!”

Food of the most various kinds started being served to the guests as shouts of joy and applause filled the room. The music was loud and festive, and all the attention seemed to be directed at Aemond and Anora. They ate in silence for a while, until his mother sparked a conversation with Lady Anora. By her side, Aemond was tense in his seat, barely being able to swallow his food. Of course, Aegon took notice of that, and started with his mockery of Aemond.

“I knew that your interactions with the ladies were scarce, dear brother, but to think of you so pathetic that you couldn’t stray from the edge of your seat all the way throw diner just because a woman is seated next to you had never crossed my mind” Aegon whispered in his ear, while wearing a stupid grin on his face. Aemond kept silent, not wanting to cause a scene in front of his betrothed. “She is very pretty, I’ll give you that.” Aegon is now looking directly at Lady Anora, with a drunk and lustful gaze. “It’s truly unfair that you get to bed that girl, while I got stuck with our idiot sister. Maybe, if you're not man enough to do it, which I’m sure you’re not, I’ll take her to my bed instead. Give her something good out of this arrangement, she is for sure not going to get it out of you.” Aemond knew that his brother was all bark, no bite. He knew he was only saying this to get a reaction out of him, and Aemond was stuck on not giving it to him.

“I would advise you to stop with the wine for the rest of the night, brother” Aemond quietly said “Else you might do something that you’ll later regret.” He threw Aegon the most menacing look he could conjure, and though he was not confident on it, it caused his brother to back off and return to his cups.

When he turned his attention back to the girl sitting at his side she was already looking at him. He started to panic. Had she heard the conversation? Had she heard the vile things his brother had said about her? Had she felt disrespected? He couldn’t see how she would not. Would she ask to break off the betrothal because of it?

But before he could go into full on distress, she smiled. She smiled at him, again. And oh, was it better than the first time. Now it felt more confident, sweeter even. And she was so near, he could see the little dimples that appeared in her upper lip. And the ways her eyes shone, like molten silver.

“Is Vhagar as big and mighty as they say? I’ve been wondering, recently, what it might feel like to ride such an ancient and powerful creature.” He heard coming from her, in a sweet, melodic voice, though he was still slightly hypnotized by her smile that the words didn’t fully register into his brain.

“Excuse me?” Aemond asked clumsily.

“Oh, I only meant it out of curiosity, my prince. It was not my intent to offend you, I’m sorry if I did.” It seemed that his response was even more ungraceful than he had thought, as she had thought of him disgruntled or even angry at her question. Which was exactly what Aemond was afraid of, that he would scare her away with his cold persona and mean demeanor, and the marred eye that ingratiated his face would not help him at all.

“You have not offended me, my lady. I was just… taken by surprise.” Aemond responded to her, trying to calm her qualms “You asked of Vhagar, yes?” Anora nodded, compelling him to speak further “Yes well, she is a mighty beast, that is true. Old and stubborn too. But I believe it is to be expected for a creature who has lived for so long, bonded with multiple people and been through various battles to be headstrong, don’t you agree?”

He tried to be lighthearted and approachable in his response, though he internally cringes at it. It seemed to work, though. Lady Anora nods her head once again in agreement, and smiles.

“Yes, yes. I only think it’s fair.” Her gaze returns to the food in front of her, while Aemond struggles to find a way to continue their conversation.

Thought short, and seemingly lacking in substance, he appreciated their conversation. It was the first time they ever spoke to each other and she had already left him with a striking impression. She was kind, approachable, and lighthearted. But also polite, well mannered and disciplined. And she seemed to have a sense of humor and be easily amused. He wanted to keep on conversing with her, to know more about her, maybe even make her laugh.

“How has the weather suited you, my lady? I’m sure it is much different from the one you’re used to.” It was shameful how the first thing that came to his mind to talk about was the weather, but he decided to stick with it. Maybe it could escalate to something else, like a talk about Winterfell and the North, or maybe about Kings Landing and the South, what she expected from it. Aemond noticed that people had started to gather in the middle of the room to start dancing.

“It is much different.” She begins “It was strange to me to see rain, it doesn’t rain much in the North, except sometimes in the Neck. Most of the time the temperature is so cold that it just turns the water into snow. It is also warmer here, which I appreciate, at least for now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle the heat once summer comes.” Lady Anora jests, cheeky smile on her face. Aemond is about to respond, to maybe quip back at her. She has left him plenty of opening for him to bring this conversation further.

But he’s interrupted when some boy, no older than 16, comes to them to ask Anora for a dance. Aemond recognizes him as some distant Hightower cousin. Herald, maybe? Or was it Jacob? He didn’t know. His betrothed looked at him with an apologetic expression on her eyes, and excused herself. She left with the boy to the middle of the room, leaving Aemond there, alone and, frankly, upset. He would ask his mother to disinherit the Hightower boy, he decided.

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hyunjins-orange-slice-too · 8 days

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Regally Smitten

chapter 4: the choice

chapter word count: ~2.4k

synopsis: A future king and his servant are bound by their forbidden love. With the odds stacked against them, and a jealous brother out for blood, will their love prevail? Or will history repeat itself?

warnings: homophobia (specifically religious homophobia, this is a period piece so these beliefs are a reflection of the time period being portrayed, and the characters themselves, and do not reflect my personal beliefs. please read with caution and remember to take care of yourself. ily.) descriptions of violence, main character injury (no main character death), foul language, suggestive themes, brief mentions of anxiety, depression, and panic attacks. one mention of suicidal thoughts (but no action)

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and in no way represents any member of stray kids in reality. this is a fanfiction and should be treated as such. this is not me “shipping” them, these are simply characters based on real life people. i don’t need the minsung antis coming for me.

authors note: this chapter is kind of short, but that’s the way i needed to break it up. also, this chapter is heavier with the homophobia. (our villain is doing villain shit) and thank you to anyone who is reading this lol

series masterlist • main masterlist

While Minho had been spending his time giving tours to Lady Astrid and pining over a man he can’t have, the council had been hard at work preparing his coronation and the wedding that would soon follow. At this point, the preparations were coming to an end and the throne room was extravagantly decorated with silks and furs and gold.

Queen mother Charlotte had been helping Minho with what to expect of his coronation.

“Well first everyone will fill the throne room and wait for you. And then once everyone has arrived and settled in, your Hand will announce your entry.” Charlotte said.

“Right, my Hand. I haven’t had much chance to talk to him yet.”

His 'Hand', being short for the ‘Hand of the King’, essentially just meaning the king’s right hand man. The Hand helped the king with everything he needed help with in regards to the crown and his kingly duties. Advice on money, and war, and political relationships, etc.

“Your Hand was your fathers Hand as well.” Charlotte said. “Erin has been Hand of the King for decades now. He’s a very loyal man.”

Minho nodded. "And then the crown and cloak will be brought in?"

"Right." Charlotte agreed. "The crown and cloak will be brought in and then you will say your vows as king. And then everyone cheers and we basically have a big party after that."

"Right.." Minho agreed, his thoughts elsewhere. How could he go through with this, knowing he would have to marry there after. How could he ever look at Astrid as anything other than the thing standing in the way of his true love. But that isn’t fair to her. She’s not the only thing in the way. And it’s not even her fault. She is just as arranged in this marriage as he is. Just as much of a victim. It truly astonishes him how he can be king, the most powerful person in all the land, and still not be able to be with the one he truly loves. Sure, he can make that decision. He could stand up in front of the whole room and declare that he was in love with his squire, and that they would be wed and rule the kingdom together. But the people would never allow it. The people would storm the gates, overthrow their rulers. Or, Minho thought, more likely he would just be killed on the spot by someone else in the room and the actual people of the kingdom would never hear of his declaration. And what of the monarchy? If he and Han were to succeed in their plight to be together, there would be no little heirs running around the castle. Not out of lack of want, just physically not possible. Minho thought it might be quite nice to go with Han down to one of the many orphanages in the capital and pick out a little baby to raise themselves. To save a little one from a life of poverty and strife. But he knew this was all a fantasy. But that made his mind wander to actually making little heirs.. with Astrid. Not that the lady wasn’t beautiful, she truly was. And she smelled like flowers. But Minho was in no way attracted to her. How would he even make it.. work?

His mother interrupted his thoughts.

"I so love Lady Astrid's dress today, dont you?" his mother asked, looking at her future daughter in law who was slowly walking around the room admiring the decorations.

Minho groaned internally. "Yes mother."

The counsel room seemed small and dark at this time of night. All the counsel members had been awoken rather abruptly and told to meet immediately. But now that they were all here, they exchanged looks of confusion. Why had they been summoned? And where was the king? He was supposed to sit in on these meetings. Especially if it was of great importance.

Rian entered the room. "Thank you, gentlemen, for assembling so quickly." he said. "I apologize for waking you in the middle of the night, but this matter is rather urgent."

"Shouldn’t we wait for your brother, Your Grace?" one of the counsel members asked, a man that was very old and withered.

"My brother will not be joining us, as this matter pertains to him." Rian stated.

The group of men looked worried.

"What is this about?" a rather large man had asked. This was Erin, the kings Hand.

Rian took a seat at the head of the table, his regular smug look adoring his features. "As you all know, my brother’s coronation is tomorrow." the men nodded, waiting with bated breath for the urgency to reveal itself. "And you all know my brother’s.. history with squires."

"Get to the point." Erin barked. But then added, "Your Grace." when Rian gave him a sharp look.

"Well I’m afraid that history is repeating itself." Rian sighed.

The table erupted in murmurs and questions. "What do you mean, Your Grace?"

"My brother cannot hide his perversion and I have witnessed it with my own eyes. Apparently he did not learn his lesson from before." Rian basically spat the words, a deep hatred emanating from his chest. "I worry for the state of the kingdom if a king with such desires takes the throne."

Erin scoffed in the corner of the room, taking in the conversation but not adding to it.

"Please, Your Grace, explain what you saw." one of the members asked.

"Well you see, when we were on our way to Westwood, we stopped at multiple little towns along the way." The counsel nodded, listening. "One night, I thought I heard something. So I peeked out of my room only to see my brother and his squire sneaking out of the inn. It was early morning hours, just before the sun came up."

"Well this is no proof." one man said, and the others agreed, not so quick to mutiny against their king.

"You did not let me finish, ser." Rian replied. "I followed them to the banks of a small creek where they sat on the grass, holding hands and looking up at the stars."

The counsel gasped. "You’re sure?" one of them asked.

"Positive. I would never bring this to you unless I was absolutely certain. I do not wish to have my brothers name drug through the mud, but we must do what we need to to preserve the sanctity of this kingdom." Though Rian didn’t care at all about his brothers reputation, nor the sanctity of the kingdom. He just wanted the throne for himself, the notoriety, to be the best at something. For everyone to like him better than his brother for once.

Erin finally spoke up. "And what do you suggest we do, Your Grace?" he asked, voice dripping with disdain. Erin never particularly liked Rian. He had always sensed there was something not right about him, Something evil almost. He had no empathy.

Rian pretended to think on it for a moment before presenting his idea. " Well i guess beheading this squire will not work, as it didnt work with the first one." He tapped his chin with his index finger, as if he were in deep thought. Though he knew he already had his plan well thought out. "Perhaps we summon him, his squire, and Lady Astrid to the counsel chamber and force him to choose."

"Have him choose, Your Grace?" the members sounded dumbfounded. "There is only one choice. The other is an abomination."

"I agree." Rian said. "We give him the choice to either: choose Lasy Astrid and remain king, or choose his squire and be banished."

"But, your grace, what if he chooses the banishment? What will happen to the kingdom? How will we explain it to the people? They must not know the truth of the matter."

Rian nodded, having thought about this as well. This was his favorite part of the plan. He smiled. "I will be king, of course."

Han was laying on his hard cot in his basement room of the castle. He could hear Hyunjin’s pencil scraping along the parchment as he drew another portrait of his beloved. Hyunjin abruptly sat up.

"OH MY GOD." he said. "I forgot to tell you what I heard today!" he exclaimed.

Han lazily rolled over, not having much energy for anything these days.

"So I was talking to Meredith, right? one of the maids that clean Rian's chambers." Hyunjin explained, leaning in close to share his gossip. "and she said that while she was cleaning, she found a womans brassiere."

"What’s a brassiere?" Han asked, confused.

"I’m not really sure." Hyunjin answered. "Meredith tried to explain it to me, but all I got was it’s something girls wear under all their clothes."

"So what?" Han asked. Rian was known to be a ladies man. Who knows how many women he’s had in his chambers.

"So.." Hyunjin dragged out. "This brassiere was embroidered with flowers." Hyunjin raised his eyebrows, waiting for Han to connect the dots.

Han’s eyes grew wide. "Are you saying it was Lady Astrid's?"

Hyunjin smiled. "all I’m saying, is it was embroidered with flowers and the letter A. And I guess it was a very expensive piece. Like not all of the girls wear these. Only the high status girls. So..."

Han thought about it for a moment. It had to be Lady Astrid's.. right? There’s no on else it could be. Does Minho know? should Han tell him?

Hyunjin cleared his throat. "Get out of your head. This doesn’t mean anything. People have affairs all the time, especially the royals."

"Does the king know?" Han asked.

"Probably not.. but you shouldn’t tell him!"

Han nodded. "Yeah. I shouldn’t tell him." he agreed quietly.

There was a knock on the door then, and Han jumped. He had the sudden fear that someone overheard them.

"Squire Han, you have been summoned to the counsels chamber." a voice said from the other side of the door. Han stood nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, before opening the door. Standing there was Rian's squire. "Follow me please."

Han spared a glance at a very worried looking Hyunjin, before grabbing his shoes and following the squire down the dark hall.

"What is the meaning of this?" Minho asked, barely containing his rage upon seeing Han being led into the room. Minho didn’t like this at all. Every hair on the back of his neck was standing up, every feeling in his gut screaming at him. This was not good. He stood at the front of the room, facing the small counsel, his future wife, his brother, and now.. Han looked at him with concern in his eyes. With fear. Everything inside Minho was screaming at him to protect Han, protect Han, protect Han.

"Brother-" Rian started.

"King." Minho interrupted, on edge and not willing to be nice.

"We'll see." Rian said under his breath. "Your Grace, we have summoned you so that you may settle something for us."

The room was too silent. Everyone holding their breath, waiting. "Settle what?"

"Your Grace," the old man said. "Prince Rian has told us that he saw you in a very.. compromising position."

Minho looked from the old man to his brother and back. His stomach was churning. Had Rian somehow found out that Minho had kissed Han? Was this about to be like last time? He could not, would not, see Han beheaded. He would go down kicking and fighting with everything he had. They would have to behead Minho first.

"Yes, brother, I saw you with your squire on the banks of a small creek in the middle of the night." Rian said, smug.

Han clenched his fists so hard his nails were biting into his palms. What had Rian seen? Nothing happened. Had he heard their conversation? Had Rian heard what Han had said about him being crass? Han thought he might be sick.

"Is it illegal to be out at night with my squire?" Minho asked, crossing his arms and looking frustrated.

"No, but it is illegal to have a romantic relationship with your squire." Rian snapped. The room somehow got quieter. Like everyone’s hearts stopped beating as well. "I thought you would have learned your lesson last time."

Last time? Han thought. Did they mean his previous squire that was beheaded? Is that what happened? Had Minho been caught with his squire and as a result the squire lost his life? His head?

Minho made eye contact with Han who looked so incredibly afraid in this moment. He was shaking. It broke Minho’s heart. He wanted to hold him close and tell him that everything would be alright. That he wouldn’t let anyone hurt him.

"A romantic relationship? It was just a night walk because I couldn’t sleep." Minho explained.

"Then why were you holding hands?" Rian was quick to ask.

Minho froze. They didn’t hold hands, though he had tried. He supposed that someone who was spying on them probably would think that they were. Should he deny it? With his history he doubted anyone would believe him.

"The counsel has decided to give you a choice." the old man said.

"What kind of choice?''

"You get to choose, be with Lady Astrid and be crowned king tomorrow, or choose to be with your squire and be banished. Hopefully you make it out of the city gates alive." Rian was smirking, having caught his brother in a tough spot. Rian was sure the throne was his. He had the smoking gun. What he always wanted was so close to his reach. He knew his brother was too soft to look his love in the face and turn him down.

Minho thought about it. This is what they had talked about, running away together. They could do it now. But then he was reminded of Han’s words on the river bank that night. "I mean no disrespect toward prince Rian, but he can be a little harsh. But you, Your Grace.. you are kind. You are what the people need."

Han was right. As much as Minho desperately wanted to leave all of this behind and run away, his people needed him. He couldn’t leave them in the hands of someone as evil as Rian. He knew what he had to do. And it broke his heart even more to know that he had to say it here, out loud, with his full chest in front of Han.

Han, im sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. He tried to silently send that message to his squire, before he clenched his jaw, looked at Rian and said..

"I choose Lady Astrid."

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

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sweetestpopcorn · 7 months

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Hi popcorn! Firstly I love your fics, they are such a wild ride lol and you can tell how much effort you’ve put into them. I found it interesting to have the Aegon/Helaena match be suggested by Otto, I’d always imagined it as Alicent’s idea to show their “Targaryen-ness” to the world. In your fic, who was Alicent considering for Argon’s wife instead do you think, since she knew he would someday need a “Queen”. Or was she just not thinking that far ahead lol

Hi there 😊 and sorry for this delay.

Thank you so much for your beyond kind words, and yes, it was much effort 🥲

I do believe the idea came from Otto in canon (Fire&Blood - asoiaf) so I wanted to keep it the same here. Otto was always the "head" behind the Greens, the one actually trying to do something and to move the pieces to first try to name Aegon as heir - before being dismissed in 109 AC - and then trying to name him king - in 129 AC. Alicent was always too preoccupied with finding ways to insult and spread rumours about Rhaenyra - e.g., "Do keep trying, eventually you might get one who looks like you." and "Ser Criston protects the princess from her enemies but who protects the princess from Ser Criston" - but she actually did very little that was useful to their cause. The only thing she actually did that was a smart move was getting Criston Cole to their side, but again, this is painted more as something to spite Rhaenyra, and having a good ally comes second.

I can actually see it being maybe part Otto for wanting to give Aegon a Targaryen wife to have Targaryen children - as noted by Lord Beesbury it did seem like not being full Targaryen/being less Targaryen than Rhaenyra could be used against him so this would be a smart move - and part maybe Eustace who was the court's confessor and liked Aegon as an attempt to get him to behave (i.e., stop sleeping around so much and being so lazy). Indeed, this is posed in "Fire and Blood" as one of the reasons to wed Aegon to Helaena, that being a husband and father could "calm him down" in a sense. Job well failed as we know, but to his credit, we have no evidence of Aegon mistreating Helaena, and actually evidence that he seemed to care for her a little bit (e.g., being jealous when Jacaerys asked to dance with her) and also for his children. He went half mad himself when Jaehaerys died, drinking to numb his pain, so he wasn't an unfeeling monster by any sense.

At the end of the day though, the final decision belonged to the King, but no doubt the Small Council would support this, even because, the vast majority for them with the death of Lord Lyonel Strong in 120 AC where Greens, and this was what Viserys decided. And mind you, he had had a 13 year old wife who had problems in the birthing bed for being bedded to soon, but that didn't stop him from wedding 13 year old Helaena off to Aegon.

Father of the Year 🙄

As for the second part of your question, Aegon was still only 15. I don't think Alicent was considering who he was to marry just yet.

PS: Asoiaf canon and characters only, so please leave the lizard redacted show out of it. Thanks!

#otto hightower #canon otto hightower #alicent hightower #canon alicent hightower #not the crying one the karen one #viserys i targaryen #canon viserys targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #canon aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #canon helaena targaryen #the rogue prince #the princess and the queen #fire and blood #valyrianscrolls #pre asoiaf #asoiaf canon #popcorn answers

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bellofthemeadow · 8 months

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Dawn Ends the Night - Interlude

Aemond Targaryen x FemReader (Dayne)

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 3.5K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: Every morning, at dawn, for the past fortnight you meet Aemond Targaryen. Will today change things for the better between you two?

Notes: Hello everyone!!! I am writing earlier because I had this scene in my head that I could not fit into a regular plot-driven chapter because it was so long. So instead I turned it into a little interlude between chapters 4 and 5. It focuses on our favourite couple and if you have a thing for the whole regency "OMG THEY GRAZE EACH OTHER!" You will like that one. Its a bit angsty but with loads of fluff at the end. Hope you like it and like always LMK what you all think!

Thank you again to all of you who take the time to comment, like and reblog, you are all so kind and I love you all so much!!! 💜💚💜

See you in the next one xxx

Taglist: @duds31 , @snh96, @lol-im-done, @heavenly1927, @whimsywilde , @queen-123s-posts , @httyd-marauders , @singhfae , @nothing-just-hanging-around

At Dawn

In Starfall, you had been a ghost, haunting its ancient halls. You cherished the late hours, those quiet moments under the cover of darkness where the sky was a canvas of stars. To you, each star was not just a celestial spark but a guardian soul, a sentinel silently watching over the world from the heavens – you imagined they were looking after you when you needed them the most. This nightly ritual, however, came at a cost — mornings often found you rising late, the consequence of surrendering to the tranquil embrace of moonlit solitude.

In King's Landing, the luxuries of being a ghost were behind you. Now, well before the first golden rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, with the dawn barely painting the sky in hues of timid pink and soft orange, Prince Aemond would be at your door ready to eat his morning meal in your company.

Yawning, you gathered your hair, weaving it into a simple yet elegant half-up, half-down style. It framed your face in a way you found particularly becoming. But these early hours beckoned for self-sufficiency as you didn’t wish to disturb your handmaiden at such a time. Thus, you had grown accustomed to readying yourself alone in the quiet of dawn, opting for dresses that required no assistance to don. Today, you chose one of your favorites, a dress perhaps a tad too short by King’s Landing standards, ending mid-calf. Its design was a mixture of airy fabrics and light silks that embraced your form in a flattering caress, and its deep blue hue complemented your complexion beautifully.

Gently, you pressed your fingers to your cheeks, coaxing a rosy flush to the surface. Despite the early hour, it was important to you to look and feel your best. Right on schedule, the familiar, soft knocking at the door signaled his arrival, accompanied by a gentle, "My lady," floating through the wood. A smile spread across your face at the sound. Each dawn spent with Aemond only deepened your desire to spend more time in his company. To learn all you could about this dragonrider, this will-be husband.

You gave yourself a final glance in the mirror before sauntering towards the door. With a playful lilt in your voice, you called out, "And who might be serenading my door at this ungodly hour?"

From the other side came Aemond's mock-serious reply, "My lady, should there be another suitor at your door at this time, I fear I must step in to defend my betrothed honor. A fight to the death perhaps?"

Your laughter rang out, rich and unrestrained, as you swung the door open. Leaning casually against the frame, hand perched on your hip, you greeted him teasingly, "Ah, what a sight – A fierce dragon graces my doorstep."

Aemond rolled his eye, the man teetering between amusement and exasperation, before offering a polite bow of his head. Over his shoulder, you caught sight of Perros, his expression a perfect study in stoic disapproval. Ever since these dawn meetings with Aemond had become a routine, Perros had appointed himself your unofficial chaperone. Chaperoning had never been a tested custom of Dornish culture, but due to his protective nature, Perros had still not warmed up one bit to the idea of the betrothal, even after a fortnight under the Targaryen royal roof and he was looking for anything to hold against Aemond.

You stepped aside, allowing room for Aemond and Perros to enter. Perros, ever the vigilant guardian, promptly made his way to his usual spot in the corner. There, he brooded, his gaze sharp and watchful, tracking every interaction between you and Aemond with hawk-like intensity.

You recalled a morning some days ago when Aemond, in a rare moment of clumsiness, had spilled some jam on your sleeve. His instinctive move to dab it away had provoked an instantaneous reaction from Perros, who leapt to his feet, his voice laced with protective fervor as he reprimanded you both for the supposedly improper contact. The moment had ended with you and Aemond awkwardly distancing yourselves, while Perros took up a stern post at your table on the small balcony, arms crossed in silent disapproval. Aemond had sported a look of utter vexation, his face tinged with a hint of pink, huffing, while you couldn't help but shoot a glare at Perros for his overzealous protectiveness.

You led Aemond to the quaint table on the balcony, its surface crowded with an assortment of dishes. Your taste buds, having grown accustomed to the vibrant spices and flavors of Dorne, found the typical Westerosi cuisine rather uninspiring. Consequently, you had developed a preference for simpler fare – delicate cakes accompanied by soft Vale cheese and a sweet red-berry jam from the Reach, as you could not stomach anything else. If you were to live here, you would need to have a cook brought from Sunspear, you thought.

As you both settled into your seats, a serene quietude enveloped the balcony. The early morning light cast a soft glow on Aemond, accentuating his regal features and rendering him even more striking than usual. You caught yourself momentarily captivated by his appearance and quickly composed yourself. It wouldn't do to let on just how much your betrothed affected you.

"I trust you had a restful night, Prince Aemond?" you inquired softly, putting some berries on your plate.

"Fairly restful," Aemond replied, spreading cheese over a slice of bread. "However, I was somewhat vexed last night. I had intended to read 'The History of Dragon Anatomy' from the library, only to find it had already been taken out. The Maester there mentioned a young lady had taken it just after dinner. Curious, since I had expressed my interest in that very book earlier in the day, to that same lady."

You glanced at him coyly. "How frustrating for you. Perhaps this lady simply wished to delve into subjects that intrigue you, my prince."

Aemond let out a thoughtful hum, carefully layering jam on another slice of bread before placing it on your plate. "And..." he prompted.

"And what, my prince?" you asked, feigning innocence.

"Did you find the book to your liking?" Aemond's tone was casual, but his eye held a playful glint as he took a bite of his cheesy bread.

Your gaze lingered on Aemond as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing quite attractively. The sight inexplicably left your own throat feeling parched.

"The book was quite fascinating," you commented, "Particularly the chapter on dragon scales and their resistance to various metals. In Dorne, we don't have many resources on dragons, so it was a nice change of literature."

Aemond let out a soft scoff. "I imagine not. It would not be wise to provide our enemies with knowledge about how to defeat our dragons. Some would probably say it would be insanity"

Your eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Enemies?"

Aemond paused, meeting your gaze with a hint of uncertainty. "Old enemies, perhaps. You must understand the strategic folly in sharing dragon lore with those who have historically sought to bring them down. Our betrothal itself hinges on the long-standing enmity between Dorne and Targaryen’s dragons."

You bristled at his words. "Perhaps if dragons were not made to attack and lay claim to our lands, the sentiment towards them in Dorne would be different!"

Aemond's eye narrowed, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. "House Targaryen united Westeros by right of conquest. We are neither thieves nor invaders."

"Right of conquest?" you echoed incredulously. "Dorne was never conquered. Your ancestors never succeeded in bringing Dorne under their rule!"

Breakfast now lay neglected as you both locked gazes, each unwilling to yield, to be the first to lower the proverbial banner.

Aemond broke the silence with a measured tone, "Well, here you are now, in King's Landing. So, perhaps the past should remain just that."

Your response was edged with a hint of bitterness. "There's no need to remind me of my place here, Prince Aemond. Your views on my people, and by extension on me, seem quite clear. It must be such a burden to align your esteemed dragon lineage with mine.”

Aemond's eye flickered slightly, a shadow of discomfort crossing his face. "You exaggerate, my lady. I did not imply any such thing."

"Of course, my apologies," you replied, the sharpness in your voice unmistakable. Gathering his plate, you stacked it atop yours, a clear signal of the meal's end. "I trust your breakfast was satisfactory, Prince Aemond. However, I need to prepare for the day. I promised your sister I would meet with her."

Aemond seemed momentarily taken aback, his composed facade faltering. "But we've only just begun, and you've yet to enjoy your favorite jam. Why leave so abruptly?"

"I wouldn't want to impose any longer," you said, your tone firm yet polite. "It might be best for you to leave now Prince Aemond."

A thick silence enveloped the room, heavy with unvoiced sentiments. Prince Aemond, his jaw set in a firm line, rose abruptly from his seat. His movements were rigid, each step resonating with barely restrained anger as he made his way to the door. Upon reaching the threshold, he paused, turning to face you with a stiff, formal inclination of his head. "My lady," he uttered, his voice a strained whisper of formality. Then, with a swift motion, he opened the door and exited, the slam echoing with a finality that reverberated through the room. The resounding closure seemed loud enough to stir the entire wing, making you flinch.

Seated alone at the table, you gazed out towards the horizon, where the sun had begun to cast a golden glow over the morning sky. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you leaned forward, resting your head on your crossed arms atop the table. A soft groan of frustration echoed the turmoil within.

Had you overreacted? Aemond's words about Dorne's historical enmity with the Targaryens weren't unfounded, but his tone, dismissive and tinged with superiority, had struck a nerve. Your Dornish pride, a deep-rooted part of your identity, felt belittled in his presence. It was as if he had trampled upon the history and struggles of your people, reducing them to mere irritants in the grand Targaryen narrative.

Perhaps your reaction had been too impulsive, or maybe your expectations of Aemond were too lofty. The romantic notions you’d harbored, fueled by the tales and books you’d devored in Starfall, seemed naive now in the harsh light of the morning. Yet, Aemond’s daily visits, those moments that had started to become a cherished routine, suggested that maybe there was something more. Had you misconstrued his intentions, read too much into what was merely a princely obligation? The very thought of it twisted in your chest. You were confused and could feel a strange feeling of longing coiling deep within your stomach.

"My lady?" The concern in Perros's voice pulled you from your introspective reverie.

"Mmm?" you hummed, your voice muffled against your arms, still not lifting your head.

"Are you well, my lady?" He inquired gently, worry edging in his tone.

"You must be feeling vindicated," you said, lifting your head to meet Perros's gaze, your laughter tinged with a hint of bitterness. "It seems Prince Aemond has made his views about me quite clear."

Perros regarded you with a steady, thoughtful look. "I've never been fond of him, true. He's too princely, too arrogant. He's not worthy of you," he admitted, and you couldn't help but let out a small, teary chuckle.

"I guess now is the perfect time for your 'I told you so,'" you remarked wryly.

"But," Perros cut in, his tone shifting, "I can't ignore how he looks at you. From the very first day we arrived, he's been drawn to you like a moth to a flame. It's like you're the Maiden reborn in his eyes. And..” Perros took a breath for effect, "I suppose I might have judge the prince too harshly too... I was not to tell you, but Prince Aemond has been joining Davos and me during our training sessions in the yard.”

"He has?" You exclaimed, turning to face Perros - The image of Aemond, a prince of the realm, spending his time with little davos was a stark contrast to the man you had argued with only moments ago.

"Yes," Perros nodded. "He's been taking time to teach Davos the basics of swordplay. You should see the boy's face light up. The prince has a way with him, showing patience I didn't think possible. It's as if he sees something of himself in Davos. The lad's been boasting about it to anyone who'll listen, his chest puffed up with pride. Keep saying it’ll go to his head, but the lad is excited, the prince even said he’d show him that great beast of his. "

A thoughtful frown creased your forehead. "But why keep it a secret? Why didn't Aemond mention it? Why didn't Davos?"

Perros shrugged slightly, a faint smile touching his lips. "I suspect the prince isn't doing it for praise or recognition. Maybe he just wanted to help, to do something good without any fanfare. It's not something I expected from him, but with all my years, I’ve learned that people, even princes, can stil surprise us."

As you pondered his words, Perros placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding. "Speak with him, my lady," Perros advised gently, his voice carrying a wisdom born of years. "Whether he's a princely dragon or not, it's always better to clear the air, especially with matters of the heart.”

You offered a small, contemplative smile. "Perhaps you're right, Perros. I might just do that."

Just then, a series of knocks echoed at the door, you released a weary sigh, wondering aloud, "Do you think that the noise might have woken up mother?"

Perros straightened, ready to take action. "Shall I see who it is, my lady?"

"No, no, it's alright," you quickly responded, waving a hand dismissively. "It's probably mother, or Gerris and Davos. They have this habit of barging into my room to start their day. They find it amusing, I suppose."

But as you opened the door, it was neither your mother, nor Gerris, nor Davos – Standing before you was Aemond. His usually neatly styled hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had been anxiously running his fingers through it, and his solitary eye, usually so sharp and focused, now held a wild, almost frantic quality as he gazed at you

Finally breaking the silence, you found your voice ; “Prince Aemond?”

You were momentarily caught off guard as Aemond pulled you into his arms, his embrace firm yet cautious, tentative as though he was handling something precious and fragile. His body, usually so rigid and imposing, now enveloped you with a breath-stealing, protective warmth, contrasting sharply with the slightness of your own form.

His face buried in your hair, Aemond seemed to be seeking a sort of solace, his breath slow and deep. You could feel the slight quiver in his chest and for a moment, you stood there, unsure, your body rigid in his embrace. But as he inhaled, as if drawing strength from your presence, you felt a surge of want wash over you.

Tentatively, your arms wound around his back, your touch light, almost hesitant. The contours of his body under your fingers felt like the unyielding walls of a fortress, yet there was a tenderness in his hold that belied his outward appearance. The sensation of his breath warming the nape of your neck sent a shiver down your spine, and his voice, thick with emotion, resonated against your soft skin. "I am sorry for my words, my lady. They were careless and unkind," he murmured, his tone laced with a rare vulnerability. "Please, I am sorry. I ask for your forgiveness, but more than that, I beg you, do not shut me out. Not when I feel like I have only begun to know you."

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if fearing you might slip away, his voice a soft whisper against your hair. "You have every right to turn away from me, yet I find myself selfishly hoping you will not. In you, I've seen a kindness, a strength that I have longed for. Please, my lady, grant me the chance to prove that I am more than my harsh words and hasty judgments."

Nestling closer into his hold, you felt a wave of understanding wash over you. "Perhaps I, too, was quick to judge," you admitted softly. "Your words, though harsh, weren't entirely unfounded. Our kingdoms have been locked in conflict for so long, and both have suffered greatly. It's just that..." You paused, taking a deep breath, grappling with the words that lay heavy on your heart. "I understand the reasons for our union – duty, family, the realm, the crown. But still..." Your voice trailed off, laden with unspoken hopes and fears.

Aemond gently lifted his head from yours, their foreheads meeting in a tender, earnest touch. For the first time since your encounter, you were close, close enough to see the subtle hues in his remaining eye, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. "I too wish for more, my lady, more than you could possibly imagine," he confessed, his voice a soft echo of your own longing.

A timid smile touched your lips, a flicker of the young woman who once dreamt under the stars, the girl who laughed freely. "Back in Starfall, they used to say I was like a ghost. After Gerris was announced as the future lord, I lost a part of myself. I never thought I'd find that girl again – the one who could marvel at the stars, who loved to read and laugh without care." Your smile grew, a hint of old joy resurfacing. "But with you, Aemond... when I'm with you, I feel as if... as if I'm finding her again."

Aemond's smile, a rare and genuine thing, mirrored your own. "And I," he confessed, "feel something I feared was long lost in me too."

Perros's conspicuous throat-clearing echoed in the room, startling both of you into stepping apart, faces flushed with the sudden intensity of the moment. You shot Perros a glare, one that he met with a raised eyebrow and a look that managed to be both unimpressed and protective.

Aemond, regaining his composure with a soft cough, glanced toward the door. "I must take my leave, my lady. Ser Criston awaits me in the training yard, and I dare not keep my sister from you company as she probably awaits you for her early morning beetle hunt," he said.

Your smile returned, a gentle curve of lips that hinted at the warmth you felt inside. "Of course, my prince. Dawn tomorrow then?"

Aemond hesitated, an unusual shyness in his demeanor as he paused at the door. "Actually, I was wondering if I might join you in the afternoon? You spend time with your brother and Davos then, right?"

"Oh, you needn't trouble yourself. Heleana usually takes the twins along, and we all enjoy the gardens together," you explained.

He hummed thoughtfully. "Nevertheless, I would like to be there. To spend time with those you care about."

A genuine smile graced your face. "Then after midday it is."

As Aemond began to exit, he paused once more, turning slightly toward you. "And perhaps after dinner, I could meet you in the library? I could show you more books about dragons. I read them all as a child."

Your smile deepened, warmth spreading through you at the thought. "I would be delighted to receive literary recommendations from the realm's most renowned dragon rider."

Aemond's response was a shy smile, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He nodded silently, a gesture that spoke volumes of his growing affection, before finally stepping out of the room.

Left in the quiet room, you felt an unfamiliar sensation, a fluttering lightness in your chest, like a bird cautiously testing its wings after a long confinemen. With a dreamy smile lingered on your lips, you turned to face Perros, who stood near the small table, you caught the hint of a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes held a mix of amusement and something softer that you had trouble deciphering, perhaps a reluctant acceptance of the scene he had just witnessed.

With a mock groan, you raised your hand, preempting any comments he might have. "Do not say anything, Perros."

His smile broadened, but he raised his hands in mock surrender. "I wouldn't dream of it, my lady," he replied teasingly.

Shaking your head with a mix of exasperation and fondness, you moved past Perros towards the door. "I have a busy day ahead," you remarked, "And it seems I now have plans for after dinner as well."

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