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alastor-simp · 10 months ago

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Sickly Deer - Sick Alastor X Female Reader

❥Summary - Alastor is a very proud man, and he will almost never admit that something is wrong. However, you noticed he seemed a bit off today and wanted to know what was wrong?

❥Tags: Sick alastor, sick day, alastor becomes sick, female reader, reader takes care of a sick alastor, stubborn alastor, fluff , adorable fluff, taking care of someone sick

❥Notes: Always wanted to do a sick character story and I finally get to do one with Alastor.

Was a quiet day in the hotel today. Usually there was the occasional chaos, but surprisingly it was peaceful. Charlie and Vaggie were out shopping for groceries for the hotel. Angel was lounging in his room, relaxing with Fat Nuggets. Niffty was reading a book, most likely manga in the lounge room, with Husk taking a cat nap on the couch next to her. Sir Pentious was in his ship, crafting some devices with his egg bois.

You were lounging in the hotel library, enjoying some quiet time to yourself while reading. Well it was quiet for a second until you heard the sound of static-like cough coming from next to you. Alastor happened to be in the library as well, reading his weekly newspaper. He's usually very quiet when he reads, except with the occasional sound of humming or static. But this was new, as you almost never heard him cough or let alone sneeze for that matter. The coughing started slow, but then it kept getting rougher as he kept doing it, causing you to worry. "Hey Al?" Your eyes were gazing at him with concern. Alastor turned his head towards you, wearing his signature smile: “Yes? What is it my dear?” “Well, are you alright? I noticed you have been coughing a lot. Once you said that, Alastor let out a boisterous laugh. “Oh-ho! It is nothing my dear. Just a small tickle. Nothing to concern yourself with!” He waved his hand in the air, after he finished talking. You still felt unsure, but if he said it wasn’t a big deal, you wouldn’t question him.

How wrong you were, the more and more you saw Al throughout the day, the worse his cough got. Not only that, his face was slightly paler and a bit drenched with sweat. He still was acting like everything was alright, but you knew he was lying. Enough was enough. You caught up with Alastor, as he was walking down the hallway. “Alastor! Stop!” You yelled his name out. He stopped in front of you, and slowly turned around, head tilted in confusion. “You’re sick, aren’t you” Alastors face stayed neutral when you said that, but you knew you got him. “I told you already, my dear. It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” Alastor just smiled wider and turned away from you to continue walking. He was stopped again when he felt a hand grab one of his coat sleeves. His body grew tense and he turned back eerily, not appreciating you touching him. You gave him a strong look: “Well, I AM concerned. And you should be resting cause you’re only going to make it worse.” His garnet colored eyes locked on to yours, static in the air getting louder. “I am the radio demon, my dear. I do not get sick, so please remove your hand, n̸͚͇̏̉o̸̼̓ẇ̷̹̓.” His eyes flashed into radio dials for a split second, causing you to remove your hand from his sleeve quickly. “Thank you. Now then, I shall take my leave.” He turned back around and began to walk away from you. As you were watching him walk away, you noticed he drew to a stop again. His body was still up, but then he began to fall forward. “AL!”

**Alastor POV**

“Ugh….huh?” Alastors eyes opened slowly. He recognized he was in his hotel room as the ceiling was covered in grassy moss and leaves, as he was the one to change it due to his magic. He soon realized he was laying on his bed, wearing his pajamas as he slowly got up from lying down. He doesn’t recall heading back to his room, as his head was still a bit fuzzy. His head was throbbing and his throat was feeling sore. Alastor knew he was feeling sickly, but he refused to believe it. He hates to be perceived as weak, so he preferred to play it off that he was fine.

The sound of the door opening alerted him, causing him to look up. He sees you walking into his room, carrying a tray along with a plastic bag hanging from your arms. “Oh your awake? How are you feeling?” You bear a smile at him, as you walk closer to his bed, setting the tray down on the night stand. “How did I end up here?” Alastor questioned you, still confused at what happened. “You don’t remember?” Your eyes gazed at him back with concern. Alastor shook his head. “You fainted Al. I stopped you in the hallway cause I knew you were sick, but you said you were fine and as you walked away, you stopped and fell forward.” Al’s eyes widen at your statement, as he kept listening to you talk. “I carried you back to your room after that.” You gave him a small smile.

“I see. I’m sorry for the trouble you had to go through my dear, but I’m quite alright now.” Pulling the covers off, Al swung his feet to place them in the floor. He was stopped by a hand on his chest. “Oh no you don’t mister. You are staying in bed and getting better. Understand?” Your eyes were filled with determination. “My dear, I am qui-” “Understand?” His words were cut off by you. He continued to look at your face, seeing that you were refusing to budge. Heaving a sigh, he nodded his head. He positioned himself back to how he was on the bed. “Does anyone else know about my ailment?" He said, as you turned his head to look at you. You were removing some stuff out of the plastic bag and set them on the night stand before turning back to him. "The only ones who know are me and Niffty. No one else, I promise you. I had to tell her you were under the weather, and she told me to head to the store to get you some medicine while she made you some venison stew." Alastor continued to listen until he asked you another question: "Did you change me into my pajamas as well?" Your face flushed at that, and you shook your head no. "Your shadow happened to appear when I brought you to the bed. I told it to change you." Alastor just nodded his head at that, smiling at bit wider at your adorable reaction.

Grabbing one of the chairs from Al's desk, you brought it over to where his bed was and took a seat. Reaching for the bowl, you placed it on your lap. He observed you blow a bit on the spoon and hold it out to him, causing him to raise an eyebrow at you. "Come on Al. There's nothing wrong with me feeding you." Alastor sighed, and opened his mouth, allowing you to give him some of the stew that Niffty prepared. He was able to finish it all off, which pleased you. Placing the bowl back, you grabbed the medicine and a glass of water and handed it to him. Alastor grabbed it and quickly popped them in his mouth, chugging the water to get them down. Sighing, he laid back on the bed, placing his head on the pillow, turning it away from you. "I despise this feeling." He whispered that to himself, but you were able to pick up on it since you were still seated next to him. "What feeling?" you said back to him, tiling your head. "Alastor continued to look away. "The feeling of being sick. Makes me appear weak." Alastor grumbled out the response.

Alastor remained quiet after that. A hand was placed against his cheek, allowing his head to turn back towards you. His eyes widen at you, as he saw you wearing a kind smile. "You're not weak Alastor. Everyone gets sick from time to time, nothing wrong with it. Also, you should know the others would never think about that, they would rather you get some rest and get better." Your thumb stroked his cheek. Alastor listened to what you said and gave a sigh, closing his eyes. "I know, my dear. Just.....feels strange." Moving his hand, he placed it against the one on his cheek. "Thank you, my dear. If there comes a time where you are ailing, I will return the favor." His lips curved into a soft smile. He heard you chuckle, as your hand moved away from his cheek. "Get some rest, Al. I'll come back to check on you." Smiling, you got up from the chair, and grabbed the tray, heading over to the door. Alastor just watched you walk away, leaving his room, and closing the door. His eyes began to grow heavy, as his body started to relax, drifting into a deep sleep.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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Winter's King 28

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: It might be my only full length chapter this week but pls enjoy.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The king keeps you within his sight. As promised, the cloak is brought to the tower chamber. You dawn it as the king pulls on the layers of his duty; tunic, breeches, leather armour, boots, cloak, and the small accoutrements to ward off the cold. For how hotly he burned beside you in the night, you would think he could not feel the winter.

It is early still. The gray of the sky never fully recedes but it is neither pale nor dark. Even so, the day has come.

There is a single tap at the door. The king backs away from the hearth. You sit at the table, restless in the cloak with the wolf patch. He calls for the knocker to enter.

Bryce appears from the other side, his saddles bags over one shoulder. "My king. Roach is ready."

"Very well," he nods, "summer maid," he turns and beckons to you with two thick fingers, "the good lord will take you ahead."

"My leige?" Bryce wonders what you do not dare ask.

"Only be concerned that she remains safe. Warm," he nears and shamelessly caresses your check. You flinch as you refuse to falter. "You will get her to the capital ahead of us. You will be fleet without so many to slow you."

You meets Bryce's gaze. In all that you've known him, he has never looked afraid. There is fear gleaming on his eyes.

"I will always serve you, my king. And never have I denied your command, but might I speak plain?" The soldier faces his master.

"I prefer you for your candour," King Geralt returns.

"This will not go without note," Bryce says. "Not least of all by the queen."

"The queen cares little for the maid. She only cares she has someone at her whim."

"Be that as it may, but it is not her who would notice. Yet, whoever did, would be certain she hears of it--"

"I fear not my wife and her temper. She is tawdry. A child. Let her whine and stomp her feet," the king dismisses. "Your concern is appreciated. I understand you only mean to protect me, but I care more to keep her safe."

"Yes, my king," Bryce accedes, "I will not let any harm come upon the maid. As I've not yet done."

"It is why I trust only you and Roach. Be gone before the party is abreast." The king faces you, surprising you as he kneels before you. You blanch as you notice the shift in the soldier's posture. "My tender maid, keep you well. I regret that it need be this way but after last eve, I must have you away from this tumultuous party." He takes your hand and pets your knuckles before kissing them. He admires your fingers as if they are adorned in gems. "I will see you in the capital. There, then, we can be happy."

“My king,” you breathe, “what about the queen?”

“I shall tend to her should she be dissatisfied. That is no longer your worry. She does not deserve you, treasure.” He avows.

You stare at him. His eyes are eerie in the low light. You would not and cannot deny him.

“Yes, your highness, as you wish,” you concede. It was never truly your choice.

“Before we part, pet,” he squeezes your hands. “A kiss?”

You hesitate. The soldier turns to the door and feigns ignorance. You dip your chin. The king tilts his head up and you lean forward. As you aim for his forehead, he brings his lips to yours.

He releases your hands and quickly cradles your head as he braces your hip. His tongue pokes along your lips and you relent to his will. That is as it will be. As it has always been. You have ever been servant.

He finally parts, humming as his bright irises glimmer, “my treasure, my love,” he rasps.

“My king, I wish you a safe journey,” you utter.

“And I shall bid the fates the same of you,” he drags his hand down your thigh and stands. “Safe and quick. Off, before my weak heart gets the best of my mind.”

Bryce’s sole scuffs and he clears his throat, “come, maid. Put your hood up.”

You stand and bow your head. You pass close to the king, your cloak stirring against him, and you cross to the soldier. He opens the door and trails you out. You do as he bid and pull your hood up. You descend the twisting steps in silence.

The corridors are no less hollow and a bitter draft wafts through. The roiling of Bryce’s thoughts ripples from him as he marches next to you. You can only sense him past the fabric of the hood.

“I shall make you tea for the road,” Bryce says at last. “It should keep you warm.”

“Thank you, sir, but it isn’t needed,” you say. “We should leave quickly.”

“Aye, we will be away ‘fore any know,” he agrees, “but not without the tea.”

You offer no further protest. It isn’t your right to argue. You haven been bidden and so you will do. Obedience never chafed before. Obedience was safe, it was sustenance for any maid.

You go to the kitchens and wait as Bryce boils water and brews a dark tea from leaves in a pouch he digs from his tunic. He offers it. It carries a pungent aroma. You blow over it and sip. You make a face.

“It is... strong,” you murmur.

“So it is, but the leaf will help warm your blood,” he insists and paces back and forth. He is restless to be away. You are as well.

You drink and he ushers you away to the stables. You stride along the row of stalls and he dodges the nip of a dark steed. He flattens himself against another door and snarls, “the damned beast. ‘Less you can tame her, the king’ll have to keep her ‘neath his stubborn arse.”

You recognise the mare. It is Roach, the king’s mount. You stare at her and she turns her nose to you.

“Be wary lest she chomps off your face,” the soldier girds.

You have little mind to worry for your own nose. You raise your hand pet the creature’s long snout as she plumes hot air from her nostrils. He pushes against your palm and eases, leaning into your touch as you brush along her long head.

“Come, Roach, we have far to go... I believe,” you say. “Be kind to Sir Bryce. He is brave and kind.”

“Aye, she seen me ‘fore and I never think she’s thought so,” he snorts, keeping his distance.

You drag your touch down her neck and put your hand on the latch of her door. She nuzzles your hood and you free her. She steps out as Bryce lingers behind you.

“Can you saddle a horse? Else I’ll have to brave her bites,” he says.

“I can. Fetch it and her bit.”

You dress the horses. Daisy is left behind as Bruce claims Chestnut as his own. You’ll miss your usual mount.

You get astride and head off into the cold dawn. Your stomach churns as you descend the treacherous mountainside. You’re not sure if it is the thin air, the turmoil of what you ride away from, or ride towards. Perhaps it is all at once.

Bryce stops you in a natural alcove, away from the winds as he searches his saddle bag. He hands you a leather packet. There are oats and nuts within. He spits out the red leaf he chews so often and nibbles on dried meat instead.

You eat in silence. The food does not aid in the condition of your stomach. You feel rotten.

The soldier squints and glances out from between the rockface. He tuts and shakes his head. He puts away the jerky and struts out into the open. He looks up the pass.

“Eh, I know you’ve been there since we left. Better you show your face before I show my steel,” he warns the wind.

You frown and fold down the flap of the packet. You hear scratching, then it comes clearer, footsteps. How did he know? Why did he not say a word?

“It is I, sir,” Ezme declares. “Lord Vesemir--”

“Aye, I know he sent ya. Why?” Bryce crosses his arms. You step away from Roach as she stomps.

“He did speak with our great king last eve,” she appears just at the edge of your view. “He offered to keep the made. That the king might return to his throne ‘fore he come back to claim her.”

“And he was denied.” Bryce says.

“The king was not amenable, no, yet... Lord Vesemir acts only in accord with his duty. He vowed to protect King Geralt--”

“And to serve him. As I have,” Bryce insists. “No, you will not have her. I’ve been commanded to take her away.”

“You could remain. Lord Vesemir knows many secret places. Those that are not on maps. It would be as if the two of you were lost. The king wouldn’t know--”

“He would,” Bryce growls. “I am not fool, even if all others in this forsaken realm might be. I do like my head on my neck.”

“It is not safe. Not for the king or the maid. Not for you,” Ezme counters.

“There is nothing safe in this world. Never has been,” Bryce scoffs. “Be away before I prove that.”

“Sir Bryce, you have never been unkind.”

“You ask me to commit treason. How should I be?” He retorts.

Her head shrinks down. She slowly turns to you. Bryce moves to block her. She stops short and speaks over his arm. “Dear friend, know that Lord Vesemir’s invitation will remain. Always. Even after you leave this day.”

You blink at her. Your heart is racing. You feel sick. Knots tie into themselves in your chest and stomach. You blow out a cloud of warmth breath into the frigid mountain air.

“Thank you, friend,” you reply. “I shall follow the king’s command.”

“I understand,” she purses her lips grimly. She steps back and faces the soldier again, “safe journey.”

He sighs, “you know I cannot accept.”

“And I had to try,” she says then spins and disappears back up the incline.

“So is our call to keep on,” Bryce strides back to you and the horses. “Better sooner, the road will unwind on and on. I tire of it already.”

You climb back into the saddle and set off again. The further you get, the worse you feel. As if you might be sick, or even as if you might need to lift your skirts in some hidden brush. You feel so wretched you can hardly focus on anything but your body.

“Sir,” you say, “I must stop.”

“Aye, mouse, we might,” he reins Chestnut as you tug on Roach.

You nearly fall off of her in your panic. You are going to spew. You stumble and turn to hide the eruptions. You spit up onto the dirt.

“I have water,” Bryce offers from behind you.

“A moment, sir,” you breathe as fullness pulses in your pelvis.

You go around Roach and hide behind her. You pull up the front of the dress, letting the skirts and cloak shield your back. You reach between your legs as slip your hands down your wool underclothes. Your palm comes away streaked and red. Your blood has come. Early.

“Are you well?” The soldier asks.

“Sir, I am,” you assure him and wipe your hand on the underside of the skirt. “It is only a womanly trouble.”

“Aye, oh, aye,” he grumbles awkwardly. “Take ye time, then.”

You lean on Roach and close your eyes. You are horribly sore already and exhausted to the bone. Still, you can do nothing but persist.

“I’m ready, sir,” you lift yourself back into saddle. “I would away.”

“If we are swift, we will be on flat ground by nightfall,” he says.

⚔️

The days wear on. The first week is counted by the days of your cycle. The pain and the fatigue has you aware of each moment. Then it is the moon that marks the waning of time.

The road winds away from the mountains and onto the flatlands. Only for a time before trees rise around you and shroud you in shadow, both dusk and dawn. Between the fir needles and veined bark are those noises that keep you unsettled.

You camp before a small fire. Bryce works at planting the posts to drape canvas over. The snow is kept off the ground by the thick canopy of branches above. There is some dusting here and there, but it is mostly dry.

“What can I do, sir?” You ask, as you have done every night.

“I tell ya again to sit and warm yourself,” he sneers as he hammers in the post.

“And I repeat I would like to help,” you insist.

“I can manage. I’m not old man,” he sniffs as he grabs the canvas roll.

“I know...” you pause as you hear another faraway whine. It sends a shiver through you. “Sir, what are those sounds?”

He chortles as he works at spreading the canvas over the poles. “Why those are the frostwolves. And the low rumbles will be the bears. The skittering the snow foxes, and the shrill ones, those are the winter birds.” He explains, “they leave ya alone, so long as you keep the fire burning.” He ties a corner into place, “besides, they hate the smell of me.”

“What?” You gasp, amused.

“Aye, the don’t like my stench. I came eye-to-eye with a bear. Oh, he didn’t stick around to get a second look,” he scoffs. “And I said to the beast, I don’t mess with ya, don’t be gnawing on my leg. See, I’ve got a truce with the winter beasts.”

You laugh and sway as you hug yourself. It is awfully cold. Your ears and head hurt almost constantly, even with your hood in place, and the gloves only do so much to keep your fingers from tingling, or your boots for your toes.

“I s’pose they might be lured by the sweet scent of a summer’s maid. A new flavour,” he teases.

“You scare me, sir.”

“Scare you? Oh, but this beast is your friend. You needn’t fear the others.”

You smile through chattering teeth. He stands straight and eyes you with hands on his hips. “Get close to the fire. You don’t want to catch the ague. Not around here.”

“I am well, sir,” you promise.

“Then stay well,” he nears and grabs your wrists. He drags you to the pit and guides your hands over the flames. “Keep close to the horses even. They reek but they put off heat more than cinder.”

You nod and keep your arms out. It is nice by the fire. The further you get on the road, the colder it is. You could never dream of anything so frigid. It makes you wonder how any can survive in this place, let alone build castles or sow a field. And the more you think of what you don’t know, you are faced with what you do know.

Your fate is as certain as any of the king’s commands. You will remain in the Hinterlands. It will be your home thus you should acquaint yourself to it. You should become tolerant to the winds and the snow and the wailing beasts.

“Sir Bryce,” you eke out. “Will you tell me more about these woods?”

“These woods? Trees, wolves, dirt,” he shrugs.

“No, sir, I want to know more. I want to know everything. About the Winter Kingdom and the people who built it. What about the king? Not our king, but the one before? I hear much and yet I feel I know less.”

He huffs and tilts his head, “it is best you know as little as possible about that one.”

“Was he very bad?” You wonder.

He sniffs, “I can’t tell you all but what I can is that he was selfish. He was negligent of his kingdom and his people even his own son. He let these lands go to spoil. His name is not one any speaks lightly. It is the reason our king is so loved. Because he is all that his father was not.” He dusts off his hands and shakes his head. “At least, we all hope that proves true.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt of riva #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #winter's king #medieval au #au #the witcher

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simp-ly-writes · 2 months ago

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Gentle-Fellow's

─────── · · A Smosh Fanfic

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x gn!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You, Spencer and your fellow cast mates Angela and Shayne all star in yet another Don't Win Mario Party, Gentlemen addition!

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, part social media au, use of dated terms as comedy, swearing, smoking, fluff, attempt at humour, cute.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,463

─ · · A/N: thank you so much for the ask, anon! sorry it took so long, had to brainstorm some jokes and scenarios but it was a load of fun! 😄

─────── · ·

"Oi! 'ello Chaps, I'm here with my fellow gentle-lads and t'day we'll be playing some good old fashion mario party, just how I like my liquor-" you began to intro to the camera before Spencer was slapping you gently on the shoulder, his body acting out more impact than you actually received but you still fell off the couch for comedic benefit as he put his shoes up on your supposed 'corpse' in good taste.

"Well enough with what that fellow was going on about, I must say we shall play. This game is better suited for a trio rather than a quartet- the same philosophy can also be said for working in the navy. Was much better to night-watch with a trio-"

"Ah yes, I do believe three-and-some is an adequate amount. I have yet to try four but it sounds you would not recommend?" Shayne leans forwards on the couch to fully face Spencer who adjusts his tophat while looking down at you, silently asking if you were okay while laying down off camera. You shot him a smile upwards, rolling over and returning back to the couch.

"Yes, I would not recommend such activities. Too many men with not enough places to go and scope out. Much better to have three, did you not serve to learn this?" Spencer asks with a tilt to his head, his top hat already falling off again as you hold back a chuckle to his playful glare in your direction.

"I in fact did serve! I was a leader, and I good one at that too. Took my whole group to one of the colonies, we had to strip ourselves of layers from how humid the climate was," Shayne clarified, pretending to light his cigar as Spencer lit his own, passing his lighter towards you.

"Thank you, gentleman," you responded, lighting your two cigarettes, wearing them like vampire fangs that had Angela near tears at the end of the couch. "I do remember being down to my undergarments at multiple points with my men, I'll have you know we were all in position within the ama-zone. Quite the discoveries we made there, so uncivilized."

"AYE!" Angela corrected, pointing a finger, her moustache slipping down her face, "I'll have you know my third mistress is from those parts, and she is the best. You mustn't make such hastily claims gentlemen, it is unbecoming of you!"

You nod your head, "yes, yes, very unbecoming. What are we? Boys like our sons? I can't remember the last time I had ashes in my lungs with that child's work," you continue as Angela agrees with a huff, the game seemingly long forgotten as you all carry through conversation, trying your darnedest not to break character.

"Ah yes, I think I have a son or two, I can't quite remember. I think to name them all William, a strong English name," Shanye comments once you all get... gently reminded to play the game you intro-ed over half an hour ago, you hoped that the editors would be able to find something distinguishable in these files.

─────── · ·

"I do believe it is your turn, gentleman," Spencer comments, casting you a wink. "My, I have seen to misplaced that powered-device. Does anyone see it?" Everyone starts to feel around the dips in the couch, Spencer was the first to stand, walking closer to the cameras from where you rolled to during the introduction bit and comes back with your controller, dipping it towards you with a bow.

"Thank you, my, you must be quite the bachelor, charming a fellow like me, oh my," you add with heated cheeks as Spencer returns to your side, his leg nocking against your own as you shout out in disbelief to obtaining a star you DID NOT want. "This is outrageous, I demand a re-play of my turn! I did not intend-"

"We must play by the rules," Shayne cuts you off, tilting his hat down as you stick out your tongue. Angela is focused on not winning the next mini game as you and Shayne continue your staring contest in the following two rounds before you claim victory. "Haha! I have trained with only the best, you can read a lot about another man through his eyes. Have you been hunting before? I love that wild look." Spencer jumps to respond.

"Yes, I must say, you really can tell a lot..." and in that moment you both look at one another. Shayne and Angela are both screaming over something on the screen but you both sound it out, lost in this little moment before realizing your both won... or well lost.

"It appear we have lost," Spencer says, emitting a sigh. "No, I would say we have won," you tease loving the way his cheeks heat up to his ears before you both return to the game more driven then ever to not win.

─────── · ·

Jokes have you all toppling the couch at some point from your rambunctious laughter, Angela is struggling to breathe through her sentence much similar to you over just how funny Spencer manages to be wearing sweatpants and a cheap half tux.

Spencer immediately went to protect your head with his arm as you all fell backwards with a large crash, the crew all gasped out in shock before your laughter only grew more boisterous. "I think I hear a little man again," Shayne comments, forcing himself upright to look over the couch as stars begun to be distributed.

Like snipers at position you all kneeled, your eyes only visible from the turned over couch. Top hats giving away your cover and you had placed second, falling back to the ground in fake shock and relief. Spencer teased mouth to mouth that had you pressing a hand to his mouth and narrowed your eyes at his large ones filled with glee and adoration.

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Angela had lost in the end in first place. you second place. Shayne in third and Spencer being the ultimate winner in fourth.

"FUCK!" and the video ended abruptly to quickly cute to her wearing a dog cone while trying to light a cigarette, only for them to keep collecting down by her neck.

"Thank you all for viewing our game time today, I have had the most splendid time today with you chaps, as I hope you all have ventured the same?" Shayne asks the now upright couch and cast.

"Yes, I was quite filled with delight," you replied, nodding your head and tipping your hat to everyone on the sofa.

"I do agree with my fellow gentleman, here" Spencer replies, clapping you on the wrist this time, very much close to holding your hand, your fingers interlacing while watching Angelas 'winning' speech.

"I hate you all-"

"Why that id not very gentlemanly of you, do you wish to handle these matters outside in more space for our thoughts?" Shayne rebuttles.

"Yes, I rather have a few thoughts to show you," Angela challenged, brow raised as she begins to roll up her sleeves, Shayne doing the same. Alex closes the video by panning upwards and the screen fades to black.

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🔔 Smosh Games just posted! watch now?

─────── · ·

Gentleman's Rules: Don't Win Mario Party (Again!)

Smosh Games ✓ [Subscribed] 👍 67k | 👎 7.78M subscribers 300k views 1 week ago only the politest of games... click to read more

1,110 Comments

username01 (name) and Spencer out here being the cutest even while cosplaying as colonizers, iconic behaviour you two!

username88 09:45 "Ah yes, I do believe three-and-some is an adequate amount" - Shayne Topp 2024

↳ username70 OMG why did I not catch this earlier LMAO 🤣 ↳ username91 or what about 20:01 " What are we? Boys like our sons? I can't remember the last time I had ashes in my lungs with that child's work..." - (name) was UNREAL for sayin' this XD ↳ username70 OMG YES! 🙌😂

username22 I don't know about you but I'm feeling like I'm ready for a whole series of just this cast and just this game. I have had this video and repeat since it's come out! Please. Make. More. 🙏

username14 Literally so in love with how gentle Spencer was being with (name), dropping the persona to held them find their controller and even making sure they didn't fall hard?? 😭

↳ username91 and did anyone notice those little winks? UGH 😩

username40 this is not good material to be eating to, almost choked from laughing so hard, would not recommend.

userame66 That little exchange about seeing into one another's eyes was so poetic, like that bit did not need to go that hard 💗

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─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2 @delaneyburghardt @thevintagefangirl @uniquely-haunting @maricarorp

#fanfic #fanfiction #simp-ly #simp-ly-writes #x reader #fluff #spencer agnew fanfiction #spencer agnew imagine #spencer x reader #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew #smosh x reader #smosh #smosh games

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space-mango-company · 10 months ago

Text

Stranger | Chapter 2

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (still not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon what canon

Word Count: 2k

A/N: So... this was posted prematurely a couple hours ago. This is the actual finished longer version. If you don't know what I'm talking about, thank god. Sorry this took so long, lmao

Just letting you guys know that my knowledge of the lore is purely based off of the movies and the Dune wiki rabbit hole I fell into right after watching part two. I also took a few liberties with the canon here.

I'm super open to constructive criticism, or any criticism at all (feel free to absolutely roast me). Like I mentioned, I've never written fanfic before so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The evening of your first day in Giedi Prime was celebrated with a banquet where you were introduced to the most important people on the planet. You've heard many stories of the ruthlessness and brutality of the Harkonnens, hence surprised by the courtly welcome during the dinner. Although you did your best to politely ignore the Baron who floated at the head of the table being fed by servants.

You were sat beside his nephew who, despite your mother's education, has evaded your insight. You couldn't quite get a read on him.

Feyd-Rautha whispers to you amid the buzzing conversations of the banquet hall, "are you enjoying the food, little hawk?"

You shoot him a questioning look.

"I like your hairpin," he sneers.

You resist from reaching to touch the Atreides symbol affixed in your hair.

"We don't see such ornaments often here." He quietly laughs in his devilish way, only too amused with himself.

Ah, you realize. He means to torment you.

"Seems early for pet names," you say, picking at your plate, "we've only just met."

"Oh, and yet we are to be wed in less than a week's time," his raspy voice rings in your ear, "I should like to be familiar with my future wife, Lady Atreides."

The marriage pact had been signed when you were only a little girl. Inheriting your father's inclinations, you swore you would uphold your duty, undeterred by the gruesome and abhorrent stories about the Harkonnens—because you knew that centuries of conflict could end within a generation with this union. You were a willing bride.

And yet.

You give him a smile that, to those not privy to your conversation, would seem genuine, "You know nothing of me, na-Baron."

"I should like to learn," you doubt his sincerity but care not enough to discern it. He takes a smug bite of a forkful of meat, "perhaps tomorrow, you shall learn something of me."

The following morning Iassa helps you into another black gown, this time with a veil in anticipation of the black sun.

"Is it not dangerous for Feyd-Rautha to wager his life for a show?" you question.

"The na-Baron is a skilled fighter, my lady. He will emerge victorious," Iassa is straight-faced as she drapes the veil over you.

"Yes, I do not doubt it, but given he is the Baron's heir. Does it not seem a touch irresponsible to even risk it at all."

Not that you actually cared for his life, you just expected that the Harkonnens would be concerned with the preservation of their house regardless of their brutality. You recall your grandfather who got himself killed fighting bulls for sport.

"The na-Baron will be fighting war prisoners. They will be drugged beforehand. It is perfectly safe, my lady."

"Oh." You couldn't decide if you were disappointed or not, "I see."

Iassa seemed intent on dropping the subject, so you do.

You stand before a mirror and take a look at yourself. It is impossible not to be reminded of your mother. She was never one for vanity, but you like to think there was a part of her that always enjoyed the elegant dresses she and you 'had' to wear. You allow yourself a somber smile behind your veil.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Iassa curtsies.

"Thank you," you look at her bowed figure, gray robes made more dull by the stark black choker on her neck. You were sure she was at least 2 standard years younger than you are and it had only been a few months since you came of age. You wondered if she liked pretty dresses too.

Before you can ask her, there is a knock at your door.

The house steward, Jaromir, clears his throat when Iassa opens it for you, "The na-Baron requests your presence before he enters the arena."

Heavy doors open for you in one of the chambers beneath the arena. You are greeted by the sight of a half-dressed Feyd-Rautha being helped into his armor by a servant.

"Lady Atreides," he looks you up and down, "I hope you slept well."

You bow your head in acknowledgment.

"Your knives, master," a large man whom you assume to be the bladesmith presents Feyd-Rautha with two daggers.

The young Harkonnen takes one and caresses the blade with his fingers.

"I've come to wish the brave na-Baron well before his fight in the arena," you say in false earnestness.

He smiles at your inflation of his ego.

"Though I must say, I am relieved it is all for show. I would not like to see my groom wounded before we are wed."

"For show?" Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and you see his arrogant facade show the slightest crack.

"Yes, I've heard your opponents will be drugged will they not?" your voice dripping with innocence, "to ensure your safety, of course."

His grip on the dagger tightens, "and where did you hear this exactly?"

You sense the awkwardness and tension in the servants. The one who had helped don Feyd-Rautha's armor has quietly retreated to the far side of the chamber. There is a subtle tremble in the hands of one holding a plate of towels. You finally notice the three women piled upon a raised platform glaring at you.

"Just voices around the fortress," you shrug.

A deep breath recovers Feyd-Rautha's smug expression. "Call for the warden," he orders one of the guards by the door, "tell him to prepare new prisoners. Sober ones."

"My lord, you need not endanger yourself," you feign worry.

"Nonsense." The na-Baron walks closer to tower over you, "My lady bride deserves to see my true prowess."

He sees through your challenge, but you don't care. Seeing his self-satisfied smirk wiped from his face for even just a second was worth it.

"Besides," he turns away from you to inspect the second knife, "my darlings enjoy meat that's fought for its life."

The three women sneer at this and you see their sharp teeth as they hiss amongst themselves.

You've heard of Feyd-Rautha's concubines long before you arrived on Giedi Prime. Tales of their taste for human flesh were one of the things that tested your resolve in fulfilling the marriage pact. You didn't mind that the na-Baron would keep other women. It would result in less of his attentions on yourself, you figured. It was their perverse appetite that nauseated you.

A look of revulsion hides behind your veil which you sense they would be all too happy to rip to shreds.

"I will see you in the stands, little hawk," Feyd-Rautha whispers to you as he waves for a guard to escort you out.

You do your best to drown out the noise of what seemed to be a countless audience that came to see the na-Baron fight. You could understand now why they uphold such brutal traditions. The people are so excited for it.

On the other side of the arena, you sense Vladimir Harkonnen watching you from the Baron's Box that towered over the whole arena. The blazing sun only helps you avoid looking in his direction. You were sat at a viewing box, still for nobility and separated from the masses, but much lower and closer to the sands of the arena. Jaromir had told you that you were to 'give the na-Baron your favor'.

Before long, the master of ceremonies announces Feyd-Rautha's entrance in Giedi Prime Speech. They are celebrating his betrothal to you and the union of Harkonnen and Atreides, you translate in your head. You wonder if the people care for the politics of the Great Houses. They seemed no less excited to cheer at your name despite the centuries-old blood feud.

Massive doors open as the na-Baron walks into the arena. His arms outstretched holding his knives like an extension of his limbs. He riles up the crowd as he walks towards the Baron's Box and kneels to his uncle. He then rises and walks toward you, smirking under the stark light of the black sun.

You may not fear earning the Harkonnens' contempt, but you were the Duke of Caladan's daughter and you knew that the favor of the people was invaluable.

You stand and walk to the edge of the viewing box. The glowing smile you reveal as you lift your veil draws cheers from the crowd that rival what Feyd-Rautha received. You produce a pure white handkerchief from your dress pocket and make a show of kissing it and waving the cloth at the buzzing crowd. You throw it off the edge and it floats toward the na-Baron who had moved both daggers to one hand to catch it. He looks up at you with what you think could be the seeds of respect and tucks the cloth into the tight armband around his right bicep.

He turns back to the audience and raises his knives in a war cry. The crowd explodes in guttural cheers and applause. Feyd-Rautha takes his position in the middle of the arena as his first opponent is released into the white sands.

You've heard of the Harkonnen heir's aptitude in single combat. It's time to see if the stories were true or if it was just another part of their menacing facade.

You were handed a pair of spyglasses to observe with. The two fighters approach each other, the prisoner wielding a knife of his own. Feyd-Rautha holds a taunting stance. The prisoner was sober, you were sure, but even without the spyglasses, you could see he was weak. You surmised the Harkonnen cells weren't very hospitable. He attempts a swipe but the na-Baron parries with ease. Another and the na-Baron dodges. Zooming in, you could see Feyd-Rautha's twisted amusement. He was toying with the poor man—and the people loved it.

The crowds cheered at the clashing of metal, thundering when the na-Baron drew first blood by slashig his opponent's arm. It wasn't long before Feyd-Rautha's dagger had impaled the prisoner's heart. There was no pause before a second prisoner was brought out to meet a similar fate.

Feyd-Rautha stood unwounded, seething with exhilaration. He enjoyed this; the thrill of killing. He basked in the roar of the crowd. You had never ended a life before, but some deep part of you could almost understand how he felt in that moment.

A third prisoner enters the arena. He looked older than the first two, bearded and taller. He reminded you of Gurney Halleck, the Atreides Warmaster. This man certainly wasn't at his prime but you could tell he would not go down as easily as the first two.

The warrior holds his blade out in a firm fighting stance, refusing to make the first move. You notice picadors in black suits have entered the arena, circling the na-Baron and his opponent. Feyd-Rautha lunges at the prisoner and a quick series of parries from both sides occur. You see the finesse in the na-Baron's movement. He recognizes his opponent's skill and he is taking this one seriously. You were not sure what you expected of the Harkonnen's fighting style but Feyd-Rautha was vicious but precise. The crowd gasps when the prisoner disarms one of the na-Baron's knives. The warrior manages to get a grip on Feyd-Rautha's armed hand and aims to pierce the na-Baron's neck with his blade. The na-Baron struggled against his hold and the arid air was thick with anticipation.

You were unsure what outcome you desired as you stared through your spyglass. Perhaps this warrior kills your betrothed. What then? Would you really be able to go back to Caladan's windy cliffs again? Return to the arms of your mother as if it were all a bad dream? You wonder if when Feyd-Rautha becomes baron, and you his baroness, could you convince him to let you see your family.

The warrior's blade was dangerously close to your future husband's throat when one of the picadors lashes at the warrior. The na-Baron growls at the offending picador as the warrior is weakened. Feyd-Rautha pushes him off and allows him a moment to recover, taunting him to try again. Blades clash once more and after a sequence of quick ferocious movements, Feyd-Rautha's blade slashes the warrior's throat. Blood made black by the infrared of the sun splatters onto the na-Baron. He licks the darkness that landed on his lips. Heaving, he takes your bloodied handkerchief off his armband and raises it to you and the roaring crowd.

You did not even realize you were already standing, breathless at the sight.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore

#feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune #dune part two #baron harkonnen #baron vladimir harkonnen #house harkonnen #house atreides #giedi prime #austin butler #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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oepionie · 2 years ago

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BELOVED BAT-WIFE. lilia vanrouge

Characters: Lilia Vanrouge x Fem! Reader, Platonic! Sebek x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Lilia's wife makes an impromptu visit at NRC. Sebek is dragged into this mess and has to help her sneak into the campus.

A/N:: This is the first fic I've written in years!

Tags: Fluff, Established relationship, Maybe a bit OOC?, Reader is not Yuu and is said to be a mage

Word Count: 800+|💌Masterlist | Batwife masterlist

"Lady Vanrouge! When you told me you planned to visit, this wasn't what I had in mind!" Sebek hissed, staring at you through the gate's frame. He responded to your SMS asking him to meet you at the school gates as soon as possible. Despite the fact that it was two in the morning, he ran to your position right away. How he arrived in under 10 minutes is remarkable.

"I did say it was a last-minute decision." Shaking your head, you pulled the hood to your robe up and slipped on a pair of leather gloves. Indeed, you did send Sebek a letter to inform him of your plans beforehand. Leaving out the fact that you planned to sneak in like some petty thief.

"Now hold this gate steady for me, ok?"

Sebek's eyes practically sprang out of his head when you started climbing the tall gate. He yelled at you to be careful as he grasped the gate with both hands, firmly grasping the metal bars. You easily climbed to the top and laughed as you tossed yourself to the opposite side. Shrieking, Sebek ran to catch you, nearly toppling over from the force.

"Nice catch, my boy!" You grinned, patting his shoulder and setting yourself down. Sebek heaved, kneeling over and pressing a palm over his chest to calm his racing heart from the stunt you just pulled.

"You-Lady Vanrouge-!" Sebek started. "You're a mage! Why would you do that!"

"Teleporting or flying would definitely be easier…but that's boring~" You drawled, a cheeky grin on your face.

"Now, which way is that mirror again? It's been ages since I last set foot on this campus-literally!"

You linked both your arms together and began to pull the boy towards the academy, ignoring any and all of his complaints.

"I really think we shouldn't be doing this." Sebek muttered, begrudgingly pushing the doors to the mirror chamber open. You both slid inside, the door behind you closing with a snap.

It was already late at night, and the moon shone through the windows, its light reflecting off the mirrors. You took a step closer to Diasomnia's portal, tracing the engravings on its frame.

Had they changed parts of it? You noticed certain details that were not previously present.

"Well, too late to back off now. You're making me start to think you don't actually want me here." You pouted, shifting your gaze to Sebek's rigid body beside the doorway. He jumped and dashed over, his cheeks flushed pink.

"Of course I do, Lady Vanrouge! Your presence is always appreciated! I only wish you had chosen safer means to visit!" He yelled, his booming voice practically rattling the walls. Chuckling, you ran your fingers through his hair before patting his head.

"I jest. Now, let's not keep them waiting. Shall we?" You clasped Sebek's hand with your own and stepped into the mirror.

A blur of colours hit you for a moment before you found yourself whisked away to the dark brooding castle Diasomnia calls a dorm. Standing atop the cobblestone steps, you took a deep breath. The air was thick with smothering moisture, like a fog.

The dim light of a window in the distance drew your attention. Among the many windows in the castle, it was the only chamber that was lit up.

"O-Oh? Is someone still up at this late hour?" You wondered, still light-headed from the teleportation. Sebek placed a hand on your back to stabilise your wobbly form. "Ah yes. That's probably Master Lillia, he tends to hold gaming sessions at this hour."

"Is that so?" You huffed, brows furrowing as you glared at the window. "...That damn bat."

Of course, this wasn't news to you. Silver frequently wrote to you about his father's long gaming sessions, which sometimes lasted days or even weeks. Just as you were about to march up to the castle, an arm wrapped around your chest, pulling you back.

"No need to look so mad, dear." A deep voice lulled.

Behind you two, Lillia appeared with an impish smile on his face. Sebek flinched before greeting Lilia vigorously while maintaining a stiff posture of attention.

"Good evening, Sebek! Would you go and get Silver and Malleus for me? This is going to be a lovely reunion." Lillia spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. He was perched upon a nearby tree, hanging off one of the branches.

"Yes Sir!" With that, Sebek was off, dashing towards the castle.

With a frown etched onto your face, you turned your gaze back to the fae who was still upside down. Lillia hummed, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. "Hello there, beastie."

"Still pulling the same old trick, I see." You grumbled, grabbing his arm to pull him down. Lillia smushed his cheek against your shoulder, peering up at you through his lashes.

"It's a classic of mine, isn't it?"

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fluff #diasomnia #silver vanrouge

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gunsatthaphan · 11 days ago

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.₊ ⟡ ݁ 🏆 2024 Top 10 🏆 ⟡ ݁₊ .

hello! I got tagged by a few people for various kinds of tier-list-posts for this year, so instead of making separate posts that will probably end up being repetitive, I decided to combine them all into one Top 10 list of my personal favorites in 2024. My watchlist was not very lengthy this year, partly because I was busy with work and partly because the quality of many shows was not to my liking. I started a bunch of things and dropped them shortly after, which also included more widely popular ones, for which I did not share the general public opinion. In the course of that, I have become more hesitant to share my thoughts online, as with every mildly critical POV came a number of anonymous people breathing down my neck. Which isn't new for me but by the end of the year I have gotten tired and was debating whether or not I should make this post but then I decided that this is my blog and idgaf about butthurt anons lol. I'm trying to carry this mindset into the new year.

So here is my Top 10 of BL/GLs that I have started and finished this year. A very special shoutout goes to The Heart Killers which owns my ass 100% and I totally would have added it but since we're only on ep6, I feel like it wouldn't be fair to include it in this list - also because I sort of consider it a category of its own lol.

I had no trouble picking this as my number one, simply because it's an outstanding production with an S-tier cast and a very powerful and well executed script. I've always loved Up but Poom took the cake for me in this, I was absolutely starstruck by him and his screen presence, he's a big surprise for me and has become one of my personal favorites this year in terms of acting. I could fill books with reasons why I love this show.

I had to include this even though it's not finished but I'm really blown away by it. The GLs I previously watched were okay but did not strike me quite as much as this one. I knew I would love Film and Namtan together from the moment they got paired as they're both insanely skilled and I was not disappointed. They understand the assignment 100% and so does Snap25 and it really shows. I'm obsessed.

Speaking of masterpieces, this is another one. It didn't get much attention sadly, mostly because TayNew did not deliver the dynamic the general BL population was hoping for. Their loss. This is an amazing production from start to finish, the 4 of them are the best possible casting choice for their characters, the found family trope is one of the best I've seen and especially TayNew delivered another gem with this one. I shall never doubt them again. This is how you do bromance. Certain other shows could never. send tweet.

Ah yes. No year goes by without the obligatory Mame guilty pleasure lol. What can I say. FortPeat as annoying southern scuba boy meets snobby whiny writer on a beach. How can I look away. I genuinely enjoyed this, it feels like the story was written for them, it's a perfect fit for them and their range I think plus I'm glad that Aya finally found a GL partner that matches her energy lol. I loved both couples and even though the plot did lack sometimes, you can count on MMY to serve S-tier chemistry no matter what. A+.

This is my personal hidden little gem, a small production with not a ton of attention, let alone good reviews but sometimes those are the best ones. The beginning was a bit slow but it quickly picked up. I decided to give it a watch mostly because I was curious about Charles' followup bl role and ended up getting very attached lol. So much softness and deep emotions and mutual healing that happened here and that I appreciated a lot. This was also my first Taiwanese BL in I think 3 years(?) I loved it.

I was very excited to watch this and see what Change 2561 came up with after Pit Babe and even though I'm not the biggest fan of cooking plots, I ended up enjoying this a lot! I've been a SailubPon and GarfieldBenz connoisseur since Pit Babe and it was so nice to see them in the spotlight in this. I saw a bunch of people drop it because they found Plawan annoying but I disagree lol. I had a very good time.

I initially tuned into this for Seng and Best, just to see what they're up to these days and it ended with me eating the whole thing up lol. The unapologetic approach to topics like sex education mixed with the sweet love stories that came with it is one of the things I appreciated + enjoyed a lot. I was a big fan of Peak and Thanwa and would definitely watch another show with Seng and Best as I really love their dynamic. Latte and Almond had a good start but fell a bit flat towards the end. Still a very deserving 7th place for me.

I was sooo excited for this and overall it did not disappoint, though I think it could have been better in some aspects. The comprehensive vibe was juvenile but not in a bad way. I anticipated gmmtv would choose a trope-y plot for their first GL to test the waters and it seems they succeeded. The main reason I put it as number 8 is the AylinLuna side story which I very strongly disliked for multiple reasons I won't get into here. But MilkLove did a fantastic job and this was a very nice debut for them. Thumbs up!

This might be the most unexpected gem for me this year. I started watching it because I was bored and nothing else was on and I was curious to see Dunk in his first solo gig. Surprisingly he did a big leap forward with his acting in this and White was by far my favorite character. Lune on the other hand was my least favorite which was another surprise as I previously loved Phuwin as Peem in We Are so I'm not sure why Lune was so unlikable. But anyway this was a very nice combination of different cute little stories, LuneStar were very trope-y but White saved a great deal of it by being the third wheel lol, plus the BL sideplot was pure sugar. I'm sad we won't see Ryu and Java together again and I resent them not giving us that well deserved WhiteIvy endgame but overall I enjoyed this a lot!

Never thought I would put a Siwaj production in my Top 10 but I'm tired of pretending I didn't secretly love this lmao. So much chaos but so much fun. It's a typical ensemble show, mostly aimed at a domestic audience with lots of slapstick and horseplay comedy, but I ended up being quite fond of all the couples. The main crystallization for me was that this is PondPhuwin's territory, this is the type of show they belong in imo. They excel at this kind of comedy and they seemed very careless and joyful in this, which I enjoyed and which made them a decent main couple. The QToey plot was a bit draggy and even though it's a big cast, 16 episodes were not necessary, which is why it gets the 10th place. But overall it still deserves to be in this list.

Thanks again to everyone who tagged me; in this and other things over the year, I appreciate you thinking of me!! 🥺🧡 I didn't manage to reply to every tag but know that I see them all and I try to do as many as possible! Also a big thank you and much love to all the lovely people I talked to this year, especially @lattexalmond, @mayalunas @bl-recs-and-reviews and @my-wandering-rabbit, I love and cherish each one of you! 🧡 Happy New Year to everyone who read this far, here's to a kind and successful 2025 with groundbreaking shows lol. I'm hopeful.

xxxx

#happy new year #top 10 #top 10 list #bl dramas #thai bl #gmmtv #my stand in #pluto the series #peaceful property #love sea the series #first note of love #this love doesn't have long beans #knock knock boys #23.5 the series #summer night the series #we are the series

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bamsywrites · 2 months ago

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And Comes Dawn pt 9

Pairing: sauron/halbrand x reader, isildur x reader, sauron/halbrand x reader

Word count: 2k.

Summary: dudes just gotta stop deceiving people.

Tags: angst, insecurities, isil being a Good Dude, Galadriel and the reader still hate each other

Notes: I'm very tired (two sick kiddos will do that to a mom) and not too happy with this one. But it's a filler part. As always love yall and the feedback

You stood in silence as Halbrand left. His revelation of his past with his father and uncle had broken your resolve in your anger towards him. Confusion still sat in your chest and itched the back of your mind, but you had forgiven him. He seemed so passionate in his intention to earn you, but you had no idea what he meant by that. His deeds had already shown his character. He had saved you so many times it would be useless to count. You could only wonder what had plagued him so that he felt he still felt as if he was too tainted for you.

You thought this over, getting lost in your thoughts and thoughts of what had transpired the night before. You had never felt anything like that. Sure, you'd had desires that crossed your mind late at night. You’d had a rather large crush on one of the local farm hands, and he had entered your dreams many times. However, nothing compared to the heat that burned through you at Halbrands touch, the gruff sound of his voice, the feel of his hot breath. You had to close your eyes, and your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you willed the thoughts that filled your mind to go away.

Soon, though, you found yourself wishing for the sound of the waves and smell of the ocean air, so you made the venture outside the inn. You watched the hustle and bustle of the locals, the sound of children's laughter. You never wanted to leave this place. It was so different from your home.

The sound of your name being called made you stand straight and tall. Soon, Isildur was running up to you, breathing heavily. “I don’t have much time, I have to be at the beach in…well, very soon,” He looked at you with a smile, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I came here to apologize for making a scene and for putting your honor to question. That was never my intention, and if you wanted to, I would completely understand if you wanted to slap me in the face a time or two. I have more than earned that.”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head, “I don’t think that will be needed.”

He laughed, “I am relieved, I was not looking forward to explaining that black eye to my father.”

His smile faltered for a moment as he searched for words, “If your heart belongs to another, I hope you know that I would find contentment in your friendship as well. Perhaps it would not be my first choice, but being your friend would be an honor beyond measure.”

You nodded, reaching out and squeezing his hand, “I would be content with that too. I hope that I did not lead you to believe there was more.”

Isildur shook his head, “You did not. You are simply beautiful and kind and funny, and I am but a man. I still would like to show you more of my city's culture. There is a massive library and halls of art and food better than what we were treated to last night. That is, if you are indeed interested in that.”

“Of course,” you grinned, excitement bubbling in your belly.

“Yes? Yes! Well, then I shall see you later this evening? Right before sun down. I’ll meet you here?”

You nodded, your lips parted to answer when you heard one of his friends call his name, and he simply smiled at you before running off. You remembered what Halbrand said. He wanted you to have friends, and so you would. Isildur was kind. He was respectful, and you had no reason not to trust him.

“Where is Halbrand?”

You looked from your lunch of rice and fish, your spirits dropping at the sound of the elf's voice. You had avoided her as best as you could, and it had been successful for the most part. You knew she hated you, and while you did your best to understand her hatred, there was part of you that blamed elves as well. If it weren’t for them, your mother would still be alive, and you’d have the baby sibling you had been so excited for. But you knew it was unfair to blame Galadriel for that. You just wish she would understand the same for you.

“Where is Halbrand?” She repeated, sounding annoyed. You noticed that in her hand, she held what appeared to be a scroll.

“I do not know. I have not seen him since this morning.”

“Did he give you any idea to where he was going?”

You shook your head, turning back to your food. You did not want this conversation to last longer than it needed to.

“You seem rather content to sit and do nothing, to feast on the food of a people who have earned prosperity. I seek to fix the wound your ancestors and your family caused. Do you not seek redemption?”

You stared at the rice on your plate, your expression hardening as you tried to keep your tongue. A fight would solve nothing. You knew she was hurting as were you but the smugness in which she carried herself, the arrogance that radiated from her, it was fueling an anger in you.

“I have committed no crime to be redeemed for.” You spoke softly, not bothering to look up at her.

“Do you not feel guilty for the 37 elven souls your father, brother, and uncle took. Are they not worth redemption? Are they not worth trying to right your fathers wrongs?”

“And what of the families in the Southlands that your kind oppresses for a sin none of us committed. Crops die, money is scarce and yet we have to give a portion to the great elves who want not for food or medicine.”

“It is a reminder…”

“A reminder that to elves, we will always be less than. You act as if the Numenorians were bestowed greatness by your kind as if man can not achieve that on his own. You act as if children are responsible for the sins of their fathers as if the elves have committed none.”

“You speak of which you know little,” Your raised voices were beginning to draw a crowd. “Do you feel no guilt or remorse for what was done?”

“I feel remorse every day. Do you forget I was a child? Do you feel no remorse for your people making me watch as your people executed my only family.”

“It was what had to be done.” She replied, coldly staring you down.

“You are but a petulant child. Your callousness and arrogance will leave you without friend or affection, and I can not imagine what a lonely existence that will be for someone who does not die.” You stood up and pushed past her, walking fast to escape the eyes following you.

It was after Isildur took you to the grand library and to get dinner that you had learned of Halbrands fate from the whispers of locals as you walked past. You had enjoyed your time, feeling a true bond of friendship between the two of you. You were falling more and more in love with this island and hoped upon hope that you would be able to stay here. There was nothing for you at home. Orcs had burned down the only home you knew, but this seemed so far away from that. As if evil could not touch it.

Halbrand wasn’t evil, but he may be ruining your chances of being here with his antics. You had come to the realization that wherever you went, he was likely to follow. It was a strange sentiment to have in such a short time, but you knew you’d follow him too. No matter where his temper might land him. It was for this reason you had found some food and skin of wine and were down to the dungeons.

It seemed you weren’t the only visitor he had. You heard the elves' voice before you saw her and waited in the shadows, listening to the conversation unseen. Perhaps you shouldn’t but your curiosity got the better of you. A dispute about a woman? You could tell from the way he was speaking that it was about her.

Of course it was.

You wanted greatly to believe all that he had told you that morning, that he had shared something personal with you and that was a sign of how he trusted you but here he was so freely telling her of his past. The heir to the throne of the Southlands, how his ancestor was who swore a blood oath to Morgoth. All of those had been lacking from the story he had told you. You didn’t think him a liar, but you didn’t know what to think as it seemed he so easily opened himself up to the elf.

You heard as the elf mentioned fate bringing them together, of him going to Middle Earth with her, and he did not argue against any of it. If his intentions were truly with you, why then did he not make that known to her? You were able to see his expression as she ascended the stairs. He watched after her as if she was some grand prize with a twinkle to his eyes and a smirk playing at his lips. She was a prize, you supposed, she was an elf. Truly unattainable, with beauty that men merely dreamed of finding. She was mysterious and strong.

And what were you?

You had nothing to your name. Your only talent was in what your mother and the family kept you as a ward taught you - healing and gardening. You didn’t suppose you were all that beautiful. No one had attempted to court you. You were not mysterious or battle hardened or the daughter of a noble bloodline.

You were just you.

Of course, she would be the prize.

Quietly, you slipped from the shadows and made your way to where Halbrand stood. You saw his smile, and perhaps if you hadn’t been so caught in your insecurities you’d see how he looked at you as if you were the dawn itself. But his smile faded slightly when he saw your face.

“Sweet one?” His hands reached through the bars for your hand, which you simply pulled away from him. His brows furrowed in confusion.

“I brought this for you,” You slipped him the cloth full of bread, fish, fruits, and cheese along with the skin full of wine.

His eyes never left yours, sitting it all behind him on the bench as your eyes looked at the ground. “Will you not look at me? Are you upset about this? It was simply a…”

“Dispute about a woman,” you repeated his words back to him. You saw his expression shift. He knew you heard his conversation.

“Sweet one…” He started.

“I could find contentment in a friendship with you. That would be an honor,” Your words echoed what you were told mere hours before.

“Friendship?” He laughed softly in disbelief, looking at you as if you grew two heads, “I told you of my intentions, and I meant it.”

“I do not know if you did. I do not know if you know what it is you want. I do not want to fight in a competition with the elf when I know I would lose it.”

“What are you talking about?” He breathed the words out.

“I see how it is you look at her. I hear how you two talk. I am not stupid enough to think that you do not want for her as she does for you. In talks of what your future holds, you never mentioned me.”

He scoffed, “You are reading too much into it.”

“I do not think that I am.”

“Do not reduce this to mere friendship. Please, sweet one.” He looked at you as if his heart was breaking, his eyes frantically searching your face for an answer.

“I need to go,” you backed away from the cell.

His fingers reached for you, but you pulled away, “Please, sweet one, please do not go when I can not follow.”

You spoke no more words, turning on your heels and wiping at the hot tears that were spilling from your eyes. You ignored the desperate calls of your name as you ascended the stairs. The only thing you could see was the way his face lit up when he saw Galadriel.

#halbrand x reader #sauron x reader #halbrand x oc #sauron x oc #annatar x reader #annatar x oc #trop fanfiction #trop x reader #rings of power x reader #rings of power fanfiction #halbrand x galadriel #annatar x galadriel #sauron x galadriel #isildur x reader

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fantasyandshit · 9 months ago

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Replaced part two

Omg I’m so upset- it won’t let me tag like anyone with dashes in their name at allll soooo if you commented on that post I am so so so sorry I couldn’t tag you guys

Type: one shot turned more

Part: 2/2

Part 1 here

Masterlist here

Pairing: Azriel x reader/ mystery character x reader

Seriously guys thank you so much- I’m so glad that the first part had so much love and I hope this one is just as good.

“So, what did you need my love?” I lean down to kiss my fiancés temple. He’s stressed, I can tell. His fingers tap away in rhythm with his foot. “Baby- what’s going on? Why are you so stressed?” My hands run down the length of his arms in a soothing motion. “How can I help you?”

The new high lord of autumn’s head meets my shoulder, a small smile gracing his lips. His head raises till his lips meet mine in a soft kiss. “Baby I need you to sit down.” His smile disappears as soon as it came and I frown, moving to the seat on the other side of his desk. I raise my brows expectantly as his hands move to reach mine. “Love- we have a high lords meeting in two weeks time. They have requested it be held here in order to see how I’m handling the court now.”

“Ok? And?”

“Darling I want to introduce you as the new high lady of Autumn. I want you come along.” He sighs, “it means you will have to see all of them again.”

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I breath for a moment, thinking about it, it’s been nearly five years since I left, the last time I saw any of them was the battle with Hybern, and even then Eris kept me mostly away from them so that I wasn’t distracted. “I’ll go.”

“Are you sure darling?”

“Very. I want them to see me as the high lady of autumn. Not the girl that left all that time ago.”

He smirks his signature smirk, pride filling his eyes. “Very well. Shall we begin planning?”

———

Everyone has finally arrived- or what is usually everyone, confusion sets in as Eris seems to sit in waiting, an empty chair beside him at the head of the table. “Are we waiting for someone Eris?”

“Yes actually. Shell be here any moment, she likes making an entrance.” Something bothers Azriel with the way the high lord smirks. He didn’t know who was going to walk through that door but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

The door swings open, a woman stepping through, decked in a gorgeous burnt orange dress, green and gold accents around her body, a golden crown, one looking like leaves woven together rests on her head. As her eyes catch Eris’ she smiles. “Sorry I’m late. Hope you haven’t started without me.” She surveys the room before stepping towards the empty seat. Eris stands, going to pull it out with one hand and take hers on his other. The pause for a moment, facing the table together.

“Everyone. I’d like you to meet my fiance and the high lady of the Autumn court. Some of you may already know her.”

As the female turns to kiss Eris, it clicks for Azriel. “Yn.” He can’t help but gasps and that is when it finally hits the inner circle of the night court.

“Hello guys. Long time no see.”

Cassian speaks this time, his brows furrowed and mouth agape, “you- your with him? Your the high the high lady?”

“Yes, in fact our wedding is next month. I am terribly excited. Especially after being named the high lady of Autumn.” She and Eris sit finally, hands staying tied together

An agony Azriel has never felt tears through him as he stares at his mate. She looks back to him as he gasps, clenching his chest wildly.

“Azriel. I’d like to get through my first meeting as high lady. So if you could stop…flailing. That would be preferred.” Yn clears her throat before turning to the others at the table. “I’ve seen some things. I see Koshei. I thought we took care of our issues with him, however I-“

The meeting continues, the night court still trying to process the news. After the meeting is finished, the high lords are given a walk through of the new Autumn court. “Yn. Yn can we speak please.” It was towards the end of the tour, courts had been led to where they’d be staying, only the inner circle trailed behind, minus Morrigan and Cassian who had been dropped off to their respective rooms.

I choose to ignore the shadowsinger, instead stopping at the next door and turn back to Rhysand and Feyre, “You two will be staying here. This castle works much like the house of wind. It will cater to you, we do tend keep things much warmer here for obvious reasons so if you are uncomfortable with the temperature just say the word and it will be brought down by the house.”

“Goodnight Yn.” I nod before turning back to lead the final male to where he’d be staying, Eris never leaving my side. We barely make it three steps down the hall before I feel Rhsyand pry at my mental walls.

‘What do you want Rhysand.’

‘You should talk to him Yn. He’s been devastated since you left and see you with Eris killed him I-‘

I shut it down. I don’t want to hear some sob story from my mate who didn’t even want me till I was gone. “You will be staying here Azriel. What I said to Rhysand and Feyre goes the same for you.”

Me and Eris turn to leave before I’m grabbed by the arm. “Wait. Yn can we please just talk.”

Eris growls. “Get your filthy hands off my fucking finance.”

The shadowsinger seems to get just as upset, opening his mouth to speak before I rip my arm from his grasp and turn, a glare resting on my features.

“Don’t you fucking dare! You have no right- no fucking right to get angry at my fiancée! Do you understand, you didn’t want me and I don’t fucking want you so go wallow in your self pity but stay the hell away from me!” Eris rubs soothing circles on my arm, a glare that could kill sent towards the shadowsinger as he grabs me, winnowing us to our room.

—————

Sooo I hope this lives up to your guys’ expectations!

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel #elain archeron #elain x reader #feyre archeron #feyre x reader #nesta archeron #nesta x reader #cassian x reader #cassian #rhysand x reader #rhysand #eris vanserra #eris x reader #replaced #angst #no happy ending

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rapunzelbro · 10 months ago

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The amount of times I have refreshed the angel dust x reader tag----Anywayyyy, I dunno if you do hurt/comfort (if not that's okay please ignore this lol) but here is a idea for a oneshot! GN!reader x angel dust where they're in a secret relationship because he's trying to protect you at all cost from his boss (reader can know about his situation or not its up to you!) but Valentino somehow found out about it and is pissed about it. You can use creative freedom to fill in the angst parts and whatever happens next, but please make it have a happy ending ^^

Imagine being in a Secret Relationship with Angel

Omg yeah I can! I wish there were more too so haha I shall provide I suppose. This is uh. Super angst. But I promise it’ll be a happy ending lmao I promise. Thank you for requesting. Just a reminder yall my requests are still open! Just give as much details and I’ll make it happen. Anywho enjoy!

Masterlist Character Taglist

Being in a relationship with Angel Dust wasn’t often easy, Well at first that is.

When you first met Angel he always had his guard up, on some sort of drug at all times, and pushed serious conversations aside with Sexual remarks to drop the conversation entirely

So when you were able to actually break his walls months later, it was honestly a shock to you. Because damn was he stubborn. Honestly you didn’t think it would be possible

He started telling you small things about himself after the first month of letting his walls down, introducing you to Fat nuggets, and watching movies with you.

After the third month, he tells you his real name is Anthony. You said it suits him and you swear you see him blush

The fourth month is when you ask him out. He is super hesitant on accepting, but you don’t push him for an answer, he later comes in your room

“Y/N.. I.. I want to say yes, but I’m so terrified ya know? I just can’t I don’t know what would happen”

“Why would you be terrified?”

He tells you everything. Everything about the man who tears him apart, the man who hurts him on the daily.

He is trying to hard to explain how terrified he is of you getting hurt, and all you can do is gently take his hands as you look at him

“Angel, nothing will happen, no one needs to know but us. If you’re scared still, I get that, I’ve been there before. But I’m not scared of that prick, and he won’t find out okay?”

He finally makes eye contact with you and he begins to calm down, hugging you as you two just sit in silence before he quietly responds

“Then, I accept”

It’s months after that when he introduced you to his Best friend Cherri. You two are super hesitant about telling her, but you eventually decide to.

She’s super super happy for you two but don’t think she won’t get super protective

Will pull you aside at the club when Angel isn’t there

“If you hurt Angel you and I are going to have a problem okay? You break his heart I break you”

Yeah she scared the fuck out of you for that. Angel never did find out about your conversation.

It’s been almost a year of hiding your relationship when it suddenly begins to turn sour

The calls from Valentino, get more frequent, more violent on the phone.

Angel comes back to the hotel limping, bruised and bloody

You practically sprint and grab him, carrying him to his room take care of him the best you can, talk to him when he is ready, or be a shoulder to cry on.

Angel doesn’t know why Valentino is being more violent, he didn’t do anything wrong, he kept your relationship so quiet that it was basically impossible for him to know about you two

Except Valentino did find out. He heard Angel talking in his dressing room to you, he investigated throughly after Angel said I love you, to you.

Valentino got Vox to look at the cameras around Hell, he saw you two together. You don’t hold hands at all, not in public, if it wasn’t for that phone call, he wouldn’t of thought anything of it

“That little whore is going to fucking pay”

You and Angel are at Val’s bar after Angel reassured you he wouldn’t be there. You two are talking when Angel stands up to grab you more shots

That’s when Valentino appears, gun pressed up to the back of your head

“I Wouldn’t move an inch if you want to live perra tonta~”

You’re absolutely frozen as can be. You don’t move a bit as he leans closer to you

“I have all eyes on you, I know you’re with Angel Dust, you’re fucking with my property. Now here’s how things are going to go down tonight if you want your precious Angel Cakes to live. You’re going to break up with him, and stay the FUCK away from him. Do I make myself clear?”

You are silent visibly shaking as he presses the gun harder as he becomes impatient with you

“Do I make myself clear!”

He sounds absolutely pissed as you quickly nod your head frantically

“Perfect, now fucking leave”

You don’t have time to explain to Angel Dust but you leave before he makes it back with your shots, Valentino is no where to be found.

“Y/n? Where did you go” “Amore mio?”

You didn’t reply to his texts, you didn’t know what to do, you were trapping yourself in your room.

You were in a panicked state as the tears just didn’t seem to stop, nothing made sense, you two were so so careful? How did you fuck up?

Angel knocked at your door. No answer. He knocked again before he eventually used the spare key you gave him, which you forgot about

Angel instantly rushed over to you when he saw you crying, which caused you to flinch

He instantly froze in his tracks when he saw you flinch, concern building

“Y/N what happened.. why are you crying”

You are struggling through sobs as you explain what happened, Angel is so fucking pissed he can hardly contain it but has to for you, he just listens as he sits next to you

“Amore mio, i shouldn’t of I left you alone I’m so sorry. I don’t know how that asshole found out but I’m not fucking this relationship up because of him”

“But he will kill me”

“Sweetie, there’s a thing called acting you know, all we have to do is play the part, pretty easy for me, as you’ve seen.”

He takes your hands with a slight smirk

“I’m not letting him fuck this up okay? Who cares what he thinks? Val is literally blind as shit, I’m surprised he even knew it was you. Probably had to have someone point you out to him”

Yeah that made you laugh, which Angel was thankful for.

For then on, you two had your ‘breakup’. You were never seen in public together, or not without disguises. You had most dates alone at the hotel together

You weren’t letting the one good thing to happen end because of a stupid fucking moth

And he wasn’t going to either.

Angel Dust tag list: @vendetta-ari @brithedemonspawn @satansmanager @storydays @saturnhas82moons @zamadness @fizziepopangel @saitisfied @the--rebel--fae @mcueveryday @rainbowbunny15 @molarloo

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kckt88 · 1 month ago

Text

Scorched Hearts XVIII

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

Five Years Later - A new dragon rider takes to the sky, Helaena reveals a glimpse of the future and Jaehaerys harbours a crush.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Revelations, Mild Violence, Female Examination, Aegon Being Vulnerable, Prophecy, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, P in V, Pregnancy, Crush, Obsession, Brothel Visit.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 7370

A.N - Features a Five year Time Skip and a Four Month Time Skip.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx

The clang of steel echoed across the training grounds as Aemond and Rhaegar sparred, the boy’s focused expression mirroring his father’s.

Their swords collided with precision, Aemond offering steady words of guidance between strikes.

“Keep your stance strong, Rhaegar. Don’t overextend,” Aemond said, his voice even yet encouraging.

“Yes, Father,” Rhaegar replied, adjusting his footing as they circled each other. He lunged again, their swords meeting in a flurry of movement.

On the sidelines, Elaena and Daenys watched eagerly, wooden swords clutched tightly in their hands.

They cheered Rhaegar on, their excitement bubbling over into playful jabs at each other as they mimicked their brother’s moves.

Valaena stood above on the ramparts, a soft smile gracing her lips as she observed her family. A small tug on her dress drew her attention down to Aemon, his violet eyes wide with anticipation.

“Mama, I want to try!” Aemon said, his fists balled in excitement.

“If you wish, sweet boy,” Valaena replied, lifting him into her arms.

She carried him down to the training grounds, placing him gently on his feet.

Aemon immediately walked toward the weapons cart; his eyes alight with wonder.

“No, Aemon, don’t touch those. They’re sharp,” Valaena called after him, quickly handing him a small wooden sword instead. “Here, this is more suited for a young warrior.”

Aemon grinned, gripping the toy sword and mimicking Aemond’s earlier moves.

Valaena gasped dramatically, clasping her hands to her chest. “Oh no! Who will save me from this fearsome swordsman?”

Elaena and Daenys eagerly joined in, raising their wooden swords. “We will, Mama!” Elaena declared.

“None shall defeat us!” Daenys added with a fierce grin, stepping forward to defend their mother.

Aemon giggled and attacked with his sisters, their playful sparring drawing laughter from Valaena.

The cheerful scene, however, did not sit well with all present.

Valaena noticed disapproving glances from a group of older lords and knights observing nearby. Their frowns deepened as they muttered among themselves.

The merriment paused when Elaena, in her excitement, accidentally bumped into one of the knights.

The man grunted, scowling as he turned toward the girl. “Watch it, girl,” he barked.

Valaena stepped forward, her tone icy. “Excuse me, ser. There’s no need for such rudeness—it was an accident.”

The knight sneered. “The training grounds are no place for your kind”

Valaena’s face flushed with anger, her fists clenching. “My kind?” she spat.

“Women should stick to embroidery and birthing babes.” snapped the Knight.

“Watch your tongue, ser, or I shall have it removed” snarled Valaena.

The knight scoffed, about to retort, but his words caught in his throat as a blade suddenly pressed against his neck.

Rhaegar, his face a mask of controlled fury, held his sword steady.

“Be mindful of how you address the future queen of the seven kingdoms, ser,” he growled, his eyes narrowed.

The knight’s eyes darted nervously; his earlier bravado gone. “My apologies, my prince,” he stammered.

Rhaegar pressed the blade a fraction deeper. “It is not me who deserves your apology. It is my mother.”

The knight turned to Valaena, his voice shaking. “Forgive me, Princess.”

Valaena’s gaze remained hard for a moment before she gave a curt nod. “Apology accepted.”

Rhaegar lowered his sword, watching the knight retreat hurriedly.

Valaena placed a hand on her son’s shoulder, her features softening.

“Thank you, sweet boy. But I could have handled him myself.”

Rhaegar sheathed his sword, meeting her eyes. “I know, Mother. But a good son defends his family.”

She smiled, running her fingers through his long silver hair. “So much like your father.”

Aemond approached then, his own smile proud.

Elaena, Daenys, and Aemon trailed behind him.

“Ah, so now you appear,” Valaena teased.

Aemond smirked, draping an arm around Rhaegar’s shoulders.

“Our son had it under control,” he said, giving Rhaegar a nod of approval. “You did well. I’m proud of you.”

Rhaegar beamed under his father’s praise, standing a little taller. “Thank you, Father.”

Aemond turned to his younger children, his gaze playful. “Now, who’s next?”

Elaena, Daenys and Aemon raised their hands, shouting, “Me! Me! Me!”

Aemond tapped his chin in mock thought. “Hmm, I can’t seem to decide. I guess I’ll have to unleash the tickle monster instead!”

The children’s eyes widened, and they shrieked in delight as Aemond lunged toward them.

“No, Daddy, no!” they cried, the three of them scattering in all directions as Aemond gave chase, their joint laughter echoing through the training grounds.

Later that day, Valaena lay on the bed, her legs propped up as Maester Gerardys conducted his examination.

His hands moved with practiced ease as he finished, finally sitting back with a satisfied nod.

“Everything seems to be in good working order, Princess,” he said, his tone reassuring.

Valaena huffed in frustration. “Then why is it taking so long for my husband’s seed to take root again? We already have four children.”

Gerardys smiled as he washed his hands in a basin. “You’ve been regularly consuming moon tea for the last five years, correct? Oh, you can sit up now.”

Valaena pulled her dress down and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Yes,” she replied, folding her hands in her lap.

“After every encounter?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, her tone clipped.

Gerardys raised a brow. “Forgive me, Princess, but have there been many encounters between you and Prince Aemond?”

Valaena’s lips curled into a small smile. “You could say that. My husband is a very insatiable man, Maester.”

Gerardys chuckled. “The prince is a young, virile man. It’s perfectly normal.”

“I’m sure there are some who would disagree with that,” Valaena quipped, her cheeks warming.

Gerardys laughed again. “There’s nothing wrong with a man wanting his wife, even if it is multiple times a day.”

Valaena blushed deeper. “Do you think the moon tea has lingering effects, then?”

“It is quite possible,” Gerardys said thoughtfully. “But as it has only been a couple of months since you stopped taking it, I’d say your body just needs time to adjust.”

Valaena nodded, her brow furrowing. “What if it’s damaged me permanently?”

Gerardys shook his head. “You still have your regular monthly bleedings, and you are in excellent health, Princess. I don’t foresee any long-term damage. You simply need to be patient.”

Valaena huffed, crossing her arms. “Aemond has said the same thing.”

Gerardys chuckled. “Your husband is a wise man, Princess. Although, I admit I’m surprised you managed to convince him to try for another child after what happened last time.”

Valaena sighed, her expression softening. “When I first asked, Aemond dismissed the idea outright. He refused to even consider it. But over time, he changed his mind. I think the regular check-ups and meetings with you have helped to ease his fears.”

“His fears were well justified-” Gerardys said gently. “But I’m glad to have helped. And you’ve both agreed that this will be the last-”

“Yes,” Valaena murmured. “It’s the right decision-I just knew in my heart that I wanted another-”

Just then, Aemond entered the room, his presence commanding as always.

He greeted Gerardys with a nod. “Grand Maester.”

“My Prince,” Gerardys replied.

Valaena looked up. “Is everything all right?”

Aemond’s expression softened. “The children want to go flying. I wondered if you’d like to accompany us.”

Valaena smiled. “I think we’re done here.”

Gerardys nodded. “Indeed, we are. Good day to you both.”

Once the Maester left, Aemond’s gaze lingered on Valaena, his voice gentle. “Is everything truly all right?”

“It was just a check-up,” she assured him. “I was a little worried about why it’s taking so long for your seed to take root-”

Aemond’s lips quirked into a knowing smile. “Is it the moon tea?”

Valaena nodded. “Gerardys thinks so. He said to give it time and everything should be fine.”

Aemond cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Then we’ll wait-I’m sure it won’t be much longer”

Valaena nodded and smiled, leaning into his touch before standing. “Flying, then?”

Aemond smiled. “Yes.”

“Let me change into my riding leathers,” Valaena said, already moving toward the wardrobe.

“I’ll wait,” Aemond said, his voice warm with quiet affection.

Aemond and Valaena rode together on horseback towards the grassy meadow, the light wind tugging at their cloaks as the rhythmic thud of hooves beat against the ground.

The dragons rested ahead, their massive forms casting long shadows in the afternoon light.

“Where are the children?” Valaena asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Aemond gave a small nod. “They went ahead with Aegon. They couldn’t wait to see the dragons.”

As they drew nearer, Valaena’s eyes scanned the familiar sight of Sapphyre, Hūra, and Valerion, who lingered near Vhagar, Silverwing, and Sunfyre.

Her brow furrowed. She saw no sign of Karnax—or Aemon.

Then a flash of red caught her eye, and her heart leapt into her throat.

Karnax’s sleek form skimmed low to the ground, and on his back, small but unmistakable, was Aemon.

Valaena gasped, then screamed, “Aemon!” Her voice cracked with a mixture of fear and disbelief as she leapt off her horse, with Aemond following closely.

She clutched at Aemond’s riding leathers, her eyes wide and frantic. “Our son—he’s—he’s flying!”

Aemond’s expression darkened, and without hesitation, he stormed toward Aegon, seizing him by the collar.

“You were supposed to be watching him!” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “What in the gods’ name are you playing at?”

Aegon shrugged lazily, a smirk on his lips. “Relax, brother. He’s fine. They’re not flying too high.”

“Karnax isn’t even saddled!” Aemond snapped, his fury barely contained. “Aemon could slip and fall—he could crack his head on the ground, you fool!”

Valaena, meanwhile, was fixated on her son, shouting commands. “Karnax! Rȳbās, Parmot, Aderī!” (Obey, down, quickly).

The young dragon hesitated at first, his youthful defiance showing.

But when Vhagar reared up and let out a bone-rattling roar, Karnax let out a terrified squeak and immediately complied, circling once more before landing with a small thud.

As the dragon’s talons touched the ground, Aemon slid off his back.

Valaena was on him in an instant, pulling him close and running her hands over his small frame, checking him for injury.

“Aemon,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “-don’t you ever do that again. Riding without supervision is dangerous!”

Aemon pouted, his lower lip wobbling. “But Mama, I just want to fly, and uncle Aeg was watching-”

Valaena sighed, her anger melting into tender concern as she hugged him tightly.

“I know, sweet boy, but your uncle should have been more responsible, and you must wait until you’re a little bit older. Promise me.”

Aemon sniffled, nodding. “I promise.”

“Your not in trouble. It’s just if anything happened to you-”

“I’m sorry mama” whispered Aemon as he hugged her tight, his face buried in her neck.

“Shh it’s ok. I’ve got you” muttered Valaena as she lifted him into her arms.

Aegon, still watching with an amused expression, drawled, “See? The boy’s fine. And now he’ll go down in history as the youngest dragon rider.”

Before Aegon could react further, Aemond’s fist collided with his face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Blood poured from his nose as he clutched it, gasping. “Seven hells, Aemond!”

“You may do as you wish with your own children,” Aemond said, his voice cold as ice. “But when it comes to mine, you will ensure their safety-”

Aegon groaned, still cradling his bleeding nose. “Aemon was safe! Besides, it’s an honour—”

Aemond’s teeth bared as he lunged again, but Rhaegar stepped in, a hand on his father’s chest.

“Father. Stop-”

Aemond growled low in his throat but relented, delivering a sharp kick to Aegon’s leg as he passed.

“You better stay out of my sight for the rest of the fucking week-”

Aegon nodded meekly his shoulders slumping slightly.

Rhaegar lingered for a moment “Sorry Uncle Aeg-father is just being protective and-”

Aegon rose to his feet, his hand still pressed to his face “Don’t worry about it kid, it’s not the first time your father’s punched me, and it won’t be the last”.

Rhaegar reached into his cloak and pulled out a handkerchief “Here-”

Despite the pain Aegon smiled as he took the piece of cotton cloth “Thanks”

Rhaegar smiled slightly and then followed after Aemond.

Aemond knelt before Aemon, his fierce demeanour quickly softening. “Are you all right, son?”

Aemon nodded quickly. “I’m okay, Daddy.”

Aemond ruffled his curly silver hair. “You gave your mother and me quite a scare.”

“I’m sorry,” Aemon whispered, his small voice full of guilt.

Aemond’s tone was firm but gentle. “What you did was dangerous. Karnax might your bonded dragon, but he’s still young, and so are you.”

Aemon met his father’s gaze, his eyes full of earnest determination. “But I knew, Daddy. I knew he was ready.”

Aemond frowned slightly. “How?”

“In my heart, I could feel him-” Aemon said simply.

Valaena kissed her son’s head. “We just want you to be safe.”

“I am, Mama. Karnax will protect me.”

Aemond stood, taking Valaena’s hand in his. “Go stand with your brother and sisters, Aemon.”

As Aemon ran off, Valaena squeezed Aemond’s hand. “He’s determined, I’ll give him that.”

Aemond sighed, his eye following their youngest. “We should have known something like this would happen. Their bond is very strong.”

“Just like Rhaegar and Sapphyre,” Valaena said. “But at least Rhaegar was older when he first flew.”

“Not much older,” Aemond replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Valaena nodded solemnly. “Aemon must start lessons with the dragon keepers immediately. And we’ll need to keep a closer eye on him. We were lucky today.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened as he glanced at Aegon, who stood near Sunfyre, blood still streaming from his nose.

“I know,” he muttered, feeling a pang of remorse for his violent outburst.

As Valaena joined the children, Aegon’s earlier words echoed in Aemond’s mind.

Aemon was indeed the youngest dragon rider. And though he would never admit it out loud, a swell of pride filled his chest.

Aegon lounged in a chair, head tilted back, groaning softly as Lirri dabbed at his nose with a warm, damp cloth.

He winced when she pressed a little too hard, letting out a pitiful whimper.

"My brother," Aegon muttered, voice nasally from the swelling, "the absolute twat."

Lirri hummed softly as she continued her work. “Well, at least your nose is not broken.”

Aegon exhaled in relief, but his composure quickly crumbled as a tear slid down his cheek.

“I would never harm any of my nieces or nephews,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I was watching Aemon the whole time, I swear. I-I just—”

His words dissolved into quiet sobs. Lirri set the cloth aside and pulled him gently into her arms.

“Shhh, my dragon,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. “My lord was just worried for his son. That’s all.”

Aegon clung to her, his body trembling. “I know,” he choked out. “But I would never see any of them hurt. I try, Lirri. I know I’m not the best father or uncle, but I try. I really do.”

“I know you do,” Lirri soothed, her voice calm and reassuring.

Aegon buried his face in her shoulder. “It’s so hard. I want to be good, but whatever I do, it’s never enough.”

Lirri pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. “You trying is enough.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t know, Lirri. Everyone thinks I’m just some blundering fool who doesn’t care about anyone, but that’s not true.”

“I know it’s not true,” Lirri said softly. “You have much love in your heart. I see it when you speak with your sons or when you pretend to know about flowers for your daughter. And you show me great love.”

Aegon offered a sad smile. “I feel ashamed that I can’t love my own wife the way I love you. Helaena- she’s, my sister. But I can’t love her as a wife.”

Lirri held his face against her chest, gently stroking his hair. “Your wife is a kind lady. She understands.”

Aegon nodded, his voice quiet. “Hel is-wholly unique. I think she’s weird, but in a good way. She makes me smile, but I don’t love her beyond that of a sister.”

Lirri chuckled softly. “Your family has very strange ways. Uncle marries niece, brother marries sister.”

Aegon laughed through his tears. “Not enough branches on the family tree.”

Lirri smiled. “Luke wanted daughter to marry my lord’s son, but my lord he refused.”

Aegon snorted. “No surprise there. Lucerys is the bastard whelp who took his eye.”

Lirri nodded. “Boy even went to Queen, but my lord—he was very angry.”

Aegon leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “What did he do?”

Lirri hesitated, then said, “He threatened to carve out both of boys eyes and shove them down his throat if he ever mentioned it again.”

Aegon whistled low. “Understandable. What’s Valaena’s take on it?”

“She agreed with my lord,” Lirri said simply.

Aegon laughed heartily. “She’s a good wife. My brother, the twat, got what he always wanted.”

Lirri tilted her head, her curiosity mirrored in her gaze. “What did he want?”

Aegon sighed, his laughter fading. “Growing up was- difficult. We were ignored by our father. Our mother tried, but she was young herself. We didn’t have much love.”

“Oh, my love,” Lirri murmured, her heart aching for him.

“Aemond had it worse,” Aegon continued. “He didn’t have a dragon, and we bullied him for it and played cruel pranks on him”

“That was not nice,” Lirri said gently.

Aegon nodded, his face clouded with regret. “I know. I regret it now, but we were kids. I didn’t realize how much it hurt him. His saving grace was Valaena.”

Lirri’s lips curved into a small smile. “She tells me many stories of childhood.”

Aegon smiled wistfully. “She was Aemond’s only friend.”

Lirri leaned in closer. “Many things stood in their way, but they found their love.”

“They did,” Aegon said, a faint trace of admiration in his voice. “Valaena gave Aemond the love he deserves.”

Lirri placed her hands on his cheeks, her touch warm and grounding. “And I give you the love you deserve.”

Aegon’s eyes softened. “I’m not sure I do sometimes.”

“You do,” Lirri whispered.

Aegon pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. He sighed deeply, contentment washing over him as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling her familiar scent.

For the first time that day, he felt at peace.

Aemond paced back and forth in his chambers, his bare feet moving soundlessly across the stone floor.

His chest rose and fell with quick, agitated breaths, his long silver hair flowing unbound over his shoulders.

Dressed only in breeches, he muttered furiously under his breath, his frustration palpable, the incident with Aegon playing on his mind.

Valaena sat cross-legged on their bed, her gaze following his every move. She sighed softly, breaking the tense silence.

“My love, could you please stop pacing? You’re making me dizzy.”

Aemond halted abruptly, his expression tight with guilt. “I let my anger get the better of me”, I_ shouldn't have hit him"

Valaena held out a hand, beckoning him. “Come here.”

Aemond hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, taking her hand in his and lacing their fingers together.

Valaena’s thumb traced soothing circles on his skin as she said gently, “It’s regrettable, yes. But given the situation, your reaction wasn’t entirely unwarranted.”

Aemond sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Aemon is not yet six name days, and already he’s a dragon rider.”

Valaena’s lips quirked in a soft smile. “Rhaegar wasn’t much older when he first took to the skies with Sapphyre.”

Aemond sat heavily beside her on the bed, his voice quieter now. “Our children were born for the sky.”

“As were you,” Valaena replied, her tone warm and affectionate. She tilted her head, her eyes alight with memory. “I still remember the little boy who gazed at the dragons with such wonder and awe.”

Aemond’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I wanted so badly to have a dragon of my own.”

“I know the feeling,” Valaena said, her voice soft with understanding.

Aemond leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers. “We got our dragons in the end, ābrazȳrys,” he murmured, his voice tender. (Wife).

Valaena’s fingers gently caressed the scarred side of his face, her touch lingering under the sapphire set in place of his lost eye.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, her Valyrian lilting and sweet. “Sīr gevie.” (So beautiful).

Aemond’s gaze darkened with affection and desire, and he closed the gap between them, kissing her passionately.

His hand slid around the back of her neck, tangling in her dark hair as he deepened the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, a pink hue colouring his pale skin.

“Can I, have you?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse, vulnerability flickering in his eye.

Valaena smiled, her hands sliding over his shoulders. “Yes.”

Aemond grinned, his usual stoicism giving way to unrestrained joy as he gently eased her back onto the bed.

His lips found hers once more, fervent and insistent, while his fingers deftly worked at the laces of her dress.

The silken fabric slipped from her body, discarded to the side.

Aemond paused, his eye raking over her, a teasing smirk curving his lips.

“No small clothes,” he remarked, his tone playful. “What a naughty wife I have.”

Valaena laughed softly, pulling him down into another kiss, her hands trailing over the strong lines of his back.

“Give me your seed husband, and see it take root within me once more” whispered Valaena.

Aemond groaned against her lips, before he kissed her again, more fiercely now.

His hands were everywhere—skimming her waist, her thighs, her breasts.

He fumbled briefly with the ties of his breeches before freeing his hard pulsating cock.

Without hesitation, he slid into her, his control snapping like a thread. His thrusts were immediate and unrelenting, his need for her overwhelming.

Aemond’s hips drove into hers, the sound of their bodies meeting echoing around their chambers.

Aemond’s teeth found her shoulder, biting down just enough to leave a mark, his way of claiming her.

Valaena gasped, her nails raking down his back as she clung to him, her body arching to meet his every movement.

There was no gentleness in him now—only raw, unbridled passion, his love and desire for her consuming them both.

Valaena walked arm in arm with Helaena through the lush Red Keep gardens, the scent of flowers mingling with the crisp autumn air.

Helaena turned to her with a serene smile. “How are you feeling today?”

Valaena sighed, pressing a hand lightly to her stomach. “Like I’m going to throw up.”

Helaena chuckled softly. “Women endure many things when it comes to being with child.”

“I don’t recall ever feeling like this with the others,” Valaena muttered, her face slightly pale as she rubbed her slightly swollen stomach.

Helaena’s expression grew thoughtful. “Every cricket is different.”

Valaena quirked a brow at her good sister’s unique phrasing. “Will this cricket be healthy?”

“They will be,” Helaena assured her with a gentle smile and Valaena let out a sigh of relief.

They walked in companionable silence for a few moments before Helaena spoke again. “How has my brother taken to the news of the pregnancy?”

Valaena smiled softly, her gaze drifting over the neatly trimmed hedges. “He’s happy, but worried. Grand Maester Gerardys has been helping ease his fears.”

Helaena chuckled. “Aemond feared his cricket would never sing again. But you shall be fine and in time, your own crickets will grow and have their own. You’ll be surrounded by so many, all of them singing. Such a wonderful song for many years. Then she will come-”

Valaena tilted her head curiously. “She will come?”

Helaena’s faraway gaze sharpened just slightly, her lips curving into a cryptic smile. “A special cricket. The one who was promised. Many years from now, she will come from you and Aemond, your blood-”

Valaena felt a chill race down her spine despite the warmth of the day. “Helaena-”

“The unburnt,” Helaena continued, her voice taking on a dreamlike quality, “the mother. She will come-so beautiful”

“You’ve seen her?” asked Valaena.

Helaena nods “In my dreams I see, the dark haired dragon, the cold demons with blue eyes beyond the wall and her I see her. She sits the Iron Throne, the crown of gold upon her head, she wears your silver dragon chain-your great granddaughter many times over-I’ve also seen the child she names in your honour-”

Valaena stared at her good sister, a thousand questions swirling in her mind, but Helaena had already turned her attention to a nearby spider spinning its delicate web between two branches.

Her violet eyes lit up with excitement.

“Valaena, come look! So wondrous, don’t you think?”

Despite her curiosity at Helaena’s musings Valaena stepped closer, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

She glanced briefly at the intricate web. “Yeah, wonderful,” she said with a half-hearted nod.

Helaena leaned in; her fascination palpable. “I truly appreciate the spider’s talent for web-making. A fascinating spectacle.”

Valaena grimaced, crossing her arms. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Helaena glanced at her, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Are you afraid?”

Valaena hesitated. “Spiders and bugs have their place in the world-just not anywhere near me.”

Helaena laughed softly, reaching out her hand. The spider skittered onto her palm, and she inspected it with care. “They are more frightened of you, you know.”

Valaena stepped back instinctively. “I’ll take your word for that too.”

“You are a dragon rider,” Helaena teased, “and yet you fear a harmless spider.”

“We all have our fears,” Valaena shot back, folding her arms defensively.

Helaena smiled, extending her hand toward her. “Come, she will not harm you.”

Valaena shuddered but willed herself to step closer, her movements cautious. “If I get bitten, I’m blaming you.”

Helaena’s voice was soothing. “See? She’s not so bad.”

Valaena leaned in reluctantly. “I suppose.”

Helaena’s smile turned mischievous. “You should hold her.”

Valaena’s eyes widened. “No. No way. Not doing it.”

“Stop being a coward,” Helaena said with a playful lilt.

Bristling at the word, Valaena scowled. “Fine.” She thrust out her hand, clearly regretting her decision even before the spider was gently placed in her trembling palm.

Helaena’s face lit with triumph. “See? She’s quite harmless.”

Valaena swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the small creature. “I-I suppose.”

But then the spider suddenly darted up her arm. Valaena shrieked, flailing wildly.

“Get it off! Get it off!” she cried, hopping in place, her voice echoing through the gardens.

Helaena stood back, laughing uncontrollably, making no effort to intervene.

Before Valaena could work herself into a full panic, a hand reached out calmly and plucked the spider from her hair.

Valaena spun around, her breaths coming fast, to find Jaehaerys—Helaena and Aegon’s sixteen year old son—smiling at her as he carefully released the spider onto a nearby bush.

“Thank you, Jae,” Valaena said, smoothing down her dress and catching her breath.

“You’re welcome, Auntie,” Jaehaerys replied softly, his cheeks tinged pink and bashful smile endearing.

Valaena shot a withering glance at Helaena, who was still laughing. “That was really mean.”

Helaena grinned, wiping a tear from her eye. “It was funny, though.”

Scoffing, Valaena turned back to Jaehaerys, who was still standing nearby. “Jae, would you mind escorting me back to my chambers? Lest your mother finds a millipede next—Seven knows what she’d do with it.”

Helaena’s laughter echoed through the gardens as Valaena departed, arm in arm with Jaehaerys.

As they strolled toward her chambers, Valaena glanced sidelong at Jaehaerys, his face still tinged with a blush from earlier.

She decided to shift the conversation to lighter matters. “So, Jaehaerys,” she began casually, “-Have you chosen a lady to marry yet?”

Jaehaerys immediately shook his head, his silver hair catching the late afternoon light.

“No. Although I’m grateful for Queen Rhaenyra’s decision to let me choose my own bride-” He hesitated, his expression conflicted. “-I’m not sure I like any of the ladies that were presented to me.”

Valaena raised a brow, intrigued. “None of them caught your interest at all?”

Jaehaerys sighed, his cheeks darkening. “I-I couldn’t stand them, to be honest. They spoke with empty words and wore false smiles. I want more than that. A woman who challenges me, who shares my interests. Someone I can have a real conversation with.”

Valaena smiled warmly. “A fair desire, Jaehaerys. I’m sure there’s someone out there who fits that description.”

Jaehaerys hesitated, his face reddening further before a shy smile crept onto his lips. “There is someone I like.”

“Oh?” Valaena said, her curiosity piqued. “What’s she like?”

“She’s-a bit older than me,” he admitted, glancing away. “But she’s so beautiful. I-I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Valaena nodded thoughtfully. “Have you told her how you feel?”

Jaehaerys’ blush deepened, and he shook his head quickly. “No. She already has a husband-and-and children.”

Valaena’s brows lifted slightly. “I see. Does she know of your affections?”

“No,” Jaehaerys replied firmly, his voice low. “And I’d much prefer it if it stays that way.”

Valaena’s smile was gentle but knowing. “Well, perhaps your affections would be better placed elsewhere.”

Jaehaerys sighed, his frustration evident. “I know it’s wrong to feel this way about a married woman. But I can’t help it. I think about her all the time—her smile, her eyes, her dark hair, the sound of her laugh, and her-her body.”

Valaena regarded him carefully. “You’re nearly a man grown, Jae. It’s natural to have certain-urges.”

Jaehaerys ran a hand through his hair, his voice strained. “It drives me mad. These feelings—I can’t talk to Mother about it; she lives in a world of her own making. And my Father, well he tried to help, but I’m not sure his advice was much help.”

“What do you mean?” Valaena asked, tilting her head.

Jaehaerys looked around, ensuring no one was within earshot, and then lowered his voice. “The Streets of Silk,” he confessed. “He suggested I-I find a woman there.”

Valaena rolled her eyes. “Aegon and his great advice.”

Jaehaerys nodded, his face a mix of embarrassment and exasperation. “There were so many beautiful women. One in particular—Selsei or Sylvi? I can’t quite remember her name—but she was quite a bit older.”

Valaena’s brow furrowed slightly. “You didn’t lie with her, did you?”

Jaehaerys shook his head quickly. “No. Why?”

“The name Sylvi is-familiar, that’s all,” Valaena said cautiously. “But go on-”

Jaehaerys hesitated again, his voice growing even quieter. “There was one who looks a bit like the woman I like. Well, sort of, if you squint. Same hair colour, similar build. So I-I-”

“You lay with her and pretend she’s the woman you like,” Valaena finished softly.

Jaehaerys nodded, his shame evident. “I feel so disgusted with myself, but I can’t stop. I keep going back.”

Valaena stopped and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, before pulling him into a gentle hug. “You’re being safe, aren’t you?”

Jaehaerys clung to her dress, his face pressed against her, his voice muffled. “Yes, I don’t, you know f-finish inside.”

Valaena, seemingly unaware of Jaehaerys’ hand resting on her hip, sighed. “Perhaps I’m not the best person to give advice on such matters. Maybe Aemond—”

Jaehaerys recoiled suddenly, his face a mask of horror. “No! Not Aemond!”

Without another word, he turned and bolted down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

“Jaehaerys!” Valaena called after him, her voice laced with concern.

But he was already gone. She stood there for a moment, shaking her head with a bemused smile before continuing on to her chambers alone.

Jaehaerys stormed into his chambers, slamming the heavy wooden door shut and locking it behind him.

His breaths came quick and shallow, his mind racing. He began to pace, his feet thudding against the cold stone floor.

“Stupid, stupid,” he muttered angrily to himself. “I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have told her. What the fuck was I thinking?”

Frustration boiled over, and his eyes landed on a wine jug sitting on the table. He grabbed it, intending to pour himself a large cup, but his hand froze.

In a sudden burst of fury, he hurled the jug against the wall. It shattered with a satisfying crash, red wine splattering across the stones like spilled blood.

Jaehaerys sank onto the edge of his bed, his hands trembling, as he reached into his bedside table.

His heart pounding in his chest as he took hold of the familiar piece of fabric he’d stolen—once part of Valaena’s dress.

He brought it to his face, inhaling deeply, as if her scent alone could quench the maddening thirst that consumed him.

But it couldn’t. It never did.

His mind was a swirling storm of thoughts, every one of them tethered to her. The curve of her lips when she smiled, the soft lilt of her voice when she spoke his name. He closed his eyes, and the memories came flooding back, vivid and torturous.

The way she had hugged him earlier, her hands resting gently on his shoulders, the warmth of her body against his—it had ignited a fire in him that no amount of restraint could extinguish.

“Valaena,” he whispered hoarsely, the name a prayer and a curse.

His desire for her was no longer a fleeting thought or a simple infatuation. It had rooted itself deep in his soul, festering and growing until it consumed him entirely.

He thought of her constantly, his days revolving around the hope of catching a glimpse of her, hearing her laugh, or being close enough to feel the faintest brush of her hand.

He knew it was wrong. Gods, he knew. She was his uncle Aemond’s wife, a woman bound by vows and honour.

But acknowledging the truth did nothing to lessen the ache in his chest or the burning in his veins. He wanted her in ways that made him feel both powerful and utterly helpless.

Late at night, when the castle was quiet, his thoughts grew darker. He would sit by the window, staring out at the cold expanse of the night sky, and imagine what it would be like if things were different.

What if she were his? What if he could kiss her, hold her, worship her in the way his uncle did?

The thought made his pulse quicken.

Even now, as her body changed with pregnancy, she seemed even more radiant to him. Her curves, the gentle swell of her belly—it all drove him mad.

Yet the knowledge that it was another of his uncle’s children that grew within her made his blood boil.

It was Aemond’s seed, that had taken route not his.

His uncle got to have her—again and again. Aemond could hold her, kiss her, taste her, and claim her in every way.

The bitterness festered, poisoning his heart. He hated that he couldn’t hate Aemond fully.

His uncle was a formidable man, someone Jaehaerys greatly admired.

But now, that admiration was tainted by envy. Aemond had the heart of the woman Jaehaerys adored, and every time he saw them together, it felt like a reminder of his own inadequacy.

Jaehaerys’ stomach churned as he remembered stumbling upon them in the library. He hadn’t meant to spy, but once he saw them, he was frozen.

The sight of Aemond pressing Valaena against the shelves, her hands tangled in his long silver hair, her lips parted in soft moans of pleasure.

The way she clung to him, the raw intimacy between them—it was more than Jaehaerys could bear.

He had returned to his chambers that night, burning with shame and desire, as he fucked his fist seeking his own release with thoughts of her in his mind.

But it wasn’t enough to simply imagine. He began to collect small tokens—things she touched, things she wore.

A ribbon that had once bound her hair. A goblet she had drunk from. They were insignificant objects to anyone else, but to Jaehaerys, they were treasures, reminders of the woman who haunted his every waking moment.

His obsession grew more intense with each passing day. He found himself lingering in places where he knew she would be his eyes always drawn to her like a moth to flame.

Every word she spoke to him, every smile she offered, he clung to as if it were a lifeline. And when she wasn’t near, he would close his eyes and replay those moments over and over, seeking solace in the echo of her presence.

One night, he found himself standing outside her chambers, his hand hovering over the door.

His heart raced as he imagined what lay beyond—the quiet intimacy of her space, the scent of her lingering in the air.

He wanted to knock, to see her, to be close to her even if only for a moment. But the rational part of his mind screamed at him to stop.

To walk away before he crossed a line that could never be uncrossed eventually he turned and fled, but the shame followed him.

He hated himself for these feelings, but he couldn’t stop.

Valaena was everything he wanted, everything he couldn’t have. And the more he tried to resist, the stronger the pull became.

He reached into the drawer again and pulled out a lock of dark hair, —a trinket offered by the whore he visited in the Streets of Silk. She bore only a fleeting resemblance to Valaena, her hair the same deep shade, her figure similar if he squinted.

But it was enough. Enough for him to close his eyes and pretend.

The visits offered him temporary respite. In the dim, perfumed rooms of the brothel, he could let go of his tortured thoughts, lose himself in the illusion that he was with the woman he truly desired.

He would murmur Valaena’s name under his breath, too softly for the whore to hear, as he sought the solace that always felt just out of reach.

But peace was a cruel illusion. The moment his pleasure faded, the desire surged back, more insistent and corrosive than before.

It crept into his veins, festering like a sickness, consuming his every thought. No matter how many times he sought release, the ache returned, gnawing at him from the inside out.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His fingers tangled in his silver hair as he let out a low, frustrated groan.

The weight of his obsession felt unbearable, and yet he couldn’t shake it. He didn’t want to.

"She doesn’t even know," he whispered bitterly. "She’ll never know."

The whore had tried to comfort him once, sensing the depth of his torment. She had run her hands through his hair, murmured sweet nothings in a voice that tried to mimic warmth.

But it wasn’t her touch he craved, nor her voice that soothed him. She was a substitute, a pale shadow of what he truly longed for.

And yet, he kept returning to her, desperate for the brief reprieve she could offer. Desperate to quiet the storm raging inside him, if only for a little while.

Jaehaerys stood abruptly, he paced the room, his chest heaving with every breath. His need for Valaena had taken root so deeply that it felt as though it might tear him apart.

Jaehaerys groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Gods,” he whispered. “I’m pathetic.”

He knew the danger he was in. If Aemond ever discovered his feelings—or worse, his actions—Jaehaerys was certain he’d be murdered in his bed.

His uncle’s temper was well known, he was a fearsome warrior, and commanded Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world.

Jaehaerys sank to his knees beside his bed. His whispered words filled the empty room, a confession to the shadows.

“I would give anything for you, Valaena. Anything.”

But deep down, he knew his desires would only lead to ruin—for her, for him, and for everyone caught in the web of his unrelenting obsession.

The air in Jaehaerys’ chambers became suffocating, thick with the weight of his torment. His mind spun in an endless loop of desire and frustration, the image of Valaena seared into his thoughts.

He clenched his jaw, his hands trembling as he fought to steady himself, but the pressure was unbearable. The ache clawed at him, demanding release.

He couldn’t stay here. Not like this.

With a sharp intake of breath, Jaehaerys grabbed his cloak from the chair, throwing it over his shoulders and pulling up the hood.

The heavy fabric concealing him well enough.

Jaehaerys slipped out of his chambers, moving quickly through the dimly lit corridors. The castle was quiet, most of its inhabitants long since retired for the night.

His boots echoed softly against the stone floors, but he paid the sound no mind. His destination was clear.

The streets of King’s Landing were filthy, the stench of waste and unwashed bodies hanging thick in the air.

But Jaehaerys barely noticed. His path through the labyrinthine alleys was well-rehearsed, his feet carrying him toward the familiar doorway of the brothel.

He pushed open the door, stepping into the warm, perfumed haze of the establishment.

The madam Selsei or Sylvi greeted him with a knowing smile, but Jaehaerys didn’t stop to exchange pleasantries.

He handed her a few coins, more than necessary, and she gestured toward the room he always used.

Inside, she was waiting. The woman he had come to rely on, her dark hair loose over her shoulders, her lips curved in a practiced smile.

She rose from the bed as he entered, her eyes flicking over him with a mixture of curiosity and understanding.

“Back so soon, my prince?” she teased gently, but Jaehaerys didn’t respond. He shrugged off his cloak, letting it fall to the floor as he crossed the room toward her.

“Do as we’ve done before,” said Jaehaerys, his voice low and strained.

The whore nodded, stepping closer. She reached out, her fingers brushing over his cheek, a touch meant to comfort.

Jaehaerys closed his eyes, letting himself imagine it was Valaena’s hand, her warmth, her presence.

The woman guided him to the bed, her movements slow and deliberate. She knew what he wanted, what he needed.

She whispered soft words of affection, her voice a pale imitation of the one he truly craved. But it was enough to fuel the illusion.

Jaehaerys let himself fall into the fantasy, his mind crafting a world where he could have her—just for a little while, he closed his eyes as he laid back on the bed.

In those fleeting moments, he could almost believe that the fire within him had been quenched.

But as the act drew to its inevitable end, the illusion shattered, leaving only emptiness in its wake.

The whore lay beside him, her hand resting lightly on his chest, but the solace he sought remained elusive.

Jaehaerys stared at the ceiling, his breath still heavy. The desire had been momentarily sated, but already he could feel it creeping back, festering in the dark corners of his mind.

He turned his head, looking at the woman beside him. She smiled softly, but her face didn’t hold the same magic anymore. It was never really her he wanted.

“It will never be enough,” he muttered, his voice thick with self-loathing.

The whore said nothing, only stroking his hair gently, as if she understood.

But Jaehaerys knew she didn’t.

She couldn’t. No one could.

With a sigh, he sat up and began to dress quickly before pulling his cloak back around him. He handed her more coins, avoiding her gaze.

“Until next time, my Prince,” she said quietly.

Jaehaerys didn’t reply. He left the room as silently as he had entered, his heart heavy with the burden of his forbidden longing.

TBC

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond targaryen

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

Text

Push the Sky Away - Part Three

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Mild angst. Smut. Word count: ~6.7k

Summary: Aemond writes a letter and makes a thousand mile journey.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Lorra,

Since we are parting ways, perhaps forever, I feel I must unburden my heart. You are the fond object of my affection and my desire. You, and you alone, are the keeper of the key to my heart. Please don’t be alarmed -– I don’t expect your favour -– but I can’t, in good conscience, not reveal myself.

I do not wish for a betrothal -– nor will I -– unless it is to you. Since the moment I laid eyes upon you, it has always been you.

With love, Aemond

Aemond casts his eye over the ink as it dries on the parchment, a hot wave of embarrassment flowing through his body and flushing his cheeks. He has never spoken so plainly with regard to his feelings before, though he has never had such strong feelings to express until now. He quickly rolls it up, before he has the opportunity to change his mind and cast it into the fireplace, sealing it with wax and ordering for it to be sent by raven to Winterfell straight away.

The days pass without word from Lorra. Each of Aemond’s visits to the ravens’ tower end in disappointment when he finds no reply from her. Barely contained rage causes him to clench his hands into fists, stalking away from the maester every time he is told that nothing has arrived.

He wonders if his letter arrived in Winterfell before she did, if perhaps the lack of her response is due to her not yet having had a chance to read it. He ponders on whether he had chosen his words carefully enough, if he could have made his feelings clearer. Will she return to him, or grace him with a letter of her own? As the days bleed into a week, and then another week after that, Aemond’s frustrations simmer to despondency as the sad realisation dawns upon him that Lorra has no intent of writing back to him.

“Your mother asked that I give you time, and I feel that we have waited long enough.”

Otto’s voice rouses Aemond’s attention from the flickering flames of the hearth that he has been staring into, lost in thought, and he turns his head watching as his grandsire settles into the seat across from him.

“It has only been a fortnight since Lorra left King’s Landing,” Aemond replies quietly, returning his focus back to the fire.

“Yes, and almost half a year that you have wasted on a failed courtship,” Otto shoots back, his tone sharp. “Time is not on our side, Aemond. You must marry before the King passes, to strengthen Aegon’s claim to the throne. I intend to write to Lord Baratheon to–”

“I do not want a Baratheon girl!” Aemond hisses, head snapping towards Otto, eye wide and nostrils flared in anger.

Otto sighs in frustration, shifting in his chair. “What you want is of little consequence. You will take your dragon, once I have dispatched a raven, and you will fly to Storm’s End.”

Aemond draws in a breath as the realisation of what he should have done two weeks ago dawns upon him. He gives a slight nod, his eye meeting the weary gaze of his grandsire.

“Yes, I will take Vhagar. But I will fly North to Winterfell.”

“That is reckless.”

“I can win back the favour of the Starks. Without recklessness I would not be the rider of the world’s largest dragon.”

“An impulsive act that cost you dearly.”

“Yes, my impulsivity may have lost me my eye, but I shall not allow my own inaction to lose me the woman I love.”

Aemond rises from his seat, walking towards the door. In his mind the matter is closed.

“And what if you fail?” Otto calls after him.

He stops momentarily, bowing his head as he considers Otto’s words, then turns to look at him over his shoulder. “If I fail then I will accept whoever you choose for me to wed.”

The journey North the following morning is one of the longest that Aemond has ever taken on dragonback. Even wrapped up in riding leathers, he can feel the bite of the cold at his flesh as he leaves behind the temperate climate of the Crownlands, his body shivering as his gloved hands grip tightly to the reins of Vhagar’s saddle.

Usually Aemond leans into the ebb and flow of the weightlessness that he feels while in flight, but all sensations are dulled by the racing of his heart. No journey feels like it is long enough for him to prepare what he intends to say when he eventually faces Lorra. Will she be prepared to see him, or will she simply turn him away? The idea of the latter causes dread to gnaw at the pit of his stomach.

He glides in a slow circle above the fortress of Winterfell, scoping out where best to land his mount. There is no way he can land close to its walls due to Vhagar’s size. It is insult enough to the Starks to arrive uninvited, without the claws of his dragon causing their walls to crumble.

Satisfied that he knows the layout of the land, Aemond brings Vhagar to land on a grassy embankment on the southern facade of the castle, dismounting and making the rest of the journey on foot.

It is early evening as he approaches, and he is met at the gates by several members of Winterfell’s garrison, their man-at-arms demanding he state his business. Unsurprisingly, there are no Starks present to greet him, but his dragon has doubtless been spotted and alerted them to this arrival.

“I am Prince Aemond of House Targaryen. I request an audience with Lady Lorra Stark,” he states simply.

He is escorted to the Great Hall, disappointed at the absence of Lorra as he enters. Her father, Rickon, is seated alone, his gaze stern as he looks upon the Targaryen Prince. Rickon does not stand to greet him, the informality taking him aback as the garrison bustle out of the hall, leaving just the two of them.

“I hope you will forgive the lack of formal greeting,” Rickon says gruffly, “the raven carrying news of your arrival must have been waylaid.”

Aemond swallows thickly, clasping his hands behind his back. He had not expected a warm reception from House Stark, however, this appears to be outright hostility.

“My visit is unplanned, my Lord, and I apologise for the intrusion. I will speak plainly, I have travelled to Winterfell with the intention of resuming my betrothal to your daughter. I had hoped to speak with her.”

Rickon scoffs, his eyebrows raising slightly. “If I could, I would send you back the way you came. However, it is not my intention for the people of the North to fall foul of the Crown, so I am obliged to offer you the hospitality of our House. You will dine with us this evening and leave upon the morrow.”

Aemond’s heart sinks, fearing he has failed before being given the opportunity to redeem himself, and he has not even laid his eye upon Lorra yet, let alone been allowed to speak to her.

He is shown to his bedchamber, changing out of his riding clothes into more appropriate attire for dinner.

As he enters the dining hall, he freezes, feeling his throat run dry as he spots Lorra seated at the table. In their time apart he had forgotten just how beautiful she is and the sight of her is enough to steal away all the air from his lungs.

“Come, sit, eat,” her mother, Gilliane, beckons from her seat beside Lorra.

Cregan and Rickon flank one side of the table, while Lorra and Gilliane are sat at the other, leaving the only available spaces at either end of it, either next to her mother and father, or Lorra and her brother. Aemond opts for the latter of the seating arrangements, hoping it will give him an opportunity to speak to her.

“I hope the food is to your liking. We were unaware we were to have a Royal visitor, otherwise we would have prepared something befitting a Prince.” Gilliane tells him with a tight smile.

Once again, Aemond is reminded of his intrusion, feeling the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment. He forces himself to look at her, keeping his tone polite.

“It is a fine spread, my Lady, you have my thanks.”

He lowers his voice, inclining his head towards Lorra. “The food is of little importance to me, I wished only to see you.”

“And now you have,” she replies simply without looking at him.

Her response is like a dagger to Aemond’s chest, he recoils slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. There are a thousand things he wishes to say to her, but not in the company of her family, and so the rest of the meal passes in slow, uncomfortable silence.

When they retire for the evening, Aemond seizes his opportunity to talk with Lorra alone as she walks back towards her quarters.

“Wait,” he calls after her, striding ahead of her and standing in front of her to block her way. “Did you get my letter?”

Lorra sighs. The expression upon her face as she looks up at Aemond makes his heart ache. She looks tired and sad, and the guilt he feels at knowing he is the cause seems as though it may swallow him whole.

“I did. Pretty words, though they are empty and expressed far too late.”

Aemond’s stomach drops into free fall. His fingers twitch uselessly at his sides, eager to reach out and stroke the soft skin of her cheek, to comfort her. Though she is standing before him, it feels as though a chasm stretches between them, she has never felt more far away.

“Is it too late?” He asks quietly.

“You are leaving tomorrow.”

“Give me one week. A week is all I ask to win back your affection, to prove to you I am a man worth marrying.”

“I gave you six months!” She cries frustratedly. “I am not prepared to waste anymore of my time on a man who does not know how to love. I have no interest in a match that is purely political.”

“Nor do I, not anymore, and I will prove it to you. One week, please.”

Lorra bows her head, toying with her fingers for a moment as she thinks, before looking back up at him. “I shall give you three days.”

She steps around Aemond, walking away and leaving him alone in the castle corridor.

As hard as he tries, sleep will not take Aemond that night. It is not the chill of the Northern air that robs him of rest, as he had anticipated, the hot springs upon which Winterfell is built keep the castle surprisingly warm. He is exhausted from the long journey, and yet his mind will not quiet long enough to allow sleep to take him.

He has just three days to prove to Lorra that he is worthy of her. His station alone is not enough, a royal title is of obvious no concern to the Starks. Aemond has spent his entire life believing that duty alone is sufficient, that love in a marriage is a fanciful, unnecessary component. Lorra has challenged all of that – for her, it is a requirement – and it terrifies him, not the change in mindset itself, but how readily he is willing to accept it.

Aemond drifts off eventually, awakening to the metallic clash of blades outside his window. He rises slowly, groggy with fatigue and walks towards the sound, watching quietly as Lorra and Cregan spar together in the early morning light of the training yard below.

He smiles softly as he looks upon her, noting how quick she is. She is steady with her blade, yet light upon her feet. Though they had trained side by side many times at the Red Keep, he was always too preoccupied with the movement of his own sword and opponent to appreciate her skills fully. Immense guilt washes over him as he remembers how poorly he had treated her the first time she had asked to spar with him.

Now he has the opportunity to remedy that. Aemond dresses quickly, making his way out into the courtyard.

Cregan and Lorra come to a stop at his approach, eyeing him carefully as they lower their weapons.

Aemond gives a polite nod to the elder Stark, before turning his attention to Lorra. “My Lady, would you care to train?”

“I already am,” she says cooly, earning an amused smirk from her brother.

“With me,” he adds, straightening to disguise his discomfort.

“You wish to spar with me? I thought such things were beneath you.”

“I was misguided, allow me to correct the error of my ways.”

Lorra looks questioningly at Cregan, who gives an easy shrug. “Blades are over there,” he nods towards an assortment of weapons propped against the stone wall of the yard as he walks away.

Aemond snatches up a sword, walking back towards Lorra as she takes up a fighting stance. As he takes in the fire that blazes in her bright blue eyes he wonders if perhaps he has made a grievous error in judgement. Challenging the woman he has wronged to a fight would give her ample opportunity to exorcise her vexation, and he half expects her to simply run him through with her blade.

“I am not a child,” Lorra breathes heavily, the flat of her sword pushing back against Aemond’s as she blocks his attack. “You will not appease me with a disingenuous attempt at feigning interest in me.”

“A thousand mile journey is far from disingenuous,” he retorts, side stepping as she swipes at him. “You took the time to get to know me, and I have the genuine desire to do the same for you, though the time I have puts me at a disadvantage.”

Lorra scoffs, dodging as Aemond strikes forward, meeting the resistance of her blade once more.

“You fight well,” he tells her, stepping closer, his chest heaving with exertion. “Visenya Targaryen was said to be a fearsome warrior queen, I dare say even she would be impressed. A trait I would be proud for my wife to possess.”

She blinks rapidly, lowering her gaze and her sword as she steps back, light pink dusting the pale skin of her cheeks. “Flattery will not work upon me.”

Aemond finds boldness in Lorra’s sudden coyness, dropping his sword hand to his side, he closes the gap between them, crooking the finger of his free hand beneath her chin and tilting her face up to his. “Are you certain of that?”

He smirks when she says nothing, and pulls away to place his sword against the wall.

“Come with me,” he tells her, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her along with him towards the gates of Winterfell.

“Where are we going?” She asks with wide eyes as her steps hurry to keep up with his lengthy strides.

“To do something I should have done months ago,” he replies, never slowing his pace.

They pass through the gates and around to the south facade, icy wind nips at their skin and Aemond regrets his impulsive decision for a moment, wishing he had given them both the opportunity to don a coat before heading out, but he supposes in a moment it will not matter, not with the warmth of what he is to show her.

Vhagar is exactly where he had left her when he first landed, though she is now curled up in a sleeping position, the vast expanse of her having squashed the long grass around her completely flat.

Lorra slows, hesitating as the hulking frame of the dragon comes into view and Aemond looks back at her, his grasp slipping from her arm to her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Do not be afraid,” he reassures her, “when you are with me, Vhagar is no danger to you.”

Lorra shakes her head, though she does not pull her hand from his, a gesture that causes Aemond’s heart to soar.

“I am not afraid. I just do not understand the meaning of this.”

“I mean to introduce you, something I ought to have done in the first place, but I foolishly refused. Vhagar is the most important thing in the world to me…well, she was, now I find that someone else occupies that place in both my heart and mind.”

Lorra’s face softens, her big, blue eyes filled with uncertainty as she looks between Aemond and the sleeping dragon.

“Come,” Aemond beckons her forward as he resumes walking. “She is most docile when she is sleeping.”

The air turns humid from the heat that radiates from the great, slumbering beast as they approach her, and Aemond rubs a hand across the hardened heat of her scales, earning a gentle rumble from the dragon which gently quakes the ground upon which they stand.

“Does she not get cold? I cannot imagine the North is a suitable climate for such a creature,” Lorra says, staring up in wonder at Vhagar.

“She is fire itself,” Aemond explains softly, “she is not fond of the cold, but she is able to keep herself warm. Here–”

Aemond takes Lorra’s hand, feeling it tremble beneath his own as he presses it gently against the dragon’s scales, encouraging her to stroke them.

Lorra giggles, continuing to run her hand across them, even after he has pulled his away. “She is not as soft as I expected her to feel.”

“Hmm,” Aemond agrees, watching with a faint smile. “She is old and battle hardened.”

“What will you feed her while she is here?”

He grins, a faint chuckle escaping him at her question. Heat spreads rapidly through his chest at the care that Lorra shows for Vhagar, enquiring after her comfort and wellbeing.

“She is large enough to feed herself, too big even to house within the Dragon Pit of King’s Landing. I have never had to feed her, she fends for herself well enough. I daresay whatever sheep happened to be roaming here have met their end at her appetite.”

“My father gave me a direwolf pup when I was a child,” Lorra tells him, as she continues her absentminded stroking. “When he was old enough to fend for himself, I released him into the forest. It did not seem fair to keep such a creature cooped up in the confines of a castle. Direwolves are not like dragons, they cannot be controlled.”

“The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They obey because they choose to. My bond with Vhagar is the only reason she listens to me.”

Lorra turns, her eyes meeting his. “Is there anyone that you are bonded with strongly enough that you will listen to them?”

“No,” he whispers, leaning down so that his nose brushes against the tip of hers, “at least not until now.”

She blushes, turning her face away. “We should be getting back, but thank you for this, truly. I shall not forget it.”

Though Lorra had declined to kiss him, Aemond’s hope feels restored as he sits beside her at the supper table that evening, stirring his spoon through a steaming bowl of rabbit stew.

“We should go hunting tomorrow,” Lorra says to him with a bright smile.

“Making the Prince earn his keep?” Cregan asks with a chuckle.

“If luck is on our side, we may be able to serve Aemond’s favourite for supper, he is fond of roasted venison.”

Aemond sips his wine to hide the smile that tugs at his lips that she has remembered such a detail about him.

“Do you hunt?” Cregan asks Aemond, raising an eyebrow.

“I have never needed to,” he responds simply, doing his best to ignore the feeling of shame that washes over him as Lorra’s brother regards him with narrowed eyes.

“You will need more than luck if you hope to fell a deer between the two of then,” Cregan scoffs, returning his attention to his stew.

“We do not have to go, if you do not wish to,” Lorra tells him apologetically.

“No, I want to,” Aemond insists. “Even if we are fruitless in our endeavours, the time spent with you will not be wasted.”

She grins at him. A dazzling, brilliant expression that lights up her entire face, and makes Aemond’s heart squeeze in his chest as he realises just how much he has missed the sight of it.

Aemond walks Lorra back to her chambers later that evening, stopping as they reach the door.

“Well, I suppose we both ought to get some rest. We have an early start tomorrow, if we are to go hunting,” she tells him.

“It is still early,” he reminds her, “and I have only three days. It would be foolish to cut the first of them short.”

She raises her brows in surprise at this. “What are you suggesting?”

“I thought perhaps you would permit me to come inside so that we can talk for a while? I promise not to overstay my welcome.”

Lorra chews her lip in uncertainty as she considers his offer, before nodding. “Very well.”

Aemond looks around as he walks through Lorra’s chambers, he has never been somewhere that is so personal or intimate to her, and is eager to learn what he can of her from the space. The rooms are decorated with soft furnishings in greys and pale blues, the colours of her house, with ornately carved wolves’ heads and figures upon the shelves that house her books and personal effects. It is clear she is proud of her Stark heritage, just as he is of his Targaryen ancestry.

He casts his eye over her bookshelves, until his attention is drawn to the parchment upon her writing desk. He recognises it as the letter he had sent to her, picking it up as he reads the familiar words he’d written weeks before.

“You kept it…” he utters softly.

“I did,” Lorra confesses, seating herself on the edge of the bed.

Aemond allows the note to flutter back down upon the desk, turning to face her. “Can I ask, what had you planned to do?”

She sighs, fingertips plucking anxiously at the cotton of the bedspread. “Truthfully, I do not know. I wrote back to you countless times, but tore all of my letters up before I sent them. They were filled with hateful, angry words, which I know I would have regretted.”

Aemond nods, though it pains him to know she could ever think such things of him. “And how do you feel about me now?”

“You have made a good effort to redeem yourself, though I would be lying if your rejection of me back in King’s Landing does not still hurt. I am ashamed to admit that I wept most of the journey back to Winterfell. I had not expected you to come all this way just for me, but I am glad you did.”

Cautiously, Aemond steps towards her and, seeing no sign of protestation from Lorra, sits himself beside her on the bed. “It pains me to know you believe your feelings are unrequited. I should never have let you go.”

“Then why did you?”

Aemond presses his lips into a tight line, a wave of unease washing over him. His first instinct is to pull away, to tell her he does not wish to speak of it, yet he knows if he is to have any hope of winning her back he needs to speak openly.

“When I was a child, I watched my father break my mother’s heart more times than I care to count. The irony of it is that theirs was not a marriage borne of love, yet he managed to hurt her just the same. I swore to myself that I would never allow myself to be placed in such a situation, that when the time came I would do my duty, and matters of the heart would not interfere. Then you came along, and you changed my perception of everything that I believed to be true.”

“That is not a bad thing,” Lorra says softly.

“No it is not. But I have lived my life keeping a comfortable distance from others, I always have. I was content in my loneliness, or at least I thought I was. It is disarming to have someone enter your life and feel that you are willing to risk the comfort found in solitude just to keep them at your side. I have never longed for anyone, and yet when you are not near me I find myself looking for you. I did not know what to do with that.”

“And do you now?”

“I am willing to learn.”

Softly, Lorra cups Aemond’s face in her hands. His eye flutters closed, leaning into the warmth of her palms.

“Will you let me in fully?” She whispers. “Let me see all of you?”

He feels her fingertips creep up his left cheek, gently tapping at the leather of his eyepatch, and lurches backwards, heart pounding.

“It would frighten you.”

“I do not scare easily,” she reassures him, placing her hands back upon his face. This time he does not pull away, though he sits rigid as he allows her to lift the patch away from his head, keeping his seeing eye downcast as he holds his breath, fearing her reaction.

Her touch is featherlight as she traces the scar that runs the length of his face, and when he dares to look back up there is warmth in her gaze, where he had anticipated disgust.

“You are beautiful,” she murmurs.

Shock paralyses him momentarily as she leans in, pressing her lips to his, but he is quick to recover. His fingers thread themselves into the silken ebony of her hair as he kisses her fiercely. The soft plushness of her lips feel every bit as divine as they had the first time, his cock stirring in his breeches as their mouths part enough for his tongue to brush against hers.

Lorra presses her forehead to his when they finally break for air, both breathing heavily.

“We really ought to sleep,” she tells him quietly, “tomorrow is an early start.”

“Oh…yes, of course,” he utters, a hint of disappointment in his voice as he rises, preparing to return to his own room.

She grips his arm, stopping him. “No, stay, please.”

Aemond’s pulse races at the suggestion, yet he nods all the same. Stripping down to their undergarments, they lay snuggled together beneath the blankets. It is an odd sensation to hold someone; she lays with her head upon his chest and his arms wrapped around her. Aemond has never done this with anyone before, but he finds that he enjoys the sensation of her flesh against his, her warmth is comforting. Pressing his nose into her hair, his nostrils fill with the familiar scent of rosemary and lavender. Sleep comes much easier to him that night.

As she had promised, Lorra ensures they awaken early the next morning to ready themselves for a day in the forest. They each take a crossbow and a quiver of arrows, though Aemond is uncertain of how much use he will be with his. His disfigurement leaves him at a disadvantage when it comes to the use of ranged weapons.

“I am assuming you can ride a horse?” She asks, as she leads Aemond to the castle’s stables.

“I am not as proficient as I am on dragonback,” he admits, “but yes, I can ride.”

“I have had the stable hand saddle Cregan’s steed for you,” she tells him, stroking a gloved hand over the velvety snout of a large, black horse. “He is more even tempered than any of our other geldings and less likely to throw you off.”

She winks at Aemond as she walks towards her own mount, and he watches with a smirk as she climbs into the saddle of a strikingly white mare.

“Her name is Nymeria,” she tells him proudly. “Cregan’s is named Rhoyne.”

The ride through the forest is peaceful, their horses trotting at a leisurely pace, side by side, beneath a blanket of deep green fir trees so thick that Aemond almost cannot see the sky above them.

“Your Baratheon girl must not be pleased that you are here,” Lorra says eventually, glancing over at Aemond with a demure smile.

“I have no Baratheon girl,” Aemond tells her.

“Oh?”

Aemond tightens his hold on the reins of his horse, his posture stiffening slightly. “It is…regrettable, what you overheard between my grandsire and I. The truth of the matter is that he had intended to send me to Storm’s End to petition Lord Baratheon for the hand of one of his daughters in marriage. I refused.”

Lorra laughs softly. “He cannot have taken that well.”

“He was not pleased, no. I came here instead, on the promise that I would secure an alliance with House Stark.”

She says nothing, averting her gaze towards the trees, and they continue to ride in silence. Aemond glances at her every so often, hoping to catch her eye, but to his disappointment she is always on the lookout for game, or is at least pretending to be. The quiet hangs heavy between them, the only sounds are the gentle hoofbeats of their mounts and the distant chirping of birds.

“I know it is not ideal,” he tells her, no longer able to bear her silence, “to have this obligation hanging over us, but it is my duty. But I need you to know, I am not choosing you out of duty. To have you in my arms as I did last night was no easy thing for me, and it is not something I take lightly.”

“I know,” she says softly.

“Do you think that joining our Houses is even possible? Your father and brother do not seem fond of me.”

“Lords of the North are not quite so tyrannical over their daughters as they are in the South. My father and brother are wary of you because they are aware you have hurt me. But my father will respect my decision and pose no opposition to an alliance with your House, if I choose to marry you.”

“So, you accept?”

Lorra laughs, rolling her eyes. “I said if.”

They lapse back into a more comfortable silence, though there are no deer to be found. Aemond can feel his teeth begin to chatter, despite how warmly he is dressed, he has not acclimated to the chill of the air of the North. It nips at his skin, feeling as though it seeps into the very bones of him.

“I think Cregan had the right of it,” Lorra sighs, “we are to have no luck today. I expect our chatter has likely frightened off any deer we might have hoped to see.”

“Do you wish to turn back?” Aemond asks hopefully.

“You are cold. Fortunately, we are close to one of my favourite places to warm up.”

Aemond’s curiosity is piqued, and despite the cold that stiffens his joints, he continues to ride alongside her, until the trees clear, revealing an opening in the side of the rock face.

Lorra dismounts from Nymeria, securing her reins to a nearby fir tree, and Aemond does the same for Rhoyne.

“In here,” Lorra gestures towards the rock face.

Aemond’s brow furrows, but he follows her in regardless, immediately enveloped in warmth and darkness alike, the furs and leathers he is wrapped up in suddenly feeling much too hot. He picks his steps carefully, walking slowly behind her until light from an opening above them beams daylight down upon a steaming pool of vibrant blue water, nestled within a basin among the craggy stone.

“Hot springs,” Lorra tells him happily, unfastening her cloak and allowing it to drop to the ground. “It is the best defense against the cold while out on a ride.”

She begins to undress and Aemond freezes, his first instinct being to look away, but he finds that as more of her flesh is revealed to him he cannot keep his eye from her. Desire flickers hotly in his lower belly as he looks upon the swell of her breasts, the inwards dip of her waist, and the curve of her hips as she peels her clothes away from her body, dropping them to the floor, before stepping into the water.

He is taken aback by just how brazen she is, unashamed as she turns, once submerged up to her thighs, and looks at him with a grin.

“Are you going to join me, or just stand there gawping?”

Aemond’s eye widens, he opens his mouth to speak, but finds no words will come to him.

Lorra giggles. “Shall I turn away?”

He clears his throat, shaking his head. “N–no…”

His breaths come shakily as he disrobes, wishing to get it over with as quickly as possible. Once fully bare, he steps into the water, his lack of modesty almost forgotten with the sigh of relief that leaves him as the heat of the water soothes the ache of the cold in his joints.

“You forgot this,” Lorra tells him, stepping towards him and reaching for his eyepatch.

“Wait.” He grabs her wrist, stopping her. “I need to know…if you have not decided if you wish to marry me, then why are you doing this? Sleeping in the same bed with me, bathing together. If this is all a game to you, then I can go no further.”

Lorra lowers her gaze, pursing her lips. “I do want to marry you, my feelings have not changed. But I cannot accept that you have changed on words alone. I need to see that you desire me as a husband desires their wife, I need to know it is real.”

Aemond pulls away his eyepatch, discarding it to the side with the rest of his clothing, and pulls her to him by her waist. He inhales sharply as he feels the softness of her dampened skin meet his. “Is this real enough for you?”

The ends of his long, silvery hair are beginning to form loose waves due to the humidity, and her fingers reach up to stroke through them.

“Do you think you could grow to love me?” She whispers.

Aemond’s thumbs trace lazy circles against her sides as he gazes down at her, carefully considering his words. “I am not certain I know what love is. I think of you often, I crave your presence when you are not there. I feel a sensation akin to physical pain when you are sad, and your happiness serves to elevate my own. Perhaps that is love? And if it is, then I believe that I already do.”

Lorra smiles, her blue eyes shining as she looks up at him. Her hands press gently against Aemond’s chest, pushing him back to sit on a ledge, submerged in the hot spring, where the water rises to just above his navel. She sits astride him, the brush of her thighs and womanhood against him making him painfully hard. His breath hitches, as he clings to her waist like a lifeline.

Her fingers caress his jaw gently, and she kisses him softly, their lips meeting slowly and tenderly in an unhurried gesture of affection.

“I would marry you tomorrow, if I could,” he utters against her lips, “wed you beneath the heart tree in your godswood, in the tradition of the Old Gods.”

“Really?” She sighs as Aemond presses his lips to her throat, his hands sliding from her waist to travel up her torso and palm roughly at her breasts.

“If you wish it, once we are married we can return to Winterfell and do just that.”

“Mmm…I would like that.” She tilts her head back as Aemond lowers his mouth to her chest, capturing a hardened peak between his lips and suckling gently.

Aemond has never desired anyone like this before, though he has never cared for anyone in the way that he cares for Lorra. He craves her touch, the need for her making him feel as though he teeters on the very edge of madness.

He removes his mouth from her breast, an appreciative groan rumbling in his chest as she begins to roll her hips against his, and his lips capture hers once more, gripping her hips to urge on her movements against him.

If he had known she would feel this exquisite, he would have barred the doors of the Red Keep and forbade her from ever stepping foot outside of it.

He pulls away, breathless as he stares up at her. “I want to marry you in the tradition of Old Valyria too. Once Aegon is King, and our ancestral seat is returned to us, we will travel to Dragonstone and do just that.”

“What does that involve?” She asks huskily.

“We shall wear the traditional robes of Old Valyria, red and white, and you will have a beautiful headdress.”

He pauses, eye fixated upon her as she raises up slightly on her knees, causing him to hiss through his teeth as she grasps the length of him, positioning him at her entrance. His stones tighten, mind going utterly blank, rendering him speechless, as the tight heat of her sinks down upon him, his fingertips push into the flesh of her hips hard enough to bruise.

She stills once seated fully upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Keep going,” she urges, “tell me more.”

“We will use dragon glass–ah, fuck!” He screws his eye shut, hips bucking up to meet hers as she moves against him.

“Use dragon glass to what?” She asks teasingly, her pace never faltering.

Aemond swallows thickly, the pressure building at the base of his spine almost too much to bear. “To…to slice against our palms...the blood that spills is collected in a cup which we will drink from.”

Lorra whimpers softly in pleasure, the rise and fall of her hips becoming more urgent, causing the water to lap in gentle ripples against their bodies. Aemond snarls at the increase in pace, pressing the flat of his palm tightly against her lower back, as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

“Is that all?”

“No…” Aemond’s voice is strained, struggling to get the words out against the haze of pleasure that overwhelms him. “We will use the same dragon glass to cut our lips, the resulting kiss in addition to the combined blood we have consumed serving to bind us together forever.”

“If that is your wish…”

“Yes…bind yourself to me…”

Lorra gasps, her arms tightening around him as he feels her insides spasm around him in quick, successive pulses, her body trembling against his. He continues to thrust up into her, until the pressure within him gives way, causing his cock to pulsate as he holds her to him, spilling inside of her.

They remain as one, wrapped around each other in the steam of the hot spring as they each struggle for breath, slowly recovering.

Aemond strokes Lorra’s hair away from her face, running his fingers through it as he takes in her blissful, relaxed expression. In this very moment, he has never been more certain that this is love, and to experience what he has just felt makes him feel foolish for having pushed it away for so long. There is no doubt in his mind that there is no one else in the world for him, only her.

“So, will you?” He asks gently, continuing to stroke her hair. “Bind yourself to me?”

She gazes at him softly, a lazy smile upon her lips. “You have barely used two of your three days yet. I am sure there is lots more convincing you could do until they are up.”

Aemond smirks, tugging her against him in a tight embrace. That is an arrangement that he is more than happy to satisfy.

Chapter two || Series masterlist

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

Text

Winter's King 17

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I have a house now. One more month until move in.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You leave the queen, stepping into the gales that whip around the outer flap of her tent. You reach to keep your cap from flying into the violent winds, the soldiers with their chins down as they lean against the force. Before you can gain your bearings, a shadow appears and calls your name, battling the weather to be heard.

“Eh, where is your cloak, silly mouse? You will blow away with the leaves,” Bryce approaches, latching onto your arm as the bluster swirls around you, nearly taking you off your feet.

“I am fine, sir, I only need find a blanket,” you stumble against him as another willful gust pushes you around.

“That isn’t what I asked. What has happened to it? You’ve lost it?”

“The queen was cold, sir,” you answer and cling to him, shivering as the tempest swirls around you.

“The queen... greedy...” his voice trails off as her sneers towards the tent.

“Sir,” you touch his arm gently to calm him, “she needs it more than I. She is expecting the king’s child.”

He looks at you and juts out his jaw, “aye, s’pose you’re right, even if you’re too kind for yer own good.”

He turns you and grips you tightly, shielding you as best he can against the wind. Your progress is slow and stunted by the sudden ebbs and flows. He grunts as you stagger and steadies you, at times almost lifting you off your feet.

“Sir Bryce,” a deep voice slices through the whistle of the winds, “a storm approaches.”

The king nears, his sword gripped by the pommel as he leans it against hit shoulder. His golden eyes flick towards you, as if he had not seen you in the shadow of your escort. He raises his chin and returns his attention to the soldier. He angles his blade to the ground and the tip buries in the dirt.

“Aye, it surely does,” Bryce agrees, “I’ve seen a worst tempest in my years.”

“Sir,” Geralt holds out his hands and a glisten appears on his sleeve. You lean in without a thought, curious, then feel a cold speck on your nose. You look up and see the white flakes drifting down. “It will not remain so peaceful. It comes from the north and will deepen by morning.”

“Shall we wake the camp?” Bryce asks and you sway with the wind. Once more, the king’s attention strays to you, he frowns.

“Not as yet. Let the horses rest a little longer. They will be able to handle a dusting,” he affirms. “but I will harry the men to prepare for our departure.”

“As will I. I’ll be certain the carts are covered and weighted.”

“Sir, ever wise,” King Geralt praises and scowls at you. He shakes his head and huffs, “why does the maid wear no cloak? She will not survive in this, summer soul, she is.”

“Aye, yes, I was only just telling her as much. Seems her heart is too big for her thin hide,” Bryce tuts, “we were only off to find her a blanket before she sleeps.”

“Blanket, eh,” the king lets go of his blade, letting it stand in the ground. He unbuckles his collar and sweeps his cloak from around his shoulder, “I have my hunting cloak and I don’t mind the snow so much.”

Before you can react, the king lays his heavy cloak over your shoulders. It is longer than your height requires and it smells of sweat and iron. You lower your head at the warmth clinging to the lined wool.

“Your highness, many thanks, but I might find a blanket--”

“Do not defy your king,” Bryce rebukes, “mouse, you would do well to accept his grace. You will certainly need it if these winds do not pass.”

“Apologies,” you utter, “sir, your highness, you are both generous.”

King Geralt grumbles and nods, looking once more to the sky as he grabs his sword.

“The Ridge, Vulture’s Peak... it isn’t far. The castle will do, eh?”

“Not far at all, your highness,” Bryce agrees. “It would do you well to let your wife rest. Many congratulations, my king.”

“Congratulations? For what? Smelling a storm?” the king furrows his brow.

“Oi, I think I’ve said too much,” Bryce glances at you.

“Say more,” the king commands. The soldier sighs and sheepishly shows his teeth.

“Please, maid, would ya...” He mutters.

“Your highness, the queen said she is with child,” you swallow, “I only just came from her tent. I believed you were aware. I did not mean to gossip.”

“Child,” his eyes sink and close. He hums and heaves a deep breath, “yes, she would need to be still a time.”

“Your highness, again, you have my apologies--”

“No matter,” the king waves his hand. “Take the maid, I shall see to my wife.”

The king resumes his path onward, sword in hand. He hardly shares in Jazlene’s cheer for the news. Perhaps it is only the threat of the storm that has him unhappy.

You bring your hands to the dark fur along the collar of the cloak and draw it snug. You chatter and Bryce clucks. He nudges you and you walk forward in step.

“So the snows have come,” Bryce declares, “along with the heir. I sense many storms brewing, mouse. Best keep our eyes on the horizon.”

⚔️

You don’t sleep for long, if at all. Only the shallow dregs of your anticipation. You watch the snow fall from beneath the canopy and as the horses are roused and fed before dawn, a carpet coats the ground.

You peer down at the powder. You wonder what it feels like. Cold and wet, Bryce says, but don’t dirty your soles, you’ll be soaked. He remains, as ever, cynical.

“Be off soon,” he says as he brings Daisy around, a thick coat over her back and haunches.

“To Vulture’s Peak?” You ask.

“Aye, so we will,” he pets Daisy’s snout as she sniffs him. “though our host may not be so fond to have us.”

“Host? It is not the king’s castle?”

“Ha, no, no,” Bryce laughs heartily, “a king can’t live on a desolate bluff. By fealty, a lord must break bread and offer a roof to his king. It might be his company which has him facing a cold welcome.”

“Oh,” you frown.

“Ah, even this old coot won’t deny us in the coming storm. He has sense of these better than any,” Bryce shrugs. “Don’t worry your head. You stay in your cart and Daisy will do the rest. She’s a fine climber--”

“Out of my way!” The curdling snarl interrupts the soldier and you both look to see the source. “Move, by gods, I am the queen, be away from me.”

You get to your knees, leaning on the edge of the wagon to see out from under the canopy. A scatter of bodies split apart as Queen Jazlene struts through, the fur cloak rippling from her shoulders and the hood set back on her head as her curls spill out. She sneers at the snow beneath her slippers.

“Ah, I did hear there was a cart around here—ugh, out,” she points as she marches up to the cart, “by royal right, I am seizing this cart.”

“Eh,” Bryce moves closer, “your highness, the king--”

“I cannot sit a horse, sir,” she rests her gloved hand over her stomach. “Or would you murder the future prince with your selfishness. All for a--” she pauses and glowers over at you, rolling her eyes. “A maid?”

You rise and snatch up the cloak you’d used as a blanket. You keep bent under the low canopy and climb out with the cushion under your arm.

“Sir, the queen is right, she should have the cart, I will sit with the luggage.”

He huffs and sends a grimace to the sky, unable to direct his malice towards its source, “if she must...”

“I must!” The queen snaps and yanks the pillow from your hands, “I will need this, certainly.”

You stand aside, staring at the pillow dolefully, and buckle the top of your cloak. The queen pauses as she faces you. She looks you up and down.

“Where did you find this then?” She touches the collar of the cloak.

“It is my spare cloak,” Bryce insists before you can answer, “what else do you require, your highness? Shall we bring a lamb to sacrifice?”

“Hm, is that how you northerners worship?” She sneers, missing his irony.

He blinks dully and says nothing.

“Well, secure the horse, I will need to be drawn.”

“It is my horse,” Bryce insists, “you may bridle your own.”

“You dare deny me?” She snarls at him as the soldiers with her stand on either side of the cart.

“You may take it up with your husband. This is my steed, she carried me to war and she will carry me henceforth,” he snips.

Bryce and Jazlene glare at each other. You look between them nervously. You don’t know who King Geralt might choose in this battle should he be called.

“Fine, fetch the stinky thing,” Jazlene demands of one of the soldiers, “and blankets, another pillow, perhaps something to eat.”

The cast of the sky shifts with the first light of the sun and Bryce grabs both horses and leads them aside. He whistles for you to follow. You come to him as Chestnut and Daisy cluelessly puff into the cold air.

“You will ride. I will not have that... queen seizing my horse,” he sniffs, “I will show you how once I’ve saddled the mare.”

“Oh, yes, sir.” You look up at the horses back. It seems very high.

“You will want to be aback anyhow,” he shrugs, “you’ll not want to miss the mountain. It is very beautiful, especially in the snow.”

⚔️

The party continues onward, treacherously. As the snow falls, the train diverts away from the flats and onto the narrow paths speckled with broken trunks and towering trees. The smell of pine tickles your nose as you ascend, bit by bit.

It takes some time to grow used to the motion of the horse. Daisy’s hooves are certain and she does not slip on even the most precarious spots. Bryce rides behind you, booming about each nook and cranny, pointing out the white rabbits and the wilted fauna. His enthusiasm is unexpected but endearing.

You ride until the moon replaces the sun and dismount along the side of the great cliff. There is no room here to pitch a tent and only a few fires burn along the ridge. Your hips ache as the soldier grunts about his back.

“I should see to the queen,” you suggest as you rub your hands together.

“She must have many fawning over her,” Bryce spits out a wad of leaves and squashes it under his feet.

“I am her maid--”

“And we are on a long road. She might go without you minding her temper,” he snarls.

You frown, “I am not upset. She needs the cart more than me.”

“It isn’t that which sees me chagrined,” he growls. “It’s those deeds you will not admit of that traitor’s daughter which make me prickle.”

You’re quiet. You look away, your eyes wandering up into the sky, watching the snow swirl down, following it down to the ground far below. The heaps are immaculate in the moonlight and the trim of white along the ridge gleams.

“I am a maid.”

“I know little of your summer people but if that is how they treat those who serve them, perhaps this alliance was not so wise,” he grumbles as he steps up beside you, “perhaps it would’ve been better to submit such cruel nobles.”

“Sir,” you say, shocked and peer over at his profile. His beard has grown to meet his cloak, his hair coiling down to his shoulders.

“I serve my king, as I ever will, but I will not bend the knees to a snake,” he hisses and crosses his arms.

“We are united, aren’t we? Summer and Winter,” you reach to touch his thick hide mitt.

“Aye, yes, I do not seek another battle,” he exhales. “I am only wary of those who may.”

You squint. Your mind returns to Lord Dustan and what he said to his daughter. The heir is their prize, an affirmation of the bounty earned by their betrayal, but also a chain to that very act. To the man they forsook their name for. A man they speak as kindly on as they had their former allies.

“Might I walk?” You draw your hand from his. “My legs are sore.”

“Not too far. And keep your eyes open,” he girds, “and your hands in your cloak. You needn’t frostbite.”

You nod and he turns to you. He pulls up the hood of your cloak and pats your shoulder.

“Tarry too long and I’ll look for you,” he warns.

“Sir,” you shift slowly and step past him.

You trod higher up the incline as you marvel over the edge. Bodies huddles together beneath cloaks and blankets, nestling for warmth against the wall of the cliff. You carry on and stop near a luggage cart, close to the drop. You hold out your hand, letting snow gather in your palm. It is cold, bitterly and painfully cold, but so beautiful. You bring it closer and watch it slowly melt as your hand numbs.

“Do you remember...” the king’s voice drawls over you as his soft steps approach. “What I told you of this place?”

You look at him. He is lit by the moonlight, his golden eyes like stars, and his jaw is bristly with thickening stubble. You bow your head, “your highness, are the bears already asleep in their caves?”

He chuckles, “you do recall,” he praises, “not yet, though they do not come this high.”

“And the wolves? Are they near?”

“They are always prowling,” he says, shifting closer, his arm pressing to yours. He bends slightly to peer straight down, “the elk will be in the forests.” He points to the snowcapped tips of the distant trees, “here, the vultures have their nests. Their eggs,” he curves his hands to show the size, “I made a writ, years ago. It is forbidden to eat the eggs. I always found it quite tragic to desecrate the majestic creatures before they can even be borne. Before they can fly even.”

“Vultures? I’ve never seen one? They are... birds?”

“Yes, birds,” he confirms.

He is silent as he considers his kingdom below. His breath is gritty as it rises and falls. He has much to think on. A child, a wife, and his homecoming delayed by a storm.

“One thing has changed here, in these lands of winter,” he says lowly and you feel a ripple in your cloak. He presses his hand firmly to your back, sliding it along your side to grasp your hip. He moves to stand behind you and brings you close. He wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your crown, “I said before, there is no summer here,” he holds you, pulling his cloak around you, concealing you within it as he drapes himself around you, “summer is here. With me. Warm and gentle.”

You go rigid as he holds you, your heart beating at the unexpected embrace, at the unseemly contact between you. He hums as he stands with you in the shadows of the cart, so brazenly covert. Anyone might happen upon you and yet they all hide away from the storm.

“Your highness,” you stammer and quiver against him.

“Treasure,” he purrs, “my treasure. The one good thing I’ve brought home...”

You can’t breathe or think. Is he drunk? Confused? What does he mean?

“I--” he begins but the kick of a rock quiets him, the stone bouncing off the cart’s wheel.

A shadow stalks down the precipice towards you and the king detaches, uncovering you from his cloak. He faces the figure as the tramp up the incline. You hear the king shudder as he tickles your back.

“There’s the mouse,” Bryce says as he comes into the moonlight, his brow and jaw set, though he doesn’t look at you. He looks at the king, almost defiant. “You shouldn't be out so long in the cold. Exposed,” he grits, “come, I’ve sparked us a fire.”

King Geralt clears his throat, “thank you, sir.”

“My king,” Bryce says as he beckons to you, “I will keep the maid safe. As you bid.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #winter's king #the witcher

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