#AND WHO IS THAT????? LAW NO BETRAYAL LAW....

[notthelastdeadpoet]

While watching the film, Cameron was my least favorite character because of the betrayal. But I forget… this is a seventeen year old boy, who has been suppressed and his spirit killed by that age. He truly thought he was doing the right thing. Obeying is his law because it’s all he was ever taught. He’s just a boy like the rest of them….

[gensideas]

CASE CLOSED: LOVE ON TRIAL.

✎summary Y/N Rodriguez discovers her boyfriend Matt’s infidelity and redirects her focus to law school and her career. With resilience and support, she triumphs, passes the bar, and finds a healthier, more respectful connection, turning heartbreak into empowerment.

✎features cheater!bf Matt x Law!student reader.

I sat alone in the dim light of my desk lamp, drowning in case briefs and mock trial notes. The weight of my law school aspirations pressed heavily on my shoulders. The bar exam loomed, suffocating my nights with endless study sessions.

My phone buzzed. It was Matt. “Busy night, babe. Work event. See you tomorrow?”

My chest tightened, but I pushed the feeling down. “Sure. Good luck,” I texted back, my fingers trembling slightly. Lately, he had been distant, and even his words felt perfunctory. But there was no time to dwell on it; my future demanded all my attention.

Across town, Matt mingled at a swanky networking event, laughing a little too hard at Erica’s jokes. The red-haired marketing executive exuded confidence, something Matt found intoxicating. When Erica brushed his arm, a flicker of guilt surged through him—but not enough to stop

Weeks passed, and the cracks in our relationship deepened. I couldn’t ignore the growing distance. Matt’s once-frequent texts were now sparse, and his excuses for canceled plans piled up like unread notifications.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised one night after bailing on dinner. His voice was rushed, almost mechanical.

I sighed, clutching the phone tighter. “It’s fine. I have plenty to do anyway.”

But it wasn’t fine. Late at night, when my textbooks blurred into meaningless lines, I’d stare at my phone, willing it to buzz with something—anything—to reassure me.

My best friend Sofia wasn’t convinced. “He’s acting shady, Y/N. I don’t trust him.”

I shook my head. “We’re both just busy.”

“Busy isn’t the same as distant,” Sofia muttered, her concern deepening.

One afternoon, Sofia’s voice on the phone was sharp. “I saw Matt downtown. With someone else.”

My breath caught. “What?”

“Here,” Sofia said, sending a photo. The image hit me like a gut punch: Matt and Erica, laughing together in a way that once belonged to me.

That night, I confronted him. “Who is she?” My voice cracked, betraying the storm of emotions I’d fought to contain.

Matt faltered. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Don’t insult me,” I snapped, tears streaming down my face. “I’ve sacrificed everything for us, Matt. I deserved honesty.”

His apologies came too late, his words hollow. The betrayal was a knife that cut deep, shattering the fragile balance I had clung to.

The days after the breakup were a blur of tears and sleepless nights. My chest felt perpetually heavy, and every corner of my apartment held echoes of Matt. The pain was relentless, threatening to drown me.

Sofia’s support became my lifeline. “Cry it out,” Sofia urged. “But don’t let him destroy you. You’re stronger than this.”

I threw myself into my studies, using my heartbreak as fuel. The ache in my chest became a driving force, propelling me through tort law and late-night mock trials. Still, there were nights when I crumbled, staring at my empty bed and wondering why I wasn’t enough.

Matt’s voicemails went unanswered. I couldn’t bear to hear his voice, the same voice that had whispered promises he couldn’t keep. My journal became my sanctuary, a place to pour out the grief I hid from the world.

Months later, I passed the bar exam. The moment should have been euphoric, but it felt bittersweet. I had reached my goal, but the scars Matt left still lingered.

At my celebratory dinner, Sofia raised a toast. “To Y/N, who refused to let anyone dim her light.”

I smiled, but my chest tightened. The triumph felt hollow, as if part of me was still piecing itself back together.

At a networking event, I met Daniel, a fellow attorney with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor. “I’ve heard about you,” he said. “You’re incredible.”

I wanted to believe him, but doubt lingered. My trust had been broken, and I wasn’t sure I could give my heart again.

As I walked into my new office, my diploma in hand, I stared at the empty walls. I had achieved so much, but the weight of my heartbreak still clung to me. The future was mine, but it felt fragile, like a vase I was afraid to drop.

That evening, I opened my journal, flipping back to the entries I had written during my darkest days. Each page was a testament to the pain I had endured—and survived. Slowly, I began to write again, this time not just about heartbreak, but about hope. I penned down my dreams, my aspirations, and the person I was determined to become.

Days turned into weeks, and the office walls began to fill with memories of my victories, both big and small. I took on cases that challenged me, and with every win, I felt a piece of myself returning.

Daniel’s kindness remained steady, and though I kept him at arm’s length, I found myself opening up little by little. One evening, as we walked out of court, he said, “You’re stronger than you know.” For the first time, I believed him.

One year later, I stood on the steps of the courthouse after winning my first major case. Sofia was there, cheering me on, her pride evident. As I looked around, I realized something important: I had built a life that was entirely mine. It wasn’t perfect, but it was authentic.

Matt was now a distant memory, a lesson I had learned the hard way. I had found strength in my struggles, and though the scars remained, they were a part of me—a reminder of how far I had come. As I stepped into the future, I carried with me the unshakable knowledge that I was enough, and I always would be.

© gensideas 2024

[avelanlorelay]

Sorry to bother with questions but do we ever find out where Cardan was when he didn't return to bed with Jude those few nights? As he seemed to be avoiding the question when she asked. Was he with someone else?

Questions never bother me, I love to talk! I assume you're talking about that TQOF scene after Jude's presentation banquet. Feel free to disagree with me, but I think that to think that Cardan is just a womanizing boy is not to understand even half of his personality, especially when (I've already posted about this) he's the most sensitive character in the series.

In my view, it's implied in the book that Cardan's vice is drink, not sex. I'm not saying that he's a pure boy who didn't like taking part in orgies, but there are some points that show that it wasn't his priority. For example: Cardan isn't seen making dirty jokes or analyzing women's bodies like Valerian (except with Jude). He never had two lovers at the same time like Locke and Nicasia (I'm not saying that the intention of these two was just sex, but obviously there was a lot of desire for Jude on Locke's part and for Locke on Nicasia's part too).

And the main point for me, is that we see in TWK, when Jude invades Cardan's chambers at Balekin's behest, he is completely alone in bed, that is, at a time when he is worried about Jude and the situation of the kingdom is delicate, he doesn't have time to think about sex or anything like that, so to think that Cardan is still the same boy who only thinks about the pleasures of life and hasn't matured is to ignore his evident change in the second book. It's clear that in important situations, such as when the Crown of Blood is at stake, he no longer maintains the behavior of enjoying himself like a member of the circle of grackles.

It's not exactly proof, but on the same night that Jude breaks into his rooms, he confesses that Balekin forced him to take part in orgies, meaning that his perverted behavior was practically forced on him by his brother. It's no wonder that when he met a girl he liked, Cardan immediately committed himself to an engagement. And here, we all have to agree because it's obvious that he was always faithful in his commitment to Nicasia, their relationship was totally monogamous, otherwise he wouldn't have been so heartbroken by her betrayal.

Which brings me to the conclusion of your question: Cardan was faithful to Nicasia because he loved her and the two of them were engaged, in other words, they had a solid commitment. And he remained faithful to her until the engagement was broken. Cardan respects commitments, he has many faults but he is one of the few loyal characters in the books. So, throughout TQON Cardan and Jude had a real commitment, they were married by fairy law. Whether the marriage was consummated or not, I believe that he remained completely faithful to her. 1- Because he loved Jude and was completely fall with her.

2- Out of respect for their legitimate marriage.

3- Because he was too busy worrying about Jude's exile, her whereabouts after Madoc's invasion, her health and, most importantly, how to win her love. He wouldn't let himself be carried away by frivolous desires, especially when his greatest desire was her. I believe that when Jude asked where he was, Cardan didn't imagine that she might be jealous, so he answered without bothering to give details. Even when Jude expresses her feelings in words, he is still unsure and in doubt. Perhaps he was too embarrassed to say where he stood, or he was just a little slow to be objective. Someone here on tumblr already commented that he was probably in the Court of Shadows and I totally agree. And I would add that he probably spent nights drinking, playing cards and worrying about Jude's recovery and how to win her heart.

I think that sometimes, like Jude, we overcomplicate Cardan's thoughts and intentions, when in fact he is simple and even naive in his actions lol. Sorry for the long text, I hope I've answered your question 💗

[novaursa]

Between Pride and Fire (flares)

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: stolen crown

- Next part: crossroads

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @punk-in-docs @barnes70stark

From Fire & Blood, as recorded by Grand Maester Gerardys, with additions from the fool Mushroom.

The Pyre of Visenya and the Black Queen’s Coronation

On the eleventh day following the death of King Viserys I Targaryen, Dragonstone was shrouded in grief and fire. The stillborn daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen—named Visenya by her mother—was prepared for the flames, her tiny form wrapped in crimson silk embroidered with the sigil of House Targaryen. Grand Maester Gerardys wrote of the somber ceremony:

"The princess, despite her grief, stood tall as a queen should. The babe’s deformities were concealed beneath her wrappings, though whispers of her dragon-like features could not be stilled. Some claimed the child’s fate was punishment from the gods, others blamed the strain of betrayal, for word of Aegon’s usurpation had caused her labor to come too soon. Yet no curse could ever compare to a mother’s loss, and Rhaenyra’s tears fell as freely as the fire consumed the body of her little Visenya."

Mushroom, always eager to embellish such tales, recounts that the Queen’s sister—Y/N Lannister, née Targaryen—stood at her side, hand in hand, as Ser Jason Lannister and their eldest daughters, Leona and Aemma, looked on. The grief of the moment, according to Mushroom, was punctuated by fire and vengeance. “The pyre lit not only the babe’s remains, but the war itself,” he quipped.

The Arrival of Ser Erryk and the Crown of Viserys

It was on the evening of Visenya’s pyre that Ser Erryk Cargyll of the Kingsguard arrived at Dragonstone, having escaped the treacherous court of King Aegon II. He came to the Painted Table, weary and mud-caked, carrying with him a chest that contained the crown of King Viserys I Targaryen. It was the same crown worn by Jaehaerys the Conciliator, the true symbol of Targaryen rule.

Grand Maester Gerardys recounts the event in detail:

"Ser Erryk, sworn shield of the late king, fell to one knee before Princess Rhaenyra. His voice shook as he spoke: ‘I could not save your father, my queen, but I bring you his crown. It belongs to you by all the laws of gods and men.’ He then placed the crown upon her brow, and at last, the realm had its queen—Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Black Queen, rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."

The coronation took place in the Hall of the Painted Table, with the lords and knights sworn to Rhaenyra kneeling one by one. Among the first were Ser Jason Lannister and his daughter, Lady Leona, whose presence at Dragonstone had grown all the more significant. Mushroom—ever the sly observer—claimed that as Jason bent the knee, he quipped to his wife, “Lions do not kneel easily, my love, but for you and your sister, I’ll make it look regal.” Whether this was true or not, history does not record.

The Betrothal of Prince Jacaerys and Lady Leona Lannister

Following the coronation, Rhaenyra made her first formal decree as queen. The betrothal of her son, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, to Lady Leona Lannister was announced, uniting House Targaryen and House Lannister in a powerful alliance. The decision came as no surprise to those who had observed the growing affection and respect between Jacaerys and Leona, though Jason Lannister’s reluctance had long been whispered of.

Gerardys writes:

"Lady Leona stood beside her father, her golden mask gleaming like the sun itself. When Queen Rhaenyra spoke of her betrothal to Prince Jacaerys, the young woman bowed her head in acceptance, her voice calm and clear as she swore to honor her duty. It is said that Prince Jacaerys looked upon her with admiration, his face alight with quiet joy."

Mushroom, however, could not resist a bawdier telling: “Though Jason Lannister grumbled like a stormcloud, his daughter stood proud, as fierce as a lioness in the dragon’s den. And mark my words—she’ll wear that crown as easily as her mother wore Jason in the hunting woods all those years ago. A steadfast union, they say, for the Lord of Casterly Rock and his lady, who still rumble their chambers like the very dragons of Dragonstone.”

Mushroom’s allusions to the infamous hunt that celebrated Aegon II’s second nameday—where he claims Jason and Y/N first took liberties with one another—have been widely dismissed as typical exaggeration. Yet, even those who dismiss the fool’s words cannot deny that the union between the Lannister lord and the Targaryen princess remains as resolute as ever.

Aemma Lannister and the Claiming of Silverwing

On that same day, while plans were made to send word of the queen’s coronation to allies across the realm, an event of unexpected joy took place within the caverns of the Dragonmont. Young Lady Aemma Lannister���third-born child of Jason Lannister and Y/N Targaryen—had wandered toward the great fissures in the mountain where unclaimed dragons made their lairs. Among them was Silverwing, the aged companion of Queen Alysanne, who had long gone riderless since the queen’s death decades earlier.

Grand Maester Gerardys records the event with wonder:

"The girl, scarcely thirteen years of age, approached Silverwing with a boldness that could only be born of dragon’s blood. She spoke no command, nor offered bribes of food—only words whispered softly into the dragon’s ear. To the astonishment of all who bore witness, Silverwing lowered her great head, allowing the girl to climb atop her back. It was a sight out of legend—the daughter of a lion astride the queen’s dragon, the past meeting the present in fire and awe."

Mushroom adds his usual flair to the tale: “Aemma spoke the dragon’s name like it was an old friend, or so they say. I’ll wager her mother wept with pride, and her father swore loud enough for the whole of Westeros to hear—whether it was joy or terror, I’ll let you decide.”

Thus, within the span of a day, fire and grief were met with moments of strength and renewal. Princess Visenya’s death, Rhaenyra’s coronation, the betrothal of Jacaerys and Leona, and Aemma’s claiming of Silverwing all marked the beginning of a new chapter in the Dance of the Dragons. The Black Queen now wore her father’s crown, her claim made plain for all to see.

And though grief and fury still burned in her heart, those fires would fuel the war to come.

The Westerlands and the Return of Loren Lannister

While Queen Rhaenyra consolidated her power at Dragonstone and prepared for the looming war, the Westerlands stood firm under the golden lion of House Lannister. With Lord Jason Lannister remaining at Dragonstone alongside his wife, Princess Y/N Targaryen, their eldest son Loren returned to Casterly Rock to secure their lands, accompanied by his younger siblings—Tyland, Daena, Rhaegel, and Rhaelle—as well as Baela and Rhaena Targaryen and the young Targaryen princes, Aegon and Viserys.

Grand Maester Gerardys writes:

"The sight of Loren Lannister returning to the Rock astride his dragon Morghan was one of triumph and burden both. He bore the weight of responsibility far beyond his years, yet he carried it with quiet resolve. Alongside him rode Baela Targaryen, a sharp and willful girl, whose silver hair caught the sun like a blade’s edge. Between the two dragons—Morghan and Moondancer—the skies above the Westerlands were guarded with a ferocity that gave even the most daring of foes pause."

At Casterly Rock, the return of Lord Tyland Lannister—Jason’s twin—was met with quiet relief. Having fled King’s Landing under the cover of night after Ser Erryk freed him, Tyland quickly fortified the Rock, organizing defenses and ensuring the gold of the Westerlands remained under Lannister control.

The Clashing of Loren and Baela

It was not long before rumors began to spread of the frequent bickering between Loren Lannister and Baela Targaryen. The two, though often at odds, formed a formidable partnership when duty called. Gerardys notes their dynamic in his typically diplomatic style:

"Young Lord Loren carried the weight of his father’s absence with the pride of a lion, though some said his seriousness was tempered by the fire of Baela Targaryen. Where Loren sought order, Baela brought boldness, and their arguments were often as fierce as their loyalty to one another. Yet when it came to matters of defense, the two worked with a singular purpose—like the twin heads of a dragon. Together, they secured the borders of the Westerlands with dragons above and steel below."

Mushroom, as always, offered a bawdier account: “The lion and the dragon fought like storm and fire, but mark me—there’s love brewing in those battles. Baela’s sharper than any sword Loren wields, and the boy knows it. If the war doesn’t wed them, I’ll eat my hat.”

Whether such feelings existed remains a matter of speculation, though their bond was undeniable.

The Mischief of Young Tyland Lannister

Among the children at the Rock, none proved more troublesome—or more entertaining—than young Tyland Lannister. Named for his uncle, Lord Tyland, the boy was as quick-tongued and sharp-witted as his father, Jason.

Lord Tyland himself was said to have bemoaned the boy’s antics on more than one occasion, grumbling to his stewards: “It’s like having Jason back again, except this one’s smaller, louder, and far less inclined to listen.”

Young Tyland took great joy in testing his uncle’s patience, often playing pranks that disrupted council meetings and causing headaches for the stewards of the Rock. Despite the mischief, even Lord Tyland could not deny the boy’s cleverness, remarking once, “He’ll either be the salvation of the Rock or its ruin, and I pray to the gods for the former.”

The Bonds of Daena, Rhaegel, Rhaelle, and Rhaena

Meanwhile, the younger children—Daena, Rhaegel, and Rhaelle—formed a strong bond with Rhaena Targaryen, whose calm and nurturing demeanor made her a beloved presence among them. Gerardys describes their time together with fondness:

"The young ladies of House Lannister were often seen alongside Rhaena Targaryen, playing in the sunlit courtyards or walking the walls of Casterly Rock. Rhaena, with her quiet grace, took to them like an elder sister, teaching Daena the art of embroidery, calming Rhaegel’s boundless energy, and holding Rhaelle’s hand as they watched the skies for dragons. These moments, though fleeting, brought warmth to an otherwise somber castle preparing for war."

Dragons Above the Westerlands

The presence of dragons in the skies above the Westerlands was both a deterrent and a warning. Loren’s dragon, Morghan—a mighty beast with midnight-black scales and even darker wings—often patrolled the borders, his roar echoing like thunder through the valleys. Baela’s Moondancer, smaller and more agile, flew alongside him, her pale green scales shimmering in the sunlight.

Mushroom, in his usual tone, remarked: “The Greens would sooner piss themselves than face two dragons guarding the gold of Casterly Rock. Loren’s beast could devour a man whole, and Baela’s Moondancer could dance around a storm of arrows. Between the two of them, the Westerlands might as well be ringed in fire.”

The Westerlands Hold

Under Loren’s leadership and Baela’s fire, the Westerlands remained secure. Lord Tyland fortified the Rock with gold and steel, young Tyland caused chaos wherever he went, and the bonds between the Lannister children and the Targaryen twins grew stronger with each passing day.

It was a time of uneasy calm, as though the entire realm held its breath. The Rock stood tall, dragons guarded its skies, and whispers of love and loyalty danced through the halls. Yet all knew that this peace would not last, for war was inevitable—and when it came, the lions and dragons of the West would be ready

The early morning light seeped into Dragonstone’s great hall. The air smelled of salt and smoke, carried on the winds that blew in from the narrow sea. You stood beside Jason near the main gates, your daughters Leona and Aemma clad in their traveling cloaks, their dragon-riding gear fastened snugly. Their dragons—Leona’s fierce Vaelora and Aemma’s newly bonded Silverwing—waited outside, wings stirring impatiently as the sound of waves crashed below.

Jason’s jaw was set, his face as hard as the stone walls surrounding you. It had taken hours of whispered arguments the night before for him to relent, and even now, his reluctance weighed heavy in the silence.

“Do you understand what you’re being asked to do?” Jason’s voice broke the stillness, his sharp green eyes sweeping over both of his daughters. “This is no trivial task. You will be flying across hostile skies, carrying the weight of our queen’s words. Oaths may have been sworn, but men’s loyalty fades as quickly as morning dew.”

Leona nodded, standing straight and proud in her crimson cloak, her golden mask gleaming faintly. “We understand, Father,” she said calmly, her voice unwavering. “Queen Rhaenyra has entrusted us with this task. We will not fail.”

Beside her, Aemma shifted slightly, her softer expression betraying her nerves. Yet, there was resolve in her eyes as she spoke. “Silverwing and I will fly swiftly. We’ll be safe.”

Jason turned his gaze toward you then, searching for some last refuge of support. “Tell me this doesn’t sit ill with you,” he muttered, his voice low and clipped.

You stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Of course it does, Jason,” you whispered. “They are our daughters. But we swore our loyalty to Rhaenyra, and they are dragons. It is their duty, just as it is ours.”

Jason exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He turned back to the girls, his voice softening slightly. “Leona,” he began, “the Riverlands are fractured. Lord Grover Tully is an old man. You must be careful whom you trust—do not mistake smiles for loyalty.”

“I will be vigilant,” Leona replied firmly. “Vaelora and I will remind them of the oaths they swore.”

Jason’s gaze shifted to Aemma then, his expression betraying the slightest flicker of worry. “And you,” he said, his tone gentler, “the Iron Islands are no place for a girl. The Greyjoys respect strength and power—do not let them see your fear.”

Aemma lifted her chin slightly, her face determined. “I won’t let them, Father. Silverwing will fly high and proud. They’ll know the might of dragons.”

Before Jason could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall as Jacaerys Velaryon strode forward, his own riding leathers fastened, Vermax waiting for him in the courtyard. He nodded to you and Jason before turning to the girls.

“Leona,” Jace said, offering her a faint smile. “We’ll meet at the Trident when your business in the Riverlands is done and mine in the Vale. From there, we’ll fly north together.”

Leona dipped her head slightly, though her voice carried a teasing edge. “Try not to keep me waiting, Prince Jacaerys.”

Jace smirked faintly but turned to Jason then, his face serious. “Lord Jason,” he said, “I promise you—I’ll see both your daughters safely to Winterfell. They will not fly alone.”

Jason studied Jace for a long moment, searching his face. Finally, he gave a slow, reluctant nod. “You’d best keep that promise, boy. If any harm befalls them, you’ll answer to me before you answer to the queen.”

Jace inclined his head respectfully. “I understand, my lord.”

Aemma stepped closer to you then, her face slightly pale. “Mother,” she murmured softly, “will you… be here when I return?”

You cupped her face gently, brushing her curls back as you smiled faintly. “Of course I will, my sweet girl. I will be here, and I will be waiting.”

Leona approached Jason, her back still straight and unflinching as she placed a gloved hand on his arm. “We’ll make you proud, Father.”

Jason stared at her for a moment, his features softening as he reached up to grip her shoulder. “You already do, Leona,” he said quietly. “You always have.”

Outside, the dragons stirred impatiently, their calls reverberating through the courtyard like thunder. The time had come.

Together, you and Jason walked with them to the gates, where Jace, Leona, and Aemma stood beside their dragons. Jace climbed onto Vermax first, his movements confident and fluid. The young dragon shifted beneath him, its green-bronze scales catching the light as it stretched its wings.

Aemma approached Silverwing, her small form dwarfed by the ancient dragon’s shimmering silver scales. “Easy, girl,” she whispered, placing a steady hand on Silverwing’s neck before climbing onto her back. The dragon rumbled softly in response, lowering herself to make it easier.

Lastly, Leona strode to Vaelora, the white dragon standing tall and proud as smoke curled from her nostrils. She regarded Leona briefly, almost as if awaiting her approval, before bowing low. She climbed into the saddle, her crimson cloak flaring behind her like a banner.

Jason’s hand found yours, his grip tight as he watched his daughters prepare to leave. “It feels like I’m letting them fly straight into the jaws of wolves,” he muttered.

You squeezed his hand gently. “They are dragons, Jason. The wolves will fear them.”

Jace raised his voice as he looked back at Jason one last time. “We’ll return to you with news, my lord,” he called.

Leona glanced back briefly. “And victory,” she added, her voice carrying clear and strong.

Jason said nothing, though his face was hard as stone. He simply lifted a hand in farewell, his grip on you never faltering.

With a final look, Jace gave the signal. “Fly!”

The dragons launched into the air with a thunderous force, their wings slicing through the sky as they rose higher and higher. Vermax, swift and agile, led the way with Silverwing trailing close behind, her silver wings shimmering against the pale blue morning. Vaelora brought up the rear, her red markings a sharp contrast to the others, her roar echoing across the cliffs of Dragonstone.

You and Jason stood in silence, watching them vanish into the clouds, their figures growing smaller until they were little more than specks on the horizon.

Jason finally spoke, his voice low and tight. “We’ve sent our daughters into the storm.”

You nodded, unable to look away from the sky. “And they will fly through it, Jason,” you said softly. “Because they are dragons.”

And in that moment, you knew it to be true. Whatever lay ahead—oaths broken, wars waged—your daughters would endure. And they would return, their fire unquenched.

The wind howled through the stone halls of Dragonstone, carrying with it the salt-heavy scent of the sea and the distant cries of dragons. You moved through the dim corridors, your thoughts still lingering on the sight of Leona and Aemma disappearing into the clouds alongside Jacaerys. Their dragons had roared into the sky, powerful and defiant, but now the silence they left behind felt heavy.

You found Rhaenyra standing at the edge of the courtyard, staring out toward the horizon. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, though whether it was against the chill or the weight of yet another goodbye, you couldn’t tell. She had just said farewell to Lucerys, the youngest of her boys now sent to the Stormlands. His small dragon, Arrax, had taken flight not long before, leaving her to watch the empty sky as though he might return at any moment.

When she heard your footsteps, Rhaenyra turned slightly, her face pale but composed. “He’s gone,” she said softly, though the words seemed to weigh her down. “Luke is so young still, younger than Jace when he first took to the skies alone.”

You moved to stand beside her, your gaze following hers toward the endless sea. “They’re strong, Rhaenyra,” you replied, trying to reassure her—though the words felt as much for you as for her. “They are their mothers’ children.”

Rhaenyra let out a soft breath, a shadow of a smile playing on her lips. “And their fathers’,” she added quietly, though a flicker of doubt crossed her face. “Luke has Jace’s bravery, but Arrax is small compared to Vermax.”

You placed a hand on her arm, squeezing gently. “He’ll return, Rhaenyra,” you said firmly. “And so will ours.”

Rhaenyra looked at you then, her gaze softening. “And how did Jason take it?” she asked knowingly, though there was a faint amusement in her voice.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Not well,” you admitted, half-jesting. “Not well at all. I thought for a moment he might lock Leona and Aemma in the cellars to keep them grounded. He’s probably still cursing himself for agreeing.”

Rhaenyra chuckled faintly, a sound that was welcome against the quiet gloom. “I can imagine. I never thought I’d see Ser Jason Lannister so… unraveled.”

You tilted your head, smiling as you studied her. “Do you remember the first time we met him?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes lit with faint mirth at the memory, and she turned to fully face you, her arms dropping to her sides. “Oh, I remember,” she replied with a knowing smile. “The great lion of Casterly Rock, strutting about the Kingswood as though he’d already conquered it. He was so full of himself, I thought his pride might suffocate him.”

You laughed, covering your mouth as the memory came flooding back. “He tried to impress us both during the hunt for Aegon’s nameday. I thought you’d take a sword to him after the second jest about lions outrunning dragons.”

“And I might have,” Rhaenyra said with a smirk, though it quickly softened. “But he surprised me. I never took Jason Lannister for a family man back then. To see him now… with you, with his children—it’s almost hard to believe.”

You sighed, smiling fondly. “He’s changed,” you agreed softly. “Or perhaps he was always this way, and we never cared to look close enough.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly, studying you with an appraising eye. “And yet you’ve given him seven children,” she teased lightly. “You must see something in him that no one else ever has.”

You shook your head with a laugh, though your cheeks warmed faintly. “More than I ever expected, I suppose. He’s stubborn and vain, but he loves fiercely.” You paused, suddenly grinning despite the somber day. “Would you believe he wants more?”

Rhaenyra blinked, clearly caught off guard. “More children?”

You nodded, the incredulous smile still tugging at your lips. “I told him we already have seven—seven, Rhaenyra. That’s more than enough to fill Casterly Rock twice over. But he just shrugs and says there’s always room for more lions.”

Rhaenyra barked out a short, surprised laugh, the sound echoing faintly in the open air. “More lions?” she repeated, shaking her head. “Has he forgotten how war looms over us all? How will he manage to protect you and a nursery full of babes?”

“I asked him the same,” you replied, still smiling despite the weight of the conversation. “He only said it’s because of the war that he wants more. He fears for us, for our children. I think he believes filling the halls of the Rock with more family will somehow keep us all safe.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened again, though this time with understanding. “It is the curse of fathers, I suppose,” she murmured. “Daemon would have said much the same, once. That our bloodline—our children—are what anchor us to this world, even when everything else is ripped away.”

You nodded quietly, glancing back toward the skies where your daughters had disappeared not long before. “They are everything,” you agreed softly. “And Jason knows it as well as we do.”

Rhaenyra stepped closer, her hand reaching out to take yours. “They will return,” she said again, her voice low but steady. “Jace will look after them both, as he promised. And when this war is over, the skies will belong to dragons once more.”

You squeezed her hand in return, the weight of her words grounding you as much as they pained you. “Let us hope the gods are listening.”

The two of you stood there together, the salt wind tangling in your hair and the roar of the waves far below filling the silence. For a moment, neither of you spoke, both consumed by your thoughts—your children, your husbands, the realm teetering on the edge of war.

But as you looked toward the empty horizon, you reminded yourself of the truth you both shared. You were dragons, and dragons did not falter.

The Painted Table was once again surrounded by men of influence and power, their faces set with grim determination as they listened to Daemon Targaryen. Lords, knights, and bannermen loyal to Queen Rhaenyra filled the chamber—faces familiar and new, united by oaths, blood, and the looming specter of war. Jason Lannister stood to Daemon's immediate right, his arms crossed over his chest, his green eyes sharp and calculating as they followed the Rogue Prince’s every move.

The air in the room crackled with tension as Daemon, leaning over the Painted Table, ran his gloved hand across the carved Riverlands. His voice was low and authoritative, every word carrying the weight of unspoken action.

"When the time comes,” Daemon began, his violet eyes narrowing as they swept the gathered lords, “we will need to take Harrenhal.” His finger tapped hard against the fortress carved into the wood. “It is the key to the Riverlands. Without it, we cannot hope to rally the lords who owe us their swords. Securing Harrenhal will give us the space to host our armies and strike out where we need to. A foothold.”

A murmur ran through the room as the lords considered the words. Harrenhal was a name that carried weight—once a seat of great power, now a cursed ruin that loomed over the Riverlands like a great black shadow.

Lord Staunton spoke first, his tone cautious. “My prince, the Riverlands will be slow to act unless their safety is guaranteed. Harrenhal is poorly garrisoned, aye, but its walls are as strong as any in Westeros. It may not hold the numbers of a great army, but whoever sits behind its walls will not give them up lightly.”

Daemon’s lip curled faintly, the ghost of a smirk. “Let them try,” he said softly, though the threat in his voice was unmistakable. “The dragons of House Targaryen will remind the Riverlands where their loyalty lies.”

Jason shifted slightly at Daemon’s right, nodding in agreement. “The Riverlords are practical men. Once they see dragons shadowing their skies, they’ll bend the knee readily enough.” His voice carried the easy confidence of a seasoned lord.

Daemon looked to him, a rare glint of approval in his violet eyes. “Precisely, Lord Jason,” he said smoothly. “The Vale will hold true, and the North is loyal. Once Harrenhal is ours, the Riverlords will have no choice but to come to us. And when they do…” His hand swept south across the table, lingering near King’s Landing, “we will tighten the noose around the usurper’s throat.”

There were murmurs of agreement around the table—low voices of men who had seen their share of war. Jason’s expression remained composed, though his green eyes were alight with focus.

Daemon straightened then, turning toward the assembled men. “I will fly to Harrenhal first, with a small force to hold the castle once it is taken. Caraxes will remind the current garrison of their folly. Lord Jason will fly on dragonback with me.”

Jason’s brows furrowed faintly, his head tilting slightly as he regarded Daemon. “Wait,” he said, his voice breaking the flow of conversation. “Did you say we will fly to Harrenhal?”

Daemon’s gaze flicked toward Jason, unreadable but unbothered. “I did.”

Jason frowned, uncrossing his arms. “I have no doubt Caraxes would make quick work of Harrenhal’s defenses, but I assumed you meant to fly there alone, Prince Daemon. My place is not on dragonback—I’ve armies to organize and—”

“You will come,” Daemon interrupted coolly, ignoring Jason’s protests with the dismissive air of a man used to having his way. “A Lannister riding at my side will send a message to the Riverlords. You are Rhaenyra’s commander, Jason. Not some lord hiding behind castle walls.”

Jason blinked, visibly taken aback at Daemon’s assumption. He opened his mouth to speak again, his voice hardening. “Prince Daemon, I may be a commander, but I am not a dragonrider. I have not even taken the saddle with my wife on —”

Daemon ignored him entirely, already turning his attention back to the map as if the matter had been settled. “With dragons in the sky and the Riverlords rallied beneath us, we will send the Hightowers crawling back to Oldtown where they belong.”

Jason’s jaw twitched, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as he exchanged a quick glance with you, who stood to the side, observing the scene. You offered the faintest shrug—one that said, Daemon does as he pleases.

The room had fallen silent, the lords and knights watching the exchange with interest. Jason cleared his throat, his voice clipped as he spoke again, louder this time. “Prince Daemon, I cannot fly with you to Harrenha. Maybe I can follow with our armies—”

Daemon cut him off again, this time with a sharp, pointed look. “If the time comes, you will do what needs to be done, Lord Jason.”

Jason stared at him for a moment, his frustration thinly veiled beneath a forced smile. “And if I refuse?”

Daemon’s smirk returned faintly, though his tone remained cold and unyielding. “Then I suppose I’ll find another commander willing to ride with me into fire and blood.”

The tension in the room was palpable, though it broke with a chuckle from Lord Celtigar, who muttered something about “dragonlords and their tempers.” Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said no more, stepping back and folding his arms again.

The meeting continued as Daemon laid out strategies for what would follow Harrenhal’s fall—plans to hold the Riverlands, to rally allies to Rhaenyra’s cause, and to prepare for the inevitable march toward King’s Landing. But you could see the lingering frustration on Jason’s face, his green eyes flickering toward Daemon more than once as the prince spoke.

When the lords were dismissed, Jason leaned toward you, muttering under his breath, “If he thinks I’m taking the skies like some silver-haired daredevil, he’s lost his wits.”

You bit back a smile, resting a calming hand on his arm. “He’s testing you, Jason,” you replied softly. “And you’ll rise to the occasion, as you always do.”

Jason snorted faintly, though the irritation didn’t fully leave his voice. “He can test all he likes, but if I end up in a dragon’s saddle with him, you’ll find me praying to the gods to save my arse.”

You laughed quietly, squeezing his arm. “Well, then we’ll make certain you’re prepared before the time comes.”

Jason sighed heavily, shaking his head as he muttered, “The things I do for Targaryens…”

You smiled, though the weight of Daemon’s words remained with you both. If war was to come, every piece on the board would be forced into motion. And whether Jason Lannister took to the skies willingly or not, the realm would soon know that fire and blood had come for the Greens.

The solar of Dragonstone was awash with late afternoon light. You were seated beside Rhaenyra at the long table, surrounded by a small group of noblewomen—the ladies of lords who had declared for the Queen. They were deep in conversation about supplies, the tending of the wounded, and which maesters should be trusted when the inevitable bloodshed began. It was the quiet work of war, the often overlooked discussions that kept an army from falling apart.

You nodded politely as Lady Staunton mentioned the need for healers skilled with poultices, though your focus wavered as you caught movement from the doorway. Jason entered, his stride purposeful and his usual air of smug confidence softened into something more playful. His golden curls caught the sunlight, his green eyes shone faintly as they sought you out from across the room.

You arched an eyebrow in silent question as he approached. Rhaenyra paused mid-sentence, glancing up with mild curiosity. “Your lord husband comes,” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice. “What mischief could he be plotting now?”

Jason stopped just behind your chair, resting a casual hand on its back. “Ladies,” he greeted smoothly, nodding toward the small assembly with a charming smile. “My apologies for the intrusion. Might I borrow my wife for just a moment?”

You looked up at him, lips curving faintly into a smile. “Borrow me?” you echoed, puzzled. “For what purpose, Jason?”

He cleared his throat, shifting slightly under the weight of the assembled women’s gaze. “A private matter,” he said smoothly, though his tone faltered at the end as if already realizing the uphill battle before him.

Rhaenyra smirked faintly, clearly amused. “A private matter? Then say what you need, Lord Jason. We are all allies here.”

Jason shot Rhaenyra a glance that was somewhere between pleading and exasperated before looking back down at you. “It’s… not something for polite company.”

Your brows furrowed, bewildered. “Are you unwell? Have you been summoned?”

“Not quite.” Jason’s smile flickered, his green eyes darting toward the others before returning to you. “I merely thought you might be in need of… rest, my love. A reprieve.”

You tilted your head at him, still not following. “I’m quite fine, Jason. There’s much to discuss—”

“I assure you,” he interrupted with a low, almost conspiratorial voice, “it is you who deserves a reprieve, darling.” His fingers lightly brushed the back of your chair, his grip almost pleading. “Some time alone. Away from… chatter.”

The ladies around the table exchanged amused glances and polite coughs to hide their smiles. Rhaenyra’s expression was entirely unhelpful, her smirk deepening as she leaned back in her chair. “Are you asking your wife to abandon her duties, Lord Jason?”

Jason’s jaw tightened slightly, though he forced a smile, his tone still light—if strained. “Of course not, Princess. But even the most dutiful wives require… a moment’s rest. I am concerned for her well-being, that is all.”

Your confusion only deepened as you regarded him, not missing the faint flush in his cheeks. “Jason, what are you trying to say?”

For the briefest moment, Jason faltered, his confidence replaced by something bordering on defeat. “I am trying to say, my love,” he muttered under his breath, though still loud enough to carry, “that I wish to spend time with you—alone.”

The solar went silent for a heartbeat before Rhaenyra broke into soft laughter, her shoulders shaking faintly as she turned toward you. “Seven hells, sister, your husband is a subtle one.”

You blinked, realization finally dawning as warmth crept into your cheeks. Jason looked caught between embarrassment and resignation, his green eyes narrowing faintly as though blaming Rhaenyra for his predicament.

“Well, you could have said that, Jason,” you teased lightly, though your own face was warm now.

“I thought I had,” Jason grumbled, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as the ladies around the table tittered behind their hands.

Rhaenyra’s grin was positively wolfish as she regarded him. “And yet, for all your silver tongue, you’ve only managed to confuse us all. Perhaps you’ve lost your touch, my lord.”

Jason let out a sharp exhale, his pride clearly stung. “Very well. I can see when I’m outnumbered.” He shot you a look, a mix of fondness and defeat. “When you find yourself in need of better company than this, you know where to find me.”

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head. “And where will you be?”

“Anywhere but here,” Jason replied with a pointed glance at Rhaenyra, before turning on his heel. “Perhaps I’ll find Daemon. At least he doesn’t mock me to my face all the time.”

As he strode out, the laughter followed him faintly, the golden lion of Casterly Rock momentarily outmatched. Rhaenyra watched him go, shaking her head with mirth as she turned back to you. “He really does love you, doesn’t he?”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest despite your amusement. “He does,” you murmured softly. “And I wouldn’t have him any other way.”

Rhaenyra smirked again, her eyes glinting. “Be careful, sister. He might return with a bottle of wine and a battalion of excuses.”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair as you shook your head. “At least he tries.”

And though Jason had left the room sulking, you knew well enough that his pride would recover quickly. For no matter how defeated he seemed now, the lion always roared loudest when he got his way—and you had little doubt he’d try again before the day was done.

Jason Lannister stormed into the chamber where Daemon and several of the loyal lords of the Queen were gathered around the Painted Table, his boots echoing off the stone floor with each heavy step. He wore his irritation plainly, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he dropped himself unceremoniously into a chair near Daemon.

“Seven bloody hells,” Jason muttered, raking a hand through his golden curls. “I’ve fought wars with less resistance than trying to have a moment alone with my wife.”

Daemon, who had been listening to Lord Celtigar drone about supply routes, glanced up with a faint smirk. His violet eyes glimmered with amusement as he leaned back, one brow arched. “Turned away by your lady wife, were you?” His voice carried that ever-present edge of mockery. “You’re losing your touch, Lannister.”

Jason scowled, pouring himself a cup of wine from the flagon set nearby. “Not all of us have the luxury of stealing wives off their husbands, Daemon,” he shot back pointedly, though there was little venom in the remark. He took a long drink, slamming the cup back onto the table with unnecessary force. “I swear, a room full of women can cut a man down quicker than swords ever could.”

A low chuckle rippled through the room as the lords exchanged knowing glances. Lord Staunton grinned, shaking his head. “Perhaps you ought to take your woes to the battlefield instead, my lord. The enemy is far less crafty.”

“Or find solace in the company of men,” Lord Darklyn suggested, earning laughter from the others.

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he looked toward Daemon. “This is your fault, you know,” he grumbled, pointing a finger in mock accusation. “If you didn’t summon us here to sit around tables and sharpen daggers, I might actually get to enjoy the spoils of my marriage.”

Daemon’s smirk widened. “Your misfortunes are your own, Lannister,” he replied, his tone light, though his gaze flickered back toward the map with growing focus. “Besides, there will be time enough to take your pleasures when this war is won.”

Jason sighed dramatically, slouching back in his chair, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his lingering humor. “If I live to see the day.”

“Let us hope you do,” Daemon replied dryly. “We’ll need men like you for the fight ahead—assuming you can pry yourself away from the comforts of the Rock.”

Jason opened his mouth for another retort when the doors to the chamber swung open suddenly, the sharp creak cutting through the room’s low laughter like a blade. A young messenger stumbled inside, his face pale and breath ragged, as though he’d ridden straight through the night. The jovial mood evaporated at once, the air turning heavy as all eyes turned to him.

“Speak,” Daemon commanded, his tone sharp and unforgiving.

The messenger fell to his knee, clutching a small, weathered scroll in one hand. “A message, my lords,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “From Storm’s End. From Lord Borros Baratheon.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed as he strode forward, his boots echoing ominously against the stone. He plucked the scroll from the messenger’s shaking hand, breaking the seal with one quick motion. Silence gripped the chamber as he read, his face hardening with every word.

Jason leaned forward, his earlier sulking forgotten. “What is it?” he asked sharply.

Daemon’s grip on the parchment tightened, the veins in his hand visible beneath the skin. Slowly, he lifted his head, his violet gaze dark with fury and grief as he looked around the room. His voice, when he spoke, was as cold as the grave.

“Lucerys Velaryon is dead.”

The words fell like a thunderclap, the silence that followed suffocating. Jason blinked, the shock etched plainly on his face. “Dead?” he echoed, as though he had not heard correctly.

Daemon’s jaw clenched as he continued, his voice steady despite the rage building beneath the surface. “The boy flew to Storm’s End to speak with Lord Borros Baratheon. But Prince Aemond was there before him, riding Vhagar.”

The mention of the ancient she-dragon sent a chill through the room. Lords exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of the words sinking in.

Daemon’s eyes flickered toward Jason, but it was not mockery in his gaze now. It was the cold fire of vengeance. “Aemond chased Lucerys into the storm. The boy never returned. His dragon, Arrax, was torn apart—what remained of their bodies washed ashore this morning.”

The chamber fell into chaos. Gasps, murmurs, and curses filled the air as the lords reacted to the news. Jason swore under his breath, rising to his feet. “The boy was no warrior—he was a messenger,” he said, his voice tight with anger. “They slaughtered him like a lamb.”

Daemon said nothing for a moment, his hand crumpling the scroll as his face turned to stone. “This will not go unanswered,” he said, his tone soft but deadly. “Aemond Targaryen will pay for what he’s done.”

Jason’s fists clenched at his sides as he looked toward the Painted Table, where Storm’s End loomed ominously beside the sea. “Rhaenyra must know,” he said quietly, the words feeling heavy in his throat. “The queen must hear this.”

Daemon nodded once, sharply. “She will.” His gaze flickered to the messenger, who was still kneeling, his head bowed low. “Go,” Daemon commanded. “Get word to the queen. Now.”

The boy scrambled to his feet and fled the chamber, leaving the lords in grim silence. Jason turned toward Daemon, his voice low and hard. “This changes everything. You know it.”

Daemon’s gaze was fierce, unrelenting. “It changes nothing,” he replied coldly. “The Greens have drawn first blood. Now we will give them war.”

Jason said nothing, though his eyes burned with the same fire. He glanced toward the door, knowing that the news would soon reach the rest of Dragonstone, to Rhaenyra—to you. And though he dreaded the pain it would bring, he also knew that the realm would never forget this moment.

The Dance of the Dragons had begun. And there would be no turning back.

The heavy silence that had fallen over Dragonstone was broken only by the soft patter of hurried footsteps as the messenger was ushered into the queen’s solar. Rhaenyra sat by the window when he entered, the afternoon light casting pale shadows across her face, though she appeared as regal as ever—calm, composed, unshakable. Or so it seemed.

You stood near the doorway with the other noble ladies, your mind still reeling from the earlier news Daemon had shared with the lords. The messenger looked pale, his hands trembling slightly as he unrolled the scroll he carried. His voice wavered as he spoke, but it carried all the same.

“A message from Lord Borros Baratheon, Your Grace,” he began, his voice faltering at the weight of his words. “Prince Lucerys Velaryon… and his dragon, Arrax… were struck down above Storm’s End.”

Rhaenyra froze. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound escaped. The faint light from the window turned her features ghostly pale, as though the blood had drained from her body entirely. She looked at the messenger, but her violet eyes seemed to see nothing at all.

“Struck down,” she repeated, her voice a whisper—a broken thing that barely carried across the room.

The messenger swallowed hard, his head bowed. “Prince Aemond was there. Riding Vhagar.”

The air seemed to thicken, as though the walls of Dragonstone had drawn closer, suffocating everyone within. Rhaenyra swayed faintly, her hand gripping the edge of the window seat to steady herself.

“Rhaenyra,” you whispered sharply, crossing the room in quick strides. You knelt beside her, one hand reaching for her trembling arm. “Sit down. Please.”

She looked at you then, her expression stricken, her eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. “Lucerys,” she choked, her voice breaking. “He—he was only a boy. My sweet Luke…”

“Sit,” you said again, firmer now. You guided her gently to the chair near the hearth, her body moving as though in a trance. The other ladies began to back away, their eyes lowered, the weight of grief filling the room like a dark fog.

Rhaenyra’s hands trembled in her lap, her breath ragged as she tried to compose herself, though it was clear her composure was already shattered. “Why send him there?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I should have sent someone else. I should have—”

“Stop,” you interrupted softly, kneeling beside her as you took her hands in yours. “You did what you thought was right. Luke was strong, Rhaenyra. He wanted to go. He wanted to prove himself, as any son of yours would.”

Rhaenyra squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear slipping down her cheek. Before either of you could speak again, the door swung open with a loud creak, and Daemon entered, his face like carved stone. His violet eyes flickered between you and Rhaenyra before settling on his wife, his expression unreadable—but you saw the storm roiling beneath.

You stood quickly, nodding to Daemon as you released Rhaenyra’s hands. “She needs you now,” you said softly, stepping back to allow him space.

Daemon inclined his head faintly, though his eyes remained on Rhaenyra as he crossed the room. The other ladies, sensing the need for privacy, began to slip out of the solar quietly. You followed them, though as you reached the door, you couldn’t help but pause.

“Luke…” Rhaenyra’s voice was soft, almost childlike as she looked up at Daemon. “He’s gone.”

Daemon knelt before her, his expression softening ever so slightly, though the anger in his eyes burned like coals beneath a fire. He reached for her hand, his grip firm but steady. “He shall be avenged,” he said, his voice low but steady—dangerous. “Son for a son, Rhaenyra. I swear it.”

Rhaenyra let out a shaky breath, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks as she bowed her head. You closed the door softly behind you, Daemon’s promise still ringing in your ears.

Son for a son.

You walked down the dim corridor, your steps echoing faintly in the silence. The pain in your chest was heavy, as though Luke’s loss had struck a blow to the family you all shared. A child—a boy—gone too soon, his life stolen before he’d had the chance to see manhood.

As you turned a corner, you saw Jason waiting for you near one of the windows. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his expression clouded with both grief and anger. He looked up as you approached, his green eyes searching yours.

“How is she?” he asked quietly, though the answer was plain to see.

You exhaled softly, shaking your head. “Shattered,” you replied, coming to stand beside him. “Daemon is with her now. He’ll hold her together, for a while.”

Jason was silent for a long moment, staring out at the darkening sea. His jaw worked slightly, as though he were chewing on words he didn’t want to say. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and raw. “The Greens will pay for this.”

“They will,” you agreed softly, though your voice held little comfort. “Daemon has already sworn as much.”

Jason turned to you then, his face a mix of sorrow and determination. “You know what this means,” he said. “Once Rhaenyra rises from this grief, she’ll give the word. War is coming, and there will be no turning back.”

You nodded, your heart heavy. “I know.”

Jason reached for your hand, his grip firm and steady as he pulled you closer. “We’ll endure it,” he said quietly. “We’ll endure it for our children, for our family.”

You looked up at him, finding comfort in the familiar strength of his gaze. “And for Luke,” you whispered.

Jason nodded solemnly. “And for Luke.”

The two of you stood there in silence, your hands entwined as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Dragonstone in shadow.

A storm was coming—one unlike any the realm had ever seen. And as the winds howled beyond the castle walls, you could feel the shift in the air, the first tremors of fire and blood that would consume everything.

[avocadorablepirate]

Beneath The Surface - 1

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: When memories, buried deep within your sea of emotions, resurface, you’re left to question what lies beneath the surface. Did he truly mean to leave you behind, or was there something more to his silence than you ever understood?

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of death, OP spoilers

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So I haven’t properly proofread this chapter…been a bit sick this past week, but I was determined to post this part today. It’s not terrible though 🤔…I think.

You had locked yourself up in your room, claiming to be unwell. The truth was simpler: your mind had been consumed by memories you thought you had buried. Memories of him. The boy who once soothed your pain had become the man responsible for it.

He left me behind.

That thought replayed in your head, each repetition sinking deeper into your chest. Just the image of his face brought a sickening churn of emotions — hurt, betrayal, anger, and a flicker of something you refused to name.

The soft knock on your door is what finally drew your attention away from your thoughts. On the other side of the door stood Viola, a small but gentle smile on her face when she found you sprawled on your bed.

“I heard you were feeling sick, everything okay?” she asked, as she made her way further into your bedroom.

“Yeah, nothing a good day’s rest won’t cure,” you responded, and her lips immediately contorted into a frown.

“Then you’re not going to be too happy about this.” Her voice softened, tinged with regret. “Doflamingo needs you.”

You sighed, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Of course he needs me. You didn’t know why you ever thought you’d be able to get a day to yourself, it had rarely occurred before.

“Of course he does,” you muttered under your breath, setting aside the book you had been pretending to read.

Viola gave you a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry. If it were up to me, I'd let you rest."

You forced a smile, appreciating her kindness. "It's okay. Thanks, Viola."

She nodded, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before leaving the room. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for whatever Doflamingo had in store.

The walk to his room felt long and unpleasant as always. The entire palace always made you uncomfortable, its grandeur a stark contrast to the simpler, slightly happier times of your childhood. It was also a reminder of the life you once lived along side your parents, and without him to console you over those memories, it only brought more pain.

But it hadn’t always been like this. You remember when you first moved in, though a palace, it had a comforting and almost cozy feel to it. However, Doflamingo had made drastic changes, his reason being that the Donquixote family should live in a place that befitted them.

You had tried to get him to let you live outside the palace, the discomfort it brought had been too much at first. But Doflamingo insisted that the entire Donquixote family stay within the palace walls. And that’s why you had tried to make your own room as comfortable as possible. However, that had done little to help. With how often Doflamingo made you run around doing errands for him, or insisted that he watch over you, there was barely any time to relax.

As you gave a soft knock against the heavy wooden doors, to let Doflamingo know you had arrived, you pushed it open to find him standing by the window, his back turned to you as you entered.

“You summoned me, Doffy?" you called out, as you slowly made your way towards him, the atmosphere of the room always making you feel uneasy. It was as if the room itself embodied his very being - intimidating and frightening.

He turned on hearing your voice, a smile plastered on his face. "Ah, my little Rose there you are. Feeling better, I hope?"

You nodded, knowing the question was nothing more than a pleasantry. "What do you need?"

His smile widened, and an eerie chill ran down your spine. "I have a special task for you. I need you to retrieve someone for me."

You frowned, confused by his unforeseen happiness. You had heard there was an incident at Punk Hazard, and although you didn’t know the details, you knew Doflamingo had been beyond enraged. It was another reason why you had chosen to stay in your room, to avoid his temper. So, his uncharacteristic cheerfulness almost baffled you.

“Who?” you questioned, although you had an inkling of who it might be.

“Caesar,” he said simply, his tone light but his eyes watching your reaction closely. “I’m sure you’ve heard, there’s been some...issues. I want you to bring him back from Greenbit."

A wave of confusion hit you once again. “Why me?”

It wasn’t like him to send you on retrieval missions. While you had been privy to fights and conflicts, you had never been a fan of them, and Doflamingo knew this. It was why you mainly ran around doing tasks within the palace. He had called it “protection,” but you had always suspected he thought you too soft-hearted for the darker work.

It had happened before, when you were younger and out on a mission. He had nearly lost you then, and he wouldn’t have it happen again.

“I’ve decided you need to be involved in these matters as well. You can’t be the only one who doesn’t get involved, it’s not fair to you. ” A cold knot of dread formed in your stomach when you saw Doflamingo's eyes glint dangerously. You had thought that you would be able to stay away from such tasks given your temperament, but that had clearly changed.

“But why now?” you asked, and you could feel your heart rate pick up when Doflamingo gave you an almost sinister smile.

“We’re short on people. The pirates who attacked Punk Hazard killed Monet, so we need as much backup as we can get. Plus, the others think you need to start doing your bit,” he said, almost nonchalantly, as if the death of one of his comrades didn’t bother him at all. But you brushed it off, subconsciously convincing yourself it was his way of dealing with grief. “And I think this would be the perfect opportunity to test you Rosie.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the task ahead. You had always known that the latest additions to the Donquixote family, all but Viola, did not like the almost favouritism that Doflamingo showed - always tasking you with the simpler jobs. This was your chance to prove your worth, and finally get them off your case. Besides, what harm would come from a simple retrieval mission?

"Alright, Doffy. I’ll bring Caesar back."

He smiled, a satisfied gleam in his eyes, almost akin to a predator satisfied with its prey. "Good. And remember, I expect nothing less than success."

As you stepped out into the hall, your resolve wavered slightly, the enormity of the task ahead settling in.

So caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice that someone had walked by you into the room. The shutting of the door is what finally drew you out of your thoughts and you briefly glanced back, the voices within the room, a stark reminder of the life you had chosen.

You shook off the unease and focused on the task at hand. Whatever doubts you had, you pushed them aside. There was no room for weakness. You had a mission to complete, and you would do it with all the strength you could muster. For the town you now called home and the people you called family.

As you walked away, the voices in the room grew distant, and you missed out on listening in on a conversation that would have likely saved you from your impending misfortune.

“Doffy why are you sending her to retrieve Caesar?”

Despite his recent misfortune, another sinister smile spread across Doflamingo’s face. “It’s about time I test her abilities. And who better than Law to be the test subject?”

—————

Part 1 done! I feel like I may have included some unnecessary bits here and there, but oh well. I hope you liked it. Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist.

taglist: @riftmage27

[hauntingblue]

ACT 2 OVER LETSGOOOO

[wonder-worker]

"In reality Richard III invented a Woodville scare as a screen for his own conspiracy"

— A.J Pollard, Richard III and the Princes in the Tower

[mekatrio]

iris is sooooo awesome she really traumatized phoenix into being an emotionally unavailable mess 🥰

[everymlmhybrid]

Can I Say Something

[blushouyo]

right. dnd alignment charts confuse me to no end because every single one I see has a different definition for each alignment... BUT.. vals behaviour has definitely shifted from a more selfish evil to a more caring evil

[my-castles-crumbling]

difference - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 202

"I'm breaking up with you."

Regulus froze, staring into James's eyes as the other man uttered those five devastating words while a whole tableful of people looked on.

"I just...I can't believe you just said that," James continued, looking completely shell-shocked."

"James, I-" Regulus tried to explain, frowning, but James didn't seem to want to hear it.

"No! How dare you?" he yelled instead, eyes flashing. "Of all of the things?"

"I- I just-" But he couldn't apologize. He'd said what he said.

They stared at each other across the table, Sirius, Effie, and Fleamont all looking between the two of them.

"You really can't takes the difference between my cooking and Mum's?" James asked again, this time looking a bit desperate.

Regulus looked to his fiancé and then to his future Mother-in-Law, who was holding back a laugh. "I...no," he sighed, smirking and accepting defeat.

"Blasphemy! Absolute betrayal!" James began hollering, standing up from the table and stomping away dramatically, though Regulus could tell that he wasn't actually mad.

The others all only waited a few seconds before shrugging and going back to eating. "I can't either," Monty murmured under his breath, earning a joking hit to the shoulder from Effie.

[earthtooz]

jealous ratio bc i wont him, inspired by the simulated universe occurrence, banter about marriage hehe

"Dr. No. 5 asked me to be his research partner today," you mumble half-heartedly to Veritas. It was an ordinary night, you're curled into his side with your phone in hand, watching the latest series you've been invested in whilst he occupies his mind with a book, held by one hand whilst his other is wrapped around you.

However, when he registers your confession, he tenses, slightly scrunching the pages of his book as the arm around you stiffens, muscles contracting.

"And what did you say?" He asks, feigning collectedness.

"I agreed."

His book slams shut and he shoots upward to a sitting position, baffled by the nonchalance of your tone. How cruel, you have betrayed him in the most despicable of ways, do you not care? Agreeing to be someone else's research partner is akin to that of spitting on his heart and stomping it flat, have you no respect for the laws of academic loyalty (there is no such thing), or is he the only one in your relationship devoted to it?

An idiot. You will be working with an idiot and you somehow see no flaw in that, where is your integrity as his lover?

"What does that fool have that I don't?" He all but cries, yanking your phone from your hands and setting it on his bedside table.

"What are you blabbering about?" You ask, looking up at him with inquisitive eyes, confusion shining in your irises.

"I'm supposed to be your only research partner, I cannot believe that you've gone and betrayed me like this."

"Pray tell, Veritas, how is this a 'betrayal'?"

"I would never choose to be anyone's research partner if I'm not yours, but today I've discovered that my devotion is not only unreciprocated, but unappreciated! How unfathomable."

The purple-haired turns his muscular back to you, giving you the cold shoulder. Slowly you sit up and lean on his toned body, hand resting on his deltoid and you can already see the way he tries to fight the effects of your touch. "Dear, you wouldn't be anyone else's research partner because you think majority of people are 'idiots' and aren't worthwhile academics to invest time into."

"Precisely why I cannot believe that you have agreed to work with No. 5, who is undeniably, irrefutably, and undoubtedly, a simpleton!"

You bite your tongue when it threatens to spill that you think No. 5 is not as bad as Veritas assumes, but that would outrage the scholar even more and you do not want to spend the better half of your day purposefully ruining it.

"The pay was good," you reason, daring to place a kiss to his neck. "But you are still superior in my heart, Veritas. Do not fret, if I am to seek a research partner, you would be my first and only choice."

"How long will your project span for?" He asks begrudgingly.

"6 months of research, writing, and editing. After that, I am not too involved with the publishing process."

"Oh how it stains me picturing your name beside another imbecile's."

You sigh, sitting up straighter to wrap both arms around his neck. "Your name could be beside mine permanently if you got down to one knee and presented me a ring, but alas, perhaps I shall be waiting another few research papers for that to happen."

You can't see the fond smile on his face, but you yelp when he turns around suddenly to push you against the comfort of your mattress, his lips claiming yours.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[ahopefulbromantic]

DO IT!!!

Pray for my boy! Everyone please pray for him, he may still need it!

Idk what is going on right now but I have this strong urge to pray for the salvation of Judas

[wilwheaton]

How did the court get so much power that it can overrule both Congress and the president, ignore efforts to hold justices accountable when they are nakedly corrupt, and overturn laws like our bribery statutes? Who put them in charge of America? The simple answer, as I lay out in detail in The Hidden History of the Supreme Court and the Betrayal of America, is that the justices gave that power to themselves. Not only is such power for the court not found anywhere in the Constitution, but Article 3, Section 2 explicitly puts the Supreme Court under the thumb of Congress, not the other way around: In all Cases affecting Ambassadors, other public Ministers and Consuls, and those in which a State shall be Party, the supreme Court shall have original Jurisdiction. In all the other Cases before mentioned, the supreme Court shall have appellate Jurisdiction, both as to Law and Fact, with such Exceptions, and under such Regulations as the Congress shall make. [emphasis added] The Founders and Framers were very clear about this, even though that notorious liar Sam Alito wasn’t when he recently wrote in The Wall Street Journal: “No provision in the Constitution gives [Congress] the authority to regulate the Supreme Court—period.”

The Supreme Court Was Never Meant to Be Kings and Queens

This stolen, illegitimate, corrupt, right wing SCOTUS majority has no legal or moral right to impose its tyrannical, christian nationalist agenda on an entire nation. 

[onlyhyunjin]

𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒!

(♡) - my personal favorites (🔞) - CONTAINS NSFW CONTENT

NEW BEGINNINGS - @ikeuverse (flirting with your brother's brother-in-law wasn't in your plans after returning from studying abroad. it wasn't something you were going to stop either since heeseung was the epitome of beauty. but when there's another woman's name in the story. what happens? you don't want to be caught between a betrayal… or so you thought.) (♡)

MARRY ME - @ikeuverse (ever since you met lee heeseung, he told you that the two of you were going to get married. all the time, at every opportunity, he reinforced it until one day, drunk, you accepted. was he dreaming or did it really happen? it wouldn't be so bad to fall for his jokes for once.)

TIDES OF REGRET - @pprodsuga (in the year since heeseung first rejected your love confession, you've tried everything to get over him. a trip to europe makes you realize you miss your former best friend more than anything, and it makes heeseung realize he's got it all wrong.) (♡)(🔞)

HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER - @i2sunric (your daughter asks heeseung to tell the greatest love story of all and he takes the chance to narrate how he met you, the love of his life.) (♡)

JUNE BLOSSOMS - @soobnny (synopsis. as the month of may ends, you wonder what june holds for you and heeseung (especially with no more need to fake date.)

LATE SUMMER LOVIN' - @4am-enha (you desperately want to spend your last summer here in town with your friends, only to find out almost all of them are away on vacation. that is, all of them but heeseung. the one friend you’d never really been that close with.)

BITE ME - @drunkhazed (“I’m kind of confused still.” You admit, anxiously shuffling to sit without making eye-contact. Heeseung chuckles plopping down by your side, arm slinging back over your shoulder to keep you pressed against him.)(🔞)

COFFEE & CREAM - @ham-st4r (one chilly night after a long work shift, you’re unfortunately forced to walk home. Cause you left your bag at work, half way through your journey you stumble across a homeless man who you naturally offer money to, and he though he refuses. You give it to him anyway, and down the road, you’ll find that those two dollars changed not only his life but yours as well.) (🔞)

IT'S CUPID, STUPID - @mygnolia (To hell with Lee Heeseung, you couldn't find someone you hated more than the boy who's by your side no matter what. You figured that maybe the summer before university would be the best way to finally let go of him, and to leave the hate you have in your childhood- but no. What do you mean you have to spend ALL summer with him?)

FUCK BUDDIES - @dimepdf (y/n and heeseung and fwb after heeseung win in his football match y/n gives him the best reward)

TEETH - @gyuuberryy (you were not thrilled about the move in of your new neighbour. mostly because he was so strange and seemed to be hiding something dark. and partly because you couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer to him because of your unwanted attraction. you were determined to expose his dark secret and get rid of him once and for all. but, it was proving to be a difficult task because he was just so irresistible..and needy.)

PLAYER RANK: PLATINUM - @simpjaes (You’re not sure what’s worse, your sister’s boyfriend or your sister’s boyfriend’s friends. What you thought would be a great deal in living with her throughout college turns into a major game of cat and mouse, where you’re unsure if your moral compass is pointing in the right direction solely because you suspect someone is wearing a giant sex magnet to throw it off.) (🔞)

RUDE - @4wkjun (heeseung has never loved anyone as much as he loves y/n. y/n’s father has never hated someone as much as he hates heeseung. but it doesn’t matter, heeseung’s gonna marry y/n anyway.)

I OFFER YOU MY EVERYTHING - @heegyukeluv (You never cared about sex, until you did. You grew too afraid of it, scared of disappointing the other person or showing your inexperience. But then you met Heeseung, the hot basketball captain that stole your heart and became your biggest fantasy. ) (🔞)

VERBOTEN - @heesbaby (a bad stroke of luck saw lee heeseung, your dads coworker, moving into your small apartment until he found his feet again. emotionally unavailable and a workaholic, you were going to try your absolute hardest to make him loosen up. even if it meant breaking a few of the house rules he'd set out.) (🔞) (♡)

10 DAYS TO FALL IN LOVE - @luvyeni (you and heeseung used to be bestfriends as children — he even told you he'd marry you one day. but then you went to highschool and things changed , he dyed his hair and started hanging out with a new group group of friends. through all that his love never changed for you — has yours changed for him?)

RENT A BOYFRIEND - @jayujus (in which jeon y/n is desperate to find a boyfriend ASAP because she needs a date for her family's mixer. her best friend, ningning, introduces her to a website perfect for this situation!)

CHERRY CHAPSTICK - @angelwonie (ever since you met lee heeseung, he told you that the two of you were going to get married. all the time, at every opportunity, he reinforced it until one day, drunk, you accepted. was he dreaming or did it really happen? it wouldn't be so bad to fall for his jokes for once.)

[anmechokola]

The thing I love about Trafalgar Law is that he's actually a pretty wholesome guy. The Strawhats are (justifiably) worried about betrayal when they first ally with him but in the end he never, not for a single minute, even considers betraying them. He immediately caves and does what they want in Punk Hazard. Sure he was using them in Dressrosa so he could keep his own crew safe, but when push came to shove he tried to dissolve the alliance so they could get away, he decided to share Luffy's fate when he was fighting Doflamingo, he saved Zoro from Kaidou and said he'd rather they lose the fight than let them die, he gave Kid the Poneglyph markings because he thought it was fair. Even his powers are specifically designed so he can win fights without having to kill anyone. Beneath his (I'll bet carefully curated) creepy image, he's just a dude who wants people to live