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ninetailedfoxmanchi · 2 months ago

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The Northern Winds (pt. 2)

PART 1

Plot: Arranged marriage between the Lord of Winterfell and a lady from a minor house

MASTERLIST

Warnings: profanity, mention of blood, violence & death, menstruation, miscarriage, sexism and medieval notions of women, mature NSFW content (18+), possessiveness/over-protectiveness, brief mention of r@pe

Summary: Whilst Cregan is on a march against the wildlings, Lady Y/N navigates the ruling of Winterfell in his absence as she awaits his return

Words: 15k

A/N: There will be a part 3, with which this series will end (I think). The intro of this part is a bit long but it gets better I promise! (Cregan comes back 🤫)

Taglist: @nixtape-foryou @accountforreading123 @melsunshine @lovemesomevesey @goldenxshine @beebeechaos @mckennah123

@blonde-scandinav1an @letaliabane @answer-the-sirens @lilyed777 @travelingmypassion (I hope I didn't forget someone! <3)

***

It has been a week since the Lord of Winterfell took his host north to Last Hearth, the seat of House Umber, to fight against the wildling invasions. The number of his warriors and those of his sworn bannermen was strengthened by some three thousand men provided by Lord Jonos Whytefort in exchange for his daughter’s hand in marriage with the Warden of the North. Lady Y/N and Lord Cregan Stark were wed for near half a turn of the moon before he was bound to ride north. Although Lady Y/N was instructed in the ways of Winterfell’s functioning and her duties before Lord Stark’s departure, it was one thing ruling the North with her husband by her side and a whole other to do it on her own. Lady Y/N had noble servants whose loyalties lied with Winterfell to advise her, yet the burden of duty and responsibility weighed heavy on her shoulders. The North was a vast and colossal place to rule with hundreds of thousands of people who looked to House Stark for leadership. Even in the days before Aegon the Conqueror, the North knew no king but the King in the North whose name was Stark.

Winter is coming. The words resonated with Lady Y/N as if they were those of her own House. She thought them every morning when she woke up for her duties and every evening as she laid to rest. The emptiness of her bed at night proved an even greater challenge to Y/N than the absence of her husband at her daily duties. She was surrounded by people great and small whilst the sun was still in the sky. Yet at night, Y/N grew lonely and yearned for home, yearned for Whytefort. No matter how hard she attempted to persuade herself that Winterfell was her home now, Y/N had yet made no memories in this place, felt no familiarity nor true comfort. She found consolation only in her mare, Blackspur, and her ladies-in-waiting, particularly Lady Ellyn Mormont. Whilst Y/N did not mind the company of the other ladies, she had grown the closest to Lady Ellyn. They would often share their meals and walked the castle grounds, although they could not ride together for Lady Mormont had a terrible fear of horses. She was thrown off her mount when she was but a child, which caused Lady Mormont to break her leg. Y/N had not noticed it until it was pointed out to her but there was a small limp in Lady Ellyn’s walk because of this accident. Lady Y/N did not wish to make her companion uncomfortable so she shared her rides with Ser Tybald Cassel, the master-of-horse, or lately more often with Ser Harwyn, the master-of-arms. Whilst Ser Tybald was undoubtedly a man skilled and knowledgeable when it came to horses, he often gave the impression that if Lady Y/N had not been Lady Y/N Stark, he would not have paid her the respect she deserved on the account of her being a woman. Ser Harwyn, on the other hand, proved himself a man as loyal as they come and a pleasant companion on adventurous rides around the grounds of Winterfell. Lady Y/N grew even fonder of him than of Maester Bennard, who was also a tremendous help in navigating the ways of her duties as the Lady of Winterfell.

One day, as Lady Y/N and Lady Ellyn walked the glass gardens of Winterfell that were warmed with hot spring water on which the castle was built, Lady Ellyn asked her mistress whether she had been able to grow accustomed to living at Winterfell after near a moon of staying there.

“I imagine it is not the same now that Lord Stark is gone as well,” said Lady Ellyn as they sat down on a stone bench beneath an orange tree.

“No … It is not,” thought Lady Y/N saddened as she played with the sleeve of her lilac gown.

Y/N gazed around the glass gardens. Half of the plants in them Y/N had only seen painted and documented in books. They did not grow in the north, especially not in an area as mountainous as Whytefort. They would not grow here either if not for the thermal waters. Most of the plants were brought from the south through White Harbor in large wooden crates, tended to by maesters specialising in botany and herbology. There was a type of fruit that looked much like an apple, red and yellow with fuzz on its skin that reminded Y/N of moss. She could not remember what it was called, however. And another which seemed like pumpkin yet its flesh was green and sweeter than that of a pumpkin although the foreign fruit smelled similarly. There were also strawberries the size of pebbles unlike those as small as raindrops that grew in the mountains. There were vegetables a plenty too: all sorts of green leafy plants that were often served at nuncheon or for supper along with grains, seeds, and eggs. There were many medicinal herbs and roots as well, particularly for the brewing of potions and infusions.

Nevertheless, Y/N’s favourites remained oranges. She looked up at the big round orange fruits. “Do you suppose we could take one and share it?”

Lady Ellyn smiled to herself. “Of course, my lady. Everything you see is yours.”

Lady Y/N smiled as well although she still felt like nothing more than a guest at Winterfell, especially without Cregan in the castle.

“It …” began Lady Y/N, unsure whether she could trust her thoughts into Lady Ellyn’s care yet she had to speak to someone or she might go mad. “It is hard being away from home,” said Lady Y/N whilst Lady Ellyn’s smile slowly disappeared as she listened.

“I know Winterfell is my home now but I cannot help but long for the familiarity of Whytefort. I miss even the people I thought I despised – and I do, I do despise them still!” Y/N laughed but she might as well have cried. “It is only … It is only this feeling in my chest …” told the Lady of Winterfell as she held a hand over her heart as if to keep it from falling apart. In that moment, she really did think she might cry for everything that she had to leave behind.

“It seems to me that everyone expects me to fail, that they think less of me because I am not from as a great and noble House as they would expect the Lady of Winterfell to be,” spoke Lady Y/N evenly as she tried to contain her emotions. “Lady Daela—” considered Y/N, remembering the comments she swore were meant only as jests and the looks given to her by Lady Manderly when she believed Lady Stark was unaware.

“My lady,” Lady Ellyn cut her mistress off. “I believe Lady Daela’s moods may be a consequence of her having harboured notions of becoming the Lady of Winterfell herself.”

Lady Stark’s gaze darted to her lady-in-waiting. She felt a sting inside of her, an itch she did not only want to scratch but cut out altogether. Suddenly, the thought of Lady Daela made Y/N’s stomach twist into knots; not only of Lady Daela alone but of her and Cregan.

“I had believed you knew, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn. “That is why I did not mention it sooner. I thought you did not wish to speak of it.”

“Tell me,” asked Lady Y/N when so many things about Lady Daela suddenly made sense. The looks and the comments, her little japes and glares.

“I do not know much, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn. “As you would know as well, she is the youngest of Lord Manderly’s four daughters and all of them are already married to men of great and noble Houses: Tallhart, Mallister, and Arryn. White Harbor is one of the largest harbours in Westeros and the largest in the North. The match between Lord Stark and Lady Daela would not be unseemly.” Not like the one between Lord Stark and me, thought Lady Y/N with a heavy heart.

“But Lord Manderly is already fighting his own war at sea with the pirates from Essos,” thought Lady Y/N aloud. There was often news from White Harbor at the councils Y/N attended as the Lady of Winterfell. “He has no men to spare whilst my father has nothing but men.” And sheep.

“Indeed,” agreed Lady Ellyn. “Yet as far as I am aware, the match was never proposed by Lord Manderly. The prospect of Lady Daela’s hopes of marrying Lord Stark are but that – hopes and illusions,” Lady Ellyn gave her mistress a reassuring smile.

“I see,” said Lady Y/N, her blood boiling at the thought of Lady Daela and Cregan, and yet at the same time, Y/N felt a heavy weight in her stomach. She had already felt like everyone was judging her before Lady Ellyn told her of this – a match between a lady much nobler than Y/N herself and the Lord of Winterfell – and now the feeling only grew worse.

“If I may be so bold, my lady,” spoke Lady Ellyn when she saw the storm of thoughts in her lady’s features.

“Of course,” said Lady Y/N, “I wish nothing more of you than to speak plainly and in the manner you feel.”

“I long knew I would be a lady-in-waiting for the Lady of Winterfell when Lord Cregan would wed,” began Lady Ellyn. “Yet when I left Bear Island, I felt just as you do, my lady. Lost and alone, with everyone staring at me and watching me. I too had to leave my home and my family, my sweet little brothers and my lord father,” spoke Lady Ellyn, a sadness to her voice. “Even with Lady Daela, with Jocelyn and Harryett, I could not find peace here at Winterfell… Until you arrived.”

“Me?” asked Lady Y/N, her big eyes widening still.

“You were so kind to me – to us. Even when you need not have been,” said Lady Ellyn quickly. “We … We all bear names of great Houses: Manderly, Dustin, Karstark, and Mormont. But we … Lady Daela is devious, Jocelyn barely speaks a word without being called upon, Harryett is in her own world of gallant knights and pretty maidens, and myself … I cannot even accompany you at the thing you love most because of my stupid, stupid fear of horses.”

“And yet it matters not because you are a friend to me,” said Lady Y/N honestly as she took Lady Ellyn’s hand and squeezed it. "A true friend."

“I … I cannot make friends easily,” confessed Lady Stark. “Acquaintances, yes, quick friends perhaps, but not true friends, not loyal friends.”

“If not for you, I …” said Y/N as she looked away. “I would have no one to talk to but Maester Bennard,” she said. “He would have tried to invent a healing potion for my thoughts or ascribe it all to moonblood,” Lady Y/N laughed and Lady Ellyn joined her.

Just so, both the Lady of Winterfell as well as the only daughter and the oldest child of Lord Mormont breathed a little easier and shared an orange on their way back to the castle.

***

It was a moon’s turn since Lord Stark departed for north. Lady Y/N’s days were still filled with council meetings, settling disputes, and listening to the woes of the smallfolk and trying to find solutions. She hosted lesser members of House Dormand and later House Flint. If Y/N could not find the time to take Blackspur for a ride, she would at least take a walk around Winterfell. Yet she would visit the godswood everyday even if the sun had already set only to pray for her husband’s safe return. For the longer he was away, the less news arrived, and the more anxious Y/N grew. She prayed for her family as well; for her lady mother and her brother, and even her father, who was fighting against the wildlings alongside Lord Stark. If there were no duties waiting for her, Y/N could sit beneath the heart tree for hours, wrapped in her thick fur coat as she would lean against the weirwood tree. Whilst her own bed brought her nothing but sadness these days, Y/N encountered what little peace she could find at the godswood and sometimes in the presence of Lady Ellyn, when Y/N found the strength for company.

The stars appeared in the sky that night and the moon was so bright it made the evening frost glisten like crystals. There had not been any snow in a week yet the cold was even greater than before. Lady Y/N was returning from the godswood, hardly needing a torch to light her way as the moon was bright enough. She was more restless then normally and her body felt as exhausted as if she had climbed up to the top of the Iceraven. There were weights bound to her legs and a pressure in her stomach. Y/N had venison for supper with buttered beats and a slice of blackberry tart. The sweet must have been too much because Y/N had to steady herself against a tree and catch her breath. Cold drops of sweat gathered on her chest and neck before she bent over with nausea. All that she had eaten that evening left her body. Y/N leaned against the tall pine and tried to find the strength to return to the castle. She slowly made her way up the cobbled path that lead back. She had to stop twice when she felt too weak to continue.

As Lady Y/N finally made it to the castle, she was awaited by Lady Ellyn.

“My lady,” gasped Lady Mormont as she hurried to her mistress’ side. She took her arm as Y/N leaned against her friend. “Somebody call the maester!” called Lady Mormont. The servant girl nearby dropped the linen from her hands and ran to fetch the maester whilst Lady Ellyn escorted Lady Y/N to her chambers, her skin as pale as the weirwood tree.

“I do not need the maester,” spoke Lady Y/N weakly when she laid in her bed. “I only need some rest.”

“My lady,” implored Lady Ellyn. “You have to allow Maester Bennard to see you.”

“Tomorrow,” whispered Lady Y/N. “If I do not feel better.”

“At least allow me to stay with you, my lady. You must not be alone like this,” said Lady Ellyn as she helped her lady out of her clothes. She brought Lady Y/N her nightgown and a cup of water which Lady Y/N could not be more grateful for. Yet even simply drinking some water made Y/N nauseous again. Lady Ellyn fetched the basin for washing and held back her lady’s hair.

“I beg of you, Y/N,” spoke Lady Ellyn gravely. “Allow Maester Bennard to see you. My lady, you could be gravely ill—”

“I am not ill,” said Y/N as her eyes let in hot tears. She had known it for some time now yet she did not want to admit it to herself. She realized it that afternoon in the gardens when she joked with Lady Ellyn about Maester Bennard.

Lady Y/N rose her gaze to her lady-in-waiting, who could read the answer from her mistress’ eyes.

“You are with child,” breathed Lady Ellyn. Y/N nodded as salty tears slid down her pale cheeks. Lady Ellyn put her arms around her mistress. Lady Y/N’s hands clutched to her friend’s back as she sobbed.

“Are … Are you not glad, my lady?” spoke Lady Ellyn carefully and not without compassion.

“W-What … What if he … What if he does not return?” Lady Y/N’s voice broke. The thought of her alone at Winterfell without him was unbearable, what more alone but with his child. The child who would never know their father nor could their mother tell them much about him as they were only wed for half a moon before he had to march north. The child that she would love with all of her heart but would remind her of the man she had lost.

“Lord Stark?” asked Lady Ellyn.

Lady Y/N nodded.

“He is one of the best swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms,” said Lady Ellyn with every confidence. “Everyone says so and not only because he is our Lord of Winterfell. He will come back to you safely, my lady.”

Ser Harwyn said so himself, Lady Y/N considered, although that is not what concerned her. She had seen Lord Stark train with the master-at-arms herself and many other seasoned warriors with whom he won every time. Yet Lady Y/N also remembered her husband’s body, his scarred chest. If the savage’s arrow had aimed but an inch lower and pierced Cregan’s lung …

There was a knock on the door with Maester Bennard awaiting outside. Lady Ellyn got up to speak to the maester whilst Lady Y/N managed to change into more comfortable garments.

Lady Ellyn asked Maester Bennard to return in the morning, explaining of her lady’s sickness – but never mentioning the pregnancy – and how she was feeling better already.

As she closed the door behind her, Lady Ellyn’s heart grew heavy. She had not known Lady Stark for very long but they had grown quite close in the recent weeks. Lady Ellyn wished to help, to comfort her Lady Y/N but she could not find the words that would do so.

“Lord Stark will come back,” assured Lady Ellyn once more. “And he will be delighted with the news,” she tried to cheer Y/N up. It worked because Y/N’s dark thoughts were replaced with bright, happy memories the child would bring to her and Cregan. She imagined telling him, mayhaps sending a raven or a messenger to deliver the news. Or she could wait for him to return and see for himself.

Lady Ellyn was sitting on the edge of the bed beside her mistress, gently caressing her hair. Although they had spent a lot of time together, she noticed Lady Stark was shutting herself away from others. She would take her meals alone more often and spend much of her time in the godswood. It must have been since she found out she was with child, Lady Ellyn considered. Whilst herself, Lady Daela, Jocelyn, and Harryett could somewhat bond over their duties as the ladies-in-waiting to the Lady of Winterfell, Y/N had no one to share her burden with, not truly.

“Allow me to stay with you tonight, my lady,” asked Lady Ellyn, her hand pausing on her mistress’ shoulder. Lady Y/N nodded, allowing someone in properly for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Lady Ellyn laid down in bed beside Y/N, who turned around to face her lady-in-waiting. Her eyes were closed as her tears slipped down into the pillow. They fell asleep together in silence, Lady Ellyn’s hand tightly wrapped around Y/N’s palm.

It was in the hour of the owl when Lady Stark woke in terrible pain. She had felt it coming for hours but half believed the pain was only in her nightmares. Lady Y/N whimpered in pain as she sat up in bed, her nightgown wet with blood. The candles were out but there was still the light from the hearth and the brightness of the moonlight through the windows. Y/N cried in horror, waking up Lady Ellyn, who sat up immediately. Her gaze followed Lady Y/N’s, her mouth parting in shock at the sight of the blood.

“Gods …” breathed Lady Ellyn as her mistress’ hands shook uncontrollably. “Guards!” called Lady Ellyn and got up. “GUARDS!”

Ser Martyn, Lady Stark’s sworn shield, burst into the Lord and Lady of Winterfell’s private chambers.

“Get the maester! NOW!” shouted Lady Ellyn, surely waking half of the castle before she returned her attention to the Lady of Winterfell. “It’s alright, it’s alright, my lady,” whispered Lady Ellyn soothingly over and over again yet she could not mask the doubt in her quivering voice at the sight of all the blood.

“N-No, no, no … No, no …” cried Lady Y/N as she stared at her blood-stained fingers. “Wh … What is happening?” she whimpered. Lady Y/N clutched to her abdomen in the moment of another striking pain, more painful than anything she had been feeling throughout the night. Lady Y/N’s nightgown was soaked with sweat, her wet hair sticking to her chest.

Although an old man, Maester Bennard rushed to his liege lady immediately. His assistants were with him, all three of them freezing at the sight of all the blood. Maester Bennard knew then that Lady Stark had been with child but no was longer so.

After the maester and his assistants did the best they could to stop Lady Stark’s pain and bleeding, they let her rest. Although Lady Y/N was given milk of the poppy, it only helped with her physical pain, which was nothing compared to what Y/N felt in her heart. The dawn had already broken and yet Lady Stark could not stop weeping since she had awoken in the hour of the owl.

All four of her ladies-in-waiting wept with her yet none could truly understand. Even Maester Bennard’s heart went out to his lady although he was a man of science, who placed logic and stoicism above most everything else, particularly feelings.

Nevertheless, Maester Bennard allowed himself to approach the foot of the bed. “Even if you had let me come see you last night,” spoke the maester gently, “I would not have been able to make a difference, my lady.”

Lady Stark was blaming herself for losing the babe and her eyes would not go out of tears like deep and endless dark pools do not run out of water.

“It is not uncommon for women to lose their first child, especially this early in the pregnancy,” continued Maester Bennard. “And they go on to have perfectly healthy children, my lady. Do not despair …” The old man wished to comfort her but Lady Y/N could not be consoled. A part of her believed Maester Bennard’s words. If one of her ladies-in-waiting had been in her position, Y/N would be sure to tell them the same as the maester told her. Yet she could not help but feel that it had been her fault. That she had not loved it enough, that she had not wanted it enough and feared for it too much, and that that is the reason why it went away.

Lady Stark’s chest broke into a heart-breaking sob as she clutched to her chest. Maester Bennard decided to leave his lady in the company of Lady Ellyn instead. She wrapped her arms around her lady but Y/N’s pain could not be contained. That day Lady Ellyn shared Lady Stark’s bed once again for Y/N could not bear to be alone with her thoughts. She took some sleeping drought prepared by the maester and drowned her pain in the depths of sleep.

***

The days which followed were the hardest. Lady Y/N spend the first few days in bed, recovering from the loss of blood, but mostly from the loss she felt inside. Lady Stark commanded the maester not to send a raven north to the Lord of Winterfell. If someone was to tell Lord Stark of what had happened, it was going to be Y/N herself. She recalled their final night together at Winterfell and how he said she might be with child by the time he returns. A part of him spoke with hopefulness and Y/N’s heart broke even further at the thought of it.

The recovery was hard. Lady Y/N could not even think of food, much less make herself have an proper meal, which did not go unnoticed on her weight.

“The servants will prepare anything you wish, my lady,” said Lady Jocelyn as she helped her lady get dressed properly for the first time in days. “Lemon cakes, apple tarts, anything you wish. Lord Stark will not be pleased to find you like this when he returns,” begged Lady Jocelyn and did the lacing on Lady Y/N’s dress.

The mention of Lord Stark made Lady Y/N turn around to look at her lady-in-waiting. Lady Jocelyn Karstark was plain of face with brows which would always have one believe she was saddened. Her hair was like wheat, her frame slim yet hardy. She enjoyed wearing gowns in blue shades as she thought it would make her hair seem more golden than brown. Yet what Lady Y/N learned of Lady Jocelyn was that she was timorous in the face of authority and did not care much for Y/N personally, rather what the Lord of Winterfell and his maester will write to her family of her service at the castle.

Once when in her cups, Lady Jocelyn confessed she wished nothing more but to be married. She never wanted to come to Winterfell and doted on a boy from her family’s castle in The Grey Cliffs. She was Lord Karstark’s youngest niece through his only remaining brother for fever took the rest some years ago.

The boy Lady Jocelyn spoke of had only his name but no House he belonged to. He was the castle smith’s apprentice. Neither her father nor Lord Karstark would ever allow for them to marry but Lady Jocelyn refused to lose faith. She sometimes accompanied her lady to the godswood where she prayed that the Lord of Winterfell should send her home and she could marry the boy.

Lady Stark felt sorry for the girl. She was only four-and-ten, and although a girl flowered, Lady Jocelyn was not yet a woman grown. She had yet to learn that life was not as simple as a maiden’s dreams or Y/N would have been a stable master’s apprentice or a knight in some lord’s service, trained in swordplay and travelling on horseback throughout the Seven Kingdoms. She had always wanted to see the yellow sands of Dorne and the Red Keep of King’s Landing. She wanted to ride the Rose Road through The Reach and have wine in some meadow outside Highgarden. And if she would have found the courage, Y/N would have even boarded a ship to Essos.

“Go and break your fast with the ladies, Lady Jocelyn,” said Lady Stark as she fixed her earrings herself. She wore a gown of deep juniper green with a slim headpiece of yellow gold and a matching belt.

“And have the servants prepare stewed beef with wine and cloves for nuncheon,” Lady Y/N instructed her lady-in-waiting. Lady Jocelyn curtsied and left Y/N’s private chambers.

Alone at last, Lady Y/N sat down at the table and helped herself to some cheese to break her fast. She was not truly hungry. She had not been able to gain appetite in days. Nevertheless, as the sweet and savoury taste of bread and cheese mingled in her mouth, Y/N’s body recognized the need she had been avoiding. Y/N had some wine with her food when a knock came on the door. Ser Martyn entered and bowed, announcing that Maester Bennard wished to see his lady. Y/N had half a mind to ask him to meet her later when the council was to take place.

“He speaks of a raven from the north, my lady,” said Ser Martyn. Lady Y/N’s heart stopped in her chest as she looked up at her sworn shield.

“Send him in,” urged Lady Y/N and got up immediately.

Maester Bennard entered her private chambers, a scroll of parchment in his wrinkled hand.

“My lady,” the maester bowed. “A raven flew in from the north bearing Lord Stark’s seal.” He handed the scroll to Lady Stark. She took the letter eagerly, but once in her hands, the parchment paper seemed to her as heavy as an sword of steel. Even if the news were grave, Y/N could not wait any longer. She broke the direwolf in the grey wax and rolled out the parchment. Her heart beat savagely in her chest as heat crawled all over her body.

Y/N left out a shivery breath.

“What is it, my lady? What word comes from the north?” asked Maester Bennard with haste.

“They are well,” breathed Lady Stark as her eyes welled with tears. The scroll in her hand, she leaned against the table, her chest raising heavily as her tears soaked the walnut wood of the furniture. Lady Stark took a deep breath as she collected herself and brushed the tears from her face. She looked at the maester who was visibly relieved as well.

Lady Stark offered him the scroll to read.

“They had already pushed the wildlings north of The Gift. It is only a matter of time before the host is defeated and whoever is left flees back across the Wall,” told Lady Stark as she sat back at the table with great relief whilst Maester Bennard read the news for himself. He nodded, a hint of a smile hiding in his usually unemotional features. He was neither a tall nor a strong man but the wisdom of books and age made his presence as prominent as any.

“Will you sit, maester?” asked Lady Y/N and poured the man who brought such joyous news from a flagon of sweet Dornish red.

“If it pleases my lady,” said Maester Bennard. Although they have always been courteous to each other and Maester Bennard was an indispensable source of wisdom with a deep personal loyalty to House Stark, Lady Y/N never found a moment to form a personal bond with Maester Bennard unlike with Ser Harwyn, with whom it happened almost naturally.

“The wildlings are just that, my lady, wild and untamed,” commented Maester Bennard on the letter. “Their kind may fight in numbers but not in form and organization, nor is their steel any match for ours.” He never doubted the strength of Winterfell or its lord, yet strange things may happen when an army goes on a march – disease and weather being just two of them.

Lady Y/N saw a wildling once. He was caught in her father’s mountains stealing sheep from the shepherds. The men brought him to Whytefort to her lord father. The man wore sheepskin and leather and seemed to Y/N no different then any man she had met other than in his choice of garments and lack of courtesy. Lord Jonos made his men cut off the wildling’s hands at the wrists before he was hanged and made an example to warn both the smallfolk as well as any other wildlings that thought of sealing in his lands.

“If my lady would consider writing back to Lord Stark,” suggested Maester Bennard carefully.

“I will write to him,” Lady Y/N nodded.

“I am sure my lord would wish to know of my lady’s recent condition,” agreed Maester Bennard. Lady Stark’s gaze rose to him, an unusual coldness lying in her eyes.

“No,” said Lady Stark. “I would not worry him. He needs a clear mind,” she concluded although that was only half of the truth. The other half was that Y/N did not know how she would tell Cregan what had happened. She did not know how he would react and if he too would blame her as she blamed herself.

Maester Bennard wished to speak, to persuade her, but Lady Y/N got up.

“I would have the council gather today, Maester Bennard. It has been too long since I sat in it,” said Lady Stark. Near a week had passed since she fell ill. The North had been in the capable hands of Winterfell’s councillors in the meantime, but Y/N would not allow herself to disappoint the Lord of Winterfell in failing to rule the North in his absence as well. She mustered all of the strength she had left.

“As my lady commands,” said Maester Bennard and left her chambers.

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers running through the soft furs laid on her husband’s side. He will come back, thought Y/N. The smile slowly faded off her lips at the thought of it. She was grateful to hear that the warriors were successful, that Cregan was alive and well. She could cry out of happiness. But Y/N could not imagine telling him, not even at the insistence of the maester.

***

Yet another turn of the moon passed before the raven came with news of Lord Stark’s return to Winterfell. Some of the warriors remained south of the Wall to make sure the wildlings were gone, one of those hosts led by Daeron Whytefort himself whilst Lord Jonos returned to Whytefort with the greater part of his army.

Lord Stark’s host was to return to Winterfell half the moon’s turn after the raven of the same news arrived. The castle was in upheaval with the preparations for its lord’s return. There would be a feast held in the honour of the victorious host of warriors. The lords and commanders were to dine in the Great Hall whilst a feast for the soldiers and warriors of Winterfell was to be held in the winter town.

Lady Stark ordered the servants to prepare sweet beef, pork-and-onion pies, roast venison and baked mallards for the feast in the Great Hall.

Lady Y/N paced around the watchtower in her skirts of deep blue with embroidery of flowers in the string-of-gold on her long bell sleeves and ornate bodice. She wore her tear pearls with yellow gold and a cloak of deep blue and fox fur for warmth. Y/N watched the horizon every day, waiting for an army of men to appear in her sight. It had been so for days until a rider came in one of the evenings, announcing the return of Lord Stark’s host on the morrow.

“My lady,” said one of the soldiers who was with her atop of the watchtower. Lady Stark’s gaze followed that of the young man where it found riders on the horizon. Y/N’s heart began to beat harshly against her ribcage, threatening to tear her chest apart and escape. She licked her dry lips when she saw the banners of House Stark flying in the cold, northern winds.

It was midday when the host of warriors reached the castle gates. Lady Stark was waiting in the courtyard with Maester Bennard, Ser Harwyn and Ser Martyn, and countless others. Even the smallfolk who served in the castle gathered in the courtyard to see their lord’s return, at least those who were not busy preparing the feast.

The sound of hooves approaching echoed through the castle walls. Lady Y/N’s arms prickled with goose bumps. She held her breath as the riders arrived into the courtyard, Y/N’s gaze immediately finding that of the Lord of Winterfell. Lady Y/N’s chest quivered. Cregan’s hair was longer and his cheeks covered in yesterday’s stubble. Other than that, Y/N felt like nothing had changed, and yet everything. For a moment, it seemed to her that she was looking at a stranger, someone from a dream she remembered but did not know.

The Lord of Winterfell and his men dismounted as the stableboys and squires took care of their coursers. Lord Stark made his way to his wife with Maester Bennard and Ser Martyn by her side.

“My lady,” spoke Lord Stark, a warm smile hiding in the somber line of his lips. He took Lady Y/N’s hand into his, kissing the top of her knuckles and held it a moment. The touch of his hand felt so familiar and yet so strange to Lady Y/N.

“Husband,” breathed Lady Y/N quietly. Their gazes entwined as neither could manage to fill the silence with words and yet their eyes spoke a thousand phrases.

Y/N remembered to breathe and curtsied gracefully, “Welcome.”

“Thank you, my lady,” said the Lord of Winterfell and watched her as if he had just seen her for the first time. His grey eyes were neither cold nor warm, neither hiding nor revealing; at least not to her.

The Lord of Winterfell greeted the rest of his court whilst the commanders expressed their courtesies to the Lady of Winterfell. Y/N could hardly focus on them as her gaze kept escaping to her husband’s broad back hidden beneath a heavy cloak of wolf fur. Y/N’s eyes watered yet she was unsure whether it was from the icy wind or her husband returning. She could feel Maester Bennard’s gaze on her, however, hiding only one thought.

***

“I would have a bath, scalding hot,” Lord Stark instructed the servants as himself and the Lady of Winterfell reached their private chambers. The servants disappeared to fetch the water and the tub as Lord Cregan took off his heavy coat with a suppressed groan.

“Are you well?” asked Lady Y/N, not anticipating the strange awkwardness that lingered in the air after the comfort she had grown to feel in their time together but that was four moons ago.

Lord Stark smiled to himself whilst he hung his coat over one of the chairs. He had been longing to hear his wife’s voice in the long, lonely days that he had been away.

“I am well,” said Lord Stark as he took Lady Y/N’s hand and gently pulled her to him. “Only tired from the ride,” he spoke more quietly, leaning his forehead against hers. Lady Y/N wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and came closer, resting her cheek against Lord Stark’s chest. He smelled of horses, smoke, and pinewood but she did not mind, not in that moment. Cregan held his wife, realizing how much he had missed her. There was nothing but blood and slaughter and battle everywhere around him, frustrated advisors and fellow commanders, and warriors impatient in the cold northern climate. Lord Stark’s mind often drifted to his lady wife, to Y/N. He longed for the peace of holding her in his arms, for the touch of her soft skin beneath his sword-calloused hands. He missed her big, pensive eyes and her warm, gentle voice.

“Have you been well, my lady?” asked Lord Cregan in turn. Y/N paused. The moment was perfect to tell him yet she could not do it.

“Yes,” spoke Lady Y/N quietly and nodded. In truth, she had been anything but. Ruling Winterfell in her husband’s absence was one thing, yet trusting her body and finding leave to grieve at the same time was a different matter entirely. When Lady Y/N was with her moonblood for the first time since she lost her babe, she wept. She wept from happiness of things going back to normal and she wept from sadness as the blood only reminded her of what she had lost.

The servants returned and prepared a bath for their lord. Lady Y/N stood by the window as she noticed the snow had begun to fall almost as if it knew the Lord of Winterfell had returned to his castle. The servants retired once they readied the bath, leaving their lord and lady alone once again.

Cregan began unclasping his thick, leather jerkin lined with warm wool.

“I can leave you if you wish,” offered Lady Y/N gently as Lord Stark pulled off his boots. He turned to her with a frown.

“I have been gone from you for neigh four turns of the moon, wife,” said Lord Stark. “I do not wish to be parted from you a moment longer.”

A blush crept to Lady Y/N’s face as her spoke those words, an even greater fever flushing though her cheeks when Lord Stark took off his tunic and breeches and stepped into the bath. The feeling lasted for but a moment, however, because Y/N’s gaze fell to Cregan’s built chest, which was bandaged beneath his armpits and across his left shoulder.

Lady Y/N hurried to him and knelt by the bathtub.

“What happened? You said you are well,” asked Y/N quickly, her eyes wide and her brows in a frown. She wished to reach out and touch the bandage yet she did not dare.

“I am,” assured Lord Stark, the hint of a smile returning to his lips. His wife’s concern for him warmed Cregan’s heart.

“But—” Lady Y/N shook her head, looking at the red-brown stain of a wound trying to disguise itself in the pale bandages.

“You have my word, my lady,” said Lord Stark as he reached his hand to Lady Y/N’s cheek. His thumb brushed against her soft skin. He leaned in slowly as Y/N’s hand reached just beneath his jaw and their lips met in a kiss not of lust and desire but of profound longing. Y/N wondered how she could find the strength to hold back and not kiss her husband the moment he climbed off his horse. An overwhelming set of emotions washed over Lady Y/N as she rested her hand on her husband’s cheek, his lips leaving ever so familiar kisses on her own. It has been too long.

Lady Y/N pulled away hesitantly and reached for air. Her husband’s eyes lingered on her lips before they shifted to her eyes, his gaze warm and full of longing.

“I should call Maester Bennard to attend to your wound. Gods only know what sort of pretender treated it on the battlefield,” said Lady Y/N, whose voice was grave with worry and even anger at the thought of some charlatan posing for a maester treating her husband’s injury.

“Later,” agreed Lord Stark to reassure his beautiful wife. “I would have this bath first.”

Lady Y/N nodded, still holding her husband’s hand that held her cheek only moments ago. It was wet from the water yet still Lady Y/N held it tightly, drawing shapes into his palm with her thumb. Her eyebrows were in a deep, troubled frown, her eyes like big pools of worry and sadness.

“What is it?” asked Lord Stark, not unkindly, yet his own voice was grave with worry and suspicion. Something was amiss, something must have happened whilst he was away for Maester Bennard’s eyes were also hiding something when he awaited Lord Stark in the courtyard. He saw the meaningful look the maester gave to his lady wife yet the meaning was still unknown to the Lord of Winterfell.

Lord Cregan’s brows hung formidably as he studied his wife.

“Hm?” Lady Y/N looked up. She felt as if she had been caught red-handed yet Cregan could not have heard her thoughts. “Nothing,” lied Y/N and pressed a soft kiss atop of her husband’s hand before she let it go. “I was only … I am glad you have returned.” Lady Y/N offered a small smile but she could not mask how troubled her mind was to Cregan. He had learned to recognize in their short time together when something was amiss with his wife even when no one else would notice.

“I should prepare for the feast,” Lady Y/N changed the topic and got up. Lord Stark did not question her any further yet his grey eyes lingered on Lady Y/N as she walked to the dressing area.

Lady Y/N had a gown made especially for the feast in the white and green of the field of House Stark’s banner and string-of-silver for its grey direwolf. The base of the dress was white with the hems of the sleeves, collar, and the bodice embroidered with dark green jewels, Myrish lace, and string-of-silver. Lady Y/N wore her necklace of emeralds and pearls and matching earrings gifted to her by her mother and had her handmaidens braid her hair for the occasion.

When Lady Y/N emerged from the dressing area, Lord Stark was already in his dark boots and breeches yet held off the tunic and jerkin until the maester would change his bandages. As the servants and the handmaidens left, Lord Stark’s grey eyes fell upon his wife wearing the finest gown in the colours of his House. His mouth parted softly.

“I had it made for this occasion,” said Lady Y/N when her husband would not speak. She felt a mixture of self-consciousness under Lord Stark’s gaze as well as some satisfaction at his reaction.

“I hope it pleases you,” said Lady Y/N as she locked her hands, offering a small smile.

“Pleases me?” breathed Lord Stark and got up eagerly. Yet before he could even take two steps towards his wife, the door of the chambers opened, announcing the arrival of the maester.

Maester Bennard brought his assistant, who carried a heavy yet ornate wooden box of herbs, potions, and medical supplies. Lord Stark’s gaze lingered on his beautiful wife a moment longer before he sat back down and allowed the maester to change his bandages. Lady Y/N stood by, watching it all from a distance. When Maester Bennard revealed a gash in Lord Stark’s chest just above his heart, Lady Y/N’s brows returned to a concerned frown. Whatever blood there was was old, dry and crusted on the bandage whilst the wound seemed to be healing. It was a cut caused by a wildling’s short axe who managed to steal into the Lord of Winterfell’s tent one night. The savage came at him with a dagger but did not know Lord Stark was still awake. Cregan knocked the man on the floor and took his dagger but the wildling recovered as they rolled on the floor. When the man got up, he came at Lord Stark with his short axe but managed only a weak blow for the Lord of Winterfell broke his arm when he had knocked him on the floor. Cregan got to the wildling’s own dagger and stabbed him in his side and then in his heart.

As Lord Stark told the tale of his new scar, he did not look at his wife. Cregan could feel her worried gaze on him with every word he spoke and did not want to give her any more cause for concern. Lady Y/N, however, had to hold her breath to keep the tears from her eyes as she listened, refusing to show her feelings, least of all in front of Maester Bennard. They have been working relentlessly since Lady Y/N recovered from that night, never speaking of it once since Lord Stark’s letter from The Gift arrived – other than checking on her health once in a while to ensure the lady’s recovery. Lady Y/N did not want to give Maester Bennard any more cause to see her as weak or incapable of ruling Winterfell in her husband’s absence. She made all the efforts to keep the council happy and Winterfell functioning as it should.

“Considering everything, the wound is healing nicely, my lord,” concluded Maester Bennard after he changed the bandage and stored away his supplies.

“Thank you, maester,” said Lord Stark as he got up and pulled on his tunic and jerkin. His cheeks were shaven clean and one of the servants must have shortened his dark hair some. For a moment, it seemed as if the march north had never happened, thought Lady Y/N, although in truth she felt as if four years and not four moons had passed since Lord Stark marched.

“Will you join us at the feast, Maester Bennard?” asked Lord Stark.

“I will. Thank you, my lord,” smiled Maester Bennard and bowed courteously. “And if I may, my lady, you look exquisite,” he added, turning to his lady and bowed as well.

“Thank you, maester,” said Lady Stark, slightly taken aback by Maester Bennard’s comment.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell joined the commanders in the Great Hall where the feast was held. The music was already playing merrily as the lords drank on ale, waiting for their liege lord to begin feasting on delicious foods as well. Once the presence of Lord and Lady Stark was noted with everyone rising in respect before they sat down together, the servants began to bring dishes of beef and venison, meat pies, buttered vegetables, and even baked mallards. When all of the food was brought into the Great Hall, the Lord of Winterfell rose with a cup of ale in his hand.

“My lords,” addressed Lord Stark firmly, his voice booming and as solemn as ever yet unmistakably pleased. “Another march north is behind us and once again we have defeated the wildlings and sent them beyond the Wall where they belong!” he spoke with a heavy northern accent as the Great Hall roared with cheers and fists and cups slamming against the heavy oaken tables. “We protected our homes and we protected our people; our wives and our children—” the Lord of Winterfell continued but Lady Y/N’s heart sank to her stomach at the sound of his words. Her eyes rose to Maester Bennard, who was holding onto his cup of warm honeyed wine and watching his lord address his noble commanders. Still, Y/N wondered whether the maester wrote to her husband in secret, whether he told him of what had happened without her leave.

“This feast is for you! The finest warriors in all of the Seven Kingdoms and PROUD NORTHERNERS!” Lord Stark’s voice thundered through the hall as he rose his cup. The men cheered even louder and got up as well as did Lady Y/N, all emptying their cups to Winterfell’s victory over the savages.

The men dug into the delicious food prepared for them, having lived off stew and porridge for too many days on end. It was difficult enough to cook anything in a camp, much less something that did not come from a big pot for a great many people.

The Lady of Winterfell helped herself to some sweet beef and some buttered potatoes, having no more than a cup of wine all evening as she feared it might make her say something she would regret. For a moment, Lady Y/N considered it was all in her head – Maester Bennard’s burning gaze that she seemed to feel on her at all times. Nevertheless, when she rose her eyes to the maester, he was already looking at her. He averted his gaze when the Lady of Winterfell caught it. A part of her was furious with the old man and yet a part of her understood. He would not have his lord remain in the dark about anything, not even his wife.

Lady Y/N lost her appetite even before the desserts came. She made the kitchens prepare blueberry tarts and rice pudding with spices that warmed up even the coldest hands.

The Lord of Winterfell did not care for sweets yet he nevertheless had a slice of the blueberry tart. The tension at the high table could be cut with a knife, the mood no longer reflected only in Lady Y/N and Maester Bennard, as well as Lady Ellyn who sat by her lady’s side, but also in Lord Stark himself. The uneasy looks, the silence on both sides, where there was usually at least talk of the weather, made Lord Stark’s thoughts drift into dark and unsettling places. A seed of anger and frustration grew inside of him and it did not go unnoticed in a man who was usually as calm and stoic as a rock. He was tired and his patience was thinning.

“Would you tell me what is it that you are hiding from me?” suggested Lord Stark to his wife as he washed down the slice of tart with a cup of ale. The tone of his voice was harsher than he intended but once the words lingered between himself and Lady Y/N there was no taking them back and his wife’s silence only frustrated him more.

Lady Y/N stared into her husband’s eyes as if she were searching for something, something she hoped to recognize from many moons ago. She squeezed the fingers of one of her hands inside the other until it hurt. Lady Y/N licked her dry lips as she realized she would no longer be able to keep her secret to herself. If it would not be she who tells Lord Stark, the maester surely will.

“Will you … Will you walk with me?” asked Lady Y/N as she avoided her husband’s gaze.

Cregan studied his wife as his brows rested in a formidable frown but agreed nevertheless. “I will.”

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell got up from the high table and walked the grounds of their castle, its walls filled with the sound of merriment of its warriors. They walked the path to the godswood, the crowns of the pine trees blocking the snow some. Lady Y/N slowed her pace once they were finally alone and away from even the smallfolk attending the castle.

“Do you …” began Lady Y/N, not sure where to start. “Do you remember what you said to me the night before you left Winterfell?” she asked, her voice small and shiver-like. Her breath came out in small, white clouds.

Lord Stark looked at his wife as they walked. His face was frowning in such a formidable way that made Lady Y/N’s stomach twist into painful knots. She remembered her father and his anger.

“You asked me to return safely and I said I would,” said Lord Stark, his voice clear and sombre. Lady Y/N nodded but he could see that that was not what she meant. They walked down the path of cobblestones towards the godswood. It was narrow enough for only one person to walk it at a time. Lady Y/N went first, Lord Stark following on her trail. Y/N could almost feel his warm breath on the back of her head from his closeness. Goose pimples rose on her arms and legs. She held up her skirts as she passed some stairs until they reached the godswood, the heart tree, and the black pond.

“I told you that I loved you,” tried the Lord of Winterfell as they stood beneath the great, haughty weirwood tree. Lord Stark’s voice turned quieter yet remained earnest.

Lady Y/N’s gaze rose to her husband’s grey eyes as her entire body froze. Her heart broke into a million small pieces like a figurine made of glass shattering on the floor. Her eyes watered with tears although she had been doing everything in her power to keep herself from crying. She turned her head away and bit her lip to keep her chin from quivering yet it was all in vain. Hot, salty tears escaped her eyes and stung her cheeks as she closed her eyes. She could not make the words pass her mouth.

Cregan watched his wife, his own heart aching at the sight of her tears. A thousand and one thought had passed his mind on their way to the godswood. If something had gone wrong with the ruling of Winterfell in his absence, if there had been a falling out with one of the Houses, Maester Bennard would be sure to write of it to him whilst he was away. Yet another, more pressing thought weighed heavy on Lord Stark’s mind, a thought that made him burn with anger, with fury and jealousy unlike he had ever known before. If his wife had been unfaithful … He would not allow himself to believe that thought. He did not know what he would do if it proved to be true. Yet when he saw Y/N’s tears when he mentioned the time he told her of his love for her, Cregan had almost believed it – believed there was another man. But as his wife turned away, her body shivering with tears and a sadness so great that it threatened to break her, Cregan knew it could not be the love of a man that made her weep.

Lady Y/N’s small, delicate hand rested on her stomach as she looked down, her cheeks stung with tears.

“You might be great with child by then,” the Lord of Winterfell remembered his words from the night they last lied together. Cregan’s heart dropped to his stomach and he could not swallow the heaviness that formed in his throat. Furious with himself for his foolish thoughts and his harsh behaviour, Lord Stark’s mind overpowered with concern for his wife. He understood now too why the maester was involved.

Although Cregan was saddened about the babe, the feeling could not be compared to the sight of Y/N, his wife, in such a state of sorrow.

Lady Y/N’s chest allowed a small sob to escape, her hand closing over her mouth.

“Y/N …” spoke Lord Stark, his voice deep and hoarse as he reached for his wife. Y/N took a step back instinctively, her shoulders tensing around her neck as if she believed he might strike her.

“I am so sorry,” whispered Y/N as she shook her head, tears stinging her cheeks.

“If you will ever … ever be able to f-forgive me,” Lady Y/N’s voice broke as she made to kneel.

“Y/N,” Lord Stark spoke again, this time even more gently as he took her shoulders. The frown on his face was no longer one of anger and frustration but one softened with sadness and worry. Y/N’s eyes were red, her lashes clumped with tears.

Cregan pulled her into his arms. Lady Y/N resisted at first but Cregan held her tightly. At last Y/N’s chest broke into a painful cry, one with sobbing so sorrowful it made even the Gods cry. The face of the heart tree was lined with red streaks as the Lord of Winterfell held his wife.

“I am so sorry … I am so sorry,” spoke Lady Y/N over and over again against her husband’s chest. Her fingers were buried in his coat as Lord Stark held her head close.

“It is not your fault, Y/N,” assured Lord Stark with all of the authority in him but it made no difference to Lady Y/N. “You are not to blame.”

“I was so afraid, Cregan,” cried Y/N. “I was so afraid you would not come back … And it … It made it go away …”

“That is not true, my love,” Lord Stark spoke more gently against Y/N’s hair. “It is not your fault.” Cregan kissed the top of his wife’s head and rested his chin there as he held her trembling frame close to his.

“Maester Bennard said there was nothing he could have done,” whispered Lady Y/N tearfully as her crying soothed down some. “There … T-There was just s-so much blood.” Lady Y/N's chin quivered as she remembered that night. “I was so scared …” she whispered so quietly she thought her husband would not be able to hear but he did.

“It is not your fault, my lady ... I am here now, my love,” spoke Lord Stark quietly against his wife’s hair as he caressed her head.

“I thought … I thought you would be so angry with me,” spoke Y/N in the same voice.

“Why would you think so?” frowned Lord Stark, his body tensing.

“I only thought … I thought you wished for it …”

“I did,” spoke Lord Stark gently and cupped his wife’s cheeks and made her look him in the eye. “But not as much as I wish for your happiness and health,” he said earnestly. Y/N closed her eyes. She could not look into her husband’s eyes no matter how much he wanted her to.

“We will have dozens of children if that is what you wish,” said Cregan but he could not stop his wife’s tears.

“Two dozen,” tried Cregan again. Lady Y/N laughed a small laugh through her tears and nodded. Cregan wiped away the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs before he kissed her forehead. Their lips met as snow began to fall. Lord Stark leaned his forehead against his wife’s, his eyes closed whilst he took in the scent of her hair. He longed for her; not only for her body but for her company.

“Come, my love,” spoke Lord Stark quietly, his hand caressing his wife’s cheek before they returned to the castle.

***

Neither the Lord or the Lady of Winterfell got up at the break of dawn that morning. Cregan laid on his side with his wife’s arm hung over his waist as she pressed against his warm back. Even in her sleep, Lady Y/N could not make herself part from the safety of her husband’s touch now that he had returned. As Lord Stark began to wake in the late hours of the morning, he took his wife’s hand absently and pulled it to his chest where it rested in his. Cregan could hear her sigh, her nose nuzzling against his broad back and making him smile. He turned around carefully.

“No …” murmured Lady Y/N as her source of warmth shifted, her eyes still shut tight.

Lord Stark smiled to himself and guided his wife’s small hand over his side once again. He pulled her closer and watched her catch the last minutes of sleep before the morning would turn into day. He studied the colour of her beautiful hair and the line of her jaw and her nose, the shape of her shoulder, which disappeared from his sight beneath the covers. Lord Stark guided his hand from his wife’s ribs down to the curve of her waist, which made his body warm with desire. The feeling did not linger long, however, as Lord Stark’s mind drifted to his time away on the march and the loss not only he but especially his wife suffered. Cregan reminded himself to speak to Maester Bennard about Lady Stark’s health and what happened. He caressed his wife’s head and shifted his body lower so that he could kiss her forehead. Cregan left soft kisses on Lady Y/N’s cheek until she smiled through her sleep and slowly opened her eyes.

“What time is it?” mumbled Y/N just before Cregan softly kissed her.

“Late,” said Lord Stark yet did not seem to care. He had just returned from a march – he was entitled to a good night’s sleep for once.

“I can get dressed,” said Lady Y/N but snuggled closer to her husband’s body. The Lord of Winterfell smiled yet could not hide the worry that settled in him. His body was tense and his hands secured its grip protectively around his wife’s body.

Lady Y/N rose her head and looked at her husband. “Is something the matter?” she asked softly. After they returned to the castle last night, they only went to sleep. They had not been together since Cregan returned although in truth it has only been a day’s turn.

“I’m sorry I was not here for you when it happened,” said Cregan, caressing his wife’s cheek. All of the sudden Y/N was wide awake. She hoped they had closed this matter last night in the godswood.

“Why … Why are you sorry if I … If I was the one …” Y/N tried to find the right words without triggering any tears but that was harder than she thought.

“You had to go through such a terrible thing alone,” said Lord Stark solemnly. “If I were here—” But Y/N could not hear it, she would not hear it, and so she placed her palm over her husband’s mouth.

“Please,” pleaded Lady Y/N. “Don’t make me talk about it any further … I just want to forget.”

Cregan nodded and took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “Forgive me.” But Y/N only shook her head. She leaned in and softly kissed her husband. His large hand cupped her cheek instinctively as he brought her closer.

“You cannot imagine how I longed for you all this time, my lady,” said Cregan against Lady Y/N’s lips in a deep, husky voice of the morning. He shifted and leaned against his arm so that his wife laid beneath him. She wrapped her soft legs around his waist. Y/N realized how she too longed for him and his touch and how it was even possible they had not been together yesterday already. She pulled Cregan closer, her hands wrapped around his neck as she tugged gently on his hair. A soft moan escaped Y/N’s mouth when Cregan’s hardness brushed against the inside of her thighs. She gathered the hem of his shirt, yearning to see his body. Cregan pulled off his loose tunic, revealing his strong, built chest but also his injury that sobered Y/N some.

“Are you in pain?” asked Lady Y/N quickly. “Should we—”

“I am only in pain from not having you,” Cregan cut her off and pulled off his nightbreeches before entering his wife. The pleasure he felt was so great that when Lord Stark steadied himself against the headboard, the wood cracked beneath the grip of his fingers. Cregan could not be bothered as he savoured the delight of his wife’s body. He tried to go slow and gentle but his desire was too strong. Instead, he slid an arm behind Y/N’s waist and turned them around without leaving her. Cregan laid on his back and let his wife take control or he would lose it.

Y/N pulled her hair to one side of her neck as she leaned down to Cregan’s lips and kissed him passionately. She almost leaned her arms against his chest before she saw the bandage that she had forgotten about in her pleasure. Y/N steadied herself against the bed instead whilst Cregan’s hands wrapped around her hips as she moved steadily against his waist. Her heart beat hard against her chest when she began nearing her climax. She both wanted to stop and have Cregan take over but at the same time Y/N would do anything for the feeling never to end.

“Fuck,” muttered Cregan when he saw how close Y/N was. He sat up, drunk on desire, and helped her by moving his hips as well. His hands reached for her soft breasts that he squeezed and kissed, his fingers brushing against her nipples that made Y/N whine in pleasure.

Y/N was almost there. Her thighs quivered and her nails dug into Cregan’s back. She leaned against his body when a series of quiet whimpers escaped her mouth and her entire body trembled with pleasure. Her shivering breath disappeared in her husband’s loud groan with his arms locked around her waist tightly. They were breathing heavily in each other’s arms, incredulous how they could bear so long without each other. Cregan was still inside of her as they already laid back on the bed, him unable to stop kissing Y/N. His strong arms were wrapped around her bare shoulders, holding her to him as if he feared she might disappear if he let go.

“Gods, I love you,” murmured Cregan against his wife’s lips. Y/N pulled away some, looking up in to her husband’s grey eyes, the warmest she had ever seen them.

“And I you,” spoke Y/N softly.

***

After breaking their fast, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell attended the council together. Lady Y/N wore a grey dress with embroidery of string-of-silver in the pattern of tree branches with small red leaves representing the heart tree. She wore her pearls and the ruby necklace of her wedding day.

Lady Stark sat beside her husband at the long table whilst the councillors discussed the matters of the past few moons. Lady Y/N spoke herself at times, adding and taking from some of the words of the lords. Some would make things seem better or worse than they were to please the Lord of Winterfell and look good in his eyes. Y/N did not say anything then but after the council, in the private audience only between herself, Cregan, and Maester Bennard, the three could discuss plainly what was said and where the real truths lied.

“Thank you, Maester Bennard,” said Lord Stark as they came to the end of both daily matters as well as things concerning his recent absence. “I will see you in the evening should there be more ravens and matters to attend to.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Maester Bennard. His small eyes glanced between the Lady of Winterfell and Lord Stark. “Would you allow me a private audience, my lord?” asked the maester carefully. He looked down in respect and Lady Y/N did not think twice of it. She told Cregan everything and if the maester wanted to check on that, she would let him. If it was about another matter, Y/N could not be happier to be relieved of her duties for once.

Lady Y/N looked at her husband but Cregan was already waiting to hear her wishes. Y/N smiled reassuringly and curtsied.

“I will take Blackspur for a ride. It has been too long,” said Lady Y/N and left the maester and her husband to speak privately.

Lord Stark leaned in his chair and watched his loyal advisor take a seat before him. He had been meaning to speak to Maester Bennard himself ever since he learned of what had happened in his absence.

“My lord,” began Maester Bennard hesitantly, which was rather untypical of the maester. He usually spoke with conviction and certainty.

“If you mean to speak of my wife’s passing condition in my absence, I would have you know she had already spoken to me about it, maester,” said Lord Stark neither kindly nor upset. The maester seemed relieved at the news and nodded.

“It gladdens me, my lord,” said Maester Bennard. “Lady Stark commanded she should be the one to tell you.”

“I see,” said the Lord of Winterfell. “And if she had not spoken to me prior to this audience?”

Maester Bennard paused as he sensed tension in his lord’s voice. “I was of a mind that a raven should be sent to you when my lady fell ill,” said the maester. “These things rarely happen without complications. If nothing else, the loss of blood can be significant.”

The maester’s words made Cregan sick to his stomach. He had seen men’s limbs torn from their bodies, their heads hacked in half and cut off; he himself cut off many a man’s head be it as punishment or in battle, but the thought of his wife in a puddle of blood made Lord Stark’s stomach twist.

“But my lady recovered well,” said Maester Bennard encouragingly. “I believe she found solace in work although she is spending less and less time with her ladies-in-waiting, even with Lady Mormont, who was a comfort to Lady Stark in her darkest hours.”

The Lord of Winterfell listened.

“Whilst losing a babe, especially if it is the first, is nothing unusual and the body oft heals relatively quickly,” said the maester, “The healing of the heart, especially a woman’s heart, is a different matter.”

Cregan nodded to himself. “Thank you, maester,” said the Lord of Winterfell, understanding now.

“My lord,” bowed Maester Bennard and left Cregan be. Lord Stark looked through the window on his right. The sun glistening in last night’s snow blinded his eyes. He wished he knew what to do.

***

Buried in his work, the Lord of Winterfell lost the sense of time. One of his personal servants came to call him to a late nuncheon, making Lord Stark realize how long he had been chained to the desk.

"I will join the Lady Stark in a moment," said Cregan and pressed his seal into hot, grey wax.

"My lady has yet not returned from her ride, my lord," said the servant cautiously.

"What do you mean she has not returned yet?" said the Lord of Winterfell, his stern, grey eyes rising to the servant's. The young man looked down.

Lord Stark rose from his desk and stormed to the master-of-stables who informed him that Lady Stark had left only with Ser Martyn as her escort.

“How could this happen?” Lord Stark rose his voice mindlessly at his servants. They all bowed their heads and looked at the ground, even Ser Tybald. “She is the Lady of Winterfell! She should have an escort of at least a dozen knights!” thundered Cregan with anger boiling within him. His fists were squeezed tight as he stormed outside and called for his men to gather. The hour grew darker by the moment with a snow blizzard on the horizon. A party of two dozen men was gathered, most of them horsed save for the master-of-kennels, Ser Jon, and his apprentices that held the hounds on their chains.

The cruel northern winds whistled mercilessly as Lord Stark mounted his courser Nightkeeper. The snowflakes were dancing in the air, not a single one reaching the ground in the wild wind seeming more like ash than snow.

The party did not even make outside of winter town before they ran into the Lady of Winterfell and her sworn shield, Ser Martyn. He looked as pale as the weirwood tree in the face of his lord’s anger yet his sword was bloodied and his armor soiled red.

The Lord of Winterfell dismounted immediately as did Lady Y/N and Ser Martyn. Cregan stormed to his lady wife, grasping her shoulders before he pulled her into an ardent kiss of relief never minding his men watching. Lady Y/N was knocked out of wind and would have stumbled backwards if Lord Stark had not held her arms so securely.

“Where were you?” demanded Lord Stark from his lady wife. He still held her tightly by the shoulders, his brows in a terrible frown. Lady Y/N’s cheeks were flushed red where the cold wind lashed at them but not only that. The redness masked the small cuts that neither bled nor remained insignificant. Her neck, where visible, was more of the same and her head of long hair loose from its braid and windblown.

“And you!” snapped Cregan before Lady Y/N could manage a word and grabbed Ser Martyn’s breast plate. “How could you leave without an escort?” Lord Stark roared at one of his best men, but in that moment, Cregan could just as well kill him with his bare hands for endangering his wife. Lord Stark could not tell what angered him more: the thought of his wife alone with another man or that man, her sword shield, allowing Cregan’s wife to leave the grounds of Winterfell without a proper escort to protect her.

“Please, everything is alright now,” urged Lady Y/N as she came up to her husband, “A host of bandits attacked us ... ” She touched Lord Stark’s arm but he winced livid with fury, his cold, grey glare snapping to his wife.

“I should think,” snapped Lord Stark. Lady Y/N took a step back and lowered her gaze. Cregan was breathing heavily, still holding onto Ser Martyn’s breast plate although his eyes were on his wife. Lord Stark’s breathing began to calm although not so much his anger born from concern.

“I will hear of your pretensions later, knight,” the Lord of Winterfell growled at Ser Martyn as he let go of his breast plate with a yank.

A shivery breath of relief escaped Lady Y/N’s chest as she stared at her lord husband. He turned as did she, intending to mount Blackspur.

“No,” commanded Lord Stark, his insides still boiling with anger. Lady Y/N’s big eyes found her husband’s furious glare as he took her hand and led her to his courser. The dark brown stallion paced restlessly as he sensed his master’s rage. Cregan grabbed a hold of his wife’s waist and lifted her effortlessly on his courser. Y/N gasped soundlessly but dared not say a word. She had never seen her husband so furious or his anger so slow to cool. She wanted to tell Cregan what had happened and how Ser Martyn was not to blame but the wind whistled so loudly she could barely hear her own thoughts. They had to get back to the castle and quickly.

Heavy snow began to fall as the Lord of Winterfell climbed up into his saddle, one of his arms tightly wrapping around his wife’s waist. Lady Y/N held onto his strong, tense arm as Cregan spurred his mount around and they rode back to the castle. One of the men took Blackspur’s reins and led her to the castle with them. Y/N could almost sense the white-hot anger radiating off her husband’s body as he held her to him. Lord Stark’s anger only cooled some when he began to realize his wife was unharmed for the most part but was fuelled yet again as he knew none of it would have happened if a larger party escorted her. A tempest of thoughts ran through Cregan's mind. He doubted they could have got lost and were ambushed. Ser Martyn may not have been born in Winterfell but he had been a squire for his father since he was a boy of seven. He knew Winterfell as well as any.

Cregan’s heart pumped furiously as a seed of jealousy began to grow in him once again. Just the thought of Y/N alone with another man, any man. The foolish idea in Lord Stark's mind was soon overpowered by a thought that could prove to become all to real if Ser Martyn had not brought Y/N back safely. A pack of bandits, if they had prevailed over Lady Y/N's sworn shield ...

Cregan’s grip on Lady Y/N’s grip tightened even more just as they passed the castle gates. Lady Y/N squeezed Cregan's forearm, trying to tell him wordlessly that the grip was too tight but Lord Stark was too deep in his thoughts. The more Y/N tried to peel his arm off her waist, the stronger Cregan’s grip became.

“You’re hurting me,” said Lady Y/N at last. Her words sobered Lord Stark immediately and woke him from his poisonous thoughts. His hold softened immediately and he released a long held breath.

They reached the castle where one of the stableboys took the reins of Lord Stark's horse. The Lord of Winterfell dismounted and took his wife’s waist carefully. As her feet reached the floor, Cregan towered over her easily. He was suddenly acutely aware of his strength and how his thoughts carried him away.

“Forgive me,” asked Lord Stark of his wife, “It was never my intention to harm you.” Lady Y/N looked up into her husband’s eyes, taken back by the change in his voice. Cregan was far from calm, she could tell, but calmer still than he was only moments ago.

“Only if you can forgive me, my lord,” said Lady Y/N and bowed. Her hands began to tremble as she remembered the group of bandits. Neither herself nor Ser Martyn were sure they would be able to escape and it was her fault for persuading the knight they do not need more men with them. But she was no longer the young Lady Whytefort who no one knew of. She was the Lady of Winterfell, wife to the Warden of the North, and therefore much more valuable to bandits and delinquents.

“There were six of them,” told Lady Y/N once in her husband’s solar. “One of them was slain by Ser Martyn and another lost his arm at the wrist but the rest of them remained unscathed. Some of them had swords and short axes, and two of them were ahorse – one of those died at the hands of Ser Martyn when they chased us through the Wolfswood,” said Lady Y/N quickly, her words flying out of her mouth as if they were in a race to be heard by Lord Stark and Maester Bennard.

“Is there anything else you remember, my lady?” asked Maester Bennard as he wrote down the details for there would be a search party and an award for anyone who would provide information of the delinquents.

Lord Stark stared at his wife, wondering what it would be like if her and Ser Martyn had not returned, if he could not find her in time. Cregan had only just returned home only to neigh lose his wife, the woman he dreamed of every night on his march north.

The snow blizzard raged outside but that was the least of Lord Stark's concerns. If Lady Y/N could not have managed to escape the bandits … The wax stick in Cregan’s hand snapped like a twig. He had been rolling it around his fingers to keep his focus and pace his temper.

Lady Y/N’s eyes moved from Cregan’s eyes to his hands and finally to the maester. She shook her head.

“Thank you, my lady,” said Maester Bennard curtly and put the quill away. Lady Y/N nodded and finally felt at ease enough to remove her cloak. She hissed when the heavy fabric drew across a deep gash on her shoulder that she had forgotten about in the midst of it all.

Cregan jumped up hastily at the sight of the wound. The sleeve of Lady Y/N’s riding gown was drenched in blood.

“I think I caught a branch when we were running away,” said Lady Y/N, her fingertips red with blood as she inspected her wound.

“Why didn’t you speak before?” asked Lord Stark, rushing to his wife’s side. Lady Y/N looked up into her husband’s eyes, his formidable frame looming over her. He looked the wound before he tore off a strip of his tunic and wrapped it around her upper arm to stop the bleeding, whilst the maester went to fetch his things.

“I forgot,” said Lady Y/N quietly yet in all honesty. Cregan frowned at her, hardly believing what she was saying. Only then could Cregan see the tremble in her hands and the fear in her eyes. The small cuts on her face became more prominent once the blush from the wind drained from her cheeks. Lady Y/N should have taken a larger escort but the bandits had no business lurking the grounds of Winterfell in the first place, much less attacking its high lady. If Cregan feared for his wife's safety, how frightened must she have been in the face of it all.

Cregan caressed his wife’s cheek gently and pulled her closer, careful not to brush against her shoulder. He kissed the top of Y/N’s head as he felt her small hands reach around his waist.

“Please forgive me,” said Y/N quietly. Tears soaked her voice as she leaned against Cregan’s steady frame. "I was a fool not to heed Ser Martyn's advice. I never thought ..."

“Forgiven,” murmured the Lord of Winterfell against her hair. A different kind of anger rose inside of Cregan as he caressed his wife’s hair.

“I will have their heads and hang their from the walls of Winterfell, my lady. You have my word.”

***

It took a week for the snow blizzard to settle and near another three for any traces of the bandits to be found. Ser Martyn led one of the search parties, knowing full well what the men looked like. Just so, it was his group of knights who found them. Ser Martyn delivered the news as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell had their nuncheon in private. They had trout prepared in a skin of herbs with baked potatoes and a flagon of dark ale.

Lady Y/N’s heart paused in her chest when she heard the news.

“How did you find them?” asked Lady Stark. It has been so long everyone began to lose hope of ever catching the group of delinquents.

Ser Martyn hesitated a moment, showing a clear discomfort. “We found them despoiling a peasant girl,” he told.

Lady Stark’s lips parted but she could not find the words she wanted to say. Her stomach twisted and turned into knots and Y/N had to do everything in her power to keep her meal down. Blood began to boil in her veins. Out of nowhere, Lady Y/N could see the men’s faces in her mind as if it were yesterday that she encountered them in the Wolfswood. The man slain by Ser Martyn, the one who lost his hand, the short one with missing teeth, the two lanky men who seemed to be kin and the one who remained on horseback. Y/N did not know why but she wanted to see how the life would leave the bandits’ eyes. She wanted to be there when Cregan would pass the judgement and condemn them to whatever punishment he saw fit.

“I will see them,” said Lord Stark severely and got up from the table. Lady Y/N's eyes followed him.

“There are only four of them left, my lord,” informed Ser Martyn. “We interrogated the men separately and all claim the fifth was taken by the snowstorm.”

“After I am through with them, they will believe the frozen fool fortunate,” said the Lord of Winterfell.

***

The bandits were brought to Winterfell in chains, unharmed at the command of the Warden of the North. When the day of their execution came, most of Winterfell and the winter town gathered in the main square to witness the deaths of the men who had been pestering their lands. The Lady of Winterfell was not the first person they attacked and the peasant girl would not have been the last if not for Ser Martyn and his knights.

As the four men were led to the scaffold, not one of them walked without a limp. Their faces were broken and bruised but Lady Y/N could recognize them still even with the blood drying on their wounds. As per law, their heads were to be cut off for their crimes, but the Lord of Winterfell ordered their carcasses be hanged above the main gates of the castle as a warning to others.

The morning already broke but the snow was falling heavily in the silver-blue light of day. Lady Stark was standing with Lady Ellyn on the dais beneath a canopy that shielded them from the worst of the late autumn snow. Lady Y/N had trouble sleeping and had been feeling uneasy all morning. She could not find comfort not even in her husband’s embrace. Y/N could not stop thinking about the peasant girl nor of the day herself and Ser Martyn were ambushed. She could have ended up as the peasant girl or worse. The whole of it made her sick to her stomach. Lady Y/N wanted to be there for the execution, she wanted to see, and yet she wished for all of it to be over as quickly as possible.

The Lord of Winterfell marched on the scaffold where the prisoners waited in line. Thick snowflakes nestled in his heavy fur cloak and his long, dark hair. Ice hung solemnly on Lord Cregan’s back as the charges were told to the prisoners and the crowd that gathered.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,” Cregan told Lady Y/N when she asked last night who will bring doom to the bandits in the morn. The words rang almost as profoundly of House Stark as those of “Winter is coming”. Y/N had long thought it an old-wife's tale yet the longer she stayed at Winterfell, the more she began to believe there really never was a Stark without honour.

An eerie silence filled the square when the Lord of Winterfell unsheathed his great longsword. Cregan took off the prisoners’ heads one by one yet before he could reach the third, Lady Y/N’s head grew light as a summer cloud and a sickness settled in her stomach. She could not watch any longer but it was too late. Y/N tried to grasp Lady Ellyn’s hand to steady herself but her grip was no grip at all, merely a touch before she came crashing to the ground and darkness swallowed her vision.

Lady Y/N could feel the pillows beneath her as she began to wake but even the slightest movement of her head sent her head spinning. Y/N groaned and steadied herself against the mattress, slowly opening her eyes. She recognized the ceiling of her private chambers. There were voices speaking but there was ringing in her ears and she could not understand them. Suddenly, a heavy nausea came over her and she threw up, a basin already by her side. Someone took her hair and held it back as sweat coated Lady Y/N’s neck and forehead. The ringing in her ears gradually stopped as did her vomiting. She was offered a cup of water by someone. Lady Y/N rose her gaze and saw her lady-in-waiting.

“It’s alright,” whispered Lady Ellyn with a small smile.

“What happened?” asked Lady Y/N as she looked around her chambers. Cregan was standing by her side, his eyes bright and restless and his brows in a concerned frown. If this were a battle, he would have been swinging his sword and shouting orders. But this was no battle although his body was just as tense.

Lady Y/N noticed Maester Bennard was there as well as were her other three ladies-in-waiting. The ladies wore cheerful smiles and exchanged silent whispers.

Maester Bennard offered a small smile. “I am pleased to say that your ladyship is with child again.”

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #hotd cregan #cregan stark x y/n #winterfell #house stark #the wolf of the north #cregan fanfiction

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anyca786 · 3 months ago

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"DRAGON'S EMBRACE"

Daemon Targaryen x sister!Targaryen

WARNINGS: canon typical incest/targcest (brother & sister), fluff, kissing, violence ( at the tourneys) (possible rhaenyra x aunt!Targaryen?! Idk)

Series

Daenys stepped into the Dragonpit, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and dragonfire, and the distant growls of the dragons echoed through the cavernous space.

A particularly menacing growl caught her attention. It was Caraxes, the Blood Wrym, Daemon's fearsome mount. The dragon, with its long neck and bright red scales, loomed over her, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly intensity.

Daenys approached Caraxes cautiously, her voice steady. "Be calm," she whispered in High Valyrian . "Remember me."

To her relief, Caraxes seemed to recognize her. The dragon's growls subsided, and it lowered its head, allowing Daenys to stroke its scales.

"Good dragon," Daenys praised, continuing to speak in High Valyrian. "You are a magnificent creature, a true beast of the skies."

Caraxes purred contentedly, its tail thumping the ground. Daenys pressed her forehead against the dragon's, feeling a surge of connection. "Good boy," she whispered.

Just then, Daemon entered the Dragonpit, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Came back after so long, and already on a mission to steal my dragon?” He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Daenys rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. With a final pat to Caraxes' scales, she ran into Daemon’s arms.

He caught her effortlessly, pulling her into a warm embrace. “I’ve missed you,” Daenys mumbled into his ear, her voice soft and a bit breathless.

“I’ve missed you more, my love,” Daemon replied, placing a longing kiss on her cheek. “Though I’ve heard quite a lot about your adventure in the North, and let me assure you, I’m intrigued.”

Daenys rolled her eyes playfully, but a blush crept across her face. “Women have needs brother. And men in the North know how to satisfy their women.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Their women? Sweetheart, you’re mine.”

Daenys blushed and walked towards Nyx, her dragon, who towered over Daemon’s Caraxes. Daemon followed quietly.

“You have a wife, Daemon,” Daenys said, patting Nyx, who purred in contentment.

Daemon wrapped his arms around Daenys from behind, placing a passionate kiss on her neck. Daenys bit back a moan, her body tingling with anticipation.

“Aegon, the Conqueror, had two wives,” Daemon replied, his voice low and seductive.

“You’re no Aegon,” Daenys said, turning to face him with a smirk. She pulled him into a passionate kiss, her hands tangled in his hair. Daemon’s tongue fought for dominance, and he deepened the kiss, his hands exploring her body.

Suddenly, a low growl interrupted them. Daenys laughed, realizing Nyx was jealous. “Someone’s feeling left out,” she teased, turning to pat her dragon.

Nyx huffed but seemed to relent "Calm down, girl," she said, patting the dragon's snout.

As they stood there, the wind carrying the scent of the sea, Daemon turned to Daenys. "I'm glad you're home."

"Me too," she replied, her heart filled with a warmth she hadn't felt in a long time.

"Alright, I've got to meet Aemma and Rhaenyra," Daenys said, pulling away from Daemon.

But Daemon wasn't done. He pulled her back for another deep kiss, his lips moving against hers with a possessive urgency. Daenys melted into the kiss, her body responding to his touch.

Catching her breath, she finally managed to pull away. "I'll see you at the tourney," she said, her voice a little breathless.

Daemon grinned. "Don't be late."

As Daenys turned to leave, she couldn't help but glance back at Daemon. A soft smile played on her lips as she walked away.

🥀

Daenys ascended the grand staircase to the balcony, her heart pounding with anticipation. The crowd below roared as King Viserys I addressed them, his voice carrying over the din.

"Be welcome! I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not be disappointed" the king announced.

Daenys found her seat beside Rhaenyra, her niece, and gave her a warm smile. Viserys stood amidst the nobles, his voice booming.

"When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labors!"

"I'm yet to see your mother," Daenys said to Rhaenyra. "How are you, my sweet niece?"

"Pleasant, now that you're here," Rhaenyra replied, her eyes sparkling with admiration for her aunt. Daenys was everything Rhaenyra aspired to be or to be with.

Two knights, their armor gleaming in the sunlight, charged towards each other in the center of the stadium. On the second run, one was dismounted, sending the crowd into a frenzy. The winner approached the balcony, bowing.

"Who's that?" Daenys asked curiously.

"A mystery knight?" Rhaenyra replied.

"No, a Cole, of the Stormlands," Alicent Hightower, Rhaenyra's best friend, said.

Boremund Baratheon rode up to the balcony. "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! I would humbly ask for the favor of 'The Queen Who Never Was.'"

The nobles exchanged glances. Rhaenys approached, dropping a wreath on Boremund's lance. "Good fortune to you, cousin," she replied.

As the tournament continued, Rhaenyra turned to her aunt and best friend. "Lord Stokeworth's daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire."

"Lord Massey's son?" Daenys asked.

"Mm-hm. They're to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood," Rhaenyra replied.

"Best get on with it. I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress," Alicent said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Boremund and Criston Cole, the mystery knight, clashed. Boremund was unseated, the crowd roaring with excitement. Harrold approached Rhaenyra's seat.

"What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?" Rhaenyra asked.

"I'm told Ser Criston is the common-born son of Lord Dondarrion's steward. But other than that, and the fact that he's just unhorsed both of the Baratheon lads, I really couldn't say," Harrold replied.

Daenys teased her niece. "You seem curious about the Coleman."

The crowd erupted in cheers as a Targaryen flag was raised, signaling the entrance of a group of knights into the arena.

"Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!" the Master of Reveals announced.

Daemon rode out, his eyes scanning the assembled jousters. He finally settled on a knight wearing the Hightower sigil. Daenys couldn't help but smirk as she realized it was Otto Hightower's son.

"For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King," the Master of Reveals announced.

Rhaenyra squeezed her best friend's hand, Alicent's face pale with worry for her brother.

Daemon glanced at the crowd one last time, making eye contact with Otto before charging forward. The two knights collided, their lances splintering upon impact. Daemon was hit and lost his lance, but he managed to stay in the saddle. Otto looked pleased.

Both riders were given new lances and charged again. At the last moment, Daemon swung his lance in front of Gwayne's horse's hooves, sending both tumbling over. Gwayne was injured but managed to get up, eliciting mixed reactions from the crowd and nobles.

Daemon rode up to the balcony, where Rhaenyra, Daenys, and Alicent stood.

"Nicely done, Uncle," Rhaenyra said.

"Thank you, Princess," Daemon replied, his eyes lingering on Daenys. "Now, I'm fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it."

Alicent hesitated, sharing a glance with Otto before dropping a wreath on Daemon's lance. "Good luck, my Prince," she said.

With one last glance at Daenys, Daemon returned to the tournament.

Daenys frowned as she saw a maester whisper something in Otto's ear, who then relayed it to Viserys. Viserys looked nervous and stood up to leave.

"What's happening?" Daenys asked Rhaenyra.

"I don't know," Rhaenyra replied, her voice filled with concern. "Something must be wrong."

The tournament raged on, the crowd roaring as another knight was unseated. The fallen knight, however, refused to yield. He pulled his opponent off his horse and began to attack, his actions met with a mixture of cheers and gasps.

The attacking knight raised his axe, the crowd holding their breath. With a powerful swing, he brought the axe down, ending the fight with a sickening thud. The onlookers gasped, the weight of the moment heavy in the air.

A dead knight was dragged away, the tournament briefly pausing.

"Ser Criston Cole will now tilt against Ser Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City!" the Master of Reveals announced.

Daemon and Criston prepared to joust.

Neither was dismounted on their first pass, Daenys watching nervously. They took new lances, the crowd's anticipation building.

As they collided again, the world seemed to tilt for a moment. Daemon landed on the barrier in the center of the arena, barely managing to stay on his horse before tumbling off. He pushed away a man who tried to help him up as Criston dismounted.

"Fuck," Daenys muttered, her heart sinking.

"Sword!" Daemon demanded, a squire bringing him his weapon.

"Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in a contest of arms!" the Master of Revels announced.

Criston approached Daemon, his morningstar gleaming. With a powerful blow, Criston hit Daemon from behind, pinning one of his arms to the ground.

"Yield. Yield!," Criston said, offering his hand to help Daemon up.

Daemon hesitated for a moment before yielding, swatting Criston's hand away as he stood. As he surveyed the crowd, his eyes met Daenys', who, along with Rhaenyra and Alicent, had run to the edge of the balcony.

Criston approached them. "I was hoping to ask for the Princess Daenys' favor."

Daenys smirked, tossing a wreath down to him. "I wish you luck, Ser Criston," she said.

"Princess," Criston replied, clearly blushing. Rhaenyra coughed, noticing the interaction, and all three girls burst out laughing.

But the laughter was cut short as Otto approached the balcony, his face grave. "The Queen is dead," he whispered to Daenys.

Daenys stumbled back, her knees buckling. Otto caught her, his voice filled with concern. "Princess," he said.

Daemon noticed the exchange, a worried line appearing on his forehead.

The Queen was dead.

A/N- Filler Chapter, next one will have some🌶

Aemma deserved better😔

#daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #tumblr #hotd daemon #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targeryan #hotd

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misswynters · 4 months ago

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Dragon Twins Series (Teaser)

pair: aegon targaryen x dayne! fem!reader x aerion targaryen

synopsis: You finally arrived at the capital, the land of in which aegon the conqueror came through. You are from the illustrious House Dayne from Dorne. You catch the eyes of the targaryen twin princes, aegon and aerion. aegon is the heir to the iron throne. whereas aerion is more of the adventurous and rebellious type.

warnings: none

a/n: it’s easier for me to write it as a fem reader whoever i can always change it.

series masterlist

The sun was setting as you made your way to King’s Landing. The banners of House Dayne which beared the white sword and falling star, fluttered against the warm breeze. You sat there, with your head held high as your eyes peaked through the small windows of the carriage. The only think you saw was the streets of the capital buzzing with people at the market and kids playing. The Red Keep Loomed ahead, its imposing silhouette casting long shadows over the ancient city. As they approached, you could feel the weight of your family’s expectations that are now resting on your shoulders. House Dayne, renowned for its ancient history and the legendary sword of Dawn, had always maintained an influential presence in the realm. Therefore your arrival in kings landing was not just a matter of formality; it was a declaration of the dayne influence and a future entailment of your role at the kings court. As the procession entered the castle gates, You were greeted by the sight of the Targaryen standard flying high above the ramparts. The dragon sigil seemed to shimmer in the fading light, a reminder of the power and legacy of the house she would soon be entangled with. She dismounted gracefully, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, and adjusted her violet cloak, a gift from her family marking her status as a noble of Dorne.

Inside the red keep, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Nobles and the servants whispered amongst themselves as their eyes followed your presence. You were escorted to the grand hall where there was a feast being prepared in your honor. The hall was a marvel of architecture, with high ceilings adorned with intricate tapestries depicting the history of House Targaryen. The long tables were laden with an array of dishes, from roasted meats to exotic fruits, and the air was thick with the mingling scents of rich spices and sweet wines.

At the head of the hall, seated upon the dais, were the twin princes of the realm: Aegon and Aerion Targaryen. Aegon, the elder by mere minutes and the heir apparent, had an air of composed authority. His silver-gold hair was neatly trimmed, and his piercing violet eyes exuded a sense of calm determination. By contrast, Aerion's dark auburn hair fell in wild waves around his shoulders, and his eyes sparkled with mischief and restless energy. They were a striking pair, embodying the duality of fire and ice that defined their lineage.

You approached the dais with measured steps, your heart beating a little faster with each step. You bowed gracefully, acknowledging the princes with the respect due their station. "Your Highnesses," you greeted them, your voice steady and clear.

"Lady ___ Dayne," Aegon replied, his voice smooth and commanding. "Welcome to King’s Landing. Your presence here honors us."

Aerion leaned forward, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Indeed, it is not often we are graced with such beauty and distinction from the South. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

Your eyes met Aerion's gaze, twinkling with amusement. "It was long but not without its charms, your grace. The roads of Westeros are always full of surprises."

Aegon’s expression softened slightly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "We are pleased you have arrived safely. There is much to discuss in the days to come, matters of great importance to both our houses."

As the evening progressed, you found yourself seated between the two princes at the high table. Conversations flowed around them, a mix of courtly pleasantries and subtle intrigues. Aegon spoke of politics and the future of the realm, his tone serious and contemplative. Aerion, on the other hand, entertained her with tales of his escapades and dreams of adventure, his laughter ringing through the hall like a melody.

taglist: @sab-falco @spn-obession @tomgcsmrs @sturnioloarchive @arquiiva

#aegon targaryen x reader #aerion targaryen #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon #house dayne #house targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #rhaenyra targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon smut #dragon twins series

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writingsofwesteros · 2 months ago

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Viserys and Alicent being left to raise Daemon’s royce daughter after he remarries. She’s an adventures and spirited princess that remind the king and queen of his late-mother and Rhaenyra. The pair would be come so obsessed with her, both of them moaning her name while they fucked each other. After Rhaenyra moves away, the king and queen would marry her, sharing the princess like the conquerors had with Queen Rhaenys. With their new bride, the king and queen would find a new balance and flame in their relationship.

THE HOTTEST!!

The idea of them moaning her name whilst together is too delicious; Alicent riding her King with her eyes closed and moans of another falling from her lips.

#hot thots

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intheheartoftheking · 4 months ago

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Painting The Roses Red

Jacaerys Velaryon/Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader

canon divergent, mentions of war/ptsd, a lot! of fluff, yearning, forbidden love, mentions of death and infidelity, dragonrider!reader

summary: HEAVILY INSP by this HC from @enviedear Reader is restless from nightmares of the war and Jace soothes her back to sleep by reading stories of Targaryen History while reminiscing on their past. Jace wonders how their story will fit into the future of Targaryen History.

word count: 1,566

a/n: It started off short because I was inspired by @enviedear 's head cannon (THIS ONE IS FOR YOU BABE) about Jace reading you to sleep with Targaryen History but then it became a whole thing of its own since I crave fluffy Jace and I love forbidden love. I want to write the wedding so pls let me know if a part 2 with memories of their wedding or any other of their war adventures would be interesting.

You threw off your sweat-drenched sheets and found solace in the cold breeze through the window. Your sleep had been restless all through the war, and you thought once it was over, you would finally have some peaceful rest, but the fear had settled into your bones, and you would never be the same again. Tears welled in your eyes as the memories of the past two years replayed in your mind. You didn't even realize that soft sobs had begun to leave your body as you stared out at the sea; however, Jacearys did notice. His coarse hand wrapped around your wrist, startling you out of your trance as he pulled you into his chest. "We're safe, you're safe," he whispered into your hair, rubbing soft circles on your back. This had become a routine for both of you since you found yourselves back at Kings Landing, and both of you constantly had to pull one another out of the distant memories of war. "I know," you murmured, "but that still doesn't change the chill in my bones and the fear in my heart as I watch you die over and over again." you whimpered as he tightened his grip on you. "Jacearys, you almost died. I fished you out of the water and watched you come and go from consciousness. The maesters believed you dead." He sighed. "But I am alive, and our victories will be written in the histories. The greens will only grow to be a stain, but a footnote in the rich Targaryen history." He pulled away from you to grab a large leather-bound book containing the tales of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters wives before settling back on your bed. "Come," he beckoned you over softly, "we shall be the rulers our descendants look upon with admiration and seek guidance from just as we look to our ancestors."

You shook your head, offering him a sad smile as you climbed alongside him, adjusting yourself in his chest. His voice was a lullaby that warded off the fear that threatened to destroy your peace, and with the vibrato that escaped his chest, you could feel yourself being pulled by sleep. Your eyes are heavy as you cling to every word of the stories of Rhaenys and Aegon. As Jace looks down to see you opposing your rest, he aids the sleep process by entwining his hand in your hair, softly running his fingers along your scalp.

You can feel yourself losing your battle, and Jace knows he's won as he hears your soft snores in his embrace. He looks down at your peaceful face in admiration and sadness. It was rare to find you so calm. It had been years since he had seen you so happy and carefree.

The war had taken so much from you, your home, your family, and most importantly, it shook your lineage. You were a firstborn daughter, a lady created for more domestic pursuits, the beauty of Highgarden. You weren't fire and blood, or so you thought. However, when the war made you a dragonrider, the garden's secrets became revealed as your mother had to uncover the truth of an affair your great-grandmother had with a Targaryen prince during the rule of King Jaehaerys. The gods were merciful, and this child bore only a tiny resemblance to the Targaryen prince who fathered him, and your grandfather, the heir of House Tyrell, would pass his Targaryen blood to you. Amongst learning to ride dragons and fight for the rightful Queen, you learned the news that your home and your family had been taken and slain. You were now the Lady of Highgarden, thrust into a position you were not born for and fighting to make your place in the world while also trying to preserve whatever you had left of the life before the war.

Jacearys wasn't supposed to fall in love with you, and you weren't supposed to fall in love with him, but you two were drawn to one another, bound together by some invisible string. He thought that he knew what love was supposed to feel like. After all, he and Baela were affectionate and devoted to one another, but with you, it was different. He felt electric when you accidentally brushed your hands against his while adjusting your riding gear. Or the way that it felt that the air had been sucked out of him when you gazed into his beautiful ember eyes. The way that your laughter filled the room and made his heart sing. Being with you made Jaecarys feel like the world had stopped and only you two were transceding through time.

It was only a short time before Rhaenyra noticed her son became fond of roses and would always request them no matter how difficult the import may be to Dragonstone. She also noticed how their newest dragon rider began to shed the colors of her house in favor of the colors of House Targaryen. It was hard not to notice the late hours you spent with Jace in the library, desperate to learn the language and customs of old Valyria as you both filled the castle with laughter into the hours of the night. You and Jacearys trained together, constantly pushing each other to your limits as you both developed a dance, a routine where your motions almost mirrored the other and your fierce devotion to one another became unmistakable, as when one of you was assigned to a mission, the other was desperate to go along to protect the other. This devotion would make you the woman who saved the heir to the iron throne, Prince Jacearys Targaryen.

Once you became the Lady of Highgarden, Baela came to Queen Rhaenyra requesting to end the betrothal between herself and Jacearys. "He loves her, Your Grace," she stated, "and I do not believe he will ever stop loving her nor she. As we have witnessed, they would give their lives for one another if necessary. It would not be fair to Jacearys to watch the woman he loves marry another man; he is far too honorable to take her as a lover. Instead, he will be trapped with me, always longing for someone he can't have. Wondering of a future that could have been."

Rhaenyra sighed, knowing all too well what comes from loveless and forced marriages. She knew her son's behavior, and Baela was right. Unlike herself, Jacearys was far too honorable to lie with another woman, but he may never bring himself to love Baela. Instead, the two young rulers would be forced to be yearning gazes at court with Baela caught in the middle of an unspoken desire. Rhaenyra sighed. "I will grant your request."

Queen Rhaenyra announced the end of the betrothal that same night, causing mixed uproar from the lords and ladies at court. Jacearys looked at his mother and Baela in horror and confusion as one of the lords called out, "Who shall be the bride of the prince now, Your Grace!?" "Shall we all present our daughters?" "I have a girl of marrying age!" Jacearys eyes searched for you and found you staring back at him, hopeful. He felt guilt as he looked back to Baela, who only nodded at him. A small smile crept on her face, and her eyes gestured at you. "Go to her," she mouthed. Jacearys blinked in confusion as his emotions raged inside him, and he felt his body begin walking toward you as his mother tried to quiet the unruly crowd.

The crowd hushed as they noticed the prince making his way to you, the court, holding their breath as the realization dawned on them. The prince had fallen in love with the most beautiful but thorniest rose in the Highgarden. "My prince," you whispered, "they are watching."

Jacearys only hummed in response as he lifted your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the back. Hushed whispers rang through the crowd. "The Highgarden girl?" "There are rumors that they are a love match, but the Prince was promised to the princess." "She saved the prince's life; I, too, would fall in love with any woman of the sort." Jacearys chuckled as he caught some of the whispers and looked at his mother, who gave him a permissive nod.

"I have decided to marry Lady Tyrell, the Lady of Highgarden, if she will have me." Tears welled in your eyes as Jacearys publicly declared for you. "I will accept your proposal, Prince Jacearys." You nodded, a smile covering your face. Your heart overflowed with your love for Jacearys; you had spent so much time holding back due to duty and scrutiny. He laughed heartily as he kissed your forehead, pulling you in for a hug. "A love match!" someone shouted out, causing the court to erupt in applause and cheers. This union would promise peace amongst Westeros, for the people would know that the dragon prince and his thorny rose would furiously protect each other and their people.

Jace shook himself from the memories and kissed your head, closing his eyes to breathe you in. "I love you," he whispered before shutting the book and drifting off to sleep. He staved off the nightmares from both of you for just another night and dreamed of what tales they would write for you both.

#house of the dragon #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys valaryon #hotd jacaerys #hotd jace #jace targaryen #jace x reader #jacearys targaryen x reader

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stellar-solar-flare · 3 months ago

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The Literary Universe Of StellarSolarFlare

Welcome to my little library of fanfiction! Please note that my blog is a 18+ only space, and all content is intended for adults only. Minors do not interact - you are not welcome here and will be blocked.

I currently have my requests CLOSED. My side blog with only fic updates is HERE.

Reblogs, comments, thoughts, asks and everything along the lines are very welcome! I also welcome constructive criticism, emphasis on constructive. My replies to things might be delayed due to life & using the queue function (although my tagging of queue posts is inconsistent at best), so it's definitely not personal if I don't reply immediately.

LATEST WORKS:

Reboot | B. B. | M | fluff, established relationship, 500 words Cinderella Magic | S. R. | T+ | fluff, friends-to lovers, 828 words a 3-sentence fic about Steve being a good dad | S. R. | G showing Nat your Halloween costume | N. R. | T+ tempting Steve at a Halloween Party | S. R. | T+ coming home to Steve after a long day | S. R. | G

Latest Sunday WIP Update: 29th of September 2024.

About my writing:

mostly Steve Rogers x Reader and Steve Rogers x OFC (some Bucky Barnes /Reader and Tony Stark/Reader thrown in too!)

Readers that tend to be described as smart, intelligent, slightly socially awkward types that often have STEM-related jobs in-universe.

romance, romantasy, and healthy relationships, usually combined with an action-adventure plot.

Slow Burn, Protective Steve Rogers, Idiots In Love, Mutual Pining, Forced Proximity, Pretend Relationship, Chosen Family, Fluff & Hurt/Comfort, and Fix-Its.

If you were around during the 'Everyone lives at the Tower' era, I never really left that place: Most of my work takes place in an AU where SHIELD fell right after the events of the first Avengers movie, and something called The Avengers Initiative, funded by Tony and strategically led by Steve took its place.

I am a longfic person at heart. For logistical reasons, my really long longfics live on my AO3 - the links on this list that lead to AO3 have a little (AO3) after them. I don't have plans to post all my past work onto tumblr, but my fics on AO3 are open for guests, and guests can leave comments too. I will also make a post on tumblr when I update a story that is on AO3.

HALL OF FAME - my own favorites!

For Centuries (AO3) | Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader | Explicit

As the only daughter of King Howard Stark of Richford, you have always known that you are expected to eventually enter into a political marriage. When King Howard attempts to save his kingdom by marrying you off to the conqueror of half the world, you accept the responsibility bestowed on you. But as you arrive at the court of Emperor Steven the Righteous to be wedded and crowned the Empress of the Centurial Empire, your husband-to-be is not what you expected.

Reader is the daughter of Howard Stark and his second wife, who is not named or described. This is a 'From Political Marriage to Love Marriage' story, featuring lots of romantasy elements, court politics, and protective, righteous Emperor Steve Rogers. The 'Touch her and I'll kill you.' vibes are strong with this one. The slowest of burns.

WIP - 18/x chapters published.

Astronomical Odds (AO3) | Steve Rogers x Reader | Explicit

When you met Steve Rogers, the spark was definitely there, and the way you two hit off made one thing lead to another. But the consequences of that night will reach a lot further than either of you thought. Because now that you're pregnant - despite the astronomical odds - you and Steve need to navigate the situation after having known each other for exactly one night (and the two and a half weeks he spent off the grid on a mission). That wouldn't be an easy thing to do, even if he wasn't a superhero and you weren't trying to become the next Nikola Tesla (or Tony Stark).

So, people really need to stop implying that this is sign you two are meant to be, because honestly, it's just a mess. And Steve really needs to stop proposing to you.

An accidental pregnancy fic with lots of chosen family themes, and Steve and Reader figuring out each other and the upcoming baby situation. Heavy on romance, fluff, and not only Steve but the rest of the Avengers, too, being protective and caring of Reader, who is a literature nerd studying to be an aerospace engineer. Features some discussion of medical realities of pregnancy, and some supersoldier biology related issues.

WIP - 24/x chapters published.

Brilliant Steel (AO3) | Steve Rogers x OFC, platonic Bucky & OFC | Explicit

The AI Head Strategist, Captain Steve Rogers's world implodes as a wave of inexplicable, supernatural events washes over the globe. The blame is quickly pinned on former HYDRA operatives, the recently de-programmed Sergeant James Barnes among them. With no good options left, Steve and Bucky go rogue in an attempt to uncover and neutralize the threat before it swallows the world whole. The problem: the brilliant mind that might be the key to solving all this belongs to a woman Steve once scorned, and she won’t be happy to find him standing at her doorstep.

In an effort to save the world, Steve and Bucky team up with a woman that Steve once thought would be much more than a teammate. In a universe much more vast and stranger than anyone ever thought, they’ll have to learn to rely on each other — wits and gifts and weirdness and all — to keep said world on its rails.

WIP - 5/x chapters published.

LONGFICS

A Fairytale Of A Disaster | Steve x Doctor!Reader | Explicit

Reader has been stood up by her Valentine's Date. Or has she? Romance, fluff, meet-cute, hurt/comfort. WIP, 3/4.

Equinox (AO3)| soft dark mob boss Steve Rogers x superpowered Reader | Explicit

When you’re caught in the crossfires of a war brewing underground, Steve does what he has to. And as you get pulled deeper into his world, it may very well turn out that starlight can scorch, too. A dark romance story about a woman scorned and a man who is so much more than he seems. WIP, 10/x.

Volatile | Steve Rogers x Scientist!Avenger!Reader | Explicit

Reader has been subjected to an aphrodisiac while on a mission. Steve and the medical team attempt to find a solution. Smut with feelings, eventual fluff, eventual happy ending. Complete, 3/3.

ONESHOTS

(Headcanons and drabbles have their separate list HERE.)

Cinderella Magic | Steve Rogers x Reader | Teen and Up Audiences

The entire thing had been like something out of a movie, starting from how Steve – to you just Steve, one of the regulars at the bookshop you ran – had barged into the store yesterday and blurted out that he desperately needed a date. Fluff, romance, friends-to-lovers. 828 words.

Reboot | Bucky Barnes x Reader | Mature

“Oh, what does the gossip magazine say?” Bucky said as he stalked closer and lifted his sunglasses, revealing his dark eyes. Fluff, romance, established relationship. 500 words.

Warmth | Steve Rogers x Chronically Ill Reader | Mature

Steve is the most caring husband and the best heating pad in the world. Even on the bad days when you don't feel easy to love. Hurt/comfort, established relationship, protective Steve Rogers. 1,771 words.

Worthy | Steve Rogers x Reader | Mature

You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a year. When a journalist is out to get you, you will have to stand together and come out stronger. Romance, angst with a happy ending, fluff & hurt/comfort, protective Steve Rogers. Reader has past trauma and unspecified mental health issues. 2,045 words.

(This list is a work in progress and will be updated as I publish more things on tumblr!)

My taglist is open! Drop an ask / reply / reblog and I'll add you on (must be 18+ to join). Let me know if you'd like to be tagged to all fic, Steve fic, just a specific story, etc.

#stella muses on writing #the literary universe of stellarsolarflare #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers au #bucky barnes x reader

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symbologic · 10 months ago

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Will Zoro leave Luffy after they achieve their dreams? Not likely

Saying Zoro's gonna voluntarily leave Luffy at the end of OP so he can "live his own life" (i.e. get married, open a dojo, hang out in bars) is so wild to me. That's like saying Luffy's gonna give up adventuring so he can sit around and gorge himself on meat

First of all, it ignores that Zoro genuinely enjoys traveling with Luffy. Luffy (who's always getting into trouble) gives Zoro the chance to be his best self. And Zoro (who very much wants to be his best self) will always seize that chance with both hands

Second, both characters are like...the poster children of wanting to have their cake and eat it too. If you're Luffy or Zoro, you rarely need to make either/or choices. That's what makes them unique. It's why they've both got conqueror's haki! Basically: If Zoro wants to drink until he blacks out? If he wants to nap all day? Hell, if he wants to get lost in a paper bag?? He is like a big cat. He will do what he wants, wherever he is. He doesn't need to leave Luffy to get those things LOL

Third, Luffy's made it clear the Pirate King needs no less than the Greatest Swordsman by his side. Why would that suddenly stop once they've both achieved their dreams? Is Luffy going to quit being Pirate King? Why would he? Luffy wants to be the most free in the world, so he can live the life he wants...with the people he wants to live it with

In other words, Luffy isn't letting Zoro go without a fight — not unless Luffy genuinely feels he's no longer the type of man Zoro would want to travel with. And wouldn't that be the worst ending for both of them?

#monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #one piece #text post #my meta #zolu #tho just kind of??#keep seeing this take on different platforms and I simply do not understand where it comes from #Whyyyyy would Zoro or Luffy want anything else #when they WORK SO HARD to keep everything they need right beside them?#imo it's very telling that Luffy's response to someone potentially getting married is:#“Great! They can bring their spouse on board!”#I imagine he'd feel the same about children or anything else his crew may want.#Nobody needs to go their separate ways to “live their lives”; not unless the characters' priorities fundamentally change #which happens of course; because people change and that's okay too #AT THE SAME TIME it's so hard to imagine this for characters like Luffy and Zoro #who unapologetically live life on their own terms #are very open about what they want as soon as we meet them #and have ONLY gotten to where they're at because they refuse to make compromises about those things.

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visenyaism · 2 months ago

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im reading fab for the first time. have not read past the first asoiaf book also have only seen like 6 eps of hotd. fab just appealed to me as a history person and i was Engrossed for the beginning. seriously entranced by this fake history. but im losing steam now that im at the dance. maybe its because i already have an idea of it from the tv show but i found the conqueror/maegor/the adventures of jayhairys brood to be much more interesting than the dance civil war so far. rhaenyra is not doing it for me and i think aemond is the opposite of whatever a blorbo is. a hate blorbo.

you want good dynastic succession war you go open up a clash of kings let me tell you that much

#book aemond is so fucking funny #asoiaf

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blueberrypancakesworld · 6 months ago

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A butterfly and a hug

Kinger x fem!circus member

warning : a little emotional, hug/cuddle, imagining things

Summary : Kinger the longest here and the craziest so it was said at least among the members but even if. His devotion to his insects is admirable…but real? A fact that nobody really liked but from the latest adventure she had brought a butterfly to give to Kinger, maybe you will finally get to see his insect collection

Info : Ahhh finally, finally, finally I'm writing for Kinger or the circus is still to come, stay tuned and have fun reading ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shouts of the puppet inhabitants of the Candy Canyon Kingdom could still be heard but everyone could hear the cheers slowly turning into horrible screams. All because of Jax who couldn't resist causing chaos and havoc but that's how he was or at least that's how she knew the purple bunny.

At the thought of what the liquid monster was doing to the inhabitants, the winding key in her back involuntarily spun faster. It's just an adventure…a simulation, she reminded herself as she arrived back on the other side of the circus tent.

She saw that the others seemed relatively okay with it though and were happy to be back and she gave Gangle a smile which the white mask returned at least a little. She had talked to Gangle a bit on the way back after talking to her about anime drawings she had seen.

The mask with the ribbon body was a good drawer and was embarrassed yet proud that someone was interested. But the others also gave each other relieved and somehow reassuring looks.

Pomni gave her a slight wave, they were both among the newest and even though Pomni was only a week behind her, it hardly seemed to make a difference. How was it even a week? They had no sense of time but they had to tell themselves.

Before her eyes fell on Kinger, the chess king, who seemed to be somewhere else again and whose mind was God knows where, she didn't want to shame him for it.

You probably had to create your own little world in this thing to keep from going crazy when he…well, he was somehow and somehow he wasn't. More like a conqueror of his own little kingdom, she thought with a grin and paid attention to the scene that was unfolding with Pomni and the crocodile from the kingdom.

But this crocodile an NPC with a background? But her skepticism and hope for a new member faded as quickly as it had come when all that was left was confetti and Pomni standing beside her. A fact that hung on all of us: Cain did not have power over us, but he could destroy and create our world here. He was like a god, a god with limitations, and perhaps the scarier thing was his nature.

But no matter what happened, after the mourning party was held not only for Kaufmo but also for Guumigoo, she heard the stories of the others and knew that it was a good idea to get closer to the others and maybe take the butterfly with her that was in her room in a little candy cage.

The images, the emotions and even the laughter of what was happening was heartwarming and even Kinger, who was having a clear moment again, seemed to be aware of the situation.

A fact she took advantage of after the party, after placing a plastic flower on the crate and walking with the others towards the slack hall, she waited for some time. Still feeling the inner turmoil about this whole thing her "room" which was a mix of a bed made of building blocks and winding keys on the wall.

It was a strange feeling to somehow be here and still keep her wits about her, but in the end she and the others had a choice? Was there an end? Did it make sense? Questions that made her anxious, questions that led to something worse as she gripped the monkey tighter in her hands…maybe it wasn't all bad.

She got along pretty well with almost everyone, even the asshole Jax, with whom she occasionally joked around before he tripped her up or threw something at her, even if it was just her winding keys. But most of all she had a thing for Kinger the giant chess piece, the crazy one, the cute one, the king or someone she felt a little bit drawn to. She questioned whether these feelings were real, but it was at least a feeling that was better than hopefulness, so why not give it a try?

A gift that he would surely like. Rising from her bed with renewed courage and walking out of the halls, she found herself back in the main hall after a few moments of wandering around, and after some tired wandering around of giant blocks, shapes and other objects, she found the impenetrable fortress as Kinger called it.

A small castle made of pillows where he stayed to either be alone or to protect himself from the outside world, according to him. ,,Kinger? Are you in there?" she asked , tapping the pillows as she felt a little light-headed, but why not join in. It took a moment for Kinger to carefully move a pillow aside when she saw that he either had no idea who she was or didn't know what to do.

,,Hi me-" she began, raising a hand only to be interrupted by him pushing his pillow back into place, ,,Password," he demanded, which only made her more confused. A password so clear and yet unclear. Of course he wants one she thought and shook her head, either she was lucky and he forgot it himself or he was insisting on something that didn't exist.

For a moment, she thought about all the combinations of all the chess moves and was about to take the pillow away again when she paused and looked at the scatter in the cage. ,,Butterfly," she said, staring at the pillow, hoping it was right, when the king suddenly poked his head out of the fortress, ,,What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling her into his little pillow castle where he was kneeling.

Smirking and rolling her eyes at his quick change, she made herself as comfortable as she could and saw that Kinger was apparently busy with something or rather talking to something in one hand. ..Is this one of your insects?" she asked, pointing her doll-like hand at his, could feel the soft fabric of his glove under her wooden fingers and saw that he was turning towards her.

,,One of my favorites, a ladybug, small and cute," he said and she saw in his blue eyes, next to the bloodshot veins, joy that he could talk to her about it.

Before he moved closer, she leaned forward slightly to look into his hand and saw a small beetle made of wood. ,,Well… it's really cute, the dots are pretty," she said quickly and even though she could almost imagine that he saw things his way, she had to admit that the idea that he had a whole display of cute little insects made of wood was cute.

He nodded as best he could and suddenly clasped her hand, ,,Here, watch Lisa, I'll show you the others," he said and turned away, looking under pillows and other stuff for other animals from his collection.

Holding the little beetle in her hand, she listened to the other names and phrases of the big one, who could barely get in and despite everything, she had never seen him so happy.

The way his eyes lit up, the joyful way he moved back and forth to reach for the insects and his surprised expression of curiosity when she handed him the cage, ,,I knew you liked the butterfly rings, I thought it was for the collection," she confessed and looked away a little ashamed not only to have interrupted him but also to have been so directly surprised.

He dropped his "insect" and concentrated solely on the cage in his hands before he opened it and took the pink sugar butterfly, which began to fly around in the bow. ,,That's beautiful…thank you dear," the older man said and before she knew what was happening she felt his hands on her shoulders and a soft cloak as he wrapped her in a hug.

A heartfelt hug, a hug full of thanks and a hug that made her so happy that it made him feel good. He slowly disengaged and his attention turned to his latest possession, which flew back and forth between them.

She smiled at Kinger glad that he was so happy and yet the hand still detached itself from her shoulder on the contrary the longer he counted, the more time passed and the more exhausted she became she eventually closed her eyes for just a moment he sat down next to her to serve as a backrest while a soft warm cloak wrapped itself a little around her, ,,Good night little butterfly" he said blue-eyed before his mind focused back on the sugar insect fluttering around him. A sign of her devotion and a sign that he was far from losing his mind completely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc kinger #tadc kinger x reader #the amazing digital circus kinger #kinger #kinger x reader

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ewanmitchelll · 11 months ago

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Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (X): Long Live.

Imagine you are transported to the past… instants before the legendary battle between Aemond and his uncle Daemon Targaryen occurs. What will you do? Part I.

Warnings: drama, angst, smut—fluff; loosely based on “Outlander”.

Warnings 2: alternative universe concerning the end of “GOT”’s season 8 where Daenerys lives and Jon Snow never killed her, with a more modern take.

Warnings 3: long post.

***

• Current days.

With the war coming to an end and the recent coronation of Queen Daenerys, your life has finally returned to what it used to be… before the threat of the Others, when you were forced to flee from Winterfell to go down South and live with your uncle and aunt all the whilst the rest of your family decided to move to Sunspear, in Dorne.

You start a new life at King’s Landing, taking a course at the Westerosi University, making new friends and even finding a few dates for yourself.

“We should definitely head to Aegon’s Hill”, your friend Margaery says. “There’s a very mystical place, abandoned after the Usurper fell”, she adds in reference to Cersei Lannister’s death by treason.

You hesitate, but what’s there to lose? Security has been restored thanks to the joint efforts of Queen Daenerys and her King Consort, Jaehaerys II after years of civil war plus the madness coming from the north.

“We should celebrate there”, another friend named Lyna adds.

And that is how it all begins. But who could tell what was going to happen?

In the first hours of the morning next you, already dressed in red, black stripes pants and a white, winter like blouse, get your fundamental things in your backpack with an adventure feeling you cannot get rid off.

“And here we go”, you mumble to yourself after getting some coffee.

You hear the sound of a “beeeee”, and you know it’s Margery on the car. You wave a quick goodbye from your aunt and uncle before dropping into it.

“Don’t get yourself too late at home!”, you hear your aunt yelling over her shoulder.

You laugh quietly before yelling back:

“When have I ever failed you?”

And so you are driven all the way to Aegon’s hill, singing a random song seconded by your girl friends.

“I feel so excited about going there”, you, usually the quiet one, find yourself chatty this morning. Is the coffee the cause of it? Maybe. “I was reading about it and rumour has it there are a few enchantments surrounding the stone blocks that remain still.”

“You can’t honestly believe this shit”, Lyna reclines back the backseat and gives you a look. “It’s all mythical. Stories tell us that that hill received the Conqueror’s name because that was where he flew with the great Balerion.”

“But before his arrival there used to be the spot of ancient religions that turned such spot one very meaningful for their practices and all. Aegon himself kept it, aware of its importance”, you honestly don’t know what’s with you, but part of you likes the mysterious aura that place has.

“There is also a legend dated from the days of the Blackfyre rebellion that if you are not careful enough you can be tossed into the past”, says Margaery.

“How past that is, one wonders”, Lyna muses, eventually taking in the idea.

“That depends. The three eyed crow could tell… but it’s been said the man was killed by the Night King.”

You tilt your head as if pondering what the girls are talking about.

“I still can’t believe he died during the war”, you muse out loud.

“He sacrificed for the realm. Apparently he always knew that.”

No one dares to say anything. The Great War is still a sensitive topic to many and your group isn’t an exception to it. Eventually, however, you manage to get to the hill.

It’s large and surrounded by very ancient stones indeed. The beauty in its mysticism makes all the more alluring to you. Something so captivating calls you and, distracted, as if you have been hypnotized, you attend it.

In baby steps you walk, ignoring the bubbling of your friends. A soft hymn, as if played by a harp, is heard.

“Do you hear this, girls?”, you turn at them, missing the mist that rises from nowhere.

But they seem unable to hear you. You try to reach them, especially when the sound of an earthquake scares the hell out of you. You grip tightly the stone, or try to, but it’s when everything spins and you scream.

When your friends turn at you, you are no longer there.

***

• Days of War

I said remember this moment in the back of my mind. The time we stood with our shaking hands. The crowds in stands went wild…

A thunder scratches through the black clouds, roaring it violently. It only announces bad omens. Men paint the soil with their blood in red all the whilst dragons rip skies in cursed fighting.

As it starts to rain, Aemond Targaryen prepares to fight his bitter enemy, confident that he will bring victory to his side. Rhaenyra has been suffering with many losses, betrayals, no one believes her cause anymore.

Dressed in dark green leather, he doesn’t mind the rain that soaks his long silver hair. A twisted, evil smirk is seen as he rests his hand over his sword sheath.

“And here we go, Vhagar”, he mumbles when climbing Aegon’s hill where his dragon, the legendary beast that followed Balerion and Meraxes in the conquest of Westeros many moons ago, awaits.

But it’s precisely when seeing Vhagar agitated and spitting fire that has Aemond startled. What could be the cause of its state? He is ready to run to it when he sees… you.

A scared woman in what he judges to be in her mid 20’s has just tumbled before him. Dressing in strange clothes, your hair is soaked and you shake. You are bloody scared, he can tell, and in other circumstances he’d shoo you away.

However, you not only possess strange objects he’d never seen, but something else that captures his attention. And when you see who’s the man that stands right before you… you remember your history lessons.

And you scream.

Right before you pass out.

“What the fuck?”, Aemond breathes heavily, wide eyed gazing at you. Part of him tells to leave you there, but another cannot. Curiosity takes the best so he forgets the battle for now and carries you with him. “Vhagar, it appears we are delaying the freaking encounter this day. For now.”

Not in the best of the moods, he is, however, intrigued by you. As he flies with you to his secretive spot—away from Alys, he keeps it in mind—, he wonders about your whereabouts and why you dress such unusual clothing. And what’s this object you carry behind your back? A product of witchcraft perhaps?

He narrows his eyes, suspiciously so. But in the midst of this long term war, one thing is for sure: you have brought him back the inquisitiveness that he’s long lost…

***

When you open your eyes, it takes you a few minutes to realize where you are… and when realizing that your clothes are changed, you are forced to acknowledge that whatever happened the day before was not a dream.

You begin to panic when you see your surroundings. You are in a large, comfortable bed with lamb skin made blankets over your frame. The furniture is not as modern as the one your aunt has in her household.

You swallow hard, scanning still your eyes s modest desk, and a simple window. All of this makes you miss the discreet presence of Lord Aemond, who’d been watching you from the side of the chamber you haven’t noticed yet.

“I wonder the cause behind your astonishment”, his husky voice breaks the silence in such a powerful way that you nearly jump out of the bed, which makes the prince amused.

Never before had you stood a royal before, even if this man is not the kindest of his station. You force yourself to remember your history lessons and behave in the most natural way possible.

Therefore you stand and dip into what you judge a careful curtsy. Aemond’s eyebrows are raised, arms folded. But he is no fool.

“You are not from here”, he continues. “Who are you? A very weird spy sent by my dear sister to distract me?”

In other circumstances you’d have laughed out loud. But you are too frightened to do that. Aemond sees you are shaking, a clear sign of fear.

“Well? Has the cat eaten your tongue, my lady?”, he sighs heavily, not the most patient of men.

“I… No, lord. I am not”, never before you’ve been thankful for learning the ways of nobility, aware few of the etiquette has altered in the course of centuries. “I… I am not your sister’s partisan.”

Aemond can tell you speak the truth, but he approaches you, shortening the distance between you two. Then he shows you your backpack and all the things there are still inside.

“What are these then? Are you a witch, lady? Has my sister bought you so you could use such witchcraft against us, against me?”

Part of you finds ridiculous how this is going. Another is trying not to laugh at the face of danger. The reasonable self there is still in you prevails by masking your sentiments, reminding that you need to conquer this man’s trust if you want to go back home.

“If I tell you, lord, you will not believe me”, you opt for the truth. If the prince has long decided to burn you, then what does it matter?

Aemond is surprised by the moment you lift your eyes. Something about your gaze shakes his heart, as if bringing the tempest within. He ignores the shiver that now runs over his spine.

“Try me”, he commmands you to.

“I must have your word that you shall not burn me.”

The prince side smirks at you.

“Do I have the reputation of slaying ladies or sending them to death? Believe me, my lady, my mistress has been associated with dark magic and here I stand.”

Without thinking twice, though, the following words roll out of your tongue:

“But you are renowned as the kinslayer. That speaks for itself.” It’s only then you know you’ve angered the prince. Shit. “I’m sorry, lord.”

“You are my prisoner”, Aemond snaps back at you. “Bear in mind you need my favour if you have any love for your life.”

Your eyes are puddled with tears. Once too proud, you slide to your knees and beg him for your life.

“Lord, I’ve been a victim of witchcraft. I’ve been casted here, that is the truth and only truth. I come from the future and there is where I belong. I’ve never meant to stay in your way. I beg you to spare me, we have no cause for otherwise.”

Aemond’s good eye is slightly wide. He can tell, being a good observer, that you are not lying even if his reason cannot conceive it. On the other hand, what surprises him more is the way you are begging him. He’d taken you as a proud woman. The scene now disconcerts him.

“I must depart. I am needed and…”

You know you should not meddle in the past, aware of the consequences. This is a bad reputed prince, the chronicles helped making you dislike him greatly. However, you depend on him in going back to Aegon’s Hill. Therefore…

“Don’t go. You will die.”

Aemond’s eyebrows raise epically.

“What? Listen to me, young lady. Whomever you may be, sent by my sister or not, you shall better hold your tongue.”

Oh this couldn’t go any worse, could it? You sigh heavily.

“And then what? I need you, lord, to find my way back home. If you die today, I’ll be stuck in here for good.”

“Perhaps then I should have left you to Alys.”

“No!”, something about your cry scares the untamed prince. “Lord, please. I…”

A moment of silence. Neither could believe in what is going right before their eyes. You, stuck in the middle of another war; him, in the presence of what he judges to be a product of witchcraft.

“How should I address my lady?” Aemond opts to begin again.

And when you soften, so does he.

“Y/N, lord.”

“Y/N, I am Aemond Targaryen. Looks like there’s so much to catch on…”

To change the fate of Westeros, he stays.

***

The night you danced like you knew our lives would never be the same. You held your head like a hero on a history book page. It was the end of a decade, but the start of an age.

Aemond’s good eye studies you as you eat like you haven’t been fed for ages. Your hair is still hanging lose behind your back and you are still wearing a pair of delicate earrings he’d never seen before, but all else makes you look like a woman of his own times.

“So the enchantments of Aegon’s Hill are true”, he muses, breaking the silence as he takes a sip of his wine.

“They are, lord.”

“But never heard of a case where they had… succeeded, in fact.” He tilts his head. “What proof can you give me you are actually from there?”

“My objects aren’t proof enough?”

This silences the prince for now.

“I do not think wise to meddle in these events”, you say in turn. “Lord knows what that’d be like for my own days.”

Aemond is intrigued as he watches you pale. Then curiosity knocks his pride out.

“What’s like? The future?”

You wonder if you should tell him. As if he reads you, Aemond adds:

“Eventually I die. I am not asking you how. But your days, lady, I want to know. How better are they from mine?”

Sadness sparks behind your y/c eyes, a sight that inspires sympathy on him.

“Worse, I dare say. I was first raised in a long civil war. And then… another came, worse still. I really have no words to put it.”

“I cannot conceive a war worst than civil war”, says Aemond. “But another civil war bled Westeros?”

“Yes”, you try not to speak too much.

“Fuck”, Aemond grumbles under his breath. “All of this… for nothing?”

Not knowing what to say, you choose silence. And not knowing how to react, Aemond breathes in frustration. He decides to leave you.

And you end up that evening alone. But early next morning, Aemond, too intrigued with your presence to remember to fight his enemies, paces anxiously around the castle. He must know, he needs to know. And when waiting becomes unbearable, you show up.

Dressed in a blue velvet gown, you look properly like a lady of these times even though you cannot mask well your discomfort. Aemond’s own thoughts disappear before the sight of you, feeling so lost, so… out of place.

“My lady”, he doesn’t admit how taken aback he is by your beauty. “I pray you have slept better this night.”

“Not really, I’m afraid”, and your red eyes are a clear sign of how you actually spent your night. Aemond frowns at that, preoccupied. “I shall make my mission taking you home… after the battle that awaits me.”

You should not care, but you feel disconcerted by his presence. The way he looks at you says all.

“I cannot convince you otherwise”, you sigh. “Can you at least leave me at Aegon’s Hill, though?”

A request that defies your sanity, you know well. One that poses your boldly despair very clear. But you are now a survivor struggling to live in such a strange world.

However, Aemond is not willing to let go easily of you. Inspired by mixed feelings, he says:

“You are my prisoner now, remember? I shall keep your secret”, he approaches you slow, shortening the distance between the two of you. “Just tell me how to beat my uncle, how to win this war.”

“Oh Lords”, you find support in the wall. “What kind of question is that? In one moment you…”

“Just tell me!”, Aemond cuts you, rather impatiently.

“I cannot! Lord, if I do, the world I know my disappear.”

He realizes the dilemma you are. Confused by all of this mess, Aemond hesitates.

“Just stay here until I come back.”

Without waiting for any response, there he leaves you, but not to fight Daemon Targaryen. Not now. And you weep because this is all you can do for now.

***

You try to leave the castle, disguised as a peasant, but your plan comes to fail when Aemond comes back and from above, he spots a strange figure running through the woods.

Now here you are, a prisoner again. This time the prince is in a better mood.

“You are really trying to get away of me. In other circumstances, I’d be mad at you for this bluntness”, he muses, offering you wine as you sit in front of the fireplace.

You shoot him a glare, not saying anything.

“What am I to you but a toy so you can play?” Desperation hits a different tone and before you know you burst into tears, swiping away his mug smirk.

After a while, Aemond comes to his senses. He reluctantly takes your hand and when both of you see fingers intertwining, a different heat seems to rise.

“I lament profoundly to cause you pain, lady Y/N”, says he. “But this is who I am. Shouldn’t you know that?”

“I believed in other men’s judgement where you are concerned, but now…”

“Now what?”, he asks, somewhat anxious.

“Now I know in the hard way we should be better than be led by prejudices.”

Aemond leans back in his chair, thoughtful. You realize he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Wise words, lady Y/N.” And then he muses. “I died, didn’t I? We lost this war, didn’t we?”

You avoid his gaze, opting for silence. But your silence screams unspoken words that reach the Prince’s heart. And he sighs, in between melancholy and resignation.

***

The following days you are not entitled as the lord Aemond’s prisoner any longer. Showing some colours in the horizon, hope stands as he presents you as the illegitimate daughter of some nobleman loyal to the green house who’d been deceased in the previous battles.

With a more convincing background, you are better instructed by maids of his trust in the manners of the times. Soon, you are offered a place to serve Queen Helaena.

It’s when you remember that droll tragedy.

“Oh no!”

Aemond raises his eye at you.

“What makes you deny this privilege any lady would kill to earn?”

You blush.

“I mean to say…”, you struggle with words, “I am unfit for such a position.”

“Allow me to disagree with you”, Aemond smiles and suddenly the view pleases your heart very much. “There shall be a ball on behalf of my sister’s birthday this weekend.”

“Will we dance?”, you blurt it out before you realize.

Aemond’s cheeks go pink at your spontaneity.

“Dance, you say”, he muses thoughtfully. “I am no dancer, my lady.”

“We are performers in life. Therefore anyone can be a dancer.”

“Quite a wit you possess”, says he in reluctant admittance. “Very well. If it pleases my lady…”

One smile is enough to turn tables.

“It does.”

And a new fate is sealed.

***

“It doesn’t feel like you are an outsider”, so mumbles Aemond to you alone as you two dance amidst courtiers.

It’s a sweet melody, cheerful somewhat in its beat, certainly bringing many presents a smile on their faces. The Dowager Queen looks pleased and delighted, entertained by her twins. One look at them and you are remembered by the upcoming events.

Oh, the burden of knowing too much. You swallow the bitter thought as you dance with the rogue prince. Earlier the Queen, who had welcomed you in the merriest of the moods, had said no one but a traveler could bring a man as her brother to dance. Her remark, not taken seriously by many, did manage to leave you uncomfortable. After all, you forgot that she had the Targaryen ability of possessing dreams.

“How come?”, you inquire, and it doesn’t take long before your gaze meets his.

He doesn’t strike you as the villain.

“You fit here just fine”, Aemond whispers in response.

As you twirl, hands barely touching his, you feel you are about to fall right into the trap.

“Do you think so?” And then you flash him a mischievous smirk. “Who’d ever thought we could get along?”

“Who, indeed?”

And then the dance comes to an end. Aemond takes your hand and bows, as you curtsy. But when he presses his lips against your skin, your heart races.

It appears you found your hero, after all.

***

Long live the walls we crashed through, how the kingdom lights shined just for me and you. I was screaming, "Long live all the magic we made” and bring on all the pretenders. One day we will be remembered…

It’s late night. Aemond’s thoughts are only on the strange woman who was tossed out of time and space to go straight to the core of the civil war that will be known in posterity as dance of dragons.

He’s been so captivated that he’s long forsaken Mistress Rivers and his obsession in defeating his sworn enemy, his own uncle Daemon Targaryen. Therefore he decides to go after you. Covered by the shadows of night with only the guidance of faint candlelights, he soon finds your bedchambers.

There is hesitation at first. His own thoughts are confused, his heart hammers in silent agony. There is half hope, half atonement in his heart beat.

Nevertheless, he came too far to stop now. So he knocks at long last.

There is no answer at first. And then…

“My lord Aemond”, you are surprised to find him on the other side of the door. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Despite the admonishment in your words, he can tell there is amusement in your eyes.

“Aye. But I couldn’t find myself able to sleep. And neither could you.”

A faint blush paints your cheeks, earning him his typical smirk.

“I wonder if the same thought has been the cause of our restless nights”, he begins, eyeing you up and down, much to your discomfort.

Dressed in your long white nightgown with your hair down in your back, you look as ethereal as your background. There is beauty, but there is also something unknown in your aura. There is a connection between you two.

And you, on the other hand, are more than familiar with the rules of those days you are now inserted. However, are you able to resist this man?

You wait, though. Maybe you’ve figured this out in the wrong way?

“Your silence mortifies me, lady”, Aemond sighs impatiently. “Is this not evidence enough of how I came to love you?”

Your eyes go wide and you almost drop the candle you’ve been holding.

“Aemond… I am hardly the most appropriate woman for you.”

“Titles and lands are nothing for me”, he responds anxiously.

It’s when he takes your free hand into his, locking fingers at last. To feel his warm skin against yours, colder by comparison, gives goosebumps and small shocks as a result. You fear that you are about to lose your control.

“Aemond…”

He steps forward, saying nothing until he closes the door behind him and puts the candle somewhere safe. Only then he holds you against him and finally kisses you like you’ve never been kissed.

And indeed you have never experienced the firm grasp of a man, the decisions of one confident who knows what he wants. You could have never imagined that one of the kind exists and could desire you this much.

Worse perhaps is to discover how long you’ve been dreaming about this. As his lips clash into yours, your morals die unheard. You let him reclaim you, shuddering under his intense grip, his burning touch.

Before you could do anything, though, Aemond lies you on your bed, lifting your skirts to your waist and then…

“Oh, Lord!”, you whimper out loud. “Aemond…!”

This is certainly the best experience you’ve had. And so easily your legs get heavy, that heat comes down your belly and you… burn.

You want to pull him over you, but the messy prince flashes you a side smirk, dropping by your side.

“Do you honestly believe I shall deflower my lady in a most ungallant manner?”, he chuckles as he watches you frown in frustration.

You raise your eyebrows. You hesitate in whether telling him about your previous experiences. Unwise it may be to be honest, but worse is to ignore your conscience’s voice.

“My prince, as much as I appreciate your kindness and respect to me…”

He furrows his eyebrows.

“In my days these matters have changed significantly”, and then you are quick to add. “It doesn’t mean I’ve had plenty of others, though.”

You give up justifying yourself when you watch Aemond struggle with comprehending your point. Eventually, however, he cedes the battle and says:

“I am not an example of morality, I suppose. Even so I stand what I said.”

Your face lightens up.

“You cannot honestly mean…”

“…that I intend to espouse you?”, Aemond scoffs. “Of course I do. It’s a better way to protect you, by the way. These are trying times, my lady.”

That being said, you cuddle onto him, forgetting completely there is a bloody civil war outside and that you are not studying the period anymore, but living it at its fullest.

***

It is often remarked how to achieve peace one must be prepared for war. And in war, few are familiar with good sense.

Whatever are your thoughts about it, your first taste of tragedy comes in the form of revenge. You are just going back from a stroll outdoors at the gardens when screams get at you.

As you rush to the indoors, you are prevented by Aemond.

“You should be better left out of this. Let me resolve it.”

“No”, you protest. “Aemond, I…”

But he isn’t listening. He leaves you there, as if you are a ghost haunting the castle. Your eyes start to get teary as you realize what part all of this is about.

You cover your ears as the screams continue endlessly, echoing in a kind of pain that you’ve been familiar once. The sounds awake old traumas, opening wounds long thought to be healed.

You can’t stay in there. Useless you feel, therefore you motion outdoors. All you do is walk. Perhaps this is the better time to go to Aegon’s Hill. You want to go home, you don’t want to spend any more time there…

However, once you do, you are prevented from doing so by Aemond. The rogue prince, paled with angst, is perplexed at the thought of you gone. Despaired, he comes after you, thankfully not needing to reach Vhagar for that purpose.

“I cannot stay here”, you tell him, body shaking in evident signs of trauma. “Please, take me home.”

“Y/N…”

“Please! I don’t belong here, Aemond!”

“Yes, you do. You belong with me”, he cups your cheeks and then reading your eyes, he denudes your soul, almost if by chance he has a glimpse of the future through you. “Whatever happened there… and whatever happened here are not who you are. Listen to me, Y/N. It’s you and I against the world. I am honestly sorry these are the circumstances we are now in, but we must be brave.”

There are so many words but none leaves your mouth. Aemond embraces you, rocking you in his arms.

“You already knew what was going to happen”, he is not asking a question. “But this is not the reaction one might’ve expected. You are also a survivor… of war. Bloody seven hells, Y/N. I’m very sorry, my lady.”

You melt in his embrace, sobbing as the nightmare of leaving everything behind in the midst of panic and fear strikes you again. You’ve never seen yourself as a survivor, until now.

“Come inside”, he asks you gently. “Don’t go now. Please.”

Never before he was seen vulnerable, but then again so are you. It had been a while since your wounds were so crudely open, left to bleed in such a painful manner. You’d think you overcame it, but not entirely as you’d like to believe.

Here you are, however, comforted by this character whom you were taught to hate all thanks to the chroniclers that registered his bad deeds. Although he may have done such, and you won’t find excuse for his bad reputation, he’s so much more than that, than words written by thirds.

He’s your prince. He’s your hero and you shall not think anymore of it.

***

After these dark days are gone, sun rises in paradise again. Aemond invites you to fly Vhagar with him.

The decision comes after Rhaenyra and her husband Daemon are put off the show for now. The greens hold victory for now, and even you forget the upcoming events.

“I cannot fly her!”, you shake at the thought. “Do you want to see me dead?”

Aemond laughs heartily and the sound of it melts your heart and soothes your mind. He twirls you around him before holding you against his chest.

“Do you trust in me so little that I’d let you slip so easily?”

You giggle.

“I am just not a brave woman you might expect me to be”, so you say, drowning in that good purple eye.

“Oh, dearest. You are a lot braver than you’d judge.”

Saying so, he kisses you on the lips, and you save his taste as you gladly return it.

I said remember this feeling. I passed the pictures around of all the years that we stood there on the sidelines wishing for right now. We are the kings and the queens. You traded your baseball cap for a crown

You cast him a long loving glance as the prince holds your hand, giving you side smirk before leading the way to Vhagar. This ancient beast, a companion to the Westerosi conquest two other Valyrian dragons, seems to read you the moment your gazes meet.

A sight too frightening to behold, one you’ve seen before the moment you were tossed in this time and space. You recollect the fear that shook your bones and froze your reason and this seems to happen again.

“Don’t be afraid. She knows you are with me”, says Aemond in a nonchalant manner.

You nod your head, but Aemond feels your body shaking. He gently pulls you against him and in a matter of seconds you are suddenly mounting that legendary creature.

“Holy cow!”, you scream.

The silver haired prince laughs quietly, before whispering the words in Valyrian to Vhagar start to fly.

“Calm down, love. Don’t be fearful, it’s worse if you do.”

“I am no dragon rider, Aemond”, you snap at him, eyes going wide as Vhagar begins to rise higher, flying in an incredible speed—fast enough according to your judgement and lack of experience where dragons are concerned, not entirely fast when comparing Vhagar to younger dragons like Caraxes, for example.

But all Aemond does is laugh away your fears. He takes your hands, holding them as he shows he’s commanding the situation. Despite your fears, the adrenaline comes at it and so suddenly you are flying higher than getting an airplane to Dorne.

“AEMOND!”

The silver haired finds adorable the way you trust him, holding onto him as if your life depends on him. But he knows you are overcoming a fear of heights and this only grows his admiration of you.

Eventually though, as if Vhagar is sensing your fear, she slows down and only then she settles in a pace that doesn’t fight you. It’s when you risk patting her back, stroking your delicate fingers over the asperity of the creature’s skin.

“Remember this feeling”, he whispers in your ear. “This is what freedom is like. This is what it means to never let anyone hold the reins of your life.”

“I see the lights of Westeros shining for us”, you don’t even know what you are thinking, but these words seem to make sense for you.

“They are”, Aemond spots the fire pits in towers where orange flames wipe away the fog that instaure that evening. “But you shine the brighter, my dear.”

You blush violently at his words. Never before you felt so loved and understood. Slightly turning your head, and locking gazes with him, you tell this silver haired prince open words regarding your heart.

“I love you, Aemond. Truthfully, I do. I only shine brighter because of you.”

His wide gaze shows no emotion, perhaps skeptical about the genuine feeling you put in them. But Aemond knows you are sincere and this moves him more than he admits.

Locking his arms around you, he kisses you before saying:

“I love you.”

And this is enough for you.

***

You are married in secrecy to a man whom history despises being the kinslayed. His vices are listed perpetually in dust parchments, used as propaganda to disperse any honesty there might’ve colored the shades of the green party that ruled Westeros for a short period of time.

But you see his virtues that no chronicler bothered to see and those overcome the former in a colorful prism of human being.

Daeron Targaryen, his younger brother, is the only witness of the ceremony.

“Welcome to the family, my lady Y/N. In other circumstances, this would be a merry and most favorable occasion.”

“My brother, this matters little. I appreciate the warm wishes, though, and I bet better days are about to come.”

Aemond is pleased to see how well you and his family get along. When one lives history, easily it is to forget it. And so it goes.

When you are taken to his privy chambers, who’d think this was when history is about to change?

“You look so beautiful. Astonishingly so.”

“You make sparks fly”, you smile at him, taken by handsomeness, hands stroking his long silver hair before holding his face. “I adore you, my prince.”

It starts slowly. Your tongue pairs perfectly with his, in one same passionate rhythm. Only then impatience rises when the heat begins to burn.

Your hands start to undress him, automatically moving down to his leather pants.

“Let me show you my devotion”, you break the kiss to whisper in his ear.

Aemond hisses under his breath, eyes closed as he already reacts to your caresses. Your lips leave traces of warm kisses from his neck to his shoulders, going down to his belly and then… you kneel to say your prayers.

But he is now devouring you like a hungry man, starving for your soul. His lips on your nipples do wonderfulness. You roll your eyes, moaning softly as your hands play with his hair.

When his skillful fingers find way to your core, you know you are lost. Aemond smirks at how loud you can be, this arousing him further.

“Hmm, my darling”, he raises to meet your mouth, clashing it in a fervent kiss, therefore muffling your lustful cries.

And right as you come undone, he doesn’t wait any longer. Sliding right inside you, you open your eyes, somewhat pleasantly surprised by his intensity.

“Aemond!”

He could not tell whether you are moaning or complaining.

“Yes?”, he groans as starts to move inside you.

“You… are… so… fucking good!”

The prince laughs at your cursing.

“My lady, watch your tongue”, says he in such a malicious way that you feel you could come undone right now.

“Aemond, you devil”, you whimper, legs locked as you begin to move as one.

He smiles down at you, holding your hands above your head. As you kiss, you meet a heavenly bliss.

***

War, however, comes back in unsafe and soundly steps. You, merged in domestic happiness, allowed yourself to forget that in great delights await greater sorrows.

Thirty days after your marriage, to your surprise you find yourself conceived. You want to tell him in the ways your prince likes: flying Vhagar. By now you and this ancient beast have somehow gotten used to each other’s presence.

“May we fly together this evening, husband?”, you ask him, trying not to sound too eager.

Aemond somehow senses you are different. But he cannot tell what exactly is.

“For someone who feared Vhagar, you’ve become quite a dragonrider.”

This day you are breaking fast with your husband’s family, now pleasantly aware of your secret matrimony, notwithstanding Ser Otto’s initial disapproval.

You giggle quietly.

“That is what marrying to you means, is it not?”

Aemond laughs quietly.

“Why, my darling, I could never refuse you anything.”

“Just be mindful you two”, muses the Dowager Queen Alicent, distracted. “It’s cloudy today.”

***

May these memories break our fall. Will you take a moment? Promise me this. That you'll stand by me forever. But if, God forbid, fate should step in and force us into a goodbye, if you have children someday when they point to the pictures. Please tell them my name. Tell them how the crowds went wild. Tell them how I hope they shine…

How could you know what was about to happen then? You are excited to share the news, believing this is the best scenario you could’ve pictured.

Dressed in proper robes, you follow Aemond excitedly and when greeting Aemond with your characteristically sweetness, he snorts and says:

“Who could’ve known we’d come to this? You turned my dragon war in domesticated dog, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes at his teasing.

“Don’t be silly, Aemond. She needs love and caring like every animal”, you smile. “As well as respect.”

“I wonder at times if you are real.”

You turn your head slightly at him as you two prepare to ride.

“Why wouldn’t I be, my love? You are my husband, or am I mistaken? Have you been with Mistress Rivers ag…”

He interrupts you by kissing you passionately. And right there Vhagar roars through the air. You feel as if you’ve been electrified. And the look in your face awakes the best of him.

“I love you, woman.”

But every happiness dies when skies grow darker and Vhagar’s roar sounds different. Aemond frowns his eyebrows.

“Shit. There’s something wrong”, he is quickly alert.

You, focused in telling him about your state, begin to grow afflicted when remembering that that battle between him and Daemon Targaryen didn’t happen the way it should.

You interfered.

Fuck.

“Aemond, honey…”

Wind blows colder, it announces storm. He begins to drive Vhagar lower, flying higher as darkness sweeps away the last rays of light. You try not to panic, but by the looks on your prince, you are promptly a victim to it.

“I’ve ruined everything. I shouldn’t be here. I messed all.”

“Don’t say that”, Aemond doesn’t have a clue of what you are trying to say, but he is already familiar with your background to prevent your insecurity to meddle in it. “You have been the best thing to happen to me…”

Before you have the time to answer him, a different roar echoes through the thundering clouds.

You know where it comes from. You know the one behind him.

And you are at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

“Aemond!”

“Nothing will happen to you, this I swear”, but then he adds, without looking at you. “If, however, something happens to me…”

“Don’t!”

He continues as if you hadn’t protested.

“…never forget how you turned me into a better man. I am unworthy of the Seven Heavens, but I tasted a bit of sacred forgiveness when you loved me. You redeemed me of my sins, my lady, even when I was a miserable. Move on as you should. But never forget me. Or us.”

“Aemond!”, you cry because you remember the result of this battle, and worse is now the effect of his words. “I love you!”

There is so much to be said, but you cannot. Time steals you from him. As Aemond and Daemon faces each other, the prince tries to find a way to save you.

However, no dragon flees from battle. But because Caraxes is faster, it soon attacks Vhagar. It’s right here that, above Aegon’s hill, every shadow eclipses the sun.

It’s right here that in midst of it all, you fall. It happens too fast. Aemond is trying to fly away, but Vhagar doesn’t obey him again. It soon responds Daemon’s Caraxes offense with another.

But when Vhagar gets bitten in the neck, the ancient dragon loses balance for a moment and right here a storm wind knocks you out.

Aemond screams, trying to save you, but you refuse to be saved. You are still in tears, judging to see him attacked by Daemon when the spells of time engulf you.

‘These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die like fire and powder…’

To be continue…

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #house targaryen #prince Aemond Targaryen #lord Aemond Targaryen #lord Aemond #aemond targaryen smut #taylor swift #speak now (taylor’s version)#long live

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bumblesimagines · 2 years ago

Text

When Fire Meets Fate

Part 5

Request: Yes or No

~~~

He watched the rain belt against his window, the sound echoing in his ears. The weather heavily reflected his sisters' mood for King Viserys had stripped their father of his title and sent him back to Oldtown. The news had replayed over and over in his head. Rhaenyras' promise, the knowing look in her eye before she entered the carriage. She'd gotten rid of his father but her freedom as an eligible lady had been taken. His father hadn't been lying when he'd spoken of Ser Laenor. But better him than a Lannister. He found peace in knowing she'd wed someone she knew well.

(Y/N) turned his head when the doors creaked and his sister entered the room, water dripping from her hair and onto her face. Her skin had been covered in a light sheen, the rain having turned her dress a shade darker. "Alicent.." He breathed, moving from the window and to his bed. He pulled one of the smaller blankets from it and approached her but she shoved his arms away, eyes filled with tears.

"You should've been there." She hiccuped. "You should've been there to bid him farewell before his journey." The trip to Oldtown would be a long one, filled with many stops and roads. But their family, their father, had made the journey countless times before. Otto knew the way well enough to avoid danger, they both knew that.

"He'll be fine, Alicent." He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, rubbing the fabric against her arms. Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he led her to the fireplace and sat her down on one of the chairs, hand stroking the back of her soaked head. Alicent wiped at her wet cheeks with the blanket, staring into the crackling fire.

"Father told me you knew about Rhaenyras' ventures," Alicent revealed quietly. "What did she tell you?" Alicent asked, shifting in the chair to face him and pulling the blanket further over her shoulders.

"She told me nothing happened between her and Prince Daemon." (Y/N) answered, resting his arm on the top of her chair and gazing down at her. Alicent hummed softly, still looking rather unconvinced. (Y/N) combed his fingers through her brown locks. "Rhaenyra is smart, Alicent. But she's young. It is only natural that someone like her wanted the thrill of an adventure before being married off."

"But in the Street of Silk? With Prince Daemon? He knows no bounds, (Y/N). I... I almost cannot..." Alicent pressed her lips together, head shaking lightly as she looked away from him and back at the fire, the orange flames reflecting in her eyes. "The Targaryens are known for their... queer traditions. Aegon the Conqueror took both his sisters to wed as did King Jaehaerys. Prince Daemon is a stubborn and calculating man but I believe he cares greatly for his brother. I am just not sure if he cares about him enough to forget about the throne. He already showed his discontent with Rhaenyra being heir once. He does not seem like the type of man who forgives easily."

"If you cannot trust him, trust Rhaenyra." (Y/N) said softly, gently touching her chin and rubbing his thumb along her jawline. Alicents' eyes softened, a breath escaping her as she relaxed. She reached up, delicately taking his hand in hers and holding it with both hands. Her skin felt cold to the touch.

"Father said you knew before him and yet, it was quite early in the morrow when he received the news." She muttered, running her finger over the lines on his palm. "When did Rhaenyra tell you, Brother?"

"When she returned."

"During the hour of the owl?" Her head snapped up, eyes widening. She abruptly rose from her seat, the blanket slipping from her shoulders as she released his hand. Alicent stared at him, mouth agape and eyes flickering between his. "Did you-"

"No, Alicent. I did not compromise Rhaenyra. I am her closest friend and she simply wished to tell me all about her venture into the city while it lie fresh on her mind. The events of the night caught up to her and she bid farewell. Nothing happened between us." He reached out but Alicent took a step back, legs bumping against the short round table next to the chair. (Y/N) dropped his arms to his side in disbelief, brows furrowing.

"Alicent-"

"Rhaenyra cares much for you and she can be quite convincing..." Alicent whispered, chest rising and falling as her breathing quickened. (Y/N) stepped forward, arms wrapping around her shoulders. His twin buried her face in his neck, fingers weakly grabbing at his shirt.

"Rhaenyra is to be wed, Alicent. Is she not on her way to meet with her new husband as we speak? I may have an encounter here or there but I view Rhaenyra the same way I view you. And whatever feelings you believe she may have for me will disappear once she and Ser Laenor wed. He's quite a sweet man, I hear." A sweet man who was said to prefer the company of men over women. But (Y/N) had his fair share of experiences with men and Rhaenyra still fell into his line of sight. Even if the thought of her marrying someone else made a bitter taste settle in the back of his throat, (Y/N) couldn't allow himself to be connected to the throne. Not after what it did to his parents and their marriage.

"Apologies, I... I'm feeling dreadfully tired, (Y/N)." Alicent whispered, pulling back and sighing softly, her bottom lip quivering. She inhaled, smoothing back her hair before kissing his cheek. Alicent stepped back and retrieved the blanket from the floor, setting it down on the chair and taking another breath. (Y/N) followed her to the door, stepping out into the hallway and bidding her goodbye. He watched her walk away, the ends of her dress still damp enough to leave a trail on the floor. Hearing someone clear their throat, he turned his head to look at them. Ser Harwin Strong, or Breakbones as some called him, stood tall and wore a small grin despite his words. Despite his reputation as the strongest man in all of the kingdoms, his soft bouncy hair and sweet eyes made it hard to be intimidated by him.

"A rather dull day we're having, is it not?" Ser Harwin tilted his head slightly, curls bouncing off his temple. "Quite reflecting of what's occurred. You must be deeply saddened by the news of your fathers' departure."

"And you must be thrilled by your fathers' new position. I'm sure Lord Lyonel will prove to be a good Hand to King Viserys." (Y/N) faced the knight completely as he spoke. Ser Harwin gave a cheeky smile. The type of smile he'd seen Rhaenyra wear countless times before whenever she caught his full attention. (Y/N) eyed him for a moment before nodding toward the inside of his room.

"Cup of wine, Ser Harwin?"

"That'd be lovely, M'Lord." The lack of hesitance from the man made (Y/N)s' brow quirk and he entered his bedchambers, approaching the table that held the wine. Pouring a cup for the knight, he turned and reached out, feeling Ser Harwins' fingers brush against his hand and linger, almost as if waiting for (Y/N) to react. (Y/N) met his gaze and pulled his hand back, watching the knight look over his room in mild curiosity.

"It's a shame we haven't had the chance to converse before, Ser Harwin. I've heard much of your reputation." (Y/N) poured himself a cup as well, bringing it to his lips and drinking. Ser Harwin smirked, licking his lips and looking down at his cup, swirling around the wine.

"I could say the same for you, M'Lord. The Boy Who Never Smiles... Quite the title." Snorting softly, (Y/N) couldn't help but roll his eyes. The title had stuck in court for far too long. He'd hear newcomers whispering about it as if it held any real significance to him. It was just a title some lord or lady had given a grieving child for not being friendly enough.

"I smile on the occasion." He muttered and a soft chuckle escaped the tall knight. Ser Harwin lowered himself onto a chair and set his cup down, eyes trailing up to look at the painting of the late Lady Hightower. He grimaced, vaguely remembering the grim days before and after her death. The whispers of the unconsolable twins and their father who could just barely keep himself together. The murmurs of Otto attempting to juggle his duties and being a father, appearing to fail on the latter. Ser Harwin had seen the Hightower twins here and there, only beginning to see more of them when they grew closer to the royal family.

"How did you come to befriend the Princess?" He asked, resting back against the chair. (Y/N) turned toward the window, leaning against the cool stone wall, the cup still in hand.

"I did not have much of a choice. She simply began following me around and talking until I responded." Ser Harwin laughed at his response. Stubbornness was a trait all Targaryens seemed to inherit, so to hear Rhaenyra had simply refused to leave the boy alone until he befriended her... "I enjoy her company. Most people here view me as... rude. I'm not well-liked, I suppose."

"I quite like you." Ser Harwin murmured, smiling at him. "Most people here are arrogant and have no sense of loyalty. You seem... different from them."

"Is this your way of trying to befriend me, Ser Harwin?"

"Is it working, M'Lord?"

"Perhaps."

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Joining Alicent on the balcony, (Y/N) stood beside her and looked down at the light gray carriage. Servants and guards surrounded it, watching King Viserys exit. Alicent flinched upon seeing the king crumble to the floor, servants quickly flocking to him as Lord Lyonel hollered for the maesters. He'd left for Driftmark in perfectly fine condition and yet arrived looking paler than a ghost. Perhaps the waves of the sea had been particularly unforgiving. Not many had the stomach for them. Alicent remained silent, uncharacteristically so. He'd expected her to fret over the Kings' condition but her face hadn't changed in the slightest. As much as (Y/N) wished to brush her behavior off as exhaustion from the events of the week, his gut told him it was something else.

"Are you alright, Alicent?" (Y/N) asked softly, resting against the railing and watching her. She ran her hand over the skirt of her blue dress and silently nodded, turning away from him and walking into the hall. (Y/N) frowned, pushing himself away from the railing and following her inside.

"Fetch Ser Criston Cole for me, please." She ordered a servant, lifting the front of her dress, and descending the stairs. (Y/N)s' brows only furrowed and he continued down the stairs, watching his sister disappear down the hall. Her unreadable face, her tone filled with a hint of bitterness and anger. Had she found out about the maid? Had their father written to her about what he'd heard from that night? Or had Rhaenyra lied about what occurred between her and Daemon? He didn't have time to go after her, hearing the clacking of metal against the floor.

"(Y/N)!" Rhaenyra called out, lifting her dress and hurrying past the guards, a wide gleeful smile on her face. She released the sides of her dress once she stood in front of him, soft pants escaping her and eyes twinkling. Her fingers twitched and she stepped closer, almost as if she wanted to envelop him in a hug. But her excitement had already gotten too much attention.

"I assume this means you like your soon-to-be husband?"

"Oh, yes. He and I understand each other very well." Rhaenyra breathed, combing down her hair with her fingers before linking her arm around (Y/N)s' and pulling him into a walk. Swallowing, she leaned her head toward him.

"We've granted each other the freedom to be with whoever we wish as long as we do our duty to the realm." She explained in a low, quiet tone to avoid being overheard by a nosy servant or lord. "It is true that he prefers the company of men over women but we're both willing to do what we must for the realm and keep ourselves content with those we truly care about."

"And who would that be for you, Nyra?" (Y/N) questioned, and Rhaenyras' lips spread into a smirk, chuckling softly.

"I'm sure you already know." She murmured, looking forward. "Did you miss me whilst I was gone?"

"I replaced you with Ser Harwin Strong." (Y/N) answered, grinning down at her. Rhaenyras' brows raised and she hummed, giving a nod of approval. She'd briefly encountered Ser Harwin a number of times, though she knew little of him apart from what stories and rumors told. He remained unmarried despite his status and age, though one could assume his inheritance had something to do with that. Most of Westeros knew of the Harrenhal curse and how many of the families that resided within it perished not long after acquiring it.

"Have you made him your Sworn Shield? You'd be the safest lord in all the kingdoms."

"I am not in need of one, Nyra. I may not be popular in court but I've made no enemies thus far."

"No enemies that you're aware of." Rhaenyra lifted her brows, hand raising to grasp his bicep and give it a tender squeeze. "It's better to be safe than dead." She added, her other hand wrapped around his wrist, fingers grazing the skin of his palm. She refrained from appearing too affectionate, she was newly engaged after all. In the coming days, the castle would be readied for the festivities and she'd soon be the wife of Ser Laenor. The wife of someone she considered a friend but not the wife of the one she truly desired.

"I appreciate the worries, Nyra. But, your father-"

"Father grew terribly seasick during the trip. The maesters will take good care of him." Rhaenyra brushed it off, though her brow creased and the corners of her lips tugged down. Clearing her throat, she looked up at him. "And what of Alicent? I didn't see her when we arrived."

"She's been feeling unwell. As you know, Father left for Oldtown not long ago. It brought her great sadness to see him go on such short notice."

"I see..." Rhaenyra frowned, nails gently scraping at the cloth covering his skin. She sighed and released his arm, keeping a hold of his wrist to stop his movements. She swallowed, biting the inside of her cheek before tilting her head up. "Promise you won't leave my side. Even after I wed and... undoubtedly have children. I've seen many women be cast aside and forgotten after they wed and provide their husbands with children. My mother was a bright and caring woman but she had few friends. Alicent is on a similar road. I... I do not want that to be me. So, promise me you'll be by my side, please."

"I promise, Nyra."

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

(Y/N) watched from his seat as the Lannisters entered, followed by the Hightowers. He rose, sparing a glance toward the two blank-faced Targaryens as Jason Lannister approached them to offer his congratulations. Rhaenyra stared at him in mild irritation, glancing at her father in disbelief every few seconds. The Lannisters seemed to have a knack for making a fool of themselves without realizing it. An admirable talent indeed. A man breezed past House Hightower, stepping up to speak with King Viserys and Rhaenyra. Annoyance oozed off his uncle at the interruption, even more so when the drums sounded off to signal the arrival of House Velaryon. His family stepped out of the aisle and approached him, his aunt beaming at the sight of him.

"It is good to see you, Nephew." Claere cooed, cupping (Y/N)s' cheek with a tender hand and warm eyes. His uncle, Hobert Hightower, addressed him with a far from impressed look, lip nearly curling in disdain. His disobedience had landed him in rough waters with the rest of the Hightowers. Another slip-up and they'd surely view him as the disgrace of the family. Claere stroked his cheek with her thumb, bumping her arms against her husbands'. She glanced at him, brow quirking.

"Your father sends his regards," Hobert said bitterly, brushing past him to take a seat. Claere sighed softly and followed him, taking a seat beside him. Their son patted (Y/N)s' arm as he stepped by, taking his seat as well. (Y/N) sighed, lowering back down onto the chair and reaching for his cup of ale.

"Lord Corlys of House Velaryon. Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark. And his lady-wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. And their son and heir, Ser Laenor Velaryon. The future king consort." Ser Harrold announced as the family glided into the room, heads held high and proud. They were each individually clad in black and gold in comparison to King Viserys' and Rhaenyras' white-colored attire. The guests rose from their seats, clapping their hands and watching the family bow to them. Ser Laenor stepped forward and Rhaenyra approached him, allowing him to take her hand and kiss the back of it.

"Where is your sister?" Hobert leaned over to ask quietly, sitting down once the Velaryons took their places at the table.

"Still getting dressed, I presume." (Y/N) answered, glancing toward the doors. A figure dressed in black entered the room, causing the guests to fall silent. Prince Daemon strolled up to the table, greeting his brother with a bold smirk. His brother narrowed his eyes but nevertheless motioned for a servant to bring a chair and plate for the exiled prince. King Viserys sighed softly and forced a smile, addressing the room.

"Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning. We honor the crown's oldest and fiercest ally, House Velaryon, reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the Age of Dragons. With House Targaryen and Hou-" King Viserys cut himself off, staring forward at the entrance of the room, mouth nearly agape. Following his gaze, (Y/N) felt his throat tighten, watching his sister enter the room. Not only in one of their mothers' dresses, but wearing an all too familiar shade of green. Hobert and Claere quickly rose as did the rest of House Hightower and the other guests. Alicent kept her gaze forward, only turning her head to smile at her family. She took her place at the table, planting a kiss on her husband's cheek.

Clearing his throat, King Viserys nodded. "Please be seated." He commanded, glancing in the Hands' direction and fingers brushing against Rhaenyras' arm. "With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros." King Viserys paused to allow everyone to clap before resuming his speech. "And after tonight's small affair, seven days of tournament and feasting. At the end of it all, a royal wedding, between my daughter, the heir.. your future queen, and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the heir to Driftmark."

With that, he took his seat and Rhaenyra rose from hers. She and Ser Laenor took to the middle of the room and began their dance, arms mimicking the wings of dragons. Her eyes met (Y/N)s' a few times before she finished the dance with a bow, an invitation for those who wished to dance to join the couple. (Y/N) stood, slipping through the guests as they got into position and coming to a stop before Lady Byrch. The raven-haired woman grinned at him, striding toward him as the music picked up and the dance began.

"You've yet to return my book, Lord (Y/N)." She reminded quietly, hands resting on his shoulders when he picked her up by the waist. (Y/N) felt eyes burning into the side of his skull and he noticed the white of Rhaenyras' dress in his peripheral.

"Perhaps I hoped you'd showed up asking for it so I could... convince you of letting me keep it." (Y/N) responded cooly and she chuckled, a strand of hair slipping out of her tied when she landed back on the ground. She trailed her hand down his arm, coyly smiling before whirling around to dance with the nearest man. Looking in Rhaenyras' direction, he spotted her glaring in Lady Byrchs' direction. Repeating the dance with a new lady, Lady Byrch came into his field of vision again when it was time to change partners. She stepped toward him only for Rhaenyra to slip in between them, hands grasping at his arms and pulling him away from the woman.

"What was that?" (Y/N) questioned when Rhaenyra stopped, hands slipping from his arms to his wrists.

"What was what?" Rhaenyra asked with feigned innocent, batting her eyes and tilting her head for full effect.

"I was enjoying her company-"

"But you'd enjoy mine more." Rhaenyra interrupted with a grin, stepping closer to him. Her nails lightly grazed his skin and she stepped closer, barely allowing any space between them. In a room full of crowded people, in a room with her father and his family, Rhaenyra found herself not caring about them or their judgment. "There is still time, (Y/N), although the hours pass swiftly. I may have been granted freedom in my marriage but it will not be the same. You can be mine. You should be mine."

"But I am not yours, Princess." (Y/N) cooed, fingers brushing against her cheek. Her hands pressed against his abdomen, inhaling deeply as he gently grabbed her chin and kept her chin tilted up toward him. Only an inch or two of space between them that Rhaenyra desperately wanted to close. But before she could curse it all and claim his lips, a scream broke out, separating the two briefly before they were suddenly shoved together by the crowd. People moved in all directions, some trying to break free and others wishing to see what was happening. The two were shoved out of the way and into the sidelines, pinned against the table until Ser Harwin broke through the crowd, swiftly heaving Rhaenyra over his shoulder and grabbing (Y/N)s' arm. Ser Harwin pushed, punched, and shoved his way through once more until they reached the front.

"Brother!" Alicent quickly rounded the table, hurrying down the steps and narrowly tripping over herself. She cupped his face, inspecting it for marks, soft pants escaping her. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" She questioned, looking him over repeatedly. (Y/N) rubbed his side and nodded, looking back toward the dispersing crowd and finally witnessing what had caused the panic and commotion. In the middle of the room lied a beaten body and a weeping Ser Laenor hovered over him.

"Perhaps it'd be best if... If we did not wait." King Viserys breathed, leaning against the table and holding a cloth to his face. Corlys and Rhaenys glanced at each other, sharing a nod before Rhaenys approached her son, reaching down to rub his back and speak quietly to him. Lord Lyonel ordered a servant to fetch the High Septon and (Y/N) took a seat, feeling a prickle of pain from his side.

"Are you certain-"

"I'm fine, Alicent. Nothing more than a bruise." He assured her, watching Rhaenys coax her son away from the deceased. Laenor continued weeping, even as he walked away from the body and stood in front of Rhaenyra. What had been meant to be a lighthearted celebration had turned into a grim day. The body of the knight was retrieved and the High Septon arrived, beginning his speech. (Y/N)s' eyes couldn't help but turn toward the puddle of blood and bits of brain coating the ground. The sound of Rhaenyra and Laenor exchanging their vows felt distant and only the sight of King Viserys falling over pulled his attention away from the gruesome sight. Those standing present to witness the exchanging of vows flocked to his side, calling his name and shouting for maesters.

Getting up from the chair, (Y/N) stepped toward them, gently pulling his sister back and away from King Viserys as guards and maesters rushed into the room. "He needs to be treated elsewhere." He whispered as the guards heaved up the fallen king, taking him away from the room. Lord Lyonel followed, continuing to shout for maesters.

"I know this is not what we envisioned for this day." Rhaenys breathed, gaze lingering on the door. "But we must continue." She turned toward her new daughter, forcing a small smile for her. Rhaenyra remained kneeling on the floor, strands of white sticking out from her braided hair. Her eyes rose, meeting (Y/N)s'.

"Come, Brother," Alicent muttered, blocking his view of Rhaenyra and taking his arm. "The Princess must be prepared for tonight and I want a maester to check on you." She looped her arm around his, staring straight forward and pulling her brother along. She grimaced as they passed the puddle of blood, carefully stepping around the chunks laying around it. (Y/N) made no move to protest, clutching his side and leaning against his sister. She brought him to her room, having a maid fetch a maester as he collapsed down on the chair.

"I love you, (Y/N). I love you dearly for I am your sister. Please, do not lie to speak. Speak plainly and only of the truth. What feelings do you truly harbor for Rhaenyra?"

"I already-"

"I saw you!" Alicents' voice raised into a shout, the sound bouncing off the walls as the door creaked open. The maester glanced between the two, clearing his throat and entering the room. (Y/N) stared at his sister, lips pressing together as an annoyed hum left his throat. The older man bowed his head, murmuring his greetings.

"My brother was injured during the feast," Alicent explained breathily and the maester nodded. He approached (Y/N) and waited for him to discard his upper clothing, leaving only his undershirt. Alicent turned away from them, nails picking at her thumb as she calmed her breathing. The maester inspected his side, gently prodding at the darkening skin.

"It appears to simply be a bruise. I suggest avoiding the training grounds and taking a day's rest. You should feel better in the coming days, but on the chance the pain worsens, call for us." The maester advised, turning toward Alicent and bowing again before he departed the room. Silence fell over the twins, only the sound of the howling wind filling the room.

"I saw you and Rhaenyra," Alicent whispered, breaking the silence and facing her brother, though her gaze remained on the stone floor. "During her wedding feast, you..." She trailed off, swallowing and dropping her hands to her side. The brunette lifted her head and met his eyes, taking a step toward him.

"I want you to stop seeing Rhaenyra. She is not good for you, nor ever will be."

"Alicent-"

"Rhaenyra may not have coupled with her uncle that night but her maidenhead was indeed taken. She pursued her Sworn Shield, Ser Criston Cole after she returned from the city. I called on him in hopes of easing my worries of that night. He believed I knew beforehand and confessed the sins he and Rhaenyra committed. Rhaenyra is not the girl I used to know therefore, I've decided it is best you refrain from being in her company." Not a hint of uncertainty coated her tone. His sister held her head high, showing her firmness in her decision. "Whatever feelings you may harbor for her are obviously not returned."

"Whether she fucked Ser Criston or not... It doesn't really concern nor bother me. I've lied with many... I'd be a hypocrite to be angered by such news. Rhaenyra has also asked me repeatedly to wed her and I believe she's asked him a total of zero times, so it appears she has some feelings for me." (Y/N) used the armrest to push himself up, collecting his discarded attire. Alicent stared at him, lips parting and closing.

"It does not matter now, Brother. She is a married woman. As we speak, she is preparing for her first night with her husband."

"A husband we both know has no interest in her."

"Are you hearing yourself?!" Alicent closed the distance between them, only stopping a foot away from him. "(Y/N), you cannot pursue Princess Rhaenyra. Her father would have your head for it, that is if Lord Corlys doesn't reach you first. Since when have you been so reckless? So selfish as to put yourself in danger and put our family in danger of scorn?"

Scoffing, (Y/N) glared at his sister. "You call me selfish when I've spent my whole life caring for you. Since we were born, every day of my life has been dedicated to watching over you, protecting you. It's been expected of me from everyone! My whole childhood revolved around you. I've tried my hardest to protect you from vile men and selfish women. I've tried to keep you from seeing the horrors of the lands we call home. Whenever you learned something a lady shouldn't know, I was blamed for not doing better. I love you, Alicent. I would lay my life down for you. But I am done with you and our family viewing me as a disappointment when all I've done is try to balance my happiness with their wishes. Mother's death allowed me to see our father in a different light. I realized I took on his duty of being a father after she passed. I was the one by your side when you felt unwell, I was the one helping you with your studies, I was the one who made sure you knew all the dances."

Feeling his eyes water with fresh tears, (Y/N) took in a deep breath. "But you are woman-grown. You are a queen and a mother. I cannot change your mind, especially when it comes to Father. So, I am done being the man he should've been. You are no longer my responsibility, Alicent."

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