#FIRE AND BLOOD

[wweskywalker]

“Princess Daella, the next oldest, was delicate and shy. Easily frightened and quick to cry, she did not speak her first word until she was almost two, and even thereafter was tongue-tied more oft than not.”

[becauseofreasons19]

So beautiful ❣️

Valyrian sacrament, because why not? Halloween is near, and November, too💙

[novaursa]

The Northern Heart (1/2)

- Summary: Your father, King Robert, gives your hand to Eddard's oldest son. A decision that might change the future of the North.

- Paring: baratheon!lannister!reader/Robb Stark

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The journey north had been long and tiring, and the wind was colder than you’d imagined. Winterfell loomed ahead, dark stone against an overcast sky, its towers casting jagged shadows. The North was starkly beautiful in a way the warm halls of the Red Keep could never match. You adjusted the fur-lined cloak clasped at your neck, the black of House Baratheon contrasting with the lion clasp, a quiet nod to the Lannister blood that ran through you, though it was not yours to display openly.

Your mother, Cersei, rode beside you, her green eyes scanning Winterfell with an air of disdain barely hidden beneath her serene mask. She sat tall, ever the queen, her golden hair gleaming in the pale sunlight. Your brothers, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, rode behind, their bright golden heads standing out against the muted grays of Winterfell’s walls. And your father—no, King Robert—was ahead, already bellowing greetings at the sight of the Stark family awaiting them in the courtyard.

As the procession slowed to a halt, you dismounted gracefully, though your legs ached from days of riding. Your mother’s eyes swept over you, a flicker of approval in them as you adjusted your cloak, falling in line with her and your siblings. As Robert strode forward, eager to greet his old friend Eddard Stark, you remained back, your place clear beside Cersei. You caught her eye, and she offered a subtle nod, a reminder to stay poised, as she always did.

Ahead, Robert greeted Eddard with a boisterous hug, their laughter carrying through the courtyard. Your gaze wandered to the family gathered at Lord Stark’s side. Lady Stark, her auburn hair swept back, her expression cool but welcoming. The young ones were gathered around her, curiosity and interest clear in their eyes. But it was the young man at Eddard Stark’s side, tall and broad-shouldered, that drew your attention.

Robb Stark.

His auburn hair matched his mother’s, and his face, though youthful, already held the strength and quiet intensity of his father. He was watching you—or rather, he’d been looking toward your family in general, but now his gaze lingered on you, his blue eyes tracing your features with a kind of hesitant awe. He was handsome, undeniably so, and the confidence you’d honed over years of court life faltered, just slightly, under the weight of that gaze.

You looked away, hoping the color rising in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joffrey watching the Starks with open disdain, but you ignored him. Instead, you found yourself glancing back at Robb, curious despite yourself, and caught him still looking at you.

“What do you think of the Starks, sister?” Myrcella asked beside you, her sweet voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned closer to her, eyes flickering toward Cersei before answering. “They seem… honorable,” you murmured, struggling for a word that felt right. The North was a world apart from King’s Landing, and the weight of the Northern air, the forthright gazes, all of it felt different—real.

Meanwhile, Robert’s booming laughter filled the air as he clapped Eddard on the back. “It’s been too damn long, Ned!” he declared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. “Seven hells, I’ve missed this place. And your family—look at them, already grown!”

Lord Stark’s smile was reserved, but you could see warmth in his eyes. “The years have been kind to us both, Robert. And you’ve brought your own family north. It’s an honor to welcome them here.”

Robert looked back over his shoulder, waving an arm toward you, Cersei, and the children. “Aye, they’re a fine brood, aren’t they?” His gaze settled on you briefly, pride flickering there. “My eldest,” he said, his tone softening. “She takes after her mother in beauty, but she’s got her father’s spirit, I’d say.”

Your mother’s lips curved into a perfect, practiced smile at his words, though you could sense the strain in her. She inclined her head gracefully, accepting the compliment on your behalf.

“Princess Y/N,” Eddard said, nodding in your direction, “Winterfell welcomes you.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” you replied, keeping your tone formal, though your voice was soft. Cersei’s fingers brushed your arm briefly, a reminder not to be too bold or warm. “The honor is ours.”

But it was not Eddard’s gaze you felt lingering on you. Robb stood a step behind his father, his blue eyes keen and watchful. There was something gentle, almost reverent in the way he looked at you, and for reasons you couldn’t quite place, that small expression made your heart race.

“Robb,” Eddard said, his voice low but carrying the authority of a father and lord, “come and meet the king’s family.”

Robb stepped forward, his movements steady, though he appeared young and nervous beneath his composure. He nodded to Robert first and then looked back at you with an intensity that seemed almost out of place in the quiet courtyard. “Princess,” he said, his voice steady though softer than you’d expected. “It’s an honor.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you fought it back, simply inclining your head. “The honor is shared, Lord Robb,” you replied.

It was a simple exchange, but in that moment, it felt like more.

The air in the crypts was cold and heavy with the scent of stone and earth, the silence settling thickly around Eddard and Robert as they descended the worn steps into the shadows. Torches flickered in their iron brackets, casting long, twisting shadows over the figures immortalized in stone, ancient Stark kings and lords gazing solemnly from their resting places.

Robert paused in front of a statue, his face softened by the flickering light. His eyes, usually sharp with mirth or tempered with anger, now held something else—a quiet, lingering sadness that Ned hadn’t seen in years. Robert reached out and placed a rough hand against the face of the woman immortalized there in cold stone: Lyanna Stark, her face carved with a gentle beauty that no craftsman’s hands could ever fully capture. Flowers lay scattered at the base of her statue, their colors muted in the dim torchlight. Ned had left them there just the day before, a gesture of memory and honor.

“She was always so damn beautiful, wasn’t she?” Robert’s voice was low, almost reverent. “And all of this, everything, might have been different if she’d been mine. If Rhaegar hadn’t…” He trailed off, bitterness tightening his jaw.

“Aye,” Eddard replied, his voice as soft as the stillness around them. “The gods saw fit to tear us all down that day.”

Robert nodded slowly, lost in thought, his fingers brushing over the stone flowers woven into Lyanna’s statue. “I asked you here for more than just memories, Ned.” He turned, his gaze sharpening. “The realm is… not as it should be. I am surrounded by vipers and whisperers. I need someone I can trust.” His voice lowered, taking on a familiar intensity. “I need you, Ned. I want you to be my Hand.”

Eddard met Robert’s gaze, his heart heavy. “Robert… I’m no statesman. The North is my place. I don’t belong in the South, nor do my children.”

“That’s exactly why I need you.” Robert stepped closer, his face earnest, imploring. “You’re honest, Ned. You’ll do what’s right, even if it’s hard, even if it costs you. The realm needs someone like you. I need someone like you.”

Ned sighed, his eyes drifting back to Lyanna’s statue, the ache of old wounds stirring within him. “And what of the North? My children… they need me too.”

Robert nodded, understanding yet unyielding. “Bring them with you,” he said, voice steady. “Let them know the court. Let them see the world beyond the walls of Winterfell.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting, something almost hesitant in his expression. “In fact… I have an idea. A way to unite our Houses, as we should have done, as Lyanna and I would have done.”

Eddard turned back to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Robert’s eyes gleamed, a spark of hope breaking through the sorrow that lingered in them. “A marriage pact, Ned. We unite our bloodlines, our families.” He straightened, his voice taking on the tone of a king. “My son, Joffrey, and your daughter, Sansa. And…” He paused, eyes narrowing in thought. “My eldest daughter, Y/N, to your son, Robb.”

Eddard’s expression tightened, surprise flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth, hesitating, his mind racing with the implications of Robert’s proposal. “A match between our children…” he murmured, almost to himself. “You truly wish this, Robert?”

Robert nodded, his voice softening. “It’s what I always wanted, Ned. To be part of your family, for our blood to be bound together.” He glanced back at Lyanna’s statue, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “I wanted your sister… and though the gods were cruel enough to take that from me, this… this could be a way to bring our houses together, as it should have been.”

Ned felt the weight of the proposal settling on him, his mind turning over the idea of Sansa with Joffrey and Robb with Y/N. “Sansa is still a child,” he began carefully, “and Robb… he’s young yet. I’d want to speak with them both. And Catelyn.”

Robert nodded. “Of course. But think of it, Ned. You have a son and a daughter, and I have a son and a daughter of age.” He straightened, the gleam of determination in his eyes returning. “Sansa would be queen one day. And your son… Robb would be heir to the North, united to the blood of both Baratheon and Lannister.”

Ned frowned. “The girl… Y/N,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “She has Lannister blood, Robert. I know how you feel about her mother’s family.”

Robert’s face darkened briefly, his gaze hardening. “Aye, Cersei is a Lannister. But Y/N is my daughter too. She carries the blood of my House, and though she bears the lion on her face, there’s stag in her heart.” His tone softened, almost pleading. “Ned, she’s not her mother. She’s…” He paused, searching for words, “She’s got fire, spirit, and I want her to know a man like your son. One of true honor, not some… viper of the South.”

Eddard considered this, his mind drifting to Robb. His son, dutiful, strong, and honorable—a match for any in the realm. And Y/N… she’d seemed poised, striking in the courtyard, with that quiet grace he’d seen in only a few women. He thought of Sansa, who had dreamed of becoming queen since she was a little girl, and his heart ached.

“Let me speak with Catelyn,” he said finally, his voice steady. “And with my children.”

Robert clapped a hand on his shoulder, a grin breaking through his somber expression. “I knew I could count on you, Ned. Together, our families could be what the realm needs. Strong, united.”

They turned to leave, but Robert lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Lyanna’s stone face, his eyes shadowed with memories.

“Tell me, Ned,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “do you think she would have loved me?”

Eddard’s heart ached, the answer lodged somewhere deep, known only to him. “She was her own woman, Robert,” he replied softly. “And the gods alone know what lies in the hearts of the dead.”

Robert nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, tinged with sorrow. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, his voice growing firmer. He tore his gaze away from Lyanna’s statue, focusing on the path ahead.

“Come then,” he said, his tone lightening as he turned to face the stairs. “Let us speak of the future and leave the past to rest.”

And together, they left the crypts, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the silent halls where shadows lingered, bearing witness to the choices that would shape their families and the realm.

Here, by the fire’s light of private chambers, shadows softened, and the familiar scents of woodsmoke and winter roses made the space feel like a retreat. Catelyn sat across from Eddard, her brow furrowed as she listened to his words, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Nearby, Robb and Sansa sat side by side, both listening intently. Bran, Arya, and Rickon were sprawled around the room, though Arya’s restless gaze and occasional sharp glances made it clear she was as engaged as her older siblings.

Eddard took a breath, letting his gaze move from his wife to each of his children in turn. “King Robert has suggested a marriage pact to unite our families,” he began, his voice steady, though he felt the weight of the decision pressing down. “He has offered Joffrey’s hand to Sansa… and Y/N’s hand to Robb.”

Sansa’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile breaking across her features. “I would be honored, Father,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “To be Queen someday, to be married to Joffrey… it’s everything I’ve dreamed of.”

Catelyn’s face softened as she looked at her daughter. “Are you certain, Sansa? It is a serious decision, one that would take you far from home, to the capital.”

Sansa nodded, almost eagerly. “I understand, Mother. But I’ve dreamed of King’s Landing—the court, the feasts, the tournaments.” Her cheeks flushed with excitement. “And Joffrey… he’s handsome, and he’s a prince.”

Ned exchanged a glance with Catelyn, her expression mirroring the concern he felt. Sansa’s eagerness was not unexpected, but it still struck a chord. He was about to speak when Robb cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

“I would accept the match as well,” Robb said, his voice calm, though there was a quiet intensity to his gaze. “To join our Houses… it would be an honor.” He hesitated, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. “And… I saw her today. Y/N. She seems… dignified.” His cheeks colored slightly, a rare vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a match with her, Father. I think I could be happy.”

Eddard raised an eyebrow, surprised by Robb’s swift acceptance. Robb was young, and Ned had half-expected resistance or at least more hesitation. Catelyn, too, looked taken aback, her mouth parting slightly as she considered her son.

“It’s a big decision,” Catelyn said gently, her voice measured. “You would be bound to her for life, Robb. Have you truly thought about this?”

Robb nodded, his gaze meeting hers with quiet conviction. “I have, Mother. She seems strong, and I would welcome the chance to learn more about her. If it’s what the realm and our House needs, I am willing.”

“Robb, you’re not actually thinking of marrying her, are you?” Arya’s voice broke through the quiet, incredulous and disapproving. She scrunched her face, her expression mirroring her distaste. “And Sansa, Joffrey’s awful. He’s arrogant and cruel.”

“Arya!” Catelyn chided, though her tone was soft, almost indulgent.

But Arya only shrugged, crossing her arms. “It’s true. I’ve seen him, Mother. He’s unkind to everyone around him just because he’s a prince. I’d never want a marriage like that.”

Sansa’s expression tightened, her smile fading as she glanced at her sister. “You don’t know him, Arya. Joffrey is a prince. He’s noble and brave. You just don’t understand.”

Arya rolled her eyes, but her expression softened slightly as she turned her attention to Robb. “But… I like Y/N. She doesn’t act like the rest of them. I saw her today, and she didn’t look down on anyone.” She looked at her father, her gaze challenging but hopeful. “If Robb has to marry someone, I’d rather it be her.”

Rickon, sitting on the floor beside Bran, looked up, his young face alight with curiosity. “What’s she like?” he asked, his voice filled with innocent wonder.

Bran shrugged, glancing at Arya. “She looked quiet, I guess,” he said, thoughtful. “Not like Joffrey, anyway.”

Ned sighed, feeling the weight of his children’s varied reactions. He’d expected Sansa’s enthusiasm and Arya’s protests, but Robb’s quiet acceptance had caught him off guard. The North had always been his family’s home; the thought of binding them so closely to the South troubled him.

He looked at Catelyn, catching her eye. She nodded, understanding his silent request, and rose from her seat, placing a comforting hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Robb, Sansa,” she said softly, “this is a decision that will shape your futures. We don’t take this lightly.”

Sansa nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation, while Robb simply inclined his head, calm and steady. Arya huffed, but Catelyn silenced her with a look, and Arya fell back, though her gaze remained defiant.

As the children continued to murmur among themselves, Ned took Catelyn’s arm and led her a little way from them, lowering his voice. “There’s something more,” he said quietly, his gaze drifting back to his children, his heart heavy. “Robert asked me to be his Hand.”

Catelyn’s face tightened, her concern immediate and clear. “Ned… the Hand? I thought you’d never return to court.”

He nodded, his voice low. “Neither did I. But Robert… he says he needs me. And with Jon Arryn gone…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “The realm is troubled, Cat. If I can help Robert, I feel I must. But I would bring all of you, as Robert suggested.”

Her hand tightened in his, her expression a mix of worry and resignation. “You know what lies in the South, Ned,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Whispers, plots. I fear for you—and for our children. They’d be far from the safety of the North.”

“Aye, I know,” he replied, his heart heavy. “But if I refuse him… Robert will be left to those who would only drag him down further. I owe him my loyalty, Cat.”

Catelyn studied his face, her eyes searching. She knew his sense of duty ran deep, and she understood the bonds that held him to Robert, the memories of war and brotherhood that could not be so easily dismissed. “Then let us think on it,” she said finally, her voice steady. “We’ll decide together, Ned. For our family.”

He nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand grounding him amid the storm of decisions and uncertainties. For now, they would hold to each other and to the North. 

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with music and laughter, the warm glow of firelight casting rich hues across the long tables laden with food and drink. The Northern lords and ladies feasted heartily, their voices mingling in a cheerful cacophony. At the high table, you sat beside your mother, your attire shining like a jewel against the muted, sturdy colors of Winterfell.

You sat poised, your gaze serene yet attentive as you watched the revelry unfold around you. From time to time, you’d lean in to speak to your mother, Cersei, your smile soft but polite. You laughed at something your younger sister Myrcella said, the sound gentle, like a secret shared with the night. Across the hall, Robb Stark found himself wondering what it would be like to be the one to make you smile, to hear your laughter up close.

“You’re staring, Robb,” Theon Greyjoy’s voice interrupted his thoughts, a teasing grin on his face. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? The lady staring at the lord?”

Robb gave him a playful shove but felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I’m not staring.”

“Oh, but you are,” piped up one of his other friends, a grinning Northern lad named Domeric Bolton. “She’s certainly caught your eye.”

Robb sighed, shaking his head but unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face. “She’s… well, she’s different,” he admitted, his voice low. “Not like the Northern girls.”

“Then go speak to her,” Theon urged, raising his cup in a mock toast. “Ask her for a dance.”

Robb hesitated, glancing back at you. Your presence was poised and refined in a way that made him suddenly feel rough and unpolished. But then he met your eyes, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the noise of the hall faded away. You gave him a shy smile, your eyes meeting his across the distance with a glimmer of interest.

Taking a deep breath, Robb rose from his seat, ignoring Theon and Domeric’s encouraging grins. He made his way through the hall toward the high table, his heart pounding with each step. When he reached you, he bowed slightly, his gaze meeting yours.

“Princess,” he said, his voice steady despite the quickening of his heart. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

You looked up at him, your expression one of mild surprise before your lips curved into a soft smile. You glanced at your mother, who gave a curt nod, her gaze unreadable, before you turned back to Robb and inclined your head. “I’d be delighted, my lord.”

He offered his hand, and as you took it, the warmth of his touch sent a thrill through you. Together, you stepped onto the floor as the musicians struck up a new tune, a melody both gentle and lively, and Robb led you into the first steps of the dance.

“You seem well-versed in Northern customs, my lady,” he said, his voice warm with amusement as you moved through the steps. “I hadn’t expected a girl from the South to dance so well to Northern music.”

You laughed, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze. “It seems the North is full of surprises. But I’ve had a lifetime of lessons in court dances. I only hope my dancing is… acceptable.”

“More than acceptable,” he replied, his own voice softening as he looked at you. “I’d wager even the most graceful Northern ladies would be envious.”

You lowered your gaze, a light blush coloring your cheeks. “You flatter me, my lord.”

He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes from you. “No, I speak the truth.” He hesitated, then leaned in slightly, his voice lowered. “I hope you’re finding Winterfell… welcoming. I know it must be different from King’s Landing.”

You looked up at him, your expression thoughtful. “It is different,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I find I like it here. There’s… a warmth here that I hadn’t expected.”

“That pleases me to hear,” he said, his tone earnest. “This is my home, and one day… well, I hope to make it a place that someone like you could be happy in.”

Your gaze softened, and you felt the connection between you both grow as you moved through the steps, as if the hall and the people around you had faded into the background. “I believe I could be happy here,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s… quieter than I’m used to, yes, but there’s something about Winterfell. A sense of peace.”

Robb looked at you, his expression earnest as he gathered the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind since he’d learned of Robert’s proposal. “And… do you think you could see yourself here one day, as the Lady of Winterfell?”

For a heartbeat, you felt surprise flicker in your gaze. But then you smiled, a shy, genuine smile that made his heart race. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice as soft as snowfall. “If the North would have me.”

You shared a quiet, lingering look, the unspoken promise between you both as delicate as the touch of his hand in yours. For a moment, Robb could imagine a future where you walked these halls as his wife, where your laughter and warmth brought light to Winterfell even in the deepest winter.

Robb led you through the steps of the dance, his touch gentle yet firm, his eyes locked on yours with a sincerity that warmed you even amidst Winterfell’s drafty stone walls. Around you, lords and ladies cheered and clapped, voices blending into the joyous hum that filled the hall.

But just beyond the laughter, at the high table where the royal family sat, an animosity simmered.

Cersei sat rigid, her fingers clenched around her goblet as she watched you move across the hall in Robb’s arms. Her green eyes were sharp, like cold emeralds, and her displeasure was barely hidden behind her carefully composed mask. Robert, beside her, laughed heartily with Eddard Stark, his voice booming over the din as he recounted tales from their youth. But Cersei’s simmering anger finally spilled over, and she leaned toward him, her voice low and venomous.

“So, this is your grand plan?” she hissed, her eyes never leaving you. “To bind our daughter to this… Northern boy without so much as a word to me?”

Robert’s laughter cut short, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at her, irritation flaring in his gaze. “What are you going on about, woman?”

She turned to him fully, her voice barely louder than a whisper, though her anger crackled beneath each word. “You’ve condemned her to this cold, dark place. My daughter, Robert. You would give her to a Stark—to live in this fortress far from court, from her family, from me. And you did this without consulting me?”

Robert took a long drink from his goblet, his brow furrowing as he tried to keep his voice steady, though a vein ticked at his temple. “Our daughter is old enough to wed, Cersei. And a match with the Starks would make her the future Lady of Winterfell. She’ll have a strong husband, and her place will be secure. What more do you want?”

“What more?” Cersei’s voice tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “She is my daughter, Robert. Do you understand that? My blood. And you’d give her away as if she were some toy in your games with Eddard. She was supposed to be in King’s Landing, to be part of the court, to learn her place. But here…” Her gaze flicked toward you with something like desperation. “You’ve taken her from me.”

Robert’s face grew dark, his patience wearing thin. “Taken her from you?” he muttered, shaking his head. “She is my daughter, too, Cersei. Or have you forgotten that? I’m doing what’s best for her.”

“Best for her,” Cersei repeated, bitterness coating her words. “And you think binding her to the North is what’s best? To send her to this frozen wasteland, where she will be as isolated as I am?”

Robert’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his goblet. “Enough,” he growled, his voice low. “This is not the time or place.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a cold smile, her eyes blazing. “Oh, so now you find restraint? Now, when it suits you to ignore the voices that oppose you?”

His gaze flicked back to you and Robb, who were laughing softly as you spun in perfect rhythm to the music, the two of you oblivious to the conflict boiling at the high table. Robert’s irritation softened slightly, replaced by a look of contemplation. “Look at her,” he muttered. “She’s happy, Cersei. You would deny her that because you think this match is beneath her?”

“Beneath her?” Cersei scoffed, her gaze icy. “I would deny her nothing, Robert. I would give her everything. A place in court, a life of comfort, of power.” She turned back to him, her voice low and scathing. “But you would cast her away to the ends of the realm, to live out her days as some Stark’s quiet wife in the cold.”

“Enough, Cersei,” he said again, this time more forcefully. “Our daughter is a Baratheon, and this is what I’ve chosen for her. The North is good for her. It’ll give her strength, and a place to call her own.”

Cersei’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression tight with fury barely held in check. “You would know little of what’s good for her,” she spat. “When have you ever thought of what’s best for her? For any of us?” She cast a sharp glance toward the hall, where Robb was speaking softly to you, your face illuminated by a soft smile that made you appear every inch the regal lady Cersei had trained you to be. “That smile,” she murmured bitterly, “is what you think will last here?”

Robert’s expression shifted, his face darkening as he met her gaze. “Do not presume to lecture me on what’s best for our daughter, Cersei,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’ve let you have your way with her long enough. This match is good for her and good for the realm.”

Cersei leaned back, her gaze hard and unyielding, her lips pressed into a grim line. “And when she comes to hate you for this—when she realizes you tore her from her family, her home—don’t expect me to soften her heart toward you.”

Robert’s patience snapped, his voice rising just enough for a few heads to turn in his direction. “She’ll come to understand, and she’ll thank me. You may not see it, but I know what I’m doing.”

At that, Cersei gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “If only you ever knew what you were doing, Robert.”

With that, she turned away, her gaze icy as she stared out over the hall, the tension between them leaving a chill in the air despite the warmth of the feast. Robert returned to his drink, the brief flash of guilt in his eyes fading as he watched you dance with Robb, your smile and laughter filling the hall as you swayed together in time to the music.

Though a bitter silence now lay between Robert and Cersei, neither could deny the spark that lit up the hall as you danced.

The early morning air was crisp, and a light mist clung to the ground as you walked beside Robb through the godswood, surrounded by towering trees that stretched their branches skyward. Robb had invited you out for a quiet walk, promising you a glimpse of the heart of Winterfell, where even the lords and ladies came to find peace. In the early light, the godswood was serene, the scent of pine and earth mingling with the soft murmur of the nearby stream.

You found yourself laughing easily with him as he recounted tales of his childhood in Winterfell, his face lighting up as he described the antics he and his brothers would get into. There was a warmth in his smile, a genuine ease that seemed to set you at ease in return.

“And then,” he was saying, barely containing his laughter, “Theon got the idea to sneak into the kitchens at midnight for pies, but Jon and I told him we had to outsmart Old Nan first. Well, we barely made it through the kitchen door before she caught us. Sent us all back to our beds with an earful.” Robb chuckled, shaking his head. “Theon tried to blame me, of course.”

You laughed, covering your mouth to stifle the sound, imagining a young Robb caught in the act, eyes wide with guilt. “And what about you? What did you do to make up for it?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eye. “What every good brother would do—I blamed Jon.” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “He took it rather well, actually.”

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet as you walked side by side. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and you’d find yourself caught in his gaze a moment longer than expected. There was an openness in Robb that felt… different from the formality of the court and the rigid politeness you were used to in King’s Landing. Here, it felt easy to just be yourself.

“So,” Robb said, his voice softer, “are you finding Winterfell to your liking?”

You hesitated, feeling his gaze on you, before nodding. “I am. It’s… quiet. Peaceful. I think I could grow to love it here.”

Robb’s smile softened. “I hope you do.” He looked out over the godswood, as if envisioning a future that included you here, walking these paths together in the years to come. “I’ve spent my whole life here, you know. These woods, this castle… it’s in my blood. I can’t imagine calling anywhere else home.”

You glanced at him, feeling a strange tug in your heart as he spoke. “You speak of Winterfell the way a poet would speak of his muse.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy smile. “I suppose I do. I never thought of it that way.” He paused, turning to look at you, his expression growing serious. “But I think, perhaps, if you were here… Winterfell would be all the more beautiful.”

Your breath caught, and you felt your cheeks flush as his words hung in the air between you. You opened your mouth to reply, but just as you were about to speak, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the quiet.

A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, came rushing toward you. “My lord!” he gasped, his face pale. “My lord Robb—it’s your brother. It’s Bran.”

Robb’s smile vanished instantly, his expression tightening as he turned to the servant. “What happened?” His voice was sharp, tinged with fear.

The servant swallowed hard, catching his breath. “Young Bran… he fell from the tower, my lord. The Maester… they’re with him now.”

Robb’s face went pale, and his hand dropped from where it had been resting near yours. For a moment, he seemed frozen, his eyes wide as he processed the words. But then, as if a switch had flipped, he straightened, his features hardening with determination.

“Take me to him,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet urgency.

The servant nodded, glancing between you both before hurrying back toward the keep. Robb took a shaky breath, looking at you, the vulnerability in his eyes making your heart ache.

“I’m sorry… I have to—”

“Go,” you said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Your brother needs you.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched, and without another word, he turned and strode quickly in the direction of the tower. You watched him go, feeling a pang of worry settle in your chest as you thought of young Bran, whom you’d only just met, a lively boy with a boundless curiosity.

Left alone in the godswood, the peace and warmth of your morning with Robb faded, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press down on you. You glanced back in the direction of the keep, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you considered what had happened.

After a moment, you began to make your way back toward the castle, hoping, praying, that the news awaiting you would be better than what you feared.

[lovl3igh]

"rhaenyra thinks she has a claim because her daddy said so" yeah... that's... that's kinda how it works... when your daddy is a king

[veehaela]

the conquerors again but this time Aegon is normal

Targaryens are so fun to draw and while reading "Fire and Blood" I found Rhaena's quote fascinating about her being Visenya, Jaehaerys being Aegon and Alysanne being Rhaenys

the quality is a bit weird

[asparklethatisblue]

Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Protector of the Realm, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady if the Seven Kingdoms

An embroidery I started when the last season was airing, inspired by a medieval depiction of Empress Matilda and Henry II

Also here’s the original inspirations and sketches, a test print out of a possible size, and the start of the thing

[targsource]

Princess Daella and Lord Rodrik Arryn

by lopatafour on twitter

[darklinaforever]

Lady Rhea and Lady Laena were the only proper wives Daemon had, they were respectful women with a clean reputation. Rhaenyra was a whore who slept around and opened her legs to anyone, to this day I'll never understand how Grrm had Daemon desire her as his wife out of all the women

I'm sorry... what ? Is sleeping with 3 men in your life a whore now ? I'm hallucinating...

In Fire and Blood, Laenor (probably) the husband she was forced to have, Harwin the lover she found to make her life more bearable and have children, and Daemon, the true love of her life ? Is that being a whore ?

As for the show, there are 4 people. Exactly the same context except that you add Criston Cole to the list for... well the freedom of her own body perhaps ?!

She does what the fuck she wants ?! What the hell is this, telling me that Rhaenyra is a whore when she must have slept with less than 5 men in her life in the show and less than 4 in the book ?!

Oh and then it's certain that Daemon Targaryen who has literally had tons of sexual relations with several women, probably far exceeding the number of 4, would never stand to be with a woman who has already known 2 (book) or 3 (show) men before him, including one that her was forced to have...

Seriously, Laenor doesn't even count in this context !

Also, not like in the show's version, he's the one teaching Rhaenyra that she can have fun with whoever she wants. Oh yes, so shocking that Daemon Targaryen would want a woman as wanton as Rhaenyra... Not like he himself encouraged her to be sexually free...

Do you realize or not how crazy you are ?! You disgusting misogynist. Go to hell honestly.

[fatum679]

Prophecy

1х06 / 2х06

"He'll have to close an eye" / "This one stopped singing"

Many people don't understand what Helaena's prophecy "This one stopped singing" means. In the scene where Helaena is feeding her cicadas, she has three cages that represent Aemond, Helaena, Aegon. She says that one has stopped singing (died-silenced forever). Aemond will be the first of the three to die, so this prophecy refers to him. Also, we see a parallel with season one.

[sapphicgraphixx]

how to house your dragon or whatever 🐉

Here's a silly one imagining Rhaenyra, Alicent, and Syrax if they were in the How to Train Your Dragon universe

I did a rewatch this weekend and couldn't help myself ⚔️

[damn-stark]

Saying what??? What’s happening next??

Catch up to know!!

Chapter 28 Let it be fear

Chapter 28 of Moonlight

A/N- :/

Warning- talks of pregnancy, ANGST, FLUFF, fluff, and more fluff, some violence, talks of blood, and SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 491-515

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There’s a certain beauty that blesses the Trident today as the chilling blue sky lets the cold sun shine over the thick green wilderness, but what is a rainless horizon compared to him?

There’s a serene silence that accompanies you as you overlook The Keep of House Frey from the top of a nearby hill, and in that silence, you’re captivated by the way the sun captures Cregan, and for a moment, like sunbeams breaking through a storm, there’s a warmth in his stormy eyes that melts away the threat he usually carries, providing a warmth only his grey eyes can offer; which is pretty fascinating considering grey is cold, hard, and dull, but those grey eyes of his have a way of being warm under the sun. They’re also mysterious and beautiful like steel against firelight. It’s your favorite color too, but only because he makes it captivating.

Alas, in all that admiration does he notice you? No, and it’s okay because you find your courage and motivation to keep going in his unawareness.

“The last destination,” you break the silence and as if taking one last breath of him you look away to follow his line of sight to the The Twins sitting below.

“You’ll gain their support just like you have gained all the rest,” he offers as a piece of reassurance, but this time it doesn’t ease your concern.

Cregan notices that the moment you don’t respond and only gets reassurance of that when he looks over at you and sees the storm of stress raging behind your eyes. “You will get their support one way or another,” he presses and gently cups your neck, causing you to quickly look away from the keep to meet his eyes that just reflect you this time.

“I burned Lady Frey and her army of men—”

“After they tried to take Harrenhal by force and captured you in the process,” he cuts you off to remind you of that detail. “They were okay with betraying the Queen to take control of the rubble of a useless castle. What you did was justifiable in a time of war. You did the right thing and if they don’t see it that way then we'll make them. Or you will,” he says with a lighthearted huff and proceeds to offer you an assuring smile as he drags his hand down your side to interlace his fingers with yours.

“You’re right,” you breathe out and find it again, just there in his eyes as your hands are interlinked, the bliss of home. However, as you’re in the depths of your comfort you find it in yourself to ask something that’s been gnawing at you. “And once we fight in this upcoming battle when we win, do you think that will be enough to return home? To my mother?”

Cregan blinks in confusion and you explain why you haven’t returned home or sent her a letter. “When I returned from Harrenhal after leaving my mother for months, she said to never leave her again. She found it in herself to forgive me for betraying her and siding with Aemond, but I left again. I left after she told me not to, so do you think gaining this support, building this reputation, and winning the battle will be enough for her to forgive me again? I let her down so many times I don’t know…if this is enough now.”

Cregan lets out a deep breath and his eyes drift to the side as the sound of incoming footsteps starts to ascend the hill, but he doesn’t pay them any mind, he leans his face forward and offers the best reassurance. “She’s your mother, would you forgive your children if you were in her position?”

You draw in a shaky breath and nod gently. “Of course, they’re my children, but…” you trail off and he fills your silence.

“She will forgive you. I can imagine there might have been tension before. This is all a tense situation, but you’re trying and fighting hard for her, she will recognize that and forgive you if she hasn’t already,” he offers you sweet words, making you nod gently in comprehension with no need to seek for more help. He fills your heart with the assurance you need to move on without hesitation or getting lost in the wilderness that are your thoughts.

So much so that you walk down the hill with your head held high and your mind clear because you know the Frey’s have this need to be resistant. They’re stubborn and proud, so you know that this meeting is not going to be as easy as the others were, there will be resistance and you prepare for that accordingly, making sure to have silver chains over your face that match the armor on your corset.

Never once do you falter in your step or the way you carry an intimidating stare behind those silver chains because you can see them the moment you walk into the great hall; you see them look for a fault in your step, a slight mistake, or an out of line hair to pick on and use against you and the people you’re with, but you don’t give them the satisfaction. With your blazing stare alone you challenge the young and great Lady Sabitha Frey, eldest daughter of Lord Frey, and Lady Frey who you killed at Harrenhal.

“Thank you for allowing us in your home,” Addam is the one who breaks the tension first but can hardly gain any of the audience's attention. Lady Sabitha has her sharp eyes on him, but everyone else…they all have their eyes on you as if wanting to tear you apart, but also keep you at a distance fearing if they got too close they’d burn alive too, which means the message was sent.

“I have heard that a great army has been marching through the Riverlands,” Lady Sabitha speaks at last but she doesn’t offer any greetings, she’s blunt and cold. “I was beginning to wonder if we would be paid a visit or be left out.”

“The Riverlands are grand,” Addam says back. “And our task is significant, it’s taken us time, but we are here at last.”

“It was her!” A voice blurts, bringing a stunned silence and turning all of the attention to you standing at Addam’s side—“She was the killer! She burned Lady Serena and her men! She did it! She’s the Fire Demon!”

You tilt your nose to the air and can’t help but smirk in response, but that only lets Lady Sabitha find a reason to finally display her rage and grief because she doesn't care if she got interrupted and humiliated by some common warrior, she's looking for a single step out of line to be able to drive her focus to you and her rage.

“I know there’s unresolved tension,” Addam tries to diffuse the situation. “But right now is not the time—”

“You find this humorous?” Lady Sabitha cuts Addam off without a care. “Is my mother's death funny to you, Princess?” She throws out as she rises off her seat. “Then again what can I expect from someone who breaks enemy lines whenever she pleases? That treason may be pushed aside, but my mother's death will not go unpunished. Not here in my home and my lands,” she sneers and slowly begins to step forward.

“Punished?” She feign a laugh. “What would be my sentence?” You quip and raise your brows to press her. “I showed Lady Serena that there are consequences to her treason—”

“Treason?!” She spats and opens her mouth to continue, but Ser Cane cuts her off.

“You will not interrupt the princess whilst she’s speaking. This may be your house but she still is the heir and your princess,” he scolds her as he takes a big step forward to be a more menacing presence amongst Cregan also standing at your side.

“Sure,” Lady Sabitha mutters under her breath as she comes to a stop without coming too close to you. “As I was saying,” she continues louder even though it should have been you taking the spotlight, but regardless, you let her share her argument. “My mother committed no treason, Prince Jacaerys promised Harrenhal to us. She was only taking what was hers by right.”

You scoff and flash her an amused smile. “If she wanted to take it by right she should have said so,” you rebuttal. “But no, she did not. She knew I was there and took me captive to try and sell me to my mother or my husband. She was willing to change sides. She took me captive, that is treason,” you spat and take a step forward. “Or what you’re going to argue and say it didn’t go that way? Because it did, ask the man who just barged in.”

The attention turns to the man who had interrupted the meeting and he shrinks within himself but doesn’t dare leave. He averts his gaze and listens to Cregan interject. “Tell us if the Princess is right or if your lady is. Now.”

The man blinks nervously and quietly gives his response. “We had lost so much and the lady was grieving her husband, she wanted to find a point to her loss.”

You don’t respond with anything, you look at Lady Sabitha Frey with a pointed glare as you celebrate within.

However, in your silence, you did expect Lady Sabitha to start forming some kind of apology, but she remains at a standstill with her eyes downcasted.

“Bend the knee,” you sneer with your glare turning cold. “You were wrong, bend the knee and give us fighting men to add to our army so we can fight our war. And since you have heard so much about us I’m sure you know which war. Bend the knee.”

A tension grows tenfold in the great hall as Lady Sabitha remains standing because in doing so she causes her people filling this hall to remain resistant as well.

“Bend the knee to your princess and heir by orders of Queen Rhaenyra,” Ser Cane insists in a booming voice.

Yet without speaking Lady Sabitha looks you up and down with her lips curled in anger and remains defiant, and even then you still wait and wait, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

However, when you don’t hear a word or see her bend the knee you throw your hand back without saying a word. And without the need for instructions as if your minds are connected, Ser Cane pulls Blackfyre out of its sheath, filling the hall with the sharp ringing of metal scraping before the Valyrian steel blade glistens against the rays of the sun as the large sword is handed to you. Once you have it in your grasp you then step forward to be at the center of attention.

“I am your heir,” you say in a voice laced with deadly venom that brings chills to the audience without the need to yell to get your point or voice across. “I am your princess. I am the Blood Dragon, you will bend the knee, pledge fealty to Queen Rhaenyra first of her name, and me, her chosen heir.”

Lady Sabitha glances at your shining sword and then slowly meets your gaze without uttering a single word. She keeps quiet and her glare becomes challenging and conflicted.

“Unless you plan to switch loyalty,” you continue in the same venomous voice still missing volume. “If so, tell me right now by pulling out your sword or choosing your champion.”

Lady Sabitha Frey tilts her head and snaps her gaze to your belly. “And you will fight like that?” She points her eyes to your belly, making you scoff and flash her a smile that’s all too menacing.

“I won’t fight,” you clarify. “I could say I want a champion and all my men would volunteer. Even Lord Stark and Ser Addam would fight for me, but why waste their energy or risk their lives when I have my dragon as champion? Tell me Lady Frey can you, your people, and your castle stand against my dragon?” You finally start to raise your voice. “Or will you turn to ash just like your mother did?”

Gasps bounce around the room and the woman’s jaw clenches as her eyes turn even more fierce.

“Tell me!” You exclaim and then turn on your heels to point the tip of your sword at the audience remaining just as defiant as their Lady. “Tell me if any of you can stand against my dragon!”

As expected, silence, even from the brave lady.

“No?” you continue. “Well, I can. I am the Fire Demon! My flesh is fire made!” Your voice continues to boom out of frustration, and passion as well. “And,” you laugh and slowly lower the volume of your voice but never drop the venom behind it. “It will bring me great pleasure to watch you all burn and scream as your flesh melts off your bones. Just say the word.”

Lady Sabitha Frey looks around at all the frightened looks that the audience all share in her defiance. She looks and looks in hopes for something that can keep her own flame from being blown out, but that defiance once so vividly lit within her people is snuffed out by the great fire you are and she knows she’s lost. When she turns to look at you and meets your glowering glare, you further prove to her that you’re not one to bluff, so what other choice does she have?

Thus without uttering a single word, but with the intention clear in her eyes she drops her challenging glare and drops her head in defeat. The moment you see her head fall, to add more shame to her actions you get close to her and throw your hand out just below her eye line.

Now Lady Sabitha has no need for explanations, she knows what you mean and what you want, so what other choice does she have but to slowly bend down, grab the tip of your fingers, and push her lips forward to press a light feathered peck on your golden Targaryen sigil ring before she at last bends the knee, causing the once defiant audience to follow her suit and bend the knee.

Once you see the top of everyone’s heads you look down at her again between your lashes and shoot her smirk before you turn around dramatically and talk to her over your shoulder. “You will lend us the swords we came for, and in response to your treason, Harrenhal is no longer yours. You will keep your lands, your home, and your lives, I will make sure to let the Queen know of your loyalty and apology as well.” You share with a honey-laced tone that only shames them more. “Oh, and you will prepare your home to host your guests accordingly, I will be staying inside for the night. Pleasure doing business with you, House Frey.”

——

*LATER*

What is it about the day?

There was a sense of peace that filled the day as the sun reigned over the sky. Even after the complicated business with the Frey’s, the serenity stayed, but now even against the fiery sky cast over the land, the dragons are caught in a restless spell as if they were uncomfortable and needed to be somewhere but couldn’t quite find a way to leave. They’re just flying in circles, filling the fierce sky with their almost melancholy song.

Maybe they’re tired of being in the Riverlands? Astraea and Seasmoke do love the sea, you think to yourself as Addam walks in and joins you in the library.

“They’re acting odd don’t you think?” You ask him as you refer to your dragons. “They’ve been circling the sky and crying for a while now.”

Addam approaches you near the window that has the best view of the running river that The Twins stand over, and at the moment notices the way the setting sun in its red and orange reign catches you with its fierce hues, but never once makes you look threatening or as rageful. The red and orange hue makes you appear enchanting and otherworldly; everything a Valyrian princess should be under such a fierce horizon.

“I wish I could know,” he doesn’t offer any kind of solution. “Where’s your Lord Stark?”

You roll your eyes away from the window and glance down at the book you have been reading. “He’s busy answering correspondence from home,” you let Addam know regardless if he’s teasing you. “He is a busy man, you know? He doesn’t just spend time at my side. You just happen to catch him with me when you look for me, that’s all.”

“Okay, okay,” Addam brushes you off lightheartedly and then nudges your knee with his foot. “You changed, you look nice.”

You look at him with a smile. “Thank you,” you redirect before you start to grin with amusement. “Just so you remember I am meant to change about three to four times a day. There’s my morning gown, my lunch and afternoon gown, my dinner gown, and if I go out or have to attend a meeting or court I change for that.”

Addam snickers and hides his grin by looking out the window. “I remember,” he says in response. “It’s ridiculous and a waste if you ask me. I mean why not wear the same thing all day or twice?”

You scrunch your nose. “Twice?” You quip. “I have only worn my favorite and most expensive gowns more than once, and now that we’re out here I have no other option, but why would I wear things repeatedly?”

Addam scoffs and leans forward. “Because why waste your money on something so materialistic?” He retorts with a dry laugh. “And because why not use it more than once?”

You squint at him and shake your head. “Money is not a problem for me,” you explain as if it isn't an obvious fact about you. “I am a Velaryon, our family is the richest there is, why shouldn’t I spend my share? Besides, there’s so many beautiful fabrics and talented designers, I can’t resist it,” you muse. “And all the colors,” you swoon. “The embroidery? The gold, pearl, or silver linings? It’s all so beautiful!”

With nothing left to argue with in his defense, Addam leaves it be with a roll of his eyes, letting you finally find the time to share the news you have been holding in for what feels like months. “Can I tell you something?”

“You’re going to do it anyway,” he retorts and rests his head back against the wooden panel as he locks his eyes on you. “What?”

A giddy smile creeps on your lips as you lean forward and grab his hands before you share. “Cregan and I are betrothed.”

Addam blinks repeatedly and his eyebrows slowly begin to pinch together, but then from one moment to the next, he flashes you a smile and scoffs. “I should have seen that coming. When did he ask?”

“A couple of nights ago,” you share and lean back without being able to let your smile go. “The night we had our campfire.”

Addam hums and slowly passes you a quizzical look. “Has he asked your mother? Or Lord Corlys? That’s who he would need to ask, no? How does that work without your father or Daemon?”

You shoot him a pointed glare. “I am a grown woman already with child. I don’t belong to anyone for him to ask permission. If I was a maiden then yes, he would have to ask for my hand, but I’m a widow. It’s my choice now…However,” you do add and avert your gaze. “Since I’m heir he does need to tell my mother, the Queen, but she won’t protest.”

You turn your gaze back to him and sigh to release your excitement before you clasp your hands and start to nervously fiddle with your rings. “But that’s not the only reason I’m telling you,” you pause and let out another deep breath before you look at him with a softened gaze riddled with a fragile vulnerability that could break at any given second.

“Weddings under the Old Gods are different,” you continue to say a bit quieter now. “They’re done under a heart three and usually a father walks the bride to the groom, but…my father is gone and Jacaerys is gone. I could ask my grandfather, but…I wanted to ask if you could walk me down the aisle when the day comes?” You ask and blink nervously, with each blink filling your eyes with more and more tears whilst Addam’s breath hitches and his own face drops that taunting expression to instead display his disbelief.

“It's okay if you don’t want to,” you quickly assure him in his silence you can’t read. “I can ask Joffrey, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to take that role.” You share your alternative with a happy smile so he doesn’t feel bad.

However, after another second of silence passes he finally draws out a deep breath he had been holding in and nods gently before he voices his answer. “I would be honored to walk you down the aisle.”

You beam and then lean forward to grab his hands and give it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” you offer sweetly. “Now Cregan and I want to marry after the war is over so we don’t have that weighing down on us or potentially ruin the day, so there’s still time, but I wanted to ask you now.”

Addam lowers his head to hide his smile whilst he also interjects with a smug comment. “You also need time to have your gown made, don’t you? What will it be made out of?”

You giggle and as you part your lips to rebuttal with something witty a knock raps on the door, pulling your attention away from your conversation.

“Come,” you welcome the visitor and slowly pull away from Addam.

The door opens and Cregan walks in. You’re happy to see him, you greet him with a smile, but when he walks further inside with a scroll in his hand you notice the solemn look he carries. And he’s usually serious so his expression shouldn’t really concern you all that much, but there’s something about the solemn look that he carries now that makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Cregan,” you utter his name nervously and don’t move, hoping that if you stay in place whatever he has to say won't reach you.

“My princess,” he greets hesitantly and then greets Addam with a small nod. “Ser.”

You swallow back nervously and press your hands against the cushion to stand up, but he quickly shakes his head and retorts. “Why don’t you stay sitting.”

A shaky breath escapes you and you nod stiffly as you feel the goosebumps travel from the back of your neck down to the perimeters of your skin.

“What’s wrong?” You ask and his grey eyes leave you to drift to the scroll in his hand. You follow his line of gaze but then drift your eyes back to him in hopes that whatever it has to say isn’t as bad as you’re starting to assume.

“A raven just came,” Cregan finally shares and slowly drifts his gaze back to you. “From Kings Landing. It’s for you.”

You were starting to assume it was for you. You could read it off his face.

“I could paraphrase what it says. I think that would be better with the news it contains,” he says and only adds more fuel to the already worrisome fire, but you can’t have him summarize whatever news arrived for you or else you won’t believe it. You need to read every word yourself even though you’ll have a hard time believing it too.

“No, no. I want to read it. Let me read it,” you press him and stretch your hand out to reach for the scroll. However, Cregan hesitates and grabs the scroll with both hands to smooth out the parchment first before he leans forward and hands it to you.

“Thank you,” you whisper breathlessly and watch how the paper trembles in your hold as you already expect the worst news to be written on the parchment because what else would it be?

Life has been cruel. Why would it be nice now?

You shouldn’t even read it, you should leave the news unread because at least that way you’ll be oblivious to anything…but you also know you won’t rest easy if you don’t know, so after a deep breath you turn the parchment and read what was brought to you.

“To The Princess and Heir of Queen Rhaenyra,

I dislike having to send you this letter, but it has to be written so you may know.

I regret to inform you that as of last night, all the dragons that were kept in the Dragonpit have perished after an angry mob of smallfolk following some fake prophet called The Shepherd, raided the Dragonpit—“

Your breath hitches and you feel as if somebody had punched you in the stomach. The news that the power of your house, and the beautiful creatures that are like your soulmates have all perished at the hands of common folk filled with anger sinks your heart. It leaves you paralyzed in your seat, but you don’t cry. Not yet.

“—when the news broke of what was transcending the young Prince Joffrey left the Red Keep against the Queen’s wishes, mounted Syrax, and fell from the saddle whilst in the sky—”

A shaky breath escapes you and a heavy pressure falls on your chest, but you don’t cry. Not yet.

“—Syrax perished not much later after getting caught in the mob that killed the other dragons. And it seems that at the news of Dreamfyre’s unfortunate passing, Princess Helaena Targaryen flung herself from a window and fell to her death, enraging the crowds—“

More pressure falls on your chest, your bottom lip trembles and your eyes sting further as the tears building in your eyes pain them. However, you don’t cry. Not yet.

Cregan who was watching you read the letter expects you to weep. He keeps a close eye out, expecting you to fold over in heartache, but you remain poised and collected, almost like the agony is not as hurtful anymore.

“—and making the city fall. Amidst the chaos Queen Rhaenyra took Prince Aegon, Lord Aerion, the Queensguard, trusted knights, and her handmaidens, and escaped the city, leaving Lord Corlys in his imprisonment which he escaped. As to where she is we don’t know, but until your return with Ser Addam, it’s best she remains hiding. That’s why I write to you in hopes you can retaliate at once and take back the city. You are our only hope unless Prince Daeron marches here first.

Maester Orwyle.”

You watch the words on the parchment and go over the news in your head again and again, faster and faster every single time until you can’t process any more news and you’re sitting there baffled and without being able to utter a single word. Time is at a standstill, the once-warm room is freezing and your body is paralyzed.

Cregan and Addam call out your name ever so softly, fearing that you’ll break if they raise their voices, but you stay there stiffly, realizing that you have to mourn yet another beloved brother. You had five, now you’re left with a single one who barely knows your name.

The woman you loved like a sister, the woman you cherished and adored, the woman who was your dearest friend, the woman you grew up with is gone because she couldn’t bear any more grief. Your grandfather escaped a cell you didn’t know he was in. And your mother is on the run with your remaining brother and your son to escape the angry crowds who brought the city down with their rage which you assume is caused by the same things that were upsetting them when you were there; things your mother can’t control.

Everything you once knew is slipping from your grasp. You can see that clearly now—no, you’re admitting that to yourself now. The only thing you have left is a fragment of hope and it’s just your mother, your brother, and Aerion. They’re all you have left. They’re that last fragment of hope. Yet even if you still have them, even if they’re the last flicker of hope you’re holding onto, nothing stops that pressure once weighing your chest down from tearing you down because you still lost all the beautiful and cherished dragons that connected you to Old Valyria. You lost Helaena, your beloved and gentle aunt who was more like the sister you never got to have. And you lost your little brother Joffrey, a boy you held when he was only a few minutes old, a brother who was the reminder of your sweet childhood; the sweet and blissful life you had before you were ripped from your family. He was that last piece of your childhood and now he’s gone, taking that memory with him, and leaving nothing but this new version of you.

And yet you still don’t cry. Even with the two pairs of eyes that feel like a hundred people are waiting for you to break down, you still don’t cry. You do reflect the grief through your eyes, but you don’t weep, you don’t shed even a single tear. You let out a shaky breath and sit up straight with your head hanging low, but you don’t cry. You shake your head gently at the realization of the tragedy, but you don’t cry. You meet Cregan’s worried and pitiful gaze and remain collected. It takes a lot out of you to remain so strong, but you remember all you were taught and lift your head high and keep your chest out with your nose slowly starting to flare.

“Addam,” you break your silence, making the man’s shoulders jump and be even more attentive than he already was.

“I hope you’re ready,” you continue to mutter in a low and almost threatening voice. “We’re moving up our plans. We will attack Tumbleton right away.”

Addam shifts in his seat before he probes. “Why? What’s going on?”

You let out a deep huff and your drooped gaze slowly starts to harden, whilst your heart begins to pound in your chest as your blood starts pumping through your veins frantically.

“I want to catch them by surprise now,” you share in that same almost threatening way. It’s not threatening yet but it’s slowly building up to it. “I don’t want them to see us coming until the sky is falling down upon them so word is not passed to King’s Landing that we’re coming.”

Cregan and Addam share a worried look and you proceed to get up from your seat to look at them both between your lashes.

“We’re going to attack King’s Landing,” you proclaim, and with that threat, you completely abandon every desire to be loved and respected. If they want to fear you, you’ll give them a reason to really fear you. “They’re preaching that we’re a threat, a curse, and a menace,” you scoff and smirk menacingly. “So I will be just that. I will rain fire down upon them so they may see the curse they want me to be”

Neither man try to talk you down from the rage clearly now set upon you, they could try but what good would that do? So they do nothing but accept and welcome your rage.

“Come,” you direct at Cregan as you walk past him. “I’m going to tell the troops to get ready. We leave tonight.”

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

The sun is slowly lowering over the horizon, and with each passing second as the sun slowly leaves the sky darker and darker, making you grow more nervous as the fate of this battle is unknown. All that’s known is that only one side will win and depending on who comes out to fight another day, that person will determine the fate of this war and your mother's survival. With all the dragons dead and the others against her, she can only depend on Addam and you. If you lose tonight, she does too. So you can’t lose.

“You know,” Cregan interjects through the solemn silence that was blanketing you both, but in doing so he doesn’t pull your attention to him, you keep your eyes on the painted sky as if today will be the last time you ever see a sunset as beautiful as the one over your head.

“I wish you would wear more than just a chainmail gown,” he finally shares his complaints that have been nagging him since he saw you with the chainmail gown on you. “I would feel a lot better knowing you were heavily protected.”

You scoff and roll your eyes his way. “Do you want me to look like a cannonball with a full set of heavy armor?” You quip with a teasing smile. “Because that’s what I would look like.”

Cregan tries to muster a laugh but with his heavy worry dragging him down he can’t even muster the twitch of a smile. “At least you and the twins would be protected against anything that may come your way.”

You sigh deeply and drag yourself closer to him to grab his cold hands and cling onto them as you try and offer him some reassurance. “My Astraea will protect me from any incoming threat, and this chainmail gown is enough to block any attack. I’ll be fine, besides, I won’t stray too far from my dragon I…intend to keep my promise to Addam and Ser Cane,” you laugh stiffly. “No ground fighting if it’s not completely necessary.”

Cregan watches the way you caress his knuckles with your thumb as he tries not to argue against you, so you proceed to pull one hand away from his grasp and reach over to cup his jaw. “I won’t die tonight. I want to live. I have to live, so don’t worry about me, okay?”

Cregan’s dark eyebrows furrow and his eyes snap to you. “How could you tell me not to worry? About you of all people.”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile as your heart is riddled with admiration. “Because my love, there beside all my grief and agony is a dream I want to see through. A dream that involves going back home with you. I thought about it…” you trail off to a whisper and drop the hand you have on his cheek to grab his hand once again.

“My mother has Aegon and Aerion, so hopefully by the time it comes to passing her crown down she’ll be old and wrinkly and the boys will be men, so they will be mature and ready to rule the kingdom she’ll leave behind,” you share words you never thought would come out of your mouth when you were younger, but now…what does Queen even mean without your brothers, Aemond, or anyone you used to know by your side?

It doesn’t mean anything. Not even a fraction of what it once meant to your beating heart and deepest desires. That’s why this new dream is easy to share because you’re certain it’s what you want.

“Because I don’t want any part of it,” you continue and he parts his lips in surprise. “I want to stay in Winterfell with you, with our family that we will have, and the people we will govern together. I don’t want to be Queen anymore, I want to be your princess until our last breath.”

Cregan shakes his head and reaches his hand over to cradle your face. “No, you can’t do that. Being Queen is all you wanted. You can’t just abandon that dream,” he tries to argue against the plans you murmur to him, but there’s nothing to argue about, you slept on it and pondered it long and hard so you’re certain abandoning your title as heir is what you desire the most.

“You’re wrong,” you argue and look at him with a softened gaze as you just admire him. “My dream is you now. You’re everything I want, so please don’t try and convince me any longer because my mind is made. Once this war is over I will take my children and pack all my life to leave with you. That’s why I’ll survive because I want to go home. Is that not nice?” You ask as your face contorts with heartache out of worry that he doesn’t like the sound of your new desires.

However, Cregan’s grip grows firmer against your cheeks and his hardened face twisted by surprise now softens and that smile that was once impossible slowly gets painted on his pale face. “Of course it’s nice. It’s great and I will do everything in my power to give you that beautiful dream, my darling love.”

You huff softly in relief and let him pull you closer to him so he can whisper against your lips.

“But tell me you’re certain. Tell me that your heart is set on this new dream of yours because I don’t want you abandoning something you always wanted out of fear or because of me.”

You grab into his wrists and nod gently. “I’m certain,” you affirm and kiss the heel of his palms. “I want to be wherever you are. I want to be home.”

The corner is his lips tug wider but that smile is quickly hidden as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I will always keep an eye out for you tonight,” he lets you know. “I will have your back from the ground, but if the battle gets too heavy you fly away, okay? Everyone will understand. You leave the fighting to Addam and us, okay? I know you’re angry, but my darling, you need to worry about your children, if not you, then worry about them.”

You swallow back nervously as you wish to protest, but in the state you’re in you really can’t fight like you used to, so you have to agree regardless.

“Okay,” you reassure him and gently stroke his wrist with your thumb before you steal a glance at his lips, and then look up into his grey eyes with a softened look full of awe before you lean in and steal a lingering kiss from his pink lips.

The kiss is not long, but it’s deep and full of passion. It’s full of longing and desire, and it reminds the both of you how much you really missed this form of intimacy. You missed being connected in such a sweet and passionate way that only you and him can ever understand. You missed the taste of each other, and getting lost in the wonders that kissing each other brings to your isolated world where only you and him exist.

However, once again it’s not long. Not as long as he would’ve wanted because you still feel odd kissing someone else after losing Aemond.

“And with this kiss my sweet Lord you have my favor in this upcoming battle,” you murmur against his lips, making him chuckle and then stroke your bottom lip with his thumb before he leans over and presses a peck on your lips.

“Gods I missed kissing you,” he flatters you and makes your face grow hot. “Once we marry I’ll never know that feeling ever again.”

You giggle and reach over to grab his face one more time before you pull away and pull a ring off from your finger; one your father had given you that carries this beautiful called The Gem of The Sea.

“This is my real favor,” you tell him and grab his hand to place the ring on his palm. “I want it back, okay? It’s really expensive and the gem is one of a kind.”

Cregan scoffs but he wraps his hand around the ring before he secures it in his pocket. “I’ll hang it around my chain later.”

You let out a deep breath and nod before you go still as you catch him sliding off a wolf brooch that was hooked to his cloak.

“And this is for you,” he lets you know and leans toward you to clip the brooch onto your fur cloak. “You’ll be a Stark soon, why not wear something that represents your new name?”

“And you?” You interject and offer him a giddy smile. “My betrothed?”

He huffs and drops his head to hide his smile. “Well yes because you’ll be all mine soon enough.” He says confidently as he meets your gaze with a smirk. “That’s why I will live, so you can at last be my wife.”

“I will be,” you whisper and glance at the wolf brooch to mutter, “now this will be like having you right beside me. Thank you. I’ll cherish it.”

“Good,” he says breathlessly before he lets out a deep breath and just takes you in for a lingering minute as the last rays of sun lose its grip on the earth and dance on your face.

He memorizes the color of your eyes, down to every small hue. He takes note of the form of your lips, of the curve of your cheeks, and the shape of your jaw as if he's afraid that if he doesn't take his time to mark every part of you in his memory he will forget the moment you were out of sight. He almost doesn’t want to keep his eyes off you, but once the sun is completely gone and the earth is completely cast in the darkness, you both stand up and walk away from your stolen moment to rejoin your army of men all ready to attack Tumbleton and the army of men occupying it to once and for all put an end to The Green army.

Yet how can you depart toward your dragon without offering them a few words of encouragement first? And once they see your presence upon that hill that overlooks them a wave of chills washes over them. Not because they fear you, but because they are filled with awe and respect at the sight of you in your glimmering black chainmail gown.

“I know,” you address the crowd as they go quiet upon the sight of your presence. “Today's attack came sooner than expected. We have been marching with little rest since we left the twins, but it’s not for nothing. Tonight we attack Tumbleton!” You proclaim and garner some murmurs. “Tonight we put an end to the Hightower army and the turncloaks that sit behind that wall! Us! Not just you, and not just me! All of us! You are the blood to my fire.”

“Yeah!” The men below bellow and throw their fists in the air.

“As you all know I am with child,” you continue. “But that won’t stop me, I will fight with you tonight upon my dragon. I will kill Prince Daeron Targaryen and his dragon tonight and be one step closer to ending the tyranny of his brother and faction!” You exclaim with a growl behind that threat. “Now I won’t lie, some of you won’t see daylight again. Some of you know that too, but your deaths won’t be in vain, you will bleed and die for your families, your homes, your lords! Your pride! And your Queen! Tonight we fight for her! We fight to win! We won’t lose tonight! We will win with fire and blood! Us! WE WILL WIN WITH WHATEVER IT TAKES! WITH FIRE AND BLOOD!”

“BLOOD DRAGON! BLOOD DRAGON!” All the men below implode into a cheer full of vigor, making chills crawl down your own spine as you watch them all pumped with adrenaline and ferocity.

“I’m going to join my squadron now,” Cregan interjects and snaps your attention to him, calming down your racing heart. “Be careful.”

You blink repeatedly before you rush to him to close the gap with an embrace. “Take care, okay? I can’t lose you too.”

Cregan hugs you back and presses a kiss on your head. “You won’t lose me.”

You let out a shaky breath and clutch onto him tighter. “Take care of Ser Cane for me, okay?”

He scoffs but nods to assure you. “I will…I love you.”

You smile softly and turn your head to press one last kiss on his cheek. “I love you too.”

You proceed to pull back and he cups your cheek one more time to linger in each other's presence for another moment before you both part ways, letting him join his men, and letting you join your dragon and Addam and his dragon.

“If things start to get too out of control you fly out there, okay?” Addam interjects the moment he sees you making your way to him. “And don’t be getting off your dragon for anything unless you really have to.”

Even though he’s scolding you, you still can’t help but flash him a giddy smile as he makes you feel such a warm feeling.

“I know, I know,” you roll out and meet him halfway. “You have told me multiple times. I will not involve myself in any heavy fighting, or fight on the ground. I know.”

Addam puts his hand on his hip and sighs. “Yes well, you like to be spontaneous and think about yourself.”

Your smile falls but you don’t get upset because no matter how harsh it is it’s true.

“Don’t think about yourself,” he presses and looks at you with concern. “Your son needs you and your mother needs you. Don’t let your anger consume you.”

You blink repeatedly as his words ache your heart.

“You be careful too,” you whisper to the ground. “I need you. And Alyn needs you.”

He scoffs and as you look up you see him nod softly. You proceed to reach over and grab his arm to gain his unwavering attention. “I love you, Addam. You are someone to me, and I wish we would have met sooner, but I am glad our paths crossed. You…saved me from drowning in my grief. Without you, I would have died in that lake waiting for a dead man to come back to life. I…wouldn’t be here if you weren’t in my life.”

Addam’s eyes fill to the brim with tears but only two single tears break out and roll down his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly and offers you half a smile. “You know all my life I looked up at the world from the surface I was born in, it made me believe you were untouchable gods too high in the sky to care about anyone below you, but…when I too touched the clouds, when I met you…I see now that you are good. You have a good heart. You are a bit mad for liking the things you like, but you are like the sister I never had and I will always be thankful for that. I will always be thankful for you.”

Tears fill your eyes but you refuse to cry. You don't want to cry so you gnaw on your bottom lip and hold it all in.

“I love you too,” he redirects and closes the gap that was left between you to embrace you—“Be careful, okay?”

You nod as you hold onto him and whisper back. “I will. You be careful too.”

“I will,” he assures you before he pulls back and taps your chest with his fist, causing you to mirror his actions right back at him.

“I’ll see you up there,” you interject one more time, making him flash you a smile and offer you a nod before you both pull away from each other and mount your respected dragons.

“<Don’t worry girl,” you talk to Astraea as you click on your restraints—or as many as you can with your swollen belly in the way. “…today we won’t be the day we lose>.”

Astraea turns her head to look at you, making you offer her a gentle smile. “<Our fight won’t be over after this fight but we will be one step closer. You’ve been doing great>.”

Astraea growls and you can’t help but grin wider whilst you wrap your hands around the handles. When Astraea looks back at the dark sky you follow her line of gaze and take one last look at the serene night sky, taking note of the stars, and taking a deep breath of the brisk and clean air before you part your lips and mutter. “<Fly, Astraea.>”

Your she-dragon starts walking down slowly before she quickly picks up her pace, opens her giant purple wings, and then takes flight at the same time as Seasmoke, sending a signal to the army of men below to start running. Not marching, running.

You are so close to Tumbleton that you don’t want to risk being seen by any man. You want to stay under the cover of night and catch them by surprise so you rush, hitting the ground with thousands of claps of thunder as horses sprint through empty fields of grass.

The sky is silent, giving the illusion of a serene night, but looming threats cover the light of the stars and cast large shadows over the earth that fly past at an incredible speed.

A heightened rush of adrenaline connects you all as you get closer and closer to the grand battle, but nothing and you mean absolutely nothing matters but your anger. As if Daeron was solely at fault for all the pain you endured and everything that had happened all you can focus on is him and the rage that makes your blood and your heart thump violently.

You should keep your mind clear, you should fly into this war selflessly, after all, thousands of lives, and the lives of your mother, your son, and your brother depend on you to win this war, but there’s no fight with yourself when you choose to be selfish. You choose the blood-thirsty and raging anger. That’s all you hear. That’s all that fills you. It burns like the blasts of fire that rain down the moment you cross enemy lines and create chaos. And it’s all you see until there’s him; Daeron Targaryen standing in the midst of the army of his men.

His blond-silver hair stands out in between the storm of people all sent into a panic, and the wave of fires that wash over the army.

He stands there with his dark eyes on you and your raging dragon.

He stands there, Daeron Targaryen. He’s all you see and it makes your already heightened anger that more livid.

——

*A FEW YEARS AGO. KING’S LANDING*

The sun is high and beaming down fiercely. The breeze, when it does run, is hot, bringing with it waves of heat that run through your bodies and can’t cool down with any open window or fluttering fan, raising the already high tensions that are forever set between your families.

Yet no matter how high the tensions are, how many whispers are passed, and side glares are shot, none of that affects you, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, or Daeron.

Besides, today on the hottest day of summer is Daeron’s last day in the Red Keep. After today he will leave for Old Town until gods know when to become a ward…

.

.

.

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A/N- For story purposes Daeron was apart of everyone’s childhoods, he won’t be forgotten here!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

[nexturlsart]

House of the Dragon fancomic

English translation by Fumiyo • kenmeowpiie

Featuring Book!Aemond, Alys and Show!Aemond 💚

[sansacherie]

one of the nastiest fucking changes that this show did was in order to justify the erasure of the mental collapse helaena suffered thanks to rhaenyras faction....they removed the fact that helaena adored riding dreamfyre!! no taste for riding my ass

and here's the thing while i wouldn't get half as annoyed if they still accurately portrayed helaena in the aftermath of blood & cheese. however its very obvious that this change to dreamfyre was only added because of how they wrote blood & cheese!

y'all trying to theorise why helaena doesn't like riding dreamfyre. personally i don't think it goes any deeper than writers being too chickenshit for rhaenyras faction to be seen in a bad light.

[novaursa]

Legacy (sun over the capital)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Just a reminder how events and timeline of the story don't match the canon.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: bloodlines

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The heavy wooden doors to Tywin’s private chambers in the Tower of the Hand were flung open with a force that made the guards stationed outside exchange wary glances. Cersei stormed in, her eyes blazing with barely contained fury, her voice sharp as she addressed her father.

“Father,” she spat, her tone filled with venom. “Is it true?”

Tywin didn’t bother looking up from the stack of documents on his desk, his face calm and collected, though his eyes flickered with a subtle hint of irritation. He set his quill down, folding his hands together as he finally regarded her.

“And what truth are you seeking, Cersei?” he asked, his voice even, though a trace of coldness lurked beneath the words.

Cersei’s nostrils flared as she glared at him, her fists clenched at her sides. “Pycelle has informed me that she—” Cersei’s voice dripped with contempt as she referred to you—“is with child. Your child. And yet, you saw fit not to tell any of us?”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, and a faint, dangerous glint sparked in his eyes at the mention of Pycelle. “I see I’ll need to have a conversation with Grand Maester Pycelle about the limits of his discretion,” he said icily, his voice carrying a warning that made even Cersei falter for a moment.

But Cersei’s fury was unrestrained, her temper flaring once more. “So it’s true, then? You’ve brought another child into this world, and you’ve kept it hidden from your own family! You think of nothing and no one but yourself, Father!”

Tywin rose slowly from his chair, his towering presence casting a long shadow in the low lit chamber. His expression was calm, controlled, but there was an unyielding authority in his gaze as he regarded his daughter.

“This child,” he said, his voice steady and sharp, “will be the future of House Lannister. Whether you approve or not, Cersei, this is a fact that will not change. I made this decision for the good of our family. You would do well to remember where your loyalties lie.”

Cersei’s face twisted with anger, her voice rising as she took a step toward him. “Our family? You mean your ambitions. This is all about your endless schemes, about the name Tywin Lannister—nothing more. And if it’s a boy, you’ll simply hand Casterly Rock to him, disregarding your own children?”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver. “If this child is born a son, he will indeed inherit Casterly Rock,” he replied with a note of finality. “He will carry the name of Lannister, a name that will live on long after I am gone. This child—my child—will be raised with the discipline and values that our house represents. And should he prove worthy, he will take his rightful place as Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Cersei’s eyes flashed with fury, and she let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “So you’ll set him above Jaime, above Tyrion, above me? Just because he’s the result of this… this alliance of yours?” Her voice dripped with scorn. “You’ll disregard your own blood—your true heirs—for a child born of convenience?”

Tywin’s voice remained firm, cutting through her tirade like steel. “This child is my blood, and I will not allow my legacy to falter because of your jealousy or pettiness, Cersei.” His eyes bore into hers, a silent warning in their depths. “You will treat this child with the respect befitting his place in this family. And you will not let your bitterness poison what I have built.”

Cersei’s mouth tightened, her eyes blazing as she struggled to contain her outrage. “And what of your daughter, then? What of your own children who have done everything for you, sacrificed everything for this family, only to be discarded when it suits you?”

Tywin’s expression did not soften, but there was a hint of impatience in his gaze, as though he were weary of her complaints. “This is not a matter of sentiment, Cersei. It is a matter of legacy. Every decision I make is for the strength of House Lannister, and I will not be questioned on this.” He took a step closer, his voice lowering but growing even more intense. “You would do well to remember your place, daughter, and to trust my judgment. There is no room for weakness in this family.”

Cersei’s face twisted with frustration, her voice low and dangerous. “You think this child will be some savior for our family? That he’ll be the one to carry your legacy?”

Tywin met her gaze with an unwavering stare. “If he is a son, he will have all that I offer—an inheritance, a legacy, and the guidance to become what I expect. And if he is a daughter, she will be treated with the same dignity. But I will not tolerate anything less than respect from you or anyone else in this family, Cersei.”

Cersei let out a humorless laugh, her voice tinged with bitterness. “So, we are all simply tools for your ambition, are we?”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, his voice cold and resolute. “I do what I must to ensure our house remains strong. I make the sacrifices no one else will. Do not forget, Cersei, that your position, your power, all stem from the strength I have built. If you truly care for our family, you will accept this and uphold our legacy.”

Cersei clenched her fists, her face flushed with anger, but she said nothing more. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, before she turned on her heel, storming out of his chambers, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Tywin watched her leave, his face unreadable, his gaze sharp and unyielding. After a long moment, he returned to his desk, picking up his quill once more, his expression composed and resolute.

The soft murmur of voices filled the chamber as you sat comfortably among Lady Olenna, Margaery, and Sansa. Servants moved gracefully around the room, bringing refreshments and tending to every detail, creating an air of quiet luxury.

Olenna leaned back in her chair, observing you with her sharp, discerning eyes, a faint, wry smile tugging at her lips. She had a presence that seemed to command the room effortlessly, every line on her face hinting at a life spent maneuvering through the treacherous waters of court. Margaery sat beside her, her gaze warm and attentive as she listened, and Sansa, ever poised but still shy, stole glances between you and Margaery with a mixture of admiration and quiet curiosity.

After a few minutes, Margaery turned to Sansa, her tone light but inviting. “Sansa, would you care to join me for a walk in the gardens? I’ve been meaning to talk with you about some of the arrangements for the upcoming festivities. I could use your input.”

Sansa’s face lit up with a smile, nodding eagerly. “Of course, Lady Margaery. I’d love to help.”

With a graceful rise, Margaery took Sansa’s hand, guiding her toward the doors. She cast a warm smile back at you and her grandmother before stepping out, leaving you alone with Olenna. The older woman’s gaze lingered on the door for a moment before settling back on you, her expression one of curious amusement.

“Well,” Olenna began, her voice dry and laced with humor, “I must say, Lady Y/N, the former princess turned Lady Lannister. Quite a title for one to carry in such interesting times.”

You returned her gaze with a steady smile, sensing the probing nature of her words but refusing to rise to any bait. “Times have indeed grown interesting, Lady Olenna,” you replied smoothly. “Titles change with the wind, as I’ve come to learn. One must adapt, after all.”

Olenna’s gaze sharpened, a glint of approval in her eyes as she observed you closely. “Adapt, yes,” she echoed. “But you have done more than adapt. I’ve seen how you’ve managed to earn favor with Lord Tywin himself, a man who’s hardly known for his warmth. That alone tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, though the weight of her words hung between you. “Lady Olenna, when survival depends on forging unlikely alliances, one learns quickly. Tywin and I both understand that much.”

Olenna’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Oh, my dear, it’s much more than survival. Don’t pretend otherwise. Tywin Lannister is many things, but sentimental is not one of them. He doesn’t hold people close unless there’s something worth keeping.” She leaned forward slightly, her tone taking on a more personal note. “And I daresay, it’s rare to see him so attentive to anyone.”

You felt the weight of her observation, her words cutting through the pleasantries and touching upon the truth you’d carefully guarded. Tywin’s attention had indeed been more than mere duty, and though he was hardly a man of outward affection, his loyalty and protective nature had shown in subtle ways.

“What Tywin values most,” you said slowly, carefully choosing your words, “is strength. I think he sees something of that in me, perhaps because we both know what it is to lose family, to survive by our wits.”

Olenna watched you intently, her gaze softened, though her sharpness remained. “Strength is one thing, but what you have is a gift for survival that goes beyond mere endurance. It’s an art form, the way you navigate this court.” She chuckled, a gleam of approval in her eyes. “A former princess of the blood, seated at Tywin’s side, holding his favor like a sword at her hip. It’s almost poetic.”

You allowed yourself a small, knowing smile. “Poetry, perhaps, but with a touch of tragedy, wouldn’t you say? Every choice is calculated, every alliance a delicate balance.” You paused, meeting her gaze with quiet resolve. “For Tywin and me, it’s as much about understanding each other’s strengths as it is about surviving the expectations placed on us.”

Olenna nodded, her expression contemplative. “Indeed. And in a place like King’s Landing, a partnership of that kind is as close to power as one can get. There are few who can claim such influence over the likes of Tywin Lannister.” She arched an eyebrow, her voice carrying a hint of respect. “Even fewer who can hold their own under his scrutiny.”

You laughed softly, a genuine sound that broke the formality of the moment. “Perhaps I should thank you for the compliment, Lady Olenna. But Tywin values loyalty and strength above all, and I value… survival, as we said.”

Olenna leaned back, studying you with a smile that hinted at admiration. “Oh, don’t mistake my words. I recognize a survivor when I see one, and you, my dear, are as skilled at the game as any queen who’s ever ruled from the shadows.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, a glimmer of satisfaction in her gaze. “But do not be fooled—what you have with Tywin is more than just survival. He wouldn’t waste his time or his protection if he didn’t see something valuable in you.”

You held her gaze, her words sinking in, and you knew Olenna spoke with the wisdom of someone who understood power intimately. “Perhaps he does,” you conceded softly. “But whatever he sees, it serves us both. And in a court like this one, such mutual interests are as precious as dragon’s gold.”

Olenna’s expression softened, her sharpness tempered by a rare warmth. “Well said, my dear. You’ve earned more than mere survival—you’ve earned a place of respect, even here, and that’s no small feat.” She paused, her voice lowering to a more personal tone. “But remember, in this game, allies are often as valuable as titles. And should you find yourself in need of friends… the Tyrells are not ones to turn away those with the strength to endure.”

You inclined your head, understanding the depth of her offer. “Thank you, Lady Olenna. I will remember that.” There was a subtle acknowledgment between you, a recognition that in the shifting sands of King’s Landing, allies could be the difference between survival and ruin.

Olenna’s gaze softened further, her voice holding a rare note of warmth. “Then let’s hope it’s a long-lasting friendship.” She lifted her cup in a small, quiet toast, her smile carrying a hint of respect, her eyes gleaming with something akin to approval.

The small, dimly lit room echoed with the clinking of glasses and soft laughter as Tyrion and Bronn sat together, sharing a rare moment of lighthearted drinking. The table before them was scattered with empty goblets, the dark red stains of Arbor wine smudged across the wood, a testament to the number of toasts they’d already raised.

As Bronn tipped his goblet back, the door opened with a quiet creak, and Varys entered, his footsteps light and his face calm but curious. Tyrion noticed him instantly, a grin stretching across his face as he raised his goblet in welcome.

“Ah, the Spider himself,” Tyrion greeted, gesturing grandly for Varys to join them. “Care to join us for a toast, Varys? It’s not often we have a cause for cheer in this dreary place.”

Varys inclined his head with a polite smile, stepping forward as Bronn slid over slightly, making room for him at the table. “A toast, is it? Now that does intrigue me,” Varys replied smoothly, his voice light but tinged with curiosity. “And what, may I ask, are we celebrating?”

Tyrion chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, Varys. I find it hard to believe that the master of whispers is unaware of any piece of news circulating within these walls.”

Varys’s lips curved in a mild smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “One could say I’m aware of… many things, my lord. But I do so enjoy hearing it from the source. It lends a certain charm to the information.”

Tyrion laughed, shaking his head before lifting his goblet to Varys. “Well then, let it be known that we are toasting to the newest addition to House Lannister… or at least, the one yet to be born.” He smirked, his voice laced with a hint of irony. “My dear stepmother is with child. And, as you can imagine, this has done wonders for my sister’s mood.”

Bronn snorted, raising his goblet to clink against Tyrion’s. “Aye, Cersei’s likely to drink the whole damn wine cellar dry by morning.”

Varys’s smile widened slightly, though his eyes remained calm and calculating as he glanced between them. “How… delightful. A new addition to the family, and one with such a distinguished lineage. Lord Tywin must be very pleased indeed.”

Tyrion’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he took a sip of his wine, savoring it before setting the goblet down. “Oh, ‘pleased’ might be too soft a word. I’d wager he’s envisioning an heir that can finally inherit Casterly Rock, a son that he can shape in his image.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “And wouldn’t that just be the thing to push Cersei over the edge?”

Bronn chuckled, raising his goblet again. “Here’s to that—no one drives her mad quite like her own family.”

Tyrion laughed, lifting his own goblet to join Bronn’s. “Indeed. Here’s to us, the fine architects of Cersei’s impending descent into madness.”

Varys, watching the exchange with amusement, finally accepted the offer of a goblet from a passing servant, though he held it delicately, not yet raising it to his lips. “My, my,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of humor. “A child born of both lion and dragon. The realm will certainly find that interesting, though not nearly as interesting as the politics it will spark within the family itself.”

Tyrion glanced at Varys, his expression thoughtful as he swirled the wine in his goblet. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re not intrigued by it yourself, Varys. An heir with Targaryen blood under Tywin’s roof—that’s enough to set even the most controlled noble spinning.”

Varys tilted his head, a glint of something almost approving in his eyes. “It does present… unique possibilities,” he agreed. “Tywin Lannister is not a man to make alliances lightly, especially one of such lasting consequence. And if this child should indeed prove to be a son, well… the implications for House Lannister would be substantial.”

Bronn gave a low chuckle, tipping his goblet back. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. As long as the child doesn’t end up like Joffrey, Westeros should count itself lucky.”

Tyrion’s grin widened, a spark of mischief in his eyes as he raised his goblet to Varys. “Well said, Bronn. If this child inherits even an ounce of Tywin’s calculation and none of Joffrey’s malice, it might actually turn out to be the rare Lannister worth rooting for.”

Varys chuckled, swirling the wine in his goblet thoughtfully. “Let us hope, then, that this future heir finds the best qualities of both parents. Though, knowing Lord Tywin, I suspect the child will have little choice in the matter.”

Tyrion leaned back, his expression shifting into one of contemplation. “Yes, Tywin will no doubt be a forceful hand in the child’s upbringing. But… perhaps there’s a bit of Targaryen fire that might resist even him. I daresay my stepmother has shown herself more than capable of holding her own against the likes of Tywin.”

Bronn raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re actually rooting for her.”

Tyrion shrugged, taking another sip of his wine. “Perhaps I am. She’s proven herself a formidable woman, and not without a touch of compassion—something our family has always lacked. She might actually bring a bit of balance to the golden lion’s brood.” His gaze drifted to Varys, his tone turning thoughtful. “I’d say that makes her quite the wild card, wouldn’t you agree, Varys?”

Varys inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Indeed. In a family as tightly controlled as the Lannisters, a touch of unpredictability can be… refreshing.” His gaze turned contemplative, as if he were already calculating the potential outcomes of this new addition.

Tyrion gave him a knowing smile, clinking his goblet with Varys’s. “Then let’s drink to unpredictability. To dragons in lion’s dens and the chaos they bring.”

Varys lifted his goblet with a faint chuckle, finally taking a small sip, a spark of amusement lingering in his eyes. “To dragons in lion’s dens,” he echoed softly.

And as they drank, a quiet understanding passed between them—of the game, of the players, and of the thrilling unpredictability that even the most careful plans could not account for.

The heavy drapes were drawn to shut out the glare of the midday sun in the Queen's chambers. Cersei sat by the hearth, a goblet of wine clutched tightly in her hand, her face a mask of bitterness. She was nursing her frustration in silence when Joffrey burst into the room, his face twisted with a mixture of anxiety and anger.

“Mother,” he began, his voice urgent, “is it true? Is she… is she with child?”

Cersei didn’t look up immediately, her grip tightening on the goblet as she took a deep, steadying breath. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet her son’s, her eyes were sharp, her expression sour. “Yes, Joffrey,” she replied curtly, her tone laced with contempt. “Your dear grandfather’s new wife is with child. A Lannister-Targaryen child. Imagine that.”

Joffrey’s face paled, and he took a step closer, his eyes wide with a growing panic. “A child with Targaryen blood… and Lannister blood?” He swallowed, his voice a whisper as he processed the implications. “Doesn’t that mean… wouldn’t that mean it could have a better claim than me?”

Cersei’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile, though her eyes were cold. “Yes, that’s certainly what some might think, isn’t it?” She took a long sip from her goblet, the wine staining her lips a dark red. “A Targaryen child, born into the heart of House Lannister. Tywin’s pet project. A new legacy for him to fawn over. And you, my sweet boy, are expected to simply sit by and watch as it unfolds.”

Joffrey’s panic turned swiftly into anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “How can he do this?” he demanded, his voice rising. “How can you let him do this? This… this child could take everything that’s mine! My throne, my power!”

Cersei’s gaze darkened, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. “You think I don’t know that, Joffrey?” she hissed, her voice laced with venom. “You think I haven’t seen this coming from the moment he married her? This child is Tywin’s way of ensuring his legacy goes on, with or without us.”

Joffrey’s face twisted with fury, his eyes blazing. “He’ll be no better than Stannis, Renly, or Robb Stark,” he spat, pacing angrily. “Another usurper trying to take what belongs to me. And you—” he turned on Cersei, his voice accusatory—“you should be doing something about it!”

Cersei’s gaze hardened, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I am your mother, Joffrey. And I have done everything for you, to protect your throne, to protect your future. But Tywin… he doesn’t care about anything or anyone unless it serves his ambitions.”

“But you’re the Queen Regnant!” Joffrey snapped, his voice filled with a petulant fury. “You can stop him, you can make sure this child never sees the light of day!”

Cersei’s face twisted, her anger simmering just beneath the surface as she looked at her son. “And how would you suggest I do that, Joffrey? I am not the one who wields the power here. Tywin does, and he has made it very clear that this child will be the future of House Lannister.” Her voice softened, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. “He is willing to cast aside all of us for the sake of this… this perfect heir he believes he’ll have.”

Joffrey’s breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to contain his frustration. “So we’re just supposed to sit back and watch as he creates another contender for the throne?” His voice was filled with disbelief, his eyes wide with anger and fear. “I’m the king, Mother! I won’t have anyone challenge me—not my uncles, not some… some child!”

Cersei took a measured sip of her wine, her gaze cool as she watched Joffrey’s reaction. “Then you’d better start acting like a king, Joffrey,” she said sharply. “This isn’t about whining or stamping your feet. This is about understanding who holds the real power—and learning how to play the game as they do.”

Joffrey’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Tywin thinks he can control everything. He thinks he can just replace us whenever it suits him.”

Cersei’s gaze darkened, her eyes flashing with anger. “Believe me, I know exactly how Tywin operates. But for now, we have to be careful. This child isn’t here yet. And if it is born… well, there are ways to ensure it never becomes a threat.”

Joffrey’s expression shifted, his anger tempered by a glint of satisfaction at the thought of removing a rival before it could grow strong. “Then you’d better make sure it stays that way, Mother,” he said coldly. “I will not be replaced. I am the king. And anyone who tries to take that from me… will pay the price.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a thin smile, though her eyes were filled with bitterness. “Oh, my sweet Joffrey. I’ll make sure nothing takes your throne from you. But remember… in this world, it’s not always the strongest who survive. It’s the ones who know how to strike when the time is right.”

With that, she drained her goblet, her expression hardening as she met her son’s gaze. They both understood what needed to be done. And as they sat there, silent but resolute, a dark determination settled over them both—a shared desire to ensure that nothing, not even Tywin’s ambitions, would take away what they saw as rightfully theirs.

You lounged comfortably on a cushioned settee, Tywin seated across from you, deep in a stack of documents and letters. He seemed as immersed in the minutiae of the realm’s business as ever, though he’d allowed you this rare shared afternoon, a quiet moment that felt both peaceful and oddly domestic.

But the calm was interrupted by a soft knock at the door, and when Tywin inclined his head, a young servant stepped in, looking slightly flustered, his gaze shifting nervously between you and Tywin.

“Speak,” Tywin commanded, his tone cool and steady.

The servant cleared his throat, bowing his head respectfully before glancing quickly at you. “My lord, my lady… there is a visitor from Dorne in the city.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened, his brow barely lifting. “Go on.”

The servant shifted from foot to foot, visibly uneasy. “Prince Oberyn Martell, my lord. He arrived in King’s Landing earlier today and is… insistent on speaking with Lady Y/N.”

At the mention of Oberyn, a flicker of surprise danced across Tywin’s face, though he quickly masked it, his expression hardening. He cast a sidelong glance at you, studying your reaction.

You arched an eyebrow, meeting Tywin’s gaze before turning to the servant. “Prince Oberyn is here?” you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice. “Where is he staying?”

The servant hesitated, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he wrung his hands together. “Prince Oberyn is… currently at one of the city’s brothels, my lady. He was… most insistent that you be informed.”

You couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. Oberyn’s choice of accommodations was hardly surprising, but you sensed it wouldn’t sit well with Tywin. You glanced over at him, noting the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly against the table.

“Of course he is,” you murmured, a hint of amusement coloring your tone. “It seems Prince Oberyn hasn’t changed his ways.”

Tywin’s expression was as cold as winter steel, his gaze flicking to the servant with a dismissive nod. “You may leave,” he instructed, his voice low and controlled.

The servant quickly bowed and hurried from the room, leaving you alone with Tywin once more. He turned his gaze on you, his expression unreadable but his eyes reflecting a simmering irritation.

“Oberyn Martell,” he said, his voice like granite. “Trust a Martell to make his entrance at a brothel, of all places. Did he give any indication why he so wishes to see you?”

You shrugged, a faint smirk lingering. “Oberyn has never been one for propriety. I suspect he has his reasons, though what they are, I can only imagine.” You paused, a playful glint in your eye. “And I imagine they are as intriguing as he is.”

Tywin’s gaze grew colder, his jaw set in a hard line. “Oberyn’s intrigue is of little consequence,” he replied sharply. “The man revels in scandal as if it were a sport. If he seeks your company, it’s likely only to fan the flames of discontent and stir up trouble.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a calm confidence. “Perhaps. But Oberyn has never been one to seek out someone without purpose. He may revel in scandal, but he is not a fool.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice carrying a quiet intensity. “He may be a prince, but Oberyn Martell is still a Martell—impulsive, driven by passions that often cloud his judgment. Do not mistake his presence here as a gesture of goodwill.”

You held his gaze, a hint of defiance in your expression. “I know Oberyn well enough to understand the complexities of his character, Tywin. And while he may be impulsive, he is also… refreshingly direct. I’d rather hear him out than speculate.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened further, though a glint of grudging respect flickered in his eyes. “You intend to meet with him, then?”

You nodded, your tone firm. “I do. Better to speak directly with Oberyn than leave questions unanswered. He’s come all this way, after all. It would be… impolite not to.”

A slight frown tugged at the corners of Tywin’s mouth, though he inclined his head slightly. “Very well,” he replied, though his tone remained clipped. “But I’ll not have him stirring up chaos in this city. And I trust you’ll remember where your loyalties lie.”

You offered him a calm smile, a touch of reassurance in your gaze. “My loyalties are clear, Tywin. But I cannot ignore a visitor from Dorne. I’ll meet with him, hear what he has to say… and return here.”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of caution and an intensity that spoke of both his protectiveness and his mistrust of Oberyn. “See to it that Oberyn understands his place here. This city is not Dorne, and his actions will not go unobserved.”

You nodded, rising from the settee with a composed air. “I shall make that perfectly clear, my lord.” With a final glance at Tywin, you left the room, feeling his gaze follow you as you made your way down the corridors.

As you walked, thoughts of Oberyn filled your mind—his charm, his volatility, his relentless pursuit of justice. Whatever he wished to discuss, you had little doubt it would be laced with intrigue, perhaps even danger. But that was Oberyn’s way, and if there was one thing you knew about the Dornish prince, it was that he never did anything without purpose.

[wweskywalker]

September - October Commissions ⛈️

These two months are quite literally the busiest months of the year so far for me so it took some time to finish all of these. They turned out great though and some of my personal favorites 💕

—- November commissions are opened! (limited to 4 slots only because I have to juggle through uni)

1. Queen Rhaenyra alongside Ser Laenor and Ser Harwin commissioned by jacaerys_

2. Birthday portrait commissioned by @oflorelei

3. ASOIAF OC commissioned by @lawolfe

4. Daenora and her dragon (OC) commissioned by weirwooddream

5. OC commissioned by heronovels

6. Aemond and Daena (OC) commissioned by dykeatron4000

7. Adult! Joffrey Velaryon commissioned by jacerys_

8. ASOIAF OC commissioned by @sikudastoner

9. ASOIAF OC commissioned by @lawolfe