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iamyourdailydoseofbi · 2 months

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WILL YOU PRAY FOR ME? ( House of the Dragon x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Trying out writing Aegon some more for my fic, 'THE CONQUEROR REBORN'. <3 pairing: DARK! Aegon ii Targaryen x Fem! Hightower! Reader prompt: Aegon finds you praying in the Sept before the Battle of Rook's Rest. This is not a friendly encounter. word count: 1, 298+ words

You had been sent to King’s Landing as a means of assurance that House Hightower, Aegon’s Mother side of the family, was completely loyal to him and his cause. You dreaded it, wishing you had been born a man or married off to some Lord from far away. King’s Landing was in chaos, the common folk struggling to adapt to the changes due to the war. Whilst the Red Keep was a mix of chaotically trying to plan out the war and comforting a fragile minded Helaena.

It did not help that the predatory eyes that were Aegon’s that followed you everywhere. From when you entered a room until you left, if the walls had eyes then they surely would have followed you there as well. In hopes of avoiding any conflict or attempts of any kind, the Sept became your safe haven. Aegon did not attend the daily mass, nor did he believe in the Faith of the Seven.

So, those hours long masses were a good enough excuse to get out of the Red Keep and to keep your distance from Aegon. After the rumors of Aegon’s past in Silk Street floated towards your ear, no matter how hard Alicent tried to stop it, it gave you reason enough to keep far far far far away from him. Even if he was your distant cousin and King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Kneeling in front of the large statue of the Mother, you did not pray for anything a girl of your age and high standing usually would have, not for the blessing of fertility and easy labor. No, you prayed for mercy and peace on behalf of your sweet distant cousin and Queen consort Helaena. The poor girl did not deserve the fate given to her, to marry her older brother and to watch her innocent son be slaughtered in front of her. Helaena deserved peace and mercy.

Grabbing a match from benches in front of the statue, you light an unlit candle, watching the flames crackle and pop for a second. Weakly smiling at the alluring glow of candlelight, you blow out the match, shifting on the velvet stool in front of the statue of the Mother. Letting out a gentle sigh, you clasps your hands together in a prayer motion, ready to begin your prayers for your sweet cousin.

“So this is where you run off to.” Aegon states, his loud footsteps filling the once quiet Sept.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I had hoped for something more interesting or scandalous.” Aegon comments amused, “But, considering how much of a prude Oldtown is, I am not surprised you're here.”

“Your grace, I was not expecting you here.” You weakly get out, dreading turning around.

“I can tell. You're tense.”

Tensing up even more as he points it out, you turn around to look at him, your eyes looking him over. His hair was unruly as ever, only making it more obvious that he lacked the knowledge of a hairbrush of any kind. Though you were sure that he never combed it in his entire life as it was very fit for his character.

Narrowing your eyes at what he was wearing, the steel chest plate clearly did not fit him, the leather straps holding the chest plate together looking seconds away from bursting. You’d never comment on it, but he would have better luck squeezing himself into a corset than trying to wear that armor.

“I was taken by surprise by you. Do forgive me for it, your grace.” You mumble weakly, now praying that he would go away.

“I see you are admiring me. I do not blame you. I do look rather dashing, had nearly all of the whores in Silk Street throw themselves at me.” He jests, though it only makes your lips curled up into a disgusted look.

A poet. No, a drunk. No, no, a whore. Anyone could have come up with a better conversation starter than that.

“I am sure you enjoyed that, your grace.” You nod, “You look like the true epitome of a King.”

Shifting your eyes away from him, you tense up as he stands beside your stool, dangerously close to touching you. Aegon had always given you an odd feeling, not quite hatred but not quiet enjoyment, more like a neutral contentment. From the cordial conversations at dinner with the rest of the family, he was decent enough. Of course, before he gorged himself on Arbor red and food.

“Will you pray for me?” He asks, his hand brushing against the side of your cleavage.

“What?” You blurt out, tensing up at the ‘accidental’ touch.

“I said, will you pray for me, sweet cousin?” He asks, a dark glint in his eyes. “Pray for your King to return from battle unmarred?”

“I will, if you ask me to.” You mumble, feeling forced to comply.

Cowering backwards as he leans in dangerously close, every part of your body told you that you were not safe this close to him. He was a Targaryen, the King, your distant cousin, and a married man nonetheless. An unmarried woman such as yourself should not be this close to him. Pushing down the fear that bubbled up inside of you, he tenderly touches your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze better. Your lips dangerously close to touching if either of you leaned in.

Carefully looking over his features, you would never say it aloud, but in another life he would be considered ethereal. Those stunning amethyst eyes and white curls that all Targaryen’s had. Those sharp features that were framed with a soft pudginess from his recent gain of weight. The soft pink under his eyes and on the tip of his nose from restless nights. Remembering where you were, you instantly pull back from him, keeping a distance from him.

“When I return from Rook’s Rest, victorious, like I know that I will. I will take you as my second wife, I need an heir and you are fit for that.” He states, an almost sinister glimmer in his eyes.

“But, it is forbidden. In the eyes of the Seven and of the common law. No man should take two wives.” You argue, praying it would be enough to spook him off.

“I am King, my word is law. Not to mention, twas’ my ancestor who took two wives. Who am I to deny tradition?” He counters, the tone of his voice leaving no room to argue.

No. No. No. Now he cares of tradition? Of duty?

Realizing that there truly was no way to sway his mind on the matter, you sink in the velvet stool, a twindle of defeat filling you. You would be his second wife, his bride. Just a broodmare, someone to warm his bed whenever he called for you like a dog. No one would be able to protest this, to argue on your behalf because he was right, he was King. His word held more power than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms. Your fate was sealed, it seemingly was when you were shipped to King’s Landing.

"But-" You try, but he cuts you off.

“Now, I will expect you to await my return with eagerness, my little bride-to-be.” He whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

You don’t speak, your tongue feeling as if it was made of lead. Even if you could, you could not promise that you would not lash out on him.

“Oh, and when I do come back, wait for me in my chambers dressed in that pretty little chemise of yours. I liked the one with the pink ribbon.” He whispers, the last part of his words sending a cold shiver down your spine.

He had been watching you whilst you were in your chambers. For gods knows how long.

----

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

#house of dragons x reader #house of dragons #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #house of the dragon x reader #aegon ii #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the second #hotd aegon #aegon ii targaryen #king aegon #aegon x you

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lovelykhaleesiii · 7 months

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A King to Fear...

PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x Stark!fem!Reader

WORDS: 2,218.

SUMMARY: What you had intended to be a short, innocent trip to King's Landing, had turned into a bitter pleasure that would forever change the course of your life.

WARNINGS: thicc!aegon, infidelity [on Aegon's part], swearing, thigh riding, breeding kink, corruption kink, degradation kink, exhibitionism, p in v sexual intercourse, female receiving (fingering), brief mentions of cockwarming/creampie.

A/N - since the trailer dropped, the little glimpses we got of Aeg continue to haunt me and this is the product... I need this man to down me so bad, it's not funny anymore.

The chiming bells had rung a bellowing rhythm throughout the city. You felt as though the ancient, stone walls themselves shuddered from the distant echoes of the bells, shaking its very foundation, that Aegon, the Second of His Name, now roamed as the newly anointed King of the Seven Kingdoms.

His liege Kingsguard had rounded the spare subjects, yourself included, like shepherds tending to their frolicking herd. A part of you rooted inside, taunted at you for ever thinking it logical to leave Winterfell. Had Cregan received news of the scandalous outpour in the city, you were certain the wolves would be on the hunt... It was only a matter of when their arrival you had anticipated anxiously.

Hesitantly making your gradual way into the throne with the harrowing sound of scuttling feet, as you felt yourself confined in the centre of the bewildered crowd: every lord and lady by your side fearful of the King before them...

You had seen Aegon in passing before, during his days as a Targaryen Prince. You never found his looming presence to be threatening, nor intimidated by his appeal, often absent from royal events, or found drowning himself in his cups. Yet the young ladies of the court spoke often of his infidelity, that was all you could gather of the eldest Prince. Yet, in this precise moment, a different man sat atop the throne with might, and with his identical face.

Your gut viscously churned as your sole attention remained fixated on the young King. His hair had grown an inch longer, now resting atop his broad shoulders, his ruggedly handsome face looked fuller, as to match the sturdiness of his body. Mahaps, he grew to fit the heavy burden of the crown. He sat perfectly on the Iron Throne, as if the seat was made precisely in dedication to him. Those strange, alluring lilac eyes, remnants of the ancient ancestors of Old Valyria, remained visible as his stern eyes gazed upon his entering subjects. Rather than looking empty and sullen, as you had often remembered, there was a darker, more jeopardising tinge to their hidden intent.

"You stand before King Aegon, the Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. You have all been led to swear and declare your loyalties to the true King and heir of the Seven Kingdoms. Honour your King, and be rewarded generously... Or suffer the consequences of your treachery."

The uproar from the familiar faced, Dornish knight, Ser Criston Cole, sent an immediate wave of chills across your body. The familiar and other strange faces surrounding you began to anxiously peer, stretching from one another, as you all questioned the ordeal.

One by one, Ser Criston has called upon the noble houses, and those that stood present to come forth, some needing to be harshly pulled apart from the crowd, to make known. And one by one, some would see to it that the reward be mercy itself, whilst others, had been dragged away, in support of their loyalties and ties to Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The horrific sight before you, the terrifying screeches and screams of husbands and wives being separated, engraved into your saddened memory. You had completely grown oblivious to Aegon's silent presence, as his henchmen carried out his work.

It was only when the dark, booming echo of his voice, uttering the word "stop" had halted the commotion, an uneasy stillness filled the room.

"What of the North?"

The unseeing mention of home, had captured your attention fervently. As you turned towards the voice that spoke of your livelihood, you were met with the unfaltering gaze belonging to the King himself, his attention had already been fixated onto you, before the eyes of the room followed.

"Th-The North, your Grace?"

"Speak up to your King, woman!" Ser Criston Cole's voice boomed, an aggressive passion seeping through his words.

"I-I have no control over the judgement of the North your Grace, nor their fealty to the throne... I am merely a woman of the North."

"You are not Cregan Stark's younger sister? The beloved she-wolf of the North, that as I have heard, every man has pined and fawned for? Every Northern man, boy and bastard born has sworn to protect with their lives... It is you that, am I to believe, has no indifference with the North?"

Your anxious breath hitched in your throat, struggling to compel the words from your stuttering lips, that would ultimately determine your fate. You felt the dire wish for Cregan and his pack of wolves to burst through the grand, oak doors, ready at arms to savour your life. Those sworn men that Aegon had mentioned, were absent and you felt petrified.

"Y-Your Grace, I-"

"Everyone, out! Except for the she-wolf of the North."

"Aegon-" The sternly still tone of his grandsire, the Hand, Otto Hightower, proclaimed from the foot of the steps. Witnessing the exchange of their grim stares, almost convinced they had exchanged heated words telepathically, did his Grandsire finally retreat defeatedly, disappearing into a door in some narrow corridor. His Kingsguard were the last to leave, Ser Criston in particular, as he took the responsibility to body search you for weapons at arms. Your elder brother had from time to time introduced you to such weapons, yet you felt no obligation to soak in the training, and with your racing mind and empty hands, you had no hope to fight your way out of this.

The sudden shudder of the doors creaking close, sent your body into a complete state of suspense, frosting up like frozen petals during the winter.

"So it is true, I see. That your beauty was captivating enough to lure men to seal their fate. A fate to protect your own greedy, little life... Where are these men now to save you from me?"

Your eyes darted from the stony, grey steps of the throne, back to the hefty King that sat atop the violent throne. You felt his lilac orbs swallowing you whole, as your stomach churned uneasily against his words, desperately holding your hands together ever so tightly to avoid the terrible habit of fidgeting.

"The whispers that reach your ear from the North, your Grace, can be skewered. As I said before, I hold no power over the council of men... Even in the North."

"Do not toy with me, woman... I am the King, the rightful heir by law, and by the Gods. I want to hear where you stand in judgement of my reign."

"My opinion is not credible, your Grace. I-I hold no value here-"

"Answer me- Or I will fuck the answer out of you."

A flustering heat waved over you, as the sudden outburst and intent of Aegon's carnal words sparked an interest in you, snatching your complete attention once more.

"I-I cannot say I extend the pledges taken by my ancestors to heart. I do not know you, my Grace, nor do I know of your kin... I-I take a more... liberal approach."

"Get up here-"

Instead and wrongfully so, you felt your feet shifting backwards, taking slow paces back, adding more distance between yourself and the man who calls himself King. The chill in his tone felt colder than the blizzards of the North.

"Now."

Your thoughts had swayed to their senses, as your body became intact with your mind once more. Rather than ignorantly disobeying, you adhered to Aegon's command, taking hesitant step by step paces up the stony steps until you were a step beneath his Grace. Admiring him this up close, in finer detail, you noticed the faded scars across his supple face: unlike his younger brother, Aegon was much fuller, less lean. He had a bulkier build, and a more threatening, uneasy appeal.

"Wrong answer.... It seems the she-wolf has met her match with the dragon."

Aegon subtly reached over, pulling you strongly in by the arm, closing the last remaining distance between, as you felt his touch beneath your sensitive skin. He remained seated, almost as if he had been forged to the Iron Throne, as his hungry eyes lurked over every inch and detail of your body, before meeting your gaze peering wearisomely down above.

"Is the she-wolf scared? Does the dragon frighten her so? She need not be... Dragons protect the ones they take a liking to-"

Immediately, without a second to spare, Aegon began to hike up her lush silk gown, guiding her body to turn around, as she looked onwards from his royal perspective.

"Y-Your Grace, y-you are married-"

"Stay quiet, or I'll have that smart mouth of yours stuffed shut with my cock, balls deep in your mouth. You speak when I fucking tell you to-"

Once more, your mind instinctively shut, body mindlessly obedient to his demands.

Guiding your bare ass and cunt to seat itself down atop of him, you felt the hard, tense bulge brewing beneath his pants, between your cheeks. With each adjusting motion, your body would grind against his sturdy lap, your flesh colliding with his, only to cause a natural urge to crave for more.

"Look at what the she-wolf has done to her King, look at the power your sheer presence has over me. You think you have no value in court, yet this is your doing..." Aegon's warm breath, cooing his words directly into your ear. His strong, fleshy arms wrapped around your shaking body, coiled firmly around your waist and arms, as if to avoid you from escaping his strong grasp.

"What if I have my way with you, and send you back to the North carrying my bastard seed... What will the North think of their precious she-wolf then, hmm? What will your brother think of you?"

In unison with your King's haste movements, Aegon stood himself as he swiftly undid his trousers, his rigid, thick cock plunging out with excitement. Guiding his cock with one hand between your folds, his fingers ever so lightly grazing between as he teased your opening, making certain he aligned himself perfectly to your sweet spot.

"Already soaking for me, sweet one? It seems I have my answer after all."

Without so much as a second to spare, Aegon thrusts himself deep inside, burying his stiff, throbbing mass as your walls clench over his cock, desperate to ease the stretching tension. One muscular arm remained snaked around your waist, his calloused hand managing to reach to your bosom, where he cheekily squeezed and firmly kneaded your tit by the handful. Keeping you positioned steady as you sloppily bounced on his wide lap. His other hand however, oblivious to your own incoherent mind, to the front of your cunt, his pudgy digits teasing at your clit, pursuing to edge you more, enhancing the pressure that pulsated from inside. Your swollen bud, he intently enjoyed flicking at, earning a grizzly snicker each time you moaned and squirmed in retaliation.

"A fucking mess for me already. If only your dear, stupid brother could see you. The whimpering whore that you are, moaning my name like that. Accepting me as your King."

"A-Aegon-"

"Seven Hells, you feel so fucking tight for me, precious girl. A cunt made just for her King, already so obedient, so frightened of her King, she'll let me fuck her senseless, huh?"

"Hmm, A-Aeg. I-I shouldn't-"

"B-But you want this, baby. I can smell your ooze dripping. So fucking wet. A she-wolf as my pet. Where is the North to save you now? You don't want to be saved, though, look at you!"

"Mhmm- Your G-Grace-"

His thick fingers delved deeper, pumping hastily as his thrusts grew more forceful. Your breathless moans, incoherent besides a few words and his name, you could only build the sheer strength to muster. Your skin felt as hot as the summer wind of the city, Aegon's lips found themselves latched to your mottled hair and sweat-beaded skin. Sucking your very scent in, your taste lingering in his mouth, as he lowly growls.

"No-No, say it- Introduce me as you would your King."

"Hmm- A-Aegon, the S-Second of his N-Name-"

"That's it, sweet girl. Say it all."

"K-King of the A-Andals, the R-Rhoynar a-and the F-First Men. L-Lord of the S-Seven Kingdoms- Ugh A-Aeg-"

"Keep going, baby-" His tone thick and heavy, breathless, his own stocky chest heaving intensely in sync with your own breaths.

"A-And P-Protector of th-the R-Realm."

"That's it, b-baby. Such a good-good job, princess."

With his tender, soft-spoken words, Aegon's warm seed spills into you feverishly, a crescendo of mindless moans escapes your soft, moist lips, as Aegon's wetly coated hand leaves your raw, aching cunt, guiding your head to turn towards him. Meeting your lips with his own, as he seals the ecstasy with a passionate kiss.

"Let me taste you-" His tongue hungrily laps up the remnants of your cum off his thick digits, his alluring eyes shut as he blissfully devours your taste.

"Fucking delicious, they don't make them like the North do... Stay on my cock, princess. Be the good, little whore you are for me. My she-wolf will obey me and stay. I want to make sure you swell with my dragon seed before I send you back to the North."

general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @aegonslawyer

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @jawline-of-steel @daughter-of-the-stars11

credit for dividers - @/itbmojojoejo

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #king aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x fem!reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x stark!reader #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagines #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction

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tv-moments · 13 days

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Ripley

Season 1, “II Seven Mercies”

Director: Steven Zaillian

DoP: Robert Elswit

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2rats1gogh · 7 days

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Jaehaera’s death was so unfair of Grrm, Aegon shows mercy and spares a whole slew of Team Black members but in turn his little girl is murdered? Grrm couldn’t let that little girl live because he says it would’ve made the story ending too neat, yet not a single one of Daemon’s children die?

I hope she lives in the show, the line is eventually continued through Viserys II anyway. It doesn’t matter if Aegon III’s children are Daenara’s or Jaehaera’s.

The show has written it like none of the Targaryens or Velaryons worship the Seven and religion is a Hightower specific thing when most of the Kingsdom, including Targaryens kept the faith of the seven, even Rhaenyra. (btw, WHERE ARE BAELA AND RHAENA’S SEPTAS?! Velaryons worshipped the seven, they’re also quarter Baratheon even though the show ignores that connection. Rhaenys and Laena would’ve grown up with Septas)

So it makes more sense that Baelor the Blessed is the Great Grandson of Alicent Hightower and Grandson of Helaena. As does Jaehaera with a daughter named HElaena, one named after Aegon’s sister and her cousin Rhaena who took her under her wings and a son named after her brave uncle Prince Daeron the Daring. She and Aegon compromise and name their daughter Daena because Jaehaera will never have a son named Daemon.

Louderrr!!🗣️ Absolutely agree with everything. I love GRRM and I think he’s a great writer, but his favoritism of Daemon clearly shows in the ending of the Dance of the Dragons.

Like it just feels so insanely unfair. And don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I can’t sit through horrible death, because I can. The death of Ned Stark was horrible, but it was foreshadowed by Joffrey’s behavior, we should’ve seen it coming. The Red wedding was brutal, but is was understandable, and if you really think about it, it was entirely on Robb. Even Blood and Cheese would’ve happened anyway, because Daemon would want to “avenge” Lucerys, so it was unavoidable.

But Jaehaera literally could’ve lived and it would’ve made the ending much better, and much more poetic. The two descendants of team green and team black, united at last, in a marriage that would finally bring peace to the realm.

And about the religion: omg fr!!! It annoys me so much as well. It’s almost as if the show tries to villainze the fate of the Seven by making Alicent extremely religious and team black almost entirely non-religious. It always felt so weird to me. Like, the Targaryens and the Velaryons still worship the Seven?? Why does everyone forget about it?

And that would also give the possible connection of making Baelor the Blessed the son of Aegon and Jaehaera. And you’re so right about the names!!!

#house of the dragon #hotd #asoiaf #fire and blood #jaehaera lives #jaehaera targaryen #pro jaehaera targaryen #pro team green #team green #anti team black #grrm critical #dance of the dragons #aegon iii x jaehaera #jaehaera x aegon

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celine-song · 3 months

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RIPLEY (2024)

Episode II: Seven Mercies

#ripley #ripley netflix #andrew scott #tvedit #*

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gravehags · 10 months

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⛧⚸ gravehags' writing ⚸⛧

GHOST

sundress season - mary goore x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

synchronicity - cardinal copia x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

fever for the fire - cumulus x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

i must confess to you (i want to possess you) - cumulus x f!reader, prequel to fever for the fire, NSFW, MDNI

to taste your beating heart - cirrus x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

sweetest submission - dewdrop x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

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feel you from the inside - dewdrop x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

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the potential of you and me - phantom x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

whatever she wants (whatever you want) - cumulus x f!reader (x cirrus, sort of), NSFW, MDNI

your sin, your preacher - papa emeritus ii x f!reader, NSFW, MDNI

give me mercy no more - cardinal copia x f!reader x cumulus, NSFW, MDNI

smitten by the blackest force - mary goore x f!reader (witch!reader), NSFW, MDNI

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ghoul bicycle series bonus post part 1

mini fics/prompts

cumulus x f!reader x cardinal copia - NSFW, MDNI

mountain x ghoulettes - NSFW, MDNI

cirrus x f!reader - NSFW, MDNI

cardinal copia x sister of sin!reader (part 1, part 2) - NSFW, MDNI

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phantom x f!reader (x mountain) - NSFW, MDNI

ghouls/ghoulettes and bloodlust - NSFW, MDNI

ghouls/ghoulettes handling your depressive episode

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thank you everyone for your continued support in letting me get both my nasty AND tender fantasies out. love you xoxo.

#rachel writes

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heiznx · 1 month

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PRINCESS ARRIVAL — II

∗༝*◦✦ song and dance competition with neige leblanche.

BEFORE READING, this contains light swearing, implication of unrequited love, manipulation, slight yandere behavior, book 5 spoilers, and all that goes along with it.

|| ◀︎BACK || NEXT▶︎ || HEADCANONS ||

“Neige broke the school rules for what?”

It was a rumor that spread around Royal Sword Academy, merely a few days before the cultural fair known as Song and Dance Competition where Neige and the seven dwarves would be participating in.

Neige, the overly kind actor, suddenly—according to the rumors—rebelled against the rules of the academy by using a broom during practice for the cultural fair to fly outside the academy to save Night Raven College’s students.

It was not unusual for him to break the school rules since there were incidents where he would help other students and unknowingly go against the rules for them; he would apologize and everything would be in the past.

“I heard they had the fight on camera,” a student whispered, referring to a floating camera paparazzis set up to capture any little information about the artist. “But it was deleted world-wide…”

“Dear merciful seven, Ortho, thank you so much!” you exclaimed as you felt your heart stop racing, your face going near the floating screen, seeing the complete progress of deletion of a certain video. “I was about to start crying.”

“Yeah, Vil drilled on us for a long time…” Deuce responded and Epel nodded beside you. “We owe you one, Ortho.”

“You did promise to help my brother grind on his account so he can focus on preparing for his presentation,” the humanoid said, pointing at you, who nodded profusely with gratitude. “Brother said he’d even hack into the gadgets of those who still have the video if you do well.”

Epel had gotten extremely upset at one point that he left the scene, while he was walking, Deuce borrowed a blastcycle from an Ignihyde student and picked up Epel to drive him somewhere, and out of concern, you tagged along.

Who was supposed to know that there would be thugs there? Your instinct was to call someone close and famous—Neige LeBlanche—but you didn’t also know that he was popular to the point of being stalked whenever he’s outside the campus’ protection.

“You got the most earful, prefect,” Deuce sighed. “Who knew he would ask you on a date after that and it was caught on camera?”

“He just wanted to have a few hours of my time after the competition, it’s not a date,” you said, acting like you did not spend the hours overthinking what he wanted from you. “Perhaps a tour at the academy.”

Epel grimaced, “He’ll only be coming over at Night Raven College once, he doesn’t need to be toured around.”

“And you didn’t really owe him anything,” Deuce said. “I think I developed my unique magic and I planned on using it, if he didn’t arrive, I would’ve knocked ‘em out so we can escape still!”

“I’m a third year and I was the most useless of all,” you muttered, groaning internally as Ortho moved to pat your back gently, but the coldness of the materials used on his palm seeped through your clothes and it made you uncomfortable. “Thanks, Ortho…”

“Still, I think Vil-san is grateful that you didn’t let us act… violent,” Epel said even though he hated the thought of not being able to do anything during that situation and let Deuce take almost everything.

“Yo! Break time’s done, Vil’s calling everyone to go back to practice.”

“Oh, thank you again, Ortho. I’ll come by your dorm after practice so I can start grinding.”

“Nice to meet you and bye, Ortho!”

“Is something wrong, Rook?”

“I wish I was you.”

“What?”

“Moi?”

On the day of the fair, you had to stop your racing heart and mind from trying to distract you from what the fair artist would want to give you, because you had to put your focus on Trey and Riddle was trying to explain to you.

Riddle had you pause for a moment since you commented that you liked the way his tie was tied, prompting him to attempt to do it on your collar and you felt a little happy—happily distracted from what Neige wanted to ask from you.

“We’ve got a lot of visitors from Royal Sword Academy this year,” Trey said and you nodded, your chin hitting Riddle’s hand, prompting him to destroy the ribbon he was making and you sent an apologetic gaze.

“I’ll try to look around too, I’ll try selling my ticket—”

“The others would be sad to know that ‘ya weren't there, ya’know?”

“I’ve been with you all for two months,” you said in your defense, but a part of you was curious about the contestants. “The campus is filled with hot headed students, had it not been for Leona, I would’ve gotten bullied for the nth time, and most students actually dislike Royal Sword—”

— W H A M !

“Hey, punk. You’ve got snot all over my uniform. You’re not even gonna apologize?”

“I said I was sorry… Achoo!”

“Ewww! He sent more snot flyin’ our way!”

“By accent, you’d know it’s a NRC student,” you mumbled as RIddle stopped trying to tie your tie since he had to check on the incident. “Oh… Is that…?”

“Snick! Here, blow your nose.”

“Dominic!” you called as Riddle released you so you can head over to the dwarves. “How are you all here—”

“[name]-san,” the short gray-haired dwarf said, looking surprised, but he had to look away to apologize to the Night Raven College students Snicked bumped into. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll pay the cleaning bill for your uniforms.”

“You bet you will,” A student said and then at you. “Would ‘ya look at here—”

“Yes?” Riddle steps in, looking a little irked at the possibility of physical altercations happening on the campus on the very first day of the fair. “The culture fair has barely opened its doors, and picking fights is not a choice here.”

“Tsk.”

“How basic…” you muttered as you watched the students walk away upon being busted by the prefect of Heartslabyul. “Your reputation really goes around, Riddle… but are you guys okay, Dominic?”

“Thanks for the help,” Dominic says as he smiles at you, Grim, and the Heartslabyul students beside you. “As you can see…”

“Yeah, whatever, I coulda taken those guys with or without your help,” a pinkish haired dwarf grumbled, looking and most likely feeling ungrateful.

“Grum! Must you do this every time?” Dominic asked, his tone a little scolding as you felt a little uncomfortable with the slight bratty attitude from Grum. “Neige won’t be happy to hear you’re talking like that to [name]-san.”

“[name]—” Grum stuttered as you blinked, confused.

“Oh…!” Snick said, his voice sounding a little muffled.

“By the way, why are you all here?” you asked as Trey watched from behind. “This is far from the purple stage… or the lockers for the people involved in the competition.”

“Oh, yes, have you seen four other dwarves?” Dominic asked and Riddle shaked his head.

“I’m afraid not, would you like me to have the broadcast club page them?”

“I can help look,” you volunteered just before you felt a presence by your head that caused shivers up your spine.

“Oh, how ameowzing, to meet the talk of Royal Sword Academy~”

Grim purred quite loudly before exclaiming, “A floating severed head!”

“Che’nya…” you muttered as a hand went up to your forehead.

“Che’nya!?” the Heartslabyul prefect and vice exclaimed.

“Heh heh heh, is he a human? Is he a cat? He’s a mysterious and magical fellow,” the half-cat creature said with a grin. “Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker! Thaaat’s me!”

“Artemiy, have you seen the rest of the dwarves?” you asked before you remembered his words. “What do you mean I’m the talk of your school?”

“Surely you’ve known,” Dominic says, wanting to explain, but his friends were missing. “Long story short, the video. Che’nya could explain.”

“Oh no…” you muttered, wanting to hide your face from the world and you looked down to do just that, but you noticed your disarrayed tie. “Oh, Riddle, could you…?”

Your focus flew quickly as Chenya said, “If you’re on the purrowl for your friends, I saw ‘em go that way and around the corner.”

“Thanks a bunch, if you’ll excuse us, [name] and NIght Raven College students,” Dominic said as you waved, smiling as Riddle moved to fix your tie, and Dominic’s smile fell a little, so did the other dwarves.

“Is something wrong?” you muttered.

“See ya around!” Aritemy bid the dwarves on their way. “Furtionately, the video was taken down.”

“Nice to see you, Che’nya,” Riddle says, pausing on your tie first. “I appreciate you reaching out to me, and I apologize for neglecting to get back to you.”

“About the video…?” Trey asked.

“As Aritemy said, fortunately, I had it taken down by Ortho,” you said as Riddle finished up quickly on your tie and you paused, getting a little distracted. “Oh, I’m coquette.”

You didn’t mean it seriously. Che’nya continued, “Y’know NRC students got in a fight near our school? They were recorded and Neige dropped by to save them and it ended with Neige asking [name] on a da—”

“It was a misunderstanding,” you cut in before you felt like you were rude for doing so. “I’m sorry Aritemy, I don’t mean to be rude, but everyone—this is just justification at this point—but everyone has been calling it a date.”

“A date?” Trey asked as Riddle’s eyes only widened a little. “But you said the video was taken down? For your privacy, [name], that’s good news. And for us, mind if we catch up later instead?”

“Certainly! I’ll get outta your hair!”

“And Che’nya, don’t use your signature spell to spook any other visitors, okay?”

“No promises~”

“[name] doesn’t really stick out,” Grum muttered as he walked with the others to the dressing room, his hand being held by another dwarf to avoid getting lost. “They seem bland for Neige.”

“You met…?” a cheerful dwarf asked, eyes gleaming. “Oh! I wish I hadn’t gotten lost!”

“Grum, had it not been for [name]-san, we would’ve engaged in a fight,” Dominic said as he led the group of dwarves to the dressing room. “What Neige saw in [name]-san is not our business, and [name]-san is incredibly nice.”

“You saw [name]?”

“Oh, Neige!” Snick chimed before looking away to sneeze again, prompting Dominic to sigh and hand him a handkerchief. “They helped us earlier!”

“Do you remember where they were?” Neige asked, helping Snick wipe his nose but promptly pulled away to look outside the dressing room for [name]’s presence. “I…”

A dark feeling washed over him; it felt unfair for them to be able to see you first before he did when he arrived first to the dressing room, expecting you to be near Night Raven College’s side on the team.

It felt so unfair. He was the one who missed you the most, he thought. His rosy lips pressed on each other softly then he’d bite on a tiny part of his bottom lip as he looked for you outside the stage.

“Neige?” Dominic asked, concerned over his friend’s well-being.

Neige had been over the moon ever since he ‘saved’ you from those thugs even if you were with other people; he was a fan to the flames of rumors about him asking you on a date because he liked the thought of it.

The dwarves, but Dominic and Grum, were extremely supportive about it too.

There’s a few Night Raven College students nearby and they were talking, some of them looked happy to receive the attention of the reporters and some of them are getting nervous about it.

There’s a ginger who was a little nervous yet tried to make a rational decision, and the main of the team, Vil Schoeheit—Neige hasn’t met him in a while—but that must be your team, he could find you through them.

“[name]!” Neige chimed.

“Where!?”

The dwarves, but Dominic and Grum, were insanely curious.

“Neige…” the actor said as Neige cuts in the middle of the talk of their team with a smile and wave towards the members, but ultimately going to you.

“Oh, Neige,” you smiled politely, but you were not comfortable with him walking up to you and focusing on you, especially after that one viral video. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s been forever!” he smiled, more than you did, without a care in the world, unlike you. “I should’ve told you to wait for me in the gate, you haven’t been responding to me, you promised me your time—”

“So that’s Neige LeBlanche…” Ace muttered. “No wonder he’s a household name, even the way he walks and talks is perfectly choreographed.”

“He’s not giving off the intense aura Vil has…” Kalim whispers.

“His smile is entirely unlike Vil’s. It is unaffected, like a tiny flower blooming—it’s different! Oui! The cameras better take this in all angles! And first-name basis!?”

“Hmph, the more innocuous someone looks, the worse they’re likely to act behind the scenes,” Jamil huffs, crossing his arms. “That’s how entertainers are.”

“Do you have any room to talk there?” Grim whispered before he frowned when Neige took your hand. “I don’t like this! Why is he all up on [name]!?”

“Oooh, I mean ‘ya can’t expect Grim to know, he doesn’t really have a phone,” Epel says, sighing. “Or [name] limits you to screentime?”

“—I missed you!” Neige exclaims after the long speech about what he should’ve said and done so you and him would meet sooner. “While we’re here we should have others take our picture—”

“Excuse me, Night Raven College entrants! It’s time for your rehearsal. Please stand by!”

“I really… really appreciate your words, Neige,” you whisper, not wanting anyone to know what you were telling him. “It’s quite hard to miss you when you occupy my mind a lot, you know?”

You wanted to let him down a little, and not tell him he occupied most of your time during practice due to his constant texts, that you couldn’t say to tone it down, and as for your lack of responses, it was because you put it on silent mode for Riddle and Trey.

Neige froze and your arm flinched ever so slightly when his grip on your hand tightened. He stuttered, “Me—me too! To you…!”

“If you’ll excuse our manager, Neige,” Vil cuts in and places a hand on your shoulder, gently. “We need them for the rehearsal.”

“Oh, right, sorry, Neige,” you say, embarrassed since you took a bit too long in trying to shoo Neige away for the rehearsal. “Perhaps later.”

“Later—okay!” the artist accepted it so quickly and he nodded. “I’m looking forward to your performance!”

The first years were confident, but you, Vil, and possibly Rook would know that the team had been outplayed by the performance of Royal Sword Academy, whose performance was not in synchronized.

It was a different type of charisma, and you didn’t wish that Neige would lose but you didn’t want your team to lose either, especially not when Vil’s sanity thread was thinning.

“Vil…?” you whispered as you walked with the model, trying to catch up, but scared to hold his arm. “Vil.”

It’s not that you and him were strangers, it was just that his vibe felt different—unapproachable—and you wanted to know why without further triggering the seemingly trance he was in.

Vil paused in front of someone’s dressing room, but turned to you, who was confused. To him, he was confused about you, he discreetly confided in you, and he knew you picked up on the depth of his dislike towards Neige but you still got involved with him.

“You should go back,” he said, a bottle of juice in his hand and you couldn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong with the bottle he was holding.

“Of course, but…” you said, trying to make up with an excuse on the spot without telling Vil straight up that you felt like you currently couldn’t trust him to be alone. “Neige was kind of… calling me over.”

It was a lie. Neige did want to talk to you, but there’s no specified date and time.

Your heart pounded as Vil right now felt dangerous for you, every bit of him felt off for you, and it wasn’t the same as when you found him intimidating when you two first met and started talking.

“I see, so you’re with Neige too,” the actor muttered and now you tried to get close, but the door to the dressing room opened on its own and you paused.

“Oh, Vi,” Neige’s head peeked out of the door, his gaze going to Vil and then to you, his eyes brightened visibly, much to Vil’s dismay. “Oh! [name]-san…! It’s good to see you again—do you want to come in?”

“Ah…” you muttered and you smiled a little, albeit awkwardly as you glanced at Vil to check and then at the ominous bottle. “Of cour—”

“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk before rehearsals,” Vil cuts in and you swore you saw Neige flinch back a little when the actor covered your frame. “I was hoping we might chat a bit more.”

“Oh, of course,” Neige said as he stepped out of the dressing room. “I was thinking the same thing, why don’t you two come in—”

“Vil, the rest might be looking for us,” you said, hoping to convince Vil to drop what he might be planning as you gently pinched his sleeve, not wanting to cause a fold. “Even if there’s time—”

As soon as you touched Vil’s sleeve, Neige’s hand clasped around your wrist, and he didn’t seem to mind, he just smiled at you, adding up to your burdens since you felt like something was awfully wrong and Neige wasn’t helping.

“It’s okay! You can stay,” Neige said, trying to convince you and Vil, but mostly Vil since you seem to be following the actor around. “Dominic and the others aren’t around, they can’t really sit still so they’re at the booths. We have a lot of time to talk and I… I have something for you.”

You did not know what to say, because you needed to get Vil away from Neige as soon as you could, not only for Neige’s safety, but also for Vil; you can’t wreck your brain how else you could take Vil away when Neige was clinging.

It was not that you didn’t appreciate that the artist was so open to your presence and would always make you feel welcomed, but the situation was quite dire and having Vil approach Neige right after their performance felt so wrong.

“Speaking of something, I have something for you, Neige,” Vil says, holding you by the other arm causing you to look at Vil with concern. “I brought you some apple juice. I’ve been quite taken with this brand recently.”

“Oh! The one you posted about in Magicam!” Neige says, but his eyes were quick to look at the bottle since his eyes immediately went down on Vil’s hand on your arm. “I’ve been waiting to try it… thank you.”

“I—I’ll hold it,” you cut in but you can’t take the bottle when Neige’s hand is tightly on your arm and Vil has the other. “Since Neige and I will talk anyways…”

You looked over at Neige, hoping he would catch on your words and take you away; the glint in his eyes told you he did and the way he moved to wrap his hands on your arm seemed like he was going to take you away.

You were so wrong. He took the bottle and said, “Ah! Yes, we’re going to talk! Are you thirsty, [name]? Do you mind if we share the drink?”

All that was on Neige’s mind was an indirect kiss that happened in movies that he starred in, long filmings that he was in, and he was not the main character of those movies, but he watched people do it.

He watched people get giddy over it and didn’t understand it until now. He wanted to have your lips on his even if it comes from items, even better if it came directly from the source: you.

Your face nearly displayed a horrified expression upon his words, because his words meant you’d have to drink it first and the drink was the item you were most suspicious about.

“I…” you gulped.

You didn’t want Vil to find out you might’ve caught up to what he might be doing, and you didn’t want Neige to know what Vil was doing, because as far as you know they both knew each other and Neige genuinely liked Vil.

This was what you get for looking at both sides. You became the sacrifice and you didn’t know if you minded or not, because you cared less about what happened to you, more on the consequences.

“Should I drink first?” Neige asked. “But I…”

To Neige’s point of view, if he drinks first, you might avoid the place where he drank at and he would miss the opportunity to drink again if you chug the entire drink, he’s not sure if you would or wouldn’t, but he didn’t want to miss the chance.

You took too long and Vil might get suspicious. You grabbed the uncapped drink, much to Vil’s surprise that he released your hand as you said, “No, it’s okay, I can take it first…”

When you saw Vil surprised, it was the validation you needed that your instincts were correct and that something was wrong.

There were small traces of mist coming out; if it were a cold drink, you’d assume it was from the coldness, but the drink was quite lukewarm.

You’ve witnessed Vil’s unique magic, you learned that he can put any rules or conditions that he can’t even reverse, and you weren’t sure what the condition of the drink was, but there you were, placing the rim on your bottom lip.

“Henchman!”

Grim suddenly jumped on your arm and caused the bottle to fall down because you didn’t want to drink it in the first place, and at the same time, you see Rook and Kalim on their way.

You held Grim properly in your arms before you grabbed Neige by the arm, wrapping your arm over his and then you led him away so he wouldn’t see the drink bubbling on the ground.

Your heart was at your ears, you can’t let Neige find out about Vil, because if it goes public, Vil’s reputation would die—you felt incredibly stressed and Grim was stimulating you more by shoving his paws on your chin and asking what was going on.

It was such a huge difference compared to Neige, who happily clung to your arm with his head on your shoulders, speechless by how you apparently ‘whisked’ him away like that, and you only snapped out of your trance when Jamil waved you over.

“Excuse me, you’re Neige LeBlanche, yes?” Jamil asked and Neige was even hesitant to open his eyes to look at him because he was comfortable on your shoulder. “I’m such a huge fan! I can’t believe I met you in person—and [name]... is this your… lover?”

Your jaw dropped at Jamil’s words as Grim exclaimed, “MYAH—”

“Oh! It’s not like that, but I appreciate your—”

Neige only wanted to look Jamil in the eyes in order to memorize his features since he was a Night Raven College student and seemingly your friend, but he was easily hypnotized by Jamil and you rubbed your forehead.

“Thanks for the save,” you whispered. “I’ll gaslight him later.”

A lot of things happened and Neige still couldn’t even read the room, you hesitate, wondering if it was right to keep such a person on your side, even Kalim could read the room better than Neige could.

You let out a breath as Jamil ordered Neige to sing and dance away from the entire coliseum; you have no idea where Neige would go, but hopefully, it would be far away from the purple stage—and you hoped he would leave quickly since the skies started to darken as a symbol Vil was overblotting.

When others waited for Vil to wake up, you had to sit and try not to think too much because of the constant happenings all within one hour; it didn’t feel right to blame Neige.

It didn’t feel right to blame Neige for the castings of the movies, and that he was always chosen as a hero when Vil was always chosen as a villain and was compared to how Neige presents himself.

You couldn’t help but think that Neige was ignorant, and at the same time, you also thought about the possibilities Neige went through as a person and artist with all that ignorance and naivety.

And what’s up with Neige? He has no danger sensors, but Vil was a good actor so it could be quite impossible to know he had malicious intentions and you only knew because you were with him before the incident.

“Should I be happy I got you thinking?” Vil asked. “Did you know what the condition was?”

He was being supported by Rook and the other dancers were trying to figure out how to fix the colosseum; Vil was not exactly happy, he remembered the way the drink’s rim was in your mouth and had it not been for Grim, who knew what could happen to you?

You shake your head and that didn’t make Vil feel any better—not that he ever will be since you still nearly drank it.

“I thought it was fine,” you muttered, sighing. “Rook would’ve done the same.”

“You would?”

“Oui, I would want to believe in you, the you who strives harder and reaches for greater heights than any other. I don’t want you to besmirch yourself by doing anything foolish.”

“I just happen to feel the same,” you muttered, even though you hesitated. “I don’t want your reputation to be ruined, Vil. I’ll carry your poison to my grave.”

“You’ve barely been here for a year,” Vil said and you’re reminded by your supposed home in a world different from where you currently sat. “I wouldn’t have forgiven myself.”

“I would, if it helps,” you laughed a little, unable to handle the serious moment, especially when the tension was crushing you a little. “I’d forgive you, Vil, I really… believe you are a kind person.”

In a moment of vulnerability, Vil’s chest clenched; he didn’t know you well, only knowing you from a few lessons in class because of you being a third year, but you do catch his attention on a few occasions.

Occasions such as you being knowledgeable in skin care, or the you that one time offered to give his face a massage while he stayed at Ramshackles; occasions that send his heart fluttering.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” a horned person stood nearby and you looked over. “I thought I’d arrive a bit early, and what do I find but a stage laid to waste?”

“Oh, Hornton…” you muttered, a little embarrassed like you’ve been caught even if you had done nothing but bare your feelings to both Rook and Vil. “There’s still two hours before the competition opens.”

“Hornton…!?”

“Oh, hey! So you’re the Hornton guy that wanders around Ramsheckle’s gardens late at night,” Grim said, earning the attention of the first and second years as if the third years weren’t already surprised by you. “I heard about you from [name], you really do have horns growin’ outta your head! Myah hah hah—MRAH!”

“Grim, are you nuts!?” Deuce whispered his hiss as he held Grim to his chest with a hand on his mouth. “Y-you can’t just talk to an upperclassman that way!”

“Roi des Dragons, how did you get into the coliseum?” Rook asked, earning a huff from the person.

“I was invited, by the child of man living in Ramshackle Dorm. I have my invitation right here.”

“I don’t think it’s that…” you said as you got up and dusted your bum. “The venue still has that mist, but for some reason you’re unscathed? Isn’t it the poison mist from Vil’s unique magic?”

“I suppose there was some sort of cantrip up when I came in,” the man said. “But no curse, no matter how powerful, will work on me.”

“I see you’ve taken advantage of [name]’s ignorance,” Vil said as he huffed.” Malleus Draconia.”

“Oh dang…” you muttered, remembering the times you heard his name but never saw him during the Spelldrive tournament because of the flying disk that went to your head.

THIS IS HEIZNX, DAMN I LOST MY CHANCE TO PUT MANIPULATIVE NEIGE AGAJFJFHJFG BECAUSE VDC TOOK SO GODDAMN LONG. but anyways… i’m not too proud of it but i want to just post whatever i write since i have no job and i’m waiting for college to start. Original title was pretty please and it inspired me so bad but goddamn :((

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst neige #neige #neige leblanche #neige x reader #neige leblanche x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere neige #yandere neige leblanche

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userarmand · 3 months

Text

RIPLEY (2024) II Seven Mercies

I'm no book editor, but I did work for one, at Random House. I read lots of manuscripts there that needed work.

#me editing my own writing tbh #andrew scott #ripley #request #edits

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goodqueenaly · 6 months

Note

Which pre/post-Conquest events and in-series events do you think would be popular plays/operas in each of the Seven Kingdoms and Essos?

Well, we do get a bit of a sense of what sort of "history plays" have been written and performed in Braavos (though whether these have been popularized elsewhere in Essos is a bit of a mystery). Arya references the mummers of the Ship teaching her speeches from, among other plays, The Conqueror's Two Wives, presumably about Rhaenys and Visenya Targaryen (which I personally think would be a potentially fascinating study on the respective characters of as well as the relationship between the two sisters). Likewise, in "Mercy", Arya-as-Mercy notes that Izembaro borrows a threat from Prince Garin in Phario Forel's Wroth of the Dragonlords, a play about the doomed final resistance of the Rhoynar against the Valyrian Freehold. Of course, the main action in "Mercy" centers around the staging of Forel's newest work, The Bloody Hand, a play which - obviously more than a little loosely - adapts very recent Westerosi history, staged in that chapter for the entertainment of the Baratheon-Lannister court's envoy, Harys Swyft.

Westeros doesn't appear to have exactly the same theatrical tradition Braavos seems to have, but there are certainly both puppet shows and mummer's plays performed across the Seven Kingdoms. While the specific entertainments we've seen have been limited to either mythological (the story of Florian the Fool) or allegorical (the unsubtle tale of the kingdom of beasts reported by Qyburn to Cersei) subject matter, there might nevertheless be any number of opportunities for historical events to, no pun intended, take center stage. There are way, way too many historical events and figures in the roughly eight millennia of Westeros' existence as a collection of political entities (again, to say nothing of Essos), so these ideas are not even scratching the surface, but I thought I would come up with a few.

So, for example, the accusations against Queen Naerys and Prince Aemon (perhaps complete with a Katherine of Aragon-like defense by the queen) might mirror, say, Henry VIII. The collapse of the Gardener kingdom under the weak and ineffective Garth X, followed by a devastating civil war, feels to me like an opportunity for a Reach version of Henry VI (perhaps echoed with the Dance of the Dragons, many centuries later). Even the story of Torgon Greyiron might have its share of light Hamlet parallels, as the story of a royal son quasi-usurped from his royal place by the wicked murderer of his kinsmen while he was away from his homeland (though with Torgon having something of a more fortunate ending than Hamlet himself, naturally). Not, of course, that we need to limit our imaginations only to perfect parallels of Shakespeare plays (to say nothing of any other history playwrights). Benedict Justman, for one, seems like a figure whose life could be used to ask deep questions on, say, the nature of power, the importance of love versus duty, and the importance (or not) of legitimacy. The flight of the Manderlys from the Reach and their welcome by the Starks might likewise be used by some enterprising playwright to explore themes of justice (and injustice), alienation, and self-identity.

And of course, what entertainments might be popular would likely be dependent on the politics of any given time and/or place. Would, say, plays depicting King Ronard Storm have been popularized during the reign of King Aegon IV or King Daeron II - maybe to denounce Ronard's reign as defined by lasciviousness and resistance to lawful authority (as with Aegon's), but maybe also to depict a bastard as a stronger and more worthy heir than his legitimate half-brother (if, say, the play was written by Blackfyre partisans)? Perhaps in the immediate aftermath of Robert's Rebellion, Riverlands playwrights would have looked for inspiration to the heroic uprising of Edmyn Tully against the wicked tyrant Harren Hoare (though perhaps with less emphasis placed on the king rewarding Edmyn being the first of the recently overthrown Targaryen dynasty). Daeron I's conquest of Dorne might have encouraged pro-conquest playwrights to create works about King Durran the Young, whose similar name, apparently similar youth, and very bloody military campaigns against Dornish armies might have made a natural comparison for these creators (though probably less so the idea that King Durran supposedly "became besotted with his own niece in later life and died at the hands of his brother Erich Kin-Killer").

Personally, I would love to see more fanfic invent plays or similar entertainments from Westerosi history. I, of course, would be remiss not to note my own, albeit very humble attempt at a Westerosi history play, The True History of the Blackfyre Rebellion. (And please no one remind me that I have a second play that I probably have to completely rework and is certainly nowhere close to being done.)

#asoiaf meta #creative #westerosi culture

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ladystarksneedle · 5 months

Text

Darkly, delicately

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Character

Warnings: Minor character death, mentions of period typical crimes and their punishments, prostitution, implied smut.

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: All her life Meynara has struggled to belong. Captured and taken to a land far away she's made her place in the world of Westeros with allies she can count on one hand. With the siege of Duskendale by the army of King Aegon II, she finds herself facing odds that change the course of her life once again, weaving her fate to the tune of the dragon in a dance hidden through time, as the war between the blacks and the greens rages on.

Link to read on ao3: here

She hears the bell ring twice as the castle erupts in chaos. “Noom, Narrah, Nyel” she chants to herself as the third dong reverberates through the wind drowning the screams around her before she's shoved hastily to the safety of the dingy cellars below. The scent of sweat fills her nostrils as she navigates the musty cramped quarters, filled to the brim with anxious ladies clasping their hands in prayer as they kneel together trying to stifle their whimpers. Lady Meredyth wrings her hands nervously as she stares into the distance, somber in demeanor. A moment of recognition seems to pass through her eyes as she spots her near the hastily barred door, before she turns abruptly to question her ladies maids’ who bow their heads in response. She finds her place near one of the walls, turning away from the woman reprimanding those around her to assess the scene in silence. Ever since the war began she knew the siege was inevitable. The family of the dragon had torn themselves in two embroiling most of the realm in their chaos and it was about time they too were hit with the consequences of their support. One of the dragons would soon grace their skies, she only hoped it wasn't their queen. Rumors of the kinslayer had wafted through Duskendale these past few moons. Round the winding harbor and the cobbled streets, onto the market square threatened over a bargain gone wrong, passed around taverns along with a drink in hand all up to the Dun Fort and it's gates in hushed whispers carrying over inwards to the pale walls enclosing winding threads weaved together for their lady, his name had evoked fear, disgust and surprising wonder alike. As the clashes of metal drew nearer to them she wondered how long it would take for him to finally reach his mark.

Seven blows was all it took to bring down the giant gate of the Dun Fort. The irony of the number isn't lost on her as they are rounded up in the central courtyard by noon. Captives surround her in haphazard lines along the posts and below the outer gate manned by armed men in green, their banner of the three headed dragon glinting maliciously in the sun. Some of the women struggle to stifle their sobs as they watch their husbands and sons being rounded up for slaughter before being hushed with a shove and a sharp word. She cranes her neck to see an older man at the head flanked by two heads of silver around a familiar face kneeling in chains.

“People of Duskendale, you face the price of your betrayal! Lord Darklyn has condemned you all but the King is just and merciful. Whoever wishes to make good on their vows again and pledge allegiance to the true heir to the Iron throne need only speak it now and his grace shall consider their folly pardoned” booms the older man, his tanned skin streaked with the blood of the burning ports. She hears a few whispers of indignation and fear before a handful of knights step forward to pledge their allegiance. It is a meager number which she realizes dissatisfies them deeply.

“Very well then” murmurs the King before they hear a shrill roar near the top of the castle. There in all his glory, perched atop the highest parapet, she sees a beast so beautiful, unworthy of the carnage it has wreaked, yet as it growls and makes its way towards them with its scales of shimmering gold she feels the true power that the men before her yielded. More of the folk around her now rush to bend the knee, hastily murmuring their pleas and apologies as the men in green smile haughtily. A lone eye, stern in its gaze, catches her unmoving. She suppresses the shiver that runs through her as she curtsies in response. The urge to live has long outlasted whatever moral code runs through the heart of the realm and it does not fail her today. Somewhere to the side she hears a familiar scoff of distaste. “It won't be my head on a spike when they're done with us” she thinks as she stares at her rival in defiance. Lady Meredyth scorns her in response as she's dragged off to witness the event of the day. Lord Gunthor kneels a few paces before her, locking eyes with their captors before turning to face her with hurt and disdain. She sees him gaze at her for a moment before offering a few words of comfort to his wife along with affirming his allegiance to the Queen with pride. She feels a quiver of fear pass through him, a cry of anguish a few feet away and an unrelenting stare on her as he's beheaded. A hush falls over the courtyard as the deed is done and the guffaws resume their way to the main hall shoving all in their path. Somewhere in the distance her heart leaps, far away across the fishing villages dotting the skyline towards the ruins of Hollard castle near the fork of the Crownlands. Duskendale would face a similar fate tonight.

She wastes no time in making herself scarce. She trains her ear on the whispers clinging to the walls as she makes her way downwards. They have been sacked by a little under three thousand men amassed during their journey through Rosby and Stokeworth that are to stay on till further word from the King. The lower kitchens and the halls are filled to the brim and are easy to blend into as she hurries towards her destination. She finds herself taking the familiar flight of stairs past the makeshift bakery to wind down to a hidden door below. Exactly three knocks later it opens to reveal a harsh face staring right at her.

“You are late”

“Forgive me for trying to stay alive” she huffs in return.

“Did they hear you?”

“Not yet”

“Let us keep it that way then.”

She knows he means to assess the threat before them both before feeding her to it. That is how it has always been, her body for the price of their safety. For all her bravado she hasn't been able to escape the clutches of home and the thread that ties her to it remains the one that cuts her the most.

“I know what I have to do”

“You move on my command Meynara, not before, nor after. We've made a decent life for ourselves here, do not go ruining it now.”

“I suppose the head of the lord staring at us as we walk through the hallways is enough of a hurdle in our path” she retorts shakily.

“As if you were ever fond of him”

“No, perhaps I wasn't. Doesn't mean I wanted him dead either”

“Life and Death are right around your corner”

“Faith shines the ability to prevail in both” she finishes turning away from him. Those were his father's words, ones that he'd told her on the boat to Westeros as they lay together shackled and starved. She remembers his eyes shining with a promise in the dark, willing her to forgo her fear. It seems a lifetime ago yet the man before her stares at her just the same. It is her gaze now which is filled with apprehension rather than the faith she's long left behind and no feelings of ardor can bring back the naive trust she has lost.

There is a feast to be held in honor of the King as Duskendale had yielded with ease, unprepared and caught off guard. Perhaps if Gunthor had insisted on better fortifications and riders rather than her religiously mounting him each night, his head wouldn't be hollow and unattached at the moment. She finds herself slinking into the shadows, with that thought, trying to keep an eye on the party at hand. The ale flows freely in the lower halls with the men getting handsy with the serving girls despite their indignation. Her only option is to reach the upper halls unnoticed hoping the stronger wine would dull them long enough to be done with her faster. She spots him in the distance as she makes her way up. He stands still near a burly man, eyes as empty as the dead hanging outside. A brief flicker of warning passes through to her before he's consumed to his farcity. Faith shall have to suffice for both of them tonight.

The main hall is decorated with banners of gold yet much sparse compared to the mess below. Anyone with a title should occupy the benches ahead of her, some newly appointed lords and generals, who all sit jesting and drinking below the dias as the men of the hour watch on. She watches the King engrossed with the head cook’s daughter fully partaking in the merriment. She sees her blush and smile coquettishly turning a lock of her hair as she entertains him and wonders how much persuasion it took for her to be offered up on a platter. Freshly plucked and naive, innocence was always coveted first at the altar, of worship and sacrifice alike.

Next to him sat two men with equally stern faces. She recognised the first with the booming voice, still in his armor refusing woman and drink alike, surveying the crowd for an imminent threat yet the man flanking the King's left drew her attention the most. To see him in person after their loss at noon made her skin tingle and the rumors had not done him justice. He sat poised, with his hair still braided for battle, eye lazily surveying the crowd like the elder man next to him, sipping from his chalice at ease. His gaze seemed unfocussed, unwilling to seek out anything in particular yet she saw through the haze. A predator responds only when it spots a worthy threat.

“What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone” she hears someone say before being grabbed by pudgy hands. The man near her reeks of nauseating sweetness. Arbor red she discerns as he leers close to her.

“Apologies my lord, I was on my way to serve the King” she lies promptly.

“Perhaps you might serve me first then. His grace would not refuse his loyal subjects tonight” he spoke earning a few jeers.

“Wait” she hears a crisp voice break through the crowd. “That one is mine”

There is no room for argument as she's pulled by two armed knights towards the dias, under the eye of the dragon.

“My my brother, you've caught a pretty one. A shame she's too old to be plucked” smirks the King playfully biting the girl on his lap.

She sees the prince ahead of her regard her with interest before beckoning her forwards with his finger. It isn't long after his appraisal that he takes her by the arm retreating to the sounds of muffled cheers. She feels him make his way around the castle assuredly, neither in haste nor at leisure, before he pulls her into the nearest chambers he can find.

“What can you do for me?” he asks abruptly, leaning against the door as he surveys her again.

“Whatever you desire my prince” she responds, as demurely as she can muster.

“I do not wish for pleasantries”

She balks at his refusal as she stands before him, tilting her head to observe him closely.

“I meant what I said”

“Are you a whore?”

“I am what you want me to be”

“If I wanted a whore I'd find one more willing, you may quit your farce”

“And what if this isn't one” she finds herself saying.

“Then I have wasted my time and I do not wish to be proven wrong”

She stares at him in bewilderment and defiance meeting his gaze as he turns to pour himself another cup of wine.

“I can entertain you to your heart's content”

“I am not a man who revels in the pleasures you seek to offer”

“You are hard to please, as any prince should be, yet I am not one to yield. Allow me to show you instead” she says confidently walking towards him. He looks at her skeptically, before his eye widens slightly upon hearing the clinks that follow her. He lets her lead him to the chaise nearby, raising an eyebrow at the sound that clings to her while she smiles at his astonishment, ready to finally play her part.

She keeps her gaze on him as she begins her routine, serpentine and sinuous, twisting her arms above her head with precision entrenched in her bones. She feels his eye take in her form, the flow of her wrists twisting like waves to the swell of her breasts rising and falling with each turn, moving in tandem with her hips all while the room jingles with the ring of threes; Noom, Narrah, Nyel. He continues his trail along her frame trying to match her pace and she sees him relax through her lids, taking in his enraptured face.

“Is this to your liking, my prince” she smirks as the ringing comes to a halt, the chanting of her soul, awake at the appraisal in his gaze. She finds her answer soon in the nights to come.

“You move to the sound of the gods” he says as they lie together, sweat clinging to them as the wind wafts through the open windows. It is the second night under the new command of Duskendale and all seems to be at rest, lying in wait for the bells to strike.

“Do you believe in them?” she whispers back, turning to regard him with mirth “I thought the Targaryens fashioned themselves as gods”

“The blood of Old Valyria leaves little to imagination.”

“But Valyria is gone and all you have left in this strange land is the power you wield through the skies” she continues stroking his bare arm.

“Which strange land should I thank for gracing me with such beauty tonight” he whispers, turning a lock of her hair between his fingers as he gazes into her eyes.

“Norvos, across the narrow sea”

“Norvos” he repeats, rolling the syllables around his tongue regarding her with awe. “Are all Norvoshi so,”

“So?”

“Quiet”

“I thought you found my chatter incessant”

“I never heard you” he stops her, “Not once as you crept around the castle all the way into my bed”

“You wish to know my secret?” she asks him playfully “Perhaps my blood is as special as yours”

He scoffs in turn earning a crease to her eyebrows which does not go unnoticed. “We are not so different, you and I. We both seek to soar far beyond what fate plans for us”

“Your riddles can exhaust a man far more than your movements” he huffs petulantly.

“You are only displeased because you cannot decipher this one” she hums thoughtfully earning her a pinch to her hip which she swats away promptly.

“Careful, I am not fond of that wayword tongue of yours” he warns her with a smirk.

“Why when it has given you such pleasure? What is the use of depriving yourself of such an investment” she finds herself giggling in return to the bashful pout of his lips.

It has been long since she's been so enamored with a man. There have been a few, young and beautiful, not immune to the charm she summons at will but none so rigid yet tender that makes her heart want more.

“Dance for me” she hears him say as he lies back, hair splayed around the pillows like a halo.

“As you wish your grace” she responds devilishly, slinking away from his embrace to twinkle under his eye.

Their nights continue with well practiced rhythm as their days stretch on. She finds herself at the precipice of good fortune, confined mostly to his chambers as his prize, content to stay hidden till she's displayed with pride. The King she learns takes offense to her growing presence in his brother’s life yet is dissuaded to take action by his elder hand, his disapproval making itself known in its own way.

“My lady, the prince is betrothed to Lady Baratheon of Storm's End and is to be married in a few moons”

“With the tide of the war changing ever so often I feel it best to practice restraint Lord Hand. I'm playing my part just as everyone, as a loyal servant to the crown won't you agree?”

“As I am certain you are” he responds with distaste.

“The prince seems quite sated does he not? What then I wonder, merits such growing concern. As long as your plans come to fruition I am sure a woman such as me should hardly pose a worthy obstacle” she bites back eager to send him away from her new chambers. Victory in the face of adversity tastes almost as sweet as the dreaded wine she brings to her lips, sipping at it with mock delight as she watches the commotion enfold out her door. As he walks to give way to someone, she hears a familiar scream of anger grace the threshold. Lady Meredyth barges in, red faced and fuming. She finds her predicament almost hilarious were it not for the state she's in. Dressed in mourning for a neglectful husband who managed to give her a daughter too young to give away for the dwindling power she now tries to hoard, she tries to muster whatever pity she can find for the woman, before she opens her rotten mouth.

“You seem mighty pleased with your situation, finally living up to your true potential as the whore you are”

“Widowhood suits you my lady. The black brings out your eyes” she responds back sarcastically.

She sees her spit at her feet before she's escorted away, spewing curses through the halls. There is no greater joy in watching the old crone claim her late husband's chambers where she rode him to death while she lounges on her very own bed waiting to be taken in the arms of pleasure at night.

“What did I tell you about that tongue of yours” he retorts as he pulls her into an alcove at midday.

“To use it more often” she whispers, running her lips along his jaw. The walk she'd managed to take away from her confines had proved to be a welcome change after that harrowing ordeal in the morn.

“You wanton thing. Do not vex me outside of these walls”

“You have my word” she says flightily resuming her course along his neck.

“And much more” he breathes, palms burning through the blue she's clad in. She finds herself smiling as she pulls him closer, enjoying his proximity during the quiet of the day. Perhaps nights are not the only thing to look forward to anymore.

She feels his presence in the hallways later, long before she turns the corner, trying to rid herself of the evidence of her dalliance.

“You've lost your faith” he remarks somewhere behind her.

“I've simply found it around another corner” she replies, turning to face the judgment in his dark eyes. There are bags underneath them, weary with doubt and the wisdom he seems to wield like a weapon.

“He is a dangerous man to be around. Someone who kills his own is not one to be trifled with”

“And yet we've faced far worse”

“Worse than treason?”

“Tell me you don't mean to support yet another foreign queen”

“You've grown slow” he states glaring at her. She finds herself at a loss of words. Her old self would have caught on to what was spoken almost instantly with an equally sharp retort in tow. Shame creeps up on her at being caught off guard, vulnerable and at his mercy.

“I will not fail you” she says, turning to avoid his eyes, tears glistening amongst her own. “I am only doing what I think best”

“And therein lies the problem”

“Lady Meynara” a voice cuts through the silence suffocating her as she turns to face the source of her shame. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back regarding her companion with distrust only for her to turn around to find him gone.

“Do all of you possess such talents of evasiveness” he questions her as she sighs and makes her way towards him.

“It has served us well”

“On the contrary, it makes you noticeable. The very thing you are ever so keen to avoid”

“I think you happen to have a keener eye than most, my prince. Do not fault the entire realm with the same flaw you possess.”

“I would hardly call it that”

“A flaw?”

“More of skill honed and fortune bestowed” he smirks leaning towards her.

“Something that earned you your birthright” she questions back impudently. “I've heard the rumors”

“I didn't think you'd put much stock in them”

“One tends to learn a lot through tales, true and false alike. Besides aren't rumors as such keeping your plan afoot”

“You know far too much to be jesting as such. Do you not fear for your life?” he asks her, eye glinting in the light.

“You'd have me hanging near the gate by now if I was such a threat”

“By your feet” he replies, watching her face darken. “You needn't worry as long as you serve me.”

“That is a threat my prince, far worse than what I'm accustomed to”

“Good, my intentions must be made clear then.”

“And what exactly might they entail”

“Your faith for a price” he says regarding her in earnest. The promise of more lingers on her lips as he leaves her wondering what it is she plans to do about it all.

“You mean to leave” she asks him on the third night they're together, with the moon at its height bathing them both in its embrace. He's reclined on the bed, one arm resting behind his head as he listens to her, eye closed in sequestered bliss.

“Rumors can only serve their purpose with cause to back them”

“You are to leave at dawn then?”

He hums in response as she fidgets with the sheets around her.

“Do not fret, I shall ensure your safety for your word”

“That is a hefty promise”

“And one I intend to keep”

“You will tire of me soon enough.”

“Perhaps,” he says, opening his eye to look at her. “Yet I'm certain it won't be so soon”

She feels the sheets pool at her feet as she rises to sate him for the night, eyes trained on him as she watches him cock his head in piqued interest. There is an unspoken understanding between them as she glides by the bed, running her fingers over the wood to stand in the center of the room, the light from the candles illuminating everything she wishes for him to see.

“Not tonight” she murmurs, running her hands over her hips.

“You'd deny the man who holds your fortune” he asks incredulously.

“I'd offer him something far sweeter”

“And what is sweeter than your company my lady”

“Joining me in ways a man would take his woman”

She sees the bed dip with his weight as he rises, moving with agility to stand before her. She cranes her neck to see him peer down at her, eyebrow raised at the game she wishes for him to play.

“In Norvos, we move like this to show our feelings. For emotion sometimes is best expressed through something tangible” she says reaching forward to steady his arms.

She feels him follow her movements with ease, twisting and turning with surprising accuracy never letting her out of his sight.

“You are a trained warrior”

“So are you, it seems. This is much like swordsmanship”

“All art is said to be inspired”

“What inspires you tonight little soldier” he rasps as he spins her around, arms enclosing her as she stares ahead. She feels his breath against her neck, her back pressed against the ridges of his body leading her to exhale before she writhes in his embrace.

“I do not wish to be a piece in the war you play at”

“We are all pieces to be moved about, each for a different purpose”

“It seems you've mastered my tongue in these past few days”

“I've only claimed what's mine” he says running his hands along her waist.

“Your plan will only work on trust, something the people here lack in abundance. Faith, which you scorn me for holding on to, is only meaningful if adhered to in earnest”

“I don't begrudge your faith” he whispers, turning her around to face him. “Just who it's tied to”

She finds herself mesmerized by the blue of his eye, so still yet violent, unrelenting yet open to the words that spill from her lips. “He is what connects me to who I am”

“To cherish something so deeply is a suffering in itself that I've come to accept. I think you understand that very well, Aemond.”

She feels him stiffen at the mention of his name, fingers clasping her arms tighter before he turns her around in a pirrouette, bowing before her as he ends their performance.

“Always your way, yes” she responds breathlessly.

“I do not wish to mold you Meynara, only to make you realize how well you belong. I can offer you something far more than the life you wish to subject yourself to”

“Wealth and power?”

“Purpose” he says with finality.

“Then I ask one thing of you. Bare yourself to me, in good faith” she whispers, watching him carefully “and I shall do the same.”

“Haven't I seen all of you?” he questions, removing the barrier across his face.

“Not without adornment” she says, reaching down to remove her restraints. “They are as much a part of me as this is of you” she finishes reaching up to cup his face. The sapphire glistens brilliantly as she stares at the angry scar accompanying it, intensifying his beauty.

“Is this what you've heard of” he remarks, gritting his teeth at her request.

“Indeed” she replies, reaching up to stroke his face. “We wear our shame and pride on our sleeve. It is time to embrace it together for the purpose you so wish to achieve”

“It will require much more than I've since asked from you”

“I think it is time I left the chains that bind me my prince, yours will have to suffice for now”

They wake again at the crack of dawn to the domestic bliss of togetherness. There in his chambers she experiences what it means to be a wife at last. The euphoria of nurture, she'd long dreamed of since she was a girl, envelops her in a sense of longing and nostalgia. As she bathes and readies him for battle, she finds herself gazing at him wistfully.

“I shall return soon”

“I am aware. I did not forgo my bindings for a lie”

“You wished to soar did you not.”

“You know, the Norvoshi do not trust a man without a beard. They say one as such lacks the honor to defend and the foresight to lead” she responds by running his blade across his face as he turns away from her.“You have your own honor though”

“Many would disagree. I am said to be cursed ”

“One man's curse is another's blessing. You shall return a King”

“Because I've given you the freedom you desire?” he jests “Your faith is truly boundless”

“As is your routine. Hold still while I finish or they'll have to wait the whole morn for you to ride out with glory”

It is an hour later after she meticulously braids his hair and secures his armor, over his eye and body that she finds herself truly bogged down with the weight of his departure. He kisses her temple as he leaves, the act too chaste for her to protest before he's gone. As she sits ruminating on her time spent with him, she hears the flap of the great wings of Vhagar, leathery and forceful as she rushes to spot her out of her window. A shadow falls over the Dun fort as she flies past, giving way to three rings of the great bell of Duskendale, thrice for the sound of freedom that soars through her heart.

Taglist: @arcielee @succnfuccubus @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy @paprikaquinn @witheredoffherwitch

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #aemond targaryen x ofc #fyeahhotdocs #aemond x oc #aemond x fem!oc #hotd fics #zae's fics #aemond fics #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x original character #aemond targaryen x original female character #hotd fic #fyeahgotocs

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