#Iron lords screwing around

[searsage]

Skorri sat in place hidden behind one of the many pillars of the keep, across the hall she could see Lady Efrideet following suit, hiding in a similar spot behind a pillar just shy of the stairwell.

Her lovely ivory and bronze armor glinting gently where the stray light caught it, it made the singer's heart skip beats.

She looks beautiful and excited, just as excited as Timur, the warlock had been glowing for days, it was great to see his mind free of the stress that often plagued the him, never had he seemed so young.

Down the hall she could just make out lord saladin's silhouette, he was frowning like always but even skorri could see Timur's vigor had infected him as well, he too was invested in the mischief about to unfold before them.

It seemed everyone's spirit's were high, for once things were unexpectedly looking up for the iron lords.

Beautiful music filled the echoing halls of Felwinter peak, it shattered the dreary ambiance, Tchaikovsky's symphonies filled the silence, their notes chasing each other around in timeless loops.

The delightful trap was set and now all that was left was for the iron lords to wait, and to Skorri's surprise and Timur's pure delight they didn't have to wait long.

The drowned out sound of a bed chamber doors creaking shut could just be heard just trickling through the obnoxiously loud classical music, across from her skorri can see Lady Efrideet brimming with mirth and excitement, as lord Felwinter emerges from the staircase true to Timur's predictions.

She finds herself holding her breath as the curious iron Lord descends the staircase, his right hand is full of paperwork, no doubt charts and data sheets but he doesn't bother setting them down, instead the curious Exo immediately heads for the antique record player, there he hovers around it for a good while, curiously looking about, but obviously too infatuated by the machine to thoroughly scope the parameter for hiding iron lords or even question the suspiciously empty common space.

Eventually he reaches his hand out, metal fingers plucking the nail up and setting it back two tracks, his head tilted elegantly downward as he listened to the mystifying.

He looked like an artistic sculpture, standing so still near to the table, the machine who was all sharp edges and elegant posture, for once looked..at peace..

Fleeting light crept in from the windows, illuminating the thick faded fur of thr robe against his back and catching the horns of his well worn helmet.

He looked utterly radiant in his little moment of private peace, skorri could practically feel Timur's soul leaving his body, and silently hoped the man had the strength to go through with the prank he himself orchestrated.

Again Felwinter set the nail back, the exo had no doubt found his favorite song, his finger tapping against the table once, twice before the iron lord finally pushed away with all the reluctance of a sailor under a siren's spell, slowly vanishing into the nearby study, to no doubt deal with the moutain of charts wedged under his arm.

This was her cue.

Her heart slammed in her chest as skorri darted out from behind the marble piller, to her left Lady Efrideet was practically vibrating in place, quickly motioning for her to go forward before the iron lord returned.

Skorri swallowed her apprehension, if she was caught it was game over, with a brief scope of the room and hall leading to the study Felwinter had retreated to, she dashed forward swiftly closing the distance between her and the record player.

The moment her nimble fingers plucked the needle from it's track the melody adruptly died, instantly the room was all too quiet and Skorri felt her heart freeze under the weight of apprehension.

"Pssst!"

The singer jolted as a small sound jumpstarted her reflexes again, it was Timur, the man was waving wildly, pointing from the study door to her hiding spot, quickly she replaced the record, leaving the nail idle and carefully placing the pilfered record on the table, then she darted out of sight, sighing in relief as the shadow of the piller cast a cool concealing shadow over her.

Luckily for the songtrist she had made it just in time!

It was mere seconds before Felwinter's silhouette reemergred from the study, his peculiar ram helmit pointed towards the idle player

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter II - We Shall Find Our Answers

Summary: You and your family return to King’s Landing after several years, and you are dreading having to face your uncle again. While you cannot change the past, maybe the lines on his palm can show some insight into your future. And maybe, just maybe, the future might be bright for the two of you.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 5,5k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece)

Notes: Pssst. Hey, you. I’m back. And I bring thee the continuation of this story, which I had a lot of fun writing. I intend on writing more for this little universe, so if you've liked this story so far, please consider staying tuned for more parts to come!

Just for clarification, I don’t understand much about the rules and laws of monarchy, but since this is my story and I’m already saying ‘screw canon’, we’re also gonna say ‘fuck tradition’ (and if any of the characters, especially Aemond, seem a bit ooc I deeply apologize, I’m just trying very hard to Bob-The-Builder the events of the show)

Also, I have purposefully left the question of the reader’s father somewhat ambiguous so there can be more leeway for the reader’s appearance to be undescribed.

Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you have enjoyed this story! <3

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It had been several years since you had last stepped foot in King’s Landing. Not since the death of your aunt and father. Or fathers. Which meant you hadn’t seen Aemond since that fateful night in Driftmark. You’d been by his side in an instant once Luke had shaken you awake wailing like a babe that he had done something terrible. You had held his hand as the maester tended to his wound, much to his mother’s grief. She had even tried pushing you away from her son, but his hand held tightly around yours prevented you from going too far. He had wanted, no, needed the comfort of your presence. But that all changed when Jace explained what had transpired, what he had called your younger brothers and, by extension, yourself. You had dropped his hand as if it burned, feeling more betrayed than ever, not missing the way your hurt was reflected in his own eyes. Well, eye. He had tried to talk to you after everyone had been excused but you fled from him, not wanting to face him just yet. Perhaps never again, you had thought at the time.

Now a grown woman, you returned to King’s Landing once more, summoned by the court for a hearing in which Ser Vaemond Velaryon intended to question Lucerys legitimacy as heir to Driftmark (which he was in for a surprise as your mother did not intend to pass Driftmark down to Luke, but to Jacaerys instead, as previously discussed and agreed with your grandparents, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, while she would name you, her firstborn,   as heir to the Iron Throne after her). So it’s no surprise you were not looking forward to this visit at all. 

While you had kept in contact with Helaena through exchanged ravens, you hadn’t once written to Aemond, nor had he done so to you. You were dreading the moment you had to see him again, as you didn’t know how he would react to seeing you after the way you left things off in the past. In reality… you missed him. You missed having someone to talk to, someone who truly cared about what you had to say, who shared similar interests to you and enjoyed the diverging ones all the same. You missed your study partner, as Jace’s high valyrian was incredibly subpar, leaving him far behind you in his studies. You simply missed having him. 

The first moment you had laid eyes on him had been, unsurprisingly, in the courtyard. You’d been following after your brothers as they explored what had changed and what hadn’t around the Keep, trying to ensure they didn’t get into any trouble, when you noticed a small crowd forming around two men engaged in a heated training match. One was none other than Ser Criston Cole, who hadn’t aged a single day but looked like the stick up his ass had slipped even further in, and the other… 

You couldn’t help but stare, oblivious to anything else around you. He had grown quite a lot in the years you’d been apart. He was taller, his shoulders pulled back and his head held high, no longer the timid, self-conscious boy you’d once known. Where Ser Criston was strong Aemond was fast, his tall frame and lithe shape allowing for a more fast paced combat, his movements sharp yet swift and even somewhat… graceful. 

“You should clean up, right there.” you snapped out of your reverie, brought back to focus by your brother Jace, who motioned to the corner of his own mouth with a smirk hanging from his lips “You’re drooling.”

Feeling a warm flush on your cheeks you swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, finding nothing there, as Jace chuckled at your naivety and moved to join the crowd along with Luke.

Little cunt.

You followed after your brothers just as Aemond had his sword pointed right at Ser Criston’s neck. You couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, only catching the tail end of their conversation.

“Have you come to train?” he had been saying, his eye trained on Luke, some underlying darkness swirling in it, before his gaze finally met you and something shifted in it almost imperceptibly “Little niece.” 

The way he said it, the use of the once mocking title, left you reeling. The tone he used made it so you couldn’t quite tell if he had been sneering at you or in awe at your presence, if he was jesting or quite serious, mocking or sincere.

But your musings were interrupted by the gates opening, Ser Vaemond walking in as if he owned the place. Or like he was owed something from this place. It seemed your dreaded reunion with your uncle would have to wait.

As much as you hated being back in King’s Landing you couldn’t deny this place did manage to keep you entertained. The hearing had gone as well as one could expect, with Ser Vaemond hurling one insult after another at both you, your brothers and your mother and ultimately losing his head for it. All was well with your family, Jace’s claim to Driftmark and his status as future Lord of the Tides and your own as heir to the Iron Throne after your mother had been reaffirmed by the King himself, backed by your grandmother. 

During the whole hearing you couldn’t help but glance at Aemond from the corner of your eye every once in a while. He had a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face all throughout Vaemond’s speech, the bastard, but once your mother mentioned her desire to establish you as her heir to the Throne something changed. His gaze met yours and his face softened, the smugness disappearing all together from his features. 

It was the last you saw of him, having taken off to the courtyard to relish in the diminishing sun as it lowered in the sky by sitting under the weirwood tree. Jace and Luke were enjoying a stroll around the Keep with their respective betrotheds, occasionally passing by your peripheral vision.

“I thought I’d find you here.” a voice cut through the air, souring your mood.

“Have you come to question my legitimacy as well, uncle?” you asked Aemond, who stood in front of you with his hands behind his back, before nodding in your brother’s direction as they skirted the edge of the courtyard “Be careful not to speak too loudly, we wouldn’t want you to lose yet another eye, now, would we?”

The smallest twitch of his eye was the only indication that he was bothered by what you said. You knew it was low, and you did feel a twinge of guilt about it, but the hurt you’d been cultivating for him since that night was festering in your heart.

“Always the jester, little niece.” he smirked, taking a seat next to you, keeping you on his good eye’s side.

“Only for you.” 

You both fell silent, the air around charged with years of tension built between the two of you.

“I haven’t heard from you in ages.” he spoke softly, facing forward.

“You didn’t write.” you jabbed.

“You didn’t either.” 

He had you there. 

“Helaena’s told me of your travels.” he tried again “You’ve visited quite a lot of places.”

“I wanted to see the realm.” you explained, feeling some of the tension dissipating as he extended an opportunity for you opened up “To learn the ways of the people we are to rule.”

He only hummed in response.

“And what about you?” you turned to him, noticing how his body seemed to instinctively turn towards you as well “How have you been faring?”

“Oh, you know.” he shrugged, nonchalantly “I have been busy, studying, training with a sword, as you’ve very well seen,” the smirk that formed on his face was enough to bring heat to your cheeks “and trying to stop Aegon from drowning in his cups every night.”

A giggle escaped from your lips, which in turn prompted a small grin from him. This moment, right here with him, felt like before; it felt freeing. The full weight of how much you had missed him hit you like a Vhagar-sized carriage. 

A moment of silence passed before he turned somber again.

“My mother has deemed it time for me to find a wife.” he spoke slowly, his words making something twist painfully in your chest “She’s been trying to find matches for me in some of the noble houses. But none of the ladies in court will even look at me.”

He cast his gaze down and away from you, his stoic demeanor cracking for a moment and giving way to a forlorn expression. It seemed… awfully familiar to you.

“I frighten them. Not just them, the maids too.” his voice was soft, resignation dripping from his words, the prideful man you saw earlier in the yard taking a step back to allow the shy and insecure boy you once knew to make a reappearance “I think your lines have lied to you. No lady would ever want a one-eyed husband.”

“Aemond-”

“I told you once before, I don’t appreciate your pity, niece.” his tone hardened, but it lacked venom, meaning he wasn’t angry with you, rather upset at himself.

You could only wonder how much the events of that night had changed him, for better and worse. He might argue that he had claimed a dragon, the biggest in the world, so that made things even but you could only imagine the kind of pain, both physical and emotional, he had gone through since then.

“For what is worth” you started, raising a hand to his face very slowly, giving him more than enough time to halt your movements. He flinched at first but eventually relaxed, allowing you to lay your hand on his cheek, your thumb rubbing softly against the end of his scar “I am truly sorry for what happened that night. You didn’t deserve any of it.”  

His hand raised, grasping your wrist and running his own thumb on the skin at the edge of your sleeve.

“What I said that night,” he closed his eye for a moment then looked at you again “it was unbefitting. I never meant to hurt you.” he paused, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly, as if he was letting go of a lifetime of weight he’d been carrying “No more than I believe Lucerys meant to hurt me as badly as he did.”

It was an olive branch, you realized. Given how he now carried himself it was the closest thing to an apology you’d get. While he might not simply ever forgive your brother, he was willing to try and put it behind him, to let go of the pain, for you. And for that you’d forever be grateful to him. He tilted his head to the side, letting his lips linger on your palm for just a moment, before pulling your hand away from his face and carefully placing it on your lap again, both of you facing forward once more.

The silence that fell was not an uncomfortable one. It reminisced of the days you’d sit together in this same spot and wait for the servants to come fetch you when it was time for supper. But every nice moment had to be broken at some point.

“My grandsire and mother believe Aegon should be named my father’s heir.” he spoke after a moment, your head quickly snapping to look at him.

“What?”

“They believe that, as his firstborn son, he would have a better claim to the throne.” he glanced at you “That most lords would support him if it came to it.”

You were baffled by this revelation, even though you shouldn’t really be all that surprised. Otto Hightower was a cunt who would do anything in his power to have his own blood sit on the Iron Throne. As much as your mother resented her former friend you’d come to the conclusion that Otto had been the one responsible to sway Alicent against her. It shouldn’t come as a surprise he would be plotting against her. That’s why the man was smug about today’s hearing, and why his face promptly fell once Rhaenys made her support of Jacaerys, and by extension your mother, known. But…

“Why are you telling me this?” you questioned, confused as to why Aemond, the dutiful son, would tell on his family like that.

An amused grin, almost resembling a smirk, took over his features, his eye turned away from you.

“New information has come to light regarding the line of succession.”

Your heart clenched, a smile of your own appearing on your face. He recognized you as heir to the Throne, as a future queen. 

His smile, however, slowly slipped from his face, leaving a sad look in its wake.

“What troubles you, uncle?” you asked.

“I just-” he sighed, almost exasperated “I just do not understand how they could possibly believe Aegon of all people fit to be king. He, who disappears every fortnight for the Street of Silk, who’s barely ever sober during the day. He, who has his way with the servants while his own wife exists silently, he who, dare I say, barely understands a word of high valyrian and the importance of our family to the realm.”

His rant left him slightly breathless, as if he had been suppressing those feelings for a very long time. And although he had not dared say it, you heard the hidden meaning behind his words. If he, now a grown man, was anything like he was as a boy, he was much more suited to be king than his brother was. He was probably well studied in both history and philosophy, he knew his way quite well around a sword, as you’d seen, and he’d kept up with his lessons in high valyrian, like you had. He would make for a fine king, if it weren’t for your mother and, eventually, you.

And then it hit you.

Otto Hightower would do anything in his power to have his own blood sit on the Iron Throne.

“Give me your hand.” you spoke firmly. 

Aemond looked at you quizzically, taking too slow to comply so you forcefully grabbed his hand in yours, his palm facing upwards.

“Not this again.” he said, bemused.

As you ran your finger delicately over his palm, you took your time noticing the way calluses adorned the skin, once soft under your touch, probably from years of dragon riding and intense sword training. 

“Your line of life is still quite long, good.” you heard his scoff, although it sounded quite like a barely contained laugh “It means the Stranger will not come for you for quite a while still.”

His eye was trained on you as traced another line on his hand.

“And your line of heart still tilts upwards, so you will marry a woman who loves you dearly.”

You spoke with so much conviction, squeezing his hand, your eyes finally glancing up, locked firmly onto his own as you said it. 

“She’ll love and cherish you for everything that you are, unwaveringly and unapologetically. You’ll be hers as much as she’ll be yours.”

His eyes shone with barely contained hope, before you averted your gaze back to his palm.  

“And here,” you pointed to a small line near the bottom of his palm “is the line of the king. It appears only on the hands of those who are destined to rule over the realm.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t falter.

“You are jesting again, niece.” 

“I am not.” you shook your head, determined “The lines have never lied before, remember?” you mentioned, and he couldn’t argue with that, as the prediction you’d spoke of last time you found yourselves in this exact situation came true barely a few weeks afterwards “You will be king, Aemond.” 

You stood up quickly, barely brushing the skirts of your dress as you did.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

You took off before he could question you, rushing out of the courtyard in search of your mother. You had a matter most important you needed to discuss with her, one you’d already brought up with her many moons ago, but which at the time felt more like a distant childish dream.

Aemond hadn’t spoken to you again until it was time for supper. He had caught a quick glimpse of you sometime after you left the courtyard, speaking in hushed whispers with your mother while Daemon looked thoroughly vexed. But before he could approach you and inquire about your sudden departure earlier, both you and your mother took off to one of your chambers, he assumed, leaving his uncle to stare murderously at him. While Aemond wasn’t frightened by Daemon, he would even go as far as to say he admired the man, something about the way he was staring at him deeply unsettled him, so he decided to leave and wait for a better opportunity to speak to you, alone.

Now, during what surely was to be one awkward meal, he could see you from the other side of the table where you sat next to Baela. You looked positively radiant, smiling with your step-sisters and occasionally jesting with your brothers. From time to time you’d catch his eye, your smile turning mirthful, as if you knew something he didn’t. More than once throughout the night he caught you and Rhaenyra sharing a small, quick nod to one another, and Daemon rolling his eyes whenever he also noticed it.

After King Viserys congratulated Jacaerys and Lucerys on their betrothals, Jace leaned over Baela and whispered something to you. While he looked sullen, Baela had a small understanding smile as you tried to sooth him. His face softened as you grasped his hands, trying to reassure him of something, Baela supporting you quietly. The overjoyed smile that took over your features as Jace nodded lit something in Aemond’s chest, his heart skipping a beat.

At a certain point, after the King’s speech and Rhaenyra and Alicent’s toasts, Aegon got up and leaned over to “whisper” something to Baela, catching the attention of all those around her. Aemond couldn’t hear what his brother said all the way from his side of the table, but whatever it was Jacaerys looked like he was about to drive a dagger through him. But you and your sharp words were quicker.

“At least he can stay sober long enough to get it up.” you spoke, your voice loud enough for the entire room to hear “Can Helaena say the same about you, uncle?”

Several reactions could be heard around the table. Helaena herself snorted into the wine she had been sipping, Daemon laughed loudly from his place at Rhaenyra’s side and even a small, tired chuckle could be heard leaving the King’s mouth. Aemond couldn’t help but smirk as his brother all but crumbled back in his seat, a frown unveiling his embarrassment. 

Jace took his time toasting both his uncles but there was something… different in the way he addressed each of them. Whereas Aegon’s name was said with mocking admiration and contempt, Jace’s tone as he said Aemond’s name was laced with quiet resignation. And the tiny grin he directed at Aemond took him by surprise.

Helaena, a little bit tipsy at this hour, also took the opportunity to congratulate Rhaena and Baela in their betrothals, also taking a jab at Aegon’s already wounded pride. While he felt his chest fill with pride for his sister, Aemond couldn’t help but notice the moment you shared with your mother once again, the questioning look on her face and the determined nod you gave as answer to whatever question you found in the depth of her eyes.

“Speaking of marriage,” Rhaenyra started as she stood up and turned to face the seats of his father, mother and grandsire “my only daughter is now of marrying age as well.”

Aemond felt something twist painfully in his chest at the thought, turning his eye to glance at you and was surprised to find you already looking at him, the corners of your lips turned up in a soft grin.

“I would like to make a proposition.” your mother continued, turning to look at him, bringing his attention back to her. He felt his heartbeat increase as she stared at him for a moment longer, some heat climbing to his cheeks, before she turned to address his family once again, her eyes locked onto Alicent “I would like to propose we wed her to your second son, Prince Aemond.”

He barely registered anything else over the thunderous flow of blood against his eardrums, reflecting on the speed at which his traitorous heart was beating in his chest. He glanced back at you, watching as you smiled warmly at him. Something in him just felt right. He felt as if everything was falling into place within his life.

Aemond had never let himself want. He realized quite early in his life that he would only ever be the second son, and considering how much his father favored Rhaenyra over any other of his other children, he didn’t really matter much in comparison to his siblings. So he had learned never to wish for anything for himself, he had never dared hope that good things would come to him. And now here you were, the only one who has ever truly cared for him, offering something he never allowed himself to dream of.  

“And” Rhaenyra continued, drawing his attention back to her. There was more? What else could she possibly offer that could be worth more than that? He allowed himself a quick glimpse at Daemon, who once again looked bothered by what she was about to say “once I have come to pass and it is time for her to take over as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he would be crowned king alongside with her. He would be not a prince, nor king consort, but a true king. They would rule as equals, and eventually their children would sit in the Iron Throne after them.”

What?

As soon as the words were out of her mouth his mind simply ceased to work. They were thinking of… what? His head quickly snapped to look at his family, wanting to gauge their reactions as well and assess if they were just as confused as he felt.

His father was positively delighted at the prospect of uniting his fractured family once more. His mother, on the other hand, looked irked at Rhaenyra for having sprung this proposition in front of Viserys, as he’d obviously agree, and she wasn’t looking forward to having a possible bastard as her son’s wife (even if she knew he once cared deeply for you). And his grandsire… he looked conflicted. Otto Hightower wasn’t an easy man to read, but he had been so caught by surprise that he was wearing all his emotions on his sleeve. While he, like Alicent, seemed bothered by the timing of this proposal, he also looked… intrigued?

“We were thinking of passing Dragonstone down to Aegon and keeping both Aemond and my daughter here in King’s Landing so they can learn with me and the council the ways of ruling, so they are well prepared when it comes their time to rule.” 

“And what of Lucerys?” Alicent questioned warily.

“He would live in Driftmark with Jace, learning the ways of salt and sea, in hopes of one day becoming my, and later his sister’s, Master of Ships.” Rhaenyra completed.

Silence ruled over the room for a moment, nobody daring to utter a word. Not even the servants, watching from the corners, made a single sound.

“And who was the one” Viserys spoke slowly, getting more tired as the night progressed “behind such a wonderful idea?” 

“I-” your mother started, but Daemon quickly cut her off.

“The girl did.” he nodded his head towards you, a smug smile growing on his lips at the prospect of possibly throwing you under the carriage. 

Aemond’s head snapped towards you, your smile never wavering. So that’s what you had been speaking to Rhaenyra all day. After your talk in the courtyard, you’d gone off to find your mother, to express your wishes not only to marry Aemond, but to also make him king. Just like the lines on his palm told you. But… why?

“And just what” Otto questioned, as if reading his grandson’s mind “has led the princess to decide to break hundreds of centuries of tradition and wish to share the Throne?”

Rhaenyra turned back to you, sending a silent question in your direction yet again. You shook your head and stood up, as if deciding to face the judgment of the Hightowers all by yourself.

“While my family has resided in Dragonstone for the past few years, my lord,” you started, an eloquence that indicated you’d been preparing, and maybe even rehearsing, this speech in your mind for a while “I have taken to flying around the realm on dragonback, visiting all of the Seven Kingdoms. I’d wished to see for myself and understand the people I’d one day rule over. However, being away from King’s Landing for so long also means I am not versed in the matters of court. Prince Aemond, on the other hand,” oh, how sweet your voice sounded when you said his name accompanied by his title “has lived his entire life here in the Red Keep. He’s been in these halls, around the lords and ladies of court, for quite a while and knows how such matters are supposed to work. I believe our knowledge combined will give us the strength, as a unity, required to rule over the realm together and establish a peaceful and prosperous reign.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you paused, your expression souring.

“And” you chuckled mirthlessly, your previously warm smile falling to a resigned one “I am a woman. The lords of the noble houses of Westeros may support my mother’s claim as they have sworn an oath to his grace, the King, but many of them are already of advanced age and may soon come to perish, some have already died even. While most of these houses are righteous and their sons and grandsons will likely honor their ancestors' wishes and support me as my mothers heir, there is no telling what will happen. They might not take kindly to yet another woman ruling over the realm, and especially one they didn’t technically agree on. So as much as I loathe to admit it, having a man by my side, supporting me as an equal, would strengthen my claim and prevent anyone from questioning me as queen.”

It made sense, all of it. Change as impactful as this tends to happen over time, not all at once, and it was known the men of the realm would not so easily accept a woman on the Iron Throne, something Aemond knew his grandsire was counting on to bring Aegon to power eventually, so it was a smart move to have a husband at your side. Your arguing was solid, and Otto Hightower seemed to agree as he reclined back on his seat, somewhat impressed.

Alicent, however, looked like she still wasn’t satisfied with your answer.

“And why would you wish to marry my son?” she questioned, her tone stern.

Your smile faltered briefly, betraying your confusion.

“Why, your grace, I believe I have already explained-”

“No,” she cut you off “you’ve explained why this union would be beneficial for you as a representative of the Crown. I want to know why you wish to marry him. You could have any man in the realm, hells, there have been rumors that Cregan Stark himself has requested an audience in Dragonstone, possibly to request a courtship for your hand.” That was before anyone knew Rhaenyra planned on making you her heir and it was believed you’d inherit nothing at all, Aemond caught himself thinking “So why do you want to marry Aemond?”

That had him leaning forward in his seat. He knew, logically, this marriage stemmed from convenience. He knew he, and you as well, were mere pawns in your family’s schemes. But he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind your proposal. Even if it was just a political move, he would have accepted in a heartbeat but he dared to wish, no, hope that you actually wanted this, that you wanted him.

“I…” you fumbled for a moment, averting your gaze before steeling yourself, eyes locking with his mother’s once more “My uncle and I were close once, many years ago. We used to share a connection that has since been lost to time.” 

You took a deep breath, as if preparing to reveal your deepest secrets to the whole family.

“I would like for us to get to know one another once more and go back to the way things were. Maybe even strengthen our bond.” you then turned to him, your eyes soft and warm and with the slightest of glimmer to them, as if you were willing yourself not to shed any tears “And I believe, with time, I could learn to love him dearly. I would love and cherish him for everything that he is, unwaveringly and unapologetically.” your lips trembled almost imperceptibly, so much so that had he not been paying close attention to you he’d have missed it “I’d be his as much as he’d be mine.”

Aemond felt his breath hitch, his heart hammering in his chest once more. He didn’t know what to think. This, right here, seemed so unreal. Deep down he knew this might just be the solution to everyone’s problems, it could be the very thing that mended the divide that had been growing inside of House Targaryen, but… could it be possible? Would his family agree?

“I believe this to be an amazing occasion.” the King spoke, looking happier than he’d been in a long while, before turning to his wife “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Alicent in turn looked to her father for answers and Aemond waited with bated breath for his response. Otto’s word was law in her eyes, Aemond  knew, so he was the one who had final say in the matter. His answer came as a tiny nod and in that moment, as Aemond barely registered his mother’s next words, he had never been more grateful for his grandsire.  

“I am inclined to agree that this will be a most blessed union.” Alicent said, her smile, always cold when it came to you, warming considerably.

“It’s settled then. Looks like we’ll have a wedding even sooner than expected.” Viserys then tapped his cane on the ground “Let us have some music.” 

As the musicians started playing an animated melody, Aemond felt lighter than he had in years. He could hardly care for everyone around him, not even noticing anyone’s reaction to the news other than your own. With his eye focused solely on you he could see the relief settling in at his mother’s words as you beamed at him, more radiant than ever.

“Aemond, dear, why don’t you take your betrothed for a dance?” 

He was out of his seat before Alicent could even finish her sentence, crossing the space between you in wide strides and extending a hand to you. You accepted gracefully. As you positioned yourselves to dance, you smiled bashfully at him, looking down at your feet, slightly embarrassed.

“I hope you can find it in you to forgive me for bringing this up all of a sudden, uncle.” you explained, looking back at him “I didn’t want to waste another moment and risk losing my chance.” 

It was his turn to smile, not a smirk or a smug grin, a genuine smile. 

“There is nothing to forgive, little niece.” the way he said the moniker this time, once used to mock you, was so filled with only affection and care that it almost brought tears to your eyes once again.

You danced for a few moments in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Then you leaned closer to him, as if wanting to share something privy to his ears alone.

“I told you once before, Aemond.” your smile turned into the tiniest of smirks “The lines don’t lie.” 

His heart clenched at the memory, which seemed so distant yet so fresh in his mind. He tightened his grip around you, bringing your body even closer to his own, wanting to feel you close to him, genuinely happy for the first time in a long time.

“Indeed,” he whispered softly back to you, leaning his head against your own “I guess they truly don’t.”

And then everyone is happy, Rhaenyra and her family don’t leave for Dragonstone before dawn, meaning she’s there when Viserys goes to sleep forever, meaning she’s crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, meaning the Greens don’t usurp the Throne, meaning the Dance never happened, meaning no one dies and everyone lives happily ever after, hurray!

(About Daemon's behavior, he’s not mad at reader or Rhaenyra, nor does he dislike reader in any way. He’s just resentful Rhaenyra hasn’t thought nor has she offered to what she does to Aemond in this story. And as we know, when these Targaryen boys are frustrated, they tend to lash out. Hope this clarifies some things!)

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

[fanttasttica]

One plus one makes three

Rhysand x reader

After your one night stand with the High lord, you hadn't expected to see him ever again, but fate had other plans. You are pregnant, carrying the High lord's first child and you need to tell him. How is he going to react? And what will that mean for you?

Warnings: nothing (I think.. If you find anything, please let me know :D )

Words: 4129

Authors note: Thanks for participanting inthe voting! Since this idea got the most votes, i wrote it first. My next story will be on theme "enemies to lovers" :D

You weren't that type of a girl who got drunk every weekend and had a sex with males whose names you haven't bothered to learn. No.. So why was the universe punishing you for this? It was one night, only one. You were celebrating your birthday with some friends at Rita's, when you spotted the most beautiful male that ever existed. He was tall, seemed strong and there was this dark aura around him. He was undoubtedly powerful, but instead of fearing him, something dragged you to him. After some time you were watching each other from afar, he came up to you and asked you to dance. It was during your time on the dancing floor, when you found out it was no other than High lord or the Night cour, your High lord. It was the first time you saw him, the first time you talked to him and you thought it would also be probably the last. Maybe you ended up in his bed that night, but it was supposed to be only a one night stand, but fate decided otherwise. 

You weren't feeling well for a couple of days. Your friends were pushing you to see a healer and today you finally gave in. You visited your healer on the other side of the town, thinking she will brush it off, tell you to rest for another couple of days and eat chicken broth, you hated, but no. This wasn't only some illness you could get rid of after a few days. This would last for at least a couple of months and then the real fun would begin. You were pregnant. Carrying an heir to the Night court in your womb. Your stomach was still flat and if it weren't for your morning sickness and tiredness, you wouldn't have noticed you were pregnant yet. After finding that out, you thanked and said goodbye to your healer, leaving in a hurry. As if running from her would also mean that you would run from your situation. Unfortunately for you, that didn't happen. Symptoms still bothered you in the following days, reminding you about how screwed you were. 

“What are you going to do?” Your friends were curious, of course. And honestly you were too. “I have no idea. I am.. I only saw him once.” You answered her while running your hand through your hair. “Yeah, you saw him once. You slept with him once and you ended up pregnant.. I can't believe your luck.” It was hard to say if she was speaking ironically or not, because you wouldn't call yourself lucky. This wasn't some blessing. You weren't against children, you actually liked them and hoped one day you will have one, this was simply quite early for you and certainly with the wrong man. He maybe was a High lord, but you were an ordinary fae. He probably already forgot about your existence. “I don't even know how to contact him. Should I go back to Rita's in the hope I will meet him there? Should I send him a letter and tell him about this? And what should I write in it? Do I really have to tell him?” Not telling him anything and running to another court was an idea you were also toying with. “You can not possibly mean that! He deserves to know. And besides that, lies or secrets are always exposed in the end. He is the most powerful High lord of all times.. Do you really think you can keep this as a secret your whole life? Your kids' whole life?” You sighed in defeat and shook your head. “No, that's stupid.. I.. I just need another few days to collect my thoughts and think about ways to contact and tell him.” 

Few days passed by and you still weren't sure what to do. Why does it have to be so complicated? If he weren't the High lord, you would already have told him. It would make everything so much easier for both of you. It was pointless to cry over a spilled milk, but you couldn't help yourself, blaming it on your hormones. One day, you had enough of it. Enough of hiding in your room, crying and cursing on him and yourself. You were determined to find him, tell him about this and return home, so you could finally have some good rest without constantly thinking about this, because currently you were losing your head. You decided to try to find Rhysand again at Rita's. It seemed better to ask him for a minute there than marching to his house and demanding he would see you. You friends were supportive, not leaving you to be all alone. There always was at least one of them by your side, although you weren't finding it necessary, it was a nice gesture you appreciated. The first night you spent here looking for you, you hadn't had any luck, likewise the second or third night. But after sitting on the bar stool for the fourth night in a row, you finally saw him. He was talking to his friends, with a smile on his handsome face, unaware that his life was about to change drastically. 

Your heart started beating faster than ever before. In normal situations, you were a calm person, but obviously not today. “You should hurry and go speak to him, before other girls start to throw themself on him.” You swallowed hard.“Yeah.. I am going right now.” You tried to put on a neutral face and started walking towards him, even though everything in you screamed to run away. Suddenly, you were standing right before him and his friends, who were measuring you with interest in their eyes. You simply nodded at them in greeting and looked at the High lord. “You probably don't remember me, but we met here a while ago.. And I need to speak with you. It's urgent. ” At first you were worried he was going to send you away. He raised one eyebrow, but nodded and put away his drink, following you outside. Cold air hit you immediately, so you hugged yourself, before turning to face him. “I remember you, don't worry.” You weren't expecting that. “Yeah.. that's good.” It made a few things easier for you. Now you know there isn't a need to explain to him when you met and what you did together that night. “So? What did you need to tell me?” He was curious, of course. Maybe expecting you to try to seduce him, as many girls certainly did in the past, but there was nothing that could prepare him for this. “I am pregnant and it's yours.” 

There weren't many people who managed to surprise the High lord of the Night court. And even the least people managed to surprise him so much that he couldn't think of a reaction for the first few seconds. He was stunned, looking at you as if you were from another unknown world, so you took word once again. “To be honest.. I expected a worse reaction..” You sighed and looked at the ground. “I don't want anything from you. I want and will keep the baby, but if you don't want to, you don't have to be involved in the baby's life. I have people who will help me and also have enough money to take care of it. So.. It's up to you.” And with that, you left him standing outside alone, returning to your friends.

“How did it go? Did he take it well?” Immediately after your return, you were flooded with questions. You shrugged and drank water from your glass. “He was clearly surprised. I told him I don't expect anything from him and assured him it's his choice, if he wants to be involved or not and then left.” They laughed. “You told him this and just left him standing there alone? Oh my Cauldron, I would pay to see his face.” Maybe you would also laugh at this, only if it weren't you who was in this situation. You put one of your hands on your stomach. It was weird and also.. magical, knowing that right now, you are creating a new life. “He returned to his friends and is talking with them.” Your friend whispered to your ears. You could feel several pairs of eyes watching you. Shaking your head, you smiled at them. “Let's talk about something else for a while and try to enjoy this night.” You desperately needed some distraction and opportunity to think about anything else. In the end, the reason why you were here today was done and you deserved some break from this too. 

The next day, you were woken up by the Sun. After you forgot to close the curtains last night, there was nothing that could stop morning rays from tickling your eyes. Like any other day before, you were thinking, if you weren't dreaming this whole time, but morning sickness was clear evidence that in fact you were not. After brushing your teeths and hair, you dressed up, put on black leggings and your favorite jumper, you were ready for the day. For the last couple of days, you took time off from your job. It wasn't that hard,since you were running a small bakery with your friends and they almost forced you to stay at home. But today, you were determined to return. You wanted to start living normally again. There isn't a chance that you will spend a whole pregnancy locked in your room. You will take things slowly, so there is no chance for something to happen and it will all be good. 

Your day has been going just fine. After coming to work, you could finally be able to feel like a few weeks ago, like nothing was going on. Well, that was until the bell rang, announcing the arrival of another customer you should greet. After you look up, you find no one other than the High lord himself. “Shouldn't you be resting?” You raised your eyebrow. “Hello to you too.. I assure you I am rested well enough.” He came closer, the only thing between you was a counter, behind which you stood. “You don't need to work. I will take care of both of you.” You shook your head. “There is no need for that. I can work, what's more important, I want to work. I love my job.” Something in his face told you, he took this as a challenge. “You are pregnant with my child. I think I should have a say in this matter.” This whole conversation was uncomfortable for both of you. You both were very determined to do it in your way. And the fact that you were strangers had not been helping at all. You didn't know how to treat each other. “Then I guess we need to find some compromise.”

You weren't exactly thrilled with how some things turned out in the end, but on the other hand, it could be worse. After a long talk with Rhysand, how he told you to call him, you end up agreeing to stop working when you are halfway through your pregnancy, but that is not all. During those few weeks you will still be working, there will always be someone with you, during your shift. Practically, members of Rhys's Inner circle were supposed to babysit you. You knew it would be very unusual for you, but you were hoping that in a couple of days you will be able to ignore them or befriend them. You also agreed on moving in with Rhysand and his Inner circle, three weeks before the baby was supposed to be born and staying for at least a couple of months. “Honestly, I am surprised that you want to be so involved..” You mumbled. You two were talking almost your whole shift, which was coming to the end right now. “It's my baby, of course I want to be involved. We have to take care of her or him. Which brings me to my last point today.” He took your silence as a cue to continue. “We should get married.” You weren't sure what you were expecting, but this was certainly not it. Almost dropping a tray with two last gingerbreads, you turned to face him. His face was serious, there was no sign that he was just kidding, but you laughed lightly even so. “Good one. I am not marrying only because I am pregnant.” But he didn't let you brush that off so easily. “Why? It would be better. You would live in luxury for the rest of your life and I would have an heir.” Without this union, this baby would only be a bastard in the others eyes, you were aware of that, but you couldn't do this. “I already told you, I am comfortable with the life I am living. I don't need jewelry or fancy dresses. I was always determined to marry for love or not at all. And I am not changing my mind.” 

The weeks passed one by another. As Rhys promised, from the very next day, his friends started accompanying you, during your work. Sometimes, it was Morrigan you befriended quite quickly. It was because of her friendly personality. She was treating you like a friend from the start, promising you to always help you with the baby. Almost every time she came, she was bringing something for you or the baby. You It almost didn't make sense for you to go shopping for things for the baby since she was the one doing it. Then there were Cassian and Azriel. They also were friendly, but it took a little longer to get used to them, but after you started feeding them sweets from your shop, they warmed up to you and you were chatting like an old friend. The last person who you saw maybe two times was Amren. She wasn't rude, but when she was there, she was doing her own work and since you didn't want to disturb her, you hadn't talked so much. As for Rhys, he was visiting you every other day before and after your shift. The communication between you two was better and sometimes, you caught yourself staring at him, when he was talking to his friends and since that was exactly what got you into this situation in the first place, you weren't happy with yourself. 

“This is your last day, isn't it?” Morrigan was sitting on a table, smiling at you as you were counting the money before closing the register. “Yeah.. I still can't believe it.” You were half through your pregnancy and your bump was already showing a little. Fortunately, the morning sickness and tiredness have passed you by now. You were feeling great. “I don't know what I am going to do with my free time.” She shrugged. “You can read.. Paint.. Shop for the baby..” You chuckled at the last thing. “Thanks to you, the baby has more than enough clothes. And I pursue all my hobbies even when I am working.. Rhys is thinking that I will only lay in bed, eat and sleep, but that's simply not possible. I would lose my head after one week.” She smiled at you sympathetically. “My cousin behaves sometimes like a mother hen. I believe you, when you say it's annoying.. But you have to endure it only for another couple of weeks..” That wasn't helping. “I am not like a mother hen. I don't know what you two are talking about.”  You only noticed Rhysand, who was leaning against the door frame, now. “Yeah, you are worse.” You mumbled, after recovering from the shock he gave you. “You are hurting my feelings, dear Y/N.” You pursed your lips at him. “How are you going to recover from this?” His laughter filled the room and forced you to chuckle a little bit too. “When will you two finally get together? You are perfect for each other.” Neither of you answered her. 

As you expected, you were bored only after a week of not working. Sure, you had your friends and also new friends from Inner circle, but it wasn't enough. They also had work and their lives. So you decided to go bother the man who was responsible for your boredom, Rhysand. You already visited his home, he gave you permission to come and go as you pleased, so you decided to pay him a visit today with some sweet desserts from the bakery for him and a jar of pickles for you. The other symptoms of pregnancy passed, but this one, love for pickles, remained. You knocked twice on the mahagon door that led to his office and waited for his response, before opening them and walking in. “I am bored and it's your fault.” Rhys leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes. “How is that my fault?” He obviously wasn't understanding your logic. Maybe it was because he was a male or maybe because his brain was not affected by hormones. “You didn't want me to work anymore, so I don't have anything to do and in addition to that, I am already sick of some things that I normally like! It's frustrating.” You sat on the chair across from him. “I need to finish these papers, but once I am done, I actually know what we could do together.. Until then, you are welcome to stay.” You thought about it for a while and nodded. “Okay, I will wait. And I would almost forget. This is for you. Morrigan told me you like this.” You moved the dessert tray across the table in front of him. He looked surprised and also very happy. “Thank you, it's nice of you, but you didn't have to do that.” You shrugged, picked up one pickle and ate it before replying to him. “I wanted you. Sweet is good for the nerves. And you'll need a lot of nerve to put up with my moods.”

There was a comfortable silence. Rhys was working, you were eating pickles and watching him. During this time, you found out some other new things about him. For example, every time he tried to concentrate intensely, he furrowed his brow, when he was thinking about something, he tapped his pen on the table.. “I didn't know I was so interesting to you.” You blinked a few times, before you realized he probably noticed that you were staring directly at him for the past few minutes. “I was just thinking how can I protect our child from inheriting your crooked nose.” He chuckled and looked at you, still smiling. “Your love for me is touching.” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Are you almost done? I am running out of pickles.” He put the papers aside and nodded. “Lucky for you, yes. We can go now.”

You had to admit that his house was beautiful. It was so spacious, but cozy at the same time. It felt like home. During the tour Rhys gave you, you were imagining your life here. Imagining a little girl running around the corridors and Rhysand following her, while they are both laughing.. “There are only two other rooms I want to show you.” You offered him a small smile, “Okay, lead the way.” After climbing a few stairs, you reached the next floor of the house Rhys walked to the end of the corridor. “This is my room and right next to it..” He opened the door and let you walk in first. You gasped at the sight before you. It was a nursery. The walls were white and decorated with painted gold stars. Everything was ready. Closets full of baby clothes and other necessary things. Crib was in the middle of the room, filled with some stuffed animals and more blankets than needed. Tears welled up in your eyes. “It's so beautiful! Did you do it by yourself?” You asked, turning to Rhysand who was watching you with a happy expression. “Most of the things, although Cassian and Azriel had to help me to build the crib.. I am the most powerful High lord, but that thing is terrible.” You laughed at the idea of ​​the three strongest Illyrian warriors having trouble assembling a crib. “And Morrigan got the clothes.” You nodded, recognizing some pieces. “Thank you, really.” He walked towards you and carefully took your hand to his. “You don't have to thank me. I was happy to do it. After all, I promised you that I would spoil both you and the child.” The fact that your child was going to be spoiled was certain. And probably no amount of strictness couldn't prevent that. “As for spoiling you.. I also have room ready for you.”

It wasn't until Rhys pointed them out that you noticed a door not far from the crib. “This door leads to your room. And the door opposite.. to mine, so I can come and help you with the baby during the night or you can easily come to my room, if you would need it at any time.” It was practical, better than having to run to the hall and knock on his door there. “Are you ready to see it?” With this, he caught your attention once again. “Of course.” 

You fell in love with your room the first second you walked in. Rhys made sure the walls were painted in your favorite color. There was a table, not so far from the window. On the other side is a bookcase with a rocking chair next to it. The walk-in closet was the same size as your bathroom, which was as luxurious as everything else. “Okay.. Now I am really looking forward to moving in here.” You joked and lay on your big bed. Blanket was so soft you wanted nothing else than getting tangled up in it and never getting out. Rhys sat on your bed, watching you with a grin. “And I thought you said you didn't need a life of luxury..” He said playfully. As a response, you slapped him gently on his hand. “I don't need it. But I have to admit, it's nice.” You sat up and rested your head on his shoulder. He hugged you, with one of his hands, around your waist and placed his hand on your stomach, stroking it gently. “Only the best for you.”

Many weeks passed and now.. As you predicted, you were holding a baby girl in your arms. Your and Rhysand's baby girl. Your birth was quite easy, thankfully. You were happy. Rhys was all over the moon, not leaving you alone for one minute. The others were not better, they pushed each other away, only to get a better view of her, before Madja told them to leave, since you need to rest. So now, it was only you, Rhys and your little star. “I know I already said it.. But thank you.” You looked in his eyes and smiled. “I thank you. Afterall, this takes two.” Although most of the job was done by you, Rhys was amazing to you this whole time. Treating you like a queen. “I am really.. glad for this. Finding out I was going to be a father was shocking, I will not lie, but.. I am just really happy.” Hearing this made your heart jump with joy. “Yeah.. I am too. I am glad I met you. And I have to admit.. I grew fond of you.” He chuckled deeply and kissed the top of your head. “Does that mean you will marry me then? And I assure you.. I am not asking out of some obligation, because we have a child together.” Rhys was ready to give you time to think, but you didn't need it. It wasn't love at first sight with him. You were falling in love with him for a while, but now you were sure that he was your happy ending. Well.. him and your daughter. That's why there wasn't a trace of hesitation when you answered him, “I will.”

[magicalbats]

Fantasies Play Out

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 18.921

Warnings: aphrodisiacs, pining & yearning, pathetic soggy men. femdom, overstimulation, handjobs, PIV, cowgirl position, dacryphilia, rimming, anal fingering, prostate massage, edging & orgasm denial

A/N: Alright, here's my longest comm yet. I'm so, so happy the commissioner gave me permission to post this because I simply MUST continue to spread my femdom agenda, and what better candidate exists for tribute than Kaveh? lol This was written using one of the lovely @tearsofcalamity's OC's, her name is Jeanne and she's ... quite the woman, haha. If you're anything like me you shouldn't have any problem at all self inserting with the text left as is so ... please enjoy! ❤️

⭐

Peering sullenly into his open wallet, Kaveh breathes out a single lamentable sigh over how much lighter it now was. Practically empty by all accounts, and what little mora he did have left would go very quickly. This he knew a little too well. 

He was struggling. No ifs, ands or buts about that. Between trying to stay caught up on the rent and his considerable debt payments (which hardly even put a dent in the total sum he owed to the renowned Lord Sangemah Bay) as well as the quite necessary bottles of wine he purchased for himself at the taverns and the shops, it was all going to be gone again in frustratingly quick order. And he’d only just returned from his most recent job out in the arid desert too. What a shame. 

It couldn’t be helped though. He’d needed these components for Mehrak and there wasn’t any getting around the costly price tag that came with them when one was working with a piece of complicated machinery as old and mysterious as his little helper was. He couldn’t exactly begrudge her for that. Mehrak may have been a costly sinkhole, an extra expense he hadn’t needed, but she was also an exceptionally good assistant. And, well. Perhaps she also helped chase away some of the isolated loneliness he’d felt closing in around him since he’d lost everything he’d worked so hard for, but there was no sense in dwelling unnecessarily on that. 

Mournfully clasping the purse shut and tucking it away into the safety of his pocket, Kaveh says to the ironworks shopkeep, “Thank you, Rahid. I appreciate you always keeping these bits and baubles on hand for me.” 

Because of course Mehrak needed parts of a very specific dimension that weren’t found anywhere else in modern Sumeru so they needed to be custom made. A costly sinkhole indeed. 

Sitting behind the counter, the elderly man sends him what can only be a sympathetic look from under the bushy, dusted gray droop of his eyebrows. He was happy to make the petite screws and nuts, and odd shaped bolts Kaveh needed since it kept food on his family table but evidently he wasn’t without his scruples. He’d certainly been around long enough to recognize when someone was limping steadily towards his last leg, yet he could only discount his wares so much without giving them away for free.

His sympathy just makes the blond’s stomach flip in on itself though, and he quickly busies himself with gathering up the handful of metal pieces laid out between them on the counter of the small shop. Pity was the very last thing he needed right now. 

“You should take it easy, old friend. You’ve been working an awful lot lately.” Rahid says in his usual low rumble, his voice permanently raspy after a lifetime spent working the forges, breathing in all the hot steam and iron smoke of his craft. 

“Ah, thank you but I’m afraid I don’t have any time for that at the moment. Someone is always in need of an architect, aren’t they? Busy, busy, busy.” Kaveh tries for nonchalant, tries to laugh it off like it’s no big deal as he slips Mehrak’s new screws into his other pocket where they wouldn’t stab him the next time he reaches for his wallet, but Rahid hardly seems convinced. 

In fact, the way he stares at him over the counter would seem to suggest that he could smell bullshit from a mile away, and he wasn’t impressed with Kaveh’s attempt at deflection. 

His deliberately casual laughter quickly morphs into nervous chuckling. “Hey, now. What’s with that look, huh?” 

Rahid narrows his eyes as if he wanted to give Kaveh a right and proper tongue lashing but says instead, “Well, as true as that may be - and I don’t doubt that it is given the quality of your work - you should still make some time for yourself. Take it from an old coot like me. You’re still young and capable. Don’t get so focused on your livelihood that you forget to live a little. You’ll regret it when you get to be my age. Surely there are some girls around the city who have caught your eye that you’d like to get to know?” 

Well, there was one, but she wasn’t from the city, or even Sumeru for that matter. 

She also wasn’t what Kaveh would call a girl either. 

Thoughts drifting idly to Jeanne only to inevitably take up camp there, Kaveh decides that she’s all woman and what a woman she was. 

Fontainian by birth and blood, she was an enforcement officer of the Maison Gardiennage who came to Sumeru on business with some amount of regularity. What that entailed was more often than not tracking down scoundrels that thought escaping to the opposite shore of the vast sea would save them from her wrath, or mora hungry merchants with a penchant for trouble and a bit too much free time on their hands. 

They’d happened to run into each other during one such incident involving a Fontaine trader who was underreporting his earnings to avoid paying all the taxes he owed. Having been in the wrong place at the right time, Kaveh, young and just as naive as he was now, had very nearly gotten duped out of a month's worth of pay by the shady businessman. But then Jeanne suddenly appeared like the hero in a storybook to interrupt the transaction before it was too late, saving him from what, in retrospect, had clearly been a scam. She’d made quick work of the lout and the two of them had become fast friends after that. Even now it struck Kaveh as being curiously fateful, that initial encounter. Like he was some hapless damsel in distress and Jeanne the noble chevalier of justice. 

But that was about where the fanciful tale ended. Years later they were still just friends despite Kaveh’s occasionally wistful thoughts to the contrary of someday being more and it’s not as if anyone could really fault him for that. 

Jeanne wasn't only pretty, she was downright stunning. And not in spite of the bisecting scars that ran across her face but because of them. He’d never seen someone quite so beautiful or captivating, and he more than anyone else had an eye for that sort of thing. There were very few in this world who understood the concept of aesthetic objectivity quite like he did, especially when others were much too focused on their own predefined subjective tastes to look past that. In many ways, Jeanne was the kind of woman he could see himself wanting to spend the rest of his life with. 

Unfortunately for him, she was unflappable and largely oblivious to the puppy faced looks of wanting he’d sometimes catch himself leveling at her, especially when they were drinking together. She always seemed to think it was just the wine talking, influencing his behavior and making him more needy (and whiny) than he normally was. Of course she wasn’t exactly wrong about that, but it was beside the point. While Kaveh undoubtedly appreciated her willingness to humor him in her own curious way during such moments, it didn’t exactly do much to soothe the yearning in his heart. More than anything he wanted Jeanne to take him seriously, but it looked like that was never going to happen. 

He's so caught up in these spiraling thoughts that he doesn’t even realize he’s letting out another groaning, long suffering sigh until Rahid chuckles a knowing sound in return. 

“That bad, eh?” 

Kaveh snaps his attention up, surprised at his own slip. “What? No. Nothing’s bad. Everything’s great, in fact.” 

The aging ironworker pins him with a critical, wisened look that seems to speak volumes. Clearly there would be no fooling a man nearly triple his age who’s been around long enough to have already seen and done it all, but that doesn’t exactly make Kaveh feel any better about being so damn transparent. 

“I’m afraid there’s no hiding it, boy. You can lie to yourself if you like but there’ll be no pulling one over on this old dog. I’ve heard that kind of sigh before. You’ve got a little sweetheart, don’t you?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He huffs, fluster quickly creeping up on him like a potent, thrumming buzz. “She’s not little. Th — I mean. I mean she wouldn’t be, if there was someone like that. But there’s not. I don’t have the time–“

“Alright, alright,” Rahid mercifully cuts off his floundering with a wave of his wrinkled hand. “I get it. There isn’t a girl you’re soft for.” 

“A woman.” Kaveh can’t help but correct him even when he knows he’s only digging his own grave deeper still. 

“Yes, of course. But if there was … what would be stopping you from courting the young lady? Surely you don’t lack for confidence? A handsome and successful architect such as yourself should have no problem getting anyone at all you set your sights on.” 

The blond hesitates, opening his mouth and then closing it again in favor of chewing on his bottom lip instead. He was tempted, oh, he was very tempted to lay it all bare. It’s not like he had anyone else to confide in about this sort of thing without running the risk of being laughed right out of the room. Or worse, stared at in contemptible silence and wordless judgment by the likes of that blasted Al-Haitham. He’d sooner take all his secrets to the afterlife before ever trying to have a discussion like this with the scribe. 

But Rahid was an old friend whom Kaveh has known for many years now and a decidedly trustworthy individual. He’d never sold him faulty parts or tried to price gouge him, hadn’t even asked what he needed these peculiar components for like many others might have. If there was anyone who could be trusted with this information it was probably him. 

Cautiously, Kaveh sends him a slow look of consideration. “Hypothetically speaking?” 

The old man nods in agreement. “Aye. Hypothetically.” 

“Well … if there were someone — and do keep in mind that this is purely speculative conjecture — if there were someone like that and they genuinely didn’t seem to realize I wanted to pursue them, what else could I possibly do to get my feelings across? Especially if they don’t even live here and I only get to see them on occasion …” 

Rahid lifts his brows in surprise. “She’s not from Sumeru?” 

“Hypothetically!” 

“Hmm. Well, I can see how that might cause you some trouble then. Trying to make a long distance relationship work is always hard. But, tell me boy, have you actually told her what you’ve just told me?” 

“I — I have, just … not in quite so many words, I guess.” Feeling his cheeks grow hot at the unbidden memory of grumbling out a half baked attempt to flirt with her the last time Jeanne had been in town, Kaveh drops his gaze and anxiously shifts from one foot to the other. It hadn’t worked, of course. He’d been so drunk and vibrating with liquid courage that he couldn’t even remember what exactly he’d said to her. All he knew with any certainty was that she’d softly tutted at him that he’d had enough for one night before wandering off to fetch him a glass of water. The lingering embarrassment was almost enough to make him feel faint. 

But at Rahid’s pressing sound of encouragement, Kaveh jumps at the chance and recounts the whole sorry tale to him in an impulsive rush that comes pouring from his mouth, unable to stop it even if he’d wanted to. He tells the old man everything; how they met, how simultaneously wonderful and imposing Jeanne could be at the same time and yet how oblivious she still seemed regarding his feelings. He even lamented, ad nauseum, how she never lost her composure while they were drinking long into the night together and how he couldn’t figure out how to crack her shell because of it. 

Eyes brightening at that last bit, Rahid abruptly leans forward against the rickety counter as if in great interest. “That right there sounds like your chance, boy. If she won’t hear you out sober, then you should do it when her guard is down. Everyone is more open to suggestions when they’ve got alcohol in them.” 

“But that’s the problem. No matter how much she drinks, she never lets her guard down. I don’t exactly consider myself a lightweight but she’s got the tolerance of a bear!”

“I see.” Murmuring thoughtfully, Rahid leans back to cross his arms in consideration. It’s clear he’s pondering over something with all the appropriate weight and gravitas the situation calls for. But he reaches his conclusion surprisingly quickly — much more quickly than Kaveh could ever make up his mind — and he stands with a soft scrape of his stool against the shop's floorboards. “Give me a moment. I think I may have something that could help you.” 

Blinking owlishly, Kaveh tracks his steps over to a stout cabinet pushed up against the side wall where he slides open one of the drawers with a dull jostle. 

“What do you mean? Don’t tell me you’ve got some hundred year old snake wine waiting on standby for just such an occasion or something?” 

“Ehh, not quite. But this should do just as well, if not better. Here we are.” Pulling out something that remains unseen in his blocky fist, Rahid closes the drawer back up and returns to the counter. Kaveh isn’t quite sure what to expect, but the petite glass vial he holds out to him is somehow the very last thing he could have guessed. There’s a faintly pinkish liquid inside that sloshes against the interior at the slightest shift and, squinting, Kaveh leans closer to get a better look. 

“What is that, some sort of alchemical potion?” 

“You’re not wrong, but you’re not exactly right either. Just take it. Trust me. You’ll be grateful you did the next time this young lady is in Sumeru. A few drops of this in her drink will have her, uh, loosening up quite a bit and you’ll have your chance to talk to her as much as you want.”

Kaveh shoots him a plainly horrified glance. “Are you telling me to drug her? She’ll kill me, Rahid, have you lost your mind?” 

“Archons above, this isn’t going to incapacitate her or nothing like that. Relax. My wife and I use this stuff to get in the mood with one another in our old age, that’s all. It just helps us with the warm up, if you get what I’m saying.” 

The blond offers a soft sound of enlightenment as if he understood perfectly now but, given the way Rahid critically eyes him, it’s clear the older man isn’t entirely convinced he does. 

For better or worse Kaveh is much too preoccupied with staring at the small vial in rapt fascination to notice though, and his hands idly clench into greedy fists where they’re braced against the counter. Regardless of his understanding or not, there was no denying the wisdom in Rahid’s suggestion. If Jeanne wouldn’t allow herself to drop her walls naturally then giving her a little nudge in the right direction was just the logical next step, wasn’t it? He was always much more loose lipped with a few drinks in him so if he could coax her into being the same … 

This really might be the thing that would finally tip the scales in his favor where the Fontanian woman was concerned. 

“How … how much would you want for that?” He finally brings himself to ask. 

“Nothing, old friend.”  The soft note of sympathy in his voice is clear as day, and it brings Kaveh’s attention up with a snap. Ignoring his hurried protests, Rahid reaches across the counter and bullies the glass bottle into his fumbling hands, adamantly refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer. “Like I said, just take it. You need it more than I do, don’t you boy? My wife and I can get by without. Besides, it sounds like your situation is much more dire anyway. Just promise me you’ll take a break from working so much and put it to good use, eh?” 

Gently cradling the vial in his palms like it was some sort of precious, highly fragile artifact, Kaveh gropes for something to say. He couldn’t very well let it slip that he didn’t have much choice and reveal just how far from grace he’d fallen in the process, not without permanently staining his reputation as a capable and respected graduate of the Akademiya. 

But the greater meaning behind this gesture is not lost on him. Not by a long shot, and he finally settles on, “Thank you, Rahid. A thousand times, thank you. I hope you know how much I appreciate this.” 

Dismissing him with a brief wave of his hand, the old man quickly turns away, giving him his back. “Not another word about it, Kaveh. Now get out of here. Before I change my mind.” Then, like an afterthought, he adds, “I’ll make sure to have more of those components on hand for the next time you need them. Take care of yourself out there.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The little bell over the door chimes a merry sound as he steps out into the street and the humidity dense, year-long heat of Sumeru. The city is a constant buzz of noise and bustling activity, myriad smells from nearby cafes and vendors, but Kaveh hardly notices any of it while he makes his way down the road. His attention is all for the petite vial in his hand, so slight yet monumentally heavy against his palm. 

It was strange to think that something this small and seemingly benign could potentially be the answer to at least one of the many problems in his life. But as they say, matters of the heart are some of the most significant and challenging one can face, and he was inclined to agree. 

Financial problems could be parsed and sorted out in due time. Hell, even his living arrangements seemed stable enough for him not to have to worry about it too much at the current moment. Al-Haitham, for all of his bad attitude and unreasonable nature, seemed perfectly content with the way things were, even if Kaveh did sometimes suspect he’d only reached out a hand to lorde it over his head. Did that really mean it was okay for him to be expending this sort of energy on the issue of Jeanne rather than any of his other troubles though? 

“Well,” He murmurs softly under his breath, consideringly turning the bottle this way and that to watch how the rosy liquid inside reflects in the sunlight. “There’s no telling when I’ll even get to see her again so I think this should be fine. At least I’m prepared now.” 

Which was more than could be said before that exchange with Rahid. He’d have to remember to thank him properly for it later when he was back on his feet again, especially if the mysterious concoction ended up working a veritable miracle. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too far out in the future.  

Moreover though, the implication of what he was holding in his hand was a bit too tempting for him to think any better of it or reconsider his ready acceptance of this gift. Rahid had only said it would loosen her up but what exactly did that entail? He’d never seen her lose her composure before so Kaveh had no idea what that might look like. Would a truly inebriated Jeanne be clingy and soft with him? Prone to whining, the way he sometimes was? Or perhaps she would allow herself to laugh more openly, more freely without her self imposed walls there holding her back. 

The thought alone makes him huff a quiet laugh as he makes the turn into the packed market square, intending to cut through to get home a little quicker. “Yeah right, maybe when shroomboars sprout wings and fly. That would be awfully cute though …” 

And if her lips were loosened enough to coax a long anticipated yet never realized confession out of her? All the better then. She may not have taken him or any of his prior attempts at flirting seriously but surely she wouldn’t discredit her own actions once everything was said and done, right? 

Feeling oddly optimistic about the situation, Kaveh lifts his head to pay attention to where he’s going only to damn near drop the bottle in surprise when his eyes immediately alight upon a tall figure. The height as much as the manner of dress makes her stand out in the crowd, a feathered cap and a heavy coat worn over the shoulders that are at complete odds with the common attire. The burgundy red hair is what truly strikes a familiar note of wanting in his heart though, and he comes to an abrupt, lurching halt to stare at her in disbelief. 

She hasn’t noticed him just yet, only halfway through the motion of turning away from the owner of the shawarma stall she’d stopped at, but it didn’t really matter. He still recognized her on such an intrinsic, bone deep level that a shock of static electricity promptly surges through his entire body to set him abuzz from head to toe. Mouth going drier than the desert plains, he openly gapes at her like a beached fish. 

She notices him standing there another heartbeat later and, blinking at him in her closest approximation of startlement, Jeanne moves to face him. “Oh, what a coincidence. I was just on my way to pay you a visit. How have you been?” 

Kaveh fumbles desperately for something intelligent to say, coming up decidedly empty handed. It was like just the sight of her had short circuited his brain so beyond repair that no amount of trying to kick start it back into gear was working. There was simply no way, no way she’d just so happened to appear before him like this though. Was someone playing a cruel joke on him? Or had he finally cracked under the building pressure piling up around him and he was now hallucinating the singular object of his desires? 

But the longer he goes without responding the more her usually stoic expression pinches in vague concern, and he finally has to force himself to clear his throat with a rough cough so he can speak. “I - I’m fine. Good. Better than ever, in fact. What about you? I wasn’t … I didn’t expect to run into you like this.” 

Her suspicions evidently alleviated, Jeanne allows her expression to fall back to her usual neutral mask again. “I'm well. I thought about sending you a letter of correspondence prior to my arrival but I figured a surprise would do just as well. It’s not often I get the chance to drop in unexpectedly like this, after all. And for the better, it seems. Were you just on your way home?” 

“Oh, yes, I was just …” Kaveh trails off when a cold note of terror races down his spine. She didn’t yet know he’d lost everything. All of his furniture, his house, his beautifully maintained garden on the veranda that now belonged to someone else who’d no doubt swooped in like a vulture to buy up the gorgeous property he’d had no choice but to sell. He didn’t have a home to go back to unless you counted Al-Haitham’s largely minimal space and there wasn’t a god strong enough in this world or any other that could make him take her there. Even if she had sent him a letter there was a very real chance he never would have gotten it. 

“Kaveh?” Jeanne’s voice breaks through the muddled mess in his head as abruptly as if she’d sucker punched him, and he snaps out of it with a jolt. “Are you quite alright? You look a little pale to me.” 

“I’m fine!” He insists, a bit more loudly than he’d intended, only to grimace when she narrows her eyes again with renewed suspicion. “Sorry, sorry. I promise I’m fine, honest.” He quickly tries again, much more softly this time. “I just got back from a job out near Aaru Village, that’s all. I guess I’m still feeling a bit fatigued but it shouldn’t be anything a glass or two of wine won’t fix, haha… Come on. What do you say? For old times’ sake?”  

At his nervous attempt at laughter, Jeanne breathes out a quiet sigh and shakes her head. “Wine isn’t the solution to all of life’s problems, Kaveh. Haven’t I told you that before?” 

“Well, you’re not wrong of course, but in this case it most certainly is. You’ll see. Why don’t we just go down to Lambad’s for a drink? You’ve already got a snack to go with it.” 

Kaveh gestures towards the single serving of shawarma clasped in her hand and, as if she’d forgotten she was even holding it, Jeanne contemplatively glances down at the shishkabob skewer. Taking his chance while she’s not looking, he covertly slides the little vial into his pocket and safely out of sight before she can notice it. He hadn’t quite gotten so far as figuring out how he was going to slip a few drops of the mysterious substance into whatever she was drinking but thankfully she wouldn’t have reason to question him about it just yet. That solved at least one of the many problems her sudden appearance had presented. 

Now he only needed to stall her long enough to decide what he was going to tell her regarding his living situation. One issue at a time here. 

“I suppose I could do with a drink.” She says, bringing her attention back up just as he’s withdrawing his now empty hand from his pocket. “But you need to hydrate yourself before anything else if you’re feeling unwell after your travels. Promise me you’ll make sure to drink some water when we get there?” 

“Deal.” He gratefully blurts even as his heart gives a dully subdued flutter inside his chest. Jeanne, feared enforcer of Fontaine and scourge of all wrongdoers, worried about him? Kaveh would’ve been tempted to giggle over it like a schoolgirl had he not been so weak in the knees with relief. As long as he could keep her distracted enough that she didn’t start asking any prying questions, there was a very real chance he could still salvage this. 

Nodding once to indicate that the decision has been made, Jeanne leans down as if to grab the stately, heavy looking luggage at her feet. But even in his frazzled state Kaveh is still quick to jump into action and he lunges forward, snatching it up off the ground before she can. He falters though at the weight, a small grunt leaving him when he encounters more resistance than he’d anticipated. He quickly recovers though and bounces upright again with a victorious grin aimed at her even as his arm threatens to buckle under the weight of his new burden.  

Not looking particularly amused, she levels him with a frown. “You needn’t concern yourself with that, Kaveh. I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own suitcase, seeing as I’ve been doing just that up until now.” 

“I know that but please, I insist. Isn’t this what they call chivalry back in Fontaine? I’m just making sure you feel at home, that’s all.”

She tries to fight it but a brief, rueful smile still manages to grace her mouth. It’s as beautiful as it is fleeting, and Kaveh has to work very hard to keep his free hand from coming up to touch at the spot over his chest where his heartbeat is pounding out a staccato rhythm. He really did have it bad. Not that that comes as a surprise when he’d already known full well but there was something reassuring in having such a tangible confirmation that his feelings for her haven’t changed or lessened one bit since the last time they’d met for a meal and drinks. 

It fills him with a fresh surge of hope for the prospects of this unexpected chance encounter as they start to make their way down the road together. Still, though, he can’t shake the feeling that something seemed a bit unusual about her demeanor this time. Far be it that he was complaining but Jeanne wasn’t typically in the habit of being so laid back or relaxed, and that makes him shoot her a curious look. Her posture was as proud as ever yet seemingly less severe in the set of her shoulders and the sure sway of her hips. Most anyone else probably wouldn’t have caught on that anything at all was different but he certainly had. 

“You must have only just gotten here if you haven’t even dropped off your luggage yet. Talk about good timing. And forgive me for being blunt but you seem to be in a good mood today. What kind of job are you here for this time?” 

Another small smile pulls at her mouth, but this time it doesn’t immediately disappear. “There is no job. I’m on vacation. Lucky me, right?” 

Kaveh’s lips slowly part. She’d been given holiday from her obligations within the Gardiennage and she’d decided to spend that time in Sumeru? With him? He almost doesn’t believe his own ears even as he blurts, “Oh, that’s wonderful! You’re always working so hard, you’ve certainly earned yourself a break by now. But … you could have gone anywhere, right? Why here?” 

Jeanne sends him a lingering glance that he can’t decipher quickly enough before she turns her attention forward again with a quiet sniff. “Why not? I like it in Sumeru, and it’s not a very long trip. I’m familiar enough with the roads and the people that it just seemed like the logical conclusion.” 

“Ah, right. The old stomping grounds, eh?” He laughs, trying to cover up the distant note of disappointment that creeps in. Of course she wouldn’t choose to come here for him, specifically. He was just one of probably many faces that made up the familiar tapestry of the foreign city in her mind. His wishful thinking was going to get him in trouble some day. 

The physical manifestation of that was a heavy burden in his pocket that he couldn’t ignore when each step seemed to emphasize the weight of the vial resting against his thigh. Perhaps accepting Rahid’s offer had been a mistake after all. If there was nothing there in the first place then no amount of loosening up was going to improve his situation with her, would it? 

And that was to say nothing of the fact that he still had no idea what to tell her about his descent into poverty. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lambad’s Tavern isn’t particularly busy in the middle of the day but it’s not quite empty either, so Kaveh makes a point of picking out a secluded booth seat in the far back corner. He’d cited wanting to be away from the oud player and the crowd naturally drawn in by live music when she’d given him an odd look, but in reality he’d needed the relative privacy to get his head on straight. 

Over an hour later and he still hasn’t quite accomplished that, nor has he made a single decision on how to proceed from here. Not whether to tell her the truth or come up with a convenient excuse as to why he couldn’t invite her back to his place for a nightcap as he customarily did. Not whether to slip her some of the pink concoction when she wasn’t looking or toss it in the trash at his earliest opportunity to be rid of the evidence. Kaveh wasn’t normally this hesitant or irresolute but the situation was so littered with proverbial land mines that he feared making the wrong move a little too much to make any move at all. 

And Jeanne, in all the splendor and glow of the relaxed mood brought about by her holiday away from the court of Fontaine, was not making it any easier on him. 

“I did miss having your company, you know. Since I’m not on the clock this time I say we try to make the most of it while we can. I think we should go sightseeing together, actually.” She says, perfectly casual about it while she picks up her stout goblet from the table and takes a sip. He can’t help watching from the corner of his eye how the elegant line of her throat daintily bobs with the swallow but he quickly averts his gaze before she can notice. 

There was very little he wouldn’t give to press his mouth to that pale strip of flesh and nuzzle into her pulse. He felt like he was going mad. Jeanne de la Roche herself wanted to spend that much time with him? Willingly? It almost seemed too good to be true. 

“It occurred to me that I haven’t ventured out from the capital city or the port towns very much,” Jeanne goes on, idly swirling the glass in her hand now. “But Sumeru is a rather large country, isn’t it? I should think I’d like to see more of it.” 

Eager to busy himself with something so he can hide his jittery nerves, Kaveh leans forward to take up the decanter from the table and refills his own cup. He knew he was drinking a little too fast for a situation as precarious as this one but it couldn’t be helped. It would’ve seemed far more strange if he’d hardly touched his wine at all after pleading with her to come here. 

“Why, of course we can.” He tells her as amicably as he can manage. “I already have a few places in mind that I’d love to show you. I’m probably not the best candidate to play tour guide but … if you think you’re up for it, I can probably move some stuff around in my schedule.” 

Never mind the fact he didn’t yet have another job lined up after only just completing the last. His financial troubles had forced him to be a little more cautious about where and how he spent his time. Long gone were the days where he could leisurely mingle at the parties and grand openings hosted by wealthy businessmen or dignitaries who were keen on networking with him lest he run the risk of his secret getting out. Reputation was, unfortunately, a key factor in such stuffy social circles and he’d largely distanced himself from that particular crowd under the guise of being too busy to humor them. It was a vicious cycle and he could feel the pressure steadily closing in around him even now. 

But Jeanne didn’t need to know that. She’d probably understand it, given her own experiences dealing with courtiers and unreasonable noblemen who were accustomed to things being done a certain way, but he didn’t want to unload all of his woes on her. Not yet. 

Or preferably ever, if he was lucky enough to get out of it entirely. 

And she seems pleased enough with his willingness to accommodate her that he’s certain he’s made the right choice. Her smile is private and brief when she flashes it at him, but the teal of her eyes takes on a stunning warmth that very nearly makes his heart give out on the spot.

“Excellent. Of course I won’t take up all of your time though. I know just how busy you usually are but I must admit I’m looking forward to it. Are you certain a day or two of exploring Sumeru’s countryside together won’t hurt your productivity too much?” 

“Certainly not.” He swallows hard. “I’m looking forward to having a break of my own. All the better if it’s with you.” 

Offering up a brief sound of agreement, Jeanne thoughtfully glances down into her cup with that same secretive smile still in place. It strikes him as oddly curious, like there was more at play behind her good mood than just the vacation or the drink, but as always she doesn’t allow him enough time to parse what it might mean. 

Unfolding her legs where they’d been neatly crossed one over the other, she sets her goblet back down on the table and rises to her feet. “Then it’s settled. Excuse me for just a moment. I���m afraid I need to visit the powder room.” 

“Please, take your time.” He murmurs, attentively watching as she steps out from the booth before disappearing further into the tavern. Kaveh feels vaguely like a clingy puppy at the vague sense of loss that comes with watching her go but he quickly snaps himself out of it. 

This was his chance, wasn’t it? 

Surreptitiously, he glances at the glass she’s left behind. It would be all too easy to slip a few drops into her drink and no one would be none the wiser when their table was sequestered in the far back corner, away from where any prying eyes would be able to see it. Except he still hadn’t quite made up his mind yet. Was this a step too far? Would he be breaking some unspoken trust between them if he went through with this? 

The clock was ticking. He’d have to make his decision fast. 

“Dammit,” Cursing under his breath, Kaveh fumbles to get his hand inside his pocket. The glass vial feels warm from his own body heat as he wraps his long fingers around its slight circumference but he hardly even notices it in his flustered state. If he really went through with this … if he actually slipped her something without her knowledge … 

Oh, Jeanne was going to string him up like a solstice turkey if she ever found out. 

“I can’t do it.” He murmurs, hating the sinking feeling of defeat that makes his stomach feel like a solid lead weight yet he knew this was a line he just couldn’t bring himself to cross. No matter how badly he wanted to see her punch drunk and giggly (if such a Jeanne even existed) there was simply no way he’d ever be able to reconcile it with his conscience. In truth, he felt something like a slimy creep for even considering it in the first place. 

So he sits there for the next odd minutes, just sullenly regarding the little vial in his hand until she comes back and slides into the booth next to him again. His slumped shoulders must catch her attention, because she leans close to him to inspect what it is he’s looking at. 

“And what is this? Some sort of alchemical potion?” 

That manages to make him smile. “Hah. I said the same thing, you know. A friend gave this to me. He said a few drops in your drink would increase the efficacy and make it more potent.” 

Or something like that. Kaveh had been drinking a shade too fast since they got here to properly remember what exactly Rahid had told him. Not that that had been much to begin with, in retrospect. 

“Hmm. Interesting.” 

He’s not sure why he does it. Perhaps it’s the wine making his head feel fuzzy and muddled, or perhaps it’s nothing more than a last ditch effort on his part to win her over, but he holds it out to her in offering. “Wanna give it a try? I’m not sure how much effect it’ll actually have on you but …” 

She noises a brief sound of consideration, making up her mind surprisingly quick, and giving an elegant shrug. “I don’t see why not. I can’t even remember the last time I felt truly drunk.” 

“I’ve noticed that.” Numbly passing it over to her, Kaveh watches in disbelief as she uncorks the petite stopper and lifts it up to her nose for a sniff. He can hardly believe the situation would turn out this way after all the indecisive grief he’d endured leading up to this moment. 

Not only had he saved himself from dealing with the long lasting guilt of doing something so nefarious behind her back but she was also willing to drink it on her own accord? It truly seemed too good to be true. 

But, to his continued surprise, she does indeed reach out to position the vial over her waiting cup. A deliberate turn of her wrist sends a few pink droplets falling into the wine, dying it a faintly rust color in the center where it slowly starts to bleed out towards the edges. Jeanne appears to hesitate though, and at first he assumes she’s rethinking this decision – which he couldn’t exactly fault her for if that were the case. But then she tips the glass bottle again, spilling another healthy dose into her goblet, and his brows take a very expeditious trip up to his hairline.

“Uh, don’t you think that might be too much?”

“We’ll find out, won't we?” She shoots back, and he doesn’t realize she’s teasing him rather than issuing a challenge until she sends him a confidential smile. “It’s just as you said, Kaveh. There’s no way to know how much effect this will even have on me so I don’t see what harm it could do. You’ll have to forgive me though if I start acting like a fool. Can I trust you to watch over me if that happens?”

Kaveh starts to open his mouth, wanting to reassure her that everything is fine, of course he would, and to not give it another thought. But before he can even get a single word out she abruptly leans forward to snatch up her glass. In one smooth motion she brings it up to her mouth, tips it bottoms up, and drains what must be a good half of its contents all at once. 

Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, the blond lurches forward to grab at her elbow. “Woah, woah, hey! Slow down, there’s no rush is there? Don’t — you can’t drink it that fast!” 

She lowers the goblet enough to say, “And why not?” before decisively lifting it again. 

“Because -“ He fumbles for something to say, anything other than the humiliating truth, even as he grips her tight in an attempt to stay her hand. It’s no use though. She’s much too strong, stronger than him by a very noticeable margin, and there’s nothing he can do to stop her from taking another healthy swig. 

Such a realization probably would have hurt another man’s ego, left him feeling emasculated and lesser than. But Kaveh, on the contrary and much to his growing horror, only feels a dizzying rush of sharp edged excitement swell in his gut when her bicep powerfully flexes under his fingers. It’s like she doesn’t even notice he’s holding onto her at all and it is with a great deal of buzzing trepidation that he realizes just how easily she could have overpowered and pinned him down. It wouldn’t have even been much of an accomplishment. Despite the biological advances he naturally possessed as a man, he never could have gone toe to toe with her and hoped to come out on top. 

He quickly yanks his hands away as if she’d scalded him, his breath coming out in a quick rush now. His cheeks feel like they’re positively blazing while he watches in dismay as she finishes off the rest of the wine before reaching for the decanter. This wasn’t so strange for her, in truth. Jeanne seemed to enjoy dropping some of the stuffy aristocratic manners she’d been raised on when she was with him and she could hold her alcohol perfectly well under normal circumstances. But he had no idea what effect that strange liquid was going to have on her, especially not when she’d consumed so much of it all at once. 

And that was to say absolutely nothing of the unmistakable tendrils of arousal curling hot in his lower belly now. 

Practically shaking, Kaveh self consciously huddles into the corner of the booth and tries to get his bearings straight again. He’d known Jeanne was physically fit and strong, of course. It was a big part of the attraction, after all. But he hadn’t fully comprehended the actual differences in their strength, not like this. He’d never had it quite so poignantly displayed right in front of his very eyes before. 

And something told him he’d just made a grievous mistake when he decided to open up Pandora’s Box with that mysterious concoction. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thirty minutes later and Kaveh knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he has indeed made a monumental mistake. 

Jeanne, to her credit, doesn’t appear to be drunk or even particularly tipsy for that matter — not the way he and many others get, at any rate. She was still a steady, unflappable presence sitting next to him in the booth, neither faltering in an intoxicated daze nor slurring her speech like most did when they were inebriated. By all accounts she seemed to be almost entirely sober. 

Except the way she looks over at him is so hungry and pointed that he feels vaguely like a cornered prey animal staring down a half starved beast. The change had come on gradually at first and then more quickly when whatever he’d slipped her really started to kick in. Now she looked like she was seconds away from pouncing on him right then and there, and he wasn’t so sure he would have had the strength of will to tell her no. 

If this was Rahid’s idea of ‘warming up’ with his wife Kaveh was going to have to have another long talk with him. 

In the here and now, he fumbles for something to say. Anything at all to diffuse the situation and give him a chance to figure out how to fix this newest screw up in his long list of a track record. It seemed that no matter what he did, he really just kept digging his grave deeper and deeper. 

“Are you alright, Jeanne? Y - you look thirsty. Why don’t I grab you some water?” 

He quickly stands, but Jeanne is just as quick to grab his wrist and tug him back down. Her fingers are reminiscent of iron manacles, and he rather helplessly collapses into the seat again. Surreptitiously glancing into her darkened expression, he decides that this would have been a rather terrifying experience had he not been so embarrassingly aroused by it. There was clearly something very wrong with him. 

“No water.” She murmurs, her voice noticeably huskier than usual. If he didn’t know any better he’d think it was the sultry, intimate tone she would use with a lover in their most private of moments, and that doesn’t do much to help him fight down the erection trying to spring up in his pants. He needed to think fast. 

“Alright. Can I … can I get you something else, then? Maybe something to eat? That might — it might absorb some of the … wine in your system.” 

Jeanne gives her head a slow shake, burgundy forelocks swaying gently with the motion. “No. I’m not hungry for food, but thank you.” 

Oh. 

Unsure what else to do, Kaveh lets out a threadbare little laugh. “Ah, I - I see. Then are you in the mood for something else? I can get you whatever you want. On me, of course.” 

It’s not like he had the extra money for that but it doesn’t really seem to matter. She only drops her gaze as if in thought, deeply considering something that only she was privy to in that moment. 

Those cool, sea-green eyes snap back up almost immediately though. 

With a single minded decisiveness that makes his heart lodge itself in his throat again, she nudges closer to him in the booth. Stammering, he quickly brings his open hands up to indicate surrender but she just reaches right past them to grab his chin without so much as pausing. Completely ignoring the surprised squawk he lets out, Jeanne rather demandingly angles his face up at her as she leans in, pressing her body right up against his side until he's practically pinned back into the seat. 

She looks like she’s about to devour him whole, her entire frame practically vibrating with the urge to act on whatever is going through her head, but she manages to stop at the last possible moment. Visibly holding herself in check she takes a deep, faltering breath and lets it out on a slow exhale, trying to regain her composure.  

“I’m not sure what's happening but … I think we need to leave.”

“A - are you alright?” 

“I don’t know. I just suddenly feel so damn hot.” She slowly shakes her head, clearly unable to make any sense of it. It is with a great deal of effort that she forces her fingers to unlatch from his chin and she stiffly returns to her side of the booth, panting softly under her breath. 

Kaveh can’t help the worried guilt that rushes over him as he takes in her new demeanor, the hunched set of her shoulders and the fine sheen of sweat starting to form across her face. If he didn’t know any better he’d think she was suddenly coming down with a cold. This was not at all what he’d expected to happen based on Rahid’s vague description but, well. She had consumed more than just a few drops worth. He just hoped it wasn’t making her sick. 

“It’s okay, Jeanne. Let me pay the tab and then we’ll get out of here,” He tells her, consolingly reaching over to place his hand across her back. “Your place is closer than mine so lets - -”

“No. I’ll pay.”

“But I already said it was my treat - -”

In lieu of a proper response, she merely reaches up lightning quick to snag his wrist and Kaveh can’t quite help the startled yelp he lets out in response. Unperturbed by his reaction, she stands up in a rush and half drags him after her. Another blinding, white hot surge shoots through his body at the demanding way she steers him out of the booth, stopping just long enough to snag her luggage up off the ground before making a beeline up to the front counter. He’s helpless to do anything but follow along right in tow when she’s got an ironclad hold on him like this, and Lambad sends them an odd look from behind the long bar at their approach. 

“Leaving so soon? It’s not even been two hours yet.”

“O - oh, you know,” Kaveh nervously laughs, scrambling for an excuse that wouldn’t sound as incriminating as the current scene looked, but Jeanne is quick to cut across him. 

“We might come back tomorrow. I’m not feeling very well, unfortunately.” That much is clear in the way she shivers just ever so slightly as she sets her suitcase back down so she can dig into her pocket. The fact she refused to let him go, as if she was worried about him making a break for it, is not lost on him but there wasn’t much he could do about it at this point. 

A handful of mora is slapped down on the counter with enough force to make Kaveh wince and then she’s physically dragging him towards the exit. By the time they make it outside and step into the dense heat, Jeanne is full on panting like she couldn’t quite catch her breath, and the two of them stumble to a halt just on the edge of the road. Realizing she was hardly in any condition to navigate the city streets on her own, the blond cautiously steps closer to put his uncaptured hand on her shoulder, hoping to steady her a little bit. 

“Here, let me lead the way. Do you feel like you’re going to be sick? Maybe I should take you to a hospital …”

“No. That's not necessary.” She groans very softly, keeping her head hung forward so that her hair keeps her face mostly hidden from him. “Just want to go home. I think – I think I need to lie down for a while.” 

He was decidedly in agreement with that, so he gently coaxes her into motion until she at last gives in and shuffles after him on heavy feet. Luckily the house she rented year-round for her stays in Sumeru while on business was conveniently closer to the tavern than his old home would have been, so that saved him from having to break that particular news to her just yet. It was one of the very few breaks he seemed to be getting today. 

More importantly though he isn’t quite sure what to do with her in this state. She’d said she didn’t need a hospital but was she sure about that? Did she have the presence of mind to make those kinds of calls right now? In many ways this was the exact opposite of what he’d been hoping for. Instead of a clingy, affectionate Jeanne he’d gotten one who looked like she was either going to collapse or start retching everywhere. For all he was aware, she might even end up doing both and he had no clue how to handle any of it. 

But for once the gods seemed to be on his side because they eventually make it to her single sized home without incident and only a few curious stares from people wondering what was going on with the Fontainian woman. There was no telling what kind of rumors about them might be circulating around the city come morning but that was the least of his concerns. With her help, he manages to get the door unlocked and the two of them stumble inside. 

Immediately dropping her luggage, Jeanne moves to lean heavily against the wall while he gets the door closed. Even with her hair hanging forward he can still make out the furious flush that stains her cheeks and he cautiously approaches her, idly noting that when she was slumped like this they were at almost perfect eye level with one another. 

“Are you positive you don’t want me to fetch a doctor for you, Jeanne? I’m worried about you.” 

“Don’t be,” She insists, lifting a sluggish hand to vaguely wave off his concern. “I’ll be fine. I must have just drank too fast. I wasn’t expecting that brew to hit me so hard.” 

Deciding that was a major understatement, Kaveh reaches up to tug her coat off her shoulders. That probably wasn’t helping her current condition much, and it strikes him as oddly domestic. Like he was a housewife welcoming her hardworking husband home from a long day. 

His belly painfully clenches at the thought and, struggling to fight down the erection that tries to spring to life in his pants, he tosses her jacket on the nearby coat rack and then stiffly takes her by the shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed before you collapse on me.”

Much to his relief, she complies without a fuss and pushes off from the wall. Leaning into him for support, Jeanne allows Kaveh to guide her further into the house and down the hall. He’d only seen her bedroom once or twice before in passing, when he’d helped her with her luggage on previous trips, but this time there’s enough static tension hanging in the air that he can’t quite stamp down the mounting excitement in his lower body. It’s a shameful thing to realize his self control was this bad but he makes a valiant effort to keep it at bay while he gets her directed over to the waiting bed. 

“Here we are. Once you’re settled in I’ll go get you some water to drink.”

She doesn’t immediately sink onto the waiting mattress though. Even at his encouraging nudge, she just stands there breathing heavily, and he anxiously bends his head close to try and get a better look at her. 

“What’s wrong? Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?” 

“No.” 

“Then why don’t you - -“ 

It happens much too fast for him to comprehend any of it. 

One moment he’s standing on his feet, helping Jeanne support her weight, and the next she’s flipped him forward to hit the bed, sprawled out on his back. Kaveh barely has enough time to draw a sharp gasp as he bounces once before she’s on top of him, pinning him down against the sheets. Staring up at her, he’s so surprised in the aftermath of that sudden rush that he doesn’t even have the wherewithal to do anything else but gape at her. 

What in the seven hells was happening now? 

“Kaveh,” 

He gives a slight jolt. “O - oh. Yes – yes, Jeanne?” 

“I’m going to kiss you.” She announces with so little fanfare that he very nearly does a double take. 

“W - wha —“

“Kaveh,” She cuts across him, the strict command in her tone making the blond obediently snap his mouth shut. Apparently satisfied with that, she goes on. “I’ve thought about doing this for a while now. Quite a while, in fact. I’m not sure what was in that vial but I want you far too much right now to deny it any longer. I won’t force myself on you though, so speak up if you don’t want it. This is your chance to reject my advances. If you don’t take it I’m going to kiss you.” 

His eyes grow so impossibly wide it looks like they just might fall right out of his head and go rolling off across the floor, and with it comes a sudden realization. What Rahid had said about that pink concoction. He’d never come right out with it but he also hadn’t stated that it would make her drunk either. That had been his own jump to conclusions on the matter. What he’d told Kaveh was that it would warm her up and that he used it with his wife in their old age. He’d said it would give him plenty of time to prove to Jeanne that he was serious about wanting to pursue her. It wasn’t an elixir for drunkards, it was an intimacy potion! 

Kaveh’s brain stumbles over that thought, hardly even daring to believe it, but the proof was looming over him with a hungry, voracious look of wanting darkening her face. That explained everything. Why she was so short of breath and her skin flushed with perspiration. He’d thought she was feeling ill after ingesting all that wine on top of the mystery fluid but clearly that was not the case. She was so worked up because she was indescribably aroused. 

And he was the sole focus of all her attention? 

The poor architect very nearly faints dead away on the spot. 

Desperately groping for some semblance of a hold on his composure though, he starts to open his mouth. He’d wanted to tell her he would rather talk this out instead of making any rash decisions when she was so obviously under the influence and her judgment was clouded, but his silence must have stretched on for much too long at that point. Because Jeanne abruptly swoops in and he just manages to suck in a surprised gasp before her lips crash into his. He violently jerks as if she’d electrocuted him but, in truth, she doesn’t even seem to notice it. She’s much too busy trying to devour him, claiming his mouth and dominating the kiss before he even has a chance to try and take the upper hand for himself. Like her role of total power and control in their dynamic was already a foregone conclusion. 

Hell, maybe it was. 

In a truly dizzying rush, white hot static surges through his system with all the subtlety of a powerful explosive going off and Kaveh instantly gives over to the intense, bone rattling yearning he harbors for her. Tipping his head, he hungrily kisses her back, softly groaning into her mouth. His lips tremble under the demanding push and pull of hers even as he instinctively brings his arms up to wrap them around her shoulders, clinging to her while his long fingers dig into the soft fabric of her blouse. Noising a brief sound of approval, rewarding him for his eager response, she gives his bottom lip a taunting bite before lowering herself to languorously stretch out on top of him.

There really isn’t much difference in their builds, he suddenly realizes with her body pressed up tight against his like that. They were almost the same height and her shoulders not much wider despite the obvious strength residing in them. In truth, they probably would’ve been just about evenly matched if only Kaveh had taken Al-Haitham’s advice and he’d spent a bit more time exercising his muscles instead of hunching over his drawing table late into the night on various projects. Not that it really mattered now, at this crucial juncture. It was clear he’d be no match for her in his current state even if he’d wanted to fight and wrestle with her for dominance. 

He doesn’t, though. He really, really doesn’t want to pretend to be something or someone he’s not, especially when Jeanne herself never made any qualms about who she was either. This was in many ways exactly what he’d been dreaming of. To have her on top of him, pinning him down and taking whatever she wanted from him, so he happily surrenders, all but melting against her and letting her set the pace however she saw fit. 

And she doesn’t hesitate to do so, either by virtue of her proud, natural inclination for being in control or perhaps it was just in response to his submissive body language. Where once they’d barely touched each other beyond an occasional friendly brush of their hands, Jeanne now shamelessly presses herself flush against him like her claim on the blond man was already a bygone matter of fact. It was as if every single one of his shameful fantasies was coming to life in real time and he almost chokes on the boiling rush of emotion that swells in his chest. 

A pathetically small whimper escapes him and in response the hand that had come up to possessively wrap around his throat relaxes before falling away altogether, sliding up to cup his cheek instead. Her fingers are feminine and dainty yet rough with worn callouses. The grip she usually used for holding her sword is especially powerful, and it has him shuddering against her as blunt nails dig in just enough for him to feel the pinprick, drawing another muffled gasp out of him. But she quickly releases his face in favor of reaching further back to sink her fingers into his hair. Closing her fist at the back of his head, Jeanne gives it an experimental yet no less insistent tug that has his lips warbling open with an accompanying mewl. 

To his groaning surprise, she doesn’t hesitate to take this chance and she plunges her tongue into Kaveh’s mouth to suggestively caress over his in a long, wet swipe and savor the taste of him on her palette. The buzzing daze that encompasses him only grows stronger still and he feels downright delirious even as he dips his head back against the sheets to better accept her conquest of him. 

She's quick to pull away though, leaving him sprawled out and panting underneath her. Issuing a faint groan of disappointment at the loss, he cracks his eyes open to peer up into her face. 

He’s only slightly surprised to find Jeanne’s breath is coming even quicker than before, her cheeks flushed hot in what he now recognized as eager excitement, but somehow she still didn’t look half as worked up as he felt. It probably would have made him laugh, if only he’d had the extra oxygen to do so. Even when that blasted potion was wreaking havoc on her self control she still managed to keep some hold on her composure. It was in many ways astounding. 

“You … you didn’t have to stop.” 

A quietly strained laugh rises in her throat, soft and husky, to accompany the slow lift at the corner of her mouth. 

“Oh, is that so? What an unexpected surprise this is turning out to be.” She murmurs, uncharacteristically doting in the way she speaks to him now. Looking confident and svelte in her eager glow, she pushes up to get a better look at him. “I must admit, there was a very real part of me that hoped things would turn out this way eventually. I didn’t want to approach you with unwarranted expectations though. We’ve already danced around each other for far too long for me to start making assumptions now, wouldn’t you agree? But I suppose I had nothing to be worried about this entire time. You’re a good boy, aren’t you Kaveh?” 

His throat cinches shut, making him cough around the startled sound that materializes from his mouth unbidden. She doesn’t seem to pay it much mind though, shifting her weight more to the side so she can glance down the length of his body with a pointed look. Obediently, and not knowing what else to do, Kaveh hesitantly tears his eyes from her face and follows suit. 

The straining tent in the front of his pants comes as more of a shock to him than it does her. She’d probably felt it as soon as she’d flattened herself to the front of him but that doesn’t stop Kaveh from sucking in a sharp, deeply embarrassed gasp. His cheeks feel like they’re on fire as he shyly draws his knees together in an attempt to conceal his arousal from her but it’s no use. He’s much too hard, and the tent remains. The sharp sting of humiliation almost brings tears to his eyes, and he whimpers softly in his distress. Not only was this unbelievably shameful but he also feared the possibility that she might dismiss him from her presence because of it. This wasn’t exactly the kind of overly enthusiastic reaction most women would want out of their potential partners, was it? 

But Jeanne, evidently, is not most women. She practically purrs, in fact, when she brings her hand down to gently trace the center line of his chest, down over his nervously flexing stomach and even further than that to finally reach the jutted bulge between his legs. Possessively, she curls her fingers around it and palms him with a subdued, taunting squeeze. He almost sobs right then and there, whining softly at the first glorious touch of her hand on him. 

He’d been anticipating this for so long, dreaming and fantasizing about what this exact moment might look like, and he was ashamed to realize how dangerously close he already was to busting in his pants. This was the effect Jeanne had on him. This is what she turned him into. 

“My, you’re certainly excited aren’t you? And to think, I hesitated so much for fear that you might not reciprocate my interest …”

“P - please,” 

“Hush, Kaveh. Now that I’ve finally got you in my bed I won’t be letting you go anytime soon. You’re going to be good and do exactly as I say, aren’t you?” 

He quickly nods, swallowing so hard it almost makes him gag. “Yes. Yes, ma’am. I will. Anything.” 

Jeanne draws a slow, carefully controlled breath in response even as a distant shudder of anticipation wracks through her. “Ooh, look at you. Already so eager to please me. Is it possible you’ve also thought about this before?”

At his needy little whimper she offers another soft, velvety laugh that rushes straight to his cock, making it twitch in her hold. He’s so hard it almost hurts but he can’t quite bring himself to complain about that right now. Not when she was holding him like that and he could still taste the glorious flavor of her mouth on his tongue. So out of his mind with sharp tinged arousal, all he can do is offer up a faltering moan to accompany the dazed nod of his head. 

“I see. Then we are both fools, aren’t we? But are you certain you want to do this, Kaveh? I’m not the type of passive woman who will just indulge you long enough to get you off. If I’m to have you then I’ll have all of you.”  

He quietly seethes at the suggestion of what she was saying. It made it sound like he was some kind of honorable maiden about to be bedded by a chivalrous knight of the court, and the way his cock jumps in her hand makes it quite clear just how much he liked that idea. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced and yet so deeply attractive that he wasn’t so sure he would’ve been able to reject anything at all she asked of him from here on out. She could have told him to go jump off the highest point of the Akademiya’s tallest spire and he wouldn’t have given it another thought. 

“I … gods, I think I’d be mad if you didn’t at this point. Please, Jeanne. I’m yours, however you want me.” 

Humming a brief sound of approval, she gives his straining erection one last, lingering squeeze before dragging her hand up to fiddle with the brooch that holds his mantle in place over his shoulders. While she works on that, she leans close again and brushes a teasing, featherlight kiss over his lips. Struggling to keep his breath evened out, Kaveh needily kisses her back but no amount of desperation on his part manages to prepare him for when she abruptly sits upright and throws one leg over his middle without any further buildup to that pivotal moment. 

Settling on top of him, she shoots him a sly little smile even as she reaches down to take his slack wrists in her hands. Folding them up above his head, she pins them down to the bed with her weight before hunching close again so she can claim his mouth the way he’d been hoping she would. Jeanne’s hunger is obvious in the way she kisses him as if she were trying to consume his very life force, and in the way she not so subtly grinds her pelvis against him. Even through the many layers of clothes still separating them he can feel the intense heat radiating out from between her legs, and he issues a soft whine when his balls draw up in warning. 

This wasn’t good. If he shot off in his pants before she even properly touched him skin to skin, he was never going to forgive himself. She may not have been very put off by his other shortcomings but he had a feeling this was one she wouldn’t be quite as willing to overlook. 

So with a great deal of effort he tears his mouth from hers, sucking in a ragged breath. “Nghn, J - Jeanne … I might - -“

She unexpectedly shoves her face into the line of his neck, nipping at his pulse, and he physically shakes straight down to his toes. This was exactly what he’d thought about doing to her back at the tavern and the irony of that isn’t lost on him. Having the roles reversed so completely, being on the receiving end of such amorous attention … 

“Ooh, I think — I might need a moment, please.” 

“Aww, what’s the matter, Kaveh? Do you already feel like you’re going to cum for me?” She purrs against his skin, laughing softly when he trembles so violently in response the bed distantly rattles. “Don’t worry. I know exactly how to get you ready for another round if I need to, so there’s nothing to fret about. You’re in good hands, I promise.” 

“W - what does that mean?” He squeaks, unable to keep the nervous trepidation out of his voice. 

Ignoring the question, Jeanne sits up on his stomach and lifts her hands to make quick work of her red tie, her finely made courtiers jacket and then her blouse which she practically rips off in her rush to get undressed. Kaveh, feeling unexpectedly scandalized by the unprecedented strips of creamy flesh being revealed to him, almost brings his hands up to shyly cover his face. He can’t quite rip his eyes away though and he outright stares at the full cups of her satiny brassiere in something not unlike disbelief. He’d never been so blessed with a more tantalizing, beautiful sight in all his life. 

“Now it’s your turn.” She murmurs, hungrily licking her lips as she sets her sights on the sash at the front of his waist. Giving it a good tug is all it takes to have it loosened and then she’s flipping the bottom of his flouncy shirt out of the way so she can get at his pants. 

Kaveh starts to protest, wanting to ask her to at least slow down, but a quick look at Jeanne’s expression makes him think better of it. She was going to chew him up and spit him out one way or another, there probably wasn’t any point in stalling the inevitable. 

Clenching his hands into tight fists, he simply watches as she gets his slacks unfastened and then roughly yanks them down. A soft whimper rises in his throat but she pays it little mind, much too focused on getting them yanked off right along with his shoes. She doesn’t hesitate to come back for his underwear and his cock is soon springing up to arc through the air with a rigid bounce, making him hiss at the sensation as much as at being suddenly exposed. Feeling rather self conscious of his sudden nudity, he snaps his attention up to fretfully gauge her reaction. 

The pleased smile that slowly pulls at her mouth catches him off guard, and he nervously fidgets under the watchful spotlight of her attention. 

“Well, Kaveh, I must say you’ve got a rather pretty cock, don’t you? I expected as much given how lovely you are in the face, but …” 

Eagerly, Jeanne reaches out to wrap her fingers around him and he jolts at the abrupt contact, teeth clenching in an attempt to stave off his impending release. She hadn’t seemed worried about it but he really had no idea what she’d meant by knowing how to get him ready for another round. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to find out. 

“Mm, and you’re sensitive too. How delightful. I wonder what would happen if I just …” 

With a tauntingly slow motion of her hand, she tugs up on his cock and drags her hand from about mid shaft up to the head. Kaveh gives a full bodied, lurching jerk in response, letting out a gutted moan when her fist makes the foreskin bunch over his tender glans. He clenches his toes so hard it actually hurts, desperately trying to will his orgasm away, but if she felt any sympathy for him she certainly doesn’t show it. She simply pulls her fist down, retracing the path she’d already taken once, and he outright chokes when it draws the skin back from the glans entirely with a sticky wet click. 

“Oh my,” She breathes out, sounding a little surprised and a lot excited. “That’s quite a lot of precum, isn’t it? You must have really wanted this bad.” 

“I - I’m sorry,” He whimpers, his flat stomach dramatically flexing under the tension. “I can’t — I don’t think I can hold it …” 

“Is that so? And if I tell you I’ll give you a reward?” He shoots her a harried look of confusion and Jeanne smiles rather magnanimously in return. “If you can avoid cumming for the next five minutes, I’ll treat you to something really nice. How does that sound, hm?”

Archons above, she was trying to kill him! 

At his helplessly weak nod, she offers a quiet sound of approval and an encouraging squeeze to his shaft. His hips fruitlessly buck under the sensation but he quickly stills them again when she starts to drag her hand back up at a painfully sedate pace, caressing him in torturous slow motion. Full on wheezing, Kaveh screws his eyes shut and forces himself to stay still even when his muscles start to vibrate with the intense urge to give in. To follow after her grip and thrust into her fingers, to let loose and spasm for all he was worth. Even putting aside the reward she’d mentioned, he just didn’t want to disappoint her. 

So he simply lies there and takes it while she jerks him off at such a staggered, halting pace he really feels like he just might go mad. It was hard just to breathe around it let alone think, and as a result the only thing he can do is focus his cotton stuffed head on not cumming. He repeats it again and again, like a lifesaving mantra, but he’s so close that it feels like a lost cause. His balls are heavy and they ache fiercely where they’re drawn up tight against his scrotum, so close to shooting off but forced to hold back. This was hell. Glorious, mind numbing hell and it existed squarely within the confines of this bed. 

“Such a good boy you are,” She coos another moment later, making him heave and desperately arch up off the bed at the inviting sound of her voice. His narrow, shaking hips are the only part of him that stays rooted to the mattress while the rest of him desperately twists with back bending need, grunting at the effort of trying to stave off his release. “You’re doing so well for me. I can tell how close you are. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could just let go and - -“ 

Cutting her off with a strangled, partially horrified moan, Kaveh can’t stop himself from thrusting up into her grip any longer and he does so with such force it makes something in his lower spine pop. That’s all it takes, just that one hurried rush of movement, and his cock pitifully erupts in a sudden stream of milky white discharge. He cums with a hardly dignified sound, gutted and elated in equal measure. Spurt after spurt, it just keeps coming to paint her knuckles white and stain the bottom of his loose fitted shirt, until finally it runs dry with one last aching twitch that leaves him desperately wheezing. 

“Oh, god!” Bonelessly, Kaveh collapses back into the bed, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed. It takes him a prolonged moment to get his bearings straight, or at least enough to comprehend that he was still alive and Jeanne was very much not a figment of his imagination, and he slowly lifts his head to glance down at her. 

Smiling slyly, she rather daintily releases his cock and holds her hand up to show off the incriminating evidence coating her hand. “I’m afraid you only lasted about two minutes and thirty seconds but …” 

“Please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” He says in a rush, but she continues on as if he hadn’t even spoken. 

“I’ll admit that was still longer than I thought you’d manage to pull off. With the way you were acting, I’d half expected you to lose it in under a minute.”

Practically withering in shame, Kaveh shyly draws his knees together but Jeanne is quick to palm his legs apart again. A soft whimper escapes him at the sticky smear she leaves along his thigh, like a reminder of his failure. This was not quite how he’d envisioned this unfolding. 

“Don’t fret, now. I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? Besides,”

Peeking up at the pointed tone in her voice, the blond warily follows her line of sight down to his groin and a soft mewl escapes him at the sight of his cock, still half hard and stirring with interest. He’d cum so hard he almost felt numb from the waist down now but there was no getting around what he was looking at. It wasn’t going to take much to have him at full strength again. That much was obvious. 

“I can go again,” He quickly stammers before she can jump into action and take care of it for him. “I’m sure I’ll last longer this time too. But you should — you should really let me take care of you first. I promise I’m good with my mouth.”

“I’m sure you are.” She agrees, smiling at him like she knew he was stalling for time and she thought it was cute. “But I don’t think that will be necessary. You’re going to take care of me another way, Kaveh.” 

Pulling back from him completely, Jeanne takes a moment to withdraw a handkerchief from the pocket of her trousers with her unsoiled hand and she uses it to wipe the cum off the other. Carelessly tossing it aside, she then sets her hands to work on her pants and he tenderly winces when his spent cock bobs with growing excitement at the implication of what was to come. She genuinely was trying to kill him, he decides. And she was doing a spectacular job of it so far. 

“Be a good boy and take off the rest of your clothes for me, hm?” 

It takes everything Kaveh has not to outright sob as he obediently sits up and starts tugging off his shirt. Soon the both of them are completely naked, save the sleek black bra Jeanne leaves on for the time being, and he self consciously brings his arms up to wrap them around his chest when she returns to him on the bed. He feels more than a little foolish for it, like some awkward maiden that wasn’t used to being seen in such a vulnerable state — and, really, that actually wasn’t far from the truth — but she doesn’t seem to be half as disappointed by that as he may have once feared she would be. 

If anything, Jeanne actually looks quite pleased with the blond in her bed, and she reaches out to gently take his shoulders once she’s kneeling next to him. “Lay down?” 

He complies, eager pinpricks erupting along his skin where her hands touch him. Of course he’d known he was pathetically, regrettably weak for her long before this, but looking up at her now he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she really was the one for him. Who else could even compare? No one was as strong as Jeanne, nor as pretty. No other woman came from a background of aristocratic opulence while behaving like she did. She was — everything, wasn’t she? 

“Good. Now, be good for me and let me have my fun, okay?” 

Swallowing his nerves down, Kaveh offers a single nod and Jeanne coos at him very softly in response, assuring him that he was making the right choice for once in his life. Bracing her hands against his narrow chest, she confidently throws her leg over his middle again but this time she keeps her pelvis angled up rather than immediately settling on top of him. He feels downright hysterical when she reaches for his cock and possessively wraps her fingers around it. Despite the fact he was still recovering from his first orgasm, it immediately flexes in her hold to stand at attention. Obedient and loyal, just like his heart was, apparently. 

He seethes softly under his breath at the ache in his overwrought loins but doesn’t try to fight it as she angles him towards her cunt and the glorious thatch of red hair there, a shade darker than that on her head. A vague sense of panic does make his chest expand with a sharp gasp though, and he fumbles his hands down to grab hold of her hips. So soft and womanly under his fingers, yet indescribably powerful when they flex with the motion of lowering herself onto him. 

Truthfully Kaveh hadn’t thought it was possible to get any more worked up then he already was, yet the first silky soft brush of her wet lips against his glans has him feeling dangerously close to passing out. Contrary to his earlier statement, he was not going to last any longer than he had the first time. 

“W - wait —“ 

“Are you nervous, Kaveh?” She laughs, the sound so inviting and teasing it very nearly has him going cross eyed with the intense surge of fresh arousal that sparks in him. “Don’t overthink it. Just lie back, relax and let me have my fun, hm? You want to please me, don’t you?” 

“Ahh … y - yes, ma’am. I do.” 

Breathing out a clipped, anticipatory sigh, Jeanne sedately drags him back and forth through the wet folds and creases of her cunt, ensuring that he was nice and sticky too. Not that he thought he needed it when she already felt like she was soaked so penetration was sure to be a nonissue, but it certainly felt good. Heavenly, actually. 

Fingers sinking into the soft give of her hips, he silently pleads with any god willing to listen for his stamina not to give out at the worst possible time. 

Another anticipatory moment later, she finally angles him back towards her entrance and starts to sink the rest of the way down. The blinding rush of heat that all at once envelops him damn near sends him careening over the edge right then and there, but he valiantly holds it back with a sobbing little hiss. Clutches at her like his life depended on it, and it very well might, while Jeanne gradually takes him deeper and deeper into her body one inch at a time. Just as he’d suspected, she was already perfectly lubricated and he gives a powerless curse under his breath, stealing a harried glance between them to watch her swallow him down to the base. Her thick curls are a poignant contrast to his coarser, ashen brown ones, but they look right at home mingling together like that. 

“Bless the seven - -!”

“Mmnn, you feel so good, Kaveh. You’re just where I want you to be.” Giving a taunting wriggle of her hips to make him sensitively wince, Jeanne reaches for one of his hands. Slides it around to the front of her abdomen and presses down on a certain spot along her lower stomach. “Right there. Can you feel it? That’s how deep you are.” 

The wordless noise he lets out is rife with distress, and he sucks in a horribly frazzled breath in an attempt to steady his nerves a little bit. She just laughs though, another soft, liltingly husky sound that makes him want to cry out. 

And he does, mewling a huffy noise into the statically charged air when she leans forward to square her balance in the center, on her toes and with her hands palming his chest. She starts to move then, keeping her motions short and experimental at first while she gets a better feel for him and how he hits her most pleasure inducing spots. It doesn’t take long for her to pick up the pace though and she begins to bounce in earnest, taking him in long, drawn out plunges now. 

Flicking her long braid over her shoulder mid bounce, Jeanne pins him with a salacious grin. “Yeah, right there. You’ve got it. Ahhn, you’re such a good boy for me. You’d better not, nghn, bust as quickly as the first time. Not before I get mine.” 

“J - Jeanne —“ 

He sounds incredibly whiny even to his own ears but he can’t help it. Not when he could feel his cock throbbing inside her, still tender from getting hard again much too soon after already cumming once, and she didn’t seem to care. She was clearly much more concerned with her own pleasure now, enthusiastically chasing that gratification on top of him, but that just seems to ratchet his own excitement up even further. The more she took from him the more he wanted to give, the higher his arousal seemed to climb. 

It is with no shortage of horror that Kaveh realizes he’s going to cum again, not because she was riding him so expertly, but because she was using him for her own pleasure and that was getting him off more than anything. Even in all his fantasies and wistful daydreams, he’d never imagined that having her treat his cock like her own personal toy would turn him on quite this much. 

“Oh! Shit! I - if you don’t slow down, Jeanne, I’m - -“ 

Her hips start to come down faster, harder in response, and the sharp slap of skin meeting skin rises louder in the air. He practically chokes on it, squirming underneath her as every muscle in his body rapidly tenses up in preparation to blow another load and simultaneously to try and stave it off. It wasn’t just overwhelming, it was downright mind numbing, and he pathetically whimpers even as his eyes start to roll back in his head. 

Too much. It was too much. 

“Please — please —“ He’s babbling, his mouth running on autopilot now, but still she doesn’t seem to care. 

His cock was hers to use however she saw fit and it was clear she wanted it thrusting deep into her guts right now. It feels like every ounce of blood in his body rushes down to his groin all at once, making it swell to uncomfortable proportions as his balls tightly draw up again. He tries to hold back, really, but it’s all too much for him to bear. The wet warmth of her body gripping him like a vice, the breathy sounds that slip from her mouth and the all encompassing smell of her cloying on the back of his tongue. He was powerless before it. 

And he cums again, just like that. His strangled, frantic moan is high pitched and bordering on frantic as he shoots off inside her but even then she just keeps going. Even when his cock finishes spraying her inner sleeve with white, creamy clumps, she just keeps riding him. The only response he gets that indicates she’s even aware of it happening is a low, huffy groan in the back of her throat but it doesn’t so much as make her pause. 

His hands practically cramp up from how hard he’s clutching at her, roughly sucking in a series of wet, faltering breaths. His body can’t take it when every conceivable inch of him was painfully throbbing in protest at the continuous stimulation. The sensation is sharp and stabbing, and he finally throws his head back against the sheets to helplessly wail up at the ceiling. 

“Oh, Kaveh,” She finally murmurs another moment later. “Are you crying?”

His eyes snap open so suddenly it takes them a heartbeat or two to catch up and make any sense of the visual input. Just in time to watch Jeanne lean over him, getting close to his face and alternating her previous bouncing motion to a slower, more savory grind that makes him wince in his oversensitized state. She doesn’t seem to pay it any mind though, her teal eyes taking in his face with obvious delight. 

“You poor thing,” Breathing out softly, she slides one hand up from his chest, over his neck and higher still to cup his cheek. “You really are tender, aren’t you? I wasn’t expecting to make you cry until at least the third round.” 

Kaveh’s taxed heart nearly gives out right then and there. “T - third round? You … you can’t be serious - -“

“I’m very serious, I’m afraid. I’m not sure what else you expected when you gave me an aphrodisiac though. Don’t tell me you’ve bitten off more than you can chew?” 

“Aph - wait, you knew?” 

“Well, I didn’t at the time but I’ve certainly figured it out by now. In all honesty, I picked up very early on that you were acting rather strange today but I hadn’t expected you to go to such lengths just to get me into bed. All you’d had to do was ask, you know.” 

He just gapes up at her, big, wet glistening tears beading along his lash line to make them clump together. What she was saying wasn’t just inconceivable, it didn’t make any sense! If she’d suspected something amiss, if she’d had any doubts about his intentions then …

His eyes suddenly go big and round. “You — that’s what you meant earlier … about unwarranted expectations?”

She smiles at him, a vaguely mischievous, sly little smile, and exhales a savory sigh. “Yeah, but I’d say that’s a moot point now, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve already made you cry so …” Closing the distance, Jeanne’s tongue flicks out to lap up a salty tear from his cheek and he startles like she’d shocked him. That only makes her laugh though, and she pulls back to sit upright again so she can reach behind her to unclasp the hooks on her bra. “Let’s continue, shall we? I’ve got something special in mind for that overly eager cock of yours.” 

Satiny cups fall away, revealing her bare breasts to him at long last, and Kaveh sucks in such a harsh, flustered gasp it almost sounds like he’s choking. Pleased with his reaction, she tosses the garment aside and then much to his slack jawed surprise, she moves to dismount from him. His spent cock slips free humiliatingly fast and wetly flops down to rest across his lower belly, completely soft now. 

Self consciously, Kaveh reaches down to gingerly cover himself from her scrutiny but she merely turns to climb down off the bed as if it were none of her concern. Maybe it wasn’t, and he practically withers at the thought. 

“Get on your hands and knees for me.” She says, not bothering to look back at him while she tugs open a drawer on the nightstand. 

“Please, Jeanne, I don’t think I can handle another round so soon.” He groans, even as he slowly pushes himself up to sit. It wasn’t just his cock that felt sore and achy, his entire body hurt at this point. “If you just give me, I don’t know, an hour, I’m sure we’ll have much better results.” 

“You really expect me to wait that long?” 

“W - well, no, but - -“

“Hands and knees, Kaveh. Now.” 

Whimpering softly, he does as he’s been told and turns over to assume the position. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, she had in store for him but there were certainly a few sinking suspicions running through his mind, and he wasn’t sure if he was prepared for any of them. Mentally or physically, it seemed he really had bitten off more than he could conceivably chew. 

She soon returns to him, evidently having found what she was looking for and crawling up onto the bed to kneel just behind him. He can’t quite bring himself to look back at her, a little too embarrassed by everything that has already happened here today as much as the unseemly pose he was currently in to face her head on. He was also more than a bit nervous too, and he decidedly did not want her to see that reflecting back at her in his expression. Sure, Kaveh may have been fruitlessly grasping at straws here, but he was dead set on preserving whatever minuscule amount of his pride he still had left. 

Which was decidedly not much at all. 

“Relax for me. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“I know that …” 

But did he really, though? He trusted her, yes, but there was a very real part of him that didn’t know what to expect in the coming moments and that made him understandably a bit jittery. 

That fact is very poignantly highlighted when she touches him, placing her hand along his lower back, and he jolts so hard he nearly comes right up off the bed. Chuckling softly at the reaction, Jeanne rubs comforting, coaxing circles into his skin as if she were encouraging an overly skittish pup to settle down. 

“So jumpy. Have I actually done anything to make you this nervous yet?” 

He grumbles a low, noncommittal sound, not entirely sure he trusted himself to speak when he was as naked as the day he was born and spread out on her bed on full display. His reticence quickly proves to be a moot point though, because when she drags her hand down to the cleft where his ass starts, he outright yelps in surprise. 

“Wait - -“ 

“Unfortunately I don’t have the time or the patience for that right now. You said you were going to be a good boy for me, didn’t you?” 

“ I — I did, but …” 

“Then do as I say and relax. I promise you aren’t going to hate this half as much as you think you will.” 

Groaning softly, Kaveh hangs his head in a clear sign of defeat and Jeanne takes that chance to readjust her position behind him, settling directly between his knees now. Both of her hands come up to cup his cheeks, giving them each a savory, appreciative squeeze, and he mewls very quietly when she spreads them apart. His face positively blazes with the knowledge that she was looking at his most private areas uninterrupted and he restlessly fidgets as a result. 

He feels her lean close then and he braces himself — for what, he isn’t sure, but it’s certainly not the wet swipe of her tongue across the tight pucker of his asshole. The sensation is unmistakable and jarring, and he instinctively tries to shy away from it with a frazzled yelp. 

“Jeanne!” He shrills, further embarrassing himself with the high pitch of his voice. 

“Goodness, you really are like an innocent virgin, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t exactly have a comeback for that, not when he was certainly acting like one, so he just settles on a vague sound of disagreement. 

Chuckling, she leans into him again and, now that he actually knows what’s coming, he clenches his teeth to stay any of the humiliating sounds that rise in his chest at the next swipe of her tongue. It’s a bit less shocking this time but no less confusing when he can’t make any sense of why she would be doing this. Surely she wasn’t … she didn’t plan to - -

“Don’t tense up so much,” She murmurs against him, warm breath fanning over his skin and tickling the sticky wrinkle of his hole. He feels a slight twitch in his groin in response to the featherlight sensation but it’s not near enough to have him springing back up to full attention again. 

So he simply takes it with as much grace as he possibly can, passively letting her lap at him without protest until he can eventually feel the tight rim start to puff up under her ministrations. The muscle was slackening and giving way, allowing her more freedom to poke and prod at the center to tease the suggestion of penetration. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that or any of this, but he doesn’t protest even when she seals her mouth around him and gently starts to suckle. Now he felt overwhelmed in a completely different way than before, and he wheezes quietly under his breath. This was unfamiliar territory for him, completely uncharted, but it is his implicit trust in Jeanne that keeps him from bolting like a frightened rabbit. 

And just like the easily frightened hare, he all but quails when she finally pulls back some moments later to fiddle with something behind him. He didn’t want to look, couldn’t bring himself to look, but he quickly figures out what she’s up to when her fingers come up to touch him and they’re unnaturally sticky with grease, genuine surprise making his heart stutter a beat. 

Dear god, she was really going to do this! 

“Ah, J - Jeanne, are you sure that’s - -“ 

She carefully pushes, dipping one digit just inside the tight ring of muscle without stopping long enough to hear him out, and he instantly blurts out a wordless sound of startled shock. Unable to stop himself anymore, he snaps his head around to peer over his shoulder at her but she just offers up a vaguely conspiratorial smile. 

“You’re tensing up again.” 

“Well, can you really blame me!” 

“No, not really. But trust me, you’ll find you’re much more keen here in just a moment.” 

He doesn’t believe that. He doesn’t believe that at all, not when his hole was weakly pulsing around the intrusion in a way that made him feel panicky and trapped, and that was to say absolutely nothing of the sharply felt pangs of embarrassment he could feel creeping up his neck. 

But then she pushes in a little deeper, slipping in down to the second joint, and his entire body seizes in response, igniting a red hot, tingling sensation low in his gut. His mouth drops open in surprise but nothing comes out, his chest rapidly contracting with the quick gasps he pulls in. It still didn’t exactly feel good, or at least he’s pretty sure it doesn’t, but he felt … something from it. Something that takes his breath away and threatens to suffocate him. He’d never been penetrated like this before but to have Jeanne doing it, carefully fingering his body open, it occurred to him much too late that she was probably right. He probably was going to like this if she was the one doing it. 

“Oh, oh, oh,” He wheezes, fighting the instinctive urge to pull away when she just keeps going, dipping her finger further in until he feels the obvious press of her knuckle flush against his hole. Swaying unsteadily on his hands and knees, he frantically gropes for his frazzled thoughts for something to say. “That’s — hold on, please, just … take it slow, okay?” 

“Didn’t I already tell you I don’t have time for that, Kaveh? You’re going to take what I give you however I see fit to give it. Do you understand?” 

Not waiting for him to respond (as if he even could respond to that), Jeanne angles her finger down and gently massages along his inner wall. The sensation is strange and he still can’t quite decide if it was pleasurable or not, so he just squirms in place while she feels along his guts. At least it didn’t hurt. That seems to be his one and only consolation in this confusing situation he’s gotten himself in, and for that he was thankful. 

“Ah,” She suddenly blurts. “Found it.” 

He almost finds himself asking what it is she’s found in his ass of all places but he doesn’t quite make it any farther than opening his mouth. She abruptly angles that insidious digit downward, digging into his interior wall, and a shock of static electricity immediately shoots through his entire system with enough force to damn near bowl him right over. He comes very close to full on wailing in response even as his hips subconsciously buck under the pressure and his cock gives a distant, muted twitch. 

Icy fear promptly races down his spine. No. No, it couldn’t be — 

She repeats the motion, massaging down into that unimaginably sensitive bundle of nerves with a forceful curl of her finger, and his knees almost give out in response. He understood now what it was she wanted but he was helpless to stop it at this point, outright sobbing while she expertly turned his own body against him. No matter how much he tries to fight it or will it away, his cock was slowly coming back to life with each twist of her hand even when it hurt to do so. He was still much too sore after two consecutive orgasms but even through the discomfort he still gradually starts to harden again. 

Left with no other choice, Kaveh finally allows his upper body to sink down onto the bed where he folds his arms and buries his face in their protective cradle. He’d never be able to look Jeanne in the face after this. It had already started off bad enough when he’d shot his load in under four minutes but it had only continued to get worse from there, and now she was fingering his asshole to coax yet another erection out of him. 

Somehow it doesn’t even come as a surprise when the tears start up again. 

“There you go. Just look at you.” She murmurs approvingly some odd minutes later when his cock has finally finished filling out and it was now a heavy, hanging weight between his legs. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t even think you’ve gone one round yet.” 

“Nnghnoogh, please, Jeanne. This is hardly, aghhn, the time for jokes.” 

“You’re right. Well, let’s get you fitted then.”

Kaveh blinks through the tears, wondering what she was talking about now, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask. She starts to slowly pull her finger out without any further warning and he whines at the resulting drag against his guts when the muscle tries to cling to her on the way out. It’s like she doesn’t even notice though, or perhaps she doesn’t care, and she slips free with a tiny little slurp from his clenching entrance. Physically cringing at the sound, he shoves his face further into the comfort of his arms and tries very hard not to sob. 

He can hear her fiddling with something behind him but he’s a little too far gone to wonder about what the next trial might be. He’d find out sooner or later anyway, and in this case it turns out to be quite soon. 

Carefully, her hands slip something over his rigid cock and draws it up to the base. It feels vaguely like leather, and that thought is quickly solidified in his mind when she tightens it until the material cinches around him in a tight squeeze that is resoundingly uncomfortable on his already nerve sensitive skin. Sucking in a sharp breath, Kaveh shoves himself up on his elbows so he can peer down at himself. Sure enough, the black thong secured around his scrotum is obvious and speaks for itself. The message was clear. If he couldn’t control himself enough to hold back his orgasms until she was satisfied then she’d help him out. Give him a nudge in the right direction. 

He absolutely hated how familiar that sentiment sounded. 

“You can’t — you can’t do that, Jeanne! It’s too tight and … that’s not fair, is it? I could have used my mouth.” 

“Ooh, are you whining, Kaveh? Such a sad little thing you are. Unfortunately it’s not your mouth I want right now though.” Rising up, she leans over him so she can press herself flush along his back. Her hand comes around to curl under his chin and manually turn his face up at her, and he offers her a tiny little sniffle to go with the puppy eyed face he makes. “What I want is that pretty cock you’ve got between your legs and you’re going to give it to me, aren’t you? Hm?” 

“Nnghn … yes, ma’am.” 

“Good. Now switch me spots.” 

She peels away from him so she can move up a little higher on the bed while he gingerly gets himself situated on his knees. Even just a brief glance down at the state of his poor cock, swollen and darkened by the tight band cutting off the circulation to keep him hard and ready, is enough to make him feel light headed with overwhelm. He’d wanted this though, had practically begged any god willing to listen for even just one real chance with Jeanne, and he knew better than to fight it. He’d dug this hole for himself so, with an accompanying sniffly, he compliantly moves to position himself between the bend of her knees when she gets settled on her back. And looking down at her spread out like that, he dully realizes that he’s never been happier in all his life. 

It wasn’t just that she was pushing his body right to its limits while simultaneously keeping the important bits of him grounded in reality, although that was certainly gratifying in its own right too. It also wasn’t a simple matter of fulfilling and acting on his long held attraction for her, making his fantasies a reality. Rather, there was something about this power dynamic between them that just made him feel whole and complete, like he’d been born just to play this role for her. He’d experienced felt anything quite like it before, and it is with an immense amount of nervous anticipation that he lines himself up with her entrance. 

“I’m going to do it.” He announces, thinking it was for her benefit, but she immediately shoots that idea down when she tsk’s very softly in response. 

“What did I tell you about relaxing, Kaveh? Don’t worry. I’m confident you’re going to do an excellent job.” 

As if to prove that, she reaches between them and wraps her fingers around his straining length, giving it a tight squeeze. He shudders, feeling every little thing in high definition when the nerves were so sensitized and swollen with excess blood. It’s hard just to breathe through it but she helps him with this as well by gently guiding him back into place and encouraging him with a slow tug. 

Clutching her soft thighs in a death grip, Kaveh follows the suggestion with his hips and pushes forward, spearing into hot creases and folds in torturous slow motion. He can’t quite bring his body to move any faster than that and he lets out a frazzled, high pitched keening sound when he starts to sink inside her body again. It felt even more intense than it did the first time, and he surely had the black thong cinched tight around his scrotum to thank for that. Almost like having a transcendental experience, it makes his soul feel like it’s flickering out at the edges.  

He keeps going though, a little too far gone within the heightened daze of his arousal to think of anything else other than burying himself as deep into Jeanne as he could reasonably go, and he doesn’t stop until his pelvis is flush with hers. Letting out a wounded, faltering grunt, he sways unsteadily over top of her. Tries to ground himself to no avail. He wasn’t going to come out of this on the other side the same person he’d once been. Of that he’d never been more certain.  

“Kaveh,” She says his name so soft, so dotingly, as her hands come up to cup his face and angle it down at her. “You’re crying again, my love. Do you really like being inside me that much?” 

Numbly nodding his head even while the tears continue to streak hot tracks down his cheeks, the blond fumbles for something to say before finally settling on, “I do. Of course I do, but … I want to make you feel good too.” 

A slow smile curls Jeanne’s mouth, more sly and knowing than it is sweet, but like a loyal dog Kaveh is just happy to get whatever he can. He doesn’t mind the way she looks at him like a hungry, powerful predator sizing up its prey and he doesn’t mind the way she reaches down to possessively grope at his chest either. Despite him being almost totally flat and lacking in much to grab, that doesn’t stop her from pinching at his poor little breast until he hisses, half in discomfort and half in pleasure. This, too, he was happy to be on the receiving end of. 

“You are making me feel good, you silly thing. But I’d feel even better if you started moving already. I’m not much for cock warming, you know.” 

He blushes straight up to his ears, stammering out a quick apology. Unconcerned, Jeanne slides her hand further down and then back to reach for his tight ass, giving it an appreciative jostle. 

“Quickly, now. If you don’t act soon I’ll have to fuck you instead and show you how it’s done. Considering the way you reacted just from having my finger inside you I don’t think you’re quite ready for that yet, are you?” 

“N - no, ma’am. I’m not.” 

“Didn’t think so. Then get moving.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

Not story more ramble but I will still tag.

@egrets-not-regrets @bleedingichorhearts @kit-williams @sleepyfan-blog @barn-anon

Spoilers for Warhammer Fulgrim Lore.

I think the husbandry fandom has missed a profound opportunity for some juicy conflict!

So we have some general agreed upon notions for how certain legions react to Husbandry Terra. Now obviously not all of a single space marine type behave the same way but there be trends.

Salamanders, Ultramarines, Blood Angels, Thousand Sons, Space Wolves, Imperial Fists: these groups generally accept bonds and human companionship as they had decent human contact in their original timeline.

Then you've got the grumps who love the attention but getting them to admit it is like Pulling Teeth: Night Lords, Iron Hands and Iron Warriors.

But we have been missing out! On a delightfully painful side of our favorite premadonnas. The Emperor's Children.

Now they and their sire Fulgrim are often stereotyped as such. Elegant, pompous, snooty and post heresy they go completely mask off a drive full into unbound freak territory.

But their story is much more tragic than a spoiled brat leading other spoiled brats into serving the God of overdoing things.

Fulgrim isn't spoken of as much in terms of being screwed over, but looking closer he really was.

Shot to an awful industrial planet where he watched his adopted family struggle to feed him let alone themselves. It would give anybody a complex.

Needing to be useful, needing to contribute, needing to not be a burden.

And once the The Big E showed up it didn't get much better.

His sons? Suffer a geneflaw that gives them astarte cancer. He not only loses many of them, but has to make due with what he has left. Meaning no matter how well trained, he just can't conquer planets at the rate dear old dad wants him to.

His brothers? Got there own issues and probably don't take Fulgrim's struggles seriously. He's just at that spot of "Wow that sucks," and "But the others have it worse.' He probably doesn't feel like he can talk deeply to anyone.

So Fulgrim does what many unloved children do, in fact he does the same thing as Perturabo, Pushes Himself to The Breaking Point.

In Fulgrim's case, any failures he blames completely on himself. Where Perty lashes out, Fulgrim turns inward.

Until he just can't take it anymore. He decides he's going to finally be selfish. Commit fully to the pleasures and pain so he never has to remember the agony he feels, that he will Never, be good enough

Heck killing Ferrus probably cemented that feeling in him. I'm not worth anything, so why bother trying to be good. Why not just be the absolute Worst.

Heavy stuff. But this leads me to my main musing.

In 40k the sins of the father very much affect the sons.

So my proposition is...you think other space marines are clingy? They hold not a Candle to an Emperor's Child. Especially one post heresy.

If you show an EC that they can be open, vulnerable, Imperfect, around you, and you don't immediately turn tail and run from the baggage, You Will Never Escape.

They don't just crave intimacy, they crave stability, affection, LOVE.

And if you give them any indication you'll supply it, they will Never let themselves be cut off.

[beautiful-basque-country]

I saw something on TV once, I think it was a National Geographic show, where they mentioned that theory that Basque is perhaps the only surviving language from when Neanderthals were alive. Do you mind me asking why you mentioned in that recent post you didn’t want to comment on the theory?

Is it because most people use it as a racist attack? Deplorable, and those people deserve to be smacked.

The show did like a 15 minute segment on the theory and went over how the language is an isolate and compared to other languages, while it is evolving, it hasn’t really been changed/impacted by other languages. So ultimately the current language and older forms of it aren’t drastically different, unlike how something like modern English and Old English are basically two different languages at this point. They then said it’s likely that if any writing existed from the Neanderthal period anyone who knew Basque would probably be able to read it and speak whatever was written without much difficulty.

I just thought it was so cool something could be so well taken care of and respected that it basically hasn’t changed. Fascinating to think someone today could hold a conversation with someone else from so long ago! Lord knows I’d be screwed if you dropped me into the Middle Ages and told me to go speak to King Alfred.

Even Latin! We have no idea how it was actually spoken and how anything was pronounced. We’re just guessing.

Sorry if other people toss that theory at you to insult you!

Kaixo anon!

Thanks for your message!

I have to clarify the post you mentioned was a reblog and I just added the last pic, so you'd have to ask OP about why they don't wanna comment on that theory ^_~.

That said, no: I don't care what that documentary said, Basque is not the language of the Neanderthals. They're believed to have appeared around 200,000 years ago and disappeared 40,000 years ago; even if we consider that Basque was a descendant of their language - and that's assuming Neanderthals spoke a single language, from Europe to Asia - it's completely impossible that a 21st-century Basque speaker could understand this presumed original Neanderthal language.

The Hand of Irulegi - an artifact around 3,500 years old - displays a Vasconic text and nobody knows what it says, and that's knowing that Vasconic was an ancestor of nowadays Euskara. Even nowadays, a Spanish speaker can't understand Latin - except maybe a couple of words - and Spanish diverged from Latin not too long ago, around the 10-11th century. Can you imagine a 40,000 years gap between two languages??

And of course Basque have been impacted by the surrounding languages. Basque people haven't lived isolated in an island with no contact whatsoever with other peoples, quite on the contrary, we've lived with many cultures thoughout our history, from Iberians to Romans, to Franks, to Berbers and Arabs, to Spaniards. Basque has influences of all of them, be it loanwords or more technical remains. As you say, it's an evolving language that hasn't started evolving now, it's been doing it for millennia!

Regarding the theory being thrown as a racist attack, don't worry, it isn't! It all comes from genetics and genetic studies that show some very little differences in Basque people. In some of these studies it was concluded that Basque and Asturians, probably due to the difficult geography of our regions, were left more isolated from the Iron Age on, and hence we have the oldest lineage in Iberia. This is explained by guessing that these populations were less multiethnic and probably more endogamic. Given this situation, the DNA is slightly different - slightly! - and we have more DNA that comes directly from prehistory than the rest. Period.

But there's this obstinacy to take Basque people - just like Aztecs or Ancient Egyptians - as a mystery because there are many gaps in our history and language that science hasn't still explained and some people feel the need to fill them with crazy theories. Like the one that said that Neanderthals didn't go extinct but that nowadays they're known as.. Basques! When we already know that Neanderthals were a completely different species from Homo Sapiens: so if modern Basques are Homo Sapiens now as we know we are, I'm sorry, but we're no longer Neanderthals if we ever were.

Sorry for the long answer!

[ladystoneboobs]

Two Weeks of Theon: What-Ifs

i'm not a fanfic writer or fanartist, but sometimes i like to think of au turns of fate for theon after balon's first rebellion. just thinking of all the ways his life was screwed no matter what, all the different ways his childhood could have been worse or bad in a different way, just never really that much better for long. there's no hostage scenario which doesn't turn to turn to shit sooner or later, with misery and/or very real danger of death, and it's why i just can't help but feel for him.

if balon had refused to bend the knee and lost his head for it, or just died fighting instead of leaving all the hard work to his brothers and older sons. with rodrik and maron still dead, theon could be a child lord, but obviously robert would appoint his own loyal regent, not one of theon's uncles who had just fought against him. and imo the person for that unpleasant task of ruling the isles as a foreign invader would be stannis, royal master of ships who'd just helped robert defeat the iron fleet. so theon is raised by stannis, he who is notoriously without mercy, a captive in his own home. there would inevitably be an ironborn resistance, trying to free theon (and asha and alannys), but there wouldn't be a united opposition. would vic and pre-born again aeron listen to rodrik the reader? and would they be effective at all without a smart person to lead them? either way, there'd be another group gathering around euron wanting theon (and maybe asha) dead (at their hands or stan's if they could provoke him) so that euron could take the throne as the only greyjoy strong enough to win balon's war and take their revenge. so even if a non-kinslayer uncle, greyjoy or harlaw, or anyone else loyal to balon's kids managed to free theon, then euron would still be waiting as the biggest danger.

alternately, what if robert gave theon as hostage to stannis, rather than the friend he loved more than his brothers? theon grows up on dreary dragonstone, worse than dreary pyke bc it wasn't his family's home and there wouldn't even be boys his own age to befriend. stuck with selyse and axell florent while stannis was in kl (and stannis himself when he was home), the only bright spots being if stannis ever took him to court with him, or when justin massey or other more fun vassals came to dragonstone. then when stannis discovers the incest, returns to dragonstone and locks down the island, theon's stuck for good. and when stannis learned of balon's 2nd rebellion, he wouldn't hesitate to execute theon even if he just fought for him on the blackwater.

or what if robert didn't turn to his brother or his foster brother to take theon when balon bent the knee, but instead his father-in-law. theon grows up in luxury at casterly rock, maybe actually befriends tyrion, but also gets sucked into lannister dysfunction and the tywin lannister school of tyranny, which would be a different mix on top of greyjoy dysfunction/abuse and ironborn tyranny. when war breaks out, theon's drafted on the lannister side against the starks/tullys in the riverlands. if he's in jaime's army, there's a chance he becomes a stark captive under very different circumstances. actually no, wait, becoming a stark/tully prisoner might be theon's only chance of survival in this au bc if he's raised a lannister hostage instead, there's a very high chance that balon would enter the war by attacking the westerlands after all, so if theon was still with tywin when that news hits there goes his head on a spike in harrenhal or the red keep.

or if robert just took theon hostage himself back to kl, rather than delegating a proxy to guarantee balon's loyalty to him. this could be the best au scenario captor-wise, at least while robert's alive. robert was more pro-child killing than ned but also even more short-sighted and ignorant of possible danger, known for winning over/befriending past (non-targ) enemies. would a guy willing to kill tommen and myrcella after thinking they were his own flesh and blood for their whole lives even think to distance himself from a hostage on the faint possibility of another lord being willing to sacrifice his only son? or would he be more likely to let theon get attached only to then do an aboutface and execute him in a rage if balon shocked him by rebelling against the iron throne again after all? since that never happened in robert's reign, theon could have been the eldest son he'd never had (since he didn't care for joffrey and never met gendry), with robert gladly initiating him into drinking and whoring, joining a group of hangers-on like justin massey. (i could also see theon getting along with renly and loras, but considering loras left the redwyne twins--his own double cousins--behind when he and renly split town, idt they'd bother to take theon when they fled after robert's mortal injury either.) the real problem would be joffrey, a jealous and cruel foster brother, with his status as crown prince giving some power to try to bully theon despite being younger, and cersei, a queen overprotective of joffrey and hating anyone close to robert. then after cersei kills robert, she and king joff have complete control over hostage theon, abused prisoner alongside sansa. and again, good chance balon would attack the westerlands in this au as they're much closer than kl or the baratheon stormlands, so theon would need to find some way to escape lannister custody to survive.

or what if robert gave custody to his foster father, jon arryn? lord arryn can't raise a hostage the same as ned and robert, who were straight up wards, and he's no longer childless himself and only in charge of his own homeland as he was back then. in canon timeline jon arryn was too busy ruling all the realm as hand to pay too much attention to his own wife and heir. imagine theon with lysa and sweetrobin. after jon arryn's death, he'd either be stuck with them at the eyrie and later have to deal with littlefinger too or robert would take custody and it would play out like above bulletpoint. most interesting scenario is if robert/cersei manage to send both theon and sweetrobin to tywin at the rock.

or if ned just remembered to keep his hostage close by bringing theon to kl with him. (idt ned ever thought of theon in a fatherly way but he at the least saw him as a kid who was robb's close friend. that has to be why he left theon at wf, bc i can't imagine he actually expected 14yo robb to behead his boyhood friend on what must seem like a slim possibility (esp by then, after almost 10 years) of balon rebelling. whatever his capacity for cruelty to theon, idt he'd be capable of such cruelty to his own child(ren) and mr. personal responsibility wrt killing would have felt this was his personal duty after taking charge of theon, if he actually thought of the possibility at all.) there's a pretty good chance theon could get killed with all the stark guardsmen in the throne room, since cersei's coup was far from foolproof. but if someone reminded her of his (supposed) value as a hostage and arrangements were made to take him alive, then again he'd be captive alongside sansa, except this is the only au where they wouldn't be meeting for the first time.

or if everything else stayed the same except euron returned home earlier, same time as theon at the start of the war. all of balon's and theon's war plans go out the window with balon's murder and euron taking the throne. theon who came determined to be balon's heir would not stand for this, but could only survive by working with asha, who was a stranger to him by then. this scenario has the highest chance of theon's death imo. bc really what it comes down to is theon was always screwed, even if he made better choices in canon acok, even if he took his last chance to leave with asha, they'd still just have to deal with euron later. always caught between foreign captors and a kinslayer uncle with no true chance for escape both.

[thecountesstribe]

HOTD SEASON 2 EPISODE 1 SPOILERS, A LITTLE BIT OF A LONG SHITPOST.

Last night I couldn't talk about it but Alicent really is one of the funniest characters on that show. She's literally a stereotypical bible thumper. We all know one in real life. Little miss “condemn others for their “sins” and then turn around and do the absolute worst.” Miss duty, honor and sacrifice was shagging the kingsguard, which she's not supposed to be doing btw, even if that bum is dead. I wholeheartedly believe she's been screwing him before Viserys even kicked the bucket. On top of that she's clinical levels of delusional and absolutely mental. Imagine having the temerity to send letters to the woman you literally tormented for years, after the usurpation of said woman's birthright that you had a major hand in and after your rabid ass son killed her child too. What is there to talk about? “Dear Rhaenyra, sorry my son murdered your son and his dragon in cold blood, come over and bend the knee to my other incompetent son who sits your throne and let's pray and talk about it and go back to being friends, signed your former best friend Ali” She was wholeheartedly expecting a response too and she got left on medieval delivered LMFAO. Does that sound sane to you? The prayer scene was also so disingenuous. She didn't like those boys, especially Lucerys. She wasn't praying to no Gods, she was trying to sacrifice Luke's soul even in the afterlife 🤣🤣🤣😭😭. A comedian.

How does Crybaby Cole still have his job? Can someone answer me? Was Rhaenyra seducing him and sleeping with him wrong? Absolutely. She didn't take advantage of him, he was the adult in the situation and he swore his oaths, not her, that was his fault. Then he struck what was essentially a High Lord and the future King's consort and murdered a young lord at the wedding of the heir to the iron throne. How he still had his head after is beyond me. Still flabbergasted about how he thought Rhaenyra would've ran away with him, to be poor, like Daemon and Viserys wouldn't have turned the entire 7 kingdoms upside down looking for her. How exactly was he expecting to hide the heir to the Iron Throne? That really made sense to him... He got rejected once and made it his entire personality, to go on to become the same thing he said he didn't want to become... A WHORE. He should've just let that hurt go honestly. At least with Rhaenyra on the throne he could've been a whore with benefits. Alicent can't really do anything for him, Otto is literally in her way. He's extremely bad at his job too. How is he gonna explain his absence from his duties, y'know watching over the queen, sweet summer child Helaena and her children. “Well Aegon while we had intruders running about the castle I was fuckin your mom in your older sister's old quarters who your mom and I still carry a torch for”. He should've just fallen on his sword fr 🥱. When you actually think about it this show is a comedy.

Criston and Alicent they could never make me like you but they're funny as hell.

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

CRYPTID HAL AND CRYPTID BILLY!!<3

I honestly like seeing Hal either as a bird cryptid or aquatic cryptid, there's no terrestrial one, that man loves flying.. but the aquatic one is simply because nowadays i am in love with sirens tbh, they be interesting.

Flash: *opens a bag of chips*

Seal Billy giving him the biggest puppy dog eyes, while staring at him hopefully while doing the classic baby seal whine:

Honestly i love lighting Billy and OF COURSE the Bat wants to comfort Sparkles(im calling lighting Billy that), gosh that man is such a adoption addict...he definitely cried when Fluffball(seal Billy nickname) slept on his lap, he's like the Watchtower cat's, just like those classic "cat's office" cats, now im thinking of a batfam+fluffball interactions

Also may i present to you.. fluffy otter Billy? I have found one on Pinterest and i almost cried at how adorable it looked.. to send the pictures i will have to leave anon mode lolz, but i don't mind tbh!

Also another take: Actual bat Billy, for the BAT-son, not because of Batman so it becomes ironic that he adopts a kid with bat features and more of a: "My bio dad used to be a goddamn actual BATman.. oh lord..."

None can resist the EYES!

Lil otter Billy is indeed adorable but can I offer a specific feline in the form of the Cheetah? Lightning fast, cute, kinda scrawny cause they’re thin, and they CHIRP!! Like a bird they CHIRP

Little otter Billy holding onto as much as he can, that video of a mom grooming her baby until he’s extra fluffy and can float cause of all the fluff cause he can’t swim yet so mom can leave for a moment, lil otter Billy dashing around people.

Bat billy would be kinda spooky but imagine just imagining him having a bit of a screwed up nose and a lot more fluff to his design, like a pronounced bit of floof around his neck and a more flow cape ala Dracula style cause he thinks he’s funny

[thevoidscreams]

hi hii what do you think of a baseline human being perturabo's emotional support teddybear? just lets him have the bliss of just being a really good architect and just having a friend who actually agrees that hey! maybe being born just to be a tool for destruction and power isnt that great (but that sentiment could apply for all of the primarchs tbh)

you don't have to write anything i you dont wanne, just wanted to share something abt the primarchs just.. allowed to be human for once

(Perturabo needs and deserves a hug.

He should have been allowed to be more than he was and a solid human connection really could have helped with that.

I think a lot of the primarchs suffered from social isolation due to the very nature of their being, and had that not been the case, they would have been a lot happier and mentally healthy.

That being said, I love the idea of being his teddybear. So here you go. )

(Feel free to hit me up if this isn't exactly what you wanted, I'll write more)

His hands worked so delicately. It was hard to believe that a man so big could manipulate tools so tiny. But his functional models needed some fine tuning, and Perturabo was not one to let his possessions fall into disrepair.

"Will it he done soon?" You asked in a quiet voice, careful not to disturb his focus too much.

"Soon." He rumbled back, moving his shoulder so you could get a better look at his work.

"Can I see it?"

Perturabo looked away from his work for the first time in hours to look down at you. Even sitting, he was several heads taller. He sat back and patted his lap, a silent invitation for you to climb up.

It was not an invitation you took lightly but Perty was your friend and you loved being near to him.

"You'll have the best view from here," he said, setting his tiny screw driver down to pick up a pair of tiny tweezers. You could feel his voice in his chest, and you rested against him carefully.

The arm not currently working came up to hold you close to him. It wasn't long after you'd befriended the giant man that you learned just how starved for positive contact he really was. So sitting in his lap during his downtime became routine, it became comfortable, and you became his human connection. The thing reminding him that he, no matter his station or power, was human too. And he handled you with the same delicate grace that he handled his models. People began to associate you with him and began to give you soft nicknames like, 'Perturabo's Teddy or the Teddy Bear.'

"Hand me the flathead?" He asked, and you plucked it up, handing him the tool. "Thank you."

"Of course, anything for you, my friend." His arm tightened briefly around you waist. Another small gesture the two of you developed, it meant he was pleased. But by your words or actions, you were sure. Maybe both?

The evening grew later as you spent it bringing the other comfort in quiet ways. "I think it's looking good. It'll definitely be up and running soon." Your face held a proud smile, and your arms snaked around his waist to hug him properly. A gesture you knew he'd allow from you and very few others.

"I think so, too." He agreed, setting his tool down and standing with you in his arms.

"Would it be alright if I spent the night with you?" You asked, not ready to leave your friend.

You felt his soft chuckle as much as you heard it, and the lord of iron nodded. "Of course," he shared a rare smile with you as he looked down at you. "After all, how would I sleep without my teddy bear?"

[thekingofwinterblog]

There is one detail were I think I need a second opinion on:

So during the manga ending, there is that detail of supposedly Lord Death, with his "madness of order" being able to control everyone on earth - basically being able to solve all crime/evil things from happening.

The fact that he doesnt use this power is presented as a positive thing, basically an indirect way of answering the problem of evil with "actually God gives us free will and thats why evil happens, because denying us the free will would be more evil than anything else"

So ok, what is the sticking point to me? Well Lord Death was kinda hinted as being deeply flawed, and even his death at the end is framed as tragic but as the time necessary and a positive thing, a new generiation taking over creating a better wolrd, ect.

But isn't including such a huge revelation - a revelation that only makes sense with an All Good, kinda absolute God?

Basically, maybe I'm just looking for nitpicks, but to me these two things clash - like the story and Ohkubo couldnt decide between if Lord Death was holding the world back and needed to pass the torch or if he actually was the wacky all knowing force for good all along -

Like if instead it was revealed that Lord Death was pressured to make Kid be an automaton to avoid an Asura situation, but he refused because he didnt sucumb to the despair of failure and had hope in humanity and freedom, it could work as "wow Lord Death had past sins and couldnt steer the world into the future, but here is an action that proved that the flame of his vision was still good and know Kid will be his resurection, like that old NAS song"

Idk, maybe this is all just nonsense to normal people but to me its the best example of Soul Eaters (more the mangas) unwillingness to commit to the "Death is not all good thing" - like the whole WMD's parrelel and shit seems even more out of place and ironically as a way to say "well Bush made mistakes, but American imperialism is a good thing overall!"

(Ok i probably shouldnt have included "politics" here lol)

Anyway I think the anime in the end was better with its more simplistic worldview - cause atleat it didnt break itself - the shadyness of Death was worked into Kids isuess of trust and accepting that he isnt perfect and can place his trust in his partners and is more simmilar to his father in this way etc.

So yeah, if you are still reading and didnt delete it out of boredom, Im interested in a response, cause I'll admit I'm not sure about it 100 percent myself so if you go and say "Nah, thats wrong cause-" I'll probably open to listening

Eh, i'd say that you're looking at this from a wrong perspective.

Shinigami was a good, if very flawed individual, but the thing is that the reason why he could not lead the new age was not because be was flawed... It was because in chasing perfection, he made an error so great that he could never recover from it.

That error being the way he created his first son, not to create a successor, but instead as a byproduct of ripping his fear out of his own self in order to become a "better" God of order, a desciaion that had enormous consequences in that it laid the groundwork for the first Kishin, but also because it left him utterly incapable of feeling fear, and thus incapable of feeling bravery either, and drastically affecting his descision making.

As such, he was incapable of decisively defeating his son, and had to resort to sealing him away, something that also required him to stay in one place forever afterwards.

The school that he founded afterwards to replace his team of immensely powerfull warriors that Asura and Excalibur was a part of, came as a consequence of his own failures shattering that group, and with him no longer being able to move around, he couldn't even uphold his actual purpose in the world.

And thats withouth taking into account how much getting ridd of his own fear screwed him up as a person. Through the series, shinigami is utterly incapable of showing real, true fear, no matter how dire things get. All of his angry moments happens in the moment, as things are happening around him.

He was incapable of truly feeling any sense of urgency when Asura was about to escape, and only after he is free is he able to confront the very real consequences on an emotional level.

Similarily at the end of the series he isnt actually afraid of the witches betraying them despite thinking this is the likely outcome, but when he thinks they do, he flies off the handle to reveal just how much hate he truly has for them.

Hia philosophy debate with his son near the end of the anime is all about exploring how these two family members are unable to feel fear and by extention understand bravery.

Ultimately what Shinigami came to realise and finally accept, is that as a consequence of chasing utter perfection, he ironically made himself too fundamentally broken to lead the way, both as a person, and as a king/god who should be leading his organization by example, rather than being trapped in his city.

Fundamentally Shinigami was a good person... But by his own actions, while chasing perfection he crossed a line that he was never able to uncross. Very much like his son, he believed that if he was the strongest, withouth "flaws", he would be able to see his vision through. Only where Asura wanted to feel completely out of any possible danger, Shinigami wanted keep the word orderly and safe for the good people of the planet.

A good goal. But as they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

[nyaerysfics]

Skoros Lo…? Chapter One.

The life of a Targaryen was one of comfort.

That was a fact Daemon had known since he was a small boy, still attached to his father’s hip. No man or woman in the Seven Kingdoms went against the King’s son— or grandson for that matter. And since his father had become heir to the Iron Throne and the King’s Hand, and Daemon a Prince of the Realm?

The world had truly been his oyster then. Lords and ladies bent to his will, threw themselves at his feet and begged for his favor, though he hardly gave it, he knew the art of exclusivity.

Admittedly, Daemon cared little for duty, or his ugly wife in the Vale for that matter. He knew he would never be King, even after his brother ascended the throne.

Being the Prince of Dragonstone was always a fleeting inheritance for him, though he didn’t mind. Long days listening to the problems of lords he didn’t give a fuck about, long council meetings when he’d rather be cock deep in some silver-haired whore? No thank you, he’d rather be in Lys.

So was he surprised when his brother replaced him with a little girl? No.

He could tell everyone thought he would turn into some kinslaying beast and slay his brother and niece, take the throne and become Maegor reincarnated, but for what? They thought he would spill his House’s blood with so few of them left?

So he bent the knee and called his niece the Princess of Dragonstone. He actually didn’t mind being cast aside— he had no interest in being King, and now Viserys would stop bitching about him showing up to his small council meetings. Being King sounded like a life sentence but the Queen’s beloved uncle? He would bend the knee to Rhaenyra a thousand times more.

So Daemon went and made his own path, far from his elder brother's influence and judgment. He ate and drank what he pleased, fucked whomever he wanted, slept where he wished and traveled as much as he liked though he did miss his little flame, Rhaenyra, more and more as she grew older and he missed more and more milestones.

Gods have mercy, she was so amazing Daemon couldn’t help but send gift after gift, treasure after treasure. She deserved it, as her uncle saw it. Youngest dragonrider in our House history , he mused when he heard.

A fitting feat for his darling niece, who burned so fast and bright, the two could not help but have a deep connection, for they were the last true dragons alive. They were both smart, mercurial and overly sarcastic, something Viserys tried to shame out of the two every chance he got, but couldn’t.

Charming, aggressive, funny— rude. Uncle and niece were created of the same things it seemed. So it wasn’t surprising the Prince acquired chests full of coin and plenty of enemies and even more friends.

Influential ones, too, such as the Prince of Pentos, who paid his friendship back tenfold, even supplying him Rhaenyra’s favorite gift. The entire ride home atop Caraxes he was shaking with the anticipation of seeing her face as she opened her gift, the once Empress of Leng’s owed prized jade tiara.

She’d been so happy, just four and ten and still capable of such innocent, childlike joy it made Daemon want to keep her locked in a tower, away from lesser beings.

After damn near tackling him, and throwing her legs around his waist, in a very unladylike fashion mind you, she’d told the whole of the room she loved her kepa more than anyone in the known world, before pressing kiss after kiss to his face. It was fucking hilarious to see Viserys’ screwed up face as he watched her joy overflow, but that wasn’t why Daemon did what he did.

Daemon bathed Rhaenyra in gifts because she was the only person in his life that made him feel anything anymore— whores and wine lose their potency the more you utilize them, he had come to realize. Nothing compared to the bright eyes of his niece is upon him and when he returned from across the Narrow Sea.

He used to have his brother, but since their father had passed, Viserys had become a different man. He didn’t trust Daemon, as if he would ever do anything that would harm his kin, his beloved kin. Viserys and Rhaenys— and their children by default, meant more to him than anything and Daemon would have rather fallen on Dark Sister than harm either of them but not one of them fucking appreciated it. Both of them had turned their backs on him. Why? He didn’t know.

His father had raised him to be loyal to House Targaryen, and that is what he was, lest his Father smite him from the Fourteen Heavens.

All Daemon ever wanted was his family in power, on top. While he didn’t want the burden of the crown but he did want to alleviate the ails that came with it. He wanted to be his brother's sword and shield, but all Viserys saw him as now was a headache no matter what he did.

Viserys had long fallen into favor with the Hightower brothers, and so, thought his own was the second coming of Maegor or whatever bullshit Otto shoved down his throat.

Rhaenys never forgave him for not supporting her claim at the Council of 101 AC, hated him even, for raising a small army against her and Laenor.

Even Aemma thought him an insolent, childish mess even though he was a year older than her.

But his niece? She made him feel human, like he was capable of being loved despite what everyone else around him said, despite how they treated him. Rhaenyra saw the best in Daemon, and defended him against anyone— even her King and father. While she was the Crown Princess of Westeros Daemon would be treated like the Prince he was. She made sure of that, and he appreciated her.

Daemon was a Prince of the blood, grandson of King Jaehaerys I and Queen Alyssane, son of Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, brother to King Viserys I. Being a subjugator was in his very blood and these Andal fucks thought they could disrespect him in her presence? These men were fucking idiots.

He was the rider of Caraxes and he was afforded a certain level of respect based on the fact that not a man who spoke against her uncle would do so to his face. No, they tuck their tails and fall in line in his presence and yap like pups when his back is turned.

Rhaenyra thought it an offense to the very blood that flowed through her own veins. Were she and Daemon not made of the same flesh and blood? Was she not a reiteration of the worst things a Targaryen could be?

If she wasn’t, as her father claimed her to be, then she wanted to be. She wanted to be like Daemon. Her aloof, lost, dear uncle. She loved him, adored him, favored him and he felt the same way. No matter what he brought, even if it was just himself, Rhaenyra paid back his gifts in reverence. Their blood called to each other— in some sick, beautiful twist on familial love that made her parents so fucking anxious.

Rhaenyra absolutely worshiped her uncle, thought the sun rose each morn because he bid it to and when he left it was as though her world stopped spinning on its axis.

Even Syrax would be irritable at Daemon and Caraxes’ departure, which just made Rhaenyra feel worse, if that was even possible.

The Princess would barely eat or ride Syrax for the first sennight, the Fourteen said to forgo what you love the most if you wish for your prayers to be heard, and what did the girl love more than food or her dragon? Just her uncle.

Viserys absolutely hated their relationship, because Rhaenyra was overindulgent, something Daemon and their father Baelon before he passed, had instilled in her from birth. It didn’t matter what the girl asked for, Daemon would get it for her— be it a new bow, fancy cut jewels, silks, books, pets.

It didn’t matter. If it existed and Daemon was alive, his sweet girl would have her heart's desires.

He had once gone as far as procuring a rare, beautiful lemur his niece had once seen in a science book. Little Valyrians, they were nicknamed for their silver fur and wide, purple eyes.

She hadn’t even asked for one, just simply commented on their beauty and went on with her day, never giving the lemur another thought. She had been so shocked when he revealed what had taken him from her for an entire moon, and even she admitted it was worth the wait, for she had never seen a more beautiful animal.

Well, besides Syrax, that is.

The King had raged and bitched after, berated Daemon for his bullshit gifts he used to win the heart of the girl who was supposed to love and worship her father not her uncouth uncle.

To make it worse for the King the girl was fully aware her uncle would do anything to make her happy and took advantage of it. She wasn’t subtle, either, but who could blame the girl for liking gifts?

She was the heir to the Iron Throne, and she did not get the moniker ‘The Realm’s Delight’ without receiving a few treasures.

Plus— any girl in the Seven Kingdoms would give up a hand to be gifted something from the Prince Daemon. Rhaenyra, as extraordinary as she was, she was no different in that respect.

One of her favorite gifts was jewels her uncle brought back, for everyone at court knew who had laid them on her skin. She wore the finest gems and metals the known world had to offer— and it was nothing less than what she had come to expect.

She demanded gifts, even from Daemon. After embracing her dear uncle upon his eventual return, she promptly asked where his favor was, to the point where he always carried a small gift on his person when going to greet her.

Daemon wasn’t offended by the girl's materialism though, no.

Not when he himself had grown up spoiled and cared for— the favorite if you will, and he hadn’t even been a Prince in his boyhood. She had never known a time when she wasn’t a Princess, and he knew she would be spoiled rotten, his little dragon.

His reign as the favorite ended with the girl's birth, just a week before his own, and it had been a breath of fresh air for he and his father, as well as the King and Queen, who had suffered so much loss. He was happy to pass over the title, though his grandsire pulled him aside and told him he’d always be number one in his heart.

One look at Rhaenyra in Jaehaerys’ arms and Daemon knew that wasn’t true.

Because of her and her infectious joy, Daemon had gotten his father back for the last few years of his life and for that? He was eternally grateful to her and would get her the moon if she asked for it. All he wanted in life truly, was for his niece to be happy and safe, her days full of joy and light.

Had he started to appreciate the fullness of her bosom or the curve of her backside before he should have?

Yes. She was the prettiest little thing, his niece was. A Valyrian violet ripe for the plucking and he ached to be the one who had the pleasure. He loved her fire and wanted to be doused in it, wanted it to char him to the bones if only that meant to be wrapped in her embrace.

He’d, shamefully, wanted her since he returned for her two and ten name day and found her flowered and budding beautifully. She was so beautiful back then— young and very petite, but she caused his cock to fatten better than any whore and it only got worse as she grew and spread out. The older she got, the deeper his desire ran.

Where her breasts had been mouthfuls, they were now handfuls, and he longed to feel the weight of her in his hands. Longed to see what she hid from his eyes under the layers of fabric intricately woven gowns she donned, so he did. It was easy to slip behind her rooms and watch her undress and bathe.

It was wrong he knew, to invade the privacy of his three and ten year old niece, but he couldn’t help himself— it was like an impulse he couldn’t control and it’s why he found himself in Maegor’s passages more nights than not, watching his blissfully unaware niece prance about for his viewing pleasure. It’d been two years of restraint on his part— he couldn’t take much more.

When he wasn’t lurking about behind his nieces rooms with torches, he was buried inside a silver-haired maiden he’d made call him kepa.

So no, Daemon didn’t know what he had done to deserve such a life as the one he had— not because he was a Prince of the Realm, he wasn’t anymore and hadn’t been for many years.

He didn’t mourn his loss in station, because there wasn’t one, that was the thing about Westeros, everything was for fucking show. Viserys didn’t understand that he was a Prince of the Blood, and that wasn’t something he could take away with a simple word.

He was a Targaryen, a thoroughbred Valyrian and he was more than a crown, cared for more than a crown.

He had been Rhaenyra’s uncle for five and ten years, and now he would be her husband. So fucking what he wasn’t called Prince Daemon anymore. He would recoup his losses by bloodying his cock with her purity. Rhaenyra��s father, clearly, hadn’t meant for this to turn this way, both Targaryens had been betrothed to the Velaryon siblings, but what was the saying?

Men plan, and the gods laugh.

Viserys had planned and planned and planned and it had been for naught in the end, for the gods had shown their favor to his younger brother, giving him life's truest blessing indeed, a wife of his blood to carry on his line with a purity only she could.

The Lord of Flea Bottom, at the ripe age of one and thirty decided a five and ten wife would do him well, mayhaps it would keep him young, he thought. All it took was some of Caraxes’ scent on his palm and a well placed rock, and nothing stood in the way of the Prince’s aspirations of a niece-wife.

Rhaenyra would be grateful, he was sure, to be free of her father and not stuck in a loveless, passionless marriage with Laenor Velaryon, where she would surely be forced to bare bastards. He would treat her well, both her heart and that hot, little cunt between her thighs.

All he had ever wanted was a wife of his own, someone who could understand him and love him regardless of the darkness that surrounded his soul, who could look past his worst deeds and still hold him at night. If anyone was that woman, it was Rhaenyra.

Aegarax had said it clearly, ‘Do not forget, nor turn away from the words of my mouth. Do not forsake her, and she will preserve you; love her, and she will keep you. She will place on your head an ornament of grace, a crown of glory she will deliver to you. For her proceeds are better than the profits of silver, and her gains more than fine white gold.

She is more precious than rubies, diamonds or pearls, and all the things you may desire cannot compare to her. Length of days is in her right hand, in her left hand riches and honor. Her ways are ways of pleasantness. She is a tree of life to those who take hold of her, and happy are all who retain her .’

That was all he wanted in life, truly.

Not riches or land or titles— he wanted to protect his blood and keep it pure, for it was his Father’s before it was his. Six and ten years was not an unreasonable age gap, ask Viserra from beyond the pyre. Though, Viserys’ new wife was one and ten years younger than him and the King looked like fucking death warmed over.

He knew some Andal bitch’s cunt didn’t have the same therapeutic properties as a purebred Valyrian, though.

In the end Daemon absconded with his niece during the week of festivities, just after winning the tournament and naming her Queen of Love and Beauty, and before her wedding to Laenor Velaryon and took her to Dragonstone to take her as his wife.

He was successful in his plot, of course, wedding the girl before the Fourteen gods of Old Valyria and bedding her promptly, and well. She was as eager, if not more then he was, clawing off his clothing and demanding his seed in the depths of her body.

When the King summoned them back and threatened him with annulment, Daemon laughed in his brother’s naive face.

“We bound our blood before our ancestors, we swore vows before the stars, Viserys, not the Seven. That old crow can’t come up here and annul this union. The girl is mine, Viserys and trust me— I’ve had her.” The King’s face bloomed a red deeper than the most expensive ruby at his brother's crude comment.

The smirk on Daemon’s face could only be taken as mocking, his amused chuckle ringing through the throne room. He had tried to make sure they could hear his niece's pleasure all the way across the Blackwater, and he had succeeded.

The King couldn’t go anywhere without hearing men remarking on how she is Alyssa Targaryen’s granddaughter and he— Baelon’s son. What a pair they made, the uncle and niece… husband and wife.

“You’ve ruined her you fucking twat! Have you no shame in that black heart of yours?! What lord will have her now?!” The King screamed at him. How dull was he? Heavens above. “Have you always been bitter that I handed your titles to her? So much so that you would seek to weaken your own blood?! I should take your fucking head and be done with all this stress you constantly cause me!”

Daemon wouldn’t give his brother the satisfaction of reacting to something he would never actually do.

Plus, there were only five Kingsguard between him and the King, and Daemon loved those odds. Dark Sister could cut through them easier than a hot knife through butter.

“She is mine to ruin. And I’ll burn your precious Seven Kingdoms to the ground if you insinuate another man having my wife again,” his brother responded, his grip on the pommel of his sword crushing— something that didn’t escape anyone in the room. Didn’t Viserys fucking get it? Daemon would run Dark Sister through whomever he needed to, should they stand between him and his wife, his niece. “To. The. Fucking. Ground.”

In the end Daemon Targaryen was stripped of his titles, cast out, left with only his surname to navigate the world beyond the Seven Kingdoms.

He’d been officially exiled across the Narrow Sea, never to set foot in King Viserys’ land lest he wish for his pretty head to roll. He didn’t mind much, the city smelled of pure shit— and there wasn’t much he cared about in King’s Landing beside Rhaenyra and they would not be separated.

It was all very… theatrical, Daemon thought. Petty. Fitting for his cunt of a brother, and in no way a shock for Daemon like it was for his wife.

It was well known to Daemon and the smallfolk alike that Viserys had been itching to get rid of him for years, it was only a matter of time before he found something to throw the book at Daemon and banish him forever, Daemon just decided he would get something out of the deal for the first time in their lives.

What the King hadn’t thought of was Rhaenyra and her loyalties. Viserys was a fool not to see what was happening in front of him, convinced Rhaenyra would truly turn her back on her husband— her uncle .

She wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Either or… it didn’t matter.

Daemon had her undying loyalty, he’d always had it, and she would never betray him like that, make him feel unwanted or unloved.

No.

What was a throne to a Daemon’s love? To true companionship, friendship? Acceptance? Why would she give that up for a life of unhappiness under the hateful gaze of her stepmother? She wouldn’t.

Rhaenyra left with her uncle, renouncing her claim on the Iron Throne and abandoning her titles as well. She’d had no choice but to, given Daemon’s exile. She wouldn’t live without her uncle, without her husband. It was unthinkable.

She had long been vocal about how much she dreaded her uncle’s frequent trips abroad, and he was her husband now. Did the King truly think they would be separated? Or that she would take a second husband?

Try as the King might to maintain his grip on his daughter, Viserys had to let her go. She was a dragon, she had a dragon and she wouldn’t be chained.

She would fight tooth and claw to get back to Daemon’s side, her father knew. When he asked if she’d visit she told him only if her husband was welcome, so in short, hells no. She turned and walked right out of his life, like she was never even there.

Viserys wanted to say it hurt to watch Rhaenyra choose Daemon, but he’d been watching it for five and ten years, and by now he knew he would always be second to Daemon. He wanted it to hurt, but really— he wanted to forget.

Somedays, as he sat around his dining table, looking in the faces of his wife and children, he wished he hadn’t known what life was with them there, at least it would hurt less.

He wouldn’t have to think of her with Daemon, probably laughing at his naivete, at how they fooled him, ran away to leave him in the shadows, ever the fool.

The pair circled the Free Cities, Caraxes and Syrax, their ever faithful companions and mounts by their sides. Daemon wouldn’t couldn’t keep his hands off of his niece.

Rhaenyra preferred Lys while Daemon had always been partial to Pentos. They turned eyes wherever they went, reports most certainly getting back to the King.

So yes, the King was finally free of his menace of a brother, but at what cost? His beloved eldest child, gone, never to return based on her loyalty for a man who had ruined her! A man who continued to ruin her reputation, sordid details of their escapades flowing through the Seven Kingdoms like rivers.

It caused the King to lose sleep at night, thinking of how smug Daemon must be, nights wrapped in the arms of his darling daughter. It was unfair, and the whole of court felt her absence with every snap of the King.

He had turned irritable, mean and mocking— because the whole Seven Kingdoms, hells, probably all of the known world was laughing behind his back.

Viserys can’t even command his household, how can he command Seven Kingdoms?

The Seven have frowned upon the Targaryen’s time and time again. When will they learn?

Another Saera, another Viserra. What is new?

This is why women were not meant to inherit. Why won’t he just name Aegon his heir?

I’d wager the Queen is pleased with this turn of events. Perhaps now her princeling will be heir.

Have you heard of their exploits across the Narrow Sea? I guess the Free Cities do not have things such as modesty. Fitting for Targaryens.

How could they embarrass him in such a way? Leaving him behind, alone now, since Corlys and Rhaenys were upset with him. He had no true kin around him, not a silver hair in sight that would protect him and why? What had he done to deserve such a fate?

Aegon wasn’t meant to sit the throne, it was meant to go to Rhaenyra— to Aemma . He needed her blood on the throne, she deserved it after what he had done to her. So he sent raven after raven, emissary after emissary to no avail.

He told her his brother was a rogue, a promiscuous man who would drag her to the pits of the Seven Hells. The King contended Daemon was a lecher, a lascivious man who would never be faithful to her, that she would live her life as no more than another whore in his harem.

But Rhaenyra knew the truth of her husband, of his heart. His wants and desires. All Daemon had ever wanted was love and affection. His whoring and drinking were no more than attempts to cope with his own insecurities and unhappiness. But he wasn’t that man anymore. He had love— acceptance and he would never betray Rhaenyra in such a way.

Furthermore, the two were never apart. When would Daemon even have time to be unfaithful? Between the bed and the privy?

Daemon was so cunt struck by his wife that if you looked up the word in a dictionary his portrait would be right there, his face covered in his wife’s slick.

He had loved his niece since she was born, he would never hurt her in such a way— and his niece knew that, never doubted his loyalty or listened to her father

So the two lived in peace, in bliss, in love wrapped up in each other, unwilling to let Viserys ruin the happiness they had created for themselves. Daemon showed her everything she’d wanted to see, bought her whatever her eyes laid upon, and served at her whim.

She had no need for Jaehaerys’ crown, not when Daemon made her feel like a Queen without having to suffer for it.

The former Princess was having a glorious time being spoiled and loved by her uncle, though it wasn’t much different to how entire life had gone, spoiled, loved and doted upon by the once Prince. They traveled to a different place everyday, slept somewhere different each night, and did what they wanted to.

Just as Daemon had told her, it was incredibly freeing to be able to do what you want, when you want. She didn’t have to worry about the politics of court, she could just be— they could just be.

She could kiss her husband whenever she wanted, duck into a deserted corner, pull up her lace skirts, fuck her husband and not have to worry about propriety or decency or the stupid fucking Seven.

It was liberation , and she found herself letting go of years of resentment she held towards Daemon when he was flying off, always leaving her behind.

He had always promised to take her with him one day, show her the pleasures that existed beyond her fathers heedless grasp. And now she understood— why he left so often.

Her father was controlling and pious and left no space in a room for joy. Rhaenyra had no idea why her father hated his brother so, or why he treated him so poorly that he felt the need to distance himself from his very blood.

She had no idea.

What she did know was she never wanted to go back to the Seven Kingdoms. Back to bondage, to scrutiny. Back to face the committee of vultures who wanted nothing more than to rip her flesh from her bones.

But Daemon had, for her.

He always came back home, never missing her name day, the anniversary of her taking to the skies on dear Syrax or her mother’s death, arms full of jewels and gems, books, instruments, weapons— full of comfort.

He always came back, and that alone filled her heart with so much joy it bled through her very skin. It was easy to feel unloved by her father, for she knew for all his insistence that she be his heir, the decision came from a mix of his guilt over his hand in her mother’s death and his rejection of his brother. He’d wanted a son, not a daughter.

She hadn’t been the Crown Princess of Westeros because her father believed in her, no. She was the salve to a wound he gave himself.

In this life, the one she built with her husband, she was able to freely feel joy, and didn’t have to dampen herself for the fools around her. And her dear husband loved seeing her like that, happier than she’d ever been and glowing.

Daemon loved their lives as nomads on dragonback. Well, until she told him she was with child, about four moons into their marriage.

It really shouldn’t have been surprising to Daemon, they went at it like rabbits and he spent himself into her cunt literally every chance he got, but somehow he was still shocked.

He wondered how fast the news made it to his brother. Viserys certainly had spies, though how effective they were, he had no clue.

It was probably best to get out of the public eye and into a more private dwelling. After all, there was no need to make the job of those on Viserys’ payroll easier. If they wanted to follow he and his wife and report their comings and goings back to the King, they would have to earn the coin they were paid.

So he reached out to his ever-accommodating friend, Prince Reggio, who set him up on an island he owned with a small, five and twenty room castle, named Ivyhall Estate, run by a small staff. It was secluded, private, right up Rhaenyra and Daemon’s alley.

Rhaenyra was overjoyed, of course, ready to start their lives as a true married couple. So far, she felt like a courting couple, minus all of the toe-curling sex.

There were caves on the north side of the island Caraxes had worked hard inside to build a nest for Syrax and himself. Daemon found it cute, the way Caraxes liked to decorate with sheep bones. There were no sheep on the island— and those bones were freshly charred but sometimes ignorance is bliss. He would choose not to think about how Caraxes procured such gifts for his mate.

Courtship feeding was not exclusive to dragons, but they certainly did it the best.

Daemon, at first, worried about how pregnancy would treat her, given her father but Rhaenyra had melted right in, and won the hearts of the servants here, too. She looked so beautiful, full of life and glowing, waddling around like a Northern ice bird he’d seen once on a diplomatic trip to Winterfell.

He loved her, adored her more than any man had a woman before. She was everything to him, his home and his heart in one. It was a glorious feeling of belonging, one he hadn’t felt before even though Rhaenyra had always blatantly favored him.

He had a family now, a wife with a child safely beneath her heart, growing and forming— a blessing. One of the truest forms.

It meant so much more that regardless of her fears and apprehensions she was excited to bear his child. Not because they needed an heir, but because she loved him. She loved him so much she wanted a babe that was half of him, and she was willing to risk her life to get it.

She knew Daemon would never butcher her the way her father had her mother, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t still perish in the birthing bed, as her mother and her mother did before her.

She felt blessed in that way, for she knew her value didn’t stop at her womb in her uncle’s eyes. And blessed they were.

During the year 114 AC, Rhaenyra gave Daemon three perfect sons to carry on his name. Her twins were first born, Aegon and Viserys, both born with lavender eyes and the white-gold hair of their father, named for their kepas, and were both given eggs from Syrax and Caraxes’ latest clutch.

Their parents were delighted when they hatched, Aegon bonded to a beautiful black dragon named Aegarax, and Viserys to a red she-dragon, Tyraxes. Daemon named Syrax, it was only fitting he name their sons dragons too.

Both eggs hatched in their cradles within days of each other, but Daemon and Rhaenyra couldn’t remember which happened first. First-time parents' brain fog, they attributed that to. It didn’t matter either way, this was a sign from the Fourteen and Daemon was glad about it. Let all see how fruitful their union was, in sons and dragons. None could say their union was cursed.

Next came their youngest son, Maekar, born only ten moons after the twins. While he wasn't a mistake— Rhaenyra would never allow him to be called that, his conception could be blamed on two flagons of well- aged Dornish strongwine Daemon imported in celebration of the births of his twin sons.

Daemon was always over indulgent with wine, so much so that his wife often said his patron god had to be Caraxes himself, god of drunkenness, so that wasn’t surprising that he was ridiculously drunk. Rhaenyra had abstained from wine for her entire pregnancy, so she was slightly out of practice and drank way too much.

Things obviously went too far, and nine moons later they had a third son born in the eleventh moon in the year 114 AC. He had heterochromia iridum, his right eye green and his left violet.

He was the quietest babe out of the three, for he rarely fussed. No, he was more content to gaze at his mother whether he was suckling at her breast or laid on the featherbed turned to the direction of his own sun.

Daemon had cried when he saw his son, and thanked his wife over and over again for the chance to see his mother again. He was so in love with his son, absolutely besotted.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel this wave of emotions when the twins were born, this pregnancy was high risk and he worried day and night over the fates of his wife and unborn child. The labor had been hard, but his niece had fought through it. The relief of them both being alive and well made Daemon want to make an altar to worship Meleys.

Maekar’s egg didn’t hatch, in fact, it turned to stone almost immediately. Daemon and Rhaenyra weren’t particularly worried about it, though. They were certain he would mount a dragon in due time. All of their children would have dragons with their blood in their veins, the blood of a true dragon was, indeed, thick.

Daemon and Rhaenyra were dragonriders but even in that, they were set apart from their kin, their relationships with their dragons rare. Cradle born dragons were exceptionally rare, and to have not one but three in your family? It was unheard of. Three out of five was not bad.

Aegon and Viserys took after Rhaenyra so Daemon decided Maekar would take after him.

Everyone said Daemon had Alyssa’s personality, he might just see his mother in the flesh again. She had claimed a dragon too, like Daemon, an unridden one at that. Maekar would too.

So no they weren’t worried, Daemon had claimed his right to the skies and so would Maekar and every descendant of them after. It was foretold by the gods, he was sure.

Daemon was glad when he was born, that both he and his mother were in perfect health for Maekar would be their last babe.

He saw no point in pushing the gods… what more could he want than three sons to carry on the Targaryen name? They had done well. They had done way better than Daemon’s simpleton brother, getting his Andal whore fat with medicore babe every chance he got.

Rhaenyra had resisted, of course, but he wouldn’t hear it. After her last pregnancy he was ready to be done with babe-making. He had to ask himself, would he rather his wife or another babe? The answer was simple for him.

They didn’t need anymore small feet pattering around, mischievous, fair-headed demons ransacking the castle for shits and giggles.

Their days were full enough, three sons in less than a year? Their hands were too full, if the bags under Daemon’s eyes the entire year after Maekar’s birth were any indication.

It was now the tenth moon of the year 122 AC, their youngest son, Maekar, now was just a moon shy of eight years old, and as bright and happy as his older brothers, now eight themselves.

Daemon’s mornings all started the same, much to his enjoyment. Maekar in his face shaking him insistently, his little voice with the cutest, purest Valyrian accent.

That was another freedom that came with living on this side of the Narrow Sea, their house was an almost fully Valyrian speaking house. Common was indeed rare in Daemon’s household.

“Kepa,” he’d whisper, his nails scraping his father’s skin, careful to not wake his mother. “Kepa. I am hungry. Can we break our fasts?” All this boy thought about was eating, Daemon swore.

Daemon rolled over and cracked an eye at his beautiful son, each time he saw his son's eyes, he fell in love. He grabbed his son, hauling him over the edge of the bed before he started pressing kisses all over his precious, cherubic face.

“Hungry are you, my son?” Daemon was less concerned with Rhaenyra’s sleep, she could sleep through a volcanic eruption. “Then we must get you fed, huh? Are your brothers up yet?”

The boy giggled before settling down on his bare father’s chest, “I think Aegon is. Vis kicked me out of his room,” the boy pouted. Daemon would talk to the boy.

“Alright. Come, let us go down to the kitchens.”

Daemon and Rhaenyra’s lives in Pentos were so different from the ones they lived in Westeros. While they still had cooks and servants, one hundred percent of the childrearing was done by Daemon and Rhaenyra, even the feeding of her children when they still consumed breast milk.

She didn’t mind it, didn’t find it to be a chore. It made her closer to her children, closer than she would have ever been able to her sons if they had lived in King’s Landing, where maids did most of the work.

Boys weren’t supposed to be seen loving their mothers, that gets them shipped straight to another Lord’s castle to be fostered and turned into real men. Her children would have been ripped from her, entrusted to lords she didn’t fucking trust. It was better this way, with this life. Her boys would flourish now that they were free of the burden that was the crown. Everything was so different here. So easy.

Rhaenyra and Daemon bathed themselves and their children, and if Rhaenyra ever needed help getting dressed, it was her husband who assisted her.

It truly was a simple life compared to the one they left behind. The one they barely even talked about with kids, beside who their mother and father were and the station they kept.

Viserys hadn’t officially stripped Rhaenyra and named his son Aegon as his heir, but neither one ever meant to actually ascend the throne, they didn’t care how much their brother wanted to drag his fucking feet.

Daemon couldn’t step foot in Westeros and Rhaenyra would never leave him, so what options did they have but to be happy with what they had?

They both figured he would eventually name his son as his successor, and as every year went by and he didn’t— Daemon knew how much of a disappointment his son must be. His long awaited son by that Hightower whore and he hadn’t named him heir in over eight years? He had to be a royal fuck up. The boy probably reminded Viserys of his younger brother.

Daemon had been so scared, in the beginning of their lives together. So worried she’d resent him for her loss in station, the loss of her legacy but she assured him their legacy would be one known for eons.

And she was right, Rhaenyra had both the three brightest boys— and all three, Aegon, Viserys and Maekar had taken to the skies on their very own dragons. All three were seven when they took to the skies, little dragonriding prodigies like their mother.

Aegon, their eldest, rode Aegarax, a temperamental and rash dragon— the best kind in Daemon’s opinion and Aegarax took after Caraxes in that regard. ‘Ill Tempered’ is what they'd named the hatchling when he was barely a year old. But he was never like that with Aegon, he was gentle, loving.

The two took to the skies during the third moon of 121 AC. He had no saddle— something Rhaenyra almost fainted over but it was what it was. She wouldn’t deny her hatchlings the sky, no matter how much the thought put fear in her heart.

Viserys was next, the very next moon, ascending the skies on a red she-dragon, one he named after his father’s dragon, Tyraxes. She was more like her mother, Syrax, laid back and as calm as a dragon can be. Basically, the opposite of Caraxes.

Tyraxes wasn’t saddled either, but because the dragons weren’t chained they grew quickly and fiercely, even Syrax and Caraxes. Their spinal plates were easy enough to grab and Daemon had five pairs of the highest quality riding leathers along with gloves made to aid them in the skies.

Maekar was another matter entirely. He didn’t have a cradle born dragon— he’d had to claim one. But how? There were no unclaimed dragons in Pentos, and none of the other eggs in the clutch had hatched.

Daemon assumed once he was older he would be invited to King’s Landing and the King would surely fall in love with all his sons, but especially Maekar as Daemon did. With eyes like his, Viserys would be overwhelmed with love and would shove an egg into his arms.

There was no need, however. His son was exceptional and silently commanded a dragon to cross the Narrow Sea to be claimed. Daemon had sensed something off with his sons, who had told him for at least a sennight prior to that fateful day, that his dreams had been weird. Maekar’s father now knew that his son could warg into his dragon's eyes.

In the seventh moon of the year 122 AC, The Cannibal descended on the island, immediately gaining the attention of Caraxes, Syrax and Aegarax… all kept their distance, though.

Tyraxes was enjoying a sheep Caraxes had brought her and could care less about all of the commotion— he was a doting father. So long as Viserys wasn’t out here, her attention was on the charred sheep.

Maekar promptly claimed him and took to the skies, even though his mother nearly had a heart attack on the ground.

The Cannibal was re-named Aeraxes in honor of all his favorite dragons, he simply wouldn’t condone the usage of that ignorant name commoners had named him.

Caraxes, Syrax, Aegarax, Tyraxes and now Aeraxes. What a beautiful family.

After recovering from a panic attack, Rhaenyra demanded Daemon follow behind them on Caraxes, in fact she told all three of her sons they were not to fly without one of their parents escorting them. Syrax and Caraxes had grown quickly while being unchained as well and had outgrown their saddles.

They had been worried about Aeraxes but Maekar assured them he had spoken to him and his mount promised not to hunt their dragons. How he was so sure— no one knew, but Daemon trusted him.

Part of Rhaenyra wanted to ask the King if she could commission some since the saddle maker was a Crown employee, but Daemon asked her not to. He didn’t want anything to do with Westeros or Viserys.

Over the years, Daemon had grown bitter towards his brother in a way he never had been.

Was it so wrong that Daemon wanted a Valyrian bride for himself? A Targaryen woman at that? He loved his family, he would die for his family. When Aegon and Viserys were born, it was like his entire life turned upside down. When Maekar was born his heart gave out.

Of course Daemon wished for a daughter, but no child was worth Rhaenyra’s life. If the Seven had gotten anything right it was that gluttony was a grievous sin and he would not lose her over his love for his children.

And he did love his children. A father’s love truly was something. Having children with the woman you love must make you love the children more. He’s seen men not spare their children a second glance— he couldn’t imagine doing that. He wants to spend every minute of every day in the company of his wife and sons, he delighted in their company that much.

Word from Daemon’s spies in King’s Landing said all of four of the King’s childrens eggs had turned to complete stone and none had claimed a dragon yet, a bad omen from the gods.

He often hoped the King knew, hoped his own spies were good enough to share the good news. Three sons, Daemon had sired— and all three were dragonlords.

He’d put three sons in Viserys’ favorite child, and she’d begged him to. He really hoped he knew. He wanted that more than anything.

“I want bacon.”

Daemon rolled his eyes, “When do you not want bacon?” He asked the silver haired boy in his arms. “When you’re asleep? Or do you dream of bacon too, boy? I wouldn’t be surprised if that is what filled your head while you slept.”

“No I don’t dream of bacon, kepa,” he giggled as they descended the stairs to the kitchen. “Last night I dreamt of my dragon.”

This caused his father’s brow to shoot up, always keen to hear what adventures he embarked on that evening, “And what did you see?”

Daemon’s heart fluttered as he closed his eyes and the sweetest, most serene smile fell upon the young Targaryen’s face. “I see through his eyes, I think… he’s lonely. He wants for family but everyone is scared of him.” His brows furrowed at the thought, and his eyes flashed open, indignant as ever. “They don’t need to be scared, he isn’t scary. He’s just… big.”

He cupped his son’s cheek and kissed him, “Unfortunately, not many non-Targaryen’s think the way we do. They’re scared of dragons— but that isn’t always a bad thing. It keeps lesser men in check.”

Just as he finished his sentence, two other boys came barreling down the stairs, shouting and pushing each other.

“Hey! Hey! Cut it out,” he put Maekar down and grabbed the collar of Viserys and pulled him apart from Aegon. “Or there will be no flying today. Call my bluff if you will.” That got them to promptly fall in line. “I swear, you two fight worse than cats and dogs.”

“Master Daemon, boys! Good morrow,” the head chef Syren greeted the lot of silver haired intruders. “Come to place your order?”

“Good morrow, uh, yes. What do you want, boys?”

Viserys shrugged while Aegon pondered it.

“I want eggs and bacon and potatoes and honey cakes!” Maekar exclaimed. Daemon looked over to his sons in a silent question. When they didn’t speak out against their younger brother's choice he smiled at the kind chef. “Muña wants fruit,” he looked up at his father.

“Eggs, potatoes, bacon and honey cakes, please. Oh, and a bowl of porridge and fresh fruit for the lady of the house.”

“At once, master.”

He quickly shuffled the boys upstairs to dress them. First Aegon and Viserys and then Maekar. All three boys lived in connecting bedrooms with a shared bathroom which makes things so much easier for their parents to dress them. It usually was Daemon who dressed them before they ate, but only because Rhaenyra was the only one who could put them down at night. They were a great team. True partners.

Since the boys were eight and seven and fully capable of dressing themselves, Daemon was mostly there just to make sure the boys were bathed properly and their hair was done.

After bathing all three boys he oiled their skin and let that sink in while he picked out their clothes. Doublets and houppelandes did not work that well out here in the tropical climate, so they always forwent the outer layer.

One, two, three and all the boys are dressed. Thin black doublets and matching breeches for all three.

Next was styling their hair, Aegon and Viserys keep their hair lowly cut, not keen on the hard work it takes to maintain it.

Daemon had just chopped it off one day, sick and tired of the matted tangles he had to brush out after they ran around all day, so he oiled their hair and sent them on their way to entertain themselves while he finished with his youngest son.

Rhaenyra had been so cross with him, of course. “I made that hair Daemon! I created it, you can’t just cut it off without my knowledge,” she’d looked so sad and Daemon felt so bad. He apologized for a whole fortnight before she forgave him, stubborn girl.

Maekar was different— his little warrior. He was a Targaryen through and through and wanted nothing more than to look like his kepa.

He wore his hair in traditional Valyrian braids, the white-gold hair was well past his waist when loose now. His hair never came back tangled or unruly, no. His hair was his pride, but how could it not be? He was the most pious of Daemon and Rhaenyra’s children, and he abided by Aegarax’s holy word.

After getting his hair combed and oiled, Daemon expertly wove his son's silky hair into a single, long plait with a dragon clasp around the end of it to keep it together. “Go, now. Your brothers await you in the dining room.”

His son sent him a toothy smile, kissed his cheek and with that he was on his way to annoy his elder brothers, his braid swinging in his wake. Daemon made his way back to his shared bedchamber where his dear wife was still asleep. She had moved into his side, her face nuzzled into his pillow.

She always looked so beautiful in the early hours of the day, her braid fuzzy and frazzled, her lips plump and her cheeks full of color. Daemon palmed at her ass through the sheets before falling on top of her, pressing kisses into her face.

It took her a second to realize she was being crushed. “Ugh, get off,” she gasped under his bulk. “Daemon!”

He rolled off her with a chuckle, “Good morn.” She pushed at his shoulder while feigning anger. “Oh, do not look so upset. You have slept well past a respectable hour, sunshine. Your sons await your beautiful presence,” he kissed at her throat before getting out of bed. “Come on,” he said as he pulled on her arm.

“You are such a brute sometimes, by the gods.” She retorted as she slipped out of bed behind him, and after dabbing her face with water and a clean cloth, threw on a plush robe and house shoes.

“You don’t seem to mind it when I’m inside you, dearest. As I seem to recall, you’re always asking for it harder, rougher, deep —,”

“Okay! Let us be on our way,” the bloom of blush that arose on her cheeks, even after three children never failed to amaze Daemon. He didn’t get to stew very long in the feeling because now she was eagerly pulling him out of the door and straight to the dining room. She couldn’t help it, she was excited to see her sons and she had something very exciting to tell the men of her life. “I am famished.” That too.

Daemon was happy to follow behind her, her messy hair somehow making her look like a goddess. “Ladies first,” he smirked. As they made their way to the dining room they could hear their son’s boisterous voices ringing through the castle.

“Aegarax is faster than Tyraxes! She is lazy and plump and you are a liar!”

Tyraxes’ rider laughed, “She is way faster than your grump of a dragon.”

Maekar was gazing into a cup of mango juice, “What does it matter? My dragon is stronger and faster than both of yours combined,” he giggled deviously. “Muña!” At the first sight of his mother he ran and embraced her. “Did you sleep well?” He asked as he gazed up at her with his arms wrapped around her waist as Daemon sat down.

Cupping his face in her hands she grinned at her sweet boy, “I did, darling. How did you sleep?”

“Good!”

“Well. Maekar, well. You slept well,” his father interjected to fix his grammar.

“Muña, sit next to me!” Viserys called out, even though he hadn’t bothered to stand and greet his mother.

“My wife will be sitting with her husband, thank you very much,” he grinned as he pulled her to his lap. “Where would you like to sit, my love? The chair or my lap?” He sent her a dazzling smile that made her want to absolutely melt.

“Stop teasing him! I will sit by my son, ser,” she slid off his lap and rounded the table. “Good morn, my love,” she pressed a kiss to his forehead and sat next to him. Aegon, from across the table, gave her a toothy grin.

The servants brought out the food to each member of the small family who said a blessing over the food before they dug in. Rhaenyra’s porridge was perfectly tempered and seasoned. The boys seemed to enjoy their meals as well.

“So, I have news I must share with you all,” she waited until she had all fours attention before focusing on Daemon, the anticipation causing her to smile. “I am with child again!” She waited to see the joy overtake her husband. It didn’t. She turned to her sons. “You will have a baby brother or sister soon!”

“What?” Was all Daemon could muster.

This caused her to falter, she hadn’t expected this reaction from her husband. “I– Daemon.” She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t done it on purpose, her courses had stopped and then came the nausea and she knew a new babe was nestled in her womb, she’d been pregnant enough to know the signs. But her husband's look of betrayal on his face, as if she had to trick him into spending inside her, bothered her deeply.

“A new brother!” Viserys bellows out beside her, oblivious to his parents and the tension around them.

“Or sister,” Maekar remarks, his eyes glued on his mother. “Muña? What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, because in truth all is right. Their family was expanding and that was a wondrous thing, that was not to be looked over. Three pregnancies and she hadn't even really tried? Had Daemon forgotten her mother’s fate? Rhaenyra was young and fertile, she should be full of him every chance she got.

So what she had a few problems in her last pregnancy? Every woman dealt with something, it was unavoidable. If every woman stopped having babes after a few complications their line would have died out long ago. They were lucky to be in such a position and she would be damned if they would squander it.

“Nothing, love. I am very happy, as is your father. Aren't you, honey?” She hoped the grit in her voice was at a minimum, the boys were not as oblivious as they once were.

With his lips pulled in a thin line he agreed, “Of course,” his eyes shot daggers at his wife. “What a blessing.”

•••

“What have you done, Rhaenyra?” He has gotten her back to their rooms after sending his sons off so he may speak to their mother interrupted. “Answer me.”

“What have I done?! What did you do? I did not spend inside myself, I will tell you that.” This makes him scowl at her.

“Have you been drinking your tea?” He was speaking to her in a way he never had before— she wasn’t sure what to even say about that. Why was he so suspicious of her?

“What is your fucking problem?”

He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation, “Maekar was to be our last child! We both agreed to such—,”

“Oh, no, we did not both agree, you decided and poured tea down my throat every day thereafter!” Rhaenyra wanted to carry a thousand of her husband’s children, she’d told him. So had his mother, he reminded her in turn.

His face twisted. “So you admit to being disgruntled.”

“Disgruntled? I am your wife!” Try as she might to keep her voice down, she was failing. “It is my duty to bear you children.”

“We left duty behind the Narrow Sea,” he seethed. “I don’t want to hear about fucking duty, Rhaenyra. You have a duty to the real, live children that you already have,” why couldn’t she see his point of view? Had both of them not lost their mothers in the same fashion? He wouldn’t lose her the same way. He couldn’t and here she was, tempting the fates. Why? “To your husband!” Gods forbid she leaves him with these three children and possibly a fourth.

“Daemon, nothing is going to happen to me, you must understand that. I am not going to leave you or our sons, do you hear me?” She took his face in her hands, angling his face to hers and looked in his eyes, silently pleading with him to believe her. “I would never leave you, Daemon. The gods themselves could not keep me from you. You must know that.”

All he could give her back was a pained expression. It was too large a risk for Daemon, and he had to bite his tongue to stop him from suggesting ending the pregnancy. There were ways after all, especially in Pentos but he didn’t think Rhaenyra would ever forgive for even uttering such a thing. He didn’t think he’d forgive himself.

“You don’t know that,” is all he could say.

“Daemon. I drank the tea, and still— we have been blessed with a child. By the gods! They would not bless us just to take me away,” her eyes are large and frantic, searching his face for any shred of happiness. “I know you wish for a daughter… Visenya? Can you not feel her?” She closed her eyes and pressed his palm to her still-flat stomach. “She’s right here.”

She needed him to be happy, or she wouldn’t be. She was but maybe two moons into this pregnancy, there were still seven moons to go and she didn’t want the castle full of strife and conflict. Daemon was a great father, and he was a great partner to have while pregnant.

She didn’t lift a hand nor foot, her husband always scooping her up so she didn’t have to walk on her swollen ankles and feet. Whatever craving she wanted, even ones he had to spend days traveling for, he got. She was spoiled, had been since birth and that definitely wasn’t going to change while she carried his child.

Two pregnancies now, and she couldn’t imagine a third without the same treatment. When she opened her eyes again she saw tears in his, “You don’t understand, Rhaenyra… how you looked. Your eyes lost their fucking shine. I almost watched you die,” he peeled her fingers off of him and turned his back to her. “The gods give and the gods take away. So is the way of life— and not even we can escape it,” he muttered sadly, flashes of his mother and hers playing behind his eyelids. Screams and anguish. He felt ill. “I cannot. You cannot.”

“Please, Daemon.” She was sick thinking about this, there was no point. The gods would do what they would. “This is a blessing. And this shall be our last. I promise.” She just wanted one more chance for a daughter— for Visenya. “Please, don’t hate me,” she sniffled as she watched her husband take a long inhale of breath.

His shoulders slumped as he released a large sigh, “Do not say that. I could never hate you, Rhaenyra,” he turned back to his wife and wiped the tears that had fallen down her face. “I am scared to lose you, is all. Please, don’t cry. I am happy, of course I am.” He wrapped her in his arms and soaked in the feeling of her pressed against him. And he truly was so happy, as soon as the shock and anger had worn off, elation crept in.

A potential daughter? With Rhaenyra? He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more. “Visenya,” he whispered into her ear, pressing kisses just under her ear and palming at her supple backside more. True to Rhaenyra’s nature, she pressed into her husband more and wrapped her arms around him.

Though the thought made him want to cry, he really hoped this babe was a girl. His sons were amazing, beautiful, sweet boys that would carry on his legacy proudly. But a daughter would be his to love and spoil. A little girl that looked like her mother would break his heart and put it back together. He wanted that so badly.

“Really?” She sounded so hopeful he wanted to kick himself. Why he had made her feel so shitty while she was pregnant— he didn’t know. He was an idiot. He just held her harder.

“I love our children, any more would be welcome additions,” he kissed her before pulling back and placing his left palm back onto her stomach and pulled her towards him by the back of her neck with his right hand. The next kiss he places on her lips is soft, sweet. “I love you so much, Rhaenyra. Never forget that, my sweet girl.” The hand on the back of her neck tilts her head back so she can look into his eyes better. “Gods as my witness, you better not leave me.” He would reach into Balerion’s chest and take her soul back himself.

His words were serious, but his tone was light. So was the way of Daemon, mercurial and odd, but Rhaenyra loved him more than anything and she was sure it made her love her children more. She didn’t care about having to constantly reassure her husband, she vowed to love him unconditionally, and she would. How could she not adore this man after he freed her and gave her three of the most beautiful gifts anyone had ever received?

Alicent couldn’t be bothered to look at Aegon or Helaena for more than two seconds without a maid or her father prompting it, but Rhaenyra? All she wanted to do was look at and care for her sons. They were so beautiful, so bright— so talented. Daemon thought them to be the smartest boys in the world and both parents were sure their next babe would be just as amazing.

Everyday they acted and looked more like their father, and Rhaenyra loved to see it— encouraged it even. Daemon wanted daughters that looked like her, but she still hoped this babe in her belly would take on the personality of their father. And by the gods, she would be there to see it. “Don’t you worry.”

“I am excited, I am.” He pressed some open-mouthed kisses to neck before opening her robe to see her nightshift. “You are such a sight when you’re full of me,” his eyes were glued on her stomach. He could almost see how she would swell with their babe, girl or boy, it truly didn’t matter. The babe would be loved either way.

“You have been glowing, I suppose we know why now, huh? May I?” He didn’t wait for her permission before lifting her shift up over her head, her dusty nipples staring at him, his fingers unable to stop themselves from tweaking them until she twisted and yelped in pain.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed as he brought his head down to each of her breasts and suckled, to soothe the ache he’d caused. He couldn’t wait for her milk to come in, he loved the rich, sweet taste of her, and understood why her sons were so enamored with their mother. How could they not be? When she dribbled such nectar in their mouths?

Her gasps of pleasure rang through their bedroom, the unrestrained sounds bouncing off of the walls in earnest. “Daemon,” she moaned, her fingers grabbing at his shoulders.

(Thankfully the boys were down by the stables attending to their mounts, Aeraxes circling above or laid upon a hill watching, always ensuring the safety of his rider.)

Daemon hoisted her up and carried her to the bed before dropping her with a thud, her bare body spread out before him, his fingers tracing the lines that were the previous evidence of Daemon’s seed taking root inside of her imprinted into her very skin.

“Yes, love?” A hand shot out and grabbed her foot, bringing it up to his lips where he placed kisses on the soles of her foot and up her calf. Gods, he loved this woman, she was the greatest thing to ever happen to him. Her skin felt like the purest of silks to him, lightly dusty in the perfumed oils she used in her baths.

She was all but panting at this point, just a heap of sexual frustration and longing. Sex with Daemon was… life changing. The way he revered her, worshiped her. She felt like Syrax in the flesh— a goddess set apart from mere women, and that was when she wasn’t pregnant and exceptionally sensitive. Now? She was an absolute mess.

“Please,” was all she whispered, her lower lip grasped between her teeth before Daemon thumbed it free, afraid of her re-splitting the cut on her lip as she had done plenty of times previously. She was aflame with desire, her cunt was pulsating and leaking slick, all in preparation to take Daemon into the pits of her being. “Please, uncle, I want you.”

“Is that so?” His hand made its way to where his child laid, safely tucked inside the love of his life, willing it to be a girl. “And what is it you want, sweetling?” He smirked at his niece.

“Do not be cruel, kepa. Would you keep the woman carrying your child left wanting? I thought you a gentleman, ser,” while she loved the feeling of his hot hands on the thin skin of her abdomen, the feel of his cock inside her would always be preferred, and she had no patience to wait. “Are you not an honorable knight?”

Flames have mercy if she didn’t know exactly how to reach the depths of his soul, his cock, growing even harder in his breeches was begging to be freed, and who was Daemon to deny him?

“You are such a fucking brat,” he snided, his words were harsh, but his body sang another tune. Her words caused his pupils to dilate until his eyes almost were fully black, just barely ringed in that beautiful lilac that was so unique to him. “There isn’t anything honorable about me. You know that.”

“No, I’m your sweet girl,” she pushed stray hairs out of her face and sat up to unlace his breeches, eager to get to his swollen cock. When finally she pulls his appendage out, he’s red and thick— leaking his own slick all over her nimble fingers that she quickly licks away. With her tongue on the underside of cock, it jerked, a wave of salt coating her tastebuds. “Mm, see?”

Daemon had enough of wife and her teasing, pushing her down and onto her stomach before having his way with her.

•••

Nearly a year after the birth of their twin daughters, Visenya and Viserra, bonded to the dragons Vermax and Arrax respectively, Daemon and Rhaenyra received word from Westeros for the first time in a decade. It was not welcome or wanted by the former heiress, in fact if she had received it before her husband she would have burned the cursed parchment.

Laena Velaryon, wife of Lord Jason Lannister, had perished in the birthing bed, leaving behind two daughters and a newborn son. Her funeral would be held at High Tide in accordance with the Merling god, to which Daemon and Rhaenyra’s household was invited.

The flight would be long and dangerous, and with two one year olds? That added another layer of uncertainty for Rhaenyra, and they had no means to acquire a ship that quickly. It was all too rushed for Rhaenyra, having to leave the day after they received the message from Laena’s younger brother.

Rhaenyra was nervous and didn’t think they should go, there was no reason to uproot their entire lives and the poor girl had already passed. Daemon had been officially exiled, not just the petty words of his brother like previous times. But Daemon wouldn’t hear it.

I have to be there for Corlys and Rhaenys, he’d told her. They need me.

So Rhaenyra found herself back in the thick of court, full of faces she hadn’t seen in years, she hadn’t wanted to see. She wanted to be back home, where the faces she saw throughout the day were mostly those of her kin.

Of course, she had to see her father eventually, his face still as stone as Rhaenyra, Daemon and their five children were brought before the King in the Great Hall of Nine. Rhaenyra was a mess of nerves, Daemon looked bored and disinterested and the children were in their own worlds, fascinated with the decoration of the luxurious hall and everyone's attention. Everyone was fawning over her children and their beauty, and her two eldest sons were eating it up.

Rhaenyra was the first to speak, “My King,” she bent into a bow the best she could with Viserra in her arms, as did her sons and husband. “It is a pleasure to see you after so many years, Your Grace.” She tried her best to give a smile that could not be described as a grimace. “And you, my Queen.”

”Brother,” was all Daemon said.

Viserys looked broken and decrepit, his left arm entirely gone. Part of her wonders what has happened in their absence, the other part knows the gods punish men who turn against their brothers, and bless those who have been wronged.

Viserys’ eyes sweep over his daughter, now a woman, with wonder. She looks so much like his dear Aemma, he thinks. Especially with her daughter in her arms, the year old girl heavy in her mothers arms now. “Many years indeed,” he tries not to look his brother in the face. “Well, introduce me, why don’t you?”

Rhaenyra cleared her throat, she had been ready for her fathers disrespect, so long as they left with Daemon’s head intact. She grabbed Aegon on the shoulder, momentarily squeezing. “My firstborns, the Princes Aegon and Viserys Targaryen,” she beamed as her son turned and faced her, Visenya snug in Viserys’s arms.

“They both bonded to cradle born dragons just days after their births. Aegon is bonded to the dragon Aegarax, and Viserys to a she-dragon, Tyraxes,” their father beamed.

Maekar had tucked himself against Daemon’s long leg, his knight in shining armor, too overwhelmed with the noise and people for the first time that the King hadn’t got a good look at the boy until now. “And this is Prince Maekar, my third born. He claimed the Cannibal at just seven years of age, and renamed him Aeraxes.” Rhaenyra cupped his cheek in her hand and smiled at her brave son— perhaps they should have named him Baelon, she thought.

Daemon spoke next. “Our twin girls, Princesses Visenya and Viserra came last. Just as their older twin brothers, they too have cradle born dragons,” Rhaenyra smiled at her father but his eyes were stuck on Maekar. “Vermax and Arrax, in that order.” But it is if the King didn’t hear his brother.

“Boy,” he called to Maekar. “Come here,” he beckoned him forward with his remaining hand that the young boy ignored, planted in his spot until his father nudged him forward. “Let me see you.”

Alicent by his side was outraged, the lines on her face a clear indication at how much time the Queen spent frowning. “Princes and Princesses? How do you figure that?” Her hateful gaze was directed at his son and all Daemon saw was red. How dare this common bitch speak of their children in such a tone? He could slit her worthless throat right here, right now. He had no qualms about having to clean off Dark Sister— he would make Maekar do it.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, as you can see my wife and I have been very busy,” he nods to the five children he put in Rhaenyra. “We were under the impression that Rhaenyra was still the Crown Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Across the Narrow Sea we did not hear of Rhaenyra’s demotion… nor did we hear of little Aegon’s confirmation. I apologize,” he watched as the bitch swallowed. “Unless… no such thing happened and Rhaenyra is still first in line for the throne— and my son Aegon second by default.”

He didn’t know why that bitch was opening her mouth, a consort was meant to be seen and not heard. For reasons like this. She didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about. “She is still the Princess of Dragonstone, is she not? Your little princeling must not be up to Viserys’ standards, huh?”

“How dare you—,” she squawked out.

“How dare you is the question?” He countered before the King cut him off, seemingly done with gazing at his nephew-grandson with his mother’s eyes. Down to the shades.

“Enough!” His voice echoed through the hall as everyone looked at him. “Everyone out,” he waved his hand. “Except Rhaenyra and my brother.” When Alicent didn’t budge Viserys didn’t make her. “The children must go.”

Neither Daemon nor Rhaenyra were sure about leaving their children in the company of people they didn’t know, and like he could read their minds, Laenor spoke up— his voice barely above a whisper.

“I will watch them, Rhaenyra,” he nods to Daemon. “They’ll be safe with me.” And they believed him. “Come, come,” he ushers the children out of the room and then it’s just she and Daemon before the King and Queen.

“A decade later you come before me, daughter.” He gave a fleeting glance to the side. “Brother,” is all the King says, his eyes back to being glued on Rhaenyra.

“Aye, a decade later,” Daemon nods, his lips in a thin line. “And many more after that, I promise.” He couldn’t wait for this fucking funeral to be over. He wanted to be back in Pentos, safe where their children called home. Not here, in a pit of coin and power hungry people, desperate to tear his family apart. “Do not worry. We don’t plan to stay, lest I wish for my pretty head to roll.”

“Husband—,” Rhaenyra cuts herself off, her hand gravitating towards his own, desperately trying to calm him. She understood his edge, she carried it as well, but they should not be upsetting the King. “Father, he only meant we mean no disrespect. We are here only to pay our respects to House Velaryon and then we will be on our way home with our children,” she tried to appease him.

“Oh, so it’s no problem to show respect to them, but to me, your own father— you spit in my face. Pentos is not your home! Your home is in King’s Landing— by my side,” he gasped out, slumped in his chair. “Both of you— by my side. Your rightful places,” he’s all but collapsed in the chair. “Where you belong,” he coughed and gasped.

“We belong where we have been for ten years. Pentos is our home, and that of our children, and that is where we shall return,” he rolled his eyes at his brother. “You won’t have to suffer my presence long, Your Grace.”

“Do not mock me! You left! I have been alone— forced to navigate that pit of vultures by my lonesome. All while you two live happily ever after,” he all but cried. “Rhaenys, you two. You have abandoned me! Betrayed me! Where is your fucking loyalty?! And now, even as I allow you back home, you spite me.”

Daemon would hear no more of this, Rhaenyra’s pulling palm all but lost to him as he stares at his brother. “It is you who has betrayed us! You exiled me, upon the threat of death. Death, Viserys. Your own brother. Damn right I left, what other option did I have? All I have ever wanted was to be loyal to you, to be your Hand! But you have never wanted my loyalty, just my subjugation.” He rolls his eyes. “What would father say?”

“Do not speak to me of father! You committed treason! What was I to do lest I look weak in front of the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. You sullied my only child!”

The look Alicent sends him is one of betrayal, what were the four children she’d birthed him? Chopped liver? “The heir to the Iron Throne, the future of our House. She was meant to be something , and you stifled her ambitions for the sake of your own, you selfish cunt,” he spit, his indigo eyes damn near black. “Every breath you take you is because I allow it!”

”She already was someone to me! She is everything to me and you sold her to make up for your own shortcomings with the Velaryons and I wouldn’t have it. She deserved more, she has more,” he seethed, his vein throbbing through the thin skin of his neck.

“My wife is happy, she is loved and adored. By me and our children alike. What more could you want for your daughter but happiness? Belonging? I alone have given her that!”

Viserys turns to his daughter, a pained expression on his face, as if already dreading the answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet. “And are you? Happy? With him?”

Daemon scoffs, rolling his eyes at his weak fuck of an elder brother, “She’s happy enough for me to put five babes in her belly. And still ask for more,” he said with as much pride as he had ever had and watched the King and Queen grimace at his crude comments. “Unless you two aren’t very happy. Four children, was it? Not a happy home, huh?”

“Watch your vile tongue before I take it, Daemon!”

“You would do no such thing,” Rhaenyra spit. She wouldn’t suffer threats to Daemon— she didn’t care who it was spewing them or why. “If all we will be met with is hostility, Daemon and I shall take our children and return home.” Her lips were pulled into a thin line. “He is my husband and the father of my children, any disrespect directed towards him is disrespect I take personally.”

“How many times must I say that isn’t your home?! I demand you return to your true home, by my side, Rhaenyra.” His eyes were pleading with her but she didn’t see it, too concerned with Daemon’s reaction to what the King had proposed. “I deserve to know my grandsons. T-the one with mother’s eyes… he’s…,” he doesn’t finish his sentence, just leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. “I wish to know them. Before I am gone from this world,” to which Daemon snaps, shocking all in the room.

“Don’t stay that, what the fuck is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind? You must have to utter such nonsense,” he gives his brother a thorough once over, without the taint of unbridled resentment, truly looking at his condition. He looks awful, his hair falling out and his skin a sickly gray… gods have mercy. He was right. “We will… hire you some healers from Pentos…,” Daemon was already filtering through healers he trusted from the mainland. “But we won’t be returning to Westeros, Viserys. There is no place for us there.”

“Then there is no place for you, leave and never return! You ruin all that you touch!” Rhaenyra didn’t understand her father, he could have the most loyal man possible by his side but he insists on alienating him. It was so frustrating.

“You must return to the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaenyra, to take your rightful throne,” he coughs again, his hands reaching for hers. “I am not going to be here much longer, and I cannot leave the Seven Kingdoms to your brother.” He leaned towards his daughter and extended a shaky hand. “Come back to me now, renounce Daemon and all will be forgiven. You will be back by my side, where you should be! Your children would be welcome additions to the Red Keep.”

“What?!” Alicent spoke for the first time, her face as red as Rhaenyra’s ruby necklace. “Still? After all this time you’re still clinging to the idea of your precious daughter by your dear Aemma?!” She’s screaming, no doubt alerting the whole of the castle to the disagreement. “She left you behind, Viserys, to frolic across the Narrow Sea with your younger brother, and still— you ignore my son, the one who was so long awaited by you for her! Why?! What have I done to you, what has Aegon done?!”

“I did not name Rhaenyra my heir on a whim! You and I both know that boy should not have Seven Kingdoms at his disposal, Alicent! He is a drunk,” the King spit, his tone dripping in disgust. “A rapist. No— he will not be my heir ever! Mayhaps had you raised the boy better that would be different but all you do is indulge the boy!” He cast one more look at Alicent before turning back to his daughter.“You are as useless as he is! I should have taken then Velaryon girl to wife,” he mutters.

“Rhaenyra, you know as well as I do, there are more…pressing matters involved— things that matter more than your personal ambitions! What will you tell your ancestors when they ask why our House lost the throne? That you would rather prance about the Free Cities? Drink a-and fuck your way through Pentos when you should be ensuring the survival of our House!”

Tears were streaming down the Queen’s face, her lips trembling and all Daemon could do was laugh, loudly. This was all for nothing. They wouldn’t be returning with Viserys, he didn’t give a fuck how sick he was. He had exiled Daemon, threatened him with decapitation and sought to deny him his birthright that was a pureblooded family.

But he wouldn’t be denied. He had five beautiful children, and his number one job was to protect them. Did that mean raising them in a cesspool of vipers and scorpions? No. It didn’t. So he wouldn’t. Their lives in Pentos were ones of love and happiness and joy and laughter and neither Daemon nor Rhaenyra wanted to change anything about how they lived.

He and Rhaenyra agreed they would raise Visenya and Viserra back at Ivyhall, for it had served them well. He wanted his girls to live freely, not stifled and sold off like lamb to farmers. They would be property of the Crown, not just people, not just his darling girls. Daemon could not have that. How could he look his daughters in their faces and know he’s sold their futures away the same way Viserys had Rhaenyra?

Viserys went on and on about how Daemon wanted his stupid fucking throne. Well he didn’t, he wanted his wife and children to be safe, happy, loved . And that wouldn’t happen in Westeros. It could have, but that would have required Viserys to give a fuck about something other than the fucking Crown.

No, a marriage to Daemon wasn’t that most politically savvy union, that was to Laenor Velaryon, regardless of his sexual orientation— Daemon could have still sired her children, her heirs. But that wasn’t enough.

He wanted to be more than her uncle and her lover in the shadows. He deserved more, he thought. How foolish of him.

“We aren’t coming back to fucking Westeros!” Rhaenyra exclaimed, cutting through the noise and reaching her father’s ears. “You would tear my children from their fathers arms? How could you ever think I would go along with that?!” Over Rhaenyra’s dead fucking body would that ever happen.

“Is that not what he did to me?! He ripped my dear child from my arms, smeared her reputation up and down the known world and laughed in my face! And to this man you give the entirety of your loyalty to— not your father, your King! A whoremongering drunk who has almost killed as many men as whores he’s fucked!”

“How dare you speak like that to me? Mind your tongue! You know not of what you speak,” she closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. “My husband and I decided we would not leave our home, no matter the proposition you laid before our feet and now that you have disrespected my husband and our marriage I do not even feel badly about it!” she tries not to frown as sadness overtakes her father’s features.

“I love my husband and our children more than anything in the world, and I have to do what is best for my sons and daughters. Daemon is a wonderful, dedicated father—,”

But her own father doesn’t care for all the sentimentality anymore, not now that she has turned down his olive branch, “How blind can you be, child?!” He screams at her. “He is using you! He has always been intent on being a plague to this family and you stand by like a fool while he does so! If I was a betting man I would wager he probably has a whore behind your back. Do not think yourself above his first wife, girl. Your uncle is not a faithful man, and you are stupid to believe he is.”

Rhaenyra would hear no more, turning on her heels and leaving the hall. She wanted to hold her daughters, see them.

Kiss her sons and board a ship back home where their peace was safe and guaranteed. Thank the gods the funeral was tomorrow and then they could be gone from the godsforsaken place.

She hates it here— not High Tide specifically but this toxic space where she only matters because of the hue of her eyes and the fairness of her hair.

Not because she is smart, or witty, or a good mother. She’s a means to an end, not a beloved child… a pawn. Weak and susceptible to manipulation.

With Daemon she was a Queen in her own right— powerful and mighty… a goddess. She feels like she can be herself, and be loved that way. She was more than her last name, more than her blood.

She doesn’t get more than fifty yards away from the door before she collapses in a fit of sobs, her husband not far behind her, catching her before she hits the ground.

“How can he say such things about you?!” She sobs, the finesse that is navigating court lost on her after so many years. She cannot even remember the last time she felt true sadness, not like this. “You are his brother, his blood,” she clutches at her husband’s doublet, her red face streaked with salty tears.

“You are a devoted husband and father, the best one I could ever hope for!” Her words are slurred and her accent thick, so much so Daemon can hardly understand his wife. “You are more than I deserve, and he speaks of you in such a way. It makes me fucking sick.”

It makes Daemon hate his brother even more, seeing his wife like this. Rhaenyra should never, ever know unhappiness or strife. She should never cry lest they be tears of joy. And here she is, crying in defense of his honor, something he didn’t even feel he deserved.

“Don’t say that, it isn’t true. And don’t cry, my love. I am unscathed, I assure you. My simpleton brother could never say anything to truly hurt me,” he thumbs at her tears. He isn’t shocked that she's beautiful even like this, a babbling mess of unhappiness, but he wants that smile back on her face, that dazzling one that makes his heart stop when he sees it.

“Knowing I go home to you every night would make even the harshest of criticisms fall by the wayside,” he presses his lips to hers, hopefully distracting her from the previous conversation. “Seeing our children heals all wounds.”

It does the trick and after a few minutes of hushed hugging and a few stolen, salty tears Rhaenyra is relaxed and malleable, just how Daemon likes her. Seeing as their children were being seen after, he pulled his wife to their chambers and intent on letting the whole of the castle know how well he could take care of his sweet girl, not caring about the glum mood that had infected the whole of the castle, or what they would say about his depravity, his lack of tack. He didn’t give a flying fuck.

He would make sure her father heard.

Rhaenyra successfully avoided her father for the rest of her time there, leaving only a single scroll for him before her unseen departure at dawn the day after the funeral.

‘Father,

I will not be returning, not now, not ever. My children may, as they all are bonded to dragons and may fly where they please. I am content with my life, as you always wished for. I hope you find solace in that, as I find it in you having the son you have always wanted.

Embrace him, father, and name Aegon your heir. I think it would do wonders for your relationship as well as your marriage. Embrace him because you must, lest you wish to hand the Crown over to the Velaryons. Impress Valyrian values on him, and he might yet become a dragonrider. Daemon was years older than your son when he did. Have faith.

He is but five and ten, and perfectly capable of reform, if you care. If you put in the effort. Shelter him and do not let his Andal relatives turn him from his blood, his legacy our House will be fine. I look forward to hearing the news of his ascension.

Daemon and I are happy, our lives full of light and joy and our children know nothing of pain or strife. That is how it will stay. My husband has already written ahead to the Prince of Pentos to gather his best healers. Know both Daemon and I love you, always.

Your daughter,

Rhaenyra Targaryen.’

•••

After returning to Pentos, the two lived in bliss as they had before they left for the funeral. Before long, their children were grown and married to each other, with the exception of Aegon, who went on to become a Valyrian High Priest, much to his father’s delight— and surprise.

He’d always though if any of his sons would become men of the cloth it would be Maekar, though now it was clear to his father he loved Visenya too much to take a vow of celibacy.

Maekar wed his sister, Visenya when she was six and ten, and he four and twenty. Daemon wondered if this is what Baelon and Alyssa looked like. According to legend they certainly sounded like them.

The only thing that stopped Daemon from murdering his daughter’s husband was the fact that he was his son. Gods have mercy.

Children came quickly for the two, and before long the two had a total of nine children and not a single multiple. First came Daemion, then Daenaera, Rhaegar, Aemon, Daella, Rhaenys, Aerion, Naerys, and lastly Daena.

Viserys and Viserra also married, mainly out of obligation— not pure desire like their siblings. That wasn’t to say they didn’t love each other, or their seven children: Gael, Maekar, Aelyx, Rhaenyra, Gaemon, Elaena, and Baelon. They did. They were close, too, they just had interests other than married life and having children. Having their parents around to help raise the children was a godsends.

Children of both unions married their siblings, with the exception of Daena and Baelon, cousins who married, and all rode dragons, whether they be cradle born or hatched dragons from Syrax’s clutches that grew independently from a rider.

By the time of Daemon and Rhaenyra’s deaths, they had six and thirty great-grandchildren.

After ten generations they had over 7,000 descendants that carried the Targaryen name proudly, and one great-granddaughter, nine times over, named Rhaella answered the call of Westeros when they were plagued with the scourge of white walkers.

She promptly took the Iron Throne back from the Lannister Baratheon King and restored the Targaryen Empire, with the help of her husband and brother, Daeron, as well as her other siblings and cousins.

She ruled as Queen until her death, when she was two and eighty. She was succeeded by her son, King Baelon I, and his daughter after him.

In the end, Rhaenyra’s blood sat the Iron Throne as it was always supposed to.

Se mōris.

Tag List: @snowprincesa1 (try not to be too lonely LMAO)

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #11

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: torture

“This Saturday is the monthly dinner and social. You’ll be going with me.” said Mistress, as Kit cut into his steak. His portions had gotten subtly larger, and there was a basket of bread on the table. 

He had a sneaking suspicion that Christine was to blame; either she had taken matters into her own hand after the note, or Maxus had encouraged her. 

He appreciated their discretion, but still. 

Kit took a roll anyway.

“It happens every month?” he asked.

“Mhm.” Iris swirled her wine. “Supposedly to encourage good relationships between the lords and the crown.”

The way she said it, and the set of her jaw told him that she thought it was nonsense. Yet another thing that Iris didn’t like about her job.

“I’d prepare yourself for some back-handed compliments,” she advised. “Try not to take it personally.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Kit finished his plate and reached for another roll. Iris didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

For the first time in over a year, he went to bed almost full and nearly satisfied.

___________________

The stone floor was cold; freezing against his skin. He was completely nude and kneeling, his legs apart, and his forehead pressed to the ground. His arms were stretched out in front of him, and his shoulders ached.

“C-can I pl- please move, sir?” he asked, teeth chattering. He wanted to curl up, to at least be able to lick at the clean water dripping off of his body. He was so thirsty, and he’d been forced to hold his position for hours.

“No,” said the mortal, standing over him. “And I didn’t say you could talk.”

Moonflower whimpered, his arms and legs shaking.

The mortal tossed more icy water on him, and he couldn’t help but shriek. His chest heaved trying to take in air, but the chill made it hard to do much of anything. His muscles screamed with exhaustion.

The mortal crouched next to him. “Are you cold?” he asked with a horrid grin.

Moonflower kept quiet out of trepidation, but the human gripped his hair and yanked his head back. Moonflower whined, his neck far too vulnerable for his liking.

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes, s-sir. I’m c-cold.”

The human tossed the bucket across the room, and it clattered loudly on the floor.

“I guess I should warm you up,” said the human. “I can’t let my prize flower freeze.”

Moonflower hated the nickname, but said nothing. He had already learned that lesson.

The mortal let go of his hair, and disappeared from his field of view, only to come back a minute later. He wore heavy gloves, and held glowing, red-hot-

No. no. nononono-

“Moonflower,” commanded the human, and even his blood seemed to freeze, “stay still.”

The hot iron cuffs wrapped around his wrists, searing into his flesh, and Moonflower wailed-

___________________

Kit woke up screaming, the dream disappearing as fast as it had overtaken him. 

His door burst open, and a knight stormed in. Kit scrambled backwards on the bed, fear and confusion shooting through him. 

What did he do wrong?

The knight grabbed his ankle and yanked. Kit yelped as he tumbled, his spine slamming into the floor.

“Wait- please-” he pleaded, rolling to crawl away, but the knight stomped his boot on his back, forcing him to the ground.

His breath was knocked out of his lungs, and he screwed his eyes shut. He was only wearing boxers; which were so easily torn off, and he could practically feel the fingers slipping under the waistband, roaming over his skin-

“What the hell is going on?” Sir Brennan’s voice filled the room.

There were no hands on him. It was only his fear playing tricks on him.

The knight standing on top of him shifted, and Kit choked back a sob at the pressure. If the night guards wore steel instead of leather, he’d have a boot-sized burn in the middle of his back.

“I heard screaming,” said the knight, defensive.

“So your immediate thought was to attack? Instead of, I don’t know, assessing the situation? Get back to your post.”

“You aren’t my commanding officer, Brennan,” argued the knight. 

Kit opened his eyes and saw Brennan’s boots move closer. He glanced up at him, and his dark eyes were furious.

“You mean Captain Brennan. I outrank you, soldier. And you’re on guard rotation for tonight, so you report to me,” seethed Brennan. “Get back to your post, now.”

The pressure on Kit’s back vanished, and he darted under the bed, shaking as he pressed himself against the wall.

“Yes, sir,” muttered the soldier, and Kit watched his boots move out of sight.

“Jackass,” mumbled Brennan under his breath. “What happened?” he said aloud.

“Nightmare,” said Kit, curling into himself. It was so real, nearly exactly the way it had happened. He was still shaking, the mere memory of the pain making him tremble.

“I see.”

There was silence. “You can come out now. He’s gone.”

Kit hesitated. He wasn’t sure why Brennan wanted him to, and he didn’t want to find out.

“No, thank you,” he whispered.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” said Brennan.

Kit closed his eyes. “You- you said-” he cut himself off with a whimper.

He heard a sigh and the sound of a buckle. He opened his eyes, and Brennan’s sword fell to the floor with a clunk. Brennan’s boot kicked it away, across the room.

It was a nice gesture, but Kit wasn't moving.

“You had a bad dream, Kit. I’m not going to strike you down for that.”

“Okay,” he whispered. “Where- where’s Maxus?”

“Stomach flu. Half the guards are out with it. I borrowed a few soldiers from Captain Blake, but didn’t have time to really train them properly.”

“Oh.”

A pause.

“I’m sorry,” said Brennan. “This shouldn’t have happened. Did he hurt you?”

“I’ll be alright.” It wasn’t an answer, and he knew Brennan knew that. Kit just wasn’t sure how much of the pain was the soldier, and how much was the adrenaline leaving his body.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

Brennan hesitated, before crossing the room to pick up his sword. “Goodnight,” he said, still soft.

“ ‘Night.”

Kit didn’t fall back asleep.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Mobogo

CR 10

Chaotic Evil Huge Magical Beast

Bestiary 3, pg. 194

These gigantic, demonic toads are thought to be the direct offspring of Gogunta, Demon Lord of Swamps, though the Mobogo themselves rarely care about their potential genealogy unless she bothers to contact them directly and bless them with some divine power. Rather, they act as the emperors of entire tribes of Boggards and other swampfolk, embodying the gluttony of toads and the greed and pride of dragons (this art doesn't show it, but they do have a draconic tail and back spines!) as they spend their days basking in the adoration of their peers... and the constant stream of sacrifices provided for them.

Whether they serve Gogunta's will or see themselves as gods worthy of worship, there's little that a Mobogo enjoys more than having food and gifts lavished upon it by devoted subjects. Unlike with, say, a normal dragon, playing into a Mobogo's greed and gluttony will in no way promise safety or passage through their territory; give them all the possessions you have while promising them even more, and they may still decide that it's better to have food now than later and snarf you down whole and alive. The only creatures Mobogo bother listening to and refrain from eating are their boggard sycophants and others of their kind, and even that loyalty begins to fade if they find their tummies grumbling.

It's not a matter of supernatural metabolism, they just enjoy eating. Which, y'know, relatable. Ironically, food isn't much of a problem for the big toads or the tribes they surround themselves with; able to use Charm Animal at will, the Mobogo are in no danger of starving. If one's hungry, it's simple to snare the mind of a swamp boar or a flock of birds and beckon them closer so their servants can dispatch it. How often this technique is used is entirely dependent on the Mobogo's mood; some only use it to feed themselves and force their servants to hunt and farm for food, while others can act more benevolently and share their charmed spoils with their boggard neighbors... but the default state of these dracotoads is "screw you, I got mine." The at-will charm also means they're kept in the loop on what's going on in their swamps, as they're able to Speak With Animals without needing an action. They're actually quite stupid despite their power (Int 6) so it's not likely that they'll have a spy network of birds and lizards around, but it's useful for keeping their minions behaving when they think every insect and frog they see may be an eye for their master.

Charming animals isn't all they offer! If they really put their minds to it, Mobogo can be true gods of prosperity and harvest; they can use Create Water at-will, Control Water 3/day to undo the damage of flooding (or cause even more of it if offended), Plant Growth 3/day to enrich the ground and assure a bountiful harvest (or entangle and destroy whoever they wish), and Quench 3/day to instantly snuff any fire that proves a danger to their land (or... actually there's no evil way to spin Quench). The unfortunate problem in the 'could be a bringer of prosperity and hope' is everything I've mentioned in the previous three paragraphs.

In addition to their utility magic, Mobogo have a lot more offensive magic than it first appears. Sure, Fog Cloud and Control Water don't look that impressive in a vacuum... But you have to remember that you're not fighting these dracotoads in a vacuum, you're fighting them in a swamp. A thick, primeval swamp loaded with gigantic patches of quicksand, choking vines, waters that go way deeper than you think they do (perfect ambush spot), and trees that block out the light. Say you're in a dingy little boat trying to get through boggard territory, and then suddenly you have to contend with a whirlpool forming in the river you're sailing through! Or a bank of thick fog rolls in out of nowhere, blocking your view of the shoreline!

And then a gigantic toad crashes down on your boat from above, dealing 2d8+13 damage to everyone and everything in its 15ft space. If you're lucky, that's its opener. If you're not, your head is split by the beast's at-will Sound Burst, potentially stunning everyone in a 10ft burst... and then it slams down with its Crush to initiate before attacking everyone open to its Full-Attack. Mobogo attack with two slams for 1d6+9 damage and a bite with their oversized mouth for 2d6+9, which aren't the most impressive, even if their 15ft space and reach let them swath huge chunks of the map in a threat radius. They also have no DR, no resistances, and no defensive abilities that protect them if they get into melee or find themselves at the receiving end of enemy spellwork (aside from some meager Regeneration that's shut off by all the common elemental damage types), forcing them to be pragmatic in their swampy homes. They may not be smart, but they're wise enough to use terrain to their advantage.

Mobogo are unimpeded in natural territory thanks to Swamp Stride, something they should be making full use of among tangled roots and sticky mud. They CAN fly, adding another vector they can attack from, but they're unlikely to get a surprise round unless they attack from underwater or from behind a fog bank. More than likely, though, Mobogo will use their spell-likes to impede the party from afar before dragging them in one by one with its tongue, a massive appendage with a 45ft reach that deals 1d6+9 damage on impact before Grabbing the victim and Pulling them 5ft closer. Like most frog monsters, Mobogo don't become grappled if they have someone seized with their tongue, allowing them to continue making attacks against other targets while their tongue damages and yanks victims in round by round. Any creature dragged into a space adjacent to the dracotoad on its turn risks being swallowed whole, taking 2d6+13 damage a round while freeing up its tongue.

Fun fact: Mobogo can't use their tongue as part of their Full-Attack (they have to choose their slam+bite or their tongue), but they can use it to make Attacks of Opportunity alongside Combat Reflexes to fish for long-ranged grapples multiple times a round to severely impact a party's ability to do anything requiring concentration or uninterrupted movement, and they can use it alongside their Cleave or Awesome Blow feats to swat multiple foes in a round or send one foe flying into deep water, thick plants, or sticky mud. And speaking of sticky mud, Soften Earth and Stone is a spell which is only vaguely useful in most situations, but "being in a swamp" is one of those situations where it becomes downright encounter-defining, potentially entangling the entire party in mud that denies all actions for 1d2 rounds if they fail the Reflex save. Even if they get out, the Mobogo can use Gust of Wind 3/day to blow them right back in, or just use Awesome Blow to do it.

I mentioned a while back that they can initiate with Sound Burst, but there's actually two potential obnoxious noises they can make to begin a fight and/or to support their allies: Every 1d4 rounds they can unleash a Vile Croak, a maddening noise that staggers all non-boggards within 50ft for 1d4 rounds if they fail a DC 19 Will save. Any boggard or Mobogo (including the user) which hears the croaking instead gets +2 to attack rolls and to saves against fear effects for one round, letting the monstrous beasts sit back as their (literal) toadies do all the work, occasionally giving their foes a tongue-lashing from afar.

In a vacuum, Mobogo are much weaker than their CR suggests. In their swamps, they're truly awful foes to try battling against as they budge party members amount with their superior reach and knock or pull them into disadvantageous territory, and they almost always have whole clans of toad people at their beck and call to pick up whatever slack they have. When fighting in swamplands, the terrain itself is as dangerous as the encounters within, and Mobogo are born to take advantage of it!

You can read more about them here.

[not-goldy]

Its the same with all shippers. Whichever one shuts down their ship the loudest, is the one who shippers claim is the loudest, ironically. Happened with Louis, Lauren and Tae. They'd rather claim Tae is feeding them, cause they don't want to be pissed off at him out in the open. They save that slander and anger toward him for DM's & GC's. He was running around with his GF, while messing with shippers and embarrassed them and still is. Anyone who takes it as in Tae is actually trying to say TK is real & feeding them is just lying to themselves. And If that's the case, he's saying Vmin is real too, cause he's writing songs about Jimin and saying he likes him the most, asking him for couple shots, releasing songs of the same title as Jimin's songs. Vmin shippers & Tkk sit together. They haven't accepted Taennie destroyed both their groups. Yet they both claim Tae is the loudest, cause he's the one who really let them down and hurt them the most and they don't wanna accept it. Screwed up minds.

I'm just sick of two faced individuals and their fuck ass GCs where they do nuin but gossip about people

Then again I forget Tumblr is a career for some people so they can't keep it real for for they will lose followers.

I really don't get people who still claim their ships with their chest when their ship Co captains are out there with other members trauma bonding and serving in military together

They should both explain to me why

And they've never looked more fine as clowns than when they sit there and say stuff like that.

Oh Jimin and V are dating so Jimin signed up for MS with Jungkook 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Don't get me started on Tae Kook

And Yoonmin ooh lord🥴🤣

If any of those ships were in MS together they would drive us out of this Fandom but jokers wanna be demure about it🥲

[eruherdiriel]

Who's getting married at the end of ASoIaF?

Marriage, alliances, and heirs are all tied together in Westeros and are important parts of the nobles' lives. Since A Dream of Spring is never seeing the light of day and The Winds of Winter is a big fat probably not "we'll see," I will go to my grave haunted by this question. So I decided to reason it out. My Jonsa brain wants it to be them but that seems potentially too "happy." But who else could it be?

George made the comment in May 2016.

Yes, I mean, I did partly joke when I said I don’t know where I was going. I know the broad strokes, and I’ve known the broad strokes since 1991. I know who’s going to be on the Iron Throne. I know who’s gonna win some of the battles, I know the major characters, who’s gonna die and how they’re gonna die, and who’s gonna get married and all that. The major characters. Of course along the way I made up a lot of minor characters, you know.

I've decided to look at living POV characters, except for the one-offs, some as individuals and some as couples. Many POV characters are not "major characters" in my eyes and there are some non-POV characters who are more important, but this was the most objective way I could find to decide who made the list. POV characters are bolded in blue.

I initially read George's comment as meaning two mains are getting married, but as I wrote this, I second guessed myself and thought maybe he meant a main character and someone else. But since marriage is transactional and important to the highborn characters in this story, most of them will get married eventually (unless they die or join a celibate order), which brought me back around to thinking GRRM did mean the marriage would be between two key characters. And it would be relevant to the plot, and not mentioned as an afterthought in an epilogue or family tree. Otherwise, why call it out? With that in mind, let's begin.

Sansa and Tyrion are already married, but GRRM spoke in the future tense so he wasn't referring to an existing marriage. The relationship was unconsummated, their stories have diverged, and they are headed for an annulment. I can't see anyone we know ending up with Tyrion. His plotlines with women have involved prostitution, assault, unfulfilled desire, and violent anger. He seems more likely to kill another partner than marry again. More on Sansa later.

Bran is a possibility plot wise, but who would he marry? Meera is significantly older when they meet in the books, so I don't think that match is realistic in this context. And if Bran is the Summer King, he will likely have to marry a southerner for political reasons (unless there is a new succession plan and/or he can't have children). So it's probably someone we don't know yet or has been mentioned in passing. The last book would also need a time jump to make Bran of marriageable age, or the last two books would need to cover much more time than the previous five.

Arya's arc isn't about who she marries. In fact, she tells us whose plot is about marriage.

“You,” Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.” Arya screwed up her face. "No," she said, "that's Sansa." (A Game of Thrones - Eddard V)

But if further convincing is needed that Arya's storyline isn't about marriage, know that a search for "Arya" and "marriage" or "marry" in the books mostly returns results for Sansa talking about marrying Joffrey and then talking about Arya, lol. There's a few other contexts, particularly with fArya, but this one jumped out at me:

Robb was to marry one of their aunts, and Arya one of their uncles. "She never will," Bran said, "not Arya," but Maester Luwin was unyielding, so there they were beside Rickon. (A Clash of Kings - Bran III)

She's not going to be old enough at the end of the series anyway, unless there's a time jump. Next.

Arianne and Aegon/Young Griff: This seems like one of the most possible impending marriages to me, no matter who the Young Griff is in truth. A strategic Dorne marriage is plot relevant and makes sense with Arianne's arc. However, I think it is possible the Young Griff dies before the end of the story. He also doesn't qualify under my slightly arbitrary logic for who a major character is. And Arianne barely qualifies.

Daenerys is dying. Take it up with George. Though technically still married to Hizdahr zo Loraq, maybe she marries a Greyjoy (Victarion or Euron) before she dies, but it won't be relevant long term. Next.

Cersei and Jaime are doomed, as a couple (not that they can marry anyway, as much as they have wished to) and probably individually. Cersei is also vehemently against getting married again, and there's no more Tywin to force her.

Aeron Greyjoy: Can Drowned God priests get married? Doesn't matter. It's not him.

Areo Hotah has two chapters and only made this list because I checked ASoIaF wiki for POV characters to make sure I got everyone with more than one, lol. No weddings to see here.

Asha Greyjoy is sort of married already? Perhaps she gets out of it and later marries a Northerner to ease relations between the North and Iron Islands. A non-POV character likely, but maybe Jon??? Huh. It's not the least or most possible thing here. Not what I expected coming into this.

Brienne: Like Arya, marriage isn't the point of her narrative. It could become important for her to marry in the aftermath of all the wars. But for major characters as her suitor, there's none that make sense. Her interactions with Jaime serve to humanize him and complicate her, but they're not ending up together, even if Jaime ends up alive.

Theon's not getting married if he lives.

Sam is a member of the Night's Watch and technically can't marry. Maybe he gets released from his vows or there is no NW in the end and he is free to marry ... Gilly? Some rando in the Reach? Even if he's not in the Night's Watch, there's that whole maester thing that should prevent him from having a wife.

Davos is already married. Next.

Barristan Selmy is old and a long-serving member of a celibate order.

Jon Connington will be more focused on getting his "son" a match.

And we are back to Sansa. I won't go through all the potential suitors for her. See this brilliant post for that. Given Sansa's narrative themes and that she is headed for a leadership position, a good match for her will be extremely important. She has also been involved in too many marriage plots for one to not work out and be relevant to the larger story.

Jon and Sansa are undoubtedly two of the major characters of the series. Marriage and children are referenced explicitly and implicitly throughout the books for both of them, and they are two of the most romantic characters.

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. (A Storm of Swords - Jon XII)

Implication of bold text = he dreamed of it before, and here he is doing it again. Notice also that he's thinking less of Val specifically and more of what a marriage would give him access to. Sansa does something similar when thinking about Willas.

If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya. (A Storm of Swords - Sansa II)

(The parallel content of these passages is ... a lot. One sentence for finding love with Val/Willas, then multiple sentences [three for Jon, four for Sansa] about children. The opening sentences are flipped in order [purple and pink text], and there's the shared idea of dreams [in red] and wanting to name their children for people they've lost [orange].)

Who knows how much time the final two books cover, but Jon and Sansa are both of marriageable age by Westeros/George's standards and will be more so by the end of the series, with a much more appropriate age gap between them than a lot of other possibilities. A union between them makes sense, since Jon would get to become a Stark, something he has always wanted, thought not in the way he dreamt might happen. Sansa would get her true knight, though he is imperfect and not the fantasy version she imagined when younger. It solidifies Stark power in the North. The last book was originally A Time for Wolves, after all.

The questions it leaves though are when does this happen? What does Jon's punishment or social status look like if he plays a role in Daenerys's death (for kinslaying and potentially queenslaying)? Is forsaking the Targ name and kneeling to Bran enough, or does he have to serve an exile period? (Am I letting the show influence me too much with these questions?) Can he acknowledge any children he has, or does that get in the way of the Targ line coming to an end, even if the children are Starks (or Snows)?

The final possibility is George changed his mind since that comment. The garden grew in a different direction. This feels hollow and unfulfilling, especially if you take the view that GRRM is deconstructing tropes so he can reconstruct them. There has to be a hopeful marriage/romance after everything else. And marriage is a big enough point in the books for there to be at least one that helps wrap up the story.

Summary of potential matches between two named characters (does not meet full criteria):

Arianne and Aegon/fAegon

Sam and Gilly

And between POV characters (meets full criteria):

Asha and Jon? (Once again, huh.)

Sansa and Jon

But since Sansa is the character I am most confident in having a plot-relevant marriage, Jon x Sansa wins.

This was not rigged, I swear.