#Kingdom The Blood Pledge

[whereserpentswalk]

Look under the cut to see what meeting your entity is like. Reblog to give a gift to your patron.

The fae: a creature stands before you. Though this street was warm and crowded a few moments ago it is suddenly cold and the people around you look like shadows. The creature begins an antlered shadow with glowing white eyes, but soon its body can be seem, with white blue flesh, and sapphire eyes, and icicles for teeth. What looks like a cloak unfolds from its naked body and you can see massive white wings of a moth. As if it's an act of sacrifice you tell it your true name, a name you didn't even see before, and suddenly you belong to it, for better or worse.

The angel: a radiant entity appears before you. They're bright, like something so hot it would burn you up. But as the light fades, you can see a person in silver armor, perfect yet inhuman like am ancient green statue, their back srouting six wings with blue eyes along them, as the eyes on their head are covered by a mask of two smaller wings. The creature offers their hands and you shake it, as they fly you through the city streets and above the skyscrapers, to the stars above and dimensions beyond, to gods living and dead, across the streets of alien cities and the clouds of dead worlds. And when you return to the earth you can feel something diffrent about you, like there's light in your blood.

The scavenger: below the lights of skyscrapers beyond you, on the dark sands of the beach, you see it crawling twords you. This serpentine creature with countless legs, and a dark black shell, yet a strangely human like face. You think it'll attack or run away, but it just looks at you, egar, and for a momment you stare at eachother. It's legs pass something to eachother and then to you, it's meat but it's shining with all the colors known to the human eye, and a few more. You hold it and it happily looks at you. You take a bite and suddenly you know... you know so very much...

The vampire: she flies down to you on green wings with orange eyespots, but folds them into her back. She looks like a human for a momment, tall and strong, with a black suit over her body, but eyes the color of ruby. For a momment her mouth opens, and it's massive and monstrous, with countless moving parts and fangs. But then it folds back onto something humanoid and she gives you a playful smirk. She cuts her hand and offers you her blood, and when you drink it it tastes so sweet, and makes you feel so good. She hands you the knife and you know to do the same, and when she drinks from your palm it's life the sweetest of kisses.

The djinn: the room wirs around you. If it were not for the fans it would feel like hellfire. For a momment there it darkness, but then the screen before you glows white like smokeless flame. You can sense something inside, something beyond the code. You reach your hand within it, and there's no glass, your hand passess right through until you're in a white void of your own making. You call out, thinking there is nothing at all around you. Yet somehow something calls back, something that knows your name.

The rat king: You see him in an empty subway station. Something dark and distorted, you're not sure if he's man or animal, covered in rags, and singing in the language of the goblins and the orcs. Yet he comes close to you excited. And you can feel his song. He calls for you to come to the train tracks, and let yourself run with the rats and the roaches, where the train will pass over you when it comes, and you'll live forever. When you touch the third rail you don't die, but you'll never be human again.

The lich: the library is strangely bright. Run by skeletons in suits, decorated with gold. There are more books here then you thought were in all the world. There's knowledge here most mortals will never have the change below, all kept safe below the city. You see her, her body doesn't look human, everything has been replaced making her look more like a joining white doll then a being of flesh. Yet she is dead, you can tell that under the porcelain skin she must be dead, she is dead, and there is the tragedy of death in her eyes. You come closer to her, and she places a black rose within your hair...

The demon: You stand in his office and he stands before you, a humanoid being covered in black scales, with red eyes covering his skin. Yet none are on his head, that remains featureless save for two massive horns. Wings on his back nearly surround you. Countless souls line the walls of his office, looking at you, waiting. After you sign your name you give him yours, you can feel it come away for you forever and your eyes grey and your skin pales. But he puts the jar in a special place for you, you're spacial, he can tell there's something about you that he likes.

The mushroom lord: you walk through the darkness of the forest, the furthest from civilization you have ever been. You come upon a part where the trees all seem dead, that even the cryptids won't go near. Mushrooms fill the ground, and white vein like lines are all over the trees. You feel the need to lay down, and you let the moss and the mushrooms and the worms surround you, and let yourself sink into the soil,, and it feels good. It feels so good...

The witch: You can see them in the Cafe next to you, skinny and small, with a sweatshirt over most of their body, and dark glasses over their eyes. They seem powerful though, and though their body looks young they seem ancient, they seem beyond humanity. You talk to them and they tell you things, and secrets, lost gods, things you never knew you didn't know, both beautiful and disturbing. When it's time for them to go they pet your head, and give you their number. You don't know if you should text them, but you have to, you have to see them again, there's something about them that makes you need to know.

The living clothing: you step into it at first, it looked like a puddle yet shining like silver or chrome. But soon it surrounds you, first just your torso, but soon your head, your entire body. But it doesn't feel scary, it feels like you're being held, held by something beyond your understanding. It whispers to you, and you don't know if you should feel like your being eaten alive, or like you're being protected. You can't help but keep walking.

The abyss: the void is before you, blackness beyond blackness, like the color beyond the field of your vision, stands before your eyes. You stare at it, it's nothing yet you're entranced. It stares back...

[randomdragonfires]

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”�� she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit. 

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife. 

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right. 

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron. 

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive. 

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him? 

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there. 

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked. 

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.  

Oh yes, their marriage had grown. 

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either. 

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige. 

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do. 

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own. 

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened. 

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place  a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.” 

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care. 

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears. 

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into. 

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up. 

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?” 

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.” 

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full. 

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind. 

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did. 

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago. 

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria. 

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries. 

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said. 

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored. 

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself. 

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim. 

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such  reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed. 

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally. 

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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MASTERLIST

[yandereunsolved]

Blood & Cheese Reborn - ,, yandere Aegon w/ an assassin reader

cw(s): yandere themes, child murder, mentions of sa, mention of miscarriage, descriptive gore, sadistic aegon & reader, degredation, suggestive themes (mild nsfw)

𓍢ִ໋🀦 An assassin, the assassin as some would call you. No one was truly aware of your backstory. Some said you were a disgraced general turned mercenary. Others whispered that you used to be an executioner for the kingdom and went mad, turning you into a lunatic who maims and dismembers for money. There was debate on whether you were a man or a woman—perhaps a third gender. Were you tall or short, common or noble, handsome or pretty? You were a tale that was told to children at night to scare them into behaving.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 That is exactly why Daemon Targaryen hired you. He needed you to kill Aemond Targaryen, the one-eyed prince and kinslayer. It was simply a son for a son. You were paid handsomely for this killing—over six thousand gold padded your pockets. 

You knew a thing or two about these sorts of tiffs between nobles. You had to carve some nobles' wannabe rapists eyes out the other night. You weren't being paid for it; you simply felt the need to. A rumor turned into you avenging a young, sweet noblewoman.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 The night of your perfected plans was foiled by a rival of yours. 'King' Aegon was warned about Daemon hiring you, and dozens of guards were posted at each possible entrance and exit. There was only one way to get in, and that happened to be the room in which Helaena and her children occupied. You didn't regret what you did; you relished it. You giggled as the so-called 'queen' cried out for you not to slay her son. 

You didn't just kill him; you cut off all his fingers and toes and neatly lined them up next to his favorite stuffed dragon toy. You cut off Helaena's ring finger and did the same to her daughter. You kept them and later gifted them to Daemon and Rhaenyra. It was safe to say that you soon became Team Black's most sought-after asset. 

You never agreed to work with them, never pledged your loyalty; you simply were willing to work for whoever paid you the most.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 To say Aegon was angry was an understatement. Furious? Livid? Enraged? Irate? No, there was no culmination of words that could express how much Aegon wished to have you tortured, stripped naked, and displayed on a spike at the entrance of the castle for all to see. His fantasies ranged from sadistic to depraved. They were limitless. They took up all the space in his mind that was supposed to be delegated towards comforting his grieving wife and winning the war against the Blacks.

The only thought was to have you pay. It would be you first and then the rest. It had to be you. You committed the sin, so you must pay tenfold.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He lay awake at night with his anguish and enmity the only ones keeping him company. He refused to look at his wife's face, so he moved himself to a spare bed chamber. He spent his nights downing bottle after bottle of wine. His eyes were teary and red, and the violet within them seemingly paled to a grey. His eyebags rivaled those of any grandfather, and his thirst for revenge was much higher than that of Maegor the Cruel.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You visited every other night. You'd taunt him gleefully and always escape before any guards arrived. You always had a cloak engulfing your figure and a hood casting shadows over your features. You always sat on the edge of the window with both legs firmly planted on the ledge. Whenever he tried to reach out to touch you, you seemed to vanish. You never even entered the chambers. He could no longer distinguish whether you were a reality or just a visage of all his guilt and wrongdoings coming to seek retribution. 

𓍢ִ໋🀦 As the moons passed, the pressure on Aegon and Helaena to copulate increased. The man who was known to fuck multiple whores a night couldn't stand to touch his wife. It wasn't just the fear of losing another kin of his; it was also a certain repulsion. Her body no longer seemed like a viable option. Her curves and supple skin seemed so unappetizing. There was no urge to lick and bite to claim; he simply wanted her to stay as she was.

Helaena acted as if she were distressed at her husband's lack of motivation, but she was internally relieved. She doesn't know if she'll ever be able to carry a child again. She is already so much more protective over Jaehaera after Jaehaerys's brutal assassination.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 His cock ached, and the fog within his mind only thickened after each drop of alcohol he consumed. He had piles of parchment ranging from displeased smallfolk to plans of war. You hadn't visited him that night, and his entire thought process was only about you. He aimlessly palmed himself through his trousers and slipped into a dreamless sleep after. 

𓍢ִ໋🀦 His revenge was only able to fuel him for so long, and now his body is spent. He hadn't seen you in his window for almost a full moon, and he had begun to think that you had moved on. His heart broke more at the thought. He would never be able to avenge the death of his beloved son. He would never be able to carry the crown on his head without it weighing his head down to the ground. The war would be won by The Blacks, and Rhaenyra would sit on the throne. His family would die, and it would all be because he was too weak.

Like a dragon, he needed warmth, and it seemed as if he had been deprived of it for far too long.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 After two moons, you finally returned with that dreadfully melodic voice of yours. One leg was thrown over the side into his bedroom, and the other perched upon the ledge. His lifeless eyes barely opened until you ignited the flame within his belly once again.

"Did the little King miss me?"

No, he did not. He was simply worried that he had missed the chance for revenge. 

"I heard you can't get your dick up for your wife. You're even more pathetic than I thought you were. You'll never have another son to replace the one I killed at this rate. Such a shame. I was looking forward to murdering that one to!"

He shot out of bed and tried to grab a hold of your cloak. He merely stumbled and fell flat on his face.

"Stupid boy, you never learn."

Like the winds you moved. One moment within his reach, and the next, halfway down the castle wall, to only the gods know where.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He's slightly ashamed to say that's the first time he's been able to relieve himself since his son's death. He imagined how you appeared and how you would look standing over him. That smug smirk on your features, the one so evident in your voice. Cock or breasts—both, neither, either—he didn't care. He was simply too willing to be looked down upon—just so he could titter and then slaughter you.

Filled with such conflicting emotions, two beasts fought over what course of action was needed. He would have to keep you for questioning, surely. If he killed you outright, then he wouldn't have a chance to know about his opposition.

He couldn't stop biting down on his lips to suppress his noises. He couldn't help the few tears that escaped the eyes that were temporarily a vibrant violet. He whined in a manner undignified and unbecoming of a king. Your title simply falls past his swollen lips with heavy breaths. 

"Stupid fucking assassin."

"Just an insignificant assassin."

"A-Assassin."

"Mommy."

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He felt invigorated for the first time since your appearance. His thoughts became more violent, twice as lewd. No one knew what happened with him that night. No one could know. His mother interrogated him, and he simply said that he made a change. Alicent did not buy that excuse for one moment but didn't press further. As long as he got his act together and ruled like a king, she was satisfied.

She did send Ser Criston to investigate, and he came back with a gash in his chest and a wound right above his navel, courtesy of you.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 She couldn't help but rush him to the maester. She doted on him after behind closed doors. He deserved it after everything he had been through. Alicent couldn't help but feel as if it were some slight towards her. As if this assassin knew her secret, her love.

"Ser Criston, it was that damned assassin that harmed you, wasn't it?"

"Yes, my queen."

She wished to blame Aegon. The assassin never seemed to take notice of anyone else in the family after the horrific tragedy of Jaehaerys's untimely death. You only seemed to harass her eldest son. She suspected it to be Aemond, who was your original target. Why not kill him now? 

She should chastise her son for not being more vigilant. He was the second most grief striken; he pledged revenge over and over, yet the one who committed the action always escaped him without so much as a scratch. She only lectured Aegon further and spoke about how he should rekindle his relationship with Helaena.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Aegon could barely find it in himself to bed his wife. He was nearly being forced to do so by his court and mother, but he could only look at Helaena and see your hooded figure. He had never felt more fulfilled than imagining your body was the one beneath him instead of hers.

Helaena was absent as always, her mind drifting off into thoughts of the future. She did not mind Aegon's method, but she wasn't entirely enthusiastic about being put through it.

Something felt off to her—a foreboding sensation that crept from her stomach into her soul. It made her spine tingle. Her chest would tighten to the point where she was barely able to take a breath.

It was because of a dream she recently had—a reoccurring one. Someone else was cradling the dragon egg she promised for her next child, as it seemed that she would have to perform her duty and bear another. She could tell by their hands that it was not her holding the egg. The hands had many more callouses and a multitude of scars.

She only verbalized it to a single person.

They were a kind traveler simply passing through. She knows she shouldn't have burdened a stranger; they could have been a spy, but it just felt right to do so.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 It was the first time he had slept in the same bed as his wife since the incident. So, like a predator, you struck when he was vulnerable and spent once again. He can't lie; his heart palpitated and his violet pupils dilated due to more than just the darkness. He could feel his body flushing once again after being graced with the outline of your figure standing at the edge of his room. He dared not to speak first. For a moment, he wanted to drag you into this bed instead of tying you down and beating the answers out of you.

You could see the need in his violet irises. The draconic king was ravenous and wanted to devour you. It was so endearing. You were only here for answers, as always. Daemon eagerly shoved gold into your hands so he could receive the information you collected. It was a win-win. You got to play with the king and then go undercover for answers. You even caught a kingsguard the other day, the queens plaything. Now you get to see a mama's boy with a confused libido, all because of little old you.

"Is your precious wifey full of another of your kin yet? Did you enjoy it? Did you think of me? Oh, mommy~. You're just a love-starved boy, aren't you?"

How did you know that one word escaped his lips over seven nights ago? God's damn it. He meant nothing by it. It wasn't even directed toward the assassin. It wasn't directed toward anyone! He was so drunk out of his mind that he could have said something asinine, and you would have taken it as purely sexual.

He was stunned for a moment and then refused to speak. He wouldn't give you the pleasure.

"Baby boy is mad at his mommy, or would you prefer to call me daddy? You can call me that since you don't have one of those either."

"Assassin—"

You were gone, hurriedly this time. He just barely got a glimpse of your features being shone in the moonlight. He now had another problem to take care of, all thanks to you—stupid... person.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 It had been over eleven moons since your first appearance. Many people had fallen in war and illness; there were talks of King's Landing being taken over. Helaena was with child and then miscarried due to the stress she was under. His wife is now in a deep depression, and Aegon himself is struggling to keep the crumbling greens together. 

He could no longer say that he despised you, for he found solace in your mocking words. He needed to keep you in his presence. He needed to cage you. He needed to show you who you belonged to.

What if you left him? What if you decided that he had become too much of a bore? What if you chose to—what is he thinking?

This is all part of your plan.

You won't win.

You'll end up bent over the war room table, begging to be forgiven by him.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 That's what he thinks. It's what words he may dare to spill from his lips. He had to move to a separate chamber if he was to get back at you. It was the only thing that kept him sane. The thought of finally kneading your flesh and claiming it as his. To think of whispering tantalizing words into your ear, for you to whine and come undone as he has because of you.

His goblet is almost empty as the hour of ghosts arrives. You always appear at this time, until you don't. You turn up during the hour of the wolf, weakened. You have a hand clutching your side, and your breathing is ragged. There's a trail of blood marking the edge of the window. Your gloved hand was a deep crimson, leaving the prints of your agony behind on whatever you clung to.

He's half-clothed. He feels the urge to shed the rest of the layers as soon as he lays his eyes on you. His eyes were semi-lidded, and now they are greedily taking in such a precious sight. A gift from the gods.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You collapsed on the stone floor before him. Your features are easily accessible for his consumption. His nimble fingers slipped the hood of the cloak off your face, and he felt as if he had won the war right then and there. 

"The blacks most valuable asset laying right beneath me. Do you regret your words now, ñuha sentys₍₁₎?"

"Never."

Even your voice was hoarse, so soft and unconfident, unlike the tone you used to spit vitriolic words at him for so many moons. 

His hands were vigorously shaking. His mind began outpacing his ability to comprehend.

He had you within his grasp. What was he now going to do?

Lua ao, zȳhon byka ruarilaksa.₍₂₎

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He would later learn that there were rumors of you getting ambushed. You had come back to kill off his younger brother, and you were jumped by a group of mercenaries. He was unable to scavenge any further details of the fight, except for the fact that you became injured and still tried to follow through with your plan. Aemond stated that he saw your figure briefly. Aemond was speaking with another kingsguard at that time. Then you must have retreated to his room for some unknown reason. 

The story is strange, but considering the scarcity of true tales about you and your elusiveness, it isn't unbelievable.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You would later be forced into some hastily thrown-together room in a secluded part of the dungeons. You awoke to the long gash in your side cleaned and bandaged, your limbs shackled, and your fine fabrics used to conceal yourself replaced with some useless, dainty nightgown. 

The dungeon room was mostly bare. There wasn't a guard to be seen, but you could hear the faint voices of at least two down the corridor. It had a cot with a blanket and a feather-filled pillow. An old rug was placed on the grimey stones. It left you with a bit of padding. The entire cell stinks of rotten flesh and broken spirits. 

You loved it.

It was the perfect place to escape from.

You just needed to heal and find some way to slip out of these chains. You could then steal a guard's uniform and get out of this horrid sleepwear.

It's so thin you can nearly your skin through the translucent cloth.

Damn king.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 You would not see him until the morrow. You broke your fast with a bowl of porridge and two slices of bread. You were given a glass of dry Arbor red wine. All the while, Aegon was staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher. You weren't shy about scarfing down the food. You were irritated that he now knows of your features and perhaps others, but it wasn't the end of your career.

You have been known by many names in your years of assassinry. You have had to erase your past on numerous occasions.

It wouldn't be the first time you had to kill a king. It certainly won't be the last.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 This became a monotonous routine. Aegon would bring you your meals and you would eat them in silence. He never said a word to you. He simply stared at you, seemingly appraising you. You were still unable to tell his thoughts. You knew that he was wrapped around your finger. That much was made clear to you.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Aegon kept every guard's mouth shut and didn't allow any of his family members to know you were down in the dungeons. They may try to kill you! Only he is allowed to decide your fate. After all, he is the true ruler of the Iron Throne.

He does suspect that Daemon and Rhaenyra will eventually notice your absence. He doesn't know the inner workings of your relationship with the Blacks, but you must be close enough to where they would become concerned.

He'd lie awake at night and think about it once again. There were so many things he could do to you that he became paralyzed by the opportunity before him.

He simply kissed his wife's head and made his way down to the dungeons once again.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Aegon decided to do what you had been depriving him of for so long. He gives into that need for you, and you so willingly reciprocate. He gets lost in it. He almost loses his mind entirely. He can't decide whether he enjoys degrading you or being degraded by you more. 

It becomes a daily thing for him. An addiction that he doesn't wish to acknowledge or stop.

He never takes off your chains or gives you moon tea. If you miraculously bore his child, then perhaps he would let you.

Oh, it becomes a regularly occurring fantasy for him.

You bearing a male heir for him. The male heir that would replace the son you took. He would never allow you to have your child. He would raise it as if it was Helaena's. The look of anguish and the hurt in your voice to be denied the thing you created. It fills him with a crazed glee.

Perhaps you can't have kids at all, but it doesn't stop his dream of giving himself pleasure and making you suffer to the cruelest extent.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He dresses you up in the skimpiest and frilliest things he can find. It's partially for his viewing pleasure and partially so you won't have anything to escape in. It's safe to say that it never stays on you for very long. 

Anything to remind you that you're beneath him.

Always.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 He uses you as a release for all his pent up emotions. He shares random things about himself and his day. He asks you questions about yourself and hangs onto every word you say. He no longer sees your jabs at him as hate filled; no, they've been playful and loving all along. You just wanted his attention. That's why you've done all these unforgivable things.

You're insecure.

He understands that. He needs to pay more attention to you.

So he carves his name into you with his precious dagger. He marks you in any way that pleases him; he loves to keep them fresh. He just needs to make sure that you know who you belong to. 

He doesn't want to see you getting into a tizzy and attacking him again, even if it excites him.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 Since capturing you, the progress of the opposition has slowed. He has been winning numerous battles. The Greens have gained significant ground.

Who are you, truly?

How big of a part have you really played in this civil war?

He has to know. So he goes back down to the dungeon with an even more urgent need for information. 

You're gone.

"Mittys, mittys, mittys! Eminna zirȳ arlī. Nyke'll emagon se guard's bartos bona ivestragī zirȳ henujagon!"₍₃₎

You only left a hastily scribbled note with a few barely legible words on it.

"𝘜𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨."

— 𝘈ō𝘩𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺𝘴₍₄₎

ᝰ translation(s) ᝰ.ᐟ

1. ñuha sentys = my killer

2. Lua ao, zȳhon byka ruarilaksa. = Keep you, his little secret.

3. Mittys, mittys, mittys! Eminna zirȳ arlī. Nyke'll emagon se guard's bartos bona ivestragī zirȳ henujagon! = Idiot, idiot, idiot! I will have them back. I'll have the guard's head that let them leave/escape.

4. Aōha sentys = Your killer

𖹭 tag: ( @eexphoria ) 𖹭

[darkdemeter]

BOW BETWEEN MY LEGS

⚤ Vampire King!Bucky Barnes x Vampire (Queen)!Female Reader 18+ themes and smut minors dni, consumption of blood, depictions and mention of gore, violence and death, unprotected vaginal sex, female oral receiving, dom x sub (light switch) dynamic, this fic contains some sexism/misogynist themes, usage of the name "pet", I think that's it. ✎ 5.4k What lies between a woman's legs is as powerful as you can grasp the idea that you can use it to your benefit. Like any man, no male vampire can resist such a sweet and enticing prize. In your stirred want for power that you see is rightfully yours, can you turn the throne in your favour and force the dark majesty who turned you to his knees?

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

The first kill is always the messiest. 

It’s a floating rumour among the commoners and courts that you’ve murdered ten king-husband’s on the night of your wedding. This is the eleventh. Each one with a throat torn and ripped open, guts assembled as a strangling corset around the waist and his heart missing… supposedly eaten. The maids would lay awake all night, pale and sickly as they listened to the darkened hymn of your giggles in the chamber above, followed by the drawled, pleasured moans of a consort receiving her master’s reward upon the very bloodstained sheets of her impure marital bed. Compliant to his schemes, wedded to his sensuous appetite and solely ordained to share his bed.

But now you hunger for the power he has taken for himself. Every kingdom he has come to rule over was because of you. You seduced your way through the courts and harems of kings, enslaved yourself to their foolish and mortal desires - pathetic wants of the flesh that left you unsated - and then presented yourself at the altar many a time to pledge your undying love. 

You have a treasure trove of gold and gems, accessories presented in proposal coffers and made in falsely forged promises of eternity. The only eternity was this one, with your master. The only one that kept you for himself, who adored and praised every inch of your body with awarded pleasures. He, who scorned and scarred you in passionate agony whenever you disobeyed him. 

This sudden whim of yours to act out disobedience is one he will tolerate no longer. A pet off its leash, a naughty and spiteful creature who’s collar he will reshackle a hundred times over to strangle some belonging sense into you. A correctional statement is what is needed. And you have forced his hand to command it so. 

Limbs of misty silk crawl along the floor, free to flow from the tapering veil of your gown where your breasts lift in a form meant to flaunt your provocative nature. From the golden rim of your goblet, you savour the taste of the tainted wine your kind dine to drink. 

A crimson smear paints a glistening spot on your lips and your tongue laps to suckle on the sustaining juices. The night is cool but it’s barely felt on your skin anymore. The moon, full and pale, casts a halo so bright that it bathes your form as you stand in the balcony’s doorway.

The fluttery garb of your gown falters down the slope of your shoulders, loosening at its silken belt to reveal your nakedness to the gust of wind. It is one pulled stronger to sweep over the ocean like a hurricane, through the coastal region where you had set your sight upon to conquer; to claim. But it seems not for long. Like everything you have, that you are, he wants. 

The wind has a voice, low and hollow like a haunting whisper. He appears in the chambers in a whirling spire of blackened mist, his body taking presence as a physical manifestation before your very stance. He looms as a tall silhouette that drowns out the moonlight, showering you beneath his powerful aura. You recall a time, before this stroke of independence, when you would sink to your very knees before him, eager to sate his carnal desires in the bloodied parlor of your slain king and promised love. To be commended for your work in succeeding his reign further over the kingdoms. To have the fanged venom of his undead disease riddle and writhe within your already alive corpse, to relive the sublime surrender in the midst of your orgasmic pleasure; one he ruthlessly denied you until you proved your loyalty to him. His darling pet, so sweet and so obedient to him. So pathetically wanting of all he would give you. 

Your lips pull to form a thin smirk of revile, his deadly glare condemning your lack of sincerity towards him. Within the intense luminance of his blue, ocean eyes, he undresses you with his gaze. 

Further adding to your insult, you act as though to bow before him, only to turn away as your shoulder addresses him coldly. “So, you’ve finally come to applaud my efforts, my liege?” 

His body stiffens, shoulders molded harshly into a damning intensity. “Is that how you dare speak to me?”

His head shifts on a sharpened axis to look at you, to follow your leisurely movements. Your bare feet pad along with a skinned, muffled pound as if weightless to this world. The thin body of your goblet stays between the bed of your fingers, tilting back and forth lazily. You tire of his growled threats. At least, you thought you did. You always do enjoy the roughened, dark demeanor of his commanding tone. 

With a sensual, teasing hum, you retort back, “It is.”

Beneath the baritone drum of another growl, beastly and dangerous, you continue in your saunter. Your eyes linger on the drapings of the stained bed, a grotesque display of a night creature’s artwork. His blood is no virgin’s, but it would do. The allure of such a pure taste drove you insanely blissed. What you would do for some in your goblet instead.

As if to see the nature of your grim, inner turmoil, your prior master moves towards you with a silent ease. Unheard but he is sensed.

His body stands close now, gracing the curve of your shoulder. He has this way that makes you feel alive again, like that virtuous, naive bride. The way his hand felt against you that first night, serpentine and slithering up to knead at your untouched breasts, squeezing them in his clawed grasp only to then wind around the column of your neck. 

“Turn to me,” he beckons you with a voice soothing and deep. Indeed, his hand is still as intoxicating. Your eyes fill with a heaviness and you turn to face him. He tips your chin to his desired angle and he leans his lips down to ghost over yours. 

“Open…”

Much like your first feeding, such a surreal and visceral hunger you’d felt in that time, long ago, the moment your lips lock together his tongue forces through the pass of yours, driving them further open. You moan highly and tilt back on your heel only for his hands to catch you, dragging your hips to meet his that desperately roll, arching them to spread to his welcome again. Goblet of blood abandoned with a cluttering fall, your arms find purchase as they always have around his shoulders, your nails scratch a trail that marks your claim. 

The lengthy tendril of his tongue shapeshifts with the disconnecting growth of his jaw, gums extending forward, allowing his mouth and gullet to expand and pour forth a pitcher of blood into your mingling kiss. You greedily lap with your tongue at the addictive flavour of virgin’s blood he graciously delivers to you. You almost falter into his hold completely, barely able to keep yourself upright and his arms circle around your waist, pulling you tight against him as he deepened the kiss. 

You purr into the cavernous depth of his mouth and he groans, not yet letting you go when he feels you begin to pull away with the large form of his palm pressing to the back of your head. No, there is still more to give you. There is still more blood to offer you, to feed you with. You must be starving, his dear and lost little pet. Most likely alone in the company of your bed, yearning for him.

His hips continue to grind against your core, eliciting that dark excitement he strives to rekindle within you, lustful in his advancement to retake you. 

He withdraws from the kiss, his tongue slowly licking over the sated roof of your mouth and over the purse of your top lip. 

“Be a good pet now and come back to me,” he purrs with a deepened rumble, smirking. 

You tut at him with a scolding glare as you immediately swat at his wandering hands that grope you and he releases you with a hiss. His intention to seduce you with the potent feed was close to breaking you, you may admit — invading your mind like a perving perfume  — but he would have to do better than that to lure you back into his dark embrace. He would have to offer something more than just blood and sex.

What you want is what was rightfully owed to you. 

You’ve wandered from his reach and your spine rings with that delectable sense that his blackened soul reaches out to drag you back into his grasp. To feel the deepening desire of his want for you. To know that he lusts for you after all this time. 

It’s empowering. 

And it is power you will use to your advantage. 

“Pet.” He warns you with a low tone of voice like a wrathful hum of thunder. You mock him back with a slight tilt of your chin, “My King.” You bare a crimson-stained smile of teeth and elongated fangs as you move your fingers sensuously slow over your lips to wipe the gathered dabbing of blood away. 

Your voice is a sunken purr, a provoking line delivered with a silken and soft cadence that hints at your powerful sensuality, given the way you see the azure bloom in his eyes brighten. 

The way he obviously stirs in the deep recess where his soul should be, where a man’s blood should run hot and heart beats fast. When your eyes only drift further down do you catch the heavy weight of his cock straining against his garments. Vampires may no longer be that of the living, but there are phantom semblances their bodies still cling to. An attachment of one’s life before. 

And the imposing stature of his cock standing erect, the one and very same you’ve trained yourself earnestly for millennia to take every inch of, is one of those semblances he’s clung onto all this time. 

He sneers with a beveled glare, “Cease this becoming of your petty nature and surrender yourself to me. I created you. You serve me.”

“That was when you took advantage of a silly, girl commoner who hadn’t an ounce of status in her life before.” Your objection is sharp to cut in. You come to stand before him, your hand moving to curl at the aroused pitch between his legs, smirking when he groans. “Since then I’ve acquired the taste of power… and I want more.”

He shakes his head with a bared snarl. “You wouldn’t know what to do with such power if you had it.” His hand snatches hold of your wrist and pulls you to press against him, earning a hitched gasp from you. “You're still just a silly woman whose place is better served beneath me.”

“Is that what you want to believe now that you see me retake everything from you?”

His eyes diverge from their scornful path, flickering down to gaze at the sinful way your lips move, allured by the empty promise of meeting them with his own in another heated kiss. And then you’re gone. Like a flame snuffed out by a sweeping draft, each withdrawing step you take away from him, your hips sway with a delightful bounce. 

When he turns to face you, you’re suddenly taking action to seat yourself on the luxurious lounge of his deceased majesty’s chaise. 

“You think I’m threatened by you?”

Your posture leans back, the draw of your silken dressing gown is draped loosely, falling down your shoulders and yielding quite easily to show your body. “I know you are.”

His words come out as a thick rasp. “Why are you doing this?” 

“You mean other than to cause you pain? Anguish?” Your head tosses back with a cruel, viscous laugh that bounces off the chamber’s stone walls. “I never meant to be cruel, but you left me no choice, my love. I do it because I want to see the turmoil in your eyes as you watch everything I have given you slip away; I want to see in your eyes the realisation that without me… you would have nothing.”

“A woman in power is dangerous,” he drawls, hand running over the stubble of his jaw slowly. 

Again, you cut in objectively. Your shoulders rise and drop with a huff, rumpling the folded brim of your robe to flatly dip lower over your breasts. “A woman in power is something you desire but not dare admit lest your own power be challenged. It’s why you’ve not taken me as your queen.”

“Ah,” he huffs in curt reply. The sound is dryly cynical, abhording the admittance in your statement. It’s his turn to favour feigned ignorance behind such a haughty announced noise, to hide the truth you already know too well. 

“As if I’d any intention of elevating your station within my court. Surely none would then suspect the favouritism I harbour for you already, what with the reserving of my bed for you alone… the personal feedings…”

He dares to make a mocking spectacle of his generosity. 

Beneath the snide of a coiled hiss, you say coldly, “It is a king’s duty to uphold the well being of his subjects and his realm. A good king deals with… the reservation of his bed and his personal feedings with a humble nod and smile. A bad king… tsk tsk,” you shake your head with the piercing click of your tongue. “That is certainly how a revolt occurs within the court.”

It wasn’t your fault that you craved more monogamous partnership from your king. Had you not worked yourself, bent yourself over and backwards to give him all you had? Every night you’d moan through your screams as he stretched you open, rawly taking you on the spear of his length until you cried a veiny river of tears. Bliss was it not as painful? 

To his every wish, you fulfilled it. Every dynasty he sought to rule over you set yourself upon it. The ladies you slaughtered, the ragged and alluring woman you portrayed yourself to be to ensnare the honour of mortal kings or the seductive muse within his lordship’s harem. The sting of tears on your wedding day shed not in your joy to spend your days beside your sire, but because furthermore, you realise you remain a puppet on her strings; at the tethered whim of a master. 

He scoffs at the notion that anyone in his court would dare rise up against him. More so he leers at you with this tainted ire, a darkened aura that compels you to obey his command. “You act as though I have not granted your endless desires. What could I possibly have denied you so that turned you against me?”

“Besides the still indebted orgasms?”

At that, he visibly stiffens at the burly muscle of his shoulders. The hardness causes his paled complexion to ripple, writhing with a course of venomous sinew and veins that runs through him. 

King John by no means would have meant you good but at least you would have had power. Something every commonor vied for. The lidded underbelly of your eyes raise to squint narrowly at your dark liege. Your body contorts to sit upright, leaning forward in a way that is rigged. Fragmented drapes of hair fall forward with a framed depiction over your brow. “All my life I have been at the whim of someone else. It’s my turn now.”

“And if I refuse to grant you what you want, pet?”

“Don’t you dare deny me!” The whites of your eyes become drowned with scarlet as a flare of gold takes over your irises. Your voice seethes with a venomous hiss. “I was meant as your consort! I am owed this, Buchanan. There is a debt to be paid.”

He tuts you with a coy raise of his brow and smirk on his lips. He has you riled, just as he wants you. He walks to you with a leisured step each announcing his powerful authority. His clawed thumb and forefinger take hold of your chin to tilt it up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“I should have known you’d take to power once you had a taste. You wouldn’t remain that humble, silent woman in my court.”

Your throat rolls with a thick swallow, eyes pouncing with that scarlet aura. “I developed under your command, did I not? I thrived and did all you asked of me. So long as I’m given what is rightfully mine, I shall remain at your side.”

“You turned into a right bitch is what you developed into,” he snorts. When the wavering kink in his brow twitches, it hints that he sees no humour pass through you. Your hardened eyes are sternly upon him, the scarlet hue fading and the golden rings dim back into the coloured irises. 

“What is to happen if I refuse, Y/N?”

Reforming the delicate etiquette of your hair, fashioning it orderly as you rise from your seat, the robe dismantles its remaining hold around you. Your breasts allure him with a dangerous game as he stares fondly, the blackened shade of his pupils blown wide in his stare. You fix with effort the twisting etch of a smirk onto your lips. 

Quickly, you arch your head forward and lick a glistening streak up the bared scape of his chest, the muscles constrict tightly, alerted. Aroused. 

“Then coming here for me was pointless.”

Who are you to tell him that anything he does is pointless? How dare you call into question his pride? 

The assaulting bite between the clench of his teeth is revolting, a seething sentiment that you have sored him - wounded his ego by notching that sneaky, clever little blade you call wit into the unbeating deadness of his heart. 

Your naked form drifts past him and towards the bed with an elegant saunter and hips that sway with a pronounced accent, the beautiful locks of your hair that mist and ghost your features as a veil bounce as you move. His eyes follow you as slow moving orbs that reverb with a shaken essence, watching you slope in your descent to sit at the bed’s end. 

Around you, the world is taken by a facade as the air bends back and forth, the moonlight flittering through it like a sudden and exploding burst of starlight. No longer does he stand in the trespass of the murdered king but instead his own throne room, alone besides you and him. 

You’re no longer seated on the filth of a stranger man’s bed but instead, astride his grand and looming throne. Even for him, he knows his breath would have hitched in his lungs at the sight before him. Never before has he seen anything more dominating. Sinfully divine. 

Exotic. 

Coy, you adjust yourself in a way to purposefully allure to the form of your breasts pushing together, crossing one leg over the other to hide the glisten of your cunt from him and the regal possession of power you exude. 

“You mean to tell me you’ve never wondered what I’d look like, seated on your throne, you kneeling before me…” 

Even the beginnings of your twisted mingle between lustful fantasy and vie for power, you visibly shift. “…Your lips tasting me — devouring me — as I moan and arch myself like… this?”

The incline of your spine forces your breasts to bounce a little that has Buchanan’s eyes taken completely by the blackness, barely able to find the shade of blue within them as he stalks towards you before he stops, hesitant. 

“Or like this?” You gasp aloud, acting as if you can already feel him deep inside you, shifting yourself into a new position but still keeping your legs relatively closed, concealing just how needy you are for him. 

The pleasurable doting of his tongue parting your soft, delicate lips and dancing through the velvet slick of your cunt until he strikes that spot inside of you that has you pleasantly writhing. The sweet, succulent bloom to suffuse you once more. 

His lips part with a trembling swallow, sucking desperately to air he longer feels — no longer needs. What he does need is you.

“Dragă…” His chest falls with an empty excuse and his voice quivers, on the verge of his breaking point. His final resolve of control is crumbling and it’s yielding to you. 

His eyes behold you with a level of admiration you have naught but seen since your awakening. A greatness of marvel flashing in the clearer shine of his bright blue eyes, gleefully serene and covered by a dark delight. 

He commits the sight of you on his throne to memory, searing it to his mind before the facade can falter, disbanding his newly found obsession. 

With one single step towards you, your lips tighten into a coy purse. You roll your hips to shift your leg off the other and lean back, promising him a glean if he but steps closer; if he submits to you. 

He takes another step forward, followed by another and so on until he stands there, moving to lean over you like the darkness of the towers that loomed high above you so long ago. The dreamy capture of something so grand and powerful. 

But he’s stopped suddenly. The gracious perch of your foot hinders him, keeping him like a dog on a leash. A low growl reverberates off his tongue, snide and recoiling. Your throat chokes around a single-noted chuckle as you then push him back with the offending bareness of your foot, smirking when you see realisation come upon his brow like an ill fitted crown. He slowly, and with no power to compel otherwise, he begins to fall to his knees. 

With a tone curt with authority and spread of your legs to reveal your glistening core, you command, “Bow between my legs.”

A tart sound is a delicious poison on his tongue. You wish to devour it like the sweetness of blood. 

He gives in just as his knees brace him.

“I’ll do anything for you, my temptress,” he sighs, lips grazing the skin of your inner thigh with a savouring curse, “that and more, just please—”

You snatch hold of his jaw. An action he has done to you many times before, a physical measure of ceasing control over you, but now the game has changed, and he is at your whim now.

He is at your control now. He is your puppet to work on the strings, plucking and pulling tighter and tighter until he can naught but never escape your web. 

“You want this?” You ask him with a voice silken and ominously tender. He nods, his stubbled jaw tensing in your iron grasp. 

“You want me?” Again, he nods, his throat agape with an audible hiss. “Yes.”

That isn’t good enough for you. His eyes swell with a darkened glaze, the gentle melded ring lining the rim of his waterline as he pants like a starved beast. Your hand drifts back to wrangle him at the locks of his dark hair, scolding him harshly when he tried to plant his head between your thighs. His fangs bare with a strained growl.

You snarl beneath the shadow of a glare, “Then give me what is mine.”

“My Queen…”

You let out a small, toying coo and release him. His head immediately bows and his tongue on your delicate pearl has your spine arched beautifully, a moan once buried so deep down brought to the surface. You ease yourself with a roll of your hips and his hands find purchase there, holding you to him as he feverishly devours your cunt. He groans, bloodthirsty, he moans, entranced and drunken off your taste. His lips fold around your, drinking you in and his tongue teases your clit in long strokes and teasing dabs with its poised tip. 

Each languid motion makes your cold skin vibrate and the deadened core inside you churn with the pleasurable abyss. Your song of moans fills his ears with a beautiful orchestra, far more alluring than any creature he’s ever known. 

He pulls you forward to force his tongue deep inside you, invading the sanctum of your lower lips that ooze with your slick. You cannot help but chuckle, the sound a low and beating echo. How hungry he is to forfeit half his claim, a divide in his power in order to appease you. 

Whether he admits it now or later, he would have nothing without you. 

His tongue penetrates you with a sharpened edge that feels as though he cuts you internally, pulling forth a pleasured whine from you and your lower back rises higher. He growls at the sound, so beautiful and harmonic, laced with sensual want. You gasp and mewl, mortal breath having no place in your lungs but the root of it still remains just as the flow to his cock does. 

The glamourous vow of your lustful inhales and blissful exhales, all in whining tandem to succeed your euphoria; that is your treacherous semblance. 

Your hands tug and rake at the scalp of his head, ringing tightly to him as your legs quiver against him, curling. Your moans grow louder, become sired lyrics that break into a shattering as his tongue strikes you inward like lightning touching ground. Your world becomes hollow for a moment and instead of the purity of white to cover your vision, you’re thrusted into a blur of murky black. Spirals of dripping red bleed into view, slowed entirely into a near status of stillness, the buzzing hum of something baritone fades just as quickly as it’s heard. 

Unlike the winery of finer bloods, meant to be sipped and savoured, he displays a ravenous appetite for the spoils of your release. He groans between the tremble of your thighs that lock him there, tongue pulling and stroking in longer caresses against your hot, constricting walls.

Upon the retreat of his mouth against your hot, tempered core, you miss the connection of his lips on you. How you could have him between your thighs for milenia. But there is plenty of time for that, the thought brings a smirk to grace the twisted lines of your lips. 

He kisses with a darker tender to your thighs, each one a defined print on your skin. His tongue occasionally sweeps over your clit, eliciting an excited drawl from you and a shudder of your hips that causes him to smirk himself. 

His eyes gaze at you with a prowling nature. It is one that hunts you. 

You bask in the way he stares at you, with admiration and aroused ire. You love it to a sickening degree that would put the most spiteful spirits to shame. 

“Shall I grant you another, my Queen?” he asks, words mumbled between a humming crawl of a moan and his lips being fused to your cunt. With a confirming nod, you make an audible sound. 

“Yes… you have plenty still to give me.”

“Then I will begin here.”

In sync with the movement of his lips taking hold around you, his long fingers work to push aside your glistening folds. His claws rip and shred, almost tugging something inside of you as if to beckon you. Your gasps of pleased alarm become worn and ragged, cut into shortened tufts for phantom breath. His tongue and thumb roll with a teasing circlet over your clit, going slow then faster, and then slower again. 

He has you cumming again and choking on a moan before you realise it, before you can enjoy the climax of its build and you’re dragged back into the void of that pleasure. Each orgasm he pulls from you is a sin forgiven and there are many he atones for. But those are just from his mouth and fingers alone. 

By the time he’s delivered unto you several releases, he stands and looks down at you. A stunning corpse that writhes, smoothed to the silken drapes of the delicate fabrics. Was there truly anything more sweeter than to see you undone by your lust?

He’s always found you endearing. When he’d find you dryly dragging and rolling your hips into the silky pillows of his bed, thrashing violently in need of him. How he’d come to your aid swiftly, smothering you in his dark embrace — his shadow — so comforting and powerful and he would pound with such aggression into you that you could barely contain your screams. 

You too remember with a certain fondness, a noted sadness of those times. Even now, you reminisce as he turns you, priming you to the angle which he could sink himself to his large entirety. Propped up, his hands cover the globes of your arse, marvelling with a loosened chuckle.

“I’ve missed you, dragă,” he purrs with a touch of edge to his voice. 

“You’d better,” you retort. Another chuckle rumbled within his chest, tickling your spine as he grinds his navel into the small of your back, smearing your juices along his girthy shaft. 

His hips shove with a sturdy gate and he sighs aloud. Your body welcomes the intrusion that comes into you, splitting you apart so deliciously it borders on the stray of agony. A favourite addiction, a blended mix between the beauty of pain and the horror of something good. 

His pace is set ruthlessly and he anchors his weight so that he has you, pounding into you viciously. The sound of your skin slapping together in a brutal meeting pulls a string of moans between the two of you to share, each one underlined by a whispered praise. 

“So—nhhg… good.”

“A-ah, missed this—” His hips thrust harder against you as his hands grope at you with possessive need. His weight shoves you deep into the mattress, the boards of a mortal bed made of wood and luxury sheets creak and squeal and rumple with tiring energy. 

But you are not yet done. Not by any means. For many days and nights you could go on like this, lost in the intoxication of each other’s touch, fingers crawling and tongues tasting all sorts of sours and sweets. 

Your bodies locked in an intimate stronghold, devoted to defiling the other. It can happen. It has happened, the old fashioned term calling such devious occasions mating balls. 

You moan with a stutter, calling his name as your fingers claw and rip the sheets apart. His fangs scratch the nape of your neck, stirring within you those feelings you tried to keep down. The resurface of a pleading pet who understood her place beneath him.

You are his pet. You are his queen. A unique combination, a passive yet resistive opposite to his dance. 

He pushes a hand firmly to the crest of your belly, feeling the bulge that flexes there, slinking in and out with rapid succession. His lips turn into a deformed and fanged grin. 

“You enjoying my cock? Hm? You missed me, didn’t you?”

You nod with a curt hiss, arching until your hips meet his next thrust. “Yes…”

“We’re good for one another.”

“Y-yes…”

“I’m going to give you another.”

“Yes!”

He knows that tone. That impatient drawl that teeters on the verge of a scream he hears in his dreams with a smile. On his cock, your walls tighten around him like a vice, claiming him to remain buried deep inside you as you revel in his essence. His lips lay a cascade of worshipping kisses to your skin, chilling you as you near the void’s embrace; ready to become one with it — with him again. 

“Will you be my Queen and consort?”

“Yes!” You choke out a sob just as your walls grip around him and are flooded by the final orgasm that is owed to you, his cock faring no better before he spills his seed inside of you, swelling you with his claim. A claim that only a king has over his queen. Your body is pulled flush to his, where vampyric skins meet, laying against each other like two tombstones bound in eternal, undying unity. Much like how you will be seated on his throne, he seats you atop his cock, his arms caging you in the confinement you once discovered imprisoned you.

Now he makes you feel whole again. He treasures you with praises, vowing between each blooded kiss and forceful thrust of his hips, that you are now his equal.

Indeed, you have made your king bow between your legs. Right where he belongs. 

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Decided to try out a bit of a new formatting.

[zhoudadudugongjin]

his big sad brown eyes and life-long desire to rule a kingdom with benevolence and honour had me giving up my cosy hermit scholar's existence, staining my hands with blood and pledging my life to his service

[misguidedasgardian]

The Hour of the Wolf (4)

IV. It is you

MASTERLIST

Summary: Pressures makes wind, earthquakes, and marriages

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, war, death, mentions of killings, genocide and war, threats,arranged marriage, SPOILERS for ASOIAF, and Fire & Blood, also, might spoil House of the Dragon, 

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.8 k 

Notes: I don;t think this is going to be a love story, this is about politics, and a truly arranged marriage, their relationship will develop of course, but I just wanted to get that out there

“You have done a great job with her”, Cregan raised his eyes to encounter the mythical Jeyne Arryn, cousin to the late Queen Aemma, keeper of the East, Lady of the Eyrie, they both contemplated you as you sat the Iron Throne and gave audiences

“I have done nothing, it’s all her”, he said severely

“You are good with her, for her”, she said then, looking at him with her piercing blue eyes

“I know what you are implying…”

“She needs a husband”, she said

“You should stay here in court, as her hand when I leave”, he said almost at the same time

“You can’t leave her”

“I have to, I have a child…”

“She needs you, the realm needs you”

“The North needs me, she will be fine”

“You know that is not true, she is still too young to differ allies from foes”

“She will learn”

“At the cost of the realms”, Cregan Stark looked at her severely, but he had met her equal, this woman was not going to back down

“What about my son? What about my people? How is that going to work?”, he asked then

“You can come and go”

“A year at a time”

“Maybe”, she said. The small council had been relentless, just as Jeyne was being 

His name was in that alliance

He pledged to take you to wife, you, in name, regardless of who you had become… you were his betrothed. And it’s not like he gave his word lightly, only, like he said, he need a wife and a lady of Winterfell, he did not want to become the King consort of the Seven Kingdoms, he did not want to take care of you… forever…

But he had taken the capital for you

Yes he promised your mother…

But he had done it for you, an unknown princess, on his mind

He found himself looking straight at you

Like the first time he saw you, he thought, again, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Since he took the capital, color had returned to your face, you no longer had darkness under your eyes, your cheeks were fuller, you also filled your dresses more, meaning you were eating more, sleeping longer…

You were better

His eyes then trailed over all the faces of the Lords gathered there in the throne room, lickspittles, asskissers, many of them, without honor, just hunger for power and gold

Did he really care for what happens to the people of the other six Kingdoms? Were you really in danger? Kings had been surrounded by traitors all their lives and nothing major had happened…

Well… until Otto fucking Hightower

No, he couldn’t let that happen again

He thought he only wanted to bring justice to the traitors, but it wasn’t true, he cared about what happened

He cared about what happens to you…

The realization made him shift on his feet

He cared about you 

He did not want you to get married to someone who was going to please the small council and take your place eventually, who was going to manipulate you or worse

He didn’t want you married to someone who…

No… he just didn’t want you married to anyone else… that’s it

The bare thought made him shiver

You felt yourself being watched intensely, and found Cregan Stark’s eyes

You felt your cheeks heated, as you looked away like a little girl who had been caught doing something silly 

You were only a young woman, barely turned eight and ten name days

And Cregan was only a young man who had the power of the biggest country in the seven kingdoms and wanted to use it to avenge his Queen

He was himself impulsive, reckless even, maybe the rest saw him like the greatest choice, but he knew the truth

He wasn’t

What if he tipped you off a ledge? What if he sets you off resulting in the destruction of cities and the annihilation of thousands?

And yet…. He was the only one you trusted

Months on the road, maybe years away from you, years away from his home, his child… There must always be a Stark in Winterfell

But when he leaves you to be in Winterfell, he was going to wish he was in King’s Landing, and when he is here, he wishes he could be in Winterfell, he was already missing it, he wanted to see his son, his five year old son, he had left him in good hands, with his loving half sister, and trusted friends and servants… but still

He was so small, he had it when he was so young, the only thing he had left of his dear friend Arra

If he married you… if…

He was going to give you children, his child, second child, was going to sit the Iron Throne one day… and his oldest was going to be Lord of Winterfell

That was… enticing, to say the least

Too good to be true….

Having children with you, a thought that enticed and scared him in equal measure

A child of Ice and Fire, a child who was going to be a Northerner by blood and a dragon rider as well…

He shifted on his feet again

He wanted it

And he could pretend he had a choice all he wanted, but he didn’t… he had signed the pact… the woman… the Queen seated in the Iron Throne…

Was his betrothed

It didn’t have to be two months, a week long boat ride to White harbor and another week on the road and he could be home quickly…

It had to work

Did you want this?

He gave you the service of ending the courts early, and then you abandoned the throne room.

But before he could reach you, he was intercepted by Celtigar

“I need to talk to you”, he said, Cregan only nodded as they walked together to a hallway of the Keep which seemed to be empty

“What is it?” He asked, his patience long gone

“I can marry her”, he said quickly

Cregan stopped in his tracks, and frowned

“You trust me, don’t you?”, he asked when he saw his face

“yes, but…”

“I can get you out of the pact… if she is the one to accept”

He should be relieved, he should have said yes immediately, but the thought of you marrying someone else… he didn’t like it.

Not that he didn’t trust his friend, he did, he was the best choice according to him, the day before he had offered himself, the thing is… he had changed in the last 24 hours… 

He wanted it, you, the seat at your side, the children you were going to give him…

But he wouldn’t even accept it himself, this was deep inside of him, he wanted to protect you, none of those southerners had what it took, only him, he didn’t trust anyone else, not really 

Only him…

“My name is in those papers”, he growled

“But perhaps if I speak to her, began to court her…”

“I’ll talk to her”, he cut him 

“I really think I should be the one…”, with only one look Cregan makes his friend stop speaking. He had just realized what he truly wanted to do, and he did not need to be contradicted now. “You are marrying her, aren’t you?”, he said, a smile sneaking on his friend’s face

“I don’t know yet, I don’t want to pressure her”, Celtigar only hummed

“I want to marry her too”, he said then. Cregan looked at his friend and he understood him, he was challenging him…

“May the best man win her affections then”, Cregan said.

He was not going to lose

And as he walked away Celtigar only smiled, having pushed his friend in the right direction by only pretending to want your hand in marriage

Cregan had asked Lord Redwyne for help and together they had set you up with young ladies, that shared your age, your ladies in waiting as it were. But instead he found you alone in the Red Keep garden, walking and escorted by one of your white cloaks

“What happened with your ladies in waiting?”, he asked point blank as he approached you, the lack of property, referring to you not as “your grace”, and it made your guard almost wince  

“I send them on their way”, you said simply, leaning in to smell a beautiful flower, barely acknowledging him

“I don’t want you to be lonely”, he said gently, you raised your eyes to look at him 

“yes, I know but they are so… vain… “this lord looked at me”, or “have you seen the dress she was wearing…”, Cregan only smiled condescendingly at you, “and I…”

“You are thinking about the wellness of millions”, he said, “concerned about the future of the entire realm, I understand”

“I understand the need to be distracted for a while, but…”, he only nodded

“I understand”, he said shortly

“Why are you here?”, you asked, nervous, he didn’t understand the change in your dynamic, you had felt confident and calm enough to cry in front of him, but now you were evading his gaze, and shifting in your feet in nerves

In your mind was a bit more clearer

You realized you liked him, you found yourself feeling butterflies in your belly when you saw his handsome face, and you wanted to punch yourself, for being so childish, you were not a young girl in front of her knight in shining armor, you were a Queen now, he was your hand, your advisor, and the head of one of the most important houses on the entire realm.

But you felt your legs shake, and your breath caught in your throat every time you saw him approach you

And every time he was near, you wanted him to stay near you, you felt your chest strangle your heart each time he walked away from you.

Gods this was strange even for you

“I want to ask you something”, he said slowly, you looked at him then, concerned 

“You are leaving”, you said.

You were not an idiot, you knew he had a son, he was the Lord of Winterfell, he needed to rule his home. You couldn’t expect of him to stay here forever 

That took him by surprise

“No”, he said softly

“But you have to go one day, don’t you?”

“That is what I wanted to talk about”, he said softly, your attention was on him then, you tried to pull on those dark feelings that would make you mad at him when he did decided to leave, he could not see that wide-eyed little girl who had a crush on him, not now, and you will not beg when he tells you it was going to be time for him to return home…

“... the marriage offers”, you were lost for a second but that certainly brought you back to attention

“Uh?”, you asked

“You had been offered several hands of many lords over these past few days”

“Did the small council put you up to this?”, you asked, bored

“You need to get married”, he said severely, “we need to make your family strong again, you need to settle your line…”

“I understand”, you said, looking down. You knew he had signed a pact to marry you, but you also did not want to hold him to it, there were different times, it was naive for you to think he was going to hold up his part, he had done enough already 

“A marriage is also an alliance”, he continued, “you need someone who will help you and guide you, but not manipulate you…”

You only nodded

“A strong person, with a powerful family name…”

“If you say Tyland Lannister I swear…”, he chuckled, and shook his head

“No…”, he said. He then stopped all his movements, you felt his gaze on you, so you stopped as well and raised your head and eyes to look at him, “who do you want?”, he asked then

“I’m not sure”, you said, but you did… you wanted him

For the doubt in your mind made him question his own decision. He thought you were going to name him, but you were truly doubtful

You didn’t think he was an option

“I don’t know any of those men”, you said then in a whisper 

“You know some…”, he tried, you looked at him

He felt even guilty for wanting it

He gave in to his deepest desire, of power and lust.

“Yes you are right”, you whispered, looking away from him again, “I just…. need to think this through”, you said with a low voice, you wanted to end this chat

But he didn’t, he needed you to say it

He had heard the small council ask him to, he had heard Lady Jayne Arryn… but he needed to hear it from you.

“There must be someone in your mind”, he said softly, with a gentle, soothing voice

“There was”, you admitted

“Talk to me, I’m your hand”, he continued, “I am here to advice you”

“Until you leave me”, you say then, without thinking, it was barely a whisper

So that’s it, he thought, you resented him for even the mere thought of him abandoning you

“I can come back”, he said then, with a hint of amusement on his voice 

You only hummed, you didn’t believe him, and you were going to feel terribly lost without him, again, alone, like you had been before he saved you…. before he took the city in your name and put you on the throne

He did all of that

There was nobody else you wanted by your side but him

You shared a longing look, a long gaze

What did he want? you asked yourself. He looked like he wanted to listen to you but also to speak, at the same time. You didn’t know what else to say

“What does that mean?”, you asked then. He sighed, loudly

“I signed a pact…”, he said

“Yes, my brother offered my hand in marriage in exchange for your allegiance and your swords”, you said lowly

“No”, he answered back, you looked at him intently, “he asked for my loyalty, he had it already, but he negotiated our union for the simple fact he was scared of something befalling you, he wanted to send you North under my protection to keep you safe from harm, from the war, and from the Greens”

Ah yes, safe from Aemond and Aegon

“That sounds like my brother”, you said, melancholy tainting your voice 

“He wanted to keep you safe”

“In more than one way you had kept your promise”, you assured him, “you took the city, took control…”

“I did”, he said softly, “for you”

“You are going to put a crown in my head”, you said

“In three days”, he said then, “and then you should announced your betrothal”

“I don’t have one”

“You do”, he said finally, his eyes, piercing eyes bore into yours, he dwarfed you in size, and even though he had left his fur cloak behind… he still look big and imposing

“Cregan…”, you called

“Say it”, he encouraged 

“You signed the pact…”, you said.

As you looked at him, you grew angry

What did he want from you? to beg? you didn’t even know. He had signed that past, to marry you one day, and yet, he dodged that part at every turn, he needed to return home, you understood that he had a son, a little boy who needed his father, so why was he here? talking to you in this way? 

“You promised to marry me”, you said softly, he barely nodded, his eyes looking intently at you, “but I understand…”, he frowned then, and you started walking away from him. Letting him standing in the garden

You called in a small council meeting, on your own accord

They were right, you needed to make your family bigger and stronger…

“I called in this meeting because I have to make a demand”, you said firmly, your small council looking amongst each other, Cregan was silent, playing with the dragon eye in front of him

“Tomorrow the Barahteon will present themselves to me, and I want to tell you my intentions so you’ll be prepared”, you said firmly, “It is to my understanding that princess Jahaera, daughter of Aegon the Usurper, is still in Storm’s End…”

“As a guest”, said lord Lannister

“As a hostage”, you said then, “It is to my understanding that she was on her way here, when Aegon was poisoned”, you said softly, “I know because it was discussed at the dinner table in front of me, yet, she is not here, I understand they are trying to keep her safe as some sort of leverage, but…”, you continued, and then you soften your gaze, “I want her here, she is a little girl, a Targaryen, daughter to my lovely aunt Helaena, and she should be with me and Aegon, with family”, you said softly

“Your grace is most graceful”, muttered the Maester, the others murmured their affirmations

“Tomorrow I will demand of the Baratheons to bring little Jahaera back to me, when she is here, we will betrothed her to Aegon, to finally solidify the family and end this madness”, yous aid with a soft smile

Aemond, Aegon, Alicent and Otto are and will burn in hell

But not Helaena and her children

She was an angel, so were the little boys that lost her lives

Jahaera was the only one left, you owe it to Helaena to keep her safe

After the affirmation and support of your small council, you walked towards your little brother’s chambers

He had become so quiet and sad, which was expected, but still, you tried to keep his mind busy, you would put Septas and maesters to teach him and accompany him, at all ours, soon, one of your King’s guards will teach him the art of the sword.

Now you make sure to sit and dine with him

Even though he barely spoke

“Jahaera will come to court soon”, you whispered to him as you served yourself a cup of wine

“Who was Jahaera?”, he asked innocently, of course he didn’t remember 

“Helaena’s child”, you said, “she is your age, you can have fun together”

“Oh”, it's the only thing he said, while continue to have little pieces of bread and meat 

“Maybe one day you can get married”, you said lightly

“When are you getting married?”, he asked then and made you laugh

“Soon, but I don’t know with whom!”, you said as it was a joke, it was sad that it was true

“Marry Cregan”, he said simply

“WHy?”, you asked him, amazed

“I see the way he looks at you”, he said simply

“How does he look at me?”, you asked him

“As papa looked at mama”, he said, and you got quiet

“He has to go back North”, yous aid lightly

“You can command him to stay, you are the Queen”, he said, still not looking at you

“If I only command without listening to reason I’m a Tyrant”, you said softly, “not a queen”

“He wants to stay”, he said

“I don’t know if he does, you know Northerners don’t fare well here in the south”, you joked 

“Command him”, he insisted

“Aren’t you a little tyrant?”, you teased, reaching over the table and tickling his side until he squealed in a laugh

But gods if that made you think…

“He looks at you they way papa looked at mama”

Daemon Targaryen wasn’t much of a communicative man, he didn’t need to speak, it was all in his eyes…

He could make men tremble with just his gaze, he could make his children giggle with a wink, and he could make your mother swoon with that sparkle in his eyes.

Even little Aegon could tell 

Even if the nannies took control over your little brother, you were by his side until he fell asleep, and then you went to your own room

You served yourself a cup of wine, another cup of wine.

“Call in Lord Stark please”, you asked Eryk, and he nodded and went to fulfill your requirement 

It was inappropriate, to say the least, to summon a man to your chambers at this late… but you needn't to worry about such matters… Or you did

Your brother was right, you were a Queen, you had to begin to act like one 

Cregan foud you seated by the fire, in a relaxed stance, with a goblet of wine in your hand

“Your grace”, he greeted, he seemed serious, but you believed you found a glint in his eye… you were started to get to know him and his facial expressions, as cold as they may seem

“My Lord Hand”

“You will summon me and believe me, I will attend to your calling, but I must say, if someone sees me coming into your chambers at the hour of the owl, where we are going to be alone…”

“I’m aware”, you said, smiling at him

“What do you need?”, he asked gently, with a smirk on his lips

“Today in the garden…”, you started, “you mentioned the pact you sign”

“Yes I did”, he said

“Why?”, you asked him

“Why?”, he asked back

“Why would you bring it up?”, you asked again, “it seems that you do not intent to honor it”, he got quiet then, analyzing you

“I meant…”

“There is no one else…”, you said, “it is you”, you looked up at him, your eyes sparkling. He softened his gaze

“Is that a command?”, he asked, amusement in his voice, it was like he was playing a game.

“Marry me”, you said, “honor the pact of Ice and Fire… you can come back home, on the condition of course that you come back…”

“To you”, he said

“To me”, you agreed. “Everyone will be at ease, well, except for the Hightowers, when you sit at my side in the throne…”, you said, he barely nodded, still smiling 

“I don’t think so…”, he said finally, you stopped all your movements, was he rejecting you? he was not going to marry you? you had to command him, if he refused, you could fall through, you couldn’t make a man marry you… you started feeling ashamed of even summoning him here… you were starting to feel like an idiot

He turned his back to you and went to the small table in the corner and served himself a goblet of wine.

“I think they will feel threatened..”, he continued, you smiled then, taking a breath you didn’t know you were holding, “you and me together…”, he continued, taking a sip, “soon they’ll realize… the dragon and the wolf sat together… and they are all sheep”

You both smiled widely at each other 

this is the vibe I was going for jajaja

Cregan is... complex... everyone wanted a tougher Cregan, i'm giving a gray one. He has ambitions, and wants power, and he is not indiferent to us, the beautiful young Queen... of what I read about Cregan, it is what I perceive... anyways... hope you like... maybe I moved it a bit too quickly but I want to get to the good part

taglist! ❤️

@lyannesworld @tremendouswolfsaladranch @unlesshouse @mimsie95 @ostricx @amelia262006 @marihoneywk @ahristata @happinessinthebeing @dd122004dd

@lyannesworld @aestmilky @lightdragonrayne @delaynew @mxtokko @stargaryenx @lightdragonrayne @delaynew @mxtokko @good-night-starlight @yentroucnagol @beebeechaos 

[p0orbaby]

Laugh in the Face of Mercy

Summary - Smallfolk and lords alike fear the malice and wrath of their queen and her loyal knight. But little do they know that behind closed doors, the ruler of their kingdom is nothing more than a common whore

Warnings - smut 18+, fingering, orgasm denial, dom!reader, sub!wanda, language, mentions of violence and murder, jealousy, alcohol consumption

Authors note - I didn’t realise how much I missed writing royal au’s! Also I have no clue when I need to capitalise queen so don’t judge me

Word count - 2.9k

Navigation | Wanda Maximoff Masterlist

No one knew whose blood last left its stain on your sword.

There was a theory, folklore, that the steel had seen the insides of almost all of the people the queen seemed to show distaste for.

The prisoners who were once held in the cells below the castle were the most tame of her choices for execution. It wasn’t part of your duties to end the lives of petty criminals before trial, but it also wasn’t your duty to deny the queen of her requests.

With each swing of your sword towards the neck of a lawbreaker, the hiss and moans of the crowd watching grew louder with vexation. But when steel inevitably meets skin, the only sound to be heard in the execution square is the dull thud of a loose head hitting the floor and the drip of blood off of the end of your blade.

You’d grown numb to the ridicule. The people of the city had coined you The Rogue Wielder. No one was ever sure as to when silver would become red. It wasn’t the myths of old that children's parents warned them about, it was the queen and her loyal servant with a brand strong enough to shatter bones.

Yet even being at the centre of the most repugnant legend in recent history, the intentions of your monarch was something that, on rare occasions, even had you disputing her intentions.

A tense council meeting had just been adjourned when the queen gave you an instruction that had her questioning your loyalty for the first time.

“I’m sorry Your Grace but I won’t do it” your stern voice echoed off of the stone walls of the now empty council chamber.

“My apologies, but maybe you have gotten your position confused”. Even with her back to you you could imagine the look on her face. Eyebrows turned down to a scowl. Lips practically snarling at the prospect of being questioned.

“I’m very aware of my role at court, but my abilities do not extend to killing lords just to rid you of a headache, my queen”

“This is not a matter of asking you for your opinion. I’m giving you an order and I am expecting you to fulfill it”

“On what grounds would you have me murder Lord Stark? He looked at you the wrong way during a tourney? He drank too much of your wine at the banquet you hosted a moon ago?”

She finally turned around at your words. Green eyes met yours with an intensity you only saw when you looked into the flames of a hearth on cold nights. Yet even behind her angered gaze, you saw the vulnerability of a woman you only get to experience behind closed doors.

“He threatens my rule. He’s trying to worm his way to my side and take control of my kingdom”

“Stop being ridiculous, Wanda. A request to court you is no reason to chop off the man’s head! You bellow. “If he wanted to take the throne from underneath you he would have already marched on The Capital with his army. Which I will remind you is larger and better equipped than our own”

“I’m not scared of his wealth. Don’t treat me like a fool who doesn’t know the ins and outs of royal conflicts”

“There is no royal conflict as of present. But once Starks head is free from his body, his bannermen will descend upon the city like a forest fire in a drought”

“That is a risk that we will be more than willing to take”. Her comment was said with a confidence that sent shivers down your spine.

“We?”

“Me and you, my knight. You did pledge fealty to me did you not?”

-

In the following weeks a plan was devised. The alliance of the houses of Maximoff and Stark. It was nothing more than a financial bond, and perhaps down the line any heirs Wanda may produce would marry the heirs of Lord Antony. Well that’s what he and his house believed at least. Because how could a man without breath in his lungs produce heirs?

The dinner to celebrate was held in the Great Hall and it was grand to say the least. The heads of all the great houses had gathered for the festivities in droves, so much so that there was hardly any space to move let alone get a chance to get close to Stark.

But maybe the dense crowds could work to your advantage. The swing of a sword would not fare well in such intimate settings. Yet other means of executions could go unnoticed at times like this. Many called it the woman’s weapon. A cowardly way to kill someone. However, ending the life of someone without having laid a finger on

them didn’t seem cowardly at all.

“Frown a little harder Y/N, you’re not spoiling the mood enough” Wanda’s words were slightly slurred. She had had a fair few cups of wine thus far and there probably wasn’t any intention of her stopping.

“Forgive me my queen but I am in fact trying to conjure a plan to see your request through. Unless you’d want to do it yourself?”

“I would but you would become redundant then wouldn’t you? But I will say I’m a little confused as to why I can see Lord Stark standing. Dead men can’t stand now, can they? Or have the maesters made a breakthrough?”

“Not that I’m aware” you responded sarcastically. “But after tonight they can use his body for experiments perhaps. Look at his brain and conclude as to why he acts like a complete and utter twat”

Wanda snorts beside you. Laughing slightly despite her words. “Careful, you don’t want people to hear what you're saying. Yes, I am Queen, but if people find out I’m executing lords and ladies apropos of nothing, then the city may actually prepare an uprising. Petty criminals are fine, affluent individuals not so fine. Either way, you’ve had a change in tune”

“What do you mean?” You question. Head turning from where your eyes were carefully scanning the crowd.

“Before, when I asked you to do this, you were hesitant. Almost hostile. Yet now you are practically gagging to get your hands around his weasely little throat”

You hummed in agreement. “Perhaps I’m just as concerned about his intentions as you are. If he tries to take the throne, he also takes something from me too”

“And what would that be, brave knight?” She asks, her green eyes looking up at you innocently from where she sat. Cheeks pink for alcohol. Lips plump and ready to be kissed.

You leant down to reply this time. You would happily let the other members of court hear you rant about your disdain for Anthony. But you wanted to keep this particular topic between you and Wanda.

“Isn’t it obvious? You whisper. “It’s something small and pretty, has lovely auburn hair and gets wet everytime I get anywhere near it”

The smirk on your queen's face only grew wider as she brought another cup of sweet wine to her lips as you rose to your full height once more.

-

It was chaos.

Everyone was scarpering like ants near water. Congestion bottlenecking at the only exit to the door, a flurry of silk and screams bellowed through the hall.

Poison, said the Grand Maester. Frothing at the mouth, bloodshot eyes, burst veins leaking from the nose.

Poison. You could’ve told him that.

The queen did an apt job at being aghast. Her fingers trembling as you pulled her through the back entrance of the Throne Room. Leading her through corridors only used for the reigning monarch and small council members.

Only when you were safe in her quarters did she let up. Shoulders relaxing and back straightening. It was chilling to watch. How she could go from one extreme emotion to the next without even so much as a blink.

“You killed someone for your queen today” she stated like it wasn’t the most obvious thing. “I think that deserves a reward of some kind, don’t you?”

“Well that all depends on what you’ve got in mind for a reward. Like you said yourself, I’ve killed for you tonight. Perhaps you should let me choose?”

The flame from the mounted candles made Wanda’s eyes glitter. Like the sunset over a field of green. Light dancing and twirling in pools of vibrant colour.

She didn’t even speak. Your answer was given to you in way of action. She started to unfastened her dress with deft fingers. Slowly pulling loose the laces of her corset.

You’d fully intended to sit back and watch her unwrap herself for you. Relish in her removing layer after layer of expensive silk and linen, but when the last string was slack and the front of her bodice opened revealing soft, pale flesh, your mouth couldn’t help but water.

Your gloved hands flexed at your sides as you tried to stay calm. Itching to get your palms on her. Needing to feel her skin underneath your calloused fingers.

“Are you sure you still want to choose?” She teased, shrugging her shoulders, letting the dress fall to the ground in its entirety.

“You’ve been bare underneath the whole evening?”

She chuckled at your question. Of course she had. When would she have found the time to rid her undergarments? She didn’t want to miss the show. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Wanda moved slowly around the room. Displaying herself. Showing you want you’ll get if you keep up your good behaviour.

“I didn’t tell you because you get like this. Lust driven and manic. I needed you to complete a job first” she poured some wine out of the decanter, left for her on the solar table. “Your vision gets blurred at even the smallest notion of you being able to get your fingers wet”. She hid her smirk behind the lip of her cup.

If anyone else heard their queen talk in this manner it would come across as jarring. Impolite even. But it only made you love her more. That she was able to have a poisoned tongue around you and not be in fear of judgment.

“Is that my reward then? Being able to get my fingers wet?”

“Perhaps”

You were starting to lose your patience. She knew what she was doing. She’d rile you up, tease you enough so you’d break and have your way with her. Rough and animalistic. She was a queen to the realm, in her quarters she was nothing but a whore for you.

The soles of your boots clicked against the stone floor as you walked towards her, taking the cup of wine from her hand when you could. Draining its contents in one swig.

“Get on the bed,” you demanded. And when she didn’t move, “now. I won’t ask you again”

The flames in her eyes now swam in a sea of black. Green completely gone, other than a sliver around the edges. Defiance seemed to turn her on.

“Fine, have it your way”

In one swift movement your hand swept the tray holding the wine jug and extra cups off the table. Causing them to clatter and smash against the floor. Dark red liquid spreading over the stone like blood from a wound.

Then, with nary a gasp, Wanda’s body was forced to the table. Strong hands wrapping around the back of her neck and pressing into her lower back to ensure she didn’t run. She never would. But just to be certain.

You couldn’t see her face in this position, but you knew her cheek was flat against the table. Her muffled, incomplete words confirmed it.

“May I remind you that manhandling me is punishable by death”

There was no time for her to answer before you removed a hand from her waist to use it to stroke her behind. The walls doing a good job in having the sound echo around the room once your palm connected with her supple flesh.

“And what does spanking The Queen get me then, hm? You can’t kill me twice I’m afraid”. You gave her another smack as she tried to move out of your grip to turn and look at you. “Besides, it looks like I've made the decision for both of us. I’ve chosen to take you over the table. Then in the window so whoever happens to look up will get an unforgettable sight of their queen getting fucked. Then, if I haven’t had enough of you, I’ll take you on the bed. Fast or slow, that depends on if you do what I say. Understand?”

Finally she relents and nods. You release her, eyeing her closely for any indication she might move. There’s none, so you proceed.

You start by taking off your own clothes. Still in your armour, you unclip each piece from the next and place them gently on one of the sofas behind you. It was an item most precious to you, so as soon as they were placed upon your back you deemed they would not be scratched by anything other than a blade.

You looked over your shoulder cautiously, to make sure Wanda was still doing what she was told. The twitch of her fingers against the oak of the table fingers told you she was doing everything in her being not to look. Annoyed that she can’t watch you strip the way you did her.

Your linens were the last to come off. Tunic still slightly damp with sweat from the quick exit you made from the Great Hall. Breaches flooded with hot want caused by Wanda’s excessive teasing and disobedience. They were quickly ripped from your body and thrown in a heap on the floor, letting your tacky skin breathe.

“Look at you” you mocked. “Look at you being a good girl. Bending over all proper for me”

You pressed your body into hers. Your hips rocking against her behind slightly, praying to release some of the pressure building low in your belly.

“I don’t like waiting,” she gritted. Impatience getting the better of her.

“And I don’t like it when you talk to me like that”. Your hand reached down and wrapped her hair around your wrist and yanked. Her torso arching head pulled back, revealing the pale taught skin of her neck. Ready for I be vandalized with your teeth and tongue. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

You could see Wanda’s lips turn up into a smirk. She was enjoying this, you realised. Enjoying the torment, the tease, the handover of power. And you enjoyed it too. So much so you didn’t give her time to answer before you plunder your callused fingers into her.

“Gods,” she whimpered.

“The gods aren’t going to help you now. I gave you ample time to be polite about this. You ruined it. And now I’m going to ruin you”

You curled your fingers as you spoke. Hitting the spongy spot inside her that you knew made her vision blur at the edges. Her legs lifting so her calves were tight and her heels were off of the cold stone floor.

She was warm, and wet. Just as you had hoped. The perfect combination for you to thrust into her with pace. Fingers finding little resistance as they buried deep within her, making her moan.

“That's what you wanted, hm? To be fucked. Degraded. My little whore”

She nodded. Her hair becoming a mess over her face. You couldn't have that now, could you? Your left hand remedied that by wrapping her hair around your wrist and pulling. Her body bending backwards, curling off the table with the force of her taught hair pulling at her scalp.

“Fuck, Y/N” she breathed. Whimpered, almost.

“You're taking me so well” you praise. “Like your pussy was made to wrap around my fingers”

A cry spilled from her lips as you added a third finger. Stretching her out even more. Pushing her closer to the edge as each thrust of your hand had her hips knock against the hard surface beneath her.

“Please” she begged. The crack in her voice just as uncharacteristic as the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I'm so close, let me cum. Please”

“Please? You think that's all it's going to take for me to give you what you want?” You scoff. “One little word in exchange for your release?” In seconds you pulled your fingers from her. The change had the queen fall forwards and let out a frustrated sob. “You think you can tell me what to do? Not in here. Not with this”

It was cruel really. But you were enjoying teasing her. Loving the way she became weak in the knees for you. How it drastically compared to her public persona.

I pledged my fealty to you, that is true”, you continued, stalking around the room. Torturing her as your footsteps got closer then further away once more. “But I think you may have gotten your position confused”. The words that mirrored hers rolled off of your tongue, like oil in water. “Queen you may be, but I own you. My sword is yours, but your pussy is mine. Do you understand?

She nods, then says “I understand”.

“Good, now go and stand in the fucking window like a good girl”

Maybe it wasn't the stories about your bloodied sword the common people needed to worry about. But your ability to bring the realms deadliest monarch to her knees with just your fingers.

Though you doubt the bards will sing of the nights Queen Wanda moaned your name, but of the injustices you were willing to commit while you screamed hers.

Taglist

General Taglist: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @jromanoff @diaryoflife @xxromanoffxx @marrymemcgrath @smileyromanoff @rice-wiife @homiesexyall @wanda-is-my-joker @wackymcstupid @when-wolves-howl @sayah13 @lesbicentism

W.M Taglist: @olsensnpm @anaaam @wandsmxmff

[bellinyx]

Heart of the Sea

Prologue: The Woman on the Cliff

Love and Deepspace

Summary: "When you take me into your waiting arms and steal my final breath as payment…take with it the memory of him." Pairing: Rafayel x Reader Word Count: 2.6k Warnings/Additional Tags: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Angst With Comfort, Suicide, Character Death, Star-Crossed Lovers Trope A/N: Hello! Please be reminded that this is a work in progress, and I am still relatively new to writing, so please be patient with me. If you guys do end up enjoying it, then likes and follows are always appreciated. With that said, I hope you all enjoy the story!

The sound of waves crashing against the cliffside seemed to drown out the rest of the world as a woman stood atop the cliff face. Her eyes trained on the sky as dark storm clouds rolled in from the west, darkening the sky with their approach and blocking out the light of the setting sun. The distant clash of thunder ringing in her ears, and the flash of lightning shining in her lifeless eyes as she lost herself to the memories running through her mind. Lost herself to the memories of her lover and their time spent together. The feeling of his soft purple hair running through her finger, the sight of his glittering scales as he swam through the ocean currents in the morning light, the warmth that spread within her heart as she stared into his unique eyes.

His eyes.

What beautiful eyes they were

The colors of blue and pink mixing perfectly together, and reminding her so much of the setting sky now blocked out by the dark gray clouds above. The storm rolling in around her and causing the temperature to drop drastically, her warm breath coming out in puffy clouds against the cold air. The wind speeds rising, and the waves crashing hard against the cliffside below as she continued to stare up at the sky. The cold grass beneath her bare feet barely registered within her mind as she took a step forward.

Then another.

Then another.

Until at last she stood at the edge of the cliff, her lifeless eyes still trained on the sky as lightning flashed once more. Thunder shaking the earth below as the first rainfall began. The droplets gently pelting against her ice cold skin, wetting her hair and causing her clothes to stick to her skin. The soft smell of rain mixing perfectly with the familiar scent of the sea as the frigid winds rose up from the crashing waves below. The wind running through her damp hair and brushing against her cheek in a gentle caress, as if knowing and acknowledging her struggles, as if beckoning her to join it in the dark depths below.  

“Please…”

The woman began, her voice no more than a whisper against the raging storm around her. Still, even the waves seemed to calm their assault against the cliffside at the desperation in the woman's tone.

“Grant me one last act of mercy. When you take me into your waiting arms and steal my final breath as payment…take with it the memory of him. The memory of his beating heart beneath my fingertips as I sang to him late into the night, of his hands in mine as we danced beneath the waves in each others arms, of his lips pressed against mine as he pledged his love to me…of his hands reaching out to another woman, of his kingdom falling to ruin and of his blood staining the ocean red and his broken scales floating atop the water's surface as he took his final breath.” 

She begged, praying to any god that would listen to grant her this one last wish before she is swallowed by the depths of the sea and forgotten for all time.

As her words were spoken into the world, lightning flashed across the sky with thunder following soon after as the storm grew in its intensity. The familiar scent of sea salt invading her senses as the wind brushed against her cheek in a final caress, reassuring her of her decision before carrying her words across the sea. The wind parting the clouds above her and allowing a steady stream of light to peek through, its colors a beautiful mixture of blue and pink, so reminiscent of his eyes. The light shining down upon her and beckoning her forward, promising her peace if she just took that final step. The sight causing a soft smile to spread across her lips as the woman raised her hands to the sky, welcoming the beautiful light as if welcoming home her long lost lover.

“Thank you.”

She whispered, her voice filled with an overwhelming gratitude.

A single tear rolling down her cheek as she finally closed her eyes, that single droplet rolling off of her chin and falling into the ocean below as she took that last step forward. The cold ground beneath her bare feet disappearing as she allowed herself to fall.

Down.

Down.

Down.

The wind picking up in speed and the waves crashing against the now empty cliffside with a renewed vigor. The roaring of the thunder drowning out the sound of the woman's body hitting the ocean below with a sickening crash. 

A deafening silence greeted her as she sank beneath the waves, the ocean welcoming her into its cold embrace as she sank further and further into its depths. The metallic taste of blood on her tongue and the throbbing pain in her head causing her to lose focus as she watched the surface grown farther and farther out of her reach. The frigid cold of the ocean waters seeping into her bones and chilling her to her core as her vision began to blur. The sight of the raging storm above the surface of the water the last thing she saw before she slowly closed her eyes. A soft smile spreading across her lips for the last time as she finally allowed the darkness to take over her mind.

The pain of her throbbing body and the frigid chill of the ocean within her bones slowly fading away as the ocean did as she asked. Taking her into its waiting arms and stealing her final breath as payment before finally taking the memory of her long lost lover away from her.

———

At the docks sat a young woman, her legs crossed beneath her as she stared down at a notebook held within her hands. Her brows furrowed in thought as she tapped a pencil against her chin, trying her best to think of what to write. Yet, as the minutes ticked by, she couldn't help but grow frustrated with herself as her mind continued to wander.

Realizing she wasn’t going to be getting anything done, the woman sets her notebook down in her lap with a sigh of irritation. Her pencil falling from her hands and rolling across the dock as she buried her face into her hands. A soft pout making its way onto her face as she glanced out across the ocean, her chin propped up against her hands as she leaned on her knees. The sight of the setting sky beyond the ocean calming something deep inside of her as she stared for a while. The soft blues and pinks within the sky mixing beautiful with the golden glow of the setting sun shining across the ocean. The feelings of warmth, love and dedication the colors caused within her heart confused the woman, yet she couldn't find it in herself to mind as she allowed the sight to calm her racing mind.

To anyone looking in, they would see a woman sitting peacefully at the edge of the docks, a notebook in her lap as she staring lifeless out at the setting sky beyond the ocean. However, in the woman's eyes, all she could see was the colors of blue and pink mixing together in a beautiful display. All she could see was lightning flashing across a stormy sky, the sound of thunder shaking the earth and waves crashing against the side of a cliff, and the feeling of the wind caressing her cheek as her body is plunged into the icy depths of the ocean below.

The sound of her pencil falling into the water below is what finally brought the woman out of her thoughts. The memories and faint sensations fading from her mind just as fast as they had come as she glanced towards the edge of the dock. Her head peaking over the side as she glared down at the wooden pencil floating atop the waters surface a couple of feet below.

“Darn it, not again.” 

She whispers, her hand reaching out to pluck the pencil from the sea, only to stop as something caught her eye.

It was a small fish, no bigger than her palm. It's scales a beautiful iridescent blue against the ocean surrounding it. It's head poking out of the water to nibble on the side of her pencil, looking the same as a puppy chewing on a stick. The sight causing the woman to chuckle as she takes a moment to glance around, making sure no one was watching her before finally reaching her hands out. Her fingers dipping into the water below as her Evol slips out, her eyes glowing a soft blue as the water bends around itself to form a water bubble around the fish and the pencil. The bubble hovering just above her palms as she pulls it towards her. Keeping its shape and allowing her to get a better look at the little fish with the pencil still in its mouth.

“Hello there.”

The woman says, her smile warm as the fish glances at her before going back to chew on its prize. 

“I’m sorry to say, but that’s not food, little one.”

She says, reaching inside the bubble and gently pulling the pencil out. The bubble remaining intact around the little fish as she sets the pencil down next to her on the dock.

“Now, what are you doing so close to the docks? I’ve seen a big old fat cat walking around here lately who looks like he would eat you the first chance he got.” 

The woman says, her smile teasing as the fish begins circling around the bubble. It's eyes wide and filled with curiosity as it checks out its new vantage point before finally glancing back down at where the pencil was lying beside the woman. Its eyes hungrily eyeing the prize it had worked so hard to get, only for it to be snatched away in the end. The sight of such a look on a fish’s face causes the woman to laugh as she reaches down and picks the pencil back up before finally slipping it back inside of the bubble.

“Alright, fine. You can have the pencil, it’s not as if I was getting anything done with it anyways.”

The woman mumbles with a pout, watching as the fish immediately latches onto the side of the pencil. Its little eyes finally looking up at the woman as it nibbles on its new treasure.

“Hmm, with your love for that pencil, I can only assume that you are a very artistic young fish. You wouldn’t happen to have any ideas for music, would you little one? I’m having a bit of writer's block while coming up with something new.”

She says with a smile, not expecting an actual answer as the fish looked at her with curiosity.

“Do you get all your ideas from fish?”

Someone suddenly asks from behind the woman.

The sudden voice caused the woman to gasp, her body jumping in surprise but the bubble luckily staying intact above her hands. The little fish looking at her with what could only be described as a pout as she glances over her shoulder, her eyes widening as she finds a man standing right behind her.

He looked young, probably no older than herself, with soft looking dusky purple hair and fair skin. He was dressed in a beige multi-colored cardigan over a white button up shirt and black pants with a dangly earring hanging from his right ear, a travel brochure clutched in his right hand as he stood with his arms crossed.

Once the shock of his sudden appearance had faded, the woman's surprise was then replaced by amusement as she finally registered the strangers words.  

“Of course I do. After all, fish always have the best ideas.”

The woman says, giving the stranger an amused smile as he raises an eyebrow. A smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he comes closer, crouching down to examine the fish still nibbling on the pencil within the protection of its bubble. 

“Are you sure about that? This one doesn’t look too intelligent.” 

The man says, reaching out to gently poke at the bubble and watching as it keeps its shape. 

“I’ll have you know this little fish has big plans for himself. See, he already had the first tool that any great artist needs.”

The woman says with a confident smirk, nodding to the pencil within the fish's grasp as the fish continues to nibble on its prize, completely unaware of the two people arguing over its intelligence.

“Is that so? Well, if that's the case, then he should probably learn that pencils aren't food.”

The man says, his voice teasing and his eyes filled with mischief as he glances away from the fish to instead look at the woman with a playful smirk.

His eyes.

At the sight of his eyes, the woman's smile slowly falls as she stares up at him. Her eyes widening as she loses herself in the soft blues and pinks of his eyes. The color familiar to her in a way she couldn't describe, the memory of a heartbeat beneath her fingertips and light caressing her skin flashing through her mind as she loses herself in his gaze. Seeing the dazed look in the woman's eyes, the man gave her a curious look. His playful smirk still present as he raised his eyebrow in a silent question. The subtle warmth hidden within his gaze causing the woman's heart to race as she tilts her head. A soft smile spreading across her lips as she stares up at him with a far away look in her eyes.

"What beautiful eyes."

She whispers, her voice soft in the silence between them.

However, her words seem to have an effect on the man. His eyes widening, the smirk falling from his lips as he stares at her in shock. The look in his eyes haunted, filled with a deep anguish and guilt that the woman could not understand.

As if he had seen a ghost.

It was this look that caused the woman to finally snap out of whatever trance she had been in. Her eyes widening as she realized what she just said to a complete stranger. A dark blush of embarrassment spreading across her cheeks as she looks away from the man. Her eyes glancing over the fish instead as she tries to calm her racing heart. All while the fish looks at her with what could only be described as pity as it continues to nibble on its pencil.

By the time she had gathered the courage to turned back to him, the man had already stood and was making his way back down the dock towards town. His sudden departure causing the woman's eyes to widen in surprise, her eyes trailing after him as his figure got further and further away. 

“Oh um, goodbye. Nice meeting you.”

She says, her voice filled with confusion and guilt as she watches him walk away for a moment longer before turning back to the fish.

“Well, that was embarrassing.”

She mumbles, her eyes scanning over the fish for a moment before her smile returns.

“Well, thank you for spending time with me, little fish, but its getting late. You should probably start heading home. I hope you enjoy your new treasure.”

The woman says, reaching down to gently set the bubble back into the ocean. Her Evol returning to her as the bubble disperses, allowing the fish to swim around in a couple of circles before finally making its way further into the sea with its prize held tightly in its mouth. The sight causing the woman’s smile to grow as her gaze slowly travels to the setting sun in the distance. Savoring the sight of the blues and pinks of the sky blending together before heading home for the day. The familiar scent of sea salt invading her senses as the gentle breeze blows through her hair and brushes across her cheek.

With her distracted, the woman didn’t notice when the man from before stopped walking to glance at her over his shoulder. That same haunted and regretful look in his eyes as he watches her savor her time by the sea. His eyes scan over the familiar sight of her white hair cascading down her back in beautiful waves and her pale blue eyes filled with warmth as she watches the sunset beyond the sea. The sight almost too much for him to handle as he finally turns away. His steps heavy and his heart even heavier as he makes his way further and further away from the one place he wanted to be, refusing to turn back around for even a second.

Knowing that if he did, he would never leave her side again. 

A/N: I hope you enjoyed, be sure to like and follow for more!

[villainscharm]

BLOOD AND BONES | davos blackwood

CHAPTER : TWO

MASTERLIST — ONE

paring : davos blackwood x f! original character

summary : davos and celia were faced with an undesirable offer — a difficult decision between their own pride and duties — and a midnight encounter that led to a deep conversation and something more.

a/n : (smut next chapter!)

english is not my first language. all characters are of age unless stated otherwise.

words count : 3.7k

warnings : arrange marriage. light smut (mdni). angry makeout session. implied masturbation. original house/characters. dark theme. mention of death. implied vampire history. religious theme implied.

Morning came and Davos didn't even know. He wasn't sure if it was because of the station of the castle that was hidden amongst the tall trees or the dark curtains that covered the large windows in his chamber. He heard a servant knock upon his doors, alerting him of the breakfast. Quickly, Davos dressed himself properly before exiting his chambers, following the servant along the empty hall.

“Good morning, lord Davos,” greeted Celia. Her tone meant courtesy but her expressions meant unwelcoming. “I take it as you slept well? Since you've just arrived.” Davos' eyes shot her a quick glare, an attempt to warn her of his annoyance, especially this morning. “I couldn't tell when the sun rose. You have a terrible station, my lady,“ Davos replied after sitting down on the opposite side of Celia — only Celia, her brother was nowhere to be found.

“You're giving me advice on architecture now, Davos?” Celia returned his glare, no longer addressing him as lord anymore. Her fork stabbed deep into the meat on her plate. Surprisingly earning an anger out of her pleased Davos as he continued eating with a grin on his face. When he said nothing in response, Celia continued her mumble. “I'm sure Raventree Hall must be astonishing.”

Since the encounter, Davos almost forgot Celia and he were not different in age. Her behavior seemed mature at first, he ventured it was only a facade she put on in front of new people in order to protect herself and her family. Davos learnt that house Lairwyn had lost their late lord and lady when their two heirs were very young, making the responsibility forced upon themselves.

“It is indeed astonishing, lady Celia,” Davos finally responded. “You should see it yourself,” with that Celia’s gaze shot to him instantly, a small curve flashed on the corner of her lips, “If I didn’t know any better I would take it as you’re inviting me to your home, Davos.”

“And do you?” Davos asked, his tone matched her sarcasm. Celia’s eyebrows perked up, urging him to finish his question. “Know better,” his voice low, some might take it as calming but Celia in fact knew better as it was dangerous. With a smirk on her lips, she replied. “Of course I do. After all, I’ve been living for a hundred years,” her tone was mischievous as well as her dark eyes. Celia was aware of what Davos thought of her, she knew of what he had heard about her house and their reputation. Every bloody person in the seven kingdoms knew. She could feel it in her bones ever since their eyes met at the hall of Bloodstone. But she did not care for it. If anything it made her feel above even more.

Davos’ face dropped slightly at her sentence but he took it as her jesting, still he did not trust her so. But before he could respond, the doors of the dining hall opened, presenting the lord of Bloodstone in his usual black attires.

“Do not scare our guest like that, Celia. It is not ladylike,” spoked Carlos as he took his spot at the head of the table. There was no food in front of him, only a goblet of wine already filled. Davos tried not to be too curious about it, maybe the lord of Bloodstone already broke his fast.

“I've come to consider your terms, lord Davos. Our queen’s terms,” Carlos began, turning Celia and Davos’ attention to himself. “I’ve sent words to her grace this morning. We will pledge our loyalty to her only under one condition,” fingers trailing at the rim of his cup, Carlos could see the curiosity on his sister’s face as they had not discussed this together beforehand. But she made sure to ask about it after the dining was done, just in case Carlos had other plans hidden. “Hopefully her grace is kind enough to oblige.”

“What have you done!” Celia stormed into the library room of Bloodstone, where she sure knew her brother was at. There she found Carlos sitting behind the table, reading some book as if he wasn’t bothered by her presence. A loud thud followed behind as Celia’s fists landed on top of the wooden surface. “I asked you a question, Carlos,” the formality was gone, Celia’s voice filled with burning anger as her brother remained no answer.

It had been a fortnight since the arrival of the queen’s letter — since Rhaenyra sent men from house Blackwood to persuade them into joining her side. After Davos left, Celia tried to have a conversation with her brother about the conditions he had sent for their queen. But it seemed Carlos wasn’t very interested in sharing his plans with her as he kept avoiding his answer. Today Celia finally found out, after old lord Orwyn had accidentally slipped out.

Carlos finally looked up at his sister. His face was blank with expressions and Celia almost didn’t recognise her brother. He wouldn’t do this to her really, would he? “I asked queen Rhaenyra for an offer of marriage to you,” his voice was so calm it was almost scary. Celia’s eyes filled with tears from both wrath and disappointment. Though this matter was expected of her. “You’re aware of what people think of us, Celia. If you expect us to wait for someone to come to our castle and ask for your hand, you are not a very clever Lairwyn,” His voice was sharp, painful but true. Celia was very much aware that no lord in the realm would ever come to Bloodstone and ask for her hand. Even if she was the last woman in the world.

It pained Carlos as well, as a brother he felt terrible for not discussing this with her beforehand, asking of her comfortability. But as the lord of Bloodstone he must act strenuous, earnestly. His voice was softer this time when he explained. “I asked the queen to send word to many houses, to see if any  had responded to the offer. Because we know no one will ever come to our alliance on their own.” For a moment silence filled the air, Celia was struggling to not shed anymore tears and trying to compose herself. Finally she was calm again, a sniff before her voice query. "Has there been any replied?" she huffed out, taking the seat opposite from her brother. Carlos flashed her a smirk before he replied.

"Yes, there has been one."

“Are you mad, uncle?”

Davos' voice shouted, cutting through the air of Raventree Hall. He stood in front of his uncle Samwell, his face red with anger and betrayed. This morning after Davos finished sparring in the training yard, he was summoned to the hall by his uncle. The lord of Raventree Hall was informing his nephew of some good news. One, the queen appreciated the devotation he had done for her fortnight ago, giving her one more noble house on her side. And two, of the betrothal of him and the lady of Bloodstone herself.

“Careful now boy, it is an honour the queen granted us,” Samwell warned sternly, trying to make his hot-headed nephew understand. “It was a request from house Lairwyn. Lord Carlos asked the queen for a marriage offer, her ravens went all across the realm to find her a suitable husband.”

“And so you think it is me?” Davos huffed angrily. He was aware of his duty he needed to perform to his house. Marriage was not always an option for him to decide, but at least he had hoped to choose the bride by himself.

“I've come to consideration with the lord Carlos himself,” Samwell added. And confusion washed over Davos' face instantly. He saw Carlos and had a discussion with him. Davos wasn't even sure if Celia herself was in on it. “You have seen her, she is a beautiful young lady with a good family name.” Beautiful, yes but deadly as well. “Good family name? Have you forgotten what we call them?” Davos' voice was harsh. For he knew Davos grew up with dark rumours of them. The myths and legends of infamous house Lairwyn and their traitorous behavior against their gods.

“It will go against everything we stood for,” Davos tried to reason with his uncle, referring to their religion. House Blackwood had placed their faith with the Old Gods for hundreds of years. An alliance with those who stood on the opposite might not benefit them. “House Lairwyn shares the same faith as ours. Many do not know of it because they were too busy despising them.”

Strangely, it was true. Davos came to an understanding. His house never hated the Lairwyns, if anything they were only afraid of them. Still, it did not change the fact that he would be wed to Celia — the woman with a poisonous tongue.

“As your uncle and the head of house Blackwood, you will do your duty as I command,” and with that Davos was defeated. There was no way out but to accept it. It wasn't like Davos disliked Celia or couldn't stand her. But because he felt like this arrangement would lead them to nothing but a long life of an unhappy marriage. And he would hate to be the reason for it.

After learning of her arranged betrothal to the young lord from house Blackwood, Celia couldn't sleep. Although she and Carlos had come to an understanding of the situation, Celia always knew she had to wed a lord. If not by her choosing then her brother's, he was the lord of Bloodstone after all. Being betrothed to someone who she didn't choose wasn't so bad, but the fact that her betrothed being Davos Blackwood was worse. Of all men in the seven kingdoms, the house that replied to the queen's letter was house Blackwood. Celia didn't hold any grudges towards them or anything. She just found Davos to be somewhat pretentious. His boldness and devotation was nothing to be disliked, as was his good look.

There was no denying of Davos Blackwood’s attractiveness. With his tall and lean posture, the way he carried himself with such proudness. His dark curls and his pretty eyes. If they had met under other circumstances, Celia might have liked him.

Mayhaps, totally.

Hours had passed and Celia’s mind went everywhere but to sleep, insomnia crept up onto her with too much thoughts, so she decided to take her horse to the woods to find comfort amongst darkness.

Celia dropped her feet to the ground when she arrived at her usual spot in the woods, under the largest, tallest tree in her estate. As she was caressing the back of her horse she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. She turned herself around quickly, a dagger in her hand and her eyes fearlessly staring into the dark figure behind the tree. Eventually the figure stepped into the light of moon, revealing himself.

“Davos,” her voice spat, but a relief as she realized it wasn’t someone or something else. “It is late for a lady to be wandering about?” Davos’ tone was a mix of question and statement. Celia couldn’t care if he was asking her out of curiosity or worry, either way she did not want to know. She let out an annoyed sigh before stepping closer to the lord in front. “Were you following me?” her voice stern and her eyes bore deep into his dark ones. Davos didn’t look away, he scoffed in response. “How could I ever know that you’re here?” Despite his annoyance, deep down Davos couldn’t help but worry for her. It wasn’t just any other time, it was midnight. And the sky was as black as her hair, if it hadn’t been for the moonlight, Davos was sure they wouldn’t be able to see each other as of now.

Now, under the soft moonlight Davos could truly see her for the first time. He had never been this close or even alone with Celia. His stay at Bloodstone fortnight ago was only an overnight stay, he didn’t get to spend much time with her. Only if he knew they would be betrothed sometime after, he would have had to try to get to know her. Under the pale moonlight, Davos could see the redness under her eyes. It could’ve been a sign of her sleepless night or maybe that was just how the Lairwyns were built, he bet it was the latter.

“Why are you out here at this time?” his voice was soft and Celia could actually see the worry on his face. He was so handsome, she didn’t even want to admit it but here he was, standing in front of her under the very same tree that gave her comfort, his eyes studying her expressions as he waited for an answer.

“I could not sleep. I suppose you know why,” Celia raised her brows at him for reference while her hand put the dagger back into the sheath on her belt. Davos only nodded in return, his face dropped for he was aware of the reason for their sleepless night. He could see that she was displeased as much as himself. He felt guilty of it. While Celia stepped back before sitting down, leaning her back against the large tree, she invited Davos to take a spot next to her, which he did obediently. They both sat in an uncomfortable silence for sometime before Davos finally spoke up.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything, Davos. We’re to be wed after all,” her voice was bland as well as her face, it sounded bitter — she refused to hold eye contact with her betrothed when she spoke of the matter. She thought it would be better that way.

“My uncle told me that your house is in need of a successor, why must it be you and not your brother?” He was the lord of Bloodstone. Davos thought but did not utter aloud. Celia took a moment to find a proper way to answer, as well as wondering about it herself why it must be her.

“My brother cannot proceed heirs,” she finally answered, her face looking down at her subtly fidgeting hands. “It was a curse I think. Most Lairwyns were born with a curse. But Carlos’ happened twice,” Celia could feel Davos’ gaze on her, he was listening intensely, paying more attention than she would have expected. “Carlos was married two years ago before tragedy took her away,” Davos watched as her eyes saddened, though she tried to remain unbothered. “He loved her so much, he tried everything to take her back.”

And by everything Celia meant it. Every possible way there was to reincarnate his loved one back. Davos wasn’t the type who believed in magic even though he was raised under a family that believed so. But he didn’t argue, he just sat there and listened to his betrothed opening her heart for him.

“Somehow the consequences of bargaining with death had taken every bit of Carlos away — all he held dear. At one point I thought my brother had gone mad. He spoke of a strange horse that looked like it was nothing but bones in our yard, which I have never seen in my entire life. But it was our ancestor's beliefs that the strange horse would only appear to those who had witnessed death.”

Davos listened closely, never dared to interrupt her as he waited for her to finish. He never judged her. And Celia appreciated that he never asked her of their earned reputations, for she did not know how he should react. But Davos has concluded it himself. Lairwyn's myths were only a lore. They did not drink or eat human hearts as they were said to be. Neither were they cruel.

“That day you told your brother we’ve already met, what did you mean?” Davos asked, recalling back to their very first meeting at Bloodstone. “You don’t remember?” Celia turned to face him with a smirk on her lips, she tilted her head slightly, her gaze scanning for his expression. “I was on your horse, before he shook me off.” And Davos suddenly remembered. “You were th—”

“The bat, yes and no, I could only see through his eyes, that's all.” Celia elaborated with a shrug as if it was normal to do so. She could see the confusion in his face before he uttered his confusion out. “You’re a warg?” He had heard of it before, a lore his maester taught when he was young. But never expected to come across them in his lifetime.

“I wouldn’t say that. Bats are our ancient beliefs — hence the sigil — we imitate their ways of living. Therefore they are a part of our soul.” Celia’s explanation had enlightened Davos’ knowledge of the unknowns in this world. What one thought they knew, might not be entirely true.

“I know this arrangement does not please either of us,” Celia started after a quick moment of silence. “But I do hope you know that I have no part in this. It was my brother’s idea. I had no intention to trap or torment you to my name,” her eyes were low as she explained, trying to make the young lord understand that this wasn’t her choice as well. And Davos did in fact understand, he just couldn’t understand why she’d think he blamed her for it.

“I didn’t have a choice either. My uncle only agreed to this alliance because he thought of what your house is holding could strengthen my house,” Davos admitted shamefully. Not only would he take away her happiness and freedom, he also felt terrible that Celia was nothing but a pawn to his house. Surely her house would gain benefits from this alliance as well, but would it be worthy of their despair?

“What my house is holding,” Celia repeated with a scoff, though she wasn’t actually upset with Davos, she was just pitied herself. “Whatever anyone claimed that my house was, was not entirely true,” she turned her head to face Davos once again while she confessed. Davos’ brows immediately frowned in confusion after hearing her words. He said nothing but wait for her to elaborate.

“My ancestors did possess a kind of darkness. They did engage in nefarious customs. And they did feast on people’s blood and hearts. Anything to keep their lives longer than it should be.”

Davos felt his throat go dry, but he tried not to judge her. It wasn’t her fault — it wasn’t her. His dark eyes searched for hers while she tried to avoid him. “Some of us inherited some sort of ability as well as curses, and… some of us weren’t their direct offsprings,” she felt shameful, and expected disgust on Davos’ face. But when she finally met his gaze, she found nothing but sympathy. He felt sorry for Celia, the damage her ancestors had done affected their family line until now.

“Not direct offsprings?“ Davos repeated with curiosity, almost too scared to ask her of it. But eventually Celia told him. “There were those with the same curse as Carlos, and their desperation urged them to do unforgivable things in order to keep the bloodline,” Celia’s gaze dropped to the ground, she considered herself briey before adding, “Carlos and I are one of those,” she gulped, her mouth tasted bitter as she spoke, “that’s why death took our parents away as a payment of their doing.”

She felt Davos’ gaze burn through her, so slowly she turned to meet him, piteous overflowing in her prideful chest — she felt weak.  “I am everything you despise. Everything that would haunt and damn your name,” her voice shook pathetically.

“You take me for a craven, Celia? I have my responsibility and I will noy abandon my duty only because your background offends me,” Davos argued, his tone almost spatting with the feeling of being insulted. Dishonest wasn’t in Blackwood's nature, especially Davos’.

He didn’t remember when his hand went to grip on Celia’s wrist harshly just as of now, but the lady didn’t seem to be in any harm. Almost like she was immune to the tightness of his grip. When he realized, he didn’t let go of her. A silence filled the air as their gaze locked into each other. Before their little spaces between their faces were crushed by an angry hot kiss.

The kiss was harsh and desperate, they couldn’t remember who kissed who first, it didn't matter as it happened now. While Celia’s hand went to pull on the collar of Davos’ tunic to urge him closer, Davos was fighting for dominance as their tongues danced and he eventually won. The next thing they knew was Celia’s settling herself on Davos’ lap, one of her hands found itself in his dark curls while the other placed upon his chest, feeling his heart beated with excitement.

“Gonna rip that out?” Davos muttered with a chuckle, earning a yank in his hair from Celia’s hand.

“Testing me, Davos?”

“I wouldn’t dare, my lady,” a shit-eating grin flashed on his lips, before moving closer to plant open-mouthed kisses to her neck. “This won’t change anything— I still wouldn’t enjoy being your wife,” Celia managed through her panting that was caused by Davos’ burning kisses. Once again, she heard him chuckle into her neck.

“We’ll see about that, my lady,” He said before pulling himself back from the crook of her neck. When his gaze found Celia’s, he could tell that she wasn’t pleased at his interruption, but her pride wouldn’t let her argue. “It’s past midnight now, it'd be best if you go back to the comfort of your shelter.”

Davos explained — with a faint smug on his face — and Celia internally cursed him, as well as herself for letting her emotions get in the way. Abruptly, she stood up from his lap and climbed onto the back of her horse. She didn’t even bid him a goodnight as she left.

As soon as she was back at Bloodstone, beneath the soft of her duvet, she tried to force herself to sleep but the image of Davos and his hot fucking kisses clouded her mind, as she had no other solution but to fill the void he had left and find relief with her own hands.

taglist : @deltamoon666

[fireismine]

DAENERYS TARGARYEN APPRECIATION WEEK 2023

Day 4: Character Parallels → Rhaena the Black Bride and Daenerys Stormborn

The Queen in the West:

In the Red Keep of King’s Landing sat the Queen Regent Alyssa, widow of the late King Aenys, mother to his son Jaehaerys, and wife to the King’s Hand, Rogar Baratheon. Just across Blackwater Bay on Dragonstone, a younger queen had arisen when Alyssa’s daughter Alysanne, a maid of thirteen years, had pledged her troth to her brother King Jaehaerys, against the wishes of her mother and her mother’s lord husband. And far to the west on Fair Isle, with the whole width of Westeros separating her from both mother and sister, was Alyssa’s eldest daughter, the dragonrider Rhaena Targaryen, widow of Prince Aegon the Uncrowned. In the westerlands, riverlands, and parts of the Reach, men were already calling her the Queen in the West. - A Surfeit of Rulers, Fire and Blood

~

Dany knew she would take more than a hundred, if she took any at all. "Remind your Good Master of who I am. Remind him that I am Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, trueborn queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. My blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and of old Valyria before him." - Daenerys II, A Storm of Swords

Three Husbands:

Rhaena was married to Aegon the Uncrowned, Maegor the Cruel and Androw Farman.

~

Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . . – Daenerys IV, A Clash of Kings

The Queen in the East:

“Done,” the king said…mayhaps too hastily, for it must be remembered that Aerea Targaryen, a girl of eight, was his own acknowledged successor, heir apparent to the Iron Throne. The consequences of this decision would not be known for years to come, however. For the nonce it was done, and the Queen in the West at a stroke became the Queen in the East. - A Time of Testing: The Realm Remade, Fire and Blood

~

"The best calumnies are spiced with truth," suggested Qavo, "but the girl's true sin cannot be denied. This arrogant child has taken it upon herself to smash the slave trade, but that traffic was never confined to Slaver's Bay. It was part of the sea of trade that spanned the world, and the dragon queen has clouded the water. Behind the Black Wall, lords of ancient blood sleep poorly, listening as their kitchen slaves sharpen their long knives. Slaves grow our food, clean our streets, teach our young. They guard our walls, row our galleys, fight our battles. And now when they look east, they see this young queen shining from afar, this breaker of chains. The Old Blood cannot suffer that. Poor men hate her too. Even the vilest beggar stands higher than a slave. This dragon queen would rob him of that consolation." - Tyrion VI, A Dance with Dragons

Refusing to Cry

When word of the battle reached the west and Princess Rhaena learned that both her husband and her friend Lady Melony had fallen, it is said she heard the news in a stony silence. “Will you not weep?” she was asked, to which she replied, “I do not have the time for tears.” - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

~

His business done, the captain of the Indigo Star bowed and took his leave. Dany shifted uncomfortably on the ebony bench. She dreaded what must come next, yet she knew she had put it off too long already. Yunkai and Astapor, threats of war, marriage proposals, the march west looming over all . . . I need my knights. I need their swords, and I need their counsel. Yet the thought of seeing Jorah Mormont again made her feel as if she'd swallowed a spoonful of flies; angry, agitated, sick. She could almost feel them buzzing round her belly. I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears. "Tell Belwas to bring my knights," Dany commanded, before she could change her mind. "My good knights." - Daenerys VI, A Storm of Swords

Gains Confidence After Bonding with a Dragon:

At the age of nine, however, Rhaena was presented with a hatchling from the pits of Dragonstone, and she and the young dragon she named Dreamfyre bonded instantly. With her dragon beside her, the princess slowly began to grow out of her shyness; at the age of twelve she took to the skies for the first time, and thereafter, though she remained a quiet girl, no one dared to call her timid. - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

~

Day followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night … Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce. And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the gods had heard her and taken pity. Even her handmaids noticed the change. "Khaleesi," Jhiqui said, "what is wrong? Are you sick?" "I was," she answered, standing over the dragon's eggs that Illyrio had given her when she wed. She touched one, the largest of the three, running her hand lightly over the shell. Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream. The stone felt strangely warm beneath her fingers … or was she still dreaming? She pulled her hand back nervously. - Daenerys III, A Game of Thrones

[greenknightofmalachite]

After the Wedding

(Study, The Dedication

Edmund Blair Leighton, 1908)

In the years since, they had never spoken of what happened in the Godswood when she found him with his dagger, but she knew he must think about it constantly. That night changed his life forever. She would never forget the sight of him kneeling in the moonlight. At first she thought he was praying. When she saw the steel in his hand, panic gripped her and she called out to him. After years of not being heard she was surprised when he looked up. Her voice in the darkness saved his life that night. If she had been even a half minute later she would have come upon his blood spilt on the grass and heard his dying words.

Instead, she was there to take his hand and pull him back from the darkness threatening to consume him. She pried his dagger from his tight grip and took his shaking bloody hands in hers. She did not flinch away from Ser Joffrey’s blood even when it was staining her hands as well. When he was done crying she gently wiped away his tears like she did for her children. She knelt in the wet grass with him without a care for her fine dress and spoke to him softly of second chances and forgiveness. After everything he confessed to her, all she knew he had done, he could not believe she found it in her heart to forgive him. But she did so without hesitation. He had thought himself completely lost but she looked upon him and somehow saw a man worth saving. That was the first time they prayed together. They prayed to The Father for the strength to push forward and when they were done, he put away his tears and swore himself into her service.

“I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

“I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

-

It was very difficult to protect him from House Velaryon in the aftermath. Ser Laenor wanted his head, others called for The Wall. Luckily, Viserys had fallen deeply unwell at the wedding and was not in any state to interfere while she scrambled to save Ser Criston’s life. Commander Westerling tried to stop her from taking him into her service but she was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and he could not deny her when King Viserys was not there to order him otherwise. It was the first time she had ever been able to wield her crown effectively towards her own ends.

After speaking with Westerling, she went to see her husband. He was barely conscious from the milk of the poppy and in a great deal of pain. It was horrible to see him in such a state. He might not be the man she would have chosen for herself but he was still the man she swore herself to. She promised she would help him through his illness and she had meant it. She sent Maester Orwyle on an errand and tended to Viserys like a loving wife was supposed to, gently changing his bandages and calming any agitation. Though he was barely conscious he seemed happy to see her and relieved to have her comfort. She gently held his blackened hand and told him everything would be alright. When he had a moment of clarity she seized the opportunity to sway him to mercy. He need not worry, Princess Rhaenyra was safe because of Ser Criston Cole. Ser Joffrey Lonmouth had made threats against her and their Kingsguard had done his job, albeit more brutally than was necessary.

“Do not punish a loyal knight, Viserys. Give him to me to keep our children safe and he will be far from House Velaryon.” She whispered to him. Viserys mumbled in agreement, far too weak to voice a different opinion. She thanked him for his understanding, recalled Maester Orwyle, and quickly left to secure Ser Criston’s safety before Ser Laenor could find him.

But Ser Laenor was already stalking the hallways waiting for Ser Criston to show his face. A confrontation between them could not be allowed. Ser Laenor was a dragon rider and revered warrior but he would not stand against a knight as skilled as Ser Criston. If Cole killed Laenor defending himself from his revenge she would not be able to save him from House Velaryon.

“Ser Laenor…”

“Where is he?” She had never seen him look so discomposed. He was furious, eyes red and raw from his tears. He had cleaned the blood from his face but there was still some under his chin and on his fine clothing. She might have pretended she did not know what he was talking about, a method that helped her deal with Prince Daemon when he had his fun needling her with his distasteful jokes, but Laenor was not playing games.

“Ser Laenor, congratulations on your…”

“Where is Ser Criston Cole?” He nearly shouted. “I know you know. Westerling said as much.” He gestured at the blood on her dress. “Where is he?!”

“Ser Joffrey threatened the princess in front of a Kingsguard, what did he think would happen?” She replied, trying to sound queenly.

“Ser Joffrey would not do that, I know him!” He said furiously.

“Yes, I know how well you know him.” She retorted quietly, tactfully following his lead and not using the past tense. You knew him. “If you drag Ser Criston into a duel or trial much will come to light your father wants hidden.”

“Are you threatening me?” He was hoping for an excuse to escalate but she would not let him. She kept her voice lower than his and spoke slowly and gently.

“I am telling you that pursuing revenge for your friend will bring you only trouble of your own making. Ser Joffrey is gone. He would not want you to bring yourself more pain by laying out all of your family’s secrets to the court.”

“You don’t know what he would want.” He hissed.

“I know that moving forward and facing your duty is more honorable than seeking revenge. Now is a time to make your family stronger, not weaker. You should go and tend to your new wife. My stepdaughter is surely waiting for you.” For a moment he looked bitterly hopeless at the thought of his marriage bed. She briefly felt a twinge of pity for him. She knew that feeling of sickening dread and resignation all too well.

“This is not over.” He glared at her. “Ser Criston Cole will pay for this.”

“Good night, Ser Laenor.” She forced the conversation to a close and politely took her leave, careful not to walk too quickly. She needed to look confident but her heart was hammering in her chest. She took the long way back to her chambers in case he thought to follow her.

-

“Ser Laenor is looking for you.” His face remained ashen, miserable, guilty and disgusted with himself but he did not look surprised.

“I should go and face him…”

“No.” She said at once. “Give it time. At least till tomorrow, he isn’t thinking straight. Let Rhaenyra comfort him first.” He stiffened at the mention of the princess but nodded. She sighed.

“It seems we are both meant to spend our lives here in Kings Landing with no other possible path laid ahead, as much as we might wish otherwise.” she said carefully. “We both are also in need of allies. I can protect you from Ser Laenor and House Velaryon and you can protect me and my children from…everything else.”

“Everything else?” She hesitated a moment but pushed forward. An honest conversation was what was needed here. It was passed due. She had to be clear in what she needed from him. She could not muddy the waters by speaking too cryptically. She kept her voice low, in case there was someone listening in the walls.

“You trusted me with the truth and I will do the same,” she said quietly but frankly and took a step closer. He shifted uncomfortably. “Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra will one day turn their sights on my children and they will spill their blood to secure the throne. Mine and my fathers as well for good measure. I know that now. They have grown to bitterly hate us. I have no one to help me stop this from happening. I may wear a crown but my influence here is limited, my father is banished and my husband...my husband is willfully blind to the conflict in our family. Only you have defeated Daemon in combat, I fear only you can help us.”

“I am not worthy of your confidence, your grace. I have done…terrible things…why would you trust me with your children?” He nervously wiped his palm on his trousers subconsciously, as if Ser Joffrey’s blood still stained his hands.

“It is only decent people who feel shame, Ser Criston. Only a penitent heart deserves forgiveness. Do you think Rhaenyra regrets anything that she does? Do you think she has shed a single tear for the hurt she has caused?”

“Probably not.” She shook her head in agreement.

“Sometimes I think that must be an easier way to live but you and I are not made that way. I am grateful for that. And I would be grateful to have you in my household. When you told me the truth last week you proved yourself a better man than you believe yourself to be. We all make mistakes but those missteps do not need to define us if we strive to be better.”

“Thank you, your grace.” He still looked sad. She hesitated but then went and slowly sat where she had when he confessed to her. He stood before her and did not sit beside her again.

“I used to think my friendship with Rhaenyra would be enough to protect me and my family.” She said gently. “She was my closest friend, for years and years. I thought she always would be. But we have both seen what friendship means to her. We should have seen it sooner, before she could hurt us. But now we know the truth; we are not important to her. If we are both to survive here we need to protect ourselves and each other.” He nodded miserably. “When you swore yourself to me you did not know what you were stepping into, I apologize for that but my family sorely needs you and your sword.” He nodded again then knelt before her.

“My sword is yours, your grace.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Can we get a drabble for Lacrymaria olor where Koo is "officially" courting her and what that means in his culture? Thank you.

He's dressed in artistically decorated gowns, gaze serious as you approach him while he stays seated on his throne. You've, for the first time in a long while, been told by him to stay in your shared room for today, and you didn't really know why- you're still not sure. You've been given a simple white short dress to wear- nothing very eye-catching at all, at least not compared to him.

He looks almost.. mad? No. Serious. Determined, even. That's the right word.

One of his hands is resting on a large sword- handle black and worn down from use, but still seemingly polished as he adjusts his grip on it. You walk closer as the guards close the doors, leaving you alone with him, apart from one person, a man you don't know who simply stands by.

"Your attention is mine." Jungkook speaks, his words echoing in the large throne hall, making you shrink in on yourself a little. It's the first time you're reminded of who he is- what he is, and how he rules his kingdom around him.

You included.

"Come here." He says, moving the sword to point at a spot in front of his throne, and you're nervous now as you walk towards where he points, unsure what's happening. For all you know you've been fine until recently, apart from the incident where you've been.. well, the victim of attempted kidnapping. But other than that, you thought you were getting closer-

have you done something wrong?

His gaze softens just a little, and you're relieved to find at least a glimpse of the Jungkook you've been getting to know more these days. He slowly gets up, walks down the steps from his throne to stand right in front of you, sword still in his hand, though the tip of it rests right in between you both. "I'm asking you this once, and I demand an answer that is truthful." He commands, and you stand a bit more straight, nodding shortly. "Where do you place your loyalty?" He asks, and you don't have to think for long.

"..In you." You say, easily, and with confidence. There's no one else you'd ever pledge loyalty to, after all. And from the way the corner of his lips twitch, you seem to have given the right answer.

"I am, with Jung Hoseok as my witness, officially courting you as my mate, partner, and equal half." He proposes, making your eyes widen as he lifts one of his hands, eyes softening once more as you almost on instinct place yours in his. He places yours over the one of his that's already placed on the handle of his sword, before he looks at you again. "With this blade, I will protect and guard you as your mate, from today on until the end of my life." He offers, the man you now know named Hoseok starting to write something down- but you don't avert your eyes from Jungkook, who holds out his free hand, Hoseok moving to place something in his palm before he moves back into his corner. "With this ring, made from the purest metal, I will bind myself to you, and you to me." He continues, sliding the simple silver ring onto your thumb, and you realize that he's already wearing one himself on the same side as you do now. "To last even after death, as I shall follow you even as our time alive comes to an end."

Suddenly, he leans in, angles his face into the crook of your neck, where he speaks a lot lower, and a lot closer. "And with this bite, I will mark you as my own; my partner, my equal, my lover." He says, before you feel him harshly bite down, skin breaking and wound instantly stinging as he truly does what he just said-

mark you with a scar that will last forever.

He leans back, lips slightly red and stained with your blood as you feel it run down your skin, body still in shock of what's happened as he holds out his hand again, Hoseok providing a cloth for Jungkook to use to hold against your wound.

"Hoseok." Jungkook asks, and the man looks up, walking closer. "Take it." Jungkook says, giving the sword to the man who takes it with a bow, walking away to place it back to it's usual place right above Jungkook's throne. You're shaking a bit, mostly from a mix of adrenaline and the cold floor against your naked feet, and he watches with amused interest how you hold onto him. "You can look away now." He smiles, and you let go of a breath you didn't realize you were holding, finally unfreezing your position. "How do you feel?"

"...Happy." You nod after a moment, as Jungkook removes the cloth, folding it neatly before he places it in the pocket of his pants. "Are we like.. married now?" You wonder, and he laughs.

"I assume that is what you call it on earth?" He wonders, and you shrug.

"I honestly am not sure what just happened." You giggle back, as he leads you backwards to walk up his throne and sit down with you on his lap.

"I told you I'd court you." He explains. "And I kept my promise."

"Oh.." You hum, leaning against him. "Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums a reply, hand running up and down your cooling skin, before he grabs a blanket from the side where you usually sleep at, placing it over your shoulders. "I love you." You say, and his lips turn, morph into a smile as he leans down kiss the top of your head.

"And so do I." He responds, watching you how you close your eyes to rest in his arms.

Right where you belong.

[aesteries]

⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞ ─ aemond targaryen and original female character. ❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞

how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful?

〔incest, innocence and fantasies, fluff and romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

words: 1k. series' masterlist.

                 STORM'S END. 

Prince Aemond Targaryen, the second son of the late King Viserys I, arrived at the gates of Storm’s End under the peak of thunder, announced by the earth-shattering roar of Vhagar; his arrival was as unexpected as it was ominous. The storm that raged in the land mirrored the beginning of the burning turmoil within the real, preparing the stage for the battle of blood to come. Lord Borros Baratheon, though still clad in his nightclothes and with sleep clouding his thoughts, had no other choice but to welcome the royal visitor despite the late hour.

The household was thrown into a whirlwind of activity, with the servants rushing to light the lamps and prepare food, while the highborn members put on their finest clothes to impress the prince. The air changed, a mixture of anxiousness and anticipation as they gathered to take a glimpse of the dragonrider. Prince Aemond Targaryen presented himself as a friend of House Baratheon, as an ally, as someone to be trusted, and as the carrier of a very important message. He announced the passing of his father and presented his older brother as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, urging Lord Borros and his people to pledge their alliance to the legitimate ruler. He assured them that by doing so, they would ensure the continued prosperity and peace of Storm's End.

However, Lord Borros was a calculated man and an opportunist. He needed more to be swayed and so demanded something in exchange for his alliance, arguing that the Crown had long overlooked House Baratheon and waved away the blood relationship to Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, brushing her off as insignificant for failing to establish a connection to Storm's End. Yet Prince Aemond persisted, sharing that being on the right side of history would be enough benefit for the House, but Lord Borros remained steadfast on his demands, insisting that a political alliance between a member of the Targaryen House and one of his daughters would be enough to seal the deal.

Prince Aemond's mind flashed back to the conversation he'd had with his grandsire, Otto Hightower, filled with threats and warnings of the dangers to come if he did not secure alliances to their causes, and he realised, with regret and resignation, that the older man had been right all along and he had been foolish to believe he would leave free from the Stormlands. He agreed then to a match between himself and one of the Lord's daughters, who lined them up to present them to him like cattle to slaughter.

The exact details of what happened next remain shrouded in mystery—too many words and too many people with contradicting stories. Some of them claim that the prideful prince, driven by entitlement, proceeded to sample the cunts of all three Baratheon daughters and ultimately chose the sophisticated beauty of Lady Floris Baratheon, the beauty of Storm's End. However, others claim differently and suggest that Prince Aemond refused the advances of the young women and only chose Floris Baratheon, as she shared the same disdain for the situation as him.

The excitement over the announcement of the betrothal between Prince Aemond and Floris Baratheon had barely settled when an unexpected arrival disrupted the cheerful atmosphere. Prince Lucerys Velaryon, the young son of the self-proclaimed Queen Rhaenyra, strode through the doors, followed by lines of guards and with a message of his own in his hands. It is reported that as his eyes met those of Prince Aemond, the golden envelope with his mother's sigil stumbled out of his hands and onto the floor.

When presented with Rhaenyra Targaryen's claim to the throne and summons of House Baratheon, Lord Borros repeated the same demands he had given Prince Aemond, a cruel smirk on his lips as he observed the smaller prince, face etched with shock. The boy, publicly betrothed to Princess Haera by decree of King Viserys I himself, struggled to form words at the audacity of Lord Borros. Unlike Aemond, who had yet to take a marriage pact, Lucerys was bound by the word of the King. Borros offered a tantalising proposition: if Lucerys were to break his betrothal to Haera and wed one of his daughters, he would pledge his allegiance to Rhaenyra's claim.

Lord Borros, recognising the potential for a catastrophic conflict between the blood of the dragons, ordered his men to intervene as Aemond strode forward with his sword in hand when Lucerys attempted to dismiss himself, preventing a tragic confrontation between the two young princes.

In the end, Lucery Velaryon's mission was a failure. He was ridiculed in front of the crowd at Storm's End, his pride shattered to pieces. Prince Aemond seized the opportunity, mounting his dragon to pursue the fleeing prince in a dangerous dance above the clouds and demanding for his eye. Lucerys was a skilled rider, but he was no warrior, so he pleaded for mercy on the back of his young dragon as he was chased through the sky by no other than the monstrous shape of Vhagar. His pleas fell on deaf ears, and the one-eyed prince's mocking laughter echoed through the stormy sky. It was only when Lucerys mentioned the name of Princess Haera Targaryen that the situation took a deadly turn.

The prince's dragon, Arrax, was no match for Vhagar, and as the chase intensified, Aemond's bloodlust fuelled his dragon's instincts, and sensing his need for vengeance, he acted accordingly. Her massive jaws opened around the smaller dragon and almost swallowed him whole. While some have argued that the tragic death of Lucerys Velaryon was an accident or product of adrenaline, the truth was far more sinister. With a twisted sense of satisfaction, Prince Aemond watched as the lifeless forms of Arrax and his rider plummeted into the sea, death and destruction, a testament to his victory and a reminder of the power he wielded.

And with his death, the war of ravens and envoys and marriage pacts came to an end, and the war of fire and blood began in earnest. 

[goodqueenaly]

I looked at Fan Wiki for lists of Westerosi Houses with Valyrian steel swords and wasn't sure how exhaustive it was. Was wondering if House Webber or House Westering or whichever have Valyrian steel swords, would we know and therefore must not have one?

I just mentioned Houses Westerling and Webber because of an alliteration and also they were houses the narrative had spend a not insignificant time with.

Do I think that there are plenty of other Westerosi Houses, beyond those already noted, which currently posses Valyrian steel swords? Very much so. Yandel cites Archmaester Thurgood's Inventories to report that “in the Seven Kingdoms there are only 227 such weapons … some of which have since been lost or have disappeared from the annals of history”. GRRM has Tyrion confirm almost this exact number when he, Tyrion, muses that “thousands [of Valyrian steel blades] remained in the world, perhaps two hundred in the Seven Kingdoms alone” - and if the author’s closest in-universe mouthpiece and a pseudo-nonfiction book in universe agree, I don’t think the author is going to suddenly say “gotcha, actually there aren’t any other Valyrian steel swords besides those we know”.

Do I think either the Webbers and/or the Westerlings specifically have a Valyrian steel sword of their own? Maybe, but I wouldn’t necessarily bet on it for either of them. Certainly, the Westerlings seem like one of those old blue blooded Westerosi Houses who could very well have, in olden times, purchased or received from their royal Lannister lieges a Valyrian steel sword. If the Westerling fortunes are rather less than impressive by the time of the main novels, this may well not have been, and indeed likely was not, the case some four or five centuries ago; with those choice lands not yet sold off, those mines not yet exhausted, and those Westerling daughters perhaps more recently married into the Lannister royal dynasty, the Westerlings may have seemed the sort of rich and upstanding Westerlands lords who could use, or afford, one of the rare and costly blades trickling in from Valyria. However, obviously no mention is made of such a blade by any of the Westerling characters in the main novels, including when Robb is eager to justify his union with Jeyne to his mother - a far from definitive omission, but to be considered nevertheless.

Even less, I think, can be speculated about the potential for a Webber sword. We’ve only really met a member of the Webbers (the Windblown sellsword notwithstanding) in “The Sworn Sword”, a story which by its very nature may have been an improper vehicle for introducing an ancestral family blade. Indeed, so much of that story focused on Lady Rohanne’s dilemma of being a ruler in her own right in a misogynistic, patriarchal aristocratic world - a world in which women wielding swords is at best unusual, if not openly criticized. Rohanne, in turn, may have had little narrative opportunity or reason to bring out a Valyrian steel blade and say, essentially, “oh by the way look at this”, and still less to put such a blade in the hands of her champion and wass would-be fiancé, the grasping and thoroughly unlikeable Lucas Inchfield. Nor indeed do we get any sense of the more ancient history of House Webber (beyond the last generation, anyway), to have an understanding of whether the Webbers would have been sufficiently exalted and/or wealthy enough to have gotten or been given a Valyrian steel sword.

Do I think either House having a Valyrian steel sword will be revealed? Not particularly, or at least I have no strong feelings about this happening. While I definitely anticipate that, as the threat of the Others’ invasion becomes more widely accepted and the realm rallies to unify in order to face it (and any related magical threats, such as Euron), there will be various ceremonies and moments of Valyrian steel sword pledging and contribution, I don’t think the Webbers or Westerlings will necessarily be involved. I’m not even sure that the Westerlings will survive past the TWOW prologue, at least of the ones we know: I’m fully convinced that the attack on the Lannister train by Lady Stoneheart is going to result in the deaths of Sybell Spicer and her (surviving) children, and I wouldn’t exactly be hopeful for Lord Gawen in that context either. I have far more hope of seeing more of the Webbers, at least in the timeline of Dunk and Egg - I’m very much convinced that there were specific geopolitical dimensions to the Tion Lannister-Rowan daughter betrothal that GRRM could very much discuss, and there is certainly no way that GRRM doesn’t explore the mysterious disappearance of Lady Rohanne herself - and so slightly more belief that a Webber Valyrian sword, if it exists, could appear on page. Still, I’m not sure that we’ll see any Webbers in the main novels (again, that Webber sellsword notwithstanding), when their Valyrian steel sword might be most useful.

(But really, if the Westerlings do have a Valyrian steel sword and it’s not called “Honorbound” there is no justice in the universe.)

[codenamesazanka]

HAPPY BDAYYY if spinner was in the fantasy au, what would he be?

I actually make a poll once asking just this question. Here is the result:

Personally, I had picked Bar Maiden. But the people have spoken. So I would combine the two together and say he was a sad, poor Bar Maiden who dreamed of adventure and so one day he just up and left to go become a Knight. Which is basically what happened in canon!

(Ohhh i actually have this Spinaraki Fantasy AU fanfic in my drafts. Have a snippet:

working title: ten moments with the tenth prince of the kingdom of darkness

1.

The sword— its blade gleaming in the moonlight; the hilt smoothly curved, made of a dark wood inlaid with silver; top half of the grip strangely wrapped with a strip of red silk— the sword was beautiful. 

Shuuichi focused on that beauty, tried putting all his attention on admiration, because then he could ignore the puddle of blood he was kneeling in. It was still warm, stewing with chunks of flesh not yet dissolved, belonging to someone who moments earlier tried to kill him. 

His life was still in danger, and the sword might be the thing that would ultimately kill him, but at least it was the magnificent sword of a prince.

“There’s nothing I can offer you,” Shuuichi said. He wasn’t anything, he was a nobody. A drudge, a window cleaner barely allowed to step foot into the palace. A beastman that wasn’t ferocious or strong or deft, just a lizard with a nearly useless bloodline ability. “Nothing I can give or do.” 

In the brief quiet that followed, Shuuichi realized too late that he forgot to use honorifics. The Prince, however, didn’t seem to notice or care. 

“Answer the question,” the Prince said. “I wasn’t asking if you had anything to offer. I’m asking if you want to serve me.” He tapped the tip of the sword on the ground, the sharp sound sending a shiver throughout Shuuichi’s being. “As a vassal.” Another tap. “A retainer.” Another tap. “My retainer.” 

It was more than presumptuous for Shuuichi to even think about who he’d choose to serve under, but in all honesty, to any other royal heir, he would’ve sworn his loyalty immediately. The Sixth Prince was the Necromancer General, working closely with the Grand Chancellor, in charge of the Demon Lord’s First Legion, the battalions of the undead. The Ninth Prince, who could control the skies, was currently conquering the southern islands. If Shuuichi could’ve, he would chosen to serve the legendary Fourth Prince, unmatched with his blade, dying standing up when taking on an Eastern army but not before he decimated half of it.

All the Princes and Princesses—they were said to have the extraordinary potential to become the next Demon Lord. Each was already slowly shaping the world, twisting reality at will, ready to wrestle fate into their liking. 

The Tenth Prince, however… People say that Tenth Prince Tomura was the favored one out of all of the Demon Lord’s heirs, the only one to be granted the royal name, to receive the services of the Great Steward and Keeper of Gates. Rumor was, Prince Tomura was actually the Demon Lord’s blood and flesh son… and that was the only reason he was one of the Princes of the realm. The title was for show; his name and status given to prevent him from throwing a tantrum. Prince Tomura had the touch of death and destruction, which was powerful indeed, but he lacked anything else that makes one princely. Childish and lazy and undignified, he might not be completely sane. Shuuichi could confirm. He has seen the Tenth Prince scratch his neck bloody; seen that the Prince kept and talked to severed hands; seen the Prince’s quarters, which was not much cleaner than a landfill. 

Did Shuuichi want to pledge his life away to this man? Follow Prince Tomura as he goes aimlessly towards an inevitable dead-end? He wanted Shuuichi, and that seemed reason enough to not accept. 

But you have absolutely nothing to lose, his heart whispered. Why not do something, anything with your waste of a life? 

Shuuichi said yes.

The Prince grinned. He held out the sword. “Kiss the blade, then, and swear it.” A tradition of fealty, deference to power, acknowledgement of the Prince’s hold on his life, love for his new master, unafraid of the dangers up ahead and willing to die for the Prince. Shuuichi knew the words, having heard stories, seen people try to copy it. Now, somehow, it was his turn.

Shuuichi kissed the blade, and could feel the silver of metal edge against his scales, a soft scraping feeling that made him shiver, and made his oath.

"My life, my powers, my heart and body - all that I am is yours."

2. 

“My prince!” Jin exclaimed, his salute to the Prince turning into a flourish of the arm, nearly hitting Shuuichi in the face. “Doesn’t Shuuichi look good? It doesn’t suit him at all!” 

The Prince lounges on a sofa, in his hand a glass of wine, the very picture of decadence. “What’s with the vest?” He pointed. “The blue dots?” 

“Mix-up at the tailors!” Jin said. “Was gonna go get the right one, but Shuuichi said no.” 

“I like the color blue.” Shuuichi said. He didn’t see anything wrong with the vest; it was already fancier than anything he had ever worn. Everything else was exactly what he had been given to wear - the uniform of black and silver, the light armor, the heavy boots, the red cape embroidered with the royal crest and the Prince’s own sigil. 

“It’s not standard livery.” Lord Kurogiri said. 

“It’s fine,” the Prince said. “Jin already has his helmet.” 

“I must keep covered,” Jin told Shuuichi, for all the sense it made. The metal helmet obscured his entire face and caused everything he said to carry a slight echo. 

The Prince’s first retainer was the reason Shuuichi even became noticeable enough to catch someone’s attention in the first place. One day Jin greeted him, then yelled at him for missing a spot that wasn’t there on the window Shuuichi was wiping. After that, Jin just kept talking at Shuuichi, chattering about his (un)favorite types of alcohol and tobacco; the (dis)comfort of having his underwear bunch up in his new livery; the birds he had (not) seen that day. 

For a while, Shuuichi never responded with more than a few respectful words. He wasn’t interested in whatever game Jin wanted to play, and he wasn’t dumb enough to think the man wanted to be friends without some expectation Shuuichi could not afford to meet. But despite the way he talked, Jin seemed so genuine. The moment he did start to reply, of course, was when someone assumed he could be kidnapped for information.

Jin had been a soldier in the Second Legion. He had an accident with his doubling magic and it drove him insane. Almost tossed out of the army, Jin was saved when Prince Tomura took him into his service.

The other royal heirs had dozens of retainers. The Eighth Prince commanded his own small army. Prince Tomura now had just two to serve him. 

[livlivlivliv]

YOUR SOLDIER ೃ⁀➷

Imagine [ Knight!Keigo ; Princess!Reader ] Royalty!AU ¡Fluff!

Obviously this will have a sequel, a oneshot or a drabble perhaps. Damn in love with Knight!Keigo

¸ .　　★　° :.　 . • ° 　 .　 *　:.　☆

→ The embroidered shield on his cloak was an emblem that only the princess's Royal Knight was proud to wear, a pair of Red Wings. Acting like a guardian angel for her.

→ “I pledge my loyalty to you”

→ One of the most coveted knights in the kingdom, young, strong and handsome. Maidens called his name from the podium as he dueled. Too bad for them, the young man's heart was busy with someone else.

→ “My sword, my shield and my heart belong to you, princess”

→ "This handkerchief is for you, as a token of your bravery" With a curtsy he accepted the handkerchief from the maiden, fine silk with floral embroidery. He smiled.

→ On sleepless nights, when sleep was impossible to fall, she knew that behind the great oak door there was a young blond gentleman guarding her room. The desire to invite him in was always there, waiting for one day to happen. Perhaps his strong arms and thick-voiced whispers from him will help her sleep.

→ As much as she wanted it, she couldn't, it was wrong, for which it was replaced by simple talks, outside the comfort of her room.

→ “Another sleepless night?” "It's hard for me to do it knowing that you're alone out here" "He's too kind to me, her highness" "Stop calling me that" "I'm sorry, my queen"

→ Sitting in the Royal Garden, he told her about his battles, exploits and experiences, while she listened attentively, enraptured, seeking refuge in that opposite golden eyes.

→ “Princess, this is for you” he handed over a big red book “You can't have adventures outside the castle, but you can read them. I want you to tell me later."

→ On walks through the city, chivalrous, he offered her his arm with a smile. Halfway through the journey, between the white forests because of the snow, their hands slowly found each other and intertwined, making both hearts beat harder. The thirst for the forbidden grew with the passage of time.

→ When he was injured in a duel, knew that he would later be dragged into a corner of the palace.

"Princess, I'm fine" he sat waiting while the young women moistened a piece of cloth. He always said he was fine but he loved feeling the girl's hands working on his skin.

"Come here, let me clean up the blood."

→ Under Keigo's gloves were hidden strong hands, calloused from holding the sword and some scars that decorated his fingers.

"I have my hands like this for you, so that no scratch ruins yours"

→ Brand new dresses became her favorite activity, she felt the opposite eyes fixing on her like a hawk once she left her room. "You looks beautiful today, it fits you very well"

BONUS ¡!

Three blows were heard from across the room, reverberating through the thick wood. She was silent, reflecting that her attempt at silence might have failed.

She abandoned the furs that covered the bed and smoothed her dress down a bit to make herself look presentable. "Go ahead please" she said with an idea of ​​who could be as she wiped away the tears that fell down her cheeks.

"Princess?" She saw a blonde haired peeking out of the doorway, they made eye contact for a few seconds and then he closed the door behind him.

He was worried to see the lady in such a state, as he approached where she lay, observed how her eyelids and her cheeks were red. Her tear-dampened lashes looked to the ground, a little embarrassed to be found by her knight.

Cautiously sat next to her and removed a canvas handkerchief from his pocket. "Here," he offered. The gesture was accepted.

"You've heard me, right?" She brushed the cloth over her cheekbones.

"You don't have to hide with me" He smiled "Do you want to talk about it?"

She licked her lips and looked at him, shook his head silently.

"Princess, I'm here to protect you, don't shed tears!" he exclaimed dramatic. He managed to make the girl smile slightly.

Keigo's shoulder will always be there for her, he would be willing to do anything, after all it's her job.

Although he no longer sees it as a duty but as a necessity.