#Return Of The Midnight Rider | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vampsywrites · 1 year

Text

I — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Sun & Moon couple, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped

Word Count: 2.4k | AO3 LINK

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

"With the return of the sky people, our journey led us far, far up the horizon, where a towering mountain stood. Beyond the winding paths of its rocky terrain, nestled in the heart of nature's embrace, lay the village of the Iuva'ri clan—the ikran people of the mountains.

Iuva’ri was a beauty which both awed and intimidated those foreign to it. The village was tucked deep in a sheltered valley, bathed in the warm golden glow of the setting sun against the snow-capped peaks. A sanctuary hidden from the outside world. A perfect place for us to disappear without a trace.”

Flutters of the ikran's wings echoed loudly through the crisp air, alerting the people of their arrival. The once peaceful ambiance of the secluded village turned into a stir of commotion. Warriors sounded their horns, their urgent calls spreading like ripples through the village. The sight of the newcomers had ignited a sense of both curiosity and apprehension among the villagers, for rarely did travelers venture into their remote home.

As the crowd gathered at the center of the village, their gazes fixed on the newcomers, a mix of intrigue and wariness painted their expressions. Jake dismounted from his ikran gracefully, gesturing for his family to do the same. Neytiri's hand instinctively moved towards her bow, a hint of concern in her eyes. But before she could react, Jake rushed to stop her, his expression urging caution.

"Don't. Leave it," he murmured lowly, gently easing the weapon away from her grasp and tucking it back into the banshee's pouch. His mate sent him a disgruntled look in response but made no attempt to fight his decision.

"Alright. Come on," with a wave of his hand, Jake began to lead his family into the village, arms spread at his sides in an attempt to appear as docile as possible. "Let's be nice."

Neteyam followed in his father's footsteps, carefully observing his surroundings as he ascended the treacherous mountain slopes. His calculating eyes swept across the rugged terrain, taking in the awe-inspiring beauty of the snow-capped peaks and the vast expanse of the chalky landscape.

As they climbed higher, the air grew colder, and Neteyam shivered from the biting chill that enveloped them. The icy wind gnawed at his bones, and he pulled his shawl closer around him, seeking any respite from the relentless cold. This mountain was a stark contrast to the warm and humid forest he was accustomed to, and he felt the tingling sensation of numbness spreading across his exposed fingers.

As he navigated through unforgiving terrain, he found himself yearning for the comfort of home, longing for the lush green forest that offered a familiar warmth. Despite his reservations about this desolate place, he remained silent, his lips drawn into a tight line as he focused on the task at hand.

His attention was momentarily drawn away when a low whistle lanced through the air. Tilting his head up, Neteyam's gaze followed the sound, and he watched as a banshee glided gracefully through the skies.

With a thud, the beast landed before them, sending a thick cloud of dust into the air as its rider dismounted. The rider was a tall, elderly woman, her midnight black hair contrasting against her milk blue skin. Her frosty eyes scanned their features, taking in every detail with a sharp intensity. A thick coat of fur was draped over her shoulders, and a billowing cape trailed behind her as she sauntered towards them, her expression a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Olo’eykte Ìumayi,” Jake bowed his head low, fingers extending from his forehead in a gesture of welcome. “I see you.”

Neytiri too bowed her head, gaze drawn to the ground as she murmured out her greeting, “I see you, Ìumayi.”

The woman continued to remain silent, circling them like vultures. Neteyam stood firm in his spot, his eyes never leaving the chief’s stalking figure.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she broke the silence, her voice dripping with a leering caution, "Why do you come to us, Toruk Makto?"

Neteyam observed his father's reaction to the title, noting how he tensed up and his face contorted into an unsightly grimace. Given that the Iuva'ri clan's culture revolved around their sacred bond with Ikrans, it came as no surprise why his title held such immense significance to them.

In contrast to her husband's visible unease, Neytiri stood tall, her demeanor unyielding as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"We seek uturu," she declared.

In response to Neytiri's words, Ìumayi whipped around violently, her expression hardening as she directed a stern glower towards them. "Uturu?" she questioned sharply.

“Yes,” Jake affirmed. “Sanctuary. For my family.”

The people around them erupted into a hushed, agitated chatter, but the chief was quick to silence them all with a snap of her fingers.

“We have heard tales of your times at war, of your blood from the sky people, and of the victories that have earned you praise among many Na'vi," Ìumayi spoke with a measured tone, her voice heavy. "But my people are not at war. I apologize, but I cannot allow you to bring your bloodshed here."

Jake's response was immediate, a mix of desperation and determination evident in his voice as he hurriedly spoke, "I'm done with war," he asserted, lowering himself to scoop up Tuktirey into his arms. The little girl sought refuge in the safety of his embrace, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. "I just want to keep my family safe."

Observing the tender scene, Ìumayi's stern exterior softened slightly, her warm eyes studying the family before her. Bowing her head in contemplation, she took a moment to weigh the consequences of her decision, fully aware of the significance of this encounter. With a heavy sigh, she finally lifted her head and made her verdict, "I will allow it."

The relief that washed over Jake was palpable, but before he could express his gratitude, Ìumayi raised a bony finger, signifying there was more to be said.

"I will allow it. On one condition," she continued, her gaze now turning towards Neteyam, holding him with an inquisitive gaze. "I understand you are the eldest, correct?"

Neteyam acknowledged the chief's attention with a nod, his heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

With a wave of her pale hand, Ìumayi turned to the crowd before her, calling out a name as she gestured for someone to come over. The crowd parted instinctively, revealing your figure. As you stepped closer and closer, Neteyam found his mouth growing dry once he fully took in your features.

Inky jets of midnight-black hair cascaded over your shoulders like a shimmering waterfall, adorned with an enchanting array of bioluminescent gems woven into each braid. Your skin, a mesmerizing hue of cool blue, appeared as though it were delicately bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Jagged, milk-white stripes adorned your limbs and face in an intricate pattern, reminiscent of a celestial canvas. It was as if the very hand of Eywa herself had delicately painted them onto you.

“This is my eldest daughter, Y/N," Ìumayi spoke with pride, gently guiding you to stand by her side, a strong, protective arm enveloping your shoulders. "With the recent passing of my beloved mate, she has stepped forward, assuming the role of Tsahìk."

You took a moment to study their curious expressions, your eyes reflecting an understanding for their situation, “It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

Neteyam stood in awe, watching as you gracefully acknowledged and greeted his family members. The solemnity of your father's absence was palpable, but your calm welcome brought a glimmer of warmth to the otherwise tense atmosphere. And as you turned to face him, the warrior felt his heart leap to his throat.

“Neteyam,” you called out, his name dripping off your lips like a sweet, thick syrup. The Omatikayan watched intently as you curled your fingers, tracing your hand up from your chest up to your forehead before extending it out towards him, icy gaze piercing through his very being, “I see you.”

Fuck.

Neteyam feels his mouth go slack, skin breaking out into a cold sweat as a rich, deep warmth spreads through him. It was a simple greeting, no more. You were merely welcoming them into your village—Trying to be courteous. And yet, why is it that the way you were looking at him left a searing burn in his chest? Twisting at his heart and sending his pulse into a rapid thrum until he could barely breathe?

Both Lo’ak and Kiri observed his reaction with amused grins. To knock him out of his trance, Kiri roughly shoved at Neteyam’s side, gesturing towards your awaiting figure. Almost immediately, he grounds himself, cheeks burning into a dark indigo.

"Tsahìk Y/N," he uttered shakily, his fingers clumsily returning the respectful gesture. His heart pounded blaringly in his chest as he gazed at you, trying to steady himself in your presence. "I see you."

Your smile, gentle like a soft breeze, acknowledged his greeting before you turned your attention back to your mother.

"I have reason to believe that this meeting with Toruk Makto's family is fated," your mother spoke out, "Many nights ago, before his death, my mate was blessed with a vision from Eywa herself. In the sacred embrace of dreams, the spirits revealed to him a profound prophecy of two clans uniting as one—a woman and a man forging an unbreakable bond."

The words of their chief hung in the air, and a hushed silence fell over the gathering as the significance of her statement registered with everyone present.

"As you all know," she continued, her gaze sweeping across the crowd, "I am not getting any younger, and my time draws nearer to its end. And I remind you all that the weight of this responsibility was not one I bore alone; a Tsahìk needs an Olo’eyktan by their side."

A moment passed as the implications of her words settled into Neteyam's mind, and then realization dawned on him.

"This vision bestowed upon my mate," she began, "is not to be taken lightly. It is a direct call from Eywa herself, and as I stand before you today, I believe that the very individuals foreseen in that vision are here before us."

Ìumayi's gaze locked onto Neteyam, her eyes seeming to peer into his very soul. "With Eywa's guidance," she continued, "I propose a union between my daughter and Toruk Makto's eldest son."

The people around them erupted into chaos, their voices rising in a cacophony of opinions. Some had cried out in agreement while some were outraged at the idea of an outsider leading the clan. And as the concerns of his parents too filled the air; Neteyam felt a tumult of emotions within him. He knew their apprehensions were driven by love and care, yet there was an unexplainable energy surging through his veins, compelling him to step forward, to embrace the path laid out before him.

Before he could fully process the weight of his decision, his lips moved with a life of their own, the words escaping him faster than he could think, "I accept."

The crowd falls deathly silent at his declaration.

As the weight of his own words settled in, a storm consumed Neteyam. Accepting this union had been an unforeseen choice, one he had never anticipated making. It led him down a path he had never imagined walking, and uncertainty clawed at the very core of his being.

And yet, as he turned to look at you, he found these worries falling silent. The sight of you ignited a surge of emotions within him, an overwhelming rush that defied comprehension. It was as though an irresistible, magnetic force was drawing him closer to you, as if every beat of his heart called for your name.

The warrior heaved a sigh, lowering his gaze to the ground and bowing his head as a gesture of respect to your mother.

“I am willing to accept this union," Neteyam affirmed, his eyes flickering back to meet yours, "Only if she will have me.”

Lo’ak's lips twitched, a hint of a grin threatening to break free, but he bit down on his lips, holding back the laugh that threatened to escape. His gaze met Kiri's, and they exchanged a knowing look, both equally amused and astonished by their older brother's unexpected behavior. Neteyam had always been the pillar of stability and composure in their family, making his impulsive acceptance of the proposal all the more surprising.

Lo’ak turned to glance at their parents, noticing his mother's eyes which were wide with concern. It was evident that she wanted to say something, but their father subtly pulled her back, silently urging her to hold her words for the moment.

Neytiri took a moment to study Neteyam's face, the resolve and determination etched across his features. Their gazes locked, and she saw a depth of conviction in her son's eyes that she hadn't witnessed before—a fierce certainty that he had made the right choice, even if it was sudden.

In that moment of silent understanding, Neytiri nodded her head, her concerns momentarily quelled. "If that is what he wishes," she said, her voice softening with acceptance, "we will support him."

Ìumayi’s smile grew slightly wider, her eyes shimmering with approval as she turned her attention to you. "Good. Now, ma’ite, what say you?" she inquired, her tone gentle yet expectant.

The world around you seemed to blur for a moment as you locked eyes with Neteyam, the unspoken bond between you both intensifying.

From the days of your childhood, you had already accepted the prospect of a planned marriage, or at best, one founded on companionship. To you, as long as your partner proved amiable and undemanding, it would be enough. And yet, you could not have even begun to imagine that you would end up in a marriage with Toruk Makto's son.

In the face of the unexpected proposal, you responded with a firm nod, your voice steady with conviction, "If Eywa wills it, then I shall accept as well."

The sight of Neteyam's smile and the exuberant whip of his tail around his feet brought a surge of unforeseen warmth to your heart. The moment felt surreal, like a dance with destiny that had been set into motion long before this day. Perhaps, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad after all.

Your mother nodded, her expression reflecting satisfaction and pride.

"Then it is settled," she declared firmly, "Toruk Makto and his family shall stay with us, and his son shall be promised to my daughter. We'll teach them our ways and treat them as our own."

“May Eywa bless their path."

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

3K notes · View notes

thewriterwithnoplan · 8 months

Text

THE HIGHEST TOWER (1/2)

Summary: As a Princess of the Realm the chance to escape political marriage and abscond with your Promised was beyond anything you could wish for. When the time is right, your dragon will lead you to them and your mother will support your union. In return, you must do all you can to protect her claim, even if you must do so from within the very heart of the Greens.

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader (eventual), Aemond Targaryen x Reader (mentioned)

Word Count: 4296

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, just general character awfulness, some espionage, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd.

Masterlist

You had lived the better part of eight and ten years in the Red Keep. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen handed off to the Queen like some paltry trinket. The King’s first and final word on the matter of his granddaughter. Thrust carelessly into Alicent’s care at the fresh age of ten, a peace offering and a trade for Lucerys’ life. You scarcely remembered life beyond the borders of the castle. Only that one moment your brother's life had been under threat and the next yours was all but forfeit.

Your mother had clasped the back of your neck, pulled you toward her and begged her father for mercy. You who had not even been in the room when Aemond had lost his eye, lost to your own midnight flight atop dragon back. And then the curtain of Rhaneyra’s hair parted, and from over her shoulder Daemon met your eyes. For a single poignant moment, he stared and then a smirk broke across his face as if he knew.

Knew that you were not the innocent that your mother would have the King believe you to be. Knew that your midnight rendezvous with your dragon at the exact moment of Vhagar’s claiming was not mere coincidence. Your intentions had been innocent at first. A trip to the kitchen for a cup of milk which you would warm on the stove – a feat the late Sir Harwin Strong had taught you. Past your brothers’ room, your mother’s room, the servants' quarters and a balcony overlooking the beach. And then you had seen him. Aemond scaling your cousin’s dragon. And that just wouldn’t do.

Targaryens – true Targaryens who did not cower under the cover of darkness – needed their dragons if they had any hope of finding their Promised. Your cousin, Baela who always shared her sweets and let you borrow her wooden sword, deserved the chance to meet her Promised in the wake of her mother’s death. The man or woman that Vhagar would lead her to when the Old Gods saw fit. In the game of thrones when Targearyens already found so few chances for happiness, how could Aemond strip his cousin of her chance at true love? True, as an eldest daughter Baela’s future husband was most certainly decided – likely one of your brothers. But you were certain that Jacaerys or Lucerys would be understanding and gracious when the time came for Baela to claim her Promised, as she would be when the time came for her Lord-Husband. Such was the way of things. At least for the lucky.

Imagining your dragon, Laesuvion, claimed by another and leaving you with no guide to your Gods-given Promised made you feel ill. And so, you set out on bare, hurried feet to find and mount Laesuvion. You were a Targaryen born of the blood of dragons, of true Valyrian features. Vhagar was your cousin’s dragon by right and it was your duty to protect that claim. She was a formidable, indomitable beast but shackled with a new rider on his first flight. If you had one chance to disrupt the yet fragile bond being formed by dragon and rider, it was to dislodge the green boy and send him toppling toward the sea.

Laesuvion had hatched for you in your cradle. He was much younger and smaller than Vhagar but all the faster. It would be no trouble to fell your traitorous cousin. The difficulty became disguising the shock of white scales along the elongated arch of Laesuvion’s neck whilst searching for Vhagar’s camouflaged breadth.

“Aderī Laesuvion. Dokimarvose.” (Quickly Laesuvion. Focus.) You urged him.

Despite your efforts, you only caught sight of them twice. Once among the clouds, though you were sure Aemond got a greater view of you than you did him. And again, as Vhagar was returning to land Driftmark. Your hunt had been unsuccessful. But you had been sure no one would suspect you of such vengeful intent toward your uncle. Except perhaps Daemon.

“It is a fair price, Rhaenyra,” Daemon’s smirk was cunning, “They will not harm her.”

The betrayal on your mother's face heated your blood. How dare he tell her what to do? Your mother, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the iron throne. This man who was no one, husband of no one, Prince of nowhere, heir of nothing. Who was he to command your mother? And now, to step toward you and attempt to pry you away from her. So close you could almost-

Almost hear the two of them whispering. To each other. To you.

“Think.” Daemon hissed, “They will demand her for Aemond sooner or later.”

“She is my only daughter.”

“She will still be your daughter in the Red Keep.” He kept up the pretence of fighting your mother, despite her arms having gone lax around you. “Not a bastard. Not a bargaining chip. Your daughter. At the heart of the greens.”

“She is a child.”

“A Targaryen child.”

“She is my child.”

“Then let her prove it.”

“Mother,” You warbled. “I don’t want to go.”

“Tala.” Daemon shifted, and his eyes met yours again as if you should know this word. You did not. “You will go. Make your mother proud. Learn at court. Find those who support her claim and those who will side with the Hightowers. You are weak and a girl, they will not suspect you. When the time comes you will be our most valuable weapon.”

“But I want to go home, Kepa.” (Father or paternal uncle)

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Rhaenyra held your face and brushed away your tears. “You will.”

“’Nyra.” Daemon warned.

“But not today.” She kissed each of your cheeks. “Today you must be strong for me. You must be strong for your brothers. You must do as Daemon says, we must keep them happy.”

And then your mother pulled you toward her firmly, pressed her lips to your ear and whispered a promise. A reward should you embark on this mission. Beyond sweets and silk dresses and extra time on Laesuvion. Beyond anything you had ever been promised or ever dreamed of asking for. Do this for your mother and she would exempt you from the chains of political marriage that would shackle each of your brothers. There was no guarantee you would be lucky like your brothers, married to one who would understand. But do this and you could have your Promised under the eyes of the Seven, the Old Gods, and the traditions of old Valyria itself. Even at 10, you knew that for a Princess and a second-born, there was no greater boon.

So, you did what you had to do for your one shot to truly be with your Promised. You squared your shoulders, kissed your mother's cheek, and stumbled toward Queen Alicent. She gripped you by the shoulder, tucked you into the folds of her skirt, and stared cruelly down her nose at your mother.

“Now I will have no more fighting.” Said the King and having satisfied his wife for the first time in their long marriage, he ambled off to bed.

As the crowd dispersed, Sir Criston Cole flanked the Queen and as a unit, the three of you marched from the room. Your mother, scarcely held together in Daemon’s embrace, gave one last warbling cry as you passed the threshold and disappeared, not to be seen again for nine long years.

You were kept that night in the Queen’s own quarters to thwart rescue or escape. Behind a bolted door and no less than three kings’ guards. And yet, that morning, upon waking with puffy eyes from silent tears and aching limbs from the harsh sitting room sofa, you found something that had not been there before.

A gift from Daemond, most assuredly, tucked under the pillow you had slept on. The handle was perhaps an inch too long for your small age, but the blade was curved and wicked sharp and would require little finesse to cause harm. Inlaid in the pommel was a single ruby, the size of your thumb and wonderfully smooth. Carved into the cross-guard flowing Valyrian script read valar morghūlis. (All men must die.)

You would call the dagger gaomilaksir, duty. You would carry it as a reminder of the promises you and your mother had made one another. One day, as Daemon had said, you would become her greatest weapon.

There had been few bright spots in your life as the Queen’s ward. So, few in fact, that you could count them on one hand.

One.

You could not fly. Such a thing would only encourage escape back to Dragonstone and your mother. But you could visit Laesuvion and watch him sweep through the clouds. He had grown much in your teenage years. Still lithe in build and elegant in frame, but more angular like an arrow strung tight. He did not take to Kings Landing, not in all your years trapped there. So used to the comfort of Dragonstone and your family’s own dragons, he often abandoned the Dragonpit entirely. Kept tethered to the Keep by your presence alone.

“Where is Laesuvion?” You were just shy of ten and two when you approached the Dragonkeeper Acolyte.

“Hunting, my lady.” He knocked his quarterstaff against the ground. “He flew north not three hours ago.”

“Do you not offer him food?”

The keeper lowered his head, “He refuses it, my lady.”

“Offer him better.”

“We give him our very best, lady. He is a magnificent but stubborn creature.”

“He is a dragon, not a creature.” You conjured up a playful grin. “And I am a princess, not a lady.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” The Acolyte blustered, “Shall I inform you upon his return?”

“That won’t be necessary,” You strode to his side and plunked yourself down to lean against the stone entrance. “I shall wait for his return here.”

And so, you did. Silently, for the better part of twenty minutes as the Acolyte threw furtive glances your way.

Until finally, “Truly, my lady. Your Highness. He could be hours still.”

Wonderful. You thought and cast a dazzling grin up at him. “Perhaps you ought to keep me better company then.”

And so, you began your mission. You charm the Dragonkeepers – Acolyte and Elder, all seventy-seven of them – who knew the princes and their dragons, their strengths and weaknesses. You befriend the maids, the scullery, the wet nurses, and the servants they bunk with. Piece by piece, inch by inch, you win back your mother's share of Kings Landing.

Two.

Strange though she was, your Aunt Heleana always welcomed you into her chambers. In your shared youth, she always had a critter clutched between her hands as if it were the most precious thing she owned. You are four and ten, a year younger than your aunt when she is forced to split her time between her menagerie of insects and the chubby masses of her twin babes.

“The young prince has lungs,” You smiled at Heleana as the wet nurse rocked a wailing Jaehaerys. “He will make glorious speeches when he is grown.”

“Only one.” She examined the creature in her hands. Today she favoured a centipede, passing Jaehaera onto you.

You had long since learned to ignore her ramblings, “The sweet Princess must be the wordsmith, then.”

“The fourth in an age.” Heleana startled as if only just noticing your presence. “Apologies, Hāedar. You wished to speak?” (Younger female sibling or cousin)

“No apologies necessary, Mandia.” (Older female sibling or cousin). The Valyrian word tasted foul. You had your own siblings on Dragonstone, those whom you had been stolen from and those whom you had yet to meet. But Heleana liked it when you pretended that you were not a prisoner, that you were her mother’s daughter and not her forcibly attained ward. And so you swallowed it with a smile, “Might we talk privately?”

Heleana startled again as she turned to the wet nurse. “Take the children to the nursery, Bria.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Bria gave an awkward curtsy, shuffled the still-wailing Jaehaerys to one side and received Jaehaera from your arms. Heleana turned to you expectantly as the trio disappeared through a side door.

“It is a sensitive matter I am afraid,” You eyed the centipede as it escaped her hands and crawled across her skirts. “I do not wish to cause offence.”

Heleana’s eyes pinched at the corners, “It is not such a terrible burden – to be a wife. Mostly he ignores you.”

“You misunderstand me,” You hurried. “I only wished to speak of your grandfather.”

“Not my brother?”

“Do you wish to speak of your husband?”

“No,” Heleana gave you a quizzical look. “I speak of Aemond, who will be your husband.”

“Aemond?” Your uncle who’s selfishness had trapped you here. One of Alicent’s precious children married to her living doll. The thought would have been hysterical were it not so frightening. Surely not.

“It is the natural progression of things. I was given to Aegon and now you to Aemond.” Heleana’s attention returned to the centipede. “One pairing to strengthen our house, another to mend its bonds. So says grandfather.”

“Oh Mandia. I am entrusted to your mother. There need be no marriage to bring me into the fold. We are family.”

“Yes. So says mother.” Heleana stared. Not so blind as she seemed. “But grandfather always gets what he wants.”

And so, you are four years into your mission, having sat patiently by the Queen's side. Having listened and learned and noted those your mother can count on. Four years in and the time to begin quietly making moves had arrived with a head start from your oblivious Aunt.

But then you see the centipede crawl from her hands again and writhe across her skirt. And you think maybe Heleana’s warnings have more to do with where the critter is trying to lead her than it has to do with you.

Three.

It took you longer than you would like to admit to worm your way into Otto Hightower’s confidences – if there were such a thing.

You had quickly learned in your first year at the Keep that Alicent feared her father, distrustful of his greed and power lust. Not much unlike yourself, she had been sent into the greedy hands of a different house in pursuit of the Iron Throne. Were Otto not so blinded by his ambitions you might have begun to worry that Daemon’s strategy might ring familiar. But Lord Hightower’s strength was also his greatest weakness. So careful in his scheming, gently coaxing his will unto others, moving his pawns about the board, sacrificing all but himself, he could not see his tactics turned against him. Beyond your connection to Rhaenyra, you barely registered as a piece in the game.

Daemon had been right. Weak and a girl and not a threat. Not yet.

So, you worked tirelessly to endear yourself to Alicent. Just as you learned from her, you began to teach in turn. When you are in the room Otto Hightower dares not spin his lies about succession. When you appear around corners in search of your Queen-mother talk of hastening the king's condition ceases. When you are near, Alicent is safe. She begins to wear you like the expensive accessory you are, a decorative shield.

Hours trailing your Queen-mother to and from meetings of the small council, waiting patiently at her side as she sat in place of the King. Serving wine to fat and foolish lords.

And then finally, on the eve of your ten and fifth nameday, the Queen brings you along to the Hand's Tower.

“Father.” She greets.

“Alicent,” Otto brings you to his office, where a tea set for two lays steaming. “I see you have brought your shadow.”

The Queen barely glances your way as you serve her tea and then her father’s, before retreating to stand at her shoulder. She glares across her father’s desk, “This does concern her.”

“She is approaching her fifteenth year, two since her first blood. Time has well arrived for her to marry,” He stares directly at you then, “Have you any fondness for your uncle, Princess?”

“My lord, the Princes and I are often kept busy by our duties.” Your friends among the servants have divulged their schedules. You stay firmly away from drunken Aegon and selfish Aemond, remaining civil only with young Daeron.

“You must see reason.” Alicent implores her father. “They hold no affection for one another. Aegon and Heleana have already wed in the name of strengthening our family. To marry her would serve only to anger Rhaenyra.”

“And to bind her eldest daughter to us.” Interesting that he would say so openly in front of you. Perhaps you have been more effective in playing a Green than you had thought. “Aemond will be a good husband to her.”

“I have no doubt,” Alicent says and as silence stretches you suspect she is losing conviction; you have not saved her this time.

You clear your throat delicately, “If I may?”

“Of course, sweet pet.” Alicent reaches out to fuss with your hair. She likes it long and keeps its length to your hip despite how cumbersome it can be. Short hair is unbecoming, she claims.

You look to Otto in false deference, “My lord?”

“Very well.”

“I think,” You begin carefully. “Aemond and I may be of better use to you.”

“And how might that be?” He is condescending but you have his attention.

“When the time comes that grandsire passes on, I suspect the lords of the realm will need cause to back a claim to the Iron Throne. My Septa says that peace such as we have seen under his rule may bring unrest. I do not doubt that Aemond will make a fine and just husband. All I mean is that mayhaps it would be wise to keep us unwed until we may serve a greater purpose.”

No mention of your mother nor their ill-begotten plan for Aegon. Hightower's methods played against him.

“And when the time comes you will do this?” He demands.

“It is my duty to my house.”

He tilts his head as a predatory bird might. “You must swear it, to myself and to your Queen, upon your young brothers.”

To pause would mislay your ruse. To hesitate would be to sign your life away to Aemond Targaryen.

“I swear it, upon the lives of my brothers.”

He considered you for a moment, and then his daughter.

“You have done well with her, Alicent.” Your Queen-mother sighs as Otto Hightower stands. “Enjoy your tea, I have matters to attend to elsewhere. Perhaps you will be of more use than we originally suspected, Princess.”

Your first true victory. You will not be shackled to the Keep; you will be kept safe until your mother comes for you. Until such a time that you and Laesuvion can seek out your Promised.

Four.

The Queen held a strange fondness for you. Platinum-haired and purple-eyed, the spitting image of the Realm’s delight and perhaps the only trueborn among your siblings. She took pains to brush and braid your hair, dress you in green and flout you at court. Her perfect tamed Targaryen. Who would eat from her hand, take tea by her side, sit prim and silent as her Queen-mother decorated her. You were her walking-talking glimmering triumph over Rhaenyra.

At ten, Alicent’s obsession stole you from your mother. At ten and four, it protected you from a hasty marriage. And now, at ten and eight, it was your path to freedom.

“Mother?”

Oh, how Alicent loved it when you called her that. One more thing ripped from Rhaenyra’s thieving hands. Alicent pushed into your room with a tired facsimile of a smile and took the seat across from you by the roaring hearth.

“My sweet pet.” She was dressed head to toe in full regalia. “I am so sorry to have missed you today.”

You tucked a piece of scrap paper into the book you had been reading, buying yourself time to school your features into innocent confusion. “As am I. My door has been locked. I am sorry I could not come to you.”

“A precaution – one that I fought.” Alicent reached for your hair, running her fingers through its length. “But we cannot trust you to betray your mother. Regardless of the years you have spent in our care.”

“I do not understand, mother.” But you do.

“Your grandsire is dead.”

You close your eyes, “Aegon is king.”

“Yes.”

“You did not wish for this.”

“I wish Viserys were still a living corpse. That he would outlive us all so that none could claim his cursed throne. Not Aegon. Not Rhaenyra. Not my father.”

“That is not a solution.”

She tugs at your hair harshly, “Foolish pet, there is none.”

You blink harshly. Your eyes scarcely holding back tears. For the first time since you left your mother's embrace, you are truly scared. No longer are you the meek girl who walks in the Queen’s shadow. Given liberties and protection in a twisted echo of her love for Rhaenyra. You are a living embodiment of what House Targaryen will be to House Hightower. A pretty little puppet kept from your dragon, cloistered away like some trophy, scrambling for a scrap of power to delude yourself that you have some control.

“What is to become of our house?” You whisper.

“Your mother and Prince Daemon remain on Dragonstone. No blood has yet been shed.” Alicent brushed your hair softly behind one ear. “We have sent Aemond to Storm’s End to do as you once suggested. To offer himself to one of the Baratheon girls, that Lord Borros might see reason and acknowledge Aegon as rightful King.”

Good, there were those beyond the Keep who remained steadfast and loyal. It was time to return to your mother, then. To tell her all you had learned these last eight years. To name her allies and set Daemon loose upon her foes. Now was the time.

“What of my brothers?”

Alicent leant back, “Scouts have spotted Vermax flying north likely as an envoy to rally support among the lords.”

“How could they have mobilized so quickly? Was Aegon not crowned mere hours ago?”

“He was, indeed.” Alicent’s gazed into the fire. “The Lady Rhaenys was not so welcoming of solitude as you have been.”

“She has gone to Dragonstone?”

“She has.”

“And no one has come for me?”

“They have not.”

For a moment you each stared listlessly into the hearth. When Alicent shifts back to face you, she has a letter clutched in her hand. It is crisp and of fine quality but most strikingly, stamped with the King’s seal.

“I am under no delusions,” Alicent says softly, mournfully. “You can no more contest your mother's claim than I can Aegon’s. We are matching pieces in this game, I think.”

Your fear swells, “Mother.”

“Please, my sweet girl.” She smooths the hair atop your head. “You must do me one last favour as my ward.”

“I don’t understand.”

She presses the letter into your hands. “Jacaerys will fly first to the Vale, to treat with House Arryn and then to Winterfell. You will take this and beat him there. You will do as you swore to do those years ago.”

“I ca–”

“Listen!” She jerked you by your shoulders. “You must listen. You will wed Lord Stark. He is as fine a match as any. The north is loyal to Rhaenyra and will remain steadfast, you will be well treated. You must go, with this missive from the King, his final wish to send you north to snow and safety. In return for your hand, they will take no part in the fighting, they will protect you as their own, until such a time that the victor is crowned. Do you understand me, pet?”

“The King never cared for me.” You said foolishly.

“And yet, with his dying breath, he spoke of you and of Aegon. That you would carry his legacy, that you would see out his dream to the North. That Prince Aegon was Promised to this kingdom. You must believe me. You must do this for your grandsire.”

“I do believe you mother.” She was deluded. “I will do what must be done.”

Alicent has offered you one gilded cage for another. You will not be fool enough to fall into this one. You will find Laesuvion and be gone in the dead of night. You tuck the King’s missive into your book and smile at the Queen.

“Shall we call for tea, mother? You have much to tell me. I hear I have missed a coronation.”

Five.

You shape your fifth and final joy as the Queen Alicent’s Ward whilst escaping her clutches. You take three sharp detours on your path to the Dragonpit. First, to the chamber of the small council where you snatch the King's ball of quartz, you will make a gift of this to your mother. Then to the creche where the Keeper’s turned a blind eye as you pilfered three precious Dragon eggs. Finally, you find yourself ascending the steps of the Lord Hand’s Tower. To take the Dowager Queen from the Greens would be the greatest gift to your mother and her cause. But Alicent, despite her many faults, had been as kind to you as one might be toward a favourite pet. And so you do as a pet would – you do not bite the hand that fed you. Instead, you do both your Queen-mother and the woman that birthed you, a favour. You find Otto Hightower asleep in his study and you pass onto him your final gift from Daemon Targaryen.

You leave gaomilaksir in the heart of Hightower as you flee north, your duty complete.

(Part 2 : The Winter Keep)

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #queen alicent #alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen

563 notes · View notes

creamyavocadosoup · 7 months

Text

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞

a/n: lowercase intended! been in an anime binge lately and am currently watching horimiya. its great honestly, it makes me feel so mushy bc me when !! but also i can kinda relate. sorry this wasnt proofread! if there are any mistakes lmk ;-;

characters: rtte!hiccup x fem!reader

tags: kinda angsty, unrequited (?) pining, intimate touches and moment (nothing nsfw)

word count: 1.5k

if you missed it, here's part one: can i be her?

the road to recovery was slow, and the mending of hiccup and i's relationship even slower. although i had forgiven him, there was an undeniable shift in how i acted towards him, whether it was intentional or not.

i had felt guilty about it, of course, but i couldn't force myself to go back to the way things were and pretend nothing had happened. even more so when i could tell that hiccup and the other riders picked up on it too.

after that incident however, something else had also changed. as subtle as it was (or tried to be), hiccup had begun doing things out of his own volition. small things like the soil in my garden being damp when i wake up, my medicine cabinets tidied and arranged how i liked it after a nap, or even my hut being spick and span, a still-hot plate of food awaiting me on my bedside table when i wake up.

it was strange to be on the receiving end of such actions. i had gotten used to helping the riders more than i had received it in return. so having hiccup do so much for me just because, induced emotions in me that i'm still quite unsure in how to handle.

today was spent patching up the riders after a grueling training session and a few accidents (mostly snotlout) and we make conversation as they tell me the new things they've discovered when they went adventuring a few days ago.

my huge cut had - thankfully - been steadily healing, the riders taking turns in making sure i wasn't doing tasks i wasn't supposed to. a few weeks since the incident and i could finally start walking around my hut with much, much caution.

taking this opportune moment of reprieve, i'm currently sat at my front porch, admiring the view of the sea and horizon off in the distance. i sipped quietly on my drink while wrapped in a blanket, the birds chirping and soft swaying of the trees my only company.

...that is until strong gusts of wind caused by a familiar midnight black dragon landed on my front yard, along with his ever-familiar rider in tow.

"[name]! i come bearing new entries to my journal, along with snacks of course."

right. ever since my injury, hiccup had made it some sort of tradition to come and talk to me about things he discovered while out on adventures or simply reading up and researching on subjects he thinks would interest me.

he reasoned it as him hoping i wouldn't feel too lonely even though the other riders visiting routinely (which i soon figured out was coordinated by hiccup thanks to a slip of the tongue from tuffnut) had given me plenty of company since then.

hiccup took his seat beside me on the porch swing, making himself comfortable. offering the other half of my blanket and he takes it with a smile, scooting closer to me.

initially, i seemingly wasn't quite receptive of this tradition he had started; lack of responses, barely any indication that i was interested in whatever he was talking about. but the dragon rider hadn't exactly let it affect him whatsoever. he continued coming regularly, and talking enough for the both of us.

"hiccup." i spoke, softly and quite mellow, but it had stopped his rant completely as he turned to look at me.

i raised my head to look back at him, my eyes slowly dragging over his features. sweat beaded faintly across his brows as he also searched my face of any indication of emotion. he gulped, the action quite apparent, "yes?"

"are you doing all this because you feel guilty?" i questioned, my voice devoid of any accusatory tone, yet it made him flinch slightly in his seat. "if you are, then you shouldn't be, because i already forgive you."

he pursed his lips and brows furrowed as he continued to keep his eyes on me, clearly displeased despite my words. i felt a warmth slowly settle on my hand, looking down to find his hand grabbing onto mine.

my heart beat quickened, a soft yet steady heat creeping up onto my cheeks. for a moment, it had felt like we were suspended in time, the universe letting us have this moment that we've needed.

"even if you have forgiven me," he paused, his body turning to me and gripping my hand tighter, "i can't." he whispered, a soft tremble in his voice as i watched his eyes gloss over.

"i'm sorry. i'm so sorry." he almost weeps, his voice crackly and tears turning his eyes glossy. "i shouldn't have talked to you like that. been so - so caught up in my emotion that i just had zero regard for how you were feeling to how i was saying it." his voice shakes slightly, and my heart crumpled at the emotion.

gently setting aside my drink, i reached to hold his hands with both of mine, softly rubbing my thumb along the natural contours of the back of it. my throat felt tight, that same burning feeling in my eyes coming back, but i steeled myself and my voice to be able to say what i needed to.

"hiccup.. i understand, i really do." my voice had felt so fragile, like glass, about to break if more pressure is applied to it. "in the time i've spent by myself these past few weeks, i've come to a certain understanding and acceptance to the situation. and it's okay," i squeezed his hands, "i'm okay."

he subtly shakes his head no, one of his hands breaking free from mine and drifting to my wounded abdomen, past the hem and underneath my shirt. hiccup was quiet but his touch spoke more than his words tried to convey. my breath hitched at the action as he continued with his ministrations, yet his expression more spaced-out. i'm not sure what it was exactly, but i could tell he was heavily contemplating something in his head.

despite the gauze barrier, i could feel the heat of him emanating through it. it allowed that familiar warmth to bloom in my chest once again, the same warmth that only he seems to be the cause of. it had felt entirely too intimate to consider it as something friends do which only raised so many more questions and confusion in my head.

this wasn't normal for friends, right? is this something he normally does with the others?

i gulped down the lump in my throat, the thought of him doing the same thing to a certain blonde-haired viking setting an uncomfortable feeling in my gut.

before i could voice out any of my thoughts however, my eyes widened and cheeks warmed considerably once i felt his touch travel to my cheek. it was soft, almost feather-like, and comforting. his eyes glowed beautifully, the orange sunset reflecting onto his green eyes, effectively enchanting me with how beautiful it looked.

he kept his eyes on me, seemingly waiting on a sign on how i felt about the current predicament. seeing no protests from me, he continued on, now essentially cupping my face with both of his hands, his piercing eyes never leaving my face, flitting between my eyes and lips.

"hiccup..."

"hiccup!" a familiar voice cut through the silence and the trees, dispelling the intimate moment in an instant. i hurriedly moved away from his clutches, picking up my forgotten drink, as hiccup nervously fixes his hair and clothes.

astrid appears on the path in front of my hut, lax features and usual demeanor indicating that she didn't see whatever just happened between hiccup and i. "there you are. figured you would be here." she spoke, walking closer towards my porch.

hiccup laughed, notably a little more breathless than when he normally is, yet astrid doesn't bat an eye or pick up on it. admittedly, i spaced out as she rambled on, the scene before still playing over and over in my head.

hiccup's soft touches was still practically branded onto my skin, with how i could still feel the heat of his touch despite him being on the other side of the seat we were on. his actions had only made me more confused, swirling thoughts trying to reason why he did what he did yet none of them made sense.

what was that? was he...

i shook away the thoughts as i come back to consciousness back in time. "[name], i hope you don't mind that i'll be taking this guy with me for a little bit. i need his help on a few things regarding training." she spoke.

i nodded, plastering a small smile on my face but i turn to look at hiccup, silently torn on wanting him to go or letting him leave. his gaze was on me, searching my face but perhaps my features weren't translating my desire well, because he turns to astrid and smiles, "we can go, we were just finishing up anyways."

my heart cracks just a tiny bit, that same feeling that i felt a few weeks ago leaking through the cracks of my resolve little by little. but i force the smile back on my face, standing up to bring my drink back inside, the atmosphere now leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

they gather their things and leave side-by-side, and i also turn and huddle back into my hut, missing the longing look hiccup held to my disappearing figure.

DO NOT REPOST MY CONTENT ANYWHERE! i would love to hear any and all thoughts. mwah! have a great day!

quick access to my library.

#ˋ°•*⁀➷ books #ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ everything nice #hiccup x you #hiccuphaddock #httyd angst #httyd #hiccup x reader #finally this is out of my drafts #so sorry for the long wait ;-;#i've been very busy #mwa #hehe

200 notes · View notes

hamsterclaw · 2 years

Text

Dragonfire

Lord Namjoon commands the dragon riders of Mount Halji, he's authoritative and respected, a fearless warrior, celebrated for his prowess on the battlefield. So why aren't you afraid of him, damnit?

Pairing: Namjoon x F! reader

Genre: Fantasy AU, smut, a spin-off from the Royal Pain AU

Rating: 18+

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: Sex, Namjoon mounting everything in sight

Namjoon’s watching from across the room as she greets guests at the banquet. She’s striking, not only because she’s beautiful, with her dark hair and lovely eyes, but also because of her bearing. There’s pride in the way she holds up her head.

When it’s his turn to greet her, he bows, low, and kisses the hand she offers to him.

‘Good evening, your highness,’ he says.

He can feel her eyes on him, his black armour, the mark on his hand signifying his status as a dragon rider.

‘Lord Namjoon,’ she murmurs. The way her tongue flicks over her full bottom lip, the spark in her eyes, makes his blood warm.

Then she’s letting go of his hand, stepping away gracefully to greet the next person, and Namjoon’s left with the faintest scent of lavender, tantalising and sweet.

When she reaches the end of the line, she looks straight at him, like she’d known he’d be watching.

She inclines her head just slightly, but it’s enough.

Blood hot, lust thrumming through his veins, Namjoon follows her out of the banquet hall.

***

Namjoon’s tired from his night with the beautiful and lusty princess of Ijil, and it takes him longer than it should to realise that his armour is missing.

Even worse, his sword is gone.

He storms out of his chambers, looking for Jimin and Taehyung. He’s heading for the stables when he sees you.

His first impression is of softness, which is ironic given you’re staggering under the weight of his armour. His sword swings from your hip, he doesn’t even know how you managed to attach it you.

‘Stop,’ he commands.

You glance around, looking for where his voice came from.

Namjoon doesn’t know how you could possibly miss him. He’s always been tall, and of recent years, his build has filled out, a byproduct of wrangling Styx, his bonded dragon.

He still feels a thrill of pride when he thinks about her. Styx, with her midnight black scales, her wingspan wider than any others in her clan. She’s a magnificent beast, fiercely loyal, with the instincts of the finest warrior in battle.

He snaps out of his reverie when he realises you’re limping away, dragging his armour with you.

‘Stop!’ he commands again.

He catches up to you easily. ‘Where are you taking my armour and my sword?’ he demands.

‘Didn’t Jimin tell you? I’m your new squire,’ you tell him, like it’s a done deal.

Namjoon’s flabbergasted.

‘I’m a dragon rider, not one of those fanciful royal knights,’ he scowls. ‘I have no need for a squire.’

‘The dullness of your armour tells a different story,’ you have the audacity to say.

‘It’s black!’ protests Namjoon, not sure why he’s arguing with you but unable to stop himself.

‘You’re a disgrace to Styx,’ you mutter.

Namjoon realises he’s walked with you all the way to the stables.

Cursing, he lifts his armour off you, and you sigh, relieved.

‘It’s very heavy,’ you remark. ‘No wonder you’re so muscular.’

Namjoon stares at his sword, hung carelessly around your shoulder.

‘How are you supposed to be my squire if you can’t lift my armour and sword?’ he mutters, more to himself.

You’re already gesturing to a small area you have set up with a scrubbing brush and a bucket, a polishing cloth and a tin of oil.

‘Leave it with me,’ you say airily.

You frown at his sword. ‘Sweet mother of Jaesu, how old is this blood? It’s caked on.’

Namjoon scowls. ‘I’ll be back in an hour to collect it for a sparring session.’

You wave an arm at him, muttering something that sounds awfully like ‘Lord Jimin’s armour is pristine.’

Namjoon decides to pretend he hasn’t heard you.

***

When Namjoon returns, Taehyung’s leaning against the wall, chatting to you.

‘Did you know about our new squire?’ Namjoon asks.

‘I’m right here,’ you announce, bright, chirpy.

Namjoon ignores you.

‘She’s very good at mending clothes as well,’ Taehyung replies, smiling at you.

Namjoon’s forced to turn to you when you push his armour into his arms.

‘I only do mending for selected people,’ you say, haughty, like he’d shown any inclination to ask.

He’s about to snap a retort when the Princess of Ijil arrives.

Namjoon bows deeply.

You drop into a surprisingly graceful curtsy.

She eyes you.

Namjoon’s already stepping in front of you when you say, ‘I’m the squire to the dragon riders of Mount Halji, your highness.’

‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ she says, dismissive.

She turns back to Namjoon.

‘Do you have time for a quick catch up in my chambers before you set off back home?’

‘Of course,’ Namjoon replies, admiring the way her skin glows in the late morning sun.

She flicks her gaze over his shoulders, gaze meaningful.

‘I can help you mend that rip in the seam of your tunic,’ you say, helpfully, calling everyone’s attention to it.

Namjoon narrows his eyes at you, then turns back to the princess.

She’s already walking away.

***

‘Oof,’ you remark, holding up Namjoon’s tunic. ‘What’s this stain?’

Namjoon’s gaze flies to you.

‘Just kidding,’ you say, chuckling gleefully.

‘Are you ever quiet?’ Namjoon asks, exasperated. ‘Being a squire is a serious task.’

‘She’s a very good squire,’ Jimin says, emerging from the stables with their horses in tow.

‘Thanks, my lord,’ you say cheerfully.

‘You don’t call me my lord,’ Namjoon observes, tetchy.

‘I’ll call you it, if you can tell me my name,’ you say, smiling at him.

Namjoon realises he doesn’t know your name.

‘You didn’t tell me your name,’ he complains.

‘You didn’t ask,’ you shoot back, merrily.

‘Is everything a joke to you?’ snaps Namjoon.

‘Ignore our grumpy commander,’ Jimin says, giving Namjoon a quelling look. ‘He gets cranky when he’s tired.’

Jimin hands you the reins to your horse. ‘Need anything before we set off?’ he asks, offering you his knee to help you mount.

You shake your head, seating yourself. ‘Thank you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon mounts his steed and sets off, nudging his stallion into a brisk canter.

He doesn’t look back to check on you.

***

The first hint of trouble is a rustling in the trees overhead.

Then, firebolts rain down.

Namjoon’s about to urge his steed into a gallop when your horse, spooked and less battle-worn than all the others, rears up.

You land in an ungraceful heap on the forest floor and immediately get up, dazed.

A firebolt grazes your foot, and you lift an arm up over your head in an attempt to protect yourself.

Taehyung and Jimin are up ahead, turning back to help, but Namjoon’s the closest to you.

‘Get your horses away!’ shouts Namjoon. ‘It’s fire demons!’

He turns his steed, Thunder, and speeds towards you.

You watch him approach with wide eyes.

Namjoon reaches down and plucks you off the ground.

You land, hard, on the front of his saddle, face planted in the breastplate of his armour.

‘Hold on,’ grunts Namjoon. He leads Thunder towards a clearing he noticed earlier, to another route that will take you both to the edge of the forest, away from the fire demons.

For once, you appear to have no snappy remark at the ready.

You wind your arms around his waist, holding on tight, and Namjoon’s stomach flips unexpectedly when you press your face into his chest.

He leans forward on Thunder, urging him on, you soft and pliant between his thighs, and gets you both the hell out of there.

***

It’s late afternoon, the sun filtering through the trees, and you’ve yet to catch up to Taehyung and Jimin.

Namjoon stops by a brook to allow Thunder to drink and dismounts.

He lifts his arms to help you down.

You place your hands on his shoulders trustingly, and Namjoon’s stomach does another curious flip.

He wonders if he drank too much arabica before leaving Ijil.

You stay for a moment like that, pressed against him, arms up, face tilted to his.

‘Thanks for saving me,’ you say.

‘You’re one of mine,’ Namjoon says. He doesn’t think he’s saying anything but the truth, but you look pleased about it just the same.

He looks around. ‘It’ll be dark soon. We should set up camp around here.’

***

Namjoon lets out a sigh.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, barely concealed impatience in his voice.

‘It’s cold,’ you complain, even though he can barely see you under the mound of blankets you’ve stolen, including his own.

Namjoon rolls his eyes. ‘Live with it,’ he says, unsympathetic.

‘They say body heat is good,’ you suggest.

Namjoon scoffs. ‘Is that an attempt to get into bed with me?’

You’re quiet, he almost thinks you’ve fallen asleep when you say, ‘we’re not technically in beds.’

Namjoon thinks it’s dark enough that he doesn’t have to hide his smile.

‘Come here then,’ he says, gruffly.

‘No thanks,’ you say rudely.

Namjoon reaches over and yanks you into his arms, blankets and all.

‘Just shut up and sleep,’ he advises, when you open your mouth.

Your mouth closes and you nod.

You’re asleep in seconds.

***

When he wakes, too hot, you’re already up. For some reason you’ve wrapped him in blankets, even though he runs hot all the time, a byproduct of his bond with Styx.

Namjoon fights his way out of the blankets and rises, stretching and yawning, rolling the stiffness out of his muscles.

Footsteps make him straighten up and turn around.

You’re bright and freshfaced, holding out a mug to him.

‘Made you arabica,’ you chirrup.

‘Thanks,’ he grunts, accepting.

Your eyes fall to his bare forearm.

‘You’re burned!’ you say, sounding genuinely worried.

‘It’s nothing,’ Namjoon says, amused by your concern over the tiny burn. You should see the scar on his side from the last dragon battle.

You’re rustling through the leather bag you carry near your hip.

‘Let me put some salve on it,’ you say.

Namjoon sits and drinks his arabica whilst you fuss over his arm.

‘You’re aware I’m a dragon rider,’ he can’t resist teasing you, but he lets you rub salve into his arm anyway.

He can’t deny it feels soothing.

He realises you’re looking at the dragon rider mark on his hand.

‘Pretty,’ you say. Your thumb rubs over it, a quick smooth swipe, and then your hands leave his skin.

Namjoon doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him pretty before.

Big, yes. Tall, certainly. Ruthless.

Not pretty.

To hide his discomfiture, he stands. ‘We should get going,’ he says, brisk.

You’re already heading to Thunder.

You stop in front of his enormous steed and look to him for a leg up, as though you’re expecting him to kneel before you like Jimin did.

Namjoon mounts Thunder, then holds out his arms for you.

You reach up, trusting like you were yesterday, and Namjoon’s stomach flips again.

It’s definitely the arabica, he tells himself as Thunder falls into an easy canter.

***

Namjoon says, grumpily, ‘stop wriggling.’

‘It’s just, the hilt of your sword keeps poking me,’ you complain, wriggling more, another smooth movement that makes him grit his teeth.

You look back at him just in time to catch him clenching his jaw.

‘It’s not my sword,’ Namjoon growls.

Your hand on his thigh makes his muscles jump.

‘Something in your breeches —-‘ you trail off abruptly.

‘It’s just the friction,’ Namjoon says, as your whole body stiffens between his legs, against his chest.

You don’t say a word.

‘You’re my squire. I don’t think of you lustfully,’ Namjoon continues.

You’re still silent, ramrod straight against him.

‘I prefer women who are —-‘

‘Beautiful and curvaceous,’ you fill in for him, describing the princess of Ijil.

‘Less annoying,’ finishes Namjoon.

You suggest, ‘I can ride behind you, if my ass is too tempting.’

Namjoon snorts a laugh. ‘And press those pretty breasts into my back?’

You look down at your chest thoughtfully.

Then you quip, barely stifling your laughter, ‘want me to polish your sword, my lord?’

‘Silence, wench,’ growls Namjoon.

Your laughter is equal parts infuriating and infectious.

***

You both catch up to Taehyung and Jimin at the gates guarding the dragon rider enclave on Mount Halji.

Namjoon takes a moment to savour the familiarity of it. He was born to be a dragon rider, the latest progeny of a long line of Eosulian warriors.

He was fourteen when he bonded with Styx, a lanky, graceless teenager with no idea what the hell he was doing. There was more than one surprised reaction at the unlikely combination of the studious teenaged Namjoon and the most fearsome dragon in the clan.

It’s been a while since anyone’s looked at him and Styx with any incredulity.

These days, Namjoon leans into his powerful build, his broad shoulders and chest, the lean muscles of his thighs.

Underneath he’s never stopped studying, learning, trying to better himself.

You nudge his chest with your shoulder, and he realises you’re talking.

He’s quite pleased with how he’s managed to tune you out.

You’re much more easy to tolerate when you’re on mute.

Namjoon allows himself a moment to admire your piquant little face.

He’s almost smiling when your voice manages to break through.

‘Plain?’ you ask.

Namjoon frowns, and obligingly, you repeat yourself. ‘Heading to the plain?’

He nods. He’d automatically guided Thunder in the direction of the plain, where he knows Styx will be waiting for him.

Namjoon stops and dismounts, instinctively reaching up to help you down.

It’s funny how he’s got used to doing that so quickly.

He faces North, and within moments, there’s a change in the air.

Styx lands noiselessly before him, sleek and so beautiful his skin thrums at her proximity.

Namjoon bows, and her massive head dips low to the ground in response. In two steps he’s mounted her, feeling at home in the way he never did in the vast Royal Palace of Ijil.

Something makes him look towards you.

You’re watching him and Styx, unmoving, hands clasped.

Namjoon doesn’t realise what he’s going to say until the words leave his mouth. He’s never invited anyone else to ride with him on one of these journeys before.

‘We’re reacquainting for the bond,’ he tells you. ‘You can come, if you want.’

He can sense Styx’s assent, but she lowers her head again, as if to show you, too.

You approach tentatively.

Namjoon holds out his arms to pick you up, and you say, ‘wait. Would you prefer tits or ass?’

Namjoon, to his surprise, can sense Styx’s mirth.

‘Just get on, and be quiet,’ he grumbles. He lifts you in front of him, locks his thighs around yours and pulls you tight against his chest, and then you’re off, gliding through the mountains of South Eosul.

***

Namjoon looks up as you enter the courtyard where he and the other dragon riders are combat training.

You march past everyone and head straight for him.

‘I need your muscles,’ you announce, without context.

Namjoon mops sweat off his brow and waits.

‘I’ll help you,’ Taehyung volunteers.

Namjoon stops him with a look.

‘What do you need help with, squire? And why is it so important that you’re interrupting our training?’

You frown. ‘The merchant down by the market is a swindler and a scoundrel,’ you tell him.

‘A swindler, and a scoundrel,’ Namjoon teases, amused by your vehemence.

You stare at him. He can almost see the smoke coming out of your ears, the way you’re vibrating with rage.

‘Fine!’ you burst out. You stomp away. ‘I will take care of him myself.’

You’re walking so fast you’re most of the way to the market before Namjoon catches up with you, even with his longer stride.

‘I’m sorry I teased you,’ he tells you.

‘I’m sorry I interrupted combat practice,’ you reply immediately.

You sigh. ‘I needed cloth for your jackets for the Harvest banquet next month. This merchant’s got the best supplies, but all the cloth he’s delivered is less than what we bargained for. Less than what I paid for.’

You’re getting worked up again, indignant. ‘How dare he try to swindle us?!’

Namjoon falls into step beside you. ‘It could be a genuine mistake,’ he says, trying to be reasonable.

You snort in disbelief.

Namjoon accompanies you to the stall, a little worried about how you’re going to approach this.

The merchant bows as you both approach.

‘Can I interest you in the new silk taffeta I’ve imported from Seldinia?’

‘No, but you can interest me in the remainder of the order I put in last week, of which only half has been delivered,’ you say, firmly.

The merchant eyes you narrowly. ‘Which order is that? I’m afraid I’ve completed all the orders from last week.’

You’re apoplectic. ‘Surely you have a ledger!’

You step around the table displaying his wares as he sighs and opens a worn ledger.

‘There!’ you say triumphantly, pointing to an entry that takes up half a page.

The merchant elbows you away from the ledger, making you step back.

Namjoon’s not sure how it happens, all he knows is one second he’s watching you and the next he’s got his forearm to the merchant’s neck, holding him up against the pillar.

The merchant’s looking at his dragon rider mark, spilling apologies.

Namjoon takes a moment, letting the rage recede.

You’re unharmed, you hadn’t even flinched when the merchant pushed you.

So why is he so goddamn incensed that that asshole had the audacity to touch you?

You can hold your own.

So why does Namjoon want to grind this man to a pulp?

He grunts, lets the man down, and he scuttles to do your bidding.

You wait until you’re both walking away, cloth tucked in a basket over your arm, before you turn to him.

‘What?’ snaps Namjoon.

You put your hand on his arm. ‘Thanks for ——‘

You pause, searching for the right phrase.

Namjoon lifts the basket off your arm.

‘Thanks for helping,’ you say carefully.

You seem to not know what to do with your arms now that he’s taken the basket, so you clasp your hands demurely in front of your chest.

‘No problem,’ Namjoon replies.

You keep sneaking glances at him as you walk, until Namjoon sighs.

‘What?’

‘You look quite dashing when you’re angry,’ you tell him.

‘Is that why you’re always vexing me?’

You nod. ‘That jaw clench you do.’

Namjoon glowers at you.

‘You’re doing it right now!’ you point out, delighted, skipping alongside him.

Namjoon says, ‘Quiet, or I’ll make you carry this,’ nodding to your basket.

‘Pfft,’ you scoff. ‘It’s nothing.’

You give him a sideways look. ‘Especially after I’ve got used to carrying your sword .’

You waggle your eyebrows meaningfully and nudge him between the ribs, like he wouldn’t get the innuendo otherwise.

Namjoon turns away so you can’t see him biting back his smile.

***

Namjoon answers the knock at his chamber door with a brisk, ‘come in.’

You take two steps into his chamber, eyes fixed on his chest.

‘My lord,’ you say, bowing. ‘You look very well indeed. That material suits you.’

Namjoon finds he’s distracted by your own appearance.

Has your body always been this lovely shape? And surely you’ve done something to your hair, too.

‘My eyes are here, my lord,’ you say, but you sound more amused than vexed.

‘You look beautiful,’ he tells you.

‘Thank you. Did you call me in here to seduce me with your sweet words and broad chest?’

Namjoon rolls his eyes.

‘I have something for you.’

You look suspiciously at the black bangle in his outstretched palm.

Namjoon says, ‘hold out your wrist.’

You hold out your hand, palm up, and Namjoon fastens the slim black band around your wrist, securing it with a tiny key.

You lift your arm, admiring the way the onyx gleams in the light as Namjoon threads the key along the silver chain he always wears around his neck.

When you speak, there’s a softness in your voice Namjoon’s only heard a handful of times.

‘What’s this for, my lord?’

‘The merchant at the marketplace,’ says Namjoon. ‘He changed his tune when he realised I was a dragon rider.’

He shrugs. ‘You don’t have a dragon rider mark, but I want people who deal with you to know that you have our protection.’

You’re standing so close to him he can feel the warmth of you, smell the fresh scent of your hair.

You look up at him, and he braces for whatever smart retort you’ve thought of.

Instead, you say, very sweetly, ‘thank you, my lord, that’s very thoughtful of you.’

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak, but you’re already speaking again.

‘Thank you for my shackle.’

Namjoon stares at you, speechless.

‘Shackle?’ he splutters, incredulous.

‘It goes round my wrist, it fastens with a key that you wear around your neck. It’s a shackle,’ you say, nodding.

Namjoon glares at you.

‘Aaaaa there’s that sexy jaw tick,’ you say, beaming at him.

Namjoon sets his jaw and ushers you out of his chamber.

‘Ooh, you look like you’re about to turn me over your lap and paddle my bottom,’ you say, chuckling merrily.

‘Maybe I will one day,’ Namjoon threatens.

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ you say, looking positively thrilled at the prospect.

Namjoon slams his door in your really rather pretty face.

****

Namjoon’s near the end of his speech to open the Harvest Banquet when the doors to the Great Hall open.

‘The Princess of Ijil,’ announces the herald.

Namjoon remains standing as she crosses the room, beautiful and resplendent in a gold gown that matches the brocade embroidery of his jacket.

She raises a hand, and Namjoon automatically leans down to kiss it.

She smiles at him, skin burnished gold in the candlelight, eyes full of promise, and Namjoon feels that familiar heat pool low in his groin.

She takes the seat next to his like she belongs there, and on any other day, Namjoon would be proud and honoured to have her by his side.

Today, though, his attention is divided by you, sitting in between Jimin and another dragon rider, Mingyu.

You’re chatting to them merrily, more than a little tipsy, judging by your bright eyes and the way you’re letting Mingyu lean against you.

Namjoon doesn’t realise he’s glowering at you until the Princess says, coyly, ‘I’ve come all this way, and you haven’t so much as complimented my gown, Lord Namjoon.’

He turns reluctantly from you. ‘How remiss of me,’ he says, politely. ‘You are very beautiful, as always, your highness, and we are privileged to have you in our midst.’

A burst of laughter and a round of applause erupts from your end of the table as Jimin leaps up, gracefully, to catch a tray of mead on the verge of tipping over.

Namjoon watches as Jimin deposits the tray safely on the banquet table and twirls you around triumphantly.

Jimin is his second in command, and has saved Namjoon’s ass more times than he can count. He’s a gifted fighter, instinctive and merciless when he has to be.

It’s also vaguely annoying that he has the face of an angel and a physique sculpted by the gods.

Namjoon tears his eyes away from you in Jimin’s arms.

He turns back to the princess.

***

Namjoon’s heading to his chamber after dinner, wondering where you are and why he cares.

If you’re with Jimin, you’re in safe hands.

Jimin likes you more than he does.

Namjoon stops in front of the looking-glass by his bed, staring at his reflection.

Does Jimin like you more than he does?

He slips his jacket off, starts unbuttoning the white silk shirt underneath.

There’s a knock on his door.

Namjoon cracks it open, an odd burst of warmth blooming in his chest when he realises it’s you.

You hiccup and reach out, curling your fingers into the open placket of his shirt.

The tips of your fingers are cold, and Namjoon realises just how much he wants to warm you up.

He’s reaching for your arm to pull you into his chamber when you both hear approaching footsteps, an entourage.

The Princess of Ijil.

Namjoon’s distracted for an instant, and when he looks back at you, you’re giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

His hand closes around nothing.

The Princess of Ijil reaches his chamber door.

And you?

You’re gone.

***

Namjoon has to admit, you’re quick.

By the time he’s made his excuses to the princess and tried to follow you, there’s not a trace of where you might have gone.

It’s only when he passes the stables and hears Thunder whickering and stamping his feet that he finds you, sitting on a groomsman’s stool in a corner of Thunder’s stall.

You give Thunder an accusing look that makes Namjoon bite back his smile.

Namjoon looks at you, at the petulant way your lower lip is pushed out, the bottle of potent mead in your hand, and says, gently, ‘want to go for a ride?’

Before you can come up with whatever terrible innuendo he knows you’re capable of, he’s saddled and mounted Thunder, and is holding out his arms for you.

You give him a curious look but it doesn’t stop you from letting him lift you up into the saddle in front of him.

You settle back into his arms, between his thighs, against his chest, like you belong there.

Namjoon leans forward, urging Thunder into a gallop.

The cool night air is like a balm on his brow, and for the first time Namjoon decides to let himself enjoy how you feel in his arms.

He thinks you’re trying to say something to him, but it’s lost in the wind as the fields of Mount Halji speed past.

He’ll ask you later.

***

Namjoon beds Thunder down in the small barn and heads to the tiny farmhouse.

He finds you standing by the door where he left you, waiting for him.

He lights a lamp, holds his arm out to you.

You say, ‘wait.’

You set the mead down on the wooden table and step up to him, hand on his chest, going on tiptoe.

Namjoon stays perfectly still as you press your lips to his.

It’s sweet, chaste, and yet it makes him want to push you against a wall and take you right here.

You pull away.

‘Just wanted to check if you’re a good kisser,’ you say, breathlessly.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at you, tilts his chin.

‘Am I?’ he asks, like he doesn’t care what you think.

‘Yeah,’ you say.

‘I’m good at a lot of things,’ he tells you.

‘Stop showing off,’ you chastise.

You squeal as he chases you into the bedroom.

***

Namjoon’s trying to take it slowly but you’re writhing under him, rubbing against him in all the places that he likes, and god, he’s so hard he can’t imagine there’s any blood going to the rest of his body.

He can’t think .

You’re kissing his neck, tongue flicking against his skin, and Namjoon groans at the pleasure of it.

‘I didn’t know you were so sensitive, here,’ you note, a purr to your voice that makes his eyes close.

You grind your hips against his, arms splayed around him.

Namjoon’s got no idea how you managed to get on top of him but Jaesu, he loves the view. He already knows he’ll never get tired of taking the weight of you.

Namjoon raises his head, trying to kiss you as you’re pulling away, and you press your hand to his lips.

‘Look at you, my big dragon rider,’ you taunt. You roll your hips against his cock, still covered in the dress pants he put on for the Banquet, pulling another grunt from him.

‘You like being under me?’ you ask.

‘I’d rather be in you,’ Namjoon tells you, honestly.

He runs a hand down his torso, cups his length. ‘Get these off and I’ll show you.’

Your eyes meet, and the heat in his gaze makes you visibly shiver.

Then you’re undoing his pants.

Namjoon lifts his hips to help you slide them down.

His cock brushes your parted lips, and quick as a cat, you open your mouth and take him in.

Namjoon’s fist clenches in the silk of your dress as you take him deeper, tongue flat against the underside of his cock.

‘You unman me,’ he utters.

You look up at him, mouth full, eyes wide, and he groans at the sight of you.

‘Do you like this?’ you ask, pulling back, lips swollen, stained with the stickiness of his seed.

Namjoon reaches down to cup your cheek. ‘I want you on top of me, love,’ he tells you.

He never knows if you’re going to do what he says, but to his relief, you wriggle up to sit on his chest.

He reaches out, undoes the ties fastening your gown carelessly, enjoying the way it falls open under his hands.

He tugs it up over your head, leaving you in a chemise so gossamer thin he can see the outlines of your pretty breasts, your hardened nipples imprinted against the fabric.

Past the length of your torso he can see between your legs, and, he realises he can feel the dampness of your arousal on his own stomach.

You’ve wetted through his shirt, and Namjoon doesn’t think he’s ever been more aroused.

Your mouth opens, and Namjoon shakes his head.

‘Look what you’ve done,’ he tsks, his voice husky, low.

You open your mouth again, and again, he shakes his head.

‘You and your smart mouth,’ he says. ‘You’re so wet you’ve ruined my shirt, and I’m so hard I hurt.’

He hisses as you roll your hips over him. ‘What are you going to do about it, my love?’

You’re moaning at him, and he laughs harshly. ‘You want my cock? Do it yourself.’

‘Or do you just like talking with that smart mouth,’ he taunts. ‘Can’t follow through?’

Your eyes flash at him, and then you’re bracing against his chest, taking him in hand, lining him up.

Your eyes flick to his, and Namjoon stares you down. ‘Shy?’ he asks, voice mocking.

‘No,’ you gasp, as you lower your hips onto his pelvis, taking him in increments.

Your hand tightens on his arm. ‘Too big,’ you murmur, breathless.

Namjoon has to take a breath when he’s in all the way. You’re wet, and warm, and he can already feel his pleasure starting to coil out from his shaft, sending tingles across his groin, making his balls tighten.

You’re moving on him, thighs flexing as you ride him. Namjoon has the loose thought that the definition in your thighs is probably from carrying his armour around for months, because he’s never seen you do any other form of exercise, then you’re leaning forward on his chest, murmuring in his ear, and his thoughts evacuate his head again.

Fuck, you’re beautiful when you come.

You cry his name, and Namjoon cups your ass, helping you move on top of him, wringing every last bit of pleasure out of you until you’re limp on top of him.

He waits, hard and throbbing inside you, until you look up at his face.

‘Did you think we were finished?’ he asks.

There’s a spark of something in your eyes at his challenge.

‘I did, actually,’ you say haughtily.

You make as if to move off of him, and as always, Namjoon’s amused and outraged by your audacity.

He grips your thigh, admiring the mark his fingers leave when he lets go.

You’re watching him carefully.

‘Should have known you’d like that,’ you remark.

‘You know,’ Namjoon says thoughtfully, pulling you underneath him, thrusting once, experimentally.

You wait for what he has to say.

‘I like you better when you’re not talking,’ he says.

Your squawk of outrage turns into a moan as he starts to move, his cock sliding in your slickened cunt.

‘Yeah,’ he says, as you moan. ‘This is better.’

He seals his lips against your own and fucks you until you’re crying out and coming on his cock.

***

Namjoon’s awakened by a pounding on the door.

He stumbles to the entrance of the tiny farmhouse and is greeted by Jimin, dressed in full battle gear, thrusting his armour at him.

‘Halians,’ Jimin says grimly. ‘They’re en route to the Hold.’ He pauses, meaningfully. ‘The Princess of Ijil is still within our Gates.’

Namjoon’s pulling on his armour, methodical. ‘The dragons?’ he asks.

‘They’re all in formation,’ Jimin says.

He looks up as you walk into the room, dressed in Namjoon’s shirt from last night.

‘Ah,’ says Jimin, unsurprised. ‘Tell me later if I need to defend your honour to your brother.’

You laugh. ‘Seokjin can’t talk,’ you say, and Jimin grins.

‘Don’t I know it,’ he agrees.

Namjoon doesn’t have time to unpick this conversation right now.

He tightens his sword and says to Jimin, ‘Let’s go.’

‘Wait,’ you say.

You step forward and pull him down into a kiss.

‘Stay safe,’ you say.

Namjoon casts a look at your pretty face, wishing he had the time to appreciate how good you look in his shirt.

You’re already stepping back.

‘Look after him, Jimin,’ you say.

Jimin nods. ‘I always do.’

The laugh you both share at his expense makes Namjoon scowl.

***

Jimin grew up with Namjoon, and he’s been analytical, an overthinker, for as long as he’s known him.

Namjoon was the friend who always used to get caught when they played dragons and wizards, the kid who was busy trying to strategise when what he needed to do was run.

He made up for it by becoming quicker, stronger than anyone else. So then he didn’t just win at games, he annihilated his opponents.

He’s fought alongside Namjoon in countless battles against the Halian army, and there’s no doubt that Namjoon’s brilliant strategising has saved their asses many a time.

It’s just that, Namjoon’s so damned serious all the time. He wears his responsibility as commander on his shoulders, bears the weight without complaint.

When he started sleeping with the Princess of Ijil, Jimin had realised he was in real danger of losing his friend to a life of power seeking and political manoeuvring.

That’s where you came in.

Jimin’s known you for years, he’s friends with Seokjin, your brother who’s currently making a name for himself in the vast plains of Daljeon.

He’s always liked your sense of humour. Like Seokjin, you cloak your inner steeliness in jovial banter. Also like Seokjin, you’ve been blessed with a face as pretty as Jimin’s own.

You’d been at a loose end when Seokjin left, and Jimin had quickly realised that your personality was the perfect foil for Namjoon’s seriousness.

He’d watched in amusement as you ran circles around Namjoon with your quick wit, and had relaxed after he’d seen the way Namjoon had consistently chosen to laugh with you rather than flatten you.

Today, though, Namjoon’s not laughing.

They’d returned from a skirmish with a Halian sub unit at the border of Eosul to find the farm cottage empty.

A search of the Hold has so far, not revealed your location.

Namjoon looks up as the doors of the Great Hall open and a messenger comes in carrying a package.

Namjoon tears it open and stops dead as pieces of onyx fall out.

He looks at Jimin, jaw set. ‘It’s hers. I gave it to her the night of the Banquet.’

Jimin’s already grasped the messenger. ‘Where is she?’ he demands.

‘It’s from General Dei of the Halian army,’ splutters the messenger. ‘That’s all I know.’

Namjoon moves so quickly the messenger’s against the flagstone wall before he finishes his sentence.

‘Tell me where she is and I’ll spare your life,’ he utters, voice low and deadly.

One move of Namjoon’s hand toward the hilt of his sword yields the information they need.

Then Namjoon’s running, heading for Styx on the plain.

***

Namjoon glances over at Jimin as they approach the caves where you’re being held.

‘I’m worried, Jimin,’ he confesses.

Jimin places his hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, drawn taut with worry.

‘She’s the only bargaining item they have, even the Halians wouldn’t be stupid enough to harm her knowing you’re on your way.’

Namjoon’s gaze is dark. ‘I’m more worried about what this is going to cost them,’ he tells Jimin. ‘I’m angry.’

His fists clench. ‘I’m really fucking angry right now.’

Jimin says, carefully, ‘This isn’t a reason to start a war.’

Namjoon laughs, short, humourless. ‘I don’t want a war,’ he agrees.

He sets his jaw as they reach the entrance. ‘I want a massacre.’

You’re against the back wall of the cave, flanked by Halian guards.

General Dei’s standing by. ‘Lord Namjoon,’ he says, inclining his head in greeting.

Namjoon, imposing in his battle armour, gives the General a look that has the guards behind him shifting nervously.

‘I know you wanted a negotiation, General,’ Namjoon says, ‘but I don’t negotiate when one of my own hangs in the balance.’

He draws his sword. ‘Release my squire.’

***

In the clamour of battle, Namjoon has a direct line of sight to you, and sees the moment you flatten yourself against the wall to avoid a wayward strike.

He’s by your side in moments, cutting you loose, pushing you behind him.

‘It took you a while,’ you point out. He can’t see your face but he can hear the smile in your voice.

‘I’m sorry I left you,’ he says, tucking you under his arm, cutting down two Halian guards in a swift movement.

He heads for the entrance of the cave, where Styx is waiting to dispense with any Halian guards who manage to get past Taehyung and Mingyu.

Jimin emerges a moment later, sheathing his sword, breathing hard from exertion.

He draws you into his arms, raises an eyebrow when Namjoon doesn’t let go of his hold on you.

‘I’m taking her back to the Hold,’ Namjoon says.

Jimin murmurs, ‘and the rest?’

Namjoon helps you onto Styx, jaw tightening as he takes in the rope marks around your wrists and ankles.

He can find no mercy in his heart for anyone who’s tried to hurt you.

Honestly, he can’t even trouble himself to look.

He turns to Jimin.

‘Let them burn.’

***

You awaken so quietly Namjoon’s got no idea how long you’ve been watching him sit by the window.

You clear your throat.

‘You’re beautiful,’ you say, the words heartfelt.

Namjoon looks at you, at your skin coloured in the hues of the rising sun, at the sincerity shining in your eyes, and thinks that you’re the beautiful one.

He comes to sit on the bed next to you.

You clamber into his lap, face close to his, legs either side of his waist.

‘Thank you for coming to get me,’ you say.

‘I’m sorry I let you get taken in the first place,’ he replies. ‘Did you get hurt, my love?’

He’s looking at the mark on your wrist, where your bangle was.

You catch the direction of his gaze.

‘It didn’t hurt apart from that I didn’t have anything to show I belonged to you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon lifts your wrist to his lips, kisses over the bruise marking your skin.

‘I can take care of that,’ he says.

He moves his mouth further up your arm, sucks your warm skin, laves the new mark he’s left with his tongue.

You’re breathing faster now, watching him intently.

Namjoon tugs the shirt he put on you apart, presses his lips to the warm curve of your left breast, and sucks.

You make a pretty sound, and he does it again, suctions his lips over your softness, admires the lurid colour of the mark he’s made.

You’re shifting your hips slightly, moving over his thigh.

Namjoon flexes his thigh between your legs, and you whimper.

He dips his head again, this time to your other breast, coaxing your nipple out from under his shirt. He licks over your nipple, and to his pleasure, you let out another pretty moan.

You’re still moving your hips over his thigh, more boldly now, grinding harder with each pass.

Namjoon keeps up a steady pace laving your nipples with his tongue. He takes your breast into his mouth, lifts a hand to tweak your other nipple, and you gasp.

He can feel your wetness on his thigh.

His free hand lands on your thigh.

‘Ride me,’ he utters.

‘Namjoon,’ you gasp.

Namjoon can tell by the raggedness of your breathing that you’re close to your release.

He flexes his thigh again, helps you drag your hips along, laps at your nipples, and with a cry of his name you come.

Namjoon pulls you onto the bed, slides his hand onto your bare hip under his shirt and admires the view.

Your breasts look so pretty covered in the marks his lips have made, nipples taut and slick with his saliva.

There’s wet between your thighs, your cunt glistens with your release, and Namjoon’s never seen anything prettier.

His cock, already hard and aching, swells even more as you pull him down to you.

‘I want you, Namjoon,’ you plead.

‘You have me,’ he replies.

He settles himself between your spread legs and pushes into you.

Your back arches as he slides in, slow, giving you time to adjust.

He can feel your hands on his back, one near his shoulder blade, one low on his hips, urging him on, and Namjoon doesn’t want to hold back anymore.

He sheathes the rest of his manhood within you with another push of his hips, groaning at the pleasure of it.

He can feel the walls of your cunt fluttering around his hardness, the rush of slickness from you coating him.

You’re so wet, so warm Namjoon finds himself without words.

He starts to move, and you cry his name so loudly he stops, worried he’s hurt you.

‘Don’t stop,’ you reassure him, teeth on his earlobe. ‘Jaesu, don’t stop.’

Namjoon drags his cock from you and enters you again and again, going deep with every thrust, hard the way you seem to like.

He rolls his thumb over the swollen bud between your legs, and you buck your hips against his, chasing your pleasure.

You’re tightening deliciously around him now, clamping down on him like a vice, and Namjoon’s close himself, leaking into you with every thrust.

He strokes between your legs, dips his head to lap at your nipple, and then you’re coming again, gasping his name.

Your pleasure drags him over his own edge, Namjoon manages another thrust before he’s coming, spilling his seed into you with an intensity that robs him of his breath.

You’re pulling him down onto you now, arms around him. Namjoon has just enough awareness to move slightly so you’re not taking his full weight as he collapses onto the bed, tangled up with you.

***

When he stirs, you’re up already, but thankfully not any more dressed than you were.

You’re looking at him in the looking glass by his bed.

‘I like these marks you made on me,’ you announce, nonchalant.

‘I’ll make more,’ Namjoon says.

He rises from the bed, drops to his knee before you.

‘On my legs?’ you ask, looking down at him quizzically.

‘If you want.’

Namjoon reaches for your hand, looks up at your face seriously.

‘I vow fealty to you, in this kingdom and beyond,’ he promises you. ‘I will protect you to my last breath.’

‘Well,’ you drawl, with the familiar quirk to your lips he’s grown to love, ‘we’d better make sure you live a very long life then.’

©hamsterclaw 2023

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic #bts smut

601 notes · View notes

atomic--peach · 1 year

Text

Her Grace's Handmaiden

Imagine being Queen Cersei's favorite handmaiden Pt.2

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

(Cersei x fem reader, slight Sandor x fem reader if you like it like that. I've decided this is going to be a series that will go into smutty territory eventually, but it'll definitely be a slow burn)

The ride north was an unforgiving one. Being lowborn, you had only admired horses from afar before being expected to ride in the Queen's entourage. Side saddle riding protected your modesty and spared your thighs the chafing that the Male riders suffered, but your lower back and shoulders ached all the same.

The queen rode in a lavish carriage with her three children, guarded closely on either side by Ser Jaime and Sandor Clegane.

Due to your inexperience riding and your new found favor with her grace, you were instructed to ride along side The Hound, who was under orders to keep any eye on you and intervene if the mare beneath you proved too rowdy.

It was clear that The Hound resented this duty, already having to keep an eye on the young Prince Joffery, who alternated between riding in the carriage and mounting his own steed. A bright white and rowdy gelding that was the torment of the other horses in the party. It nipped and whinied, trotting circles around the group in a foppish, showy manner.

The Hound, on the other hand, mounted a broad bodied horse that was black as midnight with a coal grey mane named Stranger.

As the prince took another lap, the white gelding nipped at the hindquarters of your mare for what must have been the fifth or sixth time that day. The mare, tired and frustrated with this harassment, finally decided to voice her displeasure by baying loudly and bouncing her back legs enough to bounce you around.

"No, no Girl. Whoa, stop stop stop" you squealed, pulling at the reins with as much force as you dared but the horse was too fed up to mind.

"Stop! Stop the carriage" a firm and regal voice put a halt to the party as Clegane snatched the reigns from your grasp and managed to settle the mare back into submission.

"Mother's Mercy!" A gruff voice growled, accompanied by the heavy trot of hooves. King Robert's face was red as a cherry from drink and frustration as he glared at the queen. "If you keep holding us up, Winterfell will be snowed in before we even get there!"

"I apologize, Your Grace" You bowed your head, face flushed with embarrassment. "It was my fault, I failed to control my mount. My deepest apologies."

Robert's eyes rolled nearly back to his skull with a begrudging sigh before flinging a finger at Clegane.

"You, Hound, let the girl ride with you and have that beast tethered to a wagon"

He tossed a glare back at the queen, a look which said 'you just had to bring her, didn't you?' Before returning to his place in the party.

"I'm sorry" you nearly whispered, tailing the gargantuan man as he tether the horse in brooding silence.

Heading back to Stranger, you nearly cried out as Clegane snatched the softness of your arm and all but dragged you up onto the horse in front of him. His grip was bruising and you had to force yourself not to rub the part where he snatched you like a hawk snatches a rabbit.

"Not one word" he growled "or I'll toss you from this horse and let you walk to Winterfell."

You rode until dusk, and your body didn't relax until you were safely once again on solid ground.

Once again, The Hound dismounted first before he gripped you by the waist, hard fingers pressing into the soft flesh under your riding clothes, and all but dragged you off the horse where you landed with a wobble of your knees.

"Y/N, To me" your mistress called and you rushed to her side immediately.

"Yes, Your Grace" your curtsey suffered from the weakness in your legs, but the Queen hardly seemed to notice.

"You had us worried there" She looked down at you with unreadable eyes, "You'll have to improve your riding if you wish to keep up"

"I will, Your Grace. Thank you"

"Take my things inside" she motioned vaguely to the inn at which you had stopped for the night. "Just follow King Robert's squire, he'll show you. Then come back for the children's things"

"Immediately, Your Grace"

The work was arduous, and by the time you finished it was past dark. The inn provided food and housing for the higher members of the entourage, but at The Queen's insistence you were to sleep at the foot of her bed as you did in The Red Keep.

Robert was apathetic to this. Ser Jaime, to your surprise, seemed genuinely disappointed by this and approached the queen when they thought they had a moment in private, not knowing you were settling the queen in as they spoke

"Don't worry" Cersei assured him "I'll just send her out"

-----------

After dinner, you tended to your queen with great care. Standing behind her as she sat on the edge of the plush feather bed, you gently pulled a comb through her golden locks, picking out any snags with extreme tenderness.

"Y/N, tonight my brother will be coming by to discuss some family matters and I want you out of the way."

"Of course, your grace." You complied, satisfied with this explanation. Of course she wouldn't want you around when they discussed Lannister matters.

"And..." She turned slightly, looking up at you through her lashes in a way that made your breath catch in your chest. "Be a good girl, and don't mention this to anyone. It's my business, and I expect you to keep it that way"

"Not a word, Your Grace" Your face began to flush as her long, slender hand grasped your small, common one.

"Not even to The King"

"The King?" You paused, confused why the king would inquire about such a thing in the first place. "Yes, your grace. Not even to the King. I swear it"

Cersei's face softened at this and, to your great shock, raised your hand to her face and allowed it to stroke her cheek gently.

"What would I do without you?" She breathed before letting your hand drop back to your side and turning back around so you could finish combing out her hair.

You carried the high of her touch through the evening and even when she sent you away. You curtisied to Jaime primly before slipping outside back to the wagons.

Aimless, you went to the stables where the horses had been bedded down for the night, glancing into each stall curiously until you found the mare you had ridden earlier.

Her tawny coat had been brushed and her white snout was buried in a pail of oats.

"Hello" you greeted her in a small voice. "I'm sorry about before, it wasn't your fault"

The horse snorted at you in an apathetic manner, flicking the flies off with her tail.

"Don't talk to horses" a gruff voice scolded you from down the stable hall.

You jumped, having believed you were alone, before craning you head to see who spoke.

"Why not?" You eyed The Hound with flushed cheeks, embarrassed to have been caught.

"Because it makes you look mad" he grumbled. "No one wants a mad handmaid"

"Well" you sputtered as he approached you from Stranger's stall, "It wasnt her fault. It was that gelding that kept biting her"

"It wasn't her fault, you're right" he stopped, towering over you like a shadow. "It was your fault"

"What?"

"That mare is the most patient thing in this barn, trained to handle children and unskilled little fools like you." He leaned against the wood of the stall with his arms crossed firmly. "If you'd just kept your calm like any person with half a brain would, she would have listened to you"

"I do so have a brain" You raged. Where did he get off being so disrespectful when all you'd been was polite?

"Doubt it" The hound scoffed "The queen does all your thinking for you, she's got your brain tucked away in all those trunks somewhere."

"Why I-" you gasped "All I have ever done is my very best for Her Grace's comfort and happiness. If My Lady has any issue with the way I serve her, she will not hesitate to let me know"

"I'll bet" a cruel smirk spread across Sandor's face. "And they call me the hound. What a well trained little bitch she has in you."

The slap came on reflex, fueled by indignant rage that fled your body as quickly as it came. The blood drained from your face as the Hound's gaze trained on you with a low growl.

"You get one of those. Only one. Next time you even think about raising hand to me, I'll tear it off and beat you with it"

You nodded slowly, closing your eyes as if bracing for a strike until Clegane let out a slow exhale.

"Run back to your mistress, little girl. And don't let me see your face until morning."

You did exactly that, hovering in the hallway of your lady's room until Ser Jaime slipped out quietly and tried to sneakily return to his own before stopping in his tracks at the sight of you.

You curtisied and kept your head down until your chin was jerked up suddenly, making you flinch. Jaime's eyes studied your face, smoothing his thumb over your cheek to wipe away a stream of tears. You'd been crying and didn't even realize it.

"Do I need to do something about this?" The head of the kingsgaurd asked, knowing you fully got his meaning.

"No" you shook you head and wiped away what was left of your tears with your palm. "No Ser, I am fine. Thank you'

Jaime nodded. "My sister is waiting for you"

"Yes, Ser" you breathed, trying to right yourself before letting your lady see you. "Thank you, Ser"

You watched him go, steadying your breath and wiping your eyes one last time before returning to your post

#game of throne imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #cersei lannister x reader #cersei lannister imagine #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane imagine #Jaime Lannister x reader #jaime lannister imagine #Cersei Lannister x fem reader #Her Grace's Handmaiden

305 notes · View notes

mirai-e-jump · 1 year

Text

Hero Vision Vol.9 (2003/Winter) ft. Kamen Rider Ryuki Cast Members Pre-Final Episode Interviews (translations below)

Takamasa Suga (Shinji Kido) Interview (page 22,25)

"Recollections, within the calm after the war" Takamasa Suga

After a year of playing the star role of the protagonist in "Kamen Rider Ryuki," Suga-kun finally has time to get back to regular life…

Looking back, from season to season, what were the most emotional scenes that still remain in his mind? On an off day before recording the final episode, we asked him to look back on those passionate days.

...

"I always wanted to die. I wanted to fulfill my role within the show"

...

Suga: (niho~)

If the sound of Suga-kun's smile could be written out, it would look like that. It gives off a calm, quiet and tender feeling. At first glance, the main character of Ryuki, the annoying (?) Shinji Kido, doesn't seem to resemble him, but as the story progresses, we think they are very similar on the inside. It's impressive in the fact that he always tries his best to think about the challenges that appear before him while also moving forward, even when he "doesn't know what to do," he somehow manages to find integrity within the many possibilities, and puts them into action.

"You were so busy this past year, that you didn't even have much time to sleep. What memorable moments will stay with you forever?"

Suga: What made me happy was the movie "Episode Final." I'm very happy I was given the opportunity to play the lead role again, and that it was released nationwide. Since becoming an actor, it had been a dream of mine to do opening day stage greetings.

"However, in parallel to shooting the TV version, the movie was performed within a hellish schedule. It wasn't enough to just act happy or even be "enraged" about it, rather, it was physically demanding."

Suga: Man~ I couldn't understand the reason for anything that was happening at the time (laughs). Filming for the movie would start in the morning, then we would return to the hotel at midnight, sleep for about an hour, and then start filming on location again for the TV series.

"Every day, you had almost no private time. But even so, you said you never felt stressed because "doing the performance in and of itself was fun."

Suga: It's an unusual experience for an actor my age to be able to devote an entire year to a single role, isn't it? When playing a role, conveying the "joy" and "fun" of something was much greater than the "difficult."

"I see. It seems that Suga-kun's "pleasure" is being an actor itself. Then, on the other hand, were there any sad moments?"

Suga: Hmmm…The scene where Ren dies in the TV Special was really sad. While we were filming, I was thinking about everything that had happened up until that point…it felt like it was the final episode.

"There are multiple final episodes of Ryuki. There's the movie, the special, and the main show. As those who have seen the broadcast already know, there was an unprecedented development in the main story where the main character dies before the final episode."

Suga: I always wanted to die. If I could die in the show, then I could fulfill my role within in it…is the feeling I had. I didn't know I was actually going to die until I finally saw the episode's script. I read it for the first time on the travel bus, and cried straight throughout. As for the way in which he dies, it's entirely convincing.

Shinji, who had been in agony up untill that point, was finally able to let go of the burden he carried for so long and die. Shinji followed what he believed in, and in the end death awaited him…or rather, Shinji's Survive, wasn't it? (laughs).

Before, I would've been lost in all my choices, but now I was finally able to choose and follow through with what I believe in…like Shinji, I'm satisfied with it. Shinji had "nothing to point to," but in the end, I think he was able to show off "the strength that comes from having nothing"…is what I feel when filming (laughs). That's the point I hope to get across.

"You said you thought deeply about the theme of Ryuki for a while, and when producer Shirakura explained that among other things, the show was made based on the recent terrorist attacks in New York, you read articles on the subject."

Suga: It's becoming more difficult for people to understand what is "justice" and what is "evil" in the world. The same can be said about the world of Ryuki. I can't say for certain if what Shinji says is right. I can't really say if what Ren says is right either. Even now, I still don't have a clear answer as to what's right or wrong. But, I have a feeling like I'm starting to understand. For this, I think it's important for each and every one of us to ask ourselves, "What is justice?" I hope that through Ryuki, we've been able to convey these feelings to the audience.

"Many of the themes dealt with in ordinary televised dramas are that of love affairs. It's unique because usually, we only see such major themes taken seriously in longer running programs."

Suga: That's right. It can be hard for people to watch things that they don't understand. Even so, it's something that everyone should think about more!

The way Suga-kun makes his strong arguments seem to overlap with Shinji. His manager looked at him and laughed saying, "He seems to have grown a lot as a person over the past year." He was also praised on the set of another production, saying, "You're young, but you're good!" He feels that he has gotten alot out of Ryuki.

Suga: Even after the broadcast is over, I hope people will remember that this show existed and think, "This is what they were trying to say." As time passes and children become adults, I hope that they will still remember.

Satoshi Matsuda (Akiyama Ren) Interview (page 27,29)

"As human" Satoshi Matsuda

At a glance, Akiyama Ren of Kamen Rider Ryuki looks really cool. But, he is in fact, a very compassionate person. So what kind of person is Matsuda-kun, who played the role, really like? He says, "I don't like showing my true self," and we felt that there were no lies or bad faith in his words.

…

"In the past, I always looked at the people around me as rivals. It's much easier to think of them as enemies"

…

Matsuda: Good Morning.

The way he arrived made us feel as if an old acquaintance had come to visit. After hearing his voice, the nervous staff on set became oddly relaxed. He seems to be an unusual type an actor. When I told him that he was very natural, he laughed and said, "Yeah, my managers used to tell me that alot, they said I should become aware that I'm a celebrity.

Seeing him with relaxed shoulders, people say, he's a "nice guy," and "looks full of confidence." But what kind of person is the real Satoshi Matsuda?

"You write essays once a week on your blog "Matsuda Lab." Even when we read it, we can't see your true emotions."

Matsuda: Is that so? In the "lab" I intentionally write in such a way that the "image of Matsuda" is not particularly set. I thought it wouldn't be interesting to show my true character. If I did, I would lose the image of playing the role of "Akiyama Ren."

"Since the Fall, he's appeared in the Kansai regional TV program "Asa Cafe," which is an informational program, but he's also an actor, as he acts as the viewer's lover."

"Every 2 weeks he shoots 2 episodes while also filming Kamen Rider Ryuki. The opposite of Ren's character, he plays an upbeat and energetic character that speaks for 30 minutes straight. It's also understood that the script is as long as one episode of Ryuki."

Matsuda: At first I was under a lot of pressure, because all those lines were my lines. The crew comes from Osaka to Tokyo to shoot the program, and if they push back because the scene is NG (no good), they won't be able to make the last train home.

"Although he's busy filming every day, he's had his own TV show and has been featured in magazines and other media, over the past year, his popularity has increased rapidly."

Matsuda: I have to admit that the sudden boom worried me. I never thought I would be on an 8 a.m. Sunday morning show and not be able to walk the streets like a normal person…hmm.

"He had been aware of the recent tokusatsu boom from its start, which is why he took the audition. He had actually hoped this would boost his popularity. Still, he was baffled by the public frenzy."

Matsuda: One time, I was on site with a fever of 40C (104F). With the exception of the scenes I appeared in, I had to sit in a chair and cool my head with ice due to how bad it was. Then suddenly, while laying down, a random fan lifted my head with her hand and took a picture next to me. She and her friends then left saying, 'bye, until next time~." At the time, I got really angry. I was skeptical that such intense fans even existed…

"When something like that happens, I think, "What a weird world we're living in." On the flipside, he also has plenty of supportive fans that are loyal and kind."

Matsuda: I like to play games of catch when meeting with fans. I also write on the official fan site every day, so I'm close to them (laughs). I write at least 30 replies to fan letters every week.

"By the way, when you write for "Matsuda Lab," you don't reply to letters that end with "please reply."

Matsuda: I think that's what makes even the most favorable messages feel dull. I can't help but think they're thinking more about themselves than about me.

"He doesn't acknowledge those who call him "Knight," as he thinks, "they don't even know my name." Matsuda-kun is very sensitive to other people's feelings. Whenever someone offers true affection, he is almost like a cat, looking up at you as if asking, "Do you really mean it?"

Matsuda: I've always been sensitive to other people's feelings. Since I come from a single mother household, I felt as though I had to support my mother and sister. In the past, I always looked at the people around me as rivals. It was much easier to think of them as enemies. Especially when competing……

"Competing? Have you always competed with friends and the very world around you?"

Matsuda: I always thought so. However, when I came to Tokyo……on that day, I realized. I've noticed that "those guys I don't get along with," I ended up getting along with well later on. I thought to myself, "I've wasted time." Since then, I've never made assumptions about other people by our first meetings. I'm having a lot of fun meeting people, and opening one new door after another.

"And Ryuki, which brought you many good encounters, has also come to an end."

Matsuda: By the time this issue releases, the broadcast will be over. I wonder how everyone did…..There's always a discrepancy between the performance I imagine in my mind and the one that I actually do. This has been a difficult time for me, as I've been in a slump for over a month. The TV Special was the one were I made the least mistakes. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that I was able to create exactly what I had imagined in my mind. Where do I go from here? I have to develop into the person I see in my mind.

We're still uncertain of the type of person he is really is, but we really sensed his sincerity.

Ryohei x Takashi Hagino Interviews (Page 31)

"Heinous Men" Ryohei x Takashi Hagino

Zolda (Kitaoka) and Ouja (Asakura), arrived as two dark "Kamen Riders." Evil men who fight not for justice, but for the sake of his own desire. Money, appearance and of course, power. They already have these things, but are still hungry for more. And yet……women, for some reason, find men like them attractive? …

"I was certain I was a rider who would die much earlier (laughs)" "Well, it's a good thing you didn't die so easily"

… Hagino: Have you seen the script yet?

Hagino-san called out to Ryohei-san as soon as he arrived at the studio. He appears to be very enthusiastic. It's no surprise, the script for the ending had been delivered just yesterday. From the start, I asked them a very important question.

"Did you ever think that Asakura (Takashi Hagino) and Kitaoka (Ryohei) would be among the last riders that made it to the end?"

Hagino: Ah, no, not really (laughs)

Ryohei: Honestly, until just recently, I was certain I was a rider who would die much earlier (laughs).

Hagino: Well, it's a good thing you didn't die so easily (laughs). Don't you think overall, it expanded the story and made it more interesting?

"Asakura and Kitaoka are very involved with each other, but what kind of relationship do these two really have?"

Ryohei: I think maybe Asakura is instinctive, while Kitaoka is rational? They always get involved with each other because they're complete opposites. That's the kind of relationship they have.

Hagino: "Asakura is the kind of guy who just wants to fight. He thinks fighting has meaning, and will go off like a tea kettle at a moment's notice. So, when he goes to Kitaoka he'll say, "Oi, let's fight."

Ryohei: Kitaoka didn't want to help Asakura with his sentence, so he's the kind of guy who'll fight just for that reason. On top of that, Kitaoka is always provoking me (laughs).

Hagino: Yeah, and no matter how many times I'm caught, I'll just keep breaking out (laughs). In the first scene when Kitaoka and Asakura meet, the contrast between the inside and outside world, with a sheet of glass separating them, was very interesting to see.

"Come to think of it, it was impressive to see Asakura wearing a seat belt while driving the hijacked vehicle as he was trying to escape from prison (laughs)."

Hagino: Yeah, Asakura likes to wear a seat belt or even straitjackets. Even when he sleeps, he needs to be tied to something in order to feel safe (laughs).

"Regarding Asakura's character, wouldn't he have had plenty of chances to kill Kitaoka when he was in person?"

Ryohei: Like when he was on his knees (laughs). But for Asakura, fighting as a rider is far more pleasurable for him than fighting untransformed. That's why he brings out his Card Deck.

Hagino: Asakura naturally chooses to fight for the superior pleasure of fighting. He isn't afraid of dying, much less surviving to the end as a rider.

Ryohei: That's the difference between Kitaoka's and Asakura's fighting style. Kitaoka, who is fixated on living, tries to win by fighting as little as possible.

"Leaving the roles of Asakura and Kitaoka aside, how do Hagino-san and Ryohei-san feel about each other?"

Hagino: This type of question, it's not really a conversation, saying such stuff in front of each other like, "Well, Ryohei-san is (…), isn't he?"

"…No, that is a conversation (laughs)."

Hagino: "Well, Ryohei-san is cheerful and is the complete opposite of me. His character is so loud, that I once told him to shut up (laughs). But, I can't remember what he said in response.

Ryohei: Hagino-san doesn't say much, but his personality is that of a big brother.

Hagino: "Eh?! That's just not true. I'm just lonely. But, Ryohei, he makes everyone feel at ease."

"Do the two of you ever discuss your roles together?"

Hagino: We don't, and it's because I don't want to. If we talk about what we want to do or how we want to do it, how we plan on performing may need to be constantly adjusted. I think it's interesting to see how the two of us have developed separately when we end up bumping into each other. If the action is going to be intense, we'll talk about it beforehand.

Ryohei: I have no prior experience as an actor, so I just have to rely on my intuition. I didn't really understand the process of creating a role. But, thanks to the influence of Hagino-san, I think I'm beginning to understand a little more now.

"Finally, What are both of your future prospects, as well as a message to your fans."

Ryohei: Specifically, I'm scheduled to perform on stage this coming March, and would like to try out the realism of a live performance. I have not yet decided how I will proceed as an actor, so I'd like to challenge various other projects and improve my career in order to decide where I'd like to go from here.

Hagino: Any message for the fans?

Ryohei: "Ah, I will do my best in the future, so please lend me your support.

Hagino: Hey now, answer more thoroughly (laughs). I'll be releasing a photobook, so you'll be able to see Takashi Hagino from various different angles. I would like to play different roles in the future, so please continue to support me! To all the fans of the Ouja, I will show you all the final special attack of Genocider! It's going to be a blood bath…… I haven't seen Black Hole myself because it's CG, so I'm looking forward to the airing, and I'd personally love to put all the fans in that hole! (laughs).

199 notes · View notes

phantom1fanatic · 1 year

Text

Em | 25 | She/Hers | PST | Minors DNI | 21+ preferred

━━━━━━━━━━━━

♕ LGBTQ+ member and friendly

♕ Searching for fandom and original universe roleplays

♕ Doubles and multiples preferred over single pairings

♕ I can play either gender

♕ Any gendered pairing is welcome

♕ Expect 200-2000+ word replies depending on muse and time

♕ Response times vary

♕ Love to chat ooc, share pinterests, memes, aesthetics, tiktoks, music, etc about our roleplay and characters

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Fandom Interests

Crossovers/Multifandoms

Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse

911/911 Lonestar

The Rookie

Ted Lasso

Z Nation

Marvel (MCU)

DC (cartoons mainly)

Young Justice

Detroit: Become Human

The Walking Dead

Arrowverse

Umbrella Academy

Prison Break

Midnight Texas

Suits

Kingsmen

Good Omens

Supernatural

Shameless

Disney Retellings

Deception

Jurassic World

Code Black

Station 19

Man from Uncle

Man from Toronto

Pokemon

Stranger Things

Altered Carbon

Terra Nova

LA Brea

Watch Dogs

Mr. Robot

Horizon: Zero Dawn

Reacher

The Boys

Hazbin Hotel

ATLA

Merlin

Note: I am more than willing to play multiple canons against an oc for you if asked. Would like if you could play at least one canon in return!

Note 2: Pink is what I’m craving most atm

━━━━━━━━━━━━

General Themes

Reincarnation

Time Travel

Natural Disasters

Past Lives

Soulmates

Hurt/comfort

Divine Enti

Dinosaurs

Hackers

Hanahaki Disease

Apocalypse

Deserted Islands

Fantasy

Sci-fi/Space

Slice of Life

Dark Themes/Dead Dove

Paranormal

Wild West

Medieval

Superpowers

Modern

Period Dramas

Mafia/Criminal Underworld

Egyptian Mythos/Pantheon

Dragons/Dragon Riders

Mermaids

Decade (20s, 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s)

Slowburn

Note: I’m always interested in your ideas, please feel free to reach out.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pairing Ideas

Throuple/Poly

Fallen Angel/Angel

Fallen Angel/Demon

Fallen Angel/Human

Angel/Demon

Angel/Human

Human/Demon

Half Angel/Demon

Half Angel/Human

Angel/Demon/Human

Angel/Demon/Fallen Angel

Human/Supernatural Creature

Supernatural Creature/Hunter

Royalty/Commoner

Rivals (sports, spies, etc)

Detective/Sidekick

Detective/Criminal

Ghost/Nonbeliver

Hero/Villain

Mermaid/Pirate

God/Human

God/Lesser Deity

Enemies to Lovers

Roommates

Arranged Marriages

Fake Dating

Opposites Attract

Forbidden Romance

Note: Love mixing/matching pairings so just lmk if you have any ideas!

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Are you interested? Perfect, I’d love to hear from ya! PM me for my discord and we can get to plotting!

Happy roleplaying 🌸

122 notes · View notes

wickedcriminal · 4 months

Note

Hey, again, wickedcriminal, I see that the half brother au posts have returned and I am so happy I was going through withdrawal I had to reread all my how to train your Dragon books in order to pass the time. I also wanted to thank you for inspiring me to reread them. The books were so much darker and better than the movies. I would be able to finish all of them if I had them ALL!?! Seriously I have books 1-8. I have trying to get the final ones but my local book stores never have them in stock! Though seriously, I wanted to thank you for posting such an amazing little alternate universe story, I cannot wait for your story to start getting some more attention, and your book based of it to start I will be their to start reading it as soon as it comes.

I would like to go onto my asks now, as with the new law that I’ve recently seen I’ve had a couple of questions that I now have, so if if the twins are keeping a score of how many times one the kids get kidnapped doesn’t that mean that all of them have been abducted at some point? Also what are those situations even like cause if the twins are keeping score than Elder and Youngers friends must have some pretty memorable abduction stories they have to talk about. Wonder who has it worse?

Hello again!! Omg thank you for all your kind words!!! I'm so happy to see you're still enjoying the au!! :DD

The Twins keeping score is hilarious, and I'm sure all of the Riders have gotten their fair share of snatching at some point, with the Twins keeping a nice little tally board on the wall of the clubhouse and the Hiccup brothers are in the lead by a LANDSLIDE 😂 what can they say, they're just very kidnappable ASDHKLSGK

As for who gets kidnapped more; that's a great question! They've both been kidnapped by plenty of people ever since they were kids and all through the canon. The Danger-Brutes, the Romans, the Hysterics, the Berserks (especially when Dagur became chief), and eventually the Dragon Hunters (who are the Lava Louts in this au) all capture and hold the boys prisoner/hostage/ransom multiple times. It's easy to say they probably lost count.

But when it comes to getting snatched by their personal enemies, there is a winner!

Hiccup E has a nice little group of people that want to snatch him and have snatched him multiple times, including Madguts the Murderous (taking the place of TV Alvin in R/DOB and snatching him and Toothless several times), Viggo and Ryker (both separately several times in RTTE), and Krogan (Midnight Scrum in RTTE).

Hiccup Y has a smaller roster by only one person, which includes Dagur (taking Younger instead of Gustav in RTTE), Alvin the Treacherous (the 2nd and 3rd books in R/DOB and the 8th book in RTTE), and Norbert the Nutjob (book 7 in in RTTE).

So its looking like the contest for the most kidnappings goes to Hiccup the Elder!!! 🎉🎉 Someone get that boy a prize!!

#the dragon master; the hope and heir to the hairy hooligans; leader of the dragon riders; night fury tamer #elder has more monikers than younger so everyone considers him the bigger threat #everyone except alvin the treacherous of course #also norbert but that guy just holds a mean grudge SSJSJSJFDJV #younger's only moniker is 'dragon whisperer' which is a good one but it's nothing like elder's laundry list #hbau #half brothers au #ask #this is all as of race to the edge because if we count book 9 onward #younger is going to leave elder in the dust

25 notes · View notes

calliegallieblog · 4 months

Text

hello friends i have Returned with more Casey art and information

rejoice

this was the first sketch i made! fun fact: in order to get the colors for them, i literally took a png of a goat, raised the saturation, and used the eyedropper tool lmao

i'm actually kinda proud of this one! usually i'm kinda bad at anatomy this is a nice change of pace

NOW before we get on to the other art stuff

here's some new information:

Their gender is, and I quote: "Gender? I hardly know her!" (Reminder: Pronouns are they/she/xey)

I mentioned in the previous post that they "come off as arrogant", and I thought I should elaborate on that! They aren't a bad person. Like, it's clear that they genuinely care about those around them. HOWEVER. Without revealing TOO much, they are VERY conscious about how others see them. They want to seem "cool" and "tough". That's where the faux-arrogance comes from. Hope that makes sense, because that's all you're getting about that for now!

Please, do not let her near an oven. Do not let xem cook.

Xey're not a big fan of authority! (Well, to an extent. In a way, they are an authority. I think.) To be more specific, if they're told not to do something, they're gonna need a good reason.

She's not formally acquainted with DogDay and the gang. They've heard of them through the universal medium known as Water Cooler Talk™, but that's about it.

OKAY that's enough of that. back to the art!

here's a design for the uh

what's it called? the battle outfit?

The Outfit They Wear When They Kick Ass

there we go

the colors on this one are a bit...cluttered...to say the least. i may have to tweak them later.

lastly we got the casual fit

i kinda got lazy on the colors (i was gonna color it but it's currently midnight and i have school tomorrow i'm SORRY)

as basic as it is i like this sketch too. silli goat

AND THAT will be all for today!

of course, special thanks to @onyxonline for making the space riders au!! if you haven't checked them out yet, do so NOW.

cya later callie crew

#art #my art #digital art #smiling critters #space riders au #casey cleats

26 notes · View notes

justforbooks · 3 months

Text

Tony Lo Bianco

American actor who fitted naturally into the 70s trend for gritty crime thrillers as a brute with a twinkle in his eye

The American actor Tony Lo Bianco, who has died of cancer aged 87, specialised in hoods and heavies, often played with an uncommon twinkle in the eye that suggested he was in on some grim private joke. “I guess I’ll have to do a nun next,” he said after a run of such roles.

There was never any doubt that he meant business. “If you encountered Tony in a deserted alley at midnight, you’d be inclined to hand him your wallet before he asked for it,” wrote a US newspaper in 1978.

With his conspiratorial manner, imposing stare and tractor-tyre eyebrows, Lo Bianco fitted naturally into the 70s trend for gritty crime thrillers. As the mobster Sal Boca in The French Connection (1971), he is pursued by the New York cop “Popeye” Doyle (Gene Hackman) for his role in buying a massive shipment of heroin. The Seven-Ups (1973) reunited Lo Bianco with his friend and French Connection co-star Roy Scheider, and gave him a bigger bite of the cherry, this time as a shady police informer in a camel-hair coat and sharp hat.

His first major role had already proved he was more eccentric than any rent-a-thug. In The Honeymoon Killers (1970), which was inspired by real events, he played the silver-tongued Spanish con-artist Ray Fernandez, who embarks on a murder spree with a lonely woman whom he tries to swindle. Martin Scorsese was sacked as the film’s director for dragging his feet, but the end result (with the composer and librettist Leonard Kastle stepping in after Scorsese’s exit) has a sizzling, unwholesome B-movie tang, due in no small part to Lo Bianco’s oleaginous presence and his rapport with Shirley Stoler as his partner-in-crime.

Most of his finest screen work was done in the 70s. He was a police detective investigating seemingly random murders in the supernatural horror God Told Me To, and an injured, suicidal former rodeo rider raising his young sons in Glory Days, AKA Goldenrod (both 1976).

Bloodbrothers (1978), in which Lo Bianco was all gruffness and gristle as an Italian-American construction worker pressuring his recalcitrant son (Richard Gere) to follow in his footsteps, was especially dear to him. “It’s very close to my heart,” he said. “I know the characters like I know my family.”

In the same year, he was a surprisingly genial crime boss opposite Sylvester Stallone in the union drama F.I.S.T. “Sure, I could have played [him] as one more Italian thug,” he reflected. “But does the world really need another overbearing, obnoxious, obvious slob to dismiss or look down on as some kind of buffoon?”

Lo Bianco attributed his facility as an actor partly to his upbringing. “Coming from an Italian family in a big city, my emotions were always close to the surface, ready to live life fully, to give, to laugh and cry without holding back, without strain.”

He was born in New York City to Carmelo, a taxi driver, and Sally (nee Blando). One of his teachers at William E Grady high school suggested he give acting a go, though his early passions were largely sporting ones. As a teenager, he tried out for the Brooklyn Dodgers, and was also a Golden Gloves welterweight boxer. “I guess you’d say I was a borderline delinquent. It was the 50s, Elvis time, leather jackets, a time for being tough.”

Years later, he would step back into the ring to play the boxer Rocky Marciano in the television biopic Marciano (1979). He returned to the same story, again for TV, in Rocky Marciano (1999), this time as the gangster-turned-promoter Frankie Carbo opposite Jon Favreau as the prizefighter.

Lo Bianco studied acting at the Dramatic Workshop in Manhattan in the late 50s, and founded the Weekend Theater there in order to gain experience. “I built the sets, the stage, and put in the lighting. I got it going.” He did the same in 1963 with the Triangle Theater, where he also served as artistic director. It was here that he first met Scheider.

He accumulated numerous credits on television, including a recurring role between 1971 and 1973 as a doctor in the long-running soap opera Love of Life, and on stage: in 1975, he won an Obie (an award for an off-Broadway performance) for his portrayal of a fading baseball star in Yanks-3 Detroit-0, Top of the Seventh. He also won a Tony for playing the tormented longshoreman Eddie Carbone in A View from the Bridge in 1983.

Appearing in the Italian caper Mean Frank and Crazy Tony (1973) immediately after his success in The French Connection, Lo Bianco seemed to be spoofing his own image when it was still in its infancy: he played a none-too-bright crook who idolises a legendary gangster (Lee Van Cleef). But the actor re-asserted his authority on television in the anthology series Police Story (1973-76). He was one of only a handful of cast members who appeared in more than one episode. Even more unusually, he was on the right side of the law this time.

In Franco Zeffirelli’s mini-series Jesus of Nazareth (1977), he was Quintillius, who advises Pontius Pilate, played by Rod Steiger. A year later, also on television, he starred in The Last Tenant as a man dealing with the increasing needs of his senile, irascible father, played by the acting guru Lee Strasberg. In the 80s he won plaudits for a TV adaptation of Paul Shyre’s play Hizzoner!, in which he starred as the New York mayor Fiorello La Guardia. This spawned several spin-offs, including La Guardia and The Little Flower, written by Lo Bianco and performed by him across the world at the start of this century.

Notable later roles include a mafia boss in the lighthearted, 30s-set Clint Eastwood/Burt Reynolds vehicle City Heat (1984), a corrupt property developer in John Sayles’s ensemble drama City of Hope (1991), the ivory-haired mobster Johnny Roselli in Oliver Stone’s Nixon (1995), and yet another intimidating gangster in The Juror (1996), with Demi Moore and Alec Baldwin.

Like Robert De Niro, for whom he was sometimes mistaken, it seemed there was nowhere left to go but comedy after playing so many crooks. Having parodied himself at the very start of his film career, Lo Bianco did so again in Mafia! (1998), also known as Jane Austen’s Mafia!, a send-up from some of the team behind the Airplane! and Naked Gun spoof series.

Though he directed to acclaim on stage, he made only one film, the slasher movie Too Scared to Scream (1984). His final picture was Somewhere in Queens (2022), starring and directed by Ray Romano, in which Lo Bianco played the main character’s standoffish father.

He is survived by his third wife, Alyse (nee Muldoon), a writer, whom he married in 2015, two daughters, Yummy and Nina, from his first marriage, to the actor Dora Landey (Anna, a third daughter from that marriage, died in 2006), a brother, John, and six grandchildren. Both his previous marriages – the second was to Elizabeth Natwick – ended in divorce.

🔔 Anthony Lo Bianco, actor, born 19 October 1936; died 11 June 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Tony Lo Bianco #in memoriam

10 notes · View notes

written-in-flowers · 2 years

Text

Fly Away: Pt. 6

Pairing: Young!Aemond x Young!Velaryon!Reader | Side pairing: Rhaenyra x Alicent, Aegon x Helaena

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Au: friends to lovers, childhood love, incest (duh), slight homophobia expressed, repressed feelings, mutual pining, teenage runaways, mentions of bullying, arrange marriages

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Young love overcomes all in a family full of broken bonds and broken hearts. When Princess Y/N Velaryon and Prince Aemond Targaryen are discovered missing from their beds, their mothers must come together to find them. The search might do more for their families than a mere marriage pact can.

A/N: want to clarify now that we stick with young!Aemond throughout the story. Ewan’s Aemond comes in at the very end. This is mainly done starting a bit before The Princess and the Queen and a little bit after the events at Driftmark. I do pull some scenes from the show, but it remains relatively loose throughout. Want to also point out that The Dance doesn’t happen in this universe, so...happy ending expected, because we need more of those.

Taglist: @yitish @imjustboredso @discowizard88 @mddieeunson @caramelcandescence @bookwhoresthings @astrumark @minteaspoon

Previous Chapter < | > Next Chapter

****

Morning came with no sign of you. Rhaenyra took deep breaths as she dressed for riding. A myriad of gruesome, disturbing scenes crossed her mind. What if you’d been taken captive? What if some ship’s captain found you, and is now selling you across the sea? No. She could not think that way. She’d take Syrax to the skies and see if Syrax finds Starshine.

Starshine came from a clutch of Syrax’s eggs many years ago; the Dragon Keepers thought the egg as blue as midnight would never hatch. That is, until you were born. Rhaenyra fondly remembered the day five-year-old Y/N came up to her with a blue and gold hatchling in her arms. You hadn’t cared if the dragon’s claws nipped your skin and gown. You’d cried tears of joy, completely fond of the dragon who’d bonded with you immediately, and vowed to love her forever. You’d spend every day going to the Dragonpit to feed, play and train your dragon. The Dragon Keepers told her that Starshine, as you’d named her, flew faster than her brothers and sisters. Rhaenyra worried about letting you ride her, but you insisted Starshine only went half her speed when carrying her rider.

Other than that, the beast flew like the wind.

Rhaenyra walked out of her bedroom, riding coat over her tunic and trousers, boots echoing on the floor. She nervously wrung her hands, thinking of where to look for you first. She’d come out into the main hall, and saw Laenor with the head of their guard by the Painted Table. An entire map of Westeros carved into the table, lit up by the line of candles underneath, acted as a strategy table. She saw him hunched over where Dragonstone is located, the two men talking quietly to each other. When he heard her footsteps, Laenor turned his head to see her.

“Rhaenyra,” he called to her.

“They haven’t found her,” she guessed, sliding on her leather gloves.

A small pang hit her heart at the stitching on the cuffs. Slim dragons weaved in and out of one another in golden thread. You’d spent weeks getting the stitches just right. Oh, you sweet child. Where are you?

“I’m afraid not,” he frowned. “I’m going to ride Seasmoke and look for her. The Dragon Keepers are searching the mountains.”

“Good. I’ll take Syrax.”

“We want to come too!”

Her sons appeared at the bottom of the stairs, both staring at her hopefully. “You boys need to stay here,” Laenor told them, “In case your sister returns.”

“We want to look with you,” Jace told him. “She’s our sister.”

“Please let us come,” Luke pleaded with his mother. “What if something terrible has happened to her?”

“Which is all the reason why you must remain here,” Rhaenyra told him comfortingly. “If anything has befallen your sister, the same might happen to you as well.”

“The more people who are looking, the higher the chances of finding her are,” Jace insisted. “Mother, we can help. Vermax and Arrax are big enough to ride, and if we find her, one of us will come get you or Father.”

“Let us help, Mother,” said Luke right after. “Y/N might be hurt,” he hugged her, “She needs us.”

Your caring brothers. Despite what happened at Driftmark and whatever cruel words they might’ve said from anger, your brothers loved you. She ran a hand through Luke’s soft curls, so different from her own silver strands, and bent to look at him. His large brown eyes filled with tears, which he tried sniffing back. She knew Luke was closer to you than Jace. For a moment, she remembered the day he’d been born and how happy you’d been to have a second baby brother.

She cupped his cheek gently, and said, “Your sister is fine. She is only missing, but you father and I will find her. I need you both to stay here in case she comes back on her own, alright?”

“But-” Jace began to say, but was cut off by Laenor.

“-You both will stay here,” Laenor said. “If your sister returns, she may need you both to care for her.”

“Mother…”

“We’ll find her,” she assured him. She stood and looked at her husband, “I’ll go on ahead. I’ll start on the northside.”

“I will take the south and work to the west. You can take the east.”

They’d both made to leave before Jace caught her hand. Rhaenyra turned to see tears in his eyes as well. “Mother,” he croaked, “If you find Y/N, can you…can you tell her I didn’t mean what I said?”

“What do you mean?”

He looked down shamefully, “At Driftmark…I said that she hated us, and that she should leave us alone. I…I didn’t mean it. I said it because I…I was hurt that she’d defended Aemond after what he did. But…But, I know now that she only cares about everyone. Will you tell her I don’t hate her? That Luke and I want her to come back home? I promise to never tease her ever again, as long as she comes back.”

Rhaenyra’s heart sank. She kissed the top of his head, and hugged him, “I will. Stay here, the both of you.”

They nodded, and she began walking alongside Laenor. Their children out of earshot, Laenor spoke, “She ran away.”

“I know.”

“There is only one place I imagine she’d go,” he said. “Your father will never turn away one of his grandchildren.”

It pained her to think of it, while also leaving her in awe. Sometime before, Rhaenyra also envisioned running away with the person she loved the most. The thought of you doing the same would’ve touched her if it did not riddle her with anxiety. Walking down the castle ramparts, she recalled that night once again. She’d snuck out of her bed chambers through a secret passage, a rucksack full of provisions slung over her shoulder, and went around the keep the long way. Hope and adventure pumped adrenaline into her veins, visions of having Alicent freely brought a smile to her face. Had you been the same way? She imagined you in her place. Sneaking away in the dead of night onto your dragon, with nothing but a few supplies and a dream, on your way to be with your beloved. The bards will never stop singing about it.

“My lord!”

She’d reached the dragon keep when Maester Gerardys rushed up to her and Laenor outside the gates. She saw a small scroll of paper in his hand. The elderly man puffed and panted when he reached them. Her nerves wracked together seeing the paper and worried for the worst.

“My Lord,” he addressed Laenor, handing him the scroll, “This just arrived from Driftmark from Lord Corlys.”

Laenor broke the wax seal and unrolled the paper. He read it carefully, his reading eyes making Rhaenyra nervous. She clutched his forearm, “What is it?”

“My father says one of his men saw a dragon in the skies last night during his patrol of High Tide,” he answered. “They said they’d seen it bolting through the sky before disappearing from sight.”

“That sounds like Starshine!”

“And they told him,” he read it again, “That the dragon appeared to be flying in the direction of King’s Landing.” He glanced back at her, “King’s Landing is not that far away on dragonback. She might be there now.”

“Then why has she not written?” Rhaenyra replied, discontentedly. “Then why has The Queen not written and told me?”

Even with their tarnished relationship, Rhaenyra knew Alicent would’ve written to her if you’d shown up at her door. She shook her head, finding it hard to believe. “Where else could she have gone then?” Laenor asked pleadingly. “The only reason she’d run away is in King’s Landing. You know our girl, Rhaenyra, she’s a romantic. It’d be like her to want to fly away with Aemond. I will send word to King’s Landing and to my father to keep a look out for Starshine. If we’re lucky, she’s there.”

“Alicent would have told me Y/N was there. I don’t think she’s there. Y/N is too smart to go flying so close to Driftmark.”

“We don’t have any other leads.”

“Um, Princess,” Maester Gerardys called her attention, “Perhaps Prince Aegon might have some insight?”

“Aegon?” Rhaenyra asked, bemused, “Why would we ask him? He’s never shown an ounce of interest in his brother or his niece.”

“I say this because Sunfyre appears to have arrived.”

The three of them looked up into the open sky to see a golden dragon circling overhead. Rhaenyra recognized the beaten gold scales and thin pink membrane of Sunfyre, her younger brother’s dragon. What was he doing here? A plethora of reasons came to mind as Sunfyre gradually made his descent into the main yard of the dragon keep. The Dragon Keepers all kept their spears trained upwards as the beast landed, roaring and snarling at them. On the saddle, she saw her brother. He wore his silver hair in a loose braid down his back, dressed in his green and gold finery. Rhaenyra saw a determination she’d never seen in Aegon before. Usually, when she did see him, he was drunk and unaware of his surroundings. The Aegon she saw here was a different person. But, as quickly as she noticed this, she spotted the person clinging onto him for her dear life.

Alicent, in a dress of dark emerald, clung to her son as Sunfyre sat down in the yard. She’d never flown before, Rhaenyra knew. It always terrified her. Her long curls blown back from her face, she fixed them properly once the Dragon Keepers helped her down from the dragon saddle. The moment she finished fixing her skirts and steadying herself, her eyes met Rhaenyra from beyond the gate. Only a year passed since she’d seen Alicent, yet it felt like so much longer. At that moment, her heart ached. The young besotted girl inside her wished to reach out for Alicent, apologize for all her wrongdoings both real or imagined, and embrace her. A million words were exchanged between them, yet nothing came out into the open.

“My Queen,” Laenor bowed as Alicent stormed over to them. Rhaenyra immediately knew something was wrong, and her suspicions were correct.

“Where is-” Alicent began, but Rhaenyra spoke first.

“Y/N is missing as well,” she said.

Alicent paused. “Missing?” she asked cautiously.

“Yes, she went flying and never came home,” Rhaenyra told her, keeping herself together, “Laenor and I were about to search for her.”

“My father,” Laenor said, “Sent a raven. He said one of his men spotted Starshine in the skies early yesterday morning.”

“He said the same about Vhagar.” Aegon appeared beside his mother, handing Laenor the letter they’d received. “It came to us a few hours ago. We’d sent word to lords in Westeros to keep an eye out for Vhagar, and Lord Corlys responded. He said a sea captain coming back from King’s Landing told him they spotted Vhagar leaving King’s Landing and heading this way.”

Laenor read the letter and nodded in confirmation. “How long has Aemond been missing?” she asked Alicent.

“Since yesterday morning,” she replied. “Nobody had seen him all day, and we searched the city to no avail.”

Rhaenyra wanted to hug her. She wanted to bring Alicent into her arms, give her the reassurance and comfort they both desperately needed. “If he isn’t here,” Aegon said, “And Y/N isn’t here, then where could they be?”

“They must be somewhere on the island,” Laenor said. “Did your sister come with you?”

“Yes, she’s on her way with Dreamfyre,” Aegon nodded.

“Good. Rhaenyra, you’ll search the northside of the island. I will search the south; Aegon will search the east, and when Princess Helaena arrives, she can fly around the west. I think with all of us on our dragons, we may find them both.”

“They won’t be here,” Aegon disagreed.

“Why not?”

“Aemond is not an idiot, and neither is Y/N. Staying on Dragonstone is too risky for two people who do not wish to be found.”

“He’s right,” Rhaenyra said, wishing it weren’t so. “If they’re together, they wouldn’t be where we expect.”

“Then, they went to another city…” the realization came to Alicent, and Rhaenyra felt the same dread. “No, no, they could not have. They’d never…”

“Pentos,” Laenor said first. “Y/N always talked about going there ever since she met a Pentoshi sea captain in the village. She’s fascinated with the place.”

“And Aemond would go wherever Y/N went.”

She was not the only one. Pentos had once been Rhaenyra’s place of choice for them. Two star-crossed lovers flying away to the Free Cities to escape their quarreling families sounded like a fairytale. It might’ve touched her if her daughter were not one of the lovers. Laenor guided them all back inside. Alicent can rest from her journey while they await Princess Helaena. In the meantime, Laenor and Aegon can discuss and gather search parties. Walking back into the large hall, she stood off to the side while deep in thought. Idly, she listened in as Laenor, Aegon and Alicent suggested places in Essos the children might have gone.

But, thinking upon it more, Rhaenyra sensed they were wrong. You might’ve dreamed of going across The Narrow Sea, but the chances of being recognized are too high. Neither you nor Aemond could survive in the streets. You’re both nobles who’ve been sheltered your entire lives. A foreign city like Pentos might intimidate you. Besides, that did not sound romantic enough. She thought back to the stories she’d heard growing up. A lot of the romances spoke of the lovers absconding to a secluded place for the two of them.

“Jaehaerys and Alysanne…” she said quietly to herself.

“Rhaenyra?”

“Jaehaerys and Alysanne,” she repeated, coming back over to them. “Y/N loves the story of the marriage between King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. She always talked about how romantic she thought it was that they’d run away together to Dragonstone.”

“But, we’re on Dragonstone,” said Aegon.

“They’d go to a remote place,” Alicent continued for her, nodding slightly. “They’d want to go somewhere that nobody else knows. They’d go to a place where it’d be only them and them alone.” More words hung in the air between them. “Should they have gone to Essos, there’s the possibility of being discovered but if they went elsewhere…Tell your maester to bring all of his maps.”

“All of them?” Laenor asked. “He has quite a few.”

“Bring them,” she affirmed.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

When Laenor called for Maester Gerardys, Rhaenyra ordered the household maids to prepare rooms for The Queen and Prince Aegon. She still wished to go on Syrax. If not to search for her daughter, then to clear her mind. The room suddenly became suffocating, and she gasped for air. Her little dove, forever the hopeless romantic, vanished in the night and is somewhere in the world.

Wherever you’d gone, she hoped you were safe.

***

Breakfast consisted of two leftover sausages, meager portions of berries and nuts, water Aemond brought in his waterskins, and hard bread with honey. Not an ideal breakfast, but you hoped things would be better after today. Having finished working on the shack, you and Aemond decided you’d go into the forest together. You needed a water source, and Aemond said the lake wouldn’t be too far.

“We can fill up the skins,” he said, handing you a waterskin while he kept two empty ones around his neck, “And this pail. You know, to have water for cooking.”

You might’ve mentioned bathing in the lake as well if it did not make you giggle. The island heat became more apparent in the daytime, causing your clothes to feel uncomfortable and hot on your body. A nice cool dip sounded refreshing, but then you remembered Aemond being there and possibly seeing you undressed. You started off behind him, carrying your waterskin and the pail while Aemond stayed a few steps ahead. You thought back to the previous night where Aemond cried. It amazed you that he thought a missing eye kept you from wanting to be with him. It sounded ridiculous to you, but you supposed to Aemond it’d make sense. At home, you imagined many people gave him distasteful stares or murmured behind his back when he walked past them. Aemond might pretend to be above it all, but you knew better.

“Can you shoot with that?” you asked, nodding at the bow and sheath of arrows on his back.

“I can,” he answered. “I thought I could do some hunting while we’re out.” He looked over his shoulder at you, “I wouldn’t go far. Don’t worry for me.”

“I still wish that we stay together,” you told him. “We don’t know this island, Aemond. Your map is only an outline of the old one. What if you come across a dangerous place?”

“I won’t go far,” he reassured you. “I can handle myself, Y/N.”

“I know you can, but…”

It stayed in the air. His eye. A predator or animal might take advantage of his blind side to attack him. He could run into another tree like last night and hurt himself gravely. You didn’t want him to think you doubted his skills, because he’s a good swordsman, but you worried. Trekking through the forest, you heard a low roar coming from somewhere above you right before the small stretch of forest became covered in darkness. You and Aemond looked up to see the battle-worn underside of Vhagar through the canopy. Right as she started circling a spot ahead, another shadow closely followed. You smiled softly to yourself. Reaching the opposite side to a clearing, a large lake stretched around in a circle before feeding into a stream heading southward. Knowing the lake is so close left you and Aemond at ease. You felt more reassured when Vhagar and Starshine settled down across, smashing and cracking trees with their tails and making the earth rumble and quake underneath your feet. The two dragons stayed side by side while taking large gulps of water.

“Do you think they’ve become friends?” you asked Aemond, continuing to watch as you walked to the shore.

“It seems like it,” he answered. “Vhagar’s usually alone in the dragonpit. She’s too large to stay there long, so she flies around a lot. I’ve never seen her interact with another dragon before.”

“Starshine’s the opposite,” you said, taking off your boots and stockings before going towards the water’s edge with your waterskin. “She likes socializing with the other dragons in the tunnels. She’s very friendly.”

He chuckled softly, and you looked over at him in the water. “What?”

“I read this book that once said dragons are similar to their riders,” he said, dipping the waterskin beneath the surface to fill it. “It’s funny to see that it’s true.”

“How so?”

“You’re friendly and like talking to people too.”

“Well, if that’s true, then you’re perfect for Vhagar,” you nudged him with a grin. “Grumpy and quiet.”

“I’m not ‘grumpy’,” he laughed, nudging you back.

“Oh, you certainly can be,” you nudged him in return, “When the mood strikes you.”

The two of you shared a glance, and you heard him give a soft hum and look away. You giggled, and nudged him once more to hear him make the sound again. He reminded you of a cat with how he purred in disagreement. When you finished filling your first waterskin, Aemond casually bumped himself into you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N,” he chuckled, bumping you once more and making you laugh, “I didn’t mean to knock into you like that,” he did it once more, and you nearly lost your balance in the water. “I suppose it’s my grumpy mood.”

“Aemond!” you laughed, managing to keep your balance and lightly prodded him back.

“Oop, forgive me, Princess,” he replied, smiling widely, knocking into you fully now. “Oh, forgive me again. Oop, forgive me once again, lovely Princess.”

Soon, you felt yourself falling into the water and instinctively reached for Aemond’s sleeve. In a loud splash, the two of you broke the still surface. A tangle of limbs thrashing in the shallow water, you both quickly stood from the sandy waters and took lungfuls of air. The water cooled your hot skin, and cleansed you of any dirt and sweat left under your clothes. However, now your clothes weighed you down and stuck to your body. Regardless, you locked eyes with Aemond and laughed in delight. You quickly splashed water in his direction, and he returned a splash in kind. Waterskins floating in the low waters, you escaped Aemond’s splatter by going into the deeper part. He followed right away, lunging forward and dunking you into the water. You wrestled against one another. You had experience with Jace, who liked tackling you whenever your parents left you alone, and Aemond lived with Aegon, who enjoyed teasing him. Coming up for air, panting heavily from being under so long, you gave each other a moment before you leapt onto him. Aemond managed to keep his head above water, merely holding you to him in the deep water. Your arms around his neck, his locks around your waist.

You realized that, once again, you and Aemond were dangerously close. He’d lost his eyepatch in the water fight, so you saw his scarring up close. It didn’t bother you at all. You saw how they’d emptied out the rest of the socket, so only a hole remained. You weren’t bothered at all. If your mother or septa could see you now, they’d be appalled. Princesses don’t throw themselves into the arms of their betrothed. But, then you remembered you and Aemond were no longer betrothed. Should your families find you, they will separate you again and make sure you stay apart. This made you cling to Aemond.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing you clutching him. “Is it my…my eye?”

“I don’t want them to find us,” you whispered, as if speaking it too loudly will make it come true.

“Neither do I,” he said. A long minute passed before he said, “Tilt your head.”

You tilted your head to one side, your heart pounding, and he leaned into you. His lips tasted faintly of the berries from breakfast. Warm and soft, they laid flat on yours. When he pulled away, your cheeks and ears burned. You worried he might’ve not liked it or you’d done something wrong. You’d never seen your mother and father kiss on the lips, only on their cheeks. In paintings, you often saw young maidens and their true loves sharing deep kisses with their mouths open.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” you admitted softly.

“I have.”

“When?”

“Aegon took me to a brothel on my nameday,” he said, not looking at you. “He said it was time to ‘get it wet’.”

“Did you want to go?”

“I…I don’t really know now. I knew where we were going once we reached the street, but when we went inside, I…” you saw a tinge of pink cross his pale cheeks, “I only remember thinking about going back home.”

“What was it like there?”

“Strange. All the women were naked, and people were…coupling…in full view of everyone. Men with women. Women with women and men with men. Everyone was drunk, and the place smelled awful. He brought me to this woman. She was older than me. She was very kind, and told me to relax.”

You’d never seen this woman, but a pang of jealousy hit you. An image of a faceless, scantily clad woman preying on your Aemond made your face harden. “What did she do?”

“Y/N…I don’t think it’s appropriate for a lady to hear about that-”

“-I want to know what she did so I can do it too.”

“Y/N-”

“-Why does she get to kiss you and not me?”

“We did more than kiss, Y/N.”

You gasped, eyes widening. You weren’t surprised Aegon took his brother to a brothel, but Aemond’s participation surprised you. “She told me how to do it,” he continued, “So on my wedding night, I’d know how to…I’d rather not go into detail with you.” Something stiff touched you, and Aemond blushed a deep red. “I’m sorry,” he said, moving away from you, “I…I, um…”

“It’s okay,” you insisted, looking away shyly. “My mother said it does that.”

“It does.”

You moved closer to him, and asked, “How did she kiss you?”

“Our tongues touched.”

So, you did what you pictured the woman had done. Tilting your head again, you kissed Aemond with your lips closed. Slowly, you managed to open and deepen the kiss, your tongue tentatively touching his. You heard him gasp softly, breath dampening the top of your lips, and he pulled you to him again. The urge to kiss Aemond came on the heels of envisioning an older woman getting to kiss him first; she did what you’d never have the gall to do. Aemond’s hands stayed on your waist as you kissed. You wondered if you were doing it right until Aemond took control and kissed you heatedly.

Breaking away to breathe, you each giggled out your nervousness. A deep rumble made you turn your heads. Starshine, her neck inches from the water’s surface, stared at the both of you. She gave another growl before Vhagar snapped her jaws and flapped her wings. Ripples went across the water as both dragons batted their wings and took flight. When they disappeared into the sky, you took that as a sign.

“Maybe we should start heading back,” you said, moving away from Aemond. “We need to find food.”

“Good idea.”

He did not follow you right away, and you knew why. You couldn’t help laughing to yourself as you collected the waterskins and the pail, and left the lake. You walked back to the shack remembering what your mother said about intercourse. She’d given you the speech when you began flowering. She said society considered you a woman now, and could bear children. She explained how it was done; it sounded painful, but she reassured you that it can be quite the opposite if “done correctly��.

You arrived at the shack, and started shedding off your soaked clothes to place on a line hanging outside, and left your shoes at the door. You knew your small clothes would dry on their own, and barefoot, you walked inside and kindled the logs for a fire. You wring water out of your hair by the time Aemond appeared, wearing his small clothes and silver hair damp. Your jaw dropped when you realized he’d returned without his eyepatch. The hole appeared darker inside than it had in the light. It unnerved you, but you’d never show that to Aemond.

“I lost it in the water,” he said, embarrassed. “I couldn’t find it when you left.”

“Do you have others?”

You frowned when he shook his head. “I forgot to pack another one,” he said. “I spent so much time thinking about everything else, I forgot the most important thing.”

Thinking quickly, you walked over to the bed and with a knife Aemond kept on the table, you cut a slim piece of cloth. You went back to him, holding the makeshift patch for him. “If you want to,” you told him with uncertainty, “I know wearing the patch makes you more comfortable. I don’t mind either way.”

Aemond took the slip of cloth and tied it the way he would a normal eye patch. Satisfied with how it sat on his face, you noticed tension fall from his shoulders. You saw the thing he held in his hand.

"What is that?" You asked. It was furry with long ears. "Is that a rabbit?"

"I came across it during my walk back. I can skin it, and we'll cook it for dinner."

"That sounds nice."

He sat with you by the fire, grabbing his knife and making a cut through the rabbit. You turned away in disgust at the sight of him ripping the skin off the rabbit’s body. It was similar to removing a sock or a sleeve. The motion caused a light spray of blood to land on your thigh and knee.

“Oh, ew, ew, ew,” you squealed, wiping the small droplets with your hand. “Ew, ew, ew.”

“Stop being a baby,” Aemond laughed. “It is only blood.”

“It’s still disgusting. Ugh, where did you learn to do that?”

“Ser Criston taught me.”

“Ser Criston seems to have taught you many things.”

Aemond paused to think, then nodded, “Yes, yes, he has. My father’s too old to do most things, so Ser Criston teaches me skills like hunting and fighting. He says every man should know how to live out in the woods in case he’s ever traveling alone,” he glanced at you, “Or with people he cares about.”

You smiled, enjoying the warmth from the fire and Aemond’s company.

***

They spent ages combing through all of Maester Gerardys’s maps. Alicent meticulously ran her finger over every corner. Aemond must be at one of these places. Duksendale, Sharp Point, Stokeworth…He could’ve gone to any of them. Her heart raced every time she thought about her Aemond and where he was. What if he became injured or ill? She couldn’t stand to think about it. The fact he’d run away the same time as Rhaenyra’s daughter brought on a lingering guilt that filled her stomach. She didn’t bother touching the spread of food the castle maids brought to her bed chamber. She had no interest in food when her son was missing.

And it’d been her fault. Aemond loved you. The love appeared as bright as the sun and stars. Yet, in a moment of rage, she’d changed everything. She’d done the exact same thing her father had.

‘You must stop these disgusting habits. It insults everything our family has stood by for centuries: The Seven, The Faith, the name Hightower. You will marry The King and be done with this unholy infatuation you’ve developed.’

‘But, Father, I love her!’

That’d been the first and last time her father raised a hand to her. Alicent felt the slap like it happened yesterday. Nervously, she kept her hand at her throat, rubbing the lump that threatened to grow there. He’d caught her with Rhaenyra in the godswood that day. She’d tried explaining it away with meager excuses; she feared what her father might do if he knew the truth. But, Otto Hightower knew what he’d seen and knew what his daughter was, and it disgusted him.

Alicent convinced herself this situation differed. Your brothers maimed her son permanently. They’d attacked him, and when he defended himself, they came at him with a knife. Jaceryes went to that meeting with a knife. What other reason did he have if not to hurt her son? Then, when she begged her husband to invoke justice, something only he can do, he favored his daughter. He’d questioned Aemond exactly as she’d told him. It made her realize that her husband did not care for their children. He’d been overjoyed when she’d given him Aegon, yet never named him heir. He’d doted over Helaena, Aemond and young Daeron as babes, but he still chose Rhaenyra over them. Alicent blankly stared at the map on her table, yet did not truly look at it anymore. She’d remembered Viserys’s words when she told him of Aemond’s disappearance, and that she planned to fly to Dragonstone.

‘I hope you find him safely.’

It angered her beyond belief. How could he have such little concern for Aemond? But, she did not fake surprise. She should’ve expected as much. Aemond could be injured further. He could be dead in a hole or his body floating in the ocean, and Viserys will only ask about Rhaenyra’s daughter's safety.

She withheld the tears in her eyes. Her poor, sweet Aemond. Ever since he’d ridden Vhagar, he’d changed. No longer the timid, self-conscious boy, he showed much more ferocity and less emotion. She knew he blamed Lucerys Velaryon for his lost eye. She’d demanded the boy’s eye in return at that moment. But, thinking about it now, she realized her moment of madness. Her son wounded, her husband indifferent, and Rhaenyra declaring he be questioned rather than sympathized with, blinded her to reason. The realization that nobody would help her or her children brought her blood to a boil. Deep in her soul, she knew Viserys never loved her children as much as Rhaenyra; she knew his willful blindness to her treason stems from this love. The young girl inside her wished for the same blindness, but the noble woman in her could not look past it.

Once again, her heart broke into more pieces.

It concerned her when Aemond revealed he still wished to marry you. She couldn’t allow her son to wed the sister of his attackers. She’d told him the decision was in his best interest, but he’d only howled his rage. He refused to speak to her for days. Whenever she found him, he sat in solitude with a book or writing a poem or simply in thought as he gazed out at the ocean. The ships that went across the blue waves reminded him of you; exactly how lemon cakes reminded her of Rhaenyra, who liked to peel the candied lemons off each one to eat. He eventually came around, but she knew the resentment still lingered. It normally turned its face whenever she mentioned betrothals in front of him.

“Mother?”

She hadn’t heard Aegon approach. The boy who stood before her, no longer in his long riding coat, looked different somehow. It’d been him who suggested they ride to Dragonstone, hoping to find Aemond. Even if he did tease his brother, Alicent knew Aegon loved him. He’d spent his whole morning forcing himself to stay searching for Aemond on the ground and in the skies. His suggestion of Aemond running away surprised both her and her father. Her father said he saw potential in Aegon when not lingering away in wine; she simply saw a boy who wanted to prove himself.

“Aegon,” she walked to him, “Has Helaena arrived?”

“Yes, with Ser Cole,” he told her. He glanced at the maps on her table. “Have you…found anything?”

“Nothing yet,” she said. “Most of these maps are new."

"Then, we should search the older ones," Aegon approached the table, scanning the first map. "These cannot be his only maps." He turned to her, "Do you think they'd withhold them from us?"

"No," she answered truthfully. "Y/N is missing as well. I know Rhaenyra would do anything to have her daughter back."

Aegon nodded. Alicent noticed a change in her son. She’d not once seen him take up a cup of wine since last night. She watched him examine the first map like she’d done, looking for any sign of a difference from the others. Alicent imagined him with his father’s golden crown, his father’s dagger and sword on his belt instead of his own, looking and acting like the king he should be. For years, she’d begged Viserys to name Aegon as his heir. It would bring so much stability to the realm if Aegon were king. If Aegon were king, then her children would be spared from the sword. She knew if Rhaenyra wished to rid herself of any challenge to the throne, she’d have to murder Alicent’s children. She’d have to kill them. Alicent wished she could say the love they shared may cause Rhaenyra to spare her children, but that love vanished. It’d been replaced by years of resentment and bitterness.

“We’ll find him, Mother,” he reassured her for the millionth time, aware she’s watching him. “I swear it.”

‘I will find him, Mother,’ is what he truly wishes to say.

She put her hand on his back, sliding it across before embracing him. Aegon stiffened at first, but soon returned the hug. She’d be the first to say she was not always gentle or patient with Aegon. Being fifteen with no mother to guide her, Alicent maneuvered motherhood alone. She tries her best, she says to herself. Would Aegon be different if she’d tried harder or was he meant to be this way?

“Where is your sister?” she asked.

“In the main hall. She agrees with Ser Laenor about searching Dragonstone from above.”

“And you do not?”

“No, I do not.” He glanced back at her collection of maps. “Aemond wouldn’t come to Dragonstone. It is too obvious. He’ll be afraid you and Rhaenyra will split them apart; he’d take her where we cannot find him.” He flipped through the other maps by the corners, “No. I don’t believe we’ll find his hideout on any of these.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because these all look the same. There is no difference between them. Maester Gerardys must have others, or books with old maps on them.”

“Do you believe Rhaenyra would hide them from us?”

“She felt entitled enough to take my brother’s eye,” he said, a slight edge to his tone. “Rhaenyra is the heir. As you have told me time and time again, Mother, Rhaenyra will not hesitate to put my brother, sister, and I to the sword to eliminate challenges to her claim. I would not be surprised if she has withheld information from us to keep us from finding Aemond.”

“Rhaenyra’s daughter is missing as well,” she reminded him.

“And? She might know where Y/N is right now and will not tell us. She can have one of her guards put Aemond down and call it an accident.”

“Rhaenyra would never-”

“-She called his eye being removed an accident. I don’t see why she wouldn’t say the same if we found him…” she saw him gulp, and hold himself steady. “Whatever love you and her once shared died the day her bastards-”

“-Aegon!-

“-Took my younger brother’s eye.”

Perhaps he was not as disinterested as she’d believed. Alicent caressed his cheek, and hugged him once more. His body relaxed in her embrace, his arms going around her in return. When she released him, she said, “We must believe Rhaenyra will do what she can to aid us. Remember, Ser Laenor is also searching, and he is a good, noble man. Finding both Aemond and Y/N is what is most important right now. Come,” she took his hand, “Let us go meet your sister and Ser Criston.”

****

A/N: Gosh, are they EVER going to find the babies? Let’s hope Aegon isn’t about to do anything stupid. As always, thanks for reading and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter <3

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x yn #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd drabbles #hotd imagines #hotd fanfiction

171 notes · View notes

sqarletsworldlesswandering · 21 days

Note

Also got any trivia for unicorns and phoenixes of the Eclipsed AU? Including Jewel and Kent?

Not tons, but it's time to remedy that >:)

Some general stuff:

Both Phoenixes and Unicorns are Stellpeci by default. However, they also have a significantly higher chance of full sapience than most Stellpeci.

They also can run into this interesting phenomena of very high sentience and/or partial sapience. Think sort of on the order of the dragons in HTTYD - very self aware and very emotive, but still definitively animals rather than a full on person.

When sapient, neither are very talkative, and often opt for shows of physical attention and affection to communicate rather than speech. Unicorns are slightly more inclined to talk, if only because they hate being misinterpreted.

Unicorns are soft spoken, most times. Calm, gentle, and usually considerate.

Phoenixes are a bit louder, though surprisingly not by much. They like to sing. They also tend to be just slightly more energetic.

Oh, also? You don't "own" a Unicorn or Phoenix. It doesn't matter if they aren't sapient, and it doesn't matter whether they're technically your mount in battle, they aren't really possessions. You are theirs as much as they are yours, and they are only yours insofar as they allow themselves to be (and vice versa). It's a very Narnian dynamic, really.

It is pretty common for Unicorns and Phoenixes to bond to a rider or keeper of some sort. The companionship comes naturally. They're as likely to choose you as you them. However, there is no particular rhyme or reason to who may end up with one - it's not like Ophanim where it's formatted and somewhat ritual.

They're also usually born in nebulas as roamers, because Stellpeci. But they gravitate towards Starfolk in a way uncommon to most Stellpeci.

These guys are very emotionally tuned in regardless, and when bonded are extremely perceptive to their companion's emotions.

As for our two specifically...

Jewel:

Jewel is a dear friend of Angel's. They've been together since being Starlets, and trust each other with their lives.

By extension, Jewel and Hasyut are also quite close. However, it took much longer for them to warm up to each other. Both reacted roughly with "Who's this? What do you mean new person?"

Hasyut was also a little... unsure and possibly jealous? Because Jewel was undeniably there first, and she can't refute that.

Jewel was more indifferent, with an air of "as long as you don't start problems, I'm fine with you." He was kinda aloof for a while, but eventually started initiating some interaction. He did so partly because he could tell that Hasyut was a bit insecure about her position around him, and he's not heartless.

Angel doesn't make a habit of riding on Jewel's back - partly because she doesn't exactly need to, and partly because it feels awkward to her. The most notable exceptions were these:

1) when she got injured in the Caravan Incident and Jewel - upon finding her when she was returned home - was her "wheelchair" for a good bit. He took care of transport and in many cases took care of her.

2) At one point when they were... fairly young, Angel was just... having a remarkably bad week, and getting depressive. Jewel was (reasonably) concerned, and just...scooped her up and said "we're going outside." He took her on a lengthy jaunt through the Midnight Forest and part of the Sanctuary, and by the end had concluded that the Silver Peaks were just... kinda too depressing for Angel at the moment. That was the start of Angel keeping plants in her room.

Like most Unicorns, Jewel takes some pride in his appearance. There is, quite frankly, not much better way to a Unicorn's heart than taking good care of them and grooming them thoroughly. (This is part of how Hasyut bonded with him, after he initiated an interaction or two.) He may not have much practical use for clothes, but he's got a carpet...drape...thingy that goes on his back that he can wear, and often does if Angel is riding (one simply Does Not, Under Any Circumstances, put a saddle or bridle on a Unicorn). He also has some additional armor that he's quite font of. Thanks to some minor levitative magic in his horn, he can usually outmaneuver it himself, although Angel and/or Hasyut often help him anyways.

He's got a playful streak - the foal in him never quite went away. You may catch a glimpse of it if you find him running full speed through an empty field, or rolling in the grass (if you catch the latter, do not say anything or he might die of embarrassment. He's got to maintain some dignity, after all).

Dignified is really the best way to encapsulate him, frankly. Dignified, regal, and composed.

Also, as per Octa's reply on the original post, Jewel is a reference to our beloved unicorn in The Last Battle (Narnia)

Khet:

Khet's name is simply the Egyptian word for "fire."

If there was ever something good Ceren did in his life, it was rescuing Khet.

He found her badly tangled up in a dormant Corospinae and rapidly losing essence, which the Corospinae was draining (this is a survival mechanism of their kind - if they must go dormant, they try to snare other Starfolk in their thorns to leech off of them.

Ceren (at that point... young-ish, think late 20's in human analog) took pity on her and untangled her. He'd intended to just... let her go, and do her thing, but then again... she was awfully hurt...

And then she pulled the wide, starry, wobbly eyes on him and he discovered that there is, in fact, one thing in this whole wide world that he is extremely weak to.

So he brought her home with him and nursed her back to health (perhaps not the most competently, but she recovered fully thanks to some input from Kleisme). Once again, the intention was to have her go free once she'd recovered, but...

Well, she did leave, technically. He was very firm and she did understand. She got... what, maybe two areas of the Spire away, moving at a good clip so as not to give herself time to think. And then she heard an amalgam of yelling and sobbing, and turned right back around.

Ceren met her halfway (once again at the urging of Kleisme) and the two practically barreled into each other.

Needless to say, Khet stayed from then on out.

Interestingly, when Ceren found her, Khet wasn't sapient. Pretty high on the self-awareness, but not sapient.

Over the course of taking care of her, though, she not only imprinted on Ceren, but started to match his sapience. About the time he tried to get her to leave, she was... we'll say Toothless levels of sentient.

After returning, and over the next few months, that crossed the gap into fully awakened and sapient.

Khet may also be the singular entity that Ceren most respects in his life. He's not got a good track record of treating his friends well. Khet is the sole and isolated exception. Khet he treats with utmost respect and care - she is nothing short of precious and priceless to him.

This is both part of why she stays around, and why when his other acquaintances leave, things don't go horrifically south (in... all but one case).

You'd think that maybe Kleisme would get jealous or resentful of Khet for being Ceren's favorite, especially given some of the nonsense he has to put up with from Ceren.

And... you'd be the teensiest bit right.

But the resentment is more leveled silently at Ceren, not Khet. Kleisme gets along quite well with Khet, and always has. They're good friends, and Khet has on several occasions kept an eye out for Kleisme.

Initially, Khet tries to carefully and subtly nudge Ceren out of being quite so awful to Kleisme, and it... kinda works? But it also becomes rapidly apparent that it's a habit, and not one that's going to break, so she's gonna be reminding him for the rest of his days. After admittedly too long of this, she slowly changes her tune to helping Kleisme, and (indirectly) encouraging space between the two. Things that put Kleisme at a distance for longer times, things that don't involve as much interaction, etc. - acclimating Ceren to his absence.

This feeds smoothly into Kleisme's eventual departure when it does happen.

Unfortunately, this is also the singular time that someone's departure from Ceren's life does go south, despite her best efforts.

#sqarlettalks #ask box shenanigans #worldless au: eclipsed #worldless unicorn #worldless phoenix

7 notes · View notes

exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

Text

The Silver Dragon (44/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 9440

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Arianwyn returns to King’s Landing triumphant, having not only won the support of the Vale, but by striking a great political blow to Daemon. But her feeling of triumph is quickly shattered when she learns that Aemond has already returned – with blood on his hands.

Warnings: blood, allusions to suicide

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch @crazymusicgirl104

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

The Curse of the Kinslayer

The myriad lights of King’s Landing sparkled as brilliantly as the stars in the sky as Arianwyn and Emrys descended to the Dragonpit. Though she knew she could not see it from this distance, she still looked for the light of her bedchamber windows, hoping to see the shadow of her husband waiting for her.

She did not.

But the Dragonpit was lit brighter than she had ever seen. Fires had even been set within the eight towers adorning the upper dome – which she had always assumed were lookouts but now saw clearly as beacons to guide dragonriders home in the dark. When was the last time they had been lit?

Emrys was delighted by the display, circling low over the roof of the Dragonpit to bask in its glow before finally landing. Despite his exhaustion from the long flight – this time, they had not stopped for a rest, as their departure was delayed – he was still drunk on the sense of triumph he felt from his rider.

Arianwyn’s heart was pounding with excitement and anticipation. She could envision so clearly the pride on Aemond’s face when she told him of how she had won the Vale and exposed Daemon’s crimes for all the world to know.

But it would not last long; she knew that, and it did not bother her in the slightest. For she would enjoy what came next even more than his pride.

Perhaps she wouldn’t even have time to light her new candles before Aemond pulled her into bed.

But she would still try.

“Kostagon ao nādīnagon bisy ēlī?” She asked of the Dragonkeepers who had approached to take Emrys’ reins, gesturing to the saddlebag she had stuffed full of candles in Wickenden. “Jaelan naejot gūrogon ziry arlī naejot se sombāzmion lēda nyke.” Can you remove this one first? I want to take it back to the castle with me.

None of the acolytes responded. Indeed, none of them would meet her eyes as they guided Emrys into a crouch so she could dismount.

They must simply be tired, Arianwyn reasoned, or perhaps nervous. It was near midnight, and a storm was approaching – she had seen the dark clouds on the horizon as the sun set. But when she climbed off Emrys back, he turned to look at her, his icy blue eyes wide with concern.

“Iksis mirros pirta?” she asked the nearest acolyte, though her eyes never left her dragon’s. Is something wrong?

Though she received no reply from the young man, Emrys narrowed his eyes and gave a low huff. He did not know what, but something was indeed very wrong.

Arianwyn stepped forward to approach his head, trying to comfort him, but was stopped when a strong hand wrapped around her arm. When she turned, it was Elder Dantis, looking as grim as death.

What was the old man doing awake at this hour?

“Rȳbagon,” he commanded. Listen.

She was about to ask why or what, exactly, she should be listening for, but Dantis lifted a finger to his lips. A command to be silent and listen.

So Arianwyn did. She closed her eyes and let her focus drift to the sounds of the city.

She could hear the sand shifting beneath Emrys’ claws, the shuffle of the Dragonkeepers’ robes, and the crackling of many torches and fires. Beyond that, there were faint sounds of conversation in the streets, horses and carts clattering across the cobblestones, and music streaming out of open tavern windows.

But underneath all of it, low and grumbling like distant thunder, was a weak, mournful noise.

Arianwyn spun around, focusing on that heartbreaking cry, trying to find its source. But, amongst the din of the city, all she could determine was that it was coming from the south…

The Tourney Grounds.

Vhagar.

“Issa glaesa,” Dantis assured her when she whipped around to face him, eyes wide and already wet with tears. But the relief was short-lived. “Yn ziry ilimā hae lo issa daor.” He is alive. Yet she cries as though he is not.

Already, her heart was racing wildly. “Skorion massitas?” What happened?

“Gīmīlon daor,” he said, releasing her hand. “Īlon jiōrteks dōrior udir hen sombāzmion.” I do not know. We have received no word from the castle.

She gripped his frail arm with all her strength, for without it, she had no doubt she would collapse. “Istin jikagon naejot zirȳla.” I must go to him.

“Yes, Princess.” Dantis let her hold onto him and even set his hand on her back to guide her away from Emrys to where two horses were saddled and waiting. Atop one was Ser Warren Crayne, his face reddened from the sun and crumpled with concern. “He has been waiting here for you since the morning.”

Warren’s presence by itself comforted Arianwyn beyond measure. It always did. But he was alone, which meant the rest of her guard was needed elsewhere… needed by Aemond. And he was not with a carriage or wheelhouse but horses from the royal stables. That meant –

“We must hurry, Arianwyn,” Warren said, leaning over to offer a steady hand while she mounted the horse next to him.

Once in the saddle, she noticed the small rope linking the horses. A safety precaution, so they wouldn’t be separated – so she would not bolt away from him as she had done the last time she rode through the streets of King’s Landing to Aemond so many years ago...

Arianwyn looked at him, searching for reassurance in his deep black eyes but finding only worry. Her voice broke as she asked again, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted as he spurred his horse into a trot, taking hers with it. “He arrived back this morning, and he was… not well. I have never seen a man in such a state anywhere but on the battlefield, and even then, only a small number of times. He has confined himself to his chambers and declared that he will allow entry to none but you. I came directly here after informing the Queen of his request so I could bring you to him the moment you arrived back. I have heard nothing since.”

Dantis had been right then; Warren had been there all day.

Aemond had been in their rooms, alone and unwell all day.

Surely someone – Kiran or Alicent, or even Orwyle – must have gone to check on him. But if no word had been sent to Dantis or Warren…

“Can we go faster?” Arianwyn begged. “Please?”

Perhaps another day, Warren would have denied the plea. It was dangerous to race through the city’s crowded streets without adequate protection, even this late at night – especially this late at night. But he could not deny her when he saw the distress written so clearly on her face and the tears shining in her eyes.

He unsheathed his dagger and, in one motion, sliced through the rope holding their mounts together. “Go,” he whispered. “I will follow.”

Arianwyn dismounted her horse before it had completely come to a halt in the Red Keep’s courtyard, despite the shouted protestations from Ser Warren, who arrived mere seconds behind her. But she did not listen.

Her attention was drawn to the castle doors, which burst open moments after her arrival to reveal a frantic Ser Criston Cole, flanked by Ser Willis Fell and a knight Arianwyn did not know, but who wore the white armor of the Kingsguard.

She ran forward on stumbling legs, weakened by her own roiling emotions and a day spent riding both Emrys and the nervous mare than was now being wrangled by an exhausted-looking stable boy.

“Princess,” Cole murmured into Arianwyn’s hair as she collapsed into his arms. “It is alright. You are home.”

“It is not alright! Aemond is not alright,” she protested, trying desperately to find comfort and warmth in the cold steel of his armor. “I should have come home sooner. I shouldn’t have left at all.”

She could feel Cole shaking his head as he held her, bringing an armored hand to cradle her head. “You staying here would not have changed what occurred at Storm’s End.”

Immediately, she pushed away from the knight, and all arguments and regrets vanished. “Storm’s End…?” she breathed. Yes, that was where Aemond went. To try to sway Lord Borros Baratheon to Aegon’s cause.

“Was it Borros that hurt him?” she demanded. “Why have the armies not moved south? I will fly Emrys there now and burn the entire – ”

Cole shook his head again, trying to draw her back into his embrace. “It was not Borros, it… I need to take you to the King. He and the Hand can explain. And the Dowager Queen.” L

“I don’t want to see Aegon,” Arianwyn cried, at last pulling away from Cole and into Ser Warren as he came to stand behind her and laid a hand on the small of her back. “Or Otto or Alicent. I want to see Aemond.”

“You will,” Warren said softly, his touch gentler and less insistent than Cole’s. “I promise we will take you to him, but I agree that you should see the others first. If they can explain what happened… you should not see Aemond before you are prepared.”

At last, Arianwyn relaxed in Cole’s grip, and he released his hold enough that she could turn to face the commander of her guard. “Is it really so bad?” Her voice was small and weak, in a way it had not been since she was a child.

She was so afraid.

Even more so when Warren, Cole, and the other Kingsguard mumbled their affirmation.

Arianwyn fell silent, knowing that if she tried to say anything else, she would be unable to stop the deluge of tears brewing behind her eyes. So she took Ser Warren’s hand, needing to feel something solid and steady, and nodded.

As she followed the knights through the halls of the Red Keep, she never looked up from the floor. It did not matter where they led her or where she would meet the King. They could lead her to the Black Cells for all she cared.

Wherever it was, it wouldn’t be with Aemond.

She only had to get through a few minutes with Aegon, Alicent, and the Hand. They would tell her what had happened and who had hurt Aemond. Then she could go to him – hold him, help him. And once she knew who…

Arianwyn would unleash the fires of the Seven Hells themselves upon whoever dared hurt her husband.

“Aria?”

It was Aegon’s voice that tore her from her vision of eternal red and black fire, sounding more serious than she had ever heard him. Indeed, as he sat at the head of the Small Council table, the Conqueror’s Crown still low on his brow – would they ever dare alter the artifact so it would fit him properly? – he looked every bit the King he now was.

Except in his eyes. A darker purple than Aemond’s, and perpetually rimmed with red. Those eyes held a glimmer of decidedly un-kingly fear.

Arianwyn knew her silver eyes held the same.

“Are you alright, Aria?” Aegon asked. He shifted in his seat – also too large – like he wanted to go to her but decided against it.

She shook her head. “I will not be alright until I see Aemond.”

Alicent – who Arianwyn only noticed then – sighed where she sat to her son’s left. “I fear seeing him will bring you no comfort, my dear.”

“You have seen him?” Arianwyn looked at her desperately, ignoring whatever so was implying in favor of finding an actual answer as to her husband’s state.

“None of us have,” Otto said at the King’s right. He had stood when Arianwyn entered the room and still made no move to sit. His long face was as grim as the Stranger themselves. “We do not dare enter his chambers, as he has threatened to kill anyone who does. Excepting you, of course.”

Arianwyn’s stomach dropped, and her brow furrowed. It was not entirely unlike Aemond to make threats when he was angered; he had done so many times before. But to kill? And threats that encompassed his family? That was worrying.

And they seemed to believe he would follow through on his threat…

“Surely he was just upset,” she said, too quietly to be convincing. “He cannot mean it.”

“Aria…” the Queen reached out, inviting her good daughter to take the seat across from her that the Hand had vacated, but Arianwyn did not move nor release Warren’s hand. “He attacked his manservant. He broke the poor boy’s arm – his crippled arm.”

To her own surprise, Arianwyn did not vomit, even as her stomach roiled violently.

Aemond would never do that. Not to Kiran, who was so utterly devoted to his master. And who, she suspected, Aemond was devoted to as well.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head weakly. “No.”

“More concerning is that he has killed the Prince Lucerys,” Otto added, with no pity or gentleness to the declaration. Instead, he only looked to Arianwyn, assessing her reaction.

She closed her eyes, ducking her chin as she shook her head. The same reaction she often had upon waking from a nightmare as a child, as if she could shake the bad thoughts away if she only tried hard enough.

It never worked then, and it did not work now.

“No,” she whispered again. Not a denial, but a plea. A desperate plea to the gods or whatever forces guided the world that the horrible words were not true.

“He has,” Otto said, still studying every inch of Arianwyn’s face. “And with the boy’s death, any chance we had at resolving this dispute peacefully dies as well.” He narrowed his eyes and suppressed a dark smirk. “He lost only one eye. How could he be so blind?”

Arianwyn felt a familiar cold creep through her veins. She threw off Warren’s hands and stalked around the table to face Otto. For the first time in her life, she was not afraid to face the imposing figure, even as she had to crane her neck to look at him directly.

Had she not been so consumed by her worry and rage, she might have noticed the glimmer of impressed fear in his cold eyes. Might have seen the moment he became the only person in the world, save her husband, to know the depth and intensity of her inner fire.

“If you ever say something so vile in front of Aemond…” The menace in her words died when she balked and swallowed the rest of her warning.

Never before that day had she made a threat – against anyone – and she quickly found she did not like the taste.

“He is your grandson, Otto,” she muttered. Then turning to Alicent and Aegon, “He is your son and your brother! How is it so easy for you to believe the worst of him? We do not know what actually happened!”

Alicent began to cry, a hand covering her mouth to muffle her whimpering. As he gave his mother his hand to hold, the King was the only one to look guilty and turn away from Arianwyn in shame.

Good, she thought, they should all feel guilty and ashamed.

Aemond was their family.

All he wanted, all he tried to do his entire life, was to make them proud. To be the son and Prince they wanted him to be.

But now, they had turned on him, just as the rest of the court had.

As Viserys had.

“We know that Lucerys is dead,” countered Otto. “As is his dragon. By all accounts, Aemond is responsible.”

“Who gave these accounts?” Arianwyn spat. “How do we know we can they can be trusted?”

Otto sighed, quirking his head like a cat watching a bird, curious and evaluating. “The report is from Lord Borros Baratheon himself. Or rather, his Maester. It seems Rhaenyra is also gathering allies. She sent Lucerys to remind Borros of his father’s oath to the Princess. Fortunately for us, Aemond had already made the marriage pact. And Borros is a stubborn old fool. He did not take kindly to being commanded by a bastard child.”

“I don’t care about the Borros Baratheon or any of our allies,” Arianwyn growled. “What did they say about Aemond?”

For a moment, it seemed Otto would not tell her. She could not tell if he was worried about how she would react or if he simply did not want to upset her. Either way, the pitying look he gave her was nauseating.

“It seems your husband was not satisfied with letting the boy run home to his mother,” he continued, ignoring Aegon’s scoff as he poured more wine into his cup. “He demanded that Lucerys put out his own eye as payment for the one he took.”

Tears sprang to Arianwyn’s eyes. She could no longer face the Hand as he spoke. Though she wanted, so very badly, to insist that Aemond would do no such thing, she could not.

All his good sense disappeared when it came to his nephew.

That much was clear from their wedding night – before it had become their wedding night. It had been his uncontrollable, burning anger at Luke’s laughter that made him forget Daemon’s threat on her life. It had been his responding cruel words that had put her in that dark hallway, with her father’s hands around her throat, squeezing the life from her.

Arianwyn knew his soul as well as her own. But even she could not predict what he would do when faced with the boy who had stolen his eye.

“Lucerys, of course, refused, as any sane man would. So, Aemond moved to take the eye himself.” The Hand stilled when a sob escaped Arianwyn. Despite his anger at his grandson, he did regret upsetting the girl so. He had already apparently lost one of his greatest assets to madness this day. He preferred not to lose another to heartbreak. “Lord Borros forbade the bloodshed in his hall and had his men take the boy back to his dragon. But when Aemond asked for his leave, the capricious fool all but gave him permission to hunt Lucerys down.

“What, precisely, happened next, we do not know,” he admitted. “All we do know is that those in and about Storm’s End heard roaring from within the clouds. Some even claim to have seen a bout of dragonfire. Then, this morning, pieces of Lucery’s dragon washed ashore.”

Aegon grimaced, clutching his goblet tighter. “Both wings, one attached to some part of the torso. And I believe the back legs and tail were still in one piece.” He looked up at Arianwyn with darkened yet sober eyes. “The kind of damage only another dragon – one the size of Vhagar – could do, Aria.”

“Then he must have been provoked,” Arianwyn stammered, shaking her head furiously as she wiped her tears. “Lord Borros is lying about what happened at Storm’s End, or something else happened after they left. Aemond wouldn’t…”

Her voice trailed away as the memory of six words, written in Aemond’s hand, filled her mind.

Curse of the Kinslayer be damned, he had written once. When she told him how Daemon kept her from Emrys, and he offered to come and save her.

He could be so blind – damn the word – when it came to protecting those he loved.

He had threatened Jace with that rock when Baela held Arianwyn down in that tunnel.

That same night, he had spoken in desperation to protect his mother, not knowing that his words would prevent him from seeking justice in the future.

He had lied to Arianwyn, something he had never done before, in his letters. Just so she would think he was well and safe.

He had followed her out of the Throne Room following the death of Vaemond Velaryon, not caring that the whole court would see – that her father would see.

He had raised his sword against Daemon in front of the court the next day, again not caring that his actions would be all the confirmation some would need that her father’s accusations were true.

He was just as blind – perhaps more so – when it came to Luke.

But Arianwyn could not blame him for it. Why wouldn’t he harbor hatred for his nephew?

The loss of his eye had been horrific. And the pain of it had not ended when the Maester stitched up the skin. She still knew precious few details, but those she did were enough to justify the hatred.

Orwyle had performed more procedures after they returned to King’s Landing. For that night on Driftmark, he still had his eyelid. Now, he did not. She did not know how many times he was subjected to the Maester’s knife, but even once was enough.

And he had such hatred for the milk of the poppy. He had been so nervous when Arianwyn mentioned it had been in his tea. How long had he spent with his mind addled by the drug, as the King had been?

To Aemond, who had always wanted to be in control, not being allowed full mastery over his own body must have been torture.

He had struggled, apparently for many months, to adapt to the loss of half his eyesight. Had pushed himself so hard that he more than compensated for what was taken.

Even when he was ‘healed,’ he wasn’t. Not really. The scar still pained him. But he endured it.

Just as he endured the harsh words of those around him. The cruel whispers that echoed through the walls of the Red Keep, calling him the ‘One-Eyed Prince.’ The villain.

What would those whispers say now?

Arianwyn braced herself on a chair as her sobs began to come harder. “I need to see him,” she begged. Of whom she did not know.

“I think that would be wise,” Alicent conceded, wiping her tears away.

Otto came to help Arianwyn stand, offering his hand to her. She reached out to take it but froze when he spoke again.

“Find out from him exactly what happened,” he instructed. “Then report immediately back to me.”

Rage again surged through her veins, and she screeched as she shoved him with all her might. Still, he only stumbled back a step.

“I am not your spy!” she yelled, ignoring the hands of Ser Warren and the other guards wrapping around her to hold her back as she fought to rake her nails down his face – a face so like the one she loved. “I go to him because he is my husband, and I love him, not because you ask it of me!”

Once Otto retreated to the other end of the room, the guards released her, but formed a barrier between her and the Hand.

“You will get your ‘report’ the moment I remember to give a shit about you or what you want,” she spat, not acknowledging the look of dismay on the Queen’s face or that of somewhat pleased surprise on the King’s before she turned and left.

Slumped against the wall across from the five guards at her chamber door, Arianwyn found the last person she expected to see – Kiran.

His right arm was in its usual sling and bound in thick linen. There was no sign of blood seeping through the wrappings or other injuries. And though his eyes were distant and red from tears, he did not look to be in pain.

At the same time her heart broke to know that Aemond had done that to one of the few people outside his family that he cared for and trusted, she said a prayer of thanks that the injury was minimal. For she knew her husband was capable of far worse than a broken arm.

“What are you doing here?” Arianwyn’s words seemed to bring him out of the trancelike state he had been in, eyes clearing as he looked at her and immediately filling with tears. It set her own eyes watering. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Kiran shook his head furiously. “No, Princess. I’m staying here until I know he’s alright.” His voice broke, though as his tears began to spill down his cheeks, he spoke with impressive determination. “I need to tell him that I am not angry with him – that I do not blame him.”

Arianwyn instinctively reached out to set a comforting hand on his arm but pulled back when she realized to do so may aggravate his pain. Though she was touched by his words, she did not understand them. “Kiran, he broke your arm.”

“No, he didn’t!” At the confusion on her face, Kiran continued, “It is not broken. It is… I don’t remember the word the Maester used, but it is not broken!”

A sob escaped Arianwyn, from relief that Aemond had not severely hurt Kiran and guilt that he had hurt him at all. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out, feeling utterly ridiculous for crying more than him when he was the one that was hurt. “You’ll be well compensated, I promise. And I’ll find you a new position myself, so – ”

“A new position?” Kiran asked, so shocked that his own tears stopped immediately. “Am I being dismissed?”

“You don’t…” Arianwyn looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “You want to stay in Aemond’s service? After what he did to you?”

He blushed, looking away and cradling his wounded arm. “If he’ll have me. I know it wasn’t really him, and… the Prince is the only person that was ever truly kind to me. I can’t abandon him just because he’s had a bad day.”

Arianwyn reached out and wrapped her hand around Kiran’s left wrist, wanting to hold his hand but not wanting to push too far. “What did he do to earn such devotion from you? I don’t understand how anyone could earn such unwavering loyalty that you would forgive even this.”

“He brought me into the castle, to tell it briefly.” Kiran lifted his bad arm and twisted his mouth into a half-smile. “Someone like me typically isn’t meant to be seen by anyone, much less royalty.”

He paused, then tipped his head toward the door to the bedchamber, where Arianwyn had fixed her gaze on the Runes sketched in the wood. She could just barely see it through the gap between guards. Ser Warren still stood behind her, but four others – Sers Simon Mullynn, Rolan Krey, Conin Rocke, and Rody Tollett – now stood guard at the door.

She avoided each of their eyes, unwilling to endure the pity and worry she was sure to find there.

“Please tell me the whole of the story Kiran,” she breathed, blinking away both tears and the memory of her and Aemond carving those Runes in their youth. “I am not ready to see him, but I think hearing something… good may help me to be.”

“Yes, Princess.” Kiran licked his lips to temper his smile before recounting the tale. He was practiced in its telling, for he repeated it each time he overheard another servant speak ill of his master. He was proud to say that, thanks to him, foul rumors about the “One-Eyed Prince” had nearly vanished from the Servant’s Hall entirely.

“I was originally a stable boy,” he began. “The lowest of the stable boys. My duties were to manage the tack and groom the horses, but mostly to clear out the stables. I could do all of it well! It just took me a little longer than others.

“The man who managed the stables, Gurnar, liked to tease me. Or… I thought it was teasing at first. I know now he was just a cruel man, and I was his favorite target. Easy prey, thanks to my arm. It never got too bad – one of the other stable boys would come to my aid, most of the time.” He sighed, steeling himself. The next part of the story never got any easier to tell.

“One day, he was… worse,” Kiran had to suppress a shudder at the memory. “And I was the only stable boy there that day. Everyone else was ill. I don’t think I actually did anything wrong. Gurnar just wanted someone to torment, and I was there. He started yelling about my sloppy work – that I put the tack on wrong, cut one of the horses while grooming them, or didn’t clean out a stall properly. He just shouted and shouted. And then, with one of the farrier’s knives in his hand, he said, ‘If that crippled arm is so useless, I may as well cut it off.’”

Arianwyn watched in horror and confusion when his face broke into a smile as he continued. “Prince Aemond happened to be entering the stable then. I don’t know why. I think now it was an act of the gods. But he heard what Gurnar said, and he was furious. He didn’t say a word before he grabbed Gurnar by the collar and slammed him into the stable wall. I know he whispered something to him, because I saw Gurnar go as white as death, but the Prince has never told me what it was.”

Kiran started laughing, even when his eyes were still red from crying, and his arm ached with every breath. “Then the Prince pushed Gurnar into a pile of muck and brought his foot down on his arms, one strike on each just above the elbow. He did break Gurnar’s arms – both of them! When he turned back to me, Princess, I was so scared. But then he looked me right in the eye, and I knew then that he wasn’t what everyone said he was. And he offered me the position as he manservant, just like that!”

“Just like that?” Arianwyn echoed. She was still crying, but no longer just from fear or sadness, but from sheer pride at her husband’s good heart.

“Well…” Kiran shrugged slightly. “He did ask first if I could read. And I could – I taught myself how so I could read the names of the horses, you know how they’re written on those little plaques on their tack?” He began to laugh slightly, and to his and every one of the guard’s delight, Arianwyn began to laugh with him.

“Thank you, Kiran,” she said, at last lacing her fingers through his. She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a short kiss to the back of his hand. “I promise that you shall always have a position with us, for as long as you want it.”

He smiled and dared to squeeze her hand, pleased that her smile grew wider at the gesture. “Thank you, Princess. I admit I would very much like to accompany you to Runestone. I have never left King’s Landing before, so seeing what lies beyond the walls…”

“You shall see it all,” Arianwyn told him. “Wherever we go, you will be with us.”

“As long as I don’t have to get on dragonback,” he replied sheepishly, “I would be happy to.”

They only smiled at each other for a moment, imagining a future that might very well have died only hours before, when…

Arianwyn stilled, her eyes once again finding the Runes on the door. “Kiran?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“You saw him?”

A pause. A moment where Kiran brought himself back to reality.

“I did.”

“Is he… how is he?”

Another pause. A consideration of what, exactly, to say. Of whether the truth was too horrible to voice aloud. If Kiran could bear the weight of the Princess’ heartbreak.

“He is… wounded, Princess,” he finally said. There were no words to describe just how wounded. “His heart is… and his mind, it… he is not himself. I am sorry – if I have made it worse.”

Though her tears had welled once more, Arianwyn did not let them spill as she gave Kiran’s hand one more squeeze before letting it fall. “You have nothing to apologize for, nothing at all. Thank you for all you have told me. Please, do not stay out here all night. You need your rest.”

Arianwyn did not have the strength to look at Kiran’s face before she turned from him to face the door to her – and Aemond’s – chambers. Neither did she look at the faces of her guards as they stood aside to allow her to approach.

Tenderly, as though it was the holiest of relics, she ran her trembling fingers across each of the Runes in the wood. They granted protection from monsters and spirits, but would that protection extend to whatever demons Aemond had brought with him from Storm’s End – demons of his own making?

As she retraced the Runes, then again, and a third time, Arianwyn prayed that they would. Prayed that the Runes she traced on his chest nearly every morning protected him. Prayed that the Runes carved into the sapphire had kept him safe and unharmed.

She prayed for so many things as she retrieved the small brass key from the chain around her neck and unlocked the door.

The solar was endlessly dark and hauntingly quiet.

The storm clouds Arianwyn had seen earlier were now blotting out the light of the moon and each of the stars that had guided her home. No fire was lit in the hearth, and had not been for some time, leaving the room as cold and unfeeling as the stones of the walls.

Not even the candles that usually cast a golden glow over the tapestries and blankets and books that made the apartments her home – their home – were lit.

The only light came from the faint glow of the city far outside the castle walls and the occasional flash of lightning.

After one such violent burst of light, Arianwyn’s eyes landed on the door of one of the cabinets, torn off its hinges with such force that splinters of wood were scattered on the floor below it, among the slowly drying remains of several broken bottles of Arbor Gold.

And beneath the rumblings of the following thunder, she heard a low, mournful cry – so similar to that she had heard from Vhagar only an hour before.

“Aria…”

She swallowed a choking sob. His voice was so quiet, so raw, so desperate. It was not the voice that soothed her, lit a fire within her, and whispered sweet words in her ear when he thought she was asleep.

It was broken.

“Aemond?” she called softly. He had been so quiet that, with the thunder and pouring rain, she could not tell where he was.

Lightning flashed again, and she looked for him by the couch and hearth. But he was not there.

Another flash, and she turned to look for him at the table and beside the bookshelves. He was not there, either.

A third flash, and she looked through the open door to his study. His desk was empty.

The thunder grumbled again, louder this time. The storm was drawing nearer.

Then, as it faded, she heard it again.

“Aria?”

“Aemond? I’m here.”

Lightning, then thunder.

“Aria?”

She could hear the tears in his voice, the disbelief that she was truly there.

How long had he been calling for her, to be answered by only silence?

Though the thunder was closer, Arianwyn had heard him well enough that she now knew he was in their bedchamber. She did not wait for the light of the storm to return before she stumbled blindly to the door. Finding it slightly cracked, she burst through without hesitation.

The lightning lasted only long enough for her to see a blur of black leather and bloodstained silver hair as Aemond turned frantically away from her, scattering the shards of glass around him across the floor as he scrambled closer to the cold stone wall.

“No,” he moaned. It might have been a shout if his voice was not so weak. “No… please.”

Cold surged through Arianwyn’s veins. It froze the tears within her eyes and slowed her heart until she was not sure it beat at all.

But somehow, her body still moved. Her legs brought her to the edge of the glass, then lowered her down to the floor. Her arms folded within her lap, the urge to reach for her husband there but quieted. And her chest brought in a great breath of air to fuel her voice.

“Aemond,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the storm. “My love, I am here. I am home.”

She watched as Aemond raised his hands to clutch his head, palms covering his ears to block out her voice. Blood was caked on his fingertips and splattered through his hair.

If it had been a battle on dragonback, how had he become so bloodied?

Cautiously, she leaned over the moat of shattered glass to try and lay her hand on his shoulder.

But he sensed the movement before she got within a foot of him and jerked away as though a single touch would kill him. “No!” he shouted. “Don’t touch me! Please… please, Aria!”

“I will not touch you,” she assured, pulling back behind the glass and holding her hands tight to her thighs. “But Aemond… will you look at me?”

He shook his head again, groaning as if in pain. With all the blood on him, it was entirely possible. More than possible – it was likely.

“My love,” she said, more insistent but still gentle. “Please look at me.”

Lightning flashed again, and silver flecked with red was reflected on every shard of glass as Aemond shook his head once more.

There was no sound but the storm.

Arianwyn felt that every drop of rain was taunting her – taunting the tears she felt but could not let fall. She wanted to cry, to scream, to pound at her chest until her heart beat again. But all she could do was clench her fists in her lap.

“Will you tell me what happened, Aemond?” she asked, hating how stilted her voice was. She sounded like Otto – cold and unfeeling.

Aemond ducked his head and whimpered.

Arianwyn took several deep breaths as she considered what to do next. She could try and force him to look at her, to tell her what happened. But she had tried forcing him years ago when he first started retreating into himself. It had been the only time they ever fought.

No, he required a more gentle approach.

“Do you want me to speak, or would you prefer silence?” It was a question she had asked countless times before, during his ‘quiet days.’ Sometimes it helped him to hear her talk. Others… he could not bear a single sound without panicking.

She did not say anything until he lowered his hands from his ears and braced them on the floor – his permission for her to talk.

Shifting so she could lean more comfortably against the side of the bed, Arianwyn began to tell Aemond the story of the past three days. How excited Emrys had been to fly so far. The charm of Wickenden, its Lord, and Lady, and of the dozens of candles they had gifted her. How Gerold’s hair had gone white, and how excited Jeyne was to meet her.

How she had told the Lords of the Vale of Daemon’s crimes and won their allegiance.

But she did not tell him everything. Anything that would cause him more worry or strife was left out. Her arrival at the Eyrie after the sun had set and the perilous journey through the mountains. Jace’s arrival at the Vale and how he had argued for his mother. How he confessed his love for Arianwyn.

And Lamentation. She did not tell Aemond that the sword was still strapped to Emrys’ saddle, awaiting its new wielder.

She did not know why, but she suspected that news – that Gerold trusted him as the new Lord of Runestone – would hurt him more than anything else.

When she finished her tale, Aemond seemed calmer – if only slightly. His breathing was slowed, but still uneven. But he had not cried again or otherwise reacted poorly to anything Arianwyn said. In truth, he had not reacted at all.

Still, he was no longer so volatile that she was afraid to ask…

“Lucerys is dead?” she asked.

Aemond raised his head as though he wished the rain would pour onto him through the window – as though he was beseeching the gods.

“Yes.”

The word rang through Arianwyn louder than any thunder and struck her harder than any lightning.

Still, she pushed further. “You killed him?”

Aemond’s body lurched as though her question was a dagger she had buried in his spine. “I… yes. No. It… it was Vhagar. She killed him.”

For a moment, it seemed the thunder echoed the dragon’s dirge.

“Did you give the command?”

“No!” Aemond almost turned to face her then, but she only saw a glimpse of moon-white skin marred with dried blood before he looked away again. “I just… wanted to scare him.”

It was the second time that day Arianwyn had heard those words. Both times, the intention had led to bloodshed.

Jace had only been a boy when he brought a knife to that tunnel. Aemond was a man, and a man should know better –

But a dragon would not.

A dragon hears more than words. They possessed a mysterious, arcane sense that lets them hear the innermost thoughts of those they were bound to. Desires and wishes that the rider themselves may not be aware of.

Realization settled in Arianwyn, leaving her chest feeling hollow. “Aemond, did you want him dead?”

“I did not want to kill him.”

“But did you want him dead?”

“I did not mean to kill him.”

“I know, my love. But that is not what I am asking. Did you want him dead?”

“Aria, I…”

She leaned across the glass and grabbed his hand to silence him, hoping he would look at her, but he did not. At least he did not protest her touch this time. “You swore that you would never lie to me, Aemond. So please, answer me. Did you want him dead?”

His entire body shuddered with one great sob, and an agonizing whine escaped him.

“I did.”

As she heard the words, Arianwyn felt that she was falling from a great height. Her blood went cold, and her bones rang with hollowness. The impact was near, and it would crush her.

“I’ve wanted him dead every day for six years,” he growled, voice shaking with both guttural rage and unfathomable anguish. “Since he took my eye and made me into a monster. Since he stole my father’s love. Since he took you from me and tore out my heart. I didn’t just want him dead, Aria. I wanted him to suffer the way he made me suffer.”

His voice broke, and he doubled over, ripping his hand from hers as he grasped at the floor as if he could claw his way to the Seven Hells. “I wanted him dead, but I didn’t want to be the one to kill him.”

Arianwyn was frozen as she had never been before. Every muscle called out to her to go to him, to embrace him. But she could not.

“It was supposed to be the gods!” he shouted. “They would deliver justice where my father would not.”

Another sob. It struck Arianwyn like a blade.

“But they have forsaken me. Abandoned me. Condemned me for my sins. For wanting their justice when I do not deserve it – I never have. Every prayer I have ever said has been a waste.”

Not every prayer, she wanted to tell him. They had prayed together that night on Driftmark that the gods would bring them together again.

That prayer had been answered.

“I have wanted for so much that is not mine,” Aemond moaned, slumping against the bed with his head still turned from his wife, “and this is my punishment. I will never be more than the monster they always meant me to be.”

Arianwyn’s frozen heart began to beat again when he finally faced her, then fractured entirely, shattering into a million sharp pieces, just as the mirror had.

The sapphire was not there – torn out by his own hand. Even after it was gone, he had continued to claw at the empty eye. Dozens of deep scratches now crossed the old wound, leaving trails of blood washing down his cheeks along with his tears.

His violet eye was rimmed with red as he looked at his wife, his beautiful face twisted with such desperation that she could not breathe.

“It hurts,” he cried.

Whether he meant his scar, the fresh wounds on his face, or his heart and soul, Arianwyn did not know.

All she knew was that she did not care what he had done. She did not care whose blood stained his hands. She did not care about the war that would surely follow in the wake of Lucerys’ death.

Her husband was in pain. More pain than he had been the night his eye was stolen from him, the night they had been so cruelly ripped apart.

Death did matter. War did not matter. The entire cursed world did not matter.

Only Aemond mattered.

Arianwyn could not stop her voice from breaking as she crawled over the glass, thankful that the bronze plates on her armor prevented it from piercing her, and took his trembling form into her arms, pressing his wet face to her chest. “I know it does, my love. I know.”

“Make it stop,” he begged, his sobs racking his entire body.

She had never wished for anything so much as she now wished for the knowledge of how to do just that. But she did not know, and no god answered her prayers. Perhaps they had forsaken her too, for loving him still after what he had done.

All she could do was hold him tighter and tighter as she whispered soft words into his ear, assuring him that she would always love him, and that she would never – never – leave him.

It was long hours before Aemond had finally exhausted himself and fallen asleep in Arianwyn’s arms. But even then, his brow was still furrowed with torment, and his body twitched as he dreamed. In the short time they had shared a bed, she had grown accustomed to seeing the moonlight reflected in his sapphire when he slept.

Now she saw only darkness.

Carefully, so as to not disturb him, she extracted herself from his arms. Then, silently, she moved around the room, searching every corner and crack. But it was nowhere to be found.

She moved to the solar, searching everywhere, even in the spaces between cushions on the couch, but still, she did not find it. Nor did she find it in the study, the dressing room, or the bathing room.

Wherever it was, it was not in their chambers.

Wrapping herself in her cloak, Arianwyn left their apartments to continue her search. She tried the library, the Small Council chambers, the family parlor and dining room, and even her old rooms.

Still, nothing.

Of course, it was foolish to search all these places. He had not left their apartments since he arrived, going straight there from…

Arianwyn sighed when she realized where she needed to go.

If it was not below the waters of Shipbreaker Bay, there was only one other place it could be.

She turned to Ser Simon Mullynn, who had followed her from their chambers and throughout the Red Keep as part of his night’s watch. “We need horses,” she whispered.

He only nodded in reply, though there was a pain in his warm brown eyes that made Arianwyn think that he knew more about how she felt at that moment than most would.

She knew he had been widowed as a young man, but he had never pursued another woman nor spoken of how his wife died. Arianwyn had only ever asked once, but received no answer, and was hastily warned away from doing so again by Ser Adrew.

When he lifted her onto her steed, she caught sight of a single tear running down his tanned cheek, and she knew.

She would rather the world end than let that happen.

“I can’t leave him alone,” moving to dismount her horse. She was not as strong as Ser Simon. She could not survive the same pain she saw in his eyes.

But he held her firmly to the saddle.

“I left word with Ser Kayl to fetch reinforcements to stand at and in your quarters –to watch as he sleeps, should he wake and try to....” Even her most stoic guard could not bring himself to say the words. “He is not alone, Arianwyn.”

She nodded, signaling him to mount his own horse as she blinked the tears from her eyes. It had been years since she rode through the city on her own, and with the rain that still fell hard and heavy, she would need her sight to find her way to the tourney grounds.

Vhagar was resting precisely where she had been only days ago, when Arianwyn had brought Emrys to meet her. She left Ser Simon at the end of the clearing with the horses to not startle any of the beasts. The horses were already unsettled by her lowing lamentations.

It was foolish of her to approach a dragon when her emotions roiled, especially a dragon so easily provoked and likely still drunk on the taste of fresh blood. But she felt she had no choice. She needed to find it.

When she was close enough to feel the dragon’s hot breath ruffling her hair, Arianwyn removed her riding glove and held out her hand. “Vhagar?” she called. “Vhagar, nyke jorrāelagon aōha dohaeragon.” I need your help.

The dragon’s orange eyes flicked open, and she raised her massive head as a deep growl rumbled in her throat. Behind her, the sound of Ser Simon drawing his sword rang through the air.

“Lykirī! Ao gīmigon issa!” Arianwyn shouted. Calm down! You know me.

She channeled all her fear and sorrow into anger, pouring into her voice as she tried to command the Queen of Dragons. “Nyke se ābrazȳrys hen aōha kipagīros, se nyke jorrāelagon aōha dohaeragon!” I am the wife of your master, and I need your help.

Focusing with all her might, she brought every memory she had of Aemond to her mind. Let everything she had ever felt from him surge through her again so that Vhagar would see and know she could be trusted.

Finally, after a heart-pounding moment, the dragon seemed to calm, at least enough for her to resume her approach.

Arianwyn continued, “Aemond ēza ojūdan mirros. Kostagon nyke jurnegon syt ziry?” Aemond has lost something. May I look for it? She gestured to the saddle on Vhagar’s back, asking permission to mount her.

With a low, warning hum, Vhagar set her head back in the grass. Taking that as an agreement, Arianwyn raced to the rope ladder on the dragon’s side. As she began to climb, she remembered watching Aemond triumphantly mount her for the first time on the beach of Driftmark.

Neither of them could have ever predicted this.

If she had known what the dragon would one day do on his behalf, she never would have let Aemond go to that beach.

Finally, she reached the saddle. It was enormous, and must have cost a fortune. She supposed that was why it had been passed from rider to rider, repaired and altered countless times over the years. To commission a new one for each rider would have bankrupted the crown.

Cursing herself for not bringing a lantern, Arianwyn blindly searched each pocket and saddlebag.

But it was not there.

Feeling thoroughly defeated, Arianwyn slumped in the saddle seat, resting her head on one of the large handles as she gave in to the tears she had held back for so long.

She would not find the sapphire.

It was lost, likely in the belly of some sea beast by now.

She knew it was silly to cry over a lost jewel when her cousin had been killed and the entire realm sat on the precipice of war.

But it was not just a jewel.

That sapphire had been her first expression of her love for Aemond, though she had not known it at the time. She had imbued it with the magic of her ancestors to grant him all the strength, bravery, and wisdom of the greatest kings of their family. To protect him when she could not. To keep her love with him when she was far away.

And now he lay forlorn in their bed, cursed as a kinslayer with a shattered soul.

The Runes had failed.

She had failed.

Still, she wanted to bring it back to him. Still, she had a single shred of faith that someday, the Runes would protect him when he needed it most. Still, she ached to save him, as he had done for her.

Maybe she just needed to start over. Find a new stone, one that better matched the beautiful color of his eye. She would carve the Runes herself this time, to make certain her intentions brought the magic to life.

Just when she had resolved to do so, something caught her eye. A familiar blue gleam reflected the light of the moon just breaking through the clouds.

There it was.

Caught in a torn seam between two layers of leather, the sapphire sparkled at her as if alive and winking mischievously.

Arianwyn’s tears stopped, and her breathing slowed as she reached down to take it. It was clean and entirely undamaged. Turning it in her fingers, the moonlight illuminated one of the Runes.

Two lines, converging in parallel. The ends split, reaching back for the other, but never quite touching.

She wrapped it tightly in her hands, savoring its weight.

Somehow, it had made the journey home.

It was impossible.

Miraculous.

An act of the gods.

Or perhaps, the result of an ancient and powerful magic.

She smiled as she descended Vhagar’s side, whispering her thanks to the beast.

Her eyes gleamed with grateful tears as she returned to Simon and rode back through the city streets to the Keep. When she returned to their chambers and dismissed the guards from their watch, she thanked them each dearly, embracing them as they left.

Aemond was where she left him, clutching her pillow to his chest as he slept fitfully. The tension had not gone from his face, and he cried out softly as he dreamed. Nightmares, judging by the way his eyes tightened and his fists curled. Arianwyn stroked his hair softly to soothe him as she sat by his side at the edge of the bed.

She retrieved the small periwinkle scrap of silk from where she had tucked it into her armor and carefully wrapped the sapphire. Once it was secure, she placed it atop his bedside table.

He would find it tomorrow. For now, Arianwyn would let him get what rest he could.

Shedding her leathers, she laid by his side, wishing she knew how to ease his mind. When he shivered, she pulled their blankets and furs back over them, ensuring he was warm.

Then, she pressed closer to his chest. Every time he whimpered, or his lips trembled, or he reached out for something she could not see, her heart clenched painfully.

As she had the morning after they had been married, only eight – or was it nine? – short days ago, she traced Runes across his chest.

Peace. Comfort. Serenity. Protection. Each one punctuated by the Rune of love, drawn just over his heart.

With each motion, Aemond seemed to calm. His lip stilled, and his breathing steadied. Finally, he fell silent, and wrapped an arm around Arianwyn’s waist.

At last, he looked as he did every other night she had shared his bed, save for the absence of his sapphire and his new wounds.

Arianwyn leaned forward, kissing his temple before she settled against his chest and surrendered herself to sleep.

Never again would she doubt the power of the Runes.

Next Chapter

93 notes · View notes