#SINISTER LORD OF DRAGONS
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viridisvilla · 7 months ago
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TMNT Saturday Morning Adventures Spoilers under the cut ( just to be safe )
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I'M SO NORMAL I'M SO NORMAL IM SO NORMAL I'M SO NORMAL I'M SO NORMAL I'M SO-
*implodes*
I'M SO FU CKING EMTOIONSLAGNJFGBHDGFDGKMFD
Source: https://x.com/Dream_Tmnt/status/1806593659682349191
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patheticdarling · 7 months ago
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Her Sacrifice
Summary: The assassins had no such luck finding Prince Aemond but what were they to do when they stumbled upon the beloved wife of King Aegon instead? Her belly swollen with his heir.
Warnings: Blood & Cheese/murder/gore & blood/cursing/threats/blades/pregnancy/kidnapping/funeral/incest (reader is helaena's older twin)
Word Count: 2236
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"The other lords will be accompanying me for a drink in the Throne Room. Shall you join us, Wife?" Aegon asked, a slightly eager smile on his face, anticipating your agreement.
You sighed as you began to undo the braids in your hair, "The hour is late, Husband. I must rest."
Aegon pouted, "Just a cup! We've attended to our royal duties all day, have we not earned a bit of respite?"
"Respite is what I shall get with a good night's sleep. Not drinking until sunrise with you and your comrades," you teased. You stood from seat at your vanity, walking over and placing Aegon's hand on your growing bump, "Besides, do you not wish for our babe to be born healthy? So that they may grow into formidable dragon riders like their parents."
He smiled softly at your belly before kissing it sweetly, "You make a good point, my dear. Mayhaps I should stay in with you."
You shook your head, smiling down at him, "Do not let me stop your fun. You are right. The King deserves his respite. Besides there may not be many more nights where we get to enjoy ourselves," motioning to your bump.
"You are going to make a wonderful mother," Aegon stood from his seat, "I shall allow you to enjoy your last moments of rest then." He planted a soft kiss on your lips, "I love you, Y/N."
You stroked his hair, "I love you, Aegon."
Aegon kissed you once more before giving your belly a playful squeeze and disappearing from your chambers. You summoned one of your ladies to help you finish getting ready for bed. Thanking her as you got yourself comfortable between the silk sheets of you and Aegon's bed. Finally bidding her good night as she blew out most of the candles, leaving a few on for Aegon's drunken return.
You could not be sure of the hour when you heard your chamber doors creak open followed by the shuffling of feet. You did not even bother opening your eyes, assuming you'd feel the bed indent as Aegon stumbled towards it.
"Back so soon?" you teased, "I was only being half serious about the sunset-"
Suddenly, a large hand clamped over your mouth. Your eyes shot open as two men loomed over you. You screamed and panicked as the larger man used his other arm to keep you pinned to the bed.
"Quiet!" the smaller man pulled a blade out, pressing it to your throat, "Unless you want me to bleed you like a pig."
You nodded, terrified of what these men could do, "W-Who are you? What do you want?"
"Its not our wants you should be concerned with, Your Grace."
"Who sent you? What do y-you want from me?" your voice shook.
"A life is owed. It wasn't supposed to be you. A son for a son we were told," the smaller man shrugged, "But it seems Prince Aemond isn't in the castle tonight."
Of course, you thought. This was about Lucerys. Your younger brother had taken the boy's life and that was a deed that could not go unpunished. You knew how deeply your eldest sister loved all of her children. The loss of one would be devastating. Taking Aemond's life made sense. But taking yours? And the life of your unborn child? That was not in Rhaenyra's nature. This was plotted by someone far more sinister and dark.
"My uncle sent you, didn't he?" you spoke up. They both sent stares to the other, "Daemon Targaryen. He sent you to kill one of us."
The large man scoffed, "Aren't you a smart one?"
"Shame those smarts won't do you any good now, will they?" the smaller one mocked.
"Please," you tried to beg, "Do not do this. No good will-" The large hand came down on your mouth again.
"That's enough," he grunted before turning back to the smaller man, "I'll hold her down and you cut."
Your blood ran cold at his words. Not only were they going to kill you but they were going to tortuously cut out your unborn child. They both yanked you further down the bed until you were flat on your back. You tried to kick, scream, bite, thrash as much as you could but the man proved to have almost inhuman strength. The smaller man raised his blade, that same sadistic grin plastered on his face before he began to dig it into the lower part of your abdomen.
White hot pain seared through your body as he continued to slice into you. Your vision was blurred with tears and you could have sworn your throat was raw from your cries. Though the pain was so intense that you could not process the sounds that might have been leaving you. Warm blood pooled all around you, the once ivory sheets now a deep crimson. One last gasp left you as they pulled your child from your body.
Suddenly you had remembered your mother telling you about the pains of childbirth when you first married Aegon and all anyone could talk about was you producing his heirs. She had a rather negative approach that utterly terrified you. So, you decided to find comfort in Rhaenyra's advice instead.
"I will not withhold the truth from you, it truly is the most excruciating pain a woman must go through."
You groaned, "That is not what I had wished to hear, Sister."
"You did not let me finish. The process is hard, yes. And you will feel the urge to curse the Gods or even your husband and swear to never bear anymore children," you both laughed, "But the moment you hear those sweet cries and your babe is placed upon your chest, the pain is forgotten. And nothing has ever seemed so worth it. Then you will know, right then and there, that you would do it all over again if it meant you could finally find that purest form of love."
And yet, you would never discover that beautiful feeling your sister had painted so clearly. The room was almost eerily silent besides the dripping of blood onto the stone floor.
"What do you know?" the man panted as he held your lifeless infant, "A son. Congratulations, my Queen."
You could not speak as you felt your body numb itself. Tears falling with no cries as they stuffed your son's body into a sack. It was as if you could feel your heart shatter. The men finished their sinister act before fleeing through a secret passageway. You tried little to fight the heaviness in your eyes. Perhaps this was all a horrible dream and if you shut your eyes, you'd open them to find yourself in bed with Aegon's arms wrapped securely around your belly. The last thing you could muster was a small smile at the sentimental image as your vision faded out completely.
"Sister?" Helaena called out into your bed chamber, "I did not wish to wake you but Aegon is being so loud and I cannot sleep with him-" Her voice caught in her throat at the sight of your mangled body lying on the bed. Your figure lifeless and your eyes vacant as you stared at the canopy. She approached your body, a shaky hand reaching out to touch your face to be met with utter stillness. Helaena backed out of the room slowly, tears flowing down her cheeks before sprinting to find some sort of help. As if anyone could undo what had already been done.
"I-I don't know what happened. I came in and she...she was..." Helaena's voice cracked with sobs as various people filed into the royal bed chamber; the Kingsguard, the Dowager Queen, the Hand, and lastly, your husband.
They all stopped at the sight before them, their eyes welling with tears and their stomachs churning. The Dowager Queen let out a heavy sob as all their attention turned to the King. Aegon approached your body cautiously.
He fell to his knees, his hands cradling your bloodied face as he sobbed, "My wife, my dearest-"
Nobody dared say a word as Aegon mourned over you. His sobs heavy with grief as he called out your name over and over again. The Queen Mother clutching Helaena's arm as they cried with him. The Kingsguard hanging their heads low in shame at their failure to protect their Queen. Otto Hightower, known to be quick with his word, said nothing.
The council meeting that followed was one full of dread and grief. Most of the council mourned, the Hand schemed, and the King could do not but curse the Gods and swear revenge.
"Your Grace, perhaps we should speak of the funeral arrangements for the Queen-"
"No," Aegon was quick to stop the Hand, who raised a brow at his grandson's denial, "I will not have my wife's body dragged through the streets like a dog!"
"Not dragged, honored!" Otto corrected him before lowering his tone as he spoke to the King, "Y/N was my granddaughter and I loved her. She deserves the funeral of a Targaryen princess, a Targaryen queen. The small folk wish to mourn their Queen and the heir she carried. And they need to know who is responsible for this."
Aegon's face twisted in disbelief, "How could they not already know?! Who else would do this save the bitch queen of bastards?!"
"We must know for certain, Your Grace," Lord Jasper suggested, "If it was not your sister, this may prove to be an even bigger threat to the crown, to you, my King."
Aegon scoffed, "I do not care what threatens me. My wife is dead. And my child," he stifled a sob, "That cunt did this, I know it. Her and her kingdom of traitorous bastards will burn for it."
Before anyone could speak, the doors of the council chamber opened as Lord Larys entered. He bowed meekly as all eyes turned to him.
"My lords, Your Grace," he greeted the council.
All stood still, "State your purpose, Lord Larys," the Hand spoke.
"We have apprehended one of the assailants. A gold cloak, known for his brutal nature. The guards caught him fleeing the Gate of Gods. He carried the child's body in a sack."
The King hardly wasted any time, stomping over to the doors, "I shall kill him myself."
"We might retrieve further information about who is to blame for this tragedy after questioning," Ser Criston stopped Aegon from leaving as Otto spoke, "I trust in your skill set, Lord Larys."
The Strong Lord bowed before exiting the room. All eyes turned once again to the King and his Hand.
"We will hold the service for both the child and mother-"
"I said no," Aegon grunted, "My wife and child will not be put on display for the Realm."
"Your Grace, we might use this to our advantage in the war you wish to march into. Your people need to know the depravity that Rhaenyra is capable of. The great houses of Westeros will see that she is not fit to rule given her cruel nature. They will flock to your side and with them, their armies and bannermen."
Aegon continued to shake his head. He could not just let them see you or your child like that. They did not deserve it.
"Mother," he turned to the Dowager Queen for support.
Alicent approached Aegon's chair, "The Hand sets on a difficult path, my darling, but it might be the right one."
The King could not muster anymore fight, "Have the Silent Sisters prepare the Queen and child for their journey. Behind them will be Princess Helaena and the Queen Mother."
"No, I do not wish to be a spectacle," Alicent argued but her father would not hear it.
Your husband visited your body as the Silent Sisters began to prepare it. They had cleaned the mess and dressed you in one of your favorite dresses, the emerald color complimenting your skin and hair.
"Your Grace, it is ill-fated to look upon the face of death," Maester Orwyle warned.
"That is not the face of death, Maester. That is my wife," Aegon spoke, "Leave me with her."
Maester Orwyle and the Silent Sisters bowed before leaving the King with your body. He softly stroked the hair from your face as he broke into sobs once again.
"I am so sorry, my love," he cried, "I-I should have been there to protect you. And our son." Maester Orwyle had informed His Grace that the child you carried was a prince, a perfect heir, "You truly would have been the most wonderful mother. You were already a perfect wife and Queen. Motherhood would have come naturally."
Aegon recounted how well you did with Rhaenyra's last two babies, the ones she had with his uncle Daemon. As much as he did not care for his half-sister, he knew you did. Always quick to defend her, even against your own family. So, he was forced to ask himself, how could she do this to you? To your child?
"They will pay for what they have done," your husband muttered to you, "I will win this war. I will win it for our child. I will win it for you. With fire and blood. Your sacrifice will not be for naught, my Queen."
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felassan · 1 month ago
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Original post:
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amirdrassil: "datamined veilguard character descriptions google doc is now complete. i've even organised all the characters into their respective factions and added a clickable table of contents!! yippee!!! [link]" [source]
Please note that this work and document resource was put together by amirdrassil on Twitter! they kindly gave me permission to cross-post it here. 🙏
DA:TV spoilers and long post under cut.
VEILGUARD DATAMINED CHARACTER DESCRIPTIONS These are all taken directly from the game files; wherever a character had interesting additional information such as accent, age range, or appearance, I’ve also included it.
GODS & SPIRITS
RETURNING CHARACTERS
COMPANIONS
CROWS
VEIL JUMPERS
WARDENS
SHADOW DRAGONS
LORDS OF FORTUNE
MOURN WATCH
KAL-SHAROK
MISCELLANEOUS
UPDATE (19/11/24): Added Teia, Viago, Anaris, Aelia, Hezenkoss and Rana.  (Thank you to @/ZILVYR on Twitter for finding these ones!) I did my best to look through the files as thoroughly as I could, but if you find any more I missed, feel free to DM me on Twitter (@amirdrassil) and I’ll add them with thanks. :-)
I’m adding a disclaimer here, because I’ve seen a lot of people treat these datamined descriptions as absolute canon. Many of them are remnants of scrapped or altered storylines, meaning that they no longer align with the finalised story that the game presents.  Please take everything you read here with a grain of salt, and where the game’s content itself directly contradicts the datamining, the former should always take precedent over the latter. At least as far as “canon” goes! And of course, it goes without saying, but please don’t use any of this datamining as an excuse to be mean to anyone; please understand that game development is a lot of hard work, and storylines are scrapped all the time as writers get new ideas or are faced with inevitable roadblocks from the game system side of things! No matter what, Veilguard was made with love. Anyways, feel free to use any of this as fuel for fanfiction, fanart, headcanons, or just healthy discussions about what the game might’ve been.  Thank you very much, sorry for rambling and please enjoy!! :-)
GODS & SPIRITS
SOLAS AGERANGE: 40 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Solas, from the previous game. (Some characters also have a TTS voice assigned to them, and Solas’s is “PeterSad22k_HQ”, which makes me laugh/cry, as no other major character so far has had their TTS voice specified as being the “sad” variant.) ELGAR’NAN AGERANGE: 99 ACCENT: British Isles; an ancient contemporary of Solas. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Ancient elven god-king. Blighted. GHILN’NAIN AGERANGE: 35 ACCENT: British Isles; an ancient contemporary of Solas CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Ghilan'nain is our sinister Mad Scientist god. Analytical and curious, she uses magic to mutate people into powerful but disturbing forms. She often lists things in a clipped fashion, cataloguing as she sees. She's obsessed with experimenting on all kinds of living beings, viewing everyone (except her fellow god, Elgar'nan) as potential "stock". She's pitiless about her work—Ghilan'nain will happily slice open a hundred people for parts—but is not purposefully sadistic. It's nothing personal. She can be angered, however, by people interfering in her plans. When she is, rage runs cold. Some backstory: Ghilan'nain is an ancient, now corrupted, elven god. She rose to power thousands of years ago by creating living wonders, and had the distinction of being the only mortal elf uplifted into the pantheon. She embraced the corrupting power of a force called the blight in order to improve her magic, and has been unalterably twisted by it over the centuries. BETRAYAL OF FELASSAN CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A powerful undead born from Solas's regrets and betrayals (in this case, Solas's murder of his friend Felassan by stabbing him in the back).
FALL OF THE PROTECTOR CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A powerful undead born from Solas's regrets and betrayals (in this case, the death of Mythal). SLAUGHTER OF THE PILLARS CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A powerful undead born from Solas's regrets and betrayals (in this case, the murder of the Titans). SPIRIT OF PROFIT CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A Spirit of Profit who has set up shop in the Crossroads. They are friendly, but very single-minded and tend to speak in one or two word sentences, mostly about profits. SPEECHPATTERN: Simple, clear expressions of intent. This merchant is a spirit with a singular mind (i just thought this one was neat!) GENERAL FELASSAN AGERANGE: 40 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The second in command of a resistance army. You've an elf who's fought against the tyranny of your gods, cruel despots who've enslaved your people. You're practical, level-headed, and have good sense for what other people are feeling, which makes you well-suited for your role. Your leader is an elf called Solas, a powerful mage who isn't quite the people person you are. You respect him, and are there to help him with whatever he needs - especially when he needs guidance about being the face of a resistance. THE CARETAKER SPEECHPATTERN: Simple, mysterious, with a sense of vast wisdom and power ARCHETYPE: Angel / otherworldly helper who gives the player what they truly need, not necessarily what they think they want. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A mysterious masked and cloaked spirit. They are patient, otherworldly, and helpful... in their own way. The Caretaker is the guardian of the Lighthouse, a magical shelter. Unknown to the player, the Caretaker is what remains of a truly ancient dragon, who long ago took on the form of this spirit. Underlying their patient and otherworldly nature is a sense of strength. The Caretaker was summoned centuries ago by ancient elves, the original builders of this place. Now it has new inhabitants: the player and their friends. You're guiding them through the mysteries of the Lighthouse, but do not give any straight answers. It's important to you they bridge the gap themselves. NOTE: The Caretaker is referred to as they/them because they're a supernatural entity (as opposed to the more normal human non-binary characters in the game.) We'd like a feminine voice to differentiate them from some of the other spooky/mysterious spirits in the game who sound masculine (e.g. Vorgoth.)
SPIRIT OF CHAOS CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A spirit of chaos and freedom, unleashed by Solas to break through a labyrinth to his ally Mythal. SPIRIT OF NEED CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A spirit heavily implied to be the Caretaker in another era, speaking with Solas about the attempt to rescue Mythal. Speaking with the spirit, Solas makes it clear that he will sacrifice anything to save Mythal. ANARIS AGERANGE: 35 (no other info except what’s in cyrian’s description) XENON THE ANTIQUARIAN CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A nobleman who made a deal for immortality which did not include eternal youth, Xenon is the master of the Black Emporium, a shop selling curiosities from his personal collection of magical items.
RETURNING CHARACTERS
THE INQUISITOR AGERANGE: 30 APPEARANCE: Inquisition uniform under a long cloak with hood. ARCHETYPE: Relatable leader and mentor CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The Inquisitor, the protagonist from DA:I. Confident, knowing, they are still the head of a powerful organization, but now act in a mentor role. They would bring too much attention if they get personally involved, so they are looking for the right people to act for them. CHARTER AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A returning character from DA:I, Charter serves as Rook's link to/mouthpiece of the Inquisitor and what's left of the Inquisition. VARRIC CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Varric! DORIAN CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: It’s Dorian! MORRIGAN AGERANGE: 40 SPEECHPATTERN: Morrigan-y. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Returning character from previous games. ISABELA AGERANGE: 50 APPEARANCE: Well-aged but perfectly maintained warrior gear for close and brutal fighting. Two possible appearances, depending on how the player resolves her past: 1. Dark black dyed hair 2. Red hair with streaks of grey CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Isabela from Dragon Age II
COMPANIONS
HARDING AGERANGE: 29 ARCHETYPE: Girl-next-door CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Scout Lace Harding, from Inquisition. It's been almost a decade and Harding's a little older and wiser, but she still thinks of herself as the simple country girl from Ferelden. Harding is cheerful and friendly, and always tries to be positive. She is kind, warm and compassionate, quick to laugh and slow to anger. EMMRICH AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Follower - will have an audition script. MANFRED CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: An undead skeleton that serves as Emmrich's faithful assistant and companion. Manfred is curious, loyal, innocent, and wants to be helpful. He doesn't speak at first, only replying in hisses that express his mood. Over the course of the game, however, as he learns more, Manfred eventually surprises everyone by speaking in short, one or two word sentences. ASSAN (listed as “GRIFFON”) CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Davrin's griffon. A VO character so he can squawk and screech during banter and ambients. LUCANIS AGERANGE: 36 ACCENT: Hint of Italian, but not as strong as Zevran's. (He is from a coastal city in Antiva, which had an influx of Tevinter refugees from Seheron after the Qunari invaded 100 years or so ago. That’€™s why he looks and sounds different from Zevran and Josephine.) APPEARANCE: Lean, sinewy, handsome, but haunted Antivan human man. Mid thirties. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Once the heir to the First Talon and the Antivan Crows' best mage killer, Lucanis now bears scars both physically and mentally from his time as a brainwashed executioner for an evil mage cult. No longer the pragmatic assassin always in control, he wrestles with becoming what he’s spent his life hunting: a demon-possessed abomination. He longs to return to his former glory, but the monster inside him demands blood and vengeance. With his future hanging in the balance, Lucanis must decide whether to give into the demon or control it.
DAVRIN (he doesnt have anything aaaaa) BELLARA (she doesnt have anything either aaaaaaaaaa) NEVE AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A mage who knows the streets of Minrathous, Neve helps investigate crime in Tevinter's capital. Hired by Varric to assist in the fight against Solas, Neve brings her unique blend of time and ice magic, along with her investigative skills, to the team. Neve is clever and driven, with a dry-but-playful sense of humour. She can be cynical about the world - especially Minrathous - but she believes in doing the right thing herself and has a strong sense of duty. TAASH CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Taash is a Qunari agent with a specialization in infiltration -- a thief, basically. She can scale buildings, pick locks, and take out enemies with quick and brutal efficiency. She is also blunt and laconic -- more likely to answer with a single word than give you a big long monologue. She's not grumpy as much as badass deadpan -- she doesn't trust people in general, and she doesn't like thinking or talking about her feelings, but she believes in what she does. (Taash correctly has the “NonBinary” gender tag, but unfortunately the CharacterDescription field misgenders them. However, it also seems there are some things here and there that changed in early development, like the Qunari agent thing.)
CROWS
TEIA AGERANGE: 28 ACCENT: Italian/Spanish SPEECHPATTERN: Warm APPEARANCE: Elven female, mid to late twenties CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Passionate, showy, hot-blooded, flirtatious, and arrogantly confident. Teia believes she's a celebrity athlete who will die gloriously before she gets old and live forever in song. She has no guilt about being an assassin, and thinks anyone who judges her for it just doesn't understand how things work in Antiva, or indeed anywhere in the world where powerful men play games. Abandoned as a child, she has a soft spot for the downtrodden. VIAGO AGERANGE: 32 ACCENT: Italian/Spanish SPEECHPATTERN: Formal, hint of snobbiness APPEARANCE: Human male, early thirties RACE: Human (Brazilian) CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Calm, ambitious, and ruthless, Viago is the bastard son of the late King of Antiva. As a high-ranking member of the Crows, Viago has just as much influence as the Monarchy, but he still resents the fact that he is not a legitimate heir and feels his birthright was stolen from him. Beneath his cool exterior is a lot of anger and frustration. He will not be satisfied until he sits upon a throne. ILLARIO AGERANGE: 35 SPEECHPATTERN: Charming but with a hint of smarminess. ACCENT: Italian APPEARANCE: Ativan pretty boy CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Antivan pretty boy. Mid 30's. Illario is a power hungry assassin who cares only for himself. On the surface, he is a fun-loving, upperclass Antivan with a weakness for wine, duels, and gambling. But beneath that shallow facade is a calculating, ambitious man with grand plans for the Crows.
SPITE SPEECHPATTERN: Taunting, sing-songy, creepy CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The demon trapped inside Lucanis's head. Spite was once a Spirit of Passion drawn to Lucanis's will to live, but years of torture and a desire for revenge has twisted him into a Demon of Obsession. CATERINA AGERANGE: 80 ACCENT: Italian/Spanish APPEARANCE: Older Korean-Spanish or Korean-Italian woman (from the same region as Lucanis). Can easily play the part of both sweet grandmother and mafia boss. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The Godmother of the Antivan Crows. Sassy, ruthless older woman of power, who will do anything for the success and protection of her family/house. ZARA AGERANGE: 35 APPEARANCE: Beautiful human mage. Mid 30’s. SPEECHPATTERN: Soft and teasing with a Tevinter accent. Upperclass, so formal, but not cold. More of a sensual snob than an ice queen. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A vain, hedonistic Tevinter Magister, who uses the blood of her slaves to stay young and beautiful. She is Lucanis's nemesis and is the one responsible for forcing a demon inside his head. CALIVAN AGERANGE: 55 SPEECHPATTERN: Formal, snide CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Calivan is the prison warden in charge of the Ossuary. He is as cruel as he is curious and likes to experiment on his inmates with blood magic. GOVERNOR IVENCI AGERANGE: 45 SPEECHPATTERN: Formal, curt, demanding APPEARANCE: A Trevisan government official. They don't go around armed, because they secretly know they don't have anything to fear from the occupation. ARCHETYPE: Money-respecting Official demanding the heroes stop disrupting the status quo. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Governor Rayan Ivenci is a non-binary human, about 45, Trevisan with a Caucasian appearance. They used to be a mercenary and still have the skills, but have softened somewhat as they aged. They have been a government official for a decade, and have grown sick of being a toothless figurehead. The Crows are the true authority in Antiva, relegating officials like Ivenci to almost symbolic bookkeepers. Ivenci thinks the Crows are spoiled mascots, and Treviso should be ruled by serious figures who don't waste time on petty rivalries and theatrics. Ivenci allowed the occupation and has made steady profit from it, selling out Treviso with the intent that the Crows would be killed fighting the Antaam, expecting that and when Antiva eventually ousted the Antaam, Ivenci would solidify power before Crow houses in other cities could re-establish here. Under Ivenci, Treviso would be the thin edge of the wedge that ended the Crows power. But the Butcher didn't rampage, and didn't kill all the Crows. This has left Ivenci pretending to help fight the occupation, while also chastising the Crows for stirring up trouble. Once the Butcher is dead, Ivenci casts aside any pretense and simply takes power.
FLETCHER AGERANGE: 30 SPEECHPATTERN: Measured, serious. ARCHETYPE: Connected merchant guild leader ACCENT: Antivan APPEARANCE: Fletcher is a tradesperson and a skilled combatant with a bow. They are always dressed for travel. They aren't flashy, preferring to appear as their own guard instead of a merchant hawking wares.  CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Fletcher is a human Crow with merchant ties. Skilled in bows and ranged support, they are kitted for travel and protecting people and goods on the move. They are non-binary, tall with a thin build that codes slightly feminine. Ethnicity can be anything.
HEIR AGERANGE: 40 SPEECHPATTERN: Calm, measured. Almost dispassionate. ACCENT: Orlesian APPEARANCE: She is pale with short dark hair and an Orlesian accent. Dressed in good light armor befitting someone who trains others in small-weapon combat and takes the occasional hit. She was the assassin trainer in Inquisition, but it's been many years and doesn't need to match the appearance except in a general sense. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Heir is a Dalish elf who acts as a trainer and mentor for young Crows. JACOBUS AGERANGE: 15 ACCENT: Antivan SPEECHPATTERN: Sullen teen with an axe to grind APPEARANCE: Young, skilled, lithely muscled. Jacobus is well trained in double-daggers, but has the typical lack of discipline of an undirected teen. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Jacobus is a young male Crow who is in danger of losing himself to vengeance. He should be as young as we can make him. If he can't be a child, he should be no older than 15. His family were killed by the Antaam, and the hate is still fresh. Skilled in daggers, he is lithe and quick, but sullen in his mannerisms. He doesn't smile yet. Ethnicity can be anything. ARCHETYPE: Youthful spite for the world NOA DE ACUTIS AGERANGE: 55 ACCENT: Antivan SPEECHPATTERN: Formal with strangers, warmer with her brother. APPEARANCE: Older veteran Crow female duelist CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Noa is an older female in her late 50s. She has been a Crow for all of her life, and remains capable and fit. Her build has the old-woman wireyness of a duelist's body that was fit her whole life. She is slow to smile, and is the more serious of the de Acutis siblings. Ethnicity can be anything, but needs to match her brother Neri encountered in the Crow plots. ARCHETYPE: Older sister, skilled assassin
NERI DE ACUTIS AGERANGE: 55 ACCENT: Antivan SPEECHPATTERN: Thoughtful, homespun APPEARANCE: Classic swordsman assassin, with an old-fashioned flare. He doesn't look dated, he looks distinguished. A godfather displaying modern tradition. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Neri is an older male in his late 50s. He has been a Crow for all of his life, and remains capable and fit. His build has the old-man-strength of a swordsman's body that was muscular his whole life, but has now lost some of the mass as he transitioned to a mentor or godfather role. He has a hard face, but is quick to a melancholy smile. Ethnicity can be anything, but needs to match his sister encountered in a later plot. ARCHETYPE: Stern but loving godfather FLEDGLING DARTONIA AGERANGE: 17 SPEECHPATTERN: Tentative due to inexperience. More confident after seeing Rook in action. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A young person in training to become an assassin. Nervous because of inexperience, but capable and willing.  Farming background. Hunted for food. Now living in the city because the lands were lost to occupation. Dartonia and Temitri are encountered in the Crow sanctum, the Diamond casino. They chat casually with each other about how their training is going, and the things they've heard about. They are young recruits to the Crows, still getting used to their training and the strict but caring manner of their trainer, Heir. They respect and have a little fear of the veteran Crows like Viago and Lucanis.  Especially Lucanis, who is a figure of some renown.
FLEDGLING TIMETRI AGERANGE: 17 SPEECHPATTERN: Over-disciplined to compensate for inexperience. They relax after seeing Rook in action. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A young person in training to become an assassin. Overcompensating for inexperience, but capable and willing. Traveled with a military family. Used to discipline, but has crafting hobbies like making various kinds of dolls. TREVISO GONDOLIER AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A blue collar gondolier pilot who runs errands in the canals of Treviso. Used to slipping past patrols for stealthy deliveries, before and during the occupation. Fit from daily work, you are no soldier or assassin, but you help in your way. ARCHETYPE: Workaday everyman who helps the assassins get from place to place. QAMEKMASTER CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The Antaam Qamekmaster is a fanatic who normally is in charge of brewing the horrible mind-stealing poison, qamek. Like all Antaam, he is large, muscular, and has a soldier's mentality. However, now he is giving in to the corruption of the gods. He thinks this makes him better than the regular Antaam, and he's been locked up by the Butcher because of it. When Rook finds them, they willingly succumb to the corruption entirely, and become a monstrous creature called a Reaver. Once transformed he is a massive, fleshy juggernaut consumed by fervor and rage. Most of his dialogue is combat as the transformed Reaver. CHANCE CANDIDE AGERANGE: 25 SPEECHPATTERN: Confident, with a flare for the dramatic. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Standard Crow garb on a young man. Chance is a stylish, dramatic Orlesian who joined the Crows to be their emmisary among the courts of Orlais. (French accent.) He has since joined the effort in Treviso, and is fighting the Antaam occupation alongside his fellow Crows. He has chosen to rally people in the underbelly of town, which is a bit of a contrast from his previous position, but that's what he likes. He's the bright spot in a dark time for many people. ARCHETYPE: Gentleman assassin
MARKET MASTER AGERANGE: 45 SPEECHPATTERN: Friendly but businesslike APPEARANCE: Market master in expensive clothes. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The all-business master of the market in Treviso. She's frustrated by the occupation, but uninterested in discussions about who should be in charge. She's only interested in getting whoever is at the head out of the city's business. Her name is Master Sidestreet Alidare. Sidestreet is a nickname representing her low origins and her ability to do deals on the side.
VEIL JUMPERS
CYRIAN AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Bellara's brother. Zealously dedicated to the rebirth of the elves. Half-possessed by Anaris, an ancient elven would-be god who lives inside a magical mask. STRIFE AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: One of the Dalish faction agents. Strife is a keen-eyed hunter who grew up in the elven city slums, but was taken in by the forest-dwelling Dalish elves and taught to be an expert woodsman. He's rugged, tough, adventurous, and doesn't suffer fools. He feels some disconnect between his city-upbringing and his current role as a hunter - somtimes Strife worries he's an imposter, not truly growing up with his people, but he's tried to take their teachings to heart. Strife is loyal to those who earn his friendship, and fiercely protective of his clan. IRELIN AGERANGE: 25 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A Dalish elf who grew up in the woods, Irelin has learned the ancient and incredibly rare art of shapeshifting. She uses this ability to move secretly in the forest, scouting for her people. Practical and no-nonsense when it comes to defending her clan and her friends, she has a healthy distrust of outsiders, especially the humans who've persecuted and exploited her people for so long. Irelin takes a secret joy in the thrill and power of shapeshifting, however. She loves exploring as the different animals of the forest, and knows some of their paths better than anyone.
WARDENS
ANTOINE AGERANGE: 25 ACCENT: French (Orlesian) CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Antoine is a cheerful and enthusiastic member of the Grey Wardens. He's quick-witted and willing to run with a crazy plan. Compassionate and kind, he'll put his life on the line to protect others. (filename tag is “agent_improviser”) EVKA AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Evka is a devoted member of the Grey Wardens. She's a good-natured pragmatist who's calm under pressure and not easily fazed by the monsters of Thedas. Despite her professional attitude, she isn't above some mild sarcasm or gallows humour. (filename tag is “agent_tracker”) WARDEN GRETA AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A Grey Warden lookout. Greta is friendly, personable, and loves being a Grey Warden. She is generally positive (though has a low moment following the fall of the Warden base Weisshaupt). Greta provides information to Rook and always welcomes a chat. If Rook is a Grey Warden, Greta has met them before--they both became Wardens around the same time. Greta doesn't know Rook well--it's more like running into an old school mate--but she likes them. WARDEN RHODRI AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A Grey Warden lookout. Rhodri is determined and brave. He worries about other people, but tries to show confidence so others are not afraid. He prefers simple solutions to complex plans.
HOLDEN AGERANGE: 35 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The father of Mila, the little girl in Weisshaupt mission. MILA AGERANGE: 9 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A plucky little girl Rook meets during the siege of Weisshaupt. JAYNIE AGERANGE: 40 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A Grey Warden lookout. Jaynie is organized and observant. She's someone who likes to have a plan. She is a loyal friend and has a dry sense of humour. Jaynie believes you should always try your best. FLYNN AGERANGE: 30 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Flynn is the local physician in Lavendel. They recently went through the Warden Joining ritual which gives them Warden abilities (though they will remain a doctor). Flynn is smart and compassionate. A pacifist who is somewhat soft-spoken and has a self-deprecating sense of humour. (there’s other minor wardens with names and short personality descriptions; if you’d like any of them just let me know. to the nobody that is reading this. i have a headache rn. but i will persevere.)
SHADOW DRAGONS
TARQUIN AGERANGE: 39 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Tarquin is a burned-out templar who had the idealism beat out of him years ago. He now fights with the Shadow Dragons, offering a more cynical, realistic view that often contrasts with the idealistic and impulsive Viper. Tarquin is a trans man. SPEECHPATTERN: Gruff, deadpan. (filename tag is “agent_cop”) THE VIPER AGERANGE: 30 (filename tag is “agent_vigilante”) MAKAL DAMAS AGERANGE: 45 ACCENT: British/Tevinter-Appropriate CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The secret head of a criminal organization. Calm, businesslike, and shrewd. He may run a crime network, but he has a sense of loyalty and a code. That said, he'll be violent and ruthless when needed. ELEK TAVOR AGERANGE: 30 ACCENT: British/Tevinter-Appropriate CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Charming and friendly con artist. Friends with Neve despite being on opposite sides of the law. CAT CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A cat. HALOS AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A blunt-but-kind merchant. Knows he sells the best food in the city. Neve is his most regular customer and therefore his favourite.
LORELEI AGERANGE: 40 SPEECHPATTERN: Fereldan, from Denerim, so she should have an accent that matches our Fereldan accents. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Lorelei is an elf who runs the pawn shop that conceals the Shadow Dragons' hideout. Lorelei was originally from Ferelden, captured and sold to Tevinter slavers. She has since been freed thanks to the Shadow Dragons, and continues to work for them. MAEVARIS TILANI AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Maevaris Tilani is a powerful, notorious Tevinter magister who was one of the founders of the Shadow Dragons. Respected by some, and hated by others, Maevaris will not rest until she achieves her dream of changing Tevinter for the better. Maevaris is a trans woman and her first appearance was in the comic book, Dragon Age: Those Who Speak. AELIA AGERANGE: 30 ACCENT: British or Tevinter-appropriate CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A devoted member of the Venatori who believes Minrathous must return to its former glory. Neve foiled her plans in the past. Cold, determined, passionate. RANA SAVAS AGERANGE: 30 ACCENT: British/Tevinter-appropriate CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A determined and idealistic templar. By-the-books, she believes in following the law and that rules are the best. Doesn't give up or compromise her ideals despite the corrupt system she finds herself in.
LORDS OF FORTUNE
DRAGON KING AGERANGE: 45 SPEECHPATTERN: Blunt, arrogant. A brutal warlord or crime boss. Also speaks lines in the Qunari language. APPEARANCE: Big Qunari (ox-man) with enormous shoulders and battle scars. Old enough to be a military commander, but not so old that anyone would think of him as weak. Big, brutal, mean. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The Qunari in charge of the Antaam in this area. Used to be a military officer, but when the Antaam went rogue, he became something like a warlord of cult leader. A powerful warrior with a booming voice. He should sound like the paragon of big dangerous evil masculinity, and he makes his warriors go through painful rituals to prove their devotion. He's strong, blunt, and devoid of mercy or empathy. Will likely kill anyone he doesn't see as useful or entertaining to him. Basically, a bad guy doing his evil bad guy best. SHATHANN AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Qunari woman in her 50s. Former Qunari government worker who fled with Taash when Taash was revealed as a fire-breather. CUTTER AGERANGE: 24 APPEARANCE: A Qunari, but only about as tall as a human -- short by Qunari standards. Dresses as a mercenary, fashionable because he's full of himself. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Cutter is Qunari, but he grew up in Rivain and acts human (ie, he does not follow the Qun or even know much about it). He's a junior member of the Lords of Fortune, the same mercenary band Taash is in. He's young, cocky, and jealous of how strong and competent Taash is. He wants the respect Taash has earned, and when he doesn't get it, he betrays Taash and sells them out to the Dragon King. Generally speaking, he should act with the kind of smug, entitled confidence of someone who doesn't have much real-life experience -- bluster with jealous insecurity underneath.
KARASH AGERANGE: 50 SPEECHPATTERN: A little stilted and formal, because he grew up speaking another language. CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A middle-aged Qunari man who was a civilian navigator and weather expert assigned to work on a military vessel. After seeing the military commit war crimes, he deserted, and now lives alone on a beach, doing odd jobs and keeping to himself. He is polite but withdrawn, a little cautious around strangers. Taash (and Taash's mother, Shathann) bring him food from time to time, and he is much more comfortable around Taash, talking to her more like an old uncle. (Again, incorrect pronouns used for Taash here in the character notes.)
MOURN WATCH
MYRNA AGERANGE: 25 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Myrna is a necromancer from Nevarra. Utterly precise diction, calm demeanor. Crisp, polite, and intimidatingly competent. Myrna often speaks in declaratives, and absently drops archaic or obscure words at least once a conversation. She's not unfriendly, however, and firmly on the side of those doing good. Myrna is part of the Mourn Watch, an elite group of necromancers who run Nevarra's sacred repository of the dead: the Grand Necropolis. They also protect people from occult dangers, a duty she takes seriously. VORGOTH CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Vorgoth is deep-voiced, solemn, and imposing. They're a member of the Mourn Watch, an elite group of necromancers from the kingdom of Nevarra. But what Vorgoth is exactly—their species, age, gender, whether or not they're alive—is a mystery, shrouded and masked in a cloak. Vorgoth clearly has supernatural powers, however. Even their voice has an otherworldly echo. Vorgoth doesn't speak much, and only in short sentences. As one of the Mourn Watch, they help guard Nevarra's sacred burial complex, the Grand Necropolis. Like all Watchers, Vorgoth is also sworn to stop occult threats to this world, and takes this duty seriously. NOTE: Vorgoth is masculine in appearance (tall, broad) and voice, but their pronouns are "they/them". Vorgoth does not use they/them because they are non-binary (as opposed to our more typical non-binary characters); they use them because they're a total unknown (and may be a pluralistic entity; in the rare instance Vorgoth refers to themselves, they use "we" not "I".) HEZENKOSS AGERANGE: 50 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Arrogant, supremely confident, and spiteful, Johanna Hezenkoss is a "mad-genius" necromancer supervillain with grand plans to conquer the kingdom of Nevarra. Hezenkoss is all feverish energy and big, sudden gestures. She is constantly fueled by an overwhelming ambition and rage. Hezenkoss is probably as intelligent as she boasts, incredibly powerful, and filled with a seething resentment that people try to keep stopping her from ruling everything. Foremost among these people is Emmrich Volkarin, her former friend and fellow necromancer. Johanna and Emmrich have known each other for decades-they used to work on magical research together in the Mourn Watch, an elite order of Necromancers. They had a falling out when a power-hungry Johanna started practicing forbidden necromancy and was kicked out of the Watchers for it. Ever since then, Johanna and Emmrich have clashed as he's tried to stop her villanous schemes. In this game, Hezenkoss has crafted her most diabolical plan yet: a 10-story tall bone golem that can drain peoples' souls and crush anything in its path. She'll stop at nothing to complete it so she can take over Nevarra's capital city. Emmrich and his new friend Rook, frustratingly, stand in her way.
LICH LORD CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: This is lich: an ancient, undead mage. Her speech is formal, authoratative, and occasionally sharp when she has little patience for the living. Speaks in shorter sentences, as she's so old she's fallen out of the habit of vocalizing too much. While impossingly sinister-looking, she's not evil. She just has a viewpoint that thinks in centuries instead of years. KEEPSAKE CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A spirit that guards the Grand Necropolis, an enormous underground complex full of the sacred dead-and undead. There's a lot of possessed skeletons wandering around down there.  Keepsake manifests as a glowing, floating, see-through skeleton in a shroud. Keepsake has worked with the necromancers who take care of the Necropolis for ages, and knows a lot about what's going on down there. Sometimes mocking or sardonic, with a dryly morbid sense of humor, it's still dedicated to helping people. Keepsake always appears with its companion spirit, Curio, who's the more positive and upbeat of the pair. CURIO CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A spirit that guards the Grand Necropolis, an enormous underground complex full of the sacred dead-and undead. There's a lot of possessed skeletons wandering around down there.  Curio manifests as a glowing, floating, see-through skeleton in a shroud.  Curio has worked with the necromancers who take care of the Necropolis for ages, and knows a lot about what's going on down there. Its chatty and friendly, often deeply curious. A strange, whimsical being, intrigued by the mortals who wander through. Curio always appears with its companion spirit, Keepsake, who's the more sardonic and cynical of the pair.
SEALED SPIRIT CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A prideful, ancient demon that's been sealed away for centuries.  You're malevolently curious about what makes these foolish mayfly mortals tick. As part of your imprisonment, you've been splintered into multiple bodies with the same mind. You use them to goad the player, hoping they'll try to defeat you, because you think you can manipulate them into freeing you from your prison. If they do, you have a surprise for them: once freed, you can possess an undead dragon, wrecking untold devastation on the land that thought it could chain you.
KAL-SHAROK
STALGARD AGERANGE: 40 CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Stalgard is a dwarf from Kal-Sharok, a mysterious dwarven city that has very little contact with the outside world. Stalgard is stoic and steadfast and serious, with a strong sense of honor. DURRA CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: Durra is a dwarf from Kal-Sharok and Stalgard's sister. She is one of Kal-Sharok's historians, known as "Stewards of Memories." Much like her brother, Durra has a strong sense of honor, but is a lot less serious. STONE ORACLE CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: The Oracle is a mysterious entity. known to the Kal-Sharok dwarves. They revere her as a spiritual figure. She is connected to the Titans and makes herself known through a strange rock statue. The Oracle was originally Shaper Valta (first seen in DAI's 'The Descent' DLC). After Valta connected with the Titan in the Wellspring, she became the Oracle and made herself known to the Kal-Sharok dwarves. All Oracle lines should have audio processing on them.
MISCELLANEOUS
THE SCHOLAR CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A self-important, uptight scholar. He is trying to prove himself to the academy and will go to any means to do so--including murder if that's what must be done. THE EXECUTOR APPEARANCE: Human-appearing CHARACTERDESCRIPTION: A masked and hooded figure that speaks like someone unfamiliar with language in general. Stilted, awkward, but with a low menace. SPEECHPATTERN: Stilted. Is trying to form words from thoughts that are far more complex than a regular person's.
[source]
again please note that this work and document resource was put together by amirdrassil on Twitter! they kindly gave me permission to cross-post it here. 🙏
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jaehaeryshater · 8 months ago
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“Near the end, [King Jaehaerys] grew certain [Alicent] was his daughter Saera, returned to him from beyond the narrow sea.”
artist: @riotarttherite
I had the great pleasure of commissioning, in my opinion, one of ASOIAF fandom’s greatest artists on this gorgeous piece. I had never commissioned any artwork before and didn’t know what to expect, and this far exceeded my expectations. The attention to detail is beautiful and the overall piece conveys exactly what I was envisioning in my head, so I wanted to start off with a big thank you.
The idea for this art piece was originally a “what if” or AU where Saera either didn’t get caught at the brothel or was brought back from the Silent Sisters as was allegedly Jaehaerys’s plan (or if she had bonded with Balerion and gotten to stay! Would have loved that for her) so she stays in King’s Landing and becomes his caretaker in his old age instead of Alicent Hightower. As his daughter, she would have significantly more influence in being able to “speak for him” instead of a caretaker for another House, so although I do not take Saera as someone particularly obsessed with power, I do find it very interesting to imagine her deciding to cause chaos as the Old King’s mouthpiece. The streets of King’s Landing are burning as we speak! Even before Jaehaerys seemed to succumb to dementia, Saera did appear to have a strange influence over him, so once Alysanne passed away, it only makes sense that Saera would become the person in his ear. Not all that great for the smallfolk or even Lords of the realm, but great for drama and storylines. And Saera, of course! I’m sure she would have paraded everywhere, weighed down by jewelry and the finest wines. Perhaps she would have had a full menagerie, as she appeared to love animals. Definitely an elephant there somewhere.
As this piece was being worked on, however, I did think of a second meaning to the art that I also think is really neat. You could also view this as what Jaehaerys is seeing as Alicent is caring for him. He did believe her to be Saera in the end, as his mind was being lost. His Saera had come back to him, and although I do not like Jaehaerys and think he probably deserved worse, he most likely died happy at that thought, believing Saera was reading to him. So if you prefer to interpret this as viewing things through Jaehaerys’s mind, I welcome you because I love it at least equally to the first idea.
Lastly, the detailings are beautiful so I wanted to touch on them and give them the attention they deserve for the moment. I asked Riot to have a caring but sinister vibe, that she is caring for him for a plethora of reasons but certainly that includes self-serving reasons. I believe this was captured really well! I wanted it to be illustrated that Jaehaerys had lost his wits a while beforehand, so he has a vacant look, and Saera has the keys, showing that she is the real power behind the Crown. She has several expensive jewelry pieces (she has many from her lovers, but she doesn’t bother with them, leaving them to collect dust, only thinking gifts from the King are worthy to wear), but my favorite was one I specifically requested. Her jeweled bodice, which contains replicas of the King’s jewels that are present on his crown. Dare I say, she had her mother’s crown repurposed for herself? The intention is clear, Saera is effectively the Queen now, not in name, but Queen nonetheless. As for the general fashion, I told Riot that my favorite era of fashion was the Tudor era, more broadly 1300s- 1550s. As you can see, this was more than delivered and extremely beautifully inspired by historical fashion. GRRM doesn’t always describe his character’s outfits, and the GOT and HOTD outfits were often lackluster. This was exactly the type of beauty I was looking for. The dragon embroidery on Saera’s sleeves? Mwah!
Anyway, thank you so much for geeking out with me! The Saera/Jaehaerys dynamic is one of the most interesting dynamics to me. There’s simultaneously so little and so much there. It’s complex and layered, I can’t stop thinking about it. If you have been on my tiktok, you may have heard about my extensive theory regarding that dynamic, iykyk. If you ever want to talk about them, absolutely feel free to inbox me. More commission ideas coming this year definitely, at least a couple more of this dynamic, but I don’t know how a piece could be any more perfect <3
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ihavemanyhusbands · 8 months ago
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PART ONE: STAR PATIENT
Mini-series masterlist
Also on AO3
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Nurse!Fem!Reader
WC: 3.5k words
Series Summary: You, a nurse at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, are assigned to the newest inmate -- none other than the Chesapeake Ripper, otherwise known as Hannibal Lecter. He is nothing short of charming, but the dangerous mysteries that lurk beneath are equally alluring. So much so that you can barely resist the urge to uncover them all.
Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY, canon typical violence (mentions and some descriptions), slight canon divergence (here frederick is still director of the hospital), corruption, manipulation all around, eventual smut, secret affair(ish?), sort of power imbalance, ongoing murder investigation (the red dragon), cursing, not-so-slow burn, hannibal being hannibal pretty much, aaand that’s all I can think of but lmk if something should be added!
—————
“A woman being never at a loss…. The devil always sticks by them.” — Lord Byron
———-
Much like the Minotaur’s labyrinth, Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane was designed never to let one escape. At least, that’s how you viewed it, even if you were a worker and not a prisoner there. 
Still, you weren’t sure that was any better.
The place’s immaculate cleanliness was almost unnerving, but it was fitting. The walls were a glaring white, and the floors were always polished until they shone. The hallways were meant to confuse those who hadn’t actively tried to memorize them, every corner seeming the same.
Your uniform had to be impeccable too, lest you made the place look bad. It was absurd how much laundry you had to do, and how much time you had to spend on your appearance. All for it to go to waste whenever things got messy with rowdier inmates. 
But despite it all, there was a certain allure to the place that made you want to return each day. Something morbid, almost sinister, like a secret waiting to be uncovered. It was irresistible, and it would be until you found it out.
Doctor Chilton had just given you the rundown about the new inmate, stressing the importance of following protocol when dealing with him. He’d handed you his file to look over and on the very first page, there was a picture of the man they called the Chesapeake Ripper — Hannibal Lecter. 
You were taken aback for a moment, not expecting him to look like that. Luckily, the Doctor did not seem to notice your reaction, and you quickly made sure your expression was neutral once more.
Despite having worked there for a few years, witnessing all sorts of things, you were a little rattled by the way he spoke about him. Especially after mentioning he didn’t want to lose any more nurses, alluding to the incident with a former inmate, Doctor Gideon.
As it turned out, Hannibal was also a doctor, and you couldn’t help but shudder at the prospect of some macabre pattern forming. 
Of course, none of the other nurses wanted to be assigned to him, but Doctor Chilton trusted you to handle things well. You did what was asked of you and never caused any trouble. Truthfully, it wasn’t because you were particularly driven, but you wanted to fly under the radar and take it day by day.
And yet, it had still led you there, despite your efforts. 
You took the elevator down from the top floor, reading the file as you went. It was noted that the risk of him being violent was quite high, but he had thus far been cooperative with the staff. In fact, he had even turned himself in to the police, which was a detail that stood out to you. 
Considering his numerous horrific crimes, along with Doctor Chilton’s psychological assessment of him, he did not seem like a man who would let himself be apprehended so easily. It would gnaw at you, but you weren’t sure if you’d get the answers you suddenly seeked.
You left the file at your station to finish reading later, trying your best to ignore the looks of fear and pity some of the other nurses shot your way. Hopefully none of them would try to give you shallow words of affirmation, knowing you’d be the subject of gossip for the next week or so.
The maximum security cells were on the basement floor, but you stopped by the kitchen first to get his meal tray. You steeled your nerves as you passed through the extensive clearance, continuing down the hallway until you reached the very last cell, which was behind a set of double doors.
Was the light dimmer there, or were you imagining things? You could see shadows lurking in the corners of the room, an ominous feeling curling in your stomach. A cool gust from one of the AC vents made you shiver, but otherwise, you willed yourself to stay composed.
Finally, you dared to look into the actual cell. It was much nicer than most of the other cells, equipped with two bookshelves, a large mahogany desk, and some elaborate sketches that were taped on the walls. Perhaps part of a bargain struck with Doctor Chilton based on his cooperation with the authorities. 
Then again, he was the new star patient, so that probably earned him a few more privileges. Despite those small luxuries though, you knew it’d be hard for him to forget that he was incarcerated.
Hannibal himself was lying down on his cot, reading, but he sat up as soon as you entered. He was even more handsome in person, almost rakish, and you allowed yourself the smallest pause to continue looking at him. 
He had a fine nose, dark eyes, and an aristocratic air to him. Not to mention, a full, obscene mouth that was surely meant to cast impure thoughts. 
Somehow, you had to admit that even his slate gray jumpsuit fit him quite well. If he truly was the Devil, then word of his burning, unholy beauty was not a lie.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted with a smile that you were sure had charmed many in the past.
“Good afternoon. Stay where you are, please,” you said firmly but politely, returning the smile just slightly. “I’ve brought lunch.”
He obeyed, hands resting on his knees. Slowly, tentatively, you made your way to the slot in the glass where you could deposit the tray. 
“Please don’t retrieve it until I’m gone, and let a guard know when you’re done so they can collect it.”
He nodded, smile still in place. “Thank you.”
You began to retreat, feeling his gaze fixed on your back. It wasn’t until your hand was on the door knob that you realized your heart was racing. Adrenaline was dancing beneath your skin like little bolts of electricity, but at least your breathing was even. 
What was it that had affected you so deeply? Was it the thrill of looking into the eyes of pure evil? 
No, that was far too simple, and therefore what you had expected… but that wasn’t all you’d been able to see. It was hard to decipher just at first glance, but you hadn’t been brave enough to hold eye contact for long. And you certainly weren’t any braver when you returned to deliver his supper later that evening.
He was still all smiles and charming obedience, but you noticed his eyes wandered a lot more. It might have been a little amusing, if you weren’t so nervous. If anything, to have his attention was both intimidating and bewitching.
It made you want to say something more, but you weren’t sure what. Still, you knew better than to engage too much outside of protocol.
Or at least you thought you did. 
--------------------
Moonlight slipping through the foliage, anointing the darkened world in silver. A deer silently drank from a stream, unaware the hunter had spotted it. Head bent, throat long. It would be an easy shot, arrow cleanly piercing the jugular. 
It ran, but it did not get very far.  Its wide, ink-black eyes were looking up at the beautiful face of the moon, silhouetting the hunter. Its weakening heart leapt at the sight.
The last thing it saw was his knife.
---------------------
You woke up with a start, panting and confused. Sleep slid off you slowly, like a veil uncovering your eyes. Your hand unconsciously went to your throat, but unsurprisingly, you found no arrow’s fletching.
Two weeks had passed with nothing especially of note. You had read the entirety of Hannibal’s file, the details of his brutality leaking out into your life beyond Baltimore State Hospital.
It was hard to peel off all the misery embedded in its walls, especially being exposed to it daily. It was easier to compartmentalize instead, letting your mind go blank at the end of the day. But the dreams were an inevitable torment, nonsensical and intensely vivid.
You sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes and sighing into the silence of your small bedroom. You stared into the middle distance for a few minutes, mentally preparing to start your day. 
In the time that had passed, you had exchanged a few more words with Hannibal that were not part of protocol. He had asked your name, his tone kept carefully casual, and you thought it only fair to tell him. 
After that, he had ventured to ask more innocuous questions about yourself, perhaps trying to test the limits of your interactions. You had answered most of them truthfully but vaguely, worried about him psychoanalyzing you.
Something told you he'd also know if you were lying, so you figured it’d be mostly useless to try. But you were entitled to your secrets, too, and you preferred keeping your cards close to your chest.
Yet you were also aware that it would not deter him, but unbeknownst to him, you were just as headstrong. 
Later, after having slipped on your mask of cool indifference and clocking into work, you brought down his breakfast. You found him at his desk, sketching. He glanced up without moving his head, pencil still moving.
“Good morning,” he greeted. “Is it nice out today?”
“Depends on what you consider ‘nice’,” you said mildly, making slow work of depositing his meal tray. “It’s been intermittently raining since last night, and I don’t think it will stop any time soon.”
“Not bad at all,” he said, his tone ever so slightly wistful. “I do quite enjoy rain. I hope you didn’t forget your umbrella.” 
Strangely, you couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for him. The sudden loss of freedom was an unbearable thought to you, and you didn’t really wish it on anyone. But that wasn’t to say he didn’t deserve to be in the position he was in.
He noticed you hovering but not saying anything. Finally, his pencil halted and he looked up at you, leaning forward slightly. His assessing gaze pinned you in place, but your body was tense and ready to flee.
“You sound tired. Did you sleep poorly?” He asked.
You blinked in surprise, the question snapping you back to the present. Lowering your gaze, you inclined your head.
“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” you said politely. “I should get going, I’ll be back in an hour.”
He pursed his lips in what seemed like irritation, but he didn’t press you. Instead, he stopped you once more by changing the subject. 
“Before I try to talk to Frederick about it, there’s something I’d like to ask you,” Hannibal said.
You looked at him with apprehensive curiosity. “I cannot promise you anything, but you may ask me.”
“I would like to draw you, if you’d model for me,” he said. “Simple stuff, all of it appropriate. I promise. I’m just in dire need of a muse.”
“What makes you think he will say yes to such a request?” You asked, not yet processing everything in your state of shock. 
He smirked. “He needs my help with certain things, so it’s only fair I get something in return.”
You crossed your arms over your chest. “And… Why the interest in me, specifically?”
“It would be a sin not to immortalize features like yours.”
Heat crawled up to your face and your arms tightened against your torso, but you kept a mostly neutral expression on your face. You weren’t sure if he was being serious or just toying with you to unnerve you, but you had a feeling it was a mixture of both.
You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of a bigger reaction, but it was likely he could still tell he’d rattled you. The worst part was that deep inside, you also took his interest as a compliment, but there was no way you would let that show.
“I’ll give it some thought,” you said slowly, unsure why you were even considering it. “Pending Doctor Chilton’s approval, of course.”
“Of course,” he said with a nod. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”
With that, you left, floating down the corridor as if detached from your body. The whole situation had a feeling of unreality to it, and you kept expecting to wake up once again.
As you got to the nurse’s station, another nurse told you that Doctor Chilton had summoned you to his office. You blinked at her in surprise. Impossible… Had Hannibal really been so fast?
Next thing you knew, you were knocking on the door to his office, turning the knob when you heard him grant you access.
“There you are,” Doctor Chilton said, one hand resting on his cane. “Close the door behind you and take a seat, will you?”
You dipped your chin in compliance and mechanically followed instructions. For what seemed like an eternity, he said nothing, studying you instead. You shifted slightly in your seat, instinctively returning the favor if only because you didn’t want to be the one to look away.
He himself had been a victim of Hannibal’s more than once, and his body bore all of the evidence. Still, the Doctor had an undeniable obsession, using any and every opportunity to brag about Hannibal’s capture.
Clearly, the impact had been more than skin deep. No one ever dared to outwardly gossip about it, but it was well-known regardless.
It wasn’t often that you dealt with him directly, and you were being painfully reminded of why you preferred it that way. 
“Did…” you began, but he interrupted.
“I watched it all through the cameras. He knew I would be when he asked you that.” He leaned forward on the desk, hands clasped. “Wise choice not to give in just yet.”
You couldn’t help but balk at this. “I beg your pardon?”
He raised an eyebrow. “It must have been a tempting offer, to be the Devil’s muse. I would not blame you if you were at least a little flattered.”
Your eyes, just like your resolve, were like steel. “Why have you called me here, if I may ask?”
His smug, easy grin faded as he let out a long sigh, his patience wavering for a moment. 
“Hannibal is right about my needing him, though I am not the only one who does. The reason why is classified, as you can imagine, so I cannot tell you much,” he said, keeping his tone bored as if he couldn’t be bothered to explain it to you. “What I’m trying to understand now is why he wants you in return.”
“I’m just as confused, trust me.”
“From what I have observed, you don’t speak much, even if he has tried. I wonder if the challenge interests him…” he drifted off thoughtfully for a moment. “Though I suppose he’s always liked to surround himself with pretty things, too.” 
You stiffened, taken aback by the strange compliment. “And so you are expecting me to say yes?”
“I’m not expecting, no, but I’m sure you’ve gathered that this goes beyond Baltimore State. Of course, should you choose to assist us, you would not only be generously compensated, but I would be immensely grateful, as well.”
You thought about it for a moment. The additional income would definitely be helpful, but you had to admit you were also growing more and more curious about the whole thing. What else did you have going on, otherwise? 
Still, you had to try and cover all your bases first. You couldn’t make it too easy for him, after all.
You slightly tilted your head to the side.“Grateful… so you could call it a favor, then?”
He raised both eyebrows. “A favor?”
“Yes, Doctor. He’s a highly dangerous patient and you are asking me to spend longer periods of time – I’m presuming alone – with him. The safety of all staff should be your top priority, right?” you said pointedly, crossing your arms over your chest. “What use is money if no one’s alive to collect it?”
His green eyes narrowed as he seemed to weigh his options. Your face remained implacable, though there was also a challenging shade in your features that he did not miss. Otherwise, he could not get a very good read on you, and that suddenly intrigued him. Perhaps you’d be more useful than he’d originally thought.
“Right… You make a good point,” he finally conceded. “Well, I am a man of honor, after all. Anything you might need, you can always ask.” 
You smiled as genially as you could. “How gracious of you, Doctor Chilton. Thank you.”
His false smile was more like a sneer. “Of course. You don’t have to give your final answer now, but…”
“I accept,” you said, cutting him off. “I am honored by the opportunity.”
—-----------------------------------------------------
“How close are you able to get to the glass?”
“Up to ten paces away,” you said, taking your cardigan off and draping it over the back of the chair you’d brought. “Should be close enough, no?”
“Not nearly,” Hannibal said with a small, flirtatious smile that you did not return. 
Still, he could see a flicker of amusement cross your face, softening you infinitesimally. It only made him ache all the more to see you up close. He felt a sudden thrill that warmed his extremities — a feeling he recognized but had not felt for some time.
“Doctor Chilton has given us two hours, so I’d advise you to use the time wisely,” you said, slightly lifting an eyebrow and setting your hands on your hips. “How would you like to start?” 
“Just as you are, at your most natural,” he said, picking up his pencil. “Let’s see…”
It was strange at first, to have him stare so intently at you. You, who were seldom cowed by anything, could still barely keep eye contact with him. As an excuse, you offered your profile, turning your body to face the wall. 
He complimented the elegant swoop of your neck and you rewarded him with a demure glance and soft words of gratitude. His grip on the pencil tightened, his heartbeat spiking. You caught the way he shifted slightly in his chair, swallowing hard. 
Despite your icy exterior, you felt a thrill at the effect you seemed to have on him. 
You hadn’t been instructed to do anything but show up, but you knew instinctively that it would take more than that to keep Doctor Chilton’s favor… and Hannibal’s interest. Luckily, you were well versed in the art of slow seduction – giving just enough, but then withdrawing in equal measure.
Not to mention, it felt safer to do so on the other side of the glass.
Once or twice, he gave you brief instructions on how to pose your arms or which way to angle your head. You fell into a sort of meditative state, the reality of the whole situation slipping away from you, as well as the passage of time. 
When your watch’s timer went off, he seemed to snap back into focus at the same time as you. You looked up, startled at the sight of all the sheets of paper strewn about the desk. You noticed his hands were stained with graphite as he set his pencil down.
Curiosity got the best of you, and you took a step closer if only to try to get a glimpse. There was an almost frantic quality to the sketches, as if he was worried he might not be able to trace all the lines he wanted to in time. You weren’t able to gather many details from that angle, but you did not doubt his talent. Something about those hands…
“Productive first day,” you said, lightly teasing him to distract yourself from other thoughts passing through your mind.
A smile and the faintest dip of his chin. “I have not been so inspired in a while.”
“You flatter me too much. I’m sure it wasn’t just due to me,” you said, looking behind him at his bookshelf. “What are you currently reading?”
He seemed momentarily surprised at your interest, glancing over his shoulder and slightly raising his eyebrows. 
“Byron, actually.” He chuckled as he saw your reaction to the poet’s name. “The irony of it is not lost on me, trust me.”
You looked away. “You’re finding beauty where you can. I understand.”
“I always have, in my own way,” he said. “I have a feeling you might relate.”
“In places like this, there is no other choice,” you said, noncommittal. “Not if you want to survive it.”
“The great object of life is sensation,” he quoted. “To feel that we exist, even though in pain.”
You let out a short exhale as you slipped your cardigan back on. How curious that he would be a romantic, but you supposed, in a way, it made sense. 
Free of being a so called muse for the day, you withdrew back into yourself. He’d gotten the barest glimpse of another side of you — softer, more open — and that had to be enough for the time being. 
Had to leave him wanting more, after all.
“I will see you bright and early tomorrow, Hannibal. Get some rest.”
------
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eroticcaa · 6 months ago
Text
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙊𝙉 𝙃𝙄𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙎 ▸ 𝐵𝐿𝐴𝐶𝐾 𝑆𝐸𝐴
𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝑅𝐼𝑆𝐸, 𝐼 𝐹𝐴𝐿𝐿. 𝐼 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑁𝐷, 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐶𝑅𝐴𝑊𝐿. 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝑇𝑊𝐼𝑆𝑇, 𝐼 𝑇𝑈𝑅𝑁. 𝑊𝐻𝑂’𝑆 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝑅𝑆𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝑈𝑅𝑁?
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
EPISODES: 7+ [updated!]
LEAD STARS: Y/N STYGIAN. QIMIR. OSHA ANISEYA. & MORE.
Tags: !!EXPLICIT CONTENT!! MINORS DNI. — AFAB!READER, ANGST, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, INFIDELITY, JEALOUSY, FORCED!MARRIAGE, CORRUPTION, YEARNING, SHARED FORCE CONNECTION, AMNESIA, DEATH, FORCE!SENSITIVE!READER, SMUT.
SUMMARY: You were the empress of The Assai, located on the Planet Eadu in the Unknown Region. A beautiful world known for its dry, sandy, rocky terrain and hot weather. The waters surrounding the cities were murky black waters, at night it glimmered with a green phosphorescence. People's attire consists of a red cloak, black mask or veils, skin covered in tattoos or runes. Your planet became a ruin, because of the Jedi. They believed that a powerful Sith Lord were to be alive or reincarnated on this planet. If only they knew it was something much darker, sinister.
Note: just a little heads up, this is an Alternate Universe at play — Star Wars, peeks of Game Of Thrones, House Of The Dragon, Marvel’s Scarlet Witch. This will not have anything to do with the canon storyline! Some scenes will be used from the show just altered.
ACT I: 𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿 𝑀𝐸, 𝑊𝐻𝑌 𝐷𝑂𝐸𝑆 𝑀𝑌 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐵𝑈𝑅𝑁 𝑊𝐻𝐸𝑁 𝐼 𝑆𝐸𝐸 𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑅 𝐹𝐴𝐶𝐸?
EPISODE 000
EPISODE ONE
EPISODE TWO
ACT II: 𝐼 𝐹𝐸𝐸𝐿 𝐼𝑇 𝑅𝑈𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑁’ 𝑇𝐻𝑅𝑂𝑈𝐺𝐻 𝑀𝑌 𝑉𝐸𝐼𝑁𝑆, 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼 𝑁𝐸𝐸𝐷 𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑇 𝐹𝐼𝑅𝐸 𝐽𝑈𝑆𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐾𝑁𝑂𝑊 𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑇 𝐼’𝑀 𝐴𝑊𝐴𝐾𝐸. [COMING SOON]
———
© EROTICCAA 2024.
thank you sm for the reblogs, likes & comments! ima try to keep this series short but I fear it may be long, I didn’t expect to go crazy on this but my docs are filled with lore of how the reader will come to be how she is.
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raz-writes-the-thing · 10 months ago
Note
"Shouldn't you be in my bed?" For Daemon, please
(Lemme know if I'm sending too many)
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"My, my," Daemon replied predatorily, eyes slitting with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher. He was good at that. At hiding his thoughts behind walls of shields. You supposed he had to be, given he was a Prince of the Realm and all. "Aren't you quite the temptation."
Daemon's lips curled up into something just a touch sinister, and the sight made the hairs on your arms stand at attention. An internal response to danger that you recognised all too well. You wouldn't back down, however. Not ever when it came to Daemon.
"You should be careful- inviting dangerous men into your bed. I don't know too many lords or ladies who would voluntarily invite dragons into their nests," he picked at a speck of grime under his nail, though you were under no illusions. He was watching you very carefully, reading you and your intentions.
"I assure you, my lord," you answered, attempting to placate the Prince with a submissive smile. "I have nothing but the most innocent intentions."
It was always like this with Daemon. He liked to play hard to get, and you liked the chase.
"I'm sure you do," he chuckled darkly, allowing you to take his hand and lead him towards your chambers.
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Text
Dragon Blood
Chapter 5: Being a bastard is difficult as is. But claiming a dragon, training under Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, and navigating politics is a whole other ordeal.
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Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Dragonseed (f) reader
Tags: jealousy, possessive Jace, angst, kissing, hickeys, appropriate use of 'dracqrys', more kissing,
TW: Some unwanted touching from a side character,
You had trained under Prince Jace for weeks, pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion. Despite the bruises, the aching muscles, and the seemingly endless challenges of learning to ride and command your dragon, you remained dedicated.
Jace's approach was rigorous, often harsh, but you could sense the underlying intent to mold you into a warrior. You couldn’t deny the pride you felt when his rare words of praise slipped through the cracks of his otherwise stern demeanor.
"Well done," he assessed when you expertly dismounted your dragon, landing on your feet without losing your balance. Your heart would pick up its beat at the praise.
Every day was a battle to prove your worth, to show that you were deserving of the blood in your veins, of the dragon by your side, of Jace’s attention.
It wasn’t just the training itself; it was the way you listened intently to his every word, your eagerness to please him shining through in how you followed his instructions to the letter. Your dedication was unwavering, and though Jace remained distant, there were moments when his gaze lingered on you just a second too long or when his tone softened, if only for a moment, or he hid his laughter at your frustrated exclamations when something didn't word the way your wanted it to.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
The sun was just beginning to hide over the horizon when you and Jace arrived at the stronghold of Lord Robin, a minor but strategically significant nobleman whose loyalty Rhaenyra needed. As you dismounted your dragon, without falling, you might add, you couldn't help but notice the way Lord Robin's eyes followed you with a gaze that made your skin crawl.
Inside the grand hall, the atmosphere was tense. Lord Robin welcomed you both along with your dragons with a patronizing smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The initial pleasantries were exchanged, but you could feel the bad intentions in his tone. As the discussion of terms began, Jace did most of the talking, his tone authoritative, yet measured. He was every bit the prince—commanding, confident, and resolute.
But then, Lord Robin’s smile twisted into something darker. “A fine offer, my prince,” he drawled, his eyes sliding over to you. “But there is one additional term I would request.” His voice lowered, taking on an ugly undertone. “This pretty dragon rider of yours… Quite a rare beauty. I would have her and the dragon join my household, if you will. It would be a small price for my unwavering loyalty and that of my army.”
His words struck you like a blow, and the room seemed to close in around you. The suggestive way his eyes roved over your body made bile rise in your throat. You instinctively moved closer to Jace.
Lord Robin continued, oblivious to the tension he’d created. “It’s a fair trade, is it not? After all, she’s of low birth. A bastard, I hear-"
You noticed Jace stiffen at the derogatory use of the word, his jaw clenching.
"-The queen need not be troubled by such an arrangement.”
The tension in the room was palpable as the lord's sinister smile widened, his eyes narrowing as he examined you, approaching you closer. "Prince Jacaerys," he began, his tone smooth and calculated. "My offer is simple. I will either join the greens, or you may leave this lovely girl here with me, and I'll join you."
You stiffened as the lord’s hand brushed against your arm, then lower, his touch lingering in a way that made your skin crawl.
But you had a moment to think, logically, if you were handed over to Robin, it would secure a tremendous alliance for Rhaenyra against the greens. As much as the thought disgusted you, you had decided you would do it for Jace. You would do your duty for the Targaryens.
As you contemplated, what you didn't see was the way Jace’s eyes darkened, his fury barely contained as he watched the lord's hand slide further down your body. "Get your hands off her," Jace growled, shocking both of you.
The lord chuckled, amused by the prince’s anger. "Surely, a prince like you has more important matters to—"
Before he could finish, Jace surged forward, shoving the lord away from you with a force that sent him sprawling to the floor. The room fell silent as the lord's smirk dropped from the humiliation.
But before he could react, Jace’s voice rang out, cold and deadly.
"Vermax, Dracarys!"
His dragon responded instantly, flames roaring from its jaws, engulfing the lord. His screams were brief, quickly silenced as the fire consumed him. The scent of charred flesh filled the air, a reminder of the swift and brutal justice meted out by the prince.
You stood frozen, your heart pounding in your chest. The heat of the flames still lingered in the air as you turned to Jace, trembling.
Jace didn’t spare the Lord another glance. His focus was entirely on you now. His hand, still tense from the confrontation, rested briefly on your arm, a grounding touch that sent a shiver down your spine. “We’re leaving,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.
You nodded, your heart still racing from the encounter.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Your flight back to Dragonstone was tense.
You grasped onto the saddle of your dragon tightly, occasionally glancing towards Jace, riding stoically, against the night wind as his gaze stayed focused on your destination.
When you landed in the dragon pit, rather unsusuccessfully you're embarrassed to say, nearly falling off your dragon from the impact, you looked to Jace for his reaction. Typically, he would give you advice or pointers regarding your technique. Tonight, silence. 
Jace jumped down from Vermax, landing flawlessly on his feet. “Follow me to the training grounds.” He commanded without looking at you and kept on his way. 
You were pulled out of your thoughts, blinking.  Training? At this hour? The entire castle would be asleep.
Regardless, you weren't one to argue with your prince, so you followed Suit, thanking your dragon for bringing you home safe and offering it a small piece of dried meat you had snuck into your gear. The dragon ate contently and followed Vermax to the Cave as you ran to keep up with Jace.
Entering the training grounds you were commanded once again. 
“Discard your riding coat.” 
He had already discarded his own, standing with two wooden staffs one held in each hand and in his loose undershirt, tucked into the waist of his breaches. The top of his was open, revealing the Hard muscle of his chest. 
Obediently, you unbuttoned your coat and removed it, leaving you in the corset you wore to Lord Robin's gathering. The cold air of the stone walls made the hairs on your arms stand up, but no more than his angry gaze.
You gulped, your breathing intensifying. He was angry. And not the usual anger where you felt he could forgive you but really angry. 
He tossed one of the wooden staffs to you, and you barely caught it. “Defend yourself.”
Your eyes widened, but before you could ask, advanced. You backed away from him. The alcohol from the party and your tiredness made your moves less than perfect. “Jace, wha-”
He trust the staff toward you, and you intercepted it with your own, barely having time to back away and add some distance between the two of you.
But Jace was faster- more experienced. In one move he'd knocked the staff out of your hands. 
“In all of our training, I seemed to have missed an important lesson,” he snarled, green eyes boring into yours. “How to defend yourself against disgusting old men who put their hands on you.”
He dropped his staff, grabbed your hands, and held them up above you against the rough wall of the training room. “Break free.”
You were panting, trying to catch your breath.
“That wretch touched you. And you let him.” He snarled.
“Yes I did! So should you have, Jacaerys!" You struggled against him. "You could have made a strategic trade off for your house."
His eyes narrowed in confusion at your words. "What?"
"I’m expendable." You elaborated. "You'd still have my dragon. Just not me. Why didn't you just take the deal—"
"Because you are mine." His eyes blazed with fury.
The words hung between you, heavy with meaning, before his lips crashed down on yours. The kiss was fierce, desperate, and needy. As his lips moved against yours, you felt the weight of everything—his possessiveness, his protectiveness. It was intoxicating, consuming you completely as you melted into him, your body responding to his with a fervor you hadn’t known you possessed. You thought about kissing him for many nights, about him embracing you like this. Finally.
When he finally pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes bore into yours before dropping to your neck. He lowered his head until his lips touched the skin under your ear, biting you there, before licking the bite.
You gasped. "What are you-"
"Leaving my mark on you." He said. "If you're not going to fight them off. They might as well see you already belong to someone."
He kept sucking and biting your neck as you grew more and more sensitive. Your heart raced, body tensed up, but at the same time, you couldn't help but crave for more. You let out a gasp, unable to believe what was happening. The feeling was indescribable.
You tried to keep still, but your body started involuntarily moving along his touch, your back pressing harder onto the rough stone walls. He bit your neck a little harder, and you cried in pain and pleasure, your mind mixed in disarray. You dreamt about this. About belonging to him.
Jace pulled away to look at the red marks he'd left all over your neck. They would bruise by morning. He couldn't help but grin at the thought. Making his claim on you was only the beginning. He wanted the whole world to know that you belonged to him. Hesitated, he surveyed your face. Your eyes appeared dazed, pupils dilated, lips parted in a soft moan.
•••••••••••••••TBC•••••••••••••••
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ellitx · 6 months ago
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Chapter 19: The Lord's Will
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𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁
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art belongs to: srr_yo
word count: 3.9k
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           The storm was strong, harsh, and maddening. The tempestuous wind annihilated the entire city— from a strong wind to a ferocious cloudburst. It was similar to how the blue dragon attacked the city and everyone presumed that was the cause, but their assumptions drowned upon discovering it was not the Stormterror causing harm to all but Barbatos the Anemo Archon.
           Aether wondered if Jean was aware that it was Venti who was causing all of this. And if she did, did he see him as Venti the Bard or Barbatos the Anemo Archon during his rampage?
           Everyone cowered in fear witnessing the strong aura of an enraged unknown being. From the center of the plaza stood a young man clad in green carrying a damsel in his arms.
           A pair of large angelic wings sprouted from his back, fluttering as feathers fell off and lifted him off the ground. Had he been the angel destined to calm the tempest storm of Mondstadt, everyone would have cheered. But that was far from Celestial.
           His figure loomed. The moon’s radiant glow cast his youthful features yet all was daubed with nothing but fury. No one can approach or stop him. Not even the Knights of Favonius.
           Not even Aether.
           If one dares to approach him, they’d be thrown away like a measly rag doll. Aether could clearly see how his once bright eyes had turned dark and sinister. All that anger was pointed at him, warning him: “If you take a single step and take her from me, I will slaughter you.”
           The crowds cowered, parents holding their children close and shielding them from the sharp gales, while others bowed, kneeling even, to honor and welcome the overwhelming presence of the Anemo Archon.
           Aether, with his restricted strength and movement, turned and saw Jean from the distance. Her face was pale, her hands shaking and clutching tightly on her sword grip. He had never seen her so scared before. No, scared was not the right word.
           She had mixed feelings of confusion, fear, and uneasiness.
           But even as the Acting Grand Master, she’s ready to charge if the archon were to burst into another outrage.
           But how ironic was it that she'd attack the nation’s god who protected them for thousands of years?
           Everyone was scared, some were shocked. Not a single soul has the courage to speak.
             “O winds that sweep o'er Mondstadt's land, hear my words, my fervent command. In the realm where skies and earth collide, a love blooms fierce, none can deride.” The archon’s voice was soft yet thundering, his words echoed and reached the city’s ears.
           “This woman in my embrace, through day and night, she's my true lover, my cherished wife. A bond unbreakable, forged for life. So heed this warning: all who dare to cross the threshold of our lair, for should you trespass, face my might. Anemo's wrath shall take its flight.
           No mercy shown. No quarter given. By my hand, your fate be driven. For love is fierce, and love is strong. And for her, I shall right all wrongs. Let these words echo through the skies, a proclamation, a love that ties. Respect our realm, and you'll be free. But disturb our love, face destiny."
           With these proclamations, Venti's voice rang clear.
           A declaration of love and fear. His power as an archon was blinded with love and obsession.
           A warning to all who dared to defy.
           Pray and obey. That’s the only rule if they wish to be alive.
           And with those words, he vanished into the dark night sky, with only a few feathers left behind. The rain continued, pittering and pattering on the muddy floor. All sounds were muffled except Paimon’s cries which were crystal clear. Afraid and petrified by what happened, he mustered the strength to hush her cries. The only protection and safety he can offer from the god’s wrath.
  —
             “Is there a doctor here? Someone please help my brother!”
           “There were so many casualties… Is this still a safe place for us to live?”
           "I heard the Anemo Archon's wrath spared no one. The Knights of Favonius are overwhelmed, and there's chaos everywhere."
           “Even the Church can’t help us…”
           "I never thought I'd see the day when the Archon's protection turned into a storm of destruction.”
           In the hallowed halls of the Knights of Favonius' headquarters, poignant cries of pain and resilience played out. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and hushed murmurs, as the knights moved with purpose, tending to the myriad wounds inflicted by the recent upheaval. In makeshift infirmaries, the wounded lay on cots, their faces etched with the agony of recent events.
           Amidst the sea of suffering, the children and families sought refuge within the sturdy walls of the headquarters, clinging to one another for solace.
           The knights worked tirelessly to mend both the physical and emotional wounds inflicted by the recent chaos.
           “How are you doing, Aether?” Jean asked while washing the dressings that needed to be disinfected.
           “I’m doing well, but it still hurts like a brick…” he offered a wry smile to her while his fingers caressed his bandaged neck.
           “Please don’t push yourself. Rest as much as you can in here, however, the city is not in the best of state and our supplies may not be enough for everyone…” Jean heaved a sigh, putting aside the disinfected dressings.  “It seems our headquarters won’t be able to accommodate any more patients. The Knights of Favonius and I are trying our best to find a secured shelter.”
           “That bad, huh?” Aether frowned and leaned in, his torso bending forward, while his arms relaxed on his knees.
           Jean nodded slowly, staring out at the grim surroundings.
           "If we're lucky, perhaps when everything calms down, we'll rebuild the city..." she closed her eyes tightly, willing her thoughts away from despair.
           “I’ve already sent the emergency message to Grand Master Varka,” a familiar voice popped into the room. They both turned to see Kaeya emerging from the door holding two cloth bags. “He has decided to send three teams to bring more rations and resources on their way back. He will also come with them on their journey back to Mondstadt.”
           “Thank you, Kaeya.” The Acting Grand Master nodded appreciatively, taking the bag that had been placed on the bed next to Aether’s. He sat down, handing a portion of rations to the boy.
           As dawn painted the sky in hues of hope, the headquarters stood as nothing but a shelter. Mondstadt was in a complete disaster. Multiple houses were destroyed, the plaza was a mess, and even the villagers living outside the city were affected tremendously.
           The blonde traveler’s eyes flashed to the small figure lying on the bed. Recalling the previous night seriously made his head ache. Aether opted to take a good night’s rest.
  —
             A week has passed and the day is still the same. Rubbles and debris are still within everyone’s sight and it’s far from finished cleaning all the mess. All of the Knights were doing labor— not only that, but they also temporarily banned travelers from stepping within Mondstadt’s borders until further notice.
           It’s too dangerous for non-citizens to visit when the catastrophe is still imminent. As much as Aether wants to help, Paimon and Barbara would scold him for his recklessness, urging him to prioritize his own safety over assisting others in such perilous circumstances.
           He grouchily grumbled to himself, letting his mind drift somewhere else and possibly hoping an idea would flick the switch for him to do something. Laying on the bed will do no good, and he’s getting tired of nestling on the bed all day.
           Although he could always fall asleep if he just stayed put and waited for his eyelids to droop. But he knew deep down inside, that waiting for this catastrophe to be over wasn’t the best way to go about things either.
           Letting his mind meander in his headspace, he recalled Jean informing him of an update from the Grand Master. She was told their estimated time of arrival would be a week from now. They have contacted merchants from neighboring nations who will bring more rations to them so the knights can use them to sustain themselves while they wait. Some gave anonymous donations, gifting medicines, herbs, and bandages to aid in recovery efforts.
           Since a week had already passed, he was certain more rations should arrive by tomorrow or maybe even today. At least there won’t be any hunger pangs for these people anymore. To witness the Grand Master still aiding the nation despite his lack of presence caught Aether’s interest. If he’s able to live up to those standards, then there’s no doubt he’ll do great things once he comes back. A flash of hope filled his heart, giving him a feeling of motivation. Hopefully, the news about the arrival of the Grand Master will lighten up everyone’s mood.
           As much as he wants to join in helping the knights, he can’t neglect what is important to him as well. He knows Barbara nor Paimon wouldn’t approve of his idea. But if no one sees him, then there wouldn't be a problem.
           It’s almost night time and everyone’s too preoccupied with healing the wounded.
           Aether stirred from his bed, the call of restlessness drawing him. With quiet determination, he quietly left his room, ensuring his steps wouldn’t make a noise. Once he got through the front door, he made his way through the sleeping city streets, guided only by the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the clouds. His destination: the bell tower of the church.
           His silhouette moved against the backdrop of the moonlit sky. With practiced ease, he scaled the rough walls of the church, his fingers finding purchase in the worn stone as he ascended higher and higher.
           The chill of the night air brushed his skin as he continued climbing, each foothold bringing him closer to his destination. At last, he reached the towering bell tower, its shadow stretching out like a dark sentinel against the starry heavens. With a final push, he pulled himself up onto the narrow ledge, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.
           Leaning against the pillar to take a breather, he wiped the sweat rolling down his forehead and turned around to admire the night sky. Though the past few days were packed with dread and anguish, the luminous light of the crescent moon almost had him forget his purpose for climbing all the way here to the top.
           From his vantage point high above the city streets, he could see the familiar tower in the distance, its ominous presence casting a long shadow over the land. Aether’s golden eyes narrowed, searching for any signs of the god and his “lover” he claimed. The distance between them stretched out so far that his hope for spotting you from where he was was futile, just as he suspected.
           Forcing away the uneasy feeling in his stomach, he turned his attention to the watch tower from the Knights’ headquarters. A silhouette moving caught his attention and Aether decided to return to his room lest he’d be caught by the knights lurking in the bell tower in the middle of the night.
  —
             Two weeks after the catastrophe, there was a small progress within the city. Several are still wounded yet they’re gradually recovering. The Knights utilized the Church for civilians who lost their homes and few kindhearted volunteers assisted the Knights and members of the Church to feed the displaced families.
           Aether’s neck had already recovered, the mark was gone but the sensation of his perpetrator’s fingers still haunted him till this day. Caressing his neck brings bitterness within him he wasn’t able to save you from the god.
           What if Venti, in a fit of rage or madness, had done something irreversible, something that could have harmed you irreparably? The mere thought sent a shiver down Aether's spine, and he vehemently shook his head, trying to dispel the dark imaginings that threatened to overwhelm him.
           "No," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Venti wouldn't do that. He couldn’t."
           But deep down, beneath the layers of denial and hope, Aether harbored a nagging doubt. Even if Venti wouldn't physically harm you, the emotional toll of his actions could be just as devastating. And that was a truth Aether couldn't bear to face.
           With a sigh, he stood up from his bed and began pacing around the room. He spotted some villagers going in and out of the city gate behind the thickly curtained windows. What struck his attention were the carriages loaded with debris, and people carrying some vegetables and fruits. Perhaps to make soup for those who are still recovering.
           Somehow it stirred his heart a little to see the citizens still helping each other even after being scarred by disaster. Maybe they know it will bring more danger to move away from their homes right now, but they’re hoping for a miracle where everything will return to normal.
           The majority of the food supplies were already eaten during the crisis and a lot of residents are starving. Yet there are still people who have gone through so much more difficult hardships than what he has to go through.
           Staying inside will do no good. Aether strode to the door and opened it with determination, but the purpose of venturing crumbled to dust when a deaconess’s familiar blue optics glared at him.
           “Where do you think you’re going?”
           Aether swallowed the lump sitting in his throat, a cold sweat threatening to unveil, as he evaded her skeptical glare. “Just going outside to take a breather,” he answered immediately.
           Barbara’s frown wouldn’t expunge and he stood firmly in his place. When she took one big step, he panicked and backed off a little. If she continues walking forward, then there’s no turning back.
           Thankfully, she stopped before him. She looked annoyed and then glanced at Paimon standing beside the door, munching on a piece of bread. Was she with Barbara all this time?
           “He’s been stuck inside for a week. As long as he doesn’t do anything reckless, Paimon’s sure it’ll be fine.”
           Barbara heaved a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose at Paimon’s nonchalant and indifferent behavior. Deciding to give in, she allowed Aether only on the condition he’d be back before it set.
           She sure has gone stern with him but the kindness within her still remains pure. It didn’t take long for Aether to prepare. He only needed his sword and his flying companion. Barbara told him to bring some medicines in case he got wounded, but she hoped he’d return unscathed.
           As Aether stood at the city gate, Paimon floated next to him, her eyes scanning the lush greenery beyond. The landscape seemed unchanged, yet subtle alterations were evident – barricades now dotted certain sections of the road, blocking any passage beyond the city limits.
           The crops at Springvale Village lay sparse and withered, stark evidence of the devastation wrought by recent events. Despite the desolation, however, the villagers toiled tirelessly, their hands calloused and backs bent as they labored to revive the once-lush fields and replenish dwindling supplies. With each passing day, small signs of progress emerged amid the barren earth, a small glimpse of hope amidst the ruins.
           Aether’s feet controlled his body, aimlessly wandering the prairie of the nation of the wind. Paimon was silent, quite unusual of her, but he didn’t ask her. She was lost in thought and so was he, but his mind drifted to the abducted maiden.
           Paimon followed him along, sometimes leaving a few comments here and there not to go to the forest lest they’d be attacked by hilichurls.
           He hadn’t realized they stopped at Stormterror’s lair. Before him was the ever-so-familiar wind barrier. It still kept him from entering further, a warning that the Anemo Archon and his dragon inhabited the empty land.
           His body took over before his mind could stop him. He rushed and slammed his hand against the barrier, screaming at an empty space. “Venti, please! You don’t have to do all of these!! I know you’re a good person but if you lock [Name] there, it’s no longer freedom!”
             No response. That couldn’t mean anything good. He pounded his fist again, the barrier rippling from the pressure, yet he felt nothing in return. Oddly, he heard something behind the barrier… But what?
           Over and over, the traveler kept on banging, crying out for Venti to release you. Paimon watched in silence, her eyes darting to him and the tower as she feared what would happen next. The pain and the stress his actions brought into the fairy's mind might make her stop him at this instant, another unintended consequence that could lead them down a different path.
           She closed her eyes, blocking out the reverberation of Aether's yells. He needed to be calm, she knew. All of this chaos and emotion were only building up more anger in Venti and she wouldn't want that.
           They were starting to disturb the wind spirits who lived nearby. Eventually, the cry ceased after a long while and the emptiness returned. His palm burned red where it touched the barrier; only moments later did he realize how close he came to harming someone.
           If only he wasn't damaged greatly, he'd still have time to save you. No, even if he was wounded, he should have been able to bring you back. How had things turned out like this? He wasn't prepared for anything of this sort. This... is not what you deserve.
           "Aether… we should just go. Venti won’t even spare us a glance." Paimon pleaded.
           "We can’t just leave [Name] there! What if something happens to her?" He shouted in return, glancing back at the pillar. It almost seemed as though she was holding her breath now, but she finally exhaled, turning to face him once more. "Stepping in again will make it even worse! Paimon will be devastated if Paimon loses you!" Her voice cracked, quivering and wavering betraying the fear and concern she struggled to contain.
           She sniffled, averting her gaze as she wiped the tears off her cheeks with her arm. They know Venti has his own reasons for keeping you in there with him, but is that really the right way to treat you? More so, he abandoned his people after the mess he made.
           Nothing will change if he stays in the tower and keeps you locked there with him.
           Aether's hands slipped, knocking his forehead on the barrier’s surface. It was too much for him, trying to figure out what to do when he should be doing his best to stay alive himself.
           There's nothing Venti will gain from it if they did so; perhaps nothing except for their— or worse, your— demise.
           “Pardon me, but are you here to offer your prayers to the Anemo Archon as well?” A voice joined in, halting his silent mourns.
           An old man who appeared out of nowhere drew near, seemingly unconcerned about their whereabouts. But they did not expect to see behind that man a flock of people holding bouquets of flowers, wines, and baskets of bread. Despite how dangerous the area is, they radiated in contrast to the gloomy atmosphere surrounding them.
           "What the...?" Paimon muttered as one of the old men set down his offerings near the barriers. He made eye contact with Paimon and she offered him a wry smile, watching everyone follow along the man's gesture to place down their gifts on the other side of the wall on what seemed to be like a shrine. Was that there all along?
           A robed priest walked towards the shrine, chanting and making prayer gestures. It was clearly evident from their actions that these were believers, using the lair as a sacred place of worship that those who visited hoped to receive some form of blessing.
           Aether had multiple questions he wanted to ask the old man, but for now, he kept quiet while everyone prayed and whispered their wishes.
           It was strange watching the group of believers praying in front of the gates, with little awareness that the person Paimon and Aether were talking about was on the other side, practically begging for the god these believers were praying for to free the girl he took.
           It seemed as though the old man sensed their watchful and peering gaze. "Please do not anger the Anemo Archon... for he may be merciful to some but harsh to others..." he said.
           "Harsh to others?" Paimon spoke aloud. The man stared back at her for a moment before answering, "Lord Barbatos is a benevolent archon, but witnessing his wrath during the Ludi Harpastum left many an unfortunate soul destroyed and exiled forever from his land."
           It sounded familiar, a promise, that would let people make offerings in exchange for good luck. The air was tense between them and Aether was at a loss for words.
           “We only wish for peace and harmony. People deserve to live their lives freely with no worries of imminent danger or threat.” The elder answered, tightly holding the cross hanging on his neck to seek guidance. “But if we worship and follow the Lord’s will, he might become merciful. It’s the only way for everyone to be saved.”
           “Will?” Paimon echoed.
           “Lord Barbatos added a will that will significantly change the scripture and history of Mondstadt,” the robed priest added. He stood up and brushed away the wrinkles of his clothes and took out a thick book from his robe. “We found this book on the altar while sheltering everyone. The Church has yet to read the full scripture but we can discern it’s about his spouse.”
           “The night after the festival was already a warning to us,” the old man’s voice trembled. “We dare not to anger him. So please, Honorary Knight, do not accumulate Lord Barbatos’s wrath.”
           Numerous times he encountered you, it always didn’t end well and the archon is always there to step in.
           He frowned and bit his lips. His fingers dug through his skin. It made him uncomfortable that the church never dared to question the sudden addition of sacred scripture and the will of the Anemo Archon.
           Perhaps because he is the archon, they obeyed his orders.
           Sighing heavily, he turned back to the barrier and placed his hand upon it.
           Under his breath, he whispered his prayers for your safety. The wind may have brought it to Venti, but the wind may have not. And regardless if it angered the archon, he’d still find a way to get you out of there.
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taglist: @trust-the-oxygen @so-uncute
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sorry for the very long wait for an update >.> this chapter and the next one have been sitting on my drafts for months and I didn't have the time to edit and fix it. but I finally have done it!
the next chapter was supposed to be the chapter 19, however after I reread the story, there was a big plot hole and it'd be very confusing how it got there so I had to add this chapter to fix the plot hole lol
also!! i did major edits on the previous chapters regarding Decarabian. i changed his title from “previous Anemo Archon” to “God of Storms” since he wasn't technically an anemo archon back then
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asumofwords · 1 year ago
Text
Smoke, Fire and Ash
Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.
This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)
Masterlist
Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.
Note: Hello my sweet angel babies! Thank you all for the love and kind words! Here is another chapter, now there are going to be two perspectives in this, so when you get to the end, you will see what I am talking about hehe. Enjoy ! &lt;3
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Chapter 87: The Other Woman
Days float by as your anger continued to simmer.
Your visits to the Gardens became frequent, irritated energy bouncing through your body, leaving your nights to be restless. And yet to your surprise, Aegon was nowhere to be seen.
You had thought that with his sudden dismissal of his brother to Harrenhal at the news of your pregnancy, that he would make himself present. 
And yet, he hadn't. 
And when Aemond had returned a few short days later to the Red Keep, you had been just as surprised once more. 
Was this a test? 
The two brothers working in tandem to see what you would do?
Or was Aemond's visit truly shortened by his desire to come back to you?
When Aemond arrived back to Kings Landing, his demeanour had shifted once again. He walked around you carefully, chose his words with even more care, and had even refrained from touching you. It was as though he was waiting for you to make the first move. Or maybe he was waiting to you to strike him.
Or perhaps the Prince was waiting for you to respond to the letter you had not read.
When the Prince had returned, you had been seated at the Gardens, nibbling upon a honey drizzled slice of pear, the sweet nectar coating your mouth thickly as you gazed out at the water, concentrating hard to see if you could see any speck of Dragonstone or Driftmark. 
A large shadow moved across the water, and you had craned your head to look up, spotting your husbands large, green, war dragon flying atop the Keep. Her mossy wings, torn in some places, and a deep scar along her side shining in the sun, curtesy of Syndor.
Your resentment bubbled at the sight of his return, and you suddenly felt no desire to continue munching upon the many sweets and treats that your maids had insisted upon giving you. You stood, dusting the crumbs that had settled into your lap onto the stone floor and moved with little haste, knowing that Aemond would most likely seek you out as soon as he landed.
You let yourself begin to walk down towards the beach of Kings Landing, brushing your fingertips atop the many different flowers that you passed. It was not until you came across the fragrant rose bushes that you paused in thought. 
Reaching forward, you grasped a large, blooming, blood-red rose, and snapped it from the bush, bringing it up to your nose to inhale deeply. It was a beautiful colour, and from the exact same bush that Aegon had plucked one for you from. 
You smirked.
You continued on your walk, winding down the path until you reached the stone jetty, finding yourself standing deathly still, rose in hand, as you looked out at the water.
You were waiting for the inevitable.
Waiting for him.
For your shadow.
To come seek you out. To speak to you. To see you.
To beg. To plead. To apologise.
Or perhaps, punish you for your temper.
It was not until you heard soft, steady steps behind you, that you knew he had come, just as you had anticipated. 
Aemond had come to straight to you. 
Not to his King. Not the the Lords. Nor the Small Council. Not even to your shared chambers to disrobe. 
The One-Eyed Prince came straight to you from the back of his dragon.
Bringing the rose to your nose, you inhaled again deeply, and hummed. With a cool breath, your voice flitted towards him, not bothering to turn around.
“Didn’t expect to have you back so soon, Aegon. What did Otto want with you?” And with your last word, you spun, rose still raised up to your face to look at your husband that you knew was behind you.
At the sight of him, you dropped the rose limply to your side, “Oh. Aemond.” You sniffed, “You’re back.” 
His brows were already furrowed, “What did Aegon want with you?”
Those were the first words from his lips.
His first words after coming back from his whore.
You saw red. 
Gritting your teeth you spun away, moving to walk back up the path to the Keep and away from the steady rolling waves of the beach. 
“How was the Whore of Harrenhal?” You snipped, taking the steps in lazy strides, unhurried to get away from him as you twirled the rose in view as you passed.
Aemond’s eye flicked to the flower, then back at your face, his jaw tensed.
You continued up on your path, letting your uncle stew in the possibility of you and his brother having spent time together in his absence. The possibility of Aegon courting you with another rose.
And whilst you had expected it, the Prince did not follow you.
Instead, he stayed rooted in his spot at the bottom of the stairs, watching as you slowly walked up them, singular red rose in hand that you brought intermittently up to your nose to smell.
Aemond found you a while later in the Library, clearly desperate to speak to you, his own insecurities about his brother racing in his mind.
He found you seated on one of the armchairs before the fire, tome in lap with the rose tucked behind your ear. The red atop your hair stood out starkly, and brought out the subtle blush of your lips that you nibbled on gently. 
To Aemond, you looked as though you were engrossed in the story, or perhaps your mind was wondering to a certain older uncle as your fingers danced over the long, thorned stem. His approach did not rouse your gaze, for you knew it was him, choosing to ignore his presence all together.
The One-Eyed Prince stood in front of you, his height doubled yours, as you sat primly in the chair. The air in the Library was tense, and you played upon it, a finger tracing the petals of the flower absentmindedly as you continued to ignore him. 
“Y/n.” Aemond spoke lowly, trying to gage your attention, “I didn’t see her. I attended to my duties, and that was all.”
You hummed boredly, before lifting your gaze to him, the Prince’s jaw locked, hand on the pummel of his sword as he looked at you. You let your gaze drop pointedly at the hand, and to your surprise, he released it, dropping his arm down by his side.
“Aemond.” You sighed, standing, shutting the book in your hands as you stepped forward towards him. You thrust the book against his chest, “I don’t believe you.” 
His hand came to grasp the book, ‘The Loves of Queen Nymeria’, as you brushed past him, making your exit from the library as swiftly as possible. Not hearing his footsteps behind you. 
You found your way to the Godswood, where you always found yourself in troubling times, still holding the rose in your hand as you looked up through its branches. 
You hoped that your parents received the raven.
And even prayed to the Gods that they did. 
What would happened?
Would it be done?
Would she be killed?
How would you know if it had happened?
What if they didn’t get your raven?
You swallowed and sat amongst the roots as you always did, needing to clear your mind, your back against the trunk of the tree as you looked up at the light that shone through the leaves. The tree vibrated with the wind, and in that moment, and as through the wind swept away your doubts, you knew they had gotten your raven.
When the sun had begun to lower in the sky, you took yourself back to your chambers, knowing that your husband would be there waiting, and you would have little place to run.
He would talk to you, and you would listen. 
For a time. 
Aemond was just as you had expected him to be, a creature of habit, sitting in his armchair before the fire, goblet of wine in hand. When you entered the chambers, his head had lazily turned to look at you, eye grazing up and down your body before pausing on the rose you held in your hands. You moved across the chambers and placed it on the small table beside your bed, sighing. 
With contagious irritation, you moved to the side of the room and poured yourself a goblet of wine, sitting opposite Aemond on the chaise as you rose the cup to your lips, sipping the strong spiced red, anger simmering beneath your skin. 
Though, it seemed as though Aemond had bitten off his tongue, and the two of you sat in silence before the warmth of the fire, words unspoken, until the maids entered to light the candles of the chambers, and shortly after, bring your dinner.
You both moved to eat together, a tension filled silence engulfing the room. The quiet chewing and sipping was drowned out by the ever rising beat of your heart in your ears as you looked at him.
You were furious, and angry at the little part of yourself that was relieved to have him back.
Aemond placed his cutlery down onto his plate politely, sensing your heated gaze upon his face. How you wished you punch him in the side of his mouth. To dig your fingers into the cavity where his eye once sat. If only you ha-
“I did not see her.” His voice cut through the tension, and you swallowed thickly, placing your own cutlery atop your plate as you reached forward to grasp your wine. You took a gulping sip as you watched him from over the rim, waiting for him to undoubtedly continue. 
“Kīvin zijo va se Jaes Uēpys se se Sīkuda.” I swear it on the Old Gods and the Seven.
You huffed, taking the goblet from your lips, "Nyke jorepagon pōnta pryjagon ao ilagon syt aōha pirtra.” I pray they strike you down for your lies.
Aemond sneered, "Gaoman daor pirtir. Daor naejot ao. Dōrī naejot ao.” I do not lie. Not to you. Never to you.
You hummed, sipping again, “Pār īlon kessa ūndegon lo iksā pryjatan ilagon iā daor.” Then we shall see if you are struck down or not.
Aemond’s hand on the table twitched, “Kesan daor ūndegon zirȳla arlī, nyke teptan ao ñuha udir.” I will not see her again, I gave you my word.
You pressed the smile away from your lips with a frown. You nodded in agreement, picking up your cutlery again and moved to cut through a steaming piece of meat, dark gravy poured over the top, “Se kostan kivio ao, bona kesā daor.” And I can promise you, you won’t.
You will never see that whore or your bastard child again. 
And it will be because of me.
Aemond nodded, but not because he knew, which made you all the more smug, “Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys, iksā emare ñuha riña. Ñuha jorrāelagon iksis syt ao, se ao mērī.” You are my wife, you are having my child. My love is for you, and you only.
You let out a bitter laugh, “Should have thought about that before you fucked a child into her, shouldn’t you?”
The Prince stayed silent and went back to his eating, cheek twitching with words to say, but none passed his lips.
"Has the bastard been born yet?" You hummed, stabbing another piece of meat and bringing it to your lips as you chewed, Aemond's gaze darkening.
"No."
"Then how would you know that if you had not seen her?" You blinked at the Prince, biting the inside of your cheeks.
"It would be hard to not notice a chil-"
"A bastard of silver hair in a place where Strong blood once resided. I often think on it," You cut another piece of meat with your knife and fork as you felt Aemond's eye burning a hole in your face, "Would the child look like you, or would it come out resembling a Strong boy."
Aemond did not speak, and so you continued, "For years, my brothers and I, despite my obvious parentage, faced the sharp whispers and gossip fuelled by your mother. Exacerbated by you. And now, you are to have another bastard of your own. And not one that you can easily pass off as Aegon's, if she is truly a Strong."
Resting your chin on your palm, you tilted your head looking at him, "Do you even know if Helaena's children are yours? Or at least one of them? I suspected the twins, but Maelor has Aegon's soft face." You paused, watching anger fall over his face, "I wonder if mine will have it."
Aemond's hands slammed on the table as he looked down at his plate, anger radiating off of him.
"Would it not be a cruel joke from the Gods for you to have sired the King's heirs, and he to have sired yours?"
"That child is mine." He growled.
"I suppose time will tell. The bastard certainly is."
"You mean to provoke me. I have performed my duty as well as I can."
"And yet, your whore is pregnant. Who's duty was that? Certainly not that of a Prince."
Silence moved across the table as he stared at you down his nose.
In disgust.
In anger.
In rage.
"I left you a letter." His voice was impatient, as though the piece of parchment would have explained all.
"What letter?" You cocked your head, feigning ignorance.
His brow was drawn, "I left it on the table."
You raised your eyebrows in mock remembrance, opening your mouth, "Oh." Aemond's face seemed, as though the letter would soothe your only rising resentment.
"I burnt it." You smiled at him widely, and resumed your eating.
Aemond's lips twitched as he looked at you, tongue pressing on the bottom of his lip in agitation.
"Sorry, was it something important?"
Aemond did not respond, hands tightening around his knife and fork, his eye narrowed.
You hummed, chewing a piece of potato slowly before you swallowed, "Anything of importance can surely be spoken to me, and not written down on some parchment like a child writes an apology to his mother."
Aemond tossed his knife and fork onto the table angrily, standing from his chair, hands in fists as he looked at you. You looked up at your uncle, and daintily placed your cutlery atop your plate.
"What are you going to do, Aemond? Hit me? When I am with child?" He blinked down at you, eye flickering to your stomach and back up at your face again, shoulders still tensed.
"I told you when you left, when you broke your word to me. I would never forgive you. You did this. Not me." Your hand pressed to your chest angrily, "I am owed this anger. The Gods will surely forgive me, but will they forgive you?"
Sorrow burrowed its way down your throat as anger crawled up it, you looked at him, and the two met in the middle. A thick and heavy stone that was lodged in your throat that you desperately tried to swallow.
Tears stung your eyes, and you watched as Aemond's anger simmered at the sight of it. Any response that was on the tip of his tongue was lost, and Aemond moved away from you to sit at the fire, singular eye staring into the flames, leaving you to sit at the table alone.
Before long, your meal was over, and your two maids came to clear the table, and ready you for bed, slipping a silk chemise over the top of your head, unbraiding your hair, and letting the thick waves cascade down your back.
Aemond had crawled into bed before you, and you had fluttered about the chambers, delaying the inevitable, and enjoying the way he shifted beneath the sheets watching you as he waited. 
When you went to bed, and settled beneath the sheets, you rolled and turned your back to him, tucking your hands beneath your chin as you fought the urge to not laugh. It was all too much. Too much anger. Too much joy. It got all twisted and mixed together, turning your chest alight. 
You could feel the heat of his gaze from behind you and chose to ignore it, closing your eyes as Aemond blew the remaining candles out beside your bed. The chambers were basked in darkness, and eventually Aemond rolled away from you in a huff. 
A grin peaked through on your lips, hidden in the dark, and soon you fell to sleep.
DRAGONSTONE POV
A few short hours away from the shores of Kings Landing, a raven had finally arrived to Dragonstone. The small, black corvid had made its way across the sea to deliver a message to the Queen.
Queen Rhaenyra had been in her chambers, robe wrapped tightly around her body as Daemon leant his head against the front of her stomach. The once Rogue Prince, seated on an armchair by the fire, his wife standing before him, carding gentle and soft hands through his silver white hair.
"Come to bed, my love." Rhaenyra whispered, hand cupping the older mans cheek.
Daemon lifted his head to look up at the woman he adored, her violet eyes glowing in the light of the fire. She was ethereal. Beautiful. And he loved her more than anything in the world.
His large hands came to grasp at her hips, pulling her forward and into his lap, Rhaenyra straddling her uncle on the large chair. Her hands came to the tops of his shoulders, before skimming up to cradle his face.
"The hour is late." She argued, with no true argument on her lips.
"I did not know there were certain hours in which I could love you." The man smirked, hands rubbing against the flesh of her hips.
As Rhaenyra smiled, she dipped her head to catch Daemon's lips, and a knock came at the door.
Both silver heads turned sharply.
It was late.
And there would be only one reason for such a disturbance.
The pair shared a look before Rhaenyra climbed off the King Consorts lap, moving quickly as she called out to the knight to enter.
Ser Erryk Cargyll pushed through the door, bowing and apologising for the intrusion, his helm off, light brown hair pulled back and away from his face. Daemon came to stand behind his wife, always behind or beside her, to show strength, to show unity.
To be there and support her.
As one.
"There was a raven." The pale hand of the knight moved forward, parchment in his open palm as he gave it to the Queen, who all but snatched it from him.
There was no seal, and the parchment was scrunched and bent. As Rhaenyra opened it, and Daemon moved to stand beside her, they read the short message from their daughter, the Queen's hands tightening on the page.
Rhaenyra stiffened, posture straightening as she looked at the knight before her, "Wake the Maester and the Lords. We have word from the Princess."
The knight bowed, swiftly slipping out of the chambers as Rhaenyra turned to face her husband, who's eyes glinted with a dangerous rage. She could feel the fury that curled around him, and she felt her own burn her just as hotly.
"Go," Came the steady voice of the Queen, her hands dropping to her side, parchment still in one tight fist.
Daemon tilted his head, silver hair shimmering in the chamber light, as though he was unsure of what his wife had said.
Before he could open his mouth to respond, the Queen spoke again, tone final, and anger crackling just beneath.
"Before the Council can talk me out of it."
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thecatsaesthetics · 2 months ago
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Hello! Hope you're doing well. A while back you said you could write a whole thing about Alysanne being weirdly sinister about her children, especially her daughters and Baelon. I completely forgot that she did not want him to remarry after Alyssa's death which was super odd. I'd love to hear more of your thoughts on those things. If you want to that is.
I think Alysanne is an incredibly interesting character, I wouldn't call her sinister because that implies she is doing harm intentionally and I don't view her that way. Alysanne is both villain and victim, and I would classify her more as a tragic character then a sinister one.
I think Alysanne fits with the tragedy that is to be born a Targaryen woman. She is groomed from birth to be her brother's counter part, she is deemed "special" as a dragon rider, she watches as her brother-husband claims that their blood line is "exceptional" and then watches as her family becomes victims to the very common diseases and deaths that happen in Westeros. Her mother dies in childbirth, her son dies an infant, her daughter dies of plague, two of her daughters die in child birth, her son dies in battle, etc.
I think in terms of Baelon, she favored him. He was "hers" whereas Aemon was for Jaehaerys. She is the one who insisted upon a marriage between Baelon and Alyssa, despite Aemon being the son and heir (and thus being in need of a sister-wife counterpart). Baelon and Alyssa relationship mirrors that of Jaehaerys and Alysanne. You can read this meta on Alyssa, which I love because this fandom has really tried to act like Alyssa and Baelon are this "perfect" Targaryen couple but if you read the text closely you can see a bunch of issues that fans ignore.
In terms of Baelon post Alyssa, I don't think Alysanne's actions are sinister but rather her protecting herself. If she truly saw herself in Baelon and Alyssa then Baelon remarrying would be a threat to her own place in this Targaryen legacy. If Alyssa can be replaced, so could she if Jaehaerys needed. Again her marriage to Jaehaerys is what defines her, she was married as a child and groomed to be his wife.
Viserra is a threat in her mind, when really Viserra's actions scream of a child in need of help. First of all, the fact that Alysanne claims that Viserra wants to be Queen because she seems to want to marriage to her brother is very telling. Baelon was not heir at this time, and even if they knew Aemon would have no more children, it still doesn't seem likely that Baelon would have succeeded. Aemon as King could have easily declared his grandson his heir if he didn't want Rhaenys.
So how could Viserra know she would become Queen if she married Baelon? She would be a second wife to a second son. It's more likely that Viserra didn't want to be sent away from family, after watching what happened to her sisters Daella and Saera. So Alysanne's claim is more reflective upon herself, and her own desire to be Queen. And the idea of someone, even her own daughter, taking that from her is hurtful. So she chooses to send Viserra into a marriage where she would likely never seen her family again, to an aging lord (who likely had sons already). It's a punishment for attempting to take what Alysanne has been told is hers, her specialness.
It's just so fucking sad, and I don't necessarily think that Alysanne wanted to be a villain and in many ways she was a victim but she caused lasting trauma on her daughters. Similar to her sister Rhaena, who is both victim and villain, it's the lasting legacy of Targaryen women. They are the counterparts to their brother-husbands and thus also are complicit in their crimes. Alysanne really highlights this, Alysanne ends up alone on Dragonstone. After being denied the right to attempt to see her only living daughter, after being denied her granddaughters birth right, after losing her last daughter to a mysterious end. She is alone, and it seems she dies alone, for all the maesters do to push the idea that Jaehaerys had this great love for her he doesn't even seem to be there when she dies. Nor do we get any indication that he mourned her death. Alysanne is alone, abandoned in a sense. A haunting reminder that Targaryen women might be placed as a "counterpart" to their husband but can never escape or be allowed the same level of power.
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endless-ineffabilities · 2 years ago
Text
never tear us apart
Aemond Targaryen x f!Reader
part five of the prūmia va perzys (heart on fire) series
part one: don't you love me? - part two: and what of your love? - part three: the flames that divide - part four: the aftermath
themes/warnings: injury, language, dragonrider!reader (her house is not stated)
word count: 6.1k ▪︎ masterlist
The Blacks make an attempt to lift the curse cast upon the reader. Aemond does everything he can to reach Dragonstone, in hopes of seeing the reader again. A sinister plot forms, threatening to cast everything into further chaos. Or set everything right. Only time will tell.
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Alys Rivers is no stranger to pain.
When she was discarded by her mother at the steps of her apparent father’s castle at a tender age of 10, she felt it.
When her father did not completely recognize her as his daughter, relegating her to be one of the workers of his estate, she felt it.
When she had to fend off an attacker, using all of her meagre physical strength, digging her nails into the man who attempted to overcome her and take her girlhood, she felt it.
Pain is no stranger. And it is no friend, either.
But pain was something that she merely accepted, until she found the Lord of Light. Her mother sought her out years after she abandoned her, telling her that it needed to be done. She needed to leave Alys, so that she might be able to devote her days and nights to the one true Lord.
Alys should have been angry. She should have wept upon seeing her mother again, hurled questions and accusations at her as to why she left her only daughter. But strangely enough, she could not find it in herself to do so. She did not feel it was important then. Does that make her emotionless, devoid of even the slightest connection towards her mother? Perhaps, perhaps not.
All she knew was that she understood her mother’s motives. She found a sameness in how her mother was ready to sacrifice everything to Him.
The Lord of Light. The Red god. Alys found him, but already knew of her. He already knew of her pain, and he promised to take it all away. He promised her a saviour carved out of the very same pain, and strength, and sapphire-blue. The one chosen for her as a vessel into the light. Whether to love or to use as a mere tool to spread the Lord of Light’s power, she does not believe it to be in her hands. What matters is, her one-eyed prince would come and her very being would be devoted to him.
What Alys Rivers did not anticipate was that her one-eyed prince’s heart would already be spoken for. The flames did not impart that she would have to fight tooth and nail for it. For him.
She did not know that Aemond Targaryen’s heart would already be yours.
But then again, she is no stranger to pain. She felt it in the way Aemond squeezed her neck, in the way he dug his fingers into her skin until she almost turned a sick shade of sapphire-blue. Its talons buried themselves deep in her heart when her prince beloved Aemond, in all his unbridled rage, promised that he would never truly love her. Not in the way that he loves you.
No matter. He is merely lost, and I can bring him back into the light. Her delicate fingers graze the bruises on her neck, feeling him. She has already set her plan into motion, but nothing is certain. There are ways to bring you back, and she is aware of this. Her best hand is yet to be played, and there are things about to unfold. Things that will bring untether Aemond from you.
He will be mine, once y/n is consumed by the flames. After all, how can he still love you when you are gone?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Aemond has always been perceptive, ambitious, insightful. Eager to overcome any slight that his disability has added on to his existence, real or imagined.
Even before the fateful injury, he has already possessed a similar sense of pride. Self-preservation, borne out of being a Targaryen prince without a dragon, who also stands to inherit nothing. The second son. Everything he wants, he has had to carve out for himself. To take for himself.
As if to pour salt on the wound, it is clear to everyone that he is far more capable and more suited to the throne than his older brother Aegon. But this matters not, at least not whilst Aegon survives, and his sons along with him.
This thirst to prove himself, to make sure that whoever encounters him sees him as worthy, has always stayed with Aemond. He did all he could – ensured himself to be knowledgeable about the histories, philosophies, High Valyrian, battle strategy and combat expertise, the religion of the old gods and the new, and all else. There isn’t one important volume in the castle's Great Library that Aemond has not gotten his hands on, living and breathing the words, memorizing them.
Every bit of knowledge, each newly honed skill, forms into a new facet of his being. Making him better. Making him whole. All Aemond ever wanted was to belong. To be whole.
But he never thought he could achieve this without effort. Without strife to overcome. This invisible yet ever-present need to prove himself became something like a burden he has to carry. He never felt that he could belong, truly, until you.
But you had seen him. Accepted him. Aemond did not need to woo you with any embellishment, he did not need to tell you how he had memorized the histories of the Seven Kingdoms. It mattered not that he might be the most skilled swordsman of his age, having painstakingly trained each day since his tenth nameday. The allure of his status, of the power of his family, was not something that drew you to him. He quickly discovered that he never needed to impress you, he only needed to love you.
Aemond tried to fight it, but that did not last long. After all, is it not useless to deny oneself what calls out to the heart?
The day Aemond Targaryen allowed himself to love you, and be loved in return, was the day that he finally belonged.
And without you, the one-eyed prince would be unanchored.
Aemond remembers the night that you first met as he sits in his chambers, waiting. Years ago, you had rolled your eyes at him, at a prince of the Seven Kingdoms, when he said something out of turn about your friend Rhaena’s lack of a dragon. You were quick to retaliate, sharp and biting with your words. But the morning after, when you came across him sitting all by his lonesome in the library, you apologized.
Granted, you demanded his apology first, but there was something in his violet eyes. A certain awareness, a melancholy. There might be some darkness creeping in Prince Aemond’s heart, but there is an undeniable light there, too. A remnant of lost innocence. You caved in, and curiosity got the better of you. For hours, you spoke to your heart’s desire, each new subject brought up only increasing your interest in the one-eyed prince. And his interest in you was piqued in turn. From then on, countless days and nights were spent together in the comforts of the great library.
His heart swelled, perhaps for the very first time in what felt like forever, when you had fallen asleep on his shoulder one night, as he read to you about the chronicles of Princess Nymeria.
He hasn’t been the same since.
The night that has passed since he has heard of your affliction has been long and torturous, leaving him increasingly restless and stricken with worry. He had wanted to take Vhagar and fly to Dragonstone right away, without any mind to what his arrival in enemy territory would entail for him. He almost relinquished his part to play in the war. This ceaseless game that is being played out for the Iron Throne is what drew the two of you apart in the first place.
Until his mother stopped him, promising a better plan.
And so he waits.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
At the height of the hour of the owl, in one of the royal chambers of the castle in King’s Landing, something is evidently afoot. The room is bathed in warm candlelight, the shadows reflected on each individual’s sombre faces. Their voices are low, in hushed whispers, ensuring the matter at hand to be clandestine.
Alicent is stern when she commands, “You shall help your prince in this matter, Lady Mysaria. You are, after all, in the debt of your King, and by extension, our family. Whatever slights you had to endure by our hand, we implore you to forget them. Have we not made good upon our word to eradicate the fighting pits in Flea Bottom? To ensure the safety of all the children?”
Mysaria studies the Queen, her shrewd eyes taking her in. She knows that she is not being presented with a choice, not truly. Not with this matter. She notices the grey shade of exhaustion right below Aemond's empty, glazed eye, caused by hours upon hours of worrying over you. His stance is taut, like a viper prepared to strike. Eagerly awaiting whatever impediment will stand in his way, so that he might destroy it swiftly. He would do whatever is needed, even the most distasteful of actions, simply so she would assist him in reaching you.
Aemond continues to say nothing. His eye boring straight through Mysaria. She knows right away that he does not give any mind to her. She is merely a tool for him to use, so that he will see you again.
Mysaria says, in her silky, sly tone, “I know you understand our arrangement, my Queen. I come and go as I please. I give you information as I please. You have had much use for the whispers that I provide. If I were to help you now, it will be of my own volition.”
Alicent purses her lips, “Of course. That it not being contested - ”
Aemond interrupts her impatiently, “Know this, White Worm. I am commanding you to do whatever you must so that I can reach Dragonstone, discreetly. Although,” he stalks towards her, “I will see y/n again, with or without your aid. Should you choose to help me, you shall continue to walk free. Otherwise,” he turns his head away, knowing his point has already come across, “hmm.”
“Are you threatening me, Prince Aemond?”
Slowly, Aemond turns to look at her once more. Mysaria was initially resolute in meeting his gaze, showing him that she will not cave easily. But his eye darkens, his expression a quiet type of menacing, but shadowed with a sense of grim that brought a chill to her very bones.
At once, Mysaria realizes that her Prince Aemond is not to be trifled with.
“I can get you to Dragonstone soon,” she starts.
“Today,” Aemond emphasizes, determinedly.
“On the morrow,” Mysaria counters, “there will be the timed arrival of resources by ship on the island. I can arrange to have you on that very ship, accompanied by some of my trusted… whisperers.”
“That’s not soon enough.” Aemond paces away from her, not satisfied with the solution.
“You should know, my prince, that the Blacks have employed the aid of a certain priestess of the Red religion. Someone who might be capable of countering the effect of the curse laid upon your paramour. They will attempt to conduct a healing ritual tonight,” Mysaria says, knowing every word strikes true in Aemond, hope slowly creeping in his expression.
“And this priestess… Can she be trusted?”
“She has not shown any sign of being otherwise. Rest assured that once you land on Dragonstone, I can have the Lady Y/n in some place which can be easily reached by you,” she pauses, careful to add what follows, “That is, if she will awaken.”
“She will.” Aemond’s eye snaps straight to hers, burning through. “She must.”
Mysaria merely nods once, before addressing Alicent, “Queen Regent, I trust that our arrangement is to your satisfaction? Now that you know how your son will be transported to Dragonstone under my care, do you still wish to move forward with this plan?”
Alicent takes a deep breath, knowing that no matter what her decision might be, Aemond’s mind is already set in stone. He will get to you, one way or another. Better to do it in the safety of the shadows, away from the malicious notice of the Blacks.
Alicent did not fully trust Mysaria, but she trusted that this Mistress of Whisperers understood, that should she play a hand in harming Aemond, then she would not hesitate in subjecting this waiflike serpent from Lys to the worst torture imaginable.
“If Aemond wishes it, then it shall happen,” Alicent finally says, looking to her son for confirmation. Aemond straightens, before nodding, “I shall await your counsel regarding this journey. I trust that you will get everything done right, won’t you, White Worm?”
There is a vague threat lacing the end of his words, one that does not go unnoticed.
The corner of Mysaria’s mouth lifts in acknowledgement, and she curtsies slowly, before making her leave, her translucent skirts billowing behind her.
A mere moment passes, before Alicent strides closer to her son, and takes both of his hands in hers. “Aemond, this will no doubt be perilous. There is no way of knowing what the Blacks might do should they discover you. Is this truly your desire?”
Two seconds pass, four, five. It is not the first time that Aemond has been on the receiving end of his mother’s worried pleas, and he knows it will not be the last.
Taking a deep breath, and comfortingly squeezing her hands in turn, he only has you on his mind. “Yes,” he finally says, “it is.”
Alicent need not ask why. She assents, “Alright. I trust that everything will go well, and you will return to us afterward.”
The last sentence, she says mostly to herself, in desperate need of reassurance. In hopes that no harm will come to her favoured son.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
The atmosphere in the room is thick with despair and anticipation. A mixture of strange aromas infiltrate the air, making it hard to breathe.
From one side of the room, Daemon Targaryen’s face scrunches in disgust. And a whole lot of impatience. His fists are clenched on his sides, one foot tapping as the bloody witch continues her work on the seemingly vital concoction.
The Lady Cerrah kneels by the side of your bed, a small cauldron fuming by her side. Her voice comes out in deep, hushed whispers, as she performs the bulk of the spell. Her eyes are shut, and for a task of such importance, she does not seem to give off any sense of worry or agitation.
That fucking witch looks so calm. Daemon paces to another corner of the room. How the fuck can she look so calm with y/n’s very life on the line?
“Daemon,” Rhaenyra beckons to her husband, reaching for his hand, “she will be alright.”
“She best be in perfect health after all this sorcery,” he huffs in response, “otherwise, a certain witch won’t be leaving Dragonstone in the same state in which she arrived.”
Still with her eyes closed, Cerrah calls out, “Make no mistake, my prince. My hearing works just fine. We would not want to distract me from my work, lest it lead to any complication. It would not bode well for the poor Lady y/n here.”
“Our apologies.” Rhaenyra replies, also on behalf of her sulking husband, who continues to irately glare at Cerrah as if she possessed two heads.
“The rest of it, if you please, Maester.” Cerrah says, and Maester Gerardys walks forward and places a wide silver platter beside the cauldron.
Cerrah studies the contents, her fingers drifting over them as if feeling for a pulse. She takes a handful of charred wormwood and drops it in the cauldron. Next, she takes the sliver of dragonscale, retrieved from the hide of a slumbering Fyraxes, and it follows suit. The mixture hisses and bubbles as a result, the fumes growing ever stronger and more pungent.
“Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla prūmia.  Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ñelly.  Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ābrar.” Cerrah’s chanting increases in intensity, her tone sounding harsher, the words muddling over one another like a single drawn out command.
A cold, biting gust blows inside the chambers, causing the shivers to erupt on the skin of its occupants. The flames of several candles flicker then die out.
Rhaenyra’s hand tightens around Daemon’s, as she senses his distress resurfacing.
Cerrah lifts the chalice of young goat’s blood from the platter, and pours it in the cauldron, which suddenly begins to expel a bright, blue flame. It rises several feet high, the resulting heat so searing that it warms the entirety of the chambers.
Maester Gerardys and his two attendants have to wipe at their foreheads to keep beads of sweat from entering their eyes. But the Targaryens stand still, unperturbed by the blazing heat. The blood of the dragon rings true.  Queen Rhaenyra’s violet eyes mirror the flames in their vibrance, fierce and unblinking.
“Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla prūmia.  Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ñelly.  Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ābrar.” The words echo again and again, as Cerrah lowers her fingers into the cauldron, her face struggling to mask the pain it brings. Her fingers come out stained, and she stands, relentless in her chanting. She drags the potion from your hairline to the tip of your nose, painting your skin deep red, the colour of the god R’hllor.
Cerrah’s words wash over you, prayers to her high beloved. “Lord of Light,” she pleads, “take hold of her heart.” The ritual is centered on the healing of your heart, as it had been the target of Alys Rivers. Your heart had to cease, to symbolically be set in stone, so that it will not yearn to be united with its other half. The very one belonging to Prince Aemond.
Love has been the catalyst of all this pain, and only love can bring you back. The Lady Alys never would have set her tainted sights on you, had you not been the keeper of Aemond’s heart.
As you still are. As you will always remain.
“Āeksiot Ōño,” Cerrah rasps, passion punctuating her every word, “gūrogon zirȳla prūmia lenton.”
The flame in the cauldron disappears, as does all the flickering candlelight around the room. Everything is enveloped in shadow, with only the pale moonlight peering through the shutters.
All is silent, save for Cerrah’s hushed whispers.
A long moment passes, until Daemon’s growl breaks the stillness, “Why will she not awaken? This procedure has taken up nearly the entirety of a fucking hour.”
“Daemon,” Rhaenyra chastises, “perhaps you should wait outside.”
Daemon sulks, lowering his head, “No. I want to be here when she awakens.”
Rhaenyra comfortingly strokes his back, almost amused at his disposition, “Very well then.” She understands his qualms over the situation, over the notion of entrusting your wellbeing to this strange priestess. But they were at their wits’ end. They needed you back, hale and healthy.
Cerrah’s chanting stops abruptly. She lays a hand atop your nightgown, just above your heart.
“Is something the matter?” Daemon asks.
“There is… something missing.” Cerrah sighs. “I can feel the Lord calling out to me in return, but he cannot fully take a hold of myself and the Lady Y/n. It does not seem as if he can heed my plea due to a missing piece.”
“What piece, my lady?” Rhaenyra questions, growing nervous.
“A piece of her heart.” Cerrah breathes. “I need a piece of her heart.”
“You’re bloody demented, witch, if you think I will allow you to cut her open like some fucking boar.” Daemon strides forward without much thought, allowing his emotions to overcome him.
“Daemon, don’t - ” Rhaenyra tries but her words fall to deaf ears.
“You said you would bring her back to us,” Daemon grabs Cerrah’s shoulders, gripping tightly, “so, bring her back.”
“I said I would try, Prince Daemon.” Cerrah meets Daemon’s eyes unwaveringly, unperturbed by his anger. “I just need a piece of her heart. Not in the literal sense, mind you. If only you would give me a chance to explain myself first.”
Daemon releases her, stepping back, “You are in no position to reprimand me, my lady.” He adds the title mockingly. “Tell us what you need.”
“I can’t be certain about the object,” Cerrah muses, addressing everyone in the room, “but I need something that she owns, or something that was given to her out of love. A piece of her heart. Something laced with love. True love. Yes… yes, that is what we need.”
“Laced with love,” Rhaenyra whispers, something coming to mind.
Maester Gerardys looks perplexed, unable to come up with an answer. Daemon looks around, his eyes landing on your sword resting on the mantle, “What about her sword? She has fought with it since her youth. Surely it holds a special place in her heart.”
“That may not be enough.” Cerrah shrugs.
“Wait,” Rhaenyra says, before walking over to the round desk in the middle of your chambers. On top of it rests the boxes sent many days prior, the ones containing gillyflower from your own secret field. A thin layer of dust is displaced as Rhaenyra lifts the lid of one, revealing the remnants of wilting gillyflower inside.
She takes them gently, careful not to crumble the fragile flowers in her palm.                                                                                                   
“Laced with love,” she declares, meeting Cerrah’s eyes across the room. The priestess only nods in understanding. She does ask any questions. She can feel it, feel that the dull flowers in the Queen’s palm hold something more vivid that anything else in the room.
It is, in essence, a piece of a heart. From your Aemond, for you.
“It will not work.” Daemon grumbles, gripping Rhaenyra’s wrist as she approaches Cerrah, “Look at y/n. How can that one-eyed idiot claim to love her after having caused this.”
“We have no other choice, Daemon.” Rhaenyra shakes out of Daemon’s hold, and extends her palm to Cerrah, surrendering the gillyflower.
In one swift motion, Cerrah lowers the gillyflower in the cauldron. She resumes her chanting, her confidence renewed, “Gūrogon bisa jiōragon.  Iā piece hen zirȳla prūmia.  Iā object hen drēje jorrāelagon. Dovaogēdy, mijegon sȳndror, vok.”  Take this offering. A piece of her heart. An object of true love. Unsullied. Without the strain of darkness. Pure.
She dips her fingers once more in the deep red mixture, and flits them over your lips. With your mouth now stained crimson, the flame reignites in the cauldron.
From the shadows, your spirit awakens. You faintly hear an unfamiliar voice, a woman calling out to you from the void. You sense a light, glowing in the periphery.
“Ivestragī jorrāelagon jemagon se ñuhoso.” Let love lead the way, you hear the voice again.
You gather your strength, aching to find home in your body once more. Struggling against the haze that confines you to weightlessness, disconnecting you from reality, you will yourself to return.
For the final time, the flame dies in the cauldron. The room is neither warm, nor cold. Everything becomes still. Quiet.
All at once, your crimson-stained lips part, panting for air. Your fingers curl at your nightgown, seeking to feel something again, anything.
Nobody can attempt to conceal their amazement.
“Gods be good,” Maester Gerardys gasps in awe.
“God,” Cerrah haughtily corrects, all the more feeling that she has a right to, as she gazes upon the result of her work.
“Silence.” Daemon commands, as he walks over to your bedside, “Y/n?”
At the height of the hour of the owl, nearly a fortnight after being cast in the shadows by Alys Rivers, the Lady Y/n finds her way back to the light. To the living world filled with suffering and bliss. Of hatred and desire.
Ultimately aided by Aemond Targaryen’s love, you had been coaxed out of the darkness.
In the caves underneath the castle in Dragonstone, one particular dragon shakes back into consciousness.  A deep, resounding growl builds in Fyraxes’ chest, threatening to escape.
When it does, it reaches even the farthest corner of the island.
Finally, you open your eyes.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Your muscles ache as you reorient yourself with movement, leaning against the windowsill. The cool morning air is nothing but a welcome sensation, and you cannot resist taking deep breaths of it, the smell of the sea creeping up your nostrils. Rolling out your neck, you let out a faint groan.
“You should rest, y/n. The maester has advised you from engaging in strenuous activity of any kind.” Rhaenyra suggests. She and Daemon have steadily kept you company since you had awoken, themselves forsaking the comforts of slumber.
“I’d wager that the maester prefers me to not make any movement at all,” you jest, walking over to the table, and sitting down slowly. You take another plum from the plate brought over by your lady-in-waiting, and devour it eagerly, juices flowing down to your chin.
“Easy there, y/n,” Daemon chuckles, “or you might just exhaust Dragonstone’s supply of fruit.”
The doors open, and in enters Jacaerys, a relieved expression on his face.
“Y/n,” he rushes over to you, and squeezes you with both arms, “don’t you ever do that to us again.”
“Alright,” you smile, “I’ll try not to be put under some inexplicable curse. What a burden it turned out to be.”
“Right,” Jace nearly punches your shoulder in jest, but catches himself at the last second, “I am glad you are finally awake.”
“Jacaerys,” Daemon says, “why don’t you arrange for Fyraxes to be taken at the eastern coast, somewhere close to the docks, so that y/n might reunite with her dragon as well as enjoy the morning sunlight.”
Your face lights up at the thought, “She is okay? I would love to see her again.”
“Of course,” Jace nods in agreement, before quickly planting a kiss on your cheek, “leave it to me. Y/n here could benefit from a bit of fresh air. Besides,” he winks at you, “you kind of reek of stale sheets and sweat. The outdoors should do you a world of good.”
A hearty laugh escapes your lips, the first one after a very long while.
“You arse,” you call out to Jace’s retreating back.
“You mean, royal arse.” He counters lightly, humour lacing his tone. He politely nods to his sires, before leaving the chambers.
It is not long after his departure before Rhaenyra decides to address the low hanging question, “Perhaps we should talk about this… curse that you were dealt. A grievous harm had befallen you, and by extension, us. Rest assured that the one behind this assault will be put to justice.”
“I trust that you have some inkling as to who possesses the ability and the motivation to harm you, y/n.” Daemon adds, looking out the window in thought.
Rhaenyra says, “We have determined that it had been the work of a priestess - ”
“A demented witch.” Daemon interjects, sneering.
Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, before continuing, “It was a priestess of R’hllor who did this to you. The consensus seems to be that it may have been Alys Rivers, Aemond’s apparent consort. Well, at least she was. Word has reached us that the wedding has been called off, by none other than Aemond himself.”
So, he has followed through on his word. You straighten, letting the news settle over you. They are not to be wed, but what does this entail? He did mention something about keeping her in his employ.
“And if it is that wretch who placed a curse upon you, then it must have been at the behest of her master.” Daemon determinedly says, not a trace of doubt in his mind.
You feel empty. In the literal sense, as you had not been able to consume anything for too long, before this morning. Your head feels light and floaty, like you are a newborn babe finding her bearings.
But it is another matter entirely, the way that possibility makes you feel hollow inside. That Aemond may have been behind this ploy. That he had tricked you, and is not to be trusted.
“He couldn’t.” your voice comes out weak, tinged with doubt, “He would never do this to me.”
“I must admit that I feel inclined to agree with you, as it was the gillyflower sent by him that rendered the ritual effective. We needed something given out of love, and it worked.” Rhaenyra reaches for your hand, “However, it might be best if you do not see him. Even if he did not play a hand in the curse, as you believe, he could still lead Alys to you.”
You shut your eyes, leaning back against your seat. Nodding your head once, you attempt a smile at Rhaenyra, but it does not reach your eyes, “I wish to see Fyraxes.”
“Of course,” Rhaenyra stands, “I shall fetch someone to escort you.”
“No need,” Daemon says, “you’ll find Ser Erryk waiting outside. I had anticipated your desire to see your dragon, y/n, and I have already alerted the knight to keep a close eye on you.”
Rhaenyra pauses, this knowledge not having been shared with her, but she lets it pass. After all, Daemon truly cares about you, and would only be attending to your needs, especially in your fragile state.
“Thank you, Daemon.” You take his arm as he escorts you out of the room at a sluggish pace, your body still lacking its former vigour.
You hope that seeing Fyraxes might keep any thought of Aemond at bay, even though you already know that it will be for naught. Sooner rather than later, he will find his way back to your mind. To your heart.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
The waves have been harsh and unrelenting, the wind threatening to make Aemond’s hood fall to his shoulders. He kept a tight grip on his cloak, as he sat in the quarterdeck of the hunkering supply ship. His royal garb has been exchanged for commoner’s clothing. All measures had to be taken to conceal his true identity.
The White Worm’s supposed whisperers were a pair of fishermen, regular workers on the ship, responsible for gathering the greater part of their freshwater fish reserves. They had stood to the side, always a few feet from the Prince, should any trouble come up.
But fortunately, it did not. The long journey from King’s Landing to Dragonstone remained uneventful. 
The ship had docked nearly half an hour ago, and the two fishermen led Aemond further onto the island. The small group had only been walking for a quarter of a mile, before one of the men turns to address Aemond, “Continue down this path,” he gestures forward, “for just a good few minutes, my prince. Then you will find what you came for.”
Aemond looks to where the man is pointing, seeing nothing but the same jagged rocks. There is no path. This might as well be a fucking ambush.
The taller of the men notices the prince’s hesitation. “Head down this way, Prince Aemond. It is understandable if you think that your trust is misplaced in us, but know that the White Worm does not turn back on her word.”
Aemond turns away in contemplation, watching as the waves slam against the eastern edge of Dragonstone.
“Hmm.” What other choice does he have, if he wishes to reach you?
Mindfully keeping his hand on the dagger by his belt, he marches forward, tilting his head in acknowledgement to both men as he passes them by.
Aemond is only partially giving mind to any potential threat, his focus unconsciously straying back to you. He is not even certain of what he will find as he walks further, but he wants only one thing.
To see you again. He holds on to the hope that whatever ritual conducted has been successful, and that you are free from the clutches of  Alys’ spell.
That is the one thing that can set things right. The very thing keeping his sanity intact.
You are the final strand of light keeping Aemond from completely yielding himself into darkness. 
Not too far away, Fyraxes stretches on a clearing amongst the rocks. Your hands glide over her scales, the feeling of her immediately making you at ease. She groans in satisfaction, mirroring your relief.
Your brow furrows as you notice her tense abruptly, craning her long neck to the side, seemingly sensing a new arrival.
“Skoros iksis pirta?” What’s wrong?
Leaning against her, you can’t help but brace yourself against danger. Dragonstone might be a steadfast fort, easily defensible against explicit attacks, but you now know better than to underestimate the reach of dark magic.
Fryaxes groans, not one of displeasure or alarm, but rather, recognition. Familiarity. A call you knew all too well. Whomever she sees coming is far from an enemy. Could it be Daemon? Rhaenyra? Surely it cannot be Ser Erryk, who has just taken leave to allow you some time alone with Fyraxes.
You take a few steps toward the direction she watches in anticipation, the faint sound of rapid footfall reaching your ears. You think to call out to ask who goes there, but the words never leave you. You see him.
Aemond comes into view, and your knees almost buckle from underneath you, your body seemingly remembering how delicate it has become.
His familiar shapely lips are parted in amazement, taking you in. Reaching up, he lowers his cloak, his silver hair a stark contrast to the dark cloth.
“Aemond,” is all you can say. And that was all it took. Aemond’s legs move on their volition, drawn to the sound of your voice. He pauses right in front of you, his hand reaching to caress your face, and you cannot find the strength to protest. You are not certain that you even want to. Whatever peril he might pose, your skin still yearns for his touch.
His hands gently hold either side of your face. He notices how you appear slightly gaunt, frailer, and it torments him. Immediately, he is compelled to punish the woman who caused you to be this way.
But for now, he relishes in the elation that only you can bring him. 
“Y/n,” he whispers, his voice breaking. Carefully, as if fearing that you might break against him, he presses his forehead to yours. 
“Aemond,” you say, stronger this time. A hundred questions threaten to spill from your lips, but you reel them in, save for just one. “What are you doing here?”
He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. “What am I doing here?” He repeats, making it sound like the answer is supposed to be the most obvious thing in all the realm.
“What am I doing here?” he scoffs, repeating the question yet again, and right away, you know. 
“Avy jorrāelan,” Aemond says, quelling whatever worry remains in you, “That is why.”
I love you. Of course. It truly is the most obvious thing in all the realm.
Your lips meet, finding home in each other once more.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
In another part of the sprawling castle, a clandestine meeting takes place. At the bottom of a turnpike stair, at the end of the long and narrow hallway, there lies a room cloaked in shadow.
Three individuals stand inside, only able to speak freely to one another in this very room. At least, when it concerns Aemond Targaryen… and you.
“Has he reached the island?” The mastermind speaks. Who else can it be but the Rogue Prince himself?
Mysaria replies, “Indeed he has. He is convening with Lady Y/n as we speak. Everything is unfolding according to your plan, my prince.”
Daemon sneers, “Very good.” He turns to the other person in the room, “And you made certain that the Queen remains unaware of what transpires?”
“Queen Rhaenyra does not know that Prince Aemond is on Dragonstone, my prince.” Ser Erryk affirms. “I swore fealty to the Queen, and as you said, this plan is solely carried out in her best interest. I will not turn my back on this.”
Daemon’s pride swells. Soon enough, his beloved nephew will atone for his crimes.
And the rest of the Greens shall fall.
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So who suspected that Daemon may be up to his usual serving of chaos? Alys Rivers will still play her role, but the more realistic threat to yours and Aemond's romance will be our very own uncle-daddy. You guys seriously didn't think that he would just everything slide, did you?
Wow did this take so long to post!?!?! I still don't think that long of a wait was worth it, and I'll try my hardest to get the next part done sooner :)
Thank you thank you to all of you who follow this series, routinely flooding my inbox with requests for the next part when I take too long. 🖤 Hehe yous are aces.
Apologies if I missed anyone on the taglist - it has gotten all too long (which is a good thing, after all) but I suck at organizing it, so I hope this post finds you well if I failed to tag you. 🤍
Series taglist: @crazylokonugget @xinyourdreamsx @raging-panda @zelzablues @whitejuliana1204 @caught-in-the-afterglow @a-demon-daughter @meilikki @carlottalhn @aemondswh0re @afro-hispwriter @xcinnamonmalfoyx @ietss @writer-lee5 @solacestyles @noneedtosearch @umavvitch @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @inpraizeof @evye47 @kellzlib @janelongxox @daydreamerblues @hearmeout-inc @marrianena @poisonedsultana @lithebunnyq @nushy @foras @thesheelfsworld @abcrosia @anangelwhodidntfall @kyrieshoka @katefullerrr @gxthicwxrm @bluscryn @lwqfhp @vampxra @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @justsumtuffstuff @verycollectivecreator @chiyausu @mistalli @buttercupstrand @cullenswife @blacpiink @darylandbethfanforever9 @pockcock @alexayoonlee (continued in comments)
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ofliterarynature · 1 month ago
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TBR TAKEDOWN: GOODREADS, WEEK 5b
Heartstone (Heartstone #1) by Elle Katharine White
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I'm trying to trim down my tbr list(s) and I'm asking for your help! Descriptions and more info under the cut. Please reblog and add your thoughts!
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A debut historical fantasy that recasts Jane Austen’s beloved Pride & Prejudice in an imaginative world of wyverns, dragons, and the warriors who fight alongside them against the monsters that threaten the kingdom: gryphons, direwolves, lamias, banshees, and lindworms.
They say a Rider in possession of a good blade must be in want of a monster to slay—and Merybourne Manor has plenty of monsters.
Passionate, headstrong Aliza Bentaine knows this all too well; she’s already lost one sister to the invading gryphons. So when Lord Merybourne hires a band of Riders to hunt down the horde, Aliza is relieved her home will soon be safe again.
Her relief is short-lived. With the arrival of the haughty and handsome dragonrider, Alastair Daired, Aliza expects a battle; what she doesn’t expect is a romantic clash of wills, pitting words and wit against the pride of an ancient house. Nor does she anticipate the mystery that follows them from Merybourne Manor, its roots running deep as the foundations of the kingdom itself, where something old and dreadful slumbers . . . something far more sinister than gryphons.
It’s a war Aliza is ill-prepared to wage, on a battlefield she’s never known before: one spanning kingdoms, class lines, and the curious nature of her own heart.
Date added: 2017
Goodreads: 3.79
Storygraph: 3.78
PRO:
Alternate history! Historical fantasy! Dragons!
Entire series is available from the library in my preferred format (audiobook)
CON:
YA or maybe not?
Sometimes things inspired by P&P are bad. Frequently.
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davos-allyrion · 1 month ago
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𓆩♕𓆪 MUST I BOW? 𓆩♕𓆪
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(Starter with @theprincessofd0rne, after Davos' absence from the Dornish council, rumors surrounding him resurface, prompting the princess to ask on her own volition.)
To Her Grace, Aliandra Martell, Princess of Dorne,
It is said that the sun sees all, yet it seems the shadows cast by its light are more fertile ground for tales than truth. The rumors that reach your ears about my dealings at Godsgrace are as colorful as the sands of the Red Mountains, though less reliable than the shifting dunes. Still, it would be poor form to dismiss a royal inquiry without due care, and so I will offer you the clarity you seek.
First, let us dispense with the idea that Godsgrace remains peaceful through any sinister design of mine. If peace is sustained here, it is because I rule with the same principle that you guide Dorne: a steady course, bending only where wisdom demands. Men whisper of disappearances, of vanished enemies—but those enemies would be better served accounting for their own missteps, for I have neither the time nor inclination to murder every fool who raises his voice against me. If I was to dedicate myself to such endeavors, I imagine the halls of Godsgrace would be far emptier than they are.
As for rituals and forgotten gods—well, I do not deny that I disappear from time to time. But my absence is not for the purpose of cloaked rites or blood sacrifices. There are matters that require my hand, and there are questions that cannot be answered within the confines of a lord’s hall. If I wander, it is in search of knowledge and allies, not spirits and curses. Dorne has its share of forgotten gods, true enough, but I have yet to find one worth kneeling to—or one whose favor could do more for me than my own family and wits.
It amuses me, I confess, that these rumors have found their way to you. Your family has long been the architects of Dornish identity, shaping the desert’s story with skill unmatched by any chronicler. Yet even the most storied legacy is not without fault, and my opinion of the Martells remains unchanged. You opened Dorne to the dragons and bent the knee to their fire, forging peace at a cost I would not have paid. I do not hold this against you personally, Princess Aliandra, but I will not deny that I rule my corner of Dorne with less reverence for the decisions of your ancestors than some might prefer.
Nonetheless, I respect you as a ruler. Sunspear remains the heart of our land, and it beats strongly under your hand. If I was not confident in your leadership, I might not bother responding at all. But know this: while I keep my distance, it is not from disrespect, but preference. The council chambers of Sunspear do not interest me nearly as much as the lands I must govern and the people I must protect. If that means sending Nymeria or Kierra in my stead, it is because I trust them to represent me well, not because I scorn the Martell throne.
If there is aught else you would know, you need only send word. Godsgrace stands as it always has: unshaken by the whispers of cowards. Should those whispers ever grow into something more, you may rest assured I will meet them with the strength of my name and my house.
May the sun shine kindly upon you, and may the sands remember your rule fondly.
Davos Allyrion,
Lord of Godsgrace.
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book--brackets · 3 months ago
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Summaries under the cut
The Mistmantle Chronicles by M. I. McAllister
On a night of riding stars, a tiny squirrel is found abandoned and close to death on a distant beach. Adopted and raised by a kindly, eccentric squirrel, Urchin has no idea of his powerful destiny or of the way he will influence the island of Mistmantle.
The rule of the good King Brushen and Queen Spindle is threatened by an evil plot from within the court. When their young prince is found murdered, the isle is thrown into turmoil. Behind the scenes, the wicked Lord Husk and Lady Aspen are determined to take control. But to underestimate the power of the islanders and the ancient prophecies is a big mistake...
Larklight by Philip Reeve
Arthur (Art) Mumby and his irritating sister Myrtle live with their father in the huge and rambling house, Larklight, travelling through space on a remote orbit far beyond the Moon. One ordinary sort of morning they receive a correspondence informing them that a gentleman is on his way to visit, a Mr Webster. Visitors to Larklight are rare if not unique, and a frenzy of preparation ensues. But it is entirely the wrong sort of preparation, as they discover when their guest arrives, and a Dreadful and Terrifying (and Marvellous) adventure begins. It takes them to the furthest reaches of Known Space, where they must battle the evil First Ones in a desperate attempt to save each other - and the Universe.
La Quete d'Ewilan by Pierre Bottero
Quand Camille vit le poids lourd qui fonçait droit sur elle, elle se figea au milieu de la chaussée. Son irrépressible curiosité l'empêcha de fermer les yeux et elle n'eut pas le temps de crier... Non, elle se retrouva couchée à plat ventre dans une forêt inconnue plantée d'arbres immenses.
- Te voici donc, Ewilan. Nous t'avons longtemps cherchée, mes frères et moi, afin d'achever ce qui avait été commencé, mais tu étais introuvable...
Adventure by Enid Blyton
For Philip, Dinah, Lucy-Ann and Jack, the holiday in Cornwall is everything they'd hope for - until they begin to realize that something very sinister is taking place on the mysterious Isle of Gloom.
But they're not prepared for the dangerous adventure that awaits them in the abandoned copper mines and secret tunnels beneath the sea.
Just William by Richmal Crompton
Whether it's trying to arrange a marriage for his sister or taking a job as a boot boy as step one in his grand plan to run away, Just William manages to cause chaos wherever he goes.
Storybound by Marissa Burt
In the land of Story, children go to school to learn to be characters: a perfect Hero, a trusty Sidekick, even the most dastardly Villain. They take classes on Outdoor Experiential Questing and Backstory, while adults search for full-time character work in stories written just for them.
In our world, twelve-year-old Una Fairchild has always felt invisible. But all that changes when she stumbles upon a mysterious book buried deep in the basement of her school library, opens the cover, and suddenly finds herself transported to the magical land of Story.
But Story is not a perfect fairy tale. Una’s new friend Peter warns her about the grave danger she could face if anyone discovers her true identity. The devious Tale Keeper watches her every move. And there are whispers of a deadly secret that seems to revolve around Una herself....
The Cooper Kids Adventures by Frank E. Peretti
When teenagers Jay and Lila Cooper and their archaeologist father travel to Nepur, an uninviting land of deserts and danger, they must search to uncover the truth behind an ancient legend. Locals claim that inside a dark cavern called the Dragon's Throat is a forbidden Door that brings certain death to anyone who tries to open it.
Armed with the knowledge that God is more powerful than any legend or curse, Jay and Lila plunge down into the Dragon's Throat, determined to find out what awaits them on the other side of the Door. This daring tale will have you on the edge of your seat.
Nim by Wendy Orr
A girl. An iguana. An island. And e-mail. Meet Nim–a modern-day Robinson Crusoe! She can chop down bananas with a machete, climb tall palm trees, and start a fire with a piece of glass. So she’s not afraid when her scientist dad sails off to study plankton for three days, leaving her alone on their island. Besides, it’s not as if no one’s looking after her–she’s got a sea lion to mother her and an iguana for comic relief. She also has an interesting new e-mail pal. But when her father’s cell-phone calls stop coming and disaster seems near, Nim has to be stronger and braver than she’s ever been before.
And she’ll need all her friends to help her.
The Dragonfly Pool by Eva Ibbotson
Tally Hamilton is furious to hear she is being sent from London to a horrid, stuffy boarding school in the countryside. And all because of the stupid war. But Delderton Hall is a far more" "unusual and " interesting" place than Tally ever imagined, and she soon falls in love with its eccentric staff and pupils. Now she's even organizing an exciting school trip to the kingdom of Bergania . . . although Tally never expected to meet the "prince."
Prince Karil hates his life at the palace and he is only truly happy when he escapes to the dragonfly pool, a remote spot in the forests of Bergania. Then Karil meets a feisty English girl who brings the promise of adventure. But his country is under threat, and the prince soon looks to his new friend Tally for survival as well as friendship . . .
Mandie by Lois Gladys Leppard
Mandie Shaw, almost a teenager, is certain God no longer loves her as she watches her father being lowered into his grave. Mandie's move into a neighbor family's home, when her mother remarries, does not soften her grief. Her only comfort is the promise from her father's faithful Cherokee friend, Uncle Ned, to watch out for her and be a friend. Will Mandie be able to escape her new and nearly intolerable home situation? Will she find her long-lost family? Will the mysterious key unlock the door to the secret tunnel and her own family's history?
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