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novaursa · 5 months ago

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Fires That Never Freeze

- Summary: You receive the news about Rhaenys' death at Rook's Rest, before Jace arrives as he secures the Twins.

- Paring: targ!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is bonded to a dragon. These events happen after The Heir of Ice and Ash. To read all parts in chronological order, or more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 524

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

You cradle your son, Killian, against your chest, his soft breath a soothing rhythm amidst the storm brewing in your heart. His dark hair is thick for one so young, a stark contrast to your own silver strands that cascade down like a river of moonlight, braided intricately yet now trembling at the edges as you shudder with grief. His violet eyes—your eyes—peek up at you in curiosity, innocent to the world that has been drenched in blood and betrayal. You wish you could preserve this innocence forever, shield him from the horrors beyond these stone walls, but you know all too well that the winds of war spare no one.

The letter lies crumpled beside you, the wax seal of the Three-Headed Dragon snapped in two. The words are still fresh, cutting through you like Valyrian steel, sharper than any sword you could ever wield. Your grandmother—brave, indomitable Rhaenys—is gone. The Queen Who Never Was met her end at Rook’s Rest, where she and Meleys faced the combined fury of Vhagar and Sunfyre. The account is almost too monstrous to believe: how Meleys’ head was severed and paraded as a trophy, how Aegon the Usurper was carried away like a broken thing, sealed in a crate to hide his mangled form. They say he is scarcely more than a corpse now, held together only by pride and the twisted whims of fate.

Your tears fall silently, trailing over Killian’s soft cheeks as he looks up at you, gurgling without a care in the world. He knows nothing of what has been lost, what will never be.

Suddenly, you feel Cregan’s presence behind you—warm and steady like the roots of an ancient tree. He kneels by your side, his grey eyes searching yours with concern. His large, calloused hand rests gently on your back, grounding you in the present. “Y/N,” he murmurs, voice soft as the snow falling outside. “I heard. The raven...”

You can’t find the strength to speak, so you only nod. He understands without needing further words; he always has. The Lord of Winterfell was never meant for courtly games or gilded halls, but here in the cold North, his honesty and strength have become your rock amidst all the chaos. Yet even his unwavering strength can’t shield you from this hurt.

“I thought dragons were… unkillable,” Cregan says after a pause, his voice rough with both sorrow and disbelief. “The stuff of legends, creatures older than men, forged in fire. I thought they were eternal.”

You blink away the tears that threaten to blind you and force yourself to meet his gaze. There is no room for illusions, not in this world where even gods bleed. “Anything can be killed, Cregan,” you whisper, voice trembling yet laced with a fierce conviction. “Even the gods. Even kings and Kingmakers alike.” The venom laced in the last words is unmistakable. Ser Criston Cole, the leech in royal armor, the wretched man who enabled this war to take root with his false oaths and blackened soul—how you despise him. The thought of him twisting the fate of nations with his cruelty makes bile rise in your throat

Cregan’s brow furrows as he takes in your words. He knows of your distaste for Cole, for all those who put ambition over loyalty, who would see the world burn if only to rule over the ashes. He moves closer, wrapping a protective arm around you and Killian. “You’re right,” he says quietly, his voice a deep rumble, “but we’re still here, and we’ll fight back for those we’ve lost. For those who remain.”

Killian shifts in your arms, cooing softly, as if sensing the turmoil in your heart. You lean into Cregan’s warmth, letting yourself take solace in the strength he offers. “Rhaenys was always so brave,” you murmur, your voice breaking slightly. “She defied them all her life, never once bending to their will. They feared her because she was a woman who would not be cowed, and now… they parade her death like some kind of victory.”

“They can parade all they like,” Cregan says, his voice turning steely, “but a victory built on treachery and murder will crumble. Aegon’s body may still cling to life, but his cause is already rotting from within. The realm will see it.”

His words, though meant to comfort, bring little ease. The war rages on, and with it, the losses mount like a tolling bell. Your heart aches, both for those who have fallen and for those who must still face what lies ahead. Yet, as you look down at Killian, you feel a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. He is a symbol of all you fight for—a future not bound by the horrors of the past, but shaped by those who endure.

“Thraxata will know,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Cregan, your thoughts turning to your own dragon, the Midnight Fury. “She will mourn with me.”

Cregan tightens his grip around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. “And when the time comes, she’ll fight with you too, alongside us all. This isn’t over, Y/N. We have something they’ll never understand—a love forged in fire and ice, bound by loyalty.”

You close your eyes and let yourself be held, the flicker of strength in your chest rekindling. The tears still fall, but now, with every drop, there is something else too—a growing resolve. Rhaenys’ death will not be in vain. The world will hear the roar of her legacy through you, through your son, and through every soul that refuses to bow to the false kings who sit on thrones built on blood.

For now, you hold your family close, taking what comfort you can in the warmth of Cregan’s embrace, in the small heartbeat thrumming steadily against your chest. The autumn winds howl outside, but here, amidst stone and fur, there is still love, still life. The storm may rage, but you will not break.

Not yet.

The weirwood stands tall and ancient, its pale bark almost glowing in the dim twilight. The blood-red leaves flutter softly in the breeze, a stark contrast against the gray skies overhead. You feel small before it, like a child gazing up at something vast and unfathomable. The face carved into the heart tree’s trunk stares down at you with those deep, knowing eyes, as if it sees not just you, but every thought, every secret tucked away in the recesses of your soul.

You’ve been standing here longer than you intended, lost in the quiet of this sacred place. Yet, beneath the peace, there’s an unease gnawing at you. The chill of autumn clings to your skin, sharper now, more present. It crawls into your bones, but you can’t bring yourself to move. You’re here, but not truly—your thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind.

For a moment, everything sharpens. You feel the press of the cold more keenly now, and your breath curls in the air like faint wisps of smoke. Then, the world begins to shift. The rustle of the leaves grows distant, muffled, until it’s almost drowned out by something else—a whisper that’s barely more than a breath, carried on the wind. You stiffen, your heart quickening. It’s a voice, faint yet clear as the first crack of ice on a frozen lake.

Y/N.

It speaks your name, though you cannot tell whether it’s a man’s voice or a woman’s. It sounds old, ageless even, and it seems to echo within your mind as much as in the air around you. A rush of images floods your vision—flashes of faces, places, events yet to come or perhaps already past. You see fire and blood, wings spreading wide against a burning sky. There’s the glint of steel, a flash of a crown—someone crying out, their voice lost in a roar of flames.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the frenzy halts. You stagger back a step, your surroundings snapping back into focus, the world real again. But the cold clings to you, more than it did before. The weirwood watches you, its eyes holding secrets it will never share. You swallow, trying to steady your breath, your heart pounding loud enough to drown out all else.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, pulling you back fully to the present.

You turn, dazed, and see Cregan striding toward you, his expression tense with concern. Behind him is Maester Kennet, his gray robes fluttering as he hurries to keep pace. Cregan’s eyes are locked on you, his brows drawn together, the worry evident in his every movement. “What’s wrong? You’ve been out here too long—it’s freezing.” His tone is gentle, but there’s an edge to it, the underlying fear for your well-being.

You blink, still feeling the lingering echoes of the vision, the remnants of those hurried images flickering in your mind’s eye. “I… I’m fine,” you say, but your voice is shakier than you intend, betraying the truth of your unease.

Cregan stops in front of you, reaching out to cup your cheek with one roughened hand, his thumb brushing against your cold skin. “You don’t look fine, love,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours as if trying to find the cause of whatever has you so shaken. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” you admit, closing your eyes briefly as you lean into his touch. “The weirwood… I thought I heard something. Saw something.”

Maester Kennet approaches cautiously, his gaze darting between you and the heart tree. “The Old Gods have their ways of sending messages, Lady Y/N,” he says softly. “The weirwoods are their eyes, their ears. It is not unheard of for them to reach out to those who carry their favor.”

Cregan frowns at that, his grip on you tightening protectively. “She’s been out here too long, alone,” he says, not taking his eyes off you. “Whatever she saw or heard can wait until she’s had some rest.”

But Maester Kennet shakes his head, his face grim as he pulls a folded letter from his robes. “I wouldn’t have interrupted if it weren’t important. A raven came not long ago—from the Twins. Your brother, Jacaerys, has secured passage for his forces. He’s on his way to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

The words bring a sudden, fierce surge of emotion—relief mixed with dread. Jacaerys is alive, fighting as he always promised he would. Yet with every victory comes new dangers, new battles. And the visions, whatever they meant, linger in your mind like a shadow cast over the joy of the news.

Cregan, ever perceptive, sees the conflict in your eyes and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “We’ll face whatever comes,” he promises, his voice a low rumble, the kind that always makes you feel like you’re standing on solid ground, even when the world tilts.

You manage a small smile, nodding. “Yes…”

But as you glance back at the weirwood, its face still and expressionless, you can’t shake the feeling that the Old Gods are watching more keenly than ever. The autumn winds whisper secrets you’re not sure you want to hear, and deep in your heart, you sense that whatever lies ahead, the choices you make will ripple far beyond the snow-covered hills of the North.

With a deep breath, you turn away from the tree, allowing Cregan’s steady presence to guide you back toward Winterfell, leaving the whispers of the gods behind—for now.

The winds bite sharper today, swirling through the bare branches of the godswood and over the snow-covered battlements of Winterfell. You stand beside Cregan at the edge of the courtyard, your cloak pulled tight against the chill. Thraxata looms behind you, her obsidian scales gleaming in the pale winter light. The Midnight Fury’s violet eyes are fixed on the skies above, where your brother is soon to arrive. The air hums with anticipation, the kind that makes your heart race and your fingers twitch. Beside you, Cregan rests a hand on the pommel of his sword, his gaze as steady as the stone walls that surround you.

“Are you ready?” Cregan’s voice is low, warm like a hearth fire, grounding you in the present moment.

You nod, though the tension in your chest remains. “I haven’t seen Jacaerys in so long. I only hope he’s as safe as his letter claimed.”

Cregan squeezes your hand, a brief but reassuring gesture. “If he’s anything like you, he’ll be stronger than ever.”

You smile at his words, but the edge of worry still lingers. War changes people, molds them into something else—sometimes into something harder, colder. You’ve seen it already in the eyes of the soldiers who have passed through Winterfell, men whose laughter now rings hollow, whose smiles are mere shadows. What has the war made of your brother?

Before your thoughts can spiral further, the distant roar of a dragon echoes through the sky, accompanied by the deep flap of massive wings. All eyes turn upward, and there—emerging from the rolling clouds—is Vermax. His green and bronze scales shimmer with an ethereal glow against the muted grays of the northern sky, his wings outstretched as he circles lower. Your heart lifts at the sight, despite everything.

Thraxata rumbles low in her throat, a sound that’s half-greeting, half-challenge. She shifts, restless, her powerful tail sweeping across the ground and leaving deep grooves in the snow. You place a calming hand on her side, feeling the heat radiating from her scales, even in the biting cold. “Easy, girl,” you murmur, though a part of you understands her unease. The bond between dragon and rider is one forged in fire and instinct—Thraxata senses your tension as clearly as you do.

Vermax lands with a powerful thud in the courtyard, snow scattering like dust beneath his claws. Jacaerys dismounts swiftly, his dark curls wild from the wind, his face shadowed with exhaustion and resolve. His eyes—dark brown—search the crowd until they find you. Despite the grimness that hangs about him, a grin breaks across his face.

“Y/N!” His voice is hoarse, but filled with unmistakable affection.

You rush forward, closing the distance between you, and throw your arms around him. For a moment, you’re children again, finding comfort in each other amidst the storms that have always threatened to tear your family apart. But the moment is brief, tinged with the weight of all that has passed. When you pull back, you can see the subtle changes in him—the deeper lines etched into his face, the hardened edge in his gaze.

“Brother,” you breathe, cupping his face, your thumb brushing against the scar just above his brow—a mark of a recent battle, no doubt. “You’ve grown into a man of war.”

Jacaerys huffs a quiet laugh, though it lacks the lightness it once held. “It seems the war gives us little choice in what we become.” His gaze flickers over your shoulder, landing on Cregan. “Lord Stark,” he greets formally, though the respect in his tone is genuine. “Your hospitality has been unmatched. It’s a comfort to know my sister has found such a strong ally—and husband.”

Cregan inclines his head, his usual sternness softened slightly by a hint of warmth. “Your family is ours now, Jacaerys. Winterfell stands with you, as do the men of the North. We fight together.”

The words, though simple, carry a promise, one that Jacaerys seems to take solace in. He nods, a flicker of relief crossing his features before his expression grows serious once more. “The Twins have bent the knee. Their armies are ready to march when we give the word. The Riverlands will rally to our cause, though they’ve suffered much at the hands of the greens.”

You clench your fists at your sides, feeling the familiar fire of rage ignite in your belly at the thought of those who serve the usurper, those who’ve turned against your mother, against your family. “We’ll make them pay for every drop of blood spilled,” you vow, your voice cold with determination. “They’ll learn the price of treachery when fire and blood rain upon them.”

Jacaerys’ gaze meets yours, a shared understanding passing between you. “We will, sister,” he says quietly. “But we must be wise in how we strike. Our enemies are many, and some hide in shadows even we haven’t uncovered.”

As he speaks, the men of Winterfell gather closer, eager to hear news from the South. Thraxata moves to stand beside Vermax, her violet eyes fixed on him, a low rumble vibrating through her chest. Vermax, ever the more temperate of the two, remains still, watching her with a calm curiosity. The two dragons are like night and day, one fierce and unpredictable, the other steady and patient—a reflection of the bond shared between their riders.

Maester Kennet steps forward from the crowd, ever the dutiful servant, and bows his head. “My lord, my lady,” he addresses you both, “the men are ready to host your brother and his retinue. Supplies are being gathered for the march south, but it would do you both good to rest and break bread together before the night grows colder.”

Cregan nods, though his gaze remains fixed on Jacaerys. “You’ve traveled far, and winter’s grip grows tighter by the day. We’ll speak of war and plans soon enough. Tonight, we celebrate family.”

Jacaerys glances at you, his eyes softening briefly before he returns his attention to Cregan. “I’d welcome that. It’s been too long since I’ve felt the warmth of kin.” He turns to you once more, taking your hand and squeezing it. “Mother would want us to stand strong, Y/N. For her, for all of us.”

You swallow back the knot in your throat, nodding. “We will, Jace. We will.”

As you walk back toward the Great Hall, arm in arm with your brother and Cregan beside you, the dragons shift close behind ready to take flight, their steps heavy on the snow-covered earth. Above, the first stars begin to pierce the twilight sky, cold and distant. You can still feel the echoes of the weirwood’s whispers, the glimpses of futures yet unwritten. But here, with your family by your side, you draw strength from the bonds that even war cannot break.

The Great Hall of Winterfell is alive with the low murmur of voices and the crackle of hearth fires. The long table is crowded with Stark bannermen, their weathered faces drawn with the seriousness of the discussion. The banners of the North hang proudly on the walls—gray direwolves on fields of white and gray. The smell of pinewood smoke and spiced wine fills the air, mingling with the scent of roasted meats brought out for the evening. It is a scene both warm and solemn, a brief moment of respite before the weight of strategy drags everyone back into the cold reality of war.

You sit beside Cregan at the head of the table, your hand resting on his arm as Jacaerys stands before the gathered lords. He wears his determination like armor, though there is a heaviness in his eyes that no amount of resolve can mask. His voice, strong despite the weariness clinging to him, rings out over the hall.

“Our enemies have grown bolder since my brother’s and grandmother's murders. Aemond has broken the oldest of laws—he’s a kinslayer, and for that, he’s forfeited not only his honor but any right to mercy. The greens think the deaths of Luke and Rhaenys will weaken us, make us retreat into mourning. They’re wrong.” His words are met with murmurs of agreement, grim nods from the assembled bannermen.

Lord Cregan speaks next, his voice deep and measured. “Justice for Prince Lucerys and Princess Rhaenys will be served, Jacaerys, but the North is not free of its own burdens. The men and Houses we pledged to your cause will march with you as promised—greybeards and veterans who have survived more winters than most. But the majority of our forces must remain here, at least until the winds shift and winter’s bite eases.”

A rumble of assent follows Cregan’s words. The greybeards, some of whom are gathered here tonight, nod their heads, weathered faces set in stony determination. These are men who’ve lived through harsh winters, wars, and endless trials. They know the cost of every step taken southward, but they also understand the weight of their oaths.

You lean forward, feeling the cold steel of duty and sorrow twisting within you. “The Wall grows restless,” you add, your voice quieter but cutting through the room. “Reports from our scouts say the wildlings stir, and there are whispers of darker things in the woods. The North cannot abandon its duties here, not entirely, not with winter closing in. We fight on two fronts—one for vengeance, and one to hold back the darkness that always comes with the cold.”

Jacaerys’ jaw tightens, though there’s no anger in his gaze, only acceptance. “I know what I ask of you, of the North. I wouldn’t pull you from your duties lightly. But we’re in desperate need of men who’ve seen true battle—men who won’t falter when the greens come for us again.” He looks around the table, locking eyes with each of the bannermen. “Aemond’s murders of Luke and Rhaenys aren't just an insult to my family, it’s a warning of what’s to come. They’ll strike at us all, one by one, until there’s nothing left to fight for.”

Maester Kennet, seated near the fire, clears his throat, his thin fingers wrapped around a goblet. “A measured approach is wise. The North is vast, and winter makes even the shortest march an ordeal. Splitting our forces to both hold the Wall and reinforce the Riverlands is a sound strategy. But we cannot be reckless. The cold is our greatest enemy—aside from the greens themselves.”

A grizzled voice interrupts, belonging to Lord Harwood Flint. “We’ve sworn our oaths to your mother, Prince Jacaerys, and those oaths stand. The greybeards and I will march south, aye, but only as far as the weather allows. If winter deepens, we’ll be forced to retreat—lest we lose more men to frost than to battle.”

Lord Cregan nods solemnly. “The North keeps its promises, Jace, but our duty here is unbreakable. If winter passes, we’ll ride in full force, dragons and all. Until then, you’ll have what men we can spare, the strongest and the most experienced. The rest must remain to guard our lands and prepare for whatever winter may bring.”

You watch Jacaerys as he absorbs their words, weighing them against the urgency of his mission. It’s a hard truth, but one he’s known in his heart. “I understand,” he finally says, though the strain in his voice is evident. “The North has always held its ground when others falter. Your men’s presence in the Riverlands will tip the scales more than you know. We’ll make every sacrifice count, for all of our sakes.”

A silence falls over the hall, filled only by the crackling of the fires and the occasional clink of cups against wood. It’s a heavy silence, the kind that carries the weight of lives yet to be lost, battles yet to be fought. You feel the tension in your own shoulders, the mix of sorrow and determination that has become all too familiar.

Cregan’s voice breaks the silence, firm and resolute. “Then it’s settled. The North will march with you, Jacaerys, and we’ll hold the line here until the time is right to unleash the full might of Winterfell. The Wall must remain guarded, our lands defended. But rest assured—the North remembers, and we will have vengeance for both Lucerys and Rhaenys.”

Jacaerys meets his gaze with a nod of gratitude, his eyes glistening with something more than just determination—hope, perhaps, or at least the stubborn refusal to let despair take root. “Thank you, Cregan. Thank you all. My mother will hear of your loyalty, and when the time comes, I’ll see that those who’ve wronged us pay with fire and blood.”

You reach out, placing a hand on Jacaerys’ arm, drawing his attention back to you. “We’ll see this through together, Jace,” you say softly, yet with unshakable conviction. “For Luke. For our family.”

His lips press into a tight line, but he nods, and in that moment, you see the boy you once knew, the one who would always protect his siblings, no matter the cost. War has hardened him, yes, but it hasn’t broken his spirit. And for that, you’re grateful.

The meeting ends with agreements made, plans solidified. As the lords begin to rise and drift away, you, Cregan, and Jacaerys remain, sharing a moment of quiet amidst the chaos. Thraxata and Vermax can be heard outside, their low growls a reminder that no matter how heavy the burden, you are not alone in this fight.

You glance at Cregan, who offers you a small, reassuring smile, and then at Jacaerys, whose eyes hold the same fire that burns within you. The North may be bound by its duties to the Wall, but when the time comes, it will roar in unison, and the South will tremble beneath the weight of vengeance and justice.

Until then, you steel yourself for the battles to come, knowing that winter is both your enemy and your greatest ally. The North will remember, and so will the world.

The chambers are dimly lit, the glow of the hearth casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The scent of pine and smoke lingers in the air, mingling with the faint hint of sage and lavender from the herbs hung above the door. Outside, the cold wind howls, but in here, the warmth is grounding—a cocoon that holds only the two of you.

You stand before the fire, watching the flames dance, lost in the flicker of embers. Thoughts of the day’s discussions linger in your mind, heavy like the weight of armor. You’re still processing the event, the decisions, and the weight of what’s to come. But for now, those thoughts seem distant as you feel Cregan’s presence behind you. His steps are soft as he approaches, yet you can sense the strength in each movement. When he wraps his arms around you from behind, drawing you into his chest, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Y/N,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice a deep rumble. There’s a tenderness there that you’ve come to cherish—an intimacy that only grows with each passing day. You lean back into him, feeling his warmth seep into your skin, grounding you in this moment, away from the burden of duty and war.

His hands slide over your waist, tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that never fades, no matter how many times he’s touched you this way. “You’re troubled,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. It’s not a question; he knows you too well.

You close your eyes, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace. “I’ve been thinking… about everything. About Jace, the war, what lies ahead. But mostly… about what I felt in the godswood.”

Cregan’s hands still for a moment, his grip tightening just slightly. He turns you gently to face him, his eyes searching yours, concern and affection mingling in his gaze. “You saw something, didn’t you?” he asks quietly.

You nod, reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, roughened by stubble. “I did, but I don’t want to think about it right now,” you whisper, letting your thumb brush over his lips. “Right now, I just want to feel alive. I want to feel us.”

Something shifts in his gaze, the concern giving way to something deeper, more primal. His hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you closer, and when his lips finally meet yours, it’s with a passion that sends a surge of heat through you. The kiss is slow at first, a tender exploration, but it quickly deepens, becoming something more urgent, more consuming.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly as you press closer, your bodies molding together as if trying to erase any distance between you. His hands roam over you, rough and strong, yet every touch is filled with affection. It’s a contrast that you’ve always found intoxicating—the fierce warrior and the gentle lover, both sides of him intertwined in every caress.

Cregan’s mouth trails down your neck, leaving a line of burning kisses along your skin. “Y/N,” he growls against your throat, his voice thick with desire. “You’re mine.”

You shiver at the possessiveness in his tone, the words igniting something deep within you. “Yours,” you breathe, tugging at his tunic, eager to feel the heat of his skin against yours.

Clothes fall away with hurried hands, the cold air biting at your exposed skin for only a moment before the warmth of Cregan’s body presses against you. You pull him with you, leading him to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he lays you down then, his weight a comforting pressure above you.

The passion between you ignites like wildfire. His hands grip your hips as he enters you, and you gasp, arching into him as he moves with a rhythm that feels like a dance, one you’ve perfected together over countless nights. Every thrust is filled with a mixture of desire and love, each one drawing you closer to the edge, making the world beyond these walls fade away until there’s only him—only you.

Your hands roam over his back, nails digging in as the pleasure builds, each moan, each whispered word of affection driving you both higher. There’s a desperation in the way you cling to each other, as if the passion is the only thing anchoring you both in a world that threatens to tear everything apart.

“Cregan,” you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips as you reach that peak together, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. He groans your name, his voice rough and breathless as he collapses against you, burying his face in your neck, holding you as if he’ll never let go.

For a long while, neither of you speaks, content to simply breathe together, hearts pounding in unison. The room is warm, the glow of the fire casting soft light over your tangled limbs. Cregan’s hand strokes your hair absently, his fingers combing through the silver strands as you lay nestled against him.

But eventually, the silence gives way to the thoughts that have been haunting you. You shift slightly, turning to look up at him. His eyes are closed, a peaceful expression on his face, but you know he’s awake, lost in his own thoughts.

“Cregan,” you say softly, drawing his attention. His eyes open, meeting yours, and the concern returns as he sees the seriousness in your expression.

“What did you see, love?” he asks, his voice gentle, though the tension in his jaw betrays his worry.

You take a breath, recalling the frenzied images that had flashed before you in the godswood, the voice that had called your name. “It was like a storm in my mind,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “I heard my name—felt something pulling at me. And then… I saw flashes of fire, blood, wings beating against a sky that burned. There was steel, a crown, and screams lost in the roar of flames. It was so vivid, so real, but I couldn’t make sense of it. And then it was gone, as quickly as it came.”

Cregan listens, his brow furrowed as he considers your words. “The Old Gods speak in riddles and symbols,” he says quietly. “I’ve heard tales of their whispers, of visions granted to those who stand before the weirwoods. But they’ve never been clear—they show what might be, not what is certain.”

You nod, but the unease still lingers. “It felt like a warning, Cregan. Like something terrible is coming, something we’re not prepared for.”

He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. You’re not alone in this. The North is with you, I’m with you, and we’ll do everything in our power to protect what we hold dear.”

You close your eyes, letting his words soothe some of the anxiety that gnaws at you. “I know. But there’s so much at stake… and so many unknowns. I can’t shake the feeling that the gods are watching, waiting to see what choices we’ll make.”

“The gods may watch,” Cregan murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your skin, “but it’s our choices that shape the future. Whatever comes, we’ll face it, side by side.”

You find comfort in his certainty, the steady strength he always offers when you need it most. Nestled in his arms, you feel the tension slowly drain from your body, replaced by a sense of peace, however fleeting. For now, the future can wait.

#house of the dragon #hotd cregan #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan stark #jacaerys velaryon

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months ago

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Cannibals [Chapter 2: Roses and Forget-Me-Nots]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence and murder, bodily injury, Aemond needs comfort, Helaena needs to make a choice, Aegon needs revenge, Red needs stitches.

Word count: 6.4k

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Too much to drink, blood on your teeth; you stumbled going up the Grand Staircase and bit your lip and now all you can taste is warm copper. It’s the past, but the recent past. Viserys isn’t dead yet, but not far from it either, an unquiet ghost who groans from rooms cloudy with incense. Criston oversees Aemond’s training and Grandsire sits the Iron Throne when petitioners come begging for relief from taxes or the requisitioning of their livestock. Helaena plays with her children in the garden. Larys Strong dwells in shadowy corners of rooms, lurking, listening. Mother lights candles for her husband in the sept, tries to forgive herself for being so repulsed by him she shivers when her skin brushes his and comes away damp from the weeping sores.

It’s Criston’s nameday, and the court is celebrating as if it is a prince’s. Mother has ordered the kitchen to prepare his favorite foods—lamb marinated with figs and blood oranges, a myriad of olives, spiced wine, roasted eggplant, dragon peppers stuffed with cheese and onions—and the musicians to play Dornish ballads. In the midst of the festivities in the Great Hall, Aemond has been pulled aside by Grandsire to discuss a pressing concern: an idea, proposed by Master of Ships Tyland Lannister, to split the royal treasury and hide it in several different locations should a war of succession break out after Viserys’ death. No one knows what will happen when Father dies. Everybody is moving invisible pieces on an imaginary board, trying to convince themselves they are prepared.

Now the hour is late and guests are vanishing, and everyone seems to be drunk, the world warm and spinning, and you are going to your chambers to wait for Aemond. What you have together is new and exhilarating, and your pulse is thudding in your ears as you stagger down the hallway. You are going to take off all your clothes and wait for him in bed beneath blankets Helaena has stitched with red bats. If Aemond asked you for everything tonight, you’d give it; but you’re beginning to like his idea to wait. You will never fly a dragon into battle like Aegon the Conqueror’s wives, but this is one war you and Aemond can fight together: thwarting all other matches, at last claiming a victory that the realm must witness. Aemond wants a Valyrian wedding ceremony. He has no fear of your blood.

You are passing Helaena’s chambers when you hear muffled voices inside, things you should not listen to but are too drunk to politely ignore. Helaena is whimpering quietly. Aegon says, sounding like he is close to tears: “I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m almost done…”

You should leave, but you don’t. You are trapped there by the poison that slows your thoughts, by the horror that blooms in you like roses, thorny and maroon. You’ve never had to experience intimacy that feels like a violation. You never will. And you’re the only one of Alicent’s children that’s true for: Aemond’s first experiences were with a middle-aged prostitute on the Street of Silk, something Aegon mistook for a favor; Daeron will have to bed a Baratheon girl he barely knows.

After a few minutes the door opens, and there is Aegon swimming in a white nightshirt stained with red wine. He startles when he sees you, then averts his watery eyes. He is ashamed. He says weakly, his hair hanging in his face: “I try to make it good for her.”

“I know you do.”

“She loves the children,” Aegon explains, although you haven’t asked. “She wants more, and she understands how that happens. Now I only lie with her when she invites me. But that doesn’t mean she enjoys it. I just don’t want you to think that I’m…I’m…that I’m a monster.”

You shake your head, profoundly sad. “No, Aegon.”

“How do you not get…?” He rubs his own soft belly, then makes an arc through the air, miming a pregnancy. “We’re fertile stock. And I can’t imagine Mother allowing Orwyle to ply you with moon tea.”

You smile faintly. “We don’t do that, just everything else.”

A raised eyebrow; Aegon is intrigued. “Really? How adventurous. I’m surprised. About Aemond, not so much you.”

“We’re saving it until after our wedding. Something to look forward to.”

“Unless Grandsire and Mother eventually succeed in marrying you off to a painfully uninteresting, Andal-blooded lord with a formidable army or some nice ships or whatever.”

“And then Aemond will murder him.”

Aegon laughs, recedes again and becomes remote, goes out to sea like low tide. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? My marriage is built on obligation, and yours will be the opposite.”

You say like a confession, something you seek forgiveness for: “I’m so sorry, Aegon.”

“No, no, I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to…I mean…” He sighs, then looks at you, dazed drunk childlike honesty. “You and Aemond being miserable wouldn’t make my life better. I have no wish to disrupt your happiness.”

You don’t know how to respond. Aegon doesn’t expect you to. He gives you a drowsy little smirk, then meanders down the hallway. When he spots a maid, he snaps his fingers at her and orders: “Draw a bath for the queen.”

You retreat to your own chambers, where you walk right past your bed—you now feel no desire at all to creep naked into it—and kneel beside the roost by the open window. Most of the bats you call your babies are out flying, but Kingfisher clings to the dark blue velvet you keep draped over the large wooden box. He peers at you with clever black eyes, his ears perked straight up, and when you offer your palm Kingfisher scrambles into it. You pet him as your thoughts wander, slow, dizzy, morose.

Aemond breezes into the room, first swift and famished, then bewildered as he nears you. “Why are you sad?” And then, because he gets glimpses into your mind as well: “Something with Aegon.”

You shrug, not looking away from Kingfisher. You are trying not to cry. “I just wish the world was different.”

Aemond stares at you for a while. And you’re a little afraid, because if he grabs you and you tell him to stop, you don’t know if he’ll listen. But Aemond doesn’t grab you at all. Instead after a moment he says: “I’ll be right back,” and he leaves your bedchamber. He must go all the way to the kitchen across the courtyard of the Red Keep, because when he reappears he is carrying a small glass jar with a piece of honeycomb inside. He sits down beside you and opens the jar, wets his fingertips with honey, and holds them out to Kingfisher so he can lick them clean.

You smile at Aemond. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, he motions for you to dip your fingers in the honey too, and together you feed Kingfisher and watch the others swoop and glide outside, snatching insects from the starlit air like stolen coins.

The only time Aemond touches you that night is to thread your long, silver braid through his hands; and why did you ever begin wearing your hair in a braid at all? Because you heard the reverence in his voice when he told you about Aegon the Conqueror’s wife Visenya.

~~~~~~~~~~

Now you are on the floor of your bedchamber crushing seashells, and the afternoon light cascades in hot and golden, a day that feels more like midsummer than autumn. With each whack of your tiny steel hammer—a gift from Criston on your nameday several years past—a shell breaks into irregular shards to be arranged on the board and then glued down; you have a jar filled with paste made from boiled animal bones and a paintbrush to apply it with. You collect and boil the bones yourself. Helaena and the children went with you to the beach to search for shells this morning, an arduous task as you were on the hunt for rare specimens: blue to mimic Tessarion’s scales. This mosaic is for Mother, a vision of Daeron to hang on her bedroom wall. He was sent away so he might turn out differently from the rest of you, but he will be home again soon. The Hightower army is marching across the Reach to King’s Landing, your youngest brother and his dragon safeguarding it from above.

You don’t have to be in the small council chamber to know that Grandsire rails against Aemond, that Criston struggles to defend him. Killing Luke was a disastrous mistake, no sane person could disagree. Now they debate how to proceed. Grandsire writes his letters: to the Lannisters, to the Baratheons, to the Triarchy. Aemond sees to the gathering of soldiers and supplies, moving tokens around the map laid open on a table in his bedchamber. Aegon wants to fly into battle. Criston tries to negotiate between them, and relays their feuds to Mother. Larys Strong shares the whispers he has heard of the Blacks’ machinations: Rhaenyra sick with grief and struggling to manage her forces from Dragonstone, Daemon abandoning her to take the haunted castle of Harrenhal in the Riverlands. Rhaenyra is a weak queen, and the Rogue Prince cannot stomach bowing to her.

You drop the steel hammer again—whack!—and as the cobalt-colored seashell shatters, Aemond steps into your bedchamber and closes the door behind him. He takes off his sword and his dagger, leaves them on the dresser, then drops to the floor and crawls on his hands and knees to you. He grabs your ankles and drags you under him; you giggle as your hammer tumbles out of your grasp and you wrap your legs around Aemond, pulling him in closer.

Aemond kisses you insatiably, his tongue parting your lips, his long silver hair spilling down to the floor. Then he says: “I have to go away.”

You know this has to happen. He has trained all his life for war, and now it is here. “For how long?”

“A week, maybe. Or a month, or a year. Nobody knows.”

“A year?” You’ve never been away from him for more than a few nights at a time. It is impossible to imagine.

Aemond takes off his eyepatch and flings it aside. His sapphire eye—cold, sharp, glittering fire—unnerves others, but to you it is a talisman of his faithfulness. In the boardgame you played as children, you were always the red bat and Aemond the blue wolf. It was a game of ambition, of cruelty, but sometimes mercy as well, and there were always exactly five players until Mother sent Daeron away to Oldtown. Blue is Aemond’s place in the family. He is cunning, he is arrogant, he is difficult at times…but he knows where he belongs. He would cease to exist without the rest of you. “Rhaenyra is bedbound on Dragonstone,” Aemond says, skating his thumb across your cheek. “Still recovering from childbirth and broken by Luke’s death. Daemon is far away in the Riverlands doing gods know what, there are rumors he’s taken up with some girl there. Now is the time to bring the Crownlands under Green control. House Thorne is already with us, next we will take Massey, Bar Emmon, Rosby, Stokeworth, Byrch, Harte, Hayford, Staunton, and Darklyn. They will bend the knee to Aegon, or they will burn. Rhaenyra will be encircled, and then we can do whatever we want with her.”

“What about the Celtigars of Claw Isle? They are Valyrians, they should honor tradition. The firstborn son always inherits. And Rhaenyra has defiled the bloodline with her Strong boys.”

“They must not see it that way. I’ve heard Bartimos Celtigar is her Master of Coin.”

“Traitors,” you hiss, and Aemond beams and kisses your forehead.

“Don’t worry, I have plans for them. Crabs are delicious when boiled alive.”

So Caraxes is at Harrenhal, Syrax is unable to be ridden and not inclined towards battle anyway, Vermax and Moondancer are both too small to be much of a threat to a dragon as ferocious as Sunfyre, let alone Vhagar… “Where is Meleys?”

Aemond chuckles. “Rhaenys won’t strike on her own. She doesn’t have the courage.”

“She might now that you’ve killed her grandson.” A pause. “Alleged grandson.”

“Luke wasn’t her blood, but Baela and Rhaena are. I’m sure she wants to live to see them grow up. I can’t imagine her flying to war for Rhaenyra and Daemon, the people who murdered Laenor so they could fuck on his grave.”

“He was buried at sea.��

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“I wish I could help,” you tell Aemond, feeling small and fragile, feeling worthless. If you had a dragon, you could follow him into battle like Visenya.

“Not everyone is meant to have wings,” Aemond says gently, and you wonder—as you have countless times before—if part of him is glad that he’ll always know that you are exactly where he left you, that you’ll always be defenseless. Then he distracts you. “Do you remember how you chased Vermithor all over Dragonstone?”

Of course you do: a trip to the mist-swept volcanic rock arranged while Rhaenyra and Daemon were travelling elsewhere, Grandsire fervently hoping that one of the wild dragons would bond to you and add to the Greens’ arsenal. None of them did, not even the Bronze Fury, the beast you had dreamed of riding as a girl, whose stories gave you a sensation like flying, like falling. “I wanted him so badly.”

“And to show his appreciation, he almost incinerated you.”

You smile up at Aemond, touching the scar that cuts down the left half of his face. After his maiming on Driftmark, he developed a phobia of needles. If he saw Helaena embroidering, he would become nauseous and unsteady on his feet. So he had the maesters teach him how to stitch wounded flesh, and after months of bloody observation and practice he was cured. He is not a man who lets others break him. He makes himself whole again, one brick at a time. “You saved me.”

“I couldn’t have you reduced to charred bones. I like you warm…and wet…and willful.”

Aemond wrenches you over and onto your belly, presses his hips against yours, crushes you into the floor with his weight. His left hand covers yours, your fingers interweaving; his right hand slides under your waist and stops between your legs, stroking you through your scarlet gown. You move with him, laughing, moaning, feeling the chill of the stone floor bleed into your skin.

Aemond whispers: “I need to be inside you.”

It’s a statement that is actually a question; he’s asking for permission. No, he’s begging for it. But you want the same thing. He’ll be gone soon, for a week or a month or a year. “Then do it.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

He lets you up and as he takes off his tunic and trousers, you crawl into your bed, a crimson canopy, curtains that billow in the wind blowing off the ocean. Now Aemond is here too and he’s tearing off your gown so he can possess you: not the sort of coupling that could result in a child, the other way. It’s a sin, of course, but so is incest, and so is murder, and so are pride and envy and wrath, and so at this point what’s one more transgression tossed onto the heap? You aren’t sure if you believe in the Faith of the Seven anyway. Rhaenyra is one of the most immoral people you can think of, and yet she has been abundantly blessed until now: married to the man of her design, absolved of all wrongdoing by Viserys. Why would the Seven shower gifts upon Rhaenyra while your own mother is so cursed? If they exist, they must be brutal masters.

You are lying on your belly on the soft feather mattress, reaching back to touch Aemond’s face and his hair as his lips claim your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder. You lift your hips so he can reach under you more easily, where wetness is pooling for him. His right hand caresses you with rough, insistent motions, making you ravenous and breathless, making you need him. With his left hand, he slips two fingers effortlessly inside; and then, once they are slick and dripping, he pulls them out and travels farther back. There is pressure, resistance, and then: a glorious, forbidden fulness that draws a moan from deep in your throat. Your fingernails bite into your pillows, your body moves in time with Aemond as his fingers thrust into you, first slowly and cautiously and then faster as he feels your muscles relax around him.

“Now,” you plead helplessly.

“Not yet.”

“I’m ready, I promise.”

“No, no, you’re not,” he purrs, and when you turn your face to his, he kisses you in a way that is slovenly, bestial, natural like the dark moist earth or the sea. No one else would understand this. No one else will ever need to.

Aemond’s fingers work on you until there is hardly any tension, then he yanks open the drawer of your nightstand to get the jar of Dornish olive oil he keeps there for exactly this reason. He drenches himself with it—his hardness, his thickness, his length—and spills oil all over the sheets in the process. Then he settles behind you again. It was your idea to try this the first time, one humid sunlit morning when you were desperate for each other, when you had an emptiness inside you his fingers alone could not cure. You needed him closer, just like you do now. And your climax was so intense it felt like it would snap your bones and unspool your muscles like loose threads.

As Aemond’s right hand strokes you—coaxing you closer, flooding your bloodstream with sweltering riptide lust—he positions himself and pushes in slowly, so so slowly, and at first there is a burning like there always is, but the oil eases his entry and your muscles are swift to accommodate him, they are supple and trained, and as he fills you there is an indescribable intensity as his heat melds with yours, and when you are this close to him it’s like you can feel everything he’s feeling, hear every thought that flits through his mind, and he knows exactly when to pause to give you more time, when to begin again, until he is all the way inside and he moans and rests his head between your shoulder blades, drinking you in through his lungs and his pores, his long silver hair whispering over your ribs.

When Aemond is sure he can last, he moves in you carefully, divinely. The fingers of his right hand—still circling, still pressing against you with commanding force—have you panting and powerless. It’s overwhelming, the fullness, the closeness, the warm blossoming euphoria…and if you’re sore tomorrow, you won’t care. Aemond could be gone by then.

“Harder,” you plead.

“No, Red, no, I’ll hurt you.”

Your hips quicken the rhythm, jolting back against him, and as Aemond gasps—taken by surprise, trying not to finish yet—a torrent like a wave of scalding blood rolls through you, and instead of dissipating to a froth like seafoam it keeps going, unraveling you, ruining you, until you can’t stand it anymore, and your spine and ribcage ache, and there is pain where Aemond is thrusting into you as he shudders and cries out in a low rasping voice midway between ecstasy and agony, like someone has buried a blade in him, like maybe he’s dying.

“Enough,” you sigh, and Aemond knows what that means. He withdrawals from you, gingerly and very, very slowly. Then he rolls you onto your back as you gasp for air, staring up at the distorted afternoon shadows on the ceiling. He kisses the side of your face again and again, murmuring through your hair in High Valyrian. Has Aemond ever said that he loves you? Not that you can remember. He acts as if he does, but still…sometimes you wonder.

When your pulse is calm again and the sweat cooling on your belly and your chest, Aemond rises and shuffles to the door, still naked. He opens the door and looks out into the hallway until he spies a maid and beckons her over. You see her silhouette just beyond the threshold.

“Fresh linens for the bed,” he says. “And a bath.”

“Yes, my prince.” The maid peeks in to where you are naked on the oil-stained sheets, and you cannot find it in yourself to act shy or ashamed. You aren’t. You smile wickedly at her and she skitters away, blushing and wide-eyed.

You loll together in a hot bath—Aemond drifting off as he leans against the back of the tub, you dozing with your head on his chest as soap bubbles pop in your hair—then he just barely manages to throw on some nightclothes and stagger back into your bed, not wanting his own room but yours, and he is asleep in just minutes. Outside the sun is setting and the sky is turning from flames to indigo, and the bats are venturing out of their roost to feed. You spend a while with them and then, starving, leave Aemond to rest while you go down to the kitchen to scavenge a plate of dinner, something hearty and satiating: bread, butter, venison pie, an apple tart, a pint of ale. You eat alone in the garden as your bats circle overhead. The members of the small council—with the exception of Aemond, dead to the world—are dining together, and Mother is eating with Helaena. You are avoiding Mother for now; after you and Aemond have sinned, you always feel like she can smell it on you, or see it, or hear the echoes of your moans, and there is such pitiful disappointment on her face you cannot bear to meet her eyes. She deserved a different husband, and children who she could recognize as her own.

When you return to Maegor’s Holdfast, you pass Aegon as he is trotting down the Grand Staircase, a goblet of wine in his hand and escorted by Sir Willis Fell. Aegon grins at you and says: “Aemond is practically comatose. You’ve exhausted him.”

“Well, he does most of the work,” you reply mischievously. “Where are you going?”

“To get my armor fitted. Aemond will have to have his finished tomorrow, I suppose. If he’s recovered by then. Try to keep him off you for a few hours, I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“I’ll let him know about the armor. But I don’t think he’ll want to wear it in the saddle.”

“Try to convince him. It could shield him from dragonfire in combat.”

“Right,” you say, and all at once your mood plummets, because this is real: the war is descending like a storm and your brothers must fight in it, must leave you, must risk their lives. Aegon waves goodbye and strides off to the armory across the courtyard of the Red Keep, Sir Willis Fell in tow and looking disturbed but trying not to show it.

Upstairs, Helaena is in the hallway with her children, and you can tell she’s overwhelmed by them: Maelor is yowling in her arms, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera both shouting and tugging at the skirt of her lemon-colored gown. Helaena is looking around for someone, perhaps a maid; uncharacteristically, she is unable to find one.

“Well hello there!” you say, kneeling and opening your arms so the twins can barrel into you. “What are we playing, huh? Hide and seek? Chase? Tame the dragon?”

“We’re trying to find Aemond!” Jaehaerys answers exuberantly.

“Oh, is that right?” You glance at Helaena, and she smiles awkwardly and shrugs. She must know where he is and is attempting to distract them so he can sleep.

She says, a bit flustered: “Mother went to the small council chamber after dinner, and the maid…I don’t know where she’s disappeared to all the sudden…”

“It’s alright, I’ll help them find Aemond.”

“Really?!” Jaehaera says, overjoyed.

“Of course!” Then you wink at Helaena, and she is relieved. “Let’s go check his bedchamber.”

“But we’re not allowed in there,” Jaehaerys says uncertainly.

And no, they usually aren’t; Aemond has too many relics they might break or maps they could rip or stain or knock his tokens off of. “It’s okay if I go with you. I’ll make sure we don’t touch anything important.”

“Yay!” the twins yell together, and then Maelor joins them between chomps on his own fingers, even though the details of the expedition elude him.

You swish in your gown—a pale drained pink, your wet hair in a fresh braid—towards Aemond’s rooms. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera dash after you, and Helaena trails behind them carrying Maelor. You hold the door open so the children and Helaena can enter, then follow them into Aemond’s bedchamber. The hearth is lit and crackling; papers litter his desks and tables, the wooden shelves are heavy with books. Mosaics you’ve made since childhood freckle the stone walls like birthmarks. You pick up a candle, light it in the fireplace, and begin igniting wicks around the room so the children will have more light. Helaena sets Maelor down so he can wobble after his siblings.

“Aemond, where are you?” Jaehaerys calls with a beaming smile.

You say: “Let’s check in the closets, and under the bed, and behind the curtains—” Then you scream and drop the candle, because there is a man in this room, and he has lunged out from the shadows. He traps you against the wall with a blade at your throat. Another man—huge, broad, towering—has cornered Helaena and the children. He holds a butcher’s cleaver in one monstrous fist. Blood drips from it in dark, viscous threads down to the floor.

He nods to Helaena and tells you: “Scream again and I’ll put this through her windpipe, and we can watch her try to learn how to breathe blood.”

You shake your head franticly. “I won’t scream, I swear I won’t.” You are thinking: Criston and Grandsire and Mother are in the small council chamber, and Aegon is in the armory, and Aemond is sleeping so deeply he can’t be roused…so who is going to save us? Who the fuck is going to walk in and stop this?

“Quiet,” the large man growls at the children. “No noise or Mummy dies.”

“Jewels,” Helaena says, taking off her necklace and earrings. The children cling to her, trembling and sniffling, weeping but trying not to make a sound. “We can give you these.”

“We’re not here for jewels, you dumb bitch,” the smaller man sneers. “We’re here for a boy. A son for a son.”

“No,” you whisper, realizing what he means.

“Aemond killed Lucerys Velaryon,” the large man says. “We’re here to kill Aemond. But Aemond doesn’t seem to be around at the moment, is he? Fortunately, any son of the Greens will do.”

Helaena shoves the children behind her, shielding them with her willowy body. From the Dragonpit, you hear Dreamfyre’s shrill screeches. “You can have me instead.”

“You’re not a son.”

“So which one do you choose?” the small man asks Helaena, raking the point of his blade back and forth across the front of your throat, leaving shallow nicks that glow sharp and searing.

Helaena doesn’t answer—she can’t, of course she can’t—and so the large man reaches around her and drags out Jaehaerys and Maelor. He pushes them to the floor and they cower there, clasping each other and tears streaming down their cheeks. There’s a dead maid over by the bed, you notice, the same one who saw you naked in bed earlier; she must have had the misfortune of stumbling upon the intruders. There is a gaping black hole in the wall on the opposite end of the room, the entrance to a secret passageway to the beach, an escape hatch that almost nobody knows about. But Daemon would.

“Which one?!” the large man demands, glaring hatefully at Helaena. “Choose or we’ll kill them both. We’ll kill all three.”

Helaena covers her ears with her hands and shrinks into herself, trying to disappear. Jaehaera hides behind her mother; Jaehaerys is petrified; Maelor, mercifully, doesn’t fully understand. If he was struck on his tiny blonde head, he would be gone before he had time to comprehend that his short life was over.

The men are assailing Helaena: “Choose or we’ll kill them all, we’ll kill them in front of you, we’ll kill them slow.”

“Helaena, pick one,” you sob.

She shakes her head. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Aemond, can’t you feel how afraid I am? Aemond, you have to wake up.

“All three?!” The large man taunts. “Alright, that’s fine, we can do it that way!” He raises his cleaver above the boys’ heads, and Helaena attempts to stop him.

He’s going to murder her too, he’s going to sever her arm or cut her throat.

“Maelor!” you burst out. “Maelor, the little one, she chooses Maelor!”

“What?” Maelor says, gazing up at you with vast shimmering eyes. And instead, the large man seizes Jaehaerys by his hair and hacks his head off his shoulders.

Blood spurts like a fountain, blood flows over the floor, blood soaks Helaena’s gown when she bundles her dead son into her arms. Forgetting the knife at your throat, you try to get to her; the blade drops and slits your flesh from your collarbone down to the top of your left breast. A river of red flows in a sheet down the front of your gown. Everyone is screaming—you, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor—but it doesn’t matter now; the men throw Jaehaerys’ head into a burlap sack and vanish together into the blackness of the passageway.

“They can’t get away,” you say numbly, and then you bolt after them. You grab a flickering candle off Aemond’s writing desk and plunge into the tunnel. There are blooddrops on the dusty floor, a trail of gore. Jaehaerys’ head must have bled through the sack. You aren’t thinking, you don’t know what you’ll do if you catch up to them. But if there is a boat waiting to ferry the men and their grisly trophy to Dragonstone, somebody must prevent them from escaping.

Jaehaerys can’t be dead, he can’t be, be can’t be, he was just here and he was smiling—

Someone catches your wrist and you shriek, but it isn’t the strange men. It’s Aemond, still dressed in his nightclothes, his sapphire gleaming, blood all over him and clutching his dagger in his other hand.

He tells you, taking the candle: “Go back to my bedchamber.”

“Aemond, they…Jaehaerys…he…they…”

“I know,” he says hoarsely. “Go back to where it’s safe.”

Obediently, knowing that he needs you to, you flee; you are passed by several knights of the Kingsguard with torches, their swords drawn, in pursuit of the murderers. In Aemond’s bedchamber is a nightmare you can’t wake up from: Aegon is wailing and collapsed on the blood-soaked floor with the mutilated body of his son in his arms, Helaena is slumped and paralyzed against the wall, Mother is weeping as she embraces Jaehaera and Maelor and takes them out of the room, Criston has just appeared in the doorway and stands there horrorstruck. You go to Aegon and lay a palm on his shoulder, the words impossible. Without looking—he already knows it’s you—he reaches up to grip your hand, so forcefully it feels like he’ll crush your bones.

“What the hell is…?” Grandsire says when arrives. Then he sees the blood, the body, and he sways and his knees buckle. Maester Orwyle sweeps in behind him, carrying a small wooden trunk of remedies. He comes directly to where you are standing.

“Princess, your mother asked me to tend to you.”

“What?” you reply dully, and he gestures to the bone-deep gash on the left side of your chest. Abruptly, agony flares there. “Oh. Of course.”

Orwyle leads you patiently to the chair at Aemond’s writing desk, then begins to clean your wound. He pours a small amount of milk of the poppy into your mouth, and you accept it passively. You are barely aware of it as his needle pierces your flesh and begins to stitch it back together.

“Is this what your letters have bought us?!” Aegon is shouting at Grandsire, who doesn’t know what to say. “Not safety even here in our own castle, but killers who breach our walls and butcher my son?!”

There are echoing footsteps, and Aemond emerges from the darkness, crossing into the rage-colored firelight of his bedchamber. “We got one of them. The guards are still searching for the other. We’ll find him, I swear we will. There was a boat in the sand, but we’ve taken it.”

“It’s your fucking fault!” Aegon screams at him. “They were here, they were looking for you, you killed Luke so they killed my boy, he was only six years old, he…he…” Aegon breaks down in sobs, then he crawls across the room to Helaena and clings to her, his head in her lap. Despite her shock, Helaena’s hands come alive again and she holds him.

“Aegon, it’s my fault too,” you say.

“What are you talking about?! You didn’t kill Luke Strong, you didn’t start this war!”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says, almost too quietly to hear. “Aegon, I’m sorry.”

“Enough letters,” Aegon seethes, hatred splitting out of him, bloodlust that can never be satisfied. “You’re done, Grandsire. I relieve you of the burden of being Hand of the King. It never sat right with you anyway, did it? Enacting the plans of a degenerate like me. Well, now you can just watch them happen. Criston, we will go to battle now, no more delays. You will lead the infantry and I’ll be in the sky, and when we drag Rhaenyra from her sickbed I’ll let Sunfyre eat her, one limb at a time.”

“Yes, my king,” Criston says, still stunned, gaping at Jaehaerys’ small, headless body.

“I’m going with you,” Aemond tells his brother.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yes you do. And I would never let you fly into battle alone.”

Aegon sniffles and wipes the tears from his face with his bloodied palms, leaving stains of clotting crimson there. Then he stands, touches his forehead to Helaena’s as a goodbye, and stumbles towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Grandsire demands.

“To torture that man to death,” Aegon says, and is gone.

Aemond turns to where you are sitting at his writing desk, Orwyle just beginning your stitches. Your eyes—glazed and drugged, grief-stricken and horrified—meet his, and you know that he is thinking that had the blade hit just a few inches higher, you would have bled to death. Aemond approaches. “Move,” he commands Orwyle.

Maester Orwyle meekly retreats; but first, he hands over the needle. And Aemond finishes mending your flesh, one painstaking, practiced stitch at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond tells you goodbye on a bluff overlooking where Vhagar is waiting for him down on the beach. He keeps you a safe distance away; not only have you no dragon of your own, but the beasts also share an aversion to you, they snarl and slink away like they would in the presence of no other Targaryen. The wind is raging and the sun bright, the sky blue and full of slow-moving clouds. Helaena is curled up in the Dragonpit with Dreamfyre. Alicent is with the surviving children. Maelor shrieks and runs away when he glimpses you.

Under torture, the larger assassin revealed that he was indeed commissioned by a messenger sent by Daemon, and that all he knew of his companion was that he was a ratcatcher. Your brothers paraded every ratcatcher they could find in front of you, but none of them were the man with the knife. Aegon, believing their ranks had nonetheless been perilously infiltrated, ordered all the ratcatchers of King’s Landing to be executed. Now they hang from walls and bridges, attracting crows. Some people weep for the dead men, but many more weep for Queen Helaena, who is known to be gentle and kind. The details have reached every street of the city: beheaded in front of his mother, made to choose between her sons. Rhaenyra has given them yet another reason to hate her. Her mortal enemies grow more numerous by the hour.

“What if something happens here?” you ask Aemond, your hands in his, strands of silver hair raked from your braid by the wind. Under your gown, your bandages loop over your left shoulder and below your right arm; beneath them, your stitches throb and your heart aches. “What if we have to leave the city for some reason? What if when you return you don’t know where I’ve gone?”

“Then I will find you,” Aemond says, as if there is no other possibility. “You belong to me, you always have. That will never change. Here, in Dorne, at the Wall, in Essos or the Summer Isles, anywhere on earth, anywhere you go, you are still mine.”

You smile, and when Aemond kisses you, his long hair trashing in the wind, he is tender and harmless, and you are reminded that he can be this way sometimes. He isn’t always fierce. He isn’t always treacherous. “Take care of Aegon.”

“Of course I will.”

“Don’t come back without him.”

“I’ll carry him the whole way home if I have to,” Aemond says, and then he leaves you, stalking down the hill towards Vhagar.

That night, when you climb into your bed, you find a note there that Aemond has left for you. You unfold the parchment, wincing; each movement pains you, reminds you of the muscles that have been slit by the assassin’s blade. You will carry the scar forever. Aemond’s note reads:

Red,

When you are here…think of me.

Soon we’ll have everything.

In place of a signature, he has finished with a sketch of a forget-me-not in blue ink.

You close the note and hold it to your chest, the parchment scratching against your bandages.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond fanfiction #aemond the kinslayer #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction

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crimsonbastard · 6 months ago

Text

"Criston Cole is an Incel! He called Rhaenyra slurs! He killed Innocent People! He led his men to a fiery death!"

Blah blah blah, I couldn't care less about him calling a White Woman of noble birth slurs, especially when the said woman carelessly endangered him and treated him as a sneaky link (He literally told her to "stop" and tried to walk away. Don't give me a hateful 10 Page essay on how he should've yeeted her or ran to Viserys, when he's her literal employee. I'll just fucking block you).

Calling Women Slurs? who doesn't in that sad medieval world? Women call Women slurs, Men call Women Slurs, it's misogyny battle royale, although it doesn't make it right, I would rather have him have beef with One Woman of higher class who personally wronged him rather than disrespect sex workers (which he doesn't). He in fact treats them respectfully.

He killed Innocent People!

- Nobody cares about Joffrey. Even if they do, they just bring him up to hate Cole and accuse him of homophobia. Honestly speaking, I would rather have Cole kill him in a tourney than a wedding.

- Beesebury, bro killed another Team Black Glazer? So what? Daemon gets brownie points for killing Vaemond who was speaking the truth about Rhaenyra committing treason by putting her bastsrds up for the Throne and Driftmark (the writers are so biased that they made him call her a whore just so that they can distract us from the fact that he was making sense), but Cole killing Beesebury who was accusing Alicent of committing Regicide is a big no?

Led his men to death by dragon fire. The keyword being "led his men". He WAS on the Battlefield, he was fighting alongside his men, he was getting his hands dirty, and he too was prepared to die for the cause.

He didn't sit back and grab a bucket of popcorn as he watched his men die. He fought with them and he would've died too if it weren't for the fluke of him falling.

He doesn't take responsibility for his faults.

- He asks Alicent to give him a merciful death when he willingly confessed his sin of sleeping with Rhaenyra.

- He tries to kill Himself after the wedding, if it weren't for Alicent.

- He's still suicidal and nihilistic, but only keeps going for Alicent.

Now comes the disclaimer that yes he can be hated for his crimes. But I'll say this, overhating his character is no longer funny, it has gone to the point where he's being placed in the same tier list as Joffrey, Ramsey and Daemon. Like people, he's not some psychopath who tortures and mutilates people after hunting them down with hounds, nor is he a rich privileged brat who sees people as playthings to inflict his cruelty on. Or someone who bashes his wife's head with a rock or orders hits on toddler's.

He's a douchebag for sure. But placing him in THAT tier with THOSE characters? Really?

#pro team green #anti team black #anti team black stans #pro criston cole #anti rhaenyra stans #anti rhaenyra #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti daemon targaryen #anti joffrey baratheon #anti ramsey bolton #pro alicent hightower

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yanderes-galore · 6 months ago

Note

Rhaenyra vs Aegon from (ASOIAF) rivalry concept?? What better way to make the sibling's fight worse than to add a Darling into the mix, am I right?

Whole CIVIL WAR happens and these two are upset they like the same person-

Rhaenyra Concept

Aegon II Concept

❗️Potential Spoilers for Fire & Blood/HOTD Season 2❗️

Yandere! Rhaenyra vs Aegon II

(Team Black vs Team Green)

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Possessive/Protective behavior, Jealousy, Violence, Kidnapping, Death mention, Manipulation, Imprisonment, Stalking, Dubious companionship/relationship.

There's so many different ways to tackle something like this.

You could really be anyone.

A sibling, a favorite servant, a knight, anyone.

No matter who you are, you're stuck in this realm-wide tug-of-war game.

These two are not only fighting for succession now... but you.

One's the queen of Dragonstone, the other the king of King's Landing.

Honestly... you are in such a bad position no matter where you go or who you are.

You're caught in the middle of a war where both sides have dragons.

I bet that if they both like someone, said person's going to have the entirety of Team Black/Green breathing down their neck.

After all Rhaenyra leads The Blacks, Aegon leads The Greens.

With one order, you could be abducted for either side.

That's probably the scariest part of their rivalry.

You have no power in this situation, they do.

Which means just about anything can happen.

That's also the reason there's just... so much potential for this idea that I'm not even sure if I can cover it all.

Considering what both royals go through, they can both get unhinged.

They have both lost children to each other and they're only going to stop fighting when one of them is dead.

When I think of the obsession for this idea, my mind goes to a sibling or knight.

That way you'd still have somewhat of a connection with both sides.

Perhaps you're a sibling of either Rhaenyra and Aegon that gets caught up in the civil war... only to realize both royals want you for one reason or another.

Or maybe you're a knight (regardless of gender, they had both) who served Viserys.

Then when the war begins, you're torn between Rhaenyra and Aegon, both royals offering you the position of their personal protector (Kingsguard/Queensguard).

You most likely knew them before the civil war happened.

Then it develops into some sort of custody battle for the rivalry.

The alternative is you go with one side willingly and the other takes you hostage.

Then during your time as a hostage, the leader of the side who took you becomes obsessive until your side takes you back.

That's another way you can get them both to like you.

Now, in terms of yandere behavior?

Aegon is naturally hedonistic and would lean more towards romantic tendencies.

He can be both intimidating yet also pathetic with his obsession, often clinging to them and not afraid of executing those who get too close.

You're never far from his sight as his obsession, the king thrives off your care.

As king, Aegon feels he should get what he wants and be smothered in affection, he should always get what he wants.

He's only vulnerable with you... he needs you.

He needs a connection with you.

Rhaenyra is protective and more calculating than her half-brother.

For the most part she can keep her cool and her obsession can go either platonic or romantic.

For the first portion of the war she's calm, yet would fear people are trying to steal or kill her beloved as the war goes on due to trust issues and assassination attempts.

Although they both deal with such a thing.

Rhaenyra's used to the world being against her since she was young.

With her obsession, she feels she can at least trust someone.

She values loyalty between her and her obsession, making them sacrifice everything to dedicate themselves to her in the end.

Both royals utilize psychological and emotional manipulation to try and garner your loyalty.

Aegon lays the charm on thick... Rhaenyra often promises protection for your dedication.

The two have loyal members on their side that would listen to their every order.

I can actually see them both imprisoning their obsession if you're already with a side.

Rhaenyra no doubt sends Daemon to recruit/take you in for The Blacks on top of Caraxes.

Aegon may be less willing if you were already a Green supporter, but if you're with The Blacks he'll order Aemond to hunt you down and imprison you.

You'll get a cozy chambers with both of them, even if it is your prison.

This is another rivalry where I feel one of them is going to die in the end.

Whoever wins this Civil War also gets to have you.

There's no running, after all, how can you?

There's nowhere to go.

You could probably even go to the North and still have someone rat you out.

The two sides brew in tension as they take each other out.

Many common folk whisper rumors about the fact both sides are fighting over one person.

They mutter about your importance, both out of pity and bitterness.

Meanwhile, as you watch the carnage play out and are often tossed from cell to cell, you want nothing to do with any Targaryen.

Get used to dragon back, you're going to be on dragon back a lot.

You know blood is being spilled primarily for control, that this is a battle about succession.

Yet you also fear lives are being lost because you're involved, even if you don't want to be.

When you're with The Greens, Aegon often is seen with an arm around your waist.

In private he wants to trust you, to get affection he couldn't get from even the brothels.

When you're with The Blacks, Rhaenyra keeps you close yet under watch.

She provides hospitality and her affection is welcoming with friendly touches.

She respects you as long as you respect her, similar to Aegon, yet she fears you'll turn on her the longer you're with The Greens.

Aemond and Daemon are definitely doing the dirty work for their king/queen respectively.

They're the ones primarily spilling blood and sending spies to keep an eye on you.

However... Aegon and Rhaenyra wouldn't mind personally dealing with threats, Aegon especially, despite Aemond's protests.

Would things get gorey? Yeah.

Both sides would mount heads on pikes just to get a message across.

Their fight over you and succession would continue until near the end of the war.

By this point, most of their relatives are gone.

Rhaenyra just has her son, and Aegon's nearly alone.

The conclusion of the war is (un)fortunately also the conclusion of your own fate.

With wounded dragons, the two are prepared to end things.

The amount of blood doesn't matter to them.

They don't even care if the blood of their enemy gets on you.

All that matters is you.

The end of the war may mean you're no longer tugged between two royals...

But it certainly does not grant you any sort of freedom either.

#yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #yandere rhaenyra targaryen #yandere aegon ii targaryen #yandere team black #yandere team green

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brittle-doughie · 7 months ago

Note

Since you responded to my Pf hcs time for Lover!

Hollyberry Cookie (Mania)

Appearance wise, looks almost practically the same maybe some clothing tears and mayyyybe more armor for resistance in fights

Personality wise, ya she's a more cracked out version of princess cupcake cookie (that's the oc right?)

Becoming basically addicted to foods, fights or fiestas. She now requires a kingdom size of this to satiate her desires (and even then that's still not enough!)

She most likely overthrew the royal family, even kicking her son from the throne to become ruler of Hollyberry kingdom and probably sent them to prison, regulating? Bah! Don't think about that and drink off the day as much as you can!

Very likely that she might've killed some of her citizens or atleast nearly killed pitaya dragon cookie because she wants to fight but overdid it and nearly let them to bleed to death... But heyyyy they got doctors in the kingdom so they'll be fine!

Very crazy for you! Will not hesitate to kill everyone even her former bodyguard (Now Captain of the cookie knights of the Cookie kingdom, traitor!) if it means she can have herself!

Unlikely scenario but I have a feeling she wants to replace her shield to various types of weapons, mainly because she likes swinging around sword n shit and a shield is lame!

The Lover of Passion HCs (Beast Hollyberry Cookie) | The Ancient Beast Order AU

For this, it would be a vibe between @/cuppajj’s Dragonberry Cookie and Tea Knight Cookie, except replacing the dragon element of the former and the more armored look of the latter. Except, within the helmet’s visor, you can see the Lover’s deranged, driven mad eyes…

Kinda, a mix of that and her original personality, but leaning more on the laidback side. She drinks and partakes in her own vices with no sense of control. It’s only when she spots the object of her passion at the moment is when the manic side of her kicks in.

A battle, juice, or even of romantic interest, she chases after it with the same level of insane passion. She wants her kingdom to pursue their own desires without any limits or barriers stopping that. A kingdom without control would be chaos, but the kingdom flourished as a result too.

Her intense passion for battle nearly costed the life of Pitaya Dragon Cookie, who has since retreated to the Dragon’s Valley. The kingdom’s medical staff can handle the cookies that get sent there because of her desires for battle, and if they perish, well they just didn’t have it in them anyway.

Wildberry Cookie has joined your ranks in a bid to stop the Lover from spreading her overindulgence on chaos around all of Earthbread. The Lover would give him the time of day, if not for the fact that she already has YOU in her sights. If the Lover is passionate about something, she’s doing EVERYTHING she can to get to it..

Her shield still remains her as her primary weapon, but she’s open to others if it means cutting through her opponents much faster, the fire in her heart remaining strong as so!

#brittle answers #the ancient beast order au #the lover of passion #hollyberry cookie #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cr kingdom

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 7 months ago

Text

where the brook bends

the wistful wyvern, chapter two

a/n: something about fighting giant spiders just feels so quintessential skyrim...

summary: “you are two of my most trusted warriors. If it can’t be me out there, then it should be you two,” his glance then shifted between you both as he noticed the look on your face, “unless, of course, you have any objections.”

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, slow burn, one-sided pinning, forced proximity, arachnophobia (giant spiders), weapons, violence, bathing in a river

word count: 2243

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“This is the third time in two years that dragon has attacked us,” the king’s jaw clenched, “third time, and we still don’t know how to slay it,” leaned against the central table in the war room, he glanced up to find Bucky’s eyes, “I was planning on going on a mission to gather intel, find its lair, study the beast, but–… things have changed,” on a heavy exhale, he let his eyes momentarily fall shut, “I need to stay here,” he stated slowly, “I can’t risk my life on a quest like this, not now that Cordelia is born… so,” his gaze fluttered back open, “I’m here to ask the two of you to take care of it.”

Shooting a glance over at Bucky, you hesitantly uttered, “us?”

You wanted to say no. A mission such as this could take months, and being stuck with Bucky for that long, just the two of you on the road, having to work so closely together, it might break you for good.

But then when Steve’s gaze locked with your own, the declination got stuck in your throat.

“You are two of my most trusted warriors. If it can’t be me out there, then it should be you two,” his glance then shifted between you both as he noticed the look on your face, “unless, of course, you have any objections.”

“No, of course not, your majesty,” you swiftly replied, knowing that this plague was so much bigger than your own little feelings, “it would be an honour.”

“Hi, I’m here to pick up an order, it should be under the name Y/l/n.”

“Ah, yes,” the blacksmith nodded with recognition, “your blades are right over here,” he turned to retrieve them, “it was five new daggers, correct?” he glanced over his shoulder as he gathered the crafted arms in his grasp.

“Oh, six actually,” you slightly raised yourself up onto your toes to catch a glimpse.

“Right,” he turned his attention back to the table of finished and shiny weapons, “uh–”

But then before the blacksmith could begin to panic, a young apprentice came running over from the forge, “uncle, here!” and handed him the last dagger, “sorry, I was sharpening them and forgot one of them by the grinding stone.”

“Thank you, Peter,” he then let his expert eye wash over the metal, “ah, you’re getting better!” a bright grin crept up on the lad's face, “excellent work, my boy,” the blacksmith then walked back to where you waited and slid the cloth-bound blades over the soot-stained counter, “here you are, miss.”

“How much do I owe you?” you opened up your coin purse and began to flick through the change.

“Oh, no,” his hands raised up before him, “no charge,” a gentle shake tipped his head, “that’s already been taken care of by his royal majesty himself.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “received a letter yesterday morning for anything that you, or your other warden friend out there, might need, to put it on his tab.”

“Alright, then,” a grateful chuckle bubbled out of you, “thank you.”

And as you headed back out of the open smithy onto the quaint streets of Borün, the proprietor cheerily called after you, “have a good day!”

“You too!” you glanced back over your shoulder and offered the two figures a small wave.

Nestled in a t-intersection, the heat of blacksmith swiftly got soothed by the breeze from the docks that bloomed only a few storefronts down to the left. The melody of gentle waves crashing against the harbour sloshed directly into your soul. One seagull had even dared to bravely wander past you into the town square that unfolded in the opposite direction. Casting a brief glance down there, by the bistro on the corner, you saw an energetic child spring and flee from the rest of their family, as they sat around one of the cosy outdoor seating options and enjoyed a quiet lunch, to favour a sprint around the vast tree that stood rooted in the centre of the square.

“Did you get what you needed?” Bucky asked as you exited the shop, his grasp clutched tight around the reins of both Echo, his own horse that had a shiny black coat, as well as Zenna, the brown spotted mare you’d ridden for years.

“Yep,” you tugged the newly acquired weapons into one of the saddlebags strapped to your horse, “you ready to go or do you have any last-minute errands before we head out?”

“Nope, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he exhaled as you slid up onto Zenna, “let’s head out.”

“So, the dragon always escaped out west,” Bucky spoke, shooting a glance in your direction as you rode beside him, “every time, it was that direction.”

“Hm…” you searched your inner map, your vision dancing betwixt the trees you passed as you cut through the south-eastern corner of The Noll Woods, “could it be dwelling out by Anng?”

“Maybe…” he cocked his head, “there are a lot of small islands all along that part of the coast, maybe it could have claimed one of them?”

“Possibly…” one of your brows then tilted up as a theory struck you, “or perhaps it’s even closer than that,” your neck twisted and you met his eye, “The Asadånie Mountains.”

“That certainly is a possibility,” his gaze averted as he thought on it, “I mean, the mountain range is immensely vast and dangerous by design. I don’t even think it’s ever been properly represented on a map yet with how few venture up there.”

A noise then suddenly found your ear. A shrill clicking call from somewhere within the forest.

“Shh, shut up,” you swiftly snapped as you pulled on the reins to stop your horse.

Not hearing your hushed tone, Bucky kept on rambling, “it’s perfectly tucked away and secluded for a creature such as a dragon.”

“Barnes, I mean it, shut up,” you raised your voice sternly as your eyes raked the overgrown area around you.

“What?” he finally stopped as well a few paces ahead of you, “what is it?”

Sliding off of Zenna, you carefully looked around, listening intently for the sound that had chilled your bones.

You should have looked up, because if you had, then you would have maybe spotted the giant spiders lurking before they dropped down from their vast webs spun throughout the treetops above.

When one pounced on you, its curled fangs gnashing for a bite of your flesh, Bucky jumped off of Echo, though didn’t reach you before two skittered out to get him.

Drawing a dagger in each of your grasps, you then sank both of them into the spider’s dark and clustered eyes, twisting them clockwise before it sank to the forest floor below.

As you yanked them back out, a spray of ickier trailed your blades, even as you turned to throw one of them into the bigger of the creatures advancing on your comrade, your aim slaying it instantaneously, the viscus scattered against the side of your face at the toss.

But then a fourth one came from out of nowhere and pinned you down in the dirt. With the weapon still in your palm, your reach was too limited to strike it anywhere vital, though you still dealt a few blows where you could. Pierce it open above you, slimy viscera spilt out and showered your struggling form.

On your next attack, the hilt of your blade managed to get stuck in the tough hide of the monster, and with the spider guts that slicked up not only your grasp, you began to fear you wouldn’t be able to pry it back out.

But just before your hands slipped, as you tried to push it off of you and not render you its dinner, the spider suddenly went limp above you and you glanced up to see a thick bolt splitting its skull.

“Hey,” you snapped as you scrambled up onto your feet, “I had that one!”

Swinging his crossbow back over his shoulder, Bucky simply smirked, “sure, you did,” and bent down to pick up the dagger you tossed to save him, briefly flipping it playfully in his palm before he glanced up and threw it. For a split second, your eyes went wide, but then the short blade flew past your ear, and as your neck twisted to follow it, you watched as it logged itself into a younger spider you hadn’t noticed till now.

As the horses grazed and drank from the nearby stream, you unfastened your own bedroll from the back of Zenna.

When it was nestled under your arm, you offered the horse a gentle pat before turning back to the makeshift camp for the night. Sparks finally began to dance from Bucky’s efforts and the pile of twigs he had gathered was set aflame.

Once your bedroll was unfurled on the mossy ground, you quietly sat atop of it, chewing on some dry rations you’d found in the bottom of your satchel and stared at the sun as it slowly sank into the horizon. As your vision danced between soft pink clouds in the lavender sky, your gaze suddenly grew wide as Bucky stood up from his side of the fire and began to shed his clothes.

“What are you doing?” you asked as he peeled off the partial chainmail he wore and swiftly the dark blue tunic beneath, revealing his bare back to you before he cast a glance over his shoulder.

“Going for a dip. What does it look like I’m doing?” not slowing down at your alarm, he fiddled with his belt and stepped closer to the riverbank, “you know, you could use one as well,” he playfully added before stripping off the last of his clothing, “you reek of spider guts, my friend,” your gaze instantly fled up towards the sky before you could see more than just his backside.

At the splash of his jumping into the water, you subtly sniffed yourself before reluctantly uttering, “alright, fine,” and you pushed yourself up to your feet. After gathering a clean shirt as well as a wide rag to dry yourself off with from your supplies, you piped up again, “but you stay up here, I’ll go find somewhere more private further down.”

“Ah, come on, snow, you don’t have to do that!” he argued as you began to wander away, “what do you want me to turn around? Promise not to sneak a peek at your goods?”

But you just kept up your stride and called over your shoulder, “enjoy your bath, Barnes!”

The stream luckily curved slightly a ways further down. Not a lot, but enough to grant you enough assurance to give it a go. After you’d peeled off your layers of clothing and the pieces of leather armour that protected your frame, you slowly dipped a toe into the cool water.

The blushing skies slowly melted into black as you bathed in the river. When you took a moment to rinse out the ivory tunic you’d worn, your gaze flickered down the stream to spot Bucky as he splashed water up onto the part of him not submerged. As droplets danced down his skin, you nearly stopped breathing entirely as you followed their trail down to what the water obscured.

But then, like snapping awake from a dream, the dizzying sensation gave away to the depressing reality.

Once you’d scrubbed and cleaned yourself the best that you could, the stars above began to twinkle as you patted your skin dry and shrugged on the acquired clean shirt, a burgundy one, as well as the rest of your attire.

When you found your way back towards the camp, Bucky was already sitting by the fire, dressed and with his hair still dripping gently and turning the shoulders of his navy tunic nearly as dark as the night sky.

After you’d hung your wet shirt over a nearby branch, without sharing another word with the other warden you travelled with, you laid down on your bedroll and closed your eyes.

But before too long, Bucky’s low timbre found your ears over the crackling of the fire.

“Hey, what’s going on with you?”

“Uh, I’m trying to fall asleep,” you sighed loudly, “just as you should.”

“No, I mean what’s going on?” he persisted, “are you mad at me or something?”

Your eyes then blinked open to stare up at the stares, “why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know, yet you’ve given me the cold shoulder ever since you came back from Efira,” he then asked, “did something happen there?”

“Other than comb through tombs with a boring ass lord,” you huffed, “no, nothing happened.”

“Then what’s wrong?” he demanded.

The muscles in your jaw clenched tightly before you uttered, “nothing’s wrong.”

“Did I do something to piss you off?” he kept pushing, “because if so, I’m sorry.”

Your muscles flexed as you forcefully raised yourself up on onto an elbow and twisted to shoot him a glare, “look, we are here on an important mission. We don’t have to be all buddy-buddy and reminisce about old times in order to get the job done, alright?”

Dark brows tightly knitted together, he stared back at you before eventually huffing, “fine.”

“Great,” you then heatedly flopped back down and tensely turned your back to him, “goodnight.”

#lea’s writing #eflorr au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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youraverageaemondsimp · 1 year ago

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Incomprehensible Horror. // Demon!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Halloween Special 🎃

MDNI, DD:DNE(?): reader discretion is advised.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to prevent seeing dark content from me.

WARNINGS: dubcon, cunnilingus, demon fucking(?), p in v sex, past life, mentions of abuse, plotting, murder, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), size kink, cum eating, slight breeding kink, spooky vibes(?), manhandling, so much canon divergence, GoT S8 spoilers(?) kinda idk, the plot is shifted and extremely altered to fit this story. + not proofread

WC: 3.8k

A/N: the original draft got deleted and i had to rewrite it because I wanted to publish this before Halloween is over, so this is slightly rushed :(

There was something extremely eerie about the red keep that always set you on the edge whenever you would hear stories about it.

The burnt down remnants of it untouched as the city around it prospered, only developing more as the time passed on, with skyscrapers, branded shops, turning into what you would call a 'modern city'.

King's Landing was not the way it was anymore, the destruction of it provided a reason to rebuild the city entirely, it was a lengthy process but definitely worth it.

A seemingly innocent city until you look past the sky scrapers, shops, etc, revealing a sinister and a tragic history of the land, a story that involves a royal family fighting and going mad for the throne, only to succumb to their madness and go extinct.

There have been many attempts in the past to rebuild it, but all in vain as there have been cases of construction accidents, fatal injuries, suicides, making it impossible to rebuild it, so they turned it into a tourist attraction.

What a way to make money.

Yet they close it off the moment the sun begins to set.

You had visited it a lot, having been living in King's Landing for a while, it was basically harmless, making you wonder why it was rumoured to be haunted, when it's just a disfigured building with half of its structure on the ground.

It was a casual weekday for you, returning to your apartment from work after the sun had long set, you took the elevator up the building, the music abruptly coming to a stop way before you reached your floor, leaving you confused, but you soon broke out of your confusion when you heard the familiar 'ding' indicating that you reached your floor, and as soon as you left the elevator the automatic doors slammed quickly, causing a loud sound, startling you.

It seemed as if the elevator was having technical difficulties.

You make a mental note to take the elevator less often until it is fixed.

You quickly scurry to the side of your apartment, pulling the keys out and pushing it into the lockhole, turning it, which opens the door, but you stumble over something and lose your balance, holding the wall for support to not fall until you finally push yourself back onto your feet and look down.

It was a package.

But you had not ordered anything.

Weirdly enough, there was no address.

You should've left it there.

But you took it inside.

Your curiosity got the best of you, and the package not having any address only further fuelled your justification for opening it.

It was a book.

An occult type of book to be exact.

You opened it and skimmed through the pages, it seemed more like a personal diary than an instruction based book for spells.

And it was convincing enough at first until you read a certain page.

“Go to the ruins of the red keep at 3AM, and chant this, 'Oh rōvēgrie zaldrīzes dārilaros, māzigon naejot se iōragon gō nyke, ivestragī aōha kasta se melkasta laesi jurnegon rȳ nyke, iksan isse jorrāelagon hen aōha dohaeragon, kesan krenyikhé tepagon mirros ao jaelagon' for a miracle!” (Oh great dragon prince, come forward and stand before me, let your blue and purple eyes look at me, I am in need of your help, I will gladly give anything you wish.)

This made you chuckle, what kind of prank was this? This was so badly written to the point of making any paranoia you felt about this book dissipate immediately.

I mean, chanting spells? to summon a dead prince? it made you laugh, and of course the location was the red keep, a place rumoured to be haunted. It couldn't not be more obvious than that, because whatever this was, was clearly a joke.

So you pushed the book aside and settled for bed.

Sleep did not come to you.

Which you found odd.

You would usually be extremely tired, and the moment you lay on the bed, you would be pulled under the depth of slumber.

Yet now you squirmed, not being able to find any sleep.

You don't know how many hours passed, making you frustrated.

And your mind wandered off to what you had read earlier.

You glanced at the time, it read 2AM.

You purse your lips in thought, not knowing what to do.

You got up from your bed.

You knew this was a bad idea, sneaking into the red keep, with the stupid book in your hand as you navigated through the building, and then you ended up in a room with a bunch of paintings of the past targaryens.

You set the book down and kneeled, looking at the verse you were supposed to chant out loud, you bought out your phone and looked at the time, it read 2:59AM.

One more minute.

You did not know why you were doing this, normally, you were a rational person, you usually don't let your curiosity win in situations like this, having control over it, but in this case, it seems you had lost all your control, and it seemed as your mind is being controlled to do whatever was written on that page.

Besides, it's not like anything would happen.

It seemed fake after all.

Trying doesn't hurt.

You never really believed in ghosts or demons yourself, so what were you scared of?

And so as soon as the time read 3AM, you chanted the saying out loud.

You waited.

And waited.

You looked at the time, 3:10AM.

Nothing happened.

You let out a scoff, what did you expect? A demon to appear?

You collected the book and left the scene, annoyed that nothing happened, but you were also glad nothing happened at the same time.

The air felt colder than before, and lights seemed to flicker constantly whenever you crossed a street light, everything seemed out of place and odd, the buildings looked distorted.

Was your paranoid finally getting to you?

You felt a chill run up your spine.

It felt as if someone whispered in your ear, causing you to jump and look back, only to find nothing.

This was setting you on edge, you quickly walked faster back to your apartment, you frowned when you saw the "out of order" sign on the elevator, knowing that it was not there when you used it to come down prior to your visit to the red keep.

You sighed heavily and took the stairs, climbing to the floor you lived in, but for an odd reason, the stairs seemed to go on for longer, the more you climbed, the more they went on, you did not know if you were seeing things for feeling that way simply cause you were spooked, but you know for a fact that climbing 7 floors should not take more than 10 minutes at a slow pace, and yet here you were still climbing at a fast pace yet the stairs seemed to be never ending, you did not know if you were hallucinating the scribbled out floor numbers assigned to the respective floors or if they were originally like that before.

You looked down the stairwell, and it only seemed as if you climbed 3 floors, which left you baffled. You ran up as fast as you could, and to your relief you saw the '7th floor' on the board, indicating you were on your floor. You sighed in relief, making your way to your apartment, you did your best to ignore the constant flicker of lights, and what seemed like a dark figure standing from the corner of your eyes, the keys fumbled in your hands, it took you a few tries to unlock the door and when you did, you saw the figure move towards you, so you quickly rushed inside and slammed the door shut behind you.

You leaned against the door breathing heavily, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, to try and calm your mind. You cannot tell if this was just your mind playing tricks because you're so worked up, or something odd is actually happening, but you know for the fact that whatever you were seeing was real.

Your apartment suddenly starts smelling putrid, making you scrunch up your nose. The smell was unbearable, as if thousands of dead rats were in your apartment, decaying away. It made you want to throw up, the foul scent leaving you light headed as you went towards your bedroom, to access the attached bathroom.

Luckily for you, the bedroom smelled like it usually would instead of dead rats, so you took a deep breath of the normal air, the nausea beginning to slowly fade away.

“For what have you summoned me, mortal?” a deep voice says, making you freeze in your spot, you turn around and your eyes widen in horror, as you take in the sight in front of you.

The face of a goat with horns, and scales that belonged to a dragon running down its upper body, stopping at it's elbows, black fluid dripping from its body, covering it's most intimate area, and its legs covered in scales as well, your voice was stuck in your throat, not being able to scream as the sheer panic made it unable to.

It looks confused at your horror filled face before looking down to its body and sighing annoyedly, and then its body distorts, the sound of bones cracking, flesh turning and squeezing, you watch the entire thing happen, the way its body is changing shape until it stops, making your breath hitch in your throat.

It took the form of a human man, face now mimicking a normal human, yet it was also disfigured, with a scar running up his cheek to his eyebrow, and an eye patch on his left eye, before he took it off, revealing the sapphire placed in the eye socket. His gaze was piercing, staring daggers at you, as he grew visibly frustrated at your silence.

“Can't you speak?” his voice booms across the room, causing you to snap out of your fear, and finally answer him, “I-it was an accident, I didn't mean to.” you answer and that displeases him, face now carrying the expression of a scowl.

“You followed as the book had instructed, did you not?” he asks and you nod, “Then it is no accident.”

“I did not think it would actually work, it was my mistake, please its an accident-” your voice cracks, still trying to process what was happening, trying to form words that made sense. He pushed you against the wall, his hand wrapped around your throat, long sharp nails digging into the skin of your neck, restricting the passage of air as you struggled in his grip, “On accident you say? Then you must pay the price for wasting my time.” he said darkly, and released you, causing you to fall to the ground, coughing and taking lungfuls of air.

“Should I kill you and then take your soul? Or take your soul directly and watch as the light fades from your eyes, screaming and writhing in agony in my hold.” he ponders genuinely and you gulp in fear, tears welling up in your eyes, knowing that something stupid is now costing you your life. “Please forgive me- I did not mean for any of this to happen.” you beg, voice hoarse.

“Forgive you? You should not have stifled me to begin with, now you must pay the price for your own stupidity, what shall I do hmm? My time is incredibly precious after all.” he looks down at you and you quiver in fear.

He grabs your hair and pulls you to your feet, making you stand, his hot breath fans against your face as you look up at him, and then he scans your face, taking in your features and then his eye widens as if he realised something.

And then he smiles, the grip in your hair becoming even tighter, causing you to wince in pain, “Please- let go of me- I'm sorry.” you grip his hand, trying to make him let go of the hold he has on you, “Aemond- please.” and that's when he releases you.

“Ah, so you do remember me.” he says, amused and you look at him confused, “Huh? What do you mean?” you ask him genuinely and that's when you realised you called him Aemond, it came out so naturally to the point you did not notice it.

But you still had no idea what just occurred.

Who's Aemond?

He grabs your cheeks, “I had waited so many years.”

What is he talking about?

“I won't lose you this time.” he says and before you can respond, he presses his lips against yours, one hand wrapped around your waist as the other holds the back of your head, pressing your face against him.

Your head felt hazy all of a sudden.

Why does all of this feel familiar?

You don't protest when he pushes you on the bed, climbing on top of you, you just stare at him, blinking in confusion as he tears away at your clothing, “Oh how the fashion has changed overtime, I remember last time you were wearing a black gown, mourning the death of your husband.” he whispers in your year and you feel ringing in your ear.

“What an amazing actress you were, mourning him in such a convincing way, only to get fucked by me after the funeral.” his hands trail down your body, “Such good memories, to have you underneath me, moaning my name constantly like a prayer, you were the first woman I ever desired after my death, the one who broke my curse, letting me become a true demon, it was on accident too back then.” he chuckles, he grips your pants, tearing the fabric as if it were paper.

“Until they found out of course, that you conspired with a demon, and planned the murder of your own husband.” his voice turns dark, and the ringing in your ear gets louder, your mind spins. “I remember not being able to do anything as they burned you alive at the sept, sigils placed around you to prevent me from interfering, to watch your flesh on fire as you screamed in agony, screamed my name in pain and it was then I swore that I would destroy that city.” he growled darkly.

“And so I did, possessing my own descendant and burning the city down, not too long after your passing.” he recalls with a satisfied smirk on his face, “Do you still remember my full name?” he looks at you and the ringing suddenly stops, and everything seemed to be spinning around you, his face becomes blurry and your head begins to hurt, eyes beginning to water as you feel that you were set on fire, letting out a loud scream at the sheer amount of pain coursing through your body as memories you didn't recognize flowed through your mind, you writhing below him in pain, letting out loud cries, “Shh..” he caresses your head and suddenly the pain stops, making you breath heavily, making you close your eyes.

“Aemond Targaryen.” you hear your own voice speak and you open your eyes to look at him, he has a smirk on his face, a small smile grazes your face as well, lifting your hand up to caress his cheek, pulling his face towards you to kiss you, lips engulfing his, you breathe in his scent, and he suddenly doesn't smell putrid anymore, but instead of cloves and ash.

“Fucking cunts, all of them, they remained silent all throughout the time i was abused by him, but the moment I get my own revenge, they burnt me alive.” you say after pulling away from the kiss, gritting your teeth.

You felt so confused with yourself.

Both memories of your past life and current life clashing against each other, fighting for dominance, to decide who you were.

“It's over my love, I burnt them all down.” he kisses down your neck, to your breasts, and down to your cunt, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. You smile at him, spreading your legs wide for him to settle freely and latch his lips onto your clit, making you throw your head back when you feel his tongue move skillfully against the bundle of nerves, you grip his hair, shoving his face further into your cunt.

“Fuck- you taste the same as I remember, I missed this cunt so much, seven hells.” he curses, licking away at your cunt, you moan as his sharp teeth grazes your clit. “Watch your teeth-” you whimper, feeling his fingers prod at your entrance, before gently pushing them in. He pulls away from your cunt and watches his own fingers be engulfed by your cunt as he thrusts them in and out, he groans at the sight, wishing it was his cock plunging inside you. “Goodness gracious, you're so fucking divine.” he murmers before latching on your cunt again, tongue swirling against your bud.

You feel the band in your stomach, “Aemond, I'm cumming- I'm- fuck-!” you reach your peaking on his hands, back arched as the orgasm ripples through your body. You breath heavily and watch aemond climb up, his knees on the mattress of your bed as he bends your legs, your knees pressing to your chest.

You watch as he grabs his cock, your eyes widening at the sheer size of it before flitting over to his own, he smirks, “Aemond it won't fit-” you whine but he shushes you, “You took it with no problem before, tis the same.” he lines in up against your entrance, “But still-”

“Remember when we did it the first time, you said it wouldn't fit? Only to have you crying and cumming all over my cock like a common whore.” he says and you sigh, remembering the memory.

He slowly pushes his cock inside you, taking his own time, throwing his head back in pleasure, “Seven hells, you feel so fucking good, the gods be damned.” he grunts, feeling pleasure at the way your cunt is wrapped around him so perfectly. You grip the sheets below you for support, clenching your eyes shut as you try to adjust to him.

He grabs a hold of your legs, throwing them over his shoulder before he grabs your hips and starts thrusting in and out of you, making your body jolt up and down the bed at the force. Your moans of his name soon fill the room, and he moans too, closing his eye in pleasure as he continuously shoves his cock in and out of you.

He opens his eye to look down, only to smirk when he sees the outline of his cock in your lower abdomen whenever he thrusts fully inside, he presses a hand against it and you squirm, the pleasure amplifying, making your toes curl.

He leans down, causing your legs to fall off his shoulder and be pushed up against your chest one more, his long black tongue enters inside your mouth, extending far back into your throat making you gag before he pulls it back, finally letting both your lips meet. Your hands shoot up to his hair pushing him against you, he hums in satisfaction. His scales are back on his body, along with his horns, partly turning into his demonic form, you feel him grow in size, both height and mass, and eventually down there, which rips an orgasm from you, wetness flowing down your hole and dirtying the sheets and you choke on your own spit at the sudden peak.

He pulls out, and you look at him in confusion, knowing he didn't peak yet, but soon the confusion is replaced with anticipation as he flips you around onto your stomach, your body knows what to do immediately and you support yourself on your arms and knees. Aemond doesn't waste another moment before pushing himself inside you, letting out a loud moan when he feels you clench around him.

His pace is brutal and fast, only seeming to care about his own pleasure, he grabs you by your hair and tugs on it, causing you to curve your head backward but not lean back, he's fucking you like an animal in heat, the size difference making it easy to manhandle you as he wishes.

He soon feels his peak arriving after pounding into you like a madman, and he spills himself deep inside you, cumming so much to the point it makes you feel bloated and so full, you whine when you feel his pull out. He watches as his seed leaks out of you, gathering it with his index finger and tasting it, humming at it.

“I wish my seed takes.” he mutters.

He turns you on your back again, and holds your legs wide and spread apart, and spits on your cunt, before leaning down, holding your thighs apart and once again presses his warm mouth against your cunt, only this time he shoves his long tongue down your hole, you can feel him licking around there, eating up his own spend, and that's when he flicks his tongue upwards inside you, grazing your gspot and your thighs shut around his head, trying to prevent him from making you cum again, too overstimulated and tired.

“Aemond- another time, please- I'm so tired.” you whine, your eyes closing, and he listens to you, pulling away, withdrawing his tongue from inside of you. He climbs next to you in bed, shifting into his full human form again and pulling you close.

“I won't let anyone take you away from me now.” he murmurs in your ear and you nod, turning and snuggling close to him.

There were so many questions left unanswered.

Each and everything was an odd occurrence.

From the encounter of the package to you summoning a demon, who turned out to be the one you loved & fucked in your past life, even conspiring with him to kill your abusive husband, and to fucking him again, and now laying safely wrapped in his arms.

Who was the one that sent you the package then?

Just then you remember an odd event.

You remembered the text and pictures of the book with a bunch of spells and summoning rituals, you hadn't noticed it then but it was the same handwriting as yours.

It was your diary.

And you remember losing it the day right before you were burnt to death.

And you remember writing the words you had heard in your dream, confused back then as what "3AM" meant.

You did not want to dwell on this anymore.

Because you realised that it would drive into madness.

And so, you drifted off into slumber in the arms of your beloved.

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espionn · 10 months ago

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IceWing tribe sheet!

icewings actually happen to be my favorite tribe, they're a little messed up but i love them. enjoy my headcanons!

Physical Appearance + Traits:

-IceWings live in the cold and barren arctic north, and have developed very specific adaptations in order to survive. Rather than being warm-blooded and keeping themselves insulated, they kept their reptillian cold blood and slowly adapted to a consistently cold internal body temperature. As a result, they require no warmth at all for their bodies to function; they do not insulate themselves with fur or fat like mammals do.

-Their scales are pale, usually with a bluish tint although other colors are not unheard of. When well taken care of, they gleam and sparkle like ice.

-They are naturally cold to the touch, giving off a chill to anyone close by. In warm environments, especially humid ones, the cold will sometimes cause moisture from the air to condense on their scales, letting drops of water settle on them and drip from them. This, at first glance, can sometimes look like they’re “melting”, and has made some believe that IceWings are literally made from ice, and they can melt in the heat. (This is another headcanon that didn’t originate with me, it comes from @flamebringer0. If you see this, I adore your headcanon, I hope you don’t mind me including it among with mine!)

-Sharp spikes bristle their necks and run along their spines and tails. This can make it difficult for other tribes to gain the upper hand in fights without being wounded by the spines. They can also use their tail as an effective weapon.

-They can summon a storm of tiny shards and crystals from the ice that tends to coat their throat and produce frostbreath, which can quickly deliver frostbite to any dragons who aren’t well adapted to cold.

-Icewing horns are sometimes straight, resembling icicles, sometimes jagged, and sometimes branch off into something more antler-adjacent. They are always sharp, but just slightly more fragile than other horns.

-Some IceWing scales tend to get a bit darker and more silvery as they age, and likewise they tend to hatch with bright, snowy-white coloration. Some will have speckled patterns and general variability between colors across their bodies.

-Their dark eyes help absorb light and allow them to see past the bright glare of sun on ice.

-Their bodies are long, slender and elegant, especially among royals. Their faces are long and pointed, and they are more agile and maneuverable than most tribes expect. They are generally smaller than SkyWings but taller than MudWings.

-Their serrated claws help grip ice, and make their attacks more punishing. They have a sharp and sturdy point on the end of their snout, which can be used to crack ice without harming them.

-They are not a very physically varied tribe, but the royal and noble IceWings have a look distinct from those on outskirt villages. They often have fewer spines, straighter horns, narrower wings and paler colors, whereas lower-ranking IceWings have more practical antler-like horns, more spines, and a more muscular appearance. (Sketch displaying this below.)

Life Cycle:

-IceWings are hatched in small clutches of one to three. Parents will carve out a nest in the ice, lay the eggs, and then allow them to freeze over again until the dragonets break through the ice. It is believed that the colder the eggs during incubation, the more powerful the dragonets will become.

-They take around 5 months to develop and are hatched strong enough to free themselves and big enough that most predators aren’t interested in them. They are also hatched with a delicate layer of spines all across their bodies that resemble frost crystals, though these later shed off. Dragonets can also go several days without eating after hatching, which is unusual for dragons.

-Most parents are available to watch their dragonets, so these abilities simply serve as precautions for the case of missing or neglectful parents.

-They grow somewhat slowly, reaching maturity a bit later than other tribes.

-IceWings, especially those of high rank, are expected to be strictly monogamous, and their marriages are usually more of a formality than a real union of affection. They aren’t incapable of love, certainly, but marriage is not treated as an act of love among nobles and royalty. Sometimes even lower-status IceWings marry out of societal expectation and not for their own happiness, but things are generally less strict.

Society + Culture:

-IceWing society is strictly ranked by class and birthright. There are seven divisions, referred to as Circles; the Seventh Circle is made up of dragons of low status, living in small villages on the outskirts of the tribe and scorned by those in higher Circles. The First Circle, meanwhile, is almost entirely comprised of royalty and other dragons of high honor and status. In the palace, dragons are expected to greet and interact with others differently depending on their relative ranking. The system is extremely strict and ruthless, and disrespect is one quick way to be lowered down the ladder. During her reign, Queen Snowfall tore down the wall used to keep track of the placement of each dragon, and made great steps toward lessening this aspect of their culture, but it continued to subtly persist long after her death.

-Lower-circle IceWing society is simple and straightforward. They live in communities quite detached from palace life, hunting for themselves and helping each other raise their dragonets. As all IceWing animus dragons were strategically kept in royalty, most animus gifts did little to improve the lives of those outside the First and Second Circles. The best way for a low-born IceWing to rise in rank would be through military work; otherwise, the groups remain fairly stagnant. Protests and revolts, though, are surprisingly uncommon. Most Sixth and Seventh Circle IceWings are simply too detached from royalty to be concerned with wealth differences, and royals likewise rarely bother to interfere with Sixth and Seventh circle dragons.

-While in the palace, during the worst of the class division, all dragons were commanded to wear necklaces made from a heavy metal that matched their rank. First-Circle necklaces would consist of one ring, Second-Circle necklaces would have two, one inside of the other, and so on. The more circles, the heavier the necklace, and Seventh-Circle dragons, on the rare occasion they visited the palace, would be forced into a constant bow by the weight of the metal.

-IceWings are quite superstitious, not unlike SkyWings. Their beliefs vary by region, but a generally common one is that the deep, impenetrable ice cap they live on harbors some ancient, powerful force, and that if it ever were to break or melt away, that power would be unleashed and cause havoc; they see the ice as a protective field that froze over at the dawn of time, and if it unfroze it would be the end of everything they know.

-IceWings will sometimes wear polar bear fur or the pelts of elk and deer, though not for warmth. Lower-Circle dragons will wear the pelts and sometimes even antlers of their own prey, for bragging rights. Higher-Circle dragons simply wear them as a fashion statement and a show of wealth.

-IceWings are educated much more about their own tribe than others, and generally prefer to stick to their own affairs. They have few exports to trade and little interest in those of others. They are not the most diplomatic tribe.

-After the perceived theft of their last animus, they not only blamed NightWings, but also harbored resentment for every other tribe with animus magic, believing themselves to be the original carrier of the gene and therefore the rightful possessor of it. They are extremely protective of even the least useful of their animus gifts.

Diet: Carnivorous. IceWings eat arctic mammals like elk and polar bears, and aquatic mammals like seals and even sometimes narwhals and orcas. They also eat fish and, rarely, a few species of birds. They have no way to cook food and no desire to. Other than a few types of berries in the mountains near the SkyWing border, no plants grow in the arctic, and IceWings live on meat alone.

#wings of fire #wof headcanons #icewings #art #my posts

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 1 year ago

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Slave

Pairing: Dark Viserys Targaryen III x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Your job is to obey orders, even if they are wicked ones.

WARNINGS: Noncon (blowjob); Power Abuse.

Please, reblog and give me feedback.

“Go on, I don’t have all day.” Viserys urges you, his hand pushing your head forward.

You hesitate for a moment, fighting the nausea that rises in your throat at the sight of his cock, nestled between a small set of blonde hairs.

“Don’t you know what an honor this is for you? To touch the Dragon? It’s a privilege few people have.” Viserys impatiently says, his hand repeating this motion and this time he forces your head forward until your lips touch the tip, a blissful sigh coming from him.

The salty taste has you grimacing, but the man only pushes his hips forward, forcing you to open your mouth as he slides all of his length.

Your eyes widen as the intrusion makes it impossible for you to breathe and you slap his thighs, shiny eyes begging for some mercy.

The Targaryen man doesn’t pull out, instead starting to slowly move in and out of your mouth, ignoring your gags. Your spit gathers in your lips, cascading down your chin and neck, making a mess.

“Such a soft mouth.” He compliments, voice thick with lust. The small candles around the room cast shadows to his face, eyes lightening up with a spark of desire and insanity.

Perhaps the stories speak the truth and all Targaryen’s are mad.

“Just like that, suck all of it. Like the good slave you are.” his remarks are mean and soon tears are copiously falling down as he keeps fucking your mouth at a steady pace, small whines lifting into the hair.

The tension in your jaw worsens, the same with your knees hurting from the unpleasant position and you speed up, the sudden motivation having you bobbing your head back and forth, earning a jolt from Viserys.

“Oh, gods. Fuck, you’re better than what I though.”

You keep up the frantic motion, ignoring the way you feel so lightweight from the lack of breathing.

Sticking your nails into his thighs, you scratch until the blood comes out and you’re rewarded when Viserys hisses.

It doesn’t take long before his body goes limp and you receive a few broken moans and a splash of his seed.

Immediately pulling yourself back, you throw a fit of coughing.

“Aren’t you a little minx? Didn’t know you’d be such a cock-sucking whore.”

You look up, Viserys taking deep breaths as he smiles at you, pleased. You yearn to slap him, to spit on his face. But you hold yourself.

He’s a man.

Men always get away with everything.

While you’re just a slave.

“Don’t worry, when I’m King I can get you a spot as my royal concubine.”

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #viserys targaryen iii x reader #dark game of thrones #dark got #viserys targaryen iii imagine #dark!viserys targaryen iii #dark viserys targaryen iii #dark!viserys targaryen iii x reader #dark viserys targaryen iii x reader #tw: dark content #tw.dark content #yandere x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #tw.noncon #tw: noncon #yandere viserys iii targaryen #dark fic #dark!fic

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yuurei20 · 3 months ago

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Lilia Facts Part 12: Lilia and Maleanor (pt2)

Lilia says Maleanor would drag him along when sneaking out of the castle, and we get an example of this in a story he tells from a time they got lost in the woods together with Raverne, and had to camp outside as a result.

He says they were all still children, and while Raverne looked miserable Maleanor “was perfectly fine. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying the new experience.”

Lilia stayed up until dawn talking with her as she couldn’t sleep, despite how he was exhausted their hike:

“I'll be subject to her whims for the rest of my life, I'm sure…”

Lilia explains that they were found by the commander of the royal guard the next morning, and while it had been Maleanor’s idea, he was the one to take the blame for it.

Maleanor also broke Maleficia’s staff and ruined engagement talks with a dragon who’d traveled from halfway across the world.

Lilia has hinted at a romantic past, saying, “One should never make a vow of eternal love lightly. Take it from someone with ample life experience.”

Ruggie tells the story behind a dish that people say sharing with someone leads to true love and Lilia responds, “perhaps I should share a plate with someone later,” but it is never specified if he had someone in mind.

We learn more about Lilia and Maleanor in Book 7 when Lilia refuses to heed her orders to escape the castle without her: “It's been a long time indeed since you've spoken to me that way. Yet for all you begged me to heed you, you never once refused me aid. Heh heh heh.”

Lilia asks what will become of Malleus if something were to happen to his mother and Maleanor responds, “Being his mother is the very reason I choose to venture forth,” revealing that she intends to distract the invading army to give Lilia time to escape with Malleus.

Lilia says that fighting is the job of the royal guard and Maleanor responds that “the very notion” of him protecting her is laughable, given his injuries. She tosses Malleus to Lilia, commands him to flee, and strikes him multiple times with lightning when he refuses.

Lilia responds, “That's...the one order I can never obey…”

Lilia confesses he will not be able to hatch Malleus, as “Dragon eggs can only be hatched by their parents' magic and affection—nothing less than true love!,” while he knows nothing of parental affection.

When he claims he has never loved anyone Maleanor points out that he loves both her and Raverne, making it impossible for him to not love their child.

Maleanor then drives Lilia from the castle as he screams her name.

Lilia attempts to pass Malleus to Baul, saying, “If I don't go now, then what was it all even for…?!,” offering to both quit the royal guard and to take Maleanor’s lightning strikes in order to stay with her.

Baul convinces him to endure for Malleus’ sake.

Later, we see Lilia singing Maleanor’s lullaby for Malleus to Silver.

Malleus, too, seems to remember the lullaby, though he cannot remember where he heard it, and guesses that it must have been one of his nursemaids.

#twstlilia #Lilia Vanrouge #twstfacts #liliafacts #twisted wonderland

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novaursa · 5 months ago

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Aegon II Targaryen Masterlist

main list

- Embers of War - Aegon steals you and starts the Dance of Dragons. - explicit 18+

- The Fires We Make - When they decreed to marry Aegon to Helaena, he decided to do what his namesake had done. Aegon takes you as his second wife. - explicit 18+

- The Kiss - After years of being forbidden to each other, you and Aegon finally find the moment to be together. - explicit 18+

- Web of Gold - Alicent could only watch as you played with her son like a lioness with her food. - mild 13+

- Web of Gold (aegon in love) - mild 13+

- Web of Gold (aegon has a cold) - mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Web of Gold (aegon is jealous) - mild 13+

- Web of Gold (royal wedding) - mature 16+

- Web of Gold (honeymoon) - mature 16+

- Web of Gold (addendum) - mature 16+

- Web of Gold (rook's rest) - mature 16+

- Web of Gold (the final choice) - mature 16+

- To Save Us Both - Aegon was your shadow ever since you were a child. And once you come of age and Viserys gives your hand to Lord Tyrell's son, Aegon makes a decision that would save you both—and ruin you all the same. - mature 16+

- A Fire Worth Burning - Aegon loved you since you were children, but your father, Daemon, would never let him have you. Not while he lived. - mature 16+

- A Fire Worth Burning (ruins of an empire) - explicit 18+ (for blood, gore, violence and death)

Works (twin!wife!reader/Aegon II) below are listed in chronological order:

- The Silver and The Gold - This was the first time you and Aegon acknowledged the bond between you, and the first time you are truly one. - explicit 18+

- Silken Shadows - You sneak with Aegon out into the brothel, like you usually do, so both of you can be free. After the brothel is raided by mercenaries and you are saved by Ser Arryk, he escorts you with Aegon back to the Red Keep where your mother, Queen Alicent, is waiting. - explicit 18+

- Flame Kissed - As you and Aegon never had a problem expressing your desires openly, neither did your dragons. And as both of you just tormented the inhabitants of the Red Keep, your dragons kept the whole capital awake for weeks. - explicit 18+

- Twin Fires - Both you and Aegon have no problem expressing your desires openly and torment everybody in the Red Keep. - explicit 18+

- The Silent Pyre - It was a rainy night when Blood and Cheese came to deliver you your half-sister’s message; a son for a son. - explicit 18+ - (there is no adult content present, but there are detailed descriptions of violence, blood and gore)

- The Fire That Binds Us - The aftermath of Blood and Cheese. Aegon and you find comfort in each other once more, and later, make plans with your council for attack on Rook's Rest. - explicit 18+

- Eternal Blaze - You go after Aegon with your dragon to fight at Rook’s Rest. - explicit 18+

- In the Wake of Fire - Aegon and you lay broken together in the aftermath of the battle of Rook’s Rest. - mature 16+

- The Searing Flame - Rook's Rest broke you and Aegon both. But it didn't separate you. And Stranger, it appears, has other plans for you. - mild 13+

- The Searing Flame (chapter in-between chapter) - Aemond drags Grand Maester Orwlye to Aegon, so the maester can confess what he suggested to your mother. - mild 13+

- The Last Dance - The Dance of the Dragons is over. You and Aegon finally find peace. - mature 16+

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the second #hotd aegon

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paulyenvol6 · 3 months ago

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Byka Atroksia (Chapter 22)

Contains: angst, fighting

Wordcount: ~2.98k

Masterlist of this story

Rhaenyra joined her father for dinner.

She knew too well that Viserys needed comfort right now as Laena wasn't in the capital at the moment as well (she visited her mother in Dirftmark) and though she was still angry with him for acting so naive, she decided to be there for him and sat on his opposite for supper. She remained silent for the first couple of minutes but at some point had to say something.

"Did you come up with a solution with Ellion?"

Her father twitched as if her voice had shocked him and he hadn't even realized that his daughter was present.

"Perhaps. I don't know."

Rhaenyra exhaled and shrugged her shoulders, looking a little annoyed. "Would you mind telling me what you discussed?"

Her father laid his eyes on her for the first time that night and cleared his throat.

"Ellion has suggested to wed them."

Rhaenyra's expression immediately changed to shocked and furious. "What?" Her father nodded slowly.

"This is not… You are making fun of me, aren't you?"

Now he shook his head. "No. I'm not." His daughter laughed out but couldn't help but clench her fists at the thought.

"I'm assuming you immediately told him what a moronic idea it is."

"Yes. I did."

Rhaenyra lowered her gaze again and cut her meat forcefully. "Good."

"But he sounded reasonable.", her father then spoke and watched Rhaenyra.

Slowly her gaze wandered up again and her flashing eyes stared at her father. "You're not considering this."

"Rhaenyra."

The Princess stood up at once and her cup threatened to fall over.

"Tell me that you're not considering marrying Vhaela to Daemon." Her eyes were wide with panick and shock.

"I'm simply thinking about it." And then the King told his daughter what Ellion had told him. Why this union could actually resolve the current dilemma but Rhaenyra just lowered her head and laughed madly.

"No, no. No, father, you can't."

"It is not yet decided, daughter."

She walked back and forth around the room and looked as though she couldn't believe what she had just heard.

"There is nothing to be decided. This is mad."

With these words Viserys stood up. "I am King, Rhaenyra.", he hissed. "And your father. This has nothing to do with you and if I were to wed your sister to my brother, you are to accept it. Without a blink of your eye."

Rhaenyra lifted her chin and her eyes spat fire. "So she means this little to you? So much so that you would be willing to see her wed to Daemon? Seeing her carrying his child?"

"This is about politics. We have to come up with a solution and this might be the best we have.", her father hissed angrily. "Vhaela means the world to me and of course I wouldn't do this with a light heart. But mayhaps it has to be done."

Rhaenyra started to laugh but nothing about it was happy. It sounded evil and she walked back and forth in the room. Then she started to nod. "Fine. Alright."

But all of a sudden her face was drawn with anger again. "Perhaps I am the only one who can see clearly in this family."

With these words Rhaenyra stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her, something that she had done the last time when she was 11 and her father had forbidden her to ride her dragon and instead ordered her to attend a royal feast.

Viserys sank back in his chair. He was so incredibly tired and exhausted and he had been feeling this way for more than the past 48 hours. He hadn't been able to get a second of sleep and just wanted to be done with this. Perhaps this was why he seriously considered his hand's words, though he had found them so surreal and horrible when he had heard them for the first time.

If he was to take his advice to heart, perhaps this matter could finally be resolved and other things could require his attention again such as the marriage of his eldest daughter. He was simply beyond stressed and exhausted and wanted to do anything it took to just leave this matter behind.

~~~~~~~~~~

While her father was deep in thoughts, Rhaenyra sat in the library, panting fast and heavily. This was the place she always chose to remain at when she felt very stressed or angry. The atmosphere was just calming to her, perhaps it was the many books or the smell of parchment.

Anyhow, Rhaenyra sat in a chair and had her elbows rested on the wooden table in front of her. Septa Luyia, an elderly woman who couldn't hear so well anymore but was as wise as she was old, noticed the Princess and approached her.

"Princess. What are you doing here at such late hour?"

Rhaenyra simply shook her head and closed her eyes. "Please. I just want to be alone."

Luyia stroke the girl's back and looked pitiful. "Of course. I was young once too and young love… nothing hurts similarily."

Rhaenyra ignored the old woman's words and just waited until she had left the room. Then her hands started to shake and she couldn't decide whether she wanted to cry or throw something against the wall. Rhaenyra decided for the latter and grabbed the piece of parchment that laid in front of her that someone probably had forgotten, scrunched it up and threw it against the wall.

It didn't have the effect she had hoped for though and Rhaenyra buried her face in her hands feeling frustrated. Was everyone else blinded? Was she the only one who could see through Daemon and realize that he plainly used you for his own satisfactions and honour? Was she the only one who saw how Daemon manipulated you?

But the worst and most daunting part was that Rhaenyra herself let him toy with her over and over again. And she was aware of that. She was aware of the fact that Daemon tampered with her as well and used his power so she did and said what he wanted her to. He wanted her to grasp for his attention as well and whilst Rhaenyra had noticed it, yet she fell for it every time. It was so tiring and she just wished she was stronger and would resist Daemon's power. She knew that you weren't able to but that meant that Rhaenyra had to at least. She would have to have a clear and rational mind and not let Daemon inside it. Not acting out of emotions but of logic and reason.

Rhaenyra couldn't believe what her father wanted to do and she knew she had to do something. Talk to you, perhaps? But no, she knew that Daemon had dug his claws so deep inside of you. Seven hells, Rhaenyra thought. The Princess simply didn't know what to do, as her father wouldn't listen to her as well as you. Should she try and talk to Daemon? This situation was also too complex to say that Rhaenyra dispised her uncle now. Besides her affection for him there was also a love she felt for him as her uncle, that Daemon returned. Everything was way too chaotic for Rhaenyra's liking and she wished she knew what to do.

On Dragonstone

The next few days Daemon and you spend most of the time fucking, sleeping, talking and strolling around Dragonstone and you had never felt more fulfilled. It was like you were on a cloud and you were scared that you would wake up every second and everything turned out to be a beautiful dream.

It was relaxing to finally not having to look out for someone to catch you in your chambers and you could walk around the castle holding hands and show your affection for each other publically. And you couldn't get your hands off each other. You didn't grew tired of the other person's touch and whenever you laid together, which happened very often, each of you couldn't wait for the next time.

One morning you laid in your bed until noon because last night had exhausted you and you felt a stitch in your core. Daemon had been especially lustful and had taken you like a wild animal. Over time you had found out what you liked when it came to the act of bedding and as much as you liked it when your uncle was gentle and caring in his touch, you also enjoyed it when he was a little rough and harsh with you from time to time and last night had been one of those nights.

He had thrusted into you over and over again way beyond the highs of the both of you. He had had you on top of him, on your back and on your stomach and he had made sure that his cock hit deep inside you with ever thrust. When you got up last night's activities were being made particularly aware to you and you slowly pushed yourself from the edge. When you looked in the mirror you saw the red marks that Daemon's mouth had left on your neck and you bit your lip at the memory. But then you took your eyes off the reflection and got dressed.

A little later you entered the dining room of Dragonstone and spotted your uncle who sat on a chair, a deep frown on his face and his head lowered over a piece of parchment.

"Daemon?", you asked friendly. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes. Mayhaps…"

Now you frowned as well and walked towards him. "What is it? Did you receive bad news?"

He shook his head and flicked the parchment that looked like a letter away. "No, this is not of great importance, actually. But I have to talk to you about something else. Sit."

You did as he had told you and took seat in a chair next to him.

"Well...", he started. "I think it's best to send you to Pentos for a while, little owl."

Your jaw dropped. "What? Why?"

"For your own safety, love."

You shook your head determindely. "No. No, Daemon. We are safe here in Dragonstone. I will not leave." Your uncle lifted his eyebrows.

"Right now, yes. But we don't know what my brother will do in the near future. Perhaps he'll send his army of gold cloaks. Then I want to be sure that you're safe. And this place couldn't protect you in a time like this."

Daemon obviously had no chance of knowing the newest developments in the capital because otherwise he wouldn't have suggested something like this.

"B-But no. I don't want to, Daemon. I don't want to be far away in Essos. I want to remain here. By your side."

Daemon stood up and walked around in the room and it took a few moments until he answered.

"It wouldn't be for a long time, Vhaela. My brother will act soon and I don't know how he will choose. But if he takes action and tries to win back Dragonstone I can not risk having you here."

But you shook your head again. "I don't want to, uncle.", you breathed and he exhaled loudly.

"I knew that this would cause a problem."

"Of course it's a problem. Essos is a strange place for me. I don't wish to remain there while you fight here against my father."

Daemon shrugged his shoulders. "Obviously I'm not gonna force you to go anywhere. And yet I hope you take it in consideration."

"I will not." This time his exhale was even louder and he sounded annoyed.

"You act without reason, little girl.", he stated and quickly walked towards you to grab your shoulder. "I think you're as stubborn as your sister. But I have a feeling you'll do as I say as long it is you who suggests it…", he mumbled quietly but you had heard it.

And you wanted to say something but stopped, thinking about what he had said. Your eyes suddenly darkened when you realized something and your face got cold.

"You… Did you… Did you only come to me that night expecting me to ask you to take me with you to Dragonstone?", you whispered and felt a bad feeling creeping up on you.

Daemon scoffed, let go off your shoulders and walked back and forth in the room.

"I didn't force you to do anything, little owl.", he hissed and his face was drawn with fury. You couldn't help but feel scared and your eyes widened with fear while you felt angry as well.

"I-I know. But did you… Was it your plan?"

"Shut up.", Daemon snapped. "I didn't have a plan."

"But you wanted me to ask you. That's why you chose to say goodbye to me in the middle of the night. With no one around. So I would tell you that I wished to come with you."

Your uncle smirked patronisingly but turned away from you. "It was your choice. You asked me. Don't act like I kidnapped you."

Suddenly you felt terrible and all the happiness you had felt earlier had vanished. Only darkness and pain was left inside your body and you clung to the edge of the table. Not only did you feel manipulated and weak but now he wanted to ship you off to Essos? It was horrible and you wouldn't let him do it.

"I want to go back.", you said and to your regret it sounded like a whimper. "I want to go back to King's Landing."

Your uncle turned his head abruptly and watched you with small eyes. "You're not my hostage. You're not forced to be here."

You nodded but felt a heaviness on your heart. "I can go by ship. Or in a boat.", you said quietly but your mind wasn't feeling present. It was far away, embraced by sadness and desperation.

"No.", your uncle said roughly. "I'll take you on Caraxes."

His tone made you aware that he wouldn't accept any objection and so you lowered your head and just wished that Daemon would tell you that all of this was a mistake and he would just keep you here on Dragonstone with him. But at the same time suddenly you missed your father so much that it burned a hole inside of you. You were a terrible person. You had fled from your home, disobeyed your father and you just wished he would forgive you and hug you tightly.

Tears rolled down your cheek and you just wanted to lay in your bed in the keep with your father wrapping an arm around your shoulder and telling you that everything would be fine. But you had missed that chance when you had taken off with Daemon. Now he would be furious with you until the end of time.

Daemon had left the room by now and you didn't know for how long you sat in the dining room. You just knew that after some time your uncle returned and he looked down to you, his face cold and indifferent.

"Come.", he said. "I'll take you back."

You nodded and stood up on wobbly legs. You followed him out, down the many stairs until you reached the beach where Caraxes peacefully laid, looking as if there was nothing in the world bothering him. This time you hadn't held your uncle's hand while walking down and this time he hadn't looked at you. You had walked silently and only listened to the wind and felt torn between wanting Daemon both emotionally and physically close to you and feeling the need to return to your home.

You missed it and Dragonstone felt so strange and cold to you all of a sudden. You missed the walls of the castle, the music that you could hear from the city sometimes when you were sitting by the window of your chambers, the beauty of the gardens but most importantly you missed your father and sister. Yes, your sister who not rarely made you feel horrible and yet you missed her as well. So you didn't stop Daemon when he helped you get on his dragon's back and took his seat in front of you.

"Hold on to me.", he spoke but sounded indifferent, without emotion.

You did, you wrapped yours arms around his waist and couldn't help but press your face against his back. You just wanted to feel his warmth and it gave you great comfort to know him so near to you.

Though it didn't last a long time, for you arrived soon at the capital. Caraxes flew above the keep so you thought that the King perhaps spotted you already and then to the Dragonpit where the dragon keepers threw their hands above their heads when they saw you.

Daemon landed his dragon and you got off it. Your uncle remained on Caraxes' back and you hadn't expected anything else as he had only spoken of bringing you back to the keep and yet you felt numb while looking up to him. Your throat was dry and you felt a heavy weight on your heart.

"What will you do now?", you quietly asked and felt tears welling up in your eyes.

Your uncle shrugged his shoulders. "Remain at Dragonstone perhaps."

You gulped. "But you will come back, won't you?"

Daemon slightly smirked and this little gesture gave you so much relief that you almost bursted out in tears. Perhaps he wasn't mad at you. Maybe he didn't hate you now.

"We'll see.", he said and you watched him with big eyes as he patted his dragon's neck.

"Geros ilas byka atroksia. (Goodbye, little owl). Take care, sweet girl."

Then your uncle took off with Caraxes.

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lullaebies · 6 months ago

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Aegon II, Helaena, and Historical Counterparts: Hope, Fate and the Doomed

So I had to do a little write up after something came to mind. This is an interpertation of Aegon II and Helaena in regards to how they may see the crown as it effects their relationship. Note that this is based of their characters in F&B, not the show. So needed context for this write up: As we know, Targaryens marry within the family. Keeps bloodlines pure, keeps dragonriding as a Targaryen ability. For the purposes of this write up, the theme is Targaryens marry within the family in order to maintain power. Duty is to keep the dragons within the family, duty is for a male heir to marry his sister in order to keep the literal power (dragons) and figurative powers (the crown) in the family. Historical heirs and rulers married within the family; notably Aegon The Uncrowned and Rhaena, as did Jaehaerys I and Alysanne. These two pairs will be our focus and comparison to Helaena and Aegon, but to begin with, we must acknowledge that unlike Helaena and Aegon these two pairs were either expected to rule, or have ruled for a long time and were praised. For Aegon II and Helaena, they were, as far as I remember, the first sibling couple in the royal dynasty era that had not been expected to take over the Realm (Edit: aside from Baelon and Alyssa, who had been more of a love match, and whose marriage kept their dragons in the family). Helaena and Aegon’s marriage is not advantageous to them, but instead to Rhaenyra and Viserys's hopes for the crown - denying the Greens alliances and hence power to their cause. They don't seem to have/are not mentioned to have dragon eggs, and instead seem to claim older dragons (Sunfyre and Dreamfyre) so they have to gain that power "on their own" in a sense too. [I will note book!Viserys does not seem to discourage the Greens from getting dragons - but alas they still had to go out and claim their own.] With a marriage that seems more purposeful in blocking power from reaching their hands, with already two people who feel pushed aside (Aegon being described as solemn and a grouch; Helaena noted to be less remarkable in beauty to Targs, in an era where she would be compared to her sister who was once "The Realm's Delight"), they seem to be helpless in their place. They are in a position where neither of them have an inheritance aside from their dragon, and where they know they would have to live subservient to Rhaenyra's wishes despite their family not getting along with hers to say the least. Their marriage is a chain around them at the time, and it hurts them. Only teens, Aegon rebels and cheats as he is - Helaena also is rather jokingly cynical, noting that people won't find him in her beds when people look to coronate him. They have an odd somewhat resigned relationship prior to the crowning, despite being noted to sleep in the same bed together regardless and have moments of jealousy [Aegon being mad at Jace for asking Helaena to Dance] - to me at least, they read as if they accepted the hand dealt at life and try to go with the flow of each other. There is struggle and understanding they find in each other. For the longest while, Aegon the Uncrowned and Rhaena are their soft parallels. An Aegon that had been denied the Throne; Helaena is a rider of Dreamfyre as well just like Rhaena. They have twins, and most of all — their story seems doomed.

Then, the coronation time comes, and there is somewhat of a shift. Not specifically in the relationship, but how they try to take it up — suddenly, they are King and Queen, and their relationship is pinnicale Targaryen power. They are crowned with their notably metallic colored, silver and gold dragons marking a new future to them. Aegon II is declaring he is fighting against an usurper that he is sure will kill his family, that in the future will be compared to Maegor the Cruel. Helaena, beloved of the Smallfolk, joins the Council table and argues for peace with her mother, a moderate voice to her more stern king, along with their mother Alicent, [despite this being an admittedly slightly flimsier part] whose name can ring a bell back to Alyssa Velaryon, King Aenys's wife. What I'm trying to lead us to, is our second comparison — Aegon II and Helaena after their coronation, had been hoping to be like Jaehaerys and Alysanne. With their magnificent metallic dragons, they wanted to find their power against someone they consider Maegor-like (Rhaenyra; and soon enough her cause will lead to the death of both her nephews so... checks out). They wanted to find again their power in this union that was not meant to bring them power. They were young adults, accepting the mantle and entering the war with the idea that they are upholding the law and going against violation to the succession from occurring again like in Maegor's case; entering the war with the idea that they must do so to protect their family. Alas, that is not to be. Very soon, that impression of protecting the family with the crown is shattered with the death of Jaehaerys. And now they're back to understanding that a crown and dragons are not quite enough. The struggle returns. They break from each other after B&C and suddenly, they return to the doomed narrative — like Aegon the Uncrowned, Aegon II goes to battle. Unlike him, he does not die, but he may as well be with his condition, and from the eyes of Helaena, who never sees him again after he is smuggled away, it cannot be too different. As she realizes and returns to understanding that there is no hope - she is a black bride, captured by Rhaenyra who is her Maegor while her husband for all she knows is dead - she also realizes that she is living a fate worse than Rhaena too, when Maelor dies. She gives up. The hope is gone and the grief is too much. She and her children are as doomed - there was no power in the crown, only pain. She jumps down to the moat. Residuals of Helaena's image as an Alysanne like figure spark the riots against Rhaenyra, and Aegon II, hides like Jaehaerys I did from Maegor for the longest while, and uses his last bits of power to overthrow Rhaenyra. He still dies in the end, however, poisoned.

In conclusion; Helaena and Aegon's cause had them bolstering the image of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, but they could not escape the tragedy of Aegon the Uncrowned and Rhaena losing it all. There was hope to find power in their union, as Jaehaerys and Alysanne did, but the crown and war for it had brought them immense grief, as it did Aegon the Uncrowned and Rhaena. An arc of hope and tragedy between a doomed pair.

#idk i had to write this out #disclaimer as always this is my opinion LOL #helaegon #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #hotd meta #hotd #team green #fire and blood #obv the dance is more complicated than just that but this is how i think helaena and aegon viewed themselves during it

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darlenicy · 3 months ago

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So you remember the Gala for the new students event in Alfea in season 1, don't you? The one in episode 3. In the show Red Fountain and Alfea hold a party in Alfea to welcome the new students. I always wondered why it were only two of the magical schools and Cloudtower was missing.

So in my headcanon it always had been an event for all the three schools. They all worked together and held several events together to strengthen the bond between specialists, fairies and witches. However this bond broke:

In the last semester, the school year before Bloom attends Alfea, there had been an accident involving three witches and a fairy. The accident was mentioned in canon: Stella blew up the whole potion laboratory. In the show it's a funny accident, that shows how Stella has a hot temper. In my headcanon Stella didn't only blew up the potions laboratory, she also killed a witch by accident. It happened, that one night three witches entered Alfea to get Stella's ring. Stella however, was all alone, since she didn't have formed a friend group that year and the witches chased her through the nightly corridors of Alfea in order to catch her and her ring. She fled in the potions laboratory, where the witches faced her. The three witches were Icy and Darcy under the command of Lilith, a witch in her third year of Cloud Tower. Lilth has a special connection to the dragon flame and views it as her personal right to possess it. Since the royal family of Solaria inherited from the royal family in Domino (also my hc) Lilith suspected the dragon flame to be kept in Stella's ring. (False assumption as we all know.) I'll make a post on Lilith once I made her backstory up in my fanfiction. She however didn't fear any consequences. She wanted the ring and she would get it even if she had to kill for it. So she faced Stella, hurt her, tortured her (Stella has a big, fkn witch trauma) demanded the ring. Stella however all alone and scared af tried to defend herself, her powers went out of control and she blew up the whole laboratory with Lilith in it, whose body was burned to death. Icy and Darcy managed to escape and were only slightly hurt (and under shock, especially Icy who saw her friend, her leader dying. She has also a big fkn trauma and it's the reason for her hatred towards Stella. There will be only one fairy soon, whom ahe hates more). That all however wasn't made public. In fact no one really knew what happened: Faragonda and Griffin came to the conclusion that it was a usual fight between fairies and witches which went out of control. As a result Faragonda reduced the contact with Cloud Tower to a minimum and excluded it from the gala and all other events. Griffin is deeply hurt and pissed af. She always valued Faragonda as a close friend, an important friend. That friend who was once an enemy but helped her escaping Valtor. This close friend now turned her back on her and, as she sees it, betrays her. Not only did she lose her best student (Lilith), she also lost her best friend. That's why she doesn't prevent the Trix messing with the fairies. She deeply believes Lilith's death had been an accident and doesn't see the banter between Winx and Trix as something dangerous. How few she knew...

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rise-my-angel · 4 months ago

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"# have many thoughts on why they adapted Rhaenys the way they did and all of them strip what makes her so cool and i hate it"

I'd actually love to read your thoughts, I have some of my own but they boil down to turning her into a bizarre mouth piece for the writers (which is what most of the female characters in HOTD feel like) and not allowing her to potentially outshine Rhaenyra which is why all the women on TB lack personalities, it's easier to write for one or 2 women than it is to write for a whole cast.

Rhaenys in the book and Rhaenys in the show are basically two completely different characters.

Princess Rhaenys in the show is not my friend. Princess Rhaenys in the book is cool as all hell and a true Baratheon under it all.

Under a read more, I wrote you a fucking essay I am so sorry.

There isn't as much about Princess Rhaenys in the book due to the narrative style of Fire and Blood, but what we do know paints a drastically different picture. Rhaenys has the purple eyes, and she flies Meleys, but thats all about her that is distinctly Targaryean.

She was born to King Jaeherys firstborn son and heir Aemon, and her mother was Jocelyn Baratheon. So she has the long, straight black hair of a Baratheon with a streaks of white throughout from her age, she was a great beauty but never described in ways that other Targaryean women are, more in a way that she is a great beauty in terms of a Baratheon.

She was a woman who was very clever, very quick witted, but she was also known to be fearless, she had a red hot fiery temper and much like her mothers house words, she was a fierce woman with a fury within her.

As Aemons only child, she was seen by many to be his heir when he became King. Queen Alysanne even calling her their "Queen to be". Alysanne and Jaehaerys often did trips around Westeros called progresses, which was personally going to a Lords castle or keep, spending time with them, holding court, solving local issues and using that time to bond with his highest subjects, which was part of why he held such a long reign of peace, he used his dragons pruposley to make travel easy and personally visited the homes of his people.

Rhaenys would join him on this after she claimed Meleys, going on some progresses around Westeros and she became a very popular royal figure amongst the nobility, notably in the Dustins, Manderlys, Blackwoods, Celtigars, and the Starks.

Now, yes Rhaenys was up for a claim at the great council, but she was actually rejected early on because she was a woman. She then persuaded these lords on her side to push for her sons claim, Laenor, and it is Laenor who lost in the final vote to Viserys, not Rhaenys. Rhaenys and Laena were both rejected and so she pushed for her son without a second thought, she was fine not being Queen, she was the eldest sons firstborn child and she put her firstborn son up to be King.

After word came that Lucerys was dead, it was she and Corlys who were actually in command of the Black Council at the start of the war because Rhaenyra was too in greif to rule.

Then her greatest moment, Rhaenyra was the one who ordered Rhaenys to Rooks Rest and without any reinforcement. Rhaenys of course, listened to her Queen, but the fight is different.

In the books, Criston Cole has set a trap. Lure a dragonrider out, and when they arrived, they would be ambushed by Aemond on Vhagar and Aegon on Sunfyre knwoing the two against one dragon would be enough to defeat them.

"Princess Rhaenys made no attempt to flee. With a glad cry and a crack of her whip, she turned Meleys towards the foe."

Rhaenys realizes she has rode into a trap.

She knows if it were Sunfyre or Vhagar alone she might stand a chance, but against both of them she knew she was doomed. She had time though, she could try and turn to leave. But, Rhaenys is in her blood, a Baratheon. Baratheons don't run from such dangerous odds, even when facing certain doom, she never let herself be controlled by that fear. She did what Baratheons do, and she turned around and fought with fury. With my favourite line about her describing her perfectly:

So, what are the main differences here from the show that are so wrong? Lets talk the two big ones:

Rhaenys being given the Targaryean look instead of the Baratheon look is an attempt to give the feeling that she is a true Targaryean and thats why she is such a fearsome dragonrider. But, in the books, she looks Baratheon, and her personality is textbook Baratheon. By stripping her of the Baratheon look, she show is propping her up more as a Targaryean which feeds into this show's strange relationship with Targaryeans being divine and special. By taking away the fact that Rhaenys was the first and only Baratheon born dragonrider, it downplays the fact that Rhaenys did not fit into the typical Targaryean dragonrider persona which most were at the time. It makes her look like a Targaryean alone, and it severs that relationship in Fire and Blood of the less of a Targaryean someone appears does not equate to being less capable of the feats they claim only they are special enough to do. Rhaenys isn't the books biggest example of that, but she is the big start of it.

By making the final vote at the Great Council come down to Rhaenys vs Viserys, it paints the man vs woman image. Rhaenys and Laena were rejected very fast, and it was Laenor, her son, who Viserys won against. Not Rhaenys. The entire show though, follows this idea. That Rhaenys lost because she was a woman and that dictates so much going forward. It dicates everything she pushes for, women in power, not being in service to men, but Rhaenys was never like that. Rhaenys did not fight against the world she grew up in, she navigated it despite of it. She did not promote this woman in power idea just because she was rejected. She was Jaeherys grandaughter, and he was a man who did not treat the women in his life as equals. She would be used to being passed over for men, her grandfather did it with almost every woman in his family to the point it drove his wife away. Rhaenys in the books didn't stand for anything. She didn't do what she did because she wanted to stand with a woman over a man. It wasn't about that. In the books, her and Corlys essentially pick the lesser of two evils. In their minds, standing with the Greens means her family and grandaughters will be at the mercy of Rhaenyra and Daemon, but standing with the blacks, she is at the mercy of Alient and Aegon. One of those two is a more dangerous foe to her family, and she sides with the family that gives her granddaughters a safer chance. It had nothing to do with anything and the show doesnt even establiush why she chooses Rhaenyra, she just does and then starts promoting the idea that Rhaenyra is the woman who wants peace not the men startingg war and it turns her into a mess who is onyl here to lecture the audience that the men are bad.

Really, my biggest gripe is, Rhaenys as a Baratheon dragonrider has a lot of potential. Due to the structure of Fire and Blood we don't spend a lot of time with her, but we do know that the relationship between the Baratheons and the Targaryeans is extremely tenuous and sore. The Baratheons have long since resented the Targaryeans, and Princess Rhaenys literally was supposed to be the bridge between the families.

Queen Alysanne married Aemon to Jocelyn Baratheon so that the Baratheons can have an heir one day on the Iron Throne and hopefully stop the fighting and resentment the Stormlords had towards them. But by rejecting her and her family at the Great Council, it reopens that old wound. And the Baratheons become disillusioned more and more when Viserys makes no effort to mend that bridge.

Rhaenys is a Targaryean raised dragonrider, who was distinctly Baratheon looking with the feirce personality of a Baratheon, and that contends a lot with what the Targaryeans all stood for especially at the time and it could make for a lot of great scenes revolving around what is wrong with the Targaryean legacy. The more like a Baratheon Rhaenys was, the more the Targaryeans stood out as people who were doomed to destory each other.

Rhaenys was born to be the child that mended the bridge between the Targaryeans treating the Baratheons like lesser then, when they had once been their strongest ally. By making Rhaenys just another Targaryean, it erases that conversation of why the Targaryens were bound to lose. That even when they married the Baratheons into the family, they still screwed it up because they couldn't get over their biases of looking down on the Stags.

Rhaenys had potentiol to showcase a time in history that foreshadows whats to come. For decades before the dance the Baratheons resented the Targaryeans, and after the dance, that resentment will continue to grow until it explodes during Roberts Rebellion.

By erasing her as a Baratheon, it erases the potential of showing why the Targaryeans were doomed to lose. They always treated their Baratheon allies as war fodder, just like throwing Rhaenys into battle without any backup, and her personality and looks standing out against the Targaryeans could have shown why the conflict of Roberts Rebellion was inevitable.

The Baratheons were always going to fight back against the Targaryeans one day, and hotd lost its chance to use Rhaenys to lay the first stones and show why.

But, that paints the Targaryeans in a more negative light, because the Baratheons are in the right to hate the Targaryeans. So, they erased everything about Rhaenys that stood out.

Even her death. A very Baratheon move, refusing to flee from certain death, because she was a woman with fury who was willing to face her enemy head on no matter what it was about to cost her.

Instead, she has a confusing death where her going back is framed as brave, but its not. Rhaenys in the books knew she might have stood a chance against Vhagar alone. So in the show, shes just turning back for a battle that she might win. In the books, shes against Vhagar and Sunfyre. Shes turning back towards a battle she knows she will lose, but she does not run, because she is a Baratheon, and they do not run from their enemies. They face them even towards certain death.

Also, book Rhaenys never exploded hundreds of smallfolk with her fucking dragon. She never did that.

#do i tag this monstrosity?#yes i need people to understand that my dislike of show rhaenys goes beyond her being a morally inconsistent character #its far deeper then that #anti hotd #hotd critical #fire and blood #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys the queen who never was #the queen who never was #and just to be safe #anti targaryen #house baratheon #yes this post is pro baratheon propoganda come at me ryan condal

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