#Tyland Lannister x OC

[queen--kenobi]

SCREAMING AND CRYING I got both my commissions from @felrija back, and y'all!!! I cannot express how much I love them, these are both absolutely perfect. They are absolutely gorgeous and just... exactly what I pictured

I cannot get over how in love Tyland looks with Elayna in the first one, and the second one is just !!! Oh I love how both Elayna and Cerelle look, and how they're looking at each other and I just !!!!!!!! Thank you so much

I put the reference photos under the cut so y'all can see how amazing these are. Genuinely I cannot express how perfect they are and how much I love them I literally want to frame them

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

(@queen--kenobi) Perspective Flip: I’ll write a scene from [that fic] from another character’s point-of-view

BUT

Gimme Tyland’s perspective on that mini fic where Rhaenyra catches him and Daenys hehehe

The Drabble In Question

Her hand was in the crook of Tyland’s elbow as they walked through the gardens, but it was Daenys who controlled where they went. She dragged him along by his arm, constantly glancing away from where she was intent to bring him in order to look up at his face. Each time she did she started giggling anew, and her smile was giddy and full of affection when her lilac eyes landed on him. Tyland felt it too, but not enough to throw all caution to the wind like she was seemingly willing to do.

“Daenys, we weren’t supposed to be alone. You could at least try to pretend to make it look like we are waiting for Cassana to join us, or that you are disappointed at her absence.” His voice was quiet as he spoke. They were alone in the gardens, or at least at this end of them, but that did not mean he needed to ignore their decision to keep all of this secret.

“No one is here to see.” She whispered back, leaning into him as she continued to lead him along.

“For now,” Tyland paused briefly, the nagging curiosity having chipped away at his resolve until he had to address it, “and why did you lie about Lord Lyonel’s daughter joining us? It seems unnecessary.” Lying came as easy as breathing for His Grace's second daughter, half truths and tears and pretty words to distract and placate so she could play the part of the ignored, frivolous maiden for those who did not care to know her deeply. Never with him though, at least not since they had grown close from his own sincerity. Tyland received the truth, and more importantly her reasons.

“I have only recently reached my majority. It would be unseemly for the king's now eligible daughter to be alone with an unmarried man who has taken no vows of chastity, prior friendship or not. If it is all three of us though, then it is just silly little Princess Daenys seeking companionship without a care in the world. You cannot touch Cassana without risking the wrath of Ser Harwin, and you cannot very well deflower a princess while her dearest friend is watching.” The explanation was matter-of-fact and so easily rambled off that she'd probably come up with it long before she sought him out that morning. A small measure of pride swelled in his chest, warm and rushing through his veins like molten gold. It was special being privy to what laid underneath the batting white lashes and the giggles and the put upon hysterics, secret proof of the love they hid away from the world to keep safe and secure from the prying eyes of the court until such a time it was convenient to reveal. Assuming a convenient time came.

“Sound reasoning.”

“Don’t I always have that?” Her voice rose with her self satisfaction, all too pleased with her own strength of mind to continue with her carefully planned subtlety.

“Daenys!” Her name came out as a warning hiss, Tyland’s voice barely above a whisper as he tried to prompt her towards silence once more. She merely went back to giggling, her eyes squinting and her nose scrunching as she shifted her hold from his elbow to his hand, holding it in both of hers as she pulled him behind one of the hedgerows lining the walking path.

“Daenys, someone will hear us.”

She leaned against one of the trees, a coy smile on her lips as she posed herself beneath the branches heavy with pink and white blossoms. “And what are you going to do to make sure I am quiet enough that no one does?”

A grin split across his face as he closed the distance between them. He would give into her goading, this time it was charming. Tyland cupped her cheek as he bent down to kiss her. Daenys pressed her lips more firmly against his, humming softly against his mouth as she got exactly what she wanted. She was soft and eager and at times perhaps a bit too willing to use teeth, but it was wonderful all the same.

Tyland rested his forehead against Daenys’s when he pulled back, and he bit back a chuckle as she let out a little huff of displeasure. She pulled back slightly, just enough he could see her pouting.

“Why did you stop?”

“We have to breathe some time.”

“I’ve breathed. Kiss me again.”

Tyland let himself laugh this time, his smile growing wider as his hand trailed from her cheek to her jaw, his thumb coming to rest at the corner of her full lips. “As my princess commands.”

Daenys’s fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed her again, holding him fast against her so that this time he could not pull back before she was ready. His hands drifted from her face, trailing down her shoulders and her sides to rest on her hips. Daenys shivered at his touch, and her teeth grazed his lower lip as his fingers sank into the meat of her hips through the soft, lavender silk of her gown.

“Ser Tyland!”

His eyes shot open at the call of his name and his face flushed, panic settling in and setting his insides on fire as he clumsily tried to disentangle himself from the embrace. There was no way to make this look different, the most he could hope for was smoothing things over with Daenys’s sister and trying to make her see the reason behind their secrecy.

“Princess, this isn’t what you think! We–”

“Oh, it isn’t? Well then, Ser Tyland, what am I looking at if not my father’s Master of Ships taking advantage of my sister’s loneliness at losing his predecessor’s daughter so that he can rise above his station while–”

Daenys let out a forlorn wail, all but shrieking as tears bubbled up in her pale eyes. For the first time in a long time, Tyland couldn't tell if they were a tactic to calm tempers and get someone to her side, or if they were real. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, but Princess Rhaenyra pushed past him. She shot him a pointed glare, fury in her gaze, and pulled her younger sister to her.

Daenys shoved her away, fat tears now rolling down her cheeks as the other princess looked at her in wounded disbelief. Her voice wavered as she spoke, but the tears did not make her words any less sharp. “I thought you loved me!”

An expression like she'd just been slapped briefly passed over Princess Rhaenyra’s face, hurt and indignation before she snapped at her sister, “I–of course I do! That is why I am protecting you!”

“I do not need protection!”

“You obviously do! I would not have my sister used to–”

“I am not being used!” Daenys started crying harder, teetering on the edge of falling into true hysterics that would see her breathing coming in desperate gasps, “I brought him here, this was my idea! Rhaenyra, I love him!” She pointed at Tyland, her arm shaking as she sobbed.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she practically wilted against him. Daenys buried her face into his chest, wailing again as tears soaked into his doublet. Tyland looked up from his princess only briefly, giving her elder sister an awkward, apologetic smile. He hadn’t wanted things to escalate like this, but with Daenys and Rhaenyra both involved in the situation it had probably been inevitable.

The mask of anger on the Princess of Dragonstone’s face began to crack, and Tyland turned his attention back to Daenys. He kissed the top of her head as he smoothed her bouncy curls. Her fingers curled into his green velvet cloak, desperately clinging to him as he quietly whispered to her about how she would be alright, how this could be fixed and smoothed over, how nothing would happen to him. Or at least he hoped nothing would.

Daenys shifted, her cheek pressed against his chest so she could look in her sister's direction. It was only a moment later that she let go of his cloak, freeing herself from his gentle hold to rush to Princess Rhaenyra. Tyland watched as she took her sister's face in her hands, wiping away tears that had begun to fall from her eyes. He looked down, lips pressed together tightly as he tried to figure out what to do with himself. Tyland felt awkward, as if he were the one intruding now, but he couldn't leave.

“Rhaenyra–”

“One of us should be happy, I suppose.”

“I do not want you to be upset! I just…” her sentence trailed off, and there was a beat of careful, contemplative silence before Daenys continued, “I appreciate your intent. If I had not been the one to start everything, if Tyland was untrue with his intentions, I would hope that my elder sister would save me. You were always braver than I am, and you’re very quick witted. After everything it…it makes sense you were so upset, and that you wanted to help me.”

“But you don’t need it.” Princess Rhaenyra’s reply was soft and sullen, fully lost in the need for importance she'd found herself drowning in ever since the birth of Prince Aegon.

“I will always need your help, Rhaenyra! And I shall gladly welcome it because I love you.”

Tyland hazarded a glance back up from the ground and at the princesses just as Daenys released her sister's face to press a kiss to her tear stained cheek. Princess Rhaenyra cut her eyes towards him, catching his watching of something he was no doubt supposed to ignore.

He smiled at her, clasping his hands behind his back as he bowed his head. Tyland wasn't sure if it was deference, or his being trapped in the awkwardness of his boyhood before he'd figured out the types of interaction that pleased people. All he was sure of, was that it was exceedingly more comfortable to not look at Princess Rhaenyra right now. Not when her pale purple eyes bored into his being to scrutinize everything there.

“Try to be a bit more careful, next time. If your affair is exposed again, it may not be someone so forgiving who finds you two.”

Relief washed over Tyland, and he looked back up again. His eyes landed on Daenys, and he kept them there. She was easy to look at, a beacon to pull him out of the familiar, sometimes off-putting, awkwardness.

“Oh, we will, we will! I promise, Rhaenyra! And–and you aren’t going to tell anyone?!”

Princess Rhaenyra let out a singular chuckle under her breath, an easy smile on her face as she plucked a leaf from Daenys’s hair. She spun it in her fingers, working the stem back and forth a few times before releasing it to let it flutter to the ground. “I would spare the court the details of how shameless and no doubt disgustingly sugary you two are.”

Daenys gushed her thanks, repeating herself a few times and talking in circles. He couldn't blame her, though. Tyland saw Princess Rhaenyra step closer to him from the corner of his eye, and he turned his attention towards her as she brought her hands behind her back and looked up at him.

He coughed into his fist before bowing, albeit probably a bit more shallow than was socially correct. “Thank you, princess. Your forgiveness and discretion are most gracious.”

“My sister is incredibly fragile, Ser. Keep that in mind so that you do not hurt her in any way, because if you do it is not His Grace or the Kingsguard you need to be wary of. I imagine dragon fire hurts worse than being gelded.”

Tyland took a slow, steadying breath in through his nose. If he could just be as sincere with her as he had been with Daenys, everything would be alright. Princess Rhaenyra would see. “Daenys will continue to see nothing but the utmost gentleness and care, princess. She deserves nothing but my best.”

His eyes drifted past her after he responded, landing on Daenys once more. He smiled as he watched her pick out the leaves that had gotten stuck in her hair while they kissed, swishing and flouncing as she plucked the foliage from her curls to throw to the ground. She huffed at ther gentle descent, but continued on as she was regardless. It was endearing.

“Good day, Ser Tyland.”

“Princess Rhaenyra.” He bowed again as she breezed past him, going back to her walk as if nothing had happened. He was grateful for that, it boded well for this second person who knew of his and Daenys’s relationship.

“Let me help with that.” Tyland went back to his princess's side, plucking the last two leaves from her hair as she finally stilled in her busy movements. When he released them, Daenys spun back around to face him, and raised herself up onto her toes to quickly kiss him on the mouth.

She pulled away before he could kiss her back, grinning up at him as she giggled. “Thank you, my brave and noble knight.”

“Brave and noble? I hardly did anything.”

“Hardly did anything? Just now, you very calmly faced down a dragon for me.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, the breath holding back the laughter that would have come otherwise. “Considering that dragon is your sister, I would say you've made the task of handling them very easy for me. Regular exposure and all that.”

Daenys kissed him again, longer and just as eager as she had been before they were interrupted. When she pulled back again, she was looking up at him through her lashes and smiling just as coyly as when she'd goaded him onto kissing her. “And how else does my handsome knight handle dragons?”

[mercurygray]

flowers for the lion's bed - stories for a House of the Dragon OC

[lady--elayna]

Okay but Elayna and Tyland getting into a fight in the modern AU when Elayna gets her memories back

"You never loved me!" Elayna spits. She intends for the words to be venom, but they come out open wounds. "You loved what I could do for you! You loved what I would do! You loved the fact I lo- I cared about you!"

Tyland watches her, unmoving from his seat on the edge of the bed. His hands remain on his thighs.

"Are you quite done?"

Elayna laughs.

"Fuck you. Don't you fucking hide from me. Not now. I've seen you, the real you."

"If you had, you would know what you said was a lie." His mask breaks for a second.

"Is it, though? Because you don't do anything without looking at the future, at getting what you want."

Tyland sighs.

"Do you want honesty? Or do you want to be angry?"

Elayna almost recoils. Tyland shifts. He seems almost in pain, as if he doesn't want to speak but feels compelled. He must be. Being open after hiding who he really was from everyone must hurt. His fingers twitch.

"You're partially right. At first, that was the goal. I saw in you what I needed. I needed a good wife, one who was devoted and smart. One who could play the game without getting both of us caught." Tyland breathes through his nose. "I thought I would like you enough to do my duties as your husband. I didn't think I'd love you."

His admission makes her skip and then double beat.

"I knew I was more fond of you than I should be. You took me by surprise." Tyland purses his lips. "I didn't realize how fo- that I loved you until you came back married to Aemond." He moves his hand to his hair, running his fingers through it before bunching it at the back. He drops his hand. He shakes his head. "Tymon was not the only Lannister upset."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wouldn't have mattered. Nothing could be done." His lips curl. "Aemond also would have had my head. That would have complicated things."

[blxkstar]

A lion doesn’t concern himself with the opinions of a sheep

I made a playlist for House Lannister. Please check it out!

When you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die

Any man who must say I am the king is no true king

[kingsanddragonsandgods]

⁂Early life:

Princess Visenya Targaryen of Runestone was born on the last day of the year 90AC, at her mother's ancestral home.

The newborn child was named after the Conqueror Queen, Visenya, by her father and anointed by holy oils seven days after her birth at the Sept-by-the-Sea in Runesport.

Queen Alysanne, who held the child during the ceremony is noted for having remarking that ‘the girl has all of Viserra’s beauty, but Alyssa’s temper’ to which the King is said to have answered ‘Gods be good’.

As Princess Visenya grew, her parents continued to battle, using the young girl as a pawn in their conflict, with both parents appealing to the King and Queen to take their side on occasion.

During her early years she grew especially close to her natural born brother, Orys Stone, the illegitimate son of Prince Daemon by Lady Rowena Royce, Lady Rhea’s older third cousin. The young boy was brought into Lady Rhea’s household in the year 90AC, following the passing of his mother.

From the age of five, her parents’ estrangement was permanent, with Prince Daemon returning to the Crownlands and Lady Rhea and their daughter remaining at the Vale. After royal intervention it was agreed that the Princess time was to be split between living in Runestone with her mother, and between the Red Keep and Dragonstone with her father, alternating during the seasons, summer and winter was spent on the Vale, while spring and autumn in the Crownlands, special celebrations were shared.

Her education appears to have been strict and somewhat old-fashioned, thus, in addition to her studies, Grand Maester Runciter notes in his journals, she was taught spinning and weaving and had an innate talent for weaving intricate tapestry. From the year 92 forward, Visenya, who had been betrothed to her newborn cousin, Prince Aerion, was expected to become Queen Consort, and her education reflected it. Her betrothed passed away in his cradle two years later, and Visenya was then betrothed to his newborn brother, Prince Aelor.

Her tutors at the time, Maester Adelin, Archmaester Vaegon and Master Petrarca of Volantis, regarded Princess Visenya as an extroverted, lively, highly intelligent, and strong-willed girl. Prince Daemon was reported to be proud of her horsemanship and marksmanship.

Because of her outstanding intellect, and his blunt favoritism, King Jaehaerys named Princess Visenya as his cupbearer in the Year 96AC, at the age of six.

The young princess often was allowed to discuss the classics, philosophy, and the affairs of state with ambassadors and envoys visiting the court of Jaehaerys. Moreover, she was personally acquainted with the painters, musicians, writers, and scholars who lived in and around the royal court.

Princess Visenya if often considered one of, if not, the best educated women of her generation.

The year 96AC marked another milestone for Princess Visenya: on the eight moon of the year, the young princess bonded and became the first rider of a she-dragon she named Huraxes. The same dragon that as a hatchling had been brought to Princess Daenerys Targayen. Huraxes had pearly scales and iridescent wing membranes, with pale and pinkish flames. The princess was allowed to bond with the she-dragons by royal decree after falling ill with a bolt of Spring Fever that nearly took her life.

Matches for Princess Visenya started being discussed by the Small Council, brought up by the Lord Hand. Thought Visenya was heiress to the largest fortress in the Vale and to the Ladyship of Runestone, it was argued that as she was a Princess of the Realm, the matter of her marriage was a prerogative of the King, which infuriated Prince Daemon, who at the time occupied the seat of Master of Law, the Grand Master agreed that such line of thought might anger the Vale, as the Princess was highly regarded by her people and her second cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn. Lord Corlys suggested his own son as a match for the princess, four years her junior, most likely to tie another dragonrider to his house. His Grace put down all talks of marriage for his niece, agreeing that such was the right of his brother and good sister to choose her match.

For the celebration of his niece's fifteenth nameday, the king ordered seven days of celebrations, with a tournament and grand feasts. The Queen's absence was noticed, excused as Her Grace was in the early stages of her final pregnancy, and Visenya was allowed to sit in the seat usually reserved for the consort; she was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by the Dornish Ser Eldric Dayne, the Star in the Morning.

Since the Princess's return to court early in the spring of 104 AC, Visenya had caught the king’s eye, and it is reported that Viserys and his niece have become very close, spending hours each day in each other's company, promenading in the gardens, hunting in the Kingswood, and dancing together during feasts and balls.

The king is said to have spoiled his niece with lavish gifts, including presenting her with a manse in King’s Landing, a country estate crossing the Blackwater Rush and later a sea palace in the Reach.

⁂Marriage and Queenship:

After the death of Queen Aemma Arryn in the Year 105 AC, Princess Visenya, aged 15, became the 2nd wife and Queen Consort of her uncle, King Viserys I Targaryen. Their betrothal was announced a month following the queen’s passing, and a private ceremony was held three months later in Dragonstone.

It was a scandal at the time, as not only the King’s new marriage was announced a moon after the late queen’s passing in childbed, but it had also been rumored for some time that Viserys and Visenya had been lovers.

More salacious tales propagated by the fool Mushroom during the Dance of the Dragons tells of the princess sitting on her uncle's lap during feasts, kissing him shamelessly, and nibbling his fingers sensually as he fed her like a beloved pet; of the king fondling her breasts in public, and announcing to his courtiers that he and his niece would retire to make love. These have no contemporary support, with Septon Eustace calling such tales absurd and slanderous.

Over the matter of his marriage to his niece Viserys claimed that the marriage was in the public interest and ordered a grand celebration for the occasion of his new queen's coronation, to happen after the end of mourning period for Prince Baelon. Visenya was the first Queen Consort crowned in a separate ceremony from the reigning King. During the occasion the apparent advanced state of the queen's pregnancy caused a new wave of rumors that Visenya had been the King's mistress while the queen was still alive and that their child was conceived out of wedlock.

In their more than two decades of marriage, Visenya and Viserys had fourteen children, all survived into adulthood, something that the maesters attribute to the queen’s management of the nursery. Visenya’s role as a mother was glorified throughout the realm, their young new queen’s obvious fertility was seen, by the smallfolk and nobles alike, as both a bless from the Mother and a sign from the gods. With the birth of her twin girls, Princess Viserra and Princess Rhaelys, coins were issued, portraying her as the Mother, an allegory that would repeat itself many times for the remaining of her husband’s and son’s reign. If in her maidenhood, as a young princess, Visenya posed as a model for sculptures of the Maiden, in motherhood and queenship, she was now the Mother.

Although it was not the norm of the age, and in fact, apart from the late Queen Alysanne, no other queen receive such a honor, King Viserys granted Visenya a seat on his Small Council, leaning on her for advice on varied subjects due to his respect for her opinion and good judgment. She became a formidable figure with far-reaching influence during this time. According to some sources, her influence was such that Queen Visenya effectively ran the government alongside the Hand of the King.

In the year 115AC, around the time of her stepdaughter’s wedding to Ser Leanor Velaryon and in the years that followed, the Queen Consort started to work and put her own trusted people in ever higher positions to strengthen herself and her sons through them.

Visenya acted as her first husband’s regent after his health decline, sat in her eldest son’s war table following Viserys’s death.

⁂Personality:

Some historians have contended that to some extent she deserved her negative reputation propagated by her stepdaughter following the death of King Viserys I, despite the inaccuracies of the claims that she was sexually disreputable or regarding the legitimacy of her children, other criticisms of her were valid: she was ambitious, proud, obstinate, and masked her cunning behind a sweet-toned voice and flawless manners.

Princess Rhaenyra described her as a woman of reckless extravagance and wantonness, who seduced a grieving man, and whom the King nonetheless loved passionately and faithfully. It is widely known that those part of the Black Court of the Princess of Dragonstone took to call the queen ‘the King’s Great Whore’ and ‘Lady Concubine’, however always away from both the queen and the king’s ears as well as her supporters, further spreading the rumors of an extramarital affair while the late Queen Aemma still lived and questioning the validity of the legitimacy of their children. Despite rumors spread on her sons legitimacy supported by the queen's supposed lasciviousness, all of Visenya’s children resembled those of her lineage.

In her youth, Visenya was celebrated as ‘the most beautiful creature in the world’ and that there was ‘nothing lacking in her that the most beautiful girl should have’. Ser Alyn of Hull would reflect later in her lifetime that regarding her appearance ‘there were few women who could compete with the Queen in her prime’.

Visenya was fiercely independent, a trait she shared with her mother. Mellos described her as having ambitions to match her pedigree. However, Archmaester Gyldayn notes that Visenya was fully aware that a woman in Westeros could not hold power in her own right. Instead, Visenya orchestrated the rise of her sons.

Capable of acts of extreme ruthlessness, she, in contrast, was also able to demonstrate uttermost kindness and charity.

⁂Issue:

At four and thirty of age by the time of their weeding, Viserys was already considered in his middle age. The union however proved itself to be a happy one, and together they had 14 children, nine sons and five daughters.

Visenya had been taught the importance of receiving an education and came to play an extensive role in her children' education, resulting in the creation of a "superior breed of princes."

Queen Visenya was know to call her children her 'precious jewels', and took great pride in all of them, she was particularly close to the princesses Alyssa and Elaena, however it is said, that from all her children, her favorite was Prince Aegon.

edited on 11/04/2024

[sikudastoner]

Mabel Lannister née Waters, Tyland Lannister and their baby Elsbeth.

Commission done by @yomna-art, thank you so much for bringing the image in my head to life!

[kckt88]

The Picture of Aemond Targaryen II

Summary:

Aemond continues his life of debauchery and sin, but soon discovers that his indulgences come at a price.

Warning(s): Language, Drugs, Sin, Indulgence, Debauchery, Kissing, Smut – P in V, Murder, Death.

VICTORIAN ERA AEMOND TARGARYEN

INSPIRED BY THE BOOK/MOVIE - THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Word Count: 7157

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

As Criston Cole observed Aemond's increasingly erratic behaviour, a sense of concern gnawed at the edges of his conscience. The once noble scion of House Targaryen seemed to be descending further into a spiral of debauchery and sin, his actions betraying the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of his flawless facade.

"Aemond, my dear friend," Criston began tentatively, his voice tinged with worry as he approached his troubled companion. "I cannot help but notice a change in you as of late. Your indulgences in the pleasures of the flesh have become-excessive, to say the least."

Aemond's eyes flickered with a mixture of defiance and guilt as he met Criston's gaze, his demeanour guarded as he struggled to maintain the facade of composure. "I fail to see how my actions concern you, Criston," he replied coolly, though the tremor in his voice betrayed the turmoil that raged within.

Criston's brow furrowed with concern as he reached out to grasp Aemond's shoulder, his touch gentle yet firm. "Because I care about you, Aemond," he said earnestly, his voice laced with sincerity. "I fear that you are on a path that can only lead to ruin, that your actions will bring nothing but sorrow and regret."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Aemond's features as he regarded his friend's earnest expression, a sense of shame washing over him like a tidal wave. "Perhaps you are right, Criston," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps I have lost my way."

But even as he spoke the words, Aemond knew that the allure of his own desires was too strong to resist. For in the depths of his soul, he was haunted by a darkness that threatened to consume him whole – a darkness that could only be quenched by the fleeting ecstasy of the pleasures that beckoned him ever closer.

And as he turned away from Criston's concerned gaze, Aemond knew that he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, the abyss of his own desires yawning before him like a gaping dragon's maw. But still, he could not resist the call of the darkness that lurked within, a darkness that whispered promises of ecstasy and oblivion in the depths of his own mind.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” asked Aemond as he discarded the last of his clothes.

Alysanne shook her head slightly, she wanted Aemond, and she loved him deeply, he had promised to marry her. He’d even presented her with a ring so beautiful that she couldn’t stop admiring the way it looked on her finger, the way the stone shimmered in the light.

Aemond was to be her husband-laying with him wasn’t truly a sin. They would marry, they would have children and they would live happy-together.

Aemond placed his hand on Alysanne’s shoulder and directed her to lay down. He laid between her open legs, supporting his weight on his left arm as he reached down and took his hard cock in his hand and placed the tip of it against Alysanne’s entrance.

Alysanne shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath as Aemond sheathed himself within her.

Aemond stopped as she shrieked loudly in pain. He lifted his head and noticed that she had her eyes screwed shut.

"The pain will fade" whispered Aemond, his breath hot upon her skin.

The tears rolled down Alysanne’s cheeks as Aemond rutted against her. The pain was unbelievable, how was this supposed to be pleasurable for the woman? Was this her penance for laying with a man before exchanging the matrimonial vows?

Aemond gave a surprised moan as she involuntarily clenched around him. Alysanne grasped at Aemond’s shoulders as the pace of his thrusts increased.

Then she felt it, a gentle ebb of pleasure radiating around her body from where they were joined.

His hard cock, moving against something inside that made her toes curl.

"Aemond" breathed Alysanne, she was the edge of something-a peice of string stretched to the point of breaking-until it snapped. It felt like an explosion, her legs shaking as she came down from her high.

Aemond buried his face into her neck and let out a long low groan as he spilled his seed inside her. Eventually he pulled his softened cock from her and sat on the edge of the bed.

“A-Aemond” whispered Alysanne.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond quietly.

“Bit sore, but I’m sure I’ll be fine” muttered Alysanne as she reached forward to take Aemond’s hand only for him to stand up and begin pulling on his clothes.

“I need to go-I’m meeting Tyland and Criston” muttered Aemond as he pulled on his cotton shirt and began doing up the buttons.

“I wish you would stay” whispered Alysanne sadly.

“You know I can’t, if your brother catches me here-he’ll not be very happy”.

“I know but maybe a few minutes” exclaimed Alysanne.

“Alys-my sweet lady. I shall linger for a moment longer” replied Aemond as he finished dressing and sat back on the bed, allowing Alysanne to embrace him.

His thoughts were never far from the painting hidden under the cloth in his attic. The reflection of his sins twisting his features like a knife. Was this another mark on his dark soul, his besmirching of Alysanne’s innocence, his lust for her clouding his mind, until he couldn’t stop. He had to have her, and he did.

But her arms around his body, felt like chains. Shackling him to a life he didn’t truly want. He was dishonest in his quest to bed her and now he would no doubt pay for his deceit, his portrait twisting with grotesque purpose even more than before.

He had to leave, he needed to be free of Alys’ womanly ideals, he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be a husband, her life goals did not align with his and he would only taint her with his darkness should he remain by her side.

“It’s getting late-I should be going” uttered Aemond.

“Shall I see you tomorrow?” asked Alys softly.

“I’m having some remodelling done-I cannot leave the workers unattended” replied Aemond as he moved away from Alysanne and took his long black coat into his arms.

“The day after?” questioned Alys.

“Maybe-“ muttered Aemond as he pressed a quick kiss to Alysanne’s forehead before leaving the room.

Ignoring the fleeting sound of Alysanne’s muffled sob as he shut the door.

As the echoes of their night together lingered in the air, Aemond Targaryen found himself consumed by a sense of unease. The connection he had once felt with Alysanne Rivera now seemed to wane with each passing day, replaced by a growing distance that he couldn't quite explain.

Avoiding her repeated attempts to seek him out, Aemond retreated further into the shadows, his heart heavy with guilt and uncertainty. What had once been a blossoming romance now felt like a burden too heavy to bear, weighed down by the weight of his own sins.

And as Alysanne reached out to him with words of affection and longing, Aemond found himself pulling away, his interest in her fading like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

But even as he turned his back on his Alys, Aemond couldn't shake the feeling of regret that lingered in the depths of his soul. For in the darkness of his own desires, he had found a fleeting ecstasy that could never truly replace the warmth of her embrace.

And as his feelings for his lady Alys faded into the distance, Aemond knew that he had lost something precious – something that could never be reclaimed. But still, he could not bring himself to reach out to her, the weight of his own sins dragging him down into the wanting embrace of darkness.

Heart heavy with apprehension, Alysanne sought out Aemond, determined to confront him about the distance that had grown between them. With each step, her resolve wavered, but she knew she couldn't ignore the gnawing ache in her heart any longer.

"Aemond," she called out softly as she approached him, her voice trembling with emotion. "We need to talk."

Aemond turned to face her, his expression guarded and aloof. "What is it, Alysanne?" he asked, his tone cool and distant.

Tears welled in Alysanne's eyes as she searched for the right words, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't understand what's happened between us," she confessed, her heart breaking with each syllable. "We had something special, Aemond. What happened to us?"

Aemond's features hardened as he regarded her, his gaze cold and indifferent. "You were a distraction, Alysanne," he replied curtly, his words like a knife to her heart. "Something to pass the time, nothing more. I told you what you wanted to hear, but it was never meant to be anything everlasting."

Alysanne's breath caught in her throat as she recoiled from his callous words, her hands trembling with a mixture of hurt and betrayal. "How can you say that?" she whispered; her voice thick with tears. "What we had-it meant something to me. I thought-I thought it meant something to you too."

But Aemond's expression remained unchanged, his eyes devoid of warmth or remorse. "You were mistaken, Alysanne," he said dismissively, turning away from her as though she were nothing more than a passing shadow. "What we had was fun, but it was never meant to last. You would do well to remember that."

With those words, Aemond walked away, leaving Alysanne standing alone amidst the wreckage of their shattered dreams. And as she watched him disappear into the distance, she knew that she had been nothing more than a fleeting distraction in his eyes – a casualty of his own selfish desires.

The air hung heavy with tension as Arthur Rivera, Alysanne's older brother, confronted Aemond, his eyes blazing with a righteous fury that burned like a beacon in the darkness.

"My sister is dead," Arthur began, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.

Aemond's facade of composure wavered for just a moment, his features contorting with a flicker of shock before settling into a mask of cold indifference.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice icy and devoid of emotion.

Arthur's gaze bore into Aemond's soul like a dagger, his words cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade. "Alysanne drowned herself," he spat, his voice thick with grief and anger. "And she was carrying your child."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat at the revelation, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of shock and horror. But still, he remained stoic and unmoved, his expression a mask of cold indifference.

"That's impossible," he replied flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Alysanne never told me she was pregnant."

Arthur's eyes flashed with fury as he took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. "She didn't have the chance," he seethed. "You cast her aside like she was nothing, a mere plaything to be discarded when you grew tired of her. And now she's dead because of you."

Aemond's jaw tightened with barely contained rage as he fought to maintain his composure in the face of Arthur's accusations. "I had no idea," he insisted, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

But Arthur would hear none of it, his grief and anger consuming him like a wildfire in the night. And as he turned to leave, leaving Aemond standing alone amidst the wreckage of his own making, Aemond knew that he could never escape the consequences of his actions – that the darkness that lurked within his own soul would haunt him for the rest of his days, a constant reminder of the price of his own cruelty.

As the news of Alysanne's tragic death reached Criston Cole's ears, he couldn't help but notice the unsettling lack of reaction from Aemond Targaryen, his dear friend and companion. Despite the gravity of the situation, Aemond remained stoic and indifferent, his demeanour a stark contrast to the turmoil that raged within Criston's own heart.

"Aemond," Criston began tentatively, his voice laced with concern as he approached his troubled friend. "I couldn't help but notice-your reaction to the news of Alysanne's death. It's-troubling, to say the least."

Aemond's gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable as he absorbed Criston's words. "What would you have me do, Criston?" he replied coolly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Her death, while tragic, is of no consequence to me."

Criston's brow furrowed with confusion as he regarded Aemond's cold indifference, this man standing in front of him was becoming more unrecognisable as each day passed. A once promising young man descending beyond the precipice of darkness to which he would never return from.

"But Alysanne was more than just a passing acquaintance, Aemond," he insisted, his voice tinged with frustration. "She was a kind and gentle soul, taken from us far too soon. How can you be so callous in the face of such tragedy?"

Aemond's lips curled into a thin line as he turned to face Criston, his eyes like chips of ice that seemed to pierce straight through to the depths of Criston's soul. "I am not callous, Criston," he replied evenly, though the words rang hollow in the silence that hung between them. "I am simply realistic”.

But even as he spoke the words, Aemond knew that they were a lie – a feeble attempt to conceal the turmoil that raged within his own heart. For in the depths of his soul, he could not shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him like a hungry beast, driving him further and further from the truth that lay buried beneath the surface of his own indifference. And as he turned away from Criston's concerned gaze, Aemond knew that he could not outrun the consequences of his own actions – that the darkness that lurked within him would haunt him for the rest of his days, a constant reminder of the price of his own cruelty.

But Criston would not be deterred, his freind was hiding something and he was determined to find out what it was.

Criston heart raced with anticipation as he ascended the creaking stairs to Aemond’s attic, eager to lay eyes upon the portrait that his friend had hidden away with such secrecy. But as he reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the heavy door, his excitement turned to horror as he beheld the grotesque visage that lay hidden within.

The once flawless features of Aemond Targaryen had been twisted and contorted beyond recognition, the lines of the painting reflecting the darkness that lurked within his soul. It was a macabre masterpiece, a testament to the depths of depravity to which Aemond had fallen.

Criston's breath caught in his throat as he recoiled from the twisted portrait, his hands trembling with a mixture of fear and revulsion. "What... what have you done, Aemond?" he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.

But there was no answer, only the eerie silence of the attic as the shadows danced around him like spectres in the night. And as Criston gazed into the depths of the painting, he knew that he had stumbled upon something far more sinister than he could have ever imagined – a darkness that threatened to consume them both if left unchecked.

With a sense of dread weighing heavy on his soul, Criston wanted to flee, but he was rooted to the spot, the twisted portrait haunting his every thought like a ghost in the night.

He knew that he could not unsee what he had witnessed – that the darkness that lurked within Aemond Targaryen was far more dangerous than he had ever dared to imagine.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Criston recoil in horror from the twisted portrait, his mind racing with desperation as he realized that his darkest secret had been laid bare before his friend's horrified gaze.

"You can't leave, Criston," Aemond pleaded, his voice trembling with feigned desperation as he blocked the doorway with his body.

But there was a glint of suspicion in Criston's eyes as he regarded Aemond's frantic demeanour, a sense of unease settling over him like a shroud. "What- what is this Aemond? This can’t be real surely" he demanded; his voice tinged with fear.

Aemond's gaze flickered with malice as he reached for a shard of broken glass that lay discarded on the floor, his mind consumed by the darkness that lurked within his own soul.

"It’s very real Criston-my portrait bears the marks of my sin whilst I remain untouched," replied Aemond coldly, his voice devoid of remorse.

“Y-You need help Aemond-“ urged Criston.

“Why?” asked Aemond cocking his head to the side.

“Something is very wrong-we must destroy the painting,” said Criston.

Destroy the painting? No Aemond could not allow that, it needed to be preserved, his soul was ensconced within the very essence of the painting.

Aemond watched as Criston seized the painting and looked wildly around the room, no doubt looking for something to aide in the destruction of his work.

With a sudden burst of violence, Aemond lunged forward, the shard of glass glinting in the dim light of the attic as he drove it into Criston's neck.

The painting slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground with a loud thump.

Criston crumpled to the ground, his lifeblood staining the floorboards beneath him, Aemond felt a sense of twisted satisfaction wash over him like a tidal wave.

For in that moment, he knew that he had silenced the only witness to his darkest secret – a secret that could never be allowed to see the light of day. And as he stood over Criston's lifeless body, he knew that there would be no turning back from the darkness that now consumed him whole.

With a cold determination gripping his heart, Aemond Targaryen dragged Criston lifeless body across the attic floor, his mind numb to his actions. With each step, the weight of his sin pressed down upon him like a leaden shroud, but his focus fixed solely on the task at hand.

Struggling against the weight of his friend's corpse, Aemond managed to hoist Criston's body into the trunk that lay discarded in the corner of the attic. The wood groaned in protest as he forced the lid closed, sealing away the evidence of his crime beneath a veil of darkness.

Heart pounding in his chest, Aemond dragged the trunk down the stairs and out into the moonlit night, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the deserted street. With each step, the weight of his burden seemed to grow heavier, but he pressed on, his mind consumed by the need to rid himself of the damning evidence.

Reaching the edge of the riverbank, Aemond paused for a moment, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stared out into the murky depths below. With a final surge of strength, he heaved the trunk over the railing and into the water below, watching as it disappeared beneath the surface with a muted splash.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the silence broken only by the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. And as Aemond turned away from the river, a sense of relief washed over him like a cleansing tide, the weight of his guilt lifted – if only for a fleeting moment.

But deep within the recesses of his soul, Aemond knew that he could never truly escape the consequences of his actions – that the darkness that lurked within him would haunt him for the rest of his days, a constant reminder of the price of his own cruelty. And as he disappeared into the shadows of the night, he knew that he was forever bound to the darkness that now consumed him whole.

Years had passed since the night Aemond Targaryen had silenced his friend Criston Cole, his guilt and shame driving him to flee from the city that had once been his home. In the quiet solitude of the countryside, he sought solace in the shadows, his past a dark spectre that haunted his every step.

But as the years slipped by like grains of sand through an hourglass, Aemond found himself drawn back to the city that had once been his playground, the lure of its bustling streets and glittering society impossible to resist. And so, with a heavy heart and a sense of trepidation, he returned to London once more, his arrival met with whispers of surprise and disbelief.

For while the faces of his peers had grown lined with age and weariness, Aemond remained unchanged, his features as youthful and handsome as they had been on the day he had fled from their midst. It was as though time itself had stood still for him, leaving him untouched by its relentless march.

As he moved through the crowded streets of the city, Aemond felt the weight of their scrutiny upon him, their whispered rumours like a dagger in his side. But he paid them no mind, his gaze fixed upon the horizon as he sought to reclaim his rightful place in the world that had once been his playground.

And as he mingled with the upper echelons of society once more, Aemond could not help but revel in the shock and awe that his presence elicited, his youthful appearance a stark contrast to the aging faces that surrounded him. It was a cruel reminder of the bargain he had struck so many years ago – a bargain that had granted him eternal youth and beauty at the cost of his own soul.

But even as he basked in the adulation of those who marvelled at his ageless beauty, Aemond knew that the darkness that lurked within him could never truly be escaped – that the sins of his past would forever taint the facade of perfection that he presented to the world.

As Aemond re-entered London's high society, he found himself once again drawn into the orbit of Lord Tyland Lannister. But as they reunited after years apart, Aemond couldn't help but notice the marked difference in Tyland's appearance – where once he had been a picture of youthful vitality, now he was aged and weathered by the passage of time.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" Tyland remarked with a wistful smile as he gazed upon Aemond's flawless features. "Youth seems to cling to you like a second skin, while the rest of us are left to wither away with age."

Aemond's lips curved into a practiced smile as he shrugged off Tyland's observation, his eyes betraying none of the turmoil that churned within his soul. "Luck, perhaps," he replied casually, though the words felt like ash on his tongue. "Or good genes, if you believe in such things."

But Tyland's gaze lingered upon him with an intensity that sent a shiver down Aemond's spine, his eyes searching for the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface. "There's more to it than luck, Aemond," he said quietly, his voice tinged with curiosity. "I can see it in your eyes – the weight of a secret that you carry with you wherever you go."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his secret, his facade of composure threatening to crumble beneath the weight of Tyland's scrutiny. But with a practiced ease born of years of deception, he pushed the fear aside, his expression remaining unchanged as he met Tyland's gaze head-on.

"You read too much into things, Tyland," he replied smoothly, his voice betraying none of the turmoil that raged within him. "Some things are best left unsaid, don't you think?"

And as they moved through the crowded halls of London's high society, Aemond couldn't shake the feeling that Tyland's suspicions lingered like a shadow between them, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within his own soul. But still, he pressed on, his secrets buried deep beneath the flawless facade of perfection that he presented to the world.

As Aemond Targaryen's youthful appearance continued to defy the passage of time, Lord Tyland Lannister couldn't shake the growing sense of unease that gnawed at the edges of his conscience. Though he had initially dismissed Aemond's flawless beauty as nothing more than luck or good fortune, there was something about his friend's demeanour that set off alarm bells in Tyland's mind.

As they mingled amongst the glittering elite of London's high society, Tyland found himself studying Aemond's every move with a newfound sense of scrutiny. There was a calculated precision to his actions, a careful mask of indifference that seemed almost too perfect to be genuine.

But it was in the moments when Aemond thought no one was watching that Tyland caught glimpses of something darker lurking beneath the surface – a flicker of malice in his eye, a hint of cruelty in his smile. It was as though he were hiding something, something that he would go to great lengths to keep hidden from prying eyes.

And as the whispers of scandal began to swirl around Aemond once more, Tyland knew that he could no longer ignore the nagging sense of suspicion that tugged at the corners of his mind. For beneath the flawless facade of perfection that Aemond presented to the world, there lurked a darkness that threatened to consume them all.

With a sense of determination burning in his heart, Tyland resolved to uncover the truth – whatever the cost. For he knew that the secrets that Aemond Targaryen carried with him were far more dangerous than anyone could have ever imagined, and it was only a matter of time before they were laid bare for all to see.

Under the cover of darkness, Lord Tyland Lannister slipped through the shadows like a ghost, his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way towards Aemond Targaryen's opulent town house. Though he knew the risks of his clandestine mission, the nagging sense of suspicion that gnawed at the edges of his conscience drove him forward, propelling him deeper into the heart of the darkness that lurked within.

With practiced ease, Tyland picked the lock on the grand entrance, the door swinging open with a soft creak that echoed through the silent halls. As he moved through the empty corridors, his senses heightened with anticipation, he felt the weight of Aemond's secrets pressing down upon him like a suffocating shroud.

And then, at last, he found himself standing before the door to the attic, with trembling hands, he pushed the door open, the air thick with the musty scent of neglect and decay.

But as he beheld the portrait that lay before him, horror washed over Tyland like a tidal wave, threatening to consume him whole. The once flawless features of Aemond Targaryen had been twisted and contorted beyond all recognition, the lines of the painting reflecting the darkness that lurked within his soul.

A scream caught in Tyland's throat as he recoiled from the grotesque visage that stared back at him, his mind struggling to comprehend the depths of depravity that lay hidden within Aemond's heart. It was a macabre masterpiece, a testament to the darkness that had consumed them both.

With a shaking hand, Tyland reached out to touch the twisted canvas, his fingers tracing the lines of Aemond's distorted face with a sense of disbelief and horror. How had he allowed himself to be deceived by the facade of perfection that Aemond had presented to the world? How had he failed to see the darkness that lurked beneath?

With a sharp intake of breath, Tyland recoiled from the painting, his heart hammering in his chest as a sense of dread washed over him. And then, to his horror, he watched as the grotesque visage on the canvas seemed to shift and contort, as if alive with a malevolent energy of its own.

A strangled cry escaped Tyland's lips as he stumbled backwards, his eyes wide with terror as he watched the twisted figure in the painting leer at him with a mocking grin.

Aemond Targaryen's heart skipped a beat as he ascended the stairs to the attic, a sense of foreboding gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled with unease as he pushed open the heavy door, revealing the twisted portrait that lay hidden within.

But to his surprise, it was not solitude that greeted him, but rather the figure of Lord Tyland Lannister standing before the painting, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. And yet, despite the horror that lay before him, Aemond felt a strange sense of calm wash over him, a serenity born of resignation and acceptance.

"Tyland," he said softly, his voice a mere whisper in the silence of the attic. "I see you've discovered my secret."

Tyland's gaze flickered to meet Aemond's, his expression a mask of disbelief and horror. "What-what have you done, Aemond?" he whispered, his voice tinged with fear.

Aemond's lips curved into a serene smile as he regarded his old friend, his eyes glinting with a madness that seemed to dance just beneath the surface. "I have embraced the darkness within me" he replied calmly, though the words sent a chill down Tyland's spine. "I have made a pact with forces beyond your comprehension, and in return, I have been granted eternal youth and beauty."

Tyland recoiled from Aemond's words, his mind reeling with disbelief at the depths of depravity that lay hidden within his friend's soul. And yet, despite the horror of the revelation, there was something about Aemond's demeanour that chilled him to the bone – a sense of calm and serenity that seemed almost unnatural in the face of such darkness.

"You dare to gaze at me with such disgust, Tyland?" Aemond's words were laced with venom, his gaze boring into Tyland's with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. "You, who revelled in the pleasures of the flesh without remorse or regret? You, who preached the gospel of hedonism to all who would listen?"

Tyland recoiled from Aemond's accusation, his own anger flaring in response. "I may have indulged in the pleasures of life, but I never stooped to the depths of depravity that you have, Aemond," he shot back, his voice thick with disdain. "You are the architect of your own downfall, driven by a darkness that I cannot begin to comprehend."

Aemond's laughter echoed through the attic, a hollow sound that sent shivers down Tyland's spine. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Tyland?" he sneered, his eyes blazing with a madness that seemed to dance just beneath the surface. "That I am the monster, and you are merely an innocent bystander?"

Tyland's fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of Aemond's taunts. "You are responsible for your own actions, Aemond," he replied through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with anger. "You alone bear the burden of your sins."

But Aemond merely smirked at Tyland's words, a cruel twist of his lips that sent a chill down Tyland's spine. "Perhaps," he conceded, his voice dripping with malice. "But you, Tyland, are the one who made me what I am. You and your hedonistic worldview, your constant insistence on giving in to temptation at every turn. allowing me to take without the fear of cencequnce"

As Lord Tyland’s eyes scanned the cluttered attic, searching for any clue that might shed light on the darkness that lurked within Aemond Targaryen's opulent town house, they fell upon a small object lying discarded on the floor – a scarf, stained crimson with dried blood.

With a sudden surge of realization, Tyland's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the scarf as belonging to Criston Cole, his dear friend whose life had been taken, his death shrouded mystery. And as he reached out to pick up the blood-stained fabric, a sense of horror washed over him like a tidal wave.

For in that moment, Lord Tyland Lannister knew the truth – that Aemond Targaryen, his once-friend and confidant, was responsible for Criston's untimely demise. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place with chilling clarity, the portrait in the attic serving as a damning testament to the darkness that lurked within Aemond's soul.

As Lord Tyland’s trembling hands clutched the blood-stained scarf, a primal instinct surged within him, urging him to flee from the attic and the horrors it contained. With a strangled cry, he turned towards the door, his heart pounding in his chest as he scrambled to escape the suffocating confines of the room.

But before he could take a single step, a cold voice cut through the silence, freezing him in his tracks. "Leaving so soon, Tyland?"

Tyland's blood ran cold as he turned to face Aemond Targaryen, his eyes wide with fear as he beheld the man who had once been his friend. But now, there was a darkness in Aemond's gaze that sent a shiver down Tyland's spine, a malevolence that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

"Aemond-" Tyland's voice was barely a whisper, choked with fear and disbelief. "What have you done?"

Aemond's lips curled into a twisted smile, his eyes glinting with madness as he took a step closer, his presence looming over Tyland like a spectre in the night. "I have done what needed to be done," he replied calmly, though the words sent a chill down Tyland's spine. "I have rid myself of those who would seek to expose my true nature."

Tyland's heart raced in his chest as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of Aemond's crimes. "Criston-" he whispered, his voice trembling with horror. "You killed him."

Aemond's smile widened into a sinister grin as he nodded in confirmation. "Yes" he replied, his voice dripping with malice. "I killed him. Just as I would kill anyone who dared to stand in the way of my desires."

With a surge of desperation, Tyland turned and lunged for the door, his mind consumed by the need to escape from the madness that surrounded him. But before he could reach safety, a strong hand closed around his wrist, pulling him back with a force that sent him stumbling to the ground.

"You cannot escape me, Tyland," Aemond whispered, his voice a menacing whisper in the darkness.

As the flames consumed Aemond Targaryen's opulent townhouse, a crowd gathered in the street below, their faces twisted with shock and disbelief as they watched the inferno rage with an intensity that seemed to defy the darkness of the night. The crackling of the flames echoed through the air, a symphony of destruction that filled the silence with a sense of foreboding.

Among the onlookers, whispers of speculation began to circulate, fuelled by the fear and uncertainty that gripped them like a vice. Some speculated that it was an accident, a tragic twist of fate that had reduced the once-grand mansion to a smouldering ruin. Others whispered of foul play, their minds consumed by the possibility of arson and murder.

But amidst the chaos and confusion, one thing remained certain – the charred remains of a body had been discovered in the attic, its identity shrouded in mystery. But as the smoke cleared and the flames died down, the body was identified only by the rings on its fingers, rings that were known to belong to Aemond Targaryen.

With a sense of solemnity, the authorities announced the tragic news to the waiting crowd, their words echoing through the stunned silence. Aemond Targaryen, once a pillar of London's high society, was now little more than a charred husk, his life snuffed out in a moment of madness and despair.

The group of girls wandered through the museum, their expressions a mixture of boredom and disinterest as they glanced over the various displays of ancient artifacts and historical relics. Their attention waned with each passing exhibit, their minds elsewhere as they idly chattered amongst themselves.

As they rounded a corner, their eyes fell upon a display showcasing artifacts discovered at a long-forgotten townhouse, the name "Aemond Targaryen" emblazoned on a plaque beneath. A few of the girls exchanged glances, their interest piqued for a moment before quickly waning again.

"Ugh, more old stuff," one of the girls muttered, rolling her eyes as she brushed past the display without a second thought.

"Yeah, who cares about some rich guy from forever ago?" another chimed in, her voice tinged with sarcasm as she continued on without a backward glance.

The girls moved on, their attention already drifting to the next exhibit, the artifacts of Aemond Targaryen forgotten in an instant amidst the hustle and bustle of the modern world. And as they disappeared into the depths of the museum, the relics of a bygone era stood silent and forgotten, their secrets lost to the sands of time.

As the group of girls continued their aimless meandering through the museum, their chatter filled the air with a lively energy. But their conversation came to an abrupt halt as they rounded a corner and collided with a figure standing in their path.

Apologies spilled from their lips in a flurry of hurried words as they stumbled backwards, their eyes widening in surprise as they took in the sight before them. Standing before them was a man of striking beauty, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders, his sharp features chiselled and refined, the sapphire nestled in his missing eye only adding to the allure of such a man.

For a moment, the girls were rendered speechless by his arresting presence, their gaze lingering on his flawless complexion and piercing gaze. He offered them a charming smile, his eye twinkling with amusement as he took in their stunned expressions.

"Sorry about that," one of the girls managed to stammer, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she regained her composure. "We weren't watching where we were going."

The man's smile widened, a knowing glint in his eye as he inclined his head in acknowledgment. "No harm done," he replied smoothly, his voice a melodic lilt that sent shivers down their spines. "It's not every day that I have the pleasure of such delightful company."

The girls exchanged nervous glances, their hearts fluttering in their chests as they struggled to find their words. There was something undeniably captivating about the man standing before them, a magnetic charm that left them spellbound.

Emboldened by a surge of courage, one of the girls stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest as she met the man's gaze with a determined expression. "Um, excuse me," she began tentatively, her voice betraying her nerves. "I couldn't help but notice-would you mind giving me your number?"

The man's smile widened at her boldness, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes as he reached into his pocket and produced a sleek smartphone. "Of course," he replied smoothly, his voice a velvety purr that sent a shiver down her spine. "I'd be delighted to."

With practiced ease, he entered his number into her phone, his fingers dancing across the screen with effortless grace. And then, with a flourish, he handed it back to her, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that left her breathless.

"There you go," he said with a charming smile, his voice soft yet commanding. "Feel free to give me a text or call anytime."

The girl's heart soared with elation as she thanked him profusely, her fingers trembling with excitement as she clutched her phone to her chest.

As the man prepared to take his leave, a nagging curiosity tugged at the girl's mind, prompting her to speak up once more. "Wait," she interjected, her voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "You didn't tell me your name”

The man turned back to face her, his smile widening as he regarded her with a knowing glint in his eyes. "My apologies," he replied smoothly, his voice as rich as velvet. "You may call me Aemond."

As Aemond prepared to depart, the girl's mind raced with a sudden realization. His name echoed in her thoughts, stirring a memory from earlier in the museum. With a furrowed brow, she spoke up once more, her voice trembling with curiosity.

"Aemond," she began, her words cautious yet determined. "As in Aemond Targaryen?"

A flicker of amusement danced in Aemond's eyes at her question, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You could say that" he replied enigmatically, his tone hinting at a deeper truth that lay just beyond her grasp.

As she watched him disappear into the crowd, her thoughts consumed by the enigmatic stranger she had just encountered, she knew that there was much more to Aemond than met the eye. And as she returned her attention to the museum display, her mind buzzing with excitement, she couldn't help but wonder what other secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of his captivating persona.

Aemond returned to his luxury penthouse, his mind still lingering on the chance encounter with the girl at the museum. As he stepped into the opulent surroundings of his home, a sense of satisfaction washed over him, a rare moment of contentment amidst the chaos of his existence.

With a graceful flourish, Aemond made his way to a reinforced room hidden away from prying eyes, his steps echoing through the silence of the empty halls. With practiced ease, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, the air thick with anticipation as he approached a large, covered object at the centre of the room.

With a flick of his wrist, Aemond lifted the cover from the object, revealing the twisted painting that lay beneath. In the years since its creation – and the sins it bore the mark of – the painting had become unrecognizable, its once-flawless visage now warped and contorted beyond all recognition. Jagged teeth protruding through festering skin, the eye rotten in the socket.

But as Aemond gazed upon the grotesque masterpiece before him, a sense of satisfaction washed over him, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within his own soul. For in the twisted lines and distorted features of the painting, he saw a reflection of his own inner turmoil – a reminder of the price he had paid for eternal youth and beauty.

As Aemond stood in his reinforced room, contemplating the twisted painting before him, the gentle buzz of his phone broke through the silence, drawing his attention away from the dark thoughts that had consumed him. With a curious glance, he picked up the device, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the name displayed on the screen – Cerelle.

A smile tugged at the corners of Aemond's lips as he read the text message from the girl he had encountered at the museum, her invitation to join her for a drink filling him with a sense of anticipation. Who was he to turn down such a beautiful young lady, after all?

With a swift reply, Aemond accepted Cerelle's invitation, his fingers flying across the screen as he typed out his response. As he set the phone down, a sense of excitement coursed through him, a flicker of anticipation igniting in the depths of his soul.

For in that moment, Aemond knew that his encounter with Cerelle was only the beginning.

[jason-todd-is-a-real-mood]

Tywin wants to be tyland.

Cersei wants to be the lannister!oc we're all adding into our aemond fic

[ladybug023]

Little Shadowcat Chapter 1

Daeron Targaryen x Cerelle Lannister

Warnings: None this a pretty fluffy chapter. Some spying, mention of murder.

Notes: Cerelle only communicates through sign language and gestures.

(8 years ago)

Tyland Lannister wandered through the lush gardens of Casterly Rock, searching for his little niece, Cerelle. He was informed by the septa that the triplets, Jaissa, Elissa, and Marissa had been teasing Cerelle once again. Cerelle was an easy target for their mocking because she was born deaf.

Tyland was visiting Casterly Rock for Cerelle’s sixth name day. It was nice to get away fron King's Landing and its purtrid stink, to get some fresh air for once. Though, he couldn’t stay away for long. Based on what he had heard, Lady Laena Valyrion's funeral was a complete and utter catastrophe. In short, Prince Aemond had tamed the great beast Vhagar. However, he later had his eye gouged out by one of Princess Rhaenyra’s bastards. The Queen in turn attempted to kill the Princess, and somehow it ended with Lord Laenor dead and the Princess married to her uncle, Prince Daemon.

Oh Gods, how Tyland wished he could have been there to witness all of the melodrama unfold in person. He found it amusing that House Targaryen was tearing itself apart from within, and civil war seemed inevitable, plunging the realm into chaos. With chaos came opportunity, and now that the Greens had Vhagar on their side, Tyland knew whom to bet on.

After searching for some time, he finally found Cerelle hiding up a tall tree, her big emerald eyes were puffy from crying. She didn't hear him approach, so he shook the tree to get her attention. She noticed the quaking leaves and looked down.

"Cerelle, dear. Can I come up?" Tyland knew sign language, having learned for her. Something, that even her own parents did not bother to do.

She nodded and signed, "Please."

With practiced ease, Tyland climbed up the tree to reach Cerelle, as he had done many times before. As he approached her, he could see tears streaming down her face, and her expensive dress was dirtied from the climbing. Her once-stylish golden hair now resembled frizzy cat ears, adding to her disheveled appearance as she sniveled helplessly.

"What's wrong, little one?" he asked her.

"They teased me again," she signed back, her fingers trembling. "Marissa thinks my voice is weird.”

With a deep sigh, Tyland thought about Johanna's insistence on Cerelle taking speaking lessons with their Maester. He understood how hard it must be for her to learn to pronounce words that she could not hear. It was moments like this that made him empathize with Cerelle, who he knew was an outsider even within her own family. They were like shadowcats among the lions, always watching and waiting. Tyland reached out to tuck a loose lock of Cerelle's hair behind her ear, a small gesture of understanding between two kindred spirits.

"I know it's hard, Cerelle. But your deafness is a gift," he signed to her. Cerelle looked at him, confusion etched on her face.

“How so?” She asked. “I am a cripple.”

“You cannot hear people's lies, and you can see them for what they truly are."

"I do not understand," she signed back. Tyland took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain.

"People always say one thing but mean another, they hide their true intentions," he signed. "But you can see the truth in their actions and in their eyes. You can see the world as it truly is." Cerelle looked at him, her eyes wide with understanding. Tyland knew that he had gotten through to her. He wiped away her tears with his thumb and smiled at her.

"Now, let us go inside, it is time for supper and I am sure all that crying made you famished.” he signed to her. She nodded in agreement.

Once they climbed down the tree together, he took her little hand in his. As they made their way back into the Rock, Cerelle tugged on his sleeve to get his attention.

"Uncle," she signed, "Can I have a dragon for my name day?" Cerelle had been enamored with dragons since her Maester had first told her about them. She believed that with a dragon of her own, no one would ever dare tease her again. They wouldn't be able to look down on her if she was soaring high above them on her dragon. Tyland chuckled softly.

"My dear, a Lannister can afford anything in this world except for a dragon. Only a person who posses Valyrian blood can ride a dragon." Tyland saw the disappointment in her eyes and quickly added, "But, what about a pet cat instead? They can be just as fierce and loyal as any dragon, and I promise it will be the best cat in all of Westeros."

Cerelle's face lit up as she eagerly signed, "Yes, please!"

Her beaming smile warmed Tyland’s black heart. Perhaps, that was because a part of him hoped that by bringing joy to his lonely niece’s life, he could redeem himself in a way.

(8 years later in Kingslanding)

Cerelle crouched on the rooftop, peering down at the bustling streets of Fleebottom. She had been following the movements of one of the White Worm’s servants for hours now, hoping to gather information that could prove useful to her uncle. Ser Whiskers, her cat and faithful companion, sat next to her cleaning himself.

Cerelle had to be disguised whenever she went out on these assignments. No one could know that Tyland Lannister’s little niece was prowling the streets of Kingslanding. Her suit was practical and prioritized stealth.She wore flat shoes and fingerless gloves to maintain tactile sensation, while her slim-fitting black pants were crafted from a flexible material to maximize mobility. The top and bottom of the ensemble was a charcoal grey. Cerelle opted not to wear excessive armor that would impede her mobility, but she did wear metal poleyns on her knees and small pauldrons that resembled a lion’s visage. She concealed her face by wearing a mask. Finally, She donned a pitch black hooded cloak adorned with shadow cat fur on the shoulders and frayed at the hem, creating an impression that she was partly comprised of darkness whilst wearing it.

Cerelle had a repeating crossbow slung over her back and two daggers with flamberge blades secured to her waist. Additionally, she had a pouch of arrows with poisoned tips.

As she watched, the servant stopped in front of a rundown tavern and spoke briefly with two men. One was skinny as a rail with a long rodent-like nose. The other one was huge, he looked as if he could easily break elephant bone. She recognized them, although for the life of her, she could not remember their names. She knew the skinny one had once worked as a rat catcher for the Red Keep; she used to see him work in the Keep's tunnels. The big man was once a member of the City Watch. She remembered sitting in the ladies' gallery, watching him get stripped of his rank of Sergeant of the City Watch by the Hand. From what her uncle told her, it was because he beat a girl to death with his bare fists. Cerelle took out her spyglass to get a better look and read their lips.

“2 million gold dragons or we’re not doin it” The big one said.

“We agreed to 500,000.” The servant replied.

“500,000 isn’t shit!” The skinny one sneered. “Not for what she want us to do!”

“The Mistress will not be pleased,”

“Fuck the White Worm! You can tell that bitch if she wants a royal de-”

Suddenly, a piercing roar split the air, and Cerelle noticed smallfolk scrambling off the streets in terror. She flinched as she felt the strong wind of something swooping overhead. Ser Whiskers leaped into her arms, shaking. Looking up, she saw a massive blue dragon soaring in the sky. Its wings were a dark cobalt, while its claws, crest, and belly scales were the color of bright beaten copper. Atop the dragon, she saw a boy – a Targaryen, she figured by his looks– but she had never seen this boy or dragon before. She watched as the dragon flew off to the Dragonpit.

After a couple of moments she turned back her attention to the streets, the servant and thugs were no where in sight. Cerelle mentally cursed as she surveyed the area for any sign of were they might of went. It was no use. She wished she could have witnessed the rest of their conversation but from what she gathered, it was not hard for Cerelle to assume that the White Worm wanted someone dead, but surely she wasn’t stupid enough to target someone in the royal family? After all, Mysaria had been Otto Hightower's informant for years – it just didn't add up. And yet, in a city like King's Landing, where the number of liars and cheats far outweighed the number of rats, maybe it made perfect sense after all.

Cerelle suspected that the target of any assassination would be Prince Aemond Targaryen, who had become a kinslayer after the events at Storm's End - a grave offense in Westeros that carried no forgiveness. The mere thought of the word "kinslayer" left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she could not deny that she had no room to judge.

With Ser Whiskers trailing behind her, Cerelle gracefully descended from the rooftop and headed back to the Keep. She had plenty to report, but for now, all she wanted was a hot bath and a good meal to wash away the stench of the gutters. Her mind was consumed with the image of the boy riding the dragon as she walked, replaying it over and over again. Questions of his identity swirled around in her head, until a distant memory surfaced. Uncle had once mentioned a third son of the late King Visarys. Suddenly, everything clicked, the lost Prince Daeron Targaryen had finally returned home. Cerelle quickened her pace towards the castle.

Oh Gods, this should be interesting...

[annwrites]

⸻ being jason & tyland's younger sister would include:

· tags: twincest, canon-typical incest, double-penetration, possessiveness, jealousy

Since you were a babe, your older brothers have doted on you.

You may be nearly half their age and a girl, but they never made you feel an outsider to your own family.

When you were little, they showered you with gifts & attention, which only multiplied tenfold as you grew older.

They wanted to ensure you wanted for absolutely nothing.

As a child, they would bestow upon you only the finest porcelain dolls, tea sets, ribbons for your shimmering blonde curls, sweet, decadent treats, one of the finest ponies from your house's stables: one of pure white, with silver tassels hanging from its mane, painted spinning tops, and much, much more.

They watched with glee as you smiled, giggled, and cooed over your presents, their hearts warmed by the mere sight of you.

When you bloomed into womanhood and became more of who you're truly meant to be, so, too, did those gifts change in nature.

They became gowns and corsets, pearls and jewels, golden brushes for your hair, a gleaming handheld looking glass, a polished leather saddle for your horse, with a lovely handwoven blanket to rest atop it, a silver flute and a gilded harp for your music lessons, along with a set of bells, paints and a cherry-wood easel...in truth, the list is practically never-ending.

A large hand comes to rest gently over your eyes and your lids flutter closed while a small smile spreads across your lips. "I've brought you a present," a familiar voice softly coos before settling something in your lap. Even without seeing his face—rather, more specifically, his hair—you already know that it's Jason. There's small, nigh-on imperceptible differences between the two men, including the tenor of their voices, which aid you in telling them apart. You seem the only one able to do so, at that. You giggle quietly, then rest your hands gently atop the package he's given you. Jason then seats himself beside you while winding a curl, which resembles freshly-spun gold, around his index finger. "Go on, my sweet, open it," he tells you with a twitch of his lip.

Another difference between the two are their nicknames for you. For Jason, it includes 'my sweet', 'young lady' (which, at times, he uses if he is cross with you), 'little doll', etc. While Tyland prefers 'my love', 'darling', or just your name. Jason hardly ever calls you by the latter.

Even their respective treatments of you differ in nature.

Jason can be more sarcastic and almost...flirtatious in nature (then again, that seems to be his disposition in general, you've noted, so you think little of it anymore), while Tyland is far more gentle and serious.

You pull loose the light-pink satin ribbon tied around the box, then set it to the side so it can be added to your collection. You then begin to peel back the crisp brown wrapping paper wrapped around it before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it playfully at Jason's face. He grins. "I should put you over my knee for that, young lady." He leans in closer while gripping the back of your chair. "And not stop until your backside is raw and you're begging for mercy." You blink at him while blushing from nerves, then return your attention to the box in your hands. You lift the lid and your eyes grow wide at the collection of small pelts within. You lift one gingerly and run your fingertips along the feather-soft, light-brown fur. "I prefer bigger game, as you well know, but I wished for you to have them," Jason remarks. You remove another, which is white as snow, and another beneath it that's fur is as black as the inky night sky. "Rabbit?" You ask quietly while glancing to him. He nods while caressing the back of your head in his callused palm.

Jason often enjoys having you accompany him for horseback riding through the western woods.

The two of you race one another through open fields of greenery and flowers, or between tall oak trees that cast the afternoon sun in dappled light across the forest floor.

Sometimes, you break for small picnics together, or Jason watches as you strip down and wade through warm summer waters in only your shift.

You hardly ever notice the way his gaze darkens as he takes in your bare feminine form through the thin linen that hangs from your frame.

Hiding his arousal isn't possible, however, when you emerge drenched, with the item of clothing clinging to you—thus leaving nothing to the imagination.

You pad over to your eldest brother to retrieve a strawberry from your picnic, until he grabs your hand and tugs you down beside him. "Jason!" You call through a fit of voracious giggles while he leans over you, sliding a hand along your damp waist. "I think," he says, settling his weight atop you, allowing you to experience the full length of his manhood, hoping it stirs something within you. "You are the most comely girl in all the realm." Your brows furrow slightly and you shift beneath him before pressing your palms gently to his chest. "I doubt that." He tangles his fingers in your wet strands. "Mm, I don't, my lovely little dove." He considers for a moment—his blue eyes flitting between your own, and then he presses his lips softly to your flushed cheek. He drags them across your skin and you snicker at the feel of his beard scratching against you, until he places a featherlight kiss against the corner of your full lips. And then his own come to hover just overtop of them—yours and his touching as he speaks. "For I've seen every inch of you. So I know what it is which I speak of."

You and Tyland typically spend your time together either taking leisurely strolls through Casterly Rock's gardens, sitting together outside and overlooking the Sunset Sea as you dine together, or you sit with him before a roaring fire as he reads quietly to you as you rest your head upon his shoulder and keep your arms wound tightly around his own.

Tyland presses a loving kiss to the top of your head and your eyes flutter closed as you smile warmly. "Would you like for me to continue, my love?" He asks, turning a page from the history book he's currently reading to you. You nod, sliding a palm up his arm. "Yes, please." He smiles for a moment, though you cannot see it. "I love you," he whispers, his heart full of adoration for you. You slowly lift your head and gaze at him from beneath hooded lids, as the warmth of the fire and the sound of his voice are both lulling you gradually to sleep. "And I you." He cups your cheek, then kisses your lips tenderly—mere brotherly affection, you're sure—before returning to the book in his other hand.

A number of balls and masquerades are held within the kingdom Jason serves over as warden of.

And you're invited, of course, to all.

"Please, please, may I go?" You ask excitedly as you stare up at Jason with wide eyes. His mouth tugs into a frown. "It's all the way at Ashemark, my sweet. And you know I have duties I must attend to here, so I can't accompany." You shift unhappily on your feet—your blonde curls swaying around your waist. "What of Tyland? He can come as my chaperone. There are two of you, you know." He raises a brow and crosses his arms—meaning that he is now growing cross with you, so you shrink away. "You know how he detests crowds, and does not do well to be shoved into the middle of them." "But—" "I won't force him to subject himself to an evening of frivolity, all so young lords with only one thing on their mind can try to get in your good graces, so as to tarnish your reputation. Or to otherwise flock to Tyland to try and earn our house's favor, if not a bit of coin, or land." Unshed tears burn in your eyes and you watch as Jason's eyes flit to somewhere, or perhaps something, behind you. "It's better for you to remain here," Tyland calls from the doorway, before stepping closer. Your chin wobbles—you detest when you don't get your way, because the times of it occurring are so few and far between, for they both adore spoiling you so. 'No' is hardly a word within their vocabularies when it comes to their darling little sister. You look away from Jason and sniffle quietly. "I just...wanted to enjoy myself for one evening. But instead, you'd rather keep me locked up here." Just then, you feel Tyland pressing his frontside to your back, while sliding his hands up your arms before coming to firmly grip your shoulders. Jason takes a step forward and he tucks a curl behind your ear, pressing his chest against your own while gazing down at you. "This is where you belong," he replies quietly, the look upon his face one of certainty. "Between the two of us," Tyland adds. Jason takes your face between his hands and brushes his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks while Tyland winds his arms around your waist. And then Jason leans in for a kiss.

After that day, you begin to think back through all the times spent with your brothers.

Which is a difficult feat, as they've always been there.

So you focus on more recent events and occurrences.

Like that time at the lake with Jason when he laid his body atop yours and you felt…part of him pressing against you.

Or all the times he and Tyland have kissed you directly on the lips.

Or allowed you to fall asleep in their beds and when you woke, it was to them holding you.

And how many times have they entered your chambers when your handmaids were readying you, only to dismiss them so they could instead aid you in dressing the rest of the way?

Or when you bathed… So many times have they come in and kept you company while you were doing so, then held a towel out for your naked body once you were finished. 

And showering you with gifts, praise, attention, and undying and unfaltering love…

Surely what you’re thinking—rather, suspecting—can’t be true.

They’re not…in love with you, are they?

Such a relationship could never occur. 

For you are not Targaryens.

You wonder if they care about that fact.

Somehow, you doubt it.

And you smile at the thought.

Jason is ecstatic about your family’s invitation to attend the Royal Hunt.

You and Tyland less so, but you both know that you are nevertheless expected to come along with your eldest brother.

And so you have your servants pack you, perhaps, one too many trunks, but you merely tell them sheepishly that you only mean to ensure you’re well prepared.

A few shake their heads with playful smiles.

When the three of you arrive, your tents are already, quite thankfully, ready.

You each break for lunch as the servants take your trunks and bags into your respective tents and unpack your things while you fill your bellies.

Jason glances to Tyland who sits next to you, across the table from him. He chews his roast duck thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "Just ensure me that the pair of you aren't going to be remaining sequestered away inside your tents for the duration of this trip." Tyland briefly studies him, then slightly shrugs. "Perhaps we will." He wraps an arm around your shoulders then, so you release your fork as you stare up at him, while he remains meanwhile looking at his twin. "Worry not, Jason, I'll keep our little sister well-entertained, I assure you." With that, he presses a kiss to your cheek and releases you and you could swear that Jason seems to be... Well, if you didn't know any better, the look on his face makes him appear to be absolutely seething. "Mayhaps I will have to steal her away into the woods, then," he remarks. "For I can think of no finer quarry." Jason picks up a warm roll from a carved wooden bowl positioned in the middle of the table. "On that, we agree."

Many young lords seem to admire you from a distance over the next few days, but with Jason and Tyland attached to your side at all times, hardly any attempt at conversing with you.

You nervously clutch Tyland's arm and half-hide yourself behind him as a young lord speaks with Jason, asking if the two of you may take a walk together around the camp grounds. With your brothers, you're more than open and comfortable. Around others...not so much. The young man gives you a gentle smile. "Hello there, My Lady." You press yourself against your brother shyly while staring at him with wide eyes. "Hello," you reply quietly, only half your comely face even visible to him. He thinks you resemble a frightened fawn. Not quite as interesting as he'd been hoping you would be... Jason steps over and slides a hand down your silky mane of golden hair. "She's rather timid around strangers, I'm afraid. Poor thing." He glances back to the man while cupping your cheek protectively. "I think it best she remain at my brother's side for the day instead." He quickly escorts the man out of the dining tent then, glad to be rid of him.

Not even once it is late and the stars are shimmering in the sky as the royal encampment goes to their tents and beds do your brothers leave you be.

“Which of us would you like to stay with tonight, my little doll?” Jason asks, running a knuckle softly down your cheek while Tyland sips idly from a glass of arbor red across the way. You hold your satin robe more tightly to you, then cross your arms. “I’m not a child anymore, Jason. I can sleep in my own bed.” Tyland sighs and rises from his seat, padding over to the both of you. Jason merely smirks, which you feel an urge to smack off his face. Instead, however, you merely glower at him from beneath your long lashes. You’re cross enough with him right now after his pathetic little proposal to the ‘princess’ that afternoon. As if the spoiled little brat doesn’t have enough men lusting after her, she doesn’t need your brother, too. Because he’s just that: yours. Not hers. “I’m staying in my own tent tonight,” you spit. You make to step away, until you feel a hand suddenly gripping your forearm.  You jerk your head to the side and narrow your eyes at Tyland and try to yank it away, but he holds firm. “Get into bed,” he says softly, nodding toward the head of the tent. “No,” you say, then take a small step back, slipping your arm from his grasp. And then you promptly bump into Jason’s chest. “What—” “Are you jealous, my sweet?” Jason whispers while leaning in closer to your ear. Tyland cups your face between each of his hands. “O-of what?” You ask, turning your head slightly back toward him. “I think you know,” he replies, sliding his hands beneath your robe while Tyland unties the front of it and it falls to the floor, pooling around your feet. Jason ghosts his lips along the sensitive skin of your neck while Tyland leans forward and presses his lips to your own. Your heart jumps into your throat and you jerk under their roaming hands. “What’re you—” “Do you think I truly desire her?” Jason asks, sliding his hands up your stomach, then cupping your breasts. You stare up at Tyland with wide eyes and then he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “You’re all I want.” Tyland’s eyes flit away from you and instead to Jason. “All we want,” he adds.  “I saw an opportunity for our family,” Jason explains.  “As I was…unsure,” he says, pressing his hard cock into the small of your back. “If you felt similarly as we do.” “So you…propose to—” He comes around to the front of you then while Tyland positions himself at your back and he begins running his fingers through your curls. “A foolish mistake,” Jason states as you gaze up at him. “But rest-assured, my pearl, that I never intended to part with you.” “You will stay at Casterly Rock,” Tyland whispers. “You will stay…with us.” Jason leans forward and crushes his lips to yours while Tyland reaches down to the hem of your nightgown and begins to push it up, until he’s reached your neck, and you and Jason break from your kiss long enough for him to remove it. And then one of them spins you around—you’re unsure whose hands are to blame—and Tyland grips you beneath your thighs before carrying you over to the bed.

Every inch of you is being tended to by your brothers.

Every part of you is put to use.

Their hands roam along your skin, your breasts, your thighs, between your legs...

Each of them takes turns making love to your cunt with their mouths.

And each of them takes turns inside of your own.

They gently pump their cocks away between your lips, giving you loving words of encouragement of how well you're doing, how good you feel, how things have always been meant to be like this between the three of you.

They tell you how much they love, adore, & cherish you. They assure you that no other men could ever compare. That you are meant to belong to them and them alone.

Before long, you're begging the both of them with tears in your eyes to take you. And that you want the both of them to claim your virginity at the same time.

It is the way you need it to be.

You tell them that you wish for it to be perfect and that is the only way that it can be.

You lie down on Tyland's chest and he wraps an arm around you while his other strokes his cock. Jason positions himself behind you and slides his hands along your hips before taking himself in-hand as well. Your eyes flutter closed and you nuzzle against your brother's neck happily. "Are you ready, my love?" Tyland asks one final time, his eyes flitting to his twin's. You nod gently. "I am," you whisper. They each rub the weeping tips of their cocks against your slick, dripping entrance and you bite your lip at the feel. And then they each begin to ease inside of you.

You would be lying to say it was not initially painful.

But once they were past your threshold and buried deeply inside of you, and your cunt was stretched to its limits around them... Gods, you never knew such pleasure was possible to feel.

They each fuck themselves gently inside of you, appreciating this most perfect moment.

The three of you bound together in such an intimate and private way.

Joined as one at last.

You kiss Tyland repeatedly, mewling and whining against his lips and Jason moans from behind you as he grips your supple hips tightly in his rough hands.

They each repeat to you time and again how much they love you. And you repay the sentiment. And then they proceed to assure the other of their love as well.

The sound of ragged breathing and slapping skin and moaning fills the tent.

Your eyes sting with tears of happiness.

They each spill their seed inside of you.

Your wedding is carried out in a Sept near Casterly Rock.

It's a grand occasion.

Jason spares no expense.

He and Tyland each have new suits tailored for them, each of red and gold, while your gown is of pure white.

Even if you know your maidenhead had already been claimed before your wedding night.

There are flowers and food and music, and a pile of gifts taller than either of your husbands.

Even if many scoff and disapprove of a young woman taking for herself two husbands—especially with them being your siblings at that—but none of you care in the least, for you've never been happier.

And once they have each sealed their love for you with a kiss, to many attendees' chagrin, they too kiss each other.

You smile with tears in your eyes at the sight.

Soon enough, all of you move into one bedroom together—the mattress more than large enough to fit all of you.

You make love nigh-on nightly.

And you fall asleep in their arms—the three of you a mere tangle of limbs.

And when you fall pregnant, there is no debating over who the father is, because they each agree: it is all of yours.

And if you thought your life was already like something out of a fairytale...

You had been so wrong.

For now....it truly is.

Your children are darling little cherubs.

Little lion cubs made between you and the two men you love.

And you all three dote on them.

But still ensure to do as much with one another when time allows.

You run through the gardens, dodging marble statues and giggling excitedly all the while. And then you slam into a solid chest while another form suddenly comes up from behind you and grips your upper-arms, holding you in-place. "Well," Jason says with a smirk, while Tyland slides his hand along your waist. "It appears that we've won." "So," Tyland continues, caressing your jaw between his fingertips. "What is our prize?" You smile. "You already have me for a wife and mother of your children. What more could you possibly desire?" Jason cups your cheek while Tyland presses his lips to your hair. "Not a thing in all the world."

[queen--kenobi]

Kinktober Day Fourteen: Sensory Deprivation

Tyland Lannister x OFC (Elayna Reyne)

Kinktober 2024 masterlist

Warnings: NSFT (fingering, implied f!receiving oral, blindfolds, bondage, orgasm control)

“You promise you tell me if this becomes too much?” Tyland murmurs, running his knuckles gently across her chin. Elayna nods. She tests the rope binding her wrists.

“I promise."

Tyland presses a kiss to her temple. He carefully brings the thick silk up to her face. Elayna closes her eyes and lifts her head for him to wrap it around her. When she opens her eyes, she's greeted only with darkness. The bed dips. Tyland kisses her forehead again, the sensation amplified by being unable to see him. She stretches languidly before wriggling her lower body. 

“I'm okay.”

Tyland doesn't say anything. For a split second, the silence scares her. He hasn't left, the pressure on their bed stays the same and she smells the bermagont orange and mint aroma of his beard oil. Elayna nearly jumps when he places his hand on her hip. Tyland rubs his thumb over her skin, slowly relaxing her. He waits for her to relax into his touch before he trails his fingers gently up her side.

Elayna sighs softly. Not being able to see him adds to the sensation, his touch a grounding point of contact. His beard scratches softly against her skin when he presses a kiss just under her jaw. The scent of him relaxes her even further. He's there, and she's safe. He's got her.

Tyland’s touch disappears briefly, making her whine with disappointment. She arches towards where she thinks he is. Tyland doesn't take the bait. Instead, he gets up off the bed. She huffs.

“Tyland.” Elayna draws his name out. “Tyland, come back.”

He doesn't respond. Elayna listens intently, trying to figure out where in the room he is. She hears him moving about their space. She has no idea where exactly he is. Anticipation builds within her; she rubs her legs together for some sort of friction.

She almost yelps when Tyland takes hold of her left ankle. The yelp dissolves into a giggle when he lets his fingers brush over the arch of her foot before he moves her leg out to the side. Cool air on her cunt makes her squirm. 

Elayna outright gasps when Tyland runs his thumb over one of her nipples. She's already sensitive, but having his touch be one single point intensifies everything. He brings his hand up along the curve of her breast. He brushes her hair back from her neck, goosebumps following his touch. The bed creaks and dips as he crawls back into bed on her other side.

Elayna waits with baited breath for him to touch her again. She cries out when he dips his head and takes her nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud. She squirms. Elayna wants to reach down and thread her fingers through his hair, but the rope around her wrists means she can't. She tries anyway. Tyland takes one hand and places it on her stomach, keeping her still.

“Don't tease. ‘Tis not nice.”

Much to her surprise, Tyland listens. At least, he listens somewhat. Tyland begins kissing her again, following the path his hand took earlier. The hand on her stomach moves down, agonizingly slow. His pace is it's own kind of delicious torture; she thoroughly enjoys this method. She bucks her hips, wanting more. 

Tyland obliges her. He flips his hand so his fingers point downward. They both moan when his fingers find her center, wet and wanting. He doesn't dip his fingers into her yet, merely collecting some of her wetness before rubbing her clit. Elayna whimpers.

“Patience.” When did Tyland move his head? His lips trail across the shell of her ear before he lightly nips. Elayna rolls her hips. She turns her head, and he obliges.

Tyland swallows every one of her moans and whimpers, her soft gasps and keening noises. Her hips follow the pattern of his fingers. Her fingers dig into the rope holding her hands above her head. Seven above. She wants to touch him and see him. Only being able to feel his touch but not respond drives her mad. Finally, Tyland brings one finger down and eases it into her. He inhales sharply.

“Fuck.” She whispers against his lips, both a prayer and a plea. “More.”

The angle of his hand puts the heel of his palm over her clit. She grinds against him, the point of contact making her eyes flutter behind the blindfold. Tyland pulls away. She inhales, and all she smells is him. Elayna chases after his lips, but he moves back. 

“You're beautiful.” Tyland murmurs, running his thumb along her jaw. Elayna parts her lips in an attempt to coax him into putting his thumb into her mouth. Tyland doesn't take the bait. 

He slips a second finger inside of her, and Elayna’s back nearly bows. Pleasure sings throughout her entire body. She gasps, wanting to form the words and plea for more, but she can't manage them. The heat from Tyland moves away. 

Elayna lets out a pathetically loud and needy noise when he dips his head back down and once again takes her nipple into his mouth. She likes a fair share of pain, so she cries out when he adds the slightest hint of teeth. Tyland curls his fingers at the same time. Elayna's eyes roll back into her head. 

“Tyland.” 

She isn't sure what exactly she's asking for but she knows Tyland will provide it. 

“Hush. I've got you.” 

Tyland keeps her like that for a second. She adores it. Every muscle in her tightens and quakes. Elayna almost begins to thrash around, abdomen flexing as she breathes wildly. Tyland kisses the hollow of her throat. 

“Can I...” Elayna swallows hard. Her racing pulse makes it hard for her to think. “I want to cum. Can I cum?”

Elayna doesn't hear so much as feel the choked noise Tyland lets out. She's never done that before and it's not something they'd discussed. She can't even think to be embarrassed. Judging by the way he presses closer to her and speeds up his fingers, he doesn't mind. 

“Yes. Yes, you can.”

Elayna's whole body bows when she does. Liquid pleasure goes through her entire body. She's vaguely aware of making noises. Tyland coaxed her through it, whispering praise that makes her brain shut off completely.

Eventually, she begins to come down. Tyland kisses her cheek, her forehead, her temple. Elayna feels fuzzy in the best possible way. She laughs softly.

“Mmmhhhmmm, take off the- oh!” 

Elayna cuts herself off when he shuffles down the bed. Tyland pushes her still trembling thighs apart.

This is something they'll do again for certain.

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Exposed - Daenys and Tyland

It took me fucking forever, but I finally got something! Lmao, and all I needed to do was come at the prompt with Rhaenyra's POV. Go figure 🤷🏻‍♀️

The Red Keep was stifling. She was heir to the throne, and all anyone cared about was the round, screeching boy. He was one and barely weaned, and already everyone watched and waited to see if he would do something impressive to show her up–as if they didn't already think he was doing so just by managing to have the correct parts.

Was it not enough to have lost her mother and her best friend, perhaps more, in the same year? Did Rhaenyra have to be replaced as well? She exhaled hard through her nose, hands clenched into fists and lavender gaze hard as she trudged down the path in the gardens. So much for trying to relax and clear her mind.

“I should have just gone to the dragonpit,” Rhaenyra grumbled, “Syrax would take my mind off everything better than ‘taking in the air.’” She put on an exaggerated deep tone as her father’s blatant-dismissal-masquerading-as-concern played in her mind. He wasn't there to be upset about her mockery, but it still made her feel better.

She was about to turn back around and leave the gardens, to go find Ser Criston and have him escort her to the dragonpit atop Rhaenys's Hill, when rustling behind one of the hedgerows and the familiar, girlish giggle of her sister caught her attention. Rhaenyra's brows furrowed, and her posture straightened just a bit as she looked at the jostling leaves and the brief flash of pale purple skirts swishing in the small gap between the trees.

Daenys still cared about her, maybe she could offer some sort of balm for her mood. At the very least, her younger sister would have some frivolous worry to distract her with and could maybe serve as a flying companion. However, as Rhaenyra drew closer to the row of trees laden down with blossoms waiting to turn to fruit, Daenys's ridiculous giggling was interspersed with muffled moans and inaudible whispering.

Her nails dug into her palms, and she frowned. Daenys was a vapid idiot, of course it was only a matter of time before someone tried to take advantage of that now that their mother was not constantly watching over her. Rhaenyra walked faster now, protective anger bubbling up inside her as she rounded the hedgerow to discover her younger sister with her back against the trunk of one of the trees, fingers curled in Ser Tyland Lannister's ash blonde waves as he kissed her, his hands far too familiar and grabby.

“Ser Tyland!” Her sharp call of his name saw his eyes shoot open as he clumsily disentangled himself from the poor, empty-headed girl pressed against him. His cheeks were red, and there was panic in his dark green eyes.

“Princess, this isn’t what you think! We–”

“Oh, it isn’t? Well then, Ser Tyland, what am I looking at if not my father’s Master of Ships taking advantage of my sister’s loneliness at losing his predecessor’s daughter so that he can rise above his station while–” Her impassioned accusation was cut off by Daenys’s forlorn wail. Rhaenyra rushed to her sister, who was red faced with tears welling up in her eyes as she cried out and sobbed so loudly as to rival Aegon. She shot a pointed look at the Master of Ships, incensed with him but happy she had at least broken this up before it was too late for her younger sister. She wrapped her arms around Daenys, but when she tried to pull her close, she was shoved away.

Rhaenyra looked at her in disbelief, her mouth agape. Fat tears were rolling down Daenys's cheeks now, and her full lower lip trembled. She could not truly be so upset with her; it was Ser Tyland’s fault, Rhaenyra was trying to help! Surely Daenys had to understand. She had comforted Rhaenyra after what happened with Alicent, they’d said they loved each other in spite of their lack of closeness. Her sister could not be so naive!

“I thought you loved me!” Even though Daenys’s voice wavered from her hysterics, the words felt like they slapped Rhaenyra across the face.

“I…of course I do!” She snapped, hurt and angry, “That is why I am protecting you!” She would not lose her sister to the same thing that took Alicent, even if Daenys wanted to actually act on being the younger Lannister twin’s whore.

“I do not need protection!”

“You obviously do! I would not have my sister used to–”

“I am not being used!” Her tears started falling harder now, staining her flushed cheeks as she pointed at Ser Tyland Lannister, “I brought him here, this was my idea! Rhaenyra, I love him!” Her outstretched arm shook with the power of her desperate sobs, and her plea at being in love seemed to pierce the air like a knife. Without any hesitation, he went to Daenys’s side, and Rhaenyra’s younger sister crumpled against him like a paper flower caught in the rain. Her next wail was muffled as she buried her face into Ser Tyland’s chest, fingers desperately clutching at the gold trimmed edges of his emerald cloak.

His expression when he looked at Rhaenyra was awkward and apologetic, but it softened the moment he looked away from her. She barely paid attention as Ser Tyland soothed her sister, speaking gently as he smoothed the fluffy silver curls streaming down her back that had become mussed and filled with leaves when they kissed.

The righteous anger, burning hot and as uncontrollable as dragon flame, calmed to the feel of warm bathwater and melted out of her. Rhaenyra hadn’t been protecting her sister from the grasping, greedy hands of some man who would use her his pleasure and his advancement, she had been intruding. If she had been a boy this might have been them instead of Daenys and Ser Tyland Lannister, and she would not be replaced by the final vestige of her mother like she was by the court.

Daenys wailed again, and it felt like it crushed her heart. This was losing mother and Alicent all over again. When her younger sister finally lifted her head from his chest and looked at her, the hysterical sorrow in her watery eyes shifted as something even deeper flashed across Daenys’s face. She released her hold on Ser Tyland’s cloak and rushed to her, taking Rhaenyra’s soft cheeks in her hands as she used her thumbs to wipe the silent tears falling from her lavender eyes. She had not realized she had started crying too.

“Rhaenyra–”

“One of us should be happy, I suppose.”

“I do not want you to be upset! I just…” Daenys’s sentence trailed off as her gaze fell from where it had met Rhaenyra’s own, she did not let go of her face though. She was silent for a moment, lips pressed tightly together until she looked up again.

“I appreciate your intent. If I had not been the one to start everything, if Tyland was untrue with his intentions, I would hope that my elder sister would save me. You were always braver than I am, and you’re very quick witted. After everything it…it makes sense you were so upset, and that you wanted to help me.”

“But you don’t need it.” She replied, sullen and soft voiced.

“I will always need your help, Rhaenyra! And I shall gladly welcome it because I love you.”

Rhaenyra smiled softly as her younger sister finally released her face and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Daenys did not want to replace her then. She was just…growing up and achieving the grandiose and oftentimes silly sounding dreams of romance she would moon about to Cassana Strong and Laena Velaryon after Rhaenyra grew bored with them.

She cut her eyes towards Ser Tyland, who smiled awkwardly and bowed his head as he clasped his hands behind his back. She supposed her sister could do worse. She could do better, but some crooked-nosed Lannister was not the most abysmal choice Daenys could have made. At least he showed some defference now that all of the moaning and fretting was done.

“Try to be a bit more careful, next time. If your affair is exposed again, it may not be someone so forgiving who finds you two.”

“Oh, we will, we will! I promise, Rhaenyra! And–and you aren’t going to tell anyone?!” A bright smile spread across Daenys’s face, and her lilac eyes sparkled with joy instead of tears. A single, bemused chuckle, soft as a breath, escaped Rhaenyra as she plucked a leaf from her sister’s hair.

She spun the leaf in her fingers, working the stem back and forth a few times before dropping it to the ground. “I would spare the court the details of how shameless and no doubt disgustingly sugary you two are.”

Daenys gushed her thanks, no doubt swooning and dramatically gesticulating as Rhaenyra took a few steps forward, closing some of the distance between herself and Ser Tyland Lannister. She brought her hands behind her back, hands clasped together as the Master of Ships bowed and offered his own gratitude at the heir’s generous forgiveness and promised discretion. When Rhaenyra spoke again, her voice was low so that only the man before her would hear her words.

“My sister is incredibly fragile, Ser. Keep that in mind so that you do not hurt her in any way, because if you do it is not His Grace or the kingsguard you need to be wary of. I imagine dragon fire hurts worse than being gelded.”

Ser Tyland’s face was unreadable as he responded, and his voice was unexpectedly even, “Daenys will continue to see nothing but the utmost gentleness and care, princess. She deserves nothing but my best.” His dark green eyes drifted to look past her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Daenys picking leaves out of her hair. Her sister looked utterly ridiculous, fussing and pouting and flouncing about in a haze of swishing purple and gold, but when Rhaenyra looked back at Ser Tyland his expression was so utterly enamored that it almost made her want to pantomime retching.

“Good day, Ser Tyland.”

“Princess Rhaenyra.” He bowed as she breezed past him. Whatever Daenys and her man got up to after she left was not her business, at least not right now. For the moment, Rhaenyra was content knowing that at least her sister had not replaced her, nor was she trying to leave her behind. Being trusted with secrets and the promise of love not lost was a satisfactory assurance of allyship. It was better than what some people had given her.

[mercurygray]

Unforeseen + punctual for one of your OCs in HOTD? Juno xx

Decided I need to write more Elin. As one does. This is mildly NSFW.

She never tired of coming home.

The townhouse near the Red Keep would never compare to the splendor of Casterly Rock - she was reminded of that every time she made the journey there and back. But the Rock was not Elin's to claim, and this place was - it was her staff who met her at the door to take her cloak, her tapestries and hangings that decorated the walls. Modest, perhaps, but only compared against the gilt trimmings of the Lannister castles. She let her maidservant take her cloak and gloves and carefully climbed the steps to the upper landing, passing another embroidered lion as she went. But no one will forget a Lannister lives here, either.

They had made good time, from the western coast - Elin fairly marveled sometimes that the trip had only taken twenty days, but there had been no rain to speak of, and the roads had been good. The Master of Coin would complain about the expense of such building works, when Viserys bid the treasury pay out for their upkeep, but the cost was worth it, when a journey of nearly a month lost four or five days.

"I said I was not to be disturbed," Tyland said angrily from his chair, obviously very deep in his ledgers.

"The mistress said I should," Elin said with a grin from the door. Her husband looked up, surprised at her voice, and she allowed herself even more of a smile.

"We didn't expect you for another week!"

"The realm's investment in its roads is paying out."

"I thought you would have sent a raven when you were closer Harrenhall! I would have had the servant- never mind. How was the journey? How is Johanna?" He pushed his chair away from his desk a little, and she came around to his side, resting on the edge of the desk.

"Well, and delivered of a healthy baby girl."

Tyland sighed. "How many does that make?"

"Five."

He scoffed - and with good reason. Jason's daughters were all lovely girls - but at the end of it all, a daughter was still a daughter, and five of them was only adding insult to injury. "How did my brother manage?"

"He stayed well enough away until we were done and had the good sense not to say anything terrible after."

"And he behaved himself, otherwise?" Tyland's eyes were sharp.

"I should say suprisingly, but it was explained to me later that he has a new mistress and that settled the matter some," Elin reported with an amused look at her husband. "If I didn't know you better, Tyland, I'd say you were disappointed."

"My wife is owed the compliment of a little flirtation," the Master of Coin offered, somewhat obliquely, his shoulders set just the way they did when he was feeling defensive.

"Well, if I'd wanted that I could have stayed nearer to home. The Prince greeted me on my way in. Aha - see?" Elin smiled at Tyland's sudden scowl. Prince Aegon was predictable in many ways - and trying to proposition the wife of one of his courtiers was a regular occurence. "He only does it to vex you, you know. If I were to say yes to his proposals he'd be terrified. You know as well as I do he only likes women who don't say no."

"That pup needs to learn to mind his manners."

"I'm not entirely sure he has any," Elin reported with mild amusement. "Not that the Queen hasn't tried." She made herself comfortable on the edge of his desk, facing her husband and studying his face. "Shall I tell you what he said?" she asked, brushing a hair out of his face and choosing her words carefully. Her husband said nothing, but she knew he wanted it, that swell of jealousy. "He asked after my journey, neatly enough, and then said if my dry old stick didn't serve me well enough there was plenty of sap in other trees." Her hand traced down his chest, over the blackwork of his tunic and his golden chain, gently moving her hand between his thighs. "I told him he was kind to offer, but that old wood is stronger than green."

"Elin," Tyland's voice was tinged with warning and desire, closing his eyes as she moved aside his tunic and began undoing the points of his hose so she might slip her hand inside, finding the length of him and letting her fingers just ghost over his skin before she took him in her hand. "Elin, it's the middle of the afternoon."

"And it's a very long ride from Lannisport," she said, patience in every word. "Your wife wants something between her legs that isn't a horse - or a piddling princeling." I've been gone three months and I miss my husband.

"I've - ah! a meeting with -" he lost his thought as he moaned again, his eyes still closed. "Jasper Wylde. And he's usually-" Tyland groaned. "Punctual."

Elin smiled, continuing to stroke him without a second thought. "Perhaps we can make the Ironrod jealous, too," she said, moving closer so she could kiss his face, her hand still stroking him steadily. "Lady Wylde's not nearly as pretty as me."

[lady--elayna]

Elayna's phone rings.

She nearly jolts at the sound. Alon doesn't stir. His chest rises and falls with regularity. Elayna grabs her phone, fully intending on ignoring the call. The name flashing across her screen makes her pause.

Katie, one of the younger nurses, walks by at that moment. Perhaps she came over to check on Elayna.

"We'll watch him." She offers.

"Thank you." Elayna stands. She accepts the call as she heads towards the doors. Alon taught her to always take calls outside when in public places, so as not to disturb anyone else.

"Hello?"

"Miss Reyne." Tyland's voice greets her from the other end. His tone is almost bland.

"Mr. Lannister." Elayna makes her way out of the chemo ward. "How are you? I heard you're back in Paris."

"Yes. I arrived last week." Tylands hums. "I must say, I could be better."

"Oh? What's wrong?"

"I just got a troubling call from Jason." Tyland keeps his tone friendly and approachable. "He says he had a meeting with the Targaryens, and we lost our contract."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, I don't think it's news to you." Ah. Elayna smirks to herself. That's the crack in his benign bean counter facade she wants to see. "He said we lost the contract to Castamere Financial. More specifically, we lost it to you."

"To me?" Elayna hums. She walks out into the hospital courtyard. "That's very flattering, but everything is still run by my father."

"Jason seemed under the impression it was to you."

"I will be working closely with the Targaryens, yes. But that does not mean it was lost specifically to me or because of me."

Tyland makes a small noise over the phone. "I see."

"You know Otto Hightower is a fickle bitch. He probably got upset with Jason and decided to punish him."

"Oh, I have no doubt Jason upset him." Tyland sounds almost amused. "I talked to Otto as soon as I heard. He says you were the one who brought Jason's indiscretions to light."

Elayna rolls her eyes. She barely stops herself from muttering something derogatory about Otto. "You make it sound as if I tattled. All I did was bring up concerns, but they were not why the meeting was called."

Tyland makes a low noise, one indicating he's not convinced.

"I didn't know the meeting was even happening until last week. I didn't even know I was to do anything other than be there until today." She offers. "I thought I was just along to ease any future transitions."

"So you didn't know you were tapped to work with them?"

"I didn't." Of course Elayna had her suspicions. She never asked, though. Mostly so she could answer this question honestly and in a way that made her not a threat.

Tyland stays silent for a moment. She wonders... If circumstances were different, what would he say? She finds for the briefest of moments she wants his verbal approval, like she used to get.

"Do you need to talk Jason off a ledge?" She teases to fill the space.

"No. He merely asked me to talk some sense into you. If that hasn't worked by now, I'm afraid it never will."

Elayna places a hand over her heart.

"You wound me."

"Yes, the truth can hurt." Tyland hums. "How is your father?"

Elayna swallows.

"Are you asking in a business capacity or friend capacity?"

"Friend."

"As well as can be expected."

"And if I said I was asking in a business capacity?"

"As well as can be expected."

Tyland lets out a low chuckle. "It sounds as if you don't trust me."

"It’s more..." Elayna sighs. "I don't particularly want to talk about it." She stops. "That, and I don't trust you right now."

"Probably wise."

[greycloudsinwinter]

Master list ❤️❤️

A court of thorns and roses:

Platonic inner circle x reader x romantic azriel

Cassian x reader

High lord rhysand x reader

Thesan high lord of dawn x reader

Yandere inner circle x reader romantic

Kallias x reader

Amarantha x reader

My hero academia:

Katsuki bakugo x reader

Endeavour x reader

Eijiro kirishima x reader

Deku x reader

Twisted wonderland:

Azul x reader

Jamil x reader

Vert x reader

Bridgerton:

Poly bridgerton boys x reader

Colin bridgerton x reader

Game of thrones/ hotd :

The mountain x reader

Khal drogo x targeryan reader

Khal drogo x escaped reader

Khal drogo question

Khal drogo x reader smut

Jamie Lannister protected x reader

Maegor x reader

Rhaegar targeryan x reader

Maegor x wife reader with child

Aegon I x reader

Rickard stark x reader

Tywin Lannister x targeryan first wife reader

Jason Lannister x targeryan wife

Aegon I x reader with children

Maegor x male reader

Jaehaerys I x reader

Tyland Lannister x reader

Yanderes who become kings guard for male reader

Otto hightower x reader

Daemon targeryan x reader

Maegor x escapee reader

Ned stark question 1

Stannis Baratheon x reader

Otto Hightower x reader x platonic alicent

Poly viserys and Otto x reader

Poly viserys and Otto x reader

Poly viserys and Otto x reader question 1

Poly viserys and Otto x reader questions 2

Criston Cole x reader

Corys velaryon x reader

Criston Cole x reader part 2

Otto x reader x viserys question 3

Platonic aegon x platonic aemond x reader

Erryk cargyll x targeryan princess x arryk cargyll

Jacaerys veleryan x reader

Harry Potter / fantastic beasts :

Tom riddle x reader question

Gellert grindelwald x reader

Orion black x reader

Newt scamander x reader

Aberforth dumbledore x reader

Tom riddle x malfoy reader

Knights of walpurgis x reader

Cygnus black x reader

Cygnus black x reader questions

Cygnus black x reader questions 2

Pollux black x reader

Cygnus black x reader question 3

Cygnus black x reader question 4

Cygnus reaction to reader not wanting her children to be death eaters

Who wants the most children Orion or Cygnus black?

Orion black part 2

Poly orion and Cygnus black x reader

Poly marauders x Slytherin reader

Walpurgis x muggle reader

Lucius malfoy x reader

Salazar Slytherin x reader

Hobbit/ lotr :

Thranduil x fairy reader

Thranduil x fairy reader with children

Thranduil x fairy reader 3

Thranduil x fairy reader part of the company

Thranduil x fairy reader question

Haldir x reader

Would yandere Thranduil still join the battle of five armies

Yandere thorin Oakenshield x reader

Twilight:

Marcus volturi x reader

Aro volturi x reader

Cauis volturi x reader

Marcus volturi x reader part 2

Marcus volturi x stubborn reader

Aro volturi x reader (who doesn’t care )

Beaststars :

Ogma x reader

Tem x reader

Poly gohin and oguma x reader

X-men:

Erik lehsnherr x reader

Erik lehsnherr questions 1

Historical characters:

Henry VIII x reader

Henry VIII x reader question 1

Baldwin IV x reader

Oc’s

Knight x reader