#addam of hull x y/n

[targaryen-dynasty]

HIGH TIDES.

Addam of Hull x female Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT — MDNI; p in v, slight choking, rough sex, praise kink, size difference, fingering, lmk if I missed anything

WORDS: 2.5 K

NOTES: I added the last 200 words and finally finished this. It's not beta read.

Except for the regular patrons, the tavern has been oddly quiet this night. Serving some ale and broth every now and then, you seize the opportunity to indulge in the cleaning of the counter, scrubbing down the counter and sink. 

That is, until another patron chooses to occupy one of the seats right in front of you. “A strong ale, please,” he says, causing you to look up at him. He wears a blue tunic, the fabric stained with spots of water as he was probably out fishing prior to this. His hair is pulled up into a bun, yet some strands still find a way to escape. 

With a nod, you immediately fetch a mug, filling it with the clear liquid. “Here, m’lord,” you say, pushing the mug toward him. 

He takes it into one hand, bringing it to his lips to take a large swig. As he lowers the cup, he looks at you with a grin. “You know not to call me lord,” he states, his tone sly.

Mirroring his grin, you grip the edge of the counter with both hands, leaning forward slightly. “Well, what would you want me to call you, then? Ser?” 

He hums at your question, taking yet another sip. “Just Addam is fine,” he says, dragging his eyes over your frame. “Is that a new dress?” 

“It was a jest, you know,” you reply. Smoothing out the skirt of the black dress you wear, you give him a swirl. “It is, indeed. I have made it myself. Do you like it?”

Addam looks at you for a moment, biting his tongue as his eyes trail over your form once more. “You look lovely,” he says, softly, before quickly adding, “not that you don’t always look lovely.”

His compliment has your lips curl into a smile, and you stand up a bit straighter, before continuing to wipe down the counter. “You’ve been in here almost every night for the past two moon turns, Addam of Hull, you have anything to say?” There is a teasing edge to your tone as you look up at him from between the strands of your hair that have fallen into your face. 

Warmth spreads to his cheeks at your teasing, and he tries to cover it by taking a large gulp of the ale before putting the mug down, chuckling under his breath. “Only a drunk man would admit he fancies a barmaid.”

You raise an eyebrow at his words, placing the cloth aside to resume your previous position again, holding onto the edge of the counter with your body slightly bowed forward. “But what if this barmaid fancies the drunk man right back, hm?” you hum teasingly, tilting your head to the side. 

There is a brief pause between you, and you can see him pondering over his reply. 

“Then that drunkard would be the richest man in Westeros…” he teases, leaning in to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. 

A shiver runs through you at the contact, and you can feel your cheeks grow warm. “You’re such a fool, Addam,” you say softly, turning your head to the side as your teeth dig into your bottom lip. “You would be the richest fool, and the fairest…”

“And the most charming fool, I would hope.”

“The one with the sweetest words…” you reply, words accompanied by a chuckle. “Perhaps I shall give you a reward later… for all the coins you have spent here.” 

He has finished his ale with the last swig, pushing the mug away from him with a smirk. “Is that a promise?”

You hum, shrugging your shoulders. “Perhaps it is,” you say. “If you come by later tonight, I might show you the reward I have in mind… you know where to find me.” You take the mug, putting it into the sink. 

As he rises from his seat, he bites his bottom lip, a poor attempt at stopping them to curve into a grin. “Then I shall find you later tonight,” he says, sending you a wink. With a subtle nod of his head, he walks away and out of the tavern, leaving you to continue with your cleaning and serving for the rest of the evening. 

Much to your surprise, the tavern keeper released you of your duties around the Hour of the Ghosts, far earlier than usual. As you approach your small abode, you spot Addam leaning against the wall already, waiting for you.

“Eager much?” you tease with a smile, before opening the door for you two to step inside. 

It’s not really a place for you to spend much time, rather just something that serves as a place to sleep and cook when you’re not working in the tavern. Yet you’ve done your best to keep it clean and enhance it with furniture and decorations you’ve either found or created yourself. 

Addam has been here before. Whenever you walked along the ship hulls at anchor below the old Castle Driftmark, carrying far too many alignments or materials in your arms, he was the first to come to your aid. 

As he tries to step past you into your abode, he brings his hand to your waist, stopping as he towers over you from behind. “Only for you,” he replies. 

His touch sends a shiver up your spine, and you turn around to face him with your lips curved into a soft smile. As you get on your tiptoes to lean in to kiss him, your hands grab his tunic to pull him towards your bed.

Addam grips your waist as you walk backwards, all too eagerly chasing your lips to interlock your tongues. With your calves hitting the edge of your bed, you lose balance for a moment, only to be steadied by his large hands. Gently pushing you down on your bed, they travel to your front, fumbling with the laces of your dress. 

With your hands still on his tunic, you pull him with you, forcing him to climb between your parted legs. He tries to push the skirt of your underdress up with his knees, but you’re quick to yank it up yourself. 

Your lips travel down his neck while he is busy undoing your dress, your teeth and tongue slowly traveling his skin, only stopping to leave a few bites in their wake. 

The laces of your overdress are undone, and his large hands make quick work of pushing it aside. He cups your breast through the linen of your underdress, making you arch into his touch. 

As he moves back to sit on his haunches, you follow him, desperate to keep your lips on him. He has a hand on your rear now, supporting your body. Addam scoffs, more so as he feels your hands fumbling with the belt around his waist, and brings a hand to the back of your head, entangling it your hair. He tugs your head back to force you to meet his gaze, and you stare up at him with half-lidded eyes. 

“Eager much?” he mocks with a smirk on his lips, repeating your past teasing. 

You hum, raising an eyebrow at him. “Says the man whose hands are traveling to places they shouldn’t…”

You recklessly throw his belt aside, discarding it into the next best corner of your little abode, and his gaze flickers down to where your hands are tugging on the hem of his blue tunic already. He does not stop you when you pull it over his head, if anything, he helps you with it. 

But you don’t get the chance to let your eyes wander over his toned body, instead, Addam is quick to mirror your motions, pulling your linen underdress over your head, throwing it aside. Warmth spreads to your cheeks, a stark contrast to the chill air that hits your skin.

There is a brief pause between you two, one in which he just bites his bottom lip, his gaze not leaving your exposed breasts, before Addam leans in to press his lips to yours again. You gasp at the sudden movement, pushed back into the pillows and pinned beneath his weight. 

As he fists your smallclothes, tugging them down your legs without your lips separating once, the embarrassment is replaced by pure lust, a liquid fire that spreads through your veins.

He grinds his clothed cock against your cunt, and you feel him hard and heavy even beneath the linen of his breeches. 

“I want you,” you pant against his lips, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. 

“Then you shall have me,” he replies, trailing his lips from yours down to your neck. You crane it slightly to grant him better access, squirming and shifting beneath him with a desperate ache between your legs.

When he leans back once more, you watch him rise from the bed to rid himself off his breeches and undergarments at once, baring himself wholly to you. 

You inhale a deep breath at the sight, shamelessly taking in how his hard cock stands to full attention. Not able to hold back any longer, you dart forward to seize his hand, pulling him onto the bed again. “I don’t want you just standing there,” you tease against his lips, releasing a breathy chuckle. “Or are you just for me to look at?”

“We do have all night, do we not?” Addam teases back, a hum rumbling in his chest. 

“We do–”

The words are cut off as flips you around, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you up with your back pressed flush against his sturdy chest. His other hand trails down your front, making itself at home between your legs. 

You part your legs just a bit more to grant him better access, and start to grind your hips against the heel of his hand as two of his thick digits slide inside of you without warning. Addam has always been bold around you with that cocky and charming mouth of his out in the open and in the tavern, but never in your life would you have imagined him to be just as bold behind closed doors.

Bringing one hand behind you to the back of his head, you hold him firmly against you, moaning and whining as his fingers prepare you for more. His lips press against the side of your face, your neck – everywhere they can reach, even leaving slight marks at places where your skin is particularly thin. 

“Addam…” you whine, turning your head to the side to capture his lips in a kiss, a wave of pleasure filling your belly. 

His hard cock is nestled snugly in the crevice of your ass, and the grinding of your hips grants him enough friction to have him grunt and groan against your skin. But as good as his thick digits make you feel, you do not desire to wet them with your peak. 

Tugging on his locks in a demanding manner, you moan against his lips. “I need you.”

It must have been the tinge of despair in your voice, but he is quick to comply, not needing anymore encouragement. Nudging your knees further apart slightly, he angles his hips behind you, dragging the tip of his cock through your soaked folds from the front to the back. It brushes your sensitive pearl, prompting you to arch your back and making it easier for him to align himself with your entrance, pushing inside in one, swift thrust. The slight sting that comes with accommodating his size prompts you to gasp, lips parted and head tipping back against his shoulder. 

You hold onto the back of his neck to steady yourself, other hand grabbing the forearm that’s still wrapped around your waist, nails digging into his skin and leaving crescent shaped marks. 

His free hand comes up to wrap around your throat, applying just little pressure to support your body, while the other travels to your breast, squeezing and fondling it heartily. 

Your bodies work in rhythm, moving back and forth to meet each other halfway. His thrusts are determined, and there’s no trace of his previous gentleness in them anymore. Your moans and whines grow in volume with the increasing snaps of his hips, just hardly leaving any room for his own sounds of pleasure. 

“You feel perfect,” he rasps against your neck, making a shiver run down your spine that has your walls clenching tightly around him. 

His praise goes straight to your cunt, a renewed wave of arousal dripping down his thick cock and heavy stones. “Gods… Addam,” you whimper once more, and you swear you can feel his thrusts momentarily falter at the needy tone in your voice. 

He pushes you forwards into the pillows, towering over you and bringing a hand between your shoulders to keep you pinned down. With the other hand now on your hip, he keeps them up, allowing him to ruthlessly snap his hips against yours. 

“You’re going to make me–” your words are hiccuped, a hint of panic in them, “–peak.”

“Already, hm?” he teases, harshly squeezing your arse. Bowing forwards, he brings his hand down your front and between your legs, finding your sensitive pearl, teasing and rubbing it. “Is that so?”

You grip the sheets of your bed at the sudden flash of pleasure, fisting them tight enough for your knuckles to blanche. “Yes, yes, I– by the Seven!”

Your walls suddenly spasm around his cock, fluttering and convulsing in a way that makes it difficult for him to stay inside of you. Your body jerks beneath his tall frame, and nothing more than breathy whines and whimpers are able to leave your lips. He fucks you through it as you gasp and tremble, showing an admirable amount of restraint. 

Any semblance of rhythm has left him at this point, a telltale sign that would let you know he’s close to completion as well – if only your hazy mind would allow you to process as much. 

“You are turning me into a madman,” Addam rambles, a clear strain to his voice. 

As he pulls out of you, your body collapses, falling flatly onto the mattress. He strokes himself twice, thrice, before his peak eventually washes over him. “You’re–You’re so good,” he pants. His hand keeps on working himself as he spills his seed all over your arse and lower back, raspy grunts and groans leaving his lips. 

Your chests heave in tandem when Addam falls into the spot beside you, desperately trying to catch his breath again. 

He is the first one to break the silence. “Do you offer this kind of reward to every one of your patrons?” Addam teases, looking over at you with a smirk on his lips.

Rolling your eyes, a huff escapes your lips. “Of course,” you tease as well, nudging his shoulder. “They call me The Sweet Siren of Hull for a reason.”

Addam hums at your words, wrapping an arm around you to pull you closer in response to your nudging. “I don’t know if the other patrons can make my pretty siren moan as I can, though…” he teases. 

You rest your chin on his chest, gazing into his eyes. “And what makes you so special?” you as coyly, moving your hand over the side of his body. 

Combing his fingers through your hair, he bites his tongue to stop his lips from curving into a smirk. “Oh, you’ll be in for a big surprise on the morrow, sweet siren.”

[damn-stark]

Chapter 10 Heart of Ice

Chapter 10 of Moonlight

A/N- I was giggling and kicking my feet tehehe ;)

Warning- some swearing, talks of miscarriage and death, ANGST!, FLUFF, mild NFSW, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x01

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There it is, standing so tall that it looks like it’s touching the sky. It’s mesmerizing no matter how many times you’ve seen it, and it never fails to steal your breath.

Yet the wall is at its prettiest when it weeps when the sun hits it just as it rises from the ground. Right now all it does is bring forth an icier chill as the wind blows, making you hold onto your cloak for warmth.

You can only imagine how Jacaerys is fairing, this is his first time at Castle Black.

“How are you holding up?” You make sure to ask your brother as his eyes stay stuck on the towering wall.

“My balls are about to freeze off,” he makes no effort to talk properly in front of you, nor do you remind him to.

You smile at him and look at him with a soft endearment only reserved for those you deeply cherish. “It will be worth it, I promise. I cannot wait for you to see it,” you muse and cup his shoulder.

Jacaerys finally takes his eyes off the wall and meets your gaze with such a warm smile that it’s capable of melting the thickest sheets of ice.

“It better live up to everything you have said,” he remarks lightheartedly, making you drop your head to laugh softly at the ground.

“It will pass your expectations,” Cregan interjects as he finally rejoins you and leads the way to the lift that looks a bit unreliable, but all the people at Castle Black use it, and you have survived after using it so, you walk in. Slowly of course, and you don’t dare pay too much attention to the sounds it makes as it starts moving Jacaerys, Cregan, and you to the top.

“You know,” you take the attention of the rackety noise. “Perhaps one day I will send one of my children over here to take up a role as guardian of the wall.”

“Is that so?” Cregan probes.

“One of your seven?” Jacaerys jokes and you laugh softly but don’t take back what you said, catching him by some surprise.

“It’s a rare thing for a Targaryen or Velaryon to come be a brother of the Night's Watch,” you explain your thought process to the curious men. “But we are the families the people look up to. I mean I understand the sacrifice, but I believe that for us to have a good relation with the North, and for us to protect our realm against what may be out there, we too should be here with a dragon or two.”

Cregan briefly meets your gaze and hides well those emotions you stir up inside since your brother is standing at his other side, but he doesn’t stay quiet, he takes a deep breath before he parts his lips.

“You are right, the sacrifice one must commit is great, but duty is sacrifice,” Cregan begins to say. “It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honor must pay its price. The North owes a great duty to the Seven Kingdoms, one older than any oath. Since the day of the first men, we have stood as guardians against the cold and the dark. Through its long tradition, the Night's Watch cultivated its strength from doomed men who had their life as their only possession. But my ancestor, Torrhen Stark began a tradition by making an offering at the onset of winter; one in 10 men from our household was to be chosen to fortify the Watch. This is not a sentence but an honor. A duty embraced by all who serve the North. Even by mine own kin. Thus I respect your decision, My Princess.”

He talks so well that even these long comments captivate you, and that’s hard to do because you get so easily bored.

“The North must stand ready,” Cregan adds without losing a breath. “Winter is coming.”

“Coming?” Jacaerys interjects. “What is this, then, that falls from the skies and shivers my bones?”

You roll your eyes away and scoff softly.

He thinks he’s so funny.

“This is only a late summer snow, my prince,” Cregan says something he’s already mentioned once before. “In winter, it will cover all you see and all memories of warmth will be forgotten.”

You look through the gaps on the wooden walls but the lift then shakes so you step back and stand closer to Cregan.

“It pleases me to think that over a century ago our ancestors treated in this very place,” Jacaerys mentions with a lighthearted look on his face. “The Conqueror and the King in the North.”

You can’t help but smile at the thought and the history the Starks share with your ancestors. It’s so bittersweet. But it’s all so corny of Jacaerys to say, he sounds just as infatuated as you.

You would tease him, but now doesn’t seem like the time so you just smile wider to yourself.

Cregan’s gaze wanders to you after your brother's words, and you share some of that sweetness with him because regardless of it all, you are happy Jacaerys expressed his fondness for Cregan.

And when Cregan does see your smile some of that hardened demeanor melts.

“You, at least had the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon,” Cregan quips at your brother jokingly, leaving him silent until he queries.

“Did my sister threaten you with her dragon?”

Does he think of you as some wild beast or something?

Regardless, Cregan's eyes soften before he shakes his head and tells him what you did do. “No, but she did threaten to go over the wall and escape when she first got to Winterfell six years ago.” He says and tilts his head over to you, but you look out the window and shake your head.

“I was having a hard time adjusting,” you remind him. “And I did not end up going over the wall.”

“No,” he mutters softer as if speaking with admiration. “You did not.”

You lift your eyes off the icy wall and let yourself meet and hold his gaze with a soft look just until the lift finally lands on the top because when it comes to a sudden halt the wooden lift shakes, and you’re reminded why you hate coming to the top this way—You almost reach out to Cregan to keep yourself balanced and safe, but you stop yourself and just stand stiffly until finally he opens the door for you and your brother, letting you feel like you can breathe again when you’re on stable ground.

“My Prince, My Princess,” one of the brothers greets you while you slip your arm around your brothers to hold onto more warmth as the coldness nips at your skin.

“My Lord.”

“My Lord,” other brothers greet Cregan while he walks after you until finally he catches up and leads you to one side.

“Surely the great Torrhen Stark would’ve sooner died than bent the knee,” you chose to return to the previous topic as you watch Jacaerys’ eyes fall on every single detail you pass by. “Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Cregan nods. “You are right in that,” he agrees.

“That unity is now threatened,” Jacaerys goes on for you with another clever workaround to the subject at hand. “The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oaths sworn to King Viserys and to his rightful heir.”

Again you can’t help but be proud of the way he speaks. But you also know this second attempt won’t mend Cregan Stark’s choice.

“Stark’s do not forget their oaths, my Prince,” Cregan reminds him proudly. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between North and South.”

Jacaerys glances over at you with discreet disappointment, and you press him an, ‘I told you so’ look right back.

“In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing,” Cregan strengthens his argument. “I need my men here.”

You swallow thickly as you come to a halt just under a post, and Jacaerys turns you around with him to pass Cregan a hard look that furrows his eyebrows. “Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne,” he remarks.

You grip onto him as a warning for him to calm down, but he doesn’t understand.

“If my mother is to defend her claim,” Jacaerys presses while Cregan guides all of you up the stairs. “To hold the realm united she needs an army. War is coming to the whole of the realm, my lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North…” Jacaerys trails off when he reaches the top and finally sees with his own eyes the never-ending land beyond the wall, the beauty that you promised, and what you could never fully describe in words.

He moves toward the end of the post and you let your arm slip off his to let him admire for himself the beauty and the mystery that is the North, and the freedom it holds in its cold wilderness.

You can now honestly say you know the pride Cregan felt when he first brought you up here because you feel it. You are not from here, but seeing your brother be so captivated by what’s beyond the wall makes you fill with excitement that you can’t put into words, you can just express it with admiration and awe in your eyes.

Cregan notices and admires you while your brother's attention is far away, and to his surprise, you feel his stare and return his soft gaze while you also let your gloved knuckles brush against each other as you let yourself be swooped up once again by the comfort you have been fighting to feel.

Yet you don’t let yourself get completely carried away, nor do you cross the line by letting your fingers touch, you keep your smile and join your brother's side.

“Was it everything you expected?” You ask before you’re brought back to the cruel reality.

Jacaerys laughs softly and nods. “It was everything you said and more…it feels like I could stay here and admire this forever.”

“It would get cold,” you joke, making him chuckle.

“It would be pleasant,” he murmurs.

You nod in agreement and dread returning to the sore subject, but you will lose yourself.

“I brought your sister, and my father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall,” Cregan finally rejoins your company. “His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it.”

Jacaerys snaps his head to you and probes for more. “Even adventurous Astraea?”

You look out and nod. “Yes. She perches herself on the wall but never once does she fly over, nor does she dare fly over just to turn. I tried to command her to cross but she disobeyed me,” you back up Cregan's argument and feel a chill crawl down your spine at the reminder.

“Do you think my ancestors built a 700-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” Cregan presses your brother in a colder tone that almost works to frighten you.

“What does it keep out?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan leans in closer to your brother and speaks one word. “Death.”

You swallow back nervously and share your uneasiness with your brother with a simple look that actually helps him let go of some of that tension and ignorance he held.

“I have thousands of graybeards,” Cregan finally offers and breaks the speechless moment between Jacaerys and you. “Who've already seen too many winters. They are well-honed.”

You loll your head to the side and snicker, while Jacaerys says what you were thinking. “So they’re old?”

“I can ready them to march at once,” Cregan assures him and you.

Jacaerys breathes out and accepts the offer. “If your graybeards can fight, the Queen will have them.”

“They will fight hard,” Cregan states with a hint of pride and some faint smugness. “Like Northerners.”

You glance over at him and catch that smugness on his usually serious face and you can’t help your heart from skipping a beat when he glances at you with the same look.

“My Lord,” a man calls for Cregan’s attention, making his face fall hard once again. “A ravens arrived.”

The man approaches the post breathing hard as if in a hurry and hands Cregan a scroll. “Urgent news from Dragonstone,” he announces, making you understand his urgency, and causing you to fall serious and nervous yourself.

But if it is bad news wouldn't it be sent directly to Jacaerys and you?

Maybe?

Unless—

You can’t let yourself think the worst, but you still share your worry with your brother before you watch Cregan unravel the scroll to read what the news is.

He doesn’t take long to read, but it feels like he is reading for eternity in the waiting silence until finally he puts the scroll down and meets your gaze. This time when you lock eyes your heart skips a beat out of worry instead of awe, this time a smugness doesn’t play in his eyes or tug the corner of his lips up, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is clenched like when he makes his face hard, but you can read him clear as day as you simply hold his gaze.

You can see the pity pulling his lips down, and a soft apologetic look in his grey eyes that makes them appear darker. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know that what he read wasn’t a simple warning or a call home, they’re dark words that he almost but says.

You want to ask, he knows that, he sees your worry heighten in your furrowed brows and parted lips, so with a simple blink his face softens as he gives you sorrow, making your eyes immediately cloud with tears. While in the back, Jacaerys sees it, your shared past. He figures it out in the exchange that is far more complex than one friends should share, but it all makes sense now.

Your friendship always slightly caught his attention, it bugged him in some way. Not because he felt bad for Aemond that you were so sweet on another man, but all your interactions were always weird he just didn’t figure out why until this very moment as Cregan fails to look over at him after what he read, as he watches this speechless interaction and sees the deep aching softness on the Lord's face and a deep set heartache in your eyes.

He had only seen such a speechless complexity in his mother and Ser Harwin. He was too young to realize it then but as he got older he understood what happened around him, and doesn’t fail to understand now.

Yet as much as he wants to give into this anger he feels boil within him at the thought of Lord Stark taking advantage of you in your five years in Winterfell, the news that awaits him helps him stay collected. Thus he steps forward without causing a scene and finally, Lord Stark drives all the attention to him, letting him finally receive the scroll, and leave you waiting longer without focusing on Cregan any longer. Now you turn to face your brother as he reads what was sent.

Once again it feels like what was written is getting read at an infuriatingly slow pace, but now you’re not impatient to know. You’re scared to know or read Jacaerys' face now. But you keep your eyes on your brother and watch his jaw unclench and his lips part to let out a soft gasp, while his once steady hands begin to tremble, and his eyes…water.

“Jacaerys,” you almost plead his name out.

That anger he had at the waiting completely disappears and he slowly looks up at you with a loud and heartbreaking sorrow.

“Jace,” you mewl.

Said man licks his lips and sniffles before he grabs your arm and gently pulls you aside.

“Listen to me,” his voice quivers and only makes your heart race faster than it’s already beating.

“Is it…” you trail off to catch your breath. “A-Aerion?”

Jacaerys shakes his head and keeps in those tears that fill his eyes. “No, Aerion is fine,” he assures you but you don’t feel relieved.

“What?” You beg for an answer and reach for his hands, but he lifts them and tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear.

“When,” he says shakily. “Lucerys was in StormsEnd, Aemond…”

You start to shake your head and his bottom lip trembles.

“Aemond killed Lucerys,” Jacaerys finally reveals quietly.

A cold breeze hits you and all that you had been feeling gets lost in the wind, leaving you numb.

Jacaerys calls your name but you stare ahead blankly. Theres nothing that crosses your mind, there’s nothing you feel that makes you react. You know it’s heavy and painful news, you knew they were dark words when Cregan told you speechlessly, but you can’t accept the truth that’s given. You don’t want to, you can’t because if you do then it means you will accept that your husband, the man you love…did what was written, and you don’t want to accept that.

However, Jacaerys calls out for you again and this time he grabs your arms and steals your attention, forcing you to once again connect to what you refused to feel.

“No,” you blurt and push him back. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”

Jacaerys shows you the scroll as he gets close again. “You can read it yourself. It’s the truth, Lucerys…he’s,” he strains to say. “He’s…dead.”

Your heart drops and a flood of emotions rams through you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and making your legs weak.

Jacaerys grabs your arms and holds you up before you can fall and pulls you to him, letting you see how red his eyes are, and how drowned they are with tears he’s holding back.

“Jace,” you mewl and cover your mouth to sob.

Your brother nods in understanding without you having to express the rest of your sorrow. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

“Oh gods,” you gasp and drop your head while grabbing at your chest as you can’t seem to catch a breath. You can’t breathe. There’s so much air where you are, it’s so crisp but you can’t manage to take in any which in return only lets you feel the pounding of your heart, the rushing of your blood, and a rush of memories of your little brother Lucerys.

All you can think about is Lucerys, you imagine his last moments, and with every memory and every fake scenario the more you fail to grasp for air.

In the distance, Cregan watches how you’re breaking down, but no matter how much he wants to, he has to stay put even if it hurts not being able to help you when you need him the most. He does get close to trying something small since you are in so much pain trying to breathe, and your brother seems a bit lost on how to help you, but Jacaesys then does the first thing he thinks of and pulls you into an embrace.

Thankfully right away, at the feeling of your brother's weight, and at the feeling of his warmth, all those rushing memories slowly disappear, letting you draw in a deep breath. You pull him closer and bury your head in the crook of his neck whilst you wrap your hand around the back of his neck, and push his head down to let him bury his face on your shoulder so he can express everything he refuses to show to the public.

When he clutches onto the back of your cloak your heart comes to a slow pace, but it doesn’t stop weeping. With every ba-dum, you feel an aching pain in your chest that doesn’t go away.

Eventually, after a short time, Jacaerys pulls back and gives his back to Cregan to wipe away his tears before facing him with a sorrow that isn’t able to wipe off. “We need to go, my Lord. You’ll have to forgive us for not accompanying you back to Winterfell, but with our dragons here we need to make haste to return to Dragonstone.”

You grab at your chest and gently caress it as if that would cure you’re heartache while Jacaerys shares something you agree to without the need for a discussion.

Albeit Cregan is the one who protests. “It will get dark soon, why do you not wait until first light to take flight? Wait until you both have collected yourselves so you don't do anything rash in the heat of the moment.”

You shake your head and interject in a broken voice. “The storm won’t pass, Lord Stark. We’ll just face it head-on and leave, our mother needs us.”

Cregan steps forward, gaining a brief glance from you. “Just eat, and rest…I know the pain of losing a brother, I understand your grief, my heart is with you,” he tries to relate so you would listen. “I have lost many others too, I know the anger, please just let yourselves calm down before you return home. I will stay with you here.”

You know your brother too, you know how angry he can get. You know that once your grief really settles you’ll also start thinking of what happened and you’ll get upset too. Thus you don’t hurry to answer, you look at your brother and he looks at you. And without a word, you come to the same conclusion.

“All right,” Jacaerys says for the both of you. “We will stay, but leave at first light. Thank you, my Lord.”

——

*LATER*

Nothing makes sense.

Why? How?

Those questions are what runs around and around in your head accompanied by different terrifying scenarios that could’ve led to the act. A lot of it points to an accident, you want to believe in your heart of hearts that what…Aemond did was an accident. You don’t want to believe that this remorse got the best of him, he’s supposed to be better, he’s supposed to keep it in for your sake.

He knows how much you love your brothers, he knows he can hate them all he wants, but he can’t hurt them. And yes! You know that war was going to happen no matter what, and violence was going to be dragged in between your families, but Aemond went out of his way to…kill Lucerys when all he was was an envoy.

He killed your brother. Your husband killed your brother, and in turn, betrayed you in the worst way possible. He tore your heart out, and what hurts more is that he hasn’t said what he did in the multiple ravens he’s sent! Just like always, he never tells you a thing!

What are you supposed to believe, but the worst? You want to believe he’s good behind all that hard demeanor, you defend him against your family when they say something bad because you want to believe he has a good heart, but what does killing Lucerys prove? That you’ve been wrong all along?

Gods!

Damn it! Why did he have to do it? Why did he take Lucerys?

A knock raps on your door, but you’re so drowned in your heartache that you don’t hear the sound. It’s not until you hear your name being called out softly behind that door that you almost wake up from your stupor.

“It is I, Cregan,” he announces without the need to, you knew who he was the moment he uttered the first word. “Can I talk to you? You didn’t come for supper.”

You blink repeatedly to relieve the dry spell in your eyes after not blinking for a few seconds and clutch onto the ring you were fiddling with before you get up and unlock the door. You don’t proceed to say anything, you walk away from the door and stand against the fireplace, but Cregan takes the unlocked door as an invitation and walks in, finding your food untouched, you in your nightgown, and your head down.

“I came to check on you,” he says softly as if careful not to hurt you even more with his voice. When he gets no response or even a small breath, he walks in further and notices now how unkempt you are; you’re usually so precise with the way you keep yourself, you always look so clean and tidy, it was only in the morning when you first woke up that he would catch you off guard, but now it’s like you don’t care how you look.

“I hope you are not going to bed with your hair down like that,” he tries to be lighthearted. “You hate having your hair tangled in the morning.”

He waits for a reaction, a soft ‘oh’, but you stay quiet and it just deepens his concern.

“Darling,” he uses your pet name and you finally break from your stupor and turn partially to face him.

He expected a sweet look just out of instinct, but those usually wonder-filled eyes are clouded by agony and tears that can’t even fall down your cheeks anymore; while the fires fierce light brings clarity to your deep set frown, knitted brows, and puffy face worn out from crying.

“Here,” he breathes out and catches a gleam coming from in between your fingers. When he fills his curiosity he notices that the firelight is dancing on a sapphire ring you cannot stop fiddling with in between your fingers; a ring he had not seen you take off once since he saw you. Which must mean your husband gave it to you.

He doesn’t want to ask for many reasons, so he approaches you from behind and gently starts braiding your hair in silence you cannot seem to fill. It’s almost like there was no one inside your body, you were a hollow body left soulless.

“I understand why you locked your door,” he mentions in hopes that would get him a simple reaction. “However, it does not seem necessary, your dragons are restless and it stirs up fear in the brothers. And I am here as well.”

Your back raises as you draw in a deep breath, but rather than filling the silence with a dry response, or some remark, you just breathe out, making him steal a glance at the side of your face that he can see from behind you, before he pulls out the leather strip that keeps half of his hair out of his face to keep your own braid in place instead. He then proceeds to shuffle to your side to grab your arm.

“Sit down, Princess.” He commands softly.

You don’t fight him, you let him guide you down to your seat, and once he’s feeding the fire more wood your hoarse voice finally fills the room.

“I should have gone back to King's Landing…A—He sent me a raven the day after when my grandsire the King died. He didn’t tell me of course, but he told me to go back…I should have listened, I…” you pause to catch your breath. “Maybe then Lucerys…” you trail off and whimper whilst you drop your head in your hands.

Cregan leaves the last piece of wood in the fire and then wipes his hands on his shirt while he stands up to close the gap between you.

“Don't,” he says firmly and crouches down in front of you to grab your hands and pull them down so you can meet his gaze. “Do not blame yourself for your brother's death. What happened is not your fault to carry. What happened is dealt with, don’t dwell on things that can no longer happen.”

You hold his gaze while you process his words for a second and then look down at the ring you still hold.

“I’m sorry,” he says sorrowful words that bring your heart some comfort, but also make your body tremble while those tears that you once couldn’t muster, come rushing down your already stained cheeks.

Nothing else is spoken, and nothing is asked of either of you, but out of instinct your arms slip around his neck, and he returns the embrace and follows you to your feet where he keeps holding you and lets you cry on his shoulder; for hours? For a few seconds? You don’t know, you dwell in his comfort that you missed and relish in it until you stop crying.

He probably should have been the one to pull away, but he doesn’t complain, not once. He lets you pull back on your own time, and even then he grabs your arms to keep you close so he can cup your cheeks and caress them for a final piece of comfort to your aching heart.

Yet that proves to be a mistake because as you linger in his proximity, your eyes fall on his lips and you’re overwhelmed with a passion-filled heat that pushes your lips against his.

At first, Cregan is so stunned by the warmth of your lips on his, and then he’s taken by the excitement of feeling your lips reconnecting that he closes his eyes and kisses you back, but when his lust begins to rush through his blood he pulls back and groans.

“No,” he shakes his head and slides his hands down your face to grab your shoulders, leaving a burning trail down your skin. “You are married. No matter what happened you are still married, and you’re grieving.”

You want to forget your pain for a moment and be consumed by the comfort, bliss, and excitement he provides, but he’s also right. And how can you do that to Aemond…

But…

Maybe you don’t care if it hurts him because he hurt you. He won’t know either way—But you will know, you will know that it’s something that can hurt him, and you…don’t care. But Cregan…is right.

“I’m sorry,” you throw out and step away from him, feeling a chill hit those parts of you that he kept warm with his touch—“you are right. I’m sorry.”

Cregan turns away and swallows back thickly, feeling somewhat disappointed that he has to turn down this heat of the moment. “Perhaps I shall bid you a goodnight now.”

You swallow back to hide your disappointed sigh and nod. “Yes, goodnight Cregan.”

Said man avoids looking at you when he turns. It makes it easier to walk away from you. But when his hand touches the door handle he doesn’t turn it to open it, he stands there frozen with his back turned to you as he feels his honor start to slip.

He turns his head but doesn’t peek over right away, he fights himself but quickly falters when he feels the ghost of your wet lips haunting his. And when he fully looks back and sees the shadow of your sculpted figure in your white nightgown his inner battle is lost. He only proves his loss by locking the door and turning completely to face you, turning around as well.

“Cregan?” You query, puzzled by his presence.

Said man draws out a deep breath before he strides back to you with determination in his step and surprises you by grabbing your face the moment he can. You want to utter his name, but a small gasp is all that goes past your lips whilst you drop the ring that Aemond had gifted you.

“I pride myself in my honor,” he says while his eyes flicker between your parted lips and your shocked gaze. “But when it comes to you it’s turned to ash, nothing stops me from wanting you, from…” he trails off and leans forward, but you don’t allow your lips to touch. You shift your head away, but he follows you to keep your breaths unfurling over each other's lips.

“…desiring you in every way a gentleman shouldn’t. I burn for you when you’re far, and even when I dream of you. It is wrong.” He nods, and you nod too without much effort. “But you are my weakness, you have always been my weakness. You’re my joy, the reason I laugh, and also the reason I don’t march to King's Landing and bring you to Winterfell to make you mine,” he whispers against your lips, making a smile make an appearance on your saddened face.

“Tell me this is wrong, tell me to leave now,” he tells you and drags his eyes up to meet yours so you can know he’s being serious. “And I will. I will leave your chambers and when morning comes I’ll bid you farewell with no remorse and as nothing more than friends.”

As if being hypnotized to his lips you lean forward, but only let your lips brush, leaving your heart pounding as it screams for you to connect.

“I still have to leave,” you make it known while you gently cup his jaw to touch some part of him. “I have to return to Dragonstone no matter what.”

Cregan’s eyebrows pinch together and he hesitates before he nods. “I understand,” he mutters and glances at your lips again. “But that doesn’t change a thing if you tell me to leave.”

You should. You're still married even if Aemond betrayed you by killing your brother. And deep deep down a lot of your conflict comes because you don’t know if you did stop loving the man who killed your brother, but that reason is also why you want to give in to your deepest burning desire.

That reason is why you’re selfish and don’t resist Cregan or stop your heart from swooning at his confession.

“Don’t leave,” is all he needs to hear to smile widely before he finally feeds your desire by kissing you slowly, fueling that passionate heat that completely takes over your body, and leaving you still and breathless for a moment as you relish in the sweet taste of his soft lips melting with yours, guiding your every movement, and driving you mad with lust.

You had forgotten this dream-like feeling, you had forgotten how fast he makes your heart race when he’s kissing you, and you forgot how hot you burn when his fingers explore the perimeters of your body. Furthermore, you forgot how eager he can get until you feel his grip on the back of your gown.

You pull away quickly and protest. “No, no, wait, do not rip it.”

Cregan fingers loosen and you start to giggle. “Why do you always want to rip my gowns?” You bring up, making his lips lift to a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between heavy breaths.

You press a kiss on his lips and then tell him, “gently.”

He breathes out deeply and nods once before he slides his fingers back to the ribbon tying your gown together, and slowly begins to untie it while you drift your lips to kiss the corner of his mouth, and then kiss his jaw before you graze your lips up and kiss the corner of his jaw.

Cregan lets out a groan from the back of his throat, making you feel chills grow on your skin.

“I hate all these layers,” he musters while you continue to leave a trail of kisses down to his neck. “They are so infuriating.”

You smile against his neck, causing you to feel his nails dig in your skin.

“It keeps me warm,” you tell him and lick a stripe up to his lips. “Your North is cold, my Lord.”

Cregan clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “A little less with your presence,” he completely wins you over, making you grin and look at him in awe.

“I missed you,” he finally lets himself confess to you. “My darling love.”

You sigh and whisper back. “I missed you too.”

His eyes gleam brighter and that short absence is filled once again with your lips while he finally slips off your gown, leaving you under a simple sheer gown that he slips off with ease.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with awe, and his eyes dark with lust.

“It’s no fair,” you argue between kisses and slowly drag your hands down to help him pull off his layers. “And you say I wear a lot of layers,” you comment, making him scoff.

You finally end up pulling the last one off and throw it to the side mindlessly as you’re captivated by his toned torso and those thick arms that he unfairly hides under all those garments.

“Kiss me,” you command in a voice oozing with honey.

“Gladly,” is all he says before capturing your face to smash his lips on yours and this time make out more roughly as he’s filled with a much more hungry need.

Your own need lets you multitask by unbuckling his pants and tugging on them so he can pull them off in the brief pause you have between devouring each other. Yet when his member is out for you to see, you take a moment to admire how girthy and hard it is, and how perfect every vein is on his length.

You can’t help but start to go on your knees, but he grabs your bicep and pulls you back up to drift you away from that need.

“No,” he says out of breath and instead wraps his arms around you, and presses his lips on your neck to start leaving wet kisses on your flesh while he also slides his hands down your body, making you shiver at the feeling of his warm hands caressing you gently.

Without lifting his mouth off your neck he drifts his hand behind your knee, and with no explanation, he pulls your leg up to help you climb up and wrap your legs around his waist so he can walk you back to the edge of the bed, and gently put you down.

Once you’re lying on your back he pulls back but leans down to press his hands beside your head, and simply hold your gaze with this endearing look that makes his eyes smile.

“I'm going inside you,” he warns you, making you shiver and swallow thickly as you already imagine the stretch. “You need to be quiet.”

You part your lips but utter nothing, instead, you lift your head and he responds by giving you what you wanted, a deep kiss, while he grabs his length and aligns himself with your hole. When his tip touches you you gasp and he grins before taking your lips again to distract you while he slowly penetrates you.

Albeit the stretch is so wonderful and filling that you claw your nails on his back and scratch his back as he keeps going in deeper. Once all the way inside he finally pulls his face back to whisper. “You were made for me. You belong with me.”

You don’t respond with words, you cup his cheeks and brush strands of his hair behind his ears before you slide your hand to the back of his neck to gently pull him down. “Cregan make me yours,” you finally fill the silence, feeling as if his cock hardens even more before he finally starts moving his hips, filling you with a blinding ecstasy that heightens this passionate moment, and makes you only think about him and the pleasure he feels and gives you. You forget your sorrows and the grudge. You forget the war and the responsibilities you have.

You’re selfish in the lust-filled night and remain ignorant even before it's time to get out of bed. You just relish in Cregan's presence for a bit longer.

“Cregan…” you whisper, and the man hums in response letting you sigh before you share what’s been bothering you. “I do not like that I am the reason you disregard your honor. I do not like putting you through that.”

The hand on your back stops moving and a small huff rolls out of his nose. “I think it’s late to start thinking about that.”

You blink repeatedly with discontent and abruptly sit up to face him. “I am not jesting,” you press sharply. “I’m being serious. You hold your honor in high regard, I hate to be the one who makes it falter.”

A faint smile tugs on his lips without regard to your comment before he leans forward and assures you. “I have my honor, I never forget it, but I love you more. I’m being selfish without disregarding everything to be it. I know how to hold myself back,” he says firmly and cups your cheek to bring you closer to him. “I know where I stand, I am just choosing to have a taste of happiness. You, my darling, are my happiness.”

Your eyes water and your heart swoons, there’s nothing you can say that would measure up to the kind things he just said, all you can do is press a lingering kiss on his warm lips before you lay your head down on his chest, and hold onto him like he’s your security blanket.

“I…could offer you and your Aerion refuge here,” he offers and makes your pounding heart hurt.”

“Here? In Castle Black?” You tease without sounding too amused.

Cregan scoffs and starts to caress your arm. “Not here. In Winterfell,” he clarifies without a hint of falter at the mention of your son who is fathered by someone else who does bring him pangs of jealousy every time he remembers you’re married, and when he hears his name. “I would make sure no one could touch you and your boy there. He wouldn’t have to grow up around so much violence and you would not have to worry.”

You tilt your head down to kiss his shoulder before you give his offer an answer. “It's a nice offer, but my place is not hiding in a cage like some frightened bird. My place is out there, with my mother, with my brother, and the rest of my family fighting with the dragon I have. My mother needs me and I don’t want to leave her alone.”

Cregan doesn’t interject with anything, his chest rises and slowly falls back down, letting you know your response slightly wounded him.

“Instead of having her husband with her when she lost my sister,” you begin to say quieter but filled with frustration. “Daemon was out leading her council. I was the one who held her when she cradled my sister's lifeless body. I…have to be there for her now.”

“I understand,” he doesn’t falter to assure you. “But you must know if you ever find yourself needing somewhere to go, Winterfell is yours. You and your son are welcome.”

You lift your head off him to face him in the little space left between you. “I will always remember that. Thank you,” you say from the bottom of your heart.

A smile twitches on his serious face, and he proceeds to press a feathered kiss on your lips before he grins and says. “Sing for me? Just for me.”

You giggle and gently smack his shoulder. “No,” you answer bluntly and lay back down basically on him.

“Why not?” He chuckles. “It's not like you have to fear enchanting me with your song, you already have.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. Anyway!” You change the subject. “I was supposed to stop writing to you. I had already planned it.”

Cregan sighs and his chin rests on the top of your head. “I know,” he mutters. “You stopped writing as much as you would recently.”

Your smile falls but you grow desperate and hopeful. “But…you will answer me when I write to you in the weeks to come, right?”

He shrugs and interjects. “If that’s what you want, I will.”

You nod softly. “I do.”

You lift yourself up again to face him so he knows you’re being sincere. “I do.”

He grabs your cheek and his eyes soften. “Are you frightened?” He makes sure to ask.

You swallow thickly and shake your head. “No. Nervous, but not scared.”

He smirks and slides his hand down to caress your chin. “That’s my girl. You know how to fight, use that.” He tells you.

You laugh nervously. “I’ve never had to actually use my skill for violence.”

Your swordsmanship and your skills with archery were never for the intent of being some warrior, you like the idea of being like Queen Visenya Targaryen, and Princess Alyssa, but mostly your need to be trained with a sword and with archery was because you took it as a challenge. They said you couldn’t have it and you challenged them. Thus now that you’re having to face this war and the potential of having to use your skill, you’re honestly quite nervous.

You’ve never admitted that. You don’t want to admit it to anyone but him so they don't feel like you aren’t reliable.

“It won’t be easy,” Cregan says the truth. “But when you face your enemy, do not hesitate. Think quickly but be smart and do not let them gain the upper hand. You have a dragon, use her, and you have skill, good skill. Use it.”

You let out a shaky breath and nod in comprehension. He offers you a gentle smile and pulls you down to press his forehead against yours.

“You must know I will wait for you. Just a while longer.”

Asking what will happen after a while passes scares you, so you leave it be and just give him an honest response. “If fate ends up letting me choose, I will finally come home to you.”

He flashes you a charming smile that eases that worry in your heart and only works to sink you further down into this little escape.

“Now,” he coos against your lips. “Will you sing for me?”

You roll your eyes with a flattered smile featured on your face before you pull away to lay back on his chest and finally do as he asks of you as a parting gift where there aren't multiple people watching you, and pushing you down to hide or pretend that you’re nothing more than friends. You sing him a song for only him to hear before you take your leave and face reality once again.

——

*SOMETIME LATER. DRAGONSTONE*

What good is actually facing reality? Facing a dead beloved brother, and the fact that it was someone who you loved that killed him?

Dragonstone is a painful reminder of what happened while you were away. Only now that pain in your heart is tenfold and you don’t think anyone can actually know the pain that plagues you. Who can truly understand what it is you carry? No one is married to the man who killed Lucerys. They can hate him with ease, but you?

You want to despise him, you fought yourself the entire flight back to Dragonstone to hate him and view him as another enemy, to view him like you view Aegon, but as much as you think you hate him, your heart fights hard to try and tell a different tale. And that’s what makes it worse.

Thus it's easier, it was almost healing, having an escape with Cregan, but now there’s no one who will silence your cries. And what makes matters worse is facing your heartbroken mother. You don’t like seeing her cry or be hurt, when she lost Visenya your pain could never equate to what she was feeling, but you hurt too with every groan, with all the blood that she spilled, and every sob. Now you’re moments away from her and your heart and soul are already shattering.

However, after you watch your dragon disappear into the caves with Vermax, and take a step inside the castle, a hand wraps around your forearm and you’re pulled into a dark dead end where there aren't prying eyes or nearby ears.

“<Tell me the truth,” Jacaerys spats in a whisper so no one would hear the sound of his words also protected by High Valyrian. “About you and Lord Stark.>”

You can’t help yourself, you blink repeatedly in disbelief and gape like a fish out of water.

“< There's no point in lying,” he only further surprises you. “I figured it out when he got the letter from Dragonstone. I would see it every time you would talk but I never pieced it together until yesterday. It all made sense then, the glances, what you would tell each other, and every story you told about him.>”

Tears fill your eyes and your heart echos in your ears as you’re struck with shame. Not for loving another man, but that Jacaerys found out.

“<He touched you?>” He proceeds to ask in your shocked silence.

And it’s in that silence where he figures out your unspoken response and finally lets go of your arm to turn away with a scoff.

“<He never forced himself on me,” you defend Cregan. “Everything we did was because we wanted it to happen. We love each other.>”

Jacaerys turns on his heels with frustration and clutches onto your arms to sneer. “<You saw how much mother suffered because she was with Ser Harwin. Did you not learn anything?>”

You know he’s remarking all that stuff to your face because he cares. He’s being thoughtful in his way but it doesn’t stop you from crying, and when you shed tears you hit a cord in your brother's heart and he lets go of you with a sigh.

“<If you weren’t already married I would turn back and force him, but alas,>,” he mutters and sighs again before turning and dropping his head in his hands.

“<He would’ve too,” you defend his honor. “But I did not want Aemond to hurt him with Vhagar. I choose not to marry him, please don’t blame him. He’s a good man.>”

Jacaerys shakes his head in disappointment and turns to face you with his eyes narrowed into a fierce glare and his lips curled in a snarl. “How am I not supposed to blame him?” He remarks in the common tongue. “He had his way with you and did not do what he was supposed to do! What an honorable man would do!”

“I told you already, I told him not to because of Aemond.”

Jacaerys grabs his face and rubs the bridge of his nose, so you continue to try and calm him down.

“He was always respectful and kind. And…” you pause and lick your lips before you utter the reality. “There’s nothing you can do about it now. There's no use in being upset, I am married and that won’t change even if I love him unless Aemond dies. So please,” you plead softer and step towards him to grab his arm so he can face you. “Please Jace, keep it a secret. No one must know. It’s in the past. Please don’t tell a soul.”

Jacaerys eyes snap to you and he clenches his jaw as he looks at you thoughtfully for a few agonizing moments before he sighs and whispers. “Fine. I will not tell anyone only because there’s nothing I can do now.”

You sigh with relief and wipe away your tears before you offer him a thankful smile and a sweeter comment. “Thank you so much. Thank you, Jace, really. I love you.”

Jacaerys lets out a deep breath and his face slowly lets that frustration go, and instead slowly falls to express a soft sorrow. You slide your hand down his arm to cup his hand and slowly mirror that grief as you remember what you lost and that pain you both now harbor.

No matter how hard you wish, there’s nothing in this world that can change what happened, no one can bring back your fallen brother. And what’s even crueler is that no matter how hopeful you were for the news to be a lie, you’re home now and that hope lies with Lucerys.

You both come to the same realization and speechlessly exchange it, bringing you both into each other's embrace to cry now without care.

And deep down you both want to stay close in just the way you are so neither of you run the risk of losing each other the way you lost Lucerys. It’s a foolish thought, but it’s one brought by grief, and a new fear set in both of your hearts because no matter how much you love your little brothers, nothing can compare to the bond the three of you had. A bond that now consists of Jacaerys and you. Just him and you.

“Jacaerys,” your moment is interrupted by a feminine voice that also speaks your name but does not belong to your mother. And when you both break away and look over you see Baela stand at the end of the hall with her hands clasped together and a pitiful look in her eyes.

“Baela,” you greet and wipe your tears away while Jacaerys turns to wipe his own tears away.

“Welcome back home,” she speaks sweetly.

You offer her a thankful nod before you walk over to her and meet her halfway with an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

You nod and then interject. “Thank you.” You pull back and glance around in search of her twin. “Where’s Rhaena?”

Baela sighs. “In her chambers.”

You wished to greet her just as you returned home, but now you’ll have to speak to her after you speak with your mother.

“And what about…” you trail off and hesitate. “What about my mother?”

Baela glances behind you as Jacaerys approaches you and then gives you the answer you wanted. “I’ll take you to her.”

You offer her a thankful smile and watch her walk to Jacaerys to wrap her arms around him and offer him sweeter condolences. When the moment passes she guides you to your mother and your heart begins to pound, while your stomach twists and makes you feel almost nauseous at the anticipation. You already know you’re going to break even more, but there’s something about thinking about your mother being heartbroken that already tears you apart.

And maybe a part of it is because…it feels like you had a hand in her heartbreak because it was your husband who killed Lucerys.

It was not really you, you know that. You were oblivious to your husband's affairs, but no matter what anyone says, yes, that’s what is dwelling within, your guilt. It rattles you to the point you can’t be comfortable in your own skin.

As you get closer to your mother's quarters breathing gets hard once again, and your surroundings begin to dim, leaving only the narrow path ahead visible. You want to run away and not face the pain you’ll see. But when the doors to your mother's quarters open and you see her sitting across the fireplace, alone and in the dark, that panic settles as if she was the fresh air you needed to calm down, leaving you with the need to be embraced by her warmth and comfort, while also giving the same in return.

“Your Grace,” you greet her softly once Baela clears the room and leaves only you and your brother with your mother.

Your pounding heart starts racing once again, but it’s not out of fear, it’s racing out of a need to ease your pain, and the pain you clearly see on her delicate face. Yet you hold strong with tears stinging in your eyes already.

“Lady Jayne Arryn has pledged her support,” Jacaerys breaks the emotional silence to share the support you both gained when you were away on a mission. “…In exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale,” you hear the tear in your brother's voice, and when you glance over at him you see him fiddling with his hands while his eyes grow more and more teary, making your already weak hold, falter.

You still want to continue for him, but when you part your lips you can’t utter a word, it’s all lost in your grief that heightens the longer you watch your mother.

“And,” Jacaerys continues sounding even more brokenhearted by the second. “Lord Cregan Stark,” he pauses and takes a deep breath, but doesn’t seem to find the will to finish. He falls breathless and that wall he usually has up to be perceived as strong, and a protector crumbles, leaving him shaky.

You reach over to grab his hand while tears start to roll out of your eyes as you trail on for him. “…Lord Stark…promised 2000 men,” you manage to share with all the might you can muster.

Your mother doesn’t respond, she instead stands from her seat with her face contorting with grief and approaches the both of you, making you completely lose the faltering hold you had on your emotions.

However, when she’s close, Jacaerys reaches out first and she welcomes him in her arms. You want to do the same, you’ve been aching for it, but your guilt hits you and you stand there frozen with your head down.

“Mother,” you mewl with streams of tears. “I’m…sorry.”

Your mother pulls away from Jacaerys just slightly, leaving her arm around his neck to approach you and caress your cheek with no disdain in her eyes; nor does she look at you like you were the one at fault, her eyes are sad, but she expresses her reassurance before she slides her arm around your neck and pulls you in her gentle embrace and confirms that she doesn’t hate or blame you.

It’s such a relieving comfort that it works to lift some weight off your chest. Weight Cregan couldn’t ease when he talked to you.

Now you can ease in your mother's embrace without feeling like she hates you. Now you can caress her back without the fear of getting rejected.

Soon thereafter, neither Jacaerys nor you attempt to leave your mother's comfort. Nor does it feel like your mother wants either of you to pull away from her embrace that protects her two eldest from the cruel reality that took her third child.

You stay interlinked and weep on each other's shoulders until she pulls away to face you both.

“I have been waiting for your return to light…Lucerys pyre,” she shares. “Is it fine if we light it tonight? The sun is setting and the winds are calm.”

You and Jacaerys don’t find a reason to push the funeral back. You also know there are other matters to attend to that don't give you the luxury of sitting in your grief.

But, oh wouldn’t that be nice?

You don’t want to ignore what happened, no, that’s not what you want. You just want to take a moment to process what happened, and who did it, and tell yourself that you will no longer see your little brother Lucerys.

But no, war forces you to face reality and deal with your grief harshly on the same night you arrived from Winterfell, and at the same spot where your baby sister's funeral pyre was lit.

This time the crowd is smaller though, more intimate. Daemon isn’t even here, which isn’t surprising, but it is also disappointing that he can’t be at his wife’s side as she deals with the death of her son, and lights yet another funeral pyre. And what grows your hatred for him even more is that he can’t seem to be bothered to be a father to his daughter who just lost her betrothed. It’s a good thing Baela is at her side.

It’s also good that you can be with your family this time, dealing with your father's grief alone was devastating. There was no one besides your handmaiden Vanessa to hold your hand and embrace you when you wept. Comforting letters could never measure up to the comfort of your mother's arms or that of your siblings and your grandparents.

Now though, you stand amongst them around the fire that will burn away the only pieces you have of Lucerys, which are his things. There's not even bones to turn to ash, nothing was found of him but his cloak, and a part of his dragon's wing.

Thus Jacaerys steps up first and throws in a soft red blanket along with a piece of his clothes. Besides a few tears rolling down his face, he holds strong now, unlike before when he was in the privacy of just you and your mother, which is assuring. He definitely seems to comfort Joffrey, who throws a wooden horse in the fire, leaving you to step up next.

Yet when you step up and lift a small wooden ship you sob for the brother you’ll never be able to see grow into a man. You’ll never be able to see him marry, or see him command his fleets. You’ll never be able to watch him build a family of his own, nor will you be able to dance another song with him, he’ll be gone forever.

You throw away all those possibilities you’ll never get to see in the fire, and watch the flames eat away at the small wooden ship, and turn to ash everything you couldn’t watch your brother do.

Thick smoke rises, it infiltrates through your nose and stings your throat and eyes while also helping you realize something through the stinging pain, that being your hate for Aemond, your husband, and best friend. You were clouded with confusion before, you couldn’t let go, but you see it clearly now in the thick smoke, you hate him.

And it’s because of your realization that you don’t realize your mother is next to you until you catch her throwing in a piece of Lucery’s clothes with agony contorting her face and clouding her eyes. She lingers by the fire for a moment and you watch her shoulders shake before she steps back. You fall by her side and glance down at her empty hand before you reach over to grab it and once again be the comfort she needs in her moment of pain.

A need to go to Rhaena’s side does grow. You feel called to her side to comfort her, but once the fire starts to lose its power, and all the wooden logs turn black, you step away from your brother and mother's side, but come to a stop right away as you feel guilt again. Your mother might’ve speechlessly assured you, but Rhaena’s anger and grief is different, what if she does blame you for what Aemond did?

If you weren’t away you probably could’ve stopped Aemond, but you weren’t with him. What if she blames you for Aemond taking her betrothed?

You don’t want to be the source of more pain for your cousin, so out of fear and guilt, you don’t approach her. You avoid her and instead, let your grandfather give his condolences before embracing your grandmother.

“I heard the Queen made you her hand,” you interject and pull back to face her with a proud smile. “Congratulations, grandmother, I could think of no one more capable than you.”

Your grandmother caresses your face and offers you a sweet and thankful smile. “Thank you, my Sweet. How are you doing?” She asks with a concerned gaze.

You sigh. “I’m dealing with all my emotions, but I’m relieved that I at least don’t have to go through my grief alone this time,” you share, earning a faint smile.

“I was wondering…” you roll out hesitantly whilst you hook your arm around his to head back inside together. “…does anyone accompany you on your patrols?”

Without needing to hear the rest of what you wanted to ask, she figures out the direction you're taking this conversation.

“No,” your grandmother assures you.

“Oh, well I was wondering,” you finally get to your question. “If I could accompany you? The sea is large, together we could cover more ground. Besides,” you sweet talk her to persuade her. “Astraea is fast, and she’s grown large from her time at Winterfell. She’s good at sea. She likes to dive with me on her. And I am a good archer on Dragonback. We could help you.”

Your grandmother scoffs and flashes you a smile. “Well as much as I would like your help, we would have to ask the Queen first. Bring it up with her and if she accepts I would love to share patrol with you, it would relieve me of some work.”

You smile excitedly and nod eagerly. “Good, I’m glad. I’ll ask her at the next council meeting.”

Your grandmother offers you an encouraging smile and helps you feel some joy in the dark storm that casts over you.

Of course, no one or nothing brings you more joy than your little one, your beloved Aerion. When you see him fast asleep in his cradle your dim world lights up and you muster a happy grin.

As much as you want him to wake so he knows you’ve returned to him, you let him be and just crouch by the cradle to admire him as he sleeps.

You admire his cute round cheeks, his tiny little hands balled up to fists over his head, his thin eyelashes he got from his father, and those pink thin lips he also got from

Aemond. But most importantly you watch his chest carefully to make sure he’s breathing.

You could watch him sleep for hours on end and never tire. Especially because sometimes, just like now, you catch him smiling in his sleep and you just can’t help but swoon.

You always wondered what it is they dream about, fairytales mayhaps? Food? Their parents?

Does he dream about his father now that they’re apart? A father who loves him, and takes pride in his son? A father that you hate and…cheated on…

He killed your little brother, and you lay with Cregan because you wanted to, because you missed him, and you were upset and selfish, but now that you’re looking at your son sleeping away a different pang of guilt punctures your heart.

A guilt you shouldn’t feel, Aerion is young, he won't remember this conflict, but he will feel shame if he ever finds out you cheated on his father.

Yes, his father hurt you first, Aemond betrayed you first. He hurt you in one the worst ways possible! But…now…

Now you’re looking at Aerion and you think of how this could also hurt him. He’s young, a baby turning five months old soon, he won’t remember his life as an infant, but your secret won’t be forgotten, especially if in the future Cregan and you aren’t together.

It would hurt him so much if he ever found out. That’s what makes you cry with guilt. Not regret, you don’t regret your night with Cregan, he made you happy, but you do feel guilt and shame.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

Does Aemond’s crime justify what you did?

You can’t help but think of that, you can’t help but think of the hate you harbor, but you also can’t stop thinking about him. About the way his family doesn’t show him the affection you do. He protects them and takes care of them, but they will never return it in the same amount.

He’s probably lonely, and brooding. He’s probably silently just lurking in his brother's council, and breaking his fasts alone.

You always tried breaking fast and eating dinners together. He always smiled when he saw the way you were dressed, especially when you wore purple. He always gave you a kiss before you drifted apart for the day, and when you saw each other he kissed you with need as if you had gone years without seeing each other.

When night came, or when you found yourselves just in a calm moment, he let his guard down and let himself be vulnerable. You loved those moments the most because it felt as if only he and you existed in this world.

Actually, he treated you like you were the only person he has ever loved. You came first all the time, even before your son. Which is selfish, but you never minded because who could treat you the same?

Cregan’s people come first, the North comes first no matter what he says. That’s why he’s not marching over here to fight himself because other priorities come first, but with Aemond, he may have his goals and his pride, but you were never held lesser than something. His anger got in the way. It’s blinding but you understand why.

You understood at least…because the truth is you can’t defend him now…

He deserves his solitude. You hate him for taking Lucerys away. That much is true and you put that over everything.

“Princess,” Vanessa’s sweet voice cuts through the blowing breeze of the sea, making you pick your eyes off your son to look into the distance.

“Vanessa,” you entertain your handmaiden with what you know she’s leading up to.

“I was wondering,” she parts her lips, but before she can finish her thought the sound of your name coming from someone else’s lips interrupts the conversation. You look back and smile faintly when you see your grandfather Corlys.

“Grandfather,” you greet sweetly as you stand up to watch him approach you at shore.

“I’m surprised to see you out here so early,” he mentions, making you scoff softly and look down at Aerion watching your grandfather carefully.

“When I saw Aerion he was sleeping, so I wanted to make up for it and spend as much time as I can before I’m called away,” you tell him and study him, noticing he’s standing up a lot straighter than before, and still using a very nice wooden cane. “I wanted to apologize for not going to visit you when you were abed. I’m more than glad to see you up now and attending to your fleet.” You smile brightly and watch him get close to watch Aerion in your arms.

“It's quite all right,” he assures you and meets your gaze. “You are a dragon rider, and the Queen's daughter, there’s a lot to do. I'm happy to see you safely returned, I know Aerion has missed you.”

You glance at your son, and as if he knew you were admiring him he glances at you and smiles before laying his head on your shoulder.

“Rhaenys and I would take him on strolls when the day gave us time,” your grandfather catches you by surprise. “The poor lad would be cooped all day with your mother gone.”

Considering Aerion the son of Aemond, you didn’t think your grandparents, especially your grandfather would much care for your son, but hearing his report really brings a warmth to your heart.

“I noticed that young Aerion quite enjoys being by the water,” your grandfather adds, making you grin and nod.

“Yes, he loves it when the waves roll over his feet,” you share giddily and caress your son's head as you return your gaze to your grandfather. “And he gets lulled to sleep by the sound of crashing waves.”

“He’ll be a fine sailor in no time.”

You hum happily at your grandfather's comment and then watch him glance out at the never-ending sea before he sighs softly, and then looks back at you with a faint smile that lets you catch a look in his eye that makes you think he’s up to something.

“Why don’t you and Aerion accompany me to Driftmark? It’s still early, and you can come back by dragonback before you’re needed,” he suggests.

You have been meaning to keep your mind off all the racing thoughts that kept you up at night, and well, you are extremely curious. It’s not common for him to invite you to accompany him anywhere. That’s what your grandmother does.

“Vanessa,” you address your handmaiden, and give your grandfather an answer. “Return inside, if anyone asks for me tell them where I am and that I will return soon.”

Your handmaiden offers you a comprehensive nod and goes off to do as you asked, letting you walk with your grandfather toward his boat under the morning sky pampered with fluffy white clouds that make you feel a smidge of joy as certain memories infiltrate your mind.

“On nice days like these my father would take me sailing,” you muse with your grandfather. “I’m pretty sure the septa giving me lessons would despise when he would pull me from my lessons since I was a princess and had no business doing boy stuff, but,” you grin softly. “He was the prince consort, he did as he pleased and my mother never minded. Besides, I encouraged him,” you pause and feel your eyes begin to sting without much warning.

“He taught me a lot of ships…I miss him,” you finish in a whisper.

Your grandfather lets out a deep sigh and you see him nod along with you from the corner of your eye.

“Did he teach you how to read maps?” Your grandfather wonders.

You nod. “Yes, and star charts. I could learn more about those, but I could follow the stars North and to King’s Landing with no map. He…never tried to leave anything out, he was always so excited.”

Your grandfather hums and you glance over at him to address something else on your chest. “I’m glad you decided to side your fleet and Driftmark with my mother.”

His dark eyes meet yours and he quirks a brow. “Why would I side with Aegon?”

Well besides him being a man, there’s also the fact that it’s highly theorized Daemon killed his son. You believe and hate him for it, but no matter how much you want to share that belief, you bite your tongue and shrug as if it was just a concerned-filled thought.

Your grandfather understands your speechless response and holds your gaze as he gives his vague response. “I had many reasons to side with your mother.”

You offer him a simple proud smile and reach his boat in a peaceful silence only filled by the crashing waves and the cawing of seabirds. You had hoped to feel a hint of those exciting and tender feelings you oftentimes felt with your father when you were out at sea, but even if you walk with his father, those feelings you ache to reconnect to aren’t anywhere close, reminding you that you’ll never be with your father ever again, or have a bond with any father-figure.

Albeit your grandfather does let you sail the boat to Driftmark, but as excited you do feel to show off your skills and once again maneuver a boat, you still feel empty within.

“My dragon loves the sea,” you begin to say with the intention of persuading him to use your aid at sea whilst you keep an eye on the distant waters. “And I have learned how to use a bow and arrow on dragonback, perhaps I could be the dragon rider to protect your fleet when battle hits our shores, or we attack theirs,” you finish and peer back at him with a sly grin, unknowingly reminding him of his son when he was your age and eager to prove his worth. You even wore the same sly smile Laenor wore when he was proving himself a fine sailor and dragonrider.

“That…” he starts off quietly but then clears his throat and sounds as mighty as ever. “That would honor me.”

You offer him a happy smile over your shoulder and then let your gaze fall on Aerion strapped on your chest, noticing him watching the waves with his eyes wide and full of wonder.

However, the wonder slowly gets lost as he starts to get lulled to sleep. He tries to fight the sleep to keep watching the moving waves, but he’s outmatched and loses himself to sleep not long before you arrive at Driftmark’s shore.

Unlike Dragonstone, Driftmark is more lively with people; both townspeople and soldiers from the fleets as well as those who work on your grandfather's massive ship. Some seem worried that something could happen at any given moment, while others seem to be happy just mindlessly living.

You begin to wonder about that happiness, you don’t envy their joy, a part of you resents all these people being so happy and living their lives unaffected by the death of Driftmark’s Heir. You wonder why it is they don’t feel what you’re plagued with, you want them to feel your sorrow.

But then you do realize that you’re just letting your pain cloud your judgment.

“Besides having you accompany me,” your grandfather interjects, pulling your attention away from the large ship. “I wanted to share something I have been thinking of as of late.”

You clasp your hands together and out of instinct reach out to fiddle with the ring Aemond gave you, but you’re then surprised when you feel that your ringer finger is bare.

You spare a glance at your finger and drift your gaze to the ground, but you’re then reminded of the fact that you left your ring behind in your borrowed quarters at Castle Black.

You probably won’t ever see it again…

“…I was hoping that when Aerion is older he could be my ward,” your grandfather catches your attention and makes you furrow your eyebrows and look at him with disbelief, and slightly bothered.

“Of course,” he continues, “he won’t have to join me until he’s much older, but he is Laenor’s grandson, I want him to know the sea, and I want to teach him about ships and how to command fleets like I taught your father.”

You glance at your sleeping son and cradle the back of his head as if protecting him from being parted from you.

“He’s the son of a second son, he won’t inherit a crown or a castle from his father, but he could inherit…my title.”

You snap your eyes over to him and come to a slow stop as you’re overcome with surprise. You want to be filled with pride and joy, but there’s an obstacle that stops you. “But,” you mutter your thought out loud. “He is Aemond’s son. A man who opposes us. A man who killed your heir.”

Your grandfather turns away from his ship and faces you, and doesn’t fail to nod in agreement. “Aye, he is the son of Prince Aemond, but Aerion has salt-littered blood. He is the grandson of Laenor Velaryon, my son.”

Aerion is also your son, and you are also your father's firstborn, and only biological child, but he doesn’t seem to ever mention that! What are you, a painted portrait?

You would’ve loved to inherit Driftmark and his title of Lord of the Tides, but no!

You would ask about Rhaena getting that chance before Aerion since she is the daughter of his only daughter, but you don’t see that having a good answer, so you don’t even waste your breath.

“What of Joffrey?” You bring up. “He should be your heir.”

Your grandfather sighs and nods stiffly but quickly counters you. “Perhaps, but I want it to be Aerion. The grandson of my son.”

It’s not hard to realize the actual truth behind his response; Joffrey is the bastard son of your father. With Lucerys gone, he can actually name an actual Velaryon his heir. It doesn’t seem fair, your father loved your brothers whether they were his or not, but who are you to deny Aerion of a fruitful future?

He comes first now, and it doesn’t seem like your grandfather is actually asking your permission or for your actual thoughts, his mind seems mind up, so with a deep breath and a hesitant smile you accept what he brings up. “That…would make me happy. And I’m sure it would’ve made my father happy.”

Your grandfather offers you a smile and surprises you by patting your shoulder as an endearing gesture that brings a…silence where you smile faintly out of pride, but you can’t help but think what next. You’ve never actually spent so much time with your grandfather, and if you do your grandmother has always been with you.

“Why don’t you show your knowledge on the ship,” your grandfather luckily drifts the attention over.

However, just as you approach the plank resting on the dock, he stops you by grabbing your shoulder and interjecting loudly. “Alyn!”

You follow his gaze and blink repeatedly in surprise when you see the same Addam of Hull who fought in your engagement tourney.

When the man’s eyes fall on you beside your grandfather his lips part in surprise, but when he reaches you he closes his mouth and bows his head. “Princess,” he greets you properly right away.

“Ser,” you greet him quite excitedly.

“Good,” your grandfather cuts in and steps back. “You remember each other.”

You drift your gaze to your grandfather and express your confusion with knitted eyebrows that he helps ease with a quick response. “I sent him to check on you for me when I was fighting in the Step Stones.”

Instead of going to you himself?

Whatever.

“Really?” You ask with more surprise. “Well thank you, he was a very excellent jouster who brought Driftmark and me great pride.”

Alyn offers you a stiff smile and bows his head as a thank you.

“Good, I’m glad to hear he can’t show his skill,” your grandfather fills the man’s silence. “Why don’t I let you get reacquainted.”

Without room to argue he walks away and leaves you alone with Ser Alyn—or is it just Alyn since it was your grandfather who sent him?

“Seeing you again makes this world feel small. I never thought our paths would cross again,” you fill the silence to avoid awkward silences.

“In truth neither did I,” he admits. “But it is an honor.”

You offer him a smile and notice how much more muscular he is now compared to before. He’s also a lot more serious too.

“Who—”

“Alyn!”

You both turn your attention to the caller, and you see a tall and thin man with long dreadlocks approaching with a bright and charming grin that immediately works to intrigue you.

Albeit when he notices your unique white hair, your long and elegant red gown finer than any material he’s touched; accompanied with shiny gold jewelry on your hands and neck, he realizes that you are no ordinary woman. The man’s grin slowly disappears at the realization and he slows down towards Alyn. Once he’s finally nearby he straightens up and doesn’t fail to bow when he joins you and Alyn.

“My Princess,” the mystery man greets you with a nervous but charming smile that actually serves to completely get rid of any tension or awkward atmosphere he could’ve brought.

“Princess,” Alyn interjects and looks at the man in blue beside him. “This is my brother Addam. Addam, this is the Princess, granddaughter of Lord Corlys Velaryon.”

You and Addam meet each other's gaze and that snobby princess Addam already imagined you’d be upon laying eyes on you completely falls apart when you offer him a bright smile in return. You perhaps are one of the most majestic beauties he’s ever laid his eyes on, he can’t help but think. Even from afar you were luminous and almost like an illusion, but from up close he could see your beauty was no illusion, he could see a sadness in your eyes, but so much more that intrigued him.

You give him your name and Addam’s eyes proceed to fall on the sleeping infant strapped on your chest. “Who is this?”

You cradle your baby's head and introduce him to Addam and Alyn. “This is my son, Aerion Targaryen.”

“Hm, not one to care about first impressions I see,” Addam throws out boldly, making his brother shoot him a warning glare. You, however, laugh genuinely in return, which is something that surprises even you. You didn’t think you could ever laugh the way you just did again.

“He takes after his father,” you mirror his humor.

“Well, we’ll let this lad get away with it this time.”

You scoff and nod. “I’ll make sure he’s more prepared next time,” you remark lightheartedly.

He hums and glances over at his brother. “Could I ask how you met?”

“At a tourney,” you answer for Alyn. “Last year. Apparently, he was sent by my grandfather.”

“Tourney?” Addam asks as if it’s the first time hearing of it. “Aren’t you supposed to be a knight?”

“Actually I was trying to get to that too,” you share and both wait for a response from the serious man.

“Well I was surprised to see what money could buy,” he remarks. “I was deceitful when I entered. I am no knight.”

You hum and ease his growing worry right away by assuring him. “Well, I would say you were actually quite entertaining and impressive. You fought well and won.”

Addam pats his brother's back and whispers, “I’m proud of you.”

You watch Addam offer his brother a very faint smile and you can’t help but remember the grief you had pushed aside as you remember the brother you lost.

“I was hoping to have some early brunch with my brother,” Addam now directs at you. “But it seems insignificant now that you have graced us with your presence.”

You can't help but smile with amusement and feel slightly flattered. Addam is surely more outgoing than his brother in a way that doesn’t fail to catch your interest and actually helps bring attention to his fierce spirit that you can’t help but feel the need to get to know.

Actually meeting him makes you feel like you found something you had been in search of your whole life.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- romantic or platonic? (For those who have read moonlight before already know but please don’t spoil it for the rest heheh :)

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638

[creganslover]

「 ✦ Masterlist ✦ 」

find all my works here ── .✦ last updated: aug. 16 2024 ── .✦

⋆˚࿔ Rhaenyra Targaryen 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

My Queen - Summary: Throwing your life away to travel to Dragonstone was not your initial idea, nor was claiming a dragon... and getting to bond with the Queen herself.

⋆˚࿔ Daemon Targaryen 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

none yet

⋆˚࿔ Jacaerys Targaryen 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

none yet

⋆˚࿔ Lucerys Velaryon 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

none yet

⋆˚࿔ Aegon II Targaryen 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Sneak Away (18+!!) - Summary: There's perks in knowing Maegor's tunnels, and Aegon makes the most of it, by going to you every time the world seemed to turn against him, and tonight, you remind him how good he can be.

⋆˚࿔ Aemond Targaryen 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

none yet

⋆˚࿔ Helaena Targaryen 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Hellish Dream

⋆˚࿔ Alicent Hightower 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

none yet

⋆˚࿔ Gwayne Hightower 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

none yet

⋆˚࿔ Cregan Stark 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The Pack Survives Woman Like You - Summary: Skilled as a warrior like your husband, you both made the dangerous pair... the latest battle proves just how much you mean to him. More than A Woman Cregan drabble #1 Beast of Winterfell

⋆˚࿔ Addam of Hull / Addam Velaryon 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Spicetown Shore - Summary: Being the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, she had no choice but to let you be the one to confront Seasmoke's new rider.

⋆˚࿔ Criston Cole 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

none yet

[damneddamsy]

renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part ix)

a/n: Silverwing being ride-or-die is my new favourite trope

Princess Aemma Velaryon's death reached Dragonstone only after her forlorn brother, Prince Lucerys, feverishly searched the seas and skies alike for any sign of her or Silverwing. All he came upon of her was the shredded length of her velvet cloak by the shores of Shipbreaker's Bay, his sister's sweet lavender perfume lost to the salt of the sea. He had clung to it like it was his lifeline, and that's how they found him in the Sea Dragon tower, within Aemma's chambers—crying his eyes out and calling out to her.

Luke sobbed deeply, pulling at his hair. "It should've been me."

Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon walked in on Luke, eager to see her children again, and eventually registering his undone suffering. Once the mother noticed the familiar article of clothing—formerly her own—she went insensate. Her shoulders shook, composure gone to ashes, and sank to her knees. Daemon was stoic to the scene, save for his hand that went to direly fist at his sword.

The older prince spoke first, relieving the tension. Despite his grave face, his tone was forbidding, intending to burn. "Who the fuck did this?"

Luke's upper lip curled, his hands clenching at his sister's cape. "Him."

Nothing else needed to be said. The reality of who was capable of executing such treason was well understood, though uttering his name was like spitting venom.

Rhaenyra roared out with the visceral fury of a dragon, and once that drained, she was but an empty vessel. She heaved a solemn breath, palming at her abdomen. The misery that wracked her labours was far less cruel than whatever this was, the anguish overwhelming, her chest aching with the burden of mourning two daughters, their deaths igniting the flames of war.

When she tearily looked to her side, Daemon had disappeared.

Prince Daemon had been conditioned to barbarity and grief, so much they were welcome drinking companions of his. Aemma was no different to this addition. In her, he saw echoes of his own turbulent youth—the same steely determination, the same unpredictability, the restless drive to remain an enigma to those around her. Perhaps it was this reflection of his own wild spirit that spurred him to seek out grisly revenge.

Daemon's warpath toward Caraxes suddenly stopped as he saw him standing before the painted table. The hollow swordsman. The one-eyed kinslayer. A mirror of Daemon's worst motivations. Here stood the rider of the beast that had slain his daughter.

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister without hesitation, the Valyrian blade slicing through the air with a menacing swish.

"Poetic justice or self-destruction?" he muttered, masking his fury.

Aemond bore a black smile, barely lifting his lips. "Depends on which of us you ask, uncle."

X

Rumours had begun to spread that Aemond Targaryen had defected to the Blacks. Some even called it a surrender. Perhaps it was the stabs of a prickling conscience, the blood stains of love in his hands, or the affliction of sorrow that had overtaken him, making him ready to face the wrath of a grieving mother—and his own death. Bereft of his truest calling, shattered by dreams he had destroyed with his hands, the one-eyed prince swiftly concluded that life held no meaning without his princess. He intended to follow her footsteps soon enough, to fulfil the conclusive detail of their promise: never to part from Aemma henceforth.

Without Aemond and Vhagar, King’s Landing had become perilously vulnerable. The soaring pall of the largest and most terrifying dragon no longer loomed over the capital, and it was clear to all that their strongest defence was now absent. The Greens' was evidently morale staggered. With Vhagar’s absence, Rhaenyra’s forces could bring the fire with seven dragons and fewer consequences, and rumours of dissent spread throughout the city. The Greens were losing their grip, outmatched in numbers and firepower, leaving the smallfolk exposed and the city teetering on the edge of defeat.

Terrible fables spoke of King Aegon and Aemond One-Eye’s grandiose schemes to slay the false queen under the guise of begging for mercy. But these tales were discredited when it was revealed that Aemond had been imprisoned in the chambers of the late princess—a ruthless move orchestrated by Queen Rhaenyra. It was, in every sense, a final sentence.

“If that savage snake truly loved her,” Rhaenyra had said vengefully to her husband, “then that place will drive him mad. Let his evil haunt him. I want to see the fear in his eyes when I burn him.”

Yet fear was not something Aemond would entertain. He would sooner fall on his sword than show terror before his wretched half-sister.

Over time, however, he did fall—deeper into madness consumed by the unfamiliarity of being locked in the space that had once been Aemma’s. The burden of memory became the iron bars and chains of this prison. Numb to everything else, he wandered her chambers aimlessly, haunted by her absence. She was everywhere and nowhere at once—in the vanity, where strands of her hair clung to her hairbrush; in the bureau, where her meticulously folded maps and lists remained undisturbed; and in the faint perfume that lingered in the air, forever scenting her dresser.

A full moon's cycle passed before Aemond began hearing her voice. A breathy echo, a laughing whisper, a figment of his broken mind. With each crash of the waves against the jagged rocks beneath her balcony, he would catch that soft, familiar sound: My friend.

The echo eased him in ways nothing else could, drawing a smile to his face. If this was madness, it was madness he welcomed. My love, he thought, and in that moment, he would’ve gladly surrendered to it.

Jace was the one who finally confronted Aemond, his vengeance boiling over upon his return from the Vale. Sword in hand, he cornered the one-eyed prince in his sister's chambers. What was surprising was how the captive did not baulk at the sight of the angry prince. He simply tilted his head, offering his neck and awaiting the onslaught.

"Fucking murderous cunt," Jace spat, barely above a whisper, trembling with restrained fury.

Aemond was inured now. It resounded in his mind with every breath, a constant reminder of what he'd become. His gaze remained distant, vacant as he met Jace's stare.

"Mount your dragon," Jace ordered, dripping with disdain. "I only spare you this avail because of how dearly Aemma loved you."

Aemond didn’t even blink. It took more effort than expected to form words after days of silence.

"I will not fight you," he muttered, voice gravelly from disuse. "So, get it over with. Finish me."

But Jace wasn't about to grant him that release.

"You're coming with me," he growled, eyes blazing with wrath. "I won't believe my sister is gone until I see it with my eyes. Find me Silverwing, and only then will you get what you so desperately crave."

Aemond turned away, blinking back a rare sting of emotion clouding his vision. He had been so benumbed, that the sensation sliced him raw. His jaw clenched, forcing his voice through the anguish tightening his throat.

"Silverwing sank beneath the waves."

"Then she should've washed ashore by now," Jace snapped, his tone sharpening. "Or been spotted near Storm's End, or found by sailors off Driftmark. Someone would've seen her. I will not grieve with my family until I know for certain. Until I’ve seen damning proof."

Aemond’s teeth ground together in frustration. "My hope ended with her."

"Hope?" Jace sneered, the word wresting bitterly in his mouth. "Know this, uncle—gods forbid I find what I seek, you won’t just be dead to the realm, you’ll be nothing more than a relic of a prince no one will remember."

X

We cannot know the ancient minds of dragons. They were not merely instruments of war—they were beasts of chaos, as unreliable as the gales they rode. A bitter reminder of how little command Targaryens truly held, even over their own beasts. Yet, the Good Queen's Silverwing had always been distinct from the others—gentler, some would say, with a serenity that belied the strength coiled within her shimmering, pale-scaled body.

Her loyalty to her peaceful rider ran deeper than bloodshed or battle, for it was not assumed upon command or duty but of a friendship that transcended power. It was instinctual, a mutual loneliness that they shared. Silverwing had intuited Aemma’s presence since her first touch upon her scales, the soft whispers of affection, the implicit trust.

Following Aemma's descent from her dragon's saddle, the waters hit her hard, churning her into the abyss. Just as the waves threatened to pull her deeper, Silverwing cut through them, her talons outstretched, and in a swift, precise motion, she plucked Aemma from the depths before the sea could claim her entirely. Silverwing’s grip was painstaking, cradling her rider’s limp form between her sharp talons, ensuring she was protected. With a great struggle, Silverwing battered her wings against the storm, fighting the ocean’s pull, lifting them both back into the air, finding cover above the storm clouds.

And now, in the quiet of this remote sanctuary, camouflaged against rocks, their bond held firm, even as Aemma lay unconscious amidst the mud and grass, suspended between life and death.

The old dragon sensed more than the warmth of her rider's skin when she nudged her snout against her constantly, letting out a low, concerned rumble. She felt the pulse of her heart, flimsy but steady, the rhythm of her breath, shallow but resilient. Every beat, every rise and fall of Aemma’s chest was a call to Silverwing, one that she refused to neglect.

Silverwing would shift her body closer at night, nestling Aemma to the earth, her massive wing folded protectively over the young princess' limp body like a shroud of safety from the bitter storms and the chilliness of dusk. Her fiery breaths ghosted over Aemma, keeping her warm.

Days turned into nights, and nights into days, but Silverwing never left, only venturing far enough to find sustenance, returning quickly, her eyes scanning the skies for any threats that might approach. But none came. The world remained unaware of the little hidden firth by the hills and the fragile life it cradled.

Silverwing’s troth was not just an animal instinct—it was a devotion to the one person who had never treated her as a mere beast. For nigh on a week, Aemma had doted on her, spoken to her in the tongue of Old Valyria, just as Alysanne did, with the same reverence and care, and Silverwing, in turn, had taken her into the skies, free from the burdens of the mortal realm.

In this isolated place, far from the throes of war, Silverwing held the last vestige of hope for her rider’s survival. It wasn't until a dark-haired sailor had stumbled upon their refuge that the mighty she-dragon let out her first roar in a while.

Addam of Hull hadn't expected much that day. He had set out on his small boat with nothing but the hope of catching enough fish to feed Driftmark's shores. The oceans had been restless ever since the bloodshed over Shipbreaker's Bay, and his mind had drifted as the waves lapped at the sides of his skiff. He cast his net, whistling a well-known sea shanty, letting the salt air fill his lungs, when something unusual caught his eye, beyond a small inlet of water rambling away from the beach.

A flash of silver. A rustle in the trees.

As his little skiff crept closer and into the currents of the slight strait, Addam’s heart surged. There, nestled within the protective embrace of the rocks, lay a great silvery-blue dragon that was the name on everyone's fuller lips—Silverwing. Her glittering hide was unmistakable, though it bore the wear of days spent at the mercy of the weather. She lay low to the ground, her immense wings tucked tightly around something as if guarding a prized jewel.

Addam wasted no time. He rowed forth, with all the strength he could muster, his mind racing. Could it be? Could Princess Aemma have survived the hand of fate, the cruel sea, her murderous husband, and the relentless storm? Could it be that Rhaeynra's heir was very much still alive?

As he drew nigher, disembarking his boat and clambering up the rocks, Silverwing raised her head, her auburn eyes locking onto him with a vicious intensity. She cautioned him with a low rumble, ready to spew out her ire.

For a moment, Addam feared she truly might lash out, mistaking him for a foe, but she did not move. Instead, she took a prudent sniff and juddered her head, softening almost.

Eventually, she unfurled her wings narrowly, revealing the motionless form of Princess Aemma cradled beneath her. She was drenched, emaciated, tattered, bruised, and her silver hair matted to her gaunt face, but her chest rose and fell.

There was yet life in her. Barely. All alone. No one else. Just Silverwing standing vigil over her as if she’d been guarding the princess all these days. Ten days.

"Gods be good," Addam murmured.

Silverwing shifted away, stooping into the rocky niche, as if to offer her rider to him, but kept her weather eye on him. Addam made quick work of it, lifting her carefully into his arms off the wet ground. She was light, too light, but she stirred faintly at his touch.

"Princess?" He was unsure if she could hear him.

As he carried her back toward the boat, shrouded her in the coils of his nets, her fiery guardian observed the sailor, her vigilant eyes never leaving Aemma’s form.

She pierced a startling trill at her rider's saviour.

Addam jerked in shock, nearly dropping his docking ropes.

Silverwing rose off the ground, and shook herself off, wings beginning to unfurl as if preparing to take flight.

"You—er, stay," Addam stammered, desperately gesturing with his palms, trying to convey some form of command to the dragon.

He knew full well he was speaking to a creature that answered to no man but her rider, and she was not going to let just anyone snatch the princess away unless she was certain they meant no harm.

Carefully, Addam took a step closer, heart thudding in his chest as he bowed his head to the dragon.

"I'm not here to harm her," he said softly as if Silverwing could understand his plea. "I want to save her."

For a long moment, the dragon stayed unmoving, watching him closely, casting her own unfamiliar judgement. Then, with a slow and deliberate movement, she backed away scarcely.

"Thank you," he whispered, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he was thanking the dragon, the gods, or fate itself.

X

Returning Princess Aemma in such a state to her kin on Dragonstone would have them questioning Addam's heartening intentions toward her. Rather than have them cast their vile aspersions on him and taint his shoddy name further, the brothers knew it was only proper to nurse the princess to health before anything else. The secret of Aemma's survival would remain closely guarded for a while longer.

"She thinks I'm her father," Addam quietly shared with his brother, Alyn, upon the fifth evening of secretively nursing Princess Aemma in their meagre home. It had been a total of sixteen days since she was believed deceased.

Alyn raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the small, makeshift room where their heir to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms lay in a thrifty cot, wrapped in linen blankets and tended to with great care. Her condition had steadily improved, but she remained barely conscious and frail.

"What do you mean, ‘she thinks I’m her father’? Is she delirious?" He asked.

Addam leaned against the doorframe, picking off the herbs from his thumb. "Perhaps she seeks comfort. And she finds it in the late Laenor."

As they spoke, a soft groan emanated from the cot, interrupting them. Aemma stirred, her dark eyes fluttering open briefly before closing again. Her lips moved silently, murmuring incoherent words. Addam and Alyn exchanged a glance, their choices harshening.

Alyn's brow furrowed. "How is she then?"

"Better than expected," Addam replied, shaking his head. "Her fever broke, I've stopped feeding her milk of the poppy. She recalls her mother often. The poor thing had nearly cracked every rib in her chest, the healers had to brace her spine with wood until yesterday. The blood of Old Valyria heals quick, I suppose."

Alyn nodded, absorbing the solemnity of his brother’s words. "And the dragon?"

"Stays close, hovers around the Driftmark groves. I've been feeding her, too," Addam said, shaking his head with a small, wry smile.

Alyn clapped his brother on his back, grateful for him. "How are you faring?"

Addam shrugged casually. "I’m doing what I can."

"Good. Keep watch," Alyn instructed, nodding at him. "On the morrow, I’ll prepare a fresh supply of herbs and check on the guards. There's only so long that we can keep her out of prying eyes."

Addam sat by the firelight in the hearth, his eyes constantly drifting to the young girl as she lay nestled beneath the heavy blankets, adjusting them around her again, his movements careful, almost tender. Every now and then, Aemma would stir, her brow twitching in her sleep, speaking illegibly. The flicker of the flames stained her face in hues of gold and shadow, silvery hair glinting, making her seem almost unearthly, untouchable. She could not have been older than fifteen, an age no child should have to raise battlements in a war.

“She’s strong,” Addam murmured, more to himself than to anyone in particular. “Stronger than I imagined.”

"A future queen," Alyn said. "There's hope for her yet."

X

The second sons of the Blacks and Greens, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Aemond Targaryen, were unlikely allies as they scoured the realm despite their bitterness, united on a front to find a whiff of Aemma or Silverwing, searching high and low, from the misty mountains of the Vale to the shadowed peaks of Harrenhal and the foggy forests of the Riverlands. Every whisper of a silver-blue dragon sighting raised their hopes, only to be dashed moments later.

The weight of Aemma's absence dangled over them like a blade. Jace was fierce, relentless in finding that damned dragon himself, dead or alive. Maybe they were on a wild goose chase, led astray to not confront the reality that awaited them. Every dead end with clueless lords and fishermen was a new wound, yet he never yielded.

Their unwavering trepidation whenever the folk and lords saw Aemond cut deeper than a lash of a thousand scorpions. Each glance was a reminder, a searing echo of his own words to Aemma that fateful night: "Better to be feared than scorned." But now, as their suspicions pressed down on him, the question gnawed at his memory—was it really? The cold satisfaction he once sought had curdled into something far more bitter, and he found himself wondering whether 'fear' had ever truly been the answer, or if it had only left him more isolated, more empty.

Aemond, however, wore a stoic mask over his understanding of the truth, though beneath it, the torment tore at his soul. If Aemma's room had been perfect chaos, this was his purgatory. His nights grew sleepless, plagued by the recollections of his mistakes, the sight of her empty saddle still burned behind his eyes. He carried the guilt like a second skin, abrading when it got too thin. A little part of him was driven to heed Jace, an insignificant confidence, not by burden but by desperation—a need for redemption, to see her alive, to prove to himself that she had somehow survived.

Now, close to five nights, it had become custom for Jace, drunk on grief and rage, to drag his feet outside Aemond's pitched tent, embracing his shining sword, fighting his morals. Fighting the inevitable. Jace never spoke to Aemond directly, but his accusations found a way into his earshot.

"Aemma was good. Peaceful," he would hear Jace lament. "She had dreams. She was our sunshine. Now she’s out there somewhere, alone in death. Or worse. And you, of all people, claim to be the one who loved her? You never did. You fucking murderer. Selfish cunt."

This night, a familiar darkness flickered alight in Aemond. Unfailing despair powered him to react. He walked out of his tent, stepping forward in a threat until Jace's raging face was inches apart, his sword slipping from his grasp. His single eye narrowed.

"Say it again," Aemond dared, his voice low and cold. "Say that I do not love her. Say it, bastard."

Jace shoved him by his chest, his rage boiling over. "You threw her away like she was nothing! For your treacherous family! You never gave a fuck about her, and that is the truth!"

Aemond stumbled back but didn’t fight back. How could he, he had nothing left to withstand. His mouth twisted in pain, but his voice remained hard.

"Hate me all you want. Blame me. Strike me down. Your words hold facts. But don’t think for one second that your fury burns hotter than mine. Or that your love for her transcends mine own."

"Fuck you!"

Jace shoved him again, shouting out his rage, this time harder, the power of his wrath pushing Aemond back a step. And again and again, until Aemond fell back into the mud. Back again to ten years ago, when a spiteful Aegon had towered over him, Sunfyre peering over his shoulder mockingly.

Jace met his gaze, the two facing eye to eye, the consequence of years of rivalry and betrayal still fresh between them. But beneath it, there was something else now—shared desperation, grief that only they could understand. The closest brother of Aemma and her husband.

Aemond's breath hitched, bearing himself with his palms, the words barely escaping through his gritted teeth. He looked Jace in the eye, his jaw tight.

"I have nothing left. Seize your sword and end it all."

Jace leaned down, seething, his voice trembling with scorn. "Look at where your absolution got you. Begging your foes for death. Pathetic."

Aemond’s hand twitched toward his dagger on instinct, his face a storm of rage and remorse. He had been so accustomed to being on his back, bearing through the punches thrown, facing defeat, now when he was made to encounter this yet again.

"Yes. That is all you see," Aemond agreed, his expression darkening. "All you ever see. Aegon, Rhaenyra, you. A pathetic boy too sightless for power. I've belonged nowhere but with Aemma all my life"—his voice cracked—"and now she's gone, too. And I am left trapped in this resenting world."

Jace stayed quiet, breathing deeply.

"I could not save her," he whispered, the words hollow as they left him. "No atonement will ever free me from this, even while I chase forgiveness from a ghost. I will never know peace again until my last breath."

His trembling fingers unsheathed his dagger and threw it to Jace's feet. "Make your shot count, nephew. Plunge it into my other eye, and take what is due. I do not care anymore."

Jace’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He took a step back, torn between fury and pity, his expression unreadable. He looked away, blinking back tears as if the significance of Aemond’s words was too much to bear. He couldn’t bring himself to speak—there was nothing left to say.

"You don't deserve peace, not even in death," Jace eventually whispered before walking away.

X

The air was dense with the scent of salt and damp wood as Aemma lay in a bed draped with soft linens, the faint sounds of the lapping waves against the rocky shores of Driftmark echoing in her ears. Her body felt heavy, as though weighed down by an invisible force. Pain coursed through her like a vicious tide, abrupt and relentless, yet there was a warmth surrounding her that whispered of safety.

Fingers of consciousness began to weave their way through the fog enveloping her mind. Flashes of memory flickered like distant constellations—Silverwing’s fierce wings, the chaos of the storm, and Addam’s urgent voice calling her name. She struggled against the haze, her heart pounding with the remnants of fear and desperation.

"Aemma." The voice broke through her reverie, softer now, tinged with concern.

She fought to open her eyes, the effort feeling monumental. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered, and the dim light of the stuffy room began to emerge. A figure stood at the foot of the bed, cloaked and hooded, shrouded in shadow.

A wave of shock washed over her, and before she could fully grasp the situation, he lunged forward, pressing a warm hand to her lips to silence her gasp. Heart racing, Aemma’s gaze narrowed, the edges of her memory sharpening.

"Ssh, my love," he shushed her.

She recognized the intensity in his gaze, even from beneath the hood. He hovered close, his presence both alarming and strangely familiar. His silver hair rolled off his neck and shoulders, catching the light and casting shadows that accentuated the depth of his expression. One striking violet eye shone through the darkness, piercing and filled with emotion, while the other was shrouded in shadow.

“Aemond,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, like the faintest breeze. It felt like a lifetime since she had last spoken, her throat dry and cracked.

He flinched at the sound of her voice as if she had struck a nerve. Slowly, he lifted his head, an indigo eye swirling with a charged storm—pain, regret, and something darker lurking beneath the surface.

His voice was as firm as steel, yet equally gentle. "We've done our parts here. You’re coming with me, and this time, forever."

X

[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART III)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Violence, blood and injury, mentions of death, alcohol consumption, angst, and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said, (not proofread).

Dialogue in italics is High Valyrian.

WC: 5.4k

Series Masterlist

(A/N and taglist at the end of the chapter)

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had always prided himself on being a capable fighter. Although Jacaerys' strength primarily lay in politics, he never let his swordsmanship fall behind. In fact, Ser Harwin Strong, the captain of the City Watch, and as many whispered, his real father,  had taught him everything about the art of yielding a sword. From the correct way of unsheathing the blade to keeping his knees slightly bent so he wouldn't stagger as easily. He still recalled how at the tender age of six, Ser Harwin kneeled to his level as he placed his heavy arm on his shoulder.

'A sword is but a tool. Its true power lies within the one who yields it. Visualise your desired outcome, and your blade will follow.'

Ser Criston Cole, however, had no patience for his idealised notions of battle. While Ser Harwin had taught Jacaerys the foundations of swordsmanship, it was Ser Criston who introduced him to the unforgiving truth of a real battle, proving that sparring with a straw dummy wasn't useful beyond the training grounds.

'When steel is drawn, a fair fight isn't something anyone should expect.'

He still bitterly remembered how Ser Criston had him spar against his uncle Aegon. Anyone who watched that scene would've thought it wasn't a fair battle. Aegon was already four-and-ten, much taller and stronger than he was. Jacaerys still remembered how Aegon's strikes had come faster and harder than anything he had faced before, especially the kick to his stomach that sent him flying to the ground with a thud, and yet, Aegon didn't cease delivering blow after blow with brute force.

'Is this what you teach, Cole? Cruelty to the weaker opponent?' 

The sting of defeat, the bruises that lingered for days, and the humiliation of being bested in front of others, particularly his grandsire Viserys, were all part of Ser Criston's lesson. And in that moment, Jacaerys came to realise that cruelty might be something he didn't possess.

Now there was no excuse. It wasn't going to be an unfair battle since Prince Elyas Martell was but a year older than him, and couldn't have trained any differently. However, Jacaerys had never killed a man with his own hands. Yes, he had led men into battle, but taking someone's life with his sword was something he had yet to experience. There was no doubt that killing was nothing more than just a mundane task for Elyas. Those Dornishmen seemed to take pleasure in the most outlandish ways, which made him question how strong of a warrior Prince Elyas was to defeat such great lords.

Then he recalled the story Addam of Hull had told them in Dragonstone, how the reason why Princess Y/n remained unwed was because his suitors had met the common fate of death. As much as he didn't want to believe those rumours, he had bitterly grown to accept that all those tales about the Dornishmen were nothing but true. 

The young prince frowned as he took in the arid, unforgiving weather. It would've been foolish to wear his full armour for the trial; the extreme heat would likely cause him to collapse before he even reached the arena. He sported nothing more than a Targaryen breastplate on top of a linen tunic, and his breeches. He considered sporting his gauntlets, but the sweat of his hands would affect the grip on his sword. Even with just the breastplate, he already felt how beads of sweat rolled down his back.

Jacaerys had been so fixated on winning the trial that he barely had any time to process his betrothal with Princess Y/n. He wondered if all of her suitors even wished for power, or mayhaps they were simply entranced by her beauty. Despite her attitude,  there was something enticing about the Princess he couldn't bring himself to deny. But what was he going to do if behind that beauty lay nothing but different ideals and hostility? What would the rest of the houses think upon finding out about their alliance with House Martell? How would the two of them rule the whole realm if the Princess put Dorne's interests before the rest of Westeros? 

Not to mention, even if he emerged victorious from the trial, he doubted Princess Y/n would be too pleased if her brother's life was the price. The thought gnawed at him as he fastened his boots. But what if he were the one to fall? He couldn't even begin to imagine the devastation it would bring to his mother, and the mere thought of her grief twisted his stomach. Daemon had offered to fight in his place, a suggestion his mother had eagerly supported. Yet, Jacaerys had refused, knowing that the Princess would never consider his proposal if he didn't prove his own worth in the arena. To win her hand without facing the trial himself would be dishonourable.

No matter what he did, all odds were against him.

"It's time," one of the guards spoke behind the door.

One guard led the way, as the other trailed behind him, with his spear in hand, ready to attack if the Prince even attempted to do anything. They walked through the labyrinthine halls of the Old Palace, adorned with pillars and chandeliers, lighting up the place as the blinding rays of sunshine met with the golden decorations.

They stepped into the flourishing gardens leading to the arena, where Rhaenyra and Daemon awaited his arrival. He could hear his mother's voice as they spoke in High Valyrian, unaware of his presence.

"I have lost too many children, Daemon. The thought of losing Jace—" Rhaenyra's voice faltered, her lip quivering as she fought to swallow the rising lump in her throat. 

"Elyas would be a fool to slay the Crown Prince," Daemon mumbled. 

"You, above all, should know what these people are capable of."

"But killing the future king of the realm is a line they would not dare cross."

"And yet, must the price we pay for this war be our children?" Rhaenyra's voice broke. 

"I was not aware how my death would be such an interesting thing to discuss," Jacaerys muttered bitterly.

"Jace," Rhaenyra turned to face her son, cupping his cheek. "For the last time, you do not have to do this—"

Jacaerys swatted his mother's hand off, his eyes full of contempt. 

"You have no right to act concerned, Mother. You pushed forward with this, knowing the risks, knowing that I might pay with my life. Whatever fate awaits me in this trial... if I die, my blood is in your hands. But at least I will have done my duty."

Before Rhaenyra could say anything else to her son, the guards urged him to move forward.

With a heavy heart, Jacaerys turned to face her mother one last time, but she was nowhere to be seen as they most likely had been taken to the gallery. Before the guards pushed the double doors they exchanged a look of pity, clearing a path for him. That didn't go unnoticed by the Prince, and it only added to the river of negative emotions he had been drowning in since they arrived.

As Jacaerys stepped through the double doors, the world around him was suddenly swallowed by darkness, with only a narrow beam of light from the distant end of the tunnel. The corridor stretched before him, its walls echoing with the muffled sounds of the world above. He could hear the creak of wooden beams straining under the weight of footsteps, making him wonder how many eyes might be waiting for him outside. The air was cool and heavy, carrying with it the scent of the arena's sands, yet the usual roar of a crowd was eerily absent.

Jacaerys took a deep breath before stepping into the arena. The sun was almost blinding, leaving him momentarily disoriented. Feeling like a caged animal, he scanned his surroundings, shielding his eyes with his hand. To his surprise, there weren't many spectators; he could only make out the members of the Martell council. Then, his eyes quickly found his mother, whose face was etched with deep concern and regret. Nearby, Daemon, unable to sit still, attempted to calm his nerves with a cup of wine. Not very far from where the council sat, there were three empty seats in the royal box, where Prince Qoren took his seat, with Farien on his lap. Jacaerys grew confused as he saw Prince Elyas take a seat next to his father, leaving one empty. Was he not going to fight for his sister? Mayhaps the Princess' champion was her sworn protector. 

A few moments had passed, yet the Princess was nowhere to be seen. Jacaerys' mind raced with doubts. Was she not going to attend the trial she herself had proposed? 

Suddenly, the double doors opposite him began to open and the Martells began to cheer. Prince Qoren wrapped his arm around Farien, who couldn't stop clapping as he bounced on his father's lap. Elyas signalled one of the servants to bring him a cup of wine, as he leaned back on his seat and looked at Jacaerys with a sneer. 

His eyes widened in shock as the figure emerging from the other side of the arena wasn't one of the twins either. 

It was Princess Y/n herself.

The Princess strode toward the centre of the arena, the sun-kissed amber fabric of her dress flowing like a whisper with each step. The high slits on either side of the skirt fluttered and snapped, revealing glimpses of her legs as she moved. With a fluid motion, Princess Y/n unsheathed the two golden daggers holstered on her thighs, playfully twirling them around her fingers.

"Princess Y/n Martell, the Dancing Serpent of Dorne, and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the Crown Prince. Let the trial commence," Ser Domeric Uller announced, earning another wave of applause from the Martells. 

Dancing Serpent of Dorne?

Jacaerys took an instinctive step back, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Two guards blocked the door with their spears, leaving no chance of escape. In the glaring sunlight, Princess Y/n appeared like an oasis amid the dunes, her bronze skin glowing with an ethereal radiance, akin to that of a deity. She moved with the lethal agility of a serpent, her eyes locked onto him, calculating, and ready to strike. A storm of doubts began to cloud Jacaerys. What was he supposed to do? Kill her? Maim her? 

He suddenly heard Ser Criston Cole's voice echoing in the back of his mind.

'Blades up. Engage.'

As if guided by pure instinct, the Prince unsheathed his sword, the sharp silver catching and reflecting a ray of sunlight. He quickly assumed a defensive stance, his eyes fixed onto the Princess. If he kept his distance, he should have the advantage over her. He lunged, aiming not for a lethal blow, but to knock the Princess off her feet, hard enough to force her to yield. 

He was not there to shed blood. 

The Princess easily dodged his attack as his blade slashed the air, and he quickly withdrew to his defensive stance. They began circling each other, eyes locked, neither daring to look away.

A bead of sweat trickled down Jacaerys' temple, his heart pounding as he watched Y/n assume a low, unfamiliar stance. She held both of her daggers up, poised like a serpent's fangs as she moved with languid grace, inching closer to him, almost hypnotically.

Before he could fully register the movement, a sharp pain sliced through his arm. Jacaerys hissed as Y/n's blade carved a deep gash, warm blood seeping through his white tunic and dripping onto the sand. He clenched his jaw, forcing the searing pain to the back of his mind, determined to ignore the Martells' cheers echoing around the arena. At least the arm wielding his sword was still intact.

The dance between the dragon and the serpent continued. Y/n darted forward, her twin daggers a blur as she unleashed a relentless flurry of slashes. Jacaerys struggled to block, each clash of steel sending vibrations up his injured arm. As she pressed her assault, he caught a glimpse of something feral in her eyes, a familiar look he knew all too well: bloodlust.

Growing weary of her relentless attacks, he sidestepped one of her strikes and delivered a swift, powerful kick to her side. The sheer force sent the Princess onto the sand with a grunt, one of her daggers slipping from her grasp.

Seizing the moment, Jacaerys lifted his blade to force her to surrender. But before he could strike, the Princess rolled to the side and kicked his shin, sending him stumbling backwards. In a heartbeat, Y/n was on him, knocking the sword from his grasp. She straddled him, raising her dagger high, ready to plunge it into his throat. Jacaerys reacted just in time, catching her wrist in a bone-crushing grip. Y/n cried out, the pain weakening her hold, and Jacaerys seized the opportunity. With a desperate reach, he grabbed the dagger she had previously dropped, which was just at arm's reach, and drove it straight into her side. 

"Sister!" Elyas stood from his seat, ready to drive a spear into Jacaerys' heart. 

The Princess wailed in agony, her body retracting as she recoiled from the blow. Jacaerys quickly rolled free and scrambled to his feet, retrieving his sword and pointing it at her, his chest heaving as he tried to keep her pinned under the threat of his blade.

"Princess, please, I do not wish to hurt you—"

Jacaerys' eyes widened in horror as he watched Y/n yank the dagger from her side with a wicked grin. Without hesitation, she drove it into his calf. He groaned in pain, nearly collapsing, and used his sword to regain balance, the blade trembling under his weight.

Princess Y/n stood up from the ground, twirling the dagger as she watched the Prince struggle to get back to a defensive stance. Blood trickled down her side, soaking into her dress and staining the sand beneath her a deep crimson colour.

Jacaerys clenched his jaw in humiliation, feeling how pathetic he must have appeared to his mother, Daemon, the Martells, and most of all, to Y/n herself. 

Before he could fully recover, Y/n moved like a shadow, slipping behind him. He grunted as she wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him close. The cold edge of her dagger was pressed firmly against his throat, and he dared not move.

He caught a glimpse of his mother, restrained by Daemon and the guards, her blood-curdling screams piercing through the air. It was the last sound he wanted to hear in his final moments. Jacaerys squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out the chaos and focus on memories that brought him comfort: the waves crashing against the cliffs of Dragonstone, the rhythmic beat of Vermax's wings cutting through the clouds, and Lucerys' carefree laughter.

As he opened his eyes and looked up at the sky, he smiled bitterly. The absurdity of it all nearly made him laugh. From the moment he had stepped into the arena, he knew he was doomed to fail. Yet, some foolish part of him had clung to the hope that he could make the Princess surrender. 

He felt the Princess' laboured breaths in his ear, sending a chill down his spine. He waited, and waited, and waited for the dagger to slash his neck, but the excruciating pain he had anticipated never came. 

Instead, a simple command reached his ears. One that, under any other circumstances, he would have defied without a second thought. But at that moment, his life was in the hands of Princess Y/n, and he dared not disobey her.

"Kneel before me," she whispered, making his blood run cold.

Jacaerys felt the Princess's grip loosen, allowing him to stumble forward. He turned back to face her, dropping to one knee, his gaze locked on hers. But in her eyes, he found no trace of mercy, nor cruelty. The bloodlust had drained away, replaced by a storm of emotions she herself couldn't fully comprehend.

That was the first time he had looked closely at the Princess. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, beads of sweat rolling down her temple as a few droplets of his own blood stained her face. There was something undeniably bewitching about her, a pull he couldn't fathom. As he gazed up at the woman before him, a creeping sense of fear began to coil in his chest as he came to realise the power she wielded over him. She was the kind of woman who could either plunge the Seven Kingdoms into chaos or unite them under her command.

"I choose Prince Jacaerys Velaryon as my betrothed," she declared, her voice echoing through the arena as her eyes locked onto Rhaenyra. "House Martell will stand with Queen Rhaenyra in the Targaryen Civil War. In return, we demand control of the Stepstones, the unwavering protection and loyalty of House Targaryen whenever called upon, and the unchallenged independence of Dorne once the war is won. And most importantly," she looked at her father, giving him a firm nod, "I expect an official acknowledgement of Dorne's sovereignty. Let this moment be written in history, for the generations to come."

The dining hall of the Old Palace was in full swing. Delicacies were served in abundance, and the servants scurried about, refilling cups left and right. The Princess was deep into her fifth cup, trying to numb the burning pain of her wound, which had been sewn and bandaged by Maester Kyce, and although her wrist was badly bruised, it wasn't dislocated.

Her gaze shifted to the erotic performance happening before them as they ate. A pair of men and women explored their bodies, trying the most peculiar positions that she never thought were possible. She could only chuckle, the wine painting the scene as the most amusing thing she had ever witnessed. She finished what she had left in her cup, before ushering the servant for more. 

It was the only thing that could help her escape the suffocating atmosphere at the round table. Her father wasn't particularly pleased to be sharing the table with the Targaryens, and the feeling was mutual with the Martells. She couldn't bring herself to look at Elyas, whose eyes burned with the desire to start a war. Rhaenyra appeared torn between wanting to have her publicly executed for hurting her son and embracing her for sparing his life—yet even then, Y/n wasn't sure if what she had done was truly an act of mercy. Daemon leaned back, indulging in the finest Dornish wines, smirking as he silently celebrated the small victory of his successful plan. The only person who could have made the ordeal more bearable was Farien, but he was already fast asleep in his chambers. 

Then there was Jacaerys. He sat stiffly, trying to focus on anything but her. Yet, there was something about her presence that commanded his attention, and his eyes betrayed him, drifting toward her against his will. Mayhaps her eyes lingered on him longer than she had realised, as their gazes suddenly met. He looked away, as though her eyes just scarred his soul.

"Well, isn't that pathetic..." she muttered under her breath.

That was the man who was to be her future betrothed, a prince who couldn't even meet her gaze without flinching. The thought of marrying someone like him left a sour taste in her mouth.

"Have you got something to say, Princess?" Jacaerys suddenly spat.

"Oh, I most certainly do," Y/n retorted, her lips curling in a mocking grin as she tried her best not to slur her words. Casymir helped her stand up. She took her cup and slowly raised it. "I wish to propose a toast," she began, trailing her eyes at Daemon and Rhaenyra before resting her gaze on Jacaerys. "After all, it's not every day that we witness such a... historic moment. The mighty Dragon, so fierce and proud, finally finds its place... on the ground, with one bent knee before the Serpent. To the ever-lasting and prosperous alliance of House Martell and House Targaryen." 

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Prince Qoren hummed in approval, raising his cup with a satisfied smile, while Rhaenyra and Daemon's expressions tightened in shock and disbelief at the blatant disrespect. Daemon's eyes narrowed dangerously, lingering on the knife beside the roast piglet, his fingers inching towards it. But before he could act, Rhaenyra's sharp glare stopped him. Jacaerys, however, had enough of her insolent attitude.

"I wish to propose a toast as well," Jacaerys stood up, wincing at the pain in his leg. "I wish to thank House Martell for their... overwhelming hospitality in receiving the Crown," he paused, taking his time to look at the Martells and each guard. "Not only have we been looked after with the utmost care, every single moment accompanied by the comforting presence of a spear at our backs, but you have also shown us that the great tales they speak of the Dornishmen are nothing but the truth. Fighting against the Princess herself has truly been an honour, and I am forever grateful for the mercy she has shown me. Mayhaps the Princess has a soft spot after all." 

"Oh, my Prince," her eyes narrowed, knowing all too well that the mercy Jacaerys had referred to was cowardice. "I would love to have another duel, but I'd much prefer you alive for our wedding."

Jacaerys' face twisted with fury, his anger momentarily blinding him. In a swift motion, he drew his sword. Y/n didn't flinch. Instead, she unsheathed her dagger instinctively, pointing it directly at his forehead.

"We should take this to the arena if the Prince dares, that is," Princess Y/n smirked. "Well?" She taunted, looking down on him.

Jacaerys' nostrils flared with rage, knuckles turning white as he tightly held the grip of his sword. His mother's comforting touch slowly calmed his inner storm, and with a sour look on his face, he put his sword away. 

"That's what I thought," she muttered loud enough as she sat back down.

"Aren't they lovely, both of them? Already bickering like an old, married couple," Prince Qoren laughed. "Speaking of, they should marry as soon as possible. The wedding of my beloved daughter should be an event to remember," he turned to the Targaryens. "What do you want, Y/n, dear? We should get a pair of fine Braavosi tigers and make the prisoners fight them in the arena—"

"We are at war, Prince Qoren, we have no time for celebrations," Daemon interrupted him.

"It is only a matter of weeks before Ser Tyland reaches the Free Cities if the winds are in their favour," Rhaenyra echoed Lady Mysaria's words, not able to hide her concern. "Rest assured, once the war has been won, the celebrations will be held in the Red Keep."

"But who can assure me the Prince will not die during this war?" Prince Qoren asked, shrugging his shoulders. "When do you suppose we have the wedding? Once the Prince is dead?"

The Queen's face hardened, her eyes narrowing at him.

"I could have your tongue for that, Prince Qoren," she said coldly. 

"I'm glad the formalities are off the table," he muttered bitterly. "Your war can wait. My daughter is of sun and sand and will be married here, in our lands, with our people."

Rhaenyra could barely contain her anger, too tired of hearing the Martells' unreasonable demands. The idea of postponing the war for a wedding felt like a mockery, a distraction from the battle that could determine the fate of her house.

Y/n fought the urge to roll her eyes, too exhausted by the entire ordeal, the weight of her choices, and the tangled mess she now found herself in. With a deep sigh, she drained her cup, forcing herself to adopt a more civil tone.

"As much as I'm enjoying everybody's lovely company, I'm not faring well with my wound. I shall go back to my chambers to rest," the Princess excused herself as Casymir helped her stand up, wrapping his arm around her for support. 

By now, the once lavish feast had lost its appeal. The delicacies had grown cold, and the appetite of those present had long since vanished.

"I'll see to it that my sister returns to her chambers safely," Elyas excused himself, rising from his seat and trailing after the Princess.

"Elyas isn't happy about your decision," Casymir said softly as he cradled the Princess in his arms. 

Casymir chose to take the long path through the gardens back to her chambers, where the light of the full moon bathed everything in a silvery glow, and the warm evening breeze carried the scent of blooming magnolias. The flickering torches along the way cast dancing shadows, soothing the Princess' spirits.

"I figured as much," she scoffed. "He'll come to understand in due time."

"I'm afraid he won't, Princess," Casymir teased, making her laugh. 

"Not even if I explain?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He'd understand even less," Casymir replied with a grin, his words drawing another burst of laughter from her.

At that moment, it was clear that Casymir was the only one who could truly reach her heart. She looked up at her half-brother, noting the familiar wild curls and thick brows they shared. Yet, unlike the brown eyes she and her other brothers had, his were a deep shade of blue, like the glittering Dornish waters on a sunny day.

"You should've been a jester instead, Cas," she murmured, her voice growing softer as the effects of the wine finally began to lull her into sleep. She nestled closer to his chest, allowing herself to relax completely in his arms.

"I'd rather be your shadow, Princess," his eyes softened, watching her doze off.

By the time they had arrived at her chambers, Y/n was already snoring lightly. Casymir raised his brow upon seeing his twin waiting outside.

"Leoran?" Casymir asked. "What are you doing here? Where's Elyas?"

"Inside. I'd hurry if I were you," Leoran said, opening the door for them.

Casymir stepped inside, only to find Elyas sitting on one of the seats. By the look on his face and the empty cup on the table, it seemed that he had been waiting for a while.

"What took you both so long?" He asked, looking at his half-brother in disdain.

"We were in the gardens, Y/n wanted to—"

"Leave us," he commanded.

"Very well," Casymir lowered his gaze and nodded. 

He laid the Princess on her bed carefully, brushing a strand of hair off her face, but she already seemed to have been awoken by Elyas' voice. Y/n sat up, rubbing her eyes, only to be greeted by a pounding headache and a sharp pain on her side. Once she spotted her brother with his arms crossed, sitting down across from her, she groaned. 

"Well?" He asked, expectantly.

"Not now, Elyas," she sighed. 

"Then when?" He stood up and kicked the chair aside. "When? When were you going to tell me what you and Father were planning?"

Y/n rolled her eyes, feeling her headache worsen as Elyas' voice boomed in her ears.

"Planning?" She scoffed. "Father didn't have a say in my decision. He gave me two choices, and I merely chose the one that wouldn't lead to bloodshed."

"Oh, really? What were these two grand choices?" He pressed.

"Side with the Blacks and keep our independence, or refuse, and face the Triarchy and the Greens once this war is over," she paused, gathering all of the patience she had left to keep going. "Do you understand what that would mean, Elyas? It means another war, right on our doorstep. For us. For Dorne. For our people. And tell me, what should I have chosen? More bloodshed? More meaningless deaths? You think that's what Father would've wanted?"

"If you had told me, then I could've helped you decide!" Elyas' voice cracked with frustration, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Help me decide?" She retorted. "And by that, do you mean killing the Velaryon boy?"

"Why not?" Elyas shot back. "You had the chance! You could've slit his throat and ended it all, yet you chose to spare that bastard's life."

"And what would that have accomplished?" She shouted. "Had I killed him, you'd be nothing but a pile of ashes right now. Rhaenyra would've burned us all to the ground before I could even take his head."

"She wouldn't have dared!" Elyas shouted back, his face inches from hers, as though she was the most foolish person to live. "The last thing she needs is another war on her hands, especially against us. Her own house is already tearing itself apart!"

"Very well. If you're so smart, what would you have done?" She scoffed, crossing her arms.

"Face the Triarchy and the Greens. We were victors in the First Dornish War, Y/n. We fought then, and we could fight again. We could win."

"You? Fight?" She sneered. "Tell me, when their dragons' flames rain upon our cities, our people, what would you do? Hide behind the walls of our palace? The same walls that would be turned into ashes? Listen to me. We are not made for wars like this, Elyas. We're not prepared to face something as devastating as another Dornish war."

"And that's why we have those people fighting for us!" Elyas retorted, pointing furiously out the window.

"Those people?" she asked in disbelief. "It should be us fighting for them under those circumstances! Do you not care about the lives beyond the confines of this palace?" She turned away, already feeling her tears pooling in her eyes. "No wonder Father doesn't trust you." 

"You both have no clue what you're doing. You're putting our house to shame by trusting the enemy," without warning, he grabbed her injured wrist, yanking her close. She gasped, a sharp pain shooting up her arm, but he didn't relent. "Tell me, sister," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "When this war is over, how will you know they'll keep their word? All those demands you made... you sounded so righteous, so powerful like you had the Targaryens wrapped around your finger. But you know exactly what they think of us. To them, we're nothing but foolish, power-hungry savages," he tightened his grip slightly, causing her to wince again. "And do you know what you've done, dear sister? You just proved them right."

"I'll have your whole arm if you dare lay your hands on me again," she tried to pry her wrist off of him, her voice quivering as her composure began to waver. "You're starting to forget your place, Elyas."

"And you're starting to forget what it truly means to be a Martell," he tightened his grip even more, watching as the Princess sucked a breath in through her teeth. 

Elyas let go of her with a push, making the Princess stumble back on her bed. Y/n massaged her wrist with her other hand as she buried her face in her bed, heaving, and squeezing her eyes shut. She flinched upon hearing Elyas' heavy footsteps leave, the door slamming once he left her chambers.

The Princess slowly got up to pick up the jug of wine lying on the table. Upon finding out it was empty, she flung the jug across the room with a frustrated yell. Her strength gave out, and she collapsed to the ground, burying her face in her hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her sobs filled her chambers. The soft knocks on her door went unanswered; she knew it was Casymir, the one person who could bring her comfort, yet she couldn't bear to let him see her that way. 

Her father's words echoed in her mind. She was destined to be the Princess of Dorne, a role she had fully embraced for as long as she could remember. Yet there she was, crumbling under the pressure, feeling as though every decision she made was beyond her control, burying her deeper into a grave she herself had dug.

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Thank you for being so patient with me. This chapter was a lot longer than I had expected, but here it is. Let's just take a moment and give our Princess Y/n a big hug, she needs it. I don't know why, but i'm having waaay too much fun making these extremely dramatic dialogues. and I live for their drama, tbh.

I also mentioned this before, but I'm having trouble tagging everyone. Some @'s would tag, but for some reason, some of the usernames just appear like normal text. I've double-checked every username and typed them over and over, but i still can't tag you all. Would be great if you guys could tell me how to fix this!

Taglist: @happinessinthebeing @deltamoon666 @dark1paradise @elz-zalarrr @v0dka4a @yohanseyebrowmole @dracaryxzs @ladyofvelaryon @burningwitchobject @lovelyteenagebeard @radtragedyarcade @dragonrider-3000 @labellapeaky @wintersoldier-101 @hummusxx @vastseamind @miksxz @cornbreadwithcheese @boiolay @op-oppai-blog @hajmola-vs-aamchaska @nichmeddar @ilovemingandming @Mgurl @marr3adsyou @lotus-888 @icarusvshozier

[westeroswisdom]

Abubakar Salim and Clinton Liberty portray Alyn of Hull and Addam of Hull – characters we'll be seeing more of in the remaining episodes of HotD Season 2.

[N]not only do the pair play bastard brothers in the new series of House of the Dragon, but the experience was so intense that they have become chosen family in real life. “It was a journey we started together,” says 26-year-old Liberty, for whom House of the Dragon represents a significant step up in scale after grounded Irish dramas such as Normal People and Holding. “And we bonded over how crazy it all was. Every day we’d think we were getting used to it, then it was just like … what is going on? Is this real? Are you sure?” [ ... ] Alyn is a sailor, a consummate seaman whose moment of glory came when he rescued his Lord, his Captain and – it’s hinted pretty strongly – his father, Lord Corlys, from drowning. Addam, meanwhile, is a shipwright, gainfully employed in the harbours of Driftmark. Both characters are more down-to-earth, more working class (if such a term existed in Westeros) than the Royals and blue-bloods we’re used to encountering. For 31-year-old Salim, a seasoned player in big-budget shows such as the historical drama Jamestown and Ridley Scott’s sci-fi series Raised By Wolves, the partnership with Liberty rekindled a love for his profession. “I may not have seen it all,” he admits, “but I’ve seen enough to be like: ‘OK, here’s another cool set.’ I wasn’t necessarily jaded, but it’s like you’re eating chocolate for the 100th time. You know you’re going to enjoy it. With Clinton, it was like this was the first time he’d ever had chocolate. He was in absolute awe. That excitement was really infectious.” He is not exaggerating: months after shooting wrapped, Liberty is still giddy. “The scale was so massive,” he beams, recalling the bustling Driftmark harbour set at Leavesden studios where the pair filmed their early scenes. “I mean, they built a full-size ship. And a whole village. For the first few days, I just had to give myself permission to nerd out. It was everything I wanted to do, as a kid who dreamed of being an actor.”

Clinton Liberty has rubbed elbows in the past with another ASoIaF actor.

“I worked with Conleth Hill [who played Lord Varys in Game of Thrones] on Holding, and the whole time we were filming I was asking him about it. What’s Kit Harington like? What’s the world like? I was such a fan. And I’d do these affirmations. I used to wake up every morning and say: ‘One day I’m going to play a lead character in an HBO show. I’m going to be a character like Jon Snow.’ I said it every day for two years. I was just talking to the wind, really. Then lo and behold … ”

Abubakar Salim has been a game developer in addition to his career in acting.

For Salim, the parallels between acting and game development could not be clearer. “It’s all world-building,” he says. “Jumping into these fantastical worlds, be it through a video game or a TV show, and using that to explore human emotions and human truth. My game is all about the journey of grief, it was inspired by the loss of my father. Then in House of the Dragon, my character experiences the loss of a parental figure in a different way, which is really interesting.” Other parallels between the worlds of TV and video games are less welcome. Salim recently posted a video on X railing against the racism still rife in gaming, and he is well aware that similar attitudes exist in television. “It’s been said before, but there’s this idea that you can suspend your disbelief with dragons, but when it comes to a Black guy with white dreads you can’t handle it?” he says. “You know, football was rife with racism, and it still is, but now you’ll get your season pass banned, you’ll get kicked out because it’s no longer tolerated. I think we need more of that for artists and creatives.” Overall, though, he has been heartened by the response from the House of the Dragon fans, and is still buoyed up by his experience working with Liberty.

Both actors are listed at IMDB as being in the cast for the remaining three episodes of Season 2.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 23 Mother I’m tired

Chapter 23 of Moonlight

A/N- Daemon you big softy

Warning- swearing, some violence, talks of pregnancy and blood, angst!!, fluff!!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 463-465

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

“Dear Princess,

I hope this finds you well.

Well, actually, I hope this finds you at all—

You scoff in amusement and muster a faint smile.

—We're separated by two different sides of this war so I find writing to you quite difficult, but if you ever find yourself back with your mother you’ll read this and know that you’re on my mind with every step I take throughout this relentless war.

The truth is I want rid of you. You are a married woman and no matter how much I desire the death of your perfect husband, life is cruel and may spit in the face of my desires. It already stomped on it when you had to leave to marry him, so it may pierce its hateful blade in my heart and hurt me even more so.

Alas even if I know I’m in world pain clinging onto a fragment of hope that fate will unite us for the rest of our lives, I still hope. I still wait for any word from you, or about you like a hopeless fool. Which is why when I got the message you sent with the brother from the Night’s Watch, my breath got caught. I’m gladdened by the fact that you’re doing okay, I hope it is true, words from the mouths of others can only assure me so much, and I know you too, I know the mask you put on in front of the masses.

Then again I suppose it’s necessary for people like us, now more than ever, but that is why I hope that you continue to be okay. Or really as okay as one can be after losing so much.

I am sorry, darling. My heart and my thoughts are with you. I know how much you loved your brother. He was a great and honorable man—

No matter how much you wanted to hold back, tears break out of your eyes and pour down your face, staining the silks that cover your pillows. Tears that come from a deep and great sorrow that you have refused to feel since Jacaerys death, but bombard you now over old words from a man you adore. Because of course he out of everyone you know can break the shell that shielded you from feeling deep and heavy grief that you didn’t want to feel.

And why would you want to feel it? You had already endured so much pain, why would you want to deal with a much greater one? One you could possibly never recover from?

But he made you feel it. Him, and being back with your family made you feel all the hurt.

Ever since you’ve stepped foot in King’s Landing all you have felt is a great and paralyzing depression. Ever since you fell into bed it seems like you can’t will yourself to get out of it, or will yourself to get even a short nap. You’re just awake staring at the ceiling thinking about who you lost and who you love. It’s as if being with Aemond, being away from all that reminds you of who you can’t see anymore helped you avoid the pain, but now that you’re away from Aemond and away from any excuse to distract yourself, the pain has increased tenfold.

It makes you want to stop reading the letter to at least avoid feeling a sliver of pain even though you have already been hit with stormy wave after stormy wave with no clearing in sight.

Then again how can you stop mid-way when he took time to write to you and took a risk for him and yourself?

—He did not deserve the fate he got. He deserved a good and long life, I believe that and I am sorry he didn’t get it. I’m sorry you had to watch him take his last breath, but then again I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted anyone else by his side. He loved you, I saw that. He cared deeply for you, I saw that too. Jacaerys loved you, I hope you know that darling.

Just like I hope you know that I wish I could relate to your pain, it would make your suffering a little less, but I can’t even fathom your pain. Even still I want to try, please let me try. Don't isolate yourself, please. If not me, confide in someone else, I just don’t wish you to be alone, okay?

With that said I do hope you keep making a name for yourself, My Princess.

I hope that fate puts us on the same side so we can fight side by side, that would be the greatest honor of my life.

Until then, or until we win this war.

Cregan.”

More tears stream down the curve of your cheeks, tears that bring out sob after sob and choke you up until you have to bring yourself to a stop to catch your breath.

After that, when you can find a way to stop, you stay in bed and Vanessa lets you, giving you space to wallow in your sorrow even though she worries. She tries to get you to eat, but a bite is all you take, choosing instead to lay back in bed with the balcony door and every window open, welcoming in the brisk autumn air that blows the curtains inwards and only makes you snuggle deeper in your blankets as the flowing curtains blow in all around you.

Vanessa thought the letter from Cregan would lift your spirits, but it only worked to sink you deeper, to the point she feels helpless on how to help you at least get up and get dressed or to at least go visit Helaena since she oftentimes finds a way to make you smile without as much as trying.

She almost finds herself thinking that Aemond is the solution. Yet even if he is, he could never join your side to console you, so she has to make your mother your solution. She needs you to make up because it’s something she knows you both desperately need. After all, she’s seen how much your mother has missed you, and she oftentimes finds her carrying one of your rings, or an object that reminds her of you since she doesn’t have you. So she knows you both need each other more than you both can say with words or simple aching looks.

Nevertheless, just as she tries to leave the room to go find the Queen, a knock raps on the door, piquing your interest.

“Come,” you welcome the visitor and push yourself to sit up as the visitor opens the door and reveals that it’s Rhaena and Baela.

“Cousin…” Baela’s greeting trails off as she sees you still in your nightgown. “You missed breakfast,” she says so slowly as she shares a worried glance with Rhaena that you miss since your attention drifts to Ser Jason.

“Ser please come in,” you order, making him stiffen and look at Vanessa with confusion before he very slowly and awkwardly makes his way inside whilst you finally get out of bed.

“It's cold in here,” Rhaena points out as she studies you and is quicker to make out why you’re caught under such a gloomy spell. “Let me close the windows and the balcony door.”

You pass her a mindless hum and meet Ser Jason halfway to study his neck right away, finding the bruises Aemond left him less prominent, but still marked on his skin.

“How’s your head?” You ask as you let your fingers hover over the bruise, causing him to swallow back nervously.

“Uh, I-it’s fine,” he stammers as his eyes are glued to you. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Spending my time in the cell at Harrenhal let me heal without strain.”

You meet his gaze with concern and let your hand fall on his shoulder, which he follows and keeps watching.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him softly. “He…” you trail off and can’t find it in yourself to say that Aemond didn’t mean to because deep inside you know he did. You can’t defend what he did. “He hurt you, and I know that you’re going to say it means nothing, but you are my sworn protector, not his. He shouldn’t have treated you like that, I’m sorry.”

Ser Jason quickly parts his lips but just as he draws in a breath to retort, he doesn’t, instead he drops his gaze and says, “thank you.”

He then proceeds to lift his gaze to your belly and frowns. “Are you alright? Alys said you had a scrape on your side.”

You breathe out deeply and nod. “I’m fine. It was just a stumble.”

“You fell?” Baela blurts, bringing a tense silence to the room that you don’t fill and don’t want Ser Jason to fill, but alas, he does.

“Prince Aemond pushed her.”

You shoot him a threatening glare, but he doesn’t falter. He’s proud.

“He did what?” Rhaena snaps and steps forward. “When? Why?”

“Is that why you left?” Baela bounces off her sister.

“You said you caught yourself on something,” Vanessa also adds her two cents, making you clench your jaw before you rebuttal.

“It was an accident,” you defend yourself but Baela cuts in.

“That’s what they all say. Where is he?”

You shake your head and quickly interject. “No, it was. Harrenhal…has a way of playing tricks on one’s mind. He wasn’t himself. He would never hurt me. Never.”

Baela scoffs and rolls her eyes and just before she can argue Rhaena clutches onto her arm and gives her a warning squeeze that makes her keep her mouth shut.

“I’m fine,” you assure all three women. “And the twins are fine, so please leave it be.”

Baela draws in a breath to argue, but alas Rhaena forces her to stay quiet, letting you return your attention to Ser Jason.

“If you need it, rest, alright?” You cut the conversation short since he found a way to annoy you. “Thank you, Ser.”

He bows his head and turns around on his heels to walk off, making Vanessa do the same to leave you be with your cousins. Yet once you are alone you ruminate in a tense silence that no one can find a way to break.

You all get closer to each other but the silence lingers and mingles for a while until Rhaena is the first one to break the silence. “Are you okay?” She directs at you.

You spare her a glance and nod. “Yes, I am. It was just a scrape.”

“No,” she quickly counters. “I mean are you okay?”

There’s no need for clarification, you realize she’s referring to the puffy eyes, the nightgown you still sport, the unmade bed, and the untouched breakfast Vanessa left in hopes you would finish.

“I,” your voice trembles. “I will be. I think. I just…I miss Jacaerys,” you let yourself say out loud for the first time, causing tears to well up in your eyes and start to sting in both Baela and Rhaena’s eyes since they too feel the same way—“I really miss my brother,” you add with a quiver in your voice, making Baela nod softly before she interjects with a crack in her voice.

“Me too.”

You meet her gaze and hold it, finding the same grief in her eyes and in the eyes of Rhaena.

You all share the same grief and now that you all know and see that you all feel the same way, you mindlessly come together and embrace, finding a sense of relief in your shared grief, in the shared tears you all shed, in the warmth of your embrace, and in your beating hearts thumping in sync against each other.

For so long the grief you held was shoved back. You were more mad than sad for so long, and even if you had wanted to be sad one day, you would have cried by yourself when you wanted to be comforted because Aemond would never get it. He hated your brothers, he hated what and who they were. He would have hugged you if you asked, he would kiss your head and rub your back, but you wouldn’t share the grief you share with the girls now. You would have grieved alone in the arms of the man you loved while he probably thought Jacaerys death was good riddance.

Not Baela or Rhaena though. You all understand each other and genuinely comfort each other in the silence that stays until you break it with a question you can’t hold back. “You’re not mad at me, are you? For leaving?”

You would ask if they’re mad at what you’ve done to House Strong and to support Aemond, but you wouldn’t care if they were because it’s not something that you give any doubting thought to. It happened and it’s in the past. All you care about is if they’re still mad that you left.

“No,” Rhaena reassures you, and then Baela adds her own thoughts.

“Not anymore.”

You chuckle softly and pull away to share a very faint but relieved smile. “I’m happy to be with you two again.”

Rhaena grabs your shoulder and offers you a much sweeter smile. “I’m happy you’re back where you belong too.”

Baela hums in agreement before her smile widens. “Why don’t we help you get ready for the day, hm? Get you out of your nightgown so you may feel better.”

You scoff but can’t help but let them do what they please, finding yourself enjoying the moment. It’s like a clearing in the dark storm, especially when Aerion is brought to you and joins you and the girls.

Yet a small clearing is all it is, a beam of light that breaks through the dark clouds but doesn’t rid the storm. The storm still swirls and keeps your mind and spirit dim. You still want to sulk in your bed and not do a single thing, but alas you’re distracted and thankful for it.

A part of you forgets the war happening past the city. You’re making a sweet memory with your cousins and live in the obliviousness for a short moment until the door opens and your mother walks in, bringing in the reminder of the travesty of war.

“Ma!” Aerion exclaims and grins as he points at your mother making her way into the room. “Ma!”

Your lips twitch to a smile at the reaction your son gives your mother, and you can’t help but press a gentle kiss on the back of his head before you look at your mother with a fading smile and growing concern.

“Your Grace,” Rhaena, Baela, and you greet your mother, bringing a short smile to her face before she directs her attention at just you.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she interjects as she comes to a stop a few feet before you.

“No, we’re done,” Baela responds. “We wanted to braid her hair but we left it for later so we didn’t take up her entire day.”

Your mother hums in comprehension and lets out a deep breath before she continues. “Then I hope you don’t mind that I steal the princess from your company.”

“Of course not,” Rhaena doesn’t hesitate, bringing an awkward smile to your lips—“I can take Aerion,” she adds and doesn’t linger back before she walks over and takes your son from you. Which he doesn’t mind, he goes willingly and passes your mother a happy smile.

“We’ll see you later,” Baela directs at you and then turns to your mother to curtsy before she follows Rhaena out, leaving you and your mother alone in your chambers that is riddled with a very deafening silence that neither of you know how to break. Should you linger in the silence until the tension leaves? Or just break it altogether?

What should you say first?

There’s so much you need to say—

“You look well in silver and black,” your mother breaks the silence, drifting your gaze to her and then back to your gown to stroke over the wrinkles.

“Thank you,” you respond softly and blink to slowly look back up at her, finding one of your rings attached to a gold necklace around her neck but not daring to comment on it.

“Could you accompany me to where we keep Balerion’s skull?” She finally starts to clue you in as to why she’s here, making you nod softly in agreement before following her out of your chambers and toward your destination, ending up in another deafening silence that lasts longer than before.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let Alicent see Aerion every day at dinner time,” your mother brings up, answering that certain question that you had in mind. “She requested spending time with him and she’s behaved so I let her. I hope that’s alright with you.”

You quickly respond with a nod and then follow up with a reassuring response. “Of course, that’s fine, after all, she’s also his grandmother and regardless of how she’s behaved with me she does treat him well and loves him. Besides, he loves her to bits, so I know he loves spending his time with her.”

Your mother scoffs. “That’s perhaps one of the only redeemable things about her,” she adds. “She loves her grandchildren and seems to treat them far better than she does her children.”

You hum and add an agreeing statement. “Yes, I agree.”

Silence follows after that and accompanies you the entire way to where Balerion’s skull is kept. Even when you come to a stop before the skull of the great dragon, the silence lingers with neither of you knowing what to say first. You just watch the flames dancing on the candles that surround the skull until a candle sitting in front of you dies, letting the smoke rise in an attempt to touch the high ceiling.

“Is it true that you are immune to fire?” Your mother finally asks something she’s been anticipating asking since the first whisper was heard.

“Uh, yes,” you give her a clear answer and avert your gaze. “I…didn’t mean to keep it a secret, I just…wanted to know what I was exactly before I told anyone.”

“The books,” your mother whispers as she shares the dots she connected some time ago. “That’s why you wanted to know about our histories.”

You nod gently. “Yes, but they contained nothing useful,” you say and slowly meet her gaze, finding her eyes full of wonder before they’re stricken with a flicker of sadness.

“I’m sorry I did not know before,” she interjects and glances at one of the dancing flames. “I should have. I’m your mother.”

You shift closer to her and tilt your head to the side to find her gaze and quickly console her. “No, I only recently found out myself. I would have told you. You would be the first person I would have told, but I was scared of what I was. I thought I was some curse, some demon,” you pause and can’t help but smile at the irony of that word because now you embrace such a name. But alas your smile then fades and your face returns to your previous expression. “I have learned to embrace it now though. Watch…” you trail off and lift your hand to tug the sleeve down and then put your fingers in the small candlelight.

Your mother gasps out of instinct, but when you don’t flinch and your flesh doesn’t burn, an awestruck breath gets caught in her throat whilst her eyes glimmer with the same awe.

“The Smallfolk only got to spread what I am because…I burnt a house down,” you admit with some embarrassment. “And Aemond, well he caught me, but it was actually such a relief for him to know…” you trail off and pull your hand back, letting your sleeve fall back in place.

“He made me feel seen and understood, he continued to love me for it and made me feel strong and untouchable…until…all it came to that day at the Gullet,” you didn’t mean to take the conversation to such a dark place, but you couldn’t help it. You can’t help the feelings you’re hit with, and you can’t stop them either. You don’t even try now, not now, not here because you’re with her, your own weakness that lets you let go of this invincible person that you want everyone to know you by as the moment slowly embraces you with a comfort you ached to feel.

“I left the moment I found out what was transcending,” you continue and look at the candlelight before you, unknowingly bringing light to your guilt and grief that rolls in like an angry wave—“I only stopped once to fix my armor but I continued after that and I was still…I was,” you stammer as a thick ball of emotions start to form in your throat. “I was still late. I tried to be there on time.” You nod and snap your watery gaze at her, seeing that her own eyes are starting to water.

“I did. I tried to help him. I got him out of the water, but I-I couldn’t save him, but I tried. You have to believe that I did. You have to believe I wanted to find Viserys. I would never hurt them, mama,” you cry and clutch onto your own hands to plead with all that you are. “I tried so hard. I did. I did. Mama, you have to believe me.”

Tears break out of your mother's eyes and her heart, what little is left, breaks for you, for the way you break down and beg her to believe you even though she never ever blamed you for a thing, or even thought that you had something to do with what happened at the Gullet. It’s why it’s easy for her to finally close that space between you and grab ahold of your face.

“I-I,” you can’t even continue because your tears are choking you and making it hard to breathe.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says words you barely believe but don’t take for granted. It’s like music to your wounded soul. “And I never thought it was. You tried, I know that. I heard it, and I appreciate it with every inch of my heart.”

“You do?” You question her, making her nod gently with a wobbly smile before she slides her hands down to grab your shoulders first and then slide them back to pull you in for an embrace that makes you stiffen and question if it’s real.

For so long you thought you would never feel her embrace, for so long you thought she turned her back on you, and for so long have you been mad at her. So now that you feel her arms wrapped around you, keeping you protected against her, you’re caught in disbelief.

“Mama,” you mewl, and after you realize that she really is hugging you and that it really is given with so much love, you return her embrace with a tight hold. “I…really miss them.”

Your mother nods in agreement and her shoulders shake as she does, letting you know with that alone that you’re sharing the same grief. You’re estranged souls finally connect and comfort each other in your sorrow. You only break the moment so you can pull back and continue sharing what you need to tell her.

“I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry I have been such a bad daughter. I’m sorry.”

Your mother draws in shaky breath before she shakes her head and breathes out so she can share what has been weighing her down too. “The fault is not on you alone. I have some blame too. I should have told you about your father, I trust you, he trusted you and I should have not kept that from you out of all people. I’m sorry I did, and you have every right to be mad at me for it.”

“No,” you cut in and bring your hands down to hold hers. “No. I'm not mad anymore. I forgive you, I do.”

A smile twitches on her lips but she’s far from feeling content so she continues. “And I’m sorry it made you feel the way it did. You, My Love, are loved beyond measure. Your father and I,” she says and strokes your cheek. “Have loved you since we found out we were expecting you. You are my first love and my strength. I love you in more ways than I could ever put into words.”

Tears accompany her words, making you lift your hands to wipe them off her cheeks as you cry too.

“I love you my Sweet girl. I love you so much. I could never forsake you, never. You need to know that, you need to remember that,” she presses, causing you to let out a sob as you nod in comprehension.

“I love you too mama,” you muster between sobs. “I know I don’t say it as much as I should, but I do. I Iove you.”

She grins before she presses her forehead against yours and leaves you both finding comfort in your silence and in your presence until your tears dry and your breaths don’t shutter anymore.

“Besides apologizing, I also came to tell you something else,” your mother fills the silence, piquing your curiosity even though you have a clue as to where she’s heading.

“It's a choice that I should have always chosen since the beginning but I let myself get controlled by the men around me,” she continues and grabs your hands firmly. “But I am Queen now. Things are as I say and no one will change my mind or manipulate my choice. I want you to be my heir.”

There it is, right in your reach, all you ever wanted. At long last.

No more wishing, no more questioning what and who you are. You will be heir now. You will be Queen. It’s all you ever wanted and as every word echoes in your head, and you realize that your desires are finally becoming true, you are fascinated by the proposal, by the idea that will no longer just live in your head. It will be real and how can you not be fascinated? How can you be anything but happy and proud?

You’re taken by the moment, by the joy of it all that you’re blinded by your bliss and can’t think of anything else. Not there, not yet.

“Okay,” you whisper with a sweet smile. “I will be your heir.”

Your mother grins and cups your cheek to caress it.

“But what of Aegon and Joffrey? Won’t daemon be upset that you’re picking me over Aegon?” You can’t help but ask, making her scoff as she brings her hands down to grab yours.

“No, we talked about it. He doesn’t mind. He…cares about you, you know? In his own way,” she says, making you scrunch your nose—“just…try and be friendly. He’s really turned over a new leaf. He wants to try.”

You hold her gaze with disgust, but he also didn’t do what you thought he did so you perhaps have judged him too harshly, so it wouldn't hurt to try. For her though! Only because she wants you to.

“Alright,” you reassure her and make her eyes glimmer with joy. “And before we go,” she continues. “There’s something else. Something that I need to pass down to you now that you’re my heir.”

Your eyebrows pinch together and you wait in silence for her to answer your curiosity.

“It’s about a prophecy passed down from ruler to heir since the reign of Aegon the Conqueror. It's a prophecy about the Prince that was Promised—”

“They will help defeat the dead that comes with a long winter,” you cut in after you recognize that famous name, causing your mother's eyes to widen with shock—“Yes, I have heard of them. We must help her, we must light the way for her.”

Your mother’s eyebrows furrow in confusion before she expresses it. “How do you know?”

You glance down for a brief second and scoff softly. “Friends. A red priestess, and Alys, a witch friend who resides at Harrenhal.”

Your mother huffs. “So you know her too? Daemon knows her too.”

You meet her gaze and flash her an amused smile. “She’s great, she helped me. And she let me see the Prince that was Promised. It’s why we need to win this war.”

Your mother nods. “Yes, we can only defeat the dead if the realm is united. It’s why our victory is dire. We need to do what we must to guarantee our blood continues so there’s hope in the future.”

You swallow nervously as you know what she’s referring to when she says, ‘we need to do what we must’. You know she’s referring to Aemond when says those words, and knowing it makes your chest heavy.

No matter what happened, regardless of why you left, you…still love him.

“I know,” you whisper and avert your gaze for a second before you meet hers again and offer her a faint assuring smile. “I know what we need to do.”

Your mother draws in a deep breath and holds your gaze with pity for a second before she nods and leans in to press a kiss on your head.

“Get ready for dinner later, okay? I want you to meet the dragon riders and I want to present you as my heir,” she lets you know in which you can’t help but nod in comprehension before you bring up one last thing.

“May I invite Helaena to dinner? I know she’s your prisoner but she's also your sister, and besides my aunt, she is very dear to me, so may I invite her to dinner?” You ask and bat your lashes, causing your mother to sigh even though she wasn’t going to choose anything else but to agree with you.

“Thank you.”

Now with the apologies and the unspoken words that were hidden in the depths of your souls, and shared out loud and over with, you then make your way to Helaena before you can return to your quarters.

“Helaena, sweetling it’s me, may I come in?” You speak against the door, and not so long later a voice echoes.

“Come.”

The guards open the doors for you, letting you be greeted with the sight of not only Helaena but Alicent in golden chains that are clasped around her ankles and wrists.

“Helaena,” you greet her as you rip your eyes from Alicent to look at your aunt with a warm smile whilst she quickly gets up from her cushioned seat in front of some insect cages and meets you halfway to grab your arms.

“I knew you would return,” she whispers, making you grab her elbows.

“It's good to see you again,” you say back before you step back, letting her study your belly.

“Look at you,” she points out and pats your belly. “So big.”

You grin and nod before your face falls as you bring up her situation. “Are you okay? Have they been treating you well?”

Helaena nods before stepping back and then returning to where she was. “Yes. I’m not allowed to see Dreamfyre, but I can roam the Red Keep, and stay in the gardens as much as I like. And Daemon has been kind as well.”

Daemon?

You look at her with confusion before you share your emotions with Alicent with a shared glance, and then address her only because you have to. “Alicent,” you bow your head and then look at the little girl reading by the fire. “Jaehaera.”

Said girl lifts her eyes off her book and flashes you a grin. “Hello! You returned!”

You nod and head over to her. “I have and you have gotten bigger it seems.”

She nods eagerly. “Yes! I grew an inch, mother says!”

You grin. “I see that. I hope Aerion has been well-behaved. You have watched out for him have you?”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I try, but he always wants to be with grandmother. But she does let me help her feed him. The only bad thing is that he always gets messy.” She pouts and stands up to put her little hand on your belly. “I suppose if you have girls they won’t be so messy.”

You giggle. “All babies are messy at one point. You were too.”

“Was I?!” She exclaims giddly. “I do not remember, but then if my cousins are girls will they play dolls with me when they’re older? Grandmother says Aerion will have to train with swords and sailing instead of playing with dolls.”

Considering she'll probably phase out of playing with dolls when the twins are old enough to play with her you don’t think so, but you don’t want to break her little heart so you let her hear what she wants. “If they’re girls I’m sure they will, but I’m sure you and Aerion can bond over dragons when he’s old enough, hm? Or books like me and your uncle Aemond.”

She shakes her head with a disgusted face. “That would be boring.” She retorts, making you snort and get reminded of her father as she makes that facial expression.

“Well, dragons it is then.”

“They’ll be the same age!” She points out and you nod in agreement.

Jaehaera then slides her hand off your belly and falls back in her cushion, letting you make your way back to Helaena, but addressing Alicent. “I hope you are well.”

She looks at her chains and then meets your gaze and mutters. “At least I can be with my family.”

You have so much that comes to the tip of your tongue but you manage to bite your tongue to avoid arguing.

“You and the twins?” Alicent asks.

You caress your belly and nod softly. “We’re fine. Healthy.”

Alicent’s gaze drifts to one of Helaena’s insect cages and hesitantly brings up a question. “And Aemond? If you’re here then that means something is wrong.”

You sigh and hesitate before you give her a curt answer. “He’s not hurt, he just seems to be descending into something that’s gotten out of control.”

Alicent nods stiffly as she blinks repeatedly and doesn’t answer, letting you then give your attention to Helaena. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to come to dinner later. My mother wants to present me as her heir to her court at dinner so if you would like to come you’re more than welcome.”

Helaena drifts her gaze from the insect she’s inspecting and sighs deeply. “Thank you, but no. There will be people I don’t know and who will all look at me. I would not be comfortable, besides, I enjoy dinner with my mother, Jaehaera, and Aerion. You can tell me what happened on the following day,” she doesn’t try to put it nicely, she’s abrupt and unforgiving. Which doesn’t bother you, it’s just the way she is.

“Alright,” you breathe out and take a seat beside her to ask her what she’s collected, but Alicent then sits across from you and reaches over to take your arm.

“Will you not stop him?” She blurts with a widened look spewing fear and concern. “Help him? This descent into madness will only make Daemon or one of the others go after him, and we both know that Vhagar is not invincible. Not when it comes to Daemon.” She throws out desperately as she sinks her nails in your arm.

“He wants Daemon to go after him, don’t you think I have tried to warn him? To try and lead him to a different path?” You counter as you yank her hand off your arm. “I have tried,” you press with annoyance that was quick to form. “But he doesn’t listen. He wants this path because of you. The path Aegon, Daeron, and Aemond are walking down is because of you. Not me, you,” you hiss, making Alicent pull her head back as she seems to get offended and surprised at your blunt accusation.

“If you hadn’t been so hell-bent on undermining my mother my brothers would be alive and your son’s lives would not be put at risk,” you spat with your gaze narrowing as your annoyance turns to frustration that’s been building up. You don’t know why exactly, perhaps it’s just your own gloom, but you have been feeling it forming within you, wanting out but now knowing how.

“But you set them down this path, and now that it’s gotten out of control you fall to your knees and beg for mercy?” You grimace with the corner of your lip curled. “Face the reality, Alicent. Face your mistakes or—”

“So you wish to see Aemond dead?” She cuts you off abruptly and leans toward you. “Do you wish to accept that reality?”

You have given that reality much thought. It consumes you a lot of the time and you know that it’s a possibility. You would be ignorant if you didn’t, but when it comes to accepting it you do act ignorant.

“If your love for him is real, that is.”

“Of course it is!” You snap back with tears in your eyes. “I love him, how dare you throw that at my face? You out of all people?”

Alicent gasps and blinks repeatedly in disbelief as if she had been smacked across the face, ending up speechless, much like you. Albeit you’re not quiet out of shock, your anger makes you quiet and makes you pierce a glare into her before you stand up and turn to Helaena.

“I will come see you tomorrow, Helaena. Maybe we can go for a walk in the gardens, hm?” You ask and she slowly looks at you without meeting your gaze to give you her response with a nod, letting you then turn and storm out of her chambers with a tormenting ache that you thought you got rid of. At least for the rest of today, but no, Alicent helped it come back and this time it hits you with so much more force that if it wasn’t for the dinner you need to attend, it would have knocked you down, but alas even if you waver, you don’t stumble, you don’t fall, and you don’t break.

——

*LATER*

“…I intended to save this gown for after the war. When the Queen won and was crowned before the masses, but alas, you are heir and will be named heir. There’s no other time to wear this gown like now,” Vanessa rambles excitedly as she doesn’t even help you with the gown anymore, she had already helped you put it on, she is currently applying your makeup, but she can't stop talking about the gown. She’s perhaps more excited than you are that you’re wearing it. And you’re trying. You’re trying to be excited and shake off what plagues you, but you’re tormented by your own agony, your grief, your guilt, and your sorrow that you can’t forget.

But the question is why? Why do you have to feel so unhappy now that you have what you wanted? You’re no longer reaching for it, you have it in your grasp, and now that you do, now that you feel its beating heart in your grasp you can’t muster a genuine smile. You can’t feel the warmth of bliss and excitement.

You want to, you try, but no amount of strain can make you recover that initial joy you felt.

“Perfect. Beautiful,” Vanessa praises you and then pinches your cheeks before she steps back to continue admiring her work. “I just need the necklaces. I left them in the other chambers. I will be back!” She throws out and then turns to run off.

Once Vanessa is out of your chambers you slowly turn your seat and face yourself on the vanity mirror to admire the way the golden dragon scales hug your torso and stretch over your belly. You admire the multiple white pearl chains that are hooked around your hips and cascade over the lavish black silk skirt, while also connecting to more chains that strap around your black hanging sleeves that are attached to the back of the gown so it looks like your sleeves are wings when you put your arms out.

You then slowly scale your eyes up to your face and look at the light makeup that decorates your face. You admire Vanessa’s work, causing the corner of your lips to twitch to a smile, however, your eyes then catch the lipstick smudged on your bottom lip just a smidge and you carefully fix it with your fingers.

Albeit when you try to wipe the mistake more lipstick smudges, making you scoff in annoyance before you press the tip of your fingers harder against your skin and wipe harsher.

However, the smudge only worsens and the mistake doesn’t get fixed so you wipe harder and harder, feeling your throat slowly starting to burn and your eyes filling with tears until you can’t take it anymore. You can’t hold back anymore. You can’t stay strong anymore. You fall, you stumble, and you break, dragging your hands off your lips and smacking your face again and again in attempts to wipe the light layer of makeup off your face because it’s all a mistake; you being heir, holding that title after years of yearning is a mistake because there’s no point.

What’s the point? You ask yourself before you scale your hands up and tear the golden pearl circlet off your head and mindlessly smash it against the vanity mirror out of agony, out of grief, and out of guilt, thinking over and over again what is being heir worth?

What is it all worth? What is it all worth?!

What is it all worth without them? Without Jacaerys? Without Luke? What is it all worth with no one to love you? And you don’t mean in the way your family loves you, but in the intimate way that Aemond loves you? And or the way Cregan loves you?

Being heir and then being Queen, is all you wanted. You dreamt of it, wished for it, but now that you have it you can admit that it’s worth nothing. All those years of longing to be acknowledged no longer exist within you because most of you is already dead. All that’s left is what?

You look at the mirror between your fingers after hitting it and breaking it, and after pressing your bleeding hands against your face, and slowly drag your fingers down before you pull your hands off your face and look at yourself. What you see beyond the blood-stained face is someone grief-stricken, someone angry, in agony, and some hollow husk of who you used to be.

That’s who and what you are. That’s all that’s left.

You miss who you used to be, just like you miss your life before the war tore it apart. You miss your brothers and the way Aemond was before his mind spiraled. You miss Cregan, and most of all you miss…being happy. You want life to go back to the way it was.

Alas…you have to move onward…it’s a harsh truth to face but there’s no other alternative you can take.

Thus you reach over to grab a damp towel off the bowl and wipe the blood off your face, realizing that you’re only damaging the towel even more with the bleeding cuts that the shards of glass made on your palms—Damn.

Before you can get something to tend to your wounds, however, Vanessa walks in and when she sees the state of things she comes to a quick stop and looks horrified. You mirror her look out of guilt for ruining her work and speak on it because you need to. “I’m sorry,” you mutter and look at her with a look of hurt. “I’m sorry.”

Vanessa swallows back thickly and then snaps out of her stupor to approach you hastily. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she assures you and cups your hands. “Let’s tend to your hands and do it again. We have time. It’s okay.”

You look at her in disbelief and she notices so she lifts her hand to stroke your cheek, reassuring you that she’s not really upset that you ruined her makeup but just playing it off for your sake. She’s genuine, and she’s more careful compared to before because before her eyes seemed to have been shielded since she failed to see your sadness so clearly clinging onto your face and painting such a vivid picture in your eyes.

“You look beautiful,” she speaks softly this time around once she finishes your makeup for a second time. “Eat okay? Mingle, I have found that Addam Velaryon is quite the charmer. Enjoy yourself. It’s what Jacaerys would’ve wanted.”

Your breath hitches but you don’t break, you simply nod faintly before you linger on your cushioned seat and then get up and leave, attempting as you go to get rid of the hold your sorrow has on your features and replace it with serenity and bliss so you can look grateful because you are, but usually there’s a glint of grace and arrogance in your eyes that you don’t feel ashamed for feeling, or feel ashamed to admit that you carry such feelings.

Alas, when you’re in the throne room, as your name and title are announced to the guests that turned out to be more than you thought, to your family that has turned into a small group, and to the musicians you didn’t think would play tonight, all you can muster is feigned nonchalance backed with a sadness that makes your eyes gleam against all the twinkling firelight that keeps the darkness away from the great hall.

They see you as you make your way to the main table, and you see them not even trying to feign their shock, their utter disapproval of you being able to waltz in without consequence after you sided with Aemond.

They have every right to disapprove of you, but they are not the Queen, they don’t make decisions, and they’re simply inferior. They're plebes compared to you and your family. They can shoot you as many dirty and disapproving looks as they want. They can whisper behind your back, but they have to bite their tongue and watch you sit beside the Queen as if you have been here supporting her the entire time.

“Your Grace,” you greet your mother one more time now that you’re seated. “You look very beautiful tonight.”

Your mother smiles softly and pats your hand. “As do you,” she doesn’t fail to redirect before she moves her hand down to stroke your belly before she reaches for her goblet and gets up, silencing the whispers that had already filtered the hall in such a short time.

“I would like to firstly, thank everyone for joining us tonight, it means a lot to me,” your mother addresses the guests, turning their heads and grabbing their attention. “And now I would like to present my daughter, my firstborn, and your Princess, as my heir,” she announces and looks down at you, catching your glimmering eyes expressing your appreciation and your affection. “There’s no one more graceful, more tactical, more smart, and strong as you. I’m proud of you, my girl. You will be great.”

Your eyes water, a genuine smile appears on your face, and there in your chest, you feel something jolt. “Thank you,” you whisper in such a soft way that only she and your grandfather next to you hear. She then raises her goblet and other people raise their cups, but your attention falls on a plump man overly decorated in shiny gold chains and rings and dressed in over-the-top expensive clothes.

You remember him from Dragonstone, he wanted you thrown in a dungeon. He’s the rider of Silverwing. It’s Ulf wearing all the money he’s received since he became a dragonrider. If only all that money could buy him class, he eats like a commoner.

Nevertheless, he catches your gaze, and when you know he’s looking as if springing back to life you slowly raise your nose in the air and look at him with a piercing glare under your lashes, like a predator looks at their prey before capturing them.

He swallows thickly and as if possessed by your husband's spirit, you shoot him a menacing glare and a wicked smile seconds before Daemon raises his up and grabs your attention.

“To the heir, I look forward to sharing the battlefield with you so I can see for myself what the Blood Dragon is really capable of,” he says with a growing grin, making you glance at your mother before you look back at him and offer him a smile that he mirrors, which is…weird, you’ll admit, but he’s making an attempt to make amends, so you don’t look away or let your disgust make an appearance, you take his smile. Once he’s back in his seat your grandfather doesn’t hesitate to rise from his seat and raise his goblet in the air, catching you by surprise.

“To the heir, and my Siren of Driftmark,” he says to the crowd before his eyes fall on you and a small smile tugs the corner of his lips. “I still tend to make Aerion my ward, but it seems now that he will be your heir, one of your twins will have to be my heir…”

He still plans to keep your children as heirs to Driftmark? But what of Addam and Alyn? Vanessa called Addam a Velaryon, so you were right, he is the bastard son of your grandfather and is now legitimized, so your grandfather could make any of the two the heir. Yet he kept his word, after all this time, after all you’ve done.

Perhaps you were quick to feel betrayed, and quicker to judge.

“To your health, and the health of my great-grandchildren,” your grandfather finishes, making you grin softly, and when he sits back down you pat his arm before you caress it, receiving a small smile from him in return.

This time rather than hearing mocking toasts filled with spite, breaking into a fight just before you can take your first bite of food like the last big dinner you were a part of, the music starts back up again, and the transition from toast to dinner is smooth. You’re thankful for it but also crave some mayhem in between your state of sorrow and the constant torment that you give Ulf every time you glance at him.

There does come a moment where your gaze finds a different pair of eyes that are darker than Ulf’s, kinder too, but you don’t attempt to make him squirm, nor do you threaten him with a piercing look alone. You actually avert your gaze out of shame for being so harsh on a man who was miles away when you spited him for being someone he had no control over. You let Aemond and your own insecurities get to your head. You admit that.

How shameful and stupid.

“You know, my sweet,” your mother interjects as she puts her goblet of wine down and you set your fork down. “I am Queen, which means I hold the power to…” she trails off and swallows back nervously before she continues hesitantly. “Annul your marriage to Aemond.”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and look down at your plate of food to manage the shock that hits you as if you heard the most absurd thing in your life.

“We could marry you to someone kinder,” your mother continues to say through your obvious shock as if she wants to move forward with something that’s just meant as a suggestion. Is it not? “Someone worthy of you. Someone like…Lord Cregan Stark.”

You blink and look at her with your eyebrows softly pinched together, noticing a small playful smirk tugging on the corner of her lips as if this is some joke. And you understand where her joy comes from after all, you basically confessed your love for Cregan that time she snuck into King’s Landing, but doesn’t she know how hard it really is loving two people?

Does she know how hard it is to even fathom the thought of letting go of one to go to the other?

You’re torn between your love for Aemond and Cregan, doesn’t she know that? Doesn’t she know your conflict?

“Or she could marry a Martell prince,” Daemon suggests as he leans forward to be a part of the conversation. “They’d be idiots to turn down the proposal of an heir. And a marriage to Dorne would at last unite the kingdom, and give us all our strength for,” he pauses and passes you and your mother a glance. “…the future.”

You drop your gaze to your food and grab your fork with a tight grip. You don’t pick up any food, you just scrape it along the plate with your jaw clenched and your gaze pierced because even if they’re suggestions, it’s still your own life that they are so easily talking about. No matter how smart it would be to at last unite Dorne to the kingdoms, and or how much you once wanted to marry Cregan, is leaving Aemond really worth it?

You think of him, picture his face in your mind as clear as day and all you can imagine is how betrayed he’d be. You’d break his heart and him, is it really worth all of that? There’s still a fighting chance…minuscule maybe, but you have to believe there is no matter what the future has in store for you.

It’s a hopeless desire, but you are hopelessly in love with Aemond no matter what.

“I…” you interject with the attempt to reject your mother or just answer with something that would get her to abandon the conversation, but when she looks at you she does see your struggle and interrupts you.

“Think about it. I just wanted you to know that you’re not stuck, you have options, okay?”

You drift your gaze and let your jaw unclench and your eyes soften. “Okay.”

She offers you a reassuring look before she goes back to talking to Daemon, letting you stare back at your food and remind yourself to take deep breaths.

Being surrounded by so many people and such lively music is perhaps overwhelming after being cornered in Harrenhal for four months. Seeing your brother's seats be occupied by two men from the pits of the city is also perhaps too much for your mind to grasp. You look up from your plate on occasion and catch yourself expecting to see Lucerys and Jacaerys both laughing and talking with each other, or their respected partner, so when you see strangers on their seats it’s like…getting your breath ripped from your chest over and over again.

Perhaps this is why it was easier to stay with Aemond as long as you did, you remembered that they were gone when you were away from home but now that you’re home their ghosts haunt you at every corner.

But oh, you try to look content. You mingle with whoever wants to talk to you, your mother introduces you to Ser Hugh and officially introduces you to Ser Ulf, and you do note that Ser Hugh is much more etiquette than Ser Ulf, but they are both still low-born, they are not to be trusted. You can’t get yourself to trust them. As to Addam? Well, it’s complicated, but should you really trust him completely?

You can’t be sure yet.

“Is this not all you wanted?” Daemon startles you as he joins you in some lonely side of the hall.

“Once,” you sigh. “Once upon a time I wanted to be Queen, I wanted to be my mother's heir. Once upon a time, when life was…much more simple,” you find yourself sharing with him without straining or trying to find a way out.

“Good,” he surprises you by saying. “Not wanting to be a ruler doesn’t guarantee you will be good at it, but the crown is a heavy burden and when you don’t want it it’s easier to treat it that way.”

You scoff and the corner of your lips twitch to a teasing smile that he catches.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mutter and look away to hide your smile.

Daemon huffs before he steps forward to stand in front of you now rather than at your side where you can’t meet eye to eye. “Your mother says we have a friend in common at Harrenhal.”

You flash him a smile but don’t respond with what he seeks. “Helaena mentioned…in a way that you talk. Why?”

A faint smirk twitches on the corner of his lips before he responds bluntly. “Much like our friend, she can see glimpses of the future. She appeared to me in a vision once, and now we're both here. I would be foolish to take her gift for granted.”

You nod softly and without a shift on your face you lean forward and at this particular moment disregard any attempt at reconciliation. “If I hear that you have hurt her in any way you will see for yourself why it is that they call me what they call me.”

Daemon doesn’t falter, nor does he get upset, he looks at you with a smirk that now spreads wider on his lips. “Noted.”

You huff and move away to stand beside him instead.

“Did she show you the future on that Weirwood tree?” Daemon asks, not letting you go just yet. “The witch?”

“Alys,” you clarify and turn to face the crowd. Daemon turns with you and you both catch your mother glancing over here and smiling when she sees you both interacting without looking upset—“yes. If only the glimpses of the future were clear.”

He hums in agreement as you both watch your mother from where you stand. “What did you see?” He probes.

“Myself, fighting for my mother. A son…born to me sometime in the future…he talked to me,” you muse with a growing smile of admiration. “Just like I'm talking to you now. I don’t know why…maybe he’s a dreamer or something else. Alys wouldn’t tell me, she said knowing too much is dangerous so that's what I am left with. That, along with the Prince that was Promised, and the dead that come with a long winter.”

“I saw her too,” Daemon interjects, making you shift your eyes to him. “She survived fire like you, but she didn’t look like you. Maybe—”

“No,” you cut him off. “It’s not me. What I have is unknown, Alys doesn’t even know. Blood magic perhaps, I don’t know.”

“But it’s something that will pass through our line,” Darmon says and meets your gaze with a serious gaze. “If you are not who was promised then it comes from our line. Yours, mine. We don’t know.”

You shake your head in agreement and then draw out a deep breath as you look ahead again. “We don’t know but we know she’s coming. My son said I would be the spark that would light a greater fire. Alys said it too, but…how can I? I’m with child and I can barely muster the energy to climb out of bed now that I’m here.”

Daemon stays quiet for a moment and in his silence you think perhaps you overshared. You didn’t mean to in the first place, but now that you know what you said perhaps you did and he doesn’t care.

“You’re already there,” he then fills the silence, stopping the worry of pouring your heart out on someone who couldn’t care, and stopping you before you can find an excuse to leave. “You just need to keep burning brighter, and the only way you can do that is thinking of who you’re fighting for.”

You look for them again. Jacaerys and Lucerys. You look at your mother, Baela, Rhaena, and your grandfather. You think of Aerion, your unborn children, Joffrey, and Aegon. And even Cregan comes to mind as you think about who it is you fight for.

“They will keep that fire alive. You must fight for their future. That’s why you need to keep getting out of bed. You can worry about the rest after we win,” he finishes, bringing tears to the corner of your eyes.

You don’t follow up with anything, but he knows you understand. He sees the tears crawling down your cheeks and he knows.

“You must know,” he speaks softly. “I am grateful that you saved Aegon and you tried to look for Viserys.”

More tears keep coming out as you hear what he mentions.

“You tried. You fought, and they sing about you like a great legendary dragon warrior…your father would be proud…just like I know your mother is.”

You inhale sharply and keep quiet, but he knows his words worked the way he wanted them to. He can walk away content after that even if he leaves you weeping.

Thus you walk away before someone can see you and think the wrong thing or worse, come and pester you with unnecessary questions.

When you find yourself outside of the hall you stand in front of the tall windows and try to calm yourself down before you return inside.

You can’t let yourself think of much or you’ll go down a spiral so you try and keep your mind off anything that will upset you at the moment, and hope not to take too long, but alas moments later someone carefully joins you in front of the window. At first, you think it’s your mother, but when you peek at your side you’re surprised to see Addam.

“Are you alright, your Grace, I saw you crying,” he says and proves you were not quick enough when you walked out.

“Uh, yes.” You nod and drop your hands from your face. “Yes I am Addam, thank you.”

Addam’s gaze lingers on you, you can feel it burning on your side before he slowly looks ahead, letting you steal a glance, and sigh out of guilt. “So…you are my grandfather's son?” You ask to get the rumors confirmed.

“Well,” he pauses and debates answering. “Yes. Bastard son.”

You shake your head and correct him. “You’re a Velaryon. You’re no longer a bastard under the law.”

“Perhaps,” he answers right away. “But I am. No law or name will change it.”

You hum and clasp your hands together, debating whether to apologize for a behavior he probably didn’t even notice, or leaving it be.

You feel like apologizing. He was so sweet the first time you met.

“I didn’t mean to steal your father's dragon,” he blurts and turns your gaze to him. “He came to me. I don’t want you to think that I did it on purpose.”

There it is again, that jolt in your chest.

“Addam,” you whisper. “My father is dead. My father died before you bonded with Seasmoke, he wouldn’t have bonded with you otherwise, so Seasmoke belonged to no one. We can’t own a dragon, we form a connection and they are loyal to us, we are one until either of us dies, but they’re not cattle or pets. He wasn’t ours to claim, so don’t apologize or even feel guilty. Feel special, he went out of his way to find you, I never heard of a dragon doing that.”

Addam scoffs as he drops his head, and a smile sneaks on his features.

“You should forgive me,” you chose to say. “I was upset at you and Alyn because I thought you would replace my son's inheritance. I was jealous and I spited you because of it.”

Addam’s gaze finds you and you find his. After a few seconds, he breaks out into a chuckle. “I didn��t even know,“ he admits. “So I suppose there’s nothing to forgive, besides you’re a princess you have every right to be—”

“No,” you cut him off before he can finish that statement. “Untrue. Being a princess doesn't mean that I’m above criticism. I mean sometimes I do feel entitled and have every right to be, but not when it comes to being cruel…to you. Good people.”

“You don’t know me,” he quickly rebuttals. “I could be cruel. The cruelest of cruel.”

You snort and chuckle. For the first time in so long you laugh from the depths of your stomach.

“I don’t believe that,” you say between laughs.

“How come?” He questions, making you take a deep breath to calm down and then answer genuinely.

“It’s in your eyes.”

As you say that his eyes soften and that grin falls to an awe-struck smile.

“And eyes never lie if you know how to read them,” you add. “I know. I see you now and through them, I see your good heart,” you say and gently tap his chest with your fist. “You’re good.”

“Thank you,” he whispers timidly.

You offer him a kind-hearted smile and then pull your hand away to drop your arm back at your side. When you’re both looking out the window and see how the night covers every aspect of the outside world, you stand in a…comfortable silence. It didn't last but no matter how short it was you still felt at ease.

“Can I ask why you left?” Addam asks. “Your mother was Queen, you had every chance to return to her side.”

You draw out a deep breath and mutter. “I was being selfish,” you avoid the truth to avoid problems. “I got upset at my mother and I was a selfish and bratty daughter, that's why I left…I'm a bad person.”

“If that made a person bad then the world would be full of bad people,” he gives his opinion as he doesn’t fear looking at you as he speaks up. “Regardless of the situation, it’s normal to get upset at parents. You’re young, and they make mistakes. Being upset doesn’t make you bad. Besides, you made up now right?”

You nod.

“See? That’s what matters.”

Your breath shutters but you don’t cry this time, you keep looking out at the window with a sense of bliss. Yes, that’s what it is, bliss.

“Can I ask you something now,” you don’t shy away from bringing up, maybe you should, but it feels right because he reminds you of your beloved brothers. “Why are you not dancing? There’s many fair ladies there. And there’s also beautiful Lady Rhaena. We won’t get many moments like these so it’s best to take advantage of them. Who knows maybe you’ll end up being wed by the time the week ends.”

He scoffs and then laughs before he tilts his head towards you. “Well, I don’t know how. I didn’t take dancing lessons like you.”

You scoff. “Okay, yes I took dancing lessons. I had to, and I liked them,” you share with a smile. “My uncle Aegon would annoy me, but luckily…my Aemond would always save me and always be my dance partner. So I can tell you that the most important thing is to not step on your dance partner.”

“That would be terrible,” he says and you hum before you skip over to stand before him and offer him your hand because you have that need to…enjoy yourself like you used to because of him. Because he’s such a sweet reminder of everything nice. “I’ll show you. Just follow my lead.”

Addam hesitates but he doesn’t overthink your offer, he places his hand over yours, letting you secure your warm hold over his before pulling yourself closer to him to firstly, grab his other hand and place it on your waist and then place your other hand on his shoulder.

“Now there’s many other dances, but this is the most common and basic one. This one will work fine for now,” you say before you step toward him first, noticing how he keeps his eyes focused on your feet.

“Alright,” he whispers under his breath.

“The second most important thing is to follow the beat of the music,” you follow by saying and listen to what’s playing in the hall, hearing a song with a fast beat so you grow mischievous and can’t help yourself. You move quickly to follow the rhythm and surprisingly enough Addam is quick to catch up and not stumble or step on you.

“Great!” You praise him.

“You tried to mess me up,” he points out with a half grin.

You shake your head and deny such claims. “No, I’m merely following the beat of the music.”

He hums as he nods before a teasing smirk tugs on his own lips and he doesn’t fail to match your enthusiasm by spinning you around, making you laugh. When you face each other as you only grab onto one hand now, it’s like you speechlessly come to an agreement before you dance wildly as if in tune with each other's dancing hearts. And since the corridor is alone you make the corridor your dance floor and dance up and down it.

You let yourself get carried away. You smile and laugh without guilt, without sorrow, and without agony clinging onto you. You let go for the night because of Addam.

——

*A COUPLE WEEKS LATER*

There’s…no sight of Astraea resting near the castle—she must be hunting.

Aemond descends from his dragon in some isolated space where his dragon can fit and strides toward the castle without worry at first. Yet as he gets closer and closer and doesn’t hear commotion echoing from within the walls he picks up his pace, finding his heart skipping a beat before that too picks up its pace.

But why should he worry? You’ll be here, he just didn’t leave enough men for the commotion to travel out, and Astraea is hunting…

With that repeating in his mind to reassure the growing pit in his stomach, he takes a deep breath and keeps his quickened pace. When he makes it within the castle walls he only has one objective in mind, seeing you, so he doesn’t go out of his way to search for any guards, he doesn’t check for the witch or Ser Jason, he makes a beeline where you’re supposed to be and already imagines how you would react when you see him.

You won't be happy, after all, he left you locked in your quarters. He did one of the worst things possible but all he needs is just to see you. He’s been on his own for far too long, all he needs is to look you in your captivating eyes, he just needs to feel your warmth, and hear your breath so he knows you’re alive. That’s all he wants, you don’t have to talk to him, he just needs to see you. That’s all his heart has ever yearned for.

Yet when he turns the corner to reach your quarters, he comes to an immediate halt when he sees the decaying bodies of your guards. The blood seems to be a stain on the ground now so the men weren’t just killed…they’re old…

He calls out your name and waits for a response. When he doesn’t hear your voice call out to him he races to the room and throws the doors open, finding two more bodies inside. One seems to have been wounded on his neck and the other was impaled. Was it you?

No, no, no…

He wants it to be you who killed these strange men that are not a part of the guards that he left behind, but his fears take control and his mind begins to make him think that someone else hurt you, so he quickly spins around on his heels and runs out. He calls out your name at every turn hoping you’ll be in another room, that someone else will hear and come out, but deafening silence is all that responds to his desperate calls and his thumping heart is all that fills his ears. It almost plays tricks on him. He swears he hears your voice travel through the corridors, but when he follows what he believes is your voice he finds nothing.

There’s no one. Nothing, but emptiness and a reminder of what was of this castle. That is until he runs into the Godswood and finds what he was looking for in the burnt bodies discarded on the ground, and the swinging bodies hanging from the white branches.

He doesn’t want to believe you left this lovely mess. He hopes something else did it so he can save you and find you, but what else could leave bodies black and nothing but bones? Who else would hang burnt bodies on the Weirwood tree, but you?

You followed the ways of the Old Gods after your stay in the North. You pray to the weeping tree and enjoy basking in your peace in the Godswood, so no one else would leave these bodies hanging from the tree but you.

You killed those strangers in your chambers, you had Astraea burn these bodies in the Godswood, you fought the trouble he meant to protect you from, and you lived.

There’s no other way around it. His mind places some doubt, but he knows you’re capable so he believes wholeheartedly that you lived through the ordeal. However, a part of him wishes you would have been in trouble so he could have came and saved you because at least if he came and saved you, that would guarantee you staying by his side. It would mean that you didn’t leave, but you did…you left.

YOU LEFT!

He tears his sword out of his sheath and swings at the weeping face again and again with more anger backing each swing every time, and with tears slowly clouding his eyes every time his blade would hit the Weirwood tree.

Once he’s panting and his tears stream down his face he lets his sword fall to the ground and he stands there mindlessly looking at the wounded tree with tears in his eyes and his eyebrows knitted together in anger whilst heavy pants leave past his lips.

A part of him expected you to find a way to leave. You’re restless, you don’t belong locked away in some tower, but he just wanted to protect you. He saw you die every night in his dreams while he was here, and he hurt you when he was lost in some trance, so all he wanted was to guarantee your safety. He didn’t want you to leave and leave him alone in this world. He…just wanted what was best. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he didn’t intend for you to leave him alone like his mother, his sister, and his brothers have.

“Damn it,” he hisses and falls to his knees in front of the Weirwood tree, feeling abandoned and betrayed, but still feeling a longing to see you. Even if you left him he still aches to feel your arms embracing him against you, he wants to hear your whispers against his ear and desires most of all to see you so you can meet his gaze as if nothing else existed in the world but him and you.

He searches for the memory of your enticing gaze in the Heart Tree, unbeknownst to the fact that you are looking at the Weirwood tree in the Red Keep’s Godswood, and also yearning to see him. You also search for the memory of his gaze in the Heart tree, as if the weeping face held the memory of each other's gaze.

“Exhausted from terrorizing my homelands already, Prince?” A voice breaks the silence, ripping him away from his thoughts and making him stand up rapidly and turn swiftly to find none other than the witch Alys.

“You!” He bellows and stomps over to her to grab her by the neck in order to be threatening, but she doesn’t flinch. She meets his gaze and snickers before she answers a question he doesn’t have time to ask.

“She left home. She’s where she belongs.”

Aemond swallows back thickly and looks at her with slight disbelief before he reaffirms his grip around her throat and sneers. “Bring her back. Tell her to come back.”

Alys wraps her hand around his wrist and yanks his hand off her throat before she deadpans. “No.”

Aemond scoffs but she interjects before he can snap back.

“She will be back. You will see her again.”

The corner of Aemond’s lips twitch to a smirk but she smirks back and that makes his fall as he grows uncomfortable.

“You will both return to this very place soon. She has to so she can continue down her destined path.”

Aemond is curious to ask more and ask what she truly means because she wouldn’t look so taunting if there wasn’t some deeper meaning, but alas he doesn’t ask because he doesn’t like her or trust her like you do.

“Girls,” Alys blurts and makes him blink out of shock. “You will have twin girls. I thought you should know.”

His lips part as a soft gasp escapes past his lips.

Does this revelation mean that Helaena was wrong? Will he live after all?

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- When you so badly want your sister to be wrong you become delusional 🤩

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber

[damn-stark]

Chapter 27 The field of stars

Chapter 27 of Moonlight

A/N- And when I say she’s depressed would you believe it?

Warning- talks of pregnancy, angst, FLUFF, fluff, and more fluff, and SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 491-515

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

You’re still in that lake. Even if you’re miles away, you’re still there in the cold water in search of Aemond.

He hurt you, he betrayed you, he killed your family, he indulged the darkest parts of you, and he didn’t listen, but you’re still there, searching, hoping that by some miracle he survived that blow to the head and is coming to meet you when the reality is that you need to let him sink in the depths of those shallow waters.

“May I come in?”

Cregan.

You get up from your seat to give your back to the entrance and draw in a deep shaky breath whilst you wipe the tears off your cheeks and rub your nose before you exhale, and invite him in.

“Yes, come in.”

The flap opens and his heavy footsteps find themselves inside before they stop and the flaps close behind him.

“Are you okay?” He asks as he takes in the sight of your back to the entrance.

You nod softly and rub your nose with the back of your hand before you turn and face him, feigning a smile. “I’m just…letting these twins get their kicking in. They’re pretty restless right now.”

Cregan meets your gaze right away before you avert it and manages to catch the redness in your eyes left behind by tears, which means you were crying. Again. It was the third? Time he’s caught you crying. About what? He has an idea, but his jealousy of a dead man doesn’t let him accept it.

“Maybe it’s all that gold aligning your gown,” he says with a teasing tone and a smile to accompany his rather serious face. “It’s weighing them down even more.”

“Pft,” you scoff and flash him a second of a smile which isn’t much, but he managed to get something out of you and he’s proud of that.

“Unless they want to meet in the afterlife then they need to get used to it,” you quip and he walks in with his head hanging low as he speaks softly but with every word laced with frustration.

“It hardly protects you.”

And there it is, what he’s been holding back.

“It protects me enough,” you rebuttal and walk back to sit on the cot, catching him shaking his head stiffly and tapping the wooden post with his knuckles as he shares a frustrated chuckle.

“But that’s not enough for you is it?” You point out as you watch him make his way to you.

“If I could I would throw you in a carriage and send you to your mother,” he retorts and snaps his heavy gaze on you. “But alas your dragon would eat me alive.”

You flash him a smug smile and quip. “I’m not my brother, I would use my dragon to intimidate you.”

Cregan holds your eyes with that heavy intensity that doesn’t move you, not now. He notices that so he eases and sits down beside you without furthering the argument. Instead, he chooses to slide his hand over yours to gently cup it.

Now rather than matching his fire, you feel the need to cry as you feel his comfort and don’t feel his frustration radiating off him. However, even if tears prick in the corner of your eyes, you hold yourself back by inhaling sharply and instead focusing on another matter.

“They really are kicking,” your voice quivers no matter your efforts. “Feel,” you say and pull your hand out from under his to cup it and lift it off the bed to press it against your side.

“That’s Daenerys,” you let him know. “She’s smaller than her sister and has developed a little bit behind her, but she’s still feisty,” you share with a growing excitement. “You feel her?”

Cregan focuses on the little flutters and a smile flashes on his face as he feels who you’re talking about kicking like she has somewhere to be.

“Yes,” he says breathlessly. “Yes, I do.”

You beam at your belly and the moment you do Cregan sees a glimpse of it and can’t help but watch you instead. Yet it’s while he’s admiring you that a thought that’s been building up in his mind makes itself loud and present, managing to escape the depths of his mind and slip past his lips before he can even think about stopping. “These twins…are they mine?”

And just like that your beaming smile dies and the contact you had slips as you shift away.

“I have been thinking about it,” he continues to say and makes you uncomfortable. “And it would align. We lay together before you left the North, and that was seven months ago, so tell me while we’re alone if these twins are mine.”

You get up from the cot and bring your hands together to start fiddling with your rings. “Cregan,” you warn him, but he gets up and goes after you as you wander away.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell a soul,” he tries to assure you, but that’s not what you need. You need him to stop.

“Just tell me. I can protect you. I will protect you,” he keeps saying, causing you to stop fiddling with your rings to turn around sharply instead and grab his biceps to make it clear to him.

“These twins are Aemond’s,” you press, but not because you know that for a fact, but because what other choice is there when you don’t know? What other choice is there when he was your lawful husband when you slept with Cregan, and even thinking that the twins could be bastards could get you and them killed?

“It aligns with him too so they’re his Cregan.”

Said man clenches his jaw and his eyes start to harden, but he doesn’t seeth or hiss, he talks in a colder voice, but he’s still very gentle. “Are they? You do not need to lie to me. No one will know. No one will hurt you. Not while I’m alive, so tell me the truth. Confide in me.”

His words have a way of enticing you even through the persistence you try to hold so he won't question you about it any further.

“Cregan,” you mutter and fight hard with yourself to not indulge him, to not get his hopes over something you don’t even know, but as he looks at you with those grey eyes of his, and as he tells you with a look alone to trust him; how can you not give in?

“I don’t know,” you whisper and slide your hands off his biceps. “Maybe one of them can be yours, but I don’t know.”

Cregan’s eyebrows briefly meet together as he’s overwhelmed with confusion over what you just said. “What do you mean by one? Is that even possible?” He asks.

You shrug. “I don’t know,” you repeat yourself. “But maybe it is possible and maybe just one of them is yours, but I don’t know, I won’t know until they’re born or not at all.”

His confusion heightens to the point he can’t think of anything to add.

“But Cregan listen to me,” you press further and lean in so you’re all he sees. “Even if one is yours. Even if they both are, the truth of the matter is that they won’t ever truly be yours. Not by name, and not under the law or the eyes of the gods because when we lay together I was married, so they will always be Aemond’s. They will have the last name Targaryen even if they happen to look like you.”

This time that confusion he did feel slowly leaves his face and a deep ache replaces it. “Will they?” He mutters back even if he knows how things have to be. “How do you intend to hide that? If they look like me?”

You swallow back nervously and share the solution you have had in mind since you realized that the twins or one of them could be Cregan’s and can come out looking like him. “My grandmother was half Baratheon, they have dark hair, and Alicent is a Hightower, they have dark hair too. She’s red of hair because of her mother, but Hightower’s tend to have dark hair. That’s what I will say, it’s what I have to say unless you want me to die.”

Cregan backs away with his head slowly falling and he shakes it lightly to give your comment a response.

“But that’s only if they come out with dark hair, if the gods are good they’ll have silver hair. They need to,” you whisper against your fingers as you gnaw on your fingers, making him drag his eyes up to meet your gaze with a deep sorrowful look that aches your heart to see.

“Cregan,” you whisper and reach out for his arms, expecting him to back away and storm off like Aemond would have, but he lets you grab his arms and actually holds your elbows to talk through his pain.

“I know how things have to be, but it doesn’t mean I will take away my protection. If they are mine, or if one of them is and she looks like me, I will protect her with my life. You know that,” he says sweetly, making you smile at him and lift your hand to stroke his jaw.

“I know,” you say back softly.

He hums and cups the hand you have on his face before he parts his lips to try and utter two certain words, but he then stops as he sees the remnants of your grief clinging to your eyes.

“Forgive me,” he blurts. “You were grieving and I was selfish. I’m sorry.”

You gulp and nod in agreement. “You know,” you laugh dryly. “Aemond and I used to have these terrible fights. He never would hurt me, but they were nothing like this. We…just…had so much to say. So much going on…” you trail off and lower your head, letting Cregan caress your knuckles in an attempt to comfort you even though you’re talking about someone who still makes him seeth.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble and slowly face him. “That’s the last thing you want to hear.”

He scoffs. “He was your husband,” he says out loud. “And he’s gone now. It’s alright.”

You sigh with relief and glance down, mustering a faint smile as you watch your belly. “What would the people say if they keep seeing you walk in my quarters, Lord Stark?”

He scoffs. “What would they really think with the condition you’re in?”

You giggle and he watches you with a smile.

“I’m just a friend taking care of his Princess,” he reassures your worry. “That’s all.”

You draw out a heavy breath and then meet his gaze to offer him a soft and comprehensive nod. “That’s right.”

He lets out a small breath and finally shares what he was supposed to share in the first place. “The Lord of the Keep is ready to meet with you, so whenever you’re ready we can walk in to meet with them.”

You nod. “Okay, I think I’m ready now. Should I change into a different gown? One with no protection since it is heavy?” You tease, causing him to flash you a charming smile.

“Funny, I’d rather have you wear it than see you without it,” he retorts and walks around you without losing the attention of your gaze as you follow him with your eyes—“I’ll let them know you’re ready then so we can move on quickly and hopefully arrive at our next location by nightfall so you may rest.”

Since you know you won’t change his mind you nod in agreement before he walks out and leaves you to your lonesome, letting you put on a golden headpiece that has pearls dangling over your forehead before you take Blackfyre with the intention of hanging it over your shoulder, but as you hold the pommel you lose yourself on it and for the first time, question taking it with you, and ask yourself for a fleeting moment why you want them to fear you?

You look at your reflection painted on the Valyrian steel blade and remember how loved you wanted to be if you had been chosen heir since the beginning. You wanted to be loved and looked at with admiration and hope. Now what is hope? And can you really be admired when people can’t even meet your eyes?

Hm.

Alas, the thoughts are fleeting. You force yourself to push them away before you secure the sword over your shoulder, thinking now that you need a prettier sheath, one that looks good with your gowns. Maybe you can replace the strap with a golden chain?

It would hurt, but it wouldn’t ruin your entire outfit. The black leather just stands out against the lilac…

Whatever.

You step out and get greeted with a small squadron of men lined up and ready to accompany you, which is courtesy of Cregan and Ser Cane’s over-protectiveness—Their need to make sure you’re protected aligns so no detail is left out.

“Here, I can carry the sword,” Ser Cane immediately offers his assistance and doesn’t fret, he reaches for it, albeit you then step back so he doesn’t grab it.

“What if I need it but I can’t get it because you’re carrying it?” You query with a quirked brow.

“Well,” he sighs. “If you happen to need it would be after our squadron of men is dead,” he says and makes you smile. “And that’s not going to happen, but just so you may be assured, I will be right behind you at all times.”

���Like a shadow,” you tease and start to let the sheath slip off your shoulder. “Maybe you should smile then, Ser, so you may be less intimidating.”

“I’ll smile when there's a need for it,” he retorts, making you laugh.

“Okay, okay,” you roll out and hand him Blackfyre. “Let’s go.”

He hums and just as promised he’s right behind you and honestly it’s one of the best comforts when you're far from home.

“Addam, did you figure out what you’re going to say?” You ask the man as he makes his way to your side.

“Yes,” he affirms and right away finds Lord Stark as he catches up to you both. “Every question has a response. You need only step in if they keep refusing.”

It’s better that way, nowadays you tend to respond too bluntly, and with impatience and anger which doesn’t bode well when you’re trying to convince a Lord or Lady to lend some of their fighting men to your army, so it's good that Addam is glib of tongue. He says he isn’t but he took after your grandfather in that aspect, they’re both so good at talking to people, at reassuring them, and or convincing them to do something they need.

You can admit that you have never had that skill, you grow impatient too quickly and tend to get right to the point. It’s a skill you need to practice especially now that you’re heir…

It’s still an unbelievable title.

It's so surreal after wanting it for so long and only having it in your deepest desires. But now that you wear the title in all its glory, you can’t muster a single flicker of glee for it. It’s too heavy of a title to find much pride or joy in…which would have upset your younger self.

Honestly, if you think about that girl, all you feel is grief. The life you always wanted was never in your reach like you thought it was, it turned out to be an illusion, and as you think about that now and think about who you were, all you feel is sad and bad for that girl with her head in the clouds. If you could you would tell her to come down to see what you do now, terror in the eyes of the people you wanted to love you.

It’s so loud and striking in everyone’s eyes. When you enter the hall of the rather small keep, and walk down an illuminated path made of fire posts that stand tall and proud with their dancing flames, all you see is their fear; it stands out behind the flickering flames, just like you stand out to them more than the raging flames they know you mingle with; and not in some graceful way like the sun against a blue sky, you’re like a terrorizing ball of fire that brings only destruction and death.

There’s nowhere to hide from something so rageful, but they find comfort in the shadows, letting the dancing flames only consume your presence and the presence of those who accompany you.

“My Lord, my Lady,” Addam greets the head of the house sitting before you in their wooden chairs set in front of even more fire that keeps the hall warm.

“We are honored by your greeting,” he continues and bows his head, letting you stand tall in the middle of the path, demanding their immediate respect that they give by getting off their seats and kneeling to you. And all without meeting your eyes; not even when they stand back up or offer you refreshments and something to eat. Their eyes dance around you. It’s such a noticeable thing and maybe it's because you pay all your focus on the way they all look at you, but you can see it clearly. All the awe and admiration are non-existent in their eyes. Even as you stand under the illuminating firelight in the dark hall, all they see is someone to fear, and someone to be cautious about. They see all that you feared people would see, and it makes the bright firelight dim in your eyes.

“…we still grasp onto the hope that the rightful ruler will win the war and end this tyranny,” you catch the Lord of the Keep saying after tuning out the conversation they had while you were lost in the looks behind the flames.

“No,” you blur, causing Addam to slowly look at you with panic after not expecting you to utter a word since you were so quiet—“there’s no such thing as hope.”

A heightened tension grabs a tighter hold around everyone’s throats at the sound of your tragic words.

“We alone pave our own path. Hope has nothing to do with it,” you share and cause a sadness to strike in Cregan’s heart as he hears you say words he thought you would never say.

“…and it’s why we will win. Your assistance will just make us stronger than ever before,” you say and at last the eyes of the Lord find a way to fall on you without strain, seeing the way you illuminate so hauntingly against all the glimmering fire.

“But it's not a guarantee?” He rebuttals. “If I give you my swords will it be a guarantee? I already lost so much with the previous wars, what makes this one any different?”

You draw in a deep breath and roll your shoulders back as you slowly point your nose in the air to show your arrogance. “Addam and I will be fighting with our dragons this time. That’s the difference.”

The Lord taps his fingers on his armrests and looks to Addam as if thinking over what he had said for a moment before he sits up straight and nods. “So be it. I will give you the fighting men but leave a handful to protect my home.”

A weight can be felt lifting off the room as the Lord does what everyone hoped he would do to avoid being bathed in dragon fire in the same way your Kinslayer of a husband terrorized the Riverlands.

Actually, if you’re being realistic, if you sit and think about the reality, that’s why the Lord was so easily swayed because he feared you turning his family and his home to ash. That fear painted such a beautiful picture in his eyes and the eyes of everyone that was in that hall.

Then again maybe it’s because as the day passes all you can do is think about how clear and easy it was to see, like fire in the darkness.

You would ask yourself why if you were oblivious, ignorant too, but you’re not either of those things, you know why they fear you, you basked in that persona. But the question that you do ask yourself is if you want them to keep fearing you...

You look at the fire. You admire its beauty against the night-consumed earth swallowing everything in darkness but the piece of land you sit on, and know that you don’t want to give up the power you hold, and why should you? Men don’t have to give up anything to appear less threatening, people welcome that aspect from a man, so why don't they welcome that from you too? You’re in a war, you can’t just sit by and do nothing while you have a dragon and the ability to touch fire without getting hurt. You have to take advantage of it, so why can’t they love you despite it?

Why do they fear you? What can you do to appear less threatening and rageful, and more warm and trustworthy instead?

Then again can fire be anything but the embodiment of rageful, threatening, hot, and untrustworthy unless it's snuffed out or starving?

“You’re not meant to be out here all alone,” Addam interrupts your moment of silence, causing you to crush the dry flower you were burning to ash in your hand before you slowly peer back and watch him make his way to your side on the piece of land you're plopped on.

“I have Blackfyre and my fierce need to protect myself,” you try to assure him, but that doesn’t ease his annoyance. “I’m not far from camp,” you add and drift your eyes away to watch the fire burning on your torch instead as he falls on his ass beside you.

“And it’s secluded.”

“So you say,” Addam remarks. “One of the men said there’s a lot of bandits in these parts. What would be of you if they kidnapped you?”

“Well,” you sigh and pull the torch off the ground to stick it at your other side so you can lie down on the ground. “…They would either blackmail Cregan or my mother for money to release me. Or I would have watched them burn.” You shrug mindlessly and watch him take his turn to lie down next to you.

“Quite an easy day huh?” You change the subject and smile brightly as you watch Astraea and Seasmoke fly overhead.

“Yes, it was,” he agrees as he folds his arms behind his head and watches the sky with you. “Considering the Keep is small I thought they would put up more of a fight, but they gave in without a fight. Maybe that’s why I got that vision of bringing you along. The gods knew your presence would make it easier.”

You let out a dry chuckle and shake your head in protest. “They fear me,” you mutter almost shamefully. “I don’t fill them with inspiration. They are scared of me. It was obvious.”

There’s a moment of silence that creeps over you and Addam. It lingers, letting you have no other option but to watch as the dragons dance with the stars as they fly high in the sky.

“They fear the unknown,” Addam finally shares the thought he was carefully forming; a thought so pure and sincere that there’s no hint of malice—“they fear all the things they hear, that version of who you are, but it’s not who you are. As long as you know that you keep trying to prove that to them. That’s all you can do, you can’t beg them or force them, just keep trying to be the person you are, not the person they hear about. Or else you’re more of the same.”

And he would know that. He was a smallfolk up until a couple of months ago when he bonded with Seasmoke.

“So no more walking through fire?” You question him as you turn your head to look at him, making him then look at you as he feels your stare.

“No, no.” He shakes his head. “We’re still at war, just be less…Aemond. Be more you, who you were.”

You scoff and turn your head away. “You did not know Aemond,” you remark and watch the dragons again, but this time you watch them flying out of view.

“No, but I knew of him. He sounded like a terrifying man. Who burns their own brother?”

“Someone who was bullied all his life by that same brother,” you defend Aemond quietly as you can feel the jabs of pain by just thinking about him. “He was not…scary,” you say and swallow back the lump that was forming in your throat.

“I’m sure he wasn’t to you,” Addam begrudges you, keeping you quiet instead of trying to argue with someone who wouldn’t understand. No one would.

Thus you leave it be and admire the sky until slowly you let your head loll to the side to slowly take Addam in and watch him as his eyes and mind get lost in the cloudy night hiding the sea of stars, but not dull even for a second that glimmer in his dark eyes. He carries not the moon and the stars, but the warm sun that’s missing so often in this part of the country. He carries warmth that could melt the frost that blankets the earth in the early mornings…just like Jacaerys could.

He is everything your brothers were, being with him is like having a part of them back. He could never fill the void they left, but he is a reminder of that warmth your brother's death took from your soul. And it’s because of that reminder that you know you can trust him with the dire request you need to ask of him.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” You ask with the person you trust the most with this matter.

“Of course,” Addam says without hesitation or truly knowing what you’re going to ask for.

Even still, you continue. “As you know I’m seven months along with these babes,” you start saying and slowly have him turning his head toward you—“and something I learned from my septa when I was young was that twins sometimes come before nine months. So…maybe in a couple of weeks I might give birth, and with that comes a risk.”

“Yes, I know,” Addam says breathlessly as he thinks about the tragedy of birth. Yet he hasn’t grasped the full picture when it comes to twins so you interrupt him.

“No, when it's twins there’s a higher chance for me to die,” you say without a pause, just a small crack in your voice. “And if that happens, if something happens to me on that birthing bed and the babes come out looking like...” You trail off for the first time and take a deep breath as if what you’re going to say is weighing you down. But then that’s because it does.

“…Cregan,” you finally give Addam that insight he had been missing, and what he had been suspecting since the moment he saw Cregan and you reunite—“I need you to take them, mount Seasmoke and fly far away.”

This time Addam sits up in a flash and stares down at you hard, making you slowly push yourself up and meet his gaze with desperation instead of shame or anything else that you might feel when admitting that you cheated on your husband, and now want Addam to run away with your children.

“Aerion will be taken care of by my mother, but the twins,” you insist with a vulnerability he can clearly hear in your voice. “If they turn out to be Cregan’s and I am not here to protect them they could be killed, or live their lives ostracized and belittled. And without me in their lives to protect them and scare those demons away, their lives will be a waking nightmare.”

Addam’d face falls, losing that initial shock and surprise and instead showing his concern and confusion. “But what of Lord Stark?” He can't help but ask as if that’s not something you have already thought about. “He can protect them, and your mother can and would too.”

“Did you not hear me?” You quip. “No matter where they live, their lives would always be about them being bastards. And I know it’s my fault, I am to blame for sleeping with a man that wasn’t my husband, but…they don’t deserve to pay for my sins. And I know my being here wouldn’t change much, but at least I could protect them. I would be the face of all the people’s scrutiny, but if I’m not here…if something happens to me, I need you to take them. I need you to protect them and raise them. Promise me.”

Addam’s disbelief looks like a raging storm behind his brown eyes while you look into them, so you quickly look away, missing the way his face falls before he shares his disbelief. “But why me? I know that even if we win this war with our efforts, the people won’t look at me differently. I will always be a bastard, so I understand your need to protect your children from that, but….why do you trust me to take care of them?”

You tilt your head down in an attempt to meet his gaze with a softened look of your admiration. “Because you’re a good man, Addam,” you reassure his insecurity. “Because you have a good heart and you’re everything my brothers were, and everything I want my children to grow up to be. That’s why.”

Addam slowly picks his head up, meeting your gaze to share his gratitude with his glistening eyes and a small smile.

“You would risk your life so if you don’t want to take this responsibility say it, I won’t be offended and they would be looked after either way. It’s just a precaution, a path that I am willing to take, or have someone take.” You add for his own benefit. “Or if you want to consider it, just tell me.”

Addam averts his gaze for a moment, looking around thoughtfully before his gaze hardens and he looks at you with a fierce dedication. “I will do it,” he says and catches you by surprise with how quick he was to make such a heavy decision that should have taken him days to weeks to decide. Especially because it comes with so many risks, and so much sacrifice for someone he’s known for such a short time.

“You mean it?” You ask, and he offers you a sweet smile.

“Of course. I know how it feels to be ostracized, I know the looks and all the bad that comes with it,” he says, causing your own face to fall as your heart sinks deeper.

“Then it makes me a terrible mother for putting my children at risk,” you mumble so it’s barely audible, but he catches what you said and quickly rebuttals.

“No, unless it was on purpose,” he rolls out so you can trail on with an explanation.

“No,” you do as he wanted you to do. “When I lay with Cregan it was not out of malice to get something out of him or to possibly fall with child. I was lonely and he was there. He was everything I needed. He was all the love I left behind, I didn’t think of it as a payback against Aemond for killing Lucerys. Cregan was and is a light in the darkness so no it was not on purpose.”

“Then no,” Addam assures you while also finally understanding the connection between Cregan and you. He at last understands the lingering looks and stolen glances, he understands why you dance around each other when you talk, and finally understands Cregan’s protectiveness that made him appear like a threatening wolf trying to keep Addam away from what Cregan cherishes the most.

“It doesn’t make you a terrible mother,” he continues sweetly. “A bit thoughtless? Yes, but you’re young and you love him.”

“I did not love Aemond any less,” you quickly explain yourself as if that makes the situation any better.

“I know, you don’t need to explain it to me. I know.”

You nod faintly in comprehension and sink down on the ground to once again stare off at the flames dancing on the torch as you still feel so terrible for possibly putting your twins at that risk after seeing how your brothers were treated all their lives.

“But what I don’t understand is why you’re taking precautions when you know you’re going to live past this war,” Addam finally shares his thought out loud.

“Alys says our lives are already a story,” you say as you keep looking at the fire. “Everything that will happen is already set, but…I can’t rely on that knowledge when I have not lived it yet. I need to think of it as a possibility or else I will get caught up in it and live mindlessly.”

Addam hums and you hear him shift against the grass. “If that’s so then…if I die—”

You snap your head toward him and shoot him a pointed glare. “Don’t say that, Addam.”

He puts his finger up and interjects right away. “If I die, return me to Driftmark. I want to rest by the sea, not in some wetlands.”

You keep passing him your glare and grumble. “Tumbleton are not wetlands.”

“Swear,” he presses and disregards your comment.

You roll your eyes away but you still throw out your response. “I’ll do it, but I don’t believe you’ll die.”

“Oh—”

“Because I’ll die first so you can miss me,” you cut him off and laugh quietly. “You’ll miss my siren song. Who will fill your heart with such amazing music then?”

Addam scoffs and chuckles dryly, making you look over at him with a smile.

“I have yet to actually hear you sing,” he remarks. “So until then, it’s all a myth.”

You raise a brow and nudge his arm. “Don't worry I’ll bless you with my song soon enough. Not now though. We should return to camp now.”

You proceed to try and push yourself to your feet but with all the extra weight you struggle, causing Addam to jump to his feet swiftly and then grab your hand to assist you in your endeavor.

“Yes let’s,” he follows up by saying. “I wouldn’t want someone to be lurking about the woods ready to rip me to shreds,” he teases you about Cregan and you can't help but let out a fake laugh—“really, he’s got this really piercing stare. I feel like he’s devouring me.”

“If his stare is piercing then he can’t really devour you, more like…pierce you,” you correct him, causing him to stop as he’s grabbing Blackfyre for you to stare deep into the abyss of your soul.

You proceed to swipe the torch off the ground first and then catch him staring with a judgmental look that makes you giggle without fault.

“You sound like the maester,” he grumbles. “And very snobby too.”

“Oh haha,” you feign your laugh and kick dirt at him, but he doesn’t react, he shrugs and stays true to his word.

“You are very snobby and pretentious, you know that? It’s a miracle you don’t float away with your nose always stuck in the air,” he says as he mocks the way you talk.

“My other great traits keep me anchored,” you play along and spin around to start walking back to camp with him behind you.

“Aha, your big head.”

You snort and nod eagerly. “Exactly!”

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

Days pass and between that several miles have been crossed that bring new Keeps of Lord and Ladies you only knew by name. All who are different in their own way, for example, in the way they speak, the way they greet their guests, the way they carry themselves, and the different arguments they bring up when met with the demand to lend their swords to your army of men. However, no matter the differences, they all share a key similarity in their eyes, and that is fear.

They all look at you like you’re wildfire, a spark they need to be cautious of and keep calm so it doesn’t develop and consume everything in its path. It’s only because of Addam’s glib tongue that they find some ease in their choice, so you’re grateful for him. What would have this journey turned out to be without him you have to wonder.

You probably wouldn’t have inspired as many Lords and Ladies to lend their fighting men. You are like the push Addam’s speeches need, or like the threatening dragon in the back guarding him. But you alone wouldn’t have persuaded them like him. You would be here with Cregan and his army, that's something you’re certain of because you still would have tried to make it right for your mother, but you wouldn’t be greeted with open arms or curiosity.

You also would be in the forest, that’s something you are also certain about. You would be out under the cloudy sky, breathing in the brisk air, listening to the birds chirping in the trees they call home, avoiding the mud to not get dirty, taking breaks as the twins are getting heavier by the day to carry, and you would have your bow and arrow out to stalk a fish as you wonder if killing it to eat it is really right.

You look at the fish, you admire its pretty blue scales glimmering under the water's surface, and can’t build the courage to let your arrow go. It doesn’t feel right, so you loosen your aim and rest the bow against your swollen belly to watch the fish instead.

Only, in the minutes that follow you gasp when the blue fish turns around and swallows a smaller fish whole, causing you to quickly change your mind and pick the bow back up to let the arrow go and hit the fish before deciding to retreat back to camp with the single blue fish. And once you are back in camp you come to find Cregan and Addam walking and talking together so you waddle toward them and announce your presence by throwing your arm over Addam.

“My dearest uncle,” you greet him and earn both of the men’s attention.

“You’re back, and with,” he pauses and you show off your trophy. “…a single fish.”

You beam at him and peel away from his side to spin on your heels and face them as you walk backward. “It ate another fish after I was going to spare it so I shot it and now I’m going to eat it, or feed it to the hound.”

Addam hums and Cregan passes you an amused look that’s also filled with slight judgment, but you let it be and instead bring up another matter. “Addam today is your lucky day.”

Said man lifts a brow and probes. “How so?”

You flash him a smile and then giggle before you respond. “Tonight Ser Cane agreed to play the lute, isn’t that right ser?”

“Twisted my arm,” he deadpans and you chuckle since you know that’s far from the truth because the campfire was the idea he shared with you. He said he wanted to play the lute as long as you sang, so how could you deny the request?!

But you'll let him act all nonchalant.

“And!” You clap. “I’m going to accompany him by singing, so boys you are invited to our campfire, there will be singing, dancing, and lute playing!” You exclaim. “Oh! And women as well, the healers are going to attend. I have persuaded them, so Addam put on your most charming smile.”

Addam rolls his eyes and grumbles. “There’s no time for that.”

You ignore him and proceed to taunt him. “Oh? Rhaena you say?”

“No!”

“Well I’ll say Rhaena is the best choice for you, Baela is a bit too tough for you,” you keep ignoring him. “She might bite your head off, but Rhaena is more gentle, so yes I agree she is the right one.”

Addam shakes his head and you bounce your eyebrows and share the idea you had already told her. “And if you don’t make a move when we see each other again, just know I will put something in your breakfast and shove you in a boat so you may drift to the middle of the sea and be forced to find a way back to shore together because nothing screams romance like a good adventure!” You exclaim dramatically and grab his arm to shake him. “You will fall in love, thank me when you wed, and name your first daughter after me!” You giggle and then squeal. “I can see it already.”

Addam pulls his arm out of your grasp and tries to share a glance with Cregan, but he is too busy looking at you with a smile in his eyes to even pay attention to Addam.

“As to why people fear you? I don’t know. They should fear how annoying you are, you know that? Why don’t you worry about your own love life now that you’re a widow.”

“Oh, my love life is decided,” you joke around and flash Cregan a smirk, catching a frown flicker on his face. “My mother has given me the freedom to choose my next husband so I will find my Tyroshi knight whom I had a crush on when I was a little girl,” you say and touch your chest to pretend to be swooning. “He was tall, buff, with very black hair, and green eyes. And when I was young I would purposely take the long way to the library to pass by his post so he could greet me.”

Addam passes you a disgusted look and Cregan scoffs.

“He left not so much later after I discovered I was fond of him so I’m going to search for him and marry him,” you add with a teasing smile.

“Good luck,” Addam quips and you bow your head in return.

“Thank you. As for now though I’m going to cook this fish, think about him, and get ready for later,” you let them know before you spin around and head toward your tent, expecting to ruminate in that hint of joy you were riddled with, but it’s hard.

When you’re in the warmth of your tent, hearing the day pass around you, remembering the faces of everyone you met, the joy slowly burns away. You watch it turn to ash in the fires that keep your tent warm, and in doing so, also bringing forth this exhaustion from the ashes that makes you want to do nothing else but sleep it off as it all gets too heavy to carry. Just staying awake is a trudging effort, but you fight hard to push down that nagging exhaustion and get ready instead, while also making sure to tug on a smile before stepping out without carrying that weight on your shoulders to be like one of the stars that miraculously make an appearance tonight.

“Hello and what a joy it is to see all of your faces tonight,” you address the crowd with an ever-so-blinding charm that you’re using for the night. “I would do my signature bow, but,” you sigh and then click your tongue. “Alas my twins won’t let me, so no bow, but you do get a smile and my ever-so-royal presence.” You say and flash them a beaming smile, causing some of the men in the crowd to hoot before you you lean back and drive all your attention to Addam.

“I would just like to point out a very special person here in the crowd with us tonight, my uncle, and my dearest friend, Ser Addam of Hull!” You exclaim with words that flow easily out of your mouth. “He said one of his dreams was to hear me sing, so today is your lucky day, my friend!”

Said man shakes his head to deny your false claim told to interact with the crowd.

“But I will say,” you continue and lean forward. “My grandfather, Lord Corlys said that when you hear a siren song in the sea you know you’re in danger. Are you in danger tonight, Ser?”

“No, because we’re not in the sea!” He retorts, making you and the crowd laugh.

“Then it is your lucky day!” You exclaim. “Because this song is just for you!”

You proceed to look back at Ser Cane and he starts strumming his lute before you start to sing the words to your absolute favorite song. And with not so much effort or much time later, the atmosphere around the campfire explodes like embers exploding in the fire; going from a standstill and just watching to dancing and singing along with drinks in their hands. And it’s because you see the crowd enjoying themselves that you get drunk off their glee, going from exhausting smiles to a genuine smile that hurts your cheeks. There even comes a point when Addam joins you and sings the last few lines with you as he watches you from the crowd.

Yet nothing makes that bright smile reach your eyes like seeing Cregan finally join the celebrating crowd.

“Okay, okay,” you calm the crowd down when the song comes to an end. “I need you all to listen well because this next song is one I myself translated from Valyrian for someone close and dear to my beating heart,” you share and never once tear your eyes away from Cregan parting through the crowd without once saying excuse me. The people move for him and make space so he can make his way to the front where he stands next to Addam and becomes all you can focus on because there's nothing brighter, or more interesting than him, the person the song is about.

“Is it me?!” One of the men exclaims in the crowd. “If it is, I will marry you!”

You squint your eyes and search the crowd until you find the daring culprit to be Lord Benjicot Blackwood, the excited young boy from before. “You would marry me?” You play along. “While I look like this?”

“Of course! If the song is for me, why not?!”

You giggle and tilt your head to the side. “Aw well how sweet of you, but I cannot say who the song is about or it will ruin the mystery,” you let him down in a smart way. “Sorry darling. Maybe one day.”

He hollers out of excitement so you flash him a grin before you straighten up and continue to address the entire crowd. “Dance if you want, cry, or sing, I don’t know. Do what your heart desires and enjoy because I will soon leave this stage and join you all,” you proclaim before you peer back and give Ser Cane a gesturing nod that lets him begin to strum his lute so you can start singing your song.

And this time around, as you stand in some field in the middle of the Riverlands as a widow and no need to hide your connection from anyone anymore; you hold Cregan’s grey eyes with a soft glistening admiration and dedicate your smile just to him, finding nothing more heartwarming or heart pumping then that small smile he offers you as you are the sole captor of his attention and shine in his eyes like the morning and evening star, the sun, the fire in the darkness, and the moon in every single phase of its cycle.

Anyone with eyes would see how the wolf is so enamored with the dragon, but everyone is so busy in their own happy states that they fail to notice the sparks that give life to a different fire elsewhere. Even Addam’s attention is stolen, so for as long as the song lasts only Cregan and you exist under the starlittered night. The campfire blazing in the distance is only meant to keep your bodies warm, and the music is just meant to make your hearts dance.

Do you wish that moment stolen from time could last forever? Yes, you both want to prolong this moment, but alas, the song comes to an end and other singers and musicians take the stage, letting the men caught up in the moment pull you away from Cregan’s sight to make you dance along with them. And even though you do lag behind with the twins weighing you down, you don’t let that weight from before keep crushing your soul, you become weightless to be a part of the moment, and find joy in this stolen moment on a random night because there’s nothing more exciting and memorable than stolen moments is there?

Yet you can’t truly be lost in the crowd, you don’t blend with your white-silver hair glimmering like diamonds against the fire blazing in the center, but Cregan doesn’t steal you away from the crowd to avoid diminishing your excitement. Cregan stands in the back of the crowd where the light barely touches him, but where he can see you clearly as you’re pulled around the campfire from partner to partner until you land in Addam’s arms and laugh with him like you don’t harbor any sadness or grief.

That’s all Cregan could ever want, your happiness. How can anyone be so cruel as to want you to suffer? Why do the gods find amusement in your pain? Can’t they see you shine your brightest when you’re happy? Don't they like to see you smile and be happy like he likes to?

If only this moment could last forever, or at least linger for a few more days so he doesn’t have to see that weight crushing you or the dark shadow of grief cast over you again, but alas, it can’t last forever so he basks in the now and continues to watch you from the shadows until suddenly you make your way to him with a cocky smirk playing on your lips.

“Come dance with me,” you don’t say it as a request, but more as a demand. “Just this song.”

You reach him and grab his hand to pull him with you regardless of what his response might be.

“It’s not a request is it?” He asks nevertheless as he's taken away from the shadows and becomes a participant in the events of the night.

“No,” you giggle, and once you make it back near the campfire, you bring him to a stop and face him before you pull your hands up as they stay interlinked, and start to walk around him to follow the beat of the new song.

“Dance Lord Stark,” you demand again and nudge his foot, causing him to sigh before he matches your pace and starts walking around you with your hands interlocked in the sky.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments you as you get lost in each other's eyes.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly and offer him a matching smile. “You look quite handsome yourself under this starlight.”

He scoffs and hides his smile by pointing it to the ground. The song then starts to pick up so you don’t falter, but he still finds it in himself not to lose sight of your eyes, he holds your gaze and you get lost again, finding nothing more comfortable than the depths of his eyes that reflect the roaring fire behind you and make him look that more passionate.

“Is it okay if I steal you after this? I want to talk to you,” he reveals, making your heart jump. “Or we can wait until this is over if you’re enjoying it.”

You swallow thickly and shake your head. “No, we can go after this song,” you assure him because honestly, you can’t take the anticipation. And until then you stay in each other's proximity, not daring to change partners or ever look away out of fear you’d lose each other if your eyes weren’t as interconnected as your hands are, but can you blame each other for being so attached? There’s finally nothing holding you back, your paths are meeting up to intertwine and become one once and for all. Why would you be anything else but attached to the hip?

When the song comes to an end and the time comes to part away from the clamoring crowd, you don't even let go of one another, you’re like kids in love again refusing to be too far from each other and wanting nothing else but find one special place to hide and be alone without getting caught or disturbed.

That’s perhaps something no one could take away from you because it was your special thing just like going to the roof was yours and Aemond’s thing.

“Come on just over here,” he lets you know as he keeps his hand secured around yours so you don’t fall behind.

“Hey, what did you think about that last song I sang?” You ask as you blindly follow him through the thick of the woods, and he huffs softly before you catch a glimpse of his eye as he peers back at you with a rather timid smile.

“I found it in this book of ballads and songs I was gifted and it reminded me of you,” you share shamelessly and make his grip around your hand tighten as you receive silence. “I was planning to talk about it through a letter, but alas our paths crossed again.”

“Well it was popular amongst the crowd,” he finally says in a softened tone. “But most of them were getting drunk.”

You hum and keep your eyes on him to await his answer with your heart starting to race since he doesn’t say anything in regards to your question.

“And those who weren’t drunk probably thought it was about your husband,” he says and there’s a bit of roughness that makes an appearance in his tone for a second, so you interject.

“But it wasn’t. You know that?” You say it as a question rather than a comment, making him look at you over his shoulder to look into your eyes and get the reassurance he was missing before he nods and flashes you a charming smile.

“I do, It was a beautiful song. I liked it,” he finally fills your heart with bliss as he responds to your question before he lets himself be flirty. “You should sing it again but in a more private setting this time.”

You grin at him and offer him an agreeing nod before you look ahead with the intention to finally question where it is he’s dragging you to, after all, all the walking is starting to exhaust you, but the moment you look past his shoulder a gasp escapes your lips as you see a clearing just ahead where the moon bathes the field of grass in its illuminating glow.

“Look at that,” you muse and quicken your pace to take the lead and step into that grass field kissed by the moon's hue.

“I came walking and I discovered it,” Cregan shares quietly as he admires the way you admire the clearing. “It reminded me of the clearing we would escape to in Winterfell.”

You spin around and face him with a taunting smile. “Are you still using me as your midnight rendezvous, my Lord?”

Cregan scoffs. “No, not anymore, but,” he sighs and smiles ever so softly that it barely shows on his face, but his eyes, they smile the brightest. “…I thought it would be special.”

You hum softly and take one more step back before you sit on the ground and pat the spot next to you even though that’s the exact spot he was going to take regardless. You then want to comment on the fact that the small piece of land is breathtaking especially as the moon seems to shine just for the field of grass, but you’re so caught up in the bliss and peace of the moment that silence brings that you can’t bring yourself to break it just yet. You simply take in and release the crispy air of the night and get wrapped in the comfort of Cregan breathing beside you.

You get so lost in the moment in fact that you forget the world past the perimeters of the field of moonlight, it’s just him, you, the moon, and the field of stars in his eyes. When Cregan is not paying attention you steal a lingering look at him and admire how beautiful his grey eyes are as they reflect the beautiful painting of the field of stars above your head, reminding you of the endless field of stars in the North, and those warm and cold nights you would spend selfishly under them with only each other as company as you tried not to but failed at not falling in love with another.

You wish you could go back to those nights. You wish you could be back there again where it was just you and him. And for a moment it does feel like you are but only for a moment until you peel your eyes away from him and remember that you’re far from the North and that life you once had.

“Can I ask you something?” Cregan brings up, cutting through the silence, but not the bliss, and making you hum as a response without tearing your eyes away from the sky, in doing so, missing the way he admires the way your silver-white hair glistens under the moon's hue like the pure untouched snow in the North.

He actually wishes he could be back home now with you at his side and at last sharing his family name. You would be happier there because you were always happy when you were in Winterfell. Alas…

“Do you really not believe in hope anymore?” He asks such a heavy question that kills your smile and makes you blink in disbelief before you face him.

“It’s just what you say worries me,” he continues to share. “It’s not you.”

You look at him for a while as you try to gather your thoughts and try to come up with some lie to not include your grief and your agony that have taken turns stripping at that hope you used to cherish, but as you look at him you see your best friend, someone you can trust, and have told everything to, so why would you lie about this?

“There’s just no point in hoping,” you share quietly as you blink and slowly bring your head down. “Hope did not save my brothers or my grandmother. And hope has not won this war, the people fighting in it have, so no, hope is not something I believe in anymore. We carve our own path.”

Cregan sighs and scoots himself closer to you to grab your chin with a gentle touch before he then tilts your head up so you’re looking into his eyes softened by the sorrow you make him feel. “Darling, you can’t give up on hope. I know the losses you have suffered have taken a piece of you with them. The way your story has unfolded has not been pleasant or merciful, but we need hope just like we need to breathe.”

You shake your head and feel your eyes sting as tears start to well in your eyes. “I have hoped,” your voice quivers. “I have set my heart on hope, but…the world is set on seeing me and my family suffer. If I cling to hope again I will be crushed and there’s hardly any of me left. I can’t…I need to keep my guard up.”

A deep breath leaves his nose and the hand he had on your chin slides up to your cheek whilst the other one gently cups your other cheek so he can hold your face. And it’s that gentle hold that causes you to break into a quiet weep as you melt into his grasp.

“It’s made me a monster, hasn’t it? I wanted power, I wanted to be looked at as a warrior like the woman that came before me, but they all hate me now. They fear me, Cregan. And you do too.”

Cregan leans forward and presses his forehead against yours, but at that moment, your head droops so his face is pressed against the side of yours. “No, no,” he whispers. “Never. You became who they forced you to be, but it does not make me fear you or look at you any differently. You know that,” he says and his breath unfurls over your cheek as he speaks, bringing goosebumps to your skin. “And as for everyone else, you will show them exactly who you want them to see when you win that battle. I know it’s not now, but give them time, okay? They’ll see, they will all see what me and those men that respect you do, hm?”

You blink repeatedly, shedding more tears that make him look cloudy as you pull your head up to look at him. And as you do you accidentally brush your lips against his.

“I need to ask you something else,” he whispers against your lips as he looks between them and your eyes with this temptation starting to burn within him.

“Okay,” you say breathlessly and watch his eyes darting between your lips and your attentive gaze.

“I know,” he breathes out and licks his lips. “…you said to give you time. And time is what you will get, as much as you need, but I need to ask you now that I can, now that nothing is holding us back…” he trails off and you feel your heart skip a beat before it starts to race whilst your eyes slightly widen with curiosity even though you suspect where he might be taking this.

“…marry me,” he says and steals your breath even though you felt it coming in the same way he says winter is coming before the first winter winds blow—“It does not have to be right away, I can wait until after the war, but I just want you to be mine already by promise at least. I don’t want to lose you again. I want…to take you back home after this war,” he says sweet words that make butterflies flutter in your stomach, and make a warmth start to unfurl all over your body.

“I want to love you without having to hide. I want to see your belly swollen with a child of our own,” he continues, making you chuckle and hold onto his wrists for stability. “I want to share my life with you until I take my last breath when we’re old and grey.”

You let out a deep breath as your heart swoons and brings an awe-struck smile to your face. “I want a life with you too,” you assure him. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and I want to know the son we will share.”

You both chuckle and he also reaffirms his grasp on your face.

“I just…can’t kiss you right now,” you almost feel pain to say. “I want to but I can’t—”

“I understand,” Cregan cuts you off and gently caresses your cheek. “I do because you’re mine now.”

You beam at him for a second before your face falls as you close your eyes and just take in the moment.

“Please don’t leave me,” you barely form into an audible sentence because it’s so laced with fear. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “I would be mad to leave you. Death can’t even keep me away from you.”

Your lips twitch to a smile before you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into an embrace you melt into as much as you can.

“I love you,” you whisper as you hold onto him tightly out of a deep fear he will be taken away from you like so many others have.

“I love you too, my darling,” he doesn’t hesitate to say back as he rubs your back with one hand and gently cups the back of your neck with the other.

A peaceful silence then proceeds to roll back in, and in that shared bliss as you sit interconnected with one another under the moon's illuminating light, you both find yourselves back home.

.

.

.

.

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A/N- Blue fish, blue fish what do you symbolize???

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

[damn-stark]

Chapter 29 A dot Targ. A dot Vel. (REPRISE)

Chapter 29 of Moonlight

A/N- Its good! I’m so proud!

Warning- talks of pregnancy, ANGST, fluff? violence, blood, swearing, and death. SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 515-520

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*A FEW YEARS BACK*

“There. We drop from the top of this cliff and fall right into the water. There’s no rocks below, there’s no way to get hurt. It’s a straightforward jump that’s not high whatsoever.”

Perhaps it was easier for you to say it, you have jumped from the cliff multiple times already, but to your brothers, Daeron, and Helaena? For them, the jump from the small cliff is like being high in the sky and jumping off your dragon's backs. The big body of water that glimmers like gems against the sun's reign is dull and grey in their eyes, and the target is small and an unattainable feat.

“You can walk back down,” Aemond interjects and directs at his little brother. “That’s what Jacaerys and Lucerys are doing. You don’t have to jump if you don’t want to.”

Daeron steps forward an inch to drop his brown eyes on the body of water below and gulp with fear.

“We can hold hands and jump together,” Helaena offers her little brother. “That’s how her…” Helaena pauses and points at you and then points her eyes at Aemond standing beside you. “…and Aemond do it.”

Said boy looks away out of embarrassment but doesn’t argue because it’s true. Every time you come to the top to jump down you do it hand in hand. Never have you done it without each other—yet maybe today might be the day considering Aemond might want to show off to Aegon.

“Yes,” Daeron says shakily and peers over his shoulder before he lifts his hand off his side and starts to reach out for his older sister.

However, it’s in his attempt to seek support that suddenly Aegon sprints forward. “Don’t be such a coward!” Aegon exclaims. “You’re a man with balls not a girl with a cunt!”

Before you can stop him, he shoves past Aemond and you to throw his hands out and shove Daeron off the cliff.

“Aegon!” You snap and run to the edge, whilst Helaena lets out a shocked gasp, and Aemond trails after you.

“Why would you do that?” Aemond remarks to his brother as you all watch Daeron screaming from the top of his lungs before he hits the water with a big splash!

“What’s wrong with you?!” You exclaim and snap your eyes to Aegon, but he just flashes you a cocky smile before he walks back a few paces and then runs forward to jump off the cliff himself and land beside his brother.

“Jacaerys!” You call out as you keep your eyes on where Daeron hit the water. “Check on Daeron!”

Your brother shoots you a thumbs up and walks in the water to do as you asked, and luckily he doesn’t need to assist. Daeron resurfaces with a big gasp of air as he wipes his face.

“Daeron! Are you okay?!” Helaena asks loudly, but she gets ignored as Daeron spins around and begins to splash Aegon out of spite. However, as expected, Aegon only finds his brother's reaction humorous.

“I told you not to invite him,” you quip at Aemond with a side glare. “Of course, he was going to do some shit like this.”

“I thought he’d behave,” Aemond mutters. “Besides, I didn’t invite him. He found out and invited himself.”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “Whatever, do you want to go next?” You ask and throw your hand out to offer it to him. And at first, he looks at your extended invitation and hesitates for a few seconds, so you think today will be the day he refuses your assistance, but alas, he thankfully doesn’t give in to his self-consciousness about being judged by Aegon and puts his hand over yours and make you smile at him.

“Ready?” You make sure to ask as you secure your hold around his hand.

Aemond nods and you proceed to walk back a couple of steps before you both run forward at the same time and jump off the cliff together hand in hand just like you always do. When you hit the water with a big splash and sink in the depths of the deep body of water, you let go of Aemond’s hand and open your eyes, catching him struggling to find his composure for a moment.

Only for a moment though because he’s quick to calm down and stop flailing his limbs around, letting his heartbeat come to a calm beat, and finding the moment to open his eyes and come face to face with you and your close-mouthed smile as you’re the center of each other's attention.

He tries to mirror your sweet gesture, but his smile is not as grand or excited as yours. There’s a warmth in his smile as sees you being so giddy, but he can not reflect that joy you carry because this, the depths of these waters aren’t his favorite; he feels like he’s playing with death by being down under for so long, but for you? This is basically your natural habitat. You were given the name the Siren of Driftmark for your singing ability, but what no one knows is that you’re basically a siren when you’re in the water.

You can hold your breath a long time and that’s something that was self-taught just to be able to dive down and collect stuff off the surface, and be able to mingle with the sea creatures that call these waters their home. Honestly, if it were up to you you would live here if you could, but alas you need air, so after you swim around him you resurface and take a breath of air without failing to grin brighter than the sun shining above.

“Come on, Helaena!” You encourage her whilst you see Aemond resurface and take a large gasp of air from the corner of your eye.

“Maybe I should go push her,” Aegon taunts, but you quickly snap around.

“Don’t you dare you ass!” You remark and push him, but alas he just laughs it off.

You respond to his maniacal laugh with a scoff as you turn away from him and look up again. However, Helaena is not in sight anymore.

“Helaena?!” You call out with worry.

Albeit only a few seconds later she shows up again as she runs toward the edge and jumps off with her fingers pinching her nose.

When she hits the water you swim toward her right away, but she resurfaces quickly and looks at you with relief to be alive. “I’m okay,” she reassures you as she breathes heavily.

You grin at her and nod. “Great. Would you do it again?”

She shakes her head and scoffs. “No.”

You giggle at her response and grab her hand to swim to shore together. Once your feet hit the sandy ground you find Daeron sitting on a rock with his eyes on the water before him.

“Are you okay?” You make sure to ask as you break away from Helaena and crouch down beside him.

“Yes,” he sighs and blinks as he turns his head to look at you. “It was not so bad. It just looked further when I was up there.”

You smile softly and nod in comprehension before you raise a quizzical brow. “Would you do it again?”

Daeron scoffs and nods softly. “Yes. It was fun.”

You beam at him and nudge him playfully. “See, I told you it was not so bad!”

Daeron smiles shyly and rolls his head down as he averts his gaze. “Yes I suppose you were right,” he echoes you before he meets your eyes with that sweet smile. “Just don’t let Aegon push me this time.”

You shake your head and pat his shoulder to reassure him. “No, never. I won’t let him come close. Swear.”

——

*NOW. TUMBLETON*

The stars in the night sky are dancing and mingling with the moon. The breeze is cool, colder than any that’s been felt yet, keeping the warm bodies in their tents to preserve heat and also sleep off the nighttime activities that have been transcending for the past week.

Overall the night is at last calm, giving the army of men a peaceful night. However, it’s in that silence and peace that they are easily able to feel the ground beneath them starting to tremble. And even if they can’t mistake it for anything absurd like all the men getting piss drunk, they don’t question the earth, yet.

With not a moment to spare, more and more men start to wake up when they hear the sound of faint rumbling echoing in the distance. They try to play it off as some distant storm coming their way, but that rumbling grows louder, going from rumbling to it sounding like a thousand storms of thunder clapping on the ground, making the ground shake even more violently and once and for all luring them out of their tents.

Albeit it’s a good and bad thing that they did. It’s a bad thing because they’re met face to face with death, but it's also a good thing because they can alert everyone of death rolling in on them in the shape of two large dragons that dive from the sky unleashing waves of fire upon their tent grounds that engulf the once darkened campsite in a raging firelight and drown out the soft and bright light of the moon and the stars.

From there on it's impossible for anyone to mind their business and ignore the sound of chaos outside, the firestorm falling upon them, and the wave upon wave of screaming men all charging toward them. Now they have to get up and dress for a fight, or get up and walk out whilst they’re dressing to grab any weapon they can or grab their horses to have some fighting chance.

And some men do have a fighting chance—Those men far from the initial line of fire can quickly dress and grab what they need to meet their attackers. However, those men caught under the dragon's shadows are nothing more than ash and bones, especially as you and Astraea make a sharp turn and fly low, descending a fiery death as you fly directly toward the main tents because that’s where you’ll find him; Daeron Targaryen.

Many would call you a Kinslayer for directly killing your uncle Daeron. You’ll forever be marked as one in the history books. All your great achievements will be watered down to that single fact especially because you’re a woman, but here’s the thing, you don’t give a single fuck what people in a hundred years think of you. All you care about is killing one man at this very moment, and you notice him just as you’re flying directly toward the main tents.

Daeron is standing outside, half-dressed with his silver-blond hair standing out like a sore thumb against the wild flames feeding on the bodies, the tents, and the ground around him. He stands there with his dark eyes on you and your dragon charging directly at him. He’s there and as his figure reflects in your eyes all the deaths you’ve endured; Lucerys, your grandmother, Jacaerys, Viserys, Joffrey, and even Aemond—Even his own brother's death flashes behind your eyes as if he was the sole cause of their deaths. As if he himself killed them with his bare hands.

And in some messed up way your mind does see him as the sole cause of their deaths because there’s no one else to blame; Aegon is dead or lost somewhere, you can never truly blame Aemond, and anyone else can never compare to the man standing before you. The Hightower and Targaryen boy whose family took away everything good. It’s because of his family that all of your own family is gone, and all that you knew is dead along with them. So yes, you blame him. You want him dead. You want to see his flesh melt off his bones. You want to give his mother his head so she may feel your mother's pain and the pain you have endured as well.

It would satisfy your thirst for revenge just enough to get off the field and watch from a distance to not make Cregan, Ser Cane, and Addam worry. Daeron is all your anger wants. He’s all your desire locks on. Daeron.

Daeron.

Daeron.

“Dracarys,” you growl as you lean forward and grab onto the handle with a vice grip.

Astraea clicks from the back of her throat as she builds up fire before she blasts her burning flames on Daeron and the path behind him.

Nevertheless, just before the flames can hit Daeron and the ground, the boy jumps out of Astraea’s aim.

You immediately snap your head around as Astraea flies forward, and soon thereafter catch him pushing himself to his feet to be able to run away and hide in between the crowd all running from the dragon's wrath.

“RAHHH!” You cry out enraged and hit the handles of your saddle. “<Turn Astraea!>” You command in Valyrian as you nudge the handles to the side. And without needing to be told twice Astraea makes a quick turn, whipping her tail and thrashing men to the side whilst also destroying tents and clutter in the way of her swinging tail.

When you’re facing the way Daeron ran you have Astraea unleash more waves of fire, catching irrelevant men in the way of your wrath until your uncle is all that you see ahead of you now that he’s not able to hide in the sea of bodies.

Yet before you can give your command to Astraea with your words or through your connection, you unhook all your restraints and push yourself off your seat to swing your leg over the saddle and reach the ladder hanging off Astraea’s side. After that, without needing to be told, your dragon comes to a stop and hovers over the ground of burning bodies to let you descend the ladders and land on an empty spot on the ground.

Daeron notices what you're doing and doesn’t stop running. You look at his path ahead and assume he’s attempting to reach Tessarion, so, considering Astraea knows your deepest desire, she swoops around him, unleashing a line of fire around him to cut him off in his attempts and bring him to an immediate stop before the wall of fire.

You then proceed to watch him, but don’t call out his name. You narrow your glare and start trudging toward him with heavy footsteps and Blackfyre in one hand. And perhaps that sight of you is much more terrifying than being called out because silence is much more threatening. It's tense and deadly because he knows, he feels it on the hairs on the back of his neck and the goosebumps crawling down his spine that you’re coming.

It’s only once Daeron hears you come to a stop that he turns around while he fixes his grip on his own sword, and confronts your piercing glare spewing hatred and a ferocity that he has only heard of until now.

Yet it doesn’t scare him. He doesn’t tense or try to find a way to escape, he stands there with you in a small clear spot surrounded by dead bodies and a wall of fire that stays alive by feeding off some of those dead bodies.

“Goodsister,” he greets warmly, but you don’t even attempt to return a feigned friendly greeting. You breathe out heavily through your nose and tighten your grip around your Valyrian sword.

“It’s been a while. You’re glowing,” he finds some way to be funny, but again, you don’t mirror him. You do respond though.

“I’m not your Goodsister anymore. Aemond is dead.”

Daeron blinks and nods stiffly. “Yes, I know. My condolences, you were married and you were best friends from what I remember. He really loved you.”

You blink repeatedly as one of your heartstrings is pulled at by his words.

“Don’t patronize me,” you hiss and throw your hand out to point the tip of your sword at him. “Fight.”

Daeron swallows back nervously and remains still for a second before he shakes his head. “No, I won’t fight you. You’re my niece and you’re with child. It would not be fair.”

“You have until my Astraea reaches us to swing your sword,” you ignore him and then lift your hand to point your sword at Astraea circling around to return this way. “If you refuse she will unfurl her fire and catch us both with her flames, but,” you suck your teeth and begin to smile a menacing smile. “Only one of us can withstand the fire's fury. You…will burn and Tessarion won’t be able to reach you in time to save you. So choose. You can fight me and have a chance to survive, or die a fiery death.”

Daeron glances at Astraea getting closer and then glances at the army of men you came with before he slowly lets his eyes fall back on you. “And if I fight you and survive, how long until your army of men comes after me?”

You scoff. “Not long. Lord Stark is lurking nearby, and my sworn protector is also close, so,” you pause and hum as you come up with an estimate. “About ten to fifteen minutes, but that’s enough to get close to your dragon. That is if my dragon doesn’t eat you first.”

He hums and nods in comprehension before he chooses to glance at his options again and debate whether he really wants to fight you at a disadvantage, or give up and die.

It is a hard choice given he doesn’t hate you or hold any ill will. It was always your brothers that he was taught to dislike, but his mother never really taught them to hate you. She did bad mouth you and was rude, but she never told her kids to hate you, so he can’t find it in himself to flip a switch and all of a sudden want to kill you.

Yet…he also doesn’t want to die. He can’t die when his men and his own mother need him. He owes it to the siblings he’s lost and their cause to fight. So with a deep breath, he tightens his grip, fixes his stance, and chooses.

“Alright if it’s what you want.” He mutters, making that menacing smile turn to a grin, and without saying a word, causing Astraea to drift and now circle you and him rather than setting you both on fire.

“It’s what I want and it’s what I need,” you grumble and fix your stance before you slowly let out a deep breath.

~~~~~

There’s a breath you take in your lungs, but rather than being filled with relief as the breath of air runs through your lungs something grainy travels into your lungs before you’re overcome with a pressure over your chest.

A darkness also accompanies the pressure as you open your eyes, and all you can do is panic rather than staying calm and thinking about what’s going on or where you are.

You throw your hands out and fling them around to try and remove the heavy grain that’s burying you without thinking about taking steady breaths. You pant, taking in more and more grains of sand bit by bit until a beam of light breaks through the darkness, bringing hope to the desperation and letting you break through the barrier that was on top of you to let you see an endless blue sky.

Yet even as you face the horizon and the freedom it brings, the panic still unsettles your heart as you face an endless sea that you weren’t near mere moments ago and violently cough out the grains that you now know are sand.

It’s all so sudden, the sand, the sea, the blue sky, and the shining sun. You were just…

You don’t remember…

You can’t remember where you were. You don’t—you can’t.

“Hey, hey, breathe. Breathe,” a familiar voice tries to instruct you before their hand falls on your shoulder, but you just bolt to your feet and spin around to swat their hand away in your panic.

Only, it’s when you face the person comforting you that you recognize…your father.

“Father?” You ask breathlessly and step back out of fear.

“Yes.” He nods. “Yes. It’s me. You’re okay. It’s me.”

You shake your head and close your eyes to try and wake up back where you had been, but when you rip your eyes open you still see him and the beach standing behind you.

“No, no,” you keep denying what you see even if you don’t know what’s going on. You just know seeing your father isn’t right. “You’re not supposed to be here,” you say between pants and step back again whilst you reach for your belly for some support. Albeit your hands don’t come in contact with your swollen belly, your hands hit your torso, but there's no bump. It’s gone. The twins…

“What,” you gasp and feel your heart racing in your chest as your panic heightens, making everything around you spin, and making your head hurt. “Where are my children?!”

“Breathe!” Your father yells out over your panic and grabs your arms to yank you toward him so he can repeat himself louder. “Breathe.”

You look him in the eyes and don’t see a stranger or any trick or sorcery. You see the same brown eyes you saw when he was still alive. You see him, the man you loved, and the man you lost. He’s there in front of you. It’s no trick, no dream, no vision. It’s him.

“Father?” You question and blink repeatedly before you stare at him for a lingering minute and then avert your gaze to think back to what you remember last and what brought you to this moment. And even if you assume that you won’t remember, you do. You remember what led you to where you currently are.

“Father,” you breathe out and lift your hands to grab his arms and huff out with relief. “Father!”

“My girl,” he coos and finally offers you a smile as you’re calm now. “Hello.”

You offer him a smile but don’t redirect his greeting. Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “My twins?” You ask and he sighs before he offers you an assuring smile.

“They’re fine. You on the other hand…” he trails off and his face falls with pity and heavy concern. “My girl, do you know where you are?”

You blink repeatedly and come up with a quick idea. “I think so. I think,” you pant out and face him with worry. “Maybe I’m dead?”

He breathes out and neither nods nor shakes his head, he parts his lips and gives you a response instead. “Not yet, but you can choose to.”

“Choose to?” You echo and shake your head before probing in more confusion. “I don’t understand. I thought I died.”

He shakes his head. “Not yet, that’s why you can choose. You can pass on and stay here, or you can leave this place. You can also choose to live. That’s the difference between me and you. You just have to know what you want.”

You slowly let go of him and think over his words as if it were some great mystery when what he said and what it meant is clear as day.

“Do you know what you want?” He asks and looks deep into your averted gaze.

“I,” you mouth and breathe out before you drag your eyes up and face him with a sense of confusion on how to answer his question because why would you want to go back?

You did have some great plans you went over with Cregan, but as you’re here, in this great limbo with your father on the beach without any pain or worry, why would you want to leave to suffer?

You don’t want to cry anymore. You don’t want to live through more loss. You don’t want to suffer any more pain. You want to stay here where you can be by the sea, breathing in the salty air, and being with a man you love.

“I don’t know,” you mutter under your breath and look away shamefully as if waiting for him to scold you and try to argue with you. Albeit he just pats your arms before he strokes your cheeks.

“That’s okay, take your time.”

You meet his dark eyes and offer him a thankful smile before you once again look around at where you are.

Your father follows your line of gaze and takes a step away from you to finally probe. “Why did you choose the beach?”

You turn around to face the endless blue sea and answer without having to think about it. “Because it’s where I was always the happiest. It’s where I would come with my brothers and the others. It’s where you taught me to fish and how to read the stars. It’s where you taught me to sing sailor shanties.” You share and giggle breathlessly before you look over at him and finally wonder why he’s here when he should be long gone with the man he never stopped loving.

“Why are you here, father? Shouldn’t you be with your partner Joffrey?” You ask, making him scoff and look out at the peaceful waters that you stand in front of.

“No,” he then answers quietly. “I’m where I’m meant to be.”

You meet his gaze and try to dig deep for the real answer, but you can’t find it in his eyes or find any clue in between his body language, so you accept his answer as it is.

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” He interjects and steals all your divided attention. “You…have come so far,” he muses. “My little siren.” He laughs breathlessly and steps forward to once again grab your face. “You have grown into such a strong and beautiful young woman.”

“Father,” you mouth as your eyes start to fill with tears, making the sight of him turn blurry.

“You are a good mother, and you are a good daughter. Despite all your doubts, you are a good daughter, your mother knows that. I know that. You are just young, you will make mistakes, but the important thing is you admit them and learn from them, but never shame yourself because of those mistakes.”

More tears overfill your eyes, causing them to break out and roll down your cheeks.

“I love you, my girl,” he continues in the same soft and affectionate way as if he didn’t have all the time in the world despite being dead—“you are my greatest achievement. You are what I’m most proud of and I’m,” his voice breaks and tears fill his own eyes. “…I’m sorry for leaving. I hurt you and I’m sorry. You needed me and I left. I tried to come back. I was on my way back to see you, but I…” he trails off and his tears roll down. “…that’s when I died. You believe me right?”

You lift your hands to grab his jaw and offer him a wobbly smile before you nod. “I do. I believe you because I saw it in a vision from a good witch.”

He scoffs in amusement and you giggle before you slide your hands down and proceed to throw them around his neck to pull him in for an embrace.

“I forgive you, Father,” you assure him and unknowingly offer him everything he had been waiting for.

You finally give him the forgiveness that he was waiting for to move on to peace.

“I love you, and I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” his voice cracks as he hugs you back with a tight force. “And I love you more than anything.”

You weep on his shoulder and grip onto him as if your life depended on it. “Father,” you cry and unleash a very shaky and heavy breath that feels like you shed off a weight you did not know you had been carrying on your shoulders.

“It’s okay to be selfish,” he whispers. “No one will shame you for it if it’s what you want.”

You pull away slowly and wipe your tears before you look him in the eyes and continue with a quiver as you talk through your pain. “I don’t want—”

Albeit before you can finish, there’s other people that catch your eye. There in the distance, along the shoreline are your three brothers; Joffrey, Lucerys, and Jacaerys. They’re here too and the sight of them makes you forget the pain you were about to share and the choice you didn’t know if you wanted to make. You were going to debate it, but now as you see your brothers all you can think about is going to them.

“Go,” your father tells you as he sees what you focus on. “They’re waiting for you.”

You quickly look back at him and query. “Are you sure?”

He holds your gaze and stares at you for a lingering second before he nods softly. “I’m sure. Go.”

You offer him one last giddy smile before you peel away and face your beloved brothers. “Joffrey! Luke! Jace!”

All three boys turn to look at you and you throw your hand in the air and wave.

Lucerys is the first to respond with a sweet smile before Joffrey waves you over.

You then don’t debate your choice or look back at your father, you move your foot forward and go to them.

~~~~~~~

*NOW*

A breath unfurls from your lungs and escapes past your lips. Your once deadly grip on your blade's handle loosens, and your feet shift into a fighting stance as you lock eyes with Daeron.

“I am sorry—”

“Shut up,” you grimace and lunge forward to swing Blackfyre at his neck, but Daeron is quick to block your attempts and then push you back, causing you to grunt and then proceed to thrust violently.

However, Daeron then throws his body to the side to avert your action, but you don’t let him collect himself and come up with some alternative. You overwhelm him by swinging your blade again.

Albeit Daeron meets your blade with his once more, causing a sharp clinging to ring out against the sound of men fighting and dying, dragon wings clapping as they flap in the sky, fire blasting out of their mouths, and crying as you hear them fighting.

Nevertheless, it’s while your swords are pressed against each other, and your eyes are locked on one another that you slip one hand off your blade handle and curl your fist to throw him an uppercut that makes him stumble back. After that, you probably would have followed with a kick, but with your belly weighing you down you can’t, so instead, you opt to rush him and throw your blade down. Albeit Daeron follows up by throwing his own blade up to meet your actions before he manages to drop one hand to grab your wrist and try to shove you back.

“I don’t want to fight you. It’s not fair!” He cries out to try and make you listen. “And above all else, you’re my niece. We grew up together, doesn’t that count for something?”

Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes narrow to a nasty glare. “Aegon grew up with my mother and he still took her throne. He was a man capable of thinking for himself. He could’ve fought back, but he didn’t, he still took my mother's throne,” you growl and use your strength to try and push him off you, but his grip only tightens and he pushes back against you, causing you to drop one hand to grab onto his forearm and try to rip his grip off your wrist that holds you captive.

“And you still chose to fight against her. She would have given you a spot beside her!” You cry in anger. “But you still betrayed her and for what? A mother that hardly cares about you? Brothers that forget you exist?” You scoff and shoot him a smirk to try and piss him off, but he’s more emotionally mature. Daeron slides his hand off your wrist instead and then presses it against your chest to shove you back with a strength that’s enough to make you lose contact and stumble back.

You try to quickly find your balance to counter, but Daeron then kicks dirt and ash in your eyes, causing a roaring cry to rip out from your throat and break through all the barriers of noise that surround you, while your sword falls from your hands as you fling yourself around and fall to your knees to try and wipe the trash out of your stinging eyes.

“What the hell?!” You hiss and groan as you frantically rub your eyes.

“Is that what you want?!” Daeron remarks and steps forward, but you manage to crawl away and throw your hand back.

“Don’t you dare,” you snap back and go back to rubbing your eyes.

“You really think this is what Aemond would want?” He throws out as if he knew the man Aemond grew up to be. He only knew a child, he didn’t know the man he was.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss and drop your hand to blink hard and repeatedly, whilst also feeling your eyes overflow with tears that try to wash out all the trash in your eyes—“don’t talk about him like you know him,” you remark and finally manage to see the ground. It’s cloudy, but you can still see it nonetheless so you continue to crawl away in search of a weapon.

“You didn’t know him,” your voice cracks. “Your mother didn’t know him. Aegon didn’t. Only I did…he was mine and he’s gone now because of your family. Because of you! So shut up.”

“What happened to you?” He asks boldly as he stays where he is and watches you aimlessly move away from him and your sword—“You used to be kind-hearted. You were good and now…”

“I’m everything you and your family made me,” you finish his sentence and feel your breath catch in your throat when you see an intact bow and scattered arrows just beneath a burnt corpse.

“No, no I don’t believe that,” he says as he doesn’t seem to notice the way you’re starting to pull at something.

“The girl I knew is still there. You were the Realm’s Golden Girl,” he goes on rambling. “I don’t believe you could have fallen this far.”

You manage to get the bow out so you test your luck with one arrow so as to not risk raising suspicion by reaching for the other arrow scattered further away from you.

“Believe what you want. I do not care,” you grumble and align your arrow with the bow before you throw yourself around and garner his attention.

Daeron sees your intentions and tries to quickly react, but without thinking too much about your aim because of your blurry eyesight, you let the arrow go, and in that flash of a second after the arrow flies through the air, you manage to pierce Daeron through his eye.

And as soon the arrow hits his face you gasp with surprise while he freezes in place as he’s overcome with disbelief over what just happened.

Yet it’s while he’s caught in his paralyzing shock that you drop the bow and hastily push yourself to your feet to be able to run toward Blackfyre abandoned on the ground, giving Daeron the push to snap out of his stupor and finally realize he’s in agonizing pain and also targeted for another attack.

Although the arrow pierced through his eye makes him slow, he’s still dealing with his paralyzing shock which doesn’t let him be as fast as he wants to be. Thus he does what he can and throws his hand out as you stride toward him with your hands reeling your sword back, and he stammers, “Wait—”

However, you don’t let him finish his sentence before you swing your sword with every ounce of strength you can muster, managing to cut through his neck and slice his head clean off his shoulders with a loud cry of determination.

When the head hits the ground a loud and solemn cry pierces through the sky in the distance, but you ignore it and instead let out a heavy breath and follow your body forward toward the wall of fire as you stumble due to the strength you used, letting the flames consume you as you stand there in your disbelief.

Killing Daeron didn’t affect you. You don’t feel a twinge of grief or remorse. You’re just surprised it happened. You killed Daeron.

What does that make you feel? Deep inside.

You blink as hard as you can to keep trying to remove the dirt still stuck in your eyes and think about it.

There’s no grief. No guilt or remorse. Do you feel relieved?

No.

Do you feel proud?

You tilt your head up toward the sky and blink repeatedly a few more times to finally rid your eyes of all the gunk Daeron kicked at you to blind you and finally see clearly, and it’s like a breath of fresh air.

You make out the screen of smoke that pollutes the air and completely covers the starry sky and its illuminating light. You see the thick ash that falls down to the earth like snowflakes fall, and in between all that ugly pollution you find your answer to your question, and it’s a no. You don’t feel proud, you only feel a hunger for more. You still feel…unsatisfied. Like you’re missing something.

How funny, killing Daeron was supposed to satisfy your thirst for blood for a while, just until you reached Kings Landing and sought revenge for what the Smallfolk did to your mother and the dragons. Albeit not an ounce of that thirst is satisfied.

So it’s true what they say? Killing out of revenge won’t satisfy someone?

Well…it has to. It has to mean something!

Thus you bring your head down and walk out of the fire with your chainmail burning red because of the heat, and your fur cloak burning behind you as you walk over and collect Daeron’s head off the ground.

“Goodbye uncle, it was nice knowing you,” you mutter to his bleeding head without meaning a word as you lift it to look at him in his lifeless brown eye. “They’ll remember you because of me,” you add before you drop your arm and roll your shoulders back as you let out a deep breath. You then walk away from the small empty space and walk over dead body after dead body littered on the battlefield ground and reach a boulder that stands at the center of all the chaos.

Before you climb on the large boulder though, you look down at the head you carry and force pride upon yourself. You think about the wave of encouragement and hope all your men will feel upon seeing Daeron’s head, and that fills you with excitement and more pride that you couldn’t muster before.

And it’s only once those emotions now rush through you that you start to climb the boulder without caring if you’re dragging Blackfyre against the stone, or that blood is staining your hand. You climb the boulder and reach the top, seeing multiple banners spread throughout the thick of the battlefield all waving the same red three-headed dragon against a black background, and you think of her, your mother, and your Queen.

She won’t have to worry about Daeron or his dragon anymore. It’s not the guarantee she needs to end this war, but it’s one less piece of the board. You can win and she will ascend her throne.

You believe it with your whole heart and it’s that belief that overflows your running heart with enthusiasm and malice.

“The Daring is dead!” You make your voice boom, catching the attention of your men and your enemies before you throw your hand up to show off the head like a trophy, causing an eruption of cheers and gasps alike.

“BLOOD DRAGON!”

“BLOOD DRAGON!” The cheers of your alias scatter around the field, causing goosebumps to spread over your skin and a smile to spread on your lips.

“FOR—” you cut yourself off as a large shadow casts over you, making you roll your head back and catch Daeron’s cobalt dragon, Tessarion torpedoing toward you with its mouth open.

Yet even if you do see the potential danger, you don’t turn to run or shield yourself because you know and feel Astraea behind you, flying directly toward the threat to protect you. Besides, Tessarion can’t burn you with her flames like she thinks she can, so you welcome the rain of fire with a wicked smile

Even then as the fire barrels over you, you basically just get scraped because Astraea rams into Tessarion and shoves her to the ground with a loud boom that shakes the ground and makes a crater.

“<Good girl,>” you praise your dragon even if she can’t hear you before you rip your attention away and search for Addam and Seasmoke.

Luckily, or maybe not so luckily you spot him in the distance caught in a dance between Seasmoke and Vermithor.

You look out for Silverwing, but you don’t catch her anywhere, it’s just Vermithor against Seasmoke, but is that really relieving?

Not in the slightest because Vermithor is the largest dragon. He has more battle experience than Seasmoke, and much more power in his fire and whatever hits he throws. He could find a way to kill Seasmoke if his rider is smart enough.

All while Tessarion is now riderless and smaller. Without a rider, she’s aimless in this fight, so you need to help Addam and Seasmoke first. You can then worry about Silverwing and Tessarion if they turn out to be a threat.

Therefore, you descend the boulder with haste and turn in your dragon's direction, seeing at that moment as if having read your thoughts, Astraea leaving Tessarion stranded and struggling on the ground so you can meet each other halfway, and hastily climb her after sheathing your sword.

“<Let's go help Seasmoke and Addam,>” you tell her while you shove Daeron’s decapitated head into a saddlebag. Albeit was there really a need to tell her what you wanted? Astraea had already met up with you without needing to be told, and she knows what it is you want and your desperate desire because she feels it too.

~~~~~~~

“Jace! Luke! Joffrey!”

There’s nothing that can stop you. No obstacle, no force, or divine intervention. There’s only them at the other end of that sandy beach as if they’re encouraging you to the big finish line. They call out your name with excitement and big smiles, only further exciting your already racing heart, and fueling your encouragement already running at high speed in order to let you reach them out of fear that they are a figment of your imagination.

“Jace!” You call out again with tears running off your face and joining the windy breeze. “Joffrey! Luke!” You say with a wobbly grin illuminating your once gloomy face.

Once you finally break through all the barriers that stood in between and cross that finish line to reach them, they can’t hold their excitement either, they run to you as you run to them and throw your arms around each other while you all laugh a quivering laugh and grin as you’re overfilled with joy.

“You're all here,” you say with a whimper and cling onto them tighter. “I missed you.”

“We missed you too,” Joffrey offers you some consolation before you all pull away, letting you crouch to grab your youngest brother's shoulders and look at him with pity.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to save you, Joffrey.”

Said boy offers you a half smile and shrugs. “It's okay, I had a great death.”

You frown and he sighs before he closes the gap to wrap you in an embrace that just involves him and you.

“Don’t forget me,” he says with a quiver. “And tell Mother I am sorry. If you decide to return that is. Will you?” He doesn’t let you give him a response to his previous comments before he bombards you with a heavy question and pulls away to look at you with an impatient stare.

“Joffrey lay off her,” Jacaerys warns your brother, making you stand up and slowly drag your eyes up to face him. “Don't start crying on us. We know,” he breathes out. “We know all the guilt, the shame, and the longing, so just don’t repeat it.”

You laugh softly and nod before snapping your attention to Lucerys. “Luke,” you greet him softly, making him offer you a sweet and childlike smile.

“I missed you,” he tells you and steals a small breath from your chest.

“I,” you breathe out. “I missed you too.”

Lucerys smile widens before he walks over to wrap his arm around your waist, letting you wrap your arm around his shoulders.

“Are you here to stay?” Lucerys now presses, causing you to sigh and drop your head whilst you all begin walking forward along the shoreline, unbeknownst to the fact that your father is no longer behind you or waiting for that matter. He’s passed because it was your forgiveness that he was waiting for and now that he has it he can know peace. He would help you find the answer to what you want, but that’s something he can’t assist with, that’s an answer only you can come up with.

“I don’t…know…” you trail off and lift your head to look at the blue sky with wonder and confusion.

“I…am so sick and tired of just feeling agony, of losing people, and losing parts of me in this war that staying is more tempting than I care to admit. But on the other hand, I have people depending on me to continue fighting. So,” you pause and swallow back the lump that forms in your throat. “I don’t know.”

Jacaerys hums and you stop walking, causing your arm to slip off Lucerys shoulder whilst his arm also slides off you as you linger behind with your head down and your eyes full of tears.

“Would you,” you pause and hear them come to a stop and shift around against the sand to look at you and wait for the rest of what you were building up to say.

“…would you be mad if I chose to stay here with you all?” You ask and draw in a shaky breath before you slowly face them with tears running down your cheeks. “Would it be selfish of me to trade my pain for an eternity of happiness here on this beach with you? Because I want to…I want to stay. I want to be happy and laugh again. I want to be with you, I don’t want to go back and live on without you!”

Jacaerys and Lucerys share the same pitiful look before Jacaerys steps forward to speak his peace. “I would drag you back because you have the chance we didn’t, but,” he sighs deeply. “If staying is what you want. If that’s what will make you happy, who am I to keep you from happiness? Besides, life here would be a little less boring with you.” He says and offers you that ever-so-heartwarming smile that brightens this moment just a little more.

“I,” you part your lips as your heart yearns to be with them, but before you can give them your answer, water splashes over the side of your face and that of your brothers. When you look over at where the water came from you see that Joffrey was the mischievous culprit.

“Of course it was you,” you remark lightheartedly and push aside the choice you were going to make to run over and grab Joffrey and throw him over your shoulder.

“No, let me go!” He exclaims between laughs, but you run deeper in the water to drop him and make a big splash that makes him burst out laughing even harder.

Lucerys and Jacaerys then join in on the harmless fun in the water as they see you and Joffrey getting carried away; choosing to splash water on each other and or shove each other in the water like you would on those hot summer days when you were young.

For a while you get everything you just said you wanted; you laugh like you haven’t laughed in months. You flash a beaming smile and forget all about the chaos that is your life outside of this limbo. For a moment as you’re having fun with your brothers in the water, it's almost like your heart is set on a decision.

You want to stay. You want to live in this happiness under the sun. You don’t want to wake up under a cloudy sky without your brothers. You want to stay with them for as long as you can. And almost as if to solidify your choice, there in the distance shining in your eyes like the bright sun is your beloved, your Aemond…

~~~~~

*NOW*

Beneath your most desperate desire lies another need. A wicked need just fueled by anger and hate.

A rather unnecessary need to see through because your fight is outside the walls and all the fighting men that are inside Tumbleton’s walls are coming out to join the fight, or are already affected by the chaos the surprise attack caused.

Yet as unnecessary as the need is, the need is still a rather burning desire to rain fire on the entire town as if they’re single-handedly at fault for being taken and sacked by the enemy.

The need makes you itch to follow through with it. The need screams at your mind to tell Astraea to make a sharp turn and fly toward the town. You feel a pressure building within to unleash all that you have balled up inside you, but…you have more control than easily giving into that specific desire, besides, Addam needs your help and that takes priority. So, you continue to fly toward him at a quick speed while also thanking the fact that this fight is taking place at night because Astraea can take cover through the shadows that the wildfires and scattered firelight leave untouched.

Albeit you also grow to resent that night because it makes it harder to see Vermithor and Seasmoke fighting. You can see them tangled on the ground, and you can hear them snapping at each other while they also growl and cry, but this cover makes it difficult to make out their figures so you can know where to hit. And it’s not like you can unleash a blast of fire because Addam could get hurt in the process. You have to rely on Astraea, and you have to strain your eyes.

Much to your conflicted mind though, when you get close enough, you see that Vermithor’s saddle is empty. Ser Hugh is not strapped on his dragon, and you can’t say that he’s crushed, burnt, or eaten because there would be evidence on the saddle or lack thereof, but the saddle is intact. So does that mean…Vermithor is fighting out of his own will? He has to be. And is Ser Hugh dead?

That’s a question you don’t ponder or care to learn the answer to now. Right now you scan the scene as much as the visibility allows you to, finding an opening on Vermithor’s belly.

An attack there would give Seasmoke wiggle room to get out of the entanglement.

Hence you nudge the handles on your saddle down to try and guide Astraea in that direction, but it seems she was already thinking the same thing because she tucks her wings and completely head butts Vermithor’s belly, bringing both male dragons to an abrupt stop, and then forcing Vermithor to unlock his jaw off Seasmoke’s wing to snap back and try to throw his jaw down on Astraea.

Alas, your dragon bites down hard and swings her head to the side, creating a deep gash on Vermithor’s belly that makes him bellow out in pain.

Seasmoke then sees his opening and slips away from Vermithor. You look over and see him try to rise, but his wing is too battered to use, he can’t pick himself off the ground.

“Addam!” You call out as loud as you can so your voice can be carried out. “Addam!”

Said man catches wind of his name traveling through the breeze and his attention falls on you.

“Jump off the dragon!” You try to tell him as Astraea and Vermithor are fighting. “Jump off!” You shout at the top of your lungs as you also try to motion with your hands so you can get your point across and so he can continue to have some fighting chance.

“Addam! Jump! Please!” You continue to plead before you throw your hand out to offer to him and let him know that you will help him. You can get out of this together.

Alas, Addam holds your pleading gaze and shakes his head as he understands well what it is you’re trying to say. He doesn’t try to yell out his response, he just hits his chest with his fist the same way you tap each other's chest with your own fists.

“No,” you mewl and clutch onto your handles to try and nudge Astraea toward Addam and Seasmoke. However, just as Astraea pulls her jaw away from Vermithor’s belly, from the cover of night falls a blast of fire that unfurls over Astraea and you.

It’s a good thing that you don’t burn or else this is where you would have met your end. The only thing that happened was that you were caught by surprise so much that your heart leaped. Besides that and the rest of your fur cloak burning off, Astraea and you come out unscathed.

Actually, your dragon just comes out more enraged, so as Seasmoke is aiming for her neck, she snaps around as the fire is dying out to be able to whip her tail and throw him off his intended path.

“Addam!” You yell out without paying any mind to what happened or Tessarion’s possible retaliation. You turn your body against your saddle to search and find Vermithor shifting his focus back to Seasmoke.

“Addam!” You call out desperately, hurting every possible muscle aligning your throat to get your voice across, and actually manage to catch his attention.

Addam snaps his head to the side and his eyes fall on you. You can see his dark brown eyes through the cloud of debris that floats in the air and the scattered light that finds room in between you both, and you have the need to continue trying to get your plea across, but you know he’ll just ignore you, so you just narrow your gaze to a more determined look and offer him a small smile.

Addam returns your smile and holds your gaze for a second longer before Astraea throws herself in the air to tackle Tessarion while she tries to regain her balance, and shoves her to the ground.

You trust Astraea to fight so you turn your head to focus back on Addam, catching at that moment Seasmoke biting down on Vermithor’s neck with so much force that the bronze dragon begins to gush out blood.

Your eyes brighten with glee, and your first thought is to search for Addam.

Nevertheless, as you’re searching, Vermithor then counters the attack and clamps his jaw hard on Seasmoke’s throat before, with one forceful yank, rips Seasmoke’s head clean off his neck.

Your eyes peel back with shock and horror at that moment, but you still try to call out for Addam. You still continue to search for him, but you can’t find him. Once again your attention is pulled away, and this time it’s by Tessarion tangling her body around Astraea and rolling her on the ground.

You quickly bend over your saddle to avoid being thrashed around in the midst of the dragons rolling on the ground, whilst Astraea lets out a sharp cry as she swings her claws on any part of Tessarion she can reach, causing the cobalt dragon to stop in her actions and unleash Astraea from her hold.

Once your dragon has her feet on the ground you sit up and notice Tessarion struggling to get up so you look away and frantically search for Addam.

This time though you don’t find his face. You don’t meet his eyes. You see the headless corpse of Seasmoke bleeding out on the ground but no sign of Addam trying to find a way out, so you panic. You shouldn’t, there’s a high chance he was unharmed, but you still panic, so without caring about Vermithor dragging himself away, or Tessarion and Astraea still at each other's throats, you unbuckle yourself and hastily unmount your dragon to run through the blood-soaked ground.

You trip and fall on your hands and knees, staining your skin and your chainmail gown of dragon blood that lets out steam due to how hot it is, but you don’t stop to linger, your mind and your heart don’t let you stop. You run and run as fast as your body can let you, feeling your chest rise and fall quickly with heavy pants, and feeling your heartbeat quicken bit by bit as you approach Seasmoke’s saddle and fail to see Addam walk out unscathed or minimally injured.

“Addam!” You call out in hopes he’ll assure you he’s fine as he hears you approach him, but you don’t receive a response. Besides, all the calamity already surrounding you, his voice doesn’t rise over the clamoring.

Which is why you go again. “Addam?!”

You wait for a response but once again you fail to get one, so instead of quickening your pace, you slow down and focus on your pounding heart rather than ignoring the panic that makes it race with so much haste.

“Addam?” You call out weakly and press your hand on Seasmoke’s corpse to run it over his scales as you approach the saddle.

You don’t want to expect the worst due to Addam’s lack of response but you have already lost so much. You’ve been the butt of death's joke so many times that you prepare yourself mentally to face tragedy.

“Addam?” You whisper as you start to round the corner and stay connected to Seasmoke to try and spare your poor heart from what may await you.

Yet you can’t avoid the truth forever because if Addam is injured he might need your help. So with a few heavy breaths, you slip your hand off Seasmoke and finish turning that corner to finally come face to face with the saddle, and see Addam lying on the ground. You don’t pay attention if his back is moving with every breath, your eyes go wide as you gasp and a heightened sense of panic shoots through your heart, causing you to break into a sprint.

“Addam!” You call out with that sense of panic laced in your voice.

When you reach him you continue to not listen for his breaths. You don’t take note of his neck bent at an odd angle, you just see blood leaking out from a gash on his head and work to unstrap him from his saddle.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “You’ll be okay. I will put pressure on the wound. I know how to do that. I can do it until we reach a healer.”

Once again the response is silence, but you don’t care, you manage to unhook him from his saddle and hook your arms under his arms to drag him back onto the stable ground.

“You did great, you know that?” You continue as you use all your strength to drag his heavy body back with you. “I killed Daeron, I took his head and I want to,“ you pause to groan. “…give it to his mother. Which sounds cruel, but alas I do not care. She deserves it for what she caused, don’t you think?” You ask and lay him down on his back, catching the way his eyes are half-lidded and the blood running out of his gash is no longer bright crimson, but dark.

“Addam?” You call out and lose every ounce of warmth that was building up in your voice as you wanted to be oblivious. “Addam?” Your voice cracks and your heart slowly sinks down to your stomach, but you don’t come to any conclusion yet. First, you turn his head so it’s not bent at a concerning angle, and then, rip a long piece of fabric from your gown's skirt to wrap it around his head and apply pressure on his wound.

“You’re all patched up,” you strain to say as he remains motionless and with his eyes half-lidded. “Addam? Did you hear me?”

You bring your hands down from his head and press them on his chest to shake him gently so he can wake up, but he doesn’t even twitch. Thus you press your palm over his heart and wait.

Wait. And wait.

You even hold your breath as if that was in the way of letting you feel a single beat of his heart, but even in the silence that surrounds you and him, you fail to feel his heart thump under your palm. There’s not even a weak and soft thump, his heart is still. Lifeless…

“Addam?” Your voice quivers and you proceed to drag your hands up to grab his shoulders and shake him gently. “Addam?!” You croak, but there’s not even a groan or a pained gasp. He lies there breathless with his eyes lifeless and dull.

“A…Addam,” you keep calling out in hopes something will change when you know the truth. You had known it since the moment he failed to respond to your call the first time because even though there was a chance he was just unconscious then, you knew deep inside that life wouldn't treat you that kindly and death wouldn’t spare someone you loved just for you to suffer less. Yet you still tried to cling onto some fragment of hope. You wished desperately for there to be a positive outcome, but…there isn’t. Addam is dead…that's what all his wounds mean. He’s dead.

“Addam!” You cry and shake him again, but like before there’s no response so you let go of his shoulders and lift your hands to stroke his face still kept warm. “Please,” you plead, but not to Addam, to life, to destiny, the gods, or death. You pleaded to any divinity that existed so they could provide you with a miracle and not steal the life of yet someone else you loved.

Alas, they also ignore you and you're left on your knees having to cradle Addam’s body in your arms and continue to be ignorant of the fact that lies before you. “Please. Please!” You bellow out and tilt your head up, causing your glossy eyes and tear-pampered face to glisten under the light of the scattered fires on the battlefield.

“Cregan?! Cregan!” You call out and strain your throat as you do so, but he doesn’t come. There’s not even a glimpse, so you drop your head and face Addam’s lifeless face feeling powerless and useless.

“I’m sorry,” you weep and press your forehead on his. “I’m so sorry, Addam…why did you have to leave me too?”

You draw in a shaky breath and close your eyes as you rock his body back and forth with you.

You would cry harder, you would plead with every fiber of your being. You would be mad, and try to curse life, but you have already lost so much. You faced death so much that this time you feel so worn out. You can’t keep pleading for some miracle or for life to be just. You accept death even as your heart aches, even as your throat hurts with how much you’re crying, and even through the way your chest tightens and tightens to the point it feels like you can’t breathe.

When you let him go you do so without your usual fight because you don’t have the energy to keep falling apart every time you lose someone. You can’t do it again, so you press a kiss on his forehead, wipe your bloody hands over his face to close his eyes, and leave him next to Seasmoke.

“Astraea,” you call out with a shaky breath and walk away from Seasmoke and Addam to try and search for your dragon since you hear her moving on the ground nearby and hear Tessarion mewling out like an injured cat. You don’t care to look for Vermithor, you just have one dragon in mind so you can fly off the battlefield.

Alas, when you walk past Seasmoke’s corpse the first thing you notice is Cregan in the distance. He steals your attention, and you steal his too, but unlike you, he’s hit with fear when he sees the blood that covers your body because from where he stands he doesn’t know if it belongs to you or not. All he sees is blood and it seems like all he’s filled with is panic because you catch his lips part while his brown eyebrows knit together.

Now you should somehow show that you aren’t the one wounded, but the moment your eyes fall on him and you see that he’s looking right at you, you point your eyes behind you with a sorrowful look before you face him again and break into a more heartbroken sob whilst the agony you’re under heightens.

Yet you’re not paralyzed. You take a forward to try and meet him halfway, but the moment you do you catch the glimpse of something glistening against the firelight in the distance, so you look. You don’t know why, but you do, you stop in your tracks and look over. That’s when your breath catches when you notice an archer aiming his arrow at you.

There’s no mistaking it. His arrow is way too small to hurt Astraea or any of the other dragons, and due to all the beasts nearby, no one dares to be close. No one except him, so there’s no mistaking it. The archer is aiming at you, you meet his hardened gaze under the orange-yellow light of the flickering fire and make out his determination clearly because you have reflected those emotions in your own eyes many times before.

It’s why you know that it’s dangerous and impossible to break, and it’s why you try to throw yourself on the ground to hide and be able to throw off his aim, but the man quickly lets the arrow go. And just as you turn away to throw yourself on the ground, the tip of the arrow scrapes along the side of your head, making panic and shock hold you in place. All the while Cregan feels his breath catch and a paralyzing fear wash over him.

He wants to yell out your name and warn you to duck, but the archer is faster than he is at catching his breath and pulling himself back together after seeing the love of his life being hit on the side of the head. The archer actually manages to send off another arrow before the great fearless Lord of Winterfell, and you could react, managing to pierce the arrow right above your left breast, just inches from hitting your heart.

This time Cregan bellows out your name when you hit the ground as if startled out of his paralyzing shock and sprints over to throw himself on the first horse he finds to ride it towards you at full speed, fearing that the archer will go after you and finish the job he started. Yet perhaps his fear is now misplaced because your wounded dragon finally seems to be hit with the knowledge that you’re hurt and snaps her neck around, finding the archer responsible right away, and piercing her glare into him before blasting a ball of fire in his direction without needing to be told.

Astraea acts on her own will a moment too late to spare you from being hit, but she does counter out of anger, and pain that she doesn’t physically feel but feels through your tethered connection, managing to catch the archer on fire as he accepts his fate.

Once the archer is dead and no longer a threat, Astraea walks over to you and sniffs your unconscious body before she mewls out as if calling out your name. When she doesn’t get a response she nudges you to turn you on your back and then nudges you again as if pressing for a response, for a sign you’re okay, but your eyes remain closed and you continue to not move a muscle.

However, just like you, Astraea remains defiant on accepting a tragic reality and instead tilts her head to watch you closely. When she catches your chest moving with the breaths you take she backs away, and then flaps her wings to push herself off the ground and fly toward you to scoop you off the ground with her claws before Cregan can reach you.

He was right there, he was about to jump off his horse, but Astraea scooped you off the ground first.

“Astraea!” He calls out desperately. “Put her down! I can help her!” He tells your dragon and walks toward her, but as he gets close Astraea snaps at him as a warning before she turns away and flies off without caring that her wounds are bleeding or that the man she knew you trusted was there. She just thinks about you getting better and flies away to some place she knows you’ll be safe.

Or so she thinks…

~~~~~~

Even though you saw your father and your brothers in this limbo as you lie between a state of life and death, no one shines brighter than him, Aemond.

Many people would shame you for feeling such joy and putting him on such a high pedestal after the pain he has caused you, but how can you play the victim when you’ve hurt him too?

Besides, they wouldn’t understand how deeply you love him, and how much you miss him despite loving someone else and securing your future with your other lover.

No one will ever understand that he is the love and loss of your life and that’s okay because no one but one another needs to understand your intertwined souls.

“I will be back,” you tell your brothers breathlessly over your shoulder and don’t wait for their response. Your heart and every muscle in your body drive you to Aemond’s waiting embrace.

“<My love,>” he coos in Valyrian as he entangles his arms around you and holds you against him, letting you find solace in the sound of his beating heart that truly beats like no other.

“Aemond,” you whisper and nuzzle your face against his chest to breathe in his scent lost to your memory over the months he’s been dead, and time you’ve had away from anything that could smell like him.

“Aemond,” you say again, but this time your voice trembles as you grin and cry.

“I’m here,” he whispers against the top of your head before he presses a kiss on it and nuzzles his nose against your head.

Neither of you proceed to move away. You stay in each other's embrace until your hearts and your breaths are in sync, and you’re familiar with each other's warmth once again.

“Is this really how you see yourself?” You ask as you cup Aemond’s face and stroke his cheek with your fingers.

Aemond grabs your hand and drops his head, causing you to cover his eye and scar for a brief moment. When he lifts his head back up the scar that was left over his eye is gone, and the sapphire is replaced with his eye.

“I never minded the sapphire though,” you assure him as you move your hand back to his cheek. “I thought you looked sexy with it.”

Aemond scoffs and smiles timidly at the ground.

“But I know you never liked it,” you add and regain his attention.

“I missed you,” he says as he presses a kiss on your palm. “It’s not the same without you by my side…but even then…I was cruel to you…I hurt you even though you were the one that I loved the most.”

You sigh and take in his words before you interject. “I hurt you too. I’m not innocent.”

Aemond holds your gaze and doesn’t respond. He swallows thickly before he continues. “Perhaps, but I never should have done anything to hurt you or drive you away. I’m sorry. I wish…I could take it all back.”

Tears well in his eyes, making your heart ache. He was not one to cry so when he does it feels like a knife to your heart.

“I’m sorry too,” you don’t let him take all the blame even though he was avoiding yours. “Will you forgive me?”

His eyes narrow for a brief second before he nods gently and then presses you. “Will you forgive me?”

You smile at him and nod. “Of course.”

His lips twitch to a smile before he drops his forehead on yours and simply basks in your presence.

“We’re together now,” you whisper against him. “And we’ll never—” you cut yourself off as the sound of a girl laughing behind you cuts you off.

You want to ignore it. You’re going to ignore it, but then there’s a manly yet soft voice speaking that steals your attention, making you pull away from Aemond. When you peer over your shoulder you see two beautiful young women with white-silver hair and a tall and slim young man with them with the same colored hair.

Now they shouldn’t be familiar, you have never seen them in your life, but when you study their faces and their colored eyes, you recognize them. From head to toe, you know that they are your children; Aerion, Daenerys, and Daenys.

They’re not dead or in any state of in-between. You know that. You know they’re here by the sheer power of your mind and it’s need to keep you fighting.

Your mind wants to keep you away from making a choice that will seal your fate, and how better to spark your motivation than to show you a glimpse of your children?

The children you love the most, the children you are willing to give your own life for just to keep them alive. It’s true you have been selfish lately, you have put them last, but you want to get to know them. You want to watch them grow up. You don’t want to lose them, but they’re getting away. They’re walking away!

“Wait!” You shout and throw your hand out to try and stop them, but they don’t stop, they keep walking so you try to go after them.

Yet before you can get far, Aemond grabs your hand and stops you.

“What are you doing?” He asks, making you turn around to face him with panic that slowly falls as your face softens.

“I,” you breathe out and pause to look back at your children.

“What do you want?” Aemond queries.

You watch your children, you see them smiling and talking amongst themselves as they get further away and there’s no debate on what you want. Not anymore. Your choice is clear because of them.

“I want to meet the twins,” you say as you slowly start to slip your hand away from Aemond’s grasp. “I want to raise my children. I…I want to live!”

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A/N-No break next week is a good one!

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[damn-stark]

Chapter 28 Let it be fear

Chapter 28 of Moonlight

A/N- :/

Warning- talks of pregnancy, ANGST, FLUFF, fluff, and more fluff, some violence, talks of blood, and SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 491-515

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There’s a certain beauty that blesses the Trident today as the chilling blue sky lets the cold sun shine over the thick green wilderness, but what is a rainless horizon compared to him?

There’s a serene silence that accompanies you as you overlook The Keep of House Frey from the top of a nearby hill, and in that silence, you’re captivated by the way the sun captures Cregan, and for a moment, like sunbeams breaking through a storm, there’s a warmth in his stormy eyes that melts away the threat he usually carries, providing a warmth only his grey eyes can offer; which is pretty fascinating considering grey is cold, hard, and dull, but those grey eyes of his have a way of being warm under the sun. They’re also mysterious and beautiful like steel against firelight. It’s your favorite color too, but only because he makes it captivating.

Alas, in all that admiration does he notice you? No, and it’s okay because you find your courage and motivation to keep going in his unawareness.

“The last destination,” you break the silence and as if taking one last breath of him you look away to follow his line of sight to the The Twins sitting below.

“You’ll gain their support just like you have gained all the rest,” he offers as a piece of reassurance, but this time it doesn’t ease your concern.

Cregan notices that the moment you don’t respond and only gets reassurance of that when he looks over at you and sees the storm of stress raging behind your eyes. “You will get their support one way or another,” he presses and gently cups your neck, causing you to quickly look away from the keep to meet his eyes that just reflect you this time.

“I burned Lady Frey and her army of men—”

“After they tried to take Harrenhal by force and captured you in the process,” he cuts you off to remind you of that detail. “They were okay with betraying the Queen to take control of the rubble of a useless castle. What you did was justifiable in a time of war. You did the right thing and if they don’t see it that way then we'll make them. Or you will,” he says with a lighthearted huff and proceeds to offer you an assuring smile as he drags his hand down your side to interlace his fingers with yours.

“You’re right,” you breathe out and find it again, just there in his eyes as your hands are interlinked, the bliss of home. However, as you’re in the depths of your comfort you find it in yourself to ask something that’s been gnawing at you. “And once we fight in this upcoming battle when we win, do you think that will be enough to return home? To my mother?”

Cregan blinks in confusion and you explain why you haven’t returned home or sent her a letter. “When I returned from Harrenhal after leaving my mother for months, she said to never leave her again. She found it in herself to forgive me for betraying her and siding with Aemond, but I left again. I left after she told me not to, so do you think gaining this support, building this reputation, and winning the battle will be enough for her to forgive me again? I let her down so many times I don’t know…if this is enough now.”

Cregan lets out a deep breath and his eyes drift to the side as the sound of incoming footsteps starts to ascend the hill, but he doesn’t pay them any mind, he leans his face forward and offers the best reassurance. “She’s your mother, would you forgive your children if you were in her position?”

You draw in a shaky breath and nod gently. “Of course, they’re my children, but…” you trail off and he fills your silence.

“She will forgive you. I can imagine there might have been tension before. This is all a tense situation, but you’re trying and fighting hard for her, she will recognize that and forgive you if she hasn’t already,” he offers you sweet words, making you nod gently in comprehension with no need to seek for more help. He fills your heart with the assurance you need to move on without hesitation or getting lost in the wilderness that are your thoughts.

So much so that you walk down the hill with your head held high and your mind clear because you know the Frey’s have this need to be resistant. They’re stubborn and proud, so you know that this meeting is not going to be as easy as the others were, there will be resistance and you prepare for that accordingly, making sure to have silver chains over your face that match the armor on your corset.

Never once do you falter in your step or the way you carry an intimidating stare behind those silver chains because you can see them the moment you walk into the great hall; you see them look for a fault in your step, a slight mistake, or an out of line hair to pick on and use against you and the people you’re with, but you don’t give them the satisfaction. With your blazing stare alone you challenge the young and great Lady Sabitha Frey, eldest daughter of Lord Frey, and Lady Frey who you killed at Harrenhal.

“Thank you for allowing us in your home,” Addam is the one who breaks the tension first but can hardly gain any of the audience's attention. Lady Sabitha has her sharp eyes on him, but everyone else…they all have their eyes on you as if wanting to tear you apart, but also keep you at a distance fearing if they got too close they’d burn alive too, which means the message was sent.

“I have heard that a great army has been marching through the Riverlands,” Lady Sabitha speaks at last but she doesn’t offer any greetings, she’s blunt and cold. “I was beginning to wonder if we would be paid a visit or be left out.”

“The Riverlands are grand,” Addam says back. “And our task is significant, it’s taken us time, but we are here at last.”

“It was her!” A voice blurts, bringing a stunned silence and turning all of the attention to you standing at Addam’s side—“She was the killer! She burned Lady Serena and her men! She did it! She’s the Fire Demon!”

You tilt your nose to the air and can’t help but smirk in response, but that only lets Lady Sabitha find a reason to finally display her rage and grief because she doesn't care if she got interrupted and humiliated by some common warrior, she's looking for a single step out of line to be able to drive her focus to you and her rage.

“I know there’s unresolved tension,” Addam tries to diffuse the situation. “But right now is not the time—”

“You find this humorous?” Lady Sabitha cuts Addam off without a care. “Is my mother's death funny to you, Princess?” She throws out as she rises off her seat. “Then again what can I expect from someone who breaks enemy lines whenever she pleases? That treason may be pushed aside, but my mother's death will not go unpunished. Not here in my home and my lands,” she sneers and slowly begins to step forward.

“Punished?” She feign a laugh. “What would be my sentence?” You quip and raise your brows to press her. “I showed Lady Serena that there are consequences to her treason—”

“Treason?!” She spats and opens her mouth to continue, but Ser Cane cuts her off.

“You will not interrupt the princess whilst she’s speaking. This may be your house but she still is the heir and your princess,” he scolds her as he takes a big step forward to be a more menacing presence amongst Cregan also standing at your side.

“Sure,” Lady Sabitha mutters under her breath as she comes to a stop without coming too close to you. “As I was saying,” she continues louder even though it should have been you taking the spotlight, but regardless, you let her share her argument. “My mother committed no treason, Prince Jacaerys promised Harrenhal to us. She was only taking what was hers by right.”

You scoff and flash her an amused smile. “If she wanted to take it by right she should have said so,” you rebuttal. “But no, she did not. She knew I was there and took me captive to try and sell me to my mother or my husband. She was willing to change sides. She took me captive, that is treason,” you spat and take a step forward. “Or what you’re going to argue and say it didn’t go that way? Because it did, ask the man who just barged in.”

The attention turns to the man who had interrupted the meeting and he shrinks within himself but doesn’t dare leave. He averts his gaze and listens to Cregan interject. “Tell us if the Princess is right or if your lady is. Now.”

The man blinks nervously and quietly gives his response. “We had lost so much and the lady was grieving her husband, she wanted to find a point to her loss.”

You don’t respond with anything, you look at Lady Sabitha Frey with a pointed glare as you celebrate within.

However, in your silence, you did expect Lady Sabitha to start forming some kind of apology, but she remains at a standstill with her eyes downcasted.

“Bend the knee,” you sneer with your glare turning cold. “You were wrong, bend the knee and give us fighting men to add to our army so we can fight our war. And since you have heard so much about us I’m sure you know which war. Bend the knee.”

A tension grows tenfold in the great hall as Lady Sabitha remains standing because in doing so she causes her people filling this hall to remain resistant as well.

“Bend the knee to your princess and heir by orders of Queen Rhaenyra,” Ser Cane insists in a booming voice.

Yet without speaking Lady Sabitha looks you up and down with her lips curled in anger and remains defiant, and even then you still wait and wait, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

However, when you don’t hear a word or see her bend the knee you throw your hand back without saying a word. And without the need for instructions as if your minds are connected, Ser Cane pulls Blackfyre out of its sheath, filling the hall with the sharp ringing of metal scraping before the Valyrian steel blade glistens against the rays of the sun as the large sword is handed to you. Once you have it in your grasp you then step forward to be at the center of attention.

“I am your heir,” you say in a voice laced with deadly venom that brings chills to the audience without the need to yell to get your point or voice across. “I am your princess. I am the Blood Dragon, you will bend the knee, pledge fealty to Queen Rhaenyra first of her name, and me, her chosen heir.”

Lady Sabitha glances at your shining sword and then slowly meets your gaze without uttering a single word. She keeps quiet and her glare becomes challenging and conflicted.

“Unless you plan to switch loyalty,” you continue in the same venomous voice still missing volume. “If so, tell me right now by pulling out your sword or choosing your champion.”

Lady Sabitha Frey tilts her head and snaps her gaze to your belly. “And you will fight like that?” She points her eyes to your belly, making you scoff and flash her a smile that’s all too menacing.

“I won’t fight,” you clarify. “I could say I want a champion and all my men would volunteer. Even Lord Stark and Ser Addam would fight for me, but why waste their energy or risk their lives when I have my dragon as champion? Tell me Lady Frey can you, your people, and your castle stand against my dragon?” You finally start to raise your voice. “Or will you turn to ash just like your mother did?”

Gasps bounce around the room and the woman’s jaw clenches as her eyes turn even more fierce.

“Tell me!” You exclaim and then turn on your heels to point the tip of your sword at the audience remaining just as defiant as their Lady. “Tell me if any of you can stand against my dragon!”

As expected, silence, even from the brave lady.

“No?” you continue. “Well, I can. I am the Fire Demon! My flesh is fire made!” Your voice continues to boom out of frustration, and passion as well. “And,” you laugh and slowly lower the volume of your voice but never drop the venom behind it. “It will bring me great pleasure to watch you all burn and scream as your flesh melts off your bones. Just say the word.”

Lady Sabitha Frey looks around at all the frightened looks that the audience all share in her defiance. She looks and looks in hopes for something that can keep her own flame from being blown out, but that defiance once so vividly lit within her people is snuffed out by the great fire you are and she knows she’s lost. When she turns to look at you and meets your glowering glare, you further prove to her that you’re not one to bluff, so what other choice does she have?

Thus without uttering a single word, but with the intention clear in her eyes she drops her challenging glare and drops her head in defeat. The moment you see her head fall, to add more shame to her actions you get close to her and throw your hand out just below her eye line.

Now Lady Sabitha has no need for explanations, she knows what you mean and what you want, so what other choice does she have but to slowly bend down, grab the tip of your fingers, and push her lips forward to press a light feathered peck on your golden Targaryen sigil ring before she at last bends the knee, causing the once defiant audience to follow her suit and bend the knee.

Once you see the top of everyone’s heads you look down at her again between your lashes and shoot her smirk before you turn around dramatically and talk to her over your shoulder. “You will lend us the swords we came for, and in response to your treason, Harrenhal is no longer yours. You will keep your lands, your home, and your lives, I will make sure to let the Queen know of your loyalty and apology as well.” You share with a honey-laced tone that only shames them more. “Oh, and you will prepare your home to host your guests accordingly, I will be staying inside for the night. Pleasure doing business with you, House Frey.”

——

*LATER*

What is it about the day?

There was a sense of peace that filled the day as the sun reigned over the sky. Even after the complicated business with the Frey’s, the serenity stayed, but now even against the fiery sky cast over the land, the dragons are caught in a restless spell as if they were uncomfortable and needed to be somewhere but couldn’t quite find a way to leave. They’re just flying in circles, filling the fierce sky with their almost melancholy song.

Maybe they’re tired of being in the Riverlands? Astraea and Seasmoke do love the sea, you think to yourself as Addam walks in and joins you in the library.

“They’re acting odd don’t you think?” You ask him as you refer to your dragons. “They’ve been circling the sky and crying for a while now.”

Addam approaches you near the window that has the best view of the running river that The Twins stand over, and at the moment notices the way the setting sun in its red and orange reign catches you with its fierce hues, but never once makes you look threatening or as rageful. The red and orange hue makes you appear enchanting and otherworldly; everything a Valyrian princess should be under such a fierce horizon.

“I wish I could know,” he doesn’t offer any kind of solution. “Where’s your Lord Stark?”

You roll your eyes away from the window and glance down at the book you have been reading. “He’s busy answering correspondence from home,” you let Addam know regardless if he’s teasing you. “He is a busy man, you know? He doesn’t just spend time at my side. You just happen to catch him with me when you look for me, that’s all.”

“Okay, okay,” Addam brushes you off lightheartedly and then nudges your knee with his foot. “You changed, you look nice.”

You look at him with a smile. “Thank you,” you redirect before you start to grin with amusement. “Just so you remember I am meant to change about three to four times a day. There’s my morning gown, my lunch and afternoon gown, my dinner gown, and if I go out or have to attend a meeting or court I change for that.”

Addam snickers and hides his grin by looking out the window. “I remember,” he says in response. “It’s ridiculous and a waste if you ask me. I mean why not wear the same thing all day or twice?”

You scrunch your nose. “Twice?” You quip. “I have only worn my favorite and most expensive gowns more than once, and now that we’re out here I have no other option, but why would I wear things repeatedly?”

Addam scoffs and leans forward. “Because why waste your money on something so materialistic?” He retorts with a dry laugh. “And because why not use it more than once?”

You squint at him and shake your head. “Money is not a problem for me,” you explain as if it isn't an obvious fact about you. “I am a Velaryon, our family is the richest there is, why shouldn’t I spend my share? Besides, there’s so many beautiful fabrics and talented designers, I can’t resist it,” you muse. “And all the colors,” you swoon. “The embroidery? The gold, pearl, or silver linings? It’s all so beautiful!”

With nothing left to argue with in his defense, Addam leaves it be with a roll of his eyes, letting you finally find the time to share the news you have been holding in for what feels like months. “Can I tell you something?”

“You’re going to do it anyway,” he retorts and rests his head back against the wooden panel as he locks his eyes on you. “What?”

A giddy smile creeps on your lips as you lean forward and grab his hands before you share. “Cregan and I are betrothed.”

Addam blinks repeatedly and his eyebrows slowly begin to pinch together, but then from one moment to the next, he flashes you a smile and scoffs. “I should have seen that coming. When did he ask?”

“A couple of nights ago,” you share and lean back without being able to let your smile go. “The night we had our campfire.”

Addam hums and slowly passes you a quizzical look. “Has he asked your mother? Or Lord Corlys? That’s who he would need to ask, no? How does that work without your father or Daemon?”

You shoot him a pointed glare. “I am a grown woman already with child. I don’t belong to anyone for him to ask permission. If I was a maiden then yes, he would have to ask for my hand, but I’m a widow. It’s my choice now…However,” you do add and avert your gaze. “Since I’m heir he does need to tell my mother, the Queen, but she won’t protest.”

You turn your gaze back to him and sigh to release your excitement before you clasp your hands and start to nervously fiddle with your rings. “But that’s not the only reason I’m telling you,” you pause and let out another deep breath before you look at him with a softened gaze riddled with a fragile vulnerability that could break at any given second.

“Weddings under the Old Gods are different,” you continue to say a bit quieter now. “They’re done under a heart three and usually a father walks the bride to the groom, but…my father is gone and Jacaerys is gone. I could ask my grandfather, but…I wanted to ask if you could walk me down the aisle when the day comes?” You ask and blink nervously, with each blink filling your eyes with more and more tears whilst Addam’s breath hitches and his own face drops that taunting expression to instead display his disbelief.

“It's okay if you don’t want to,” you quickly assure him in his silence you can’t read. “I can ask Joffrey, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to take that role.” You share your alternative with a happy smile so he doesn’t feel bad.

However, after another second of silence passes he finally draws out a deep breath he had been holding in and nods gently before he voices his answer. “I would be honored to walk you down the aisle.”

You beam and then lean forward to grab his hands and give it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” you offer sweetly. “Now Cregan and I want to marry after the war is over so we don’t have that weighing down on us or potentially ruin the day, so there’s still time, but I wanted to ask you now.”

Addam lowers his head to hide his smile whilst he also interjects with a smug comment. “You also need time to have your gown made, don’t you? What will it be made out of?”

You giggle and as you part your lips to rebuttal with something witty a knock raps on the door, pulling your attention away from your conversation.

“Come,” you welcome the visitor and slowly pull away from Addam.

The door opens and Cregan walks in. You’re happy to see him, you greet him with a smile, but when he walks further inside with a scroll in his hand you notice the solemn look he carries. And he’s usually serious so his expression shouldn’t really concern you all that much, but there’s something about the solemn look that he carries now that makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Cregan,” you utter his name nervously and don’t move, hoping that if you stay in place whatever he has to say won't reach you.

“My princess,” he greets hesitantly and then greets Addam with a small nod. “Ser.”

You swallow back nervously and press your hands against the cushion to stand up, but he quickly shakes his head and retorts. “Why don’t you stay sitting.”

A shaky breath escapes you and you nod stiffly as you feel the goosebumps travel from the back of your neck down to the perimeters of your skin.

“What’s wrong?” You ask and his grey eyes leave you to drift to the scroll in his hand. You follow his line of gaze but then drift your eyes back to him in hopes that whatever it has to say isn’t as bad as you’re starting to assume.

“A raven just came,” Cregan finally shares and slowly drifts his gaze back to you. “From Kings Landing. It’s for you.”

You were starting to assume it was for you. You could read it off his face.

“I could paraphrase what it says. I think that would be better with the news it contains,” he says and only adds more fuel to the already worrisome fire, but you can’t have him summarize whatever news arrived for you or else you won’t believe it. You need to read every word yourself even though you’ll have a hard time believing it too.

“No, no. I want to read it. Let me read it,” you press him and stretch your hand out to reach for the scroll. However, Cregan hesitates and grabs the scroll with both hands to smooth out the parchment first before he leans forward and hands it to you.

“Thank you,” you whisper breathlessly and watch how the paper trembles in your hold as you already expect the worst news to be written on the parchment because what else would it be?

Life has been cruel. Why would it be nice now?

You shouldn’t even read it, you should leave the news unread because at least that way you’ll be oblivious to anything…but you also know you won’t rest easy if you don’t know, so after a deep breath you turn the parchment and read what was brought to you.

“To The Princess and Heir of Queen Rhaenyra,

I dislike having to send you this letter, but it has to be written so you may know.

I regret to inform you that as of last night, all the dragons that were kept in the Dragonpit have perished after an angry mob of smallfolk following some fake prophet called The Shepherd, raided the Dragonpit—“

Your breath hitches and you feel as if somebody had punched you in the stomach. The news that the power of your house, and the beautiful creatures that are like your soulmates have all perished at the hands of common folk filled with anger sinks your heart. It leaves you paralyzed in your seat, but you don’t cry. Not yet.

“—when the news broke of what was transcending the young Prince Joffrey left the Red Keep against the Queen’s wishes, mounted Syrax, and fell from the saddle whilst in the sky—”

A shaky breath escapes you and a heavy pressure falls on your chest, but you don’t cry. Not yet.

“—Syrax perished not much later after getting caught in the mob that killed the other dragons. And it seems that at the news of Dreamfyre’s unfortunate passing, Princess Helaena Targaryen flung herself from a window and fell to her death, enraging the crowds—“

More pressure falls on your chest, your bottom lip trembles and your eyes sting further as the tears building in your eyes pain them. However, you don’t cry. Not yet.

Cregan who was watching you read the letter expects you to weep. He keeps a close eye out, expecting you to fold over in heartache, but you remain poised and collected, almost like the agony is not as hurtful anymore.

“—and making the city fall. Amidst the chaos Queen Rhaenyra took Prince Aegon, Lord Aerion, the Queensguard, trusted knights, and her handmaidens, and escaped the city, leaving Lord Corlys in his imprisonment which he escaped. As to where she is we don’t know, but until your return with Ser Addam, it’s best she remains hiding. That’s why I write to you in hopes you can retaliate at once and take back the city. You are our only hope unless Prince Daeron marches here first.

Maester Orwyle.”

You watch the words on the parchment and go over the news in your head again and again, faster and faster every single time until you can’t process any more news and you’re sitting there baffled and without being able to utter a single word. Time is at a standstill, the once-warm room is freezing and your body is paralyzed.

Cregan and Addam call out your name ever so softly, fearing that you’ll break if they raise their voices, but you stay there stiffly, realizing that you have to mourn yet another beloved brother. You had five, now you’re left with a single one who barely knows your name.

The woman you loved like a sister, the woman you cherished and adored, the woman who was your dearest friend, the woman you grew up with is gone because she couldn’t bear any more grief. Your grandfather escaped a cell you didn’t know he was in. And your mother is on the run with your remaining brother and your son to escape the angry crowds who brought the city down with their rage which you assume is caused by the same things that were upsetting them when you were there; things your mother can’t control.

Everything you once knew is slipping from your grasp. You can see that clearly now—no, you’re admitting that to yourself now. The only thing you have left is a fragment of hope and it’s just your mother, your brother, and Aerion. They’re all you have left. They’re that last fragment of hope. Yet even if you still have them, even if they’re the last flicker of hope you’re holding onto, nothing stops that pressure once weighing your chest down from tearing you down because you still lost all the beautiful and cherished dragons that connected you to Old Valyria. You lost Helaena, your beloved and gentle aunt who was more like the sister you never got to have. And you lost your little brother Joffrey, a boy you held when he was only a few minutes old, a brother who was the reminder of your sweet childhood; the sweet and blissful life you had before you were ripped from your family. He was that last piece of your childhood and now he’s gone, taking that memory with him, and leaving nothing but this new version of you.

And yet you still don’t cry. Even with the two pairs of eyes that feel like a hundred people are waiting for you to break down, you still don’t cry. You do reflect the grief through your eyes, but you don’t weep, you don’t shed even a single tear. You let out a shaky breath and sit up straight with your head hanging low, but you don’t cry. You shake your head gently at the realization of the tragedy, but you don’t cry. You meet Cregan’s worried and pitiful gaze and remain collected. It takes a lot out of you to remain so strong, but you remember all you were taught and lift your head high and keep your chest out with your nose slowly starting to flare.

“Addam,” you break your silence, making the man’s shoulders jump and be even more attentive than he already was.

“I hope you’re ready,” you continue to mutter in a low and almost threatening voice. “We’re moving up our plans. We will attack Tumbleton right away.”

Addam shifts in his seat before he probes. “Why? What’s going on?”

You let out a deep huff and your drooped gaze slowly starts to harden, whilst your heart begins to pound in your chest as your blood starts pumping through your veins frantically.

“I want to catch them by surprise now,” you share in that same almost threatening way. It’s not threatening yet but it’s slowly building up to it. “I don’t want them to see us coming until the sky is falling down upon them so word is not passed to King’s Landing that we’re coming.”

Cregan and Addam share a worried look and you proceed to get up from your seat to look at them both between your lashes.

“We’re going to attack King’s Landing,” you proclaim, and with that threat, you completely abandon every desire to be loved and respected. If they want to fear you, you’ll give them a reason to really fear you. “They’re preaching that we’re a threat, a curse, and a menace,” you scoff and smirk menacingly. “So I will be just that. I will rain fire down upon them so they may see the curse they want me to be”

Neither man try to talk you down from the rage clearly now set upon you, they could try but what good would that do? So they do nothing but accept and welcome your rage.

“Come,” you direct at Cregan as you walk past him. “I’m going to tell the troops to get ready. We leave tonight.”

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

The sun is slowly lowering over the horizon, and with each passing second as the sun slowly leaves the sky darker and darker, making you grow more nervous as the fate of this battle is unknown. All that’s known is that only one side will win and depending on who comes out to fight another day, that person will determine the fate of this war and your mother's survival. With all the dragons dead and the others against her, she can only depend on Addam and you. If you lose tonight, she does too. So you can’t lose.

“You know,” Cregan interjects through the solemn silence that was blanketing you both, but in doing so he doesn’t pull your attention to him, you keep your eyes on the painted sky as if today will be the last time you ever see a sunset as beautiful as the one over your head.

“I wish you would wear more than just a chainmail gown,” he finally shares his complaints that have been nagging him since he saw you with the chainmail gown on you. “I would feel a lot better knowing you were heavily protected.”

You scoff and roll your eyes his way. “Do you want me to look like a cannonball with a full set of heavy armor?” You quip with a teasing smile. “Because that’s what I would look like.”

Cregan tries to muster a laugh but with his heavy worry dragging him down he can’t even muster the twitch of a smile. “At least you and the twins would be protected against anything that may come your way.”

You sigh deeply and drag yourself closer to him to grab his cold hands and cling onto them as you try and offer him some reassurance. “My Astraea will protect me from any incoming threat, and this chainmail gown is enough to block any attack. I’ll be fine, besides, I won’t stray too far from my dragon I…intend to keep my promise to Addam and Ser Cane,” you laugh stiffly. “No ground fighting if it’s not completely necessary.”

Cregan watches the way you caress his knuckles with your thumb as he tries not to argue against you, so you proceed to pull one hand away from his grasp and reach over to cup his jaw. “I won’t die tonight. I want to live. I have to live, so don’t worry about me, okay?”

Cregan’s dark eyebrows furrow and his eyes snap to you. “How could you tell me not to worry? About you of all people.”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile as your heart is riddled with admiration. “Because my love, there beside all my grief and agony is a dream I want to see through. A dream that involves going back home with you. I thought about it…” you trail off to a whisper and drop the hand you have on his cheek to grab his hand once again.

“My mother has Aegon and Aerion, so hopefully by the time it comes to passing her crown down she’ll be old and wrinkly and the boys will be men, so they will be mature and ready to rule the kingdom she’ll leave behind,” you share words you never thought would come out of your mouth when you were younger, but now…what does Queen even mean without your brothers, Aemond, or anyone you used to know by your side?

It doesn’t mean anything. Not even a fraction of what it once meant to your beating heart and deepest desires. That’s why this new dream is easy to share because you’re certain it’s what you want.

“Because I don’t want any part of it,” you continue and he parts his lips in surprise. “I want to stay in Winterfell with you, with our family that we will have, and the people we will govern together. I don’t want to be Queen anymore, I want to be your princess until our last breath.”

Cregan shakes his head and reaches his hand over to cradle your face. “No, you can’t do that. Being Queen is all you wanted. You can’t just abandon that dream,” he tries to argue against the plans you murmur to him, but there’s nothing to argue about, you slept on it and pondered it long and hard so you’re certain abandoning your title as heir is what you desire the most.

“You’re wrong,” you argue and look at him with a softened gaze as you just admire him. “My dream is you now. You’re everything I want, so please don’t try and convince me any longer because my mind is made. Once this war is over I will take my children and pack all my life to leave with you. That’s why I’ll survive because I want to go home. Is that not nice?” You ask as your face contorts with heartache out of worry that he doesn’t like the sound of your new desires.

However, Cregan’s grip grows firmer against your cheeks and his hardened face twisted by surprise now softens and that smile that was once impossible slowly gets painted on his pale face. “Of course it’s nice. It’s great and I will do everything in my power to give you that beautiful dream, my darling love.”

You huff softly in relief and let him pull you closer to him so he can whisper against your lips.

“But tell me you’re certain. Tell me that your heart is set on this new dream of yours because I don’t want you abandoning something you always wanted out of fear or because of me.”

You grab into his wrists and nod gently. “I’m certain,” you affirm and kiss the heel of his palms. “I want to be wherever you are. I want to be home.”

The corner is his lips tug wider but that smile is quickly hidden as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I will always keep an eye out for you tonight,” he lets you know. “I will have your back from the ground, but if the battle gets too heavy you fly away, okay? Everyone will understand. You leave the fighting to Addam and us, okay? I know you’re angry, but my darling, you need to worry about your children, if not you, then worry about them.”

You swallow back nervously as you wish to protest, but in the state you’re in you really can’t fight like you used to, so you have to agree regardless.

“Okay,” you reassure him and gently stroke his wrist with your thumb before you steal a glance at his lips, and then look up into his grey eyes with a softened look full of awe before you lean in and steal a lingering kiss from his pink lips.

The kiss is not long, but it’s deep and full of passion. It’s full of longing and desire, and it reminds the both of you how much you really missed this form of intimacy. You missed being connected in such a sweet and passionate way that only you and him can ever understand. You missed the taste of each other, and getting lost in the wonders that kissing each other brings to your isolated world where only you and him exist.

However, once again it’s not long. Not as long as he would’ve wanted because you still feel odd kissing someone else after losing Aemond.

“And with this kiss my sweet Lord you have my favor in this upcoming battle,” you murmur against his lips, making him chuckle and then stroke your bottom lip with his thumb before he leans over and presses a peck on your lips.

“Gods I missed kissing you,” he flatters you and makes your face grow hot. “Once we marry I’ll never know that feeling ever again.”

You giggle and reach over to grab his face one more time before you pull away and pull a ring off from your finger; one your father had given you that carries this beautiful called The Gem of The Sea.

“This is my real favor,” you tell him and grab his hand to place the ring on his palm. “I want it back, okay? It’s really expensive and the gem is one of a kind.”

Cregan scoffs but he wraps his hand around the ring before he secures it in his pocket. “I’ll hang it around my chain later.”

You let out a deep breath and nod before you go still as you catch him sliding off a wolf brooch that was hooked to his cloak.

“And this is for you,” he lets you know and leans toward you to clip the brooch onto your fur cloak. “You’ll be a Stark soon, why not wear something that represents your new name?”

“And you?” You interject and offer him a giddy smile. “My betrothed?”

He huffs and drops his head to hide his smile. “Well yes because you’ll be all mine soon enough.” He says confidently as he meets your gaze with a smirk. “That’s why I will live, so you can at last be my wife.”

“I will be,” you whisper and glance at the wolf brooch to mutter, “now this will be like having you right beside me. Thank you. I’ll cherish it.”

“Good,” he says breathlessly before he lets out a deep breath and just takes you in for a lingering minute as the last rays of sun lose its grip on the earth and dance on your face.

He memorizes the color of your eyes, down to every small hue. He takes note of the form of your lips, of the curve of your cheeks, and the shape of your jaw as if he's afraid that if he doesn't take his time to mark every part of you in his memory he will forget the moment you were out of sight. He almost doesn’t want to keep his eyes off you, but once the sun is completely gone and the earth is completely cast in the darkness, you both stand up and walk away from your stolen moment to rejoin your army of men all ready to attack Tumbleton and the army of men occupying it to once and for all put an end to The Green army.

Yet how can you depart toward your dragon without offering them a few words of encouragement first? And once they see your presence upon that hill that overlooks them a wave of chills washes over them. Not because they fear you, but because they are filled with awe and respect at the sight of you in your glimmering black chainmail gown.

“I know,” you address the crowd as they go quiet upon the sight of your presence. “Today's attack came sooner than expected. We have been marching with little rest since we left the twins, but it’s not for nothing. Tonight we attack Tumbleton!” You proclaim and garner some murmurs. “Tonight we put an end to the Hightower army and the turncloaks that sit behind that wall! Us! Not just you, and not just me! All of us! You are the blood to my fire.”

“Yeah!” The men below bellow and throw their fists in the air.

“As you all know I am with child,” you continue. “But that won’t stop me, I will fight with you tonight upon my dragon. I will kill Prince Daeron Targaryen and his dragon tonight and be one step closer to ending the tyranny of his brother and faction!” You exclaim with a growl behind that threat. “Now I won’t lie, some of you won’t see daylight again. Some of you know that too, but your deaths won’t be in vain, you will bleed and die for your families, your homes, your lords! Your pride! And your Queen! Tonight we fight for her! We fight to win! We won’t lose tonight! We will win with fire and blood! Us! WE WILL WIN WITH WHATEVER IT TAKES! WITH FIRE AND BLOOD!”

“BLOOD DRAGON! BLOOD DRAGON!” All the men below implode into a cheer full of vigor, making chills crawl down your own spine as you watch them all pumped with adrenaline and ferocity.

“I’m going to join my squadron now,” Cregan interjects and snaps your attention to him, calming down your racing heart. “Be careful.”

You blink repeatedly before you rush to him to close the gap with an embrace. “Take care, okay? I can’t lose you too.”

Cregan hugs you back and presses a kiss on your head. “You won’t lose me.”

You let out a shaky breath and clutch onto him tighter. “Take care of Ser Cane for me, okay?”

He scoffs but nods to assure you. “I will…I love you.”

You smile softly and turn your head to press one last kiss on his cheek. “I love you too.”

You proceed to pull back and he cups your cheek one more time to linger in each other's presence for another moment before you both part ways, letting him join his men, and letting you join your dragon and Addam and his dragon.

“If things start to get too out of control you fly out there, okay?” Addam interjects the moment he sees you making your way to him. “And don’t be getting off your dragon for anything unless you really have to.”

Even though he’s scolding you, you still can’t help but flash him a giddy smile as he makes you feel such a warm feeling.

“I know, I know,” you roll out and meet him halfway. “You have told me multiple times. I will not involve myself in any heavy fighting, or fight on the ground. I know.”

Addam puts his hand on his hip and sighs. “Yes well, you like to be spontaneous and think about yourself.”

Your smile falls but you don’t get upset because no matter how harsh it is it’s true.

“Don’t think about yourself,” he presses and looks at you with concern. “Your son needs you and your mother needs you. Don’t let your anger consume you.”

You blink repeatedly as his words ache your heart.

“You be careful too,” you whisper to the ground. “I need you. And Alyn needs you.”

He scoffs and as you look up you see him nod softly. You proceed to reach over and grab his arm to gain his unwavering attention. “I love you, Addam. You are someone to me, and I wish we would have met sooner, but I am glad our paths crossed. You…saved me from drowning in my grief. Without you, I would have died in that lake waiting for a dead man to come back to life. I…wouldn’t be here if you weren’t in my life.”

Addam’s eyes fill to the brim with tears but only two single tears break out and roll down his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly and offers you half a smile. “You know all my life I looked up at the world from the surface I was born in, it made me believe you were untouchable gods too high in the sky to care about anyone below you, but…when I too touched the clouds, when I met you…I see now that you are good. You have a good heart. You are a bit mad for liking the things you like, but you are like the sister I never had and I will always be thankful for that. I will always be thankful for you.”

Tears fill your eyes but you refuse to cry. You don't want to cry so you gnaw on your bottom lip and hold it all in.

“I love you too,” he redirects and closes the gap that was left between you to embrace you—“Be careful, okay?”

You nod as you hold onto him and whisper back. “I will. You be careful too.”

“I will,” he assures you before he pulls back and taps your chest with his fist, causing you to mirror his actions right back at him.

“I’ll see you up there,” you interject one more time, making him flash you a smile and offer you a nod before you both pull away from each other and mount your respected dragons.

“<Don’t worry girl,” you talk to Astraea as you click on your restraints—or as many as you can with your swollen belly in the way. “…today we won’t be the day we lose>.”

Astraea turns her head to look at you, making you offer her a gentle smile. “<Our fight won’t be over after this fight but we will be one step closer. You’ve been doing great>.”

Astraea growls and you can’t help but grin wider whilst you wrap your hands around the handles. When Astraea looks back at the dark sky you follow her line of gaze and take one last look at the serene night sky, taking note of the stars, and taking a deep breath of the brisk and clean air before you part your lips and mutter. “<Fly, Astraea.>”

Your she-dragon starts walking down slowly before she quickly picks up her pace, opens her giant purple wings, and then takes flight at the same time as Seasmoke, sending a signal to the army of men below to start running. Not marching, running.

You are so close to Tumbleton that you don’t want to risk being seen by any man. You want to stay under the cover of night and catch them by surprise so you rush, hitting the ground with thousands of claps of thunder as horses sprint through empty fields of grass.

The sky is silent, giving the illusion of a serene night, but looming threats cover the light of the stars and cast large shadows over the earth that fly past at an incredible speed.

A heightened rush of adrenaline connects you all as you get closer and closer to the grand battle, but nothing and you mean absolutely nothing matters but your anger. As if Daeron was solely at fault for all the pain you endured and everything that had happened all you can focus on is him and the rage that makes your blood and your heart thump violently.

You should keep your mind clear, you should fly into this war selflessly, after all, thousands of lives, and the lives of your mother, your son, and your brother depend on you to win this war, but there’s no fight with yourself when you choose to be selfish. You choose the blood-thirsty and raging anger. That’s all you hear. That’s all that fills you. It burns like the blasts of fire that rain down the moment you cross enemy lines and create chaos. And it’s all you see until there’s him; Daeron Targaryen standing in the midst of the army of his men.

His blond-silver hair stands out in between the storm of people all sent into a panic, and the wave of fires that wash over the army.

He stands there with his dark eyes on you and your raging dragon.

He stands there, Daeron Targaryen. He’s all you see and it makes your already heightened anger that more livid.

——

*A FEW YEARS AGO. KING’S LANDING*

The sun is high and beaming down fiercely. The breeze, when it does run, is hot, bringing with it waves of heat that run through your bodies and can’t cool down with any open window or fluttering fan, raising the already high tensions that are forever set between your families.

Yet no matter how high the tensions are, how many whispers are passed, and side glares are shot, none of that affects you, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, or Daeron.

Besides, today on the hottest day of summer is Daeron’s last day in the Red Keep. After today he will leave for Old Town until gods know when to become a ward…

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A/N- For story purposes Daeron was apart of everyone’s childhoods, he won’t be forgotten here!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

[damn-stark]

Chapter 26 In that treetop night

Chapter 26 of Moonlight

A/N- I giggled

Warning- light swearing, talks of pregnancy and blood, some violence, angst, some FLUFF, and SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 491-515

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

The day was taxing, not because there was a battle that required all the energy his body had made that day. The battle was fought and the battle was lost, so one would say the day should be laxing. Yet it’s dealing with the aftermath of such a tragic loss that seems to be more wary than any battle.

“How could they win now?” Cregan thinks to himself as he hangs his head low and mindlessly watches the cold ground beneath his feet. “How could an army of men win against three dragons without being completely wiped out?”

It was trying to come up with a strategy for that question that was wearing him out. He has so many men to think of, so many lives are in his hands. How can he lead them to a hopeful battle?

“Lord Stark!” A voice cuts in before quick and stumbling footsteps stop outside his tent, pulling Cregan out of his running mind to listen with very low curiosity—All he wants is to rest. Maybe just close his eyes, but alas… “Forgive me for interrupting, I know you said not to disturb you, but it’s urgent!” The young voice speaks rapidly and between heavy breaths. “The princess and a companion are here!”

As if a spike of energy shot his heart, he snaps his head up in disbelief whilst that exhaustion is suddenly forgotten. Can it be?

What the visitor just announced to him can be one of the Targaryen twins. They’re not titled princesses but their father is the husband of a Queen so it could have changed. But it can also be you…with your husband?

Who is the companion they announced? Did you come together? If it is really you, that is.

Even if it isn’t, he has to go out to meet them, so he gets up from his seat and swipes his sheathed sword from the ground. As he walks out he straps the sheath over his shoulder and strides out with the tall and lanky young man, hoping to see no one in particular to avoid feeling disappointed if the outcome is not to his liking

“Just over here, past the clearing,” the young man interjects. “We did not want to let them through to be safe because of the sides the people say they’re on.”

Cregan hums, finding their caution justifiable after being betrayed by two of Team Black’s dragonriders, and hearing that the third one escaped to avoid being caught. Let’s see how the caution is taken though. He knows Targaryens have similar tempers to the dragons you all are linked to so here’s hoping it’s not made into a fuss.

“Lord Stark,” the young man interjects but pauses to take a deep breath as if weighing whether to share what's in his mind or not. “You have been around dragons, are they…”

Nevertheless, the next words to come out of the young man’s mouth are drowned out by the sight of you the moment he turns a corner and faces the clearing.

He can hardly believe his eyes. You must be some conjured-up illusion made by his exhaustion.

Yet how can that be when his exhaustion no longer exists as the mere sight of you is like a spike of adrenaline to his beating heart? You cause the blood coursing through his veins to pump frantically, tuning out every sound, and blurring everything besides you. You are the sole keeper of his attention. You, bathing under the shining spots of moonlight that break through the treetops are the center of all his attention.

You don’t see him yet, but oh he sees you standing there with a displeased frown curled on your face telling him that this encounter is the opposite of what he wanted, proving your short temper. Someone else is beside you but like a full moon against a clear and starry night, he can’t keep his eyes off you, not even for a second and he doesn’t want to look at anything but you.

Even as soldiers pass by him he doesn’t keep you out of his sight. Even as a man leads a pair of horses toward him, he doesn’t bother giving it a glance to stop and be careful, he forces the man with the horses to a halting stop as he keeps walking to you as if it pained him not to be close, as if he’s tranced by you and your beauty, by you in that shiny silver and soft purple gown that makes you look all that more divine.

Oh, and once you finally roll your eyes and find him making his way to you between the busy camp, that’s a completely different set of feelings he’s completely bombarded with.

When you find him, even though his blood is racing through his veins, causing his heart to thump and thump rapidly against his chest, suddenly his entire world slows down. Everything that surrounds him ceases to exist except for you and him breaking through barriers of space to at last reach you after a terrible couple of months of being apart.

Only you and him exist in your loud and busy world. Only you and him. Him and you. After all these months it’s finally him that you see in all his mighty glory, caught under the shine of the moonlight, and for the first time in a long time there in the depths of your chest, you can feel it. You feel your heart revive and skip a beat as you lose yourself in Cregan’s grey eyes. Which is unbelievable to your grieving soul that not even Aemond could get that reaction from you, but Cregan does. Cregan brings back the light to the stars and to the moon, and he brings back the color to your once dull world.

Oh and once he’s close. Once his presence is known, your heart starts racing and your lips slowly start tugging into a smile, erasing that disbelief caught on your features whilst every muscle in your body cries for you to move toward him; while he, himself, takes a daring step toward you, but nevertheless, neither of you can give into your desires. You’re stopped, and both snapped out of your stupor as the man who stopped you addresses Cregan and your current situation.

“Lord Stark, sorry to disturb you but as you can see the Princess is here.”

Cregan still doesn’t break eye contact, he keeps his eyes laid on you and bows his head. “Princess,” he greets and then stands upright and drifts his eyes to the side to at last acknowledge your companion; a slim charming young man with his dark eyes on him.

“Forgive me, I don’t recognize you.” Cregan addresses Addam with his chin tilted slightly higher than usual. “You are…”

“This is Ser Addam Velaryon,” you interject and glance at Addam with a small smile. “Son of Lord Corlys Velaryon. Rider of Seasmoke.”

Cregan nods and then bows his head. “Ser Addam,” he greets your companion, making your smile a bit wider.

“Addam this is Lord Cregan Stark,” you present him in return. “Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

Addam briefly meets your gaze before he looks back at the tall and buff man to bow his head. “Lord Stark, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Cregan nods in response to acknowledge his comment before he looks between the two of you with confusion. “It’s an honor having you both here,” he says and lets his eyes fall on you as if speaking to you alone. “Yet I am confused as to why. We did not expect your arrival.”

You nod. “That’s why we wanted to walk in, to explain, but your knight here has not let us pass,” you hiss as you drag your gaze to the knight and pass him a glare.

“It's a surprise, we know,” Addam cuts in and steps forward to take Cregan’s attention, but the Lord spares him a short glance before he once again focuses on you as if still in disbelief about your presence—“And it’s late, but we come with good intentions,” Addam explains. “We come to join your forces and fight alongside you against the Hightower army and the three Dragonriders.”

The men across from you look at each other, sharing speechless glances before Cregan gives Addam more than a second of his attention. “We would be honored to have you join our forces, but you have to also excuse our caution,” he shares, catching you by surprise even though it really shouldn’t. You know Cregan, he cares about his people, he cares about the men fighting with him, and puts them first so, you shouldn’t be surprised that he’s being cautious. But you still are.

“You were branded a traitor by the Queen, Ser, and you,” Cregan says and turns his gaze to you, shifting where he stands before he continues. “It’s been said you were allied with the Greens.”

You immediately react by shaking your head and correcting him. “My husband. Not the Greens, my husband.”

He blinks and hums. “You can see why you were stopped, right?” He adds and looks at Addam. “Besides, what is stopping your husband from coming after you and burning down our camp out of spite?” Cregan directs at you, making you stiffen and drop your gaze.

Addam proceeds to part his lips as he sees your reaction and intends to share the news for you so you wouldn’t have to say such heavy words, but you drag in a shaky breath and with tears already forming in your eyes you share the news yourself. “You needn’t worry about Prince Aemond because he,” you pause as the words pain you to even think about. “He…he’s dead,” you say with a shaky breath. And at the sound of the news Cregan’s face falls from that tense and serious hold and he looks at you with pity. Yet before he can express his consolation you continue abruptly.

“Vhagar is gone too, along with Daemon and Caraxes, so there’s nothing you need to worry about,” you mutter and avert your gaze to wipe away the stray tears that fall down your face.

“I am sorry for your loss, Princess,” Cregan’s voice is soft and his gaze is heavy on you. “And I am sorry for the loss of Daemon, he was a legendary warrior. His loss will cost us a great deal.”

You draw in a heavy and shaky breath before you lift your head and face the men with a collected demeanor, refusing to show them any more vulnerability. “If we can talk somewhere warm we can explain ourselves,” you interject with determination. “If not, well we can gladly leave and abandon you in your time of need.” You huff, making Cregan scoff and drop his head to hide his smirk

“Alright,” he says with a huff before he picks his head up and looks at you with his soft gaze. “Come with me.”

You share a speechless but assuring gaze before feeding that previous temptation and walking to Cregan to address him like old friends.

“It’s a pleasure seeing you out here, My Lord Stark,” you share in a honey-laced voice as you start to walk around each other to avoid walking away and remain as close as you can. All while neither of the other dares to lose eye contact. “Especially after you said you couldn’t leave your home.”

Cregan’s gaze narrows slightly in a lighthearted manner and the corner of his lips twitch up. “Well, my men and my Queen needed me. My choice was made with a heavy heart but I do not regret it.

You offer him a sweet and thankful smile before you express yourself in words too. “Well, the Queen appreciates your efforts. We all do.”

Cregan holds your gaze with a burning intensity while he comes to a stop right where he started as he sees how truly ethereal you look under the moon’s soft hue.

“Thank you, my Princess, and I'm sorry again for your loss.”

You blink repeatedly as your emotions come to you and proceed to respond with an acknowledging hum before you continue down your path, catching Addam’s questioning gaze before he quickly snaps his eyes ahead to look at the path instead.

“Uh, if you don’t mind me asking, Princess,” Cregan interjects as he leads the way. “How far along are you?”

You rest your hands on your belly and sigh softly before you give him the answer. “Seven. I’m almost there.”

Cregan nods and adds nothing else on the matter, letting you fill the silence. “How’s Rickon?”

Cregan peers back and responds. “Good. Growing every day and surviving the winter.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Silence continues to befall you again and once again Addam steals a quick look between Cregan and you, making you discreetly slow down to fall beside him instead.

Once you reach the intended tent you wait for the higher-ranked commanders and knights to join you before you make your case.

“You have every reason not to trust us,” you address the group of men. “You have every reason to question our motives, but I can say that in regards to myself, my loyalty lied with my husband. Neither you here are wives, but I am and…” you pause as you know you can’t give all the reasons why you truly sided with Aemond. “My loyalty was to him. I did the things they say I did. I took my part in burning House Strong,” you admit and make the men grow stiff as if fearful you have come to do the same to them.

“It was me. I won’t hide from it,” you continue as you look around the group of old battered men looking at you with displeasure and discomfort. “I won’t feel ashamed of it either. I did it because it was the right thing to do for me, and for my husband,” you mutter and stroke the table with the pad of your fingers. “Not Team Green. Not the Usurper, but for my husband who is…now dead,” your voice trembles. “Along with his dragon and Prince Daemon and his dragon.”

You end in silence so the men can do as expected, and share shocked whispers at the sound of such an unexpected revelation.

“But my shame on the matter is not what you should be asking, neither should you be asking if I was dedicated to Team Green,” you speak over the whispers and slowly regain the men’s attention. “The question you should be asking is if I would die for them. And the answer is no,” you say confidently as you press your hands on the wooden table and lean forward to be in the center of everyone’s attention. “But I am willing to die for my mother. For my Queen, and for all of you if the need arises. My loyalty is here, with you and with her too.”

The air in the tent slowly loses some of the previous tension they were holding, and their hardened gazes ease as your sweet yet confident words ease their hearts. Yet they can’t fully come to trust you because of Addam, but that’s why you don’t leave him out of your plea.

“As for Addam,” you add to the conversation, earning his undivided attention. “You will not find anyone more loyal. You won’t find someone kinder or braver than him. The son Corlys Velaryon, my uncle, and my dearest friend.”

Cregan sits up at the sound of your words, unbeknownst to you.

“Then why did the Queen cast him as a traitor?” A man blurts, returning your attention to the group of men. “Why run if he is not guilty of what he is accused of?”

You and Addam share a glance before you look at the waiting crowd and think about your words because you can’t say the truth or it will paint your mother in a bad light, and right now these men can’t lose hope or respect, not when they have already lost so much for her cause.

“Because the Queen was being cautious. That’s why she deemed him a traitor when he isn’t,” you add as you push yourself away from the table and stand up with your shoulders straight and your eyes narrowed so they know you’re being serious. “She has to be careful now more than ever, and that’s why Addam left. What are words compared to actions of dedication and loyalty?”

Addam passes you a thankful smile before he steps forward to garner everyone’s attention so he can speak in his own case. “That’s why I’m here, to prove to her that I would die for her. I don’t want to, not yet, but if it has to happen I would die to see her succeed because I believe in her, because she should be on that throne, and I can only prove that in the battlefield on top of my dragon, not on my knees begging. If she wants to punish me after, then so be it, but it will only be after we win against those turncloack and against the traitors wanting to march to the Red Keep and take her throne.”

You look at him proudly, missing the way Cregan catches the shared looks between the two of you.

“Now I know my word doesn’t mean anything to any of you, you don’t know me and I don’t know you, but trusting one another is by chance, isn’t it? So give us a chance and we will be your greatest ally,” he continues, easing the tension and their demeanors toward him and you—“we have a plan to garner more fighting men, and we have two dragons, but that power can only be gained if you trust us. Give us a chance.”

No matter what Cregan thinks about the two of you together, or just Addam making you smile so fondly, he still stands up to address the group now.

“You both speak fiercely, and from what I can pick up on, with sincerity, but may I ask one thing?” He asks and slowly lets his eyes drag to you. “Will you fight in the state you are in? If not then can your dragon fight? Because it’s true that we need what you can offer, we need it to win against three dragons, so if you can’t fight, can your dragon fight without you on her back?”

You blink in disbelief and challenge his gaze as if he had just uttered the most offensive thing he could ever utter, and then counter right away with a sense of ferocity so you’re not questioned or pestered as if you were a helpless little girl. “My dragon fights if I fight, if I am out of the field so is she. And right now you need all the firepower you can get so I am going to be on dragonback fighting like Addam.”

Said man sighs in protest, but he knows he can't do a thing about it so he just stays quiet. As for Cregan, even if he thinks that the babies you’re carrying are not his right now, he still cares about you and therefore cares for them so he’s not convinced or intimidated like the others are, but he will talk about that later.

“Alright,” he says with a nod before he sighs and goes on. “Well, I welcome you then, if the others are in agreement say aye.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer until the men gathered around the wooden table all agree to let you join their forces, letting you and Addam let out a breath of relief.

“Find an empty tent for Ser Addam,” Cregan instructs one of the young squires. “The princess can take mine until hers is set up.”

You immediately cut in with a shake of your head as you try to turn him down. “No, my Lord it’s quite fine. I can take any other tent.”

Cregan immediately shuts you down. “No,” he scoffs. “Don't be mad. I am not with child. You are and you are my Princess. You will take my tent, and if not, regardless I won’t sleep in it tonight.”

You part your lips to try and rebuttal him but you also know he won’t back down, not about this or the other matter if you’re being realistic, so you hesitantly give in. And since it’s already late and there isn't anything that needs your attention you find your way to Cregan’s tent right away.

Yet no matter how much the tent is riddled with his scent, no matter how every corner is a reminder that you are finally together, all you can think about is how long this day has been and how much you need it to end. In the morning you woke up with Aemond by your side, with his arms secured around you, and now you’re getting ready for bed with the knowledge that you won’t ever get to share a bed together. You won’t have your limbs tangled, and you won’t make him smile or watch him breathe as he sleeps deeply. He is gone forever and that thought makes your heart ache and weep.

You want to see him again. You want to steal one more kiss. You just need to feel his warmth one more time. You just need…something…

Yet how can you have any of it when he’s gone and will never return? You’re left with nothing but the memory of him. That’s all you will have for the rest of your life—how tragic. How depressing.

Nevertheless, as you’re lost in your grief, as the silence mingles in the tent, a voice makes your shoulders jump and cranes your head over your shoulder.

“Princess, may I come in?” You identify Cregan's voice right away.

“Yes, of course.”

Not even a lingering minute later the flaps of the tent open and he walks in holding something you don’t even give any attention to. Your eyes immediately land on his face and remain locked there.

“Did you forget something?” You probe, and he shakes his head before he lifts the fur blankets he brought in.

“No. I just had extra in my tent so I wanted to bring them to you. It’s cold when you’re in a tent,” he explains in a softer voice than he was using before.

“Oh,” you breathe out and nod ever so lightly. “Okay. Thank you.”

He walks further in to place the blankets on the table, and instead of proceeding to walk out, he stays where he is and studies your face, noticing the grief that now decorates every part of your face. You had held yourself together so well before, just like you were taught, just like a princess and an heir should, but now that it’s just you and him alone, you let your eyes droop and grief paints a tragic and aching picture in your eyes. More so now as he asks with his eyes alone if you’re okay—you completely break with a shaking breath as you hold his gaze as if he was everything you had been missing to let yourself really feel.

Thus without needing to utter a word, without gesturing each other close, you break away from your spot and he welcomes you with open arms, holding you tightly against him the moment you clash and clutch onto him like he is your salvation.

“Cregan,” you weep and he drags a hand up to cup the back of your head and press his head against yours.

“I know darling. I know,” he whispers to comfort you. “I know. I’m here.”

You cry harder at the sound of comfort and nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck without thinking about getting him wet. You keep yourself clung around him and he holds onto you as if his life depends on it, making sure to caress your back and stroke the back of your neck when he moves his hand down.

You remain in the silence, soaking in each other's comfort and company. Nothing is uttered but there is something you need to get off your chest, so you just drag your face away from his neck and break the silence.

“I tried,” your voice breaks. “I tried so hard. I tried, but I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save Jace. I was too late,” you cry. “And Viserys…” you trail off and shake your head. “I couldn’t find him. Now they’re gone. Jace is gone, he died in my arms and I couldn’t save him. If-if—” before you can finish, Cregan suddenly yanks himself back but doesn’t put too much distance between you, he cradles your face with his large hands and looks deep into your eyes.

“Listen to me, you tried. That’s what matters. You were there for him in his last moments, that’s what matters, darling. Do you understand? You were there for him, you comforted him and held him as he went. You did good,” he praises you as he caresses your cheekbones with his thumbs. “Do you understand?”

You blink repeatedly, letting more warm tears fall down your cheeks before you nod faintly and croak under your breath. “I understand.”

Cregan nods with you and tilts his head but never loses hold of your eyes. “And as for Viserys. There’s nothing you could have done. You tried, that matters. Now you fight for them, okay? You keep living for them, for their memory, okay?”

You sniffle and nod faintly once again, not daring to argue because this is all you needed; comforting words from someone who did care about your brothers. Someone to hold you so you could grieve them.

“Good,” he whispers before he fixes his head and points to the bed. “Let’s go sit okay, darling?”

You let him guide you to the edge of bed and sit with him in a comforting silence. After a while, after you no longer have running tears and your breaths come steady and not shaky, you look over at him and study him, noticing how dark the circles are under his eyes.

“You need to rest Cregan,” you point out without needing to ask if he is exhausted because you know he is. “You’re exhausted.”

Cregan slowly turns his head to take you in and sighs deeply. “I will. Soon. I just need to make sure you're taken care of.”

You scoff softly and drop your head to smile faintly at your hands. “I am. Thank you.”

He hums as he admires you while you’re not looking. “I will have some of the healers tend to you. Make sure you're fed and looked after.”

You roll your head up and look at him with a pointed gaze. “No need, I can tend to myself. Don't bother them. If I wanted to be looked after I would return home with Vanessa, but I’m here, I will remain here tending to myself.”

Cregan bites the inside of his cheek and nods slowly in understanding, knowing neither of you will get anywhere if you keep arguing about it. “Alright,” he gives you what you want.

You hum and then avert your gaze to stop feeling your heart flutter under his heavy gaze. “Where’s Ser Rolf? Sleeping?”

Cregan chuckles. “Probably, but not here. He’s in Winterfell in my stead since Rickon is too young.”

You nod with comprehension and feel his eyes roam your face before they fall on your belly.

“Your boy?” He asks. “Is he fine? Healthy?”

You smile brightly and nod as you face him. “Yes, healthy and fat. Dragging his bottom across the floor.”

Cregan hums and offers you a flickering smile before he leans in. “Well, my offer still stands. It may be winter but if your son and Vanessa need refuge they can find some at Winterfell. And if this war is still going on when your twins are born then they have a home there too. The people there love you, and therefore they love your children. They will protect them.”

Your heart swoons but you hide your flustered face by looking down. “Thank you, Cregan, really, and right now they’re taken care of by my mother and my sworn protectors. Hopefully, they won’t need refuge but if they do I will gladly accept your invitation:”

“Good.”

You nod gently and follow up with silence, letting him continue to just take you in as you fiddle with your sapphire ring. You should send him to his own tent so you can both find sleep, but neither of you actually want to leave each other's company so you find the excuse to linger next to each other for a few more stolen minutes.

“Your sword, it’s Valyrian steel. Which one is it?” He finds a reason to stay longer.

You glance over at Blackfyre resting by the table and give him the name. “Blackfyre. The one passed to the rulers of our house. Aemond…took it from Aegon while he was abed, and before…” you trail off but don’t and can’t finish the rest.

“I understand,” Cregan mutters.

You snap your head toward him and breathe out deeply. “He died today and I don’t know if I can take care of three children on my own. I…don’t know what to do without him.” You share in a moment of vulnerability, knowing in the back of your head that you are capable and that a bright future awaits you, but right now you feel so defeated and he’s your best friend. You know it hurts him to hear you speak about Aemond in such a way, you see him swallow thickly and finally let his eyes wander away from you, but you need to confide in him.

“You're the strongest person I know,” he says to the air ahead of him. “You may feel helpless now, but you’re just grieving. You can and will raise your children because you’re strong. This grief will pass eventually.”

You take a deep breath and look away too, losing your gaze on nothing in particular and just listening to each other breathe for a few more stolen minutes. And this time there’s nothing to keep him from leaving.

“I should let you rest,” he says with a deep breath before he gets off the bed. “Goodnight, my princess.”

You stand up with him and meet his gaze to return his comment. “Goodnight, my Lord.”

Said man scoffs at what you call him and before he can leave you lean in and press a kiss on his cheek, catching him by surprise.

“Goodnight,” you whisper again, earning his attentive gaze and letting it mingle on you for a moment before you force yourself back.

“Goodnight,” he says one more time before he bows his head and finally departs, stealing one last look at you watching him leave before he exits the tent, leaving you to your lonesome in that bitter night where all that occupies your mind and dreams is Aemond. Aemond, Aemond, and Aemond.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

There’s no escaping the pain, not anymore, not after losing Aemond, but as you look at the clouded sky, as you watch the parting clouds drifting by, for some reason there in that endless sky you can find the fact that eventually the pain will be a memory and you will look back at your losses in a much more fonder light.

You won’t cry every time the simplest memory comes to mind, you won’t want to stay curled up in bed as the kisses from the man you loved haunt your lips. You’ll think back and smile because they were in your life. That will be a beautiful thing, one day.

“Good morning,” the sound of Cregan’s voice pulls your attention away from the sky to drift your eyes down. You can’t see him since you don’t stand up, but you also don’t want to stand up so you just aim your eyes in his general direction.

“You left your sword in your tent,” he brings up and you then hear the shuffling of leather against his hands, meaning he brought Blackfyre with him. “We’re in an active war, you can’t be wandering off on your own. Not without protection.”

You blow a raspberry and turn your body against the water to turn towards your dragon resting her large neck in the water to keep the water warm with her steams of breath.

“My girl is with me,” you point your dragon out. “She’ll protect me.”

“And if something were to happen to your twins?” He keeps pestering you, but this time you don’t have a good argument so you just probe him.

“Why did you come find me? How did you find me?”

You hear his footsteps approach the lake's shore and come to a stop shortly thereafter to respond. “I went to look for you to invite you to break fast with me, and when I didn’t find you in your tent I asked around.”

A teasing smile tugs on your lips. “Well thank you for thinking about me, but I already broke fast. I saw the lake on Dragonback so I walked here after I woke up and had breakfast by the lake because the twins were hungry.”

Cregan scoffs in amusement before he fills the silence with a comment filled with…annoyance. You detect it in his voice. “I’m surprised your uncle is not here with you. Accompanying you.”

Is he jealous of Addam?

You almost have to laugh. You don’t but you let a smile dance on your lips before you finally push yourself to your feet and face him, seeing him wear that ever so heavy cloak, and carrying his own large sword as if he’s expecting to be attacked at any second.

“Is that not heavy?” You tease with a half smile, seeing him maintain his eyes on your face even though your gown is sticking to your figure and water is dripping off your chin and falling on your chest. You would have gone in completely nude but there are a lot of men around so you chose to play it safe instead.

“Your cloak? Your massive sword?” You specify. “Unload my Lord. We’re not going to war right now.”

Cregan swallows thickly and lifts his hand to take his sheathed sword off, but as you start to walk out of the water he stops what he’s attempting to watch your dripping body expose more and more as you walk to shore to meet him.

“Addam is my uncle, my friend. My confidant. Nothing more and nothing less,” you finally assure him. “Don’t…worry.”

When your feet hit the shore he snaps from his stupor and finally slides his sheath off his shoulder before resting it next to, Blackfyre.

“You wouldn’t want to take a dip with me would you, my Lord?” You offer with a taunting smirk that he catches as his eyes are quick to find your lips. “Astraea keeps the water warm so you wouldn’t freeze. Albeit you are used to a colder climate, so.”

Cregan’s grey eyes slide up to meet your gaze and he shakes his head. “Thank you for the offer but not now. Perhaps if the offer still stands later, when the day has drained me I will gladly accept a dip in the steaming lake.”

You swallow back nervously and feel your heart skip a beat as he holds your eyes with a great intensity. You almost don’t retort, but you manage to collect yourself.

“We’ll see if Astraea is willing to help again. The offer is very much ready now though, just say the word,” you roll out slowly before you start to walk past him, making him turn his body where he stands so he doesn’t lose sight of you, and so you keep each other chest to chest until you part away to sit on a rock.

“I heard conflicting reports,” Cregan doesn’t let silence intrude, causing you to pick your gaze off the dry and clean wrap that you need to put around your wet body to dry it—“you can touch fire without getting hurt.”

You lift a quizzical brow and press him for more. “What else have you heard about me?”

Cregan shakes his head. “I have tried not to hear much. I don’t let my men speak ill of you.”

A small smile flickers on your lips but you still press him, knowing that whether he wants to or not he’s heard about you; bad and good things. “But word still spreads. Tell me.”

“It’s nothing I believe,” he still avoids sharing the trash spread by venomous tongues. “Just tell me if it’s true or not that you can walk in fire.”

You drop your head to tie the long piece of cloth around you. “Yes,” you put it simply. “But the discovery is new. I only found out after I left Winterfell. I mean I have always had a feeling but given that I never had a reason to test it, I never really knew. Not until after I left.”

Cregan hums and you give an example as to what he might have heard. “They say I'm cursed, don’t they? That my mother gave birth to a demon?”

Cregan utters your name in disbelief and you look up at him unaffected by such things.

“I heard a man utter those words to an empty cobble square,” you share softly regardless of how unbothered you try to be. “He might be mad but he said it with passion so I know that it’s something that he doesn’t believe alone. If he says that, other people across the realm think it too.”

Cregan shakes his head and you put your hand up.

“Don’t try to be a gentleman,” you interrupt him. “People will say the same thing for as long as I live. Even when I die they will say the same thing. They will read it too, so I will spit in their faces even in death and be proud of my ability. I can walk through fire, I don’t burn. My flesh is fire made and I’m proud.” You say with the same emotions you speak of, offering him a proud smirk that he can’t help but be relieved by.

Yet even if you see the glimmers of pride brighten his grey eyes, you still have to doubt him out of fear. “It doesn’t scare you? What I can do?”

Cregan drops his head to glance at the ground for a brief moment before he walks to you and sits on the little space next to you, proceeding to tilt his head up to have you under his gaze before he speaks softly in the exact way his eyes look. “My people. My family can warg into the minds of animals. The dead are hidden behind a large wall, and you ride a dragon. I would have to be pretty ignorant and stupid to fear you, my Princess. The people fear you because they don’t know anyone like you because you are a fearsome thing to behold.”

You shake your head and whisper with a hint of insecurity. “I am not scary. I never wanted to be scary to people. I’m just a girl.”

Cregan’s eyebrows knit together and he follows your gaze as you avert them to hide the tears that well in your eyes.

“I know, but you are Targaryen, you ride a dragon, you wield a sword, and now you walk through fire without being harmed; the people will always fear the unknown, and you know your subjects should always hold a little fear for you while also holding respect and love,” he says to try and console you.

“I know,” you share with a vulnerability that comes easy when you’re speaking to him. “I know I have to strike fear in people, but I never wanted it. Not truly. I embrace it now, I relish in it, but isn’t it easier to love us? My mother, me, and my family? Why do they prefer war and death over letting her take her rightful place? Why do they push her over the edge?”

Cregan’s eyes flicker down to your hand, letting his hand slide over yours before his eyes find yours again and he gives you an answer. “Unfortunately it’s the way people are. They’re ignorant and close-minded, thinking a certain sex is better than another when it’s not true. It’s the way the world works, but it can change. Your mother can prove that. You can too. And if they still don’t want to see that then they can continue to lead themselves to death, or deal with it when she officially sits on that throne.”

Your ache eases and a soft smile slowly spreads on your lips. Cregan watches you, watches your smile, and takes a deep breath, letting his overdriving emotions push him forward.

However, before he can close the gap before the wetness of his lips can connect to yours, and before you can pull your head away, he keeps still and lets the warmth of his lips radiate over yours, letting his desire build but not give in.

“Cregan,” you whisper as you slowly cup his jaw. “Aemond just died yesterday.”

He gives you a nod that’s almost ghostly as he repeats what you just said. “Your husband just died. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes go small as you offer him a sweet smile. “I can’t truly give you what you want, what you have been longing for, and what I myself have desired. Not right now,” you say honestly.

Cregan lets out a deep sigh and lets his head drop, but you quickly give him some reassurance by tilting your head down to press your forehead against his. “We waited this long, we can wait a while longer, no?” You try to comfort him. “My path and my heart all lead to you, just give me time. Please.”

Cregan slowly presses his hand over yours, being quick to stroke your knuckles with his thumb before he draws in a breath to speak his mind.

Yet before he can utter a word, branches snap in the distance; yanking you apart from each other, and turning your heads away from one another to play as if nothing is happening. When the noise turns to an intruder you stand up and face Addam.

“Addam,” you greet with a pleased smile.

He doesn’t return it though. He looks at your body drenched in water and wrapped with a simple cloth before his eyes drift to Cregan and lets a displeased look start to mingle on his features.

“Someone arrived for you,” he reveals and peels his eyes away from Cregan slowly standing on his feet to focus on you and search for an answer without speaking a word about it.

“Who?” You probe with worry. “Is it news?”

Addam points to the direction of the camp. “Why don’t you come and see.”

You challenge him so he can reveal who it is, but he doesn’t give in, thus making you let out a deep breath before you take Blackfyre and walk ahead, knowing he and Cregan will trail behind you without needing to be told. However, Addam quickly gets behind you so the Lord isn’t any closer to you than he already was when he found you.

“Here,” he interjects and takes the sword from you so you don’t have to be carrying the heavy thing around when it’s not necessary—“why didn’t you tell me you were coming out here? I was worried.”

You sigh and peer over your shoulder. “Sorry, I just didn’t want to wake you that’s all. It was early.”

“The twins?” He asks making Cregan pay close attention—“are they bothering you?”

“They’re getting too big so they’re growing restless,” you share as you rub your belly. “Besides Daenys is always on time, she wakes up at the same time every morning.”

Addam scoffs and you catch him rolling his eyes at the fact that you call your unborn children by their names. Even though you shouldn’t know their gender yet.

“What?” You press teasingly and stop briefly to instead walk side by side. “Spit it out.”

“There’s no way for you to know what you’re expecting,” he utters the same bullshit as always. “You’re just getting yourself excited over what can be a boy.”

You smile as you roll your head to the side and once again repeat the same thing you already told him just yesterday. “I told you, Alys told me—well she told Aemond, and he told me, but she is not wrong.”

“Just like the witch is not wrong about your seven children?” He mocks you but you don’t ever back down, you nod confidently.

“I have one, and two on the way,” you argue. “That makes three. I just need four more.”

“I wouldn’t entertain it,” Cregan interjects, jumping on Addam’s side. “She loves her witches.”

You throw your arms out. “You say that like it’s a bad thing!” You exclaim. “Why don’t either of you believe in them when dragons and Green Men exist?!”

Addam shakes his head and argues. “Green Men are different. Protectors. Alys has lived in the depths of the forest alone for far too long. She’s mad.”

You shake your head and get ready to defend her but Cregan jumps in too. “And your Red Priestess is a part of a cult. Fanatics who only scam you.”

You roll your eyes and don’t let them dim your beliefs, you bite back. “The Red Priestess did not take my money first of all. She took my blood in exchange for a vision of my future. She approached me, and Alys helped me in the same way the Green Men helped you, Addam.”

He hums and nods his head lightly, telling you he doesn’t believe you, so you continue.

“She let me see the same thing the Red Priestess showed me in the fire, a long winter carrying the dead with it…”

Cregan stiffens at the sound of the words he heard you speak only months before. And like before you carry the same passion and belief behind your words.

“It can be an illusion. A lie to frighten you,” Addam rebuttals, but you hold his gaze and stand your ground, sharing more than you should have.

“It was not a lie because he told me,” you say and come to a stop, making both men stop to hang onto every word with intent—“my son. Not Aerion, and not either of the twins. And before you cut in with something witty, I know. Who wouldn’t know their own son? He was as clear as you are now, with deep grey eyes and dark hair…”

Cregan’s gaze narrows in confusion and more wonder than ever before.

“With a melancholy look, he shared what he knows. He told me about the long winter. He told me and I believe him and in turn, I believe Alys. So yes there is a way for me to know what my twins are. That’s all I know. Everything they told me is all I’ll ever know and I’ll cherish it.” You finish confidently before you turn away to continue walking down your path before they can ask questions. And even though they’re both itching to question you—Cregan, more than Addam; neither man speaks on the matter, choosing a stunned silence over speaking their minds. Thankfully.

Soon thereafter nevertheless, you reach the campgrounds and follow Addam to who’s waiting for you, catching a growing crowd of men already gawking and whispering about your visitor which in turn heightens your curiosity.

“Make room for the princess,” a man announces, forcing the crowd to break apart and clear a path toward the visitor. However, once the path is clear and leads you to your visitor, you come to a stop and drop your jaw out of surprise when you see Ser Cane Clegane is the one who came in search of you. He is the one standing in the middle of the crowd, and he is the one you face. Your sworn protector.

“Ser Cane,” you gasp and attempt to smile, but it comes out wobbly as you’re struck with disbelief, joy, and appreciation.

“Princess,” he immediately greets and bows to you, causing you to watch him so he wouldn’t get out of sight because a part of you believes he’s some illusion. It’s just…his arrival is a surprise. That’s why when he stands up straight and your eyes immediately fall on his gaze, you ask the overwhelming question.

“What are you doing here, Ser? So far from home?”

Ser Cane walks toward you and stops when he reaches a good and respectable distance to give your question an obvious answer. “Once I heard you left in a hurry, I came after you. I arrived at Harrenhal and the woman told me you had left so, I rode all night to catch up to you.”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and feel your eyebrows knit together for a brief second before your face eases and all you can express is disbelief. “You came after me?” Your voice cracks, making him look at you as if you just asked the most stupid question in your life, because why wouldn’t he come after you?

“I made the mistake of not going to find you before and you got held captive. You of course fought back and freed yourself,” he chuckles with a sense of pride. “But I never want you to be put in that situation again. Not while I’m still alive. I am your sworn protector, my duty is to protect you, my duty is to follow you to the ends of the earth until my last breath. That’s what I will do.”

Your breath hitches as your heart skips a beat. That look of appreciation that you hold on your face turns to sweet admiration and before he knows it you rush to him to surprise him with an embrace. And as caught off guard as he is, he doesn’t leave you hanging, he gently wraps his arms around you and lets you take the time you need, which isn’t a lot, but he still doesn’t rush you, letting you pull away first.

“Where’s Ser Jason?” You ask for your other sworn protector.

“I left him protecting the little lord,” he says and gives your mind and heart relief.

“Good, thank you.” You offer him kindly before you step back and turn around to move to the side and present him. “Lord Stark, this is my sworn protector, Ser Cane Clegane. Ser Cane this is Lord Cregan Stark.”

Ser Cane bows his head, and Cregan offers him a gentle nod as a greeting.

“And these are the men we are fighting with,” you introduce the knight to the crowd growing smaller and smaller now that they know who arrived.

Ser Cane offers anyone who is still lingering around a stiff nod before he gives you his attention.

“You must be tired of riding, so once a tent is set up you will find some rest. That’s an order,” you blurt before he can argue. “Ser Addam can watch out for me for today. Alright?

Ser Cane sighs as he’s left unable to even lift a finger to argue back.

“Tomorrow morning you may get up whenever you need to start your watch,” you ease his worry. “And if you do want to know to ease your heart, today we will just have a brainstorming meeting to figure out what to do, okay? Nothing grande.”

He hums and nods in comprehension before his eyes drift ahead. “Lord Stark, may you direct me to the commander in charge of your guards?” He interjects in an attempt to do the work he can while he’s on his short leave. “I would like to set up a watch for the night shift to stand outside the Princess’ tent.”

Cregan, the ever-so-protective friend, doesn’t hesitate to indulge the knight’s request. “Right this way Ser.”

Said man returns his attention to you and bows his head. “If you may excuse me Princess I will now go pick guards to protect you. If you don’t require any more of my attention that is.”

You shake your head. “No, that is all, I’m sure Lord Stark can share the inner workings of our camp and have someone give you a tent so you can rest. I mean it Ser.”

“Of course, I will, my Princess. Rest assured.”

You smile at him and grab his arm to give it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for coming after me, my friend. I’m

Thankful and glad you’re here.”

“Always,” he says in return with a surprisingly softer tone. “I am glad I found you.”

Your smile widens and you grow even more fond of your knight, choosing to watch him and Cregan walk off together and jump right into a conversation.

“May I ask you something?” Addam’s sudden intrusion surprises you, and when you look over at him you see his gaze locked on Cregan before he finds you with a curiosity you quickly dissect and know what it’s going to lead to.

“I’m going to change,” you cut him off before he can utter a word, and then turn swiftly to march to your tent.

“Wait!” Addam blurts and walks after you. “It's just a question.”

——

*LATER*

“The goal is clear; we march to the great and small houses of the Riverlands to have them gather fighting men to join us in our fight against the Greens in Tumbleton,” Addam shares what he’s been brainstorming. “That may not have many to spare but the numbers they can spare will still aid us in our fight.”

The men pass each other confused looks, and when they return their attention to Addam, one of them interjects with an argument. “The terror of the Trident is dead and…no offense, but you are considered a traitor to everyone who isn’t us, and,” he pauses and glances over at you. “The princess has been passing the war flying between enemy lines doing as she pleases. The houses of the Riverlands will not spare their few remaining men for…a chance.”

“Mind yourself My Lord, the Princess, and Ser Addam are not some common folk you may speak to as you please,” Cregan cuts in and steps forward so he can be seen and understood.

“It’s alright, My Lord,” you ease the tension and continue for Addam in a much rougher way than he was speaking. “It’s true. It may be difficult for us to gain their trust, but when we ask them they won’t hear the same speech we gave you. We will offer them kind terms or I will offer them fire and blood.” You flash them a smirk.

The men go uneasy at the sound of the threat that slips so easily off your tongue, and as your eyes scan their tensing bodies whilst you push your chair back. Addam helps you to your feet, but he proceeds to go on for you, letting you be an intimidating figure instead.

“If they don’t have men to spare we won’t force them to fight, but if they do it’s them that we will need. It’s why we need to march to the Houses we can, so we can have a chance at succeeding. This fight won't be won alone. It will take all of us.”

Addam’s words are kinder so some of their tension eases off their shoulders, but that threat you made still lingers in their heads, showing more distrust for you than the man next to you as they take you as some mad Targaryen.

“Very well,” another lord cuts in. “I assume we depart at once, no?”

Cregan is the one who answers this time, giving an answer only he knows since you are still getting to know the army of men. “At first light. So prepare to leave.”

The men around the table all offer him a comprehensive nod and soon thereafter one of them leans towards the wooden table to add something before the meeting can conclude. “What of the prisoners? The men who fought with Ser Criston? We can’t keep bringing them with us, can we? What is the solution for them?”

“I say we kill them and deliver their bodies to the Hightower army and the daring Prince. Show them that they still have not killed our spirit,” a young boy no older than Lucerys had been, offers a very loud and quite gruesome solution.

Yet it’s because of his bold offer that an idea comes to you.

“I have a solution,” you say and make them start to wonder. “Get all the prisoners out of their cells and gather them in the clearing.”

The men don’t move, they look to Cregan for permission and he himself doesn’t have an idea of what you have planned, but he doesn’t need to know, he trusts you so he raises his voice to scold the men. “You heard the Princess, gather the prisoners. She should not repeat herself.”

This time the men rise out of their seats and some do as you ordered, while others leave to gather men so they can all watch what’s about to transcend, leaving you, Addam, and Cregan in the tent.

“Call to Seasmoke,” you let Addam know as you turn and face him, catching the confusion flicker on his face.

“Why?” He asks.

“Do it, but don’t have him appear in the clearing just yet. I don’t want the men to be frightened,” you make him even more confused, but he doesn’t question you. He just brings up a question.

“How do I let him know when to appear and when not to?”

You flash him a smile and tap his chest with your fist. “It all comes from here,” you say and keep your fist pressed against his chest. “That’s how we communicate with our dragons. Our souls are intertwined. Listen.” You share as you pull your hand away and let it fall back on your side before you walk away with Cregan by your side.

Yet it’s only once you’re out of the tent that he finally probes. “What are you planning to do?”

You blink and turn to look at him at your side. “I know some of those men. I did not know them for long at all, but the moments we did share I got to garner some of their respect. And we need men.”

Cregan scoffs and the corner of his lips twitch to a smirk, but he doesn’t let it stay.

“Besides,” you add and look ahead again. “The men in there don’t respect me. They fear me because of my dragon, because of the rumors they heard, but besides their fear, I also need their respect as a warrior.”

“And you think what you have in mind will gain it?” Cregan asks out of curiosity.

You sigh. “If I could gain it another way I would take that route, but we are at war, and I am their commander. I need them to respect me like they respect you and the rest of the men here.”

Cregan hums and you let your gaze linger on nothing in particular before you turn your head to him. “You trust me?”

Cregan’s grey eyes find your gaze and he looks into you as if there isn’t an obvious answer to your question. He looks at you expecting you to know the answer, but you have been away from him for a long time, you’ve changed since the last time you saw him. And letters weren’t going to show that, but he sees that now so you need to hear his answer.

“I do. Whatever choice you make.” He reassures your worried heart.

You let out a relieved sigh and nod in comprehension, letting your gaze linger on each other so you’re all each other sees, so you’re all each other can think about to the point he remembers a matter he needs to get off his chest.

“May I ask you something?” He brings up, causing you to blink out of your daze.

“Of course,” you assure him with a nod before you look away.

Cregan clears his throat first before he probes. “This vision you had about your son. What was his name? What…was he like?”

Shit, you shared too much before, didn’t you?

Well, the boy did have grey eyes, a strong chin, and this solemn look Cregan carries too, but can you be sure he's his? What if all you do is get his hopes up for something that might not be his?

“What I shared is all I know,” you say without sharing your assumptions so you don’t hurt him in the process. “It was only a short vision. He said we would meet each other again.”

Cregan’s eyes stay on you for a second longer before he looks away, letting you now take your turn to look at him while he’s not looking. “You believe me now?” You tease him, making his lips flicker a smile on his features before he shrugs.

“I would be foolish not to wouldn’t I?” He says.

“Not really. More logical than anything else.”

He turns to face you with the corner of his lips turning up for a second before nothing else is added to the matter and silence seeps through as you head to the clearing.

Once you arrive at the clearing, you wait on top of a small hill that faces the clearing and wait for the prisoners to be rounded up, and a crowd to gather before you commence and finally feed the curiosity of all the men gathered before you.

“It's a surprise to see my face on the other side of this war, isn’t it?” You start off by saying with your hands clasped before you, your shoulders straight, and your nose pointed to the air—“not long ago we roamed the same campsite. Not long ago you followed the orders of my husband and his men, but now my husband and his men are dead,” you share without having your voice break. “And I stand before you. The ones who lived. You are captured but you are still alive and for that I applaud you.”

The crowd of men look at you lost, not knowing where you’re taking this gathering.

“As well as offer a way to stay alive,” you say and create a tension amongst the Rivermen and the Northerners. “As the heir to Queen Rhaenyra, and as your princess I will grant you the choice to bend the knee to Queen Rhaenyra, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, because I know you. I know how brave some of you are. I know some of you are respectful, and some of you were just doing what you were told after you got ripped from your homes, from your families, and from your lives to be given a sword and shoved to fight for a usurper you don’t believe in. I know some of you know nothing else but to fight, and to those, to all of you. I say bend the knee,” you sneer and look at them between your lashes.

Whispers travel throughout the crowd gathered around the prisoners, while some of the prisoners themselves look at one another to question what they have in mind before they mirror each other and bend the knee. Yet as some bend the knee without question, others remain defiant and stick out like a sore thumb as they remain standing.

“Very well,” you interject once everyone has made up their minds. “Round up half of the men left standing and the other half take them back to their cells,” you demand and right away the young lord from before is the first to bark orders at his men before he joins them and eagerly rounds up the defiant prisoners to the side, leaving those on their knees where they are and as they are. And since you don’t have anything to say to them right now you turn to Addam.

“Come, it’s time. Call to Seasmoke,” you let him know ominously before you walk uphill a few paces to be able to face the men that were gathered to the side. Addam trails behind you but stops before he can catch up when he hears the rustling of trees, and the echoes of branches breaking before the fierce glare of a dragon appears from the shadows of the forest, stealing the breaths of the men you’re allied with and the prisoners alike, before they’re completely out of their skins when your purple dragon brings down the trees in her path and stands right behind you.

“Mercy,” one of the prisoners breathes out loud enough to be heard, but nothing is done, his wishes aren’t granted. The men that gathered them up move away, leaving them there in your dragon's direct aim.

“You want to stand with your broken king?” Your threatening voice fills the air as your dragon snarls and slowly pushes her neck out to have her head hover over you—“well, so be it. Let’s see if he saves you now.” You snicker, creating goosebumps on the men who were against you around that meeting table, but earning the respect that they failed to have for you then as you don’t fear the violence or the tough decision. You don’t look away from death, you face it. They respect that.

However, they have yet to see what you have to demonstrate, and you only wait for Seasmoke to descend from the skies, bringing a blast of air with him as he lands harshly behind Addam.

“Mercy!” Another prisoner cries out and gets on his knees now, but you don’t give him what he so desperately wants. What he had the chance to gain before.

“Dracarys,” you respond to his plea with the command and a hungry look in your eyes that matches your dragons before she leans more forward to have her head past you and open her jaw.

“Dr—Dracarys,” Addam proceeds to voice his own command, and unlike Astraea, Seasmoke moves forward, past Addam to face the prisoners before he and Astraea both bath the prisoners with fire, creating a song of cries and wails to ring through the clearing, and causing Addam to move away as waves of heat from the dragon fire hit him. All while you stay under Astraea and show that the heat doesn’t bother you. You don’t flinch or cry, the lively fire eating away at the bodies reflects in your ravenous eyes before you turn away as it all suddenly goes silent when the men turn to nothing but burnt corpses the dragons feast on.

“Now,” you don’t linger in the silence and start to walk off the hill. “You.”

When you’re on the same level as the men left on their knees you continue. “If you want to leave you may. No one will stop you and no one will harm you. Or if you wish to stay, do so, but know you will fight yet another war at Tumbleton against the Hightower army who have sacked the town. Against my uncle Prince Daeron,” you spat his name. “His dragon, and the turncloaks who regrettably call themselves dragonriders. If you stay, you fight with me, with Ser Addam, Lord Stark and his men, and the Lords of the Riverlands. Stay, and you fight for Queen Rhaenyra, you fight to bring peace to this treacherous war. You fight for your families, your homes, and your own lives. Stay, and fight if you want. Or leave.”

Silence is a common visitor and once again finds a place amongst the crowd as you all wait to see what they will choose.

And as you and a majority of the lords expect the men to get up and leave, the men get up on their feet and instead face you with a fiery determination. “Blood Dragon!” One man exclaims from the crowd of previous prisoners.

“Blood Dragon!” Another man echoes before more and more voice the same thing with more excitement, turning the cry into a chant that litters your skin with goosebumps.

No matter how many times you hear people chant for you, the excitement and dedication shared in a roar of excitement is something you will never get used to.

“Give the men tents,” you give a demand once you turn away from the cheering crowd. “Feed them, offer them warm baths, and give them new armor. They will now be one of us, treat them as such. If I see any mistreatment I will personally see to that punishment.”

“Princess,” a commanding knight says in comprehension.

Shortly thereafter, before you take a step to leave a Lord interjects. “What of the other men you left as prisoners?”

You face the Lord with a creeping smile and give him a simple answer. “Let’s see some fun before we depart.”

With no further explanation, you depart and leave confusion in the air. Confusion that turns to curiosity. And curiosity that gets fed when the sun is down and the stars and moon are in your company, giving light to the prisoners gathered in a makeshift ring in the clearing, and giving light to you and Addam along with Cregan as you sit on the hill that overlooks the scene below and attracts a rather excited crowd as everyone gathers the fact that you are going to make the prisoners fight.

“Greetings everyone!” You make your voice boom as you stand on the hill and face the crowd of men. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. As you all may know we depart in the morning, and it will be the start of a rather wary journey. I won’t lie. We need to ask the houses in the Riverlands for more of their help so we may be that last push we need to win this war. And it’s because of it that I offer a night of fun.” You announce and slowly start to smile a rather cynical smile.

“Place your bets,” you suggest as you clasp your hands together and begin to look eager. “Get a drink and watch these traitors fight in a battle to the death where only one gets to be free and pardoned for not bending the knee, and turning their cloak against Queen Rhaenyra.”

Murmurs travel through the crowd, smiles spread, excitement glimmers in the eyes of tired men, and the little money they have with them is passed around as bets are placed on the prisoners all gathered around the makeshift ring.

“With that said!” You exclaim and throw your arms out because of genuine excitement riddling your body. “Let. The. Fight. To the. Death. COMMENCE!” You make your voice travel out throughout the clearing before you bring your hands together with a clap to signal the start, making the crowd boom with the same excitement that you show off.

Yet that excitement that once overfilled you quickly dies when you sit back in your seat and glower at the fighting men with a piercing glare that glistens against the fire dancing on the torches by you and the three you trust the most, making you seem like a predator stalking their prey from the shadows where if you pay close attention, only their glowing eyes are seen before death becomes their acquaintance.

And the glowering glare works as a warning to the men you spared, letting them know that at any wrong turn, they make that could be them; fighting with every breath they have to try and come out the winner—if they weren’t turned into dragon fodder that is.

Furthermore, the ravenous glare that paints your features, and the sight of the fighting prisoners also works to let the other warriors and the doubtful commanders and Lords know that you aren’t to be trifled with. You don’t squirm at the sight of blood, but most importantly they see that you are someone they can respect and fight with, fight for. It’s an odd and rather bloody way to gain someone’s respect, but it’s because you provide the depleted men with entertainment that they don't see you so high above them. You’re still rather unreachable, but they don’t look at you and see the soles of your feet, they can meet your eyes now and that’s worth fighting for.

What of the men closest to you though? Addam, Ser Cane, and Cregan, what do they see?

Ser Cane sees it as something that has to be done, a way that will keep the fighting men fed from growing mentally wary. While Addam sees blood, bright and crimson red blood, and a rather tasteless sport that he doesn’t take pleasure in watching or see why you seem to enjoy it so much.

As for Cregan? Cregan sees a part of you he didn’t know. A rather cynical part of you, a part of you that stands up and claps with an impressed look in your eyes as a man spins down to avoid being struck, but fails to see his opponent spin down too until it’s too late and his throat is sliced open.

Past that though, he also sees the pain that hides past that smile spreading on your face. He sees the need for revenge flickering like a dancing flame in your eyes as you watch the men from Team Green fight with every fiber their bodies can muster in hopes they feel what Jacaerys felt as he took his last breath, or what Lucerys felt as he was crushed by the jaws of a dragon, what Viserys felt when he was lost at sea, the pain your mother has gone through, what your grandmother felt when she fell to her death, and what Aemond felt. He might have supported Aegon, but you still crave that the men fighting feel what he did when he was stabbed through his head. Cregan can see that thirst for blood, it’s so desperate for something, for a single drop, and yet it’s such a painful emotion.

It’s why he’s not any less fond of you. Then again even if you didn’t carry the agony in your eyes he still would feel the same way he feels burning within him now.

“I’m going to bed,” Addam announces as he gets up.

You pick your head up and turn to look at him. “Okay,” you don’t argue and bid him a sweet goodnight before you turn to Cregan.

“If only I could fight,” you whisper to him as you keep your eyes on the fight below. “It would be so much fun showing them what they deserve.”

Cregan eyes shift to you, you can feel his stare besides just seeing it from the corner of your eyes. “And you think this,” he says and points to the fight. “Display of violence will make them see that they were wrong?”

You spare him a glance but don’t look at him long, choosing to keep your eyes on the fight before you answer without as much as thinking of your response. “I’m not making them fight to death in hopes they see their wrongs. I’m making them fight because it’s what they deserve. What use would they have in cells? What would rotting in a cell do?” You slowly start to grimace, proving to Cregan what he already knew. “They had it coming.”

“They had it coming” echoes in Cregan’s mind, and as he hears yours words echo over and over again, he hopes that your pure visceral anger beneath the surface of your grief and sorrow doesn’t find a way out or else may the gods bless your enemies left with a beating heart because he sees it, he hears that pure visceral anger wanting to break out and be the only dominating emotion.

.

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A/N- Maybe two or three full chapters of cregan before another battle!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

[damn-stark]

Chapter 19 My tears are blood

Chapter 19 of Moonlight

A/N- Daemon would be so proud of you

Warning- Swearing, fishing, ANGST!!, violence, blood and death!!, some fluff, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Chapters- 434-438

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

Black dense smoke is all you see. If you weren’t flying it would look like the sky was suddenly overcome by an intoxicating darkness, but you’re on top of your dragon and it's clear that all that pollutes the sky is black smoke rising off sinking or burning ships. It burns your eyes and brings them to tears, but it’s hard to rub the stinging away. It infiltrates your nose and burns your nostrils, making you want to stop breathing as you fly closer and closer to the Gullet.

But you can’t stop breathing and you can’t stop flying forward. You should, part of the Velaryon fleet is set ablaze or is nothing but polluting debris in the water, while what survived of the Triarchy fleet is fleeing from not only four dragons roaming the skies, but five, and one of them is not Syrax, it’s a small and ugly colored dragon; meaning the battle is over, you got here too late.

Yet how can you fathom leaving when you know nothing of your brothers or Rhaena? Surely if they were rescued most of the dragonriders would have returned to Dragonstone, but they’re all still chasing the Triarchy. All except Vermax and Jacaerys, where are they?

Maybe he took them back to Dragonstone? You can’t imagine he would let your mother keep him in Dragonstone while the others are fighting, so he must have saved them and taken them home.

Yes, that's it. Your mind fixates on that thought while your heart is reassured by it, letting you drive your focus to the small ugly dragon in the distance—You never saw it at Dragonstone while you were there, and the muddy brown and pink spots don’t trigger any memory of its mention, so it must be wild, but…why is it fighting?

“<Let's get closer to that brown dragon,>” you tell Astraea as you feel a bit starstruck by the wild dragon in the midst of battle. The rider must be someone truly incredible to have claimed a wild dragon.

You want to see who it is! Plus while you’re answering your curiosity you can catch Baela’s attention and have her assure you that your brothers and Rhaena were rescued. You can’t leave without knowing. You were eager to fight, the whole flight here all that occupied your mind was ways you could and would fight, but alas you were too late.

Nevertheless, as Astraea reaches the sea and flies over the polluted water, there past a thick cloud of black smoke is a Myrish ship with two men standing at the edge of the starboard yelling and shooting two arrows at something in the water. You follow their aim and the first thing you see floating in the murky body of water is Vermax…

You see part of his green wing entangled by chains, while his head poked out of the water. Yet even then he doesn’t thrash or scream, his eyes are rolled back and his neck is slowly being weighed down by a broken ship's mast. You search for the saddle to see if Jacaerys is caught, but that part of Vermax is sunken in the water, you can’t see your brother. He’s not on his dragon.

“Astraea,” you whimper, but she saw what you did; she sees Vermax sinking and flies low while she cries out in sorrow.

“Jacaerys!” You cry out even though you know your shout isn’t loud enough to be heard from the top of your dragon, not while the commotion of distant fire blasts and blood-curdling screams filter the polluted air. Yet you still call out desperately. “Jacaerys!”

When you approach Vermax, you pull off your restraints and shove your feet in the saddle's stirrups to crouch over the seat, while more men on the Myrish ship approach the starboard and aim their crossbows at something in front of Vermax’s head. Something you can’t see, but it’s still something that catches your breath, causing Astraea to react by picking up her speed just by a little, but enough for you to finally catch what it is that the men are pointing at; it’s…Jacaerys with an arrow in his chest and one in his stomach.

“Jacaerys!” You bellow out in panic and concern.

Said man manages to hear the sound of his name coming from your lips and begins to move his head, while the men in the distance get ready to shoot their crossbows thinking that the purple dragon is on their side and here to fight, but alas they’re proven wrong the moment you sneer out a single command. “Dracarys!”

Astraea opens her mouth and blasts out blazing fire, burning away the threat with a single cloud of fire, but alas, a moment too late. You were too late, Jacaerys was still hit.

“Jacaerys!” You cry out to let him know you’re here even if he already sees you approaching. “Just…hold on.”

A part of you wants to jump off your dragon, but you also know that won’t bode well for neither you or Jacaerys, so instead you trust your dragon to carefully grab onto Jacaerys with her claws to fly him to stable ground where you can help him. After all, the other dragonriders are taking care of the enemy fleet so you can help him. You can save him, it can’t be too late.

It can’t be too late. You couldn’t have gotten here too late.

You can save him. You can save him, you can. Yes, you can.

“It’s going to be okay,” your voice quivers, but you don’t cry, because you keep repeating to yourself that he’ll be okay. That makes you ignorant of the truth. It numbs you and makes you desperate.

That's why after Astraea puts Jacaerys down, you don’t wait for her to land. You frantically hop off your saddle with an ignorance pumping your blood that makes you sprint over to Jacaerys and throw yourself on your knees by his body.

“<I’m here,” you say breathlessly in High Valyrian. “I’m here.>”

You rip off the mask caging your face and tear away the headpiece off your head so he can see you. So he can be assured that it's really you.

“I’m here,” you whisper and press your hands over one of his bloody ones that he has pressed on the bleeding wound on his chest.

“You’re…here,” he strains to say between raspy and heavy breaths. “I thought Aemond wouldn’t let you come.”

You muster a strained laugh and shake your head. “He cannot tell me what to do. I came here to help our brothers.”

Jacaerys nods. “Mother was right…I was angry at you but she was right,” he mutters.

You glance at the arrows and know that you can’t pull them out. You know that much, so you just need help. You need a healer.

You look around for one. Maybe one rushed up ashore.

But all that you see is Astraea curling up around you and Jacaerys to protect you from any potential threat.

“Tell her…”

“Stop,” you snap at him and face him again. “Don’t, you will tell her yourself. You will.” You nod and move one hand off his chest to cup his face. “You have to hold on. Please Jace, please, please don’t leave me.”

His eyes water now, he can’t hold his tears back. “It…hurts,” he gasps for air and hisses as the arrows dig deeper into his flesh. “It hurts,” he lets you hear his vulnerability. He doesn’t hide his pain like he usually would so you wouldn’t worry, he’s honest and that makes your heart ache.

“I know,” you nod. “I know, but I cannot pull them out or they will bleed out more. Just hold on…” you trail off and look out desperately. “I need help! Please!”

“Listen to me,” he beckons your attention and uses his other hand to put it on top of yours. “Listen to me. Tell Mother I tried, okay? I really tried. And I’m sorry I let her down.”

Tears well in your eyes as your lips tremble.

“You did not let her down,” you try to assure him and stroke his cheek. “You didn’t. Just please, Jace,” you beg him. “Please hold on, we’re going home soon, okay? Me and you, I won’t leave again, just please hold on.”

Jacaerys nods weakly and tears of his own start to crawl out of his eyes.

“You know,” he heaves. “I-I..love you right?”

Agony starts to tear at your heart, but you keep trying to repeat the same words to yourself, “he’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.”

“I love you too,” you whisper and lean closer to him.

“It hurts,” he mutters again and his breathing turns more shallow indicating what’s to come, and pushing a part of you to speak mindlessly.

“We will meet again. Did you know that?”

The part of you that senses his end doesn’t let a word go unspoken. That part of you doesn’t let Jacaerys go without having him hear what you have to say; a last goodbye that you never got to share with Lucerys.

“I know,” he agrees with a tiny and pained smile tugging on his pale face. “I know.”

“I will look for you and Luke in every lifetime because, to me, you and him are the best brothers someone could have,” you speak sweetly as you stroke his face. “And I’m sorry for how I've acted lately, I’m sorry if you’ve felt alone, I really am.”

“It’s…okay,” he assures you and lifts his other hand to cup the one you have on his face. “You’re…here now.”

You nod softly and offer him a quivering smile. “We’ll meet again where the sea meets the edge of tomorrow.”

Jacaerys nods gently and holds your gaze as the corner of his lips attempts to pull on a wider smile.

Yet in his strained attempt, his eyes begin to dull, his hands that cup yours slowly go limp, and his lips slowly fall as a last breath escapes his lips, leaving him lifeless on the ground.

“Jace?” You cry out with ignorance to the truth even if it lies before you. “Jacaerys?”

His gaze once gleaming with tears is dull and lifeless. His shallow breaths don’t run anymore, he’s silent, deafening so, which only means one thing, but still, you can’t accept it. You can’t accept that you got to the Gullet too late to save your brother, so that part of you that once accepted the truth completely vanishes, leaving you trying to desperately get your brother to react; to take one more breath and live so he can hold on.

“Jacaerys?” You whimper and try to stroke his cheek. “Please, please, please. Don’t do this to me, please don’t leave me…we have to go home. Please let’s go home.” You come to a halt and wait for a reaction, just a single blink, but alas, he remains motionless, edging you to accept the truth, but not actually accept it yet. You first move your hand away from his face and shake him by the arm and chest.

“Jace! Jacaerys!” You cry out. “Jace?!”

Once again you wait, wait, and wait, but he doesn’t react in any way. He doesn’t blink and his chest doesn’t move. He’s there bleeding out and lifeless. He’s not breathing anymore, and his heart is no longer beating, no matter how many times you check not even a soft and weak ba-dum beats. He’s…lifeless. He’s gone, your brother, your little brother is gone, he’s…dead. And with him, the last fragments of your heart burn away and turn to nothing but ash that gets blown away here, where he died.

That’s why no heartbreaking sobs leave your lips. You don’t plead a moment longer. Astraea coos before her mournful song fills the air, while you stay quiet as you pull the arrows off his body and cradle him, letting your last stream of tears escape your weeping soul as you rock him back and forth against you until your legs fall asleep, your arms hurt, and Astraea unfurls her body.

“Jacaerys?” Another voice breaks through the silence without a snarl or a single snap of a jaw from Astraea, so it must be someone you trust.

“No…NO! NO!” Agonizing sobs pierce through the air, pulling you away from your brother's body to look over and notice Baela with streams of tears running down her soot-covered face.

At first, it seems she wants to make hundreds of excuses to deny the truth, but her mind works fast and breaks her heart even further by having her see that yes, Jacaerys really is dead. There’s no mistaking it, thus she breaks away from her spot and runs over to fall on her knees across from you.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can offer her before you let her take Jacaerys’ body so you can stand up and attempt to mount your dragon.

Yet before you can, you stop as you see Rhaena standing there with soot all over her face and hair as well, but completely unharmed.

“Rhaena,” you sigh with relief and stride over to her to throw your arms around her. “You’re okay,” you breathe out and clutch onto her.

And it’s while you’re hugging her that you see that little dragon again. This time the brown and pink dragon is on the ground, staring you down right across from you.

“Is that,” you gasp and pull away to face Rhaena. “Yours?”

Rhaena peers back briefly before she meets your gaze and nods. “Yes, that’s my dragon, Morning.”

Your eyes flutter as you’re hit with disbelief. “That’s…amazing,” you deal with your disbelief on the spot. “I’m proud of you,” you praise her and cup her cheek.

The corner of her lips twitch to smile but she can’t make the effort to offer you the kind gesture because of Jacaerys in the back.

“Do you know…” you trail off and drop your arm back to your side. “If Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey are okay?”

Rhaena eyes flicker down and she lets out a shaky sigh before she responds. “Tyraxes brought Joffrey to Dragonstone when their cog was attacked, he's the one that alerted everyone of what was happening. We could not find Aegon or Viserys. They…” she trails off and starts to cry, whilst your chest is hit with a sharp pang. Yet tears fail to break from your eyes. You’re just riddled with more grief and agony.

“I understand.” You nod stiffly and begin to walk back toward Astraea, pulling Rhaena’s attention back to you.

“Where are you going?” She throws out in confusion.

You swallow thickly and grab the rope ladder hanging down Astraea’s side. “Back to Aemond,” you mutter.

Rhaena takes a step forward to try and grab you but you pull your arm away to avoid her touch.

“Why?” She demands to know. “Your place is with the Queen! With us!”

You glance over at your brother, the sole reason why you would return to your mother's side. And he’s dead now. Your place is with Aemond now until your last breath or until his. That’s where you belong because no matter what just happened, that resentment toward your mother and Daemon is still very much lively and raging flames.

“No,” you deadpan as you take your chainmail headpiece and put it back on your head, along with the silver mask that cages your face. “My place is with Aemond.” You tell her coldly with no hint of sorrow in your voice, making her part her lips to argue.

However, you don’t wait to hear another piece of argument; you quickly mount your dragon, and Astraea doesn’t fret to ascend to the sky or make a sharp turn away from the Gullet to direct yourselves back to where Aemond is, back home. She flaps her wings and gets further away, foot by foot, and your gaze remains cold and set in the furious morning sky. Your body remains stiff, every blink is done slowly as if it’s too much strain, while your breaths are slow and deep, and not a single thought occupies your mind which makes it easy to mindlessly drop your gaze on your hands and lose yourself on nothing in particular.

Alas, when your eyes land on your hands you see the bright crimson blood staining them. There’s blood on your hands and when you lift them off the handles of your saddle to study them, you look at them in disbelief until at last a thought goes through your mind; It’s not your blood, it’s Jacaerys’ blood. The blood from his fatal wounds is staining your hands.

Your brother's blood is on your hands…he’s dead, and all you have besides memories is his blood.

A shuttered gasp escapes your lips, but rather than having tears return to your eyes, something painful unravels where your heart used to be instead. Something so vigorous, something so piercing, and throbbing, that with each pulse, the blood rushing through your veins pumps faster.

“This will cost Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys their only remaining child. And it will cost my daughter…her father.”

Your lips twitch before they start to curl into a scowl, while that cold and mindless gaze starts to spark a fierce fire in your eyes.

“He—it broke him to leave you and your brothers behind, but he also knew that I needed more than he could offer for our sake. He was selfless. He did it because he loved us, because he loved you.”

You gently shake your head in an attempt to shake away what’s building inside you, but nothing stops you from returning your hands to your saddle with a deadly, and nothing holds back the once slow and deep breaths from growing shallow and quicker.

“It’s…okay. You’re…here now.”

Jacaerys’ last words echo through your mind now and at last, you recognize what it is that plagues you so. It’s raging anger. It’s blinding and agonizing. It torments your very soul and sets it ablaze while setting this dire need for bloody revenge there where your heart once used to be.

That is what is making your breaths so shallow and quick, that’s what is pumping through your veins, and that’s what completely burns away the mercy you had and the kindness you held for everything in this world that wasn't those you cherished. It's all completely gone.

Who you once were is gone, and this new bloodthirsty self cannot leave without destroying those who were responsible for the death of your brother. Thus with a deep exhale you nudge the handles to the side, and Astraea makes a big turn to return toward the Gullet.

This time rather than remaining vigilant and careful Astraea flies low once she reaches the water again as your eyes dart around the watery battlefield in search of one ship; the commanding ship that holds the commander of the fleet, and Ser Tyland Lannister, the one who made the alliance.

Honestly, it should not be hard, usually, the commanding ship always has a different flag to differentiate them from the rest. And if not well you can’t imagine Ser Tyland staying back to fight with the men once the dragons joined the battle, so he should still be nearby. You just need to find the right ship.

All the other dragonriders that were fighting when you got here now seem to be retreating as the Triarchy fleet is fleeing, so they look back at you confused as Astraea and you fly past them, but to you, it’s not like they’re even there. Nothing steals your attention, you keep your eyes set on the fleeing fleet to search and search.

Once you get closer to the fleet, what’s left of the fleeing Triarchy is clearer, but so is the fact that you’re not there on peaceful terms. The Velaryon men were instructed not to attack you regardless of what side you came to fight for, but the Triarchy was not given the same command. They see you coming and panic returns to their bodies after thinking they would be able to flee unscathed.

You could hardly care about the fodder though. You're dead set on one ship, but as you cross the line and start to fly over the Triarchy fleet, they bring out crossbows and grapples. And it’s true, arrows from crossbows can’t harm Astraea, her scales are too thick now to be harmed by something so minuscule, and your armor protects the most significant parts of you, but those grapples are the same that took Vermax down, and they’re the same ones that could possibly take Astraea down.

That's why you pull out your bow and arrows and crouch over your saddle as you see men approach the starboard of their ships in an attempt to bring your dragon down, completely unaware of your counter antics. They don’t expect you to have a way to fight back, they don’t see their fates coming to an end until Astraea tilts to one side to let you aim at one man on your left side, and shoot him down with one arrow. The second man on your left side sees what befell the other man, but he doesn’t quit, so as Astraea is flying past, you twist around and let the arrow fly into his throat.

Once that threat is left behind, you face ahead hastily, and there leading the escape is the commanding ship. It’s still standing, just as you assumed, and so that vigorous anger only burns more fiercely. It’s a blinding thing, letting you easily forget about any sort of consequence this direct attack may have.

All that occupies your mind is anger and revenge. It’s consuming and agonizing. And for once it threatens to bring tears to your eyes, it makes your chest grow tight as that need fills you, but rather than letting any tears escape, you let out a blood-curdling and painful scream that carries so much deepened pain that Astraea feels it too. She feels it in her own heart, making her release her own ache by opening her mouth and letting out a shrieking cry before she blasts fire out and burns down the ships in the way of the commanding ship.

Now there’s no mistaking who you’re after, the people on the commanding ship know you’re hunting them. They’re your prey, and so they try to fight back to defend themselves as they’re at their weakest, but rather than hitting them straight on, Astraea dives in the water, leaving them paranoid as to where you’ll appear.

They run to every edge of the ship to look in the water, and you’re easy to find. Astraea is long, and it would be pretty hard to miss such a large beast swimming in the water. That's why they assume you’re coming out from the other side to burn them down from the front, that's why they take their eyes off the water and frantically point their aim at the empty space ahead.

However, you don’t go for an attack from the front, Astraea swerves to one side, and you completely catch them by surprise when you and your dragon jump out of the water like ravenous sea creatures after they’re prey.

The warriors on the ship are quick to fix their aim, one is even closer to hitting the trigger, but they don’t know you’ve trained hard, they don’t know how hard you’ve pushed yourself, so you leave them all completely shocked when you jump off your saddle and let an arrow fly out whilst you’re in midair.

When the arrow hits the attacker you hit the floor harshly and sloppily, but you’re quick to push yourself to your knees and throw your head up to pierce your glare at the warriors before you.

“Give me Ser Tyland,” you snarl. “And your commander.”

Glances are exchanged, but no one utters a word, breaths escape their mouths, but no matter how menacing you proved yourself to be, their greatest threat is Astraea, your dragon circling around to fly back toward the fleet.

“Have it your way,” you grumble and hang your bow around you to instead pull out the mighty Valyrian sword, Blackfyre from its sheath.

Now the stillness that once kept people stuck to their spots breaks and a woman sets herself after you. She’s tall with long dirty blond hair, a long face, and a small scar over her lips. She pulls out a curved blade and swings low to try and slash your thighs, but you surprise her by swinging the sword down and meeting her swing with a loud clash.

“You want me,” she speaks, revealing herself as the person you’re after. “Here I am, Princess,” she spats with a playful smirk.

You tilt your head to the side as you grimace, and then throw your foot out to hit her knees, causing her to drop her hold and wobble. You proceed to not let her rest, you try to swing at her side, but before you can make your move, hurried footsteps come at you from behind, so you hastily spin around whilst you reach back for an arrow.

When your gaze drifts to the corner of your eyes, you catch the attacker and hurl the arrow at his face as you’re turning, so when you face him completely the arrow caves in their face and puts him down.

All while the commander has the same thought process as you and proceeds to try and overwhelm you by swinging from behind, but you twirl back around and clash your sword against her blade.

The commander then lifts her blade and swings again and again, but you block her every single time and actually end up making her laugh. “What a surprise you are,” she says with awe and amusement. “Here I thought you Valyrians were all prissy cunts, but alas, here you are. I would have loved to have drinks with you.”

You huff at her ability to talk at a moment like now and don't even think of returning any of her lightheartedness. You use all your strength and shove her blade to the side, making her falter. You then try to lunge forward, but suddenly a hand grabs the back of your head, pulling the chainmail off your head, while they also grab the back of your neck and yank you back.

You react with a groan and grind your teeth as they keep pulling you back with confidence since your dragon is setting other ships ablaze, and or ripping them apart by jumping out of the water right from under them. Yet your attacker's confidence was blinding, and they perhaps did not trust you to think quickly, but you do. You spin the sword around in your hand; in the same way Aemond likes to do it, and then fold your arm back to impale the man in the eye.

The man then cries out and you pull the sword out before you shove them back with your elbow, and then spin around to slash their belly. When they hit the ground you should leave them be, but your rage sends you on top of them, and has you using their own blade to stab their face over and over again, making blood splash on your face again and again until it’s like another layer of skin.

You’re so consumed by what you’re doing that you forget where you are, only your pain accompanies you, it’s loud and tormenting. And unlike when you were throwing your clothes off the balcony, this time Aemond is not here to pull you out of your emotional state, you’re kicked to the ground, and that is what snaps you from your rageful trance.

When you look up, there, overshadowing you is the commander. She shoots you a smirk before she lifts her leg and quickly tries to bring her foot down. Before you can be slammed by her foot though, you roll over to the side where your sword is to take it from the ground, and then press your hands on the floor as you bring your legs back to be able to throw yourself forward and land on your feet.

The woman quickly turns to face you and swings her blade, but you throw yourself back to avoid her swing. In doing so though, a man runs at you from the side.

You quickly give him your attention and twist the sword around in your hand before you sprint at them. When you get close, rather than clashing blades, you suddenly slide down and lunge your sword up to impale them through their stomach and slash down until you swiftly twist around on your feet, and push yourself to your given height.

Another warrior then tries to rush at you, and they give you some trouble, but you near an edge and you manage to kick them overboard, leaving you only with more warriors, but for one man you swing the sword so hard that you manage to cut their head clean off their neck. And honestly, that leaves you enthralled and smiling maliciously, while you also seek more danger, more blood, and violence. You’re relishing in the adrenaline that runs through your veins, wanting more, getting more, but not feeling satisfied.

Which is why after defeating more men, you turn and point your sword at the commander. She flashes you a wide and menacing grin before you both break from your spot. However, since you have the high ground right now, you hop off the top of the stairs that you’re on and bring your sword down.

The commander tries to block your thrust, but you end up swinging the sword, making the tip of the blade slash her across the face, and causing her to fall on the ground grunting and clutching at their bleeding face.

“<I found you,>” you say in High Valyrian between heavy breaths once you’re standing on the floor. “<I'll have you.>”

You twist the sword around in your hand and try to thrust down, but through her pain, she rolls to one side and quickly scrambles herself off her feet to run away. You try to run after her, but she ends up throwing herself overboard, and you would walk to the edge to shoot her with an arrow, but a tall and buff older man blocks your way with two blades in his grasp.

“I’ll send the Sea Snake your head, Blood Dragon.” He throws at you as he points a blade at you. “We’ll prove the Sea Snake can weep.”

You snicker and lunge at him, but he doesn’t falter, he counters your action by swinging his blades down and clashing them against your sword. You try to push his blades up and away from you, but he challenges you with his strength and pushes back so hard that you start to slide back.

You then try to move your sword to the side, but he doesn’t let you move an inch, he doesn’t budge, he instead tries to unarm you, but you fight back. It might be challenging, you might be groaning, but you dig your heels in the floor and push back, causing the tip of your blades to scrape on a wooden pillar as you both press and move against each other.

However, as entertaining as this little game is, you know you can’t hold on longer. He’ll overpower you, so you bounce off a crazy stupid idea that just popped into your head. It’s stupid and sudden, but you don’t have another choice.

You let your sword fall from your grasp, hitting him with confusion, and making him stumble. Just before the sword can hit the ground like he thought it would, you swoop down and catch it before you thrust the sword up and impale him through his jaw so hard that the tip of the sword comes out of his head, and blood pours out all over you.

“Damn,” you cough and spit out blood that hits your lips whilst the man hits the floor—“Forgive me this has been hell,” you direct at the twins as you press your hand on your belly. “Don’t worry, your father will try and be angry, but he’ll also be too busy creaming his pants to do anything about it.” You strain a chuckle.

“Blood dragon!” Some stupid man interrupts you catching your breath, forcing you to slowly turn and face a brave man. “I won’t let you leave this ship.”

You hold their gaze and rather than preparing to counter his incoming attack, a wicked smile starts to tug on your lips as you see Astraea approaching from behind, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Mad cunt,” he spats and bends his knees to get ready to run at you, but a part of Astraea’s shadow then casts over him and he goes paralyzed as he immediately figures out what threat is lurking behind him. He doesn’t need to look back, he feels the hot steam of her breath unfurling over his back and all over the floor, yet he still starts to peer back with thick beads of nervous sweat dripping down his face, and sees that the same wicked smile playing on Astraea’s lips.

Now you don’t need to say it, Astraea knows your heart's desire, but you’re dramatic, so you part your lips and say the words almost seductively. “Dracarys.”

The man’s face goes white, and he tries to run, but Astraea is quick. The moment she opens her mouth she bathes the man in her raging flames that manage to kiss you.

The man wails out in pain and his body mindlessly moves around as he falls to his knees, letting him capture the horrifying sight of you not wincing or moving a single muscle as the flames touch you just enough that they should be piercing and skinning you alive. You just stand there with an even more malicious smile.

“<Fire…demon>,” he says in Valyrian with his last breath before he collapses on the floor.

You watch the skin and flesh melt off his bones with a cold and emotionless expression painted on your face, while Astraea swoops down and catches a man trying to sneakily jump off the ship.

When she has him in her jaws he begins to shriek as her large and sharp teeth pierce in him. He desperately cries out for your help, but only pulls your attention to him in the sky to watch him try and squirm away out of instinct as his body hangs over her jaw; in doing so annoying your dragon to the point that instead of burning him to eat him, she chomps down on him, making blood and pieces of flesh rain down on you as she flies by.

And rather than turning your head away, you close your eyes and welcome the rain of blood. You relish in it as if you were withered up and that rain of blood and flesh was the very salvation you needed.

When you open your eyes again and tilt your head down there in the distance is none other than the man you missed, Ser Tyland Lannister.

His eyes are unmistakably on you, wide and horrified by the vile display, but also caught in awe; that’s what leaves him paralyzed to the floor, you. Regardless of the fact that you’re trudging toward him with the tip of Blackfyre scraping against the wooden floor, he can’t make himself move because he sees you walk through that violent dragon fire without a single wince, or cry. It’s as if the very dooming fire bowed to your feet, like if your flesh was fire made like a dragons; it made you captivating, alluring, and otherworldly ethereal. Much more than any other Targaryen he’s ever met before.

Alas no matter how much he wanted to keep watching this almost demonic display, you make it out of the fire with a wicked smile only aimed at him and he knows with that menacing look alone that you will not hesitate to slay him like you did almost everyone else on this ship. So he doesn’t even attempt to try and fight back, not with your dragon circling back around. He runs into the cabins instead.

You chuckle dryly and change your trudge into a quiet stride that makes you almost like some haunting ghost. But that’s it, almost, your breaths are heavy and that’s what gives you away when your footsteps don’t.

Yet it’s not like you care that he hears you. You want him to hear you coming, your heart races with excitement at the fact that he’s scared and running away from you like some scared prey.

“Ser,” you call out in a sing-song voice in such an alluring way that it makes that Siren alias all too fitting. “Ser.”

You push a wooden door open with the tip of your sword and slowly trudge in about halfway. When you see that the cabin is abandoned you continue with your search, looking from cabin to cabin until you come across a locked room.

“Ha,” you breathe out and step back to swing the sword across the door and make a long slash across the wood. You proceed to make another and another until there's a large enough gap that you can see through. After that you approach the door and peek inside, catching the valiant knight inside like some cornered rat.

“There you are,” you roll out and flash him a wicked smile before you back away and make a last slash across the door so you’re able to walk through it.

“We’re on the same side,” he throws out nervously as you stomp toward him.

“Are we?” You retort and twist the sword around in your hand.

Confusion flickers on his face before his eyes widen and he scoffs. “You’re one of them. A black.”

You stop walking and fold your arm back to hang the sword over your shoulder and tilt your head. “No,” you don’t hesitate to say. “Wrong again.”

You roll your head back to place and slowly tilt it down. “You,” you grimace with a piercing glare that burns through the windows of his soul as you refuse to lose your prey from your sights. “…you killed Jacaerys,” you finally announce the meaning behind your fury, and as you stand there across from him a soft beam of sunlight peeking through a round window catches on your face, letting him see how the blood that rolls down your cheeks like tears gleams against the sunlight.

“And now,” your voice quivers. “I am going to kill you.”

The corner of your lips curl to a scowl seconds before you lunge forward, but come to a halt when he meets your lunge with a block.

You grunt and push yourself back to swing at his side, but a sharp cling echoes in the room as the metal from your swords sings.

“I did not kill the Prince,” Ser Tyland tries to explain, and you know that. You know that, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters besides trying to satisfy the anger that’s eating away at your soul.

Which is why you throw swing after mighty swing and grow even more frustrated over the fact that he keeps blocking and countering you. You want him dead, you want to feel like you got some sense of justice to try and ease what’s growing inside you, but he keeps evading and blocking your every move to the point that when you bring your arms back to throw another swing at him, you leave yourself open, letting him use his foot to kick your chest.

When you hit the ground you let out a sharp cry and quickly swipe your sword off the ground, but Ser Tyland falls over you to straddle you and clash his sword against yours.

“I will not hurt or kill you,” he says between pants.

You scoff. “<Because you’re scared,>” you snap back in High Valyrian. “<The Prince Regent won’t be forgiving when he hears you were responsible for my death.>”

Ser Tyland swallows back nervously and looks at you confused as he doesn’t understand what you’re saying to him. You just sound mad.

“<Do it.>” You snarl. “Do it!” You yell in the common tongue in an almost inviting manner. “Do it!” You cry out.

Ser Tyland parts his lips, but as he does the door from the wardrobe in the corner rattles before it slightly opens.

You slide your eyes to the door and there in the shadows you see a glimpse of golden-silver hair before you make out who was hidden inside. It’s your brother, Aegon.

And Ser Tyland knew. That’s why he came in here, to use him against you, or take him. Either or, you drift your gaze to Ser Tyland and grimace before thrusting your knee up to hit his groin.

Ser Tyland groans and falters letting you push him off you and then quickly follow up by kicking him in the face so hard that he passes out.

“Aegon,” you call out in a complete change of tone and demeanor; from rageful and menacing to soft and reassuring. “Aegon come out.”

You return the sword to its sheath and reach the wardrobe to open the door and let him know it’s okay, it’s just you, his sister. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s just me.”

Aegon takes a look at your face and his bottom lip trembles as his eyes fill with fear and tears.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you try to assure him. “Come so you can go to Mother.”

He hears that last word and his attention perks.

“Mama?” He mumbles and wipes his eyes.

You nod softly and approach him to carry him away with you as you return to Ser Tyland's unconscious body and grab him by the collar to drag him out with you.

“You’ll be okay,” you continue to try and comfort your little brother. “You’ll go home soon.”

“Home,” he repeats.

You hum and offer him a tiny smile before nuzzling your forehead against his cheek as a wave of reassurance hits you over the fact that even if no one could find Viserys, you found Aegon. Not a lot may matter to you right now, but finding Aegon matters.

Is feeling the relief of finding your brother enough to return you to your mother’s side? No, it isn’t, but you’ll hand him to Rhaena or Baela, they can take him home.

With that in mind, you walk back outside, and the first thing you’re welcomed with is Astraea hovering over the burning ship as she waits for you.

“You need to hang on,” you advise Aegon. “It will just be a short ride, okay?”

Aegon looks at you and utters, “Aeri.”

You chuckle. “No, Aerion is not here, but perhaps you will see him soon.”

Aegon lays his head on your shoulder and when you reach the ladder hanging from Astraea’s saddle you let Ser Tyland go to hold onto the ladder with a tight grip.

You don’t climb to your saddle because one, it would be hard doing so with a toddler on your hip, and two, what’s the point when it’s a short ride to land? So you just hang onto the ladder and Astraea takes flight, but not without snatching Ser Tyland off the floor with her feet first.

When you reach land, Astraea discards Ser Tyland on a patch of grass before she lands near Seasmoke and lets you hit the ground where you’re greeted by both Rhaena and Baela, who both sport red and puffy eyes now after crying so much.

“Take Ser Tyland to Rhaenyra, or your father, or leave him here, I do not care, just take Aegon home,” you direct at the twins as you glance over at Addam departing himself from Seasmoke and slowly looking at your blood-covered figure up and down.

“What happened to you?” Rhaena asks with concern and disbelief. “Are you alright?”

“Rhae!” Aegon points out before he pulls away from you to throw his arms out to garner her attention.

“I’m alright,” you deadpan and steal another glimpse at Addam and can’t offer him a kind or even a faint smile, the thought of him stealing your son's title as heir plagues your mind, making you roll your eyes away from him with disgust.

“Viserys?” Baela asks whilst Rhaena takes Aegon from your hold.

“I only found Aegon,” you speak quietly and with a hint of disappointment and sorrow in your voice. “Take him home and be careful, okay?”

You turn to return to your dragon, but once again the same question as before is thrown out. “Where are you going? Are you not going home?” Baela is the one who asks now.

This time you don’t stop what you’re doing to face either of them. You continue striding toward your dragon while ignoring Addam and mutter back. “I am going home.”

——

*LATER*

They had moved while you were gone. Not far, but they still did, making you fly low over the treetops until you manage to find the green dragon, Vhagar, hidden amongst all the greenery.

When you land and hit the ground, rustling behind you puts you on guard as if you were still fighting on that ship. So you swiftly pull the sword out of the sheath before you spin around and press the blade against your armguard to point the blade at the threat.

Once the lurker comes out of the shadows of the forest a heavy breath leaves your lips when you see that it’s just Aemond.

When your husband sees you he finds his breath caught in his throat when his eyes land on your blood-covered figure, puffy eyes, and cold and distant look. You couldn’t see it, you haven’t looked at a mirror or any reflection, but this heavy sullen look paints your face, letting him know that what you lived while you were away was anything but pleasant.

The way you roll your shoulders back to bring your arms down from their defensive position, and the way you avert your gaze to avoid looking at his current emotions only proves that further.

“Rhaena bonded to a wild dragon,” you share in the same bitterness that has taken control of your face. “Viserys is dead, and…” you trail off and get close to him, but as his eye falls heavy on you, you still look distant. “…Jacaerys,” the name makes your lips tremble. “Is dead.” You breathe out deeply and walk away without hearing a word of what he most likely had planned since he found out you left. You just don’t want to argue, he’s mad, you know, you don’t need to look at his face or hear him to know. It will only be the same argument, so you just walk away, making Aemond trail behind you.

Once you reach the camp, everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at your bloody and shell-shocked figure striding toward your tent. No one says anything; no one dares. They all just stare and share the same disbelief and slight chill that crawls down their necks. When you approach your tent the first person who dares to get a word across is your sworn protector.

“Princess,” he gasps and slowly walks after you. “Are you alright?”

“Quite,” you deadpan and don’t give him the time of day, you just go in your tent to find your privacy there.

Aemond quickly tries to storm in after you to throw out his argument that he’s been building up since you arrived, but he’s stopped by a strong hand before he can open the flaps of his tent.

“Stop.”

Aemond twists his head to the side and sees that it’s his uncle who dared to stop him in his wrath. “She does not need to be yelled at right now. She needs her friend, husband, not a commander.”

Aemond narrows his gaze to a glare and curls his lips to a snarl. “She’s my wife, I may talk to her as I please. Why do you not mind your own business, uncle,” he spats spitefully and shoves past him to enter the tent, finding you seated on a wooden chair and starting to undo the braids drenched in dry blood.

“I know you’re upset,” you break the silence in an exhausted tone. “I left and I’m sorry, so please…just don’t say anything…I don’t feel like arguing. Besides,” you let out a shaky sigh. “I’m not leaving again…there’s nothing to go back to.”

Aemond stays stuck by the entrance and watches with his lips parted after you completely stole the breath he was going to use to argue.

He is going to walk back out, but he does remember what his uncle tried to suggest just moments ago and instead goes out to grab a bowl of water, making you slouch in your seat and frown as you think he just left to not be with you.

However, a couple of minutes pass by before Aemond returns to the tent, grabs another chair, places it in front of you to take a seat, and gently starts to wipe the dry blood off your face with warm water, making you immediately pause what you’re doing to look at him with a soft and thankful gaze whilst butterflies flutter in your stomach, and your cheeks grow warm.

Nothing is shared though, not your thanks, and he doesn’t ask what happened. He can already sort of imagine what happened by what you told him when you arrived, by your bloody state, and the bloody sword. Yet neither of you mind the silence, it’s not filled with anger or tension. The silence that sits in this tent is comforting and peaceful. You feel embraced without the need of his arms and feel appreciated and loved without the confirming words. Especially when he starts helping you undo your braids.

Still albeit after a while, as a bath is getting drawn for you, you can’t help but finally fill that silence. “You should have seen me, you would have been impressed.”

Aemond lifts his gaze to meet your eyes already on him and a faint smile twitches on his thin lips. “I do not doubt it. Look at you. Not a scratch on you.”

A smirk pulls on your lips and the warmth now creeps all over your face.

“How was the sword?” He asks.

You sigh proudly. “Lighter than I imagined. Sharper too, I cut a man’s head clean off his neck.” You grin and turn, making the braid Aemond was undoing slip from his fingers. “They called me Blood Dragon and Fire Demon,” you share proudly and with a small giggle that can’t make Aemond mad, the corner of his lips twitch up.

“And,” you add enthusiastically. “Astraea and I jumped out of the water, and I managed to land a hit from the air.” You share and try to motion your actions with your hands. “Like I jumped off and landed a hit.”

Aemond hums softly and you turn back around to continue undoing your braids, and letting Aemond continue to help.

“You should have told me you were going,” he manages to finally find the moment to at least get that across. “You can’t just leave like that.”

You sigh and your smile slowly falls. “I know, but would you have let me go otherwise?”

Aemond stays quiet and you find your answer in his silence.

“I overheard about the Triarchy, and my brothers getting in the way, and I…had to do something. Not like my efforts mattered either way,” you mutter coldly now which is such a fast switch from that honey and excitement in your voice just now. “I was late.”

Aemond watches your face and catches the flicker of rage and agony dancing in your eyes like wildfire, letting him know that this first battle you just fought in was just a mere taste of blood for you. You want to feast in it, he sees that hunger taking root within you. And who would he be if he denied you such pleasantries?

Like him, you will gorge in it.

But until then, once your braids are undone, once all the pearls and rings that decorated your hair are gone, and the armor you donned is off and your gown is on the floor, you dip in the bath and feel as if a weight lifted off you as you wash off all the blood.

“Have you heard anything of Daeron?” You ask Aemond as he sits by the bathtub.

Aemond sighs. “He fought in his first battle and was knighted, Ser Daeron the Daring.”

You blink with surprise and slowly turn to fold your arms over the bathtub and look at Aemond with a playful look. “When will they knight you?”

His eyes fall and a timid smile grows on his face. “That does not matter to me. You know that.”

“Ser Aemond the Sapphire,” you tease, causing his eyes to snap to you—“Ser Aemond…the Prince Regent.”

A laugh escapes past his mouth and you can’t help but laugh with him.

“That,” he breathes out and looks at you with a softened look. “Does not matter to me.”

You hum and reach your hand over to intertwine your fingers with his, making him lean in closer to you.

“Are you okay?” He finally asks.

You blink repeatedly as you try to fight the lump that begins to form in your throat and you can’t keep away. You can’t stop your chest from tightening either. You’re consumed by his genuine concern and you can’t lie even if that’s what you want.

Yet you don’t utter a word, but it doesn’t matter. Even though you can’t form a single word to express what you feel, he knows and cups your face right away to gently caress your cheeks.

You lean into his warm and soft touch and bask in it for a lingering moment before you reach over and take his eyepatch off to look at him as he is.

Aemond watches you longingly before he presses a gentle kiss on the heel of your hand, making your lips tug to a soft smile before it disappears as you wrap your arms around him to take him in for an embrace you immediately melt into. One Aemond doesn’t mind. Even if your body is dripping, he welcomes your embrace and returns it, making sure to press a kiss on your head and caress the back of your head before he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, and you do the same with him.

There are so many things you want to say, so many things that you want to let out of your chest at this specific moment, but all those kind words are shared in your loving embrace, in the kisses you press against his flesh, and in the way you cling onto him like you’re afraid he will die in your arms like your brother did.

You almost don’t want to let go of the soul you hold, you want to keep embracing the love of your life forever, but nothing is forever and the embrace cannot be forever, so after a long while you let go of each other. And after a while of just Aemond and you finding solace in each other's presence, when you’re clean and in a new and elegant black gown you find yourself in a meeting. One not so pleasant by the look on Ser Criston’s face.

“We lost Lord Jason Lannister,” he announces with his head down, but as serious as it’s meant to be, you snicker.

“And so the mighty lion is no more. I suppose having those lions in the field did not save him after all,” you comment, making Aemond snicker in amusement, and Ser Criston Cole to slowly lift his head and look at you with a pointed glare.

“I have received some conflicting reports,” he pauses and looks at you up and down. “It's said Ser Tyland was seen being taken by a dragon from a burning ship.”

You slowly roll your eyes his way and follow him as he stands up straight and begins to walk around the wooden table in the middle of the room.

“And that the men on the commanding ship were brutally slaughtered, and the Commander was maimed as they were sailing away after they retreated and won the battle,” he says through gritted and snaps his eyes to you.

You rest your arms on the chair's armrest and lift your nose in the air as you offer him a proud smirk you don’t feel ashamed of. You relish hearing the report and take it as a job well done, especially because they made the report travel here so fast.

“Princess, you were there,” Ser Criston finally drifts the spotlight to you hoping you would feel belittled and ashamed, or feel some kind of guilt, but you keep smirking. “Why not give some insight.”

You hum and hold his gaze. “It was me,” you confess proudly. “Astraea and I killed those men on that ship. I slashed the Commander's face, and I was the one who delivered Ser Tyland to the enemy.”

Eyes fall on you and Aemond starts to grow tense over your confession, but you don’t flinch or show remorse. Your gaze is cold, and your voice is filled with a sense of cockiness and that same coldness that was playing in your eyes.

“I attacked them because it was what felt right, because it was what I wanted,” you say with a hint of honey oozing in your voice, making a faint smile flicker on Aemond’s lips.

“They are our allies,” Ser Criston sounds frustrated. “They will take your attack as personal and pull back.”

You scoff. “There were hardly any of them left. The other dragonriders almost eradicated the entire fleet,” you explain even if you really shouldn’t. “I just attacked the commanding ship because they made me angry.” You shrug and Ser Criston scoffs and shakes his head.

“Both sides took heavy losses,” Aemond finally cuts in. “We still have the rest of our fleet on the way. The Princess Regent actually did us a favor by killing what remained of them.”

You blink in surprise and can’t help but steal a glance at him. You suspected that Aemond was going to be mad because of what you did, but he honestly surprised you.

“We don’t need them anymore, and the Princess took them off our backs before they could try and be greedy and ask for some reward.”

Ser Criston turns away furiously after not getting support from your husband, making you smile at the tabletop before you lift your head and find Aemond’s eyes on you. Not with a hint of some hidden anger, but flames of desire. And you can't help but mirror the same look in your eyes before you focus on Ser Gwayne as he walks toward Ser Criston.

“Our own fleets will arrive shortly and destroy what remains of the Velaryon fleet,” Ser Gwayne offers some consolation. “As of now we must continue forward and attack the army Prince Daemon cultivated. If we start tonight we shall arrive by first light,” he says and points to the map. “Aemond and the Princess will remain here and join us the following day.”

Aemond nods. “He will be anticipating our arrival with the army after he saw Astraea. Going the day after guarantees him being vigil all day as he anticipates us. We will catch him by surprise.”

Ser Criston shakes his head. “And if he is not there because he saw Astraea?” He spats and shoots daggers at you. “The plan was for you not to be seen,” he points at you. “It was a scouting task—”

“If he’s not there then he’s a coward who ran,” Aemond cuts him off as he tilts his head and starts to return his glare. “It's not that complicated,” he mocks him, making Ser Criston look away and clench his jaw.

“Now if it’s not complicated for you Ser, you should start getting ready to head out,” Aemond adds and stands from his seat. “Night is approaching.”

You hide your smirk and Ser Criston bows without bothering to look at his Prince. He just proceeds to leave.

“Princess. Nephew,” Ser Gwayne offers his goodbye along with a proper bow.

“Good luck in battle, Ser,” you offer him kindly while you take Aemond’s hand so he can help you to your feet.

“Thank you, Princess,” he says with a smile before he heads out, letting you face Aemond as you're left alone.

“Thank you for having my back,” you interject, making Aemond let out a deep sigh and stroke your chin as he looks at you with a half-lidded gaze that lights your entire body ablaze, and makes you lean in to close the gap with a kiss. However, he then tilts his head away like a tease and slides his thumb up to brush it over your bottom lip.

You take in a deep breath as you hold his gaze and then lean your head down to part your lips and slowly close them around the tip of his thumb. When he feels the warmth and wetness of your mouth he grins before he drags his thumb down as he can’t resist you a moment longer, he leans in and slams his lips over you.

You quickly wrap your arms around his neck without breaking contact. You then drag him to the table where he proceeds to push you against the end before he hooks his hands on the back of your knees and lifts you up to sit you on the edge. To secure him against you, you wrap your legs around his waist and lose your hands in his long blond-silver hair to ball some in your hands and pull him even closer to you.

When you pull back for air neither of you take too long apart, neither of you want to lose touch out of fear you will lose yourselves if you don’t keep your mouths connected and moving sloppily yet in sync with each other. If you stay too far apart you fear being too cold, so neither of you stray far. When you rip his clothes off he stays in between your legs, and when he pulls your gown off you stay on the table to make sure you reconnect quickly, like reconnecting a piece of a puzzle to complete the beautiful art.

That’s what your souls are like, two pieces of puzzle that fit perfectly together, that belong together. Separate them and the puzzle can never be completed, they can connect with others, but…the puzzle will always be lacking one or the other.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

You dreaded the morning because it meant you had to live the next day. You had to get out of the comfort of Aemond’s warm embrace as he slept away with his head on your chest, and his arm lazily hooked around your waist.

Waking up meant having to move forward and join the army of men in Harrenhal to fight Daemon. You want to stay here and keep hearing the birds singing on the branches. You want to keep smelling the fresh scents of nature—albeit the rain is something you don’t mind leaving.

You just don’t want to live throughout the day. You want to remain in bed forever in your husband's arms and blanketed by his vulnerable and nude body. Why can't you just stay here in your tent with Aemond? Why do you have to get up?

Alas, you get up, making sure not to wake Aemond to let him sleep in while he can and while he’s not being pestered or waited on. You throw on a black gown that has Aerion’s swamp green Shrykos embroidered around the skirt curtsy of Helaena, and then don a golden breastplate before you walk out with your bow and arrow.

“Come, Ser Jason,” you tell the knight who stayed behind to protect you and Aemond.

“Wh-where are we heading?” He stammers out as he gets up from the log he was on and quickly trails after you, leaving the campfire unintended. “What of the Prince?”

You disregard his fear of Aemond and quickly try to assure him—or more so brush him aside. “I’m letting him sleep in while I go hunt for our breakfast. Besides I left a note of where we’ll be if we haven't returned by the time he wakes.”

“But—”

“Relax, we won’t be gone long, the creak is not far.”

You hear Ser Jason’s lips part, but he just bites his tongue and follows your hurried pace to the creak a few clicks down north. When you arrive to the rushing creak you miss Ser Jason’s panic as you carelessly hop down large rocks to reach the creak’s bed.

“Princess—”

You throw your hand up to shush him and carelessly step in the water without caring that the end of your gown was getting soaked, or that your boots were dipped in the cold water.

“You’ll scare the fish if you’re loud,” you whisper and carefully align your arrow as you lock your eyes on a fat silverfish.

“I could hunt for you if fish is what you require,” Ser Jason whispers sharply so he can be heard from the high ground.

You track the fish with your eyes as it starts to swim away and shake your head to not leave the man ignored as you hold your bottom lip between your teeth before you let the arrow fly out.

When the arrow hits the fish and leaves it motionless in an instant, Ser Jason claps.

“Thank you,” you respond to his praise as you reach over and pick up the arrow that has the fish clung to it. “And no need, I can hunt on my own. Just two more and we can head back.”

You proceed to hunt and catch another fish when it comes to the third and last one, you don’t struggle to find it. You let the arrow go, but all it does is scrape the fish because it seems to be too smart for its own good and swims away, leaving behind a trail of blood in the water that you follow as you quickly pull out a fourth arrow.

Once you have it cornered you let the arrow go and this time you manage to kill it, making you grin and whisper a small, “yes,” to yourself before you run over and collect your trophy.

However, it’s when you’re holding the arrow in your hands that the fish slips off the tip, making you quickly reach out to catch it, and getting your hands stained with its blood that leaks out of the gash you left.

Normally you don’t mind blood. Just yesterday you were covered in it, but right now as you see the blood on your hands your mind plays a cruel trick on you by flashing the memory of Jacaerys dying in your arms, and your hands stained in his blood.

You see him there in the creak, floating lifelessly in the water, his eyes rolled back, and his fatal wounds bleeding out and staining the creak.

You remember him, his last breath, and the red blood on your hands flashes in your mind again and again and again, taking your breath from your chest, and leaving you paralyzed.

You want to snap out from the trance your mind has you under, but he won’t go away, and the blood won’t stop flashing. You want to breathe, you want to get away, but tears well in your eyes, your hands begin to tremble, and you’re there again watching your brother die, getting covered in his blood without the ability to bring him back to life or heal those fatal wounds. All you can do is watch him until your world is red and rage begins to seep through.

Rage you bring forth to pull yourself out of your trance. Once the vision of your brother's corpse is gone from the water, you crouch to very harshly wash the blood off your hands and then head back to camp with that excitement gone and rage now twisted on your face.

Ser Jason notices, he wants to speak up about it many times, but he fears upsetting you further, so let’s the silence mingle until you’re the one who breaks it. “Do you have any siblings Ser?”

Ser Jason blinks and gapes in disbelief, thinking your voice is some mind trick until you peer back at him and press your question with a lift of your brows.

“N-no,” he shakes his head. “None, just me.”

You hum. “You’re lucky then,” you mumble but he doesn’t catch what you say, your words get lost in the sky as you look away to watch the grey clouds rumbling overhead.

“I did…” he trails off and sighs. “Love someone like they were my sibling. She died though, just before she could leave and see some of the world she wanted to see.”

You blink and lower your gaze to watch your path ahead. “How?” You ask.

Ser Jason hesitates to answer, but he doesn’t deny you the knowledge of knowing what you asked for. “Killed by someone important who covered up her death.”

You nod stiffly and let out a deep breath that is followed by quiet words full of rage. “Then you know what it feels like…to want to burn the world because it took them away from you.”

Ser Jason parts his lips and stares at you in disbelief. He’s felt anger, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t still upset, but the kind of rage you express just now with what you said is something he can’t relate to. If he’s being honest what you said scares him to the point he can’t follow up with anything else that would feel right to say. That and what if he says something that upsets you? So he stays quiet instead and wonders if the reason you returned to camp all bloody is because of a brother you speak so gloomily about. After all, he knows you have brothers, he knows Queen Rhaenyra has a lot of children, and that you lost a brother at the start of this war, so this new rage he hadn’t heard you express before must be due to why you were gone.

He doesn’t want to ask if it’s true, he fears your reaction with how upset you already sound, so he just keeps quiet. Besides, he can’t really ask more even if he had the balls to because you walk away faster, as if trying to escape the topic from developing any further, leaving the rest of the walk back to camp tense and awkward, and leaving you like the brewing storm passing overhead.

That is until you reach camp and see Aemond out stoking the fire.

“Look!” You announce and show off the fish you caught. “Breakfast. I wanted to have it done before you woke up, but…”

“I heard you when you left,” he finishes for you, making you grin before you skip over to his side in front of the fire.

“Well then now I guess I’ll show you how it’s done,” you interject and plop yourself down on the log. “Just so whenever you find yourself alone or lost somewhere you can make your own food.”

He scoffs. “I can make my own food,” he mumbles, pulling your eyes to him, and making you flash him a teasing smile.

“Okay, sure my Prince,” you tease him and yank a fish off an arrow.

Aemond watches the way you handle the fish as if you have done this multiple times and can’t help but probe. “Where did you learn how to skin a fish?”

Your smile falls and you tilt your head away before you give him a short and stiff answer. “My father.”

Aemond hums and then sits down beside you to put his hands over yours and take over what you’re doing.

You try to fight him, but he’s stubborn and overpowers you.

“I wanted to make some breakfast for you.” You mumble and rest your chin on your hand, making Aemond chuckle.

“I’m being serious!” You exclaim and throw yourself on his side to fix his hand's position before you rest your chin on his shoulder and watch him do what you were just doing. “We’re alone…kind of, and I wanted to take advantage of it. After this, who knows when we’ll be alone like this again.”

“I’m sure we’ll find a moment,” he tries to assure you, but you aren’t reassured whatsoever.

“Where did you even learn how to skin a fish?” You retort and tilt your head to the side to lay your head on his shoulder instead.

“A book,” you both say in sync since you know the only way he would’ve learned how to do this is from a book. He’s a book nerd.

“Hm,” Aemond hums in reaction to you knowing what he was going to say, and you can’t help but laugh and then lean in to press a kiss on his cheek.

“Well thank you I suppose. You took over what I wanted to do, but it’s nice. I enjoy seeing you get your hands dirty.” You grin, and he stops what he’s doing to turn his head and meet your gaze with a serious look.

You keep smiling at him and whisper against his lips. “The twins and I anticipate your cooked fish.”

He hums and he can’t beat down the smile that spreads on his features.

“Maybe you should cook for us more often,” you tease as he continues. “And maybe we should do stuff like this more often after the war. Even if you end up being King, hm?”

Aemond stiffens for a second and doesn’t react or respond with anything, he just stays still, watching nothing in particular until a raindrop hits your hand and you rip away from him to look at the sky in horror.

“No,” you complain, and as if in retaliation the rain comes down harder—“No! It’s raining!” You whine and stand on your feet to be closer to the damn sky and glare at it.

“We can finish inside the tent,” Aemond offers some reassurance, but to someone who’s already upset, this mishap just finds a way to tear you down.

“Come on,” Aemond urges you and grabs your hand, but you drop your head and stay put, causing your hand to slip from his hold.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to whisper over the pattering rain. “I’m sorry.”

Aemond puts down what he has in his hand and turns to approach you and grab your hands to tilt your face up so you can meet his gaze.

“I,” you part your lips. “I know why we’re out here, I know what we have to do, but I still wanted to make the most of the time we have alone, and now…” you trail off and shake your head. “It's ruined. I’m sorry.”

Aemond glances up, letting raindrops fall on his face before he looks down and leans in closer. “It’s just rain,” he says sweetly. “It’s just water.”

Raindrops roll down your cheeks, but tears don’t fall from your eyes. You frown deeply and your eyes droop, expressing a great sorrow that fails to bring tears to your eyes, but if you look closely, like he is, you would see your soul weeping.

“You’re here,” he takes his turn to whisper against your lips. “That’s all that matters to me. You’re here with me, that’s all I care about.”

“Yeah?” You ask for reassurance, and he nods softly.

“Yeah.”

You let out a shaky sigh and even shakier words. “I love you Aemond, and there’s never a day where I’m not grateful that you’re with me,” you share from the depths of your soul as if you feared something, he just can’t quite figure out what yet. He just hears that fear in your voice. “Because if you weren’t here, I would have burned the world and I would’ve disappeared with it.”

“Don’t say that,” he presses sharply, but you don’t regret a word because it’s what you know you feel.

“People I love are getting taken away from me. My mother lied to me, and my father left and died,” you continue sharing as if time is running out and this is the last moments you have together. “But I still have you. You’re all I need, you’re all I want, you’re the only person I trust in this world.”

His breath shudders, and his eyes are quick to fill with tears as your words ache his heart in the best way possible.

“You’re all I ever desired. You are all I want and need and love with every part of me, of who I am, who I was, and who I will be in this lifetime and any other I find myself in,” he whispers as he presses his forehead against your damp one, making the pouring rain now fall over your joined heads. “You occupy my every dream and every inch of my heart.”

You laugh softly and cup his jaw to caress his cheeks. “<I love you, Aemond. Selfishly. All my love belongs to you. You…are my morning and evening star,>” you share your intimate and love-filled words in your native tongue.

“<I love you too,>” he doesn’t hesitate returning those same feelings in the same tongue, making you hold his awe-struck gaze for a lingering moment before you wrap your arms around him, and pull him in a tight embrace, letting him know at that moment as he returns your embrace and kisses your cheek, what it is you feared.

You fear this being your last moments together. You fear that this is the last second you have and the last breaths you’ll take together. The thought of this moment in time being the last one you have together frightens you.

What a foolish fear.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- :) Harrenhal is comin!!!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens

[creganslover]

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

<< Guidelines upon requesting >>

and here is the guidelines on what you need to know before requesting, listed here is the characters I will write for, the genres I’m open to write, and the basic do’s and don'ts in order to help me make your request properly!

P.S it is said on my bio whether requests are open or not, so please be aware! :>

the characters I will write for:

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen

Jacaerys Targaryen

Lucerys Velaryon

Alicent Hightower

Gwayne Hightower

Aegon Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Helaena Targaryen

Cregan Stark

Criston Cole

Addam of Hull/Velaryon

these are the list of characters that I am confident enough to write for, however, if you have another character in mind from the HOTD universe, please ask then I’ll see if I can do it ♡

genre’s I am open to write:

Fluff

Angst

Crack! Fics

Hurt/comfort

Soulmate AUs

Songfics

Drabbles

Prompts

Platonic! Fics

Headcanons

Blurbs

NSFW! (see do’s and don’ts, MDNI w 18+ fics!)

Will be updated as time goes on*

do’s and don’ts:

↳ I would like to start off by pointing out that yes, this is an HOTD centered account and the fics I would be writing will definitely involve canon-typical incest and violence and graphic scenes and others regarding nsfw, so if you are uncomfortable with that, please refrain from reading <3 but are all of my fics going to be NSFW? Nope! I would love to write and explore different genres if I am able.

↳ For requesting, please be specific as it's hard to come up with a plot at times when I don’t have my creative juices flowing T^T

(Be specific in who would you want me to write, and the kind of genre/s you want to see happen as well as what gender you want the reader to be. If none was stated, I would then decide to make the reader gender neutral.)

↳ I can write for poly! relationships if asked.

↳ Please be polite when requesting.

↳ Always, always send requests through my ask box! Please also refrain from messaging me requests.

(Sending requests through my ask box makes it much more easier for me to keep track and add your requests to my list along with the others! :D)

↳ Please be patient. I’m a real person and often times I don’t feel well or motivated enough to write. Aside from that, I also have uni so I may not be able to do your requests in time, but rest assured I’ll try and get them posted as soon as I’m able to once my schedule is free.

↳ Regarding NSFW!! I’m still experimenting on writing smut and uh all the crazy kinks involved in it, but I would like to give writing nsfw a try if ever presented the opportunity :) however, I would like to advise minors to please not read any of my fics labeled with 18+ content!

Other rules may be added soon*

For now, that is the list of what you need to know before requesting! I would love to see you in my inbox soon. ♡

[damn-stark]

Spoilers for what’s left of Moonlight

“I had the courage to do what was necessary to change Wakanda.” - Killmonger (Black Panther Wakanda Forever)

[damn-stark]

Spoilers for Chapter 28 of Moonlight

[damn-stark]

POSTED EARLY FOR THE HATER!!

Chapter 6 City of stars

Chapter 6 of Moonlight

A/N- Cregan would've let her compete in the tourney

Warning- Swearing, ANGST, FLUFF, talks of blood, blades, suggested NSFW, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- Before 1x08

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

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*A FEW MONTHS BACK. WINTERFELL*

“…Have a marvelous name day my sweet, sweet girl. I can’t wait to see you again. I love you.

Your mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

You smile after the initial sadness passes after rereading the letter your mother sent you without fault. She even managed to have it arrive in the morning along with a present, while Aemond can’t even do that—So much for a friend and betrothed. He sucks.

What if he’s seeing some other women?!

Well, two can play that game.

“Princess!” Cregan calls for your attention just as you start thinking about him, and when you look up from the letter and see him you can’t help but flash him a beaming grin.

“Lord Stark,” you greet giddly and bow your head, but as always he rolls his eyes at your formality since it’s just—well him and the singer to the side of the Heart tree you sit against.

“What are you doing out here all on your lonesome?” Cregan asks as he slowly approaches you.

You lift the letter and wave it in the air. “Reading what my mother sent me. Again,” you share. “And listening to this singer.” You tilt your head and playfully narrow your eyes on the Lord. “Care to join?” You ask sneakily so the singer won’t find this interaction suspicious and snitch to the Queen for some coin.

Cregan smiles softly and knows well how to play along. “Who am I to deny a Princess on her name day?”

You clasp your hands behind you and hold his gaze with an innocent glint in your eye as he closes the large gap left between you and throws his cloak back to sit beside you.

“What does your mother write?” He queries without being too invasive—But maybe that’s also due to the fact that your mother is writing to you, and not anyone he has to compete with.

“She just wished me a happy name day, and sent her love,” you share with a longing sigh. “And she sent me this pretty dress.” You add and put the letter down to stand up and show him the pretty soft purple silk dress that your mother sent.

Cregan doesn’t miss a single shift of your body, his eyes follow you up and only dare to trail down when you pick up the delicate violet fabric so he can see the cuts on the sides that exposes your ribs. And now that he indulges himself by having an excuse to admire you without precaution, he lets his eyes linger on your chest since the gown has a deep v neckline before that finally makes him smirk up at you, and causes you to immediately grow flustered as you note how dilated his pupils grow.

Yet as timid as you get you still spin around to show him how flowy the bottom of the dress is, and how the long sleeves that drape off your arms twirl with you.

“You are breathtakingly beautiful,” Cregan muses as you fall back at his side.

You beam at him and then whisper. “Thank you, my love.”

Cregan leans towards your ear and sneaks a comment that catches your breath. “I can’t wait to rip it off you later.”

You steal a glance at his lips and then meet his gaze to counter with another flirty comment. “And I cannot wait to feel you inside me.”

Cregan glances at your lips and draws in a deep and pained breath since he’s unable to kiss you here and now. “You drive me mad woman.” He sneers against your lips.

You shoot him a smirk and pull back smugly, but don’t leave him craving your touch, you slide your hand close to his and hook your pinky around his.

“I wish I could see her again,” you change the subject so the singer won’t grow suspicious. “I miss her.”

Cregan sighs and pulls his pinky away from yours to instead interlace his fingers with yours and provide you with the comfort he knows you crave on a day like today. “You will soon enough. I promise,” he tries to assure you. “But for now, darling princess, don’t grow glum. Celebrate that the gods have gifted you another year of life.”

You sniffle and turn to meet his grey eyes with a faint and appreciative smile, making Cregan discreetly caress your cheek before he pulls away from the comfort of his touch and stands up.

“Dance with me,” he suddenly asks and offers you his large hand. “You said you didn’t want a feast so you owe me this dance—Singer, sing a slower song to dance to.”

The corner of your lips tug to a grin whilst you don’t hesitate to grab his hand, letting him pull you up as the singer does as Cregan commands.

“They’ll see,” you warn him as you slide your other hand to his shoulder and he slides one hand to grab you by your waist.

“Let them,” Cregan brushes off your worry. “I’m merely dancing with my best friend on her name day. Is that so bad?”

You shrug as you let him move you to the melody of the sweet song. “I guess not, Lord Stark.”

Cregan snickers and rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he counters jokingly.

——

*NOW*

Why are you wearing his favorite dress if missing him aches you so?

Do you enjoy your pain? Do you enjoy feeling like you're stabbing Aemond in the back by having such lustful thoughts of another man?

If you keep feeding into your desire you won’t even be able to look Aemond in the eye. You need to stop, you need to distract yourself.

But! You can’t even write to your brothers because Cregan plagues your every thought!

Why must forgetting someone be so hard?

“Niece?”

Niece?

You turn toward the call and catch Heleana approaching you with surprise illustrated on her delicate features.

“You’re outside,” she points out with a gleam in her eye.

You sigh and nod. “I thought I’d enjoy the fresh air. I felt quite trapped.”

She laughs softly as she comes to a stop. “Well you keep yourself trapped inside, I hardly see you since you’ve returned.”

Well, she’s only somewhat right, but she’s far too sweet to correct.

“Where are the twins?” You smoothly change the subject to avoid boring her with the dread of feeling alone and in pain.

“I thought they’d grow quite bored with me exploring the garden,” she says with a faint amused smile. “Why are you alone?”

You shrug and point to your letter. “Well I was writing to my brothers, and besides that, I don’t have any friends here anymore, and Aemond is busy.”

Helaena blinks and her smile slowly fades but not completely, she still carries sweetness about her that reminds you of spring.

“Well,” she sighs and finally gets closer. “If it’s any consolation neither do I.”

You offer her a pitiful look and quickly try to comfort her. “Well, maybe we can be friends.”

Helaena laughs. “We can’t be friends, you’re my niece.”

You scoff and can’t help but chuckle. “That doesn’t mean anything. We can still be friends like we once were when we were young.”

Helaena stares at you hard but you can’t tell if it’s with disapproval and judgment or something kinder, she wears her emotions on her face without discretion, it seems that even if she stands properly and dresses as a princess of her rank should, keeping her emotions discreet is something she didn’t master.

“Well, all right then,” she quite bluntly interjects and holds her hands behind her back. “Do you wish to explore with me then?”

You part your lips to agree out of pure boredom, but you crave fun. You crave having a woman to talk to, you can only talk to Baela and Rhaena so often since you talk by letters, and Arra is gone now, so you’re left without a woman friendship and it honestly feels like you’re lacking something, you enjoy having lady friends.

The society you’re a part of often pins you against each other, but maybe it’s because you were close to your mother and your cousins, or just you in general, but you crave female friendships just as much as male friendships.

Thus you get a different brilliant idea that perhaps is too much of a risk to your sweet aunt Helaena, but if you’re stuck in these castle walls any longer you will overfill with too many thoughts and combust.

“Why don’t we do something else?” You suggest without shame, you’re bold even if you should be cautious with her. “Something fun like going on dragonback and going to explore something else besides these gardens.”

You jump and she looks back as if her mother would come out.

“Mother says I shouldn’t be so much on dragonback, nor can I explore so far without guards and a chaperone.”

Oh sweet, sweet Helaena. A pretty bird chained and locked in a cage. You can’t stand for something so pathetic.

Her soul is crying for help and you’re her only salvation.

“Chaperone? Sweetheart who will dare challenge us with our dragons?” You quickly argue and get closer to her. “Especially such a threatening dragon-like Dreamfyre?”

Helaena nervously swallows back and her uncertainty begins to fall apart as her curiosity takes over. “We aren’t really allowed to.”

You squint your eyes and quip. “We are royalty, we can do as we like. Trust me nothing bad will happen to us, I will protect us just like our dragons will.”

Helaena glances inside again for a second longer this time. Yet instead of refusing your proposal, she probes curiously. “Where would we go?”

You smile mischievously. “Somewhere fun,” you respond with suspense that she takes as bait and reluctantly follows you to fetch her dragon locked away while Astraea knew to meet you there.

And once again another one of Alicent’s offspring has bonded with another legendary and beautiful dragon, which is not fair!

You would compliment Vhagar, but as ancient as she is her size is something you actually don’t like. Perhaps when she was with Queen Visenya then you would have drooled over her, but now she’s far too large and too old to enamore you.

Dreamfyre though? She’s perfect, her scales are like the sky but shine much brighter and have hints of silver within them as well. It’s like she carries stars along with the sky. She’s dazzling, and mesmerizing indeed. It’s a shame she’s kept locked up for as long as she is, no one can admire her that way.

Your soulmate Astraea lucked out that way, the sun can kiss her as much as she wants while the envy and admiration can break limits because she’s too smart to be locked up.

“Where are we?” Helaena asks once she descends from her dragon and never once in that moment does she lose touch of Dreamfyre, she has her hand planted on her dragon as if ready to escape if need be.

You are the opposite, you don’t tense your shoulders are look for danger, you immediately slip off your gown, startling Helaena all in the meanwhile.

“What are you doing?” She clamors.

You pull your shoes off and spin around to face her. “Having fun,” you put it simply and beam at her. “Don’t worry no one’s nearby. We can be as free as we like!”

Helaena watches you twirl around with a beaming grin that doesn’t carry a single concern that you wore loud with a deep frown. You run into the water as if you were weightless, but don’t immediately dive in, you throw your arms out and let the sun embrace you as if it shone for you alone.

Is this why Aemond cared so much about you because you live the world at the beat of your own drum? Her mother always warned her about you, she said the way you acted wasn’t how a lady should act; she would whisper that you were too much like your mother, but now that she’s older she doesn’t see why it bothered her mother so much and why the way you act is so bad?

Does it make you brutish?

No, Helaena can't see that. You dive into the water and when you come out even the way you throw your head back is graceful

Beastly?

No, heavens no. You’re called the Realms Golden girl for a reason, and the water pampered over your face only adds to the divine beauty that you are; the water droplets literally glimmer on your face as the sun beams reflect off them, making you look like a radiant diamond.

That’s why she can’t find a fault in you. Maybe you aren’t as careful as you should be, but your dragon is fierce and protective, you’re right about that.

Even so, she can’t be as daring as you, her mother's caution clings onto her.

“Look!” You announce to the world and throw your hands out to show Helaena a coned shell, but as curious as she is, she only manages to let Dreamfyre go.

Thus you take the first step for her and run over to her to intrigue her with things she would like.

“Look,” you whisper now as you’re by her. “A crab.”

Helaena leans towards the cream-colored shell and before she knows it a small creature with pinchers and thin legs peeks out of its shell.

You squeal and drop the crab, but Helaena quickly catches it but ends up grabbing it by the shell instead of carrying it on her palm like you were.

“I didn’t actually think it was alive,” you whisper as you cling onto Helaena’s arm. “Be careful,” you whisper and hide behind her as if the crab is a huge threat.

Helaena gently taps the creature and it reels back in its shell.

“It won’t pinch me the way I’m holding it,” she speaks normally and watches the little creature with awe. “It would’ve pinched you the way you held it, and it would’ve hurt.”

You watch her handle the little crab with all the care that you hadn’t shown it, you just wanted to bait her. And it seemed to work.

“Are there more?” Helaena asks and finally shows curiosity about the waters ahead.

“Perhaps,” you tempt her as you let go of her and walk backward toward the water. “You have to come see for yourself.”

Helaena slowly trails after you and when you step in the water have it over your ankles she puts the crab down in the sand and watches you with hesitance.

“Nothing bad will happen,” you assure her. “I swear, we’re just finding joy in what we have. Just take your gown off so we have something to wear when we leave.”

Helaena lets out a deep breath and seems to have let some weight of her stress go because she slowly takes her gown off now, but stops when the water touches her feet.

You walk deeper into the water with a luring smile and she follows until finally, the water reaches her chest.

“Ready?” You ask with a growing smile.

Helaena draws out another deep breath and this time she’s left weightless and carefree. She smiles sweetly now and responds with a soft nod, letting you stop wasting time and dive into the deep waters that carry a completely different world, but one you both gawk over.

After some caution, Helaena begins to explore as freely as you do. Of course, you resurface but the moment you collect as much air as you can you travel back into the underworld and watch the school of fish study you. You point each other to specific rocks you find fascinating, or shells hidden in some crook.

You can’t say you find anything rare, or strange, it’s all just as fascinating as when you were young your joy doesn’t compare to that of Helaena’s. She finds beauty and awe in the smallest and simplest things and never hesitates to show you or go back for more. You didn’t think shed grow tired of diving in and resurfacing, but eventually, she stops that adventure and pulls you to have fun with her by splashing each other with water, grabbing onto each other, and spinning under the sun.

You’re simple woman having fun. That’s all you are, girls being girls without the weight of being a mother, wife to a man who could care less, a betrothed, or royalty,

It’s just Helaena, you, your dragons, the warm weather, and the sun.

You don’t wear down until the sun begins to hide away for the day, but even you’re floating in the water staring at the sweet-colored sky.

“Did you come up with finding fun in what you have?” Helaena queries.

You stay quiet for a moment out of hesitance to talk about Cregan, but you don’t need to unveil anything to answer what she asks. “No, Lord Stark did.”

“The old one?”

You blink and turn your head to judge her, but as she meets your gaze she giggles. “The new lord Stark, yes?” She says.

You smile softly at her joke and then nod. “Yes, him. Cregan. He…became my friend when I moved there.”

“When my mother made you live There,” Helaena whispers shamefully as if she was the one at fault.

“Well yes,” you sigh. “I hated living there for a long time until Lord Stark and I became best friends. I still missed my family and home, but I didn’t ache for it as much. He taught me a lot.”

“Do you miss him now?” She asks without a clue as to what you really mean when you respond. To her it’s an innocent question, to you, there’s a deeper meaning.

“Yes. I do.”

Helaena hums and drops her gaze to watch you admire the stars that start to show off their beauty in the sky.

“I won’t tell Aemond,” she whispers as if someone else could hear. “I know they keep stuff from me, so I can keep this a secret.”

You lock eyes and offer her a sweet smile. “Thank you. Now,” you clap your hands and throw yourself up to stand upright and walk back to shore. “Did you have fun or should question my life?”

Helaena is slower to get up, but she does and responds. “I had a lot of fun. This is the most fun I’ve had in years. Let’s do it again. Please.”

You peer at her over your shoulder and shoot her an assuring smile. “We will.”

Helaena claps lightly and then hurries up to catch up to you on the sand. And there after no matter how much you both try to drag on your escape you eventually return home, Dreamfyre returns to her chains, Astraea manages to remain free, and to no one’s surprise, Alicent is anxiously waiting for Helaena’s return in the courtyard inside the security of the Red Keeps walls.

“Where have you been?” Alicent panics and strides towards her daughter. “I was so worried, you were gone all day! Where did you take her?” She snaps at you.

You quickly parted your lips to defend yourself, but Helaena interjects for you and speaks up in your defense. “We were having fun on a piece of land not far from here, mother. Dreamfyre and Astraea were with us the entire time.”

Alicent draws in a breath to add to her worry, but Helaena doesn’t leave room for it. “We’re all right. We brought some stuff for Father. We want to go show him.” She quickly walks past her mother without a hint of concern or care towards her mother's worry. While her mother pierces a hardened glare your way.

“She had fun,” is all you care to share. What else was there to say? Her daughter is an adult, not a child, she can’t control her or you. You were having fun and that’s that.

Nevertheless, Aemond comes out of the shadows and you and Alicent expect him to be upset too—Alicent wants him to be upset, but he doesn’t lift a finger, or form a wrinkle.

“I wish you would tell me what you plan to do. I half expected you to be miles away by now.” Aemond says much to your surprise, making you smirk and hold his gaze with a deep need to kiss him, but as you stare into his eye you can’t bring yourself to give him a hello peck, so you just hook your arm around his and play off your inner battle.

“Aww, I’ll invite you next time,” you coo.

Aemond huffs softly and you smile proudly.

——

*NOW. KING’S LANDING*

It’s been a month since the last time you kissed Aemond. A month.

Not for lack of trying, he gives you kisses on the cheek, and on the forehand, and his favorite place is your knuckles. It’s just every time you think about kissing him, Cregan comes to mind and you feel like you’re betraying him, and it aches your heart.

But feeling that ache, that sense of betrayal also brings you guilt because of Aemond; he’s been so kind now that you’ve broken that tension, even if his mother keeps getting in the way for some reason. She’s almost like tree sap, no matter how much you try to get it off it continues to stick, and when you think you got rid of all of it, it’s still there being an inconvenience. It’s a miracle she isn’t here at the tourney between you and Aemond, holding his hand.

Regardless, feeling guilty about Cregan only adds more guilt about Aemond and it's all tearing your mind apart.

Maybe the solution is to stop writing to Cregan; you’ve thought of it. It would make your attempts to stop thinking about him a lot easier…but you can’t do that, he’s still your friend, and…you still…love him—But you want to be faithful to Aemond, you want to love him as much as you do Cregan. He deserves that, he deserves your loyalty, but how do you let go of one to embrace the other?

Death by Dragonfire would be a simple solution. Or a lance through the heart, maybe one of these fine knights competing can do it.

Too bad you can’t fucking compete. Thanks to Queen Alicent and Aemond.

“…Today we celebrate in honor of my brother Prince Aemond’s engagement!” Aegon announces and follows by shouting your name and title, and the crowd cheers, making a smile appear on your face out of surprise and excitement.

Does Aemond share the same pride over hearing the booming praise be about him?

Probably not but you still look over at him and check, noticing his lips not attempting to show any feigned gratitude. Albeit when he notices your gaze he looks over and a faint smile flashes on his lips, making you smile wider and wrap your hand around his. He then places his thumb over your hand and begins to caress your skin.

“Now, Princess, honor us by choosing the next challengers,” Aegon redirects the attention to you, pulling you out of the little bubble you were just in with Aemond.

“All right,” you roll out and share the excitement for both Aemond and you as you stand up and approach the balcony’s railing to get a closer look at all the competing Knights lined up against the wall.

It’s hard to know which one is the best, you don’t know any of these knights that you see before you. You recognize the house sigils some carry on their shield, but that’s about it, so you have to base your choice on the horse and your own curiosity.

“Him,” you point to the Knight at the right end of the line with no sigil on his shield.

“And him,” you point to a man in the middle with the house sigil of a small house from the Riverlands.

“Come forward and state your names,” the announcer instructs.

Both knights walk forward while the others disperse, and the knight from the Riverlands takes his helmet off and states his name while you share a playful smirk with Aegon, and then look back at Aemond with the same smirk.

You do wish Helaena was here too so you could gossip about the men, but well no matter how much you’ve spoiled her with fun, she still refused to come here where it’s overcrowded by people. She just wished you the best.

“And I am Ser Alyn of Hull,” the second Knight's name catches your immediate attention and makes you face him. That’s when you notice a striking resemblance to someone you can’t quite point your finger to, you just know that his features aren’t all that strange like his bastard name.

“You come from Driftmark?” You ask curiously as you lean closer.

Ser Alyn grins and his smile doesn’t fail to intrigue you, it’s quite nice. He’s actually quite good-looking too.

“Yes,” Ser Alyn responds. “I'm merely a bastard with no importance albeit.”

You hum and smile softly. “We’ll see about that won’t we, Ser Alyn of Hull? Best fortunate to you.”

The bastard Knight lets his eyes linger on you before he puts his helmet back on and has his horse stride away, letting you return to your seat.

“5 dragons on the Riverlands knight,” Aegon whispers to you as he sits back down beside you.

You glance over at him and pretend to scoff in horror. “I’m a Lady. I don’t bet.”

Aegon groans. “10 then.”

You bat your lashes as you look ahead to watch Ser Alyn. “10 on Ser Alyn.” You agree to his terms and twist your wrist to offer him your hand, and without looking Aegon smacks it lightly to commit to the bet.

“Who do you think will win?” You direct at Aemond as you lean back towards him whilst both Knights start, and find comfort in wrapping your hands around his bicep; which is much easier to grab than Cregan’s—Cregan has a lot of muscle…

“Hm,” Aemond hums and you feel his gaze fall on you while you focus on the jousting—“I don’t follow much jousting,” he says.

You roll your eyes over to him and press him sweetly. “Indulge me, Aemond, please.”

Aemond holds your gaze and exhales deeply before he drifts his attention to the match. “I suppose…Ser Alyn. He has the strength advantage.”

You hum and follow his line of gaze, catching Ser Alyn throw the other Knight off his horse with quick ease after breaking his shield in half.

The match just started and Ser Alyn already won by a landslide!

“Wow!” You cheer and clap as you jump to your feet so Ser Alyn can see you congratulate him. And thanks to your attempts the knight notices you and bows, making you grin brightly

“My win goes to the Siren of Driftmark, congratulations on your engagement,” he shouts over the clamoring crowd.

You offer him a thankful bow of your head and watch him bask in his success for a little while longer before others are brought forward to compete. And even if you couldn’t join; even if you aren’t actually good, you pay attention to all the matches and become 100 golden dragon coins richer because Aegon sucks at betting. All whilst Aemond’s hand basks you with warmth the entire time.

And even if he mainly sulks, you whisper to one another like a newlywed couple—well he just listened to you for the most part, but regardless, at that moment you showed affection to each other, it was a little considering where you were, but at that moment he was the only one that occupied your mind. There was no guilt of any kind

“Would you compete in my honor?” You whisper to Aemond as the last pair of jousters approach. “I would like you more if you did.”

Aemond blinks and meets your gaze, making your smirk deepen. He sighs since he's feeding into your absurdity, but he also can’t contain his faint.

“If you ask it of me I wouldn’t,” he reveals, making you laugh.

“What if it wasn’t against someone challenging you for my hand?” You rearrange your question and watch his mind work before he responds without a falter in his confidence.

“I wouldn’t need to joust to challenge someone for you, I would use my dragon,” he says, making your heart skip a beat. “But if a silly joust is what they’d pick I would make sure to win every single match. I’d kill if I had to.”

Oh, that’s a little intense but you do love it. It…causes you to grow flustered and a spark of warmth to spread throughout your body to the point all you can do to ease that heat is finally press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Aemond draws in a deep breath and his smile reappears but a lot softer than before. He holds your gaze and leans in to press a kiss on your lips, but he stays still, letting your breaths unfurl over your lips and your hearts begin to pound with desire before he adds fuel to the fire by just pressing a kiss on your knuckles.

“<Jerk,>” you swear in High Valyrian.

Aemond snickers and before he can say something someone interjects from the field. “I would like to ask the favor of The Realm’s Golden Girl.”

You turn your attention to the match and notice that it’s the Knight who calls himself the Stranger because he has no house sigil on his shield either. And from what you’ve seen he’s not so terrible, he’s made it to the last round of competitors.

“Unmask yourself in the presence of the princess, Ser,” the announcer orders as you approach the railing with a flower crown in hand.

When the knight unmasks himself you freeze and gasp as you recognize Ser Rolf; your mutual friend with Cregan. But he didn't tell you he was coming like you asked him to.

“Ser Rolf,” you announce before he can. “What a pleasure.” You slowly grin at him.

“The pleasure is mine, Princess,” he says with formality you don’t recognize. He's usually so improper in front of friends.

“It’s nice to see you again. Good luck, my friend,” you end this short since there’s only so much you can say, but you let your gaze linger on his face after you throw the flower crown on his lance.

Rolf offers you a kind smile before he bows his head and walks off without another word.

However, in the surprise of seeing your friend, you didn't even notice he’s jousting against Ser Alyn until you spot him putting on his helmet. Albeit now that the knight from

Driftmark is competing against your friend you don’t care if he’s from Driftmark anymore, you want Ser Rolf to win.

“You know him?” Aemond asks the moment you take your seat.

Without looking at him you nod. “He’s a friend from Winterfell,” you put it simply, but you can feel Aemond’s gaze on you, it lingers, but you don’t bother paying it any attention, you just try to assure him by clutching onto his hand and watch as both Knights charge at each other.

Ser Alyn goes in for a jab at the shield, but Ser Rolf manages to swerve and instead hits the side of Ser Alyn’s shield so hard that it falls from his hands.

You smile softly with pride, but you’re too overwhelmed with worry that your smile quickly fades and your grip around Aemond’s arm tightens.

Is that who sent you that letter Aemond wonders, that funny-looking ginger commoner? You seem so worried that it has to be.

He’ll have to ask you later and hopefully get the truth, as of now he watches you sit up straighter and lean forward as the challengers go again.

You almost close your eyes as they approach each other again, but you manage to keep them open and watch as Ser Alyn aim for the shoulder. However, Ser Rolf ducks and hits the horse's legs, causing the horse to lose balance and knock Ser Alyn off and deciding the winner of the tournament at that moment; Ser Rolf!

Ser Rolf won! He stayed alive and won!

You squeal and quickly stand up from your seat to clap loudly to his success, not caring if you get weird stares from the rest of the audience in the box with you, and especially not caring about the pointed look Aemond shoots you. You get swept up by your friends' success, by the crowd roaring with excitement, and lastly, by Ser Rolf as he makes sure to turn and face you to shoot you a wink.

You beam at him and exclaim. “Whoa! Ser Rolf!”

The Northerner Knight is swept off his feet and given his winnings, he gets flowers thrown at him from the crowd, praise, and as all the winners do, he’s given the honor to name one lady the Queen of Love and Beauty; he’s given a flower crown to give to a Lady of his choosing, but he refuses and instead his helper for the day runs to him with a satchel.

The crowd goes quiet, and you slowly sit back down to watch with your neck stretched out and your lips slightly parted.

“I’ve brought a special one,” Ser Rolf says and proceeds to pull out a beautiful flower crown made of rare Blue Winter Roses that are only grown in the North. He then proceeds to approach the box and stops directly before you.

“I choose you, Princess,” he announces, causing the crowd to boom excitedly, and for you to approach the edge to take the beautiful flower crown from his hand.

“Thank you, my friend,” you tell him sweetly with a soft smile and a watery gaze since you know that they’re from Cregan. Rolf wouldn't go out of his way to bring a crown of his own if it wasn’t because of his friend Cregan. But why now?

It was a small moment, but you were doing good, you weren’t thinking about him, about his lips, about his love and kisses. Now he’s all you can think about once again. Him and your guilt.

Why did he have to send you this flower crown made from the flower that has a deep meaning in your relationship? Not only that but hidden around one of the stems is a note you can’t dare to read now. It’s like he wants you to go mad with confusion that shouldn't even exist because your fate is made.

“Are you all right?” The sound of Aemond’s voice right by your ear startles you.

You quickly place the flower crown on your head and turn to face him now standing behind you. “Yes, just touched. Blue winter roses are the most beautiful flowers in the seven kingdoms, so I’m flattered.”

Aemond tries to read you, but you smile at him and hook your arm around his. “Why don’t we head home now?” You suggest. “I know how much these social outings exhaust you.” You tease him.

Aemond scoffs lightheartedly, but he lets you lead him away. Albeit you’re quickly stopped by Aegon before you can step out of the box.

“Where are you two going? There’s a feast now! Let’s go!”

He’s incredibly drunk and uninteresting now.

“Well I'm quite exhausted,” you lie. “But you go.”

Aegon gasps and then turns to look at his brother by you. “Come on brother! Let me show you some fun before you’re married!”

You slide your eyes to Aemond, and he glances at you before addressing Aegon without as much as a fight. “I want to walk her home. You go.” He says.

“Boo!” Aegon exclaims and stumbles towards you and Aemond. “Come on! Just for a bit.”

You exhale and roll your eyes, but Aemond lets you go and steps towards his brother. “Ser Erryk, assure the princess arrives home safely, I’ll walk Aegon to the feast.”

You part your lips to argue over the fact that he’s not even looking at you, but he wouldn’t listen so it would be like arguing to a wall. “Fine,” you grumble. “Have fun.”

Before you can turn, Aemond adds one more thing. “Meet me at the gardens when you arrive. I’ll meet you there.”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile and you nod in comprehension before you leave with Ser Erryk trailing after you like a shadow but brave protector.

“Well parting ways defeats the purpose of celebrating my engagement, don't you think Ser Erryk?” You kindly address the quiet knight.

“Quite does,” he agrees with you. “But it can’t be helped.”

You hum softly in agreement and when you arrive at the gardens he stands guard with you while you wait for someone who never comes.

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

“Congratulations my darling love. I know you’ll be a beautiful bride. - Cregan”

You weren’t going to read the hidden note, you decided it wasn’t the best option for your already battling mind, but Aemond left you stranded so you did it.

However, now that you’ve read it, maybe it was a mistake after all, because why would he say that?

Maybe you’re just overthinking it, it’s just a harmless comment, but to you it means everything, it brings him back to the front of your mind. Those simple words make you doubt your marriage to Aemond, especially because he failed to do as he said, and for what? Another woman? A feast he doesn't even like attending?

You want to be Cregan’s wife, you want to get married under the red leaves of the Weirwood tree, and before the old gods because at least with Cregan you know you won’t be miserable, he’ll only love you, but Aemond?

He said he loved you only after you asked him to say it, and stands you up without an explanation. With Aemond there’s no security, no way to know if you’ll avoid living in what you fear; misery.

Then again the not knowing excites you with Aemond, he excites you. Being loved in public without having to hide from the world fills you with joy. And yes it wasn’t Cregan's fault you had to hide, but you did and now having Aemond do the opposite excites you.

It's all so confusing!!

You groan and stride to the fire lit in your chambers with the thought of throwing the letter in the fire. You actually crouch and approach the letters close to moving flames, but instead of just tossing it in, you let the corner of the parchment catch fire and find yourself intrigued by watching the beautiful flames rush towards your fingers. It’s like the flames are luring you to let them touch you, but you quickly snap out of your trance and drop the letter to watch the fire eat away the beautiful words and the promise of something you yearn for with tears rolling down your cheeks.

When the note is nothing but ash you sigh deeply and stand to your given height before turning and shrugging your robe off your body to walk to the steaming bath.

“It’s too hot Princess,” Vanessa warns and rushes over to try and stop you, but you step in the heated water and don’t pay any mind to how hot it is. The heat has just never bothered you, no matter how hot it is.

“It’s okay,” you brush off her concern and sink your body into the water until the point the water floats around your neck. “Bring me some wine.”

Vanessa hesitates, but she ends up doing as she’s told, letting you add on playfully.

“And maybe just dunk my head in the water and don’t pull me out until I stop moving,” you deadpan and wipe away the stain of tears with the hot water.

Vanessa lets out a nervous laugh. “That’s very funny.”

Is it?

A knock raps on the door stealing Vanessa’s attention just before she can bring the wine. You try to peek at who it is when she opens the door, but you can’t see from the tub so you try to hear. But the visitor is too quiet, so you're forced to wait until Vanessa walks to you with a flagon and a cup of wine.

“Who is it?” You ask her right away.

The corner of her lips tug to a smirk and she whispers in your ear as she sets the things down on the table beside you. “Prince Aemond.”

Here comes the pity apology.

“Let him in,” you tell her without caring that he’ll see you nude in the tub. Hey, maybe he can join you!

Nevertheless, Vanessa walks off to let Aemond in while you grab your goblet and chug the damn thing, only knowing Aemond’s inside by the sound of his heels clicking on the floor. He also then lets out a soft groan and shifts, letting you know he’s nearby.

“You could’ve told me to return,” Aemond mutters.

You set the goblet down and glance over at him, seeing he has his back turned to avoid seeing you indecent before marriage. What a gentleman.

“You could have the decency to at least change after being with someone else,” you say bluntly as you serve yourself more wine. “Or you know at least come visit me the next day.”

Yes, you don’t have the right to be jealous, but he is your betrothed, he is your future husband, he’s yours, not theirs.

“I could say something similar about your friend from the tournament,” Aemond counters back quickly and sneaks a glance at you from the corner of his eye.

You snap your gaze over to him and slowly put the goblet down before you burst out laughing at his comment. “Rolf?” You say and shake your head. “No, he’s just a friend. When Lord Cregan tried to take his throne from his uncle, Ser Rolf became my protector.” You smile softly at the thought of your friend and then push yourself up to lean on the side of the tub and watch Aemond with a playful smile as the thought of him being jealous makes you cocky, but also makes your heart flutter.

“Look at me,” you demand softly.

Aemond just peers over his shoulder and you see how hard he avoids actually looking at the rest of you.

“Aemond,” you keep trying. “It’s okay, look at me.”

Aemond exhales deeply before he slowly turns and meets your gaze with the eyepatch still over his sapphire eye.

“Take it off,” you refer to the eyepatch.

His gaze lowers and he waits for Vanessa to leave before he drops his head and sighs with hesitation that lasts for a long moment before he slowly raises his hand to pull the leather eyepatch off and place it on the table with your wine.

He then hesitates more to pick up his head again, so you assure him softly. “It’s just you and me.”

Aemond slowly picks up his head after the comment, and at that exact moment, he meets your gaze the gem in his eye socket gleams with the firelight’s touch, making you smile in admiration. “Now come here,” you continue to order. “Please.”

Aemond hesitates, but this time because he wants to be respectful, but you’re tempting in that tub so he slowly approaches you and makes sure to avoid looking at your body and only hold your gaze. When he crouches beside you, you take his hand to play with his long and slender fingers.

“Ser Rolf is just a friend,” you assure him, knowing well he’s not the one he should worry about. “He’s married to some worker's daughter and is expecting a little babe.” You smile softly and rest your chin on his hand. “Or what? I can’t have friends?”

Aemond’s gaze falls on your legs crossed over one another, hiding the temptation you keep between them, and then his trail to your breasts consumed by the water and his pupil dilates, making smirk proudly. Before he meets your gaze again he clears his throat and shakes his head. “I’d rather you not.” He rebuttals.

You chuckle and roll your eyes as you push yourself away from him. “I’ll still have them.” You counter seriously.

Aemond sighs. “I know. You were always one to defy what was expected of you.”

You begin to twirl the water around with your finger and snicker. “It’s always been fun. It’s boring being so…uptight and such a stickler for rules,” you huff and tilt your head. “You've never liked that, so what?” You chuckle softly. “You don’t like me?” You pout and feign to be sad while you make sure to fiddle with the ring he gifted you.

Aemond swallows thickly and parts his lips, but doesn’t move at all to answer, so you continue to mess with him. “Or,” you whisper softly. “Does that excite you about me?” You smile sweetly and shift slightly, watching how his eye follows the way water droplets trail down the curve of your breast.

“What?” You tease him and twist around to give him a better view of your chest. “Do you want to join me?”

Aemond draws in a deep breath and gets ready to answer, but you cut him off sharply. “Tell me who you were with and I’ll consider it. She better be a beautiful creature.”

Now Aemond is the one that chuckles, making your heartthrob—you’ve always liked the sound of his laugh.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” he contradicts you. “Trust me…No one has ever compared to you,” he whispers. “No one in this world ever will.”

Your face burns, and you now long for him even more, you desire his lips on yours, and his fingers that you play with feeding the heat between your legs.

“I was taking care of Aegon,” Aemond continues to defend himself. “He was drunk already, I couldn’t let him go to the feast without knowing he was fine.”

You hum softly, and now you don’t even dare doubt him because you know he’s being honest. You’ve also known that he’s always been so worried about the others instead of just being worried about himself. He isn’t the youngest of his siblings, his brother Daeron holds that title, but Aemond isn’t the eldest, so he shouldn't be the one worried.

“Oh Aemond,” you whisper and push yourself toward him again to raise your hand and cup his cheek. “You’re always so worried about your family, but who worries about you?”

Aemond blinks in disbelief and parts his lips as a soft breath escapes his lips. You proceed to caress his face and offer him a soft smile and a loving look. “I can take care of you,” you whisper against his lips as you lean toward him.

Aemond’s eye softens, and you finally close the gap with a kiss on his lips that starts slow. He then cradles your face and begins to caress your cheeks as he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back; he actually deepens the kiss, making sure not to let you pull away for too long, and leaning in closer as if you’re going to get away. He only pulls back to murmur.

“I love you. More than anything.”

You offer him a soft smile, but you can’t repeat those words to him. Not with your heart still attached to Cregan. “Me too,” you assure him softly. “More than anything.”

Aemond doesn’t ask for more, he smiles and begins kissing you again. And this time without having to be told he begins to undress himself, you get him and help desperately, but he soon manages to steal your breath away as you see him for the first time, so toned and beautiful. So long and perfect.

His muscles aren’t as large as Cregan’s, but Aemond still has so much detail in his muscles. His back is the most impressive, it looks so soft, so strong. The way his long silky silver hair drapes over it so elegantly makes him even more beautiful. He’s so beautiful. Every part about him.

It’s why you let him take you there in the bathtub without waiting until you were married. He’s so gentle and caring with each stroke, with each murmur and groan in your ear. Even if he became rough later on as he was close to his climax.

When you're finished and lying in bed he doesn’t turn cold, he doesn’t leave, he stays with you and lets you take care of him…

Just as—No you won’t say it, you can’t compare them.

Aemond lays between your legs, and rests his head on your chest, letting you braid his hair.

“So,” you whisper playfully. “You'd kill for me?”

Aemond begins caressing your knee with his fingers and nods softly. “Who wouldn’t?”

You smile softly as you rest his braid over his shoulder. “I’d kill for you too, you know. I would have 5 years ago.”

Aemond freezes, so you wrap your arms around his neck and lean on his shoulder.

“I’m good with a sword,” you show off and see him meet your gaze from the corner of his eye.

The corner of his lips surprisingly pull to a smirk before he retorts. “Why is that? Because of all the times you spent watching from the shadows.”

You grin and nod. “Exactly. I just don't show it because I have to keep up appearances, you know, I’m a Princess. Daughter of the heir, and granddaughter of a King. I can’t bounce around the castle like some penniless explorer…or so my Septa would say.” You scoff.

Aemond hums and then twists his body around to face you with a serious expression. “Is that why you don’t fight for your right on the throne?”

You blink in surprise and question him with a nervous chuckle. “What?”

Aemond sighs. “You are the eldest. Daughter of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen. You are the heir, not your brother.”

Why this sudden topic? You stopped thinking about that ever since you met Cregan.

“You’re being robbed right under you and you don’t try to fight it,” Aemond adds with a rising anger you don’t even feel. “Why is that?”

You part your lips but nothing comes out but a huff of air as you’re left flabbergasted by this topic.

“Because you’re keeping up appearances? I know you’re no fool, even if you act it in front of others,” Aemond continues to say as he turns around completely to take your hands and hold your narrowed gaze.

You shake your head and finally find words to say. “I don’t fight it because it was chosen that way. My grandsire Corly’s wanted Jacaerys to be heir, and my mother didn’t want to burden me with what she was burdened with,” you pause and shrug. “I cared, but that was the past. I don’t want it now.” You swallow thickly and lean forward. “I’ve seen a fraction of what happens to families who fight for their right,” you add softly. “Lord Cregan fought his uncle because he didn’t want to give Cregan what was rightfully his. It breaks families apart, it’s chaos.” You scoff. “I don’t want that. I love my family, I'm content with Jacaerys being heir.”

Aemond’s eyebrows furrow and he snaps back. “But he's a…” he trails off and presses his lips together

However, he doesn’t need to finish his sentence to know what he was going to say; bastard. He was going to call Jacaerys a bastard. It upsets you, but there’s no need arguing over something he didn’t finish saying. So you just exhale and pull your hands away from Aemond’s.

“Let’s not speak on this matter anymore,” you mutter and hold his gaze with a pointed glare. “If you love me you’ll be content with my choice. Respect it, please.”

Aemond holds your gaze and doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t move, he just exhales deeply before he nods stiffly and turns around to stay between your legs.

The fact that he was going to call Jacaerys a bastard annoys you, it still threatens to piss you off even if you say you’re over it for the sake of peace, adding tension between Aemond and you.

It was going so good too for Seven’s sake!

But no! You can’t let it affect you. Don’t let the storm ravel. Don’t let it.

“You know what I was thinking?” You bring up to avoid having a storm within you pull you in its clutches.

Aemond hums so you pull yourself down to lean your lips by his ear and whisper. “We should get married the day after tomorrow. Not under the faith of the seven, but a Valyrian wedding. Something small.”

That and well, you do want to spite Alicent, she said no to your request about waiting 6 months, and she thinks she has the upper hand over Aemond. You’ll prove her wrong.

“What about my mother?” He argues, but without much energy, as if he actually agrees. “What about my mother? She’s been planning our wedding.”

You nod softly. “Yes, but it’s all stuff we can cancel, she won’t mind. Besides it’s our duty as Valyrians, we aren’t just any normal person. We’re Targaryens with the blood of old Valyria running through our veins.”

Aemond looks over at you and adds on more concern. “And what about your family? Don’t you want them to be here?”

You shrug. “It would be ideal, but they won’t mind. Besides, it will just be small and quick. No feast, no dinners before the day, just us and the one marrying us.”

Aemond studies you closely and continues to question you. “I won’t miss a feast, but will you? You won’t wear your dress, and you like to steal the attention.”

You giggle and shrug. “I’ll still have a pretty dress under the robe. And the only attention I want is yours. Perhaps if our families got along well then I wouldn’t mind a big feast, but I don’t want problems. Just us. Helaena can be our witness, along with Vhagar and Astraea.” You shoot him a smirk.

Without thinking more about it Aemond nods. “All right,” he gives in.

You flash him a beaming grin and throw your hands around him to lean in and press kisses on his cheek. “<I love you,>,” you say in High Valyrian because right now it doesn’t hold the same meaning as when you say it in the common tongue. Aemond doesn't know that, he thinks you’re being sincere and smiles softly.

And that smile, that simple gesture does push you to feeling more than just affection and desire, it pushes you closer to feeling actual love.

“<I love you too,>” Aemond says back in High Valyrian. “<More than anything. I’ll talk to my mother.>”

“Okay,” you whisper.

Aemond peers back with a smirk. “Anything else?”

You nod. “Actually yes.” You exhale deeply and begin to frown with sadness. “What if we leave for Dragonstone and live our lives there?” You're brave enough to ask someone only raised here and bite the inside of your cheek as you anticipate what he’s going to say.

“I can’t…leave my mother with my father being so sick,” he says, making you let out a shaky sigh.

It’s understandable truly, you want to be with your grandfather because any given day can be his last, but the quicker you’re out of here, the quicker you’re out of the judgmental watch of the Queen and her court. Besides, you want to reunite with your mother, your brothers, and Rhaena too. You want to be home.

But no. You can’t leave.

“After then?” You insist and bat your eyelashes.

Aemond exhales and watches you for a moment before he surprises you by nodding in agreement. “Your mother gave you Dragonstone to inherit,” he says. “Perhaps out of pity or just genuine love, it doesn’t matter, but you are the princess of Dragonstone. It will be ours to rule. It’s our right. Besides, your mother will come here and the rest of your family will follow, so it will be ours to take.”

You begin to smile slowly out of disbelief because honestly, you didn’t think he’d want to.

“Okay,” you nod. “Good.” You grin and whisper one more time. “Good.”

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“Nervous?” Aemond asks as you reach the door to his father's chambers after you suggested talking to both of his parents. Mostly because if your grandfather can pay more attention today, he’ll agree and his word would overpower Alicent’s.

“No,” you admit the truth. “I’m ready.”

Is he nervous?

Aemond nods and raps his fist on the door and then waits, but not for long because he then opens the door and walks you in with him.

And as always the room smells of different medicinal incense and blanketed in a deafening silence that can only be found at a funeral until finally the soft clicking of heels approaching fills the silence.

“Aemond,” Alicent calls out before she steps past the sheer curtains that block the sight of your grandfather and says your name.

You offer her a strained smile and do a small curtsy. “Your Grace,” you greet her. When you straighten up you share a passing glance with Aemond before he gets to the point.

“As I mentioned before we’ve come here to talk to you and father.”

“Is he awake?” You interject and try to sneak a glance past the sheer curtains.

Alicent’s gaze lingers on Aemond for a second longer with a tight lip before she blinks and nods. “He is, come.”

You hesitate where you stand and look up at Aemond to share a sweet smile. He mirrors it and leans down to press a kiss on your forehead before he grabs one of your braids and fiddles with the golden cuff that decorates it. You don’t say anything to each other, you just hold each other's gazes and share a loving look before he lets your braid go and walks with you after Alicent hand in hand.

“Your son Aemond and your granddaughter have come to visit you, my love,” Alicent lets your grandfather know close to his ear so he’d hear. “They’ve come to speak to us.”

Your grandfather drags his gaze to the both of you and lingers on your figures for a moment in silence before he solely focuses on Aemond and mutters, “Aemond?”

You swallow thickly and flicker your gaze away as Alicent nods and reassures him. “Yes, your son.”

You peer over at Aemond and watch him swallow thickly whilst he shuffles back from the bedside and watches his father with his eye wide from slight disbelief and a mix of pity. So you quickly tighten your hold around his hand and then pull with you to sit down at your grandfather's bedside.

“Grandsire,” you input yourself hoping he’ll recognize you better. “It’s me, and Aemond.” You offer him a gentle smile and let go of Aemond’s hand to grab your grandfather's clammy one.

Said man albeit takes a moment before he parts his lips. “Ah, yes. Have you come to sing and read to me today?”

You smile wider and shake your head. “Not today. That’s for tomorrow.” You let out a deep breath and spare a quick glance at Alicent before focusing on the man before you and continuing with what you want.

“We’ve come to ask something from both you and Queen Alicent…Aemond and I wish to marry tomorrow in a Valyrian-style wedding.”

“What?” Alicent gasps softly and steps towards her son. “But the wedding is a month away. Surely you can wait. Everything is almost prepared.”

You blink and then proceed to look up at Alicent with a feigned smile. Just as you're going to argue, Aemond interjects for the both of you. “We don’t wish to have feasts or a grand crowd of strangers watching, it’s you and the court who want that, not us. We want something intimate, something that follows our Valyrian traditions not that of strangers.”

Alicent’s face begins to twist in disbelief to her son's defiance of her wishes, and to what had been expected of him. She then drags her eyes to you and her gaze narrows in a manner you can’t read what she expresses, annoyance? Disbelief? Anger?

Whatever it is the Queen sees you now, in your light pink gown with the dazzling golden dragon decorating your waist. You respond to her horror with a smirk, and as you hold her gaze with a burning innocent gaze that burns as hot as the dragon's flame from your Targaryen family sigil, she knows that you aren’t hers to control.

You know that she knows that you aren’t at all aloof like you present yourself to be. Yet she can’t find out your angle. That you do hide well.

“What of your mother?” Alicent asks you. “Don’t you wish her to be in attendance?”

You hum softly and shrug. “She’ll understand. Now,” you cut her off and look at your grandfather again. “May we wed tomorrow? We don’t want to wait a moment longer.” You grin and look back at Aemond to grab his hand and share your delight with him, leaving his mother a bit bewildered.

“Well,” your grandfather says hoarsely and looks between Aemond and you carefully. His gaze then seems to get lost past your head as if lost in thought, but you don’t press him, you wait as the other two do too.

“What’s the harm in it?” Your grandfather assures Aemond and you. “We have to uphold our Valyrian traditions before they fade away.”

You grin and nod eagerly before pressing a kiss on his knuckles. “Thank you, grandsire.”

You rest his hand back on his chest and then get up to press your hands against Aemond’s chest before you slide them to grab his biceps as you just share your excitement with a grin and a gleam in your eyes that’s completely real and sincere.

Aemond holds your arms and looks at you with an enamored gaze that catches Alicent by complete surprise. After all, she did not expect her son to be so taken away by you, her only plan was to try and turn you against your mother, but now with this twist perhaps this match was a bad idea.

——

*LATER*

“One flesh,” Aemond mutters to you and you mirror his words as you hold each other's gazes with faint smiles decorating both of your faces. “One heart, one soul, now and forever.”

The wedding isn’t extravagant, it’s small but filled with Valyrian traditions down from the small setup that holds what you need for today, and up to the stuff you wear; like the tan robes decorated with red dyes at the end to signify the blood, and the marvelous headgear you wear on your head.

The wedding isn’t watched by a crowd of strangers. Your mother isn’t here nor are your brothers since the wedding was so sudden, but your dragon Astraea is, along with Vhagar. Helaena watches as well since she’s the witness you wanted, but much to your displeasure Alicent came along too and dragged Aegon with her.

But you don’t care now, you'll have a lifetime to disdain her. Right now it’s just Aemond and you on the green cliff that overlooks the sea, under a flaming horizon that gets slowly invaded by thousands of glimmering stars in the dark sky that you admire so much and stand as much of a witness as Helaena does, so it feels like your mother is here too since you live under the same enormous sky, and so it feels like your father watches you marry your best friend from whatever heaven he may find himself to be.

You wish he could be here now watching you, but his absence doesn’t bring you agony today. Sorrow? Yes, but you’re too happy to feel anything else in a wedding that is beyond perfect, and blessed you with a tender feeling as you stand before Aemond holding his gaze, and watching the blue sapphire in his eye socket glimmer. Where you lacked genuine and deep love before, now all you feel is true love for Aemond.

The love you hold for Cregan will never fade, it’s still very much alive, but today Aemond is all you can think about. And maybe it's because you’re swept away by the moment, but your heart is no liar, you love him so much and so deeply that the pain as he cuts your bottom lip with a sharp dragon glass blade doesn't register. The way he makes your heart swoon, how happy you feel now as he gently daps his thumb on your bleeding lip to collect a blood drop is all that occupies your mind. It’s just him and you as he uses your blood to paint a Valyrian fire glyph on your forehead.

You offer him an awestruck smile and grab the dragon glass blade from his hand to cut his bottom lip too. “Sorry,” you whisper since you know it hurts.

Aemond offers you a gentle smile as he wipes the blood that pokes out of your bottom lip with his thumb and shakes his head to assure you it’s fine, letting you proceed to dab some blood on your own thumb to paint the Valyrian blood glyph on his forehead.

“<Now,” the Septon says in High Valyrian. “Cut your palms to let your blood mix together and unify as one.>”

Since you have the dragonglass blade already you use it to cut a straight line down your palm first. When you hand Aemond the blade he does the same, letting you then hold each other's hands to mix your blood and unify as one. One flesh.

The blood drips in a goblet and when the bleeding slows the septon grabs the goblet and hands it to Aemond first so he can take a drink as he speaks gently. “<Blood of two, joined as one.>”

Aemond hands you the goblet and you take a drink of the blood, finding it bitter the moment it touches your tongue.

“<Ghostly flame and song of shadows,” the Septon continues to say. “Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires.>”

After you put the cup down you cradle Aemond’s cheek and caress his scar under his eye, whilst he cups your own cheek and caresses the scar you have on your cheek. Before there would be shame, but now there's smiles and ease while you look at each other lovingly in your own world where you share only one heart.

“<A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.>” The Septon finishes saying, letting you both proceed to utter the same vow as before, but in High Valyrian this time.

“<One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.>”

Aemond offers you a soft smile as he glances at your lips waiting for his touch.

You glance at his lips too and impatiently lean in to join as one. You pull away from each other to be able to breathe and tell him one thing. “<I love you,” you whisper against his lips, making him smile wider. “Now and forever.>” And you mean it this time, genuinely mean it from the bottom of your racing heart.

“I love you,” Aemond says while he strokes your bottom lip. “Now and forever.”

You beam at him and then pull him in a deep passionate kiss that continues to mix the thick blood on your lips.

.

.

.

.

A/N- You & Daemon making the Hightower’s life a living hell 🫱🏽‍🫲🏻 also considering how Aemond’s side of the family is, hearing you say I love you was probably the first time he heard it :(:

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