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aboveallarescuer · 4 years ago

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Parallels between Aerys II Targaryen and Cersei Lannister (and why they are both foils to Dany)

In this post, I gathered all the parallels I could find between Cersei and Aerys II after recently rereading Cersei’s chapters and Aerys’s section in TWOIAF. While a lot of people have made good points criticizing how Cersei was written (namely, as incompetent, misogynistic and irredeemable, at least in the canon timeline where her fate is already sealed) considering her special place in the narrative (namely, as arguably the female character who most frequently and openly questions and challenges the validity of Westerosi patriarchy, as well as the only major female villain of the story and the only woman among the three Lannister siblings), it’s also true that GRRM intended her to be paralleled with Aerys II in many ways, which will be laid out here.

Recognizing how Aerys II and Cersei are alike is particularly important for emphasizing that both characters were written as foils to Daenerys, so I will also explain how Dany doesn’t share their similarities.

Both believe they are destined for greatness

Aerys II:

Aerys II did not lack for ambition. Upon his coronation, he declared that it was his wish to be the greatest king in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, a conceit certain of his friends encouraged by suggesting that one day he might be remembered as Aerys the Wise or even Aerys the Great. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

The Lord of Casterly Rock deserved rainbows. He had been a great man. I shall be greater, though. A thousand years from now, when the maesters write about this time, you shall be remembered only as Queen Cersei’s sire. (AFFC Cersei II)

That’s not the case with Dany. Her titles (the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Mhysa, Azor Ahai, etc) were given to her by other people, she doesn’t think she’s special despite birthing dragons and receiving multiple prophecies and she’s incredibly hard on herself for every mistake she makes. She simply doesn’t have an exaggerated sense of her importance or abilities like Cersei and Aerys II do.

Both are cut by the Iron Throne

Aerys II:

Yet still the blades tormented him, the ones he could never escape, the blades of the Iron Throne. His arms and legs were always covered with scabs and half-healed cuts. (AFFC Jaime II)

Cersei:

The barbs and blades of the Iron Throne bit into her flesh as she crouched to hide her shame. Blood ran red down her legs, as steel teeth gnawed at her buttocks. When she tried to stand, her foot slipped through a gap in the twisted metal. The more she struggled the more the throne engulfed her, tearing chunks of flesh from her breasts and belly, slicing at her arms and legs until they were slick and red, glistening. (AFFC Cersei I)

While Cersei was only cut in a dream, this moment is still significant because the Iron Throne is infamous for only harming and ‘rejecting’ the bad rulers. GRRM could have written a similar dream for Dany if he wanted to make her and Cersei follow the same direction, specially in AFFC/ADWD where he noted multiple times that they’re meant to be paralleled and contrasted. Instead, while Cersei’s first chapter in AFFC begins with her dreaming of being on the Iron Throne and being cut by it, Dany’s first chapter in ADWD begins with her dreaming of a house with a red door. Also, while Cersei wishes she could sit on the Iron Throne but is unable to because only the King and the Hand can sit on it, Dany willingly gives up on the privilege to sit on an elaborate throne and chooses an ebony bench that "did not befit a queen" in Meereen. So, not only the author emphasized that Dany doesn’t want power for its own sake (but rather to help people) and that she wants to be at the level of her people, he also didn’t take the chance to portray her as a bad ruler (because she is a good one) like he did with Cersei and Aerys II.

Both feel excitement and pleasure at the sight of wildfire

Aerys II:

Frustrated, Aerys turned to the Wisdoms of the ancient Guild of Alchemists, who knew the secret of producing the volatile jade green substance known as wildfire, said to be a close cousin to dragonflame. The pyromancers became a regular fixture at his court as the king's fascination with fire grew. By 280 AC, Aerys II had taken to burning traitors, murderers, and plotters, rather than hanging or beheading them. The king seemed to take great pleasure in these fiery executions, which were presided over by Wisdom Rossart, the grand master of the Guild of Alchemists...so much so that he granted Rossart the title of Lord and gave him a seat upon the small council. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. A king has no secrets from his Kingsguard. Relations between Aerys and his queen had been strained during the last years of his reign. They slept apart and did their best to avoid each other during the waking hours. But whenever Aerys gave a man to the flames, Queen Rhaella would have a visitor in the night. (AFFC Jaime II)

Cersei:

Cersei thought of all the King’s Hands that she had known through the years: Owen Merryweather, Jon Connington, Qarlton Chelsted, Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark, her brother Tyrion. And her father, Lord Tywin Lannister, her father most of all. All of them are burning now, she told herself, savoring the thought. They are dead and burning, every one, with all their plots and schemes and betrayals. It is my day now. It is my castle and my kingdom. (AFFC Cersei III)

Cersei felt too alive for sleep. The wildfire was cleansing her, burning away all her rage and fear, filling her with resolve. “The flames are so pretty. I want to watch them for a while.” (AFFC Cersei III)

Jaime knew the look in his sister's eyes. He had seen it before, most recently on the night of Tommen's wedding, when she burned the Tower of the Hand. The green light of the wildfire had bathed the face of the watchers, so they looked like nothing so much as rotting corpses, a pack of gleeful ghouls, but some of the corpses were prettier than others. Even in the baleful glow, Cersei had been beautiful to look upon. She'd stood with one hand on her breast, her lips parted, her green eyes shining. She is crying, Jaime had realized, but whether it was from grief or ecstasy he could not have said.

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. (AFFC Jaime II)

That never happens with Dany. She does describe the flames positively during the ritual to hatch the dragon eggs, but so does Jon Snow and GRRM himself. She does claim the fire as hers, but it has to do with her magical intuition as she puts two and two to birth her children and is ultimately validated. Most importantly, unlike Aerys II and Cersei, Dany a) never feels excitement while watching things burn for their own sake, b) never takes pleasure viewing or imagining her enemies burning and c) is never compared to Aerys II to highlight any disturbing behavior from her part. She is called the Mad King’s daughter by her enemies (the slavers and Mace Tyrell), but the characters around her and the ones who have nothing to gain by defaming her (Barristan, Tyrion, Illyrio, Quentyn) reiterate that she’s nothing like him. Meanwhile, two of the people who have known Cersei the longest (Jaime on the quotes above, Tyrion) compare her to Aerys II.

Both grow paranoid with time; they imagine implausible scenarios in which their perceived enemies are working (often together) against them, accept their baseless fears as truth and make hasty decisions based on them

Aerys II:

The march of the king's madness seemed to abate for a time in 274 AC, when Queen Rhaella gave birth to a son. So profound was His Grace's joy that it seemed to restore him to his old self once again...but Prince Jaehaerys died later that same year, plunging Aerys into despair. In his black rage, he decided the babe's wet nurse was to blame and had the woman beheaded. Not long after, in a change of heart, Aerys announced that Jaehaerys had been poisoned by his own mistress, the pretty young daughter of one of his household knights. The king had the girl and all her kin tortured to death. During the course of their torment, it is recorded, all confessed to the murder, though the details of their confessions were greatly at odds. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The birth of Prince Viserys only seemed to make Aerys II more fearful and obsessive, however. Though the new young princeling seemed healthy enough, the king was terrified lest he suffer the same fate as his brothers. Kingsguard knights were commanded to stand over him night and day to see that no one touched the boy without the king's leave. Even the queen herself was forbidden to be alone with the infant. When her milk dried up, Aerys insisted on having his own food taster suckle at the teats of the prince's wet nurse, to ascertain that the woman had not smeared poison on her nipples. As gifts for the young prince arrived from all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, the king had them piled in the yard and burned, for fear that some of them might have been ensorcelled or cursed. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Captivity at Duskendale had shattered whatever sanity had remained to Aerys II Targaryen. From that day forth, the king's madness reigned unchecked, growing worse with every passing year. The Darklyns had dared lay hands upon his person, shoving him roughly, stripping him of his royal raiment, even daring to strike him. After his release, King Aerys would no longer allow himself to be touched, even by his own servants. Uncut and unwashed, his hair grew ever longer and more tangled, whilst his fingernails lengthened and thickened into grotesque yellow talons. He forbade any blade in his presence save for the swords carried by the knights of his Kingsguard, sworn to protect him. His judgments became ever harsher and crueler. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Once safely returned to King's Landing, His Grace refused to leave the Red Keep for any cause and remained a virtual prisoner in his own castle for the next four years, during which time he grew ever more wary of those around him, Tywin Lannister in particular. His suspicions extended even to his own son and heir. Prince Rhaegar, he was convinced, had conspired with Tywin Lannister to have him slain at Duskendale. They had planned to storm the town walls so that Lord Darklyn would put him to death, opening the way for Rhaegar to mount the Iron Throne and marry Lord Tywin's daughter. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

And when the triumphant Prince of Dragonstone named Lyanna Stark, daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, the queen of love and beauty, placing a garland of blue roses in her lap with the tip of his lance, the lickspittle lords gathered around the king declared that further proof of his perfidy. Why would the prince have thus given insult to his own wife, the Princess Elia Martell of Dorne (who was present), unless it was to help him gain the Iron Throne? The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia's delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar's cause, Symond Staunton suggested to the king. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

When the news reached the Red Keep, it was said that Aerys cursed the Dornish, certain that Lewyn had betrayed Rhaegar. He sent his pregnant queen, Rhaella, and his younger son and new heir, Viserys, away to Dragonstone, but Princess Elia was forced to remain in King's Landing with Rhaegar's children as a hostage against Dorne. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The End)

Cersei:

“I am counseling you. If you will not yield the regency to me, name me your castellan for Casterly Rock and make either Mathis Rowan or Randyll Tarly the Hand of the King.”

Tyrell bannermen, both of them. The suggestion left her speechless. Is he bought? she wondered. Has he taken Tyrell gold to betray House Lannister? (AFFC Cersei II)

“Lord Manderly hacked the head and hands off the onion knight, we have that from the Freys, and half a dozen other northern lords have rallied to Lord Bolton. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Where else can Stannis turn, but to the ironmen and the wildlings, the enemies of the north? But if he thinks that I am going to walk into his trap, he is a bigger fool than you.” (AFFC Cersei VII)

“No doubt. Tell me, was it our little queen who commanded you to kill Lord Gyles?”

“K-kill?” Grand Maester Pycelle’s eyes grew as big as boiled eggs. “Your Grace cannot believe ... it was his cough, by all the gods, I ... Her Grace would not ... she bore Lord Gyles no ill will, why would Queen Margaery want him ...”

“... dead? Why, to plant another rose on Tommen’s council. Are you blind or bought? Rosby stood in her way, so she put him in his grave. With your connivance.” (AFFC Cersei IX)

She knew Joff was too strong for her, Cersei thought, remembering the gold coin Qyburn had found. For House Tyrell to hope to rule, he had to be removed. It came back to her that Margaery and her hideous grandmother had once plotted to marry Sansa Stark to the little queen’s crippled brother Willas. Lord Tywin had forestalled that by stealing a march on them and wedding Sansa to Tyrion, but the link had been there. They are all in it together, she realized with a start. The Tyrells bribed the gaolers to free Tyrion, and whisked him down the roseroad to join his vile bride. By now the both of them are safe in Highgarden, hidden away behind a wall of roses. (AFFC Cersei VI)

Cersei’s case is complicated in that she has valid reasons to be anxious: prophecies come true in her world, the Tyrells did kill Joffrey (she’s right in that regard, at least) and the coin found in the cell could be evidence that the Tyrells were involved in Tyrion’s escape. The problem is how she deals with her suspicions. To defeat Margaery, she projected her experiences on her (every widow definitely has sexual appetites, so Margaery definitely has lovers), held on to the few dubious signs that she was cheating on the king (Margaery asking Pycelle for moon tea or having a lively court), tortured an innocent man to confirm the story she needs to incriminate Margaery and arrested several innocent people. Besides that, Cersei also: alienates Kevan by avoiding his recommendations and giving important titles to other cousins based on her hunch that he was bought by the Tyrells (quote above); avoids giving the Tyrells help when the ironmen attack the Shield Islands based on her baseless suspicion that Stannis made an alliance with the ironmen and was, therefore, behind the attack on the Shield Islands with the intention to turn Cersei’s eyes away from the Storm’s End and Dragonstone (quote above); forces Pycelle to "confirm" what she wants to believe because of her guess that he helped the Tyrells kill Gyles Rosby (quote above). And these are just some of the major examples.

Dany has moments when she is unsure of whether the people around her are reliable or not. She questions if Reznak is trustworthy or if he, Hizdahr and the Green Grace joined forces against her or if Groleo could be one of the three prophesied treasons, but she remains willing to listen to their advice and never undermines or punishes them solely based on her suspicions because, unlike her father or Cersei, she has a healthy distrust of others.

Both choose to be excessively and needlessly brutal against their enemies and the people who offend them (even when their offenses are relatively minor and/or not supported by facts)

Aerys II:

When one such reported that the captain of the Hand's personal guard, a knight named Ser Ilyn Payne, had been heard boasting it was Lord Tywin who truly ruled the Seven Kingdoms, His Grace sent the Kingsguard to arrest the man and had his tongue ripped out with red-hot pincers. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

By 280 AC, Aerys II had taken to burning traitors, murderers, and plotters, rather than hanging or beheading them. The king seemed to take great pleasure in these fiery executions, which were presided over by Wisdom Rossart, the grand master of the Guild of Alchemists...so much so that he granted Rossart the title of Lord and gave him a seat upon the small council. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

When Darklyn and his family were presented to him in chains, Aerys demanded their deaths—and not only Darklyn's immediate kin but his uncles and aunts and even distant kinsmen in Duskendale. Even his goodkin, the Hollards, were attainted and destroyed. Only Ser Symon's young nephew, Dontos Hollard, was spared—and only then because Ser Barristan begged that mercy as a boon, and the king he had saved could not refuse him. As to Lady Serala, hers was a crueler death. Aerys had the Lace Serpent's tongue and her womanly parts torn out before she was burned alive (yet her enemies say that she should have suffered more and worse for the ruin she brought down upon the town). (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

"M'lord, begging your pardon, Her Grace said those as didn't meet their numbers would have their hands crushed," the anxious smith persisted. "Smashed on their own anvils, she said."

Sweet Cersei, always striving to make the smallfolk love us. (ACOK Tyrion III)

"Y'Grace," he said quietly, "the boys caught a groom and two maidservants trying to sneak out a postern with three of the king's horses."

"The night's first traitors," the queen said, "but not the last, I fear. Have Ser Ilyn see to them, and put their heads on pikes outside the stables as a warning." (ACOK Sansa VI)

“I hope you did not wake them, Ser Boros. Let them sleep.”

“Sleep?” He looked up, jowly and confused. “Aye, Your Grace. How long shall—”

“Forever. See that they sleep forever, ser. I will not suffer guards to sleep on watch.” (AFFC Cersei I)

“His Grace should send the Wall a hundred men. To take the black, ostensibly, but in truth …”

“... to remove Jon Snow from the command,” Cersei finished, delighted. I knew I was right to want him on my council. “That is just what we shall do.” She laughed. If this bastard boy is truly his father's son, he will not suspect a thing. Perhaps he will even thank me, before the blade slides between his ribs. “It will need to be done carefully, to be sure. Leave the rest to me, my lords.” This was how an enemy should be dealt with: with a dagger, not a declaration. (AFFC Cersei IV)

“Send some of your whisperers to these shows and make note of who attends. If any of them should be men of note, I would know their names.”

“What will be done with them, if I may be so bold?”

“Any men of substance shall be fined. Half their worth should be sufficient to teach them a sharp lesson and refill our coffers, without quite ruining them. Those too poor to pay can lose an eye, for watching treason. For the puppeteers, the axe.”

“There are four. Perhaps Your Grace might allow me two of them for mine own purposes. A woman would be especially ...”

“I gave you Senelle,” the queen said sharply.

“Alas. The poor girl is quite ... exhausted.”

[...] “Yes, you may take a woman. Two, if it please you. But first I will have names. (AFFC Cersei V)

“I cannot have Falyse spreading tales about the city. Her grief has made her witless. Do you still need women for your ... work?”

“I do, Your Grace. The puppeteers are quite used up.”

“Take her and do with her as you will, then. But once she goes down into the black cells ... need I say more?” (AFFC Cersei VII)

Dany doesn’t act like this. She burned the masters in Astapor to protect her retinue and punished the Meereenese leaders who ordered the crucifixion of the slave children, but she also spared all the Yunkish masters and most of the Meereenese masters. Her leniency is the root of her problems in ADWD, since it allowed them to retaliate against the abolition of slavery. Additionally, Dany doesn’t punish Ghael for spitting on her, she doesn’t punish a boy for trying to attack her, she doesn't punish Xaro for threatening her to her face, she chooses not to follow her councillors' advice to punish the former slavers indiscriminately and so on. You can read more about how Dany's tendency is to avoid using violence in this meta.

Both use torture to get people to confirm what they believe or what's convenient for them

Aerys II:

Cersei:

“Tell us how you pleasured the little queen. [...] How many of them did you have carnal knowledge of?”

“None of them. I’m just a singer. Please.”

[...] Lord Qyburn ran a hand up the Blue Bard’s chest. “Does she take your nipples in her mouth during your love play?” He took one between his thumb and forefinger, and twisted. “Some men enjoy that. Their nipples are as sensitive as a woman’s.” The razor flashed, the singer shrieked. On his chest a wet red eye wept blood. [...]

By dawn the singer’s high blue boots were full of blood, and he had told them how Margaery would fondle herself as she watched her cousins pleasuring him with their mouths. At other times he would sing for her whilst she sated her lusts with other lovers. “Who were they?” the queen demanded, and the wretched Wat named Ser Tallad the Tall, Lambert Turnberry, Jalabhar Xho, the Redwyne twins, Osney Kettleblack, Hugh Clifton, and the Knight of Flowers.

That displeased her. She dare not besmirch the name of the hero of Dragonstone. [...] The Redwynes could not be a part of it either. [...] “All you are doing is spitting up the names of men you saw about her chambers. We want the truth! [...] Horas and Hobber had no part of this, did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not them.”

“As for Ser Loras, I am certain Margaery took pains to hide what she was doing from her brother.”

“She did. I remember now. Once I had to hide under the bed when Ser Loras came to see her. He must never know, she said.”

“I prefer this song to the other.” (AFFC Cersei IX)

Dany doesn't act like her father or Cersei in that regard either. She allows the use of torture (which is normalized in her world) to question people regarding the murders of former slaves, but she stops it once she realizes that the results are unreliable because, unlike her foils, she cares about punishing the actual perpetrators, not about having her beliefs confirmed at any cost.

Both are often cruel, rude and disrespectful to others

Aerys II:

At the great Anniversary Tourney of 272 AC, held to commemorate Aerys's tenth year upon the Iron Throne, Joanna Lannister brought her six-year-old twins Jaime and Cersei from Casterly Rock to present before the court. The king (very much in his cups) asked her if giving suck to them had "ruined your breasts, which were so high and proud." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Over his Hand's strenuous objections, the king doubled the port fees at King's Landing and Oldtown, and tripled them for Lannisport and the realm's other ports and harbors. When a delegation of small lords and rich merchants came before the Iron Throne to complain, however, Aerys blamed the Hand for the exactions, saying, "Lord Tywin shits gold, but of late he has been constipated and had to find some other way to fill our coffers." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Tyrion, as the babe was named, was a malformed, dwarfish babe born with stunted legs, an oversized head, and mismatched, demonic eyes (some reports also suggested he had a tail, which was lopped off at his lord father's command). Lord Tywin's Doom, the smallfolk called this ill-made creature, and Lord Tywin's Bane. Upon hearing of his birth, King Aerys infamously said, "The gods cannot abide such arrogance. They have plucked a fair flower from his hand and given him a monster in her place, to teach him some humility at last." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

Cersei stared at her, aghast. “Your lackwit sister gets herself raped by half of King’s Landing, and Tanda thinks to honor the bastard with my lord father’s name? I think not.” (AFFC Cersei II)

She wanted a storm to match her rage. To Jocelyn she said, “Tighter. Cinch it tighter, you simpering little fool.”

It was the wedding that enraged her, though the slow-witted Swyft girl made a safer target. (AFFC Cersei III)

“Would Your Grace honor her white knight with a dance?”

She gave him a withering look. “And have you fumbling at me with that stump? No. I will let you fill my wine cup for me, though. If you think you can manage it without spilling.” (AFFC Cersei III)

“Very well. Get off those saggy knees and try to remember what it was to be a man.” Pycelle struggled to rise, but took so long about it that she had to tell Osmund Kettleblack to give him another yank. (AFFC Cersei IX)

For the vast majority of the time, Dany is kind and courteous. Her detractors tend to question that fact with two main arguments: a) she laughed at Quentyn; b) she is intolerant about Meereenese culture. Their first argument is very weak. Dany didn't laugh at Quentyn, she laughed about the reason why Quentyn is called frog and then forgot to explain why she did so in the Common Tongue. Even then, though, Quentyn is so overwhelmed by her kindness that he only remembers that "the queen had always spoken to him gently". Their second argument is also unconvincing because Dany's dislike of several aspects of Meereenese culture has to do with their ties to slavery (case in point: the fighting pits) and, even then, she makes several concessions to culturally adapt. Additionally, unlike Aerys II or Cersei, she doesn't express her critical thoughts (which are way less common and way less derogatory than Cersei's) verbally.

Both give rewards and promotions to those who blindly obey and agree with them, regardless of whether they’re experienced, competent or trustworthy

Aerys II:

He was also vain, proud, and changeable, traits that made him easy prey for flatterers and lickspittles, but these flaws were not immediately apparent to most at the time of his ascension. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

His father's court had been made up largely of older, seasoned men, many of whom had also served during the reign of King Aegon V. Aerys II dismissed them one and all, replacing them with lords of his own generation. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The king replaced him as Hand with Lord Owen Merryweather, an aged and amiable lickspittle famed for laughing loudest at every jape and witticism uttered by the king, no matter how feeble. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The Mad King could be savagely cruel, as seen most plainly when he burned those he perceived to be his enemies, but he could also be extravagant, showering men who pleased him with honors, offices, and lands. The lickspittle lords who surrounded Aerys II had gained much and more from the king's madness and eagerly seized upon any opportunity to speak ill of Prince Rhaegar and inflame the father's suspicions of the son. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

"A weak ruler needs a strong Hand, as Aerys needed Father. A strong ruler requires only a diligent servant to carry out his orders." (AFFC Jaime II)

The Kettleblacks would charm her, take her coin, and promise her anything she asked, and why not, when Bronn was matching every copper penny, coin for coin? Amiable rogues all three, the brothers were in truth much more skilled at deceit than they'd ever been at bloodletting. Cersei had managed to buy herself three hollow drums; they would make all the fierce booming sounds she required, but there was nothing inside. (ACOK Tyrion IX)

My councillors. Cersei had uprooted every rose, and all those beholden to her uncle and her brothers. In their places were men whose loyalty would be to her. She had even given them new styles, borrowed from the Free Cities; the queen would have no “masters” at court beside herself. (AFFC Cersei IV)

Grand Maester Pycelle had wanted an older man “more seasoned in the ways of war” to command the gold cloaks, and several of her other councillors had agreed with him. “Ser Osfryd is seasoned quite sufficiently,” she had told them, but even that did not shut them up. They yap at me like a pack of small, annoying dogs. (AFFC Cersei V)

"She would have done better to leave the tower and burn her Hand. Harys Swyft? If ever a man deserved his arms, it is Ser Harys. And Gyles Rosby, Seven save us, I thought he died years ago. Merryweather ... your father used to call his grandsire 'the Chuckler,' I'll have you know. Tywin claimed the only thing Merryweather was good for was chuckling at the king's witticisms. His lordship chuckled himself right into exile, as I recall. Cersei has put some bastard on the council too, and a kettle in the Kingsguard. (AFFC Jaime V)

Besides the Kettleblacks (as shown above), Cersei rewards many other people that are rarely, if ever, willing to question her - Harys Swyft, Orton Merryweather, Aurane Waters, Gyles Rosby, Meryn Trant, Qyburn (the only one who doesn't turn his back on Cersei after she falls from power), etc. The only one that disagrees with her decisions regularly is Pycelle, which is why she rebukes him quite a few times throughout AFFC. Also, while Cersei considers Aerys a weak ruler, they both believe that their Hands should be servants that know their place and follow them blindly.

Dany doesn't restrict herself to only listening to the people she agrees with. She welcomes dissent multiple times throughout the books and so, consequently, her council gives voice to multiple groups (from the Unsullied to the freedmen to the former slavers to the Dothraki).

Both alienate and undermine important allies because of disagreements that could have been mended and fears that lead both rulers to perceive these potential allies as enemies

Aerys II:

The growing rift between the king and the King's Hand was also apparent in the matter of appointments. Whereas previously His Grace had always heeded his Hand's counsel, bestowing offices, honors, and inheritances as Lord Tywin recommended, after 270 AC he began to disregard the men put forward by his lordship in favor of his own choices. Many westermen found themselves dismissed from the king's service for no better cause than the suspicion that they might be "Hand's men." In their places, King Aerys appointed his own favorites...but the king's favor had become a chancy thing, his mistrust easy to awaken. Even the Hand's own kin were not exempt from royal displeasure. When Lord Tywin wished to name his brother Ser Tygett Lannister as the Red Keep's master-at-arms, King Aerys gave the post to Ser Willem Darry instead. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Perhaps seeking to gain advantage of His Grace's high spirits, Lord Tywin chose that very night to suggest that it was past time the king's heir wed and produced an heir of his own; he proposed his own daughter, Cersei, as wife for the crown prince. Aerys II rejected this proposal brusquely, informing Lord Tywin that he was a good and valuable servant, yet a servant nonetheless. Nor did His Grace agree to appoint Lord Tywin's son Jaime as squire to Prince Rhaegar; that honor he granted instead to the sons of several of his own favorites, men known to be no friends of House Lannister or the Hand. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Lord Denys, seeing that Aerys's erratic behavior had begun to strain his relations with Lord Tywin, refused to pay the taxes expected of him and instead invited the king to come to Duskendale and hear his petition. It seems most unlikely that King Aerys would ever have considered accepting this invitation...until Lord Tywin advised him to refuse in the strongest possible terms, whereupon the king decided to accept, informing Grand Maester Pycelle and the small council that he meant to settle this matter himself and bring the defiant Darklyn to heel. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

Garth the Gross on the small council and his two bastards in the gold cloaks ... do the Tyrells think I will just serve the realm up to them on a gilded platter? The arrogance of it took her breath away.

“Garth has served me well as Lord Seneschal, as he served my father before me,” Tyrell was going on. “Littlefinger had a nose for gold, I grant you, but Garth—”

“My lord,” Cersei broke in, “I fear there has been some misunderstanding. I have asked Lord Gyles Rosby to serve as our new master of coin, and he has done me the honor of accepting.”

Mace gaped at her. “Rosby? That ... cougher? But ... the matter was agreed, Your Grace. Garth is on his way to Oldtown.”

“Best send a raven to Lord Hightower and ask him to make certain your uncle does not take ship. We would hate for Garth to brave an autumn sea for nought.” She smiled pleasantly.

A flush crept up Tyrell’s thick neck. “This ... your lord father assured me ...” (AFFC Cersei II)

Cersei had named her cousin Damion Lannister her castellan for the Rock, and another cousin, Ser Daven Lannister, the Warden of the West. Insolence has its price, Uncle. (AFFC Cersei III)

“I have been remiss. With a realm to rule, a war to fight, and a father to mourn, somehow I overlooked the crucial matter of naming a new master-at-arms. I shall rectify that error at once.”

Ser Loras pushed back a brown curl that had fallen across his forehead. “Your Grace will not find any man half so skilled with sword and lance as I.”

Humble, aren’t we? “Tommen is your king, not your squire. You are to fight for him and die for him, if need be. No more.”

She left him on the drawbridge that spanned the dry moat with its bed of iron spikes and entered Maegor’s Holdfast alone. Where am I to find a master-at-arms? she wondered as she climbed to her apartments. [...]

Aron Santagar was Dornish, Cersei recalled. I could send to Dorne. Centuries of blood and war lay between Sunspear and Highgarden. Yes, a Dornishman might suit my needs admirably. There must be some good swords in Dorne. (AFFC Cersei V)

He had even had the temerity to object to her sending to Dorne for a master-at-arms, on the grounds that it might offend the Tyrells. “Why do you think I’m doing it?” she had asked him scornfully. (AFFC Cersei VI)

“Your Grace, let me take Dragonstone.”

[...] No one had given Cersei such a lovely gift since Sansa Stark had run to her to divulge Lord Eddard’s plans. She was pleased to see that Margaery had gone pale. “Your courage takes my breath away, Ser Loras. [...] Swear to me that you shall not return until Dragonstone is Tommen’s.”

“I shall, Your Grace.” He rose.

[...] Pycelle had to struggle to keep up. “If it please Your Grace,” he puffed, “young men are overbold, and think only of the glory of battle and never of its dangers. Ser Loras ... this plan of his is fraught with peril. To storm the very walls of Dragonstone ...”

“... is very brave. [...] I have no doubt that our Knight of Flowers will be the first man to gain the battlements.” And perhaps the first to fall. (AFFC Cersei VII)

Dany doesn't do this; instead, she makes plenty of concessions to appease her influential allies, from wearing the tokar to marrying Hizdahr by Ghiscari rites if he gives her ninety days of peace to allowing Hizdahr to reopen the fighting pits to accepting a deal between Meereen and Yunkai that allows the latter to reinstall slavery. All of these decisions are ultimately mistakes since they unwittingly prioritize the privileges of the former masters over the rights of the former slaves, but they still show that Dany is capable of making alliances in a way that Aerys II and Cersei aren't due to their black and white thinking.

Both are extravagant rulers who plan grand schemes that are never realized

Aerys II:

His Grace was full of grand schemes as well. Not long after his coronation, he announced his intent to conquer the Stepstones and make them a part of his realm for all time. In 264 AC, a visit to King's Landing by Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell awakened his interest in the North, and he hatched a plan to build a new Wall a hundred leagues north of the existing one and claim all the lands between. In 265 AC, offended by "the stink of King's Landing," he spoke of building a "white city" entirely of marble on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush. In 267 AC, after a dispute with the Iron Bank of Braavos regarding certain monies borrowed by his father, he announced that he would build the largest war fleet in the history of the world "to bring the Titan to his knees." In 270 AC, during a visit to Sunspear, he told the Princess of Dorne that he would "make the Dornish deserts bloom" by digging a great underground canal beneath the mountains to bring water down from the rainwood.

None of these grandiose plans ever came to fruition; most, indeed, were forgotten within a moon's turn, for Aerys II seemed to grow bored with his royal enthusiasms as quickly as he did his royal paramours. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“Would that we could do the same to the rest of this foul castle,” said Cersei. “After the war I mean to build a new palace beyond the river.” She had dreamed of it the night before last, a magnificent white castle surrounded by woods and gardens, long leagues from the stinks and noise of King’s Landing. “This city is a cesspit. For half a groat I would move the court to Lannisport and rule the realm from Casterly Rock.” (AFFC Cersei III)

A group of merchants appeared before her to beg the throne to intercede for them with the Iron Bank of Braavos. The Braavosi were demanding repayment of their outstanding debts, it seemed, and refusing all new loans. We need our own bank, Cersei decided, the Golden Bank of Lannisport. (AFFC Cersei VIII)

That's not the case with Dany either. Throughout her reign, she only makes reasonable and attainable decisions to improve Meereen's economy, such as planting grapes, beans and wheat, replanting olive trees, making an alliance with the Lhazareen and freeing the slaves of the hinterlands to bring crops to the city.

Both are unpopular with the common people

Aerys II: (note that Tywin himself is unpopular with the smallfolk)

They cheered Father twice as loudly as they cheered the king, the queen recalled, but only half as loudly as they cheered Prince Rhaegar. (AFFC Cersei V)

Cersei:

As she made her way through the ragged throng, past their cookfires, wagons, and crude shelters, the queen found herself remembering another crowd that had once gathered on this plaza. The day she wed Robert Baratheon, thousands had turned out to cheer for them. [...]

No one was smiling now. The looks the sparrows gave her were dull, sullen, hostile. They made way but reluctantly. (AFFC Cersei VI)

Thrice that day she heard the sound of distant shouting drifting up from the plaza, but it was Margaery’s name that the mob was calling, not hers. (AFFC Cersei X)

We have yet to see how the common people in Westeros will view Dany, but she is very popular among freedmen and slaves from all over Essos, so she doesn't fit this either.

Both feel threatened by the shadow of Tywin Lannister

Aerys II:

By this time, King Aerys had become aware of the widespread belief that he himself was but a hollow figurehead and Tywin Lannister the true master of the Seven Kingdoms. These sentiments greatly angered the king, and His Grace became determined to disprove them and to humble his "overmighty servant" and "put him back into his place." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“Lord Tywin was a great man, an extraordinary man,” he declared ponderously after he had kissed both her cheeks. “We shall never see his like again, I fear.”

You are looking at his like, fool, Cersei thought. It is his daughter standing here before you. (AFFC Cersei II)

She was tired of Jaime balking her. No one had ever balked her lord father. When Tywin Lannister spoke, men obeyed. When Cersei spoke, they felt free to counsel her, to contradict her, even refuse her. (AFFC Cersei V)

This is not a perfect parallel because Cersei alternates between hero-worshiping and drawing inspiration and strength from Tywin to resenting the control he had over her, so much so that she lists her father alongside her enemies and takes pleasure in the fact that he's now dead. Even so, both Aerys II and Cersei feel that they were owed the treatment that people gave Tywin.

This doesn't happen with Dany because she doesn't feel threatened by anyone nor does Tywin play an important role in her story.

Both feel threatened by a younger, more beautiful, more popular would-be king/queen

Aerys II:

The cheers of the crowd were said to be deafening, but King Aerys did not join them. Far from being proud and pleased by his heir's skill at arms, His Grace saw it as a threat. Lords Chelsted and Staunton inflamed his suspicions further, declaring that Prince Rhaegar had entered the lists to curry favor with the commons and remind the assembled lords that he was a puissant warrior, a true heir to Aegon the Conqueror. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

The lickspittle lords who surrounded Aerys II had gained much and more from the king's madness and eagerly seized upon any opportunity to speak ill of Prince Rhaegar and inflame the father's suspicions of the son. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

Meanwhile, King Aerys was becoming ever more estranged from his own son and heir. Early in the year 279 AC, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, was formally betrothed to Princess Elia Martell, the delicate young sister of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne. They were wed the following year, in a lavish ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, but Aerys II did not attend. He told the small council that he feared an attempt upon his life if he left the confines of the Red Keep, even with his Kingsguard to protect him. Nor would he allow his younger son, Viserys, to attend his brother's wedding. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

The memory was still bitter. Old Lord Whent had announced the tourney shortly after a visit from his brother, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. With Varys whispering in his ear, King Aerys became convinced that his son was conspiring to depose him, that Whent's tourney was but a ploy to give Rhaegar a pretext for meeting with as many great lords as could be brought together. Aerys had not set foot outside the Red Keep since Duskendale, yet suddenly he announced that he would accompany Prince Rhaegar to Harrenhal, and everything had gone awry from there. (ADWD The Kingbreaker)

Cersei:

Her mood was not improved when Mace Tyrell arose to lead the toasts. He raised a golden goblet high, smiling at his pretty little daughter, and in a booming voice said, “To the king and queen!” The other sheep all baaaaaaed along with him. “The king and queen!” they cried, smashing their cups together. “The king and queen!” She had no choice but to drink along with them, all the time wishing that the guests had but a single face, so she could throw her wine into their eyes and remind them that she was the true queen. (AFFC Cersei III)

“Your Grace, she ... she is the queen ...”

“I am the queen. (AFFC Cersei IX)

It was a pity that Maggy the Frog was dead. Piss on your prophecy, old woman. The little queen may be younger than I, but she has never been more beautiful, and soon she will be dead. (AFFC Cersei IX)

Cersei's case is more justified in that she believes that, by defeating the YMBQ, she'll also prevent her children from dying and the valonqar from killing her.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Both lost a child (children, in Aerys’s case) and fear for the safety of their remaining child (children, in Cersei’s case) to the point that these concerns become intertwined with their fears that someone is out to get them

Aerys II:

Cersei:

I am dreaming still, Cersei thought. I have not woken, nor has my nightmare ended. Tyrion will creep out from under the bed soon and begin to laugh at me.

[...] A dream, that’s all it was, a dream. I drank too much last night, these fears are only humors born of wine. I will be the one laughing, come dusk. My children will be safe, Tommen’s throne will be secure, and my twisted little valonqar will be short a head and rotting. (AFFC Cersei I)

Cersei had a sudden vision of the dwarf crawling out from behind a tapestry in Tommen’s bedchamber with blade in hand. Tommen is well guarded, she told herself. But Lord Tywin had been well guarded too. (AFFC Cersei I)

The younger queen whose coming she’d foretold was finished, and if that prophecy could fail, so could the rest. No golden shrouds, no valonqar, I am free of your croaking malice at last. (AFFC Cersei X)

Like in the previous parallel, Cersei's bad reactions are more justified due to the fact that prophecies come true in her world and due to her understandable sense of self-preservation.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Both had unhappy marriages and believed that their spouses weren’t the right ones for them

Aerys II:

What Tywin Lannister made of this is not recorded, but in 266 AC, at Casterly Rock, Lady Joanna gave birth to a pair of twins, a girl and a boy, "healthy and beautiful, with hair like beaten gold." This birth only exacerbated the tension between Aerys II Targaryen and his Hand. "I appear to have married the wrong woman," His Grace was reported to have said, when informed of the happy event. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“...Your father will find another man for you, a better man than Rhaegar.”

Her aunt had lied, though, and her father had failed her, just as Jaime was failing her now. Father found no better man. Instead he gave me Robert, and Maggy’s curse bloomed like some poisonous flower. If she had only married Rhaegar as the gods intended, he would never have looked twice at the wolf girl. Rhaegar would be our king today and I would be his queen, the mother of his sons.

She had never forgiven Robert for killing him. (AFFC Cersei V)

The major difference in this parallel, of course, is that Aerys raped his wife and Cersei was raped by her husband.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Comparisons in the text between Aerys II and Cersei

"Let all of King's Landing see the flames. It will be a lesson to our enemies."

"Now you sound like Aerys."

Her nostrils flared. "Guard your tongue, ser." (AFFC Cersei III)

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. (AFFC Jaime II)

"Westeros is torn and bleeding, and I do not doubt that even now my sweet sister is binding up the wounds … with salt. Cersei is as gentle as King Maegor, as selfless as Aegon the Unworthy, as wise as Mad Aerys. She never forgets a slight, real or imagined. She takes caution for cowardice and dissent for defiance. And she is greedy. Greedy for power, for honor, for love. Tommen's rule is bolstered by all of the alliances that my lord father built so carefully, but soon enough she will destroy them, every one.” (ADWD Tyrion VI)

Again, as I said above, the comparisons between Cersei and Aerys II come from two of the people who have known Cersei the longest (Jaime, Tyrion).

Meanwhile, Dany is only called the Mad King’s daughter by her enemies (the slavers and Mace Tyrell). The characters who actually know her and the characters who have nothing to gain by defaming her (Barristan, Tyrion, Illyrio, Quentyn) reiterate that she’s nothing like him.

#aerys ii targaryen #cersei lannister #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf meta

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horizon-verizon · 1 year ago

Text

This is a long one.

Context:

While saying how Rhaenys has become much more hypocritical & more talk than action than her bk!counterpart, heretic-child pointed out 2 things that I think reveal the existence of more inconsistencies in HotD's writing:

honestly i still don’t know why rhaenys and corlys decided to support rhaenyra in the show, after believing she killed their son and hating her sons because she cuckolded them. literally what’s the point of making rhaenys and rhaenyra rivals, when rhaenys was her supporter all along? what’s the point of making rhaenys stern against rhaenyra since she became the one rhaenys couldn’t, but shushing her husband everytime he brings up how they stole her birthright? how this isn’t sexist?

This is the conversation Corlys & Rhaenys have in episode 10, where Corlys puts the blame for his house's loss of position AND Aegon's rise as king on Rhaenyra while Rhaenys tells him she is actually worthy of being a ruler to Corlys' & Rhaenyra's conversation:

Rhaenys: You are no man. You abandoned me... when I most needed you. Both our children stolen from us. I needed you. Baela and Rhaena needed you, and you abandoned us for more adventure at sea. As has always been your way. Corlys: I had no other place to turn. I lost everything. Rhaenys: We lost, Corlys. We. Corlys: I understand we have a new king. Rhaenys: The Stranger casts a long shadow over this family. Your brother is also dead. In his haste to bury you and claim your seat, he stood before the King and denounced Laenor's sons as illegitimate. Daemon took his head for it. Corlys: Heedless ambition has always been a Velaryon weakness. You were right, Rhaenys. I reached too far. And for nothing. Our pursuit of the Iron Throne... is at an end. We shall declare for no one. We will retire to High Tide to be content... with our grandchildren and... Rhaenys: Jace, Luke, and Joff are claimants to the throne. Those boys'll not be safe so long as Aegon is king. Corlys: Rhaenyra was complicit in our son's death. That girl destroys everything she touches. Rhaenys: That "girl"... is holding the realm together at present. Every man standing 'round the Painted Table urges her to plunge the realm into war. Rhaenys: Rhaenyra's the only one who's demonstrated restraint. [scene of Rhaenyra in the council, men talking and arguing] Rhaenyra: Lord Corlys. It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again. I'm very sorry about your father, Princess. Corlys: He was a good man. Where is Daemon? Rhaenyra: There were other concerns which demanded the Prince's attention. Corlys: Mmm. (looking at Painted Table) Your declared allies? Rhaenyra: Yes. Corlys: Too few to win a war for the throne. Well, we would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark. Corlys: Hope... is the fool's ally. Rhaenyra: Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me. As did House Hightower... if I remember. As did you, Lord Corlys.

And this is Rhaenys & Corlys of episode 7:

Rhaenys: She wanted to come home and he denied her. Corlys: Daemon did what he thought best. Rhaenys: Daemon only ever does what is best for Daemon. Laena needed our maesters. The surgeons in Pentos are as well-trained as our maesters. Corlys: You are looking to place blame for an act of the gods. Mayhaps the gods have scorned us... for our insatiable pride. The crown was yours until those fools at the Great Council plucked it from your head. Is it such a terrible thing for your husband to wish to win it back? Rhaenys: Tonight of all nights, let us lay aside this falsehood. It is not justice for your wife that drives you. It is your own ambition. 'Tis desire for the throne, if not for yourself, then for the scions of your house. I gave up the idea of wearing a crown a generation ago. It is you, lord husband, who refuses to abandon this pursuit, even now, at the cost of our children. Corlys: What is this brief mortal life... if not the pursuit of legacy? Rhaenys: Legacy may be why you live your life, Corlys. I want Driftmark to pass through Laena's line to Baela. To true Velaryon blood. Declare it now, while all are gathered here, and we will say that is how we will honor Laena's memory. Corlys: And disinherit our son? Rhaenys: He will be the King Consort. His son will one day sit the Iron Throne. Corlys: You would have me cast an even darker shadow over those little boys than already exists. Rhaenys: We are alone here, husband. You can speak the plain truth as we both know it. Rhaenyra's children are not of your blood. But Laena's are. They are her legacy. Corlys: History does not remember blood. It remembers names.

The logical inconsistencies & plot holes in question:

Rhaenys pointing out how the 3 V boys will not be safe also contradicts her seemingly lack of deep care for the boys back in episode 7 (script excerpt above under "Context")

This is a feudal society where the royal succession has been disrupted; people expect and go to armed conflict for ordinary territory disputes or less. This is not a faux democratic society or world where things, like the U.N. voting to contradict the U.S.'s veto as more of a gesture concerning Palestine to stave off a world war or something. To "declare for" anyone is to tell everyone you are going to fight or battle for when, and not if, real war breaks out. Everyone is very well aware that they are picking a side to FIGHT FOR and that there will be a war! Yet show!Rhaenys emphasizes: A) a person who's not willing to protect said grandchildren, children, herself, and go to an inevitable war bc of violence...is the best choice for a leader? She also says "Jace, Luke, and Joff are claimants to the throne. Those boys'll not be safe so long as Aegon is king." Thereby implying that there WILL be a war bc the greens will not let those kids go. B) how the war is optional or somehow avoidable by repeating Rhaenyra's unwillingness to go to war?!!! Rhaenys actively says Corlys should declare for Rhaenyra/go to war for her while also saying that his declaration will mean nothing because Rhaenyra intends to not go to war...but also there will be a war so you should choose Rhaenyra...so are we using the book or are we not, Condal?!

Corlys wasn't trying to see how moral Rhaenyra was nor how willing she was to not to fight, but how determined & prepared she was to fight--a direct contradiction to what we are led to believe after Rhaenys tells him that Rhaenyra has the "self-restraint" of a good and wise ruler (entirely based on Rhaenyra's moral character, on not immediately deciding to battle the greens) and we immediately go to Corlys entering the council room, which means he was convinced by Rhaenys' insistence on Rhaenyra's moral character... and it couldn't be more obvious that Corlys pursued a Velaryon-Targ marriage ONLY for his self-interests and therefore doesn't actually mind violence or war to get achieve goal! how does show!Rhaenys, who supposedly has an ethical code that is beyond political self-interests tolerate Corlys?!

***which goes to show how show!Rhaenys & show!Corlys are totally incompatible and make no sense as a ship***

*this one I already pointed out in many other posts, including this one, but it bears repeating here* Corlys is the one to want a marriage b/t the son he refused to see as gay and the princess for his house's rise to power...Rhaenyra was against it. Rhaenyra does not "destroy everything she touches" because her ability to do so is limited. And Corlys is the one to continue supporting Rhaenyra even after having these suspicions until he is the one who gets injured AND when he perceives that his objective is no longer reachable.

this conversation itself reveals that it's Corlys fault and actions that have led the Velaryon house to what he complains about...yet in the same exact conversation, he blames Rhaenyra for Laenor's death?! This is a level of stupidity or inconsistency that is on par with show!Alicent's

Corlys says "We shall declare for no one. We will retire to High Tide to be content… with our grandchildren and…" -- Baela & Rhaena are both TARGARYENS, not Velaryons, no matter who their foster host is…they are both Daemon's children, with his surname, under his final authority and Daemon did not give Baela to the Velaryons for the same reason that Balon Greyjoy gave Theon to the Starks (lost a conflict or in return for something in the face of a larger adversary, to assure of future nonaggression) -- Baela is not a hostage that Corlys has complete power over -- and again, how can he expect to protect these grandkids if they are Daemon's children, Rhaena isn't even his ward in the show, and the greens/Otto will inevitably try to pull him back into the war/conflict anyway bc of said blood relations to Rhaenyra & Daemon through self isolation and breaking away from potential buffers/allies?!!! Again, this is a level of stupidity or inconsistency that is on par with show!Alicent's.

List of HotD Inconsistencies:

(This list will be Continuously Added the more I realize where there is an inconsistency)

Daemon saying to Rhaenyra that he left her bc she "was a child" in episode 7 -- he was the one who said to Viserys to marry them for the sake of the House and that he wanted her, the only thing he asked Viserys in spite of all he wanted; he also said she was not a girl anymore (she's past Westerosi marriageable age and older than 18); Laena is younger than Rhaenyra in the show, yet Daemon married her not long after he left KL, assuming so since we have another time jump after episode 5; Rhaenys and Corlys had a larger age gap than either Daemyra or Aemma x Viserys/Viserys x Alicent and Corlys would have been attracted and talking to Rhaenys for a while before they married for her to be so adamant about marrying him when she was 16....yet the show changes all that

Alicent is adamant in saving Rhaenyra despite having tried to essentially get her and her kids killed or exiled for 10 years

Daemon himself had to claim Caraxes, he didn't bond with him when he was a baby or small child, yet he doesn't know how to comfort his daughter Rhaena about the same "issue" that is actually not an issue at all

a possible relationship with Criston Cole is framed and shit as if it were the most romantic and healthy relationship Rhaenyra could have had aside from the one with Harwin (who still is messing around with a person way younger than him who he had been attracted to since before she hit 18) -> the music and the actors' playfulness of episode 4, the hopefulness of Criston's proposal unpaired with any indication of what a delusion he's drawn up of who she is despite living and talking with her for years...and the Daemon is supposed to be framed as one of the moral villains and antagonists and worst persons in Rhaenyra's personal circle

[pt.2 of the one above] the show not taking advantage of Criston Cole witnessing the white stag approach Rhaenyra and thus (for him, at least, with his devotion to Andal beliefs and customs) show us how he reacts to the sign legitimizing Rhaenyra...and then deciding to abandon her -> making it seem as if a relationship between them would in any way be healthier than one with Daemon -> really, just presenting this whole idea that this is a good relationship and making their separation sem more Rhaenyra's fault than actually Criston's!

Rhaenyra knowing that the greens are plotting against her for years to install Aegon, having proposed to Daemon explicitly saying she needed him for her upcoming conflict with he greens, and then calling it "Daemon's war" and not wanting Daemon to shore up their defenses not immediately imprisoning Otto Hightower to have him right where she can keep him

Rhaenyra flip-flopping between showing strength to Otto or Daemon....then crying over a torn out page from a person who tried to kill/banish her and her sons

Rhaenyra being in any way affected by Alicent's page when she told Alicent before Alicent is essentially the biggest hypocrite AND Alicent has been trying to get her and her kids either killed or banished forever -> the page was specifically about Nymeria who would become the founder of the current House of Martell and remade the entire Dornish culture through her conquests and marriage to the then Martell Andal-only lord, aka, one of ASoiaF's women who was completely assured of her autonomous right to rule and responsible for a literal cultural reset that only benefited both herself as well as those she conquered for generation into current time, ahem genderless primogeniture....Alicent is trying to usurp Rhaenyra based on the "only males can rule" bullshit....you can't make this stuff up

Rhaenys absolutely knowing (or should know) that the greens could and would imprison or kill any of her grandkids, herself, and Corlys....yet allowing them to live in episode 9

Aemond supposedly being the son who "reads all the philosophies and prepared himself for leadership to protect his home and family"...then making the bright decision in antagonizing an envoy under someone else's home and killing him after chasing him down for more than 5 minutes tops -> Even if it weren't a decision, that would be even worse! If he knew he didn't have control over a dragon, AND didn't want to kill Luke, just to scare him (for 5 mins?)...why chase him down at all?! He's been riding Vhagar for years, so he either should have been way better at getting her to obey him OR he would have known that he couldn't control her all that well and avoid letting his emotions get the better of him. He would have known the risks, yet took them anyway! Then we have to assume that he actually wanted Luke dead and sought it out. That he did have control over Vhagar! Otherwise, we fall back again on him just being a dumbass, bc again, he said he studied to become better, have more emotional control, be more strategic, and smarter...but then pulls this? What a mess!

Criston Cole managing to get out of execution or imprisonment simply because Alicent said so, when he killed a man under Viserys' roof and that same man essentially having had guests rights...(digressing from the topic of inconsistencies and plotholes, this does not happen in the book -- Cole killed Joffrey during a tourney match, which both show and book audiences know are highly dangerous, so the point there was that Cole could get away with it on account of it being an already dangerous sport/event that is socially sanctioned; the book's telling of how Cole killed Joffrey makes more sense and has more potential to be emotionally more charged with helplessness)

*the Targs somehow not having an ounce of darker skin or kinkier/curlier hair despite making the Velaryon the exclusively black house and Viserys/Daemon/Rhaenys have 2 female Velaryon ancestors*

Rhaenyra showing a desire for vengeance for Luke but not Visenya, who died before Luke and who she lost while trying to hurry up and respond to the green threat herself without Daemon "interfering" (AND her calling the council at all, in the book, for the fact that she lost Visenya and the greens took her throne...again, going back to how she knows the greens want it)

episode 3, in the daytime Daemon (relatively way less armored than before) charges through the field without getting a single arrow to the head but in the 2nd episode (nighttime) an arrow pierces what looks to be his chest or shoulder while he is in full armor and on the mobile Caraxes. The entire thing, while entertaining and shocking, still makes about as much sense as Rhaenys bursting through the floor of the Dragonpit; my man should have become a porcupine with specific choreography matches with the specific set pieces and props locations they decided to go with

#hotd characterization #rhaenys targaryen #corlys velaryon #corlys velaryon's characterization #rhaenys targaryen's characterization (meleys' rider)#fire and blood characters #hotd episode 10 #hotd writing #hotd wrongs #hotd

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mandochlorian · 4 years ago

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SEE YOU WHEN I SEE YOU (Din Djarin x Jedi!Reader)

Summary: The Child has been captured by Moff Gideon. In efforts to rescue him, you and Din rally a team and board his ship. When the time comes to face the Moff, you’re heavily tempted by the dark side.

star wars masterlist

Abruptly, Din pulls you back, holding you against him. His grip is tight, urgent, yet steady and sure. You feel yourself hold your breath. The distant sound of footsteps fades away, heading someplace down the dark hall. The coast seems clear. You look at Din, giving him a nod to signal this. Pulling away from the wall, you both instantly break into a sprint. There isn’t any time to waste.

“How far are we?” You ask, glancing back at him. By now, the entire ship is aware of your presence. The troopers have been deployed and Moff Gideon’s most likely forming some plan to stop you - in vain, hopefully, once he’s captured by the rest of the team.

“To your left!” Din shouts, watching as you come to an abrupt halt. He sees your eyes go wide and you step away from the doors. The Dark Troopers have been activated. Your chest sinks to the floor as you watch them. Their eyes glow red, staring down at you while they begin walking towards you. “No, no!” He grunts, heading straight for the control panel.

You raise a hand, trying your best to push them further into the room. Your eyes go wide at the sheer strength they exhibit and your hand shakes with fear. You can’t help but look at it. If any of them make it out, you’re not sure any of you will survive it. The door begins to slide shut and you let out the smallest of breaths. Mechanic hands wrench them open, pulling the door ajar.

Your hands are instantly at the ready, focusing on pushing the doors shut tightly. The power flowing through you is so intense, it feels hard to push out a breath. Loud screeches come from the door. Din’s heart is almost beating out of his chest and past his armour. He fires shots at the machines but nothing seems to phase them.

“There are too many of them!” You shout, eyebrows furrowed at the effort of trying to shut the doors. Holding a breath, immense energy shaking your arms. Din watches you, the anguish and anger on your face - emotions he’s never seen so prominently desperate on you.

Suddenly, one of the troopers charges through. The door slams shut behind it and you feel your legs buckle under the lack of energy. “Get behind me!” Din shouts, his blaster fire bouncing off the droids untainted metal. You jump away from the approaching droid but face it. “Behind me!” He repeats himself, watching you stand before the thing.

Staring into it’s glowing red eyes, your hand grasps your weapon. You ignite your blue lightsaber. Fear grips you, it makes your skin turn cold. But you try to remain still and focused despite the quick rise and fall of your chest. Better you than Din.

When you go to swing at it, the machine swipes at your legs. The wind is sucked from your lungs but you keep your saber raised, attempting at shielding your face as much as you can. The whir of its body moving is loud as it grips onto your wrist. Din fires at it constantly. It seems to stare at you for a moment, as if to analyse your face. You wonder why it hasn’t killed you, used your weapon against you, broken your wrist. Turning his attention back onto Din, who had begun to kick at the Dark Troopers head, it lets go of your wrist.

Why does it keep you alive? With wide eyes, you watch as it begins making its way to Din. No. Not him. The trooper marches towards him, twisting the blaster from Dins hand. He groans in pain as he’s lifted off the ground and once again, you feel like you can’t breathe.

“No! Din!” You shout. You try to pull it back as you stand from the ground, but he’s too strong for you. Your force only shakes it, making it pause for a moment. You grunt in frustration, charging towards it. You swing your lightsaber down against the troopers hand. It falls the ground with a heavy clank, releasing its grip on the Mandalorian. It seems to pause, looking at you. Not giving it any time to recover, Din engulfs it’s lower body with flames. They lick over it, reaching up to its neck. It snaps its head at Din, unphased, before swinging its arm and sending you sliding against the floor.

You let out a yell when you hit your back against the wall, your lightsaber flung out of your grip. The ache in your neck spreads to your temples and when you open your eyes once again, you can’t help the anger that overcomes you. You know you shouldn’t feel it. It makes you shake. This hateful desperation. But you need to help Din. You need to make sure he survives. Din continues to fight, being pushed by the large trooper. The machine is unaffected when the whistling birds explode onto its metal skin. You’ve seen those things wipe out entire groups of strong fighters.

Stand up on unsteady legs, you reach your hand out. The lightsaber comes flying into your grip. You ignite it once more, gritting your teeth together. It’s wrong but... you can feel the emotion fueling you.

Running to the Dark Trooper, you pull your lightsaber back as far as you can. Din is in front of it, taking the brunt of its beatings. It’s about to grab him once again. Din watches, reaching back to find his Beskar spear. The sound of your lightsaber crashing finishes the fight. It rips through the Death Troopers armour, leaving him to fall to pieces on the ground.

You let out a huff, seeing Din look up at you from his place on the ground. When you reach a hand out to him, he can’t help but pause for a moment. You help him stand, trying not to wince when you hear him grunt. Din watches in horror as the troopers begin to break the glass of the doors. The rhythmic beat of their iron fists hitting the solid blast doors echoes through the hall. He goes to the control panel, flicking a switch. In an instant, they’re being sucked out into space. You release a breath.

“Come on, we have to keep moving,” you remind him, placing a quick hand on his shoulder before continuing down the hallways. He watches you, eyes lingering but following suit.

You can... feel him. He knows you’re on board, he can sense you. He’s afraid. We’re coming. We’re going to find you, buddy.

You can hear his thoughts speeding by so quickly. He’s afraid he won’t make it. Stopping before an unguarded door, you look to Din. He’s in here. His presence is so close it makes you want to cry. Din strides towards it, the cell door slides open. You knew this plan was never going to be easy. Plans never go as they should. So it doesn’t surprise you when you see Moff Gideon sitting beside Grogu. It doesn’t surprise you at all. It infuriates you. He has his dark saber at the child’s throat.

“Release him,” you order, eye twitching as you stare Moff down, “Now.” The man gives you a small smirk, almost impressed.

“Where have you been all this time?” He muses, tilting his head down to stare at you, “I’ve long been waiting for your anger to overcome you.”

“Nothing has overcome me.” You remind him, frowning at him.

“Hm,” he responds quizzically, “You don’t believe that. Why should I? Drop your weapons. Slowly,” he announces, a smug expression on his face that you wish you could punch off. You can feel Din watching you, seeing how you don’t move an inch. It’s only when you hear his blaster hit the floor that you tear your eyes from Moff Gideon’s, placing your saber on the floor. “Now kick them over to me,” he adds, staring you down with the subtlest of grins when you both listen to his orders, “Very nice.”

“Give me the kid,” Din tells him, voice cold yet steadier than before. Your breath is shallow and you can’t help but stare at Gideon, desperately avoiding Grogu’s eyes. You can’t break now. Not now. Not in front of him. Din at least has his helmet, Moff won’t be able to see it if he were to show weakness. But you have your face on display.

“The kid is just fine where he is,” Moff responds, pulling the weapon away from him and holding it up in the air, “Mesmerizing, isn’t it? Used to belong to Bo-Katan.” His eyes dart between you and Din, “Yes. I know you’ve been traveling with Bo-Katan. A friendly piece of advice...” he gives pause, rising to tower over you, “Assume that I know everything. Like the fact that your wrist launcher has fired its one and only salvo.”

Your skin runs cold. He must’ve been watching you somehow. The thought makes your fist clenched at your side. It takes everything for you not to launch at him. Din can sense your rising anger and energy, though he’s only witness it a few times before. Moffs eyes glance at your fist before he looks back up to your eyes, raising a brow slightly.

“Where is this going?” Din interrupts.

“This is where it’s going,” he continues, his voice tinged with superiority that makes you want to rebel, “I’m guessing that Bo-Katan and her boarding party have arrived at the bridge, seeking me or, more accurately, this.” He gestures with his saber, “But I’m not there. And I imagine that they’ve killed everyone on the bridge, being the murderous savages that they are. And now, they’re beginning to panic.” He takes a few steps as he speaks, “You see, she wants this. Do you know why? Because it brings power. Whoever wields this sword… has the right to lay claim to the Mandalorian throne.”

“We’re here for the child,” you respond to Moff, “we have no interest in your toys and politics.”

“Keep the sword. Just give us the kid.” Din confirms, his eyes always trained on Moff. He’s beginning to get antsy with all this exposition. And it feels like you’re so close to fulfilling the plan yet so far away. Agonisingly far.

Moff thinks it over for a moment, “Very well. I’ve already got what I want from him. His blood. All I wanted was to study his blood.” He says it as though it’s simple, “This Child is extremely gifted…” his eyes flicker to you, “Not dissimilar to yourself, Y/N Y/L/N. Though you were far too slippery to grasp onto in the past,” Moff watches as you stare at him, the anger so evident on your face it almost makes him laugh, “Like you, the child has been blessed with rare properties that have the potential to bring order back to the galaxy.” He begins to walk from Grogu, and you both carefully watch his movements, “I see your bond with him... Take him, but you will leave my ship immediately and we will go our separate ways.”

Your eyes linger on him, sensing his wrongful intentions. But he doesn’t make a move. “What game are you playing?”

“Why don’t you answer that?” He retorts, taking a step towards you, “You’re... shocked to be alive. Though it comes as no shock to me, Y/N.”

“The Death Troopers weren’t targeting me,” you mumble to him, trying not to feel like an idiot under his gaze. Din turns to the child.

“No one ever was. We only want you, Y/N.”

Your lightsaber reaches your hand just in time, and you block the blow Moff Gideon tries to land onto Dins back. Moff stares into your wide, shocked eyes. Din turns back immediately, standing in front of Grogu protectively. If it weren’t for you or the Beskar, he’d have been killed.

Your lightsaber lingers on his darksaber before he rips it away from you, pulling back to land repeated blows to your weapon. He has such strength that your legs shake trying not to cave under his force. No. No, he won’t win. He can’t. He notices your struggle, seeing you grit your teeth as you crash your saber towards him. He dodges it, stepping back and pacing the room a little.

Staring him down, you swing your saber around you. You watch him all the while, anticipating his next move.

Din whips his spear out, holding it up as he stands beside you. You ready your weapon, feeling a sense of security with Din beside you. Giving one another a look, you both charge at Moff. He uses his sword to block your blows, moving and dodging expertly as he steps back into the hallway and away from Grogu.

In a moment where his saber collides with yours, Moff pushes it towards you. It slides down the length of your weapon, searing the tips of your fingers. You try to hold on, pushing against him as you cry out in pain. Until you can’t stand the heat, and your saber flies from your hands.

He swings continuously, you stepping back and barely dodging the hits. He’s aiming for your throat, trying to make you yield to him, on your knees. But he won’t take you away, you won’t let him. Moff pauses his actions, just as you foresaw. The darksaber is under your chin. You smile up at him, “You won’t kill me. You can’t.”

Din uses his spear to knock Moff off his feat, pressing the tip of it to his throat. Moff waits for the weapon to enter him, to pierce his skin and end his life. But that moment never comes. “You’re sparing my life?” He asks, looking up at the Mandalorian with curiosity in his eyes.

You can feel betrayal and frustration flow through you as you frown at the scene before you. “No,” you speak up, weapon suddenly in your hand as you march to his position on the floor, “you don’t get to live. Not after what you’ve done.”

“Y/N,” Din calls, eyes wide at your searing saber at his throat. Din’s the only thing stopping you right now. If it weren’t for him there, you’d have killed Moff Gideon as soon as the chance presented itself.

“He deserves this,” you answer, staring at the piece of filth below you.

“You can’t judge that,” Din responds, his hand hesitating as he presses his hand against your shoulder, “He belongs to the Republic now.”

Gideon looks so fucking pleased with himself, raising his brows at you and taunting you - even in this situation, it feels as though he has the upper hand. “Go on,” he muses, “defy your Mandalorian.”

“Don’t tempt me.” You spit through clenched teeth, your eyes dark and unyielding.

“I’m not sure that I am tempting you,” Moff taunts you so easily, “it seems something far darker is tempting you, Jedi.” He says the last word out with disgust though he smiles up at you. Something darker. You can feel it surrounding you like black smoke, like a sickness.

He’s right. What are you doing? What the hell are you doing? You turn your lightsaber off, stepping away from him. You were never taught to take justice into your own hands. This was never part of the plan. Din grabs a hold of the darksaber, aiming it at Moff and ordering him to stand. You turn to the cell, half embarrassed and half shocked at yourself.

Anger. Fear. Hatred. It all leads to one path, you know this.

Grogu let’s out a confused noise, staring up at you with large eyes. You wipe your mind of that, giving him a smile as you put your weapon away. “Hi, buddy. You’re safe,” you tell him, picking him up gently and holding him in front of you, “you’re safe now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

The robed man approaches. You watch the monitor, your eyes wide with something Din can’t quite place. Longing? Nostalgia? Something he’s never seen on you before. The man on the screen wears a low hood, and the colour of his lightsaber is hidden from you, but when he reaches a hand out to push a Dark Trooper away, you know who it is.

That, coupled with the way that Grogu places his hand on the monitor, makes Din let down his guard a little bit. The Jedi stands by the doors to the main hold, silently, patiently. He senses you. You sense him back.

“Open the doors,” Din states, making you look towards him. It’s like he knows, somehow, that you have a connection with the stranger already. The other give him a quizzical look, “I said, open the doors.” He repeats himself.

When no one answers, he moves to do it himself. “Are you crazy?” Fennec frowns, watching him press a few buttons.

“It’s okay,” you add. The doors slide open, filling the tense silence with the uncomfortable sound signifying danger. Beyond the smoke, his green lightsaber illuminates the doorframe. The man steps out, no longer hidden from the groups view.

He places his lightsaber back on his holster, silent and regal. Then he removes his hood, his hands coming to rest before him. Luke Skywalker. You can’t believe you’re seeing him again. You never thought you would, not since you went into hiding from the remnants of the Empire and the New Republic. Not since you had decided to shut yourself off from politics and from the Force. Everything changed when you met the Mandalorian and then the Child. And now, here you are, face to face with him yet again.

“Are you a Jedi?” Din speaks up, watching the man closely. You almost let out a laugh at Din. He’s so humble, so innocent and kind.

“I am,” he responds calmly, his eyes then drifting to the little creature sitting on the chair. Luke reaches his hand out to him, “Come, little one.”

Grogu stares up at the stranger with wide, curious eyes. Dins response is immediate. He knows his kid. “He doesn’t want to go with you.”

You can sense it too, but it’s much more than that, “Grogu isn’t sure that he should.” You tell Din, turning to give him a melancholy expression. Mando gives you a look before turning back to the man.

Luke’s blue eyes flick between you and the Mandalorian, “He wants your permission,” he admits, “He is strong with the Force. But as you know, Y/N, talent without training is nothing.”

As soon as he says you name, Din snaps to look at you with confusion. You don’t turn to meet his gaze. “You know this Jedi?” He asks you.

You can’t look at him, feeling as though you’ve been horribly dishonest with him. He knows a bit about your past but not this much, despite the close friendship you both share. “Yes,” you admit aloud, searching Luke’s light eyes. He looks different - so much more mature and powerful. “I begun my training shortly after the fall of the Empire.” You add.

“And now, it is time to finish it,” Luke tells you, the smallest of smiles on his mouth,“I haven’t just come for the child. I’ve come for you to.” Dins breath catches in his throat. Unbeknown to him, you have the same reaction. Before you can say no, Luke continues, already having sensed your hesitation. “I will give my life to protect the Child. And to teach you the ways of the Force,” he adds, “You’ve always been strong, Y/N. But neither of you will not be safe until you fully master your abilities.”

“I don’t want anything to do with the Force,” you admit to Luke, a frown coming to your face.

“Yet you continue to use it to your advantage,” he notes, a hint of lighthearted mockery in his voice, “I can sense much conflict in you. Your fear and hatred will never wade until you learn the ways of the true Jedi - you will always feel the temptation of the Dark Side.”

“I can fight it.”

“Search your feelings,” Luke responds calmly, “you know you can’t, not on your own.”

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you suck in a breath at Dins gloved hand on you. Looking up at him, you suddenly feel comfort but your body is tense. “Y/N...” he begins, voice low but soft, “you’re strong, you have a gift. But I don’t want to see it destroy you.”

“What are you saying?” You ask, squeezing your eyes shut because you already know.

He pauses, the words paining him as much as it pains you. Over your journey together, you’ve grown so close. Starting out as some Jedi who swore to protect the Child, he couldn’t get rid of you. Now he desperately wishes you could stay. But he knows what’s truly best.

“Finish your training,” he answers, hand heavy on your shoulder, “I’ll still be here when you’re some almighty, powerful Wizard.”

You let out a small laugh, before the tears make you sniff. “I don’t want to leave you,” you admit to him, placing your hand on top of his; though it’s not his skin, you still feel connected to him. You don’t want to go. You really don’t want to go. You feel so utterly attached to the Mandalorian, it’s something you can’t put into words. But you know he feels it too.

“This won’t be the last we see of each other,” he tells you, thanking his helmet for hiding his aching expression. “I have a feeling you’ll manage just fine on your own.”

You give him a tender smile, staring up into the darkness of his visor like you’ve done a million times before. You can’t bear to speak, so you just give him a nod. He lets go of your shoulder, suddenly feeling the prying eyes of those around him.

Grogu is at Dins feet now, reaching his hands up towards him. You step back beside Luke now. The Jedi gives you a gentle smile along with a nod, “Welcome back, Y/N.”

You just nod back to him, feeling fear prick at your chest but you push it down. Soon, it will be gone.

Looking at Din, you watch him pick Grogu up, trying his best to push the sadness from his voice and his heart. “Hey, go on,” he tells Grogu, “that’s who you belong with. He’s one of your kind... I’ll see you again... I promise.”

You can’t stop the tears from building at the sight, no matter how hard you wish they’d disappear. After everything, every tender moment, every life and death situation, every adventure, Din and Grogu are parting ways. The child presses a hand to his shiny helmet. At first, you think it’s his way of saying goodbye. But then Dins hand comes to the bottom of his helmet. You don’t look away this time, like you’ve had to in the past. You’ve never seen more than the bottom of his chin before. But now, Din removes his helmet all together, in front of all. the breath is knocked out of you. You watch on, respectfully. His brown hair, messy, soft, curly. His brown eyes are filled with tears. His light brows are turned up slightly with emotion. He has stubble around his chin, jaw, and above his pink lips. His lips. Your eyes brush over them before you return to his eyes. You gaze upon the face of the man you love and you feel like you want to sob as he looks down at Grogu.

There are tears in Dins eyes as he holds the kid close, trying his best not to look defeated in front of him. He’s trying so hard to be strong. Grogu looks over Dins face, much like you do. The stubble surrounding his mouth and jaw. His dark hair. His brown eyes. His large nose. The hard lines on his forehead and between his brows. You can’t stop pointing out features of his face as your eyes go over his again and again and again. Grogu places his small hand on the Mandalorians cheek and you hold a breath when Dins eyes fall shut for a moment.

“All right, pal. It’s time to go,” Din says softly, reassuring Grogu when his ears fall slightly, “Don’t be afraid.” His voice is so soft. You close your eyes for a moment. Keep it together.

Tears fall down your cheeks when Din sets Grogu down, and you watch him slowly walk to Luke. When your eyes meet Dins again, he’s already watching you. You try not to cry or look away. Staring into his eyes nearly takes the breath from your lungs, and you blink the blurry tears from your eyes to give him a small, proud smile. His chest swells at this.

Despite you both tearing up, Din returns the smile. It suits him. Stars, does a smile suit this man. You only wish your chest didn’t ache at the fact that it may be the only time you see him smile. A few beeps distracts you from him, and you look down to see R2D2 standing before Grogu. You smile at the pair, seeing them greet one another so long. There’s recognition between the two. They must’ve known each other when Grogu was first being trained. There’s a sense of solace in the fact that despite leaving Din, Grogu is being reunited with an old friend. Grogu isn’t alone. This makes you feel alone.

Din admires the way you smile at the pair. His hands buzz at the thought of reaching for you one last time, of pressing his forehead to you, or his lips to your soft skin. But he stays planted still, two metres away from you.

Grogu cooes softly at Luke’s feet, reaching for his new master to pick him up. When he holds him up, Luke gives Din a kind nod. “May the Force be with you,” he tells him wholeheartedly, turning to the hallway as he heads for the doors.

Looking around the group, you give them all a subtle smile. “I guess I’ll... I’ll see you when I - when I see you,” you let out a small laugh, mostly at yourself and your inability to control your emotions - which seems to be a major topic of discussion today.

Cara gives you a smile, the dimples prominent on her face. You sense her sadness. “See you when I see you,” she responds.

Before you turn, you give Din one last smile, as if trying to tell him everything will be okay. He sees your lips tremble. But your facade falls when you turn to begin walking down the hall, you furrow your eyebrows and the tears don’t stop falling now that he can’t see you. Din watches with baited breath, on the cusp of losing it. But something stops you before you can step into the elevator. You turn your head slightly, feeling the longing plague Dins chest. He sees you, taking a tentative step forward.

Turning back around, you meet the Mandalorians eyes. You never thought you’d ever be able to see them. It’s now or never. At the prospect of never truly seeing him again, you begin to walk towards him. He follows suit, marching quickly to you. Your speed builds when you’re about to reach him and he holds his arms open in anticipation. His beskar pushes against you roughly when he hugs you but you don’t care. Wrapping your arms around him, you squeeze your eyes shut and feel the warmth of his neck against your cheek. Dins hands hold you tightly, resting against your back. He can hear you crying quietly. It lasts for a few moments, neither of you wanting to separate yet.

When you pull back, you can’t help but look at him up close. Your eyes dart between his and you smile when you realise he’s also smiling. Din places his hands against both your cheeks, his fingertips brushing your skin tenderly, so painfully aware that this is the first and last time he’ll touch you. But as you look at one another closely for a moment, something pulls the two of you together. Dins smile slowly fades and his eyes gaze at your lips. Usually when he does this, you can’t tell. But today you can. Moving forward slowly, your lips brush against his gently and your eyes flutter shut. Feeling your lips to tenderly against his is heaven, it’s so good, but it isn’t enough, Din doesn’t think it’ll ever feel like enough. He moves closer, his lips now encasing yours in a kiss. He feels so close that it makes you sad - sad that you won’t get to feel this for stars knows how long. Your first kiss with Din lasts a few moments, a few good moments, and your mouths move against one another’s sweetly.

But then it ends, when your hands rest against his beskar chest armour. And you both have to separate. Your eyes can’t seem to leave one another’s. Not until he pulls you in for another embrace. He rests his forehead against yours for a moments breath, before removing his arms from you and setting you free. No words need to be said. You smile at him from the elevator. He looks between you and Grogu, giving you one last smile before the doors shut.

#din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x jedi!reader #din djarin oneshot

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multi--kpop--fanfics · 4 years ago

Text

There’s Blood On The Crown

prince!Xiaojun x queen!reader

genre: angst, horror, royalty!AU

warnings: heavy dark themes (blood, major character death, betrayal)

Part of THE CROWN - a collab call by @earth-to-that-asian

Word count: ~1.7k

Author’s note: The fic was beta read by @jaemotel and @intokook , who also made the header (thanxx bby💕). Inspired by the song Intro: Crown by Purple Kiss

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What do you say,

What if I ruled the world?

“Now, you may rise, Your Majesty, Queen Y/N”, the priest announces and you rise from your knees, the diamond crown resting proud but heavy on your head. You walk towards the balcony of the castle and look down, where the rest of the civilians awaited for you. You were their Queen now, the one who would guide them through thick and thin, especially after your beloved husband’s death, the late King Kun.

“All hail the Queen!”, the crowd chants as you raise your hand and wave, the beaming smile on your face acting as a facade, masking your true feelings - uncertainty, sorrow and most importantly, fear.

Fear, because you trusted no one in the council. They never liked you in the first place, not only because you were the late King’s wife, but because you were also a very skilled fighter, one of your most valuable assets, hence why you were the Grand General of your kingdom before getting married to Kun.

These weasels hated seeing a woman in power, simply because they wanted that power for themselves. But none of them had the guts to step up and claim the crown. They only knew how to scheme, bribe and conduct murders without ever getting blood on their hands.

There was only one person you could trust, the only one who truly recognized your strength and dedication to the crown - Prince Xiaojun, Kun’s brother and your brother-in-law. He was the only one who welcomed you with a warm smile and would always be respectful towards you. Everyone in the kingdom knew of his gentle nature and the civilians were always delighted to see the two of you take walks through the town. He treated you like family. And family is always there for you, just like Xiaojun today. You turn your head back and smile at him, an equal smile spreading across his handsome face. However, by the time you have turned your head back, his smile is instantly replaced by a clenched jaw and a stern gaze, burning with hatred and jealousy.

Nobody knows

It means nothing to me

Xiaojun enters the throne room, fully-armored, his sword sheathed on his back and his hunting knives strapped on his sides. You were seated in the throne, your white cape falling gracefully around you, the diamond crown and your silver chest armor shining from the sunlight that is creeping through the colored glass windows. Your image is a sheer contrast to Xiaojun’s, his armor being pitch-black, almost resembling an angel of Death.

“Ah, Xiaojun, what a delight to see you!” you state, smiling to him. “I haven’t seen you wear this armor in a long time. May I ask what’s the occasion?” you ask with curiosity. “I have decided to go hunting” he replies nonchalantly and you smile even wider, unaware of the true meaning behind his words. “That’s wonderful! Perhaps I could join you? I’ve been dying to leave the castle gates and get my blood boiling through some action” you slightly pout, albeitly tired from sitting around and letting your armor and sword get rusty.

He chuckles at your reaction and he unsheathes one of the daggers from his arm and traces his finger along the edge of the blade. “I will not have to leave the castle to go hunting… In fact, my prey is right in this very castle” he states and takes slow yet steady steps towards your direction. “I-I don’t think I follow..” you stutter, fear starting to take over your senses. “What I am trying to say, dear Y/N, is that my true prey is not just within this castle - It’s right in front of me”. The realization then hits you.

It’s invisible but you know it’s mine

So where do you see yourself?

“You want the throne?”, you ask in shock, not wanting to believe that the one person you trusted ever since you stepped your foot in the castle was the one who wanted your fall. “I don’t want just the throne. I want the power that comes along with it”, Xiaojun admits, his ominous gaze fixated on you. The imminent danger awakes you and you yell with all your power towards the throne door.

“GUARDS!” and within seconds, your two strongest guards barge through the throne room, clad in heavy armor. “Prince Xiaojun has attempted murder against the Queen and is hereby guilty of commiting betrayal to the Crown. Seize him at once!” you yell and the guards point their weapons towards Xiaojun, who has seemingly raised his arms in surrender. “The accusations Her Majesty has made against me are completely false!”, he bites back, “Besides, I haven’t attempted murder..”, he adds and silently pulls out another dagger from his sleeve, “..Yet”.

In a split second, he throws the daggers towards the guards and he hits them both in the blind spot of their armor, their cloth-covered necks, the sharp blades of the dagger cutting through the flesh. The guards are now flat on the marble floor, their lives slowly slipping away from their bodies that lay in blood. After recovering his daggers from the dead bodies, Xiaojun hears the familiar sound of a blade being unsheathed. He turns to you and he sees you holding your sword, your cape discarded on the floor, standing a few meters away from him.

“Finally, the queen has stepped down from her throne!” he spits, his voice dripping venom. "The Queen has a crown and she will do everything to protect it. Even if it means killing the prince", you prepare yourself and get into a fighting stance. "How ironic, to share the same goal at a moment like this", Xiaojun points out and unsheathes the sword from his back, "It's a shame you won't be alive to witness my success".

I am running for the crown

I keep breathing when you drown

You charge at Xiaojun with full speed, your sword in a secure hold. He throws a dagger at you to cut off your advance, but you duck down in the last second and you avoid it, closing the distance between you in the meantime. You fling your sword upwards, in an attempt to cut through his waist armor, but he is fast enough to parry your attack with his own sword. "You're fast, I'll give you that. But not fast enough", he mocks and pulls another dagger from his thigh, landing a deep cut on your forearm, making you cry out in pain.

The blood is staining your pristine blouse, but you don't care - you only want to stay alive in order to defeat Xiaojun. You kick his knee with full force and he groans, falling on his knees. "You know better than underestimating my skills, Xiaojun", you hatefully spit back and get up. You switch your blade to your intact arm and swing it towards his face, but he raises his arm and catches the blade mid-air. "I don't - I'm just reminding you how inferior your skills are compared to mine" he replies and holds the blade still, his fist now bleeding from the sharp edge. "You haven't even landed a proper cut on me, yet your arm is still bleeding from a mere dagger", he continues and stands on his feet, twisting his arm and the blade as well.

You grit your teeth as you fight back the pain from your own arm being twisted and you lift your leg to kick him in the face, but alas, he's fast enough to swing his sword again and land another cut on you, this time on your leg. You feel the muscle joints being ripped apart and you scream once again, the blood gushing from the fresh wound. Xiaojun takes advantage of your vulnerable state and pulls the sword out of your grasp and throws it at the other side of the throne room. He then kicks you on the chest and you fall flat on your back, the diamond crown falling from your head. You try to stand your ground, but Xiaojun immobilizes you with his own body.

"It's truly a pity, Y/N. We could have been the most powerful and loved royals in the world… But you just had to fall in love with the fool of my late brother, didn't you?", he asks and caresses your cheek, the pretentious affection making you scrunch your face with disgust. "You will never be like Kun, you monster" you grit your teeth with anger, "Do you know why? Because he was always faithful to the people. Because the people are the true crown-"

You never get to finish your sentence, as a dagger is piercing your throat, ridding you incapable of breathing. The stream of blood starts pooling around your spasming body, staining the marble floor, your clothes and the diamond crown that lays next to your head.

I believe myself no doubt

Xiaojun watches your last moments with a blank expression on his face, still on top of you. "Ironic, isn't it? The King and his Queen, dying by the same hand, clad in the same armor. Truly, the most perfect of tragic endings". You are unable to answer, the last of his words dealing the finishing blow to your form. You have stopped moving and a single tear falls from his face. "Even in death, you are still the most beautiful woman I've seen in my whole life, Y/N" he whispers and leans in to kiss your now lifeless lips. "Worry not, my love, you may meet your beloved husband now. The crown is in good hands".

He stands up and takes the blood-stained crown in his hands. He places it on top of his head, the blood dripping on his soft blonde locks. He slowly walks towards the throne, the edge of his sword scraping the marble floor and creating a line from the blood on it - your blood. He looks at the painting that rests above the throne, a painting of you and King Kun smiling fondly, wearing the same crown that now rests on Xiaojun's head.

"You know, both of you were wrong. I never betrayed the crown. In fact, I was the only one who did everything to protect it", he speaks as he sits down on the throne, "And I succeeded, my beloved family. All thanks to you. You may now rest in peace", Xiaojun says with a soft smile on his face, making him look like an angel.

An angel of Death.

My Lord

How come I never lost my faith?

#xiaojun angst #wayv xiaojun #xiao dejun #royalty au #wayv angst #horror #the crown: a collab call #wayv fanfics

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years ago

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The Paths We Take

Pairing: Fairy King!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, mentions of stalking.

Words: 2789.

Summary: As your little sister has been kidnapped by the fair folk, you have to set her free, exchanging your life for hers.

________________

"Remember, you shall not give him your name." The old woman told you, putting a little iron coin into your mouth. "Wait for him to give you his word. Unless he does, neither you nor your sister are safe."

You bowed your head to her, thankful for all her advices that could save your life - this woman was the only one to escape faerie ring and stay alive. She was a young girl when she got lost and returned when her hair turned grey, her skin wrinkled. Her scarred face warned the ones wandering the woods from going too far to the north.

"Do not be afraid." She said gently, caressing your cheek wet from tears with her rough, work-weary hand. "Your sister is still alive. Do everything right, and you will set her free."

You nodded and lifted a heavy basket filled with jugs and jars with wine, honey and butter, your offering to the wee folk to pass safely. If not your stupid, uncaring sister, you would never have to set your foot so far into the forest. But with no one to seek protection from, you had to go there yourself.

If only your sister didn't spend her days dancing in the woods despite all your warnings. You admitted you didn't raise her well, yet with no one by your side you spent all your time trying to provide for the both of you - life in this little village surrounded by woods had never been an easy one, especially for orphans.

As she had never listened to your pleas, no wonder one day your sister didn't return. The villagers had immediately gathered to start the search, but the only thing they found was a piece of your sister's dress hanging on a bush right near the faerie ring. Everyone knew then what had happened to her, and no one was ready to risk their life to save a silly young girl who didn't know better but enter the realm of the fair folk. People were helpless against the faeries, and many of the villagers had lost their loved ones to them. You could still find human bones if you went too far into the woods.

The basket was heavy, and you exhaled loudly as you set your foot outside of the elderly woman's hut, looking at the dark gigantic trees far away with worry. The woman told you that you wouldn't return - you would ask the fairies to take you away instead of your poor little sister.

"Wait, Y/N!" You heard someone's voice and turned around to see another woman, her hair all grey too despite her age - she was the one who had lost her only daugther to the wee folk a few years back. Since then she had aged faster than any other woman in the village. "I... I have something to help you!"

You blinked when she got close to you and reached out to your face, a little bottle in her hand. You closed her eyes as she rubbed a strange smelling salve into your eyelid, covering your eye with something that made you feel like someone poured a bucket of cold water over your head. Inhaling deeply, you opened your eyes and realized one eye was seeing much better than the other. The objects became sharper, the colors more bright as you stared in the woman's face with confusion. What was that?

"This is what one witch gave me when I was looking for my daughter." She whispered quietly as if she was afraid the Fae would hear her. "Now they won't fool you with their glamor. But don't show them you can see everything!"

"I won't." You assured the woman quickly and squeezed her shoulder gratefully. "God bless you for your kindness."

She nodded and hurried away, hiding the bottle inside her long worn out dress and never looking back at you. You knew she was scared. No one dared to come with you to the faerie ring, afraid to be tacken away by the creatures they feared and detested. Yet you were grateful to the woman - she knew how much it hurt to lose your beloved ones to the fair folk.

Turning to the woods, you licked the iron coin in your mouth and pushed it to the side, pouching it in your cheek. It didn't feel pleasant, but it was the least of your worries now as you went closer and closer to the gloomy forest, thinking of all the dangers it hid. Why did you sister go there? Why didn't she dance somewhere on the meadow, basking in the sun? What made her forget all the warnings every child was given?

Biting your cheek, you stepped inside the forest and clenched your fists, following the path an elderly woman had showed you. You stopped near the huge stump, taking a few pieces of fresh bread out of your basket and placing them on an improvised wooden altar for little forest sprites as an offering. Although you didn't need them to guide you, you asked them not to play with your path, twisting it such way you might end in the village again instead of the faerie ring. Losing their favor was not wise.

As you moved further, you sensed yourself speeding up despite feeling lightweight as if you were a little feather carried by the wind. For a moment you felt frightened, but then realized the sprites took a liking to the offering you brought them and helped you on your way. Did they know why you were coming so far into the woods? Maybe they did.

The further you moved, the more nervous you became, afraid to put your head up and look upon your surroundings - you saw elderflower glowing on your left and averted your eyes immediately, afraid to be charmed before you reached your destination. Then a few blue sparkles lit up the trees to your right, and you hurried further into the woods, wiping away your tears. You could make it. You could save your sister despite fairies' attempts to charm or scare you away.

Soon you moved to the left, leaving the path, and saw the ring formed by those little white mushrooms. It looked odd as the ring was the perfect round shape as if someone purposely made it.

Sighing heavily, you had doused your lantern and set it on the grass. Dear God, you were truly doing it. Licking the iron coin in your mouth, you pressed your lips into a thin line and stepped inside the ring, closing your eyes for a second. The moment you were past the line of mushrooms, your senses were clouded, your head light, your body almost flowing in the air - you could feel you entered the other realm as the forest lit up around you, and you heard the laugh and charming voices.

When you opened your eyes, you saw a great fire and many strange-looking creatures circling it. They danced, screamed, laughed and cried as they sat together, certainly celebrating something, and you stared at them in awe, blinking and unable to move. Your left eye showed you graceful fairies with their long curly hair laying on their shoulders, their faces strikingly beautiful, their bodies glowing warmly as they sat close to the fire. But your right eye, the one covered with that salve... it showed you ugly, revolting creatures with their fingers crooked, their faces dry and wrinkled, tree branches piercing their backs, their silky clothes being just some dirty rags. Not all the fairies looked distgusting, but many, many of them did. You almost flinched when they looked at you, standing in the ring with your large basket full of food and wine.

You didn't see the man sitting on what appeared to be a throne on the other side of the cirle, hid by the flames of the fire, but once he rose to his feet everyone fell silent. He was tall, well-built, looking stronger than any man in the village, his dress made out of pure golden threads. Certainly, his glamor spell was way stronger than the charmed salve made by the witch as both your eyes showed only one of his forms, unlike the other fairies.

He was the fae's lord, you realized as you bowed deeply, refusing to look him into his deep blue eyes. You didn't even see his face clearly as you stared at your own shoes, clenching the basket.

"What a lovely human I see." The man said, and you heard the wee folk chuckling at his words, whispering something to each other. "Will you give me your name, little one?"

You gulped and froze on the spot. You knew well you should never respond to the fae's question with your name as you would simply hand them the power over you with it, "giving" yourself to them. But staying silent was considered rude, nonetheless.

"Forgive me, lord fae, for I cannot. But I can tell you it is Acantha."

A thorn. It wasn't your true name, of course, as even saying, not giving it to the fair folk was dangerous and unwise. The lord fae knew it well, of course, and narrowed his eyes at you, smiling.

"My name is Steven, little one. I am the King of the Fae, and this forest belongs to me just like the meadows, fields, rivers, and lakes." Though he was smiling, it didn't reach his eyes - you didn't realize you weren't bowing to him anymore and stared at his pale face, glowing in the dark. "Why did you come here, little one? What are you searching for?"

As you heard nasty cackling to your right, you clenched your teeth, realizing these very creatures had trapped your poor sister for their fun. Now you saw many of them drinking not only ambrosia and wine, but also a dark red liquid that looked like blood.

Murderers. Ugly beasts banished by God himself to all the darkest places, unworthy of sunlight. Did they claim they owned the meadows and rivers and lakes? No, the villagers did. And they would drive out and kill all the fair folk with iron knives and pitchforks who would dare to come out the woods. The forest was the only place humans were afraid to enter.

Gritting your teeth, you bowed your head again and gently set the basket in front of the fairy's circle, taking a step away. You had to keep calm. You needed to get your sister out.

"I am searching for my sister, fae lord. She's a silly little thing, and I'm afraid she took the wrong path in the forest, disturbing your kind folk with her dancing." You said, choosing your words wisely and not looking at anyone, savouring the taste of iron in your mouth. The coin was muffling your words, but no fairy had sensed anything yet. "I came to plead you for help, fae lord. Please, bring her to me, let her come back to the realm she belongs to safely, and I will give you whatever you would like me to."

You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. You said it. You just exchanged your life with hers. If he took your word, you would be trapped here, in this cursed place belonging to The Unseelie Court.

The King looked content with you being so courteous, your offering very generous for a simple village girl, indeed. He motioned to two forest sprites to bring your basket to him and pulled a jug filled with the finest wine you could find, setting it near his thrones while handing the basket to others. As they flew to it, ripping it apart and claiming whatever they could reach, you bit down on your tongue, feeling utterly disgusted. All of them deserved a pair of shoes made from branding iron.

"You have good manners, little one." The King smiled at you, and the next moment he wasn't standing near his throne made from gold and decorated with gemstones shining in the dark, but cupping your chin as he stared down at you, his warm breath tickling your skin. "You brought a nice offering. I will give your sister back to you, and sprites will escourt her to your people. I give you my word."

Your eyes went wide. He said exactly what you wanted him to, and it only took you an offering and a plea. How was it possible? You knew well how cunning, haughty, and treacherous the wee folk could be. But the King himself gave you his word. It was an oath the fae couldn't break.

Before you could bow your head again and express your gratitude, however, the King had suddenly put his warm palms on your shoulders and turned you around, forcing you to stare at the procession, several fairies leading your still dancing sister to the fire. You could see her feet bleeding, but she had that strange little smile stretching his lips and enlightening his eyes as she kept moving, laughing and throwing her hands into the air. Her clothes were dirty, her hair disheveled, yet she didn't see it, caring about nothing but dancing.

You realized you were crying only when the King gently wiped your cheek with his palm.

"Set her free once she steps out the ring." He said as fairies lured her to that little circle of mushrooms. "Bring her home safely and make her forget all that she saw. Do not ever let her come back."

You tried to make a step towards her, take her into your embrace, kiss her cheeks, whisper her to never set her foot into the forest again, and ask her to promise she would take care of herself, but the King still had his hands on your shoulders, and his grip was becoming tighter and tighter, forcing you to stay still despite all your attempts to run to her. He wouldn't let you tell goodbye to your own sister. You were made to watch as she was taken away from you, and your eyes were full with tears again. Dear Lord, why? Why didn't he let you approach her for a mere minute? You wanted to scream and cry, but realized you couldn't open your mouth. The Fae King had charmed you.

Once your sister disappeared inside the faerie ring, you had collapsed to the ground, your fingers buried into your hair, pulling at the roots in despair. You would never see that little girl again. Cruel laugh of the fairies surrounding you made you face wet from all the humiliation and pain.

"Shhh." You heard the Fae King speaking as he got down to you and caressed your hair gently. "It will be alright. She will live her life like all humans do, and you will stay here and forget all your sorrows."

You cried harder at his words, and an iron coin the elderly woman gave you slipped on your tongue. The King had immediately reached out to your face and opened his hand, looking at you patiently. Now he knew you carried a coin in your mouth.

Pausing for a moment, you realized it was meaningless: it was over now. You were in the hands of the wee folk, and no one would come to save you. You submitted, dropping a coin to the fae lord's hand - he hissed as it burnt his skin, but once he clenched his huge fist the coin disappeared as if you had never brought it in your mouth.

"See? It's easy, little one." The fairy murmured, dropping a kiss to the top of your head and making you turn your face up as he wiped the remains of the salve from your eyelid - he saw it, too. In the next moment the darkness became light, and ugly creatures surrounding you turned into the most beautiful beings you had ever seen. "You will forget. Don't you know you were born under the Milk Moon, little one? You shouldn't live the life full of hardships as a peasants' daughter. You deserve to be happy in my lands."

With me, you could hear his whisper inside your head.

He didn't tell you he had been watching you gathering herbs and berries in his forest close to the village for years. He didn't tell you he lured your sister into the faerie ring, knowing you would follow and try to save her, ready to trade your own life for hers.

You didn't tell him you kept an iron nail in the pocket of your dress, prepared to fight for your life till the very end. You weren't born to become a little doll of the Fairy King, and you were ready to prove it.

________________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lovelydarkdaydream

#steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers #captain america #yandere

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loyalannister · 4 years ago

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UNDER THE LENS : Daenerys I, A Game of Thrones

The first perspective of Daenerys Targaryen opens in Magister Illyrio's manse at Pentos, where we meet the last scions of House Targaryen and get a glimpse of the contrasting traits, dreams and ambitions of the two siblings even as the chapter ends with a step forward in the narrative of the future mother of dragons.

• Probably no PoV other than her very first one does a better job of showing us exactly what Dany really wants - momentarily and for her future:

Dany could hear [...] the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future...

The text explicitly says that the Iron Throne & the lost glory of the Targaryens was something exclusive to Viserys' desire - not his sister's:

Viserys lived for that day.

It's absurd to claim that Daenerys would have rejected an opportunity to return to Westeros & reclaim the prosperity of her house at this point in the narrative but Martin does sharply contrast Viserys' desire with that of his sister's in the very next sentence :

All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

• The house with the red door looms large on Dany's innermost desires not only in A Game of Thrones but in her journey throughout the series. There have been various speculations on this house and its location, even some theorizing that it exists only as a figment of her imagination. But Daenerys recalls her emotions surrounding the red door with sharp clarity :

After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever.

Of course, one might argue that Daenerys was younger and she might not be recalling certain things correctly. But that begs the question - which parts of her childhood memories are trustworthy & which parts are not?

• One thing which captured my attention early on in the chapter was the fact that Daenerys is far more observant, intuitive & wary of everything offered to her compared to her older brother :

“Why does he give us so much?” she asked. “What does he want from us?” For nigh on half a year, they had lived in the magister’s house, eating his food, pampered by his servants. Dany was thirteen, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come without their price, here in the free city of Pentos.

Dany is right to be wary of Illyrio though, She even thinks back to the words spoken of Illyrio in the streets - 'he’d never had a friend he wouldn’t cheerfully sell for the right price.' When Illyrio assures Viserys that the common people of Westeros are sewing dragon banners & awaiting his return, she knows better than to hang on to his every word:

Dany had no agents, no way of knowing what anyone was doing or thinking across the narrow sea, but she mistrusted Illyrio’s sweet words as she mistrusted everything about Illyrio.

When Viserys vows to kill powerful people like Jaime Lannister and Robert Baratheon, Daenerys is quick to note Illyrio's reaction, which her brother misses:

Dany saw the smallest hint of a smile playing around his full lips, but her brother did not notice.

• As much as Viserys is and should be criticized by the readers for his abusive behavior, this chapter lays out the psychological basis for his behavior and makes me feel somewhat sympathetic for him. Viserys is essentially stuck in the past even though the events occuring around his escape from Westeros has long transpired:

Nodding, he pushed back a curtain and stared off into the night, and Dany knew he was fighting the Battle of the Trident once again.

He is desperate to reclaim the glory and power of House Targaryen (which is essentially why he arranges Dany's match with Drogo):

“We will have it all back someday, sweet sister,” he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. “The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back.”

Though he spins his own 'web of dreams', Viserys is not as confident as he might appear at first glance - his resolution wavers at times & he looks for reassurance from Illyrio to validate his desires and plans:

“The realm will rise for its rightful king. [...] And the smallfolk will be with us. They cry out for their king.” He looked at Illyrio anxiously. “They do, don’t they?”

• Daenerys shares a number of parallels with Tyrion Lannister (widely believed to be one of the three heads of the dragon with good reason). This sentence, in particular, sharply reminded me of the dynamic between Tyrion and Cersei:

Her mother had died birthing her, and for that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her.

Much like Viserys did to Daenerys, Cersei too has physically abused Tyrion (on more than one occasion, I dare say)

• This PoV introduces us to slaves for the first time in the series. Daenerys is astute enough to note that :

Illyrio’s servants entered, bowed, and set about their business. They were slaves, a gift from one of the magister’s many Dothraki friends. There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves.

These are the servants (or rather slaves) who inform Dany of the many slaves working under Khal Drogo :

“Drogo is so rich that even his slaves wear golden collars...”

What many people seem to forget along the line is that Dany did not randomly take pity on slaves along her journey and decide to free them. Her revolution to end this horrible tradition stems from her own experience : she was essentially sold as a slave to Drogo. Even in her very first PoV, she is made to wear a collar before meeting Drogo - a very fancy collar but a collar nonetheless:

Last of all came the collar, a heavy golden torc emblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs.

• Obviously the Targaryens are not fireproof but they are resistant to heat to some extent. Will this come in useful for Daenerys in the future?

The water was scalding hot, but Daenerys did not flinch or cry out. She liked the heat. It made her feel clean.

• It's interesting that Viserys refers to Khal Drogo as 'Aegon the Dragonlord come again', while later on Tyrion Lannister refers to Daenerys herself as 'Aegon the Conqueror with teats'.

(I think it's high time antis stop denying that if Daenerys is to be compared to any of her forebears, it's Aegon the Conqueror, NOT Aerys the Mad King and if she is to be compared to any of her brothers, it's Rhaegar, NOT Viserys. Martin does a really good job of pointing out these comparisons throughout the series)

TRIVIA :

• Daenerys meets the Unsullied for the first time in her very first PoV.

• Magister Illyrio possesses a menagerie (which boasts of a panther among other animals).

#valyrianscrolls #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf meta #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #loyalannister rereads asoiaf #my agot reread #text from loyalannister #daenerys under the lens

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nehemia-deserved-better · 4 years ago

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Elorcan deserved about 500 more chapters all to themselves, so I decided to write one of them. I intended this story to be as canon-compliant as possible, so that it could plausibly be considered an extra Elorcan chapter in Empire of Storms. It would be set a day after their fight over Lorcan killing the ship owner in chapter 43, and before the next time we see them where Elide claims to have not spoken to him for 3 days.

So without further ado: How The Light Gets In

The nightmare began at the top of a stone stair. Elide’s heavy, uneven footfalls echoed ominously in the tight space as she descended, spiraling down into the fetid air of the dungeons. The chains snaking around her ankles rattled and slithered with each step. Yet it was not that sound which frightened Elide; it was the cacophony of despair emanating from below. Women’s voices: moaning, screaming, and—worst of all— pleading. She tried to flee back up the stair, but a phantom hand seized her chains and sent her pitching headlong into the unforgiving stone. Her fingernails splintered and bled as she scrabbled for purchase, fighting to crawl away from that horrible noise. But the pull on her chains was relentless. Elide was dragged downwards into that ocean of misery, each voice crashing over her until she was drowning in sound, unable to distinguish her own screams.

—————

Lorcan stood at the prow of the ship, illuminated by the light of the stars, and cursed his keen fae hearing. He couldn’t block out the soft whimpers coming from within the ship’s cabin, or the rustling of a small form tossing under the blankets. He didn’t want to know that Elide was having a nightmare, didn’t want to care. After all, why should he? Pathetic she had called him, nearly spitting the words in disgust. Jealous, lonely, pathetic, unhappy—each insult flung from her with greater conviction than the last. And when she had finally finished, face mottled red in rage and chest heaving, he couldn’t even muster a convincing facade of anger. Instead, as he looked down on that tiny, furious woman, he felt only admiration and a surprising amount of desire. When was the last time someone had dared speak to him with such candor? He had killed males for lesser offenses, and she knew it. And yet, she remained stubbornly unafraid.

But when she had followed that outburst with a demand to leave the ship, to leave him... Lorcan realized belatedly that the gut-wrenching sensation he'd felt then had been fear. He tilted his head up to look at the stars, admonishing himself for that weakness. This human should not have such power over him. Still, he knew he would not allow this fierce creature out of his sight. He wanted more of her. He wanted to feel her thick, dark hair between his fingers, and to do more with that red mouth than just gaze at it. But mostly, he wanted more of her passion, honesty, and bravery— her ability to see right through to the core of him with those cunning eyes. Lorcan found himself striding for the cabin door before he could think better of it.

—————

It is a peculiarity of nightmares to seamlessly blend one horror into the next, forgoing transitions in exchange for an unending montage of terror. And so, Elide suddenly found herself standing at the base of the stair. She pressed her palms over her ears to no avail; nothing could block out that endless, many-voiced wailing. A long hall lined with torches and iron doors stretched out before her. She knew what lay beyond those doors, though her mind recoiled from the thought of witches and alters and demons. In the flickering light of the fires stood a ghostly woman draped in black. Kaltain raised a finger to her lips and, as though by her command, a curtain of silence fell over the hall. Elide didn't spare a moment to be relieved. She stepped toward Kaltain, trying to tell her that they must run, that they weren’t safe here. No words passed her lips— they never did, in her dreams. The Lady merely stared at her. “You can’t save them. Only I can do that now.” Elide furrowed her brow in confusion, prompting a breathy laugh from Kaltain. “Don’t you remember? Or did you forget about my sacrifice so easily?” Her lips split wide in a mockery of a smile, her mouth opening and opening until the flesh peeled away completely. Beneath, shrugging off Kaltain’s skin like an oversized coat, was a pale woman with blood red lips. “And what of my sacrifice, my darling girl? What became of me?” Elide reached for her mother, but she crumbled to ash between her fingers.

—————

Lorcan’s breath caught as he laid eyes on Elide sleeping fretfully in the narrow cabin bed. The blankets were twisted around her legs, becoming thoroughly tangled as she continued to shift in agitation. A sheen of sweat glimmered at the base of her throat. Distress was clear in her expression, despite her face being partially obscured by her disheveled hair. Lorcan had no idea what to do. He wanted to soothe her and provide comfort, but he had no experience with such things. Besides, if Elide’s resolute silence of the previous day was any indication, she would likely not welcome his presence. And yet, he found himself unable to walk away, as though some gravity beyond his control were pulling them together.

Gently, Lorcan reached down and brushed the loose strands of hair from her face, smoothing them behind her ear. His hand lingered for a moment, brushing against her cheek. He marveled at how small she seemed under his broad palms. She stirred, and he quickly retracted his fingers, scolding himself for his stupidity. How incensed would she be to wake and find him standing over her? He began to turn away.

“Stay.” The word was a single breath, so quiet that Lorcan was fairly certain it was a hallucination brought on by wishful thinking. But then it came again, soft as a prayer, “stay.” He simply stared at her. Elide didn’t even seem to be awake. It was very possible that she was speaking to someone in her dream, utterly unaware of his presence. Just as he was convincing himself of this, a hand lightly grasped his own. Her fingers were so little in his, delicate like the bones of a bird. But he knew the strength that lay there, knew she had calluses and scars to mirror his own. Lorcan softly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, Elide's hand still in his. He wasn’t used to holding something with such care, not with these hands that had wrought so much death. He found that he liked the change.

“Elide?” he whispered. No response. “Are you awake?” Her eyes remained closed but she spoke slowly in reply.

“Lorcan...You’re not usually here.”

“In the cabin?”

“In my dreams.”

He took a moment to absorb that blow to his male ego. Before he could think of a suitable response, Elide was tugging on his hand, trying to pull him closer. Lorcan was conflicted. She was clearly not fully awake, hovering in the limbo of her dreams. As much as he wanted nothing more than to lay down and pull her close, to see just how well the curves of her body fit with his own, it didn’t seem right to take advantage of her hazy consciousness. And in addition, there was no way his massive frame would fit on that bed with her unless she was nearly on top of him. He struggled to divert his imagination away from that particular path of thought.

When he looked back at her face, he was startled to find her eyes wide open. The gaze that met his own was clear, apparently awake. “Stay,” she repeated, and the last of his reservations disappeared. She scooted up against the wall, occupying the narrowest strip of bed possible. After some adjusting of bodies and untangling of blankets, Lorcan wound up on his back. His shoulders took up the entire width of the bed, and still he was precariously close to the edge. Elide was pressed between his body and the wall, her limbs sprawled out across him: an arm resting on his chest, a leg bent up over his own, her foot pressed between his calves. Gingerly, he slid his arm underneath her head, providing his bicep as a pillow.

“I thought you were still angry with me,” he grumbled.

“I am. I don’t think I’ll ever speak to you again, because you are a cruel bastard,” she responded sleepily, snuggling closer. Lorcan had gone past the point of confusion and was now hovering somewhere in the realm of utter bewilderment.

“I’ll find a way to manage without you.” Why could he never find the right thing to say to her?

“No, you won’t, because you promised.” She paused there for a yawn. “As mysterious as you think you are, I know that promise matters to you... that I matter to you. Why else would I dream of you after a nightmare?” She yawned, more pronounced than the first time. When she began speaking again her voice was thick with exhaustion. “I know I’m safe with you. I know that you will protect me.” And with that, she was fully asleep once more. Not a trace of the nightmare remained on her face, and her breathing was deep and untroubled.

Lorcan could only stare at the top of her head, stunned. Despite how lucid she seemed, she had clearly still been half in the grip of her dreams. But her words, her absolute confidence in him, the comfort she had found in his arms...He had never experienced this before. Receiving affection without sex or motive, soothing fear instead of creating it— this was all uncharted territory. Something in him fractured with astounding force. It was as though every place their bodies touched was cracking open and she was the light pouring in, pushing back all that darkness he had gathered throughout the centuries. He had no word to name this feeling coursing through his blood, but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so unburdened. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and whispered “I will always keep you safe”. Then, he laid his cheek atop her hair and listened to her breathe for a long while before he fell asleep.

—————

Elide woke to the smell of cooking trout, and the soft sound of water lapping against the boat. Even through her closed lids she could see that daylight was pouring through the windows of the cabin, meaning she must have slept very late into the morning. She rolled over with a groan and reached out a hand for...for whom? Was she expecting to find someone in her bed? Sitting fully upright now, she looked around in confusion. She’d had a very strange dream. Lady Kaltain had been there, in the dungeons of Morath… she shuddered at the memory, both of the dream and its real-life inspiration. She’d vomited for days after she saw behind those iron doors, and had no desire to recollect the specifics either awake or asleep.

But then she’d left the dungeon and arrived in the ship’s cabin, where her fear-addled brain had conjured an image of the only true safety she had known for the last decade: Lorcan. A soft smile graced her face at the thought, quickly replaced by a grimace as she remembered him killing that man, and their resulting fight. He provided safety for her, perhaps, but he brought only death to those who got in his way. Her thoughts lingered on the barge owner who had once slept in this bed, dutifully cleaned the cabin windows, adorned the small table with an embroidered cloth— she bolted out of the bed and through the door, suddenly needing to be anywhere else.

Fingers gripping the ship’s railing so tight that her knuckles threatened to pop out, Elide leaned into the wind off the river water. Lorcan may well have saved both their lives by ending that man’s. An innocent bystander he may have seemed, but one likely to jump at the chance to profit from their capture. Lorcan had done it, as he seemed to do everything these days, to protect her.

That thought brought her back to her dream. It had been so real. She could recall the way his breath had stirred her hair, the feeling of his muscular chest under her fingers and his considerable bicep cushioning her head, how she had confidently declared how much he cared for her— she stopped as though her thoughts had crashed into a stone wall. She felt the blood drain from her face. She never, never spoke in her dreams.

A gentle tap on her shoulder had her shouting in surprise; Lorcan couldn’t normally sneak up on her, to his eternal annoyance, but she had been too deep in thought to notice his approach. Wordlessly, he held out a plate of trout. He betrayed no expression beyond a slight quirk of the eyebrows, likely in reaction to having a small woman scream at him in a pitch only bats and immortal demi-fae could hear. Elide studied the harsh planes of his face as she accepted the food in silence. She found nothing there to suggest she had spent the night curled in his arms. He seemed to be examining her expression as well. His lips parted, as though there was something he wanted to say, but something in her face seemed to convince him to remain quiet. With a soft shake of the head and a furrow in his brow, he turned away.

As he walked back toward the prow, she let out a sigh of relief. It had just been a dream. She felt an unexpected disappointment at the thought. It was harmless to admire his power and strength from a distance, or to feel sparks of desire as his gaze slid to her lips every damn time they spoke, but to spend the night in his arms? She watched him tirelessly propelling the boat with a long pole, his dark hair sticking to his neck in the hot midday sun. No, it had been a dream, and that’s all it would ever be...right?

Thanks for sticking around all the way till the end! It would mean a lot if you would comment and let me know what you think of my first ever fanfiction :)

#Elorcan #empire of storms #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elide x lorcan #throne of glass #elorcan fanfiction #elorcan ff #throne of glass ff

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sabraeal · 3 years ago

Text

Family, Duty, Honor [Part 4]

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Game of Thrones AU

It no longer shocks her to awake in an unfamiliar chamber.

It had once; when she awoke that first morning in Highgarden, green silk sheets slick beneath her fingers and the finest emerald velvet as her cage, her stomach had given a queasy lurch, putting her on unsteady feet when faced with her Lord Paramount. In those days she had only just grown used to the rooms above her apothecary, to the quiet that could settle in the air when there was no tavern beneath it, patrons drinking and shouting well into the night. To be plucked from those walls and hung out to be seen like the herbs she cut from the Lord’s forest-- it was too much, even for nerves forged as steely as her own.

But after so many years shunted from one set of quarters to the next-- three alone at King’s Landing, in almost twice as many months-- the fear dulled, until all that remained was the vaguest sense of curiosity, followed by inevitability’s heavy shroud. A girl could not forever anticipate waking up in the same bed when she had no home to return to.

It is, however, nice to be warm.

Shirayuki stretches, the whole of her body suffused with a satisfying ache. For once, it is not the complaint of muscles abused past endurance, but instead the pleasure of ones gently used; the same stiffness roused after a day in the gardens. Save, of course, for the aches in certain places-- places she has never been so aware of, ones that leave a strange heat curled between her thighs.

With a sigh, her eyes blink open; it is still night. Strange; she is not one to stir before the sun. Practically part plant yourself, my lady, Obi would tease her, you never open for anything less than the dawn.

It would be wiser to slip back into slumber, to let this mystery await until she can look at it in the full light of morning. But it is impossible-- her curiosity has been roused. Even now awareness spreads through her body, the hairs on her skin standing and settling as thoughts kindle from their embers. There is silk beneath her, soft and cool against her, and--

And she know this because she is naked, not a stitch of clothing on her.

She rolls from belly to side, stifling a curse as she meets the curtains standing sentinel around her. They are dark, and even shadowed in night as they are, she knows their color-- russet red, the same as the hair on her head. On the bedposts are fish, large trout carved open-mouthed, water spurting and swirling upwards to where the canopy rests. Riverrun, the ancestral home of the Tullys. Her home.

Or at least, so she had thought. I’ll marry her myself, her uncle had said, every word filled with bitterness. Get a boy on her.

Her fingers clench, silk and velvet spilling through her fingers. Family, Duty, Honor. The Tully words; her father had spoken them, that night in Dorne, and she had known as sure as rivers run south that they were hers.

And now she knows why her father had left; why he had taken her mother and ran to where the Harmund’s fingers could not stretch. Fishlords, some called the Tullys, and her uncle earned it by his flopping. Blood might be thicker than water, but it still ran as easy as the Trident in his veins; a trout following the strongest current.

Family may be one of their words, but words are wind. A lesson she should have learned when even dragon turned against dragon, darkening the skies above the Blackwater.

Betrayal stung, but Shirayuki’s heart had long been forged into something stronger than flesh, her mind honed sharper than steel. She may not wield a blade or command armies, but her weapons may be just as deadly, so long as she applies them in their proper place.

Anything can be a weapon, Miss, Obi told her once, dragging a cutpurse by the collar to the Watch. The bruise was still livid on the boy’s face, hardly looking like the apple that had made it. You just have to use the right pressure...and where a man’s vitals are.

Her stomach lays flat beneath her palm, but beneath it, it roils. She wanted to reach out to her uncle, to convince him to her side-- to Zen’s side with logic and reason and perhaps even fondness. She wanted them to talk as equals, but now she sees-- he had never taken her for anything more than a pawn, something to be traded for a better lot. And if she must press what weapons she has to his vitals, she knows just which one she might use.

The mattress shifts beneath her, the night’s silence broken by a soft, muffled groan. A man’s. Memory crests as a wave, tumbling her beneath it-- this is not her chamber at Riverrun but Obi’s. She is warm not from the pan beneath the bed, but from his body beside her. And her nakedness, this ache between her legs is because-- because--

She has already set her plans in motion. This languid satisfaction is from muscles used indeed, and this sting a maidenhead lost.

A soft sigh slips from him, his breath rippling along her back. No, not lost but given freely, to a man who had known it for the gift it was. Not the one she thought would receive it, but nonetheless she does not regret it, not one moment. She had done what needed to be done, and Obi-- well, he had made it pleasurable besides.

Shirayuki shifts, one side to the other, smiling at the thick cocoon of blankets, a man-made mount of velvet and fur. A sliver of bronze peeks through a vent, baring half a face slack with sleep and satisfaction. It’s not his, he says, but that does nothing to stop the fondness that wells in her chest at the sight of it. Nor does it quell the new heat that kindles in her belly.

Obi has ever existed at her side, just at the corner of her vision. A touch away, should she need him; a soft pressure when she needs support. Fond has always been a pale word, a shallow reflection for the depth of her feeling. Simply by knowing he is near, she is safe-- no, she is known, vulnerable and inviolable all at once. That face man not be his, but she knows the way he wears his anger, his joy, his grief, and now--

Now she knows its pleasure too. How his mouth slackens when she touches him. The strangled noise that drags unwilling from his throat when he slides inside her. The furrowed knot of his brow as he draws close to his end, voice straining as he dances at the edge of it.

Wetness coats the tops of her thighs, and oh Maiden and Mother, she could burn alive from the way her cheeks blaze. To think of him like this when he is only providing a service-- it’s shameful. He might never claim his title, the ser he has so greatly earned, but even without a white cloak he is kingsguard still, and this another sacrifice to protect the Iron Throne.

No, not for the throne. Nor for the Targaryen name either. For Zen, who needs the Lord of the Riverlands if he is to ever do more than hold the line. Who needs to bring to the table more than the North if he is to ever convince Dorne to throw their lot in with his.

Shirayuki knows this for what it is, but still, her body reacts. She is no high born lady to think the joining of man and woman a mystery-- if she had not seen animals in the yard, she had too often seen the ones behind the tavern, trying to catch a quick moment before they went back to their own beds. And she knew all too well the ailments that could arise from too many of these trysts taken with little care, or how a lady might bleed before her time if her husband did not take his. But still, even knowing the arithmetic to make two into one, she had thought this might be a more dutiful act, restrained by the weigh of the favor she was asking him-- he had certainly not seemed like a man performing a duty.

Wake me in an hour, he had said, his voice a delicious rumble beneath her hands. I’ll be ready for you then.

She lifts to an elbow, reaching over the man-mound to push aside the curtain. A breath of cool air sighs against her skin, leaving shivers in its wake. By the sky hung in the windows, she had given him more than his hour-- and more than the second she had meant to spare him. If she woke him now, he could press her back against the mattress again, putting his cock where she aches for him still--

And he will, she knows. They must, if this plan is to work. Lies might fool a man, but it would take more than that to trick a maester. Her uncle will not be content to take her at her word, not when it so neatly scuttles his plans, nor when so much glory could be had if he could leverage this child to make himself Hand to the new king. There must be a real, actual child growing in her belly by the time her uncle returns, or all will be lost.

She peels back the layers of his cocoon, enough to sneak a hand through. Soft fingers brush over the cusp of his shoulder, scar ragged beneath them. “Obi.”

He grunts, burrowing deeper into the pillow. It had taken her three years to ever see him sleeping, and even after, he would wake at her slightest sound, at even the threat of her touch. But now--

Now he groans, long legs stretching out, chest arching until his shoulder cups firmly in her palm. And yet, his eyelids hardly flicker.

“Obi,” she tries again, impatience seeping in at she presses closer. His skin is so warm against hers, hard where she is soft. The heat coiled in her belly writhes. “Obi, please, we need to...”

One gold eye unfurls to half-mast, hazy with sleep. Her words are lost, gone like birds on the wind. It had taken all her courage to ask the first time; she cannot bear to dredge up enough for a second.

“Ah, Miss,” he sighs, and, ah, she feels him against her. It. His cock, half-hard, nestled against the forgiving flesh of her thigh. “So insatiable.”

Shirayuki does not pout; no, this pursing of her lips is forbidding, stern. “You did promise.”

He hums, one hand tracing up the curve of her bottom, settling against her back. “I did,” he slurs, sleep thick in his voice, staring up at her through the net of his lashes. “And lucky for you, I’m a man of my word.”

That hand slips up to her shoulder, urging her down, and she gives beneath him. His mouth meets hers on the journey, dragging her into its undertow with a slow, languorous slide. Nothing about this is hurried, like Zen’s kisses, or frantic, like the ones from mere hours ago, but patient, perfect. He hasn’t slept long enough for his breath to be sour, but it’s stale, and she--

Ah, his hand drifts down again, jerking her against him. His cock buries between her thighs, heavy and hard, and she could not care less what he tastes like, so long as he keeps kissing her.

Her own palm slips from shoulder to cheek, nails scraping beneath the bristle of his hair. With a whimper, his hips jerk into hers, leaving them both breathless.

“You’re already wet,” he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction and wonder. “So wet. And all for me, Miss?”

He should hardly need to ask. He’d pushed her to her back last night, and it’d flowed out of her like a creek swollen in a storm, blossoming over her nightgown. She’d feared he would see it, that he might even smell it as he pressed his mouth to her and know that she had left her own duty long behind, driven now by a needy curiosity. This might all have been her plan, but it was not like her to want, to need. Even now as he rubs himself between her folds, her slit aching for him, empty, she worries that this craving might not ever leave her.

“Obi,” she whines, so unlike herself she might as well be some other girl, the kind that has trysts outside taverns and sees a barn as an opportunity. “I need...”

“Oh,” he laughs darkly against her mouth. “I know what you need.”

Her only warning is the curve of his lips, and then she is weightless, reeling under a force not her own. Like rolling down the hills of Honeyholt, at the mercy of the land beneath her; only it is not the Father’s hands she leaves herself in tonight, but the Stranger’s.

When that breathless moment ceases, she is atop him, pale hands braced upon the bronze of his chest, legs splayed to either side of his narrow hips-- though his shaft no longer sits between them, instead curving along her bottom. Shirayuki shifts, trying to work it beneath her again, to feel the hard ridge of him where she aches, but his hands rest on hers, stilling her where she sits.

Beneath their fingers he is patchwork of scars; unlike this face, they belong to him, the only record of who he was before he came to her, of what he might have been before arrived at the doors of the House of Black and White. Her thumb brushes along the curve of his borrowed cheekbone, heart leaping as he leans into her touch, his smile nestling into her palm.

No, it is not the Stranger she courts tonight, but the Many-Faced God. One in the same, Obi might tell her, a single form of a god that touches every angle of this world, but still--

It is from his jaw whom she has snatched suffering. It is his servant who she has made aid her. Death makes a merciless lord, and she has a habit of standing before his throne, defiant.

Her fingers stiffen where they hook behind his jaw. “I need you,” she says, a whisper so fierce it burns. “As long as you are with me, that is all I will ever need.”

Those shuttered eyes fly open, gold burning bright as a candle in the dim. It’s pale, not coin nor honey nor the intensity of amber, but a spool of golden floss, unwinding. “Miss,” he breathes raggedly, chest stilling beneath her. “I...”

His mouth works, but no sound comes from it. Instead he speaks with his eyes, their wild search of her own conveying more question than words ever could. Her heart pounds with an answer, but it chokes her, refusing to speak itself, refusing to even let her know what it might be, and it is too much, too intense for this moment, this night--

So she kisses him instead. That, it seems, is a language they both speak fluently.

He laughs, joy crashing against her lips. “You say you need me.” He lifts her hips, allowing his head to gently slide down her slit,. “But I think what you need is my cock.”

She wants to protest-- it is not the promise of his size or skill that drew her to his bed in her time of need, and it is surely not what keeps her here, drinking down every drop of his drugging kisses, but--

But he lowers her onto him, shaft nestling between her lips. It’s both what she wants and not enough entirely; more, she needs to tell him, but instead she only whines, leaning into his touch. His fingers flex against her skin, gripping so hard a peach would bruise beneath it, and with a twitch of his hands, he drags her along his length. Her thoughts cease completely-- at least those that are not how his shaft slides along her slit, or the way his cock’s head rubbing at the center of her maiden’s flower, making her skin dissolve in a shower of sparks.

“Obi!” She wrenches herself away from his mouth, trying to gain space, gain her bearings before this heat can consume her. He keeps moving her even still, that steady front and back, watching her with hooded eyes and knowing smile. Her cunt growing slicker with every stroke, anticipating when he might misjudge his angle, and let himself bury within her--

“Obi,” she tries again, shaking herself. She needs to speak, to tell him something--

But instead she looks down, right to where his head plunges between her thighs, flushed and thick and glistening with her own slick. All she can think is how she needs him in her, how she needs him to douse this heat that threatens to consume her whole--

“Obi--” it’s more sobbed than spoken, a fact that might shame her if the whole of her attention wasn’t on keeping herself in a single piece instead of burning into ashes-- “Obi, please--”

“Yes.” His moan throws his head against the pillow, the muscles of his neck straining. “Yes, Miss, I have you.”

He lifts her again, and this time, his cock’s head flicks over where she is empty. She whimpers, an animal wounded, wanting, her hips seeking him out trying to catch that moment of completion. His laugh huffs against the back of her hand, and she nearly scolds him-- how could he be so amused when she could light the glass candle with her skin alone--

And then he is in her, buried in her cunt with no more than the barest stretch. So easy, as if he were made for her.

“All right, Miss?” he asks, little more than a gasp. She manages a moan as his hips twitch beneath her, driving him just a scant inch deeper. Mother, but she wants more, wants all of him. It cannot be possible to be closer than this, but she wants it still, that cessation of space between them.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” His thumbs rub at the flare of her hips, so gentle, before his palms slip. They glide lower, over the soft skin at her joint, cradling her thighs before guiding them forward. Her legs splay, pulling her closer still, sitting more of him inside her, and yet-- she feels more exposed too, vulnerable. It’s an odd angle, one she’s not sure she entirely likes, and she nearly says so until--

Until he surges up into her and paints a field of stars over her eyes, Dondarrion’s banner in full.

Her finger scrabble at his chest, trying to find purchase as he thrusts up. He’s filling her, more than he can before, each stroke touching her so deeply that she’s left gasping, clawing at his skin. She finally clamps her hands around his shoulders, toes curling in the sheets in an attempt to keep her steady. It’s a futile battle; even anchored as she is, moans leap from her, long and low and soft, hips chasing his cock even thought it never once leaves her.

“Obi,” she manages, a gasp rattling from her lungs. “This isn’t--” a moan slips from her, embarrassingly loud-- “this isn’t the best position for--” he leans forward, taking the tip of her breast in his mouth and sucking-- “conception!”

His chest rumbles beneath her palms. “I think,” he sighs, hands sliding down to grab her hips, “that I’ll come just fine like this.”

“I didn’t mean--”

His fingers dig in to her hips, so hard she knows she’ll bruise, but she can’t care, not when he cants her hips and drives her into him, over and over again, his head hitting something in her so right her vision whites at the edge.

“That’s right,” he hums, guiding her along his cock with a savage, almost feral glee. She leans back, letting him hold her weight and his smirk widens. “I’ll spill fine enough inside you, seeing you like this. Plant a seed and let it quicken, and everyone will know just how good you’ve been fucked--”

Her breath catches. This rough talk, it shouldn’t-- she shouldn’t--

She shouldn't like it. She doesn’t like it, she knows for certain; there’d been plenty of men at Highgarden who had made such promises in their cups. Grandfather had always seen them out on their asses, and told them never to darken his door again.

But the way Obi says it, the way he looks at her, pride and desire both-- it’s different. One thumb reaches out to graze her belly, and it draw her gaze down, down to where she can see his shaft pull near all the way out before thrusting again, covered in her own wanting, and Shirayuki-- she cannot last.

The heat between them finally consumes her, hot and cold both, and she is no longer steel, no longer porcelain, but instead putty in his palms from pleasure, slumping over him. His own breath stutters, and with a stifled groan, he spills over, hips twitching beneath hers.

The maesters knew little about childbirth itself; that was a woman’s realm, best left to the midwives they disdained as ignorant fishwives. But on the topic on conception opinions overflowed, an entire shelf in the Citadel dedicated to its methods-- specifically to those that would insure a male heir, even from a woman who had only evinced daughters. Most all of it was hogwash, merely men believing dominate the Mother’s domain as a lord might his lady, but some of it was true, told to her by midwives more experienced than any man in the maesters’ white tower.

Shirayuki knew, in the last bastion of her mind that was not consumed with pleasure, that she should roll off him. That she should get on her back and lift her hips to urge his seed deep inside her, encouraging it to take root. And after that, she should clean herself to prevent any infection from taking hold-- another thing the maesters’ texts found too unimportant to mention. It is what she would tell any woman that would come to her, looking to be taken with a babe, but instead--

Instead she stretches, luxuriating in the warmth of his skin against hers. The maesters and midwives never mentioned this, how close he would feel afterward, their bodies slick with sweat and wanting. They never said how sweet it would feel to have his cock soften inside her, how a simple hand brushed down her spine could quiet even her loudest thoughts.

“Ah,” he laughs, the tips of his fingers teasing at the divot at its base, not daring to curve lower. She wants him too, but she’s too tired to say it, instead just burrowing encouragingly against his chest. “Good morning to you too, Miss.”

“It’s still night.” She traces a scar, a small one right above his breast. it tremors beneath her touch. “Or I suppose it might be the wee hours before dawn.”

He hums, thoughtful. “You should be getting back.”

Shirayuki blinks up at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.” His teeth flash in the dim. “I hate to kick a woman out of bed, but your maids will be up with the sun.”

And all of them would he happy to hum Harmund a tune, should he ask for a song. Especially about his niece’s nighttime dealings. As little as she likes it, she’s lingered long enough.

“Yes,” she sighs, levering herself up. “You’re right, I should...”

She stares down, heart in her throat. Even in the dark she can see it, the pinkish stain smeared across the sheets. The remnants of her maidenhood, dried and set in silk. “Oh...”

Obi rolls craning his neck to match hers. “Ah, well. Do you think they’ll believe me if I say I had my courses?”

Shirayuki spares him a flat look.

“Oh, don’t you be worrying about that, Miss.” He waves her off, using his hips to bounce her leg off him. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to get blood out of silk.”

“But it’s dried.” She lost more than a few good skirts and sheets from that alone. “It’s nearly impossible--”

His hand cups the back of her neck, swinging her gaze around to meet his. “I said I have it handled.”

Her mouth opens, then closes with a snap. It’s hardly be the first time a man like him would have to clean blood from cloth.

“All right.” She pads over to the basin, wincing as the cold water touches her skin. “I’ll only clean myself and then--”

She’ll never know how he can pace a room so fast; one moment he’s at the end of the bed, putting on trousers, and the next he’s standing next to her. Long fingers pluck the cloth from her hand, his mouth curving as her breath catches.

“Let me handle that, Miss,” he murmurs, so close to her they could hold a playing card between them. “It’s my job to take care of you after all.”

The cloth slides down her belly, freezing in its wake, but it hardly bothers her, not when she is but skin wrapped around a living flame. It sinks further still, Obi’s breath fanning across her face as he slips it between her thighs. Her chest hitches when it traces along her slit, so slow, so tantalizing, one of Obi’s long fingers teasing at her entrance.

“Obi,” she whimpers, but it’s the only sound she makes before he covers his mouth with her own. Her fingers curl around his shoulders, trying to keep herself upright, and she slips, just a little, nails digging in--

He gasps. She presses the advantage, slipping her tongue past his lips; all pretense is lost then. The cloth slumps to the floor as his finger sinks knuckle-deep into her cunt, the banked flame in her belly blazing with little more than the slide of his lips and a pump of his fingers. He stirs against her hip; she glances down for a breath, but his cock is still soft, lolling out the gap of his trousers.

To her everlasting shame, she lasts barely more than a few breaths; both surprise and sensitivity working against her. His hips press her hard against the basin, and his finger curves just so, just enough to have her gasping and writhing and riding him to a second fall, Obi grinning the entire time.

“There.” He lifts his finger to his lips, sucking them clean. “Just wanted to make sure it would stick.”

If she’s flushed, at least the dark shrouds it. “I’ll--I’ll see you in the morning.”

She feels him watching as she bends over, gathering up her shift. “With the way I had you, you’ll see me in your dreams first.”

It should annoy her that she knows he’ll be right, but instead-- instead heat flares in her, making her bold.

“Good.” She slides her shifts over her shoulders, and with a single look back, says, “I’ll need you to do it tomorrow, too.”

His face is worth every shade of her blush.

#obiyukibingo2020 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #lemon #my fic #game of thrones au #family duty honor #ans #here i was thinking i was done with this fic #but NO #it has come back to haunt me #with SMUT and POLITICS #mostly smut this time #but in the inevitable continuation i am sure...politics

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sassybirdmanandhisangstywife · 4 years ago

Text

Well would you look at that, I’ve crawled back onto this page with another chapter. At least this one’s longer, and in my opinion written better than it’s predecessors. That would be due to me writing my original series, the only reason this chapter took so long. But that’s not what you’re here for. You’re here for the fic

So enjoy Diaval’s crisis ;)

Chapter 5

I hate it when I’m right

Flying across the barren land of Percefrost, I scrambled to come up with a plan. Not that I had much to plan, as I was heading to the castle without any information, but I should at least have an idea of what to do if the usual happens. The usual being a phenomenal failure of whatever the original plan was, and having to resort to a hastily put together backup plan. I shook my head. How have Mistress and I survived for this long? I really haven’t the slightest idea, but I hoped we could continue to have such good luck. Otherwise it’s down to the backup plan. Right, that’s what I was doing. A backup plan, hm......

My tired wings nearly caused me to fall to the ground as I approached Stephan’s old castle. I haven’t been sent to spy on the humans since Aurora was barely older than a hatchling, and I’d forgotten how long the journey is. Especially when you’re quite an old raven. But I had to persevere, and eventually I made it to one of the castle roof’s many holes (it is so fun when it rains in here). This one was situated right over the throne room. I figured that if anything significant was happening, this would be the place where it went down. I flew (well, fell really, as I said it took an enormous amount of energy that I didn’t exactly have to even arrive here) into the roof’s crack. Once I was inside, I quickly landed on the nearest beam. Breathing heavily (NOT panting, once again I am not a bloody mutt), I took a minute to recharge before looking around the large room. What I saw shocked me far more than I could’ve imagined.

Mistress was in chains, not iron otherwise she would be dead already, limp and possibly unconscious. Various cuts and bruises lay all across her limp form, blood actively dripping down more than a few of them. Her horns were scraped, and her wings, ones that were just returned to her, were bloody and twisted, chunks of feathers ripped out all over them both. I can’t even imagine the kind of pain Mistress must be in, emotionally as well as physically. Mistress lay in front of Stephan’s throne. I would say old throne, but that isn’t quite accurate. The bastard was ALIVE. How the fuck does a puny human like him survive a multi-story fall? He may look worse for wear, that being an understatement, but still, it’s just inconsiderate. The king had a positively insane smile on his face, and was shaking from what I assumed to be some kind of twisted joy. He was towering over Mistress,and decided that this was the moment to kick her harshly in her core with an iron boot. Mistress screamed, a shriek of pure agony, and I had to tear myself away from the horrible sight. As I turned my head, I heard a scream of “NO!” echo across the castle. I knew that voice far too well. That sound came from Aurora. My little girl. What have they done with her? I knew that scream was a reaction to Mistress’s pain, but I still saw red. Anyone who dared even touch my daughter without her permission would be annihilated by my hand. At least if I had my way. But for now, I had to hope that Aurora’s bloodline would keep her safe from the worst of Stephan’s fury. Mistress however, was in a far more grave situation.

Stephan then spoke. Or rather, screamed with more volume than an injured human should possess.

“RELASE MY DAUGHTER’S MIND YOU WITCH”

Mistress looked up, and from my vantage point, I could see the bruises and cuts that littered her beautiful face. Choking on my shock, I grew queasy. Mistress was incredibly powerful, why couldn’t she defend herself from a few humans? Powerful humans with far too much iron albeit, but still, just humans. And they had Aurora as well!? Could this get any worse?

Mistress smiled up at Stephan, a tired smile, one full of pain, but more real than anything else I was seeing. She spoke softly, but with a firm purpose.

“I have done nothing to Aurora Stephan. Why would I? She is my daughter aft-“

Mistress was horribly interrupted by a harsh kick to the jaw by Stephan’s iron covered boot.

“SHE IS MY DAUGHTER! MINE, NOT YOURS, AND SHE ALWAYS WILL BE!”

Mistress gave a harsh, cold laugh, one that ended in a painful, bloody coughing fit.

“You gave up that privilege when you sent her away, all those years ago. Aurora grew up without you to guide her, so she turned to those who truly cared. Myself and D-“ she paused, and in that moment, her eyes widened. “......And the fairies.” She finished. I knew Mistress well enough to notice her mistake, but unfortunately, so did Stephan.

“YOU DID NOT MEAN TO SAY THAT!” Stephan screamed, his face turning redder than the dried blood on his face. “WHO ELSE HAS CORRUPTED HER MIND!?!? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE MALEFICENT?!??”

“I have merely raised Aurora to the best of my abilities, something you would have done if you truly wanted to be her father. But I know the truth. You only want that claim for the power it gives you, and so you can be the true corrupter, poisoning her innocent mind with your thoughts of evil. I won’t release Aurora, as I have nothing to release. If your broken mind refuses to understand and accept these truths, that problem does not fall to me to fix.”

Stephan whipped his body around, towards his magnificent throne, and grabbed it’s arms, harshly casting it aside in his fury. The throne crashed to the ground, shattering to bits with a deafening scream. Splinters dug themselves into Mistress’s pale skin, causing her to wince painfully.

“IF YOU REFUSE TO FREE MY DAUGHTER, I WILL FORCE YOUR MAGIC OUT OF HER. IN 9 DAYS TIME, I WILL KILL YOU IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE KINGDOM, SO ALL CAN VEIW THE MIGHTY MALEFICENT’S FAILURE TO SURVIVE. YOU MAY ONLY PREVENT THIS BY RELEASING MY DAUGHTER FROM YOUR POISONING GRIP.”

Oh no. Oh, oh no.

Maleficent barked out another laugh.

“Do you actually expect me to believe that? I know you far too well to truly think my life will be spared. If you are to kill me, so be it. But you will leave my people alone.”

“NEVER! ALL OF THE MOORS SHALL FALL AT MY HAND!”

“That will never happen. The creature who will replace me is far too quick witted to be defeated by you.”

Stephan laughed, in such a way that his insanity shone through like the sun rising on a new day.

“But I have conquered you, the great Maleficent. Are you actually suggesting that you have a superior? You are the one who’s mind is lost if you say that truthfully.”

Mistress smiled softly, showing....happiness? In this situation?? THIS is where she decides to openly show joy????? Despite her uncomfortable position, she spoke with all the confidence in the world.

“Yes. There is only one I would consider my equal, and he shall rule in my stead. Diaval will end you, as well as your pathetic followers King Stephan.” She spat that last part, but I barely registered it. Mistress thought of ME as an equal?!? And she wanted me, of all creatures, to rule all of The Moors? I knew she saw me as more than a servant, for that much was obvious, but an EQUAL!?!?

Just then, my star struck inner rambling came to a stop as Stephan began to speak once more.

“DIAVAL?!? WHO IS THIS CREATURE?!?” The ruined king spat back, before somewhat recovering his composure. “No matter, if I can destroy you, I can certainly take on this Diaval.” Stephan ran his fingers through his hair, matted by his own blood, and straightened his robes. “Now for you, Maleficent,” he smirked cruelly. “Enjoy your last days. Or rather, suffer though them like the beaten animal you are.”

Stephan swept his cloak around his injured form, and strode out of the throne room. I merely stood on my perch in shock.

This definitely got worse. Oh ravens it was so much worse.

Not only were Mistress and Aurora captured, Stephan was somehow ALIVE, about to kill Mistress, and I was expected to LEAD A KINGDOM?!? What am I going to do? How can I possibly fix a disaster of this volume?! I’m just a raven! I don’t have power or wealth, all I have is.......OH.

It was like a candle flickered on in my brain. Suddenly, I knew what to do.

I may not have power over people or land, and I might not have money, but I have an entire kingdom of- shit. Right. I have no way to reach those who would help, as Mistress’s thorn wall is as strong as ever, and she’s the only one who can tear it down. That means, barring the few creatures who can fly over it, including myself, there was no one coming.

I was alone. Utterly and completely alone. What was an insignificant raven like myself to do?

Just then, a glimmer of hope shone through this situation’s never ending darkness.

Stephan’s captain darted his eyes around fearfully, before slowly and cautiously walking toward Mistress. The other guards watched, expressionless as their helmets covered enough of their faces that it was impossible to tell what each was thinking.

The captain sank down on one knee, just ahead of Mistress, and stared at her with bronze eyes that showed emotions too numerous to count.

“Do- do you really think he can do it?” The captain asked with forbidden hope.

“Kill me? My dear captain I am more than too weak to stop him. It is only a matter of Stephan’s whims now.” Mistress said mockingly, resigned to her fate. Not that I would let that happen. If Mistress is to die, I’d give my life to protect her first. But then, the captain said something that pulled the breath away from both myself and my Mistress.

“No, not that. I do not wish for you to die Maleficent. What I mean is.....can the dragon man truly do it?? Can he beat Stephan? Can he....can he free us from this madness?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The humans hated Stephan as well?? And not just any humans, but Stephan’s own royal guard??

Unfortunately, my hopes were quickly shot down.

“Boaralta no!” A nearby gaurd hissed in fury. “Do not wish for the death of our great king! Long live King Stephan!”

The captain, or Boaralta apparently, shook his head roughly and stood up.

“Of course. The witch probably took over my brain. Long live King Stephan.” Boaralta said, solemnly walking back to his position. Although, a shred of my hope was brought back by the sympathetic glance the captain gave Mistress from the corner of his eyes.

Well, it wasn’t a common opinion, but at least someone who could help disagreed with the corrupt king, even if that someone was too afraid to truly speak his mind. It was still hope. Hope to save us all, hope that I, along with everyone else, desperately needed in this time of suffering beyond anything ever seen. I flew out of the castle and away from my Mistress and daughter with this hope, begging the skies and stars that such a small thing could win against such odds. For it had to, or all was lost. And I couldn’t accept that. I could never accept that there is nothing to be done except wait for Mistress to die, The Moors to fall, and my precious daughter to fall into the clutches of such an evil man. I am willing to give my life to avoid that if need be, for that fate is one that can never come to be. I couldn’t bear it.

The only question now is how I am to prevent such a terrible future on my own.

A minor problem of course.

#diaval #maleficent #aurora #Stephan #maleval #fanfiction #fanfic #oh god what have i done #i’m so sorry #I didn’t mean to do this #our poor bird

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sailorshadzter · 5 years ago

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the life of a king and queen.

@jonsa-creatives >> written for the queen sansa / jonsa event

i really meant to have this done in time lol

He watches her grieve, his own heart hardened to the pain of loss.

Instead, he feels empty, lost, wishing there was a right answer to all that they suffered, for all that was still yet to come. He spares the dragon queen a single glance, her silver hair falling down her back as she leans over the body of her dead Mormont companion, knowing it would not be long before she summons him away from Sansa once again. A hand clenches to a fist, thinking of the many more men that must die, all so this false queen can lay claim to a throne that will never be hers.

His gaze returns to Sansa as she steps back from Theon's pyre, where he can see the glint of the direwolf pin she'd slid into his doublet. From the angle he stands at, he cannot see her face, but he can only assume it's contorted with her grief, her blue eyes swollen as the tears streak her cheeks. He wishes he could take it away, he wishes he could fix it, but he recalls the soft words she had spoken to him only the night before, when she had been stitching one of his many wounds closed; he died to save Bran, he died a hero. While Jon could never forgive Theon for what he had done while he was alive, saving Sansa and Bran had earned him forgiveness, even if it had to be in death. Jon closes his eyes and lets out the breath he's been holding.

When he opens his eyes, it's to take a torch from the man beside him, watching as Sansa and Daenerys and even Arya takes one of their own. Then, one by one, they lay flame to those they loved, those who fell in the battle for the living, those who died so they, the survivors, could keep going.

And keep going they would do, somehow, someway.

[ x x x ]

She stares at him with that intense, blue-eyed gaze, stealing the breath from his lungs with just a look. The firelight frames her in such a way that he cannot stand it and so, he crosses the room to slip his hands into place on her face, fingertips just barely brushing the ends of hair that have fallen free from her pins. "I made your queen angry," she whispers, thinking back to their war room conversation from that morning. Thinking back to the angry glares she'd been given all night long during the feast.

Jon thinks of Daenerys, having just left his rooms minutes before Sansa had arrived, her violet eyes dark with suspicion, narrowed with anger. "You're not the first," he murmurs back, his lips dangerously close; so close, he can feel it when they curve with her amusement. "You won't be the last." He thinks of what he must do, of what he must prevent when Daenerys lays claim to the Iron Throne. He knows not what she will do when they get there, he knows he cannot stop her from what she's already made up her mind to do. But he can stop her, somehow, someway, he will ensure she will never hurt his family.

"I'll come to you, when it's time," she's leaning into him, breathing him in; he smells of fire smoke and ale, comforting scents that make her close her eyes. She can't imagine him not coming home from this war and so she won't think like that, she won't think of the what if's. Not this time. Unlike the first time he rode into battle, she trusted him entirely. Jon chuckles at her words and she snaps back, blue eyes meeting Stark gray. "I mean it."

He thinks of her then, riding into King's Landing with an army at her back, a wild warrior queen come to save him as no one ever came to save her. "When you come, it will be so I might marry you," he brings his lips to hers, a steady kiss, a warm kiss. One he hopes says everything he's not been able to put to words. When they break apart, she's breathless, smiling, radiant. "I love you," he whispers and she sinks into him.

[ x x x ]

"They don't get to choose."

Daenerys' soft words echo in his mind, their meaning taking root, spreading a cold sense of dread through his limbs. It was as he thought- there was no changing the outcome of this war. There had been a part of him that had hoped, that had wondered if just maybe... Just maybe in the end things could be different. That he wouldn't have to do what he intends to do. But their eyes meet and he knows... He knows. When her lips capture his, his fingers already curl around the hilt of his blade. He knows what he must do. He always has.

She slips from his grasp, the blade still embedded into her chest, her violet eyes wide as they stare up at him from the floor. Her lips move, but no words come. It takes several seconds more for her eyes to close and her head fall to the side, her final breath escaping her in what sounds more like a sigh than anything else.

When her soldiers come, she's already gone, taken by Drogon. He allows them to take him in chains, knowing it was only a matter of time before he would take his place as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, though in his case it will be six, for the North would belong to no one but her.

The North would be Sansa's, as it always should have been.

[ x x x ]

The day he is proclaimed the rightful king, he still sits in a jail cell.

It is Sansa that comes to him first, war braids twisted in her red hair, bringing a smile to his face at the sight. "I told you I would come," she says as she sinks to her knees, not in reverence, but to throw her arms around him. Jon chuckles, unable to hug her with the shackles around his wrists, but the warmth of her body pressed against his is enough. "Unchain him!" She commands a moment later, pulling back so she might turn back to the guards that hover in the door way.

The man is not one of theirs, but he springs to do her bidding anyways- from the fear in his eyes, Jon can only imagine what threats his precious she-wolf has issued. Once his limbs are free from their chains, Sansa helps him onto his feet and it's then that he embraces her, the momentum of it sweeping her off her feet. "I love you," he says, before all the eyes that watch them from the doorway, uncaring who hears him proclaim the truth of his heart. She smiles, tears shining in her eyes as she nods, leaning in so she might kiss him as she's wished to do all these weeks they've been apart. "You're safe," he thinks of all of their enemies- Cersei, Daenerys, the Night King, Littlefinger, Ramsay Bolton, Joffrey Baratheon... All dead, all nothing but a memory.

"We're safe," she clarifies, softly, her rosy lips curving with the smallest of smiles. "Our family is safe." It was all because of him that she stands where she stands now, it's because of him that she's alive at all. "All because of you." Jon shakes his head as if he means to argue, but she puts a hand to his lips, shaking her own head. "You're my hero." Like the knights from her fairy tales, Jon was the hero that came to save her, the hero she had been waiting for, the brave and gentle knight her father had once told her of.

This time when Jon pulls her into his embrace, he thinks he might never let her go.

[ x x x ]

Before Jon crowns himself king of anything, he stands watch as Sansa is crowned Queen in the North.

He is the first to unsheath his sword, held to the ceiling in reverence to the new Northern queen. His voice is the first to begin the chant in the hall as she sinks upon her throne, her crown of wolves perched perfectly atop her fiery hair. Her eyes find his from across the room and she smiles, a proud smile, a smile that speaks volumes to him. The journey to this moment had been a long one, a tiresome one, but now that they were there, Jon couldn't imagine himself anywhere else.

And so he steps forward, sinking to his knees before her on the throne; before anything else, he is a Northern man and this is his queen... This is the only woman he will ever again call queen, the only woman he will love for all of his life. "My queen," he says as he tilts his head back to look up at her from the floor, ignoring her gesture to rise up, a grin on his lips as he reaches for her hand to take. He presses it to his lips like a proper courtier might, rising up to his feet only then, hesitant to let go of the hand that he holds. "I give myself to you, heart and soul." She laughs, sweet and low, her blue eyes twinkling in the firelight that glows all around them. "I am yours to command." The room is full, but they are alone, lost in the moment, lost in one another's steady gaze.

"And I am yours," she smiles back, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, thinking of little else but the happiness she's found with him, wondering how she's deserving of the love he gives to her, but thankful for it all the same. When Jon smiles, it sends warmth throughout her body, the clutch of his fingers upon hers the only thing she ever wants to feel again.

He kisses her then and the Northern lords that watch know their young queen is happy and so they are, too.

[ x x x ]

It isn't until King's Landing is fully restored that Jon accepts his crown.

With Sansa and the rest of the world watching, he sits upon the new throne of the Six Kingdoms, made for him by Gendry as Sansa's had been. Like hers, it is carved with direwolves and weirwood trees, a perfect match for the throne she's left behind in the North. His crown feels heavy with burden, but when Sansa smiles upon him from where she stands in a beautiful gown of sage green, he's reminded of just why he's come this far. He's reminded of what's kept him going all this time, of the reason that he lives on.

And so the people of Westeros acknowledge their new king, half Targaryen, half Stark, but a man of honor, a man of truth. A good king, they will call him, Good King Jon, the White Wolf of Winterfell, the King that Saved Them All.

[ x x x ]

Several weeks after Jon's crowning, they finally marry.

Standing beneath the heart tree in the godswood of Winterfell, they exchange the quiet marriage vows of the old gods. Jon has never seen her more beautiful than she is right then, in a gown of dusky blue and white, the furs draped over her shoulders the perfect accent of gray and white. She is like a dream come to life, something too perfect to exist in a world such as this.

Later, when they retreat to the privacy of their shared chambers- ones that once belonged to only her- he laughs as she pulls the pins from her hair. "What is it?" She asks, swiveling on the stool, still dressed in her lovely gown, her eyes widening at the sound of his laughter. "What's funny?"

"I was only thinking how I once used to sneak into these rooms." He gestures towards the bed, one which they had shared in secret far too many times to count. Now it's her turn to laugh, rising up from the stool to cross the room to stand before him, her hair falling freely across her shoulders. When she's come close enough, he draws her into his arms, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, yet again reminded just how lucky of a man he was. "Davos says we should marry again, in King's Landing." He thinks back to what his Hand had said only the day before, a conversation of how they might continue to encourage the strength of Jon's relationship with his people. The world had been through war and had come out scarred, there were wounds not yet healed for some. It would take work to find the true peace Westeros had not seen in centuries. "He says they remember you, they like you." It was true, Jon himself had seen the reaction of the people in the streets when Sansa was seen during her many trips to King's Landing since the end of the war. "I told him to plan it." He knows it to be for the good of the realm, but mostly he looks forward to having another wedding night with her. "And after that... I intend to crown you beside me." Together, they would rule the Seven Kingdoms and hope that they could bring about peace among them all.

[ x x x ]

When the stories are written, they laugh.

They can't help it, hearing the things that the bards and storytellers and historians come up with, trying to find ways to define the life they had lived to get where they were now. The Red Wolf of Winterfell, the Queen That Never Bent, Sansa says to him once, raising her still brilliantly colored eyes from the parchment she reads. The White Wolf of the North, Good King Jon. He had laughed at that, because despite it all, he still doesn't always feel so good.

But when his eyes meet hers, he knows what he has is good, no, what he has is the best. He thinks not just of her, but of the family they've built along the way... Robb, their first born, their heir, though his place will be in Winterfell. The next King Robb, named for the one that should have been. He is built like a Stark, somehow more like the uncle he's named for than anyone could have been prepared for. Sometimes the six-year-old's glare renders him speechless, sends him back to a time where he and Robb had once wrestled in the mud, back to a time when life had been different. Then of course there's Ned, who though quiet like his namesake, is easily persuaded to do wrong by his older brother. He too is more Stark, but he has a touch of Tully in his hair when the sunlight catches it. Some say he is quite like his uncle Bran and there isn't a day where the boy isn't happy in the broken man's lap. He will succeed Jon, if he wishes it, but something tells Jon that Ned will offer his crown to Lyanna, more suited to Hand of a King or Queen. That was who came third, their first daughter Lyanna, named for her grandmother and a spitfire like she was said to have been. She is Sansa's twin, a beauty of a girl even just at two, but she too is a child that Jon cannot deny. Her dark hair is never tidy, though it falls with the same gentle wave as Sansa's does. Lyanna is rambunctious and rowdy, often found tagging along behind her oldest brother. There's another one yet to come, though Sansa's day is to certainly come sooner than later, this one another girl Jon hopes. He hopes a redhead might still yet join their family.

Stepping into the rooms he's shared with Sansa for the last five years in King's Landing, he's stopped by the sight that even still, catches him off guard. She sits up, resting against the pillows, her swollen abdomen nearly hidden by the tangle of children that sleep against her. Robb has his head against her side, tucked into the warmth and safety of his mother's elbow. Lyanna sleeps curled up with her head on her mother's lap, one of Sansa's hands stroke the child's long hair, a faint smile on her lips. Ned sleeps at the foot of the bed, tucked against Ghost, who still yet sleeps beside Sansa as he had done all the years since their reunion. Though Ned sleeps away from the rest, his one hand is outstretched just enough that his little fingers curl into a fold of Sansa's gown. "Now this is a sight." Jon chuckles, carefully sinking down onto the tiny space beside her on the bed, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Robb's forehead. "I thought Robb was too big for such things?" Their oldest son had only just recently declared himself to be old enough for a steel sword and far too old for his mother's kisses- but finding him this way brought a warm feeling to Jon's chest. Their first born was indeed growing up, but it seemed not as quickly as the boy might have thought.

Sansa smiles, turning to look at him as he takes his spot beside her. It feels like it's been eons since this bed was theirs and yet... The warm weight of her children, the feeling of the one growing within her... It was all the things she had always wanted. She would never trade what they had now for anything. "He was the first to fall asleep," Sansa chuckles as she returns her hand to Lyanna, who quietly shifts in her sleep, a hand tucked beneath her cheek just as Sansa sleeps. "We'll have to wake them soon," she goes on to say, the second labor pain hitting her, this one forcing her to wince. "But not... Yet." She longs to savor this moment, this single one, where they are as they are, before things must change again. Where Lyanna is still her youngest, where Ned is only a big brother to one, where Robb is not nearly almost seven-years-old and no longer a baby in need of his mother.

Suddenly, Jon is squeezing her hand.

Looking up, a smile curves upon her lips and she knows, she understands. Their family is not changing, it's becoming complete.

[ x x x ]

Westeros sings it's joy the day the youngest princess is born.

She is born with the Tully red hair of her grandmother and mother, named Cat in honor of that grandmother she will never meet. Sansa cries as she holds her close, burying her face in her sweet smelling skin, knowing well that this was the last missing piece of her heart.

After so many years, her heart was complete once again, as if it had been that day before she left Winterfell.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #queen sansa event #jonsa-creatives #jon x sansa #i wrote this #my writing

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idreamofplaid · 5 years ago

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Fallen - Chapter 6

Summary: Sam thought he had found happiness, but now his past is back to haunt him. Lucifer has claimed the throne of heaven, and it is his intention that Sam should finally fulfill his destiny as King of Hell.

Characters: Sam x Reader; Lucifer

Word Count: 2788

Warnings: It’s dark. Contains torture.

A/N: This chapter is inspired by the song “The Water” by Hurts. Listen to it here.

Series Masterlist

Innocent they swim. I tell them “no.”

Sam’s POV

Your feet hovered over the floor; your body was flat against the wall, held there by Lucifer’s force. I grabbed at Lucifer’s hand around my throat trying to loosen his hold. I needed to get to you. I had to get to you.

He moved his hand up to my chin and squeezed it hard, holding it in a vise like grip and making sure my eyes stayed on you. “Look at her, Sammy.” His voice had that cold edge to it that almost made me go numb with fear. “I warned you. You just couldn’t stay away from her. You know what happens now.” Lucifer jerked my face back around to look at him. He leered at me. “It’s time. Hell is ready for your ascension, and she’s coming with. Hell needs someone like your...honey.”

I felt the bile rise in my throat. “That’s right, Sam. I know what you call her. I can hear you...when I want.”

I clenched my teeth as tight as I could. I wanted to kill him, but I couldn’t move. “You are a sick son of a bitch!”

“Awwww, Sam. C’mon. I thought we were closer than that.” He had that grating, almost whiny tone, which instantly turned to ice. “We were, Sam. Don’t you remember? So close in every way.” His smile was sinister, and it took everything in me not to shake and give him that satisfaction. He turned that awful smile toward you. “Time to show your lady love, don’t you think?”

I tried to shake my head, but it barely moved. Lucifer still had his hand on me. “No. No! Take me. You can do anything you want. Just leave her alone.”

Lucifer’s mocking tone was back. “Humans and love. Crazy thing.” He let me go, and I fell against Jacob’s crib. “I’m going to do whatever I want anyway, Sam.”

They just dive right in, but do they know?

It looked like an empty room, but it wasn’t. I remembered it. Lucifer could make it seem like anything or anywhere he wanted. He had tormented me with it, made it seem like Mom and Dad were still alive, made it seem like Jessica was still alive. He had made it seem like everything I ever wanted was real. I’d sat on the couch in my own house with Dean, drinking beer and watching football. I’d seen Mom playing with her grandchildren, my kids, Dean’s kids. We were normal. We were a family.

Then Lucifer would take it all away just to torture my body like he had my heart and mind. He could also make every kind of horror imaginable appear in that room and some you could never imagine. The pain was excruciating, and there was never an end to it. Now, I had brought you here.

It’s a long way down... and there’s no air or sound

You were lying on the floor against the wall. I tried to stand to go to you and collapsed right back down. The bastard had dropped us in here literally. The pain in my knee was sharp, intense, and not going to keep me from getting to you. I crawled. The floor was rough, and I scraped my hands dragging myself across it. I had to know if you were okay, but if the fall had knocked you out; it was a mercy. At least you didn’t know where you were. How was I supposed to tell you?

I touched your shoulder as gently as I could. You didn’t move, so I brushed your hair back from your face. There was a gash at the top of your forehead, and blood was trickling down past your eye. I grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt and ripped off a piece of it. The line of blood went all the way down to your cheek. I started there. I wiped at it until the cloth in my hand was streaked with red. I sat back on my heels and looked at it then looked at your face remembering the way it looks when you smile. When I spoke, it wasn’t even as loud as a whisper. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Down below the surface

You finally groaned and lifted your hand to your head; then you blinked your eyes open once and immediately squinted before opening them for good. “Sam?” You rubbed your fingers over your temple. “What?” Your eyes moved around the empty room. “What is this?”

I dropped my head, swallowed, and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath then slowly raised my head back up to look at you. Your eyes... Dammit. You’d trusted me again, and this is where it got you. “It’s...this is.... We’re in hell.” I saw you look around again, your eyes getting wider as they roamed over the rough, gray concrete walls and floor. Your breathing got faster, and your eyes met mine. I saw the fear, the confusion, and the disbelief as you tried to make sense of it.

I closed my arms around you and pulled you against me. You were trembling, and I shifted your body so you were more under me and did my best to cover you with mine. If I could have held you any closer, I would have. A silent prayer passed through my mind. “Please, God, help me. I can’t protect her.”

There’s something in the water. I do not feel safe.

Lucifer entered the room in a flash of light. “Oh, hey, am I interrupting something?” I didn’t move, didn’t let go of you. “You kids comfortable? There are better accommodations, you know, chambers befitting a king and queen. All you have to do is say the word.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. “No? On we go then.”

I heard Lucifer snap his fingers. I gritted my teeth. In my experience, that always meant something horrible was about to happen. I felt a pair of hands on each of my shoulders. They dragged me back, pulling me away from you. The two demons slammed me down into a metal chair. Cold. Always cold. Lucifer tortures with ice as well as fire. He stood in front of me while they strapped me down. “Meet my assistants, Sam. They were swimsuit models on earth. Got them involved in some pretty naughty stuff, landed ‘em here. Quick to move up through the ranks though. You know how it is.”

Lucifer leaned over and put his face in mine. “Can’t say I’m not thoughtful, Sam. Little bit of eye candy for you. Probably won’t be so great for her.” He jerked his head over his shoulder in your direction. “So what should the ladies do for you, Sam? Pleasure or pain?” He stood up and started walking back and forth in front of me looking over at you every so often as he talked. “What do you think your wife would enjoy watching more?” Lucifer made a show of putting his finger to his chin like he was thinking. “Hmmm. Wait.” He held his finger up in the air. “You didn’t marry her. Why is that, Sam?”

You tried to hide your feelings, hide what his words were doing to you. Only, I knew you too well not to see it. He’d hurt you, made you question, made you wonder, made you doubt. It was exactly what he wanted to do. Lucifer kept going. “Oh well, baby mama then. Isn’t that what the kids are calling it?”

I saw the pain in your eyes, and it was worse than anything he’d ever done to me before. He’d love seeing me break like this so soon, but I didn’t care. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N. You know I love you.”

Lucifer was nothing if not dramatic. He pretended to dab at his eyes. “This is so precious, but c’mon, Sam.” He held his arms out wide. “It’s obvious what you really want. Sure, you say the right things.” He paused to stare at you. You didn’t flinch or look away, just glared at him like the monster he is. Lucifer turned back to me and winked. “You enjoyed Ruby. You did, Sam. Can’t deny it. Aren’t you the least bit curious to know what two demons could do for you?” The devil flicked a finger in their direction and one of the female looking demons grabbed my shirt and ripped it open down the front. With another snap of Lucifer’s fingers the clothes disappeared from one of the demons and an iron fire poker appeared in the other’s hand glowing red at the end.

I wish that I was stronger. I’d separate the waves.

The naked one straddled my lap and started to grind against me. The pants I was wearing were way too thin. I knew you could see me getting hard. Damn him for doing this to you. The one with the poker lay the hot end of it on my chest. I hissed through my teeth. When the pain stopped and I opened my tightly clenched eyes, Lucifer was smiling. “Gonna need a decision, Sam. What’s it gonna be?”

It didn’t matter what I said. He was going to do exactly what he wanted. My eyes shot venom at him. “Fuck you.”

He laughed. “That’s ironic coming from you, Sam. I think I’ll pass for the time being. I can always join in later.” He made a rolling motion with his hips to match what the demon on my lap was doing. His grin was pure evil. “You protest at first, but eventually you’ll like it.” Lucifer stopped his lewd motions and dropped the twisted smile to glare at me with all the menace he had. “Meanwhile, pain it is.”

I’d just let the water take me away.

There’s this thing about pain, feel enough of it and you black out. Maybe it’s the mind’s way of preserving itself, but Lucifer will never let that happen. There’s no escape once he starts. My body was burning all over. The demon had put that poker on my shoulders, across my back, against my thighs, and down my stomach. They could do anything they wanted to me, didn’t matter, as long as Lucifer let you go. As long as he let you go back to our son and both of you were safe, I’d be his king or whatever else he wanted.

I’d hung my head concentrating on not making a sound; I didn’t want you to hear it. I lifted my face to look at him. He was watching me closely to see how I reacted to the torture. I knew he would be. It was part of his fun. “Let her go. You don’t need her here. I’ll do what you want. Just let her go.” My hair was falling in my eyes. I couldn’t move it, but I could see him clearly. I could see that warped sadistic smile cross his face.

Lucifer walked closer to me. He cupped my chin in his hand and squeezed, then he tilted my face up. “Not the way it works, Sammy. That pretty piece of ass you found for yourself has power of her own, a power to compliment yours; and you made your choice. You just couldn’t turn your back on her. So, here she is. You’re meant to be, Sam, just like your mom and dad were. They had to be together so they could have you.” His fingers were on the hollows of my cheeks, and he tightened his hold until my mouth fell open. “Your son is only the beginning, Sam. You’re destined to father a dynasty.” He let go of my face and started to stroke his hand down my cheek in the parody of a gentle touch. “Can’t do that if she isn’t here with you.” Lucifer smirked. “And you already know you’re more powerful with her.”

The hopelessness of this situation settled over me. I felt defeated, and the next words just slipped out. “You never intended to let her go.”

He nodded to the demon still holding the iron poker. She walked back in front of me and touched the fiery tip to my chest then dragged it slowly down my stomach lower and lower. She waved it over my crotch, and my pants disappeared. When it touched my balls, I screamed. You spoke up quietly from your corner. Your voice sounded broken. “Don’t hurt him anymore. Please don’t hurt him.” It was enough for me to close my mouth and get myself under control. I saw the tears streaming down your face and the triumphant look in Lucifer’s eyes before he turned his back to me to look at you.

There was a time I did not fear...Now every time I get close, I’m scared of falling in

“You don’t want him to hurt anymore?” Lucifer walked toward you slowly. With every menacing step, I pulled harder at the leather restraints that were holding me. He kneeled next to you and reached out to touch the end of your hair. I was raging inside at the sight of him touching any part of you. He rubbed it between his fingers.

“No! Leave her alone!” My chest was heaving I was breathing so hard with the effort I was making trying to get away. I’d tear him apart with nothing but my hands.

Lucifer looked over his shoulder and laughed at me then turned his head back to you. “There are much nicer things. I don’t have to hurt your Sam. I can make him feel good. I can give him everything, and you can have it with him. In fact, I’m offering him the world and hell as his kingdom.” He lifted your hair up high and dropped it. “How about this? I’ll give you what amounts to a palace with a great big bed in it where he can fuck you every night to his little heart’s content. Or...I can let the girls rub his dick raw while they carve your name all over his body. He won’t know where pain stops and pleasure starts anymore. You’ll never be able to be with him the way you want again. You’ll never be able to satisfy him because he’ll need the pain.”

The sound of a cart being wheeled to the center of the room echoed off the walls. I could see everything that was spread on top of it, the clamps, the knives, the whips, the suction tubes, and the cattle prod. That last thing made me shudder with a wave of horrible recollection. You could see it all too. Your head started to shake rapidly back and forth.

I wish that I was stronger

You were taking long deep breaths in an effort to calm yourself. Finally, your head stopped shaking. You pushed yourself up on your hands, straightened your back, and looked Lucifer straight in the eye. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your queen. Let Sam go.”

My mind was screaming. You’re all sweetness, Y/N. You’re love and everything good. “Y/N, no!”

Lucifer stood, took your hand, and pulled you up beside him. “She’s a winner, Sam. Truly she is, but I need both of you now to continue the plan.” He hadn’t let go of your hand, and he led you across the room to stand in front of me. Lucifer spoke to you this time. “Go ahead. Sit down. Take him in your arms. Show Sam some of that kindness you have that he loves so much.”

You sat down carefully on my lap. Your fingertips brushed lightly over the burns on my arms, shoulders, and chest. I could see the tears gathering in your eyes. You leaned down to kiss my cheek, just below my ear. Your lips were soft and gentle. “It’ll be okay, Sam. We’ll make it okay.” I felt you start to shake, but I couldn’t hold you. I couldn’t comfort you. “I can’t watch this anymore. It will destroy me if I let this happen to you, Sam. Please, just say yes.”

I’d just let the water take me away

You were so close I could feel you breathe, smell your scent. I could get lost in you even now. It wasn’t in me to refuse you anything. You had taken me back after everything. I had to trust you and what you said, trust that we’d find a way out of this. I steeled myself, made my voice hard. When I looked at Lucifer, I knew my eyes were harder. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Everything Forever: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @gh0stgurl @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @maddiepants @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @iknowwheremytowelis @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @oldfreakything

Sam/Jared Love: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @winchesterxfamilybusiness @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @i-joined-social-media-finally @wingledsam @autumninavonlea @spnxbsessed @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @wendibird @fantasy-shadows @team-free-will-you-idjiot @waywardnerd67 @neii3n @fullmooner @supernatural-took-me-over @julesthequirky @songbird400

Fallen: @stephaniecanfield96us @petitegateau911

#fallen #sam angst #sam x reader #sam series #reader insert

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vaderssidechick · 4 years ago

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Fic Snippet: What It Feels Like To Be Queen, Part III (Boba Fett/Fennec Shand Smut--(NSFW)

Explicit. Just Warnin’ Yas.

Posted on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28531320

Rystall panted, poised on the tip of the choice to stay or run, when she suddenly cried out, “Hail Boba Fett, new Ruler of Tatooine!”

Fennec’s hand clenched Boba’s arm with rising malice. But Fett said nothing, just merely smirked at the woman. Rystall’s posture relaxed a bit as she realized she wasn’t about to be immediately killed. She stepped a little closer to the couple. “I offer to serve you, Mighty One,” she said in thickly-accented Basic. She spread her pale palms, and even dared a seductive smile. “Like I used to. Remember, Fettttttt?” she purred.

Shand’s grip clamped even harder, and Fett could feel the rage shaking in it.

Rystall undulated forward, her eyes drooping with pretentious lust. “And of course, your frrriend here. I could serve her the same way, yesss? Forrrr you, Boba.” She reached for Fennec’s cheek...

Big mistake.

That hand on Boba’s arm was quicker than a blink. It shot up and wrenched Rystall’s wrist up and back. Before she could take a breath to scream, she was pushed face-first into the sandstone wall, arm wretched back to the point of breaking, and a vibroblade humming across her long throat.

“Touch me again,” Fennec hissed into the woman’s ear, “and I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it back to you.”

Rystall whimpered and shook against the wall. Boba ran a gloved hand over his mouth, trying to wipe away the grin forming there. “Fenn.” Shand shot a glare back over her shoulder at him. “Easy, mesh’la. She’s harmless.”

Fennec lowered the blade from Rystall’s throat, but kept her arm bent and pressed into the wall. Fett sauntered to the poor girl’s side and leaned in her ear. “This is how you’ll serve me,” he rasped. “You’ll fetch my helmet and Fenn her codpiece. Then, you’ll bring us food and drink and towels and oils; you know where to. And then…” He grabbed her Rystall’s jaw in a duratseel grip, “you’ll get the fuck out.”

Rystall’s lips quivered in terror. Boba nodded curtly to Fennec, who took the cue and released her arm. Rystall gave a short pained cry before she stumbled and ran back to the throne room, darting frightened glances back behind her until she disappeared.

As Fett came to Shand’s other side, she threw him a look dripping with acid. “Please tell me you didn’t stick your dick in that woman.”

Boba merely smirked as he leaned on the wall. “Just her throat. She’s good with that. Singer, you know.”

Fennec glared at him for a few more moments until the laugh she tried to suppress snorted through her nose. “Bastard.”

“Mood killed?” he asked with a raised bare brow. Fennec replied with a sighed moan before coming in and thrusting her mouth onto his, snaking her hand behind his head and her tongue along his lips and teeth. Fett took that as a no.

But then, she pulled away and knit her brow. “Towels and oils? Are you saying there’s actual water-freshers in this place?”

He smirked. “Better. Come on, I want to show you something.”

He slid an armored arm around her waist, leading her through the dark halls. They came upon an archway, then a staircase going down, which led to another set of stairs. As they descended, Fennec noted the air definitely smelled of moisture, more so with every downward step. Eventually, the desert-parched air became saturated with humidity. When they reached the bottom, Boba pulled a thickly-beaded curtain back and jerked his head. “Go on.”

Fennec stepped through. The place was pitch black, she couldn’t see a thing, but she could hear water sluicing and dripping. “Boba, what is this place?”

“Never been in this part of Jabba’s palace, have you? Probably because you weren’t a pleasure slave servicing a visiting mob boss.”

Stepping around her, he raised a gauntlet and pointed it at the wall, igniting the flamethrower. A torch suddenly burst into light, and Fennec pulled a gasp as it lit up a massive underground pleasure grotto.

As Fett moved past her to fire up a few more wall sconces, Shand took it all in with a gaping mouth. An underground pool stretched what looked like at least a half kilometer into the palace’s bedrock, with a small waterfall in the middle, crashing onto boulders made of precious stones. Steam flowed over the surface, indicating it was heated by the belly of Tatooine itself. And all around it were couches of Arisand velvets, tables and lamps made of glass and iron, pits with mattresses donned with sheets and pillows of the finest silks and damasks the galaxy could offer.

She stepped toward the edge of the massive pool. “This is a natural thermal spring. There’s… gotta be more freshwater here than in Mos’s Eisley and Espa combined,” she breathed.

“Exactly right. This is barely a fraction of what’s beneath us right now,” Fett replied. “Why do you think Jabba built this palace here? He controlled all the water for the entire Jundland Wastes and beyond. Control the water, and you control Tatooine.”

Fennec huffed a short laugh, kicking herself for never putting the pieces together before. Of course this is why he wanted Jabba’s palace-- the building was nothing compared to what lay underneath it.

Boba began shedding his armor, unlatching his breastplate, then his shoulder guards, tossing them on a nearby couch. “We’ll enjoy it tonight. And tomorrow, we negotiate with the Tuskens to give them a share.”

Okay, she hadn’t seen that piece falling. “The Tuskens? Why?”

Fett dropped onto the couch. “Jabba wasn’t stupid, but he was arrogant. He never partnered with the locals, just chose to dominate them.” He peeled off one knee rocket-launcher, then the other. “He took this place from a Tusken faction decades ago-- story goes he actually paid off a rogue Jedi to kill them all in the night.” He removed a boot. “I want to do things differently. Ally the Tuskens, bring them into the syndicate, give them a share. Have them at our disposal.”

“You mean,” she breathed, stepping toward him, “our own personal army.”

Fett nodded as he took off the other boot. “One an off-world crime family would never see coming.” But he then stopped and looked over the rippling pool, thoughtful for a moment.

Shand noticed. “That’s not the only reason, is it?”

He slid his dark eyes back to her. “The Tuskens found me in the wastes after I escaped the Sarlacc. They could have left me to die, but they didn’t. They saved my life, healed me the best they could. I owe them.” Those eyes narrowed when she chuckled. “What?”

“You like to say you’re that not Mandalorian,” Shand said, “but you act like one sometimes with that whole honor thing. Like you did with that Mando and the little green kid.” She paused a moment before venturing, “Is that why you saved me? Paying it forward, as it were?”

Boba set his elbows on his knees, his brow was as stern as granite, his dark eyes as solid as basalt. “No. I saved you because Fennec Shand didn’t deserve to die handcuffed and defenseless at the hands of a two-credit punk with delusions of grandeur.”

She started a bit at his claim, letting out a breath. But then she smiled. “Just as Boba Fett didn’t deserve to rot in the belly of a sand beast for a millennium.”

Fett’s lip pulled up in a smirk just as his black eyes softened. “As I said, fate sometimes smiles upon the wretched.” He rose from the couch and undid his underobe, peeling it off and revealing his scarred barrel-chest. He gave her a leer. “You just gonna stand there or are you gonna get naked already?”

Fennec shot him a bemused look, then started unfastening her own garb, shrugging off the armorweave jacket first, then the shirt underneath. Boba undid his codpiece and trousers, sliding them off his hips and stepping out. Fennec narrowed her eyes and hummed in admiration of his cock jutting up and out, already hard and big for her. Before she could undo the rest of her pants, Fett was already on her, his big hands tearing at the fasteners, his thumbs pushing the waistband down her hips, his mouth and teeth already on her neck.

He fisted one hand into her hair while groping her breast with the other, flicking the nipple into a hard little pebble. His smells of sweat, sand, blaster fire and her own cunt swirled in her senses. Fennec moaned and threw back her head, snaking her own hand down his meaty torso and grabbed his cock. She teased a slender finger along the slit of his glans, laving the pre-cum over it-- and there was a lot-- and then spreading it down to his hilt.

Boba moved his hand down her body, mindful of the cybernetics in her abs, before cupping her cunt. “You’re a gorgeous piece of ass, Fenn,” he growled with that knee-buckling accent from deep in his chest right into her ear.

Most women would have taken that as degrading. But Fennec just laughed, knowing Fett’s own brand of sweet-nothings. But her laugh turned into a grunt when he pushed two fingers up inside her, hooking them to get at her G-spot just right. She bucked into his hand and tried to throw a leg around him, only to realize her pants were still around her boots.

When she faltered and cursed, Boba chuckled and let her go, backing toward the pool. “Get those off and get in here,” he said before turning around and diving in.

Fennec didn’t need to be told twice; her core was pulsing and clenching with unabashed need to be filled. She quickly stripped her boots and pants off and plunged into the pool.

Fett had swum some ways out, finding a ledge under the water to sit on. He took a moment to just watch this beautiful woman glide through the water to him in the flickering torchlight, watching her black hair swirl over her athletic body, gripping himself and getting himself even harder for her.

She emerged from under the water with a gasp for air and, without a moment’s hesitation, climbed on top of him. Boba gripped her neck with one hand and an ass cheek in the other, pulling her down and sinking his engorged cock into her in one rough move. Fennec crashed her lips into Fett’s, gorging on his mouth as she shamelessly rode him, clutching his bald head in both her hands.

Her walls gripped his dick like a slicked fist, milking it with unrestrained ferocity. His wet hands played up and down her back as he grabbed her ass. He broke the kiss to stare unblinking into her eyes, lips curled in a feral snarl. “That’s it, baby,” he hissed through his clenched jaw, “take it, take what you want. It’s all yours.”

Fennec let out a throaty laugh wrapped around a groan, and whipped her wet hair over her shoulder without breaking her fierce stride. “You’re right, it IS all mine,” she growled, mimicking his snarl. “That means no more throat-kiffing any more of Jabba’s sloppy seconds, got it?”

Boba chuckled and fucked up hard inside her, eliciting a grunt from her throat. “I like when you get jealous.”

“Bastard,” she growled through a grin.

“Come on, show me, Fenn.” His hands landed on her hips, urging a new pace. “Cum on my dick. Show me what a bastard I am.”

Into her ears and straight down to her clit, Fennec pumped herself hard on him, up and down, in and in and in and in-- it was like her G-spot was sparking and shooting currents straight up her spine. She flung herself straight up on him, giving Fett a spectacular view of her tits bouncing and the light show of her cybernetics as she used him to chase her pleasure. Finally, wide-eyed and mouth agape, Fennec threw her head back and a stream of Huttese profanity erupted from her gullet as her entire body shook and clamped on his cock.

It took all of his control not to cum with her-- but he wasn’t just done with her yet. Once again, Fett didn’t let her have her little afterglow. He pushed her off him and pushed back into the water, then turned around and grabbed a generous hold of her hair. Swimming to the other side, he pulled Fennec along on her back.

“BOBA!” she shrieked, uselessly grabbing at his hand, “you son of a bitch!”

“Easy there, princess,” he scoffed, “you got yours. Now it’s time to get mine.”

“Don’t call me ‘princess’!” Shand barked. “I hate that!” But underneath the bark, there was a hint of laughter.

“As you wish, Queen.” He was answered by another half-furious growl.

There were steps on the other side leading out of the pool. Boba pulled Fennec into his arms and half-hoisted her onto his shoulder, carrying her out of the water. Fennec half-seriously, half-playfully thrashed around, slippery in his arms, beating her fists against his back. But when they reached a massive mattressed pit laden with Arisand pillows and he threw her down on her back, she stopped all pretense of struggle and just took him in. Fett stood over her in the torchlight; naked and proud, scarred and thickly muscled, his cock jutting hard and up, breathing heavy and looking at her like he was about to eat her alive.

She smirked, shrugged, and spread her legs. “Well?”

Languidly, Boba took one step into the pillowed pit-- then pounced on her like a loth-wolf. Catching both her wrists in one hand, he thrust them over her head while gripping his cock with the other and sheathing it into her slick, swollen cunt full-hilt.

Fennec howled and arched, wrapping her long legs around his back as Fett ploughed into her. Taking her wrists now in both hands, he still held her down as he held himself up and over her, snaring her eyes in his glare as he took her as savagely as she did him moments ago. His cock was a battering ram, stretching her wide and deep, pummeling her into a submission she’d never given to another. And she never would-- Boba Fett wasn’t just her partner nor her rescuer. He was, indeed, her king.

His balls pulled tight inside him as his body tensed to the breaking point. He let go of Fennec’s wrists to shift himself and her, hooking his arms under her knees and crushing them into her chest. His pacing stuttered but his thrusts only picked up as he rammed himself into her, harder, harder, HARDER--

The tension snapped, and Fett erupted inside her with a violent slam of his hips and a low, guttural roar. He slid an arm out from under her knees and groped her breast as his seed spurted in waves, his hips snapping with every pulse. Fennec watched him with a leering smile, grasping his cock with her muscles, intent on draining every drop. But even as she did and looked up into his harsh face, twitching with aftershocks yet uncharacteristically content, a pang went through her: A lot of good it would do.

Fett craned his neck back and forth, pulling long hard breaths as he softened inside her. He ran his calloused hand over her sinewy body, bending down to set his teeth to her breast and gently raking them across her nipple, then his tongue over the soft bite. He pulled out and rolled onto his back, his big chest heaving with breath.

It wasn’t often Boba Fett smiled, but one crept across his battered face-- until he turned and saw Fennec staring up at the stone ceiling, her expression pinched and a little sad. “Eh,” he whispered, “what’s with the face?”

She pulled a long breath through her nose as her hand traveled absently down her body to rest on the cybernetics in her abs. “I can’t give you a kid. You know that, right?”

Boba rolled onto his elbow, his brow furrowed. “Where’d that come from?”

Shand shrugged. “King needs an heir, right? Even Jabba had a couple.”

“Fat good that did ‘im,” Boba grunted. “They were all picked off the minute word got out that he was dead.” He cupped her breast and leaned into her. “Fenn, even if you could, I couldn’t give you one either.” She rolled her head to him, surprise in her eyes. He smirked. “Why do you think my father wanted a clone for a son? Not like he didn’t have women beating his door down for the chance to have his kid.” He lazily rubbed her torso up and down. “You can do the math.”

Fennec gazed at him for a moment before smirking and covering his hand with her own. “We’re certainly a pair of the wretched, aren’t we?”

Both their attention suddenly focused on the grotto entrance when they heard the scuff of a shoe. Shand sat straight up, but Boba remained relaxed when Rystall appeared in the torchlight. Neither of them did anything to hide their nudity, but Fennec snorted a laugh through her nose as she watched the poor woman trying to balance a tray of food and drink in one arm while carrying Fett’s helmet with the other. When Rystall saw them lying there, she stumbled on her needle-thin heels, almost dropping the tray. Fennec would have given anything to have watched that lanky bitch stumble down those stairs.

Fett tossed a gesture at a table beside them. “Set the tray down here and put my helmet with the rest of my armor.”

Rystall complied, shakily bending at the knee to place the tray on the table. Fennec waited until the tray was stable before grabbing a pillow and hurling it at Rystall. “And then get THE FUCK OUT,” she snarled.

Poor Rystall shrieked and stumbled on her heels as she ran out, throwing the helmet and Fennec’s codpiece on the sofa as she fled. Fennec leaned back on her elbows and turned to Boba, a satisfied smirk playing across her lips.

He mimicked her smirk as he took her in. Love was not a word that had ever made it into Fett’s vernacular. But damned if he hadn’t chosen his Queen well.

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