#and i do like the dragon lord!! he feels rushed in places but he is LEAGUES better than the twins from bl3

[sleepy-crypt1d]

as glad as i am that they stopped beating jack's corpse for tiny tina's wonderland it does feel like something's Missing after him being around for so long, like i adore the game and wouldn't want to shoe horn him in (especially since i DO think that the dragonlord is a good successor) but it does make me want to replay BL2

[fabled-fiction]

Cregan Stark x Targaryen daughter of Rhaenyra

I don’t have a deep plot but I do have an idea. What if reader takes the place of Jace and flies to encourage Cregan like in the recent episode and he’s mesmerized by her beauty? 👀 Something along those lines — feel free to add or change it! ☺️ Thanks!

Snowflakes, Stolen Looks, and Beating Hearts

(Cregan Stark x Strong!Reader)

Summary: When you are sent with your brother Jacaerys to meet up with the Lord in the North, Cregan Stark, some feeling being to make the both of you light headed and forget just exactly what duty calls from the both of you. 

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: MAYBE POSSIBLE SPOILER ISH FOR EP 1. Yearning, possible OOC for Cregan (love does things to a man can you blame him??), Use of (Y/N)

A/N: This took…too long to write. I wanted to make this a yearning lovesick-y fic of Cregan that I have been DYING for and kept mulling over all the details. BUT ALAS it is here, I hope it filled your request and you all enjoy!!

You never thought that you would see snow.

You always wished to see it, having heard of its beauty. Ice falling from the sky in beautifully small flakes that seemed to be sewn together by the gods.

Looking at the palm of your hand, you smiled as you studied the pattern of the snowflake. Its exquisite beauty only lasting mere seconds as it began to melt into the valleys of your skin. A small frown made its way in place of your smile as you temporarily mourned the flake, before you wiped your hand on your cloak.

To think this place was blanketed in such beauty for the entire year.

Just ahead, Jace took a glance over his shoulder as he stared at the spectacle that was you. You stood next to your dragon, still as ever letting the snow collect on your hair and shoulders. You looked statue-esque as you continued to catch snowflakes, admiring them before they met their inevitable fate. Lost in your own world as you took a moment to forget about everything that had been plaguing you for the past few months.

He wished he could do the same, even for just a moment. Arriving at Winterfell, had him feeling on edge. For his whole life Jacaerys had protected you, feeling it was his duty to make sure nothing ever hurt you. The both of you, him being the first son of Queen Rhaenyra and you the first and only daughter, had grown up to know the true meaning of duty. This alone had bonded the two of you practically to the hip, it did not matter that you were older than him.

Looking back at you, he smiled as he saw how much snow had collected on your hair…people could mistake you for a “true” Targaryen…

That alone reminded him of the reason they were there.

“(Y/N)...c’mon we mustn't be even more late than we already are to meet with Lord Stark. Nightfall will be upon us yet…”

He watched as you finally looked up from the palm of your hand and sighed. Shaking the snow off of your head and shoulders, you rushed to meet his pace.

“I must say, I quite like this cold. It's much better than the humidity we face on Dragonstone.”

This earned a chuckle from Jacaerys. “Is that what you think of now? Not what to say to Lord Stark? What words to sew together to ensure he is our ally?”

“I do not need to take such action. Diplomacy comes easy to me. Besides, the Starks are known to be loyal to a fault.”

That much was true. Jace wasn’t entirely sure why he felt such anxiety with this meeting. It could have been that the simple act of ensuring allyship meant that war was truly upon your house. Or perhaps it could have simply just been that he did not wish to look a fool aside you as you expertly made your way through conversation with Lord Stark despite this being your first meeting. Since the both of you were small you had a knack for persuading people with your words. The Silver Tongued Dragon, you had been known as not long after this talent was found out.

Yes, he had nothing to fear. This would all go smoothly.

“Lord Stark, Prince Jacaeyrs Velaryon and Princess (Y/N) Velaryon of House Velaryon have arrived.”

Cregan nodded to the squire, straightening his cloak as he strapped Ice to his back.

This meeting in particular was one he was not too entirely worried about. House Stark had bent the knee to King Visery’s when he named his daughter as heir to the iron throne. This matter had been in the back of Cregan’s mind, with many more pressing matters being his top priority. He supposed that is why he often did not make the best first impressions, as his priorities were not that of the common list that many found themselves concerned with. He did not take an immediate interest in the pursuit of heirs or of ensuring that the house had a formidable reputation. Duty was his priority.

This meeting was a matter of formality to him. To ensure that he would stand behind Queen Rhanerya and support her in whatever way he could, without crippling the defenses on the Wall.

His hands reached back to tie his hair halfway up, his eyes focusing on the black ice of the steps. As his fingers struggled to snap the band around, he finally looked up to meet the faces of the two young dragons.

When his eyes met yours, everything seemed to stop.

It was as if the snows knew to freeze this moment over, so he could have the chance to meet your eye.

Cregan Stark had heard of the beauty of the old Valyria. He listened to the stories men shared of the silver haired house that brought out the darkest of temptations of man. How their men and women held a grace about them that had wives and husbands lust for just the touch of their hand on theirs.

As he looked at you, he felt that those stories were watered down backswill of a drunkard. There was not a word within the all known language of the Seven Kingdoms that could describe what he felt in this moment as he had the fortune to lay his eye upon you. He felt his grip on the banister tighten as he took in the sight of you. You, who looked up at him with the most mesmerizing beautiful eyes that only looked at him. 

It wasn't until he saw the rise and fall of your own chest did he remember to breathe.

“Lord Stark, It's an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Looking over at your brother, Cregan cleared his throat as he made his way down the stairs to properly shake his hand.

“The honor is all mine, to host the both of you here. My apologies for the weather, but it is the North.”

His accent stuck out to you. On Dragonstone and even throughout the Keep, when you had stayed there once upon a time, people often shrouded themselves in uppity falsehoods. Either to seem as if they were meant to truly walk amongst you, or to be someone entirely different from whence they came. It was part of the reason why you were so glad to have fled to Dragonstone, there were not as many falsehoods there.

So to see Cregan Stark have no fear in brandishing his weaponry, and speak to you in the laced tongue of the North was refreshing. You were drawn to the way he felt as if the niceties of royalty were second thought. As if the both of you could afford to toss aside pleasantries. It made you smile.

There was something else to be said about the Northerner. Just the way he stood before the both of you alone was enough action to intrigue you.

“Lady Velaryon, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

When his hand enveloped yours, you felt your breath catch in your throat. His eyes did not leave yours, as he lifted your knuckles to his lips.

“I wish it under other circumstances, Lord Stark.”

Giving him a small smile, the two of you stood there eye in eye. He had yet to let go of your hand as the two of you held each other there. When you stood this close to him you were able to get a better look at the man they had named Wolf of the North. Cregan Stark stood before you, dressed in fur and leather, bowing as he held your hand. You couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter as he held your eye. A flurry of grey and blue looked at you, purely you, and you couldn't help but feel as if that's all he wanted to do. Just as you stood there now, feeling consumed by the eye of the storm and wanting nothing more but to throw yourself to the whims of the winds.

“Lord Stark, Is there somewhere more private we could discuss?”

Feeling the hot stare of Jacaerys gaze on you, you regrettably took your hand from Cregan’s grasp. The imprint of his warmth on your skin remained, even through the leather, making you bring your hand to your chest as you bowed your head to him quickly.

Clearing his throat, Cregan looked at Jacaerys with a nod before motioning to the large metal lift.

“ ‘Course, let us talk atop the Wall.”

Jacaery’s held your eye for a moment as the both of you followed the Wolf. His eyes held a question within them as the two of you silently spoke. He had watched that whole scene unfold, having been a bystander to the tension that grew with every second that Cregan held your gaze. You simply rolled your eyes as you shoved him before following the Northerner into the metal cage.

Closing your eyes, you froze for a moment to feel the northern winds run through your hair and cloak. Snowflakes found themselves resting on you again, drawn to the warmth that ran through your Targaryen blood. As the lift brought you higher and higher into the sky, level with where you flew your dragon, it almost felt as if the air in your lungs crystallized.

“So tell me Lord Stark, What is this that falls from the sky and shivers my bones? Is it not still summer throughout the isles of the Seven Kingdoms?”

Cregan was so lost in his jealousy of the snowflakes that rested upon your skin that he almost didn't hear you speak. It wasn't until you had opened your eyes and looked at him through your lashes did he realize you had addressed him.

“This is only a late summer snow, my princess. In the true winter it will cover all you see, any memories you hold of warmth will be forgotten.”

“Sounds..hauntingly beautiful. Whilst this is my first time seeing snow it is my understanding that this is not the first time our ancestors have met here to treat? If I am correct it was the…Conqueror and the King in the North?” 

Jacaerys felt a relief fall over his shoulders as he heard you expertly laced the matter at hand into conversation. His eyes landed on Cregan as he watched the man hang onto every word you spoke. Not once had he looked at Jacaerys after the three of you stepped into the lift. His eyes never left you even before you spoke. He would like to think that it was because of the presence and attention you demanded. He had seen it many a time before, people could not look away from you whenever you entered a room, and their fates were often sealed after you had started to speak.

But, something else lay within his gaze. Jacaerys had seen that look before. The look of total awe and devotion to the other.

It was the same exact look he gave Baela.

“Surely the great Torrhen Stark would have sooner died than bent the knee. Unless of course he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms?” 

Cregan looked over to Jacaerys with a sigh. This meeting was meant for diplomacy, he had to remind himself of this as he looked to the Prince. He felt a crease grow within his brow as the three of you walked throughout the icy walkways of the top of the wall.

When your hand reached to hold his arm, he felt a fire light in his chest at your touch alone. It was as if you took all his pain and worry, forbidding it from plaguing him. When he took the opportunity to look over at you, he felt the ice in his veins thaw. 

“What my brother is getting at, Lord Stark, is that there is a threat upon the unity to the Seven Kingdoms. One that would tear the realm apart if the men and women who swore an oath to our grandfather do not remember who the rightful heir is. You understand our concerns do you not?”

“Starks do not forget their oaths, my princess…”

Looking at your hand placed on the crook of his elbow, he swallowed as he rested his hand atop yours.

“Can we depend on your men if the time comes that the Hightowers declare war upon our mother’s claim to the throne?”

Looking at Jacaerys, Cregan swallowed. He should not have felt torn, but he did. He needed his men here, to defend the wall from that which dared to plague Westeros. There were forces that lay in wait, that threatened the sanctity of not only the North but the South as well. He did not wish for his duty to falter in this dire time of need. But he had seen the worry in your eye. He knew that you were dependent on the power of the North if your mother’s throne, if you family was meant to remain the next in line. Another part of him wanted to promise whatever he could, whatever you needed just at the drop of the word.

“You must understand my hesitation, my Prince. Whilst I wish for nothing more than to offer you the whole of which the North has to offer, I must keep my army here to defend the Wall. Do you think my ancestors built a seven hundred foot wall to keep out snow and savages?”

As the three of you approached a divet within the wall, all of a sudden a very overwhelming dread filled your stomach. Looking over the edge, you saw nothing but a vast forest, covered in snow. But for some reason, the dragon within you faltered. Every sense you had was screaming at you to back away from the ledge that you took further steps towards. 

“What does it keep out?” Jace asked, as he felt his heart fall in his chest at the sight of you taking a closer step to the edge of the Wall.

“Death.”

You took a moment to look over your shoulder at Cregan once hearing the declaration. You had heard stories about the meeting place that took place here. How when King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne stood in your very spot, their dragons refused to cross the threshold. It made your stomach drop just at the idea of there being something more beyond the wall. That was a thought for another time however.

Both Jace and Cregan watched as you stood still as a statue once more, looking over the land of the North.

“I understand your hesitation to pull your men from the Wall, Lord Stark. It is quite the responsibility you have here,” Taking a step back, you swallowed as you smoothed your hair back. Jace offered you a hand to steady yourself as you took a few steps back from the edge.

“All we ask is that you provide whatever you can when the time comes. In return I personally can promise you’ll have mine when needed.”

Cregan sighed as he looked between the Wall and you. That alone had just sealed his fate, that he truely would give you whatever you needed, especially now knowing that you felt a duty to protect what was his as well. He could see it in your eyes when you looked over that edge. You believe his tales of things that lurked in the dark, just as he believed you when it came to the vile words of treachery.

The both of you would need the other soon enough yet.

“I can offer you thousands of greybeards. They have seen far too many winters, having grown a distaste for the cold. Their skills are well honed, and they can be ready to fight at a moment's notice. They will fight hard for you, like Northerners.”

There was a visible tension that dropped from the both of your and Jace’s shoulders after his words. Your brother rested his hand on your shoulder as you clasped your hands together in front of you. Jace then reached forward to shake Cregan’s hand with both of his.

“Thank you Lord Stark. Your promises will not be forgotten.”

Finding your way beside the both of them, you clapped your hand on both their shoulders with a beaming smile.

“Lets celebrate shall we?”

-

He couldn't take his eyes off you.

You sat across the table, the warmth of the candle light that lit up the meeting hall suiting itself well on your cheeks. You had settled in well at the opposite head of the table, chatting with other Northern women. You were content, from as well as he could tell.

His eyes hadn’t left you since the minute you found yourself in his halls, drinking his wine and eating his food. There was something that stirred in the pits of his stomach as he…provided for you. In the ways of war and also in the niceties of comfort. You had taken well to both, and he planned to bathe in your presence for as long as he could before you took your inevitable departure.

After that he wasn’t sure he would see you again ever.

While he should have been fine with that, as he had told himself a multitude of times that courting and the ways of society were well beyond his interests, something made him sick at the idea of letting you just slip away because of some silly notions he had been telling himself. You had bewitched him at first glance, and as he had taken in more of your presence throughout the day he could rightfully say that you had taken up a space in his mind if not in its entirety. 

His hand gripped his chin tighter at these thoughts alone.

“Lord Stark…” 

Shaking his head, he looked over to see your brother standing beside him.

“My prince, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jace motioned to the chair besides Cregan, sitting down as the Lord motioned him. Taking one last look at you, as you laughed aloud at whatever the person holding your attention had said, he figured he could spare a moment of his attention being somewhere else.

“I just wanted to come by and thank you once again for pledging your support. I know it was not your responsibility to ease my anxieties but you did anyway, and I am grateful for it.”

He gave a curt smile to the prince, turning his body to face him to ensure that he was indeed involved in whatever conversation Jacaerys had meant to begin. However that could not be further from the truth as his mind began to wander.

“A Stark never forgets their oath. I would not be the man I am today had I intended to ever break it. “

“I figured as much. My sister said quite the same thing when we arrived, she being the more faithful one.”

Cregan smiled at the comment, taking another look over to you. You were alone in thought now, whoever you were speaking with having taken your attention for granted no doubt and departing to enjoy the festivities that were about. You were looking out the window, taking in the snow of the North like you had been earlier that day.

“She the smarter of the two of you hmm?” He quipped, smirking as he watched Jace chuckle to himself.

“She is the smartest out of all my siblings I would say. (Y/N) has always been a good judge of character, I don’t think I have ever seen her put her trust into someone who didn’t deserve it.”

His heart jumped at the words Jace bestowed upon him. Somehow knowing that you trusted him, that he was one of the few that could claim to have earned your admiration even within just a few words made him feel stronger in a sense. Is this what men talked about, when they said that the affection of a woman made them feel as if they could move the hills? If this is how he felt just at the mention of your trusting him, he couldn’t help but ponder on how he would feel from being the object of your affections.

“I think that might be one of the main reasons why she hasn’t been courted.”

Cregan froze, feeling himself look over at you once again. For some reason the thought did not run through his mind that your hand could have already been called for. It stirred something in him, knowing that your name was still Velaryon.

Your seat was empty when Cregan looked over again. He saw your silhouette turn the corner quickly, vanishing in a flurry of red and black.

“Enjoy the rest of the meal my prince.” Cregan laid his hand on Jace’s shoulder before making his exit in the same direction that you had.

Jace smiled to himself as he watched the man quickly follow your footsteps with haste, his cloak making a rather dramatic arch at the turn.

There you stood, looking into the sky. You looked as if you were infatuated by the moon herself, lit up only by her beam as snowflakes flitted around you. If it was possible for you to look anymore ethereal Cregan would become devote. You were cast in a halo of moonlight, so entranced that it almost made him guilty for interrupting such an intimate moment.

Looking over your shoulder, he swallowed whatever nerves he was feeling so he could actually have the opportunity to talk with you. But then you smiled at him, and he felt himself grow weak. Part of him wanted to fight against this foreign feeling, the other wanted to bask in it.

“Lord Stark, I hope my leaving didn’t come off as rude. I wanted to enjoy the cold for just a little longer.”

“Not at all. I’m glad you have taken such an interest in what others would consider harsh.”

This got a small hum from you as you held your gloved hand out. “How one could consider this harsh is beyond me.”

Cregan chuckled to himself as he came to stand next to you, watching as you studied the snowflake in your palm.

“Winter is not often kind. The cold and ice have a tendency to turn those away, since it takes so much and gives so little.”

“Fire does the same, yet people hold it in such a high regard. People should do the same with snow.”

Cregan hung onto every word you said, taking this private moment deep within. Hearing you speak so poetically, especially when the topic was anything other than the purpose of which you came. To get a glimpse into who you were, to know the person that was you made him think of a million other questions to ask just to fill out every step it took to understanding you.

He watched you closely as you brought your hand down, and held your arms when you looked up. The cloak you had dawned earlier was nowhere in sight, and if he could recall it had been left behind on your chair in the haste of leaving the room. Cregan was quick to remove his own fur lined cloak, and drape it across your shoulders. It swallowed you, enveloping you in the lingering warmth that was him.

“Thank you, you did not have to.”

“What type of a host would I be if I let you freeze?”

You laughed at his comment, a full laugh, and placed your hand on his bicep. It was still cold, from catching snowflakes, but it warmed him none the less.

“Plus, it looks better on you. The North suits you.”

A flash of blush rested on your cheeks at the comment, and made you tighten the grip on his cloak.

“Thank you, Lord Stark. I do have to say of all the places I’ve been I think I have enjoyed my time here the most.”

With a nod, he clasped his hands behind his back before leaning a little closer to whisper to you.

“Well I hope then that the next time you are here I can show you all that Winterfell has to offer..that is if there is a next time?”

You both had turned to face each other now, your hand still holding his arm as you looked up and only him now. He looked at you the same way the moon did, and you basked in the warmth of him in the same way.

Reaching forward, his hand came to hold a bit of your bang before wiping the snow from it and tucking it behind your ear. His hand came to rest on your cheek, holding the side of your face as the both of you were able to finally really look at each other without the wandering eye of anyone else.

He took his time committing your face to memory, just in case this was truly the last time he would see you. Cregan wanted to make sure his dreams were able to replicate the image of you.

You stood there, doing the same. You were surrounded by him entirely, in scent and sight. This entire afternoon when he wasn’t looking at you, you were looking at him. You could feel this back and forth game of cat and mouse that had played out, but there was a nagging reminder of everything that lead to this meeting and everything that waited after it.

Perhaps you could take this night to bask in something that wasn’t duty.

“I could entertain the thought, only if you could make the trip worthwhile.”

This earned a laugh from the northerner as he looked at you, and his thumb ran under your eye. The feeling off his touch had you feeling drunk off his attention. Oh you were absolutely certain if anyone had seen the two of you in this exact moment there would be many an accusation.

“Oh? And how exactly would I do that my princess?” He mused, looking at you tenderly

Reaching to hold the wrist of the hand that held you, you stroked his wrist and hummed.

“Give me a reason to come back, Cregan Stark. A reason that isn't just snow, or the cold. Something that is more than the North. More than duty.”

He stood there, just staring back into your eyes as he thought of the declaration. To give you a true and proper reason to ride all the way back here, where he was nothing but duty and sacrifice. To give you a part of him that was something else completely. You asked this of him as if it was the easiest thing he could sacrifice in order to see you again.

It should have been a hard request to fill. A question that should have left him tormented when giving the answer.

But somehow his answer was sealed the minute you stepped into view.

“Me…Come back for me.”

In the silent moment between the two of you, all that could be heard was the howl of the wind and the beating of your hearts as they became forever joined with just a touch.

[hanafubukki]

Happy Birthday Malleus Draconia 💚💕

Summary: You kidnap Malleus Draconia.

Sebek knew it would be a tiring day when he saw a letter placed on his wardrobe table.

It had decorative little crocodiles and squirrels all over with his name written in your writing.

He could already feel a headache incoming.

He’ll wonder how you snuck into his room to place said letter later, he was more interested in the message you had to say.

“Dear Knight,

Your Lord has been kidnapped. He is mine for the day.

Mwah~

YN”

Sebek rushed out of his room, running to the Diasomnia waiting room where his lord would sit and enjoy tea at this time.

…only to be met with a giggling Lilia and a napping Silver.

“YN!”

“Did you have to tease Sebek?”

“It’s all in good fun Tsunotaro.”

“I see.”

While Malleus ponders your answer, you plopped down right next to him on the couch.

“What does this…kidnapping entail?”

You could tell Malleus was humoring you. He found this whole situation funny and yet intriguing.

“For you? Just sit there look pretty and enjoy all the snacks, games, and movies I have.”

Malleus laughed lowly, “YN, I do have duties to fulfill. I can’t just sit here.”

You shrugged, “One day without work won’t bring down your dorm. Besides, all work and no play make dragons go cranky.”

Malleus laughed freely and you joined him this time, “Is that so? Then I shall join in this activity with you.”

You laid the nearby comforter over you and Malleus before starting your T.V.

It would be a good day; you would make sure of it.

“This warrior does not speak?”

“Kind of. He talks he’s just not voice acted, but he does make sounds when you attack with him.”

“Interesting. A silent and courageous warrior who will save his kingdom and the princess.”

“Reminds you of someone?”

“This Link reminds me of Silver. They share many similar qualities.”

You joked, “Are you the princess then?”

“I am a prince, am I not?” Malleus replied, before softly continuing, “and Silver has saved me, from myself.”

You bumped your shoulder with his, “That’s love for you.”

“Yes, it is.”

“That crocodile and that pirate…”

“Funny, isn’t it?”

“Yes, especially as Kingscholar dressed as one during Halloween.”

“Does the crocodile remind you of Sebek?”

The glint in Malleus' eyes answered your question.

You can only imagine Sebek's reaction if he knew, “Well with the way Sebek is always barking at Leona, I can't blame you for thinking it.”

Ah, you were going to hold this over Sebek's head forever.

“Those fairies should have never been given the child.”

“Yeah…”

“They haven’t properly fed her, even Lilia knew to feed a baby!”

“Yeah.”

“She almost fell off the cliff!”

“I know. They suck.”

You tugged at Malleus’ hair, “At least she had someone to take care of her, two of them in fact.”

Malleus calmed down knowing exactly to whom you referred, “Yes, those days were filled with laughter and warmth even amidst the chaos. How…nostalgic.”

Malleus leaned towards you; a mischievous glint in his eyes, it reminded you of a certain pink-streaked fae, “Want to hear an embarrassing story grandmother told me about Lilia?”

“Yes! I’m all ears!”

You watched as Tsunotaro enjoyed Toothless and Hiccup's adventures.

You knew he would like this series.

You wondered how Sam had the trilogy.

…you would question him thoroughly later.

You were content to watch Tsunotaro be happy.

His family is never far from his thoughts as he is never far from theirs.

You felt happy to be part of his family.

“YN, is there a reason to why we are making cupcakes this late at night?”

He didn’t know.

You hid your smile as you put the tray of goodies into the oven.

Malleus must have enjoyed his day if he forgot why tonight would be special.

“Anytime is a good time for cupcakes, just like how you can have ice cream even during winter.”

“I thought it was easier for human’s teeth to decay due to late night sugary treats?”

“We’ll be fine! Just make sure to brush your teeth and don’t tell Trey -senpai.”

You went over to the nearby drawer. The confetti poppers were there as planned, just a few more minutes before the time came, so you snuck them into your pocket discreetly.

“Let’s go play more Zelda.”

You and Malleus moved towards the lounge; you eyed the hallway clock on the way.

Less than a minute.

You took out the poppers from your pocket.

“Malleus?”

“Yes?”

You pulled the poppers out just as he entered the ramshackle lounge.

3…2…1

“Happy Birthday (Lord) Malleus!”

Malleus was shocked as confetti rained on him from all sides.

Lilia, Silver, Sebek, and you surrounded him as the day turned over.

His surprised face broke into a wide smile before an unrestrained joyous laughter filled the lounge.

What a beautiful start to today.

The day Malleus Draconia was born.

A day filled with endless love.

Happy Birthday Malleus.

Resounded affectionately in all the hearts of everyone present.

May you always be filled with happiness and love.

Bonus:

Silver came to you as you watch Lilia bear hug Malleus. It was funny how someone so petite wrapped all four limbs on someone so tall.

Silver hesitated.

You knew.

“He baked a cake, didn’t he?”

Silver sighed, “Yes. We tried to stop him.”

You laughed and shook your head.

“It’s okay. Toxic waste it might be, but it is something Lilia made with him in mind. Malleus will love it nonetheless.”

You bumped shoulders with Silver, whispering, “We made cupcakes.”

Silver’s grateful smile had you hugging him.

No one will get food poisoning today, not on your watch.

You hoped.

☺️🌺🌸💚

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. III

tags: @beebeechaos

Daenys avoiding her problems per usual

all feedback appreciated <3, I'm unsure how I want to write this longterm, bc the two will have to separate after the wall scene and idk if people would want chapters with just Daenys and no cregan lol

also appearently cregan's actor tom taylor has heterochromia and i think green/blue eyes but for the life of my i cannot find a clear pic of it </3

Daenys woke from her distant dreams only after the sun had risen. While still snowing and freezing outside, Morningstar had done well to warm the pair under her protective wing.

Cregan sat vigil all throughout the night, no complaints coming from the young lord as he did. Protecting the princess was simply a part of his many duties, he mused to himself sometime in the night while she whispered.

She blinked a few times, eyes heavy and body nearly numb. Though warm, she was still only clothed in house slippers and her night dress. A weight around her caught her attention, knowing that Morningstar couldn't wrap herself around Daenys like that.

"You awake, Princess?" A soft voice asked beside her.

Tilting her head up and squinting, "Cregan?" She whispered, voice horse from speaking all night.

"Good morrow, my lady," was all he said, that secret smile of his plastered on his face. She didn't know how to feel. A million things rushed to her mind; shame, humilation, frustration-

He interrupted her thoughts, shuffling to a crouch from his sitting position. Cregan offered her a hand, which she took without thinking. Leading them both out from under Morningstar, Cregan bowed his head respectfully to the she-dragon.

"She allowed you to come near us?" Daenys asked, in awe.

"Aye, I don't know why, exactly. I'm grateful for it, so I will not question a blessing." He told Daenys, reaching down to grab his sword that had been sitting on the snowbank for hours and shouldering it.

"Shall we break our fast, or would you like to sleep?" He turned to her, attentive grey eyes finding her violet ones.

Biting her cheek, she waited for the other shoe to drop. When would he demand answers from their night? Banish her from his house forever and ridding himself of the Velaryon girl.

"You should sleep, Lord Stark. I have kept you from it all night." She decided, looking at the tired expression pulling at his handsome face.

"Sleep often evades me with my duties, this is only another one. I would never sleep again if my Princess asked it of me." He told her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "The day is new. Will you break fast with me?"

Daenys followed the lord into the dining hall. It was more active than the previous night, bustling with the activity of the Keep's servants. It only took a minute of sitting before their breakfast was in front of them, some light bread and oatmeal. Daenys greedily drank the cold water provided for her, the relief for her throat that had been burning the whole way to the Keep.

Cregan watched the display for a moment, smiling to himself before politely focusing on his food, not watching her pick at her breakfast like the previous night. "Do you want anything else? If you don't like the food, just tell me. No one will take offense, as long as you're fed."

"This is good." Daenys answered shortly. She took small bites of the oatmeal, pulling parts of the bread to slowly chew. She felt like her body was going through the motions completely on its own, her brain firing in a million different directions yet going nowhere at all.

"..Princess?" Cregan asked again, stirring her.

He had been talking for a while, she thought. Daenys hummed, gesturing for him to continue. His meal was done already, how much time had passed?

"I said I would like to take you to Castle Black, if you would allow me."

"The Wall?" Daenys furrowed her brow, placing her spoon into the half-full bowl.

"It would be a two week trip on horseback, and you can see what your predecessors witnessed all those years ago. A reminder of what the North protects the realm from."

In simple terms, he wanted to convince her to take the least amount of men to arms as possible. She was not dull. Perhaps he thought she was, just like the court men. He was talking like a Southerner, now. All hidden meanings and pretty half-truths. Disappointing, truly, Daenys liked the straightforward Stark better.

"I would not oppose a trip to see the Wall. It would be much faster on Morningstar, but I'm sure your council would oppose their lord doing such a thing." She said wryly. Daenys didn't want to become curt with the kind lord, but her displeasure with his words made itself clear in her tone

He grimaced slightly before straightening up, bowing his head politely. "I have some matters to attend to before we depart. I will have some things packed for you. For now, get some rest, we'll leave in the afternoon." He left quickly, and it was then that she noticed his fur coat was missing. She could make out his body shape now, no longer hidden and cloaked by the massive fur. When had he left them?

The weight on her own shoulders as she stood solved that question for her. The familiar brown furs surrounded her like a blanket, warm yet drowning. Was it bear? Or even wolf? Daenys wasn't sure, but her heart beated harder knowing that he had sat with her all night, keeping her safe and warm despite knowing her dragon was perfectly capable.

Daenys settled into her chambers, forgoing slipping under the furs already on her bed in exchange for the fur Cregan had provided her. It smelled like him, a deep wood and iron scent that might have been too strong and unfitting on anyone but the Warden himself. The comfort soothed her to sleep quicker than she had in many moons.

🗡

Strong hands guided Daenys through the courtyard of the Red Keep. Ser Harwin Strong, her mother's sworn protector, had become more of a protector for herself these past few moons.

When the nightmares started, the Red Keep was put ill at ease with the little girl, avoiding her like the plague. While most took after Queen Alicent, avoiding her and gossiping about how the girl must be a witch, condemning people to horrible fates with her predictions, the bolder ones like her uncle Aegon had done the opposite.

Harassments, taunts, planting some of Helena's bugs into her bed, even getting physical when no one was looking. Who would believe the mad girl besides her own mother? The prince, of course, never received any reprimanding or punishment. He always got away with everything, per usual. He had the Queen herself in his corner, who defended his vile behavior even when multiple servant girls came sobbing to the Queen's chambers.

Rhaenyra couldn't bare to watch her only daughter be so tormented, especially by her own family. She instructed Harwin to keep a close eye on her, as her escort and guardian around the keep. He had no qualms with this, of course. The girl was beloved by him and Rhaenyra deeply, though this coddling did not go unnoticed by the royal family.

Daenys' one credit as a child was her silver hair and purple hues, an image of her mother. Her brothers after her were not so lucky, born brown-eyed and brown-haired. Ser Harwin was said to be the sire of Rhaenyra's army of dragon-riding bastards, to the obliviousness of Daenys.

When she grew older, she realized that Alicent was right in that one thing. Harwin Strong undoubtedly fathered the boys. She was unclear about her own father, but Harwin's affections for her never differed from her brothers.

She found herself not minding. Ser Laenor claimed the children as his own and loved her mother as a dear companion. But Harwin's love for Rhaenyra was different than Laenor's. She saw the look in his eyes as he gazed upon the heir, filled with devotion and love unmatched by any other wed couple in the keep. Daenys had only seen such a love displayed by them. Even long after Harwin's death, when Rhaenyra remarried her uncle Daemon, Daenys never saw that look in another man's eyes.

Daemon's love was passionate but possessive. It scared Daenys slightly, but she was happy so long as her mother was safe.

This day, Daenys wished to watch her uncles and brothers training in the yard. Ser Criston Cole usually overlooked the boys' training, leaving much to be desired in terms of favoritism. Much like his Queen, Criston despised the bastard boys. Though the four trained together, Rhaenyra's sons usually only watched as Aegon and Aemond practiced with their wooden swords.

Harwin left Daenys at the steps after a gentle ruffle of her loose hair, where she quietly sat and observed. Glancing at a bench overseeing the yard, Daenys spotted King Viserys also overlooking the morning training.

Harwin spoke a few words to Ser Criston for a moment, inaudible to Daenys but clearly pissing the Dornish knight off. Cole intructed that the eldest boys be placed against each other, though it was unfair.

Harwin's protests were thus ignored by the kingsguard, Daenys perking in her seat to watch Aegon and Jace spar. Quite a poor match, seeing their age and skill difference.

Aegon easily beat Jace, knocking the sword from his hand but not giving his opponent any mercy, still stepping forward to attack the young boy.

Harwin grabbed Aegon in a firm hold, tossing him away from Jacaerys. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" Aegon screeched like a banshee, never being put in his place like that before. Spoiled brat.

Harwin scolded Cole, ignoring the eldest prince intentionally. After lifting Jace from the floor, Harwin glanced over the boy.

"Are you alright?"

Embarrassed, Jace only nodded with flushed cheeks and dusted himself off. "Thank you, Ser." He mumbled.

But Cole did not leave the matter, baiting the older knight. "You forget yourself, that is the prince." He said, a smirk on his tanned face.

"Is that what you teach, Cole? Cruelty." Harwin spat back, picking up the wooden swords from the dirt.

"Your interest in the princeling's training is quite unusual. Most men would only have that kind of devotion toward a cousin. Or a brother." He smiled brighter, "or a son."

Without skipping a beat, Harwin strong turned and swung at Cole's smug face. Again, and again until the man was on the floor and not fighting back.

Daenys stood and gasped, calling out towards her protector. "Ser Harwin!" she rushed forward, being stopped only by Jace and Luke, who could also only watch.

Harwin was dragged off of Cole, still spitting insults at the younger whilst the blood-covered man laughed as if he had won.

Aegon laughed loudly, now the loudest sound in the yard as both knights were escorted inside.

"Seems like the Strong bastards won't be so protected anymore." He snickered with Aemond at his side, loud enough for only the three to hear. Viserys took his leave, too, most likely to go settle the fight.

"We're not bastards!" Jacaerys yelled at him. Daenys and Lucerys were quiet behind him. Jace, though a year younger than Daenys, had taken the mantle of the protective one of the siblinge ever since Daenys had started getting shunned.

She was grateful for it, despite the nagging guilt she had for never defending herself or her little brothers.

"Just look at yourself, Lord Strong. Brown hair...pale skin..brown eyes. Perhaps Rhaenyra isn't your mother, either." Aegon said, earning a half-hearted laugh from Aemond beside him.

Ever the quiet of the two, Aemond faced his own bullying from Aegon and Daenys' brothers for being the only one of them to not claim a dragon. Typically, this made him stay out of any spats between Rhaenyra's children and Aegon, out of fear that he would be the next target.

Surprisingly, he even left Daenys alone. He spent much time with Helena, just as she did. They happened to spend a lot of time together in their youth because of their mutual bond, but they never gained a bond between themselves.

"You take that back!" Jace demanded, stepping foward and shoving at Aegon's chest. Being so much taller than Jacaerys, Aegon barely stepped back, only growing more amused.

"Jace.." Daenys urged behind him, tugging at his armor. "Let's go inside, I want to check on Ser Harwin."

Aegon turned to her now, "Its a mystery who your father might be. Ser Strong, Prince Daemon, Ser Laenor. I've even heard rumor of Rhaenyra having a tryst with Criston Cole at one time. Perhaps the cunt herself doesn't even know who your-" Aegon was abruptly cut off with a punch to his face so hard that he was sent to the floor. Shocked, he looked up expecting Jacaerys to have been the offender, but instead met the furious face of Daenys Velaryon. She didn't give him time to get up, punching and scratching at his pink face.

The other three stood stunned for a few moments, unsure if they wanted to let her continue or pry her off. Even Aemond stifled a laugh with a hand, turning away so Aegon couldn't notice.

Eventually Aegon grew out of his shock, easily throwing the younger girl off of him by her shoulders. Wiping his face, he stood and snarled down at Daenys, lifting a foot to kick at her while she was down, but was stopped and tackled by her two brothers. Now, Aemond choose to defend his older brother against the boys, albeit slightly reluctantly. The Pink Dread prank still heavily weighed on his mind every day.

Guards noticed at this point that the squabble of princes and the princess was no mere play fight, punches and kicks being thrown this way and that. The four of them seperated by forceful hands, given no time to walk themselves as they were dragged inside.

"Keep my mothers name out of your dirty mouth, līve!" She screamed behind her shoulder at the boy, who seemed shocked at the insult coming from her mouth. Jace and Luke, not versed in High Valyrion yet, didn't react, although she heard a snicker from Aemond as he was taken to Viserys with Aegon.

The other three were taken directly to Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra, quietly resting on her settee with little Joffrey coddled up in her arms, was surprised to see all three of her eldest children in such a state. She stood immediately, "what happened?" She asked the guards, handing Joff to the wet nurse and gingerly cradling her children's bruised faces.

"The princess and princes got into an altercation in the yard. Ser Harwin and Cole have also been sent to the King for their actions." One said, before being dismissed by Rhaenyra.

"I want the truth of it, now." She sternly told them, stress furrowing her brows.

"Ser Harwin beat up Cole." Luke said first, giving no context.

"Because Cole called us bastards." Jace continued, clearing it.

Rhaenyra sighed, putting a hand over her stomach, which Daenys noticed became a habit during her pregnancies as a way to calm herself.

"If Harwin is the one who fought Cole, why are you three all bruised up?"

Daenys avoided her eyes, earning a lifted brow from her mother. Jace stepped in to help, "Aegon started it! He called you.." He seemed to pause now too, not wanting to shame his mother with Aegon's vileness.

The three shared glanced between themselves, not guilty for fighting Aegon but guilty for not defending their mother's honor better. "He called you a cunt. And implied dishonorable actions." Daenys told her, biting her cheek hard after. Her face hurt.

Rhaenyra only sighed, bringing her children to her side to embrace them all. She breathed in to start a surely long speech, but Harwin entering the room disrupted that plan. Daenys was grateful for it.

He closed the chamber doors behind himself, gold Lord Commander's cloak was no longer wrapped over his shoulders. His armor was also off, as if he was taking a leisure day.

"Harwin?" Rhaenyra spoke, confused as to why he was visiting in such a state.

"I am being assigned back to Harrenhall with my father. The King has let me go from my time as Lord Commander." Was his answer. Pretty words for 'fired' from his duty. Just for defending the princes and their mother.

Rhaenyra gasped, hand bringing itself once again to hover over her stomach. "For what offence?" She demanded. Her eyes were glossy with tears, but she could not let herself cry. Princesses do not cry over losing their guards.

Daenys knew then, that they were not merely protector and princess. They were husband and wife, in all but name. Harwin looked down at Rhaenyra with all the softness in the realm. "It is my own fault, I lost my temper." The two stood to the side for a minute, whispering amonst themselves. Daenys respectfully looked away, finding Jace staring them down intensely.

Harwin held Rhaenyra's face for only a moment, tender and bittersweet as they couldn't do anything more to say their goodbyes.

He turned to the children, "Luke, Jace. Keep up with your training, do not let Cole or the princes bully you out from improving. You will be fine knights." He smiled at them proudly, petting each of their heads and turning to Daenys.

Tears welled in her eyes, falling down her cheeks freely. She was not as strong as her mother, unable to control her feelings. "Ser.." She sobbed, barreling into his chest and burying her face into the tunic's material. Gently he held her, soothing her hair down from the mess it had became in the yard. "Don't fret, my dear girl. I will not be gone forever."

The smell of fire invaded her senses as he said that, a suffocating feeling enveloping her as she continued to cry. "I don't want you to leave at all." She told him.

"He must, we cannot change the will of the king." Rhaenyra said from behind her, rubbing her back soothingly. Harwin and Rhaenyra shared another heavy look, both knowing how much Daenys relied on Harwin.

Harwin had to break the princess off of him eventually, pressing a tender kiss to her temple as he did. "I will be a stranger when we meet again.' He told Rhaenyra, who only nodded and smiled solemnly at him.

Harwin Strong took his leave from the Red Keep that day, and never returned to his family.

Jace watched the man walk away, down the hall. "Is Harwin Strong my father?" He asked Rhaenyra stiffly. "Are we bastards?"

Rhaenyra swiftly looked around for any onlookers, relieved to find none. "You are Targaryens. That's what matters," she whispered firmly.

Daenys only stared at the space Harwin had once been, wishing things could stay the same forever.

"I am going to bed," she told her mother.

She wished she had not.

🗡

"My Lady?" The maid from yesterday evening woke Daenys from her deep sleep. Groggily she sat up, stretching out her stiff muscles. The cold affected her more than she thought. "Lord Stark is ready to depart. We have packed all the things you will need for the trip, I just need to get you ready."

Daenys was too tired to talk, only nodding along and allowing the older maid to dress her and do her hair. Pulled in a simple half-up braid, Daenys groaned at the thought of having to do her own braids while in the wilderness. The dress she was put in was a light blue, lined with white fur, softer than any she had felt before.

"All done, princess. He's waiting in the hall for you." She patted Daenys' shoulder in a motherly way, sending the girl off to the dining hall.

Daenys grabbed his fur coat before leaving, finding him standing in front of the hearth silently. He perked up when he spotted her, smiling almost instinctively. "Princess," he nodded. "Ready to leave?"

It was only then that she noticed a giant wolf at his feet, staring at her with bright blue eyes, contasting its brown fur. A direwolf, it must be. Tamed by the Stark? Their sigil seemed to ring true, just like the Targaryen's.

"As I'll ever be." She answered evenly, slightly looking forward to the trip. She'd never been on such a journey, only ever riding horseback for short distances and never once staying outside for more than a night. It would be interesting. "And who's this?"

"Dusk. He mostly stays outside, but I figured we could use his protection on our travels." Cregan gestured to the wolf. He seemed wild in most ways, Daenys would guess that he was when he was on his own, but Cregan being bonded to him and accustoming the animal to human domestication. Quite like the Targaryens and their dragons.

"I'm happy to have him, as long as he can get along with Morningstar." She smiled.

Hopefully she can find common ground with Lord Stark, gaining more men for the Queen.

Cregan offers Daenys his arm, which she takes as he guides her to their readied horses. "I picked out this one for you. He's a young stud, but he reminded me of Morningstar." Daenys felt her heart skip a beat when he said that, the thoughtfulness of the aftion making her smile brightly. She released his arm to pet the horse's snow-white face, greeting it.

"Thank you, my lord. He's beautiful." She said.

"Of course, princess." He kept his eyes on her a moment longer, before offering his hand again to help her mount. After adjusting herself on the saddle, Cregan mounted his own horse, a pretty chestnut mare.

Winterfell gave the two a cheerful goodbye parting, Daenys had to resist rolling her eyes. The same commonfolk who had gossiped about her yesterday were eagerly waving hankerchiefs at her and wishing their beloved princess well.

Cregan seemed amused by her stiff jaw as they walked past the gates. "Do you know what the folk call you?" He asked.

"I could think of a hundred names I've been called. None of them pleasent." She replied, eyeing him.

Above them, Morningstar glided gleefully, happy to be traveling again although she didn't know the destination.

Chuckling, he shook his head. "The Dragon Dreamer."

Stunned, she turns to look straight at him, finding his attention fully on her still.

"I..don't see why." She blushed. Never before had her visions been painted in a positive light of any kind.

"Northerners aren't so out of tune with the magic of this realm, as other kingdoms are. Have you ever heard of wargs?"

"A few times, in fairytales." She sniffed.

He nodded, "do you not believe in them?"

"Anything could be true. In a world where I ride a dragon, who am I to deny other types of magic?" She offered.

"Aye. My ancestors have dealt with magic since the first men. Stuff you wouldn't believe, out beyond the wall."

"What's beyond the wall?"

"Death."

🗡

alicent hightower you ARE the father

Līve - whore

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf (III)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,291

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, p in v, depression, mentions of miscarriages, stillbriths, love confessions, family reunion, marital difficulties, angst, not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

authors note: the timeline does not follow the book so don't come for me for changing things. sorry if this seemed rush honesltyi dont like it but i think it works well and makes a good chapter to lead into the epilouge.

In the year of 134AC, 3 years after the end of the dance of dragons, and three moons into your marriage with Cregan stark you finally made your way to kings landing after years apart from your beloved brothers.

Viserys and Aegon were no men almost grown, with Viserys a wife and child on the way and Aegon, now married to Daenaera Velaryon, though their marriage remained unconsummated.

The reunion had been a sad one, with many tears shed as you finally saw your brothers after years apart.

“Aegon! Viserys” you cried out as you ran out of the carriage to greet your brothers, your arms wrapping tightly around them, scared to let them go. Tears filled your eyes as you kissed their cheeks.

“I have missed you so dearly” you said to Aegon before looking over at Viserys, your mouth stuttering as you tried to find the right words “Vizzy, I have…oh gods-“ you cried out pulling him in for a hug once more “your all grown up!” you said, “a man grown” shaking your head as you hugged him closer.

He cried on your shoulder as you did, his arms never leaving you even as you introduced him to Cregan.

“This is Cregan…my husband, and the new lord hand.”  

“An honour to see you again” Aegon greeted, moving away from slightly from you to shake Cregan’s hand.

“As it is for me, my king” Cregan replied to Aegon head bowed.

And though Kings Landing had changed much, filled with new faces and on the rare occasions a familiar one, you still hated it.

You had thought seeing your brothers here, your sisters, it would feel like a home again,

But no.

You despised the viper pit.

There was more scheming and ploys than before and you were now at the centre of it.

with Cregan as hand and the death of your grandsire as regent, new faces took the role of councillors you had only just grown to trust.

Many of your mothers’ own advisers, advisers you had made Aegon promise to keep on his council had died in the winter fever the year before.

And perhaps that was why you hated Kingslanding, though a fifth of their population was taken, and 90% of that being the smallfolk, so many you had known, trusted and cared for had died and you never even knew.

The halls seemed more haunted now.

Not just haunted of by the faces of your family, of your uncles and brothers.

Of your mother.

But of them also.

You regretted coming with Cregan, and you hated yourself for it.

You had though and thought to stay here, arguing with him before the wedding for just this, to stay.

You know whished to take Silverwing and ride her to Winterfell and never return.

It was only the love you had for your brothers and Cregan that made you stay.

The memory of when first admitted your love for each other playing over and over again, as if it would somehow make you love this place once more.

“Cregan” you had sighed, now alone in your shred tent after a hard long day of ridding, the bath water doing little too sooth your joints.

He sighed your name in return, turning to face you as he undressed for bed.

“Do you love me?” you asked, trying to keep a casual tone to your voice, though you couldn’t hide the hope in your voice.

He smiled softly, moving towards you, taking your hand in his, “I have loved you since I first met you, and I do not think I ever will”.

You smiled, kissing his lips softly, “I love you, I have for so long, even when I hid behind my grief.”

“Really? I did not think you liked me much, after the war.”

“I did! And I hated it, I wanted to through myself into my grief and yet a part of me felt pained that I loved you and you did not know. I hated ignoring you, there always seemed to be a tether tying me to you.” You said shyly. “I hated that you were the reason I was pulled from my grief, I didn’t want my happiness to depend on you, but now…I am glad it is”.

She was glad to have him, he filled the whole left by her family’s deaths, though it was a different kind of love and wholeness she was glad for it.

But it did nought, not as you became and aunt, you fell back into the slow misery you felt before.

Feeling lost and haunted. Surrounded by ghosts talking to you day after day, ghosts you could not hear but faces haunted your dreams.

You didn’t tell anyone though.

Your family was happy, despite the death of Corlys or Baleas husband.

They all seemed happy here, laughing and enjoying the feasts.

The only person who could see your misery was Aegon, but even then, he didn’t understand.

It was clear he was haunted by your mother, of her death. But his was misery was he could push aside, and when with his family all he had was joy.

And yet you still felt that death followed you even more.

More as you felt the death of your child, spending hours, days on the birthing bed only to be greeted with a still born child.

More so as you felt the blood trickle down your legs time after time as you tried and tried to carry another pregnancy to term.

Your heart continued to break and Cregan could see your misery and so he insisted on you retuning to Winterfell, and you agreed.

Being back in Winterfell made you lose the feelings you had in Kingslanding, made you feel safer.

Made you feel at home.

And you felt lighter here.

Then Cregan was called back to Kings Landing and the emptiness found you again.

But you forced it to the side, hoping if you ignored it long enough it would go away.

And gods were you wrong.

You had plunged yourself into work, trying to help the north recover, from its weakened state following the famine caused during the winter fever.

 A year passed, now 136AC, a year away from your husband, from your brothers.

You became a ghost once more; all healing had vanished and the person you said you would become if Cregan sent you here alone had come.

 “Without you I will…I will only find that hollowness I felt for moons, the sadness will return without you to…to comfort me, to hold me and cherish me. I cannot be alone, I may rely on you a little too much, but I cannot bear to…”

And it had, you were hollow, and you were sad. But instead of letting it spill out of you as it had before, you kept it hidden.

Putting on a strong front, you wanted to be the fierce lady of Winterfell no matter how much you were breaking inside, no matter how much you wished for Cregan to see through your flowered words on paper and to come back to you.

And though he did come back to you, it was not because of you, but of Sylas the Grim.

A wilding chieftain who led a large force of 3,000 south of the wall and was plundering the lands of the gift.

Cregan arrived soon after you sent news of Sylas attacks. You yourself had tried to scare them off, using Silverwing to burn their trail. But they continued their plundering.

And so Cregan led the rallied forces of the north and attacked the wildings, leading yet another victory.

You had watched from the sidelines, sat atop Silverwing awaiting Cregan’s signal. But he never gave it, never looked over to where you waited. Only greeting you as you made your way into the festivity’s hours later. Having taken Silverwing over the wall and burning down all trees beyond the wall, within a 100-mile radius.

He had been surprised but grateful for your actions. But his gratefulness was soon overlooked as the drunken men of the north started to sing.

And you once again sat in your seat and let the hollowness within you start to show.

Later that night, after going to bed hours before Cregan, you and him finally spoke.

“Cregan?” you muttered, lifting your head from the pillow as he tumbled into the room.

“Wife!” he replied, his tone joyful, “I have missed you” he sang, “you’re going to come back with me to kings landing!” he spoke, looking at you expectantly, as if expecting you to dance in joy.

“no” you said, sitting up.

“No?” he said, suddenly sobering up. “Why not? Do you not miss your brother? Or me?”

“Every second of everyday”

“Then come to kings landing”.

“no”

“Why not?” he said, his tone almost aggravated.

“It is haunted” you spoke, your voice in hushed whispers as if the ghosts would somehow appear in your chambers.

“Everywhere haunted, even Winterfell” he said, looking at you, truly looking at you.

He took note of your sunken eyes, your dead eyes.

You looked just as you had those first few years here, and he hated how what you had said would happen had come true.

“no” he muttered, moving towards you “no…my love my sweet wife…what has happened?”

You broke down in tears, telling him what you felt, a years’ worth of emotions spilling out of you and the tears never stopped.

You must have spent the night crying in his arms, begging him to stay and never leave you again.

“please” you begged, “I can’t…I can’t go back there, and I can’t be without you”.

“okay” he said, thinking hard, “I will give up my place as hand”.

“I can’t ask that of you- “

“You can, and I must” he shook his head, cradling you in his arms “I have neglected you for too long and I am so sorry, I love you, I hope you know that” he said, hand caressing your cheek.

“you’ll stay”.

“Yes…always”

Giving up the position of hand of the king had been like a wight had lifted of his shoulders.

But seeing the state of his with had placed a heavier weight on him.

Feeling his heart break and his own betrayal fill him as you cried in his arms he felt he was a disappointment.

He had seen your loss, her grief and in his own he had pushed you away.

And though he had recovered, he should have known that you couldn’t, not by yourself, not when you still had so much grief left from the war still.

you had always been soft and gentle, always so Intune with your emotions that they overwhelmed you, and he had somehow overlooked that fact and sent you away.

And unlike last time he didn’t have the wedding or retuning to kings landing to look forward to. There was nothing really to look forward too, other than the one thing the gods had deprived you off.

A babe.

You had tried and tried, but three miscarriages and one still birth had wrecked you.

In truth had he not had the lords breathing down his neck once more for an heir then he would never have made you try in the first place and yet it was what you craved, despite the duty you wanted a babe.

And now as his cock filled you and hit all the right spots, this moment were their was no grief, no death no duty to fulfil, just you and Cregan.

“Cregan” you moaned, your face falling into the pillows as he pounded into you “please” you begged into the pillow, you felt your peak approaching as he entered you out, hitting your sweet spot again and again.

He held onto your hips, his cock focusing on that spot as his finger moved down to your clit, bringing you to your second peak of the night, as he filled you with his seed.

You collapsed on the bed, as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tight.

You relaxed into a comfortable silence, a silence you both often found yourself in.

‘I love you” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

And for the first time in a year you said it back, “I love you, too”

You fell into your roles as lord and lady of Winterfell easily. Finding you rather enjoyed your duties even more when they were not used as a distraction.

And even though there was some tension between you and Cregan still, you found the love you felt for one another made everything easier, especially when you had spent nights crying in grief and regret at refusing your brothers request to return to Kingslanding even if only for a few days.

You hated saying no, but they seemed to understand. Your duty was to Winterfell now, and they understood.

Egg had understood your need to leave before, himself feeling the same as he told you he considered moving to Dragonstone but fearing hell find more hurt in those halls than that of the red keep.

And now with news of Aegon’s tour around Westeros you were excited to see him once more, too show him your home.

A home you did not regret him having no place in, and as the years passed with a few visits here and there form your brothers you found you rather liked the distance.

Finding that perhaps your grief weas in the guilt of only them and you surviving and not Jace, Luke or Joffrey. The boys who were truly your brothers before they were ever kings or princes.

authors note: next part is the epilouge!

taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog @apollonshootafar @zillahvathek @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx @valyriantargaryenblood-blog @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunblogsblog @clobobo @raynetargaryen2 @justbelljust @sukunassfingerr

@arminsstuff @now-i-have-a-new-obsession @eddieslut69 @materialgirl01 @bugmanor @annabellekenobi2005 @whos-too-bi @mandowhatnow @aegonswife @littlebirdgot @delaynew @now-i-have-a-new-obsession @dorkysupernova @hawkins_2000 @materialgirl01 @beebeechaos @rosedurin @rebeccawinters @berightback1409 @barnes70stark @perla434 @nessjo @helo1281917 @ateliefloresdaprimavera

to be added to taglist

[tacobacoyeet]

knight in shining armor | b.b.

a/n: my first bridgerton fic! and my first fic in quite a while- i'm sorry! i fear i have fallen in love with yet another fictional character. and his brothers. and his sisters. anyway... enjoy!

warnings: implied sexual harassment (first two paragraphs), benedict bridgerton being the man of my dreams

the gardens are a sanctuary from the noise and intensity of the ball, a place where you can catch your breath and gather your thoughts. the evening had started so beautifully, with chandeliers glittering like a thousand stars and the music swirling around you like a warm embrace. but then that lord—lord berbrooke—had cornered you, his breath reeking of brandy, his words slurred and inappropriate. his hands had roamed where they had no right to go, and his whispered suggestions had made your skin crawl. you managed to escape, but your heart is still pounding, and you can feel the prickling of tears threatening to spill over.

as you take deep breaths, trying to steady yourself, you hear the familiar sound of footsteps on the gravel path. you look up to see benedict bridgerton, your childhood best friend, approaching with a concerned expression on his face. his presence is a balm to your frayed nerves, and you feel a rush of relief.

“y/n,” he says softly, stopping a few feet away from you. “are you alright? i saw you run out and... i was worried.”

you nod, trying to muster a smile, but it wavers. “i am fine, benedict. i ust needed some air.”

he steps closer, his eyes scanning your face. “you do not look fine. what happened?”

you hesitate, not wanting to burden him with your troubles, but the earnest concern in his eyes breaks down your resolve. “it was lord berbrooke. he... he wouldn’t leave me alone.”

benedict’s expression darkens, his jaw tightening. “that bastard. my fist shall have a word with him.”

“no,” you say quickly, placing a hand on his arm. “please, do not. i just want to forget about it.”

his gaze softens, and he covers your hand with his own. “if that what you truly wish. but know that i am here for you. always.”

you feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his touch, his words. benedict has always had that effect on you, ever since you were children. he’s always been your protector, your confidant. but recently, your feelings for him have grown more complex, more intense. you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same.

“thank you, benedict,” you say quietly. “you’re a good friend.”

he smiles, but there’s something in his eyes, something that makes your heart skip a beat. “i’d do anything for you, y/n. you know that.”

you look away, unable to hold his gaze, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “come, let’s walk. the gardens are beautiful tonight.”

he offers his arm, and you take it, feeling the warmth of his body through his coat. as you stroll through the moonlit paths, the tension in your chest begins to ease. benedict keeps up a steady stream of light-hearted conversation, his wit and charm never failing to make you smile.

eventually, you find yourselves at a secluded bench surrounded by fragrant roses. benedict guides you to sit down, and he takes a seat beside you, his knee brushing against yours. the proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and you wonder if he can hear the rapid beating of your heart.

“do you remember,” he begins, his voice soft and nostalgic, “when we used to play in these gardens as children? we’d pretend we were explorers in some far-off land.”

you laugh, the memory bringing a genuine smile to your face. “and you would always insist on being the brave knight, while i had to be the damsel in distress.”

he grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “well, i couldn’t let you face those imaginary dragons alone, could i?”

“no, you couldn’t,” you agree, feeling a warmth spread through you at the thought. “you’ve always been my protector, benedict.”

he looks at you then, really looks at you, and you feel like he’s seeing right into your soul. 

your heart skips a beat. “benedict…? are you alright?”

benedict moves closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “you are so beautiful… an absolute masterpiece,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

your breath catches,cheeks turning a deep pink, and your heart feels like it might burst. “benedict, i...”

he looks to your lips, his face impossibly close, and then meets your eyes once again. you nod, ever so slighty… and without another word, he closes the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a tender, passionate kiss. it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more, his kiss conveying all the emotions you’ve both kept hidden for so long. it feels as if all of the flowers bloom, his kiss warming you to your very core. 

you lose yourself in the moment, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hands hold you close. the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you, connected in a way that feels utterly perfect.

the spell is broken by the sound of an angry shout nearby. “benedict!”

you pull back, your cheeks flushed, and turn to see anthony bridgerton standing a few feet away, his expression a mix of shock and disapproval.

“benedict, y/n,” anthony says, his voice stern. “what are you doing out here?”

benedict stands, pulling you up with him, his hand still holding yours. “anthony, we...”

you chime in nervously. “it is not what it looks like!” 

anthony’s eyes narrow. “i do not care what it looks like. you know the rules, benedict. you know what this means.”

benedict takes a deep breath, his grip on your hand tightening. “what if i have wished to marry her all along?”

the words hang in the air, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. did he just say what you think he said?

anthony’s eyes widen, and he looks between the two of you. “you... you wish to marry her?”

benedict turns to you, his eyes soft and filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “yes, anthony. i do. i’ve loved y/n for as long as i can remember.”

tears spring to your eyes, and you squeeze his hand. “benedict, i... i love you too.”

anthony looks at the two of you, his expression a mix of surprise and something else—something like approval. he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “well, i suppose there is nothing more to be said, then. if you both love each other, then you have my blessing.”

relief floods through you, and you throw your arms around benedict, feeling his arms wrap around you in return. “thank you, anthony,” you say, your voice choked with emotion.

benedict pulls back slightly, his hand cupping your cheek. “y/n, i have loved you since we were children, and i shall love you until my very last breath.”

“i love you forever, my dearest knight,” you reply, your heart bursting.

as you share another tender kiss, you know that this is just the beginning of a beautiful new chapter in your lives. the future may hold challenges, but with benedict by your side, you know you can face anything.

[cateyesinlove]

Threads of Black and Threads of Green

Jace Velaryon/ targaryen x Helaena Targaryen

TW: none

Masterlist

AO3

Chapter one; Dance of The Dragons I

Helaena’s mornings had begun the same way every day since her sister had taken her rightful place on the Iron throne. She would wake up, break her fast alone then visit her mother, spend her afternoon in the garden, reading or having tea with her sister until it was time for her supper. Now that she no longer was Queen she was allowed so many more things like sleeping longer, more freedom to have a say in matters regarding herself, and finally, she was able to take the reigns of her life, while Helaena had been Queen she had wilded no real power given that her mother made certain that everything was done how she wanted not how Helaena wished for it.

Helaena enjoyed doing things by herself, she had always enjoyed it, from brushing her hair to choosing her clothes. When she was younger she had been able to pick her dresses, after the crowning of Aegon, her mother instructed the maids to select Helaenas cloths, something regal that made her look the part of Queen she was to play. Helaena often felt like her mother was intentionally putting her in the dresses that would overwhelm her the most making her skin crawl, the feeling of needles prickling her, the sensation of hundreds of small ants running around her body, now just the thoughts of those dresses brought her to tears

The first time she had spent an afternoon with her sister after the coronation, the first time she had truly interacted with Rhaenyra since the retaking of Kingslanding since Helaena of course had not been allowed to attend the coronation for her safety, her sister had asked how Helaena was, how she felt and if there had been anything she could do for her. 

“Anything that I can do to help, sister?” the Queen had asked her one afternoon as they drank tea.  

“I wish for the maids to not touch me!.” she blurted out, part of her felt ashamed that she had spoken so bluntly to the Queen but Rhaenyra had just smiled at her and instructed every single person of Helaenas staff to not lay a finger on her sister if she did not desire it. Later that night as Helaena brushed her hair, she was reminiscing about how she hadn’t even thought for a second to ask about her mother and to plead for her.

She finished preparing for the day by herself and proceeded to break her fast while reading a book. Days in the Keep were slow but gentle to her. She would usually be left alone until she visited her mother in the cells, and some days after the visits, she would ask her sister for tea. 

She felt queasy and quickly rushed towards her chamber pot, vomiting everything she had eaten. Oh the joys of pregnancy, she thought bitterly, after feeling better she quickly proceeded to do her business in it to try and hide the vomit.

Once she was done she came back to her couch, placed a hand on her belly, and wondered what her sister would do if her child turned out to be a boy. Naturally, he would be an heir for Aegon that is if her husband still lived, worse some lord would rally behind her child to dethrone Rhaenyra and place him on the throne, however, if the baby was a girl, she would be another bargaining chip for the Greens to marry away in exchange for armies and alliances; Helaena feared for her babe, why could her children not been fathered by another man, a good man or the man she loved and longed for. Would Rhaenyra allow her babe to live? Helaena knew that it was a risk for Rhaenyras's position to let her child live but could she be capable of killing her or her child? 

Unable to move from the panic and overwhelming feelings she spent all day there, never moving from her seat ignoring as maids came and went, wondering, planning, and praying to whatever God would listen, asking for guidance on how to coax her sister to let her babe live when she had realized the sun was setting, she had skipped visiting her mother and by now it was too late to request an audience with her sister. 

The door opened unpromptedly later that afternoon, “Lady Helaena, Lady Mysaria is here to see you.” Ser Lyonel informed her as he allowed the woman to enter her room. 

A new development in her life was that most nobles had begun calling her Lady Helaena rather than Princess unless her sister was present. She had passed from Princess to only Lady Helaena. 

“Thank you Ser,” she thanked him and proceeded to stand up, Ser Lyonel bowed and retired to guard her door again. 

“No need, to stand up princess.” Mysaria informed her with a gentle smile, “Especially in your condition.” she said to her.

“My apologies Lady Mysaria, I am not certain I understand what you mean” she immediately replied, her hands began shaking so she held them tight making sure never to bring them near her belly, she clasped them together on her lap as she sat down, no longer being able to stay standing up.” I am feeling rather well.”

Mysaria made her way to her table and sat down, “No need to lie princess.” She informed Helaena. “I know everything and so does the Queen.” 

Helaena felt the ground be swept off under her as she grew weak. “Th- the Queen knows?” 

Mysaria nodded serving herself some tea her maids had brought earlier in case she got hungry and picking it up,” Of course, after you reached that conclusion, so did I and immediately informed her.” 

“Ho-how did you find out?” she asked, eyes full of tears. 

“The same way you did,” Mysaria answered after drinking from her cup. “No bleeding, the maids informed me of your morning sickness and your strange appetite.”

“What does my sister think of this?” she asked frightened. 

Mysaria sighed setting her cup down, “The queen has a gentle heart and feels for you, I feel for you Princess Helaena but that babe,” she pointed to Helaenas belly, “is Aegon’s baby and the babe will present nothing but a challenge to the Queen, you must know that Princess.” 

“ I know, I am aware but my sister must know the babe is innocent! ” She pleads hands cradling her womb, “Wh-what if I say the babe is a bastard? I can claim I had a lover in front of the entire court! I will do whatever is necessary for my baby, please lady Mysaria, please help me keep my baby!” she cries, running to sit down at the table reaching for the woman's hand desperate for an answer.

Mysaria settles her left hand on top of Helaena’s, “The Queen and I will do what we can Princess but I can't promise you everything will be fine, this are dark times and I will not put the Queen's reign in jeopardy,” She says to Helena, thumb caressing her hand.

“I understand,” Helaena answered as tears ran down her face. 

“I will advise you Princess Helaena,” Lady Mysaria said while retracting her hands from Helaenas. “If you could betray Aegon by informing us of where he is, it would be in your best interest and maybe the small council could help you.” she offered the advice.

“Bu- but I do not know where Aegon went! I wasn't aware he had even planned to leave.” she pleads. 

“Then it would be in your best interest to find that information.” Mysaria tells her with a serious tone, almost a warning, “Talk to the one who would know,” 

Lady Mysaria had departed soon after her conversation with Helaena bidding her a good afternoon and retiring. 

After that Ser Lyonel informed her of the time, It was visit hours with her mother if she wished to see her.

Her mother, Lady Alicent Hightower. Rhaenyra had officially stripped her mother of her dowager Queen title, she was nothing more than a lady like her. 

She made her way down to the dungeons with Ser Lyonel behind her, following her of course not to protect her but to keep an eye on her. No one in this place ever cared for her, not when she was Queen, and less now that she was merely a Lady.

“Helaena! My dear!” Helaena could hear her mother before she saw her.

“Mother,” she answered as she approached the cell. She could see her mother through the small window with bars at the door of her cell. The first thing she saw was her mother's hands and then her face as she pressed herself as close as she could. 

“Oh thank the mother!” She praised grabbing Helaenas cheeks and caressing her face, “You are safe,” She sighed in relief. 

“I came to see you the day before,” Helanea reminded her. 

“Yes of course but every day I fear they will execute you for breathing the incorrect way,” she exclaims worried sick and tears gathering her eyes.

“Mother,” she sighs, uncomfortable with her mother's behavior, with her tears.

“What! Why are you acting like the only reason they aren't killing us is to prevent an uproar!” She yells angrily at Helaena and bangs the bars of the cell. 

She remembers now why she is only allowed to visit her mother in this cell, days ago her mother had gotten mad at Helaena and grabbed her through the bars of the cell, scratching her and accidentally banging Helaena against the cell. Her sister yelled at her mother and forbade her from seeing Helaena in a cell that allowed her to touch her. 

“You can not say things like that mother!” she says hardly panicking in the inside, she looks back at Sir Lyonel and the guards, they dont move nor look at them but she knows they heard her mother. 

“WHY? Because if precious rhaenyra would hear me say things like that she would what, KILL ME? She cant! I am the queen! I am the QUEEN MOTHER!” she screams in anguish, fury taking overtaking her, she drops onto her knees covering her face with her hands and then she cried like all the other times before. Helaena took a moment to observe her mother, she had on a grey tunic and her auburn hair was down, her curls going everywhere and her hands, her fingers were read and some of them bandaged after so much pinching and scratching around her nails, her one flaw she would call it. 

“We had everything, I had everything, I was a perfect queen and lady, I never meant for any of this to happened!” she sobbed. 

Helaena opted for leaving her mom, once her crying spells started it took her a couple hours to compose herself again, leaving without saying anything she felt the tears gathering in her own eyes. Helaena rarely felt resentment towards her mother, she tried not to but there occasions like this when she had no will powe to stop the morions and feeling rushing through her, how could her mother still act like the victim when she had deliberatelly put them in this position, seh had aegon and raised him since a child to be king, to steal Rhaenyras throne, then she married to him and made her have kids with him, she planned and scheamed and when things didnt go her way she gave up and now blames everyone else. 

As she made her way to her room quickly Ser Lyonel was fast behind her she dried the tears away from her eyes. How horrid it had turned, she had to deal with Lady Mysaria's cryptid advice to see her mother and deal with the insanity… No.. madness, the madness that emanates from her trapped in that cell where all she does is plead with the gods and relive memory after memory of her life. Every mistake. Every error and every painful moment.

“Lady Helaena!” Sir Lyonel called her but as Helaena turned to look at him she crashed with something, someone. 

King consort Daemon Targaryen, her uncle and her son's murderer. 

“Your grace!” Ser Lyonel exclaimed as he grabbed Helaena by the shoulders, parting her from him. Helaena shuddered at the touch and quickly shook herself from his grip, “My apologies Lady Helaena was careless with her footing.” He excuses her before bowing before Daemon. 

Helaena was no one's fool, she might have not been as sane as everyone else, plagued and marked by the things she had seen throughout her life but she was somewhat aware of how things worked, how the games were played, and what her uncle thought of her. 

Daemon smirked, looking down at Helaena. Through his eyes, she could feel his disdain and almost disgust. “ Of course, “ he mockingly says, “ I am sure Lady Helaena forgot she is in the ground rather than in the clouds, as always.” He snorts and keeps walking. Looking at him, she sees him dressed in dragon-riding attire, and she catches a smell. It fills her with dread, and she realizes what it is. 

He stank of death. The same smell that plagued her little boy that day.

———————————————————————-

Tag list ( open) :

@ella-error505

[kckt88]

Scorched Hearts IV

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

Viserys has passed and the Greens have usurped the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra's grief causes her to suffer a devestating loss and Valaena resolves to see Aemond despite the risk.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Secret Relationship, Child Loss, Grief, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Oral Sex, P in V, & Blood.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 5540

A.N - Going over old ground but it needs to be done.

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

Valaena stood on the balcony attached to her chambers, gazing out at the turbulent sea beyond Dragonstone. Her thoughts were far away, lost in the memory of Aemond.

She absentmindedly touched her stomach, her fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her dress, when a distant sound pulled her back to the present—the roar of an approaching dragon.

She looked to the sky, catching sight of Meleys, circling above Dragonstone. The dragon dipped lower and disappeared into the cliffside entrance beneath the castle.

Rushing from her room, Valaena made her way through the winding corridors until she found her mother and Daemon standing by the painted table in the Great Hall.

Just as she arrived, a guard, Ser Laurent, entered, his face grave.

"Princess Rhaenys has just arrived and requests an urgent word," he announced.

Rhaenyra nodded, her expression growing tense as she beckoned Valaena to stand beside her. Valaena quickly took her place, her heart beating faster with each passing second.

Moments later, Princess Rhaenys entered the room, her face solemn.

Rhaenyra was the first to speak, her voice steady. “Princess Rhaenys, might we hope for news of Lord Corlys’ recovery?”

Rhaenys took a deep breath, gathering herself before delivering the devastating news. “Viserys is dead. I grieve this loss with you, Rhaenyra. My cousin, your father, possessed a kind heart.”

Valaena’s eyes widened in shock, her body going still as the words sank in.

Viserys is dead.

She instinctively reached for her mother, placing a comforting hand on her arm as Rhaenyra’s composure crumbled.

A heavy silence followed. Rhaenyra’s hand moved to her rounded stomach as tears spilled from her eyes, rolling down her pale cheeks.

Valaena could feel her own throat tighten as the weight of her grandsire's death settled deep within her.

“There is more,” Rhaenys continued, her tone grave. “Aegon has been crowned as his successor.”

The words hit like a storm. Valaena gasped, her voice trembling. “What?”

“T-They crowned him?” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice broken, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

Daemon, standing beside Rhaenyra, was quiet for a moment, his face tight with restrained fury. “How did Viserys die?” he asked quietly.

“I could not say,” replied Rhaenys, her voice laced with sorrow.

“How long ago?” Daemon pressed.

“A day passed, perhaps two. I was made a prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations—” said Rhaenys.

Valaena was already reeling from the revelation.

Aegon, crowned King? Viserys dead?

Daemon, ever the warrior, gripped the edge of the painted table, his knuckles white. “Viserys has been slain.”

“Alicent demanded that you declare for Aegon,” Rhaenyra said bitterly, tears still streaming down her face.

“She did,” Rhaenys confirmed, her expression hardening. “I refused her.”

“Yet you are alive,” Daemon snapped, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit. I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys,” Rhaenys explained. “T-They crowned him before the masses, so that the people would see him as their rightful king.”

Daemon’s fury exploded, his voice filled with venom. “That whore of a queen murdered my brother and stole his throne, and you could have burned them all for it!”

Rhaenys, her face set, replied firmly. “A war will be fought over this treachery, to be sure, but that is not my war to begin.”

Valaena, trying to process the enormity of the situation, turned to her mother, concern etched on her face. "Mother are you alright?"

Before Rhaenyra could respond, she grimaced in pain, clutching her stomach as a fresh wave of anguish coursed through her.

“D-Daemon-” she gasped, her hand pressing to her belly, her face pale.

Rhaenys, alarmed, stepped forward. “I brought you this news out of loyalty to my house. You should leave Dragonstone at once. The greens will come for you, Rhaenyra, and your children,” she urged, her voice strained with urgency.

But Rhaenyra barely heard anything she said, her eyes widening in alarm as she suddenly doubled over, gasping in pain. She quickly gathered up her dress, her hand flying between her legs.

“The babe-the babe is coming,” Rhaenyra gasped, staring at her blood-soaked hand.

Valaena stood nervously at the edge of the room, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched Maester Gerardys speaking in hushed tones to the older midwives gathered around her mother.

"Her term is far from complete," Gerardys muttered, his brow furrowed with concern. "This should not be happening."

Rhaenyra, hunched over in pain, snapped at him. "It is fucking happening."

One of the older midwives, a woman who had been through countless births, stepped forward, her voice calm despite the chaos. "Keep your head about you, Princess. Come, let us help."

Elinda, tried to reassure Rhaenyra. "We’ve done this five times before, Princess. Keep your spirit, and the sixth will be no different."

But Rhaenyra, overwhelmed by the pain and fear, pushed them away, her voice trembling. "Get off, get off, get off, get off!"

"Mother, please," Valaena begged, her voice filled with worry as she moved to her mother's side. "Let them help you."

Rhaenyra didn’t listen. Tears streamed down her face as another wave of pain overtook her. "Ow, ow, ow," she cried, hunching over, her whole body trembling.

Valaena reached for her mother’s hand, holding it tightly, desperate to offer some comfort.

Just then, Jace and Luke entered the room, their young faces filled with concern as they stood by Maester Gerardys.

Rhaenyra, still struggling through her labour, looked at her sons, her voice thick with emotion.

"Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed."

Luke gasped in disbelief. "V-Viserys?"

Rhaenyra nodded, her tears mixing with her pain. "The Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne. Aegon has been crowned king."

Jacaerys, always the bold one, stepped forward, his voice tense. "What is to be done about it?"

Rhaenyra, barely able to catch her breath through the agony of her labour, snapped, "Nothing yet."

Jace frowned, his brow furrowed. "And where is Daemon?"

Rhaenyra shook her head, frustration and anguish mingling on her face. "I don’t know. Gone to madness. Gone to plot his war."

Jace, brimming with determination, turned to leave. "Leave Daemon with me."

"Jace!" Rhaenyra called out, trying to stop him, but her son ignored her, too consumed by the news of war.

"Jacaerys!" shouted Valaena, trying to catch her brother’s attention.

Rhaenyra, her face pale, looked to her son. "Whatever claim remains to me, Valaena is now its heir. Naught is to be done but by my command."

Jace, hearing his mother’s words, paused for a moment before nodding. He left the room, Luke trailing behind him, both of them grim-faced and determined.

Rhaenyra’s labour worsened, her cries filling the room. She screamed for Daemon, but he did not come.

Her pain seemed unbearable as she collapsed to the floor, and Valaena, her heart breaking, knelt beside her mother.

"Mother, please," Valaena pleaded, her own tears spilling over. "Let them help you."

Elinda, stepped forward again. "You should not do this alone," she urged, but Rhaenyra, too far gone in her agony, ignored them all.

With a final, anguished scream, Rhaenyra began to push. "Get out, get out!" she wailed, her body trembling violently. Valaena stayed by her mother’s side, holding her hand tightly, her own face streaked with tears.

Rhaenyra, gasping for breath, turned to her daughter, her eyes wild with desperation. "Valaena- help me-it’s coming."

With shaking hands, Valaena moved forward, positioning herself to catch the babe as it came. Her heart raced, fear and sorrow overwhelming her as her mother pushed again.

The babe slipped into her hands with a wet squelch, followed by a rush of blood and fluid. But as Valaena looked down, she froze.

The babe was still, unmoving. And more than that—it was not like any babe she had ever seen. Its skin was covered in scales, and it had tiny, malformed horns on its head. It looked like a half-breed between a human and a dragon.

Valaena’s hands trembled as she held the lifeless form, staring down at the twisted body of her baby sister.

"It’s a girl," she whispered, her voice cracking. Tears filled her eyes as she gently cradled the babe, her heart shattering.

Rhaenyra, despite her exhaustion and pain, reached out her arms. "Give her to me," she whispered, her voice soft and broken.

Valaena hesitated for only a moment before carefully placing the stillborn child into her mother’s arms.

Rhaenyra held the babe to her chest, rocking back and forth as tears poured down her face. She began to hum a lullaby, the sound fragile and filled with immeasurable sorrow.

Valaena knelt beside her mother, her hands stained with blood, her mind numb from the shock and grief. She barely noticed when the door opened, and Daemon entered the room.

His face, usually so composed, was stricken with grief as he crossed the room and knelt beside Rhaenyra.

He wrapped his arm around her, resting his head on her shoulder as they mourned together in silence.

Valaena stood up slowly, retreating to give them space, her heart heavy with the weight of all they had lost.

Valaena rushed from the room, her breath hitching as she fought back the sobs rising in her chest.

Her vision blurred with tears as she stumbled down the stone corridors of Dragonstone, barely aware of her surroundings.

When she reached her chambers, she slammed the door shut behind her and leaned heavily against it, her body shaking with grief.

She looked down at her hands, still covered in blood—the blood of her mother and stillborn sister. The sight made her stomach turn.

Desperate to rid herself of the reminder, she rushed to the basin near her bed, frantically scrubbing at her hands until her skin turned red from the effort.

But no matter how hard she scrubbed, she still felt the weight of the loss, the blood on her hands like a stain she couldn't erase.

Her strength faltered, and she collapsed onto her bed, burying her face into the pillow. The sobs she had been holding back finally broke free, wracking her body with each breath.

Her heart felt like it was being torn in two—the death of her grandsire, still fresh in her mind, and now the loss of her baby sister.

Minutes passed, or perhaps hours—time lost meaning in the storm of her emotions. Eventually, the tears slowed, leaving her with nothing but an aching emptiness.

Valaena lay still for a while, staring at nothing, her body heavy with exhaustion. But even as the pain lingered, a single thought pushed through the haze: she needed to see him.

She knew she shouldn’t—she knew it wasn’t wise—but she couldn’t face this grief alone.

She needed Aemond.

Wiping the last of her tears, Valaena stood up and moved to her desk. Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled out a scrap of parchment.

She stared at the blank page for a moment, then quickly scribbled Īlva dīnagon (Our place).

Her heart beat faster as she readied herself, quickly changing out of her blood-stained gown and into her riding leathers.

The familiar weight of the leather against her skin brought her a measure of focus, though the pain still gnawed at her insides.

Once she was dressed, she folded the parchment and slipped it into her hand before leaving her chambers, her steps urgent.

She made her way through the winding halls of Dragonstone to the rookery, her mind spinning with thoughts of him.

The grief, the anger, the pain—they all swirled together, but through it all, she knew Aemond was the only one who could give her comfort. He had to.

At the rookery, she handed the message to the maester on duty, her voice tight. “Send this at once-and tell no one of its destination”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and hurried away, making her way down the winding stairs that led deep into the caverns below the castle.

Her destination was Silverwing's lair, where her dragon waited for her. As she descended further into the depths of the caverns, the familiar hum of her bond with Silverwing pulsed faintly in the back of her mind, a connection she desperately needed now more than ever.

Valaena reached the lair, her breath catching as she caught sight of Silverwing, the great silvery dragon resting in the shadows.

Valaena ran her fingers along Silverwing’s smooth scales before the dragon lowered her shoulder, allowing her to climb into the saddle.

Taking a deep breath, Valaena took hold of the reins and leaned forward “Sōvēs” (Fly).

Silverwing rumbled in response, her massive form shifting as she began to move, her claws scraping against the stone floor of the cavern as she lumbered forward.

The ground trembled beneath the dragon’s weight as she made her way to the cave’s entrance.

Once outside, the cool night air hit Valaena’s face, but the brisk wind did little to clear the storm of emotions brewing inside her.

With a powerful beat of her wings, Silverwing leapt into the air, sending dust and loose rocks scattering in all directions.

The dragon soared upward, her vast wings slicing through the night sky. Valaena gripped the reins tightly, the wind whipping through her hair as they ascended higher and higher.

Valaena knew that reaching out to Aemond could be a mistake. The Greens had usurped the throne, and with her mother now the rightful queen, the chasm between their families had widened beyond repair.

War loomed on the horizon, and bloodshed seemed inevitable.

But still, Valaena couldn’t stop herself. She needed to see him, to feel his presence one last time. Maybe it was foolish—maybe it would change nothing—but she had to face him.

Even if it was only to say goodbye.

Valaena landed softly on the ground as she slid down Silverwing's wing membrane, her boots sinking slightly into the soft earth with a muted thud.

She ran a hand along the dragon's shimmering scales, her touch gentle as she pressed her forehead to Silverwing’s side.

"Gaomagon urnēbagon riña," she whispered (Keep watch, girl).

Silverwing gave a low, rumbling chirp, her large eyes blinking slowly as she settled in for her vigil.

Taking a breath, Valaena moved towards the cabin. The small, secluded hideaway held a bittersweet familiarity.

She took the key that she always kept hidden in one of the  saddlebags and slid it into the lock with a soft click.

The door creaked as she pushed it open, the scent of the forest mixed with old wood greeting her.

Inside, the cabin was quiet and dim. The hearth was cold, but a small stack of leftover logs sat by the fire pit.

Valaena knelt and carefully piled the wood into the hearth, her movements slow and deliberate as she picked up the flint.

The familiar scrape of stone against metal filled the room, followed by the sudden spark that caught the dry kindling.

Slowly, the flames took hold, flickering to life and bathing the cabin in a warm, soft glow.

Valaena stood and shrugged off the top layer of her riding leathers, her body aching with exhaustion and sorrow.

She moved toward the bed, her hand trailing along the rough-hewn wooden furniture before climbing beneath the thick fur blanket. The warmth wrapped around her, but it did little to ease the chill in her heart.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Aemond would come.

Would he heed it? Or had he realized the truth—that their love, whatever it had been, was now doomed?

The Greens had taken everything from her family, stolen her birthright, and shattered any hope of peace.

The fire crackled softly as she leaned back into the furs, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her mind raced with thoughts of Aemond. What could they possibly be to one another now? The chasm between their families, was now too vast to bridge.

She closed her eyes, her breath shaky as she whispered a silent prayer to the gods, hoping Aemond would come.

Valaena was startled awake by the deafening roar of Silverwing outside the cabin, her heart racing as the sound of her dragon’s distress reached her ears.

She threw off the fur blanket, jumping out of bed, and rushed outside into the cold night air. Her eyes went immediately to the sky, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the massive, form of Vhagar circling overhead, her deep, resonant roar shaking the very ground beneath Valaena’s feet.

Silverwing reared up, her wings flaring in response, the gentlest of dragons ready to defend her rider if necessary.

Valaena raised her hand, her voice steady but urgent. "Umbās! Silverwing, Lykirī!" (Wait, be calm).

Her loyal dragon obeyed but moved protectively forward, her keen eyes locked onto Vhagar as the massive dragon descended.

When Vhagar landed nearby, the earth trembled beneath her immense weight, and the air seemed to vibrate with the presence of the ancient dragon.

"Sȳz riña," Valaena murmured softly to Silverwing, praising her dragon for staying calm despite the threat of Vhagar's arrival (Good girl).

She cast one last glance at the sky to make sure no other dragons were approaching before she retreated into the cabin.

Valaena tried to prepare herself for the conversation she had imagined in her head, rehearsing the words she would say.

But when she heard the door open behind her and Aemond's familiar voice calling her name, all those carefully crafted words dissolved like mist.

Without thinking, Valaena turned and ran straight into his arms, her sobs breaking free as Aemond held her tightly, his strong hands soothing as he hushed her gently.

"She's gone," Valaena choked out between her sobs.

Aemond pulled back slightly, his brow furrowed with confusion. "Who?" he asked softly.

"Visenya," Valaena whispered, her voice trembling. "The babe-my mother’s babe was stillborn."

Aemond’s expression softened with understanding, and he sighed, his grip on her tightening. "I’m sorry for your loss," he said, his voice heavy with sincerity.

Valaena looked up at him, her hand rising to caress his face—but in a sudden surge of emotion, she slapped him.

The sound of the blow echoed in the small cabin, and Aemond staggered back, his eye wide with shock as he shoved her away from him.

"What was that for?" he demanded, anger flashing in his voice.

"For usurping the throne," Valaena spat, her eyes blazing.

Aemond’s face darkened, his lips curling into a scowl. "Aegon is the firstborn son. The crown belongs to him," he retorted sharply.

Valaena scoffed, her anger bubbling to the surface. "Just because he's a male? Do you honestly believe having a cock is a true qualifying factor?" she snapped.

"That is the world we live in," Aemond shot back, his voice tight with frustration. "A son inherits over a daughter."

"And what about me?" Valaena demanded, her voice shaking with fury. "I’m my mother’s heir over my brother. Is that meaningless too?"

"That was your mother’s choice," Aemond replied coolly.

"Yes, and my grandsire chose my mother to succeed him—not that drunken whore Aegon," she fired back, her eyes narrowing.

"He changed his mind," Aemond insisted, his voice growing more defensive.

"According to who?" Valaena demanded, stepping closer to him.

"My mother-she attended him in his final moments” Aemond said, but his voice lacked conviction.

Valaena shook her head, her eyes filling with tears once more. "My grandsire steadfastly upheld my mother’s claim for over twenty years. He dragged himself from his sickbed to defend her just days ago, and now you expect me to believe that he suddenly changed his mind. Do me a favour, Aemond."

"It’s irrelevant now," Aemond muttered, turning away from her. "Aegon is king."

"Hardly," Valaena scoffed. "Crowning him in the Dragonpit does not make him a king."

"In the eyes of gods and men, it does," Aemond said with cold finality.

"There you go again—men, men, men! I’m sick of hearing about them!" Valaena cried, her voice cracking with emotion. "Pathetic creatures who think they’re entitled to everything when, in fact, they are entitled to nothing."

Aemond’s eye narrowed, his voice low and hurt. "So, is that what you really think of me?"

Valaena paused, her fury draining away as she met his gaze. "No," she whispered, her voice softer now. "You were everything to me."

"And what am I now?" Aemond asked, his tone a mix of pain and desperation.

Valaena shook her head, unable to answer. "I don’t know," she whispered. "What do you want to be?"

Aemond stepped closer to her, his voice low and pleading. "I want to be with you. Like before."

Valaena’s heart clenched, her eyes filling with tears. "We can never be like we were before," she said sadly.

"I don’t want to lose you," Aemond whispered, his hand reaching for hers.

Valaena pulled away, her voice trembling. "What choice do we have?”

“Otto wants me to fly to Storm’s End,” said Aemond, his voice rough with frustration. “To offer my hand in marriage to one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters”

Valaena felt her heart lurch in her chest, her throat tightening with emotion. She blinked back tears, her hands trembling as she whispered, “There is something I need to tell you.”

Aemond’s gaze sharpened, the faintest hint of alarm creeping into his features. “What is it?” he asked, stepping closer.

Valaena swallowed hard, her eyes downcast as the words spilled from her in a choked rush. “I’m carrying your child.”

The silence that followed her confession was deafening. Aemond stood frozen, his breath catching in his throat. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Valaena nodded, tears spilling over as she spoke. “Maester Gerardys confirmed it, before we travelled to King’s Landing.”

Aemond’s expression softened as he slowly reached out, his hand trembling as he pressed it against her stomach.

“You knew then” he said, his voice thick with disbelief, “and you never told me?”

Tears welled in Valaena’s eyes as she shook her head. “How could I, Aemond? What difference would it have made?”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his frustration returning. “I could have beseeched Viserys. Told him of our relationship, of our child. He could have ordered our marriage!”

Valaena wiped at her tears, her voice laced with a bitter sorrow. “It wouldn’t have mattered. He would still die, and any plans he made for us would have been undone”

“Valaena-” muttered Aemond.

 “What am I to do, Aemond?” Valaena asked, her voice breaking. “Rid myself of our babe, and you go on to marry your chosen Baratheon bitch while my hand is offered to Cregan Stark or Dalton Greyjoy for an alliance? Are we to forget what we had until we inevitably face one another on dragon back, and fight to the death?”

Aemond’s eyes darkened, and he shook his head fiercely. “No,” he said, his voice low with intensity. “I will not let this happen.”

Valaena turned away from him, her heart breaking. "Just promise me one thing. I-If I am to die, I-I would rather it be by your hand, I-I wish for your face to be the last thing I gaze upon-"

Aemond roughly grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him, his eye blazing with emotion. "Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that again-" he growled.

"What are we to do?" Valaena whispered, tears streaming down her face. "We can’t be together, and yet, I can’t bear the thought of you with someone else."

Aemond’s hands cupped her face, his voice fierce with determination. "I will not take another. I want you, only you, forever."

Before Valaena could respond, Aemond’s lips crashed into hers in a passionate, desperate kiss.

Aemond pressed his forehead against Valaena's, their breath mingling. “Marry me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with urgency.

Valaena gasped, eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

“Marry me,” Aemond repeated, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. “Tonight. Right here. Right Now”

“But how?” Valaena asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

Without a word, Aemond reached for the shard of dragon glass that hung from the necklace Valaena always wore, his fingers gently brushing her collarbone as he grasped it.

“In the tradition of our house,” he murmured, holding the sharp, black stone between them. “We need nothing else.”

Valaena hesitated. “But it won’t be recognized by the Faith,” she said, though her resolve was weakening, her heart already leaning toward him.

Aemond shook his head, his hand cupping her cheek. “I don’t care. I want you.” He dropped his hand to rest against her stomach. “I wish to show my commitment to you, to our child.”

“But what about—” Valaena began to protest, the weight of everything outside the cabin crashing in.

Aemond cut her off with a fierce kiss. His lips stole the breath from her, leaving her momentarily dazed.

When he pulled away, his voice was firm but gentle. “I do not wish to discuss anything else at this moment. Right now, I want to make you, my wife. Everything else can wait.”

Valaena’s heart ached, torn between her mind’s logic and her heart’s desire.

But she found herself nodding, the truth of what she wanted burning brighter than the uncertainties.

Aemond’s lips curved into a smile. He brushed a thumb across her cheek before whispering, “Remove your clothes.”

Valaena raised a brow. “I’m pretty sure that’s not part of the ceremony.”

“It is now,” Aemond grinned mischievously, already pulling off his own clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor beside the fire.

Valaena shook her head but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her as she began to shed her own layers, feeling the warmth of the fire wash over her bare skin.

Once they were both bare, Aemond had her sit in front of the fireplace, the glow of the flames casting a soft light over them.

Aemond rummaged through one of the drawers, and with a triumphant noise, he pulled out a goblet, wiping the rim quickly before sitting down across from her.

“Are we really doing this?” Valaena asked, still amazed by the moment they found themselves in.

“Yes,” Aemond said, his voice low and steady. “We are.” He handed her the shard of dragon glass. “Do you know the words?”

Valaena nodded, her pulse quickening as she accepted the glass. She took her turn in cutting Aemond’s lip with the shard.

They exchanged looks, never breaking eye contact as Aemond cut her lip in return. Together, they marked each other’s foreheads with the sacred symbols of their house—fire and blood.

Aemond unflinchingly drew the shard across his palm, his blood flowing freely. He offered the shard to Valaena, and without hesitation, she did the same.

They joined hands, allowing their blood to mix, their fates sealed together.

Aemond’s voice was steady as he recited the ancient words of their house. “Hen lanoti ānogar, Va sȳndroti vaedroma, Mēro perzot gīhoti, Elēdroma āirza sīr, Izulī amapā perzi.” (Blood of two, joined as one, Ghostly flame and song of shadows, Two hearts as embers).

Valaena’s voice trembled slightly, but she held Aemond’s gaze as she answered, “Prumī lanti sēteksi, Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, Qēlossa ozundesi, Syndroro ono jēdo, Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi.” (Forged in fourteen fires, A future promised in glass, The stars stand witness, The vow spoken through time, Of darkness and light).

Their mingled blood dripped into the goblet. Aemond drank first, his lips stained with the red liquid, and then he offered the goblet to Valaena.

Without hesitation, she drank, the taste of their shared blood a potent reminder that they were now bound, forever entwined by fire, by blood, by love.

The vows complete, they sealed their bond with a kiss, their blood mixing once more as their lips met, their fate sealed in that timeless tradition.

Aemond pulled away only slightly, his forehead resting against hers, his breath mingling with hers.

“Now,” he whispered, his voice husky, “-we shall consummate this marriage.”

He kissed her deeply, their shared passion igniting once more as he gently laid her back onto the soft fur rug in front of the fire.

He covered her body with his as he sucked and licked at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Valaena moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

“I love you-I love you so much” breathed Aemond as he trailed a hand slowly down her body.

Valaena audibly gasped when she felt Aemond’s fingers rubbing her folds.

“O-Oh Aemond” exclaimed Valaena as her husband slipped a finger inside her, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Always so warm-so wet for me” muttered Aemond as he added another finger, making sure to use his thumb, sweeping it against her pearl.

“I don’t want to wait-please husband take me” whispered Valaena, as she wrapped her legs around Aemond’s waist, holding him as close as she could.

Aemond took his cock in hand, running the head along his wife’s warm wet folds, before he pressed inside her, inching forward slowly.

As his hips finally met hers, he rested for a moment, savouring the feeling of her wrapped around him.

“Issa gevie ābrazȳrys” whispered Aemond (My beautiful wife).

“P-Please Aemond” whimpered Valaena.

Aemond began to move with a slow, deep grinding. His movements deliberate and calculated.

“Gods be good,” panted Valaena.

“Fuck. You were made for me, my wife. You were made to fit my cock in this sweet cunt of yours.” breathed Aemond as he increased the pace of this thrusts.

“A-Aemond. Please.” exclaimed Valaena as she brings her hands up to his shoulders, clinging to him as his thrusts shift her up and down, her back rubbing awkwardly against the rug.

Aemond makes a strangled sort of sound and lowers himself onto Valaena even more, kissing her passionately.

His rolling against hers, his cock is still thrusting in and out.

Valaena kisses him back, now threading her fingers through his long silky hair, her nails scraping against his scalp, just the way he likes it.

“ñuhon” muttered Aemond (Mine).

Valaena can feel herself clenching around him as his cock keeps hitting the same spot inside her.

“Ooo Aemond-f-faster. P-please”

Aemond lets out a loud groan as he begins to move faster pounding into her, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing around the cabin.

“Aemond-Aemond-”

“You’re so fucking perfect-” growls Aemond.

“Y-Yes. P-please” moaned Valaena squirming, the heat shooting across her abdomen as her pleasure peaks, and she explodes, her cunt tightening around Aemond.

Aemond lets out a long low groan, his movements becoming erratic. His cock throbbing as he spills his seed inside her.

Aemond’s hips finally stagger and stop. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, not wanting to move away from her.

A lone tear trickled from his eye, his cock having gone soft inside of her, but he had no desire to pull out.

He just wanted to stay, like this. Just for a little while longer, the feel of her heartbeat and the warmth of her breath was soothing to him.

Aemond lay on his side behind Valaena, propped up on one elbow, his hand resting protectively on her stomach.

The flickering light of the fire bathed their bare skin in a soft glow, casting long shadows that danced across the cabin walls.

Valaena stared into the flames, her mind racing, her heart conflicted. "What's going to happen now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond, with a slight smirk, shifted his hand slightly over her belly. “I don’t suppose you fancy coming to King's Landing and declaring for Aegon?” he teased.

Valaena immediately scowled, turning her head slightly to glare at him. “Betray my mother? And be used as leverage to force her into submission? No thanks.”

Aemond chuckled lightly, his smirk widening. "Was worth a try."

Valaena huffed, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress a small smile at his dry humour. “Why don’t you declare for my mother then?”

Aemond laughed, though there was a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Same reasons apply.”

 “How are we ever going to be together?” whispered Valaena, her voice breaking slightly as the reality of their circumstances weighed heavily on her heart.

Aemond pressed a tender kiss to her shoulder, lingering there as he thought. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, filling the long silence between them.

He remained quiet for a while, his mind working through the gravity of the only option left to them.

Eventually, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “There is but one way for us to be together now.”

Valaena tensed slightly “How?” she asked, her breath catching, fear and hope warring within her.

Aemond’s fingers traced soft circles over her skin, his gaze steady as he met hers. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” she whispered, her hand moving to rest atop his, their fingers entwining over her stomach.

TBC

[evvyyypeters-fics]

Dragon Prince! Evan Peters Headcanons + ( x gn!reader)

Warnings! Mentions of violence, fluff, little angst, lots of rambling and dragon lore stuff, not rlly proofread

Disclaimer! This is obviously not an accurate representation of Evan Peters as a person. This is a characterized/ fictionalized idea/ concept. Do not take this as fact. It is entirely fiction and based on my own opinions, thoughts and conception.

Good lord this photo does things to me. Eye contact with Evan has me melting

Requested by @jazz-berry (as usual) and inspired by @lemoniiiiiii

Y/N is definitely a self made boss, bounty hunter/ hunter/ pirate/ archer, etc. and Evan is extremely protective over them, it’s in his nature, but he knows how they feel about him being overbearing or getting in the way of them having their independence. So he kind of steps to the side, while keeping a big eye on Y/N. And if they’re ever in immediate danger and he’s around, you know he’s going to be the one to come save their ass instantly. He’ll be dramatic about it too, he has a stoic face where he acts like he isn’t super worried, but he’ll pick Y/N up even if they aren’t injured bridal style and carry them to a log or some sort of chair, bench or bed to sit down and heal.

“Y/N” He shouts, his voice louder than anything you had heard before, it was passionate and almost frantic. And yet, it almost sounded like a roar with the anger that was built up inside.

He rushed towards the dragon that had trapped me at the edge of a forest, its leaves barbed by rows of thorn bushes. To enter them would not only seal my fate, but also be a painful journey. And Evan was allowing neither. His cape bellowed, flickering before my eyes before I could clear the blood dripping from my head and traveling down my eye, his stance confident before the tall beast. He drew his long sword, sheathing it and wielding the heavy weapon between both hands.

I knew that Evan was the ‘dragon prince’ (even though I truly didn’t fully understand what that meant yet), but it still amazed me each time that just the mere look inside of his eyes and the gleam of his large sword made the firey creature cower, picking up its heavy wings, floating above the large scape of land. The grass shuddering beneath each audible flap, Evan’s gaze following the dragon as it rose in the air and turned away, disappearing behind the icy capped mountains in the distant lands. Evan instantly pivoted on his heels towards me, sheathing his sword back into its halter. I could hear the jingle of the chainmail on his armor and the buckle of his boots as he hurried towards me, lowering himself to my wounded position in the grass. He places a leathery, comforting hand on my cheek as he eyes the wound that to his relief, quickly crusted.

“Come on, let's get you out of here.” He says in that same cold tone he always uses. But there’s something oddly sweet with the way he scoops me up from under my knees, forcing my arms to flail around his shoulders, holding him tight as he carries me back to the kingdom like his bride.

“Is this truly necessary?” I ask, flustered. He only hums in response, not letting go. In fact, I swear I could feel his grip get tighter for a moment, adjusting me more comfortably in his arms. My eyes focused on his stubbly chin, his cape flickering behind him in the corner of my eye.

Headcanons:

(lore)

- He’s a dragon prince, so I think he would actually have some sort of DNA connection with the dragons/ spiritual one. His main defense mechanism against them being his ability to communicate with them, more in a telepathic sense. His eyes may glow yellow or have a more “dragon-like” appearance when he uses that part of himself

- He has a sword specifically made to pierce the tough scales of a dragon and is derived from special materials that are toxic to dragons

- Anyone can train a dragon in this world, but he has an easier time due to his communication ability, being able to tame them easier. He has lots of dragons who he is allied with who help me slay the other territories.

- There are multiple kingdoms made of dragons, and they go to war with each other, and humans can get crossed in this mix which is where he comes into the picture

- He’s sort of a hybrid mitigator for dragon-human wars, and even helps the dragon allies with their own turf wars

- His main duty is as a guard/ knight for the kingdom, he keeps watch for dragon attacks as well as humans. He used often as a weapon against dragons by the kingdom

- The royal family of the kingdom doesn’t recognize being a “dragon prince” as a real royal standing, so while he’s technically royalty and is part of a rare bloodline, he is not considered so by many. The highest ranking he has is being close to a commander/ knight, but only in the ordeal of dealing with dragons during war/ an attack

- He has his limits when it comes to slaying dragons. He will only slay dragons that are an active threat to the kingdom or someone he loves. He will never slay a dragon without a valid reason, and will negotiate with them before making any attacks

- He’s part of a royal bloodline, mixed between dragon and human, they’ve existed for thousands of years but were feared by many and slowly died out/ got colonized/ executed. He was abandoned/ his family was massacred when he was young and was found by a blacksmith of the kingdom when he was young. So he didn’t know he was part of the rare bloodline until he came in contact with a dragon when he was 13 and learned of his ability. His father then told him the truth of his origins and he began training as a knight to become a guard in the kingdom, thanks to the help of his adoptive father.

- He sometimes gets visions of the future, of course pertaining to things that involve dragons, but also premonitions of things that could lead to the end of the world. Dragons and humans are interlinked from ancient history, so certain clashes have almost led to the destruction of the world. There were a few ice ages and purges of life, but they eventually came back. Evan can get dreams/ spontaneous visions of these events due to his connection to both human and dragon and it’s essentially his job to keep order.

- There are others like him in the world, but because the bloodline has died out so much, they are rare to come by and most that are aware of what they are have hidden away in fear of being sought after and murdered for their powers.

- The kingdom where Evan lives needs his powers to survive in the kingdom because they live right on the edge of a mountain range where on the other side all the other dragon kingdoms reside, so they are more likely to get attacked or hit in a crossfire. Evan living there gets automatic protection, so he hasn’t left and is given fairly decent hospitality. He also has lived there his entire life and hasn’t put much thought into the outside world. Too focused on the job he has in his home to consider exploring or finding others

(relationship to Y/N)

- Y/N and Evan have known each other since they were kids. Around 6-7. They didn’t always get along, having a more frenemies relationship where they would pick on each other.

- As they got older they both became closer and better friends, relating on the fact that the other teens and children of the kingdom found them weird and they were both slowly isolating to each other

- They spent a lot of time together by the creek/ river, playing in the woods and skipping rocks

- They would both stay out together as long as they could, avoiding their own homes because not only did they not want the fun to end, but they both didn’t want to go back to their homes where their lives didn’t feel perfect or less lonely

- They found solace in their friendship together

- They each had their own separate dreams, Y/N wanted to explore the world outside the kingdom whereas Evan wanted to stay in the kingdom forever and become a knight. This caused them to start fighting again occasionally when the topic was brought up, and as they got even older, they began to distance themselves

- Y/N was the first to know about Evan’s connection to the dragons, having been there when they were playing by the edge of the woods and a dragon came and landed in front of them. Evan, being naturally protective, got in front of Y/N and found he could speak with the dragon and have an understanding. But Y/N, not having any such power just saw the two standing before each other for a few tense minutes before the dragon flew away

- They were both freaked by the incident at the time, and as they talked more about, became slightly excited. Evan already knew he wanted to use his talent to protect the kingdom, but Y/N believed he could do more with it. Like bringing peace between the humans and dragons for millenium.

- Eventually they both turned 18, and Y/N fled the kingdom and began traveling while Evan stayed and became a knight

- They spent at least a decade apart until Y/N came back to the kingdom with a group of thieves, helping them steal money from the townsfolk and hoping to steal the riches from the kingdom. They had their own reasons for doing so, mainly just trying to keep themselves alive and look out for themselves.

- Evan hears about the group of thieves that have entered the kingdom and is tasked with keeping them out of the castle. He catches one of them during a small ambush, realizing it’s Y/N he is confused, angry and distraught. They explain their reasoning for being a part of the group and the pair are still on rocky terms

- In return for not sending Y/N to jail, they come to an agreement/ deal that they will help him track down the rest of the thieves and imprison them

- They slowly reunite and warm back up to each other, remembering the old days as they spend time together getting into fights across the kingdom to find the thieves and catch them before they get to the castle, rekindling their once broken friendship

- They bond over their individual memories, Y/N telling Evan stories of the outside world and what they were doing, and Evan talking about his adventures as a knight and mitigating for the dragons and the kingdom

“You know, when we were kids, I had a huge crush on you.” I laughed as my stomach tickled, feeling the warm flames of the fire flickering, licking and trying to reach me from its cage of rocks and sticks, only getting a small tickle of warmth through the cold night air.

The stars were heavy above, twinkling like the ripples of water from the ocean. I could see Evan’s stoic face, outlined sharply by the yellow flames dancing across it. His cape draped over the back of the thick log he was perched upon. Despite the blank expression on his face, I swear I saw a twinkle in his eyes of surprise and that’s when I felt the air around us get thickly uncomfortable. The silence becomes stale and quieter, practically deafening if it weren't for the chirp of the crickets–which I call the birds of the night. It’s almost as if he can sense that his reaction has made things more awkward, because he lowers his gaze to the fire and says something I truly didn’t expect.

“Yeah, so did I.” His voice is soft, almost romantic in a way. I feel as if the wind has been knocked from my lungs. All this time, the boy–the man, who had been in the back of my mind all of these years. The one who got away, the one who I had never thought in a million years would ever love someone like me. He just admitted he had a crush on me? I could hardly fathom it, let alone hear it. I almost believed I was dreaming.

“Is it that surprising?” He asks curiously, as if I gave him an offended look, realizing that my eyes were probably blown into saucers after what he said because I feel him practically snap me out of a daze with those words, forcing my face to relax. I can almost see a smile stretch at the corner of his mouth after my expression softens, his gaze finally lifted back to me fully and searching my eyes.

“N-No I uh, I mean I just–I didn’t expect that. Really.” I said, my words tripping over themselves. There was that silence again, the loud ambience of the night filling my ears back up like cotton balls.

“You know…” I said slowly, breaking the silence, my eyes flickering around. Trying not to land my gaze back into his eyes as I feel my heartbeat begin to quicken, squeezing inside of my chest. “I still think you’re kind of handsome…” I almost hoped he hadn’t heard me, too flustered by the admittance. My feelings hadn’t changed for Evan since the day I left him, if anything they had gotten worse the moment I saw that it was him who had caught me that day. The way he was so strong, perfectly groomed, the chubby look on his face I had always pictured of him was gone and in return left with the most perfect frame. His light curls thick and fluffy against his head, the length I had remembered that always covered his eyes having been cut to a charming length revealing the deep black pits that were his irises. A color that could only be matched to the obsidian with the way it shimmered and yet there was no light inside of them, as if it was soaked up inside of them.

I gain the courage to look at him again and I’m shocked to see that a rosy tint has spread across the apples of his cheeks and spread to the tips of his ears. His eyes wide, the obsidian black irises stark against his sclera, like a pebble. I cover my lips as I catch an escaped giggle at his expression and he quickly softens it, realizing how stupid his reaction must have been. Now he’s the one who can barely look me in the eye.

There was something different about the rest of that night, in the way that we looked at one another. More attentive, more passionate, something lingering in the distance. Words unspoken and yet so many told. I don’t think I would have traded it for anything.

May do a part two if this is popular. You can request a fic about this concept if you want ♡

Taglist (you can be added or removed at any time):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ༻ 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞-𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞

(A/n) ➳ I have written this over three times as an attempt to get Daemon’s personality correct and I butchered his character... P.S, I used a High Valyrain translator. I’m not sure how correct it is but you can find it HERE.

Word Count ➳ 1.8k

Content Warnings ➳ 3rd P.O.V, alcohol use, theft, threats of violence, mentions of murder, mentions of death, mentions of war...

AWOIAF Masterlist

Daemon stepped into the Prancing Pony, slipping off his waterlogged hood to reveal his platinum blonde hair and violet eyes. It was a candlelit inn, a seemingly calm one for the night. He observed the inn a couple of hours before entering, he wanted to make sure few eyes were on him.  

But his observation of the inn did him nothing, everyone stared at him, gaining all kinds of attention. Good or bad. He kept his arm rested on his sword, making his weapon known so no one would dare.  

He approached the bar, setting his pouch of coin he stole off a drunk bystander. “A pint of strong ale.”   

The bartender eyed him before pouring his drink. Daemon handed the man the coin, taking the wooden mug in return.   

His nose scrunched at the heavy and bitter taste of the ale. Daemon could certainly hold his own when it came to drinking but this was different. He took the mug as he left the bar and made himself comfortable in a corner with a man.  

It was his contact from the last lead that led him to the Prancing Pony. “I was right to say you are not from these parts.” The man started. “You are causing trouble, drawing eyes from people you do not want to start a war with.”   

Daemon scoffed, laughing to himself. “These people are the least of my worries. I only care of the dragon people speak of.”  

But the man started to laugh, too loud for Daemon’s taste. “The dragon they only hear of is Smaug.” Yet his eyes became wide with a mixture of fascination and fear. “I’ve seen another, not as big but just as fearsome.” He murmured.  

Daemon breathed deeply, his jaw clenched as his grip tightened around his mug. “And you dare hold the information from me?”  

The man rolled his eyes. He sat back in his chair, throwing his leg over the table. “Go East of the Misty Mountains, you will find Mirkwood.” The man ignored his questions and pointed at his hair. “You will find its rider, a woman with strands of hair that match yours.” 

“Now you give me this information? At no cost?”   

“You cannot scare me, Daemon Targaryen. There are many things worse than dragon fire.”  

Daemon rushed out of the inn feeling frustrated, he was played like a fool. Another reason to despise this place.  

He pulled his hood over his head as the rain poured heavily down on him.   

He always knew his older brother was obsessed with omens and prophecies, but Daemon was able to believe in one of Visery’s dreams. a Targaryen had found their own path to safety, escaping the calamity that took their home.  

“The Targaryen dynasty will rule beyond Westeros.”  

He was stuck in his mind for hours, keeping himself busy until he found Caraxes still deep in his slumber. Daemon took a breath before he spoke softly in High Valyrian, running his hand over his long and slender neck.   

“Vēzot, Caraxes.”    

Daemon flew to the East of the Misty Mountains, it was a trip of two days, three before he found Mirkwood. A kingdom surrounded by woods, isolated from the rest of the world.   

Caraxes landed just feet away from the narrow bridge, but his neck was long enough to reach the gates where two guards stood.  

They remained still as they felt Caraxes’s hot breath and saw him bare his teeth.  

Daemon sat up tall in his saddle, he relaxed one wrist over the other. “I demand an audience with your lord!” He exclaimed. “Step aside and you shall live to go home to your families.”   

Caraxes grumbled when the guards did not move or say a word. Daemon clicked his tongue after another minute of silence. He wanted to take his brother’s words into consideration. How he must learn to control his anger, how this world was unlike Westeros. 

Talking was getting Daemon nowhere since he was met with silence. “It is a simple request that I am sure you can fulfill, I have no need to burn your kingdom but turn me away and I will.”   

But it was a failure.   

Yes, they reacted, drawing their bows, and shouting in their tongues. It was not the reaction he was hoping for...  

“You have chosen your own fates.” Caraxes pulled back and opened his jaws. “Drac-”  

Suddenly, the gates creaked open, another Legolas stood at the entrance, walking forward with his bow in hand.  

“You seek and audience with our King.” Legolas stated, looking up at Daemon with a stern expression. “But first, you must hand over your weapons. I shall not let you approach the King armed.”  

Daemon's eyes narrowed, his hand itching to draw Dark Sister and so he declared.   

“We must obey by their rules, it’s their land but it won’t be for long.”    

Dameon gave a curt nod and huffed. He dismounted Caraxes to stand before Legolas. He drew his sword along with its scabbard.  

Legolas shouted orders the guards to come forward, his eyes glued on Daemon. They came forward, taking everything out of his hands, Dark Sister, and his cloak.  

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he knew it gained him access to Mirkwood.  

Legolas was sure there were no more weapons on him. “The King awaits.” He turned his back, walking back into the kingdom with Daemon behind him.   

He took one final glance, watching Caraxes whistle again until the gates shut.  

Daemon did not hide his amazement at the inside of Mirkwood, he made his expressions clear and kept his composure but remained carefree. He was surrounded by guards, but he walked like he owned the place as his head stayed high.    

Then, it was just Legolas walking with him, and it was not long before he was brought in front of the king.  

Thranduil sat on his throne, one leg over the other. His finger tapped the arm rest as he looked at Daemon with a lack of concern. 

“My Lord.” Daemon addressed. “It seems you’ve been expecting me.”   

Legolas took his place by Tauriel’s side. She whispered in his ear, something making him huff in anger and shaking his head.  

Thranduil stood from his throne, his hands clasped together. “Of course I have, you made yourself quite known.” He stepped down the steps. “I received word from an acquaintance, he said your dragon was like a serpent. I wondered what they called your dragon back in Westeros.”  

“You’re aware?” 

“I’m quite aware.” Thranduil responded. “You’re home called Valyria, dragons that you ride, and you Targaryens... I’m only aware of the name after her relative stepped foot on Middle-Earth with a clutch of eggs and managed to sire many offsprings.”   

“Where are they?”    

“All of them killed each other, it’s difficult to say what happened but (Y/n) appeared with said egg hatched.” Thranduil slowly circled Daemon. “I cannot speak to what happened to the rest of the clutch but now she’s here and you’re here for her.”   

“I intend to bring her home.”   

Thranduil stopped at his left side, shaking his head. “You will not take her home. She knows no other home than here, Mirkwood.”   

Daemon wanted to punch him, stab him, have him burned to death. But he knew better than to do anything disorderly. “She does not belong here. She belongs with her family, with the rest of the Targaryens.”   

Thranduil’s eyes flashed with anger as he got in his face. “I have raised her since she was a babe, she is my ward, my own. I will not allow you to disturb her home and peace.” He took a couple steps back before waving Daemon away.   

Tauriel attempted to grab his arm, but Daemon shrugged her off. “She has no place here!” He shouted. “Where is she?!”   

Thranduil walked back up to his throne, sneering at Daemon. “You have no right to demand anything for me.” He gestured for Tauriel to proceed, ignoring the threats and curses coming from Daemon, it clearly had no effect on him.   

Tauriel summoned the guards. “Hold him.” She readied her bow.    

Daemon kicked the elf in the chest, pushing him back. He twisted the other’s arm, grabbing his dagger only for Tauriel to shoot it out of his hands.   

“If you wish to keep your hands, you will come.” She held no room for argument. “īlon līs ȳzaldrīzes mērī.”  He nearly froze in place and Tauriel could see her words confusing him. But the guards grabbed hold of his arms and Tauriel pushed him to walk.   

“We must talk alone.”   

Caraxes awoke, he was curled up near the entrance, grumbling when he caught sight of Daemon surrounded. He shoved their hands off him. “My effects?” Tauriel took them from one and handed them to him.   

Tauriel nodded at the guards, dismissing them. “How did you get here?” She questioned, eyeing his armor and then his dragon.    

His dragon had a saddle too, but it was wrapped around his chest with a three headed dragon.   

“I’d care to explain but I do not.” Daemon threw on his cloak. “Yet I only care to learn where did you hear those words.”    

“There is a Targaryen here.” She confirmed in a hushed voice. “And I fear that darker things may be her future.”  

Daemon's brow furrowed. “Yet why help me?” He questioned, staring down at her.  

Tauriel’s expression softened, sadness forming on her face. “I care for (Y/n), deeply.” She confessed, her voice barely audible. “But I fear the path she is on will lead to tragedy. If there is a chance to changer her fate, I must take it.”  

“Where is she?” 

“I cannot tell you exactly where she is.” She explained. “I received word that she had left the kingdom once again without the King’s permission. But there is a nest, past the Enchanted River. (Y/n) is known to frequent that area.”  

Without another moment’s hesitation, he mounted Caraxes and took to the skies. Tauriel watched as Caraxes flew for a couple moments then descended.  

“The King will not be pleased if he learned you gave out (Y/n)’s location.” Legolas appeared, looking disappointed. “He could kill her.” 

“He will not.”  Tauriel sharply retorted. 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“I would rather (Y/n) perish happily than see her and her dragon fall on the battlefield.” 

(Y/n) drew her sword as Caraxes landed in front of her. Aegar’s upper body hovered over her as he growled at the sight of the two, stretching his wings, ready to defend her. 

Daemon dismounted Caraxes, approaching (Y/n) but stayed at a safe distance. “Nyke emagon daor māzigon naejot vīlībagon.” He said.  

“I have not come to fight.” 

Her breath hitched as her heart quickened. She continued to look back and forth, between Daemon and Caraxes. She kept a tight grip on her sword. “Who are you and why have you come?” She ordered loudly. 

“I am Daemon Targaryen.” Daemon replied. “And I have come to take you home.”  

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission. 

Taglist ➳ @mrsdurin , @marsmallow433 , @oneiratxxia10 , @sassybutclassy96 ,  

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (46)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, anxiety, angst, war victims, trauma ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

When she woke up in the morning she felt that she was alone. She looked around, completely naked and covered herself with the furs lying next to her, sighing heavily. She rose to sit up and pressed her lips together, feeling her moisture and her husband's spend slowly flowing out of her onto the bedding. She blushed at the memory of what he had whispered in her ear moments before she fell asleep.

I love you.

He said it.

He said it even though he didn't have to.

Even though she hadn't asked him to.

She felt happy and hopeful. Daeron's arrival with his reinforcements gave her the feeling that perhaps they were not in such a hopeless situation, that perhaps with her father's help this war could be won. With this thought, she stood up, calling her servant to help her take a bath and get dressed.

As the girl finished tying her buff, open sleeves to her gown her father walked into the tent, startling her completely. She pressed her lips together at the memory of what she had learned the day before from her brother and swallowed loudly, asking the servant to leave them alone. The girl bowed and left, an awkward silence ensued between her and her father.

Should she tell him that she knew?

She felt a squeeze in her heart at the thought that his illegitimate child was in Harrenhal.

She couldn't look him in the eye.

Her father grunted, clearly as stressed and concerned as she was.

"Did he tell you?" He asked lowly, uncertainly, his tubular voice trembling slightly. She looked at him in pain, tightening her lips.

"Not him, but Royce. I know my husband threatened you, Father. However, I already know, and you, if you wish, do what you want with your army." She said in a shaking voice, trying to remain calm, looking down at her trembling fingers, which she involuntarily played with.

She wanted to cry.

She felt hurt at the thought that her father was not as perfect as she had thought. She believed that other lords had mistresses, but not him.

That other lords had bastards, but not him.

She was naïve.

"Your husband has decided that we will move on the Eyrie." He said calmly, and she threw him a quick, shocked, horrified look, her heart beating harder in her chest. "And I supported that decision. We are leaving tonight."

She looked at him feeling her lower lip tremble, her eyes filled with tears, her whole body quivering.

Her husband, her father and her brother were going off to war, perhaps never to return from it.

"Why the rush…after all…." She mumbled, but her father interrupted her.

"Daemon is trying to find individuals born of dragon seed who have the potential to tame the dragons. They want to make them dragon riders. To have an advantage in the sky. If we let that happen, their fire will wipe us out. We need to surprise them. I agree with his decision." He said firmly, like a commander rather than a father, and she sobbed loudly, catching her stomach, his words cutting through her like sharp daggers.

She heard him draw in a loud breath, her reaction making him unsure how to act. He approached her, and after a moment she felt his large, familiar, rough hands on her head and then the cold steel of his armour against her cheek, his bearded face placed a kiss on her hair.

"– my sweet child –" He said in a breaking voice, and she wept in his arms, embracing him, feeling that what he had done, what he had hurt her with, no longer mattered.

"– Father –" She mumbled out loud as if crying out to him for help, as if begging him for something, though she didn't know what for herself.

Her father, who had always supported her, who had always been proud of her, who she could always count on, was now standing in front of her and offering her his comfort, his safe arms in which she sheltered herself when, on cold nights, she could not sleep, terrified by the darkness of her great chamber and the ghosts that might lurk beneath her bed.

"– forgive me, Father –" She whispered and heard him draw in a breath, swallowing loudly – she had the feeling that his voice had trapped in his throat as if he was about to cry himself.

His hand tightened on her head as if he wanted to give her reassurance that he would always be there for her, that she would never lose his support.

"It is I who should ask your forgiveness −" He said in a trembling voice she had rarely heard from him, the kind she had heard when he had sat beside her mother's bed and watched her life slowly leave her. "− I sold you − I −"

"– I love him, Father –" She said in a breaking voice, trying to calm her breathing, her heart pounding hard in terror. "– I'm happy to be his wife –"

Her father swallowed loudly and let out a quiet sigh, trying to calm down and pull himself together. He patted her on the back as if he wanted to pour a little reassurance into her so they would both stop crying.

"Good. Very good. I'm happy. You'll see, in just a few months I'll be holding my grandson in my arms and then…" He paused hearing someone walk into the tent.

She saw her husband's surprised face, pale and shaken, his pupil dilated wide, looking at her with fear.

Her father kissed her hair once more and let her go, heading for the entrance, and she looked at him with a misty gaze, as if she didn't quite believe herself what was happening. She looked at her husband's face, tears involuntarily running down her cheeks, her breathing uneven and accelerated.

She swallowed quietly as she saw him approach her slowly, his figure rigid and upright. He looked down at her, his lips tightened as if he was thinking intensely about what he wanted to say to her.

"If I don't come back, you will do whatever Rheanyra wants. You will bend the knee. Do you understand?" He asked coldly and she looked at him with dull eyes and shook her head.

If I don't come back.

Why did he say that?

"Daemon has a weakness for you, moreover you are with child. You will say that I forced you to do this and according to his will you tried to convince me to change my mind. If your father and brother survive, also let them submit to the will of him and my sister. I will not consider this a betrayal against me." He whispered, cupping her face in his hands, and she sobbed quietly at his words, terrified and distraught, unable to calm her breathing.

"− don't leave me −" She whispered, feeling as if he was saying goodbye to her, as if he felt that this time the will of heaven would not protect him. "− you promised me that after Harrenhal you would never leave me again − take me with you − I want to be by your side − I −"

She didn't finish as his lips pressed aggressively and violently to hers, his tongue invading her throat letting out a stifled, desperate moan. She clenched her hands in his hair pressing into his lips, seeking rescue in his closeness. He pulled away from her and pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard, his gaze dark and troubled.

"I want to spend the next few hours with you and our child."

And so they did. At first they wanted to just make love to each other, but they stopped, too distraught at the prospect of sudden separation, and just snuggled into each other, his swollen manhood pulsing deep inside her.

She tried to remember the feeling, the feel of his arms around her, his scent, his face, his gaze.

She was terrified of losing him, and her body was trembling at that thought.

"Promise me you'll come back to me." She whispered and heard him swallow loudly and twist, all tense, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"I promise."

She watched helplessly as the servant put on his armour thinking that this wasn't really happening – she felt as if her heart was about to burst out of her chest, a cold sweat on her back. When he was in full equipage again he walked over to her and knelt down grasping her face in his hands, his soft lips placed a warm kiss on her forehead.

"Remember what I told you."

He stood up and disappeared a moment later and she was left alone, with a pounding heart and tears running down her cheeks.

Never before had she felt so scared, so alone, so abandoned.

She curled up, surrounding herself with furs, and just lay on the bedding. After a while, the noises around her quieted and there was an ominous silence, broken only by the footsteps of the guards passing by her tent and the wounded who had not gone off to battle.

Night fell, and she squeezed her eyes shut and began to pray.

Warrior, give them strength.

Father, guide them, do not let them harm your sons.

Mother, have mercy on them.

Stranger, do not take them away.

She repeated these four sentences over and over again, crying, rising quickly every time she heard any louder sound. She dressed in her nightgown and put a robe over it, poking her head out of the tent, but saw nothing.

She felt like she was losing her mind.

The hours seemed to lengthen like days to her. She lit a candle and tried to read, however she felt her body trembling all the time, glanced nervously at the entrance and wondered what was just happening.

She had never been so scared before in her life.

She felt helpless.

The first loud sounds and screams reached her ears in the morning. She roused herself from her restless half-sleep and ran out of the tent on her bare feet, looking ahead.

Their army was returning.

She covered her mouth and cried out loudly when she saw the silhouette of Vhagar and the other dragon in the distance, feeling relief flow through her body.

He had made it.

He had returned.

She saw the dragons land in the distance, and she ran between the cheering men towards the flying deer banners, searching her eyes for Royce and her father. Her heart beat harder when she spotted him, his face pale and smeared with blood, he looked as if he could barely see out of sight.

He only woke up when he saw her running up to his horse. She put her hand on his knee breathing unevenly, feeling uneasy.

"Where is our father?" She panted, smiling, thinking that perhaps their father was injured and being carried somewhere behind.

Royce stared down at her and answered nothing. She stroked his knee as if to comfort and reassure him, seeing how tense he was.

"Brother?" She asked quietly, her voice trembling slightly, but a hopeful smile was still painted on her face.

Only after a moment did she glance sideways and see a horse pulling a cart, with a body on top of it covered in the cloth of the Baratheon banner.

She felt her heart stop and ran over there on shaking legs despite Royce's shouts for her to stop. Her brother jumped off his horse and ran after her, grabbing her around the waist and preventing her from pulling off the material she wanted to grab.

"Who's there? I want to see him." She mumbled, breathing heavily, feeling like the world around her was spinning.

"Don't look, please. His body burned." Her brother mumbled weakly, and she drew in air with a quiet, mournful whine, clenching her fingers painfully tightly on his hands, trying to pull away from him.

"− let me go, Royce −" She said menacingly, struggling against him, the soldiers around them looking at the scene with sympathy and embarrassment.

"− stop −" He said helplessly, his grip strong as steel, both of them panting heavily. "− please, stop −"

"− LET ME GO TO HIM −" She cried out loudly, reaching out towards the cloth, slipping to her knees. Royce leaned over her, kissing her hair, his cold armour almost scorching her heated flesh.

"− he doesn't look like you remember him anymore − please −" He said pleadingly, and she fell down on the grass.

She clamped her fingers over her mouth, a loud, high-pitched, squeaky, almost inhuman scream came from her lungs, so terrifyingly pathetic that the men around her averted their gazes.

Scream after scream ripped from her throat as if someone were skinning her, as if someone were ripping her heart out alive, with sobs in between taking her breath away.

It felt like she knelt like that for hours, unable to calm down, Royce knelt next to her, his shaky voice not reaching her mind, not understanding what he was saying to her.

Her father was dead.

Her beloved father, her support, her companion.

He was dead.

He would never see her child.

She cried out louder at that thought and tucked her head between her knees wanting to disappear, to melt into the ground, to die.

"Prince Daeron is dead." Royce said indifferently, and she felt her heart stop. She swallowed loudly, wiping her nose and face.

So who was the other dragon rider she had seen?

"King Aegon joined the battle at the last moment." He said, and she froze, staring blankly ahead.

Aemond.

She looked around as if for a moment she didn't know where she was, the men watching her outburst of despair averted their eyes and dispersed. She rose on shaky legs.

"Where are you going? Wait! I…" Royce called out, grabbing her arm, but she pulled away from him.

She moved back through the camp hearing everything as if underwater, the joy of the men around her and their shouts seemed to her unnatural, strange, out of this world.

What was making them so happy?

What were they rejoicing about?

With difficulty she reached their shared tent, and as she walked inside she froze, seeing him before her.

His eye pierced her deeply. He was sitting in a chair facing her, his hands spread out on the armrests, his chin lifted slightly, his gaze cold and blank.

Like when he had arrived in Storm's End.

She wanted to shout that it was his fault, that she hated him, that it was all because of him and his brother.

She wanted to shout out how much she was suffering now.

But she couldn't.

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. After a while, as if some impulse flowed through her she twitched, and her body moved forward.

One step, a second, a third.

As if she were a small child learning to walk.

She looked down at him, his healthy eye didn't even blink, watching her intensely.

She heard him swallow loudly, surprised, as she climbed onto his lap and snuggled into him, hugging her face to his chest, tucking her legs under her chin, trying to press her body into his. She felt him tremble, felt his heart beating hard against her face.

He had come back to her.

He had promised her and he had returned.

After a moment, she felt his trembling arms rise and embrace her tightly, his familiar, warm hands on her womb and in her hair. She burst out into a silent sob feeling it.

"Your father killed Daemon." He said and she felt her heart stop.

"He hit him with a crossbow when he tried to jump off Caraxes and pierce me with his Dark Sister. That's why Baela…" He said, and his voice stuck in his throat. She felt her heart beat harder, her lips parted in accelerated breath.

Your father killed Daemon.

He hit him with a crossbow when he tried to jump off Caraxes and pierce me with his Dark Sister.

Nothing mattered, nothing her father had done in the past could change the pride and love she felt for him.

Her father saved her husband.

"And Daeron…" It came out of his throat like a painful cry.

She stroked his shoulder feeling the pain in her heart, suddenly remembering cruelly clearly that he too had lost someone that night.

"– I tried to help him –"

"– shhh –" She whispered, lifting herself up. She embraced his terrified, pale face and cuddled his head into her breasts, offering him the shelter of her body, even though she was going through grief herself.

She could have crushed him, destroyed him, told him it was his fault, that he deserved this suffering.

But then he would sink back into his darkness.

She could see that he stood at the edge of the precipice over which he stood when she met him.

She could have pulled him back or pushed him forward to fall.

"− it's my fault − he was only a child − he was afraid, and I −" He mumbled out, her heart pounding like mad.

"− help me −" He muttered helplessly, and she felt her breath caught in her lungs. "− help me −"

She saw him with the eyes of her imagination, saw him in the void, in the blackness, in the emptiness, her husband, her god, her Stranger.

Help me.

She grasped his face in her hands, his healthy eye red, wide open, terrified.

He looked at her as he had never looked at her before.

He was utterly vulnerable, open to any hurt from her, ready to finally fall, to hear who he was.

She kissed him greedily, clasping her hands around his neck and hair, putting all the rage and love she felt for him into his lips. He moaned loudly into her mouth reciprocating her caress, his fingers on her cheeks and in her hair drawing her close.

She shuddered and pulled away from him with a quiet click when she heard a servant stepped into their tent to announce that the King was expecting him.

Her husband refused to go without her. He waited patiently for her servant to help her comb her hair and dress her in her gown.

Brown and gold.

The colours of the Baratheons.

As she walkend into the tent with her husband, Aegon's eyes widened as if he had seen a ghost.

He didn't know where to look, so he looked away.

She stood next to Royce, trying to hide the trembling of her hands. Her husband did not stand beside his brother-king, but beside her. Aegon held out his hand towards him.

"Lords, behold my brother, destroyer of Caraxes, slayer of our…"

Aemond did not let him finish, his voice expressing fatigue and impatience.

"Lord Borros Baratheon fired a crossbow towards my uncle as he leapt from Caraxes and sought to stab me with his Dark Sister. The arrow pierced his neck. He died in the fire of Moondancer." He explained coolly and she swallowed loudly, lowering her gaze.

She tried not to think about it, she couldn't get over it, her mind repressed it.

Her father's burnt body lay somewhere on some cart covered with cloth, surely already rotting in the sun.

A spasm went through her body at the thought, but she only swallowed loudly and clenched her eyes shut, trying to calm herself down.

Aegon grunted at his brother's words and nodded, his gaze shifting to Royce.

"Lord Baratheon. In accordance with your family's tradition, you will now become the ruler of Storm's End. As I understand it, I can count on your devotion and loyalty, just as I could count on the same from your heroic father?" He asked feigning lightheartedness, as if Royce's answer was obvious, but she knew it wasn't and looked at her brother horrified.

Royce pressed his lips together and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, shifting from foot to foot. She put her hand on his shoulder, looking at him pleadingly.

Don't do this to me Royce, she thought.

He'll kill you if you don't bend the knee.

Her brother swallowed loudly, the words leaving his throat with difficulty.

"I am faithful to you, my King." He choked out and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "I wish to take my father's body to Storm's End and bury him in our home fortress. Then I will return with my army, and…"

"My Lord, you and your army will go where I command." He was interrupted by Aegon, and she looked at him wrinkling her brows, furious at his tone of voice, at the fact that he had flown in when everything was a foregone conclusion, that he had lost nothing.

The King, however, caught her gaze and swallowed quietly, embarrassed, his voice softening a tad.

"However, I understand the need for a quick burial, and I offer him the royal burial by fire that awaits my brother as well." He said, as if he was doing them a favour, but Royce laughed at his words in disbelief.

A royal burial by fire might have seemed like an act of grace to him, but not to them.

"You want to burn my father?" Her brother hissed, and she tightened her hand on his arm, feeling the fury rising within him. Aegon shrugged his shoulders at his words.

"Lord Lannister and my uncle will remain in the Eyrie together with the rest of the army. Lord Stark has retreated to Winterfell and is trapped, surrounded on all sides. Without Daemon they will be in disarray. The usurper may, in a fit of madness, try to attack King's Landing and that is where our main forces must now be. Inform your sisters to come to the Red Keep and take your father's body or ashes to Storm's End." He said lightly. Ser Criston grunted loudly, a long scar on his face from someone's cut.

"Shouldn't at least one dragon stay here?" He asked uncertainly, and Aegon sighed heavily.

"And guard what? The ruins? Our armies will create a wall that will cut off the North from supplies from the South. If they wish to starve to death for the Usurper, so be it." He snorted impatiently. After a moment, another commander, a vassal of House Hightower spoke up.

"What shall we do with Lord Greyjoy? He does not yet know that Prince Daeron is dead. What about the agreement? Without his fleet, we have no chance at sea." He said uncertainly, and silence sounded around them. Aegon swallowed loudly, looking at him terrified and grunted.

"Well… the Lord of Storm's End cannot be left without an heir." He said lightly, and she felt a cold sweat on her back – she cast a quick glance at her brother. Royce was red with rage, his lips tightened into a thin line.

He had lost his father to this fool, and now he wanted to put his conditions on him.

"No." He hissed, looking at him with hatred. "You will not force me to marry."

She was frightened by his directness and what Aegon might do with his words, so she decided to quickly interject and defuse the situation.

"Lord Greyjoy wanted a Prince as a husband for his granddaughter, not a Lord, my King." She said quickly, but felt discomfort when Aegon laughed at her words.

"Then perhaps I should command my brother, and your husband, to take a second wife like Aegon the Conqueror and close the whole discussion. What do you think, my Lords?" He asked loudly, and she felt a sting of humiliation ripple through her body at his words.

Perhaps I should command your husband to take a second wife.

She felt like crying at the very thought, her brother standing beside her was on the verge of bursting with anger.

"Careful, brother." Her husband hissed suddenly in such a tone that she looked at him shocked, his eye wide open.

For a moment they measured glances.

"− King." His brother corrected him, and she saw his husband's face stretch in a dangerous, dark grin not reaching his eye that she knew so intimately, that she had seen when he looked at Luke.

When he wanted to kill someone.

Aegon grunted, pretending not to see it, and turned to the Lords again.

"So it is settled. Send a letter to Lord Greyjoy informing him of my brother's death, the changes in the agreement recognising that the new Lord Baratheon will marry his granddaughter. Inform him also of the death of Daemon Targaryen and the heir to the throne of that usurping whore."

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress  @ahristata @menaosama @queenofshinigamis @dark-night-sky-99

[cassyclassyfancy]

Let me drop my monthly post, May.

Not Zhongli, Morax.

.Warnings: Angst? Yandere!Morax, mentions of erosion, fake all!]~ Not beta read, we die like Guizhong. Rushed.

Counting the stars with him, laying in the fields— Guizhong, you and her were both long-friends of Morax. After her unfortunate death you decided to pay a visit to a mystic place a newfound glaze lily flield located to what was now remembered as Qince Village. It was an was once a unaffected peaceful village you both would come often, she cherishes it. Mostly for the glaze lilies.

After the Archon War raged on, your relationship with Morax decreased badly, how you wish you could ask what was wrong. As you were deep in thoughts a familiar voice called out your name

You felt the dread coming as he walked towards you then he sat by your side, Morax noticed your uncomfortable expression— his hands went to your leg— to your discomfort.

“Is there something bothering you? This Lord apologizes for neglecting your need–”

“No- no, it's not that. Is it really okay to dump my worries to you?” You asked hoping he'd say no.

“Say it and I shall listen.” His facade was good. You wished he'd parish. You hate how he smiles at you— appearing to your hiding spots at a suspiciously right timing. You will never forget how he let her die— that cruel death no one deserved, why—

“Go on.” Morax persuaded, his deep and masculine voice replying in your head, mostly all you can hear was Guizhong's pleads to spare you she had sacrificed herself.

“May I ask why your hands are golden?” It's a trick question. You're meaning to this question was to figure if he was eroding already. There wasn't exactly any symptoms of this or something like that. Likely it was severely damaged hands.

Off the bat, his pupils transformed into slits, one trait from his real dragon form. Morax raised a brow in confusion, he'd never heard you mention that until now.

He didn't respond just looking straight at the sky in a trace, that sky he created, that sky of his domain— it all came back to you now. You finished connecting the dots. He imprisoned you inside his domain. The tricky part probably was how you intended to leave this fantasy paradise to reality. It all looked real, even the glaze lilies.

“You can never leave. I am the seal!” He suddenly pounced onto you, his large frame hovering over to you, his long brown locks falls on your cheeks, tears formed on his eye as he blinked then it falls on your cheeks like raindrops, as tears kept coming so did the rain of his domain. He didn't let go until you both were soaking wet in the rain.

“How could you do this to us?! How could you let her...” You were caught off as he growls intensely

“Enough! I sealed us both off the outside world, so that we could live what I always dreamt of... Besides, I'm eroding sweetie..I must take a sacrifice to keep me sane before it happen already.” his lovesick orbs stared directly at yours as he pressed a obsessed kiss to your lips.

You two in the rain at the fields.

Okay so I have this theory on why his hands are golden, perhaps due to erosion or he's just filthy rich like that lmaoo. I also have a good idea for part two but I'm feeling lazy :(

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Court, death, mentions of violence.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels! We are getting closer and closer to the end! Only 3 more chapters to go, I can't wait to finish this with you. I know I sound like a broken record, but jesus! I've had this bad boy ageing in my computer waiting to be posted haha. Anyone, Enjoy! <3

Chapter 107: And So The Tide Rushes to Shore 

The news of the seizing of Kings Landing by Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen spread across the realm like wild fire. There was no corner that had not heard the news, nor person that had not swallowed in apprehension.

But the promise of war was over.

There would be no war.

No torching of the realm and its innocents, no destruction of Keeps and homes and livestock. No call for men to join armies and fight for the throne in a bloody and violent death. Nor women and children who would be left alone without their fathers, or husbands.

However, now was a time where the fragility of her rule would hang upon a delicate thread, and although Rhaenyra had her supporters, there were still those who had supported Aegon’s rule, and then subsequently Aemond’s.

The Small Council of the Greens had been rounded into cells by guards and knights. Gold cloaks flooding the Keep at the order of Daemon, a man who they had kept their allegiance to for all his time spent away.

And as Rhaenyra had personally escorted you, alongside Daemon, towards your original chambers, the ones that you grew up in, and not the one that now housed the corpse of your late husband, you walked quietly, dagger still in your hand, Daemon’s fingers unable to pry it from you just yet.

The corridors were a mess of Lords and Ladies, maids and servants who rushed and fled, were captured, and otherwise scattering like ants as they were unsure of what to do, or what was to come. 

Above you, four large dragons, circled the Keep, crying out into the air. A vision of red, and green, and pale pearl flying about as they surveyed the Red Keep below. One outsized them all.

The bronze scales of Vermithor shimmered brightly in the sun.

A sob of relief fell from your lips as you watched him, looking up at a dragon you had been separated for months from, not being able to see him or know he was okay. There was agitation in his body as he flew, but otherwise he was safe.

He was safe.

And he knew you were too.

When you had gotten to your chambers, Amala and Joanna were already there, waiting, wringing their hands together in anticipation. And upon seeing you, Amala had gasped, and ran towards you, hands checking your face for wounds, no doubt shocked by the blood.

Daemon turned to the girls, “Fetch her some water for a bath.”

And with that, their fussing and stress stopped, and they sprung into action, running from the chambers. Both girls eyes dragging over your body and the crown atop your head as they exited.

It was weird to be back in them. 

The chambers that felt alien to you now.

You stood in the room you had once called your own and breathed, slowly walking over to your old table to place the dagger atop it, finally feeling safe. Finally feeling as though you didn't need the blade any longer. That the last piece of safety Aemond had given to you had served its purpose. And it was then that you breathed, truly breathed. Breathed for the first time since coming to the Red Keep.

It was over. 

It was over.

You stood as you were and watched the maids return, another younger girl in tow, blonde and thin, who bowed and introduced herself quietly to you, ‘Ceryse, Your Grace’, eyes widening at the blood on your skin and hair before she averted her eyes, face having turned ashen.

Daemon and Rhaenyra waited with you as they filled the bath, and as the chamber doors opened once again, you had expected one of the girls to be bringing more water to rinse you with, but instead, you were met with a pair of deep brown eyes. 

Jacaerys.

You sucked in a sob as he raced across the chambers, crashing his body into yours as he gripped you tightly. You almost fell backwards from the clashing of your bodies, arms curled under his and up his back, squeezing the leather riding tunic he wore to you tightly. 

He smelt of dragon, of musk, and the subtle sulfur of dragon flame. But most of all, he smelt of home.

You half sobbed and half laughed, overjoyed and grieving all at once in his arms. Hands shaking around him as he squeezed you tightly. His chest shaking as he sobbed himself, holding you outwards in his arms as his eyes roamed your body, looking you over.

He was taller, so much taller than he had been, and broader too. His hair was long against his shoulders and curled, pulled behind his ears by braids.

"You're here." He breathed, as though he was even unsure of it. As if seeing you had confirmed that his greatest fear had not come true.

You nodded, hand coming to touch his jaw gently. He grabbed the wrist that held his face tightly, emotion pouring through his eyes as he shook. And in a turn of familiarity that you only knew from Daemon, he rested his forehead against yours and breathed, eyes shut, brown lashes clumped together and wet as he fought the tears that escaped them.

"I'm here." You breathed, "I'm here."

The rest was a blur.

A blur of reunion, a blur of being bathed, the milky water below turning a soft pink, to an earthy copper as the blood was washed from your hair and face. The maids scrubbing your body with a sponge to pull the dried blood from your skin, Rhaenyra not once leaving your side.

One of the maids had to bring her a chair and tell her to sit down as she anxiously stood between you and the door, eyes darting back and forth, the fear of having you taken from her again ripe.

But nothing had happened. No knights entered to take away, no Greens supporters came to call, no Alicent, or Jasper, or anyone. Just you and your mother, who insisted on brushing and braiding your hair, and you had let her, tears cascading down your cheeks as she hummed to you.

A familiar tune.

Something the maids had sang to you a long time ago, but this time, it was the song of the Goddess Meleys, and you had cried even harder.

She had been there all along.

That evening you dined with your family, exhaustion burrowed deep within your bones.

And it was still all a blur, it felt like a dream still. Sat with Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jacaerys, Rhaenys and Baela around the table in the intimate dining hall. 

It was almost like it had been before.

Before the war. 

As though this was as it was supposed to be. 

Almost.

And whilst they celebrated the victory quietly and solemnly, toasting a cup towards you which you lifted your own in response, there was no denying the grief that lingered in the foreground. No denying the grief of the loss of Lucerys and your sister. Their palpable absence. The grief of the war and time lost, of your own child, of Aemond.

Tears escaped your eyes, and you were thankful to be with them, but for the most part, sitting with your family, it felt as though you were watching them all through somebody else’s eyes, as though you were watching from somewhere else, or that you were a puppet from Flea Bottom and somebody, high above in the clouds, was pulling your strings, stretching your cheeks into a smile, nodding your head in agreement, ears listening to tales and comments of relief without truly listening. 

It was not a loud and joyous celebration. In fact, it felt more like a funeral, like the one for Laena, like the one for Laenor.

There was no music, there was no dancing, but it was enough.

It was enough to just be with them, to just be in their presence, hear their voices, be able to reach out and touch them if you wanted to. The subtle scents of their own, curling around you in a soft blanket.

You had reached for your goblet at one point during the night, mouth having gone dry at the mention of Aegon, and you had to hold in a scream, eyes finding your hands covered in blood once more. Your eyes had widened in shock, a small inhale ripped into your lungs, and Daemons careful eye from across the room had spotted you.

And though the maids had washed and scrubbed you vigorously, cleaning under your nails with careful hands, even though you knew in your heart that you were clean, it didn't stop your mind from seeing them soaked red with your lovers blood. Covered as they had been that morning.

And he was there.

Watching.

By the corner of the room.

Eye never leaving you.

But you kept a brave face, if only for a while longer, not daring to look where you hands would reach, grasping blinding in front of you, resulting in wine spilt and worried eyes. You had blamed your tired and shaky hands. For how were you to explain that when you looked down upon them you saw the proof of your misdeeds. The proof of your sin. The proof of your betrayal.

Then all too soon, exhaustion creeped over you, and your mother, noticing the shift, escorted you back to your chambers, and readily tucked you into bed, sitting on the side as she looked at you with nothing but love. She brushed your hair from your face, and without a word, climbed into bed beside you. She pulled you to her tightly, and you curled up against her, nestling your head into the crook of her neck to breathe deeply.

And as your eyes were closed, you let yourself pretend that it was him.

Sleep dragged you under, and no dreams haunted you this time, though you felt his presence behind you. And when you woke, still in her arms, her hand was holding your head against her as she breathed, fingers absentmindedly carding through your hair in thought. You shifted, looking up into her lilac eyes which seemed to be shadowed, dark rings on the skin beneath.

She had not slept.

“Did you rest?” You asked, eyes darting across her face as you shifted to sit up in bed.

“I have not slept since the day you left. And now that I have you in my arms again, I am frightened that my eyes shall close, and when they open and you will be gone.”

You swallowed thickly, “I would never leave you.”

Rhaenyra gave you a small smile, though edges pulled down into a frown.

“If it is your wish, I would not keep you here in the Keep. If the memories are-“ She paused, unsure of how to move on, “If it is too much to bear, I would not hold you here. I would not force you to stay.” She whispered, brushing your hair from your face.

You frowned at her, “I am your Hand. I am bound by duty to be at your side.”

Rhaenyra let out the breath she had been holding before she nodded, “Duty be damned, I think you have performed yours and then some, more than I ever would have asked you to." She breathed deeply, "The rest of the council and my men shall arrive today. There will be a trial, to convict those who have plotted against me. Those who aided Aegon in the usurpation of the throne. And those who kept you here.”

You shifted in the sheets as you looked at your mother. 

Her soft brows pulled slightly together, the frown lines that seemed to now permanently mar her skin, were present with the movements of her lips, which she pressed together into a thin line, moving to open again.

But you beat her to it, “Then we must be ready.”

And so, you were dressed in a black leather bustier, with large winged shoulders, the neck of the leather coming just below your chin. It was a shorter gown, coming just mid calf, and beneath, you wore black trousers and leather boots that tucked them inside, just below the knee. Across your chest was chains, hooped and long against your bust, each end being the opened mouth of a dragon on either side.

The girls braided your hair back, gentle and soft in their movements, both working together as they used small pins with red jewels at their tip to hold your hair up and off of your neck. And all the while, your eyes did not leave the Conquerors Crown that was placed atop the table, smears of blood on the steel and ruby.

Rhaenyra had already left, to be dressed and readied for court in her old chambers, joined by her husband. But you were rooted on the spot, unable to move as you looked at it, watching as the light from the sun caused the ruby to glimmer.

A blood red.

Blood.

Like the blood that had covered you. Like the blood you had tried to stop at Aemond’s neck. The blood that spilled through your hands and his and soaked the sheets and pillows below. The blood that had soaked you.

You would not dare look at your hands, for you knew what you would see.

You blinked and moved towards it.

But it was your crown.

Yours by right.

And so you lifted it, placing it atop your head, revelling in the weight that it pressed down your neck. The weight that then settled in your chest and gut. 

With determined steps, you left the chambers, blade tucked into a holder at your side, dried blood still smeared across its blade and hilt as you walked swiftly down to the throne room to meet your Queen, and meet with the rest of the council and Lords of the realm.

All ready to see and watch the true heir to the Iron Throne be seated where she should have always sat, from the moment Viserys had passed, and for her to cast down her judgement on those who went against her. 

Traitors and turncloaks alike.

When you entered the throne room, it was bursting with life, and the floor where Larys had laid was stained with his dried blood, a large smear across the stones from where his body had been dragged and removed.

All eyes were on you, each step echoing in the chambers as the people quietened, and your mother lifted her head.

Your father stood at the foot of the throne, Jacaerys beside him, as you came to stand before her.

Ser Erryk Cargyll announced you to the chambers, presenting your titles to the room, “Hand of the Queen.”

With a bow of your head, foot sliding beneath you, you pressed your knee upon the floor and reached a hand up, grasping the crown from your head as you held it towards her, “Your Grace, I give my crown lands and titles to you, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne.” When you stood again, you looked up at your mother who smiled gently at you.

“Princess Y/n, my daughter and first born, you have earnt that crown valiantly, through months of tireless work.” Her voice rose in the chambers, all still as they listened, “You may hold it in your possession, as a reminder of your deeds.” You could feel the eyes of all in the chambers flickering on the back of your head and then to the Queen who sat atop the throne.

“Your acts of bravery have not gone unnoticed, nor has your role in winning this war, and returning the throne and all the realms to me rightfully.” Jacaerys shifted at your fathers side, a small smile pulling at the side of his lips, “And at this time, the succession for the Iron Throne has changed.”

What?

Your breath stopped in your chest, eyes darting to Jacaerys who gave you the slightest tip of his head.

“Let all who stand here bear witness to the naming of my true successor. A successor who had been promised the throne once before.” Her eyes met yours, “Let it be known, that in the eyes of the Realm and before the Old Gods and the New, that my daughter, Princess Y/n Velaryon, is my heir and successor to the Iron Throne. Duty of the Hand of the Queen shall be placed upon Ser Corlys Velaryon.”

Heir.

Successor.

You blinked.

You were her heir.

You were the heir to the Iron Throne.

"But now," the Queen continued, "Is not the time for talks of succession and my rule. Now is the time to bring forth traitors and turncloak's who broke their oath to my father, King Viserys, and to me, the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms."

The sound of men around you shifted as they bowed their head towards you, your face in pure shock as you looked at them.

“Now,” The Queen boomed over the rising whispers in the chambers, “Bring forth the accused.”

You stepped on unsteady feet, unsure and uncertain as you came to stand beneath the throne on the opposite side of your brother and father, both who beamed at you with pride. The Conquerors Crown still in your hands, the cool Valyrian steel pressing into your palm.

But as the doors to the chambers were opened once more by guards, you had snuck a glance at your father, who was already watching you, and gave you a promissory nod. And so with certain hands, you lifted the crown once more, and settled it against your scalp.

Wild auburn hair appeared first, and then a gown of deep green as Alicent Hightower was dragged before the Iron Throne by Gold Cloaks. Each one stood behind her as her hands were locked in chains at her front, eyes flickering from you, to Rhaenyra, and then back to you.

And then you began.

“Lady Alicent Hightower. Dowager Queen of King Viserys. You stand before Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Roynar, and The First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. You are bought here to be charged with crimes against the Crown. You are accused of treason.” Your voice carried through the chambers, the chains on Alicent’s wrists knocking against each other as she picked at her hands, fingers raw and bloody.

“You are charged with conspiring against the Crown to usurp the throne with Prince Aegon Targaryen and Ser Otto Hightower. You are charged with the conspiracy to cause harm to a Princess of the realm, and her wrongful imprisonment.”

“Rhaenyra, see reason. I beg you. Your father-“ Alicent began to plead.

“-My father,” Rhaenyra’s voice boomed, “Is dead. And you kept that hidden from the people for days, and rushed to crown Aegon as King in the Sept before the realm. You usurped the throne from its rightful heir and King Viserys’ successor, whom your House swore fealty to. Do you deny your charges?”

“I beg mercy! I only did as I believed was right. Viserys told me before he passed that he wished Aegon to sit the thr-”

“-You will have chance to make your own petition, Lady Alicent. Do Queen Rhaenyra the curtesy of letting the charges to be heard.” You held your head high, mimicking the same words she had said to your mother, a long time ago, “If the Lady Alicent Hightower speaks out of turn once more, cut out her tongue.” You watched as her face ashened, and her brows pulled together in desperation.

“You supplanted the Iron Throne’s rightful heir.” Rhaenyra growled, “You sent Aemond to slay my son, Prince Lucerys, the heir to Driftmark, who was an envoy in Storms End. And you have kept the Princess, my heir to the Iron Throne prisoner in this Keep under the hands of your rabid sons.”

“Please, Rhaenyra.” Alicent begged, “Am I to pay for the crimes of the wants of a father on his daughter? For the crimes of my sons? We were close, you and I. Friends!”

Daemon snickered beside the throne as he watched the Hightower woman beg.

Rhaenyra straightened, “What good is a friend who plots and grooms her sons into usurping the throne from its rightful heir? Their half-sister? From her supposed friend? These crimes are treason. And there are witnesses. A Maester who was slain here. Maids who had watched. Gold Cloaks, and servants, and Lords alike witnessed your crimes, Lady Alicent. Do you deny these charges?”

A tear fell from Alicent’s eyes as she sucked in a shuttering breath.

She stayed silent.

Rhaenyra looked at the woman from down her nose before speaking once more, delivering her conviction.

“For your crimes against the Crown, against my blood, and against the people of the realm, you are found guilty. I, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Roynar, and The First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to death by dragon fire.”

Alicent’s face morphed into horror, “No! Rhaenyra, please! I beg mercy! We are but women who had our hands forced by the men around us!” She cried into the chambers as she was dragged out by the Gold Cloaks, “What choice did I have?! Imprison me, Rhaenyra, I beg this of you!”

Alicent Hightower’s voice faded down the halls and walls she was dragged down, pleading for mercy, begging to the Seven for help. But the Seven did not hear to her prayers, for the Stranger was already on their way to take her.

Maester Orwyle was next, and the man stood silently as his charges were given to him. He did not speak, nor did he rebuke them, or plead for mercy. Instead, his dark brown eyes stared into your mothers with nothing more than disgust and pure hatred, until he was pulled away, the same way he came, back to the holding cells of the Dungeons you had once spent your days in, with his verdict. 

Guilty.

It was this way until the whole of the Green Council and turncloaks was laid before your mother, each one individually brought before the Queen, had their accusations of treason laid. Some were given the option to bend the knee to Rhaenyra and serve her in exchange for their lives, others were not. 

None, bar Lord Jasper Wylde, bent the knee.

And all, bar the Master of Laws, was sentenced to death.

The chamber of the Iron Throne was ripe with energy. Nervous, excited energy from Rhaenyra’s supporters as they watched on as they delivered the sentences to those who had betrayed or turned cloak against her. 

And then, the court was dismissed, and the Lords and her supporters were led outside of the Keep, to the mouth of Blackwater Rush, where a flat grassy knoll lay before the cliffs, and a worn path for traders was trodden upon. 

It was there where Lady Alicent Hightower was led, beside her Maester Orwyle, Ser Tyland Lannister, and the turncloaks, Lord Bourney, Butterwell, Mootey and Rosby stood in a line. 

The oceans breeze ruffled the cloaks and hair of all those in attendance, and Rhaenyra was the last one present. The final person to arrive. 

Above you, the large and excitable screech of a dragon who would finally be reunited with its rider. 

Alicent looked up the skies in fear, her hands clutched tightly together in prayer as she shut her eyes, mumbling to the Seven, begging for mercy, and guidance, and promises of good servitude if they grant her her life.

But dragons did not answer to the Gods.

Nor were they inclined to show mercy.

And so you watched, in delight and anticipation, as the large bronze dragon landed against the grass beside you, purring into the air with his large scarred snout, mouth full of jagged teeth opening, and eyes dancing over you. 

All watched as you reached out to touch him, the dragon rumbling deep in his chest as he leant into your hand. The bond sent sparks through your fingers and arms as you leant a forehead against him, breathing in his dragon smell, sulfur and smoke, and the distinct almost reptilian stench that they all carried. 

But your true reunion would have to wait, for the Queen and realm were waiting on you.

It was only right that you delivered the blow of justice. 

As heir.

As now stand in Hand before Corlys.

In fact, your mother and father had been most insistent upon it, if only you wanted to. 

And the Gods knew that you did.

The crowd of people shuffled backwards as Vermithor’s long tail beat against the ground forcefully, vibrating the earth beneath.

Alicent Hightower jumped in her spot, knuckles white as she stared at you in fear.

“You are guilty and have been charged of treason-”

“-I am innocent. I beg mercy, please. Rhaenyra, see reason!” Alicent cried out into the soft ocean breeze, her words lost to the crashing swell. Rhaenyra blinked impassively at the woman.

“Reason?” You parroted, “Mercy?”

“Please, it was the ambitions of a father onto his child. I had no play-“

“No play? None?” You sneered.

There was that rage again.

“I beg mercy. I will work in-“

“-Where was your mercy for the Queen when you usurped her throne?” You stiffened, Vermithor behind you growling, sensing your anger through the bond. 

“Where was your mercy for her sons? For Lucerys?”

“I was not at-“

The Bronze Fury shifted behind you, head coming to loom forward in the space beside, teeth bared as he growled at the woman who dropped to her knees in fear, legs giving out beneath her.

"Where was your mercy when you locked me in a cell? Where was your mercy when you let him rape me? Defile me.” You took a step forward towards her, “Hurt me.” 

Another step, and ice spread through your chest, “Where was your mercy when the King broke into my chambers?” You spoke dully this time, but inside you was the fire that you had hidden. Trampled by your own hands and feet in order to keep on, to keep moving. 

To survive.

Vermithor lifted his head into the sky and cried out shrilly, all around him flinching from the sudden movement. His large jaws opened, and a plume of fire shot into the air, the heat falling down around you hotly. 

You looked down at the woman who started it all. 

Her children. 

The usurp of your mother. 

The war. 

Lucerys. 

Syndor. 

Visenya. 

All of it.

“You are found guilty of treason, for the usurpation of the Iron Throne from its rightful heir. You are guilty of crimes to the Princess; Daughter and heir of the Queen. You are guilty of hiding the death of King Viserys from the people and Lords to conspire with turncloaks and oathbreakers. And you have been sentenced to death.”

You stared into the eyes of the woman before you, tears cascading down her cheeks as she looked up at you and pleaded, begged for her life, begged for mercy.

Prayed. 

Her hair was messed, her robes were crinkled and green, and as you looked at the woman you felt a surge of rage.

“Dracarys.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Unexpectedly Yours: Part 2

Fandom: Ted Lasso (Regency AU)

Pairing: Roy Kent x F!Reader

Summary: Lord Roy Kent still has yet to marry. He hates the notion that marriage is a way to ensure your status in society. You have delayed your debut to society for years because of the same idea. So what happens when two people who hate the idea of marriage are constantly drawn to each other?

Part 1

You giggle as you watch Phoebe and Cece run around the room, "breathing fire" and roaring like a dragon.

"I'm going to eat you!" Cece roars in a deep voice, right into your face.

You fake scream, "No! Please! Don't eat me! I'll do anything!"

"Anything?" Phoebe asks in her own 'dragon' voice. When you nod, she goes, "Then you have to give me your kingdom so I can be a dragon king!"

"No! I can't let you have my kingdom!"

"Then we're going to eat you!" Phoebe and Cece creep towards you until Lord Kent "pops" up from behind a chaise lounge with a wooden sword in hand, "I'm here to save you, princess!" he explains in his raspy voice.

There's a small crown on his head and he looks a bit ridiculous to you, so you snicker a bit. He points his sword in your direction, "Shut it."

You roll your lips inward to hold back your laughter.

Cece and Phoebe turn to him, "Who are you?"

"I'm the prince..knight come to rescue the princess from you dragons," he points the wooden weapon towards the two little girls before him.

"You'll have to kill us to save her then!" Cece explains.

Lord Kent cocks a brow at your young cousin then looks at you. You give him a shrug. Sensing his hesitation, Phoebe speaks up, "You have to kill us, Uncle Roy. Stab us right through the heart!"

He looks at his niece in disbelief, "I'm not stabbing you, you odd girl."

She rolls her eyes, "It's just pretend, Uncle Roy. You're not going to hurt me. Besides, you can't save Princess Y/N if you don't kill us. Then she'll be dragon food!"

Cece and Phoebe bare their teeth and their "claws".

Lord Kent sighs and gently pokes Phoebe in the chest, "Stab." She exaggeratedly falls to the floor, her tongue sticking out to signal her death. He then pokes Cece in the chest, "Stab." She, too, exaggerates her death, similar to her new friend.

"My hero," you chuckle.

Lord Kent walks over the "dead bodies" of your cousin and his niece. He holds out his hand, "I've saved you, Princess Y/N," he says unenthusiastically as he pulls you from your place on the floor.

You snicker, "Thank you, Sir Kent. You're so very brave."

Cece opens her eyes, lifting her head up, "You have to kiss her too!"

"No, I don't," the viscount quickly says.

"Yes, you do! It's how all the fairy tales end!"

"No, they don't."

Phoebe's eyes open and she adds, "Yes, they do, Uncle Roy. Remember the one you told me last night? That ended with a kiss and they lived happily ever after! Do you not want a happily ever after?"

The viscount lets out a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Phoebe-"

"Just do it," you say, making him turn back to you, "It'll be quick."

"Fine," he grits, appearing as though kissing you is the worse thing in the world. You can't help but feel a bit saddened by this.

He faces his entire body towards you. He steps closer to you and begins leaning in, closer and closer until his lips hover over yours. Just as he's about to kiss you, the door to the room opens,

"Alright, my love, time- oh," It's Lord Kent's sister, "What's going on?" she looks at Lord Kent with a questioning gaze, eyes fluttering between you and him.

Lord Kent steps back, "Nothing."

"Mummy, can I please stay longer?" Phoebe begs as she scrambles from the floor.

"Unfortunately not, my love. We have to get ready for the ball tonight."

Phoebe grimaces, "Another ball?"

"Yes, another ball," Clara smooths down some of Phoebe's hair and then looks up to Lord Kent, "Brother, shall we or-"

"No. Let's go," he rushes from your side, walking past his sister and niece.

Clara clears her throat, "I apologize for him."

You shake your head, "No. It's alright," you curtsey, "Thank you for allowing Phoebe to spend time with Cecelia. They had a lot of fun."

"I'm sure we can plan another play date for them soon, Lady Y/N," she gives a small bow, "Enjoy the rest of your day."

"You as well."

You and Cece watch the Kents walk down the stairs and head out the door. Once gone, Cece looks up at you with a pout, "You didn't kiss. That means there's no happily ever after."

"It's alright, Cece. Some people just don't get a happily ever after."

___________________________

At the Ruthford Ball, Clara and Lord Kent walk around the ballroom, side by side.

"So...shall we discuss what I interrupted earlier?"

"It was nothing," Lord Kent grunts to his sister.

"Didn't look like it was nothing. Looked to me like you two were about to kiss," she says with a playful smirk.

"It's just pretend. We were pretending for the girls," Lord Kent explains, refusing to give his sister any satisfaction.

"You know, I hear that Lady Y/N is a very respectable woman, albeit she's not too fond marriage. Guess that's the one thing you two have in common."

Lord Kent sighs, stopping to face his sister, "What are you getting on about?"

She shrugs, "I think you two would be a fine match."

He scoffs, "She hates me."

Clara smirks, "Didn't seem like she hated you earlier. She looked very fixated on you."

"It was pretend," he grumbles, walking away from his sister, in desperate need of a drink.

As a server passes with a tray of flutes of champagne, he immediately grabs one. However, he isn't paying attention to where he was going and he bumps into someone...you.

The liquid spills over you, the glass shattering to the floor.

Nearby onlookers watch with curious gazes as you gasp and look up to see the perpetrator.

"Is this revenge?"

"Your new dress!" your mother cries out with a pout.

"Mama, it's fine."

"I can get you a new one." Lord Kent speaks up, causing your mother to realize he was the reason your new dress is soiled.

"O-oh. Lord Kent, I see the roles are reversed now."

"So it seems," he does his best to give your mother a polite look, "I can have the modiste make a new one for you."

You wave him off, "It's alr-"

"That would be lovely, Lord Kent. Thank you! My daughter very much appreciates it!" your mother speaks for you with such enthusiasm. She gives you a look that makes you speak up, "Yes. I'd very much appreciate it, Lord Kent," you give a slight bow and inwardly grimace. You hate that your mother makes you do this.

Lord Kent speaks up, "Lady Y/N, do you care much for the dress?"

"Pardon?" you look at him confused.

"Are you upset that I seemed to have ruined your new dress? And answer honestly, please."

You look down at your dress. You don't see any tears or stains. Just some slight dampness, "I wouldn't say you've ruined it, Lord Kent. I honestly don't believe I'd need a new dress since I won't be replacing this one."

"Very well. I apologize for not paying attention," he gives a bow.

"Thank you, my Lord. I apologize as well," you curtsey. You mouth, 'Thank you' to him and he nods.

"Aaaww your dress!" Keeley appears beside you with a pout.

You chuckle, "It's fine, Keeley."

"But you just got this one."

"It was an accident."

"Come on, let's try to dry it off," she takes your hand and guides you away from Lord Kent and your mother.

____________

Jamie, the nice friend that he is, put himself down on your dance card so he can be a buffer for the various men written on your card.

"Having fun?" he asks you with a knowing smirk.

You scowl, "I am not and you know it," you sigh, "But what about you?"

"Oh I'm having loads of fun," he gives you a look and it makes your eyes narrow at him.

"What's that look for?"

"Well, don't know if you've noticed, but a certain viscount has been looking at you a lot tonight."

"Who?"

"Lord Grumpy Face. When I turn us, just look over my shoulder and you'll see," Jamie turns you 180 degrees and you're facing the other direction. You look over his shoulder and your eyes meet Lord Kent's. His gaze doesn't waver, even when Jamie spins you and lifts you in the air for a moment.

You snort, "He must be admiring his handy work considering what he did with my dress."

"You keep telling yourself that, darling."

"He hates me."

"Don't seem that way," Jamie spins you around and the song ends. You all clap for the orchestra and Jamie leads you towards the beverage table where Keeley is waiting and watching.

"Have you noticed that Lord Kent keeps watching you?" she asks and Jamie smiles.

"I said the same thing."

"So I'm not hallucinating then?"

Jamie shakes his head at his love, "Not at all. Looks like Lord Grumpy Gramps has a soft spot for our new debutante."

You roll your eyes and groan, "Both of you, stop it. You're acting childish." You take Keeley's glass and down its contents. You hand it back to her and say, "I'm stepping out for air."

You make your way outside to the Ruthford's gardens. You like coming out here, remembering how you and Amelia Ruthford used to play hide and seek in the hedge maze.

You sit at the fountain near its entrance. You let the breeze cool off your body. You're playing with a loose thread on your glove when you here someone clearing their throat.

"Lord Kent," you immediately stand to curtsey.

He shakes his head, "Please, stop that. I hate it when people do that."

You smirk, "Good. Because I hate doing it," you plop back onto the fountain's edge.

Lord Kent slowly approaches the fountain, sitting a small distance from you, "Are you alright?"

"I'm just tired of all of this and I haven't even been out to society for long. I'm tired of the dancing, the socialization. I just want to be home, reading, or spending time with Cece. I want to be my own person, not some...cow being offered up to the highest bidder." You chuckle, shaking your head, "I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't be. I like this side of you. I don't hear many women talking so freely and openly when they're around me. It's...nice."

You feel nervous. Being in Lord Kent's proximity again after what transpired earlier.

"I didn't expect you to be here," he says, filling the silence.

You sigh, "I didn't expect to be here either, but mother forced me to go. She says I need to take every opportunity to find a potential suitor."

"Any prospects?"

"None, just like the other balls before. Not that I'm actually paying attention to any of them." you get to your feet and move towards the hedge maze, "Have you been in one of these, Lord Kent?"

He follows you, stopping at the entrance and looking up at the high grown hedges, "Can't say I have. You?"

"Only this one. Plenty of times. I'd come here a lot to play with the Ruthford's daughter, Amelia. At first, it took forever for us to solve it. Lord Ruthford would have to come find us. But the more we did it, the more we remembered."

"Do you still remember?"

You look at him with a mischievous grin, "Guess we'll find out." You giggle as you rush inside, taking sharp turns.

"Y/N! Wait!" Lord Kent cries out for you as he heads into the maze. Already, he's lost you.

"This is stupid!"

"No it's not! It's fun! Ever had fun, Lord Kent? Or are you like all the boring Lords here?" your voice is near but not as close as Lord Kent thinks.

"Is there a short cut to this?" Lord Kent asks.

"Not at all. Lord Ruthford loves puzzles and hates cheaters."

"Fuck," Lord Kent curses and you tap him on the shoulder, startling him, "Fuck!"

You snicker, "Not very appropriate language to have around a lady, my Lord."

He looks at you completely unamused, "Get me out of here."

You roll your eyes, "Fine, You have no sense of adventure or fun, do you?"

"None."

"I feel sorry for you future wife," you mutter, leading Lord Kent with very turns, loops and eventually to the exit.

At the exit, you find Keeley and Jamie waiting for you with matching smirks.

"Something wrong?"

"Oh nothing. Have fun?"

"Pft, tried to. Lord Grumpy Gramps couldn't make it very far. Demanded lead him to the exit," you go over and loop your arm with Keeley's, "Is my mother looking for me?"

"No, but Mason Stanton is. He's next on your dance card, I believe?"

You groan, "Can I feign illness?"

"You did that the last time," Jamie says.

You look back around towards the entrance of the haze, spotting the fountain, "I got it." You pick up your skirt and starting running towards the fountains.

"What? What's happening?!" Keeley cries out after you.

You stop at the fountain's edge, looking over your shoulder to your friends and Lord Kent.

"Oh now your dress will definitely be ruined!"

You sit at the edge and squeal when you lean back, falling into the fountain.

You friends and Lord Kent rush over to you, watching as you make a big scene, "Oh no! My dress is ruined and I'm all wet! My night is over!"

Keeley was shaking her head while Jamie tried to stifle his laughter. Lord Kent merely stood there, a smirk on his face.

"You're so...odd," he says as he walks over to the fountain's edge, lending a hand out.

You take it and with a grin, pull him in.

Keeley gasps and Jamie bursts out into laughter.

"Y/N!" your mother comes running down from the manor, "What is going on?!" she's fuming.

You put on your best distressed expression, "I was admiring the fountain and I tripped over my skirt and fell in. Lord Kent tried helping me out but fell in as well."

Your mother looks at Keeley and Jamie, who nod in agreement, doing their best to hide their grins.

Your mother sighs, "Well hurry out of there. Don't want you to catch your death."

Lord Kent exits first, drenched to the bone. You try not to pay attention to how his clothes cling to him, showing off his toned body. He holds his hand out as you climb out. You thank him and waddle over to your mother, "We should probably go home now."

"Yes, we should. Come on," she wraps her arms around you, leading you back towards the manor.

Lord Kent, Keeley, and Jamie all remain right where you left them. Jamie pats Lord Kent on the shoulder, "Yeah, I don't think you could handle her, Lord Gramps."

Lord Kent glares at Jamie, growling, "Don't touch me." His attention turning back to your retreating figure.

[crystalflygeo]

Oral fixation bf x Sensitive nipples gf ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: nipple play, slight bondage, blindfold, mention of nipple clamps and piercings, Zhongli has a dragon tongue, dirty talk, praise kink, Dom/Sub undertones, consensual non-con??? (color system is used)

notes: I literally just saw a post that was just the title above prompt and had a massive brainrot. Nips are so fun to tease and good lord I would let Zhongli do anything to me afsdfbgjk &lt;3

There were so many ways Zhongli could tease your cute little nipples, sometimes he’d just rub and poke at them between his fingers until they were bright red and sore. With or without his gloves, the sensation was electrifying.

Sometimes he would press down on you against the mattress, making your tits rub and grind on the sheets a he claimed you over and over.

He would sometimes even flick his fluffy tail tip all over your chest and abdomen, featherlight and soft, making you squirm.

Oh, but he had a preference for using his mouth, a bit of an… oral fixation, if you will.

And you had certainly developed an addiction to his wicked tongue as well. The long serpentine appendage would tease your skin with wet licks leaving no inch of your body unattended, reach deep inside your core teasingly, or slip down your throat, gagging and fucking you with it not unlike his cock.

Perhaps it was simply in his dragon nature to bite and mark and lick and devour.

Either way, it seemed to match perfectly well with your sensitive nipples…

------------------------

The ex-archon had been licking and sucking at your breasts for what felt like hours now, leaving trails of saliva over your soft skin like a feral creature. Only to then softly blow at them raising goosebumps and pulling sweet noises from your lips.

You squirm in place, your arms bound tightly behind your back with red rope, pushing your chest forward and leaving you deliciously at his mercy. A dark cloth over your eyes acting as a blindfold and completing the look, like this, all your other senses felt hyperaware. A slight dip on the bed, the subtle shuffle of clothes coming off… and your own heart rattling in your chest.

His fangs lightly graze your skin, nibbling at your neck and shoulder, warm lips descending to your soft mounds before brushing your hardened nipple. “Zhong-Ah!” His draconic tongue circles your areola slowly, reverently, making you keen and twitch before curling around the peaked nub and tugging softly, pulling a long shuddering moan from you.

Heat pools down your gut and your hips buck involuntarily as he continued his ministrations. Soft like honey and searing like lava, Zhongli’s motions are slow and dragging. “Divine. You look…” He sighs affectionately, pressing a trail of kisses on your chest, “So perfect for me, my love…” He takes one of your rosy nubs into his mouth.

"Zhongliiii..." You moan wetly.

He hums and you feel the vibrations rush your whole body. He plays with it for a few seconds, lapping at it, suckling softly. Finally, he released the little nub with a wet ‘pop’, long sinuous tongue licking his lips as he saw how red and abused it was. His heated gaze darting to your face seeing you tremble in anticipation due to the blindfold.

Like this you couldn’t see him, you couldn’t expect his next move...

Which is precisely why he gently nibbled at your other neglected little peak, front teeth applying the slightest bit of pressure mindful of his sharp fangs, making you gasp and let out a high-pitched moan. Your entire body shaking.

“Zhongli, please, fuck- I’m-”

“Patience.” He says simply.

You whine.

“I love to see you like this.” Zhongli kisses your shoulder, soft “So eager, so willing and pliant.”

“Please.”

"Hmmm what do you say we adorn these..." Zhongli’s big hands cup your breasts, softly caressing the underside and slipping towards your ribs, massaging your sides softly before going back up, his thumbs circling your puffy nipples "with some pretty little clamps?"

You gulp.

"Or…" He suddenly whispers in your ear "Even some piercings. Have your cute nipples accented with some cor lapis beads so I could gladly apply some... resonance" His hands rest at your hips and you dare let out a small breath of relief. Feeling slightly more at ease knowing exactly where his wicked hands and mouth are.

He noses at your neck, warm breath ghosting your skin. Your head lolls to the side to give him more access, thankful for the break on your sensitive nipples. "Would you like that, hm? Having my claim on you…" His voice came almost as a growl. Possessive and slightly feral.

You nod hazily, feeling him nibble at the spot where your jaw meets your neck.

"Words, dear, I want to hear you say it."

"Y-yes…" You mumble.

“Yes what? Are you even listening? Or are you that overwhelmed already?" He chuckles.

One of his hands leave your hips, the burning skin suddenly cold.

Then his finger flicks your left nipple and you squeal.

"I... I'd like having your claim on me, my lord! P-please!"

"Oh?" You can practically hear the smirk in his voice "Such a devoted little thing..."

"Zhongl, my lord... please. It's too much. I c-can't anymore..." You sob, a few tears running down your cheeks and dampening the blindfold.

His hands rub at your thighs, gentle, grounding. He takes a moment.

“Color?”

You bite your lip, and he sees your cheeks reddening.

“Green.”

"I see… Then allow me to indulge, my love, just a little bit more."

"No n-noooo..." You hiccup feeling that sinful tongue go back to play with your chest, teasing your sensitized nerves "Please not there... t-too much... Ah!"

You knew he would not rest until your chest was covered in his marks…

[searchingforserendipity25]

'envy is unbecoming.'

'then you ought not to make bribes from the east so beautiful, or at least keep your brother's best steeds for yourself! you know not the treasure you have in maglor,' said fingon.

he ran his hands gently down the sides of the mare, to test her sleek muscles, see how her ears twitched fearlessly.

'maglor sent his excellent horseflesh from the gap into your stables - my stables and my kennels and all my halls are silent of brother and sister, and you sit in your great fortress gnawing at impatience because your brother wants more riders.'

'more riders, more supplies, and no armour at all -'

'you do not want to be covered in steel when against a dragon, be sensible -'

'orcs care not for these sensible precautions. and he is enjoying making battle on wyrms too dearly. he keeps challenging them to games of song and riddles - it's unbecoming.'

fingon laughed. not an excellent elder brother, fingon; fond in his great steadfast way, but it would not cross his mind to fret about the weapons and wear of his siblings - he was not enough their lord, and trusted them too well.

which was perhaps how he misplaced two of them in one mistake, and barely noticed before harvesting season.

maedhros would have gone quite mad in his position, but then he never would be in this position. he was wise enough to give his brothers realms of their own, right where he could see them.

'maglor would not bite the mastering hand and drift away into mist with an army.'

maedhros snorted. 'not for lack of wishing, i suspect. can i interest you in a binding oath sworn unto all the powers of arda? it tends to suit quite well as a bridle on wayward siblings.'

'they would not swear a thing i should believe,' fingon said.

his mouth was supple still, in the half-gloom of himring's great stables, but eyes were tight. slating amber light fell on him, gilded his ribbons and the paint on his lids, made him apiece with the dusty quiet, the straw-smells. 'not they that swore fealty to fingolfin, and broke it on a whim. perhaps i do envy you.'

maedhros had kept to fingon's back, a decorous half-step behind, making himself a warm barrier against the bitter draft. he laid a hand over his, where it was stroking the mare's mane.

in closeness, he could feel fingon's shifting thoughts, his spirits like a wind-rush, full of its own momentum always.

it had fascinated him, when he was younger - how forceful and shameless in thinking and speaking his half-cousin was, swift to laughter and tears and friendship.

it had seemed the greatest foolishness to him, to go shield-less and bold through life.

he showed it to fingon, the silver-lit memory of tirion's squares and tirion's gossip. 'then maglor would chide me,' maedhros said. 'and claim you had the greatest courage. still i think you are very foolish. you ought to stop playing favourites, o prince.'

fingon's cheek pressed against his chin, dimpling, and then growing damp. maedhros felt the sting of his grief as sharply as the cold wind seeping through his furs, for to fingon all grief as a desolation of the weather.

he came to himring only after returning to barad eithel empty handed. after scouring all the wild places he could find, singing to old oaks and firs with begging voice to betray the secrets of the lady aredhel, whom they loved - putting his ears to stone and dust, spying for his brother's tread.

he had not wept under his father's eye, kneeling in shame for his failure. harvest was finished, and vinyamar gathered sand-drifts on its high, spiraling flight of stairs, and stray lynxes came to mate and breed and fight in their rooms.

fingolfin did worry, and moreover fingolfin felt any touch of betrayal dreadfully.

fingon would not betray his father, not in anything. he did not need an oath to make it so. maedhros was not without some jealousy for his king, though not for crown and sceptre.

he could not be sorry, at least, to be himring the ever-cold, where fingon the valiant came when he was furious, wretched, and in need of some relief from the encompassing sense of cool mosaic under his knees and failure in his throat.

the mare wickered, nudging at fingon's hand. an intelligent, sensitive, as maglor's breeding tended to be - fingon smiled, and breathed deep before stepping away from him.

valiant, maglor had said, during those word-guessing games they played as youths, sharing insights on all they knew, preparing cunning songs and clever manoeuvres. do not discount him just yet! i have an ear for these things. see how he makes all the world fond of him, and gives generously, and lives as a prince ought; nolofinwë has made himself a champion. i daresay he is not apt to be anything else. i should think he must be very brave, not to flee for the wild, or go mad a little.

his eyes in the dark were all amber, glowing. maedhros could not imagine any walking away from him. were he mountain-stone and greening bush, he would have betrayed to him the secrets of any lost realm. he would have found it himself - if he were anything but himself.

'do not ask me to impartial,' fingon decreed. he touched the corner of maedhros's mouth to him, a brief warmth. he was moving already onwards, thinking new thoughts fresh and brimming over with the engine's work of his mind, making bright again the paltry sun of the stable's gloom. 'i am not king, merely the prince that remains! the lords of the east keeps paying the most outrageous weregild, and i need the horses. i am naming her for a spear or some such, i think - but my father the king will have the stallion.'