#and if i said that's how you treat a bastard sired by your husband will i get shot on sight? yeah

[daenerys-targaryen]

rhaenys 'alyns past is not who he is' and suggesting he be honored for saving corlys' life I LOVE YOUUUUUUU

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. IX

tags- @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @purple-1995 @pedro-pascal-love @fall-winter-heart97 @thelastemzy @reyndaisy @littleblackcatinwonderland @hueanhdang

cw- mention of death

finally a longer one!

Eight full days passed without trouble. Daenys and Cregan slept close together each night, pointedly avoiding talking about it each morning. Though, it was clear to be a great comfort for both of them. Daenys found herself having seven more dreamless nights, grateful for each one, though slightly wishing she could be blessed with the type of dreams that others had every night. Even Cregan, who smiled sometimes in his sleep, seemed to have pleasant dreams.

They were only one more night away from The Wall. Then, they would reach it by the morrow's noon.

Daenys had taken well to hunting, setting near-expert traps and even making it something of a competition. Without needing words, they would both hold up their catches of the day, either laughing gleefully or scowling when they won or lost. All in good fun, they agreed.

Dusk had even taken to sleeping with Morningstar each night, instead of at the human's feet. The dragon had not made her displeasure known, so her tolerance said everything for her. The wolf was comically tiny against the massive wing, quite like a mother and her pup. Though, perhaps Dusk didn't get that idea. His infatuation with the dragon appeared to be some sort of puppy love.

Cregan had pointed that out days prior, snorting at his companion's simpering behavior. "He follows that dragon like a green boy follows a pretty whor-" He paused, stopping himself. "follows a courtesan." He coughed into his hand, cheeks pink at his own borish vocabulary.

Daenys rolled her eyes, snickering at his expression. "I am not so green myself, my Lord. I can handle a few less-than-kind words."

His eyes widened, turning to her on Red. "Do you mean...?"

She understood immediately, flushing pink herself now. "Heavens, no! I only mean I grew up with my vulgar uncles. They have never bothered to filter their words or bring their 'lady-friends' into the Red Keep. I can not do such things until I am wed, I understand by duties." Daenys informed him, slightly embarrassed that she called herself experienced when she was not.

"I would not fault you if you did. After all, a lord could sire a thousand bastard babes, before or after marriage, and not be reprimanded." He said.

That was true. Rhaenyra was forced into marriage immediately after her 'nightly activities' with Daemon were discovered. Aegon was actively still participating in such activities after his marriage but received turned heads and blind eyes.

"That is a truth I have come to resent." She huffed. "There are many of us—silver-haired—out on the streets of King's Landing. It is a great shame that mine own kin is suffering on the streets instead of in the Keep where they belong."

Many times, she thought of how unfair their circumstances were compared to hers. They shared their bastard blood, but only she and her brothers got the privilege of being legitimized and defended whilst the others starved and suffered.

He smiled sweetly at her, perhaps in understanding of her underlying words. "I can sympathize with that sentiment. My father was an honorable man until his death. His one sin was fathering my half-sister, though I do not resent Sara for it. It is a shame how only the children suffer for the parents' actions. I watched how she was treated her whole life compared to me, simply for having a different mother."

She hummed her agreement. For a moment, she slightly wished that her mother shared his opinion.

"I loved my father dearly. But, I would never repeat his actions. My wife's honor is as sacred as mine, to father a child that was not hers would be unforgivable."

"Your wife will be a lucky woman."

He eyed her, amused. "If you call that lucky, then I suppose so. I would call it being a husband."

"Most men do not take that so seriously. A wife is seen as the one who simply provides heirs and a dowry, and whores and paramours are the true lovers." She shrugged.

"Is that how Prince Daemon sees Queen Rhaenyra?" He asked, catching her off guard.

"No...he is perhaps the only one of her husbands to have no lover after they married. Their marriage is a special case, I believe. He has only wanted her for many years, even through his previous two marriages. Loyal, yes, but no less a greedy man."

Daenys didn't care for her mother's and Daemon's strange history. She would not personally wish to marry a man twice her age, but her mother loved him, so she tolerated it. She did grow to like Daemon, too, after a few years of living with him.

Cregan nodded beside her, taking in her words. "Ser Laenor was different?"

"I'm sure you've heard of my father's preferences from the gossip surrounding the court."

"I've told you before, my Lady, that those in the North do not care for menial gossip." He reminded her.

Daenys nodded, exhaling deeply. "He loved my mother, though not as Daemon does." Or Harwin did, she left out. "But he could not change his affinity for his...squire." She finished, glancing at his facial expression only to see it unchanged.

"What of Ser Harwin?" The question made her nervous, though she refused to show it. His question was merely curious, not accusing or backhanded. "Your mother's sworn protector must have been around quite a lot, in your young years. What was he like?"

"Ser Harwin was a kind man. Kinder than any other knights at the Keep. He was Lord Commander of the kingsguard, though he never acted untoward or mean, not even once. He watched over me, in a time when many of the young kids in the keep had started to act as my scourages." She smiled in reminisce. "You remind me of him, slightly."

"How so?"

"A protector. A pillar of strength against harsh winds."

Cregan chuckled, though not unkindly. "I am glad you are able to see me that way, Princess. Perhaps you are a poet, not a sailor."

She laughed, loud and clearly. "If only you could see me at my septa's lessons, you would change your mind in a heartbeat. I jumbled the words so badly that two—two!—septas gave up trying to teach me to sing and recite poetry and music."

Cregan grinned at the sound, pleased to hear her laugh. "That can't be so, I've heard you humming little songs in High Valyrion when you are with Morningstar."

Bashful, she asked. "You heard that?"

"Most times, yes." He said. "Though I enjoyed it. I can't understand the words, but I can piece together that no words were stumbled over."

"Mm. Perhaps it is my audience, then. In front of my septas, their stares were so intense that I nearly cried when practicing in front of them. My dragon does not judge as they do, she sings along."

"I hope to be a well-mannered audience for you." He said, tone raillery and light.

Daenys didn't mind if he heard.

Night came fast, as it seemed to for the past days. Their routine came automatically: setting the tent, cooking kills over the fire, eating, conversing, and then finally heading to bed. They found their routine with changing into night shifts, as well. Simply turning as they changed at the same time instead of waiting their turns outside of the tent. Cregan and Daenys settled closely, breaths steady and visible in the night air.

It had grown jarringly cold. Daenys believed it was cold in Winterfell, but near The Wall was another story. She pitied those who lived at The Wall and the wildlings who were trapped beyond it.

Her streak of dreamless sleep was broken that night. She could barely see, but she could hear. She wished desperately that she couldn't, that she could forget the sounds that tormented her.

Sawing.

Slow, squelching, sawing.

She was in the Red Keep. The torches in the nursery were dim. So dim, that faces were impossible to clearly make out. But she could recognize Helena anywhere. Her sweet, sisterly Aunt Helena, who had never hurt a soul in her life, was pleading for two men to take her jewlery, take her, instead of her babe.

Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, if she remembered correctly. She had met them once, at the family dinner the night before Viserys died. Helena showed them proudly to her niece, though her youthful face reminded Daenys of just how young she was when she was forced to have the twins. The thought made her feel ill, but she smiled and greeted the shy children anyway.

The men refused to take Helena, insisted they needed a boy to die. They forced the sweet mother to point out her son, to which she did with a pained and stunned look on her face. Daenys wanted to reach out, comfort her aunt, and protect her babes with her. But her feet remained glued to the floor, unable to be seen or heard by anyone in the room. It was not happening at that moment. Would it truly happen soon? It was war. Dirty tactics were used all the time without remourse. Surely they were not sent by Rhaenyra...right? She would never seek babes to be harmed, especially after Visenya was lost days ago. This must be a false dream. Daenys only needed to wait it out.

Sawing.

Sawing, squelching, thrashing. It felt like it went on forever.

Until it stopped. Daenys blinked her eyes open, glancing at the bed. Jaehaerys' head was gone from his body. Jaehaera was missing from her bed. Helena was gone. Daenys found herself running, finally able to move now from her planted spot. She ran out of the nursery as if the two men would chase her, too. She followed after Helena, who abruptly stopped at the bottom of the steps. She turned around, revealing her purple tear-filled eyes and Jaehaera clutched protectively in her arms. Helena looked Daenys right in her eyes.

"Stop him." She whispered as if she could see Daenys standing in the middle of the steps plain as day. She continued running, perhaps to guards, leaving Daenys stunned at her spot.

Daenys was awoken after that. No one had ever seen her during her dreams. Not Laena, not Luke, nor Harwin or Laenor. Helena had similar dreams, she knew. Waking dreams, mumbling to herself while she was wide awake. Helena and her always shared that, though never spoke on it. Daenys was torn. Would that become true? Would Helena's son truly be murdered in his bed?

She could not think on it alone anymore. She needed a distraction. Her first thought was to seek out Morningstar, to curl up under her warmth, and stay there until the visions stopped plaguing her mind ruthlessly. She didn't have her books to draw in or her journals to write in. She couldn't let out her thoughts any way but speaking.

"Cregan..." She whispered, leaning up on her elbow and facing the man. He looked to be having a happy dream, smiling slightly in his sleep.

"Cregan, please. I need you." She whimpered, cold tears falling onto his face as she leaned over him. She could feel guilty later, but for now, she needed him desperately.

He flinched unconsciously at the wetness falling onto his face, wiping it and blinking himself awake. His eyes finally met her tear-filled lilac ones, sitting up instantly. He held her shoulders gingerly, "what's the matter, sweet girl? Are you hurt?" He scanned her, wide awake now at the chance of a threat around. He found no blood, only her own crescented nail prints in her palms from them behind clenched so harshly in her sleep. He took her hands in his own, soothing over them while he waited for her response.

Daenys' chest heaved raggedly, trying to catch her own breath from her panic. He reached out, pulling her by her head to his chest, allowing her to clutch his shirt instead of her own palms and hair to ground herself.

He calmed slightly, figuring the distress was caused by her dreams instead of a physical threat. Recalling her Valyrion lullabies that she hummed to her dragon, Cregan mindlessly hummed into her ear, chest vibrating with the use of his vocals. He never hummed or sang, didn't care for it, and was never taught it. But, he would try anything to pacify Daenys' storming mind.

Eventually, after many sobs and mumbles that Cregan couldn't make out, Daenys stilled in his arms.

"He will die. I don't know who I have to stop, Cregan."

He looked down at her head, face still buried and half-mumbled by his neck. "Who will die?"

"My cousin. Helena's babe, Jaehaerys." She whispered, mind reeling still.

Cregan bit his cheek harshly. It would happen, at an unknown time to the both of them. Sometime in the future, or perhaps as they spoke now. He didn't doubt her vision for a moment.

"What do you mean by stop him, sweeting? He asked, rubbing small shapes onto her back.

"Helena told me so. She saw me. Actually saw me. No one ever has before. She held Jaehaera as she told me to 'stop him'." Daenys insisted almost hysterically.

He nodded, allowing her to mumble some more incoherently into his skin.

Stop who? How could she prevent a murder in King's Landing all the way in the North? Even on Dragonstone, she was too far away to help Helena. She could not fly her dragon to Helena to warn her, lest she be shot down by a scorpion's lance. She could not send a raven, either, knowing it would be intercepted, and Daenys would be accused of plotting to murder the heir.

Who was it? Who could she access? Helena knew, she would not ask it of her if she knew Daenys couldn't do it. Luke and Jace would be back at Dragonstone by now, and had no ill intent towards anyone. Rhaenyra and Daemon would be too focused on their council meetings. What grievance did any of them have to go after Jaehaerys? She could not think of any.

"Who is it?" She asked Cregan, then. "Who could order a babe to die in his bed?"

"I do not know, Princess. I'm sorry." He said painfully, wishing to help her more than anything at that moment.

They stayed like that until sunrise. Cregan and Daenys held each other. The only sound in the air was her mumblings and his comforting shushing and hums. He knew they could not waste time, The Lord Commander at Castle Black had long been expecting them.

He guided an exhausted Daenys to his own horse, not trusting her to be able to stay on Mylo. She sat behind him, head slumped to his shoulders as they rode on for the final few hours towards the castle. Mylo loyally walked behind, knowing his faithful food source could only come from the Lord in front of him.

As they reached the gates of Castle Black, Daenys found herself waking up in awe. The Wall, rumored to reach the skies, truly was taller than anything she had ever seen before. Seven hundred feet of pure ice lay in front of her, an impenetrable fortress that protected all that lie South of it.

Cregan chuckled at her gaping reaction. "I felt the same way when I saw The Wall for the first time, too. It is an even better view on top, my Lady." He assured her, glad to see her distracted from her perturbed mood.

She nodded, shifting in the saddle impaitiently. She hands were wrapped around his waist, though didn't quite meet in the middle. He patted her hand as they waited for the gate to open, reminding her to be patient.

As Cregan hopped off, he helped Daenys from Red, staying close to her as a stable boy led both horses to be fed and watered. "My Lord Stark." Bowed a young man, who seemed familiar with Cregan. "We are glad to see you here. Would you like for yourself and the Princess to be shown to the dining hall for a hot meal?" He nodded politely towards Daenys, bowing swiftly once more at her.

Cregan took her hand in his arm, eyeing the men who had gathered around, leaning to each other and grinning wolfishly at the sight of a pretty young woman at Castle Black. The only women they ever saw were the ones in the small town near The Wall, which only had a few women who sold their services to the many men of the Night's Watch, and none were as pretty as noblewomen were bred to be. Cregan knew this all too well, hungry eyes watching the Princess like she were prey. Daenys shifted uncomfortably, aware of the intense gazes, though in a different way than Cregan.

"Is Lord Commander Trant not here?" Cregan asked.

The young man shook his head. "He's been conducting business at Queen's Gate for the past few days. He'll be back shortly, he promised to return before the afternoon."

Cregan nodded, a tick in his jaw. "The Princess and I will be on top of The Wall, while we wait. Do not disturb us." He commanded, striding towards the crickity little iron cage that was embedding into the ice. Daenys paused, reluctant to step into the death trap.

"This will take us all the way up to the top?"

He smiled, guiding her gently by the small of her back to step inside. "Don't worry, it is used every day and hasn't failed the Watch yet." Daenys flinched as it whirred to life, bringing them up foot by foot. She watched the ground grow distance below her, usually an exciting sight on her dragon, but now a terrifying one. She held tight to his arm as if he could save them both if the contraption failed.

It took a few minutes to reach the top. Cregan stepped out first, allowing her to jump out swiftly. She sighed, glad to be on solid ground. If it could be counted as such. Though The Wall was pure ice, Daenys was pleasantly surprised at it not being slippery. Perhaps due to the soft layer of snoe on top of it for her boots to grip.

Cregan brought her to the edge of The Wall, many in the Watch bowing and gawking at the sight of the pair. All knew of the Princess' expected visit, but had not prepared for the sight of a Targaryen in their lifetime.

The sight on the edge was truly otherworldly. Miles of expansive snowy forests and deserts, all unclaimed by man or beast.

"It is more beautiful than you said, Cregan." She said, eyes glued to the view.

"It is." He smiled, though seemed to tense slightly when she turned to him. "Daenys. I promised you that we would speak of the number of bannermen I would send for the Queen. I have had plenty time to think it through on our journey over here. As of now, I have 2,000 greybeards ready to die for their Queen's war."

Daenys nodded, listening to him intently. "Greybeards, like old men?" She asked half-humorously.

He nodded. "Winter is coming, and I can not freely give a large portion of my young men without something in return."

"Return?" She asked, growing nervous. He had not mentioned such a thing in their entire time together.

"Do you like Winterfell, your highness?" Cregan asked, brows furrowed as he looked down at her.

"Of course–I have grown to love the North."

"Would you..." he trailed off, hesitating slightly. "Would you be willing to live in the North?"

"As in...a marriage offer?" Daenys asked.

"Indeed. If I could have your hand, Daenys, in marriage, the North would have a dragon and a Princess. They would be more willing to fight in a Southern war if their own Wardeness was who they fought for."

Daenys stood there, stunned. Had he brought her all the way to The Wall just to ask for her? Is that why he had been so warm to her, so friendly? Her face hardened, though that did not go unnoticed by Cregan.

"Daenys, please hear me out." The man pleaded, clutching both of her hands in his own and bringing them up to her chest.

"I would not ask something of you that would displease you. I wish to keep you safe. And if, after the war, you wish to never see me again, I will allow you to live at Dragonstone or the Red Keep with your family. I will never force anything on you, never ask for sons. All I want is you. I have wanted for you for a while now. Please do not mistake my genuine feelings for using you. Know that the last thing in this world that I want to see is your unhappiness." He spoke breathlessly.

"I love you, my sweet dreamer. It would truly kill me to see you at the mercy of some old and cruel Lord, who would keep you from happiness. If that makes me a selfish man, then so be it. But at least I am an honest one."

Daenys felt her chest swell with an unknown emotion, throat tight, and eyes glossing with tears. "Love me? How could you love me after all that you have seen from me, Cregan?" She whispered, voice taut with emotion.

He took her face into his hands, wiping away at her eyeline to ensure no tears fell from them. He kissed the spot between her brows with the utmost reverence, pulling away but not moving his hands. "How could I not? All I have seen, I adore. Do not simplify your entire being to your dreams���that is merely one part of you." He interrupted her, knowing exactly what she could argue against.

"Cregan..." she felt the warmth in his mismatching eyes fill her body with a soft heat, though they were surrounded by the winds so high up she barely even felt it.

Before she could finish, an older man came marching towards them.

"Lord Commander," the Stark greeted, though his irritation wasn't hidden. "I asked to be left alone until we returned."

"Forgive me, Lord Stark, Princess." The man bowed his head twice in turn. "There has been a letter awaiting the Princess since you left Winterfell. It is dire."

Daenys' eyes widened, it must be from Rhaenyra. Was there an update on the war? Cregan took the scroll in his hands, unrolling it slowly. She watched as his face dropped before looking to Daenys with a sympathetic gleam in his eyes.

"What?" Her voice wavered. "What has happened?" She didn't want to know. She wanted to stay oblivious in the North forever, keeping time paused back at home.

The Lord Commander shifted his gaze down sadly, respectfully taking his leave to the rickity lift so the two could talk.

Cregan placed a hand on her bicep in a comforting way, but she shook her head, urging him on. "Tell me."

"Its about your brother, Lucerys." He said softly.

"Luke? What of him?" She already had her suspicion. She saw him that night, the night she stayed at Winterfell. Daenys was forced to watch the boy and his young dragon being chased through stormy skies by a much bigger, looming beast.

She saw him, and continued treating with Lord Stark. Daenys left her brother to the wolves—or more accurately the dragon. All for a few thousand men to fight in a useless, stupid war. For what? What is the use of sitting atop of the Iron Throne if all of your children will be dead. Is that mot Rhaenyra's legacy? Is Jacaerys next? Little, sweet Joff and the babes Viserys and Aegon? Is she next?

"He is dead. Aemond Targaryen killed him with Vhagar."

No.

He was not dead. Lucerys was playing a prank on her. This time, he just took it too far. He loved his pranks, especially on his eldest sister, who was so easy to fool.

Lucerys was alive and waiting for her shocked face to burst through Dragonstone's doors.

"He's not dead." She shook her head, stepping back from Cregan. "Luke is fine. That letter must be his idea of a jest, 'tis all." She nodded to herself, solidifying her own words.

"Daenys—"

"I will marry you upon my return to Winterfell, whenever the Queen allows me time. You can send a raven to Dragonstone with how many extra men my hand will bring her. Farewell, Lord Stark." She bid him, focusing on making her way to the lift. She entered it, being sent up just in time for her to be allowed down.

"Daenys!" He yelled, tugging her arm roughly to his chest. Cregan loosened his grip apologetically, but did not allow her out of his reach.

She faced him, face scrunched up in a furious glare. "Let go of me. It is treasonous to lay a hand on your Princess." She bit harshly.

Cregan pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms firmly around her back and head, resting her head on his shoulder gently. "Don't go like this, Princess. It is dangerous to fly in such a state." He murmured into her hair, feeling her tense form shiver.

"What do you know of flying? Morningstar will get me to Dragonstone swiftly, she is the fastest of our dragons—" Daenys was cut off by her own sobs wracking her body violently.

If it were Morningstar sent to Storm's End, she could've outflown Vhagar. Little Arrax, with all his youthful pride, was the smallest yet of the three eldest children's dragons. He just barely started to be able to fly with Luke on his back. It had barely been a year since he'd grown big enough. They were both but mere babes in comparison to Vhagar and Aemond.

"It's not fair!" She yelled into his pelts. She could barely breathe, knees weak and unable to hold herself up. Cregan lowered them both to the floor, keeping her securely in his lap. "My boy, he's only a child. He should've stayed home, I should've kept him safe." She nearly screamed at herself. Her stupidity and foolishness.

How dare the Gods show her Luke's death but not Laenor's. How could they hate her so much? Hate her family? Did the gods hate bastards as much as their creations?

"It's not fair, I know. But you couldn't have done anything, my Lady." He cooed softly in her ear.

"I could, I have known for weeks and done nothing! Lived in obliviousness while my brother has been lost to the sea."

Living like a common whore, allowing herself to sleep next to a man that she was not married to. Allowing him to see her bare, and not being nearly as modest as a Lady should be. Alicent was right, she was always right. She was just like her mother. If she had stayed with Cregan in the wilderness for any longer, would she have allowed him to bed her, too? Would she father his bastard and be forced to cover it with a false marriage?

Daenys needed to leave.

But her legs did not obey her still.

Cregan gave her a pitying glance, one that she could not see in her own wallowing. Nothing he could say could truly get through to her. No one could comfort him for weeks after his own little brother passed. The guilt never leaves.

"Come, Princess. I will not send you off without first making sure you have food in your belly and warmer pelts around you." Cregan told her, but did not make her walk. Instead, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the dining hall, which he demanded be cleared for her privacy. She was despondent the whole time, silent and unmoving. It was only the Lord and Lady in the room, besides a young serving boy.

Daenys glanced up at him, finding kind brown eyes staring at her as the boy dropped stew in front of her. "M'sorry for your loss, M'Lady." He bowed his head low, brown curls shifting at the movement. Why was a boy jis age serving The Wall? Orphaned, most likely, or sold by his parents. She didn't know which fate was worse.

What she did know was that the boy was nearly a spitting image of Lucerys. She hung her head again, unable to look at the young boy. Cregan thanked him quietly, sending him on his way. Their stews began to grow cold in the silence, the both of them still as statues.

"You must eat, Daenys." Cregan urged.

"I will only throw it back up, I cannot stomach anything right now."

"Try, my Lady. Just a few bites. Half."

Sluggishly, she picked up the spoon and took slow bites. Chewing felt like it took ages, and swallowing was nearly painful. Her head spun, feelng nausea rising in her. Once she got through half, Cregan looked satisfied. Daenys stood, and he mirrored her action.

She led him to the iron gate, waiting for it to open. Outside of it, Morningstar was already crouched to allow her to leave. Cregan took off his brown pelts that she had been using as blankets for the past nights, pulling them snug over her shoulders.

"I already have a cloak on." She said tiredly, though did not fight his action.

"For my assurance, 'tis all." He said, fastening the direwolf clip around it. "Your flight home will be much colder than the one you took to Winterfell."

He paused a moment, clutching her hand in his. He placed a gentle kiss on her cold knuckles, lingering a moment longer. "I will send four thousand of my young soldiers to your mother's cause. That will be six thousand Northerners to fight for the Blacks. Return to me safely, Princess. That's all I ask of you."

They were officially bethrothed. Daenys wished it was under better circumstances, but this is the card she was dealt. Daenys nodded, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. Then she left.

Daenys stopped after a few minutes of flying, throwing up what little she ate into a thorned bush. One snagged on her cheek as she stood up straight, coughing slightly. How very like her to enjoy a meal while her family was waiting anxiously for her return. Daenys mounted Morningstar again, not looking back at The Wall before taking flight again. This time, she would not stop until she was home.

🗡

She could see King's Landing in the distance and had half a mind to burn it all down. Morningstar could easily do so. Even the small folk, along with all the peasant bastards that shared blood with her, would burn. She wouldn't care. As long as Aemond Targaryen would be dead at her feet, she would do it. Perhaps they all deserved it. Sin was the only thing able to survive and breed in King's Landing.

Morningstar was exhausted by the time they landed on the dragonpit's perch. Meleys and Caraxes were already in the pit, roaring to greet their kin excitedly. They, too, were being fed after clearly long flights. Patrols, she guessed. "Feed her." She demanded the Dragonkeepers as she passed them, who were too stunned at her sudden appearance to even bow or greet their Princess.

Daenys charged into the Painted Table room, seeing it lit with a bright orange glow as multiple men surrounded it. Rhaenyra wasn't there. Why where they holding a Queen's council without the Queen? Daemon was at the head, just as he had been when Rhaenyra was screaming in her chambers whilst giving birth to his daughter.

There was no one to announce Daenys. No one had expected her that evening, especially with no warning. There was no time for it, either, as Rhaenyra was announced by a guard. Daenys quickly moved aside when he spoke, shifting next to Jace, who squeezed her hand at the sight of her puffy face. She could not look him in the eye, nor Daemon, who kept his keen eye on her until Rhaenyra entered.

The Queen strided in, meeting Daemon in the middle. He whispered something to her, earning a solemn nod. Rhaenyra continued past him to the head of her table.

"Your council stands at the ready, Your Grace." Daemon bellowed for all to hear him clearly. Daenys only paid mind to her mother's dreadful state. Unkempt hair, ash covered face, hands sandy and clutching at some piece of cloth that Daenys could not figure out. "I will fly to Harrenhall at your command. Set our toehold in the Riverlands."

"Your Grace, my Lord husband's blockade of the Gullet moves into place. All seaborne travel and trade to King's landing will soon be cut off."

The Queen did not respond to her aunt or husband. A great silence held the room until, "I want Aemond Targaryen." Was her command. She waited a mere moment, glancing at Daenys before leaving to her chambers to fix her state.

Daenys was led to her room by Jacerys, who insisted she get out of her heavy Northern attire now that she was in better temperatures. She cared little for the heat that the clothes engulfed her with now that they were quite useless on Dragonstone, but allowed her maids to change her anyway. She bathed, too, and had her hair done up more traditionally. She kept Cregan's personal furs on the wooden edge of her bed, carefully ensuring they were untouched.

Jacaerys waited outside the whole time, escorting her with an outstretched arm to their mother's chambers. "Are you okay, Dae?" He asked gently, as if she might crumble if he spoke in a normal tone.

She sniffed slightly, nodding. "I am fine. I will be well when Aemond is dead and burned."

The tone of her voice and her violent words shocked him, pausing his steps abruptly.

"Was...did something happen in the North? Besides the news?" He asked, dark brows knitting together.

"Nothing happened. Why do you ask?" She turned to him suspiciously, not wishing to share every detail of what happened. She did not wish to enlighten her family of her brutal killing. That would be between Daenys and Cregan until the day she died. And perhaps Rhaenyra, who might have the answers to her burning questions.

"I am merely concerned. Was he a borish man? I wish I could've gone to the North in your stead, sister. Lady Jeyne was kind enough, she would've liked you." Jace said, slowly meeting her steps once again.

"Lord Stark is not like the typical depiction of a northman. I handled him just fine." Was her vague answer. Truly, Daenys was happy to see her brother again. To be with her family again. But her joy was dulled by the missing presence in the halls. The one who was meant to greet her in the dragonpit. Jacaerys gave her a pitying look, opening Rhaenyra's chambers.

Their mother sat on a couch, meeting her children's eyes as they walked in and bowed. She looked more put together now that she received the same treatment as Daenys.

Rhaenyra stood, awaiting Daenys and Jacaerys to give their messages. Her chest heaved slightly, something that would have gone unnoticed by anyone but her children, who knew her too well. Jace started. "Lady Jeyne Arryn has pledged her support. In exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale." His voice shook. He had been home for two weeks, yet in Daemon's firm presence, he forced himself to be strong and hard. He had not seen his mother except for her quick visits to eat and feed Syrax.

Rhaenyra nodded encouragingly, eyes brimming red.

"Lord Cregan stark has pledged 2,000 greybeards to you. In exchange for my hand, he promises another 4,000 young men." Daenys stated firmly. She refused to waver even slightly. Even when she wished to be held in her mother's arms. She couldn't let herself be comforted by the woman who had lost her own child. Daenys was the one who must comfort her when her own husband was so useless at it. His biggest flaw.

Rhaenyra and Jace looked shocked at the news. "You gave him your hand?" Jacaerys asked, a worried look on his face. "But–"

"I gave Cregan Stark my hand in exchange for 4,000 men. It is a fair trade, Jacaerys." She told him, holding no grudge or sorrow for it. She didn't wish for her family to, either. "He is an honest man. He will send every last one to fight for you, my Queen."

"That is not his concern. The Starks keep their oaths, yes. But are you happy with the arrangement, my sweet girl?" Rhaenyra asked, cupping Daenys' cheeks in the way that always made Daenys melt. She didn't trust her voice, so she simply nodded. Rhaenyra took Jace and Daenys into her arms. She could feel the quiet sobs deep in their chest, both seeking comfort in the reunion. Daenys held them tightly, afraid to let go. She had her time to cry, in Cregan's arms, now it was her time to finally make herself useful.

The Targaryens and Velayrons stood outside on a tall hill of Dragonstone's rocky beaches. Rhaenyra placed Lucerys' red tunic, the one she had found with Arrax's wing, onto the pyre's stand, reluctantly stepping back once she did. Jacaerys, holding little Joff, placed one of Luke's blankets onto the pyre. Joffrey, who didn't quite understand the funeral and its meaning, tossed a wooden horse that Luke handed down to him into the pyre.

Daenys stepped up, glancing at Rhaena across the fire's glow, seeing her struggle to keep her composure. She mourned for their broken betrothal along with her cousin, knowing they would have made a very happy couple. She clutched onto Luke's favorite tunic. The one she gave him for his three and tenth name day. Even when it grew tighter on him each month during his growthspurt, he still insisted he wore it. It had an embroidered three-headed dragon on it, in the colors of House Velayron. A testament to his future station as Lord of the Tides and a Targaryen. She stitched it for days, ensuring it was perfect for him. Daenys tossed it into the pyre, stepping beside Jace and watching the fire burn out. Most left after a respectable amount of time. Rhaenyra and Daenys stayed until the fire stopped entirely.

Her mother rubbed her back soothingly, allowing Daenys to rest her head on her shoulder. "Mother, I have so many things to ask you. A lot has happened in the North..." She muttered.

"Let us go inside. After you rest, I will dedicate my morning only to you." Rhaenyra promised, kissing the crown of Daenys' head affectionately. Daenys nodded, watching her mother walk back inside to retire for the evening.

A boat's movement caught her eye. Her squinted, lifting her skirts to walk slightly further down the hill. An intruder? No, they were leaving the beach. Daenys thought for a moment, there were very few on the island, and even less who had a reason to leave in secret. Unless...was it true? Were Daemon and Rhaenyra plotting to take Aemond's life in the dead of night?

No. Daenys gasped, sprinting towards the entrance doors of the castle. She needed her own way of transportation to King's Landing.

She was able to find a man who reluctantly took her on his small fishingboat. She doned a dark cloak that she was able to scrounge up in her hurry. Daenys tossed a bag of coins into his awaiting palm, not caring to count what was in it. The boat ride felt excruciatingly long, anticipation rising in her every minute. The thought of being caught made her scared, but the thought of Daemon getting to Jaehaerys before she did scared her worse.

Finally, the man stopped at a discreet sandy part of King's Landings' side wall. There was an extrance nearby, as well as another anchored fishing boat. Daenys scowled. How long had Daemon been there ahead of her? "Stay here." She called behind her, sprinting towards the open entrance in the wall while holding her hood over her silver hair.

There were no guards at it, unsurprisingly. They had all grown lazy under Aegon's leniency. She wandered the dark and damp streets unti she found an iron gate with a hooded figure waiting at it. A guard was walking away from the gate, small purse of coins clutched in his meaty fist.

"Daemon!" Daenys whisper-yelled, grabbing her step-father by his cloak and yanking him back. He barely stumbled but still had the audacity to look shocked and angry at her.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded.

"You fool! You didn't kill Aemond. Do you think that lazy, drunken, craven could kill him?"

"I ordered him to kill Aemond, of course he will. If not, I'll find a way in myself." Daemon scoffed. Daenys grabbed his arms tightly, shaking her head. "You killed Jaehaerys. You killed a babe!" She yelled, uncaring of who would hear now. Perhaps it was both of their karma to die in King's Landing for attempting to kill Helena's son. Maybe if they were caught, they would catch the two men before they cold. Rhaenyra could find two more riders for their dragons, somewhere.

Daemon covered her mouth, pulling her to a less lit corner of the street before anyone could recognize them. "Are you mad, girl? You will get us both killed—" She punched him in the face, not staying to watch him clutch his nose before running back to her boat in a flurry of black and silver.

Daenys rode back to Dragonstone in a silent mourning. Jaehaerys would die. She knew it this time. She followed her dreams, finally. But still lost to fate. Or lost to Daemon. That coward, sending a guard to kill the kinslayer. He should be challenging Vhagar and the One-eyed Prince himself.

They could take him together. If only he trusted her to fight. Morningstar was large and battle-ready. Her and Caraxes would surely dominate the fight, a son for a son.

Not a child for a child.

Daenys slipped into her chambers, waiting for the news to wake the castle up. It wouldn't be long.

🗡

dont mind me using morningstar and dusk as parallels for cregan and daenys 😋

changing the times between Jace and Rhaenyra arriving. Let's say Rhaenyra was coming and going for two weeks, only coming back when she had to eat and let syrax eat. Jace came back the day the raven came to bring the news, and has been ruling with Daemon in her place. Just to say Rhaenyra and Daenys came back officially at the same time to continue the plot forward with no gaps.

[murdocksdaughter]

missing you, kissing me (jacaerys velaryon x fem!velaryon!reader)

a/n: no this is not canon complainant. also im trying to feed my fellow jace girlies. and i did write this on my 9 hour flight home no joke 💀.

warnings: kissing, technically targaryen incest, aegon slander, helaena and rhaenyra are besties, the reader is a velaryon reader but physical descriptions are neutral minus mention of hair color, luke yelling at jace, happy targaryen family au, also rhaenyra is queen (whoo hoo no war)

summary: leading up their wedding y/n and jacaerys has had any alone time together

word count: 1.3k

“let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain”

She loved everything about him. From his smile to his war hardened face. Y/n was so utterly in love with Jacaerys. They were to be wed in a few weeks and time couldn’t move any slower. With Jacaerys being in line for the throne, the wedding was to be a week long event to be followed with a giant ceremony.

Y/n hadn’t gotten to spend alone time with Jacaerys. It was only either in meetings to plan the wedding or at family meal. Along with Jacaerys’ High Valyrian lessons and training with Aemond. The spare time they had together was nonexistent.

And since the betrothal sneaking out to see each other at night wasn’t an option. With the watchful eyes of the Queensguard, it was impossible to have moment to themselves.

Y/n dreaded it.

Looking out the window as she half heartedly worked on her embroidery of the day, Y/n was bored. Even the pleasant company of Helaena couldn’t hold her attention.

Y/n’s face held a longing look as she continued to watch the clouds roll over King's Landing.

“You miss him.”

The voice of Helaena broke Y/n’s trance- (More like startled her). Y/n jumped slightly before looking at the Targaryen princess with her face and her neck feeling hot.

Helaena only smiled at Y/n, “I would miss him too, he treats you well.” she continued before she went back to her embroidery of caterpillars.

Y/n always valued the words of Helaena; they were always truthful albeit sometimes cryptic. Y/n smiled at Heleana and nodded.

“I do, we haven’t had much time to ourselves since our betrothal. I just wished to be married already.”

Helaena giggled at Y/n’s eagerness.

“What’s so funny?” as the Queen Rhaenyra walked in.

“Y/n’s eagerness to marry.” Helaena confessed. Rhaenyra cackled, sitting next to her future daughter-in-law. “So eager to be a bride yet I doubt my son knows how to undo a bodice,” she commented.

Y/n blushed at Rhaenyra’s comment.

“Ageon still can figure out a bodice, we’ve been married for years. Marriage is a very…complicated thing,” Helaena said with a small frown forming. Rhaenyra reached out for her sister’s hand and squeezed it lightly.

Y/n’s lip tightened in a thin line. She knew how Aegon treated his wife. That was typical for marriages for women like them; loveless and only to strengthen alliances, the men are sleeping around sire-ing bastards. Women always stuck drinking their woes away and becoming bitter of any younger woman in their presence.

“Jacaerys adores you Y/n. Your marriage will be an amazing union.” Rhaenyra tried to lighten the mood.

“He’s a truly good man, better than most I’d say.” Helaena continued. Y/n smiled and looked down at her lap. “That is true, he’s more like a prince from the books we read as children than what we usually get.” Y/n jokes.

“Leagues better than the drunken excuses we get,” Helaena slyly commented, taking a jab at her husband.

Rhaenyra laughed loudly, grabbing Helaena’s hand. Y/n’s face scrunched as a silent laugh shook her body. Helaena smiled to herself proud of her joke.

Rhaenyra took deep breaths as she continued to giggle to herself. “Oh by the gods Heleana that might be the funniest thing you’ve said.”

As the three women calmed down to a comfortable silence, a member of the Queensguard came in.

“The Prince Jacaerys requests the presence of Lady Y/n Velaryon,” He announces. A grin grew on Y/n’s face. She stood up, smoothing her dress out as she quickly made her way to the entrance of the room.

Y/n followed the Queensguard out of the room when she noticed it was pouring. Her eyebrows furrowed. Training must had been cancelled due to the weather.

Then a bigger smile than she had before grew on her face. Training was cancelled.

As Y/n followed the Queensguard she could feel her heart squeeze in excitement and her body set aflame.

She was so excited to see Jacaerys. Y/n felt like a little girl at a jousting tournament and watching all the handsome knights come out on their horses. Her whole body was shaking as it inched closer to her betrothed.

Once she arrived there Jacaerys stood leaning against the arch way of the court yard.

“The Lady Y/n Velaryon my prince.” The Queensguard announced their presence. Jacaerys turned around to see Y/n standing there with a grin on her face.

Such a simple thing brought her joy. Just seeing Jacaerys. No one but him.

“My love.” He stretched out his arms. Y/n swiftly moved to his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Jace…” she whispered.

His warmth surrounding her completely. His arms caging her waist pulling her closer to his chest. Jacaerys hummed im content. “I missed you,” He mumbled into her white curls.

“I hate being engaged, I never want to go through this again,” Y/n whined into Jacaerys chest.

Jacaerys pulled away slightly, “Are you planning to marry someone else?” he jokingly asked, raising an eyebrow. Y/n rolled her eyes at him. “Oh and you roll your eyes at me?? The heir to the Iron Throne.” Jacaerys put a hand on his chest in disbelief.

Y/n shook her head. “You’re ridiculous Jace,” she muttered, pressing her lips on his jaw. Jacaerys laughed, pulling Y/n back to his chest. He squeezed her tightly.

Y/n felt content with the only sounds of rain and her betrothed breathing filling her ears. It was a moment of peace. Jacaerys planted a kiss on her cheek and muttered “I love you.” Y/n could feel her heart swell.

“I can never get tired of hearing that from you.” She looked up at Jacaerys.

He just smiled at her, “I never get tired of saying it,” he whispered leaning down his lips ghost past hers.

Just as Y/n started to lean forward to meet her lips with Jacaerys a voice called the prince’s name.

Both groaned as they pulled apart and looked to find the source of the call. Y/n found the dark hair of Jacaerys’ younger brother Lucerys. Giving Jacaerys a sympathetic look. The prince just rolled his eyes.

“I suppose our time ends. I’ll see you at dinner, Mother wants me to sit in on her small council meeting today,” Jacaerys half heartedly mutters. Y/n just nodded, running her hand through his hair.

“Of course my love,” She said with a half smile. Jacaerys slipped put of her grasp running across the court yard trying his to escape the rain as fast as possible.

Before he made it across Y/n called his name. Jacaerys stop to and to find her running to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. Jacaerys wrapped his arms around her waists pulling her deep into the kiss. Y/n’s hand traveled from the back of his neck to his cheeks, cupping them both feeling how wet they were from the pouring rain.

Jacaerys gripped Y/n’s waist squeezing it lightly. The kiss seemed to last forever as they stood in the rain, drenched. Lucerys called his brother’s name again this time far louder and with an annoyed tone.

This time they pulled slowly from each other, smilies dawn both their faces. “I’ll see you at dinner?” Y/n asked despite knowing the answer.

Jacaerys nodded frantically. “Yes. I’ll see you then-”

“JACAERYS!! DON’T MAKE ME DRAG YOU FROM HER MYSELF!!” Lucerys voice engulfed the courtyard.

Jacaerys laughed throwing his head back. “Goodbye my love,” he said before running off to his brother who was leaning against an arch with an disgusted look on his face.

Y/n was left standing the pouring rain with the biggest grin on her face. Her hand gripping her soaked dress.

By the gods she really did love Jacaerys Velaryon.

[fandom-puff]

Family, Duty, Honour

Pairing: Tyrion Lannister x reader

Requested by: anon ‘Can you do Tyrion with his arranged marriage wife on their wedding night/first time?’

Notes: the reader in this fic is a Tully cousin. Let’s see if I can actually get to the smut without almost 1k words of worldbuilding this time! (The answer is no- do u see why it takes me so bloody long to write!)

(Part 2)

Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut, loss of virginity, clearly not canon compliant lol

Gif creds to owner

Being summoned to Tywin Lannister’s office was never a pleasant experience. More often than not, it meant you were in serious trouble, and in Tyrion’s case, he was always in trouble; his father often referred to him as a drunken, lusty little fool. As Tyrion entered the office, he instantly did not like what he saw; his father was stood with his hands behind his back, rather than being sat behind his desk. He gestured for his son to sit, before he began speaking.

“As you know, your sister has been married to King Robert for some time, and is now pregnant with their second child. Their first, Joffrey, will be the next king of the seven kingdoms,” Tyrion nodded slowly as his father spoke at him, rather than to him. “In case that child is a girl, she must fall pregnant again to ensure there is an heir and a spare to fully consolidate the Baratheon dynasty. Your brother Jaime has sworn an oath that prohibits him from siring children,”

“Legitimate children,” Tyrion quipped, relishing in the way his father’s jaw tightened.

“Siring legitimate children. And I will not sit a bastard on Casterly Rock when I am gone. That leaves you,” Tyrion sat up a little straighter- was his father finally agreeing to acknowledge his claim now that Jaime couldn’t be lord of Casterly rock? “I have therefore arranged your marriage, and your son will inherit Casterly rock.”

Tyrion frowned. “My son? Surely it goes to me first,”

Tywin snorted. “Don’t remind me,”

Tyrion was quiet for a moment. “Who have you promised me to?”

“One of Hoster Tully’s nieces,” he said flatly. “What, disappointed? There aren’t many noble houses willing to marry off their daughters to a dwarf, even if he is a Lannister. You will marry YN Tully, splitting their ties with the North and the Vale with West. Your son will have Casterly Rock, and gods be willing, your spare will have Riverrun,”

“Hoster has other children, as well as his niece,”Tyrion reminded him.

“Yes. But Catelyn’s children will be shared about the North; Eddard Stark is unlikely to let them stray further south than the Neck. And Lysa has struggled to conceive, and her only child is sickly. If the it comes to it, one of the Stark heirs will take the Vale. Edmure Tully is a cocksure fool, and Brynden Tully has gone rogue. It’ll be easy to place your spare on that seat. But an heir for Casterly rock should be your priority,”

Tyrion sighed. “I don’t have a choice in this matter, do I?” When Tywin shook his head, he sighed. “Then I would like to meet this girl before we wed. To settle her nerves. Is she… of age?”

“She has flowered,” Tywin said sternly. “That should be enough for you,” with that he turned on his heel, leaving Tyrion to mull the concept of his wedding over. He sighed, returning to his chamber- he was in dire need of a drink.

**

As you walked up the steps to Casterly Rock your breath caught in your chest and you squeezed your uncle’s arm subconsciously as he escorted you.

As you entered the keep, Lord Tywin came around the corner, closely followed by his son. You gave a little curtsy to Tywin, before allowing Tyrion to kiss your knuckles. “My lady,” he said, his voice gentle. “I thought we might take a stroll through the garden. I’m afraid it’s not as impressive as the likes of the Reach, but it overlooks the sea,” your uncle gave a nod, allowing Tyrion to escort you on a tour of the gardens while he finalised the wedding plans with your soon to be father in law.

As you walked, Tyrion stole small glances sideways at you. It was undeniable that you were a Tully, possessive the sharp bone structure and deep red hair of your family. You knew your airs and graces, listening attentively as he told you about the history of Casterly rock. Sighing, he gestured for you to sit on an elaborately carved stone bench.

“My Lady… I know that this marriage is not… well it’s not anybody’s idea of perfection. I may be the ‘Imp’ but I promise to you I shall treat you well. I will protect you, honour you, treat you properly as my lady wife,”

You nibbled your lip nervously nodding slowly. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion,” you said softly, and he couldn’t help but stare longer than was decent into your piercing eyes.

“H-how old are you, Lady YN?” He asked gently, fearing the worst.

“My nineteenth name day will be in four moons,” you said. “Why?”

Tyrion shuffled slightly. “I only ask… these marriages usually do not take age into consideration. My father only told me you… were fertile. I feared that I would be wed to a child. And if that was the case, I would wait until you were older for the… I will still wait now, if that is your wish,” he promised, and you nodded, feeling much more at ease with the prospect of marrying the Imp.

***

The vows were said and you had been cloaked under the rich red and gold of house Lannister. Seated at the head table of the grand hall of Casterly Rock, you watched as the feast and the dancers went on. As Tyrion placed tidbits of the rich food on your plate, you were increasingly aware of the rising drunkenness in the room- over the hubbub of the feast, you could hear several bawdy jokes about the upcoming consummation of your marriage.

Tyrion noticed your growing anxiety, and placed his hand gently over yours. “Remember what I told you,” he said in a quiet voice, leaning close to your ear so that you could hear him. “If you want me to, I will wait,” you nodded at his reassurance, your shoulders relaxing slightly in your wedding gown, and you slipped your hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze in thanks.

After the final course was served- small cakes decorated with and intricate motif of a lion frolicking in a river full of splashing trout in honour of the new alliance forged between the west and the riverlands- Lord Tywin and Lord Hoster rose from their table and made their way to the head table. Tywin gestured Tyrion away until you could no longer hear, though you were sure your father in law was lecturing him on his expectations for a son. Your uncle took a seat beside you, pouring you a half cup of wine.

“When your mother died,” he began. “I swore to the old gods and the new to protect you. The Lannisters are proud, and dangerous no doubt, but you are one of them now, my girl, and I’d rather you be married to the Lannisters with their power and wealth than to be treated like a whore by the Dornish or even the Baratheon… the Lannisters aren’t likely to let harm come to you, but I swear, if the imp ever hurts you, I will raise the men of the Riverlands, and I will get the Vale and the North on board as well. Even in Casterly Rock, you will be protected,”

You smiled. “Thank you, Uncle. But Lord Tyrion is a good man, kind and gentle. And even though I am a woman grown, he swore to me he would not force himself on me, nor would he betray my honour,” your uncle gave a tight smile, kissing the top of your head.

“Honour,” he said stiffly, stiffly, seeing Tywin and Tyrion returning to you. “Remember our words, My girl. Family, Duty, Honour,”

You nodded, squeezing his hand, before it was announced that it was time for the bedding. But instead of a boisterous display involving stripping both you and Tyrion out of your clothes on your way to your marriage chamber, Tyrion took your hand and led you out of the great hall alone, walking you to your new bedroom in relative silence.

As you shut the door, he looked at you, sighing quietly. “Shall we have some wine?” He said gently, gesturing to the table set out with wine and bread and fruit, in case the happy couple needed sustenance throughout the night. You gave him a small smile and nodded, letting him pull a chair out for you as you sipped on wine and nibbled on bread.

“I… expected a bedding ceremony, my Lord,” you said quietly, before quickly adding “I’m glad the traditional one didn’t happen though! My cousin, Catelyn didn’t have one, because her husband didn’t want to dishonour her,”

“Eddard Stark and I have that in common,” Tyrion said lightly. “And I told my father that I would not have his bannermen manhandle my wife to her room,”

You smiled gratefully, setting your cup down. Tyrion held up the jug, but you shook your head, not wanted to get too inebriated. You sighed softly, your fingers tracing over the embroidery on your wedding gown, and Tyrion watched as you worked over the stitched trouts- although Casterly rock glittered with jewels and gold, he had to admit that the embroidery of the riverlands and the north was superior to the rest of Westeros. “Are you nervous, My Lady?” He said gently, asking the obvious, before reminding you again of his promise.

“I am, a little,” you murmured. “But… I must do my duty and give you a son,” you looked away, taking a deep breath. “I am nervous because I’m a maid, and I am scared it will hurt, or I will not please you, or fulfil my duties to my family. But I… I trust, my Lord. I think I’ve trusted from the moment you invited me to Casterly Rock ahead of the wedding, despite that being only two weeks ago…”

Tyrion smiled gently as you rambled, taking both of your hands in his and leaning down to kiss both sets of knuckles. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle with you,” he promised. “I must ask one thing of you, YN… just call me Tyrion,”

You smiled gently, leaning down and pressing your lips gently to his. It was your first proper kiss, aside from the one under the eyes of the gods, and you were initiating it. Tyrion couldn’t help but smile against the cushion of your lips, finding your tentative gentleness endearing. He reached one hand up to curl around the back of your neck and was relieved to feel you relax as he stroked your deep red hair. He grazed his teeth against your bottom lip, before pressing them down gently, you let out a shudder and-gods- a moan.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmured.

“Please don’t,” you replied, voice breathy as you felt unfamiliar heat and… longing stirring within you. With your gentle plea replaying in his head, he slipped his hand into yours, pulling you gently towards the canopied bed.

Slowly, you undressed one another down to your smallclothes. Tyrion gulped as he looked over you, the peaks of your breasts pushing against your chemise. “Magnificent,” he murmured, and you smiled, ducking your head down to hide your bashful expression.

“What do I… what do I do?” You whispered, sitting on the bed. Tyrion smiled gently.

“We must prepare you,” he said gently. At your frown, he carried on. “If we are to continue with comfort in mind, we must ensure your body is ready to… accommodate me. This will relax you… make you… slick,” he explained and you nodded slowly, shuffling back so you could lay on the pillows. As Tyrion made to climb up onto the bed, you took a deep breath, lifting your chemise up and over your head to bear your chest and cunt to him. Tyrion suppressed a groan at the sight, urging himself to go slow. You were his lady wife, not some whore. He approached you slowly, coming up to your side and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, before trailing his lips down. You gasped as you felt his teeth scrape against your skin, before you let out a low moan as his lips wrapped around your nipple, suckling gently. He waited until your breath came in little desperate pants, your body twisting and pushing up to him before he trailed his hand down to the thatch of curls between your thighs. You gasped and tensed up, but as he began rubbing your thigh gently and you soon relaxed, allowing him to push your thighs apart.

“T-Tyrion,” you whimpered, feeling the palm of his hand cup your pussy. He was about to ask if you were okay, but your next words put his mind at ease. “Please… more…”

He gave a light chuckle. “As my lady wife commands,” he said, a slight smirk tugging at his lip as his finger dragged between your folds, swirling around your clit on every other stroke, until you were dripping and squirming with anticipation, grasping onto his arm, little moans tumbling from your lips. Tyrion smiled slightly, sucking his finger clean and groaning at the taste. “Are you ready for my cock, YN?” He asked, and you bit your lip.

“I-I think so?” You murmured, watching with wide eyes as he undid his underwear and shoved it down his thighs, his straining cock springing free. You bit your lip hard, and Tyrion smiled softly.

“I will be gentle with you, YN, I promise,” you gulped and nodded, reaching for him.

“Please…” you murmured. “I-I’m ready,” Tyrion gave a slight smile as he moved to line up with your entrance, slowly pushing his cock into you. You whimpered, back arching, and when he hit the barrier of your maidenhead, you hissed.

Tyrion petted your thigh gently, shushing you. “This will hurt for just a moment, I promise,” he told you, and you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as he breached your maidenhead. What was an uncomfortable stinging sensation soon dissolved into a feeling of fullness, of being stretched. It felt… good.

“M-move,” you begged, bucking your hips up despite yourself, and to your delight, Tyrion complied, groaning as he grasped your hips, his hips beginning to roll against yours, his girth caressing all of your most intimate pleasure points, watching the way your eyebrows tugged together and your mouth went slack as you let out needy gasps and moans, increasing in pitch and volume as he dragged you closer to the edge. He was close himself, his movements becoming more sloppy, his head tipping back as he groaned and grunted. “Tyrion,” you cried, back arching, and his mouth practically watered at the sign of your bouncing tits. “Tyrion I’m- I feel-”

“Let it happen,” he groaned, and when he felt your channel spasm around his length he grunted, spurting his seed into you with a shout of your name, spurred on by your cries of ecstasy.

Shaking, gasping, you whimpered as Tyrion pulled out of you, and smiled gently as you watched him pour you some wine and get you some fruit. You curled into his side, now under the covers as you sipped the more watered down wine, humming softly as Tyrion fed you plump, sweet berries. Sleepy, you settled down under the covers, resting your head on his bare chest, and as you nodded off to sleep, Tyrion swore to himself that he would put his young wife and any children you had before all else in his life.

Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen @janelongxox @honeyofthegods @lxoxtxtxi

[sansacherie]

Chances

I.

Sansa and Jeyne love each other with all the devotion of two girls- one whose sisters died in the cradle while the other was not close with the sister she had.

Sansa and Jeyne love each other, although the world does not let them forget who they are. The world never lets them forget that Sansa is the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark. Jeyne is the only daughter of Vayon Poole, Winterfell’s steward- A respectable position, but a steward nonetheless. Jeyne knows any match she makes will not equal that of Sansa’s- promised to the heir of the Vale.

Sansa and Jeyne love each other freely and without restraint, until Riverrun.

Lord and Lady Stark travel to Riverrun with four of their children- Robb remaining in Winterfell, for the wedding of Edmure Tully, Lady Stark’s younger brother. Still feeling giddy on the wine and revelry of the celebrations, Jeyne later steals into Sansa’s bed. Arya is in the another, but her peaceful snores assure the girls she’s fast asleep.

They are whispering and giggling, and then – it ceases when Jeyne kisses Sansa. They’ve kissed before, but they had been small girls then, a little older than Rickon is now perhaps. Practise, they had told themselves, as they exchanged swift, clumsy kisses. Except Jeyne is now sixteen, and she wants to kiss Sansa for herself. The gods must have granted her courage, because Jeyne is not brave- the thought of speaking to a room full of people however brief like she had seen Lord Eddard do makes her stomach flip, and the idea of Winterfell’s crypt unnerve her, even though she knew Sansa occasionally used to play down with her siblings.

Sansa breaks away from the kiss first. She is silent, and Jeyne feels herself grow cold. “Sansa, please say something.”

“Jeyne, I….” It is as if words and Sansa have become strangers. When Jeyne had kissed her, it hadn’t felt wrong. But Sansa also knew that they were not little girls anymore and – ladies weren’t supposed to that. She didn’t know how to reconcile those two feelings.

“Jeyne, you should not have done that.” Sansa’s voice was gentle but still low, mindful that Arya was in the room with them. But the light of the moon from the open window was bright enough to illuminate Jeyne’s face, and she looked as though Sansa had slapped her. She gave a strangled cry, and then left Sansa alone as she fled from the room.

II.

It takes three days of Jeyne avoiding her until Sansa had enough. They will be leaving soon, and Sansa does not want to return North without putting this to rest.

She finds Jeyne alone in Riverrun’s library.

“Jeyne, please. I can’t bear for you not to speak to me.”

Jeyne’s voice is cool and polite. “You seem to bear it well when your sister doesn’t.”

Sansa scoffed. “Arya is my sister. She’s always annoyed with me about something. But you’re my friend, Jeyne. We hardly ever fight.”

“Yes, friend.” Jeyne repeats. “You’ve made that clear the night of Lord Tully’s wedding.”

Sansa blushes. “Jeyne, forgive me. I’m just confused.”

She turns away for a moment. “I’m confused because I understand a part of me realizes you shouldn’t have kissed me like that. What if my mother had walked in? Or Arya had woken up?” Jeyne’s face blanches. “But,” Sansa takes a deep breath before continuing. “But there’s another part of me that’s confused as to why I didn’t hate you kissing me- that it felt nice. I don’t know what it means.”

Sansa feels Jeyne’s hand cup her cheeks. Her hands are so soft. “Perhaps we can find the answer together.”

When they kiss again, Sansa does not break away.

III.

The answer comes over time, in the next two years. Sansa writes Jeyne a poem, that Jeyne folds up to shut in the locket that had belonged to her mother. She wears the locket daily, to keep Sansa’s sweet words close. Lord Eddard sometimes invites one of his household to sup with him and his family. On the occasions that Jeyne and Vayon are honoured with an invitation, Jeyne would tune out her father’s voice while he talked about bread stores as she smiled knowingly at Sansa. They try to find whatever spot of Winterfell’s that they can- the library, in the godswood, or the rookery – and make it theirs.

Two years pass, and Sansa remains promised to Harry Arryn. A cousin of Sansa, the son of Elbert Arryn and her Tully aunt. Jeyne vaguely remembers Lysa Arryn from Riverrun- but what she remembers was a contented woman whose life was her husband and son. Sansa and Jeyne avoid talking about Sansa’s intended, although Jeyne is aware that Sansa does write to him. Jeyne does not like to think of what Sansa writes in those letters. But with Lord Elbert and Lady Lysa dying within days of each other and Sansa’s eighteenth name-day, Jeyne knows Sansa must begin the life she was promised for since she was ten.

That night before Sansa and Harry will speak their vows, Sansa and Jeyne both go to bed early. Sansa had told her mother that she was nervous, and thought perhaps Jeyne’s presence would soothe her.

“They say the Vale���s beautiful.” Jeyne says softly.

“It is.” Sansa’s hands stroke Jeyne’s arm. “Harry says the Vale will be made even more so by my presence.”

Jeyne grits her teeth. “I don’t want to speak about him.” She knows it’s partly her fault for bringing up the Vale, but she can’t help it.

Sansa lifts Jeyne’s hand and kisses it gently. “I’m sorry, Jeyne.”

But Jeyne feels angry now, and perhaps her anger gives way to the courage that had possessed her all that time ago in Riverrun. “We could leave.”

Sansa was lost for a moment. “What?”

“Leave. We’ll – We’ll run away, maybe Bravvos or somewhere. Somewhere where people don’t know who we are. We could be happy, you and me.” Jeyne’s voice is rapturous, and for a moment Sansa allows herself to be swept up in this sweet dream- but that’s all it could be, a dream.

“Jeyne, you know I can’t. I have a duty to my house, and to Harry. And if we left, there is no way we could return because of the scandal it would cause, the daughter of Lord Stark running off with a steward’s girl.

You remember that my aunt was taken by Prince Rhaegar? There are those who whisper she went willingly, and that shadow has hung over my father. I would only be making it worse.” Jeyne is resolute in the face of Sansa’s gentle pleas, but it is the mention of Vayon Poole that makes her yield. “And what about your father, Jeyne? You wouldn’t be able to see him again.” Every word Sansa speaks now is agonising, but it is necessary.

Jeyne nods, her eyes shining with tears. “I understand. It was a moment of folly, that’s all.”

“Jeyne, I’m sorry.”

Jeyne takes Sansa’s hand in her own. “Don’t be. It’s just that from tomorrow, you’ll be his. You’ll be his lady and give him sons if the Mother is good. He will get to love you openly, like I never could. But tonight- I just want you to be mine.”

When they kiss, Sansa wonders if this night with Jeyne will be enough to sustain her all the nights of her marriage.

IV.

During the first year of marriage, Sansa gives her husband a son- little Hugo. It is a good thing that Sansa finds joy in her son, because she finds little with her husband. Sansa wonders if part of this is her failing – wonders if she has prevented building something good with Harry, because she had already given away her heart.

But it was the second year of their marriage that Sansa understood how Harry had his own ghosts.

The serving girl does not notice Sansa as she slips out of Harry’s bedchambers one morning. Sansa is half-tempted to speak up, but she would probably frighten the girl to death.

She makes her way into Harry’s bedchambers. She thinks idly how her father and mother had possessed different chambers, and that Lord Eddard had never shamed his lady by using his rooms in such a way.

He shamed her in other ways, though.

“I hope you have not tired Mandy out.” Sansa says politely, as way of introduction. Sitting up amongst the covers, realization dawns on Harry’s face. “My Lady, I’m sorry-"

“My lord, please.” Sansa knows it is rude to interrupt, but perhaps it would be forgivable for this occasion.

“I am not angry at you. My father is the most honourable man I know, but my half-brother is proof that he like all men, will stray from his wife’s bed. I’ve long accepted that it could be the same for us. All I can ask is that you keep your dalliances discreet for my sake. I will not be treated like that of Queen Naerys. You make sure that whatever girl you are intimate with is given moon tea.

If you do sire a bastard, you will see to that child’s needs, but you will send both the woman and child away. I will not be like my mother.” Sansa is surprised by the intensity in her voice.

Harry nods, and it feels like a victory. “Agreed.”

The conversation could have ended there, but in spite of herself Sansa feels compelled to ask him this.

“Do you… do you love her?” She is genuinely curious.

Harry shakes his head. “She warms my bed, that’s it.” Harry locks eyes with Sansa. “I did love someone.” He said softly, and his face looked pained. “But I was promised to another.”

“You were promised to me.” Sansa feels her heart twist in sympathy for her lord husband. “I understand my lord, perhaps better than you realize. I loved someone else as well.” I love her still.

Perhaps it was this odd, unflinching honesty between her and Harry- the first time they were truly vulnerable with one another, that changes things for them. The next six years sees the birth of their twin children, Brynden and Teora. Duty and their children bound them together, but they have become good friends nonetheless.

V.

When Hugo is eight and the twins six, Harry dies suddenly in his sleep. His heart had just stopped, was their Maester’s finding.

As Sansa suddenly finds herself becoming Lady regent for her son, her thoughts keep coming back to Jeyne. Sansa had been back to Winterfell twice in the years she married, but it was as though she and Jeyne were strangers, rather than – what they were.

Sansa realizes it might do to marry again, but it is the last thing she wants.

What she does want – or who, is in the North.

 

VI.

“Who’s it from?” Jeyne asks, as the letter is handed to her.

“Lady Sansa.”

Jeyne’s breath catches in her throat at the mention of Sansa’s name. For eight years, she has tried not to think of Sansa in the Vale, with her lord husband and children. When they had guested at Winterfell, Jeyne had wanted so desperately to reach out to Sansa- but the realization she would only be making things worse that held her back.

Dear Jeyne,

Perhaps you will have learnt by now that my husband is dead.

Harry was a good man. Although ours was never a love match, we came to an understanding.

But it is his death that has made me realize something.

Jeyne, I have never stopped loving you. When you proposed to run away that night, I cannot tell you how tempted I was. But I had a duty to my betrothed, and my father. But Harry is dead now, and I have given him three heirs. The Lords of the Vale cannot pressure me into marrying again when the line is well secure. I want to make my own choices now. Jeyne, my father gave my hand in marriage to Harry but it is I alone that gives you my heart. Be mine, Jeyne. Come to the Vale.

Yours,

Sansa

 

Trembling, Jeyne read the words over and over again.

At first, she is overwhelmed with joy- but it is the thought of her father which gives her pause. It would mean leaving him, and for the past eight years, Jeyne's father had become her entire focus, as she had assisted him in his duties. He had tried arranging a match for her, but Jeyne had refused.

She has never stopped loving Sansa, but just as Sansa had put her duty towards her father first, Jeyne needed to do the same.

However, Vayon had other ideas.

"I heard you got a raven from Sansa today," Vayon said quietly, as they ate in Winterfell's Great Hall.

"Yes." Jeyne folds her hands in her lap. "Lord Arryn has passed recently, and she invited me to stay in Vale."

Her father raises his eyebrow. "An honour. I remember how close you were as girls. I never understood why you didn't go with her in the first place, Jeyne. It would have been good for you."

Jeyne shrugs. "It is. But-" Jeyne's voice falters. "I don't know if I can accept it."

However, Vayon takes Jeyne's hands in his own. "Aye Jeyney, if you're worried about your old Papa, don't be. Lord Stark always looks after his servants. But you- I don't want to stop you being with someone you love."

Jeyne could fancy that her father means the innocent love of friends, but his knowing look made Jeyne's heart thud. "How..."

"I think a part of me always suspected. You were always so close like I said. The day Lady Sansa was married, I remember how sad you looked. At first, I thought you mourned your friend leaving, but when you refused that boy - I pieced it together. In a way," Her father pauses, and brushes back a strand of wavy hair that he would sometimes say had been a legacy of Jeyne's mother. "I was glad in a selfish kind of way. I didn't have the means to make you a great match. But Jeyney, life only gives you so many changes at happiness. Don't miss on yours."

VII.

When Sansa reads Jeyne's answer, her smile is bright as the rising sun.

[chillyravenart]

Thoughts on Seara Targaryen?

I've mentioned this briefly here but let me add a few more of my thoughts.

I feel like Saera is treated like some faultless feminist icon in the fandom (how surprising lmao) but let's be absolutely real here: she was a spoilt, headstrong princess who was never going to cave into societal/parental pressure. I’m personally not a fan at all but I want to list a few things about her personality and upbringing that may be of some use in understanding her better. Forgive my rambling in advance!

Princess Saera, three years younger, was a trial from the very start; tempestuous, demanding, disobedient. The first word she spoke was no, and she said it often and loudly. She refused to be weaned until past the age of four. Even as she ran about the castle, talking more than her siblings Vaegon and Daella combined, she wanted her mother’s milk, and raged and screamed whenever the queen dismissed another wetnurse. “Seven save us,” Alysanne whispered to the king one night, “when I look at her I see Aerea.” 

Not to forget, George loves hitting characters where it hurts and that's through their children. And George went in particularly hard with Jaehaerys and Alysanne's children. I absolutely adore the older bunch, Aemon, Baelon, Alyssa... but the younger bunch didn’t exactly speak to me the same way. I suppose with so many children, it was natural to have a few bad eggs, and Saera was one of them. Jaehaerys spoilt her as child and she grew up to be very bright but also had a cruel streak too. 

... and long before she was half-grown, Saera had learned the art of getting anything she wanted from her father: a kitten, a hound, a pony, a hawk, a horse (Jaehaerys did draw a firm line at the elephant). Queen Alysanne was far less gullible, however, and Septon Barth tells us that Saera’s sisters all misliked her to various degrees.

The border between innocent pranks, wanton mischief, and acts of malice is not always discerned by one so young, but there can be no doubt that the princess crossed it freely.

Septon Barth also commented on Saera’s disposition, and her hunger for the attention her older siblings received:

“She is the king’s daughter, and well aware of it. Servants see to her every need, though not always as quickly as she might like... If she were the king’s firstborn, or better still his only child, she would be well content. Instead she finds herself the ninthborn, with six living siblings who are older than her and even more adored.”

Saera pranked her sister Daella with cats and bees, dyed the KG cloaks pink, and would show up drunk to the sept for prayers. And since Saera had every whim granted to her, it's natural that she would want more from the world and succeeded in carving out her own kingdom across the Narrow Sea. I definitely don't think she would have been content with living a normal life in Westeros, married to some lord and running his house.

“She wants what she wants and she wants it now,” Grand Maester Elysar wrote of the princess in 69 AC, when she was only two. “Seven save us all when she is older. The Dragonkeepers had best lock up the dragons.” He had no notion how prophetic those words would be.

At fourteen, she told the king she meant to marry the Prince of Dorne, or perhaps the King Beyond the Wall, so she could be a queen “like Mother.”

By fifteen, Saera had other ideas however.

Why dream of distant monarchs when she could have as many squires, knights, and likely lords as she desired? Dozens danced attendance on her, but three soon emerged as favorites. Jonah Mooton was the heir to Maidenpool, Red Roy Connington was the fifteen-year-old Lord of Griffin’s Roost, and Braxton Beesbury, called Stinger, was a nineteen-year-old knight, the finest lance in the Reach...

And initially it was Queen Alysanne who voiced her dismay regarding Saera’s behaviour with her newly acquired suitors. “Saera is clever, but not wise” and she also criticised her choice of female companions as well as Beesbury/Stinger who was rumoured to have sired a bastard. However Jaehaerys brushed it off unconcerned that she would get up to any mischief at court with so many watching eyes. Unfortunately, he was wrong.

Then came the incident at the Blue Pearl with Tom Turnip, and her three favourite lordlings (including Stinger who later fought Jaehaerys in his trial by combat) which made matters worse. I highly doubt any other noble lord would have been ok with his daughter cavorting with household knights in a brothel- least of all a KING. When questioned about her actions, Saera really didn’t do herself any favours:

I could marry all three of them, why not? Why should I have just one husband? The Conqueror had two wives, and Maegor had six or eight.” She had gone too far. Jaehaerys rose to his feet and descended from the Iron Throne, his face a mask of rage. “You would compare yourself to Maegor? Is that who you aspire to be?”

After the horrors Jaehaerys and his siblings had endured under Maegor, it’s no wonder he was so shaken by her blase attitude. And again, Alysanne was able to soften his anger and reconcile him to forgive Saera, but she ran away that very night and tried to steal a dragon which sealed her fate.

Alysanne wept when she heard, for she knew her cause was hopeless. Jaehaerys was hard as stone. “Saera with a dragon,” was all he had to say. “Would she have taken Balerion as well, I wonder?”

One of my favourite aspects of this whole saga was Jaehaerys fighting Stinger for her honour, "This old man," just takes me out every single time. Forty-nine year old Jae, taking out nineteen year old Beesbury just reminds me too much of Daemon vs Aemond - WHY ARE FORTY-NINE YEAR OLD TARG MEN SO BADASS?

I also understand that Saera was a plot device to add filial conflict to Jaehaerys’ reign, after all a successful king doesn’t always make a successful father. Jaehaerys was the quintessential medieval monarch with a kingdom to run and keep in order after a very volatile period and Saera was a royal princess and expected to uphold those standards. As Grand Maester Elysar put it, “He was better with roads than with daughters.” I think Jaehaerys had his flaws for sure, but again, this is asoiaf and I really don’t understand how people expect paternal relationships to be as open and affectionate as they are today- seriously look at how fatherhood has evolved in the last fifty years alone and tell me a medieval king would have been braiding his daughter’s hair and having heart-to-hearts with her. He could have done more to understand her, but then we wouldn’t have this embittered storyline and everything would be hunky-dory. That’s not how GRRM works unfortunately.

I am certain Jaehaerys had loved her as a daughter, and her actions had caused him pain which had hardened his heart at the time. But it is also apparent later on that Jaehaerys was hit hard by this event and also mistook Alic*nt for Saera on his sickbed. I also feel heartbroken for Alysanne who lost so many of her children and felt Saera's loss very acutely too. She also became withdrawn and was clearly shaken by all the losses she had endured.

The years had taken their toll on him, and those who knew him well said that he was never the same after his daughter Saera had disgraced and then abandoned him. He had grown thinner, almost gaunt, and there was more grey than gold in his beard now, and in his hair.

The Old King sometimes mistook her for one of his daughters, calling her by their names; near the end, he grew certain she was his daughter Saera, returned to him from beyond the narrow sea.

Anyway I am glad Saera got to set up her own empire and lifestyle (Hot Girl Saera ™), she is arguably the first Targaryen entrepreneur of sorts too. She is most certainly not the feminist kween this fandom treats her as IMO, raise ya standards! Ultimately I wouldn't say I'm a fan mainly because her character didn’t appeal to me, particularly when I read Fire and Blood. Besides, Saera’s domain lies outside my circle of interest and I'm more concerned with what happens to subsequent characters in Westeros.

Hope that answered your question!

[iwriterpstarters]

200 sentence starters

part 5

“I gave them the city, and most of them were too frightened to take it.”

“I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me.”

“Woman, you bray like an ass, and make no more sense.”  

“Woman? Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man.”

“I say, you are mad.”  

“To be sure, I am only a young girl and know little of war. What do you think, my lords?”  

“I would call that proof of his sincerity.”

“All loyalties are uncertain in such times as these.”

“And I shall be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love.”

“But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!”

“Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed.”

“How could he do that? Did his wife treat him so ill?”  

“It is not for such as me to say what might have been in your brother’s heart, Your Grace.”

“The Princess was a good and gracious lady, though her health was ever delicate.”

“But I am not certain it was in him to be happy.”  

“You make him sound so sour.”

“Not sour, no, but... there was a melancholy to the Prince, a sense...”

“A sense... of doom.”

“He/She was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him/her all life.”  

“It was the shadow of Summerhall that haunted him, was it not?”  

“And yet Summerhall was the place the prince loved best.”

“He/She would go there from time to time, with only a harp for company.”

“Even the knights of the Kingsguard did not attend him/her there.”

“He/She liked to sleep in the ruined hall, beneath the moon and stars, and whenever he/she came back it was with a song.”

“It is Ghiscari, the old pure tongue. It means ‘Mother.’”

“Fire consumes.”

“It consumes, and when it is done there is nothing left. Nothing.”  

“Sweet friend. What are you saying?”  

“Nothing I have not said before.”

“Six times, ___? Six times is too many.”

“I dreamt a wolf howling in the rain, but no one heard his grief.”

“I dreamt such a clangor I thought my head might burst, drums and horns and pipes and screams, but the saddest sound was the little bells.”

“I dreamt of a maid at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs.”

“I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow.”[<- probably sansa] She turned her head sharply and smiled through the gloom, right at Arya.

“You cannot hide from me, child. Come closer, now.”

“I see you, wolf child. Blood child. I thought it was the lord who smelled of death...”

“You are cruel to come to my hill, cruel.”

“I gorged on grief at Summerhall, I need none of yours. Begone from here, dark heart!”  

“My lady? You have a baseborn brother... ”  

“He’s with the Night’s Watch on the Wall.”

“Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun.”

“___ wouldn’t care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair...”

“___ looks like me, even though he’s bastard-born.”

“He used to muss my hair and call me ‘little sister.’”

“Just saying his name makes me sad.”

“I wanted to be alone, away from all the voices, away from their hollow words and broken promises.”

“Once, at the Citadel, I came into an empty room and saw an empty chair.”

“Yet I knew a woman had been there, only a moment before.”

“If we leave our smells behind us when we leave a room, surely something of our souls must remain when we leave this life?”

“There’s the wench I remember.”

“You gave her a tourney sword.”  

“I’ll pay her bloody ransom. Gold, sapphires, whatever you want. Pull her out of there.”  

“You want her? Go get her.”  

“Well, what in seven hells do I do now?”

“I ought to lop my left hand off as well, for all the good it does me.”  

“And I’ll serve you the same if you give me trouble.”

“We’re taking the wench.”  

“Her name is ___.”

“I am grateful, but... you were well away. Why come back?”  

“I dreamed of you.”

“First I anger Brother, and now my son, but all I have done is speak the truth.”

“Are men so fragile they cannot bear to hear it?”

“My lord husband is dead, as is my father.”

“Two of my sons have been murdered, my daughter has been given to a faithless dwarf to bear his vile children, my other daughter is vanished and likely dead, and my last son and my only brother are both angry with me.”

“My children sons are dead and daughters lost. What could possibly be amiss?”

“She-bears, aye. We have needed to be.”

“The men would be off fishing, like as not. The wives they left behind had to defend themselves and their children, or else be carried off.”  

“Is this my punishment for opposing him about his brother? Or for being a woman, and worse, a mother?”

“I left my wife at Riverrun. I want my mother elsewhere.”

“If you keep all your treasures in one purse, you only make it easier for those who would rob you.”

“After the wedding, you shall go to Seagard, that is my royal command.”

“That had ended when father decided it was making me soft as a girl.”

“But if you’re stupid enough to try again, I’ll hurt you.”  

“Why don’t you just kill me like you did Mycah?”

“The next time you say that name I’ll beat you so bad you’ll wish I killed you.”  

“Even a fish might have trouble in this river.”

“Still, drowning might be better than King’s Landing.”

“Don’t even think about it.”  

“Then I’ll take as much gold as I can carry, laugh in his face, and ride off.”

“If he doesn’t take me, he’d be wise to kill me, but he won’t.”

“Too much his father’s son, from what I hear.”

“Fine with me. Either way I win.”

“So stop whimpering and snapping at me, I’m sick of it.”

“Keep your mouth shut and do as I tell you, and maybe we’ll even be in time for your uncle’s bloody wedding.”

“Be gentle with yourself.”

“It is good that you have woken, but you must give yourself time to heal.”

“We drowned the wound with boiling wine, and closed you up with a poultice of nettle, mustard seed and moldy bread, but unless you rest...”

“If we are offered refreshment when we arrive, on no account refuse.”

“Take what is offered, and eat and drink where all can see. If nothing is offered, ask for bread and cheese and a cup of wine.”  

“I’m more wet than hungry...”  

“Listen to me. Once you have eaten of his bread and salt, you have the guest right, and the laws of hospitality protect you beneath his roof.”  

“I have an army to protect me, Mother, I don’t need to trust in bread and salt.”

“But if it pleases Lord Walder to serve me stewed crow smothered in maggots, I’ll eat it and ask for a second bowl.”  

“Keep your eyes down and your tone respectful and say ser a lot, and most knights will never see you.”

“They pay more mind to horses than to smallfolk.”

“He might have known Stranger if he’d ever seen me ride him.”

“No one sang the words, but I knew ‘The Rains of Castamere’ when I heard it.”

“I will kill the old man, I can do that much at least.”  

“It hurts so much. Our children, all our sweet babes.”

“Please, make it stop, make it stop hurting...”

“Mad. She’s lost her wits.”

“No, don’t, don’t cut my hair, ___loves my hair.”

“Come with me. We have to get away from here, and now.”

“We have to go get my mother.”

“I am sorry, my lord.”  

“Why? Some cook should be sorry. Not you. The pease are not your province.”

“They are green and round, what more can one expect of pease? Here, I’ll have another serving, if it please my lady.”

“That was stupid. Now I have to eat them all, or she’ll be sorry all over again.”

“I won’t intrude. Dress warmly, my lady, the wind is brisk out there.”

“Kings are falling like leaves this autumn.” “

“It would seem our little war is winning itself.”  

“Write to Lord Frey and tell him. The king commands. I’m going to have it served to ___ at my wedding feast.”  

“Sire, the lady is now your aunt by marriage.”  

“A jest. He did not mean it.”  

“He was a traitor, and I want his stupid head. I’m going to make Sansa kiss it.”

“She/He is no longer yours to torment. Understand that, monster.”  

“You’re the monster, Uncle.”  

“Perhaps you should speak more softly to me, then.”

“Monsters are dangerous beasts, and just now kings seem to be dying like flies.”

“Aerys also felt the need to remind men that he was king. And he was passing fond of ripping tongues out as well.”

“When your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they go to their knees, however, you must help them back to their feet.”

“And any man who must say ‘I am the king’ is no true king at all.”

“When I’ve won your war for you, we will restore the king’s peace and the king’s justice.”

“Oh, my, hasn’t this gotten interesting?”

“___, apologize to your grandfather.”

“Why should I? Everyone knows it’s true.”

“My father won all the battles. He killed Prince Rhaegar and took the crown, while your father was hiding under Casterly Rock.”

“A strong king acts boldly, he doesn’t just talk.”  

“Thank you for that wisdom, Your Grace.”

“I don’t want any dreamwine.”

“Father, I am sorry. Joff has always been willful, I did warn you...”  

“There is a long league’s worth of difference between willful and stupid.”

“‘A strong king acts boldly?’ Who told him that?”  

“Not me, I promise you.”

“The part about you hiding under Casterly Rock does sound like ___.”

“And what were you telling him, pray? I did not fight a war to seat Robert the Second on the Iron Throne.”

“You gave me to understand the boy cared nothing for his father.”  

“Why would he? Robert ignored him.”

“He would have beat him if I’d allowed it.”

“That brute you made me marry once hit the boy so hard he knocked out two of his baby teeth, over some mischief with a cat.”

“I told him I’d kill him in his sleep if he ever did it again, and he never did, but sometimes he would say things...”  

“It appears things needed to be said.”

“Not Robert the Second. Aerys the Third.”  

“The boy is thirteen. There is time yet.”

“That’s unlike him; he’s more upset than he wishes to show.”

“He requires a sharp lesson.”  

“Wars are won with quills and ravens, wasn’t that what you said?”

“I must congratulate you. How long have you and Walder Frey been plotting this?”  

“I mislike that word.”

“And I mislike being left in the dark.”  

“There was no reason to tell you. You had no part in this.”

“No one was told, save those who had a part to play.”

“And they were only told as much as they needed to know.”

“You ought to know that there is no other way to keep a secret - here, especially.”

“My object was to rid us of a dangerous enemy as cheaply as I could, not to indulge your curiosity or make your sister feel important.”

“You have a certain cunning, but the plain truth is you talk too much.”

“That loose tongue of yours will be your undoing.”  

“You should have let Joff tear it out.”  

“You would do well not to tempt me.”

“Oh? Is this something I’m allowed to know, or should I leave so you can discuss it with yourself?”

“A tool for every task, isn’t that how it works? My tool is yours, Father.”

“Never let it be said that my House blew its trumpets and I did not respond.”

“I was made to suffer my father’s follies. I will not suffer yours. Enough.”

“Very well, as you ask so pleasantly.”

“It might serve, but the Snake will not be happy.”

“Far be it from me to question your cunning, father, but in your place I do believe I’d have let Robert Baratheon bloody his own hands.”

“I grant you, it was done too brutally.”

“The Princess need not have been harmed at all, that was sheer folly. By herself she was nothing.”  

“Then why did the Mountain kill her?”  

“Because I did not tell him to spare her. I doubt I mentioned her at all.”

“I had more pressing concerns.”

“That was the thing I feared most.”

“Nor did I yet grasp what I had in The Mountain, only that he was huge and terrible in battle.”

“If Lorch had half the wits the gods gave a turnip, he would have calmed her with a few sweet words and used a soft silk pillow.”

“So Lord Walder slew him under his own roof, at his own table?”

“Slain as well, I’d say. A pair of wolfskins.”

“Frey had intended to keep her captive, but perhaps something went awry.”  

“So much for guest right.”  

“The blood is on his hands, not mine.”

“Explain to me why it is more noble to kill ten thousand men in battle than a dozen at dinner.”

“I had not forgotten, though I’d hoped you had.”

“I am not seeing the body, no, Your Kingliness.”

“Yet in the city, the lions prance and dance.”

“The Red Wedding, the smallfolk are calling it.”

“I was sick unto death of this wretched boy before he was even born.”

“His very name is a roaring in my ears and a dark cloud upon my soul.”

“He is mine own blood. Stop clutching me, woman.”

“And small men curse what they cannot understand.”  

“So tell me why you need this boy to wake your great stone dragon, my lady.”

“Only death can pay for life, my lord.”

“A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”

“Even an onion smuggler knows two onions from three. You are short a king, my lady/lord.”  

“He/She has you there, my lady. Two is not three.”

“A certain Lysene pirate once told me that a good smuggler stays out of sight.”

“Black sails, muffled oars, and a crew that knows how to hold their tongues.”  

“A crew with no tongues is even better. Big strong mutes who cannot read or write.”

“But I am glad to know that someone watches your back, old friend.”

“Will the king give the boy to the red priestess, do you think?”

“One little dragon could end this great big war.”

[ibitchytimemachine]

The Story of Us

Chapter Two!

This is the story of Bulma and Vegeta’s relationship told through the eyes of their sexual escapades. Several chapter fic that when woven together tell the story from beginning to end* of their shared life together. Each chapter happens at a different but important point in their relationship and can be read as a full story or as stand alone stories. My submission for day two of the @tpthvegebulsmutfest!

You can also read on Ao3!

Day Two

Bites

Vegeta

He didn’t know when his life spiraled out of control. He was a dad now, guess he has to come to terms with that since he’s met the boy from the future who claims to be his. These people on Earth are so fickle, one moment they are just fine then the next they are yelling at you for something you should have done. How was I to take care of the artificial humans AND protect the woman from dying? Why don’t one of those humans take up the slack and do something, ANYTHING besides stand around and complain without lifting a finger to help. Things with the humans had been going relatively well, Bulma had seen to it that they kept their tongues and Vegeta had promised to “play nice” whatever that means. But ever since Bulma and the baby had been knocked out of the sky and the boy from the future had saved them, the humans had been treating him poorly again. What did they want from him? Sure he was the Prince of all Sayians and was literally as close to perfection as anyone could get, but he couldn’t do everything for these ingrates. In reality, he had been too distracted trying to catch the blasted Dr. To even realize what had happened until it was too late and still… Oh fuck them! They could have done something! Why is this still bothering me? Vegeta thought as he hugged the lithe creature pressed against his body closer. The only person who mattered was right here with him, and the boy in the room next door also, I guess. But definitely this woman. The only thing that had mattered to him for over a year now in fact. It was so difficult for him to leave to train, but if he hadn’t Vegeta was convinced he would have been way too distracted to have ascended. But he did and now he was the Legendary. It didn’t seem to matter to him anymore, not with all the possibilities his future with the woman held. And yet, he knew he was still holding back from her. He knew it was time, he could feel it in his very being. Each day that passed without him giving into her fully was agony, and now with the Cell Games looming in front of them, Vegeta knew he needed to give in. He was sure they would win, but if for some reason they failed.. he didn’t want the woman to die without knowing how much she had molded the person laying next to her. Almost as if she could feel his thoughts, Bulma rolled over to face him. “Hey you” Her voice sounded like a flute, calm, sweet and airy. It was one of the most beautiful things he could imagine hearing. She looked into his eyes. Something was there just beyond the big bright pools of her irises. They were darker then normal, he recognized it as something he held for much of his life, unable to let it manifest. “Vegeta, I’m scared” there it was - fear, worry “I know you will do everything you can to win, but… what if….. “ her face scrunched up in a frown, her brows gathering. Shit is she going to cry? “Shhhh.” He purred towards her. His fingers found to base of her neck, massaging up into the base of her skull “Woman, Bulma. I have to say…something. I am not good at this.” He looked to her. She opened her eyes took a moment to steady her breathing and brought her eyes to his quizzically. She bit her lip in anticipation of his next words. How was he going to do this? The last time he said anything to this extent he was beaten and… well lets just say that Nappa had a real mess to clean up. Vegeta had learned at a young age that weakness and caring, fear, worry, all emotions besides pride and strength, confidence were looked down upon and punished. He never learned how to … what did they call it? Express himself. Well unless it was cockiness.. he was pretty fantastic at that. No, this was going to be difficult. He could almost feel Nappa in Hell mocking Vegeta for the weakness he had been displaying. Could that bastard come back from the dead to beat the feelings out of him, or try to at least? And besides the taught ideas that expression lead to physical pain, what if the woman was toying with him? What if this was just a coupling of convenience? He had sired her son, but did she care for him the way he cared for her or was this all an elaborate ruse to keep a strong man close by? No he knew he would not be physically punished for revealing his emotions, but the threat of rejection… that was something that worried him to his core. He had nothing, truly without the woman. She placed her hand on his face, rubbing his cheek with the pad of her thumb, could she have read his mind? Why was she looking at him this way. She always had a knack for understanding him even when he was unable to say what he meant. But no, this time would be different. Too long had he pushed her feelings aside to protect his pride, to assuage his fears of failure. Now was the time, the only time he had left to let her know. They could all be dead tomorrow, so it had to be tonight right now - consequences of pride be dammed. “Bulma” her name sighed out of his mouth.

Bulma

Holy shit! He never says my nameShe had watched his indecision for a full five minutes before attempting to comfort him. There was something he wanted, no needed to say. Was he leaving again? Was he finally sick of her and abandoning her and his son? This, whatever it was, was important, big - life changing. She could tell something was on the tip of his tongue from the moment he laid his arm around her waist when they laid down to rest. She locked her eyes with his and waited. As his mouth opened his tongue clicked and he took a deep breath in, seeming to attempt to calm himself. “Bulma,” he said her name again “did I ever tell you about my mother?” Bulma shook her head, confused “she was so strong. She was the only Sayian that was strong enough to fight my father and not die. They were sparring partners. She was an Elite, but her family politically had fallen out of grace. Some sort of scandal involving her younger brother. My father became enamored with her, and entered into courtship ritual without the advisors blessings. Very taboo. She would sing to me, her voice was scratchy, but one of the most serene things I can remember.” Then he began to sing, a low guttural melody that had sharp interjections stabbing into the melodic line. It was beautiful and one of the most melancholy things she ever heard. “That song, was a warriors lament, a lullaby really for Saiyan cubs. We, Saiyans, are taught to not care. I remember I told my mother I loved her in front of my father one day and he broke my arm and three ribs before punching me in the face. I was not yet two years old. She died giving birth to my brother Tarble. That woman, stubborn, refused to pod him. I cried, my heart had been wrenched from my chest. Then my father sent me to Frieza. I refuse to speak of the tortures I endured there, but on my 15th birthday Raditz brought me a woman. I bedded her, it was my first time, she was…. Not the most amazing woman in bed. But she was sweet, and kind. And no one had shown me kindness since my mother. She was…. Lets say take care of. Nappa had to clean up the mess. One by one, each person I had ever cared about was taken from me. Eventually I had no one. Then there was you. My angel, you saved see from myself. My anger, fear and hatred of the universe was rotting my soul. But you saw the real me. How did you do that? You pulled me out of that pit of hell I buried myself in. Never have I cared about someone the way I care about you. Bulma, I love you. You will not hear me say this after tonight, it is not the Saiyan way, but I love you more than you can know. My woman, My Bulma. The one who cleansed my soul and gave me new life. Literally and Metaphorically. You are my life and my savior. I am terrified I will loose you tomorrow. I can not do it. I can not let the world end tomorrow without you knowing what you mean to me. Bulma, be my mate. My life partner, the one who shares my bed, life, heart and soul for all times. If I die tomorrow at least I will die fulfilled as your mate, lover, husband.”

Bulma didn’t know what had just happened. Her breath was taken away. Never had Vegeta talked about his past, never been tricked into it and never willingly gave up any of this precious information. Then what had he said? She felt like she was standing outside of her own body, dizzy and lightheaded. Her breathing picked up “Vegeta, did you just propose to me? You want to be with me forever?” A tear fell down her cheek. “Bulma, I have never wanted anything more than to have you as mine forever. But you should know, once I take you as my mate, I am stuck with you until one of us dies.” He grinned, his joke was not lost on Bulma, she knew she wanted to be his since they first touched on Namek. “Vegeta, I want nothing more than to be yours. I would be with you until our last day, I success or failure, health or sickness, life or death. I love you more than the sun, flowers, my mothers cooking. Dammit Vegeta I love you more than strawberries! I would be by your side regardless if you asked me, if you tried to push me away I would always be here for you. You never had to ask. Form the moment we met, I was yours.”

Vegeta

His heart skipped a beat! He was sure she was gong to turn him down, but she loved him! She was his… well not yet, not officially. His mouth crashed with hers, taking in the warmth of her mouth. He could taste beer and cigarettes on her breath, he had been harping on her to quit those cancer sticks, but he didn’t care right now. All that mattered was him and her in this moment. She pulled his tongue into her mouth sucking lightly on it. She pulled away from him and lightly pressed kisses to his cheeks. Her hands finding those spots on his body she knew made him dizzy with need. He lowered his head to her shoulder and planted gentle kisses. He ran his tongue along her collarbone and planted gentle kisses on that area between her neck and shoulder. Vegeta’s hands were kneading the plump skin of her hips, and pushing the cotton of her pajamas up to expose her breasts. Bulma lifted up to allow the shirt to come off and lay back in place as Vegeta’s lips trailed down her neck to her pert nipple. His mouth descended on it nipping and suckling at the rosy nub. Hands groping her bottom, his body was reacting to the confession, her response his dick was so hard it hurt. He ground it against her clothed pelvis, eliciting a groan of excitement from her. Vegeta’s breath hitched as he felt her hand slide into his sweatpants and grasp his aching shaft. Her thumb rubbed the head massaging his royal crown as he worshiped at her breast. He sat up and slid his pants down his body. He watched as Bulma scurried to follow suit. Vegeta grabbed her hips and pulled her to him, as he lay back down his face smothered in her dripping pussy. Her body lay over his chest and abdomen, she reached for his cock with her hungry mouth. Her lips surrounded his head as Vegeta began to lap, lick and suck at Bulma’s clit. Mutually the two began to ratify their lover with their mouths, wet suckling noises and muffled moans escaping their mouths. Bulma pulled away, “Please Vegeta, I need you” Her voice quavered. Vegeta let go of her and she rolled to the side. He sat up and Bulma moved to him, straddled his lap and began to guide him into her depths. She pulled herself all the way down until he was buried to the hilt inside of her. His eyes met hers. How did he ever deserve this celestial creature before him? He gripped her hips and pulled her into him for a deep, desperate kiss. He needed her, more than anything he ever needed before. HIs breath was taken away when she began to rise slowly, almost letting him slip out of her then she plunged back down. Slowly, with more control of her body than Vegeta gave her credit for she began to move on top of him. She caressed his cheeks while kissing him, holding him in a loving way no other woman ever had. Vegeta’s fingers dug into the flesh of her hips, careful to not damage her. Her tits rubbed against his skin electrifying each move. He broke their kiss and trailed his face to the crook of her neck. She reached around his back, letting her fingers lazily fall down his back, then scratching back up following her motions as she rode his cock. He felt his orgasm begin to build. His tongue slipped from his mouth and licked at her neck. His teeth slid over her skin, then he bit into her neck gnashing his razor like teeth over her fragile skin. He felt her walls begin to flutter around his cock and was surprised as Bulma repaid him in kind biting into his neck and lapping at his blood. Vegeta lost himself in that moment, spilling into her core, amazed at the deep connection the two shared. She almost instinctually knew what was required of her, he never had to tell her. This woman. His woman now and forever was connected to him. His wife. His everything. Vegeta was all of a sudden exhausted. Too many emotions were swirling over and over in his head. Love, contentment, satisfaction all mixed with nerves and fear. Vegeta suddenly felt slightly sick. What would happen tomorrow? He couldn’t loose. He wouldn’t loose. This woman and his child had to live. They were too good. He was done letting evil take everything from him. He would squash the being named cell and he would do it for her.

[imagine-loki]

A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Eighty-Nine

AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature

Loki looked at his wife as she tended to their children. Cleaning their wounds and giving them words of love and pride for their strength and will to fight. She cleaned Danu’s face and gave her a cold wet rag to stop her lip swelling any further. ‘Mother...would he really have stopped me having babies?’

‘Yes, darling.’ she stated, heartbroken that her daughter could have something so natural ripped away from her so brutally. ‘I would never allow that. We would never let them do that to you.’

Kushtrim came over then, looking worriedly at his sister. Maebh looked at him before pulling him to her and kissing his forehead. ‘Hello, my brave boy.’

‘Mother, what happened you? Why were you gone but here?’

‘I do not know.’ she admitted. ‘I cannot understand it myself, all I know is I saw you and...Liulf so ill, after that, I cannot recall much, only that Liulf is gone. But you are here, so strong.’ There was a silence around her at the mention of their youngest brother. Her children not knowing what to say or do. ‘Not talking about him makes it seem like he was never here. He was, he was part of our lives, he was your brother, he will always be your brother.’ her twins nodded. Turning, she saw Loki standing nearby. ‘Vali?’

‘Mother is tending to him.’ he turned to the other two. ‘You both have earned a treat.’ excited, they rushed past their father as their mother rose to her feet again. He walked over to her and wrapped his hands around her. ‘You came back to me.’

‘I never realised I left.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Tired, confused, relieved beyond all measure. How long was I not myself?’

‘A while.’

‘I can see.’ She looked down at her stomach. ‘How resilient can one little creature be?’

‘You are its mother, the answer to that is unattainable.’ Loki smiled.

Maebh took a moment to look at her husband. He had aged somewhat in the time of her lament. His face seemed almost fatigued, she could not remember when the lines on his forehead and near his eyes etched permanently into his skin. She looked into his eyes, they were wearier than she had ever seen. ‘Loki.’ She barely whispered the word. Her eyes filled with her sadness. She had fallen into a darkness, she did not remember but moments from it, she recalled anger to the husband she loved so dearly, and his heartbroken anger in return, she recalled him forcing food into her mouth to eat, and him cleaning her injured shoulder. She also remembered pushing him away, not wanting his touch on her. She did not recall when they had returned to their own home and were no longer staying in the old home of Thor’s, she did not recall when Kushtrim was free to return to them, the last thing she recalled was saying her goodbyes to Liulf, kissing his little forehead and telling him she loved him, she could not even recall his pyre in flames. Looking at Loki, she realised all that had been while she roamed the darkness of her mind, he had continued on, he had kept their family going. ‘I abandoned you.’ The tightness in her voice portrayed her remorse.

Loki shook his head, taking her hands in his. ‘No, No my beautiful Maebh, you got lost, your body remained, but you were lost for a while, you came back though, you returned to ùs, when you were most needed, you were here, as you always are.’ he smiled lovingly. ‘But Norns, how I have missed you.’ Tears of joy in his eyes. ‘I have missed you, my deadly, beautiful love. I have missed you so much.’ he leant down and kissed her, which she returned. ‘You came back to me.’ His relief was on the verge of overwhelming him as he pressed his forehead and nose to hers, his eyes closed.

‘I am here, as is apparently our child.’ she looked down. ‘This was one serious surprise.’ she laughed. Loki smiled fondly at her stomach, placing his hand on it. ‘I...I remember you forcing me to eat, begging me to look after it.’

‘A father is supposed to protect his children,’ Loki winced painfully. ‘I cannot fail again.’

‘Loki, you did not fail Liulf, we...it hurts, it will never cease to hurt that we no longer have him, that he is not here with us, but as I said to Danu and Kushtrim, we must not forget him, that is a disservice to him. None could have protected him. I feel the guilt too, but they would have died in Vanaheim if they had come with us, we could not have protected them there, and the enemy here was not one we could put a sword through.’ she looked at the blood stains in their yard. ‘Or the one that took Liulf at least, that one we did put swords through.’

‘I was not here.’

‘You were in the village, looking after our people.’

‘But had you not awoken...you, the child in you, Dan...our little Danu.’ He shook. ‘My little girl.’ Loki felt nauseous, his little girl, his image, he knew to protect their sister, his sons would have died to do so. It was only because Maebh returned to her true self that they stepped back, that they were saved, and even at that, they were vicious. He realised then the manner his children were being raised. They were loved beyond words, taught kindness, understanding and all manners of education, but behind it, they were ruthless, they would slaughter when required. He knew deep down, that as he aged, they would protect their home, their own families, and in their old age, him and Maebh.

‘It does not bear thinking about. What if I had remained in the cottage the day you came to my home? What if I had killed you before Thor came? What if he had not heeded your words to not harm me? What if Odin did not allow you have me? If the knife had lacerated you in another area? If I died birthing Vali? Can you not see, these are all scenarios that could have been, yet do not exist, we cannot dwell too greatly on them, if we do, we will go mad.’ she explained. ‘Liulf is no longer with us, we can either accept it and mourn him or remain as I was, not truly alive. Loki, I cannot remember our son returning to us, I cannot recall our baby beginning to move in me.’ she was scared to admit it. The last time I truly remember, my shoulder hurt incredibly and your face was marred, now I feel as though I merely slept oddly on my shoulder and you look as you did before. That was not living.’

‘You were a ghost, a shell. As Kushtrim stated, you were here in body, but your mind gone. I was so scared...I thought you were lost, and mother, she was worried you would not think to birth the baby.’

‘I cannot say, I do not know.’ she admitted. ‘But I am myself again now, and I am going to protect our children, as well as find out why UíNeill is coming this far, it is a brave yet stupid move.’ She stated.

Loki looked at her. ‘What needs doing, my love?’

‘We need the heads of the dead men, in a barrel, sent to Vanaheim, with a message to those allied to Midgard.’

‘The message bring, not that the barrel of heads is not clear enough?’

‘I and Asgard, will slice the head of each and every bastard that comes to our land again, daring to hurt our children. In fact, send their manhoods too. That will make them realise what we stand for. I want them to know I did it, I want them to know my wrath.’ she hissed.

Loki nodded. ‘You and your blood.’

‘Our blood. I did not create these little warriors alone, as you like to remind me, you are under the impression you did the difficult part of the task.’ she smiled.

‘I put them there if you recall.’ He smiled lovingly.

‘I am worried for Nafi, for them all really, I worry that UíNeill has mind to harm them.’

‘If what those men said is true, they do not know of the alliance, they will be safe, Heimdall and the others were due there later this week regardless, I have little doubt that has been moved forward now.’

‘Good, we need to make sure they are well armed.’ Loki nodded. ‘Sif?’

‘What of her?’

‘Did she...?’

‘Sif is alive, she tended to Kushtrim until he recovered, she was allowed leave but refused to do so without him.’ Loki explained.

‘I owe her so much.’

‘You would have done the same.’

‘Of course, in a heartbeat. Is it ended?’

‘That we know of.’

‘Good.’ She nodded, looking down, ‘Oh hello.’

Loki’s hand immediately went back to her stomach, a small nudge against his finger a moment later. He smiled as he felt his youngest child make its presence known. He had not felt it before then. ‘It is strong.’

‘Any prediction?’

‘Another boy I think, it sits like the others, you?’

‘I agree, poor Danu, forever the only girl you have sired.’

‘And what a daughter to have sired. Her aim has improved I see.’

‘She tends to train daily or did when I paid heed. She will be a formidable woman.’

Loki put his arms around her, kissing her neck. ‘She will never be mistreated by a man, not with you as a mother.’

‘He would be the brave, dead idiot. She will not stand for it, her brothers will not, nor shall I, I doubt you would either. We would bay for his blood.’

‘Evidently, there will be a line.’ Loki smiled back.

[ecotone99]

[SF] Grandmother Eris. A Disco Fable.

Eris doesn't need worshippers like that limp rag of a Christ. His handwringing supplicants are a plague upon the World already. She asks for no bent knees, no pious penitents, offers no absolution, nor bids her faithful to be washed in the sacrificial gore of some scapegoat's stolen life.

​

She don't roll like Jeehobah, she doesn't need validation from a flock of frightened, sinful sheep, mumbling empty prayers under the judging eyes and false shepherding of a Priesthood of bastards, mountebanks and charlatans. If she bestows upon you, your hearts desire, it is not as some reward for unswerving faith, or dutiful worship.

Nay, it is with the casual indifference of a good natured feaster, casually tossing the remains of the meal to her Hounds. Her gifts are not something that one should strive towards, for she is nothing if not fickle and capricious towards mortals. Would Paris have been so blind in his pursuit of Helen, had he known the terrible price that would be demanded of him?

To incur the displeasure of Hera, and the abandonment of Athena, just so he could play "Hide the sausage" with a Spartan Queen, stolen from under the nose of her Atreides Husband? Had he known every King of Greece was to wage war upon his beautiful Troy, would he have run back to Ilium, abandoning his heart's desire forever, and risk the displeasure of Hermes? (Who would have to find some other chump to judge between Olympus's three biggest narcissists) Maybe, but if not Paris, the task would fall to someone else, for some stories are too powerful not to be told.

It wasn't even the first time sluttish Helen had been "stolen away" for her beauty. Oh no. But the first time, by a Hero so 'pure' he would not bespoil her virgin loins with his mighty seed. *Winks*

No, it was a good, stiff cock that girl yearned for, not the weak, dribbled seed of old man Meneleaus. Her womb demanded she till it's fecundity with the hard stiff, fucking of a young, strong Prince like pretty Paris. And Lady Eris? They fucking SNUBBED Her! Fuck those preening Olympians and their pet Kings and Heroes!

Peleus and Thetis should have as their wedding gift, to see their Olympian Gods and Goddesses for the self obsessed, spoiled bitches and thundering spineless bastards they really were. The vanity of Woman, exemplified beyond mortal comprehension, by the greedy squabbling of deific entitlement.

"For The most Beautiful" She tossed her Hesperidic Apple into the sight of the three most vain, self obsessed, spoiled bratty bitches ever cut from the flesh of a demented child devouring Titan. So greedy, they couldn't even let Thetis, though sired by Zeus himself (but don't mention that in earshot of Hera) their own half Sister, be "The most beautiful", even at her own fucking wedding feast!

Even in her glorious wrath, Eris (who loved a good game above all else) left an option for redemption. All they had to do was allow Thetis to claim the Apple as her wedding gift. Behave in a way fitting, not for Olympian Gods, but as Guests in the House of their hosts on the day of their Wedding.

Daddy Zeus, cock of the fucking block, patron of Hospitality and the bestower of a guest's right to be treated with respect, he could have put his mighty foot down, and slapped his squabbling family of bitches into line with a single word. But no. So spineless was he, so reluctant to have to go back to the Mountain with Hera's haughty disdain and icy cold psycopathic plotting of revenge, he abetted their appalling behaviour.

He said he would mediate the issue, then immediately delegated responsibility to Hermes. Who bottled it too, and picked poor Paris, watching his goats on a hillside. Then each pretty Goddess, in order to be bitchiest bitch in the bitch pile, Apple owning Queen of the spoiled sulk, tried bribing the fucking judge. Unbelievable. Monstrous arrogance. Self obsession taken to it's ugly and catastrophic extreme, with not a thought of consequence, or twinge of conscience. Just as Eris had foreseen.

"Consequence, my pretty ,posing, shamefully behaved progeny? Oh, Grandmother Eris is going to teach you ALL about fucking consequences, you primped up over-privileged priapic bunch of superpowered toddlers! Game on, motherfuckers! (Technically, sibling fuckers, but hey, who's going to point THAT out to Zeus and Hera?)

Eris in one fell move, became Dungeon Master of the Olympian D&D Cabal. The mortal play people, that Olympus had for so long been at a loss what to do with, were going to make some fucking demands of their Gods now. They were going to have to work for their Ambrosia. Learn some diplomacy. How to make concessions, how to back the fuck up a bit, and let these Mortals have their head. Learn some fucking boundaries. Rules. Gamesmanship.

Either that, or it was War in Heaven. With canny Hades, down below, with the souls of all the dead at his command. and jealous plotting, bitter, tricked brother, Poisiedon under the waves, played for the chump again. Waiting for his chance to topple Zeus, and take his rightful turn as crowing cock, King of that dunghill Olympus. No thought for the fact the Earth would be once again under his Ocean, nope, not with him up the Mountain, guzzling barrels of Ambrosia all day long. Thus went the dreams of Posiedon.

And poor Paris, his hard on for Helen was pre-destined to shame the mighty Greeks, and grant them eventual victory over Troy, but to pauper themselves in the process. Agamemnon, proudest and most ambitious King of Mycenae, and Meneleaus, his Brother, King of Sparta, but only by dint of his marriage to (soon to be stolen away) Helen of Sparta. Most puissant Queen that mortal man had ever spawned. Original Trophy Bride, the face that launched a thousand (yet to be built) Ships. Wife of an Atreides, King of the Spartans, mightiest Warriors ever to pick up a Spear. And not really a man who would take being cuckolded by a mere Boy Prince of some far off City with good grace.

This Queen, Helen, was the glue holding the loose confederation of Greek City States together with her dowry, her beauty, and her placement at the tip of the triumverate of powers, Sparta, Athens, and Mycenae.

Casually promised to pretty boy Paris, as his reward for Judging in favour of Aphrodite. Her of the bottomless cunt. So the greedy eyed, cock hungry Daddy's girl, gets what she wants. A fucking Apple. With 'Kallisti' wrote upon it's golden skin.

"Cock-a-doodle me, prettiest of the three you two ugly bitches, bow down to me"

Wisdom was not this jiggly titted honey dripping slut's forte. Olympus's in house rutting whore, Hungry cunted Goddess of sluts, skanks, and cum guzzling slags everywhere with a libido that surpassed even Zeus himself. Her proudest party trick was a cock in each hole, one between her pouty lips, and one in each hand, then bringing them all to bone juddering climax simultaneously, to the enthusiastic applause of those living up the Topside. Proto-Bimbo-Barby slut guts. (Still would though, if you know what I mean) "Attagirl" Zeus would say, under his breath.

Because Zeus openly admiring any female that wasn't Hera, just sent Hera off into one of her squawking rages.

Slowly, the events set into motion by these blustering bragging irresponsible Olympians were coming together, mortal man's day was here, these unconsidered playthings, whose whole existence was so carefully guarded by Foresight and his brother, Hindsight , (Prometheus and Epimethius) and bought at such a price by noble Prometheus, now had the teeth that Zeus always feared.

Now do you start to see the depth of Eris's gamesmanship? See how her carefully planned vengeance would teach them ALL to behave a little bit better? Now Zeus would really have to put the family to work! Each Olympian designated a sphere of mortal influence, having now to barter their good graces to this scurrying thing, Man, for goats and prayers and promises of fealty, and should they waver in their diligence, the balance between the triumverate Sons of Cronos, Posieden, Zeus and Hades, would crumble, the Kraken would awake, and the World would be lost.

The Demigods Zeus had so carelessly spawned with any woman shaped thing his dick fancied poking, had founded the dynasties of Man's Kings, and they all looked to Olympus. They could withhold their worship, or turn away, towards other new Gods. They would even be forced to flee to Egypt and disguise themselves with Animal heads while Heracles sorted the Titan "threat" out for them. He freed Prometheus from his chains on the mountainside too, which Zeus can't have been too happy about.

And in this way, with acts of service, Man's Heroes, Heracles, Theseus, Perseus, Bellerophon, Achilles, Atreus, Orpheus, all had Zeus's blood in them, and all founded Dynastic Houses, dedicated to their patron Gods. . . Deific inter-personal politics had to be learned by Olympus. The ages of Man grew, from Archaic, Classical, Hellenistic, as Greece became more and more apart from it's Gods. The mystery cults of the Orphic Mysteries, the Oracular Pythonesses, and their attendant Priesthoods now held sway, and 'spoke' for the Gods these days. Anyway . . .

​

Eris sits back in her rocking chair, playing Donkey Kong on her old Nintendo Gameboy, while Zeus bemoans the eventual fall of Greece to Rome, and having to adopt Romanised forms in order to survive. Eris, although Grandmother of Zeus, and older than the first thought, still as quietly powerful as ever (since her Game had never depended upon people's belief) rocks slowly, her hand rolled cigarette hanging from her smiling lips, says to Zeus, most mighty of the Olympians,

"Sack up, Boy, you had your day in the fucking sun didn't you? You did deeds, great and small, noble, and base, and your name is still written in the dusty books of Epimetheus's little side project, Man, right?"

Zeus nods glumly.

"They still sacrifice to you, The Thunderer, don't they? Your bolts of lightning still get to feed you, Zeus, now and again?"

"But they strap the sacrifices into a chair of wood, Grandmother. HUMAN sacrifices! (Zeus always preferred Goats.) They begin to show the disease of Cronos, in the way they feed upon one another, their young, their Wars, all so senseless" He sighed.

"And where did they get that trait from then, eh? You! You sticking your priapic pecker into their women! You passed Cronos down to them,.. . They are just doing with the gene what they have to, NEED to!"

​

"And Zeus" said Eris . . . Zeus looked up, his mighty brow, furrowed and anxious. "Since when did you, an Olympian and a God, the Mighty Thunderer, Zeus, first of the mighty age of Gods, since when did YOU start to even give a fuck?" she said, her eyes a twinkle . . .

"Since you fucking MADE us all give a fuck, Grandmother. . . you scheming old Bitch . . .I CARE now, I feel things like . . like I suppose mortals do" Eris nodded, sagely. Waiting for her notoriously slow witted thuggish Grandson to follow his thoughts . . .

"Are we to die like mortals too? Is that what we have come to? An Ignomious death, falling in the dirt, leaving our bones to bleach under the Sun of the next fucking Sun Hero the monkeys nail up?"

"What am I, some kind of fucking agony Aunt for your morose self pity party? Get up off your flabby arse, you moody emo twat, I didn't raise me no whiny lil bastards! Well . . . I did, but you're all grown up now . . . Grown. You're a badass thunderbolt wielding son of fucking Chaos, get up and act like it. . .

You don't like your sacrifices all Human and fried? TELL them! MAKE them fucking listen. You're a GOD, for God's sake! You're still Boss of that piss poor Crew, sat up the Mountain, glugging ambrosia like it was cheap gin, shake them up some, get a rocket under their arses too, go and do some fucking Godding! I mean it, now get up, and fuck off! I'm sick of the sight of your droopy mawkish face!"

Zeus, stung by the rebukes, and as always, more than a little afraid of this flapping old crone (funny, she was beautiful, young, and vibrant not five minutes ago) gets up, and slouches towards the door. "Forgetting something?" She says. "I don't think so" says Zeus,still sulky.

"COME HERE . . . and give your old Nan a fucking KISS, you disrespectful little bastard!" She screeches at him, all crackly fire and sour piss now, incandescent with sudden rage.

Afraid, but (Quite rightly) more afraid of the consequences of disobeying her, Zeus the Mighty turns, and chastely kisses her on her wrinkly cheek . . . " That's better" she says, mollified. "You soppy cunt" she says, affectionately" . . ."I love you too Nan" he says, as hopeless as any seven year old boy around his cranky old Grandmother.

"You know what, I'm proud of you Zeus, and I love you best. Out of all my ill-considered brats, and their own, over-entitled whelps, you are the one I was always so hard on (I said "hard on" she giggled) You know why?"

"No" he said . . .

"Because YOU were always the slowest, most dim- witted of your siblings, the stupid , dumb one, the one everyone else took the piss out of. Even though you could take either of those nasty little brothers of yours on, and pull their fucking arms and legs off, if you wanted to. "Zeus the Goose, thick as a Moose" they'd say, behind your back."

"But you never did. You showed restraint, and ignored them. . . . Well, until it all came to a head at least. Hades was a nasty, cruel little swine, with no sense of fun in him, but when he teamed up with that sneaky, duplicitous cunt Posiedon, and tried to topple you once and for all, well, I wasn't having that"

"You think you outwitted Posiedon with that 'three way power sharing' bollocks all by yourself?" She said.

"I had to get in there first and dose him up with Cough syrup and Ativan so that YOU'D not be the one swimming around with the fucking fishes! Or stuck down there in Hades forever, looking after the dead. Pffft"

"Now get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you've done whatever the fuck it is you're going to do . . . Oh, and when you do come back" . . . . She paused, all sweet old Lady now, . . . "Bring us back a bottle of Bristol Cream from Tescos' love, can you?" "Yes Nan" says Zeus, "And thanks Nan, you da best. . . ." and walks out the door.

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