#and who are the two people in Westeros who need each other?

[entitled-fangirl]

A brilliant melody.

Cregan Stark x quiet!reader

Summary: Cregan marries a woman who never speaks. When she finally does, he feels his heart melt three times over.

Warnings: SMUT (p in v), talk of abuse, tears

A/n: I've been wanting some kind of cool transitions for my writing. Like instead of the "...", some people have really cool art there. Does anyone know how to do that? I hope that makes sense 😬

Masterlist

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She was quiet. 

Being surrounded by the loud men of the north made her a quiet girl.

Cregan wasn't sure what to do with her. 

…

"You're a meek thing, aren't you?" Cregan asked as the two walked the courtyard of Winterfell.

In one day, they'd be wed. Bonded for life.

She only nodded.

She only ever really nodded or shook her head. 

He hummed as they continued walking. 

Her father had told Cregan of this days before, as if it was a defect that could put a halt to their betrothal plans. Cregan made sure to assure her father that it was not.

After all, she could speak. She just chose not to.

"Winterfell is beautiful in the winter," he began to ramble. "When the snow falls, it covers all of this in its brilliant white. Do you enjoy the snow?"

She considered his question and gave a small nod.

He grinned, "That's my northern girl. Luckily, Winterfell is warm." He noticed the light shiver in her frame. "Perhaps we should go back indoors. Don't want my future bride to freeze before I can place my house cloak upon her shoulders?"

…

True to his word, Cregan managed to place his cloak over her shoulders the very next day. It was a wondrous ceremony filled with many from across the North. 

Everyone gawked at the beauty of the new Lady of Winterfell.

But when one-by-one they moved to speak to her, Cregan was quick to deny them.

The two enjoyed the feast after. Seated at a high table, Cregan often leaned over to whisper things to her.

"You look radiant. Like the sun itself."

"I do believe the other lords may be envious that I have captured the most gorgeous woman of Westeros."

"I do wish you'd eat more. You've hardly touched the plate."

It was a strange sight, seeing such a burly brute of a man whisper sweetly to his wife.

"Is something bothering you?"

She shook her head.

Cregan sighed. "I've only known you for a few days, but I do believe I recognize the shaking of one's hands to associate with nerves."

It was true. Her hands shook violently.

"Is it the bedding ceremony?"

She shrugged.

His brows raised and he leaned closer, "You can be honest with me. I… I want you to be honest with me."

The woman looked down at her hands in thought. Finally, she looked back up at him and nodded.

"Aye. I see." Cregan leaned away and rested his elbows on the table, his head in his hands as he rubbed at his forehead. "Then I'll call it off."

He didn't miss the way her brows pulled together.

"The ceremony, lovely. I'll call it off." 

…

Not long after, Cregan stood and held his hand out to her. "May I dance with you, dear wife?"

She grabbed his hand with enthusiasm. It seemed she didn't need words, for expressions were enough.

He smiled at her as he lead her to the dance floor. 

Cregan was a lousy dancer. Being a northern lord meant there were many more important matters than learning how to properly dance. So, it was put aside. 

He knew the steps in truth, and he could lead just fine, his steps were just too harsh, his movements too calculated. 

It was just not how he expressed himself.

She, though, was marvelous.

It was as if each step was not one of a practiced art. It was as if it was how she naturally moved. 

Cregan was in so much awe that he nearly forgot to continue the lead. 

She didn't need words to express herself. Her movements were enough.

He felt as if he was finally seeing her. 

And she was beautiful.

The song ended, to Cregan's surprise as he snapped from his thoughts, and the guests clapped for their Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

…

Honoring his word, Cregan forbade the ceremony. No other living creature would be a witness to their consummation but the two of them.

After laying her upon the rich furs upon their bed, he was careful to properly prepare her to take him. 

Now, he forced himself to do so slowly, his hips slowly pushed to meet hers as he entered her.

She hissed lightly at the pain, and he swore he heard a small noise come from her throat instinctually.

He began to wonder what her voice sounded like.

Once seated in her fully, he paused to give her a moment to breathe. Her breath was quickened and her hands gripped his biceps as she tried to regain herself.

Cregan placed a light kiss to her lips, basking in the newness of her lips against his, as well as the eagerness she gave back as they did so.

Her hands slid up to cup his cheeks, suddenly gaining confidence.

"Have you adjusted, pretty girl?"

He shifted his hips, not thinking much as he waited for her response.

The sweetest breathy moan left her lips.

Cregan's eyes widened, and he had to stop himself from letting his lust take over then and there.

He tucked his face into her neck, laying heavy kisses along the way. "Easy now. Just tap me to stop."

And with that, he began to move his hips.

Not much came from her lips. She was used to not using her voice, that it almost seemed as if it was more work to use it then stay silent. It was hard for Cregan to tell her feelings, so he often had to tilt his head back up to gauge her reaction by her expressions alone.

He didn't realize how much he spoke in general until he was around her. How someone could happily be so silent, he wasn't sure.

But if the scratching against his back was any measure, he'd say he was pleasing her well.

"You're taking me so pretty."

She practically preened at his praise, her breath catching or escaping each time.

At one point, he pressed his hips firmly to hers, reaching deeper than he had before.

His face found its way to her neck again, her hands pulling at his hair.

But he paused, catching his breath and trying to instill a reaction from her.

Her hands recaptured his hair and pulled again. When he still didn't move, she tried to shift her hips to gain more friction. He was enjoying every second, despite the mere torture it was to not chase his own high.

He pressed a sloppy kiss to her neck, "Patience."

Her motions should have been enough of a reaction for him, but he wanted more. He'd do anything to hear her voice more. 

One of his hands moved down to her clit, pressing his thumb down and circling the bundle of nerves. 

A small whine came from her throat.

He felt warmth spread across his body, "Needy, aren't you?"

Her hand made a last-ditch effort to pull at his hair. He could hear her barely contained breath in his ear and a small voice.

"…Cregan… please…"

Cregan almost finished then.

Her voice was so soft. So sweet. Hoarse from its lack of use and so breathy. 

It was beautiful.

But guilt overshadowed all of that. He shouldn't have pushed her to the point of speaking. 

His hand trailed up her body to the bed, preparing himself again. "I won't deny you any longer. I'll give you what you want, sweet girl."

…

She began to speak to him after that. 

The times were few and far between, but nonetheless, he never took a single word for granted. 

Because she only spoke to him. 

 She never spoke her mind in full, so Cregan took it upon himself to do it for her. 

In meetings, she'd pull at his sleeve, prompting him to instinctually bend his head down towards her to properly hear her soft voice amongst the others. That was how she contributed to meetings: to tell her thoughts to the only one there she trusted. Over time, the men in the meetings caught on, and would pause to hear what the Lady had to say. It was a game of telephone, barely hearing a peep from the woman as she spoke to Cregan, and he voiced it aloud in his own manner. 

When they walked through the busy streets of the city, he kept his hand wrapped around hers, promising to give his attention to her when she squeezed it tightly.

Outside of their chambers, their form of communication was touch, often tapping one another gently. 

Inside, however, soft exchanges were common. She would only speak calculated thoughts, not one to ramble, but she would talk of her day, her newest book, or questions of things she always wondered about the man. 

In turn, he'd respond in the same manner, quieting himself naturally to match her tone as the two gazed into the flames of the fire that warmed the room.

"I wish you'd dance more."

Her head snapped up to him with furrowed brows.

"You're a beautiful dancer. I only wish I could see it more." He leaned against the back of the sofa. "Who taught you?"

"My mother," she spoke softly. "She was wonderful."

He smiled when he noticed the reminiscent look in her eyes at the thought of her mother. He pushed a strand of her hair from her face. "Tell me about her."

She leaned into his touch. "Father mocked me when I wouldn't speak. Said it was shameful. But mother always told me that feelings are expressed by actions rather than words."

"How so?" He absentmindedly asked.

"Men often say that they love their wives, but their actions are rather the opposite."

He hummed as he considered it. "Have I ever made you feel that way?"

"No."

It was the quickest response he'd heard from her. It only fueled his need to know as much as he could. To know her fully.

"Have you always been so quiet?"

As if a switch had been flipped, everything about her quieted.

Her breathing. Her voice. Her expressions. Her thoughts.

Silent. 

Whatever had happened had to have been traumatic to instill such a reaction from her.

"Forgive me. That was too forward, even for me to ask-"

"-I don't wish to talk about it today."

He felt relieved that his question hadn't dissolved her trust in him completely. 

"Well," he pulled her to him. "When you are ready to speak, I shall listen."

…

The next day, Cregan meticulously planned. And his efforts had paid off. 

She walked into the meeting room at the same time she did every week, to see it lacking its usual members. 

The table was pushed off to the side, and Cregan stood in its place as he donned a bright smile at the sight of her. 

Against the back wall, a few musicians stood with their instruments. 

Confusion spread through her and a wave of anxiety as well, prompting her to only stare at him blankly.

He was quick to correct it, stepping forward towards her. "I've excused the council today. I… I wanted to see you dance again."

Once her mind warmed up to the idea, a bright smile came across her face, accepting the hand that he extended to her. 

"I must admit, my love," Cregan said as he stepped in time with the music. "I am not a gentle man. But I am trying. For you."

She nodded, not daring to speak her overwhelming thoughts at the moment. 

…

After, they sat at the large dining table, the emptiness of it mattering not to the two lovers who sat together at one end.

"My uncle," she stated, breaking the silence.

His head tilted up to meet her gaze, "Hmm?"

Her cheeks turned a slight pink, "You asked how I became so quiet." 

Recognition flowed over his face, "Ah. Yes, I did." He sipped his wine and leaned towards her. "Your uncle, then?"

She nodded. 

"He was unkind to you?"

She picked at the skin of her fingers, seemingly reliving the moments in her mind. 

A battle within herself.

He put a hand on her thigh, "I will not force you to tell me things you do not wish to."

"I do," she insisted. "But I know not how to."

"Begin to speak, and I shall piece it all together."

She took a deep breath. "My uncle hit me when I spoke out of turn. At first, at least. Then… it was whenever I spoke at all."

He felt ice go down his veins and a feeling like a rock going down his throat. 

But being such a skittish thing, he knew not to react too harshly.

"When I told my father, he…" her eyes became glassy. "He said he was right for it. That… that a girl was made to only… shut her mouth and open her legs."

He couldn't keep it in anymore. "And you believed them?"

"When I spoke to you for the first time, I feared you'd be the same."

"I bask in the sound of your voice, my girl. I hope that you see that."

A warm tear ran down her cheek as she looked up at him.

"Oh, sweet woman," he cooed as he cupped her cheek. "Do not cry over false words."

When more tears began to fall, he quickly pushed her chair out from the table and pulled her into his lap.

She tucked her face into his neck, melting against him as if she wished to disappear. 

He held her close, not caring when his tunic became damp. When he did speak, it was soft and assuring whispers.

Once she caught her breath, she pulled away from him. "Forgive me."

"I don't believe I will."

Her eyes widened, and he realized his mistake in word choice. 

"Sweet girl, you've nothing to apologize for. That's all I meant."

She relaxed at that. She reached up and wiped her cheeks with a sniffle. "Actions have always spoke more than words."

He reached up and brushed a stray tear from her cheek. "Have they?" He asked softly.

She felt a smile come to her lips at his touch. "You are different. You could speak or act, and still, I'd only hear a brilliant melody to which I can always trust."

He never felt such love radiate as it did then.

.......................................

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, Valyrian blood (dragon rider), and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: APPARENTLY THIS IS A GUY NAMED DAVOS BLACKWOOD. But he literally IS Bloody Ben. So he's staying Bloody Ben.

P.s. I'm ageing Benjicot up so he's around 24 or whatever age you want him to be that's over 18 <3

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・It wasn't an arranged marriaged. No, not by any means.

・You had been sent by your Queen to remind the Houses of Westeros their pledge to her. And Rhaenyra had chosen you to go to the Blackwoods.

"I expect you will be welcomed warmly," her Grace said with a warm smile.

You bowed your head and returned the smile.

・You always felt safe around Rhaenyra, she was someone very close to you. Someone who you would fight to the death for.

・The first time Benji saw you, his heart stopped...which was a very fair reaction as you were atop your fearsome dragon, The Cannibal.

・You bonded with the wild dragon when you were 13 - it was the first day of your periods and you were sick and tired of being without a dragon.

・It was in your blood. And you were done waiting.

・Your first flight with Cannibal was difficult - although the blood magic seemed to be strong between the two of you.

・You were the exact person he was waiting for.

・So when your duty came to aid Queen Rhaenyra; she did asked for you to unite with a House through marriage

・That was heavy - a big duty that you did not think would need to happen, since you bonded with Cannibal. Wouldn't you be put on the front lines straight away? Her answer was no.

・But you knew the realities of war and faced your duty head on (you know Cannibal will always defend you)

・Your marriage was a significant one. All the Blackwoods were invited, and Rhaenyra was there to oversee the ceremony.

・However, having all of your family there would have been another Red Wedding, so only a few choice people from your side could be invited.

・Nonetheless, it was absolutely beautiful.

・Dragonfire lit the skies, chasing away the dark. Even Cannibal was having a good time. There were tributes made to him - sheep, cow, goats galore. You swore you saw him smiling.

・What you absolutely weren't expecting was Benji to INTERACT with Cannibal...

・He brought up a bull from the biggest hoard they had. Benji watched as the dragon practically gulped the animal down. However, he wasn't scared - he was impressed. And intrigued.

・You were absolutely moved by Benji's act. Truly. Because it showed his bravery. His daring. And of course his caring. You knew, you could feel the way Cannibal was feeling - and he trusted this Blackwood.

・So you decided to give him a wedding present. A fly.

・By doing so, you broke down every single one of Benji's walls and he knew you were the one for him. His wife. His firt and only one.

・After a tough day, and you both go to your chambers; he'll grab your arm and kiss your wrist. A physical way of saying "I'm so glad you're alive and mine."

・Learns High Valyrian for you. He wanted to surprise you with it. And surprise you he did.

・You call each other: Ñuha jorrāelagon (my love), Ñuha prūmia (my heart),

・ A very particular sentence that Benji says a lot is: Nyke pendagon nūmāzma ao everyday (I think about you everyday)

・Of course he knows you can protect yourself; but that doesn't stop him from defending you. You're his world now. You mean so much to him.

・No body thought this union would work as well as it had.

・So, Bloody Ben & The Rider of Cannibal became a formidabble pair that made men tremble wherever they went.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Like Calls To Like

The Gomez & Morticia Adams

"Think they'll try us?" x "Fuck I hope so."

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Unbreakable Bond

Growth through Adversity

Bickering and Banter

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter

The Politics & The Life by Daniel Pemberton

O Verona by The City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・Gives you complete and utter respect both in and out of the bedroom.

・Has never and will never push you to do anything you don't want to do

・The first time you were together, it felt like your bodies were on fire. Meant to burn together. The words kept replaying over and over in your head as he touched you. A deep yearning overtook you and suddenly time stopped.

・His lips were warm, his hands cold but when he took off his clothes, you couldn't help but grin.

・There's such desire between you two that even your mount can sense it.

・Your sex life is very active - at least once a day. Maybe you're in your Honeymoon period, but you cannot keep your hands off one another when you're alone

・And when you're at feasts, Benji's hands find their way down your thigh, and slowing inching inbetween them.

"Really, here? Now?" You asked n a hushed tone, trying not to draw any attention to either of you.

"Yes. Here, now. Or we can go into the hallway and I will ravish you there. Upto you, wife."

[synchodai]

I get this impression that House of the Dragon doesn't get that "named" heirs aren't really the norm in Westeros. If it were that easy for someone to just give everything to their favorite child, Randall Tarly wouldn't have needed to force Sam to go to the Wall and Tywin could have simply chosen Cersei over Tyrion as heir of Casterly Rock.

If we look at the history Westeros borrows from, the concept of "naming" heirs wasn't really a thing in medieval England. Landed gentry didn't have direct say over the order of succession until the Statute of Wills in 1540. Before then, land and subsequent titles could only be inherited through agnatic primogeniture.

Agnatic primogeniture prioritized the living, eldest, trueborn son. Claims can only be passed on patrilineally. This means that a grandaughter can inherit a claim of her grandfather's titles through her father, but a grandson cannot be given the same through his mother. However, if his mother finally does have land and titles under her own name (not under her father's), only then does her son and other children enter the line of succession.

The reason it was like this was because it kept land and titles under one family. Daughters are less preferred because when they are married, they become part of their husband's family — meaning that any titles they receive will be inherited through a new line. This wouldn't be an ideal situation because it gives two families claims to the titles. The more claimants there are, the more unstable the hold the owner has.

In other words, agnatic primogeniture was practiced for stability. Because back in the day, titles weren't just property or land. They came with governorship over a people, so a stable and predictable transfer of titles was necessary to avoid civil conflicts and questions of legitimacy.

A landed lord or lady wasn't given the right to designate heirs for a few reasons:

Most of them were vassals who oversaw the land in the name of someone higher up. It technically isn't even theirs to give away (see: feudal land tenure).

The wishes of a human being are less predictable than having a determined line of succession based on birth order. What if he becomes incapable of declaring an heir either through illness or disability? What if he's captured and a bad actor forces him to name this person heir under threat of violence?

People died unexpectedly all time. This was before germ theory and modern medicine — child mortality was extremely high. With no refrigeration technology, a single poor harvest could mean dying from starvation. Bandits, cutthroats, and raiders were a constant threat. They could not afford to rely on a person choosing a different heir every time the old heir drops dead, because the landed lord/lady could die just as suddenly.

Even 21st century families stab each other in the back over who gets grandma's house — so imagine having an uncertain line of succession in the middle ages over a life-defining lordship and without a modern-day court system to mediate.

Going back to HotD, whenever Targaryens did go against the established line of succession, they could only have done it by consolidating the support of their vassals. Only royalty seemed to have the power to bend agnatic primogeniture, but even then they were beholden to it.

When Jaehaerys I ascended the throne over Aerea, it was mainly because there were those who saw Maegor the Cruel's act of disinheriting Jaehaerys as null and void. This restored Jaehaerys place in the line of succession above Aerea.

And when Rhaenys was passed over for Baelon, Jaehaerys had to convene his lords and offer compelling reasons as to why — her young age, her lack of an heir, her Velaryon last name, etc. It wasn't a given that just because she was a woman that she was ineligible. If he was doing it purely out of misogyny, he still had to legally justify his misogyny in order to strip away her rights.

Even after consolidating support, the book mentions Jaehaerys I and Viserys I's respective hold on the crown was still weakened. Even though their claims were backed by reasons cosigned by a powerful majority, they still had to ensure the security of their rule through other means. There were people who doubted their right to rule, and those people had to be placated with gifts (by Viserys) or intimidated into submission (by Jaehaerys).

So we come to Viserys I who never gave his vassals a reason why Rhaenyra should supercede his three sons other than, "I said so." Had he convened with his lords and maybe made the argument that a first marriage takes precendence over a second one, then maybe he could have set a new precedent and gathered support.

But no, he didn't. He relied on the power of his own words and the lords' personal oaths — oaths that he didn't exactly plan how he would enforce posthumously.

And the Realm did not choose to adopt a different succession law after Jaehaerys's designation of Baelon in 92 AC or the Council of Harrenhal choosing Viserys on 101 AC. If those two events did change anything, it was that now women were exempt from the line of succession for the crown and only the crown. It did not set the precedence that monarchs could freely choose heirs. It did not upend the whole system; it only made a tweak, as most lawful policy-changes do, by carving out at an exception. It was a committee, not a revolution.

Before and after the Dance, no other monarch, lord, or lady "declared" an heir that went against agnatic primogeniture, save for Dornish who have cognatic (equal-gender) primogeniture instead. Ramsay had to get rid of Roose Bolton's living trueborn son AND be legitimized by the crown in order to be recognized as heir (only a crowned monarch can legitimize baseborn children which is another world-building pillar a lot of people miss). Randall basically had to force Sam to abdicate because he wanted his younger brother to inherit instead. And of course, Tywin despite his intense hatred of Tyrion is forced to acknowledge him as his heir.

The rigidity of the line of succession is a major and constant source of conflict in the series, so it baffles me that people really thought that characters could just freely choose their heirs. That's why we have a civil war. It wasn't a misunderstanding. It's the expected consequences of someone carelessly going against a foundational tenent of the society they inhabit.

[spacerockfloater]

hi! i noticed you learnt about what ryan condal said regarding blood and cheese. it was…something. i would like to know your thoughts on the matter. though it would be completely understandable if you need sometime to gather them together or if you would rather not at all! thank you and bye!

Hello beloved, thank you so much for asking me! I’d love to share my opinion!

If anyone’s wondering, @rhaenelle is referring to this interview where Ryan Condal essentially says he believes that Blood & Cheese’s brutality and heinousness was exaggerated by the Greens in a propagandistic attempt to convince their subjects that Rhaenyra and Daemon are the worst villains ever born, hence why he toned the event down; to show us what he thinks is the accurate version of Jaehaerys’ murder.

Now, I am aware that Condal had already warned us that HOTD was going to be a feminist retelling of the events of F&B, which practically means that his plan has always been to whitewash the everlasting fuck out of Rhaenyra. So what do I think about this?

Well, for starters, I think that Ryan Condal is an excellent businessman. He knows what kind of tropes are going to make the audience engage with his show. He understands that people need a hero to cheer for and a villain to hate, therefore he removed the moral ambiguity from all of the characters and divided them into two categories: the Blacks, enlightened revolutionaries full of passion, deserving of admiration and correct in everything they do, and the Greens, pious fools with a moral superiority complex who are stack in the ways of the past and commit despicable crimes. The average viewer does not possess the intelligence to comprehend that both parties have their good and bad moments, and that they’re both correct in fighting for what each believes is rightfully theirs. Simultaneously, he benefits from the modern trends that want women in media to take revenge when they are wronged and emerge as triumphant girlbosses, because of course a white upper class woman’s suffering in a western world (or Westeros) society has everything to do with her gender and nothing to do with her personality or decisions (even if this works solely for Rhaenyra, because Alicent seems to be held accountable for every single one of her actions). Finally, it is obvious that Condal is trying to appease disgruntled Daenerys fans, so he has rebuilt Rhaenyra into this tortured martyr that wishes to change the world for the better in an attempt to make her resemble her great granddaughter six times removed.

For all of these reasons, I find it very logical that he is going out of his way to minimise the tragedy the Greens experience. It just doesn’t make Rhaenyra look good and honestly, who wants that? The producers saw how unhappy Danny’s stans were when they made her lose her shit; they’re not going to make the same mistake twice. They don’t want their show to tank like the last season of GOT did, so they’ll do everything in their power to keep the audience happy. And it’s working! What’s the last thing Condal says in this clip? “You kinda start rooting for [Blood and Cheese]!” and boy oh boy, the TB stans sure do! Literally hundreds of memes that rejoiced at Jaehaerys’ death were posted on X this week, with tens of thousands of likes. But when Lucerys died, it was presented as the most foul thing to ever happen in the ASOIAF universe. It is the TB supporters that dictate which child murder is good and which is bad, and that decision usually depends on which child came out Rhaenyra’s womb, not let’s say, the fact that one kid was a toddler that could barely walk, while the other was a teenager that laughed at the disabled person he mutilated himself.

It’s all just marketing

That being said, I want to clarify that I understand why Condal and the HOTD producers do what they do, but being a good entrepreneur does not necessarily make you a literary genius. Now, I’m not gonna explain why stripping Rhaenyra off of every character trait that made her interesting is a bad decision and that in their attempt to remove the blame from her so that they can elevate her as this righteous patron of feminism, they’re accidentally removing all of her agency and turning her simply into a victim, because I have a whole blog dedicated to that. But let’s just say that presenting Rhaenyra as this sexually liberated idol that’s incapable of evil, when in fact she’s an entitled aristocrat who’s completely at the mercy of men around her, from her father to her husbuncle, is the most performative activism move ever pulled in recent TV history, as well as pushing the narrative that Alicent suffers from internalised misogyny because duh, a woman can only be good and a feminist if she supports Rhaenyra, not when she pursues her own interests.

Ultimately, I think we just have to accept that this show is not meant for TG fans. We are not going to find any satisfaction in it. Everything that was unique and admirable about the Greens in the book has vanished. Their family dynamic is fucked up, Alicent’s children hate her, Aegon and Halaena cannot stand one another, Alicent is constantly a victim and never someone that chases her own ambitions, Halaena is very vague, Aemond appears to be more angsty than angry, Aegon is a stupid rapist, Jaehaerys’ death was turned into a mockery, Alicole was weaponised in order to make us shit on Alicent and Criston even more and so on. This show barely caters to us because we’re not making them any money.

The reason that there are more TB than TG stans is because (I’m gonna get so much fucking hate for this) most people who watch TV are fucking morons. I swear, when F&B came out 6 years ago, no one gave a flying fuck about Rhaenyra, because we all understood that everyone involved in the Dance of the Dragons was fucked up in their own way and that the message of this story, just like the general message of ASOIAF, is that nobody deserves to sit on that fucking throne. We were all in agreement about that. But then this fucking show came along and all the oblivious simpletons that swallowed whatever the producers shoved down their throats, grabbed the book and decided that “Woah, this book is obviously a critique on patriarchy and Rhaenyra is obviously the victim of the story”! As if GRRM, the man who said that he doesn’t sit down and think “Oh, I’m going to write a woman now” but instead he believes women to be people just like men, with complex personalities, would ever do that. And they just can’t believe that it is possible for book!Rhaenyra to be an evil racist classist full of entitlement! Surely it must be because the Greens are rewriting history! There’s no way GRRM, the man that created Cersei fucking Lannister, would ever make a female character that’s vicious and crazy just because she feels like it! Y’all need to sit down for a moment. I say this as a radical feminist that supports the 4B movement: you’re projecting your own ideas onto George’s work. Not all the media we consume has to reflect our ideologies, but if you think that it has to, then this book isn’t the anti misogynistic masterpiece you wish it was.

Like, when it comes to F&B, I am firmly anti Targaryen and did not wish for any side to win. I wanted them all wiped out to be honest. But when it comes to HOTD, I’m TG basically out of spite at this point.

All in all, I just think that things are going to go downhill for us from this point on. They’ll just keep glorifying the Blacks until the very end.

[illusioninfnty]

indulgence ↠ day 5 ; nipple play

↠ alicent hightower x reader

fandom: house of the dragon word count: 835 warnings: nsfw 18+, fem!reader, reader has a large chest, semi-public sexual acts

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

You always took notice of how the Dowager Queen Alicent would always come visit her grandchildren whenever you were taking care of them. After the first couple of times, it no longer became a coincidence wherever she would stop by the room when it was just you and the babes.

Today, however, was the first time she visited when your breasts were out, feeding the twins, one suckled on each nipple.

“I apologize for my indecency, my Queen—” you start before she holds a hand up.

“No need for that. It was my intrusion, dear.” Alicent sends you a shaky smile, and you can’t help but notice how her eyes always manage to flicker downwards. You have had a large chest ever since you were young, and by this point in your life you can tell when people are leering at your breasts.

You never would’ve guessed the Dowager Queen would be one of those people.

She stands proudly in front of you, chin tilted up. She dons her signature Hightower green, and her hair lays down in soft waves, her youthfulness still shining through. With her kids having babes of their own, you always forgot how close to age the two of you are. 

Yet her eyes tell a much different story than her posture, holding in much curiosity and a speck of shame. You’ve seen this before with various women you’ve been entangled with. The hesitancy to admit their attraction towards another person of their sex, something frowned upon all across Westeros.

“Would you like to see them?” You gesture to the twins, who you hold in each arm.

She remains silent, avoiding your eyes. You can see the way she bites the inside of her cheek, as if contemplating what to say to you. But you already know what you came here looking for.

Just give her a knowing glance. “I’ll put them down for a quick nap.”

After you get the babes settled, you turn back to the Dowager Queen. Your breasts still spill from the top of your dress, unable to adjust them while holding both of the children. Alicent no longer holds her staring back.

You approach her, pensive in your steps so as to not scare her off. You notice the way her breathing quickens, no doubt her heart racing faster in her chest.

“Would you like to touch them?” you ask her. You lower the top of your dress even more, your breasts freely hanging and nipples hardening from the cool air.

A brief gasp leaves her lips as she glances up at you, then reaches a hesitant hand out. Her hand is soft, fingers delicate as they trace your breast, focusing on your nipple. Alicent tugs at the nipple, not too hard, but enough to send tingles down your body. You moan at her touch before focusing your attention back onto her.

“May I?” You gesture to her own chest. She looks at you pensively, and just as you believe she is going to deny you, you interject.

“It will feel good. Just like it does for me.”

The Dowager Queen must see the way you derive pleasure from her touch, because it only takes her a couple of seconds before she nods. “Then you may.”

You move behind her to undo the lacing of her dress, only enough so her breasts become exposed. 

She goes to cover them with her arm, but you gently take them away from her chest. You place one of her hands back onto your breast just as you place one of your own on hers.

Alicent seems to imitate your own motions, her inexperience shining through. You tug on her nipple hard as she lets out a moan, clutching your forearms as a means to balance. She arches herself into you when you circle one of her nipples with your thumb, and she fails to conceal her moan when you lean down to lick the other.

Her hands lace in your hair as you give equal attention to each breast, alternating between flicking, pinching, and sucking her nipples.

It’s then that a piercing cry from one of the babes echoes out from the other side of the room.

You remove yourself from the Dowager Queen as you crane your neck, seeing how the babes have already awakened from their quick nap.

You turn back to Alicent as you smooth out your dress. “I must return to my duties now, my queen. I believe that little Jahaerya and Jaehaerys may still be hungry.”

Alicent blinks silently, staring at you with her wide eyes. When you start to redo her corset back up and adjust the top of her dress, she seems to finally regain her composure. “Yes. Of course. Yes, you’re dismissed.” She saunters out of the children’s room, but not before you catch the faint dusting of red that covers her cheeks. 

You smirk at your newfound knowledge of the Dowager Queen’s tastes, and return to caring for the children.

[ride-thedragon]

What? People don’t like the idea of Baela and Jace being in love? Haven't they seen how stunning they look together with their curly hair, fierce attitudes, and all-around perfect aesthetic? They’ve got companionship, a deep understanding of each other, and support for each other. What’s not to like? Jace is Baela’s number-one defender.. Honestly, it’s baffling. I mean, sure, people are free to ship whoever they want, but why does it have to be at the expense of Baela? She’s a fantastic character. Pairing Jace with Baela just makes sense – they complement each other perfectly. I get that everyone has their own preferences, but sometimes, it feels like people are overlooking the beauty of what’s right in front of them.

Racism is always the answer at least 50 percent of the time I've found.

It's not that people don't like Jace and Baela as a concept. It's that she's played by a black actress. Tale as old as time really, look to the left to see SydCarmy and then look to the right to see Bamon (Bonnie and Damon).

Like if we look at them from the time they meet:

It's an instant connection where she comforts him after he just complains about not being able to grieve his real father.

He immediately gets up and defends her throughout the attack with/on/against Aemond.

"HE HIT BAELA

She's the one to great him when he returns to Dragonstone

They are always near each other.

And they confide in each other

Jace defending his betrothed mention

Like , if we look at them from a clear understanding, they are Alyssa and Baelon come again without the lust (lusty Baela needs to be avenged).

They are these two like-minded, hot-headed individuals who are always at the ready to defend each other. Two kids afraid of loss and trying to prove themselves.

People refuse to see how perfect they are or try to push Jace towards someone who's white. The person they claim is always white.

It's a pointless endeavour trying to understand it and trying to get people to see it. Let's just be cute and admire the perfect it couple of Westeros like Anon does.

A final thought. No one won as hard as me with them. I've been here since Driftmark.

[multifandomfix]

Rhaenys Targaryen Fluff Alphabet

A = Affection (Are they physically affectionate in public or just in private?)

It depends on the company. Around trusted individuals, she’s happy to be free and open with her affection for you, but she’s careful around those who may use it against her.

B = Babe (What would they use as pet names? Do they use them a lot?)

Pet names aren’t used a lot with her, aside from the standard ones. But if she stumbles across one that makes you particularly flustered, she will use it more often.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

She definitely doesn’t mind a cuddle. She won’t be quick to admit if/when she needs one, but she won’t refuse if you were to offer.

D = Domestic (What’s it like living with them? Do they do their share of chores?)

With Rhaenys you’ll want for nothing. You help each other dress in the morning, and have anything you want when you want it.

E = Easy (What is the easiest way to win their heart?)

Win over her dragon, and pledge your loyalty to her and she’s in. If you can bond with the creature most precious to her, then there must be something worthy in you.

F = Fun (Where do they take you for fun? Are they flirty?)

She’ll take you for a ride on Meleys, anyplace you want to go in all of Westeros. She’s very flirty when it’s just the two of you. She likes to tease you and make you blush.

G = Gifts (Are they a gift giver? What kind of gifts do they give?)

She can be. It’s not a big habit of hers, but her gifts are always precious and you know they come from the heart.

H = History (What’s their relationship history like? Do they have any plans on settling down?)

There’s Corlys of course, but a princess is allowed her dalliances. If the right person comes along that she wants in her life, she’ll find a way to make it all work.

I = I Love You (Who says I love you first?)

Probably you. She’ll want to keep those words close to her chest until she’s sure of your own feelings for her.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

She can definitely get jealous. Usually it will only be a passing feeling, but if there’s any merit to her jealousy, expect someone to be flayed by dragon’s breath.

K = Kids (How are they around children? Would they want some of their own?)

Rhaenys is a wonderful mother. As for wanting to raise any more kids at this stage in her life, unlikely.

L = Love Language (How do they show their love to you?)

She shows her love by acts of service. Anything you need done that you put off, she finds a way of getting done for you or with you to make your life just a little easier.

M = Meet (How did they meet you?)

Rhaenys met you in the city’s market. She saw the way you paid the merchants just a bit extra for their wares than they were asking, and that small kindness touched her, which led her to introduce herself to you.

N = Nurture (Are they good at taking care of you if you’re hurt/sick?)

She is, yes. She’ll watch over you even to her own detriment of losing sleep and she’ll see that whatever you need be brought to you.

O = Options (What are some things they would like in a partner?)

Loyal, kind and strong are Rhaenys’s top three qualities in a partner.

P = Protective (How protective are they? How would they protect you?)

She’s very protective. She’s lost too much not to be. She’ll risk whatever it takes to keep someone she loves safe.

Q = Quirk (What small habit/feature/quirk do they have that you find especially endearing?)

The way Rhaenys rests her forehead against her dragon is always a marvelous sight for you to see. There’s so much trust and love there that you can’t help but feel it too.

R = Realization (When and what makes them realize they’re in love?)

When she starts to defend you to people who speak ill of you, that’s when she realizes that you’ve become important to her and that she’s falling in love.

S = Sentimental (Are they the sentimental type? What things hold sentimentality for them?)

She’s not overly sentimental, but there are a few things that she keeps close to her heart, usually reminders of a significant moment with each person she’s loved in some way.

T = Try (In what ways do they support or help you?)

In any way she’s able. No favor you ask of her is too big or too small. If you need her help, she’s willing to provide it.

U = Unique (What’s something they’d only do for you?)

Show her sillier side. She has one, but it’s buried deep down, as she’s always been taught it should be. But with you she opens it up and gets to really be herself.

V = Vacation (Where would they take you on vacation? What would you do?)

Again, she’ll take you anywhere for as long as possible, preferably somewhere with a beautiful shoreline. Despite her responsibilities, she’d want to stay away with you forever.

W = Wardrobe (What would they wear to impress you?)

Light blue and gold are the colors she’s always looked most captivating in, so anything in those colors would be suitably impressive.

X = XOXO (How do they kiss?)

There’s no one way that Rhaenys kisses you. They can range from tender to passionate, though each type is just as enjoyable as the next.

Y = Yes (How do you/they propose?)

She asks you with a ring crafted of shed dragon scale. She makes sure that you won’t be interrupted and asks you to remain a part of her life for as long as you or she should live.

Z = Zzz (What are their sleep habits?)

Her sleep is usually quite restful. She doesn’t toss and turn or stir much in the night, but she does rest easier when she knows someone is by her side.

For anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @nclgsticore, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @bitchr-mkay, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Rhaenys Targaryen: @thekirbishow, @astrogrande, @yellowbird-flying

[dipperscavern]

Dippy, I am currently staring at the full moon (which looks awfully large mind you) and though of Reader who practices witchcraft and does lil rituals on full moons. Wanted to see if you could write a little something like that? If not that's cool, not sure what your religion or practice follows and I know some people may be uncomfy writing that :)

If you do write it, could you maybe do it where Bolton!reader finds an old witchy book in the library of Winterfell and takes great interest of it and Jon catches her doing a silly little ritual to keep the North safe. I just thought that would be real cute lol

- Bolton anon <333

absoloutely!! thank u for requesting <3 (this is buns forgive me)

jon snow x bolton!reader

the air of winterfells halls is hazy with smoke.

sage burns, leaving a fiery smell in its wake. one that invades the sinuses; your brain signals its scent familiar. a faint memory, the draft of the kitchens ovens’ wafting through the castle on a late summers afternoon. tip-toeing to the door, trying to steal a peek of what’s prepared for supper — being thrown out before you’re able to grasp any traces of a hint.

some practice sage cleansing, others call it folly. you weren’t allowed freedom whilst you lived in the dreadfort under your fathers rule, and being forced to start your craft late, you oft don’t know the customs of those practicing long before you.

after you took winterfell from your half-brother, you felt as if you had a personal debt, one that could be paid only by personally restoring the castle to its former glory. sure, everyone was contributing in their own way, but for you this meant sage burning & candle lighting, some odd things put in some odd places (a line of salt on the windowsills). while your people have long since known what you practice, known and understood are two different melodies — but you’re grateful regardless the song is sung.

you had been searching for a different book when you found it.

in each library of all the great houses of westeros, a record is kept of all the maesters who’ve served & for how long. works can be dated back to the maester who wrote them, and maesters who lose their chains often have their works discredited.

some may call it a silly thing, but sansa wanted to know exactly when maester luwin had been killed. if she hadn’t vouched for you when she did, you would be in a very different position. you’re inclined to heed her every request, no matter how minuscule — and you have an inkling she needs the closure.

semantics regardless, that’s how you wound up scouring the many rows of winterfells library. it wasn’t your fault, really. records and restricted are kept much too closely together.

you reached for the book front and center under the restricted title, the record of maesters tucked tightly under your arm. flipping it over, the title is sufficient in its attention grabbing.

Words of the Accursed

your interest is easily peaked. your father had always said your curiosity would get you into trouble. he was right, of course, but it’s never held any relevance to you.

once you begin to turn the pages, you quickly see why it was labeled restricted. jinxes, rituals, hundreds of ingredients used for things unheard of. you look up, eyes scanning around to see if you’re truly alone. you want to sit down and flip every page, but you’ve far too many duties unable to be abandoned. sansa counts on you.

you bite your bottom lip, thinking, and you tuck the book under your arm along with the other. indulgence is sin, and you need absolution.

━━━━━━━━━━༺✰ ━━━━━━━━━━━

jon knows somethings up when he doesn’t see you try to climb the weirwoods.

you had always wanted to in your youth, but your fathers stern brow had always forbade it. you had promised it to be one of the first things on your schedule after your duties, but instead, he sees you moving to complete your tasks with unprecedented speed. what could have you skipping out on your fun and rushing through your work?

he finds out later that eve.

the sun sets, and you’ve been absent all day. you don’t gather for supper as the sky darkens, and jon worries until he sees a faint glow emit from the godswood. a candlelight glow.

why you waited until the absence of the sun to climb the weirwoods are beyond him, but as he notes ghosts absence, worry fades to the back of his mind & curiosity takes forefront. he’s able to slip away easily; once northmen get their first sips of ale in, drinking games begin and everything else fades from their view.

as jon traces the familiar path to the godswood, a burning question nags at him. if you’re only climbing, why is there candlelight? when it comes to climbing, even at night you and bran were unquestioned in your skill.

he approaches the entrance to find ghost laying dutifully in front of it. he stops, crouching to meet him. ghost raises his head, putting himself in reach of jon’s waiting hand. jon finds himself smiling at the direwolf.

“Is she here? Hm?” his habit of speaking to ghost shines through his brooding exterior. he isn’t offered answer — as is expected. the white wolf merely licks his chops, before moving out of reach of jon’s touch. ghost was always expressive.

jon takes the hint, sighing, and returning to his full height. he looks at ghost for a moment, for a split second wondering if he’d be allowed access to your sanctuary. it seems so, for ghost is watching the area in front of him; paying no mind to jon himself. jon steps inside.

the godswood is easily navigated when you’ve grown up playing beneath its leaves. regardless, the candlelight easily shows the way. as he gets closer, he recognizes the weirwood as the very tree his father befriended so heavily. to think, to pray, to clean his sword — lord eddard stark was known for his time spent with the gods.

but the weirwood isn’t all that’s seen, quite the opposite. you’re knelt in front of it, candles scattered around you. jon spots an unforeseen book on the bench his father used to warm, and he can’t deny the certain feeling that stirs in him at the sight. he doesn’t fully understand your practice, but you’ve always used it for good (to jon’s knowledge).

you seem to hear his footsteps, for your head turns slightly toward him. not fully, you’re entrapped with whatever you’re doing. but you still call out to him all the same.

“Ghost is at the entrance,” you say. “I mustn’t be interrupted.”

your tone misses its usual cheer. there’s no malice in it, there never is; it’s only dampened with the heaviness of concentration. part of him is relieved you take your craft seriously, and another part aches for the bright, bubbly tone you often carry. he can’t see your face from his position, but he’s sure you’ve got your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. the way you always do when you focus. “He let me through.”

“Traitor.”

his lips quirk up in a smile. you always seem to do that to him. “Can I come closer?”

you reach for things around you that jon can’t see, fiddling with them in your lap. “Watch your step. And don’t pass the salt.”

his brow furrows at your salt mention — the same salt lining every windowsill he’s come across? he’s heard of it being used to ward off bad omens, but those are only septa’s tales. aren’t they?

you weren’t joking, jon sees as he approaches. you’re sat in a circle of salt, a small glass bottle in your hands. he couldn’t tell you what was in the bottle if his life depended on it. he’s caught you as you’re finishing, putting a cork in the top and reaching for the candle nearest to you. you tip it toward the bottle, and the candle wax drips on the cork.

jon is captured by how smoothly you work, as if it’s no big deal. if he was made to perform in front of the gods, he has no doubt his hands would shake.

yours don’t. as the wax engulfs the top of the bottle, a gust of wind blows out all the candles. all except for the one in your hand, of course.

jon turns around, looking for potential threats. he finds nothing, but feels a pair of eyes on his back. when he turns around, you’re still focused on your craft. strangely, his eyes find the own of weirwood tree. he hears a crow caw in the distance. “Does that always happen?”

“Sometimes. Maybe it’s the winds greeting.” you say, moving dirt aside. you reveal a small hole, dropping the bottle in, and covering it up just as quickly.

jon ventures to step closer, and once you’re done burying your secret, you stand up yourself. you begin to step out of the salt circle, and jon offers his hand. you don’t need it, but you take it anyways. you smile at him, reaching to press a kiss to his cheek. his lashes flutter shut at the feeling.

you depart from him much quicker than jon would like, but the candles must be picked up by someone; and your lips have just rendered jon useless.

“Shouldn’t we clean this up?” he asks, and you turn to see him gesturing to your salt. you shake your head, picking up the last candle. “The rain will.”

you turn away from him to retrieve your book, and jon feels pulled — stepping closer to the weirwood. how you can have a conversation with something without lips, jon’s unsure; but it speaks. he and the tree gaze at one another, silence unbroken except by your pretty voice calling his name.

“Jon?” he hums. “You’re stepping on my salt.”

[kazbrekkerscrutches]

Aemond Targaryen - Love of My Life

Warnings: Aegon obviously, slight mention of alcohol, allusions to sexual harassment and violence, allusions to nightmare and self inflicted wounds OTHERWISE FLUFF FLUFF AND FLUFF

Words: 2.0k

SHE/HER PRONOUNS // 3rd PERSON VIEW

Summary: Aemond Targaryen didn’t seem like the loveliest person in Westeros but with Y/N, he would do anything to keep his betrothed happy and safe. He was the happiest with her, before and after marrying her.

**Valyrian translation after the imagine, below the --- line. Hope you enjoy and let me know your thoughts.**

Aemond Targaryen wasn’t kind to everyone. Especially to the ones who crossed him or even annoyed him. 

Aemond Targaryen was only kind to a few people, including Y/N. She meant everything to the silver haired prince.

They both had met each other as children, as they both grew up in King’s Landing. Aemond had seen her for the first time reading a book in the castle’s library. As a child, it was Aemond’s peaceful place and it quickly became theirs. They would often meet after dinner, spend the night reading and talking about plenty of things. He was himself when he was with her. He loved the way she liked him as a person, not as a prince or as an arse. He loved the way she would tell him about everything, only because she trusted him. She would come to him if something was wrong and even as children, they would never lie to each other.

Many years of harmony passed until Aemond lost his eye. He became more distant even though Y/N wanted to be there for him. He wouldn’t let anyone in, at least he tried to let her in, but it was terrifying for him. Her seeing him so destroyed, tainted, as a monster. Yet Y/N did not see him as all those things, she came to his bedroom every so often, talk like they were children again and he would lose himself in her. He would become a child again, a happy one, a kind one. He would get drunk on the sound of her laughter, and he knew that he only wanted her in his life.

Two years after his eye was gone, his mother started to propose women to him, to get him to choose one of them. To make them his betrothed, but he only wanted her. He only wanted Y/N.

“Mother, I will not marry any of those girls.” He dropped on the Queen.

“And why is that, Aemond?” Because I only want Y/N, mother. I want her to be my wife. He urged to say it. He had to. And he did.

“I want to marry lady Y/N.”

His mother looked at him. He looked back at her, all seriousness in his eye. She nodded and walked away. The day after, his mother told him what he could marry her.

He was the happiest man in all Westeros.

The minute she had stepped into his room for their daily encounter, he ran to her and pulled her into his arms.

He spun her around in the air and she giggled loudly. His hands were spalled on her waist and hers tangled in his long hair.

He finally set her down on the ground, the height difference making its way back.

“What have you eaten to make you this happy, my dear Aemond? Have you had a new saddle for Vaghar or something?” She walked deeper into his room to sit on the velvet seat, her beautiful dress promoting her beautiful body.

“I have wonderful news. But I need you to hear me first, no talking.” She nodded as he approached her, kneeling before her.

She looked at him with big innocent eyes.

“We have known each other since we were children, and I have loved every single moment with you, my lady. Tis the day where I am asking you, with my family blessing, to marry me. I have loved you since I saw you in the library. When this,” he said, touching his patched eye, “happened, I closed myself to everyone but you did not let me shut you out. You stayed and I realised then that all I wanted, in my whole existence, was you. I only want you; you are the only one for me. I love you, and I’ll never stop. I swear on the gods. I love you. Would you do me the honor of becoming mine forever?” He exhaled softly; his hands went to grab a small box from his lapel.

He opened the small box before the woman he loved. Her gaze shifted from his face to the beautiful ring, impaled with a blue sapphire decorating it.

“Aemond… I-I…” She was speechless. The expression on her face was unreadable.

He tried to pull away, thinking he made a fool of himself but she pulled his face to meet hers halfway. Their lips joined into sweet harmony and he pulled himself even more into her. His hands roamed on her body, finding their way to the low of her back, her legs spreading to let Aemond get closer.

She pulled away from his lips, her hands on his strong face.

“Yes, I’ll marry you, Aemond. I’d marry you today, I’d have married you if we were children and I’d marry you again any day. I love you, Aemond Targaryen, I always have and I always will.”

His eye was glassy, a huge grin on his face appeared. He pulled one of his hands away, removing the ring from its box and placing around her ring finger. It was perfect.

She smiled so brightly, Aemond kissed her again. He was in heaven and he will always be if he’s with her.

Their wedding happened only weeks after the proposal and Aemond was the happiest with her. She was his and it was everything he ever dreamed of.

One night, a couple of years after their union, she was known as the untouchable wife. Yet someone in his family did not respect the “untouchable” aspect.

She was at a celebration, as were all of Aemond’s family. Music was filling up the room, the banquet was filled with too many people to count. But she could feel the presence of her dear husband behind her. They were both sitting at the main table, he grabbed her hand that landed on her thigh and kissed it, intertwining his fingers as well.

He pulled away, standing up, telling her he’ll be right back. Before he could pull back, she told him that she will go up directly to their room, it was late and she was tired. He nodded, offered her a sweet smile, and kissed her forehead sweetly.

As she made her way up, she was met with Aegon, his brother. Aegon was known for his sense, or his lack of sense, for the word “no”.

“Hello, wife. How dare you look so fine this evening!” He reeked of wine and many other beverages.

“Aegon, I am not your wife. Please go back to the venue, I’m sure there’s more women interested in you.” I desperately wanted him to go away.

“Mhm, must you have mistaken me, lady Y/N, yet I don’t like that attitude of yours.” He suddenly gripped her wrist tightly, and she tried to get out of his reach.

“Let go Aegon. Let. Me. Go. Now.” She ordered yet he pulled her flush to his chest and she hated every second of it. He breathed her in, and she pulled even harder to get out of his reach. He gripped her waist and before she knew it, she was pinned to a wall with both of her hands pressed behind her back, hitting the brick wall.

As he pressed himself even closer to her, she punched him between his legs and slapped him down on the ground before running away to her chambers.

Time passed before Aemond returned to their room. Y/N was asleep when he came into the room. Her peaceful form decorating the bed, her hair draping the pillow. He reached to her side, sitting besides her. He placed a sweet kiss on her forehead before reaching his side of the bed.

They were both sleeping in no time before Y/N was stirring up in her sleep. Aemond, like the light sleeper that he is, woke up in a second. She was whimpering in her sleep, her head snapping from sides to sides. She was clawing at her wrist, which Aemond tried to get her to stop.

“Jorrāelagon, wake up. Come on”, he clasped lightly at the hand that was clawing the other. “Y/N, wake up, come on, wake up.” He shook her slightly, sitting up in the bed.

She woke up and jolted up with small cry, she tried to pull away from him, as if he had hurt her.

“It’s alright, issa jorrāelagon, you’re alright. You're safe.” She realised that it wasn’t Aegon. It was only him. Only Aemond, the boy who she had loved for so long.

She melted into sobs when he pulled her in his arms, her legs pulled over his, one arm around her waist and the other one cradling her head. Her head and heavy sobs laid on his chest, his face resting by her head.

“Did you have a nightmare, dōna mirre?” She nodded weakly. Her sobs resuming. He praised her with sweet word in her ear, he cradled her in his arms, assuring her that she was safe.

Her sobs calmed down and she found peace in his heartbeat.

He looked down at the sight of her wife, he saddens at her gaze, his heart breaking because something is troubling her.

The hand that was cradling her head softly pulled at the wrist she was hurting in her sleep. He saw, even in the dim darkness, that there were marks, not of her nails, but of a tight embrace.

“Who did this to you, my love? When did this happen?” He questioned her softly, not wanting to startle her.

“I don’t want you to be mad.” She responded lightly.

He pulled her chin, making her look up at him.

“Love, I won’t be mad, I promise. I just want to know the truth.” He brushed her hair out of her face.

“It was Aegon. He was drunk, like always, but I was walking up to go to our room and he called me his wife, and he pulled my wrist,” She sniffled, Aemond felt her breath accelerate.

“Breathe my love, take your time.” He purred. Aemond was boiling on the inside but he could never be harsh on her.

“He pushed me to the wall, started to press himself against me, and I punched him away. I ran as fast as I could. I thought he was going to run after me, Aemond, I was so scared.” She truthfully told Aemond, her tears seeping his night shirt.

“Oh, dōna mirre, I’m sorry he’s done this to you. I’ll handle him in the morning, and I promise you he won’t ever touch you again, nobody will.” He caressed her hair, calming her down. He kissed the palm of her hand, trailing kisses down to her inflamed wrist. She calmed down, leaning into his touch.

Aemond pulled her down with him, to lay together in the bed.

“Everything is going to be just fine, darling. Rest in my arms, you’re safe.”

She turned to be faced with his chest. She looked up to his figure, some strands of glittery hair falling on his face.

“I love you, valzȳrys. Thank you for always being here for me.”

“No need to thank me, that’s what I’m here for. I love you." He whispered in her ear, pulling her against him, kissing her forehead and the rest of her face sweetly. She fell asleep in his arms, as she always did.

He’d deal with Aegon in the morning, and everything will be alright.

She’ll be alright. She was with Aemond after all.

“Ao sagon se jorrāelagon hen issa glaeson.” He pressed one last kiss on the ring that laid upon his wife’s finger and went into a peaceful sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you like this imagine, I had a pleasure writing this. Here are the traduction in english for the Valyrian words.

Jorrāelagon: Love

issa jorrāelagon: my love

dōna mirre: sweet thing

valzȳrys: husband

Ao sagon se jorrāelagon hen issa glaeson: You are the love of my life

[potato-frenzy]

I have so much more to say about that AU actually like shit this has been eating my brain for weeks. Have some headcanons

- Rhaenyra calls Aegon her 'special boy' in much the same vein as she calls Luke her 'sweet boy'. Aemond is 'little warrior' even when he passes her in height.

- Aegon actually grows the closest to Laenor out of all the children. He takes his death the hardest.

- Aemond was two when Luke was born and immediately asked if he could have him when introduced.

- Laena doesn't die in this one, so Vhagar stays with her. Rhaenyra takes Aemond to Dragonstone and Vermithor basically goes 'it's about fucking time!'.

- Rhaenyra has a half second consideration of betrothing Aegon and Helaena and she asks him about it. His immediate response is 'please gods no. I love my sister but we'd make each other miserable'.

- Jace and Aegon stay best friends and make it everyone's problem but the only one who knows that Aegon is in love with his adopted brother is Laenor. He buries it in wine when Laenor is gone but not to the same extent as in canon.

- Aegon receives the love he needs to thrive and dedicates himself to one day being Jace's Hand of the King.

- Aemond, ever the ballsy second son, takes what he wants. He and Luke are each other's first everything and no one finds out that they're obsessed with each other until Aemond asks Rhaenyra if the gods of Old Valyria would bless a union between two men. She says yes he can marry a man but he's going to need to keep it a secret because the people of Westeros won't like it. This leads to a massive family meeting between the Targaryens and Velaryons about the fact that Luke and Aemond are determined to get married but they need heirs.

TBC

[gotranting]

The Winter Feast - Part One

I had this idea in my mind, and while it did turn out differently than I planned, hopefully someone will enjoy it.

It is a short Cregan x female reader fic where they knew each other for a long time. She lives on the outskirts of Wolfswood, away from the town and the castle itself. Guarding the Northern nature, she is the one people come to whenever they need certain herbs, or a spell done for them. Or when they need to enter the Wolfswood. During the preparations for the long winter, Cregan along with two Northern Lords ventures out to hunt in order to help in securing the winter stocks. Yet in doing so, he forgets to alert the young witch.

*Disclaimer – The Children of The Forest have a human form in the story. Also, I don't know every detail of GoT lore, so the characters are a bit OOC. I tried to find out more about Cregan's personality but there isn't much written about him? I made him after the …sadly only 5 minute show version. I tried to avoid using Y/N because it really throws me off, so there will be a lot of nicknames in the story.

*Next part will have The Feast itself)

*The only description of the character is red hair and brown eyes, although it's not mentioned as much.

Winter is coming.

The Southern lords may mock these words all they wished, but for Northerners, it was a matter of life and death.

Not all survived the harshness of the season, and if it was to judge by the snowstorms, this winter will take many lives. Young, old, lowborn or highborn – it mattered not. She will come for all if they did not prepare.

It was a common sight during these times, to see the hunters coming back from the Wolfswood, their carts filled with deer, boar, rabbits…all sorts of creatures. The meat would be stored to secure the provisions, for the times when all of Nature lay asleep. The skins and the fur were to be gathered, in order to craft clothing that could shield the people from the biting cold.

Anyone could be a hunter if they had the skill and a weapon to arm themselves. In order to secure Winterfell for the winter, many men and women went out in the untamed lands. Younger ones especially, for what better chance than a hunt to prove their bravery?

It is true that some overestimated the danger of the wild, taking far more than was needed or being needlessly careless. Such folk were always reminded of the consequences. Some did not return. Some returned with a part of them missing. And on some came misfortune long after reaching the presumed safety of their homes.

It seemed that it was not direwolves and bears alone that could tear away a man's arm or take their life. No, something else lurked around those woods, paying close attention during the time of the Hunt. Controlling so it does not get out of hand, and that those who walked amongst the tree giants respected all that was around them.

Perhaps it was the creatures from the stories old nans would tell to scare off little children. Perhaps not.

Old Gods were whispering through the branches as well no doubt, watching all those who entered their domain. However, sometimes there were guardians in a more…human form.

Once they were known as Children of the Forest. A race many believed to have been slaughtered and driven out of Westeros.

Some remained. They could not part from their homes, and it would seem they hid themselves well enough.

How it was done, no one knows. Their own ancient magick I suppose. Perhaps they took the form of humans. Perhaps, with time their features had changed, yet the magick remained. What is known is that they were still around Men, and would continue to be in order to guard the rivers, and the forests – and all that lived in them.

One it would seem stayed in the North. A young woman, one might say still a Summer Child, as she had only lived through twenty winters or so.

Her anscestors were well known to the townsfolk and the higher lords alike. They were respected for their wisdom, offering their help when a young babe fell ill, or when cattle needed help with birthing their young. If one needed herbs which were not easy to find, they would come to her family. If they needed a lover to take interest in them, they knocked on her door.

Or, if they wished for another to never return from their travels, it would seem the girl was the first they went to.

Despite being friendly enough with the villagers, she still lived on the outskirts of the Wolfswood, preferring the company of the animals and greenery instead of a more…talkative bunch.

She was respected yes. Feared as well I would say. They knew she protected their lands and for that they were grateful. Even the former Warden of the North came to consult her, in order to know which hunting grounds were unavailable to them.

The young woman would guide them to the bountiful parts of the woods, where they could fill their carts with game without destroying the balance of their ancient homeland.

In turn, they promised not to take more than was necessary. And so an agreement was made.

Honored by the old Rickon Stark, and his son after he became the new Lord of Winterfell.

The young Wolf of the North. Cregan to her.

She never developed a habit of addressing him by his titles, and the young wolf never complained.

His father introduced them at a younger age, and even though she was far more familiar with his sister, the three of them got along rather well.

As the years passed, Cregan turned to his own duties in order to keep his people safe. The girl could not travel to the castle, as her place was here in the wild. Yet, their friendship never weakened.

He would still come to her every Autumn in order to alert her of the hunting party's whereabouts. And as the Hunting season had arrived, she expected him to find her once more.

It seemed though, that the young Warden was too eager to grasp a bow and his sword once more, for no knock was to be heard on her door.

.

„I propose a bet my friends! In order to make our little adventure more interesting, let us see who will catch the most deer once we reach the clearing.“ A voice rang out through the silence of the Wolfswood. „The one with least kills will need to engage in wooing our beloved Aida.“

„If I remember well, the last time you lost Cerwyn, and attempted to pull the same jest, old Aida threw a hefty amount of potatoes at you. Aren't you still forbidden from entering the kitchens?“ The young Osric Mormont jabbed at his friend as he reminded him of that day.

Old Aida it seems had survived eighty winters for a reason. The old cook might had been but a servant in Winterfell, yet she treated the highborn no different than the kitchen boys and girls that worked with her.

A clever soul would not enter her domain when there was a hasty need to bring the meals on the tables in the castle. If they even tried to rush her, they were met with curses that would make a Wildling cover in shame.

She must have been good with a bow or some other weapon in her youth, for Arnolf Cerwyn was hit with almost every potato she threw at him, after he tried to sweet talk her, making a mistake of blocking her way to the oven.

His closest friends were in the main hall, when they saw the young Lord run out with his head covered, as the surprisingly agile woman hobbled after him with her broom in one hand and the sack in another. He could not hear the end of it for days after the event.

Along with that, he had to bring all the vegetables back to Aida, thus facing her wrath once more.

„Just you laugh Osric. You are only jealous, for you do not know how it feels when a woman chases after you with such passion! She shall see we are meant for one another, mark my words“, Cerwyn grinned as he took another swig of his mead.

Cregan could only huff and roll his eyes as he listened to his companions. Even though the young Warden was no stranger to teasing Arnolf, they would frighten all of the animals around if they continued on with their banter. He told them as much, as he surveyed their surroundings, trying to notice the tracks left in the snow.

„I do believe the deer will flee when they see that in our presence stands the frightening Wolf of the North, wouldn't they Arnolf? He would scare them all with his icy gaze, none can stand against him!“ shouted Osric.

He was only met with a stony glare from the young Warden.

Yet after a short moment of silence, it did not deter him from releasing a howl to which Arnolf merrily joined in. Cregan felt a headache coming as he watched his closest friends double in laughter at their poor jest.

„Come now Lord Stark, do release that frown you always hold. We are away from the castle and our duties. Let us rejoice on this fine day, enjoy a good drink while singing the songs of old.“

„Cerwyn, if you start singing now, I swear to the old Gods, it will be you who will go on that cart. Do you wish to tell Aida that we are the reason Winterfell will starve this winter? I assure you that death by starvation would be a better ending than Aida finding you.“

Despite the sharpness in his tone, Cregan could not help but smirk as he saw his friend's face pale at the image conjured up in his mind no doubt.

„Cregan my friend, after all this time I am wounded that you are not aware of my many talents. One can sing while their arrows still pierce straight through the heart of their target. But fine then! Let us all die of boredom as we seek the bloody animals,“ sighed Arnolf as he unsheathed his bow, finally joining in the search for the herd. Osric could only clap him on the shoulder for comfort as he passed in the other direction.

The young lords spent their time in silence and occasional banter as youth often did, as Arnolf could not keep quiet for too long.

Yet, no matter his merry nature, Lord Cerwyn was aware of the weight of their task.

While they were not the only ones to venture out into these woods in order to prepare for Winter, they could not return without a filled wagon. Their people depended on them, and there were many mouths to feed. The night would soon fall upon them, and they could not stay away from the castle for too long. They had to do the most they could with the time they had.

As they went through the denser part of the forest, it was becoming harder to tread through the snow which only seemed to become deeper as they went forward. The large firs looming above them obscured what little remained of the daylight.

Soon, other creatures besides simple deer and rabbits would roam about, and even though the three men had faced blood thirstier foes, it would be a difficult fight if they could not see nor move properly in a fight. The light mood from before was replaced with unease, for it felt as if more than a few wandering ravens observed their movements.

Cregan's frown only deepened as he listened for any unwanted noise.

A branch snapped above them, all three sharply looking up for any sign of a threat. Yet only a deep croak was heard as two ravens flew out of their nest.

„I do not think we are alone,“ whispered Arnolf, his bow drawn to the thickness of the fir canopy.

„Perhaps Aida has finally tracked you down Arnolf“, remarked Cregan, tightening his grip on Ice.

Indeed, even with the birds flying away, the hairs on their necks still stood up, as the feeling of being watched did not disappear.

As they moved forward, a shadow crept above them.

Or was it around them?

Why did it seem as if the trees were closing in on them slowly? Where was the path they came from, it was becoming hard to tell. Were they spinning in circles?

Their heads were starting to feel heavy as they tried to orient themselves. While they could only feel the eyes upon them before, now it was as if they could see thousands of glistening orbs everywhere they turned.

Seeing a real enemy was one thing. Feeling as if it is all in your head without being able to fight back was another. The three certainly felt like one would after far too much mead. Only, their flasks were still full.

„We need to turn back. Now.“ One of the lords shouted - it was difficult to tell which one for all the sounds were muffled. It was rather obvious they were unwelcome here.

„Which way?“ That could have been Osric. Must've been. Shielding his eyes from the rising storm he sought out his friends, unable to see either of them.

A strong pull at his cloak dragged him back.

Aiming for the neck he turned towards the target, only to clash with the greatsword, as grey eyes pierced through him.

Ice and years of practice shielded Cregan from a certain death had that dagger gone through his neck. He gave no time for Osric to come to himself as he nodded in the other direction, dragging Osric along with him.

The two ran as they thought the trees would swallow them up if they lingered a moment more.

Gasping, they both crashed into the clearing, the storm behind them settling down.

„What in the fucking hells was that?“ Arnolf stood by them as he tried to catch his breath as well. They could hear each other properly at last.

A creek of water was humming nearby, even a few chirping birds could be heard as they searched for any remaining seeds.

Strange how only a moment ago there was no sound at all.

„I do not know, and I do not think I wish to know. We are alive, that is all that matters. And look! Over there, do you see them?“ Osric pointed at the herd on the other side of the creek.

Turning around, all three caught sight of the deer trying to reach the last few remains of green hanging on the branches.

Looks like they found what they were looking for after all.

Crouching down, their bowstrings drawn back, they focused on the task that brought them here in the first place. There would be time to talk about what they experienced, but for now they had to be quick.

For the storm could always return as fast as it arrived.

.

„Admit it brother! You lost on purpose! You do know, you don't need a wager as an excuse to court Aida. We shan't judge your tastes.“ Cregan laughed boisterously, as they loaded the last carcass onto the cart.

It seems that the North would survive after all, if all other hunts were as successful.

The road back was far easier than the one they took when entering the woods, thankfully without any new strange encounters. Their hunt had gone far better than they thought it would, creating a joyful atmosphere as they prepared to return home.

Cregan's frown melted as he saw his friends laughing together. Nevertheless, he could not forget what happened to them. It was unlike anything he experienced before. He came to his senses as fast as he could. Still, whatever that was caught him unaware.

He could not kill the wind, nor could he stab eyes if there was no body attached to them. He was caught unprepared.

That frightened him, even as his laughter joined that of his friends.

She would know, he thought. Surely she would. To know Nature was her duty. Surely, she would've been alerted of all who come and go out of the Wolfswood. Surely his friend would…

Cregan inhaled sharply as he heard a light tapping sound behind him, as if something was knocking against the tree bark.

The Starks took their oaths seriously. So did she.

Gods, he made a mistake.

As he turned around, the tapping became louder. The shadow from before had a clearer form now, as she lowered her hood, sheathing her dagger back into its scabbard. Grey eyes met stern brown ones. He took one breath more.

„My lady“, he bowed his head, hoping to somehow melt the iciness of her expression as she regarded the three of them. A raven settled down on her shoulder, as she took a step towards the men, casting one glance to the cart.

„Not much of a lady Lord Stark. I do believe I told you to stop calling me that,“ she murmured gazing back at him. „We had an agreement, you do recall that yes?"

Osric and Arnolf could only exchange an amused look as they watched the Warden of the North trying to appease the young witch. It was a rare thing for her to call him by his titles, if only to tease him. Yet now, there was no trace of a smile.

„Aye, I remember. I swear to you it was an honest mistake, one that I regret committing. We wanted to head back to Winterfell as soon as possible. There is a Feast coming, and I need to oversee the planning of it.“

The witch's expression remained unchanged. Cregan tried once more.

„You have my word Y/N, we haven't taken more than is needed. We were in the clearing you took me to. What you see in the cart is all we hunted.“

„Aye, we were lucky to get to that bloody clearing in the first place. Say Y/N“, added Osric, „is it possible for a blizzard to occur in only one part of the forest?“

As Osric continued to explain what happened to them, Cregan's eyes darkened as he regarded the witch in front of him. She did not seem surprised at all at the strange event taking place.

„All of that to teach us a lesson?“ She turned her eyes back to Cregan, both now glaring at one another.

„I do not ask you to alert me Cregan because I do not trust you to keep our Oath.“

She cut him off as he went to speak once more: „And before you accuse me of anything, know that if I had not reached you on time, we would not be having this discussion. What happened to you is a measure of precaution. I told you once, those who trespass in the Wolfswood do not get out of them alive. Those are not words for bed stories to scare little children.“

She examined him once more, trying to see if her wards had caused any injury. „The spells do not make a difference between a friend or foe.“

She could try to hide behind a stern voice all she wanted, but Cregan could see how her eyes kept moving over his form, trying to see if there is any trace of blood.

He did not know when he moved, for in a few strides he stood in front of her, his eyes softening as he laid one hand on her shoulder.

„We are all right Y/N. We are here, and alive, it is all right,“ He murmured, as his fingers unconsciously traced soothing patterns on her shoulder.

Brown eyes met grey ones for a brief moment before she returned to the task of looking him over. Despite her glares, he knew she was afraid of not making it in time.

He always saw through her when it came to this. Cregan knew how protective she would get over the people she cared about. He supposed they were alike in that matter. And if he was correct in his assumption, she will do her best to hide her worry.

„You bloody idiot, how can you be so reckless!“, she shoved him and he could not help but laugh, which only added to her anger. „You absolute fool!“

He had to take a step back to stop himself from falling down. She was smaller than him, yet he found himself on the ground far more times than he wanted to admit when he was on the receiving end of her anger.

„Is that the way to speak to your Lord?“ he quirked an eyebrow, trying to catch her hands, as she kept pushing at his shoulders.

„Oh will you shut it, you almost died because of a stupid mistake.“

„From your wards.“

„Shut it, I am aware!“

He chuckled once more, finally grasping her hands in his, bringing them between their chests, his eyes holding a gleam as he tried to calm her once more.

„I promise my lady, the next time I do something as reckless as that you are welcome to unleash your fury all you want. For now, I-„

„There will not be a next time, and I do not need your permission for that.“

„As you wish my lady.“

„Shut it.“

His gaze rested on her, a fond smile still playing at his lips. They bickered often, when one or the other did something overly dangerous. Considering their duties, threatening situations were unavoidable. Even though both were skillful fighters, one could often hear them arguing over the lack of carefulness.

A cough interrupted them, making Cregan quickly release her hands, as Arnolf walked up to the pair.

„In order to settle this matter once and for all I propose a truce! Dear Y/N, would you join us in the Winter Feast? We shall settle this in the Northern way! With a good song, and an even better tankard of mead, all of today's troubles shall be forgotten.“

„You cannot refuse, for after all, we have almost lost our Warden today“, chimed in Osric as he came up on the other side of them.

„Besides", a sly smirk appeared on his face, "We are wounded, for you have not paid such care to our own possible injuries“, he clapped the young Wolf on the shoulder. Cregan only frowned as he regained his composure, rolling his eyes at his friend's antics.

„I planned on coming anyway, you needn't guilt me into going my Lords.“ The raven above her croaked once more. „For now, I have other matters to attend to, so I shall bid you farewell.“

As she turned towards the Wolfswood, Cregan found himself shouting after her: „You are armed yes?“

Rising her dagger out of her scabbard she waved as the shadows of the giant fir trees enveloped her once more.

„Falling for women who attempt to kill you Cregan? Can't say I am surprised. It is all right, we shan't judge your tastes old friend. Besides, she is a fiesty beauty.“

Arnolf's face was met with fresh snow, as Cregan pushed past him towards their horses.

„Shut it.“

[hikarimiyanaga]

The Queen's Bride (Part 1)

Summary :

Being a rich man's kid isn't as exciting as everyone makes it out to be.

You have no freedom.

Every choice has been made for you ever since you were born.

What you eat. What course you were going to study. What school you're going to.

Even the one you were going to marry.

So to your surprise, your father has finally chosen one thing right for you.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Warnings : Omegaverse. Stark!Reader. Omega!Reader x Alpha!Daenerys Targaryen. Modern!AU.

Look who's finally watching Game of Thrones. Surprise, surprise, I fell in love with Daenerys.

"This is bullshit!" Jon, your cousin, shouts as he paces around you.

Both of you were just given two names.

Two people you never met that you were going to spend the rest of your life with.

"Who the fuck is Ygritte and why do I have to marry her?" Jon shouts in frustration and you shrug.

"I mean, Father could've paired you with one of the Lannisters. Myrcella is an omega-"

"Shut up." Jon glares at you.

"You have to admit it. Ygritte is pretty as fuck."

"Lucky for Robb, huh? He's the heir so he could choose freely."

"She is. But- I don't know her, Y/N." Jon sighs as he sits next to you.

"Lucky asshole." You slap his arm.

"He's my big brother."

"He is. I wish I could be the heir."

"Seriously? You? Jon Stark of Winterfell Corp? Are you hearing me?"

"Shut up." The two of you look at each other then laugh. "Yours is pretty too, by the way. And a Targaryen too."

"Why them? Our mottos are literally parallels."

"Yeah. Winter is Coming."

"Fire and Blood. Like why her?" You groan at the ceiling.

"Just be glad that she's pretty. Some don't get that lucky."

"Are you talking about-" Jon nods and you sigh.

"I just wish we had freedom."

"Me too. Y/N. Me too."

-

You get your bag and look at the empty apartment around you.

"I need Sansa to room with me. Like gods, this place is fucking big enough for ten people at least." You mumble to yourself as you leave the apartment.

Just like everything else in your life. The apartment was provided by your Father, Ned Stark. You could count the number of times on your fingers that you've actually talked to him rather than just receive orders or scolding from him.

Your phone rings just as you get inside the Westeros University. You answer it as you see your little sister's name.

"Y/N! How are you?" You smile at Arya's voice.

"I'm good, Arry. Where are you?" How is she calling you right now?

"I'm at home. There was a lice problem at school today so we went home! Are you free??" You grin at her exciting tone.

"In two hours, I will be. Why?"

"Can we go play? Mom said she'll let me go to the mall if I'm with you!"

"Sure, can you wait there and behave?"

"Yep! See you later!"

"See you." You say softly and smile as you go to your first and last class of the day. You were so glad that you chose your own schedule. You sit down at your usual seat and hum as you take out your laptop. Looks like professor Varys is late today.

Westeros University is the biggest University in all of Westeros. It has lessons even in magic.

"Did you hear, Y/N?" You look up as Oberyn sits beside you. You were somewhat friends. He can charm anyone in a room while you can outread anyone in a room. Truth be told, even you didn't know why he talked to you.

"Hear what?"

"Not interested in rumors as usual?" He asks and you shake your head.

"Even if Varys tells us otherwise, I still don't like rumors and hearsays." Oberyn nods and grins in satisfaction.

"Which is why you make the perfect audience." You sigh. "Listen to this. Someone is doing it."

"Doing what?"

"Seeing if the dragons will choose them."

"Seriously? That thing hasn't been done in like 200 years."

"Right? But someone is brave enough to do it now. You know what it means, right?"

"Yeah. They get to sit on the Iron Throne regardless of their last name."

"And?" You raise an eyebrow at him in confusion.

"And what?"

"Complete freedom!" You tilt your head at him. "No more choices by parents! No arranged marriages!"

"Damn. Sounds like a dream come true."

"For you guys. I still don't get why you guys won't love freely."

"Because last names have a value of their own. Here at Westeros at least. Oh. And Westeros Conglomerate too." Oberyn shakes his head.

"What you guys should value is talent, not blood."

"Meritocracy rather than blood right. Reasonable." Oberyn looks at you. "I don't make the choices though."

"Marry the king then."

"I'd rather die, Oberyn. I'd rather eat my own shit."

"Still hate men?"

"Only romantically." Oberyn chuckles just as Varys comes through the door.

"You're missing out on like half of the world then." You give him a smile.

"I don't think I am."

-

You hum as you park your car in front of the Stark Mansion. You were just getting your bag when you feel a pair of arms circle around your legs. You look down and see Arya smiling at you.

"Hey, Arya!" You scoop her up and she squeals. Arya is only 9 years younger but you love doing this to her. "Where's Ma and Father?"

"Dad is still at work! Ma is inside!" You put her down and nod.

"Come on, then. I'll tell Ma that I'll take you to the mall." Arya grins at you and she begins to tell you about her classmates and school.

"And then this one guy-"

"Y/N! You're home!" Catelyn Stark rushes over and hugs you. You hug her just as tightly.

"Hey, Ma. Arya wanted to play with me and it's been months since I've been home so I figured I should take her."

"I'm sure she understands that you're busy with university and all."

"I know, Ma! But school is out and she said she was free." Arya pouts from beside you and you smile.

"I am free, no worries." You ruffle Arya's hair and she smiles at you.

"Be sure to be back for Dinner then."

"We'll buy some before we get home. Are Robb and Father-"

"Busy." You nod in understanding then take Arya's hand.

"You ready for an afternoon with me? Your best sister?"

"YEAH! We'll destroy those high scores in the arcade!" You grin and agree.

-

You come home with a passed out Arya, a bag full of plushies, and a bag with food.

"You actually made her sleep? You are a godsend." You laugh at your mom and grin.

"Once you get Arya's quirks and use them against her, she can make herself run out of energy."

"Please don't tell-"

"Ma, she wants to. She can afford to learn it still."

"But her marri-"

"She's still 9, ma. She doesn't need to think about that yet."

"Right. Are you staying for dinner at least?"

"Sure. Is Sansa-" Before you finish your sentence, someone has already hugged you.

"Y/N! Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" You turn around and find your other little sister, Sansa Stark.

"Well, I had to exhaust this one so." Sansa looks at Arya who was cuddling your neck still.

"Whoa. Arya never sleeps this early."

"Like I said. Exhausted. Are Brandon and Rickon here?"

"Yep! They should be getting back from Winterfell by now."

"What did they do there??"

"Father wanted to show them something. Are you staying tonight?"

"If you're willing to share your bed."

"ALWAYS!" You shush her and smile.

"I'll just be putting this one in her bed then I'll come down. Here." You give the bag full of food to Catelyn and smile. "Some of my favorites."

"I'll plate them up." You nod and begin your walk with Arya still sleeping while cuddling your neck.

"You're becoming heavier, Arya. I wonder if I should do some training just so I can carry you around."

-

"Y/N! You're back!" Brandon says then hugs you.

"Hey, little brother." You kiss his head and smile as he beams at you.

"SIS!" Rickon shouts then tackles you to no avail.

"Heya, baby bro." You pick him up and grin. "Did you grow??"

"I did! I'm defeating Arya soon!" You grin at him.

"Don't let her hear you!" You ruffle his hair then turn to Sansa. "Did you do your homework yet?"

"No? Will you help me later?" She gives you her puppy dog eyes and you groan at her. You admit that you're too weak to your siblings.

"Fine. But no talking about boys. I swear to God if I hear one more thing about-"

"But Ser Loras is just so dreamy." You look at her with a deadpan expression.

"Try me and I will sleep besides Arya." Sansa pouts.

"Fine. No boy talk." She grumbles. "Stingy."

"I'm gay. I'd rather marry another omega as long as she's a woman." Catelyn smiles as she sees you getting along with your siblings.

"Do not plant ideas in their head."

"Ma, Sansa is as straight as a ruler. These two don't even know what their second genders are." Catelyn rolls her eyes at you. "That reminds me, when's your test?" You look at Sansa as you place Rickon at his seat.

"This Monday! I'm so excited to confirm that I'm an Omega!"

"And if you're a beta?" You ask and Catelyn slaps your arm. "What? There's nothing wrong about being a beta! I wanted to be one before."

"You did?" Sansa asks and you nod. "Why?"

"More options." Catelyn hits your head and you laugh.

"Why? Does being an omega lessen your options?"

"Technically, I can't have another omega as my soulmate. Not that it matters."

"Oh yeah, dad said he sent you someone." You roll your eyes at that.

"He sent a file of someone. He wouldn't just let some stranger in my apartment."

"Who is it?? Can we know??" You groan at the excitement in Sansa's voice. There's nothing more that interests her than love talk.

"She's a Targaryen."

"The Dragon Family!" Rickon shouts and you ruffle his hair.

"Yup! Bran, do you know their motto?" Brandon hums as he gets some food.

"Yeah. Fire and Blood, right?"

"Yup! You all will get some ice cream. I brought some earlier." Catelyn glares at you. "What?"

"Cavities."

"I only visit once in a while, Ma. Just this once." Catelyn pinches your cheek. "Ow! Give! Give!"

"Just this once and don't ever do this again without saying anything to me."

"Yes, Ma! I got it! Ow!" Catelyn finally lets you go and you hold your cheek. You pout at her. "You didn't have to pinch that hard."

"You know how I feel about sweets." You sigh.

"I know. Sorry."

-

"Good thing the ice cream didn't give Rickon sugar rush."

"Yeah. It was a relief that Ma didn't pinch me."

"Those two boys really love you and adore you."

"They do." You look at Sansa and pat her hair. "I hope you become a beta, baby girl." Sansa scoffs at you.

"Wha- why!?" You smile sadly at her.

"So then you'll have more freedom." Sansa holds your hand. "Sadly. As an Omega, everything is controlled for you here in Westeros. Specially if you have a last name of a noble."

"Y/N." You squeeze her hand and grin.

"Hopefully, you and Arya get to decide your own futures. And your own partners." Sansa gets teary eyed at that. You let go of her hand then pat her hair again. "Time to get ready for bed. I'll just check on Arya for a second, okay?" Sansa nods at you and you close her door before covering your mouth with your hand.

Freedom. What a grand word. For you, it was thrown out the window when you got your test results.

Everyone says that Omegas have equal standings with Alphas. That the world is getting better.

"What a load of fucking bullshit." You mumble to yourself as you make your way to Arya's room.

You open the door and see that Arya is still fast asleep. You get to her bed and kiss her head.

"I hope you'll have more freedom than me, little one." You tuck her in and leave.

-

PS.

Jon is a Stark here and Catelyn knows he's Lyanna's son but no one knows who his father is. Let's just pretend for a second that he's not a Targaryen.

I actually was going to go the usual route for this aka Alpha Reader but decided against it. Omega Reader just works better for the angst inside my head.

[leupagus]

Half of this fic is just me looking for more excuses to put in all the cool women that the show wrote out

Still working on the next chapter for the GOT rewrite from hell, but I had to write a little about how the fuck menstruation works in Westeros (other than "oh you can get married now!" which I refuse to believe is the norm) and also to introduce the Sphinx:

The next morning, Shireen woke up to find blood on her shift and a sharp sort of twist in her stomach, as though she'd swallowed a molten pin. The blood came out easily enough, with frantic scrubbing in the basin, but the pain grew over the course of the morning.

"It's your flowering," said Maester Alleras briskly, when she went to him in a tightly-controlled panic. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen," said Shireen, realizing the date. Her nameday had passed two weeks ago.

"And what do you know of flowering?" he asked, smiling slightly at her blush. "Forgive me, but Northerners have queer ideas of teaching their children about these matters. I do not wish to presume your level of education."

"I know it can last for a week or more," Shireen said, thinking of Mother's cycles, how she would confine herself to her rooms to endure the pain in solitude and prayer. "It's very painful and disgusting, but it allows me to bear my future husband's children and therefore is a gift from the gods."

"Hmm. Well, that is what you were taught, at least," grunted the maester. He got up from his desk, rummaging through the cupboard behind him. He was a tall, skinny young man with the deep brown skin and tightly-coiled hair of a Summer Islander, and shared their fondness for brightly-colored nails: they seemed to dance along the shelves until he plucked out a jar and presented it to her with a flourish. "This will help with the pain, and stop the bleeding after this cycle. People of the North use it a great deal."

"Is it moon tea?" Shireen asked, taking it gingerly and wondering at Maester Alleras's use of the term Northerners, which sounded different from People of the North. Perhaps in the Summer Isles, everyone on Westeros was a Northerner. "Why do they use it so much here?"

"It is," he confirmed, "and as for why..." He shrugged. "I've only just arrived in Winterfell, you understand, and as you may have guessed—" this said with another smile— "I was born elsewhere. But from what I've gathered, they must be careful when they have children. The North can only feed so many."

Shireen thought of Fire & Blood, which Father had read to her as a child. The Winter Wolves had been a company of Northerners, who had answered Lord Cregan's call to fulfill the Pact of Ice and Fire with Rhaenyra Targaryen. They'd been greybeards who had knowingly marched to their deaths, for such was the custom of the North back then: at the start of each winter, the old men of each keep and castle and holdfast would choose amongst themselves who would go out into the snows. Some would return home in the spring, having endured the cold or escaped it to find their fortunes in southron lands; most would not.

"Put a thimbleful of this into whatever tea you like best," Maester Alleras continued, gesturing at the jar, his fingernails catching the light as it streamed into the rookery. "Once a day, and come back when you need more."

"Shouldn't I ask—" Shireen bit her lip.

But the maester caught her meaning; his eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you ask your parents? Yes, I suppose you should. But they should be here to be asked, and they should have told you the truth."

"What's the truth?" Shireen asked, instead of admitting that Mother and Father had never told her anything about it. She couldn't imagine either of them even mentioning the subject. All her information had come from books, or from Mother's complaints.

"The truth is that if a cycle is painful and lasts for a week or more, that is the sign of an illness, not the will of a god. The truth is that you may well find it disgusting, but it is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame to you or anyone else." He glared, though it did not seem directed at her. "And as for 'bearing your future husband's children,' the truth is that they are your children, just as much as his — indeed more so, unless he carries them about for the first nine months after their birth. But you will not be a woman grown for at least another two years, and any man who wishes you to bear children until at least that time is unworthy of your hand or your love." He sat back down, his half-dozen maester's links chiming musically. "Now run along, little princess."

Lady Sansa was just outside the door, with her brother beside her. "See, I told you she smelled funny," Rickon said triumphantly.

Shireen scowled at him. "Shut up." It was kind of him, she supposed, to have worked out that something was wrong and to wait for her outside the maester's chambers. But Rickon Stark was the sort of friend who was difficult to be grateful for.

"Yes, please do, Rickon," Lady Sansa said, pressing a businesslike kiss on the crown of Rickon's head before turning him round by the shoulders and pushing him down the corridor. Rickon protested, but went all the same, and Lady Sansa turned back to Shireen. "Moon tea?" she asked, nodding at the jar.

Shireen resisted the impulse to hide it somehow. It is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame. "Yes, my lady," she said.

"Come along, then," said Lady Sansa. "I have some excellent tea from the Arbor. How does that sound?"

"Could I have a hot water-skin, too?" Shireen asked, as Lady Sansa looped her arm through hers.

"Of course. And the lemon trees in the greenhouse have given up their first fruits — we'll have lemon cakes for lunch instead of venison." She smiled and Shireen thought that even if Sansa Stark never took another husband or had children of her own, she was still all the mother that the North ever would need.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

What do you think of Grrm's portrayal of religion?

Hi anon, this is a really interesting question, and it took me awhile to put together what I hope is a coherent answer.

For context, I think GRRM's background is important to keep in mind. George is almost exactly my parents' age and belongs to the same demographic of American anti-war ex hippies who aged into broadly liberal baby-boomers. Their radicalism has largely mellowed over the years, they may not be the most up to date on the appropriate terminology, and they tend to prioritize nonviolent solutions to systemic problems (my mom often tells me the younger generation needs to do another March on Washington). One thing liberal boomers also tend have in common is that often they grew up religious but, as they entered their 20s and went to college, broke away from the churches of their childhood. My family is full of ex-Catholic liberal boomers like George. They might have dabbled in Buddhism or Hinduism in the 70s, New Age mysticism in the 80s or 90s, and ended up settling into statements like, "I'm spiritual, but not religious." Almost invariably, they have a sort of disdain for organized religion, which they associate with a kind of yokel mentality, a place for anti-Choice anti-LGBTQ traditionalists. Although they will profess "to each his own," to the average liberal boomer, the church represents regressive values and they cannot imagine why anyone would willingly return to it. Even those who did remain religious take great pains to make it known they are not like those Christians. And to be fair, liberal boomers have a good reason to feel this way. The churches of their childhoods were not fun places for people whose own ideas and values went against post-WW2 broadly white middle class values. Unsurprisingly, SFF authors tend to fit into this category.

And this sort of bleeds into a lot of 90s SFF. You see a lot of worlds that have religion, but rarely do you have characters that are religious, and even more rarely do you have sympathetic young protagonists who are religious. You might have the occasional kindly priest or nun type, but far more often these characters will be abusive, mean spirited, or narrow minded (think of Brienne's childhood septas). Religion is often treated with the same disdain by in-world characters as it is by the authors themselves. You might even have worlds that are almost entirely secular, with vague references to "The Gods," but without any real religious traditions constructed around them (Robin Hobb's Realm of the Elderlings series, which features two vague dieties, Eda and El, who seem to have no religious traditions surrounding them whatsoever). You might have cultish religions that are actively dangerous and must be stopped, or you might have Catholic church analogues, existing in opposition to everything cool and fun. Protagonists tend to be cynical non-believer types, or they might start off as true believers and lose their religion along the way. Rarely are they allowed to have sincere and abiding faith.

And you can see a lot of this in George's writing, in the way he portrays the Faith of the Seven and other religions, and the way the fandom receives them. The Faith of the Seven is Westeros' answer to the Catholic church, but there are also the Old Gods, the faith of R'hllor, and others, often presented in opposition to each other. George himself sees religion as a divisive force, and in ASOIAF, we see religions in conflict with each other, we see them weaponized to fuel vendettas, we see them used to drive prophesies and start wars. There's a clip somewhere, of George at a panel, where he's talking about religious conflict and his take is very reminiscent of George Carlin's-- you can tell he knows the bit. "Are you really going to kill all of these people because a giant invisible guy in the sky told you too? And your giant guy in the sky is different?" George asks, receiving a round of applause from the crowd. It's a very modern view on religion, which is fair, I think. He's writing for a modern audience who have modern conceptions of the church, and he is making a deliberate point about the harm religion can do. .

What I do think is missing, or at least downplayed, are the ways in which the medieval church was really a driving cultural and social force in medieval Europe. We live in a secular society, so we have the luxury of disregarding the church in a way that medieval people did not. This is one major way in which the worldbuilding of ASOIAF departs from the real world middle ages. To portray the medieval church as a primarily regressive institution that mostly drove conflict is too simplistic. The Catholic church is what culturally unified most of western Europe into what was known as "Christendom." The clergy served political functions, such as providing an important check upon the power of medieval kings, and when the power of the church declined, despotism grew. Socially, for most western Europeans, the church was also the center of day to day life. Insofar as medieval peasants had any opportunities for leisure time and celebrations, most of these revolved around the church. The church was for centuries a driving force behind art, music, literature, and architecture, and it also performed important social functions, such as operating poorhouses and leper-houses, and providing educations for children.

And all of this was just extremely normal. Most people prayed multiple times each day, and sincerely believed in heaven a hell. The state of one's soul after death was such a real concern that the sale of indulgences-- a way that you could pay to get your dead loved ones whose souls were in purgatory into heaven more quickly-- became a major racket for the Church. I've seen the HotD fandom react to Alicent Hightower's level of devotion calling her a religious "fanatic" and I cannot stress enough how absolutely normal Alicent would have been in medieval times. This is where I blame the framing of the show more than George, because it does set Alicent's faith in opposition to Rhaenyra's seemingly more modern values, but does it in a selective way. For instance, Alicent comes off as prudish, and modern audiences hate a prude, but we never see how her faith would have certainly inspired her, as queen, to take other more progressive actions such as giving alms to the poor or bestowing her patronage upon motherhouses. In another post about the fandom perception of Valyrian culture, I talked about how this modern view of devout belief, particularly Catholicism, tends to cast anything that is presented in opposition to it as an unequivocal good, and I see this sort of rhetoric slung around the fandom a lot, "why would you defend the pseudo-Catholics who hate women??" But the pseudo-Catholics are really just normal medieval people, and they didn't hate women, they simply lived in a patriarchal society and the material conditions did not yet exist which would allow them to challenge that in any meaningful way.

[syndrossi]

the daenerys replies got me thinking of a resonant AU where dany also gets blasted into the past (maybe she goes to summerhall to look for jon after he goes missing?) but instead of being jon and rhaeger's sister, she reawakens as saera targaryen's 8yo daughter (perhaps with a volantene noble?). now this will probably have big effects to the volantis shenanigans, the evil ppl who are ecstatic that a prophecy baby and possible TPWP being born so close to home and saera is wary of all these wizard ppl who are suddenly so interested in her baby girl but oh look they just gifted dany three dragon eggs, wait hold on her daughter just hatched three dragons?? how is that even possible... and dany being dany is like well idk what's going on but it's time to fix volantis' sociopolitical structure with my cool new mom

i think dany would eventually get suspicious of the wizard people and decide to escape volantis and go back to westeros, especially if her dragon's grow as fast as they did in canon, then within a year or two they would be large enough to carry her and saera across the narrow sea. meanwhile in westeros, daemon and viserys worst fears are realized when they start getting reports about a valyrian girl in volantis with the control of three dragons. and she's headed straight for them?? but hold on is that aunt saera with her??

just them reacting to this little girl with three enormous dragons and daemon's immediately suspicious as to why dany looks more like she could be rhaegar's twin than jon, and hold on jon and dany seem to know each other?? what is going on... and poor viserys is in panic mode bc aunt saera has a prophecy baby??? with three balerions???? I need to get this girl betrothed immediately!!!!! and jon and dany are happy (if confused) to reunite and once dany realizes that rhaegar's here too she def gets emotional bc that's the brother she looked up to all her life and named a son and dragon after ;-;

Saera would have been so smug about bringing dragons to Volantis through one of her children! (She'd be an older mama, though--in her early forties at the time of birth if Dany is meant to be the same age as Jon and Rhaegar, and close to fifty by the time Daemon finds them.) Given that she had a bastard son with one of the Triarchs in the early 90s AC, it's not far-fetched to imagine Dany's father is the same man.

The nature of the sorcery that brought them here is such that Dany would be in some pretty big trouble that close to Volantis, though, so probably best that this wasn't the case! Otherwise, Saera would have needed to get her daughter out of there quickly/early, and I don't think her ambition would have allowed her to.

But in the event that Saera decided to forgo her "kingdom" in Volantis, Dany's own hatchling would have been too small to carry them away, so my guess is they would have done their best to hide the hatchling and secure passage via ship.

Which still serves as quite the surprise to those in King's Landing! Aunt Saera alive and back in Westeros after all those decades? Only Rhaenys and Viserys were even old enough to really remember her! Rhaenys would have been around 10 when she fled to Essos.

And Viserys's WTF WHY IS EVERYONE ELSE HAVING PROPHECY BABIES reaction? And the immediate dilemma of what's he's supposed to do. Do you wed two prophecy children together? Dilute the prophecy by marrying them back into the main line? HELP.

(Awwww, Dany reuniting with Jon and finally getting to meet Rhaegar. And he does look just like her, just as everyone had told her. And her immediately agreeing with Jon that he must be protected from all things Baratheon and Trident. And Rhaegar being like omg this is the Dany? The one who brought the dragons back? And Dany immediately spilling the beans about Rhaegar being Jon's dad because she doesn't know that Jon's been trying to keep that from him.)

[giorno-plays-piano]

Unsteady

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: allusion to yandere, canon-typical violence, mentions of murder, exhausted and crying Aemond, hurt/comfort.

Words: 2k

Summary: Quiet, you stand together, leaning on the balcony and watching the dead sea, each left to your own thoughts. The silence between you is not strained but comforting, an indication of peace and, perhaps, some sort of unity. In the end, you are on his side.

P.S. Well, here we are! Hope you enjoy my first HOTD story!

___________

Your continous lack of sleep is slowly making you delirious. Tossing and turning in bed for hours, you can almost imagine stealing the sword of your guard and going on a rampage inside the Red Keep: this is how hopelessly tired you feel.

You take a breath. When you close your eyes, you are back home. You see the blinding light shine through the vast windows, the ancient walls made of sand and magic, and so many embroidered red and yellow pillows on the floor they nearly cover it all. Young girls and boys sing incantations that sound like music in the courtyard. If you turn your head to the east wing, you can smell barley bread baked in the kitchen along with sweet date cookies that will be served tonight as they have been for centuries.

But when you open your eyes, you see only the darkness of the room that isn't yours; a foreign castle where it's so painfully hard to breathe, to think; a gloomy, hostile world you are being held as a prisoner. Nothing here reminds you of home. You are a stranger to these lands, these people.

Nevertheless, you can't leave. Not yet. Not until the new King is crowned and your promise is fulfilled.

You stumbled upon this world by mistake, the new spell taking you in a completely different direction from where you were supposed to land. You were awaited in Turas, a place with the densest population of witches and warlocks, but you landed here, in this godforsaken little world with almost no magic left in it sans some dragons and a very few ancient priestesses who are impossible to locate. Without a great source of magic, you can't travel between dimensions, your coiffers empty from your last attempt. And although there is some great force in the dragon's fire, you need permission of its owner to have their pet shooting flames at you. Enraging Vhagar and having her blow fire at you for a minute or two doesn't work since she does it for far too short, and the spell needs more time. You tried.

But Otto Hightower will sooner stuff his mouth with glass than let you go and miss an opportunity to have you aid the Greens.

So you stay. You pretend to be the Queen's niece, a daughter of her older cousin, eager to come to court and serve the Crown. You do almost exactly that, to be precise: hunt down the spies like Talia and a few other maids, force information out of people with the help of your spells, and sometimes murder someone who's notoriously hard to kill.

Not Rhaenyra, though. Alicent forbids.

You hate it here with all your being. This realm is a cage. There are no good sides in the court - neither green nor black. Regardless of who wins, people will suffer. This place is doomed, and you ache to get as far from it as you can, back to the ancient Tower of Babylon on the crossroads of the worlds, the only place you call home. Every single day spent in Westeros, you miss it along with your people.

Finally, you realize you can't sleep. Laying on this ridiculously uncomfortable bed, albeit quite lavish, in hopes of falling asleep is silly, and you stand up, searching for your dress. Perhaps it is worth taking a stroll before returning to bed. Maybe the chilling air will clear your head and your heart.

Slipping away from your room without guards noticing is as easy as taking a candy from a child, your magic clouding their mind, lulling them in the false sense of security. You can't make people do what you want directly, or frankly, you wouldn't be here, but your spells are most helpful to obscure the mind and blur the vision, and you luckily evade a few servants and more guards on your way as you unlock the door to one of the numerous balconies, usually deserted both during the day and at night.

But you're not alone. You walk in only to stare at the sharp features of Aemond who looks like he wants to skewer an intruder on his sword, his expression both painful and enraged.

When he recognizes your face, he softens, though.

"Cousin," you smile at him anxiously, playing brave as you stroll closer, pretending you are glad to see him.

He relaxes his tightly clenched, thin lips, and you see how tired and utterly exhausted he seems, his eye bloodshot as he stands in his full day attire as if he didn't event attempt to go to bed, knowing he won't sleep. Perhaps Aemond seems malicious and fiery to others, standing tall among other Targaryen siblings, but to you, he is only a boy. A mutilated, desperate to survive youngest son with no one but his mother on his side. Otto molds his abused grandchild into the perfect dragon warrior and a vicious protector of the Greens, expecting him to be there when Aegon is made king, and it makes you sick to keep watching them.

Still, it is not your story. Not your place to change things, however wrong they are. You will be gone soon, and you should leave these people to their fate.

"You don't have to call me that when we're alone," he mutters, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Would you prefer my Prince?" You let out a snicker in hopes to get him to smile wider, but he doesn't, turning back to face the darkness above the sea, his hands on the stone rails.

He doesn't look good. The shadow beneath his eye intensify, eyelid droopy, and his lips are cracked and dry, but it is his expression that worries you most of all. Aemond looks like he is barely holding on, slowly being buried under the pressure of Otto's expectations and Alicent's maniac fear for his life. He lives on a knife-edge, and you wouldn't want to trade places with him even under a promise to rule the whole Westeros.

Quiet, you stand together, leaning on the balcony and watching the dead sea, each left to your own thoughts. The silence between you is not strained but comforting, an indication of peace and, perhaps, some sort of unity. In the end, you are on his side. Despite how much you dislike being entangled in the intrigues of the court, you have compassion towards Alicent and her children. You wish you could take them away from this place and let them discover what a true life behind the castle walls is.

Besides, over the course of many months spent here, you grow surprisingly fond of Aemond. You are unsure if it is his spirit, perhaps, or his passion that draws you towards him, but he is fascinating, one of a kind. The only one who keeps trying over and over again; who keeps pushing forward, paving the road for his mother and siblings despite the unfair treatment. It is attractive, isn't it?

If only people stop messing with his head.

Suddenly, Aemond winces, and the spell is broken between the two of you when you stare at him, anxious again. Unsurprisingly, he turns away, but this time, you are too concerned to leave him alone.

"Aemond, what is it?" You ask, planting your hands on his shoulders to stop him from moving away from you.

Stubborn, he turns his head, nonetheless, and doesn't speak a word like he's a kid all over again, pretending everything is fine. You catch a glimpse of his swollen eye, the veins in it so red you realize he is hurt.

"Are you in pain?"

He says nothing at all until you grab his face between your hands and make him look at you, forcing him to bend over to you because he certainly has blood of the giants in his veins. Looking him straight in the eye, you feel him trembling in your hands, panic surging through you. What is it? Did he get hurt during one of his endless trainings? Is it something else? A slow poison? An old wound?

"It can't hurt in there," he whispers angrily, tears rolling down his cheek as he looks to the side, hopelessly trying to evade your eyes. "I don't even have it anymore."

It takes you a second to realize what he means. He is talking about his other eye.

Letting go of his face, you bit your lips, wishing you could do anything at all to fix it. Were you there the night he was mutilated, you could have saved the eye, make Aemond whole again, but it's far too late. You aren't capable of recreating limbs or any other body parts out of thin air.

"We call it phantom pain."

Swallowing, you raise your hand to his eyepatch, and he flinches, refusing to let you lift it. You voice softens as you take him by the hand. "I promise, I won't take it off."

Aemond looks like he'd rather have you put a red-hot poker in his mouth, but he stills, tears still streaming down his chin while you murmur incantations, your palm covering his eyepatch. Perhaps your voice soothes him, or perhaps the spell works swiftly, but he quiets down fast, unmoving as you numb his pain. It is one of a few things you can do just for him, not because you are serving the Greens, and you wish he'd tell you when he's hurt. You wish he'd seek your help.

It's been several minutes: the spell should have fully kicked in, you believe. Slowly taking your palm away from his eyepatch, you observe your prince carefully, watching for any signs of discomfort to patch him up further, if needed. As you take his face in your hands and ask him to please let you examine him, make sure he feels better, Aemond suddenly sniffs again, his shoulders shaking violently.

You pull him into your embrace without even recognizing what you are doing. It is a reflex of sorts, a simple reaction to someone's distress. Back at home, your teachers would always tease you for your relentless desire to comfort people, calling you a wannabe therapist. But that was back there, in a safe, kind place where people don't fight for the thrones, power, and money. This world and its inhabitants are painfully different.

Maybe not in everything, though. Because the next thing you know, Aemond is bending over to lean on you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, his hands around your back. He shakes like a leaf, like a child who had known no comfort, no safety. It is the first time you see him like that, so defenseless and bare, because Aemond is fearsome even in private with his family, and he made you nervous on numerous occasions with his intense stare or a strained, disturbing smile. It feels almost unreal to have him here, in your hands, crying like a human being.

But he is real, and he is human.

"You'll get better," you promise him, gently whispering words of comfort in his ear, suddenly thankful he doesn't see you tearing up yourself. "I'll make the pain go away."

Those are hollow words: you can only treat him again and again, not make the pain disappear forever, but it should suffice for now, and he will be able to sleep.

How many nights did he spend here, standing and trying to overcome pain in something that can't heal? He would never tell his mother not to antagonize her again about not protecting her child. Otto, undoubtedly, would simply say something along the "deal with it" lines, you think, feeling distressed. This must have been going on for years since Aemond was a child. You can't possibly leave him alone with his pain.

Clinging to you, he shudders silently, not a sound coming from him as if he learned how to cry noiselessly over the years on a balcony. When you try to move a little, he presses himself to you even tighter, not letting you go, but you don't plan on pushing him away. In this moment, you are ready to give him anything he asks.

You don't know the sort of emotion it awakens in him when he feels it, too.