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howyouloveyourdragon · 2 years ago

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The Heart Bestowed

pronouns: she/her warnings: none that i am aware of, feel free to correct me in dms :) summary: Jacaerys loves nothing more than a duty fulfilled. Y/n has other impressions. Ever since they were young, they presumed that they would some day find one another in the Sept amongst family and reciting practiced vows to one another. However, they could not be more different nor more infuriated in their joined presence. Neither of them have any greater desires than to quell the other...So why do they feel so disappointed when they are both betrothed to another? disclaimer: this is fanfiction for asoiaf/house of the dragon, i do not give permission for my writing to be translated or copied whatsoever pairing/s: Jacaerys Velaryon x Tyrell!Reader dividers by: firefly-graphics wordcount: 8,144

120 AC. When Two Foes Begin

Y/n tilts her head as her eyes take in the strange boy’s dishevelled appearance. Her lids turn her eyes to slits. “You have a leaf in your hair.” She comments. Usually this would be a compliment–the girl probably loved nature more than a Targaryen, their dragon. She threads the court girls’ hair with flowers every morrow, which she is doing at this sensitive moment as her fingers peel through pale strands and embed larkspur into the crevices. Her own locks are braided with daisies though he cannot comprehend how she managed to fit them all in with the sheer density of it. The boy with brown hair rolls his lips into his mouth, bites down and frowns at her. Hair had been a topic he had been criticised upon often. He should not be surprised that the little Tyrell girl thought the same. “Better a leaf than a spider.” He snaps briskly, all too used to defending the castle of stone in where his insecurity lies. The girl gasps and shoots her hands into her own locks as quick as an arrow flies. Perhaps if she were not here then he would be able to occupy his time flying arrows instead of pretending not to be as bored as a dormouse. Her wide eyes turn on Helaena as Jacaerys begins cackling. “Hela, you promised!” She exclaims, the Targaryen princess returning her shock. “You told me they were still in your room!” “They are sleeping.” Helaena’s soft voice melodies no louder than that of the very dormouse skittering through Jacaerys’ very soul. The boy sighs.

“Are you a child? You are acting as if you are one. How fearless.” Jacaerys snickers then smirks slyly. “I am willing to bet five dragon coins that you are the younger, aren’t you? Posing as the elder to attract my aunt’s attention.” The way her eyes narrow and settle their attention back onto him only heightens his entertainment. He intends to quip once more but a familiar supercilious voice drifts closer and he rolls his eyes. “And had I not known you, I would have presumed you to be the youngest of your line and yet the Lady seems all too aware of her status. Something that you clearly lack, nephew.” Either child turns to look at the Targaryen picking at his nails to pretend the conflict is not anxiety-ridden. That jumps an idea into the almost-heir’s mind. “Perhaps it is genetics then, seeing as Daeron’s sword can strike thrice the battle yours would. I could presume that–” “You are both foolish.” Y/n interrupts and her hand dips to take Helaena’s. Squeezing. “We are leaving. Helaena is to show me the library. Good day.” It is swift that she leaves, Jacaerys’ aunt trailing behind her slightly as she giggles. The boys however seem unable to dispel the attention she directs, staring long after she is gone. “A shame that your wife and yourself are not yet accustomed to one another.” Aemond smirks with only the slightest twitch of his lip. Jacaerys wrinkles his nose. “Gross, what are you saying? She is not my wife, she is an insufferable girl who makes my eyes sore.” Jacaerys mutters then grimaces at the mere thought. His uncle doesn’t utter a noise but they both understand the growing gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps not yet but she will be. You should know how quickly alliances are forged. Brother of mine own is to marry our sister in the growing years, perhaps you can share together your day of nuptials and all that comes alongside it. I am sure that he would delight in this revelation himself.” “You speak as though you are excused from this fate.” “That is because I am. You forget I am a second-son.” The Targaryen prince ignores the Velaryon’s grumbles.

132 AC.

A dahlia is strapped to her wrist, he notes, watching her. He thought she didn’t like dahlias. It is an off cream colour, not quite possessing the purity of white. It is rare that she would wear such colours, teal gowns usually consume her and yet today she is not wearing one at all, she is wearing a colour reminiscent of the peaches bundle in her arms. She cradles them like they are her own kin. She looks beautiful. More beautiful than he has ever seen her despite the splotches of dirt and vibrant grass stain painting her dress. Jace questions himself why the urge to bow possesses him. She has grown into her Tyrell roots it seems, her steps elegant and handing the small fruits to the children of the city. Jace hides behind a pillar as he gazes, it has been just a year since he last saw her. Just a year and she looks exactly the same and different all at once. He should have prepared for that, he thinks as his stomach tumbles about obscenely and taunts his gut for choosing wrong. He shushes his brother who talks raucously with one of the common folk. His wishes are fruitless. His eyes longing. His feet locked to the floor in order to prevent their unreasoned desires. Her hand reaches into the small basket and squeezes one of the fluorescent yet pale fruits before handing it to a small child, perhaps no bigger than a direwolf pup. Her…

He can’t bring himself to speak her name even silently in his head; it feels far too scandalous. Perhaps it is. Jace likes that word because it sounds like them. Perhaps. Perhaps he will visit her, perhaps he will speak with her, perhaps he will be happy at her side. Perhaps… He wonders why her hair is in those intricate tangles, well not tangles but he cannot summon the phrase, it always looks pretty much like the rose of her name but something feels different this time. Jace wonders if she would too think him pretty. As the thought surfaces he cannot help but feel guilty as he imagines the sweeping swirl that his tongue would gladly deliver around her finger. The one where juices flow freely down her forearm. He swallows. Gods be good. Jace looks back at the once girl now woman. He looks at the odd twig in her hair, the way her dress doesn’t quite reach her feet. Intentional–he’s sure. She knew that she would be walking around although as he hears her laughing, her hair dipping to catch in one of the children’s eyes (to which they swat), he assumes that she did not intend to stay as long as she has. It was been just thirty minutes since he started peeking over at her but it is unknown how she has been skipping and circling the children. One of their small hands dart out at her back and she squeals, the sound more like a birdsong. It looks like a game but once Jace is unfamiliar in. He wonders if she is always this way with children…He wonders if this would be what she would look like amongst their own. Their own. Not her own. Their own. A deepening blush creeps up his veins until blossoming up his face. He wants to brush them away with his hands but that would be foolish.

He glances down at his frozen feet and curses him. He knows they will not move. He refuses to let them and yet he still curses them. His hand dips into his pocket to feel the long-crinkled petals that lie there.

120 AC. The Dragon Incident.

“He stole Vhagar!” Jacaerys seethes, anger steaming on his young face. “He called us bastards–!” “So you carved out his eye?” Y/n yells back, horror filling her face. Her brows are knitted and her lips are twisted downward. Jacaerys’ stomach attempts to devour itself, sharp teeth suddenly becoming unleashed and ripping at his insides like a morbid beast. Bile sews up his throat before hitting his tongue. “Look at him!” Her hands cradle his uncle by his hair and stroke it gently. Jacaerys’ jaw locks and a huff leaves his nose. His uncle looks down, clenching his fists. “You need not fight my battles.” Aemond hisses. “You need not, truly.” “We are children, you are family! Nobody should be fighting anybody.” The girl roars, every inch a beast as powerful as Vhagar in that moment but neither boy changes their stance. Jacaerys huffs and lets his eyes latch onto her hand, running through Aemond’s white curls. A fire burns up his spine. “You seem all too pleased with that fact, if only you could keep your tongue as still as your mind.” The words taste too bitter on his tongue but he chews them out anyway. Her fierce eyes narrow. Her hair sways at the velocity in which she turns her head, the yellow hyacinths in her hair on the verge of falling once her attention returns to him. “I think you both are in far more need of that ability than I.” It is the first time he has felt ashamed. Her eyes drop to Aemond, fingers still carting through his hair. “Aemond, your sisters, name them.” he glares ahead petulantly.

“I have but only one.” He grumbles but her fingers yank sharply and he yelps. “H-Helaena!” She tugs again. “Helaena and Rhaenyra!” He sputters and the Tyrell girl does look far too pleased as she stands to grasp one hand into Jacaerys’ tunic who gulps with wide eyes. “And your mother? Her name.” “R-Rhaenyra!” He sounds out quickly, not wishing for the same sore locks as his uncle. Y/n smiles. She actually smiles. “Good. A common meaning.” Jacaerys winces as she lets go of her rough hold. “You are neither sweet hearted nor graceful.” Jacaerys whines and winces as she lets go of her rough hold. “I am not sure that you are Tyrell at all.” “Perhaps we have been lied to.” His uncle grumbles in agreement. Despite their sentiments against her, the girl beams at their shared discussion. “I hope you enjoy yourselves, my princes.” She curtsy though mock hangs like a banner over them. She snickers to herself as she glides away swiftly. Jacaerys sighs once more and rolls his dark eyes. Aemond folds his arms and they sit down in silence until… “Did you like it?” Aemond asks hesitantly. Jacaerys’ eyes narrow again. “Did I like what?” He snaps. “When she tugged you.” Any retort already built dies on his tongue. A deep flush floods his face. “Of course not.” He denies with haste but his eyes resemble a doe’s as he watches after her.

132 AC.

They are in a large hall, so distant yet so close, as their eyes lock on the other. He smiles at the sight of her hair–no longer so untidy as just hours before. A circlet is delicate upon her brow and loops in the crown of her head and even further back across it. Pink rose petals, real or fake he cannot discern, line it beautifully. Gold compliments her well, he decides and especially in contrast to the soft blue of her gown. Briefly he wonders what she would look like in yellow. Vibrancy. Her colours seem pale as of late, almost unsure. Another thought severs his mind. She is smiling back–no–she is smiling at him. His smile trips for only a moment before it returns taller than ever, he raises his cup and only drinks from it after she reciprocates the motion. Y/n’s eyes wander across the room, sweeping every lord, lady, maid, stray chef, even his drunken uncle. They darken, her eyes, as they explore. Does she like the gem-encrusted candles his mother likes to harbour? Why would she like the candles? Well, what of the cups then? Are they to her liking or shall he replace them all after they are wed. He bites his lip but then she is looking at him again. Warmth waves across the table with a flick of her wrist. He loves it. He loves it dearly. Beautiful, he thinks. Jace thinks a lot of things. He even thinks about how easily he could sneak them both out and into the gardens. Jace could even request one of the lute players to join them, perhaps they could talk freely as he plays. He realises that he does not merely want to talk with her, he wants to murmur in her ear and wrap flowers between the strands of her hair the way she loves it. He wants to inspire each new colour she wears and accept every argument or praise she would bestow onto him. For the dagger of her quick tongue can feel like both the sweetest and only release a man should need.

He sips once more from his cup, the Dornish delight tickling his own tongue. He wonders if hers should feel the same. A glow echoes from her feet to her hair. It blooms her face, nutritious light dancing across her smile. The grin atop her lips is like golden dust both fleeting and familiar but beautiful nonetheless. Something he would later imprint into his memories. He likes to think of them that way, two dancing dusts of gold moving in tandem despite the wind around them. The firelight cannot distract him from her no matter how flirtatious. His eyes dip to glance at her wrist, he grins when he sees the pale dahlia. Then they meet hers again and he tilts his head to the side. A gesture known between them all too well. So, as they stand and their chairs scrape back. The dancing bodies envelop them enough to shield their bodies from the Queen’s prying eyes.

121 AC. The ‘Strong’ Incident.

She looks as though she has sucked a lemon dry. Jacaerys grimaces, nose wrinkled and brow furrowed. To say that Y/n Tyrell is a petulant Lady of the Reach would be too kind. He has detested her since the moment she clung to his uncle Aemond like a coddling mother. How she wiped the mud off his face and stroked back his hair. He scoffs at the memory. At the ever flowing memories that thread along his mind, stitching it in place as tight as a royal noose. A huff pushes through his nostrils as he stands opposite her at a mere five namesdays. His eyes narrow. “It’s ugly.” He sneers, referring to the rhododendron braided through her hair. She glares back. “You would know, would you not, mittys, afterall you are much further known in that field?” At her sharp utterance, his head snaps up and his eyes blow wide. “Where did you learn that?” He snaps. For the love of the Gods he hates the ill-inducing smile that twists her lips like an insipid snail. She is far too proud of herself, he decides whilst folding his arms. Her grin doubles. “Your uncle taught me.” The Tyrell teases, smirking with those prudish pink lips. He wants to slap away the smug glimmer in her eye but that would not be befitting of his station. Jacaerys clenches his fist to recall that. Instead he breathes. “Well he cannot even summon the correct grammar so he is hardly one to listen to.” The boy is proud when he sees irritation flash over Y/n’s face. He almost chortles at the sight. “At least he can string together a proper sentence!” She bites back. He scowls and turns his head to the side to pretend the creeping blush is from anger rather than embarrassment. She snickers as her eyes roam every birthmark or dot that lines the crevices of his face. He glances at his mother, already engaging with a strangely familiar looking woman. Oh. Your mother. Oh.

Jacaerys trains his gaze back on yours and stiffens his posture, arms folding behind his back like Aegon taught him, chin raised. “I do not want to marry you.” He tells her plainly. His words are firm and rehearsed but they take no offence. He is almost insulted when she lets out the most unladylike snort he has ever heard. “Then marry my sister.” She retorts, something playful dancing across her smile. Jacaerys drops his jaw in horror. “Your sister is four!” “Then do not whine to me of what you do or do not wish to do!” As they speak–or rather–argue, Y/n is hoisting up the skirts of her dress and adjusting her shoes. He ignores it. “I merely want us to understand one another.” He attempts, resurging his confidence. She ignores him now, fussing with her hair and wrenching it away from her face. He grimaces once more and glances at their mothers who embrace each other, not in the least concerned of their children’s enjoyment. “And if we are to understand each other then we shall-oh for the heavens, what are you doing?” The prince watches as her hand glides upon a tree branch and latches to it snug into her palm. Her snickers emit as she slings a leg around another. “Escaping!” He gapes at the strange girl. “Escaping? Escaping from what?” “You. You bore me like no other and I find myself in dire need of entertainment.” “I do not bore, you bore me!” Jacaerys continues to twitter even as she clambers through the intense leaves and ducks between branches. “Is this what Tyrells do? Climb trees and allow their smallclothes to the public eye? Be careful you ought to fall.” His voice extracts another yelp of amusement.

“Why? So that your Strong arms oughten to catch me? You are of your namesake, yes, Prince Strong?” Y/n rolls her eyes but before she has the time to argue further, she yelps and falls through the various greenery until falling flat on her back and winces. A groan parts her lips and wrinkles her brows. A gasp calls from the opposing side as the Lady Tyrell and Realm’s Delight skitter toward the fallen child. He bites his lip to quieten a laugh while they drop to her side. “Are you quite alright, my sweet?” Your mother asks, wispy voice wittering. She catches your arm and cheek, eyes scanning over every inch. “Jacaerys,” His mother hisses but conveniently his sights are elsewhere. He grasps a pile of amaryllis flower petals. He doesn’t know how they got there but they are pretty regardless.

132 AC.

The night glimmers with sparkling light, each one more beautiful than the last. “I had almost thought to request a dance of you,” Jace chuckles. “Though that might have been unseemly, as we are not yet betrothed, officially at least.” “I had almost asked, myself.” Y/n retorts back, grinning impishly. She looks down at their feet as they walk, she almost laughs when he performs a little skip. He nods, eyes glazed as they roam his sight across her face. In a sudden move he flicks her nose. Her face flinches and parts her lips. She blinks back to see his smirking face. “What are you–” Jace pretends his eyes are skimming over her in nothing but thought, nose suddenly wrinkling. “Ah yes, I had thought that no such beauty such as your own could be true. I wonder what altered my sights so,” He is grinning wildly but she does not find the comment amusing. A huff bubbles in her and she hoists up her skirts. “How dare you!” She bellows. Jace laughs with greedy entertainment as he begins to skip backward. She runs after him, attempting to hide her delight. “You best apologise for scorning me, Velaryon!” She has to call as she chases him, ducking under branches and attempting not to slip in the thick mud. He glances back at her and cackles at the otherworldly display. She scoffs. His laughter takes control until he is doubling over in amusement which gives Y/n the perfect opportunity to strike a stiff arm across his body and send him crashing to the floor with her body atop his. She pins his wrists above his head and smirks as he wriggles. She beams proudly down at him. “Apologise.” She demands. He grimaces, laughter not yet stopped. “As if!” He dispels.

And all too suddenly, he stops. Jace stops and he looks up at her and his breath stutters. “Do you intend to keep me here? At your mercy?” “I did so when we were children.” She teases to which he quickly rolls his eyes. “When we threw mud and ducked beneath trees.” He interrupts her speech with a chuckle. Her palms soften and slide onto the ground instead. “Do not laugh at me,” “I am not laughing!” He defends. His fingers glide around her wrist. Y/n’s breath hitches. Her eyes flit down at him. As her grip loosens she plummets until their chests touch. Never one to back down from a challenge and yet she fumbles with wide eyes and shallow breath. The prince grins and chuckles as he laces two hands along her waist. His eyes glitter with excitement. “Your lineage was correct at least once.” He murmurs. He spots a row of rogue daisies dotting her hair. “You are so alluring that you have me utterly captivated.” A lump clogs her throat, her breath turns almost so shallow that it hides from her. “And you are as headstrong as the dragon demands.” She breathes out. “We are unchaperoned.” He purrs, a finger raising to stroke his cheek. She swallows and lets her irises track it. “We are.” Crickets dance around them, unseen but their noise unrelenting. His lids lower as the flower leans closer. “It is pretty.” He whispers below his breath. “What is?” “In your hair,” he gestures with a pink hue. She doesn’t have to hear him to know what he is speaking of. “Perhaps…our marriage could be like your hair.” Her brow furrows. “Wild…ever-changing…beautiful…a garden.” A soft smile caresses her face. “I would like to grow our…garden together.” The stars glow above them. As if the fates design it themselves, Jace feels his own smile beginning to warm. “I too...” He breathes. “I too.”

122 AC.

Glares are often exchanged over the dining hall but instead they appear beside a dreary river. It looks utterly soiled and murky. The prince wrinkles his nose. “I’m not going in.” He denies to which the little girl at his left snickers. “I did not ask it of you.” The flower unlaces her boots, huffing as she discards the knotted tangles. “Then what are you doing?” He shifts in discomfort. “I am swimming.” She snickers in retort, “Do not be foolish, that water is freezing.” “But it has water lilies!” Y/n argues tugging at her bodice. She huffs at the trickiness. His hand reaches out to grasp her wrist as she shuffles out of her large skirt. “If our mothers knew that I had let you, they would string me up by my cloak!” “So do not tell them! They will never discover it!” With a twist of her hands she tosses him in the lake below with great ease.

The two highly esteemed most certainly did discover it when their two squabbling children returned to them soaked from head to toe. “Your fault.” Jacaerys hissed at her but she merely stuck her tongue out, as if it had been her intention all along.

132 AC.

The prince stands before the painter, sighing as time whittles away. It is already noon, morning past and yet he cannot escape preening hands or bothersome hands. The excessive garments weigh heavily on him. They feel more like vines than fabrics. His eyes cast to look at the cloudy sky as the gentle blues expose themselves. He is glad that they are not in a shade as spritely as his clothes. It is an odd wonder that he used to love blue so deeply and yet now it shackles him. “And how many more strokes should I be expecting?” Jacaerys asks. The artist before him chokes–presumably on his own saliva–then clears his throat. “Apologies, my lord, what is it that you–?” “Brush strokes, friend. Brush strokes,” A glimmer of enjoyment twinkles in his brown irises. “Ah.” The painter croaks with a flush up his neck. A snicker parts the prince’s lips but an abrupt snap of the doors halts his short entertainment. Jace’s eyes quicken to find a grey dress and solemn face. His grin slips. “My dear, I was not expecting you but it is welcome.” He almost stutters, wanting for nothing but to take a step closer to her. He curses his feet for disobeying his desires. Jace quickly sews back his smile but perhaps too tightly.

“I thought it best for us to confer in discretion.” The words leave her lips stiffly and as he watches her move he sees a similar firmness in her posture, her stance, her stuck limbs. Jace glances at the painter. “Yes, you are quite right. Ser, would you–?” “No, that is quite alright.” She interrupts, trying to smile but it looks as frozen as the force of her smile. Tensity grapples the air, squeezing it tight. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. "I didn't know what it meant." She utters quietly, refusing to raise her eyes to meet his. Jacaerys watches as she swallows slowly and takes a deep breath, holding it in her lungs as though it would flee from her the moment she spoke once again. "When I...When I called you that word." Tensity rattles him, locking his bones. "I'm sorry. It was cruel and unbefitting and you did not deserve it." Silence holds them stiff like the portrait itself yet the artist himself holds little hesitancy. "You were a child." He speaks. She finally looks at him and everything inside him goes soft at her gaze. "So were you." And suddenly everything feels different and the same all at once. He does not know whether what he has gained is what he has lost. He wants to move, walk or run toward her, it matters little. Anything his body would allow but it does not. He stays frozen. Watching as she slowly steps back, the slightest dip in her mouth as she regains her composure. Her head dips, eyes fleeting.

Jacaerys has not screamed since he was a child but suddenly he wants a change of heart. Regardless of duty. Regardless of honour. The two things he holds most dear behind his family. “I have news.” “Oh?” He tries not to let his voice shake despite surrendering to the quietness. “An announcement has been made–two in fact.” His brows furrow. “And what have we to do with them? Have our mothers’ meddling persisted?” Jacaerys’ smile returns but something flickers beneath his eyes. “Your flowers…Where have they gone?” She doesn’t answer. Lady Y/n Tyrell merely takes a deep breath. “We are to be wed.” The spark lights up again and he claps, startling the artist. “Oh, Y/n, I have–” “To other people.” Her Ladyship corrects, eyes flitting up at him from the floor. “Yourself and Baela shall live happily in Dragonstone and I will live at Lord Stokeworth’s side. We are finally free. My congratulations, my prince. I have enjoyed our short time together.” “My lady, I–” “I am not your lady anymore, your highness. Now if you would excuse me…” She walks away and he swears he cannot stop himself from counting each quiet step. He does not feel like Jace anymore. He feels like Jacaerys, prince and future heir to the Iron throne.

126 AC.

‘And then you throw a cloak over her which I still do not comprehend.’ Aegon’s handwriting explains in rough scribbles so filled with the ever increasing bubbles of rage that only a sixteen year old forced to marry his own kin can muster. Jacaerys chuckles quietly at the tear in paper at the centre where a convenient ink splotch lays. A farce of a marriage his uncle and aunt possess and yet there is something bitter in Jacaerys’ snickering. This will be his own fate soon, he is merely lucky that his mother has not been hounding him with it, not forcing him to kiss the weird Tyrell girl’s hand or invite her to dance. He sighs in thought as he thinks of her and the stupid petals that are no doubt swaying in her hair. He can see it, even when he tries not to, he can see her nose wrinkle and scrunch, he can see her eyes cloud with childish amazement as another boy asks her to dance instead–one of the Lords old enough to be his uncle and strange enough to want her grimy hands on them. He bets that they are caked in dirt–they always are–and he can see the oddly shaped and unfitting rings that she adorns, all in the patterns of thorns or flowers. He is tired of listening to her babble to them whenever he sits beside her at feasts. He wishes frequently that he would take the seat beside one of his brothers or cousins.

He continues reading the crumpled letter and reluctant recount of the royal wedding. A princess and a prince destined to tear the other at the seams, he muses to himself. He wonders what Y/n will look like at their own wedding, she always has her hair twisted funny and her dresses are ridiculously large. He does not understand why she bothers with them when she throws them off to jump into the lake every chance she can reach. Surely she would not wear green like Helaena did although that is the prioritised colour of her house. He supposes that would bother him not though with the sage colour she wears so often. But should a wedding not be an excessive expression? Had Helaena looked as miserable as she felt walking up to her new husband or had she braced herself enough to don a reluctant stone mask? Will Y/n look miserable too? Will she throw things at him like she had when she last visited and pommel him again with the force of her fists? To her respect, he had been at fault for taunting her and snatching the lavender flowers from her hair. Would they mind that they would marry in a Sept or beside fire? Will it bother her or would she like it? His thoughts swirl as the parchment’s words grow less intense. The ink starts to fade, replaced by insufferable girls and insufferable promises. Will it be warm or cold? She hates the cold but she hates a lot of things. Will she have to stop climbing trees when she’s Queen? He supposes she will but he’s not quite sure why he hates that idea. There’s something he likes about her calloused hands. He rubs a thumb over his palm as he remembers the last time they danced, it must have been the year before but it threads in his memory with the sound of a well-strung lute. Jacaerys loves music, which is why it is so irritating that he can recall the shade of her eyes with ease and yet not a single note plays in his ears. He cannot even remember whether he had liked it or not.

132 AC.

The door almost snaps from its hinges when the young prince bursts through. “What did you do?” He asks his mother immediately, watching as her eyes widen and she chokes on her wine. The princess takes her time to collect herself and slowly lowers the glass. Blood pumps in his ears so loudly that he almost doesn’t notice his own trembling fingers.“Whatever do you mean, Jacaerys?” “You are betrothing me to Baela?” His mother sighs and looks down, lips parting to respond. “Why should she not? You turn aside every other girl that your mother suggests.” Daemon utters, gliding through the door. He takes his regular brisk and composed steps until settling his hands on Rhaenyra’s chair from behind her. He raises his eyebrows. “Or have you finally made up your mind on who shall be not only your Queen but the Kingdom’s one day.” Rhaenyra turns the rings on her fingers quickly. The prince scoffs. “I know that arranged marriages are not your preferred method but your grandsire is growing very ill, Jacaerys, he should be able to see you wed. It will be the first ceremony he could witness since his own.” The irritation grapples him and squeezes like a vice. “Then do not betroth me to Baela, betroth me to Y/n like you were supposed to!” Jacaerys shouts. A silence rings through the air, a ticking clock quirks at the top of his mother’s head, slowly working her mind to understand his words. She blinks. “The Tyrell girl?” She finally asks, face screwed up and eyes clocking back and forth aimlessly. “I never intended for such a match, I thought you hated her.” Daemon’s face tenses and so does his posture as he folds his arms. Jacaerys’ face becomes even more flushed as the hour passes. “I-I, well, I had but she–I don’t…” His breath grows haggard and huffs.

He strikes a harsh hand through his hair and grips it painfully. The boy bites his lip, suddenly falling small again. “I wanted to. I wanted to marry her, I just…No, I want to marry her. Either I did not know yet for being too foolish and youthful that I thought her to be a trap or I did not want to admit it but now I do and I just want her. I want all of her. Every inch she will give unto me. I want her thorns and her petals, of every season I want to keep her in summer and love. I will travel anywhere to keep her warm, I will command flight, I will command ships, I will even command the stars and sun if she wishes so to force the day to stretch as long as she wishes. I want to give her summer. I want to be her summer. I want to give her myself in every way possible. She has more beauty than I have ever seen and more beauty than I deserve.” His throat tightens even more. “Mother, please let me be her summer, I will do anything you request of me just as I have always done but I will marry no other woman, I swear to the heavens high and low.” He stares into his mother’s eyes, Daemon long forgotten as her fingers stop their flickering of rings. The light catches on the one of gold and amethyst. The shade of his worry and the shade of Baela’s eyes. He knows that he cannot walk onto the stones and before the fires only curated to worship the Gods of Old Valyria and lie to them. It would not only seek him damnation but a life of agony. He knows he cannot willingly look in her eyes and gaze like he does the only beauty he has ever truly known because it is not she. It will never be she. There is but one dream in his heart and he will not let the rebounding tricks and lights of amethyst save him.

“Rather odd that you have had such an enthralling change of heart but I see no reason for such extremities.” Daemon almost growls, the insult burning hot in his ears. “My daughter is beautiful and of pure blood I commend you for your childish songs, I am sure the bards would be proud but I am not. There is no reason for you to deny her of being Queen. It is a title we both know her blood and nature is worthy of.” “Rhaena is betrothed to Luke.” He starts again shakily and glaring into his stepfather’s eyes hard as steel. “If it is your bloodline you wish to prosper then I shall abdicate without fight.” Just as quickly as the words slip past his lips, Rhaenyra’s ring falls. A memory flashes through both the adults’ minds. One in which a man was just as quick to toss his crown. Just as quick to deny himself the power he had always craved just to marry a woman with silver hair and a sharp tongue. And while he was desperate to marry a Queen, the boy before them now was willing to marry nothing more than a flower. Both their eyes tread curiously on him. “Abdicate?” Rhaenyra tests the word on her tongue, an unfamiliar one, it slips across her taste buds–too quick yet too thick. Too heavy and yet he says it with ease. As though it is the only passing thought in his head. Daemon’s own invasive sights are unrelenting. They strike through him as threatening as a sword to his neck, if he moves it will do more than nick him. Something twists in his gut when Daemon’s lips part. “That will not be necessary, will it, doñus ābrazȳrys?” He cuts into the thick cake but it is unclear whether it is filled with stone or honey. His violet eyes slowly track up to Jacaerys’. “I believe a wedding is in order…” The silence weighs heavily while a scream begs to claw up the boys’ throat. “Let us hope the thorns are gentle with us.” A sigh passes Daemon’s lips and his shoulders soften as he leaves.

128 AC.

“Oh.” He murmurs quietly, back straight and eyes darting. “Oh?” Lucerys hisses, brows raised and fiddling with his fingers. Anyone looking at him could tell he looks utterly drenched in a sea of nerves that rise slowly to attempt and drown him. “Oh is not what you say your betrothed is dancing with our uncle. ‘Oh’ is when someone tells you they have lost their toad or-or their cat ate a mouse.” Jace rolls his eyes. “Unlike you I do not care who she dances with, she can enjoy herself as she pleases.” Lucerys huffs and turns to glance at Rhaena at his side. She snickers. Jacaerys continues watching Y/n, watching as she twirls and joins hands with Aemond and then clapping them. He watches the shimmer that the candlelight shines on her necklace. He watches. He always watches but he never does anything. “Why should I care? If anything I should be encouraging it, maybe he can keep her attention long enough that she stops following me to my High Valyrian lessons, stops squawking in my ear.” “She doesn't squawk.” Baela defends with a chuckle.His eyes narrow, still locked on her. “Besides she is rather helpful, you ought to listen to her if she is to be your wife.” The tease is light on her tongue but it squeezes his chest. He nods stiffly and folds his hands together behind his back. He glances down. “Perhaps…” He agrees begrudgingly.Baela slaps his back. “Good.” “You know, she wouldn’t be dancing with him if you had asked her.” “Yes she would, she would do it to spite me.” His lip twitches like the tail of a smirk.

“Truly you are not going to marry him?” Aemond asks, the back of his hand caressing hers although it strikes little attention. The Tyrell does not have to look to know who he is speaking of, her answer is as swift as the flick in her wrist. “I have not yet decided, my friend.” Aemond grins wolfishly and lets his chuckle last. “A shame for the masses, I suppose for you to be shackled by the bonds of marriage, you were not made for it. That I am certain of.” “Then you must not know me well.” She smirks, eyes glinting with mischief. “Not that that would surprise me, you have horrendous taste in brides.” He wrinkles his nose. “And how have you decided that?” The length of her skirts twist around her, the patterns raucous. “Go on, tell me. I have not yet taken a bride of my own.” “Which is precisely why you have horrendous taste in brides.” The music grows louder, hiding his scoff from the fellow noble people. “I am the same age as you, why should I have taken a bride?” “Because they seem to either run from you and flock like a series of swans.” She grimaces. “It is rather irritating the way they stare.” “Yes well I am sure you do the same,” He teases. Her gaze turns hard on him but it only encourages his long for mischief. “I think I would rather find Luke and gouge my own eye out.” Aemond huffs but does not react in malice. He catches her sleeve in retort, resulting in a stumble. “Funny.” “Hm,” He agrees, his sly smile returning. “He would not be horrible, I suppose and especially not compared to the other men at court.” Aemond pulls a disagreeable expression and glances at his petulant nephew whose stare is as deep as an embedded knife. Aemond almost feels him twisting the hilt into his chest. He also so happens to pretend he cannot see her growing blush. “You are entitled to an opinion…even if that opinion is as incorrect as a worm flutters its wings.”

132 AC.

It is not an odd place to find a Tyrell Lady seated in the gardens admiring the vegetation but it still manages to halt the prince’s steps. Jacaerys feels himself freeze. She is just sitting there, a few other ladies and lords about courting but she is there…and for the first time since he was fourteen he watches her, truly watches her. As her hand dips to pluck a white rose between lithe fingers, her eyes dart around her to make sure no one has seen but he is behind her, hidden within the eyes of an observer. He runs honeysuckle between his fingers, unsure whether time is restraining him or prompting him because she looks so peaceful. He almost does not want to disturb her. Would she be happy with him, Lord Stokeworth, if he left her at her peace? He had not thought to ask. For the first time he wants to know what she wants for he has only brought about her sense of dread and bubbled anger. His breath hitches. He loves her. He can feel it growing and blossoming as fresh as the flowers in his hand. It calls to him, begs him to stare one moment longer. He watches her. He wants to cherish her, hold the skies for her, he wants to do any and everything and yet he has not the courage to ask her the same. The blossoming flower of his hope wilts in fear between her hands.

He watches her hair, so vibrant with youth and the last effects of their childhood. The bleach of sun is warm in her locks. She likes the sun, would Lord Stokeworth give her that? Or would he keep her locked away like so many men would dream just to keep her to himself. So stiff, she had been, when she had spoken with him. Was this not what she wanted? To be rid of him? Perhaps she could escape Lord Stokeworth but she could never escape a prince. Should he leave her this freedom? It is selfish that he wants her to stay, to stay with him, at his side but he cannot help wanting it so. He should be hoisting her over the wall instead of watching her in the gardens. Y/n needs freedom not him. She will never need him…Not like he needs her. And so Prince Jacaerys takes a step back. It is painful to look at her, Jacaerys gathers, his heart wrapped in thorns. His breath is shaky as he watches her soft fingers stroke the gentle petals. He has honour but he does not have the grace to leave her just yet. Not when she looks so beautiful.

Her dress is a pale teal, he always liked that colour on her, it is her favourite because it reminds her of seafoam. She wore it to a ball once, with a masquerade mask settled on her nose. Her eyes flit through the garden, he can sense that she feels him. She always knows when he’s there–even when he doesn’t want her to–and yet she doesn’t turn around. She does not turn to him, she does not call out to him. There are no flowers in her hair again, no remains of her desires. She is left utterly open to the world and yet hidden from him, he has nothing to analyse, no colours to discern her mood except the seafoam. The questions rebound in the inside of his mind, bouncing across like skittish rabbits. Jacarys’ hand lessens on the honeysuckle. He can almost hear its taunts ringing in his ear. He takes back another step, eyes still watching her as she turns the rose in her hand. His body twists before he can command it not to, slow steps making the choice for him but just as he is about to let the honeysuckle fall–

“Stop.” Her gentle voice calls and it is the only command he needs to stop but he cannot summon the strength to look at her. Not with those pretty doe eyes. The girl of Tyrell however stands up, her breath shallow as she watches him. The sun envelopes her like a sea of familiarity–her family seal sewn into her dress and yet the gold is belonging to a fool. She is to shine, not to sink into expectation. Jacaerys does not turn around but his hand stutters. Silence lingers in the cracks of their polished floorboards–their quick retorts lost and malnourished. Yet it is as familiar as the creaking wood it resembles, it matches the ignorance of caring for it. It is forever present and yet forever neglected. If you asked them to map it on a sketch, they could not tell you the rough edges or the spaces in where it shines but they could tell you where every last board of it leads. They belong to it as much as it belongs to them and perhaps it has been neglecting them too. Leaving them both curious and unsure without even taking the thoughts in stride. “Don’t go.” Jace’s ears prick up. That may have been the most vulnerable sound to ever grace her lips. He still does not turn his head. He cannot surrender to the hope but he will acknowledge it, letting his head turn softly to the side, his shoulders tensing with the desperation to look at her again. He swallows and he hears her own breath pause. “Do you want me to beg?” At that he quirks his lips and turns to her, slowly, tentative, nervous. “I…do not think that necessary.” He whispers, eyes slowly rising from the floor to meet her own and it is that moment that breaks. His restraint. He takes a step forward and so does she. For the first time…they are working in tandem. Together. Because that is all they needed. No honour. No quick wit. They only needed to release their hearts. To let them free.

Their eyes meet. “I brought you this.” He utters as her thoughts pace then halt. His fingers shake gently as he raises the bundle of honeysuckle. Y/n’s eyes don’t leave his own for even a mere moment, she only nods. Both their feet attract to each other like magnets until they are mere inches apart. With wilting trepidation, Jace lifts the flowers before settling the ring on her head. “A crown for my Queen.” He whispers. Their breath mingles, entwines. They join, holding one another. As Jace’s fingers let it become with her, her own rise to entangle in his. Her eyes flicker across his face. “I rather like that idea.” She responds, just as quietly. A sphere of gentleness immerses them. It holds them like the rarest of jewels. Like starlight itself. His breath hitches. “Will you...be my queen?” He murmurs. Her right hand cups his face and pulls it closer until their foreheads meet. Their noses brush. “If you will be my King.” His lips broaden into a grin and he nods–just softly. “I would be your anything.” He responds then leans in to finally after the years of triumph and battle and silent love connect their lips. Her own smile warms. “Then start with my everything.” A spark dances across as they press together, the line between them finally breaking. They have been bestowed the finest honour one could find. They have been bestowed a heart–not two but the old threaded into one. A new heart. The heart bestowed is a garden to rest in each of them. One for them to nurture together.

Valyrian Translations: mittys - fool

Flower Translations: daisies - innocence, new beginnings larkspur - lightheartedness, youth dahlias - commitment, kindness rhododendron - danger, caution amaryllis - pride, strength, determination pink roses - gentle love water lillies - majesty white rose - a new beginning, fresh start honey suckle - everlasting love

(feel free to ask me in my inbox/askbox if there is anything i have forgotten :))

The Heart Bestowed Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @beaconofthehightower @buglyberry

HOTD Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @wrendermedone @hopelesswritergall @its-actually-minicika @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @adelusionalwriter @cookielovesbook-akie @maximofftwinsbitch @ughhthisbitch

Jacaerys Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @fairysluna @mrsgrwy

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gwenllian-in-the-abbey · 8 months ago

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apologies for being callous in asking this, but seeing as so many aegon-centric (or those who had tagged him) blogs, no matter how good their dissertion and dissection of aegon is, gets called/is assumed to be a rapist defender/apologist, have you ever received an ask/comment calling you that? if so, i hope it never bothered you at all. apologies for bringing it up but i feel like getting called that would probably stopped those from actually enjoying/talking about him and his other qualities (such as his alcoholism, his bond with his dragon, his actions during the dance, his desperate survival.) because it actually stopped me from enjoying his character (because i initially felt so bad liking a character like that), going through his tag as well as looking for fics because of the vitriol. well that was until i stumbled upon your AKAB and OFCiR, which gave me so much perspective on aegon. and your opinion on the dyanna scene (which is oh boy, such a hot topic) was so beautiful.

No worries anon! So actually, I've never received an ask or comment with the rape defender/rape apologist accusations (and now that I've said this, I'm sure I'm sure someone will want to break that streak lol). I've participated in discussions in general in which those sorts of attacks were tossed around, but I've never had them aimed at me directly.

I'm honestly pretty surprised it hasn't happened, but I sort of chalk it up to two things. 1) I block prodigiously and pre-emptively and 2) I tag my discourse posts judiciously and try not to antagonize other fans by posting critical things in the main tags. And although I know opinions vary on this, using anti tags and team tags is also another way of making sure that people who have certain tags blocked will not see my posts, so I do use those when I feel it's appropriate. Beyond those two things, I think I also have a habit of writing pretty detailed responses and providing evidence to back up my assertions, which probably discourages people who are just looking to get a rise out of someone and don't want to read a five paragraph essay about why they're wrong.

I'm really sorry that those sorts of accusations have stopped you from enjoying Aegon's character in the past, and I'm glad my fics helped you to enjoy him again. Obviously I think he's an interesting guy with a compelling, tragic story! I will say this: I've been in the greater asoiaf fandom for well over a decade now, and characters who are far more morally dubious than Aegon have always had fans. Ramsay has fans. Euron Greyjoy has fans. I don't know if you were watching GoT when the show first aired, but so many show only people hated Jaime at first, not knowing his arc, and by the end he was one of the more beloved characters on the show. And by the end of the Dance, no one's hands are clean. Rhaenyra herself allows Dalton Greyjoy to reave along the coast of the Westerlands, which results in hundreds of women being taken as salt wives (and we know what that entails!). If we can only enjoy the most morally correct characters, our choices for the Dance era are pretty slim, and mostly limited to literal children.

I doubt most people throwing out those accusations could even spot actual rape apologia in a fandom context, considering all of the other types of apologia I see flying around unchecked. Rape apologia is not the existence of rapist characters, enjoying those characters, or even analyzing why those characters did what they did. Rape apologia is not questioning why the show decided to make Aegon a rapist, or hoping he might get more character development in the future. Rape apologia is making excuses for rape, or outright denying that it happened. So, saying "Dyana was probably lying" or "Dyana was probably into it" or "Dyana was scamming the royal family," or even what Aegon himself said in the scene, "it was just a bit of harmless fun," that's clear cut rape apologia. And here's the thing, when something is wrong, it's usually because it causes harm, and unlike simply enjoying a character, actual rape apologia does cause harm. Making excuses for or denying even fictional rapes perpetuates rape culture in ways that make it harder for women to speak up against assault, and harder for rapists to be prosecuted effectively. But again, I have never seen actual rape apologia among the team green fans I know.

Finally, I'll just say that while fandom in general can be a fun, positive thing that helps people connect with each other based on shared interests, that drives people to think and to create and to do, on the other hand, fandom can also feed some pretty shitty modern impulses. It creates cliques, empowers bullies, and worst of all, it encourages a kind of brand driven consumption that in turn perpetuates this idea of fandom as activism. Activism is getting involved in your community, volunteering, fundraising, protesting, labor organizing, boycotting, etc. Activism is not scolding people online for enjoying media the wrong way. People who think this way need to reconnect with the outside world, and anon, I hope you continue to enjoy whichever characters fascinate you, including Aegon.

#i have seen a lot of posts about how daemon is NOT a groomer #but not many about how show!aegon is not a rapist #just saying #asks #aegon ii targaryen #tw sa #team green #hotd critical #anti hotd fandom

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scyllas-revenge · 1 month ago

Text

Fanfiction Author Interview Game!

Thank you @mikathemonster for tagging me in this!

How many works do you have on Tumblr? I've posted 12 fics on tumblr, although my longer fics and the ones I've written for fandom events are strictly on AO3.

What's your total Tumblr word count? If I counted right, somewhere around 27,600 words

Your top 5 stories by notes:

Leap of Faith Pt 1- I'm not surprised my Legolas fic is by far my most popular one on tumblr lol. This one will always hold a special place in my heart <3

Wildest Dreams- An Eomer/reader fic that I'm honestly not crazy about but I'm glad others enjoyed it!

A Helping Hand- Also Eomer/reader, also not one of my favorites. But who doesn't love Eomer?

A Shield Against the Snow- Boromir/reader, and the third Only One Bed fic in this list XD

Leap of Faith Pt 2- An unplanned sequel to Leap of Faith that I'm honestly really proud of- my favorite thing about Legolas is the melodrama of pairing him off with mortal characters

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I usually do! Comments and discussions about my fics are what keep me going as a writer!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? I'm not really one for writing angst- I love to read it but I just can't bear to write anything besides a happy ending!

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? They're all pretty happy, but I think the fic with the highest amount of sheer fluff would be The Floor is Molasses.

Do you write crossovers? Nah, I don't think crossovers are for me

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Definitely! Not so much on tumblr or AO3, but I've gotten some weird ones on FFN

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I've only posted one real smut fic, Sword Master (unless you count the smut-adjacent bits of Customer Service too) but tbh I'm not sure I'll post more in the future. Maybe one or two Burn Like Cold Iron extras when that fic is finally done, but otherwise I probably won't go above an M rating again. You know how people tend to look hotter in lingerie than fully nude? That's usually my take on smut XD the scene turns out hotter if I leave a bit to the imagination lol

Have you ever had a fic stolen? I hope not!

Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope! But I'd be very flattered

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not officially, but @sotwk and I wound up writing a back-and-forth Eomer/OC thing via tumblr ask boxes lol- Eomer's letter and a response, and I'm always down to keep the collab going!

What's your all-time favorite ship? Eowyn/Faramir, but outside of Tolkien maybe Jaime/Brienne from ASOIAF

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? I do my best not to post anything I'm not confident I can finish!

What are your writing strengths? I'm terrible at complimenting myself but I'm trying to be better- let's see I think I'm getting better at dialogue, particularly capturing different characters' voices. I think I can infuse dry humor into my fics pretty well too (although sometimes this happens by accident, rendering a dramatic scene goofy)

What are your writing weaknesses? I'm slow as hell. I cannot focus for the life of me. BUT I'm getting my hands on some adderall so hopefully that will help in the future XD

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I think my favorite method in fics is when writers don't translate the other language, or at least not directly, and let the other characters and setting reveal the words' meaning through context. Personally I try to avoid it entirely, just because I don't know any words in Tolkien's languages lol

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? I'm such a slow writer that I want to stick to LOTR for now, but someday I might snap and write something for BG3 lol (there's no regency AU fics for Wyll?? Are you kidding me?? I'm going to commit murder)

What's your favorite fic you've written? Burn Like Cold Iron is always my (predictable) answer, but among my less popular fics, Chicken Soup for the Soul is an old favorite, as well as Something Burrowed, Something Blue.

Tagging @sotwk and @fishing4stars and anyone else who sees this post and has the urge to talk about themselves

#lotr fanfic #ask game

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a-libra-writes · 2 years ago

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Hi! I wanted to thank you because your writing is amazing and convinced me to finally read asoiaf.

Could you please write some long-ish headcanons about oberyn and jamie and how they would be with a disabled reader who struggles to walk.

Thank you.

thanks, I hope you're enjoying the books so far!! whose your favorite POV so far? also, added your two requested characters plus some extras.

Oberyn - The Viper gives you the usual charm and affection he'd give to a Paramour. That also means his usual temper is still there ... as in, anyone trying to upset or insult you will have to deal with Oberyn. You now have a Look (tm) you give him whenever you need him to back off. He'd wish that you lived in Sunspear with him so servants might assist you, and he wouldn't be so keen to travel if it's hard on your body.

Considering his brother uses a fanciful (by Westerosi standards, anyway) wheeled chair, Oberyn would float the idea to you. He's also seen and heard of various mobility devices from Essos, if it's something that would interest you. Regardless Oberyn is more than happy to help out when you're feeling tired and wanting some extra support. Doesn't matter if you need to lean on him or be carried, you know he's happy to have the close contact and being able to please you. And no surprise, Oberyn's great at giving foot and leg massages when pain and aches start up. He's gonna joke and try to get you to laugh and get handsy, of course - that's just how he is.

Jaime - Honestly, Jaime sucks when it comes to being considerate about you. It's different if you both grew up together so he was more familiar, but otherwise, he's his usual arrogant self and doesn't understand why you just won't let him carry you. He rather likes doing it - good for his ego, up until he thinks his sister is watching - and it's really not until he's back from the Roadtrip From Hell when there's far more understanding. He feels pretty shit about always treating you as fragile, when clearly you've always had more resilience and maturity than him.

At that point, Jaime finally just waits for you to tell him when you need help. And it's the same for you - he grumbles about it, but it'll take him a while to adjust to losing his dominant hand, so sometimes he needs your assistance, too. You're one of the very few people who sees him without his prosthetic, but you also witness a far more vulnerable side that he's always had to bury.

Samwell - The shy boy is drawn to you almost immediately because you both are in a similar situation on the Wall - you and Sam are often mocked at worst and ignored at best, and end up relegated to the "boring, pointless" work of helping the blind Maester Aemond. The crush is immediate but he's also relieved to just have a friend to talk to and be more of himself around.

Sam knows the cold doesn't help your disability at all, so he'll squirrel away some extra hides and blankets to give to you. He also likes bringing you books he thinks you'd find interesting, and he gets Jon and the other boys to help him jury-rig a mobility device that might assist with you maneuvering around the stairs or the snow. Sam still likes helping you, though; he's easy to lean on and always warm. He wraps his heavy cloak around your shoulders and helps guide you along the rough paths around Castle Black.

Brienne - She's already a considerate and protective woman, and she'd be moreso if her loved one has a disability that requires them to have some assistance. This doesn't mean she sees you as a fragile thing who needs her, but she want to be of assistance. Brienne wants you to tell her what you'd need and like, and it makes her happy to provide that, no matter how big or small the favor is. Maybe it's a childish thought, but she wants to be your knight.

Big and strong as she is, it's easy for Brienne to offer you a hand for assistance or offer to carry you somewhere. She absolutely understands if you'd rather do it yourself or use a mobility aid. Brienne would probably be great at thinking up a way for you to ride a horse safely with her, or quickly figure the best route for you to take through a new place. She observes when you need help and when you don't, and eventually you two have a series of habits you fall into when moving through spaces.

Jorah - This man is already a very doting and affectionate partner, and that increases doubly so if his partner is needing assistance on the regular. At first, he hovered and fussed too much, and you had to be clear with when you needed help and how. He'd figure it out quick and dial it back; you're most familiar with your own body, after all. He doesn't hesitate to stop what he's doing to help you out, and starts to pick up on when you need the assistance without you saying anything. You both eventually develop little rituals and habits around tricky things, like dismounting a horse or scaling stairs or very uneven terrain.

Being a traveler, he's familiar with different mobility aids he's seen around Essos and would mention them to you, if you don't already have some. Jorah is also down with carrying you when you need it, especially through tough terrain. He's very gentle and likes to chat about this or that while you two navigate through the hard spots. Jorah would also find various ointments and lotions that can help with aches and cramps.

Brandon - While his heart is in the right place, sensitivity is not something Brandon is known for. He'd err on the side of "too protective" for a while, before you finally just smack him upside the head and make it clear you got by just fine before he came along. Note if he grew up with you, he'd be much less annoying about it and would be far better about knowing when you do or don't want his help. It's easy to lean on him with all your strength; he's tall, strong and steady, and he's quick to react if you stumble.

Brandon actually likes to carry you around, both to show off for you and getting to hold you close without people having issue with what's "appropriate" (especially if you two aren't married). He's also wary of some of the rough trails around Winterfell, and the pile-up of snow and ice that could prove difficult for you to maneuver around. He might insist on carrying you to a place like the Godswood, which is covered in roots, rocks and uneven soil.

Mance - If you both met on the Wall, he liked to sit beside you and chat while you went about your usual duties. You were often relegated to jobs that made you sit and do repetitive things for hours, so Mance would keep you company and help your stiff body out of the chair and to your quarters once it was done. The other Brother's poor treatment of you may be one of the many reasons he left. He's great at keeping your hand steady in his, not squeezing too tight and matching your footsteps as you both very carefully tread over the snow.

Meeting you as a wildling, he knows some tribes consider those with disabilities as weaker, and some who think it's just another part of life. He respects your independence and only comes to help if you ask it; sometimes you just want him to fetch a mobility aid you crafted. He hovers a bit when the snow and ice is treacherous, but he also understands you grew up in this frigid waste. He often looks to you on where to step and how to cross - but he's perfectly happy to offer his hand when you ask for it.

Davos - Unlike most people, Davos never stared or commented on your disability. He wouldn't dream of doing such a thing, and actually observes you carefully when you're having trouble walking on your own. He only steps in if you ask or gesture to him, and he holds you firmly yet gently while helping you navigate. When you both are closer, you don't even need to ask; he starts to pick up on when you need him and when you don't. He's really just a fantastically considerate person.

He'd also be quite familiar with mobility aids, both those in Westeros and Essos, and he's pretty damn handy if you're having trouble with it. He's done some pretty weird jury-rigging in his day, and that was on huge boats. And while he probably can't carry you very far, he would still do it if you asked and carry you with utmost care. Again, he won't get far, but it's the thought that counts!

Victarion - Well, no surprises here, he's clueless how to proceed. By Ironborn standards, he should just leave you be and make you deal with it, but - well. He doesn't want to do that. So how about just lifting you up and carrying you where you need to be? He'll just do it without warning, and it takes a lot of protesting before Victarion gets the idea to ask first, damn it. This also means he'll be confused if you want to just hold his hand or lean on him - again, carrying is faster in his eyes.

It's not as though disability is something foreign to the Ironborn, they just have different ideas than the "greenlanders". If it was something gained in battle, you ought to be proud, and if you were visibly born with it - well, staying stubborn and resilient can earn admiration. If it's an invisible disability, that's more difficult to understand, and Victarion is not a bright man. Still, he wants you to keep your good opinion of him and he does attempt.

#oberyn martell x reader #jaime lannister x reader #samwell tarly x reader #brienne of tarth x reader #jorah mormont x reader #brandon stark x reader #mance rayder x reader #davos seaworth x reader #victarion greyjoy x reader

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arcielee · 1 year ago

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Interview With a Writer

Thank you so much @aemondtarqaryens for starting off Volume 2 of my Interview With a Writer series! This is my ongoing series of the talented souls on Tumblr and ao3, and their brilliant writing!

If there is a story you are interest in, I am open to requests! Just make sure to check out my criteria for stories considered for this.

Name: aemondtarqaryens

Story: Precious Delights

Paring: Maegor Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: See each chapter for individual, more precise warnings. Written with/for a female reader, but other than purple eyes, there‘s no mention of her appearance.

What inspired the plot for Precious Delights?

Oh God, truth be told? It started with a request I received for Maegor x Reader smut where she's heavily pregnant with his child. And I'm just a sucker for my big tiddy daddy and gave it a shot.

Once the original Precious Delights was posted, people commented under it, asking for a part 2 where the baby is born. The whole series just developed from there on and the rest is history.

I just loved their dynamic in the first part I posted (it's based on the bath scene between Aemma and Viserys, because it was just fitting and I liked that scene in the series) and felt captivated to give the few people interested what they wanted.

Explain your interpretation of Maegor? What drives him? Why is he the way he is in the story?

Charlie Hunnam is my faceclaim for Maegor because someone (I'm not dropping names cough cough @fairysluna cough) planted that seed into my mind. Most people fancast him as Aegon I, but to me, Henry Cavil makes a better Aegon I (you know, let's just cast Henry as every ASOIAF character lmfao).

I always had the relationship of Daemon and the young Rhaenyra we see in the show in my mind while writing this story. And we learn in Innate Desires that Maegor has lusted after his niece for quite some time, and even asked Aenys to give him her hand in marriage. He was denied, and searched his luck (or power) elsewhere, but failed with his wives dying without giving him an heir.

This is something that drives him, too. The need to provide an heir with his blood, that will take the Throne after him.

Canon!Maegor is one kind of a man, and while I find him intriguing, I firstly know that I could never do him justice and secondly, it just wouldn't have fit the story and it's overall development. Plus, having had a soft spot for his niece for so long, it's clear he's not always the brute he is towards her. He's softer, and allows her to catch some rare glimpses of his vulnerability as their relationship develops.

Was there anything in specific that inspired your Reader portrayal?

No, I feel like it‘s very self indulgent. Usually, the reader portrayals are matching their respective role (or I try to make it that way, at least) and with Targcest, I feel like you do have a bit more freedom to indulge. Just a freedom to be cheeky, or disobey certain rules.

Do you feel they eventually come to complement one another?

They complement each other. Maegor gives her something she‘s craved for so long, stability, family, attention, and Reader takes piece after piece of the brute out of him. Just like their children. They‘re not changing him completely, but they have a positive impact on him. She basically made the rogue brute soft and tender. 🤭

Will you add into their story?

Depends, if I really get another idea for this series maybe, but most likely not. It has found a good end, and everything else would be just dragging it out.

Do you want to share about another upcoming WIP? I know you finished celebrating a milestone for your blog (congratulations 💖).

Thank you!! I‘m currently working on the last two requests for my celebration, a one shot with Aemond and servant!Reader for a writing challenge I participated in, and a one shot of an American Horror Story x HOTD crossover where Aemond is the Antichrist.

Any chance we can have a snippet for Aemond!Antichrist? 👀

Easing your trembling legs, you hold onto the desk for support. It feels like an eternity when you crouch forward slightly to steady your uneven breathing, the moment only breaking as Aemond advances towards you, his body leaning against yours and pressing you up against the desk. It’s the only thing keeping you upright, and the moment you feel his hot breath caress your neck, your legs feel like they are about to give in. His thigh slips between yours, but you can’t feel his hands on your body, assuming he’s clasped them behind his back or keeps them at his sides. But you can tell that his chest isn’t the only firm thing that presses against your body. His cock is rock hard, clearly finding as much pleasure in the situation than you do, and all but strains against your lower back. He is so close, that’s all you’ve thought of for the past days, yet it’s not enough. You need his hands, him, to feel thoroughly satisfied. The urge to whine scratches in your throat, but you manage to swallow it at the last moment. “Beg for me to touch you,” he drawls, voice laced with a mixture of excitement and hunger. Exhaling a strained breath, you close your eyes. “P-Please,” you whimper, barely loud enough for him to hear. “Please… touch me. It’s been so long.” “Hm.” You hear it loud and clear, the amusement, the satisfaction, causing your skin to heat up. “That’s all you’ve got?”

#interview with a writer #iwaw21 #bts #of their brilliant writing #writing community #maegor x reader

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nonbinarylesbianherb · 4 months ago

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Here’s the thing Alicent Hightower wasn’t a victim, the HotD writers chose to make her one.

She got married at 18 to a 29 year old, she had her first kid when she was around 20. She had so much political influence at court she was able to create her own faction, run her stepdaughter out of Kingslanding and stop her husband from making his daughter Hand. Want to know what she did when her husband died? She left his corpse to rot whilst she and Criston took control of the Green Council to crown Aegon.

So why did the writers turn around and make her a child bride who is reduced to nothing more than a 24/7 victim?

She is disrespected and humiliated at every turn, we are told constantly Alicent Hightower is a coward who isn’t deserving of respect. The writers have a very clear vendetta against her, punishing her for having the audacity of being against Rhaenyra and I feel her nonstop victimisation is part of it.

It’s because her victimisation was done solely to punish her that Viserys’ actions are so whitewashed in the show. It’s why Hess claims Dyana is the only rape victim. It’s why the writers’ only intention with 2x08 was to remind the audience that Rhaenyra is 100x better than Alicent in every way possible whether it be as a Queen/politician/mother/ruler/leader etc.

I’m gonna be really honest i don’t really feel strongly about book alicent in the way i do show (will come back to this), i know young alicent doesn’t exist in the book, but she was the first alicent i was introduced to and ive attached to her specifically. I know there’s a significant difference between book/show alicent adult version, let alone young alicent who we don’t even see in the books.

I think definitely though the show writers could’ve done a better job for older alicent. young alicent being an addition of the show was interesting and they could’ve built off that for an addition to older alicent’s character (without erasing the core of what her character is from the books) for more potential plots/ characterisation- (similar to how rhaenyra and alicent’s ex friendship is a main key of the show) because these added plots were expected, as with most book to show adaptations - but I’d even say necessary since the book is written specifically to be a historic novel more than the storytelling we’d usually see with other asoiaf books. Obviously for the show we’re gonna need to know the ins and outs of characters and relationships, we’re going to want in-depth introductions and characterisation, so I understand why they’d need to create plots to build off of to add opportunities - but there are ways to do that without completely changing a character (or erasing them, cough maelor, cough)

They couldve still shown this powerful and cunning woman from the books whilst also having scenes portraying how her trauma has affected her, how her old friendship with rhaenyra weighs on her- etc. I think they were doing that well in s1, but s2 is kind of a downer for both the character of alicent (as we know there was a lot of upset/shock/confusion with the seeming 180 her character did in s2) and rhaenicent (not as a ship necessarily but as a main factor and concept of the show)

I think something as well is the show / writers have always angled for a more team black approach - and team black as the “good vs bad” , but no side is good or bad in this war, it’s main victims are the small folk, who suffer the cruelty of two opposing powers , the destruction and death this war will have will never have been worth it - it doesn’t matter what side is what. I highly doubt the books portrayed this retelling of this war with a preference that you tend to see in the show - which coming back to my thing about book alicent, I haven’t read fire and blood lol (so it’s easier for me to connect to the first alicent i was introduced to, especially one we see into her life/character rather than the historical way im assuming f&b retells her story- , also being mentally ill and connecting with the character of young alicent/show alicent in a mentally ill way LOL) but I know a lot of what happens/differences. I agree with what you said about them trying to make rhaenyra/team black seem better than alicent/team green and it ends up undercutting alicent as a character because the idea to paint her more as a villain - as well as hurting rhaenyra’s character too ykwim? Again haven’t read the books but i KNOW rhaenyra IS cruel, does do bad things, is selfish, etc, and that’s great! good for her, but she should be allowed to be terrible without it being because she was ‘pushed to the edge’ or ‘justified’ etc. we are starting to see more of her cruelty and hopefully it’ll start to show that both sides are bad, both sides can be cruel just for the sake of being cruel, there is no underlying reason or justification maybe they’re all just terrible

anyway i think im done yapping, not even sure what i was yapping tbh hopefully it makes a modicum of sense. sorry for not always replying to these anon things sometimes i’m simply too tired or i begin to yap, get busy/distracted/tired, so i draft it and then i forget to finish 😭 have a good day anonymous person on the internet i yapped to

#anon ask #anon reply #what do i tag for these i never know #yap post #i dont even wanna tag hotd i always feel embarrassed abt my yap posts idk why #probs bc my yapping never makes sense that’s okay it is what it is

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nynaeve-mashiara · 2 years ago

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Snippet of an ASoIaF fic I am writing. The pertinent details are that Rickard survived the Rebellion, Lyanna bore a daughter, Ashara agreed to claim the girl as the twin to her and Brandon's stillborn Lyarra Sand, Robert legitimized Alysanne unprovoked, and the great and good of the realm are currently in King's Landing celebrating first the marriage of Prince Joffrey to Margaery Tyrell, and then Princess Myrcella's marriage to Lord Stark's fourth son, Edwyle.

“I have wanted to hear your take on the Dance of the Dragons, Lady Alysanne. Several Maesters have claimed it was the start of the downfall of the Targaryen dynasty.” Lord Tyrion said.

Lord Willas smiled slightly; they had bonded over his library, when they guested Highgarden for his wedding to dear Sansa. It smarted still, to be so removed from the woman who was more a sister than a cousin. Willas and she had continued their philosophical debates by letter since.

“As I see it, there are several points in history where, had people made different choices, the Targaryen dynasty might not have flittered out. The Dance was not the start, but it was if not the point of no return, at least the most apparent.” She said without looking up from her embroidery.

“Do tell, Alysanne.” Willas said, refilling her goblet with Arbor Gold.

“The last was my father’s murder. Had he not been burned alive by the Mad King, the Rebellion might have been avoided. Rhaegar would needs must be punished and Aerys deposed, but Aegon could have ruled. Have at least Prince Doran and Lord Lannister on his regent’s council, with perhaps also the late Lord Arryn. Lord Baratheon as well, perhaps, and then also a Northerner. An odd number, to forestall a tie.” She said, pausing to take a sip of the wine. It was sweeter than she preferred her wines to be, yet it wet the throat all the same.

“Not Rhaegar’s kidnapping of your aunt?” Stannis asked, brow furrowed.

“It would of course have been for the best if it had never occurred, but I do believe it could have been salvaged. The murder of the heir to a Lord Paramount was the final nail in the coffin. Then he demanded the heads of his father and both his brothers.” She said, tying off her red thread and reaching for the black. “The one preceding it was the tragedy at Summerhall, eradicating all but one branch of the family. Duncan denouncing his rights as heir to wed Jenny of Oldstones before that again. Maester Aemon being sent to the Citadel, by oath removing him from the succession, meaning the throne went to his younger brother, Aegon the Unlikely. Aegon the Unworthy legitimizing his bastards on his deathbed might have forestalled the Blackfyre Rebellions. If not, it would certainly have made Daemon Blackfyre’s cause more difficult.”

“You have given this a lot of thought.” Tyrion said, raising his brows.

“My lord grandfather finds it a useful tool of instruction, to study the conflicts of the past and theorize as to how it could have been avoided. He usually uses conflicts from the North, but it is a way of seeing history I cannot easily lay aside.” She said, popping a small pie in her mouth, dropping one down Ghost’s maw while she chewed, and flushing it down with a large gulp of wine. “Baelor the Blessed refusing to sire children, he could have remarried after he dissolved his marriage to Daena the Defiant. Had he a son, Aegon the Unworthy would not have inherited. Preceding that is of course the Dance.”

“That is quite the list, Lady Alysanne.” Stannis said, folding his hands. “I would not have expected such well reasoned an analysis from even the most studious lord.”

“I have two left, Lord Baratheon.” She said, her light voice masking her reprimand.

“And what preceded Rhaenyra’s attempted usurpation of her brother the king?” he asked, raising one brow.

“Aegon was the usurper, Lord Baratheon. Rhaenyra was Princess of Dragonstone in her own right, and the Lords of the Realm had sworn to uphold her claim. As House Stark and the North did.”

“A son inherits before a daughter, even if they are born from different wives.” Tyrion said. “That is the law.”

“A law his predecessor codified and promptly broke. Viserys himself was heir by king’s choice; why should it be different simply because he chose a woman? Had he wished for Aegon to be his successor, he would have granted him Dragonstone. Or decreed that Rhaenyra would keep Dragonstone, either for life to then revert to the heir to the throne, or to hand down to her heir. He should then have absolved the lords of their oaths to Rhaenyra and proclaimed Aegon as his heir.” She said, starting on the black wolf that were to curl around the Martell sun, biting the spear. “All who had sworn for Rhaenyra, yet supported Aegon, were oathbreakers. If Aegon was intended to be his heir, it was terrible statecraft, and doomed to lead to conflict.”

“A son inherits; always. The succession is set.” Stannis said.

“Certainly, the king’s wishes have nothing to do with the line of succession or the holdings of his family. His Grace marked you his heir until he had a child of his own, when he made you Lord of Dragonstone. It is the only way granting Storm’s End to Lord Renly makes sense as anything but a grave insult.” She said, blinking at him through her lashes in a way she hoped seemed guileless.

Tyrion considered her while trying to hide a smirk by taking a drink of his goblet. Willas sent her an incredulous look. Stannis clenched his jaw so hard she worried he might crack a tooth.

“I assume the first action that set the course for House Targaryen was Maegor’s usurpation of his nephew?” Willas asked, reaching out to scratch Ghost between the ears.

“Aye, Maegor the Cruel. A moniker well deserved. I wonder at anyone reusing the name.”

“A well reasoned list, my lady.” Stannis said, having loosened his jaw enough to talk. “I might not agree with all of your reasoning…”

“What is the last point?” Tyrion asked.

Stannis sent him a venomous look.

“What do you mean, the last point?” he demanded.

“The Lady Alysanne said there were two points in history before the Dance of the Dragons, that lead to the downfall of House Targaryen as Kings of Westeros. Maegor was a right horror, but I imagine she does not count the usurpation and the kinslaying as separate actions. The second must logically follow from the first if he wished to keep the throne.”

“The second major point, as I see it, in the downfall of House Targaryen, was an action taken by the Targaryen king thought by many to be the greatest of the dynasty. Jaehaerys the Conciliator struck a blow to his legacy the day he chose Baelon as his heir, after Aemon took a crossbow bolt to the neck.” Alysanne said, nodding down at her embroidery. The first paw was finished, balancing on the butt of the spear. She would finish all the black, before adding several hues of grey. Else it would resemble one of the shadow beasts the priest of R’Hllor preached of, the one in Braavos who had been so drawn to Ghost’s snow-white form.

“Baelon was the natural choice.” Stannis said.

She looked up from her embroidery, meeting his gaze through her lashes.

“Is that so, Lord Baratheon?” she asked. “Certainly, Prince Doran will be delighted, that his son and three grandchildren will no longer need to freeze their toes of in Winterfell. Quentyn might be miffed, after spending the four years we have been wed acclimatizing to the chill of a Northern summer. But if it is only right for a brother to inherit before a daughter, I am more useful as my husband’s wife in Sunspear, or my mother’s daughter in Starfall. Aunt Alyria will be delighted to shuffle off the duties of the lady of the household, as Cousin Edric is yet unwed.”

“I did not mean to imply you were not the rightful heir to Winterfell, Lady Alysanne.”

“Yet you did.” She said, fastening the tail of her thread. “Furthermore, you implied your own daughter should not be your heir. If only men can inherit, House Baratheon is at an impasse, as your next generation consists of two girls and two boys. Princess Margaery better start popping out boys. I am sure you look forward to being an uncle, Willas.”

“I do, Alysanne, as I am sure you do as well.” Willas said.

“Princess Arianne and Prince Trystane are both yet unwed, and I am unsure whether I would trust any offspring supposedly brought forth from Lyarra.” She said, fastening the tail of her new black thread.

“Being wed has never stopped people from begetting children before.” Tyrion said.

“Being dead does.” She said, glaring at him out of the corner of her eye. “I do consider many of my elder cousins and middle aunts and uncles more siblings than anything. Robb especially is my twin in all but blood, and I do certainly consider Minisa, Jon, and Eddard my niece and nephews.”

A Stark man-at-arms had walked up to them as they bickered, and now lent down to whisper in Stannis’s ear.

“I am curious, Lady Alysanne, about which of your children is currently Princess Arianne’s heir.” Tyrion said, pouring himself a new goblet of wine.

“Little Bran, as the third-born. Torrhen is mine, and Elia is Cousin Edric’s, as she is the younger twin. If Cousin Edric sires legitimate children before Princess Arianne does, Elia becomes her heir.” She said, rotating her embroidery one way and her head the other, to see if that made it any clearer.

“I am afraid I must leave you, my lords, my lady, the Lord Hand requires a meeting with me.” Stannis said as he rose.

“Give Uncle Ned my regards, if you please, Lord Baratheon.” She said, looking up and sending him a small smile.

“I will, Lady Alysanne.” He said, before striding off, trailing the Stark man-at-arms and his own two retainers.

Willas gazed after him.

“Do you think he is aware of just what he implied, when he insisted Prince Baelon was the rightful heir, and not Princess Rhaenys?” he asked.

“That he does not consider Myrcella part of the line of succession?” Tyrion asked. “Or that he gravely insulted the heir to the North by implying it is her uncle and not she who is the rightful heir?”

“Lord Baratheon is neither the first nor the last to imply Uncle Ned should be The Stark after my lord grandfather.” Alysanne said, starting on the tail of the wolf. “I am a legitimized female half-Dornish bastard, I am unsure whether there could be more factors working against me as the future Lady Stark regnant. My concerns align more with Willas’s, about Princess Myrcella and her future children. Overmorrow, she will be my good-aunt, and her children will be my cousins.”

#asoiaf #fic #my writing #female jon snow #asoiaf fic

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saltandfire-blog · 1 year ago

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Lucerys Velaryon x Aemond Targaryen

Salt and Fire

When you fall in love, you will carve out your heart and throw it into the deepest ocean. You will be all in - blood and salt.

Summary: Lucerys Velaryon belongs to both sea and sky. His whole life he has tried to prove his blood runs thick with not just fire but salt, despite the scandalous accusations that have haunted him and his brothers. Aemond Targaryen is nothing but fire, and before their families tore them asunder, his nephew was one of the few people he did not scorch. History books would have you believe the green and black children of House Targaryen grew up enemies, but before eyes and loyalties were slashed, there was once devotion between the two second sons. As boys grow into men, it is easier to repay an injury, because forgiveness is a burden and revenge a pleasure.

Notes: I’m SO sorry this chapter took much longer to put out than expected! Last chapter I put out way too soon, posting it around 4 in the morning, so the next day when I read through it I was horrified to see just how many mistakes there were! So if you read the chapter 10 when it was freshly posted, I strongly encourage to reread lol. I’m sure there’s still stuff array considering I’m a terrible proof reader, but it’s not humiliating at least. So with this, I admit I did take extra time updating to make sure it was ready. Anyone a beta reader out there?

I also did receive a comment last chapter about Jace’s character development, and I wanted to wave frantically and assure them it was coming! And here it is! Lots of brother moments in this chapter that I’m particularly fond of and really enjoyed writing Jace and Luke. Entirely different brother dynamics than Aemond and Aegons that’s for sure. I know I have also focused a lot on Luke and Laenor’s relationship, but I felt like Rhaenyra needed to be paid her dues, especially after that new trailer (!!) so here is my tribute to her character development through this story as well.

The poem Lucerys reads is not actually from Nymeria or the asoiaf universe, but from the poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley. It’s a favorite one of mine that I thought could sound easily Dornish. Florys the Fox also isn’t mine and belongs to G.R.R., though I did embellish and added more to the original story that I hope you guys might have found interesting with this back and forth story exchange between Aemond and Luke.

I really tried my best to go back and read over crumbs about Dragonstone from Davos POV chapters and inserts from F&B, so I hope you enjoyed them!

Thank you so much for all your comments, kudos, & bookmarks! I cannot express how thankful I am for every bit of feedback!

Oh, and issa embar zaldrīzes translation is my sea dragon 😊

Chapter Eleven

disenchanted.

Waves lapped at Luke's feet where he sat along the beach of Dragonstone, his boots having been discarded a while ago where he buried his naked feet beneath the sand and sat with a light booklet in his hand. Three rods had been set up, but it was only Luke looking after them. He glanced up from his reading every few paragraphs to check if any lines were being tugged at, but despite them having casted them quite a while ago there was still nothing. Luke determined something must be amiss and debated pulling them back in to the check the bait. Dragonstone's castellan Ser Alfred Broome had told them how harvester and hunter shrimps were common to catch in the warmer waters around the volcanic island, so yesterday their father made a day of rowing out past the dead coral beds that surrounded Dragonstone and set a net to catch the shrimp they meant to use for larger fish today. They were supposed to meet Laenor after they broke their fasts that morning, but his attendant had informed them their father was running rather late. Recalling how he had indulged more than his usual the day before while at dinner, Luke sighed and determined to go on ahead while he waited for his father to compose himself, taking Ser Lorent with him down to the beach to appease his mother. Even though his brother wasn’t usually interested in fishing, Jace had also come to join him, but Luke suspected he had only come as it was something to do on their off day without any lessons and had brought his bow with a small satchel of arrows to practice with on the beach.

He and Jace were still on tentative terms, but they were each other's only company it could sometimes feel like on the island. Their port was not a busy one like it’s neighboring island and lacked a market of any foreign merchants, nor was it teeming with relatives like on High Tide or the Red Keep. It was only them who resided in the previously vacant castle, and the servants on the island mostly came from the fishing village on the eastern side of the island. His mother told them it had not been properly lived in for over a decade, and remarked with a small smirk it's last resident had been her uncle, Prince Daemon who had left King's Landing with his mother’s brother's egg and a paramour. Though that was all before his marriage to Laena, his father interjected in defense of his sister's honor.

Luke found Dragonstone a very peaceful retreat when one warmed up to its gaudy castle and rather enjoyed life away from court with his family. Life was much more relaxed here. They spent the whole first week they came to the island practically living along the surrounding Blackwater. The sands were soft and the beach was long, and Luke taught Joffrey how to jump over waves and to pick his feet up higher as he ran through the water. Despite Jace and their father's complaints, he even enjoyed the smell of smoke and brimstone in the island's salt air that was particularly distinctive on Dragonstone, especially the closer your traveled towards the Dragonmont that emitted the thick grey smoke. Even his mother and father’s drawn faces had softened after a time and begun to relax in their household away from the capital, and before long, he actually heard his mother confess favoring their decision to move more than anyone. After all her refusals, it seemed Rhaenyra felt life was much easier away from the Red Keep as well.

Though while Luke and his mother wondered why they had never left King’s Landing sooner, it was his brother and father who were struggling. Jace had become uncharacteristically quiet even before they had moved here and it seemed even more prominent now. Back in King's Landing, if Luke felt betrayed by what had happened about the incident in the Dragonpit, it seemed his brother felt just as much, if not more so. Aegon's blatant denial of showing them the tunnels had appeared to have struck Jace rather hard, and as the ever dutiful son, whatever relationship he had held with their eldest uncle seemed to dissipate when he agreed with their mother that he was to create distance between her half-brothers. Jace mentioned Aegon apologized not long after the whole affair and tried to steer his brother back into their old antics, but Luke had found his brother lingering in their apartments and spending much more time with their mother and Joffrey than he ever would have before. That had included Ser Harwin especially.

Jace was not discreet in seeking out whatever attention it was he wanted from Lord Strong, and it had become a problem. So much so, that when Ser Criston was able to mistreat his brother in front of the other knight, it had been enough to provoke a beating so severe it had him disbanded from the City Watch. After returning all three of them back to the Keep, Luke remembered how he had stood in his defense against the Queen before his parents had shown up, and if he hadn't already began to endear himself to Luke, he had earned Luke's admiration after that night. Most of his life he had spent either trying to ignore or hate the man everyone whispered was his true father. Now that he was forced away, he felt unexpectedly dejected to see him go. Enough so that when Ser Harwin implored he should make up with his brother before leaving, he did his best. The two had never been so distant from each other and he could tell Jace was still sour about the slug he had thrown at his shoulder when he tried to pull Luke away from going after Aemond.

Though once the training yard incident happened, it appeared to have been the last straw for his parents.

“Father's not coming,” Jace called out, shooting another arrow into the distance to land in the sand further from his last.

Luke noted he was wearing his new bracers Laenor had made for him out of brand new leather that matched a sheath for the dagger Ser Harwin had given Jace that was now a permanent fixture on his belt these days. Before saying goodbye, Lord Strong had claimed it was a nameday present for Jace since it was approaching, though it did not look newly forged and had three small stones of blue, red, and green imbedded into the hilt. No one commented it seemed a much more sentimental gift than just for his brother's nameday. In fact, his mother had even looked away when Ser Harwin pressed it into Jace's hand, and their father handled it for a few moments before he gave it back to his son, only to gift him a sheath to place it in a few weeks later.

“He's just running late.”

Jace shrugged, loosing another arrow before traipsing off to go collect the rest from the beach.

Surprisingly, it was their father who had been the most publicly upset after the training yard fight. Ser Harwin gave his account of it all and told them how he had felt Ser Criston had handled Jace roughly and had only reacted to slander being thrown at his and their mother's honor. When the Queen called for Ser Harwin to be disbanded from his position, it was Laenor who pushed back rather abrasively about the decision.

“It was Ser Harwin that laid hands on my son, Ser Laenor. And we have already established years ago that Ser Joffrey provoked such an attack on himself when he threatened your own wife.”

“Your Kingsguard is a mad dog!” he exclaimed, angrier than Luke could say he had ever seen him, reminding him that his father was Velaryon but also half dragon. “First he’s shown clemency for killing Ser Joffrey Lonmouth at our wedding, and now he dares lay hands on my son!”

“Disguise it how you wish, I will no longer turn the other way and live beside this man who dishonors my family, your Grace. How much longer will you turn your eyes from the crimes this man continues to commit while in his position? When will consequences finally be sought?”

Viserys, who had been his own witness to it all, faced Luke's father and everyone was silent while the King hesitated to answer Laenor's calls. Though the Queen swept ahead and turned her chin up at the heir of Driftmark's challenge.

“Ser Laenor, have no doubts that I would gladly wish to see the day decency and duty are conducted about this castle, and consequences dulled out indeed.”

There were no words of threat, Luke had thought, but the way his father straightened and his heated breathing quieted, his mouth setting tightly against his teeth as he and Rhaenyra glared at Alicent, it definitely seemed perceived as one. Like the Queen had just drawn steel against them.

#hotd #house of the dragon #fanfiction #house targaryen #aemond targaryen #westeros #aemond targaryen fanfic #lucerys targaryen #aemond x lucerys #lucerys velaryon #lucemond #lucerys velaryon fanart #prince lucerys #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x lucerys velaryon #archive of our own #a03 fanfic

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kateofthecanals · 2 years ago

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I like to check my FYP every couple of days because it can often yield some generally interesting content which I might have otherwise missed on my (very carefully curated) dashboard. But on the other hand, it's a slippery slope to encountering some of the most breathtakingly bizarre and demented takes from certain dank, dark corners of the ASOIAF fandom, istg...

It's not even a matter of "have we even read the same books?" -- These people have basically RE-written the books entirely in their heads in order to conform to their own unhinged biases. And the saddest part is, it's usually in service to their ship of choice (more often than not, a non-canon ship). They are SO determined to justify why their ship is the "correct" one that they have completely warped and twisted the canon characteristics of any character that threatens their ship. And not only that, they have also INVENTED all of these perceived fandom slights against the characters they stan THAT JUST DO NOT EXIST!!! (Ex: Arya stans angrily claiming that D&D so "obviously" preferred Sansa over Arya.... lmao WHAT??)

And the worst part of it is how easy it is to spot which characters an OP stans just by who they're bashing, and how. Like it's become some unwritten rule that if you love X character, then you HAVE to hate Y and Z characters. And fans of Y and Z characters hate X character, and there's no nuance allowed. (i.e.: if you ship J*nerys, Sansa is basically the worst human who ever existed, period... even though Sansa has NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT SHIP, but because she is deemed a threat to that ship by a Certain Other Fandom, congrats, you are now obligated to build endless hate campaigns against her. You are also an Arya stan now too btw.)

And look, I'll be the first to admit that I have SanSan Tunnel Vision™, but it hasn't completely blinded me to the nuances of other characters and story aspects, lol. I cannot say the same for other stans, for whom ASOIAF is only about one or two characters and all others simply do not exist, and they will just casually assign traits to their faves that not only aren't a thing but actually ARE a thing, canonically, of other characters!!! I just sit and stare in disbelief.

And honestly? This won't end when/if TWOW comes out. These people's headcanons and delusions are so calcified by this point that anything George has to say will be met with mariah_carey_i_can't_read_suddenly.gif....

#end of rant #sorry i'm just flabbergasted lol #asoiaf #and the weirdos who claim to love it #(are ya sure about that?)

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cafeleningrad · 1 year ago

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alright, actually I wanted to stay out of any FE 3 Houses discourse because some arguments seem to wrapped into 11 layers of previous fandom dramas and I still have to finish Azure Moon, and still have to go through Silver Snow.Also, as someone who's in the ASOIAF fandom, having to read takes about morally grey designed characters, and conflicted moralities about an RPG which is way more barebones in worldbuilding and sides (although clearly inspired by GoT), it does seem tiring to me.

On the other hand, I did scroll over a post in the vain of "[Edelgard was so wrong to start a war against the Church of Seiros.] Actually the crest system isn't bad. If it really was oppressive then Mercedes and her mother wouldn't have been fallen into poverty. Constance too, btw." Apart from somehow trying to argue the fact that the crest system, a system which privileges social status automatically by bloodline, is a not subtle stand in for a nobility based social hierarchy, the game pointing it out as a problem in the very early chapters, there was also a glaring overlook of systematic sexism in the game. Or in other words, it finally clicked to me, someone who avoided fandom discussions, why such arguments are brought up, and to an extend why the Edelgard vs Rhea discourse (TM) exists in the first place: This fandom doesn't like women. Or to rephrase, this fandom doesn't like women who're not written in a morally conflicted manner. Women who's trauma, decisions and behavior can not be couched into sweetness or quirkiness. Say, women afforded agency but therefore all the pitfalls and nuance that comes with consequential decisions.

The crest system is as much a problem in Foádlan as much as sexism is. These two systematic problems are interlinked.

I think everyone is allowed their space to like or dislike a certain kind of character but I find it very interesting how the most discussed character are women (Edelgard and Rhea) in a role, in hindsight of the fandom's history, usually a man would have in an FE title as villain with a cause - and fun thing, these men are barely talked about or praised for their nuance (Lyon). At least I've not seen much discourse about Randolph starting a war because of Duma's impending downfall. (And I get why "actually that female character is the best, all she does is amazing" is annoying when in the text the character is actually flawed. On the other hand, I get the reactionary sentiment because fandom spaces in general like to dump down on female characters more aggressively than on any male characters, most of the time.)

So, sexism in Fódlan. Clearly, FE 3 Houses is not the first tile to tackle systems as the problem rather than ghoulish non-creatures by force-of-darkness-dragons. But it is also true that in it's history, women of the title series were victim of sexist writing. In Awakening the Aversa on the evil side isn't only dark skinned but also clad in sexy latex, the darkest character we get is Tharja who's creepiness in repackaged as quirky yandere behavior. Eirika is a)not even cleverly duped by Lyon's schemes leading to the dark hour in her route b) not afforded the moral conflict with Lyon's complicated, ambiguous motivation like Ephraim, excluding Eirika from any more layered storytelling. And, 3 House's predecessor, Echoes, oh boy...! Listen, I like Echoes but this there're is such a load of sexism in in it. Celica is given the more difficult choice how to deal with Mila's absence while also being manipulated by Jedah. Her mistakes get punished by death, which Mila ex-machina-fied but from Alm's route. In Alm's route we do not have only one but entire four damsels in distress, in Celica's route, counting herself it plus her being brainwashed, two damsels in distress. Oh, and all the endings where only Silque is granted autonomy, every other girl is pushed into a cozy marriage with childbirth. (And ouch, Faye still being hung up on Alm with own family.)

So yeah, I kinda understand why the fandom is, in a historical sense, not used to women with agency or narrative conflict. Even less so with tackling sexism within the narrative. Women in the title series are barely unpleasant, and if they're on the "evil" side it comes with sexually aggressive character design, and not much character depth.

But whereas the game is very explicit in pointing out that arbitrary birth lottery systems like the crest system is bad by displaying the Church's enforcement of the crest order, and reasons why people might want to turn against it with Lord Lonato, and Miklan in Chapter 4 and 5, the problem of sexism is not named this explicitly. Yet it is constant theme and source of struggle in the life for the female cast. Interestingly, the most freedom of choice about a life is afforded to women within the Church. Most women who're not depend on a men to have a career as cleric, or warrior like Shamir, Catherine, and Manuela (her dependence on a man is entirely for romantic purposes and played as a joke) is in the Church. Well and of course, Rhea as century long leading Archbishop. In contrast, most women outside the Church don't have that freedom, in fact their crest becomes a problem.

The only exception might be Leonie: Outside the church order, lowborn, choosing a career as sellwsord on her own. What is also strikes me as interesting detail is the fact that Leonie is by behavior, interests, and design rather gender non-conforming. And well Petra, who's culture lies outside the faith and system of Seiros.

But already with Dorothea, another lowborn girl, the problem of a woman's position in Fóadlan becomes very apparent, especially in her exchange with Caspar: Without a crest (for which she was discarded on the streets), without a high social standing, even as a famous singer in the opera company, not being securely married means an incredibly unsafe future. For Caspar, the male equivalent of having neither crest nor remarkable, is making a career in the military - in spite of him being born as a noble.

Dorothea's problem gets mirrored so often in the life of noble women. Dorothea has to find a got match, the noble women are forced into it, and they can't get opt out of participating in the system. Ingrid's constantly pressured and guilty to marry and pass on her crest - otherwise her family will fall from their noble position. Part of the reason Ingrid's still hung up on Glenn is the fact that she a) genuinely liked him b) without his existence her future, a marriage with a noble who would've also accepted her wish to become a knight, therefore her family's future is incredibly uncertain. Her family does all to present her as good match, to the point of likely starving in order for Ingrid, the crest bearer, to survive. In spite of Ingrid describing her father as kind, on sidequest reveals how urgent the matter of marrying Ingrid off is to him that he possibly overlooks less favourable candidates. And Ingrid herself feels incredibly guilty for prioritizing warfare, the liberation of her kingdom over making a match.

There're so many unseen women in the story who's tragic stories revolve around the crest system. Hanneman's sister died due to the burden of the crest system, Balthus's mother's crest was not seen as something prestigious she was chased away from the happy marriage with Lord Albrecht. The crest didn't protect her. Balthus himself gets continuously harassed by his stepmother because she sees his crest as a danger to her own son's fortune. Also note, the one's suffering physical abuse due to having crests are all women: Hapi, Edelgard, Lysithea. They've explicitly fallen victim to human experimentation because of their crests. The Agartha's are those who conducted the experiments on the three, but in Edelgard's and Lysithea's case those who handed them over in the first place were the Adrestian nobles. Who actually get retaliated against with stripping their power when Edelgard ascends the throne. (Just to make it clear, this is not a pro-Edelgard point, it is to point out that the text explicitly names that human (male) nobels very much exploit the crest system for their own.

Also, there's Marianne. Instead of being cared for, and helped through her fear and guilt caused by the crest of Maurice, her uncle expects her to act all the noble part. While both of them seem to be in agreement to not talk about the crest of Maurice, for Marianne it brings too much pain, Marianne is left alone with her sorrow which might have not been resolved if not for the support and care of her classmates.

And let's get to Mercedes because the comment that the crest system isn't at fault for Mercedes' and her mother's social downfall is so crassly overlooking the text for an easy "gotcha" against a disliked character who is waging war against a system. Because yes, sexism and the hierarchical unfairness link in Mercedes' story. As mentioned before, lowborn women either marry or go to the Church for a more autonomous life, noble women with crests, like Ingrid are pressured into marriage. And the latter is very much true for Mercedes and her mother. Lady von Martritz only remarried because the Bartels wanted her to birth a crest bearing heir (Emil). Her entire function was serving a prestigeous childbirth. They both fled House Bartels because they got treated badly after their function to baron Bartel's was disbanded.

When Mercedes became of age she was viewed as an access to prestige not as a noble person. The problem here isn't that the crest system doesn't make a person not privileged. the problem is, that women in Fóadlan aren't given a personhood outside male dependency/inside the church. Even though Mercedes desperately tries to remain within the sanctity of the church her own stepfather, and a greedy merchant try to pry her away from it in order to exploit Mercedes as crest producer. (I mean, despite Mercedes' so gentle demeanour, her story line is extremely oppressive. The reason for Emil murdering his own father was because to protect his sister from getting sexually exploited.) So the Ladies of House Matritz, like Ingrid, are seen only as valuable as in they can pass on crests. It's sexism that lead the poor treatment of the remaining members of House Matritz - because the crest system interlinks with sexism in making women only as valuable as the crest they bear.

(Note on Constance why House Nouvelle fell: Well, she's a woman, duh. No but seriously, partly Constance is an unfortunate position because she's an additional DLC character who needed a bit of liberation from the Adrestian Empire in her actions because the Ashen Wolves are written as outcasts. Within the text, her proximity to Mercedes is interesting as she basically was befallen the same social downfall situation as Mercedes. And well yes, she's a woman who didn't receive any help, like Mercedes didn't receive any.)

In short: Whereas Miklan is an exemplary in the story why the crest system as class issue leads to abuse and neglect of human lives, notice how many women are victim to forced marriage, bad life conditions by failing to bring up the expected crests, or not having one. The crest system only gives women so much value as their crests are considered worth passing on. The crest itself doesn't protect women, within the events and background stories of FE 3 Houses it was only cause for exploitation and (physical) abuse. Last note: Whereas for Sylvain his struggles stem from the cycle of abuse passed on from Miklan to him because of the crest system, it is interesting how for many male characters other issues like poverty, racism, false ideals are more at their personal forefront of the many systematic problems Fóadlan entails for them. For the women, most issues are caused by the crests they bear. (Even Flayn/Cethleann isn't spared from it, although in her case it's a bit more complicated.)

Unsorted note on my thoughts on women the FE 3 Houses fandoms likes to bash on: (In a more tame version, it can be seen how some people despise Ingrid. Sorry, but in a game which has many sideplots about people growing together, out of the systematic barriers they're caged in, it is quiet unrealistic that only face- and nameless NPCs are perpetrators of systematic problems like racism. Ingrid being first abrasive to Dedue because of bias and unresolved trauma about Duscur, to later fumble her way in seeing her mistakes and doing better to Dedue is like... part of the theme? And funny enough, Hilda brushing over the fact that Cyril was previously enslaved by her family doesn't get as much scrutiny.)

#Lewis rambling #Fire Emblem meta #FE 3 Houses #first thoughts might edit a bit later

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kareenvorbarra · 1 year ago

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AO3 stats meme! tagged by @anghraine

Rules: Give us the links to your fics with the most hits, most kudos, most comments, most bookmarks, most words, and least words.

Most hits: The Debate of Bregor and Aegnor, a Silmarillion fic from 2013 in which Andreth's siblings finding out about her relationship with Aegnor and drama ensues. In one of the great mysteries of my fandom life, this fic has 9,068 hits - over two and a half times more than the fic with the second largest number of hits, which is for a much bigger fandom (asoiaf). It doesn't have a proportionately larger number of kudos than my other Silm stories. Maybe it's a glitch? Maybe there are a handful of people who reread it hundreds of times? I'll probably never know lol

Most kudos: Five Times Kareen Told Ezar the Truth and One Time She Didn't, a Vorkosigan fic that explores Kareen's relationship with Ezar from her marriage to his death, with 123 kudos. The Vorkosigan fandom on AO3 is very generous with feedback, more than any of other fandom I've written for :) I do also think this is one of my best fics, so it feels good that it has the most kudos.

Most comments: What We Are Allowed, which is basically Thick as Thieves from Laela's POV, has 45 comment threads and 62 comments total. This one has an advantage over the others because it's a multichapter fic and has a handful of regular readers who usually comment on updates <3

Most bookmarks: Blessed the Bride of Argos, the Agamemnon/Cassandra fic I wrote for Nonconathon 2021. According to the stats page it has 46 bookmarks, but when I actually open the fic it only shows 23 - I'm guessing the rest are private bookmarks? It's an E-rated noncon fic, so a lot of private bookmarks wouldn't be particularly surprising.

Most words: What We Are Allowed is incomplete but currently at 40,841 words. It's my longest writing project EVER and I'm extremely proud of myself for getting this far and updating relatively consistently (also I think it's a pretty good story).

Least words: Remember, another Silmarillion fic, with 376 words. It's about Morwen and Rian's relationship and also about Rian being a musical prodigy. I just reread it for the first time in ages and I think it holds up pretty well!

tagging (if you feel like it) @heckofabecca, @chthonic-cassandra, @squirrelwrangler, @yavieriel, @vardasvapors

#meme response

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lazuli-writes · 2 years ago

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Pragmatic

pairing: Sansa Stark x Male OC

genre: angsty/fluffy-ish/slice of life (in westeros)

estimated word count: 700 words

a/n: This is probably the first time ever writing something small so quick. It usually takes me days but I just finished this today and I feel so proud of myself. This story is heavily inspired from this certain asoiaf au I made long ago where Jon was the Bastard son of Brandon, raised by Ned. Remember folks, copying other people’s works is plagiarism and that’s illegal. Don’t be that kind of person. Anyways, hope you all enjoy it :)

Sansa’s eyes watered as the array of colors shined in the distant horizon. Colors of ash, smoke and blood danced in the skies, shining brighter than even the stars that night.

It made no sense. How could someone so evil exist? Then again, she was a hostage for the Lannisters, so the existence of evil people shouldn’t really bring any more shock to her of all people. But yet, here she was.

The night Jon asked Sansa to be his emissary to the dragon queen, Sansa was astonished her cousin would ever trust her with something so dangerous and important. Without wasting a second, she sailed for Dragonstone. Her only attendants being the lady Brienne of Tarth and her husband, Ser William Dustin.

Sansa wasn’t surprised with Daenerys Targaryen’s plans to conquer the seven kingdoms. What was surprising was the way she went about it. A failed attempt at taking Dragonstone by Cersei’s forces brought about the death of one of those ghastly dragons.

His name was Rhaegal, the Valyrian said. Named after her brother, the brother that kidnapped and raped Sansa’s aunt. A haunting reminder to the dark histories of their two families.

Though Sansa could sympathize with Daenerys about the pain of losing a child, Sansa failed to imagine the true depth of the Targaryen’s wrath.

King’s Landing was in ruins by the time the sun began to fall from the sky. The Red Keep was more a black ruin, with the ugly iron chair left standing. Sansa refused to stay longer, leaving Brienne to organize an escape.

She didn’t think she would have to escape that gods forsaken city twice, yet there she was. Hand in hand with her husband as Brienne cut her way through Unsullied, Dothraki, Ironborn, Dornish and even some Reachmen to make their escape. All the while Daenerys continued her father’s tradition of burning those she saw as her enemies.

“Tyrion was wrong.”

Yes he was. William probably noticed she was lost in her thoughts. Sansa knew he could always decipher her feelings in some form or way.

“Tyrion was wrong. Not really a sentence I think my former husband would appreciate. But he was.”

“Don’t really think it matters what he wants anymore, considering his desires failed to prevent his queen from burning King’s Landing to ash.”

The screams. That was the worst part. Sansa was a hostage in everything but name. She and her husband were left encamped outside the city with the queen’s party. The screams of the children, of the women, of the men, of them all. They could all be heard leagues away from the city.

Their escape was a hectic act, with nothing but hope and death consuming the entire ordeal. Sansa understood Greyworm’s devotion to his queen, but with his death at the hands of Brienne and William, Sansa knew escaping was the only option they had left.

Seaguard was the projected place to get to. Get to Seaguard, sail for Barrowton, then ride for Winterfell. Sansa could only hope the journey would be safe and as quick as possible. But she knew the odds would present itself to be rather trying and difficult instead.

“What do we tell Jon?”

Her husband, intuitive as he was, was genuine in his question. And for once Sansa had an answer to give him.

“That we failed, and that it wouldn’t have worked no matter the circumstances.”

“You know he’d probably give up the North if it meant saving its people.”

“Well Jon likes to think being honorable is the only right way to live.”

“You make it seem as if Jon knows nothing my love.”

William’s words and the smirk that graced his face enamored Sansa, like it did so many times before. Pulling the smallest hints of a smile to her face, Sansa took a second to gather her thoughts before speaking.

“Stop antagonizing him, we left him alone with Arya and the other lords, that is more than what Jon can handle.”

Sansa’s smile was genuine but small. In that moment she felt at ease, she felt alright. Grateful to be alive. Grateful to be with her husband. Grateful to be going home, though the way she was forced to go about it was rather sour. But in the end, that wouldn’t really matter, at least not to Sansa. For she had bigger problems to worry about now.

The others were coming. News from the watch made it clear that the battle beyond the walls continued to rage on. She didn’t know how much longer she and her people had before the demons of ice would breach the wall. There was so much to worry about.

But at that moment, she was okay with just being alright.

#lazuli writes #asoiaf writes #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #got writes #got fanfiction #got fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #sansa stark #sansa stark fanfiction #sansa stark fanfic #sansa stark x male oc #original male character

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siravalondulac · 1 month ago

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iv. i am calm, i am... content

a heart so golden, a sun so bright

asoiaf ff | fem!oc centric

summary: elle stays at a septry word count: 1807 warnings: none

masterlist

previous | next

She was soaked to the bone, her clothing sticking to her skin and rubbing uncomfortably against her with every move she made. The cloak whose lightness she had previously praised pressed down on her shoulders, becoming heavier with every step she took.

She loved it.

It had been so long since she had seen rain. First the hot deserts of Dorne, then the freezing wastes beyond the Wall. Neither climate truly allowed heavy rainfall.

So now, standing in the downpour, droplets running down her face and obscuring her vision, her boots sinking into the softening earth - she had never felt so alive.

No sounds could be heard beside the rain hitting the leaves around her in a constant, never-changing ambient. It calmed her, made her forget about the stress of the tourney. Allowed her to focus, even.

Despite it all, however, she was growing tired. So when a light appeared in the distance, she made her feet speed up one last time.

Houses slowly became visible through the leafage. Small huts stood along the beaten-down road, all leading up to- a septry.

She quickly opened her bag and started rummaging through it. Inside everything was wet as well. She swore, though only in her mind.

Her blue cloth stuck to the side of her small bag, partly hidden by her flagon and coin bag. When she pulled it out her golden embroidery stuck out like a sore thumb.

Shit. Hopefully no one would recognise the animals.

She laid the scarf over her head, pushing back strands of her hair under the cloth, and crossing the excess fabric over her neck. This was the first time since she had cut her hair two years ago that she was glad she had done so.

A septry was a good thing. They could grant her sanctuary and hide her away from any potential pursuers she still had. They also might be open to giving her a bed for the night. And she could pray properly once again.

She stepped through the archway onto the castle grounds. The septry appeared much bigger than she had anticipated for such a small town. Though perhaps this was usual for the Riverlands.

A tree rose in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by bushes and flowers. Its impressive height made her think the septry might have been constructed around it instead of the other way around.

She walked up to the main gate and knocked on the dark wood. Her hands flitted around her scarf, pulling it further down her forehead. The door opened quickly, and she let them drop.

Before her stood a young woman with light skin, not much more than five years her senior, dressed in the grey robes of the faith.

Elle prepared to say something, ask for help, explain her situation, but she did not need to.

“What are you doing out here in this weather?” the woman, likely a holy sister, exclaimed, opening the door further. “Come inside, you will catch your death.”

She was ushered through the door by the sister, the water dropping off her body and onto the stone floor. Usually, the cold did not bother her, but right now she was glad for the warmth.

“I would like to ask for sanctuary,” Elle said quickly. “And a bed for the night, if you can spare one.”

The sister smiled. “Of course. But first, let's warm you up.”

Elle fell into step beside her, being led through the septry. They walked down the cloister, whose garden might have been quite beautiful if not for the still raging rainfall.

Walking down a short flight of stairs and through a sturdy wooden door they found themselves in a small hall. Holy sisters in grey, white, and blue sat before the hearths, talking to each other in low voices. The woman led Elle to one of them.

“Please, have a seat.”

She followed her request, the warmth of the fireplace immediately taking hold of her.

The sisters around them sent her a smile before turning back to their conversations and their work.

“Tell me, what's your name?”

“I am Elle, holy sister.”

“You may call me Sister Kinga. What has led you here? I assume based on your voice you are not from around here.”

She wanted to lie. Wanted to spin a tale about having been cast out of her home, searching for work, someone to take her in. But lying was forbidden in holy places.

“Yes, you are correct.” She unfastened her cloak and laid it out beside her. “I am from Sunspear and currently on my way back home. The rain took me a bit by surprise.”

“And why are you here in the Riverlands?”

“I was visiting a… friend up north.” Not a lie, technically. Even though she would never dream of calling Jon that to his face. Would never like to be called that by him either. “On my way back I had the idea to explore a bit of the world. I have seen so little of it.”

Sister Kinga smiled softly. “That sounds nice.” Then her gaze focused on something behind Elle. She stood up.

“Mother Elinor.”

An older woman, dressed in the same grey robes as Kinga, approached them.

Elle rose as well.

“This is Elle,” the sister said, introducing her to the matron of the septry. “She has come a long way and desires sanctuary.”

The Mother smiled down at her. “Then we shall grant it to her.” She bowed her head. “It is good to have you here, Elle. I hope you will feel right at home.”

Elle bowed her head in kind. “Thank you, Mother Elinor. I promise I shall not stay for long, I merely need shelter.”

“Stay as long as you like.” Her gaze wandered across her body. “Sister Kinga, please provide our guest something to dress in for the time being. And I think we can sacrifice a bit of water for a bath.”

She knew she made the right decision in coming here.

(As if that was ever in question.)

That night at dinner she sat amongst the holy sisters, fitting right in with the blue robes that had been provided to her. Sister Kinga had been kind enough to even lend her a covering for her head, though she had seemed a bit puzzled as to why she - who was not a sister of the septry - had requested one.

The prayer they said before the meal was unfamiliar to her. Perhaps it was unique to the Riverlands. Perhaps Dorne just did not pray to the Smith like this.

She was asked about what had led her here, and what her life was like in Dorne. They wanted to know how they worshipped the Seven there, as they knew every kingdom practised their faith a bit differently.

Elle answered it all, even the more personal questions, though the conversation quickly progressed from those topics to the Faith. And those were the questions she did truly enjoy answering.

Her room was small, consisting of a bed and a small nightstand, but she did not need more. She contemplated thanking the Crone for taking care of her, but she did not pray after the sun had set, and even though she was not at home, she would not change this.

Home. So this is how she viewed Sunspear? A slip of her mind, to be sure.

Elle ended up staying for another six days.

She joined the holy sisters and septas for their morning prayers in the sept, as well as for every meal throughout the day. She went fishing with some of them, and helped distribute food to the people having taken shelter in the septry.

No one asked her why she was here. No one questioned why she had begged for sanctuary.

She had not taken off her scarf the entire week, only when she had gone to sleep. Even in Dorne this was not the norm.

While she tended to the flowers in the main courtyard one day, soldiers came riding in. They did not get off their horses even as Mother Elinor came up to speak to them. Elle glanced at their armour - green and silver, bearing the sigil of House Vypren.

She kept her head down.

“We are searching for a woman with golden hair. She has to answer for her crimes before Lord Benjiamin.”

“And what crimes would that be?” the Mother asked.

“Robbery and incitement of violence. Have you seen her around here?”

“Even if I had - this is a septry, good Ser, and anyone who enters this place is protected by the gods. I could not hand her to you if she were here.”

The soldiers soon left, but not after threatening the Mother and several sisters around her.

The walls of one of the corridors were decorated with tapestries of all colours and sizes, each of them meticulously crafted by the sisters of the septry. She spent an entire day in that hallway.

The tapestries showed religious imagery, as was to be expected. The crowning of Hugor of the Hill and the landing of the Andals in Westeros. The High Septon, a wedding, Silent Sisters tending to the wounded. And a woman and a child, kneeling before the statue of the Mother.

Ellaria had taken Elle to the sept for the first time not long after she had arrived in Sunspear. She had laid a brightly embroidered veil over her hair and told her, “We show our humility to the Gods by covering up. Our appearance does not matter when we kneel before them and ask for their blessings.”

Since then, Elle had accompanied her every time. The Faith brought her comfort at a time when little else could. And then it just… stayed. Even after she had settled in Sunspear, even after she had found friends, she still went to the sept. Still prayed at sunrise. Still covered her hair when walking on holy grounds.

Her current stay at the septry brought all of those feelings back. There was something peaceful about this life. Something about being able to escape all of her duties.

And this was why she could not stay.

Her clothing had long been cleaned and repaired. Despite how much she enjoyed the simple robes of the faith, they were of a more rough-spun wool than she was comfortable with.

Sister Kinga handed her food and water for her journey before bestowing a blessing onto her. Elle thanked her for everything she had done for her.

“May the Mother be kind to you.”

She wanted to stay, wanted to experience the calm peace she had never been permitted before. But she could not. She had started something in High Anura, something that would bring change. Hopefully.

She would not back down now.

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#fic: stars above songs below #asoiaf oc #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfic #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfic #elle sand #cerelle baratheon #fic: a heart so golden a sun so bright

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