#bloody ben x oc

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - On the night of a record storm, Shanda Bracken sneaks into the land between the Brackens and the Blackwoods known as the Borderlands. Hoping to do routine reconnaissance she gets more than she bargained for when the guard on duty is the Blackwood heir himself.

Warnings - fem!reader, mentions of violence, fighting, suspense, female rage, strained family dynamics, complicated relationships, adult language, period typical misogyny, not cannon compliant, kieran burton fancast, terminal benji brainrot

Word count - 2.5k

!MinorsDNI!

There will be more!! Bc I am feral.

Pt. 1 of 11 currently

The sound of the wind hammering against the castle walls seemed as if it intended to blow Stone Hedge down. The gods were angry with them but Shanda couldn’t figure a reason for it now. Beyond that, she had plans tonight. Plans that wouldn’t wait for a storm, no matter how great. As she carefully pulled her hood up, she peeked around the ground floor column again. Empty, she’d timed it just right. Quickly she ducked through the room and down the servants staircase descending as fast as she could manage. The kitchens were empty and she did not linger, quietly making her way outside.

The wind threatened to steal the door from her grip when she finally thrust it open. Nearly falling down the steps, she managed to firmly shut the door. Gazing out at the darkened yard, lightning flashed for a moment illuminating the path ahead. Shanda moved with haste, if her father caught her out here again… It was best not to think about that. The only reason she’d gotten this shot was thanks to her brother. Martyn was on guard tonight and had agreed to look the other way as it were.

Shanda was on her way to the borderlands. It was stupid, reckless and irresponsible behavior. That was undoubtedly true, however the reward was worth the risk in her mind. Her father happened to disagree with that sentiment but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She’d been on these missions to the borderlands three times prior, always sneaking up behind Blackwood guards and listening to their private conversations. They were all terrible gossips and it didn’t take long for them to start disclosing secrets. She wasn’t stupid, she was quiet and didn’t stick around long. Choosing different spots to spy on each time she came and ensuring she left no tracks to be followed back by. That’s why the approaching storm was perfect. She’d show up, steal some intel and let the rain wash all of her tracks away.

Outside of the gates in the free and clear, Shanda made her way into the dense, tall grass that acted as an excellent cover. She’d made sure to wear dark wash colors and opted for trousers under her thick cloak. The night was silent, with all of the animals hiding away from the incoming storm, the only sound came from the howling winds blowing across the ocean of grass she hid in. The moon was obscured by clouds and she had to stop often to squint into the distance to orient herself. But before long she could hear the blackwood guards' voices carried by the winds.

“… declare for the new ki…” “It won’t matter will it? Not if… certainly a c… olent swine!…”

Shanda frowned as she approached as far as she dared. The wind was working against her it seemed. There were two guards, both unremarkable to her. Black haired, tall, enemies. The only thing she wanted was a better chance at hearing them. They sat close together, the broader one closest to her had his back positioned towards her, while she could see the profile of the smaller man. He appeared older, and wore a sour look on his face. He seemed to be the one doing most of the speaking.

“… ell him, I will. He’s the lord of… crimes against us in our own land, it doesn’t b…”

She strained to hear against the roar of the leaves shivering in their branches as the wind picked up again and the voices rose louder in it.

“Get a grip! And don’t bother me about it anymore!”

She crouched low and lay still when the older man abruptly got up and gazed over at the field where she lay hidden before storming away. She ducked back into the grass, hand poised on a borrowed dagger. Her heart was racing but after a few moments of nothing she carefully peeked back out. The younger man sat alone now still, with his head in his hands. She waited for a good thirty minutes in silence. Then she weighed her options. She hadn’t gotten much of anything and it had taken a lot to get back out here. Going back now was unsatisfactory. On the other hand, it didn’t seem like the guard was sending a replacement and the lone man apparently didn’t feel like talking to himself anytime soon. She resolved to wait a while longer when the rain started.

At first it was just a bit of cold hard rain pelting down at her but it quickly turned into a deluge unlike any she’d ever seen. All other thoughts flew out of her mind in the present moment except getting out of the rain. The problem was she kept slipping, caught in a tangle of mud and grass. A clap of thunder rang out so loud she jumped, nearly crying out in fear. Half drowning as she looked up, she noticed the fire put out and the guard missing.

“Shit.” Her eyes scanned all around her but it was a pointless exercise. She couldn’t see anything from the sheer amount of water in her eyes, the world a big muddy blob as her vision clouded over.

“Come on.” She commanded herself, standing and making a run for it. That is to say she tried to run, the mess of weeds and mud wrapped around her legs made her slip. The fall knocked the breath out of her and she lay there stunned, watching the rain fall for a moment gathering the mental strength to try again. She never did though, the knife in the ground beside her head inches from her eye was the motivating factor.

Moving with a deftness she hadn’t possessed moments before, she was up, grip tight on her own weapon as she moved to strike. Her assailant was quick and it was sheer luck he hadn’t struck true on the first blow. Shanda took care to stay out of his attack range. Using their height differences to her advantage, she would duck in and slice. But she hasn't made contact even once. The rain is so thick it's suffocating and it becomes increasingly more clear that she is outmatched here.

“Fucking spy! I’ll kill you.” His voice is rough but carries over the rain.

She has no doubt he means it, the Blackwood’s are all brutes. She tries to get a good look at him, but he snags her cloak and a struggle ensues. His strength doubles her own and she decides instantly to cut the fabric. A clap of thunder rings out like an explosion, shaking the ground beneath them. Or is it him shaking her? The last thread snaps and she’s free again. This time she doesn’t waste a second before turning heel and running. There’s a league of borderlands between her and home, the run is agony.

Worst of all, the guard has set upon chasing her screaming obscenities the entire way. If she weren’t terrified she would commend his lung capacity . Hers was waning and the ground grew softer and softer as they went. She sprints hard aiming for the clutch of trees approaching. She can’t keep this pace up for much longer, her ankle screamed from the earlier fall and her breath is ragged. She doesn’t slow as she enters the cover of the canopy. It’s quieter here and she tries to move with care aware her pursuer is still there. She can now make out his taunts.

“Coward! Be a man. Stop hiding like a babe.”

“Did the rain waterlog your mind? Or are all spies brazen fools?”

Panting behind a tree she rested for a second before darting behind another. It would be worse for him to discover she couldn’t man up and fight him. She berated herself for messing up, for staying when she should have left. She should've called it early and packed up when the first guard left. Better yet, if she hadn’t come at all like her father had commanded. Heaving gasps of air, soaked to the bone in the pitch darkness probably wasn’t the time to have second thoughts though.

It was then she acknowledged how quiet it was, the rain muffled by the trees was distant. Hopefully it was dying down while she rested but the mongrel hunting her had gone silent. And that did not bode well for her she knew. Now she moved as delicately as possible, working to disturb no branch or leaf as she crept through the trees. It was impossibly dark and it was memory alone that guided her forward. Shanda had been on several hunts with her brothers, who were always sneaking her places she shouldn’t be. She hadn’t cared much for it, lots of waiting. Now her heart was pounding so hard it was difficult to hear anything else. She had to pause, coming to a complete stop to strain her ears for any noise. Each time she paused her heart beat grew faster til she was sure she would faint.

When the edge of the trees finally appeared she could have weeped as she leapt to exit. A hard jerk from behind pulled her up short. She audibly choked as her assailant dragged her backwards into the trees once more by her hood. She clawed at her cloak trying to undo the clasp. Finally, he released her and she flailed gasping again for air.

She used the movement to grab her knife.

“None of that.” He was quicker than her this time, using the back of his own knife he hit her hand so hard she cried out and dropped it. He then snaked one arm around the middle of her and the other held the blade at her throat. Her back pressed against the front of him, she didn’t dare breathe.

“Now, care to tell me why a fair maiden like you is out this time of night, sneaking around the borderlands no less?” His tone was mocking, arrogant and condescending. It made her blood boil. She desperately tried to think of a way out of this situation that didn’t end with her death but she was utterly unable to form a coherent thought. Her only advantage was that she wore no sign of her house.

“Care to get your filthy fucking hands off of me?” She spat as a way of answer.

He burst out laughing at her reply, the sound rumbling through her own chest deep and heavy. The knife at her neck never moved an inch during and that was scarier to her than if he’d nicked her. He was careful, controlled. He’d known exactly where she was going to exit the trees from and had circled around to cut her off. And now he was laughing at her.

“Such foul language but no fouler than the crime you’ve committed.”

“What crime?” She scoffed, wanting to twist out of his hold.

His answer was inconsequential to her, she was trying to find a way to knock the knife out of his hand. She could see her own knife on the ground a few feet away. If she could manage to get his knife away from him then -

“Attacking the heir of Raventree of course. Attempted murder is a nasty crime. Not to mention the spying and if I’m not mistaken a breach of the recent peace treaty.”

Her thoughts froze along with all of the blood inside of her body. Nameless Blackwood guard number whatever was one thing, but the heir of Raventree? This wouldn’t just reach her father, it would reach Riverrun. Lord Grover Tully would punt the issue down to Elmo and the gods only know what would happen there. A man known for mischief, it sent a shudder through her. Considering this would be the third conflict in a moon's turn it wasn’t likely to be a light punishment. She had well and truly stepped in it now.

“Preposterous, are you going to admit to a crowd that I nearly bested you? Sad look for a sad house, I suppose it works.”

“I did say attempted.” He pushed the blade harder against her throat, causing her to push further back into him to avoid it.

“If anything you’ve attempted harm here, not me. I was minding my own business, when you attacked me.”

“Minding my business you mean. We knew someone was sneaking in to spy on us. Never dreamed it was a woman, tracks were covered too well.”

Shanda aggressively rolled her eyes at that.

“I wasn’t minding your anything, now unhand me and we can forget this entire ordeal.” She said suddenly very tired.

“Afraid I can’t do that darling, you’re a wanted criminal and my chance to win the argument you saw earlier.”

“You knew the whole time?” Her tone was incredulous and her hope for escape was waning by the moment.

“The tracks were covered well, but not well enough. Why do you think I was down there? The guards were disputing over your existence.”

If only she hadn't been caught! She could’ve been the Bracken ghost wreaking havoc on dumb guards. Now she made a deliberate grab for his sword. It was a stupid move, she couldn’t hope to pull it from its scabbard.

“Quit that, what are you…”

She was right in her assessment that it would distract him though and when his grip loosened she sprung into action. First she elbowed him as hard as possible in the chest, and slammed her head back into her captors. It should've been enough to make any man let go of her but the Blackwood heir didn’t budge. It was only when twisting and writhing away from him she managed to knee him hard in the groin that he fully let go of her. She grabbed her knife off the ground as his arms wrapped back around her, pulling her up. This time she made contact, a long slash traveling up his shoulder. When he gasped in pain, she’d heaved with all her might and tipped him off balance using her leg as lever.

They both fell into the thick mud underneath them. Legs and arms wrapped and fought against each other in a web so complicated she couldn’t separate herself from her assailant. She’d also lost her knife in the struggle and in an underhanded move, freed herself by rubbing mud in his eyes. She knew if he got his arms around her again it was over. She jumped to her feet and took off again, bursting through the trees and back into the pounding rain which had been patiently waiting for her. In the distance she heard a voice rise up.

“Make it your last!”

She had no intention of stopping now. When the stakes were so high and the reward so tantalizing. The heir on guard duty, maybe her father might see reason after all for a borderlands scout.

Pt.2

[lydiadeetzgf]

The Great Chess Tournament pt. 1

Benjicot Blackwood x fem!oc

summary: The princess's adopted daughter has to choose a betrothed, and her best way of doing that is through a chess tournament.

word count: 1.05k

warning: none

Author’s note: please let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments! I’m always open to feedback!

The same year Prince Jacearys was born Princess Rheanrya adopted a daughter from an orphanage to show go will towards the common folk. They did not know anything about this girl, whether she was noble or not, what house she was from or what region. All they knew was that her name was Anastasia.

When Anastasia turned six and ten, the princess decided it was time for her to find a betrothal. Both her brothers were already set to be betrothed. The princess sent out ravens to all the houses that were willing to propose to an orphan. Not many were, but they wished to make alliances with the Princess.

Anastasia was summoned to her parent’s chambers in dragonstone to discussed what they had done. The guard outside the door opened it for her announcing her arrival.

"Anastasia." Rheanrya smiled at the girl gesturing her to come close to her and Daemon. The princess and her husband were sitting on chairs by the fireplace.

"You wished to see me?" Anastasia asked coming closer.

"We have some news." Rheanrya said. Anastasia looked at the pair confusedly, wondering what the news was.

"We have decided that is it time for you to be betrothed." daemon cut in.

"What? why?" Anastasia asked to upset by the news, she found it unfair that she had to married and she knew that no lord would want an orphan.

"It is only fair as your brothers both have betrothals." Rheanrya try to calm the girl.

"No lord is going to want to marry me." Anastasia frowned.

"And do you think that sweet girl?"

"Because I'm an orphan." Anastasia eyes started to tear up at the thought, "What lord would love an orphan?"

"Sweet girl, many lords have agreed to meet you."

"Really?" She looked surprised. "Well, if I am going to meet with these potential suitors, will it be my choice?"

"Yes, sweet girl. I wish to give you the same opportunity that my father, the King gave me." Rheanrya nodded.

"Then I wish to do it differently."

"How do you mean?" Daemon leaned forward in his seat, interested in what she had to say.

"I wish to challenge them in a chess game." The girl smirked. Her parents looked at each other confused by what she meant.

"Why so?" Daemon asked again.

"You can learn a lot about someone in chess." Anastasia explained, "And I am one of the best chess players in the realm Jace said."

A few days had passed, and the princess had called all the lords and their sons who had accepted to the marriage tour to come to Dragonstone to meet Anastasia. The morning of the arrival of the houses Anastasia was in the library with her brothers and sisters playing cards.

"So what are you going to make them do, sister?" Jace asked looking up from his hand at Anastasia.

"Well, mother and father are allowing me to do a chess tournament." Anastasia replied making Luce laugh.

"Really? Why would you do that?" Luke asked.

"I want to see if they can beat me."

"Like that can happen." Baela smirked. "That's nearly impossible."

"That's the idea."

The door to the library opened and the children turned when a guard told them the houses had arrive and they were needed in the great hall. A fest was begin held as it was the first day of the marriage tour, the family was seated at the end of the great hall and the noble and minor house were seated all the tables around the hall.

Jace, begin the kind but protective brother made in a point to tell Anastasia about who everyone was and if they would be good matches for her. “That’s Oscar Tully, heir to Riverrun.” Jace pointed at a young boy Anastasia’s age seated with his grandshire.

Luce decided to also give his two-sense into who would be suitable for his sister, “you would do well in the Riverlands, sister. The air is cooler, and the grass is greener. Which you like.”

“That is true.” Anastasia nodded in agreement. The truth is she hadn’t really thought much about where she would like to end up in the future as she didn’t think much about it. So she was willing to hear any advice that would be given.

“Speaking of the Riverlands. That’s Aeron Bracken.” Jace continued pointing at a boy in yellow on another table. “A knight, so he would be able to protect you.”

“Yes, but his he a good knight?” Anastasia questioned give her brother a look.

“That is the question.” Luce added.

“And over there we have the Lannisters.” Jace nodded to a sea of red and gold.

“I’d rather not.” Anastasia made a face.

“Good idea, Ana.” Luce sniggered sipping at his drink.

“What about him?” Ana asked nodding to a boy in black and red, who’s house was in the far corner of the hall.

“That’s Benjicot of House Blackwood. Heir of Raventree Hall.” Jace replied. Him and Luce looked at each other in worry, Ana gave the two a questioning look.

“Why are you looking at each other like that? What’s wrong with him?”

“They called him ‘Bloody Ben’ because of his ruthlessness on the battlefield.” Jace replied.

“I don’t think you’ll like him, Ana.” Luce continued, “we don’t want you with someone so violent. Trust us.”

Before Ana could ask more, the princess stood up next to her to make an announcement. “Thank you all for coming. As you know we are here for the marriage tour of my daughter, Lady Anastasia. However there will be a twisted.” This caused all the Houses to look around confused and mumble questions to one another. “Anastasia has requested that each of your sons are to join her in a chess match.”

The lords and their sons looked horrified at this statement. Why on earth would the Lady want to challenge them to a chess match? More importantly why is a woman playing chess?

Anastasia smiled at the idea of playing her favourite pastime. She looked around to see all the horrified face, however she notice that this Benjicot Blackwood did not look so horrified but intrigued by this.

“The chess matches shall start on the morrow.” Rheanyra announced.

Let the games begin…

[multific]

His Bride

Davos Blackwood x Reader

Summary: A short piece about obsession, blood and love. What more do you need?

To be the bride of a Blackwood, you got to have something wrong with you.

To be willingly married to a man so crazy, so devoted and obsessed.

It was madness.

But anytime someone asked you for your reasons, man or woman, you always said the same thing.

"Imagine that devotion and craze when he loves. When he truly loves. He gives. And he gives much. You say he is insane. But I see a man willing to do anything for me. I see a man on his knees just to be in the same room as me. You say he will murder me and bleed me out, but the truth is he would never touch me anyway I do not want him to. You ask me how can I love someone so mad, and to that I say, he loves me. His love is deep, it's loyal and fierce. I know he would burn entire villages, and turn against any House or man just to have me. You say it is insanity, I say it is exactly what I want."

But the comments never stopped.

No matter what you have done. People didn't see him as a Lord, people saw him as a crazy child.

Any lady you have ever met always asks the same stupid question.

"How can you be happy about having him as your husband?" the faces the ladies make never helped your anger.

"You say he is crazy and yet you hide in your homes whenever he is near. You say he could never love, but he does, he loves me and he has me, fully. He has my heart, my mind and my body. In reality, it is you who are jealous of me. I have a husband who kills for me, without any hesitation. You truly never felt lust until you saw him behead another man simply because of the way he looked at me. And then, as the man's blood is still dripping from his lips, he kisses me."

To be the bride of a Blackwood, you got to have something wrong with you.

And you did.

You loved him.

House of the Dragon Collection

Taglist: 

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~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, OR TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[benjinotes]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 - prologue

next.

( benjicot blackwood x daella velaryon )

don’t translate.

Rain pattered against the window of the young princess' chambers, its steady rhythm echoing Daella's growing unease. Seated by the fireplace, the warmth of the flames should have comforted her, yet her mind remained unsettled, thoughts swirling like the storm outside.

The book on her lap had been forgotten for quite some time; the only indication of its existence was her index finger absentmindedly massaging its leather spine.

The crackle of burning logs mingled with the distant rumble of thunder and the patter of rain outside, creating a slightly foreboding symphony. Daella's gaze shifted from the flames to the window, where raindrops raced across the pane. The Dragonstone Castle, usually bustling with life, now rested eerily quiet under the veil of night.

Suddenly, a strange noise caught her attention. Observing from afar, she saw a crow perched in the window, its black feathers glistening in the occasional flash of lightning. The bird watched her with intelligent, penetrating eyes, as if carrying an unknown omen.

However, what caught her attention the most was the red beak that the bird had, which seemed to stand out against its black features and, for some reason, brought her comfort.

Deep down, she knew that this was the maximum comfort she could get at that moment and for the next few days, since her mother's throne had just been usurped and her brothers had gone in search of allies to fight in a war that was to come.

Remembering that Jacaerys and Lucerys were alone out there in search of allies made Daella's heart come to her throat and made her feel a little guilty for not having followed them in search of more support for reclaiming the throne. Yet she couldn't go, not when her combat skills were almost nonexistent and not when Rhaenyra was mourning Visenya, who had died during birth.

To say Daella was her mother's shadow was an understatement. The princess was like her mother's shadow from the day she was born, following in her footsteps in almost every aspect of life. The connection between them was so deep that Daella seemed to reflect her mother's essence and values in almost everything she did.

She would do anything for her mother, and that's why she decided to stay to help her, because in addition to loving her unconditionally, she knew her; she knew that Rhaenyra was suffering, and she knew that sometimes she was too proud to admit it. That was one of the things they had in common.

"Princess Daella?!" A man's deep voice woke her from her thoughts, and she jumped a little, startled by the sudden noise that came from behind the oak door. "Princess, are you there?" The man asked again, and she recognized it as Sir Duman's voice, one of her mother's most faithful guards.

Regained her composure, Daella took a deep breath, and hurried to the door of her chambers, both worried and curious about the late-night interruption.

The first thing she saw when she opened the letter was Sir Duman's worried face. The flickering torchlight in the hallway cast shadows across his features, highlighting the urgency in his eyes.

Lifting her chin and stretching her back, Daella couldn't help but feel worry wash over her, but still, her voice didn't waver as she began to speak. "Yes, Sir Duman, I'm here. What happened?" She asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

The old man's expression returned to normal, and the girl couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when she noticed his expression soften.

That meant he didn't bring bad news, right?

"Queen Rhaenyra is waiting for you in the great hall, my princess; she wishes to speak with you." Sir. Duman began, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the castle. "A raven has arrived with news." At those words, the Velaryom girl furrowed her eyebrows in question, curiosity falling over her once again.

"Oh." Daella said, and she bit her tongue when she realized her short and stupid answer. "Then let's go; we can't keep our grace waiting." At Daella's words, the man nodded and waited for the princess to lead the way, giving a small bow when she passed in front of him.

Even as she tried to maintain a confident posture while making her way towards the great hall, the Velaryon girl couldn't help but let some of her other concerns creep back into her mind, and the speculations of what could have happened seized her brain in such a ravenous way that she felt like she might vomit at any moment.

The queen had never summoned her at such a late hour, so the matter must be urgent.

Upon arriving at the great hall, Daella carefully opened the door, finding her mother and stepfather, Deamon, standing in front of the stone table. Strangely, none of them seemed to notice her presence there.

"Your grace." The princess spoke in a loud voice, hearing the wooden door behind her slam as she spoke. "Did you request my presence?" The girl said that, although it came out more as a questioning tone, she couldn't help but smile when she noticed her mother's violet eyes looking at her with so much love.

Without hesitation, Rhaenyra approached her daughter, a smile on her face but a tired look that made Daella's heart sink. Losing Viserys had been difficult for her mother, but losing Visenya had caused her mother heartbreak that she had never felt before.

She knew she probably couldn't endure a loss like that as well as her mother did, which only deepened her admiration for her.

"My sweet girl." The queen greeted her sweetly, and Daella couldn't help but let her smile widen when she realized that she wanted to have a conversation as a mother and not as a queen.

"Yes, māzma?" Daella questioned with curiosity shining in her eyes and got a little closer to her mother, managing to get a clearer view of her stepfather, who was currently reading a letter with an annoyed expression. The coat of arms of House Blackwood was visible on the envelope he had in his another hand. (mom)

Rhaenyra sighed softly, and when the princess saw her exchanging meaningful glances with Daemon, their eyebrows drew together in confusion. "You know we sent letters to some noble houses seeking support for the war, right?" The queen asked rhetorically and gave another sigh when she saw her daughter nodding her head hesitantly.

Daemon got a little closer to them.

For some reason, Daella's heart began to beat heavily, and she couldn't help but bite her lip, anxious for the next words the white-haired woman was going to say to her.

"The good news is that most houses have decided to join us." Daemon spoke up for the first time, sensing his wife's hesitation in bringing up the subject. He just wanted to finish this conversation.

"But?" Daella asked when she noticed the hesitation and the hesitant exchange of glances. Her head was racing. They should be happy to have such strong allies, but yet they seemed worried, and the fact that none of them told her what was happening was starting to make her upset.

"The Blackwoods have agreed to support our cause." This time, Rhaenyra spoke and placed a hand on her belly. "But they have one condition." The woman's words faded off, and Daella turned to her stepfather for an explanation.

Daemon moved a little closer and looked at his wife for permission before speaking. "They want a marriage alliance between you and Benjicot Blackwood." He explained carefully, and the princess looked at the two in shock.

The revelation hit Daella like a wave, causing her to step back in shock. She had always known a political marriage was inevitable, but now that the reality had dawned on her, she felt dazed and even a bit unwell.

"What? Why?" She asked, distressed, her heart pounding and her hands sweating as she walked backward down the hall. Rhaenyra glanced at her worried daughter before turning back to her husband and giving him a nod.

Daemon massaged his forehead, starting to get irritated. "House Bracken and House Blackwood have always been at odds." The man began to explain and once again looked at his wife for permission to continue. "Upon discovering that the Branckens were our allies, Lord Blackwood made the marriage request in exchange for his troops and services." He finished, and the princess couldn't help but give a disbelieving nasal laugh, her hand out of a simple rivalry. It was the stupidest thing she had ever heard.

Noticing Daella's expression, Rhaenyra approached her daughter again, this time more carefully. "I know it's a lot to process. But it's your decision; if you don't want to get married, Daemon and I will refuse the proposal." She said, while putting her hand on Daella's face, who bit her lower lip.

She harbored an intense desire to express her refusal, to vocalize her frustration, but remained unable to do so, aware of the imminent threat of war, the critical need for allies, and her support for her mother and brothers during the approaching storm.

"The House Blackwood is important?" Daella asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper, and the two adults in the room exchanged a solemn nod. Too much important.

"It's better to have them on our side than on the opposite side." Her stepfather reacted with an impatient gaze, and she couldn't help but sighed.

"I understand, I will do it." Daella said quietly, her voice steady as she accepted the reality before her, and with a deep breath, she straightened her posture.

There was no turning back now.

Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged glances, a mixture of pride and concern evident in their eyes, knowing the weight of the sacrifice that the only daughter of the heir to the Iron Throne was making at this moment.

"I'm immensely proud of you, thank you." The queen whispered, planting a tender kiss on her daughter's cheek. The princess visibly softened, reassured by her mother's affectionate gesture amidst the swirling emotions.

"I will promptly dispatch a raven to Lord Blackwood." Damon interrupted , his tone brooking no delay, and Rhaenyra shot him a stern look at his brusqueness, while Daella sighed anxiously in silent agreement beside them.

She was doing this for her mother.

— i don't know how to feel about this, but i hope you like it. <3 normally my chapters tend to be bigger, but as this is just the prologue i decided to make it smaller, and this is my first hotd storie so i'm kinda scared.

— benji soon, promise. 😔

ALSO: please make me requests for: reader x character.

wattpad.

tag: @marytvirgin

[adarkandmagicalforest]

blood lust

benjicot blackwood/ofc bracken (elma bracken)

warnings: fight kink, smut, rough oral sex (female receiving), short and sweet

2nd installment: once again, 3rd installment: hunted/hunter

Blackwoods were savages.

That was snarled into her ear from every person in her household, Mother, Father, brothers and even the cooks and maids.

And even if knocked on the back of her head, forcing her to lose all memory of any advice, thought and history: Elma Bracken would've immediately agreed with them when presented with Ben Blackwood.

He was a savage. From every spark of maddening delight every time she clanged the sword she'd stolen at him. His teeth were on display, a horrible display as he met her every swing, his grin broaddening each time she pushed him backward, barking a laugh when she shrilly screamed with frustration, which of course infuriated her all the more. 

She stepped right.

He stepped left. But then, she finally moved unexpectedlyand then his face wavered. The flat edge of her blade rang against his kneecap, causing a painful shout to erupt out of his mouth, much to her deep pleasure. 

Of course then, without any sort of warning, the fucking barbaric, horrible boy had snatched her sword by the blade! Minding naught the cut of the steel, he merely grunted and yanked it out of her hands, throwing it a yard off to the side of their disheveling argument before he rushed forward and tackled her to the ground.

The ground hurt from the force he's used, but she could never bare to hear that she'd lost to a Blackwood.

So Elma hit him. Then, she bit him.

But Ben Blackwood was on top of her, his body lodged between her legs while he attempted to grab her flailing arms that were trying to more solidly sock him on the nose. And that was about when she'd felt it - after her 5th blow against his cheek, when her gold ring had just sliced at his cheek. His cock, very evidently thick ans hard inside of his trousers while he bled on her.

They both knew that she knew. But she didn't care. How could she? What did that matter when there was the priority of winning? Success over a mortal enemy was surely more important than his heavy cock or the damp heat that was increasing between her legs.

So they kept fighting.

Soon, the fucking Blackwood bit her back, right upon her neck, making her hips jerk and a snarl (surely not a moan) come from her parted lips. Then, worse off, he rose his lips up in that snarling smile, she could feel it so, before he opened his mouth and slowly pressed his hot tongue along her throat and up to her ear, tasting her sweat and slightly dirty flesh and making her shiver beneath his body. So she shoved him away, freeing her arm so she might slap him again, hard across the face. The slap was loud, painful, and left a pink imprint of her hand against his cheek. But this only seemed to please him, as his cock was now positively throbbing against her.

Her riding breeches were yanked down in his attempt to wrestle her. They dropped down her milky thighs, baring her flesh to the cool afternoon.

And then Benjicot grinned wildly, devils twirling in his eyes as he suddenly released her wrists and dropped himself lower.

He dodged her kicks, catching one of her dainty ankles in hand before it hit his face. All at once, cool air hit against her cunt for just a single shocking moment - before it was gone just as fast. Her opponent had just shoved his face between her legs, his cackle of success lasting only until he'd pressed his mouth against her and began to hungrily devour her. There was no plan, rhythm or deciding motion, he simply did everything to her. Licking at her wildly, sucking at her cunt as he pleased. He'd even shoved his tongue inside her, she could feel it delving there as if to test her flavor... He'd even risen back up to disgustingly dribble his own spit over her cunt before he forcibly began to grind his flat tongue and face against her mound, then shaking his head like a filthy dog with his tongue grinding so fiercely against her cunt that she was surely sopping wet.

Elma's hands on their own had found their way to his dark hair, gripping it punishingly tight as her choked out cries escaped from her throat at the Blackwood's motion. And then he'd shoved his fingers inside her - thrusting them with reckless abandon once he'd found the angle that forced her to wriggle and squirm - and so he'd stolen her peak, the lurid, dreadfully wet sound still coming from her cunt while his fingers fucked her through the bodywrecking pleasure becoming so loud that Benji's body shook with pleased, cruel laughter. He didn't even stop when it was over, even though she'd just soaked his face. He just kept on, enjoying the sound and taste of her, especially when she yanked on his hair and hit him again, attempting to pull him away from her sensitive cunt. That he seemed to like more than anything, her swats and the pain from her pulling on his hair.

But he built her up again - doing so fast so he could insure that the second peak hurt, just enough so that the pleasure was sharp enough to force the shivers over her body and make her toes curl within her boots, her cries as he swept over her desperate for him to stop and yet desperate for him to continue.

When he finally pulled away, his lower face was shiny and wet, and his eyes were blown out just the way they'd been when they fought with swords.

"Again." The Blackwood son dared.

Elma narrowed her eyes. And then she kicked him, her heel hitting him square in the belly, before she showed him how Brackens rode.

[moobell55]

His Lady's Love

~Lord Benjicot Blackwood returns home from a border skirmish to his lovely lady~

Trigger Warnings~Description of blood and wounds, reference to battle, Bracken hate, mentions of sex and pregnancy, reader is simply referred to as Lady Blackwood, her features are as you wish but longer hair is mentioned, angst, comfort, and fluff, They're in love your Honor~

The air in Blackwood Castle smelled of rains and unforeseen troubles as the darkness of the evening slowly overcame the Riverlands. The sun had made its way across the sky as a strong storm had formed around the castle; one almost as strong as the Young Lord making his way to his chambers.

The young Lord's dark clothes were stained with blood, the same blood that covered his face in a mockery of freckles and sunspots. His tunic sleeve was ripped open exposing a detestable wound, the sticky blood clinging to his skin like a lover would. His boots stunk of mud and the Bracken's cow field.

But with his head held high with victory the Young Benjicot quickly made his way to his chambers; paying no attention to the filth or blood that dripped upon the ancient stone floors. The Raven Haired Lord only had one thing on his battle worn mind, only one person worth seeing in this forsaken realm.

And so the Young Benjicot hastily burst into his chambers, and his bloodied gaze quickly set upon the Lady of His Heart. She sat in front of the dying fire, the dancing flames shone upon her hair as it cascaded around her. His lady was clad in a smooth night dress, the dress going to great lengths to hide his wife's growing body.

At the sound of the grand door opening she quickly pivoted her head around to be met with the sight of her blood soaked husband. A smile quickly fell from her face as she harshly stood up to meet him but not before Benjicot quickly made his way towards his beloved.

"Benji," her voice was filled with concern as her injured husband quickly but carefully forced her to sit back down.

Her Lord Husband quickly cut her questions off, "The maesters have said that you need to rest my Lady," his eyes filled with nothing but affection for his lady.

Lady Blackwood's eyes narrowed at her husband's mothering tendencies, all the while his arm gaped open and he was stained with blood.

She scoffed, "I could rest if my Lord Husband was not constantly getting into tussles with the Brackens over cattle." Her words spoke of anger but Benjicot could see a hint of fear within his wife's face.

Being neither a Blackwood or Bracken by birth his wife often found the bickering between the two houses to be a great sense of mirth, but this was the first time her Lord Husband had ever been injured.

His lips quivered into a smile, "My lady mustn't worry about me, a Bracken foal stands no chance against the Lord of Raventree," he carefully removed a blood stained glove and stroked his beloved's cheek.

"You are injured, Benjicot," she said as she held his wounded arm. "How can I rest when I know my husband is roaming the Riverlands like a feral mongrel?"

Her gaze fell down to her covered stomach, the evidence of their love showing through the night dress. She tenderly grabbed his clean hand and placed it on her swollen stomach, her eyes once again meeting his.

"I cannot rest knowing that my husband might not one day come back," her eyes glazed over and tears began to form, "that he would leave me a Widow and our child fatherless, all for an endless feud that harms us all."

His lady's words stung more than any wound ever could. Benjicot Blackwood was an honorable and proud man, he sent fear across battlefields, but he never wanted to send fear into his own home let alone his beloved wife.

Benjicot had never been gifted in his skills with words let alone comfort, but the tears that dripped onto his Lady's soft cheeks seemed to jar something from his spirit.

His shaky hands intertwined with his wife over her stomach, his unbloodied hand gently caressing her smooth fingers.

"When I swore to you under our Weirwood Tree I promised I would remain by your side to my final breath, that you would be my Lady until I depart this world," silent tears fell onto her Lady's cheeks as he spoke of their blissful day.

"I should've proclaimed that I will not depart this world without you, that I will grow old with my Lady, that together our children will know peace in the realm," he smiled softly, "that their father will always come home to them, and that his beloved would never fear her husband was lying dead on the border."

A kind smile graced his wife's face and his heart fluttered at the sight, two years into their binding and she still sent tremors through the Young Lord's soul.

He wiped a tear with his unbloodied hand and spoke boldly, "I love you like I love no other, and I promise to honor you for the rest of my life; I cannot promise to end the feud but I will always come home to my Lady and our children." 

Lady Blackwood simply smiled and to Benjicots surprise quickly drew Benji into a loving embrace; his Lady not seeming to mind the filth he was covered in. As his sweet wife embraced the blood soaked man, it felt as if his soul had been cleaned of the lives he had taken. A man as battle hardened as Benjicot knew he did not deserve such a gift, but maybe he’d one day become worthy of such a gift. For his unborn babe that rested within his beloved's Womb, and for the beloved Lady that rested within Lord Benjicot Blackwood's arms. 

As Lady Blackwood was held in her husband's arms she placed a kiss over his clothed heart, it seemed to be the only place on his tunic that wasn’t stained with blood. Tenderly she pulled off his other bloodied glove and brought both hands into a kiss. Soft tears filled her Lord's mossy eyes at the sight, but Benjicot could not find words worth speaking at the gesture. 

“I love you my Benjicot, my sweet protector and my beloved husband; your battle worn hands do not scare me and they never will, and I know you shall always come home to us, but a wife will worry.” Understanding filled Lady Blackwood's eyes, and Benji felt as if he had seen her for the first time like he did under the Weirwood tree years ago.

A teasing smile flicked across her face, “You are filthy Benji, and you have ruined my gown,” her words were not harsh but seemed playful to the blushing Benjicot who now seemed red in the face with his own blood. Realizing him she placed a hand on her stomach and carefully guided Benji into their shared bath chambers, where a filled bronze tub steamed away in the corner. A smirk fell upon Benji's face showing off a hint of his crooked teeth and pulled at the dried blood on his face. 

“Did my beloved know I would return home filthy?” His voice was teasing, as a small blush appeared on his Lady's face.

An equally roguish smirk appeared on her face and it sent Benji's heart ablaze, “Maybe a wife just wishes to bathe with her beloved Husband.” 

Lord Benjicot could do nothing but laugh and pull his beloved lady closer to him and press a soft kiss against her forehead. 

And soon the Lord and Lady of Raventree washed the blood of their bodies together, as a silent promise thicker than the grime on Benjicot filled their hearts. A promise of love and peacefulness for their people and the Babe growing in his dearest wifes womb.

(I hope y'all enjoyed this, I haven't written in a very long time and this is my first House of the Dragon Fic, I've been obsessed with Benjicot Blackwood lately and I hope to write more works for fim :) I'm always taking writing suggestions and Fic requests so if you have any ideas please let me know! )

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire — benjicot blackwood x tully!oc

prologue

masterlist

forward

A/N: new fixation of the month, another skinny yt boy! I haven’t written an actual series in a few years, so here I am giving it another try. Also I know he didn’t turn out to be Benjicot, but I’m sticking with fancast!Kieran as Benjicot. Benjicot is aged up to 21, character is 18 — semi-proofread and updated (the character was changed into a random oc) characters physical description is not detailed or referenced to.

You can now read the next part here: i (posted July 17 2024)

Synopsis: Amidst rising tensions and a looming war, House of Tully seeks to strengthens its strongest alliances by proposal a marriage between Benjicot Blackwood, heir to Raventree, and Elmo Tully’s only daughter.

Content Warning(s): mentions of violence, no detailed depictions however. Era related content and sexism.

Word count: 1.8k

“It is done then?”

Elmo looked across the table at his son, his heir, as Kermit Tully nodded his head — his head bowing forward in response to his father’s words, “It is.” He simply replied, head lifting then to make eye contact with his father’s.

The pair stood in silence as the weight of his admission lingered in the air, the flames from the torches that lit the room casting a dim glow over the face of the father and his son who could have been mistaken for a mirrored image of himself if not for his own having grown aged throughout the years — Elmo’s gaze darted to the walls of their meeting room after a small, meek nod that hinted towards his reservations; gaze scanning the walls built of solid stone that stretched upwards in seemingly endless slabs, high enough that it almost seemed as though they were attempting to reach up high enough to the Gods themselves. The air was damp, caused by the ongoing storm outside having plagued the House of Tully for days — it made for a mess keeping guard amidst the growing tension between the houses, further enabled by the ongoing dispute regarding the throne.

“I do wonder, father,” Kermit suddenly spoke again, interrupting his father’s silence of contemplation as his grip on the hilt of his holstered sword at his hip readjusted, the glazed over look in his father’s eyes briefly clearing as he once more looked at him. “If I might…do you think she is ready? I do not wish to rush her into this, this is not a decision I think should be lightly considered…”

“Worry not, Kermit.” Elmo snapped, the anxiety in his chest heavy again at the thought of his daughter, shrouded by guilt that he was forced to swallow down. Pride. He released his grip on the ledge of the table made of weirwood and wrung his hands as he paused, his brow twitching and inhaling deeply, “We have given her more than enough time — all she’s had is time. It is her turn to perform her duty, just as we all must.”

Kermit’s gaze shifted, blinking a couple of times as he nodded, processing his words. There was a silence that fell over them both once more, the tension in the air almost suffocatingly thick and crushing him under the weight of it as Kermit thinks of his sister. Thinks of how she will react when he tells her she’s to be married. Thinks of his sweet sister, caught in the middle of the politics of the realm — treated as nothing more than a pawn and broodmare; his sweet sister who cried when he brought back his first deer after a hunt when he was twelve, big eyes welled with tears and nearly inconsolable. He recalled the days it took for her to speak to him again after that, promising to never subject her to such a sight again and do his best to sneak any catch in through the back gates. He thinks of the soft, sensitive girl who picked flowers and was fascinated by bugs growing up, much to their mother’s dismay — so curious and quiet, innocent and in her own world. Kermit wished he could have understood what it was like to see the world through her eyes sometimes, to see what it was that she did. Sometimes.

He almost felt dirty at the realization of just who — what — she would be marrying and that he was subjecting his sister to a lifelong commitment to a man who used to throw mud on her dresses; teased her until she cried as a girl, and then teased her more because she was a girl. That he was giving her hand away so quickly without giving her even a chance to agree or defend herself or choose — but what choice did a woman have in these matters? Kermit swallowed thickly, exhaling as his hands clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword.

Kermit did not have many friends beyond these walls that were not of his own blood. Benjicot Blackwood was one of the very few exceptions — introduced as children, both heirs to their respective houses, Kermit naturally found himself in the other’s presence more often than not; learning the ways of running households, trailing behind their fathers. Hells, they had trained together for several years and even fought alongside one another, too, on a few occasions after run-ins with Brackens. Benjicot had become a close friend of his over the many years they’d known each other, coming to know him as soft spoken, if not even shy and quiet and still, even knowing him and his character as well as he did — the decision still had not been an easy one. But he had mulled over the many available lords and their heirs across the realm, thoroughly considering each of them and whether they were suitable for his sister’s hand. No matter how close and good of an ally any of them were, how loyal they were, how fierce and powerful….Kermit simply could not consider any of them to be good enough for his dear sister. Benjicot hadn’t even been his idea. It had been his father’s idea, in fact — he was one of the first names that had been put forward when the discussion had first come up, but he had shot it down just as quickly.

He pictured the thought of his sister, sweet and soft spoken, scared of anything violent and bloody beside Benjicot — wild, crazy, and psychotic Benjicot whose eyes were wild in battle, bordering feral in simple fights that did not require getting bloody, pummeling men bloody regardless until they were nearly unrecognizable. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Do you think…” Kermit began to say, cutting himself short as he did not know what he intended to ask. He blinked twice, glancing down briefly before looking back up to where his father had turned his head to stare at him. They were both quiet, staring back at one another, as if they both seemed to be sharing the same thought.

Elmo looked back out the windows, looking over the fields that were soaked and flooded by the rains, seeming to know what his son intended to say, “She will understand.” He stated, taking a few steps closer towards the window’s ledge, looking up at the sky that was covered by dark, full clouds that hid nearly any and all traces of sunlight. “You should be off to speak to her, let her know of the news. Lord Samwell will be expecting you in the coming days. I am entrusting you to oversee finalizing everything. Oscar and I will follow.” He explained, back turned to him still as he spoke.

Kermit was not one typically to shy away from making difficult choices, but this one still felt like he was ripping out a part of himself. Like he had betrayed his sister somehow.

He nodded abruptly, bowing his head before taking his leave with a pivot-step and striding out of the room quickly, the doors swinging open before slamming shut behind him with the force of the guards stood outside. With a curt nod to the guards, Kermit turned and began wandering through the halls; absentmindedly guiding his way to the library, his hands clenched so hard his knuckles had turned white and jaw clenched as if that would steady him.

The doors to the library could have otherwise been a comforting sight on any other day, given that he had spent several days there in his youth, studying and teasing his sister into their adolescence over her obsession to memorize the history books front-to-back rather than being outside with the girls her age; knowing this was her safe haven amongst the busy day-to-day hustle of their house. However, it appeared daunting that particular day as he paused outside them, hand stretched out and ready to push inside as he listened for any noise; hoping that he would be met instead with silence that he could use as an excuse to walk away and claim that she wasn’t there — that he did not know where she was at that moment. Give him any excuse not to tell her…not yet. But instead he was met by the soft shuffle of shoes and melodic humming, his eyes closing with a furrow of his eyebrows as his shoulders slumped, sighing out a breath.

It took him a moment to compose himself — straighten his shoulders and stand upright, taking one final breath before he pushed open the door to find his sister; her head turning immediately to look at him, eyes wide and one hand up to her mouth as she picked at her bottom lip, frozen as though he had startled her, her humming ceased as her other hand held an open book, “Brother?” She suddenly asked, voice small amongst the room.

“Sister.” He greeted, voice low. “We must speak — join me.”

—

“Winds are coming from the east today.” Benjicot said, looking out from the entrance of his tent before letting the flap drop closed, shielding him and his cousins from the cool winds that had picked up over the past few hours with the storm; clothes still clinging to his limbs from the rain that had caught him on his way back to camp, his hair soaked as it stuck to his forehead in stringy strands that dripped into his eyes. He used the damp backside of his hand to wipe a bead of water from his eyes as he knelt close to the map, staying far enough back so as to not damage it by getting it wet as he’d yet to change into something dry. “We can use that to our advantage if this rain slows down.”

“Any animal with even half a brain across the realm has gone into hiding by now, there’s nothing left out there.” Emrys said, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he sat back on his elbows, earning a pointed stare from his cousin. “Let us just call it a day for now. We will continue in the morrow — rest, warm up.” He pleaded.

“Don’t be foolish, Emrys.” Benjicot snapped while standing back up, circling the tent towards his cousin and deliberately nudging him with his rain soaked boot. “A true hunter does not just give up so easily, dear cousin. Though, I imagine this isn’t how you would rather spend your day — rather instead spend it with your whores, yes?” Benjicot mocked, the men letting out a chorus of laughter that was muffled by the sound of heavy rainfall.

“Regardless, we still might —”

Benjicot’s words were interrupted as a guard arrived, calling out to him as he entered the tent where the group of men were meeting, “Ser,” the guard said, stopping abruptly by the entrance and holding out a scroll. “A Raven has just arrived for you.” He announced, the scroll dampened by the rain as Benjicot retrieved it from his grasp, eyes narrowing slightly at the stoic male who stood still as a statue; awaiting his next orders. His gaze dropped to the scroll in his hands, the seal recognized as that of his house and glancing up at the guard once more before cracking the wax seal to unravel the paper, his gaze scanning its contents. In his peripheral vision, he could see his cousins sit up, Emrys to his right.

“Who is it from?” Emrys asked.

Benjicot blinked, jaw clenching as he lowered the scroll, sighing, “My father.” He replied. “He’s instructed us to return to Raventree at once. I’m to be married apparently.” He explained, voice just above a mutter as he crumpled up the paper and shoved it into a pocket.

[skyrigel]

“The Great War Part-3”

Part 1 || Part 2 || Benjicot masterlist

Pairing: Benjicot “Davos” blackwood x Bracken!reader

~ When mist of past finally clears up and you are faced with an ineffable truth of life, you reach for your darling husband's hand, surviving the great war [ wc : 4.7k]

๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠ 18 + nsfw, p in v ( rough ), missionary position, breeding kink, blood kink, size kink, fingering, c- word used in sexual context, orgasm denial, first time, love confessions, jealousy, confused feelings, poetic subtexts, bad writing?! Proofread

I might write an epilogue someday but this is it, thankyou everyone for reading and following along, also this is for @ihateitheretaylor for our three years of surviving the great war by reaching for each other, love you to the moon and saturn.

Benji's whole face glittered under the weirwood tree, his hand inevitably touching his heart as he saw you.

Your maiden cloak adored in golden and silver embroidery, house's sigil glistening, a red stallion in golden fields, like the strands of your future husband's hair that were blazing against the sun.

His grin absolutely splited his whole face, lines stretching wide as he gazed at you walking towards him with your brother.

“ Who comes ? ” His smile true to his words,

“ Who comes before the gods ? ”

Aeron paused for a moment before he looked at you, his arms brushing your shoulder as he nodded, a tight smile but a smile indeed.

“ Y/n of House Bracken, comes here to wed. A woman trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of gods. Who comes to claim her ? ”

Benji raised his chin, instantly looking back at you like he couldn't get enough and for a fact—he really couldn't

“ Me, Benjicot Davos blackwood of House blackwood, lord of Raventree halls, I claim her.” He winked at you, “ Who gives her ? ”

Aeron took your hand, his smile genuine when he glanced back at you.

“ Aeron Bracken of House Bracken, Brother of lady y/n, son of Lord Amos Bracken.” He turned to you, blinking back the watery haze, you gulped down the lump in your throat.

“ Lady y/n, Do you take this man ? ”

Your face grew warm, and there were many realisations in life, some slow and crashing as waves, some quick and bold as lightning, when you looked back at the man who was going to be your husband, the man you remembered from a long time ago, a distant memory and sometimes as though it was taken from yet another lifetime— his youthful face, bright eyes, chortling laughter that echoed through your soul. So many years gone in punishing him for something he never did, cursing him as you sleep talked.

So when you saw him, it struck you soft as a breeze, hard as a blow; you would love him so much, perhaps you already love him or perhaps there was still time but it will eventually come your way, and you will love him so deeply, so, so much that the oceans would be jealous, you will love him so blazely that the sun would burn in agony, so luminous that the stars would be envious.

That's the way you would love him, and it wouldn't be faith that will tie your hearts and bind your souls today, it will be a choice, his and yours to not be parted, not even death could do so. You smiled, no longer fighting your blush and letting it crimson your cheeks.

“ I take this man.” You said for the all the gods to know, him, who stands here with his goofy smile, too big for his face, him, who calls you darling while you roll your eyes, he's is the one, you would have him.

Benji reached for your hand, joining your souls together through the tips of his fingers, Aeron backed away as you and Benji kneeled against the old gods, head leaned together.

“ I vow to protect you, to honour and love you, to respect and support you, my darling wife.” no yet, He had chosen you already, a very long time ago.

His thumb smeared across your knuckles, voice dripping with sincerest affection.

“ I vow to stand with you, in life and death and what follows after, to be with you in bad nights and good days.”

Your heart was beating too fast, grasping this moment to be forever your reality, it scared you how you had no control, you chose him because there was nothing else you could do—there was going to be no you without him.

A day ago you hated how much he tormented you, hated how much he ached your heart with his sweet honey like words.

And now you hate him how truly alive he could make you feel, like he has set your soul on fire, his laugh booming across the bloodshed while you're reaching for his hand.

“ I will always love you, my lady. In days when I would forget life, breath and myself— i would remember you like an oath.”

Benji pressed his forehead against yours, taking half your misery—half your pain.

“ From this day...” You said along with him, smile tugging at the corner of your lips,

“ till forever falls apart.” Benji smiled, side glancing Aeron and his glea only rippled more.

“ Can I kiss my bride ? ” He asked you, soft as a whisper and you blinked, hands sweaty in his, entwined for lifetimes to come.

“ You may.” You said, closing your eyes and even then you could feel his giddiness that rushed into you, the press of his lips against yours, it wasn't feral, it wasn't bloody, it was as sweet and as gentle, like the poets would say.

Perhaps it was Aeron's throat that cleared itself so loudly that blinked open your eyes, feeling your knees ache in the tendons.

“ You look so beautiful darling.” Benji winked, helping you get up—his tongue caught between his teeths— removing the husk from your gown.

And just like that, he was your man now.

~~~

The wedding was small but the feast that followed was wild, everyone was drunk and happy, it was truly a blackwood and Bracken wedding, one should have seen the smirk that passed between Bracken's when blackwood's pretty girls started serving wine, pouring up to brims with their sweet sly smiles and curvy beautiful bodies.

And ofcourse it wasn't missed how prideful blackwood's were being with their extraordinary arrangements, nose red and tongue loose with alcohol.

“ Bout' time laddie, bout' time—” One of the blackwood knight's chortled, patting his company with enough force to make his food come back on surface, “—should've seen his face...saw him in between bloody battle and oh lordie— should've seen the little Rat, squeezing between,” He made little vague gestures from his greasy hands, “ like a cunty little —”

“ Oh shut up, will you ! ” the said little rat of his tales snapped back at him, his Bracken mates laughing while he fumed with a red face.

“ Amusing, isn't it ? ” Benji leaned to your ear, making you shiver when his mouth grazed your ear shall, “ My heart, my shine, my darling beloved wife.”

“ Very amusing...” You said, turning to him and his beautiful face, pink on his tips, hair sticking to his forehead and a grin only fools in love had, but their on the corner of his mouth sticked a crumb, you shouldn't, really, but then you saw how Raventree hall's ladies saw him, their lusty gazes and seductive smiles, even now, they would bloom like a flower if his drunk sloppy gaze merely sprinkled by, like many realisations that followed today, this was also one of them, the one that wanted to tear away those prying eyes and keep him all to yourself, to burn those heart that desired for him, to ruin those dreams that they staged, he was yours, your husband, your lord, and you were his, his wife, his lady, and when the great war comes, it will be his hand that you will reach for, only his.

“ Here—” You blushed, “ let me.” You smeared away the crumb with the soles of your fingers, smiling a small, you don't remember watching the sun rise in the long time but if anything, it would be the way Benji smiled in that moment, forever mesmerizing.

As if on cue, your golden moment was ruined when Martha came over, she was daughter of lord in court, it was evident with the silk on her body, and her sweet calculated smile, something only courts knew.

“ It is so gracious to meet you, Lady y/n Bracken—”

“ It's lady Blackwood.” Your fork penetrated deeper into meat, “ Now.” you added with a smile, Martha nodded, her jaw hardening.

“ Ofcourse, Lady blackwood.” she tilted her head, fiddling with the chain on her neck, Benji was watching your sloppily, leaning on your shoulder and despite he was quite heavy, you weren't going to tell him that.

“ Congratulations, It is really credible what you did...to tie the two house together, a duty not anyone could do.” She bit her lower lip, shifting her sharp eyes to Benji who was putting more crumbs on his mouth, looking back at you with his chin raised.

You knew where she was getting at, duty and honour, to rub it on your face that this marriage is loveless, that it's just a duty that would end with two or three babes and forever isolation in chambers, but she didn't knew what you did, she didn't know the love that was swirling, had been, for the longest time, since one of these feasts with slurred laughters and nonsensical conservations where you saw each other.

“ Ben...” You pouted, ignoring her forced flashing of teeths, doing away the crumbs on his mouth while he fancied leaning in to kiss your tips, “ I am tired...can we—”

“ Darlin’ me too, shall we ? ”

It took a lot of nerves to not to burst in laughter the way Benji hurriedly got up, almost knocking his elbow in Aeron's face who sighed, but also smiled when he saw you watching your beloved husband.

You wondered where the wine was gone when he hooked your elbows together, all the while Martha hissed under her breath, haughty faced.

“ I wasn't expecting that...” You huffed, glancing at Benji, he was buzzing in excitement, practically floating mid air.

“ I...Martha was actually my first.” He shaked his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose, all colours drained out of your face, your knuckles clenched to bloodless flesh.

“ You know what I mean ? ” He asked, staggering behind you while you increased your pace, blinking back rapidly.

“ Ofcourse I do.” You snapped, not bothering to keep low in the dark of the tower, footsteps echoing through the night.

“ Okay, right...I wanted you to know—”

“ That you slept with another woman ? ” you turned around to him, his body knocked against you and in some other time, it wouldn't matter much, a forehead bump but he was drunk, you were angry, and times were changing, as both of your bodies tumbled down, he caught you by the waist, shifting you on top of him, a loud thud and soft ‘oof’ and a whimpered groan that was your own.

“ Are you okay, darling wife ? ” You pushed back the hair that crept out of your braid before you looked at him, propped on his elbows rested back, you shifted aside, letting your body fall next to him on the hard cold floor.

“ Yeah...you ? ”

Instead of answering you, Benji snorted first and then an absolute wave enveloped him, he was crackling with laughter, chest shaking as he glanced at you, turning away to clutch at his chest.

“ What's so funny ? ” You raised your brow, he shaked his head, taking the gods name in vain.

“ Oh Darling...” He flipped to your side, face to face as his eyes crinkled, watering at the sides, face flushed with rosiness and devil taking over his mouth. Soft and warm and pink.

“ You,” He whispered to you, taking your chin between your fingers and raising it towards him, “ are all the more breathtaking when you're jealous.” and here it was, the word, the feeling that roared like a monster on loose to destroy anyone who as so looked at Benji, a very feral twisting of heart.

“ No.” You lied, He shaked his head, leaning in, breath sweet and warm, you knew what that mouth was capable of, to kiss him was confetti bursting in your mind.

“ Liar.” He declared, gazing into your eyes and an ineffable pull broke lose, your lashes fluttered and the next moment he was kissing you and you were kissing him back.

The feral beast inside you said, devour him, make him yours, let him forget all the ones that came and gone, let it be you, only you.

You never knew how something could be more precious than air, a stiffled whine escaped your throat as he pulled away, catching a breath, grin dancing around his mouth, teasing you to catch — you weren't the one to turn down mockery, grabbing the side of his face and pulling him to you.

“ Oh my love...” He hummed inside your mouth, battling you for domination, tongue swiping across your lower lip.

He slided his hand in under your thigh, pulling you to his lap, he was dazed and drunk but in that moment, nothing could be sober more, when he picked you up from the floor without breaking a sweat and only sticking his tongue out when you watched him wide eyed.

“ I hate you.” You said, the feeling that clenched inside you was same as that unsettling tug in your navel when you spent your nights dreaming about him, when you touched his bloodied face, when you tasted his blood on your finger tips, it left it's mark, your thighs weak at the sensation that pulled inside your spine.

“ I can drop you.” He swayed your body in his arms, taking the stairs one at a time.

“ You won't.”

He smiled, “ No, I won't.”

Your face grew warm when two servants giggled softly, opening the door of his chambers or now—yours too.

It felt natural to be in his arms and to kiss him, like you had known him and this intimacy from ages ago and it baffled you how you had lived so far without starving to death without him.

“ Are you comfortable or is it just because we are married ? ” He asked, face illuminated by the moonish glow.

“ I..does it matter ? ”

“ Yes darling, it does...I want you to be happy, to be safe with me...I want you to know that we want this together.”

“ I want this.” You told him, not blinking as Benji's smile reached his eyes.

“ I love you.” He kissed your nose tip, pulling back expectantly but you only stared back, your heart heavy in your ribs.

You do, you know it, or well you will, it's going to happen and no matter what, it won't change, but deep inside, you didn't know how to form it in words, to say it and not feel sorry, to say it and erase back the years you gaslighted yourself into hating him.

“ I...” You breathed, and he understood, knew you like he was half your soul, his smile was small but he showed no sadness.

“ You don't have to say it back darling.”

And how could you not say it, the way you knew how much your heart would bleed from his love, flowing down your chambers to dripping through your veins, how much you love him, he was summer to your bleaking heart.

“ If I don't say it back, would you still love me ? ”

“ Darling.” He sat down gently in front of you, stroking your cheek as his gaze dropped to your lips, pulling it back to worship your eyes.

“ If you don't say it back then I will say it again, then we'll be even.” and the smile that tugged on both of your faces was worth every great war.

“ You are my first.” you told him shyly, hoping he understood or you were about to die out of shame.

But Benji just about died, his eyes flickered and raked you in, he had bowed, biting his lower lip while nodding.

“ Okay..okay..right.” He smiled, “ Fuck, I will be gentle baby.” His mouth twitched in a grin.

“ you must've had lot's of experiences.” you laughed, it came little bitter but Benji shaked his head, taking your hands and guiding them to his face, he looked cute, face cupped by your hands, your wedding band shinning.

“ I've slept with women but I never made love to them, it's my first time too.”

“oh.”

You lowered your gaze, Benji's touch was like fire, a wild feral flame erupting around you and you craved him, craved to get burnt by him, He softly raised your chin, and his eyes raised in a question.

“ I am not tired...if you're not.” You added quickly, feeling your nerves snap, were you too desperate, would it be bad if you were ?

Because this was your first time and so was his, making love, yes, to make love with your bloody feral husband, to touch him, to feel him, to have him, to keep him.

The way Benji's brow knitted together had you gasping for breath, you would take his refusal if it were that but you waited for so long, that the possibility of tommorow doesn't amuse you, to wait seemed torment.

“ Is that dress too heavy Darling wife ? ” and damn, you could die like that.

~~~

Those treacherous fingers weaved through the back of your dress, knots opening and with each moment he was closer.

You watched his reflection, he would occasionally glance, his blush breezing on his face as he wouldduck down to place a sloppy kiss wherever he liked, but when he looked up with that blazing look in his eyes, you knew it was done, you gave him a tilt of your head, face mere inches apart.

“ I want you....”

And so it goes, his heavy lidded eyes drank you in, his fingers moving your dress down until it fell down in a puddle of pastry around your ankles.

Benji grabbed your waist, he was going senseless in his brain, he couldn't think anything, his brain was short circuiting at all the things he would do to you.

Your back pressed against the soft silks as he climbed over you, his guard discarded somewhere, his chest bare and gleaming.

You breathed but Benji was breathless, mouth agape at your beauty, slowly his hands roamed around your shoulder, kissing every inch and praying to old gods and new because he didn't deserve you, you were all pretty things, bright and shine and him ?

Blood, chaos and thunder.

“ Oh my...oh darling—” His hands trembled, the need to mark you down like a blood stain and the urge to protect you like a dog.

To carve your pretty body and to bruise you blue and claim you all, it was confusing. And romantic. And very much turning him on.

“ Fuck ! ” He growled, your nipples were hard under his thumb and the pleading look you had in your eyes, he wanted to tease you, to make you beg on your knees and get it what you wanted but he was just a man, wild or lunatic, just a man who loved his wife so much, how could he refuse you anything even if it were the moon, he would steal a dragon and fly so high to give you what you wanted, to make true every wish, every dream you had, to fulfil you completely.

All breath was knocked out of you when Benji lowered his mouth, licking the skin of your breast and looking up for approval.

You whimpered at the sensation that practically had you shivering, your knees weakened as his tongue teased your hardened bud, wet and drooling mouth, placing hot kisses.

“ Please, please...Ben—” you tugged at his hair, he was sucking at plump flesh, his other hand rubbing your thigh, heating your whole body up.

“ What ? ” He said, strangled and needy despite trying to be the one to be incharge.

“ Ben... Please—” you heaved, pulling him to you but he pulled away, looking into you eyes and you saw how bloody bastard he could be sometimes when he wanted to be.

“ Darling...” You pouted, and he was just a man, gone before the words even made it out, his fingers teasing your entrance before he placed a kiss on your heart and took your tits in his mouth, humming like a starved man.

Heaven was an utopia concept that Septa talked about, but really, Septa never had made love because this is what it truly felt like, in his arms, in his bed.

Your moans filled the night as his teeth digged in your flesh, Benji was trying his best, the way he tried to stop kneading your breast too fast but ended up fisting it roughly between his palm, softening the pain with the sweet nothings he whispered.

“ How pretty...how soft..mmmm.” He nuzzled closer, you liked him that way, his hands rough, his words soft.

Your hands inevitably reached down between your legs and you just about felt the slickyness before he grabbed your wrist, pulling it back with a devilish grin.

“ Darling, no.” He kissed your finger tips and smiled, poking his tongue out to lick away the white thick juice that calloused your tip.

Whatever he did was enough to untie the knot in your stomach, your pit lurched like sea waves and wanted to crash the shore so badly that you would die begging him.

“Oh darling, how feral you are ? ” He teased, pinning your wrists above your head, his whole body pressing you down, placing a hard kiss on your mouth, squeezing your lips and sucking them dry.

All the while his knee socket digged between your thighs and like you were born to do it, you started moving along as the pressure built up, sparks flying.

“ c'mon, c'mon...do you want a kiss ? ” His jaw slackened as you grew your pace, hips buckling at the intensity and he was kind of very impressed, enough to smile down at your blue and purple bruising bod, releasing your torment.

His fingers only waited a moment before he was knuckles deep, your breath hitched and moans ribbed apart your throat.

“ Benji, oh lord..ah..mm” you hoped he heard the ‘ I love you's ’ you were chanting for him.

“ You're so wet for me...so wet baby.” His mouth dropped to kiss a mole on your tummy, all the while penetrate his finger deeper and then one became two, immediately having your back arch, hips buckling as two turned to three, digging inside you, huffing when he angled them in a way that had you closing your eyes and lose yourself to him.

“So tight for me darling.” You opened your eyes to find his lips on your ear shell, whispering it down to you and his fist inside you, just basking in your warm tight cunt.

“ Benji... darling...” Your face crumbled as tears rolled down, and a greater woman wouldn't beg but you would do anything to have him take you, anything.

You looked just in time as Benji climbed on top of you, his arm on top your head that propped him up so he didn't crush you down.

His fingers glided back from your folds before something thicker than his finger touched your clit.

“Oh.... dear lord.” your chest raised at the heavy intake of air, but He was massive and hard for you, his shaft angry at the unattention.

“Just the tip darling.” He pecked your swollen lips, a droplet of blood sat atop, curtsy by him that he gladly tasted, “sweet.”

You remembered thinking Benji wasn't a liar but in that fucking moment, he was the biggest liar to ever lie, his length pushing down and getting lost in your folds.

You glanced between you and him and shuddered at the thought of being split open by his cock, half his length shining and struggling to wrap inside you.

“ Fuck—” He cursed, “ Your tight pussy I-isn't letting em' in.”

Your thighs ached as he pried them apart for more access, his face red and breaking sweat. He managed to go ball-deep inside you, proud tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“ Benji...” You whimpered, face blotchy with tears that spilled while he kept telling you, it was just the tip and if anything, saying darling wife after every word.

The feeling of freefall, that comes after flying high and higher and not bothering friction and gravitation that pulls, it was just like that, when Ben looked into your eyes before his first thrust inside you, you were flying in the sky with him.

One thrust — and you were falling, your body wasn't your own and it was shearing, it was gleaful, it was infinite.

Your insides clenched as he pushed more, then more and each time his nerves popped harder on his neck, his eyes clenched closer to heaven but he would open them again, using his free hand that wasn't opening your legs to wipe away the tears that streamed down your face, relishing in your soft moaning that screamed his name.

Four thrust down and his restraints broke the chains, he was no longer in control, pounding inside you and all he could do was keep telling you how good you were.

He was bloody, the way he grabbed your arse cheeks to slam his entire length in, spiralling your whole world, bruising you blue.

“ Darling, so good...so good for me.” just when he pulled out only to thrust back in your swollen cunt again, balls deep in your sweet cunt and liar said just the tip.

“ Just like that...mmm..yeah.” just when you thought you were about to split open, with stars in your eyes.

“ Baby love...I love you...I love you.” and his feral took a peak when he leaned to pin your shoulders down, you were fighting for realease but he kept telling you not yet, not now.

“ Benny please...” You cried, but you can take that, you were being so good, such a nice doll to him.

“ I love you...oh my darling, love you so much...let me fill you with my babes..” He moaned out. “ Darling—” he croaked, thrusting harder inside you, the bed shook with his pounding, his face another blissful sight but even through the daze, he wouldn't stop gawking at you, watching you moan on his cock, all your sweet nothings just for him.

“ please... darling, let me see you carry our baby...”

And you had no say before your insides were filled with his juices, warmness spreading inside and out and everything melted in a slow daze and perhaps that's chaos.

The way you came on his cock, silvery misty substance mixing with his own and he dropped his face next to you, sniffing your sweet sweaty hair and placing a soft kiss.

“ That was...” He trailed, shifting his weight next to you and you felt breath rushing in your chest, “....so good baby.”

“ hmmm...” You closed your eyes letting the moment sink, when his arm came and wrapped around your waist then spooning your whole body.

“ My sweet love.” He said, out of nowhere and time passed, your naked bodies tangled in each other, drifting in a peaceful sleep.

~~~

It was one of those dreams, his face dripping with blood, yours or his, you didn't know but the urge to touch him was forevermore.

But then the reality struck you and with more convincing you opened your eyes to moonlight lighting his whole face.

His nose was nuzzled in the crook of your neck and his innocence brighter in the sky full of stars.

His sweet warm mouth drooling over your chest, a bead of his drool cooling your skin.

And the urge was sudden, like lightening when you smiled at your beloved husband.

“ Benji...” you whispered and he didn't move, sleeping and snoring softly.

“ Ben....” you tried again, ofcourse there was tommorow awaiting, but your heart said speak now.

“ huh.” He sleepily hummed, smearing his cheek on your warm body, smiling dopily like it was a very sweet dream.

You smiled, forever remembering the memory when you reached for his hand, entwinng your fingers together.

“ I love you.” You said, “ I love you so much darling.”

And just like that, you survived the great war.

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[the20thangel]

The Realm's Jewel

Another Request! Summary: (like an Au where there was no war) The reader is Rhaenyra’s only daughter and Damon’s daughter. She comes to King's Landing but with Benji, whom she married. BUT Aemond loved the reader and thought that when they married, her life with Benji would be horrible. When they show up, she’s very happy and has two little boys that look exactly like Benji. And maybe a little fight scene?

Word Count: 2510

The whole Red Keep was buzzing with excitement; Princess Daenys was returning to Kingslanding after five years away. King Viserys was overjoyed he missed his sweet granddaughter. She was indeed a beauty, with beautiful, long platinum hair and large doe-like eyes that were a gorgeous purple color. She was the eldest daughter of Princess Regent Rhaenyra and Prince Consort Daemon. Twin sister of Prince Jacaerys, she was the realm’s jewel. Everyone in the realm adored the lovely princess, so they celebrated her return. She spent five years away due to her marriage to the Lord of Raventree Hall. When the two were babes, Lord Benjicot and Princess Daenys were betrothed secretly by Princess Rhaenyra and Lord Samwell. Princess Rhaenyra noted that House Blackwood was not a House Paramount but had a great army and fierce warriors. It was a considerable advantage for her own house, and House Blackwood was honored with a princess. 

Daenys and Benjicot met a few times growing up. Unbeknownst to the rest of the court, the betrothed and Prince Jacaerys bonded by playing pranks on numerous Lords and Ladies who visited Kingslanding. Benjicot and Jace created a bond of brothers and, in turn, would sometimes try to play pranks on the princess. Unfortunately for Jace, all Daenys needed to do was bat her doe-eyes and push a pout to have Benji forget everything and follow her around like a love-sick puppy. Jace would tease Benji for it, but Benjicot couldn't care less. Benjicot and Daeny were due to marry each other on their 18th name day, but when Daenys turned six and ten, something changed. 

Viserys declared his wish to see Daenys and Aemond married. Rhaenyra raged at her father, stating that Daenys was her daughter and her daughter's marriage would not be decided by someone else. Viserys grew angry, declaring that he was the King and Aemond was a Targaryen prince; there was no better match than him. As Aemond walked smugly to the training yard, he taunted Jacaerys and Lucerys before shouting to Daenys that they would soon wed and asking her to reign in her brothers. Daenys blood ran cold hearing the news, and she ran to her mother sobbing. She did not want to marry Aemond; her heart belonged to Benji, and she would rather die than be married to someone else. Rhaenyra knew that the only way Daenys could marry her chosen husband would be how she married Daemon, going off and marrying, not allowing her marriage to be broken. Quietly in the night, Rhaneyra prepared Princess Daenys, writing a letter to Lord Samwell, explaining the situation and hopefully allowing her daughter to marry his son sooner than planned. 

In the cover of the night, Daenys flew out on her dragon Sliverwing to Raventree Hall. When the Red Keep noticed the princes' absence and scouts were sent to find the princess, a raven arrived from the Riverlands—stating the Princess's marriage to the Heir of House Blackwood, with the Septon’s stamp of officiality and a Septa’s account of the couple consummating the marriage. Viserys internally fumed, but he knew he could do nothing, only glaring at Rhaenyra, knowing she was the one who helped Daenys leave the Red Keep. 

Aemond was a whole different story. The Prince raged for three days, beating up anyone in his way, upset that the Heir to Raventree Hall stole his princess. He all but commanded his father to let him travel to Raventree Hall and bring back the traitor's head. This caused Viserys rage, stating that he would not risk a war with the Riverlands by killing an heir. Viserys noted that not only would the whole realm rage, but the seven, Aemond’s gods,  would curse him for killing his niece’s husband. Aemond huffed, leaving, and he would wait; he knew Daenys would soon see she made the wrong decision and come back begging for an annul, and they would marry the way the seven wanted them to be. 

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

Five years, and finally, the princess was back for the first-year celebration of her mother’s time as a Princess Regent. The whole court was waiting eagerly in the sides and gallery to catch how married life faired for the princess. Everyone quieted down when two Kingsguards slammed their swords to the ground, calling for attention, as a herald shouted—presenting Lord Benjicot Blackwood, of House Blackwood, Lord of Raventree Hall, and his lady wife Crown Princess Daenys Targaryen, with their two sons, their heir Davos Blackwood and his brother Aenar Blackwood. The whole court gasped when they saw the two four-name day-old sons walking between their parents. Davos wore mainly a red doublet with little ravens on his collar, looking like an exact copy of his father saved for the beautiful purple Valyrian eyes. While Aenar wore a black doublet with little red dragons on his collar, one eye was grey and the other purple, showing off the blood of the First Men and Valyrian running through his veins. They grew more in shock, seeing how Princess Daenys matured into a fine jewel. Her hair was raised in braids and then into a bun, letting a few hair strains frame her face. She walked side by side with her family, caressing a medium-sized bump, signaling that she was expecting another child with her husband, who looked smug, walking into the throne room. 

All four stopped infront of the iron throne, bowing to the Princess Regent, who walked down to hug her daughter and greet her grandchildren. 

The two boys grinned at their grandmother, bowing before they said, “Good morrow, your grace. It's nice to meet you.” 

This caused the whole court to swoon, well, all but the Targaryen/Hightower side of the family, especially Aemond, who fumed those sons and future children should have been his children, not some smug lord. He could not believe his Daenys took this long to return. Was she being held captive, and was her regal persona just that, a persona? He knew he needed to help her escape, and after she and he were married, he promised to treat those boys as if they were his, for they had to be more of Daenys in them than of Benjicot. 

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

As the Blackwood family settled into their suite, Daenys could not help but reminisce about her time in the Red Keep. There were many things she missed at her old home. 

“Wow! Muna, this your old room?! It's bigger than mine and Aenie’s rooms together!” asked Davos as he ran around in circles, causing Benjicot to laugh and pick up his son. 

“Yes, your mother was very spoiled here; she sometimes would act like it too,” taunted Benji as he smirked at his wife, who turned and playfully glared at her husband. 

“You dare lie to our sons, dear husband? Hmm, I will not stand for such lies.” She walks towards her eldest son, kissing him on the crown as she asks the servants to bathe both boys in preparation for the upcoming feast. 

“I only jest, love. You were not that spoiled,” grinned Benji, laughing as Daenys mock gasped, lightly hitting her husband.

“We shall see if I let you sleep in the bed with me at night, then we’ll see who truly is spoiled,” Daenys lightly threatened Benji, the princess grinning as he brought her to his arms and kissed her before the doors opened to bring in the Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys, who then pretended to gag. 

“Ugh, we did not need to see that!” jested Lucerys, jumping on Benjicot’s back, causing the lord to laugh, letting go of his wife as he pretended to wrestle with Luke. Jace shook his head at the two men and walked to his twin, kissing her on the cheek. 

“How was your trip here, dear sister,” asked Jace. 

“Tiresome, with two restless boys and a babe who would not cease kicking every time they felt their father’s hand on my stomach,” stated Daenys, smiling as her husband and younger brother messed around. 

“Then you have two overgrown children here, so what are we to do?” joked Jace, who then shouted, feeling Ben grab him and bring him into the fight. 

“I thought you both came here to warn Daenys not to mess around like children?” questioned Baela walking in with her sister Rhaena, both being betrothed to the Targaryen brothers. 

The men separated breathing heavily as Daenys looked confused, “Warn me? About what?” asked Daenys. 

Luke groaned, “about uncle Aemond, he is still in his ass, thinking that you were stolen from him and that Ben here is a terrible husband to you.” 

Daenys scoffed, “Is he truly into his delusions to think I ever loved him? Anybody with eyes could see how Ben and I acted around each other. There was a reason why House Blackwood was constantly invited to the Red Keep.” 

Jace snorted as the two boys ran into the room, into their uncles’ arms. “Well, not him, so don’t be surprised if he tries to pick a fight with you, Ben.” 

Little Davos smirked uncanny to his father's smirk, “Kepa will just then break his nose, just like he did with the loser Braken when he tried to kiss Muna !” exclaimed Davos, while Aenar cheered. 

The two Targaryen Princes and their future wives gaped, staring at the Lord of Raven Tree Hall, who only grinned. 

“That will be a story to tell when the children are sleeping,” explained Daenys. 

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

The feast was going well, and everyone was enjoying the food and entertainment brought by Princess Rhaenyra. Well, all but one. Aemond kept glaring at Benjicot any chance he had. His glare only worsened when someone complimented the couple or when Benjicot showed affection to his wife. Aemond could have sworn that he once saw the lord smirk at him as he caressed the Princess’s growing belly. Aegon noticed before snorting into his wine that a storm was brewing, and he was much too sober for it yet. 

As the toasts began, everyone was toasting Princess Rhaenyra’s first year of reign or the welcome back of Princess Daenys. Finally, everyone grew tense when it came to Aemond as the Prince rose, staring straight at Daenys, who scowled, pressing herself to her husband. 

“A toast to Princess Daenys; welcome back, my princess. I have missed your pretty eyes all these years, but you are back where you belong. It is truly a shame your sons look so much like their sire. Nevertheless, they will be loved…” started Aemond, smirking at Benjicot, who was becoming upset with each word coming out of his mouth. 

Davos and Aenar were confused. Why was this man saying that it was a shame they looked like their Kepa? Muna always stated that she loved how they looked like him when they asked the question. Alicent was trying to shut Aemond up, telling him to be quiet and sit down, but Aemond only pushed her away. 

“You both should have pure Valyrian blood, but your father stole your mother from me and, in turn, tainted your blood with that of those barbarians blood of the First Men.” as soon as the words left Aemond’s mouth. 

Benjicot angrily rose from the table, which caused Aemond to start walking around, ready to fight Lord Blackwood. The whole table exploded with chaos, and Rhaenyra, Viserys, and Alicent called for order and peace. Jace and Luke each took one of the boys far from the conflict with Baela and Rhaena. Daemon reached his daughter, leading her away for her husband, as Daenys yelled for Benjicot to return. Heleana covered her ears as she pressed her eyes closed, not wanting to see, with lastly Aegon laughing drunkenly at his brother’s stupidity. Lord Blackwood was not called Bloody Ben for nothing. 

As Aemond ran to Benjicot, he took out his sword, swinging it towards the head. Benjicot, who had seen actual conflict and not just training, quickly ducked as he punched Aemond’s face. This caused Aemond's eyebrow to bleed, and he stumbled back. Angered, he threw himself on Benjicot, who in turn grabbed him as they fell to the ground, punching and kicking each other. 

Alicent began screeching as Rhaenyra called for the kingsguard to separate the two. As the guards ran in, Benji was able to get on top of Aemond, and he wildly punched the Prince’s face repeatedly, Ben’s knuckles becoming a bloody mess; he would have continued if he had not heard Daenys distraught yell. 

“Ben, that’s enough; you’ll kill him!,” shouted Daenys as she broke free from her father, running to her husband. 

As Benjicot smiled widely, he raised away from Prince Aemond and threw one last kick. Daenys reached her husband, grabbing his face into her hands. 

“Come back, Ben. You did enough; I’m here,” she whispered as she kissed Benji, who finally exhaled and pressed a small kiss in return. 

“Guards, seize Lord Blackwood, have him whipped for striking Prince Aemond!” screeched Alicent as she tried ordering, growing angry when no one moved. 

Viserys, although weak from the chaos, walked with the help of Heleana. “That’s enough, Alicent; if anything, Aemond should be punished for insulting Lord Benjicot and Princess Daenys and their children. He caused this violence!” 

Alicent gasped, “He is your son Viserys!” 

“That does not excuse him from insulting guests or trying to kill them; get Prince Ameond a maester for his injuries and the rest back to our rooms. No, Alicent enough! Guards take the queen consort back to her rooms, with a tea to calm her.” ordered Viserys as both his daughters led him away. 

Daenys sighed in relief and quietly apologized. She asked her brothers to take her sons to the nursery and led her husband back to her rooms. Once in her chambers, Daenys cleaned up her husband's wounds, mainly his knuckles. 

“Was that all necessarily Ben?” asked Daenys as she cleaned him up. 

Benjicot sighed, feeling only slightly ashamed. He had not meant to cause stress to his wife. “Yes, he insulted our sons, and I grew tired of him thinking you are his when you are mine, my princess, my love, my wife,” said Ben as he kissed her neck. 

Daenys sighed, “I know, but you know how much I hate seeing you injured; it kills me every time.” stated Daenys, kissing him softly on his lips. 

Benji apologized again to his wife, holding her close to him, kissing her crown as he gently rocked them. Daenys sighed in contentment before a mischievous look crossed her face. 

“Although I grew very excited once I saw you winning the fight. You look radiant, my love,” whispered Daenys, her grin growing as she heard her husband growled. 

Daenys squealed as Benjicot flipped her, him in between her legs. 

“One day, your pretty words will not have such an effect on me, my princess,” growled playful Benji as he nibbled on Daenys lips. 

Daenys giggled, “One day, but that day is not today,” grabbing her husband's shoulders as they continued to kiss.

[painted-flag]

From Eden. Benjicot Blackwood

✧.* masterlist (Part two here)

✧.* pairing: benjicot blackwood x velaryon!oc

✧.* summary: caught in the brewing of war, Daenys Velaryon must forge alliances for her mother's claim to the throne. The Riverlands are paramount and she had the inexplicable luck of meeting Benjicot Blackwood.

✧.* word count: 11k.

✧.* note: this is a whopping long imagine. thank you all for the support on the preview. this is brought to you by instant ramen and my inability to focus on coursework. no beta reader as I live life on the edge (truthfully i do not have any)

A loud clap of thunder followed in succession by the flashing of lightning illuminated the library of Dragonstone. In the late hour of the wolf, Daenys found herself entombed within the walls of parchment, scanning drawn-up battle plans and strategies written by maesters who had nary seen a single battle. The feeling of ever-present stress loomed over her, creeping from the shadows that were not illuminated by scattered candles. That feeling of anxiety - pressing down harshly on her chest - had been a footnote in her life. 

Daenys did not need to be a dragon dreamer, like her namesake, to see the future of her house. War was coming, that much was obvious. She knew at the age of nine that her mother’s claim would be challenged and since then her life had been spent preparing. The intensity of conflict did not matter, Daenys would be prepared regardless. So, like most nights, she had settled herself among the pages of books. Her body, worn from training all day, had relished in the feeling of sitting down in a plush chair. 

The book in her lap, An Analysis of Ground Moves of the First Dornish War, had begun to kill her mood. The maestor who wrote it had no skill of explanation, nor seemed to have care for fighting in general. She cursed his weak analyses on certain moves and more outwardly she cursed the tone in which he wrote when speaking of her Targaryen ancestors - in particular the women. Daenys leaned back in her chair and repressed the urge to chuck to tome across the room. All that access to knowledge and training yet maesters still seemed to fall short. 

The echoes of footsteps sounded between claps of thunder. Daenys glanced up to see her mother. Rhaenyra had her hair down in light waves. The nightclothes she wore were made from black and red fabrics and stitched in the fashion of dragon-influenced style, part of a matching set that the two women shared. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her mouth set in a line. The heir apparent sat down in the chair beside her daughter and glanced at the book in Daenys lap. 

“The hour is late, yet you are out of bed?” 

Daenys’ arms rested on the book, “Sleep could not come.” 

“Or have you run from sleep? Increasingly so, as of late.” Her mother’s observation cut deep. It was true, for Daenys had become antsy. More and more nights were spent reading, and even more days training with the sword. Exhaustion had become her friend and respite her enemy. She felt behind, as her training had only started a few years prior - after years of requesting to learn. Any day a war could break, yet she sat about for most of her life doing nothing but sewing and other pointless tasks to be a good wife.

“Don’t you feel it, mother? That sinking feeling of... something clawing at your feet for that damned throne.” Daenys’ gaze rose to meet Rhaenyra. As her mother's only daughter by birth, they held a certain bond. The ability to understand what one another wished to say without so much as a word. A twitch of the brow, a quiver of the lip, or the tilt of their head was worth more than what any uttered words could convey. Mother and daughter, one unable to live without the other. Like bees and flowers or the moon and sun. A push and pull of exchange. Rhaenyra knew her daughter wanted to help, and it crushed her. She wanted Daenys to live without that fear - to relish in her days as a princess. 

“The burden is not yours to bear alone,” Daenys spoke after a minute of silence. Rhaenyra sported a fleeting smile at her daughter's words. 

“I know, but it does not pain me any less,” Rhaenyra adjusted in her seat, “Is there anything you wish to discuss about it?” 

“We need the Riverlands.” There was not a moment of pause between her mother's question and the answer. “There is loyalty secured in many regions, especially the North, but the Riverlands are important. We do not have a strong enough hold there.” 

Rhaenyra resisted smiling at Daenys eagerness in politics. Had she been born minutes before Jacaerys instead of afterwards, Rhaenyra would have been confident in claiming her as heir. Jacaerys, as dutiful as he could be, was still lagging in comparison to his twin regarding diplomacy. 

“And how do you propose to remedy this?” 

Daenys paused, reluctance flashed across her face for a moment but she pushed it down. “I have to marry.” Rhaenyra tilted her head in a questioning manner but Danys continued, “I know I have been against it, but you need a strong foothold in those lands. Many major battles in history are fought there and if our house is to remain strong, we must command as much of it as possible.” 

“The Tully’s have no available members to marry.” 

“We needn't rely on House Tully. There are other houses there that are sure to have available sons. House Frey, Mooton, Bracken, Mudd, Blackwood, Lothston, and many more. One that is as close to the Tully’s as possible and stocked with a good amount of soldiers.” Daenys’ gaze swept along the darkened room, the bookshelves being illuminated by a small number of candles and the raging storm outside. 

“I want you to be happy-” 

“My happiness is seeing you on that throne. Mother, you deserve it more than any other fat and drunk lord who lives on the continent.” The women giggled, and for a brief moment the storm outside - political and natural - ceased to exist. 

“This is what you want?” Rhaenyra held her breath after she asked. Daenys nodded gently. They once again settled into a silence, their eyes focused on the flames inside the hearth. More thunderous roars from outside continued to assail Dragonstone. “I have some news, of which only a few know.” 

Daenys sat up straighter, intrigued with what her mother had brought up. She marked her spot in the book and placed it on the small table beside her chair. Her body turned to see her mother more clearly. 

“I am with child.” Rhaenyra’s words echoed in the room, “It was just confirmed this morning with the maester.” 

“That’s good news, mother, truly.” Daenys reached out to hold Rhaenyra’s hand. They both smiled, content to last in their bubble.

“I think it's a girl. There is something about this pregnancy that feels different than all the rest.” The heir to the Iron Throne spoke softly, but loud enough to be heard above the raging storm. 

“Good. We’ve been dreadfully lacking women in the family. We are outnumbered.” Daenys looked back at her book, the title of the First Dornish War embossed into the leather binding, “Visenya.” 

Rhaenyra looked at her quizzically, and Daenys continued, “You should name her Visenya.” 

Her mother smiled gently and nodded, “I shall take that to heart. Now,” She got out of her seat, “Get to bed, ñuha prūmia.” Rhaenyra gave Daenys a gentle kiss on her forehead before walking away and out of the library. 

Daenys stayed in her seat, gazing mindlessly into the fireplace. Her heart was heavy. The prospect of marriage never worried her much. Any suitor that wished to court her quickly ran upon seeing her stepfather Daemon, who always seemed to grip Dark Sister tightly when they approached - a signal of warning. She never had to worry about ending up with a foul lord, or even end up marrying any time soon. Yet, her allegiance to her mother was stronger than any distaste for being wed. She got up and blew out some of the candles around her. 

She made her way across the library, down the many winding halls of Dragonstone, and into her bedchamber. Once settled at her vanity, she put her hair in a simple braid to protect it while she slept. Turning towards her bed, she spotted her sword resting against the chest placed at its foot. She walked over and unsheathed the steel. It was not Valyrian steel, unfortunately. But, the piece was expertly crafted at the behest of Daemon. Her hand gripped the hilt and the other gently traced the centre of the blade. 

Daenys swore that she would not make the task of gaining her hand easy for the Riverland lords. If her mother were to gain an ally, he would need to prove his worth. She had built up a reputation over the years. A beauty, that much is true, and the ability to charm members of the court easily, despite what some gossip about her parentage may say. However, upon being taught to fight by Daemon, she had managed to also build up a reputation for sharp wit and even sharper fighting skills. 

Exhaustion had finally caught up to her, so she moved to put the sword away and crawl into bed. Once settled, Daenys fell into a world of dreams. 

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

Daenys wished, with all her heart, that she could go back in time and club herself over the head for even suggesting a search for a husband in the Riverlands. The conversation with her mother two weeks ago quickly led to plans being laid. Daenys, on the back of her dragon Suneater, and her brother Jacaerys on the back of Vermax, had arrived at Riverrun to be greeted by Lord Elmo Tully. A kind old man, with dark red hair, streaked with the white of age. Daenys did not wish for her brother to accompany her, but Rhaenyra was adamant that she have a member of the family there to make sure she was not completely alone. Rhaenyra also added that it would help Jace’s claim to the throne more if he met and treated the lords of the Riverlands. 

However, the trip to the Riverlands quickly became sour. On the third day there after settling in, the petitions began. She was only a few hours in, and Daenys had already grown frightfully bored by the endless men - young and very much old - that made their case. Lord of this castle or that holdfast, it did not matter. All the men started to blend into one, with a few that managed to stand out. She sat on a raised dias in the grand hall of Riverrun, with Lord Tully to her right and Jace to her left. Occasionally, after a particularly awkward or gross petition, Jace and Daenys would glance at one another in complete awe. Daenys had underestimated the audacity of some men and now she finally understood why Rhaenyra had so many wild stories of overzealous lords making their petitions to her. At first, her stories seemed too odd to be fully real, but now in Daenys’ own few hours of experience, there was no doubt left in her. 

She leaned back and stifled a yawn as the old man in front of her droned on about his experience in some battle long ago. Lord Tully saw the princess's mood and leaned forward, “Thank you, Lord Ryger, for your attendance. It appears we shall end the petitions for the day and continue on the morrow.” 

Daenys resisted letting out a sigh of relief, though the look on Jace’s face showed he was just as relieved as her. Many men in the hall said their proper goodbyes, bowing to them before exiting. 

“Thank you, Lord Tully. It seems that I have many people to consider.” Daenys gave him a flattering smile, hoping that it could mask her previous displays of indifference. 

“That is good,” Lord Tully stood up and bowed to both her and Jace, “I shall you both at the feast tonight.” 

Once gone, Daenys sat up straighter in her seat and turned her torso towards her brother, “There’s to be a feast?” 

“Of course there is.” Jace smiled at the exasperated look on his sister's face. Truly, the whole time he had been rather entertained. A little bored, but ultimately found humour in his sister's expressions throughout the morning of lords' petitions. 

She leaned back in her seat and slid down slightly, sighing loudly. “A whole bloody feast.” Jace began to laugh, but Daenys would have none of it. “Don’t be too quick to humour, brother. All the lords who are already married are bound to have daughters, and as the future heir to the throne, I do believe they will flock to you like flies to shit.” 

“Are you saying I am the shit in your comparison?” The smile on Jace’s face faded. 

“You said it, Jace, not I.” She bounced to her feet and made her way towards the exit. 

Jace called out as she left, “And where are you off to?” 

“To Suneater,” Daenys responded while looking over her shoulder, “Lords cannot follow me into the sky.” She walked away to the sound of her brother's light chuckles. The dress she was wearing had begun to feel heavy on her, the weight of her mission to gain a good husband to aid in any possible future challenges to her mother seemed impossible. From the men she met so far… the outcome was looking bleak. There was one man who was closer to her age, yet every detail about him escaped her. Was it Aken… perhaps Barken… Breaker? The only detail worth noting about him was the garish yellow shade he wore, the rest was all exactly like every other man before. 

Daenys had changed into her riding leathers and gleefully made her way through the halls and to the courtyard. Upon exiting the castle, she glanced around the yard full of many men who were talking and sparring. The bustling laughter continued, with some lords near her choosing to greet her. Daenys pushed off many wishing to start a conversation with the excuse of going to visit her dragon. At the mere mention of her companion, the lords backed off. They are too fearful at the thought of a dragon, why do they think they are fit to marry one?

Glancing around at the fighting people while proceeding through the courtyard, she looked at a group. They were sporting red and black, and a feeling of homesickness washed over her. House Targaryen colours were familiar to her, mixed with Velaryon colours of course - for her father. The hushed voices of her uncles echoed in her mind; Bastard. 

Brushing that thought away, she decided to watch the group. The men dressed in those colours were sparring. A blond struggled against the blows from a dark-haired man, his lean and built form assailing with strength. 

It seemed that whenever the blond one got the upper hand, it only lasted for a short time. Daenys slowed her walking as she passed. While she was many metres away, she could still hear the words of encouragement and jest by the other men around them - dressed in the same colours of black and red. The blond man was facing her, and upon seeing the Princess, got momentarily distracted. The dark-haired man moved quickly, knocking his opponent to the ground in one fell swoop of his legs. The blond crashed to the ground and let out a string of curses, his clothes muddied. 

“Is the ground comfortable, Rickard?” The dark-haired man joked. The men around would have laughed, but their eyes moved to where the blond, Rickard, had his eyes. They all seemed frightened. Daenys could tell they were all around her age and most likely had never seen a member of the Royal family, given the fact that they were frozen on the spot. Rickard got up, albeit in a clumsy manner, and tilted his head down in a subtle bow with the rest of the men following. 

The dark-haired man turned and his eyes met hers. She could not gauge their colour, as she was standing a good few feet away. The grip on his sword slacked. He seemed stunned and a faint red coated his face. Daenys could not tell if it was from his training or her presence. He nodded to her and she hummed gently before nodding back to him and the other men. 

While Daenys was intrigued by those men, all she wanted was a reprieve from the men around her. She turned her body and continued on her previous course, oblivious to the stares that followed. On the other side of a hill - a fair distance from the gates of Riverrun - lay Suneater and Vermax. The two were beside one another, as their personalities blended. Occasionally, the two would clash much like her and Jace, but truly acted as siblings. Daenys felt the weight on her chest that accumulated throughout the day disappear. Finally, she could be free, even just for a while. 

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

The hours had passed in mere moments. Daenys had begun her flight midday and had landed as the sun began to set, giving her just enough time to get to her chambers and have the maids prepare her for the feast. She was delighted that the courtyard was relatively empty, save for a few servants mulling about. No pesky conversations to derail her. 

However, Daenys heard the sound of grunting and the beating of a sword. She turned to a corner of the yard to see the same dark-haired man still training. The others had left, but he lingered on. His back was to her, but she doubted he would even notice her if he was facing in her direction. He seemed completely enraptured in the swings of his sword, as if the world had disappeared and here he remained. 

Daenys recognized this focus. She too felt that, albeit when riding her dragon. It was a feeling of belonging like there was nothing else meant for her to do. No more masking and pretending to feel like the people around her, just free to get lost in something she loved. The process of becoming a different person and getting lost in the way it makes you feel. She believed it must be a similar thing to the way he was fighting. She paused for a moment to study his form. Strong, but sly. With each stroke of the sword, images of the royal painters appeared in her mind. The art of their brush strokes mirrored that of the steel he swung. Calculated and precise, but free. Each time the steel met the straw dummy, it looked like paint hitting a canvas. 

Daenys did not wish to disturb his focus, but the burning intrigue of who this man was had overpowered that wish, “I do believe he is dead.” The man stopped with a jump and swung his body around in quick succession, his eyes alert. It was only upon seeing Daenys and assessing her as no immediate threat that he let his guard down. 

“Yes, princess, um… indeed.” His response made Daenys almost wish she did not disturb him. It was clear that he appeared slightly shy when not engrossed in combat. A part of her related to it. 

“I apologize for my earlier interruption. It was not my intention to have distracted your friend.” Daenys stepped close and leaned against a fence that connected to the large stables. She was within just a metre or two of the man and could now finally see him more clearly. He was a pleasant sight, exceedingly so compared to the dozens of men she met that morning. 

“You need not apologize, princess. It was his fault, he should have been focusing on the fight.” 

“Well, I hope he is alright from the fall, Lord…” Daenys trailed off, hoping to know his name. She thought back to her morning in the hall and meeting all the lords who contended for her hand. She could not remember him. That could not be right, she would remember a man who looked like that. It seemed that he was not there in the morning, most likely to see her in the days to come. 

“Benjicot Blackwood, your grace.” He nodded at her, his dark hair moved gently in the subtle breeze. 

“It is nice meeting you, Lord Blackwood.” Daenys smiled at him. She felt unusual, to be taken by charm so quickly and with so few words. She searched within her brain for any knowledge regarding the family. It was an old house, with roots deep within Westeros spanning back to the first men. Kings during the Age of Heroes. She remembered reading about their ability to field an army larger than that of House Tully, yet still bent the knee to them. 

“You flatter me, princess, but I am not Lord Blackwood yet. My father still presides over Raventree Hall.” Benjicot’s voice was calm, despite his appearance coming off as slightly nervous. 

“I am sorry, Lord Benjicot, for the misunderstanding.”

Ben broke eye contact and gazed around the courtyard for a moment before returning to her, “We seem to be apologizing repeatedly to one another, your grace.” 

“Yes, let us end that,” Daenys situated herself to sit on the fence, a rather unladylike action. She found that she could get away with that type of behaviour the further she was from the court of Kings Landing and Dragonstone. “What brings a member of House Blackwood to Riverrun at this time?” 

“Well, the crown princess happens to be visiting,” Ben answered. 

“I heard she is spoilt and vain.” Daenys joked.

Ben seemed to loosen up just slightly at her friendliness, “She is not so bad. Rather pleasant if you ask me.” The two stare at one another for a few moments, wondering which one would break the jest first. In a display of synchrony, they both smiled and let out a short burst of laughter. 

Daenys spoke after calming down, “So I am just pleasant, my lord?” 

“Yes, your grace, incredibly so.” Ben’s words sounded more sincere than expected and it caught Daenys slightly off guard. 

“You are not so bad, as well, Lord Benjicot. Incredibly so.” Daenys jumped down from the fence and brushed off her hands that were resting along the wood. “I hope you are not absent from the feast tonight as you were this morning. I should like to speak to you more, my lord.”

“I will be there princess.” 

The two both nodded to one another before Daenys began to walk away. As she retreated, she could not help but feel a little less stressed about the feast. Maybe the idea of being surrounded by boisterous lords, many eager to dance with her, would not be so bad if Benjicot Blackwood was there. 

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

The band was in full swing. The echoes of their instruments, playing a quick jig, bounced off the vaulted walls of the great hall. People sat at multiple long tables and ate from the vast amounts of plated food. There were others out of their seats, conversing with groups or dancing in the centre of the room. Lord Tully was at the centre of a table position in front of all the others. The Velaryon twins sat on either side of him. Jacaerys and Lord Tully were engaged in deep conversation on a topic Daenys had little care for. She stared at her plate of food. No matter how hard she tried, Daenys could not will herself to eat. The nerves of this night and having countless men stare at her made her stomach ache and turn. 

A figure stood up at the table, bowing to all three of them. He was adorned in brown and a muted yellow colour, with the sigil of a red stallion on his chest. While Daenys did think it ugly, she could not say the same for his appearance. He had a slender figure, and his facial structure was pretty for a man. His brown hair reached just past his shoulders, most of it pulled into a tie at the back with some loose strands. 

“Lord Tully, Prince Jacaerys, Princess Daenys,” He started, “It would be an honour to ask the princess if she should like to dance.” 

“I believe my sister would love to join you,” Jace answered. 

Daenys kept her head facing the man while her eyes turned to the side. Jacaerys was looking at her, an amused smile on his face. She focused back on the man and put on a pleasant smile, “It would be my pleasure.” She slowly got out of her chair, hoping for some miracle to prevent their dance. A fire set in the hall, or perhaps the gods could shake the earth and swallow her whole. 

When the man took hold of her arm to escort her, Daenys turned around and mouthed to her brother: traitor. Jace just waved slightly and picked up a mug of ale. The two made their way to the dance floor and joined many others. Her hands clasped hers as they faced one another and began moving. Daenys had to concentrate on her footwork, as her dancing skills were never the greatest.

“Aeron Bracken, your grace. I am sure you remember me from this morning.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget such a memorable petition… with ah… great accomplishments.” Daenys gave him a fake smile. She hoped that response would satisfy Aeron, as she truthfully had no memory of what his petition was. The words he had said sounded the same as all the rest, so despite not remembering, she could guess that they revolved around their accomplishments and house. 

“It gladens me that you have been thinking about me, your grace.” 

Daenys almost scoffed. Where did she ever mention thinking about him? Why would she think of him of all men? There was a brief flash of red and black in her vision, accompanied by a blur of dark hair. Swallowing her frustration down, she continued her womanly facade. 

“Yes, House Bracken is wonderful in their abilities and longstanding position in history.” The few things she knew about the house were their origins with the first men, and their proclivity to engage in petty disputes with other houses. She thought it best to not bring up the latter information. However, it did not seem that she would not have to bring it up as Aeron began to rant.

“There are some houses here that are not as fortunate or kind as mine. Some that are no good to be around, your grace.” Aeron’s face darkened slightly as his vision zeroed in on a group across the hall. Daenys turned and strained her eyes, for she was not as tall as him. Upon seeing through the crowd who he was looking at, her brows furrowed. Benjicot Blackwood stood conversing with a group of men at one of the tables. 

Aeron looked away and back at the princess, “I caution you with keeping the company of Blackwoods. They can be savage and cruel.” 

A flood of information swooped over her mind. A week prior to leaving for the Riverlands, she had tirelessly scanned through books on their history. She suddenly realized why both of the Houses sounded familiar. Out of the countless battles she read about, House Blackwood and Bracken were frequently are the forefront and more often than not the ones that started those conflicts. 

Daenys felt an odd urge to defend Benjicot, “You do not think I did my research before coming here, Lord Aeron?” 

“No, princess, that was not my intention,” He seemed to stumble over his words and his face flushed, “I just wish to protect you.” 

“I do not need your protection, my lord. I do believe having a dragon does that for me.” Daenys was thankful that the song was coming to a close. They separated and both bowed to one another like all the other partners on the floor. “Your baseless attempt at character assassination is just that, baseless. Thank you for the dance, Lord Aeron, but I think I will take my company elsewhere.”

Daenys gave him one last nod and walked away. She wanted to get away from Aeron quickly. She walked in the direction of Ben and his company of men, but an old lord stepped out in front of her just as she made it to him. The lord was old and greying, his wrinkled skin sagged against his stern face. Daenys never gagged at the sight of a person before, but she found herself almost doing so. 

“Princess Daenys, would you care for a dance?” His shrewd voice shattered her temporary relief. 

“Oh Lord–” She began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“Lord Mooton,” Benjicot had spotted her approaching and saw the lord moving her way and quickly lept to action, “It is good to see you. I believe it was your great grandson's twentieth nameday celebration that we last saw on another. I have heard that your wife was looking for you.” Ben had his shoulders squared and towered over the old man's form. Daenys and Ben exchanged looks, resisting the urge to laugh in the lord's face at this awkward exchange. 

“Oh, yes, Lord Benjicot. Apologies princess, for I must go.” The man bowed and moved away, his old form moving slowly. 

“I owe you, Lord Benjicot, for saving me.” Daenys smiled at him. Her arms joined behind her back as she swayed side to side. 

“You need not thank me, your grace. Though, I would appreciate it if you would do me the favour of joining me on the floor?” Ben held out his hand. While he seemed confident, Daenys could tell there was still a shy nature being hidden - it was clear in his eyes. The hand that was outstretched shook so slightly it was hard to catch, but she did. Just a few minutes ago she wanted nothing more than to stop dancing, but in this case, she did not mind it. She had just found the right partner. 

Daenys took his hand in hers and the shaking ceased, “I shall.” Ben escorted her to the floor and they began to dance. She was even more nervous, as her lack of talent in dance may embarrass her in front of him. Ben did not seem to mind for he guided her gently before she could make any mistakes. 

“You should have seen the look on your face when Lord Mooton spoke to you. Pure befuddlement, your grace, possible disgust as well.” Ben quickly turned her to the pace of the music. 

“Do not jest of that, my lord. I felt like I would die.” Daenys retorted. 

“You would die? I think it would be Lord Mooton that goes first, considering his age.” 

Daenys let out a short laugh, “I do not know what I would have done if I had to suffer a dance with him.” She almost shivered at the thought of that lord's eyes scanning her body in such a predatory way. 

“Do not worry about it, your grace. All it would take is a stiff breeze to knock him over and it would no longer be your problem. Perhaps I could jump out of nowhere and startle him to death for you?” The dance had Ben pulling her closer with both of their hands connected. 

“I did not take you as a man quick to murder.” 

“Ah, but for you, dear princess, I would not hesitate.” Ben’s words sounded incredibly sincere and he made sure to be looking right at her when he said them. 

“You flatter me, my lord,” Daenys said, “I wanted to mention it earlier, but I must compliment your skills in fighting. Watching you train was engaging.” 

Ben spun them around and kept pace with those around them, “I shall hold those words with me for life, your grace.” 

“I also wished to ask if we could spar together.” Daenys raised her brow at him, hoping that he would like the same as well. 

“I can not even think about attacking you, princess. It would be improper.” 

Daenys knew he would not relent so easily, “I have been learning for a few years now, you need not worry about it.”

One of Ben’s hands reached down to her waist as they had to start walking to the right in a circle with others dancing. “Princess, the moment I even go in to swing at you, regardless of practicing, every lord in the castle would hunt me down.” 

“Then we shall make sure nobody sees. After the morning petitions on the morrow, we can meet up outside the gates and find a clearing somewhere.” Daenys tried to distract herself from the way his hand felt on her waist.  

“After you have been driven to frustration by all the lords? I should be worried you may take that anger out on me.” Ben spun her around again. The two of them released their grip on one another, stepping back a few paces and turning before finally coming back together again.

“With the skills I saw today, I do believe you can handle it,” Daenys said.

“I can handle that and more, princess,” Ben responded and his grip on her hand and waist tightened slightly. Daenys blushed heavily and hoped that it would not be too noticeable. She paused momentarily to figure out how to retort, but no words came to her. They settled into silence for a moment. The music died down and the dance came to a close. Daenys and Ben released their hold on each other and took a step back. 

“Thank you for the dance, Lord Benjicot. You need not worry about attending the petitions tomorrow and putting forth your name. I do not need to hear your case as I already favour your company.” Daenys tried to say what she wanted to say without making it too obvious or breaking any rules of propriety. It would be unseemly for a woman to actively pursue someone, but that would not stop her from voicing her opinion. 

“I favour your company as well, princess,” Ben responded, though he seemed slightly stunned. Daenys smiled at him and went back to the main dining table. 

Lord Tully had left, most likely off speaking to some guests, but Jace still sat at the table. He was nursing a mug of ale in his hand and sent her a large grin. 

“What have you done now, dear brother?” 

“Nothing, sister, however, I must admit I did not take you as one who liked to dance.” 

Daenys sat down in the seat beside him. She reached out for some of the ale and swallowed it down. “I don’t like dancing.” 

“Then why did you spend five dances with the same man?” Jace asked. He gave off a tone of innocence to his question, but she could sense the subtle tease.

She paused for a moment to load some food on a plate. It was five dances? She could have sworn it was only for a minute or two. Deciding not to voice that, she continued. “Why did you care to count?” 

“Because you are my sister and it is my job to watch out for you. Tell me, who is he?” 

Daenys was almost reluctant to answer but knew Jace would continue to pry until he got one. “Benjicot Blackwood.” 

“...So?” Jace placed his ale down and showed her his full attention. 

“Pardon?” 

“What do you think of him? You seem quite taken.” Jace nudged her shoulder gently. 

“We met earlier in the day. He seems nice and is easy to converse with. However, the manner of me being taken by him is none of your concern.” 

Jace leaned back in his seat and laughed, “Ah, okay. So it is not my concern that this whole time we have been talking, Lord Benjicot has not stopped looking at you.” 

Daenys froze. Jace held his gaze to her side, where other people were, and must have been looking at Ben. She knew he was there. Now that she was told, she could practically feel Ben’s gaze on the side of her face. She felt herself getting flushed again. That whole night, she felt like she was on the verge of a meltdown with all of the lords looking at her. Their greedy gazes wished to have her solely to claim her blood for their children. Yet, Daenys could not help but crave the gaze of that dark-haired man. She shook her head gently and stood up abruptly. 

“I have become tired, Jace. I shall retire for the night.” Daenys did not wait for her brother's response before she scrambled to get out of the hall. Her feet carried her swiftly out of the large doors and down the stone hallway. She picked up her pace once away from the prying eyes of people. Her hands gripped the skirt of her dress, the palms clammed up.

Upon reaching her guest chamber, Daenys threw the door open before shutting it quickly. Her chest rose up and down with each breath and the bodice felt tighter than it was just minutes ago. Her actions of the day quickly came flooding back at her. This was not supposed to happen. This was never part of the plan. 

Daenys somehow felt like she had failed her mother. She came to the Riverlands to find a strategic match, not find herself relishing in the company of some man. She was no believer. The princess knew from a young age that any sort of marriage was to be one of convenience, one arranged. She felt better having some bit of freedom in choice, but that choice was still dictated by what would be best for securing her mother’s throne if it were to come to war. 

Now, she found herself waiting with bated breath for her sparring session with Ben. As if counting the minutes would make the time go by faster. Logically, House Blackwood would be a great house to align with. They can handle more soldiers than the Tullys despite the Tullys being liege lords of the Riverlands. There is an extensive history of military triumph and a fair amount of wealth - not just monetarily - connected to Raventree Hall. It would be completely fine to connect their two houses, yet her budding feelings for Ben made her feel as though that decision was biased. 

Mother would know what to do. She always does. 

Daenys sat on the end of her bed, gazing out of the opened shutters of a window and staring into the night. The stars looked beautiful, but she missed the familiar sound of waves crashing against the rocky shores of Dragonstone. Homesickness washed over her. She went to the desk in a corner of the room and retired some parchment. The inkwell was full and a quill lay next to it. If there was one person she could vent to and get advice, it would be her mother. 

 ───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

The next day, Daenys found herself in the same spot she was in the previous day. In the great hall, with Lord Tully and Jace, watching as dozens of men spoke about themselves. How great their houses are, how great they are, and how extensive their coffers are. Except today felt different than previously. She was more impatient. All she focused on was her meeting with Ben later. The ability to speak to him more freely outside of the prying watch of others. 

To be caught would be scandalous, however, that thought made it more thrilling. 

Once Lord Tully concluded the gathering, Daenys quickly left her chair. She did not run, as it would be unladylike, but she moved as fast as was socially accepted. She went back to her room to dress in the proper attire and retrieve her sword. Once finished, Daenys opened her door and crashed into someone's chest. Jacaerys stood there, barely having been knocked by her slamming into him. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” 

Danys adjusted her clothing, “Out to train.” 

“Alone?” Jace raised his brow. Although he asked the question, it was as if he already knew the answer. 

“Must I even entertain such a question?” Daaenys sighed. 

“Don’t do anything Mother would not approve,” Jace told her. Daenys resisted the urge to laugh. While Rhaenyra did not speak to her sons about her youth, she spoke to Daenys about it. The stories of her sneaking away with Daemon and later her trysts with Sir Harwin were mentioned in hushed voices over tea times. Gossiping together was one of Daenys’ favourite pastimes. 

“Of course, Jace. I will be as pious as Mother.” Daenys answered before moving down the hallway. She was almost skipping with joy at the prospect of spending the rest of the day with Ben. 

Outside the gates of Riverrun, Ben was leaning against a tree as he waited for her. When she came in sight, she sent him a smile and a slight wave. He got off the tree and walked to her as well. Once close, they began moving in the direction of the dense forest. 

“Are you well rested, your grace? You left the feast early last night.” 

She paused before responding. “If I am entirely honest, I miss my home. I left to write a letter to my mother.” She did not feel it necessary to touch on the fact that the very nature of that letter was primarily centred around him. 

“I am sorry to hear that princess. The Riverlands can be overwhelming for those not born here.” Ben paused to step over a high fallen tree trunk. On the other side, he offered his hand to her. 

“I did not mean it as a slight. I’ve found myself to be quite fond of these lands, my lord. It's beautiful here, truly.” Daenys tried not to think about how warm his hand was in hers. How the callouses were strangely comforting despite their roughness. She gently stepped on and over the trunk before coming back down. Her arm went down to her side, but their hands were still joined. She cleared her throat gently and Ben dropped her hand, coming back from wherever his mind wandered. They continued on their way under the canopy of trees. 

“Can I ask you something?” Daenys questioned. 

“Anything, your grace.” 

“Must we exhaust our title in conversation with one another? It would be much better, and easier if I may add, if you just called me Daenys.” 

Ben remained silent for a moment, his vision focused on the ground below him to not trip over a root. “That would not be appropriate, princess.” 

“At the very least, we can do so when we are alone?” Daenys awaited his answer. 

“Then just call me Ben or Benji. Benjicot can be a mouthful.” 

Daenys giggled, “Sounds good, Ben.” 

They both exchanged quick looks and then focused their attention back on where they were going. After walking for a while, they hit a small clearing. The grass was low and there were no objects around that they could trip on. 

“How much do you know of sparring, Daenys?” Hearing her name come from his voice had her dazed for a moment. It sounded good. 

Deciding to deceive him for a moment, she responded. “Only a little bit. Some basic offensive and defensive moves.” 

“Then we shall have a round to see where you are at. We will start with the wooden swords.” 

With his words, they moved into starting positions. Ben lunged first and his strike was blocked. She moved around him, turning quickly and striking him. He too managed to block it, but before he could make another move, Daenys swung again and hit his bicep. It was quick and unexpected, revealing that she may know more than what she stated. He was shocked for a moment and caught off guard. Ben smiled. He was excited by her quick thinking ability. 

“Were you telling the truth?” 

“Not quite, but the look on your face was worth it.” Daenys adjusted her stance, with the wooden sword still in her grip. 

“Who taught you? Many men seem reluctant to teach women these sorts of things.” 

“I begged for years. I was told it was not ladylike and surely not something a potential husband would accept in a wife. But, many months after my mother married my stepfather, I decided to ask one more time. I was ten and three when I did. I marched right up to Daemon and asked him. It felt inevitable that he would deny my request, but he just laughed and told me to be ready on the morrow in the sparring yard. I joined my brothers in their training.”

Daenys remembered that day vividly. She was scared out of her wits. Until then, she never really bonded much with Daemon and was terrified by his reputation. She had clasped her hands behind her back in an attempt to hide their shaking. Her small frame, made even smaller in his presence, stood tall. Years later, Daenys would be confident in saying that her relationship with her stepfather was solid. 

“As in Prince Daemon?” Ben was bewildered, “Like the Rogue Prince?” 

“Yes, him.” 

Ben shrugged his shoulders, “I doubt you could learn anything from me then.” 

“Are you the one of those men who are ‘reluctant to teach women these sorts of things’?” Daenys used his words against him. 

“There are many things I could teach you.” Daenys pretended not to catch on to the other meaning of his words. She did not even know if that was intended by him. 

The two resumed their stances before going back to fighting. It was amazing how quickly time flew afterwards. Their bodies moved together in tandem. One moved forward, the other moved back. They bumped into one another multiple times. Daenys struggled to keep her beating heart under control when they would brush. It was occasionally hard to focus, as Ben looked increasingly better when he was in his element. She also pretended to not see the somewhat longing gaze he would send her way occasionally. 

During a moment when he was particularly distracted, she used it to her advantage. She swung forward, moving her wooden sword in a circle and disarming him. The move caused her body to be closer to him, and his reflexive move grabbed onto her wrist holding her sword and pulled her close in a grip hold. 

They were exhausted from the hours of movement. Daenys chest moved up and down at a rapid rate. The fog from their breaths intertwined in the air as their faces got close. Her free hand had somehow landed on his chest. There was no denying the lean muscle under his tunic and vest. 

“I thought you did not like it when people got easily distracted?” Daenys teased him. 

“Well, it is hard not to with you here,” Ben responded. His eyes stared into hers, an intensity hidden in them. 

Daenys could not for the sake of her life find a response. It was bold, his compliment. It would not be considered appropriate had they been anywhere else, but they were alone. The realization of that struck her. They were completely alone. Ben leaned in slightly but stopped. Due to their height difference, his nose brushed the top of her cheek. His breath was haggard. 

“Please tell me if I have misinterpreted any of your advances. Tell me and I swear I will leave you alone. I will go back to Raventree Hall and give you peace.” He voiced in a low whisper.

Ben began to pull away, but Daenys used her free hand resting on his chest to grip the fabric and hold him in place. 

“Don't go,” She began, “You have not misinterpreted me.”

“I will not do anything without your permission, my princess.” Daenys did not wish to correct him on addressing her by her title, for the use of the word ‘my’ before it lit something in her chest. He leaned back to where he previously was, his breath fanning her face. She nodded to him before leaning in and connecting their lips. 

It felt feverish, the unbridled heat that surged through her. She had the blood of the dragon, yes, but this was something else entirely. The wooden sword in her other hand, which was held at the wrist by his, dropped to the ground. He moved his hands, one going to her waist to pull her close and the other settling on the small of her back. His lips were chapped but felt soft nonetheless. His nose pressed into her cheek as he deepened the kiss. They both were unskilled in it, and they were slightly out of sink, but the passion was there. Daenys hands moved to his face, cupping it. Her thumbs brushed over his high cheekbones. The kiss gave her more warmth from the mild frigid weather around than any coat she could wear. There was a safety to it, an assurance of protection. 

For a brief moment in this foreign piece of land, Daenys felt at home. 

They pulled away, but only slightly so. Their noses still touched and she was grateful to feel any part of him. His hands squeezed gently, giving her some positive affirmation. 

“You are better at this than your swordsmanship.” Daenys joked. 

“You speak as if you have experience, Dany.” Her heart stopped for a moment at his nickname. 

She breathed in and out slowly, “You’re the first.” Ben nodded at her words, a breathless smile sweeping across his face. 

“For me as well.” They both were stuck in an embrace, eyes staring back at one another. 

“I…” Daenys paused to gain courage, “I would not mind if we could do that again.” She felt terribly shy by her request, and images of her younger self being rejected whenever she asked to learn how to fight flashed in her mind. Ben leaned forward and rested his forehead against her. An amused groan left his lips. 

“You will be the death of me, my princess.” He leaned forward and kissed her again.

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

Daenys sat in her bedchamber with a parchment scroll gripped in her hands. It had been a few days since she sent her letter to her mother and she had finally received a response. The petitions only lasted two days, with the rest being spent mingling among the lords during the day and feasts at night. It was the early hours of the morning and she had just finished bathing. She lounged in her room in a robe and ate from a platter of meats and cheeses to break her fast. 

The letter she had sent her mother had been filled with her worries. How she had met many lords of the Riverlands and some that may be of help. Largely, the contents centred around her blooming companionship with Benjicot Blackwood. Daenys revealed her troubles about feeling that she would be failing if she found herself attached unnecessarily. She felt that her judgement had been compromised by her affinity to Benjicot’s company. She may be overlooking another house that may be better for them come the outbreak of war. 

Rhaenyra’s response was just what she needed. Despite her mother not physically being there, her words soothed Daenys. The heir assured her that House Blackwood would be a good fit, not just strategically but for her happiness as well. She kept reading a section of the response over and over. 

I was never fully happy with your plan. Sending my only daughter off to pick an arrangement that would surely make her miserable. I of all people can relate. Let yourself feel, ñuha prūmia. You are allowed happiness, so pursue it. Many women of the realm would give anything to be in your position. Do not waste it for me and my troubles. 

Daenys sighed. It was the confirmation she had been waiting for. Over the last few days, she had slipped away from Riverrun and joined Benjicot in the woods to spar. Though, more often than not, the sparing would be accompanied by fleeting touches and fevered kisses. Despite the dropping of formalities, he still treated her as his princess. Which, if Daenys was honest, was not a bad thing.

All the time spent with him, the voice in the back of her head had filled her with worries about failing her mother. Now, with confirmation that her choice was not wrong, Daenys felt the urge to rise from her chair and keep running until she found him. Jump in his arms perhaps. But that would not be appropriate and she cursed the realm for their stupid rules. 

Daenys got up and changed into her gown for the day. She had dismissed the maids earlier, wishing to have some semblance of peace. When she was situated in her attire and sat at her vanity to style her hair, a knock sounded on the door. 

“Come in!” Daenys called out gently as her fingers moved to meticulously form a braid. 

Jace walked in. His hand rested on the sword at his hip as he sauntered over to her vanity. “Good morrow, sister.” 

“Good morrow to you,” Daenys pinned up the finished braid and moved to work on another, “What brings you to my chambers this morning? Normally you would be out hunting with one of the lords.” 

“While that is true, I did just have to most interesting conversation while I broke fast,” Jace paused, “With Benjicot Blackwood.” 

Her fingers halted their movement and she looked at him through the large mirror positioned in front of her. Jace was smiling, but it was not the usual smirk as a warning of him teasing her. It looked genuine. She tilted her head in curiosity. 

“And, pray tell, what were you two meeting for?” Daenys feigned a casual attitude. She did not want to reveal her nerves.

“He invited me to break fast together. It would be rude of me to deny him.” Jace answered. 

Daenys pinned another braid up, “You did not answer my question, brother.” 

“I believe it is Ben’s right to share.” 

She finished her hair and turned in her seat to face her brother. She narrowed her eyes at him. Why did Jace address him so informally? Her hands rested on the seat and she resisted the urge to grip them tightly. Daenys was confused and she did not like it one bit. She relaxed her shoulders and maintained a pleasant resting face. 

“I did not know you two were so close.” 

Jace was picking up and inspecting the bottles of oils and serums on her table, displaying a sense of casualty. “Oh yes, one may say we could be brothers.” 

“Enough, Jacaerys. Tell me now.” 

Her brother set a glass vial down and backed away. He continued to smile while going to her door. “I will be out riding for the morning. Have a good day, sister.” Jace then opened the door and left Daenys to sit and mull over their conversation. 

“Bloody halfwit.” Daenys huffed. 

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

The princess found herself strolling through the halls of Riverrun. There were no particular activities she planned for the day, so her mind was distracted. It was near an alcove that a hand shot out and grabbed her forearm. She was pulled in with another hand covering her mouth. Her shout of surprise was muffled. Daenys found herself in a secluded area with her back against the stone. There was a tiny window giving the area a hint of morning glow. 

 Fear flooded her veins and she cursed herself for leaving any means of a weapon in her room. She brought her leg up to knee the assailant in the crouch. A shout of pain came from the figure, a voice so familiar. When the man crouched over the ease the pain, the streaks of light from the window illuminated his face.

“Ben! Oh, I am so sorry.” 

Daenys moved to hold his shoulders but he just held up his arms while still in visible pain, “No, Dany, this was my doing. Not the wisest decision to sneak up on you like this.” Benjicot was doing everything to show he was not in pain, but failing. He breathed in deeply. 

“Great strength and good form, my princess.” Ben tried to laugh it off, but his chest still heaved. 

“Dearest, what in the seven hells was that?” Daenys crossed her arms. 

“Oh, if I knew what it would take to be called such a sweet nickname by you, Dany, then I would have injured myself sooner.” Ben beamed at her. He managed to get over the pain quickly and stood straight. His arms moved to wrap around her waist and pull her from the wall towards his chest. 

Daenys arms rested on his shoulders. “What if I had my knife on me?” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’d have been stabbed,” Ben responded. 

“It is not funny. I could have seriously hurt you.” Daenys felt his thumbs making circles as he held her hips. 

Ben kissed the crown of her head, “I have no doubt you would have done serious damage, my princess.” 

They stood in their embrace in the dimly lit alcove. It seemed as though the only time they could spend together was during fleeting moments of isolation. Despite the worry of being caught, Daenys would not wish it to be any different. 

“My brother visited me this morning.” She began speaking, “Jace informed me of your shared meal.” 

Ben’s face dropped. Nervousness etched its way across it. “He told you what we spoke about?” 

“No,” Daenys answered. His unease cleared at her confirmation, “It was rather aggravating, what little information he gave. Is it something I should be worried about?” 

“Nothing to worry about, Dany.” One of his hands lifted to cup her face. He moved his thumb up and down her cheek.

“Can I be privy to it? Or is it some man thing?” Her hands, which were resting on his shoulders, moved lower to settle on his chest.

“No. I planned on making a show of this, but truly I cannot wait any further.” 

Daenys tilted her head, “And what can’t you wait for?” 

“Well, I went to ask your brother first, as I am a gentleman who does not wish to compromise you and-” Ben began, but was swiftly cut off by Daenys.

“You? A gentleman? You may not have compromised my maidenhood, but that thing you did with your tong-”

“My love, please, I cannot be distracted by such a memory.” Ben closed his eyes and breathed in deeply to calm down. “I wished to ask your brother for permission to court you.” 

Daenys waited with bated breath. “And my brother?” 

“He is a very agreeable man. He acquiesced but noted that ultimately, the decision remains with you.” Ben tightened his hold on her. 

She smiled widely, “I believe you already know my answer.” 

The two broke into laughter before quickly leaning in to kiss. They pushed against one another. Desperation, earnestness, and care poured out of them. Most of all, pure relief. Daenys shivered at the intimacy of his hold on her. One of Ben’s hands cradled the back of her head as he pushed them back to the wall, cushioning her from the jagged stone. A groan slipped from his mouth as Daenys opened hers. The kiss was possessive, and his grip tightened. The hold on her waist warmed, and his fingers threaded through her hair. 

“You are so beautiful.” Ben voiced between kisses before moving back to devour her again. His lips trailed from her mouth, across her cheek and to her neck. He stopped at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Daenys sighed at the contact, heat flaming through her body. 

“Ben, someone may come.” 

“Damn them. I do not care.” He seemed intent on kissing her, with his mouth moving to her collarbone. 

“I would rather not have my honour questioned, my love.” 

He paused and lifted his head to look at her. His eyes held an intensity she had scarcely seen from him before, “Say the word and any man who questions you will be dead.” 

“As much as your words are comforting, I could not put you in such a position,” Daenys gave him a chaste kiss, “I am just happy my brother gave his approval.” 

“If you were only there. He did try his best to be intimidating.” Ben said. 

“Jace was never good at threatening people. Were you scared?” She joked. 

“I feigned some bit of fear,” He began, “I find men to be more pliable when they feel better about themselves.” Ben stood proud of himself. He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his mouth to lay small kisses on her knuckles. 

“So you manipulated my bother?” 

“I would not call it that. Moreso gentle encouragement to achieve the answer I so desired.” Ben skirted her question and began to rock them gently side to side, “But even if he did manage to scare me, no amount of fear would stop me.”

Daenys pulled back from his embrace, “No amount of fear would stop you?” 

Ben paused his movements and looked her in the eyes, “I don’t like that look on your face, my dear. You’re up to something.” 

“Well, since you wish to court me, there is one such condition from me.” Daenys tried to ease his piqued curiosity. Ben awaited her explanation. “Meet Suneater.” 

His face fell immediately. His eyes darkened and the muscles in his body tightened. Daenys saw his reaction and worked to soothe him by grabbing his hands and rubbing them. 

His voice came out strained, “You want me to meet your dragon?” 

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

Daenys giggled as she led Ben through the muddy pathway outside of Riverrun. Her dragon and Vermax were perched outside the castle, as it was not a large enough estate to hold the both of them. She held his hand clasped in hers as the two made their way to the sleeping dragon. They came across a clearing that was surrounded by a low stone wall. Jace had taken Vermax for a flight, so Suneater was alone. She lay curled and sleeping peacefully. Her strong breath came out of her nose. 

Suneater had dark grey scales. However, upon closer inspection, there were subtle gold flakes throughout her body, intensifying at the base of the scales before being covered by the black of a next one layered above. Daenys had never known a bond such as the one she held with her dragon. Her closeness to her family was strong- especially Jace since they were twins. But her dragon was entirely something else. 

Now that Benjicot wished to be with her, he must know all of her. Suneater was the other part of her soul. Despite hatching in her cradle and being of the same age, Daenys view her as a daughter. 

Daenys let go of Ben’s hand and walked to her dragon, “Sȳz ñāqes, Suneater.” Good morrow. Suneater’s eyes blinked open and her head lifted to see her rider approaching. Ben had stopped walking and stood by the entrance, unsure of whether or not he should get closer. “Hilago, sagon sȳz. Nyke hae bisa vala.” Please, be good. I like this man.

She reached out to scratch Suneater’s chin. The dragon let out a near purring sound at the contact and closed her eyes. Daenys continued her movements and turned to Ben. 

“Come here. She won’t hurt you.” Upon seeing Ben still standing, Daenys continued. “I swear she will not do anything. You have my word.” 

After that, Ben moved towards her. His steps were slow and calculated as he wadded through the low grass. Once he was about a metre near her, Suneater’s eyes snapped open to stare him down. A puff of air left her nostrils and Ben seized his movements to a halt. 

“Gīda. Rȳbagon.” Calm. Listen. Daenys assured her. Suneater calmed down but kept her eyes on Ben. He was an unknown man who stood too close to her rider. Daenys used her other hand to grab Ben and pull him closer. Once he was beside her, she spoke up, “You can touch her.” 

Ben swerved his head and gave her a look muddled with alarm and uncertainty. He breathed in and out slowly to stay calm next to such an intimidating beast. 

“Touch her?” His voice dripped with fear. 

“Calm down, Ben, its not like I am asking you to fly with me.” He seemed to ease at her words, “Not yet, at least.” 

Ben sputtered but went completely silent when Daenys grabbed his hand and placed it on the dragon's side. Her hand, in its small size, barely covered his. Ben felt the scales and the subtle breathing of the beast. His fear swept away and was replaced with awe. As a boy, he had heard of many older men around him who had seen dragons, but never himself had he ever seen one. The stories in his books growing up were filled with him, the history books even more so when covering events after the Conquest. In all his dreams, never did he think he would be standing so close to one and touching it. 

“See, it is not so bad.” Daenys laughed gently. She grabbed his shoulder and rubbed it gently. 

“Yes. It is not so bad.” Ben was still breathless. 

He removed his hand after a while and, with a surge of confidence, leaned down to kiss Daenys. It was a calm one, not as heated and passionate as the others. His strong arms pulled her against his chest. Daenys melted in his hold and kissed him back. She did not believe she could ever tire from kissing him. Her heart swelled. 

For the first time in many years, Daenys prioritized her own happiness. 

Ben pulled back and looked her in the eyes, “You are a wonder.” Their foreheads connected. The two closed their eyes and relished the sounds of nature around them. The steady breeze brushed the branches of trees and the crows spoke as they flew around. The rumbling of breath from Suneater produced a steady beat to focus on. 

The lovers stood in that field, each far from their homes - one more so than the other - and felt nothing but a sense of belonging. 

A budding love became solidified in their bond that day. Each mirrored the other. Their gentle demeanours were undercut by their cunning in the ways of fighting. Both a ticking bomb of violence, who would gladly follow the other into any battle. 

_______________

✧.* endnote: apologies for any typos or terrible grammar. i did come up with a couple more ideas centred around these two, so if it is wanted i could write (much shorter) pieces about these two. thank you all for the support that has been given. i appreciate it more than you know <3

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.2

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - Following the shock of a lifetime while out scouting the borderlands, Shanda deals with the fallout of her actions and makes plans to repeat the same mistakes.

Warnings - fem!reader, strained family dynamics, adult language, obsessive behavior, reckless behavior, braindead behavior, not cannon compliant, kieran burton fancast,

Word count 2.1k

2/6 currently

!Minors DNI!

Ahaha, this is going to be a pretty slow burn type of deal I think. But I am unhinged and cranked out another one before work 😤👍🏻🗣️ Next chapter will be more exciting, I promise. Also everyone involved in any romance is of age of course bc I don’t care about canon and no child marriages here.

Shanda didn’t stop running until she was back home in her own chambers. Shutting her door quietly, she stripped her soaked clothes off. The cloak would have to be mended and she would have to convince Royce, her younger brother, to take her out riding to cover for the rip. That would cost her but it was better than the alternative. Shivering, she quickly dressed for sleep before adding more logs to the dying fire in her harth, then seated herself in front of the flames. Only then did she allow her mind to wander back to the horrible encounter she’d just experienced. Why was the Blackwood heir on guard duty in the borderlands? It didn’t make any sense even if he had spoken the truth earlier. She moved like a shadow but no woman can be invisible. To send Benjicot to deal with a once off rogue spy was a move that was so strange it made her head spin.

Tomorrow she would talk to Martyn first, tell him mostly the truth of what happened and then convince him to let her out again. She had a good start on information for swaying her father but it wasn’t enough. If she went with tales of the heir and half heard secrets, he’d lose his mind at her irresponsibility. But if she found out what the heir was up to and confirmed what real problem the Blackwoods were having, well then he might see reason. He might for once appreciate having a slippery sneaking daughter who doesn’t know how to mind her own business.

Shanda awoke with a start, nearly toppling herself from the chair she’d fallen asleep in. No light shone in from the windows, her room was damp and muggy. Her night clothes stuck to her in an uncomfortable manner, sweat beaded on her brow as she rose to wash and dress for the day. The riverlands were often damp, hot and moist, the air thick with water. Gazing out the window she saw the torches lit and in the distance gathering clouds like a bruise against the gray sky.

Leaving her room, Shanda slowly made her way downstairs. She stopped along the way to make a comment to anyone passing by, making a point to be seen by many and accounted for undoubtedly. Then without pausing in the main hall, headed straight out into the yard to find Martyn. The guard shift was up at first light and though there was no light outside, she guessed it had only been a few minutes since the shift changed.

Martyn was waiting for her outside of the barracks and he motioned for her to walk with him. They began to circle around the yard, walking quietly and slowly together. Her brother was a short man barely an inch taller than her but he had eyes like a hawk and could shoot a field mouse clean nearly a mile away. Which was why he was always stuck on guard duty.

“Well out with it. I’ve gotta have a sleep too, you know?”

Shanda hesitated. What exactly was she going to tell him? ‘Hey so I got into a knockdown fight with the Blackwood heir last night who threatened to arrest me by the way for a made up list of crimes’. Well mostly made up crimes. That didn’t sound like a good idea.

Martyn spoke in her silence, “Did you bring the knife back?”

Shanda inhaled sharply, grimacing.

“About that, I maybe sort of-“

He cut her off, “Shanda please tell me you didn’t leave it.”

“I didn’t leave it per say. It was jostled from my hands, let's say instead.”

The look Martyn gave her was incredulous to the point of absurdity and it took all of her willpower not to laugh.

“Okay listen. Last night I found out the Blackwood heir has been relegated to guard duty. Overheard an argument between him and another guard.” She glanced around before continuing, the yard was still mostly deserted. “They were arguing about crimes being committed on their lands. I don’t know what crimes but it didn’t sound like they were too happy about it.”

“Benjicot was on guard duty? Wait, and you said the knife was… Did you fight the heir to Raventree?”

Shanda pointedly avoided looking her brother in the eye, a bit embarrassed of her behavior in the light of day.

“To be fair, I didn’t know it was Benjicot. I thought it was just some nameless guard!” She hissed agitated at having been caught in such a situation.

“Shanda, do you have any sense? The mother save you, I certainly can’t! If father were to find out...”

He didn’t have to finish that sentence. Shanda had been walking on thin ice lately. But it wasn’t her fault her father had no vision for house Bracken. She didn’t want to play second fiddle to the Blackwoods for the rest of her life. But he was set in his ways at his age and that meant ‘no sneaking into the borderlands to spy on our sworn rivals’. A foolish and dangerous act that she just couldn’t abide. Hence the sneaking tomfoolery.

“Look I need to get the knife back and I need to figure out what they’re up to. Surely this is suspicious behavior!”

Martyn only shook his head looking thoughtful.

“He could just be doing rounds.”

“In the borderlands? You don’t see our father wasting you there, why would they?”

Sighing heavily he replied, “I don’t know dear sister and I’m too tired to care. Don’t do anything stupid and I’ll see about getting you out again.”

Despite her best efforts her face still lit up at his proclamation.

“No promises. Now go away and annoy someone else for a change huh?”

“Sure thing Martyn. Sleep well!”

Waving him off, she waited til Martyn was out of sight before booking it to the stables. It was time to convince Royce now. A much harder brother to move. Royce was three years younger than her and though seventeen, still incredibly immature. Which was why he was in the stables and wifeless. Not that she had a better track record when it came to potential suitors but she could sympathize with women not wanting to spend a significant amount of time around him.

Entering the stables, Shanda could smell the fresh hay that was being spread out. Reminding her of her own duties she was neglecting while outside brother negotiating. The tasks would hold, this could not.

“Royce? Are you here?”

“No, go away.”

Groaning and already regretting the decision to talk to him, she made her way back towards the corral.

“Wonderful to see you brother.”

“As wonderful as an arrow in the eye. What do you want?”

Royce sat on a barrel, cutting an apple open and eating slices from the blade. In the distance, sounds of horses whinnying could be heard. Shanda decided to cut the pleasantries and get to the point.

“I want you to take me riding. Name your price.”

He smirked, weighing the statement while continuing to eat the apple. Mouth half full he said, “Get me out of the Sept gathering.”

She stood there mouth half agape. Get him out of the mourning ceremony? Genuinely speechless, she just stared at him for a full moment before shaking her head and gathering her thoughts.

“Right. That isn’t for a fortnight though and I need to go riding soon.”

He shrugged.

“Ugh. What else do you want?It’s already going to take a miracle to get you out of the ceremony. Which you should go to. ” She pinched the skin in between her eyes, exasperated.

“Well you shouldn’t sneak out at night but then neither of us is exactly the picture of a perfect person.”

That made her look up. “How did you..? Nevermind, mind your own business Royce. Figure out your price, we ride today. I don’t care if it storms, all the better. I’ll be back after dusk.”

Not bothering to hear his reply she left in a huff. Crossing the yard swiftly she made her way back inside, heading up the stairs into the library tower. Arriving in the room, the familiar sight of rows and rows of shelves met her eyes. Shanda takes the first real deep breath she’s had since yesterday as she sits at her desk. Already two messages have arrived, one about the recent steel shipment that she files away for a conversation with her father. The other is a letter from another of her brothers, Gerald who was currently doing bridge repairs.

Neither captures her attention and soon she finds herself in front of the window gazing out. Not at the yard below but at the trees in the distance. The leaves shimmer and twist in the blowing breeze, almost as if dancing to a hypnotic rhythm. What is the heir doing in the borderlands? The tall grass looks dark and forbidding, jutting up in front of the keep, weaving and swaying back and forth. How long has he been on guard duty? The clouds now a deep rolling luster of plum, illuminate as lightning strikes down the sky. Silently and slowly the rain begins to fall resolute. Would they put him on guard two nights in a row?

The first slow roll of thunder startles her back into the present moment. It didn’t matter, she decided, if he was on guard or not. She had to go back tonight, without Martyn. She’d wait longer, spend the day leisurely and then steal out in the dead of night. It was, of course, a foolish plan. That didn’t matter though, she’d be more prepared tonight and have a solid alibi lined up. It would be more foolish to waste this golden opportunity. All she had to do was make it through dinner, ride out with Royce, avoid martin and then sneak out of the yard tonight. After that she hoped only to find her knife and continue reconnaissance from a safe distance. Easy peasy right?

It was not so. The gods must truly find the riverlanders to be the most accursed of all beings. As the day progressed the storm grew to such a height it would’ve been impossible to ride out in it. It built much like it had the night before, growing to a cloying suffocating state that drenched any and everything. But it had given her an excuse to pull the ripped cloak out and wear it outside as she raced to meet Royce in the stables. Unable to ride didn’t mean he was unable to assist her in this endeavor. All she needed was a warm body and a viable excuse for why her very nice cloak had a nasty gash through the side.

The storm raged against the stables and the horses were restless in their stalls. Royce was sitting, relatively dry she noted, on a stack of hay.

“No riding out in this, sister.”

Shanda smiled, nodding. “I agree.” Then she grabbed a horse shoeing tool off the table and ripped at the already torn cloak.

Satisfied it looked like she’d clumsily tripped into a workbench and once stuck had ripped herself free of it. It was believable enough and she’d already made a deal with Royce for his support should she be questioned too much about it.

“No worries brother. We spent the evening playing games and watching the storm clouds. After which I tripped and ripped my cloak. Very sad and wholly unavoidable.”

“Whatever. Just get me out of the ceremony.”

“Of course. Anyway, I’m going to my room now.”

Departing from the stables, she was immediately soaked through but she did not return to her chambers or even the main keep. Instead she made her way into their private sept. It was freezing and the dim light threw wild shadows against the white stone walls. Only a few small candles lent any light to the room but she was unafraid, striding in and standing before the one stained glass window they owned. On it was a rainstorm depicted and in the dim flickering light the window shone iridescent. The window also depicted a large tree, white with branches ever reaching up. She felt small in the shadow of it.

“Can I help you dear?”

The scratchy voice of old septa Beck made her jump. Her head was in knots today. Why had she come here again? She couldn’t remember. Did she even have a reason? She glanced back at the window, forgetting about the septa. Lightning flashed and the leaves on the window seemed to weep red in the light.

“No. No thanks, Septa Beck. I was just saying a quick prayer before bed.” Shanda smiled gently at her before casting the window one last look and leaving the sept. From there she did return to her chambers, it was time to prepare and plan

Pt.3

[lydiadeetzgf]

The Great Chess Tournament Masterlist

Benjicot Blackwood x fem!oc

Pt. 1 - The princess's adopted daughter has to choose a betrothed, and her best way of doing that is through a chess tournament.

pt. 2 - each of the suitors face Anastasia in a chess game to see if they can beat her and Anastasia has to make a choice.

Pt. 3 - tbd

[aprilcolours]

blackheart: part two

part one - part three - part four

—

Two days after the Battle at Lydden, the campground was abuzz with news. ‘The Northmen are here.’ ‘The Stark has arrived.’ ‘Did you hear? The greybeards have joined camp.’ The whispers were unavoidable as Visenya broke her morning fast. She thought it rather funny that men at war gossiped all the same as their wives at home. 

As she began to braid her hair (a wartime style like her mother’s), she thought of a certain young lord who had taken up a pressing residence in her mind. 

She worried that the kiss had been rash, impulsive, and ill-conceived. Perhaps I have let the fire in my blood get the better of me, she fretted.

Visenya carried a great weight on her shoulders. Her mother was relying on her to be successful on campaign, while her father was off gallivanting heedlessly. It was of the utmost importance that these Riverlanders respect her authority as commander and be brought to heel. Not an easy feat as a woman. I cannot afford to give even a single reason for doubt in my capability. 

It was these worries that had caused her to rebuff all attempts Benjicot Blackwood had made at flirtation since the kiss. He had tried to tease her, or goad her, or even on one fateful attempt last night: find her alone again. Like the day at Lydden, he had approached as she landed after scouting on Vermithor. She had said immediately, before she could change her mind, ‘After one does battle, they can retain a sort of thrill-seeking madness to expend the remainder of their blood-letting energy. It is common enough, but regrettable. My sole focus at this time is on securing my mother’s throne. I can consider nothing else.’ She did not meet his eyes as she spoke, looking instead over his shoulder before forcing herself to walk steadfastly away, and ignoring the flash of hurt writ across his face. 

It pained her, as she recalled the morning after, her braid now finished. She could still feel the ghost of him on her lips. Warm and yearning. 

We must all make sacrifices in war, she assured herself. Visenya II took a deep breath, steeled her shoulders, and stepped out of her tent to find her place among the war council. 

As the morning’s gossip foretold, a new broad figure stood at the table. Cregan Stark was a large man, an impression made only larger by the cloak of furs clasped round his shoulders. The familiar lords bowed, but surprisingly, the Northerner chose instead to drop to a knee before her. Lord Stark took her hand and kissed the back of it, declaring in a low voice “It is an honor, your highness.”

Visenya did her best to mask her amusement, though her eyes did widen at the display. 

“Lord Stark, so glad you could join us,” she responded, to some chuckles from the other council members. She looked around the table and caught Ben’s eye. His expression was dark, his usual grin now morphed into something more like a sneer. She looked away quickly and began the day’s deliberations. 

—

Near midday, the council adjourned momentarily to see to matters within their banners. Visenya used the time to discern the state of the troops, observing carefully to ensure standards were being met. 

Since the victory, certain soldiers had taken it upon themselves to establish a training field. Knights from differing regions clashed steel against steel, trying their skills against one another. She observed the sparring, face impassive. It seemed silly to waste such energy, the war is only beginning, she thought. 

“Does the fighting not please you my lady?” Ben’s taunting voice rang out nearby. 

His face held the promise of mischief. She was immediately wary, raising her signature unimpressed brow. He took a moment, almost seeming to check that all the gathered were listening, before he stook a step out into the yard and said,

“Well of course, a princess is not trained in such matters, not when you have a dragon to fight in your stead.” He gestured jauntily about like he had made a great joke. 

The whole camp stuttered to a standstill. Utter silence across the plain.

How. Dare. You. 

Visenya’s blood turned to ice in her veins, cold hard rage bottoming out her senses. Her face must’ve done something terrifying because every man in the near vicinity took a few steps back. 

And the scoundrel still just grinned his lopsided grin. 

You’ll pay for that Blackwood, she swore in her mind. 

“Is that so?” she asked, voice sharp and quiet like a shard of glass. She stalked slowly to the other edge of the training yard across from him, her steps measured and predatory. The knights gathered there scrambled back, dragging their equipment hastily. 

Back still turned to him, Visenya looked out upon the troops but did not see them. Only red. With nought a thought for the propriety of the situation, he seems to have that effect quite often doesn’t he, she reached to her back and unsheathed the two blades holstered there. 

Then finally, with a Valyrian shortsword in each hand, she turned and looked the Blackwood in the eye.

“To first blood then?” she asked, tone as mild as if she was asking about the weather. 

“To first blood,” he confirmed, eyes gleaming. And he attacked.

He was an explosion given form. A savage whirl of motion and violence, seemingly without end and tireless. It was a hacking, slashing, sort of style— unpredictable, but not so crass as to be reckless. The movements had a deceptive sort of tightness to them: where it appeared at a glance that such rabid fervor might leave his flanks open; he was guarded and compact. 

All this, Visenya gleaned as she danced circles round his brutal strikes. She parried and sidestepped, studying his every movement like a cat might watch a bird. He was a force, made for chaos and to mow down men in great swathes. But she was finely tuned, a crafted blade made for precision. 

He was good, that much was sure. But Father is better. 

She waited until his left foot turned out slightly, as she had noticed it did when he lunged two handedly, and with a swift precise kick she knocked him flat on his back. Between one blink and the next, she had a boot on his chest and her two blades crossed at his throat. 

There was a moment of utter silence again. Before the camp began their raucous applause. The men were shouting her name, her house words, roaring their approval, but she had eyes only for one. 

Ben, his head in the dirt, smiled. A real, genuine, one, not a sneer or smirk. She did her best to remain stoic even as she felt her own smugness tug at her lips. She picked her boot off his chest and pulled her swords from their position, transferring them into one hand so she might offer the other to him. 

He took it, and did not let go as he stood up. Instead, he raised it to his lips and bowed, his dark searing gaze never leaving hers as he, slowly, imploringly, kissed the back of her hand. 

Seven hells. Visenya suppressed a shiver. She could not tell whether she was still angry or wanted to laugh. She forced herself to recover quickly.

“You have a boot-print on your shirt, my lord,” she teased. Then she promptly turned around and looked at the gathered spectators to call,

“Since the situation has arisen, is there any other who would challenge a duel?” She turned in a circle, watching some soldiers jostle each other forward and others shy away. 

“Good Ser Tully,” she addressed, “perhaps a knight can make a better showing on behalf of the Riverlands.” 

The knight laughed humbly and stepped forward, “I can certainly try my lady.”

—

Visenya sparred with four men, challengers each from different houses. She remained for the better part of the day, offering advice, comparing strategy, and watching other matches. As the sun fell low in the sky, the group finally dispersed. As she made her way back to her tent, she felt a familiar presence step into stride with her. She did not look at Ben as she asked,

“Are you so troubled that you must resort to insulting me the moment another man dares to exist in my presence?”

“No, my lady” he protested, trying to make light of the situation, though he did appear slightly chastened. “Twas simply a ruse so that I might kiss you. I thought you might find it amusing.”

“Amusing? Amusing that you have so loudly begun a pissing contest with the Warden of the North?” she questioned incredulously, temper rising again. She stopped walking and turned to face him. 

Men, she thought angrily, never consider the consequences of their impulses. She felt all her worries about being respected arise within her like a great wave.

“I—” he began, but was swiftly cut off. 

“I will remind you Lord Blackwood, that my mother the Queen has final jurisdiction in the matter of my hand. And she has not yet even heard word of your proposal let alone deigned to consider it,” Visenya bit out, anger giving way to something more like distress. 

She heaved a shaky breath and took a moment to collect herself. He looked thoroughly chastened now. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled her stoicism about her again, declaring,

“Should you presume to mock me publicly again, Raventree Hall will find it has urgent need for its liege Lord to return from his time abroad.”

With that, she turned to stomp away but was halted by a firm hand at her wrist. Turning viciously, she began, “You dare—” 

“Did you speak truly?” Ben asked, voice uncharacteristically timid. “That you regret it?”

She was stricken into silence. He has a habit of surprising me, doesn’t he? Emotions warred within her, crashing against one another like the Narrow Sea. But thinking about his smile today, with her blade to his throat, she could not find it within herself to lie. So she simply shook her head no. 

The Blackwood let a breath out through his nose, like he had been holding it, and pressed a quick hand to her face. His thumb flitted over her cheek once, an echo of his roaming pulling hands. For the briefest of moments, Visenya allowed herself to close her eyes and press her face into his palm. 

“My mother is depending on me,” she whispered, a confession she did not intend to let escape. “I cannot fail her.” 

“I understand,” he replied simply, voice also hushed. 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. A long tender beat. Two. 

When he pulled away, the look in Benjicot Blackwood’s eyes was something close to grim determination. He backed away and strode into the night, cloaked in purpose.

—

A/N: okay so turns out that was just some random blackwood but we are going to ignore that and continue in the delusion bc its fun

[benjinotes]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 - chapter I

previous -> next

(daella targaryen x benjicot blackwood)

don’t translate.

The sound of music mixed with loud laughter reached Benjicot's ears, but he seemed strangely annoyed with his surroundings.

Seated at one of the wooden tables in the main hall of his family's small fortress, he observed the reinforcements with a distant gaze, too bored to even hear the conversation of his friends and guests around him.

The torches along the walls were the only thing that illuminated those cold, dark walls, and strangely enough, the extreme intensity of the fire that surrounded them was the only thing that kept him in a better mood. With his index finger, Benjicot began to trace some patterns on the dark wooden table with his fingers, trying to ignore the sound that was in the place and instead listen to the storm that was outside.

He knew what that rain meant; the gods were angry, and deep down, he wanted to know who was stupid enough to anger them in such a way.

When he was still a little boy, Benjicot used to hear his mother tell him that every time a young soul dies, heaven weeps and welcomes him with open arms, and for a long time, he wanted to believe it. However, he ended up adopting the more rational version that his faith allowed him to have and that his father taught him: divine things don't cry, divine things punish.

The first mortal blow he dealt someone was also on a rainy day like this. He was still able to remember the raindrops that ran down his fingers, mixed with the blood of the first man he had killed, and how the sky seemed to thunder when he delivered the first blow to the enemy soldier's stomach. It was sickening; he knew that, but for some reason, he enjoyed the feeling of the gods' punishment mixed with the blood he himself had spilled. He was a hypocrite.

Benjicot was not stupid; he knew that many people were afraid of him. After all, there were rumors that he was a bloodthirsty psychopath and countless other slanders that he refused to listen to. But honestly, he didn't care about any of that. The battlefield was the only place where he truly felt himself. The chaos and danger, the clash of steel, and the screams of the dying—all of it made him feel strangely exultant. It was ironic, almost paradoxical, that the thing that made him feel most alive was being so intimately familiar with death.

But the guilt never consumed him, because he always knew he was fighting for the right side.

"Are the rumors true?" One of his friends suddenly asked, causing Benji to quickly look up questioningly, waiting for him to continue. "Rumor has it that you are going to marry Princess Daella Velaryon, the daughter of the rightful queen." The black-skinned man, Helion, spoke in a whisper as he watched the conversation at the table gradually die down to eavesdrop on the small interaction.

At the sudden question, Benjicot licked the inside of his cheek in a brusque manner and slammed his fist on the dark wooden table, causing some of his companions to jump at the sudden noise. He could have sworn that his aunt was giving him a scolding look at that moment, but honestly, he had already lost all the good humor he had, and dealing with Alysanne's "lectures" at that moment wasn't going to help anything.

The truth was, he wasn't upset by the question, but rather by the lack of answers he had to offer. The raven had left two days ago; however, the answer had not yet returned to Blackwood Fortress, which made him anxious and irritated about the possibilities he was not sure he possessed.

Of course, he knew that what he had asked the queen was too much. Someone like him didn't deserve to marry Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, and he knew he was at least crazy enough to make such a request to the queen. However, the possibility of angering the Brackens with someone from royalty made him ecstatic and almost satisfied, and he knew he had to take the risk before someone else did.

"I still don't know." He replied sincerely, leaning back a little and resting his arm on the back of the chair next to him. "My father sent the proposal to the queen two days ago, but unfortunately, we still haven't received a response." angry, and the table erupted in laughter that almost made him hit the table again, if someone hadn't interrupted him first.

"Are you angry because the queen didn't answer you in two days?" One of his table companions laughed loudly, and Benjicot grimaced when he saw wine run down the man's beard. "Do you really think that with the coming war she has time for that?" The man asked mockingly, and Benji had to control himself not to rub his face on the stone floor.

"Besides, the journey to Dragonstone is considerably long." One of the other men said this as he massaged his full belly, and Benji sighed in defeat as he realized that the man was probably right.

He hated it when old men were correct.

"But let me ask you something, is she pretty?" A man asked curiously, and the lord's son gradually became irritated by the question, especially when he saw the other men at the table leaning forward waiting for an answer, an answer he didn't have.

Benjicot had heard rumors of the beauty of Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, but although he felt inclined to believe it, part of him didn't want to. After all, he didn't like most of the rumors that the winds whispered about him, so he didn't want to believe them. the ones they made about his possible future wife, even if they were good.

Furthermore, he was almost certain that she was beautiful; after all, according to his logic, all princesses were beautiful, all dragons were scary, and all Brackens were idiots. He trusted this assessment almost completely.

"Of course she's beautiful, you idiot! She's a princess!" replied Helion loudly while wiping the grease from his fingers on his clothes, making Benji laugh loudly at the man's inappropriate behavior. One of the things I most appreciated about that soldier was the fact that they both always shared the same opinion.

With the insult hurled, the other man began shouting obscenities in response, triggering a loud and chaotic exchange of insults across the table and causing the rest of the men in the room to whistle and enjoy the fight. Benjicot, in turn, gave a short laugh before turning to the table where his father and uncles were sitting, furrowing his eyebrows when he saw one of the fortress servants handing an envelope into his father's hands.

He frowned when he saw his father smile as he opened the letter, and for some reason, his heart seemed to beat faster, which made him lean on the wooden chair and debate whether he should go to his family table.

However, before Benji even had time to react, Samwell Blackwood stood up and slammed his hand on the table so hard that his wrist turned red, and in an instant, the noisy room assumed an unusual silence.

Everyone had their heads held high as they watched the lord with the letter in his hand, and when his smile widened, whispers were heard around the hall. "I have great news!" The lord spoke loudly, raising a glass of wine in his hand, and Benjicot could see his aunt from afar, trying to hide a smile. "My son, Benjicot Blackwood, is now betrothed to Princess Daella Velaryon of House Targryen!" The man shouted, and the room erupted in applause.

The lord's son could feel the pat that the other men were giving him on the back; however, he didn't care about the pain or the congratulations that came his way; his head was blank, and he could hardly believe that he was engaged—even more engaged to a princess. He was sure he was going to vomit at any moment, and the pats on his upper back were indicating that he should do so.

"And!" Samwell shouted once more, and the hall fell silent as they waited for further news. "Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen has requested our presence in two weeks!" The lord celebrated, and once again, the hall exploded with screams and whistles.

This time, Benjicot found himself swept up in the moment, though whether his scream was out of excitement or nervousness, he couldn't quite tell.

𝟓 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞. 📍

The comforting warmth of the hot water in the bathtub enveloped Daella's body like a warm hug, while the soft light from the candles in the room delicately illuminated her face, where tears glistened and her cheeks displayed a subtle blush, yet she remained there, immersed in the quietness of the place, and stuck in her thoughts as she fought not to start sobbing.

Even though five days had passed since the raven brought the news, Lucery's death still haunted her. She could barely find an appetite or sleep, and she was almost certain that this bath was the first one she had taken since receiving that news, and she was only taking it because she was forced by Baela to do so.

She could feel her cousin's slender fingers through her hair, giving her a massage that almost made her feel comfortable enough to let some of the sobs that were stuck in her throat escape, but nevertheless she decided to remain silent, having no energy for another breakdown.

Many of the candles that had previously illuminated the space were now extinguished, leaving the place gradually enveloped in shadows. With each passing minute, the room seemed to sink a little more into darkness, creating a heavy and unsettling atmosphere. This caused Daella to make a sudden movement forward, as if trying to escape the darkness that was thickening around her. The sudden gesture immediately captured her cousin's attention, who watched her with a look of deep questioning in her eyes.

"What's wrong? Have I hurt you?" Baela inquired worriedly, picking up a sponge she had beside her stool, concern still visible on her beautiful face. "Cousin?" The girl called her, concerned; yet, Daella only sighed and gently returned to her area in the water.

"I'm sorry, I'm just..." Daella began, but the words caught in her throat, causing her to bite her lip before she began to speak. "Do you think it was dark when Luke died?" She asked suddenly, and the other girl gave a sad sigh, the concern from earlier turning into understanding, but before she could even respond, Daella placed her chin on her knees and began to speak.

"He didn't like the dark." She began, and Baela could hear the tree in her cousin's voice, and she quickly got up from her stool to sit on the floor next to the bathtub, ignoring the water there. "Luke was afraid of the dark; I don't want to think about the fact that he could have died in the dark, alone and scared." The princess admitted it, and Baela gave a shaky sigh as she placed a comforting hand on her bare shoulder.

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have brought that up." Daella spoke in a sigh, and this time she could help but let out a strangled sob, which made her cousin move even closer to her.

"You don't have to apologize to me, cousin." Baela began, her voice bringing some comfort to the Velaryon girl, who looked at her with red eyes. "You're grieving." She finished softly, and the Velaryon gave a dry laugh.

"You're grieving too." Daella replied, her voice unexpectedly harsh, and cursed herself immediately for the unintended edge in her tone. Surprisingly, the other girl seemed unfazed by it.

"Yes, I am." Baela admitted, biting the inside of her cheek hard and ignoring the almost regretful look the other girl was throwing her way. "But not as much as you; after all, it was your brother, and I can't even imagine the state I would be in if Rhaena died." She admitted it, and the other girl looked at her gratefully.

"But you can be sure of one thing." She spoke in a joking tone, which made Daella look at her with an eyebrow. "I would at least take a shower." She finished and laughed loudly when she saw the face Daella was making.

"You are so funny." The Velaryon said sarcastically as she threw a few drops of water in the face of Baela, who was trying to keep the composter while moving back to the bench amidst laughter, and the princess couldn't help but smile when she heard the outrageous laughter.

"I know, I know, I'm hilarious, but now seriously, let's wash you!" Baela managed to say it through laughter while squeezing out a mouthful of foam from the sponge.

"Why are you the one washing me, and not one of the maids?" Velaryon inquired curiously, and her cousin arched an eyebrow.

"Because they obeyed you when you said no, and also because you wouldn't come if you weren't dragged." Baela said, however, that her voice didn't have any hint of joke or mockery; she was genuinely worried for the simple fact that Daella was in such bad shape that she didn't have the strength to do basic things like that. "And besides, your fiancé arrives here in 2 days." Baela spoke in an obvious tone, and Daella turned around in a sharp tone, wetting the other girl once again.

That really caught her attention, and she couldn't help but bite her lip in nervousness upon hearing those words. Her betrothed, a man she had never seen in her life, was coming for a visit, and she didn't know what to do.

Daella wasn't stupid, she knew the rumors that were circulating about her future husband, and as much as she wanted to admit it, she felt a little afraid of him, for others he was a bloodthirsty idiot who only felt good in the world. battlefield, it was dirty and rough and noisy, and even though she wasn't a big fan of rumors, she couldn't stop questioning whether it was actually true.

Deep down, a part of her screamed that if it were true, her mother had never accepted the proposal, and whether she wanted to or not, she was holding on to the hope that this was real.

"That was actually the same reaction I had when I found out you were getting married." Baela tried to calm the situation, gently taking the other girl's arm to wash it. "Wait until Jace discovers this fact too!" She giggled, and the Velaryon girl wrinkled her nose as she imagined the mockery she would suffer from her twin brother.

Lucerys would probably mock her too if he were there.

"In two days?! No one had told me he was even coming!" Daella sighed loudly.

"I just know he's coming because I heard my father talking to our grandmother." Baela said softly as she rinsed her cousin's hair. "I don't even know if I was supposed to know that."

"But the queen isn't here; how can he come and talk about business if my mother left a few days ago and hasn't returned yet?" Daella questioned. She knew Rhaenyra needed time alone, but she couldn't help but worry about the hours her mother had already spent outside Dragonstone.

"Well, I guess that's not a problem anymore." Baela whispered under her breath, her ears catching Syrax's distant roar echoing outside the fortress. Hastily, she scrambled to fetch a towel, handing it over to the other girl who was now craning her neck to peer through the small window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the capricious dragon.

A sudden knock on the door made both girls startle, but their tension dissolved as they recognized Rhaena's familiar voice. She entered, carrying clothes in her arms and scanning the room for her sister and cousin.

"Come on."She urged gently. "The queen is probably waiting for us."

wattpad link.

english is not my first language, so pls be understanding.

tags: @marytvirgin @aelora-a @maidr-00

[temporarily-your-saint]

Dull Blades

benjicot blackwood & targaryen oc

UPDATED! First chunk of this just? Disappeared??? So, edited it to include the missing first part!

warnings: angst?? no warnings, really? fluff & drabble for now & soft ben ~

I got this idea for a drabble from S2 of GOT when Catelyn Stark finds her son in disarray after hearing of his father. After watching the last couple episodes of HOTD (and reading Fire and Blood recently), it’s hard not to think about all of the heartbreak between the two sides. This little drabble follows an OC I’m creating, Rhaenala, having a moment to really feel and let out her frustration and sadness. She wanders off to the woods on her own once settling into the Riverlands only to then be discovered by a certain Blackwood. Also, I know, I know, okay! I know our boy didn’t turn out to be our boy, BUT LET ME COPE, OKAY. : ‘ )

Also, part 1??? Thinking about making a second part to this…

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Swing after swing the blade got duller and even more damaged. The log had had it. She couldn’t help it though. Everything was falling apart as she knew it. Her house, her family, everything. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

Her breath heaved as she swung her sword. In the distance, she could hear footsteps brushing along the grass and leather moving against each other as a voice called out.

She wiped her eyes, removing all evidence of frustrated tears.

“Hey!” She heard the voice as it got closer. It was a husky voice, perhaps a young lad.

“Hey! Princess!” Lilac eyes snapped up to meet the unknown voice. Her chest rose up and down quickly as she leaned over to rest. Who was this? This lanky, dark-haired man? Rhaelana was stunned by his boldness yet captivated.

Piercing familiar eyes met hers. “We need that sword, Princess. We need every sword necessary to end every life that defends the usurper. And…” he trailed off, his eyes scanning the blade in her hands. “You’re letting that one go to waste,” he finished his sentence softly as he slowly approached closer.

Blackwood. Benjicot Blackwood.

She remembered now. Head of House Blackwood. How could she be so dense?

The princess was sent by her mother to aid their allies with the battle against the Lannister army. Benjicot had sent ravens to the queen not long before asking for aid, so Rhaelana was drafted with Valax, her grown dragon with black onyx scales. The two were a formidable pair and more than capable of assisting their Riverland allies.

Her mouth parted with a bewildered cackle, laughing uncontrollably out loud. She couldn’t help it. This truly was a sightly scene for the young lord to find his princess, wasn’t it?

She sheathed the sword as she stood upright. “My apologies, my lord. I shall be more mindful,” her voice quivered on the last word, almost making her lose her composure. He could see that, of course. It wasn’t difficult to see that she was hurting, being torn apart in every direction. Most of all, she was grieving. Grieving for those that were already lost. Grieving for those that would welcome death soon enough. And what better way to let go than by hitting something? Oh, Benjicot knew that feeling all too well.

“Princess?” He continued to walk towards her, stepping slowly only inches apart now as they stood in front of each other.

“I should be going now. There’s people expecting me and—“ But as she began to step past him, an arm reached out, hand wrapping itself around her wrist.

“I wept,” he began to speak, answering the puzzled look on the princess’s face. “The first time I lay eyes on all the bodies. It was my first time on a battlefield and afterward I felt nothing but sorrow.” His words hung heavy in the air. “War is war, princess. And with family? I dare not imagine. But you have us. You have me,” he spoke softly while searching her eyes.

The young lord realized he still held her wrist and released her, snapping the princess harshly back into reality as he let her go.

“Benjicot Blackwood,” she spoke his name sternly. The young man straightened up, gaze never faltering hers.

“Thank you. I hope to see you at the meeting,” a hopeful gleam shined in her eyes as she spoke. Her body then glided past him, her shoulder brushing his arm as she passed.

The current state of her family was doomed. But her mother’s rightful place on the throne didn’t have to be. No, she was going to fight. She was going to fight with any and every weapon possible, dull or not.

A smile danced at the corner of the young lord’s lips as she passed by. His head bowed for a moment as he responded, “Of course, princess.”

Her figure walked away from him, towards the direction of camp. If there was one thing for certain, Ben knew they’d succeed with the princess at their aid. He recognized the look in her eyes all too well. The princess was proving to be all the more captivating than he could have hoped.

[viperixsworld]

Born to die

━━Benjicot Blackwood x oc

Prologue.

Year 126 A.C

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Lucrezcia was never fond of the Seven God's.

Perhaps it was due to her aversion to the septa, perhaps the seven gods seemed cruel to her, with their expectations of purity and penance. Maybe the gods didn't like her either.

There were few occasions when she had to go to the Sept for liturgy on special days. This was one of many. Maiden's Day, a day on which maidens of noble houses are required to go to the sept to light tall white candles at the Maiden's feet and hang parchment garlands about her neck and sing songs of innocence.

Prostitutes, widows, and men are barred from the sept. So were mothers, but Vala Harlaw was absent these day and all the following.

Lucrezcia thought of her mother at least once a day, where she would be, would she still be alive, perhaps she was happier now. These thoughts clouded the young woman's mind as she entered the small sept of the Arbor.

Vala had disappeared from the face of the earth, in the morning she was there, and in the afternoon she was gone.

But that was three long years ago, and Lucrezcia, still a maiden, was no longer a child.

A little tug on the sleeves of her gown brought her back to reality. Looking down, he found a pile of reddish swirls, covered by a tiara topped with a veil. Large, bright green eyes watched her intently, waiting for her to take the first step into the building.

Patricia, her younger sister, she was dressed in a small purple dressing gown, adorned with blue embroidery. It was her first Maiden's day in her four years of life, so little Patricia watched her big sister's every move with determination.

"Gals! Gals"

Septa Rowan hurried up the stairs to the sept portal with difficulty, catching her breath and fanning herself with her fat arms. As tradition dictated, young girls from noble houses were to be accompanied by their septas. Lucrezcia rolled her eyes in disdain, the old woman was like a watchful hawk, always on the lookout to correct any and all behaviour deemed inappropriate by the faith.

"What are you waiting for girls? We'll be late for the chants, come on, get a move on! "

The woman wasted no time in snatching little Patricia from Lucrezcia's skirts to hurry her towards the sept. The older girl lagged behind, still in front of the flower-decorated doors of the Sept.

Her mother was not one of the gods, either; she was an ironborn. Her god was the God of the Drowned, as much as her former husband would resent it.

Luther Redwyne was a man of the Seven, who condemned the ways of the mother of his daughters.

Vala, shorn of her faith, found ways to rebel against her husband's impositions. Small acts of rebellion, which had been engraved in her daughter's mind. Such as, spitting at the gates of the Sept, then stepping on his saliva on the ground.

"Lucrezcia, child, come in at once".

She scowled at the Septa, and when the old woman was out of sight, the girl spat on the stone floor and stepped on it. Then she entered the room, where the smell of smoke and incense burned her nostrils.

She was not fond of the gods, and some part of her gut told her it was mutual.

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Luther Redwyne was a tall man, who in years gone by had been a gallant man. His hair was already grey when her first daughter, Livia, was born. Now, the lord of the Arbor sported whitish hair, revealing traces of what had once been dark hair.

His clean face, now covered with light wrinkles, appeared at the dinner table in the chamber surrounded by his three other daughters.

Olga, the second eldest of the sisters, devoted to the Faith of the Seven, led the prayer and blessing of the food on the table, while the servants brought more. Lucrezcia watched the family inquisitively from her seat at the table.

Her older sister, Olga, the second sister, wore Septa's clothes. She had been studying the ways of faith for several years now, and had always been the neatest and quietest of them all.

Lucrezcia liked her sister, as broken as their relationship was, but that didn't take away from the fact that she thought she was stupid.

To Lucreczia, Olga was a coward, hiding under Septa's robes out of fear. Of her father and his business. Of marriage and of being sent to a strange place. She feared the unknown.

Somewhat, she through of herself the same.

There was a reason they were sisters

But Lucrezcia wouldn't hide in ugly garments, she was smarter than that. She would fight her father, she had been doing so since she came out of her mother's womb.

"...and may the Gods bless this supper and this family"

The four of them proceed to eat, well the other three did, Lucrezcia had been chewing a piece of cheese, under the menacing gaze of Septa Rowan, who was waiting at the door.

"The Maiden's day has been prolific, I hope"

Her father's voice broke the silence.

Lucrezcia tried to hold in her laughter, as little Patricia gulped down a handful of grapes to avoid her father's inquisitive gaze.

The little girl had tried to light several candles at the same time, inadvertently setting on fire one of the offerings on the statue of the Maiden.

"It has been... interesting" said Lucrezcia.

"I hope you enjoyed it, my dear. Considering it's your last day of the Maiden.... You'll be married by the next"

Lucrezcia abruptly dropped her fork and gritted her teeth.

She and her father had a duel of glances for a few moments. He wanted to provoke her, he knew her intentions.

Third child of one of the heirless men, with the two older sisters out of sight. Lucrezcia knew that if she waited, just a few years, and her father did not remarry, she could inherit the lands and fleets.

Luther was an intimidating man, one of the richest in the Seven Kingdoms, and therefore intelligent. An intelligence that his third daughter had inherited. Her father's head and her mother's rebellious spirit.

He had been trying to engage Lucrezcia with any man who offered a good deal. But it didn't matter. Lucrezcia knew how to chase them away.

"The last suitor you introduced me to had a better chance of making it to his funeral than to the wedding. If you offer me to another one, I might help him get to the funeral".

The Lord of the Arbor sipped from his wine glass.

"Watch your words"

"Will you force me?"

"Lucrezcia!" warned his sister.

"Sister Olga" replied graciously.

"Will you ever be demure?"

"Will you ever take that stick out of your ass?"

"Enough!" exclaimed the father.

Lord Redwyne rose from the table. He looked at his daughter menacingly. Only to be answered with the same impetus. How she reminded him of Vala, the iron maiden he had been promised who was more of a headstrong and a mother than without bringing sons into the world.

"Septa Olga, took little Patricia to her bedchambers, it's late" Luther waited for his two daughters to leave the room, and gave an order to the guards "Leave us".

Lucrezcia held her breath once the dining room door closed. It was not the first sermon her father had given her since she had blossomed.

It was after her mother's disappearance.

It was she who helped Livia affirm her marriage to a small lord of the Dornish marches, despite Luther's complaints.

Vala could be brusque and stubborn, she was not affectionate or kind. She loved her daughters, all four of them, in her own way. Lucrezcia liked to think that wherever she was, she was happier than she ever was on her island.

"You and your mischief, you have overstepped my bounds" his father began, "You have cost me nine septas in four years, you almost carried them with the stranger, Gods be damned". He ran a hand over his face. "I have given you opportunities, men from nearby lands, who will give you comfort and gold"

"Maybe I don't want their gold..."

I want my own.

She wanted to scream.

"And ten suitors later..." laughed the Lord "You've tried my patience, just as your mother did".

The mere mention of her mother stirred an anger she had been holding in. So much so that she grabbed the bronze goblet containing her wine and hurled it with all her might at her lord father.

The room fell silent. Lord Luther looked down at his wine-stained doublet with a cynical smile.

"But you are not alone, I too must succumb to the politics of marriage" he confessed.

Lucrezcia gave him a wary glance.

"Are you not too old?"

Lord Redwyne massaged his temple with his fingers.

"I am not getting any younger, my child. Your mother left without giving me an heir, so I must remarry and pray to the gods for a son" He said.

"We will sail to Oldtown in three days, where we will be met by Lord Hightower and my future wife. There too, waits," he let out a giggle like a naughty child, "Several lords of the Reach who have sons and castles that I can offer you for a well-negotiated dowry".

"You'll sell me for pennies"

"I am considering it" he said approaching her "But unfortunately you are too much, no man would accept you for free".

"And if your beloved son is born without a cock?" she spat.

"Then I will have the guarantee that you would be far away".

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Lucrezcia had not travelled much in her life, her mother always regretted. Vala loved sailing and discovery, something that had been taken away from her since her marriage.

Now, she had to collect all her belongings in suitcases and chests. To leave for an unknown place, as a present to an unknown man. She angrily pulled clothes out of their wardrobes, while her little sister watched from her dressing table chair.

Her two sisters went to see her off at the dock, where she was to sail to Oldtown. Olga held little Patricia in her arms to prevent her from running towards the ship.

The little one questioned his sister about everything, as she had never left the island. Patricia wished all the best for her older sister and it was clear that she would mourn her absence.

For unlike her father, she would not be returning to the Arbor, at least not for a long time.

Olga's necklace with the seven-pointed star hanging from her neck and ash-blond curls covered by the habit.

"But father will let us visit you, won't you father?" asked little Patricia. "Once you are married, we will go to see you, Lulu"

The girl had never considered herself sensitive, let alone affectionate. It was a trait inherited from her mother. Love was not something she could train or learn, but the love she felt for her sister made her heart shrink. If it weren't for the presence of the Arbor's entire retinue, she would have chained herself to the dock with her little girl.

"Of course you will, and Olga will help you to write letters. It'll be fine"

The little redhead looked up to her holy sister, waiting for affirmation. Olga seemed a little reluctant but offered the girl an attempt at a smile. The eldest of the sisters present had not uttered a word during the entire farewell, the ship would be leaving shortly. Lucrezcia thought she could see the words trying to escape her sister's thin, closed lips.

"Take care of her" said Lucrezcia.

"Don't I do it already?" she responded.

"Just... be present" said the younger one.

Be better than what you did with me.

Olga seemed to understand. She knew she had not been responsible for her younger sisters, not since her mother left and Livia married. It was not her duty, as far as it went, so she shut herself away in her books and her studies of the faith.

Lucrezcia was aware that it was not all her fault, not entirely. She herself knew that she was a difficult person. And if she could change it, she would.

"But you can't change who you are, so that's a problem for whoever crosses your path." Her mother said to her one day when they went hunting in the island's forests.

One last hug from the little girl, and a look of understanding between the older girls, and Lucrezcia and her father left on the ship for Oldtown.

The journey was short for the girl, who spent the entire crossing on deck, enjoying the sea breeze. They arrived in Oldtown harbour at sunset, where they were greeted by Ormund Hightower's retinue.

The city was built in stone, with all its streets cobbled, which can make them wet and slippery on a damp day.Most bridges are made of stone, although some wooden bridges can be found as well.The city itself is surrounded by massive, thick, high stone walls.Oldtown is a labyrinth of wynds, crisscrossing alleys, narrow crookback streets, and markets. These include the Thieves Market and Ragpicker's Wynd.

Luther and Lucrezcia settled in the High Tower, labyrinthine square fortress of unadorned black stone at the castle's foundation contains gloomy halls, vaults, and chambers.

The girl was grateful that she was not the one who had to carry her belongings up to her temporary quarters.

From the heights of her room, she could see practically all of the Reach. Her maid, a young bravoosi named Nyssa, who would be no older than she was, helped her prepare for the day ahead.

According to what her father and Ormund Hightower had discussed at dinner in the great hall, in the morning they would have lunch with her father's prospective new wife, Lord Tarly's daughter.

Later they would take a carriage to Honeyholt, the seat of House Beesbury in the Reach. It was situated along the eastern bank of the Honeywine river between Brightwater Keep and Oldtown. There, they would meet the long list of suitors that traveled from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms to try to marry her off.

As if.

"He expects me to believe that a bunch of men have travelled all the way to the ass end of the continent to marry a third daughter" she complained.

"Your father is one of the richest men in all of Westeros, my lady" Nyssa said in her clear accent. "I would travel as far as it took".

The dowry must have been very good then.

She wished Nyssa good night, but did not sleep until after the hour of the wolf. She felt like a fool; she had never been interested in romance, let alone expected a love match.

But in the loneliest hour, Lucrezcia hoped that her future husband (whom she would most likely meet tomorrow) would be a man who would respect and love her as she had only read about in books.