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oceandolores · 5 months ago

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ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 | chapter I

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

"in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."

summary: In the grandeur of ancient Rome, you are the secret daughter of Commodus, living a quiet life as a servant in the imperial palace. Everything changes when you meet General Marcus Acacius, Rome’s honorable and stoic leader.

Though devoted to duty and loyalty to the princess, Marcus is drawn to you in a way he cannot ignore. A forbidden passion ignites between you both, and an affair begins—one that threatens the very foundation of loyalty, power, and honor. As you fall deeper into your dangerous love for Marcus, each stolen moment becomes a fragile, dangerous secret.

warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Loss of virginity, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story

Chapter I

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next | chapter II

The palace is alive with preparation, a beast of marble and gold that never rests. Its veins are the labyrinthine halls, pulsing with servants like you, carrying trays of delicacies, wreaths of flowers, and jugs of wine.

Its heart beats to the rhythm of whispered orders, clinking metal, and the distant echo of the marketplace beyond its gates. Tonight, the beast awakens for another feast.

You adjust the folds of your simple tunic, careful not to brush against the elaborate tapestries that line the walls. Each thread tells a story of conquest, glory, and power—legends you’ve only heard murmured by those old enough to remember.

You are not part of those tales, nor their lineage. You are a servant, a shadow cast by the towering figures who walk these halls.

The kitchen is a tempest. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet figs. Claudia, the head cook, barks orders, her voice slicing through the chaos like the edge of a Roman gladius.

You pass her with a nod, your arms laden with trays of fruit—gleaming apples, plump grapes, the kind of bounty the common people outside these walls could only dream of.

Livia catches your eye from across the room. Her presence is a steady anchor in the storm, her face worn but kind.

“Have you checked the wine?” she asks, her tone soft but urgent.

You nod. “It’s ready, Mother,” you reply, the word slipping out as naturally as breath.

She is not your mother—you know this much—but she is all you have.

The story of how you came to be here is one you’ve heard countless times: a baby abandoned at the servants' chamber door, cradled in a basket of woven reeds, with nothing to mark your origin save for a scrap of fine cloth that no one in your station would dare to own.

Livia found you there, swaddled in whispers of mystery, and against all odds, she chose to keep you.

Raised among the laboring hands of the palace, you were given no privilege beyond survival and no legacy but that of work.

The great marble halls and gilded frescoes became your entire world, a place as eternal and unmoving as the gods themselves—or so it seemed.

The servants’ quarters where you lived were nestled in the hidden bowels of the palace, far from the glittering feasts and marble statues.

You learned to scrub floors and pour wine long before you understood the language of wealth and power that filled these walls.

Your life had been carved out in the shadows, molded by the soft voices and calloused hands of those who raised you.

Today, like every other, begins in service to Rome's ever-churning hunger for spectacle.

The air hums with anticipation, thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the stench of poverty that lingers just beyond the palace gates.

“Are the platters for the atrium ready?” Livia’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“They are,” you reply, glancing at the polished silver laden with grapes and apples, their skins shining like jewels under the torchlight.

“Good.” Livia’s sharp eyes soften, though her expression remains tense. “Take the fruit out yourself. And stay close to the kitchen. Today will bring trouble, I feel it.”

You nod, understanding the weight of her instincts. Years of serving in the palace have taught her to sense the storm before it strikes.

As you lift the platters, Claudia, calls over her daughter, Alexandra.

“Go with her,” Claudia orders, waving a ladle for emphasis.

Alexandra groans dramatically but obeys, rolling her eyes as she grabs one of the platters.

“She can’t let me rest for a moment,” she mutters, her tone more amused than annoyed.

You chuckle softly. Alexandra has always been like this—bold where you are cautious, quick to speak where you stay silent.

She is your only true companion here, older by four years and infinitely more daring.

As you and Alexandra arrange the fruits on a grand table in the atrium, she leans closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The Princess will be here tonight.”

You nod absently, focused on ensuring the grapes cascade just so. “Of course, she will. She is the Princess after all.”

“No, I mean, I haven’t seen her in years,” Alexandra continues, ignoring your tone. “Not since I was a kid. That was ten years ago. You know she moved out of the palace after marrying the general.”

You don’t reply immediately, your hands steady as you arrange the fruit. Alexandra has always loved to gossip, but you prefer to keep your thoughts unspoken.

“Can you believe it’s been ten years, and she hasn’t had a child? Not one with him,” Alexandra muses.

“Maybe it’s their choice,” you say quietly. “It’s not our place to wonder.”

Alexandra scoffs lightly. “I’m just saying, after her son—what was his name? Lucius?—after he was taken and killed by her brother, Commodus…” She trails off, her voice tinged with something between pity and fascination.

You remember Lucius vaguely, a boy with a quiet demeanor and a sad smile.

You were too young then to understand the weight of his loss, but the servants whispered of curses and tragedies surrounding the imperial family.

“It’s not good to talk about the great emperors like that,” you murmur, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Before Alexandra can reply, the sound of heavy boots echoes through the atrium.

The guards step forward, their polished armor glinting in the firelight. “Make way for their majesties,” one announces, his voice carrying over the growing murmur of the guests.

You and Alexandra immediately bow your heads, the platters forgotten as the twin emperors enter the room.

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla are a study in contrasts.

Geta, an imposing figure, commands the space with a cold and calculating gaze. His every step seems deliberate, as if the weight of the empire rests on his shoulders alone.

Caracalla, by contrast, walks with an erratic energy, his pet monkey perched on his shoulder. Dondus, the creature’s name, chatters and hisses, a mirror of its master’s unpredictable moods.

You feel the weight of their gazes as they sweep the room. Geta’s lips curl into a smile—or is it a smirk?—as his eyes linger on Alexandra.

There have been whispers, rumors of an affair, though Alexandra denies them with a laugh.

Caracalla’s gaze lands on you, and for a moment, his expression softens. Unlike his brother, he has always been strange but oddly kind to you.

When you were a child, he would find you in the halls, offering you small trinkets or asking you to keep him company.

“Your Majesties,” Alexandra says again, her voice like honeyed wine, sweet but strong.

She curtsies with practiced ease, her eyes cast downward, yet her boldness hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

You follow her lead, bowing deeply, but your heart pounds in your chest like the war drums of a distant legion. In the presence of the emperors, the room feels smaller, the air heavier.

To serve Rome, you think, is to breathe in the will of its rulers, no matter how suffocating.

Geta's gaze lingers on Alexandra, traveling from her head to her feet, as though she were a statue he might commission or a possession he already owns.

His smirk deepens, the corner of his mouth curving with an indulgence that unsettles you.

“Alexandra,” he drawls, his voice smooth as polished bronze. “Why do I find the table half-dressed? Are my guests to dine on the promise of fruit alone?”

You glance at the platters, perfectly arranged but not yet fully adorned with the remaining dishes. Your pulse quickens; you know the punishment for displeasing the emperors can be swift, unpredictable.

But Alexandra, bold as always, doesn’t flinch.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” she says, her tone measured yet edged with defiance. “The final trays are being brought out as we speak. The delay was unforeseen.”

Geta arches a brow, his smirk turning sharper, more dangerous. “Unforeseen,” he repeats, as though savoring the word.

“I wonder, Alexandra, if you’ve grown too accustomed to... distractions.”

You know the meaning behind his words. Everyone does.

The whispered rumors of their affair swirl through the palace like incense smoke, clinging to every corner.

Her mother Claudia knows, though she turns a blind eye, perhaps thinking it wiser not to provoke the wrath of an emperor.

Beside him, Caracalla shifts, uninterested in the exchange. His pet monkey, Dondus, chitters softly on his shoulder, its small, beady eyes scanning the room.

Caracalla’s gaze falls on you briefly, but it is not unkind. He has always been more erratic than cruel with you, there is a peculiar understanding in his glances—a shared knowledge of solitude.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” you say suddenly, your voice trembling like a bird caught in a net. The words tumble out before you can stop them, and the weight of the room shifts.

Geta’s eyes snap to you, sharp as a blade. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake.

But then he laughs—a low, indulgent sound that sends shivers down your spine.

“Ah,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “The little dove finds her voice. How curious.”

You stiffen under his gaze, your knees threatening to buckle. It feels as though he is peeling back your very skin, seeking something hidden beneath.

“You’re the youngest servant here, aren’t you?” Geta muses, his tone light but with an edge that cuts.

“A curious creature, so quiet and unassuming. And yet…” He trails off, his eyes narrowing, as if piecing together a puzzle.

The weight of unspoken rumors presses against your chest.

The whispers about your lineage, the murmurs that you are more than a servant—that you are the illegitimate daughter of Commodus himself, a shadow of Rome’s bloody past.

You’ve heard them before, though never directly. Livia, your steadfast mother in all but blood, dismisses them as lies, the gossip of bored tongues.

But in moments like this, when Geta’s piercing gaze locks onto yours, it feels as though the marble walls around you whisper secrets only they can hold.

Secrets of your origin, of what blood may or may not flow through your veins, encased in the silent austerity of Rome’s cold embrace. You feel the weight of it, a shroud both invisible and suffocating.

Geta doesn’t believe the rumors entirely, but he cannot ignore them either. To him, you are a thorn he cannot pluck without proof.

If the whispers are true, if you are indeed the hidden scion of Commodus and the only living grandchild of Marcus Aurelius, you would be a danger to his rule.

Rome, after all, has loved its Aurelius lineage fiercely.

The plebeians would rally to your name like vines twisting toward sunlight.

Still, no woman has ever ruled Rome.

The Senate, the soldiers, and the gods themselves would balk at such a notion. But Geta knows that power is not always rooted in precedent—it is rooted in the hearts of the people.

And the people would love a descendant of Marcus Aurelius far more than they could ever love him.

“You wear the palace well,” Geta says finally, his tone dripping with mockery. “A little too well, perhaps.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks but keep your gaze respectfully lowered. His words are like serpents coiling around you, their venom lying just beneath the surface.

Caracalla hums softly, breaking the tension. He strokes Dondus, the little monkey perched on his shoulder, as though soothing himself rather than the animal.

“Leave her, brother,” he mutters, his tone flat but carrying weight. “You scare the child.”

Geta casts his twin a glance, his smirk briefly faltering. With that, he straightens, clapping his hands once in finality. “Finish the table,” he commands, the sharpness of his tone slicing through the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you and Alexandra reply in unison, bowing deeply as the emperors turn and walk away.

Their robes ripple like molten gold, catching the light as though the gods themselves had woven the fabric.

The moment they are gone, you exhale shakily, the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipping from your lips.

The grandeur of the palace, so often a thing of wonder, now feels oppressive—a prison of marble and ambition.

Alexandra nudges you gently, her smile faint but reassuring. “It’s fine,” she murmurs, though the tightness in her voice betrays her unease.

You nod and return to your work, the routine motions of arranging platters grounding you once more. But the unease lingers, like a storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.

Later, after the feast preparations are complete, you retreat to the servants’ quarters. The hallways grow quieter as the palace begins to prepare for the night’s debauchery.

Your mother, Livia, finds you there, her expression tight with concern.

“Are you all right?” You nod quickly, not wanting to worry her further.

Livia’s sharp eyes search yours for a moment before she exhales heavily. “Stay away from them tonight,” she warns. “There will be soldiers, senators, politicians—men who think they own the world. And women and men from the brothels to entertain them. It will not be a place for a child like you.”

“I understand,” you say softly, though the thought of the gathering makes your skin prickle.

"Go to your chamber and stay there.” You nod, obedient as always, and Livia cups your face briefly before bustling away.

But as you walk toward your chamber, the stillness of the afternoon draws you elsewhere.

***

The sun bathes the palace gardens in a golden light, soft and warm, like an embrace from the gods themselves.

The sky is a flawless stretch of azure, and the air carries the faintest scent of blooming jasmine.

Unable to resist, you veer toward the gardens, seeking solace in their quiet beauty.

You make your way to the small pond at the edge of the grounds, where the world feels simpler, untouched by the weight of marble columns and imperial decrees.

This is your sanctuary, a place you’ve tended with your own hands.

The hedges are trimmed neatly, the flowers arranged in bursts of vibrant color—crimson roses, golden marigolds, and pale violets that seem to glow in the sunlight.

The pond reflects the sky like polished glass, its surface rippling gently in the breeze.

You settle onto the cool stone bench nearby, pulling out a small parchment and charcoal.

Writing has always been your escape, a way to make sense of the labyrinth that is your mind.

The words flow from you like water from a spring, each line capturing fragments of your thoughts and fears.

To live in the shadow of gods is to forget the warmth of the sun.

You stare at the words you’ve written, sentences about Rome and its people, the empire’s endless hunger that devours the poor while the rulers gorge themselves on the spoils.

It isn’t rebellion that drives you—at least, not yet—but a quiet, gnawing sense of wrongness.

You have lived your entire life within the confines of this palace, its gilded walls both a sanctuary and a prison.

Outside, beyond the Forum and its grand marble temples, the streets of Rome teem with despair. You’ve seen it, fleeting glimpses on the rare occasions you ventured beyond the palace gates.

Children with hollow eyes and grime-streaked faces.

Men broken by war or taxation, their shoulders bowed under invisible yokes.

Women clutching bundles of rags that you realized, with a sick lurch, were infants too still to be alive.

These thoughts weigh heavily on you as you sit by the pond, the garden’s beauty unable to shield you from the world’s harsh truths.

You lower your quill, pressing trembling fingers to your lips, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you sharply from your thoughts.

You stiffen, the air in your lungs turning to stone. It isn’t one of the servants; their steps are lighter, quicker.

This tread is deliberate, measured, carrying a weight of authority. When you glance up, your breath catches.

The man before you is not adorned with the opulence of the Senate nor the ostentatious silk of the emperors.

You know who he is. How could you not?

General Marcus Acacius.

Rome’s shield and sword, the hero of distant campaigns whose name is whispered with both reverence and fear.

You have never seen him in the flesh, for he seldom resides in the palace, choosing instead to live with Princess Lucilla far from its labyrinth of intrigue.

But his likeness is everywhere: etched in marble statues, painted in frescoes, immortalized as Rome’s protector.

Yet, here he stands, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if the gods themselves have sent him.

The crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders glints faintly in the golden light, its hem embroidered with intricate patterns that seem to tell the story of the empire’s conquests.

His tunic, simple yet stately, is cinched with a polished belt, a gleaming buckle bearing the proud insignia of the wolf of Rome.

Unlike the ornamental decadence of the Senate or the twin emperors, his attire speaks of purpose and practicality—beauty tempered by utility.

And his face—by Jupiter, his beautiful face.

It is a map of victories and sacrifices, weathered yet noble. The lines carved by years of sun and battle only enhance the sharpness of his features, as if the gods had personally molded him for their own designs.

His hair, dark and streaked with silver like the gleam of moonlight on a blade, curls faintly at his temples.

His beard, neatly trimmed, frames a mouth set in the hard line of a man who has spoken a thousand commands and swallowed a thousand regrets.

But it is his eyes that strike you most: deep, piercing, soulful-brown eyes.

They are the eyes of a man who has seen the best and worst of humanity and bears the weight of both.

Your breath catches as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of a young servant clutching a parchment like a shield.

He regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze, his eyes like iron tempered in fire—unyielding yet reflective.

His presence is commanding, a gravity that draws everything into its orbit. You are struck by how different he is from the emperors.

Where Geta and Caracalla exude indulgence and cruelty, Acacius carries himself with the disciplined grace of a man who has known the weight of true responsibility.

“Not many choose the gardens for their thoughts,” he says, his voice deep, steady, and tinged with curiosity.

It is a soldier’s voice, devoid of the honeyed pretense of courtiers.

You scramble to your feet, clutching your parchment to your chest. “General,” you manage, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

He raises a hand, the gesture more commanding than any shout. “At ease,” he says, a faint flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossing his face. “You are Livia's daughter?"

His question hangs in the air like the distant clang of a bell. You nodded, your name feels small in your mouth when you finally say it, barely audible against the rustling of the garden’s leaves.

Acacius nods, as though filing the information away. His eyes flick to the parchment in your hands. “A poet?”

You hesitate, “I... I write, sometimes. Thoughts.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet strangely grounding. He does not reach for the parchment, but his gaze lingers on it as though he could read its contents by sheer will alone.

“Thoughts on Rome, perhaps?” he asks.

His tone is even, but there is an edge to it, a subtle weight that suggests he already knows the answer.

Your throat tightens. To speak of the empire’s flaws to a general of its armies feels like standing on the edge of a blade.

Yet something in his bearing—a quiet patience, a restrained curiosity—compels you to answer honestly.

“Yes,” you admit softly. “About Rome. And its people.”

Acacius’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing his face. He looks away, toward the pond, his gaze distant now, as if seeing not the still water but something far beyond it.

“The people,” he repeats, almost to himself. “The heart of Rome. And yet, the heart is always the first to be sacrificed.”

The words are spoken quietly, but they carry the weight of experience, of battles fought not just with swords but with conscience.

You watch him, your earlier fear now replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"Do you... believe that?" you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling like a fledgling bird daring its first flight.

Marcus halts, his crimson cloak swaying like the banner of a legion stilled in the wind.

He turns to you, his eyes—sharp as a polished gladius—softening for the briefest moment, as if your question has reached a part of him long buried under layers of duty and steel.

“Belief,” he begins, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of a man who has lived lifetimes in service to an empire, “is a luxury in the life of a soldier. I deal in action, not faith. But I have seen enough to know that Rome’s strength lies not in its emperors, but in its people. And we are failing them.”

The honesty in his words strikes you like the tolling of a great bronze bell, reverberating through the quiet garden and deep into your chest.

It is not what you expected from a man like him—a hero to some, a sword-arm to the empire—but here he stands, speaking not as a general but as a man, his voice laced with something unguarded. Regret, perhaps. Or hope—fragile and faint, but alive nonetheless.

“Do you believe in Rome, little one?” His question falls like a stone into still waters, and you startle, unprepared to have the conversation turned toward you.

“I—” Your words falter, and you look down at your hands, clutching the parchment that now feels like an accusation.

But then, something inside you stirs—something that refuses to shrink back beneath the weight of his gaze.

You lift your eyes to meet his, the courage in your chest kindled like a flame drawn from embers.

“I believe in what Rome could be,” you reply, your voice steadier now.

“I believe in the Rome that lives in the hearts of its people—the ones who work its fields, who build its roads, who kneel at its altars not out of fear, but out of love. That is the Rome worth fighting for. But the Rome I see now…” Your throat tightens, but you press on.

“...has forgotten its people. It worships marble statues and golden coins while the streets crumble and the people starve. How can an empire endure when its foundation is so neglected?”

Your words spill forth, unchecked and unmeasured, and it is only when you see the faintest flicker of something in his expression—respect, perhaps, or surprise—that you remember who stands before you.

The weight of your boldness sinks in like a gladiator realizing they’ve overstepped in the arena.

“Forgive me, General,” you murmur, lowering your gaze. “I forgot myself.”

But Marcus shakes his head, a wry smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Do not apologize,” he says, his tone gentler now, though no less commanding.

“You are young, but your words carry the wisdom of one who has not yet been corrupted by power. Few speak with such clarity, and fewer still with such courage.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching, and you feel it like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

“You remind me,” he says, his voice quieter, almost reverent, “of someone. He believed, as you do, in the strength of Rome’s people. He would sit in gardens much like this one, speaking of justice and duty, and wonder aloud whether the empire could ever live up to its ideals.”

Your heart quickens, the weight of his words settling over you like the cloak of a goddess.

The way Marcus looks at you—as though he sees not the servant, but the soul beneath—makes you feel for a fleeting moment.

“I am no philosopher,” you say softly, your fingers tightening on the parchment. “But it is hard to remain silent when I see so much suffering.”

“A Roman citizen has every right to speak of their empire’s failings,” he says, stepping closer now.

“Do not mistake me for a politician, child. I am a soldier. My loyalty is to Rome—not to the men who rule it."

You nod, the words settling over you like a cloak woven of both gravity and reassurance.

The air between you feels charged, alive with the kind of understanding that is rarely spoken but deeply felt.

You watch him, his form cast in the golden hues of the setting sun, the crimson of his cloak vivid against the muted greens of the garden.

There is something about him that draws you—not merely his reputation, not the legends whispered in the palace halls of his valor and victories, but him.

The man behind the titles and statues.

You swallow, your heart a restless bird in your chest. You should not linger, not with him, not now.

And yet, you find yourself unable to walk away.

Words rise to your lips, hesitant at first, but then they spill forth, tentative and careful, like a child offering a wildflower to a god.

“Forgive me, my lord, but shouldn’t you be inside?” you say, your voice trembling under the weight of its boldness. “The palace is bustling with your celebration—wishing you fortune for your campaign, for Rome’s glory.”

He turns his gaze to you, the faintest flicker of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Rome’s glory,” he repeats, as though tasting the phrase on his tongue, finding it bitter.

He lets out a soft chuckle, low and warm, a sound that feels oddly out of place amidst the solemn grandeur of the garden. “Let them feast. Let them toast. I’ve no appetite for gilded words tonight.”

You blink, surprised by his candor. He is not what you imagined—not the marble statue immortalized in the Forum or the hardened general whose name echoes in the chants of soldiers. He is… more human than that.

“I’m waiting for my wife,” he adds, his tone casual, though his eyes seem to linger on you as if measuring your reaction.

Princess Lucilla.

The name hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of legend. Rome’s Princess. The only daughter of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. You’ve never met her, though her shadow looms large over your life.

“She was delayed,” he continues, glancing toward the palace, though his stance is relaxed, unhurried.

Princess Lucilla, her legend precedes her, a name spoken with reverence, and sometimes, in hushed tones, with fear.

Your mother, Livia, has served her since she was but a girl.

Livia, who moves through the world with a quiet dignity, has always spoken of the princess with unwavering loyalty. “She carries Rome on her shoulders,” your mother would say, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. “The weight of a crown rests on her brow, even though it does not sit there.”

Your thoughts drift, but his voice pulls you back to the present.

“Your mother,” Marcus says, his tone shifting to something softer, more contemplative, “she’s a loyal servant to our household, isn’t she?”

You nod, feeling a strange warmth rise to your cheeks. “She is, my lord. My mother adores the princess. She always speaks highly of her.”

At this, Marcus smiles faintly. His expression, though guarded, carries a warmth that feels rare, as if he’s allowing himself a brief reprieve from his usual stoicism.

“Livia is wise, then. Lucilla is… more than most know. Rome sees her as Marcus Aurelius’ daughter, but to me—” He pauses, his voice lowering to something almost reverent.

“She is a woman of strength, far greater than any man I’ve known. Her loyalty to Rome and its people… it humbles me.”

For a fleeting moment, his mask of a hardened general slips, and you glimpse something deeper.

A man bound not just by duty but by love.

His words hang in the air, gilded with affection, and you feel a pang of longing, though for what, you cannot say.

“I’ve never met her,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

He turns to you, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Lucilla?”

You nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious beneath his scrutiny. “I’ve only heard stories. My mother always told me about her strength, her grace. But we’ve never crossed paths.”

Marcus regards you for a long moment, as if seeing something in you he had not noticed before. “She would like you,” he says at last, his voice steady, though something lingers in his tone, a note of intrigue.

“Are you coming to the feast tonight?” he asks, the question catching you off guard.

You hesitate, glancing toward the palace where the distant hum of celebration filters through the evening air. “Servants are not permitted to attend such events, my lord,” you say, lowering your gaze. “I am only a servant after all,"

His brows furrow slightly, as if the answer displeases him. “Rome is built on the backs of those it calls servants. Do not diminish yourself.”

You blink, unsure of how to respond. There’s a weight in his words, one that feels both heavy and freeing.

Before he can say more, hurried footsteps echo through the garden. You turn, and there stands Alexandra, one of the palace attendants, her expression tight with worry.

“My lord,” she says, bowing her head quickly as her wide eyes catch sight of Marcus.

The respect is immediate, almost reflexive. General Acacius commands not just authority but admiration.

Men respect him, but women… they speak of him in hushed tones, a figure both distant and impossibly magnetic.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Alexandra continues, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “Your mother is looking for you,"

Marcus looks at you, his expression softening. He steps aside, the movement graceful despite his formidable frame, as though making room for your escape.

"Tell Livia my apologies for keeping her daughter here," he says, his voice low yet deliberate, as though each word is a promise carved in stone.

His gaze lingers on you, longer than it should, and it feels as though he is reading something beyond the surface—a map of your heart, perhaps, etched in the lines of your face.

For a moment, the world narrows to just this: the garden bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, the faint murmur of the distant feast, and the weight of his eyes, heavy yet strangely gentle.

There is something about you, his expression seems to say—something unspoken but undeniable.

You feel it too, a spark that flickers to life beneath the layers of duty, expectation, and fear.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” he says, the words more a statement than an invitation, leaving little room for protest.

There is a finality to his tone, yet also a quiet insistence that stirs something within you.

Before you can respond, he dips his head ever so slightly—a gesture of respect, or perhaps acknowledgment—before turning and striding away, his crimson cloak flowing like a banner in his wake.

You bow reflexively, watching him disappear into the shadowed corridors of the palace, his figure swallowed by the grandeur of Rome itself.

Yet even as he leaves, his presence lingers, an echo in the air, a weight in your chest.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps fades, Alexandra is at your side, her face alight with barely contained awe.

“Was that… the general?” she whispers, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and reverence.

“Yes,” you reply, though your own voice feels distant, as though it belongs to someone else. Your thoughts are still tethered to the garden, to the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“By the gods,” she breathes, clutching your arm as though you might disappear. “He’s… he’s even more handsome up close.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Careful, Ale,” you chide gently, though there’s no malice in your words.

“I’ve heard so much about him,” she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“About his loyalty to Maximus Decimus Meridius—the late general—and how he served under him during the great campaigns. They say he adored the princess even then. Some even whisper that his loyalty to Maximus was why he stayed so close to her after his death, marrying her to protect her.”

You glance at her, your brow furrowing slightly. “You know far too much for someone who spends their days in the laundry.”

She grins, unrepentant. “The laundry is where all the palace’s secrets come to dry.”

You shake your head, though her words gnaw at the edges of your mind.

You’ve heard the stories too, in bits and pieces from the older servants: tales of Lucilla’s love affair with Maximus, and Marcus’s steadfast devotion not only to his commander but to the empire itself.

A marriage born of loyalty, they say, not love. And yet, there’s something in the way Marcus spoke of Lucilla earlier that makes you wonder.

As Alexandra chatters on, her words a tide of gossip and speculation, your thoughts drift back to Marcus.

To the way he stood in the garden, his form framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. To the depth in his eyes, like wells carved by the gods themselves—deep enough to drown in, and yet you couldn’t look away.

You feel a strange restlessness in your chest, a stirring you can’t quite name. It isn’t admiration, nor fear, but something more complicated. Something heavier.

Marcus is unlike anyone you’ve ever known—unlike the indulgent senators with their honeyed words, unlike the cruel twin emperors whose laughter carries the sting of a whip.

He is a man of iron and fire, tempered by years of battle, yet beneath that hardened exterior lies something softer. Something… human.

And perhaps that’s what unsettles you most.

You’ve spent your life surrounded by women: your mother, Livia, with her quiet strength and unshakable loyalty; the other servants, who taught you to navigate the palace’s labyrinthine halls.

Men were distant figures, their power felt but never seen up close. Fathers, you’ve only heard about in stories—abstract concepts, not flesh and blood.

But Marcus is no abstraction.

He is real, tangible, a presence that feels larger than life yet undeniably mortal.

To see him, to feel him, is to glimpse a side of the world you’ve never known—a world shaped not by whispered orders or silent sacrifices, but by action, by conviction, by the weight of decisions made on the edge of a blade.

You shake your head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they cling to you like the scent of blooming jasmine in the garden. “It’s nothing,” you tell yourself, though your heart betrays you with its restless rhythm.

“Nothing at all,” you murmur, though even the words feel like a lie.

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floatyflowers · 1 year ago

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Dark Platonic! Fire Nation Royal Family x Non-bender Reader

Part 2

With Ozai:

At first he didn't accept the fact that you, his youngest child, is a non-bender, and ignored your existence.

That was until he noticed how his older brother, Iroh, spends time with you, Ozai got extremely jealous.

And decided to spend time with you, only to realize that you are his favorite child, and felt like an actual father.

Yes, you can't firebend nor do you even have the ability to protect yourself.

But why would you need to protect yourself when your father is going to be the Phoenix king of the fire nation?

Ozai will burn down the world for you.

"You, my sweet child, will grow up in the presence of a very powerful father"

With Ursa:

When Ursa found out that you couldn't bend, she became overprotective of you to the point of paranoia.

Since childhood, she refused to allow you to play with anyone except Zuko.

One time, one of her handmaidens scolded you harshly for playing outside without your mother's permission which resulted in you bursting into tears.

The next day, that handmaiden was fired and Ursa made sure that she gets no other jobs.

While thinking of escaping, she thought to take you with her.

However, Ozai has forbidden that from happening.

"When you find out the truth, promise to come find me"

With Azulon

While still alive, he made sure you had the best education and guards.

Azulon also made sure to have you believe that the fire nation is without mistakes or faults.

He tried manipulating you into believing that just your loyalty to your people is enough duty.

However, you are kind, too kind.

Yet, he Azulon didn't hate you for it even if he considered a weak trait to have in the royal family.

He also still has the flower crown you made him stored away safely so it doesn't rot.

It is rumored that the last word he muttered was your name.

With Iroh

Uncle Iroh isn't really as possessive as the other characters, but he focuses on advising you from time to time.

You enjoy drinking tea with him and gossiping about everything.

Even though, Ozai has forbidden him from speaking with you, you would sneak behind your father's back to drink tea with him.

After the loss of his son in the war, Lu Ten, Iroh felt depressed.

Yet you managed to comfort him with your cheerfulness and playful attitude.

It reminded him of his son.

"The best quality in a princess is her kindness, something which your sister clearly lacks"

With Zuko

Zuko thought you would be like Azula but you have proven him wrong.

You are kind, gentle, and nurturing just like your and his mother.

That's why Zuko always found himself by your side, being your playmate...being your protecter.

His mother told him that it's his duty to protect you from danger considering that he is your older brother.

Even though Azula has never hurt you, but Zuko was always wary of her, especially after his mother disappeared.

When Ozai challenged him to an Agni Kai, you were the first to cry out and plead with him to let Zuko off, but Ozai felt jealous of your relationship with Zuko and was determined to teach his son a lesson.

However when your brother got banished, Zuko took you with him in secret not wanting you to be left with Azula.

"I know the journey will take long but once I restore my honor we can return home together"

With Azula

Azula was extremely jealous when you were born, thinking that you will take all the attention from her.

But she realized that you deserve all the attention.

You didn't treat her like a monster, you weren't scared of her.

Instead you showed her love and called her 'big sister'

You would cling to her as a toddler, whenever there was lightning, you would secretly sneak to her room and sleep beside her.

"How can you be scared of lightning, we control it, silly"

Mai and Ty Lee saw how Azula softens whenever you are around.

And when Azula discovered that you have left with Zuko, she destroyed everything in her way and burned a few servants.

"She's mine, and only MINE"

#tw: toxic relationships #avatar the last airbender #Yandere #platonic yandere #zuko x reader #yandere ozai #Yandere zuko #Yandere Azula #sister reader #daughter reader #readerinsert

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astrologydray · 14 days ago

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Top 3 Best Moon Signs for Keeping Secrets and the top 3 not to tell😭😭😭

♏️ Scorpio Moon – The ultimate secret keeper. Scorpio Moons understand the power of hidden information and will never betray your trust. They value emotional depth and loyalty, and they hate surface-level drama. Plus, they take secrets to the grave🤞🏾.

♉️ Taurus Moon – Grounded, stable, and unbothered. Taurus Moons aren’t interested in gossip; they’re too busy focusing on their own life. They provide a calm, non-judgmental space, making them great for deep, private conversations😘.

♑️ Capricorn Moon – A steel trap. Capricorn Moons are serious about integrity and discretion. They don’t entertain messiness, and if you confide in them, they’ll treat your secret like a business contract—confidential and protected at all costs😭.

🤩🤩🤩🤩Honorable Mentions🤩🤩🤩🤩

♋️ Cancer Moon – Super nurturing and empathetic. Cancer Moons won’t spill your secrets, but they might worry about you and accidentally hint at things if they think you need help.

♓️ Pisces Moon – Deeply compassionate and understanding, but they might struggle with keeping boundaries. If they tell someone, it’s usually out of concern, not malice🫶🏾.

♍️ Virgo Moon – Logical and discreet, but if they think your secret is messy or unhealthy, they might subtly try to “fix” the situation😐.

🚨🚨Who NOT to Tell Your Secrets To🚨🚨

🚨 Gemini Moon – They don’t always mean to spill, but they love sharing information and might slip up without realizing it.

🚨 Sagittarius Moon – Too blunt and open. They might not see your secret as a big deal and will casually drop it into conversation🤷🏾‍♂️.

🚨 Leo Moon – Loves a juicy story. If your secret makes them look important or dramatic, they might let it slip😂.

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology degrees #astro #astroblr #scorpio moon #taurus moon #capricorn moon #cancer moon #pisces moon #virgo moon #leo moon #sagittarius moon #gemini moon

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swordgrace · 1 month ago

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❝ 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧-𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢��: as handmaiden to rhaenyra targaryen, you have stood ever-faithfully by her side, through the brewing storm. loneliness seems to tether the two of you together.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.0K (not sorry)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), power imbalance (not in a bad way), age gap (legal), infidelity, mentions of rhaenicent and daemyra, rhaenyra is bisexual, internalized homophobia, lots of making out, groping, biting, dry humping, risk of getting caught, fingering (fem!rec), breast play, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), rhaenyra is a soft pleasure dom, aftercare + sweet ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first wlw fic & first time writing for rhaenyra, please be gentle! ngl I loved writing this so unbelievably much, I would love some requests for her! I hope you all enjoy, I’m really proud of this one and it’s def more meaningful to me as a queer woman! ❤️

TEMPESTUOUS TIDES RAGED WITHIN A CERULEAN OCEAN, WAVES KISSING THE CLIFF SIDES OF DRAGONSTONE, AN ANCIENT CITADEL HELD ALOFT BY ARCHAIC STONE. SALTWATER MIST HUNG HEAVY UPON THE BREEZE, A MIDDAY SUN GLISTENING OVERHEAD, BLANKETING THE SEASON IN GLITTERING RAYS OF VIBRANCY.

In the wake of usurpation, the realm was torn asunder, thrust into the wake of a war that had already consumed lives — lives that needn’t be lost. Upon the knife’s edge of chaos, Rhaenyra had felt more alone than ever before.

Loyalties were fickle; some bought, others severed. As days progressed, she had felt more frayed than ever, stretched too thin. Bloodthirst had already consumed the life of her beloved Lucerys and Prince Jaehaerys II, a needless slaughter.

The day had progressed at a sluggish pace, between council meetings and correspondence with Jacaerys. Poised within an ornate chair, she remained sequestered within her chambers, lingering beside the window, left ajar.

Betwixt her fingers, she cradled the crown of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, once the emblem of a peaceful Targaryen regime — formerly placed upon the brow of her late father.

Recent occurrences had forced her to face an ugly preponderance; did the crown fit upon her own brow as it had for so many others before her?

Had her father never been so brazen as to break hundreds of years of tradition, Lucerys might still live, and the realm at-peace. Rhaenyra lived with the knowledge that a greater war lingered beyond, hidden within the shadows — the Conqueror’s dream.

With Daemon gone to play King-Consort in the Riverlands and Jacaerys determined to gain the allegiance of the Freys, it was as if she were standing alone upon an island. Rhaenys could only console her so much before such wise words lost their luster.

Even Elinda herself was away; and that left you, bound to the Queen’s side.

Raised within a lesser house who had sworn their allegiance to Viserys’s true heir, your servitude to Queen Rhaenyra had been one of the greatest honors of your lifetime.

With her half-brother now sitting the Iron Throne, conflict chafed at the realm, cruel tendrils seeking to spread across the land; an embittered war of kin against kin. Such strife was felt by all within Dragonstone, including yourself.

Tension seemed to linger within the Queen, a terse countenance interlaced with an underlying melancholy. Grief still clung to her; the passing of Lucerys, the passing of her stillborn daughter. With Daemon away and their relationship fragmented, you often felt concerned for her wellbeing.

It was expected of her, to remain headstrong — to shoulder the weight of responsibility, the curse of a crown so heavy that it nearly obliterated her. However, you were privy to her strength, a resilient determination to seize her birthright, come what may.

Summoned to her chambers, your knuckles tapped against ancient wood, iron-wrought doors groaning in protest. The creaking reverberated throughout the hall of stone, slivers of sunlight dancing across the floors.

“My Queen,” A soft cough bubbled from your throat, effectively fracturing her ruminations. Lilac hues drifted from the tarnished crown to you, sharp features bathed in the midday glow. “You summoned me.”

Rhaenyra had become something of a friend to you, if that term were appropriate for a monarch. In her own perspective, you were a shrewd maiden; comely and polite, loyal without fault. Conversation had felt effortless with her, and oftentimes, she confided in you without question.

The strife she faced was immense, and to you, she seemed exceptionally lonely, a notion that you were empathetic to. Despite the differences in histories and the lives you led, you were not bereft of your morality.

Rising from her seat, the Queen regarded you with an indiscernible expression, some amalgamation of warmth intermingled with something forlornly. A cordial smile crossed her features, fading as soon as it had appeared.

“Yes,” Placing the crown upon the window’s ledge, she smoothed her palms over her gown, a rich hue of burgundy, trimmed in draconic patterns of silver. “I wish for you to accompany me to the archives. I’ve much reading to do.”

Targaryen histories were not unfamiliar to her, and yet, it proved a worthy distraction in the face of such uncertainty. Rhaenyra hoped that it would better serve her reign, to know of the Conqueror’s Dream, of the coming war in the North.

“Of course, your Grace.” Devotion was a mere understatement when it came to that of your Queen; you admired her all the same. She carried herself with a dignified strength that you yearned for, a poise becoming of a ruler.

Stepping aside, you made a berth for Rhaenyra, allowing her to pass before you flocked to her flank. The Queensguard prepared to accompany you, causing the Queen to halt in her tracks.

“We needn’t be accompanied.” Rhaenyra’s sharp announcement was enough to rattle both men, Ser Darklyn and Ser Marbrand taking careful steps back, posted outside of her chambers. With a soft hum, the Queen continued, her gait measured as it came to slow.

Oftentimes, you were behind her, commonplace for a lady of your station. Much to your bewilderment, she had let her pace come to a leisurely crawl, keeping in-stride with you. “Your Grace, do not trouble yourself with …”

“Nonsense,” A brief sigh unraveled from her lips, hands poised before her, occasionally gathering her skirts to descend a flight of stairs. “I cannot speak with you if I am far ahead.” It was a welcome change-of-pace for you, admittedly.

Neglecting to protest her request, you nodded, allowing yourself to dutifully walk by her side. For a moment, you remained silent, afraid to speak your mind. “As you wish, your Grace. If I may inquire, what is the reason for our visit to the library?”

“You have already inquired,” A teasing lilt clung to her tone, a cadence that oozed with grace. She was ethereal, whimsical to behold, in truth. You had never glimpsed upon a woman as beautiful as she, lilac hues possessing a faint shimmer. “It is a distraction, reading; I can only stomach so much of my chamber walls.”

A peculiar heat crawled along the nape of your neck, hands folding themselves together as you made for the library. “I am sure that the constant scenery can become mundane for you, my Queen. I should hope that this venture offers you solace.”

Solace — Rhaenyra had not felt such a sensation in many years, merely a facade. For much of her life, it had been hallmarked by tragedy and betrayal, and yet, she knew what privilege she had, even still.

Lucerys’s passing had left a void within her, chipped away by Viserys, by Visenya, who never drew her first breath. Grief followed her like a haunting spectre, nipping at her heels, allowing its gnarled tendrils to wrap around her heart.

Attempting to brave the tumultuous storm of melancholy tested her at every turn, and each day, the pain only seemed to ebb and flow. This war had already taken much from her — Rhaenyra wondered how much more it would cost her.

A sheen of sadness shimmered within her gaze, drawn toward the distance, as if she were remembering. You feared that you had spoken out-of-turn, lips parting as you cleared your throat. “Forgive me, your Grace — I did not mean to offend.”

Rhaenyra seemed dismissive of your apology, as the two of you entered through arching doors, marked by flickering braziers. Dragonstone’s library was rather impressive, scaling walls filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, pieces of the past all kept within one sanctuary.

“You did not offend, sweet girl.” The warmth of her affectionate moniker made your stomach tremble with butterflies, a sensation you seldom felt.

It was not your responsibility to bear the brunt of her pain, and Rhaenyra knew this. Your words were of good intent, tidings of peace, if that were even attainable. She recalled what it was like when she was your age — times were simpler, then.

Following her into the labyrinth of parchment, it seemed that she had already made a temporary residence here. A large, ornate desk had already been organized with historical volumes and various papers, one that she had made consistent use of.

As she lowered herself into one of the numerous chairs, you curiously ogled the many shelves, wishing that you had enough time to read it all. Possessing a passion for literature, you wondered what hidden gems rest beneath the mountainous weight of parchment.

The hall remained quiet, save for the distant song of the tides, the air carrying the distinct scent of dust-laden paper. Braziers crackled with smoldering embers, daylight pooling in through stained-glass window panes.

Rhaenyra’s gaze flickered to you, silently wandering the numerous shelves that scaled to the ceilings. “You are welcome to read whatever you wish,” Bewilderment etched itself into your features. “Most of these texts have seen better days.”

It felt like a sin, laying your hand upon anything in this library — it was all above you, a mausoleum of Targaryen histories and beyond. “That is a thoughtful offer, my Queen, but I do not believe that it is appropriate for someone of my station …”

A soft huff tore past her parted lips, a glint of amusement heavy within lilac hues. With a dismissive sound, she shook her head. “I believe that it is appropriate. They shall find no use, otherwise.” A lighthearted lilt permeated her tone, and you promptly curtsied.

Gratitude seeped from every pore, lips curling into a gentle smile. “You have my thanks, your Grace.” Curiosity got the better of you, gaze lingering over many texts, until one in particular seized your attention.

It was a lightweight volume, riddled with dust, careworn from the passage of time. Its tattered pages contained plenty of material regarding the history of dragons, something that perplexed you to no end.

Prying it from the shelf, you moved to sit, dusting your fingertips across the book’s dilapidated cover. The color had faded, showing signs of age, but you persisted. Much of the script was written in High Valyrian, a language that you knew pieces of, a puzzle indiscernible to you.

Rooted behind the sturdy expanse of an ornate table, Rhaenyra observed you, even still. Violet hues brazenly rake across your hands; delicate yet hardened, like that of some precious jewel.

Beauty clung to your youthful features like the first breath of spring, vibrant and warm. It was your heart that oozed with a brightness, the same was your countenance. She had grown fond of you, perhaps too fond, suppressing lingering feelings.

The mass of parchment beneath her palm suddenly loses all of its meaning. It is the stare of a dragon, one that unknowingly covets something that does not belong to her. Trapped within the cage of her own thoughts, the Queen does not register the inquiry that floated from your lips.

A tendril of shame festers within her, then and there. Rhaenyra exhaled, jaw terse as she regarded you with a kindly disposition, albeit a touch strained. It was the same shame she had felt when she first held Alicent’s hand, when she had bed Harwin Strong; something forbidden.

Whatever she began to feel, she knew that it was somewhat an extension of her loneliness; her sons away, Daemon drowning in the fire of his ambition, Rhaenys to Driftmark.

“Your Grace?”

“My apologies,” With a distant smile, lilac hues briefly avert themselves, as if attempting to remain innocuous. “I have felt strained, as of-late. It is something that I should not subject you to.”

Words sizzled upon your tongue, begging for freedom as you sat straighter, your gaze tearing itself away from the book. “I do not intend to speak out of-turn, my Queen, but I would consider you something of a friend — you have not subjected me to anything.”

True, pious friendships seemed difficult to obtain for her, most having passed, others now turncoats in the wake of the Greens’ reign. A flicker of appreciation settled within her eyes, fingertips brushing across a bound scroll.

Rhaenyra had confided plenty in you, professed doubts and insecurities, spilled her heart and let it bleed onto her sleeve; there was nothing truer than that. “You have my gratitude — truly.” Her voice was gentle yet regal, a lull that often enticed you.

“You needn’t thank me, your Grace. I know that you have been pressed beneath an oppressive weight, a burden that I do not fully understand. Your strength does not go unnoticed.” Sympathy clung to each syllable, a sentiment that she clung to, heart stirring within her breast.

A brief hum escaped her, one that bordered upon sardonic as she toyed with a piece of parchment. “I do not often feel as strong as I should,” Her confession was wrought with dismay. “I know that many would view my inaction as a weakness.”

Daemon had urged her to act — to kill, to burn, to obliterate — Rhaenyra had not found it within herself to conform to such intentions. She had little desire to rule over a kingdom of ash, let alone bloodletting when so much had been spilled already.

Some sliver of her desired that — bloodlust, revenge, the heads of usurpers upon spikes.

It would always be part of her, something she had learned to acknowledge. Meeting your gaze, her jaw tensed somewhat, considering her next words before you cut through the tenuous silence.

“Strength is not always found in our actions — sometimes it is the things we do not follow through on, our temperance,” A brief pause; your hands folded together atop your book. “A sound leader considers the counsel of those around her, and herself — and you have done just that.”

Rhaenyra considered you in silent observation, mauve hues flickering over you with a thinly-veiled admiration. “If only so many thought as you did,” Her smile was forlorn, heavy with doubt. “I often wonder if the throne truly is my birthright.”

“I did not know your father, your Grace, but from what I’ve been told, he never faltered from naming you heir — it is your birthright,” Nails began to dig into the book’s fragile spine. “Despite what opposition lingers, you are the Queen this realm deserves.”

It was a satisfying feeling, to be believed in, to be beloved — Rhaenyra seldom felt such sensations in recent weeks, often undermined at each turn. She seemed to subtly preen beneath the genuine weight of your words, warmth fluttering throughout her sternum.

“You have my thanks.” With a solemn lament, the Queen’s incendiary gaze remained transfixed upon you, features blanketed by a warm smile. She found you to be comely, a young maiden who desired purpose in the world.

“Of course, my Queen,” Words stilled upon your tongue, a bout of hesitancy gripping you before you continued. “To have a woman sit the Throne would mean more than you could ever imagine to so many, including myself.”

Men had always sat upon the Iron Throne, but Rhaenyra’s opportunity to strike down a longstanding tradition was at-hand. She had often detested the roles laid before her in her youth — betrothals, marriages, stripped of independence.

She could seldom imagine what women endured, especially those less fortunate than herself. Your circumstances were something similar — serving at her side had spared you from a potential betrothal, something that you had little desire for.

Rhaenyra considered your words — what importance they held, the implications. Should the war be won and her crown reclaimed, she wondered how much it would mean to the smallfolk, to denizens like yourself.

“I should hope that I am worthy enough for it,” It was the wisp of insecurities breathing life into her words, and she shook her head. “I apologize — I do not wish for this conversation to be so dour.” She uttered, stress residing within her visage.

Perplexed, your head cocked to one side, as if she had said something blasphemous. “There is no one worthier, my Queen,” Lips fleetingly curled into an amiable, reassuring smile. “You needn’t apologize for it, either. I know that these last few weeks have not been kind to you.”

A sharp pang of aching melancholy festered within her heart, a raw reminder of loss, of love’s rage. Rhaenyra seemed to grow distant for a moment, as if attempting to compose herself for the sake of your conversation.

Growing quiet, you wondered if you had sorely overstepped her boundaries with such words, able to feel the forlornly frustration wafting from her. In truth, you also felt more alone than ever — your father was away, family scattered to the winds.

The Queen was the only source of companionship you had, and despite being bound by duty, you thoroughly enjoyed her presence. Time had withered the tenuous air between you both, weathering away your initial intimidation until the both of you spoke freely.

Rising from her seat, Rhaenyra’s measured steps rounded the table, coming to lean against the edge as she peered at her hands. “I feel as if I haven’t had a moment’s peace to properly grieve, as if duty demands I must press on.”

She mourned who her daughter could’ve been — something fierce, someone kind, and she mourned who Lucerys was, gentle and just. Their weight within her heart felt heavy, a raw reminder of their passing.

“When my sister died, kind words seemed fleeting — everyone seemed too preoccupied with replacing her, with what came next, instead of acknowledging the void that she left,” As you spoke with such sympathy, Rhaenyra’s eyes softened. “I felt much the same, left without a moment to mourn what I lost.”

As you moved from your seat, your gaze seemed drawn to the midday sun pooling in from the windows, catching flecks of dust through the glittering rays. The book felt incredibly weighty within your hands, no longer holding the significance that it had moments prior.

“I am sorry for your sister,” She uttered, pale brows furrowing together. Dismissive of it, the Queen cleared her throat. “I am no stranger to loss,” Rhaenyra lamented, her smile a saddened one, lilac hues following you with an unusual intensity. “It does not make things any easier, I’m afraid.”

With a brief shake of your head, your head canted toward the ground, averting her stare. “It does not — I hope that peace finds you, my Queen. You’ve endured much, and yet, you remain resilient.”

Rhaenyra felt soothed by your words, a kindness that seemed lacking within her counsel as of-late. There was a semblance of ease, at your side. “I must thank you, for speaking to me — it does some good to converse in this way.”

A bubble of laughter slipped past your lips, a fleeting sound that seemed heavy with a sense of contentment. “You needn’t continue to thank me, your Grace. I value this just as much as you do — you are the only voice I’ve heard in these last few days.”

A rare smile graced the Queen’s features, hauntingly beautiful, ethereal like the rest of her. It waned as soon as it had appeared, but you clung to it nonetheless. “I’ve grown rather used to yours.” She remarked, tone bordering upon precociousness.

Tendrils of fire began to seep into your belly, skin crawling with an unnatural warmth. It was sinful to allow yourself to be smitten by the Queen, a woman married, a mother, but it became difficult to ignore the stirring within your chest.

“I should hope it hasn’t become grating for you, your Grace.” With a feeble attempt at deflecting her subtle compliment, your fingers twisted together, interwoven atop the book’s spine. Whatever sentiments surged within you, any attempt to suppress them were futile.

Rhaenyra hummed, head cocking slightly to one side. “Quite the opposite — it eases my heart.” A haze of tension permeated the space between you both, one that seemed to linger.

Swallowing the growing lump that formed within your throat, you appeared flattered, lashes fluttering and your countenance demure. “Thank you, your Grace,” A pause gripped you, and with carelessness, you continued. “I look forward to your company each day, in truth.”

Despite the innocuous nature of your statement, there was something deeper laced within — a yearning, a gnawing ache. Whatever you felt for your Queen, it was steadily transcending all bonds of propriety, a scourge upon her honor, and yours.

In the spirit of transparency, Rhaenyra felt something lurch within her, a desperation; vanquishing loneliness. Growing close to you was not a mere accident, and she felt lecherous in her own desires, not wanting to soil this nurtured companionship.

It was your candor and tenderness that beguiled her so, a gentler hand — kinder than Daemon, softer than Harwin, and lacking Alicent’s callous betrayal.

A brief hitch formed within her throat, subtle in the face of her usual poise, pale brow furrowing in contemplation. Whatever she felt for you, it began to simmer to the surface, like the violent swell of a tempestuous tide, dragging her beneath the squall.

With a steady exhale, Rhaenyra had stepped closer, well within arm’s reach of you. “As I long for yours,” She uttered. “You’ve been a spot of light in such times of darkness.” Exuding restraint, she looked to you, countenance swirling with an amalgamation of emotions, some indiscernible to you.

Longing seemed too powerful a word, something that evoked a twinge of bewilderment from you. The lull of her cadence subdued you, a rush of heat licking from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine.

The weight of repressed sin hung heavy within your heart, akin to that of an anvil. Such sentiments had plagued you for as long as you could recall, thoughts stretched thin with fantasies that the Faith of the Seven often outlawed.

Yet, when you caught a glimpse of Rhaenyra, none of it felt sinful — it was as if you were burning, basked within a pleasant heat. Her beauty was divine, a goddess swathed in dragon’s scales, violet hues seemingly boring into you, attempting to pick you apart at the seams.

“It is difficult not to feel such isolation,” The confession that spilled from your lips mirrored her own inner turmoil. “Aside from yourself, Elinda, and the Kingsguard, I’ve often felt like a stranger, a ghost shambling about within these halls.”

If you were brazen and emboldened, you might’ve continued, lavishing your Queen with sweet words. You nearly imparted upon her that she had made you feel such invigoration, no longer a spectre — and it all felt so untoward.

“You aren’t alone,” Rhaenyra exhaled, allowing a sliver of tension to unfurl from her shoulders. The silence that had passed between you was nearly exhilarating. “I’ve felt it too, after Daemon departed — more than ever before, in truth.”

Daemon was an enigma — an arrogant enigma, one that had brought both love and suffering into Rhaenyra’s life. His abandonment and ambition were sore subjects as of-late, and she thought of him as a concerned wife would; nothing more.

“You have my sympathies, your Grace,” It seemed to be some pull you had towards one another, strings of fate tethering you to her. Rhaenyra had sluggishly circled about, coming to halt by your side. “Trust that you shall always have my shoulder to lean upon, no matter the storm.”

Whatever action proceeded your words seemed wholly involuntary, as if you were acting upon the stirring within your heart. Brazenly, you had reached for her, unable to stop yourself as your hand slipped against her forearm.

Your comfort and reassurance had ensnared her long before your digits graced her arm, a fire rousing within her. Her heart stuttered, gooseflesh permeating the back of her neck at the briefest sensation, and she did not recoil.

A noticeable shift began to stir, tension simmering to life like that of an open flame, permeating the air around you. Rhaenyra gazed at you longingly, wordlessly reaching for your waist, slender digits curling into the fabric there.

Bewilderment entangled with exhilaration scrawled across your countenance, breath hitching within your throat as she stepped closer. The silence was deafening, wrought with the onslaught of something foreign, something thrilling.

Slowly, your hand began to crawl from her forearm to her shoulder, the neckline of her gown encrusted with jewels and draconic patterns. Rhaenyra did not stop you from continuing, shivering as the silky pads of your fingertips ghosted along the column of her throat.

“My Queen, I …” A sudden fear gripped you then, as if this had carried on to the point of no return. This was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and you were merely a handmaiden. All bonds of impropriety shattered, besmirching her honor; you would be executed.

Before your weak declaration of protest could be vocalized, she drew you closer still, any sliver of space fading between bodies. Words turned to ash, floating away into the dust-laden library as her lips pressed against yours.

The kiss was brief, dancing upon the thin line of restraint as Rhaenyra drew back, lilac hues half-lidded. She dared not press you further, caressing against the small of your back as you attempted to regain your composure.

It was you she waited for, gauging to see if you wished to continue. Instead of executing caution, you broke upon the blade of temptation, mouth returning to hers after a moment of hesitation. Your kiss lacked experience, sheepishly mimicking her movements.

A sharp exhale ripped through her lungs, pale brows creasing in concentration as she reciprocated your kiss, blinding you with a flurry of passion. She held you close, caging you in against her, able to smell the faint perfume that dabbled your collarbone.

A soft, trembling gasp escaped you as her palm moved to cup the nape of your neck, thumb stroking beneath your ear. Each kiss was akin to a blaze of wildfire, tearing through you with all of its heat and ardent intensity, enough to scorch your flesh.

Clamoring fingers moved to drape themselves over her shoulders, interlocking against the top of her spine, able to graze across her bare skin. Rhaenyra did not relent, grasping you fiercely, as if asserting her claim as she tilted her head, deepening your fervent entanglement.

Some dizzying haze washed over you then, bitten by desire, by devotion. Lips untethered themselves from hers as you pressed a string of kisses against the sharp line of her jaw, and then to her throat. A hum of approval left the Queen, the bridge of her nose buried into your crown.

Reverence seeped into each and every ministration, as if you were worshiping her — and she deserved nothing less. Strings of passionate kisses feathered themselves across her neck, evoking a myriad of pleasurable sounds from Rhaenyra.

Arousal began to mount between your thighs, warm and heady as friction crackled, your back digging into the ornate desk. Despite your glaring inexperience, it became easier to chase after baser instincts, belly sloshing with molten heat.

As you littered her flesh in constant kisses, you felt her palm cup the base of your skull, digits sinking into your tresses. It was her other hand that had tantalizingly danced along your spine before groping your hip, nails catching upon fabric.

Wordlessly, she guided your lips back to hers, thumb caressing your jaw as mouths collided once more. A simpering moan ripped through your diaphragm, lost within the divine labyrinth of her lips.

Deep-seated repression had festered to the surface, unorthodox desires that had brought you ruin and scorn, now laid bare before your charge. It felt wrong to indulge yourself in this way, but in-turn, you had felt so liberated.

Passion blossomed like an untamable thicket, consuming the both of you; hunger followed suit, a tempting shadow. You had not experienced a kiss like this — Rhaenyra was practiced yet unbound, showing little restraint in the face of your own hesitation.

It was then that you felt the feather-light pressure of her thigh split between your legs, briefly grazing your nethers. A sudden shiver gripped you, and you nearly stumbled in your actions, lips clamoring for hers, longing to be near her.

The thunderous groan of wooden doors intercepted the both of you, as you immediately tore away from your Queen as if you’d been scorched. Writhing from between her body and the table, you relocated towards the numerous shelves, heart beating like that of bird’s wings.

“Your Grace, there has been word from The Twins — your son has delivered a missive.” Ser Darklyn announced, standing at the top of the steps, gazing down upon Rhaenyra. Her composure hung by a mere thread as she nodded, hands clenched within her skirts.

“Thank you, Ser Steffon. I shall join you momentarily.” Rhaenyra echoed, features warmed by a shade of scarlet. Mauve hues searched for you, cowering beside a shelf before you swiftly curtsied before her.

Desiring to make a swift exit as to deal with the aftermath of your own dishonorable actions, you swallowed the lump within your throat. “Your Grace, I shall be taking my leave.” Scuttling about, Rhaenyra did not have an opportunity to get in a single word before you’d disappeared from the archives altogether.

Surely, you had misinterpreted things.

As a star-laden penumbra lingered over Dragonstone, you had excused yourself for the evening, allowing another handmaiden to assume your duties. Guilt and shame had ripped through you for the rest of midday, a torrent of sin that threatened to obliterate you.

Strewn across your bed within the underbelly of the servant’s quarters, you were faced with the raw realization of desire.

Throwing yourself at the feet of a woman whose birthright transcended you was unbecoming, untoward; a manifestation of years of seeking purpose, seeking yourself. It was wrong of you to drag the Queen into your own repressed fantasies, ones that you thought you’d buried.

Through the coolness of dusk, you hoped to find some peace in the blanket of slumber, but even that seemed to evade you. It was not yet the hour of the bat, and you felt your body cringe at the sound of the door opening.

“The Queen has asked for you.” Sera crooned, politely shutting the door behind her. Dread seeped into your stomach, and you feared that you had overstepped all boundaries, tarnished honor beyond all recognition.

With limbs like anchors, you slowly clamored from your cot, dressing yourself in your burgundy trappings. Between midday and now, you had freshened up, binding the gown around you as you prepared to make the arduous journey to your Queen’s chambers.

The trek was perilous, as if all time had stood still, and you were left to slog through the growing storm. It was trepidation that gripped you, a gnawing worry that this was all some grave misunderstanding — you prayed that you wouldn’t lose your head.

As you stood before iron-wrought doors, bedecked in the roaring heads of dragons, you noticed the lack of lingering Kingsguard. They were posted elsewhere, further down the corridor, much to your bewilderment.

With a shrewd knock, you heard the command of your Queen from within, beckoning you to enter. Slipping past the set of massive doors, you turned to close them, posture unnaturally rigid as you awkwardly shuffled further into her chambers.

Rhaenyra sat before the hearth, pale tresses unbound from their intricate braids, spilling over slender shoulders. An evening gown of silver clung to her, rich silks from Pentos, shrouded by a robe of a dark cerulean, embroidered with a draconian motif; you had never seen anyone more beautiful.

She ripped the air from your lungs as if she had stolen it herself, poised within a high-backed seat, violet hues drifting away from the flames. The Queen turned enough to catch a glimpse of you, doe-eyed and clearly feeling the weight of nervousness.

“Your Grace, I … I have come to beg for your forgiveness,” You felt as if you were going to wretch, fingers twisting together as you watched her stand, arms loosely folded across her chest. “What occurred today was unbecoming of my station and a stain upon your honor.”

Rhaenyra regarded you with a gentle intensity, eyes swirling with a thinly-veiled adoration. You hadn’t done anything wrong — nothing that she didn’t want, hadn’t dreamt of. Neither she nor you had done anything like this, outside of mere fantasy and years of repression.

She stepped closer, hoping to dissolve your bout of anxiousness. “It is I who should be begging for forgiveness, sweet girl,” She uttered, cadence whimsically smooth, a brilliant lull. “I should have inquired if you wanted to indulge before acting upon my own desires.”

Shock rippled through you, heart hammering like the tides breaking upon rock, and you swallowed once more. “Indulge? My Queen, I — I shouldn’t, I am your servant,” Gods help you — you desired her in a way that shook the foundations of the earth. “Your husband, he …”

“Daemon is not here,” Rhaenyra moved closer, pale brows furrowing as she reached for you, palm cupping your jaw. “You are an equal to me — I would wish for you to stay with me, though I would honor your wishes, whatever you choose.”

The swell of fondness that glistened within her eyes was purely genuine, not born out of desperation or loneliness. She wanted you; craved your beating heart, longing for you like sun-warmed earth.

“It feels sinful to want to stay,” With a wisp of a murmur, you shuddered as silken fingertips brushed over your flesh. It was gentle, loving — something that you felt wholly undeserving of. “And yet I do not wish to leave your side.”

Faith had kept you shackled to misery for so long, and now, Rhaenyra saw you as you were and accepted you for it, loved you for it. She could see the war that waged within you, written so clearly upon your countenance.

It was the same anguish she once saw in Laenor, and she did not wish to see it blossom within you, either. Rhaenyra once felt as you did, with Alicent — such sentiments for her old friend had waned, but the core desire had remained intact.

Disarmingly tender, the Valyrian Queen began to guide you deeper into the comforting recesses of her quarters, a room that you were intimately familiar with. Beside the hearth, you steadily began to relax — just a sliver.

“You are not a sin, sweet girl — none of this is sinful.” Rhaenyra murmured, thumb caressing the curve of your jaw, soothing your inner turmoil. That affectionate moniker of hers had tugged at your heartstrings, uprooted you and everything you thought you knew.

Relief washed over you then, and you turned, lips pressing against her palm. Silence hung heavy, taut with a burning tension as she drew you closer as she had in the archives, lips sealing themselves against yours.

Whatever restraint you had exuded prior had begun to dissipate, splintering at the seams as you clung to her like that of a drowning woman. Your hands clumsily found their purchase atop her shoulders, able to feel her digits sink against your hips, one palm splayed across your lower back.

A moonlit gloom pooled in from stained-glass windows, procuring a glittering array of light across stone floors. Firelight danced from within the hearth, its tendrils illuminating you, blanketing her in a peculiar glow, like that of a dragon.

Two hearts grasped at one another, clawing for a shred of reprieve, of affection — you were endlessly greedy, starved of adoration.

Rhaenyra savored your taste, saccharine and one of sheer piety, a rarity in the realm’s current state. A twinge of nervousness permeated your every move, as if you were afraid to allow desire to unfurl, something that she sympathized with.

Vigor seeped into her kiss, growing in intensity as she caged you in against her, head canting enough to deepen your entanglement. A breathy exhale emerged from betwixt your lips, pitched with a desirous thrill that swallowed you whole.

Withdrawing yourself, the flush of ecstasy clung to your flesh, the first whisper of an ardent heat. Violet hues regarded you with a fondness, oozing sensuality and protection. Her palm idly circled over your spine, allowing you to take your time with it all.

“You are more beautiful than the heavens themselves — the envy of a thousand stars,” As the soft-spoken compliment slipped from your lips, Rhaenyra hummed, mouth twitching into an amicable smile. “My Queen.”

“You discredit yourself, surely,” The Targaryen pressed her lips to your brow, and then to your jaw, reveling in the quiver of your sigh. “I find you captivating, sweetling.” Warmth tore at your bones, elation rippling through you as you preened beneath her alluring words.

Gods, to be cherished, to be wanted; it transcended duty, that of infatuation. Ardor scorched your flesh, a searing fire of your Queen’s adoration, a flame that you happily burned within.

Beneath your breast, the thrumming of your heart rattled against your sternum, causing you to shiver with a thinly-veiled euphoria. Practiced digits began to map your delicate features, still alight with the vibrancy of youth, thumb stroking across your lower lip.

An amalgamation of desire and zeal glistened within lilac hues, mirroring your own countenance, doe-eyed and brimming with devotion. Gathering what threadbare confidence you had, your lips found hers once more, a bruising kiss that overflowed with passion.

Rhaenyra was no stranger to pleasure, well-adept at knowing the body of another, including her own. She handled you with utmost care, allowing you to act on your own accord, without her influence. It made her burn for you all the more.

It was then that your courage spurred onward, palm drifting from the nape of her neck toward her bosom, sheepishly cupping her clothed breast. A low hum of satisfaction slipped from her lips, approval scrawled upon ethereal features.

Guiding you toward the velvet-cushioned seat, it was Rhaenyra who lowered herself to sit, noticing the sheepish expression you bore. “Do I frighten you, sweet girl?” The Queen’s tone held a playful lilt to it, head canting to one side.

Intimidated, not afraid, you thought, stomach churning with a volatile heat. “Not at all, your Grace. I — I suppose it seems cruel of me to not focus upon your own pleasure.” With your meek confession now spilled, Rhaenyra’s lips began to curl into an assuring smile.

“Rhaenyra,” She corrected; perhaps abandoning formalities would ease the tenuous barrier still lingering between you. “Pleasure is a shared sentiment, I assure you.” Beckoning you forward, she extended her hand to you, inviting you to sit within her lap.

A heavy exhale lingered within your ribs, and you stepped forward, sinking into her lap without question. You felt smitten beneath her smoldering stare, one that brazenly admired you, absorbing every facet of your beauty.

Foreheads grazed against the other, warmth drifting between bodies as you stole another kiss from her, one that nearly dazed her. Rhaenyra kneaded into your curves, feeling your silken fingertips gently push against the front of her robe.

With renewed confidence, you palmed at her breast, able to feel the swell of soft flesh through her nightgown. A stifled sigh escaped the Queen, whose desire had grown tenfold, raging like a tempest within her.

Prying your lips away, you kissed beneath her jaw, allowing yourself to follow after instinct, planting a string of heated kisses along her neck. With your other hand, your digits twisted into the fabric beside her knee, pulling it up along her legs.

Rhaenyra shivered with a pang of ecstasy, adjusting you enough upon her lap, allowing the silken material to bunch around her thighs. With incessant tugs of your own stiff garments, she wished to see you with less obstructions.

“Relieve yourself of this,” The sultry lilt of her tone made you gasp, insides filling with a searing liquid, beginning to ooze between your thighs. “I wish to see you.” Little more than a soft purr, you were swift to obey her command.

Untethering the thick, crimson robe, you allowed the garment to flutter to the stone, leaving you in a threadbare shift, one that left little to the imagination. You nearly buckled beneath her hawkish gaze, one that openly bled with ardor and a twinge of possessiveness.

Admiration glittered upon her visage, the very image of beauty, a goddess incarnate. A shiver gripped you as she traced your spine with her fingertips, palm coming to knead against your haunch. Reverence oozed from her embrace, making you feel at-ease.

As your palm cupped her breast, threatening to delve beneath the gossamer of her nightgown, the other remained poised atop her knee. With a fistful of fabric, you allowed your fingertips to dance against the bare flesh of her thigh.

Rhaenyra looked to you, silently beseeching you to continue, allowing you to explore as you pleased. Her lips sought the delicate plane of your throat, pressing a series of kisses beneath your jaw to start, fingers sinking into your derrière.

A sharp exhale punctured your lungs, wrought with exhilaration as your hand continued its path, caressing along her thigh, seeking the warmth between her legs. Sheepish still, your touch was disarmingly gentle, as kind as springtime, yet succeeded in making your Queen shiver.

This sweetness you possessed was something Rhaenyra reveled in, your tenderness a welcome respite. A low moan quaked from her lips as your digits nimbly danced over her nethers, features warming with a twinge of excitement.

As the defined bridge of her nose grazed over your jugular, you began to touch her with more urgency this time. Delicate fingers began to slip against her cunt, ministrations somewhat unsteady as you attempted to find your rhythm.

Kneading against your derrière, Rhaenyra huffed, the sound a pleasurable one as she continued to kiss your neck. Softness had grown into the flame of desire, ardor simmering in the space between your bodies, enough to make you shiver.

“Rhaenyra,” A sigh of ecstasy tore past your kiss-swollen lips, and she preened at the sound of her name. It was heavenly, uttered with such reverence, such adoration. “Gods, you are enchanting.” You murmured.

A soft moan left you as she kissed the dip between your throat and shoulder, lips pursing enough to leave behind a token of her affection. It was etched into your flesh like a brand — and you wanted more.

It was then that her hand tangled against the collar of your shift, peeling the fabric aside, unveiling your breasts to her. The sight was a feast, a kindly beauty that the Targaryen had become rather infatuated with. Her lips were soon to follow, kissing a hot trail across your collar.

Hips urged against your hand as you stroked eager circles against her core, thumb finding its way to the sensitive bundle of nerves. A sharp, dizzying gasp inhabited her throat, a punctuated sound that nearly made you pause, if it weren’t for her soft moan.

Admittedly, she was starved for contact, having wished for a kinder embrace for some time. It was often your heavenly hand she’d dreamt of, the vibrancy of your smile, the reverence that often oozed from your tongue.

Mapping each curve of her body, each tick of pleasure, you only desired her more than you thought possible. Want only seemed to grow in her wake, her embrace leaving behind a trail of fire, smiting you to little more than wanton ash.

Kissing towards your bosom, Rhaenyra gingerly cupped your breast, able to feel your body keen into her caress. A practiced thumb flicked across your nipple, mouth continuing to blaze over your flesh, kiss after kiss until she neared your chest.

“You drive me to madness.” Rhaenyra’s utterance emerged as a breathy sigh, whispered into your flesh like some prayer. Butterflies erupted within your stomach, accompanied by a churning of molten heat. A hitch formed within your throat, features warming.

Slotting yourself atop one of her thighs, it allowed you some advantage, digits continuing to glide along her cunt. A myriad of low, sonorous moans left her, smothered against your sternum as she turned, taking one of your breasts into her mouth.

A startled whine rippled through you, torn asunder by bliss on all sides, pleasure becoming a mutual experience. Adroit lips began to pepper your breast with soft kisses, pursing around the pliant mound as she drew forth a cry of delight from your mouth.

Despite the satisfying distraction, your ministrations refused to cease, digits gaining both fervor and confidence. You continued to let your fingers rock against her nethers, thumb toying with the pearl of her cunt, enough to make her writhe.

Wanton sighs and breathy moans inhabit the space between your bodies, charged with a zealous desire. As if possessed by invisible strings, your hips lurched forward, gently rocking yourself atop her thigh. Friction simmered in the wake of your movements, arousal seeping between your legs.

Yearning lips trailed from your breast to the valley between, kissing along your flesh until she found your throat once more. Rhaenyra exhaled desire, unable to withhold the blissful noises that tore past her mouth.

“Do not stop,” With a poignant command, spoken through a soft exhale, you heeded the words of your Queen. Allowing your digits to dip lower, two fingers gently prodded against her core, the pad of your thumb caressing her pearl. “There.”

Her voice had often beguiled you so, whimsical and ethereal, as if it were from a distant dream. Now, it was strung-out with desire, a touch husky, as smooth as that of a crystalline dusk. She pressed a kiss beneath your jaw, her own wrought with tension as her hips urged forward.

Foreheads brushed against one another as you rocked yourself atop her thigh, the friction sending shockwaves through your belly. It grazed against your nethers, forcing a soft sigh from your lips, fingers teasing her cunt.

It was then that you dipped forward, evoking a groan from Rhaenyra, whose mouth shifted to claim yours in a dizzying kiss. A fervent flame crackled between, like that of a wildfire, seeking to consume everything in its path.

She tasted of fire, a sting of citrus and a hint of some honeyed swill, her tongue gently seeking entry into your maw. Without protest, you allowed her in, kiss after kiss being lost between you both, her palm shifting to seize the nape of your neck.

“Your Grace,” A pleading moan thrummed from your throat, tapering off into some hapless whine as she groped at your backside once more. The title had made her head spin, filled with some arduous haze as she careened into your touch. “Please.”

It was a ceaseless clash of lips, teeth, and tongues, a ballad of a blossoming adoration. Beneath your breast, your heart galloped with excitement, fingers easing in and out of her cunt, desperate to please her.

A subtle ‘fuck’ escaped Rhaenyra, muttered from beneath her cacophony of moans, and you barely caught it. Gooseflesh born of exhilaration raked down your spine like that of a tidal wave, and you shuddered within her firm grasp.

“Gods.” Rhaenyra groaned, feeling herself clench around your slender digits, grip hard enough to leave bruises against your haunch. Your thumb continued to toy with her pearl in languid circles, again and again.

For one seemingly so inept, you possessed a peculiar keenness, as if you were attuned to her physique already. She craved you as one craved for a gust of air, her ache marrow-deep, a heart’s call that echoed your name.

As she approached her climax, her teeth briefly grazed your lower lip, sealing yours in another blistering kiss. It ripped through you like talons, a bliss that nearly overwhelmed you. Ensuring that you reciprocated, you returned her kiss, lungs searing with a pleasant burning.

Bathed beneath the intermingled glow of both the moon and hearth, she appeared to you as some deity, a goddess of beauty. Never before had you seen someone as resplendent as she, the Queen, veins imbued with dragon’s fire.

A soft gasp took up residence within your lungs, emerging as a gentle tremble, one that seemed wrought with awe at the sight of her. Even through your state of wonder, your digits did not stop, obeying her command.

Violet hues were half-lidded in a state of bliss, momentarily shifting to seek your gaze, as warm as that of midsummer. Her lips parted then, body writhing beneath you as her pinnacle wracked her with such force.

As she came undone upon your hand, you nearly melted at the sight, features warming in the wake of her release. Honeyed arousal wept from her core, coating your digits in her nectar as you pleasured her even still, allowing yourself to slow down.

Tendrils of perspiration glistened upon her brow, likely due in-part to the close proximity of the waning firelight. Rhaenyra exhaled, face nudging against your own as she captured your lips in a bruising kiss, disarmingly tender.

Passion lingered still, momentarily subdued as she composed herself, feeling her thighs twitch, body caught within the afterglow. “You are rather mesmerizing,” Her regal cadence filled your belly with a familiar fire. “Sweet girl.”

“I didn’t cause you harm, did I?” For your own sanity, you hoped that she was well-satisfied and comfortable. The hint of a smile crossed her features, mauve hues raking over you, not quite finished with you yet.

“Quite the opposite,” Soothing your brow, the Queen placed a lingering kiss to your jaw, palm smoothing along your spine. “Though, I am not yet satisfied.” With a desirous lilt, her sultry purr made you clench your thighs together.

Fearing you weren’t good enough, you nearly blubbered some pitiful apology until she eased you off of her lap, gently guiding you toward her bed. A twinge of bewilderment rippled through you; you did not expect to share her bed with her this evening.

Neglecting to inquire further, Rhaenyra coaxed you to sit along the edge of her feathered bed, watching as you lowered yourself without question. She stood over you, soft palm cupping your chin as her thumb sweetly traced over your lower lip.

As if acting upon instinct, you kissed the pad of her thumb, careening into her tender embrace. She bent down, pressing her mouth to yours once more, allowing you to linger within your passionate entanglement.

“You are exquisite.” Your reverence was thinly-veiled, seeped in adoration as you sighed into her mouth. Rhaenyra cherished every word that escaped you, forehead momentarily pressing to yours before she withdrew.

“As are you,” It was then that the Queen knelt before you, an act that took you by complete surprise. Before you could attempt to refute this position, she began to inch your skirts along your thighs, fabric pooling around your hips. “May I?”

The Queen asking for this — it did not feel proper, but you were not one to interfere with her indulgences. “Y—Yes,” With a bumbling stammer, you swallowed the lump of excitement within your throat. “Rhaenyra …”

Wordlessly, her answer was emblazoned as a kiss, sealed against your inner thigh. Fire blossomed from mere contact, and you couldn’t help but gaze down at her with complete and utter ardor. This love you had for her transcended that of duty, one considered forbidden.

Rhaenyra had fantasized about this more often than she cared to admit, knowing fully well that you hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing it. There was a power she felt even when kneeling between your thighs, pressing a trail of kisses towards your aching nethers.

Her tongue raked embers over your cunt, sluggish and exploratory as she gathered her bearings. She had not done something like this before, other than what had been done to her. Rhaenyra watched you squirm, hands desperately fisting at the sheets on either side of you.

The sharp bridge of her nose buried itself against your mound, brushing along your slick petals. It was as if you were an unfurling flower, and she, the bee; your taste was ambrosial, something that filled her mouth with such sweetness.

Keeping yourself from crying out, you moaned, mouth agape as your hips involuntarily urged forward. Her tongue greeted you with a slow lap, tracing along your core as she delved further, visage slotted between your thighs.

Dexterous hands danced across your flesh, over your legs as she anchored her grip there, violet hues occasionally flickering towards your countenance. Your expression had contorted into a look of complete and utter bliss.

It felt horribly wrong of you, sitting here while your Queen knelt, but you dared not interrupt her now. Each stroke of her tongue brought you to heel, legs rattling like wind-stirred leaves as wave after wave of pleasure flooded throughout your body.

Rhaenyra shared in your bliss, reveling in the way you’d reacted so viscerally to her lips, which only served to make her confidence swell. A low hum resonated from her throat, ministrations imbued with an endless passion.

Throaty whines erupted in a cacophony from your mouth, followed by constant sighs of ecstasy. Her hands continued to smooth over your thighs, keeping your legs parted as her tongue tantalizingly raked over your entrance.

As your cunt clenched pathetically around nothing at all, you felt as if you were drowning within an ocean of bliss, eyes nearly closed. It was a sensation unlike any other, her lips peppering a string of greedy kisses to your slit.

She let your legs find rest atop her shoulders, nightgown having loosened upon her frame. Her pale flesh was akin to a canvas — unblemished, pearlescent, nothing short of perfection.

Lilac hues beseech you to steal a glance, gazes locking together for only a moment. The mere sight of her feasting upon the wellspring between your thighs made you whimper, teeth snagging across your bottom lip. The incendiary nature of her ogling fills you with a feverish heat.

Adept with her tongue, Rhaenyra hums again; a low, contented sound that causes your fingers to claw at the sheets. Lapping at your core once more, her nose briefly grazes over your pearl, causing you to shiver around her, wrought with desperation.

“Rh—Rhaenyra,” A noisy moan tears past your lips when you feel her tongue circle over the pearl of your cunt, hips lurching forward. You feel strange, begging for her mouth, but she seems to derive plenty of satisfaction from it. “Gods, do not stop!”

Melting within her grasp, you had not known pleasure like this before, never thought it possible to collapse beneath her touch. Sin had washed away, swept out into the tides, leaving only your sentiments for her — devotion, love.

Each stroke of her tongue is akin to the searing of a wildfire, volatile and burning, with enough force to send you to your knees. Hunger revealed itself like some long-hidden shadow, unfurling in the wake of your own desire and that of your Queen’s.

It felt exhilarating, to be wanted in this way, to be cherished, worshiped. Impulse drove you as one hand skittered from the silken sheets, reaching for her hand, slender digits interlocking atop the meat of your thigh.

Holding you close, Rhaenyra continued to greedily seek your cunt without pause, ceaselessly lapping over your core. It was then that her mouth sluggishly relocated, mauve hues momentarily fixating upon your countenance as her lips gingerly pursed around your pearl.

A gasp ripped through your diaphragm, body suddenly wracked with an overwhelming wave of ecstasy. As she toyed with your clit, suckling upon the sensitive clutch of nerves, you were left reeling, other arm keeping yourself afloat.

Whatever had pushed you over the brink, you were uncertain, feeling your hips jolt forward once more. Rhaenyra continued to shower your nethers in lap after greedy lap of her tongue, intermingling with brief circles over your pearl.

Buckling beneath the weight of your mounting arousal, your body succumbed, as if a barrier had been obliterated within you. A surge of heat flooded your insides, pooling between your thighs as you quivered in the aftermath.

A white-hot rush of ecstasy swarmed you, voice tapering off into incoherent praises and wanton moans, filling her chambers with your delight. As nectar oozed from your weeping slit, she teased you further, tongue slowing to a crawl.

Your chest burned with exasperated sighs as you fought to regain your composure, beginning to settle from the onslaught of your release. Perspiration lingered along the column of your spine, body bitten by the sting of desire.

Rhaenyra withdrew, pressing a string of feather-light kisses along the inside of your thigh, her grasp upon your hand beginning to loosen. Her tongue absentmindedly wet her bottom lip, rising from between your legs in order to capture your mouth with hers.

The kiss made you deliriously warm, dizzy as you clung to her as if you were drowning, able to taste yourself upon her tongue. “You are exemplary.” Her regal lull was akin to music, stroking every part of your mind as she slipped away.

High praise made you preen, happy that she seemed satisfied with you. It was a first — and it felt liberating to finally shed the shackles of your longstanding repression. You watched as she moved to drag a warm cloth over her face, ridding herself of sweat.

Exhaustion hit you then and there, and you stood enough to adjust your skirts, preparing to go and find your crimson robe.

“Stay awhile longer,” Rhaenyra’s cadence was disarmingly tender, inviting you to share her bed. The dusk was still young enough, the hour of the bat not yet upon you. “Unless you have business elsewhere.” She did not dare to interfere with your duties, no matter how much she wanted to.

Smitten, you sank back down onto her bed, growing flustered in the wake of such carnal acts. Admittedly, you half expected her to dismiss you once you were finished, but you were delighted to be proven wrong.

Warmth continued to coalesce between your thighs, a burning reminder that would likely linger for weeks to come. She noticed your sheepish behavior, crossing the threshold once more to join you on her bed, coaxing you into her embrace.

As she laid down, your cheek pressed flush to her collarbone, allowing an arm to drape around her, cradling her close. Rhaenyra welcomed your embrace, her hand finding yours, slender digits idly toying with your own.

“Your Grace, I … I hope that I satisfied you well enough,” Your nervous murmur ensnared her attention, lilac hues flickering over your worried visage. She cupped your cheek, pale brows furrowing together. “This is so very new.”

“I care little for satisfaction, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra corrected, turning just enough to prop her head up with one palm, sheets drawn around the both of you. The older woman looked upon you with a thinly-veiled affection, fondness only growing in the afterglow. “It is you I care for.”

A hitch formed within your throat, lashes fluttering as you held her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “As I care for you, your Gr — Rhaenyra,” Catching yourself, your lips twitched into a warm smile. “You’ve made me feel as if I am worthy of love.”

Untangling your hands, she reached to cup your face, thumb dragging over your cheekbone and beneath your eye. “You are beyond worthy of such sentiments,” With a soft exhale, Rhaenyra moved closer, until space had all but dissipated. “You shall have mine.”

“As you have mine own.” You whispered, garnering the courage to kiss her first, mouths seamlessly melding together, as if made to mold to one another. She savored your lips, caressing the nape of your neck as she brought you into the heat of her chest.

Rhaenyra had loved, and loved again throughout her lifetime — Alicent Hightower, Harwin Strong, Daemon, and now, you. She loved Daemon still, and yet she allowed her heart to simply grow, let it bend and expand until she had made enough room for you.

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x you #rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon smut #rhaenyra x reader

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petals2fish · 2 months ago

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Hello! We need to talk about the marauders era war!

The war during the Marauders' time was far worse than most of the fandom portrays in fanfics. When Voldemort rose to power, long before the Marauders were even in their first year, it plunged the wizarding world into their version of a civil war. The Marauders grew up seeing headline after headline about the damage Purebloods (or muggles depending on your household) were inflicting on their world. They lived through supplies shortages, canceled Hogsmede trips, and saw Muggleborns hunted even in everyday spaces like Hogwarts’ halls.

At the end of Prisoner of Azkaban, Sirius and Remus wanting to kill Peter wasn’t just about revenge for betraying the Potters, though that certainly was part of it. The war had left them with trauma that Harry, only a third-year at the time of the Shrieking Shack events, couldn’t fully comprehend. It had left them with callousness, grief, and the knowledge that Harry didn’t have: James and Lily Potter would have 100% hunted down Peter and killed him themselves if they had survived Halloween.

Loyalty to the Potters��especially James—was everything. To Remus and Sirius, Peter wasn’t just a coward; he was a deserter, a double-crosser, and a murderer who had caused more death than just James and Lily’s. Peter’s spying had likely led to many of their friends dying—Remus and Sirius were smart enough to piece things together. Betrayal was the worst crime in their eyes, and they knew far more about Peter’s war crimes than Harry did. They had spent countless hours with the Order, hunting men like Peter, and knew now that Peter had ratted everyone they loved out to Voldemort.

Harry, on the other hand, grew up in a time of peace after Voldemort’s first fall. When Harry entered the wizarding world, everyone praised his parents. Everyone called them hero’s. James was brave and loyal, Lily was kind and courageous. Harry came to believe they were perfect, putting them on a pedestal and imagining they could never do anything as terrible as killing someone.

Harry told Remus and Sirius that he thought James and Lily would never want their friends to become killers. Harry told them to spare Peter’s life, in the name of his parent’s honor.

What Harry didn’t realize—at the time anyways—was that his parents had been raised by their experiences in the First Wizarding War. They, like the other marauders, had killed to protect themselves and fight for their friends. The Potter’s had defied Voldemort three times before turning 21, they were on the front lines. Although James and Lily were good people, they had to make tough choices during the war. With their lives and their loved ones’ lives at stake, their decisions weren’t always about what was “right,” but about survival.

The real difference between Harry's war and the Marauders' war wasn't just the time period in which they fought; it was how each group perceived the consequences of their surroundings and the outcomes that followed their responses to those circumstances.

For Harry, the war was about lost innocence and a chance to do things differently, to live up to his parents’ legacy. Harry’s belief that his parents would want mercy for Peter was noble, but it came from a completely different world and time.

For the marauders, the war taught them that surviving often meant making tough, sometimes chilling choices. Loyalty was everything, and betrayal at Peter’s level was something that couldn’t be forgiven. This is how the war shaped Sirius and Remus into a “loyalty or death” mentality that was shown in Prisoner of Azkaban.

#petals talks #james potter #lily evans #sirius black #remus lupin #the marauders era #hp meta

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doliacuddles · 13 days ago

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HEADCANON .ᐟ ㅤ𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖸𝖺𝗄𝗎𝗓𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋?

𝖸𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾! 𝖸𝖺𝗄𝗎𝗓𝖺 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

The code is everything. The Yakuza is not just a criminal organization; it is a brotherhood bound by an unbreakable code of honor. For him, ninkyō (chivalry) is the foundation of his existence. He is not a mindless thug but a man of strict rules. He can be ruthless toward his enemies, but he would never lay a hand on you. His love is possessive to the point of obsession, but in his own way, it is still "love."

His world is bathed in blood, but his mind is sharp. He is not an impulsive killer or a mindless psychopath. Every act of violence he commits has a clear purpose. If someone disappears after showing too much interest in you, it’s not merely out of jealous rage. That person was a threat, a potential obstacle. In his world, violence is a tool, not a reckless indulgence.

Respect is earned through actions, not words. He doesn’t need to boast about his power or openly threaten those who approach you. His mere presence, his name alone, is enough to make people tremble. A whispered mention of his influence in the underworld is all it takes for others to keep their distance.

He controls you without you even realizing it. He won’t lock you away or forbid you from seeing your loved ones. Instead, he will manipulate circumstances to his advantage. If you look for a job, the company owner will owe him a favor. If you face financial troubles, a solution will appear as if by magic. You will always be surrounded by “coincidences” that keep you bound to him, unaware that your entire life is a web woven by his hands.

His loyalty is absolute. In the Yakuza, betrayal is the worst crime imaginable, and his love follows the same logic. He will never lie to you or cheat on you because, in his mind, you belong to him, and he belongs to you. But he expects the same devotion from you. A hint of disloyalty, even the slightest suspicion, and his patience will be replaced by an insatiable obsession to ensure that you never, ever think of leaving him.

Money, power, but above all, honor. He can dress you in silk, drown you in jewelry, and shower you with luxuries no one else could provide, but he doesn’t do it on a whim. It’s his way of marking you as his most prized possession. However, his pride is unshakable—rejecting his gifts means rejecting him, an insult he will not tolerate.

There is no turning back. Entering his life is like diving into an ocean with no shore in sight. His love is not something you can accept or reject—it is an inescapable fate. He doesn’t need to threaten or force you to stay. Slowly, he will eliminate every alternative, every path that leads away from him, until the only logical choice is to accept that you belong to him.

Cold and calculating, never impulsive. He does not let anger dictate his actions. He won’t cause a scene if someone smiles at you on the street, nor will he forbid you from speaking to others. But that doesn’t mean he ignores it. Hours later, that person will receive a silent warning—a shadow looming over them, making it clear that getting too close to you has consequences.

Fear is effective, but devotion is better. He doesn’t want you to fear him—he wants you to need him. His love is an invisible web that slowly tightens around you. You won’t even realize you’re trapped until it’s too late to escape. He will make the world seem hostile without him, making his presence feel like your only source of safety.

Love is loyalty, not sweetness. He is not a man of flowery words or empty promises. His love is not soft or delicate—it is something fierce, something permanent, something that consumes until you are part of him. He does not believe in fairy tale romance. To him, love is possession, protection, an unbreakable bond.

The illusion of freedom. You can go out, work, and live your life... always under his watch. You don’t need to know that your boss answers to him, that your landlord reports to him, that every person you interact with has been subtly observed and analyzed. What matters is that you will never, not for a single moment, be beyond his reach.

Marriage is a formality; your bond is eternal. He doesn’t need a signed contract to know that you are his. There may never be a wedding ceremony, but in his mind, you are already his wife. There is no “until death do us part” because even death would not be enough to let you escape from him.

If you try to run, he will bring you back. Not with violence, but with patience. He will dismantle every opportunity for escape, destroy any attempt to leave. He will show you that there is no path but the one that leads to him. And when you finally accept your fate, he will treat you as his most treasured possession, the jewel that no one else will ever be allowed to touch.

Intellectual property of @doliacuddles.

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere oc x you #yandere yakuza

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bonefall · 2 months ago

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Yo, need some help with the BB au's warrior code (working on the wiki). Cus 1-4 are confirmed from the history post, but what order are the rest of them in??

Oh this is actually something I've been meaning to get to. I swung over to the wiki page and I see you're working with a bundle of unconnected posts, and the REALLY old first draft-- it's waaay overdue that I make an update that also contains an official addressing of some of the biggest changes that have happened since then.

I'm gonna try to fix that for you now. Here's a rough draft of BB!Warrior Code 2.0, including snappier names and new thoughts for the associated stories.

I'm also trying to make each commandment more... sociological. In contrast to canon's code, I want these to be more open to interpretation, but also gesture at deeper social values that Clan cats have.

After all, it's the Warrior Code. I've always felt like it should have a similar vibe to chivalry or bushido, y'know? Not just a list of laws, but a "guide" to living as an honorable warrior.

(and, like chivalry and bushido, it's much less "inherently" noble than it seems, easily twisted into something destructive and only protecting other people in your caste.)

The plan here is that I'm going to post this in a rough state so you can get it on the Wiki, AND everyone can toss up input on this. When I feel satisfied, I'm gonna hit up Trout to make official Clanmew translations, and then I'm going to work with one/some of the artists in my spreadsheet to make this its own post.

So, the next time you see this will likely be a lot cleaner and have revisions.

IN SHORT:

Law of the Border "A Clan is the exclusive ruler of its domain; a Star is the exclusive ruler of its Clan. Borders are set to mark this land. To trespass is to offend the stars."

Law of Honor "An honorable warrior does not need to kill to win their battles, except when the foe is dishonorable or it is necessary for self-defense."

Law of the Deputy "The Star is to choose a responsible Deputy to rule alongside them who shall carry the starlight after their death. A Clan must never go past moonhigh without a Deputy appointed."

Law of Loyalty "Defend your Clan, even with your life. No love for an outsider shall outweigh your loyalty to your Clan."

Law of Priority / Prey Priority Privilege "An honorable warrior would starve before letting those they protect go hungry."

Law of Grace "StarClan is to be thanked for what it provides. To waste their blessings or blaspheme their light is treason against the Stars."

Law of Seasons "A kitten must see two seasons before it can become an apprentice. An apprentice must train for two seasons before it can become a warrior. A warrior should handle all four seasons alone before becoming a mentor."

Law of the Challenge / Right to Challenge "All warriors who bare a blessed name from StarClan are entitled to defend their honor. The right to challenge, or to accept a challenge in turn, shall not be infringed upon without reason."

Law of the Wild "A warrior rejects the soft life of a kittypet."

Law of the Cleric's Vow "A cleric who takes a mate or has kittens has violated their sacred vow, and must have their privilege of being StarClan's herald revoked."

Law of the Gathering / Full Moon Truce "Under the light of the full moon, all Clans shall send representatives to the Gathering to hear the news of the leaders. There will be a truce that lasts from sundown to sunrise, and attendance is a privilege."

Law of the First Tasks "Before an apprentice can receive their holy name by the power vested in their Star, first they must complete three sacred tasks; a warrior's assessment, a complete vigil, and a pilgrimage."

Law of the Leader's Right / Dalestar's Law / The Leader's Rights "By the power of the Star they carry, the word of a leader shall be recognized as the warrior code."

Law of the Three Kittens / Darkstar's Law / The Queen's Rights "No action, inaction, or accusation may ever allow a kit to be put in danger, no matter what Clan their parents were from. All queens shall have the right to not reveal the origin of their litter, even under suspicion of codebreaking."

Law of the Lake "Every Clan has the right to fight for its honor and independence, but the Clans of the lake shall never allow another to suffer or collapse. In dire times, all the cats of the lake understand their ancestral command; unite or die."

Law of Love / Bristlefrost's Law "If a cat wishes to walk alongside the warrior of another Clan, their beloved may ask their Star to issue a challenge to prove their new loyalty. If this challenge is overcome, their love shall be known as StarClan's will."

Law of Kickum Buttocks / Leader-B-Gone "girl help im still figuring out how I'm going to rewrite the new law about kicking out leaders. It is too long and too hyperspecific. There's absolutely no way for it to get legitimately used in canon, let alone be a relevant plot point."

If a previous post contradicts this one, assume this one overrules it. You can feel free to ask about it though! There's probably a reason I changed it, and I'll hear you out if you think an older version was stronger.

The Borbior Bode. I mean the BB!Warrior Code.

(Under the cut)

COMMANDMENT 1: Law of the Border "A Clan is the exclusive ruler of its domain; a Star is the exclusive ruler of its Clan. Borders are set to mark this land. To trespass is to offend the stars."

The legend goes that after the carnage of the First Battle, StarClan granted a fragment of a star to the leaders of the five Clans. This piece of a star is what legitimizes their right to the land they rule, so the leader is technically the owner of the Clan's domain and has authority over it.

In practice, this means that Clan leaders have the right to claim and control everything that is "part of their land," their domain. This usually refers to prey, but also includes herbs, goods, and even warriors with a holy, StarClan-ordained name that swear fealty to them.

Most often, this is the law that is cited to justify territory expansions, by changing borders. It also tends to come up in "economic" circumstances. When Onestar launched an embargo against ShadowClan during the Yellowcough Epidemic preventing mullein from being brought to them, he cited this law, because that herb only grows in WindClan moorland.

The intent behind this commandment is VERY different from its modern use. There were originally just two "commandments," this one and the Law of Honor, and it was essentially serving the purpose that later laws (namely 6, 8, 10 and 13) would more explicitly outline. Its purpose wasn't to put absolute power over territory into the paws of a leader, but to command the Clans to respect each other's autonomy.

In fact, the wording is weird to reflect that.

In Clanmew, the verb here for "trespass" is meant in the sense of "to disrespect," and which "stars" are being offended is unclear. It was originally meant religiously-- the angry ancestors who halted the First Battle would be offended if the Clans treated each other poorly. Over time, "the stars" came to be interpreted as offending the leader of the Clan, as in "issuing a challenge to them."

But its modern interpretation is all that matters, now. And it's widely accepted to mean "Leader owns everything in its Clan's borders, fight them if you don't like that."

COMMANDMENT 2: Law of Honor "An honorable warrior does not need to kill to win their battles, except when the foe is dishonorable or it is necessary for self-defense."

I'm considering rewording this one in a small but significant way because I have plans to play with the "dishonorable foe" clause. The ideologies of Fire Alone and Thistle Law clash over the philosophical idea of the Code's protection applying to outsiders at all, so I realized that I don't need to have "unless they are outside of the code" written into any specific commandment.

So, instead, this version would mention dishonorability. To invoke this commandment to kill is always an accusation, and to accept that it was used against your loved one means admitting they were "dishonorable." To be outside of the code, to be unable to contribute, or to be HalfClan could mean you're inherently dishonorable... if someone like Tigerstar wants an excuse to hurt you.

Unsure, though. I do like the wording of the canon commandment, "unless they are outside of the warrior code or it is necessary for self-defense." I do like the way that it says, right away, that they don't see outsider cats as being protected by this law. I like how weaselly it is.

COMMANDMENT 3: Law of the Deputy "The Star is to choose a responsible Deputy to rule alongside them who shall carry the starlight after their death. A Clan must never go past moonhigh without a Deputy appointed."

Developed as a result of the events of Riverstar's Heir. When King Riverstar passed away with the inheritance of the River Kingdom unclear, his oldest living biological son stepped forward to claim his "birthright." The son decided to throw a celebration before going to claim his lives, not knowing that there was a saboteur prepared to slip poison into his prey.

The cat who would have been considered Riverstar's "deputy" by modern standards, Flowers Come First, desperately tried to keep the Kingdom together as other cats tried to carve out claims to the leaderless land. After dozens were killed and injured in a civil conflict (sometimes called The Second Battle), the ShadowClan Cleric, Redscar, was called in as a mediator to determine the rightful leader.

But, before he determined that Flowerstar would lead next, it was ensured that all of the Clans would come together to accept this as a new law. To prevent this kind of succession crisis from ever occurring again.

(BB!ASC LOOMS IN THE DISTANCE)

This commandment was technically the first "addition" to the law, but at the time, it was considered the "birth" of the Warrior Code. Before this, it was more of a pair of principles from StarClan.

As a note; in the Clanmew, "Responsible" Deputy implies a warrior who has trained an apprentice or has raised children. I'm unsure if linguistic drift now means that HAS to be an apprentice or not, but there are probably historic cases where a Mi with a ton of grown kittens took power.

COMMANDMENT 4: Law of Loyalty "Defend your Clan, even with your life. No love for an outsider shall outweigh your loyalty to your Clan."

This law was famously introduced after Ryewhisker gave his life to defend his mate, Cloudberry, in a battle between their Clans. It's usually considered the first proper "addition" to the Warrior Code, but a real debate about if 3 or 4 is the first "amendment" would probably be considered a sort of pedantic argument by most.

(side funfact; In Clanmew there's a term for that. It's called a "Shineless Fight," or a "matte match." Basically a silly battle that doesn't invite attention from StarClan.)

Its ratification came even in spite of Cloudberry's heated opposition to it. The ancient practice of Kitten Stealing was born from this commandment, justified by ancient actions taken by Skystar during the Dawn Era. Cloudberry watched her kittens grow, inheriting a world far worse than the one she'd loved Ryewhisker in.

When she was reunited with her mate in death, they refused to be part of a StarClan cruel enough to support and approve of a law written to condemn their love. Without a moment's hesitation, the lovers fled into the Place of No Stars together, vowing that they would not rest in peace until the evil commandment was overturned.

They do even more than just that, too.

When cross-Clan mates need protection from discovery, the lovers will hide them from watchful eyes under the cover of yew branches. If the stars burn brightly to document the sins of forbidden friends, Cloudberry will cool them with rain while Ryewhisker bends the grass to guide them to safety. They are demons acting as guardian angels, for those who God has abandoned.

...Also, author's note, I've done rewording to this law. I'm trying to make sure all types of love (platonic, romantic, familial, plus the clan culture concepts for these) are equally important narratively. It's both something I care about as an artist, and also something I think makes the story better.

DIVERSITY WIN! Your queerplatonic cross-clan relationship is equally treasonous!

On that note, I also cut the "reassurance" from the law entirely. The canon law says "you may have friendships, but be careful because you might meet them in battle," to imply it's fine to just be friendly, but I feel like it fits BB better to just not explicitly spell that out. I generally think it's a better idea to stress how individuals interpret the law.

COMMANDMENT 5: Law of Priority "An honorable warrior would starve before letting those they protect go hungry."

In Clanmew, the wording will be closer to this; "The true warrior Wants before those they protect would Need," which means that the warrior's desires go unfulfilled if their "charges" have unmet needs. It applies very broadly to almost anything-- food, medicine, rest, tools, etc. It's not just about hunger, but it's been translated in a way to communicate its spirit to an English-speaking audience.

This does typically mean that kittens, elders, and the Cleric eat first, but it's also one of the laws that particularly noble warriors would repeat to themselves as a mantra. It stresses self-sacrifice in service of the weak. On the flip side, a more authoritarian cat can easily twist this code to accuse someone else of being dishonorable, if they're "taking" too much.

Full disclosure, this one's still pretty big WIP material. I haven't made a lot of progress on the origin story of this one, or what its sociological impacts were.

In fact, laws 5, 6, and 7 are WIP territory. They might get shuffled in order or reworded in the future, though their "spirit" is going to stay the same.

What I DO know about the Law of Priority's backstory is that it's probably not going to be born from a battle on Sunningrocks. Most of the canon equivalent law from COTC is actually going to get repurposed into BB!Darkstar's Commandment, and Commandment 11 by proxy. It's more likely I'll take a bunch of the spare ancient warriors and come up with some original big disaster that spurred it on.

COMMANDMENT 6: Law of Grace "StarClan is to be thanked for what it provides. To waste their blessings or blaspheme their light is treason against the Stars."

Also known as Dovestar's Law. Possibly one of the most prone to being interpreted in different lights between leaders. It's not a law explicitly requiring belief, but it does command religious performance from all Clan cats.

...which, functionally, does mean that cats like Cloudtail and Mothwing have always been pressured into taking part in rituals they don't want to be part of.

For example, when prey is killed, Cloudtail gets offended looks when he doesn't send a prayer to StarClan. If it wasn't for Ferncloud and Elderberry being so close to him, he might have been denied getting Ashpaw as an apprentice due to a refusal to swear a religious oath. Worse, if Bluestar hadn't been leader at the time, not pressing his nose to the Moonstone might have prevented him from becoming a warrior at all.

(as a personal note, as an atheist, ive always found the way that canon dances around acknowledging the destructive aspects of organized religion EXTREMELY frustrating. Especially in COTC, where it's mentioned that Dovestar wanted to codify a religious commandment but failed, and Leafpool smugly chuckles at the leader for being so surprised. It felt like such a "writer's mouthpiece" moment. girl it's a cult in the woods. you wrote scourge as an evil atheist. your cats have catholic guilt, just own it)

The second most important legal use of this law is to punish contact with the spirits of demons-- residents of the Place of No Stars. There are several forbidden techniques for utilizing the power of these spirits, namely "Channeling," the direct summoning of a spirit (as opposed to "Invoking," which is when StarClan as an entity is used as an "operator" to get in touch with an angel in its ranks).

Casually this is referred to as "witchcraft" or "forbidden magic."

But, in addition to being a religious law, it is also a law against overhunting and waste. Especially of "blessed" animals, such as bats and songbirds, which are considered downright sinful to kill. If you knowingly destroy beautiful things without a good reason, "wasting" a blessing, it's not JUST a sin, but a crime.

It's possibly one of the most relevant laws in the day-to-day lives of warriors. ShadowClan cats in particular take this VERY literally, believing that they should also try to salvage a use from ALL things they kill. Including badgers.

COMMANDMENT 7: Law of Seasons "A kitten must see two seasons before it can become an apprentice. An apprentice must train for two seasons before it can become a warrior. A warrior should handle all four seasons alone before becoming a mentor."

This commandment was worded and introduced by Daisytail, rallying all the parents of the Clans, to protect young cats from two battle hungry leaders who were foisting fights and responsibilities on those who physically could not be ready.

This story won't change much from its COTC equivalent, besides maybe adding an extra detail that young apprentices were being given to young warriors, less than two years old. A very young warrior might had never handled the season they're now training an apprentice in, leading to things like;

Being unable to identify thin ice

Not knowing how cold temperatures change how scent works

Unfamiliarity with hunting in snowy conditions

Lack of education on wintertime animal behavior

Ultimately though, the point of this law is simply to codify "minimums" of the age brackets. Most cats train longer than that, and they are strictly grouped socially.

In fact, because of the fact these cats age so rapidly during their first year and then "slow down" afterwards, "rank" is a LOT more important socially than chronological age.

As an example, Reedwhisker has a nightmarish, two-year-long apprenticeship due to mentor abuse. He was considered an apprentice in age that entire time. Having an extended mentorship is literally like being forced to stay a teenager. This is as hellish as it sounds.

Overall though, for BB, this commandment is going to be a lot more relevant for the mentor/apprentice aspects instead of "early apprentice" infractions. Even the most evil, short-sighted leader can realize that getting kids killed before they turn into adult soldiers is self-defeating.

One of the more notorious changes of BB is the fact Brokenstar isn't going to be using child soldiers. What he DOES do is approve of Runningnose's plan to murder a blind kitten so that they can frame Shroompelt for it, exiling her as Yellowfang and FINALLY getting her out of the way so they can commit a massacre against WindClan.

(still evil just a different kind of evil <3)

I've been really wishy-washy on what happened with Badgerfang specifically, because I didn't want to eliminate the tragic story beat of a young life being wasted. But I've finally decided what I'm going to do. Badgerfang was just a fresh apprentice, nothing special, nothing "illegal," just like all of the other adolescents who took part in that battle.

I don't think he should have to be legally too young for it to be absolutely horrific that a kid was killed during the invasion of someone else's home. He was the equivalent of a 13-year-old and he was gored by someone who was confused and terrified in the middle of the night, bleeding to death in his uncle's paws.

For Flintfang, in that moment, it has nothing to do with recommitting himself to the "warrior code," but realizing that the only way this madness stops is if someone puts an end to it.

COMMANDMENT 8: Law of the Challenge "All warriors who bare a blessed name from StarClan are entitled to defend their honor. The right to challenge, or to accept a challenge in turn, shall not be infringed upon without reason."

Attempting to stop a war from breaking out between ThunderClan and WindClan, the ancient leader Morningstar prevented his warriors from fighting back against Rabbitstar's border transgressions. Furious and offended that they could not prove themselves in battle, his cats came to resent him. After skirmish and sickness lead to the "honorless" death of several cats including his deputy, the Cleric, Pearnose, lead a revolt against him.

Morningstar was branded a coward by StarClan, deemed unworthy of joining their ranks and sent to the Place of No Stars to wallow in his misery. Afterwards, Pearstar gained her nine lives, beloved by ThunderClan and blessed by StarClan, and her decree was made into code.

This law is being invoked when a warrior mentions their "right to challenge." As a quirk of the wording, it's also widely accepted that an official challenge involves saying your opponent's full name, to get the attention of StarClan.

"without reason" is another one of those little clauses that gives a leader wiggle room when they need it. Legitimate "reason" to cancel a challenge includes the full moon truce, promise to allow the battle at a more appropriate date, or the fight being shineless or dishonorable to begin with. Still, leaders are rarely eager to get compared to Morningstar, so there's a lot of social pressure to not infringe the right.

The Clans culturally value the idea that "might makes right," and this commandment is both a result of, and a contributor to it. A LOT of small-scale quibbles over aspects of the Warrior Code end up being resolved by an invocation of the Right to Challenge, because trying to argue with a warrior that they're wrong about how they interpreted the code is easily interpreted as an attack on their honor.

COMMANDMENT 9: Law of the Wild "A warrior rejects the soft life of a kittypet."

During the destruction of SkyClan's historic territory in the White Hart Woods, Flystar witnessed many of his warriors turning to humans and the town to live double lives. In response, he started very strictly enforcing the warrior code, believing that if his Clan lived more piously, this would stop the destruction.

it did not work. Old Man Flystar died and left Cloudstar as a young leader, desperately keeping SkyClan together in its exile. Even death did not stop him from honoring his vow.

...But the Forest Four did not care. The amendment that Flystar suggested for the warrior code was born from his need to discourage his warriors from leaving, but it was approved because of shared cultural hatred for human beings. The destruction of SkyClan's territory just made an existing problem much, much worse.

During the Crusade Era, this law was invoked to justify violent invasions into Chelford. During other eras, it makes cats hesitate to take food from humans, or even interact with kittypets at all.

It's also a very weird translation; in Clanmew, this is the "Law of the Unbunched Scruff." It could also be translated as "Law of the Uncollared Neck" or "Law of a Free Nape." It's referring to the back of the neck being unburdened by a collar, but it's also REALLY common for little kits to learn about this law and immediately start using it to protest their Mi carrying them back to the nest for bedtime.

This was also the last law to be introduced before SkyClan's exile! Modern SkyClan has complicated feelings on if this one should be respected as part of their "version" of the code.

ALSO;

I've so far kept it as short and simple as canon, but I'm thinking of making it longer to match the others. I can't find the right words for it, though-- something about "A warrior rejects the soft life of a kittypet, and resists the deceitful temptation of humans" or "and remains vigilant for the tricks of man"

I want to capture the vibe of Flystar trying to convince his warriors that humans are liars, and any gifts they give you will actually make you weak. Part of me is trying to avoid wording the commandment in a way that could result in people thinking Firepaw himself is a "trick of man," but maybe I should just lean into it instead.

COMMANDMENT 10: Law of the Cleric's Vow "A cleric who takes a mate or has kittens has violated their sacred vow, and must have their privilege of being StarClan's herald revoked."

Moth Flight did not create the vow to be ratified as code. It was a desperate, painful oath she made her four kittens make before they were taken away from her to become the first Clerics of the other Clans.

She made them promise her that they would not have children of their own who would be ripped away from them. It was a mother's plea, to spare them from the pain she was experiencing, to encourage them to value medicine over connections to a Clan that stole them, and to punish the Clans for treating their bloodline like something that would produce prophets like livestock.

Their gifts would die with them, and all future Clerics would be trained, not born. The Cleric's Vow was a non-binding tradition for generations, until the exile of SkyClan.

Larkstripe, Cleric of WindClan, rallied the other Clerics into going on strike until the leaders reversed their terrible decision. Swiftstar stubbornly refused to give into this demand, even when sickness landed him on his deathbed. She remained firm, informing him that he was free to gamble with his life if he wanted to face StarClan's judgement.

His successor, Dalestar, sought a way to brutally crush the strike. So he hit Larkstripe at her one weakness-- her son, Ripplekit.

With the ringleader's reputation destroyed and her son ripped away from her and sent to ShadowClan, the other Clerics quickly folded. Dalestar got his way, and was celebrated for it.

This commandment doesn't have too many unique interpretations, though there are occasionally interesting cases where Clerics have kittens before taking their vow. While it's a "gray zone," kittens who are the child of a parent-turned-Cleric are sometimes considered cursed or unlucky.

(contrast to SkyClan where it is actually considered a plus for a Cleric to have kittens.)

COMMANDMENT 11: Law of the Full Moon "Under the light of the full moon, all Clans shall send representatives to the Gathering to hear the news of the leaders. There will be a truce that lasts from sundown to sunrise, and attendance is a privilege."

Taken from Larkstripe and raised at the belly of Birdflight, mate of the exiled Cloudstar, Ripplekit grew into Ripplemoon and became Ripplestar of ShadowClan. Spurred into action by a blight that was spreading up the now-dead fifth tree of Fourtrees, he declared war on the other Clans. "If you will not make room to fetch SkyClan home, then I will carve it out."

Before this time, the Gathering was simply a tradition, not code, but Ripplestar's deadly total war tactics recognized it as an excellent target. Attempting to bring a swift end to his bloody campaign, he planned an attack that would surely have many innocent casualties.

However, he was betrayed by his adopted brother; Gorseclaw. The other Clans were prepared for his attack, bringing nothing but warriors to the Gathering. In fury at Ripplestar's audacity, having lost the SkyClan ancestors who would have supported these actions, StarClan struck the base of the blighted tree with lightning. The falling trunk crushed Ripplestar against the Highrock and snapped the oak in two distinct places; at the base, and in the middle.

The Z-shaped cracks would be seen again many years later, as Brokenstar's tail. The guardian spirit of SkyClan, incarnated in the flesh through a birth from a Cleric, furious and manifest.

But, before that time, there was an immediate "Clan Pride Tide" that washed over the culture of those who won. The Law of the Full Moon was the first of three additional Commandments born from Dalestar and his peers during this time.

There are three significant "rules" to Gatherings that were established by this law;

The leader may arbitrarily exclude any cat they don't want to bring. Before this commandment, you could just go. Now, the most freedom you have is your ability to linger longer for the Aftergathering.

It is mandatory to completely listen to the "opening speeches" of Gatherings before you're allowed to mingle. Even if grandma mistystar is going off on a tangent again

The truce is now enforceable. It was previously just a taboo-- scuffles would break out now and then, and there was the occasional playfighting match. Now, you can't even get heated at another cat without people getting uncomfortable.

COMMANDMENT 12: Law of the First Tasks "Before an apprentice can receive their holy name by the power vested in their Star, first they must complete three sacred tasks; a warrior's assessment, a complete vigil, and a pilgrimage."

The second law to come from the post-Ripplestar tide was more codification of traditions, to "instill a sense of pride and honor into young warriors," but these were also a sneaky way to weed out dissidents.

Apprentices would typically do these tasks naturally as part of their rite of passage, but now, if ANY of the cats involved in this process did not like you or your mentor, they could hurt you by delaying them. A leader could choose not to bring you with them to the Moonstone. They could force you to re-do the vigil for making a noise. A vindictive mentor could keep flunking your assessment for stupid reasons because she hates you.

Bad mentors "poorly preparing" an apprentice they have a duty to guide into adulthood is good grounds for punishment. It's a massive dishonor to have an apprentice taken from you. Of course, this all depends on the Clan "taking the side" of the tormentor.

So, this is rarely used for political reasons in more recent eras, because of that potential collateral reputation hit. Making an apprentice's right of passage difficult for no reason tends to make you unpopular with that apprentice's friends, family, mentor, and peers-- but it served its purpose, back then.

Nowadays it's just celebrated as a part of Clan traditions. The First Tasks are much older than the Commandment, but most cats don't think so hard about history that they notice it's strange they got codified during this era.

(Plus, this commandment is popular. Apprentices and their families feel cheated if these first tasks are glossed over.)

COMMANDMENT 13: Law of the Leader's Right "By the power of the Star they carry, the word of a leader shall be recognized as the warrior code."

The big, bad one. Also called Dalestar's Commandment.

With this decree, the Clan leaders announced an exile of all the cats who had been revealed to support Ripplestar. ShadowClan's next leader, Marshstar, was made to deal with an immediate refugee crisis on top of overseeing the injuries of all the cats who fought at that Gathering.

It's the sort of law that would be considered a massive mistake within a few generations, but by that time, it was too entrenched to remove. The leaders had seized power over anything that could legally challenge them-- the Code, their Clerics, and their warriors in turn.

Only the rule of the Impostor would cause this part of the code to be altered, but not before the Clans nearly collapsed under his tyranny.

Future generations would look back at the fallout of Ripplestar's rebellion, and the following tide of Clan pride, and generally reach a consensus; this was the birth of the ideas which would become known as Thistle Law. Maybe it wasn't their origin, and contributing thoughts had existed for a long time beforehand, but this was the watershed moment for what would develop into modern Clan politics.

COMMANDMENT 14: Law of the Three Kittens "No action, inaction, or accusation may ever allow a kit to be put in danger, no matter what Clan their parents were from. All queens shall have the right to not reveal the origin of their litter, even under suspicion of codebreaking."

Famously referred to as Darkstar's Commandment, and cited as the Queen's Rights. Put a decisive end to the barbaric practice of Kitten Stealing. Drafted, fought for, and codified in honor of Mapleshade's three children who drowned in the swollen river.

StarClan was so furious at the sheer amount of senseless death in one season that they blasted Darkstar with lightning to drag her into StarClan to witness the Trials of those who had died. They made her watch as Ravenwing, Frecklewish, Appledusk, AND Mapleshade were all damned to the Dark Forest, and bellowed that her and Oakstar would fix it or suffer the same fate.

She listened and proposed this law. Oakstar did not, and fought against its implementation. He tried to make up for this by beginning the Crusades, but this wasn't enough to "atone" for his disobedience.

Darkstar ruled that the birth of innocent kits shall could never be used as evidence of guilt, because of the fact it would inevitably put those same kittens in danger.

It was StarClan's privilege alone to judge if the behavior that lead to the conception of those kittens was codebreaking or not. Flawed mortals, such as Mapleshade who lied to keep her kittens safe and only endangered them through panic, and Oakstar who exiled children into the rain because of personal offense leading to bias, could not be trusted to be objective about this.

That said-- the Queen's Rights are a very complicated and particular topic. They exist to protect the kitten's birth from being used as evidence; they do NOT protect the family from any consequence of their actions. There are lots of ways for the Queen's Rights to be voided.

If the kids find out their parentage and reveal it, it's void. If a cat who recently gave birth shows the kits are theirs, it's void. If you let it slip that you acquired the kitten from your sister who wants you to raise it as a Clan cat, it's void.

And, no, you can't even safely talk to your Cleric. They are within their full rights to reveal it, too. There is no Cat HIPAA. Whoever you trust with this information had BETTER BE someone you trust with your life, because they might be!

Cats who lean towards Fire Alone think that the Queen's Rights don't go far enough. Cats who lean towards Thistle Law are obsessed with the contradictions.

COMMANDMENT 15: Law of the Lake "Every Clan has the right to defend its independence and to fight for its honor, but the Clans of the lake shall never allow another to suffer or collapse. In dire times, all the cats of the lake understand their ancestral command; unite or die."

First proposed in response to the disastrous lack of response that allowed the rise of the Kin, a deadly Yellowcough outbreak, and the eventual collapse of ShadowClan, this commandment was approved without contest when SkyClan found its way to the Lake.

It's both a promise to SkyClan that what happened to them will never happen again, AND a somber acknowledgement that what happened to ShadowClan was avoidable if they'd only intervened sooner. Heartstar takes this commandment VERY seriously.

Too seriously, many add. Perhaps more out of ambition than compassion. But she doesn't care-- they weren't the ones suffocating in their own lungs watching their family die, as Onestar sat on a hill of medicine across the lake, glowering. Perhaps they should take it more seriously.

COMMANDMENT 16: Law of the Lovers / Bristlefrost's Law "If a cat wishes to walk alongside the warrior of another Clan, their beloved may ask their Star to issue a challenge to prove their new loyalty. If this challenge is overcome, their love shall be known as StarClan's will."

AKA Bristlefrost's Law, created in her honor after sacrificing her Afterlife to barrel Ashfur out of the sky, burning up in orbit.

In life, Bristlefrost was innocently meeting with Rootspring. Two warriors with a small crush, breaking the code discreetly during a time of increasing tension. When Bramblestar's impostor caught them, he decided to make an example of the couple. Brought Bristlefrost to the Gathering, and demanded that SkyClan strongly punish Rootspring to comply with the code.

Waspstar of SkyClan, successor of Leafstar after her poisoning at Juniperclaw's tricks, refused. So the impostor lifted his claw, and sliced Bristlefrost's neck. Her body plunged from the tree, dead in an instant.

With her ghost, Rootspring joined the resistance to depose him immediately. After her sacrifice, he demanded reforms for the code and a new commandment in her honor. It was not as sweeping of a change as he wanted it to be, but with the Law of the Lovers, there was finally a mechanism to bring another cat into your own Clan.

It could have saved her, he argues. He could have taken her out of that dangerous Clan, gotten her away from the Impostor, convinced her to run.

(...the truth is, Bristlefrost would never have run from ThunderClan. Not until the bitter end. She wouldn't just die twice for her family, but even more than nine if she had the chance. but this was the leverage that Rootspring was able to use.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I keep going back and forth on the "love" wording of this one. On one hand, I like the idea a lot that Clan cats will have to perform friendship or love even if it isn't there to "legally" change Clans as a story device. I enjoy the idea of exploring that, and how it would be particularly messed up in an asylum scenario.

On the other hand... I'm not really using "love" in the romantic sense here, and "sponsor" is both closer to what I'm intending, AND the Clanmew version. By "beloved" I mean it equally in the sense of both an aunt and their "beloved" niece, and a lover and their traditional "beloved." But I'm not sure if that's coming across.

Is there a better word for "Sponsor" but like, in a warm and affectionate sense? Legal Buddy? Guy Who Will Vouch For Me? Sweet Cheese? Not to mention there just not being platonic words equal to "lover." The amatonormativity of the English language has harmed me once again

Law of Kickem Buttocks / Leader-B-Gone "girl help im still figuring out how I'm going to rewrite the new law about kicking out leaders. It is too long and too hyperspecific. There's absolutely no way for it to get legitimately used in canon, let alone be a relevant plot point."

I know FOR SURE that the first time this law is going to be used in BB, it is against Bramblestar in ASC. He's declining, manipulating Nightheart to use in a petty squabble against Squirrelflight, and suffered two massive blows to his reputation in both Squirrelflight's Horror and BB!TBC.

But the canon law is so specific that it's useless. Like, it may as well not even exist.

A non-deputy needs to call the vote

BOTH medcats have to agree

AANNDD you need a 75% supermajority in the Clan.

FINALLY, the other leaders, of Clans that are completely irrelevant, are asked if it's ok and ALL of them have to agree.

only THEN can all of the medcats of ALL the Clans go to StarClan, and ask if the lives can be taken away.

If the sky is cloudy then screw you. you have to wait even longer. Even if your Clanmates are getting murdered or tortured or whatever.

This frustrates me because, this is a MASSIVE change to the Warrior Code, something the audience has been desperate for. Drama in this series has practically dried up, and barely anything happens for books and books.

To make such a long-awaited addition be something this useless feels like an insult. Like they just begrudgingly did the bare minimum so they could ignore it. Even the "drama" of Reedclaw trying to oust Leafstar in CC was pointless, because if the writers were just less boring with their characters, she could have called for that vote all on her own.

"Ah but the code--" characters are capable of arguing that laws are ineffective and drastic measures need to be taken. Other characters can agree with them. it's that simple. Law is a social construct, not a wizard's magic barrier

Like. It could be that easy. Reedclaw doesn't want to physically harm Leafstar so she calls for a vote of no confidence. Cats quibble about if it's "legal" or not, Hawkwing proposes that it be 75% supermajority because then it would be extremely clear this is the will of SkyClan, etc. This would also be more interesting because then it's not established, it's new ground.

BUT. For BB I do want it to be law. Just a law that actually gets used.

So right now I'm leaning towards something like;

"If a leader is no longer able to rule with honor by their Clan's three-quarter decree, the Star shall undergo a ritual to return their blessings. This ritual must be both invoked by a cleric and a warrior, and then carried out by them if successful."

I still feel like three-quarters is a tall order, but I think I can work with it. At the very least, I can remove the requirement for ALL the Clerics to be in agreement.

I'm particularly fond of the idea of the idea that the two accusers have to carry out the WHOLE thing. The Cleric performs the parts of the ritual that would "wash" the lives away from the Leader, and the Warrior performs the parts of the ritual that would allow the Deputy to take them early. Overall, I think it would be generally better if the "difficulty" of enacting this commandment came from the fact the Cleric and the Warrior have to be EXTREMELY dedicated to it.

Like, instead of dealing with a lot of waiting and asking, if you want them gone, you have to do something very tedious with no reward.

As for what that ritual looks like, I want to reference BB!Rowanstar's sacrifice. The leader will probably have to bathe or be rinsed by the water of the Moonpool, and the deputy gets dunked in that.

bramblegirl bathwater

#better bones au #BB!Warrior Code #Clan Culture #Thistle Law #Im straight up gonna tag a bunch of the laws so search has a chance of catching it #Queen's Rights #Right to Challenge #Leader's Rights #BB!Darkstar #BB!Dalestar #BB!Ripplestar #Law of Loyalty #Law of Honor #Law of the Three Kits #Law of the Border #Law of the Lake #BB!Bristlefrost's Law #BB!History Lesson #I may also split the finalized code's posts into eras #So I can really dive into them. Like bundle up all the Clan Pride Tide commandments into 1 post for example #And put the Law of the Wild all on its own along with how it's the last one SkyClan shared with the Forest Four #Before their exile i mean. They also have the Law of the Lake.#ALSO if you are one of the 3 ppl ive been chatting with in dms im not ignoring you im just trying to get this out LMAOOO #There are cow talks in those messages lads. And artist messages also #Bonefall's BB!AU

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obsidian-pages777 · 11 months ago

Text

Pick a Card: Future Friend/partner/Spouse Reading Message from Goddess Hera

Top Left [Pile 1], Top Right [Pile 2], Bottom Left[ Pile 3], Bottom Right [Pile 4]

Goddess Hera, the queen of the Greek gods and wife of Zeus, is the deity of marriage, women, childbirth, and family. Revered for her regal authority, she wields power over familial bonds and marital fidelity. Hera is often depicted as a majestic figure, symbolizing the sanctity and strength of marriage. Her powers include protecting women in childbirth, ensuring marital harmony, and bestowing blessings upon families, embodying the virtues of loyalty, fidelity, and nurturing within the household.

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================================================

Pile 1

Message from Goddess Hera: In this pile, Hera emphasizes the importance of loyalty and trust in your relationships. She advises you to seek out and cherish those who are truly devoted to you.

Physical Description of Future Partner/Friend: The person coming into your life will have striking features, possibly dark hair and deep, expressive eyes. They might have a medium to tall build and an air of confidence and mystery about them. Their presence is charismatic, drawing others to them effortlessly.

Quote from Goddess Hera: "True loyalty is rare; honor it when found."

The Empress

Future Marriage Description: Your future marriage will be characterized by abundance, nurturing, and growth. The Empress signifies a relationship filled with love, fertility, and creativity. You and your partner will create a harmonious and bountiful home, where both emotional and material needs are met. This marriage will feel like a sanctuary, where you both can thrive and support each other's dreams.

Key Traits:

Abundance and Prosperity

Nurturing and Caring

Creative and Fertile Environment

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Pile 2

Message from Goddess Hera: Hera speaks of the nurturing aspects of love and family. She encourages you to cultivate a space where those you care for can feel safe and supported.

Physical Description of Future Partner/Friend: This individual will have a warm and approachable demeanor. They may have light hair, such as blonde or light brown, and a gentle smile. Their physical build might be average, with a touch of softness that makes them appear very approachable and kind.

Quote from Goddess Hera: "To nurture and be nurtured is the essence of family."

The Lovers

Future Marriage Description: This marriage will be founded on deep emotional connection and mutual respect. The Lovers card signifies a strong bond, where both partners share values, goals, and a profound love for each other. Your relationship will be marked by harmony, balance, and unity. You will face challenges together with a strong sense of partnership and commitment.

Key Traits:

Deep Emotional Connection

Mutual Respect and Unity

Shared Values and Goals

************************************************************************************************************************************************

Pile 3

Message from Goddess Hera: Hera highlights the strength in unity and mutual respect within your relationships. She advises you to build connections based on equality and shared values.

Physical Description of Future Partner/Friend: The significant person entering your life may have a distinctive, athletic build. They could have dark, curly hair and a vibrant, energetic presence. Their eyes might be a striking color, like green or blue, and they carry themselves with a natural grace and poise.

Quote from Goddess Hera: "In unity and mutual respect, love and family thrive."

The Hierophant

Future Marriage Description: Your future marriage will be deeply rooted in tradition, structure, and spiritual connection. The Hierophant suggests a union that honors cultural or religious practices and values. This marriage will be stable and secure, with both partners committed to upholding shared beliefs and maintaining a strong moral foundation. Your relationship will be a source of guidance and wisdom for others.

Key Traits:

Tradition and Structure

Spiritual Connection

Stability and Security

************************************************************************************************************************************************

Pile 4

Message from Goddess Hera: Hera conveys the power of enduring love and the bonds that withstand the test of time. She encourages you to look for relationships that promise longevity and depth.

Physical Description of Future Partner/Friend: This person might have an elegant and refined appearance. They could have dark, wavy hair and a slender, tall frame. Their style is classic and timeless, often dressed in a way that exudes sophistication. Their eyes reflect wisdom and compassion.

Quote from Goddess Hera: "Enduring love withstands all trials."

The Sun

Future Marriage Description: This marriage will be filled with joy, positivity, and vitality. The Sun card signifies a bright and optimistic relationship, where both partners radiate happiness and enthusiasm. Your union will bring out the best in each other, fostering a sense of warmth and fulfillment. Together, you will create a joyful and supportive environment, where you can both shine and achieve great things.

Key Traits:

Joy and Positivity

Vitality and Enthusiasm

Warmth and Fulfillment

================================================================================================

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#greek gods #tarotblr #pick a photo #pick a pile #pick a card #pick one #pick a picture #tarot reading #love reading #psychic readings #pick an image #tarot community #future spouse #future spouse reading

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entitled-fangirl · 11 months ago

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A change of sigil.

Robb Stark x Baratheon!reader

Summary: After wedding Robb Stark and becoming the Lady of Winterfell, the reader learns about the king's death and the treason of Ned.

Masterlist

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

The newly wedded Y/N Stark (once Baratheon) ran through the corridors of Winterfell.

Her eyes fell upon the Stark's Maester. Her eyes lit up. "A letter from my father? Has he finally written me back?"

The older man's eyes softened with guilt, "I'm afraid not, my lady."

Her face fell but she quickly recovered it, "oh. M… May I still see it?"

"This," He held it back from her, "Is for Lord Stark to read."

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks and she nodded. "Right. How foolish of me."

His lips pulled into a smile and he held his arm out. The North did like the gentle girl, after all, "C'mon, my lady. Walk to me to him so we may discuss the reason for such a letter."

She smiled back and took his arm.

…

"Treason?" Robb's brows furrowed and his teeth grit, "Sansa wrote this?"

"It is your sister's hand, but the queen's words."

Y/N's eyes remained on the table, unsure of what to think. Her mother was a cunning woman, and it did not surprise her of such a thing.

"You are summoned to King's Landing to swear fealty to the new king."

"My father is dead?" She interrupted quietly.

The men's eyes flickered to her.

Robb's anger did not falter, "Joffrey puts my father in chains, now he wants his ass kissed?"

The Maester sighed, "This is a royal command, my lord." His eyes flickered between the lord and lady, "If you should refuse to obey-"

"-I won't refuse," Robb quickly butted in. "His grace summons me to King's Landing, I'll go to King's Landing. But not alone."

He rolled the letter up and handed it back to the maester. "Call the banners."

"All of them, my lord?"

"They've all sworn to defend my father, have they not?"

"They have."

"Now, we see what their words are worth."

"Very well." The maester left quickly.

Y/N's eyes remained on the table, not once wavering. Robb noticed it and rounded the table to sit by her. His head tilted to study her further. His hand reached up to gently grab her jaw, moving her head to face him.

Her eyes connected with his, and they were filled with tears, "My father is dead?"

His lips pull into a line as he looks to Theon and back, "I'm afraid so."

She took a shaky breath in to keep the tears from falling. "Murdered?"

Theon stood at her words, angered a bit inside. He quickly bowed his head and left the room in a huff.

Robb shook his head, "No. Animal attack while hunting is all Sansa wrote."

She was quiet a while before she spoke again, "He loved me."

Robb gritted his teeth. "He had a funny way of showing it."

"But he did love me. I am worth nothing now."

"Hey." His voice lowered at his words. His grip on her jaw tightened. "Do not say such things. You are worth everything to me. Winterfell is your home. Its people are your people. They are loyal."

"Loyal to you. To your name."

"No." He pushed. "They will be loyal to you. You are still a princess after all, aren't you?"

She nodded.

"And more importantly," he kissed her forehead gently, "You are my wife."

She nodded again before a thought came to her. "What is keeping those that rule from killing your father and sisters just the same?"

His eyebrows raised and he shook her head, "Nothing, I suppose. I must hope they fear the North enough or I drive my sword through your brother before they can touch the Starks." He tilted his head, "I need your loyalty. I know I have it. But the people need it."

"I am loyal to you, Robb. You are all I have."

He smiles and caresses her face before shaking his head, "I don't want loyalty for fear or power. Your loyalty should be of trust and honor. I ask again, are you loyal to me, my love?"

"Without my father, the Baratheon sigil means nothing to me. I belong to House Stark now."

His smile grows and he kisses her gently, "I will win this. For you. For my family. I promise you."

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

A/N: I feel a series coming onnnnn

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones fanfiction #got #sansa stark #robb stark fanfic #ned stark

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fallenclan · 5 months ago

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Pls ramble about Maplestar i didn't think much of him at all when he was around

okay so imagine. You are born into Fallenclan as a fresh little kitten. You are told at a very young age that your mom isn't around anymore, but your dad loves you and your two siblings more than anything, and he will do everything in his power to make sure you all are happy and successful. Your siblings are louder than you, more outgoing than you, and arguably more likeable than you, but they look to you as the cat to follow when your dad isnt around, so it's your job to look after them. You're the oldest, after all.

Later into your kithood you are told that your mother died giving birth to the three of you. If you didnt exist, she would still be alive.

You become an apprentice. Your sister is mentored by the cool older cat that is also your friend's mom. Your brother is mentored by one of your dad's best friends, a cat you've known since birth. You are apprenticed to the deputy of Fallenclan--she cares about you, and the clan, but she's also strict, and tells you in no uncertain terms that she expects you to be great. Not good. Great. You think, "If I am not great, is it my fault?" You try your best. You wonder if it is enough.

You become a warrior. Your sister takes on a mate, your brother does, too. Both of them have kits. You never were interested in having a mate, but you can't help but wonder if that's what your clan, your father, wants you to do. Your father, in the meanwhile, takes over the job that your mentor had, and becomes deputy of Fallenclan. Then he becomes leader. He becomes legend. Cats at gatherings say to you, "You must be so proud!" You are. When your back is turned, they say "The son of Goldenstar, he'll be something special, I'm sure."

The deputy, a cat known for her strength, loyalty, and honor, retires, and chooses you out of everyone to take her place. Your father assures you that you'll do great. Your siblings cheer you on and offer their support. You refuse it, politely. You will be a great deputy if you have to pull out all of your fur to do it--and you will do it by yourself. Are you really great if some of your greatness is borrowed? The whole clan depends on you.

Under the cover of night, the clan is attacked. The former deputy dies. One of your best friends dies. Your brother dies. Four kits, six warriors, and one elder die. You are hardly wounded. For moons you keep the night guard and torture yourself thinking about what you could have done to change things. What you could have done better.

Time passes. You age, your sister ages, your father ages. As leader, he has nine lives, but they slowly dwindle. One evening, he's missing from camp longer than he said he would be, and you and your sister go looking for him. You find his body at the bottom of a cliff. You grieve until sundown, and then you travel to receive your nine lives. You see the faces of all the cats you outlived. All the cats you failed. Your niece and great-nephew, your brother, your mentor, your father, your mother. You wake up and it is only you and your medicine cat huddled together in a cave. Your skin hurts, you can feel each fur on your body. You walk home.

You discover that your former apprentice is a murderer. With no other options, you exile him from the clan and watch as he is escorted away. If you had been a better mentor, would he have lived a kinder life? Would he have forgiven his long-time enemy? You'll never find out.

A neighboring clan, which has had it out for Fallenclan since your father was an apprentice, declares war. You run yourself ragged making plans and trying to keep your warriors safe and alive. There are battles, there are scars, but there are no deaths, and the war ends only a few moons later. You congratulate yourself for this feat, and then wonder why it was only when you became leader that war was declared.

Every death that passes, you wonder if you could have prevented it. Every loss that your sister suffers, your nephews and nieces suffer, you contemplate how to fix. You are old now, and there are few Fallenclan cats that knew you before you were an apprentice, before you were a warrior, before you were deputy or leader. You're not a cat, anymore, you are a shelter; protecting your clan and paying little mind to your own needs.

You take a hunting patrol by yourself, late one night. In a dry riverbed, you feel the ground rumble, and look upstream to see a flash flood clawing its way towards you.

You wonder, "Am I fast enough to outrun it?"

You aren't.

#RRGHHHH. RRAHGHHHH. MAPLESTAR. RHRHHGHGHH. CHEWING.#fallenasks #fallenfic #< id say this kind of counts #everyone use all your brainpower to think about maplestar #hope all this makes sense. it does in my sick little brain

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oceandolores · 5 months ago

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ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 | masterlist.

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

"Fata viam invenient | The fates will find a way."

warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡

❝They call you Rome’s lion, her indomitable shield, yet to me, you are the flicker of warmth in a palace carved from ice.

Your hands are calloused from war, but they cradle my soul with the tenderness of spring rain. Your voice commands legions, yet it whispers my name like a prayer, as though the gods themselves might hear and envy us our stolen moments.

If love were not a sin, I would adorn you with laurel not for conquest, but for the triumph of your heart over mine. Yet here we linger, caught in the webs of empire, where every glance is a rebellion, and every touch a battle lost.

Ad te anhelo, quasi ad caelum ipsam, (I long for you as though for the heavens themselves,) but our stars burn too brightly, and even the gods avert their eyes.

So I am to love you as Rome loves her champions— for eternally.❞

thꫀ ρᥣᥲᥡᥣเ᥉t! (on spotify) 🏛️

in love with marcus acacius

ꪑᥲ᥉tꫀɾᥣเ᥉t!🌞

Chapter I: "in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."

Chapter II: Soon

Chapter III: Soon

Chapter IV: Soon

Chapter V: Soon

Chapter VI: Soon

Chapter VII: Soon

Chapter VIII: Soon

Chapter IX: Soon

Chapter X: Soon

Chapter XI: Soon

Chapter XII: Soon

Chapter XIII: Soon

Chapter XIV: Soon

Chapter XV: Ending

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thewulf · 1 year ago

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Entwined Realms || Legolas

Summary: Request: So I thought about this idea with Legolas x reader where the reader is the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn (which makes her princess of Lothlorien and a very high elf) and she is nervous because its commonly known that Galadriel and Thranduil dont like each other (she is still his superior but you get the point) and the reader and Legolas have a dinner or some council or something together with their parents.

A/N: This was one of my favs to write. Just love everything LOTR... please keep them coming! Thank you for the request @lillisummers

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.1k +

TW: Talks of war/death

In the timeless realm of Lothlórien, you, the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, walked among the golden trees with a heavy heart filled with the weight of ancient grudges. It had been many years since you last tread upon these familiar paths, for you had spent much of your time in Rivendell, aiding in the healing of those who bore the scars of war.

As a princess of the high elves, you bore the burden of your lineage with grace. Yet the tension between your mother and Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, weighed heavily upon you. The animosity between them was no secret, and you often found yourself caught in the midst of their disagreements. You were torn between loyalty to your mother and the desire for unity among your people after the war of the ring. Your return to Lothlórien had been sudden, called back by your father during the darkest days of the war. The news of battles raging across middle earth had filled you with dread. Yet, you knew that your place was by your family's side, lending whatever aid you could in the struggle against the darkness.

Despite the discord that lingered between your realms you held onto hope, believing in the power of unity to overcome adversity. The memories of Celebrian's capture and torture haunted you still. She drove your determination to see an end to the suffering that had plagued your people for so long.

As you walked beneath the golden canopy of the trees, you found solace in the familiar sights and sounds of Lothlórien. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the branches. They spoke to you of peace and beauty, reminding you of all that was worth fighting for in this world. Your steps carried you towards a familiar spot. The quiet glade where the gravestones of those fallen in battle lay. The air was hushed. The only sound was the soft whisper of leaves and the gentle trickle of water from the nearby streams.

Stopping by the gravestones, you traced your fingers over each weathered stone, feeling the weight of loss settle upon your heart. Here, beneath the earth, lay the brave souls who had given their lives in service of a greater cause. A cause that you had fought for alongside them. Your thoughts turned to Haldir, the gallant Marchwarden who had stood by your side in the darkest of times. His laughter, his kindness, his unwavering loyalty… they were memories that you held dear, memories that would live on long after he had passed from this world. At one point you were convinced you would marry him but that was before he was taken so suddenly from you.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself a moment of silence. A moment to remember those who had been taken from you too soon. Their faces flashed before your eyes, friends, fighters, and loved ones alike. Each one leaving behind an indelible mark upon your soul. And yet, amidst the sorrow, there was also hope. Hope for a future where their sacrifices would not be in vain. Where the darkness would be banished for good and the light would shine so brightly once more. With a silent prayer upon your lips, you vowed to carry their memory with you always, to honor their legacy in all that you did.

As you stood amidst the gravestones, lost in memories and reflections, a soft voice broke through the silence. She was calling your name. You turned to see your mother, Galadriel, approaching with a gentle smile upon her lips. Her eyes, always so wise and knowing, held a depth of understanding that eased the ache in your heart.

"Y/n," she said, her voice like the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, "I have been searching for you. It is good to see you home again. You look well my love."

You returned her smile, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you at the sight of her familiar face. "It is good to be home, Mother," you replied, stepping forward to embrace her.

Galadriel held you close, tight. Her arms a reassuring embrace amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling within you. "You have been missed, my dear," she said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As you pulled away, Galadriel's gaze softened. Her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and affection. "There is much to discuss," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "But first, I have news that I believe will bring you much joy."

Curiosity piqued, you listened as Galadriel spoke of the upcoming marriage between your niece, Arwen, and Aragorn, the King of Gondor. The news filled you with a sense of anticipation, the prospect of a wedding bringing a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that had shrouded middle earth for so long. "I would be honored to attend," you said. Your heart swelling with love for your family and excitement for the joyous occasion to come.

Galadriel smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride. "I had no doubt that you would," she said, her voice tinged with warmth. "Come, let us return to Caras Galadhon and begin preparations. There is much to do, and little time to waste." She motioned you to follow her.

With a nod of agreement, you fell into step beside your mother. It felt as though the weight of grief and loss lightened by the promise of love and celebration on the horizon. As you walked the golden light of Lothlórien illuminated your path guiding you towards a future filled with possibility.

Too quickly the day of celebration arrived. The grand halls of Minas Tirith were adorned with banners and flowers, filling the air with a sense of festivity and anticipation. You, dressed in your finest elven attire, mingled with the guests. Your heart was aflutter with excitement and nerves for your niece and the King of Gondor. Amidst the bustling crowd, your eyes scanned the faces of those gathered taking in the sight of strangers and acquaintances alike. And then your gaze met that of a mysterious elven stranger across the ornate courtyard who you did not recognize.

His eyes were a captivating shade of blue. They held a warmth and kindness that drew you in, sending a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment it felt as though the world around you had faded away leaving only you and this enigmatic stranger in a universe of your own making. But as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone. Broken by the sound of laughter and music drifting through the air you tore your gaze away. Your cheeks flushed with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, heart racing with the memory of that brief but electrifying encounter.

Though you knew not who he was, nor what fate had in store for you. You couldn't shake the feeling that this chance meeting was somehow significant. And as you allowed yourself to be swept away by the joyous festivities you couldn't help but wonder about the identity of the mysterious elven stranger who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the celebration unfolded you found yourself standing beside Arwen, basking in the glow of her happiness as she greeted guests and well-wishers. The air was filled with laughter and music. The joyous atmosphere infectious as people celebrated the union of Arwen and Aragorn. But amidst the revelry your attention kept drifting back to the beautiful blonde elf who had caught your eye earlier. He stood amidst a group of guests, his presence commanding and his gaze holding a quiet intensity that seemed to draw you in.

Unable to contain your curiosity any longer you turned to Arwen with a hint of nervousness in your voice. "Arwen," you began, pointing subtly towards the mysterious elf, "who is that?"

Arwen followed your gaze, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she noticed your interest in the stranger. "Ah, him," she said, her tone tinged with mystery. "That is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas. The name echoed in your mind. Though you knew little about him there was something about the way he carried himself, the way his eyes seemed to hold a thousand untold stories that intrigued you beyond measure. As Arwen spoke of Legolas' exploits and noble deeds you found yourself captivated by the tales of his courage and valor. And though you knew it was foolish to be so taken with a stranger, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to him. Something that called to you on a level you couldn't quite understand.

With a grateful smile you thanked Arwen for indulging your curiosity. Though your mind was already consumed with thoughts of the mysterious Prince of Mirkwood. And as you turned your attention back to the festivities you couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of the captivating blonde elf who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. You found yourself drawn into the lively conversations and laughter that filled the air.

As if he had known your every thought, he had come right up to you. A charming smile playing on his lips as he offered you a goblet of wine. "Care for some wine, my lady?" he asked, his voice smooth and all too inviting.

Grateful for the distraction you accepted the goblet with a smile, the cool liquid soothing the nerves that had been fluttering in your stomach. "Thank you," you replied, taking a sip and relishing the taste of the rich, fruity wine.

As you savored the wine, Legolas took a seat beside you. His eyes alight with curiosity as he extended his hand in introduction. "I am Legolas," he said, his tone warm and genuine. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

You felt a rush of excitement at the sound of his name, "And I am Y/n," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness that you quickly tried to mask.

Legolas smiled warmly at you, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he raised his own goblet in a silent toast. "Well then, Y/n, here's to new acquaintances and delightful conversations," he spoke.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn into conversation with Legolas. His easy charm and quick wit putting you at ease. Despite your initial nervousness you soon found yourself laughing and chatting with him as if you had known each other for years. With each passing moment you felt yourself growing more and more enchanted by Legolas. His presence filling you with a sense of warmth and belonging that you hadn't felt in a long time. Not since before your sister had set sail. And as you shared stories and laughter with the captivating Prince of Mirkwood you couldn't help but wonder what adventures lay in store for you both in the days to come.

When the topic turned to your family, you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension, unsure of how he would react upon learning the truth. "Your parents must be proud of you," Legolas remarked, his voice sincere as he glanced around at the grandeur of Minas Tirith. "To have a daughter as kind and courageous as you."

You smiled, touched by his words. Though a part of you hesitated to reveal your true lineage. "Thank you, Legolas," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "My parents... they are indeed proud, though our family is not without its complexities."

Legolas cocked his head with curiosity shining bright in his eyes. "Complexities?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for his reaction. "My parents are Celeborn and Galadriel," you confessed, watching closely for any sign of recognition or judgment in his expression.

To your surprise, Legolas' eyes widened in genuine surprise, his gaze softening with understanding. "Galadriel," he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. "The Lady of Light herself. And Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlórien."

You nodded, relieved by his reaction. "Yes, though our family is not without its challenges," you admitted, your voice growing quiet. "There are... tensions between my parents and certain others in Middle-earth." You knew he knew, and he knew you knew. The two of you were dancing around your parents disdain for the other.

Legolas' expression grew somber. A shadow passing over his features. "I understand," he said, his tone tinged with empathy. "My own father, Thranduil, can be... difficult at times."

You felt a surge of empathy for Legolas knowing all too well the challenges that could arise from strained familial relationships. "It seems we are not so different after all," you said. A small smile playing at your lips.

Legolas returned your smile, his eyes warm and understanding. "Indeed," he said, his voice gentle. "But perhaps together, we can find a way to bridge the divide between our families."

Touched by his sincerity you could only keep grinning at him like a fool. "I would like that, Legolas," you replied. Your heart swelled with gratitude for the bond that was beginning to form between you.

As the night wore on into the wee hours of the morning you and Legolas found yourselves drawn deeper into each other's company. The hours quickly slipping away unnoticed as you laughed and talked beneath the starlit sky. The connection between you grew stronger with each passing moment. A bond of friendship and understanding blossoming into something deeper and more profound. Unfortunately, the celebration began to wind down. You found yourselves reluctant to part ways. The prospect of saying goodbye filling you with a sense of melancholy. "Perhaps we could extend our stay in Minas Tirith," Legolas suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of worry as if you wouldn’t accept. "There is still so much more to see and do. I have not seen this city without war disparaging it."

You nodded eagerly, the idea of spending more time with Legolas filling you with a sense of joy and excitement. "I would like that very much," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "There is still so much more we have yet to see. You distracted me tonight."

And so, you and Legolas remained in Minas Tirith for longer than planned, seizing every opportunity to steal away moments alone together amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. Whether wandering the streets hand in hand or sharing quiet conversations in secluded corners. Each moment spent in Legolas' company felt like a precious treasure, a memory to be cherished for eternity.

As your extended stay in Minis Tirith came to an end the bond between you and Legolas deepened further than you could have imagined. Your hearts intertwining in a dance as old as time itself. One evening beneath the stars after your going away dinner the two of you sat together in the quiet solitude of the gardens, surrounded by the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of crickets. The words you had been longing to say spilled forth from your lips.

"Legolas," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "there is something I must confess to you." It truly was now or never for you did not know the next time you would see the elf that had captured your heart so quickly.

Legolas turned to you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Yes, Y/n?" he replied, his voice soft and reassuring.

"I know this is quick,” you began, your voice soft and hesitant, "And we tend to do this slow, but I must admit... I really like you. More than a friend would."

You glanced away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you awaited his response. But when you dared to meet his gaze once more you found Legolas looking at you with a tender smile. His eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored your own feelings.

"Y/n," he said softly, reaching out to gently take your face in his hand, "your honesty means the world to me. I too have come to care for you deeply as well. As more than a friend would."

Your heart soared at his words. A sense of joy flooding through you at the knowledge that your feelings were reciprocated. And as you sat together in the quiet beauty of the gardens you knew that your bond with Legolas was something truly special. It was the beginning of a love story that was just beginning to unfold.

You didn’t want the night to end so you kept your wandering through the gardens. "Legolas," you began, your voice tinged with concern, "what do you think about... our families?"

Legolas glanced at you. His gaze thoughtful. "Ah, our esteemed parents," he replied with a wry smile. "Stubborn as ancient oaks and twice as difficult to move."

You couldn't help but laugh at his analogy, feeling a sense of relief at his lighthearted approach to the situation. "Yes, that's one way to put it," you agreed. A smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"But," Legolas continued, his tone turning more serious, "I believe they will come around in time. After all, love has a way of softening even the hardest of hearts."

You nodded feeling a flicker of hope kindling within you. "I hope you're right," you replied, leaning closer to him. "I just want them to see... how much we care for each other."

Legolas placed a comforting arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him. "They will, Y/n," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "And until then, we'll just have to prove them wrong together."

As your time in Minas Tirith drew to a close, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was time for your parents and Legolas to meet. Despite the tension between your families, you were determined to show them that love knew no bounds, and that their differences could be set aside in the name of happiness.

On the morning that both of you were to depart you knew what you had to do. "Legolas," you began. Your voice tinged with nervousness, "I know it's unconventional, but... what if you and your father were to visit Lothlórien?"

Legolas blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by your suggestion. "Visit Lothlórien?" he echoed, his brow furrowing in thought. "It's an... intriguing idea, Y/n, but I'm not sure how my father would feel about it."

You nodded, understanding Legolas' reservations. "I know it's a risk," you admitted, "but I believe that if he could experience the beauty and hospitality of Lothlórien for himself, he might begin to understand... and perhaps even appreciate our way of life."

Legolas considered your words for a moment before a smile spread across his face. "You may be right, Y/n," he said, his eyes alight with excitement. "Let's extend the invitation to my father and see what he says."

With a renewed sense of hope, you and Legolas set about preparing for Thranduil's visit to Lothlórien. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were determined to show both him and your parents that love could conquer even the deepest of divides. And so, with hearts full of anticipation and determination, you bid farewell to Minas Tirith. You knew that a new chapter of your journey was about to begin.

As Legolas and an initially reluctant Thranduil arrived in Lothlórien, the tension between them was palpable. Thranduil's expression was stoic and reserved, while Legolas wore a strained smile who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. You greeted them warmly, hoping to ease the atmosphere, but even your efforts seemed to fall flat in the face of the lingering animosity between your parents. The initial interactions were awkward only filled with polite but strained conversation and forced smiles.

But as the evening progressed and the wine flowed freely the atmosphere began to shift. Your parents, Thranduil, and Legolas found themselves gradually relaxing in each other's company. The rigid barriers between them slowly melting away under the influence of hope after the war and shared experiences. You watched with a mixture of joy and relief as the tension dissipated, replaced by laughter and genuine conversation. Thranduil who had initially been so guarded found himself opening up. He began to share stories and jokes with Celeborn and Galadriel as if they were old friends.

And Legolas, too, seemed to come alive in the warmth of his father’s acceptance. His smile growing more genuine with each passing moment. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders finally allowing him to truly be himself in their presence. He chuckled at one of Thranduil's jokes and clinked glasses with Celeborn, a genuine smile gracing his features.

In the midst of the conversation Legolas turned to you, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Meleth nin," he said softly, his voice filled with utmost warmth.

As Legolas inadvertently uttered the Elvish endearment, my love, the words hung in the air laden with the weight of unspoken emotions. Your heart skipped a beat at his slip-up, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through you.

"Really?" you exclaimed. Your eyes widened with surprise and utmost delight. For a moment you almost forgot that your parents and Legolas' father were present too caught up in the rush of emotion that swept over you.

Legolas blinked, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized what he had said in front of the parents. "I... uh, I mean..." he stammered, clearly flustered by your reaction.

But before he could finish, Thranduil let out a soft chuckle. The elvenking’s eyes twinkling with amusement. "It seems our children are more than just friends," he remarked to your parents. His tone surprisingly light-hearted.

You turned to your parents with a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I guess we should have mentioned that sooner," you admitted feeling a surge of relief as you saw their understanding smiles.

Celeborn and Galadriel exchanged knowing glances before Celeborn spoke up. "Love has a way of revealing itself in unexpected ways," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "We are happy for you both."

Thranduil let out a small chuckle. His eyes crinkling with amusement. "Young love," he said before shaking his head in mock exasperation. "It seems like only yesterday that Legolas was just a boy chasing after butterflies in the woods."

Legolas rolled his eyes playfully at his father's comment. "I assure you, Ada, I have grown up a bit since then," he spoke. His tone teasing but affectionate.

Celeborn chuckled softly his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice warm. "But some things never change." He motioned to you with a knowing grin.

And as the tension melted away completely, replaced by laughter, and shared understanding, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of your parents. With their blessing and acceptance, you and Legolas knew that your love story was only just beginning. You were finally destined to have a beautiful and unforgettable journey filled with laughter, joy, and the sweet promise of a future together. You had waited a long time for this. A very long time.

As the night grew deeper and the fire crackled softly, you and Legolas found yourselves immersed in a comfortable silence. The two of you basking in the warmth of each other's presence. Legolas turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes, taking your hand in his. "Well, my dear, it seems the hour grows late," he remarked, his voice soft and warm.

You nodded feeling a surge of affection for the elf beside you. "Yes, it does," you replied, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

With a gentle tug on your hand Legolas rose to his feet pulling you up with him. "Allow me to escort you to your room," he said. His voice filled with gentle sincerity.

You followed him, the touch of his hand sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. As you reached your door, Legolas turned to you. His eyes sparkling with mischief. "Until next time, meleth nin," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before turning to leave.

A faint blush coated your cheeks at his actions. “Until next time, meleth nin.” You repeated. You watched him go with a smile playing at your lips as you realized that no matter what adventures lay ahead, you would face them with him. Oh, what a life.

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astrologydray · 1 month ago

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The Lubby-dubby side of the Venus signs 🥰😍😘😫

😈Aries Venus:

They love teasing, playful banter, and a little bit of competitive flirting. If they’re wrestling with you for fun, they’re into you😭.

Aries Venus shows love through big, impulsive acts—surprise dates, random “I love you” texts, or whisking you away on an adventure.

Hugs? More like bone-crushing embraces. Kisses? Always fiery and full of urgency.

Aries Venus won’t sugarcoat things, but their honesty means you’ll always know where you stand with them.

They need excitement in relationships—think spontaneous road trips, fun challenges, or chasing each other around the house just for fun🥰.

😈Taurus Venus:

Taurus Venus loves physical touch—expect long hugs, hand-holding, and falling asleep tangled together. They show love through warmth and closeness.

Expect candlelit dinners, cozy nights in, soft blankets, and music that sets the mood. Taurus Venus loves creating ambiance😫.

They prove their love through consistency, loyalty, and little everyday gestures—cooking for you, remembering your favorite things, and making sure you feel secure.

They want to be yours and yours alone—they’re protective, a little jealous, and love when you’re just as obsessed with them😚.

They express love through gifts, delicious food, and making sure you’re comfortable—they want you to be pampered and adored🤩.

😈Gemini Venus:

Expect clever comebacks, inside jokes, and playful sarcasm—it’s their way of keeping things exciting.

Gemini Venus bonds through talking, debating, and exchanging ideas. Deep late-night talks, sending memes, and random fun facts? That’s their love language🧠.

They’re the type to randomly text you “wyd” every hour and expect a full conversation about nothing. If they overshare, they’re hooked on you❤️‍🔥.

Love should feel like a never-ending sleepover—laughing, talking about anything and everything, and never running out of things to do together.

Compliments, sweet texts, and witty one-liners are their way of saying “I love you.” They’ll always make you feel mentally stimulated and adored🥰.

😈Cancer Venus:

snuggling, forehead kisses, and wrapping you up in a warm embrace make them feel safe and connected❤️.

Cooking for you, making sure you’re eating well, checking in on your feelings—they show love by taking care of you in little, thoughtful ways.

They form deep emotional bonds and need reassurance that you feel the same way. They be emotionally attached af😫🥰.

Cancer Venus wants to build a cozy, intimate world with their person—expect sweet traditions, a shared playlist, or a comfy home full of love.

If they love you, they will be protective. They may get jealous easily, but it’s just because they feel so deeply😤.

😈Leo Venus:

Expect big hugs, dramatic kisses, and constant compliments. Leo Venus isn’t shy about showing their love loud and proud.

Posting you on social media, bragging about you to friends, wanting to match outfits—they love making their love public and undeniable. Showing you off as they should😫.

When they love you, they’re all in. They’ll defend your honor, hype you up, and make sure you know you’re theirs.

Think romantic surprises, heartfelt love letters, and planning unforgettable dates. Love with them feels like a movie moment🤩.

Once they commit, they’re ride or die. They want a love that feels powerful, unbreakable, and meant to be🤞🏾.

😈Virgo Venus:

They show love by helping, fixing, and making your life easier—whether it’s remembering your schedule, bringing you food, or handling the little things you forget. Very thoughtful 🤔.

They notice everything—your likes, dislikes, habits, and moods. If they love you, they’ll adjust themselves to fit your needs effortlessly.

When a Virgo Venus commits, they’re all in. They don’t fall in love easily, but once they do, they’re steady, trustworthy, and always there for you.

They remember the little things—your favorite coffee order, what makes you anxious, or the book you said you wanted months ago❤️.

Instead of grand gestures, they show up for you daily, proving their love through consistency, effort, and devotion.

😈Libra Venus:

Even in love, they never stop flirting. Expect sweet compliments, lingering eye contact, and teasing banter that keeps the spark alive❤️‍🔥.

They adore romance and will shower you with affection, gifts, and quality time—but they also want to be adored in return.

Whether it’s holding hands, cuddling, or whispering sweet things, they love gentle, elegant forms of intimacy😫.

They’ll create romantic dates with candles and soft music, write heartfelt love notes, or plan something special just to make you smile.

Love should feel easy, fun, and full of connection—they want someone they can talk to for hours and still feel completely enchanted by.

😈Scorpio Venus:

When they love you, you become their world. They’re not interested in casual affection—they want something real and unbreakable.

If they’re in love, they’ll make sure you’re safe, defended, and completely theirs. A little jealous? Maybe. But only because they love so deeply🖤.

They won’t always say how much they love you—but you’ll feel it in the way they look at you, touch you, and fight for you😫.

They don’t do superficial romance, but expect intense, meaningful gestures, like sharing secrets they tell no one else or remembering tiny details about you forever.

they want growth, depth, and transformation. If they love you, they’ll push you to evolve into your best self🤞🏾.

😈Sagittarius Venus:

Expect random road trips, last-minute date ideas, and a relationship that feels like a never-ending adventure. They want a love that’s exciting and free🏃🏾.

They want a partner they can grow with, debate with, and experience new things with—mental stimulation is a must!

They’ll tell you exactly how they feel, and while they value independence, they’re incredibly devoted to the person who can keep up with them.

They won’t cling, but if they keep coming back to you even with all their options, that’s how you know you have their heart.

They might not always be romantic, but when they do express love, it’s bold, dramatic, and full of enthusiasm🤪.

😈Capricorn Venus:

When they’re in love, they’re all in for the long haul. They want to build something solid and lasting with their partner.

they show love through providing, taking care of you, and making sure you’re supported. If they’re taking care of the logistics of your life, that’s love 💕.

They show up for you, day in and day out. Whether it’s supporting your career goals or just being there when you need them, they’re always dependable.

They might not wear their heart on their sleeve, but they’re extremely affectionate in subtle ways—holding your hand, offering gentle touches, or showing interest in your day.

they’re drawn to partners who are ambitious, responsible, and goal-oriented. If you earn their admiration, they’ll show love through undying support😚.

😈Aquarius Venus:

They show affection by engaging in thought-provoking conversations, debates, and sharing ideas. If they’re excited to discuss something with you, it’s a sign they’re deeply connected.

They love someone who embraces their individuality. Expect unexpected surprises that reflect their quirky nature—random gifts, offbeat date ideas, or spontaneous adventures.

They’ll love you by encouraging you to follow your dreams, be your own person, and express your full potential🤞🏾.

They may not be outwardly emotional, but their love runs deep. If they open up to you emotionally, it’s a sign they truly trust you. They express love through actions, ideas, and long-term commitment🥹.

While they care deeply, they need space and independence. They show love by giving their partner room to grow and encouraging personal freedom.

😈Pisces Venus:

Pisces Venus loves through empathy and emotional depth. They want to connect on a soul level, often feeling like their love is fated or destined.

They show love through gentle acts of care, like offering comfort when you’re down, listening to your deepest thoughts, or simply being there when you need them.

Pisces Venus is very attuned to their partner’s emotional needs. They can sense when you’re feeling off or need reassurance, and they’ll go out of their way to make you feel loved and cared for😘.

They love expressing affection through art, poetry, or music—whether it’s sharing a song that reminds them of you or painting something inspired by their love for you😍.

Expect soft touches, sweet words, and an overall nurturing energy. They want to make you feel cherished in the most gentle and unhurried way🥰.

999 notes · View notes

hisfavegirl · 4 months ago

Text

The Price Of Loyalty - King!Aegon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Summary : Your marriage to Aegon should have calmed the feud between your two families, but everything changed when Aegon was crowned king and the news of your brother's death brought you a difficult choice.

Aegon Masterlist.

The weight of your choices pressed heavily on your shoulders, leaving you caught in an impossible web of loyalty and love. As the daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon, you had grown up knowing the value of family, honor, and duty. Your mother had been named heir to the Iron Throne by your grandfather, King Viserys, and you had always believed that one day she would ascend to the throne, her birthright fulfilled.

But everything changed after your grandfather’s death.

Your husband, Aegon, had been crowned king in a swift and decisive move orchestrated by his supporters. The very man you had chosen to marry for love had now become the usurper to your mother��s claim. Though you had stood by his side during the coronation, the guilt in your heart had been overwhelming, each cheer from the crowd feeling like a dagger to your soul.

Now, as you sat beside Aegon in the Red Keep, his crown glinting in the candlelight, the weight of your decision felt suffocating. Your love for him had once felt unshakable, a bond strong enough to withstand the chaos of your divided family. But now? Now you weren’t sure if love could bridge the chasm that had formed between your duty to your mother and your devotion to your husband.

The guilt clawed at you relentlessly. I’ve betrayed her, you thought bitterly, your fingers curling into fists on your lap. My own mother. The woman who raised me, who trusted me, who believed in me. How could I stand by Aegon’s side and allow this to happen? How could I let him take what is hers?

Yet, when you looked at Aegon, you saw more than just a usurper. You saw the man who had held you in his arms on countless nights, who had whispered promises of love and devotion. He hadn’t asked to be king; the crown had been thrust upon him by those who sought to secure their power. You knew he was as much a pawn in this game as you were. And despite everything, you still loved him.

But love alone wasn’t enough to silence the voice in your heart that cried out for justice for your mother.

You were trapped in the middle of a war you never wanted to fight, a war between your two families, both of whom you loved deeply. And as much as you tried to justify your actions, to tell yourself that you were trying to prevent more bloodshed, the truth was undeniable: by staying with Aegon, you had chosen a side. And it wasn’t your mother’s.

Tears stung your eyes as you turned to look at Aegon, who was engrossed in a discussion with his council. He caught your gaze and gave you a small, tired smile, but it only deepened the ache in your chest. You returned the smile weakly, but your mind was far from at ease.

What will you do, Mother? Will you ever forgive me? And… can I forgive myself?

The heavy oak doors creaked open, drawing the attention of everyone in the council chamber. The sound cut through the quiet murmur of discussion, and all eyes turned toward the figure entering the room. Aemond stood there, drenched from head to toe, rainwater dripping from his armor and pooling at his feet. His long silver hair clung to his face, and his single eye burned with intensity.

Your heart sank the moment you saw him. There was something in his demeanor—an edge, a tension—that immediately unsettled you. He avoided your gaze entirely, his expression cold and unreadable, and instead fixed his eye on Aegon, your husband and the newly crowned king.

“I’ve secured Lord Borros Baratheon’s support,” Aemond declared, his voice low but steady. The words echoed in the chamber, and for a moment, the room was silent, processing the weight of what he had just said.

The council members exchanged glances, some murmuring approval, others nodding in acknowledgment. Aegon straightened in his seat, his expression betraying a mix of relief and satisfaction. “Good,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of authority. “We need Storm’s End on our side.”

But you couldn’t shake the unease that settled in your chest. Something about Aemond’s posture, his refusal to meet your eyes, made you feel like there was more to his story than he was letting on. Your gaze lingered on him, searching for any sign of what might be wrong, but he remained stoic, unflinching under the scrutiny of the room.

Aegon leaned forward slightly, his tone curious but cautious. “How did it go? Was it a straightforward agreement?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, and for the briefest moment, his mask slipped. “Lord Borros agreed to our cause,” he said curtly, his tone clipped, almost dismissive. “He will not side with Rhaenyra.”

Your stomach churned at the mention of your mother’s name. Every decision, every alliance, every movement in this war seemed to push you further and further from her. And now, with Storm’s End backing Aegon, the divide felt even greater.

But your unease only grew as you continued to watch Aemond. There was something he wasn’t saying, a heaviness in his demeanor that suggested more than just the weight of his mission. You wanted to speak, to ask him directly what had happened, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t trust yourself to remain calm, not with the tension between your family and your husband already pulling you apart.

Aegon, however, didn’t seem to notice the undercurrent in his brother’s tone. “Well done, Aemond,” he said, nodding in approval. “Your efforts will not go unnoticed.”

Aemond simply inclined his head, but his eye flickered briefly toward you, as if he could feel your stare. It was only for a moment, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine. Something was wrong—terribly wrong—and you knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came to light.

Your voice broke the tense silence in the room, trembling but firm. “Aemond,” you asked, your gaze fixed on him, “is there something you’re not telling us?”

The question hung in the air like a sword poised to strike, and for a moment, the chamber fell deathly quiet. You saw it immediately—his body stiffened, his jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. Aemond’s refusal to meet your eyes only deepened the pit forming in your stomach.

Aegon turned to you, his brows furrowing. “Why would you ask that?” he questioned, his tone tinged with curiosity and caution. His words, however, barely registered with you. Your gaze never left Aemond, the unspoken weight in his posture filling you with dread.

The tension in the room grew unbearable as Aemond finally looked up, his eye filled with a mix of regret and defiance. His lips parted, and the words that came out made the world around you crumble.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he began, his voice hoarse. “It wasn’t supposed to end this way… but Luke is dead. Vhagar—she killed him. I… I couldn’t stop it.”

The words slammed into you like a physical blow. Your knees buckled, and if it weren’t for Aegon’s arm instinctively reaching out to steady you, you would have collapsed on the cold stone floor. Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as you struggled to process what he had just said.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, your voice barely audible. “No, that can’t be true. Not Luke. Not my brother…”

Aemond’s face was pale, his expression a mix of guilt and torment. “I only meant to frighten him,” he admitted, his voice growing quieter with each word. “But Vhagar—she didn’t listen. She… she acted on her own.”

Your mind reeled as the pieces fell into place. Your little brother, Luke, had been sent to Storm’s End as a messenger, unarmed and trusting the ancient laws of guest right to protect him. And now he was gone—killed by your brother-in-law, your husband’s brother.

The council erupted into chaos, voices overlapping as accusations and questions flew across the room. But you could barely hear them. All you could focus on was the ache in your chest, the unbearable grief that came crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

Your eyes burned with tears as you looked at Aemond, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “You killed him,” you choked out. “You killed my little brother, Aemond. How could you? How could you do this to him? To me?”

Aemond flinched at your words, his guilt evident, but he didn’t speak. He simply stood there, his eye downcast, as though bracing himself for the storm he had unleashed.

Beside you, Aegon’s face darkened, his grip on your arm tightening as he tried to steady both you and himself. “Aemond,” he said sharply, his voice laced with disbelief and anger. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

But Aemond didn’t respond. He simply stood there, his silence more damning than any words could have been.

You pulled away from Aegon’s grasp, tears streaming down your face as you looked between the two of them. Your heart was shattered, your world crumbling around you. And in that moment, the love and loyalty you had felt for your husband and his family felt like a cruel betrayal of your own blood.

Luke was gone. And nothing would ever be the same again.

You sank back into your chair, the strength draining from your body as if the weight of Aemond’s confession had crushed you. Around you, the room was a cacophony of raised voices. Alicent’s sharp tone cut through the air, her words laced with panic and anger.

“Aemond! Do you realize what you’ve done? This will spark war! There’s no undoing this!” she cried, her voice trembling with the gravity of the situation.

Otto’s voice joined hers, cold and calculated, though no less furious. “You’ve doomed us all! There’s no explaining this away. Rhaenyra will demand vengeance.”

But their words faded into the background, muffled by the roar of your own thoughts. Your body felt numb, as if the world had shifted around you and left you behind. Luke. Sweet, gentle Luke. Your little brother, who always tried so hard to prove himself, who had looked up to you with those innocent eyes.

No matter that your fathers were different—he was still your blood, your family. And now, he was gone. Taken in the most brutal way imaginable.

You shook your head slowly, your tears falling freely as your chest tightened with grief and rage. This isn’t real, you told yourself, clinging to denial even as the truth stared you in the face. This can’t be happening. Luke can’t be gone.

You forced your eyes to meet Aemond’s, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was just a boy,” you said, the words trembling with pain. “Aemond… he was just a boy. My brother.”

For a moment, Aemond’s hardened expression cracked, guilt flickering in his eye. But he didn’t speak. What could he say? What words could undo the horror of what he had done?

Your hands trembled in your lap as you tried to breathe, tried to find some semblance of control. But it was impossible. The council’s shouts, Alicent’s cries, Otto’s harsh reprimands—they all blurred together into a suffocating storm.

And in the eye of it all, you sat there, shattered and silent, the enormity of your loss weighing on you like a stone.

The room spun around you, the chaos and grief overwhelming your senses. Every sound—Alicent’s frantic cries, Otto’s cold reprimands, the murmur of the council—blurred together into a deafening roar in your mind. Your chest felt tight, your breaths shallow, as the weight of what you’d just heard bore down on you.

Luke was gone.

Your hands clutched the arms of your chair as you struggled to hold on, but your vision blurred, and the pounding in your head grew unbearable. Somewhere through the haze, you heard Aegon’s voice calling your name, laced with concern. “Love?”

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. The world tilted further, the edges of your vision going dark, until everything around you slipped away entirely.

Before your body could hit the cold stone floor, Aegon’s arms were there, catching you just in time. His voice grew more panicked as he cradled you against his chest, shaking you gently in an attempt to wake you. “Love?Wake up, please!”

The council chamber fell silent, the weight of the moment settling over everyone. Alicent rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch your face, her worry evident. “Call the maesters!” she commanded sharply, her voice cracking.

Aegon held you tightly, his heart pounding as he looked down at your pale face. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his tone soft and desperate, as if trying to will you back to consciousness. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

But deep down, he knew this was just the beginning of the storm.

Aegon’s arms tightened around you as he lifted you from the chair, cradling your limp body close to his chest. His jaw was clenched, his expression a mixture of fear and anger as he looked down at you. “Out of my way!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the council chamber.

The gathered lords quickly stepped aside, startled by the king’s sudden outburst. Alicent followed closely behind, her face pale and drawn with worry. “Move!” she barked at the lingering servants in the hallway as Aegon stormed past them, his pace quick and determined.

“Love,” Aegon muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. “Stay with me. Please.” His words were more for himself than for you, a desperate plea to keep himself calm as he carried you through the winding corridors of the Red Keep.

Reaching your shared chambers, Aegon kicked the doors open with force, not waiting for the guards to assist him. He laid you gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your face as he checked for any sign of movement. “Send for the maesters!” he roared, his voice carrying through the halls.

Alicent stood at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped tightly together, her worry etched into every line of her face. “She’s overwhelmed,” Alicent said softly, trying to reassure herself as much as her son. “She’s strong, Aegon. She’ll be all right.”

But Aegon didn’t look convinced. He brushed the damp strands of hair from your face, his eyes filled with guilt and fear. “She shouldn’t have to bear this,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “None of this.”

As Alicent moved to his side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, Aegon stayed rooted by your side, refusing to leave you for even a moment. The room was tense, silent but for the hurried footsteps of the maester approaching, as everyone waited with bated breath for you to wake.

As the maester carefully checked your condition, his face softened, his hands gentle as he examined you. After a few moments of silence, he finally looked up, relief in his eyes. "Her grace is in shock, but both she and the child are unharmed. She just needs rest.”

The words hit Aegon like a bolt of lightning, his heart suddenly racing. “A child?” he asked, his voice tight with disbelief, as if hearing it again might change the reality of it.

Alicent, standing beside him, locked eyes with him for a brief moment, her expression unreadable. She, too, seemed to absorb the weight of what the maester had said.

Aegon’s gaze shifted back to you, his heart hammering in his chest. A fourth child? The realization slowly sank in, the news stirring a mix of emotions he wasn’t sure how to handle. He hadn’t even known, and you hadn’t yet told him. His mind swirled with thoughts of what this meant—what it meant for you, for him, for the future of your family.

Alicent, ever the observer, seemed to notice Aegon’s sudden shift. “She needs rest, Aegon,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “All of you do.”

Aegon nodded, though his mind was far away, processing the weight of everything happening all at once. The shock of Luke’s death, your collapse, the revelation of another child—his child—swirled together in an overwhelming cloud.

He brushed a hand gently over your forehead, his fingers trembling slightly. “You never told me,” he murmured, his voice strained with a mix of concern and something deeper—something he couldn’t quite name. “But we’ll get through this together. I swear it.”

Alicent, still standing at the edge of the room, watched the two of you in silence, her eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and apprehension. She, too, understood that this moment was more than just a physical shock for you—it was the beginning of a new, complicated chapter for all of you.

Aegon stayed by your side, not wanting to leave you even for a moment, but his mind was already working—thinking of the future, of what lay ahead for your family. The revelation that you were carrying another child was unexpected, but now it was another piece of the puzzle he would have to navigate, alongside everything else.

As the hours passed, Aegon remained at your side, unwavering. He refused to leave you, even as the sounds of the bustling castle—of the council, of the kingdom—echoed in the distance. The weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders, but still, he stayed with you, his hand clasped around yours, never letting go.

He sat beside your bed, his eyes never straying far from your face, watching you with a mix of love and worry. His gaze was heavy with sadness, as though each second without you awake was a new weight upon his heart. The room was quiet except for the soft sound of his breathing and the occasional shift of his chair as he adjusted himself to remain close to you.

“Please wake up,” Aegon whispered, his voice soft and broken, as though speaking to you too loudly would shatter the fragile silence between you. His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, a comforting gesture, even though his own heart felt torn in two. “I need you to be all right. We need you.”

He didn’t care about the council waiting for him, or the duties of a king that pressed on him. The majesty of the throne, the whispers of war—none of that mattered. Not when you were here, lying motionless before him. His heart ached to think of you in pain, of the turmoil inside you from the loss of Luke, and now the unexpected discovery of your pregnancy.

The news of the child, the fourth you were carrying, had brought both a strange sense of hope and a looming shadow. The uncertainty of what this meant, especially with the chaos around you, was almost too much to bear.

But he had to hold on. He had to stay strong for you. He couldn’t lose you—he couldn’t lose this child. You were his world, and even if the entire kingdom collapsed around them, he would not let go of this fleeting moment of peace with you.

He kissed your hand gently, his lips brushing against your skin, and whispered once more, his voice barely audible. “Please come back to me.”

Aegon’s refusal to leave your side was absolute, even in the face of Alicent’s urgent suggestion. Her voice, usually steady and authoritative, trembled with concern as she turned to him. “Aegon, the council is waiting. You must be there. The kingdom—your kingdom—needs you.”

But Aegon, his brow furrowed and his expression soft with worry, shook his head, his eyes not leaving you. “I can’t, Mother,” he said firmly, his voice strained. “I can’t leave her, not like this.”

Alicent hesitated, her gaze flickering between her son and you. She understood his devotion to you, but the pressure of the throne loomed large, and the weight of his responsibilities was undeniable. “Aegon, you are king now. The kingdom does not stop for anyone. You must go.”

His eyes flashed with a quiet intensity. “No. I won’t leave her side. You go. You’re the one who should be there. Lead the council, Mother.” His words were a command, but there was a softness in his tone—an undeniable plea that his family could understand. His loyalty to you, his need to be there in case you woke, was more important than any political discussion or royal decree.

Alicent stood in silence for a moment, her eyes flickering between the two of you. Her face softened, understanding the depths of her son’s emotions, even if she didn’t agree with his decision. She sighed, the burden of the crown heavy on her shoulders as she gave a small nod. “I will return shortly,” she said, her voice resigned. “But you must be strong for your people, Aegon.”

He nodded, but his focus never wavered. He turned his attention back to you, his hand still holding yours, his gaze filled with nothing but concern. The room around him, the weight of his title, the kingdom that needed him—all of that faded into the background.

In this moment, it was just you and him. And he wouldn’t leave until you were awake.

Your eyes fluttered open, the light in the room momentarily blinding as you tried to focus. The blurred shape of Aegon sitting beside you became clearer, his face pale but filled with relief. He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as though the weight of the world had been lifted.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. His hand, still holding yours, tightened its grip slightly as he brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. “Thank the gods. I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if to banish the thought.

“You’re going to be fine,” he assured you, his tone soft but firm. “You and… and the babe.”

At the mention of a baby, your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face. “B-babe?” you murmured, your voice hoarse and barely audible. Your free hand instinctively moved to your abdomen, your eyes searching his for answers.

“Yes,” Aegon said, his lips curling into a hesitant smile. “The maester confirmed it. You’re carrying our fourth child.” His tone was filled with awe, though it was tinged with a hint of worry as well.

The news left you stunned. You hadn’t known. In the chaos of recent days, you hadn’t even considered the possibility. Your heart raced as the realization sank in—another child, another life growing inside you, amidst all the turmoil surrounding your family.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Aegon leaned closer, his hand now cupping your face gently. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “You’re both safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

His words were meant to comfort, but they only brought a mix of emotions swirling inside you—joy, fear, and uncertainty, all colliding as you tried to process everything. You looked into his eyes, searching for the strength you needed, even as the storm outside these walls continued to rage.

You lay in bed beside Aegon, his arms wrapped around you tightly, almost as if he feared you might slip away. His embrace was firm yet tender, his hand possessively resting on your back while his fingers gently stroked your hair. You leaned against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a small source of comfort amidst the chaos in your mind.

Luke’s death lingered in your thoughts, the pain sharp and unrelenting. The image of your little brother, gone too soon, was something you couldn’t shake. It didn’t feel real, and yet the weight of it pressed down on you, leaving you feeling hollow. The grief was overwhelming, and now, with the shocking revelation of your pregnancy, your emotions swirled in a chaotic storm.

Aegon’s hand moved slowly through your hair, his touch soothing yet possessive, as though he wanted to shield you from the pain of the world outside. “I’m here,” he whispered softly, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You closed your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks as you buried your face against his chest. His words were meant to comfort, but they only reminded you of the fragile reality you were living in. The man holding you was your husband, your love, but also the one who had taken your mother’s birthright and whose brother had caused the death of your own.

“I… I don’t know what to feel, Aegon,” you admitted, your voice cracking as the tears continued to fall. “Luke is gone. He’s really gone. And now this—this child. I didn’t even know. How am I supposed to face all of this?”

Aegon’s arms tightened around you protectively, his lips pressing against the top of your head. “You don’t have to face it alone,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his own heart. “I’ll be here, no matter what. For you, for the baby. I swear it.”

His words were sincere, but they couldn’t erase the ache in your heart or the doubts clouding your mind. You wanted to believe him, to find solace in his presence, but the weight of everything that had happened was too much to bear. You simply stayed there, letting his warmth envelop you, holding onto the only thing that felt solid in a world that seemed to be crumbling around you.

The morning light filtered softly through the windows as you stood in front of the mirror, preparing yourself to join Aegon at the council meeting. Despite the heaviness in your heart, you knew your place as his wife, by his side, was expected of you. You adjusted your gown with trembling hands, the memory of the previous day still fresh and raw in your mind.

As you were fastening the last clasp, the door to your chambers opened, and Alicent entered. Her expression was calm but firm, her eyes filled with both concern and authority. She approached you quickly, placing a gentle hand on your arm.

“You shouldn’t push yourself, my dear,” she said softly, her tone carrying a hint of motherly care. “You need rest. The events of yesterday have already taken a toll on you, and now, with the child…”

“I’m fine, Mother,” you replied, though your voice lacked conviction. You avoided her gaze, focusing instead on smoothing the fabric of your dress. “I need to be there with Aegon. He shouldn’t face this alone.”

Alicent sighed, her grip on your arm tightening slightly. “Aegon is already at the council. They called for him early this morning. He didn’t want to wake you—he said you needed the rest.” Her expression softened, and she stepped closer. “He’s worried about you. We all are. You must take care of yourself, for your sake and the baby’s.”

Hearing that Aegon had left without saying goodbye made your chest tighten. You understood his reasons, but it didn’t lessen the sting of his absence. Still, you tried to compose yourself, turning back to Alicent with a faint, weary smile.

“I need to show my strength,” you insisted, though your voice wavered. “If I don’t stand beside him, what message does that send?”

Alicent shook her head gently, her expression firm but understanding. “Your strength is not in attending a meeting today. It’s in preserving yourself and your child. Let Aegon handle the council—he knows where your heart is. Rest, my dear. That’s an order from your mother, not the queen dowager.”

Her words left little room for argument, and though part of you wanted to resist, you found yourself nodding slowly. The weight of everything—the grief, the pregnancy, the tension between the two sides of your family—was too much to carry all at once. Perhaps Alicent was right. Perhaps rest was what you needed most.

“I’ll stay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alicent smiled warmly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Good. I’ll have the maester check on you later, and I’ll make sure Aegon comes to see you as soon as the meeting is done.”

With that, she guided you gently back toward the bed, her presence steady and reassuring, even as the world outside seemed to spiral further into chaos.

As Alicent’s footsteps faded away, you found yourself alone in the quiet of your chambers. The weight of her words lingered, but so did the unresolved turmoil in your heart. You turned your gaze toward the papers scattered on your desk, your thoughts drifting to your mother.

Rhaenyra.

Her name brought a pang of longing and guilt. The mother who had raised you, who had fought so hard for her family’s place in the realm, now betrayed by her own daughter—or so it must seem to her. The thought twisted painfully inside you, and you couldn’t bear it any longer.

Slowly, you sat down at your desk, pulling a fresh sheet of parchment toward you. The quill felt heavy in your hand as you dipped it into the ink, but determination settled in your heart. You couldn’t remain silent any longer.

The words came slowly at first, but as your emotions poured out, the ink flowed more freely.

Dear Mother,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, though I fear the news it carries will bring no comfort.

It pains me to write to you after so much has happened between our family. I know my decision to remain by Aegon’s side must feel like a betrayal, and I will not deny the conflict in my heart. I am torn between the love I hold for you, the loyalty I owe as your daughter, and the vows I made to my husband.

Mother, I never wished for this division. I never wanted to see our family torn apart. I thought… I hoped that my union with Aegon might bring peace, might heal the rift between us. But I see now that I was naive.

The news I must share now is unbearable: Luke… he is gone. Aemond’s actions have taken him from us. He claims it was not intentional, but the result is the same. My little brother, your son, is dead. And I… I can hardly breathe under the weight of it.

I write to you not only in grief but also in hope. Hope that you will understand the impossible position I find myself in. Hope that, despite everything, you can forgive me for the choices I have made. And hope that one day, when this storm has passed, we may find our way back to one another.

I also must tell you this—I am with child again. I did not know until yesterday, and the news has shaken me deeply. This child, born into a world divided by blood and war, is both a source of joy and fear for me.

Mother, please know that I love you. I always have, and I always will.

With all my heart,

Your daughter

You set the quill down, your hands trembling as you folded the parchment. Sealing it with wax, you hesitated for a moment before summoning a servant.

“Take this to Dragonstone,” you instructed quietly. “Deliver it to my mother.”

The servant nodded and left swiftly, leaving you alone once more. You let out a shaky breath, unsure of how your mother would receive your words—but at least now she would know your heart.

The faint sound of footsteps approaching your chambers reached your ears again. This time, as the door opened, a line of servants entered carrying trays laden with food. The aroma of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and warm honeyed wine filled the room.

“My queen, His Grace ordered this for you,” one of the servants said, bowing respectfully.

A small smile graced your lips at the thoughtfulness of Aegon. “Thank you,” you said softly, motioning for them to set the trays on the table near your bed.

As the servants arranged the food and quietly exited, you sat down and began eating. Though your appetite had been dulled by the events of the previous day, you knew you needed to keep your strength up, especially now. The warmth of the food comforted you slightly, a reminder of Aegon’s care even in his absence.

Just as you set your cup down, the sound of laughter echoed faintly through the corridor. You froze for a moment, recognizing the familiar voices of your children—Jaehaerys, Jaehara, and Maelor.

Their carefree giggles and playful banter filled the space outside your chambers, growing louder as they neared. Despite the weight in your heart, you couldn’t help but smile. Their joy was a balm to your sorrow, a reminder of the innocence and love that still existed within your family.

The door creaked open, and the three of them peeked inside, their silver hair glinting in the morning light. Jaehaerys, the eldest, was the first to speak. “Mother! Are you feeling better?”

Jaehara quickly followed, her soft voice filled with concern. “Father told us to let you rest, but we wanted to see you.”

Before you could answer, little Maelor ran straight to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “We missed you,” he mumbled into your skirts.

Your heart swelled as you reached down to pull him into your lap, brushing his hair gently. “I missed you too,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “All of you.”

Jaehaerys and Jaehara joined Maelor by your side, each holding one of your hands. For a moment, the heaviness lifted, replaced by the warmth of their presence. You couldn’t protect Luke, but you would do everything in your power to protect them and the life growing within you.

“Are you staying with us today, Mother?” Jaehara asked hopefully.

“Yes,” you said firmly, kissing the top of her head. “I’m staying right here.”

Their smiles and laughter brought a glimmer of hope to your heart, reminding you that even in the darkest times, there was still light to hold on to.

As you held Maelor in your lap, you looked at your children, your heart full of mixed emotions. The silence lingered for a moment as they exchanged surprised glances, unsure if they had heard you correctly.

“You’re going to have another sibling?” Jaehaerys asked cautiously, his eyes wide with curiosity.

You nodded slowly, your voice soft but filled with a sense of reassurance. “Yes, I’m going to have another baby.”

There was a pause, the weight of your words hanging in the air, before Jaehaerys and Jaehara exchanged a quick glance. Then, without warning, they both burst into wide smiles, their faces lighting up with joy.

“Another sibling? Really?” Jaehara exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.

“Yes! We’re going to be a bigger family!” Jaehaerys added, excitement in his voice.

The next moment, the three of them erupted into happy laughter and cheers, their enthusiasm filling the room. “We’re going to have a little brother or sister!” Maelor shouted, his arms thrown in the air as he wiggled happily in your lap.

Their joy was infectious, and despite the heaviness in your heart, you couldn’t help but smile. The sounds of their laughter—genuine, innocent joy—warmed you, reminding you of the love that still surrounded you, even in the midst of turmoil.

Jaehaerys leaned closer, his eyes shining with excitement. “Will it be a brother or a sister, Mother?”

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “I don’t know yet. But either way, we’ll love them just the same.”

Jaehara nodded eagerly, her eyes full of excitement. “I hope it’s a little sister!”

Maelor, not wanting to be left out, bounced in your lap. “I want a little brother! We can play together!”

Their innocence and happiness brought a small tear to your eye, and you hugged Maelor closer to you. “I love you all so much,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

“We love you too, Mother!” they all chorused in unison, their smiles as bright as ever.

For a brief moment, the world outside your room seemed far away, and you allowed yourself to bask in the warmth of your children’s love. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew that with them by your side—and the new life growing inside you—you would find a way through.

The sound of your children’s laughter filled the room, each of them fully immersed in their play. Maelor was making his dragon toy soar through the air with dramatic flair, while Jaehaerys swung his wooden sword in a mock battle, his face set with fierce determination. Jaehara sat beside you, her beloved doll clutched tightly in her arms, smiling as she watched her brothers.

You watched them with a sense of warmth, the pure joy on their faces melting the heaviness in your chest. It was hard to believe that only a few days ago, everything had seemed so uncertain, and now—at least in this room—peace reigned.

Suddenly, your gaze shifted toward the door, where you saw Aegon standing. He looked weary, as though the weight of the day had settled heavily on his shoulders. His face was drawn, but when he heard the sound of his children’s voices calling his name, his tired expression softened into a smile.

“Father!” Jaehaerys shouted, running toward him with his wooden sword still raised. “I’m practicing to be a knight!”

Aegon knelt down as Jaehaerys reached him, his smile broadening. “A knight, huh?” he chuckled, taking the sword from his son’s hands and inspecting it. “You’ll make a fine one someday.”

Jaehara, her eyes twinkling, ran to him next, holding out her doll. “Look, Father, she’s ready for a party!” she giggled, her voice filled with excitement.

Aegon took the doll gently and placed it on his shoulder, playing along. “A very beautiful party,” he said with a smile, before looking over at Maelor, who had come running up to him.

“Maelor, what have you been up to?” Aegon asked, crouching down to his son’s level.

Maelor held up his dragon toy proudly. “It’s flying to battle, just like you!” he declared.

Aegon laughed, his hand resting on Maelor’s head. “A dragon to fight for me, huh? I think that’s exactly what I need.”

You watched the interaction, your heart swelling with a bittersweet sense of love and longing. Aegon, despite the burdens he carried as king, still found time to be present for his children, to be the father they needed.

Seeing him like this—his tiredness forgotten in the warmth of their joy—reminded you of the strength he held. No matter the troubles that weighed on your family, this moment, these small moments of peace and happiness, were worth fighting for.

Aegon glanced over at you, his smile softening as his eyes met yours. Without saying a word, he walked toward you, the children trailing behind.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, sitting down beside you on the bed. His gaze lingered on you, tender and concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright,” you replied, offering him a small smile. “Just… trying to make sense of everything.”

Aegon nodded, his expression serious for a moment before his children distracted him once again.

“Father, will you play with us?” Jaehaerys asked, his wooden sword raised high, eager for another round of pretend battle.

Aegon chuckled, his earlier exhaustion melting away at the sight of his children’s faces. “Of course,” he said, getting up to join them. “Let’s see if we can defeat the dragons together.”

You smiled softly, your heart full, watching your family in that simple, precious moment. Even in the midst of uncertainty, love had a way of grounding you. And as long as you had them—your children, your husband—you would face whatever came next together.

As the evening settled in, you gently guided your children toward their rooms, their playful energy finally starting to fade after hours of fun. The laughter and joy that had filled your chambers still echoed in your heart, but it was time for rest.

Jaehaerys, Jaehara, and Maelor walked beside you, their steps slowing as the exhaustion from the day caught up with them. You could tell that they were ready to fall asleep, their small bodies heavy with the weight of the day’s excitement.

You reached Jaehaerys’ bed first, and he climbed into bed with a yawn. “Goodnight, Mother,” he said sleepily, his eyes already half-closed.

You kissed his forehead gently, smoothing his hair back. “Goodnight, my brave knight,” you whispered. “Sleep well.”

Jaehara followed next, snuggling under her covers. “I hope my doll has sweet dreams,” she murmured, clutching the little toy you had given her.

You leaned over and kissed her forehead as well, her peaceful face making your heart swell. “Goodnight, my sweet princess,” you whispered softly, tucking the blanket around her. “May your dreams be full of joy.”

Lastly, Maelor, always the most energetic, climbed into his bed with a bright smile. “I’ll dream about dragons and knights!” he announced enthusiastically.

You leaned down and kissed the top of his head, brushing his hair away from his eyes. “Goodnight, my little dragon,” you said, your voice warm and full of love. “Dream of wonderful adventures.”

With the last kiss given and the children tucked safely in their beds, you stood for a moment, taking in the sight of them all sleeping soundly. The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of their breathing, and a deep sense of peace filled your heart.

As you made your way toward the door, you cast one final glance at each of them, a quiet promise in your heart to protect them and give them the love and security they deserved, no matter the turmoil surrounding your family.

You slowly closed the door behind you and made your way back to Aegon, your steps quieter now, your heart filled with a quiet strength.

The dimly lit corridor was eerily silent as you walked back toward your chambers. The soft sound of your footsteps echoed faintly against the stone walls, but there was something else—a feeling you couldn’t shake. It was as if unseen eyes were watching your every move.

You stopped abruptly, your heart racing as you turned to look behind you. The long hallway stretched empty, shrouded in shadows. There was no one there, just the cold stillness of the Red Keep. Yet, the sense of being watched didn’t fade.

A shiver ran down your spine, and unease settled heavily in your chest. You quickened your pace, your hand instinctively resting on the small bump of your stomach, as though to shield the life within you.

But just as your chambers came into view, a hand shot out from the darkness, gripping your arm tightly. You gasped, barely able to react before you were yanked back, the world around you plunging into blackness.

For a moment, there was only silence, darkness, and the cold press of fear.

Your vision blurred as you blinked repeatedly, trying to clear your thoughts. The memory of the hand pulling you into the darkness replayed in your mind, leaving a lingering chill. Slowly, your surroundings began to come into focus, and you recognized the room you were in—a room you hadn’t seen in years.

It was your old chamber in Dragonstone. The familiar scent of salt and ash filled the air, the stone walls weathered yet comforting in their simplicity. This was where you had grown up, where you had once felt safe.

Before you could process how you had come to be here, the door creaked open. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze fell upon the two figures standing there.

Your father, Daemon, was the first to step forward, his sharp eyes scanning you with concern and a flicker of anger. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a gesture as natural to him as breathing. Beside him stood your mother, Rhaenyra, her face a mixture of relief and worry. Her gaze softened as she took a step closer, her voice breaking the tense silence.

“My sweet girl,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re safe now.”

Your heart raced as you struggled to comprehend what was happening. “Mother? Father? How…?” you stammered, your voice barely audible.

Daemon’s lips pressed into a thin line as he spoke, his tone cold yet protective. “You were taken from under their noses. And now, you’re home.”

The realization of where you were and what they meant washed over you like a tidal wave. Home. But what did this mean for Aegon? For your children? And the precarious balance you had tried so desperately to maintain?

Your hands trembled as you looked between your parents, the weight of everything crashing down on you. “What have you done?” you whispered, fear and confusion gripping your heart.

In the early hours of the morning, Aegon awoke to find your side of the bed empty. At first, he assumed you were with the children or tending to something trivial, but as the minutes passed and you did not return, a strange unease settled over him.

He called out for you, your name echoing in the quiet chambers, but there was no response. Throwing on his robe, he strode into the corridors, his steps quick and purposeful. He headed first to the children’s chambers, thinking you might still be there.

When he entered, he found Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor sleeping soundly in their beds. His chest tightened as he quietly checked each room, hoping you might be there, but there was no sign of you.

“Where is she?” he muttered under his breath, his unease growing with every passing moment.

He summoned the guards and servants, demanding answers. “Find her,” he barked, his voice sharp with desperation. “Search every corner of the Red Keep.”

They scattered quickly, their torches flickering as they began the search. Aegon himself roamed the halls, his mind racing with fear and anger. You had been by his side just last night, safe and sound. How could you simply vanish?

By the time the sun began to rise, there was still no sign of you. Aegon returned to your chambers, pacing back and forth as his thoughts consumed him. His frustration boiled over, and he slammed a fist against the table.

“She wouldn’t leave,” he said aloud, as if trying to convince himself. “Not without the children. Not without a word.”

His mind flashed to the political tensions, the threats looming over the realm. Had someone taken you? Had his enemies dared to harm you or use you against him?

Determined and frantic, he ordered a full investigation. He would not rest until you were found. His love for you and his growing fear fueled his resolve, and he silently vowed to bring you back, no matter what it took.

Your gaze darted between your mother and father, the weight of their presence suffocating. You took a deep breath, steadying your voice as you spoke. “You shouldn’t have brought me here. This will only make things worse.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his piercing eyes blazing with anger. He stepped forward, his tone sharp and accusing. “Worse? Worse is watching my daughter betray her own blood! Worse is seeing the daughter I raised, the dragon I cherished, stand with the Greens and that usurper instead of her own kin!”

His words hit you like a dagger, but you stood your ground. “I did not betray you!” you shot back, your voice trembling but firm. “Do you truly think so little of me? That I would abandon you, abandon Mother, abandon my brothers? I have been there trying to stop a war, trying to make peace!”

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her expression softer but no less pained. “Peace?” she repeated, her voice laden with disbelief. “While the Greens plot against us, while they take what is rightfully mine? Tell me, daughter, how does peace look when it is built on the ashes of betrayal?”

Your heart clenched at her words, but you refused to back down. “I stayed because I believed that my presence could temper Aegon’s actions, could prevent him from making decisions that would lead to bloodshed! I stayed because I thought I could be a bridge between us, not a wedge driven deeper into the divide!”

Daemon scoffed, his expression hardening. “And what did that achieve? Lucerys is dead. Your little brother was slaughtered, and you expect me to believe you were making things better?”

The mention of Luke’s name broke something inside you, and tears welled in your eyes. “Do you think I don’t grieve him?” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Do you think I don’t feel the weight of his death every moment? I didn’t know… I didn’t know what Aemond would do."

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened slightly, but Daemon’s anger only burned brighter. “You chose them,” he hissed, stepping closer. “You chose the Greens over your mother, over your brothers. And now, you’re here, and you will stay. There is no going back to him. To them.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you felt the ground beneath you shift. Torn between the family you were born into and the family you had built, you realized the chasm between the two had grown too wide, and you were caught in the middle, with no escape in sight.

You reached out and grasped your father’s hand, your grip trembling but firm. “Father, please,” you pleaded, your voice raw with desperation. “I can’t stay here. I can’t leave my children behind. They need me. Aegon needs me. And… I’m carrying another child.”

For a moment, you saw a flicker of hesitation in Daemon’s eyes, a brief crack in the unyielding mask of anger. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He pulled his hand away, his expression hardening further.

“It changes nothing,” he said coldly. “You think that carrying his child excuses the choices you’ve made? That it absolves you of standing with the usurper while he sits on your mother’s throne?”

“Father,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I didn’t choose to abandon this family. I didn’t choose for any of this to happen. But my children are innocent in all of this, and I cannot—will not—leave them.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “You speak of innocence, yet you stand by the man who let Lucerys die, who let Aemond walk free after slaughtering your brother.”

Your heart twisted in anguish. “I didn’t know,” you said, your voice breaking. “I didn’t know what Aemond would do. If I had known…”

“But you stayed,” Daemon interrupted, his voice rising. “You stayed after they crowned him. After they declared war on this family. You stayed, and now you dare to plead for mercy?”

Rhaenyra placed a hand on Daemon’s arm, her gaze locked on you. There was a trace of sorrow in her eyes, but also a determination that mirrored her husband’s. “You are my daughter,” she said softly, “and I love you. But your place is here, with your family. Not with the man who sits on my throne.”

Your legs felt weak, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t stay,” you whispered, shaking your head. “If you keep me here, it will only cause more pain—for everyone.”

But Daemon stepped forward, his voice final. “You are not leaving, not now, not ever. Whatever bond you think ties you to him is nothing compared to your duty to your true family. You will stay, and that is the end of it.”

The weight of his words crushed you, and you realized that no amount of pleading or reasoning would sway him. You were trapped, torn between two worlds, and there was no escape.

You sank to the cold stone floor as the sound of the lock clicking echoed through the room, sealing your fate. The tears came silently, hot and unrelenting, as you wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in your own embrace. Your trembling hands moved to your stomach, gently cradling the life growing within you.

You stroked your belly softly, your whispers barely audible in the quiet room. “I’m so sorry,” you murmured, the weight of your anguish pressing down on you. “I promised to protect all of you… I promised.”

Your thoughts drifted to Aegon, imagining him back in the Red Keep, searching for you, his frustration and worry mounting with every passing moment. You could see his face so clearly—his exhaustion, his fear for you, and the quiet tenderness he always reserved for you in private.

Would he know where you had gone? Would he realize you’d been taken?

Your tears fell harder as you thought of your children. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor—how would they understand your sudden absence? You could almost hear Maelor’s small, confused voice asking for you, or Jaehaera clutching her doll and waiting for your goodnight kiss.

“I can’t stay here,” you whispered to yourself, your resolve hardening even as despair threatened to consume you. You couldn’t let this separation last. For your children, for your unborn baby, and for Aegon, you had to find a way back to them.

But as the cold reality of the locked door set in, you realized that escaping Dragonstone would not be easy. Trapped and isolated, all you could do for now was wait, hope, and pray that Aegon would come for you—or that you could find the strength to fight your way back to the family you had built.

In the Council Chambers, Aegon’s voice echoed through the halls as he unleashed his fury upon Ser Criston. His anger was wild and unrestrained, the sharp edge of his words cutting through the air. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” he roared, his face flushed with rage and grief. “How could you let this happen? How could she disappear under your watch?”

Ser Criston stood silent, his head bowed in shame, unable to meet the king’s tear-filled gaze. Alicent stepped forward, her voice calm but firm, trying to soothe her son. “Aegon, we will find her. I promise you—”

“No!” Aegon snapped, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his face. “You don’t understand! She’s pregnant, Mother! She’s carrying my child, and I don’t even know if she’s safe!” His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, the weight of his fear and guilt pressing down on him.

Alicent’s face softened at his confession, her own worry deepening. “We will search every corner of the realm if we must,” she said gently. “But you must compose yourself. She needs you strong now more than ever.”

But Aegon shook his head, his shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of him. “What if she’s hurt? What if they…” He couldn’t finish the thought, the words catching in his throat. He covered his face with his hands, his body trembling with quiet sobs.

His mind raced with dark possibilities—what could have happened to you, where you could be, and why you had vanished. The thought of you being in danger, especially while carrying their fourth child, tore him apart.

“I should have been there,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. “I should have protected her.”

Ser Criston stepped forward cautiously, his tone filled with regret. “Your Grace, I will assemble every knight, every scout. We will search until we find her.”

Aegon turned to him, his tear-streaked face filled with desperation. “Then do it. Find her. Bring her back to me. I don’t care what it takes.”

As the room fell silent, Alicent placed a comforting hand on her son’s shoulder, but he barely acknowledged her. His thoughts were consumed by you—his queen, his love, and the mother of his children. Wherever you were, Aegon vowed to find you and bring you home, no matter the cost.

Aemond stepped forward, his voice calm yet heavy with tension. “What if she was taken by the Blacks?” he said, his words cutting through the room like a blade. The suggestion hung in the air, freezing everyone in place.

Aegon’s head snapped toward Aemond, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as fury reignited within him. “What did you say?” he hissed, his voice dangerously low.

Aemond met his brother’s glare, unflinching but clearly cautious. “Think about it. Who else would dare to take her from the Red Keep? Who else has a reason to strike at you so personally? If the Blacks have her…”

Aegon surged forward, grabbing Aemond by the collar, his face mere inches from his brother’s. “If they’ve taken her,” he growled, his voice trembling with rage, “if my wife—my children’s mother—is in their hands because of this war you’ve started, I swear, Aemond, I will burn Dragonstone to the ground myself.”

Alicent quickly stepped between her sons, her hands raised in a placating gesture. “Aegon, stop this! Fighting amongst ourselves will not bring her back!”

But Aegon’s grip didn’t loosen. His mind raced with the possibility that you were with Rhaenyra and Daemon, and the thought filled him with both fear and rage. “She’s pregnant, Aemond! Do you understand what they could do to her? What they could do to my child?”

Aemond clenched his jaw, his gaze steady. “If they have her, it’s because they see her as one of them, Aegon. Not as your wife, but as their daughter. She’s still Rhaenyra’s blood, and you know Daemon will stop at nothing to bring her back to their side.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and Alicent’s voice broke through the standoff. “Enough! We need to think rationally. If she is with the Blacks, then we must act carefully. Any rash action could endanger her further.”

Aegon finally released Aemond, shoving him back with a frustrated snarl. His chest heaved with the weight of his emotions as he turned away, pacing the room. “We need to confirm it. Send spies, ravens—whatever it takes. I need to know where she is.”

Aemond nodded solemnly. “I’ll go myself if I must. I’ll bring her back.”

Aegon shot him a dark look, his voice cold. “You’ve done enough already, brother.”

The room fell into a tense silence as Aegon clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He wouldn’t rest until he had you back, no matter what it took or who stood in his way.

As the tension in the room thickened, Otto Hightower stepped forward, his expression calculated yet calm. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice steady, “allow me to go to Dragonstone. I will speak with Rhaenyra and Daemon myself. There may still be a way to resolve this without further bloodshed.”

Aegon turned to his grandfather, his jaw tight. “You think they’ll just let her go because you ask politely? They hate us, Otto. They hate me. They’ll use her against us.”

Otto clasped his hands behind his back, his tone unwavering. “That is precisely why I must go. They may despise you, but they still see me as a voice of reason. They know I represent the council, not just you. If she is indeed with them, I may be able to negotiate her return without further provocation.”

Alicent stepped closer, her face filled with worry. “Father, are you certain this is wise? Daemon’s temper is… volatile. And Rhaenyra—”

“They are both clever enough to know that harming her would only destroy any chance of reconciliation,” Otto interrupted firmly. “Their quarrel is with the crown, not with her. If they’ve taken her, it’s because they see her as their own, as their blood. I will remind them of that bond and the risks of escalating this conflict.”

Aegon’s fists clenched at his sides. He hated the idea of relying on Otto to solve this, but he also knew the old man was right—Daemon and Rhaenyra wouldn’t be swayed by threats or force, not without endangering you.

“And if they refuse?” Aegon asked coldly, his voice laced with barely restrained anger.

Otto’s eyes hardened. “Then I will remind them of the cost of such defiance. But I will not return without an answer.”

Aegon’s gaze flickered between his mother and grandfather, his mind torn. Finally, he gave a sharp nod. “Fine. Go. But make no mistake—if they harm her, there will be no negotiations, no compromises. I will unleash the full might of the crown on them.”

Otto bowed his head slightly. “Understood, Your Grace. I will leave at first light.”

As Otto turned to make preparations, Aegon’s jaw tightened, his heart heavy with dread. He hated feeling powerless, but for now, all he could do was wait and hope that Otto’s words would be enough to bring you back safely.

You remained motionless, your eyes fixed on the vast expanse of the sea outside your window. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the rocks did little to calm the turmoil inside you. Your thoughts were tangled, your heart torn between duty, family, and the painful reality of your situation. The open door behind you didn’t make you shift, as your mind wandered to everything that had brought you here.

Then, you heard a voice—Jace’s voice—calling your name, breaking the heavy silence. You turned, and there he stood, a figure of strength and resolve, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His presence felt like a reminder of the family you once stood with, the ones you now feared you were betraying.

“Jace…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked at him, unsure of how to feel. His expression was serious, but there was a softness in his eyes, a mixture of concern and determination.

He stepped forward slowly, his gaze never leaving you. “I had to see you. Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low, as if afraid that the answer might be something he didn’t want to hear.

You took a breath, feeling the weight of your own emotions pressing down on you. “I don’t know anymore, Jace. Everything is… broken. Aegon is king now, and I feel like I’m losing everything.”

Jace remained silent for a moment, his posture softening as he approached you. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice filled with an understanding that made your chest tighten. “I never wanted things to turn out this way. I never wanted to see you in pain.”

The words felt like a balm on a wound, though it didn’t heal the hurt inside you. You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You never wanted it… but here we are.”

His gaze hardened, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. “I will do whatever it takes to make this right. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

You turned away from him then, looking back out at the sea, unable to face him completely. The pain, the confusion, the betrayal—all of it washed over you again. “But I do carry it alone, Jace. Aegon is my husband, my family, but so is Rhaenyra, so is Daemon, and yet I stand between them. I can’t be in two places at once.”

Jace stepped closer, his voice quiet but insistent. “You don’t have to choose. You don’t have to carry this alone. We are your family, too.”

A soft sigh escaped your lips, and for a moment, you felt the burden of everything you were holding inside threaten to crush you. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jace placed a hand on your shoulder, steady and firm. “Then let us help you. Let me help you.”

You looked into Jace’s eyes, the weight of your emotions pressing on your chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel hope. Your hand reached out, taking his in a tight grip.

“Jace… please,” you pleaded, your voice soft but desperate. “Let me go. My children need me. Aegon may be king, but they are still my flesh and blood, and I cannot stay here, torn between two worlds. I don’t want to abandon them.”

Jace stood still, his face unreadable as he listened to your words. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, but there was no answer—just silence. The weight of what you were asking hung heavily between you.

You squeezed his hand, trying to convey the depth of your plea. “I can’t lose them, Jace. I can’t lose my family… all of them. But I need to be with them. I need to protect them. Please, understand.”

He looked down at your hands, still entwined, before meeting your eyes again. His lips parted as though to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. For a long moment, he simply stood there, his expression conflicted—torn between the loyalty to his family and the undeniable bond he shared with you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. His voice was low, weighed down by a sadness you could hear, but also a hint of acceptance.

“You’re asking a lot, but… I understand,” he said quietly. “I can’t stop you. You are their mother, after all.”

You felt a surge of gratitude wash over you, mixed with the overwhelming weight of the decision you were making. “Thank you, Jace,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to betray anyone, but I can’t abandon my children. I won’t.”

Jace nodded, a pained look on his face. “I can’t promise that it will be easy. But if this is what you need to do, I won’t stand in your way.”

You gave his hand one final squeeze before letting go, turning toward the door. “I’ll leave tonight,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Before anyone notices. I’ll make sure no one comes after me.”

Jace stepped back slightly, his eyes lingering on you. “I just… want you to be safe. And for you to know that you always have a place here with us, no matter what happens.”

A lump formed in your throat as you looked back at him, the love and loyalty in his words a bittersweet comfort. “I know, Jace. I know.”

The walls of Dragonstone felt more suffocating with each passing day. It had been nearly four days since you were brought back here after your failed escape attempt. The longing for your children and Aegon was overwhelming, the ache in your chest constant. You missed their laughter, the warmth of Aegon’s presence, the way your children’s smiles could brighten even the darkest of days. The silence in your room felt like a prison, and it was all too much to bear.

Daemon had made it clear that you were not to leave the room again. His anger after your escape attempt had been fierce, and now, you felt like a captive in your own family’s stronghold. The walls that once offered you comfort now felt like they were closing in on you. No one was allowed to see you, not even Jace, who had once been your ally, your hope in the midst of this turmoil. The only thing you could hear now were the distant sounds of the sea crashing against the cliffs and the heavy footsteps of the guards stationed outside your door.

As the days dragged on, you found yourself torn between your love for your family and the crushing guilt that had taken root in your heart. You knew you had made a choice that had torn your life apart, but it was too late to turn back now. The weight of it all felt unbearable. You were stuck in a place where you were neither truly wanted nor allowed to leave.

The flickering candlelight in the corner of the room cast long shadows on the stone walls, reminding you of the isolation that had become your reality. You sat by the window, gazing out at the vast ocean below. You wondered what Aegon was doing, how he was managing without you, and if he missed you as much as you missed him.

You had to see your children again. You had to feel Aegon’s presence, to be with them. But with each failed attempt, your hope seemed to fade a little more. Would you ever escape this place, or was this to be your fate?

Your heart raced as you caught sight of the ship approaching, the green Targaryen flag fluttering in the wind. It was a symbol of your husband, Aegon, and the faintest flicker of hope ignited within you. For the first time in days, you felt the urge to break free from the suffocating walls of Dragonstone, to return to the family you missed so dearly.

You quickly made your way to the door, heart pounding in your chest. The sounds of the sea crashing against the cliffs seemed to echo in your mind as you glanced around, making sure no one was watching. Your eyes scanned the hallway, looking for a passing servant or anyone who might help you. You couldn’t stay here any longer, not when you knew Aegon was so close.

When you spotted a servant walking down the hall, you rushed to catch their attention, your voice low but urgent. “Please, help me,” you whispered, hoping they wouldn’t refuse. “I need to get to the ship. Please.”

The servant hesitated for a moment, looking around nervously as if unsure whether to help you or not. The consequences of disobeying Daemon’s orders were severe, and everyone in Dragonstone knew the danger of crossing him. But after a tense pause, the servant looked into your eyes and seemed to understand your desperation.

“Quickly, princess,” they whispered, motioning for you to follow them. “This way.”

With a final glance over your shoulder, you followed the servant through the winding halls, your steps quick but careful. Every corner you turned, every shadow you passed, made your heart race faster. The thought of being caught again was terrifying, but the sight of the ship gave you the strength to press on.

The servant led you to a secluded stairwell that would take you closer to the docks, away from Daemon’s watchful eyes. You tried to remain as quiet as possible, your breath shallow and rapid with anticipation. Once you reached the bottom, the salty sea air hit you, and you could see the ship anchored in the bay, its green flag a beacon of hope.

You were so close now, so close to freedom, but would you be able to make it before anyone noticed?

As you watched from the shadows, your heart sank a little when you didn’t see Aegon among those disembarking the ship. Otto Hightower stood tall, flanked by Ser Criston Cole and a handful of soldiers. Their movements were deliberate, their faces stern as they made their way up the stone steps leading to the castle.

Despite the pang of disappointment, your determination didn’t waver. You stayed hidden, waiting for them to ascend the stairs and disappear into Dragonstone’s looming halls. Once the coast was clear, you quietly slipped onto the ship, keeping your hood drawn tightly over your face. The familiar scent of saltwater and worn wood greeted you as you found a secluded corner to hide, heart pounding in anticipation.

Time passed agonizingly slow. The faint sound of voices and boots echoed in the distance as Otto and his men conducted their business in the castle. You stayed perfectly still, gripping the edge of your cloak as you rehearsed what you would say, how you would plead for your return. Every moment that passed felt like an eternity until finally, you heard footsteps descending the stairs.

The men returned, their conversation low but urgent. As they approached the ship, you stepped out from the shadows, pulling back your hood to reveal your face. Otto froze in his tracks, his eyes widening with shock. For a moment, he seemed to be at a loss for words. Then, relief softened his features, though it was quickly replaced by a mix of concern and calculation.

“Your Grace,” Otto said, his voice quieter than usual. He glanced at Ser Criston, who appeared equally stunned but ready to act if needed. “What are you doing here? How did you—”

“I need to leave,” you interrupted, your voice firm but laced with desperation. “I need to return to my children and my husband. Please, take me back to the Red Keep.”

Otto studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he gave a slight nod. “Very well,” he said, though there was a weight to his words. “But we must act quickly. If anyone discovers this, it could spark something far worse.”

He gestured for you to follow him, and you stepped onto the ship’s deck, your heart soaring with the realization that you were one step closer to reuniting with your family. As the crew prepared to set sail, you couldn’t help but glance back at the castle one last time, wondering if your escape would truly go unnoticed—or if the storm had only just begun.

As Dragonstone faded into the distance, the waves rocking the ship beneath you, you kept your gaze fixed on the disappearing silhouette of the castle. The dark stone towers, shrouded in mist, stood as a reminder of the chains you’d just broken free from. You placed a gentle hand on your growing belly, whispering softly to yourself, “It will be fine. We will be fine.”

But your heart was heavy with the knowledge that this escape would not go unnoticed, and the repercussions could be dire.

Back in Dragonstone, Daemon strode through the halls, his boots echoing like thunder. His face was a storm of anger and disbelief as he pushed open the door to your chamber, expecting to find you seated by the window or lying on the bed. Instead, the room was empty.

“Where is she?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His sharp eyes darted around the chamber, landing on the untouched food tray by the table. His fists clenched as the realization hit him. “She’s gone.”

He stormed into the hallway, his voice booming as he barked orders at the nearest guards. “Find her! Search every corner of this castle! Now!”

When no sign of you was found, rage consumed him. He slammed his hand against the nearest wall, the sound reverberating through the stone halls. “She escaped,” he spat, the words laced with venom. Turning to one of the trembling guards, he hissed, “Check the shores. If she’s on a ship… gods help the fools who took her.”

Daemon’s mind raced, his anger tempered only by the icy fear that you had fled straight into the arms of the greens. For all his fury, there was an undeniable pang of pain in his chest. You were his daughter, his blood. And now you were gone.

He stalked off toward the council chambers to inform Rhaenyra, his jaw set in determination. If the greens had taken you, war was no longer on the horizon—it had already begun.

Daemon’s boots struck the stone floor with force as he stormed into the council chamber, the heavy doors slamming against the walls. Rhaenyra looked up from the head of the table, her face a mixture of surprise and irritation at the interruption.

“She’s gone,” Daemon declared, his voice a sharp blade cutting through the room’s murmured discussions.

Rhaenyra’s brows knitted together, her tone laced with both confusion and anger. “What do you mean, gone?”

Daemon took a step closer, his violet eyes blazing with fury. “She escaped. Our daughter is no longer here.”

Gasps rippled through the room as lords and knights exchanged anxious glances. Rhaenyra rose from her seat, her hands bracing the table as she leaned forward. “How could this happen? She’s been under guard!”

Daemon sneered, his frustration evident. “Otto Hightower’s visit was no coincidence. While we were distracted by his hollow words and false negotiations, she slipped away—no doubt with their help. They’ve taken her back to the greens, to her husband, and her children.”

The weight of his accusation hung heavily in the room. Rhaenyra’s expression darkened, her voice steady but cold. “If she is in the hands of Aegon, they will use her against us. This cannot stand.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists. “I will not let her stay in their clutches. She is my daughter, our daughter. She belongs here, with her family—not with him.” His voice grew colder, and his tone more resolute. “I swear on the blood of the dragon, I will bring her back. No matter who I have to cut down to do it.”

Rhaenyra stared at him, a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Daemon, we cannot afford rash decisions. If you go charging into the lion’s den, you risk not only her safety but the lives of countless others.”

Daemon shook his head, his voice unwavering. “There is no time for caution. She is my blood, and I will not let her stay in their hands for a moment longer than necessary.”

The council fell silent as the gravity of his determination filled the room. For Daemon, this was no longer a matter of politics or alliances—it was a father’s wrath, unyielding and unstoppable.

The journey to King’s Landing had been long and arduous, each passing day weighed down by the turmoil in your heart. Your thoughts were consumed by your children, their laughter, and their innocence. And then there was Aegon—your husband, who you knew must have been consumed by worry for you.

When the Red Keep finally came into view, standing tall and formidable against the horizon, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Relief flooded your chest. You were home.

As the ship docked and you stepped onto the stone pier, Otto turned to the guards and gave a firm order. “Take her directly to the king. He’s been waiting long enough.”

The guards nodded and flanked you on either side, guiding you toward the castle. Each step felt heavier as you approached the towering gates of the Red Keep, but the thought of seeing Aegon and your children kept you moving forward.

As you entered the familiar halls, memories of happier times flooded your mind—moments spent with Aegon, your children’s laughter echoing in the corridors. It felt like years had passed since you’d last walked these halls, though it had only been weeks.

The guards stopped in front of the doors to the royal chambers. One of them announced your arrival before pushing the doors open.

Inside, Aegon stood by the window, his posture tense as he stared out over the city. When he turned and saw you, his eyes widened in disbelief, and for a moment, it seemed as though time had stopped.

“Love,” he breathed, his voice heavy with emotion.

You took a tentative step forward, your heart aching at the sight of him. “Aegon…”

In an instant, he was across the room, pulling you into his arms. His embrace was firm and desperate, as if he feared you might vanish again. “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You’re safe.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you buried your face in his chest, feeling the warmth and strength of his hold. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I tried to come back sooner.”

He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his gaze searching yours. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

As his lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss, the weight of the past weeks began to lift. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to hope.

Aegon knelt before you, his hands gently resting on your waist as he pressed a kiss to your growing belly. His touch was tender, filled with reverence and relief. You ran your fingers through his hair, the softness of the gesture mirroring the smile on your lips. “I missed you so much,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

His gaze lifted to meet yours, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I missed you more,” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Before you could respond, the sound of the door opening drew your attention. You turned to see Alicent standing there, her expression one of joy and relief. Behind her, your children peeked around her skirts, their faces lighting up the moment they saw you.

“Mother!” Jaehaerys called out, his voice filled with excitement as he rushed forward, followed closely by Jaehaera and little Maelor.

You opened your arms wide, kneeling slightly to welcome them into a warm embrace. “My loves,” you murmured, tears streaming down your face as their small arms wrapped tightly around you.

Alicent stepped into the room, her expression softening as she watched the reunion. “I brought them the moment I heard you’d returned,” she said gently, her voice filled with warmth.

Aegon rose to his feet, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder as he looked at his mother. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with gratitude.

Jaehaerys looked up at you with wide eyes, his hands clutching your gown. “Are you staying this time, Mother? You won’t leave again?”

You placed a hand on his cheek, your heart breaking at the worry in his voice. “I’m staying, my sweet boy. I promise.”

Jaehaera held onto your arm, her soft voice barely above a whisper. “We missed you so much, Mother.”

“I missed you too,” you replied, pressing a kiss to her silver hair before looking down at Maelor, who clung to your leg. “And you, my little dragon. Did you miss me?”

Maelor nodded vigorously, his bright eyes shining with tears. “I did! I did!”

Aegon knelt beside you, gathering all three children in his arms. “Our family is whole again,” he said softly, his voice filled with determination. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

You leaned into him, your heart full as you looked at your children and the man you loved. For the first time in weeks, you felt at peace.

The peaceful atmosphere in the room shattered as a deafening roar echoed through the air. The sound was unmistakable—the mighty cry of Caraxes, your father’s dragon. Your heart dropped, and a chill ran down your spine as you instinctively froze, your body tensing with fear.

Aegon’s protective embrace tightened around you as he immediately recognized your unease. “What is it?” he asked, his voice urgent.

Your eyes darted to the window, the color draining from your face. “It’s Caraxes,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It's Daemon… he’s here.”

Aegon’s jaw clenched, his gaze hardening as he rose to his feet. “He’s come to take you back,” he said with a mix of anger and determination. He turned to Alicent, who was already ushering the children toward the door.

“Take them to safety,” Aegon commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Now!”

Alicent nodded quickly, guiding the children out of the room despite their protests. “Mother! Father! What’s happening?” Jaehaerys cried, his voice filled with panic.

You knelt and hugged them tightly one last time. “It’s going to be okay,” you said, your voice trembling but steady enough to comfort them. “Stay with your grandmother. I’ll come to you soon.”

As Alicent and the children disappeared down the hall, Aegon turned back to you, his expression fierce. “I won’t let him take you,” he vowed. “Not again.”

You shook your head, your hand resting on his arm. “Aegon, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “This is my father. If he’s here, it’s not just to take me back. He’s ready for war.”

Before Aegon could respond, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the distinct clang of weapons. The door burst open, and Daemon stood there, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. His presence was commanding, his face a mask of cold fury.

“You’re coming with me,” Daemon said, his voice low but deadly. His eyes briefly flickered to Aegon, filled with disdain, before returning to you.

Aegon stepped between you and your father, his hand on Blackfyre at his side. “She’s not going anywhere,” he growled. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

Daemon’s lips curved into a menacing smirk. “If that’s what it takes,” he said, drawing his sword.

You stepped forward, placing yourself between the two men, your arms outstretched. “Stop this!” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “Please, stop! You’re going to destroy everything!”

Daemon’s eyes softened slightly as he looked at you, but his resolve remained firm. “You don’t belong here,” he said, his voice gentler now. “You’re my daughter, and you’re coming home where you’re safe.”

“This is my home!” you shouted back, your voice breaking. “My children, my husband—they’re my family too. I won’t leave them!”

Daemon’s grip on Dark Sister faltered for a moment, conflicted by your words, but his anger quickly resurfaced. “You’ve been blinded by love for the wrong side,” he spat.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and you felt torn apart, caught between the two men you loved most. “Father, please,” you begged. “I’m begging you, don’t make me choose.”

Aegon’s hand slipped into yours, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to choose,” he said softly, his voice steady and unwavering. “You’re staying with me.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, and the room seemed to freeze as everyone braced for what would happen next.

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