#chapter-18

[atissi]

i don't really like when people say dungeon meshi is accidentally good autistic representation, because while i understand not wanting to make conclusions without explicit confirmation from the author, there's always the weird assumption that non-western authors somehow don't know about things like neurodivergency/queerness/etc. (on top of the assumptions that east asian authors are somehow more naive or oblivious to "western" social issues).

given that dungeon meshi started being published in 2014, it's not really a "work belonging to its times"—it's as contemporary as any other media we discuss on this site, which means it should be fair to assume it engages with contemporary topics (and at the very least, you shouldn't say that the representation is accidental with so much confidence)

but anyways, the chapter "perfect communication" in ryoko kui's "terrarium in a drawer" is some of the most straightforward autistic representation I've seen, and from now on I'm going to assume that laios's character writing is absolutely intentional in that regard:

[taddymason]

A Vision

That scene in s9 is probably one of my favorite Jay moments because of how well it shows why Wu chose him and what his role is in the team. Being the out-of-the-box thinker, the dreamer. Especially because of how it sets him apart from the rest, like Zane, Cole or Kai, whose purposes are to protect others while Jay inspires people (s6 and s12)

[driftwoodmfb]

I mean, am I wrong?

[bamsara]

I dont know if it was intentional but I love that Narinder when he sees Lamb throwing up he turns gentle and pushes their wool and ears back so they dont get stained with vomit and for some reason it reminded me of how when Nari was throwing up too after the nightmare he had when they were on route to fight Leshy, Lambert helped him with camellias for the nausea.

Ahh, parallels. I think.

IM SO GLAD YOU POINTED THAT OUT allow me to ramble for just a moment.

Narinder was trapped in the Afterlife for over 1000 years, with little social skills and plagued by wishing for vengeance and his only company being two kittens who become disciples under his rule. He has terrible social skills, if not lacking them entirely.

(I would argue that Aym and Baal also have horrific nonexistent social skills, so those three cat's can't really help each other communicate properly to anyone else outside themselves.)

It can be argued that since The One Who Waits had other vessels to pass time and try to kill /annoy his siblings before the prophesized Lamb arrival, that he would have developed them a little bit more, but I would argue that the power balance would have been oodles more severe since the vessels weren't the promised one. He didn't need them, so if they no longer were of service or disobeyed him, he got rid of them. Whether just sending them out or killing them, any how.

Lamb, however, knows they are the last Lamb, the prophesized liberator of The One Who Waits, and therefore his only option. They knew that they were his only reasonable way out of there (whether they asked for it or not) so they were oodles more comfortable than how a professional relationship would have been.

So they asked questions, bothered him, played and ran around him. Complained and vented to him. Yapped and yapped. What is he gonna do? Kill them? Find a new vessel? He can't. "You're as trapped into this prophecy as much as I am, so let's be friends"

Example parts from Chapter 3:

The power balance equalizes because Lamb did not see his presence a God, but rather a fellow prisoner and victim of fate. Rude and demanding, but in the same chains as they were. 'My lord' was simply formalities at first.

This puts Narinder / The One Who Waits in social situations he hasn't been in (or hardly been in) in over a thousand years, and frankly, he had no idea how to navigate them:

Example from Chapter 5:

The God of Death has not needed to comfort or 'be there' for someone in a long, long time. The Lamb's presence is what forces him to try, even if his first attempt aren't perfect. So in that same chapter, he'll ask them a question to distract them. Conversation. Like how they do it.

While I won't post a screenshot of everytime this happens in written format (not including the dreams/memories/flashbacks that haven't been posted yet)-

The One Who Waits is pushed outside of his bubble when it comes to socializing in a way that isn't just 'God-to-Lowly-Vessal' format. He has to talk to them like a person, because he's being talked to like a person, not a god on a pedestal.

Obviously after the final battle and betrayal (to both of them, otherwise known as the Grand Miscommunication) this means nothing for a while as tempers are still high and feelings are hurt. But overtime, this returns, and can show in small ways (ways that may not seem like comfort but is certainly an attempt) like just in Chapter 18:

Trying to bring them an 'offering' (breakfast) mirroring other times the Lamb has done the same for him:

Crudely offering to replace something they are upset at losing/later offering reassurance abet in a curt way:

And what you mentioned: earlier when the Lamb is throwing up, narration shows they're having trouble with keeping their wool, cloak, bell, ect all back at the same time. He can see that. He has a mental boiling pot explosion over the fact that helping them is even a want that he has after the denial crisis he's experiencing where the only answer a minute ago seemed like he needed to kill them, and he chose comfort.

It is intentional. Narinder is learning how to show care, and allowing himself to show care. Slowly, and not perfect, but learning.

[kosmical]

just finished ghost trick

[zu-is-here]

Satiated ✧ Chapter 16

Dream & Nightmare by jokublog

Geno by loverofpiggies

Aftermare Week by @bluepallilworld

[dindjarindiaries]

Pedro Pascal x The Mandalorian season 3

[devildomwriter]

“Like a true imbecile, you’re honest to a fault. I hate that about you.”

“Wait, what? Did you just call me an imbecile?”

“Just finish your tea and get out. Imbecile.”

“Wow, talk about mean…”

�� Barbatos and Solomon (NB Chapter 18-A)

[manga-meow]

[erinwantstowrite]

idk if this was obvious but is “the realm between our worlds” loki put (who im assuming is) thor in the place peter kept dreaming about? or was peter somehow dreaming of that exact scene we saw (with loki and klarion when thor was arriving) but instead it was a more weird abstract version?

Pretty much this!! Klarion is directly responsible for all the weird dreams and the storms- it just happened to coincide with the glitching and confused Peter and Dick. It'll be explained in chap 18, but Klarion was using himself as a bridge to get Thor out of the rift. He zeroed in on Peter using his magic, giving him the dreams kind of as a side effect/consequence to the magic. They were more abstract because Peter's sleeping mind was processing visions of what Klarion was seeing/what he knows about. By doing this, Klarion was giving Thor the ability to find Peter. Thor is the cause for the weird weather patterns and the fact that it has been following Peter, but Klarion gave him the dreams/visions. here's a picture i drew with my mouse cause i didn't want to get my tablet out just yet:

Klarion had to help Thor get out, as well. Thor wasn't strong enough to get out of the rift on his own (because Thor's powers aren't like Loki's) so Klarion was like "oh have some energy using this spell my friend" (Klarion was not his friend, Thor was a backup if Loki didn't say yes), and that's how Thor was able to get out. He almost succeeded one time on accident- that was when Peter and Jason were nearly struck. Klarion pulled back because Thor was stronger than he expected and he wasn't planning to actually release Thor unless he had a reason

basically, Klarion was sending a charged up lightning missile to Peter's location. at least Thor is friendly :)

[samipekoe]

more of my old bnha art my friend unearthed...I have such a beautiful mind

[damn-stark]

Chapter 18 A little high, a little low

Chapter 18 of Moonlight

A/N- Cregan would’ve danced with you

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy, hunting, ANGST!!, FLUFF!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode & or Chapters- 438-440 (kinda hopping around pages in the book for this chapter)

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*2 YEARS AGO. WINTERFELL*

Deep breath. Steady aim, and shoot!

The arrow shot from your bow whizzes between trees, and skids under hanging greenery that threatens to knock the wooden arrow down, but the speed carries the arrow toward a dark brown stag unaware of the threat hurling his way as it feeds on twigs on the ground.

Yet just as the arrow comes close to piercing the dark eye, the stag moves his head and the arrow instead crashes on a trunk behind it, causing the stag to go stiff and become wary of your looming threat with such an impressive survival instinct that he seems to find you hidden amongst the drooping branches.

His brown eye caught under the beams of sunlight reflects your menacing figure, study the way puffs of your breath are drawn in the chilly air, the way your eye closes before a soft glimmering sunbeam catches the color of your eye, and sends him running off for its life when he realizes you're after him.

“Damn it!” You hiss and quickly throw the bow around you before you run off after the stag in hopes you will win the bigger trophy and beat Lady Arra, and Cregan in your makeshift hunting game.

They do have the advantage of knowing the woods like the back of their hand, but thanks to Cregan bringing you to teach you how to hunt or escape where no one would see you, you do have some knowledge, but not enough compared to their years of experience. The only advantage you have is the fact that you found the stag first and that you have him in your sights.

No matter how tactical the stag is by prancing through the wild woods and avoiding obstacles with his sharp eyes, you are not far behind, and speed is not a problem; you’re fast because of the blood pumping through your veins and unsettling your heart. The snow on the ground does make things harder for your human vulnerability, but you try hard to run over the marked trail the stag is leaving behind while also shoving aside long and drooping branches. You barely miss large rocks the stag has no problem hopping over, but you are never far behind.

Actually, there comes a point where you get near the stag, causing you to be hit with a spark of courage that makes you yank the bow off your body and pull an arrow out of the satchel. When you sloppily align the arrow you slide down on your feet and let the arrow fly toward the stag.

Nevertheless, you miss your target and the stag decides to make a sharp turn.

“Great,” you grumble and return to your given height before you continue your hurried chase. When it comes to making the sharp turn you almost run into a large fallen-over trunk, but luckily your mind manages to work out a quick plan and makes you hop over the large trunk, letting you spot a frozen lake in the distance once your feet hit the ground.

Is that where the stag went? You look at the ground and see tracks directing down toward the frozen lake.

It could use the lake to its advantage, you won’t run over the ice without skates, but you can’t imagine he’d have an easy time either.

Still, you proceed to slow down in your pace and stalk after the stag with sharp eyes, and open ears to be wary of any sound that could lead you toward the stag you now lost sight of. You also slowly pull out another arrow in case you find it resting in one place.

However, in your silence where your footsteps quietly crunch through soft snow, a splash breaks through the air before a sharp cry from the stag follows suit, setting you after it at a much faster pace than the one you used before as if the helpless cry of your trophy broke away any sort of hostility you held for it.

And once you reach the edge of the small hill you see why the stag’s cries sound so broken and desperate, he fell through the ice and is barely managing to keep afloat with the large piece of ice pushing him down to the depths of the icy water.

Now you could shoot an arrow from here to put it out of its misery and let the lake claim the trophy for itself, however, his cries hit your heart and a small twinge spreads to full-on concern for its life.

“Cregan!” You call out, knowing he’ll hear your call in the silence of the forest and come in search of you thinking you're in peril, or you want to gloat. Either or, he won’t hesitate coming after you, nor will Arra hesitate to let your call bring her towards the lake, so with that in mind you slide down the hill and land on the bank.

The stag hears the sound of your feet hitting the earth and his eyes dart your way, but unlike the fear it felt before, now he finds solace in your presence and fills with desperation to be helped. And luckily, it didn’t fall too far into the lake so he’s easy to reach, but you can’t lift the piece of ice off him alone. You have to wait, and while you do you leave your bow and satchel on the ground to lose additional weight that could weigh you down when you walk on the ice.

Meanwhile, the stag keeps crying out whilst never losing sight of you as if calling out to you specifically.

“Just hold on buddy,” you whisper and wait and wait until finally Cregan appears out of the line of the forest.

“What?” He asks between heavy breaths. “You found it!”

You don’t match his enthusiasm and as you get closer to each other he finally sees the dullness in your eyes made by your own desperation.

“We have to help it,” you say and don’t actually surprise him, but his eyebrows still knit together as his eyes dart between the stag and you. “Come on, we can't let it drown.”

“The ice is thin,” he points out and stares at the helpless stag. “That’s why it fell, and we could fall in the same situation.”

You snap your gaze to the stag and when you do you lock eyes and that call for help only heightens, aching your heart that much further.

“But,” you argue and return your gaze to grab his arm and plead softer, knowing he has a hard time resisting you. “It could be quick, we just lift the piece of ice and let it crawl out.”

Cregan’s grey eyes fall on you with a heavy look, making your stomach knot.

“Darling,” he sighs.

“Cregan,” you mock him and press your pleading look that makes him draw out a deep breath. “We’re the reason it fell in the lake because we were after it, and now that his life is in danger why should we let the lake take him?”

Cregan parts his gaze from you and steals a glance at the drowning stag before he lifts his hands to pull off his sheath and then unclip his cloak, making you flash him a tender smile.

“Tread slowly,” he warns you. “And if the ice cracks under our feet we’re turning back and letting the lake swallow it up.”

You nod eagerly and then face the lake, before you can take a step on it though, Arra finally walks out of the forest and joins you.

“Look at that, you found it!” She mirrors Cregan’s initial excitement, and like him when she takes a closer look she’s left confused. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going to help it,” you answer for Cregan and take your first step on the frozen lake. “Stay there, you’re with child, I don’t want to put you and the babe at risk.”

Arra scoffs. “Neither of you should put your lives at risk either. Stags getting caught in a frozen lake happens.”

You ignore her and slowly make your way toward the stag along with Cregan. Arra tries to follow regardless of her previous arguments, but the moment Cregan hears her foot hit the ice he whips his head back and presses strictly.

“Arra, stay there.”

You take a peek back and see her huff before she steps back on the bank of the lake. However, she doesn’t stay quietly. “Why not have your dragon melt the ice?”

You scoff in amusement. “Astraea’s blast is too wide. She will burn us all the moment she tries. If she had been smaller then it would work, but alas, she’s too big now.”

Arra hums and watches you and Cregan reach the stag with a nail in between her teeth.

“Careful,” Cregan warns you as he slowly makes his way across from you to hold the piece of ice from the other side. “Use your legs when you lift the ice.”

You meet his gaze and nod in comprehension before you look at the stag and speak to it like you speak to your dragon. “It’s okay, we’re gonna help you.”

Unlike your dragon, the stag has minimal understanding of your language so he keeps crying out sharply and squirming, splashing cold water over your legs, and making the piece of ice on him hard to grab, but you take a daring step toward the edge of the broken ice and reach out.

“Careful,” Cregan warns you again and this time you snap your gaze to him and shoot him an annoyed look.

“I know.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer before he reaches out and grabs the ice cap. You slowly do the same and want to start lifting, but as the stag feels the cold cap brush over him he jolts, making the ice cap shift down under your grip, and causing the icy edge to cut through your glove and leave your palm exposed to the bitter surface.

Luckily, the edge didn’t cut your palm, but instead of sharp pain, you’re greeted with stinging pain as the cold ice bites at your skin. Not nips, bites. It’s fucking cold.

“Ready,” Cregan announces. “1. 2, 3!”

You both strain your muscles to lift the cap off the stag. It doesn’t manage to move up too far, but the stag finds some relief as some weight is lifted off him, and takes this to his advantage to try and push himself up shakily.

Albeit, since the ice is slippery and his feet are wet he slips in his attempts, making the stinging pain now burn your skin to the point your face twists with pain, and your breaths turn heavy.

“Are you okay?” Cregan asks as he’s quick to notice your breathing pick up.

You lie and nod before pressing your exposed palm harder on the ice to lift the cap just an inch higher, giving the stag more freedom to find a good grip, and finally yank himself out of the water.

Once he throws himself on the ice you let your side of the ice cap go and clench your hand in reaction to the burning pain torturing your palm. Cregan proceeds to drop his side of the cap and immediately focuses on you, whilst your gaze drifts to the stag walking out of the frozen lake. When he finally finds himself on solid ground he finds it himself to turn around and face you. Not Cregan making his way to you as you cradle your wounded hand, the stag looks at you.

His large brown eyes forget the panic he just felt, the fear he had for you just chasing him, and instead a twinkle glimmers in his eye as you alone are reflected in his eye. All while you are completely washed over with awe and relief that he’s standing there so perfectly calm. And before he disappears into the thickness of the forest he almost seems to bow his head.

You like to think that’s what he was doing before he left anyway.

“Let me see,” Cregan pulls you from your stupor, turning your attention away from the spot the stag left empty to find him before you now with his grey eyes worried over the wound that is now visible to him.

“It hurts,” you don’t hide your pain and groan as he brushes his thumb over the wound.

And rather than consoling you, the corner of Cregan’s lips tug to an amused smile before he looks at you and shares a much more charming smile with just his eyes.

“It’s not funny,” you grumble. “It hurts, and it’s red!”

“Come, Arra has bandages to treat your wound, Princess,” he teases and tries to grab your wrist to pull you off the ice with him, but you snatch your arm away and take a large step away from him, making him share a breathless chuckle that gets lost in the bitter wind.

The moment you’re back on stable ground Cregan grabs what he needs and takes you to the tree trunk that you had jumped over earlier ago. At first, you try to take your own torn glove off your hand, but he places his hand over it to stop you and instead pulls the glove off himself, finger by finger; ever so slowly as if trying not to add more pain to your throbbing hand, or as if trying to seduce you. Maybe both.

Either way, he’s careful with your hand, and when it comes to returning your gaze, he’s precise. After feeling your gaze burn into him as you watch every detail of his face rather than the glove he was pulling off, he looks back at you.

Albeit, you don’t hold his gaze, you beat down your skipping heart, and instead watch him dip his finger in some strong-smelling ointment. Not because you feel flustered, well you do feel flustered under his heavy gaze, but that’s not what makes you look away. You look away because your heart is racing madly and your five years are coming to an end soon, you’ll return to King’s Landing where you’ll marry your estranged uncle Aemond, who was once your best friend.

You can’t return home still getting hot when Cregan steals gentle touches, you can’t face Aemond when the mere thought of Cregan makes your heart pound like crazy. You perhaps don’t owe Aemond anything; he stopped returning your letters and made you feel alone for a long time, but you can’t think of another man when you’re with him, so that’s why you try to stop dwelling on these passionate interactions so they’ll sizzle to simple nostalgia when you return to King’s Landing.

Yet…fucking Cregan makes it hard. His silence is deafening, but there’s no need to speak what he feels when you look between your lashes and see his lips pulled to a faint sweet smile. He especially doesn’t need to say anything to make your heart skip a beat when you catch him stealing glances, or letting his gaze linger on the simple way your lashes kiss your skin when you blink.

You try not to give into his yearning, but your heart is hopeless and it moves your mouth before you have the chance to intervene. “What?” You probe and bat your lashes as if fanning the passionate flames, and meet his gaze.

Cregan parts his lips, but a single breath escapes before he focuses on his finger rubbing the ointment on your wound.

“Is it stupid that I was just burnt by ice?” You mutter and watch what he’s doing. “Out of all people, of course, it’s me.” You scoff and the corner of his lips tug a smirk.

“Was it stupid? No,” he assures you and lets his eyes flicker to you before he grabs the cloth bandages. “It happens. We’re in the North where it snows in the summer, ice burns are common, but is it amusing that it happened to you? Yes. Very much.”

You roll your eyes and nudge him away, making him share one of those rare chuckles.

“But I will say,” he continues and sways his body back to his previous spot. “It’s admirable that you chose to save that stag.”

Gods.

“You did not have to risk your life, stuff like that happens. It’s not nature, but you saved him anyway.”

You draw out a deep breath and fight hard with yourself to not look at him, to keep looking at your hand that he starts to wrap.

And you do manage to not give in to your most wanting desire, but your breaths grow heavy at the strain of your refusal, and your face burns hotter than the sun as you feel his eyes taking you in with hot desire and a need to express what his heart is bombarded with every single time he looks at you, and every time he sees you get flustered.

You know he's not one to hold back what he wants to say, you know him well, so as you feel his actions come to a halt, and feel his breath brushing over your cheek shudder, you warn him. “Don’t. Don't say it.”

A smile flickers on his lips as he’s left impressed by your senses, and regardless of what you told him he parts his lips to say something less daring but with the same meaning behind each word.

“Did you know, darling, that you…are like the morning and evening star?”

“That…” you trail off and let yourself look at his charming face that's decorated with a faint but smug smirk. “Is from my book.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugs. “But it applies doesn’t it?”

You can’t help but flash him a giddy smile before you look back at the wound that is getting covered.

“Will it scar?” You swiftly change the subject.

Cregan nods. “Aye, but it will not look terrible. Do not worry.”

You hum and now steal a longing glance at him as he’s looking down.

——

*NOW.*

It's gone. The ice scar that once marked your palm is now replaced by a new scar that's raw and red, and reminding you of the assassins who almost took your life and that of your children.

Instead of thinking of Cregan and the North when looking at the scar now, you’ll forever think of that traumatizing day.

“Who…hm,” you go quiet and shift your hand to play with the sunbeam cast on your scar, making it look more raw than it really is. “Who do you think sent those assassins?”

Aemond shifts his face down against your exposed back and groggily mumbles his response. “Well they entered through the secret tunnel, and Larys left with Aegon the same day those assassins tried killing you. Who else would it be?”

Even Aemond knows your own mother wouldn’t be capable of such a malicious act. You…well…deep down you know she would never be capable of it, but your anger keeps insisting she had something to do with it. But that’s all it is. Anger.

“He’s a traitor,” Aemond grumbles.

You close your hand and drop it back on the thin bed before finding comfort by cradling Aemond’s empty hand and pressing it against your chest.

“It feels weird,” you point out and take a glance at your bland new beige perimeters. “Not waking up to Aerion. I miss him.”

“We will not be gone long,” Aemond tries to assure you. “We’ll return to the Red Keep with Daemon’s head on a spike before he even notices that we’re gone.”

That doesn’t actually heal any longing you feel to be close to your son, but can any words really help?

No. No matter how long or how short you’re gone, nothing will ever help you miss Aerion any less. Especially after someone tried to kill him.

“I do not understand why you brought Ser Jason along though.”

And there it is, he ruined a sweet morning by finally getting his jealous complaint across after itching to talk about it since you left yesterday evening with Ser Jason to join Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne.

“<Did you go to sleep thinking of Ser Jason?>” You tease him in High Valyrian just in case the knight is outside the tent.

Aemond groans and pulls his hand away from your grasp before he peels his face away from your back, making you eagerly flip around to face him. “Is there something you wish to tell me, darling?”

Aemond pouts in annoyance and flips around to give you his back, so you quickly rebuttal by leaning over and looking at the side of his face with a teasing smile. “Do not pout,” you speak to him in a sweet voice as you reach for his chin and tilt his head your way.

Aemond’s eye flutters open and his gaze pierces on you, so you quickly reassure him. “<I just prefer Ser Cane to be watching over Aerion while we’re gone, but you’re not worried about that, are you?>” You mock his pout and press a light feathered kiss on his lips before you pull back, making him slowly turn back around to face you.

You take advantage of his attention, of the fact that no one has disrupted your quiet morning with calls to meetings, or beckoned his attention, and press your hand on his cheek with the gentlest touch to feel the warmth of his face on your palm. You then trail his cheekbone with the soft pad of your thumb before you slowly bring your thumb over to his nose and trail it over that aquiline nose you love so much.

Aemond’s breath shudders, and his gaze stops following your gentle touches as his gaze is now solely drawn to the depths of your soul that he can see through your eyes; whilst his pink lips move with a mind of their own as they mirror the faint smile that decorates your delicate features, as if your bliss was contagious.

“Perhaps,” you fill the silence and drift your thumb back to his cheek. “I do miss sharing our mornings alone,” you say above a whisper because he lay so close that you could practically share each other's breaths that your bodies expose. “When we weren’t needed at early war meetings. Before all this shit unfolded and it was just you and me. And Aerion in my belly.”

Aemond lets out a soft huff and his gaze flickers down to your lips. “You would sleep a lot then,” he brings up, brightening that smile that you held. “Perhaps that’s why it was calm.”

You giggle and his lips spread to a wider smile.

“Do you,” you see between laughs before you sigh and your lips twitch to a frown. “Do you think we’ll go back to those calm mornings?”

Aemond’s smile slowly falls and his gaze remains focused on your lips. You expect him to assure you in some way but his lashes flutter, even the ones over the sapphire, and then when he finally has the courage to meet your waiting gaze he lifts his hand and cups your cheek to press your forehead against his.

He doesn’t share his grim fate Helaena foresaw, he keeps denying it as a scare tactic for what he did to Aegon, so what would be the point of telling you something that won’t happen and only worry you?

That should mean that it should be easy to come up with words to comfort your yearning heart, but still, that fate leaves him unable to form any comforting words he badly wants to share. That’s why he just presses his forehead against yours; that’s his way of showing his comfort in ways his words can’t. And you don’t complain or question him, you lean in to his gentle touch and close your eyes to cherish your moment in the depths of your mind, making that ache tormenting your heart ease just enough for your smile to make a reappearance as you’re easily consumed with bliss and passion.

If only you could have more time to stay consumed by this sweet bliss on the thin and uncomfortable bed with him, but alas your presence is needed now more than ever that you’re in the encampment just days away from reaching Harrenhal. Besides, Aemond is proper, he doesn’t like being late, especially now that you’re surrounded by an army of men.

“If only I could have brought Vanessa,” you interject with hints of complaint as you slip on a silver fitted breastplate over a grey-purple gown. “Aemond,” you huff. “Could you help me?”

Aemond presses his foot in his boot before he walks over to replace your fingers with his on the buckles on the side, and captures your attention. He’s too focused on tightening the buckles to notice you though, but you watch him with a gaze that softens as you see how delicate he is with his movements, how his nostrils fall and rise with each breath, the way his small lashes fall with each blink, and the way he keeps trying to shrug away his hair.

Perhaps it’s the newfound attachment to him after all that happened a couple of days ago, but you can’t stop yourself from stealing longing looks to admire his mere presence; as if keeping your eyes away from him, and him from you for too long will somehow result in either of you being gone.

As to your heart in this newfound attachment? Well, your heart dances to a new beat every time you catch the smallest glimpse of him and he looks at you.

Like now for example, Aemond did not think you were looking, he was too focused to feel your gaze so he looks up and catches your eyes already him, causing your lips to spread to a tender smile, and making him slowly look back at what he’s doing with a timid smile; as if this is the very first time spending time together.

When he’s done with one side he goes to the other and does the same with the exact same amount of carefulness he used to secure the other buckles.

“I would help you with yours, alas,” you click your tongue, and his eye snaps to you.

“I’m not the one carrying children,” he retorts, making you scoff and let out a soft snicker.

“Like that matters,” you counter lightheartedly. “But…we already talked about this,” you breathe out heavily, and he scoffs as he drops his eye back to what he’s doing.

“Yet you will still find a way to comment on it,” he says because he knows you all too well.

“Only because I’m worried, my love,” you rebuttal and look at him with a pointed glare he doesn’t catch. “I…have lost enough. I need you. We need you.”

A small breath escapes his nose and you watch his eyebrows slowly furrow while a small storm of conflict seems to brew behind his eye.

You take that as him comprehending your concern but being too prideful to respond, so you then brush his long hair over his shoulder so it’s not in his way. He passes you a thankful hum in response and you can’t help but smile before you try to ease that furrowed brow with sweet words. “Thank you for helping me.”

He finishes what he’s doing and then looks over at you with a gentle half-smile that makes you lean in and slowly take him in for a lingering kiss.

Nevertheless, a voice then proceeds to cut through the moment, causing you to brush your lips over his as you drift your head to the side to look at the flaps that are meant to be your doors.

“My Prince, Princess, breakfast will be served in ten!”

Without waiting for a response their footsteps recede and the moment no longer returns to what it was since you’re then driven outside your tent not much later. You just finish getting ready and walk out to join Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne for breakfast before it’s time to gather for a much-anticipated war meeting.

These meetings, unlike the council meetings, are far more captivating. These meetings don’t threaten to lull you to sleep like the others do.

Yes; you did long to be a part of those small council meetings, but they still were a damn drag! However, you doubt one thing will change; that being this group of men not taking what you say under consideration.

You’ll have to wait and see if they do or don’t though.

“What come of the search parties for his Grace?” Ser Criston Cole directs at Aemond.

Aemond presses his palms on the top of your chair and leans over. “Nothing yet. We’ve checked the harbors, but no one spotted any suspicious boats leaving the docks. I scouted what I could on top of Vhagar, but I caught nothing.”

Not like he searched thoroughly or pressed critical urgency. And why should he? Aegon seemed to have left by will with Lord Larys. There was no sign of struggle, and Grand Maester Orwyle mentioned Lord Larys frequented Aegon a lot and grew interested in his healing process. Which is why the theory so far is that they left willingly together. As for the reason?

No one knows, and it’s not like Aemond cares all that much. He benefits with Aegon being gone, and the entirety of the RedKeep, and you can let out a sigh of relief without his stench or wandering fingers.

“If this had been a ransom we would have heard of it by now,” Aemond adds and moves away from behind you to start pacing around the table. “We all knew Aegon, he had no taste for ruling or responsibility, this perhaps is one of his whims. He will return when he’s out of coin.”

Ser Criston’s chest raises high before he drops it heavily as if holding back his argument over the fact that Aemond doesn't care as much as he should.

“Princess,” Ser Criston calls you out. “Has…Rhaenyra sent a word? We cannot rule out the fact that she may have snuck in the same way those assassins did both times.”

You clench your jaw and dart your eyes down to the marked map on the wooden table. “No,” you deadpan, and don’t even try to mention that you doubt it was her who took Aegon, ravens would have been sent already if she had, and this war would have turned a lot more bloody.

“What of Sunfyre?” You change the subject away from the sore subject. “If anyone can lead us to Aegon it’s him.”

“Still gravely wounded,” Ser Criston reports. “He has not moved since Aegon went missing.”

You hum and add, “well if he takes flight, have men follow his flight path. It could give us an indication of where his rider might be.”

Ser Criston Cole nods in comprehension without looking at Aemond for confirmation, probably so he wouldn’t hear any protests after Aemond’s lack of care.

“What of the Lannister forces on the western front?” Aemond changes the subject and stops on one side to take a look at the lion markers. “They reached the Red Fork?” He points to the lions.

“Yes,” Ser Gwayne says and slides markers to face the wooden lions. “But as predicted, the Lords of the Trident have gone out to meet them. Now the Western forces may have the advantage of numbers, but,” he sighs. “This the land of the Riverlords. They have the knowledge of their lands to their advantage.”

A nauseous wave hits you as the twins seem to start reacting to your breakfast, so you take a deep breath to try and clear the ache before you get up and stand on your feet instead.

“Hm,” Aemond hums and studies the map for a long time, letting Ser Criston Cole interject.

“We should wait and have Ser Jason come out triumphant before we head to attack Daemon and Harrenhal,” he suggests, making Aemond pick his gaze off the map to glare at him—“He has the numbers with the Riverlords taking arms under him. Whatever is left of the Western force will still give us more strength to challenge them without getting crushed.”

You glance at Aemond, and he looks over at you, but you kind of agree with Ser Criston. You don’t want to give Daemon the advantage, you want his pride crushed, along with his very soul, and you can’t do that if you lose, so you begin to wander around the table yourself and look at the map. Mainly you focus on the marker that represents Daemon.

“No,” Aemond argues. “We still hold the advantage with Astraea and Vhagar. We will move forward, whatever remains of the Western forces can join us in Harrenhal when they have won the fight.”

You glance at the south side of Harrenhal and cross your arms over your chest as you tilt your head to study the markerless spot.

“That would not be wise, nephew,” Ser Gwayne tries to argue against Aemond before Ser Criston can utter what he thinks. “It's best if we wait now so Ser Jason can go as planned and attack at the west to surround them. They would have heard about the battle at the Red Fork and would not suspect them to attack so soon. We can use that.”

“Perhaps,” Aemond retorts and moves down as if following your figure whilst Ser Gwayne begins to walk toward you. “But how much time before they send scouts and find Astraea and Vhagar? We came a day early so we could catch them by surprise, I will not waste it. We will attack as it was planned. At first light.”

A tension grows in the silence that Aemond’s stubborn persistence brought, but neither man in the tent dares to break it knowing how quick Aemond is to anger. And you, well your focus is set on the south side of Harrenhal.

There’s no markers there, or plans to move men towards there to attack on that side, so your attention focuses there and helps your mind brew an idea. An idea Ser Gwayne seems to pick up on.

“What is on your mind, Your Grace?” He probes as he steps closer to you, making you glance at his close proximity and then look over at Aemond since you know how he feels about his uncle, catching his gaze slowly grow ice cold and threatening.

Yet Ser Gwayne doesn’t seem to care or doesn’t have a clue, his eyes stay on you and try to unravel your growing thoughts, only infuriating Aemond even more. To the point, his jaw clenches tightly, and his nose flares as if he’s ready to pounce at the man.

You find it cute for once and tilt your head to the other side to catch his gaze and shoot him a faint taunting smirk before you share your thoughts. “What of the south side of the Harrenhal? I notice there’s no markers, or intention to have men attack from there. It leaves us vulnerable for any party of scouts to sneak through, or for men to surround us from there.”

“Hm,” Ser Gwayne is the first to interject. “Nice catch. Alas, we would have to go around the God’s Eye. That would add a two or one-day ride. More if it’s on foot.”

You drift your focus to Aemond and see his lips curled and his chest puffed out, and you can’t help but smile down at the table. In doing so, catching Ser Criston look between Aemond and Ser Gwayne in annoyance.

“Hm,” you hum and drop your arms back to your side to slowly throw them behind you and clasp your hands together before you start swinging them back and forth against your grey-purple cloak. “Then I will scout the south side on top of Astraea. Just for the afternoon, it’s cloudy and Astraea can easily hide amongst the cloud bank. No one will spot us.”

“That could give us an advantage—”

“No,” Aemond cuts Ser Criston off bluntly. “It’s too much of a risk for you and Astraea alone. Daemon could spot you and he would not hesitate meeting you in the sky. And Astraea is no match against Caraxes.”

You snap your eyes up to him and drop your arms to your sides with a thud.

“That's the point,” you’re quick to sneer through your teeth. “I am not going to be seen. I am just going to report on their numbers from a side they won’t suspect me to be in.”

Aemond shakes his head. “No. You will remain here with me until the day of the attack. I will not put your life at any unnecessary risk.”

Unnecessary risk?

There’s no such thing! You were almost killed in your own chambers! You’re here even if you know you’ll be at risk, being in this tent so close to Harrenhal is already a high risk, so what the hell does he really mean? Does he just want you to stay put until you attack? Do nothing but fiddle your thumbs and think of what your life has turned into?!

He’s supposed to respect your strength, your willingness to fight. He’s supposed to put faith in your wishes to fight, to be on that battlefield, and on Astraea the same way he’s on Vhagar. That’s why you’re here! That’s why you came because you had a purpose, a goal!

“No,” you counter bravely and all too easily get caught in a brewing storm of anger where fact nor logic actually pass through. “I will go scout on top of Astraea. What if I can catch something significant that can help us?”

Aemond presses his hands on the surface of the table and leans forward to snap back in frustration. “I said no. Argue all you want, the answer will remain the same.”

You challenge his gaze with a glare as you nod along in comprehension. When you see that he won’t budge you rip away from your spot and storm away with the intention to disobey him.

Aemond knows you well though, he saw the defiance growing in your eyes like a dark cloud and doesn’t care that the meeting is ongoing, he storms after you calling out your name, but you ignore him and continue striding toward Astraea in your growing storm he only worsens by following you.

And no matter how fast, or what twists and turns you make to try and lose him, he never loses track of you. He actually ends up finding a shortcut to cut you off in your path and finally capture you by your arms in a more secluded part of the forest where no men wander around.

“Let me go Aemond,” you bark and try to pull his hands off you, but he only tightens his old, making it hard for you to challenge his strength. “I will not just stay here and be your accessory in this war!” You’re quick to spat out as you’re blinded by your rageful storm. “You can’t just parade me around to flaunt me like you did when we were with my family! Because I saw you, I saw how you looked at them like I was some trophy to be won, but I am much more than that!” You remark and try to push him away, but he keeps reaffirming his grip so you’re just thrashing against his hold, like winds of a hurricane in a storm.

“I am capable too!” You throw out and push him, but he doesn’t let go, he presses you against a tree to keep you from fighting. “I am strong! I am brave! I can fight too!”

“I know! I know!” He exclaims over your rage, making you look at him with a trembling lip and teary eyes that are quick to release a stream of tears that come from the depths of your chest.

“Then?” Your voice quivers even if you don’t want it to, even if you try to fight the stupid tears. “Why do you want me to stay here when I can go out there and be useful?”

Aemond parts his lips but before he can form a word he catches you start to sob unwantedly, as if your heart had been broken all over again.

“I-I,” you stammer and slip your arms from his grasp to try and wipe away your tears. “I’m sorry. I do not know why I’m crying. Stupid,” you gasp as you weep again.

This time clouds in your mind begin to clear as a realization begins to penetrate through.

Since you learned the truth about your father, since your mother admitted the truth that day in Dragonstone, your sorrow comes and goes. You can go on thinking you can get over it, you can distract yourself with other matters, but then when you least expect it the sorrow, the need to cry out your heartache springs up on you. And other times you managed to calm down, but right now as you face Aemond after he rejected your offer you can’t seem to stop crying and thinking of one thing that leads to so much more agony.

“I know you’re all those things,” Aemond tries to explain to assure you, and so you know he doesn’t think any less of you. “I admire all of it, but my love,” he talks softly and grabs your shoulder to pull your eyes up. “With us being so close to Harrenhal, I can’t have you risking your life for a simple scouting mission. He could spot you and challenge you, and I would not be able to be there to help you.”

You shake your head. “I will not be caught,” you repeat yourself, and those tears don’t stop flowing. “We will not be caught, I swear. I assure you just…let me have a purpose,” you whimper. “I know what my brothers are. You know what they are and they do too, and even if they did not know their father long, even if they didn’t spend a lot of time together, he still loved them. And Daemon loves his children in his own way, and-and my father?” You cry and clutch onto your chest.

“I was not good enough for him to stay,” you reveal what’s tormenting you. “He left, and she lied to move on and have more children while I was gone, so where does that leave me? Why am I even here if he was going to leave to be with someone else? Why fight so hard to keep me alive to have me replaced? Why did they even have me if they didn’t even love me? At least before I knew the truth, my purpose was to prove I was worthy enough to my mother, I wanted to be a good daughter, or simply live,” you explain through tears, missing the pitiful look that takes over his face as your breakdown aches his own heart.

“And now?” You say between a sob. “I don't know why I was even born, I don’t know why I’m even here?!”

You fall to your knees before he can catch you and drop your head in your hands in an attempt to stop yourself from crying, but nothing can stop the stream from flowing, leaving Aemond unaware of what to say to console you.

What can he say to make your pain less? Wanting to be worthy in the eyes of someone to have them love you is something he knows, but your feelings go so much deeper than that, and for a while, he doesn’t know what to say.

At least not until his heart can’t stand seeing you hurt a moment longer. After that, he slowly goes on his knees and gently grabs your wrists to pull your hands away from your face so you have no choice but to look at him.

“You…are worth something to me. To our son,” he starts to mutter words that spring to mind. “You…are the best thing that happened to me. When we were kids you were the most important person to me, I would always look forward to spending time with you, hearing your stories, and sharing what we liked. And now?” He speaks softly. “Now you’re worth so much more. More than the air I breathe.”

You bat your eyes and sniffle as his words fill your weeping heart.

“I love you, Aerion loves you. You…” he trails off and smiles with a tender grace. “You mean something to me, and I’m sorry if I have done things to make you feel otherwise,” he admits and swallows thickly. “But you do. You mean something, and without you life would be a dull affair.”

Your lips twitch to a smile and when he catches that he moves his hands up to cup your face and wipe away your tears.

“I…” he trails off and pulls one hand away from your face to dig in his pocket. “I was going to give you this for your name day, but have it now.”

Your gaze lingers on him for a moment before you can’t help your curiosity and look down at his fisted hand, catching him right in time as he opens it and reveals a silver chain necklace with a small white-wooden siren hanging from it.

“I,” he scoffs timidly. “I started whittling it when you and your family left for Dragonstone, but I was never able to give it to you because you left.”

“You whittled it?” You croak and brush your fingers over the soft wooden siren.

“Having no dragon left me with a lot of time to spare,” he whispers and lets the chain fall so he can grab it between his thumb and pointer finger. “And more when you left.”

A smile trembles on your lips and your eyes scream the thousand I love you’s that you cannot express with words.

“Whenever you feel like you did now just…look at it and know you mean the whole damn world to me,” he whispers shyly with the kindest and most timid smile that he hides by leaning forward and hooking the necklace around you.

“<Thank you,>” you whisper in High Valyrian as you grab his arms before you slide your hands up to grab the sides of his neck. “<I'm sorry for being difficult.>”

Aemond pulls his head back to face you and strokes your chin before pressing his forehead against yours and whispering against your lips. “<I love you.>”

The corner of your lips spread to a sweet smile and you don’t hesitate to return those words with affection oozing in your voice. “<I love you too.>”

He hums and leans in to press a gentle kiss on your lips, making you lead him to a much deeper kiss that’s fueled with a soft burning passion.

When you pull away he breaks the string of saliva that connected you by giving in. “You can go scout.”

You scoff and pull back to question him excitedly “Really?”

He groans and nods stiffly. “But if you see Caraxes out, or if you catch even a whiff of Daemon fly back. Don’t challenge him,” he presses harshly.

You start to grin and nod in comprehension. “I’m just scouting, that's all.”

He nods. “That’s all.”

You press a juicy kiss on his lips before you get up to your feet and rub your face as if that will get rid of your swollen eyes. Aemond stands up after you and grabs your arm before you can think of walking over to meet Astraea.

“Any sign of danger. Leave.” He presses.

You draw out a deep breath that comes out shaky after crying so hard and nod eagerly. “I know. I understand. I’ll be back soon.”

He cups your cheek and holds it for a lingering second before he drops his hand and lets you go. Before you can turn to leave you press a chaste kiss on his cheek and then go and join Astraea in some clearing where she and Vhagar keep each other company.

At first, when Vhagar sees you mounting Astraea she probably thought she was going to leave this wet forest, she seemed almost relieved, but when she didn’t catch her rider trailing behind you she threw herself back on the ground.

“<Sorry girl,>” you direct at Vhagar. “<But we will be leaving soon. Swear.>”

Vhagar lets out a loud huff that blows away the greenery before her, and you can’t help but laugh softly whilst you hook on your restraints.

Once you're secured, you command Astraea to ascend into the grey sky. And it's once you feel the cool breeze brushing over your face, offering you fresh and crisp air to breathe that the cruel aching weight that set over your chest completely blew away. This is why having Astraea, flying on her in the endless sky is something you will always love. You can’t imagine not having her by your side all of your life. Without her, you would not be able to ever find an escape when you’re at your lowest.

Sure you work out your problems on your own, and other people like Aemond also comfort you; they forbid you from getting lost in the dark, but there’s something that Astraea offers that no one else ever can, and that’s being able to find an escape where all that exists is her, you, the sky, the shining sun, and the twinkling stars.

If only you could wander the skies and explore the Riverlands without having to be on task, but alas there’s a duty that you do want to do, so once you approach Harrenhal, you sit up straight and lean the handles down to nudge Astraea down.

When your dragon leaves the cloud bank she hovers just below it in order to find a quick escape if you need it, while also trying to blend in with the thick clouds so you’re not easily spotted. You loosen your restraints, lift your feet off the footrests, and secure them in the footholders to be able to stand up and narrow your gaze like a hunting hawk to spot anything out of the ordinary in the green lands below.

At first, it all seems calm, there’s just a lot of fresh green plains, trees littered everywhere, and streams. It all honestly makes you believe that you’ll be able to return without anything to report, but then as you get closer to the grand dark castle in the distance, you spot lines of marching men leaving the grounds of Harrenhal. And from what you can see they’re all marching towards the direction of Blackwater rush, away from the army you’re with.

Does it mean Daemon is moving all the army toward your mother now? Or just some.

From what you can see before the trees block your sight, the numbers aren’t of high concern, so maybe it’s just some men going to Dragonstone?

You can’t fully circle the castle or you will most likely be caught. You can only scout the south side, so you can’t know for sure, the only thing you can do is count the heads that you do see now. You would try to follow the line, but the woods are too thick, you’d have to fly just above the treeline to see clearly and you can’t do that without being caught by someone keeping a watchful eye.

You’ll have to tell Ser Criston and Aemond to send a discreet scouting party on horse to know what’s really going on. As of now, you squint your gaze as you keep your head tilted down, and in doing so miss something that Astraea doesn’t. Your dragon immediately catches sight of something worthwhile and alerts you with a soft call, but you give her your attention first before you follow her line of sight and catch what she’s alerting you of; Daemon on top of Caraxes.

It’s…Daemon.

He’s on dragonback. He’s a few miles below you, he’s there…

The man who planned with your mother to send your father away. The one who schemed with your father to marry your mother. The man who sent you to Kings Landing for his own benefit is there just below; in shining dark grey armor, unaware of you or your dragon.

He’s there. Daemon.

Daemon is there. You see him, you're piercing your glare at him, and a raging storm of anger brews quickly and dangerously. You want to ignore it, not give it more fuel to ravage, you’re just here to scout not take action after all. Aemond told you not to act if you see Daemon, but he’s there in your eyeline! Alone! A man you hated for six years. Six years! All because you thought he killed your father—but it turned out he didn’t…but! He still schemed with your mother, he still lied too, and all to be her consort.

He’s careless and cruel. He’s given his daughters the cold shoulder, he killed baby Jaehaerys and hurt Helaena in the process. He used you and shoved you in the jaws of the enemy. You can’t just swallow all that anger, and you can’t forget it. You can’t ignore the boiling of your blood, you can’t stop your breath from growing heavier and heavier, and you can’t avoid the storm raging within you, blinding your judgment second by second until there’s not a single thought or instinct that keeps you from directing Astraea to torpedo toward Daemon and Caraxes.

And your dragon is obedient, she shares your anger, and her rage blinds her too, so she tilts down and tucks her wings at her sides to shoot toward Caraxes and Daemon at a quick and dangerous speed.

Neither man nor dragon spots you right away, they don’t hear your dragon as she penetrates through layers of the sky. You have the advantage, thus you grab your bow that you keep hooked on your saddle and pull out a single arrow you have tucked under the side of your seat for easy access.

When you align your arrow your blood thumps violently in your ears; thump, thump, thump. And with each thump, your rage only burns hotter, your jaw clenches, your lips curl to a scowl, and you bend your knees. With each thump, the only word that you see, that you hear is kill, kill, kill.

Shoot. And kill.

There’s no clearer than that thought. You have to, you need to get rid of him. Even if he finally tilts his head up as Astraea's shadow casts over him, you have to do it. You have to kill him.

Caraxes also proceeds to spot you and Astraea and lets out a shrieking roar to warn you away, but Astraea snaps back with a much louder and guttural roar, and you don’t drop your aim. You only pull the string back further and pierce your glare into Daemon, making your intention to him very clear.

Yet he doesn’t move, he doesn’t block his face with his hands protected with his shining armor. He doesn’t open his mouth to command Caraxes to move, his lips part in surprise because you’re going toward him, but he remains still and leaves the unprotected spot between his eyes a clear shot.

Yet as your menacing figure in his eyes reflects back to you, growing larger and larger the closer you get, that screaming need to let your arrow go is slowly diluted. Unlike when you shot that stag two years ago, this time the arrow doesn’t slip from your fingers. It doesn’t break through barriers of air to hit your target, you remain crouched over your saddle and watch Daemon with a trembling lip as one other person penetrates through the raging storm. Her very face disperses what clouded your instincts and your judgment, and it’s the mere thought of your mother that makes you lower your arrow.

And thus with no need to be told what to do, with the simple connection you share, Astraea swoops up hard before she can ram through Caraxes, and you lose sight of Daemon.

“Damn it,” you hiss and return your bow and arrow to where they were before you sit back down on your saddle. “Damn it! Damn it!” You bellow over and over again as you hit your saddle.

Tears cloud your eyes, and that built-up anger slowly seeps out, leaving your body trembling as if coming down from an adrenaline high that you did nothing with but build up.

However, even as tears do well in your eyes, they don't come out. You press your hand over your face and leave yourself in darkness for a moment before you rub your face and take a deep breath to have those tears go back where they came from.

Now there was no way to go back and scout so you head back to camp thinking of what you did not do, not with regret in your mind, but more so why the very thought of her made you not do it.

It runs in circles in your mind.

——

*LATER*

What should you tell Aemond and the others? The truth and send them after Daemon to foil his plans?

Do you stay quiet and let Daemon do whatever it is he’s doing?

Aemond did say not to pursue Daemon, but you did, and Daemon, and or anyone who witnessed what happened won’t keep quiet. Eventually, somehow, word will spread and he will find out, which will only make things bad, or worse.

Hm.

Then again…whatever plans Daemon has, why should you be the one to help him achieve them? You can’t hold in your anger for the sake of him or your mother. And the truth is you don’t think of your brother’s sakes, nor that of your cousins because the anger for your mother and Daemon clouds you. No matter what, everything goes back to them.

Thus you’ll tell Aemond and the others—Actually, it’s surprising that your overbearing husband hasn’t come to meet you the moment Astraea was spotted descending. He must be caught up with Ser Criston, or scheming a malicious plan. Whatever it is you approach the campgrounds alone with only the singing crickets spread around the forest keeping you company. And considering you are close to enemy lines you keep your eyes out for anyone suspicious hiding between the trees while you hum a sweet song.

That is until you hear some bushes rustling moments before a slow clap startles you and sends your hand reaching for a hidden dagger. Yet much to your surprise, the person who comes out from the bushes is Ser Gwayne.

“Ser,” you greet between heavy breaths and pull your hand away from your weapon. “You startled me.”

He raises his hands and a small apologetic smile grows on his face. “Forgive me I did not mean to. I heard you humming and I could not help myself.”

You glance around and do not notice any sign of tents or life besides the plants, the trees, and him all by his lonesome, so you grow insanely curious. “What brings you so far from Camp Ser? Keeping an eye out? Or has your nephew scolded you?”

Ser Gwayne chuckles and shakes his head as he meets you halfway before turning on his heels and walking by your side back to camp. “No, none of the sort. I came to find privacy and I could only find it this far.”

You nod and don’t care to poke around for more. That’s all the information you need.

“How was your scouting? Find anything worthwhile besides dull grey clouds?” He probes.

You can’t help the small amused smile that slips on your face before you summarize what you saw, so you don’t have to repeat yourself. “It was…eventful.”

“How so?” He probes.

You sigh and your lips form to a deep frown. “I caught an army of about sixty-five men marching away, and Prince Daemon on his dragon.”

Ser Gwayne’s eyes slide to you and he slows down in his pace to study you head to toe. You can feel his eyes examining you carefully before he pulls on the right damn thread. “Did you pursue the Prince?”

You fiddle with your rings and leave a short silence, but it’s still too long nevertheless for him not to figure out the truth.

“I was angry. I let my rage control my judgment,” you confess in the silence of the forest. “And do not worry yourself, Ser, I will tell Aemond.”

Ser Gwayne scoffs. “I was not going to run and tell now. If it was a secret then I would have kept it.”

You let your fingers slip from your grasp and slowly drift your gaze to the charming knight to pass him a softened look, and a faint smile before you drag out a deep breath and look ahead. “It is not a secret, but people would have run to Aemond and ran their mouths for some kind of praise or prize, so.” You shrug.

Ser Gwayne nods. “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, people like us cannot trust so easily. You think you have made an honest friend but the moment you turn your back they run off and spill your secrets so the world may know that they were in your presence. As if that would benefit their lives.”

You hum and he steals a glance at you before he continues running his mouth with something else. “Tell me why you felt such rage at the mere presence of Prince Daemon? Not that it’s not deserved, he has a quite distasteful reputation, but he is your stepfather, correct?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust at the mere sound of those last words and quickly rebuttal as if reminding you of such a link offended you. “As if that has anything to do with anything,” you grumble and shake your head. “But if you must know…he,” you pause. You’re about to tell him the reason why you have hated him for six years of your life, but that’s not the truth anymore, is it?

He did not kill your father.

But the rage is still there. You can’t let it go.

“…what is there to like about Prince Daemon?” You avoid spilling out the entire list of why you hate the Rogue Prince. “And do not repeat that ever again. By law, he may be my stepfather, but he is nothing of the sort. He never will be.”

Ser Gwayne nods gently and doesn’t press or interject, he lets the silence grow between you until you can’t help but utter, “he’s cruel. And so was my father.”

That word is like bile in your mouth. Never in your life did you ever imagine you would view your father in a negative light. He was always a memory you cherished, now all those happy memories are tainted with anger and hate, making your words about him vile.

“Fathers are…difficult,” Ser Gwayne adds in a much softer tone than you’re used to hearing. His voice is always usually dripping with this cocky ego. “Is Aemond any good?”

“Aerion is only five months so we have yet to see, but so far…he’s good, attentive, and everything his own father was not,” you share with a growing smile. “As of late he has been distant, but this war effort takes a toll on everyone.”

“Well,” he sighs. “He will have a lifetime to do better, and I’m sure when the twins are born he will rejoice. He seems very fond of you. It’s rare to see.”

The corner of your lips tug a wider smile on your face and when you catch Ser Gwayne notice it you offer him a smaller smile, but one still from the heart.

A silence proceeds to fill between the two of you, but it’s in that silence that you hear loud celebratory commotion, singing, and cheering coming from camp.

“What are they celebrating?” You have to ask, turning Ser Gwaynes' attention away from you to focus on the spot of a campfire that you can now notice.

“From what I was told, it’s the name days of a few soldiers, so it seems they have made a bit of a ruckus and filled the air with terrible singing.”

You chuckle softly and he turns suddenly to look at you with his eyes widening.

“Why do you not share your talent? It will be good for morale support to have you seen amongst your men,” he suggests with growing excitement. “And well, your voice will bring our ears some relief.”

You part your lips to throw out an excuse, but in truth, you cannot think of a quick excuse to use to refuse him, so you gape like a fish out of water.

“That is if you really are the Siren of Driftmark,” he taunts you.

As you approach the campgrounds you see men gathered around a campfire, forgetting what tragedy lies beyond the treeline, and why they’re away from home in the first place. And you can't imagine this commotion must settle right with people like Ser Criston and Aemond, and the men must know that, but they do not seem to care. They’re completely unfazed and lost in the moment.

You want to forget too. And most of all…holding their approval and their praise is important. To you at least.

Aemond won't very much like you being caught in the middle of a group of drunk men, he especially won’t like seeing you so close to Ser Gwayne, but he can throw whatever tantrum he wants. He cannot control you, especially when it comes to something so mindless as laughing, singing, and sharing stories with men who are supposed to fight for him and his family. Besides, it all looks so fun! How can you just watch from a distance and long to join them when they’re in the safety of your camp?

You can tell Aemond and Ser Criston what you saw later, right now you want to be amongst the fun as well!

“Well,” you give in reluctantly. “I am good with a lute.”

A charming grin spreads on Ser Gwayne’s face. “There you go. That’s the spirit!” He exclaims.

You smile giddily and without a second thought you follow him towards the happy and drinking group of men who welcome Ser Gwayne with open arms, but when they see you they slowly all go quiet and murmur amongst themselves whilst they make sure Prince Aemond isn't lurking in the distance ready to attack them for even looking at you.

“Now, now, there’s no need to quiet down,” Ser Gwayne assures them. “The Princess is here to join in the celebrations and sing us a song or two. So everyone please welcome The Siren of Driftmark!”

There’s no timidness holding you back, no hesitation, or thought of Aemond disapproving, you offer them all a charming grin that makes them all start to clap, and slowly untense.

“Now this would be more fun if I could drink,” you interject to break the tension, “but alas I am with child, so you all will have to show me that you’re having fun.” You’re quick to turn on your charm as if you were born to perform in front of many. And as if enchanted by your words alone the once tense men start to ease and grow comfortable, welcoming you instead of just tolerating you.

“Now could I borrow that?” You point to the lute a young man is holding, and without question, he hands it to you. “The rest of you,” you direct at the other men with the other instruments. “You will know this song, so just follow me.”

They nod, and without any concern of judgment, you twirl back to stand in the middle of the gathered group. “This song here is one of my favorites, I learned it from a famous pirate my grandfather knew. You all better dance and sing along!”

A hoot sounds from the crowd, and without further delay you slowly start to strum the strings on the lute before you quietly start the song at first, to lure them all in. When the other men start playing their instruments around you, you pick up the speed on the lute and stop singing just for a moment.

After picking up the beat on the strings you start singing again along to the beat, and with a great joy that makes your once dull eyes glimmer.

The men around you are quickly and deeply charmed with your singing, with your enthusiasm, and your beaming joy that they don’t hesitate to stomp their feet and clap their hands along to the song, forgetting the tension and bursting out with even more excitement than before. All because of you.

And it's because of you that the heightened commotion doesn’t go unnoticed. It has all become much grander because you’re amongst the men, so Ser Criston and Aemond walk out of the tent to silence the men and end their feast. Albeit when Aemond catches you in the middle of the crowd, fueling the men’s excitement with your song he slows down in his raging storm and makes Ser Criston hesitate snuffing out the celebration.

Does that mean he didn’t want to stop you? No. He sees all the men drunk, or drinking around you, and right away he wants to storm over there and yank you away, tell them all to stay away, and threaten them. He wants to put a stop to all the commotion, but…as bothered as he is he does notice your beaming grin, he sees how happy you are and how can he be the one to diminish that?

Sure his stomach is twisting with jealousy because he hates that his uncle is near you, celebrating, and only egging you on, but he doesn't ruin your fun, he actually trusts his uncle more than Ser Jason in the back of the group smiling like some enchanted idiot. Aemond does approach the group but doesn’t join the commotion, not even if his uncle is not leaving your side in the group of men that only grows. Aemond just stands close enough that he has a clear view of you in case someone’s hands wander where they’re not supposed to.

He actually thought you wouldn’t notice him, but you do, you find him there behind the sea of people as if he was the bright moon amongst the dark canvas of the night sky, and nothing in the world proceeds to matter but him and you. It all disappears, leaving only two souls dancing in your plane; his and yours.

Nothing shines brighter than him and you; except maybe that smile in your eyes that only shines for him. It shines so bright in fact that the giant shining star in the sky would be envious. While the smile on your face is backed with so much joy, and your voice is so charming, that you're able to tug the faintest smile on Aemond’s hardened features.

It’s faint, but you see it. You’re the only one he lets see. And you cherish it, your heart actually swoons because he’s outside watching you. You would have liked it better if he would dance with you, but you take what you can get and store his lovely appearance and his faint smile in the chambers of your heart.

And much to your surprise, Aemond continues watching over you. He doesn’t interfere as an older soldier pulls you to dance as the music continues. He watches over you as you completely infatuate the soldiers to your side with your voice and the fact that you’re spending time with them, proving to him why people flock to you, why they remember you; like that man from the Night's Watch.

He likes that about you, he likes that people are not scared of you, that you are so easygoing with them and you have their respect, but at the same time he also doesn’t like it. He wants you to be at the bottom with him.

Nevertheless, as those thoughts swirl in his head he continues watching over you, he would continue watching you until you grew tired and withdrew from the commotion, but from the heart of the crowd, you notice Ser Criston pull him away.

You know that nothing would have pulled Aemond away from his “guard duty” if it wasn’t significant. He would have stayed against the tree until you left the crowd, but he’s pulled away and you can’t help your curiosity. Even if you’re high by all the excitement, you manage to find an escape and follow Aemond to the tent Ser Criston took him to.

However, just as you’re going to follow him in to be a part of the significant conversation, what comes out of Ser Criston’s mouth stops you right behind the entrance, turning you into that spy you once were when you worked for your mother.

“We just received word from Ser Tyland. He and the Triarchy have hit Driftmark, setting fire to the harbor of Spicetown, and ships sent out to counter them.”

Your lips part in surprise. Regardless, if your grandfather plans to have one of his bastards be heir over your own son, Driftmark is still your home, and hearing that pirates and low-life sailors have begun to sack Driftmark is upsetting.

“What about it?” Aemond remarks with sass. “It's what they should do.”

Ser Criston clears his throat and then adds what he really wants to share. “Scouts have spotted a small cog ship sailing from the Eerie, and right directly toward the Triarchy fleet. It’s said that the Cog, the Gay Abandonment, carries Prince Viserys, Prince Aegon, Prince Joffrey, and Lady Rhaena. The sons of Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon.”

Your heart drops to your stomach at the sound of that news. No matter your feelings towards your mother and Daemon, your brothers are not between that. None of them.

“Have Ser Tyland and the fleet doing something worthwhile and capture the cog,” you hear Aemond suggest, making your breath catch. “But do not injure any of them. They will be priceless hostages.”

You back away until you’re completely covered by the shadows of the night and let out a shaky breath as you go over what you just heard, as you begin to realize that you cannot for any reason let Ser Tyland or his fleet of pirates take your brothers and Rhaena. You can’t just hear what you did and willingly let anyone take them captive. No matter your resentment, and no matter the rage that has you giving your back to your mother.

Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey are still your brothers, and Rhaena is your cousin.

You can’t—

You know what you must do. Aemond won't like it, he would forbid you from going if you asked considering he already didn’t want to let you scout, but he can’t stop you if he doesn’t know you left until you’re gone. Besides, you’ll return, you can’t just sit here and let anyone take your brothers and Rhaena captive, and if you send a letter it might be too late. You have to go yourself.

Thus before Aemond could walk out and catch you, you rush to your shared tent and hurryingly rip off the breastplate you had been wearing to quickly just throw on different armor; one that’s not bulky but lighter, and slimmer in design so it’s a more feminine fit, like the way you saw Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror wear in books.

The gown under the armor is no longer your grey-purple gown. You changed it to a very pale grey that almost blends with the new silver armor, but it stands out since it flows over your legs, covering the shining silver greaves over the bottom half of your legs.

The pauldrons on your shoulders are shaped like dragon scales, much like the one you wore just moments ago, and beneath it lies a fringe of forged silver dragon wings. You stay away from wearing gauntlets and anything on your arms, besides leathered armguards, showing off the beautiful embroidered sleeves of your gown instead. When it comes to your head and face, you leave out the helmet because you never had one made in the first place, instead you opt for a thin chainmail headpiece that connects with an intricate veil of dagger-like chains, and a delicate but protective silver chain mask caging over your mouth.

Albeit none of what you’re wearing can be seen by any pair of eyes just yet. Even if a lot of the men are drunk or tipsy, some aren’t and others will still share what they saw no matter how intoxicated they are, so you throw a dark crimson-colored cloak over your cape, covering the dragon scale bodice that protects your chest and the twins growing inside you, and blends you with the shadows of the night.

Yet before you can rush out of the tent you snatch more arrows from your trunk, and then just before you're going to open the flaps, you spot Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel sword resting against a wooden pillar, and debate taking it, but not for long.

With a faint smirk tugging on your lips, you snatch the Valyrian steel sword, Blackfyre, and sneak out to your dragon Astraea to leave toward the Gullet in the cover of night.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Daeron and you would have been the bestest of friends with the lute and singing.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens

[g1rlr0b1n]

Yet another commission by the super amazing and talented @ookamihanta!!! Go check out their page to see more art!!! Their commissions are still open so go check that out as well!!! I highly recommend them!!! 🦇

Blood of the Covenant (Preview)

Jon’s neck snapped over to where a silhouetted figure perched silently in a tree above. Had it not been for the scattering of birds, their frantic flapping and squawking, he may have never even noticed the presence up above. The figure crouched, hidden within the dark branches, like a predator observing, waiting to strike its prey. Jon felt a chill run down his spine as realization dawned on him. “just- just make it quick.”

Jon closed his eyes tight and waited for something that never came. Gathering his courage, he slowly opened his eyes and frantically scanned the area around the tree. The figure was nowhere to be seen. His body relaxed slightly, but before he could let out a breath of relief, the figure suddenly emerged from the underbrush, clutching a limp rabbit in his hand. Jon's breath caught in his throat at the sudden appearance and he couldn't help but shudder with fear.

“Tt,” he clicked his tongue and Jon immediately registered the sound as annoyance. He wondered if fear in its prey was becoming a nuisance for this particular vampire, it would have been almost laughable, if he wasn’t scared shitless right now.

Aside from the pounding in his chest, Jon watched on in silence as the creature expertly built a fire with dry twigs and leaves. The orange flames danced and flickered, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding trees. As the sun descended below the horizon, the fire became the only source of light, the sky now painted in shades of deep blue. The heat from the flames grew more intense, warming his skin and filling the air with the scent of burning wood. Jon’s eyes followed every move as the vampire gracefully skinned the rabbit, then with precise movements, drained the blood from the small animal. Jon’s throat tightened as the creature was skewered onto a freshly sharpened stick and placed over the embers. The smell of cooking meat filled the air, making Jon's stomach growl in hunger. The vampire seemed to have quite the sick sense of humor, subjecting him to such torture. Jon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force his mind off of the pain in his gut.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice shattered the silence. "Eat," they commanded.

Confused and disoriented, Jon's eyes snapped open as he tried to make sense of the words. "W-what? Why?" His own voice came out weak and shaky.

“You clearly haven't eaten in a few days,” he stated matter-of-factly, his eyes roaming across him. Jon eagerly reached out, accepting the offering, savoring the succulent meat as it filled his empty stomach. When he finished, he crudely wiped his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve. He was still weary of the other but at least if he dies now, it would be with a full belly. The man continued to stare at Jon intently, never taking his gaze away. After a long silence, he spoke again, his voice low and measured, “how long have you been here?”

“Eighteen days,” he croaked out, feeling small and weak under the man's intense scrutiny.

The other only nodded. “Is that your canteen?”

Jon's heart sank as he nodded and replied, unable to hide the desperation in his voice, "It's empty." The sound of his own almost unfamiliar timbre only served as a reminder of how long it had been since he had last spoken to another human being…or anything close to it.

Without another word, the man snatched the canteen from Jon's hands and disappeared quickly into the dense forest. Minutes dragged on like hours, Jon could do nothing but watch as the moon dragged across the sky until it was directly overhead. With no clear sense of time, he began to wonder if he’d been abandoned once again, left alone in this desolate place with nothing but his thoughts for company.

As the last embers of the fire began to fade, Jon's gaze caught a glint of movement in the corner of his eye. He watched as the lithe figure of the man emerged from the shadows with the canteen in hand. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed the canteen at Jon, who winced as it thudded against his chest. “Vampires?”

Jon nodded, “yeah, we took them out but I got inj-”. He flinched, realizing suddenly that he was talking to a vampire about taking out his own kind.

The man seemed disinterested in the murder of his kin and instead chose to focus on something else entirely. “We?”

Jon swallowed the lump forming in his throat, “yeah, the guys I'd been traveling with.”

“They left you here?”

“Well-”

“To die?” he interjected.

“I told them too. I was slowing them down.” Jon’s voice came out smaller than he intended it to.

The man carried on, as though uninterested. “Kryptonian?”

“How did you-?” The man's piercing gaze landed on the prominent "S" adorning Jon's chest. Jon shifted uncomfortably, feeling foolish, “oh. Yeah.” The two sat in tense silence once more, until the question that had been gnawing at Jon could no longer be contained, “why haven't you killed me yet?”

For the first time since the man had appeared, he seemed to be taken off guard. He sat in quiet contemplation, his brow furrowed and eyes distant. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again. “I knew your father. He was a good friend of my father.”

“Was.” Jon felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, “so, he’s dead then.”

“I’m sorry,” his eyes flashed with empathy, just briefly, before returning to their stoic state, “but yes. They both are.”

“It's okay,” Jon tried to reassure himself, though his voice trembled slightly. “I think...I think I already knew.” As the words left his mouth, he felt a sense of finality wash over him, confirming what he had been desperately trying to deny. His father hadn’t come looking for him, he had already known it could only mean one thing. Silence consumed the air once more, until Jon finally spoke, “so, you haven’t killed me because my dad used to be friends with your dad?”

“Is that not enough?” he shrugged.

Jon quickly shook his head, “no, I mean, I’ll take it.”

“Tt. So, don’t die on me Jonathan Kent or this will have been a complete waste of my time.”

Surprise flickered across Jon's face, “you know my name?”

The other man scoffed, “of course, I'm the son of Batman.”

“Batman? ... So then, are you ...Tim?”

“I'm insulted.” The man's expression turned from irritation to hurt, “no, I'm Damian. I'm... I'm the last living son of Batman.” A weight seemed to settle upon him as he spoke these words, as if the realization of his own loneliness had suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks.

“I'm sorry. My... my brother is gone too.” Damian allowed the silence to consume the night, he did not ask Jon any more questions and for that, Jon was grateful.

[ladymorguesart]

DAILY SKETCH: 10/31/2024

Updated version of my Frater sketches from the new chapter! ❤️

[gelatosushix]

[whispereons]

Masterlist!

I'm Whispereons and I mainly write yandere Genshin Impact fics. The SAGAU is my long time obsession if it wasn't obvious.

For ease of convenience I will have this masterlist pinned with my works, taglist, and tags used on my blog.

Currently I don't have any rules to abide by. I enjoyed all the comments, reblogs, asks and submissions I received thus far!

Just a warning for anyone new, I advise you to make sure your blog has some form of personalization. Like a profile pic, a sentence saying hello in your bio or even just a single post saying you're human will do. It's to prevent you from getting the report and block combo when I do my spam/porn bot purges.

SAGAU works

Oracle!Reader - with my current editor @serpent-benediction (hopefully) fixing up the older chapters.

Followers Special: 1K

Inazuma:

City - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 Sea - Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Liyue:

City - Part 9, Part 10, Wilderness - Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18 City V2 - Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25

(Don't judge my old works too harshly, I really was new at writing!)

Self-aware Genshin Impact Series (incomplete): Warmth, Screen, Team Player, Over This Shit

Oneshots - Another Drink, It's tough to be a God

Normal Yandere Genshin Impact:

Venti/Barbatoes x EOS!Reader: Planned, Protection or Possession?, Control

General Yandere Posts:

Male yandere x fem reader: Insecurity

Tags to use to navigate my posts!

#whisp's amateur work - all of my writing

#sagau oracle au - everything related to my oracle!reader (was implemented late so the first tag is more reliable)

#a whispered response - me answering asks/submissions

#whisp's collection - my personal collection of my fav authors, artists, and anything else. My mindless reblogs aren't tagged with anything to avoid cluttering the tag system.

#peering into the whisp - if I get personal asks, this is the tag I would use

If you regularly sends asks with some way to identify you then I usually give you a tag too.

My taglist for my Oracle!Reader:

If you are in italics, that means I couldn't tag you! That could be due to you being shadow banned or having your settings set to hide you from being searched. I will keep this master list updated with each new user, I truly don't mind tagging you all. It's honestly a nice feeling.

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