#coles chapter

[hehelegos]

something i think is so sad about cole and lillys relationship is that even when lilly was healthy, she wasnt super present in coles childhood, she kept taking on missions and going out on adventures and lou took time off from the royal blacksmiths to care for cole and be his primary caretaker, despite thaat, cole still loved his mother and looked up to her as a hero. which makes it even sadder that when she passed away and lou ran back to the royal blacksmiths, cole essentially had no one to fall back on like he did before with his dad

[cosmothealien358]

Part *error noises*

[propheticbride]

Lamb to Slaughter III

𐙚 Aegon must struggle with both his hold on you, and on his hold in the Riverlands

𐙚 Aegon x Reader (tw: incest, violence against reader, abuse, non-con)

(AN: sowwy, got busy with work but hopefully this is yummy enough to make up for it. and as mentioned before, Aegon and Alicent have some book traits because I'm upset they were stripped. just a warning some non-con at the end. also team black fans pls dont be mad, remember this is team green's pov so it's their feelings of her)

Your hands rest on Aegon’s shoulders as you arch your back, moans pouring from your mouth.

“B….brother!” you cry.

“I know…seven fucking hells you’re tight.” Aegon bucks up inside you, occasionally glancing up at your blissed out face. “No one has taken you to bed before, little sister? Always feels like the first time.”

You think about your time with Aemond, how he took your virginity that night. And with the way he had reacted to the blood on the bedding, you knew it meant something to him.

But that was mere weeks ago, and here you were, riding your other older brother. At first it started innocently, you would go to his chambers with food or drink and help. And you'd read or just talk. But then the talk turned into touches turned into him on his knees eating you like you were his last meal, and it ended with him slipping himself inside you and pounding at you against his bed. You were sure the entire red keep had heard you.

“My sweet sweet girl.” Aegon kisses up your neck, causing you to almost pur. If Aegon was good at anything, it was affection during times like these. When you were sprawled out under or above him, he was more than affectionate. You compared it to Aemond’s affectionate, his was so demanding and so forceful. You had to love him. You had to seize under his touch. Aegon will pet you, and kiss you and make you feel as if in that moment you were the queen and not your sister.

With Aegon it's easy. You do your duty, he helps dress you, and you go. Only to be back the next night with the same routine. There's no promises, no nothing. Yet. He simply turns innocent touches into hours of sexual torment, and after you’re kissed on your forehead and sent away to your chambers.

Of course your mother had taken to noticing your comings and goings into his chambers, especially so late at night.

Truly, you did not mean for it to happen. After that night with Aemond, he had cruelly shut you out. Your only true friend in the world had coldly distanced himself because of a mistake. And it's how you fell into Aegon’s arms.

‘He ignores me.’ you sobbed.

‘My poor darling sister, how could he be so cruel.’ he licked your tears.

‘Him and I-’

‘Hmmm?’

‘Nothing. He made a mistake, and he won't speak to me.’ you didn't want to tell your oldest brother, the king, that Aemond had touched you.

‘Poor thing. He’s foul is what he is. A pathetic loser, has been since childhood I’m afraid. You remember? Dragonless-’

‘I’m dragonless.’ you didn't know why you were coming to Aemond’s defense. ‘Does that make me less than?’

Aegon looked at you for a moment, as if he planned his answer out before. ‘Of course not. But Aemond has different expectations than you do.’

‘What are my expectations?’ you stopped your sobbing, and he had leaned in.

‘To please the ones around you. Mother, and me, your king.’

That night Aegon had made you feel things and taught you other things you had never imagined ever experiencing.

You figured being with Aemond was much different than Aegon. Both are different men with different personalities. Aemond is much harsher than Aegon. Though no one would ever admit it. You knew it.

When Aemond walked through the halls, everyone whispered.

Kinslayer, there he goes.

But now you lay with two bad men. Even if one was not speaking to you.

“Oh fuck.” Aegon thrusts one more time up into you, releasing his seed. Something he never usually did.

“Aegon.” you murmur.

“Hmmm.”

“You finished…”

“Oh right.” He has a half-assed smile on his face. “We can get you some tea, or whatever mother takes after her meetings with Cole.”

That sentence didn't truly register in your head. You detach from him, quickly reaching for your clothing.

“Sister?” Aegon speaks, looking at you.

“Yes?” you're pulling your skirts on.

“Do you ever think of being Queen?”

✮⋆˙

“The Brackens and the Blackwoods have slaughtered each other.” Alicent speaks. “Old grudge has now turned into a bloody mess in the Riverlands that we now must clean up.”

No one is really listening unfortunately, and Cole is absent at the table.

“My Lords-” Alicent is cut off when the big doors of the counsel room are opened, the clinging of Cole’s armor rings through.

“You've appointed new knights?” Cole asks, not sitting. But stands himself in front of his seat at the counsel table and glares at Aegon.

“To replace those we lost. The last one needlessly, some might say.” Aegon nods, playing with the marble ball in front of him.

“Ser Arryk was awarded the great duty of ending Rhaenyra’s challenge.” Cole reminds him, not standing down.

Alicent sighs, “He failed to discharge it. And he failed because the scheme was rash. What idiot would approve of such a task?”

Cole smiles, a cruel one. “Perhaps, Your Grace, but we cannot all hide in our castles waiting for war to come to us.”

“As now it surely will.” Alicent spits.

“How is my counsel to get any ground when we are biting at one another?” Aegon asks.

“As, now, it already has. As my mother mentioned, House Bracken took it upon themselves to attack the Blackwoods, who declared for the pretender.” Aemond cuts in, trying to get the conversation on track.

“First blood in our name I say. Now the pretender on her rock will realize people are willing to die for my claim and only be murdered for hers, she will come to see that this entire war is what it is. A means to her end.” Aegon claps his hand together. “Now to see who will subdue the Riverlands? We will make sure our wretched uncle does not prevail with his army.”

“Harrenhal is the key to the Riverlands..”

“Which is where Daemon is being hosted.” Aegon cuts off.

“I will ride out with those I can muster here.” Cole nods, then looks at Aegon. “Men I know, men I’ve trained.”

Aegon huffs at that.

Alicent shakes her head, “You need time to raise the numbers to challenge the Rivermen-”

“Speed is my ally.” Cole reminds her. “I will turn the Crownland houses, who declared for Rhaenyra to our cause. We will add their numbers to our own and then turn west. Where I will enlist the Brackens, subdue the Riverlands, and take Harrenhal from the pretender’s husband.”

“So impatient to ride into certain defeat with little to no men.” Alicent smirks disrespectfully. “So like to be destroyed by the first stronghold you meet. Shame.”

“I will come with you.” Aegon demands. “With Aemond and Vhagar and me with Sunfyre. No certain defeat for us.”

“Aegon-” Alicent stands quickly. “You are to remain here, to-”

“To what?” Aegon snaps his attention to her. “To stand here idly by as others fight my war for me? I am King, and the King can and will defend his claim to the throne.”

“What of her?” Alicent knows how to manipulate him. It's too easy. “If you leave, she will be alone and miserable.”

Aemond stares daggers at Aegon, so that’s where you’ve disappeared to.

“You're right. I cannot leave her side just yet. But Cole, if you need a dragon do not hesitate to inform us.” Aegon insists. “I am as fearsome as any of them.”

✮⋆˙

“Is Harrenhal big? Big enough that we want it?” you ask Aegon as you sip the sweet wine he’s poured for you.

“It's an important castle in the Riverlands.” Aegon explains, tracing his finger along the map. “We need it if we are to dominate the pretender.”

“Do you ever miss her? Not the tyrant Queen she has become but, your sister.” you ask, the wine helping you.

Aegon’s form freezes. “Miss her?”

“I only mean your grace, do you miss your sister before everything happened. You must have been close at some point. More close than any of us have been.”

“We were close at one point, I suppose.” Aegon shifts uncomfortably. Were they ever truly close? He can't remember, his mother's words of how evil his sister would become filling his head.

“I think I miss her.” you whisper. “Before everything, before Aemond’s eye was taken of course.”

The silence cuts viciously.

“Have I offended you?” you ask, reaching for his arm.

“No.” he says. “I just…can't remember a time we were civil enough to bond.”

“You were close to her children.” you nod. As were you. “I enjoyed Jace’s presence.”

Jealousy bubbled in Aegon. “What did you say?”

“What-”

Aegon violently grabs you, and with a desperate squeak from you, you’re pinned down on his bed. He's rushed, ripping clothes from you. “You miss that bastard?”

“Aegon please!”

“Shut up!” he screams. “Am I not enough for you? Your own brother, the true blood of Valyria and you desire that bastard!”

“Aego-”

“I know you fucked Aemond. You have the both of us! Bouncing back from cock to cock and yet that is not enough for you?” Aegon’s fingernails are digging into your hips as he sets a brutal pace, not allowing you to adjust.

You’re sobbing now, crying and begging and pleading. But he refuses to let up.

“Useless bitch.” Aegon hisses above you, placing his hand on top of your face. Your head to the side, digging into the bed now. “Everything…I’ve done means nothing to you! Ungrateful.”

You become silent, allowing the violent interaction to take place, no longer protesting. A quick glance to the doorway, allows you to see the other white hair man standing there. Aemond stands only for a second to watch the scene in front of him take place, and then quickly turns away and disappears into the halls.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 9 Pure as The Driven Snow

Chapter 9 of Moonlight

A/N- We’re back with new chapters! I hope you guys like it. I got real nervous writing this. I don't know why! Also is it a sign that your dragon likes your lover more than your husband?

Warning- some swearing, talks of pregnancy, Angst!, fluff, hunting SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

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

Episode- After 1x10 & before 2x01

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*A FEW MONTHS AGO*

“Dragon fruit for the dragon Princess?”

“Pearl necklace for the Siren of Driftmark?”

“Oranges? They are good for a growing babe.”

You touch your 6-month-old swollen belly and come to another stop in front of a stand to study the big round oranges stacked so neatly on the crates.

“How much?” You ask the vendor.

The man puts his hands on his hips and studies his fruit for a moment before facing you. “Discount for you Princess. 5 Silver dragons.”

You glance at Aemond, and he makes his hesitation known before handing you your pouch of money. He doesn’t find this trip necessary, he says that whatever you want can be brought to you right away, especially because you’re with child, but, being stuck in the same rooms all day is torture! You told him the baby and you would go mad while batting your eyelashes really sweetly and he hesitantly accepted without a fight.

“I’ll give you 10 golden dragons instead of silver,” you tell the vendor as you get out the golden coins that make the man’s eyes almost pop out of eyes. “Find good use for it.”

The man shares a nervous laugh and takes the money, but holds your hand before he steps away and bows his head. “Thank you, Princess. Thank you, may the gods bless you and yours.”

You offer him a kind smile, and then gently pull away to pick the oranges, but he suddenly blocks the oranges with his hands. “No, these are no good. I have perfect ones. Juicy and sweet.”

He crouches and pulls out a box from under the table and hands it to you. Albeit before you can even reach for it, Ser Criston takes the box for you.

“Have a nice day, sir,” you direct at the man before you continue down the street lively with people.

“<He ripped you off you know,>” Aemond grumbles in High Valyrian so the people around you wouldn’t understand him.

You scoff softly and hook your arm around his. “In Winterfell, Lady Arra, and Lord Stark treated their people like they were friends and they got respect.” You sigh and shrug gently. “Of course, I know not everyone has good intentions, but Lord Stark taught me how to read people. I try to use his advice when talking to people here, it is why I know this guy was no trickster.”

Aemond hums in comprehension but doesn’t actually agree or take in what you said. You may be down amongst the people, but he’s in the clouds where he’s untouchable. The only thing that matters is your mention of Lord Stark.

“You and Lord Stark are close friends?”

You don’t remove your hand from his arm even if you’re tempted to, you don’t let your eyes flicker even if you have the burning need to look away to hide the truth. You keep the faint smile that decorates your features and keep looking around. “Well considering I lived in Winterfell for five years, yes, we are good friends. Or were.”

“You don’t write?” He probes and keeps his focus on you to try and watch for anything that might give you away. “You often get letters from Winterfell.”

There’s no excuse for a lingering silence, you can’t breathe a certain way because he’s paying close attention, so you turn your head to meet his gaze and share your rehearsed lie. “Sometimes, but I talk to someone else. A lady friend that lives in the castle. One of late Lady Arra’s friends.”

Aemond holds your gaze and tries to pick up on something just a hair out of place, but you keep composed well and he goes unaware once again, letting you let out a small breath and smile with relief.

“I won’t go poor by giving these people something extra. Bless them and the gods bless you. Lady Stark would say that.” You return the subject to what you were previously talking about. “Besides I actually got a craving for oranges. Or the babe did.” You grin and touch your belly again, feeling a small movement now that makes you giddy.

“Feel,” you beckon Aemond and snatch his hand from his side to press it against your small belly. “He’s moving.”

Aemond comes to a stop in the middle of the street and caresses your belly very gently, letting you watch his blue eye soften, and those thin lips show a faint smile.

And since it took him no time to show his affection or his bliss you can’t help but grin in awe before you slide his hand to the other side. “See?” You interject softly. “He wants oranges.”

A wider smile tugs on Aemond’s face before he takes your hand again and continues to walk with you down the street.

“You do not know that it is a boy,” he likes to remind you.

You giggle. “I do. It’s an instinct. When I imagine the babe I see a boy. Always. We will have a boy. I’ll even bet you.”

Aemond scoffs and smirks. “You can place your bets with Aegon. He never turns down the chance to gamble. I believe you.”

“Good,” you grin. “Now I wonder how many kids we will have, six? I want a big family. But if I can’t have so many I will be content with two, but we need to have a baby girl.”

“So you can name her Daenys?” Aemond finishes for you, making you look at him with awe.

“You remember?” You probe.

A small smirk spreads on his lips and he nods. “I do. You’d only bore me with stories about her.”

You roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t bore you. You’d bring me the books!”

“Because it was your favorite,” he counters softly.

You laugh softly and nod. “It still is. Maybe our Daenys will be an amazing dreamer just like the great legend that saved our house.”

“Yes,” he agrees with an obvious glee in his voice. “Maybe.”

You let out a content sigh and rest your head on his shoulder while you take in the stands you pass.

“Spare some food? Money?” A child with his face covered in dirt asks. “Something small?”

“<He just wants to steal from you, they always have money.>” Aemond points out.

Even if he did, you don’t care, you stop and turn to pick out an orange off the box.

The kids' eyes grow curious, and they follow your hand as you move it towards him. You pretend you’re going to give him a single orange, but you then hand it to Aemond and instead grab the box from Ser Criston’s hold.

“Take it,” you tell the kid. “It’s for you.”

You put the box down in front of him and offer him a smile before you move on. This time Aemond doesn’t remark on your actions—you wouldn't care either way, so he just lets it pass and takes your hand in his again so you wouldn’t wander off just as you approach the outer castle gates.

However, before you can cross the courtyard, a woman with a bright red dress walks out of her house and announces something that steals your immediate attention. “Wish to know your future, my Princess?”

“Princess,” Ser Criston immediately interjects. “She’s only trying to take your money. It’s a scam. Leave it.”

You flick your wrist down and take the money pouch from Aemond’s side.

“Your worry is misplaced, Ser,” the pretty lady with beautiful and remarkable colored eyes cuts in. “But I understand. Patience is a fickle thing is it not, Ser Criston Cole? If only you had known it, you would be happy now.” Her eyes dart to you and then go back to him quickly as if trying to point something out.

You don’t read into it, or demand an explanation, you let her continue as she looks between all three of you. “I am a humble servant of the Lord of Light,” she rebuttals, “I only mean to give the Princess insight for her eyes are covered and her soul is basked by darkness.”

You smile at her eagerly and let Aemond go to step towards her. “What is your name?” You ask first.

The woman's bright eyes meet yours and her lips tug upward just slightly. “I am Kinvara, Priestess of the Lord of Light.”

Your name passes Aemond’s lips, but you disregard his warning and the priestess tries to ease Aemond’s worry in your mother tongue. “<I am no one to fear, fear resides in the whispers that are heard in the shadows, and from the lips of pretenders,” she pauses and narrows her eyes on him. “You see clearly with her at your side, venture too far and you're left blind. Don’t let the shadows consume you, My Prince, or darkness is all you’ll know.>”

You glance at him and grin brightly before facing her again. “Now can you tell me what I seek?” You press impatiently.

Kinvara turns and walks inside, speechlessly motioning you to follow, but before you can you face Aemond first. “Wait for me out here,” you tell him.

Aemond shoots you a pointed glare and grabs your arm. “Let’s go. This is all fake. She will take your money.”

You pat his cheek and give him one last piece of reassurance. “She can try but she’ll never steal my riches,” you quip. “I’ll be fine, it’s just for fun.”

You shoot him a small smile and then lean in to kiss his cheek before you follow after the Red Priestess, finding a single fire lit on a golden bowl in the middle of the elegant parlor room.

“How much will it cost?” You ask her as you slowly wander to the stand holding the bowl.

“Nothing but your attention,” she shares in a soothing voice. “And a drop of your blood.”

You stop before the bowl and don’t question offering her your hand even if you should, and Kinvara doesn't make it any harder. She’s quick and doesn’t hesitate picking out a single thin needle before gently cupping your hand and poking the sharp end on the pad of your thumb.

When a scarlet drop of blood crawls out of the small wound she pulls your hand over the flames and turns it to face the flames. After the single drop of blood falls in the flames she lets your hand go and throws the needle in the flames to let the fire eat away at it.

“You have fire-made flesh, a gift from the Lord of Light,” she begins to say bluntly.

You would’ve liked to be eased into it, but you’re no expert so you clasp your hands over your belly and watch her eyes read the dancing flames with curiosity.

“You have salt-littered blood and a dragon-made soul that burns fiercely and passionately; she flies high within the clouds in search of something…” she lets the words slip out as if she was chanting a spell, and then meets your gaze across the flames.

You should be intimidated, but you’re just eager to know more.

“…three hearts,” Kinvara adds. “One made of ice, two of fire. Three soul made dragons…”

Three, huh?

“…and loyalty.”

It’s hard to piece anything together but you still can’t help but feel joy, and an overwhelming curiosity that pushes you to pick at one thing that caught your attention. “Three soul-made dragons? Does it mean I’ll have three kids?”

Kinvara smiles sweetly. “Smart girl, but you’ll have seven. The three I see will grow, they’ll know happiness and long lives.” She hums and blinks whilst her smile fades to a smirk. “But sins will burden them and cast over them like shadows.”

Right away your smile fades and for the first time since you saw her, fear begins to crawl across your mind. “What…does that mean?” You ask quietly.

The red priestess lifts her chin and sighs. “You’ll know.”

How insightful.

“One more thing,” she interjects and moves away from her spot to reach you and grab your hands “Fire kills the girl and awakens the dragon. Follow the flames for they are sweet to you since the moment your right was taken.”

You let out a deep breath and nod stiffly. You don’t understand completely, or at all actually, but you nod in comprehension before you just feed one more piece of curiosity. “Could I read the flames as well?”

Kinvara moves back across the flames and points her chin to the fire, encouraging you to try and read what the flames could tell you.

“You might not see your own future, remember that. If you see anything it will only be glimpses,” she lets you know while you step forward and focus your eyes on the bright flames seeming to lure you in; but not like every other time before, this calling is different now, you don’t have the urge to touch the flames or bathe yourself in their fierce beauty.

What calls you now are whispers; unclear, but trying to make sense in their own way.

“Listen,” Kinvara says as if can read your mind. “And open your eyes.”

She can’t mean your actual eyes because those are already open, she must mean it metaphorically or whatever, and as difficult as it seems you draw out a deep breath and focus on nothing else but the dancing flames; you don’t let Aemond come to mind, nor do you think about what was told to you, you narrow your gaze slightly and watch in silence.

After a few moments, you start to grow irritated, but suddenly before that frustration breaks your focus you freeze and catch your breath when you see snow falling. It’s clear as day as if you’re living through what you see.

Something falls with the snow though, something thicker and different in color. It’s slightly intoxicating and brings a stench of fire and smoke with it.

You have the urge to dive deeper to figure out what you see, but the scene changes to more white plains covered in snow, ashes, and bones, and above it stands a woman with silver hair. She stands above it all while a winter storm descends upon her. You see her start to turn her head but before you can make out her face, fire is all you see.

“<A long winter.> Kinvara breaks the silence and pulls your attention back to her.

“<Yes,>” you respond in High Valyrian as it actually makes sense.

The priestess offers you a smile and walks to the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’ll see you again.”

You’re left in so much disbelief that you don’t question what she means by “I’ll see you again.”, you bid her a farewell and return to Aemond.

“I was about to barge in there,” Aemond says in a rush.

You blink repeatedly and meet his gaze with your disbelief still clinging to your features. Aemond notices and grabs your shoulders.

“What is it? What did she do?” He hisses.

You draw out a deep breath and with that push away all your disbelief to not worry him over something that’s not clear.

“Nothing, she simply told me we’ll have seven kids,” you share the only thing that was clear.

Aemond scoffs in disbelief but he leaves it at that. Just as you do.

——

*NOW. WINTERFELL*

When you think of home, Aerion, your mother, and your brothers are what you picture in your mind. They are your home, it doesn’t matter the place, as long as they’re with you that’s what you call home.

But oftentimes, when the word home comes up, when you think about home sometimes you picture these tall grey walls, you see these snow-covered hills, the white skies that stretch for miles and bring icy winds and delicate and beautiful snow. You see grey eyes and a timid smile. You remember the warmth from all the fires lit all day and the warmth his body provides. You think of home and someone who isn’t your husband is all you see. You try to fight it, but your longing is stronger than your will.

Now as you stand in these snowy planes and feel this instant comfort fill your heart all you can think about is how dangerous it is.

You were too hasty to make your suggestion and climb your dragon. You’re only steps away and as heart racing as it is, you also can’t help but strain your heart with anxiety as well.

Letters are completely different than seeing face to face again than feeling his hand grab yours and feeling his lips brush your knuckles. Jacaerys is here but will that stop your deep desires? Will that stop him from being mad at you for being distant and not writing to him anymore? Will that stop that tension?

But why is it that a problem?! You’re married! And you love Aemond, he’s your home too; him and Aerion are your family. A family you built after being apart from your own, and even if you have this new strain, you still want to fix it, you still want to fight for Aemond and your family. You have to be strong for them. You can’t give in to what feels comfortable and what your heart might cry for. You have to be strong. You have to be friends and nothing more.

“It’s snowing,” Jacerys muses as he reaches for a snowflake. “I honestly thought there would be more.”

You glance at the open gates and already imagine him waiting in that courtyard in front of his staff, family, and friends. It’s impossible to ignore two dragons descending in front of your home after hearing about an impending war and a call for a declaration from the Greens.

“It’s a lot colder than I thought it would be down here,” Jacaerys adds to his rambling. “How did you ever do it?”

“Well we are in the North,” you mutter unaware of your tone.

“Oh, no need to get snippy, I know where we are,” your brother remarks.

You sigh and turn to him. “Sorry,” you admit. “It's just what if he says no? It’s almost winter, his people need him here. And what would he gain from supporting one or the other, he could just decide to remain neutral.”

Jacaerys leans forward and tries to be assertive. “He’ll gain the Queen's lifelong gratitude, and a chance to prove his loyalty…he’s a Stark, you know that, they take pride in their loyalty. I don’t see why he’ll turn us away. Do you?”

No, but that’s not really why you’re worried, in one form or the other you just needed to be assured.

“I see your point,” you tell him.

Jacaerys gaze lingers on you to be an assuring brother for a moment longer before it’s time to break away from your running thoughts and growing panic and face Cregan with your head held up high, and a fierce determination on your face.

Yet when you walk past those main gates, that fierce determination is met with inklings of worry. Your head is high, but it’s practiced, it’s years of practice, there's a tension on your shoulders, and your breathing is slightly hitched because of your racing heart making your lungs work overtime.

You try to show your confidence in your stride, you are the Queen's daughter after all, but the closer you get to that courtyard the more you hide behind Jacaerys, as if that will help you avoid anything you’re about to face.

If someone were to guess, they’d say it’s your first time here with the way you’re cowering behind your brother and letting him carry all the confidence and pride for you both, but it’s not. As you trail behind your brother, some people you pass by actually recognize you.

You are Winterfell's luminous sun after all, the warmth and light in the darkest winter storm and lightest snow days, capable of melting the most stubborn ice. To their Lord though you are much more and it’s been easy to notice since the moment your purple dragon was seen. You are the reason he smiles, and the sun that gleams in his grey eyes.

But like the sun you hide. You finally make it to the main courtyard but Jacaerys is the first one seen and almost the only one they can see. You don’t want to come out of hiding because you don’t want to see him.

Your heart is pumping so fast, and your hands are trembling. You can almost feel a tightness grab ahold of your chest.

“Jacaerys,” you call out in a quiet panic.

Said man turns and when he does he uses his whole body to move away from you, in that moment leaving a clear and open view of none other than Cregan Stark. There he stands, tall, proud, and mighty. Grey eyes bright and soft even against his hardened gaze. His pink lips form into the faintest smile that you notice right away because you can’t help it, everyone and everything disappears, leaving only him and you in the snow-covered courtyard.

Not even your initial panic exists anymore, it melts away, and your body eases with a simple look into his familiar eyes. Your once-racing heart slows down, but now flutters and skips a beat, and you can’t stop it. Just like he can’t help himself because here you are again, across from him with light snow perfectly raining over you, eyes so deep and captivating that he loses himself within with ease. Your face is basked by a gleam of light that makes you so much more divine, and a heartwarming smile decorates your perfectly sculpted lips.

Now he knows composure, he knows his place, but in this small escape where only you and him exist, it’s costing everything within him not to break away and capture your lips with his. He just wants to grab and kiss you, but your trance is broken by the sound of your name being announced followed by your house.

“…of House Velaryon, wife of Aemond Targaryen.” And then there's that ridiculous reminder that you are not his anymore.

Luckily that cruel reminder is not with you, instead, there’s another, smaller in stature, but still standing tall and mighty with gold dragon emblems on his belt and on his cloaks broach. He proudly wears the colors black and red which shows who he is without the need of an introduction.

“Prince Jacaerys, of house Velaryon,” the guard still announces the man you’re accompanied with.

“My Prince, my Princess,” Cregan speaks in that thick northern accent that makes your heart swoon. “Welcome to Winterfell.” He bows his head, and the crowd behind him mirrors him.

When he raises his head again and stands tall the first thing he does is meet your gaze. You should glance away and share why you’re here, but you part your lips and only a soft breath comes out as you hold his gaze.

“It’s a pleasure to have you back, Princess,” Cregan addresses you formally, hiding away the history you share. “The North has missed you.”

Your cheeks grow warm, and your lips form a flattered smile before you announce it. “You flatter me, My Lord. I have missed the North, and the snow as well.”

He huffs in amusement and spares a glance at the falling snow. “Well you’re lucky then, it just started to snow. It seems you brought a late summer snow with you.”

You share a breathless giggle, and his eyes share his awe.

“My Lord,” Jacaerys cuts in and reminds you he’s here too.

“Oh right,” you cut in and look at your brother, seeing his eyebrows furrow as he looks at you and then glances at Cregan. You ignore him and grab his arm to go on proudly. “Lord Stark, my brother, and my mother's heir, Jacaerys Velaryon.” You share what he was already told, but it feels right to introduce him yourself again. “Jacaerys, this is Lord Cregan Stark.”

“It's a pleasure, my prince, welcome to the North,” Cregan addresses him kindly, making you smile. “Your sister has told me many tales about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Your brother bows his head. “Likewise, my sister speaks fondly of her stay here too.”

Cregan glances at you and the corner of his lips twitch ever so slightly.

“I do wish I was here under better circumstances to have some of that fun my sister always goes on about,” Jacaerys starts to get to the point, leaving no time to wander. But that’s good, you are here on business, you can’t forget that.

“But unfortunately we are here under orders of the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Jacaerys proclaims, making the crowd murmur as the whispers they’ve heard are finally confirmed.

Cregan nods stiffly and glances back at his great hall just behind him. “I assumed so,” he says and looks back at Jacaerys and you. “Let’s go talk inside. I’m sure this change of weather is not so agreeable for southerners used to warm summers.”

Jacaerys scoffs softly and nods before he follows Cregan’s lead unaware of the fact that he’s leaving you behind as you’re stopped by some people in the crowd.

“Princess,” a thin middle-aged man who works inside the castle greets you and steals your attention.

“Good sir, John,” you greet him with a smile. “How is your daughter?” You ask as you remember how she had been when you left.

The man nods eagerly and smiles in return. “Very well, my princess. Healthy and strong. The gods let her survive her fever,” he shares and points behind you. You follow his line of gaze and see his daughter in a tall tower watching what you can only assume are the dragons in the distance.

“I told you she’s strong,” you tell him with genuine relief.

“Princess,” one of the cooks addresses you, making you turn to her and smile.

“Ms Maribell,” you turn your attention to her. “I’m glad to see you.”

“And you,” she returns sweetly. “I hear you have a son, where is he now? Why didn’t you bring him?”

You nod. “Yes,” you share excitedly and touch your chest. “Aerion. He’s four months old, but sadly I had to leave him behind with my mother, what I’m out here doing is no place for children I’m afraid. But I do want to bring him after these affairs are in order.”

“When you do, stop by here,” she suggests. “I’m sure he’ll love Winterfell as much as you did.”

You grin and nod, but before you can add more to your friendly conversation, your name cuts through the icy breeze. You look over and see your brother with a pressing look.

“My brother beckons me, I’ll see you all later,” you excuse yourself and offer them a small head bow before you stride to your brother and take his arm.

“<We are not here for a friendly visit,” he whispers sharply in High Valyrian. “I know your history here, but please stay focused.>”

You sigh and look ahead, catching Cregan’s vigilant gaze focused on you after he, unbeknownst to you, watched you interact with his people and treated them like they were your long-lost friends. It honestly fills his heart with a warmth that makes his grey eyes gleam with a joy that you easily notice against his nonchalant expression while he waits for you and your brother.

Since he so often wears a hardened expression on his face it’s hard to know what he feels, but after five years you learned how to read him like a soulmate reads its other half without a need for words. Yet you don't know the exact reason why he was so touched.

“Forgive our delay,” Jacaerys instantly brings up like a proper Prince. “My sister is easily distracted.”

Cregan lets you walk in the great hall first and once the doors close behind him he huffs and responds. “Yes, I remember, so do not worry, my Prince.”

You glance at your brother and pass him a teasing look. He meets your gaze and shoots you a warning glare before he brings you both to a stop just under Lord Stark’s throne.

“I hope the northern winds weren’t too harsh,” Cregan addresses while he walks to his chair.

“Well they were colder the closer we got to Winterfell, but they helped our dragons pick up speed to deliver this message from Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Jacaerys makes a quick workaround to why you’re here.

“Just last night I received an envoy from your uncle who calls himself King as well,” Cregan says as he takes the sealed scroll from Jacaerys.

“No, you got an envoy from a Usurper,” you immediately correct him. “The true ruler is the one the late King Viserys appointed as his heir, Queen Rhaenyra. That never changed nor was it his will for it to change after his death.”

Cregan glances at you and stares at you in silence for a moment as he processes your words before he finally opens the scroll and reads what was written.

“Your father bent the knee to Queen Rhaenyra when she was named heir, and swore that House Stark and the North will follow the line of succession,” Jacaerys adds to the point to try and further convince Cregan. “Now Queen Rhaenyra’s throne was stolen and demands you follow your father's path and stand proudly in support of her rule and war if it arises.”

You have seen so little of your brother's political side since you were reunited, so now that you see it you can’t help but be in awe of the man standing tall beside you, proving himself a worthy heir.

“Your words move me,” Cregan finally interjects as he lowers the scroll to look at Jacaerys and you. “And your presence honors me. Winterfell is almost at the edge of the world, but you still came to deliver this in your mother's regard,” he says and makes some of that tension release from Jacaerys shoulders. “I know of my father's oath to your Queen. I also know how deep disloyalty cuts when it’s made by one’s own kin, your sister was here to witness my uncle usurping my rightful place as Lord…which is why I do not intend to break oath today. The North will not break oath today,” Cregan proclaims confidently and with no falter, relieving your brother of his worry, but not yours.

“But,” Cregan proves your worry worthwhile. “Winter is coming my Prince, my Princess. And these seem almost like family affairs. The Queen has my loyalty, but why should we support this war? My priorities are with my people and providing for them before Winter arrives.”

You and Jacaerys share a conflicted look, but neither of you are stuck on what to say, you're just debating who should speak in your defense. You with an advantage, or Jacaerys with a blunt but respectful tongue?

Honestly, you both probably have great points, but in your speechless exchange, Jacaerys trusts you.

“I understand,” you argue and step forward, gaining all of Cregan’s attention. “I have not lived a true winter, but I understand your hesitance, My Lord. I understand your people need you now more than ever, but the Greens have an advantage, that’s something we can admit, and they will not be afraid to use it against you, and your Queen. They already steal from her, will you stand to see them take more? Will you stand and see your people and lands burnt? Will you sit and do nothing as injustice is acted upon your Queen? Or will you and your people fight for what’s right, and for the greater or good of the North?”

Cregan shifts in his seat and keeps his hardened gaze on you for a long and tense silence. You could read what he might be thinking, but you look at your brother and fall back by his side to wait for a response.

“Your words move me,” Cregan interjects with a small huff. “And leave me a lot to think about. I hope you understand my choice will not be taken lightly, I must speak with my own people on these matters, just be assured that the North supports the rightful Queen.”

Cregan stands from his seat and Jacaerys steps forward to cut in. “How long will we have to wait?”

Cregan raises his chin. “Soon, I swear,” he promises. “As for now, you must be tired from your travel. Baths will be drawn in your quarters, and supper will be served shortly in this hall.”

You draw in a deep breath and much to your surprise you’re the one who grows impatient instead of Jacaerys. “Thank you, My Lord Stark,” you deadpan and bow your head.

Said man catches your tone before the change on your face, but says nothing on the matter. Instead, he walks down and points to the door that leads to your apartments.

Yet before you can make any attempt to walk out, the doors open and a servant carrying a dark-haired child walks in, and without as much as insight to clue you in, you know who the child is right away, you can see it in his familiar dark eyes, and that kind resting face.

“Oh gods,” you muse excitedly and lose all your annoyance in the blink of an eye. “Is this baby Rickon?” You direct at Cregan.

“Yes, this is my boy,” he assures you and you don’t wait for the wet nurse to come to you, you meet her halfway.

“Jacaerys,” you exclaim as you grab the child’s hand with a bright grin. “I helped deliver this child!” You squeal and turn back to the baby.

“I believe it,” your brother mutters.

“Hello little Lord,” you greet the baby a bit too excited. “Look at you, you look like your mother…May I?” You direct at the wet nurse, and she doesn’t hesitate to hand you the child who is a mirror of Arra.

“Hello,” you greet him again a lot softer this time since he looks at you puzzled. “I know you don’t remember me, but I remember you. How old are you now? 1?”

You don’t expect an answer, but the baby does. “Hello.”

You beam at him and caress his head while you share a happy look at Cregan. “I can’t believe it. Words truly aren’t enough, Rickon is so big. I’m so proud.”

“He would’ve been out to greet you but you caught him in his naptime,” he says and steps towards you but keeps his distance.

“He looks like his mother,” you tell him and look back at Rickon, catching him taking the pearls around your neck. “Ah, yes, nice huh?”

“Hello,” he says again, making you laugh and turn to start heading to your quarters with the others trailing behind you. “My Aerion likes my jewelry too,” you tell him. “But he likes to suck on it. You just like to look at it, hm?”

“I reckon this little lord is a lot kinder than your Aerion,” Jacaerys teases as he falls by your side.

You roll your eyes at your brother and reassure Rickon. “Don't listen to him. He’s just mad because Aerion can sense his impatience. He’s very sweet, and I’m sure when he’s older you’ll be great friends. I’ll make sure of it.”

The baby is unbothered by what you say, but you couldn’t be more happier than to see Cregan and your friend's child. He reminds you of Arra, and when you think of Arra you think of where you are, and when you think of where you are all you feel is that comfort embracing you harder, consuming you little by little.

Which is dangerous, you know. The longer you stay here the more you let yourself get consumed by what’s familiar and kind that the reality in the distance becomes easy to forget.

But you can’t. You can’t let yourself feel complete comfort or you’ll run the risk of falling into the temptation you long for the most. Thus when you finish your bath you don’t linger in your borrowed quarters, nor do you explore what you left behind out of curiosity to see what’s new, you act as if you’ll be leaving any minute and visit where Arra was put to rest.

Yet that temptation finds you there and puts it all at risk. You don’t know about his looming presence until you turn away from Arra’s tomb.

“Lord Stark,” you gasp.

Cregan bows his head. “Forgive me I did not mean to startle you, I did not want to interrupt your moment that's all.”

You laugh nervously and glance back at Arra’s tomb. “If I did not visit her while I was here she would haunt me.”

Cregan hums and you stop avoiding his gaze to look into his grey eyes.

You had hoped to contain yourself, but in the silence that falls as you just look at one another, you can’t contain your joy, it takes over you and before you know it you’re beaming like a shining sun and striding over to him.

Cregan gives in the moment you break and meets you halfway with a tight and warm embrace.

“I had come to terms with not seeing you again,” Cregan breaks the silence first as he holds onto you.

“Me too. I really did not think I would see you again,” you murmur excitedly and hold on for longer than either of you wanted to. You just can’t seem to let go even if there's a shared silence in which you keep in words that you both are aching to say and just add tension.

“I…I’m happy to see you again,” he says instead and pulls back to face you

“You grew out your hair,” you point out to change the subject. “You said long hair was for barbarians.”

Cregan chuckles, and you smirk. “Well, I thought I could try it out,” he says. “And it keeps my neck warm.”

You study his brown hair that falls just above his shoulders and let yourself have this one thing. “I like it. It suits you well.”

Cregan offers you a thankful nod and takes this time to study you closely again. “You seem happier this time around,” he points out.

You scoff. “What are you saying? Did I look miserable when I got here six years ago?” You tease lightheartedly.

Cregan nods. “Yes. You did. This time you look happy though.”

You sigh and glance at the exit as if you’d see your brother. “Yes, well my brother is here. As annoying as he can be, I am happy he came with me.”

“Mhm.”

You smile softly in response and to avoid staring too long into his eyes you start to walk out. But for a few seconds as you walk aimlessly there’s a silence that lingers until he finds what to say. “Arra’s friend came to see me a few days after you left.”

You glance at him with a curious gaze and probe. “Why?”

He exhales deeply and confides in you what he hasn't had the heart to share in letters. “She came to blame me for her death. She said I was the reason she died.”

You come to an immediate halt, and he follows suit and slowly turns to face your sorrowful face.

“She was hurt, Cregan. It was not your fault. She was just grieving,” you try to comfort him even if he didn’t ask for it because you know how much guilt he already carries for Arra’s death and because you can't stand hearing him blame himself.

“Well, there is some truth to it is there not?” He says breathily and averts his gaze.

You draw in a deep breath and reach out, but before you can touch his arm you clasp your hands and fiddle with your ring. “No. There is not,” you say firmly. “Childbirth is not easy. I hate to admit it but her loss is common. It cannot be helped, so no it is not your fault. Arra’s friend was just grieving the woman she loved.”

Cregan blinks and meets your gaze with gratitude behind his perked lips but hesitation in his grey eyes. You don’t think he’s going to say anything and leave it as him just processing what you said, but as you continue walking side by side he finally interjects hesitantly.

“Your son…how is he?” He asks as if it pains him to actually ask.

You smile proudly. “Good. Spoiled endlessly by all the love my mother is giving him, but he’s good,” you muse. “I wish you could have met him.”

Cregan swallows thickly and finds it in himself to speak. “I wish I could have seen him too, I am sure he looks like you.”

You meet his gaze briefly and nod with glee.

There's so much you can say at this moment, but there’s also so much you can’t say that you end up in this battle of not knowing what you should do. Should you touch into this past that you need to keep closed? Or leave it all unspoken and just filled with tension that threatens to overflow and break you both?

No one would have to know. You could speak about this unspoken past you both cherish…But! Then you think of Aerion, and when you think of your son, you think of his father and once again, you still want to fight for this relationship even if you stand on opposite sides now.

Thus you leave it untouched and just lean towards something else.

However, when you speak Cregan’s name to address something else he also speaks your name, leaving you at a crossroads he luckily lets you cross first. “About why I came—”

“Did you come to sweet talk me, princess?” He cuts in and does assume right, but that’s not what you’re going to say.

“Maybe,” you laugh breathlessly and exhale deeply to get at what you want to say. “But look, I understand you’re needed here, your people are your priority. Winter is dangerous, which is why we won’t ask for a lot. We’re proud and honored to get your loyalty, but anything you can spare will help. We may have more dragons, but they lack experience in war, unlike Vhagar.”

Cregan nods in comprehension and does assure you honestly. “I meant when I said I’ll try. I want to help the Queen, I swear. Let me just see what I can spare, winter is not friendly, winter is cruel, you know that.”

More than most…and more than he knows…

“I know.” You agree softly. “How long will that take?”

He sighs and shrugs. “A couple of days. Not long. Why are you in a hurry?”

You drag your gaze over to pass him a knowing glance because he knows that your presence means much more than anyone knows, and it brings risks.

Still, he smirks faintly at you.

“I will say,” you admit and smile at him. “I am glad to be back in the North. I missed it. It’s so loud in Kings Landing compared to here. And the view from my chambers?!” You exclaim without a care in the world. “Over there it’s busy streets, and here it’s serene hills.”

Cregan chuckles softly. “I told you there’s no place for you so far South anymore. You bring your son here and it is over for you.”

You laugh and nod. “I do love the sun though, and a sea in which I can swim in!” You nudge his arm, and he leans to the side with a smile.

“I will bring the warm sea here, I told you.”

You snort and shake your head. “While I'm here we need to show Jacaerys some of the fun we would have. I want him to see some part of Winterfell before we leave.”

Of course, Cregan doesn’t argue, he gives in but when he meets your gaze from the corner of his eyes he grows sweet and smug. “Not all the fun though?”

You hold his gaze and shake your head. “No. Not all the fun.”

He hums and looks at you with a dangerous longing look that you quickly look away from.

“Ice fishing?” You suggest.

“You have an entire day to waste?” He brings up and clears his throat.

You hum in agreement and stroke your chin, unaware of the fact that you’re being walked into the great hall.

“Owl hunting?” Cregan teases in that stern nonchalance, and you can’t help but burst out laughing as you remember what he means by that.

“You think you’re funny huh?”

“You just laughed.”

You shake your head and grab his arm to laugh more and much harder.

“I can’t believe you fell for it the first time.” He keeps taunting you.

You stand tall and throw out an excuse. “I was young.”

Cregan looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed and you look at him and laugh again, unaware of how lost you were until you hear your brother.

“Sister. Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.”

You blink repeatedly and catch your breath before you point back at where you came from. “I visited a friend, Arra, remember? I needed to go visit her resting place before we left.”

Your whereabouts don’t really matter anymore, he was worried when he knocked on your door and you didn’t answer, but now what he finds more interesting is who you walk in with. He looks between the both of you full of curiosity and takes note of the way you walked in laughing, as well as the smile you wear, and the faint one that decorates the Lord's lips.

“I hope you are both hungry,” Cregan interjects while you come to a stop in front of the grand table. “We had something prepared for your welcome.”

“That’s nice—”

“We’re starving,” you cut your brother off bluntly and make your way around the table. “Flying for so long isn’t only draining for our dragons, but for us too.”

You approach Jacaerys and he surprises you by pulling a chair out for you. “Oh,” you praise his gesture. “Thank you, Jace.”

When you sit though he doesn’t walk around Cregan's seat like he should have, he makes sure to sit at your other side, leaving you in between both men.

“<What are you doing?>” You demand to know in High Valyrian.

Jacaerys pulls in his chair close to the table and looks at you to whisper back. “<Sitting.>”

You blink and lean your head back with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “<Are you nervous?>”

He squints and rebuttals immediately. “<What? Why should I be?>”

You’re choosing to be too naive and pat his shoulder. “<Your big sister is here do not worry.>”

He swats your hand away, and you steal a glance over at Cregan taking his seat beside you

“How many days do you have to be here before your husband sends you a raven?” Jacaerys fills the silence.

At first, you don’t want to entertain his question, he’s only going to make fun of Aemond, but you give him an assumption to be nice. “Three days. The last thing he wrote was, ‘come home now. Your place is here.’ And that was before we left the Eyrie.”

Jacaerys leans in and continues. “Has he actually written that he misses you?”

You hold his gaze and part your lips to argue in your husband's defense, but those words have not been written on paper so you don't rebuttal Jacaerys, you deflect. “Have you tried to make a move on Baela?”

Jacaerys clenches his jaw and speaks through gritted teeth. “What are you on about?”

You grab the cup in front of you and shrug. “What? She is your betrothed, it's okay to sneak off and you know, have a little fun.”

“Stop it.”

You take a sip of your drink and lean towards him. “When we get home I will play a game and lock you both in a room—oh! No! I’m brilliant!” You exclaim and push yourself back, making him grimace.

“Shut up.”

“Nothing boosts romance more than a fun little adventure, just you and her alone,” you share excitedly without shame that you’re talking to your brother about romance as if he were a lady. The gods didn’t give you sisters, just five brothers, so you have to make the best of what you have. “I will throw you out of the castle to go fetch dragon eggs, or you know, something fun.”

“You’re childish,” he snaps at you under his breath.

You exhale deeply and sit back proudly. “And when your wedding comes I will be paralyzed with joy. Unless she marries one of our Velaryon cousins,” you finish in a whisper to just light a small fire under his ass.

“What?” Jacaerys asks in a shocked whisper, which you ignore to share an amused smile with Cregan.

“Princess,” you hear someone call before you see Lady Maribell approaching with servants carrying supper. “We made your favorite to welcome you and the Prince.”

You watch your plate get put down with a big appetite and then look at Lady Maribell and touch your chest. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll make sure to savor it well.”

The lady bows her head and leaves the hall, letting you appreciate your supper and the fact that these people took the time to prepare your favorite meal by their own will, or for the wishes of someone else, you don’t know, but it’s a huge difference with the way you get treated in the Red Keep.

“I would like to make a toast,” Cregan’s voice booms throughout the hall as he stands up, pulling the attention of those gathered in the hall. “To the Prince and Princess. Welcome to Winterfell, you honor not only me but the entire North for coming in person in the Queen's regard…”

You smile up at Cregan before you share your joy with Jacaerys.

“Your stay will not be long, but we will do our best to make you feel at home,” Cregan continues before he looks over Jacaerys. “The North may be a drastic change, but it is beautiful. I hope you learn to grow fond of it just as much as your sister has.”

You don’t check Jacaerys reaction, you meet Cregan's gaze and follow him all the way down to his seat with a soft appreciative smile, while his own gaze softens…for a moment, because his gaze then drifts over your shoulder and it loses that gentle touch.

You follow his line of gaze and meet your brother's thankful but slightly narrowed look that he holds with a smile. And as to not make suspect something you raise your cup to him.

He returns the gesture before looking past you again, making you now look at your steaming food and let out a slow deep breath as you try to remind yourself to keep yourself contained. In doing so, albeit you remember the tragic dinner you had at King's Landing not many nights ago and you now start to feel amused by the memory.

You happen to let your gaze wander over to your brother in the midst, and he slowly locks eyes with you. Silence follows for a moment, but then as if mentally tangled with your thoughts you both start to giggle before you chuckle together.

“Man,” he says between laughs. “I wish I would have seen your right hook. I missed it!”

You cover your mouth and stifle the laugh you want to let out and respond. “He was so shocked! I was holding that in for so long!”

You snort and lean towards each other. “It was such a mess from the start, but I applaud your toast. That was smooth.”

“Really? Thank you, I think I landed it too.” He takes your compliment and you both laugh together again before he grabs your shoulder and turns you towards the man at your other side.

“Lord Stark,” he happily drags Cregan into the conversation. “Considering you are friends with my sister, I will tell you a great feat she completed a few nights ago on our last night at Kings Landing.”

You shake your head lightheartedly and lick your lips as you catch your breath.

“To make this story short, one thing led to another and my sister landed a right hook on the usurper,” Jacaerys shares, making the corner of Cregan's lips twitch.

“He slammed our brother's face into the table,” you try to give reason to your actions. “I acted. My rings helped too.”

Jacaerys laughs softly and you meet his gaze and smile wide.

“It seems like an impressive feat indeed,” Cregan says and lets his gaze linger on you. “But I cannot say it surprises me, your sister has never been one to recoil from such things. I’d say she's fond of it.”

“Too much,” Jacaerys remarks. “It is why she would always get in trouble.”

Cregan huffs softly and meets your gaze. “I only wish I could have seen it,” he says directly at you while also letting your brother hear.

You can’t help your deep breath, or stop your face from burning under his impressed gaze. You don't say anything but luckily that conversation leads to a lighthearted dinner where Jacaerys and Cregan start to talk more instead of just passing glances.

Unfortunately, you do the one thing you told yourself you didn’t want to do, and that’s losing yourself in the bliss that comes with interacting with your brother and Cregan, the man you…have a secret past with.

You thought you could do better, you wanted not to get lost at all, but it pulled you down rather quickly and you couldn’t fight it. Especially because there’s something about seeing Cregan interact with your brother without tension or disdain, that makes your heart swoon.

“Jacaerys,” you blurt and turn to him. “Let’s dance.”

His eyebrows pinch together and he shakes his head before he answers. “What? No!”

You ignore him and jump from your seat to grab his arm and pull him with you to the center without as much as a protest. He likes to act all tough and nonchalant in front of others but he’s a big sweetheart when it comes to you and your brothers.

And he proves that further when he doesn’t fail to make you smile when you’re dancing slowly at first to follow the beat of the music that plays in the corner. When the music picks up he becomes faster but disregards the actual beat to start spinning you around the room.

“That’s not how you dance this!” You remark without much meaning behind your words. “You’re going to get me drunk!”

“You can handle it. You love it!” He assumes right and goes faster around the room without that initial worry of being judged or carrying this tough and proper image.

Neither of you actually find a worry in the world, it’s just him and you in that moment, laughing, and unaware of the pair of grey eyes that follow you all around the room. People talk to him, and a commotion surrounds him but Cregan finds a way to keep watching you laugh with your brother as he takes you around the room.

He should feel somewhat upset that your brother is bringing this different kind of joy out of you that he never saw when it was just you and him, but his heart only fills with bliss as he sees you so overjoyed. He knew how much you missed your family when you were living in Winterfell, so how can he be upset and petty that you’re so drunk with bliss by your brother's company?

Only a fool would refuse you this joy.

“Princess!”

You come to a quick halt and give your attention to the one who seeks it; catching Ser Rolf, one of your greatest friends just past the door.

“Ser Rolf!” You greet once you know who has beckoned you, and let your brother go to rush to your friend.

“I heard you were here and I came as fast as I could,” he says and answers your curiosity as to where he’s been before you had the chance to ask. “I almost feared I missed you.”

You shake your head. “No, you got lucky. Come!” You pull him with you to return to your brother. “Ser Rolf, this is my brother, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.” You immediately introduce them.

“My Prince,” Ser Rolf greets him properly.

“Jace, this is one of my greatest friends from here, Ser Rolf,” you explain. “He went to my engagement tourney and played in my honor.”

Ser Rolf scoffs. “Well, I needed to show off my skills, and not let you Southerners forget how talented we can be.”

You smile at him and you both purposely leave out the other reason why he had gone.

“It's nice to finally meet you,” Ser Rolf directs at your brother. “Your sister often spoke fondly of you and the rest of your family.”

“Did she?” Jacaerys presses and flashes you a smug smirk. “When we return to our brothers I’m proudly going to use that over her head.”

Ser Rolf laughs and nudges you, and you roll your eyes.

“Do you mind if I steal your sister from you, My Prince?” Ser Rolf asks.

Said man shakes his head. “Not at all, go ahead, I need to step out anyway. I will be back.”

You offer him a comprehensive smile and watch him leave the hall before you face your friend. “Are you going to dance with me?”

Ser Rolf scoffs. “No. Unless it’s a command.”

You smile in amusement and shake your head. “Never to you.”

“Good, I may be swift with a sword, but I'm afraid I'm not a gifted dancer. My wife can attest to that,” he breathes out and points his hand away from the crowd of people dancing to walk away together.

“How is your family?” You ask.

Your friend looks at you and smiles sweetly for the first time tonight. “Good. My girl is a year old and a delight. You have a son, I heard.”

You clasp your hands together and nod. “Yes, Aerion. He’s four months old, and his father's pride.” You share now that you can share it with someone since so many details about your son felt wrong being shared with Cregan.

“About…the father,” Ser Rolf picks on that matter as he sits around the first table you see. “I hope my actions in that tournament did not get you in trouble. I saw him later that night at a feast after the tournament was over.”

You sit down first and sigh before you shake your head. “No. Do not worry…was he…” you trail off and glance at the ring Aemond gave you to fiddle with it. “…with anyone?”

You can feel Ser Rolf press his gaze on you, but you avoid it and wait, even if you shouldn’t considering who’s occupying your mind now too.

“No,” Ser Rolf answers hesitantly, making your heart skip a beat. “He was lurking in the corner watching over the other silver-haired Prince.”

You swallow back nervously and meet your friend's gaze to press him since he didn’t sound convincing. “Tell me, Rolf. I can take the truth. I mean look at me, I’m on opposite sides of this war.”

Ser Rolf quickly shakes his head and looks at you with a pitiful look. “I swear it, Princess. He was lurking the entire night. When his brother brought in women and tried to gift him one as an engagement present, he finally left.”

You let out a relieved sigh and nod in comprehension, feeling a lot more assured now than before. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Of course.”

You feel it now…how much you’re starting to miss Aemond. Which is all so conflicting, but you admit it, you miss your husband, especially when it’s just you and him. That’s when he lets his guard down and lets out this person he keeps within; this sweet, affectionate, and amusing person that knows how to love you in the way you want to be loved, and knows the deepest parts of you, while he lets you know his.

He doesn’t hide his love for you in public, he's not overly affectionate but he makes it known that you’re all his and he’s all yours. And perhaps that makes you a little too attached to one another, but you take pride in it and never feel alone.

But…

Yes, there’s a but when you’re in Winterfell, when Cregan is close, and when he comes to mind. You can’t let Cregan go. The love you shared was so consuming, it was full of passion, it was exciting, and it had so much to give that no matter what, you could never get enough of one another.

But that's it isn't it? Was. You need to let go.

“How are you…holding up?” Ser Rolf breaks you from your troubled mind and only makes you confused. “With…you know…” he trails off and points to the side.

You follow his line of gaze and realize that he’s referring to Cregan.

“Rolf,” you warn him, making him laugh.

“He’s finally smiling,” he makes matters worse and makes you smile down at the table while your stupid heart skips a beat.

“He hasn’t been with anyone,” Ser Rolf clarifies and you snap your eyes at him and kick his shin.

“Stop.”

Rolf smirks and rubs his wounded area, while your eyes wander to the man you’re talking about, and you see him leaving the hall.

You almost find it in you to follow him out, but what will that bring? Nothing but temptation. You did good before when it was just him and you, but the stars are out, and the snow blankets the ground, it will feel like one of those nights when you would admire the sky in each other's embrace, and you’ll probably lose it, so you stay put and keep talking to your friend while also watching for your brother.

Eventually, more of Cregan's friends join Ser Rolf and you, but as much as you enjoy their company you can’t rest easy without knowing about your brother. He left a while ago and hasn’t returned. He would’ve told you if he went to bed, but he hasn’t. He said he needed to step out and hasn’t returned.

Maybe he froze out there since all he’s used to is a chill—but more seriously you should go check on him.

You stand up and just as you’re going to excuse yourself you catch your brother walking inside in front of Cregan.

They approach the table and you want to ask about your brother's whereabouts, but Cregan interjects. “I've decided we could take him hunting tomorrow morning and have lunch there, so he can know some of the North’s wilderness.”

You look at your brother and he gives you an assuring nod. And considering Cregan hasn’t given you an answer you have no choice but to accept. “Very well then.”

“I might’ve overshared with your brother just now,” Cregan continues to direct at you as you step back and sit back down.

“No, no,” Jacaerys shakes his head. “He glorified.”

You cross your leg over the other and press them. “What?”

Cregan glances at your brother and then looks back at you. “I might have praised your archery skills on dragonback.”

You smile at Cregan and pass your brother a cocky look. “It’s true. I am an excellent shot on Dragonback, but I cannot take all the credit, Astraea helps me when she flies. I think Lord Stark is just too in awe of the dragon itself.”

Cregan huffs and points his chin at you. “You are being too humble. You deserve the praise, not anyone can hit the target while moving, especially while flying. And you like to stand, which, that alone deserves its own praise.”

You shake your head. “You flatter me too much.”

“But I do suppose the same cannot be said about your traps. She almost caught her own leg once,” he shares a bit too amused. “Arra caught her in time.”

You shake your head. “It was not my fault,” you rebuttal. “You were distracting me. Hunting is done in silence and you distracted me.”

Cregan scoffs. “Are we talking about the same day?” He teases. “You are remembering wrong. I did not do such a thing.”

You touch your chest and slowly get up. “Lord Stark, are you calling me a liar?”

He shakes his head. “Admit it, you could have used help.”

You inhale deeply and nod. “Only if you admit you spoiled our bait for that fishing evening on your name day.”

Cregan parts his lips but he can’t deny you so he presses his lips together and nods slowly, causing you to nod in return, and share a mutual agreement to your questions through shared glances that you don’t break. There in the middle of your friends and brother, you look at each other as if it’s only you and him in that hall, in this world entirely. You exist only for each other.

Until the reminder tears it all down and pulls you back into reality. “Sister why don’t you sing us a song,” Jacaerys exposes you.

“What?” You gasp and ignore all the looks you get.

Jacaerys nods. “It seems fitting. It’s still early, I think it would be nice for you to fill the hall with your song.”

You blink repeatedly and shake your head quickly hoping he’ll get the hint, but he does the opposite as if purposely torturing you. “Wait…you have not sung here?”

You stay quiet and spare a glance at Cregan who is too amused by what’s going on.

“Wow…” Jacaerys trails off to chuckle before he faces the crowd of your friends and Cregan. “That is why she is called the Siren of Driftmark.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and groan.

“I thought you said it was because you were a good swimmer,” Ser Rolf points out.

You shake your head. “No,” you grumble.

Jacaerys moves over to you to grab your shoulder and shake you gently. “She’s really good. She sings all the time,” he praises you. “She just sang the other day when we got to Dragonstone.”

You shake your head and feign a smile. “No, no, my brother is being too nice. He’s exaggerating.” You laugh and then turn to your brother to shoot him a burning glare. “You’re exaggerating,” you sneer at him through gritted teeth.

Jacaerys chuckles and pushes you forward. “Sing us a song. Come on!”

You share a breathless chuckle and turn on your heels to point back at your brother. “I would not want you to cry,” you reveal and glance at the crowd. “When he was a boy he would hide at the back of the crowd so no one would see him cry when I sang.”

Jacaerys doesn’t give you the satisfaction of being flustered, he just smiles, and Cregan steps in.

“Come on, prove your name, princess.”

You pass him a glare and sigh deeply.

“Just one,” Cregan insists with a sweet and intrigued look that really makes it hard to say no to.

“Fine…” you give him brugrudgly. “But…I’ll sing a Sea Shanty. One father liked to sing with us, Jacaerys, so you can sing with me.” You smirk.

Your brother is quick though and shakes his head. “No, no, anyone happy enough can sing a Sea Shanty. Sing a different song.”

“You’ll be surprised not everyone can,” you murmur and stare at your brother with a piercing glare but don’t argue now. You’ll get nowhere, so you begin to step away from the crowd. “Only if you do it,” you protest and turn back to your brother.

“No,” he snaps.

“Do what?” Ser Rolf probes.

You grab your brother's arm and he gives your friend the answer. “Our father would present her to the crowd as if she was a famous singer before she sang.”

You nod eagerly and shake him, but he shakes his head to deny you of such a pleasure.

“I’ll do it,” Ser Rolf volunteers and takes you with him, but leaves you at the side as he runs to the center and steals everyone’s attention.

“Can I get everyone’s attention please! Tonight we have a special guest blessing this hall with her song! May I present the Siren of Driftmark!” He shouts and you don’t shy away or protest now, you run to the center, and bow to the crowd while you spread your arms out like a dragon spreads its wings.

“Hello, Winterfell!” You address the crowd and stand tall without a hint of smugness or your nose in the air to show your royal status, you show off a charm that hasn’t been seen in this hall and gains all the wavering attention to you, as if you were born to lead the masses. “Now, now I know what you may be wondering! Can she really sing, she’s never proved that to us! But,” you laugh softly. “I promise that I at least will not make your ears bleed.”

The crowd laughs and a warm look grows on the serious Lord’s face.

“This song goes to my brother who accompanies me this time around,” you let it be known so you don’t share all the attention. “And of course to your Lord Stark. Thank you for hosting us tonight, my friend.”

You flash him a smile and he nods gently in return, unable to keep his eyes off as you whisper to the band in the corner. He follows your every step with a curiosity that grows only as you clear your throat, take in the crowd that’s gathered in the hall, and draw out a deep breath, because after you part your lips and start to sing softly for all the crowd to hear, all he knows is complete awe as you grow louder and more enchanting with your song.

You become one with yourself and it makes it impossible for anyone to turn away, all the attention is on you as if you were a real-life siren. Yet no matter how many eyes watch you, how surprised and amazed everyone is, and how that prides you, all your attention falls on one man who only watches you with awe, because in this hall it’s just you and him once again.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

Fishing has never been your strength, you enjoy the quality time when you go with someone, but besides that, you aren’t patient enough to wait for a fish to take the bait.

It’s why as you watch the blue fish in murky waters you make sure to stay out of the water as you slowly pick up your bow, and align your arrow, hoping it won’t hear you and swim off somehow.

Albeit the fish with blue scales moves, making you hold your breath and wait…

Good thing it just moves under the sunbeam that casts in the water. Now though, you do feel guilty for trying to kill it, it’s so beautiful, its scales glimmer a deep blue against the sun like the prettiest gems are stuck to it.

Yet a fish is all it is.

Before you can shoot though, the fish swims away quickly. “Damn, damn,” you hiss and move your aim along with its hasty movements to not let it get out of sight. And just before it can escape into the shallow river, you let the arrow go and luckily shoot the fish right through its eye.

“Haha,” you celebrate to yourself and throw your bow aside to pull your fur cloak off and leave it on the giant rock so it doesn't get wet when you step into the water.

“Oh,” you gasp at the icy touch and rush to grab the fish on the tips of your feet whilst letting out quick ‘oh’s at the cold touch of the water.

However, before you can attempt to turn and run out of the water you catch a branch snap behind you and stiffen.

There's only two people it can be, but you’re still so nervous that the Greens are going to find you that your mind panics and quickly makes you reach for your dagger around your belt.

When you hold the handle you slowly peer back and gasp when you just see Cregan. “Gods,” you breathe out and let the dagger go. “You startled me.”

Cregan finally walks out of the tree line and puts his hands up. “Forgive me, I didn’t want to interrupt your moment. Forgive me.”

You laugh nervously and walk out of the water with relief, and your trophy in hand.

“You’ve been on edge lately,” he points out as he watches you trade your trophy for your cloak.

You sigh. “With this impending war, my husband and his family have been insistent on getting me and Aerion back to King's Landing, that I fear they’ll be in every corner I turn,” you share as you hang your cloak around your shoulders.

Cregan drops his head and nods gently. “Well, no Greens will reach you here. You have my word.”

He looks up and you meet his gaze and offer him a gentle and thankful smile before you grab your arrow from the rock and show off your prize. “I promised my little brother Joffrey we would go fishing, but I think this way is more effective, do you not think?”

Cregan gets closer and tilts his head to the side to shrug. “Can’t say it’ll be called fishing if that’s the way you go.”

You scoff and flick your wrist to brush him off. “Sure it is, we will just use a bow and arrow to catch our fish. I don’t want to wait hours to get one on a hook.”

Cregan huffs and you take that as a challenge. “But I know fishing in the extreme is not for everyone.”

A faint smile breaks on his face and he remarks. “Who do you think you are talking to exactly?”

You shrug and pick up your bow to offer it to him. “Prove your skill, Lord Stark.”

Without further argument, Cregan takes the bow and narrows his gaze. “You know how much I hate it when you’re so formal with me,” he remarks.

You shoot him a simple teasing smile and let the bow go to fall by his side instead. “Alright there’s one right across from us,” you whisper as you hand him an arrow. “Quietly.”

Cregan aligns his arrow and tilts his head down toward you. “Who taught you to hunt?” He picks on your comment.

You lift your gaze, catching the gleam in his eyes, and giggle. His gaze lingers, threatening to drive your heart mad so you look down first and he follows your gaze to follow his prey. When he thinks he has the right angle to catch the fish he lets the arrow go, but the wooden weapon whizzes to the fish's side and only works to startle it away.

“Aha!” You blurt and grab his arm. “I told you. Skill!”

“Oh, hush you,” he brushes you off with a grin before he walks over to collect your arrow. “Oh, by the way, singing?! How come you never told me?”

You sit back on the giant rock and shrug. “One, because I was quite timid to sing to you,” you admit and make him smile at the ground. “And two…after my father died…I just lost my heart to sing. It did not feel right.”

Cregan steps out of the water and his smile fades to show his comprehension. “I understand,” he says quietly and puts your arrow bag in the leather holster.

“I would sing for my grandfather Viserys when I returned to the Red Keep, but I didn’t have a heart to sing until I had Aerion,” you muse as you miss your boy. “He made me find my voice again. And now he falls asleep to my song.”

“What a lucky lad,” Cregan says and steps toward. “You have a beautiful voice. I understand why you got your name.”

A warmth creeps on your cheeks and you smile at the rock beneath you. “Thank you,” you whisper. “And don’t take it as something I hid from you, you are just learning something new from me.”

He hums softly and adds. “It’s just a way to keep me on my toes, I respect that.”

You return his hum and blink to look over at him, catching his watchful gaze, and feeling at that moment a need to entrust him with something that’s been troubling you, something that didn’t satisfy you when you spoke about it to your grandmother.

“Can I ask you something?” You ask hesitantly. “If it makes you uncomfortable, tell me, all right?”

Cregan shifts in his stance and nods without hesitation. “It’s all right, go on,” he assures you to keep going.

You avert your gaze and fiddle with the ring that Aemond gifted you. “It’s just,” you breathe out and make sure Jacaerys isn’t approaching before you continue. “You’re the most loyal man I know. Your oaths are everything to you,” you tell him, making him slowly sit down beside you. “So can you tell me where my loyalties should lie? Should I return to my husband? Especially now that we have a child should I follow him blindly? Growing up, the Septa’s would plague me with how to be a good wife, Alicent makes indirect comments all the time, it's my job as a woman to be a loyal wife, but…” you trail off and look up at the sky and exhale shakily.

“I love my mother, I love my family, and I know she’s the one who belongs on the throne,” you continue to confide in him. “It was stolen from her, nothing will ever make me look at that differently. I will follow her rule, but…Aemond is my husband. He stands loyally on the other side, shouldn’t I stand by his side? Follow him blindly?” You ask from the depths of your torn heart and drop your gaze to look at Cregan with an aching look that wounds his heart.

“He might be your husband, and you may have a responsibility to him now that should come over your mother, but you still have your beliefs,” Cregan says with sincerity since he knows that all you need now is a friend, not a jealous ex-lover. “What you want still matters. And you know what you want to do, I hear it now, I see it with my own eyes. Don't betray yourself just because you don’t want to disappoint one or the other,” he reassures you softly and leans closer to you without actually touching your hand that’s pressed on the rock next to his, he doesn’t let his breath unfurl over your skin, or let his lips brush against your cheek. He just gets his face closer so you can feel his comfort.

“Would you do it?” You can’t help but ask. “Would you go against your wife if she was on opposite sides of a war?”

Cregan sighs deeply and doesn’t debate his answer, he nods, and you add something that pains him to hear because he knows what it really means. “Even if you loved her?”

Cregan swallows thickly but he doesn’t let his eyes fall, he nods stiffly. “If it was the right thing to do, yes. Even if it pained me.”

You drift your gaze away and nod, hoping you can beat the stinging in your throat, but tears fall from your eyes.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It will be okay.”

You sniffle and meet his gaze to probe speechlessly.

Cregan understands your gesture and nods, making you offer him a gentle smile and lean towards him. “Thank you, Cregan. It really means a lot.”

“Of course,” he says with a caring look that works to assure the doubt and lift the weight you’ve been carrying on your shoulders since you found out what happened.

“Thank you,” you add much to his surprise and yours while letting yourself grab his hand. “For loving me.”

Cregan stares at you for a lingering moment with his eyebrows furrowing and unknotting with every emotion that runs through his mind and makes his heart race. “I would do it again, it was my honor,” he speaks softly.

Your bottom lip trembles but you don't cry, you let your head fall on his shoulder for a brief second to express the deep unspoken love that you’ll never actually be able to let go. It’ll forever be scarred in your soul.

And that’s all you could ask for in this world full of horrors. Even if there's no proper goodbye, and there’s so much left untouched, this moment is all you could ever want, it welcomes a comforting silence that brings a smile to your face as you both watch the serene environment.

“We should find your brother,” Cregan breaks the silence after a long moment of being selfish.

You hesitate for a moment but you slide off the rock and collect your stuff before you lead the way back into the forest.

“Do you…” Cregan starts to say while he helps you by carrying the fish you caught. “Still dream of flying to faraway places?”

You keep your eyes out for your brother and purse your lips together as you sigh. “Would you be disappointed if I said I did? Only sometimes though.”

Cregan chuckles. “No, of course not. I’m glad you still do. Where to?”

You suck in air and twirl around to face him as you walk back. “Maybe,” you breathe out and happily share what he wants to know. “Yi Ti. I was given this beautiful gem necklace from there and I’ve been completely enamored by the place ever since. It’s said princes live in solid gold houses.” You nod eagerly, making him scoff.

“My most favorite gowns are made of silks from Yi Ti,” you muse and turn back around on your heels. “Some I have yet to wear because I have been saving them. Hopefully, I get to wear one soon! Don’t worry though my feet are still on the ground,” you make sure to assure Cregan. “I have not forgotten what I learned here.”

You hear him hum before he mutters. “I’m quite curious about these expensive gowns.”

Your breath catches in surprise and you peer over to shoot him a pointed look. He responds by flashing you a charming smile that makes you roll your eyes and hold back your smile.

Thankfully in that next moment, you spot your brother in the distance and force all your focus on him.

Jacaerys doesn’t seem to spot you right away though, so after a quick and brilliant idea hits you you leave Cregan behind to sneak around Jacaerys. Once you get close and he’s made some distance from the tree you’re hiding behind, you slip out and avoid stepping on all the branches and dry leaves. When you’re close enough you bite back your smile and raise your hands to jump on his back, but much to your misfortune he’s too perceptive and ruins your plan. “I saw your foot behind the tree.”

You blow out air and drop your arms with a pout. Jacaerys turns and spots Cregan walking out of the shadows first before he faces you and shows off the rabbits he caught. “What did you catch?”

You frown deeper and point at the single fish, making him chuckle. “That’s all?! I thought you were some great hunter!”

You roll your eyes and sputter out an excuse. “Well, I did see some rabbits but I didn’t want to kill them, they were adorable.”

And you can’t say Cregan distracted you either, for the most part, you were just walking and taking in the sights you left behind last year.

“Uh-huh.” Jacaerys nods with a smug smile on his face. “Sure,” he quips. “You are such a girl.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off before you get ahead of the group and lead the way to a distant clearing where you’ll have lunch. “A few months back,” you share to fill the silence and avoid your previous topic. “I was at the market street and on our way back I ran into this Red priestess.”

“A witch,” Jacaerys corrects you, causing you to turn around and counter.

“No, a red priestess. Calling them witches is kind of mean.”

Jacaerys scoffs and turns to Cregan for support. “I say witches, what do you call them here, Lord Stark?”

Said man grabs his blade hooked on his belt and meets your brother's gaze with a hidden smugness behind his eyes. “Witches, but sometimes we call them pretenders, depending on the price.”

Jacaerys chuckles and you know they’re obviously just working against you so you choose to ignore the negativity and go on. “Anyway!” You exclaim and twirl back around. “She told me my future. She said…” you leave them with anticipation for a few seconds before you share what you were told. “I would have seven kids.”

“Gods,” Jacaerys murmurs.

“Mhmm.”

“Now,” Jacaerys cuts in and rushes over to fall by your side, leading Cregan to fall on your other side—“Who will give you all these children if your husband dies in this war?”

Without as much as thinking you turn to your brother and nudge his chest to make him think it’s something you planned when really you’re just teasing him. Kind of. “You. We could get married.”

Your brother's face falls and he immediately shakes his head and turns you down bluntly. “No. I would not marry you.”

“Oh right, there’s Baela,” you point out and grab your chin as you think deeply. “Well…I could take her. She’s quite terrifying, but yes,” you nod and look back at your brother. “I can take her in both a dragon fight and hand-to-hand combat…I think.”

Jacaerys' nose scrunches and he shakes his head again. “No, I would not marry you! You are…you.”

You look around confused and pick on that considering your house is known to marry within the family to keep the bloodlines pure. Aegon and Helaena are married.

“So?”

Jacaerys parts his lips but he can’t think of a strong argument that will beat the truth. Yet you do take a good look at Jacaerys and find an excuse. “You are right,” you mutter. “We could not, I do favor taller men, thus maybe...” you trail off to think, leaving Jacaerys offended by your bold comment.

“A Prince from Yi Ti with a house made of gold,” Cregan finishes for you, making you snap your eyes at him and smile slowly in amusement.

“Funny,” you hold back your laugh. “Very funny.”

He rolls his head down and hides his smile.

Gods laughing with him is so much better in person. He can be very funny in a serious way that only makes what he says or does that much funnier.

“She also let me see in the fire,” you continue to share more excitedly now. “And what I saw was a girl—”

“Wait, wait,” Jacaerys cuts you off and wipes away his smile. “Now when this priestess of yours talked to you, was she on the other side of this fire?”

You look away and bite your cheek before you lie by shaking your head as a response.

Albeit Cregan knows you well and points you out. “Liar.”

“Yes, fine!” You exclaim and gently nudge him away. “She was at the other side, but it was not her that I saw, it was a girl with silver hair,” you catch your brother's serious attention now. “She…stood on top of a mountain covered in snow, ashes, and death.”

Cregan’s own amusement falls and your brother doesn’t dare to tease you now, so you go on.

“All brought by…<A long winter,>,” you finish in High Valyrian to mirror the way the Red Priestess told you before you repeat in the common tongue. “A long winter.”

Both men look at you but one doesn’t look at you with disbelief, nor fear, he’s serious and deep in thought, while your brother lets out a dry laugh and shakes his head to try and deny what you shared.

“I believe it,” you defend yourself and what you saw in that fire because it was clear as day as if you were seeing a memory that hasn’t happened.

“I also believe what this old man said about Ice dragons living past the wall,” you tell your brother, and Cregan interjects right away.

“Old man Thomas is known for tall tales. There are things that are true, but what he says is not.”

You shrug. “He’s well-traveled, why wouldn’t it be true?” You rebuttal and lean towards him.

“Because,” Cregan argues and leans towards you. “He likes attention. And he’s drunk all the time.”

“A drunk man is less likely to lie, you know that because you don’t lie when you’re drunk.”

His lips twitch and before he can respond with something in his defense his eyes turn to your brother at your other side. You discreetly follow his line of gaze and catch your brother's attention so you play it off quickly.

“All I’m saying is I believe what I saw, it may not happen in our lifetime, but it’s in our future,”

A short silence follows that only works to make you grow nervous over what your brother might’ve just thought. But he thankfully brushes you off.

“Maybe but you probably got ripped off by a fake witch.”

Once again you choose to ignore this negativity spouted by your brother and instead drift your attention to lunch, and since Cregan was more in charge of guiding Jacaerys, he didn’t catch anything. All you have is the single fish you caught and the rabbits Jacaerys caught, but neither one of you wants to skin them, so you eat a small lunch and share the fish over a quite fun moment where you, unfortunately, don't receive an answer from Cregan, regarding what he’s willing to offer your mother.

You hoped he’d finally say it during supper, but supper came and passed, and nothing. That lack of response followed until the next two days too, leaving your brother quite impatient now.

“What have you told him?” Jacaerys greets you ever so warmly.

“What have I told who?” You pretend to act clueless while you pick a square cake from the tray and study it before you plop it into your mouth.

“Lord Stark,” he snaps.

You knew he was getting to that since you spotted him stomping over to you and Astraea, but you had hoped he wouldn’t get to it yet.

“It's been days and you said you would talk to him! We don’t have days to waste,” he remarks and spats out your name before going on to give you a mean reminder. “We need to leave and we have nothing.”

You don’t intend to sit up or fix your gaze on your brother, you keep yourself against your dragon's large arm and respond calmly. “He promised he would give us an answer—”

“When?” Jacaerys cuts you off and crouches down to take the tray of cake from you. “When?”

You drag your eyes up and nonchalantly answer. “He cannot pull the army out of his ass, Jacaerys. We have to wait, if he promised he would do something he is going to do it.”

Your brother rolls his eyes and turns away to let out a frustrated breath. “There's a difference between saying a promise and actually committing to it. I do not know how close you are or if you have actually talked to him, but you need to figure something out, that is why you are here.” He mutters.

You watch him knowing that he has a right to be annoyed, Lady Arryn gave you her answer quite quickly, and you’ve been in Winterfell for days but still haven’t received a word on what Cregan will give to support his Queen, but you also trust Cregan, you know he’s going to do what he says, you just need to wait.

“I’ll talk to him again,” you assure him. “If he doesn’t give anything then we’ll return home with his simple loyalty.”

Jacaerys rests his hand on his hip and lets out a deep breath. “All right, that sounds good.”

You sigh and nod, letting a silence linger for a moment before you lean forward. “Can I get those back?”

“What?” He breathes out and turns all dramatically with his cloak twirling with him.

“My cake pieces,” you point at the tray in his hand with your eyes.

Jacaerys passes you a judgmental look before he leans over and lets you take the tray he took.

“Aemond found me,” you let him know of the raven that came to you this morning. “He said ‘come home at once’. Shorter than the last one but still persistent.” You giggle.

Jacaerys walks over to sit next to you against a sleeping Astraea. “Will you?” He asks with genuine curiosity.

You take a cake piece and shake your head. “No…our mother belongs on that throne and I am going to stand by that,” you say confidently now that you know where you want to stand. “He can try to take me by force if he wants, but I am going to fight for her.”

Jacaerys looks over at you with a faint smile and nods in comprehension. “I’m glad to hear it.”

You mirror his smile and offer him a piece of cake. As he takes one a memory creeps in and your smile widens before you can tell it to him. “Do you remember a few years ago, when Lucerys disowned me because he thought I ate the last piece of lemon cake?”

Midchew Jacaerys loses himself in thought before he snorts, spitting out pieces of cake, and causing you to scrunch your nose in disgust.

“Ew,” you grumble and he interjects abruptly.

“Yes! I remember he’s like you cannot be my sister anymore because you are selfish and you ate it all!” He mocks your younger brother.

You giggle and nod, but before you can add to that shared memory Astraea suddenly raises her head, bringing Jacaerys and you to a pause to look over; noticing none other than Cregan approaching.

When he’s near he bows his head and greets the both of you on the ground. “Good day, my princess, my prince.”

You smile at him and greet him for both Jacaerys and you. “Good day. It is nice to see your face today, we ate lunch and breakfast alone.”

Cregan bows his head again. “I am terribly sorry, I have been busy all day, I only barely got out.”

You remember his long days, on some terribly long ones, he wouldn't be let out until it was time to go to bed. You would usually meet him in his chambers on those days and just lay down enjoying each other's company. Today all you can do is look at each other as nothing but old friends.

“I hope your day has not been dull,” Cregan worries.

You shake your head. “No, we were just reminiscing about a day of our childhood when,” you snicker and go on. “Our little brother Lucerys disowned me because he thought I ate the last piece of lemon cake.”

Jacaerys nods and continues the story for you. “We both knew there was more so she pretended to leave. Our mother came in a few moments later with more and Lucerys completely freaked,” Jacaerys laughs and stands up as if that would change the way he was telling it. “He started bawling and ran out to look for our sister.”

“When he found me,” you finish the story. “He’s like I am so sorry, I never meant what I said. Come back, do not leave us. You can have as much cake as you want!” You finish with a laugh and Jacaerys joins you.

“That sounds like quite a memory,” Cregan says and reaches out to pat your dragon's snout since she leans towards him with dilated eyes. “Did your mother say anything?”

You and Jacaerys stare at one another in search of the answer, but you can’t recall.

“Not that I remember,” you mention and look back at Cregan. “But it was quite a memory. Lucerys is a sweetheart.”

Cregan hums and Astraea groans softly in response to his touch.

“Oh, maybe you needed something, my Lord?” Jacaerys only asks now.

“Well,” Cregan sighs. “I only wanted to invite the both of you to Castle Black on the morrow so you could see the wall, My Prince. Just before you leave, that is.”

You and your brother share a hopeful look and even if Jacaerys was quite impatient to leave, now he accepts Cregan's invitation. “I have always wanted to see the wall. It would be a pleasure.”

“Good, we will leave at first light then.” Cregan lets you both know and leaves you hoping for a good response that will hopefully make your mother proud.

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A/N- Who’s the 2nd heart of fire? A new character we’re getting soon, or someone else

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

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-Six

The next few weeks at Dragonstone passed swiftly as there was much to do. After seemingly coming to a stall once the dragonseeds had left to take Tumbleton, reinforcements finally arrived. The castle bustled with activity, the sound of preparations and strategy discussions echoing through the halls.

A new Small Council had formed at Dragonstone since the previous council was overthrown in the Capital. With the arrival of Lord Commander Criston Cole and Unwin Peake from Harrenhal, along with the unexpected presence of Lord Larys Strong, deliberations began on how the Greens would retake King's Landing. The war room was frequently occupied, maps and parchments scattered across the table as heated discussions ensued. Yet, despite the fervent brainstorming, the ideas suggested so far proved unsuccessful, each plan encountering insurmountable obstacles.

Aemond, anticipating the need for sound medical and scholarly advice, had written to the Citadel, requesting a Maester to join them at Dragonstone. The Citadel responded affirmatively, agreeing to send a number of candidates from which the royal couple could choose who would serve as the Grand Maester on the newly formed Small Council.

However, it became evident that the selected Maester would not arrive in time for Maera’s birth, which was now predicted to be a mere fortnight away. When she first found out she was pregnant, Maester Orwyle had examined her carefully, his face lined with concern and concentration. “The very end of the eighth moon,” he predicted with a note of finality.

In the meantime, Maera remained resolute, continuing her duties despite the increasing burden of her pregnancy. Her steps were slower, her movements more deliberate, but her spirit remained unyielding. She attended council meetings alongside Aemond, her presence a silent reminder of the stakes involved and the future they fought for.

With the arrival of the boats from both Harrenhal and King's Landing, Maera found her belongings slowly filtering their way through Dragonstone and ending up back in her possession. Each day brought new parcels and crates, some familiar and comforting, others a stark reminder of the upheaval they had endured.

She was sure that Lord Unwin Peake had grabbed what he could from her rooms in the Riverlands after he received the summons. The items were neatly packed, a testament to Unwin's efficiency. But it was Lord Larys who had brought her belongings from the Red Keep, and Maera still did not trust him. The thought of him personally going through her property made her shudder. He was a creep, and his unsettling presence always seemed to lurk just at the edge of her awareness.

As she unpacked her things, Maera experienced some sadness that not all of her possessions had found their way back to her. She knew this was a time of war, and the Lords had probably only grabbed what they deemed as essentials. Still, it pained her to think of the personal items lost in the chaos, relics of her past now scattered or gone forever.

Among the returned belongings, her black and gold dresses emerged, rich fabrics glinting in the torchlight. Her jewels, too, were there, glittering with the promise of better days. Books she had collected over the years, their pages worn from frequent reading, were stacked carefully in a corner. Some of her weapons had also arrived, including her old hunting bow and a spear sent from Dermot years ago.

Despite the arrival of her possessions, Maera found she couldn't use most of them so late in her pregnancy. The journey on Ēbrion to Dragonstone had weakened her previous injuries, forcing her to take a break from riding on dragonback. The thought of mounting a dragon now was unbearable; her body ached in ways she had never imagined, and the weight of her unborn child made every movement a laborious effort.

There was no way she could use her bow, her swords, or her spear. She was too exhausted just from walking up the stairs, let alone sparring outside. The very idea of engaging in combat or even practicing her skills felt like a distant memory, a part of her life that seemed almost unattainable in her current state. Her once agile body was now cumbersome, each step a reminder of her physical limitations.

The only thing she could do was write letters to her allies. She spent hours at her desk, scribbling replies diligently, aware of the importance of maintaining these connections. Many letters needed to be written, but the task quickly grew tiresome. The monotony of correspondence weighed heavily on her, draining her spirit. There seemed to be no time for fun or joy.

Is this what being a Princess was supposed to be? she wondered, frustration bubbling beneath her composed exterior. Even her giving birth, something she had once envisioned as a deeply personal and private experience, was now a matter of national importance. Her womb was no longer just hers; it was a vessel for the future of the realm, scrutinized and monitored by those who saw her child as a pawn in their political game.

Maera sighed, setting her quill down for a moment, her hand aching from the relentless writing. She looked around at the familiar trappings of her past life—dresses, jewels, books, weapons—all now out of reach, relics of a time when she felt in control of her destiny. The once comforting presence of these items now only served to highlight her current helplessness.

She rubbed her swollen belly, feeling the baby kick beneath her hand. There was a glimmer of hope in that tiny movement, a reminder that despite everything, life continued to grow within her. It was a small solace, but enough to keep her going through the long, tedious days.

The tender moment was interrupted when Maera’s chamber doors opened. Aemond entered, his straight silver hair swaying as he walked, cutting a striking figure in his own clothes. The green tunic he wore reminded Maera of her father’s eyes, her own eyes. She wondered if their child would have her eyes too.

There was still tension between the couple, both walking on a knife’s edge when interacting with each other. They remained separate most days, apart from the few short hours they would spend eating a meal together. Depending on the atmosphere, sometimes the meals were filled with idle chatter, and other times, deathly harsh silence.

Maera rose from her seat, one hand on her stomach and the other on the back of her chair, pushing herself to stand. The pressure on her back and stomach, as well as her injured leg and arm, was intense, but she managed. Once stood up straight, she sighed in relief and bid her husband a respectful nod.

“Is there anything you need, my Prince?” she asked, confusion in her voice.

Before Aemond could answer, a flurry of stewards entered, carrying wooden chests, which only heightened Maera’s confusion. She glanced at Aemond, searching for an explanation in his stern features. His violet eye, usually sharp and calculating, softened slightly as he looked at her.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll be here. At the very least, we won’t leave till you’re recovered from birth,” Aemond said before gesturing to the chests now being placed around the room. “I thought I would bring you some things to pass the time.”

The Princess blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. She watched as the stewards opened the chests, revealing a plethora of art supplies. The vibrant colors in the paint pots and variety of materials were overwhelming.

There were thick, rich reds and blues, delicate pastels, earthy tones, and metallic hues that shimmered in the light. Brushes of all sizes and shapes were meticulously organized, from fine-tipped for detailed work to broad, flat ones for sweeping strokes. Sponges of varying textures and shapes promised endless possibilities for creative expression. The parchments and canvases were of the highest quality, their pristine surfaces waiting to be transformed by Maera’s touch.

Aemond stood back, observing her reaction. His usual sternness was softened by a hint of anticipation, as if hoping this gesture might bridge the widening gap between them.

“This… this is thoughtful,” she said, her voice catching slightly as she ran her fingers over the tops of the paint pots. “Thank you.”

The one-eyed Prince nodded, his expression still serious but with a hint of relief in his eye. “I thought you might find some solace in it. You painted frequently at home.”

Maera smiled faintly, the tension between them easing just a fraction. She could see a glimmer of hope in his eye, a momentary easing of the tension that had plagued their relationship.

Aemond looked down, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders as he avoided her gaze. After a moment, he suggested, “Perhaps you would join me for dinner this evening as well?”

Maera paused, uncertain. His gesture was thoughtful, yes, and it did clear the air slightly. But there was still a long way to go. “I require my rest this evening,” she replied politely, her voice tinged with hesitation.

Her husband nodded, his stern face masking the disappointment that flickered in his eye. He looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening briefly. With a sigh, Maera then suggested, “But maybe we could break our fast together in the morning.”

Aemond’s expression softened slightly, and he agreed with a small smile. He reached for her hand, his touch gentle yet firm, and placed a small kiss upon it. The warmth of his lips sent a rush of unexpected emotion through Maera, causing her face to blush.

The Prince lingered for a moment more, his thumb caressing the sapphire and gold ring he had given her. The gesture was intimate, filled with unspoken words and unexpressed feelings. He then turned on his heel and left, his presence lingering in the room even after he had gone. Maera couldn’t deny the butterflies she felt at the thought of breaking their fast together, a fleeting smile forming on her lips.

The days grew longer, and for Maera, time seemed to stretch interminably. For the majority of her marriage, she had been pregnant, a state of being that was all too familiar for noble ladies of her status. It was common for them to be with child almost every year, a cruel arrangement that seemed to trap them in a cycle of childbirth until they could no longer bear it.

Preparations for Maera’s impending labor continued in earnest. The midwives were put on high alert, their presence a constant reminder of the imminent arrival. The chambers were meticulously readied with the necessary supplies, an array of linens, herbs, and tools placed strategically for the moment of need. Aemond, though often occupied with his duties, enquired about her well-being daily, either directly or indirectly through the castle staff. His concern was a small comfort in the midst of her growing discomfort.

The months had completely transformed Maera, both emotionally and physically. The trauma of war had left indelible marks on her spirit, and the rapid changes in her body were no less overwhelming. Her curvaceous figure had morphed into something unrecognizable, her body adapting to the demands of the growing life within her. Maera’s hips had widened, her breasts were harder than rocks, her muscles ached tremendously, and after all of her suffering, she had still not given birth.

The babe, now nine days late, seemed determined to take its time. Maera, exhausted and increasingly agitated, found herself in a constant state of anticipation.

The midwives assured her repeatedly that all was well. The babe within her kicked and wriggled energetically, a sign of its robust health. It was in the right position for birth, they said, and everything was progressing as it should. And yet, the birth did not come. Maera’s frustration grew with each passing day, her patience wearing thin as she awaited the moment that would finally bring an end to this prolonged ordeal.

Her concern grew as each day passed without the presence of a Maester. She remembered that Maesters were typically present at births when complications arose, so their absence must have been a positive sign from the Gods, indicating that her labor would be swift and uncomplicated, with no need for medical intervention. But if all was to be well, why was the baby still not here?!

The midwives had suggested confinement to minimize stress and give Maera a chance to take in the sight of her newly furnished chamber. The room was now adorned with a cradle, baby clothes, and soft rugs, intended to create a comforting environment and potentially jumpstart her labor. However, to Maera, the room seemed to taunt her, rubbing it in her face that the child had not yet come. The thought of staring at the same four walls endlessly filled her with dread, knowing she would go insane if she remained confined.

Desperate for a distraction and some semblance of control, Maera sought refuge in Dragonstone's library. She pulled out a number of books and scrolls, searching through ancient texts and medical treatises in a futile attempt to find something, anything, that might relieve her suffering and allow the babe to come.

After poring over several books, Maera finally stumbled upon sections related to pregnancy and childbirth. Over the course of a few days, she attempted numerous strategies to initiate her labor. She found recipes for spicy teas and drank them, but nothing happened. Determined, she took vigorous walks around the castle, pushing through the pain in her leg and the exhaustion that accompanied her efforts. Yet, there was still no sign of the baby’s arrival.

One morning, Maera awoke to a sudden pain, her abdomen squeezing and releasing for a few seconds. Her heart leapt with hope. Finally, some movement. However, as she turned in her bed, the pain subsided. Perplexed and cautiously optimistic, Maera summoned the midwives.

Upon examining her, the midwives declared the pains to be ‘false contractions.’ While they reassured her that this was a good sign, indicating that her body was preparing for labor, it did not mean the labor was beginning. Maera huffed in frustration, feeling the weight of disappointment. It was back to the drawing board.

Determined not to give up, she resumed her search for solutions, combing through more texts and experimenting with different methods, all while the anticipation and tension grew within her. Each moment felt like an eternity as she yearned for the arrival of her child, hoping that soon, her efforts would finally bear fruit.

After another evening of tireless reading in hopes of finding a miracle cure for her ailments, Maera finally stumbled upon something promising. The practice was outdated and certainly frowned upon by the Faith, but she had already done things the Gods would not approve of. She resolved to ask for forgiveness later.

The text she found described a method first documented in Old Valyria during the time of Aenar Targaryen, her ancestor who relocated his House to Dragonstone. If it had worked for her ancestors, surely it must work for her, she concluded. The excitement and desperation mingled within her, pushing her to try this ancient practice.

Maera made her way back to her chambers and summoned the midwives once again. They strongly advised against it, citing that she should allow nature to take its course as the Gods intended. Maera rolled her eyes at their caution. Surely the Mother and Maiden would understand her plight?

Ignoring their protests, she ordered the maids to dress her in a black sheer nightdress that accentuated every single curve of her body. Her hair fell loose into curls, a beautiful mix of brown and silver. She dabbed some perfume onto her neck and wrists, the scent of jasmine and vanilla filling the air, before leaving her room.

“I was not expecting you here this evening.”

The stone walls of the room were adorned with tapestries depicting the fiery history of House Targaryen, their dragons soaring majestically over battlefields and burning cities. Heavy wooden furniture, intricately carved with dragon motifs, filled the room, and the hearth was always alight, casting a warm glow over the dark stone and keeping the chill at bay.

Now that Aemond had unpacked his belongings, the room began to reflect his character. His polished armor and weapons were meticulously arranged on stands and racks, each piece gleaming and well-cared for. Books on history, warfare, and Valyrian lore were stacked neatly on shelves, alongside maps and scrolls detailing strategies that could be used in the ongoing war. A dark green tapestry bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen hung prominently on one wall, a symbol of his allegiance and ambition.

When Aemond entered his chambers, he furrowed his brow, seeing the shadow of a stranger perched upon his bed. His hand instinctively went to his sword, but as he drew closer, he was met with the sight of his wife in her sheer black nightgown. His violet eye quickly widened, taking in the sight of her fully, his gaze raking up her body.

Maera attempted to appear desirable, though she felt nothing of the sort. Her heart pounded with nerves, and her body ached from the weight of her pregnancy and the exhaustion of her efforts. She resolved that this was merely a transaction to get what she needed and would attempt to play her part convincingly.

The Princess took a deep breath and met his gaze, her voice soft but steady. “Me neither,” she replied, her tone attempting to be sultry despite her inner turmoil.

Aemond's eye swept over Maera's form one last time, lingering on the curves accentuated by her sheer nightgown. Then, without a word, he moved to sit on the chair next to the dresser, beginning to unbuckle his boots. Maera sighed, realizing she needed to be more direct.

"I require your assistance," she stated, trying to keep her voice steady.

Aemond's eye flicked up as he removed his boots, repeating her words as if trying to make sense of them. "My assistance?"

Maera nodded and gestured to her swollen stomach. "I'm exhausted," she explained, her frustration evident. "And if I hear one more midwife telling me to relax for the sake of the baby, I will burn this castle down."

Aemond breathed out a laugh, the sound unexpected but welcome. He then began to unbuckle his dark green doublet, agonizingly slowly, and Maera could not tear her gaze away. When he removed it, leaving him in just his cotton shirt and trousers, he looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “So what do you need from me?”

She gulped, attempting not to be overcome by desire for her husband. Despite her anger and the gulf between them, the sight of him stirred emotions she could not easily suppress. "For you to perform your duty," she said, trying to maintain her composure.

Aemond tilted his head, confusion evident in his eye. Maera clenched her jaw, frustration and longing mixing in her voice as she clarified, "The marital act, Aemond.”

The Prince smirked, a glint of amusement in his eye. "It's already evident that I have performed my duty," he replied, gesturing to her rounded abdomen.

Maera dug her nails into her palm, the sharpness of her frustration growing as she tried to explain herself. "I read in a Valyrian tome that the act can bring forth labor towards the end of pregnancy," she reiterated, her voice carrying a mixture of urgency and irritation.

Aemond nodded slowly, his violet eye studying her with a hint of amusement dancing beneath the surface. He raised his brow for a moment, as if pondering her words, before decisively removing his cotton shirt. The action revealed his lean, muscular form, marked with scars that told tales of battles fought and dangers faced. Despite her current state of mind, Maera couldn't deny that he was undeniably handsome, and the sight of him after their prolonged separation only served to intensify her desire.

Pulling his silver hair free from its confines, Aemond's locks cascaded over his broad shoulders, framing his sharp features with a striking contrast. He spoke in a low, measured voice, his words laden with a subtle challenge, "Well then, wife, all you need do is simply ask me.”

“…ask you?” She parroted, her mind racing to comprehend his meaning.

“Yes.” Aemond stepped closer, looming over her on the bed, his presence commanding and magnetic. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer to hers, and repeated in that same low tone, "Ask me."

Her breath quickened in response to the intensity of his gaze and the proximity of his body. A mixture of anger and longing churned within her as she felt his deliberate attempt to tease and provoke her. She clenched her jaw, fighting the inner turmoil of pride battling against desperate need.

Their eyes locked, and in that charged moment, Maera felt the room shrink around them, the air thick with unresolved tension. She struggled to maintain her composure, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. Despite her determination to resist, a part of her yearned to surrender to the allure of his presence, to bridge the emotional chasm that had grown between them.

The Princess rose abruptly from the bed, her hands pressing firmly on Aemond's shoulders as she shoved him backwards. Her breath was quick, eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and defiance.

"Coming here was a mistake," she declared sharply, her voice tinged with anger. She turned away from him, walking briskly towards his dresser. Running her fingers through her curls, she decided to play Aemond's game of cat and mouse. "It's a pity Hugh Hammer has already left," she remarked coolly, her tone laced with provocation. "He would have jumped at the chance to bed me."

Maera heard him storming towards her, and she glanced into the mirror to see his looming figure behind her. Before she could react, his arm darted forward, grabbing her neck and yanking her backwards. She gasped as her back pressed against his bare torso, feeling the tension radiating off him.

“You would dare let someone touch you?”Aemond growled into her ear, his grip tightening slightly. His voice was edged with possessiveness and anger.

Meeting his intensity, Maera asked in return, her own voice steady despite the pressure on her neck, "And what would you do if I did?"

There was a charged silence between them, the air thick with tension and unspoken desires. Aemond's grip on her neck loosened slightly, his breath brushing against her skin as he leaned closer. “Slit their throat and let the blood spray and drip down your beautiful face,” he murmured, the brutality of his words causing her stomach to do flips.

Maera's expression hardened as she spun out of his grasp, facing him chest to chest. Her eyes locked onto his with defiance and frustration, yet beneath the surface, a flicker of something more complex lingered.

"You're insufferable," Maera declared sharply, her voice a blend of exasperation and an underlying current of something deeper, something primal that stirred within her.

Before Aemond could respond, she made her move. Leaning forward, Maera closed the distance between them in one swift motion. She crushed her lips against his with a fierce hunger, the kiss a tumultuous blend of passion and frustration. Her hands moved to grip his shoulders, fingers digging into his bare muscles.

Her lips moved against his with a fervor born of months of tension and misunderstanding. She tasted the familiar essence of him, a mix of warmth and something distinctly Aemond. His response was immediate, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her closer into him, melding their bodies together in a desperate embrace.

Maera felt herself being pushed back to the bed, her husband’s hands venturing to her shoulders as he pushed sleeves of the nightgown down, the sheer material falling off of her body and pooling at her feet. Aemond’s hands immediately flew to her breasts, squeezing and massaging the rounded flesh, which brought her great relief. A soft moan escaped her lips as she surrendered herself to him, his touch fueling the yearning within her that she had desperately tried to deny.

Aemond pulled away for a moment, grabbing one of the pillows at the top of the bed before placing it behind her. He then dropped to his knees, his hand crawling along the length of her leg, the calloused fingertips dancing along her calf before meeting the soft rounded meat of her thigh. She instinctively widened her legs, inviting, if not begging him, to touch her, revealing her glistening cunt to him.

“Fuck, you have missed me,” he purred before swiping his tongue through her folds.

“Oh Gods,” Maera sighed as her husband lapped at her core like a man starved, his tongue delivering deliberate strokes to her clit, causing her to squirm. Each flick of his tongue and the firm pressure at her aching core intensified the desire pooling inside of her.

The Princess’s hands gripped the sheets tightly as she felt herself getting closer and closer to her peak. Aemond’s eye flicked up, grabbing onto one of her hands and placing it firmly onto the back of his head. All semblance of control left her body as she finally fully surrendered to him, whimpering as she gripped his silver tresses.

Maera allowed her hips to roll against her husband’s face, that oh-so familiar knot tightening in her stomach as he savoured the nectar of her arousal. Aemond’s hand squeezed her thigh harshly as his other moved down to let his fingers join his tongue. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head in pleasure as two fingers entered her, whilst he peppered kisses against her puffy clit.

His digits curled inside of her, brushing against that rough patch within. The Prince groaned as he heard her muffled voice moaning his name, the sound of her arousal echoing throughout the chambers. Mere seconds later she saw stars as she gasped for air, the tight coil snapping as pleasure completely washed over her. She held Aemond in place, her nails digging into his scalp as he continued licking and sucking her clit through her peak.

The one-eyed Prince did not give her time to catch her breath before flipping her onto her front, her swollen belly resting on the pillow he had previously put behind her. As Maera turned her head to see what he was doing, she felt is tongue run through her folds, lapping up her arousal before licking all the way to her puckered hole, causing her to gasp. Then without warning and the sound of rustling fabric, he entered her in one swift movement, filling her to the hilt before setting an erratic pace.

Her orgasm had left her sensitive and she swore she could feel every inch, every ridge, every vein even more intensely than she had ever done before. She bit her lip, determined to not let any more moans escape her. She had already given too much of herself away. This was supposed to be a transaction, a means to an end. And yet it felt so fucking good.

Maera gripped onto the sheets for dear life as her legs began to shake, his cock hitting that rough patch within her over and over again with each forceful thrust. She felt his hand slide up her neck and tangle into her brown and silver locks before pulling her upwards, her back now against his chest, his breath fanning against her face. When his other hand snaked down to stroke her bundle of nerves, Maera’s back arched instinctively, hand hand flying backwards to tangle once again in his hair.

The pressure began to build once again in her stomach, blinding hot pleasure wracking through her body like electricity. She turned her head to look at him and took in the beauty before her. Aemond, his face flushed, his jaw slack as he looked down, watching as his cock disappeared into her.

Without thinking, she pulled his face towards her, colliding her lips with his. Aemond’s tongue slipped past her parted lips, lapping the inside of her mouth as he tasted her. After a moment, he pried himself away, simply resting his forehead against hers, both of them gasping for air as they chased their peaks, their breaths mingling. The hand in her hair began to snake down her body, pausing momentarily on her breast, grabbing and kneading the flesh harshly, before descending further and resting on her swollen stomach.

It was intimate. Too intimate for what this was supposed to be. But Maera did not have time to dwell, her mind and body out of sync as her cunt fluttered around him, pulsating with a rhythm that was overwhelming, gripping and squeezing his cock like a vice. His release followed soon after, his hot white seed painting her walls, a feeling that she had missed, no matter how much she tried deny it.

After a moment, once their breathing had slowed, Aemond collapsed onto the bed beside her, and Maera turned to lay on her back, her hair fanning around her like a dark and silver halo. She was covered in a sheen of sweat, her face flushed from her two peaks, her body feeling practically boneless.

She felt amazing. Desired. Wanted. Loved? No, that was too much. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She felt his hand brush against hers hesitantly, as if he did not wish to scare her away. But she could not stand it, and abruptly sat up, her heart still pounding from the intensity of their coupling.

She reached down to the floor, her fingers brushing against the sheer fabric of her nightgown. With a swift, almost frantic motion, she pulled it over her head, the delicate material clinging to her still-flushed skin.

There was no time for tenderness or comfort. It was not possible. He had betrayed her, slain her kin, and almost gotten her killed through his sheer lack of action. Yet why did she only feel whole when she was with him? When she surrendered to his whim? When she accepted that her hate for him was also intertwined with her love for him?

As she stood, she let out a deep sigh, frustration gnawing at her. She was mad at herself for giving in to her desires, and even more so at Aemond for his infuriating ability to provoke her. She turned to leave, but her injured leg gave way slightly, causing her to stumble. She caught herself on the edge of the bed, her breath hitching in pain.

Aemond’s voice cut through the tension. “Are you-?”

Maera whipped around to glare at him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. She didn’t want his pity, not now, not ever. “I’m fine,” she snapped, her voice cold and sharp.

Without waiting for a response, she stormed out of his room, her movements brisk despite the pain in her leg. The corridors of Dragonstone seemed to stretch endlessly as she made her way back to her chambers, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Reaching her room, she closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she tried to steady her racing heart.

Maera woke alone in her chambers the next morning. The bed was cold and empty, a stark contrast to the heated passion of the previous night. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, a mix of frustration and regret gnawing at her. She had allowed herself to become so close to Aemond, and it had awakened feelings she thought she had long since repressed.

She swore she could still smell his scent on her—leather and dragon smoke, a heady mix that made her heart clench painfully. The memories of their encounter played vividly in her mind, his touch, his whispered words, the intensity of their shared desire.

She knew last night had been a mistake, a desperate plea for aid to an adversary. Aemond had done what she asked, but he didn’t have to be so smug about it. Or make her feel so good. It was supposed to be a transaction, nothing more. Yet, in his typical manner, he had twisted it into something deeper, something that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. Such a devious son of a-

“Oooooofff.”

A sudden and intense pain seized her. It radiated from her lower back and surged through her lower stomach, shooting down the back of her thighs. She gasped, her hands instinctively gripping the sheets as her muscles tensed in response to the unexpected agony. Her breath hitched, and she closed her eyes, willing the pain to pass.

When it finally subsided, Maera knew this was different from the false contractions she had experienced before. She immediately rang the bell to summon the midwives, her heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and determination.

The midwives arrived quickly, their faces a blend of concern and professionalism. One of them, a young woman with kind eyes, asked, "Are you sure it isn't another false contraction, Princess?"

Before Maera could respond, the pain struck again, more intense than before. She clutched the bedpost for support, her body doubling over as she tried to breathe through the agony. The midwives moved swiftly, two of them holding Maera’s hands, whispering words of comfort, while the oldest midwife, a seasoned woman with a calm demeanor, began her examination.

After a few moments, the older midwife looked up, her expression resolute. "Her labours have indeed begun," she confirmed. The other midwives nodded, their grips on Maera’s hands tightening in solidarity and support. The room buzzed with quiet urgency as they prepared for the task ahead.

A million thoughts raced through Maera's mind. Relief washed over her at the prospect of her pregnancy finally coming to an end, but it was swiftly followed by a wave of anxiety. Surviving the pregnancy had been one battle, but childbirth was an entirely different and more dangerous ordeal. The absence of a Maester to oversee the process only heightened her fears, amplifying the possibility of complications spiraling out of control.

Trying to steady her nerves, Maera addressed the midwives. "I know this stage of labor can last for days, especially with a first child," she said, her voice edged with determination. "I need you to assist me in dressing. I have a meeting to attend in the main hall."

One of the younger midwives, her face pale with concern, strongly advised against this plan. "Princess, you should begin confinement immediately to prepare for a safe delivery and ensure you get enough rest," she pleaded.

Maera, ever resolute, pushed back. "We are at war," she stated firmly, though willing to find common ground. "I will attend the meeting, and once it is over, I will begin my confinement. You can wait outside the chambers in case you are needed."

The midwives exchanged uneasy glances but complied. They helped Maera into a dark black dress, sparing her the restrictions of a corset. The dress flowed around her, accommodating her swollen belly. As they laced up the back of the dress, Maera tried to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside the fear and pain. Every movement was a reminder of the life inside her, the child that would soon be born into a world of chaos and conflict. As the midwives finished, Maera took a deep breath, steadying herself for the journey ahead.

Maera walked down the corridor, flanked by guards, her midwives trailing a few paces behind. The grand hallways of Dragonstone seemed longer and more daunting than usual. As she moved, a sharp pain struck, radiating from her back and lower stomach, searing down to the backs of her thighs. She halted abruptly, her hand flying to the wall for support, her other clutching her swollen belly. The intensity of the pain forced her to grit her teeth, her breathing shallow and rapid as she fought to stay in control.

The corridor’s dim torchlight cast long shadows, flickering over her strained features. She tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the rhythm to regain control. The contractions were coming every ten minutes or so, a relentless reminder that time was running out. But she needed to attend the meeting.

One of the guards turned and approached her with concern etched on his face. "Princess, are you alright?" he asked gently.

As the pain subsided, Maera straightened, smoothing out her dress with trembling hands. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, pushing her hair back from her face. "Move on," she commanded, her voice firm despite the lingering ache. The guards nodded and resumed their pace, Maera following behind, albeit slower and with a noticeable limp.

The midwives whispered amongst themselves, their hushed tones barely audible but clearly filled with concern. She imagined they were analyzing her labor, tracking her progress with each step. Maera pushed their voices to the back of her mind. She needed to focus on the meeting ahead. The world outside the chamber was still at war, and she needed to be informed, prepared for the future that awaited her child.

She paused at the doors, taking a deep breath, hoping to keep her composure. The pain was a constant companion now, but she could not let it overwhelm her. Not here. Not now. She squared her shoulders, resolved to stay in control, and signaled for the guards to open the doors. The heavy wood creaked open, and she stepped inside, every step a testament to her strength and determination.

The grand hall was an imposing room, its high, vaulted ceilings echoing with the whispers of history. Tall, narrow windows lined the walls, casting thin beams of light that danced with the flickering of numerous torches and candles. The cold, dark stone of the walls was adorned with ancient Targaryen banners, their red and black hues deepening the hall’s sense of foreboding and power.

In the center of the room stood the stone table, carved with meticulous detail into a map of Westeros. Candles were lit beneath it, their flames illuminating the hidden contours of mountains, rivers, and cities etched into the table’s surface. The soft, warm light created an almost ethereal glow, making the map appear alive.

The council members were gathered around the table, their faces a mix of determination and unease. Aemond’s gaze flicked up as Maera limped towards them, his violet eye never leaving her. With a subtle gesture, he signaled a steward to bring a chair forward, ensuring Maera could sit beside him.

Lord Unwin Peake was the first to stand, his seasoned face breaking into a smile. Maera returned his greeting with a polite, though strained, smile, her teeth grinding as her womb contracted once more. The pain was a constant undercurrent, but she refused to let it show more than necessary. Lord Commander Criston Cole looked striking in his Kingsguard armor, the pristine white and gold of his cloak contrasting sharply with the dark stone of the hall. A golden chain around his neck signified his status as Hand of the King, the heavy emblem resting on his broad chest.

Lord Larys Strong, the Master of Whispers, leaned casually on his firefly-embellished cane, his smile polite yet inherently sinister. He offered her a respectful nod, his voice soft as he commented, “Princess, I am surprised to see you in attendance.” Maera merely rolled her eyes, unwilling to engage with him, and continued her determined walk to the seat beside Aemond.

As the lords began to sit, Larys continued, “If memory serves correctly, you do not have a seat at this council.” His words hung in the air, a thinly veiled challenge. “And with your baby overdue-”

Aemond was quick to interrupt, his tone cold and firm. “Were it not for my wife, none of us would be standing here in the first place.” Maera reached her seat and Aemond rose, pushing the chair in behind her. He turned to the room, his voice commanding attention. “The Princess is a valuable asset and a dragon rider. If anyone has a problem with her attendance, they are dismissed.”

The room fell silent, the authority in Aemond’s voice leaving no room for dispute. Maera sat, her breathing steadying as she focused on the council’s proceedings. The illuminated map of Westeros beneath them seemed to pulse with the weight of their decisions. Despite the pain and the tension, she was determined to play her part.

News from King's Landing was shared with a solemn gravity, each piece of information adding weight to the room's already tense atmosphere. It was assumed that Ser Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, had succumbed to the tortures in the dungeons. Maester Orwyle had attempted to escape but failed miserably, resulting in his return to the dark depths of his prison.

Reports indicated that the smallfolk had seemed to accept Rhaenyra's rule, but Maera silently concluded that their acceptance was likely born out of fear. It was hard to argue against the people and their dragons who now held the city with an iron grip. The gold cloaks, who maintained their loyalty to Prince Daemon, held the gates of the city firmly closed, preventing anyone from getting in or out. The troubling news of Helaena and Alicent being taken as hostages brought no new developments, leaving an ominous cloud over the council's proceedings.

As the updates were fed back to the room, Maera found it increasingly difficult to listen. The pains came in rapid succession, each one more intense than the last. She clutched the arms of her chair, her knuckles white from the effort. Her back felt as if it were on fire, and she ground her teeth to distract herself, sweat forming on her brow. Every word spoken around the table seemed distant, overshadowed by the agony coursing through her body. Her focus wavered, the room blurring at the edges as she struggled to maintain her composure.

Aemond's watchful eye had never left Maera, and his concern began to grow as he observed her increasingly pained expressions. Leaning slightly towards her, he asked quietly, "What is wrong?" Maera, still conflicted about their previous night together and determined not to show any weakness, shook her head, gritting out a terse "Nothing." Aemond, sensing the tension and knowing better than to press further, returned his attention to the meeting, though his gaze frequently flicked back to her.

Suddenly, the doors of the grand hall burst open, and Ser Alfred Broome, a guard who had previously served Rhaenyra, entered in a panic, his eyes wide and a scroll clutched tightly in his hand. The council members looked on furiously at the interruption, but the distress on Ser Alfred's face quickly turned their fury to concern.

The knight began to apologize for the intrusion, but Aemond cut him off, asking sharply, "What has happened?" Ser Alfred's eyes darted around the room, taking in the tense faces of each council member. Maera studied his gaze, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Ser Alfred stuttered, struggling to get the words out. "My Lords, a raven has arrived from Harrenhal." He paused, visibly shaken. "It is Prince Maelor."

Maera's heart sank, a cold dread washing over her. No. Surely not. Thena had gotten him out. He was on his way to Tarbeck Hall. The scroll in Ser Alfred's hand shook with his nerves as he continued, "He has been...he is..."

Aemond stormed out of his seat, his face a mask of fury and fear. He approached the knight in a few swift strides and snatched the parchment from his trembling hand. His eye went wide as he read it, the color draining from his face. The room fell silent, the tension thick as Aemond's reaction confirmed their worst fears. “Gods be good.”

The news of what was on the scroll quickly became apparent without the need for further words. The council members exchanged horrified glances, their faces paling. Prince Maelor, who would have become King, the last son of Aegon, was gone. Just like Aemond’s other nephew, Jaehaerys. The Blacks had succeeded; they had vanquished Aegon’s line.

Maera’s heart pounded in her chest as another, far more terrifying thought dawned on her. This did not mean the Greens were without a leader. Aegon and his sons were gone, but the late King Viserys had more than one son.

Did that make Aemond the…?

Did that make Maera the…?

“Arrrgggghhhh!” Maera lurched over, one hand gripping the edge of the stone table and the other clutching her swollen stomach. The pain that tore through her was unlike any she had felt before, a searing agony that radiated from her back to her lower abdomen and down the backs of her thighs. It was harsh, brutal, and all-consuming. She groaned, her face contorting with the effort to remain standing.

The suddenness of her movement drew the attention of everyone in the room. Conversations halted, and concerned murmurs filled the air. Maera’s vision blurred as she fought to steady her breathing, but the contractions were coming too quickly now, leaving her little time to recover between them.

She felt something warm and wet running down her leg. Panic surged through her veins. Gathering her skirts in a trembling hand, she glanced down to see blood flowing between her legs. A sharp cry of alarm escaped her lips. She looked up at Aemond, her eyes wide with terror, and saw his face mirrored her own fear.

“The babe is coming,” Maera declared, her voice quivering with fright and desperation.

Notes: *insert panicked Michael Scott meme here*

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[every-ciel-phantomhive]

[jinxed-ninjago]

Honestly I feel like the fact that Cole's fear that the team hates him for losing the Traveler's Tea isn't entirely unfounded and has at least a mild basis in reality isn't talked about much. Jay and Kai start yelling at him when he loses it, even though Cole literally almost fell off the cliff with the Land Bounty. It's not that Cole's fears and anxiety were making the situation a whole lot worse than they were; it's that his mind was exaggerating what happened and turning it into a nightmare.

[lovelyonism]

-Ñuha timpa azantys , - “My white knight ,” she said, half a mourn and half a moan, speaking into the night and the fire. - Syrax dōrī rattan ao. - “Syrax never liked you." -The Blacks & the Greens by @sweetestpopcorn, Chapter 197 Rhaenyra XI

Epic Chapter for an absolutely epic arc. SweetestPopcorn keeps on being absolutely inspiring, as always thank you for your feedback.

Click for best quality

[fetching-sketching]

rotten earth sketches for the soul

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 4: Under Pressure

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: Bucky’s been weird since that night at the bar, but will a taste of danger at the farm bring him back to his senses?

Word count: 5,468

Content/warnings: Avoidance/masking of feelings, consumption and mention of alcohol, mutual pining, omg Cole is such a jerk, use of pet names, use of y/n, a little angst especially at the end, mentions of bullying, vulnerability

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this chapter. There was a lot I wanted to include, and so much that made it in here that I hadn’t even intended originally. Happy reading!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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The rest of the weekend had been generally uneventful. You worked on the books and finances for the farm while Curtis did chores on Saturday and hung out with a book of your own on Sunday.

Bucky had become scarce. You had hardly seen him since Friday night besides mealtimes. Other than that, he was in his room, outside on the gravel talking to Steve over the phone, or shadowing Curtis to relearn how to do the tasks a sixth time.

You admired his work ethic and dedication to your agreement, but couldn’t help but feel that he was avoiding you. Was it something you said? Was he angry? To be honest, your memory seemed pretty clear. The last thing you remember was being grateful that he was there to help you get rid of Cole, and then waking up in bed to medicine and a glass of water on your nightstand. Not much could’ve happened in that small gap, right?

Wrong. Bucky had been consumed by the thought of you since that night. Every moment he went back to it, the nerves in his fingers burned all the way up to his shoulders with the thought of your touch. His gut felt tingly in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was a young boy daunted with the task of rising to power in his organization.

Was he nervous? No. Bucky Barnes doesn’t get nervous. He just gets pensive. When things seem like they’re getting out of his hands, he takes a step back to make a plan, then muscles his way through until he gets what he wants. He was used to using that same strategy to tamper down every emotion he felt except pride, and was well-practiced at that, so why did it all come crumbling from the simple act of you on his arm? Or was it the fact that he wished you taking his hat and putting it on your head could hold actual meaning? As soon as he identified his feelings, he called Steve.

“Whaddup, Buck? Not much has changed around here since last night, so I assume something has changed on your end?”

Bucky sighed. Why did he call in the first place? The last thing he wanted to do was acknowledge this… ~feeling~ by doing it the dignity of speaking it out loud. That made it real. “Um, no, not really. Just wanted to check in. I’ve got the day off.”

Steve paused on the other side of the line. “Okay….are you sure about that? Because you don’t seem very sure about that. Was everything okay at the bar? You didn’t get into a fight, did you?”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth turned up and he sighed in relief. “Oh, no, yeah, I’m sure. And I definitely did not get in a fight last night, some guy came up and was hitting on Y/N while I was out on the phone with you, so she wanted to head out right after.”

Bucky was satisfied with his well-formulated response until his best friend spoke up again. “Ah, so this is about your feelings for her, right? You were jealous?”

Bucky froze. “Pshhh….uh, no. Definitely not. She was very obviously not interested in him so we left.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Bucky could hear the deadpan in Steve’s voice. “I don’t care whether she was interested in him or not, I care about how her talking to some handsome stranger made you feel.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “Steven, I’m going to be honest with you and I do not want you to say a word of this to anyone, or else.”

Steve poorly hid a smile in his voice. “Okay, Bucket. Floor is yours.”

“First of all, he was not that handsome. Based off her reaction, he was probably a scumbag in a Carhartt jacket that has never seen a day of actual work, but that’s besides the point….Yes…. Seeing her talking to that guy, and talking to her about her ex made me feel…things, but that wasn’t all of it….” The next words came out as a mumble. “She put my hat on her head and her head on my shoulder when I drove her home….andiwisheditwasreal.”

Steve was full-blown laughing now, so much was going on in that statement. Since when did Bucky care about work clothes and people’s worthiness of them? At least he was being honest. “Sorry Buck, missed that last part. Care to repeat?”

“Oh you know exactly what I said.” He spat back.

“Okay, okay. So what are you gonna do about it then? You’ve still got three more weeks out there. From what I can see, you’ve got a few opti-“

“Nothing.” Bucky cut him off. “I’m going to do nothing. I can’t play into her charm anymore. I’m just going to stay away and put my head down and-“

“Bucky stop. Slow down.” Steve cut him off in return to stop the spiral. “Your solution to everything can’t be to ice it out until freezes and shatters. Let’s look at this for a second. You care for her, so why can’t you stay friends? You obviously get along well, and I’m not just saying this from a personal standpoint, I’m saying this from a business standpoint. She very evidently knows how to deal with people and looking at the books, her finances are exceptional considering it’s a relatively small farm operation.”

“Okay, first off, of course I can ice her out. I need to show who’s in charge and this has worked with other associates before. And second off, what are you seeing in her finances?” Bucky huffed.

“Buck, she could buy your house. Somehow she’s invested so well that she doesn’t need our business deal, but she took it anyway. Makes me wonder why. Someone doing something like that doesn’t deserve ice, maybe you should try a little sweetness. I mean, I know you think everyone’s a sucker for that tough exterior of yours.” Steve’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “But you know what they say: you catch more bees with honey…. However, that sting on your face shows you can catch a bee just by standing there, so I’m not sure how fair that analogy is.” Steve let out a hearty chuckle at his own joke as a scowl crawled onto Bucky’s face.

“Ha ha ha, very funny, but we’re doing this my way. I’ll figure it out. I just have to last three more weeks.”

Steve sighed and replied with evident disappointment and a hint of frustration in his voice. “Okay, whatever you say, you’re the boss. I’ll call you later with a new update, Bucket.”

Bucky rolled his eyes in response. “Ugh, why do I still tell you everything when you use it against me like this?”

“That’s platonic love, my friend. Someone’s gotta hold you accountable and know you won’t punch them in the face for it.” And with that, Steve hung up and left Bucky looking up at the clear, blue sky.

Although Steve’s words and accusations stuck in his head, Bucky decided he wanted to muscle through this deal on his own. All he really needed to do was stay away from you and put in the work, and that would make it easier, right? He would simply do what he came here to do, nothing more, nothing less. If only Bucky could hear Steve’s grumble “why does he even tell me about this stuff if he won’t even take my advice?” that was said after every phone call.

You woke up to the first rooster crow on Monday morning. By the time you had gotten dressed and walked down the creaky stairs, you saw your breakfast plate made and sitting on the counter and a mug of coffee that had already cooled down to a more than drinkable temperature.

You peeked in the dishwasher to see a set of dishes had already been placed in there. Bucky must’ve already eaten and gone out for the day. He probably wanted to get a jump start on his work. At least he knew what he was doing.

The real reason he was up and going already that you hadn’t known? He couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned all night thinking about what Steve had said and honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Couldn’t bring himself to mess up more in your presence and be saved and comforted by your seemingly bottomless grace. The solution was to do the work in pensive silence, as far from you as possible, so he could mess up and fix it on his own without the thought of your kind, yet penetrating, gaze. He was getting too close for comfort. The only solution was to pull away.

This continued for the next three days. Wake up before you. Make breakfast. Get a jump start on chores. Mess up on chores (as you secretly watched from the tractor, or the hay loft). Fix the mistakes. Carry on with his head down. Come home. Make dinner. Trap himself in his room. Go to bed. Start again.

Some notable moments that you’d caught unbeknownst to him: Bucky’s galoshes getting stuck in the mud of the pig pen, followed by him having to step out of the still-stuck boots, continue to walk to pour the feed in the trough while losing both socks as well, then returning to dig out the boots. At least half a dozen goat head-butts while trying to grab the babies to take them to the separate feeding area. The mommas were not happy with Bucky’s insistence on taking their kids, and they showed him by knocking him repeatedly into the white-painted fences. Bucky responded with an oof and him rubbing the affected area, returning a glower to the seemingly now unbothered mothers. Bucky losing sheep, but not knowing how to command your dog to corral them, thus having to run and herd them himself, surprisingly more efficiently each time it happened, you might add.

You were proud of Bucky for his work ethic. If he had put half this effort into his business dealings, you could see how he rose to the top so quickly. He wasn’t the only one who did research on whom they were dealing with.

He was stubborn and wanted things right, but didn’t let a lack of perfection stop him from completing the tasks. However, at some point, it looked like he was beating himself up. Like he was self-punishing for something you couldn’t quite identify, so you called Curtis to help at the farm so you could figure it out. Come Thursday afternoon, you handed off your chores to him and went back to the house early in hopes of catching Bucky. You were half way through dinner when the front door opened, the mud-covered mob boss in well-fitting farm clothes crossing the threshold.

You looked him up and down, doing your best to hold in a laugh at the disheveled appearance. “Well howdy. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. Figured you’ve been working so hard, it’s my turn to help you out some.”

Bucky was taken aback by seeing you in the kitchen, not only had he purposely been avoiding you and planned to get in the house before you even considered dinner, but you just looked so relaxed. Something about that stoked an ember in him he’d tried hard to snuff out. You were wearing a t-shirt and your hair was pulled up off your shoulders, almost like any other day, but your features didn’t have their usual determined focus. They were at ease, which was in total juxtaposition with Bucky’s swirl of anxiousness rising in his gut.

Bucky looked at you with wide eyes and pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. “Um, I thought you were still out in the field. Saw the tractor turning the hay over.” He swallowed thickly.

You leaned to peek around him. “Ah, yes. That’s Curtis. Called him in today to help me finish up so you and I could talk about a few things. Go ahead and wash up. By the time you’re done, this should all be ready.”

All he could do was nod in response as he slowly made his way up the steps, mind racing with everything you could possibly say. Did you know how he felt? Did he do something wrong? Were you going to cut the deal? He could only hope the warm water would wash his worries away, along with the mud.

Bucky came back down to a homey aroma that wrapped him in comfort. That much was consistent every time he saw you. Your existence provided him a blanket of relief, despite the way he knew he should still be holding onto anticipation for what you might say. You were sitting at the head of the table flanked by Curtis, the both of you reading though some papers.

“Hey, Bucket, just in time.” Curtis greeted him, as Bucky took the seat across from him at the table, flanking your other side. You all started to dig into the food as you set the papers down on the table for Bucky to read them. It was a headline that read: TURNing the Tables: The Road to an Empire.

“What is this?” He looked up from his plate and directly into your eyes for the first time in days.

“Well, we haven’t gotten to talk about this yet, but remember that guy who we ran away from at the bar? This is him.” Bucky’s eyebrows pinched together, he knew the look of disdain on your face made sense, but still felt like he was missing something.

Curtis cleared his throat after taking a sip of tea and spoke up. “Forgot you didn’t grow up with us. Allow me to explain.” He looked to your eyes and you nodded in approval of his continuance. “In school, I was a few years older than Y/N here. Back then, there were a bunch of farmers around town, each with their own little niche, and a lotta nice farm kids who were in our classes. Except Cole. He grew up a little awkward kid, but once he hit puberty, he became the cockiest thing in town. Didn’t even care to know those other kids anymore, just bullied them. It didn’t help that it was around the same time his parents started buying out all the other small farms here, turning their small dairy operation into a much larger-scale distributor. Little too big for their britches, if you ask me.” Curtis mumbled that last part as he rolled his eyes and shoveled another fork full of food into his mouth.

Bucky nodded in acknowledgement, but still harbored some confusion in how this all tied together. “So why was it crazy to run into him at the bar if he’s from around here? And what’s the deal with him making you so uncomfortable. Like, I get it, he’s a prick, but you were running out of there. You hardly budged for me, so there’s no way he can be that intimidating to you.”

Curtis’s eyes narrowed slightly and his brows furrowed at that statement, but he let it go for now. He swallowed down another bite of food and looked at you again. Your mouth was slightly agape, debating the best way to move forward. “I didn’t look like this in high school, or throughout any schooling for that matter, so he didn’t recognize me when we ran into each other at the bar. Frankly, I hardly recognized him. And come to think of it, he didn’t even ask my name Friday night, so that goes to show what a trash bag he really is. But this is a good thing, because I think we’d be in a way bigger mess if he did remember me. It’s a long story, and I think we’ll have to go back even farther.” You took a sip of your water before setting down your silverware and leaning forward on your elbows on the table.

“Like Curtis said, Cole didn’t get along with anyone, especially Jake. In school he’d constantly push him around, so Curtis would come to his defense, even though I probably could’ve taken Cole myself.” You let out a small airy chuckle and Curtis smiled back at you, shaking his head. “But anyway, after every time Cole started a fight and Curtis finished it, he’d look at me with this big, almost mischievous grin. So honestly, I’m glad I didn’t play into getting close to him by personally defending Jake.”

Bucky continued nodding along. You seemed so unproblematic. Why were you in the middle of this? “So he didn’t recognize you at the bar, and again, he’s from around here. What’s the big deal?”

You sighed, having to explain more small-town politics to Bucky, who very evidently didn’t understand the delicate nature of places outside the city. “He’s not really from around here anymore. His farm still is, but it’s one of many now. After school, he went to get some fancy business degree from who knows where. What I’m truly concerned about is what he said to me at the bar. He’s here to squash the one thing Curtis and I, and frankly this town, have left.” Curtis rubbed your shoulder reassuringly and you rubbed your eyes in frustration. Bucky felt that same pang in his lower stomach again, seeing how close you and Curtis were and how that dumb little milk man had you this upset. You looked at Curtis gratefully and continued.

“My mom’s brother and Curtis’s dad’s sister used to run this farm back when Cole still lived here. When they passed, they left it to us, but Curtis’s dad also left the shop, which is why I mostly run things around here. But the thing is, anyone who hasn’t been to town since back then, doesn’t know that. The last name tied to this farm doesn’t apply to either of us.” Oh, so you and Curtis were second cousins? Explains a lot. Bucky hated himself that all he could think was ‘one more man who’s close to you he can check off as not being a threat.’ He really needed to get himself in check. Once he pushed those thoughts back down is when everything finally clicked.

Cole was back in town. He had a history with you. He’s got a bad track record in general. He said he wanted to squash competition. You were that competition. He didn’t know you were that competition. You had no idea where to go from here.

Before Bucky could open his mouth for his next round of clarification questions, there was a knock on the door. The three of you were so enthralled in conversation that no one heard the wheels crunching through the gravel in the driveway. You exchanged glances with the men on either side of you. A random visitor out here wasn’t too out of the ordinary, considering how much the community depended on you, but the conversation topic had you on edge. It was for good reason, because as you opened the door, leaving the screen in place, you were met with a face that had started to haunt your dreams these past few days: Cole.

He was wearing that sickening smile again, looking down at you. “Hiya, Peach. It’s been a minute.” You crossed your arms and looked at the man standing on your porch, a plastic smile glued to your face.

Bucky and Curtis shuffled behind you. Curtis shoved the papers and articles at Bucky to take somewhere else so Cole wouldn’t see them, while he made his way to your shoulder, his large stature holding every intention to intimidate Cole.

“Ah yes, your guard dog Curtis, great to see ya, buddy.” Curtis gave a death glare of acknowledgement, stance unyielding.

“Sorry I didn’t recognize you at the bar, you’ve all changed so much, including your pal, Jakey. He’s the one who so kindly told me my family missed this farm while we were on the rise. As soon as mom and pop gave me the reins, I knew I had to stop over, didn’t realize you were the one running things now.” You did your best to keep your face level.

“So what can I help you with, Cole? Are you lost? Need directions on a map? I’m a whiz at that. Happy to print one out for you.”

If it was even possible, his troubling smirk became wider. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? I’d love to talk business. Maybe over dinner? Smells delicious.”

You scrunched your nose, keeping the fake smile on your face. “Unfortunately, it’s all gone. Maybe next time. How about you and me mosey over to the office. It’s been too long. I’ve got some mints in there. Maybe those can tide you over.”

“Too long, indeed.” He ignored the rest of your statement, but Bucky didn’t. He’d never heard you say something that rude before. Someone like Cole might have been none the wiser, but those were loaded words that he knew you said with intention. How could he blame you, though. The man in the fake work clothes had invited himself in unannounced. Not even Bucky did that to you. The same couldn’t be said for his actions with other associates, but one thing he knew was that you were deserving of all the respect in the world. Respect Cole was not giving you. Cole nodded to the two men and followed you down the hall, not bothering to take off his shoes and add them to the files of boots by the door. Another mark in Bucky’s mind. You closed the door you’d held open behind him after giving a wide-eyed look to your two confidants whose eyes followed the whole thing.

Bucky scrambled to clean up the dinner plates and pack away the leftovers. It was smart of you to not offer Cole anything. He didn’t need any reason to stick around longer than you wanted him to. Bucky knew a thing or two about business dealings with enemies, and he was usually much cooler than this, but the fact he could tell you were freaking out, freaked him out.

He still hadn’t dealt with his emotions for you, and your earnestness not even half an hour ago had made it worse. So he did what he always does when he’s not sure and needs a wall to talk at: he called Steve.

Steve picked up in a surprisingly good mood. “Hey Buck, what can I do ya for.”

“I need to you gather everything you can on Cole Turner.” He frantically spat out. Steve grew serious to mirror his best friend’s tone. “And…” Bucky lowered his phone for a second and looked at Curtis. “What’s Jake’s last name.”

Curtis looked at him skeptically. “Jenson. Jacob Jensen.” Bucky nodded his head in thanks and lifted the phone back up to his ear.

“Did you get that?…Yeah, put our best guys on it. Ok, call me later tonight when you know. Doesn’t matter the time. Bye.”

Bucky lowered the phone and looked at Curtis who had just finished wiping down the counters. Curtis had his arms crossed and was leaned up against the kitchen island, opposite Bucky. “So you wanna tell me who exactly you are? Why you’ve got people who you can seemingly throw commands at for immediate attention? And why you care so much about this little farm that you’re only working at for a month?”

Bucky sighed and put his hands on the counter, pushing his body away from it, hinged at the hips, and hanging his head in between his arms. He stood up and quickly looked at Curtis straight in the eyes. “I think you know. I think you know the answers to all those questions, but I think you should also know, I care enough to be on your side.”

Curtis leaned in towards Bucky, his frame shadowing the mob boss’s in the evening light. For the first time in awhile, Bucky was intimidated. He knew how much Curtis cared for you, and he knew how hard he’d be pummeled if he messed up, whether Bucky used his combat training or not. He mustered up as much confidence as he could to rebuild his demeanor to face your Cousin. “You know I care, and I think all that matters is that I’m using my resources to make sure your cousin’s farm is okay and stays in her hands. You know I’m here to do business, but this is bigger than me and I see that now. I’m someone with power, and not unearned power like that prick in the other room. So I’m someone who uses that power in your best interest. That’s all you need to know right now.”

Curtis nodded in acceptance of Bucky’s answer. He could respect that logic, and the way Bucky held his cards close to his chest, because at the end of the day, at the core of Bucky’s motivations was your well-being. No matter how much he thought he could put a veil over it, Curtis saw through.

“Well, Bucky, I won’t doubt you then, but you better hold true and honest, for your own sake and for hers. And I hope to hear more of your other ‘business ventures’ later down the road, but for now, I think our girl needs us.” Bucky nodded along in agreement.

“I don’t think there’s much else I can do right now while I wait for that intel to get back. You got anything?”

Curtis grinned and gave a small shrug. “I can think of one thing. Go up in that top cabinet above the fridge. We’ve got a bottle of the good stuff. She’s gonna need it once we can get the slime ball to slide outta here.”

Bucky’s shoulder’s bounced with a small laugh as he pulled down the bottle. “Let’s get cracking then.”

It was another half hour before Cole emerged from your office and looked cockily at the two men chatting in your kitchen. You followed closely behind, doing your best to subtly corral him out of the house.

“I hope you’ll consider my offer. Actually, I know you will. Over dinner next time.” He smirked back at you over his shoulder. You escorted him out the door as politely as you could, draining your last bit of energy. You closed and locked the front door, which rarely was so, and peeked through the window until he was gone.

You turned around to look at the two of them as your shoulders slumped. You dragged your feet over to the island where Curtis and Bucky were leaning leisurely, grateful Curtis knew exactly what you needed as he slid the filled shot glass toward you.

You grabbed it and threw it back, slamming it back down on the butcher block counter top as Curtis moved to refill it. “How many do I have to catch up on?”

“Only two.” Curtis replied as he slid the shot glass back over to you again.

“Let’s make it three.” You choked out after you attempted to swallow down the burn of the second shot.

“Bucket, can you please make us some water bottles? I’ve gotta get out of this house. We’re going for a walk.”

“Yeah, okay, Honey. Only on the condition that you put my boots on me for the walk. My hammies are sore from being your little chore boy.” He replied as he reached into the cabinet to grab the bottles.

He smiled to himself when he heard your giggle. He’d normally never complain that openly and ridiculously, but you gave him the reaction he was hoping for. Anything to make sure the life wasn’t totally sucked out of you by Cole.

“Your negotiations are no good here. You put your own boots on and take your own boots off unless you’re married. My house, my rules. But tell ya what, I’ll let you have another shot of this small-batch bourbon with me and Curty boi. That’s more than payment enough.” You winked at him as he handed you the water bottle. The three of you taking the last shot and heading out the door, making your way towards the back of the property.

It was an easy walk through level fields, just long. The three of you fell into easy conversation about anything other than Cole, insisting you’d debrief them tomorrow, so the conversation mainly consisted of teasing Curtis about the new girl and her truck he had to fix last week. The comfortable silences otherwise were filled with the sound of the crickets chirping. You found comfort in the caress of the warm, humid breeze that blew through as you walked towards the hills where the old mines of the property resided.

Once you reached the entrance, you turned around and faced the two large men. “Buck, you’ve been working really hard this week, so I think it’s time I showed you what you’re working toward. Figured it would be a nice change of pace for us to take a look at this tunnel tonight, and we can start scheduling some time in for us to fix up the scaffolding and supports.”

Bucky nodded, looking at you with a grin on his face while Curtis clicked on his flashlight. “I’m honestly curious to see what’s going on in there. I don’t think we’ve ventured in since we were teenagers.” His voice echoed through the mouth of the mine.

You led the way, turning on your own flashlight, scanning the dirt walls and old, wooden supports. “Yeah, it’s been awhile, but I think you could work with this, right, Bucket? This tunnel specifically doesn’t have an outlet like the connecting network in some of the others, so it would be mostly storage. You could probably send some underlings out here to help you out.”

You both laughed as Bucky walked closer to the wall, examining one of the support beams. “Yeah, I mean, I own a construction company, so that shouldn’t be a worry at all.”

That caught Curtis’s attention as he stopped to give a side glance toward Bucky. You continued on ahead unfazed as Bucky kicked the wooden beam in front of him to test its integrity. It crumbled slightly at the toe of his boot. Underwhelmed with the scale of the break, the two men made a move to step forward when they heard a rumbling, followed by the beam Bucky had kicked crashing down in front of them. Pebbles shifted and fell out of the ceiling, followed by larger rocks and before they could blink, the tunnel buckled creating a wall of sand and stone between you and them.

All Bucky could hear was your muffled scream on the other end. I’m okay, just get me out of here. He was going into panic mode, but a plan still was racing though his brain as he made every attempt to mash it together into something coherent. Through the ringing in his ears he heard Curtis yell. “We have to call the police, the fire department, someone to get her out of there. She might not be injured now, but I can’t say the same if there’s a secondary collapse. We need to do something. Now.”

Bucky grabbed him by his collar. “No. No police. It’ll ruin everything.”

Curtis put his hands up in surrender. “Okay then, what do you suppose we do, big guy?”

Bucky paced back and forth, biting his thumbnail with worry. “Gimme a second. I’m figuring it out.” He stopped in his tracks. “Who all knows about the mines?”

“What? What does that ha-“

Bucky cut Curtis off. “Who. All. Knows?”

Curtis shook his head and shrugged. “I-I don’t know, not many people. Me and her, her college roommate, and Jake. That’s it, I think.”

Bucky rapidly reached into the pocket of his jeans and handed Curtis a card from his wallet. “This is my associate Sam. You’re going to call him and tell him those names. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

Curtis immediately pulled out his phone, trusting the judgement of his new friend. Bucky did the same, calling Steve. It was time to send backup to the farm. He could have his men out here tonight, and your friends by at least the morning, sending his private jet to retrieve them.

He needed you out of that tunnel like he needed to breathe, mostly because if he didn’t get you out of there within a day, you wouldn’t be able to.

Next >

Bonus A/N: so much going on!! What will happen next? Who was the girl whose truck Curtis had to fix??

Thank you so much for reading!! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are soooo appreciated. Lmk if you’d like to be added to any of my tag lists. Love you!

Series taglist:

@scuzmunkie

@openup-yourmind

@vicmc624

[art-i-sticks]

Sorry, Kai. No dramatic reawakening of your powers for you.

[niallsecretlove]

THE WAY HE HUG HIM?? EXCUSE ME?? THEY ARE IN LOVE, YOUR HONOR

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

.:The Legend of the Green Ninja Lives:. ~Chapter 9: Gearing Up For The Master Class~

Summary: Now on a (deadly) deadline, the Secret Ninja Force scramble to get their affairs in order with some help from Jesse...but the best answer to their most pressing problem might come in a very bizarre (and very brown) package...

. . .

Alternative Summary: DARETHDARETHDARETHDARETHDARETH

[damn-stark]

Chapter 15 I was born something

Chapter 15 of Moonlight

A/N- Soulmatism is both being called to power at the same time, one shrouded by darkness and the other illuminated by bright flames.

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy and sexual harassment, ser gwayne (not bad I just want to say he's in this chapter tehe) angst!!, fluff!!, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

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

Episode- 2x05-and the very beginning of 2x06

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

He listened to your breaths as they came and went. They’re calm, and the most sweetest song.

Worry once plagued him, it clashed into him the moment he saw you falling under that fainting spell, he was lucky to have been so close otherwise, you would have hit the ground. Yet he didn't take that as a sign of luck at that moment. His worry brought out the worst of his anger he is willing to admit, but why shouldn’t he be upset?

He saw you fall, you could have been dying, and there’s nothing that he could’ve done to prevent death from taking you away from him, so all he knew how to be was desperate. There was no other emotion that would’ve felt right, not even as the maester was checking you.

Did it help in that situation? No, you would have told him that, his mother would have told him that, but he didn’t care, he was terrified until the exact moment the maester revealed you were with child with twins. He felt a bliss wash over him at that moment, like the sun breaking through dark clouds made by a raging storm.

Yet his worry was all but gone, it lingers even still, like sprinkling rain after the worst of the storm. He admires you as you sleep, he admires the way the sun kisses your soft skin making you illuminate even more divine than you already are. He takes note of the way your eyelashes kiss your skin, and the way your lips gently rest on each other. He could watch you for hours on end, his peace in the chaos of the world, his way of life; without you, life would be dull, lifeless, bleak, black and white, boring, and almost pointless.

How could other people find a way to love someone else? Sure he seeked company in someone, it’s his greatest sin and he will never commit it again. Not even if you die. If it was his responsibility to have more children to secure his succession then he would do his duty, but he wouldn’t love her, he would think of you, your smile, your laugh, your beauty, your touch, and your enchanting song because he knows no one would ever love him like you love him.

It’s pretty foolish of you to love him after what he’s done to break your heart, but for some reason, you keep clinging onto him like when you were young. You had a chance to escape, to laugh and point with the others, but you never did, and you never have. It’s perhaps the only weakness in you, but he’s grateful, blessed, and glad that you continue to love him unconditionally.

It’s why he has to protect you. You and your son—your children.

“Aemond.”

He hears the call and looks at the intruder who barged in without warning; seeing his mother walking in with worry filtered in her big brown eyes.

“How is she?” She asks.

Aemond returns his attention to you in hopes you’ll wake soon and continues to stroke your knuckles with his thumb as he refuses to let your hand go.

“The maester said she will be fine,” Aemond shares. “It was her grief and the fact that she did not eat.”

Alicent walks down the two steps that lead to the bed and watches her son and his refusal to miss a single breath that escapes you.

“How did you tell her?” She asks with a hint of judgment clinging onto her. “I hope you did not just blurt it. She may be on our side, but the others are still her family that she loves, you need to be careful when you share such dark words.”

Aemond huffs and turns his head to pass her a brief glare that she misses as she watches you.

“Did you know?” He asks and chooses not to comment on the fact that he knows how to talk to you, he’s no imbecile. “She’s with child.”

Alicent’s brown eyes find him and he quickly looks back at you. “Yes, Helaena told me last night. She just found out, which is why I warn you that you need to be—”

“I know,” he cuts his mother off impatiently. “I know how to talk to her. I’m no fool. I’m not…mhm,” he chooses to leave Aegon out of the conversation.

“Twins, Helaena says,” Alicent chooses to ignore what was at the tip of his tongue and reaches the foot of the bed to watch Aemond and his short-lived bliss. “Congratulations. You must be happy.”

Aemond tilts his head, making his hair cascade over his shoulder and hide the faint smile that tugs on his lips, and stays while he reaches his hand over to caress your belly with a feathered touch.

Before he can express his joy, or give any positive reaction at all, he takes a deep breath as if the next words that are coming out of him are going to hurt to say, causing his happiness to dimishness as worry makes itself plain to see.

“One…twin is smaller than the other the maester says,” he says in a voice that’s so rare for Alicent to hear nowadays. “What does that mean?”

He looks over at his mother for help, for reassurance that it will be fine. As if her words were the salvation.

“Just that,” she tries to comfort Aemond’s worry that begins to ache her own heart even if she tries hard to fight it. “Sometimes it tends to happen with twins, one takes more than the other, but,” she breathes out deeply and looks at you with more worry than she offered her son. “It’s still early, it will resolve.”

Aemond’s eye stays on his mother to take in more comfort but when he finds none his eyes return to you and tries to believe the little help his mother offered with a faint smile—No, he smirks now and this time Alicent doesn’t miss it.

“This war will take a lot from us, but my children will be the future of my house. I will make sure of it,” he says, making Alicent’s lips twitch to a frown while her eyebrows knit together with conflict brought by his choice of words.

A gleam proceeds to catch her eyes and when she locates where it comes from, she sees Aegon’s Valyrian steel dagger strapped to his belt as if it was a trophy he won and needed to show off to everyone who had eyes.

“Be easy on her,” Alicent musters as she breathes out her conflict. “And don’t involve her in your warpath, Aemond.”

He scoffs but doesn’t counter, he instead interjects softly. “She won’t be happy about it.”

Alicent chuckles breathlessly. “No, she will not, it seems she inherited her ferocity from both parts of her family.”

He hums and slides his hand away from your belly to cup your hand with both of his large hands to be able to bring your hand up and kiss your knuckles.

“She won’t wake,” Aemond mutters ever so softly with a hint of desperation that escapes as if asking for help without outright expressing it at this moment where it’s just her and him.

“Give her time,” she offers him some console. “The maester said she will be fine, so she shall. She’s lost a lot in a short time…it’s not easy. “

Aemond answers with silence whilst he brings your hand down to rest it on the bed without letting it actually escape from the security of his hold.

“My Prince,” a third visitor interjects in the silence and steals the attention of both Aemond and Alicent. “King Aegon’s carriage is approaching the city.”

At the mention, Aemond sits up straight, and that softness that his features were cast under slowly hardens just as he gives the guard a response. “Let me know when he’s reached the Red Keep.”

Alicent watches the guard take in Aemond’s demand without hesitance before he takes off, leaving her troubled by her conflict as she watches her son act too unbothered by what befell his brother.

He should be furious, but his rage is missing. He should be overcome with worry that his King and older brother was wounded in battle, but his worry is just placed on you and you alone.

——

*YOU*

She was there, the day you touched the clouds for the first time. She was there when you knew nothing was better than being a part of the never-ending sky. She was there because the first dragon you ever rode was Meleys.

“My mother was seven years old when she first took to the skies,” you remember pointing out with disappointment because you just turned seven and you could not mount your dragon yet. You were too young, your mother said.

You never realized then that she was just protecting you, after all the sickness that plagued you since you were a babe had barely been expelled from your body, she just wanted to make sure that nothing took you from her just as she was assured you would live a long life after all.

Nevertheless, that disappointment was short-lived, your grandmother had made sure of that.

“Actually I talked to your mother and guess what?” She began to tease you while you caressed Meleys’ snout much to your dragon's jealousy.

“What is it?” You’re too impatient to play.

A smile brightens her face before she gives you the answer. “You can fly with me. I know it’s not the same as flying your own dragon, but that time will come soon. As for now, we can mount Meleys together and we can take to the skies together as a name day present from me.”

You remember the joy that overcame you at that moment. Sure you still wanted to mount your own dragon, but her offer did satisfy that desire. It is like having a snack when you’re hungry, it does not fulfill you but it does keep you satisfied for a while. That’s how it was. You were satisfied at that moment, you were happy to be in the sky. It was the best moment of your life, you knew you would die happy if death had chosen to take you that day.

It was an exaggeration, of course, you realized that not long after, but you were only seven then and you were in the clouds for the first time. You could finally stop imagining how they felt because you could feel the moistness soak your fingertips as you tried to reach them while Meleys ascended higher. And when she was lost within the fluffy white clouds, the water soaked your face, but you did not care. You were carefree.

Nothing occupied your mind at that moment, nothing worried you. You felt as weightless as the clouds, and you beamed as bright as the sun in the sky. Your dreams hadn’t come true yet, you needed to take to the skies on the back of your own dragon, but the gift of flying for the first time was all thanks to her. She gave you that experience, she made you happy at that moment and never failed to make you happy as you got older. She never stopped protecting you…but…you did fail her.

You’re in King’s Landing for a reason, aren’t you? To report to your family the war plans, the comings and goings of the most valuable members in the Green faction, the decisions that are made around the council table, and any other plans that the Green council may have. You’re here to warn your family so they can get an advantage, so they can get closer to the throne, so they don’t run such a high risk of getting wounded or dying. But your grandmother died regardless.

You failed her, you failed them. You failed at the one thing you were supposed to do and now you lost someone else you love. And the crazy thing is that you don’t hate or blame Aemond for what happened, you blame yourself.

The weight of guilt lies on you because you couldn’t do the one thing you were supposed to do. Because no matter how hard you try you can’t be something valuable. That’s all you wanted, that’s why you left in the first place, to prove to your mother that you could be reliable, that you can be a fierce warrior, that you aren’t just a princess in a castle, and that you can be so much more. You wanted to be so much more, prove to her that you can be important, valuable, and fierce. That part of you is there, you wanted to show her that, but your grandmother died, and with her lies that fight. You feel like nothing now…

Daemon would be so mad…and you shouldn't care what he has to think about you, but how can you not after you failed so miserably? After your grandmother died and her dragon along with her?

You’re mad at yourself—no, you’re furious at yourself. If you had been better perhaps she would still be alive.

“Ready?” You tug yourself away from your train of thought and focus on Aerion before you grab a raw piece of meat from the bowl beside you, and place it down in front of his hatchling.

“Shrykos, <Dracarys>,” you command.

Shrykos tilts her little head before blinking and glancing at Aerion as if waiting for the okay. But your son can’t answer, he just watches Shrykos, and the hatchling watches him.

“Shrykos, <Dracarys>,” you repeat the command, making the hatchling now look at the piece of meat in front of her before she opens her mouth and lets out a small blast of fire.

Aerion watches the fire engulf the small piece of meat, the way the flames come out of his dragon's mouth to cook the meat and he can’t help but giggle and wave his fat little arms.

“<Good job, Shrykos,>” you praise the hatchling.

Aerion’s head turns to you and he coos, making a smile spread on your mournful face. “Shrykos,” you repeat to your son, making him study you before he coos after you as if trying to say his dragon's name too.

“Yes!” You clap. “She’s your dragon. Shrykos.”

Aerion coos the same way again and his dragon this time scurries over to him to sit in between his legs.

“Your mother would be delighted to see the way he interacts with his dragon,” Vanessa comments, making you smile wider.

“She would,” you muse and reach over to try and caress your son's head, but you must have reached out to him too quickly because suddenly Shrykos snaps her head towards you and shrieks out at you.

“<Whoa,>” you gasp in surprise yet also awe because she’s grown to be so protective in such a short time. Jacaerys was right, having Aerion bond with a dragon can protect him in ways some guards can’t.

“<It's okay. Calm down, girl.>” You try to ease her worry. “<Calm.>”

The dragon’s eyes don’t leave you for a solid minute, she watches you carefully until Aerion starts to cry.

“She meant no harm,” you assure him as you’re able to grab him now and bring him up with you as you stand to your given height, causing the hatchling to flap her delicate wings to perch herself on your shoulder and remain close to Aerion.

“It’s okay,” you continue to try to console him before you wipe away his tears and press a kiss on his cheek.

Shrykos watches the interaction and stretches her neck out to coo softly at Aerion as if trying to mimic you in calming him down.

“See? She’s just worried about you,” you tell Aerion, and he sniffles just seconds before his attention focuses on the pendant that you found around your neck after you woke up.

“Of course,” you mutter with an amused smile and watch him grab your pendant before he yanks it back towards him, pulling a gasp out of your mouth. “Gods.”

Aerion pulls the pendant to his mouth but you grab his hand and shake your head. Yet before you can pull the pendant away, the doors open and snatch your attention to your husband walking in and coming to an immediate halt when he sees you on your feet.

“Aemond,” you greet him with a faint smile.

Said man takes a step forward and his eye studies you hard as if making sure you’re really there, that you’re not some ghost set out to bid a last goodbye; while also trying to figure out if your smile directed at him is real or feigned. After all, you both know who brought down Meleys and your grandmother. It wasn’t Aegon you both knew that.

Yet no matter how hard or how long his eye remains fixated on you, that sweet smile doesn’t falter or fade, that smile on your face turns to a grin actually.

“What is it?” You break him from his stupor whilst also trying to tug your pendant away from Aerion’s mouth.

“You…” Aemond trails off and finally breaks away from the cast your mere presence put him under to close the distance that keeps you apart. “You should be abed. Not on your feet.”

You roll your eyes and approach Vanessa to hand Aerion to her, causing the little hatchling to disembark your shoulder and instead fly over to Vanessa’s.

“I’m fine,” you direct at Aemond as you turn to face him and find your body moving toward him. “I ate, I—”

“Vanessa,” Aemond snaps at your handmaiden with a glower that you get in between.

“Stop, don’t snap at her, talk to me,” you ease the worry you see weighing down on him.

Aemond’s eye flickers to you, but he also wants to scold Vanessa for not keeping you abed where you’ll be safe so he parts his lips to argue, but you finally meet him halfway and grab his arm, focusing all his attention back to you as if you were the center of the universe.

“Leave her be. I stood up, you know that. I am not an invalid, I just should've been more careful,” you add to your case. “But I ate. I’m feeling stronger already.”

His chest rises high as he takes in a deep frustrated breath before he lets it all go and is left with worry.

Before you can continue to address the matter at hand though, you turn your attention to Vanessa. “Take him to Helaena and Jaehaera, she has Morghul out too, he and Shrykos can bond.”

Vanessa nods and doesn’t linger behind, she leaves your quarters rather quickly, leaving you to face your husband and slide your hand down his arm to grab his hand.

“I’m fine,” you tell him one more. “The news just didn’t settle well, plus I was on an empty stomach, it all just overwhelmed me, but I’m fine…we’re fine,” you finish in a whisper and pull his hand toward you to press his palm against your belly.

“I’m sure the maester broke the news,” you continue with a proud smile that he misses because he watches your intertwined hands caressing the spot where your twins are growing.

“Twins,” he whispers with no worry clinging to his voice, it's soft and full of awe just like his eye.

“That’s why I haven’t been feeling hungry, and why I’ve been uncomfortable,” you address the matter. “They’re the reason.”

Aemond’s eye goes to you and now endearment also accompanies the already sweet feelings his eye expresses. You want to follow up with more, but your lips part, and a single breath escapes past your lips as you stand there feeling seen, appreciated, and loved under his gaze, but also feeling worry and guilt strike your heart as he looks at you.

You want to share it, you want to spill out what troubles you, but your words get caught in your throat when Aemond goes down on one knee and presses a gentle kiss on your belly before he rests his forehead against it.

Now at this very moment, the tension of war is forgotten completely. You exist only in your bliss.

“I wanted to tell you. I had half the mind to fly to Rook’s Rest the moment I found out to tell you, but I resisted my urge,” you share as you swing your arm around his head to caress it gently as he keeps his forehead pressed against your belly. “So can you just pretend I told you and that the maester didn’t ruin it?”

He chuckles softly and tilts his head up to meet your gaze as he remains on one knee. “He also told me about one of them being smaller than the other.” He brings up and the blissful paradise comes crumbling down as the guilt and the worry return.

“Yes, he told me too…” you trail off and gulp. “I-I don’t know what that means. He said he’ll monitor me, but…I’m scared.”

Aemond pushes himself up to tower over you again and grabs your face with a gentle touch as if he's afraid he’ll break you if he's too rough.

“My mother said it happens,” he now comes to your aid even if he doesn’t really know either. “They’ll get stronger and be equal after a while.”

You don’t find comfort in Alicent’s words, you need to hear them from your mother or read her own words to feel completely comforted.

“Ok,” your voice trembles. “Aemond,” you say and grab his hands. “I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows pinch together so you quickly respond to his confusion. “If being with child is an inconvenience right now. Everything is so chaotic, I’m sorry if I have become a burden—”

“Quiet,” he cuts you off and pulls you to him. “Shut up. You are the furthest thing from a burden or an inconvenience. Don’t apologize. Don’t torment yourself. We are blessed. That’s all. The risks you’ll take are just fewer now, but it seems you and Helaena have found more comfort in each other so you won’t be bored here.”

You blink and that worry falls, he helped resolve it. The guilt has diminished as well, but now you’re completely baffled by what he says.

You won’t just sit by the fire, you may be with child, but you will not just sit idly by while he risks his life, while your brother is out there, and while your family still needs you too. Just because you’re expecting doesn’t mean you have to sit and wait like a trapped princess in distress!

“No,” you spat and let his hands go. He sees the fire already engulfing your eyes so he pouts in annoyance whilst he lets your face go too.

“I will not—”

“I will not sit here and wait for you to come back,” you cut him off lividly. “I have a dragon, I have skill! Just because I’m with child—”

“That’s exactly why!” He argues back with quick-growing frustration. “Do you really expect me to send you to fight while you’re expecting?! Do you really think I can just watch you in the sky knowing your state?! It’s like you said…”

You shake your head and turn away as he continues.

“…it takes one arrow, a dragon's jaw, or fire…”

Your eyes shift at the last mention and you almost want to rebuttal with the truth of your…fire resistance, but that would take you down a rabbit hole that you don’t want to fall into at this very moment. You need to make a point and win.

“I would never forgive myself if something happened to you or the twins,” he tries to lure you into the trap using sweet words that usually work. “I would not feel comfortable sending you out to battle now.”

“That’s the difference between me and you,” you counter right away and twist around to face him. “I will wear armor! I had armor made for me, I can protect myself! My dragon will protect me! I will not sit here and do nothing while you are out there! While Sunfyre and Aegon are now indisposed!”

Aemond strides to you, and you stand your ground and challenge him with your enraged glare alone.

“I don’t care what you want or don’t want, you are not going to fight on dragonback or on the ground,” he counters back spitefully with his nose flared and his glare piercing right back at you. “If you try I will lock you in here with a hundred guards. Or I will take you to a tower where you can’t reach your dragon and you’ll be miles away.”

You part your lips but you can’t argue back, you’re caught in disbelief because you know he would be capable of doing that. You’re also too enraged that your words turn to ashes in your mouth by the stupid tears that come to your eyes. Thus instead you snap around to give him your back as you approach the hearth keeping the room warm, and watch the dancing flames with your arms crossed over your chest.

Aemond sighs deeply and leaves the room silent for a moment as he lets his frustration and impatience leave his body before he approaches you from behind.

At first, he breaks the silence with the soft utter of your name before he makes the mistake of brushing his fingertips on your hip, causing you to flinch away out of fear that it was someone else.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters in confusion to your sudden jolt.

You realize what you did and take a deep breath, realizing that your rage gets snuffed out like dying fire.

At first, you did not think you wanted to tell Aemond what Aegon did, but he’s here now, you look at him now; the confusion on his face. You look at your best friend, your husband, and the man that you love, and the words crawl up your throat like bile.

“Aemond,” you whimper and his confusion is lost and replaced by concern once again.

The sound of your lips parting fills your chambers, but a breath is all that comes out. You can’t be outward with it, you’re too afraid, too ashamed, so you close the distance and bring your lips to his ear.

He does look at you completely puzzled albeit that soon diminishes and slowly transforms into livid rage as you whisper the words in his ear. After that, you only pull back when you try to plead your case as if he didn’t believe you right away. He did, you just need him to know desperately.

“I told him to stop, I did, I promise, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. You have to believe me, Aemond.” You cry and he sighs, but that anger doesn’t die, he just musters the softness he can to gently cup your face before he slides his hand down to stroke your chin.

“I believe you,” he whispers so you can hear, and presses his forehead against yours.

“I wanted to fight back,” you keep trying to tell him. “I promise. I…I.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he coos and brings his hand back up to cradle your cheek and use his thumb to stroke it. “You will be okay.”

He suddenly rips himself away from you and stomps away. You turn to not miss a step and notice him grab his sword while he gets away in a rage, thus you interfere because you know he’s letting his anger steer his thoughts. “Aemond stop!”

He doesn’t falter in his pace, he keeps storming away.

“Aemond!” You cry out. “Stop! Aemond! Please,” you beg and it’s that quiver in your voice that stops him.

“Do you really expect me to stay here knowing what—”

“Stay with me,” you cut him off to tell him what you need the most. “Please don’t go. Just stay.”

Aemond slowly turns around and when he faces you he sees how hard you’re pleading with your teary eyes, and how much you need just his company. Not his rage, not his revenge, just his comfort. His anger does want to get the best of him, but he beats it down with a deep breath and rests his blade against the wall to go to you and immediately wrap you in an embrace.

When you’re surrounded by nothing but the security of his warm arms you let yourself melt in his embrace because you know that nothing and no one can hurt you there.

“Let’s take a bath, hm?” He suggests as he kisses the top of your head. “Me and you.”

You nod softly and after depleting him of all the comfort you need, as the sun leaves the earth and lets the moon and the stars shine, you have a bath drawn where hundreds of candles enlighten the room with their soft glow. Where a soothing incense fills the room, and the warm flames from the hearth near your bath is a warm third body that keeps you company while you relax against Aemond.

“And that one is my favorite song, there’s a certain eeriness to it, but also an enchanting melody that I love,” you muse as you cross one leg over the other.

Aemond hums. “Those have always been my favorite for you to sing,” he muses.

You smile widely, and slither your fingers over his gently caressing your knee, welcoming a silence to the room that causes Aemond to grow uncomfortable yet bold enough to ask one question he’s been holding back out of fear that you will admit that you hate him now, or that you’re only here because of Aerion.

He doesn’t want to hear rejection or see you turn your back on him. He still needs you and he doesn’t want to face potential abandonment. But he also can’t sleep peacefully not knowing how you feel after what he did.

“Can I ask you something?” Aemond brings up quietly before saying your name as if there were more people in this chamber. But there isn’t, it’s just you and him.

“Mhm,” you let him continue and lay your head back on his shoulder to look at him from the corner of your eyes.

“You know it was not Sunfyre or Aegon who brought down Rhaenys or Meleys,” he hesitates to say but he does speak it out loud, and right away he feels how stiff you grow.

“I…know,” you breathe out and slowly sit up, losing contact with his fingers, and causing his fingers on your knee to slip off. “I could read it off you. You weren’t so discreet you know? Maybe you should be a little less smug if you’re going to let Aegon take the win.”

He hums and sits up to press his hand on your back before gently wrapping his arm around your neck to speak by your ear. “Do you…hate me?”

How could you hate him when it’s yourself that you hate for failing her?

There’s no point in thinking. No debate needs to be had, it’s an easy answer that comes from the depths of your wounded heart.

“No,” you whisper, leaving no time for him to doubt your response. “Should I?”

You turn to face him with sincerity bringing tears to your eyes. “I don’t hate you.”

Aemond’s arm slips off you and his eye falls on the water, but rather than trying hard to find his gaze, you actually find his reflection in the water and see a frown on his face; one brought by sorrow and torment over your response.

It’s like he almost wants you to hate him.

“It’s different this time,” you try to explain without bringing up the real reason behind your logic. “She wasn’t a messenger, she wasn’t trying to get away, it was a battle. Death is never fair for people like her, she did not deserve to die, but her death was different because I know that she wouldn’t want to go out any other way. She went out like a dragon warrior. I know she fought hard until her last breath.”

Aemond’s eye climbs up your body and finds your attentive gaze, letting you see his eye clouded with tears and that weight not ease off his body, so you drag yourself in between his legs to cup his cheek and offer him a faint assuring smile.

“I do not hate you,” you assure him and hold his gaze so he can read that you’re being sincere.

When he has the confirmation his heart needs he lets out a deep breath that makes that tension lift off his chest.

“Now,” you change the subject before you start crying, and slide your hand down to hold his knee and gently shake his leg. “You are going to be Prince Regent.”

His lips tug to a faint flustered smile and his eye once again falls on the water.

“Grin, my love, all your hard work will pay off,” you flatter him with a beaming grin. “All that time spent in books, learning from great minds, and working tirelessly will be rewarded.”

Do you really think he has the mind to rule?

Maybe if he hadn't gotten his eye taken out, or if he had seen his father care for him after being maimed then he would be the ruler the Greens need to win, that the kingdoms need, but he’s fueled with anger. His ego is inflated because he never got told that he’s so much more than he knows, so he had to rely on his large dragon for power.

It’s not to say you aren’t proud of him, because you are. He’s worked hard, he’s leaned into his books to gain knowledge. He has a military mind and good swordsman skills. He's the one keeping his family alive, and he has much more logic than Aegon, but a good ruler needs to be more than that.

A good ruler needs to listen to his people, they need to be just but also need to know when to put their foot down. They need to control their emotions even if sometimes they get tested by idiots or people being too daring. They need to know when to pull their blade out to fight, and when to use harsh words instead. Can he do that?

You can’t be sure. To be honest, you are not sure he can, but it’s why he can be the key to getting your mother on the throne.

Is he something important, something so much more that people don’t see? Yes, a hundred times yes. You don’t doubt that, you genuinely are happy that he’s being seen, that he gets to finally prove himself because you know that there’s so much more to him that people don’t see, that they ignore because he’s a second son, and he’s more quiet, like a shadow.

He’s not scary or just intimidating like he lets people believe, he’s smart, he's gentle, he’s so much more than people see and you have always known that. You have always supported that. And that’s what you’re praising, because after all this waiting he’s no longer in the shadows. A light is shining on him. He deserves it.

“Maybe,” Aemond mutters with his smile faltering. “There’s also my mother. She’s Queen Dowager.”

You sit back on your legs and your confusion is clear. “But,” you genuinely argue. “Your mother ruled in a time of peace, and she has no military mind. They couldn’t really consider her. It’s you they’ll pick.”

Aemond meets your gaze and sighs deeply. “I cannot be sure until the morrow.”

You hum and avert your gaze to think if the men around the table will really pick Alicent over the next heir in Aegon's line of succession. It would be pretty stupid to pick Alicent when they’re working hard to remove your mother.

“Well, I'm sure they’ll pick you,” you express your genuine opinion. “They’ll be stupid not to. And you have an heir, maybe more on the way. Perfect choice I’ll say.”

His lips tug up to a soft smile, and your more negative opinions falter at the sight of that smile alone.

“And you,” he piques your interest whilst he leans over to capture your chin in between his thumb and his pointer finger. “You’ll be Princess Regent.”

You gulp nervously and shake your head. “Helaena is alive and healthy, I couldn’t be Princess Regent.” You contradict him, but he continues to press his side.

“My sister is sweet and good, but,” he sighs. “We all know she has no mind to be Queen, she’d rather be outside with her bugs than be anywhere near court, but you…you’re smart, fierce, attentive, and you have the mind to be a good Queen. The people love you and you care for them for some reason. You’ll be good.”

And there it is, your foundations shake at the sound of those sweet words that work like bait like magic to enchant you.

He would consider you, and that makes you consider a change of thought…

Like getting drunk, slowly your mind and your body start to lose yourself to its rich power.

“You think so?” You mumble softly with your eyes full of desperation to be told you can be so much more.

“I know it. You and I would be a powerhouse everyone would respect,” he doesn’t take back his opinion and it’s a dangerous thing. He needs to stop.

Stop.

Stop…

But you can’t help but smile like an idiot as your heart gets fed more of that addicting honey it can never get enough of. It’s all you ever wanted deep down. it’s a dream you even shared with Cregan and Arra…

But…no!

No! No…

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

“They will name you regent,” you try to reassure him as you fix the collar of his leather vest. “I know it. So head up high and deep breath.”

He holds your gaze as he lets out a deep breath, making you giggle as you slide your hands down to pat his chest.

“I love you,” you don’t fret to send him off with sweet words that make his heart swoon.

“I love you too,” he doesn’t hesitate to return before he leans in and presses a kiss on your lips.

Before he can back away you steal one more kiss from his thin lips, causing him to leave with a faint smile.

After a few minutes of lingering in the spot where he left you, you scurry out the secret door and trudge through the secret tunnels to reach the shadows of the Small council room and be part of the big debate that will change the Green fraction one way or the other.

“The armor was Valyrian steel,” Maester Orwyle shares with the council. “But his Grace suffered grievous burns over much of his body. He has many broken bones. I fear there are more injuries within, injuries we cannot see.”

He can die for all you care.

“We are grateful for your works, Grand Maester,” Alicent interjects after you catch her take in a deep breath. “Has he woken?”

“No,” the maester doesn’t try to be assuring, he’s bold so no one gets any hope he might survive. “I must admit, I’m not sure he will ever wake. I have piled my crafts to their fullest extents. Our king's fate lies with the gods now.”

And may the gods be ever so merciful to give him death.

“A king cannot rule in his sleep,” you hear Alicent say after a few seconds of silence. “The realm will have noticed his absence. Let them hear of his great deeds at Rook’s Rest. But now we must name a regent to take his place until he recovers…or does not.”

You lean your ear closer to the gaps on the wall and wait to see if Aemond is right.

“A wise strategy, Your Grace,” you recognize Lord Larys’ pestering voice. “A regency will assure the people of the stability of the crown.”

A silence follows and you wonder why it’s so awkward in there when the choice is plain to see.

“Did you have a candidate in mind, Your Grace?” Ser Tyland asks.

“I myself served in this role for my husband, I am well-prepared to do it again,” she proves Aemond right, and if you would have bet you would have lost.

“You played your part admirably in a time of peace, Your Grace,” Lord Jasper weighs in. “But circumstances have changed.”

“And here I had forgotten,” you catch the sarcasm in Alicent’s voice which does amuse you.

“The King does not lack for heirs,” Lord Jasper continues to argue against Alicent. “The obvious choice is his immediate successor, Prince Aemond, who has his own heir in his son, strengthening the line of succession.”

“Agreed,” Ser Tyland comments, making your heart skip a beat for Aemond.

“Aemond is young,” Alicent immediately rebuttals, causing your eyebrows to furrow because you all know there’s been younger Kings. “And his lack of restraint has already cost us dearly.”

A third silence follows and you suspect it’s because she wants people to agree with her, but it doesn’t seem like anyone does. Which is awkward, you can feel that tension from where you are.

“It is an experience that offers the surest path to security,” you hear the maester give his opinion. “Queen Alicent ably shouldered the duties of the realm when her husband's health failed him.”

Once again in a time of peace, it doesn’t seem like she has a military mind. And someone could argue that your mother doesn’t either, but you know her, she’s smart and leans on her books. She doesn’t need her father like Alicent needed hers.

“Experience is valuable, yes,” Lord Jasper interjects. “But the Dowager Queen is a woman.”

You almost have to laugh but you hold it in. It’s so poetic really.

“I’m no stranger to rule or to sitting at this council,” Alicent argues. “Aemond is a fearsome dragonrider. His skill is best employed in the field, but my experience is needed here, at this table—”

“No offense was meant, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland cuts her off as she’s growing frustrated. “But at a time when we must show strength.”

“Lord Larys,” she tries to garner the man’s support.

“I agree, Your Grace, it must be Prince Aemond,” he contradicts her. “What would it say if, in response to Rhaenyra’s crowning, we raised up a woman of our own?”

Oh sweet, sweet karma.

“But, um…the Hand speaks for the King’s voice, Ser Criston what say you?”

You start to fiddle with your hands as a smirk tugs on your face.

“Aemond is the next in line,” he adds salt to the injury. “It must be him.”

You can’t help it, you grin.

“It’s agreed then,” Aemond finally breaks his silence before you hear the sound of him rising from his chair and his heels clicking around the table.

And just like that he is now regent, Alicent has now been treated the way she treated your mother. The Green fraction has changed to a more Ironfist rule. You can be certain of that.

“What is our standing in the Riverlands?” Aemond jumps right into business, proving already to possess a better mind than Aegon ever did.

“Uh, the banners of House Tully are in disarray, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland is the one who gives Aemond the answer he sought, and the first one to call him your Grace, which brings a chill down your spine. “Prince Daemon has little hope of fielding an army or any, for now.”

Why do they doubt Daemon so much? Is it just that they hope that their negativity will help him fail?

You don’t like him, and you know he has the power to gain that army, you know he will.

“We would do well to send word to young Oscar Tully,” Lord Larys follows up with his comment. “It’s only a matter of time before he inherits his grandsire’s mantle.”

“Tell me, Lord Strong, how I can trust the counsel of a man who leaves the jewel of the Riverlands to be plucked by our enemy?”

You wait for the response from the Lord, but he gives none, and you couldn’t be more smug that he didn’t and that he’s most likely intimidated by Aemond.

“Your brother's host can meet Daemon,” Aemond changes the subject to now speak to Ser Tyland. “He should quicken its pace and check the Rivermen while their banners are in disarray.”

No matter what you can’t help but be proud of Aemond. Command suits him.

“I shall send Lord Jason encouragement,” Ser Tyland assures Aemond.

“What else?” Aemond probes.

“We might turn our attention to the smallfolk here in King’s Landing,” Maester Orweyle says. “They have grown weary of the Sea Snake’s blockade.”

“So have we all,” Aemond says nonchalantly.

“Many are fleeing the city,” the maester continues. “Spreading word of their fear and unrest.”

“Mm, then let the gates be closed,” Aemond picks the wrong choice which proves you right too. “No one is to leave or enter, save with our consent. Merchants, so forth.”

And that’s how you get the smallfolk to hate you. He’s supposed to assure them, feed them, and give them something to hope for, not fear and disdain. Hopefully, your mother can work that in her favor.

“Ser Criston,” Aemond calls out. “I need you to pick three of your best and most trusted men. I shall have two guarding my son and heir, and a second guard protecting my wife. She’s with child, I don’t wish to leave her vulnerable.”

Your breath catches and your heart skips a beat.

It is going to be harder to just be around the Red Keep, but you are happy he didn’t forget about you or Aerion.

“Go to your tasks,” Aemond then abruptly ends the meeting. “We shall meet again at first light. Oh, and someone cut down the fucking ratcatchers.”

Finally! You thought it was never going to be taken down, it’s such a nasty display.

Nevertheless, now to report to your mother. And since Aemond did mention he was going to be busy after the Small council meeting, you have time to take the message to Astraea so she can go take it right away. Plus there’s another matter you need to entrust your mother about because she's the only one you trust to give you comfort.

Which is why in the second letter you write, you make sure to direct to your mother.

“Dear Rhaenyra,

As you know I am with child. The maester assured me of that not long ago, but he also told me something else. He said that one twin is smaller than the other, and honestly, that frightens me. Alicent said it could be fixed in time, but I don’t trust her, and I don’t know what it really means. I just want to know if they’ll be okay. I need them to be okay.”

You don’t sign your name, but there’s no one else who would write to her so there’s no need to really sign your name. Hopefully, this time they write back though, or send anything in return so you’re not left worried. You made sure to point that out so hopefully they listen.

And! Hopefully, Jacaerys’ nosy ass doesn’t read your personal letter to your mother!

He would dare, he would be so protective about it, like, “come home now!” It’s a surprise he didn’t fly after you when he found out you left! Sure you feel bad for leaving him behind, but he has Baela, he won’t be alone. He’ll just be worried about you, annoying too because he wants to hear any news from you, and he will also probably be attentive to any sighting of Astraea in hopes to hear any news from you, so maybe you should write a warning to keep him out.

You should, but you don’t, just like you don’t take the secret tunnels to the cove where Astraea is resting. You’re simply going to the cove behind the castle to visit your dragon, that's all! If there’s eyes on you they won’t find you suspicious, you’re not flaunting the letters; you have them hidden, and you have your sworn protector trailing behind you. There’s no need for alarm or whispers to be spread or given to Aemond, it’s a simple visit…

You just need to secure something on her horn.

Yet as you’re trying to secure the letters, she suddenly slips her head away and starts to growl at your sworn protector in the shadows.

“<Astraea, calm girl,” you assure her. “He’s a friend. He’s my sworn protector. It’s alright.>”

Astraea doesn’t listen; she pushes herself closer to the man, making sure to block your path with her large neck.

“<Astraea,>” you warn her. “<Stop.>”

Her growling gets louder and you see her opening her jaw, pushing Ser Jason against the wall with panicked breaths.

“It’s alright Ser,” you try to assure him. “She won’t harm you. She’s just wary, but <he’s a friend>,” you address the last comment to Astraea, but she has a mind of her own. She corners the man and you watch her nostrils flare as she sniffs him.

“Astraea,” you call out and try to inch closer, but the moment she hears your feet shift she moves her neck against you and starts to snarl until she then suddenly grows quiet, and her neck starts to move away from you, letting you see her close her mouth, and blink as her pupils dilate while she looks at the panicked man before her.

Instead of calling her to back away, you watch with growing curiosity as she then begins to coo at him.

Ser Jason notices the hostility slip away so between pants and with wide eyes he slowly raises his hand and carefully reaches out for her scaled nostril.

You expect your dragon to move, but she remains where she is and lets the man pet her, pulling a surprised breath out of you.

“You,” you huff with relief that she didn’t kill him. “Must be special.”

Ser Jason’s blue eyes snap to you and his eyes almost pop out of his skull before he shakes his head. “No—I mean I am a—”

“She likes you,” you cut off his nervous rambling with a sweet smile. “Funny way of showing it, but she does. She let you pet her. There’s only a few people who aren’t of Valyrian descent that she lets pet her.”

Ser Jason’s eyes slowly drift away as his hand slips off Astraea, letting her back away and turn her head towards you to focus on you.

“<You naughty girl,>” you taunt her and watch her lips spread up as if she’s responding to your comment and smile with a smirk. “Sorry,” you direct at Ser Jason. “For the fright.”

The knight lets out a deep breath to relieve himself of that fear that he was just hit with, and with a breathless laugh, retorts, “I can finally say I have touched a dragon. It’s fine.”

You hum softly in return and once and for all attach the letters to your dragon's horn before you throw your arms around her in an attempt to embrace her. But she’s too big now, your arms don’t go around her anymore, they're just spread out against her in an attempt.

“<You know what you must do, my girl. Remember just my mother, Jace, Baela, or my grandfather can grab the letters. No one else. Don’t delay and be careful.>”

Lady Arra Norrey always poked fun at you for talking to your dragon like you talk to a person, but dragons understand more than commoners know, and Astraea understands you at a deep level.

“<Now go.>” You send her off and don’t move away, you approach the shore to watch her ascend the skies.

It’s once she’s high in the clouds that you return inside, and this time rather than having a clear path, you’re interrupted just at the last courtyard before you can reach the doors. Thankfully it’s on your way back to your quarters though and not the other way around.

“Princess,” Ser Gwayne Hightower brings you to a stop, making you take a deep and annoyed breath before you turn to face him with a plastered smile.

“Ser,” you greet and watch him bow his head at you before he finishes approaching you to be closer. “You returned.”

That’s all, you’re not glad he did, you’re not surprised either, he just returned, it’s that simple.

“Thanks to your favor,” he retorts smugly, making you scoff.

“Me or a few other pretty ladies?” You remark, making him flash you a charming grin before he chuckles and nods.

“Oh yes many did give me their favors,” he doesn’t remain modest, he’s blunt and that makes an amused smile twitch on your lips unwillingly. “But only one worked in my favor. The only one close to the gods, yours, my Princess.”

You hold his gaze as you nod in comprehension before you hide your flattered smile by looking at the ground.

“I heard you are quite a spectacular singer,” he continues trying to work his charm on you. “The Siren of Driftmark. I have wanted to hear if it’s true that your voice is as enchanting as they say.”

You draw in a deep breath and clasp your hands together before you roll your eyes up to look at him with a mischievous smirk that he starts to take in his favor. Yet…

“Was it your idea to parade around the head of my grandmother's dragon throughout the city?” You bring a cold end to his flattery and make that ever-so-charming smile fall.

“No,” he clears his throat and shifts back, making your own smirk deepen. “It was Ser Criston Cole’s.”

“Our good Lord Hand,” you both say in sync and with the same level of sarcasm, bringing a silence where you both share a teasing smile as if you were friends sharing gossip.

“He may have a good military mind,” he shares with you after a small genuine smile. “But may the gods help him with political matters.”

You hum and nod. “It seems the realm was in better hands with your father as hand and Ser Criston as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

“I’ll say.” He doesn’t shy away from agreeing. “Uh, I heard of your accident, I do hope you are okay.” He changes the subject smoothly, causing you to blink in surprise and find yourself answering without disdain.

“Quite, being with child just takes a toll. Thank you, Ser.”

He bows his head and just as he parts his lips to add more, a third voice cuts in. “Uncle.”

You both look at the incomer and notice Aemond with his eye locked on his uncle.

“Nephew,” Ser Gwayne greets Aemond with a smile, unlike Aemond who seems bothered—“I was just talking to the Princess. You have quite the pretty pearl here.”

You swallow back nervously and watch Aemond’s chest rise whilst the corner of his lips twitch to a forced smile.

“And you are expecting!” Ser Gwayne brings up and leans toward Aemond to pat his arm. “Congratulations, nephew.”

Aemond offers him a stiff nod of his head so you cut in. “Thank you, Ser. He is the most delighted.”

Aemond hums and remains cold and bothered so you cut this conversation short before you’re swallowed by the awkwardness that begins to build. “I hope we get to see more of you before you’re off again, maybe you can meet our son, Aerion.”

“Ah, yes I would be delighted, my sister speaks fondly of her grandchildren. I will have to see them for myself,” Ser Gwayne says in return, letting you offer him the first genuine smile before you turn and head inside with Aemond who keeps his jaw clenched and his eye narrowed.

“What…were you talking about?” Aemond tries to hide how jealous he is, but it's a futile attempt considering it’s written all over his face; in his flared nostrils, in the darkness in his eye that is brought up by annoyance and anger, and in his raised chest in attempts to try and insert his dominance over you.

Any other time you would find it amusing, it's his uncle and he can’t help but be jealous, but right now you’re bothered by something else entirely that you won’t let go unheard of.

“<The nasty parade that took place while I was abed,>” you take your opportunity to bring up without actually deflecting because it’s true, the topic was brought up.

But of course, he doesn’t answer, do you let it go though? No, you don't back off even if you see him wanting to avoid the topic, you press the matter with growing frustration.

“<When do people stop fearing gods, Aemond?>” You ask rhetorically. “<When they see gods bleed. They saw that dragon's head being paraded around the city and saw that they’re just like every other animal.>”

“<They're not,” Aemond scoffs back in High Valyrian, just like you. “<They can test it if they like, let’s see what fate awaits from them then.>”

You share a dry chuckle and only counter when you’re past the doors and inside the Red Keep. “<Don't underestimate the power of the people, Aemond. They can find power in rage if you give them the right spark. And that display…>” you trail off but don’t ease off him, you don’t use your anger either, you let it go with a deep exhale and instead, try to work this in your favor with the simple power of your enchanting voice.

“<No qualified Hand would have allowed that to happen, or even given it any thought. Dragons are the power of our house, they are sacred creatures. You know that. He doesn’t understand; he did something stupidly foolish that could cost us a lot.>”

Aemond finally looks over at you as if captured by your words, or as if he agrees too.

“<He’s our Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,>” he brings up, but that doesn’t work in anyone's defense. You use that.

“Exactly.”

Aemond studies you to try and get in your mind and read your running thoughts, finding that the words you just sang are haunting his mind instead, like a melody one can’t forget.

“I’m not saying he’s not a qualified man,” you add softly as you climb up flights of stairs to head to your room. “He may not be my favorite, he may have quite a reputation, but he still has a good mind for battle. That I can say. Maybe his skills will be best displayed trying to take Harrenhal, hm? The longer that gets left alone, the more time Daemon has to gain power there.”

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Aemond brings up and glances ahead.

“No,” you scoff. “I don’t, but,” you sigh. “He’s smart. He has experience. I can admit that. We have to admit that to ourselves.”

Aemond hums and you look at him as he looks ahead. And after knowing you said all you needed to say on the matter without being pushy or suspicious, you finally shift over to a matter that brings a bright grin to your face.

“So?! Tell me, are you Regent?”

Aemond’s eye falls and a soft smile slowly starts to grow on his face before he lifts his head and meets your gaze, showing off that smile that gives you your answer and makes you squeal before you bring the both of you to a stop atop the stairs when you throw your arms around him.

“I told you! Congratulations, my love,” you praise him genuinely since you know how much he wants to prove himself. “I knew you’d get it.”

He can’t help it, he wants to grow smug, but he grows flustered instead and only makes that smile grow warm.

“You deserve it,” you whisper so only he can hear.

Aemond wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss on the top of your head, keeping his lips and nose pressed against you as he takes in the praise that you alone have given him.

“Thank you,” he mutters against you.

You hum and pull your head back to meet his eye. “Really, I’m proud of you,” you whisper with no sign of deceit, your words come from the bottom of your heart because now people can see what you see, what you have always seen; that he’s so much more, that he is something.

“I…” he trails off and his eye turns glossy, while a breath catches in his throat and a fondness and awe paints his face. “I love you.”

You bring one hand up to caress his cheek, making him lean towards your touch right away as if instinct to seek your warmth and comfort.

“I love you too,” you redirect softly and press a gentle kiss against his lips.

“You are my Princess Regent,” he whispers against your lips, making you scoff and gently smack his chest before you pull away from his grasp to continue to your shared quarters.

Aemond of course doesn’t hesitate to follow at your side and presses what he said. “I can make you that if you want. You and me.”

You shake your head. “It can’t happen. Helaena is Queen, and,” you hesitate and he knows that so he uses it in his favor.

“You don’t want it?”

You want to say no, but you part your lips and you can’t bring yourself to counter or deny. Instead, once again there’s something dark and hungry that plagues you…

And it doesn’t let you answer

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you retort and flash him a feigned smile. He wants to counter, but you leave him no room to answer because you pick up your pace to finally get off the stairs.

Once you reach your quarters you find Vanessa with Aerion and Shrykos. You see Aerion happy with his little hatchling, you see him get even happier when he sees his father and you can’t help it, all your mind focuses on is spending time with your family. You watch as Aemond interacts with Aerion and his little hatchling. You see how much Aerion loves spending time with Aemond and vice versa. You cherish the moment, you live in it because of what lurks outside your safety walls.

Even when you see Astraea return to the city, you don’t let your attention drift away. This stolen moment is where you find joy, where you find awe as you see how easy Aerion falls asleep when he’s laying on Aemond’s chest as the three of you just spend time on the bed with Aemond’s head on your lap, your fingers messaging his temple, and your eyes interlocked as if sharing hundreds of words in the silence.

Soon there will hopefully be more of you, you and Aemond will be outnumbered, but nothing will ever lessen the love you give your son. You may love each other selfishly, and Aemond may put you over everything, but that will never impact how much you love your children because he doesn’t want them to feel lonely like the way he felt when you were gone from his life and no longer there to be the hopeful light in the darkness. He knows that for certain, just like you know for certain that you would not mind living in this peaceful moment forever.

Yet the peace gets interrupted by Ser Criston requiring Aemond’s attention to take a look at the men he chose to protect you and your son. And since the moment was already interrupted you find your chance to go to Astraea and check for any notes.

And this time there is a note from your mother that you read in the safety of your room since Aemond will be gone for a while.

“I hope you find yourself well. I thank you for your sacrifices, it must not be easy having to sneak about the Red Keep, so thank you, my Sweet. Astraea will grow impatient, and someone will suspect if she’s gone too long so I will get to the point. With the help of the Mysaria, I have sent Elinda to King’s Landing to help with a secret plan to gain the favor of the smallfolk. By the time you get this, she should be at the west city gates by nightfall, she will stay with a friend. I hope you can send someone you trust to see her in the city, she will share what we have planned—”

You pull your eyes off the paper and glance over at Vanessa as she’s the only one you can trust to do what your mother wants of you.

“—As to you. I would really like it if you came home now, I would feel more comfortable with you being taken care of by a maester I can trust. Please come home, leave Vanessa there to help Elinda, and relay any plans the greens have, just come home.

Love, your mother.”

Come home?

It's true that you would feel more comfortable there regarding your twins, but when you go home what will you do? Just sit around the table and listen? Sit and do nothing while a war rages around you?

You already failed her, failed them all once, you need to prove yourself. That’s why you’re here because you wanted to prove to your mother that you can be useful, that you can be something. You can do that here, not there trapped like a bird.

You can’t go home. No matter how much she wants you back, no matter how much you do ache to return, you can’t leave yet. Thus you stride towards the hearth and throw the letter in the fire so it’s not discovered.

Once the paper and all the words are ash you lift your nose in the air and call out to your handmaiden. “Vanessa could you let Ser Jason in, I need to speak to the both of you.”

Vanessa doesn’t wait or question you, she beckons your sworn protector, and once he’s inside and they both stand a few feet behind you, you slowly turn to face them with confidence so they feel it too.

“I need you, Vanessa to go into the city,” you share without dragging it out just in case Aemond does come soon. “Elinda is on her way to the city and I need you to help her inside. I need you to help her for me. Be my ears, my voice with what she needs.”

Vanessa’s dark eyes slowly drift down as many thoughts cross her mind. Many doubts you’re sure. The city is dangerous nowadays, and there’s no guarantee that her whereabouts won’t be caught, but you need her to run the risk because you can’t. She has a higher chance of being in the city undetected, you not so much.

“I know I'm asking a lot, but you are the only one I trust with this,” you try to make her feel comfortable. “My mother does too, if you don’t feel comfortable helping, just let Elinda in the city and walk her to where she’ll stay, okay?”

Vanessa lets out a deep breath and after a few seconds her eyes slowly scale up and she finds you, letting you see the sense of determination painting her pretty face. “I will do it, I’ll help you, the Queen, and Elinda. With whatever they need.” She assures you with a nod and a gentle smile, making you flash her a grin before you now address your sworn protector.

“As for you Ser, I need you to accompany Vanessa, protect her like you do me while she’s out in the city. She is my dearest friend and I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

Ser Jason glances at the woman beside him and swallows thickly before he looks back at you and doesn’t hesitate, he nods in agreement.

“I will protect her as I do you, my Princess,” he says with a sense of confidence that strikes him too. “I am also friends with the Gold Cloaks, I can convince them to let your friend in.”

You sigh with relief and nod in comprehension. “Good, I’m glad. Now go before Aemond gets here. And ser, don’t walk so tense, pretend you’re…taking the lady out to the city, hm?” You suggest, making his cheeks grow furiously red. “I’m being serious.”

Vanessa glances at the timid man and snickers before she approaches you and looks at you with concern and sorrow. “And you? Will you light the pyre alone?”

Your eyes flicker down, but you quickly blink and look back at her with a faint assuring smile so she doesn’t have to worry. “I’m no stranger to grieving alone. I will be fine, I know how to build a pyre.”

“It is raining,” Vanessa argues in an attempt to have you wait for her to light your grandmother's funeral pyre. “Maybe tomorrow—”

“I will be fine, I already know which courtyard to use. Go, I will be fine.” You interrupt her so she can stop worrying. “I’ll see you on the morrow hm?”

She hesitates now for the first time, and as if she was a caring older sister she pats your cheek and offers you a sweet smile.

Before she can go you grab ahold of her hand and welcome her comfort for a lingering moment before you let her go.

Once you’re alone, and Aerion’s wetnurse arrives to take care of him, you put on a beautiful blue velvet cloak and direct yourself to the courtyard you told Vanessa about; one close to the throne room, one with a spiral roof that welcomes the thick drops of rain through the gaps that usually welcome the sunlight on a clear day, or the moonlight on a cloudless night, but not today.

Today the rain is like music against the stone ground, the rain is a mess and puddles around your feet, soaking the ends of your gown and cloak. Lighting and thunder accompany the sheets of rain today, which would add an ominous feeling in the darkness of the night, but the bright fire that lights the shitty pyre you built, burns away the menacing presence of the lightning and thunder.

Now one would wonder how a pyre is still lit with how hard the rain hits the earth, but the center of the courtyard offers a roof that protects the fire and keeps most of you dry. That’s where you stand, that’s where the fire eats away at the wood in peace, and where it’s allowed to glow ragefully; basking the entire courtyard in its red and orange hue as if it was like a wildfire with the power of a thousand suns, and engulfing you with its illuminating hue that makes the grief and sorrow on your face look angelic.

Or that’s what poets would write, what bypassers would think as they watched how the raging light kisses your face and makes those tears on your cheeks glimmer like shining crystals, but you feel anything but divine, you’re grieving alone again. Just like how you grieved your father six years ago.

You shouldn’t be a stranger to grieving alone, but here you are again, away from your cousins, brother, mother, and grandfather who loved your grandmother and Meleys. You’re alone again in front of a funeral pyre bidding a last goodbye to someone you love, and no one is here to hold your hand or embrace your shaking shoulders. You’re alone grieving a grandmother you failed.

Maybe if you had written that letter faster, or sent that warning before, then she would still be alive. If you could’ve done what you were sent to do right she would be victorious or perhaps left with her life, but you failed her, you failed your Queen; your mother, and those who loved your grandmother. You amounted to nothing, but maybe that’s what you’ve been all along?

A simple girl with a luxurious title who dreamt too big and wanted too much. A selfish girl who thought she could get the world, but can’t get a scrap because no matter how hard you try you can’t reach those stars to amount to anything. You can’t feed the hunger inside you. You can’t be anything…

But…

As you stand there in the silence of solace, as you hear the fire crackle, the rain patter, and the thunderclap in the sky, there’s something that you feel calling you, something in the fire.

Something that has always called out to you since you could remember, but something that you have ignored, that you want to ignore now as you mourn your grandmother.

Yet the hot flames dry your tears and its heat embraces you tighter, but like every other time, its embrace, its kiss, and its touch is not uncomfortable like it is to everyone else. It’s welcoming, it’s nice like a friend…that’s been with you since you can recall.

No matter how hard you try, its whispers grow louder, but never desperate, it’s calling is charming, and like many other times, it entrances you.

The longer you stare at its beauty, the more it promises, swears that it’s empowering but only if you embrace it back.

You try to look away regardless of what calls for you, but how can you turn your back on what’s feeding your starving soul?

Fire kills the girl and awakens the dragon.

You can’t look away. You can’t ignore it. Not anymore.

Thus you mindlessly shrug your cloak off and let it drown in the puddle around your feet. You kick your shoes off because you are mindful of how much you love your shoes, and get closer, but it almost feels like you aren't the one controlling your body, it’s being controlled by the power of the trance. It moves you and you let it.

You raise your hand from your side and reach for the flames as if reaching out for an inviting hand.

You don’t show hesitation or fear, a malicious smirk tugs on your lips and the confidence, pride, and malice that washes over you gleams in your eyes like the illuminating fire because there’s never been anything to fear about the fire. It's why you don’t think of pulling away, you embrace the fire like securing your grip on an inviting hand.

Yet just as you raise your foot to step inside the calling flames, a hand suddenly grabs a hold of your wrist and you’re yanked back harshly under the rain.

When you look at the intruder you meet the gaze of your husband, your Aemond looking at you with horror. Yet that emotion slowly fades away as he lifts your hand and sees that you’re unharmed.

Now instead of fearing that you were going to jump in the fire to hurt yourself, he’s left flabbergasted and confused. You could explain it to him with words, but at that moment you can’t muster a single syllable, so instead you pull away and show him.

Aemond wants to stop you again. It’s an instinct, but when you put your hand in the fire and don’t wince, or make a sound of pain, as he sees that the fire doesn’t hurt a single perimeter of your flesh he’s struck with awe that leaves him paralyzed where he stands. It’s not horror or disgust. You walk under the rain again and study him closely to make sure, to know if you should be ashamed, but no matter how much you search his face or dig your gaze in his, there’s nothing you see but awe, admiration, a bit of confusion, and more adoration for you.

He sees you with the opposite of what you feared, with love and fascination, and you feel seen.

There in the darkness you are cast in is your light and you feel…like…you can be something important under his eye, with him because he sees you.

Sure you could have shown your mother, your brother, or even Cregan that the fire doesn’t hurt you. It’s your friend, you're immune to its violence and that’s your gift, but you didn’t share that with them and they didn’t see, but Aemond does. He sees you now, he looks at you like you are something more than you thought you could be and you’re relieved

You have yet to fully be embraced by the flames, but at last, someone knows and someone loves you for it. Someone sees your value and your power. Then again in some ways he always has, now he just sees all of you.

“Come with me,” he whispers, and thunder cuts in from the distant sky.

He offers you his hand and you don’t hesitate, you place your hand over his, and secure his grasp. Before you leave though you slip your shoes back on and pick up your cloak drenched with water.

At first, you expect to be taken well anywhere else but the throne room. Yet much to your surprise, you’re now embraced by the darkness of the glorious hall with only the night's hue casting in a natural light, and the occasional shots of bright lightning flashing an ominous light.

“They would love you,” his voice oozes out like honey. “I know that. Even now they love you, but imagine then, hm?” His words travel in your ear and they make a chill crawl down your spine.

“We—even before we married, when we were just kids…” he says and walks around you, making sure to bring his hand up to press his palm down on the back of your neck, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise, and those goosebumps to spread as he brings his lips close to your ear and lets his breath unfurl over your skin.

“…we were a lot more than my sister and Aegon. We valued our traditions, we value them even now. We are what all Targaryens rulers should be because we always wanted it.”

…he…

“Can’t you see it? Can’t you see us?” He whispers against your flesh, tempting you to tilt your head to try and meet his lips.

“Be Regent with me,” he offers again, but this time in a soft and almost pleading voice that makes your body move so you can be face to face and interlock gazes.

“I hear your protests,” he adds and glances at your lips only inches away from his. “But Helaena has never wanted what she has, you have…”

He…

“You and I will be the best of them,” he continues and continues to grow this realization. That’s what it is, a realization in the darkness of the room.

No matter how much you have tried to deny it, how hard you have pushed it down and brushed it off, it’s always been there. And it was never a darkness, and that hunger for more was never a plague. That’s a lie.

There was this desire, this need always within you. He knows that he sees that like no one else has. And just like the fascination he had for you when he saw you unhurt by the fire, now you return that fascination for him and his offer.

“You and me,” you whisper and those silent words travel over the sound of thunder because you can feel the warmth of his lips basically embrace yours.

And instead of answering with words, a malicious smirk tugs on his lips, and his awe only heightens for you, drawing him to smash his lips over yours just as you lean in at the same time, and bringing you both to forget where you are.

The rain patters harshly against the windows, against the roof, the thunder booms, and the lightning strikes the earth and flashes its bright light, but neither of you give it a second thought or any thought at all. It’s just you and him, basking in the passion brought by your selfish desires come to life. Because that's what it is, selfish on your part. It’s not selfless, you did not accept his offer for her, you accepted because you wanted to.

But Daemon pushed you here, didn’t he?

And Aemond sees you, he sees something in you. You can be something with him. That’s all you want, that’s all you have wanted.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“He dares to summon me!” Aemond barks with rage after reading a demand from Lord Jason Lannister. “With haste?”

He throws the crumbled letter to the side and leans over the table to glare at the brother sitting at your right side.

“Are the Lannisters so diminished that they cannot march from the Tooth to Harrenhal without an escort?”

You clasp your hands over the table and slowly drift your gaze to the blond man avoiding Aemond’s seething glare.

“There is a large dragon in the Riverlands, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland defends his brother's choice, which makes sense, but also sounds a bit like an excuse. A pretty pathetic excuse. “My brother's army is strong, but it does seem—”

“I am the Prince Regent,” Aemond reminds the man. “Not a dog to be called to heel. Tell your brother that if he does not deliver his host to Harrenhal, with ‘haste’,” he mocks. “Daemon’s dragon will become the least of his worries.”

A smirk tugs on your lips that you can't hide, that you can’t shame either. Aemond is right to be angry, and right to project his anger in that way, or else they won’t listen. Besides, you do have to admit you like it when he’s angry, and this new role of command suits him well.

Yet not everyone agrees, especially not his mother. She glances over at you in search of aid, but you just meet her gaze and flash her your smirk as you lift your nose in the air and sit back; because now you too carry this sense of cockiness, this rise in your ego that comes with your new title that the Lords around the table had to oblige to out of fear of Aemond.

If it were up to them they wouldn’t have allowed the daughter of Rhaenyra to sit amongst them and listen to their war plans, but you are now the Princess Regent in a time of war, you are needed around the table to listen mostly. And yes that bugs you, you still want to do more, and you hope now that Aemond discovered your immunity he’ll let you do more, that he’ll let you fight like you wanted to, but you don’t know. You haven’t talked about that night and the fact that he saw that the fire is not harmful or deadly to you, you haven’t had time, and even if you know you saw the love and awe in his eyes you still fear what he has to say on the matter, so that also why you haven’t really tried to talk about it.

You’ll talk about it soon, you have to, right now you’re just relishing in the fact that you’re around the table and that you have a more important title. You find pride in it, and more power than you’ve had before.

It’s intoxicating.

“Your irritations are justified, Aemond,” Alicent tries to do what she wanted you to do. “But it does seem—”

“I have a task for you, as well,” Aemond cuts Alicent off as he begins to stalk around the table. “Ser Tyland.”

Alicent’s brown eyes once again find you and pass her confusion for her son's sudden cold shoulder towards her, and even if you know what brought this on, you don’t offer her sympathy or pity, you look at her blankly before following Aemond with your eyes and watch him land behind Ser Tyland, like a predator scaring its prey.

“We will make an alliance with the Triarchy,” Aemond continues. “I've had enough of this cursed blockade.”

“My Prince,” Ser Tyland tries to bring up an argument. “You cannot mean to treat with the Free Cities. The captains of their ships are dangerous mercenaries, little more than pirates—”

“They are a stone's throw away across the Narrow Sea,” Aemond cuts the man's argument off as he steals a glance at you to let his gaze linger on you before he drops his eye on the man under him. “Lannister and Hightower ships will take months to arrive. The Triarchy will delight in the chance to terrorize the Sea Snake again. Let them weaken his blockade while our true allies make their long journey east.”

“The Triarchy may play at accepting terms but they are not to be trusted,” Alicent tries to reason with Aemond. “Your father knew this. What has come of our letters to the Greyjoys?” She drifts to a different matter in the same territory.

“They have been to no avail,” maester Orwyle gives the Dowager Queen the answer she seeked.

“The Red Kraken waits,” Lord Jasper interjects. “Seeking his best advantage. Though we may draw him in with honey. If it comes to it. An offer of marriage, perhaps to the Dowager Queen?”

You snicker in amusement and Alicent glances at you as she protests. “Out of the question.”

“You’ll have better luck breaking the Ice Wall,” you break your silence with knowledge you harbor from your past in the North. “When I was ward to Lady Karstark, the Greyjoys would send raid parties to Stony Shores, so to make them stop Lord Bennard Stark sent a proposal, one of his sons to one of Lord Greyjoy's many daughters,” you scoff and slowly lean forward.

“Lord Greyjoy sent back a nasty and bloody reply to deny the proposal. The raids did not stop until Lord Cregan Stark became lord because the Greyjoys’s answer with violence. I would suggest letting them sack some town close to their shores to gain their favor.”

“A bloody proposal but it might work,” Lord Larys actually says in your favor.

Alas Lord Jasper counters with discreet disagreement.

“We would have to think about it, and think of which shores they can attack.”

And that’s another way of saying no. You’ll tell your mother then, or Daemon, they’ll listen and gain their favor instead.

“The Dowager Queen spoke wisely, Your Grace,” Ser Criston cuts in. “Even if the blockade could be broken, are we to invite these alien raiders into our waters, so close to King’s Landing?”

“It’s time you set out for Harrenhal, I think,” Aemond pays his thought no mind and actually does as you told him. Which only works to feed that already heightened cockiness.

“Your Grace, if Daemon prevails in the Riverlands I no longer have the numbers to challenge him,” Ser Criston rebuttals, making you bite back your smug smile as you sit back and instead let your cockiness be shown in the way you sit, and the way your nose is slightly perked to touch the air, welcoming the sunlight to kiss your face just perfectly and only make you look that more regal.

“We lost much at Rook’s Rest,” Ser Criston makes sure to share while his eyes follow Aemond as he sits on the edge of the table beside him. “As you well know.”

“The longer we wait, the more chance he will prevail,” Aemond rebuttals using a variation of what you told him not long ago. “Lannister will march from the west. Take what strength we have and force Daemon and his Riverlords to fight on two fronts.”

You fiddle with one of your many rings on your fingers and watch the man seem almost hesitant to do as he’s told.

“His Grace speaks wisely,” Lord Larys says, but Ser Criston argues.

“We would do better to await the Hightower host and set out in good time.”

Aemond’s gaze drifts to you and you lock eyes but say or motion for nothing. You remain as prideful and smug and just hold his gaze until he returns his attention to the man beside him.

“There is no time,” Aemond counters. “It’s a fortnight's march to Harrenhal. We must strike before his army is raised.”

“And you yourself?”

Aemond tilts his head up and once again shares his smugness on the Daemon matter. “I will fly out to meet you when the time is ripe. My uncle is a challenge I welcome…if he dares face me.”

You could laugh at that. You could laugh at the many things Aemond says about Daemon because he thinks that Daemon is somehow scared, or at his level, and sure Aemond is threatening with Vhagar and his swordsman’s skills, but Aemond doesn’t have Daemon’s experience yet, once he does then you can say they could see eye to eye.

“I have some concerning news to share,” Lord Larys interjects and earns everyone’s attention. “I have just heard that Lord Cregan Stark leads an army of two thousand older men.”

You blink and that overpowering arrogance falters at the mention of Cregan, at the mention that he’s on his way to fight for his Queen after he said he couldn’t march so soon himself.

He’s actually coming down and that thought excites you more than it should. It makes your heart swoon more than it should. Yet you don’t display the smile that threatens to spread on your lips, you don’t let your heart show your pride or joy through your eyes, you remain nonchalant and ignore the attentive eyes of Lord Larys as he tries to catch any reaction, but you don’t give him the satisfaction.

“A measly army of old men that will be brought down quickly,” Aemond brushes Lord Larys off, but that's what the Lord expected, he just wanted to see how you would react, but you don’t fall for his trap.

“Now, I see we’re all agreed,” Aemond brings an end to the meeting after a moment's silence whilst he returns to his seat across from you.

“Your Grace,” Ser Criston says after he stands up.

The other bodies around the table don’t linger behind, they rise from their seats and walk out, you do the same but rather than walking out right away, you make yourself around the table to press a kiss on Aemond’s cheek that he welcomes by leaning over to meet your lips.

“My love,” you offer him sweet words before stepping back to walk around his seat with your fingers brushing over his shoulders.

Before you can lose touch, he captures your hand and brings you to a stop.

“Mother…a word,” he calls out before Alicent can leave the perimeters, all while he never once breaks your connection, and sparks this quick-growing tension that makes your heart begin to race with excitement.

“You,” he directs at you. “Eat. Don’t think you went unnoticed when we broke fast.”

You sigh. “I have found it more difficult this morning, they did not like what I ate,” you refer to the twins inside you. “Even now the thought of any food makes me want to vomit.”

Aemond hums and lets your hand go to caress your belly. “I’ll talk to the maester. You talk to Vanessa, have her make you some tea.”

You offer him a soft smile and give his mind some peace by nodding in agreement.

Aemond caresses your belly one more time with a faint smile before he grabs your hand and sends you off with a kiss on your knuckles.

As you walk away you don’t leave in silence, you pass Alicent and give her your last word. “Mother.”

Her eyes follow you and you can feel them on your back as you stride out with a teasing smirk because you both know that you meant that mockingly.

Now to the Godswood, where you won’t be alone, no, now rather than one guard there’s two watching over you now; Ser Jason, and Ser Cane Clegane; The Blood Hound as he’s popularly known, a thirty-something-year-old man who is rather stoic, with broad shoulders, built like an ox, and carries a deep and almost rocky voice. You are wary mostly because of your own indiscretions, but from what little time you have had with him he does look rather trustworthy.

Then again Aemond did personally inspect him and even tested his worth, so he is reliable if your life is ever threatened.

You hope you’ll have to wait and see.

Regardless, no one interrupts the peace you instantly find in the Godswood. You find comfort in the smell of the red leaves that swirl in your nose thanks to the gentle wind that howls in your ear. You feel bliss as the warm sunlight peeking through the gaps between the red leaves kisses your face. And not counting the shadows lurking in the distance, you don’t feel alone as you lose your eyes on the weeping face carved on the weirwood tree.

Eyes stare back at you, but it’s not a piercing gaze, it’s not judgmental, or heavy with intimidation, they’re gentle eyes, caring, and attentive. They admire your smile as you can’t help but think of Cregan marching down with his men to fight.

You shouldn’t be so happy, you need to knock your joy and pride down a peg or two after all, it’s unlikely you’ll see him, but you can’t help but feel…happy at the thought after you were certain that he would not dare come so soon.

And it’s not that you want to hop on your dragon and meet him halfway, no, the thought doesn’t cross your mind. You’re just happy to hear he’s coming with his army of men.

“Princess.”

And just like that your peace is broken, and by no other than Alicent who seems quite distressed when you turn to face her.

Why? What could she want?

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A/N- Abbey by Mitski is yours and Aemond's anthem period in this story period.

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[mikewheelerfan2022]

A few days ago I saw art of Kai being a member of the Forbidden Five. And ever since then it has been all I can think about. I have spent so many hours thinking about this silly little concept. I don’t just want to write a fanfic. I NEED to. And fuck it, I’m declaring myself the CEO of Forbidden Five Kai. Idec if it doesn’t become canon. It probably won’t. But I am obsessed.