#daemon x rhaenyra smut

[welldonebeca]

You Came Back to Me (1)

Summary: On the anniversary of 20 years of their first date, Rhaenyra and Daemon remember it in a very nice way. (Set in August 2024) Warnings: Modern AU. Fluff. Smut. Married Daemyra.

Enjoy Modern Targaryens? Check my 'Keeping Up With the Targaryens' series.

Daemon’s mind was already on next year’s celebration.

Rhaenyra had just turned 39, so next year they needed to have something significant. They had to invite the whole family, get some side entertainment for the kids... of course, Daemon’s gift to her would have to be the biggest so far.

August was a very important month for them. They’d had their legal marriage just days before Rhaenyra’s birthday, and today was the anniversary of their first real date together. Of course, they didn’t celebrate all of these events individually. Their real marriage, in front of the gods, was in July, and their date was a sweet memory. They were much too busy to do something about it when they’d just celebrated Rhaenyra’s birthday.

“Daddy!” Joff called. “Can we listen to Bluey music?”

Daemon looked at the kids through the rearview mirror.

“Of course.” he confirmed.

‘Bluey music’ was their term for classical music. If there was anything Daemon was grateful for in that dog show, it was how it actually taught his kids to enjoy classical music. It was unexpected, but it was nice. He started 'The Planets' from the car playlist – they had just paused it on 'Mercury'. It was a pleasant surprise to realise his young sons had introduced him to Gustav Holst.

Daemon hoped a little bit that of them was musically inclined, but so far no one had asked for anything, and they just liked listening to the pieces.

He chuckled when Joff and Eggy tried to mimic different instruments with their voices, as adorably off-key as kids tended to be. They had already dropped Viserys at preschool first, the building much closer to their home than the boys’ elementary school. They were all run by the same board, but somehow everything was apart.

Something something phases, something something stage…

At least it worked well. The kids were quite independent and curious and eager to learn more.

Of course, all of this also meant that they were officially in a house with no children from nine in the morning to two in the afternoon for the first time since… well, since forever!

Daemon had married Rhaenyra when Joff was a few months old, and by the time he was off to preschool, they had Eggy; and by the time Eggy was off to preschool, they had Viserys! A silent day at their house existed exactly once – when their older kids were in Westeros, and they were making Aegon.

But here he was, dropping off the last two kids before going home to work in a house with no children. The sound of his phone ringing made him frown a bit.

Rhaenyra?

He pressed the button on the panel screen.

“Hello,” he greeted her.

“Are we in the car?” his wife asked sweetly.

That made him smile a little bit.

“We are,” he confirmed. “Is this an extended goodbye to the little dragons?”

“Mama!” the boys echoed.

“Hello, my little dragons,” Rhaenyra greeted them happily. “Just calling to say I hope you have the best day at school today! Listen to your teachers and play nicely with your friends, and remember that Mama loves you very much.”

“We will, Mama!” Joff and Eggy chorused.

“I might pick you up later today,” she told them. “And we can play games in the car, what do you think?”

The boys agreed very loudly and very excitedly.

Daemon parked up.

“Alright, we’re in school grounds,” he announced. “Say bye to mama.”

“Bye, mama!”

“Goodbye, my sweet boys,” she answered back. “I love you!”

“We love you!”

Daemon got them out of the car quickly, and the teacher’s assistant was already by the door, waiting for them.

“Goodbye, goodbye, have a nice day,” he gave them their backpacks. “I love you, don’t break any bones.”

They walked off, and he watched them go before getting into the car, and he’d just closed the door when he heard his wife’s voice again.

“I suppose we are alone now?” she asked, the warmth maternal tone of her voice gone now.

Daemon raised his eyebrows.

“As alone as we can be in a moving car,” he lowered the volume. “Is anything wrong?”

Had anything happened in the family that the kids couldn’t know?

“Well...” his wife dragged the word. “I…”

He waited, raising his eyebrows as he drove off.

“You?”

“I was just seeing some pictures,” his wife spoke, a little bit dismissive. “Old pictures.”

Daemon frowned. Pictures?

“Our wedding pictures?” he asked.

They had just celebrated their 9th anniversary. That was a bit of time ago, though he wouldn’t really think of them as ‘old pictures’.

“No,” she dragged the word. “A bit… older.”

His frown deepened. Was she breathless?

“From when?” he asked, looking out to the street before making a turn.

His wife let out a little sight and his whole body became alerted.

He knew that little sound of hers.

But… that couldn’t be.

“When we went to the club...” she sighed so lazily, and her voice slightly. “My love.”

A moan. A delicious moan over his phone.

“Rhaenyra,” he tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “What are you doing?”

She let out a mixture of a moan and laugh that travelled down straight into his cock, already hardening up from hearing her.

“You asked me the same thing, uncle,” she moaned, and he bit down his lip, looking around the road.

He was fucking far from home, what did she think she was doing?

Daemon pressed his foot down on the speed pedal, dodging a couple of cars.

“What are you doing, Rhaenyra?” she moaned. “And you remember what I said? I need you, uncle.”

He stiffened completely.

Fuck, how could he ever forge that fucking day?

It was what had put in his mind the idea of taking her out, that call.

“I need you,” she pleaded on the other side of the line, like she'd done before. “Uncle, please?”

It was the biggest temptation of his life, not crossing that stupid corridor and locking himself in his room to give in to the endless desire he had for her, not break the vow he’d made to himself about not tainting her with his wickedness.

But she was his wife now, and she could be just as wicked as Daemon was.

“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing, my queen,” he tried to keep his focus.

He had to get home soon, but also safely.

“Please, uncle?” she moaned, and he could hear something buzzing by her side.

Her vibrator.

“Are you coming home?” she moaned more. “Are you close?”

“I’m trying,” he exhaled, squirming, feeling his pants fully tight now.

“Don’t speed,” she giggled.

“You are not making that easy,” he chastised her.

His wife held her breath for a moment and moaned a long, slow sound, and he sped up the car at a yellow light.

“Rhaenyra,” he clenched his teeth, ready to rip out the fucking steering wheel. “You better not be fucking my pussy."

She moaned more, and he saw red. That teasing brat.

“What are you doing?” he growled, turning the last curve to their neighbourhood.

“Touching myself,” she panted. “I need you so much, uncle, I can’t wait, please?”

“Where?”

She laughed a little again, and that only made him even more furious.

“My...” she stuttered. “Your pussy.”

Daemon exhaled.

“Good little princess,” he drove down their street. “You’re right, it is mine. So why, I wonder, are you playing with my favourite toy?”

He didn’t need to stop before crossing their gates, security had already opened them for him.

“Because I need you,” she whined.

Daemon bit down a groan.

“I’m parking the fucking car,” he warned her. “And if I get into our room and I find those fingers inside you, you’re gonna suffer the consequences.”

She outrightly laughed.

“Welcome home,” his dear wife wished him.

And she hung up.

Keep reading it on AO3.

[cinemassance]

𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲

⤷ e | #daemyra | 6.8k ⤷ 2/2 | complete ⤷ the truth comes out, not just about criston's cheating but daemon and rhaenyra's feelings for each other

[cinemassance-oneshots]

simmering love

rhaenyra owns a successful restaurant and both daemon and rhaenyra give into their cravings for each other

nsfw content

inspo https://archiveofourown.org/works/45655252/chapters/115650040#workskin

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

The Vow Spoken Through Time - Masterlist

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut, dirty talk, oral (both receiving), praise, slight degradation, slight d/s vibes, Brat!Reader, Jealous!Rhaenyra, Jealous!Daemon, canon-typical violence

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra, AU:No Dance of Dragons, playful dynamic, Modern!Reader in HOTD!World

Status: Ongoing

Description:

Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?! Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them. AKA: You fall through worlds and wake up in our favorite blondes’ bed. SHAMELESS “reader falls into HOTD world from our world” trope (I’m sorry, I CANNOT help myself, I’m a sucker for them). There’s not really a plot plot, but if you stay long enough we might run into one.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13…coming soon

Want to be added to a taglist? Click HERE!

[wholoveseggs]

Mistress

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader} It's a stormy night on Dragonstone and you seek solace in your queen's bed, but a certain king consort joins the two of you, making the evening even more interesting...

4.6k words - Warnings: smut, incest, daemyra centric, voyeurism, ffm threesome, tribbing, fingering, oral (male & female receiving) face sitting, riding, Daemon being cheeky, Rhaenyra being a bit nervous& inexperienced in pleasing a woman, lots of kisses, tons of fluff & teensy tiny bit of somnophilia ...

{Daemon Targaryen Tag-List}

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer @cheneyq @fallout-girl219 @nina6708 @evasmlp @sadmonke @deamonloverrrr

It was well past midnight on Dragonstone, the sound of rain tapping on the stone floor filled the quiet halls of the castle. It was dark and cold but that did not bother the two lovers as they embraced in the sheets, bodies entangled in one another.

Soft moans and heavy breaths filled the room as you straddled your queen, the sheets pooling around your waists as your lips moved against her plump ones, kissing her deeply. Your fingers danced up her arms, her shoulders, and her neck before finding their way into her beautiful silver-gold hair. Her own hands were running down your back and over the curve of your ass before giving it a light squeeze.

A quiet giggle escaped your lips as she squeezed again, and you pulled away from her slightly, pressing your forehead against hers as you both gazed into each other's eyes. You could see the lust and passion as she smiled, moving a hand from your ass and up your side before cupping your cheek and bringing you back to her for another kiss.

Rhaenyra had never felt the touch of another woman before, nor the taste of her lips. Her heart was pounding in her chest, feeling you against her as she deepened the kiss. The feeling of your bare skin against her own was magic. Your warm soft breasts pressing against hers, making her nipples harden against your chest. She could feel the wetness between her thighs, and she knew you could feel it too.

"Your grace," you murmured against her lips, your soft hands caressing the young queen's face, "you are shaking," you told her, feeling her body trembling beneath you.

"I'm just a little cold," Rhaenyra lied, she felt heat flood her cheeks at the way you smiled down at her.

"Then let me warm you," you replied, pulling her closer to you as you moved a hand down her neck and between her breasts, your fingers trailing her soft pale skin. You moved down her stomach, over her navel, and through the neatly trimmed patch of hair on her mound before reaching her soaking wet center.

You watched your queen's face closely, her eyes fluttering shut as you ran a finger along the wetness, making her let out a moan, her lips parting. You smiled at her reaction and brought your finger to her pearl, rubbing the sensitive spot gently, watching as Rhaenyras skin began to flush a beautiful pink, her breathing becoming more ragged.

"Does that feel good, your grace?" you asked her, slowly moving your finger back and forth as you lowered your head and kissed her jaw.

"Yes," she breathed, her hips bucking against your touch as her hands gripped the sheets tightly.

To be intimate with a dragon felt like a dream, feeling the heat radiate off of her body, her skin glistening with sweat. It was an honor to teach her, an honor to touch her, and an honor to watch her as she was pleasured.

You gently pushed her back onto the bed, her silver-gold hair fanned out on the pillow like a halo around her head, the moonlight shining through the window, illuminating her body. You wondered if the Targaryens tasted different than other women, their blood was so close to dragon blood, the magic that was once coursing through their veins, maybe it still did, maybe it still lingered.

Rhaenyra looked up at you with wide eyes as you kissed down the valley between her breasts and over her stomach, your warm lips leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites on her skin. You glanced up at her, making sure she was okay as you kissed her mound. You could smell her sweet scent, like honey and jasmine.

Your eyes stayed locked with hers as you slowly moved down, kissing her inner thigh, your nose tickling her soft flesh. You could hear her breath catch in her throat as you pressed a soft kiss against her swollen pearl, her hips lifting up slightly at the feeling. You smiled and gave it another kiss, flicking your tongue over it before sucking it into your mouth.

You could feel her squirming beneath you, her thighs trying to close around your head. You placed a hand on her stomach, holding her still as you licked, sucked and nipped. Her moans filled the room, her back arching off the bed, her hand flying to the top of your head and pulling on your hair.

Her taste flooded your mouth as she cried out, her body shaking with her climax. You slowly eased your lips off her, moving back and reaching out your hands, pulling her into a sitting position. You kissed her shoulder, her neck, and her jaw, moving your lips up to hers, kissing her gently, letting her taste herself.

"Men, you see, don't know the first thing about a woman's body," you explained, stroking her hair gently as she tried to catch her breath, "they fail to understand just what it takes to please one."

"They can be a bit selfish, can't they?" Rhaenyra whispered, a slow smile spreading across her face as you nodded.

You giggled and wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her flush against your body, your breasts pressed together.

The candles flickered, light bouncing off your bodies which were now glistening with a soft sheen of sweat. The sound of the heavy rainfall and the cracking of the fire drowned out the laboured breathing as you placed your leg over her hip and brought your core against hers.

Rhaenyra gasped when you made contact, and you began to rock your hips, grinding yourself against her. You held her tightly, her hands gripping your ass, squeezing and guiding you, trying to find the right rhythm.

Soft gasps and moans echoed off the stone walls as the two of you moved together, your lips brushing over hers. Rhaenyra moaned into your mouth, becoming lost in the pleasure, the heat, the wetness, the feeling of you against her.

Daemon had always loved a good storm. The sound of the hammering rain, the crack of the lightning and the rumble of thunder made his blood rush.

He had been away from home for far too long, so much that he had forgotten the tranquility Dragonstone provided. Even on nights such as these, when the weather was unpredictable, he loved the thrill of riding on Caraxes over the hills and valleys, letting the storm rage, letting the wind and rain beat his body, it was exhilarating.

But the thrill he craved the most was that of his wife. He missed his queen, his darling Rhaenyra. He missed the way they clashed together, tearing into each other with claws and teeth and desire. Nothing could tame the fire he had for her.

He landed Caraxes in the courtyard and dismounted, his boots splashing in the puddles as he strides towards the main entrance. He entered the castle and began to make his way through the dimly lit halls, heading towards the royal chambers.

Guards watched as the king consort strolled through the castle, drenched from the rain with his hair wet and braided. He was in his element here, walking the halls of his ancestral home, eyes blazing and the blood in his veins running hot.

He came to the large wooden doors of the royal chambers and opened them, entering the room and closing them behind him. The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was sweet, like honey, and the air was thick with a heady aroma.

His eye was immediately drawn to the vast windows, from which he could see the beautiful night sky and the dark and stormy seas, the rain pelted the windows and the sound echoed throughout the room.

A slither of lightning brightened up the room for a moment. the flash of light allowing Daemon to see two naked figures intertwined in a soft and untroubled sleep.

He stayed still by the door, taking in the sight of the two bodies before him. They lay on their sides facing each other, their legs and arms entwined, their hair splayed out on the pillows and their skin glistening. He could see the soft rise and fall of their chests, and the peaceful look on their faces as they slept.

He knew he deserved this, whatever this affair was. He couldn't blame his wife for seeking out affection when he provided her with none. But he would have never expected it to be her closest handmaiden.

He was intrigued by the pair and found himself approaching the bed. He could see your breasts peeking out from the sheets, the way your skin was flushed, and how your hair was sticking to your face and neck. His wife's skin was the same, her cheeks rosy and her lips parted, soft snores escaping.

This was a gift and he couldn't deny himself a taste.

He pulled off his gloves and cloak, leaving them in a heap on the floor, then he approached his wife. He leaned over her, placing a hand on her hip, feeling her warmth against his palm. He slowly slid his hand up her side and over her shoulder, caressing her cheek. He could hear her soft sigh, and her body began to stir as he gently pushed her hair away from her face.

He leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her cheek, her skin soft and supple beneath his lips. "Rhaenyra," he purred, kissing further down to her neck, sucking on the sensitive skin, "what are you dreaming about?"

She shifted a little, her head lolling to the side as he kissed her shoulder. Her lips parted, and a quiet moan escaped her, and she turned her head towards him.

"Daemon?" she muttered, her voice sleepy.

He hummed, the sound vibrating against her skin, his stubble scratching her, "wake up, love."

Her eyes slowly opened, and the realization that her husband was home washed over her.

"Daemon," she repeated, her eyes widening.

He pulled back and met her gaze, his lips curling into a wicked grin.

"Hello, my love," he said, his voice low, his tone teasing.

Her heart started to race and she looked over at you, her face reddening when she saw your sleeping form.

"She's new," Daemon commented, noticing the way she watched you, "your first, yes?"

Rhaenyra's blush darkened as she nodded.

He smiled and walked over to you, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes scanned over your body, noticing the way the sheets barely covered your naked form.

"You have good taste," he said, his fingers brushing your cheek, his knuckles lightly grazing your lips.

She couldn't help but watch the way his eye raked over your body, how his touch lingered. It stirred something within her, something she had never felt before. She didn't feel jealous, nor did she feel embarrassed, rather she was curious.

Daemon noticed her watching, and he glanced over at her, smirking at the look on his wife's face.

"Did she teach you much?" he asked her, his fingers running down your arm.

"Some," Rhaenyra answered, her eyes following his fingers, her chest rising and falling as her breathing quickened.

"Show me," Daemon said, looking up at her.

Her eyes met his and her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to, she desperately wanted to. The idea of sharing you with him, showing him what you had taught her, ignited a fire in her, one that burned hotter than the one that burned between the two of them.

She nodded, moving towards you, her eyes locked on his.

He smiled, walking over to the nearby table and pouring himself a glass of wine. He leaned back against the table and took a sip as he watched his wife slowly wake you.

You felt a gentle touch on your cheek, a thumb brushing over your lips. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, and your gaze was met by beautiful purple ones, a loving smile gracing the lips of the young queen.

Her kiss was tender and sweet, her hand caressing your cheek as she deepened the kiss. A quiet moan escaped you, and you returned the kiss, reaching out to cup her face, pulling her closer.

The kiss quickly became heated, both of you desperate to taste and feel each other. Your hands wandered, touching and groping, and you let out a soft moan against her lips.

That's when you heard a low, raspy laugh. Your eyes shot open and you looked over Rhaenyra's shoulder and saw Daemon standing by the table, a wine goblet in his hand, his eyes fixed on you.

He smirked, raising his drink in your direction.

Your cheeks burned, realizing the king consort was watching. You quickly sat up, pulling the sheets over your body as Rhaenyra's gaze flicked between you and him.

"No, please, continue, I was enjoying the show," Daemon chuckled, taking a long swig of his wine.

You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze and your body tensed as his eyes drifted down your naked body, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. You could tell by the growing bulge in his trousers that he was indeed turned on by what he was seeing.

His smile grew, clearly enjoying how flustered you were, how his presence had caught you off guard.

Daemon turned and walked across the room, locking the door, making a point to look at the two of you as he did so. Rhaenyra looked at you and then back at him, swallowing hard as he slowly began walking towards the bed, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

He pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it aside, standing before you and Rhaenyra bare-chested. His body was covered in scars from past battles, the damaged skin shining slightly in the moonlight. His eyes were burning with a fire that made the pit of your stomach flutter.

Panic flooded your mind, clouding your reasoning. You quickly scrambled out of bed, holding the sheet to your body. You bowed, your legs trembling slightly as you lowered yourself in front of him.

"M-my king conso-, f-forgive me. I-I...I'm so sorry." You stuttered, your voice shaking, feeling your heart race.

You didn't dare look up at him. You kept your head down and your eyes focused on his feet.

He chuckled, looking at his wife then back at you, taking in the sight of you kneeling before him, your body quivering and the blanket barely covering your breasts. He could see the panic in your eyes, and the way you trembled, like a small bird that had just been caught by a predator.

Daemon grabbed you by the wrist, his grip strong but gentle, pulling you to your feet and back towards the bed, pushing you down next to his wife. You gasped as your back hit the soft mattress and you looked up at him, fear and confusion in your eyes.

"Relax," he whispered, his voice low, his hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips.

Your gaze flicked between him and Rhaenyra. They had an intense gaze, and it was clear they had a connection, an energy, a bond. Their eyes locked onto each other, and Daemon smiled, bringing his free hand up to cup her cheek.

"She's a lovely creature, isn't she?" He mused, his eyes still on his wife.

"Yes," Rhaenyra whispered, her cheeks burning and her heart pounding.

"You enjoyed her?"

"Very much."

He hummed, his hand moving up and grasping her chin, pulling her close and kissing her.

You watched in awe as his lips moved against hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth. Rhaenyra's hands rested on his shoulders, clinging tightly to him. You could see her nipples were hard, her breasts pressing against his chest.

"I can taste her on your lips." He said, his voice low, his gaze flicking to you.

Your face turned red, and you couldn't stop staring. They were so beautiful together, their passion seemed to radiate off of them.

Rhaenyra turned to you and smiled, her cheeks flushed and her eyes full of lust.

Daemon smirked, pulling back and moving to lean against the headboard, his eye raking over your body, his cock straining against his trousers.

"Well, don't let me stop you," he said, taking another swig of his wine.

Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with mischief as she turned back to you. She pressed her lips to yours, kissing you deeply, her hands roaming your body.

Daemon watched with a grin, his hand moving to his crotch, squeezing his erection as she kissed down your jaw, moving to your neck and over the swell of your breasts. Her lips leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses on your skin.

Daemon's eyes were fixed on the two of you as Rhaenyra's kisses traveled further down your body, stopping between your legs. You felt her warm breath on your thighs, and you couldn't help but moan softly, feeling her mouth move closer to your aching core.

"Look at me," Daemon commanded.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze, his eyes burning into you as Rhaenyra pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. Her lips traveled up and over your mound, her inexperience was evident, but the young queen was determined to prove herself.

You let out a soft whimper, your hips lifting off the bed, feeling her warm tongue slowly drag up the length of your pussy. She moved her tongue between your lips, tasting the wetness that had pooled there.

Daemon watched with amusement, his eyes darkening as Rhaenyra began to lap and suck. Her mouth was warm and wet, her tongue moving in slow circles. She was doing well, making you squirm with need.

You couldn't stop the moans from escaping your lips, your hands gripping the sheets. Daemon untied his breeches, freeing his erect cock.

It was a beautiful sight, seeing him slowly stroke himself, his gaze never leaving the two of you. To be in the presence of two dragons was an honour, but to be fucked by the two of them was something else entirely.

Daemon moved closer to the two of you, his hand reaching out, caressing the curve of your cheek. He cupped your chin and tilted your head, turning your attention away from his wife and onto him.

He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue darting into your mouth. His fingers brushed over your nipples, making them harden, his teeth tugging at your lower lip.

Rhaenyra paused, looking up at the two of you kissing, watching as her husband claimed your mouth, his fingers pinching and teasing your breasts. She enjoyed the way you reacted to him, your body quivering beneath them, your hips bucking up towards her.

Daemon slowly pulled away, looking at his wife, and then back at you. His strong hands trailed down your body, his fingers dancing along the curves of your breasts, the swell of your stomach, and the dip of your navel.

Rhaenyra watched his fingers dip inside you, his thumb brushing against your swollen pearl. Your back arched, and you moaned, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

Daemon smiled and began rubbing you, his fingers moving in slow circles. Then he pulled his fingers out and pushed them past Rhaenyras lips. She sucked them clean, her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him.

"Do you like the way she tastes?" Daemon asked, pulling his fingers from her mouth.

"Yes," she replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

He let out an approving little hum, sitting up and looking down at his wife, his cock still in his hand.

"Continue," he told her.

Rhaenyra nodded and returned to her task, her tongue slow and deliberate, licking and sucking, savoring every drop of you. You felt the heat rising inside of you, the warmth spreading through your body.

You reached out and began to stroke Daemon's cock, his head falling back and his eyes closing.

"Good girl," he said, his voice low.

You pumped his cock, feeling the hard, silky flesh between your fingers, precum leaking from the tip. He moved closer and you licked the head, swirling your tongue around the tip. You could taste the saltiness as you slowly took him into your mouth, feeling the weight of him on your tongue.

You bobbed your head up and down, taking him as deep as you could, your eyes never leaving his. His eyes were dark, filled with lust, his pupils blown wide. He moaned and grabbed a handful of your hair, guiding your head up and down, fucking your mouth.

The sound of his grunts and moans filled the air, along with the soft, wet sounds of Rhaenyras mouth. She had begun to suck harder, her fingers joining her tongue, pumping in and out of you.

You moaned around his cock, the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure through his body, his hips thrusting forward.

"That's it, sweet girl," Daemon murmured, his grip tightening, pulling your hair and forcing you to look up at him. He looked beautiful, his silver hair hanging down, framing his face.

Rhaenyra was moving faster, her tongue and fingers working in tandem, the heat between her thighs intensifying. She pushed you over the edge, your thighs shaking as you came, a muffled moan escaping your lips.

Daemon pulled his cock out of your mouth, smirking as he tapped the tip against your tongue. Then his eyes drifted to his wife, her lips swollen and shining, her cheeks flushed.

He pulled her up and kissed her deeply, tasting the sweetness of your arousal on her lips. He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer, his cock pressing against her stomach.

You watched the two dragons kiss, their tongues sliding against each other, their bodies pressed together. It was a beautiful sight, their silver hair looked as though it was entwined, the moonlight making their skin shine.

Daemon broke the kiss and moved his lips to his wife's neck, sucking and biting, marking her pale skin. She gasped and moaned, her hands pressing into his chest.

You were lying there, your body still trembling from your climax, watching as the queen and king got lost in each other.

You could hear the sounds of their kissing, the soft moans and grunts, the rustling of the sheets. Rhaenyra pushed him back onto the soft bed, trailing kisses over his chest and stomach. Her fingers grazed the scars that covered his chest, the ones she knew all too well.

Daemon watched as his wife took his cock in her mouth, slowly sliding her lips up and down, taking him as deep as she could. He groaned and reached out for you, pulling you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you.

Rhaenyra's eyes met yours, her lips curled around her husband's cock. She looked so beautiful, her eyes wide and filled with lust, her mouth stretched and her cheeks flushed.

She slowly pulled her mouth away from him, moving up to straddle him. He gripped her hips, his eyes filled with desire, his lips parted.

He could feel her wetness against his cock, sliding up and down his length, her breasts bouncing slightly as she moved.

"Kneel for you king," he whispered against your lips, gently biting down on your bottom lip.

You pulled back, slightly confused by his request, until he gestured to his face. You blushed furiously as you realized what he wanted. You moved closer, his hands guiding you, helping you straddle his face, facing Rhaenyra.

She smirked, her eyes locked with yours as you both lowered yourselves. The two of you leaned in and shared a messy kiss, tongues slipping past swollen lips.

Daemon's hummed against you, his stubble scratching your thighs and his hands tight on your hips. He always wanted to die a dragon rider's death... But this? This was a glorious way to go.

Rhaenyra's eyes closed, her head resting on your shoulder as she began to move, her hips rocking, his cock hitting that spot deep inside her. Daemon had never felt such pure bliss, the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of his wife riding him, the sounds of soft moans like a chorus.

The three of you were lost in the heat and the pleasure, the taste and the touch. You could hear the bed creaking, the headboard hitting the wall, the sheets rustling, the sound of lips and skin crashing against one another.

You watched the way your queen rode her husband, her body moving like water, her hips rolling and grinding against his. You reached down to where they were connected, touching her, feeling the wetness of her arousal mixed with the thickness of her husband's cock.

Daemon groaned and held you tighter, his grip on your hips almost bruising, his mouth devouring you.

Rhaenyra leaned in and kissed you, her hands cradling your face, lips crashing together. You could feel your legs beginning to tremble, the pressure of your release building.

"Cum with me," Rhaenyra purred, her forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, with half lidded eyes, watching Rhaenyra grind her hips faster, her nails scraping down your arms as she held onto you. The pressure inside you became too much and your climax hit you hard. Rhaenyra's moans were loud and breathy, her head thrown back, her pale skin glistening with sweat, her silver hair cascading down her back and the candlelight danced across her skin.

The two of you rode out your highs, gasping and panting. Your fingers intertwined with hers, the smell of sex heavy in the air. Daemon followed soon after, a guttural moan escaping his lips, his cock twitching, his release spilling into his wife.

You slowly climbed off Daemon and collapsed on the bed, the three of you tumbling into a tangle of limbs and sheets.

Rhaenyra snuggled up next to her husband, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close. You watched the two of them, a small smile on your lips, the love they had for each other was plain to see. Daemon looked over at you, reaching his arm out and beckoning you to him.

You scooted closer, cuddling up to him, his arm wrapping around your waist.

"This is my favorite one so far," he said softly, kissing your forehead.

Rhaenyra giggled, leaning over him to kiss you, her lips soft and warm. You felt safe and content, lying there with the two dragons, their fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

"Shall we keep her?" Rhaenyra asked, looking up at her husband, a lazy smile curling at her lips.

"Indeed, we shall," Daemon replied, his hand moving up and down her arm.

The three of you stayed there for a while, enjoying the closeness, the warmth and comfort of each other's bodies. You could feel your eyes beginning to close, the exhaustion creeping in, the heat from them made you feel sleepy and comfortable.

To be in the presence of not just one dragon, but two, was a great honor. But to be their mistress? Their shared lover? That was the rarest of privileges, one that you would savor for the rest of your days.

[shuichiakainx]

🤟😂🖤

[maidragoste]

The Decision

Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader, minor Harwin Strong x Velaryon!Reader, Rhaenyra Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

Again another AU with the reader of The Sea Dragon, The Clubfoot and The Green Queen (you don't need to read it to understand this one shot because this story starts LONG BEFORE the canon of that universe).

Summary: When King Viserys announces that he plans to marry you, you make a decision to avoid becoming the king's wife.

Now you can read this bonus!

TW: This is NSFW (if you don't like it you can read only the Rhaenyra and Harwin parts)

I was dying to share this with all of you so I hope you like it!

If you want to read more of this Reader and Daemon, don't hesitate to let me know in the comments or in my inbox 🤭

REBLOGS, comments and likes are always greatly appreciated 🥰🥰💖💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. Also this is my first smut so sorry if it's weird to read.

You felt your heart hammering as you waited for the king to make his announcement. Your stomach wouldn't stop spinning and you have no idea how you still hadn't vomited up what you had for breakfast.

With every passing second you have to keep yourself from running out of the council chambers. You couldn't stop looking at your father, a part of you wanted to take his hand and ask him to get you out of here but you didn't trust him anymore. You were in this situation because of him. You always knew that your father is a proud and ambitious man but you never thought that his ambition would be greater than his love for you. If your father really loved you he wouldn't have sent you to the king's chambers. He wouldn't have made you start wearing dresses that showed more skin for your visits with him. Gods, you wanted to hit your father so badly, you wanted to wipe the smile off his face because both he and you knew what Viserys was going to announce. Everyone knew it, you noticed that Otto Hightower was trying to hide his annoyance from everyone, the only one who seemed unaware of the tension in the room was Rhaenyra.

“I have decided to take a new wife,” the king began and you noticed how he and Rhaenyra exchanged a look. You were surprised to see your cousin nod as if she was permitting him to move on. Did Rhaenyra know? Did she approve of this? “I intend to get married,” he continued, this time looking at you and your father. You forced a smile as you dug your nails into your palms, feeling helpless for being in this situation “with Lady Y/N Velaryon before spring.”

Your eyes met Rhaenyra's purple ones. There was none of the love or fun you usually saw. Now she was looking at you with a mixture of pain and fury. The pain in your stomach got worse. Nyra had never looked at you like that. This shouldn't be happening.

It was obvious that she didn't know that her father was planning to marry you. You wanted to scream, you wanted to hug her and tell her that this wasn't what you wanted, that you weren't trying to steal her mother's place, that you would never do anything to hurt her.

"Rhaenyra" the king called her but the princess left the chambers anyway. You couldn't take this anymore so you went after her, ignoring your father's calls.

You followed the princess. You could feel the fabric of your dress sticking together due to perspiration, you didn't know if it was because of your nerves or because you were practically almost running after Rhaenyra. It was uncomfortable but right now you didn't care. You needed to clear things up with her. You couldn't stand that she hated you.

"Nyra" you called when she finally stopped. You two were in the gardens, in front of the heart tree. Where more than once you had Rhaenyra lay with her head in your lap while you sang her any song she wanted. Where you two used to stay out in the sun complaining about the septa's lessons while you combed her hair. This tree has so many good memories and now you fear there will be no more.

"How could you?!" she yelled at you furiously. She couldn't believe how you had been by her side, comforting her, accompanying her in her grief, remembering the stories the both shared with her mother so that later you went behind her back to conquer her father. When her father told her that he needed to take another wife she thought it would be Laena Velaryon. Not from you. Never from you. You were supposed to be hers.

"Please, Nyra, don't hate me" you begged and grabbed her hands desperately, pulling her closer to you "I swear I didn't want this but my father" you shook your head and forced yourself to continue talking trying to ignore the knot in your throat "I'll find a way to fix this, I promise" you kissed her hands.

The princess studied you for a few minutes. She needed to check that you weren't faking this just to avoid her anger. Your eyes seemed to be glazed over from the tears you were holding back and your hands clung to her desperately.

“I believe you,” she finally said and you sighed in relief.

"Thank you", you said with a shaking voice

This time it was Rhaenyra who kissed your hands and rested her forehead against yours. You closed your eyes feeling at peace for a moment knowing that she didn't hate you.

"I won't marry your father, Nyra. I promise."

If it weren't for the fact that she was now the heir to the throne, Rhaenyra would have told you that you would run away with her, that the two of you would go together on your dragons and travel the world together, and that you didn't need a husband, that if you wanted her, she would take you as a wife. But now she had obligations, she couldn't abandon everything for you even if her heart screamed for her to do so.

After clearing things up with Rhaenyra you went to your chambers. Of course, your father was waiting for you, he scolded you for your abrupt departure but he left you alone once you told him that you had managed to calm the princess's annoyance. Being alone you decided to put your plan into action, first you took a bath with the purpose of relaxing and getting rid of any trace of nerves you had before, then you put on one of your simplest dresses and placed a hooded cape on top to hide your hair. You were leaving the castle and you didn't need anyone to follow you.

You successfully slipped away and headed out into the streets in search of Harwin. You knew that today he had to stand guard on the streets of Flea Bottom. A girl in your position shouldn't be here but you didn't care. You needed to talk to him as soon as possible.

“Harwin” you called him when you finally found him.

“Lady Velaryon, you should not be here,” said the guard, gently hugging you by the shoulders and taking you to a corner further away from the people.

It felt bad to hear him call you in such a formal way when for weeks he had been calling you by your name or “sunshine”, the nickname he had given you. You remember like it was yesterday when you kissed him for the first time after he explained to you that the reason he called you that was because you brightened his days every time he saw you.

This sudden formality was like a slap in the face and he confirmed what you already feared.

“You know,” you declared sadly.

“My father told me,” he admitted, releasing you. You weren't surprised since Lyonel is on the council and had been present at this morning's meeting. You suspected that Harwin's father thought it would be best for him to find out from him rather than from someone else since you were sure that Lord Strong and your parents knew about the meetings between you and Harwin. You thought it was no secret that he was courting you, but apparently, not everyone knew because otherwise, Viserys would not have chosen you as his wife. Or maybe he knew but didn't care.

“This doesn't have to change what's between us,” you said as you stood on tiptoe to have his face closer to yours. “I don't want to marry the king. I want you” you whispered against his lips but without touching them. Harwin had to control himself from closing the small distance between you and kissing you. “Make me your wife,” you asked before capturing his lips with yours.

You froze when Harwin walked away from you.

“I can't,” he whispered and closed his eyes to avoid seeing the disappointment on your face.

“I thought you loved me” In your voice there was more anger than sadness but your body language was different, you found yourself hugging yourself trying to comfort yourself. You were disappointed.

“I do,” he stated firmly, opening his eyes so you could see that he spoke sincerely. “I love you. If it were any other man he would fight for you but…”

His silence told you everything. He loved you but it's not enough to face the king.

“You're a coward,” you spat and left the way you came.

You didn't really think Harwin was a coward but you were hurt by his rejection. You felt stupid to believe that whatever Harwin felt for you would be bigger than any coherent thought but you can't blame him after all any intelligent person would be afraid to go against the king's wishes and steal his fiancée…

But all was not lost, you knew someone well who was not afraid of Viserys and could help you. It was a desperate move and your parents would think you were an idiot for this but you refuse to be the king's wife. You had seen how as the years went by and with each pregnancy, Queen Aemma deteriorated. You didn't want the same thing.

You wrote to Daemon. You told him that the king wanted to marry you but that you were seeking to avoid this marriage and that you needed his help. You waited anxiously for his response while you had to feign excitement every time someone talked about your wedding preparations. Luckily it didn't take that long for a crow to arrive with the rogue prince's answer. There were no reassuring words in his letter, the only thing the scroll said was "Come to Dragonstone."

And that's what you did. Nobody suspected when the next day you went on the back of your dragon since everyone knew that there was not a day in which you did not disappear for a couple of hours to go flying with Nightwing.

"My prince, Lady Y/N Velaryon!" The guard announced your arrival before letting you enter the chambers where the prince was staying.

Daemon, who had seen you approach with Nightwing from the window, had his back turned but turned to look at you. He hasn't seen you in months. Your hair was longer and you seemed to have changed the way you dressed. The blue dress you were wearing seemed to have more cleavage, it wasn't anything scandalous enough for the court to talk about but it did draw attention.

"It's good to see you, Y/n" Daemon stated making you smile. You were sure that this was the first sincere smile you had given in days.

You waited for the guard to leave. Once you heard the sound of the door closing, you began to walk towards the prince without haste, trying to show as much confidence as possible. Normally you wouldn't be nervous around Daemon but you hadn't seen him in months and he was the only person who could help you. You didn't want to ruin this.

*I'm wondering the same. These months without you were boring "You weren't lying or trying to sugarcoat it to achieve your goal, it was simply the truth. Every time he leaves court you wish for his return.

"You still didn't come after me" Daemon held back his smile when he saw the surprise in your eyes.

He liked seeing that look in your eyes. Every time he brings you something new from his travels, every time he teaches you a new move in the training yard, every time he asks you for his favor in tournaments. How he had missed seeing you. He wouldn't tell you but he had missed you these past few months. So imagine his fury when after so long the first news he receives from you is that his brother plans to marry you. You are too much of a woman for Viserys. His brother wouldn't know what to do with you. You would spend the rest of your life bored. Daemon couldn't allow it.

"I didn't know you wanted that," you said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"I invited you to go with me on my next trip, didn't I?"

Before Queen Aemma's death, when you helped Daemon put on his armor for the tournament you complained about the lengthening of his travels. The prince's response was to invite you to go with him next time. You were so excited to accompany him on his trips that you didn't wait for the tournament to end to ask your parents for permission. But then Aemma died and you didn't dare leave Rhaenyra.

You laughed. “That wasn't a trip, Daemon. Viserys exiled you.”

"And now he will exile you" he mocked, making you irritated but you quickly forgot about your irritation when Daemon placed his hands on your waist and pulled you closer to him, leaving your bodies pressed together. You should be uncomfortable with this but you're not. "You understand? Right? You know what you were asking for when you asked me for help?" He asked, studying your reaction. He needed to see that you really understood what you were about to do. This was your time to repent. But he didn't find uncertainty in your eyes if not desire, you looked at him with pure desire.

"I know," you responded, trying to ignore the flutter of emotion you felt at the intensity of the prince's gaze. You should be against doing this after all your reputation would be ruined but deep down you always wanted to have even a little bit of Daemon.

In reality, there was always a tension between the two of you. More than once you two ended your fights in the yard more irritated than you were before you started because after so much friction, touching, and sweat you both wanted to do something else that you couldn't. You didn't want to be the other woman and Daemon for once wanted to make things right with you. He hoped that one day Viserys would annul his marriage to Rhea Royce to take you as his wife. That day never came but that didn't matter anymore.

"You will take me as your second wife" While you spoke your eyes couldn't help but stop a couple of times on his lips.

Daemon tilted his head a little and gently brushed aside a strand of hair to whisper in your ear "I'll do it. If you want that" you shivered as you suddenly felt his breath on your neck. It doesn't take long for you to feel his warm lips against your skin. You unconsciously stretched your neck, leaving him free to continue spreading more kisses. With each kiss, you felt your body warmer. You can't help but wonder how his lips will feel just as good on another part of your body. “People will talk about us,” he warned, snapping you out of your fantasy.

You knew what Daemon was referring to, not only would it be a scandal if the king's fiancée married another but also if that other is Daemon Targaryen, the king's brother, and an already married man. People who don't understand his family's customs won't think your marriage is legitimate, and if you were to have children with him people would probably think of them as bastards. Also, the court could compare your marriage to one of Maegor Targaryen's many marriages. The kingdom would talk a lot about you two, even your family's name and respect could be damaged by this. Your father might never want to speak to you again in your life and your mother would be disappointed in you. You had thought about all this at night before receiving the prince's response. And yet you were determined to go ahead with this.

“Are you worried that the court will call you Second Maegor? Because I'm sorry to inform you but they already call you that” you said, managing to make Daemon laugh a little. You smiled when you heard him but your smile was soon replaced by a gasp as you felt his teeth biting into your neck.

“A wife shouldn't make fun of her husband,” he said making you roll your eyes, knowing that he wasn't serious and just wanted to mess with you. “If you marry me, this will not be just a marriage in name.”

You weren't an idiot. It wasn't enough for you to just marry Daemon. Viserys might still want to annul the marriage if he saw that you were a virgin but if it was known that Daemon had already had you then the council would tell the king that he should take another wife.

You walked away from him. “Are you afraid of taking me as your wife? You keep walking around instead of ordering them to start preparing everything for the ceremony. “The prince could see the challenge in your eyes and he loved it.” I'm not a little girl, Daemon. I know what I'm getting into by marrying you."

And those words were enough for Daemon to finally join his lips with yours. There was nothing soft about his kiss, not like Harwin's. This kiss was hungry, you felt like he was devouring your mouth but you weren't far behind either, taking him by the neck, pulling him closer to you. It seemed as if neither of you two could get enough of the other. Finally giving free rein to the desire the both felt for a long time. You felt his hands trying to untie the back of your dress so you walked away from him with heavy breathing.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you hummed, now placing your hands on his chest, hoping to keep a little more distance. “You can't have me until we're married,” you declared, looking at him mischievously.

“You're so fucking annoying” Daemon complained and tried to kiss you again but you pulled your face away with a teasing smile. "Good. But then you won't leave the room until I'm done with you,” he warned you and he gave you a little squeeze on your waist before leaving, determined to prepare everything in the shortest possible time.

Daemon thinks he'll never get tired of this. See how you move on his cock, how focused you look with every jump you take in search of your pleasure, how you open your mouth and let those sinful sounds escape when you finally find your sweet spot, and above all the feeling of your cunt squeezing his cock.

Hearing Daemon's groan overwhelms you. It overwhelms you because, for the first time, you realize that you have power over him. It's too much to hear him say your name like you're a god while you're riding him. See how hungry he is for you, how he can't seem to get enough of you, how he can't go a minute without his mouth on you, without biting or sucking on your neck, without having his hands touching you. By now your body was covered in hickeys, marks, and bruises leaving the trace of your crime on display. You're sure that tomorrow when the maids came to help you dress they would be horrified to see the mark of Daemon's palms on your thighs after he held you for what seemed like hours while he devoured your cunt over and over again.

Your husband noticed that you were starting to get tired but you still didn't want to stop, not when you were already so close to cumming again but you were too proud to ask him for help.

“Let me take care of it,” he said, stopping to suck on one of your nipples.

He knows how stubborn you are so he didn't even give you a chance to refuse when he lifted you off his cock. You groan against his neck as he pushes you down onto his cock again. He begins to move you up and down as if you weighed nothing.

"Faster" you demanded with heavy breathing, feeling dissatisfied with the pace of his movements.

Daemon doesn't hesitate to follow your orders and makes you bounce faster. His grunts and moans do nothing but send heat to your core. You feel your legs tremble at the speed and depth of his thrusts. You want to have your share and leave your marks on your husband too but you can't focus as much time on biting or sucking on his neck when he's fucking you so good. You sob when you finally feel the knot in your stomach release and you cum on his cock.

Suddenly one of his hands leaves your waist and pulls your hair, stealing a gasp from you, making you stop hiding your face in his neck and thus trap your mouth again in a messy kiss.

"You take me so well," Daemon gasped against your lips, feeling your warm cunt not stop squeezing his cock.

The sound of skin slapping only increases the temperature of the room. Like the groans and gasps. Neither Daemon nor you were trying to be quiet, it was more like you were both competing to see who could make the other louder. You should be embarrassed and try to be quieter, that's what a good lady would do but you couldn't care less what people thought, not when you felt so good. And while you felt how Daemon filled your cunt with his seed a petty part of you couldn't help but think that you were hoping that this would reach Viserys' ears, that one of the servants would write to the king to inform him of the spectacle you and Daemon were putting on so that Viserys wouldn't want to have anything more to do with you.

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[venusbyline]

Rumors ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 24, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x daughter-in-law!reader x Daemon Targaryen

— type: smut, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: threesome FFM

— summary: If Jacaerys Velaryon would be unfaithful by cheating on you with his cousin, then you would be mean too. You would cheat on him with his own mother and his uncle-stepfather.

— word count: 3.4k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 24th day, female!reader, Alicent Hightower's younger sister!reader, Jacaerys Velaryon's betrothedl!reader, threesome (female/female/male), throuple, Targcest (uncle/niece), Daemyra, dubcon, nipple licking, nipple play, breast worship, praise kink, fingering, breastfeeding, lactation kink, overstimulation, corruption kink, dry humping, dry orgasm, crying, dacryphilia, oral mentioned (male & female receiving), voyeurism, age gap (older man/younger women & older woman/younger man mentioned), ambiguous/open ending, implied/referenced cheating, consensual infidelity, Queen!Rhaenyra, King Consort!Daemon, fluff and hurt/comfort, marriage of convenience, forced marriage, almost everyone lives, Targaryens being a happy family (or something like that), virgin!reader, Jacaerys is a little shit, minor Jacaerys Velaryon x reader, minor Jacaerys Velaryon x Baela Targaryen, referenced Targaryen/Velaryon Incest (cousins), religious guilt, underage marriage, implied underage sex, bisexual!Rhaenyra, bisexual(?)!reader, cuckold!Daemon, book canonical ages (it's 129 AC: Reader's 22, Rhaenyra's 32, Daemon's 48, Jacaerys' 15), dom!Rhaenyra, dom!Daemon, sub!reader, canon divergence (No Dance of the Dragons/War for Succession), porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @turdettethefirst

— crossposting: AO3

It took Rhaenyra weeks to convince Daemon to agree to marry his nephew-stepson to Alicent's younger sister. Daemon did not know anything about you, nor did Rhaenyra know much about you, really. All they knew was that Otto Hightower had a youngest daughter from his second and current marriage to a random Lady in King's Landing.

When Alicent suggested the betrothal, Daemon immediately became furious. He did not want the next Iron Throne's King married with a fucking Hightower again. It was enough for Alicent to be a pain in his ass all those years. He did not need another girl with red hair and big eyes filling his patience.

For Rhaenyra, her biggest concern was the age difference, even though it was not a big deal. You and her half-brother, Aegon II, were conceived at the same time, as Alicent and her stepmother became pregnant within a few weeks of each other. Aegon was born just three days before you, but even so, you always lived in the shadow of all your other family members. Otto preferred for you to be raised in Oldtown along with his new wife and his other children when he lost his position as Hand of the King. Then, since you was two years old in 109 AC, you grew up far from the Red Keep and from your half-sister Alicent new family. Rhaenyra knew nothing about you, even though Alicent had assured you that her sister was a maiden and a kind young Lady. All she remembered about you was your young baby's version, the few times she saw you on Alicent's stepmother's lap. But Rhaenyra was always worried about more important things than watching a little girl crying.

At first, Rhaenyra considered marrying her firstborn to Helaena, Alicent's only daughter, but the proposal was immediately rejected by the older woman. Rhaenyra had her suspicions about the reasons, but preferred not to bring up the subject. One of Daemon's twin daughters could even be a great choice, but Baela was too impulsive for her own good and she knew that Lucerys was already in love with Rhaena. You had been the last and easiest choice for that deal, in the end.

Convincing Daemon seemed almost impossible and required a lot of sex as a form of emotional blackmail. However, in the end, the betrothal had been finally agreed.

Your arrival at King's Landing felt like a dream. You did not remember anything there and every moment in the carriage made you smile watching the streets. Rhaenyra had been crowned the Queen just a few weeks ago and the city was divided between lively festivals and people grumbling about your nephew and Queen's half-brother, Aegon, deserve to be the true heir. Despite the criticism from the commoners, Aegon was not bothered at all, because as soon as you got off the carriage, he was the first to take your hand, surprising you by mistaking him for some kind of beggar, due to the strong smell of wine - even that he was extremely beautiful.

"My sweet aunt! It is a pleasure to see you again. Last time we saw each other, we were both just snotted and whiners little babies." His greetings were terrible and you found yourself giggling sheepishly while the rest of the family looked at the Prince with shame.

"Oh, my thanks, My Prince." You smiled lightly, your cheeks flushing when Aegon gave you a look up and down before kissing the top of your hand.

"No more formalities now, darling. Just nephew or Aegon. Do not forget that you are the next Queen Consort of Westeros..." He scoffed, before looking at his family members. "At least if Jace does not back out of the marriage or order you a tragic murder."

His sentence caught you off guard and you furrowed your eyebrows with bewilderment, but Alicent pulled her son away from you, forcing a frightening normality as she hugged you, the green velvet dress matching her dark red hair perfectly. "Oh, how beautiful you look, little sister. The years living in Oldtown have done you so much good."

You faked a smile. "It is a cool place, and Gwayne is great company too." You said without think too much and Alicent frowned. She missed her brother and still remained upset about the fact that he had not come to visit her many years ago. "However, I believe King's Landing will be so welcoming as my own home."

Your words were directed towards the Queen and King Consort, who came out of their brief trance and nodded, approaching along with Alicent. You bowed to them both, careful not to trip over your light pink velvet dress. It had been a piece chosen by your ladies-in-waiting. You were not sure if it was a good color choice, considering everyone there wore just red, black, or green clothes.

Daemon Targaryen's gaze trailed down your figure, taking in your youthful curves and the delicate neckline that hugged your breasts. His laryngeal prominence made a funny move after he looked away and Rhaenyra seemed to notice this too, because she looked at her husband with some amusement shining in her violet eyes. You observed her facial features, especially her nose, so beautiful and pointed that it left your legs shaking for a few moments, before Rhaenyra herself broke the silence.

"And it is a pleasure to have you here with us. We will host you until all the details of your wedding ceremony with my firstborn son Jacaerys are finalized in a maximum of two moons."

Daemon interrupted both of you when you were about to thank her. "That is almost sixty days. We should start preparing everything as soon as possible." The King Consort spoke to Rhaenyra, earning a stern look from his wife before she sighed, turning to the same spot Aegon had faced earlier. "Anyway, it will be amazing to have you here with us, our dear daughter-in-law."

Daemon's words did not sound innocent at all and both you and Rhaenyra noticed that, his side smile after kissing your hand brought you shivers than when it was Aegon who kissed your skin, especially when Rhaenyra returned Daemon's smirk, clearing her throat and introduce yourself to the other members.

By the end of the night, you had already met almost everyone. Lucerys, Rhaenyra's second son, was sweet and gentle, also very funny. Rhaena, one of Daemon's daughters from his second marriage, was also kind and despite being quieter, her eyes were always shining at Lucerys. Joffrey was quite messy and they had to send him to the chambers along with his younger brothers, Aegon III, Viserys II and his newborn sister Visenya and his cousins Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and Maelor.

Aemond, one of Alicent's youngest children, was too quiet and a little weird. You had already heard the rumors about Lucerys taking out one of his uncle's eyes during a violent fight when everyone was just kids, and that was why he wore an eye patch. It was scary but so fucking attractive at the same time.

Helaena, your half-sister's only daughter, was one of the cutest people you had ever met. She had given you a wooden toy as a way of welcoming you and tried to start a conversation with you, which surprised Alicent and even Rhaenyra, since the princess did not was used to interact with the family more than the necessary. Even though she does not like being touched, she did not mind about touching your hair and praising your red strands, smiling and talking about her favorite bugs and random cute things.

Daeron was a better version of Aegon. He was very handsome, daring and liked drinking wine a lot, as well as loving winking at you and the servants who passed by. But unlike Aegon, Daeron was charming without overstep anyone's boundaries, while Aegon had to be removed from the banquet early when he started mocking and insinuating rumors about Jacaerys and Baela's absence, which angered Daemon and Rhaenyra and embarrassed Alicent and your father Otto.

When the dinner was over, Jacaerys and Baela still had not appeared. Rhaenyra sighed, looking with some frustration at Daemon, who tried to explain to you that Jace and Baela were probably flying with their dragons and forgot today was your arrival day at the Red Keep. You knew your father-in-law was lying, so you just replied him with a sad smile in agreement, not wanting to cause any more drama to the already catastrophic situation.

You had pictured that Jacaerys did not want to be betrothed to you. After all, no one liked arranged marriages. However, you at least expected him to try faking sympathy, since everyone said he was a noble Prince, despite being so young.

Alicent volunteered to take you to your private chambers and you almost accepted, before you felt Rhaenyra's warm and firm hand on your shoulder, not in a painful way but almost possessive. Your sister did not question the Queen's silent interruption, just sighing and nodding, letting Rhaenyra lead you through the corridors, her right arm entwined around your left arm. You felt tiny around her, not about physical terms. It was a painful inferiority. You had not even married her son yet and you were already listening rumors about his affair with another woman. His cousin.

"You were a little bit quiet and shy during the dinner..." The Queen's murmur echoed into your chambers when both of you entered the room and she dismissed the help of the maids. "I mean... You had a lot of fun talking to my half-sister Helaena, which I personally found charming from you. Many people do not have patience to deal with her exotic personality. I am glad you noticed her pure soul."

Your only action was to silently agree, your eyes wandering around the large room that was now just for you. At least for now, until you and Jacaerys finally got married and shared your chambers. Anyway, after the whispers during dinner, you did not doubt that the heir would want also to keep the two of you private chambers. After all, he seemed much more interested by flying with Baela Targaryen. Or anything like that.

"My honest apologies for my son's absence and poor manners..." The Queen began, breaking you out of your trance when you were reflecting and observing the delicate and pink details in the room, although it also had a few green decorations, to remind you of your Hightower House, but with light tones to match the overall aesthetic. "Jace is... Having trouble accepting your union. Not that it is something against you, I assume."

"I already understand, Your Grace." You said coldly, feeling your head ache as you realized you needed to hear your own mother-in-law talk about her son's lack of interest in you.

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at your slight irritation, checking to see if the door was locked before pointing to the bed at the back of the chambers. It was much bigger than the one you had in Oldtown, and the pink silk sheets were much fluffier than the white ones your family's maids always brought you. You felt Rhaenyra's gaze following you when you walked to the edge of the furniture, finally sitting down and looking at her with a look of curiosity and suspicion. After continuing to watch you for a few minutes, Rhaenyra cleared her throat and approached, the smell of wine filling your nostrils as she sat down next to you, not too close to invade your personal space, but close enough to make you rub one thigh on the other under the dress, a reaction that not even you could understand the reasons for.

Rhaenyra's long slender fingers came to your hair, pulling at the pins that held some strands together and formed some braids that was too tight for her own liking. "Your natural beauty is more beautiful. It is like the living embodiment of female innocence."

Her words surprised you, making you swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. Was it a compliment? A disguised mockery? Just a drunken comment? You had no idea and Rhaenyra noticed the confusion written across your features. "Gods... If Alicent had told me that she had a half-sister so fucking beautiful like that, I would have ordered your presence to King's Landing much earlier."

You could not help but chuckle lightly at her shameless flirting. Was it absurd that you were feeling so weak for your own mother-in-law? Would the Gods punish you for this? Would you embarrass your family? Would Daemon kill you? Would Jacaerys jump at the chance to call off the betrothal?

"You do not need to worry..." The Queen purred, her fingers trailing down your dress, lowering the neckline enough to expose your breasts. They were not that big due to your young age, but Rhaenyra's lips watered and she licked both of her thumbs before starting to rub your nipples, leaving them sensitive and perky while you squirmed at the touches, whimpers escaping your pretty lips even if you tried to hold back. "As I said, Jace is not taking your betrothal very well. I will not lie to you about his sexual and romantic affair with my stepdaughter, Baela, but I want you to know that as Your Queen, I am granting you permission to seek out lovers."

Your moans stopped immediately upon hearing her sentence and you almost choked trying to understand that magnitude. Was she allowing you to cheat on her own son? This was a sin in every possible way.

Catching Rhaenyra off guard, you pulled away, getting up from the bed, your breasts still desperate for more touches. "I-I should not have other men..." You mumbled, your voice breaking. "It is normal for a husband to have many affairs. But the opposite is very-"

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "Do not act like a saint, bunny. You and all people of Westeros know very well that Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey were legitimized, but they are not the biological children of my first husband, Laenor."

You sighed in frustration, knowing she was right. Everyone knew about this and that was why many commoners called Rhaenyra a whore, saying Jacaerys should not be the next in line for the Iron Throne, but perhaps Aegon III, Rhaenyra's eldest son with Daemon. "But that is different, Your Grace. From the rumors I have heard, your ex-husband did not even like... Women." Your explanation made Rhaenyra chuckle, her eyes shining as you were about to pull the neckline of your dress back up.

"Do not you dare." She ordered, pulling you to sit on her lap, causing you to moan with surprise. You stare her face to face, surrendered by the violet color in her irises that seemed to burn your skin. You were so shocked by the Queen's rough action that you barely noticed that she had moved her hands up the hem of your dress, caressing your bare thighs while her index finger rubbed your swollen bud. "Your cunt is already shaved. Then, did you think my son would want to fuck you as a welcome gift?"

The fact that she noticed the wetness and your lack of pubic hair due to the thin fabric of your underwear made you tremble on her lap again, moaning and wanting to get out, however, one of her hands was firm holding your waist, keeping your hips on top of her lap. "I-It was my ladies-in-waiting's idea! I swear this to you, My Queen! They thought he might... He might want something before the consummation of our marriage." You defended yourself through your tears, resting your head on her collarbone as you moaned at her intense touches on your clit, he other hand coming up to squeeze the soft and delicate skin of your breasts.

"Shhh... It's okay, bunny. I was just curious." Her reassuring voice minimized the pain inside your chest and increased the juices that flowed from your slick cunt, making obscene noises. Rhaenyra knew you were virgin and Jacaerys would demand you stay that way until the consummation of the marriage, so she needed to restrain herself from just using your body and letting you use hers with other ways, never fingerfucking you for a while. "Take off my dress and suck my breasts, princess."

The mention of your new title sent a shiver down your spine. Ignoring the tears still wetting your cheeks, your fingers began to work to undo the knots on the Queen's red and black velvet dress, your mouth watering at the sight of those large perky breasts, wet with a few drops of milk, due to baby Visenya's breastfeeding. "T-that's very wrong..." You tried to argue, being immediately silenced by Rhaenyra's eagerness, who began to rub your clit more roughly, eliciting loud and desperate moans from you, your head immediately falling between her breasts, almost self-suffocating when you surrendered to the sins and began licking her light pinky nipples, sucking on them and listening to Rhaenyra's moans mix with your pathetic whimpers.

It did not take long for you to cum on her fingers, your release running down her hand and dripping onto both of your dresses, your lips still closed around her breast, being breastfed like a baby while she laughed. Rhaenyra smiled, caressing your red hair and kissing your flushed tear-filled cheeks.

"What a beautiful sight..." Daemon teased, entering your chambers, being graced by the sight of his daughter-in-law licking his wife's large breasts, heavy and full of milk, your own neckline exposed a lot and sweaty. Your legs shaking due your recent orgasm.

"Dear Husband..." Rhaenyra smirked, removing her fingers from your clit and showing them to Daemon. "Try a little." You did not move when Daemon approached even more, you just opened your eyes and saw that his knuckles were a little bruised, and you wondered if he had punched Jacaerys for his disrespect towards you.

Daemon licked your wet release from Rhaenyra's hand, a wicked smile as he looked at his wife's horny look and then shifted his attention to you, still weak and confused with your swollen lips busy on the Queen's nipple, eyes wide and teary watching the couple exchange glances. You knew that at first they were both completely against your marriage of convenience to Jacaerys, but something seemed to have changed drastically in the minds of the Queen and King. "Do not worry, bunny. Perhaps Jace is not as loyal and honorable partner as we pictured him before. We cannot promise that his affair with Baela will end, because it probably will not." Daemon's harsh words made you let go of Rhaenyra's chest with a sad pout, leaving the couple's hearts aching.

"Hey, little girl. It does not mean anything. If Jacaerys is going to be a terrible husband to you, remember that I already gave you permission to seek emotional and sexual comfort from other people." Rhaenyra repeated what she had said before and you swallowed hard. It was a crazy and dangerous proposition. And yet you found yourself nodding weakly after Daemon pulled Rhaenyra's neck for an intense kiss and then did the same act to you afterwards. When Daemon's lips released yours, Rhaenyra took his place, the hand of each of them going to one of your soft breasts and playing with them. “This is going to be our little secret, alright, bunny?” The older woman hissed and you moaned with agreement, arching your head back when she started licking your collarbone and Daemon took the opportunity to start ripping off his pants and starting to rip off the underwear he was wearing, freeing his big thick cock for both of you.

If Jacaerys Velaryon would be unfaithful by cheating on you with his cousin, then you would be mean too. You would cheat on him with his own mother and his uncle-stepfather. You would not have a bad conscience. Nothing else would matter. You did not need his false excitement at meeting you or observing his lack of admiration for you. Everything you wanted and needed was right there: your mother-in-law Rhaenyra Targaryen about to get down between your legs to eat you out while your father-in-law Daemon Targaryen put his cock between your lips until it reached the roof of your mouth.

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterkist

[therogueflame]

Through Storm and Silence

Hi my darlings,

I have decided to post my new Cregan x Reader fic a day early because I have started to hate it the more I look at it. I did change it since posting the teaser, so my apologies to everyone that is expecting that beginning. This fic is long, sad, and DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, READER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!! (Please let me know if this makes you feel things, my prozac stops me from knowing if this is Actually Sad)

Summary: The loss of your first pregnancy has you shattered in unspeakable ways, and Cregan does his best to comfort his Lady Wife.

✨My Masterlist✨

WC: 13.4k

Warnings: Pregnancy loss, depression, fem!reader, isolation, intimate care, just sad fluff (or hurt/comfort if you wanna get technical)

Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The fire in your chambers had long since burned out, leaving the hearth cold and lifeless. Its ashes, once bright with promise, were now a bleak monument to what had been lost. The flames that had warmed you, like the fragile spark of life that had stirred within you, were extinguished, leaving nothing but emptiness behind. Shadows sprawled across the stone walls, bending and twisting in the faint moonlight that filtered through the frost-covered window. The light was weak, just enough to sharpen the edges of the cold that seeped into the very bones of Winterfell—and into yours.

The chill wasn’t just in the air; it lived in you now, settling deep in your chest, pressing against the raw, hollow ache that had taken root there. This cold wasn’t the familiar bite of winter—it was sharper, crueler, born from the absence of the life you had carried. The fragile hope that had grown inside you, so small yet so powerful, was gone. Its absence left a void so vast it consumed you.

You couldn’t bring yourself to move from the high-backed chair by the window, where you sat motionless, staring into the dark expanse of night. The frost on the glass distorted the view beyond, transforming the swaying trees into ghostly silhouettes, their barren limbs stark against the sky. They reminded you of how you felt—stripped bare, fragile, and exposed to the harsh winds of grief.

The gown you wore clung to your body, its once-delicate fabric now feeling oppressive. Days ago, it had been chosen with care, a garment meant to hold the quiet anticipation of the life you carried. Now, its weight pressed against you like an accusation, its seams digging into your skin, sharp and unforgiving. It didn’t just hang on you—it felt as though it was marking you, reminding you of the absence that had replaced what you once held so dear.

You hadn’t changed out of it. The thought of doing so felt too heavy, too meaningless. To strip it away would be to acknowledge the finality of what had been lost, and you couldn’t face that yet. The woman who had smoothed its fabric with pride, who had worn it with a small but steady joy, was no longer there. All that remained was the crushing weight of who she had become—a shadow wearing the remnants of something she could no longer be.

Your trembling hands rested in your lap, fingers curling into the fabric as if trying to find something to hold on to. A faint breeze stirred from the window, its icy touch brushing against your skin like a cruel reminder of the emptiness inside you. You shivered, but still you remained frozen, the weight of Winterfell pressing down on you, heavy and unyielding.

The world outside went on, its voices and footsteps distant and indifferent. The quiet of the castle was unbearable, the oppressive stillness broken only by the occasional creak of wood or the faintest sigh of wind. It was as if the walls themselves conspired to remind you of your solitude, of the storm raging within you while the world beyond carried on, oblivious.

Tears slid silently down your cheeks, warm against the icy stillness of your skin. You made no effort to stop them, nor could you if you tried. They came endlessly, flowing in a slow, aching rhythm that mirrored the grief clawing at your chest.

You were alone with the memory of what had been—a fragile, fleeting spark of life that had slipped through your fingers. And now, with nothing but the cold to hold you, it felt as though you might never be whole again.

The rhythmic thud of boots against stone drifted faintly from the courtyard below, a distant murmur of life pressing onward. A horse’s whinny cut through the air, joined by the indistinct hum of voices carried on the wind. The world beyond was alive, indifferent, ceaseless. But none of it touched you. It all seemed unreal—muted fragments of a life you could no longer claim, slipping through your fingers like mist. You stood at the edge of it all, a silent shadow, severed from the world that churned on without you.

Time had abandoned you, or perhaps it had conspired against you, trapping you in this endless moment while everything else moved forward. The castle walls, so full of life, seemed oblivious to your sorrow. Their quiet betrayal, their unshaken permanence, was unbearable.

Inside the room, the silence pressed down on you, thick as the weight in your chest. It should have been a comfort, this room. Once it had been. But now its quiet corners and heavy drapes felt suffocating, its walls tightening around you with every passing hour.

You clenched your fists, the delicate fabric crumpling beneath your trembling hands. Tears welled, spilling before you could stop them, tracing hot, aching paths down your cheeks. You couldn’t stem the tide, nor did you try. The gown bore the stain of your despair, but it was nothing compared to the jagged wound that bled unseen within.

The whispers were always there, clinging to the edges of your thoughts no matter how desperately you tried to banish them. They were cruel and unyielding, slipping into every quiet moment, lurking in the shadows of your mind. Their voices were soft but sharp, cutting deeper with every repetition. You should have done more. You should have been stronger. You should have saved him. This is your fault.

They weren’t Cregan’s words, nor the maester’s, nor anyone else’s. They belonged to you, born from the hollow ache in your chest and the guilt that had taken root there. They poured through your mind like a poison, insidious and unrelenting, twisting everything they touched. You could almost hear them in the silence of the room, louder than the crackle of a distant hearth or the sigh of wind through Winterfell’s ancient walls.

No matter how tightly you closed your eyes, no matter how fiercely you tried to silence them, they persisted—a constant, merciless drumbeat. Each word struck like a blow, reverberating through your body, the weight of them pressing down on your chest until you could barely breathe. The air felt thinner with every beat, as though the whispers were siphoning it away, leaving you gasping in the darkness.

You tried to fight them, tried to find some small thread of reason to grasp onto, but they always returned, louder and sharper than before. And the worst part was, some part of you believed them. You clung to the guilt like a lifeline, as though holding yourself accountable might make the loss hurt less. It didn’t. It only sank you deeper into the suffocating pit that you couldn’t seem to climb out of.

They weren’t just whispers. They were chains, binding you to the pain, and no matter how much you struggled, you couldn’t make them let go.

The knock shattered the oppressive silence, a sharp, jarring sound that cut through you like a blade of winter air. For a moment, you froze, the sudden noise startling you out of the haze that had enveloped you for days. The weight in the room, in your chest, had been so heavy, so all-encompassing, that you’d almost forgotten the world outside existed. The knock was a cruel reminder that it did, and that it still demanded something of you.

You stiffened, every muscle tightening as though bracing for an unseen blow. Your breath hitched, thick and shallow, your throat closing as if even the act of breathing might betray you. You didn’t want to answer. You couldn’t. What could you say to him? What could you possibly offer, except more of this broken, hollow shell of yourself?

The knock came again, softer this time, a gentler plea that only seemed to make the silence more suffocating. And then his voice followed, threading through the stillness. The voice you had once found so reassuring, so unshakably warm, now felt like a ghost of itself—steady, deep, but laced with something unfamiliar. Fragility. Desperation.

“It’s me,” Cregan said, his words low, insistent. There was a trembling edge to his tone, a quiet urgency that twisted in your chest. “Please, my love. Let me in.”

The sound of his voice sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through you, tightening around your throat like a vice. You clenched your hands in your lap, your nails pressing into your palms, the sharp sting grounding you in the only way you could manage. The guilt, the grief, the weight of it all threatened to crack you open. If you could just keep still, hold yourself together for one more moment, perhaps the pieces wouldn’t scatter completely.

But the truth was, you didn’t know how to answer him. You didn’t know how to let him in—not into the room, not into the space where your grief lay raw and unguarded. He hadn’t come before. Or maybe he had, and you had been too lost to hear him, too consumed by the darkness to recognize the sound of his voice. You didn’t know which possibility was worse—that he had stayed away, honoring the space you had begged for, or that he had tried and failed to reach you.

Neither was kind. Neither was something you could bear.

His knock had stirred something inside you, but it wasn’t hope. It was the sharp, aching reminder of how much you had pushed him away—and how much you had wanted to. Because if he saw you like this, if he saw how fractured you had become, you weren’t sure you could survive it. And yet, even as you tried to steel yourself against the sound of his voice, it lingered, wrapping around you, pulling at the frayed edges of the wall you had built between you.

“I’ll wait as long as I need to,” Cregan’s voice broke through the silence, quiet yet unyielding, like the steady strength of the man you had once leaned on without hesitation. “I’m not leaving you alone in this.”

His words were meant to soothe, to offer comfort, but they only deepened the ache in your chest. The tenderness in his tone was unbearable, like a hand reaching out to touch a wound too raw to bear. The sting behind your eyes flared, tears threatening to spill over once more. But you refused to let them fall. Not again.

You had cried enough—alone, in the suffocating stillness of the night, when the walls of Winterfell seemed to close in and the weight of your loss crushed you in the darkness. You had let the tears fall in those moments when no one could see, when no one could judge you for the depth of your grief. What good had they done? They had left you feeling even emptier, as though each tear carried away a piece of yourself until there was nothing left.

What would tears accomplish now? They couldn’t undo the pain that had carved itself into your soul. They couldn’t bring back what you had lost, couldn’t fill the gaping void that echoed inside you. They wouldn’t erase the crushing guilt that clung to every breath you took, whispering that you should have been stronger, that you should have done more.

The words you longed to say lodged in your throat, trapped beneath the weight of your grief. Cregan’s steady presence was a balm, but it felt undeserved—a kindness you couldn’t allow yourself to accept. The part of you that ached to let him in warred with the part that wanted to push him away, to protect him from the broken, fractured pieces you had become.

But still, he waited. And still, you remained silent, the battle within you raging on.

The door remained closed, an unyielding barrier between you and Cregan, the space between you stretching into an insurmountable chasm. Your lips stayed pressed tightly together, as if the very act of speaking would shatter the fragile hold you had on yourself. Words felt dangerous, too revealing, too raw. So, you stayed still, frozen in the quiet, every part of you locked in place. You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. You didn’t respond.

Maybe if you stayed silent, he would leave. Maybe if you sank deep enough into the well of your grief, the guilt would loosen its grip on your chest. Maybe if you let the silence consume you entirely, the pain would finally relent. But even as the thoughts flitted through your mind, you knew they were lies. The grief, the guilt, the unbearable ache in your chest—they weren’t things you could escape. They were woven into you now, so tightly that nothing—not time, not distance, not even silence—could unravel them.

Deep down, you knew nothing would ever be the same again. The fragile thread of hope that had once connected you to the world had snapped, leaving you untethered, adrift. No amount of hiding, no fortress of silence, could change that.

The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, pressing against you like the cold that had seeped into your very bones. It wrapped itself around you, a crushing weight that left no room for breath or thought. It wasn’t just in the room—it was in you, winding through every broken part of yourself.

Cregan’s steps broke the stillness, each one deliberate, careful, as though he feared his presence might break you further. The sound of his boots against the stone was soft, almost hesitant, but it still felt too loud, too intrusive in the suffocating quiet. He was close now. You could feel his steady presence, warm and grounding, even through the chasm you had built between you.

But still, you didn’t move. You didn’t turn to meet his gaze, didn’t even lift your head. Your heart was too heavy, weighed down by guilt and sorrow so profound it felt like a physical ache. You couldn’t bear the thought of looking at him, of letting him see what you had become—shattered, broken, unrecognizable even to yourself.

You were afraid. Afraid of what he might say. Afraid of the gentleness you might hear in his voice, the love you might see in his eyes, when you felt you deserved neither. Afraid that if he saw you like this, saw the depth of your ruin, he might try to put you back together. And you weren’t sure you could survive being pieced back together only to fall apart again.

He paused, his boots just inside the door, hesitating as though waiting for you to make the decision he couldn’t. As though he wasn’t sure if crossing the distance you had carved between you would help—or only deepen the divide. The silence between you was palpable, stretching wide and unyielding, a vast chasm neither of you knew how to bridge. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though the entire world was holding its breath, caught in this fragile, suspended moment.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, he stepped forward. Just one step, careful and deliberate, the sound soft against the stone floor but carrying a weight that echoed in the quiet. His presence, once a comfort you had never thought to question, now felt too close and yet too far all at once. He moved with a kind of reverence, each step slow and measured, as though approaching something sacred—and fragile.

It was almost unbearable, the way he moved toward you as if you were still the woman he had once known. As if you hadn’t been hollowed out, stripped of the light you had carried, replaced by a grief so consuming it felt like you were drowning. You couldn’t look at him. You didn’t dare. But you felt him, his quiet strength radiating through the cold space, the air between you shifting, growing warmer as he drew closer.

“My love…” His voice was soft, a gentle murmur that carried through the silence like the brush of a hand against frayed fabric. There was a weight to his words, though—something raw and aching, unspoken but undeniable. His concern was threaded through every syllable, tangled with the love he couldn’t seem to put into words. It was the kind of love that refused to be turned away, no matter how fiercely you tried to shut it out.

Still, you didn’t answer. You didn’t even turn toward him. Your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, unblinking, unseeing, your breath shallow and uneven as if even acknowledging him might break the fragile hold you had on yourself.

But his presence pressed gently against the edges of your grief, like a tide brushing against jagged rocks, refusing to retreat. You couldn’t face him, couldn’t let him see the ruin you felt you had become. To turn to him would mean letting him see the cracks, the unbearable weight of your sorrow—and you didn’t know if you could survive his gaze.

Your gaze remained fixed on the frosted window, your eyes tracing the jagged, crystalline patterns of ice etched into the glass. They spread like fractures, distorting the world beyond into blurred shapes and muted shadows. The courtyard below lay buried beneath a thick blanket of snow, its stark silence mirroring the hollow stillness inside you. It looked untouched, serene, as though the world itself had withdrawn, retreating from the weight of your grief. But the chill that gripped you had nothing to do with the winter outside.

This cold was deeper, more insidious. It had rooted itself in your chest, in the fragile places you had once protected. No fire, no warmth, could touch it. It wasn’t a chill of the skin but of the soul, spreading through every part of you, leaving you numb yet unbearably aware of the ache it carried.

Your fingers moved restlessly, pale and trembling as they tugged at the fabric of your gown. The motion was small, unconscious, but relentless. You picked at loose threads and seams, tearing at the delicate material with a quiet desperation. It was all you could do. The stillness of your body demanded an outlet, something to echo the storm raging within you. Each thread pulled free, each tiny rip in the fabric, felt like a hollow attempt to give shape to the suffocating emotions you couldn’t put into words.

You couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. The motion kept the grief from swallowing you whole, even as it frayed the edges of your gown. The tears in the fabric mirrored the fissures in your heart, small and splintering, growing with every passing moment.

Each movement, each tug, was a silent rebellion against the unbearable weight that threatened to crush you. The storm inside you had no outlet, no escape, and the restless motion of your hands was the only way to keep from falling apart completely. Rest felt impossible. Stillness only amplified the ache, the sharp-edged sorrow that had taken over every part of you. Rest would mean surrendering to it, drowning in the pain you weren’t sure you could survive. And so, you tore at the fabric, as though unraveling it might somehow loosen the tight grip of grief around your chest.

But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t. Nothing could.

Cregan didn’t press you, though his silence was as heavy as the grief that hung between you. He didn’t demand answers, didn’t push for words you weren’t ready to give. Instead, he moved closer, his footsteps slow and measured, each one deliberate, as though the air itself might break beneath the weight of his approach. It was as if he were walking through a fragile dream, afraid that one wrong step might shatter it entirely.

Each careful step spoke of his restraint, his quiet struggle to respect the space you had carved out for yourself, even as it tore at him to see you like this. To see the woman he loved, his steadfast, fierce-hearted wife, lost in a pain so profound that even the strength of his presence couldn’t seem to reach her.

He stopped a few paces away, his form solid and steady against the shadows that filled the room. For a moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching again between you, an invisible barrier neither of you knew how to cross. And then, his voice came again, softer this time, carrying a tenderness that wrapped around you like a quiet plea.

“I know you’re in pain,” he murmured, his words low, heavy with the weight of his own helplessness. The emotion in his voice twisted in your chest, each word landing with quiet precision, like drops of water against a stone worn thin. “But I can’t help you if you won’t let me in.”

The pause that followed was almost unbearable, his voice trembling just slightly as he added, “Please, look at me.”

The plea lingered in the air, hanging between you like a fragile bridge you weren’t sure you could cross. His words carried no demand, only a quiet yearning, a love so raw it pressed against the edges of your sorrow, threatening to unravel the fragile defenses you had built around yourself. But you stayed where you were, frozen, your gaze locked on the frost-covered window, as though the jagged patterns of ice could hold you together in a way that his love couldn’t.

You didn’t move. His words reached for you, a lifeline cast across the vast, aching distance between you, but you couldn’t take it. You couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t let him see the broken pieces of who you had once been. Not when those fragments felt so sharp, so jagged, that even you couldn’t bear to look at them. The woman who had once stood beside him, who had promised him a future filled with light and hope, was gone. In her place was this hollow shell, weighed down by grief so consuming it left no room for anything else.

Your hands fell still in your lap, the nervous fidgeting replaced by an unnatural rigidity, as though any movement might crack the fragile dam holding everything inside. You stared down at your trembling fingers, clutching at the fabric of your gown not to tear it, but to stop them from betraying you further. The storm within you churned violently, and the stillness felt like the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely.

The ache in your chest grew sharper, a suffocating pressure that made it hard to breathe, hard to think. It wrapped around you like a vice, pulling you deeper into yourself, away from the voice that tried to reach you.

The air between you felt heavier with each passing second, thick with unspoken words and the weight of all you couldn’t bring yourself to say. It pressed down on you, isolating you further, trapping you in this cocoon of silence where your grief felt too vast to share, too all-encompassing to explain.

You could feel Cregan’s presence, his unwavering patience like a quiet flame, waiting for you to let him in. But that only made the guilt burrow deeper, sharper, as though it might carve you out completely. He was waiting for you to open the door you had closed so tightly, waiting to shoulder the pain you were too afraid to show. But you couldn’t.

You couldn’t let him see you like this—shattered, hollow, and drowning in the sharp edges of your grief. If you turned to him now, if you let him see the raw ruin of what you’d become, you weren’t sure you could survive it. And so, you sat there, silent and unmoving, unable to cross the distance that had grown between you.

Your shoulders trembled, the motion small at first, barely noticeable, before it grew into a tremor that rippled through your entire body. Without warning, your head dropped, your face cradled in your trembling hands. The tears that had lingered just beneath the surface for so long finally broke free, spilling over in a torrent that you couldn’t stop. They came hot and unrelenting, each one carving a path down your cheeks, a relentless reminder of just how much you had lost.

You tried to stifle them, swallowing sobs that clawed their way up your throat, desperate to hold onto some semblance of control. But the tears came anyway, unchecked and unforgiving, a flood that swept away the fragile walls you had tried so hard to build. The warmth of them against your skin felt like a cruel mockery, a vivid contrast to the hollow, icy ache in your chest. You resented them—resented how powerless they made you feel, how impossible it was to push them back, to push any of it away.

You couldn’t. The grief was too deep, too consuming. It wrapped around you like a tide, pulling you under, dragging you further and further away from everything you had once been.

Behind you, Cregan watched, his gaze softening as his heart broke for you in ways he could neither stop nor fully understand. He stood frozen, torn between the overwhelming need to comfort you and the fear that his touch might only deepen the chasm that stretched between you. The sight of your shoulders trembling, of your body folding in on itself as though the weight of your sorrow was too much to bear, left him helpless.

He had always been your shield, your steady foundation, but now he could do nothing but stand there, watching as the woman he loved was consumed by a pain he couldn’t ease. It was a kind of helplessness he hadn’t known before—a sharp, piercing ache that left him stranded on the other side of the distance you had placed between you.

He wanted to reach for you, to do anything to pull you from the storm that raged inside you. But every tear that fell, every breath that shuddered through your frame, seemed to widen the gulf between you both. It felt as vast as an ocean, deep and unbridgeable, leaving him stranded and uncertain, his love for you a light that couldn’t yet pierce the darkness of your grief.

He moved toward you, each step slow and deliberate, as though afraid that even the slightest misstep might shatter the fragile thread tethering you both. The air between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words and the raw ache of your grief, but he pressed on, his presence steady and unyielding.

When he reached you, he didn’t speak. Words would have felt too small, too inadequate. Instead, he sank to his knees beside the chair, his movements careful, reverent, as though kneeling at an altar. His presence alone was a quiet comfort, a steady flame in the storm of emotions that had consumed you.

His hand reached out, large and calloused, yet impossibly gentle as his fingers brushed against the delicate skin of your trembling hand. His touch was grounding, warm, and steady—a reminder of the life that continued outside the walls of your sorrow. He didn’t force you to respond, didn’t demand anything from you. His hand simply rested over yours, offering a quiet strength that asked for nothing in return.

The restless motions of your hands stilled beneath his touch, the anxious picking at your gown coming to a halt as his warmth seeped into your skin. It wasn’t much—just the smallest of shifts—but it was enough. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the unbearable weight of your grief seemed to loosen, if only by the slightest degree.

It was as though his presence alone could hold some of the pieces of you that had fallen apart, his touch a silent promise that you didn’t have to bear the weight of your sorrow alone. But still, the distance between your heart and his felt vast, the walls of your grief too high to climb. And yet, his quiet persistence, his unwavering love, pressed gently against those walls, searching for a way in.

“Let me be here for you,” Cregan said quietly, his voice a low murmur that carried more weight than the loudest declaration ever could. There was a raw tenderness in his tone, so unguarded and sincere that it pierced straight through you, cutting past the walls you had so carefully constructed around your grief. His words were a balm, gentle against the fractured pieces of your heart, but they also undid you, unraveling the fragile composure you had clung to.

The echo of his voice lingered in the heavy silence, filling the space between you with a quiet plea that wrapped around you, impossible to ignore. Each word was steeped in a love so deep, so unshakable, that it made your chest ache with its enormity. A breath caught in your throat, sharp and jagged, as the storm inside you began to crack open.

Before you could stop it, a sob clawed its way out, raw and ragged, tearing through the stillness. You tried to fight it, to swallow the sound of your brokenness, to hold on to what little control you thought you had left. But it was too much. The weight of it all—the loss, the guilt, the unbearable isolation—pressed down on you with crushing force, and you were helpless against the tide.

Your chest constricted, each breath uneven and shallow as the cry escaped you, desperate and guttural. It shook you to your core, your entire body trembling under the force of the emotion that had been building, unrelenting, inside you. The sobs came like waves, relentless and consuming, each one pulling you deeper into the grief you had tried so hard to bury.

And yet, through it all, Cregan stayed. His presence didn’t waver, his quiet strength anchoring you even as you fell apart. His hand remained steady over yours, grounding you against the tempest within, silently reminding you that you weren’t alone—even when it felt like the weight of the world rested entirely on your shoulders.

“I’m here,” he repeated, his voice a balm against the deep, raw wound carved into your soul. The words were so simple, yet they carried a tenderness that made your heart ache even more. His free hand rose slowly, his fingers brushing the damp strands of hair from your face with the lightest touch. His fingertips grazed your skin like a soft whisper, gentle yet steady, a silent promise in every motion. He wasn’t going anywhere. He would stay, even as you unraveled before him.

“You don’t need to hide from me,” he said softly, his voice unwavering, even as the weight of your sorrow seemed to hang heavy in the air between you.

You didn’t respond. His words settled around you, warm and grounding, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. There were no words left, no explanations to give, no answers to offer. Only the tears that fell, unrelenting now, streaking down your face like a flood that had been held back for far too long.

The dam inside you had finally burst, and the grief poured out in waves, racking your frame with sobs so raw they felt as though they were tearing you apart. Each shuddering breath brought fresh pain, the ache you had buried beneath layers of guilt and restraint now laid bare. It was unbearable, and yet, in this moment, you didn’t try to stop it. For the first time, you let yourself feel the full weight of the loss, the overwhelming ache that had been clawing at you from the inside out.

And through it all, Cregan stayed. His presence didn’t falter, didn’t try to pull you from the depths of your grief. He didn’t offer empty reassurances or platitudes meant to fix what couldn’t be repaired. Instead, he stayed steady, his hand a constant anchor against the storm inside you, his touch firm yet gentle. He held you in your brokenness, without expectation, without judgment, simply letting you break.

For the first time, the room didn’t feel suffocating. The walls that had seemed to close in on you, threatening to crush you beneath their weight, now felt less oppressive. The silence wasn’t a void anymore; it was filled with something warm, something alive. His presence was like a steady flame in the cold, a quiet reassurance that you didn’t have to carry this alone—not in this moment, at least.

And for the first time, you felt the faintest flicker of relief. It wasn’t enough to banish the grief, not even close, but it made the unbearable weight just a little easier to carry. For this fleeting moment, you weren’t drowning alone.

Cregan watched you as you wept, his heart breaking with every sob that tore from your chest. Each tremor that shook you felt like a blow to him, a pain he couldn’t bear to see yet refused to turn away from. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t speak. He simply stayed, his presence steady and unwavering, a quiet anchor in the storm of your grief.

His hand remained gently over yours, grounding you without words, offering a silent reassurance that you hadn’t asked for but desperately needed. His touch, so steady and sure, was a lifeline in the chaos of your emotions, speaking the things he didn’t need to say aloud: I’m here. You’re not alone.

As your sobs began to slow, the tears that had flowed so freely now reduced to quiet streams, Cregan shifted slightly. His hand lifted from yours, the motion so soft it felt like a whisper. And yet, there was an undeniable strength in it, a quiet promise that he wasn’t leaving, that he wasn’t going to let you fall alone.

“Come on, love,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, a balm against the raw ache in your chest. The words, though simple, carried a weight of their own—love, patience, and an unshakable tenderness that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

He didn’t rush you. He didn’t pull you from the chair or try to force you to move before you were ready. Instead, he stayed close, his presence a steady flame against the cold emptiness that had consumed you. Every quiet movement, every gentle word, was filled with care. He was waiting—not for you to be whole, not for the grief to pass, but simply for you to take the next breath, the next small step forward.

Cregan felt it all—the weight of everything you had been carrying, the unbearable burden that had pressed down on you for days. He felt the tremble in your body, the exhaustion etched into every line of your frame, and the grief that seemed to radiate from you like a storm that refused to pass. It was heavy, but he bore it willingly, silently vowing to carry it with you, no matter how long it took, no matter how much of himself it demanded.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with concern, each word carrying the weight of the thousand unspoken emotions he didn’t know how to name. There was no rush in his tone, no expectation—only a gentle insistence, a quiet plea wrapped in love.

His hand stayed firm against your back as he guided you across the room, his movements slow and deliberate, each step careful, as though afraid that anything too sudden might undo the fragile calm that had begun to settle between you. His touch was steady, grounding, a tether to hold onto as the overwhelming weight of your grief threatened to pull you under again.

When you finally reached the bed, he guided you to sit, his movements steady yet hesitant, as though reluctant to step away. His hand brushed lightly over your shoulder, the touch brief but deliberate—a fleeting attempt to offer something words couldn’t convey. But as his eyes lingered on you, seated and so visibly burdened by your grief, something shifted in him. It wasn’t pity—it was a deep ache, an unspoken understanding that settled heavily in his chest.

He forced himself to take a step back, his instincts warring with his restraint. He wanted to stay close, but he knew this moment wasn’t about him. You needed space, even if only enough to draw a breath, to navigate the depths of what weighed on you without intrusion.

“I’ll be right back,” Cregan said softly, his voice low, a quiet murmur that carried more emotion than he could name. His gaze flickered to you, filled with a concern so raw it nearly stopped him in his tracks. “I’ll have a bath prepared. You need to rest—and take care of yourself.”

You didn’t answer. There were no words left, only the faint hum of your breath as you sat still, your hands resting in your lap. As he turned, the smallest movement caught his eye—a barely perceptible nod, as fragile as the first stirrings of a winter thaw.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it spoke volumes. It wasn’t permission, nor surrender, but something quieter. A thread of trust, unspoken but present. And though the gesture was small, it was enough for him to continue, his steps quiet but purposeful as he left the room to prepare what was needed.

As Cregan stepped toward the door, the soft click of the handle as it closed behind him seemed to echo through the room, sharp and final. The sound sliced through the oppressive stillness like a cold wind cutting across bare skin. For a fleeting moment, everything seemed to hold its breath. The door’s finality hung in the air, and with it, an even deeper silence settled around you.

The space he left behind felt vast, as though the room itself had stretched in his absence, a yawning chasm you couldn’t cross. You slumped against the headboard, your body sinking further into the mattress, drained of the strength to do anything but exist in the quiet. The exhaustion in your bones was total, a kind of weariness that no amount of sleep could touch.

You had hoped for peace in the quiet, but it wasn’t peace that came. It was weight—heavy, stifling, pressing down on your chest, pinning you to the bed. The room around you seemed to breathe with the creak of old wood beneath you, a low, familiar groan that filled the silence alongside the soft hum of your own breath. And yet, none of it filled the aching void that stretched endlessly inside you.

It wasn’t that you wanted Cregan to return. His presence couldn’t undo what had been broken, couldn’t turn back time or mend the wound that had hollowed you out. But his absence carried its own kind of pain, sharp and relentless, a reminder that life would never return to what it had once been.

Still, you stayed where you were, motionless, surrendering to the stillness that wrapped around you. The weight pulled you deeper, like a tide dragging you under, but you couldn’t summon the energy to fight it. Your body was too tired, your mind too spent, and so you simply let yourself sink into the waiting quiet, waiting for nothing in particular, only the endless passing of time.

Cregan’s footsteps echoed through the stone corridor, quick and determined. The chill of Winterfell’s air was sharp, seeping through the heavy walls, but he barely noticed it. His thoughts were focused elsewhere, running over what needed to be done and how little he could seem to do to ease the storm inside you. Each step carried the weight of his resolve, even as his chest tightened with the ache of seeing you as you were—exhausted, hollow, a shadow of the woman who had once met life with unshakable strength.

He reached the servants’ quarters, his broad frame filling the doorway as his voice broke the relative quiet of the space. “Prepare a bath,” he ordered, his tone low but firm, brooking no hesitation. “And make sure it’s hot. Bring fresh linens, too.” He paused for a moment, his hand pressing briefly against the rough stone wall beside him as he steadied himself. “And food,” he added, glancing between the startled faces of the servants. “Simple, but warm—and enough to sustain her.”

The urgency in his voice was tempered by the restraint he’d forced upon himself. He didn’t bark the commands, but the sharp edges of his words made it clear how quickly he expected them to act. The servants, accustomed to the steady, measured demeanor of their lord, exchanged quick glances before hurrying to carry out his instructions.

Cregan lingered for a moment as the scurry of footsteps and murmured acknowledgments faded down the hall. He stayed still, his hand curling into a loose fist at his side, his breathing measured but heavy. The weight of the past days bore down on him like the snowdrifts against Winterfell’s walls. He could feel the strain of it in his chest, in his shoulders, in the way his jaw ached from holding his emotions in check.

He replayed the image of you sitting on the edge of the bed, your shoulders slumped under a grief that seemed to consume you whole. The tremble in your hands, the distant look in your eyes—it was enough to twist something deep inside him, a pain he couldn’t name and couldn’t shake. But he couldn’t allow himself to falter. Not now.

Straightening, he turned on his heel, his boots striking the floor with purpose as he made his way back through the dimly lit corridors. His thoughts remained focused, calculating what else could be done to make this moment, this night, a little less unbearable for you. He couldn’t take away the grief or the pain, but he could ease the harsh edges of it, if only for a little while.

When he passed another servant, he stopped briefly, his voice softer but no less insistent. “Make sure there’s firewood brought to the hearth. I want the chamber warm.” The servant nodded quickly, moving to comply, and Cregan pressed forward, his steps quickening as the ache in his chest deepened.

As he neared the door to your chambers, his hand brushed the rough stone of the wall beside him, grounding himself in its cool solidity. He paused for the briefest of moments, drawing in a breath to steady the emotions that threatened to spill over. The bath would be ready soon, the food prepared and brought, but none of that felt like enough.

Nothing ever felt like enough.

With one final breath, he opened the door quietly, stepping back into the room where you waited, fragile and silent, the weight of your grief filling the air. He didn’t say a word as he crossed the threshold, his steps careful, his presence steady, bringing with him what little he could offer.

The servants were already hard at work preparing the bath, their quiet movements echoing softly in the background, but none of it mattered to Cregan. His eyes found you the moment he stepped into the room, and the sight of you—the broken posture, your head bowed, shoulders slumped—made his breath hitch in his chest.

You sat so still, as though the grief had hollowed you out and left only a fragile shell in its place. Your movements were barely there, faint and withdrawn, blending into the dim shadows that seemed to wrap around you like a second skin. To him, it felt as though you were slipping further away, piece by piece, retreating into a darkness he couldn’t fully reach.

Cregan didn’t speak right away. He didn’t ask you to move, didn’t press you for words or force you to acknowledge him. The silence in the room was heavy, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, but it was yours. It was the only thing you had chosen in days, and he would respect it, even as it clawed at his chest to see you like this.

But respect didn’t mean standing idly by.

He stepped toward the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, each one measured with a care that spoke of his understanding. Your pain was something fragile, delicate, and he approached as though the wrong move might fracture the brittle calm you had managed to hold onto. When he reached you, he knelt down beside the bed, lowering himself to your level.

His hand extended toward yours, palm up—a quiet offering, an invitation to let him in, to let him share some small part of the burden you carried. His fingers lingered, close enough to touch but not forcing contact, allowing you the choice to accept or reject the gesture.

“Let me help you,” he murmured, his voice low, filled with a quiet but unshakable determination. Each word was gentle but carried the full weight of his resolve. He wasn’t asking for much; he wasn’t asking for words or answers. He was simply offering himself.

“I’m not leaving, love,” he continued, his tone soft but firm, the steadiness of it cutting through the stillness. “Not until you’re taken care of.”

There was no flourish to his words, no attempt to dress them up. He had never been a man of many words, but the ones he chose always carried meaning, each syllable weighted with purpose. He couldn’t fix what had been broken, couldn’t mend the wound that had torn through you, but he could do this. He could stay. He could make sure you were cared for, even if you couldn’t bring yourself to do it alone.

His hand stayed where it was, steady and patient, waiting for you to decide.

His words lingered in the air, their quiet warmth brushing against the edges of your sorrow. Cregan didn’t press you, didn’t rush you to respond. Instead, he simply stayed where he was, his steady presence a quiet assurance that you wouldn’t be left adrift in this moment.

After a few breaths, he gently helped you to your feet, his hand firm at your back as he guided you toward the chair by the hearth. “Let’s sit here for a while,” he murmured, his tone calm and patient, as though the rest of the world could wait.

The flames in the hearth flickered faintly, their light casting soft shadows across the walls. You sank into the chair with a heaviness that seemed to seep into your very bones, your gaze falling to the fire as it crackled softly. The minutes stretched on in silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the old floorboards and the muffled sounds of the servants working quietly in the background.

The faint hum of their activity filtered through the stillness. Logs were added to the hearth, the fire growing brighter and stronger, its warmth beginning to fill the room. The linens on the bed were stripped and replaced with fresh ones, their crisp folds smoothed with precision. The rhythmic sound of water being poured into the bath drifted faintly from the adjoining room, mingling with the scent of lavender as steam curled softly into the air.

Time passed slowly, each moment marked by the subtle changes around you. The room grew warmer, the air lighter, as the servants completed their tasks and slipped out with quiet efficiency. Through it all, Cregan remained close, his movements purposeful but unhurried, his gaze flicking to you every so often to ensure you were still with him, still grounded.

When everything was ready, he returned to your side, crouching down beside you. His hand found yours again, his touch steady and sure as he said, “The bath is ready.”

With deliberate care, he helped you to your feet once more. Each step toward the steaming tub was slow, measured, and supported by his arm at your back, his presence grounding you as you moved forward. The weight of exhaustion still clung to you, but the quiet warmth of the room and the promise of rest seemed just within reach.

The room was a haven of comfort, a stark contrast to the cold, oppressive silence that had held you captive for so long. Flickering candlelight danced across the stone walls, casting soft, shifting shadows that softened the room’s edges. The gentle sound of water filling the bath added a steady rhythm to the quiet, a soothing backdrop that eased the weight pressing against your chest. The warmth of the room wrapped around you like a long-forgotten embrace, the promise of relief so close you could almost feel it seeping into your bones.

But it wasn’t just the room that brought this fragile sense of solace. What truly began to thaw the ice that had settled in your heart was Cregan. His presence, steady and grounding, was a force that anchored you without demand or expectation. His eyes, unwavering and filled with a tenderness you hadn’t thought yourself capable of receiving, never left you as he guided you forward. Every movement he made carried with it a quiet purpose, an unspoken promise that you were not alone in this moment.

When you reached the edge of the bath, Cregan’s hand was firm yet gentle against your back, steadying you as you lowered yourself into the water. He moved with the same deliberate care, as though the slightest misstep might shatter the fragile calm that had begun to form around you. The warmth of the water enveloped you immediately, wrapping around your tired body like a soft, tender embrace. The heat seeped into your aching muscles, melting away the tension that had clung to you for days, while the chill rooted in your skin seemed to dissolve into the bath.

Yet, even as the water soothed you, it was Cregan’s presence that truly began to untangle the knot in your chest. His quiet care, his unwavering devotion, and the unspoken promise in his every action brought with them a peace you hadn’t known in what felt like a lifetime.

As you soaked in the warm water, something deep within you began to shift. The tears you’d been holding at bay for so long finally began to fall again. But this time, they were different. They weren’t the sharp, jagged tears of grief that had torn through you in your solitude. These were softer, quieter—tears of relief, of release. They came hesitantly at first, as though testing the safety of the space around you, before flowing freely in an unbroken stream. It was as if the warmth of the water and the quiet strength of Cregan’s presence had unlocked something within you, giving you permission to let go of the pain you had carried for so long.

Cregan didn’t speak as you cried. He didn’t try to comfort you with words or fill the silence with empty platitudes. Instead, his hand rested gently on your shoulder, his touch warm and steady, an anchor amidst the wave of emotions overtaking you. His silence was filled with understanding, speaking louder than anything he could have said.

Cregan moved with deliberate care, his touch light but steady, as though the very act of tending to you required all the patience and gentleness he could muster. He reached for the soft cloth resting at the edge of the tub, dipping it into the warm water before wringing it out with precise, measured motions. His movements were purposeful, each one imbued with the quiet reverence he reserved for the things that mattered most to him—things that needed protecting, things that needed care. And in this moment, nothing mattered more to him than you.

You sat there, unmoving, as though the water had become an extension of the emptiness within you. It felt as though you had become hollow, a presence without weight, without purpose. Your eyes, distant and unfocused, stared into the space beyond the water, seeing nothing, feeling nothing. The grief had settled so deep within you that it had worn you down to a mere shadow of the woman you once were. The person who used to laugh freely, who found joy in the smallest of moments, felt so far removed from you now. It was as though the agony had stolen her away, leaving only an echo, faint and fragile, drifting somewhere beyond your reach.

Cregan’s movements didn’t falter, even as he watched the faint tremble in your hands, the distant look in your eyes. He began at your shoulders, the warm cloth brushing over your skin in soft, soothing strokes. His hand followed the curve of your neck, careful and unhurried, as though afraid that anything more abrupt might fracture the fragile calm around you. The heat of the water and the rhythm of his touch seemed to melt some of the tension in your body, loosening the weight that clung to you, though you still felt adrift.

The silence between you remained unbroken, filled only with the faint crackle of the fire and the soft ripple of water. It wasn’t oppressive; it was gentle, a quiet space where words weren’t needed. Cregan’s hands, rough from years of work yet impossibly tender now, moved down your arm, washing away not just the remnants of the day but the faint traces of neglect that marked your solitude.

When he reached your hands, he paused, his fingers brushing over the places where anxious picking had left their mark. His thumb lingered on those faint lines, his touch featherlight, as if trying to soothe both the physical signs of your grief and the deeper wounds that lay unseen.

He continued with the same deliberate attention, his focus unbroken. The cloth moved down your back, across your legs, each motion slow and purposeful, as though he understood that rushing would rob this moment of its meaning. This wasn’t just about cleansing your body—it was about showing you, without words, that you were still cared for, still seen, even in your most broken state.

As he finished, he set the cloth aside, his hand lingering at the edge of the tub for a moment. His gaze softened as he looked at you, his expression full of unspoken tenderness. “Take your time,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, a quiet reminder that there was no need to rush, no expectation beyond this moment.

And as the warmth of the water embraced you and the quiet intimacy of his care settled around you, the faintest flicker of something stirred within. It wasn’t enough to mend the hollow ache or restore the woman you once were, but it was a start. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of your grief wasn’t all-consuming. In the stillness, in the warmth of the water and the strength of Cregan’s presence, you felt a fragile sense of being held—not by words, but by the simple, steadfast care of someone who refused to let you drift away.

You opened your mouth, desperate to speak, to give voice to the storm tearing through you. But the words wouldn’t come. They caught in your throat, heavy and sharp, refusing to escape no matter how much you willed them to. Every syllable you might have spoken was swallowed by the weight of everything you carried inside—the guilt, the loss, the crushing sense that you had failed not just yourself, but everyone who had ever cared for you.

Your chest tightened, the pressure rising until it felt as though you might shatter under it. Your lips closed again, trembling as the turmoil inside you deepened, the ache in your heart becoming more unbearable with every passing second. The silence stretched on, not a reprieve, but an oppressive reminder of how the words remained out of reach, leaving you trapped, drowning in the depths of your own sorrow.

Cregan, kneeling beside you, felt the subtle shift in your body—the faint tremble of your shoulders, the way your breaths grew shallow and uneven, as though your grief threatened to tear you apart from the inside out. He paused, his hands still resting gently on your back, not pressing, not rushing, but simply waiting. He gave you the space to feel, to process the rawness of the emotions tearing through you, even if you couldn’t find the words to name them.

The room was still, save for the faint crackle of the fire and the soft rhythm of your breathing. The quiet wasn’t empty; it was filled with the weight of your sorrow, heavy and palpable in the air between you. Cregan’s gaze stayed fixed on you, his dark eyes steady and filled with a resolve that didn’t waver.

It was as though, in that silence, he was speaking to you without words, telling you that it was okay to feel this, okay to break. His presence didn’t demand anything of you—there was no impatience, no expectation. Only the quiet assurance that no matter how many tears you shed, no matter how fractured you felt, he would stay.

His hands, roughened from years of labor but impossibly gentle now, remained steady on your back, offering a constant, grounding support. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply stayed, his warmth a quiet contrast to the storm raging within you.

Without a word, Cregan reached for the towel resting beside the tub. His movements were deliberate, his hands steady as he prepared to help you. He extended his hand, firm but careful, guiding you to stand. The water rippled softly as you rose, the warmth slipping away as cool air wrapped around you. Without hesitation, Cregan wrapped the towel around your shoulders, covering you fully before helping you step onto the soft rug beside the tub.

He led you to the nearby stool, lowering you gently into the seat. The towel stayed draped around you as he knelt and began drying you, his hands purposeful and precise. Starting at your shoulders, the soft cloth moved over your skin in slow, even strokes, absorbing the water that clung to you.

He worked silently, dabbing at your arms, your back, your legs, each movement unhurried. When he reached your hands, his touch was impossibly light, the towel brushing carefully over the faint marks left behind by your anxious picking. He dried your feet last, the warmth of the towel a small barrier against the cool air around you.

Once he finished, Cregan reached for the folded nightclothes he had set aside. He unfolded the soft fabric, his hands moving with the same deliberation as he slipped the robe from your shoulders. He held the nightgown open, guiding your arms into the sleeves with gentle care. The fabric fell over you, light and soft against your skin, as he carefully smoothed it into place.

Leaning closer, he adjusted the ties at the neckline, his fingers working deftly but without haste. He paused briefly, ensuring the gown fit comfortably, before retrieving the thicker robe that lay nearby. He draped it over your shoulders, its weight heavier and warmer, securing the belt loosely at your waist.

The room was silent save for the faint crackle of the fire and the rustling of fabric. His hands lingered briefly at the edges of the robe, tucking it into place, before he stepped back. He didn’t speak, his focus solely on ensuring you were fully dressed and shielded from the cold.

You sat still, your gaze fixed downward, the weight in your chest as heavy as ever. A tear slid down your cheek, but you didn’t move to wipe it away. Another followed, your breath hitching as the sobs that had been building broke free once more, shaking your frame.

Cregan knelt again, his hands steady as he adjusted the robe around you, the simple action wordless but full of purpose. When he was done, he rose quietly, leaving the space untouched by words, as if to respect the unspoken weight of the moment. The room held only the sounds of your breathing, uneven and raw, and the faint crackle of the fire as the night stretched on.

As Cregan helped you to the bed, his movements were slow and deliberate. One hand stayed steady at your back, the other guiding you by the arm, each gesture careful, as though ensuring you wouldn’t falter. When you were finally seated, he lingered, his hand resting against you for a moment longer than necessary. His gaze flickered briefly to your face, searching for something—perhaps assurance that you were steady, perhaps something unspoken. He didn’t rise, didn’t retreat. Instead, he knelt before you, his broad frame folding quietly to the floor, his presence grounding without intrusion.

His hands reached for yours, large and warm as they wrapped gently around your trembling fingers. His touch was firm but cautious, like cradling something that had already been cracked too many times. His thumb traced over your knuckles, the slow, deliberate rhythm neither asking nor expecting anything. It was a touch that seemed to say everything he didn’t—an offering without pressure, a steadiness that didn’t waver.

The silence between you was dense, weighted by everything that had been left unsaid, yet it didn’t press for answers. The faint crackle of the fire filled the air, mingling with the sound of your uneven breaths, each inhale and exhale catching on the edge of a sob. Your hands trembled beneath his, the effort of holding yourself together visible in every small movement, threatening to break apart at any moment.

When Cregan finally released your hands, it wasn’t to leave you. He moved quietly, rising to retrieve the small plate of food that had been left on the table beside the bed. Without a word, he brought it closer, setting it gently on the mattress within your reach. His movements were careful, unhurried, as though even this simple act demanded the same precision and attention as everything else he did.

Your gaze fell to the plate, and for a long moment, you simply stared at it. Its simplicity felt almost cruel, a stark contrast to the enormity of what weighed on you. Your hands trembled in your lap, the act of reaching for the plate feeling like an impossible task. When you finally lifted your hand, it hovered uncertainly, your fingers stiff and unfamiliar as they wrapped around the fork with halting movements.

The food sat heavy on your tongue, its taste muted and distant. The mechanical act of chewing felt disconnected, each motion foreign and wrong. When you swallowed, a sharp twist gripped your chest, the weight of the action pressing against you with suffocating force. It wasn’t just the food—it was the reminder that you were still here, still breathing, still alive, when everything inside you felt hollow and undone.

A sob tore from your throat, sudden and raw, breaking the fragile quiet of the room. It came without warning, jagged and unrestrained, and with it came the tears—hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks in an unending torrent. Each one dragged something deeper, more painful, to the surface, leaving you trembling in their wake.

The plate sat untouched as your body folded in on itself, your hands gripping the edge of the bed as though it might keep you tethered to the ground. The sobs wracked through you, your breaths coming in uneven, shallow gasps, and then the words came—soft, broken, slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

“I failed him…”

The words lingered in the air, cutting and bitter. They twisted in your chest like a blade, the weight of them sharper now that they had been spoken aloud. Saying them didn’t ease the ache—it only made it heavier, more real. The truth of them pressed against you, unrelenting, as though it might suffocate you entirely.

Cregan knelt again, his movements measured as his hands returned to yours. His fingers curled around them, their warmth a quiet counterpoint to the trembling in your own. His grip was steady, firm without being constraining, and his thumb resumed its slow, deliberate strokes across your knuckles. The rhythm was calm, offering no pressure, no demand—only an unspoken reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You didn’t fail him,” he said softly, his voice low and even, the words carrying the weight of his certainty. “You loved him. That’s all anyone could ask. And I will love you through this, no matter how long it takes.”

The words hung between you, unshaken and sure. But as they reached you, they didn’t sink into the places they needed to. They echoed faintly in your mind, the edges of them dulled by the roar of guilt that refused to be silenced.

Your gaze lifted to his, and his eyes reflected nothing but tenderness, a love that was steady and unflinching. But in their reflection, all you could see was your own brokenness, your own failings laid bare. The ache in your chest twisted sharper, the weight of your perceived failure pressing harder with every breath.

And in that moment, as your heart shattered once more beneath the unbearable weight of everything you had lost, it felt as though the grief might crush you entirely. It pressed against your chest, unrelenting, a force that hollowed you out further with every passing second. The ache seemed endless, a constant presence that had carved itself so deeply into you that it felt inseparable from who you had become.

But even within the depths of that pain, there was something else—something faint yet immovable. It wasn’t hope, not exactly, nor was it solace. It was Cregan. His hands on yours, his steady presence, the quiet certainty of his care—it didn’t lessen the weight of your sorrow, but it didn’t waver either. It was simply there, an unspoken truth that remained even as the grief threatened to consume you.

It didn’t ease the ache in your chest or silence the voice in your mind that told you you’d failed. But in the pit of your broken heart, you knew his love was unyielding, something that had existed long before this moment and would remain long after. It wasn’t a cure for the grief, but it was steady, something that wouldn’t falter, no matter how deep the sorrow ran. And though you couldn’t yet bear to hold it fully, it lingered, waiting in the quiet.

Cregan sensed the shift in you before you could fully grasp it yourself. His gaze softened, the faintest flicker of understanding reflected in his eyes. He didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. His hands remained steady, his touch gentle as his fingers brushed along the curve of your cheek in slow, deliberate strokes. The motion was rhythmic, unhurried, an unspoken promise that he would stay—not to fix you, not to pull you from the depths, but simply to be there, however long it took for the storm inside you to rage.

The plate of food sat nearly untouched on the bed, a quiet acknowledgment of his respect for what you needed in this moment. He made no move to bring it closer, no effort to coax you into eating before you were ready. Instead, he let it rest there, unobtrusive, as though understanding that the weight of even that small act might be too much to bear.

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t cold or empty. It was a silence that held no expectations, no pressure. It was gentle, patient—a space that allowed you to exist as you were, unfiltered and raw. In that quiet, there was no demand to explain, no urgency to heal. You could simply be.

And though the grief remained sharp, unyielding in its hold, there was a small comfort in that silence, in his steady presence. It didn’t take away the ache, but it gave you permission to feel it without pretense. To sit in the heaviness of your sorrow without the burden of pretending to carry it differently..

As you sat there, wrapped in the quiet warmth of the room, the rest of the world seemed so far away. Yet the overwhelming weight of everything began to creep back in—a steady, suffocating pressure that settled heavily in your chest. The plate of food that had once felt distant now sat in front of you, an unwelcome reminder of what you had lost, of everything you hadn’t been able to protect. It wasn’t hunger that repelled you—it was what the food represented. The simple act of eating felt trivial, almost offensive, in the face of the emptiness that consumed you. The ache within you was too vast, too deep, to be touched by something so mundane.

Your hand moved almost instinctively, pushing the plate away with a motion so gentle it was barely perceptible. It wasn’t defiance or rejection—it was an admission of what you couldn’t give yourself. You couldn’t force yourself to be whole, couldn’t pretend that eating would fill the void left inside you. The untouched plate sat between you and the world, its presence quietly mocking.

Cregan sat beside the bed, his broad frame still and his posture calm, as though any sudden movement might disturb the fragile balance of the moment. His hands rested lightly on his knees, his thumbs tracing slow circles against the rough fabric of his trousers, his gaze fixed on you. He didn’t try to convince you to eat, didn’t say a word. His silence wasn’t empty—it was full of quiet understanding. There was no expectation in his eyes, no disappointment, only a steady acceptance of what you couldn’t yet bring yourself to do.

He didn’t judge you for it. There was no reproach, no impatience. His gaze, steady and unflinching, carried only a gentle acknowledgment of your pain. In the quiet of that moment, his presence eased the sharp edges of your self-doubt, not by removing them, but by offering a space where you didn’t need to fight against them. He had seen you at your strongest, at your best, and now, as he looked at you, he saw you at your most vulnerable. Even here, raw and fractured, he looked at you with the same certainty, the same unwavering care.

He didn’t reach for you. He didn’t touch you beyond the occasional flicker of his thumb brushing against your hand where it rested near your knee. Yet even without words or gestures, his presence spoke volumes. It wasn’t a love that sought to fix you or erase the weight of your sorrow. It was a love that existed without expectation, without conditions—a love that offered itself freely, regardless of how broken or fragile you felt.

Cregan’s gaze didn’t falter, even as you pushed the plate away, even as your breaths grew uneven under the weight of it all. He sat beside you, offering nothing more than the certainty of his presence, the quiet assurance that you didn’t need to be anything other than what you were. In that silence, his love wrapped around you—not as a solution, but as a quiet anchor, holding you steady when everything else felt like it might slip away.

The tears that had once flowed relentlessly began to slow, though the ache in your chest remained—a constant, gnawing presence. It wasn’t something that could be banished or fixed with time or words. It felt woven into the very fabric of your being, an ache that refused to be soothed.

Cregan rose from his seat beside the bed, his movements deliberate as he reached for the plate that sat untouched. He lifted it gently, carrying it away and placing it back on the small table with care, as though even this small act deserved respect. When he returned, his attention shifted to you. He stood quietly for a moment, his gaze steady and unhurried, silently asking for permission as he helped you lie back against the bed.

He lingered as he pulled the blanket up over you, tucking it lightly against your shoulders before stepping back. Without a word, he began to undress, his movements slow and deliberate, as if the weight of the moment demanded nothing less. Once ready, he slipped beneath the covers beside you, the mattress dipping slightly as he settled into place.

At first, Cregan didn’t reach for you. He allowed the space between you to remain, as though giving you time to decide how close you wanted him to be. When you shifted toward him, seeking his warmth, he responded without hesitation. His arm wrapped carefully around your waist, drawing you closer with quiet purpose. His chest pressed against your back, solid and steady, a barrier between you and the cold emptiness that lingered at the edges of the night.

Though the ache in your chest didn’t fade, with him beside you, it felt a little less suffocating. His presence didn’t erase the grief that had hollowed you out, but it steadied you in a way you hadn’t expected. Slowly, you began to let yourself rest, the weight of his arm and the quiet rhythm of his breath coaxing you into a fragile kind of calm.

Your forehead came to rest gently against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat grounding you. The rise and fall of his breathing guided your own, slowing the uneven rhythm that grief had imposed. His warmth surrounded you, cocooning you against the chill of sorrow that still lingered in your heart.

Cregan’s arm tightened slightly, his hand resting against your back as though shielding you from the weight of your pain. He didn’t speak or try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. He simply held you, his presence unshaken, offering quiet strength without demand or expectation.

He could feel the tension in your body, the stiffness that came from holding too much inside. The way you tensed against him spoke of the struggle to keep your grief contained, as though letting it spill out would unravel you completely. He wished he could take that weight from you, even for a moment, but he didn’t ask you to let it go. Instead, he held you tighter, his warmth enveloping you, a silent shield against the sorrow that pressed so heavily upon you.

After a long stretch of stillness, Cregan’s voice broke through the quiet. It was soft and low, almost as if he were speaking to himself. His words carried a thoughtfulness, the weight of a memory he had been holding close, now offered to you in the stillness of the night.

“I remember a time when I was a boy,” he began, his voice low and tinged with nostalgia. “It was a winter, much like this one. We were up in the mountains with my father. The cold was so sharp, so bitter, that even the wolves sought shelter in the trees.” He paused, his fingers gently tracing a slow, absent rhythm on your arm, as if anchoring himself in the memory. “We were hunting, tracking a stag, but my father—he always taught me that you don’t chase after something just because it’s there. You have to be patient. You wait for the right moment.”

His words hung in the air, deliberate and weighted, as though each one carried more than just a memory. It wasn’t about the hunt, or the bitter cold—it was about something deeper. About waiting. About endurance. About knowing that some things take time, even when the waiting feels unbearable, even when the pain seems endless.

You kept your gaze on him, watching as the memory unfolded in his eyes. It wasn’t just the words he spoke—it was the way he offered them, the quiet conviction in his tone. A simple story, yet it carried the quiet strength of patience and resilience, a lesson that reached beyond the moment. It wasn’t about fixing what was broken. It was about surviving. Enduring. And as you listened, you began to understand that this was a truth he had carried with him for a long time—a truth he was now sharing with you.

Cregan’s voice softened even further as he paused, the weight of his words settling into the quiet around you. His hand rested lightly against your back, steady and warm, as though trying to shield you from the storm of your thoughts. His gaze met yours for a moment, unflinching, before drifting away again as he spoke.

“I didn’t get it then, not fully,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful, each word carefully chosen. “But now… now, I think I do.” He exhaled softly, his breath brushing gently against your face, the realization in his words carrying the weight of years. “There are moments in life that feel like they’ll break us. Moments where we feel like we’re lost, as though nothing we do will ever be enough. And in those moments, it’s not what we do to fix it that matters most. It’s how we endure. How we wait through the pain, knowing that, eventually, it will pass. It’s about having the patience to let the hurt come—and the patience to let it leave when it’s ready.”

Cregan’s next words came slowly, each one deliberate, heavy with the weight of his love and the quiet strength he offered. It was as though he were trying to bridge the chasm between your pain and his desire to hold you together, even in the brokenness that surrounded you.

“I won’t pretend to understand the full depth of your sorrow, or the weight that rests in your heart,” he said, his voice low and steady, thick with meaning. The tenderness in his tone was undeniable, each word chosen with care. “But I do know this—you are not carrying it alone.”

He paused, letting the words settle between you. They hung in the air like a fragile thread, something so delicate yet so vital, connecting the raw edges of your grief to the steadfastness of his presence. His gaze remained fixed on yours, unwavering, as though willing you to believe him.

“We are here together,” he continued, his voice softer now but no less certain. “And I’ll stay beside you through it all—no matter how long it takes, no matter how much time you need.”

As he spoke, his arm tightened around you, just enough to make his promise tangible, to emphasize the truth of his words. It wasn’t a solution, wasn’t meant to erase the pain that clung to you so fiercely. But it was constant, unyielding—his presence a silent vow to remain with you, no matter the weight of the sorrow that bound you both to this moment.

You could feel the steadiness in his voice, the raw honesty behind each word. It wasn’t just a story he told—it was a promise, woven into the quiet strength of his presence. It was a reminder that grief, with all its weight and anguish, was not something you had to face alone. And though the journey through it would be long—perhaps longer than you could imagine right now—he would wait with you. Just as he had waited patiently that day in the mountains, not rushing the hunt but trusting that, in time, the right moment would come. Cregan understood the power of patience, the way it shaped everything, even in the darkest of times.

The warmth of his body and the quiet strength of his words began to settle in your chest, providing a fragile comfort amidst the storm of your grief. The ache didn’t vanish—it gnawed at you still, sharp and relentless, pulling at the edges of your heart. But his presence offered something more, something small yet significant: a sense that you didn’t have to face this alone. You were still broken, still lost in the enormity of everything you had endured, but in his arms, there was a flicker of solace. Not hope—not yet. But the smallest inkling that, with time, the pieces might begin to mend.

Cregan wouldn’t ask you to hurry through this pain. He wouldn’t demand anything you couldn’t give. He would wait beside you, steady and unwavering, until the day came when the ache didn’t feel so suffocating. He would wait for you to heal, not by rushing you forward but by standing with you through every difficult step.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself rest. You loosened the tight grip you’d kept on your grief, just enough to lean into him, to let his arms hold the weight you no longer could. In this moment, with him, you didn’t have to be strong. You didn’t have to understand what came next. You only had to exist, to breathe, and to trust that in the silence between you, the promise of healing was waiting, just like the moment Cregan had waited for in the mountains.

[hisfavegirl]

Loneliness - Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader.

summary : your mother's decision to leave you alone in the red keep and start a new life with daemon made you become cold to your own family. but you found something more valuable in the red keep.

The world had shifted, and so had you. The corridors of the Red Keep, once familiar, now felt colder and more suffocating. The weight of whispers followed you everywhere — quiet murmurs of “bastard” and “orphan” carried on the air like an ever-present shadow. But you had learned not to flinch. Not anymore.

Aemond’s injury at Driftmark had been a turning point, not just for him but for you as well. The rage, the blood, and the searing accusations that followed lingered in your mind like a bad dream that refused to fade. His loss of an eye became a symbol of the growing rift between your family and theirs. You had watched it all, your heart pounding in your chest, knowing that no matter what you said or did, it wouldn’t be enough to stop the storm.

Then came the departure of your father. Sudden. Unexplained. No goodbyes. One day he was there, and the next, he was gone. The ache it left in you was raw and hollow.

But the final blow came with the news of your mother’s marriage to Daemon. The whispers grew louder after that. The court’s disapproval was palpable, their eyes darting to you with barely concealed scorn. “Daughter of the princess and the rogue prince.” The words dripped with venom. It didn’t help that, after her marriage, your mother chose to return to Dragonstone — without you.

“It’s safer for you in the Red Keep,” she had told you, her voice firm but her eyes sad.

You had grown colder after that. Quieter. The smile you once wore so freely became a distant memory. You no longer sought out the company of others. You stayed in your chambers longer, speaking only when necessary, your heart guarded behind walls no one could breach.

The Greens noticed. Of course, they did. Queen Alicent’s watchful eyes never missed a thing. You felt her gaze on you at meals, in the training yard, and whenever you walked the halls alone. Sometimes she would speak to you, offering honeyed words about “duty” and “family unity.” Other times, she would simply watch, her face unreadable, as if trying to solve a puzzle only she could see.

But you had learned to keep your face still, your eyes sharp, and your words measured. They could call you “bastard” as much as they pleased, but they would never see you break. Not like before.

On one particularly cold evening, you sat by the window, gazing out at the courtyard below. You looked Aemond who were training with Ser Cirston, but you had little interest in watching. Your thoughts drifted like clouds in a stormy sky. You could see the sea in the distance, and it made you think of your father. Does he think of me too?

A knock came at the door, but you didn’t answer. It opened anyway, and you knew before you turned who it would be.

Queen Alicent.

She stepped inside with the same quiet grace she always carried. Her green gown trailed behind her like ivy creeping along stone. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, her eyes calm but focused.

“You’ve been keeping to yourself more than usual,” she said softly, her voice like silk over steel. “It’s not good for a child to be so alone.”

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes still fixed on the sea.

“I’m not alone,” you finally said, echoing the same words you’d told her once before. “I have my thoughts. They keep me company.”

Alicent tilted her head, her gaze sharp as ever. “Thoughts can be dangerous if left unchecked,” she replied, stepping closer. “Sometimes, they lead us to dark places.”

Her words lingered, heavy with meaning. You glanced at her then, your gaze steady and cold. “I am not afraid of the dark, Your Grace.”

She raised an eyebrow, perhaps surprised by your boldness. But she didn’t scold you. If anything, her lips curved into a faint smile — though it was not one of warmth.

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You are your mother’s daughter, after all.”

Silence hung between you, thick as smoke. She watched you for a moment longer, as if searching for something she wasn’t sure she would find.

“Be careful with that pride,” she warned before turning toward the door. “Pride has a way of making orphans of us all.”

Her words echoed long after she had gone, her footsteps fading down the hall. Alone once more, you sat by the window, eyes on the sea, your heart a fortress with walls higher than any castle. If pride would make an orphan of you, then so be it. You would rather stand alone in the storm than kneel before those who called you “bastard.”

You leaned against the headboard of your bed, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your chest. The dim glow of the fading sun seeped through the window, casting soft orange hues across the room. The stillness around you was suffocating, the silence broken only by the distant calls of seagulls and the gentle hum of the Red Keep’s endless murmurs.

Your gaze was distant, eyes locked on the ceiling as thoughts swirled in your mind like a storm at sea. What did I do wrong? The question had haunted you since the day your mother left for Dragonstone. It echoed with every quiet moment, every glance from Alicent, and every sharp whisper from passing lords and ladies.

Was I not enough? you wondered. Did I fail her somehow?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, blinking away the sting behind your eyes. You were too old to cry over such things. But it was hard not to feel abandoned. Your mother was supposed to teach you, guide you, and be your shield. But instead, she had gone — with Jace, with Luke, with her new husband — and left you here. Alone.

A quiet knock pulled you from your thoughts. The door creaked open, and one of your maids stepped inside, her eyes lowered in respect. She held a small piece of parchment in her hands, the edges of it sealed with the unmistakable red wax of House Targaryen. Your heart leapt at the sight of it, the faintest flicker of hope blooming in your chest.

“A letter from Dragonstone, princess ,” the maid announced softly, walking toward you with careful steps.

You sat up quickly, heart pounding in your chest. She placed the letter in your hands, then stepped back, her gaze flickering with quiet curiosity before she lowered her eyes once more.

You stared at the seal for a moment, fingers tracing the mark of the three-headed dragon. Mother. For a moment, you hesitated. Part of you feared what it might say. Would it be filled with more promises to “see you soon” that never came true? Or would it finally be an explanation?

With a deep breath, you broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, eyes scanning the familiar, flowing script.

Your hands tightened around the parchment, the familiar ache in your chest returning tenfold. Her words were kind, warm, even loving — but they were just words. You couldn’t feel her arms around you through ink and parchment. You couldn’t hear her voice telling you everything would be all right.

The maid watched you carefully, perhaps waiting for some instruction or response, but you stayed silent. Your eyes lingered on the words “I love you with every breath I take.” For a moment, you believed it. But it didn’t fill the hollow space her absence had carved into you.

Slowly, you folded the letter and placed it under your pillow, as if keeping it close would make her feel closer too. You leaned back against the headboard, eyes once again drifting to the ceiling.

If you love me, why did you leave me? you thought bitterly. But you didn’t say it aloud. No one would hear you. No one ever did.

The next morning, you made the decision to visit your grandfather, King Viserys. You hadn’t seen him in some time, not since his illness had worsened and confined him to his chambers. There were whispers in the halls about his condition — how the disease was slowly consuming him, how he had become a shadow of the man he once was.

The walk to his chambers felt heavier than usual. Every step echoed against the cold stone walls, and the silence of the Red Keep pressed down on you. When you reached his door, the guards glanced at you briefly before stepping aside, allowing you entry.

The room smelled faintly of herbs and medicine, the air thick with the warmth of a fire that burned low in the hearth. Curtains were drawn, allowing only slivers of light to seep through. The soft, steady wheeze of your grandfather’s breathing filled the room, the sound uneven and strained.

He lay on the grand bed, his once-strong frame now frail and sunken. His face was pale, his skin stretched thin over his cheekbones, and his eyes, though closed, twitched beneath his eyelids as if he were trapped in a restless dream. His crown, once a symbol of his might, lay on a table beside him, cold and untouched.

Quietly, you approached his bedside, your heart aching at the sight of him. This is not the king I remember, you thought. The man who had once carried you on his shoulders during feasts, who had smiled so warmly when you brought him wildflowers from the gardens, was now barely a shadow of himself.

You pulled a chair close and sat by his side. For a moment, you only watched him, taking in every rise and fall of his chest, every line on his weathered face. Slowly, you reached out and took his hand in yours. His skin was cool to the touch, rough in places where age and illness had left their mark.

Gently, you ran your thumb across his knuckles, your movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid he might break beneath your touch. His fingers twitched slightly at the contact, and you wondered if he knew you were there.

“Grandfather,” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s me.”

His breathing hitched for a moment, and you thought you saw his eyelids flutter. Slowly, his eyes opened — not fully, just enough to see you. His gaze was foggy, distant, but after a moment, recognition flickered within them. His lips parted, and his voice, cracked and hoarse, barely made it out.

“…child,” he rasped, his eyes squinting to focus on you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to cry. You smiled at him, leaning in a little closer. “Yes, it’s me,” you said, your voice more steady now. “I came to see you.”

He tried to smile, but it came as little more than a twitch of his lips. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place — pride, perhaps, or sorrow. Maybe both.

“You look… so much like her,” he murmured, his voice strained with effort. “So strong… just like her.”

You knew he was speaking of your mother. People often said you resembled her, though you weren’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or a curse. Still, hearing it from him felt different.

“I miss her,” you admitted quietly, still stroking his hand. “She left for Dragonstone with Jace and Luke. I stayed.”

His brows knitted together in confusion or concern. His gaze sharpened just a little, like a dying flame flaring briefly before fading. “Alone?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You nodded, feeling a familiar ache settle in your chest. “I stayed so she wouldn’t seem weak. So they wouldn’t say we were running away.” Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep speaking. “But sometimes… I wonder if she forgot me.”

Viserys’s eyes softened, his grip on your hand weak but deliberate as he squeezed it gently. “No,” he said with surprising clarity. “She could never forget you.”

The words broke something in you. Your head dipped forward, and you clutched his hand tightly, holding on as if he were the last tether keeping you from drifting away. His breathing grew more labored, but he didn’t let go of you. Not yet.

“You are her heart,” he whispered, his words faint but certain. “Her blood. No distance… no crown… can change that.”

You pressed his hand to your forehead, eyes shut tight as tears spilled down your cheeks. You didn’t make a sound, didn’t want him to hear you cry, but you stayed there, letting his words settle into you like warmth after a bitter cold.

You sat beside your grandfather, the warmth of the fire flickering against the walls of his chamber. The familiar weight of the old, worn book rested in your hands as you read aloud, your voice soft but steady. It was his favorite story — one he had read to you when you were younger, back when his voice was strong and his mind sharp. Now, it was your turn to read to him.

His breathing was slow and uneven, each inhale a struggle, but his eyes were closed in peace. Every so often, his fingers would twitch in your grasp as if to remind you that he was still listening, still here. Moments like these were rare, and you cherished them.

Your voice filled the quiet space, weaving the tale of knights and honor, of dragons and kings. It had always been his favorite — a story of legacy and duty. How fitting for him, you thought with a faint smile.

But then, the sound of the chamber door creaking open shattered the peace. You paused mid-sentence, glancing toward the entrance. Two figures stepped inside — one familiar, one foreign.

Your heart stopped.

It was her. Your mother.

Her silver hair flowed freely down her back, her presence commanding the room as if she had never left. By her side was him. Daemon Targaryen, his sharp features as unyielding as ever, his gaze sweeping the room with quiet calculation. His hand rested lightly on your mother’s back as if he had every right to be there.

They had returned.

You sat frozen for a moment, still clutching the book as if it were an anchor. Your eyes met your mother’s, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Her gaze softened, lips parting slightly as if to say something, but the words didn’t come.

Too late, you thought bitterly.

Daemon’s eyes flicked to you, cold and unreadable, but he said nothing. He never had to. His presence alone was a statement, a reminder that everything had changed.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy like fog. Slowly, you closed the book, the soft thud echoing louder than it should have. You stood, brushing off your skirts as if preparing for battle, your gaze sharp and steady. No tears. Not here. Not now.

“May I be excused?” you asked, your voice calm, measured, and far too grown for someone your age.

Viserys stirred, his eyes flickering open just barely. “Stay,” he rasped, his weak voice pleading. “She’s… here now.”

But you didn’t look at him. Your eyes were locked on your mother, waiting for her to speak. Waiting for her to give you a reason to stay.

Say something, you thought. Tell me you missed me. Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me anything.

But she didn’t. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and though her eyes brimmed with something — regret, guilt, love — it wasn’t enough.

You lowered your gaze, your heart feeling heavier than before. “I’ll be in my chambers,” you said softly, stepping away from the bed.

You didn’t wait for permission. You didn’t wait for her to call after you. You simply turned and walked toward the door, each step carrying you further away from them.

Behind you, you could hear Viserys coughing weakly, the quiet murmuring of your mother’s voice as she rushed to his side. But she hadn’t come to you. She had come for him.

And so, you left. Alone, as always.

You ran as fast as your legs would carry you, your heart pounding in your chest harder than your footsteps echoed against the cold stone floors of the Red Keep. The corridors blurred around you, familiar paths that you had walked a thousand times before. But now, they felt endless, like a maze you couldn’t escape.

The moment you reached the garden, you didn’t stop. You pushed past the hedges and flowers, past the sweet fragrance of blooming roses that felt so out of place against the storm in your heart. Only when you reached the large weirwood tree at the center of the garden did you finally stop.

Breathing heavily, you leaned against the rough bark, letting it press into your back like a grounding weight. Your head tilted up to the sky, eyes stinging with unshed tears. But it wasn’t long before they escaped, hot trails down your cheeks.

She didn’t even say my name.

That thought replayed over and over, sharp and cruel like a dagger twisting in your chest. She had looked at you. She saw you. But she said nothing. No “stay,” no “come here,” not even your name. It was as if you were no one at all.

You pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, trying to stop the tears. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Not for her. Not for them. But the ache in your chest was too much, and the more you tried to hold it in, the harder it became to breathe.

“Crying doesn’t suit you,” came a cool, familiar voice from behind you.

You stiffened, slowly lowering your hands. The voice was sharp but steady, a quiet command that didn’t need to be loud to be heard. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Aemond,” you muttered, wiping at your face quickly, trying to hide any trace of weakness. “What do you want?”

Footsteps crunched lightly against the gravel path until he was closer. You could feel his presence, sharp and deliberate, like the edge of a blade hovering just out of reach.

“Nothing,” he replied simply. His tone was calm, but there was something beneath it — curiosity, maybe, or something colder. “I was only passing by. But it’s hard to miss someone running through the Keep like they’re being chased by a shadow.”

You scoffed, arms crossing over your chest as you turned your head slightly to glance at him. He stood a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture straight and proud as always. His silver hair glowed faintly in the afternoon light, the eyepatch over his left eye making his sharp features seem even more severe.

“Then keep walking,” you said quietly, leaning your head back against the tree. You didn’t have the energy to argue with him today. “I’m not in the mood for your games, Aemond.”

But he didn’t move. He stayed where he was, his lone eye watching you carefully, studying you like one of his history books. His silence was heavy, expectant, like he was waiting for you to say something more.

When you didn’t, he stepped closer. “Did she say something to you?”

You froze at that, your fingers digging into your arms. You knew exactly who he meant. He always knew.

“Why do you care?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. You turned to face him fully, eyes still red but blazing with defiance. “Come to gloat, have you? Come to remind me I’m the forgotten child, the one they left behind?”

Aemond tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as if considering your words. He didn’t smile, didn’t sneer — he wasn’t like Aegon. No, Aemond was too controlled for that.

“I don’t need to remind you of something you already know,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through the air like ice. “But you should know this — being forgotten isn’t the same as being weak.”

His words hung there for a moment, sharp and cold but strangely… honest. He stepped forward, and for once, you didn’t move away. He stopped just an arm’s length from you, his gaze unwavering.

“Do you think I don’t know what it’s like?” he continued, his tone quieter now, more deliberate. “They may look at me, but they don’t see me. Not as I am.” He glanced away briefly, jaw tightening, as if the admission had cost him something.

Your breath caught in your throat. For all the times you had argued with Aemond, for all the cold remarks and sharp looks exchanged, this was different. You recognized the weight in his words because it was the same weight you carried.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The garden was quiet except for the distant chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Finally, you sighed, looking down at your feet. “It hurts,” you admitted, barely more than a whisper. “No matter how much I tell myself it doesn’t, it still hurts.”

There was another pause, then the sound of footsteps. You expected him to walk away, to leave you to your thoughts. But instead, he stepped closer, his shadow falling over you. When you glanced up, he was right there in front of you, his face unreadable but his gaze steady.

“Then let it hurt,” he said quietly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Let it hurt, and then make sure they regret it.”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the quiet ferocity in his tone. He wasn’t offering comfort, not in the way others might. But he wasn’t mocking you either. This was something else — a challenge, perhaps. Or a promise.

For once, you didn’t argue with him. You didn’t have the strength.

You glanced away, wiping at the last of your tears with the sleeve of your dress. “You sound like Daemon,” you muttered, half-expecting it to annoy him.

But Aemond only huffed a quiet laugh. “Daemon thinks with his heart,” he said, his lips twitching into a brief, fleeting smile. “I think with my mind.”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Which one do you think is better?”

His smile faded, and for a moment, he seemed to genuinely consider it. “Both are useful,” he said finally. “But only one will win a war.”

You didn’t know if that was meant to be advice or a warning. Maybe both.

The two of you stood there in the quiet of the garden, side by side but not quite together. The ache in your heart had dulled to something more bearable. Not gone — it would never be gone — but bearable.

“Come,” Aemond said after a moment, tilting his head toward the path. “If you stay here too long, they’ll think you’ve run away.”

His words could have been a jest, but his tone was too matter-of-fact. You stared at him for a moment longer, then pushed away from the tree, your legs steadier now than before.

He didn’t offer his hand, and you didn’t ask for it. But he walked beside you, his stride matching yours as you made your way back toward the Keep.

And for once, you didn’t feel so alone.

As you and Aemond made your way down the hallway, the silence between you both felt less oppressive, though still distant. There was an odd sense of companionship in the quiet that lingered as you walked side by side, but it was short-lived.

As you reached the stairs, you spotted Alicent. She stood at the top, watching both of you with an unreadable expression. Her gaze flicked between you and Aemond, and for a brief moment, the tension between the three of you seemed to stretch thin, like a thread pulled too tight.

She descended slowly, her steps deliberate, until she reached the landing where you both stood.

“You,” she began, her voice steady, though there was an underlying sharpness. She looked directly at Aemond. “Take her to her chambers. I need to speak with you after.”

Aemond met her gaze, his expression unchanged. “Yes, Mother,” he replied, his tone respectful, though the slightest edge lingered in his voice.

You felt the air around you grow colder, her eyes now turning to you. They were calm, almost calculating, but there was a trace of something else beneath — concern, perhaps, or something more complicated that you couldn’t quite read.

“I’ll speak to you shortly,” Alicent said, her voice gentler now as she directed her attention to you. There was no warmth, but there was something like understanding, or at least the semblance of it.

You nodded silently, not trusting your voice to stay steady. For a moment, you thought of resisting, of telling her you didn’t want to meet her in her solar. But the words didn’t come, and the thought seemed almost futile. So, you allowed Aemond to guide you silently toward your room, knowing that an inevitable conversation with your mother loomed ahead.

Aemond didn’t say anything as he walked beside you, his presence more of a shadow than anything else. You couldn’t help but wonder what had transpired between them, what conversation lay ahead, and if you would ever get the answers you sought — or if it would only ever remain a silence, a chasm growing between you and those you had once trusted most.

You stepped into your room, the door creaking softly as you entered, your mind still heavy with the encounter on the stairs. You turned to Aemond, giving him a small, brief thank you. He only nodded in return, his expression unreadable, before turning on his heel and leaving without a word. His presence was gone just as quickly as it had arrived, and the silence that followed felt almost suffocating.

The moment he was gone, you closed the door behind you, your hand lingering on the handle for a moment before you turned away. Your gaze swept across the room, and something caught your eye — a soft green fabric sprawled across the bed.

A gown. A rich, flowing green gown. The fabric shimmered faintly in the dim light, elegant and carefully placed, as though it had been waiting for you.

You walked over, your steps hesitant as you approached the bed, your fingers brushing against the soft material. Confusion washed over you. What was this? Why was it here? The last thing you expected was to find a gown, especially one so formal — so… green.

It was then that a thought crossed your mind — the color. Green. The color of the greens. Was it a sign? A reminder of what was expected of you? You didn’t know, but the weight of it made your chest tighten. Why was it left here, and by whom? Your mother’s choice, or something else entirely?

You stared at it for a moment longer, your thoughts tangled in confusion and frustration. You didn’t want to wear it. Not today. Not when everything felt so wrong. But there was no time for indecision.

Just as you were about to turn away, you heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching outside the door.

Your breath caught, and before you could stop yourself, you straightened up, knowing exactly who was coming.

You turned at the soft sound of footsteps, your heart tightening as you saw Queen Alicent standing in the doorway. Her presence filled the room with an air of authority, yet her eyes seemed softer than usual, though the resolve in them was unmistakable.

She stepped inside, her gaze briefly scanning the room before it landed on you. “There will be a proclaiming,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “To determine who will be the next Lord of the Tides. It is important that you stand beside me during this.” Her eyes flicked toward the green gown on the bed, her lips curling into a slight, knowing smile. “Please, wear this. It is fitting for the occasion.”

You stared at her for a long moment, feeling the weight of her words. The tension in the room seemed to grow heavier, as if the walls were closing in around you. A proclaiming. The announcement of a new Lord of the Tides. This was not just a simple event, but a reminder of the shifting allegiances and the subtle games at play. You had no choice but to be a part of it.

You glanced at the gown again, the rich green fabric glistening in the dim light. It felt like a symbol — of power, of expectations, of your place in the game. But you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse her. Not now.

“I understand,” you said softly, your voice betraying none of the turmoil inside you. “I’ll wear it.”

Alicent’s gaze softened for a brief moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. She nodded and walked closer, her presence commanding yet strangely comforting. “I know this isn’t easy for you,” she said quietly, her voice gentler now. “But this is part of our duty, of our role in the realm. And we must play our part.”

You stood there, caught between the pull of duty and the ache of what you had lost. The world around you seemed like a distant echo, and you struggled to hold yourself steady.

“Once you’re ready,” she continued, breaking the silence, “I’ll send ser Criston to take you to the throne room. ”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the gown that lay before you. The decision was clear. There was no turning back.

You reached for the gown, your fingers brushing against the fabric as you prepared yourself for what was to come.

As you sat in front of the mirror, the soft hum of your servant’s movements filled the room. She carefully arranged your hair, pulling it into an elegant style, but your thoughts were far from the delicate strands of your hair. The reflection before you felt distant, almost unfamiliar, as if the person staring back was a stranger.

You wore the green gown that Queen Alicent had provided for you, its rich fabric flowing elegantly down your form. The color, so associated with the Greens, seemed to weigh heavily on your shoulders. You couldn’t help but wonder what your family would think when they saw you in this.

What would your mother think? Would she see the daughter she had left behind in King’s Landing, dutiful and obedient, yet broken by the distance between them? You remembered the warmth of her embrace when you were younger, the way she would comfort you, guide you. Now, with her absence, you felt the heavy responsibility of the crown pressing on you from every angle.

And Jace and Luke — your brothers. What would they make of all this? They had been so close to you, always protective, always there when you needed them. Now, they were far away, living their own lives in Dragonstone. Would they understand your choices? Or would they see this as a betrayal, as a surrender to the life they had feared for you?

Your reflection in the mirror seemed to mock you with its silence. You had once imagined yourself in a life full of love, happiness, and freedom. But now, all of that felt distant, slipping away like sand through your fingers. the alliances, the politics — they all had a price. And you couldn’t help but feel like you were paying it all alone.

You tried to push those thoughts aside, but they lingered, a constant ache in your chest. You had no choice but to play the part. To be the dutiful daughter, the obedient noblewoman, and stand by your mother, even as the weight of it all crushed you from the inside.

“Are you ready, princess?” the servant asked, her voice pulling you from your thoughts.

You gave her a small nod, but the truth was, you weren’t ready. Not for any of it. But the moment had arrived, and there was no turning back.

You turned your head toward the door, your heart racing as you saw Ser Criston standing at the threshold, ready to escort you to the throne room. His presence was as stoic and reassuring as always, though you couldn’t ignore the slight tension in the air.

You straightened yourself, taking a deep breath, and walked toward him, your head held high, despite the turmoil swirling inside you. As you passed through the halls of the Red Keep, the whispers started — soft at first, but quickly growing louder. You could hear them all around you: gasps of surprise, murmurs of disbelief. The green gown, the color of the Greens, a stark contrast to the black and red of House Targaryen, was the reason for their shock.

It was a deliberate choice, one that left no room for doubt. This was a statement. And you knew exactly what it meant. The gown was a symbol, not just of your family’s current position in the court, but of the power games at play. It felt like a chain, heavy and binding, even as you walked with the grace you had been taught since childhood.

The stares followed you every step of the way. Eyes widened in disbelief, some full of judgment, others perhaps curiosity. Some were too polite to stare openly, but you could feel their gaze burning into you as you moved past them.

And yet, you didn’t falter. You walked proudly, your back straight, your expression carefully neutral, though inside, you were anything but calm. The whispers stung, but you pushed them aside. This was your duty. You had no choice but to fulfill it.

Ser Criston walked beside you, his gaze ahead, ever watchful, ever loyal. He didn’t say a word, and neither did you. But his presence gave you a small sense of comfort, as if someone, at least, understood that there was more at stake here than just the gown you wore.

Finally, you reached the grand doors of the throne room. You paused for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on you, before you stepped forward, the heavy wooden doors opening with a creak, revealing the sea of faces awaiting you inside.

This was it. The proclamation was about to begin. And you, standing in Queen chosen gown, would have no choice but to face the consequences of every decision made in this ever-shifting game of power.

As you entered the throne room, your eyes immediately found Queen Alicent’s. She stood tall and regal, her gaze meeting yours as you approached. Her lips curled into a soft, approving smile. “You look very beautiful in green,” she said, her voice warm, though there was something else beneath it — a knowing smile, perhaps, or a hint of satisfaction in seeing you fully embrace the role she had set out for you.

You merely nodded in acknowledgment, not trusting yourself to speak. Her words felt like both a compliment and a reminder of the expectations placed on you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to truly believe in them.

Your attention shifted quickly back to the large, imposing doors at the far end of the room, your heart quickening in anticipation. Your mother, Rhaenyra, and your brothers, Jace and Luke, were yet to arrive. The throne room was silent but for the murmurs of the court, the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

The eyes of the gathered lords and ladies were on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet their gazes for long. You focused instead on the door, waiting for the sound of footsteps that would signal your family’s arrival. The uncertainty gnawed at you, and as you stood there, a part of you wished for the moment to be over, to have clarity — to know where you stood in this world of shifting alliances and loyalties.

But the time stretched on, the door still closed, the air thick with the tension of what was to come.

The heavy doors of the throne room creaked open, and there, standing in the doorway, was your mother — Rhaenyra, her posture regal and graceful, but something about her presence seemed different today. Her figure was rounder than before, the unmistakable sign of pregnancy clear to anyone who looked closely. At her side was Daemon, ever watchful, and your brothers, Jace and Luke, followed closely behind.

You could feel your heart skip a beat as they stepped forward, but your gaze locked onto Jace almost instantly. His eyes widened, a flicker of shock flashing across his face before it was quickly replaced with a deep, almost painful, disappointment. The sight of you standing with the greens, wearing their color, was something he hadn’t expected — a stark contrast to the loyalty you had once shown to your family, to House Targaryen’s black banner.

The disappointment in his eyes cut deeper than you anticipated, and for a moment, you felt the weight of every unspoken word between you both. He looked at you as though he didn’t understand, as though you had betrayed something sacred between you.

You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. The silence between you two stretched on as his gaze bore into you, so full of emotions that you couldn’t quite decipher. Was it betrayal? Pain? Confusion?

Rhaenyra and Daemon took their place further away from you, near the center of the room. Yet, your mind couldn’t pull itself from Jace’s stare. You tried to steady your breathing, but the realization of the rift growing between you and your family felt like a weight in your chest.

The room was charged with an uneasy tension, everyone watching the scene unfold — the daughter of Rhaenyra, standing with the Greens, while her family stood apart. The quiet disappointment from Jace was almost louder than anything else in that moment.

You felt the walls close in, unsure of how to navigate this new reality. All you could do was stand there, caught between the old loyalties and the new allegiances that were now expected of you.

Aemond stood beside you, his presence unwavering as he occasionally glanced at you with an almost unreadable expression. His words were calm but sharp, as though he was trying to reinforce something that you had already come to terms with, but the sting of it still lingered. “Green is your color, not red or black,” he said softly, his tone as cold as ever. It was a statement of fact, something that left no room for argument, and yet, it only made you feel more distant from everything you had once known.

You remained silent, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders. You didn’t respond — there was nothing to say. You had already accepted your place in this new world, even if it came with a bitter taste.

The room fell into a tense silence as the proclamation began. Vaemond Velaryon, with all his pride and ambition, stepped forward. His voice carried through the hall, commanding attention as he declared, “I am the rightful heir and the only true choice to be the Lord of Driftmark.”

His words reverberated in the space, each syllable a challenge, a bold assertion of power and legitimacy. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the reactions of those present. You could feel the weight of Vaemond’s claim, the undeniable tension that followed. This was more than just a family dispute — it was a battle for control, for legitimacy, and for the very future of House Velaryon.

Your mind raced, thoughts colliding in confusion and discomfort. The stakes had never been higher. Would your mother support Vaemond’s claim? Or would the blood of House Targaryen — your blood — be enough to sway the tide? You glanced at your mother and Daemon, standing nearby, their expressions unreadable.

The tension was palpable as the room awaited the response, each passing second heavier than the last.

The atmosphere in the throne room grew even more tense as your mother, Rhaenyra, stepped forward with a calm yet resolute expression. Her voice, steady and authoritative, filled the hall. “Corlys’ decision remains the same,” she declared. “He has chosen Luke as the next Lord of the Tides.”

A murmur ran through the room, some faces showing surprise, others nodding in agreement. The declaration was bold, but it was backed by the powerful figure of Rhaenyra, who stood unwavering in her stance. Her words were not just about the title; they were a symbol of defiance, a challenge to those who sought to undermine the legitimacy of her children.

Rhaenys, standing beside her, nodded in firm agreement, her voice calm but carrying the weight of years of experience and authority. “My husband’s decision has not changed,” she added. “Luke is and will always be the rightful heir.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, all eyes turning to Vaemond, who had no choice but to stand down for now, his claim weakening in the face of Rhaenyra’s unyielding support.

Then, your grandmother dropped another bombshell — one that took the room by surprise. “And as part of the future of House Velaryon, I am pleased to announce that Luke and Jace are betrothed to my twin grandchildren Baela and Rhaena.”

The words hit like a thunderclap. The idea of this new betrothal, the joining of two powerful houses, added yet another layer to the intricate web of politics, alliances, and promises that had been carefully woven over the years. You could feel the weight of those words as they settled in the room, many eyes darting between you and your brothers, whispers beginning to rise once again.

You could feel the eyes of the court on you, and your heart pounded in your chest. What would Jace think about this announcement? What about Luke? The news of their betrothals, coupled with the tension surrounding Driftmark, was only going to fuel the already high stakes.

Your thoughts raced, but you kept your gaze steady, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. The room buzzed with murmurs, but you remained focused, wondering what the next move would be in this dangerous political game your family had been forced to play.

As the tension in the room thickened, the doors to the throne room creaked open once more. All eyes turned toward the entrance, and the atmosphere seemed to hold its breath. There, standing with the aid of a cane, was King Viserys. His frail form was supported by a servant on either side, and his once-vibrant presence now seemed diminished by the ravages of time and illness. Yet despite his weakened state, there was an undeniable authority that still emanated from him.

The murmurs of the court fell silent as King Viserys slowly made his way to the front, his steps deliberate and measured. With a deep, rasping breath, he finally spoke, his voice strained but still commanding. “Otto,” he began, his eyes locking onto his Hand. “I will be the one to lead this proclamation.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Otto Hightower, standing near the throne, appeared taken aback by his father’s decision, but he quickly masked his surprise with a bow of his head, acknowledging the king’s authority.

The weight of his words reverberated throughout the room. King Viserys had reclaimed his place at the center of this crucial moment, despite his frailty. His determination to lead, to assert his authority even in his weakened state, was evident to all present.

You could see the shock and uncertainty in the eyes of the court members, and perhaps even in Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s expressions. The course of events was shifting yet again, and with it, the balance of power in the room seemed to tip ever so slightly in the king’s favor.

Viserys, with a look of exhaustion but unwavering resolve, turned his attention to the gathered lords and ladies. “The time for further disputes ends now,” he said, his voice gaining strength with each word. “I will make my decision on this matter.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as King Viserys’ declaration rang out through the hall. “Luke shall remain the rightful heir to Driftmark,” he said firmly, his voice filled with the weight of his authority despite his frailty.

For a moment, the court seemed to hold its collective breath, but it was not long before Vaemond Velaryon’s voice cut through the tension, harsh and unrelenting. He stepped forward, his anger palpable, and his eyes were ablaze with fury. “This is wrong!” he shouted. “These children are bastards! They have no rightful claim to Driftmark, no matter how you spin it!”

His words were venomous, and as he turned his attention to your brothers, Jace and Luke, the venom in his tone grew sharper. “You two are no better than the filth you came from,” he spat, his words aimed directly at them. “You’re nothing more than the children of a whore, born from lies and treachery!”

The insult stung in ways that words could not fully capture. You could see the hurt and anger flash across Jace’s face as he stepped forward, as if ready to respond, but it was Luke’s stiffened posture that caught your attention. The weight of Vaemond’s accusations hung heavily in the air.

Vaemond’s fury, however, did not stop there. His gaze swung over to your mother, Rhaenyra, his expression twisting with contempt. “And you,” he sneered, his voice rising with scorn, “You are nothing but a cunning, deceitful whore, the one who corrupted the bloodline of House Velaryon.”

The insult was deliberate and cruel, a direct attack not only on your mother’s honor but on the legitimacy of your entire family. The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of Vaemond’s words hanging like a storm cloud. You could feel the tension spike, the atmosphere thick with the undercurrent of anger and betrayal.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you thought you might break — but instead, your gaze hardened. You stood there, watching the scene unfold, unsure if you were more shocked by Vaemond’s audacity or by the way the room seemed to shift in the wake of his challenge.

The king, still gripping his cane, seemed poised to speak again, but the silence lingered, heavy and oppressive. It was as if the very air around you had been thickened with the weight of the words exchanged — the accusation of bastardy, the callous insult to your mother’s reputation.

You knew that this would not end quietly. The delicate balance of power had already been shaken, and the game was far from over.

The events unfolded in a blur, so sudden and brutal that it barely felt real. One moment, Vaemond's voice echoed through the throne room, his hateful words hanging in the air like the toll of a bell. The next, there was a flash of steel - sharp, quick, and final.

The sickening sound of flesh and bone being cleaved echoed louder than any shout. Gasps and cries filled the hall as Vaemond's head was split clean in two. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, with the top half of his skull tumbling to the cold stone floor. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and glistening, seeping into the cracks of the throne room's tiles.

You froze in place, eyes wide with shock, your breath caught in your chest. It felt like time had stopped. Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out the horrified murmurs of the lords and ladies around you. Before you even realized what you were doing, your hands shot up to cover your eyes, blocking out the sight of Vaemond's mutilated body. But the image was already burned into your mind.

Helena's small, sharp gasp echoed beside you, her voice strained and filled with as much fear as your own. She pressed her hands to her face, her breathing shaky, and you knew she had seen everything too. You both stood there like statues, caught in a moment too terrible to process.

Daemon stood at the center of it all, calm as ever, his sword still raised, blood dripping from the blade in slow, deliberate drops. His eyes were sharp, unbothered by the stares or the gasps of the court. His gaze shifted only briefly to you, as if to ensure you were still standing, before he turned his attention back to the king.

"Say it again," Daemon's voice was low and deadly, his words laced with cold fury. But there was no one left to answer.

The silence that followed was suffocating. No one dared to speak, not even Otto Hightower, who watched with tightly pressed lips and narrowed eyes. Alicent's face was pale, her hands clasped in front of her as if in silent prayer. Even your mother, Rhaenyra, stood frozen for a moment, her eyes flicking between Daemon and the lifeless body of Vaemond.

King Viserys' breathing was heavy and labored, but he did not reprimand Daemon.

Instead, he raised a trembling hand, his voice brittle but clear. "I will have no more of this," he declared, his eyes hard and tired. "This matter is settled. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark. Let no one speak of it again."

The room remained still, filled with the metallic tang of blood and the quiet rustle of fabric as lords and ladies shifted uncomfortably in place. Your breathing was shallow, your fingers slowly lowering from your eyes. You glanced toward Aemond, whose gaze was locked on Daemon with an intensity that made your chest tighten. He wasn't horrified like the others. No, his face bore the faintest hint of something else - respect, or perhaps something darker.

Your eyes flickered back to Helena, her hands still over her face, her shoulders trembling.

Without thinking, you reached for her, gently placing a hand on her arm. She flinched but didn't pull away. The two of you stood like that for a while, the world around you too loud and too quiet all at once.

You felt Queen Alicent’s hand gently grip your arm, firm but not harsh. Her touch grounded you in the midst of the chaos, her presence a steady force as she guided you and Helaena toward the exit of the throne room. Your legs moved on their own, your mind still clouded by the horrific scene you had just witnessed.

Behind you, you heard it — Jace’s voice, sharp and desperate. “Sister! wait!” he called out, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor. For a moment, your heart ached, and you nearly stopped. Nearly.

But Alicent’s hand gave a gentle tug, and you kept walking. You didn’t turn back. You didn’t look at Jace. The weight of everything pressed on you too heavily to face him right now. Helaena walked quietly on your other side, her hands still clasped tightly together, her eyes darting around like she was trying to wake herself from a nightmare.

The echoes of the throne room faded as the heavy doors closed behind you. The hallway outside was quieter, colder, the distant hum of the Red Keep filling the silence. Your breathing was shallow, your mind replaying the moment Daemon swung his sword, the flash of steel, the wet sound of impact. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the image away, but it clung to you like a shadow.

Alicent slowed her pace, her gaze flickering between you and Helaena. Her brow was furrowed, a mixture of concern and calculation playing on her face. She said nothing for a while, her eyes searching your face like she was trying to read every thought you were too afraid to voice.

“Come,” she said softly, her voice carrying a weight of certainty that left no room for argument. “You don’t need to see any more of this.”

Her words were kind, but there was something beneath them, something deeper. Protection, yes — but also possession. You were under her care now, just as Helaena was. She was making that clear to you with every step you took away from the throne room.

Your chest felt tight, a swirl of emotions you couldn’t name twisting inside you. Shame, fear, anger — they all swirled together like a storm you had no control over. Jace’s voice echoed in your mind, that one, desperate call of your name. But you kept walking. You didn’t look back.

You glanced up at Alicent, your voice steady but quiet. “May I return to my chambers, Your Grace?” you asked, your hands clasped neatly in front of you, just as you had been taught.

Alicent turned toward you, her eyes soft but searching, as if she were trying to gauge your state of mind. Her gaze lingered for a moment before she gave a small nod. “Of course,” she said, smoothing the fabric of her sleeve. “But be ready for tonight. The king has requested a family supper to welcome everyone back.”

Her words carried a weight you couldn’t ignore. A “family supper” sounded simple, but you knew it would be far from it. Everyone would be there — your mother, your brothers, Daemon, and the greens. You could already imagine the tension that would fill the air like a storm waiting to break.

“Yes, Your Grace,” you replied, lowering your head slightly in respect. Without another word, you turned and began walking toward your chambers.

Your footsteps echoed softly in the corridor, each step pulling you farther from the garden’s stillness. You could feel Alicent’s eyes on your back as you left, watchful and calculating as always.

When you were far enough away, you let out a slow, steady breath. The weight of everything — the throne room, the blood, Jace’s eyes filled with hurt — pressed down on you all at once. You kept walking, your face carefully blank, just as you had learned to do. But inside, your thoughts churned like a restless sea.

A family supper. It sounded so simple, but you knew better. There would be glances that lingered too long, words that cut sharper than swords, and silence that spoke louder than any proclamation. You would have to endure it all — just like you had endured today.

When you reached your chambers, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it, your eyes shut tight. The world outside felt so far away, but it was never truly gone. You could still hear echoes of it in your mind — the clash of duty and blood, of love and expectation.

For now, though, you had a moment of peace. You crossed the room and sat by the window, gazing out at the distant sea. It shimmered under the afternoon sun, vast and endless. For a moment, you allowed yourself to dream of it — the idea of flying away, of escaping it all. But dreams, you knew, were dangerous things.

With a quiet sigh, you turned away from the window and sat at the edge of your bed. You would be ready for supper. You had to be.

You stood in front of the mirror, your hands smoothing over the deep red fabric of your gown. It fit you perfectly, every stitch a reflection of your house’s pride and legacy. Red, the color of House Targaryen. The color of fire.

A sudden knock echoed from the door, pulling you from your thoughts. Your brow furrowed as you turned to face it. Without waiting for your response, the door creaked open, revealing one of Queen Alicent’s handmaidens. She stepped inside with careful grace, her gaze lowered in quiet submission, but her presence alone was enough to send a ripple of unease through you.

In her hands, she carried a gown. It shimmered in the soft glow of the chamber’s lanterns — a rich green fabric adorned with delicate golden embroidery, the sigil of House Hightower subtly woven into the design. It was beautiful. Too beautiful to be ignored.

“The queen requests that you wear this for supper tonight, princess,” the handmaiden said softly, her eyes flicking up to meet yours for only a moment before lowering again. Her words were spoken with the same practiced courtesy all of Alicent’s attendants used, but you could feel the weight of them pressing against you. Requests — no, it was not a request. It never was.

Your gaze lingered on the gown, your chest tightening as a quiet storm brewed within you. You glanced back at the mirror, your reflection staring back at you. Red. The color of Targaryens. Your house. Your blood. Your mother.

But now, green had come to claim you. The queen’s color. The color of peace, they claimed. But you knew better. It was the color of strategy, of quiet conquest. The queen’s influence wrapped around you as tightly as this gown soon would.

You turned slowly to face the handmaiden, your eyes sharp but your expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched thin like a thread about to snap.

“…Leave it on the bed,” you said at last, your voice calm but firm. The handmaiden hesitated, perhaps expecting you to argue, but she nodded and placed the gown carefully on your bed. She gave you a small curtsy before slipping out of the room as quietly as she had come.

You stood there, frozen in place, your eyes locked on the gown. It gleamed with an almost unnatural brightness, as if it demanded to be seen. Demanded to be worn.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. You took a step toward it, your heart pounding in your chest. Every step felt heavier, like you were walking toward a choice you could never take back.

You reached out, fingers hovering just above the soft fabric of the green gown. Your breathing was shallow, each inhale sharp and uneven. This gown would change how they saw you. How she saw you. How they saw you.

Your hand trembled as it hovered between the two choices. Red, the gown you had chosen. Green, the gown she had chosen for you.

As you stood before the mirror, the soft fabric of the green gown slipped over your skin, the color striking against your complexion in a way that felt almost too deliberate. It was beautiful—there was no denying that. But it was more than just fabric. It was a symbol. A symbol of a decision you never wanted to make but felt you had no choice but to accept.

Your fingers trembled as you adjusted the gown, the weight of the choice pressing down on you like a stone. A betrayal. That’s what it felt like. You were wearing the colors of the queen—the very woman who had pulled your mother away from you, who had taken her from the Red Keep, from you. You had always held onto the hope that your mother would return, that she would come back and find you the way you had left her, but now… it felt like you were abandoning her too.

You had never wanted to choose this path, you thought, your eyes staring back at you in the mirror. But a quiet part of you—the part that had been wounded by her departure—found a strange sense of justification in it. This was your answer. Your response to the cold distance she had placed between you and her.

You couldn’t hear your mother’s voice anymore, not in your thoughts, not in your heart. Instead, you heard the sharp command of Queen Alicent, whose presence seemed to linger in every corner of the Keep. A woman who had woven her influence around you so deftly, it was almost invisible, like the subtle green of the gown now hugging your frame.

The handmaidens moved around you with quiet care, pinning your hair into place, but you felt disconnected from their hands. It wasn’t their fault, you knew, but each touch felt like a reminder of everything you had lost. The warmth of your mother’s guidance. The presence of your brothers. The certainty that had once been the foundation of your life. Gone.

Instead, you chose to free your hair. The weight of the green gown already made you feel bound, and the act of letting your hair fall in loose waves around your shoulders felt like a small rebellion. The strands framed your face, a visual testament to the woman you had once been before everything began to crumble.

You glanced at yourself once more in the mirror, the reflection of the woman staring back at you felt unfamiliar. A part of you wanted to scream at the image, to demand that this not be your future, but there was no escaping the reality.

When you were ready, you took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. Tonight, you would attend the feast. Tonight, you would play your part. But inside, a quiet resolve had settled within you. Whatever came next, you would face it head-on. Just like the Targaryens always had.

Even if you had to sacrifice everything to get there.

The hallway felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the quiet corridor. The weight of the green gown pressed down on you with every movement, the gold accents catching the dim glow of the torches. Your fingers brushed against the fabric at your sides, grounding yourself as you neared the private solar of King Viserys.

Your heart beat steadily, but with each step closer, it grew louder. You knew what awaited you on the other side of that door. Your family. Your brothers. Your mother.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the large wooden doors. Beyond them lay gazes that would judge, eyes that would accuse. Your grip on your skirt tightened, but before you could waver, the doors were pulled open by the guards.

The room was warm with the glow of the hearth, and the soft hum of conversation died instantly as the sound of the doors opening echoed through the space. Every head turned. Every gaze fixed on you.

Your breath hitched in your chest, but you didn’t falter. Your head rose higher, your steps deliberate, slow, and steady. If they would look at you, then you would let them look. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing doubt on your face.

The first face you noticed was Jace. His brown eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if he was about to say something—but he didn’t. His gaze swept over you from head to toe, taking in the unmistakable green of your gown. Disbelief twisted his features into something sharp and pained. Betrayal. That’s what you saw in his eyes.

Luke wasn’t much different. His confusion was more childlike, his brows drawn together, lips pressed into a tight line. He looked up at Jace, as if seeking an explanation for what he was seeing. But Jace’s eyes never left you.

Daemon leaned back in his chair, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He didn’t look surprised, only entertained, like he had predicted this moment long before it happened. His sharp gaze followed you like a hunter stalking prey, eyes half-lidded with amusement, his fingers drumming lazily on the armrest of his chair.

Then, there was her. Your mother. Her face was unreadable at first, her eyes sharp and searching, like she didn’t recognize you. But slowly, her expression shifted, her lips pressing into a thin, almost pained line. Her eyes softened with something akin to sorrow—or perhaps disappointment.

The silence in the room was suffocating. You could hear the quiet crackle of the fire and the distant call of gulls outside the window. No one spoke. Not yet.

You didn’t dare look at Alicent, though you knew she was watching. You could feel her gaze, steady and unwavering, like a silent claim on you. She had won this battle, and she knew it.

You moved toward the only empty seat, your chin held high as you passed them all. Their stares felt like knives in your back, but you didn’t flinch. You wouldn’t flinch.

When you sat down, your eyes flickered briefly toward Jace. His gaze was still on you, hurt and confusion written plainly on his face. His jaw was tight, and you could see him clenching his fists on his lap, his knuckles white. He leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper but sharp enough to cut through the air.

“Why are you wearing that?”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye but didn’t answer. What could you say? That you had no choice? That you had been abandoned and left to fend for yourself? No. Jace wouldn’t understand. Not now. Not like this.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Daemon’s soft chuckle broke it. “Looks like the little dragon has found a new den,” he muttered, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Rhaenyra shot him a warning glare, but he didn’t stop. He tilted his head at you, watching you the way a cat watches a bird.

“Careful, child,” Daemon said, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “Green may suit you now, but remember — dragons breathe fire, not peace.”

Your hands curled in your lap, nails pressing into your palms. You refused to look at him. You refused to give him the reaction he wanted.

“Enough,” Alicent’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. Her presence was like a wave crashing onto the shore, and all eyes turned to her. She stepped forward with the calm authority of a woman who knew she had already won. Her gaze swept over Rhaenyra, over Jace and Luke, over Daemon, and finally settled on you.

“Tonight is meant to be a night of peace,” Alicent said with an air of finality. “We are family, no matter the colors we wear.” Her gaze softened slightly as she looked at you. “And family deserves to be welcomed, not judged.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your gaze falling to your lap. Family, she said. But which family did you belong to now?

Jace was still staring at you, his eyes hard but filled with quiet hurt. You had never seen him look at you like that. Like you were a stranger.

Family, you thought bitterly. Whose family do I belong to now?

The weight of the silence hung heavily in the room, broken only by the soft clinking of goblets and the faint crackle of the hearth. You glanced around, feeling the pressure of their stares. Your heart thudded in your chest, but you lifted your chin, unwilling to be seen as weak.

“I did what I had to,” you said firmly, your voice steady but laced with quiet defiance. “No one else stayed for me.”

The words lingered in the air like the smoke from a dying fire. Jace’s eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing deeply. Luke glanced between you and him, uncertainty in his young gaze. Daemon raised a brow, his lips twitching into that infuriating smirk. He tilted his head back and let out a low, amused chuckle, the sound rumbling like distant thunder.

“Spoken like a true player of the game,” Daemon said, raising his goblet in a mock toast before taking a slow sip of wine. “Careful, that kind of thinking will have you wearing a crown before you know it.”

His words dripped with mockery, but there was a glint of something else—approval, perhaps? It was hard to tell with Daemon. His eyes gleamed with mischief, as if he enjoyed the chaos brewing in the room.

The tension was palpable, every breath measured and every glance sharp as blades. Rhaenyra’s eyes were locked on you now, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked at you not with anger but with something deeper—disappointment. It stung more than you cared to admit.

Before anyone could say another word, the grand doors at the end of the room creaked open. The sound echoed loudly, commanding the attention of every soul in the room.

The slow, uneven footsteps echoed like a drumbeat of fate.

All eyes turned toward the entrance, and there he was. King Viserys. The weight of his crown was visible on his frail body, his once-proud frame now hunched and weakened by disease. His breaths were shallow, his face pale and worn. His robes hung loosely on his frame, and his eyes—though clouded with pain—were still sharp with purpose.

He was not alone. Two Kingsguard knights supported him on either side, their grips firm on his arms as they helped him walk forward. Every step was a struggle, but he pressed on with the resolve of a king who had no time left for weakness.

The room fell utterly silent, all eyes now on him. Even Daemon’s smirk faded as he sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing at his brother’s arrival. Alicent moved forward instinctively, her eyes full of concern, but she did not approach him.

You felt your chest tighten at the sight of him. This was not the man you remembered from your childhood—strong, warm, and full of life. Now, he was a shadow of that man, worn down by years of pain, loss, and duty.

“I am glad…” Viserys’s voice was hoarse but resolute as he was guided to the head of the table. The Kingsguard helped him into his chair, and he leaned back, his chest rising and falling with every labored breath. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes moving over each face in the room. “I am glad… to see my family… together again.”

His words hung in the air like a prayer. No one dared to speak.

His eyes found you, and for a moment, his gaze softened. The tired, weathered king saw you—not as a child, not as a player in the game, but as his granddaughter. His lips twitched into a faint smile, one that you hadn’t seen in so long.

Your throat tightened, and you looked away before anyone could see the shine in your eyes.

Alicent moved to his side, adjusting his blanket as he sat at the head of the table. She whispered something softly in his ear, and he nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving his family. His whole family.

“Tonight,” Viserys said slowly, his voice strained but clear, “we put aside… our grievances. Tonight, we are… one family.” His gaze shifted from Rhaenyra to Alicent, lingering there, as if willing them to understand the weight of his words. “Let us dine as such.”

Silence filled the room once more, but this time, it was different. No sharp gazes. No cutting words. Just the weight of a king’s final wish.

The servants began to move, placing dishes of roasted meats, bread, and fruits onto the long table. The warmth of the food mingled with the warmth of the hearth, and for a moment, the Red Keep felt less like a battleground.

You glanced at Jace. He was still looking at you, his jaw tight, his hands clenching and unclenching. Luke was whispering something to him, trying to pull him back from whatever thoughts had taken hold of him.

You turned your eyes to your plate, suddenly feeling the weight of every gaze upon you. But when you dared to glance up again, you saw him.

King Viserys was still watching you. His eyes, heavy with pain and wisdom, met yours, and for a moment, it felt as if he saw you completely. Not the girl in green. Not the daughter of Rhaenyra. Not the pawn in someone else’s game. Just you.

His lips moved slowly into a smile, small but true. You pressed your lips together, holding back the emotions swirling in your chest.

If only it were that simple, you thought to yourself as you lowered your gaze once more.

The soft melody of the music filled the hall, weaving through the gentle hum of conversation. Plates clattered lightly as servants moved around, pouring wine and placing fresh dishes on the long table. Laughter echoed from different parts of the room, a sound so rare in the Red Keep that it felt almost out of place.

You sat beside Helaena, her gentle smile and quiet musings a welcome comfort in the tense atmosphere. She spoke of her children, her dreams, and the little things she found joy in—like the pattern of a moth’s wings or the way the light danced on water. Her words were simple, yet they felt like a balm to your heart.

A soft laugh escaped you as she made an offhand comment about how “even the crickets have more sense than most lords.” She giggled too, her soft, airy laugh lightening your spirit in a way you hadn’t expected.

But then, your eyes wandered. You didn’t mean for them to, but they did. They found her—your mother.

She was seated at the other end of the table, her face illuminated by the warm glow of the firelight. Her silver-gold hair framed her face like a crown, her smile soft as she leaned toward Daemon. He whispered something to her, his lips close to her ear, and whatever he said made her smile widen, her eyes crinkling with genuine joy.

Genuine joy.

Your heart clenched, a deep ache blooming in your chest. The warmth you felt from Helaena’s laughter was gone, replaced by a dull, hollow pain.

There she was—the mother who had left you behind. The mother who had taken Jace and Luke with her to Dragonstone, but left you alone in the Red Keep. The mother who smiled now, so freely, so openly, as if she had not abandoned you. As if she hadn’t left you to stand among people who questioned your very right to exist.

Her gaze never once drifted to you. Not once.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the goblet in your hand. Your nails dug into the cool metal as you fought to steady your breathing.

“Does it hurt?” Helaena’s voice was soft, almost distant, as if she were speaking to herself.

Your eyes darted to her. She wasn’t looking at you, her eyes instead focused on the table, tracing patterns on the wood with her finger.

“What?” you asked, your voice quiet but sharp.

“Being unseen,” she said softly, her voice lilting with the strange tone she sometimes took when speaking of things only she understood. Her eyes lifted slowly to meet yours. For a moment, it felt as if she knew. As if she could see everything you’d been trying to hide behind your carefully raised chin and unwavering gaze.

Your throat felt tight. You didn’t know how to answer, so you said nothing. But Helaena only smiled that sad, knowing smile.

“It does,” she said for you. “It hurts.”

Her words settled into the quiet spaces of your heart, filling them with a truth you didn’t want to admit. Your eyes flickered back to your mother, watching as she laughed softly, her hand resting on Daemon’s.

She looks happy, you thought bitterly. She looks happy without me.

Your gaze fell to your lap, your vision blurring slightly. You blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of them.

But even as you tried to push it down, the weight of it was suffocating. The betrayal. The loneliness. The unspoken truth that, no matter how many times you wore green or smiled for Alicent, it would never be enough. It would never fill the space your mother had left behind.

And yet, here you were. Alone, in a room full of people.

You leaned back in your chair, feigning interest as Aegon rambled on about his day with his usual blend of arrogance and mischief. His words drifted in and out of your mind, more noise than substance, until a presence settled beside you — steady, calm, and unmistakable.

You glanced to your side and met Aemond’s eye. His gaze was sharp, as it always was, but there was something more tonight. Without a word, he extended his hand toward you. His fingers were long and calloused, his palm facing up — an offering.

“Shall we dance?” His voice was low, a quiet murmur meant only for you.

For a moment, you hesitated. You knew every eye would be on you if you accepted. You knew Jace and Luke were watching, just as you knew your mother would see it too. But as you glanced around the room, you saw her still seated with Daemon, her gaze not even flickering in your direction.

She doesn’t care.

So, you placed your hand in Aemond’s, your fingers curling lightly around his. His grip was firm but not unkind. Together, you rose from your chair, the weight of a hundred stares pressing on your back as you walked to the center of the room.

The soft hum of voices dimmed, replaced by the quiet, expectant melody of the music. Every step echoed louder than it should have, but you kept your head high, your gaze unwavering.

Behind you, you could hear them.

“She’s changed,” Luke muttered, his voice sharp with disbelief.

“She’s with them now,” Jace replied, bitterness lacing his tone. “Look at her.”

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t give them the satisfaction.

Aemond’s hand found its place on your waist, his other hand still holding yours. His gaze remained fixed on you, as intense as the flames that lined the hall. You placed your hand on his shoulder, and for a moment, the world fell away.

The music guided you both, your movements precise, controlled. Each step, each turn, was deliberate. There was no softness in Aemond’s hold, but there was control — sharp, steady, and sure. It was nothing like the dances you had shared with Jace in your childhood. Those had been filled with laughter, stumbling steps, and teasing grins. This was something else entirely.

“You wear green well,” Aemond said, his eye flickering down to take in your gown. “It suits you better than red ever did.”

You didn’t answer at first, letting the silence linger between you as you spun together. His words were a test, you knew that. But you were not a child anymore.

“Green is a color of peace,” you replied evenly, your eyes meeting his. “Strange how it always seems to follow war.”

His lips twitched at that, just a slight upward pull at the corner, too small to be called a smile. “Peace is often born of fire and blood,” he said, his voice as sharp as the edge of a blade.

You twirled under his arm, the fabric of your gown sweeping the floor like a wave. As he caught you back into his hold, you felt his grip tighten ever so slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he was there — that he would always be watching.

“You hear them, don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly toward Jace and Luke. Their voices were quieter now, but you could still hear the murmurs of your brothers behind you, still feel their gazes burning into your back.

“I do,” you admitted softly, eyes distant for a moment before you refocused on him. “But it doesn’t matter.”

Aemond tilted his head, studying you with a look that felt too knowing for comfort. “Doesn’t it?” he murmured, his voice so low it was nearly lost to the music.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because deep down, it did matter. It mattered that Jace and Luke saw you. It mattered that your mother didn’t. And it mattered that you were here, in a green gown, dancing with the man they hated most in the world.

But you wouldn’t let it show. Not tonight.

So you held Aemond’s gaze with all the strength you had left and let him lead you across the floor. For once, you didn’t falter. Not even when Jace’s voice cut through the air one last time.

“Traitor.”

The word was quiet, but it struck like a sword.

You felt Aemond stiffen ever so slightly, his hand pressing more firmly against your back. His gaze flicked briefly past you, his lips curling into something far too dangerous to be called a smile.

“Ignore him,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the way your heart ached. “He still thinks love will save him.”

Aemond’s gaze returned to you, his expression unreadable. “And what do you think will save you?”

You looked at him for a moment, really looked at him, and for once, you let yourself be honest.

“Nothing.”

As the final notes of the dance faded, you began to step back from Aemond, only for another hand to seize yours with a sudden, playful grip. You turned, startled, to see Aegon standing there with his ever-present smirk.

“Mind if I steal her, brother?” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery as he gave Aemond a pointed look. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled you toward him with a dramatic spin, earning a few quiet chuckles from onlookers.

“Aegon,” you muttered, a hint of exasperation in your tone. His antics were as familiar as the Red Keep’s stone walls.

“What?” he said with a grin, placing one hand on your waist and holding your hand with the other. “I figured you’d had enough of the one-eyed shadow for one night.”

You glanced briefly at Aemond, who stood at the edge of the dance floor. His face was a mask of indifference, but his gaze followed your every move.

“Careful, Aegon,” you warned, your eyes narrowing. “You’re starting to sound brave. Bravery doesn’t suit you.”

He barked a short laugh, spinning you with a surprising amount of grace. “Bravery suits me just fine, dear niece,” he teased, his grin sharper now. “But wine suits me better.”

You rolled your eyes but allowed him to lead the dance. He wasn’t as precise as Aemond, nor as steady. His steps were a bit too loose, his movements too relaxed, but somehow, it still felt easy. There was no tension, no pretense. Just him being the same Aegon you had always known.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said after a moment, his grin dimming into something softer. His voice had lost its usual edge. “Not like you.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by the shift in his tone. He wasn’t mocking you, not this time. He was looking at you with something that almost resembled concern.

“I suppose I’ve had a lot to think about,” you replied, glancing down for a moment.

“Ah,” he hummed knowingly. “Let me guess — it’s them, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer, but your silence was enough. He gave you a slow nod, his face unusually serious.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Aegon muttered, his eyes flickering toward where Jace and Luke sat. “They’ll always hate you for standing where they can’t reach.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you replied quietly. “They never loved you to begin with.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, sharper than before. For a moment, you thought you’d gone too far, but then he snorted a bitter laugh. “True enough,” he muttered, his gaze distant for a heartbeat before he looked at you again. “But that’s exactly why I can tell you this — it’s better to be hated than forgotten.”

His words hit harder than you expected. You knew what it felt like to be forgotten. You’d been living with that feeling since the day your mother left you in the Red Keep.

“You think I should be proud of it, then?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Aegon tilted his head, his grin returning, but it was smaller this time — almost sad. “No,” he said. “But you should wear it like armor. People are less likely to stab you if they know the blade won’t break you.”

You both moved in silence for a while, the music filling the space between words. His grip was looser than Aemond’s, but there was something comforting about it. No pretense, no expectation. Just Aegon being Aegon.

When the dance finally ended, he leaned in close, his breath smelling faintly of wine. “You look good in green,” he whispered, his voice too low for anyone else to hear. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

He pulled away with a wink, leaving you standing in the middle of the floor as he sauntered off toward the wine table. You stood there for a moment, letting his words settle.

Your gaze drifted back to your brothers. Jace was staring at you, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and disbelief. Luke sat beside him, quieter but no less disappointed. Their faces said everything they wouldn’t.

But you remembered Aegon’s words — it’s better to be hated than forgotten.

So, with steady hands, you lifted your chin, turned away from them, and walked back toward the table where Alicent and Helaena were waiting.

Alicent’s gaze lingered on you as you returned to your seat. Her smile was warm, almost maternal, as if she were proud of you for wearing the green. She reached out to adjust a stray strand of your hair, tucking it gently behind your ear.

“You did well,” she whispered, her voice as soft as silk. “They see you now.”

You nodded, offering her a small, strained smile. But the weight of it all sat heavy on your chest.

King Viserys, seated at the head of the table, raised his cup, his voice raspy but firm as he addressed the gathered family. “It brings me great joy,” he began, pausing to catch his breath, “to see my family together again.” His gaze flickered between you, Jace, Luke, and your mother. “My grandchildren… soon to be wed. Jace to Baela, Luke to Rhaena. A union that will strengthen our house for generations to come.”

The room erupted in polite applause, but you barely heard it. Your eyes flicked toward Jace, who was watching you closely, his face unreadable but his gaze sharp.

Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, Viserys coughed and leaned forward, his eyes searching the faces at the table. “But there is another of my grandchildren whose future we must also secure.” His gaze stopped on you. “She has grown strong, wise… and beautiful.”

You felt every eye in the room shift toward you. Your heart began to pound in your chest.

“Yes,” Viserys continued, his smile soft but determined. “It is only right that we speak of her future as well. A match that will honor her lineage and ensure her protection in these troubled times.”

Silence fell over the room, thick with unspoken tension. Your hands gripped the edge of your chair as you glanced at your mother. She sat stiffly, her face a mask of calm, but her eyes were fixed on you with a mixture of concern and calculation.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as if amused by the sudden shift in conversation. His eyes darted toward Alicent, catching the faintest twitch of her smile.

“An excellent suggestion, my love,” Alicent said, her tone smooth and agreeable. She glanced at you, her eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Pride? Possession? “She is of age, after all. And there are many fine suitors who would be honored to claim her hand.”

Your chest tightened as you realized what was happening. They weren’t talking to you — they were talking about you, as if you were a prize to be bargained over.

“Her future should be decided with care,” Rhaenyra interjected, her tone sharp, her eyes cutting toward Alicent. “She is still young, and such decisions must be made with her consent.”

Alicent tilted her head, a gentle smile still on her face. “Of course, Princess,” she said sweetly. “But surely, as her mother, you must understand the urgency of ensuring her safety. A strong match would protect her from the dangers that surround us all.”

“Her safety was never in doubt until you made it so,” Rhaenyra shot back, her voice laced with venom.

Viserys raised his hand, his face twisted with exhaustion. “Enough,” he rasped, his voice strained but firm. “This is a family matter, not a battlefield.” He turned his gaze back to you, his eyes soft with affection. “My dear girl, you will have a say in this. No match will be made without your will. You have my word.”

For a moment, you felt relief wash over you. But then Daemon’s quiet laugh echoed from the other end of the table.

“Words are wind,” he muttered into his cup of wine, glancing sidelong at Viserys. “Promises mean little when thrones are at stake.”

His words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Alicent’s fingers drummed softly against the table, her gaze flicking toward Aemond, who sat with his arms crossed, his face as unreadable as ever.

Aegon let out a low chuckle, leaning toward you with that same mischievous grin. “Careful, little niece,” he whispered, his breath warm with the scent of wine. “They’ll have you betrothed before dessert.”

Your eyes darted to him, but you said nothing. Your mind was already racing. You could feel it — the weight of it all pressing down on you. It wasn’t a choice. It never had been.

Aemond’s voice broke through the tension like a blade through silk. “If she must marry, it should be someone worthy.”

His single eye landed on you, sharp as a dragon’s gaze. He didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. His words carried no jest, only a cold, calculated certainty.

“Someone strong,” he added, his eye slowly moving toward Jace. “Someone who knows the meaning of loyalty.”

Jace leaned forward, his eyes locked on Aemond, his jaw clenched tight. “Careful, uncle,” he muttered. “Loyalty is a word you use when you have none of it yourself.”

The table grew still. The air was so tense it felt like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

But you could feel it. This wasn’t about you anymore. This was about them. All of them. Your fate was just another piece on the board.

Silence fell over the room like a shroud. Every movement stopped — goblets paused mid-air, glances darted from one face to another. You froze, your breath caught in your chest.

King Viserys leaned forward in his chair, his milky eyes filled with quiet determination. “Aemond is a fine match,” he said, his voice hoarse but resolute. “A bond of blood. A union that will heal the wounds that have festered far too long.”

Your eyes darted to your mother. Rhaenyra’s face was pale but firm, her lips pressed into a thin, unmoving line. Her eyes found yours, silently pleading with you to stay calm.

Daemon let out a low, mocking laugh, swirling the wine in his cup. “A fine match, indeed,” he drawled, his sharp eyes flicking between Viserys and Alicent. “How convenient for some.”

Alicent kept her composure, folding her hands neatly in front of her. Her gaze shifted to you, her eyes filled with gentle resolve. “It is a wise decision, husbanb” she said softly, her tone carrying the weight of finality. “It strengthens the family, unites the bloodlines, and ensures her protection. It is what’s best for her.”

You glanced at Aemond. He sat still, his face carved from stone, his single violet eye locked on the table in front of him. No flicker of surprise, no sign of agreement or resistance. Just silence.

“Has anyone asked her?” Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, sharp as a blade. Her gaze burned with defiance. “Has anyone thought to ask my daughter what she wants?”

Viserys turned his gaze to you, his expression softening. “What say you, child?” he asked gently, his voice kind but expectant. “Would you accept this match for the good of the realm? For the good of your family?”

Every gaze in the room turned toward you. Jace stared at you in disbelief, his mouth opening as if to speak but no words came out. Luke’s wide, innocent eyes were full of confusion and hurt.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest. This was it. They were offering you the illusion of choice, but you knew the truth. This was not your decision to make.

Your eyes moved back to Aemond. His gaze was on you now, piercing and unwavering. He said nothing, but something about the intensity of his stare unsettled you. There was no kindness in it, no affection — only cold, hard calculation.

Rhaenyra rose from her seat, her voice trembling with barely restrained rage. “She is a child, Father. My child. She is not a pawn to be traded for your fleeting sense of peace.”

“She is not a child anymore, Rhaenyra,” Alicent replied, her voice deceptively soft but firm. Her eyes stayed on you, unyielding. “She is a young woman, and a young woman of her station must understand the duties that come with it.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, her chest heaving with quiet fury. “You mean your duties, don’t you, Alicent? Duties that serve only your ambitions.”

“Enough!” Viserys’s voice boomed, louder than you had ever heard it before. His eyes burned with a fleeting glimpse of the king he once was. “We are family, and family must stand together!” His gaze softened once more as it returned to you. “Child, speak your heart. I will hear you.”

The weight of every gaze in the room pressed down on you like a mountain. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears. Speak your heart, he said, as if it would truly matter.

Aemond tilted his head slightly, his eye still locked on you, studying you as if he already knew what you would say. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe — he simply watched.

Jace leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “Say no.”

But Daemon snorted, raising his cup in mock salute. “Say no, and they’ll find another way to force you,” he muttered, taking a slow sip of wine.

The silence stretched, endless and suffocating. Your gaze met your mother’s once more. She gave you the barest shake of her head, her eyes pleading with you to refuse. But in those same eyes, you saw something else — helplessness. If you said no, it would change nothing.

You took a slow, steadying breath, feeling your fingers tremble at your sides. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to have a choice.

“Grandfather,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. “If this is what is best for the realm… then I will not refuse it.”

Rhaenyra’s face crumpled like parchment. “No,” she whispered, taking a step toward you. “No, don’t do this. You don’t have to—”

“I do,” you said, cutting her off, your eyes flicking to hers with quiet resolve. “I do.”

The room erupted in murmurs. Luke’s small voice echoed faintly in the background, “Sister…?” Jace slammed his hand on the table, his chair scraping back as he stood. His face was flushed with anger and betrayal.

“You’re letting them use you,” Jace hissed, his voice trembling. “You’re letting them win.”

You turned away from him, your gaze fixed firmly on the stone floor. If you looked at him, at Luke, at your mother — you knew your resolve would crumble.

“Then it is decided,” Viserys declared, his tone final, his breath heavy with exertion. “The betrothal is sealed. She will wed to Aemond.”

Aemond finally moved. He stood slowly, his eyes never leaving you. He walked toward you, his footsteps steady and deliberate. When he stopped in front of you, he reached out his hand, palm up.

You stared at it for a moment, heart pounding, before placing your hand in his. His grip was firm, almost too firm, his fingers cold like steel. His face remained impassive, but his eye burned with something you couldn’t quite name.

Possession.

“Wise choice,” he said quietly, his lips barely moving. “You’ll find I am not as cruel as others would have you believe.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they sent a chill down your spine.

Rhaenyra was staring at you, her face hollow with betrayal and heartbreak. Jace’s eyes burned with disbelief and fury. Luke, sweet Luke, simply looked confused and hurt, like a child who didn’t understand why the world had suddenly changed.

Alicent placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her touch light but firm. “You will be well cared for, my dear,” she said softly, as if she had won a great victory. “This is the beginning of a new future for you.”

But you knew the truth.

You hadn’t won anything.

You’d been claimed.

The room fell into a suffocating silence. All eyes turned to you as the words you had never dared to say finally spilled from your lips.

“You have no right over me, Mother. Not after you left me."

Your voice was steady, but the weight of it was undeniable. Rhaenyra flinched as if you had struck her. Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her chest.

“I left to protect you,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “I left to protect all of you."

“No, you didn’t,” you replied, your voice rising with the anger that had simmered for far too long. Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “You left with Jace. You left with Luke. You left with Daemon. But you left me here — alone.” Your chest heaved with each breath, and every word dripped with the pain you’d been forced to swallow for so long.

Jace took a step forward, his face contorted with guilt and disbelief. “It wasn’t like that—”

“It was exactly like that!” you snapped, cutting him off. Your gaze turned to him, your brother who had always been your partner in everything — until he wasn’t. “You followed her, didn’t you? You followed her to Dragonstone, and you didn’t look back. Not once.”

Luke’s wide eyes filled with tears, his small voice barely a whisper. “We didn’t want to leave you…”

You shook your head, your lips pressed together tightly. You didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not when the wounds were already wide open.

“Don’t pretend it wasn’t a choice,” you said coldly, eyes locked on Rhaenyra. “You chose them. You chose Daemon. You chose your crown. But you did not choose me.”

Rhaenyra stepped toward you, her eyes desperate. “I never stopped loving you,” she pleaded, her voice cracking under the weight of her own guilt. “I thought you’d be safe here, with your grandsire —”

“Safe?” you echoed bitterly, your eyes narrowing. “Do you even know what it’s like to live here without you? To have everyone whispering about me, calling me a bastard to my face? ” Your voice broke, but you didn’t care. “You weren’t here, Mother. You don’t get to decide for me now.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?” Rhaenyra’s voice was trembling with a mix of disbelief and hurt. Her face twisted in pain, as though you had struck her. “You are my daughter—”

“You left me,” you interrupted, your voice cold and steady despite the pain that twisted in your chest. “You left me alone here, and now you’re telling me what I should do with my life? You have no claim over me anymore.”

The words stung, even as you said them, but there was a part of you that felt a small sense of relief. Finally, the weight of everything you had held in for so long had been released.

Rhaenyra’s eyes searched yours, her lips trembling as though she were trying to find the right words, but they eluded her. “You know that I had no choice… I did what I had to do for my children.”

“Your children? What about me?” you asked, your voice rising despite yourself. “What about me? I was supposed to be your daughter, your priority. But you left. You chose Dragonstone over me, over us.”

Her eyes filled with sorrow, and for the first time, you saw the weight of her guilt. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

The weight of your words settled over the room like a storm cloud. Jace looked at you as if he didn’t recognize you anymore. Luke looked heartbroken, tears spilling down his cheeks. Even Daemon, so often unbothered by the chaos around him, regarded you with quiet curiosity, his eyes sharp with recognition.

But it was Rhaenyra who wore the most pained expression. Her lips quivered as if she wanted to say something, anything, to refute your words. But she couldn’t.

Alicent stepped forward then, her presence steady and deliberate. She placed a gentle hand on your back, a silent show of support. Her green dress shimmered in the light of the flames, and for the first time, it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt safe.

“She has spoken her mind, Princess,” Alicent said softly, though her gaze was firm. “Her choice is clear.”

“Her choice was forced,” Rhaenyra shot back, her eyes blazing with fury as she turned on Alicent. “Do not pretend you had no hand in this, Alicent.”

“I did nothing but offer her a place where she was valued,” Alicent replied, her voice smooth as silk. Her hand remained on your back, grounding you. “Can you say the same, Rhaenyra?”

The words hit like a dagger. Rhaenyra’s breath hitched, her eyes darting to yours as if searching for something — forgiveness, understanding, hope. But you gave her none of it.

“Leave it, Mother,” you said, your voice hollow. Your eyes dropped to the floor, no longer able to look at her. “It’s already done.”

Your gaze lifted to Aemond, his sharp features calm but watchful. He said nothing, merely offering a small nod, as if he knew this moment had been inevitable.

Rhaenyra took a step forward, but you stepped back, shaking your head slowly. “Don’t.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she clenched her fists at her sides. “I’m still your mother.”

“Then act like it,” you whispered, your voice cutting through the air like a blade. “But you don’t get to act like it now.”

Aemond, standing at your side, watched the exchange silently. He didn’t speak either, his face unreadable. But there was something in the air between you — a quiet understanding, perhaps. He didn’t need to say anything because the truth had already been laid bare.

Finally, it was Viserys who broke the silence, his voice shaking with the effort. “Enough,” he rasped, his frail form leaning heavily on his cane. “This is not the time for more conflict. Let us move forward with peace.”

But Rhaenyra’s eyes never left you. “I won’t let this happen,” she whispered, almost to herself. “You will not be forced into a marriage you don’t want, not by him.” Her voice was a low growl, filled with desperation and a hint of defiance.

“I’ve already made my decision, Mother,” you said, the words heavy on your tongue. “And I’m not asking for your approval anymore.”

The room seemed to shrink in the silence that followed. Rhaenyra’s face crumbled, the weight of your words settling deep within her. But you couldn’t bring yourself to regret them.

Daemon’s laugh echoed through the hall, cruel and mocking. “There it is, Rhaenyra,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your precious daughter, no longer your little princess.”

Aemond took a step closer to you, his presence solid and unyielding. The tension was palpable, but he said nothing, only standing by your side as your mother and Daemon exchanged heated glances.

For a moment, you felt like the weight of the world was on your shoulders, and yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of freedom.

The silence stretched on, and though the room was heavy with unspoken words and emotions, you knew one thing for certain: you would no longer let your mother dictate your life. You would not be a pawn in this game anymore.

The decision had been made. And nothing would change it.

The sudden pull of Jace’s hand, harsh and forceful, sent a jolt of pain through you. You winced, feeling the weight of his grip, but your heart ached more from the words you knew were about to follow.

“Stop, Jace!” you gasped, struggling to break free from his hold. “Let me go!”

But he didn’t listen. His face was twisted with anger and desperation, and his eyes were filled with hurt as he tried to pull you away from the chaos, as though he could fix everything. “You can’t do this! You can’t marry him, you—”

Before he could finish, Aemond stepped forward, his hand swiftly clasping Jace’s wrist, pulling it away from you with surprising strength. The tension between the two brothers crackled in the air, and the room fell silent for a brief moment, everyone holding their breath.

“Let her go,” Aemond said, his voice low but commanding, his eyes never leaving Jace’s.

But Jace wasn’t done. In a fit of rage, he swung his free hand at Aemond, landing a sharp blow to his face. The room erupted with shocked gasps as Aemond stumbled back, more surprised than hurt, but his glare burned with intensity.

“You will not touch her,” Jace spat, his chest heaving with anger. “Not like this. Not ever.”

“Enough!” you shouted, your voice shaking but firm. The words felt like they came from somewhere deep inside, pushing past the confusion and hurt you felt. “Enough, Jace!”

You tore your hand from Aemond’s grasp and turned to face your brother. Your eyes, filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow, locked onto Jace’s. “You are not my brother anymore,” you said, the words leaving your lips like poison. “Not after everything you’ve done to me. Not after you abandoned me here, alone.”

Jace froze, the words sinking into him like daggers. His eyes softened, as if he didn’t understand what you were saying, but the hurt in your voice was undeniable.

“You think you can control my life just because we’re family?” you continued, your voice shaking with emotion. “You don’t get to decide what happens to me, not anymore. Not when you’ve done nothing but leave me to fight for myself.”

Aemond, now standing tall beside you, didn’t move, but his presence was a stark contrast to the chaos around you. He watched you with an unreadable expression, his hand still clenched at his side.

Jace stood there, his anger faltering as he processed your words, but his face twisted with disbelief. “I never left you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always been here for you.”

“No,” you responded coldly, shaking your head. “You haven’t. Not when it mattered.”

The silence in the room was deafening, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a thick fog. The tension was so thick you could almost feel it pressing against your skin.

Jace took a step back, his face crumpling with a mix of guilt and confusion, but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when everything you once believed in had been shattered so completely.

Without another word, you turned away from Jace, your heart heavy with the painful truth that you no longer recognized the people who were once closest to you. You didn’t look back as you walked toward the exit, your steps steady but filled with a new sense of resolve.

This was no longer a family. This was a war, and you had chosen your side.

Alicent’s arms enveloped you, pulling you into a tight embrace. Her warmth, unexpected and gentle, washed over you, grounding you in the midst of the chaos. For the first time in so long, you allowed yourself to break. Tears, which you had kept bottled up for so long, finally spilled down your face as you buried your head in her chest.

You had been strong for so long, but in this moment, the weight of everything—your family’s betrayal, your pain, and the overwhelming sense of loneliness—became too much. You cried in silence, unable to stop the flow of emotions.

Alicent didn’t say anything, but her hold on you tightened, a silent comfort that you hadn’t known you needed. She didn’t judge you, didn’t try to fix things; she just let you cry, offering a shoulder when the rest of the world seemed too cold to care.

Through your tears, you caught sight of your mother standing at the other end of the room, her eyes filled with sorrow. There was no anger, no harsh words—just a deep sadness. She looked at you as if she understood, as if she saw the broken pieces of the child she had left behind.

But that only made the pain worse. Her gaze pierced you, a reminder of the distance that had grown between you both. She didn’t come to you, didn’t offer comfort, and that only deepened the wound in your heart.

Alicent seemed to sense the shift in your emotions. She gently pulled away, cupping your face in her hands, her green eyes meeting yours with an understanding that felt both foreign and familiar. “You don’t have to face this alone,” she whispered softly.

You nodded, wiping your tears away, though they kept falling. But you knew, deep down, you had already made your choice. You had already chosen who would be there for you, who would stand by you when your family turned their back. And as much as it hurt, you knew the road ahead would be one you would walk alone, despite the faint hope that things could have been different.

Your mother’s eyes lingered on you from afar, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her. Not now. Not yet.

The silence between you and Aemond as you walked toward your chamber was deafening. Every step seemed to stretch on forever, the weight of what had just been decided pressing down on you like an unbearable burden. You couldn’t even bring yourself to speak, the words trapped in your throat, your emotions tangled up in confusion, anger, and sorrow.

Aemond, for his part, said nothing either. His usually sharp, intense gaze was focused ahead, but there was an odd stillness to him. You could feel his presence beside you, the tension in the air thick enough to be felt, but there was no comfort in it. He didn’t offer any words of solace, nor did he attempt to break the silence. It was as though both of you were stuck in a strange limbo—neither fully facing what had just happened nor able to walk away from it.

As you reached the door to your room, Aemond stopped, his hand briefly resting on the handle before he turned to look at you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed to search yours for something—maybe understanding, maybe regret, or perhaps something else entirely.

“You should rest,” he said finally, his voice low, almost indifferent. “There will be much to prepare for in the coming days.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the floor. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, not without breaking down, not without giving voice to the emotions swirling inside of you. The last thing you wanted was to show any more weakness in front of him, or anyone, for that matter.

Aemond hesitated for a moment longer, then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts then.” He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading as he left you standing at the threshold of your room.

As the door closed softly behind you, you let out a shaky breath, the floodgates inside of you threatening to open. But you held yourself together. You couldn’t afford to break—not now, not in front of anyone.

Your mind raced as you stared at the empty space in front of you. The reality of the situation seemed impossible to accept. The wedding, the marriage, everything that had just been decided felt like it belonged to someone else, not you.

But there was no escaping it. This was your fate now. And no matter how much you wanted to rebel, to run, you knew you were tied to this family, to these bloodlines. The only thing left to do was endure.

With a heavy heart, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears finally came.

As you walked through the quiet garden, the path ahead was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The air was cool, a slight breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers, but it did little to calm the storm raging inside you. Your heart felt heavy with every step, each one taking you further from the bright, unbearable reality of your wedding preparations.

You couldn’t escape the thoughts that constantly echoed in your mind—the betrayal, the abandonment, the silence that had grown between you and your family. It was impossible to reconcile what was happening with the love and loyalty you once felt for them.

In the distance, you spotted Jace and Luke, their figures emerging from the trees, walking toward you. They had likely come to try and make amends, to explain themselves, but you knew their words wouldn’t change anything now.

You stopped in your tracks, holding up your hand to stop them before they could reach you. Your chest tightened, and a coldness crept over you. You had once been close to them, but now… now they were strangers to you. Their betrayal, their silence in the face of your suffering, stung deeper than anything else.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice cold and firm, though the pain behind it was undeniable. “I don’t want to hear it. I hate you both.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you expected. Jace’s face faltered, his expression one of shock, but Luke—Luke’s eyes were full of something that hurt even more: regret. Yet, none of it mattered. It couldn’t matter.

They didn’t deserve your forgiveness, not after everything that had happened. Not after they had stood by as your life was stolen from you, as you were cast aside in favor of their own selfish desires.

Jace opened his mouth, as if to speak, but you shook your head, silencing him. You didn’t want to hear any more excuses or apologies. You had heard it all before, but it was never enough.

“Go back to your own lives,” you added, your voice trembling slightly despite the anger. “Stay out of mine.”

Without another word, you turned away from them, walking quickly in the opposite direction. You could feel their eyes on your back, but you didn’t care. There was no turning back now. You had made your decision, and it was too late for apologies.

As you left them behind in the garden, a part of you felt a strange emptiness—an ache where the love you once had for them used to reside. But you knew it was for the best. There could be no more pretending. You couldn’t keep clinging to people who had abandoned you when you needed them most.

You entered your room, the weight of the day’s preparations still heavy on your shoulders, only to be met by the presence of Alicent and Helaena. They were waiting for you, their faces soft with anticipation. Helaena smiled warmly at you, her eyes filled with quiet admiration, while Alicent’s gaze was approving, though there was something more restrained in her expression.

“Come, my dear,” Alicent said gently, guiding you toward the mirror. “It’s time to try on the gown.”

The dress, a stunning white creation, shimmered under the light as you stepped into it. The fabric clung to your form in all the right places, its delicate lace and intricate embroidery making you feel like you were stepping into a dream, albeit one you never wished for. The gown was undoubtedly beautiful, but it was also a constant reminder of the role you had to play in this political arrangement.

As you stood in front of the mirror, Alicent and Helaena’s gazes lingered on you, their approval evident.

“You will be the most beautiful bride the realm has ever seen,” Helaena said softly, her voice filled with wonder. “The gown suits you perfectly.”

Alicent nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “Indeed. Aemond is lucky to have you. This marriage will solidify not only your family’s power but also your beauty, my dear.”

You felt their words, meant to be comforting, yet they seemed hollow. In that moment, the gown felt like a shackle more than a symbol of celebration. The compliments were warm, but they couldn’t erase the feelings of betrayal, the weight of your family’s expectations, and the uncertainty of what your future with Aemond would hold.

Still, you forced a smile, nodding as they admired the way the gown fit you. “Thank you,” you said quietly, though your heart wasn’t in it. “It’s beautiful.”

Alicent’s expression softened, as if sensing the quiet storm raging within you. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, offering a small, reassuring smile. “This is a new beginning for you. You must embrace it, no matter how difficult.”

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a new beginning at all—it was the closing of another chapter, one that left you questioning everything you thought you knew about your family, your future, and yourself.

As you sat alone in your room, your gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the fireplace, the warmth doing little to chase away the chill in your heart. The weight of the approaching wedding, the tension in the castle, and the heavy silence that seemed to engulf you were overwhelming. For a moment, you closed your eyes, hoping to escape the reality of your situation, but then a sound broke through your thoughts—the scraping of stone against stone, followed by a faint, almost imperceptible sound of footsteps.

You turned, startled, as a figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the room. Aemond. His presence, once so commanding, now seemed almost surreal as he stepped from the darkness of the secret passage. The cold air of the corridor seemed to follow him, making the room feel even colder than before.

“I needed to see you,” Aemond’s voice broke the silence, low and steady, as he closed the distance between you. His pale eyes locked onto yours, unreadable, as always.

You remained silent, unsure of what to say. He was always like this—so distant, yet somehow insistent on maintaining his place in your life, even when it felt as if there was nothing between you but obligation.

Aemond’s eyes flicked to the fire, then back to you. “I know this marriage isn’t what you want,” he said quietly, his tone almost softer than you’d expected. “But it’s necessary. For both of us.”

You could feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you. His words, though practical, didn’t erase the hurt, the resentment, the confusion. He stood there, seemingly unaffected by the circumstances, and yet… his presence in your room, at this moment, felt like a faint attempt at connection. An attempt that was too little, too late.

“Necessary,” you repeated, your voice carrying a bitter edge. “Yes, I know.” You turned back toward the fire, trying to keep the emotions from spilling over. “For both of us. But what about what I want? Or what you want, Aemond? Is this really what either of us wanted, or is it just what’s been forced upon us?”

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving you. When he spoke again, it was measured, almost as if he were considering every word carefully.

“I don’t know if I want it,” he admitted, his voice surprisingly honest. “But I have a duty. And so do you.” His words hung in the air between you like a heavy cloud. “This marriage… It’s just another duty to be fulfilled, nothing more. But we’ll get through it, together.”

The weight of his words settled in your chest like a stone. You turned to face him fully, trying to find any trace of sincerity in his eyes, any indication that he might understand what you were feeling, what you were going through. But there was nothing. Only cold determination.

“Together,” you echoed, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. “Yes, I suppose we will.”

Aemond’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone before you could fully process it. He looked away, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to steady himself against the emotions you both knew were lurking beneath the surface.

“You should rest,” he said quietly, his voice no longer as firm. “Tomorrow will be another busy day.”

You nodded, though you felt no comfort in his words. There was no rest for you, not with the weight of the coming days pressing down on your shoulders.

You looked at Aemond, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. His presence, despite the weight of your situation, somehow brought a sense of comfort—something you hadn’t realized you craved. You didn’t understand why, but for a fleeting moment, it felt like you weren’t entirely alone.

“Aemond…” you began, your voice soft but tinged with something that resembled vulnerability. “Stay. Just for a little while.”

His gaze met yours, his sharp, cold eyes seemingly surprised by your request, but he didn’t speak, just took a hesitant step closer, as if he, too, felt the strange pull between you. But before either of you could say anything more, a sharp knock on the door broke the silence.

You froze for a moment, instinctively bracing yourself. It was your mother. You could hear her voice—gentle but strained—calling from the other side.

“May I come in?”

Aemond’s presence suddenly felt too heavy, too dangerous in this moment. You didn’t want your mother to see him, not now, not like this. You quickly motioned for Aemond to hide, a silent plea in your eyes. His jaw clenched, but after a long pause, he nodded and slipped into the shadows of the room, his figure vanishing from sight like a shadow in the dim light.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come, and then called out.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open, and there she stood—your mother, her face etched with a mixture of regret and sadness. She stepped in cautiously, her eyes searching you as if she were looking for some sign of forgiveness. But you felt none. Not yet. Maybe never.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I should never have left you alone here. I… I failed you, and I know that.”

You felt a coldness settle in your chest as you looked at her, the years of pain and abandonment rising to the surface like a tide you couldn’t stop. Your heart, once full of love for her, now felt numb.

“I’m not sure that apology matters anymore,” you replied, your tone flat, devoid of the warmth you used to give her. “You left. And I was left behind. I’ve learned to live without you.”

Her face fell, a tear slipping down her cheek. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It wasn’t about the apology anymore. It was about what she had done—and what she hadn’t done when you needed her most.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t shut me out.”

You shook your head, the words coming out harsh, like the bitter truth you’d buried deep inside you for so long. “You don’t get to come back now, Mother. You don’t get to walk in and pretend like you can fix everything. You chose them. You chose to leave me.”

She seemed to flinch at the weight of your words, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. Not anymore.

“Leave,” you said, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. “Please, just go.”

Your mother stood there for a moment, silent, tears streaming down her face. She seemed to hesitate, torn between reaching for you and walking away. But in the end, she turned and left, the door closing softly behind her.

As the sound of her footsteps faded, you sank back onto the chair by the fireplace, your heart heavy but somehow… relieved. Aemond reappeared from the shadows, his eyes meeting yours in the silence that followed.

He didn’t speak, but his presence was comforting—an odd, unspoken understanding between the two of you. For a moment, it felt like you were not entirely alone in the world, and that strange comfort lingered in the air, even as you struggled to process the emotions swirling within you.

But for now, you didn’t have to face them alone.

You froze, startled by Aemond’s sudden movement, but before you could react, he gently pulled you into his embrace. His grip was firm, yet strangely comforting, as if he was offering a shelter from the storm that raged inside you. His hand moved up and down your back in a soothing rhythm, the tension in your chest slowly starting to ease with each touch.

“Everything will be alright,” he whispered softly, his voice low and steady. The words were simple, but the way he said them—calm, reassuring—brought an odd sense of peace you hadn’t expected.

For a moment, you felt the weight of your emotions shift. You had expected the emptiness, the bitterness, the pain. But in his arms, there was none of that. Just a strange, unfamiliar sense of security.

You didn’t know why, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to believe his words, if only for a second. It was as if his presence was a small promise that, no matter how twisted your world had become, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his embrace, the familiar ache in your heart slowly beginning to quiet. “Thank you,” you whispered, unsure of what else to say, but grateful for the moment of solace he had given you.

The day of your wedding had finally arrived. You sat still, surrounded by your servants who were fussing over your hair and dress, their hands moving quickly to ensure every detail was perfect. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your heart heavy with a mix of emotions—nervousness, uncertainty, and an aching emptiness. The woman staring back at you seemed so different, yet familiar. The elaborate wedding gown, the delicate veil, the way everything had come together… it all felt like a dream.

As you sat there, lost in your thoughts, the door creaked open and Alicent stepped into the room. She paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of awe and pride. Her eyes softened as she took in the sight of you, the woman you had become.

“My dear,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “You look… absolutely breathtaking.”

You managed a small, bittersweet smile, not quite sure what to say in response. Your eyes met hers, and in that moment, something shifted. Her presence was warm and comforting, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel so alone.

Alicent stepped closer, her gaze tender as she placed a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman,” she continued, her voice softening. “And I… I think it’s time for you to start calling me ‘Mother.’”

The words hit you like a gentle wave. “Mother.” You had never called her that before, not in the way she probably wanted. But now, in this moment, you realized that maybe it was time to accept the bond she was offering. There was no turning back now, and despite the complicated feelings you harbored, you felt a sense of comfort in her words.

With a deep breath, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mother,” you said, testing the word on your lips. It felt strange, but somehow, it also felt right.

Alicent’s expression softened, her eyes glistening with emotion. She gave a small, proud smile, her hand gently cupping your cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

The room fell into a comfortable silence as you both took a moment to soak in the weight of the occasion, the sense of change, and the new life that was about to unfold.

The journey to the sept was a quiet one, the rhythmic movement of the carriage the only sound accompanying the silence between you and Alicent. Your fingers nervously traced the edge of your veil, your thoughts swirling with uncertainty and apprehension. The weight of the day felt heavier with each passing moment, and despite Alicent’s comforting words, you couldn’t shake the anxiousness knotting in your stomach.

“Everything will go smoothly,” Alicent said gently, her voice calm and reassuring, as though she sensed the turmoil brewing inside you. “You’re ready for this.”

You gave a soft nod, though the tightness in your chest betrayed your uncertainty. The silence stretched, the muffled sound of hooves on cobblestones echoing outside the carriage. You closed your eyes for a moment, steadying yourself as the weight of the moment settled over you.

Eventually, the carriage came to a halt with a soft jolt, and the door was opened by one of the attendants. Alicent helped you out, her hand steady on your arm. As you stepped onto the ground, you were greeted by a wave of sound—a chorus of cheers and applause from the gathered crowd. The people of the Red Keep and beyond had come to witness the union, their excitement palpable in the air.

The sight of the crowd was overwhelming. The colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, the sun casting a warm glow over the scene. People called out your name, their voices filled with enthusiasm, but all you could focus on was the way the crowd seemed to part for you as you moved forward, your heart pounding in your chest.

Alicent, walking beside you, smiled proudly, her presence a shield against the storm of emotions swirling within you. “This is your moment,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours with a look of reassurance.

As you walked towards the sept, your gaze lifted and you saw the familiar, yet distant, faces of your family standing at the altar. The weight of their gazes, mixed with the nervous excitement that filled the air, made everything feel surreal. The sound of the crowd, the warmth of the sun, the flutter of your veil, and the presence of Alicent beside you—it all blurred together in a haze of emotions.

The time had come, and despite the storm of feelings inside you, you knew there was no turning back.

As the High Septon’s voice rang through the hall, the final words of the ceremony echoed in your ears. “By the light of the Seven, I declare them husband and wife.” You stood there, the air thick with anticipation, the eyes of your family and the crowd on you. Aemond, beside you, remained composed, his gaze steady and intense, never leaving yours.

The moment felt surreal, the weight of the vows just spoken sinking in. You could feel the tension building, as the next words hung in the air.

The High Septon then turned to Aemond, his voice clear and firm. “Aemond, you may kiss your wife."

For a brief moment, there was a quiet stillness, and you felt the world around you blur. Aemond’s eyes locked with yours as he slowly stepped forward, his hand gently cupping your face. The soft brush of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and in that moment, you understood the gravity of the life you were about to share with him.

Then, with a movement as deliberate as it was tender, Aemond leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that felt like the beginning of a new chapter. The kiss was brief but full of unspoken promises, sealing the union in front of all who gathered.

As you pulled back, your heart raced, unsure of what the future held, but in that moment, you were bound to him, for better or worse. The cheers and applause of the crowd filled the room, but you were lost in the silence that followed, in the realization that your life had just changed forever.

As you and Aemond descended the steps from the altar, your hand firmly in his, the cheers and applause of the gathered crowd filled the air, echoing through the sept. The weight of the moment settled heavily upon you, but there was a strange, quiet calmness in the chaos of celebration.

Amidst the joyful noise, your gaze found Alicent. Tears shimmered in her eyes, reflecting the light of the candles around you. Without thinking, you reached out and embraced her, the warmth of her embrace offering a fragile sense of comfort in the whirlwind of emotions.

“You’re beautiful,” Alicent whispered softly, her voice full of pride and love. Her arms tightened around you for a moment longer before she pulled back, wiping her eyes gently.

As you stood there, holding her, you couldn’t help but notice the figure of your mother standing at the far end of the hall. Her eyes met yours, and in them, you saw a sadness so deep it nearly took your breath away. Her face was an expression of regret, of longing for something that had been lost.

But it was too late, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t stop the lump that formed in your throat as you held Alicent, her comforting presence a stark contrast to the emptiness you felt when you looked at your mother. You knew you had to turn away from her. Your life had changed, and the bonds of the past could not be rekindled so easily.

Yet, even as you walked away with Aemond, his presence beside you strong and resolute, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on your back, knowing that this new chapter of your life had already set you on a path that would never allow you to go back.

As the carriage rocked gently, you sat beside Aemond, your hand resting on your lap, and your thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. The celebration was still fresh in your mind, and the weight of the vows you had just taken hung heavily in the air around you. Despite the grandiosity of the wedding, the tension between you and your new life was palpable.

Aemond sat with his usual composed demeanor, his eyes gazing ahead through the window, his face unreadable. The silence between you both was thick, a stark contrast to the celebrations you had just left behind. He glanced at you briefly, his sharp gaze briefly meeting yours, before turning back to the window.

You could feel the unease in your chest, the uncertainty of what the future held now that everything had changed so dramatically. The faces of your family, especially your mother’s sad, distant eyes, lingered in your mind. You wanted to ask Aemond something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

After a few moments of silence, Aemond finally spoke, his voice low and steady. “This is just the beginning,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Tonight will be a celebration, but our real journey starts now.”

You nodded silently, unsure of how to respond. His words, while true, only served to deepen the unease in your heart. The path ahead felt uncertain, filled with obligations and expectations that you hadn’t been prepared for.

The carriage jolted slightly as it continued down the road toward the Red Keep, and you couldn’t help but wonder what awaited you there. Would it be a new chapter of your life, one you could come to accept? Or would it be a never-ending struggle, one you were ill-prepared for?

For now, you stayed silent, lost in your thoughts, while Aemond remained ever watchful, his presence a constant reminder of the new reality you both now had to face.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was filled with an air of formality as the feast began. The tables were laden with food, and the chatter of the nobility filled the air, but the weight of the moment hung heavily over you. You sat beside Aemond, your hand resting lightly on the table, surrounded by the most important figures of the realm.

Alicent sat beside you, her presence a reminder of the expectations that now rested on your shoulders. Across from you, your mother sat next to Aemond, her face carefully neutral, though you could feel the distance between you. Aegon and Helaena flanked the table, their expressions unreadable, their usual carefree demeanor absent.

The king, Viserys, raised his goblet, his voice booming through the hall as he stood to give a speech. “Tonight, we celebrate the union of two great houses,” he began, his eyes briefly meeting yours with a solemn smile. “Aemond, my son, and my dear granddaughter, we welcome you into this new chapter of our family’s legacy. May your marriage strengthen the ties that bind us all.”

The guests raised their glasses, their eyes upon you, as the king continued with a few more words of congratulation, but his voice felt distant. You could feel the tension in the room, the expectations, the silent judgment of those who were watching you both closely. It was as though your marriage was not just a union of two people, but a political alliance with the power to shape the future of the realm.

Aemond remained calm, his gaze steady and unwavering, as always. His posture was perfect, the image of a prince, and yet you couldn’t help but feel the distance between you both. Your fingers tightened on the edge of your goblet, your mind swirling with the reality of the path ahead.

The king’s speech concluded, and he returned to his seat, raising his glass one more time in honor of your union. Everyone followed suit, including your mother, who briefly met your eyes, her expression a mix of sorrow and pride.

But you were left with your own thoughts, the words of your new husband echoing in your mind. “This is just the beginning.” What did that truly mean for you, for your family, for your future?

The night continued on, the banquet proceeding with laughter and conversation, but the weight of it all remained on your shoulders.

As Aemond stood and extended his hand to you, the noise of the banquet seemed to fade into the background. The warm glow of the torches in the hall illuminated his intense gaze as he led you to the center of the room. You hesitated for only a moment, before accepting his hand. There was a silent understanding between the two of you as he guided you to the dance floor.

The music played softly, its slow, melodic rhythm matching the beating of your heart. Aemond’s grip was firm, his touch grounding you as you moved together in perfect harmony. For the briefest of moments, the weight of the world seemed to lift. The chaos, the whispers, the tension—they were all forgotten as the two of you danced.

“You don’t have to think about any of it,” Aemond’s voice broke through the silence between you, calm and assuring. “The whispers, the looks, the expectations—they don’t matter now. You have me.”

His words, simple yet resolute, settled into your chest. The unspoken bond between you both deepened in that moment, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to feel something other than the heavy pressure of duty and destiny.

You met his gaze, a small, quiet smile playing on your lips. His presence, steady and unwavering, was a comfort amid the storm of your emotions. You didn’t have to say anything. His words alone, as rare as they were, were enough.

The dance continued, your bodies moving effortlessly together, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. Perhaps there was more to this than just an arranged marriage—perhaps there was a chance to build something real, something of your own.

For now, it was just you and him, lost in the rhythm of the music, the eyes of the world no longer mattering in that moment.

As the music reached its crescendo, Aemond spun you gracefully, your gown swirling around you like waves of silk. The world seemed to slow, the flickering glow of the torches casting golden light on the two of you. When you turned back to face him, his hands found your waist, steadying you with a firm but gentle hold.

His gaze locked onto yours, unwavering and intense. There was something different in his eyes—not the usual cold calculation, but a warmth reserved only for you. Without a word, he leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

When his lips finally met yours, the room erupted in cheers and applause. The lords and ladies clapped, their voices rising in celebration, but it all faded into a dull hum in your ears. The kiss was soft but sure, filled with a quiet kind of promise. His touch was not a claim of possession but one of reassurance, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his tunic. The warmth of him, the weight of his presence, was steady and constant. You could feel the world watching, but for once, you didn’t care. Here, in this moment, it was just the two of you.

When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on you, his hand lifting to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His eyes traced your features as if memorizing them, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. The cheers grew louder, but Aemond didn’t turn to face them. His eyes remained on you, as if to say, Let them watch. Let them see who you belong to—but more than that, see who belongs to you.

The moment lingered like a held breath before he finally turned with you in his arms, facing the crowd with that familiar cool, commanding presence. But his hand never left yours, his thumb tracing soft circles on your palm—a silent reminder that, no matter who watched, he was yours now, and you were his.

The hall fell silent at the lord’s boisterous shout, the echo of “Bedding ceremony!” reverberating off the stone walls. Whispers spread like wildfire through the crowd, lords and ladies exchanging glances with growing excitement. The atmosphere shifted, filled with a mixture of amusement, expectation, and mischief.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, rose from her seat, her face tense with barely restrained anger. “That will not be necessary,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the noise with regal authority. Her eyes darted toward you, a silent plea for you to follow her lead.

But before she could say more, you stood. Your eyes swept across the crowd, meeting the stares of lords and ladies alike. Their gazes carried a mixture of curiosity and judgment, but you did not falter. Aemond’s hand tightened around yours, a steadying presence at your side.

“Tradition is tradition,” you said, your voice clear and calm. The murmur of the crowd quieted as your words settled in the air. “If this is what is expected of us, then we shall fulfill it.” You raised your chin, every inch the daughter of a queen. “Let them see that I am not afraid.”

Aemond glanced at you, his gaze unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curved into a small, sharp smile. Pride flickered in his eye, and he turned to face the hall, his voice sharp and commanding. “You have asked for tradition,” he said, his tone like steel wrapped in silk. “Then tradition you shall have.”

The lords erupted into cheers and laughter, their earlier whispers turning into roars of approval. A few of the younger knights began to rise from their seats, ready to follow the old custom of carrying the bride and groom to the marriage bed.

Alicent’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parting as if to protest, but she quickly pressed them into a thin line. She glanced at you, her face filled with something that looked like pride… and perhaps a flicker of guilt.

Rhaenyra, however, looked furious. She stepped forward, her eyes locked on you, pleading silently. But you didn’t look away. This was your choice now. Her power over you had waned the moment she left you in the Red Keep. She knew it too.

As the knights approached, you glanced at Aemond, and he inclined his head ever so slightly—a silent promise. You knew, in that moment, that you would not be alone in this. You were no longer just a daughter of Rhaenyra. You were now a wife, a queen in your own right, and with Aemond by your side, you would not be moved by whispers or judgment.

The hands of the knights reached for you and Aemond, lifting you both into the air as the crowd’s cheers grew louder. Your heart pounded in your chest, but not from fear. You met Aemond’s gaze as you were carried together toward the chamber doors. His eye was sharp with focus, his lips barely moving as he whispered words only for you to hear:

“Let them watch. Let them know we are unbreakable.”

And as the doors to your chamber swung open, the noise of the crowd behind you felt distant, their jeers and cheers like echoes from another world. The heavy oak doors shut behind you with a resounding thud, cutting off the outside world entirely.

In the quiet of the chamber, with only the soft crackle of the hearth to fill the silence, Aemond’s gaze shifted. Gone was the sharpness, the command. His eye lingered on you with something softer—something only for you.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You met his gaze, steady as your heart finally calmed. “No,” you replied softly. “Not anymore.”

He reached for you slowly, his hands gentle as they touched your face, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheekbone. “Good,” he said, his voice a whisper of steel and warmth. “Because neither am I.”

you looked at aemond, his hand gently caressed your cheek. his touch was so soft, you closed your eyes when you felt his lips touch yours. he slowly untied your dress until it fell around your feet, then he led you towards the bed without breaking the kiss.

you lay down while staring at his face, his silver hair framed his face softly. he slowly opened the tunic that was attached to his body, you could hear whispers from behind the curtains in your room. they were watching. but you weren't afraid, no.

Aemond kissed you again and then he moved to kiss your shoulder, you sighed softly when he started kissing your neck. "are you ready?," he whispered softly in your ear, making sure only you could hear his voice. you nodded.

without thinking aemond kissed you again, you put your hands around his neck. giving him orders to do more to you, his hands began to untie his pants and now he and you were both naked.

"I need your permission" he breathed into your skin.

his fingers dancing around your entrance. you can feel the eagerness radiating off of his body, daring him to push forward into you. He needed to hear you say it.

"Oh god..." you breathed, "yes- Aemond please."

Without warning, he pushed two fingers deep inside of you, hitting your sweet spot. Your mouth dropped open, silent gasps escaping between those swollen lips. You pushed your hips up against his hand, searching for more. You was searching for release but he didn't want to give it to you yet.

His thumb flicked against your clit, sending your eyes into the back of your skull. "Fuck, she looked so fucking good like that." he thought as he feel his erection growing and pushing against your inner thigh. It was enough to drive him mad - utterly insane.

"I want you..." he hissed into your mouth, your breath mixing together in perfect harmony.

"Then take me….." you fired back, That's all the permission he needed you to say. His lips crashed into your with passion and hunger. Your hands moved up into his hair, yanking and pulling at it.

He snaked his head back down to your neck, sucking the sweet, sensitive spot that he knew would cause you to moan.

Sweet, earth shattering moans escaped your lips and your eyes rolled back in your head. Instantly, you pushed and pulled against him, trying to get the friction to release the pressure that you was feeling between your thighs. You wrapped her legs around him tightly and he pulled you in closer, feeling his cock push against your cunt. In one smooth motion, you both feel backwards into the bed. Your kisses become erratic and sloppy as you gripped onto each other for dear life. It was like you couldn't get enough of each other in that moment; you both needed more.

Herubbed his hand over his throbbing length. Slowly, he rubbed his tip over your opening, feeling your arousal coating the tip.

"this one might hurt" he breathed through clenched teeth.

He grabbed your hips and slowly pushed into you, letting you adjust to his size. He watched as your back arched in sheer pleasure and pain.

"You are squeezing my cock" he growled, "relax." as he kissed your face, he pushed into you deeper, gripping your hips tightly. He slowly move in and out of you.

"You are so tight" he breathed.

He felt your walls squeeze his length tightly. He watched as you squirmed under him, wanting more from him.

"Please, Aemond fuck me " she demanded.

You reached up for him, pulling his body against your own. The feeling of your bare flesh against each other was so erotic. he could feel your all around him in that moment. You snaked your hand around his neck, pulling his head to your's as your foreheads collided.

"Fuck..." you both moaned in unison.

His hips thrusted into you over and over again, causing you to cry out in pleasure each thrust. He watched you under him arch your back in sheer pleasure. His hands pushed into your hips, keeping you steady while he fucked you as deep as he could.

"I'm going to...." your eyelids fluttered shut.

"That's it-" he breathed into you, "come undone for me, love."

He hovered over you, throwing your legs over his shoulder, thrusting deeper inside of you. You felt so good, he was losing his mind. Your walls clenched around his, as your mouth fell open. He felt a rush of liquid move over his cock as you covered him with your wetness. He wasn't finished with you just yet. He grabbed your hips and in one swift movement flipped you around, bending you over the bed.

He wrapped one hand around your hair, yanking your head back. His other hand reached around your body. Moans escaped your lips, echoing throughout the stonewall of your chambers. He watched as his cock slid in and out of your wetness.

"Fuck" he breathed.

You looked over your shoulder at him, your wet hair plastered to her face and your dark eyes bright.

"Come for me, Aemond" you breathed. "fill me with your seed"

those words made him come inside you, you moaned as you felt his warm seed fill you up. you felt him kiss your shoulder and then he hugged you and laid you down on the bed

He pulled the blanket over you with gentle hands, his touch careful and deliberate. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead — warm, steady, and reassuring. It wasn’t the fiery passion you expected from a husband, but something deeper. Something that made you feel safe.

“Rest now,” Aemond murmured, his voice low but firm, the kind of tone that left no room for argument.

And for once, you didn’t argue. Your eyes grew heavy as exhaustion from the long day finally claimed you. The last thing you felt was the warmth of his presence next to you, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you to sleep.

When you woke the next morning, the sun was peeking through the curtains, casting soft golden rays across the room. You blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. Slowly, you sat up, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs.

But something was missing.

You glanced to your side, your hand brushing against the cold, empty space on the bed where Aemond had lain. Frowning, you scanned the room. The chair near the hearth was empty. The sound of footsteps, the rustle of clothes — none of it was there. He was gone.

Your fingers lightly grazed the pillow he had used, still faintly warm but already cooling. A sigh escaped your lips. You knew where he was. It was Aemond, after all. Of course, he was already up.

“He must be training,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your eyes. It was just like him to be up at dawn, perfecting his swordplay while the world still slept.

You lay back down for a moment, staring at the ceiling with quiet thoughts swirling in your mind. It wasn’t like you expected him to stay, but… a part of you had hoped he would.

You stood before the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your gown. The rich green silk hugged your form perfectly, adorned with delicate golden embroidery that shimmered in the morning light. This color — once foreign to you — had become a part of you now. It no longer felt strange. It felt inevitable.

With a steadying breath, you turned from the mirror, lifting your head high as you made your way toward the door. The clinking of your heeled footsteps echoed down the stone corridor as you stepped out. Your gaze was sharp, forward-facing, and unwavering.

Servants and courtiers paused as you passed, their murmurs and whispers too faint to hear but their eyes loud with judgment. Some glanced at you with shock, others with disapproval, and a few with quiet respect. “The daughter of Rhaenyra, wearing green,” you imagined them saying. But none of it mattered. Not anymore.

You didn’t slow your pace. You didn’t lower your head. Let them stare. Let them talk. Their words were hollow, and their gazes held no power over you. You had learned that power didn’t come from pleasing them — it came from walking forward, unbothered and unyielding.

The warmth of the sun filtered in through the narrow windows, streaking the cold stone with golden light. The air smelled faintly of the sea and ash, a scent so familiar it had become part of you. Your gown flowed behind you like a banner, the symbol of your new place in this game of thrones.

Green. Not red, not black. Green. And as you walked, you realized something. You no longer felt the need to justify it.

You were walking along the corridor of the Red Keep, your steps light as you made your way to the balcony that overlooked the training yard. The sounds of clashing swords and the shouts of soldiers filled the air, the yard alive with activity. You spotted him almost immediately—your husband, Aemond, sparring with Ser Criston. The two were moving with precision, their swords flashing in the sunlight.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you watched him. There was something oddly reassuring about seeing him in his element, focused and commanding, even in the midst of a battle. You felt a warmth spread through you, a strange comfort knowing that this was the man you were now bound to.

But before you could indulge further in the moment, you heard footsteps behind you. A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Is this how you spend your days now?” Jace’s voice was tinged with frustration as he appeared in your line of sight. His expression was a mix of sadness and anger, but it softened when his eyes met yours.

You turned to face him, your smile fading slightly as you noticed the hurt in his gaze. “Jace,” you greeted softly, feeling the tension in the air. “What brings you here?”

He stepped closer, his eyes flicking toward Aemond in the yard, then back to you. “I had hoped you’d be different,” he said quietly. “I never thought you would join them, that you would choose this… this life.”

You felt a pang in your chest. Jace’s words, though quiet, cut deeper than you’d expected. But you couldn’t let them sway you, not now. You had made your choice.

“I didn’t choose this easily, Jace,” you replied, your voice steady, though there was a hint of sadness lingering. “But it is my choice, now."

Jace looked at you for a long moment, his face softening. He opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could speak, you turned your attention back to the training yard. Aemond had finished his sparring and was now walking toward the side of the yard, wiping sweat from his brow. He was still too far to hear, but you could feel his presence in the air.

“Please understand,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Jace. “This… this is the life I have now.”

Jace didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you. It was clear he wasn’t ready to let go of what once was, but you had to. You had no choice.

Aemond’s voice cut through the tension, his presence near you a steadying force. Both you and Jace turned to face him, and you could see the protective glint in his eyes as he stood beside you, his posture poised but fierce. He glanced at Jace for a moment, his gaze sharp, before looking back at you.

“Is he bothering you again?” Aemond’s voice was low, but there was a clear edge to it.

You shook your head quickly, not wanting the situation to escalate. “No, Aemond. Everything is fine,” you said, offering a small smile, though there was a lingering sadness in your heart. You didn’t want Aemond to get involved in this—didn’t want him to see the cracks in your relationships with your family.

Jace, however, didn’t look convinced. His gaze lingered on Aemond for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully before speaking. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” Jace said, his tone cooler now. “I just wanted to talk. But it seems things have changed.”

You sighed, stepping away from the edge of the balcony, feeling the weight of both men’s eyes on you. “Things have changed, Jace,” you said softly, unable to avoid the truth. “I have changed.”

Aemond’s hand subtly brushed against your back, a silent gesture of support. His presence was a comfort, even if Jace’s disappointment was hard to ignore.

Jace took a step back, his gaze lingering on you one last time. “I wish you hadn’t chosen this, but… I understand.” There was no anger in his voice now, just a quiet sadness. He turned to leave, but before he did, he looked back once more. “Take care of her,” he said to Aemond, his voice surprisingly soft.

Aemond gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable, but you knew that he would honor the unspoken promise. As Jace walked away, the silence between you and Aemond grew, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“You okay?” Aemond asked, his voice now gentle, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

You looked at him, grateful for his understanding. “I am now,” you whispered.

tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd

[wyvernest]

cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

previous part - next part - first part | all chapters list

>>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

chapter cw: sex in the hot springs, so smut, fluff, piv, two positions?, a bit of chasing as primal play, breeding kink

His thick arms hold you with undeniable ardour. The steam fuming from the waters in misty ribbons do little to clear your head, as your lord husband peppers the sensitive skin below your ear with kisses full of want.

One of your legs curls up around his own, as if on instinct; a seemingly romantic yet primal instinct of silently allowing him to have you. Your breathing only deepens when you feel the coarse hair on his leg, as if the embrace did not already bring your bare breasts against him, and every patch of your shivery skin under his touch.

Even with the clear ripples of the water, you sense something against your hip, and the breath leaving your lungs gets caught on a moan on its way out.

“My dear wife.” He mumbles with sincere infatuation, as your hands escape his hold and run down his massive shoulders.

“Wasn’t I to be less easy, Lord Stark?” You tease, with barely half a breathy voice, and he visibly tenses in pride at the name.

He stops, and when he moves his head away from your neck to look at you, you nearly regret even speaking as the reminiscence of his heated touch burns needily above your clavicle.

“You are anything but.” His tone is low and intimate, and it has your insides twisting and turning in anticipation. You wanted to have him fight for it, as late as it was. Though you are now unsure of how much longer you could bear it yourself. “Did you have a change of heart?”

“No.” Your answer shoots out fast, contrary to your desire to play a different game. “I only wish to relish this for longer.”

The slight twitch of his features when you clarify your intentions strikes a lighting into your already boiling blood; the twitch of a wolf whose prey evaded his swiftest attack. He knows she can’t run forever, but the hunt weaves frustration and eagerness on his face nonetheless. He accepts and loosens his possessive hold, though his eyes betray his thoughts.

A hunger so profound and restless darkens his gaze, and you almost want him to have refused your little diversion. To have taken you however he pleased, tell you that you’ll be the most perfect mother for his pups and show you what it truly meant to belong to a northerner.

But alas, you drift away into the crystalline pond, and even the smouldering waters feel colder without his skin on yours.

Your giggle bounces off the cave walls with an echo so sweet to his ears that you thought for a moment he may pounce on you and end the wait. But he remained restrained, slowly following you further behind stalagmites.

Luring him further deep into the springs, you twist and turn in the rippling waters from moment to moment just to gaze at him, just to see more and more of him; the way he carefully got up to freeze the image of you swimming naked in his mind. You watch the droplets run down his stomach, the shine of the dimly lit cave mirrored in his irises.

“You have such beautiful eyes, lover.”

“Lover.” He retorts, his tone almost a threat. “Nigh yours they’re naught but stones beneath frostfires.”

You blush at the deftness of his compliment.

“Though winter blooms only ever endure if they grow in the shadow of stout stones. There is more beauty in living to defend than in living to survive.” You declare, still backing away, intimidated but enticed by his stalking pace approaching you.

He smiles, distracted by your cleverness.

“We must be perfect for eachother then.”

He leaps with no warning, wanting to entrap you back in his arms. You avoid his swift hands only with the merit of water slowing him down. As he catches his balance, you push yourself onto your elbows on the edge of the pond, coming to raise to your feet in front of him.

It is the first time he truly sees you, no turned back, no waves or foam to veil you. His eyes rake across your body shamelessly, a reminder of how you’re his. The air, however steamy, hits you with the slightest cold gust, and your skin prickles with goosebumps, nipples hardening as your skin weeps with a sheer shroud of damp varnish; a statue of beauty and desire.

You ought to feel at the very least timid under his hungry gaze, but you don’t. You feel wanted, adored by his expression alone, and near want and adoration there is no place for coyness. You feel precious and pure, so that you offer yourself to him, allow him to touch you for he has earned it.

The sense of great importance yet dissolves quickly as he, too, rises from the waters, seemingly reaching for his prize. You don’t wait to see him entirely because if you did, you would have seen him at the cost of your freedom.

With a leap and a giddy scream, you sprint through the cave to evade him. Your heart thumps too fast for you to even have the courage to look behind, though you hear the water splashing violently in your wake. You decide to dive back into the pond and hide into a crevice.

You can only hear your rash breathing as you search around the rocky shores for him.

Suvion’s back horns twitch in his sleep, slightly disturbed by your raucous play, but nonetheless calm.

Strong arms curl around your middle, not tight enough to hurt and not loose enough for you to fight back. With a yelp, you give in and settle back against his chest, turning your head just enough to see his face. His erection brushes up your thigh, and you lose all willingness to delay.

“A man can only be so strong.” He adjusts his hold, keeping one arm around you, moving your hair from your neck with his other hand, baring the skin above your shoulder. “- when his pretty lady wife gets all naked and wet and dances around him so happily just to drive him mad.”

You feel his hot breath over your pulse.

“Do you enjoy seeing my need get so dire, flower?”

“I do.”

“Then it seems I have awfully neglected my duties as husband. I might just have to remind you that you haven’t wed some craven southern lord who doesn’t have the guts to take what is his when he wants it.”

You arch back slowly, feeling him up. He places a firm hand on your shoulder and pushes you into a more manageable position, taking you by surprise. You try to brace yourself with your palms on any stone you could find, while his own hands ride down your back, stopping at your hips to grip the supple flesh of your arse.

A pleasured gasp fills your lungs as Cregan brings his hard cock to rub on your tender flower. He groans at the feeling, teasing you so close yet so far from pleasure.

As your own hips begin to move in sync with his, chasing the promised intrusion, one of his hands roams your belly, your waist, his warm, calloused palm setting your skin aflame in its wake. His fingers reach the underside of your right breast, and your breathing stops; as if you’re afraid any more movement might dismiss his touch.

“Cregan.”

His palm remains on your ribs, and your whole being silently begs for him to continue.

“Don’t fret, I’m not leaving your side, wife. This is for your own good.”

“I don’t --” Your protest is cut short as both his hands reach your breasts, fondling firmly.

Your body feels inexplicably light and soft in his arms as he lifts your torso back against his chest, his large, rough hands not once breaking away from your tits. You’re cornered, at his will.

His mouth finds your neck, licking and biting away as you resume his motions where he stopped, pushing your ass into his groin and asking him in the most primal ways to take you at once.

“I cannot wait to see you heavy with child.” He caresses your lower belly, and you feel his cock twitch between your thighs in excitement at the thought. “Do you want that, my love?”

“Of course I do - ” You confess with a trembling, quiet moan.

“Say it, then, wife.” He interrupts, clearly overrun with heat and desire.

“I want – ah” He kisses down your neck, one of his hands leaving your breasts to slide his fingers over the petals of your cunt. He hums approvingly, bringing the head of his cock to your core. You’re soaked in more ways than one. “ - I want your babes, please, Cregan, you- ”

You mewl as he pushes in, the water splashing right above your knees. Pleasure shifts into pain and pain into pleasure as he takes your maidenhood, mounting you with a bruising hold on your waist. He groans with you, his breathing laboured. At a particularly sharp sting, you whimper, making him stop to plant a kiss on your shoulder blade. You can’t move, you can’t think of anything but him, the scent of him, the sounds that escape straight from his throat, his warm hands on you.

An echo of his guttural groans makes you clench around him, making him halt right before he could bottom out. You feel him up in your guts, though his girth stings worst.

He pushes you forward again, a hand on your neck and another providing leverage on your hip. Giving a few well measured thrusts, he starts to properly move. Your back arched for him, thighs parting, your essence coating his cock like you were made to take his seed.

Your own moans spur him on as he quickly finds his pace, relentless and steady. His heavy balls slam against your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing your breaths out with every lunge of his hips into your behind.

“Fuck, I want to see you. Ugh, I want to-” He grunts, drawing his still hard cock out of your cunt with a pained curse, your own insides squeezing him on his way out.

You yelp as he picks you up the way he picked you up on the way back from the Weirwood tree on your wedding night, taking you out of the warm waters and walking over to his discarded furs on the cave floor.

The air is suddenly brisk on your damp skin, but your husband is quick to climb on top of you and shield you from the cold with his own body heat.

He gazes at you with such wonder and adoration in his eyes you, for a mere moment, swear you could faint from it all. When lust seeps back into his pupils you don’t fail to notice, his lips finding yours in a messy, wet kiss. You sigh into it to catch the breath you still haven’t found since he left you, he breaks it to groan as he grabs himself in his hand to re-enter you.

You both gasp, forehead to forehead as you meet again, his cock twitching as he once again pushes through your vestal resistance. When he begins to pound, you curl your legs around his hips and tangle your hands in his dark hair.

A sweet cacophony of conjoined sighs and groans reverberates into the cave walls, ever so slightly eclipsed by the waterfalls. With every thrust you start to climb towards your peak, and with every one of your “Cregan!”, “Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop!” he grows closer to his own.

Your own little death finds you as he presses his lips to the sensitive trails he’d found on your neck before biting down to muffle his own pleasure. He pushes in with a few final lunges, and you feel his cock pulsate and release his seed.

You suddenly grow insanely hot as you come down, though you don’t hesitate to snuggle at his side on the soft furs as he drops beside you panting and dragging your smaller frame with him.

“It took, lover.” You break the silence, speaking into his neck.

He turns to you, pleased and interested.

“I know it did.” You explain, smiling up at him. “I know it.”

“Even if it didn’t, we have plenty of time to try, flower.”

a/n if i missed tags sorry guys also will soon show u suvion<3

tags:

@ohsnapitzmarvelficrec @crypticlxrsh @louiselouve @karmaswitch @just-pure-trash @yujyujj @cost234 @dracaryxzs @cherrymallowtm @lady-targaryens-world @lightdragonrayne @krokietino @sukunassfinger @ithilwen-blackwood @rey26 @beebeechaos @melsunshine @aemondwhoresworld @romeavecryst @raynetargaryan2 @fireandblood-mharmie @mitski9328373 @drwho-ess @dorkysupernova @nitimurinvetitumsposts @ghitakhnifissa @darylspersonalwhore @helo1281917 @delaynew @poochies04 @accidentpronedork @fiction-fanfic-reader @rha3nyra @wallacewillow0773638 @star-serpent @potionsclub @moadvx @jellybeanstacey0519 @italianchameleon @ephemeralninon @sithapprentice @cloveradora @hawkins-2000 @thatspiderwebinthecorner @wolvestitches @idohknow @nyxbranwenn @asteria33 @nina6708 @r-3dlips

[aemondmybbg]

★ hotd bots masterlist

@ illumielle on character ai !! ᡣ𐭩

here you can find all my existing bots and a short description, i will update this page! 💌

ᯓ aemond targaryen: {14}

(1) — not his children? (niece!user {no dance!au} where they're married and he begins to believe the rumors that she conceived children from jace) (2) — his beloved niece (niece!user where he proposes to her during dinner in 1x07 episode) (3) — postwar marriage (niece!user the only surviving child of rhaenyra and daemon, in which he takes care of her and grooms her to build a trusting relationship and marries her when she grows up) (4) — forbidden feelings (aunt hightower!user and he just being in love with her, but afraid of this) (5) — after 'the pink dread' (niece!user consoles him after this joke) [platonic] (6) — in harrenhal (twin-sister wife!user where she pregnant and afraid of that rhaenyra captured king's landing) (7) — the only queen (lannister-wife!user who wants to be a queen and he does everything for her) [r] (8) — his strong girl (niece!user after dinner scene when he calls her and her brothers bastards) (9) — street of silk (niece!user where he finds her there after aegon took her to the street of silk) (10) — get his attention (baratheon!user that daughter of borros whom he chose as his wife) (11) — fear of closeness (wife!user {u can choose her house if you like} where he's afraid of s3x because aegon took him to a brothel when he was thirteen) (12) — war trophy (strong!user who is the legitimate daughter of harwin and aemond takes her to his bed after the capture of harrenhal) (13) — trying to be a good father (niece!user he cheated on her with alys rivers and after the war he tries to take care of their children) (14) — father for the first time (niece!user where they become parents for the first time and he worries about whether he will be a good father)

ᯓ aegon ii targaryen: {10}

(1) — king wants to see you in his chambers (niece!user after the 'dance of the dragons' trying to have a child) (2) — burning body and heart (wife!user stays with him after rooks' rest) [r] (3) — seeks comfort (wh0re!user he just comes to a brothel and for the first time he is looking not for s3x but for consolation) (4) — may become a father (aemonds wife!user where aegon becomes a father to her children after news of aemond's affair with alys rivers is revealed) (5) — takes you to the street of silk (niece!user where he takes her to a brothel to anger rhaenyra) (6) — newborn (niece!user where they meet their first child) (7) — his rhaenys (sister!user who was going to become a septa, but he wants to take her as his second wife because he always wanted only her) (8) — after usurpation (niece!user where he visits her with their son after the usurpation) [r] (9) — blood & cheese (niece!user comes to his chambers with their daughter after the murder and finds him in bed with her lady-in-waiting) (10) — different twins (twin-sister-wife!user where they are complete opposites but he wants to find a common language with her) [r]

ᯓ daemon targaryen: {6} (1) — won't allow it (sister!user where she is engaged to viserys, and daemon takes her to a brothel to tarnish her honor and take her as his wife) (2) — teacher's pet (stepdaughter!user where he no longer finds rhaenyra interesting or attractive, and his attention shifts entirely to her eldest daughter) [r] (3) — he regrets it (niece!user who accidentally became pregnant by him, but to hide it she was married to otto hightower) (4) — late visit (hightower!user which otto sends to the daemon after laena's death so that she can console him) (5) — obvious things (sister!user who is married to viserys, but her children are actually from daemon and they keep it a secret) [r] (6) — queen wants to see the newborn (sister!user where they meet their child and alicent wants to see him) [r]

ᯓ jacaerys velaryon: {2} (1) — solace (sister!user where they both find solace in each other after luke's death) (2) — one of those dragon seeds (bastard!user where he's just still grumbling about bastards riding dragons)

ᯓ rhaenyra targaryen: {2} (1) — she likes you more than your husband (harwins wife!user who has an affair with rhaenyra) [wlw] (2) — something she will never forgive herself for (daughter!user who is aegon's wife and lost her child during blood & cheese and rhaenyra tries to comfort her after all that) [platonic]

ᯓ alicent hightower: {1} (1) — her only child (daughter!user who looks exactly like her, and alicent has the strongest connection with her) [platonic]

ᯓ daeron targaryen: {1} (1) — reunion (sister!user where they are reunited on the battlefield after a long separation) [r]

ᯓ helaena targaryen: {1} (1) — doesn't want to fly into battle (lannister!user calms her down after aemond's attack) [r, wlw]

my requests are still open and i am happy to receive them ⭑.ᐟ

i didn't leave any links, but again you can find my profile and all these bots there! and if you need a specific link send me a message!

[zephyrrr101]

Not like her

Pairing: Daemon x niece reader

Warning: Targcest/incest, DUBCON?, size kink and breeding kink light, mention of somnophilia, slight manipulation, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, first intercourse, sweet Daemon, Daemon being a soft uncle hubby.(Because I simp) All ASOIAF warnings. MINOR DNI (but do with hungry bitches care?) also not proof read. High Valyrian translation might or not be wrong.

You looked around the Throne Room which had now was filled with hoards of people, All the nobles have made there way to King’s Landing to attend your sider sister, Rhaenyra’s wedding to your cousin Ser Laenor Velaryon. It was a match made out of convenience, you had known that.

Father had not told you much, nor had your maids and lady companions, all having been sworn to silence by your father. But it didn’t take much for news to not get to your ears. Red Keep was never able to keep gossips.

Apparently, Rhaenyra had been seen beyond the walls of Rad Keep during hour of wolf with someone in unseemly situations. There were no proofs that anyone had, but it had been enough for your father to set this betrothal to push the rumours away.

They weren’t rumours.

It was your sister’s sworn shield who had been the man who Rheernyra had shared her bad with that night. She had spoke to you of this a week after, since you broth were always close, your mother’s death bringing you even closer. You did not mind. Several lords went around having bastards, women too laid with men before marriages, you knew of it, why must Rhaenyra be kept from something she wanted But your sombre mood was not for your sister’s situation. Rhaenyra was strong and she welcomed things in her life with courage, even this marriage. Your issue was that your father, after he had talked with Rhaenyra, had a conversation with you too. You will be wed by the next year to a man of your father’s choosing. He did not seem to want another one of his daughters going and finding trouble.

You had hoped your father would give you the same liberty of choosing your husband that was given to Rhaenyra. You would not had minded choosing, you weren’t picky. You were a second daughter, getting many in a good family was always supposed to be your job. But you would have rather preferred if you could have a little bit of choice in it.

Thank you, Rhaenyra, I love you. But you fucked it up for me, Fuck you.

“Something on your mind, sweet niece?” You turned to Daemon who sat on your right. You were given the seat beside the Queen Alicent, not your preferable place, things between you and Alicent were awkward. She was your sister’s friend turned step-mother. You didn’t talk much, it was weird.

You sighed, turning to your uncle, who had come back from his trip to Stepstones a few days back. He had proven is determination when it came to the barren land. He had won it and now with your father’s blessings looked after the protection of Westros from there, visiting the place some times. “Father is setting up my betrothal.”

Daemon frowned, you could tell he was not happy, Daemon had been a constant in your and Rhaenyra’s life even of he was banished half of the time, more to you. While Rhaenyra had your father, you had your uncle. “Who?”

“I cannot say,” You fiddled with your cup of wine, you had lost your focus, drifting off in solace of solitude. “Father has not told me. But he says I will be wed by this time next year.”

Daemon did not reply. And you turned your attention to middle of room, Rhaenyra and Laenor had started to dance. You tipped your cup up, finishing your wine in one go you did not notice anything after that.

You did not notice how Daemon’s hand clenched around his cup as he glared at anything he could see, how his lilac eyes would fall over you, locking at your distressed race, how he counted each line that marred your forehead, how your tongue had slipped out of your mouth to catch the stray drop of wine and how licked it, your red tinged tongue moving over your lips wetting them. And you certainly did not notice the way he gripped Dark Sister’s pommel when Ser Harwin had come to ask you for a dance and you had agreed, leaving with the large dark haired knight.

No you did not.

You danced with other lords but again found Your way to Ser Harwin, or he did to you.

He spoke something to you, learned down so only you could hear him, Daemon could only imagine how he would be taking in your scent of jasmines, such a calming fragrance.

You nod.

He could not hear you from the distance but he had been around you for a lot longer to imagine how sweet your laughter must be in Strong knight’s ears.

This was it.

Daemon slammed his cup on the table, gathering attention of a few people around him and walked away, his brother’s cautioned words, blurred in his ears.

Ser Harwin was telling you about his tales of City Watch, how he sometimes sees the most hilarious things. Your favourite being the one where a certain lord was hit and thrown out of a pleasure house by one the workers and Ser Harwin had found him crying drunk with a bruised cheek. You had not noticed Daemon’s presence until he asked Ser Harwin if he could have a dance with you.

Who was he to say no to a seasoned warrior and dragon rider who could burn him to ashes if declined what he wanted.

“Ziry issa?” Is it him? Daemon asked you, you had well spotted the frown on his face and anger that was flowing in his lilac eyes. Something you could not comprehend.

“Skoros?” What?

Daemon takes your hand his, you let him guide to where ever he wants to, which happens to the farthest part of the dancing area, lesser people are here and you understand that whatever it must be that he wants to speak of he doesn’t want other to hear.

“Harwin,” He looks away from you and you follow his eyes, finding them on your father. It takes a moment for you to realise what he is asking.

“gimin daor,” I don’t know. You sighed. “It doesn’t matter does it, kepus? I must trust Father in his choice.”

“Your father’s choice?” He whispered, you could feel his breath tickling on your neck. “Look at this choice of his. Laenor is a good man but he will bore your sister senseless. And let us not forget his tastes.”

“It’s not that I don’t wish to marry, kepus,” You mutter, you suddenly found his doublet more interesting than the music or the dance. “But...”

Daemon hummed, his hand softly drew circles on the small of you back, you felt a shiver going through you.

“I understand politics but... I’d rather not be used as a pawn for gain without my say. At least without me knowing who I will be tied to for my whole life. I love my father, I really do,” you sighed, your eyes fell on your father and Alicent sitting beside him in a green dress. This wedding looked more like a disaster. “Look how miserable Alicent is. I do not wish to be another Alicent, kepus.”

Daemon listened to every word that left your mouth keenly. He embedded all of them in his very soul. His niece, his sweet and young niece who had been nothing but kind to him despite everything he might have one that could have hurt her. Even when his brother had sent him away for giving a moniker to his dead nephew all those years before. She had come to say good bye to him. Told him how she did not care for a boy who she didn’t even knew and wished him a safe journey, His little doll who always came to him when she didn’t like the braids her maid would put in her hair and have him redo everything.

I do not wish to be another Alicent, kepus.

And he imagined you, sitting beside some very aged lord, with life span of no long than a few years, who didn’t seem to be caring about anything but the cup of wine in his hands, children standing beside you and one in your hands, all while you looked sullen.

No. He couldn’t let it happen, Not when he knew how marriages like that ended up being.

He smiled at you, one his hand grabbing yours and other one caressing the soft skin of your cheeks, He looked at you with such intensity, with such fondness that you couldn’t help but feet the heat crawling up your neck.

“You won’t end up like her.” He told you and you knew better than anyone that his words were not hollow. It was an unsaid promise.

The wedding did turn out to be a disaster. Rhaenyra’s sworn shield had murdered Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, an event which had led to a rushed marriage between Rhaenyra and Laenor. As soon as the chaos erupted, your uncle had pulled you away towards the doors of the hall since you both were closer to it than the royal table.

The stress had caused your father to collapse and another thing had come to light some disease was eating him alive and now he had lost his arm.

In all, the day had been a like riding a wild dragon.

From what you could tell it was past midnight. And you could think of nothing better than trying to put yourself to sleep. It hadn’t taken much too. As your head hit the pillow and darkness engulfed you.

You had been sleeping deeply and peacefully. The tiring and stressed moments of the wedding had lulled you like an infant after having drunk a tummy full of milk.

You could not understand what it was that had woken you up. You felt hot. Surely it wasn’t winter and days in King’s Landing were hot sometimes but not so much to cause her such bother. Though it was not enough to cause you to get out of your sleepy reverie.

You let out a whine when you felt something moving over you leg and your shoulder, making you pull your leg away and shake your shoulder to put whatever was causing you discomfort away. The point between your legs felt wet, making you a bit worried about your moon blood but you were too far gone in sleep to care.

It was the wine you had drank like water before going to sleep. Curse the fucking thing.

It was a sound, something like a chimes that hit each other when wind flowed, that made you snap out of our daze a little bit. You forced you eyes your to open as much as they could which wasn’t a lot. You were drunk and sleepy. But you could recognise that voice and figure even in your blurred sight.

“Kepus?”

Daemon smiles at you. There were very few people who had seen him really smile genuinely. You were one of them. But this smile was different. There was something different about it. You couldn’t comprehend it.

Daemon hushed you, his hand softly laying you back again, It was then when you slowly started to come to sense. He was hovering over you and you felt his other hand between your legs, right on your...

“Kepus, what are you doing?” You almost shrieked, understanding what was going on, “Kepus, what—"

“Be quiet, sweet girl,” Daemon whispered, and leaned down, his lips falling on your cheeks, so, so close to your lips. His fingers circling your cunny, a place that was not supposed to be bare to anyone but your husband. “You didn’t want to be a pawn, right?”

“But-but Daemon—” whatever you were thinking of saying was long forgotten when you felt his his finger entering you, your breath hitched at the foreign sensation. “We shouldn’t.” You whispered, you weren’t sure if you had spoken it or if it was in your mind only.

“And why?” His voice low, you felt as if you were speaking of some centuries old secret with him. “I promised you that I wouldn’t let you be married just like this. I will keep my promise, sweet niece.”

“Daemon,” you whispered, your denial was dying on your lips with him adding another finger in you, his thumb rolling around your nub and his lips on your neck. He hummed and those were the sweetest vibration you had ever felt on your skin, a shiver passing from the junction of your neck and shoulder to your core. Some cold wind had not caused this. This you know. It was him, your kepus who did this.

Your hands went to his shoulders, bare shoulders, he did not have his tunic on. Your skin touching his warm one. He was always warm. Like a dragon. “Please,” you gasped feeling his fingers go deep in you and you squeezed his shoulders.

His fingers moved faster in you, his teeth biting at your ear, “Is this what you are asking, sweetling?”

If only you knew what you wanted. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to let go of this feeling. “Yes-fuck-kepus!” You moaned feeling his fingers curl in you. And then another on being added.

“Don’t worry,” Daemon kissed your forehead, and you realised how really small you were in front of his tall stature. Even laying he could easily reach you forehead when his fingers were far down. “Kepus will take care of. Always.”

You knew he would. Mayhap, it was that fact that you had not called out for someone.

You felt your lower abdomen clenched, you weren’t sure it was. It felt as if someone was pulling at it but from inside. And somehow it felt good too. “Kepus, Kepus, there...”

“I know, sweet girl,” his fingers moved in you even more faster, and that was all you could feel. “Let go. Just let go.”

His thumb softly pressed on your nub and you gasped.

Something washed over you, something ecstatic. You felt free. Just like when you were on dragon back.

You panted, feeling as if you were knocked out of breath. Maybe you were. You look at Daemon, as he softly pulls his fingers out of you, putting them in his mouth, you couldn’t help the heat on your face when you remembered that it was your arousal that he was happily sucking off his fingers.

You looked at him in daze, everything seemed hazy for a few moments. Daemon leaned over you, his knuckles brushing your cheeks before his lips dropped on yours.

They were surprisingly soft, you had always imagined him having a hard touch but here he was, touching you as if you were made of glass, that you would break at the slight wrong caress. You felt his tongue on your lips, and you opened, letting his soft muscle of his mouth melt into yours.

You let him do what he wished to for some moments, unaware of what you were supposed to do but it didn’t take you long to catch up and you moved your tongue against his, you felt losing breath by every moment though nothing seemed to matter. It was heaven where Daemon was taking you. And you did not want to fall down from there.

“Fuck!” You heard Daemon curse as he parted from you, and his lips fell on your jaw and something hard rubbing your core. Your hips bucked up, unconsciously and you moaned. “Stop doing that, sweet girl,” Daemon spoke, his lips were moving down and down from your jaw to your neck, his hands pushing the sleeves of your slip down, his mouth leaving wet trails between your breast.

“kepus,” you were too lost. Your uncle looked like one of those Gods of Old Valyria. So beautiful, his burnt skin like stars on the dark sky. Your hands wrapped around his arms, feeling his full strong muscles, your finger traced the healed wounds, you felt your inside twist and turn. “kepus,”

Daemon pulled away, his eyes were dark, almost pitch black, he was sat between your legs. When did that happen you weren’t aware. You chest heaved as you took each breath greedily and watched his hands moving to his breeches’ laces, pulling them and he shed off them off. You eyes were on him, whole of him and your breath hitched.

So lost in the sight of him you didn’t know when he came back and kissed you, until his cock rubbed into you and you moaned. “Kepus,”

“Shh. It’s alright.” He whispered, his hips moved, you could feel him even when he wasn’t inside you. “Fucking hells, you are wet. You want this just much, don’t you?”

You didn’t get to answer him, feeling his head on your entrance, at this moment.

“This will hurt, sweetling.” Daemon kissed your forehead, his hands brushed your cheeks and hair just like when he wanted to comfort you at any peril of your. “but it will become better. I will make it all better.” And with that he pushed inside you, slowly, and you felt yourself stretching around him as he moved in slow, sucking in breath sharply and curses leaving his mouth, all faded to you.

He wasn’t lying when he said to would hurt. “kepus,” Your nails dug into his shoulders and he kissed your cheek with caressing your head all the while.

“Good girl, such a sweet girl, taking my cock so nicely.” You could hear his groans loud and clear even when he was speaking softly and slowly. “so tight, so firm. But you will take it, won’t you?”

You didn’t answer but hid your face in his neck, tightening your hold on him. You felt tore apart, yet you didn’t want to let go. “so big, kepus,” you whispered as he continued to bottom himself inside you and he kissed your neck saying words of praises.

It felt like hours when he stopped, Daemon by then had bit on your neck several times, you felt as if you’d had bled, but there was no worry about it. He won’t hurt you. You knew.

“Open your eyes, love,” He whispered and you did, he was just a hair width away from you and you could look at his eyes so clearly, his pools of lilac, light than that was your. You wished to have his eyes in your childhood.

He kissed you again and you kissed back. You couldn’t have enough of his mouth on yours, the taste of yourself and the wine mixed in both of your mouth was so sweet to you.

“Come to Dragonstone with me,” His forehead touched yours. Both of you were breathing each other in, “Take me to husband and I will take to you wife, in tradition of our house. You won’t be like her. Ever.”

You won’t be like her, he said. And you knew he was true to his words. He will be. He will not. Not like Alicent.

Not like her.

“Avy jorraelan, Kepus.” I love you, uncle.

Daemon smiled. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen in your life. “Avy jorraelan, donus rinus.” I love you, sweet girl.

Daemon moved in you, slow at first, so deep, you moaned at each stroke, every time his hips met yours, you couldn’t help but cry out first in discomfort and then in pleasure.

His lips descended upon your breast, taking your nubs in his mouth, he suckled at one like a babe hungry for their mother’s milk, his other hand playing with your other and his hips pushing into yours. You couldn’t hear anything but his grunt and groans and your moans and whimper.

Daemon held your legs, putting them around his waist. If you thought he was deep before, he was reaching way inside you.

“This cunt, your cunt was made for me, sweet girl. Look how good it take me. Even when you were asleep. Getting wet for me. It knows it’s mine. You know that too, don’t you?” you ought to feel humiliated and offended at such words. Being owned by some was not something you liked. But the way Daemon said it only made you clench harder around him making him groan, “fuck, yes. Yes, you do.”

“Yes. Yes, Kepus.” You whimpered at his fast pace inside you. Lost in the world of pleasure you were, you couldn’t hold your noises anymore. But of course you uncle would remedy it for you, putting his lips on yours, drinking every single sound in which left your mouth.

You clenched, your hands in his hair, pulling at them, feeling the tugging feeling as before in you. Daemon knew it all well.

“Going to give you my seed and you will swell with our child, sweet,” Daemon muttered in your ear. You felt yourself liking the prospect. Even imagining it in your head as your uncle rutted in you.

Our child.

“Yes”, you nodded, kissing his neck, “a babe, Kepus. With your eyes. I love your eyes.”

“Whatever, my sweet girl wants.” He grunted and you clenched on him again.

“Fuck, kepus.” You moaned, you were sure by now you had scratched his back bloody. “I... I feel it. It hurts.”

“I know, sweetling,” he muttered, “Let go. Just like before. Let it go.”

It wasn’t long you felt the same bliss wash over you and you felt warmth fill you in. Daemon’s seed, you knew it was as you both panted. Daemon stopped moving inside you after a few more strokes, but he did not pull out. He lowered himself to your bed and pulled you on him.

You rested your head on his chest, some silver hair, rubbing against your cheek, you took in the scent of his sweat, his skin glistening under the moonlight that fell in your room.

You felt him pull the sheet over the both of you, his hand running over your hair and exhaustion began to take over you. Your eyes drooped but you kept blinking the sleep away.

“Sleep,” Daemon kissed your head and you fell asleep just as quick as you had woken up, you hands wounded around his neck.

You prayed it not to be a dream.

[cinemassance-oneshots]

your favorite sin

rhaenyra pushes daemon over the edge with her confessions

nsfw content! praise kink, priest kink, blowjob, fingering

tw: implied underage

inspo https://archiveofourown.org/works/45655252/chapters/115774294

[starogeorgina]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x reader x Rhaenyra Targaryen

Warnings: Breeding kink, threesome, degrading kink, swearing, incest

“Anything to help keep our bloodline pure.”

Daemon words replay in your head while Rhaenyra fingers slide inside you. If you came too early, there would be a punishment.

If someone had told you a few moons ago that you would have been at the mercy of Daemon and Rhaenyra, you would have laughed in their faces, but here you are, naked with your legs spread wide as you eagerly wait for Daemon to fuck you.

A deal was struck when Rhaenyra snuck into King's landing and found you in the sept praying. You would bend the knee, and once the war was over, you would have an heir with someone who shared the blood of the dragon instead of being married off to some lord from a random house, and you presumed your brother Daeron would be who was chosen for you; however, the king consort and queen had other.

With her fingers buried deep inside you, Rhaenyra gently kisses your nose, your cheek, and then your lips. Daemon stands at the foot of the bed and begins to stroke his cock. “How does she feel?”

“You’d think she was a maiden with how tight she is.” Rhaenyra lightly slaps your breast with her free hand, “But you’re not a maiden; you’re a whore.“

You tighten around her fingers.

“Filthy girl,” using her free hand, Rhaenyra spanks your clit. “Do you want Daemon to fill you up? Stretch you out with his cock before spilling his seed inside you.”

“Yes, yes!”

“I think her greedy cunt is ready for more.”

Rhaenyra withdraws her fingers, and Daemon immediately stands between your legs. He rubs the head of his cock between your folds before pushing inside you, filling you up with one thrust. He doesn’t give you time to adjust before pounding into you. Rhaenyra, unless the front of her dress until her breasts are on show, she hovers over you so they are in your face.

“Such a sloppy little hole you have; you practically soaked my wife’s hand.”

His words go straight to your core. You suck on Rhaenyra's nipple until she pulls back and completely removes her dress and straddles your face.

“If you eat your queen out properly, I’ll allow you to come before being bred.”

Understanding, you nod. You turned your attention to Rhaenyra; she was so wet watching her husband fuck you always turned her on. You lick her clit a few times before sucking on it and put two fingers inside her with ease. Her moans encourage you to keep going, and when she starts to thrust against your fingers, you speed up your movements.

“Oh fuck!”

Seeing that his wife is satisfied, Daemon starts to rub your clit, bringing you to the next edge of an intense orgasm.

Feeling Rhaenyra rubbing down against your face, you lock your arms around her thighs and hold her in place. Tasting every drop of her you could, she lightly slaps at your breasts when your legs start to shake around Daemon's waist.

“Thats it, such a good little whore,” Daemon cock twitches as he comes inside you. “Stay on your back; I don’t want any of my seed wasted.”

Rhaenyra pinches your nipples, “Keep fucking me with your tongue, and I’ll allow Daemon to fill you up again.”

You take a few seconds to recover, and then immediately begin to devour her again.

[paulyenvol6]

Byka Atroksia (Masterlist)

This is the masterlist/moodboard/summary for my new series called "Byka Atroksia". It's a story between Daemon Targaryen x reader (Vhaela Targaryen)

First of all: This story is based on the HBO/Max TV show House of the Dragon and the works of George R R Martin. I don't own any of the characters.

This story should only be read by people over 18 years as it contains adult content.

You can find the following themes in this story: HIGHLY detailed smut, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), kissing, dirty talk, losing of virginity, gagging, p in v, unprotected sex, period sex, praising, degrading, edging, overstimulating, blindfolding, some non-con choking, possessiveness, body image issues, angst, mentions of period and pregnancy, incest, inappropriate relationship between uncle and niece, power imbalance, dom!Daemon, inexperienced reader, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, morally questionable behaviour, abusive behaviour, sexual abuse (not performed by Daemon!)

Disclaimer: I am aware that the dynamic of this relationship is problematic as Vhaela's inferiority complexes cause her to search for Daemon's attention. So please be careful while reading this and have in mind that this kind of relationship is neither healthy nor desirable. Daemon is a bad person. His actions are irresponsible and unethical and he manipulates Vhaela. Don't try at home please.

Disclaimer 2.0: The G Spot: In this story I mention the g spot (even though the characters obviously don't know this term for it and what exactly it is) as a way for women to receive pleasure. I know that the existance of it is controversial and it's not scientifically proven that something similar exists. However, I still decided to include it in my story so my main character is able to receive pleasure by vaginal sex, but be aware that a lot of women don't get pleasure plainly by vaginal sex. I just don't want to portray a false image of what sex is supposed to be like so I felt the need to write a short paragraph about it.

Summary: Vhaela Targaryen is the younger sister to Rhaenyra Targaryen and has all her life felt like she was competing with her sister for their interesting and dangerous uncle's attention. In Vhaela's mind her beautiful and confident sister has already won this fight but when Daemon Targaryen returns from a battle at the Stepstones things seem to be a little different and she explores a whole new world of emotions.

Smut is marked with *

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 * (very light smut) Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 Chapter 5 * Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 Chapter 10 * Chapter 11 * Chapter 12 Chapter 13 * Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 * Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 * Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 * Chapter 26 (Final chapter)