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novaursa · 7 days ago

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Robert Baratheon x Targaryen!reader.

Aerys goes on his "everyone must burn" rant and his daughter tries unsuccessfully to talk him down. Finally, Jaime snaps and kills Aerys while ordering his father's men to hold the Princess back. She's not guilty, so he doesn't want her dead.

Robert claims the throne and dismisses Tywin's attempt to marry him to Cersei. Instead, Robert declares he'll "legitimatizes" his rule by marrying Rhaegar's sister, who is being held as a political prisoner. He's planning on using the smallfolks' love of her to soften the blow of taking the throne; if he kills her, there might be a riot he can't afford.

In the weeks Robert had spent settling into his new role as interim King, she's been depressed and inconsolable, especially after hearing of her mother's death. Not to mention just about everyone she loves has either betrayed her, died, or is out of her reach; Jaime, Rhaegar, Lyanna, Aerys, Rhaella, Arthur, Barristan, Viserys, Dany.

She's no longer speaking, hardly eating, and alternates between crying her eyes raw or staring numbly at nothing. She's barely sleeping. There is talk she'll starve herself. Hearing about Robert's plans doesn't do her fracturing psyche any favors, but it doesn't matter.

She sees memories of their relationship; meeting for the first time after he sees Lyanna and Rhaegar together; how cold he is to her. Running into her coming out of the library with an embarrsing book, which amuses him. Later finding her sketching him- teasing her instead of being embarrassed, finally seeing her instead of her twin. Still doesn't love her, though.

For all her lashing out at him, she still winds up at the alter.

3 three time skip and Targ Princess has given birth to her first child. It's the first hint of happiness she's shown in years and when Robert is let into the room, he's dumbfounded by how attractive her maternal side is to him.

The story ends with him trying to get closer, maybe under the guise of seeing the child and hoping she won't pull away when he finally touches her. Left open ended.

Thank you! Sorry for the original ask. I scrolled down it after you posted yoir response and went "Holy shit, that's a wall of words!"

I hope I shortened it enough. If not, I'll try again or you can cut anything you don't think adds to the story. Again, so sorry. And thank you if you choose to take on my request.

The Crown That Bled

Requests are closed

- Summary: He married you to keep the realm in line. You married him because you had no choice. And happiness is an elusive thing.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Robert Baratheon

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: So, this was still a little too overwhelming for a short story and I've struggled with what to keep and what to discard. This is what I've managed to write with the information provided. I hope this is something you had in mind.

The Sept of Baelor smelled of incense and wilting roses. Smoke curled from brass censers, spiraling toward the high-arched dome where sunlight bled through colored glass, staining the floor in hues of crimson and gold. The bells tolled dully in the distance, sounding more like a funeral dirge than a wedding celebration. The gathered nobles whispered in hushed tones, draped in velvets and silks, eyes darting toward the altar and the lone figure standing beside it—the King, newly crowned and wide-shouldered in his fur-lined cloak of black and gold, Robert Baratheon.

You were not there yet.

You sat in the chambers they'd locked you in, a gilded cage fit for a princess—cold and quiet, except for the caw of a raven outside the window and the steady creak of footsteps as guards paced the hall. Your reflection in the mirror looked like a ghost: hollowed eyes rimmed in red, skin pale and drawn from weeks of mourning and madness. Your silver-gold hair hung in limp strands, unbrushed. You barely remembered the last time you bathed or ate. The food they left was always taken away, untouched or barely picked at. The maids stopped trying to coax you. You no longer spoke to them, or anyone.

They had told you of your mother’s death three nights past, and the sound you made then had not been human. You’d torn the hem of your dress, your nails bloodied your own arms, your sobs had echoed like a broken harp string long after you collapsed onto the stone floor. Rhaella—your mother, the last steady thing in a world of fire and betrayal—was dead, her frail heart giving out after the news of her husband's fate and her son's. You had not wept since then. Not truly. You had simply… leaked tears, as though your soul had cracked and the sorrow slipped through the fissures, silent and endless.

When you first heard Robert intended to marry you, you had laughed. It was a horrible sound, brittle and dry. Then you screamed. Screamed so long your voice disappeared. You spat on the servant who brought the message, shattered a goblet against the wall, and threatened to throw yourself from the tower window. But none of it mattered. You were the last piece left on the board—the only one of value. And Robert, ever the brute, ever the warrior, had turned conqueror and king. He didn’t want Cersei Lannister, despite Tywin’s persistence. He wanted you. Not for love. Not even for desire, though there had once been something hungry in the way he looked at you during court gatherings, long before the war. No, he wanted you to silence the blood in the streets, to win the hearts of those who still whispered your name as they lit candles for the dead dragon prince. Rhaegar's sister. A daughter of the old line. If he couldn’t kill the dragon, he would cage it. Wed it. Breed it.

A knock came at the door. You did not answer.

It creaked open anyway. You didn’t turn.

“Y/N,” a voice said, rough and low and too alive. “It’s time.”

You didn’t move.

He stepped closer, boots scraping the stone. “The realm needs this.”

The realm. You hated that word. The realm had taken everything from you.

Still, you rose. Slowly. Mechanically. The maids came, silent as ghosts, dressing you in the gown that had been ordered. White. As if your innocence could still be claimed. They wove braids into your hair, pinned a small crown of rubies and pearls. One offered you a veil. You shook your head.

And so you walked to the Sept without it, your face bare for the world to see—shattered, exhausted, and empty.

Robert turned when he saw you, and for a moment, something flickered in his blue eyes. Not victory. Not lust. Something quieter. Sadder. He didn’t smile.

You stood beside him, your hand limp in his. His palm was calloused, warm, too large around yours.

The Septon's voice droned on, reading the vows of House and Faith. You barely heard it. Words floated past like wind in a dead garden.

“Do you, Robert of House Baratheon, take Y/N of House Targaryen—”

“I do,” he said before the Septon even finished, the words rasped from his throat like they pained him.

You said nothing. The Septon looked at you, hesitated, then gently prompted: “Princess?”

Your lips parted. The words did not come.

Robert’s hand tightened.

You closed your eyes. You saw Rhaegar on the Trident, dying with Lyanna’s name on his lips. You saw Jaime's haunted face as he watched your father burn the city down in his mind. You saw your mother’s hands, trembling as she held baby Viserys. You saw Dany’s face, too young to understand any of it. All of it gone.

“I do,” you whispered.

The bells rang again.

The crowd clapped politely.

And the man who had helped kill your family leaned forward and kissed your cheek, soft and solemn, as if it made anything better. You did not flinch. You did not cry. You did not breathe.

You were a queen now. But there was no joy in it.

Only ash.

The birthing chamber was quiet now, save for the faint pop and hiss of the brazier in the corner and the distant echo of revelers in the Red Keep, drinking to the health of the new heir. It had been a hard labor, a long one—two days and a night of pain so deep it had splintered your mind, left you delirious with heat and blood and the haunting memories of every Targaryen woman who had died doing this same sacred, monstrous thing. You had not screamed, even when the pain was worst. You had whimpered, sobbed, clenched your teeth until your jaw ached, but never screamed. That part of you had been burned out long ago.

But now, as the sun bled pale gold through the sheer curtains of the tower windows, you lay propped on linen pillows, your hair damp with sweat, skin aglow with the exhaustion of survival. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, your arms were full. A child. Your child. A small, warm bundle swaddled in Targaryen red silk, already calm, already curious. He blinked up at you with wide, unfocused eyes—eyes that were not violet like yours, but a deep, rich blue that reminded you too cruelly of the man who sired him.

Still, you did not hate him for it. You did not hate him for anything. You loved him. Already. Utterly.

You traced his downy cheek with a trembling finger, and for a moment, a smile—small, stunned, wondrous—broke across your face like sunlight through a storm. The midwives had seen it. The maester had noticed. They exchanged glances, hushed and wide-eyed. It was the first expression of happiness they’d ever seen on your face since the sack of King’s Landing. The stillness in you had cracked.

“My lady,” one of them said, gently, reverently. “The King is waiting.”

You didn’t answer right away. You only looked down again, studying your son's tiny fists, his slow, sleepy blink. “Let him in,” you said at last, softly.

The door creaked open moments later, and Robert entered.

He was cleaner than usual, though his hair was still a bit unkempt, and the heavy cloak of royal blue slung over his broad shoulders gave him a warlike silhouette. He looked older, wearier than the man who had crushed Rhaegar’s chest with a hammer, older than the roaring brute who had seized your hand and crown in one swift move. But his blue eyes sharpened the moment he saw you—really saw you, sitting there in the sunlight, your hair loose around your shoulders, the silver tangled and darkened with sweat, your gown undone at the breast as you nursed your newborn son.

The sight stopped him cold.

He didn’t speak for a long moment. He simply stared, his mouth parted slightly, his gaze flickering over you not with the drunken lust he usually turned on brothel girls or serving wenches, but with something far more quiet and dangerous. Hunger, yes, but layered over awe. You were radiant, even with the fatigue etched into your face, even with the bruising along your throat where the maids had steadied you in the worst of the pain. There was softness in you now that hadn’t been seen since before the war, before madness and fire took your family from you. A part of you had returned, and it shook him.

You didn’t look up right away. You focused on the baby, adjusting the swaddling gently. “He’s healthy,” you said at last. “Strong. They say he didn’t even cry until he was cleaned.”

Robert cleared his throat. “He’s mine, then,” he said, trying for jest, but the words came out too raw.

You looked at him. There was no bite in your eyes today. Just tiredness. And something else—something soft and distant, like the echo of a dream.

“I named him Baelor,�� you murmured. “After the Blessed.”

He blinked, clearly surprised. “Not… not a more fierce dragon name?”

“No.” You kissed the baby's forehead. “He was born in fire, but he deserves peace.”

Robert stepped closer, more slowly than usual, as if he feared startling you. He was so large that his shadow cast over the bed, over you and the boy. “May I…?” he asked, and his voice faltered. “May I hold him?”

You hesitated. You didn’t recoil, but your arms tightened instinctively around the bundle in your arms.

“I won’t hurt him,” he said, quieter this time. “Or you.”

You nodded, slowly, and shifted the child just enough for him to slip his arms underneath. He moved with surprising gentleness, lowering himself to the edge of the bed, cradling his son as if he were holding a cup made of glass. Baelor blinked once at him, then yawned.

“Seven hells,” Robert whispered, a chuckle caught somewhere in his throat. “He’s real.”

You watched him closely, head tilted, your hands still hovering near the baby’s blanket. You didn’t lean away. You didn’t tell him to go.

He glanced at you sideways, unsure, and something flickered again in his expression. Not just pride. Not just male satisfaction. But need.

“You smiled when you looked at him,” he said.

“I did,” you whispered.

He was silent for a beat longer, then dared to reach out. Not for the baby, but for your hand. Just two fingers grazing the edge of yours. Barely touching.

You didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

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k4marina · 3 months ago

Text

— vii. Eastwatch || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: the arrival of an old friend marks the beginning of a cold and eventful journey north

warnings: language, night king, game of thrones cannon events, spoilers to the episode Eastwatch, pretty tame chapter ngl

all dialogue in italics are in Valyrian

a/n: note with an update at the end pls read.

HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!

series masterlist || next part

game of thrones x fem!modern!reader

8k word count

[gif found on pinterest]

Weeks had gone by since the attempted sacking on Highgarden and both Tyrion and the Unsullied had returned from Casterly Rock after successfully securing both regions of the west. The entire castle was bustling, Jon and his men mined and prepared the Dragonglass, forging it into weapons and to transport it to Winterfell for when the time was right. Daenerys was busy planning ahead for her battles against Cersei and now the Night King as well.

During the last few weeks I’d been extra careful of whose eyes were on me, considering that there’s a high chance they’re one of Varys’ spies. The young girl, Alana, had periodically come back to do Varys’ dirty work while giving Dany and I information. Like I had suspected, the young girl's parents were killed by Stannis for refusing to take him as their Lord and as Robert for their King.

Regardless, it was clear that Varys wasn’t to be trusted (which I already knew) and that he had eyes and ears everywhere, even on those closest to Daenerys.

I walked around the outside of the castle, taking in the fresh air while clearing my head. Who knew planning for a war that you already knew everything about was so hard. I paused, catching the dragons flying around in the sky. My gaze traveled downwards, spotting Daenerys, Jon, a Dothraki guard, and another man.

Is it time? I carefully made my way to where they stood. He did show up to Dragonstone after the Sack of Highgarden.

Daenerys and I briefly made eye contact as the man bent the knee to her.

“Your Grace,” he slowly stood. Despite only seeing the back of his head and back, I could tell exactly who this was. His voice was deep, a light gravel to it. His hair, a mix of ginger, blonde, and gray.

“Jon Snow, this is Ser Jorah Mormont, an old friend.”

“I served with your father,” Jon said. “He was a great man.”

Jon and Jorah nod, acknowledging both of their prowess.

“And this,” Daenerys motions towards me. “Is Y/n Vellarys. She’s been a trusted advisor of mine and a very close friend.”

Jorah turns, spotting me. He doesn’t bother masking his confusion and shock, thinking that I’d be someone else. I watch him look over my hair, clothes, and the sword on my hip. It’s only when I subtly raise a brow does he snap out of it.

“My Lady, it’s an honor to meet you.” He bows his head.

“You look strong.” Says Daenerys. “You found a cure?”

Jorah bows his head, bashfully at the small compliment. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. I return to your service, my queen. If you’ll have me.”

“It would be my honor.” Daenerys smiles.

My eyes roamed down his exposed arm, wrapped in bandages, but overall looking good.

“It seems that Sam has done a fine job.” I commented.

“Sam?” Jon repeats, asking, my Sam?

“He was the one who healed Ser Jorah. Isn’t that right?”

Jorah slowly nods. “How did you know that?”

“I just do,” I shrug, nonchalantly.

“Does that mean that Sam is still at the Citadel?” Jon asks.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Jorah and I respond at the same time, the former looking at me confused again.

“He was there when Ser Jorah left, but by now he’s left the Citadel.” I explained. “A raven from Winterfell has to have arrived by now, which means he’s preparing for his departure for Winterfell.”

“Oh,” I caught myself before I forgot. “Speaking of ravens, one has arrived for you, Jon Snow.”

“Then we should converse further by the table then.” Daenerys steps forward, and everyone follows suit.

I walked beside her to her left while Jorah was a little back and to my right while Jon was to the left of him, behind me.

“You don’t seem surprised that he’s here.” Daenerys says, loud enough for me to hear.

“Not at all. If anything I was waiting for his arrival.”

“What do you know?”

“After you sent him away he traveled to the Citadel. There, he was given the diagnosis that he’d only have a few months left, but he met Samwell Tarly who found a cure and saved him.”

“Samwell Tarly? As in the son Randyl Tarly sent to the wall?”

I nod. “He and Jon are very close friends, brothers even. And, he was the first man to kill a White Walker at the Fist of the First Men.”

“How do you think he’ll feel once he knows the truth?”

“As any son would. But I’m sure if you are clear with what happened he won’t be as.. distraught.”

––

Daenerys and I sat side by side while Varys sat further down. Tyrion and Jorah stood near Daenerys and Jon and Davos stood by the end of the table. Everyone watched as the King in the North read over the raven for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

“I thought Arya was dead. I thought Bran was dead.” Jon sighed, relieved.

“I’m happy for you. You don’t look happy.” Daenerys points out.

Jon shook his head. “Bran saw the Night King and his army marching towards Eastwatch. If they make it past the wall-”

“The Wall has kept them out for thousands of years.” Varys says as if he’s correct. “Presumably-”

“They’ve never traveled down this far.” My eyes glanced down at the table where Eastwatch was marked. “And if the Night King can raise the dead for his army then a wall of ice made of magic is nothing.”

Jon clenches his jaw, looking up at Daenerys. “I need to go home.”

Daenerys furrowed her brows. “You said you don’t have enough men.”

“We’ll fight with the men we have.” Jon sighs. “Unless you’ll join us.”

“And give the country to Cersei? As soon as I march away she marches in.” She shook her head.

“If it’s the West you worry about, we have men protecting it. You can call upon Dickon Tarly to defend Highgarden and Casterly Rock.” I say.

“Cersei thinks the Army of the Dead is nothing but a story made up by wet nurses to frighten children. What if we prove her wrong?” Tyrion suggests.

Jon shook his head. “I don’t think she’ll come see the dead at my invitation.”

Tyrion walks around the table, closer to Jon. “So bring the dead to her.”

“I thought that was what we are trying to avoid.” Daenerys frowns.

“We don’t have to bring the whole army. Only one soldier.” I nod.

Davos turns to Jon. “Is that possible?”

Jon thinks back. “The first White I ever saw was brought into Castle Black from Beyond the Wall.”

“Bring one of these things down to King’s Landing and show her the truth.” Tyrion says.

Varys shakes his head. “Anything you bring back will be useless unless Cersei grants us an audience and is somehow convinced not to murder us the moment we step foot in the capital.”

Tyrion purses his lips into a line. “The only person she listens to is Jamie. He may listen to me.”

“And how would you get into King’s Landing?” Daenerys asks.

The room falls silent and everyone looks to Ser Davos. “I can smuggle you in, but if the Goldcloaks were to recognize you, I’m warning you, I’m not a fighter.”

Tyrion nods his head, understanding.

“Well, it will all be for nothing if we don’t have one of these dead men.” I said.

“Fair point. How do you propose to find one?” Varys asks Jon.

Jon pauses and stares at the ground, but Jorah answers before him. He turns to Daenerys, “with the queen’s permission I’ll go north and take one.” Daenerys turns to him, surprised. Jorah continued. “You asked me to find a cure so I could serve you. Allow me to serve you.”

Jon nodded. “The free folk will help us. They know the real north better than anyone.”

“They won’t follow Ser Jorah.” Davos reminded Jon.

“They won’t have to.” Jon replied.

“You can’t lead a raid beyond the wall.” Davos shakes his head. “You’re not in the Night’s Watch anymore. You’re King in the North.”

“I’m the only one here whose fought them. I’m the only one here who knows them.” Jon double downed.

“I’ll go as well.” I nodded towards Jon.

Daenerys shook her head. “I haven’t given permission to leave.” She gives Jon and I a pointed look. “To either of you.”

Jon straightened his back. “With respect, Your Grace, I don't need your permission. I am a king. And I came here knowing that you could have your men behead me or your dragons burn me alive. I put my trust in you, a stranger, because I knew it was the best chance for my people, for all our people. Now I'm asking you to trust in a stranger because it's our best chance.”

Daenerys pauses, everyone looking her way. She looks down in thought for a moment before looking up at Jons pleading eyes, nodding.

“Alright.”

––

“You’re insane.”

Daenerys paces back and forth while I sit in my chair, watching.

“No I’m not.”

She stops, turning to glare at me. “You want to go North and fight an Army of the Dead. That is insanity.”

“So does Jon and his men, does that mean he’s insane as well?”

“That’s different.”

“How?” I huffed. “It’s exactly the same.”

“No it’s not.” She shakes her head. “This conversation is over. You are forbidden to go.”

“Are you saying that as my queen or my sister?”

She purses her lips, sighing out of her nose. “Why do you want to go so badly?”

“There’s something I’m looking for.”

“In a vast tundra?” She raises a brow.

“Yes.” I sighed, standing up and walking to her, grabbing her hands. “Trust me. I wouldn’t be going if I didn’t think it was important. Besides, those boys won’t last long in the North without me.”

She looks down at our hands, nodding.

–––

I stood by the docks, watching as Tyrion stepped onto a small smuggler boat. Davos reached over to untie the mooring line.

“Be careful, the both of you.” I remind them. “And Ser Davos,” he looks up at me, “don’t waste your time wandering around and go straight to the Street of Steel. He’ll be there.”

He frowns, confused, but understands what I’m saying. “I will, My Lady.”

He pushes the boat away and begins to row. I look up to see the sun getting closer to the horizon. By the time they reach the shores of King’s Landing it will be nightfall. I watched them go, before turning back and spotting Jon not too far away, giving orders to his men preparing for their departure for Eastwatch.

“All’s well?”

Jon turned around. “We should be ready to leave by the time Tyrion and Davos return.”

We fell silent andI could tell by the look on his face that he’s itching to say something to me.

“Out with it, Snow.”

He looks down, debating, and then back up. “How do you know?”

“Know what?”

“All of these things. When I first told Daenerys about the Army of the Dead everyone except for you looked shocked, as if you’d already known. You knew about Ser Jorah and Sam, as if you were there yourself.” He shakes his head. “How?”

“I can’t tell you how I know things, but know this; I won’t lie to or betray you and Daenerys. Just trust me and listen to what I have to say and all will be fine.”

He stares at me for a moment and then nods his head, accepting my answer for now but it was clear there was still more on his mind.

“Keep your chin up, things are going to progress fast and we all need to be in shape.”

He nods, “thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me. We’re all fighting a war against a common enemy.”

“Yet Daenerys seems to be more concerned with Cersei.”

“She does care. If she didn’t you wouldn’t be standing here.” I said. “But you have to understand that all her life, all that she’s wanted is to come back home. And while Dragonstone is her family's home, so is King’s landing. She’s the last of her house and the people responsible for that are sitting on her family's throne. You can’t blame the girl for having her priorities in line.”

–––

Once Tyrion and Davos had returned Jon and I were ready for our departure. I stood by the steps, watching Davos and a young looking man speaking to one another. His hair was short, but jet black and he carried a hammer.

“You can back out, if you want.” Daenerys came to stand beside me.

“We both know that I can’t do that.”

“Will you at least tell me what’s so important that you have to go?”

“A sword.”

“A sword?” She frowned.

I nodded. “It’s really pretty, too.”

Daenerys gives me a funny look, but doesn’t say much after that. We both descended down the steps and onto the beach. There were two landing boats on the beach, surrounded by two groups of men. A large sailboat was anchored in the water. Tyrion and Jorah talked among themselves as we approached them.

“We should be better at saying farewell by now.” Daenerys says.

“Your Grace, I-” Jorah’s expression flatters.

Daenerys reaches over and takes Jorah by his hands while Jon, Davos, and the black haired man come out of the cave and to us. Jorah bends the knee and kisses Daenerys’ hand as a goodbye. He stands and turns back to the boat, readying it. Davos and the young man both get into the boat. Jon turns to Daenerys, a soft look in both of their eyes.

“If I don’t return at least you won’t have to deal with the King in the North anymore.” He joked.

Daenerys smiled. “But I’ve grown used to him.”

He returns the smile. “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, Your Grace.”

They share one last look before Jon walks off to the head of the boat. Daenerys watches him, almost longingly and I try my best not to smile. I loudly cleared my throat, catching her attention.

“Ahem!” She turns to me. “I wish you good fortune as well, Your Grace.” I teased. Daenerys’ face turns red and she looks away.

“Enough,” she lightly swats her hand against my arm. “You be safe. Now, go and hurry back.”

I laughed, and nodded. I gave her a formal bow and turned back, making my way to the boat. I sat down next to Davos who left a seat for me.

“Heave!” Jon commands.

The men push the boat into the sea and step on, rowing to where the ship was anchored down. I looked back at Daenerys and Tyrion on the beach, giving them a small wave. A loud roar caught my eye. I glanced atop one of the castle turrets where Viserion stood. He lets out another cry before taking off into the sky.

“He will be joining us?” Ser Davos asks.

“Of course.”

How else would we be leaving the North?

–––

The boat was filled with men to the point it smelt like them; dirty and musty. I stood on the upper deck, watching as Dragonstone got smaller and smaller.

“Already feeling sea sick?”

I looked to my left as Ser Davos approached me. I shake my head. “Not yet. I was just thinking.”

“Mind sharing, My Lady? I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”

“It’s weird.” I said. “Being away from Dragonstone for this long.”

“Ah,” he nods. “First time being far away from home.”

“It is. It’s fine, though, I’ll get over it. I saw that you got what you were looking for in King’s Landing.”

He nods. “I did. Thank you, for the advice. But, if I may, how did you know?”

I smiled. “I just do. It’s funny, I said the same thing to Jon when you had left with Tyrion. I’m surprised you were able to hide Robert Baratheon's bastard so well.”

“We hid him in plain sight.”

“And it worked in your favor. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. I have to say, I thought that Cersei would have found him by now. The boy was right there.”

“She’s dumb.” I said, dismissively. “Did Jon and him already meet?”

“They did. They were reminiscing over their fathers.”

I hummed. “The honorable Ned Stark and the Usurper.”

“I take it you’re not a fan.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” I shook my head. Everyone praised Robert as if he was some hero, even in the future people still thought of him as some sort of “alpha” and disregarded his actions after taking the throne.

“You won’t hold that against him, will you?”

I frowned. “Who? Gendry?” I shook my head. “His fathers sins aren't his to suffer. And if we’ve learned anything about the children of questionable men, it’s that we shouldn’t judge them so quickly.”

The sun dips below the horizon and the stars start to come alive.”It’s getting late. I’ll be in my cabin.”

Davos bows his head as I turn back and walk below deck. It was my first time in a boat, let alone made of this time period. It creaked and moaned and I swore the further down I went I could hear the water. The hall, or rather walk way was narrow, big enough for two people to sideways cross each other. The doors to the other rooms were filled with men talking.

At the far right was a closed door with the Stark sigil. I knocked once, hearing a muffled “come in.”

Jon stood by a large desk, papers thrown around. I closed the door behind me and stood across from him at the table. I looked down at the map he was glaring at. Circles were drawn on the map, all north of the wall.

“Is this where they’ve been?”

“Aye.” Jon sighs, crossing his arms. “They’re moving fast and we don’t have enough men-”

“We do. We have a gaggle of them.”

“But-”

“No but’s. We’re going to defeat the Army of the Dead and then we’re going to deal with Cersei and then Daenerys is going to ascend the throne and everyone will live happily ever after.”

Jon frowned. “How are you so sure? What if we lose? What if Cersei wins?”

“Because I have to be sure. I have to believe that all will turn out fine. The more I think about the what if’s the easier it is for me to lose sight. And neither can you. We’re going beyond the wall, into White Walker territory and I need to make sure you’re fit to lead us. Are you?”

“I am.”

“Good.” I smiled. “Besides, a certain dragon queen is waiting for your return.” I said in a lighter tone, teasing him.

Jon visibly blushed, looking down at the map. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.” I say, not convinced. “Honestly, what are your thoughts on her?”

I could see heat creep up his exposed neck. He clears his throat, “she’s beautiful.”

“That she is.”

“And charming. Ahem, and kind.” Jon smiles to himself. “She’s witty, and has a child-like wonder. She’s also brave, not just because of the dragons, but because of what she’s gone through. She’s resilient and a true leader, everyone holds her in such high regards not because of her birthright but because of her character and morals.”

“If I knew any better I’d say that Jon Snow has grown to fancy our queen.” I laughed at his face turning red again. “That’s enough fun for now, I guess. I’ll leave you to do your duties.”

Jon smilies, shaking his head as I take my leave. The hall is a lot quieter now, mostly because everyone was in the mess, eating their dinner before some settled into the night or prepared for night duty. A door in front on the left swung open and out stepped Gendry. He makes eye contact with me, but quickly looks away and rushes past me. He makes it a few steps before I stop him.

“Stop.”

His footsteps flatter. I turned around, his back to me. “You’re not going to greet me properly?”

I could see his shoulder tense, but he turned around, bowing his head, still not making eye contact.

“Apologies M’lady. I mean no disrespect.”

I hum. “What’s your name?”

“Clovis,” he responds quickly. I almost laugh at the name.

“Clovis,” I repeat. “Clo-vis. You don’t look like a Clovis.” I stepped closer. “More like a Gendry.”

His head snaps up, shocked. He looked as if he’d been caught with his pants down. “How?”

“Doesn't matter. I wanted to see you for myself.” My eyes roamed across my face. It was clear as day he was a Baratheon. The jet black hair and the clear blue eyes. How Cersei's goons didn’t find him was beyond me. “You sure are a Barathron. Just a little leaner, but I’m sure with a little work you’ll beef up.”

“I’ve got muscles.” He argued.

“Are you sure?”

He flexed his arm at his side to show me his muscles. They were there, but considering that Baratheon men were built like brick walls, it was nothing.

“That?” I shook my head. “I’ve seen little girls with bigger biceps than that.”

He glared at me, hot headed. “What do you know about muscles? You sit on Dragon all day.”

“No I don’t actually, it’s very uncomfortable to do that. But I can show you mine, they’re very impressive. Even the Dothraki are impressed.”

Gendry looked like he was about to blow a fuse and I couldn’t stop the smile on my face. Quickly, he caught on to what I was doing.

“You’re messing with me.” He huffed.

“Guilty.” I grinned. “I couldn’t help it.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t think you’d be so.. friendly.”

“Am I not supposed to be?”

“Well, considering our alliances.”

“To Jon?”

“No. My father.”

“You’re fathers actions aren’t yours, I have no reason to hold any hostility towards you. Anyhow, it’s late and we have a long journey ahead of us. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, M'lady.”

I turned back and headed for my own room, pleased with the progress I’d made with the young Baratheon. Originally, in the future and after the whole Burning of Kings Landing, Gendry takes the Stormlands as its next Lord. He grows into a formidable man and becomes a fair and just man while bettering the lives of the people in his domain.

If Daenerys takes the throne this time, he’d be a good person to have around as an ally. Not only do the Baratheons have a long history with the Targaryens, having them close would also show that we’d put a collar on the house that led a rebellion against the Targaryens.

–––

Viserion screeches above head, fire erupting out of his mouth and raining onto the army of White Walkers, turning them into ash. The fire melts the frozen lake causing the charging Wights to fall and drown in the freezing lake water. Up on a hill, a White Walker calmly unsheathes a spear made of ice from his undead mount and hands it to the Night King who strides forward.

The men on the snowy ground continued to fight off the undead as Viserion circled above, looking for a place to land and let everyone climb aboard him. The Night King approaches the edge of the hill, an unsettling calm to him and readies the spear in his undead hands, his eyes trailing Viserion.

With a swift throw, the spear cuts through the air and pierces through the green and gold scaled dragon, a flame erupting where the spear hits him. A pained screech rips through the air and everyone goes to cover their ears. Blood pours out as the dragon falls to his death, crashing into the frozen lake. The ice shatters and the dragon sinks down to the bottom of the frozen lake, lifeless.

Everything goes eerily silent and the Night King mounts his horse and trots down to the lake while the wights labored together, a few jumping into the lake with large metal chains. They work hard to wrap the chains around the dead dragon's neck. The rest of the White Walkers pulled the chains, slowly dragging the dragon up. The ice breaks as Viserion’s head is pulled up. The undead continue to pull until the lifeless dragon is completely out of the water and clear the way for the Night King. He approaches his corpse, his glowing blue eyes locked onto Viserion’s form. Wordlessly, he reaches forwards and touches the dragon's head and Viserion’s eyes snap open, icy blue as a White Walker.

My eyes snap open, my body covered in a cold sweat. My chests heaved, my lungs screaming for air. I could hear my heartbeat loud in my ears as I pulled the sheets back and out of bed. My throat felt dry and I staggered to the table in the middle of the room, pouring myself a glass of water, downing it in seconds. I took a moment to myself, letting my pounding heartbeat slow down and for the room to stop spinning. My hands trembled as I set the glass back down and I sighed, walking over to the window.

All these days on the sea must have started to finally take a toll on me.

I glanced up to the stars and moon shining bright. Even with the window in between, I could still feel the chilly air of the night, the smell of the sea lingering in the air. I let my eyes travel down from the stars and to the horizon..

Out in the distance I could see land and the edge of the seven hundred foot wall of ice.

––

After nearly a week of sailing up through the Narrow Sea we’d docked on the beach of Eastwatch in the early hours of the day, just as the sun rose. Everyone disembarked the ship, and I couldn’t be anymore grateful that I was finally on the ground. Everyone collected their things, as I looked up at the old castle on top of a large rocky hill.

We were dressed in thick furs and multiple layers as much as we could be. I wore a black long sleeve wool dress with a thick outer cloak. A leather belt with a circular clasp with the Targaryen sigil was hung around my hips, my sword at my side and a heavy black furred cloak with a hood was on my shoulders. My forearms were wrapped in leather for added protection and to secure the thick black gloves.

I shuddered out a breath, watching it come out as fog and dissipate into the cold air. We trekked up the stone steps and into the castle. The men of the Night's Watch glanced at me warily wondering what a woman, nonetheless a silver haired woman, was doing at the Wall.

We entered the great hall, where a group of men were already there waiting. A tall wildling man stood by the fire, watching as we entered. He wore mostly furs, a leather belt hanging around his waist, and had wild ginger hair and overgrown beard.

“Crow!” He grinned happily. His voice easily bounced off of the walls and he opened his arms wide open, giving Jon a large bear hug. He shakes hands with Ser Davos and turns his attention towards the rest of us. His eyes land on me.

“You’ve brought the dragon queen?” He sounded impressed, glancing at me. “She’s small.”

“Wrong person.” I said.

“This is Y/n Vellarys, Queen Daenerys’ trust advisor, she’s here to help us.” Jon said.

“Advisors? We need warriors, Crow, not advice.”

“Tormund-”

“I can assure you I’m here to fight.” I said. “And if it’s any comfort, I’ve brought a dragon.”

Tormund pauses and turns to Jon. “I like her.”

Jon shakes his head and moves everyone to sit at one of the tables. We reiterated the plan to Tormund, who seemed to be listening quite intently.

Once done he turned to Ser Davos. “Isn’t it your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?”

I stifled a laugh, completely taken aback.

Davos sighs, “I’ve been failing at that job as of late.”

“How many queens are there now?”

“Two,” Jon replied.

“And you need to convince the one with the dragons or the one who fucks her brother?”

I silently laughed at how he remembered Daenerys and Cersei. Jorah, besides me, smiles my way, very amused himself.

“Both.” Jon replied.

“Well, the one with the dragons believes you.” I corrected. “It’s the one who fucks her brother we have to convice.”

Tormund nods. “How many men did you bring?”

Jon glanced around the table. “Not enough.”

“The big women?” Tormund asks, expectantly.

Jon smiles, but shakes his head to Tormund's disappointment.

“We were hoping some of your men could help.” Jorah says.

“Why? You have a dragon. She said so.” He points to me.

“I did, but it’s a big risk. If the Night King see’s him, he’ll come charging towards us with his army. We can only use the dragon when necessary, otherwise none of us make it out alive.” I explained.

“I’ll be staying behind.” Davos says. “I’m a liability out there as you well know.”

Tormund nodded, “you are.” He turned to Jon. “You really want to go out there again?”

Jon nods, sure of himself.

“You're not the only ones.”

––

We were led down, deep beneath the castle into its underground dungeons. Tormund led us down the rows of cells. “My scouts found them a mile south of the wall. Said they were on their way here.”

He stopped in front of a cell and we all peered in, spotting three men. Two stood out to me, one with the eye patch and the other with a burn scar on the side of his face. They looked familiar, reminding me of the description of a small group of men that traveled with Jon and his men Beyond the Wall.

“You're the Brotherhood Without Banners.” I realized, raising my brows.

Jon gazed over to the man with the scars. “You’re the Hound. I saw you once at Winterfell.”

The Hound, Sandor Clegane, pulls a blanket tight around himself, shielding himself from the cold, and sits up from the table he was laying on.

“They want to go beyond the wall too.” Tormund said.

“We don't want to go beyond the wall, we have to.” The one with the eyepatch says. “Our lord told us the great war is coming.”

Gendry shakes his head. “Don’t trust them. Don’t trust any of them.” Everyone turns to him as he walks up and presses his face to the bars of the cell, glaring at the three in the cell. “The last thing their Lord told them to do was sell me to a Red Witch to be murdered.”

Melisandre. She must have a thing for Baratheons. First Stannis then his nephew.

“Thoros?” Jorah finally spoke, stepping closer to get a better look at the man he’d been staring at for the last minute. One of the men, Thoros, sits up from a dark corner and glances at Jorah. “I hardly recognize you,” Jorah says to him.

“Ser Jorah Mormont.” The man recalled, a mix of relief and surprise in his voice. Tormund turns and angrily looks at Jorah.

“They won’t give me anything to drink down here. I haven’t been feeling like myself.” Thoros says.

Jorah didn’t have the opportunity to respond as Tormund finally piped up. “You’re a fucking Mormont? Like the last Lord Commander?”

“He was my father.” Jorah nods, a slight edge to his voice.

“He hunted us like animals.”

“You returned the favor, as I recall.” Jorah quipped back.

“Here we all are at the edge of the world at the same moment heading in the same direction for the same reason.” The man with the eyepatch interrupted.

“Our reasons aren’t your reasons.” Davos quickly adds.

“It doesn’t matter what we think our reasons are.” The man stood up and walked towards the bars of the cell. “There's a greater purpose at work and we serve it together whether we know it or not. We may take the steps but the Lord of Light-”

The man's preaching is interrupted by an annoyed Hound. “For fucks sake, will you shut your hole.” He turns to look at Jon and cuts straight to the point. “Are we coming with you or not?”

“Don’t you want to know what we’re doing?” Jorah asks.

“Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell waiting to die?” Thoros said.

Jon glanced at me, debating. I subtly nodded, agreeing with him. “He’s right.” I said aloud. “We’re all on the same side.”

Gendry frowned. “How can we be?”

“We’re all breathing.” Jon replied.

Tormund hands the keys to the cell to Jon and he opens the doors, letting the men out. The four of them step out, stretching their limbs and grunted in satisfaction. They were escorted up to the castle courtyard where some of the Night's Watch men were preparing the new Dragonglass weapons. Jon and Tormund led them to the main hall to warm them up and feed them while the others dispersed around the castle. I stood off to the side, watching everyone work, and leaned around the stone baluster.

I took a moment to myself and thought back to the dream I’d had the night before. At first I chalked it up to my imagination going loose. It made sense, after all, all the stress of the past few weeks could make anyone have the most imaginative dreams. But this wasn’t that; it was too clear, too vivid to just be a dream. There was the other possibility of it being a dragon dream, but I’d brushed that off just as soon as I’d thought it. If I was a dreamer, and that was a big if, there would have been signs and patterns, but there weren’t.

Which only meant the dream was one thing; a warning.

From who? I don’t know. Maybe it’s the Gods, or maybe it’s my subconscious warning me what would happen if I let Viserion wander too far, leading to the Night King claim him for himself and shift the tides of this war for a second time.

Regardless, one thing was clear; the Night King can not get his hands on Viserion. If he does, we run the risk of going down the same path that’s written in history books.

A hand reached out to grasp my left shoulder. “M’lady?”

I snapped my head to the left to a confused Gendry. He slightly fornwed and gave me a once over to see if I was hurt.

“Are you alright? I’d been calling you for a moment, but you didn’t respond.”

“What? No, I’m fine.” I shake my head, straightening my back. “Sorry, I was just thinking. What’s going on?”

“His Grace has summoned everyone to the map room so we can all further discuss our plan.”

“Alright, lead the way.”

He gives me one last glance before turning to the left and silently leading me to where the others were. He held the thick wooden door open for me and I gave him a silent thanks. The inside of the room looked damp and dreary, the candlelight adding to its ambiance. Everyone stood around an old wooden table with a map of the wall and whatever was known north of the wall. I stood in between Jon and Davos. Tormund stood on Jon’s left with a few Wilding men besides him. Jorah and the Brotherhood stood besides Davos. Gendry closes the door behind him and comes around to stand in between the Hound and the Wildling men.

“Last we saw the Night King was at Hardhome where he laid waste to Mance Rayder's camp.” Jon drops a stone marker at Storrold’s Point. “It’s best to assume that they’ve traveled down the peninsula and are roaming through the Haunted Forest.”

“We should travel around the edge of the forest perimeter,” I ran my finger down the edge of the treeline. “We have a better chance at catching anything by this route. Besides, If we go any deeper into the forest then extraction will be too difficult.”

Tormund reached over and poked around the map. “This is the best path we can take, then. It’s clear, we’ll have the high ground, and it's by the forest.”

“How do we catch one?” Gendry asks.

“We have to gag it for starters,” I explained. “If it screams it can alert the others and then we’ll be fucked.”

Jon nods, “we can tie it with chains and toss him into a crate that one of us can carry on our back.”

There’s a few grunts of agreement around the table and the conversation shifts to supplies and to what we’ll take. We planned enough for at least a week's ration and planned ahead where we’d spend the night if needed. By the time we’d finished our planning, night had fallen and I had opted to retire to my room for the night with my dinner.

After an early morning breakfast everyone was ready to leave. We made our way down to the ranger gates that led into the true North. I had my sword fastened to my side as well as a new Dragonglass dagger. I looked at the raiding party made up of Jon and I, Tormund, Gendry, Jorah, Thoros, Sandor, Beric, and a small group of Wildling scouts. The gates open to the true north, a blizzard raging over the tundra. Jon looks back, glancing at everyone. We hold each other's gaze for a brief moment before he nods and he begins to march into the wild.

––

We marched in the blizzard for what felt like hours, my face feeling as if it was covered in a layer of ice. We trekked through a frozen valley of jagged rocks at the base of a steep snow covered mountain. Everyone carefully climbed up, making sure each step was planted firmly. I let out a labored breath after a difficult step.

“Are you all right?” Jon asks me.

I nodded, “nothing I can’t handle.”

He’s quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Why did you leave Viserion behind?”

“Historically, dragons have never done well this far north. There have been plenty of times when rides have tried to bring their dragons north of the wall, but they’ve all refused.”

“And you think Viserion won’t come north?”

I shake my head. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again. “No, I just don’t want to expose him too much to whatever is up north. He may be my dragon, but he’s Daenerys’ son and the last thing I want to do is go back to Dragonstone and tell her her son is dead.”

Jon only nods, understanding.

“Ever been north before?” Tormund suddenly asks, leaning down towards me.

I had, plenty of time at ski resorts and winter camping trips. I’d even traveled beyond the Wall to the Fist of the First men and other places. It wasn’t as restricted as it was nowadays, but still a desolate tundra if you stray too far north.

“No.” I replied.

“Beautiful, eh?” Tormund smiles. “I can breathe again. Down south the air smells like pig shit.”

“You’ve never been down south.” Jon corrects him from my right.

Tormund scoffs and plainly states, “I’ve been to Winterfell.” Jon huffed, shaking his head.

We continued up north and climbed a steep mountain. The view at the top was breathtaking, quite literally due to the high altitude. The snow sparkles and glistens in the sunlight almost blinding me. A few trees were scattered about and some lakes had frozen over, a thick layer of ice and snow on the top. Off into the distance you could see the treeline of the forest.

“How do you live up here?” I asked Tormund.

“More importantly, how do you stop your balls from freezing over?” Gendry asks from behind us.

“You have to keep moving. That’s the secret.” Tormund says. “Walking is good, fighting is better, fucking is best.”

“There's not a woman within 100 miles of here.” Jon comments.

Tormund turned to Jon and then back to Gendry and I. “We have to make due with what we’ve got.” He hints. Gendry, surprised and slightly weirded out, backs off. I shake my head, realizing that Tormund was mostly joking, or at least I think he was.

Tormund turned back at Jon. “This one is maybe not so smart.”

“Davos says he is a strong fighter.”

“Good,” the Wildling nods. “That’s more important than being smart. Smart people don’t come up here looking for the dead. So, you met this Dragon Queen, huh? And?”

“She’ll only fight beside us if I bend the knee.”

"You spent too much time with the free folk and now you don't like kneeling.” Tormund says. “Mance Rayder was a great man, a proud man. The king beyond the wall never bent the knee. How many of his people died for his pride?”

Jon doesn’t respond, only nodding and thought over Tormunds words. I didn’t say a word and just glanced between the two. It seemed that if I couldn’t get Jon to agree to bending the knee then I may be able to use Tormund in some way. A gust of wind blew past us causing me to shiver. I wrapped my arms around myself. Despite the thick clothes and multiple layers I was wearing, the cold still found a way to seep through. No doubt if I was flying with Viserion I’d be warm.

“So you have a dragon?” Tormund asks out of the blue.

“I do.”

“How? You're small and dragons are supposed to be big. If I were a dragon I’d want someone big, not small.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t pick him, he picked me.”

“Dragons can pick?”

“They can. The dragons get to decide who they want to bond with. If they want you, they make it known, and if they don't then they really make it known.”

“How long do you bond?”

“Until either the dragon or I die.”

“Is yours big?”

“It is. It’s also the eldest of the three dragons that Daenerys has.”

“You said that the dragon is yours.”

“Yes, I’ve bonded with it, but ultimately, he’s Daenerys’ son.”

“She gave birth to dragons?” He asks with a mixture of confusion and interest.

“No, it’s like a figure of speech. She had three dragon eggs turned to stone. When her husband died she took them and sat with them in the funeral pyre. When the fire died down the eggs had hatched and she was called ‘Mother of Dragons’ because she brought stone eggs back to life. I may have bonded with one of her dragons, but he still listens to her and protects her with his brothers.”

“Like a son?”

“Like a son.”

He stays silent for a while, but speaks up again.

“I want a dragon.”

––

We continued walking for a few more hours, taking breaks whenever necessary for either food or water. The trek was getting a bit easier now that the terrain was starting to level out. I'd migrated somewhere behind the pack, wanting to go at a more steady pace and a clear path so that snow wouldn’t clog my shoes again.

“You seem to be taking this journey well, My Lady.” Joarh says, stepping in line with me.

“I’m trying. The most walking I do is around the castle.”

He stays silent for a moment. “How did you manage to serve Her Grace?”

Well, I was brought back in time and bent the knee and pledged to get her the throne with my knowledge of future events.

“I bent the knee.” I say. “And swore to get her the Iron Throne. The rest was up to her.”

“That’s it?”

“Well I guess it also helped that my ancestor was Gaemon the Glorious’ mother.”

“What?”

I nod, reaching into my neckline and fishing out my necklace. It sparkled in the sunlight as I held it up. “Vellarys of Old Valyria, but we’re currently in Volantis, y’know after the whole doom thing.”

Seemingly satisfied (for now), Jorah nods and the conversation ends there. The raid party comes to a halt and Sandor looks off to the distance. There's a steep mountain that looks like it climbed up into the clouds.

“That’s what I saw in the fire.” He points to the mountain. “A mountain like an arrowhead.”

“Are you sure?” Thoros asks.

Sandor nods, “we’re getting close.”

Everyone starts walking again, now towards the base of the mountain. The weather had significantly worsened over the hours, snow blowing past us, making it hard to see past a few feet ahead.

The wind blew around us, wailing in our ears and the clouds covered the sky giving everything a muddled blue haze. A wildling scout was sent ahead to lead the way, armed with a spear. Jon, Tormund, and I were at the front of the group when Tormund saw the scout’s feet flatter. He places a hand on Jon’s shoulder, his other hand motioning everyone behind him to stop marching.

“Look!”

We all tried to look through the whirling snow, squinting our eyes. Up ahead, a shadowy figure emerged. It was hard to make out what it was.

“A bear,” Sandor realizes.

“Big fucker,” Tormund comments.

“Do bears have blue eyes?” Gendry asks wearily. Everyone looked further at the bear, now seeing its glowing blue eyes.

“No.” I replied aloud.

The bear begins to charge towards us and the terrified scout who began running back towards the rest of the group. Everyone draws their swords, holding it out in front of themselves, ready. Despite the scout's best, the bear lunges forwards and catches the scout and tackles him towards the ground and into the snow. Everyone runs to where the bear had dragged the scout, only to find a patch of bloody snow and his spear. A bear grunts in the distance and everyone searches for it, turning their backs towards each other in a tight circle.

The wind howls and the snow makes visibility almost impossible, but everyone keeps their position, eyes alert for the bear. I stood in between Jorah and Tormund, watching ahead when a bear screams and leaps from the snow behind us, tearing into another scout with its teeth. Tormund lunges forward to attack but the bear knocks him aside. Sandor runs to check on him while Beric and Thoros ignite their swords and advance to the bear. The bear mulls another scout, throwing his corpse aside with a gruntled roar. Beric dodges the corpse and plunges his flaming sword into the bear, who catches fire. The flaming bear roars and moves erratically and locks his eyes on Sandor who hesitates, his steps flattering.

The bear launches towards him but Thoros throws himself in between the two and the bear jumps on top of him trying to eat his face. Thoros braces his flaming sword in the bear's mouth, using all his strength to push the bear back. Out of nowhere, Tormund swings his axe into the bear, only for him to be thrown aside, again. Taking it as an opening, I lunged and drove my dragonglass dagger into the bear’s neck, finally killing it.

The bear falls onto Thoros and Jorah and Beric pull it away and help Thoros onto his feet. Beric extinguishes his sword in the snow and I turn to where Jon and Tormund stood by the dead scout, looking down and following the bear's paw prints with their eyes.

“We’re getting close.” Jon said.

a/n: happy new year to you all!! i hope this year is a thousand times better than the last for all of you :) tbh i had planned for this part to come out on the first, but then i remembered who i was and decided to wait a bit.

hopefully, you all enjoy this chapter. lmk your thoughts on the dynamic between the MC and a certain ginger haired wildling man ;)

ALSO, i with bad news. i will be gone for all of febuary to the first week of march. i will be traveling out of the country (usa) and won't be able to update. so to make sure you're all fed, i'll be uploading another chapter before i leave and when i'm back in march i'll give you two more again.

i was thinking that while i was gone why don't you guy leave me any questions? sorta like a Q&A for this series. you can send them as asks or through my dm's or comment them, idc, i'll do it if you guys want.

anyways, happy new years, and enjoy the chapter :)

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff @bdudette @bitchyfestivalbouquet @glitteryobjecttaco @cantbecreative @lovelyteenagebeard @the0twst0shrimp0mc @sucker4seresin @marytargaryen @naneko31 @9tailedfoxfire @iilsenewman @ivyrose9194 @coffee-is-my-oxygen @mysterypotatoink @bitchycolletorvoid @nattysplatty @wifiatthetrainstation @nymeriiiia @llynx7 @pookynknowntranger @riley-625-bell @myathegoat @evilunicorns4minions

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starry-eyer · 3 months ago

Text

I think the way some portions of the fandom treat arranged marriage is very interesting because I have such a differing view on the topic that makes it impossible for me to find a middle ground with a good deal of people.

I understand that some people see arranged marriages in asoiaf as an equivalent to modern marriages, but, in my opinion, that’s a false equivalence.

Truthfully, I believe there’s a genuine double standard and a severely hypocritical attitude about the topic as well. I know for certain that people wouldn’t care if one or both parties of certain cases of arranged marriages “cheat,” and perhaps they would even cheer the characters on, but when it comes to x or y character this suddenly becomes the most grievous of sins. I realize that this is a bit of a blanket statement to make, so I want to clarify that I know the topic is more nuanced than what I’ve made it seem like. However, I believe that at the core of this stance lies a deeply rooted hypocrisy and double standard.

What am I talking about? Well I’m talking about some portions of the fandoms views on Rhaegar and Lyanna’s potential love story. Tbh this seems like the only thing I ever post about nowadays 🤦‍♀️

Anyways, if you specifically take issue with the “cheating” portion of Rhaelya’s relationship, then do you apply the same standards to all the other “cheaters”? No matter what? No matter who? No matter how that marriage was forced upon x or y character?

As for me, I only consider there to have been cheating in an arranged marriage if the characters were in love. Because at that point, the arranged marriage becomes an actual equivalent to a modern marriage.

Nedcat? If they had other partners then I’d call it cheating.

Doran and Mellario? If they had other partners while still together then I’d consider that to be cheating.

Dany and Hizdahr? That’s like the definition of a political marriage so no Dany is not cheating when she’s with Daario.

Cersei and Robert? Nope. Not cheating. I’m glad they both had other partners.

Rhaegar getting with Lyanna while married to Elia? Since I always attempt to be consistent, I’ll have to say I don’t consider that to be cheating :)

I think there are a few genuine grievances to have, and I do understand if you’re uncomfortable with the likely canon pairing, but these headcanons and fanonland shit takes are getting out of control. Y’all gotta stop acting like your personal interpretations of the text are actual canon. Please. Stop. Get some help. The whole ‘you can’t argue with me because somehow my interpretation is superior’ nonsense and the ‘this is the one true truth’ makes any discussion on the topic stale.

I and many other people (i don’t actually know if other people share this grievance with me but i’d bet a penny that at least one person does) are tired of having to constantly repeat that we do not know what went down before and during the rebellion. We do not know what situations the characters of that time period were in, and we do not know why they chose to do what they did.

Just now when I was scrolling on reddit I was reminded that we don’t even know what Robert’s true thoughts were about the murders of Elia and her children. Like bruh look how little we know. So stop it with the ‘this character did this because of this I just know and you must go along with my bs’

That was a word vomit, but yeahhh 👍

#read at your own risk #i’ve been up all night so i am not checking for errors #asoiaf fandom critical #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #pro rhaelya #rhaelya #anti elia stans #i’m so tired of this topic but i feel like if i cover it a million times the bad takes will finally stop

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gwenllian-in-the-abbey · 1 year ago

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Anyone who thinks that Rhaenyra calling Helaena "my sweet sister" means anything positive about their relationship or about Rhaenyra's feelings for Heleana needs to go back and re-read the main series (or read it period, because trust me you will understand F&B a lot better with ASOIAF as context).

In ASOIAF "sweet sister" is that phrase is used disparagingly the vast majority of the time. A quick search reveals it is used 82 times, and the character who uses this phrase by far the most is Tyrion when speaking about Cersei (an example from ASOS Tyrion I):

There are also multiple examples of Jaime using it about Cersei too, especially when he's unhappy with her (a random example from AFFC Jaime V):

Other people also use it referring to Cersei, again sarcastically. "Your sweet sister did X." Which makes sense! Cersei is pretty notorious and people gripe about her to her brothers pretty often.

Beyond various people talking about Cersei, the top offender is Viserys, who uses it quite a bit when addressing Dany, usually with a bite of malice (AGOT Daenerys I):

Interestingly, Viserys later calls out to his "sweet sister" when he is begging for his life. I can't imagine that reminding her of all the times he threatened her with those same words helped his case very much.

There's one instance of Arya using it about Sansa when she is giving an insincere apology (AGOT Sansa III):

Here is Theon using it about Asha (ACOK Theon V):

Lysa also uses it about Cat, and her feelings about her "sweet sister" at this point are pretty negative (ASOS Sansa VII):

You get the picture. At the very best, it's used with a fond sort of sarcasm, at worst it's actively spiteful. You can count on one hand the number of times it is used sincerely in the whole entire series, and really there's only one instance, from Edmure to Cat, that I would read as 100% sincere without even a tiny hint of sarcasm. F&B doesn't have anyone's POV to indicate the tone with which Rhaenyra said those words, and although it's possible this might have been the second time in the whole of ASOIAF that we were meant to treat those words as unquestioningly sincere and loving, I think this is a bit like the discourse around "sharply questioned." Those words, in-world, tend to carry a connotation beyond their surface meaning. It would not be something reassuring to hear terms for surrender given using the phrase "sweet sister," and in fact, given that we have no other indication that Rhaenyra has any sort of relationship with her siblings whatsoever, Helaena would be entirely justified in interpreting her words as spiteful or sarcastic. After all, if you're using a quote from the book to speak to Rhaenyra's intentions, the character you're referring to is book!Rhaenyra, who is not shown to be an overly nice person. Even by the most charitable reading, we can safely assume that those words were included by Gyldayn in his history knowing that in-world readers would read them as insincere. They are not intended to portray Rhaenyra and Helaena's relationship in a positive light.

#sweet sister discourse #helaena targaryen #team green #asoiaf #rhaenyra targaryen #fire and blood

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amaltheas-garden · 7 months ago

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What if Jon's sweetness in the bittersweet ending is his short lived love with Daenerys?

While I do think the show is probably accurate to what we'll get in the books in the broadest of strokes, there are still a lot of other plotlines to get through before Jon and Dany can even meet. For how long his books are, grrm really doesn't cover all that much time, meaning in just two books, Jon has to be resurrected (which I suspect won't happen until around the halfway point in Winds, since there's no point in Jon dying and coming back just a few chapters later), Sansa has to make it to the Wall, Arya has to return from Braavos and confront Lady Stoneheart, Littlefinger has to be taken care of, Jon and Sansa have to retake Winterfell, and the Starks have to reunite all amidst the growing threat of the whitewalkers. On Dany's side, Aegon has to get to King's Landing, Dany has to become leader of the Dothraki, fulfill all the bits of her prophecy (the 'to go West you must go East' one), and rally her armies to cross the narrow sea, and resolve ALL the loose ends in Essos since whence Dany leaves, that will be the last time we see it. And that's not including all the other stories, like the Dorne plot, Cersei/Jaime/Brienne, and Stannis/Davos/Melisandre, or accounting for the characters still very separate from everything (Sam off in Oldtown and Bran doing three eyed raven stuff). And all this is build up for the final cataclysmic conflict, the song of ice and fire. Now, that is a lot of content to get through, and when you start laying out every single thing that needs to be resolved, it becomes rather apparent why WoW is taking so long. The point is, Jon and Dany are not meeting in Winds, and it would be a miracle for them to meet even in the first half of Dream of Spring. That's why I highly doubt the relationship between Jon and Dany will be a genuine romantic one. Grrm is not the type to do a quick, star-crossed lovers plotline that ends tragically all within the span of a few hundred pages. A Jon x Sansa romance makes more sense, seeing as, if we accept Sansa as the girl in grey, she and Jon will spend the majority of two books with each other.

As for the show, there was nothing bittersweet in Jon having to kill his lover after she becomes a tyrant and threatens to murder his sisters, and for him to end the series by leaving his family for a lifetime of solitude. If book!Jon is destined to go beyond the wall after DoS, the 'sweetness' will be in knowing he did everything in his power to protect his family. No short-term love affair with Dany could ever replace the love Jon holds for the Starks.

Book wise, I doubt the Jon x Dany relationship will be one of genuine romantic love on Jon's part (see pol!Jon theory), and while Jon could end his story alone, I don't think a relationship with Dany is enough to fulfill a 'bittersweet' ending. I also recommend this incredible meta on Jon's ending (it does skew heavily Jonsa-centric) FedonCiadale — Sometimes scrolling through the Jonsa tag, I find... (tumblr.com) and they also have some other amazing answers on the bittersweet ending.

#jon snow #anti jonerys #<- not really (for filtering purposes)#jonsa #anon ask #ty for the ask <3

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romancingromanoff · 2 years ago

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Hi there, your stories are amazing, I really love them, I was wondering if you could do a margaery tyrell x F targaryen reader, where the reader is the sister of daenerys, and she also has a personality like her badass ancestor visenya instead of being ladylike

Sorry this took so long but I had a lot of fun with this request. It made me realize how much I miss writing for GoT and Margaery. I made our reader similar to Visenya in the sense that they share a love for combat and have tenacious spirits, but she isn't a complete carbon copy of her ancestor and lacks more of the diplomatic skill/finesse she was also known for. I hope you enjoy and thank you!

Daenerys was finally on the throne. You had already left Essos with a massive force the world had not seen in centuries with the Dothraki, the Unsullied, and three full grown dragons at your sister’s command. With the additional support from the Tyrells, the Dornish, and the Greyjoys, Cersei Lannister stood absolutely no chance. As Dany rode on Drogon and you rode Viserion, the sky over King’s Landing and the Red Keep instantly darkened.

The smallfolk and many of Cersei’s supporters had already begun to turn on her after the destruction of the Great Sept of Baelor. Luckily, Margaery Tyrell and a few others had been able to escape thanks to her sharp wits and quick thinking, while the High Sparrow and the majority of his followers had perished in the explosion. Poor King Tommen, who was under the impression that his wife had been killed, had taken his own life soon after by jumping from the Red Keep. As your army surrounded King’s Landing, the City Watch peacefully surrendered before any blood needed to be shed and your forces quickly closed in on the queen. There were a few loyal members of the Kingsguard that were willing to put down their lives for their queen, the most notable among them being the Kingslayer himself, however, they could only delay the inevitable.

Your father’s murderer was swiftly stabbed in the back by Grey Worm, killed the exact same way he had betrayed his king. Every part of you envied your friend for being the one to end the Kingslayer’s life. You were told that Cersei broke down upon watching her brother and lover die protecting her. She had poison on hand which she planned to use on herself but wasn’t quick enough to evade capture. No, she would not get a swift death. Dany had her presented to the entire city and lit her up with Drogon’s dragon fire in the tradition of your ancestors. She died screaming for mercy while the crowds cheered, the tyrant queen was finally gone.

Unfortunately, there had been very little time to celebrate your victory before a convoy from the North traveled down with news of an ancient threat that sought to wipe out all of humanity.

Neither you or Dany believed that the White Walkers actually existed until you flew north of the wall yourselves to witness the army of the dead with your own eyes. You immediately summoned dragon fire to try and destroy whatever portions of the army you could, but then Viserion and you had nearly been killed in the attack when an unimaginably deadly spear made of ice had been launched in your direction by the Night King himself. Viserion dove quickly and turned his body so that you wouldn’t be hit but part of his left wing was snagged and soon the two of you were falling out of the sky. Your dragon was able to soften the landing for you as best as he could but the impact was still extremely damaging on your body.

Being more of a fighter, you had suffered your fair share of injuries in the past. Around your sixth nameday, a special sling had to be made for your arm. You had broken it while wielding a large stick you found in the gardens of one of the many sponsors in Essos you lived with before moving onto the next. In your mind, you imagined it was the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister that had once belonged to your great ancestor Visenya Targaryen. One jump off of the roof with your imaginary dragon had led to a nasty fall and started a series of mostly self-induced, reckless wounds.

Scars covered your body, telling the stories of every horse you’d fallen off of and time you’d wrestled a Dothraki warrior that was easily twice your size. Daenerys hated how eager you were to pick up any sword or bow you could get your hands on but understood that trying to stop you only fueled the fire in your veins. When she had entered the funeral pyre and given birth to her three dragons, the only thing you could talk about from then on out was when they’d be large enough to ride. Not once did you worry about the possibility of falling out of the sky.

It took an entire week before you finally awoke, your first action trying to scramble out of bed despite the maesterscolding you for breaking several of your stitches. You had to know if your sister and friends were safe. Dany soon informed you that you were back in King’s Landing where Viserion was also healing. It was truly a relief to find out that he would be okay. Then your sister informed you of her plan to return to the north and aid in the fight against the dead at Winterfell while you were ordered to stay and rest in the capital.

“Dany, please!” You protested with every ounce of energy you had, causing a sharp pain to rip through your shoulder. “Let me go with you. I won’t let you do this alone!”

“You are in no shape to fight, sister, and neither is your dragon. As your queen, I order you to stay here. I still have not been crowned and I need someone I can trust to guard the iron throne.”

It was a fight you knew you could not win, yet you dreaded being left alone in this strange city. “We have no allies here. I have no friends. Please, let me at least go with you to Winterfell and I won’t fight, I give you my word.” The thought of not being able to participate in the battle pained you but you at least wanted to be there for support.

Your sister adamantly shook her head. “No, I will not gamble with your life. You are my heir and the only other person I trust to enact our mission. That is my final decision. Missandei and a few of the Unsullied will stay here with you. You should take the opportunity to get to know the people here, learn about the culture and make more allies. Many in Westeros still view us as foreigners and I need to know who I can truly trust to fully support my reign.”

“Dany, you know I’m hopeless when it comes to this stuff,” you sighed and could already tell your head would be hurting for weeks if you were forced to sit and make pleasantries with strangers. Between you and your sister, she had always been more naturally gifted in the ways of diplomacy and charming others to listen to her words. You, on the other hand, were more inclined to laugh at the absolute worst moment of a conversation or trip over your own words and accidentally curse in a way completely unfit for a highborn lady. “If it’s seven kingdoms you wish to rule then you’ll ensure I’m not able to make a fool of myself in front of the most powerful families in Westeros.”

There was no convincing her. Your eyes stung stung for hours when your sister left you behind. In the following days, more agonizing than your wounds was the dreadful feeling of not knowing whether or not your friends were alive or dead. Being bedridden you felt completely helpless as the days came and went with no ravens delivering news of any sort of outcome yet. After a few days, you were finally given permission to try and walk again and took every opportunity to explore the castle. Missandei eventually tried to force you to rest and it took a great deal of effort to ditch her. Trying to shuffle as quickly as you could through several smaller corridors resulted in you being completely lost.

That was where you first met Margaery Tyrell. Somehow, she managed to sneak up on you the third time you realized you had walked past the same statue. “Your grace,” she performed a small curtsy in front of you. “I’m glad to see you have progressed tremendously from your injuries. I’m Margaery of the House Tyrell, truly, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“I…“ Oh gods, you weren’t prepared for this at all. It was like you instantly had forgotten how to speak. Many had said that Margaery was the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros. And although you had seen very little of the seven kingdoms thus far, you were inclined to agree. She was utterly breathtaking, with honeyed hair and hypnotic eyes. You cursed at yourself for leaving Missandei, the only person that might have been able to save you in this current situation. You needed her to say absolutely anything else in literally any of the several languages she spoke. Even gibberish would have been better than you just standing there gaping at the poor lady.

She went ahead and continued speaking after you failed to respond with anything more than a wordless stare. “May I assist you in any way? I know how daunting finding your way around the castle can be. During my first two weeks of living here I got lost on my way to the Great Hall and found myself in a sunken courtyard where two men conversed with one another in a foreign language I didn’t recognize and ignored my presence when I tried to ask for help in Common Tongue. I had to wait for a cook to come rescue me and that was only because he was chasing a pigeon that had stolen his spoon from the kitchen!”

It was unclear whether or not you were meant to laugh at her anecdote and you didn’t want to risk doing the wrong thing. But then Margaery herself began chuckling at her previous misfortune and you felt relaxed enough to lift your lips into a small smile. Her energy was contagious and frankly, so was the sound of her laughter. You immediately wished to hear more of it.

“Yes, well… It’s, uh, strange never having been here myself but knowing my family has walked these halls for generations. I asked a servant if the rumors that dead Targaryens haunt the corridors were true and she nearly fainted. I suppose that answered my question. Honestly, it would be nice if their ghosts could offer me any directions.”

You worried that you might have overshared, although you had only been trying to follow Margaery’s lead. But the charming woman in front of you suddenly burst into the most melodic laughter you’d ever heard and a strange warmth rushed into your face.

“That would be helpful, wouldn’t it, if those from the past could offer their wisdom to us before we make the exact same mistakes they did?”

“Yes, exactly!” The fact that the two of you are on the same page has you giggling with complete elation. “Do you ever think about your dead family?”

As soon as the words left your mouth you only realized what you just said. Oh gods, why did you have to phrase it like that? How foolish did you have to be to forget that her own brother, Loras Tyrell, had been unable to escape the Great Sept not even two moons ago?

Margaery blinked twice, staring at you mildly stunned. It was the same look you see on your sister’s face whenever tries to hold in a cringe and realizes she’ll have to offer up an explanation for your infantile behavior.

“I-I must apologize, my lady, I didn’t mean to say it like that.” You took several steps back from the woman, unsure if she wanted to turn and leave so you were prepared to excuse yourself first. “I understand if you want me to leave.”

“It’s alright. Please, stay.” You felt her hand reach for your wrist and although her touch was nothing but gentle it startled you. Your eyebrows immediately shot up like she had frozen you by some strange magic. “You’ve done nothing to offend me. I suppose I was simply surprised by your choice of words.”

You released a breath you’d been holding. “That tends to be a regular occurrence I’m afraid. My lady, I truly am sorry about the loss of your brother. My own was rather cruel and I feared him since I was a small child, yet his death unsettled me greatly even though he deserved it. I understand you were very close with yours and no one deserves that sort of fate. You and your family have my deepest condolences.”

“Thank you,” Margaery spoke more softly before with a new contemplative look in her eyes. “Loras was deeply misunderstood and unfortunately people weren’t very accepting of his differences. I wish he had been able to freely live as himself without judgment.”

It sounded all too familiar. Recently, people you knew had spoken about the youngest Tyrell son’s… sexual preferences… But you always tried to avert your attention from such conversations when you came across them, even if the participants didn’t seem hostile with their judgment. You were no longer in Essos where people like yourself were generally more accepted in society. And although the High Sparrow and his fanatics were gone, members of the Faith of the Seven continued to persecute others like you.

“I understand the feeling. My sister and I hope to build a new Westeros where everyone is free to make their own decisions. A place that’s free of judgment and everyone can decide their own future, so long as it is done fairly. The weak and the poor will no longer break their backs for greedy men that would abuse them for a few coins.”

“I should be quite fortunate to witness it,” she gave you a bright smile and offered you her arm, which you hesitated to take at first. A part of you knew even the slightest bit of her touch would be addicting for you, which turned out to be correct. She guided you throughout the rest of the castle and you decided that you’d let her lead you anywhere.

You found it strange when only a fortnight had passed and surprisingly you felt as if you’d been friends with MargaeryTyrell much longer. Whether you were struggling to find the proper words to use or going off on one of your many animated tangents, the southern lady never judged nor criticized you. It quickly became evident that she was a master at socializing and had no problem carrying the conversation on her own when you internally fussed over what to say. However, she was also eager to listen when you finally let one of your passionate ramblings pour from your heart. Even subjects that were positively unladylike, which you had first assumed would be of no interest to your new companion, became effortlessly easy to talk about with her.

“Valyrian steel is objectively the best material to use if you ever needed an amputation. It cuts clean through skin, flesh, and bone, unlike more blunt blades which would be more likely to cause even greater injury. I’ve seen some medics have to practically saw their tools back and forth through limbs in order to get them to detach. It’s completely gruesome!”

“And Dark Sister, that was the one you used to pretend to have?” Margaery’s eyes shimmered like she was completely enthralled in your story. Never once did you think she’d call you a freak or too violent to be considered a lady.

You nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. It was Visenya’s during Aegon’s conquests. I’ve always wanted to be a warrior like her for as long as I can remember. Of course Viserys only ever saw me and Daenerys as pawns easy enough to use, as was his right he said, to help take back his throne.”

“What he did was cruel and how I wish you had been treated better. Had a better childhood surrounded by your loved ones and a proper place to call home. I’m sure we would have met sooner, perhaps here at court. Except then you’d be the one showing me around and rescuing me from becoming lost!”

There’s nothing you could do to stop the blush from filling your cheeks as you imagined this rewritten version of history and who you might have been had things been different. The past wasn’t something you liked to dwell on too often as you knew there was no point in trying to change things, but one other thing had become incredibly clear about your future. You couldn’t imagine it without Margaery in your life.

Daenerys was finally due to come back tomorrow and while you were certainly eager to see her and have her introduced to Margaery, many other mixed emotions came with the letter she had most recently sent you. She’d mentioned several losses over the series of battles that had taken place up north. You knew victory would never have been easily won, but feared finding out which friends’ faces had been permanently taken from your life. Thankfully, Margaery was there to listen to you express your anxieties.

“I have this horrible feeling that Jorah is dead. As complicated as his past was, I never doubted that he would lay down his own life to save me or my sister. He once promised me that he would never leave us and yet somehow, I know he’s gone and done just that.”

“I will be here for you every step of the way,” Margaery assured you, grabbing your hands and softly rubbing her thumbs upon the tops of them. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I may not know any of your friends but I will not leave you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you promise?” You squeezed her hands tighter, gazing up into her wide eyes and looking for any sign of uncertainty. There were so few people in this world that you’d let get to know the real you, and even fewer that had stayed and accepted it.

Her eyes softened, and in a way of almost sealing her promise she slowly lowered herself to her knees in front of you. You were a princess as your sister was the queen and people were regularly brought to bow before you just the same. Still, the way Margaery executed it without ever breaking eye contact made her particular act feel incredibly intimate, like she was pledging her loyalty not only to your blood or titles, but simply because it was you.

“I promise, my little dragon. Where you go, I go.” It was whenever she made statements like this that you almost believed she might have felt the same way as you did about her.

A snarky smile crept across your face. “Does that mean you’ll finally ride Viserion with me?” You’d recently been begging the woman you were infatuated with for a chance to impress her with the one experience you knew she would not have had. Or could find anywhere else.

She let out a nervous laugh. “You forget, my dear, that I am a rose and am meant to be firmly planted into the ground. And while I’m sure Viserion has no qualms with you riding him, he’s surely to be mistrustful of a stranger like me. There are no dragon riders in my family’s history, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe you’re a stranger to him as of now but we can remedy that! I am bonded to him more deeply than humans can be with normal animals, which means he should inherently trust you as much as I do. He’s going to love you, I know it. Margaery, you must know I would never put you into danger like that.”

There was a substantial amount of hesitance which began to fade from her eyes. You tried to show her what you believed was your most empathetic look and you watched as your words caused the last few threads of doubt to come undone.

“I trust you as well. But I shall have to ask for something small in return, if you’d agree to it.”

She could’ve asked you for the world and you knew you would give it to her. The two of you then struck a deal and made your way to dragon pit.

Viserion was already in protective mode as you approached him, making sure he had at least one eye on Margeary at all times. You started to speak to him in High Valyrian, explaining that you had brought a special friend and your comfort around her appeared to ease him. The golden rose tried to remain calm throughout the whole ordeal as well, though you sensed that she was dealing with a reasonable amount of nerves deep down. Her hand timidly reached out for yours, in a way that was surprisingly bashful for the normally confident woman, and you immediately accepted her touch.

Three circles around King’s Landing was all it took to change Margaery’s mind about flying. A perfectly blue and cloudless sky made for the perfect views. The few screams she attempted to stifle had turned into pure uninhibited laughter by the second lap, and you only landed shortly after to be certain you weren’t overworking Viserion so soon after his injury.

As much joy spending time with Margaery brought you, there was a voice from your past softly whispering in your ear, telling you not to get too attached. You were a dragon but you had been burned before. Dany was the only other person that truly knew how complicated your relationship with Doreah had been. Completely smitten with her from the start, it was easy enough for her to win over your innocent heart with a few stolen kisses and flirtatious words. She made you believe you were her favorite and even more special than your sister. It eventually drew a wedge between you and Danythat gave Doreah the opportunity to betray the both of you. Worst of all, you couldn’t prove it but you knew she had killed Irri too.

“Now do you see why I told you not to trust her?” Both your sister’s embrace and her words were firm as she had turned from the vault where Doreah and Xaro Xhoan Daxos were sealed inside. Your body was still shaking but Daenerys was determined for you to remember every detail of that exact moment. “As Targaryens, people will always envy our power and try not only to take it but to have us give it to them if they can.”

“I won’t ever let us feel like that again, sister, I swear it,” you had promised with the utmost sincerity.

You never let yourself fall for another again until you invited Margaery Targaryen to accompany you on Viserion and it made you feel alive again. The realization began to set in when your feet landed back on the ground, with a heaviness in both your heart and your knees suddenly overtaking you. Margaery naturally caught sight of the grimace on your face and asked if everything was alright. Honestly, you didn’t even know what the truth was.

“Margaery,” the gravity in your voice made even Viserion shift uncomfortably. You knew you had to be honest to receive honesty in return. “I will grant whatever favor you request of me as I am a woman and princess of my word. I only ask that you be sincere with me. Getting to know you recently has felt like a breath of fresh air, but I have been used and toyed with for my name and my power since I was born. You are a woman of noble birth with the duty of uplifting your family and house. I can respect that. It is also evident that you are more than capable of securing your own means of influence. You have been wed to three men that have called themselves ‘King’. It would be foolish of you not to try and befriend me, but I must know, what is it that you really want?”

Margaery sighed and momentarily averted her gaze from you. You’d never seen her that reserved before. Having her be the one too nervous to open up to you was a strange switch in the roles you’d mostly settled in over the past few weeks. It made you eager to demonstrate the lack of judgment you held on your part. You ached to be someone she could trust and every second of silence that passed had you sitting in bitter anticipation.

When she finally spoke, it was with a solemn sense of conviction. “I have wanted to be Queen for so long. You’re not wrong to assume it has completely consumed my life. These past few years have been especially driven by my obsession, which might have started as a seed planted by my family but became fully grown and sustained by my own ambition a long time ago.”

She paused after that, clearly unaccustomed to the position she had found herself in. There was also something else about her demeanor that you couldn’t clearly define. Shame, regret, possibly even indignation? You slowly leaned in closer, careful to make sure you weren’t overstepping, but wanting to show that you were there for her.

“I was always maintaining a specific persona, trying to play the role of a voice for the poor when I only cared about how the publicity could serve my own interests. I was not like you or your sister. Truthfully, I made very little effort to help anyone aside from myself and my family and never sacrificed more than a few comforts or dresses I dirtied. Even when I was officially the queen, all the power that came with the crown wasn’t enough to save my brother from the animosity and unfairness which runs so deeply in the establishments that uphold our society. Things that I didn’t spare a second thought for until they came to hurt the ones I love and it was too late to do anything.

“Margaery,” you shook your head and bravely reached for her hands. “None of what happened is your fault. You’re only one person and shouldn’t put the pressure to change history and customs by yourself. We’re all human.”

She squeezed your hands tightly, pulling you closer to her so that only a few inches separated your faces. Gods, being near her affected you like a powerful drug. She smelled of roses and fresh morning dew in the early spring as you expected from a lady of Highgarden. There was something in her presence that seemed to transport you there. And though you had never actually been, it strangely felt like home.

“Yes, you are human, dragon rider, and more,” she smiled and came to run the back of her fingers softly down your cheek. Your legs would have given out had you not been so determined to keep looking up into her enchanting eyes. “And yet when all odds were against you, you and your sister freed thousands and bettered the lives of countless others with nothing expected in return. That is true selflessness and deserves the right to rule, as I am certain you shall do fairly as these kingdoms desperately need. You will bring forth the future where people like me and Loras could have lived freely. A place I never even imagined until I met you.”

Nothing in her words or demeanor felt dishonest but something told you the request she had yet to make would reveal the ultimate truth. If she believed in you and your sister’s mission then would it be so outlandish to think she’d ask for your friendship above additional power? Your heart was beating frantically and you strained your voice to get out your next few words.

“Margaery, what is it that you want from me?” Despite knowing that she had the power to end you right then and there, you chose to cling onto hope and held onto her one hand and lean into the touch of the other which now rested on the opposite side of your face. Doreah had been gentle with you at times but not in a way quite like this. Her affections had always been calculated and she gave you just enough to leave you wanting more. Teasing and playing games with you where you were only awarded by granting her favors. Margaery held you like she never wanted to let you go, even if it burned her skin in the process.

“If you wouldn’t be opposed to it, I’d like to kiss you, little dragon.”

Your heart must’ve stopped and all you could do was nod. Then as soon as Margaery’s lips met your own it began to beat once more, complete with new life she breathed into you. Her kiss was soft at first, careful to ensure the continued contact was alright with you before you deepened it. She tasted of vanilla and sweets and you eagerly chased to explore into her mouth further with her tongue. Your enthusiasm must’ve surprised the other woman, though she gave off a pleased chuckle before shortly taking back the lead and her other hand found your waist.

“Kostilus,” you moaned as she pressed your bodies even closer together. Everything else you wanted to say you put into your movements. Margaery smiled once again and her chest vibrated when you went to wrap your arms around her neck and continued to interrupt your dance with brief pronunciations of Valyrian words. She didn’t need to speak the language to understand what you were pleading for, and it pleased her greatly in many ways.

The two of you instantly separated when Viserion let out a deep cry that vibrated the ground around you. He twisted his neck up towards the sky where a dark mass grew faster and faster in its descent. Drogon answered his brother’s call and you realized Dany must be home. You grabbed Margaery’s hand, the biggest grin painted across your face. Getting to kiss Margaery and reunite with your sister had you so giddy that it didn’t occur to you how Margaery had never met Drogonbefore, who was much larger and intimidating than your sweet Viserion.

But all you could think about was how relieved you were to see your sister and her dragon both safe and unharmed. You raced to Dany when she began to dismount and dragged Margaery along with you. You felt as if you could burst with joy in that very moment, although your sister’s face did not show the same excitement or relief as you would have expected. No, this wasn’t Dany excited to greet you after an easy victory. This was Queen Daenerys already fueled on anger and glaring daggers at the woman next to you.

To her credit, Margaery stood firmly next to you in the face of the Mother of Dragons and her fiercest son.

“Who is she?”

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