#edric speaks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darknight3904 · 7 months ago

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʟᴀᴅʏ ʀʜᴀᴇʟʟᴀ ʜᴀꜱ ᴍᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴅᴀᴇᴍᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ. ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɴᴅꜱ ʜᴇʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴅɪꜱᴀᴘᴘᴏɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʜɪᴍ. ɪɴꜱᴛᴇᴀᴅ, ꜱʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅꜱ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ.

126 AC

Edric smiles when he sees Rhaella has finally fallen asleep. She had been rather silent as he read a story before bed to her for the first time since she was seven. He remembered how she used to ask relentless questions about what would happen to the characters in the books, always eager to spoil the ending.

He tries to be as quiet as possible as he crosses to the door. He hopes a goodnight of sleep will help her, after all, it isn't every day a young lady's father introduces himself for the first time in front of half the major houses of Westeros.

"You're rather dedicated for just simply being a Maester."

Edric nearly jumps out of his shoes when he hears Prince Daemon's voice in the dark hall.

"She is the Lady of Runestone. It is my duty to serve her, just as I did her mother." Edric says

"Yes, Yes, I know. Honor, duty. Wonderful things." Daemon says finally stepping into the light

"May I ask what you are doing here, my Prince?"

He knows why Daemon is here, on the opposite end of the keep instead of back with his wife.

"I am here to see my daughter. We have things to discuss." Daemon says

"She is asleep. Perhaps your discussion might wait until the morrow. A night of rest is good for all." Edric says

He hopes Daemon will turn around and go crawling back to Pentos. What does he think he is doing? Coming back after all these years for Rhaella.

Daemon lets out a hum of amusement at the old Maester standing in his way. At first, he didn't recognize him but now, up close, he does. Edric had been the one to pull Rhaella into the world while his...lady wife Rhea had screamed.

"I will see her, she can sleep after our talk." He says, brushing past Edric and into her chamber, "You are dismissed, Maester Edric."

Surprisingly, the old man wasn't lying. Rhaella is indeed sleeping. Long silver hair is spread across her pillows and she's tucked securely under covers.

He decides to leave her alone for the moment and instead inspects the different things that litter her chamber. Books of every kind line her shelf and desk. A poorly drawn dragon sits atop a stack of parchments full of different doodles. He's surprised to see a practice sword along with what looks like a boy's outfit for sword fighting lying on a chair.

He can't help but feel the regret that seeps into his bones as he turns back to look at her. She is only a year older than Baela and he knows he's already missed so much. He wonders how much of fatherhood Edric has stolen from him. Was he there for Rhaella's first steps or perhaps that cunt Gerold was. Looking at her now he realizes he should've taken her with him after Rhea had died. Perhaps she'd be a dragon rider by now if he had.

He winces when the hilt of his sword bumps into a stack of books that are sitting on the edge of a table. They tumble to the ground and disrupt the trance he is under.

"Aemond?"

Rhaella's voice fills his ears for the first time. He's insulted but not surprised that she calls the name of Visery's boy. According to the numerous messages from his brother the two were companions.

He's not sure what to say when Rhaella rubs the sleep from her eyes and looks at him. He had been so confident at the feast but now his mouth is empty.

She stares at him, most likely expecting him to speak first. He probably should, he is the adult here after all.

"Get out."

Well, he wasn't expecting that.

Rhaella couldn't believe what was happening. When her eyes had cracked open and saw a head of silver shoulder-length hair she thought Aemond might've come for a late-night visit. She couldn't believe that Daemon was standing there, a stack of books at his feet and a curse on his lips. She tells him to leave and she gives him the look that Jacaerys gives his mother when she tells him he can't have any more sweets before dinner.

"You're training with a sword. Are you any good?" He asks, ignoring her command.

Why did he even bother asking? He had never shown interest in her before. She knew her uncle had sent letters to Pentos about her so why was he suddenly in front of her like he cared for her?

"I'm sure you are, it's in your blood after all." He smiles gesturing to the legendary Dark Sister who sits in the scabbard wrapped around his waist.

"Leave. I don't want to see you right now." She says, hoping he'll understand this time.

Daemon's mouth quirks up into what Rhaella can only describe as an arrogant smirk.

"Sleep well, daughter. I'll see you at breakfast."

The next day is a beautiful one. The sky looked as though it was painted blue and birds sang their sweet songs while a soft breeze flowed through the castle. Despite the inherent beauty of the day, Rhaella had been missing from breakfast. Aemond took note of it immediately when his Uncle Daemon was at his father's side and one of his cousins, perhaps it was Baela, he wasn't sure was in Rhaella's spot.

He finds her still in bed, her hair like a silver tuft of fuzz among the blues she had chosen for her blankets.

"You missed breakfast. There was bacon. Aegon scarfed your portion down before I could stop him." Aemond said, placing the plate of food he had in his hands onto her table.

There isn't an answer nor a "thank you for bringing me food, Aemond" from his friend.

"Do you plan to sleep the day away? I wanted to visit my horse in the stables with you today." Aemond said

He walked over to her and tugged the covers off her.

"You're not even asleep!" He scoffed

Aemond looked at Rhaella's face which she tried to hide behind an ugly-looking pillow she had attempted to embroider. He wasn't sure what he expected, initially he thought the cup of wine his father had given as a treat to her might've been to much for her, she was rather skinny. Puffy red eyes were not at all what he thought was going to be staring back at him this morning.

"What's wrong?" He asked sitting down at the foot of the bed

"Daemon is what's wrong." She shuddered

Of course, it was. He was an imbecile for thinking it might've been something else.

"He is no longer in the castle. He said something about going for a morning flight on his dragon." Aemond says, unsure if that will make her feel better. He's never been very good with feelings, choosing to ignore his own had worked rather well for the past nine years of his life.

"I do not care. I wish he'd fly back to Pentos and never come back." She said

"Perhaps he will. My mother said he's never been able to stay still. Apparently, he and my father always get in fights that end in Daemon's banishment." Aemond says

"I wish the banishment would come quicker." Rhaella sniffed

Aemond isn't quite sure what to do. He had wanted to run off to the stables to see the beautiful mare he was given. He was aware it was his father's attempt to make up for his lack of a dragon. Initially, he hadn't been interested, why should he have a horse instead of a dragon? But now he loved Rain and the way the wind would whip through his hair when she ran. Rhaella's sad face however had him rethinking his plans for the day. Rain would have to wait just a bit longer.

Rhaella suddenly sits up and looks him right in the eyes.

"He came here last night. Asked about my sword skills and knocked over a stack of books. He keeps calling me daughter like I have always been near him...he pretends like we are familiar when he is nothing but a folktale to me, an imaginary story Maester Edric tells before bedtime."

Aemond feels his hands begin to sweat when fresh tears make their way down her face. He hopes he is not overstepping some unspoken boundary when he wraps his arms around her in a warm embrace. To his surprise, she reciprocates and Aemond feels his shoulder dampen with hot tears.

"I wish he would just disappear." She whispers

Laena Velaryon watches quietly as the two children embrace. She had initially come to apologize to Rhaella for Daemon's behavior. She had told him not to visit her last night, yet he slipped away while she was bidding goodnight to her own daughters. Her hands rest on her baby bump as she hears Prince Aemond ask Rhaella to eat the food he has brought her.

When Daemon told her so many years ago he had a child with the late Lady Rhea, Laena had felt jealous. She had been young and only freshly married to Daemon when he had admitted it. But, as the years passed and she read letters from the Maester of Runestone and eventually the king himself, her mind was changed. Rhaella seemed simply wonderful and Visery's many stories about how she entertained Rhaenrya's children and his own were good things to her. She was surprised when Daemon had declared they were to attend the girl's name day feast. He had never wanted to discuss her until just a few days before the big day.

"I want to meet her."

That had been his only explanation for this hasty trip. Sometimes she swore she had no idea what was running through her husband's mind. It was not that she wished to deprive Rhaella of a father but she had pointed out to Daemon before they left Pentos that the girl might not want to see him. He had dismissed her worries and proclaimed that she would. How foolish he was.

"Lady Laena?" A voice calls out

"Oh!" She smiles at the handmaiden who is trying to enter the room, "I am in your way."

"It is alright, My Lady. Do you wish to speak to Lady Rhaella?" She asked "I can come back to dress her later."

"No, it is alright. I can see her later." Laena says backing into the hall

Aegon is not sure what to make of the scene in front of him. He had been searching for a spot to drink where his mother would not find him. The library had seemed perfect yet it was already occupied. Aemond and Rhaella sat far too close to each other while they whispered to each other over an open book.

"What are you two doing?" He asked

"Aegon." Aemond turns to greet his older brother

"We are trying to translate this book from high Valyrian. Rhaenrya said that is what she did when she was young, it helped her become more fluent." Rhaella explains

Aegon has never been fond of his little cousin. Maybe it was because she was boring and loved books the way Aemond did or perhaps it was just because her tits hadn't come in yet. Either way, she wasn't very interesting in his mind.

"What's the point in learning Valyrian if you don't even have a dragon to command it with?" Aegon asked lazily falling into a plush chair.

He doesn't miss the way Aemond's brows pinch together in...annoyance? Disappointment?

"We can still converse in High Valyrian! For your information, Aegon we will have dragons one day, they'll be even prettier than Sunfyre!" Rhaella declares

Aegon scoffs at her overconfidence.

"Do you plan on making one magically appear?"

"No...there are unclaimed dragons! And, if any of Dreamfyre's eggs hatch I am sure we will both be able to bond with them, right Aemond?"

His little brother nods and looks at Rhaella like some lovesick puppy.

"You are both nauseating." Aegon declares

Not entirely sure if I like this chapter. Oh well.

Aegon seems like the type to steal people's bacon.

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danytherelentless · 1 year ago

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They Will Suffice

Jon Snow x fem!reader

summary: a pleasurable moment during your pregnancy with your husband

warnings: smut, illusions to sex, fingering, sweet talk, a little bit dirty, pregnancy, slight pregnancy kink (if you squint really, really hard)

The wind is howling and furious outside, it rattles the shutters of the windows and whistles through the gaps it manages to slither through the walls creating a chill in the air in spite of the warm pipes within the walls of the castle.

You lie in bed with your husband, a quiet and comforting moment between two lovers. Basking in the afterglow of love-making leaning back into his strong arms as they wrap around your front and caress you belly.

His bare knuckle grazes where your child kicks. A budum rhythm over and over again.

"It appears we have awoken them," you muse, looking up to see him. His handsome face is wrought with concentration, dark brows furrowed close.

"He," he corrects you.

You huff a laugh, "he? So sure are we?"

"Yes. I dream of our son in your arms. Of him playing in the Godswood with Ghost," he presses a kiss to your brow.

"Every man wishes for a son. But dreams will not make our child grow a cock if they do not already possess one," you warn. You can't help but feel a little nervous at his surety of a son. What would happen if you birthed a daughter instead?

"I would not be disappointed with a little daughter, my love. I just know that this..." he strokes the underside of your belly where there is another thump, "is our son."

You hum in acknowledgment, a small smile curling at your mouth.

"And what shall our son's name be?"

"Edric," his response is instant.

Your eyes soften, "for your father?"

"Hm. Little Ned," he is smiling now, a small, beautiful and oh so rare thing. It makes your heart swell and tears well up in your eyes.

"When we have a daughter you shall name her," he tells you, as if it is a certainty.

"And what if we shall only have sons? Or only this one child?"

"Then you can name them too. You're the one doing all the hard work," he tells you.

"I suppose you are right. Though you certainly take care of me," you respond with a teasing grin.

"I do now, do I?" he teases right back, one hand going further down to your .

"Mhm. I find myself quite satiated in your presence."

"Careful, I might become unbearable with all this flattery," his teeth graze at the side of your face. You sigh as you sink further back into his arms.

"We can't have that now, can we?"

His hand slips between your thighs, your knees parting some more to allow him better access.

"I find myself not fully satiated tonight, however," you continue, a stir in your lower belly, an urge to squeeze your thighs tightly together.

"Oh. We can't have that now, can we?"

His fingers slide between your folds, already slick once more. He had already cleaned you up after your previous bouts of love-making quite nicely, though is appears it was for nought as you would soon be a mess again.

"I'm not sure I have such energy as you," he admitted as he slid a curled finger into you, thumb circling your nub. A moan broke past your lips as he moves much to slowly.

"Well... your fingers will have to suffice," you let out another broken moan as he gathers your wetness and slides in a second finger.

"Hmm, so wet. So warm," his lips are pressed against the side of your face, teeth grazing the flesh as he whispers his sweet praises into your ear.

His practiced movements speed up, your knees part wider. His cock is hardened somewhat against your back, though not nearly at full mast.

"I can't believe I have you, so perfect, so tight, right in my arms," he speaks, lips dragging across your jaw as you throw your head back against his shoulder.

His fingers curl further, rubbing along that soft spot inside of you which had your thighs twitching and your eyes rolling back as your nails dig into his flesh.

"Right there," you moan, breathless, "please."

"Please what? What do you want?"

"I want to cum. Please make me come," you let out a louder moan.

His movements speed up, "come for me, wife. Finish for me."

You reach your peak, your third that night, fingers curling into the flesh of his thighs, a high, broken keening sound passing your lips, eyes squeezed tightly shut and mouth forming an 'o'.

"So pretty," he strokes your thighs and swollen belly, "so perfect."

You don't hear what he says next as you are lulled into a peaceful slumber, howls of the wind distant to your ears as his warmth envelopes you whole and drags you down to the depths of rest.

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myladysapphire · 6 months ago

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The Dragon and the Wolf

Epilouge

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,212

CW: MDI, 18+, refrences to pregenacy, miscariges stillbirths and death, happy ending! lots of fluff (all the bad tags where small and lead to a very fluff, not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part |

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

authors note: this epilouge is largely based of cregan starks wiki page, thats why they have a hell of a lot of kids. find it here.

Cregan Stark had been many things, the lord of Winterfell, warden of the north, hand of the king. But most importantly he had been your husband. Married for 66 years before your death in 200 AC,

Your marriage with filled with tragedy and triumphs, but most importantly love.

A love that inspired songs, poems and stories.

Though you and he had your ups and downs, he stayed by your side during your worst and your best times.

And even after years of struggling, years of sadness and tears as your moons blood came, you and he ended with ten children to call your own.

First there had been Rickon, followed by Saera, Alys and Rhaeya, then Mariah, Jacearys, Edric, Lyanna, Lucerys and finally Brandon.

The birth of each of your children had filled your halls and your heart, the ache you had felt after the war had finally been filled, and you had felt whole once more.

You had found the happiness you had been chasing and felt contentment and happiness more and more each and every day.

Your love for each other continued to bloom and grow, love so deep that Cregan himself passed only moons after you, your son Jaceaerys, know as Jace ‘one eye’, becoming the lord of Winterfell after his death, though it was your youngest son Brandon that the stark line continued from.

Your legacy was one that would be remembered even a hundred years after your death, songs were still sung in your honour, halls and castle erected in your name, there was even a castle built in your honour on the wall, after your help in the victory against Sylas the grim.

But where your legacy blossomed still was within the walls of Winterfell, where your kin ruled to this day.

“we have Targaryen ancestry, or one ancestor to be precise” Ned Stark spoke to his children, as he walked them down the crypts of Winterfell.

He speak your name, bowing in respect as he approached your statue, your stood beside your husband Cregan Stark, your hands adjoined in a symbol of your love, a love that had become famous amongst the pages of history.

“she was the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Veleryon, the last rider of Silverwing and the last dragon rider in history. “

Sansa seemed giddy as she looked at her, her ancestor a Targaryen princess.

“did she fight in the dance of the dragons?” Jon asked, looking at his ancestors, noting the similarity in your features with his.

“aye, though she played the role of a diplomat more than a fighter, but she is too thank for several victories, even after the war she helped defend the north against wildings”

His children gasped in surprise, eagerly listening to their father recount the tales of you and your legacy.

“did any of her children have dragons?” Jon asked eagerly.

“aye, each child was given an egg, though only two hatched” he looked to the left towards were your children statues stood, “the ones belonging to Lord Jacearys and Lucerys, named after her brothers” he looked down to Jon, the most egar to here of his ancestors, “though it was said they died and grew no larger than cats“

A sound of disappointment left Jon at the news.

“is it true they were so in love that he died of a broken heart after her death?” Sansa asked.

Ned chuckled, “it was said he did, aye”

Sansa let out a small squealed, “imagine being so in love you can’t bare to live in a world without them” she gushed.

“aye, there love is famous” he said looking up at his ancestors.

“can any of you tell me about their children?

Robb raised his hand enthusiastically, “they had ten in total, though it was their second son Jaceaerys, named after her brother who died in the dance who succeeded Cregan…he then died with no children and was succeeded by Lucerys also named after one of her brothers whose death started the dance of dragons”

“very good Robb…but who succeeded Lucerys?”

“there youngest child, Brandon, who we are descended from” Arya spoke up, as she gazed at the sword at your hip. “was she trained with a sword?” she asked eagerly.

“most likely, she was a fighter, a warrior though most accounts was due to her fighting on the back of silver wing, it was said she killed several men who insulted her brother, King Aegon III and was known to have fought several who questioned her mother, Rhaenyra being a legitimate queen.”

Arya seemed very please with this response, as did Robb and Jon as they admired their 4x great grandmother.

At the feet of their statues laid 3 dragon eggs, long turned to stone, and though neither of them noticed at first, as Ned light the lights surrounding their statues, behind them sat the skull of Silverwing.

A reminder of house Targaryen, and their power even now years after they had been defeated and banished.

And though you had become a stark you were forever remembered in house Targaryen, with your named reused countless times, a holdfast in the red keep named after you, and gardens throughout Westeros grew a rose named after you.

But whilst you had grown a legacy and left an indent on the history of Westeros, you had not lived to do so.

Your life had been one you had ended up devoting to your family, to love and happiness, no care if your section of the history books was a long one or not.

The first five years of your marriage where the one filled with the most hurdles to cross, with fertility issues and you suffering from depression, it truly tested your marriage but the day your eldest Rickon was born, was the day your life truly became filled with Joy.

Your pregnancy had been spent bed bound to nervous to venture out of it for fear of another miscarriage.

Cregan had moved his office to your shared chambers, insisting on spending every moment you would allow with him. His days spent with you, his meals shared with you in bed, he only left when necessary and even then, he was racing back to be with you.

The birth had scared him, his mind remembering the last birth, how you had laboured for hours knowing full well the babe was already dead.

But this time the babe was perfect, a healthy boy you named Rickon after his father.

You watched him grow and as the years passed more children followed, each and every one of them filling your life with more and more love.

You and Cregan grew inseparable, your duties becoming one as you both ruled Winterfell together.

And after fifteen years of marriage, and the birth of you first five children, Rickon, Saera and Alys, Rhaeya and Mariah, your brothers came to Winterfell on their tour of Westeros.

Aegon and Viserys both married with children of their own were more than happy to see you again, years of letters making up for little of how much you missed your brothers.

“Aegon, Viserys” you greeted as you they rode into Winterfell with the pride and fancy house Targaryen always brought.

“sister” they greeted, coming straight towards you, their boyish looks still in full effect despite being adults in their own right, “I have missed you”

“no more than I have missed you” you replied before introducing your family and household to your brothers.

Your sons and daughters presenting themselves proudly, with your daughter Saera pointing out the similarities between herself and her cousin Daena, they could practically be twins. In both looks and nature.

They caused many a problem during their time in Winterfell, with many pranks and havocked caused as they spent their days freeing horses or practicing with Sareas crossbow, shooting apples above servants heads.

Your eldest Rickon spent most of his time with Daeron, many time spent in the courtyard, sparring or exploring the dragon nest Silverwing had left upon her most recent return from Winterfell.

You watched as your children created bonds with their cousins, bonds that would stick even after the tour. Letters exchanged and your sons Jacearys and Lucerys being sent to ward in Kings Landing.

And whilst they were here your sons Jacearys and Lucerys eggs hatched, small dragons, the first dragons born in near ten years.

Jace’s dragon, a soft shade of white shade, easily blending into the snow. He had named the dragon sōna, the Valyrian word for snow. And though the history books would mark him to be as big as a small housecat, he in truth grew to be the size of a dire wolf, and though not big enough to take a rider on his back, he was known to fly the walls of Winterfell before his death, after falling victim to a stray arrow during one of house starks monthly hunts.

Lukes’s dragon had been named icefyre, he had claimed it was who he was, a merge of ice a fire and so was his dragon. With silver scales and a blue flame, similar to the blue flame of your uncle Daeron’s dragon Tesserion. He too grew to the size of a dire wolf, before accompany Luke south to Kingslanding, ending up on Dragonstone where she was killed by the now wild dragon, Sunfyre.

And though when the tour ended, after being extended moons, with neither side wanting to part from the other, the sadness and regret you felt before when leaving your brothers was no longer, as you where more than happy with the family you had in Winterfell. No longer did you dream of the ghosts of your family, wishing them alive, but now you saw them reborn as each of your children.

In Rickon you saw Jace, he was noble and kind, the perfect future lord. And you saw even more of Jace in him as he died fighting alongside his cousin Daeron, after he had been named king and set to conquer Dorne. Dying before his time, a hero’s death.

In Saera, you saw your mother, Rhaenyra. A fierce and defiant girl, egar and pride. She was smart and quick and though as time passed and you began to forget the faces of those you lost, however you looked at Sarea, you saw your mother.

In Alys you saw Joffrey, shy and kind but egar to prove herself. Going out of her way to prove her loyalty and her devotion to house Stark.

In Rhaeya, you saw your grandmother, Rhaneys. Though she was named in honour of bother her mother and grandmother, her grandmothers laugh, and smile shined through in your girl. She was always riding, though a horse not a dragon, she was a warrior in her own right, fighting in the conquest of Dorne, though she eventually chooses to sheath her sword after she found love in the son of Benjicot Blackwood.

Then there was Mariah, sweet Mariah reminded you of Rhaena, though alive and well with six daughters of her own, she reminded you in every way of your sister. With a fierce heart, hidden behind a sweet temperament.

Jace, who had become Jace one eye at the age of six and ten after an arrow pierced his eye during the conquest of Dorne, he reminded you of you uncle Aemond, before the cruelty took over him. He was determined and fierce, though hidden behind a shy demeaner.

Edric, was the very image of Daemon. Though Stark in looks he was the rouge of her stepfather, careless and wanton, so much so he died before all of his siblings after fighting and loosing a duel against the man who would later marry his sister Lyanna, Lynol Tyrell.

Lyanna, Was you. You looked at her and saw yourself, a girl born out of love, a girl desiring love more than anything in the world. A girl who would fight for what she believed in, no matter the cost.

Lucerys, of cause reminded you of Luke in every way he was your sweet younger brother. In looks and nature he was Luke reborn.

The Brandon, your youngest child, a big age gap, born near ten years after Luke. He seemed to be the image of your husband, fierce and wise, a good lord. Though often driven my lust.

Your legacy was fierce, your blood spread through Westeros as you were remembered in the page of history books for all to read.

“the dance of the dragons” Daenerys read, as she was gifted a book of the history of her family.

“not just the dance, Princess” spoke Ilyrio Mopatis. “this book tells the story of your Ancestor” he spoke your name, and printed out the portrait of you that covered the first page inside.

“A whole book dedicated to one ancestor?” Viserys scoffed, “what was she a conqueror?”

“in some ways” Ilyrio started, “she was a key player in the dance, without her diplomacy the war could have been much longer than it had been”

“Really?” Viserys asked sceptically.

“indeed, read for yourself My prince”

And so they read your tale, and you where once more brough back to life.

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@arminsstuff @now-i-have-a-new-obsession @eddieslut69 @materialgirl01 @bugmanor @annabellekenobi2005 @whos-too-b @mandowhatnow @aegonswife @littlebirdgot @delaynew @now-i-have-a-new-obsession @dorkysupernova @hawkins_2000 @materialgirl01 @beebeechaos @rosedurin @rebeccawinters @berightback1409 @barnes70stark @perla434 @nessjo @helo1281917 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @random-human02 @f1wh0recom @Aaliyah @spacexdrago @12thatsanumber @arieltwvdtohamflash @klutzylaena @sithapprentice @callsignwindow @alexxavicry

to be added to taglist for my other works

#house of the dragon #hotd #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfiction #cregan x you #house stark

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starogeorgina · 8 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

Paring: Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence

1.03

Hearing a soft knock on your door, you sit up slightly dazed. It takes you a minute to focus on the handmaid now standing at the foot of your bed. Her gaze was firmly locked on the direwolf snarling at her. You stroked behind Storm's ears, calming him. Many at court criticized and judged you for allowing your daughter and her wolf to sleep in your chambers, but you ignored their comments and allowed it. Since the handmaid in front of you served the high towers, you presumed she would have been aware of this.

“Is something wrong?”

“Forgive me for waking you, princess, but Ser Gwayne has asked for you to join him in his chambers immediately.”

Her words left a sour taste in your mouth. After consummating the marriage, the maesters had worked out the days you were most fertile, and those were the only nights deemed necessary for you to perform your duty. In the three moons you’d been married, Ser Gwayne had never been cruel towards you; he just wasn’t interested in speaking with you unless necessary.

“What knight is stationed outside my quarters?”

“Ser Thomson.”

“I haven’t heard of a knight with his name before.”

“I believe he only joined the king's guard yesterday, princess.”

Quietly, you get out of bed and consider your different options. Meera was in a deep sleep and would be unaware of your absence. You could refuse to go, but would it be worth giving Alicent and Otto more ammunition to tarnish your name with? The hour was late, and you will most likely be gone until the sunrise. You had only just excused your sworn shield for the night, but you didn’t like the idea of leaving your daughter in your chambers with a knight you did not know guarding her.

“Thank you. Ser Thomas can retire for the night, and Ser Criston can resume.”

She clears her throat. “And Ser Gwayne?”

“My husband can wait. I won’t be leaving until my sworn shield is here.”

She nods and goes to pass the message of the changing of the knights on. Walking to the opposite side of your room, you slide the nightdress off and replace it with a simple red-fitted dress. It might have been nighttime, but you wouldn’t be caught wondering why the castle was half-dressed. Once you finish changing, rebrand your hair.

Little time passed before the knights changed over. When you open the door to leave, you’re surprised to see how panicked Ser Criston is. He starts checking you over for any injuries. “Princess, has something happened?”

You step out of the room and close the door behind you. “No, nothing. Forgive me for asking you to come at this hour. I’ve been asked to join my husband, and I didn’t feel comfortable leaving Meera.“

“You don’t need to explain,” he says softly. “The handmaid who came to my door didn’t explain why you called for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

The knight straightens his posture and says, “I’m sworn to protect the king and his family, which includes his granddaughter.”

“Thank you. Nobody aside from yourself, Raya, or my sister is to enter my apartment.”

—

A strange feeling lurks within the castle halls, causing you to feel on edge. Edric had taken you to the crypts of Winterfell many times, and never once did you feel afraid, but the Red Keep at night felt more haunted than the ghosts of the north ever did.

The hall your husband's bedchamber was in was absent of any knights, which confused you. Aside from being married to a princess, he was the queen's brother and son at the hands of the king.

You knock twice, but when you don’t get an answer, you push the doors open and enter. A large sigil of House Hightower hangs on the stone wall; it truly was an eyesore. You’d make sure any future children you have bedchambers have the same amount of Targaryen symbols.

Hearing a clattering noise, you spin fast. “Ser Gwayne?”

You abruptly come to a halt when you turn the corner, your gaze reaching his bed. Your husband wasn’t alone in his bed; a long-haired brunette woman had her leg hooked around his. She was laughing as Gwayne fondled her breasts. A naked redhead was bending over and picking up a knocked-over jug of wine.

“Gwayne,” your voice was too soft for him to hear. “Gwayne!”

He lurches upright in the bed; the look on his face would have been amusing in any other circumstance. Your husband was staring at you as if you’d grown a second head.

“What are you doing here?”

The two women quickly start to redress, judging from their clothes, or lack thereof, if you assumed they worked in a brothel. They run by you with their heads lowered, but before they reach the doorway, you snap, “Do not return to the red keep, ever.”

Gwayne stares at you, speechless. A valyrian steel sword would have sliced just as deep as the humiliation you’ve just suffered. Swallowing back any emotion aside from rage, you shake your head and turn to leave.

“Wait!”

“I’ll deal with you in the morning, husband.”

—

Anger bore through Ser Criston as he marched towards the High Tower's quarters. No doubt he would get an earful from Harrold Westerling, lord commander of the king's guard, for disobeying a direct order from the king's family to retire until tomorrow, but seeing how upset the princess he was sworn to protect was, he couldn’t simply leave things be.

Criston was confused when the princess returned and quickly dismissed him. Her eyes were full of tears, but she insisted everything was fine, so he did as he was asked.

There was always a warm bowl of oatmeal or stew available to members of the king's guard, day or night, in the armory. The sky was still dark outside, and there were only a few of her off-duty guards eating before retiring for the night. While deciding on which meal would keep him feeling full for longer, Criston overheard two handmaidens who were clearing dirty dishes, disguising the king’s second-eldest daughter, and how humiliated she must be by her husband inviting two whores to join them in the bed chambers. Criston knew something had happened to upset the princess, and the guilt for not pressing her for further information left him feeling guilty.

The princess was still grieving her late husband and life in the north. He wouldn’t allow a spoiled child like the son of Otto Hightower to add to her upset.

Gwayne answers the door and allows the knight to enter, but before he can ask why the other man was there, the wind is knocked out of him when Criston slams him into the wall.

“Wh-what did my wife tell you?”

“The princess told me nothing, but I’ve heard the gossip that is spreading fast.” Criston keeps Gwayne pinned by wrapping a hand around his neck. “I wonder what the king will do when he hears how you brought disgrace to his daughter.”

“I didn’t know she was coming.”

Criston loosens his grip slightly. His grip wasn’t tight enough to leave any bruises, but tight enough for Gwayne to squirm. “A handmaid woke up the princess and passed on the message for her to join you. I spoke with the girl myself.”

Gwayne frowns. “I did no such thing. I would much rather have enjoyed the company I was in in that bed with the princess.”

Reaching for the leather strap around his waist, Criston pulls a small dagger out and places it underneath Gwayne’s chin. “To insult the honor of a princess is an act of treason,” he warns. “You may live in brothels if you wish, but the next time you humiliate the princess by bringing whores into the keep, it will be the last thing that you do.”

#house of the dragon #ser criston cole x you #criston cole fanfic #ser criston cole x reader #the blood between us #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #ser criston cole fanfic #the blood between us 1.03 #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #Criston Cole #house of the dragon x reader

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novaursa · 9 days ago

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Caught by Fire (the fallen)

- Summary: A story where Daemon's daughter falls from the sky. And by some strange events orchestrated by fate, Otto catches you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Otto Hightower

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the absence

- Next part: the sinful

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

The air in the small council chamber was heavy with unspoken anxiety. The assembled lords took their seats, the hush of anticipation broken only by the shuffling of parchment and the occasional scrape of a chair against the floor.

At the head of the table, King Viserys I sat with his fingers pressed against his temples, his expression one of visible irritation. It had been two weeks since your return to King’s Landing, and yet the matter of your betrothal remained unresolved.

Otto Hightower sat at his usual place beside the king, his hands resting lightly on the table. His face betrayed nothing, but internally, he braced himself for the inevitable.

Lord Jasper Wylde, ever the opportunist, was the first to speak, his voice smooth but laced with amusement. “Your Grace, it has been two moons since the princess embarked on her tour, and yet we remain at an impasse. Surely she must have some inclination.”

Viserys let out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in his chair. “One would think,” he muttered. “Yet every time I ask her, she gives me the same answer: she has not yet decided between Lord Corwyn Velaryon and Lord Edric Baratheon.”

Tyland Lannister chuckled lightly, though there was no true mirth in it. “Ah, the knight and the storm.” He smirked. “Both fine choices, if one values battle prowess and salt in equal measure.”

Lord Lyonel Strong, ever the voice of reason, leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “It is not uncommon for a lady to take time in such matters, Your Grace. These are not small choices. The princess understands the weight of her decision.”

Viserys groaned, rubbing his forehead. “I understand that. I do. But this is not just about her choice—this is about the realm. The lords are growing restless, whispering about favoritism, about delays. We must put an end to this uncertainty.”

Otto remained silent, his fingers curling slightly against the wood of the table. He had heard the whispers, too. Lords grew impatient, alliances were questioned, and rivalries simmered beneath the surface. And yet, he also knew that your hesitation was not due to carelessness but rather a refusal to be coerced into something you were not yet ready to accept.

Jasper Wylde leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps the princess enjoys watching them squirm.”

Viserys shot him an irritated glare. “She’s not playing a game, Lord Wylde.”

Otto cleared his throat, speaking for the first time. “It is possible that she does not see either match as wholly suitable.”

Viserys sighed, shaking his head. “Then she must say so. If neither pleases her, we must look elsewhere. I will not have her dragging this out indefinitely.”

Tyland Lannister folded his hands together. “Perhaps a… nudge would be in order, Your Grace.”

Viserys arched an eyebrow. “A nudge?”

Tyland shrugged. “A firm reminder of the importance of duty. Her cousin, the princess Rhaenyra, eventually made her choice for the good of the realm. Perhaps the princess needs to be reminded that her decision must serve more than just herself.”

Viserys sighed, rubbing his temples. “I have already tried to explain this to her. She is not deaf to duty—she simply refuses to rush.”

Jasper Wylde chuckled. “Perhaps what she truly desires has yet to present itself.”

Otto stiffened almost imperceptibly at those words, but his face remained composed.

Viserys waved a hand dismissively. “Enough speculation. If she refuses to decide between the two, then we must look at other options. I will speak to her again before the next court session.”

Otto inclined his head. “A wise course, Your Grace.”

Viserys exhaled heavily, shifting in his seat. “Very well. If there is nothing else—”

Jasper Wylde smirked, glancing toward Otto. “No… nothing else of importance.”

Otto shot him a warning look, but the man only grinned wider.

The meeting concluded shortly after, the lords dispersing into the halls of the Red Keep. Otto remained seated for a moment longer, staring down at the untouched parchment before him.

Two weeks.

Still no decision.

And yet, even amidst the king’s frustration, Otto could not help but feel an uneasy flicker of something dangerous and unspoken.

A hope he did not dare acknowledge.

The Red Keep was unusually quiet in the late afternoon, the usual hum of courtly life dulled by the golden light slanting through the arched windows. The heat of the day had begun to wane, leaving behind a soft breeze that whispered through the stone corridors.

Otto Hightower had not intended to seek you out. He had told himself that a man of his station, a man of reason, should not be so easily swayed by matters of the heart. And yet, as his feet carried him through the corridors, as his fingers brushed against the edges of his sleeves in some feigned attempt at composure, he knew there was no more use in denying it.

You had consumed his thoughts.

And so when he saw you—alone, standing upon one of the quieter balconies that overlooked the Blackwater—he did not turn away.

You were dressed simply, as befitted the waning hours of the day, your hair unbound and shifting lightly in the breeze. The weight of the past two moons still clung to you, evident in the slight tension in your shoulders, in the way you exhaled as though trying to dispel something unseen.

Otto hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward.

“Princess.”

You turned at the sound of his voice, surprise flickering across your face before settling into something softer.

“Lord Hightower,” you greeted, your tone even. “I did not expect to find you here.”

Otto’s lips pressed together for a brief moment before he inclined his head. “Nor did I.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “And yet here you are.”

Otto let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening behind his back. “It seems we are both given to wandering.”

A small, knowing smile touched your lips. “Or perhaps we are merely trying to escape the endless demands of court.”

He exhaled through his nose, a quiet laugh that barely escaped his lips. “That is a far more reasonable explanation.”

You turned back toward the view, your fingers brushing absentmindedly against the stone railing. “I imagine you’ve come to speak of my indecision.”

Otto hesitated before stepping beside you, his hands bracing against the railing as he cast his gaze toward the horizon. “It is what the court whispers of, yes.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “They call it indecision, but in truth, I have already decided.”

Otto turned his head slightly, watching you. “Have you?”

You glanced at him, something unguarded in your eyes. “Yes. I do not wish for either of them.”

There. The words were spoken plainly at last. The admission sent something sharp and hot coursing through Otto’s chest—something dangerously close to relief.

“And yet you have told no one,” he said carefully.

Your fingers curled slightly against the stone. “Because to admit that I do not wish to be bound by expectation is to invite the king’s frustration.”

Otto studied you in the fading light, his pulse betraying him as his gaze lingered on the curve of your lips, the way the wind caught the loose strands of your hair. He had spent so long denying what was already written into his bones, but here, in this stolen moment, with you beside him, reason faltered.

“You are not like them,” he said quietly, his voice softer than he intended.

You turned toward him fully now, curiosity flickering across your face. “No, I am not.”

Otto exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “And that is why they fear you.”

You watched him for a long moment before stepping closer, tilting your head slightly. “Do you?”

Otto swallowed, his heart beating a fraction too fast. “Fear you?”

You nodded, eyes searching his face. “Yes.”

There were a thousand ways he could have answered. A thousand words he could have spoken to steer himself back to safer waters. But when you stood so close, when the air between you was charged with something neither of you had dared to name, he found that deception no longer served him.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice rough. “But not in the way you think.”

Your gaze flickered to his lips, and something inside him snapped.

He reached for you before he could think better of it, one hand cradling the side of your face, his fingers threading into the loose strands of your hair. You inhaled sharply but did not pull away—if anything, you leaned into his touch, your own fingers curling against the front of his tunic.

“Otto,” you whispered, and the way you said his name was his undoing.

He closed the space between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was at once desperate and restrained. It was the kind of kiss born from long-held restraint finally breaking, from stolen glances and words left unsaid.

You melted into him, your hands fisting in his tunic as his other hand found the curve of your waist, pulling you against him. The kiss deepened, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if to memorize every inch of you.

It was intoxicating. It was madness.

And yet neither of you pulled away.

When you finally parted, your breaths mingling in the cool evening air, Otto did not step back. His forehead rested against yours, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

“This is…” He swallowed, shaking his head slightly, voice barely above a whisper. “This is dangerous.”

You smiled, breathless. “Then why did you let it happen?”

Otto exhaled, his thumb brushing against your cheek one last time before he forced himself to step back, to put distance between you. “Because for once in my life, I did not want to listen to reason.”

You watched him carefully, your own breath unsteady. “Then tell me, my lord—will you listen to it now?”

Otto was silent for a long moment before his gaze darkened, his voice steady despite the fire still burning in his chest.

“No.”

And then he turned and walked away, before he could ruin you both completely.

The heavy wooden door of Otto Hightower’s chambers shut behind him with a dull thud, the finality of the sound echoing in his mind like the toll of a bell. He stood motionless for a moment, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, his breath measured yet uneven.

He had lost control.

The weight of what had just transpired on that balcony pressed against his chest like a vice. It had been reckless, foolish beyond reason. He was a man who prided himself on restraint, on measured calculations that ensured stability and order. And yet, with a single moment of weakness, he had thrown caution to the wind and kissed you as if the world itself did not matter.

Otto exhaled sharply, his pulse still betraying him as he moved toward the washbasin, splashing cool water onto his face. His reflection in the polished mirror above it looked no different—still the same man, still the Hand of the King—but beneath the surface, everything had shifted.

Seven hells.

He braced his hands against the basin, inhaling deeply, forcing his mind back into order. He would not let this affect him. He could not.

And then—

The door swung open without warning.

Otto’s fingers twitched toward the dagger at his belt before he registered the intruder’s identity.

Lord Jasper Wylde stood in the doorway, his ever-present smirk widening as he took in the scene before him—the slightly disheveled Hand, the beads of water still clinging to his beard, the tension that hung so thick in the air one could slice it with a blade.

“Well,” Jasper drawled, stepping inside as if he owned the place, “I must say, Otto, I have never seen you so… discomposed.”

Otto inhaled sharply through his nose, his patience already worn thin. “Wylde.”

Jasper closed the door behind him, his smirk only deepening. “You know, I was wandering the halls, minding my own business, when I happened upon a most curious sight.”

Otto clenched his jaw. “Jasper, leave.”

Jasper ignored him, strolling leisurely toward the hearth, as if this were his own chambers and not Otto’s. “Princess Y/N looked quite radiant tonight, didn’t she?”

Otto turned away, willing himself to ignore him.

“And you, my dear lord Hand,” Jasper continued, his tone dripping with amusement, “look as if you’ve just committed an act of treason.”

Otto stiffened.

Jasper chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, Otto, Otto, Otto… you really are terrible at hiding things when you’re shaken.”

Otto exhaled slowly, turning to face him with a cold, measured glare. “If you value your position, Wylde, you will tread carefully.”

Jasper’s smirk never wavered. “Come now, do you really take me for a fool? I don’t need to hear the court whispers to know what transpired tonight.” He tilted his head. “I saw the way you left the balcony. You looked like a man who had either committed a sin or was desperate to commit another.”

Otto’s fingers twitched.

Jasper’s grin widened. “And then, of course, there was the princess.”

At that, Otto’s breath hitched ever so slightly.

Jasper’s gaze sharpened, and for the first time, his voice lost some of its playfulness. “She was smiling, Otto.”

Otto’s expression hardened. “That is not your concern.”

Jasper let out a short, knowing laugh. “Oh, but it is.” He leaned against the back of a chair, watching Otto like a predator watching wounded prey. “Because if I can see it—then others will see it soon enough.”

Otto turned away, pacing toward the window, his mind racing. This was dangerous. This was beyond dangerous. If Jasper had seen it, who else would? How long before the court began to whisper, before Viserys caught wind of it?

“I have nothing to say to you, Wylde,” Otto finally muttered, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

Jasper tutted. “A shame. I had so hoped you’d confide in me. After all, who else can you possibly talk to about this?”

Otto’s grip tightened behind his back.

Jasper’s smirk faded slightly, and when he spoke again, there was something almost genuine beneath the mirth. “Tell me, Otto… what exactly do you intend to do now?”

Otto’s breath was slow, measured, controlled. When he turned back, his expression was unreadable, his voice steady.

“I intend,” he said carefully, “to ensure the realm’s stability, as I always have.”

Jasper studied him for a long moment before shaking his head. “Ah. There it is.”

Otto frowned. “There what is?”

Jasper smirked, though this time there was a glint of something sharper beneath it. “That self-righteous lie you tell yourself to sleep at night.”

Otto’s gaze darkened.

Jasper exhaled, stretching slightly before stepping toward the door. “Very well, my lord Hand. I shall leave you to your stability.” He paused at the threshold, glancing back one last time.

“But do be careful, Otto,” he murmured, and this time, there was no amusement in his tone—only quiet knowing. “It’s a dangerous thing, falling for a dragon.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Otto standing alone in the dim candlelight, his pulse still betraying him, his mind an unrelenting storm.

Jasper Wylde was a fool.

But he was not wrong.

The dining chamber was quiet, save for the occasional clink of silverware against fine porcelain. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, but even its warmth did little to dispel the tension that had settled between Otto Hightower and his daughter.

Alicent sipped from her goblet, watching her father over the rim of her cup with the sharp, assessing gaze that she had inherited from him. He had barely touched his meal, his movements slow and deliberate, his usual keen expression dulled by something far heavier than mere exhaustion.

For a man who had built his life upon control and discipline, Otto Hightower was decidedly not himself.

“You are troubled,” Alicent finally said, setting her goblet down with careful precision.

Otto did not immediately respond. Instead, he cut a small piece of bread from the loaf beside him, though he did not eat it. His fingers tapped absently against the table, his gaze distant, lost in thought.

“I am not troubled,” he said at last, though the weight in his voice betrayed him.

Alicent tilted her head slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You have not eaten, nor have you spoken much. If you are not troubled, then you are certainly preoccupied.”

Otto sighed, setting his knife down beside his untouched plate. “The affairs of the realm do not often allow for restful nights, my dear.”

Alicent narrowed her eyes slightly. “This is not about the realm.”

Otto’s fingers twitched, but otherwise, he remained still. “Everything is about the realm, Alicent.”

She exhaled slowly, folding her hands in her lap. “Is this about the princess?”

At that, Otto finally looked at her, his green eyes sharp, though not unkind. “Why would you ask that?”

Alicent arched a brow, unimpressed by his attempt at evasion. “Because you are a man who thrives on certainty, on order. And yet, ever since she returned, I have seen you become… unsettled.”

Otto inhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a firm line. “Your imagination runs too freely.”

Alicent smirked faintly. “No. My mind is simply sharper than you give it credit for.”

Otto regarded her for a long moment before exhaling heavily. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers coming together in contemplation. “She has not chosen.”

Alicent nodded. “No, she has not.”

“And that uncertainty has made the court restless.”

Alicent hummed, tilting her head slightly. “The court or you?”

Otto’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, and Alicent caught it—the brief flicker of something he wished to hide.

She sighed, setting her goblet down before leaning forward slightly. “Father… do you truly believe the princess delays her choice because she enjoys toying with the lords of the realm?”

Otto frowned slightly. “She is weighing her options.”

Alicent shook her head. “No, Father. She has decided. She simply does not wish to speak the answer aloud.”

Otto stilled.

Alicent studied him, her voice lowering slightly. “And I think you already know why.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Otto’s fingers curled into his palm beneath the table, hidden from view, his breath slower now, heavier.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Alicent. This is dangerous.”

Alicent exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. “You say that as if you do not already know that it is too late.”

Otto’s lips parted slightly as if to protest, but no words came.

Alicent leaned forward slightly. “She looks for you, Father.”

Otto blinked, his breath catching ever so slightly. “What?”

Alicent gave him a knowing look. “At court. At feasts. In the halls. When she walks into a room, she searches for you before she sees anyone else.”

Otto’s grip on his goblet tightened. “You should not say such things.”

Alicent’s smirk was soft, but her gaze was sharp. “You are the one who should not deny such things.”

Otto leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “The king would never allow it.”

Alicent nodded, but there was something almost smug in her expression. “Perhaps. But the question you should be asking is whether she would allow it.”

Otto looked at her sharply. “Alicent.”

But she merely leaned back, sipping her wine with an air of quiet satisfaction.

“I think you should ask yourself something, Father.” She set her goblet down, tilting her head as she regarded him. “What is more dangerous? Admitting the truth? Or pretending you can still control it?”

Otto said nothing.

And for the first time in a long, long time—he did not have an answer.

The Red Keep was draped in twilight, the last rays of sunlight bleeding into deep shades of crimson and violet as the city below slowly came to rest. The air was warm with the remnants of the day’s heat, though the corridors of the castle remained cool, the thick stone walls swallowing the warmth like a beast devouring its prey.

Otto Hightower knew he should not have sought you out. He had spent the past days reinforcing his own discipline, reminding himself of his duty, his station, the boundaries that must exist between you. But restraint had never felt so fragile—not when you looked at him the way you did, not when the weight of unspoken things sat so heavily between you.

And so when he found you alone in the dimly lit library, standing by the open balcony doors with a book idly resting in your hands, he had not turned away.

Neither had you.

"Lord Hightower," you murmured, setting the book aside, watching as he stepped deeper into the chamber. The flickering candlelight illuminated the stern planes of his face, his beard still neat despite the tension that lingered in his jaw.

"Princess," he replied, his voice quieter than he intended.

You tilted your head slightly, the corner of your lips curving just enough to betray the amusement beneath. "You always seem to find me when I am alone."

Otto exhaled, his hands clasping tightly behind his back. "Perhaps I should take that as a warning to be more careful."

"Or," you countered, stepping closer, your voice softer now, "perhaps you should stop trying to resist what we both know to be inevitable."

Otto inhaled sharply. "You do not know what you say."

You smiled faintly, reaching out to brush your fingers against the edge of his sleeve. "Do I not?"

His resolve cracked like glass under pressure. In one swift motion, he caught your wrist, his fingers wrapping around your skin as if to stop you—but neither of you pulled away. The air between you crackled, thick with tension, with something dangerous and intoxicating all at once.

"You tempt fate," Otto said, his voice low, almost hoarse.

"And you," you murmured, stepping even closer, your breath warm against his cheek, "tempt yourself."

His self-control snapped.

Otto crushed his lips against yours, his grip tightening just enough to pull you flush against him. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as you returned the kiss with just as much fervor, just as much desperation.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was not a careful one. It was filled with weeks—moons—of restraint unraveling all at once, of unspoken words given voice in the way your lips moved against each other.

Otto’s hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing yours against the cool stone wall beside the balcony. His other hand slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as if afraid you might disappear.

But just as your fingers slid into his hair, just as your breaths mingled in the quiet hush of the library—

The door swung open.

"Cousin?"

The sound of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s voice sent a bolt of ice through Otto’s veins.

You pulled back instantly, though Otto saw the brief flicker of frustration in your gaze before you schooled your expression into something composed. He took a single step back, turning just in time to see Rhaenyra standing in the doorway, her brows lifting in slow realization.

There was silence.

Rhaenyra’s violet eyes flicked between the two of you, lingering for a fraction too long on the way Otto’s hand was still resting on your waist before he quickly let go.

Otto straightened, clearing his throat as he clasped his hands behind his back, forcing his face into the impassive mask of the Hand of the King. "Princess Rhaenyra," he greeted stiffly.

Rhaenyra smirked.

It was not the reaction Otto had anticipated.

"I thought you might be here," she said to you, her tone light, amused even. "But I did not expect to find you with such… distinguished company."

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders before stepping forward as if nothing had transpired at all. "What do you need, Rhaenyra?"

Rhaenyra tilted her head, clearly enjoying herself far too much. "Oh, nothing of importance. But now that I am here, I must ask…" Her smirk widened as she glanced at Otto. "Are you keeping our dear Lord Hand very busy?"

Otto’s jaw tightened, but he refused to rise to the bait.

You only smiled. "Why? Are you in need of his wisdom, cousin?"

Rhaenyra chuckled, shaking her head. "No, I think he has given enough guidance for one evening."

Otto exhaled slowly through his nose. "If my presence is no longer required, I shall take my leave."

Rhaenyra stepped aside, waving him forward as if he were nothing more than a guest being dismissed from a feast. "Oh, please do not let me interrupt."

Otto walked past her without so much as a glance, his mind already reeling, his pulse still betraying him. But as he stepped into the corridor, he heard Rhaenyra’s voice drift after him, soft but laced with amusement.

"I do wonder what my father would think of this."

Otto did not look back.

He did not dare look back.

#house of the dragon #hotd #fire and blood #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #house targaryen #house hightower #caught by fire #hotd otto #otto hightower #otto x reader #otto x you #otto x y/n

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edric-orion · 1 month ago

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Jesus christ

In the comments on a post calling out the fuckwads celebrating the death of aubrey plaza's husband, a discussion started about men's mental health and my god. one of the guys is adamantly saying that he and other men are toxic and evil inherently, and I'm just... dude that cannot be good for your mental health

#edric speaks

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edricwrites · 2 months ago

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okay my mom's gone until tomorrow evening or so

do i work on rp doc stuff or do i play bg3

#edric speaks #decisions decisions

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sepublic · 3 months ago

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I also want to add to the Blight family dynamic with how Edric is apparently the least-favorite? In addition to him being the screw-up of the family, as seen with his storyline in Reaching Out. There's Dana half-joking that he's Odalia's least favorite child. Which suggests that Odalia doesn't entire see the twins as a unit, or does so in-part to find something to do with Edric.

I know Odalia brings up the twins as being perfect to Amity, but that's the thing; We only see her bring up the twins as a way to belittle Amity. But given Amity's first two appearances are about her being pitted against a peer by an adult she yearns for the approval of, I wouldn't be surprised if the twins had to hear the reverse, and neither party has it so good after all. It's all just a way to get them to compete so they do better.

This is personal HC/interpretation fueled by authorial headcanon, but between Amity as the Abomination engineer and covenscout that Odalia failed to be, possibly her way of ingratiating Blight Industries with the Emperor's Coven before it happened on its own... And Emira as the designated caretaker, the eldest matriarch who knows how to grab attention as an illusionist;

It feels as if Edric occupies this weird space where he's not really either parent and doesn't fill in a role Odalia can predict so she's like hmm. What to do with you! And she settles for continuing to lump him in with Emira because she loves the Twins aesthetic but otherwise can't be bothered to acknowledge both as individuals, plus Ed can back up Emira's showman purpose. So it's Edric just being dragged around by Emira, yet ironically Emira also feels like it's the other way around with herself and her siblings due to her parentified role. It's very much both when you're stuck together.

Edric does develop a thing for Potions but that's mixed magic, but on the other hand Odalia would totally make exceptions to expand into a new market, and the Potions industry could easily be a kindred spirit to her anyhow. Maybe he partly got into Potions as a way to earn his own function within the family; Dana once considered a storyline where Edric vied for Odalia’s approval against a fake Abomination child she preferred to rely on to win a competition over her own son! So the effort for her attention is characterization Dana might have in mind. But then Edric liked Potions for its own sake (as I HC with Emira initially doing Healing because of her parentified role), plus Beastkeeping is very much for himself.

And I've noticed that out of the three Blight kids, Edric is the only one not to interact with their father in the epilogue; He's next to him at Luz's Quincenera but he's also next to Emira. There's Doylist factors like paying off Eda and Edric's dynamic by having him at the university, and not having the space to have Edric reunite with Alador during that whole sequence. Because him and Amity both work away from him, yet Amity at least gets to hug her dad!

But I like to think it implies that Edric hasn't forgiven their father, which could play into what I've said before! Edric being aware he doesn't fit into their mom's plans as the unfavorite. Maybe there's some freedom in this; But it also makes him resent his mom for neglect specifically, and by extension his dad for being the master of neglect because at least Odalia pays attention to her daughters. And that considered storyline of the fake Abomination child… Alador would’ve had to create it for Odalia, right? His own dad supported this ‘replacement’.

So while Edric's willing to accept Alador's change of heart and not speak on behalf of how his sisters feel, he's not comfortable enough to hang out together as father and son. Edric can handle being in the same space with Alador when there's a bunch of other people as a buffer, when they're both focused on someone else anyhow. But as a pair it's like... Eugh. It might be sad, but never say never; And more importantly it’s rep for abuse victims who don’t want to forgive, even if their abuser IS doing and meaning better. Victims are entitled to that!

I also have to think back to this Grom art Dana posted when the episode came out, under the HC that the twins got stood up because like. Edric is doing some comforting of his own. And this was likely drawn shortly before the episode itself came out; So when Dana and the writers would’ve been writing S2A, which leaned more into Emira having the Eldest Daughter role. And the implication she has to look after her own twin of the same age.

Retcons and changes are always a thing but I could see a story; Edric trying to take care of his sister himself, both out of genuine concern but also as a way to make himself as not just the useless child nobody knows what to do with. To give himself a real agency and purpose. And this works just fine with Emira! Better that than to be the one doing the emotional labor all of the time. Offering his jacket isn’t much, but it’s something Edric can do to have some control in his life, and it’s solidarity with his twin, an acknowledgement that he sees her parentified status and is trying to help with that.

Plus, between this art and Edric attempting another date in Through the Looking Glass Ruins, he WAS trying to find other connections and not just cling to his sister! He didn’t want to be alone forever and she didn’t want to be stuck with him forever, the solution is simple as we see in Reaching Out and the epilogue. So Ed’s considerate of what his sister needs even while considering his own desires. And that’s the tragedy of Edric Blight; Stumbling but trying, wanting and needing to do better and good, not just for his own sense of self but his sister’s as well.

#The Owl House #Edric Blight #Odalia Blight #Alador Blight #Headcanon #Headcanons #Speculation #Analysis

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