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chibsandchill · 1 month

Text

Pallid eyes

Fandom: HOTD (House of the Dragon)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x AFAB!reader (reader is implied to be of Valyrian descent)

Summary: After your death Aemond is forced to continue living without you. But he cannot, and so as he prepares to leave for Harrenhal he thinks back on the past.

Warnings: Including but is not limited to canon typical themes, Aemond is depressed, §uicide ideation, angst, bittersweet ending, spelling and grammatical errors,

Masterlist

-:-:-:-:-

You always dreamed of having a real name day celebration; one just like his family had, with elaborate clothing, exquisite food prepared by the best chefs in the known world, with tables covered with decorations coated in glitter and popping with color, and of treats so sweet they rotted your teeth. You wanted gifts wrapped in fine silk with ribbons and a card.

You wanted to invite the orphans from Fleabottom because your heart broke for them. Truth be told, Aemond had never noticed the starving orphans begging on the streets of his home, much less thought to invite them to grand events, but he’s glad you had such a big heart for he found some of his most trusted companions among your old friends there. They had saved his life many times over in your name. You also wanted to invite the old spinster that lived on the edge of the Street of silk. Your room had a window that faced the Bay, and you never fell asleep before Aemond, and so you were awake to hear the spinster wail her sorrows into the waters at night. You used to bring her tea, spend the afternoons basking in the fading sun whilst gossiping. You cared for many of the old whores living there, and you brought handmade blends of herbs and teas to ease their pains.

Aemond never wanted a nameday celebration like the ones his family held in his honor. He only ever wanted to see you smile, and so he pretended that he too dreamt of frilly decorations hanging from chandeliers, and of sweet tarts and cakes with thick frosting, and of inviting the orphans, and the spinster whore. He knew even then, as a boy who could barely count, that you did what made him happy, whatever the price may be, and so he lied. Your dreams became his and only then did they come true, because surely if Aemond told you he only wanted to sit in the gardens with you and read together, both court and centuries old family traditions be damned, you’d make it happen.

His ideal birthday was one shared with you. All other days of the year were shared with the rest of the kingdoms, but on the shared anniversary of your birth he wanted it to be just the two of you. He wanted to stroll in the gardens with you holding his arm, and take to the skies on Vhagar to chase rainbows and flocks of colorful birds. He wanted to fly to your secret beach that only the two of you knew of, and he wanted you to hold him tight when the wind grew cold, and he wanted to sleep in your embrace where he knew he was safe and protected.

But you weren’t stupid, never were. You were always more clever than he, and you figured out his plans before he even knew he had one. You knew he didn’t want any celebration, none of the attention of the courts, none of the extravagance that came with it. You knew he only wanted a belly full of good food and your company. So you invited your orphans from Fleabottom, and the spinster from the Street of silk and all others there you cared for. You had the kitchens bake and bake until there was not a platter not full and not a grain of sugar left. You had the guests drape themselves in fashion from far away lands and coat themselves in fragrance. Gifts in great piles of silk and shining ribbons, and essays of praise rose like mountains in the Great Hall.

The guests and your guests arrived, you thanked them for coming and directed them to their tables in the hall. You helped serve the steaming food and poured sweet wine in polished goblets, and you made sure your orphans and former whores were in merry company.

He was miserable.

You knew it.

No more than five minutes passed before you took his hand and pulled him away. You led him from the party and into the hidden tunnels, and from there you left the Keep. Behind a boulder on the beach laid a rowboat. He remembered gasping and you beaming at him as if to say ‘this is the real party’.

The two of you set out on the ocean in the little rowboat with your own shares of cake, drink and gifts.

All alone.

You laughed and laughed and laughed until your stomachs cramped and your chests ached. He was ashamed to admit that it stung his twelve year old heart thinking he wasn’t enough for her, but as you laid down in the rowboat and looked at the stars he knew that you never wanted that party either. You also just wanted a day for us to be us.

Together.

You healed many broken hearts that night. His from thinking his twin flame was unhappy, the orphans from being lonely and hungry ( they received many offers from nobles that night that forever changed their lives), and the spinster from the Street of silks had the nameday celebration she never got to have.

And now you’re all alone.

After a lifetime spent protecting him from everything and everyone at the expense of everything you had; everything you were, you have to spend your nameday alone, wherever you are. It’s not fair. He wants you to come back, he wants you to take his hand and he wants for you to look at the stars together.

When he closes his eyes he imagines that he’s back there with you. Ten summers old and blissfully unaware that in just a few days your lives would be ruined forever. He dreams that he took a different path back to his chambers, or that he had gone alone, or even that he had never been born at all. All so that he could save you from so much pain and suffering. Alas, those dreams are nothing but torture and even when he forces myself awake there is no relief in waking.

Aegon no longer torments Aemond, but neither does he speak to him at all. It’s a painful victory. You look too much alike, Aegon always said, and so he can’t stand to look at Aemond any longer. He still attends Aemond’s nameday celebrations, tournaments, and sometimes he watches Aemond train in the yard.

Sometimes Aemond forgets that it was not only him that lost you that day. Aegon lost his closest friend, Helaena lost someone she thought of as a sister and their children lost their aunt. But they don’t miss you like he does, ache for you like he does. He sees you in the sky, hears your voice in the winds, sees you in every face he sees, in every corner of the room, and every time he looks in the mirror.

He avoids mirrors, and the sky.

You taught him how to swim. Of course, you had to learn first to see if it was safe, and then you had to be the one to teach him because you didn’t trust anyone else with his safety.

He’s watching Jaehaera holding little Maelor, guiding him through the waves like you did with him. Maelor doesn’t cry even when the waves crash against his face because he knows that Jaehaera will protect him, like you did with Aemond.

It’s your birthday today. You and Aemond’s.

He spends it alone, in such terrible pain that he thinks this must be hell. He misses his twin flame. He misses the missing half of his soul.

Aemond never got to protect you when you were still here. You wouldn’t let him. But you’re protected now, protected by your fierce Karnax, who’d never let anything happen to you.

Sometimes he hates you for leaving him. But as he’s sitting there thinking back on all past namedays he knows this was always the way it was going to end. Even if it wasn’t for The Blacks, he'd eventually get himself in trouble bad enough he wouldn’t have been able to get out, and you would always come running to protect him and you would always take his place.

It’s not you he hates.

It’s himself.

He misses you.

He knows you’re waiting for him. And he knows that when he joins you again he’ll try to be angry with you for leaving him. But he also knows that you’ll just smile at him and tell him that you had to die first to make sure the afterlife was safe enough for your little flame.

Aemond loves his mother, his siblings, and Vhagar, but if it wasn’t for The Blacks, he’d have followed you in death as he did in life. He’d have thrown himself in front of Rhaenyra’s sword, and you’d hold him in your arms as you passed.

He misses you.

But he knows you’re finally resting now.

But you’re waiting for him and every day your calling grows stronger, and soon vengeance won’t be enough. He loves his family, and he would give all he had to protect them, but he misses you.

Most of him had been taken, but the parts of him that still remained belonged to you. One soul, two bodies, that’s what everyone said. And now he was forced to walk the lands alone.

He misses you.

He loves his family but he just wants to rest.

Yes. When The Blacks have been defeated, he’ll finally join you. You won’t have to wait anymore and he’ll be whole again, and you’ll never have to spend your namedays alone ever again. He’ll let you braid his hair until your fingers fall off, and sing until his ears bleed, as long as you are with him again.

After all, there is not a fate more cruel than having to endure time without you.

-:-:-:-:-

Aegon visited him the other day. Aemond thinks his brother knows what he plans to do because he called you a cunt for leaving. He promised to look after their mother, and Helaena, and all the children. And Vhagar. He’s given up drinking and whoring.

Once, he told you that he wished you were dead. He can’t remember why, but he didn’t mean it. He could never. Now he knows what life without you is like – what the bottomless pit of grief felt as it burrowed deeper inside him, gulping down piece by piece what made him him like it was the sweetest of wines. Aemond never wished for it. Or maybe he did, but he never wished to remain standing if you weren’t.

His time in court taught him how to pretend; how to don a persona so flawless he even fooled himself. Aemond isn’t sure he ever left Harrenhal. He doesn’t know who this Aemond is.

He’s exhausted.

Aemond doesn’t sleep anymore. He doesn’t feel safe in his home, in his bed. When he wakes up there is no relief, no respite from that which haunts his dreams. He smiles at his nephew and niece, and he laughs as they laugh, but none of it is true.

Helaena is frightened by her shadow, but Aemond can never tear his eyes off his. When he stands just right, he can pretend it’s you standing there, and for just a few seconds, the smile reaches his eyes.

He loves his family, and there is naught he wishes for more (other than you) than to avenge you, to retrieve your bones, and that used to be enough to keep the overwhelming darkness at bay. But now? It is no longer enough, and Aemond is drowning in it.

He uses his smile like his father used a mask – to hide wounds that will never ever heal, will never scab over or fade. They will only grow until they consume all.

Aemond can’t leave his chambers anymore. He used to be able to bear being away for short periods of time; for war councils and battles, but lately it feels like betrayal. Like abandoning the last pieces of you he still has left. His mother tried to tell him that it’s not true, that the Stranger has poisoned his mind, and that the chambers will remain even should he leave, and that your memory will linger, but he is nauseous just thinking about it.

Once, he thought of carving his eye out, so that he may be truly blind and would no longer have to suffer seeing the world. What use was his eye if you were not there? But even blind, Aemond would still feel your absence, for it was not by sight that he saw you.

There are good days where he takes his sister on long walks on the beach, but he never looks at the ocean. They never go behind the boulder where you hid the rowboat. There are good days, but they are far and few between, and the bad days are so very, very bad. Sometimes Aemond can’t even get out of bed, his mind convinced that it’s you holding him again, that you’re back and as long as he stays there he can delude himself into believing you’re there to stay. But you’re not, and the days he can’t delude himself into thinking you’re alive are the worst.

The crippling loneliness never goes away, never lessens. He never knew someone could cry so much, feel such pain and still be alive.

He’s alive but he’s not living, not truly. Not anymore.

There are good days but they’re not enough. Not anymore.

He loves his family and his dragon, but it’s not enough. Not anymore.

You would want him to live, to stay with his family and the children, and defeat the threat against them, but he knows you’re waiting for him. He knows you’re alone and you miss him just as much as he misses you. He knows you’re hurting just like he is and it’s cruel of him to not help you. You’ve sacrificed so much for him but he won’t let you sacrifice anymore.

He can’t, he won’t, let you suffer anymore.

There are bad days, almost all of them are, but he knows that when he joins you they’ll all go away. It’ll all go away and he can finally rest again for the first time since you left.

He just wants you back.

He wants you to fly together again, and taste the clouds, and dive for sea glass and shells together. He wants to hide away at the beach together and he wants to watch the stars in your arms. He wants to see you smile at him again, to laugh at his jokes and to take the pain from him.

He loves his family, his dragons, and your home.

But it’s time.

He won’t keep you waiting any longer.

-:-:-:-:-

Aemond thinks his mother knows what he’s planning. She was crying when he told her that he will leave for Harrenhall where his uncle awaits him. She wouldn’t let him leave and so he had to tear his sleeve from her bloodied hands. It pains him to see her cry, but that pain is naught but a drop of water compared to the ocean of pain he feels. He’s delayed it enough, fought it for so long, but it’s time for Aemond to rest.

For the first time since he received the raven, he’s walking on the beach with his eyes set on the horizon. His eyes do not avoid neither shimmering water or shining sky. He does not flinch at the sound of his dragon’s greeting, for his heart is lighter than ever. There is nothing weighing him down any longer. He will do this last thing, and then he will be reunited with you.

He walks past the boulder, and there are children there, painting on the rock. They’re scratching your likeness into it. You were their champion, and they had lost you too. They felt your absence most keenly. He can’t help the laughter from coming — a wholly unfamiliar sensation – and tears prickle his eyes. The orphans had drawn you, but shorter than he remembered. Aemond barely recognizes you, and it makes him falter, but then his steps are light again. You would have found it funny, would have laughed at your depiction before chasing the orphans across the beach with their laughter carried over to him by the wind.

Aemond looks back, and there’s the spot where you taught him how to swim, and also where Jaehaera taught little Maelor to swim. It’s where you taught him how to wrap his hair after his eye was stolen, and it was where you declared that one day you and Aemond would fly away together. It’s where you killed a man for him after they mocked him, and it’s where you held his hands when he skinned his knee when he was five. The beach is crawling with memories, everywhere he looks there’s a new one playing out in front of him.. Admittedly most of them are you protecting him in one way or the other as he’s always been a magnet for trouble. He had avoided it, avoided being reminded of all that he had lost. But now the darkness has left the beach and all that remains are the good memories, the ones untainted by his darkness.

It doesn’t pain him to see the boulder anymore. It fills his heart with joy and he feels like he’s thirteen again being led by you to your next adventure.

He walks past it and keeps on walking until he reaches Vhagar. In her eyes he sees a reflection of his own pain. Karnax was her hatchling, and she had lost him too. She felt that pain, and carried it with her always. She did not hate him for abandoning her in his grief, she was relieved. Vhagar had lived a long life full of loss and pain, and she knew what was in his heart. And still she rose to the sky with him on her back.

Perhaps that too was echoed in her heart.

Once they’re far enough from the Keep, Aemond unclasps his satchel. Several sweet treats and slices of decadent cake threaten to tumble to the ground, but he’s spent enough time on dragonback to know better. The dessert is too sweet, and it sticks to the roof of his mouth.

He leaves most of it.

It’s your nameday tomorrow, and you would be very upset with him if he ate it all without you.

Up there, in the sky, it’s calm with nothing but a soft breeze to keep him company. ‘Tis a good thing that Harrenhall is not a long flight away, for he does not wish to taint this moment.

His uncle is already atop his dragon when he arrives at the charred remains of a once great castle. Caraxes whines upon seeing them. Him and Vhagar had once fought side by side, but now they were enemies. But you? You loved the Blood Wyrm, and you loved Daemon. Loved him as if he was your father, and he loved you in turn. Your death was not to be put on his shoulders, but Aemond knows Daemon could not be allowed to remain.

And, would you not be glad to be reunited with him too? What better gift could he bring but your father?

“Nuncle!” Aemond shouts across the water. “You have lived too long!”

“On that, we can agree.” Daemon said.

And so, the dragons danced, clashed together and burned. There would be no victor, that both the riders knew, and they were glad for it. It’s chaotic, and yet Aemond feels at peace. He feels drowsy, heavy, and yet he feels free and lighter than a bird’s feather.

He doesn’t feel the sword being shoved inside his chest, for there is no suffering of the flesh that can compare to that of his soul. And so they fall. Fall, fall, fall towards the Gods’ eye, together. Caraxes is dying, and so is Vhagar. Daemon too, and Aemond. Soon you would all be together again.

His eye starts to close, and just as it flutters close, he feels your strong arms wrap around him, and your scent fills his nose. You stroke his hair away from his forehead as you unclasp his eyepatch. You would have all of him – see all of him.

“It’s okay to be scared, Aemond.” She says and Aemond wants to protest but the words are stuck, lodged in deep with his tears and sheer happiness. He’s not scared, he’s so very very happy. He wants you to keep talking, to say his name again, even were this a cruel trick by the gods. “Shh, I know, I know. I have you.”

“Don’t let me go.” He says.

Aemond feels you press a kiss to his forehead as you tighten your arms around him, pushing his head to nestle into the crook of your neck. The last thing he hears is your voice.

“Never.”

And so he let go, surrounded by your scent, and resting in your arms again, just like he was always meant to be, confident that you’ll protect him on this journey too.

His eternal protector.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond imagine #house of the dragon imagines #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond x you #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #aemond x reader

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kckt88 · 3 months

Text

For whom the bell tolls.

Summary:

After the death of her younger brother, Vaelarra plots to sneak into Kings Landing and take the life of the one responsible - her husband Aemond.

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Referenced Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Plots/Scheming, Language, Kissing, Uncle/Niece Incest, Smut - Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Blood, Character Death, Includes Epilogue.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C VAELARRA VELARYON (& JACAERYS VELARYON x VAELARRA VELARYON).

Word Count: 6778

A.N - Alternate version of Where Water Meets The Sea!!

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

Aemond sat alone in his chambers, the flickering flames of the fireplace casting dancing shadows across the room. His fingers digging into the wooden arms of his chair.

The fire’s warmth did little to chase away the coldness that had settled deep within his bones. His thoughts turning to his wife, Vaelarra, and their son, Aenys.

He could still see Vaelarra’s face, twisted in anger and hurt, the day he had her and Aenys locked away in their chambers. He had believed he was doing the right thing, helping to secure the throne for his brother Aegon, instead of the named heir Rhaenyra.

Aemond’s jaw tightened as he thought of Ser Erryk, the knight who had, freed his wife from her confinement and allowed her and Aenys to escape King’s Landing on the back of her dragon, Cannibal, with the two of them now safely ensconced on Dragonstone.

Much had changed since he had last seen his wife.

The blood of her brother Lucerys now stained his hands, a dark reminder of the confrontation at Storm’s End. He could still hear the scream of terror as Vhagar, had torn Lucerys and Arrax to shreds.

He knew Vaelarra would never forgive him for what he had done.

No longer would she gaze upon him with love and call him her gēlenka zaldrīzes. (Silver dragon).

He would never get to enjoy the feeling of her combing and braiding his hair and he certainly wouldn’t get to hear her whisper Issa vēzos se qēlossās as they made love.(My sun and stars)

The bond they had shared, once so strong, was now irrevocably broken. She would hate him, and he could not blame her. He was a kinslayer, a cursed title that would haunt him forever.

The fire crackled, a log collapsing into embers. Aemond’s grip on the chair loosened, his shoulders slumping. The weight of his actions pressed down on him, a heavy, suffocating mantle.

Crowning Aegon had cost a heavy price, and in the solitude of his chambers, he faced the true cost of his actions.

The love of his wife and son, all sacrificed on the altar of his own making. The flames flickered and danced, their light casting a harsh glow on the reality he could no longer escape.

Meanwhile, on Dragonstone, Vaelarra stood around the painted table, her gaze fixed on the intricate carvings that detailed the lands of Westeros.

Beside her stood her father, Daemon, his presence a formidable pillar of strength. Her sisters, Baela and Rhaena, stood nearby, their expressions a mix of concern and determination. Her grandmother, Rhaenys, stood silent but strong, her gaze as unyielding as the sea. A small number of lords loyal to her mother were also gathered, their faces etched with worry and resolve.

The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy silence hanging in the air. Vaelarra’s heart ached, her thoughts a tumultuous storm of grief and anger.

“Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm-”

The door creaked open, and she gasped as her mother, Rhaenyra, walked into the room. Dishevelled and unkempt, Rhaenyra looked like a shadow of her former self.

She had spent the last ten days searching for the remains of her son Lucerys, her desperation and sorrow evident in every step she took.

In Rhaenyra’s grasp was a piece of Luke’s shredded cloak. The sight of it caused Vaelarra’s breath to hitch, a quiet sob escaping her lips.

The room seemed to close in around her as she stared at the tattered fabric, a physical reminder of her younger brother’s tragic end. Her heart twisted and broke, the pain of loss almost too much to bear.

Her grief slowly began to morph into something darker, something colder. As the reality of Luke’s death settled over her, Vaelarra’s sorrow turned into a burning hatred. Her husband, Aemond, the father of her child, was responsible for this.

The man she had once loved with all her heart had brought this unimaginable pain upon her family. The love she had once felt for him was now tainted, twisted by the betrayal and the blood on his hands.

Her eyes hardened, the tears drying as a steely resolve took hold. She would avenge her brother. The man responsible for Luke’s death would pay dearly for his actions.

Vaelarra clenched her fists, the knuckles turning white.

The image of Aemond, once a source of joy and love, now filled her with a burning desire for vengeance.

Vaelarra swore silently to herself that she would spill the blood of the one responsible, that she would make Aemond pay for the agony he had caused.

“Your council stands at the ready Your Grace” said Daemon placing his hands on the table “I will fly to Harrenhal at your command and set our toe hold in the Riverlands”.

“Your Grace, my lord husbands blockade of the gullet moves into place, all seaborn travel and trade to Kings Landing will soon be cut off” said Rhaenys her voice firm.

“I-I want Aemond Targaryen” exclaimed Rhaenyra, her fists clenched.

As Rhaenyra walked away from the table, her face streaked with tears, Vaelarra looked at her father, their silent glance was worth more than a thousand words.

Later that night Vaelarra sat with her mother, in silence as they awaited the arrival of Jacaerys, the grief over losing Luke etched upon her face, her eyes that had once sparkled were now dull orbs, staring at the wall, the only movement she made was breathing.

The sound of the door opening distracted Vaelarra, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Jace.

Tired, and pale. But he was alive and he was home.

Vaelarra rushed to her brother and held him tight, her face buried in his neck.

“Thank the gods, your safe-” whispered Vaelarra softly as she felt Jace’s arms encircle her waist and hold her tight.

“Sister-“ muttered Jace, his voice small.

Vaelarra placed a kiss upon his brow and released him from her hug, only for Jace to take her hand and refuse to let go.

“Your Grace-Lady Jeyne Arryn has pledged her support in exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale” said Jace.

Vaelarra looked at her mother who nodded silently.

“-And Lord Cregan Stark, h-has promised-“ said Jace his voice wobbling as he struggled to contain his grief “-Two thousand men-”

Rhaenyra slowly rose from her seat and made her way towards her children, she paused for a moment before she pulled them both into her embrace.

Jace couldn’t contain his grief a moment longer and he cried, swept up in the in the arms of his mother and sister.

Vaelarra and Daemon stood on one of the balconies of Dragonstone, the salty breeze tugging at their cloaks as they gazed out over the turbulent sea. The sky was painted with hues of deep orange and red as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the ancient fortress.

Vaelarra's jaw was set, her eyes burning with determination as she turned to face her father.

"I have a plan-to see an end to this fucking war before it gets worse" she began, her voice steady but filled with an undercurrent of fierce resolve. "I will sneak into King's Landing and slit Aemond's throat. He deserves to pay for what he's done, for what he's taken from us."

Daemon's invisible brows furrowed, a mixture of concern and scepticism flashing in his eyes. "And what if you fail?" he asked, his tone gruff. "What if you’re caught before you even reach him? You’re talking about sneaking into the heart of the enemy’s stronghold. The risks are too great-we have already lost two children, one of them by the hand of that one eyed cunt, and I will not lose another"

She shook her head, her gaze unwavering. "I will not fail. I am not some weakling woman. I am blood of the dragon, and I will see justice served for Lucerys. I know the Red Keep; I know the secret passageways. No one else can get close enough to Aemond."

Daemon sighed, his worry for his daughter evident. "You are my oldest child, Vaelarra. I cannot bear the thought of losing you, too. If something were to happen—"

"Nothing will happen," she interrupted, her voice firm. "I am the only one who can do this. Aemond will never suspect me. He won't see me coming."

They stood in silence for a few moments, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Finally, Daemon nodded slowly, though his eyes were still filled with reluctance. "If we are to do this," he said quietly, "then we will do it together. I will not let you face this danger alone."

Vaelarra's expression softened slightly, gratitude mixing with her determination. "Together, then," she agreed.

Daemon placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "We will plan this carefully. Every detail must be perfect. We cannot afford any mistakes and we cannot under any circumstances tell your mother”.

Vaelarra nodded, her resolve unshaken. "I understand"

Under the cover of darkness, a small rowboat glided silently toward the docks of King’s Landing.

Cloaked figures huddled within it; their faces hidden from view. Vaelarra and Daemon, having paid for their clandestine passage, stepped onto the worn wooden planks of the dock. The muffled sounds of the city night surrounded them: distant laughter, the clatter of horse hooves, and the faint murmur of conversations.

Vaelarra pulled her cloak tighter around her, the hood casting deep shadows over her face. Daemon, equally concealed, motioned for her to follow.

Together, they slipped into the labyrinthine streets of King’s Landing, keeping to the narrow, less-travelled alleys. Heads down, they moved swiftly and quietly, their boots barely making a sound against the cobblestones.

The city, even at night, was alive with activity. Beggars huddled in doorways, their eyes tracking the cloaked figures warily. Vaelarra and Daemon pressed on, their hearts pounding with the tension of their mission.

The familiar stench of the city, a mix of refuse and sea air, was almost comforting in its predictability.

They arrived at an unassuming wall, overgrown with ivy and seemingly forgotten. Daemon reached out, fingers brushing against the stone until he found a hidden latch. With a quiet click, a portion of the wall swung inward, revealing a dark passageway leading into the depths of the Red Keep.

Daemon turned to Vaelarra; his expression hidden but his concern evident in his posture. He handed her a finely crafted dagger, its blade gleaming even in the dim light.

“Be careful, Vaelarra,” murmured Daemon, his voice low and urgent. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Vaelarra took the dagger, the weight of it both reassuring and heavy with the responsibility it carried. She met her father’s eyes, the shared determination between them a silent promise. “I will be back,” she whispered, her voice unwavering. She stepped forward, embracing Daemon tightly.

As she pulled away, Vaelarra took a deep breath and disappeared into the darkened passageway. The air inside was cool and musty, the narrow walls pressing in on her as she moved forward. Daemon watched her go, his heart heavy with a mix of pride and dread. The shadows swallowed her form, leaving him alone in the silent night.

He closed the hidden door behind her, his thoughts racing as he positioned himself nearby, ready to act if needed. The city’s noises faded into the background as he focused on the task ahead. Vaelarra was strong, capable, and determined. She was blood of the dragon. And though the path she walked was fraught with danger, Daemon knew she would face it head-on, driven by the need for justice and vengeance.

Inside the passageway, Vaelarra moved with purpose, the layout of the Red Keep etched into her memory.

Each step brought her closer to her goal, the dagger a cold reminder of the deadly mission she had undertaken. She was not just a sister seeking vengeance; she was a dragon, and she would see her brother avenged, no matter the cost.

Vaelarra moved silently through the hidden passageways of the Red Keep, her footsteps barely a whisper against the cold stone floor.

The walls, lined with cobwebs and the dust of years, seemed to close in around her as she navigated the narrow, twisting corridors.

Several times, she was forced to stop, pressing herself against the rough stone as maids and guards passed by, their conversations muffled but clear enough to keep her alert. Each time, she remained undiscovered, her breathing steady and controlled.

She made her way toward Aemond's chambers, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination.

As she approached the secret entrance, she took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. The small door creaked slightly as she pushed it open, slipping inside and quickly closing it behind her.

The room was dimly lit, the flickering light of a few candles casting long shadows across the walls. Scraps of discarded parchment littered the desk and floor, a testament to Aemond's restless thoughts.

Vaelarra picked up one of the pieces, her eyes scanning the hastily scrawled words. She saw her name, written and crossed out multiple times.

Aemond must have attempted to write to her, to find the right words to explain his actions. But how does a kinslayer express his remorse?

The sound of movement outside the main door made her freeze. She quickly moved behind a heavy curtain, her breath shallow and silent.

The door swung open, and she listened intently as the unmistakable sound of Aemond's footsteps filled the room. He entered slowly, the familiar rhythm of his gait sending a shiver down her spine.

She heard the soft thud of his leather jerkin being removed, followed by the clinking of his weapons as he set them aside.

From her hiding place, Vaelarra watched silently, her eyes never leaving him. He moved with a weary grace, his back to her as he approached the desk.

She could see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of his guilt and actions pressing down on him. He paused, his hand hovering over one of the discarded parchments, before letting out a sigh and turning away.

Vaelarra's grip tightened around the dagger, her mind racing with the memories of what he had done. The image of Lucerys, her younger brother, flashed before her eyes, fuelling the fire of her anger and sorrow. She remained unmoving, a predator observing its prey, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Aemond moved toward the bed, oblivious to her presence. Vaelarra's heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing the resolve that had brought her here. She knew what she had to do. For Lucerys, for her family, and for herself, she would see this through.

Vaelarra hid the dagger beneath her cloak, her fingers gripping its hilt tightly as she stepped out from behind the curtain. The soft rustle of her cloak was enough to alert Aemond to her presence.

He spun around, his eye narrowing as he scanned the room for the intruder. Before Vaelarra could react, he moved with the speed and precision of a seasoned warrior, seizing her by the throat and slamming her against the wall.

The impact forced the breath from her lungs, her vision blurring for a moment. Aemond's grip was ironclad, his fingers digging into her skin as he held her in place.

He reached out with his other hand and yanked down the hood of her cloak, his eye widening in shock as he came face to face with Vaelarra.

"Vaelarra?" gasped Aemond, the surprise evident in his voice. For a moment, the fierce determination in her eyes gave him pause.

Aemond's grip loosened slightly, confusion and a flicker of something else—remorse, perhaps—crossing his features. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice a mix of anger and desperation.

Vaelarra’s heart raced, the weight of the dagger beneath her cloak a constant reminder of her mission. She stared at him, the man she had once loved, now her enemy. "I'm here for justice, Aemond," she replied, her voice steady despite the pressure on her throat. "For Lucerys."

Aemond's face contorted with pain and regret, but he did not release her. "You don't understand," he began, but Vaelarra cut him off.

"I understand enough," she spat, her eyes burning with a mix of hatred and sorrow. "You killed my brother. You betrayed everything we once had."

Aemond's grip tightened again, his internal struggle clear. "I never wanted this," he said through gritted teeth. "But this war—it has taken everything from us."

"It didn't take Lucerys from us," Vaelarra hissed, her fingers inching closer to the dagger beneath her cloak. "You did that."

Aemond's eye locked onto hers, the room filled with the tension of their shared history and the weight of their choices.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the walls as they faced each other.

Vaelarra pulled off her cloak with a swift motion, laying it carefully on Aemond's bed while ensuring the dagger remained concealed beneath its folds. She turned to face him, her eyes blazing with fury.

Without warning, she slapped him hard across the face, the sound echoing through the room.

Aemond's head snapped to the side, his cheek reddening from the force of the blow. He turned back to her, a mixture of shock and anger in his eye, but Vaelarra didn't give him a chance to speak.

"You usurped the throne, helped to steal my birthright, and the birthright of our son. Aenys would have been king, but you took that from him. You murdered Lucerys. You killed my brother!" hissed Vaelarra, her voice low and filled with venom.

Aemond's expression twisted with pain and regret, but Vaelarra continued, her words a torrent of anger and betrayal. "You were my husband, the father of my child, and you betrayed us all. You sided with Aegon, you chose power over family, and now, look at the ruin you've brought upon us. You took everything from me, from Aenys, and for what? A throne built on blood and lies?"

"Vaelarra," Aemond began, his voice breaking, but she cut him off, her eyes filled with tears of rage.

"No, you don't get to speak," she snapped. "You don't get to explain or justify your actions. Lucerys is dead because of you. My brother is gone, and the blood is on your hands. How could you? How could you do this to us?"

“Larra-“ muttered Aemond.

"He was an envoy! He was a child-“

Aemond's face twisted with pain and frustration. "-So was I when Luke carved my eye out of my skull!" he shot back, the rawness of his voice revealing the deep scars the event had left on him.

Vaelarra's eyes blazed with a mix of rage and sorrow. "So that's what it was—revenge? What happened on Driftmark was an accident!"

Aemond stepped closer, his expression hardening. "An accident Luke was never held accountable for—he never even apologized," he said, his voice low but intense.

Vaelarra's breath hitched, her anger giving way to a profound grief. "He was a child, Aemond. A scared, impulsive child. And you-you slaughtered him for a mistake made in fear."

Aemond clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "I didn't mean to kill him," he admitted, his voice strained. "But the anger, the humiliation I carried all these years-it consumed me. And when I saw him at Storm's End, it all came rushing back."

Vaelarra's shoulders sagged, the weight of their shared history pressing down on her. "I loved you, Aemond. I thought-I thought that we could be different. That we could rise above the hatred”.

"I never wanted this," Aemond said, his voice cracking. "But the world we live in, the choices we've made-they've brought us to this point. I am sorry, Vaelarra. Truly, I am."

Vaelarra shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Sorry won't bring Luke back. It won't ease the pain."

Aemond's eye burned with a mixture of anger and anguish as he stepped closer to Vaelarra, his voice rising with the intensity of his emotions. "How do you think I feel, Vaelarra? My eye is gone, my face permanently scarred, and my own father, didn't even bother to defend me. He publicly chose his favourite child, Rhaenyra, over and over again."

Vaelarra's expression softened slightly, a flicker of empathy breaking through her anger, but Aemond pressed on, his voice trembling with the weight of his pain.

"All through my life, Viserys never bothered with me, Aegon, or Helaena. Do you know what it's like to grow up knowing that your father would probably have preferred it if you and your siblings had never been born? To feel like an afterthought, a mistake he regretted?"

“-Aemond”

"You had your mother; your brothers, and you’ve had three fathers in your life. You had a family that loved you. But for me, every day was a reminder that I was unwanted, unloved. And then, when Luke took my eye, it was as if the last bit of hope I had for my father's approval was ripped away."

“-And you think that excuses your actions, that it some how absolves you of your sins” snarled Vaelarra.

"Why did you come here, Vaelarra?" asked Aemond, his voice a mix of desperation and sorrow. "Why risk so much to stand before me?"

Vaelarra's gaze was unwavering, her voice steady but laced with raw emotion. "I had to stand in front of you," she said. "I had to look you in the eye and see for myself if the man I loved still existed, or if he had truly become the monster who killed my brother."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat, and he took a hesitant step toward her. "And what do you see?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vaelarra's eyes filled with tears, her expression a mixture of heartbreak and resolve. "I see a stranger," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. "The man I loved would never have hurt me in such a manner. He promised me, on the day we wed, that things would be different. That we would forge our own path, away from the bitterness and bloodshed of our families. And all you've done is start a war, a war that has torn us apart and taken everything from us."

Aemond’s face crumpled, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "Vaelarra, I—" he began, but she shook her head, silencing him.

"No," she said firmly. "You made your choices, Aemond, and now we all have to live with the consequences. Lucerys is dead. Our son’s birthright has been stolen. And you have become a monster."

Aemond's eye glistened with unshed tears as he reached out a hand toward her, but Vaelarra stepped back, her resolve unyielding. "I came here to see if there was any trace of the man I married left within you," she said quietly. "But I see now that he is gone, replaced by someone I can no longer recognize. Someone who values power over family, ambition over love."

Aemond's eye filled with desperation as he stepped forward, taking Vaelarra's face gently in his hands. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as he looked into her tear-stained eyes.

"Vaelarra," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I love you. I have always loved you. Please, don't abandon me. I need you. I am so sorry for all of it."

“Aemond-“

He kissed her tear-streaked cheeks, the salt of her tears mingling with his lips. "Forgive me," he pleaded between kisses. "Please, forgive me ābrazȳrys. I can't bear to lose you” (Wife).

Vaelarra's resolve wavered, her heart torn between the love she still felt for him and the pain of his betrayal.

Aemond pressed his lips to hers, the kiss filled with a desperate need for forgiveness and redemption.

For a moment, she resisted, her body stiff with the weight of her grief and anger. But as his kiss deepened, she felt the familiar pull of their bond, the shared memories of love and passion.

Slowly, her resistance melted away. She kissed him back, her arms wrapping around his neck and holding him close.

In that tender embrace, Vaelarra allowed herself to succumb to the bittersweet illusion Aemond's touch offered—the illusion of a fleeting moment frozen in time, where the weight of betrayal and the horrors of war could momentarily be set aside.

She closed her eyes, letting herself drown in the warmth of his embrace, in the familiar scent of his skin that once brought her comfort.

For a brief, fragile moment, she pretended. Pretended there was no war tearing the realm apart, no blood staining his hands. Pretended that Aemond hadn't betrayed her, hadn't shattered the trust that once bound them together.

In that moment, they were simply husband and wife again, sharing a stolen fragment of peace amidst the chaos.

She brushed her lips against his, tasting both sorrow and love in the tender kiss they shared. Their bodies pressed together, seeking solace and familiarity in each other's arms.

For a heartbeat, the world outside ceased to exist—the Red Keep around them faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of them.

Aemond backed Vaelarra towards the bed, their hands pulling at each other’s clothes, removing them as quickly as they could until they were a heaped mess on the floor.

“-Aemond” moaned Vaelarra he shoved her onto the mattress.

He covered her body with his as he sucked and licked at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Vaelarra moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Ooo A-Aemond” exclaimed Vaelarra as he moved down her body, nibbling her at her skin as he went.

“Such a pretty cunny " breathed Aemond spitting on her pussy before he ran the flat of his tongue up Vaelarra’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Vaelarra her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it my sweet. Let me hear you”.

“YES! It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Vaelarra.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaelarra, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Vaelarra. "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh, fuck" whimpered Vaelarra; her chest heaving.

Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me” moaned Aemond.

Gods his cock was so hard, it was almost painful.

Finally, he felt Vaelarra’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Her back arched taut as a bow, and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife whilst she came.

Soon her tense body went slack and pliant, her chest heaving with every breath.

Aemond slowly moved up Vaelarra’s body, pressing kisses to her soft body as he went, until he reached his desired destination.

“Kostilus-” whispered Vaelarra as she writhed against him (Please).

Aemond couldn't wait any longer. He surged forward and ploughed his hard cock into Vaelarra’s soaked cunt causing her to shriek in surprise.

“FUCKING TAKE IT!” spits Aemond, wrapping a hand around her throat while the other digs into her hip, pulling her aggressively against him to meet each one of his hard thrusts.

Vaelarra can’t think of anything but the intense pounding thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, causing tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond sets a brutal pace, his hips crashing into hers.

“YES! YES! AEMOND!” screams Vaelarra.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond as he feels her cunny clenching around his cock.

Aemond lifted Vaelarra’s legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet cunny.

“I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaelarra.

“That’s it-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

His wife always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond could feel the tension in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

“I love you-I fucking love you” groaned Aemond as he moved Vaelarra’s legs off his shoulders and manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” begged Vaelarra, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress.

Aemond took his cock in hand and sheathed himself inside her once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

Vaelarra arched her back and screamed as Aemond pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed through the chambers.

“Fuck. Larra-that’s it” moaned Aemond.

He took hold of her hair, twisting his fingers in the messy braid before he pulled her backwards, her back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held Vaelarra tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Give it to me” pleaded Vaelarra her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside her.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from his wife’s wet heat and laid on the bed.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Vaelarra breathlessly.

“Ride me baby” replied Aemond as he manoeuvred Vaelarra on top of him.

His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“Oh” gasped Vaelarra as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it Larra, take it. Take all of me”.

Aemond placed his hands on her hips and marvelled at his wife as she rode him.

Vaelarra dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Vaelarra as he moved his hands to her breasts, rolling her rosy nipples between his long fingers.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond.

Vaelarra’s thighs began to burn, as she felt her third climax approach.

“AEMOND” screamed Vaelarra.

“-FUCK” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed.

The chamber was filled with the aftermath of their lovemaking, the air thick with a mix of passion and lingering tension.

Vaelarra sat atop Aemond, his chest rising and falling beneath her, his singular eye closed in the aftermath of their shared intimacy, his softened cock still nestled inside her.

She watched as he basked in his pleasure, his cheeks tinged pink. Their recent intimacy had not made her waver in her decision to do what must be done.

Discreetly, Vaelarra reached for the dagger still hidden within her cloak. Her fingers curled around the hilt.

"I hope your seed will take root within me once more," Vaelarra whispered, her voice a soft murmur in the stillness.

Her hand caressed his cheek, fingers tracing the lines of his face and perfectly shaped lips as if trying to etch his face into her memory forever.

Aemond's eye opened, meeting hers with a mix of regret and longing. "I hope so too," he replied, his voice husky with emotion as he placed a hand on her stomach.

"A part of me will always love you, Aemond," Vaelarra confessed, her voice trembling with the weight of her words.

She met Aemond's eye one last time, searching for any remnants of the man she had loved, but finding only the shadow of a broken oath and shattered promises.

And then, with a swift and decisive motion, she plunged the dagger downward.

Aemond's eye widened in shock as the dagger was driven deep into his neck.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked in a silent exchange of agony and farewell, he didn’t move, he didn’t try to push her off, he seemed resigned to his fate as his arms had remained by his side.

Vaelarra then pulled the dagger free, the metallic scent of blood filling the air as it seemingly spilled without an end over them both, the red of Aemond’s blood a stark contrast to the white cotton bed sheets.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Aemond's body went limp beneath her, the weight of his lifeless form a stark reminder of the irreversible choice she had made.

As she stared at Aemond’s lifeless body the tears she had held back for so long finally broke free, streaming down her cheeks in silent rivers of grief.

Her whole body shook with the force of her sobs, each breath a painful reminder of the life she had taken and the love she had lost.

After Vaelarra had composed herself as much as possible, she began to dress and pull on her cloak, her movements slow and deliberate, after she had finished she pulled a sheet over Aemond's lower half, a final gesture to preserve his modesty in death.

As she leaned over him, she ran a trembling finger down his sculpted face, her touch gentle despite the weight of what had happened.

Aemond's singular eye had remained open and unblinking, the sapphire that replaced his missing eye was glinting in the low light of the chamber's fire.

With a steady hand, Vaelarra carefully removed the sapphire from the empty eye socket, her touch lingering for a moment on the cool surface. She placed the gemstone inside the pocket of her cloak, a keepsake of the man who had once been her husband, now forever lost to her.

Before leaving, Vaelarra pressed a kiss to Aemond's forehead, her lips lingering for a moment in a silent farewell. She pulled up her hood, concealing her tear-streaked face, and turned towards the secret entrance that led out of Aemond's chambers.

Just before departing, a resolve settled within her. She picked up Aemond's sword and dagger, feeling their weight in her hands.

With practiced efficiency, she fastened the belt around her waist, securing the weapons close to her body.

As she slipped through the secret passage, leaving behind the lifeless body of Aemond, Vaelarra knew that her actions would reverberate through the realm but whatever happened she was ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Vaelarra moved swiftly through the labyrinthine passageways of the Red Keep, her heart pounding with a mixture of sorrow and grim determination. Each step echoed in the dimly lit corridors, the weight of her actions settling heavily upon her shoulders.

Finally, she emerged into a secluded chamber where Daemon, stood waiting anxiously. His face softened with relief as he caught sight of her, and without hesitation, he pulled her into a tight embrace.

Vaelarra allowed herself a moment to lean into his embrace, seeking solace in the presence of her father amid the turmoil of her emotions.

"I was worried-" Daemon murmured against her hair; his voice thick with concern. "I feared they had caught you."

Vaelarra pulled back slightly, meeting her father's gaze with eyes that held a mix of weariness and resolve. "-A son for a son" she replied softly, her voice steady despite the lingering tremor in her hands. "-Aemond is dead."

Daemon's expression shifted, a complex blend of emotions crossing his features. He noticed the blood staining Vaelarra's clothes, evidence of the deed she had carried out. His hand gently cupped her cheek, his pride and sorrow mingling in the depths of his eyes.

"You have done what needed to be done, Vaelarra. You are true blood of the dragon." murmured Daemon, his voice filled with quiet reverence.

Vaelarra felt a swell of conflicting emotions at her father's words—pride, relief, and the weight of the path she had chosen. She nodded solemnly, grateful for his understanding and support.

"You took his weapons," Daemon observed quietly, his voice tinged with both curiosity and understanding.

Vaelarra met his gaze steadily, her own eyes reflecting a mixture of determination and sorrow. "I took them for Aenys," she explained, her voice steady despite the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. "One day, when he is old enough, he might want to have them. They belonged to his father."

Daemon nodded slowly, a solemn acknowledgment passing between them. "A fitting keepsake," he murmured, his voice filled with a sense of finality.

Turning his attention away from the grim reminders of the past, Daemon looked around the secret entrance. "Let us leave King's Landing," he said firmly. "Now that Aemond is dead, it won't take them long to discover his body. We must not be here when they do."

Vaelarra nodded in agreement, a sense of urgency settling over her as they made their way swiftly through the darkened streets of King's Landing, their steps hurried yet purposeful.

The weight of their actions hung heavy in the air as they navigated towards the shores where their small rowboat awaited them. They moved with silent determination as the sound of bells ringing echoed throughout the city, signalling the discovery of Aemond's body.

As they reached the dock where their boat and it’s row man waited, moving along with the gentle waves, Daemon's arm instinctively wrapped around Vaelarra's shoulders, drawing her close as they climbed aboard and took a seat.

Neither Daemon nor Vaelarra spoke as they drifted further and further away from King's Landing.

Their silence was heavy with unspoken thoughts, each lost in their own reflections on the events that had transpired.

Daemon's grip on his daughter tightened subtly, a silent reassurance of their bond amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead.

In the years following the events that reshaped the realm, peace gradually settled over Westeros under Queen Rhaenyra's reign.

With Aemond dead and Vhagar no longer a threat, under Daemon's leadership, the Black army swiftly secured King's Landing, paving the way for Rhaenyra to ascend the Iron Throne unopposed.

Aegon conceded the conquerors crown and was granted a pardon, he and Helaena chose to travel across the narrow sea to Essos and found a new home in Pentos where they could live out their days in peace with their three children.

Meanwhile, justice was meted out to those who had conspired against Rhaenyra. Otto Hightower, Jasper Wylde, Tyland Lannister, Maester Orwyle, Ser Criston Cole and Larys Strong were all found guilty of treason and faced the ultimate consequence.

Alicent Hightower, while pardoned, remained confined within the Red Keep, a reminder of the cost of ambition and betrayal.

Under Rhaenyra's rule, those who had bent the knee to Aegon were given the opportunity to pledge their loyalty to her rightful reign, solidifying her hold over the Seven Kingdoms.

Stability returned to the realm as Rhaenyra worked to heal the wounds left by the war.

Nine moons after Aemond's death, Vaelarra gave birth to a daughter, whom she named Aemma.

Two years later, she married Jacaerys, finding love and companionship once more.

Together, they were blessed with a son named Lucerys and a daughter named Viserra, their family growing amidst the newfound peace.

As years passed, Aenys, now eleven name days old, successfully claimed Vhagar as his own.

The ancient she dragon, once bonded to his father Aemond, readily accepted him as her new rider, forging a new bond that echoed through history.

Aenys spent much of his youth honing his skills in the training yard, his prowess with the sword remarkable.

His long sword that once belonged to his father, with a sapphire now embedded in its hilt, became a symbol of his lineage and inherited talent.

In the wake of war and turmoil, life in Westeros moved forward, shaped by the choices, and sacrifices of those who dared to fight for their beliefs.

Through it all, the legacy of House Targaryen endured, bound by blood, dragons, and the ever-changing tides of history.

A.N - Jace was never betrothed to Baela in this story and please let me know which version you prefer, this or Where Water Meets The Sea.

I like to create different versions of similiar stories that I have written as I like the what if possibilities..

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x oc #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x original female character #aemond #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond targaryen #hotd smut #hotd

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profoundbondfanfic · 11 months

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Dean's life didn't start out great. With his mom dying and his father taking him and Sam on wild goose chase after wilder goose chase to track down her killer until Sam couldn't take it anymore and ran off, it pretty much sucked. But now he has Cas. And Cas is great--perfect, even--definitely the best thing that's ever happened to him, even if he isn't quite human. He's been living so long in domestic bliss that he completely forgot to be worried about waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which is, of course, when his giant of a brother strolls back into his life sending Dean into a panic that he and Cas will have to uproot their perfect apple pie life if Sam finds out Cas' big secret.

Like Lightning Under Your Skin by A_Diamond [Explicit, 24k words]

Desperate for a way to save his brother from a demon’s clutches, hunter Dean does the unthinkable and seeks out a supernatural creature for help: a powerful lightning elemental, the kind he and his family should be killing. When his attempt to bind the elemental goes awry, he finds himself psychically connected to it instead. The creature’s emotions bleed into his; its pain echoes into him. Rather than finding the solution to saving Sam, Dean’s given himself a new and even more time-sensitive problem. He has to find a way to master the bond before the rest of the hunters decide he’s too far gone and put him down. The trouble is that the more time he spends connected to the elemental’s thoughts, the more he starts to wonder if they don’t have it all wrong. Maybe the creature, which calls itself Castiel, doesn’t deserve to be slaughtered; maybe the rest of its kind hadn’t deserved that, either. Or maybe that’s just Castiel’s voice in his head.

Man in the Wilderness by OneHundredSuns [Explicit, 68k words]

Dean Winchester is fresh out of Purgatory along with every other Tom, Dick and Wendigo that called the cesspool home. As the monsters lay waste to the Earth and eat anything they can get their hands on, Dean sets out to find his only remaining family so that they can hunker down and fight the assholes head on. He doesn’t mean to stumble upon Castiel Novak and his adorable twins in the middle of the apocalypse and he sure as hell doesn’t mean to offer them a ride to wherever they are trying to get to. But the world is a dangerous place now and he’s always been a sucker for blue eyes and cute kids. So he’ll help them out and just hope it doesn’t get him or them killed in the process.

Miasma by ValandraWrites [Explicit, 13k words]

Dean's grown up with a monster under his bed. They kind of became friends. Then they kind of became more than friends.

The Graveyard Shift by PurgatoryJar, riseofthefallenone [Explicit, 620k words]

Dean’s favourite coffee shop, The Graveyard Shift, is only open after the sun goes down. Which is perfect for him, because that’s exactly when he craves coffee the most while doing the overnight at the fire hall. The coffee shop’s owner is pretty perfect too, but it’s kind of a bummer that Dean never gets to see Cas during the day. In a world where the supernatural live more or less in peace with the rest of humanity, it’s a little impolite to ask Cas just what he really is - or what his dark past entails.

#destiel #group rec #creature!castiel #creature!dean #halloween

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bugwolfsstuff · 7 months

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Trials of Loki AU Chapter 1

@parrotxx I did it!

Well atleast the first Chapter. I'm still not sure how i'll get him to earn his place back to godhood. And it was a little rushed near the end. Also havent proof read.

------

Hi, I'm Loki Laufeyjarson. I used to be a god—err, Jotun. My 'godly membership' was revoked two thousand and sixteen years ago.

In my many, many years of living (if you can call most of it life), the Aesir have punished me in lots of creative ways. They've forced me to go get new golden hair for Sif. Let my mouth get stitched up. Murdered my sons and defiled their corpses to chain me to a rock. Put a snake over the aforementioned rock to drip venom on my face until Ragnarok.

But never in my immortal existence have they done something like this.

And I'm not even sure how they did it.

The last thing I remember was making an err...tactical retreat after a flyting with Magnus Chase. Being in a walnut that I definitely chose to be in, then sitting on a table surrounded by very angry Aesir, and then falling. Buildings spiralling in and out of my view. I tried to shapeshift into a bird, a dragon, or maybe even a butterfly—something that, as a Jotun, should come naturally to me, but I just kept falling, still humanoid. Which is very...uncomfortable.

Thankfully, I had a soft landing.

I sat up, groaning in a pile of leaves, spitting out a red leaf, and glaring at the park groundskeeper, who was staring at me bewildered. My ribs ached, and I was pretty sure were broken.

"What?" I snapped, "Never seen a guy fall from the sky?"

The groundskeeper's jaw dropped, and he fled, leaving his rake behind. Pretty sure he needed that.

The very annoying voice of Odin rang in my mind: YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF, LOKI.

"Very helpful, Odin. Now, how do I fix it? Do I have to watch one of your stupid PowerPoints?" I asked, "Get you a new raven?"

Odin's shrill voice boomed in my head like he was yelling too close into a microphone: FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELF.

I rolled my eyes, massaging my temples. Great. Just great. Not only do I get—

—AND MY POWERPOINTS AREN'T STUPID, Odin bellowed before going completely silent.

Well, they are, old man, I thought before attempting to pick myself up from the leaf pile. My ribs cracked and throbbed in protest, and my stomach clenched. I barely managed to stand up before I wanted to sit back down again.

My vision blurred. I was in some sort of park. Blobs that I assumed were mortal children were playing loudly on a bigger blob—a playground of some sort, maybe?— nearby. Another grey blob stood in front of me—A statue, sadly probably not of me. I could hear running water, a fountain?

I took a deep breath, which was a mistake.

"Owwwweee!" I hissed through my teeth, "Yep. Yep, ribs definetly broken!"

My entire body screamed at me to lie back down. This mortal form was so... fragile. Every movement felt like snake venom dripping on my face, only this time it was my entire body. Everything was so soft and painful — How do you humans live like this? How do you deal with being so, so...weak? So fragile? Broken that easily? I hated it!

I managed to —painfully— drag myself to a bench, which proved to me once again that my ribs were definitely broken.

On the bright side: my vision finally decided to stop pretending it's a funhouse mirror and I could properly take in my surroundings.

I was right about the statue, it was not of me. Very sad. It was of that one guy—Leaf I think his name was. Seriously you mortals should get a statute of me erected (haha) instead of that nobody.

The sound of wolves howling rudely broke me out of my thoughts.

Which meant Fenris' pups were on the prowl.

Now usually I'm fine with wolves, my own son Fenris was born a wolf after all and these were his children—my grandchildren. But, I knew well enough to tell the difference between an 'I'm hungry let's go hunt, guys' howl and an 'Oh my gods guys. I love you all so much' howl.

This howl was the former.

And I'm not sticking around for it. Not because I think they'll attack me. They wouldn't dare try that. But because watching my grandchildren tear apart a mortal or the odd demigod brings back some very um.... unpleasant memories.

With a very painful protest from my squishy, broken, weak mortal body, I got up from the bench and started hobbling out of the park.

As I trudged out of the park and up the street, It started pouring rain because I clearly hadn't been humiliated enough. Thor decided to soak me.

"Really?" I yelled at the sky, slightly regretting it at the sharp sting of my ribs.

YES REALLY, Odin's voice boomed in my head. Though that could have been my imagination or delirium from the broken ribs.

"I'd never do this to you!" I retorted, pointing angrily at my head. Earning some weird looks from passing mortals.

YES YOU WOULD, several Aesir said in unison before going silent once more.

It's true I would. But that was beside the point!

I am once again asking how you mortals deal with this? THIS IS TORTURE! And I should know! I've been tortured! Many times!

A car driving past decided I wasn't soaked and miserable enough and lovingly gave me a splash of muddy water, soaking my clothes, causing them to cling to my body.

I snarled before shivering.

I have to get out of here fast, I thought bitterly. I couldn't stay in one place for too long, not unarmed and injured anyway; I have too many enemies. All of which want me dead. Can't imagine why, I'm a delight!

But the problem with having as many enemies as I have is that I don't have many allies. There's my wife Sigyn, she's the only person I truly trust to not stab me in the back—mostly cause her hands are full from holding the bowl over my face but I digress.

But that opens up a whole other problem: I don't know where she is. She could be across the country ceramic bowl shopping for all I know!

So that kinda leaves me only one option, and I know neither one of us is going to like it. But I am really starting to feel woozy and I don't have a choice.

I stood outside Randolph Chase's mansion—well more Magnus Chase's mansion. I think Randy died, pretty sure I killed him. Not too sure about that, some of my memories are a bit foggy. Hope that's not a permanent thing.

Despite our rocky history of me trying to kill him and possibly killing his uncle, the son of Frey has proven himself to be somewhat sympathetic to me in the past. So maybe, I could appeal to his sense of compassion.

And if that doesn't work then I'll just convince one of my children to let me in. Because my children just cannot say no to me.

Because if they say no I'll make them say yes because they owe it to me for their powers and creating them.

Yay, parenting!

The snarling wolf knocker rattled as I knocked on the door. Seriously what was it with Randy and wolves? Like, dude your sister got mauled by wolves have some decency...oh right he worked with me. He doesn't have that.

I yawned and rubbed my eyes. Why did I feel so tired all of a sudden? Why am I even doing this?

The door swung open and I had to dodge to avoid being hit in the face, something my broken ribs enjoyed very much.

It was in fact not Magnus that made an attempt on my life through door. It was the green-headed menace that I called my child.

Alex Fierro.

He—she? I couldn't tell, guess Odin didn't just take my immortality—didn't react to me in her/his usual hateful face. Which was a good sign. What wasn't a good sign was the fact that my vision was starting to swim again.

"Hey, Alex!" I chirped, before promptly passing out.

Oh for fuck sake.

------

Chapter 2: Will be written soon.

#mcga loki #loki mcga #magnus chase and the gods of asgard #mcga #mcga alex fierro #alex fierro mcga #alex fierro #my writing #fanfic writing #Trials of Loki AU

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quitealotofsodapop · 9 months

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While most celestials do confuse reincarnations for their original selves, I think Iron Fan would have spent enough time in the mortal realm to learn to see the difference so the confusion over their reincarnations doesn't last long. And since she knows Wukong spelled the entrance, that means he somehow wanted this group of people to have access to his sacred home. It on Fan has enough of a brain to realize these were likely the Pilgrims' descendants and reincarnations rather than the Pilgrims themselves abdvthey just happen to have access because Wukong would never deny his troop or their decendants.

And Iron Fan isn't one to go against Wukong's wishes, not when he's sleeping just a bit further into the cave, buried under his favorite peach tree. So she does the courteous thing and brushes off her centuries of neglected hostess skills and offers them tea, only slightly threatening them.

Tang is absolutely delighted and near has a meltdown when PIF confirms that this is indeed Aolai, and not only that, but Water-Curtain Cave itself. Hecwas standing in the home of the Monkey King himself!! Pigsy brings him back to reality by asking the former celestal why she was there, since the last he'd checked, the Demon Bull Family had no reason to be anywhere near the Monkey King.

Iron Fan finally having company after so long, explains that there was much behind the battle between DBK and Sun Wukong that is and shall remain unknown to mortals and celestials alike. Namely, that DBK had done what he'd done by provoking the Monkey King on a misguided attempt to protect his only remaining sworn brother and had not listened to reason when she had warned him of the foolishness of his plan. When asked what DBK had been protecting Wukong from, PIF refused to answer.

Then, a curious baby dragon began digging, having slipped out to play with the monkeys. PIF has had to gently scold and chase monkeys away from her brother's resting spot for many, many years, but she hadn't accounted for company and a dragon. By the time she realized what was happening, it was too late, and Wukong's stone covered nose was exposed.

PIF wishes she could blame the dragons, but even she knows Wukong wouldn't have wanted that

PIF understands reincarnation a lot better than most Celestials, simply because she's more aware of Buddhist teachings + understood that the Tang monk back in the day was the reincarnation of the Golden Cicada. Redson himself has a soul thats seen a powerful previous life.

So when Iron Fan sees a Not-Monk (too sassy/gay to be a real one), a short Pig demon, and a tall buff fish demon suddenly start hanging around her brother-in-law's island one day; she gets a gut feeling that its "almost time".

Part of her believes it's fate giving a clear sign that Wukong is to awaken soon, and will require the company of his companions even in their new lifes to move forward.

So she leaves her post for barely a day at most to pick up Redson from Guanyin. Her family derserves to be reunited in whatever way it can.

And her little fireball runs off into the jungle of the island to play with a baby dragon he saw...

And when she finally catches him and makes their way to Water Curtain Cave, the whole squad are already there and half-dig up Wukong...

PIF hasn't had to play hostess in centuries, but she tries her best to make her company feel at ease - especially since the Not-Monk appears to be close to fainting at every piece of information she divulges.

Oh gosh if Mei had been the one to dig up Wukong as a curious baby dragon (and maybe a "its ok" from the spirit of Ao Lie), that would be so cute. PIF thought Mei was busy playing with Redson when she finally notices two pairs of little hands digging into the ground by the peach tree...

#century stone egg au #stone egg talk #lmk aus #lmk princess iron fan #lm pif #lmk tang #lmk mei #lmk red son #long xiaojiao #lego monkie kid #lmk

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ravewing · 8 months

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How well do the infected swim or fly?

not very🗣️🗣️i mean given how exhausted and delirious they are in stages 1-2 they probably wont be doing either very much, and its not really like they can fly after their wing membranes start deteriorating. part of the swimming (as well as running) depends on how physically fit the dragon was pre-infection, like a weak thin dragon would probably succumb to exhaustion while a strong, powerful dragon like a former soldier in the war is more likely to be able to chase you in the water/on land. idk tho

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middleearthpixie · 4 months

Text

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Twenty-Five

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory.

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it.

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.9k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @legolasbadass @fizzyxcustard

@xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being

@knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell

@jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc

@msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98

@way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @night-ace @lyl1pad @mistresskayla-blog1

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Nina squinted in the brilliant sunshine, lifting her hand to shade her eyes as Erebor loomed above them, but Thorin gently steered her to the left of the fortress’ entrance. “So, where are we going?”

He smiled down at her. “There’s something I wish to share with you, mesmel. And trust me, it will make sense when I do.”

“If you say so.”

His hand tightened about hers and perhaps it was but her imagination, but it felt as if his palm grew damp as they navigated the stone steps—some of them with bits crumbled away—that ran up and around Erebor’s façade and along the city’s labradorite western wall. The soft rush of water reached their ears as they climbed, growing louder with each step.

At the top, the scene before them was equal parts desolate and welcoming. As Erebor had been built into and beneath the Lonely Mountain, rocks and debris littered the somewhat broken flagstone and obsidian walkway to their right. But to their left stretched a field, the grass mostly green with only a few brown scrabbly patches remaining from winter, and beyond that, a wide river rushed softly by.

In the distance, rose a dark gray stone tower and as she studied it, the fortress beyond it came into view as well, one of stone mottled pale gray into near black that blended with its surroundings so well, it disappeared unless one concentrated upon it.

“Thorin?”

“Ravenhill,” he replied, pointing to the gray stone tower. “This is where I confronted Azog for the last time. He’d pursued us—me, Fíli, and Kíli—from one end of Middle-Earth to the other and I’d had enough. I’d tried to end him just outside of Goblin-town, and had failed. This time, I would not fail.”

She gazed first at him, then back at the tower that grew larger with each step. The river wound out of sight, most likely snaking about Ravenhill itself. “Why did he give such stubborn chase?”

“I have no idea. I never knew. My guess, however, is that we’d defeated him and his orc army at Khazad-dûm andin the process, I took his arm. I thought I killed him there, but I was wrong.”

She paused, turning to him once more. “Khazad-dûm?”

“Moria. One of our most sacred of places. They defiled it and we fought to reclaim it. In the process, I found myself with a price upon my head.” A hint of a smile lifted his lips. “Which I believe you are familiar with.”

Heat crept into her cheeks. “Can we just never discuss that again?”

“Nina, without that price, you would not be here now. While I’d rather that not be the reason, it is, and for that, I cannot be entirely ungrateful for it.” He caught her free hand in his and squeezed both gently. “I had no idea at the time, how my life would change when I made my way up here, as determined to end that filth as he was to end me.”

“What happened up here? I was in Dale when the Battle of the Five Armies took place and spent my time battling those who marched through there. All we knew was a great battle had been fought and you had been mortally wounded, or so we thought.”

“So I thought as well. But, Thranduíl had been here, and with him, it seemed half of Mirkwood followed. Elven magic is a wonderful thing when one is mortally wounded.”

“I’ve heard that, but have never seen it myself.”

“Nor had I, until that battle. But, without it, I am not here now and while recovery was long and slow and painful, I did recover and that is the important thing.” He drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he turned to gaze up at the fortress. “Come. There’s more I wish to show you.”

“You don’t have to, you know. I can’t imagine this place holds good memories.”

“You’re not wrong in that the memories are not pleasant ones, but I think it’s something I need to do as much as I need to share it."

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“I know. And I’m fine, mesmel, honest.”

He might claim to be fine, but his face grew paler, which suggested he was anything but fine with it. Still, she did not wish this to devolve into a fight, and so she kept that to herself as they began walking once more. The stone staircase’s condition worsened as they climbed up it, steps missing huge chunks, crumbling into dust along their edges and sides. The air up there was colder, the wind a bit sharper, and the steps themselves had layers of frost in some spots. The chill bit into Nina, who eased her hand from Thorin’s to wrap her arms about herself. “I didn't know it would be so cold,” she murmured. “I would have worn my heavier wrap. There is nothing springlike about this place at all.”

Without hesitation, Thorin swept his own cloak from his shoulders to drape about hers. “I should have warned you. For that, I apologize.”

Hints of earth and leather and soft musk rose from the cloak to tease her nose as the cloak settled gently about her. “Are you not cold?”

“I’m not, actually. Remember, dwarves are bred for the cold. I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” He caught her hand in his once more, linking their fingers, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And we’re almost there.”

There was where the river widened, flowing behind Ravenhill, where it ended in a high waterfall. It was like being at the edge of the world, and Nina wondered if going over that falls would lead to toppling from Middle Earth itself.

It was so tranquil now, so peaceful, that if she hadn’t known firsthand a battle had taken place anywhere around Erebor, she never would have believed it.

But when she looked more closely, the evidence showed itself in the scarred earth all around—craters from war machines, armor and weapons left behind either because their owner retreated or died, broken arrow shafts, broken blades—all served as reminders of what had happened up here.

“Here is where the battle took place,” Thorin murmured, releasing her hand as he moved closer to the water. “The river was frozen over. Or it was until Azog split it with his flail. Have you ever done battle on an ice floe?”

He said this over his shoulder, as she remained where she was, watching him as he moved closer to the water. His shoulders were stiff, his entire body suggested he wasn't at all comfortable with being there.

So why had he brought her there?

“No, I can’t say I have. We were in Dale when the orc army arrived and you saw what damage it did. They turned trolls into war machines in some of the cruelest ways I’ve ever seen, and I’d never even seen a troll until that point.” She turned to the east, where she could make out Dale just beyond the purple peak of the Lonely Mountain. The city had come so far from that day as well, but as she stared, she could hear the battle sounds that erupted when the orcs set upon them. “They rampaged through the city, as if we weren’t already on our knees to begin with, slaughtering everyone and everything in their paths.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Thranduíl and his army were there as well, but there were just too many orcs. I didn't know elves could die until that day.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “They paid a heavy price as well. We all did.”

“And for what?” She shrugged, falling into step alongside him once more. “I never even knew why the war was being fought. I’d never seen an orc before your company passed through, although I’d heard tell of them over the years.”

He turned toward her. “Like you, they pursed me.”

“You were very popular.”

That earned her a wry laugh and he caught her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “I’d rather not be so popular, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Well, they gave me my first taste of battle, so to speak. One fell through the roof of our house and I brained him with a skillet.”

“He deserved it.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that.”

His fingers tightened about hers again, but now he turned back to the river, its surface sparkling like the gemstones deep within Erebor under the brilliant sunlight.

“I was so tired of all of it at that point,” he murmured, only barely audible over the rush of water. “We’d been from the Shire, battled trolls before reaching Rivendell, chased by orcs while trying to get to Rivendell, fought with legions of goblins, only to get lost in Mirkwood and imprisoned by the wood elves, before we reached Esgaroth.”

She joined him on the riverbank, slipping her arm through his. “You had to be exhausted by then.”

“We were. Beyond exhausted, even.” He smiled down at her. “And you know what happened after that—we passed through Esgaroth and brought orcs in our wake.”

“I’m very well acquainted with that, but not with what happened here. All we knew was that the army marched your way.”

“I was such a coward,” he replied softly, shaking his head as the breeze picked up to lift his hair away from his face. “Dragon sickness, you know. It caught me and refused to let go of me. My kin had come down from the Iron Hills, only for me to hide in my fortress and refuse to honor my word.”

She’d known this. Everyone in Dale had known, for Thranduíl and Bard had confronted Thorin at Erebor, demanded he honor his word and his promise, only to have him refuse. That was when she’d decided he had to pay for what he’d done to her family, to her friends, to her village.

“I told you about it, remember?”

“I do, yes.”

“Well, I came out of it and decided not only was I not going to go back on my word, but I was going to rid the world of that filth and be done with all of it. I’d betrayed my people, my kin, and those I’d promised and I had a lot to atone for. That was how I’d begin. So, I took my nephews, and Dwalin and went to confront Azog and his son and put an end to their pursuit for once and for all. And here is where that happened.”

“The river was frozen over, but it didn't remain that way. And,” he peered down at her, “have you ever done battle on ice?”

“I can’t say I have, no.”

He lifted his head to turn his gaze back to the water. “The ice shifts constantly beneath your feet once it’s broken up. And I had to use that to my advantage even as it wore me down.”

“But you did.”

He nodded slowly. “I did, but that was because I had decided to give Azog what he wanted. I’d thought he’d already slaughtered Fíli. I didn't know Kíli had even been wounded, never mind as seriously as he had, and I thought that if Kíli lived, that would be enough. It would have to be enough. I owed far too many people far too great a debt.”

“What did you do?”

Thorin eased free from her grasp. “I let him run me through.”

Her belly kinked sharply. “The scars on your stomach?”

He nodded. “It gave me the time I’d need to throw him off and return the favor, which I did, and sent him to his maker. And until now, I’ve avoided coming here. In fact, I’ve tried not to think about what happened here if at all possible, for doing so only makes the nightmares worse.”

“Nightmares?”

He nodded. “What happened here haunts my sleep from time to time, although,” he offered up a hint of a smile, “they tend to leave me in peace when you are asleep beside me.”

“It’s nice to know I’m good for something.”

His hint of a smile becomes a full blown one as he caught her face in his hands. “It goes far beyond sleeping peacefully, you know. And I suppose that I actually owe that filth thanks, for without him and his bounty, you are not standing here now.”

Her cheeks grew hot. “Thorin, you should only know how I regret ever approaching him about that bounty.”

“You shouldn’t,” he told her softly, his thumbs moving lightly along her cheekbones, “for I am thankful you did. I love you, Nina. And I would not change how it’s come to that for anything.”

Her throat tightened at the soft emotion in his deep voice, at the soft emotion swirling in his blue eyes. “Thorin—”

“And that is why I wanted to bring you here,” he interrupted gently, his hands falling away from her face as he took a step back. “Remember when you asked me about the rune, the one from my father?”

“I do, of course. It was only last evening, after all.”

“Well, I was supposed have this last evening, but Balin took a bit longer than anticipated.” As he spoke, he drew a small teak box to press into her grasp.

The box was heavier than it looked. “Thorin?”

“Open it, mesmel.”

Her heart sped up as she lifted the lid, which opened without a sound, its hinge perfectly oiled, and as her gaze fell upon the small silver and emerald cube nestled on a bed of rich moss green velvet. “Thorin?”

He smiled. “I know your customs are not ours and mine are not yours, but when a dwarf proposes marriage, he does so by braiding an ornament into his intended’s hair to let everyone else know she is taken. And so, I brought you here, Nina, to ask if you would accept my proposal and allow me to braid this into your hair.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes misting over as she nodded slowly. “I will, yes…”

He smiled as he carefully plucked the cube from the box. It was delicate-looking and exquisite, silver melding with emerald, and inscribed with lettering she couldn’t read, but knew was khuzdul. “I wanted something that matched your eyes,” he said softly, “and found this emerald in the absolute sea of treasure still in Erebor. But, if you don't like it, we can wade out into it and find something else.”

“Bite your tongue, Thorin. This is beautiful and perfect and I love it.” She looked up to meet his gaze. “What does it say?”

“Amrâlimê on one side and nalish on the other. They mean my love and forever. Now,” he traced his fingers along her hair just behind her left ear, “where should I braid this?”

“Is there a specific spot you’re supposed to braid?”

“No. It’s where you wish it to be.”

“Then right there is fine.”

His eyes sparkled like the surface of the river. “Have patience with me, mesmel,” he murmured as he separated the lock in question and began slowly braiding her hair, “for I have never done this before.”

“Really?”

“Really.” His fingers moved with slow precision, the plait in their wake smooth and straight, and when he wove the rune into it, she barely felt the gentle tug on her hair, barely felt the added weight when he stepped back.

She caught the sleek plait in her hand, cradling the rune woven three-quarters of the way into the braid. The sunlight glinted off the silver, threw flashes of light this way and that as she turned it over. “It’s beautiful, Thorin.”

He leaned in to sweep her lips with a gentle kiss, and as he drew back, he whispered, “I’d rather this place hold a good memory instead of the terrible ones.”

A soft laugh bubbled to her lips, her neck bowing when he brushed his lips along the front of it. “Glad I could help?”

A low laugh danced along her skin, his lips warm and soft and slowly moving down into the hollow of her throat. His hands slipped beneath the hem of her tunic, skimming lightly along the curves of her waist, up toward her breasts.

As his thumbs swept along the outer curves, Nina pulled back. “Here? In the open?”

Thorin drew back, his eyes smoky sapphire. “No one ever comes here, mesmel, and this would make for the sweetest memory I could have of this forsaken place.”

Nina smiled, heat flaring through her as he swept her tunic over her head and let it fall to the grass behind her. Her teasing response died on her lips, her hands tightening against his back, pulling him toward her. It was a small sacrifice to make.

With the breeze having died down, near the river was no where near as cold as it had been earlier, and the sun’s rays warmed over Nina’s skin as she curled around Thorin, her right leg thrown over his, her arm about his waist, her head resting against his chest. They lay atop her cloak, covered snugly by his and the birds singing softly in the treetops along the far bank, along with the water’s soft rush, were white noise that added to her contented drowsiness. She cared not if anyone happened upon them, as nothing could possibly disturb the peacefulness of lying there entwined with him.

Thorin’s fingers swept lightly along her hair, his heartbeat slowing beneath her ear as he murmured, “Maralmizi, mesmel.”

She smiled, her fingertips sweeping lightly through the soft hair layered across his warm skin. “Maralmizu,” she whispered back. She continued her perusal of him, letting her fingers brush lower still, along his hip.

Back up.

A low laugh rumbled through him. “We should be heading back.”

“Must we? I like it here.”

“As do I, for the first time in a long time. But,” his fingers went still, “I should like to share our news. And it will grow far too cold to be comfortable before much longer, as spring seems to forget at times that it’s arrived.”

She pulled away to sit up. “People will wonder, you know. And if someone should find out the truth about me… wouldn’t that be disastrous?”

Grass rustled softly and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth as Thorin snaked an arm about her waist and his lips brushed over her right shoulder blade. “We will cross that bridge when we reach it,” he murmured before the tip of his tongue brushed her skin to send a shiver along her spine.

She fought off a shiver, the sensations he sent rippling through her heady and sweet, and she let her head loll back against him when he kissed along her shoulder. Her eyelids grew heavy, her breath harder to catch with each successive caress. He trailed those teasing kisses along her shoulder, along the curve of her neck, easing her down into the grass once more as his lips met hers.

Nina eased her arms about his neck, her lips parting to allow his tongue to tease hers, her legs parting to allow him to settle between her thighs. The sunlight warmed their skin, the light breeze danced in its wake, and she didn't care one bit if anyone happened upon them now, didn't care if anyone ever found out the truth about her past, about how she came to meet Thorin. None of it mattered when he now moved down along her throat, down into the valley between her breasts.

His beard scrape sensually against her skin, his lips gentle as they closed about her left nipple to draw into the wet heat of his mouth, Her back bowed at the fire ribboning through her, her hips rocking up to meet him, her inhale quick and sharp as he slid into the dampness of her arousal. The silken glide sent tingles rushing through her, made the gentle ache of desire stronger.

“I love you,” he whispered, lifting his head to regard her with blazing sapphire eyes that held more than a hint of mischief when he flicked the tip of his tongue against the tight bead of her nipple.

“I love you—oh!” She couldn't hold back her gasp as his fingers slid along her inner thigh and he eased one inside her. She tightened about him, her body humming with each teasing stroke, each delicious swirl.

Her eyes were so heavy lidded, but she forced them to remain open, to hold his smoldering gaze as he moved lower now, spreading teasing kisses along her belly. Down over her hip.

His finger slid free and she sank her hands into his hair as his mouth closed over her, his tongue slipping into the delicious ache between her thighs where his fingers had been only moments ago.

Fire erupted, wound and twisted through her as he teased her, as he swept his tongue along her aching flesh, swirled it about the bead nestled within. Her hips moved of their own, meeting him, her body trembling as he brought her to the edge of sweet madness and held her there, relief so close and yet so far from her.

Her finger twisted in his hair, the knots deep within her core so tight and fragile, she knew they’d shatter at any moment. Heat swept through her, tingling and powerful and threatening to drive her completely insane if he didn't shatter her already.

Then he did.

“Thorin!” Her cry rang out loudly enough to send the birds skyward in a flutter of wings and song as those knots burst and wickedly sweet fire poured into her entire body. She throbbed around him, hips snapping forward to grind against him to increase her pleasure, to draw it out until her mind went blank and white lights danced before her eyes.

Everything inside her turned over, and when he drew away and a moment later, breached her to thrust hard, she melted around him.

His thrusts came swift and powerful and unrelenting, the sensations almost more than she could bear as he quickly brought her back to the summit, leaving her clinging to him, breathless and pleading for him to shatter her again.

He obliged, his low moan rolling across the meadow, across the river, as he shuddered, arched hard, and came with her, each feeding the other, pleasure feasting on pleasure to surge through them at the same time.

Peace reigned then, as Thorin sank gently against her, his heart thundering, the reverberations thrumming through her as well. His breath came in hot blasts against her neck, his voice husky as he whispered, “Amrâlimê…”

She smiled, letting her eyes close for a moment as she tried to catch her breath as well. “Thorin…”

“I care not what anyone thinks about how we met,” he whispered after a few minutes, lifting his head to smile down at her. “Because it no longer matters.”

“Perhaps not to you, but—”

He cut her off with a slow, deep kiss that had her toes curling and her blood warming again. And for the moment, it didn't matter. Hopefully it never would, but Nina had the feeling her hope was misplaced.

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here?#Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

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