#game of thrones

[maureen2musings]

The winter forest

daniel_weissenhorn

[aimorhalynx]

there’d be no rest for him with me,an endless cycle of childbearing

↬ when night falls

Tywin Lannister x Reader

intended to be a sequel to the morning after, but it's not necessary that you read it prior to this

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, 18+ ONLY ⇆ P in V sex, unprotected sex, creampie, age gap, nipple play, bit of breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, pregnant!reader

The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing took considerably longer than necessary, given the Queen's insistence that she travel in that godsforsaken carriage of hers. As such, five weeks after your marriage to Tywin Lannister, you were spending one final night in a lavish red and gold tent alongside your lord husband.

For the entirety of the journey, the two of you spent the entire day apart – your horse trotting behind your father and King Robert, and Tywin a short distance behind, alongside Ser Jamie. Occasionally, Arya would pester you into allowing her to sit in front of you on the saddle, as you quietly conversed with her and taught her how to control the horse. But, aside from that, you were alone with your thoughts all day, every day.

The nights, however, were spent in the arms of your lord husband.

The two of you quite quickly developed a very… peculiar dynamic. You had quickly learned and adapted to the way the fearsome Tywin Lannister operates – preferring you speak concisely and directly, vehemently uninterested in anything otherwise. Additionally, there was a degree of mutual respect, as well as a vaguely guarded openness to one another – but certainly no love, or any semblance of romantic feelings at all. In truth, you assumed there never would be.

But gods was there lust.

On your end, it was your first and only experience with sex, and it was undeniably good, so you were eager for it. On his end… you couldn't be sure. It could be that the man was pent up from years as a bachelor, but it would be safe to assume he had simply sent for a whore when the mood struck him. A more likely reason would be his pursuit of an heir, but surely he wouldn't have needed to fill your cunt nightly to achieve that goal. No, you were almost certain that he was simply enjoying fucking you – just as much as you were enjoying fucking him.

When Tywin entered the tent, you were sitting on the edge of the cot, toying with the goblet in your hands, already undressed to your shift. He met your eyes as he entered, but said nothing, that unreadable (but somehow always leaning toward annoyed) expression on his face. He silently began taking off his boots, then removed his sword and placed it beside the cot. He was in the middle of pouring wine into his goblet when you found the courage to ask your question.

"Will you stop bedding me when I become pregnant?"

Tywin said nothing, setting the pitcher down and turning to face you as he took a sip of his wine. He wore that calm, calculating expression as he stared at you – but you could swear there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. The golden goblet made a faint clank as he set it down before speaking.

"Do you ask because you wish for me to stop? Or because you wish for me to continue?"

"I wish for you to continue."

"Then I shall continue," Tywin stated, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Good," you replied, then added, "Because I am."

"You are what?"

"Pregnant."

The smile dropped and Tywin's eyebrows raised, making his forehead crinkle.

"Already?" he inquired dryly, surprised. Then, incredulous, he asked, "How do you know?"

It was a fair question. You had never been pregnant before, so perhaps you were mistaking soreness and fatigue from travel as signs of pregnancy. But no. You knew.

"I should have bled three weeks ago, but I have not. My breasts are extremely tender, and certain smells make my stomach turn."

Tywin nodded, then stated, "I do not doubt that you are right, but we will have a Maester provide his confirmation and look you over when we arrive in King's Landing. In the meantime, is there anything you need?"

A faint but wicked smile spread across your face, and you stood from the bed, setting the goblet down as you slowly made your way over to him. The metal of his armor was cold beneath your fingers as you idly ran your hands over his chest, before toying with the belt around his hips, looking up at him through your lashes.

"You," was your simple answer. But both of you knew that it wasn't meant in a romantic, sweet sort of way.

Tywin's hand reached up to cradle your face, somewhat harshly, hooking his thumb under your jaw to tilt your head up and kiss you. It was lustful and full of desire, accompanied by the scratch of his beard upon the delicate skin of your face.

When he pulled away, Tywin smiled quite faintly, then hummed lowly and said, "Well, what sort of man would I be to deny his pregnant lady wife her wish?"

The old lion made quick work of removing his armor and smallclothes, and relieving you of the thin linen shift you wore, before guiding you to the luxurious cot. Tywin continued to kiss you, eventually trailing kisses down your neck, until he reached your chest, unexpectedly taking one of your breasts into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

The sensation nearly made you shout, opting to take in a sharp breath instead as your back arched off the blankets. Eyes squeezed shut, you heard a low chuckle, and looked down to see a set of very amused, crystalline eyes staring up at you.

"Hm, I see you were not exaggerating about the sensitivity."

Electing to ignore him, you let your head fall back onto the pillow. However, it seemed he did not intend to grant you any reprieve, moving to the other breast and doing the same thing – prompting you to dig your nails into his shoulders and bite your lip to avoid crying out. Unfortunately, that made matters worse, as Tywin let out a low groan with his lips still wrapped around your nipple, earning a loud, pitiful whine from you.

Seemingly enjoying himself, Tywin began peppering your chest with gentle bites, which he soothed with his tongue afterwards, sure to become small little bruises by morning. Breathy moans and sighs of pleasure filled the tent, as he then resumed his ministrations on the hardened peaks of your breasts before snaking one hand down to toy with your clit, expertly rubbing it in small, steady circles. Astoundingly fast, your release washed over you, soaking his hand as you moaned and writhed beneath the Warden of the West – who only chuckled darkly at your quick climax.

Noticing that the continued kisses and licks upon your breasts began to make you twitch, Tywin captured your lips in a brief, rough kiss, before rolling onto his back. He then pulled you into his lap, with a strength one wouldn’t assume the older man to still possess – which was, admittedly, arousing. Your mind was still foggy from the orgasm, and your movements were not unlike a rag doll, eyes half-lidded and jaw slack, moving somewhat limply as you allowed him to maneuver you. He gripped his hard, leaking cock in one hand, then reached behind you to urge you forward with a flat palm on the small of your back.

A hiss through gritted teeth escaped Tywin, and you gasped lightly, head thrown back and hands flat on his chest. Although you’d already lost count of how many times he’d taken you, it still felt more incredible than anything you’d ever experienced. A passing thought reminded you of the fact that he seemed to share the sentiment, always hissing or groaning when he first sheathed himself inside you.

Tywin’s grip moved to your hips, prompting you to begin rocking them against his own, keeping your pace steady. However, he made no move to halt you when you eventually began to move faster, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs as you fucked yourself on his long, thick cock. The sound of it alone would have made a Septa drop dead – a symphony composed of wet skin upon skin and gruff grunts intermingling with breathy moans.

He reached up to grasp and knead your breasts in his rough, calloused hands – but he then surprised you, his hands drifting lower, until they rested flat against your lower stomach. You thought perhaps he was focusing on the movement of your hips, but then his thumbs began to stroke across the soft skin of your belly.

At first, it seemed very sweet and sentimental. You thought that perhaps he was basking in the joy of another child being on the way – until you felt the way his cock throbbed, deep inside of you, as he stared intently at your belly. Immediately, you came to the realization that it must be arousing for a man to have successfully fucked a babe into his wife – stroking their ego and their pride to have done their husbandly duty, as well as show everyone that you belong to them.

Truth be told, you were surprised to learn that it aroused you just as much.

Tywin groaned as you clenched around him, and when his eyes flicked up to meet yours, it felt as though he knew you had been thinking the very same thing he was.

That seemed to ignite something within your husband, and in the blink of an eye, Tywin flipped you onto your back and began driving into your soaked cunt with a newfound ferocity. You bit down on your knuckle to keep quiet, but Tywin pinned both of your wrists down, his arms on either side of your head. The act did not last much longer beyond that point, both parties having already been too near the precipice of climax, and the pair of you met your releases in unison.

Tywin rolled off of you, breathing heavily, a light layer of sweat covering his chest, along with the small patches of silver hair. You allowed yourself a few moments of recovery, before moving to leave the cot in order to extinguish the candles, as well as tidy yourself up. However, Tywin grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Where are you going?”

“The candles –”

“Can wait,” Tywin interrupted, voice sounding unbothered as always, albeit with a hint of fatigue. He exhaled slowly, as he gently pulled you back down to lay upon the cot beside him. “One of the guards outside can see to the candles in a moment. You are carrying my heir, so you are to rest. As much as is feasible, from now until the babe is born. And if anyone questions it, they are to discuss it with me.”

Anyone possessing the sense the gods gave a mule knows “discussing” something with Tywin Lannister was just the opposite – it was not to be addressed at all, because what Tywin Lannister says, goes. A fact which made you smile softly.

“As my lord husband commands,” you replied, a hint of sarcasm in your tone, but you did exactly as he bade you, pulling some of the blankets over you and nestling into the pillows. You were already yawning by the time Tywin called for a guard, who extinguished the candles, and bathed the room in darkness as you drifted into a deep, contented sleep.

[pigeon-princess]

When Oswick "Redtusk" Crakehall first kidnapped Tobiah Martell and Gwyndon Pyke, I don't think he realised what he'd be getting into. I'm finally compiling a bunch of my sketches from earlier in our ASOIAF TTRPG campaign!

🐗Oswick belongs to our GM @oneirotect ☀️Toby belongs to Nico Mclaughlan

[sihtryggr]

my arcane x asoiaf // Melvika heart is singing because of @/olgasnoww on Twitter.

[bluerosesandyellowdragons]

[saltandfire-blog]

I LOVE the Velaryon banner with dragon wings 😍

🎀 House of the Dragon 3D keychains designs! 🎀

And there they are! As I said I like them less because I did them earlier but I'm still sharing them! 💝

They will also be available later in my next shop update early December :D

[therogueflame]

The Diplomat (Part Two)

Hi my angels!

Here is part two to The Diplomat , this part is the sexy part, so reader's discretion is advised. I had so much fun writing this, and am definitely lining up more nasty one shots to write. :) (ñuha zaldrītsos means "my little dragon" in High Valyrian)

✨My Masterlist✨

WC: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+. dubcon, violent anger, dominance, oral (f!recieving), sex (p in v), multiple positions, fluids in mouth(s), lil bit of praise kink, lil bit of breeding kink, Daemon Targaryen, no use of y/n, fem!reader

Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The tension between you and Daemon had stretched thin, the days following the reconciliation ceremony feeling like a fragile truce. The whispers had started, first in the shadows and then louder, until they rang in Daemon's ears, carried on the tongues of servants and lords alike. He had done his best to ignore it, to focus on the duties of the City Watch, to retreat into the work that allowed him to pretend the storm brewing within his chest didn’t exist.

But it was no use.

You were standing by the window in your chambers when the door slammed open, the force of it shaking the wooden frame. His eyes, wild with fury, locked onto you instantly. The air between you crackled with the intensity of the moment, his anger an almost physical presence. His hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles white, and his breath came fast, his chest heaving with the weight of what he had heard.

“Do you think me a fool?” His voice was low, dangerous. He took a step forward, his boots thudding heavily on the floor. “I know what they’ve been saying. I know what you’ve done.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. You remained still, though the fire in his gaze burned through you like a brand. You had expected this confrontation, knew it would come, though you had hoped to delay it for just a little longer. The look on his face was one of a man betrayed, though it was you who had been forced to act without his knowledge.

Daemon took another step toward you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think you can control everything? The Blackwoods, the Brackens... you made a fool of me.”

You met his gaze, your expression calm, as though the tempest raging before you was nothing more than a mild storm. “I did what had to be done.”

His eyes narrowed, a sneer twisting his lips. “What had to be done?” He spat the words, stepping closer until the heat of his anger seemed to suffocate the space between you. “You went behind my back. You thought I would be too ignorant to see your schemes, to feel your manipulation in every move?”

You didn’t respond immediately. The silence in the room was thick, heavy, suffocating. His fists tightened at his sides, his jaw clenched in rage as he waited for you to explain yourself.

“What were you trying to prove, hmm?” he growled, voice low but seething. “That I’m not capable? That you, with your little games, can do better than me?”

His words hit like a slap, and you finally allowed yourself to speak, your voice cutting through the thick tension with the precision of a blade. “You’re too blinded by your pride to see what needs to be done, Daemon. Your anger would have destroyed everything, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

Daemon’s face twisted, fury turning to something darker, more dangerous. He took another step closer, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your face. “You think you know better than me?” His words were a growl, raw and vicious. “You, who’s hidden behind your little schemes, who’s used the power of my name like a dagger in the dark?”

“Don’t make this about me,” you replied, your voice a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything you had to say. “This was about keeping the peace. You didn’t want to listen to anyone but yourself. I did what was necessary.”

His hand shot out, gripping your arm with such force that it burned, his nails biting into your skin. His face was inches from yours, his breath ragged as he stared down at you, his anger a storm raging in his chest. “Necessary?” he spat. “You’ve humiliated me.”

The words stung, but you didn’t flinch. You let him seethe, let him vent the fury that had been boiling over. You knew it would pass—just as the storm always did. But in this moment, the words he spoke, the anger that poured from him, felt like it might consume you both.

You tilt your head slightly, your gaze steady, and your voice, soft yet cutting, drips with a kind of quiet venom. “If you were half the man your brother is, none of this would have been necessary.”

The words hang in the air between you, like a challenge he’s powerless to take back. The comparison to Viserys, a man Daemon has always despised, would wound him deeply. It’s not just an insult; it’s a reminder that his volatile nature has cost him the very thing he craves—respect.

Daemon's grip on your arm tightened painfully, his eyes flashing with a dangerous mix of rage and hurt. For a moment, you thought he might strike you, his free hand clenching into a fist at his side. But instead, he released you suddenly, as if your skin had burned him.

He took a step back, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. When he spoke again, his voice was low and cold. "You dare compare me to him? To that weak, indecisive fool who sits on the throne?"

You stood your ground, even as your heart raced. "At least Viserys knows how to rule without letting his temper destroy everything around him."

Daemon's laugh was bitter, bordering on manic. "And you think you're so clever, don't you? Playing your little games, thinking you can control everything from the shadows."

"I'm not trying to control everything, Daemon," you replied, your voice steady despite the tension crackling between you. "I'm trying to protect what matters. The realm, our family, you—"

"Protect me?" Daemon snarled, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I don't need your protection. I don't need you meddling in affairs that don't concern you."

You took a step forward, closing the distance he had created. "Everything that happens in this realm concerns me. I am your wife, the mother of your child. Did you think I would stand idly by while you tore everything apart with your rage?"

Daemon's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You went behind my back. You conspired with Viserys, made decisions without me. How am I supposed to trust you now?"

"Trust?" you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. "This was never about trust, Daemon. It was about doing what needed to be done, what you refused to see."

His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. "And you think that gives you the right to go behind my back? To make me look weak in front of the entire court?"

You took a step closer, your gaze never wavering from his. "You made yourself look weak the moment you let your temper dictate your actions. I did what I had to do to protect this family, to protect the realm."

Daemon's eyes flashed dangerously at your words, a storm of emotions raging behind them. His hand shot out, gripping your arm again, but this time there was a desperation in his touch that belied his anger.

"Protect the realm?" he spat, his voice low and venomous. "You think I don't want to protect it? Everything I've done has been for this family, for our legacy!"

You didn't flinch from his grip, meeting his gaze steadily. "And yet your actions threaten to tear it all apart. Your pride, your anger - they blind you to the consequences."

Daemon’s grip remained firm, the tension in the air thickening with each passing second. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and rough.

"You think you can outsmart me, control everything from the shadows?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

His free hand found its way to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, tugging you closer. His touch was a confusing mixture of dominance and a deeper, unspoken hunger.

The raw intensity of his presence, the heat of his body pressed so close to yours, made it impossible to think clearly. The anger in his eyes hadn't quite faded, but it was now laced with something darker, more primal, as though his fury had been redirected into a desperate need to prove something. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, the roughness of his touch contrasting with the lingering softness of your skin.

It was almost as if he were testing your limits again—not with words or anger now, but with an entirely different kind of power. His movements were slow, deliberate, the control he wielded over you shifting from violent to something more intimate, dangerous in a new way. You could feel the struggle in his chest, the tension still there, but now it was tangled with a strange pull, one that drew you closer despite everything.

In the space between your pounding heartbeats, you searched his eyes, looking for some semblance of the man you once knew. The Daemon who had swept you off your feet, who had loved you with a fierceness that both terrified and exhilarated you. But in the depths of his stormy gaze, you found only shadows of that man, clouded by rage and feeling betrayed.

"Daemon," you began, unsure if it was a plea or a warning.

His response was to crush his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his other hand still tangled in your hair. You gasped into his mouth, caught off guard by the ferocity of his need. His tongue forced its way inside your mouth, claiming every inch of you as though he feared it would be taken away.

The kiss was ferocious, almost punishing. Daemon's grip on your hair tightened as he deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding down to grasp your waist and pull you flush against him. There was no tenderness in his touch, only raw need and the lingering anger that still simmered beneath the surface.

You found yourself responding despite your better judgment, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders. The familiar heat of his body against yours ignited something primal within you, a stark contrast to the tension that had been building between you for days.

Daemon broke the kiss abruptly, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with dark, stormy eyes. "Is this what you wanted?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "To have me at your mercy?" Before you could respond, he ripped the front of your gown open, thread and beads flying everywhere.

You gasped as the cool air hit your exposed skin, Daemon's hands rough as they roamed over your body. His touch was possessive, demanding, as if he were trying to reclaim something he felt he had lost.

"Daemon," you breathed, your voice caught between desire and uncertainty.

He silenced you with another bruising kiss, backing you up until you hit the wall. His body pressed against yours, trapping you between the cold stone and the heat of his form. You could feel the hardness of his arousal against your thigh, a stark reminder of the passion that still burned between you despite everything.

Daemon's lips moved to your neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in almost painfully. "You think you can control me?" he growled against your skin. "You think you know better than I do?" You couldn’t contain your moans as he left searing kisses on your exposed skin. The sound of you only sent Daemon further into a frenzy. His hand slipped between your legs, hiking up your skirts. You moaned into his mouth as his fingers found your wet heat.He stroked you roughly, making your hips buck against his hand. Daemon's eyes were dark with lust and lingering anger as he watched your reactions.

Daemon's fingers moved against you with a desperate urgency, his touch rough and demanding. You gasped, your head falling back against the wall as pleasure coursed through your body. Despite the anger and hurt between you, your body responded to his familiar touch.

"Look at me," Daemon growled, his free hand gripping your chin and forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes were dark, stormy with a mix of desire and lingering fury. "Is this what you wanted? To have this much power over me?"

You couldn't find the words to respond, caught between the intensity of his gaze and the sensations he was drawing from your body. Your hips rocked against his hand, seeking more of that exquisite friction.

With a low growl, Daemon withdrew his hand, leaving you aching and wanting. In one swift motion, he spun you around, pressing you face-first against the cold stone wall.

Daemon pressed himself against you from behind, his body hard and unyielding. You could feel the heat of him through your clothes, his breath hot on your neck as he spoke.

"You've played your games," he growled, his voice low and dangerous in your ear. "Now it's my turn."

His hands were rough as they hiked up your skirts, exposing you to the cool air. You gasped as he pressed himself against you, the hardness of his arousal evident through his breeches.

"Daemon," you breathed.

He responded by nipping at your neck, his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin. "Don't speak," he commanded. "You've said enough."

You heard the rustle of fabric as he freed himself from his breeches. Then, without warning, he thrust into you in one hard stroke. You cried out in pleasure and his hand found the front of your throat.

The feeling of Daemon entering you so forcefully drew a gasp from your lips. His hand tightened slightly on your throat as he began to move, his thrusts hard and deep. There was no tenderness in his movements, only raw need and lingering anger.

You couldn't respond, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body. The cold stone of the wall pressed against your cheek, a stark contrast to the heat of Daemon's body behind you. His free hand gripped your hip bruisingly tight as he drove into you again and again.

He turned you to face him once more, and a sudden shift sent a jolt through your body as Daemon's mouth replaced the feeling of his cock. His tongue laved over your sensitive flesh, drawing a gasping moan from your lips. Your legs trembled, barely able to support you as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Daemon's hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you with an almost feral intensity. His tongue delved deep, tasting every inch of you, while his nose brushed against your most sensitive spot. The contrast between his earlier roughness and this focused attention left you reeling.

You reached for him, your fingers tangling in his silver hair as you fought to stay upright. "Daemon," you breathed, his name like a prayer on your lips.

He growled against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs. Your hands gripped his shoulders as you begged for mercy on your shaky legs.

Daemon's mouth continued its relentless assault, his tongue delving deep inside you before flicking against your most sensitive spot. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out as waves of pleasure crashed over you. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, holding you in place as he devoured you.

You cried out, your fingers tangling in his silver hair as you felt yourself nearing the edge. "Daemon, please," you gasped, unsure if you were begging him to stop or never cease.

He responded by redoubling his efforts, his tongue moving faster and more insistently against you. One of his hands left your thigh, his fingers finding your bud and stroking in tandem with his mouth.

The dual sensations were too much. With a keening cry, you came undone, your body shuddering as ecstasy washed over you. Daemon carried you to the bed, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release. He laid you down roughly, his eyes dark with a mixture of lust and lingering anger as he loomed over you. Without a word, he gripped your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling you up onto your hands and knees.

You felt his body press against yours from behind, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of your torn gown. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back as he leaned in close to your ear.

“Tell me what you want, ñuha zaldrītsos,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous in your ear.

Your mind raced, caught between lingering anger and overwhelming desire. Part of you wanted to resist, to maintain some semblance of control. But another part craved his touch, his dominance, the raw passion that had always existed between you.

“You," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you, Daemon."

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Not good enough," he said, his free hand trailing down your side to grip your hip. "Be specific."

You felt your breath catch in your throat, torn between desire and the remnants of your earlier anger. Daemon's body was hot against yours, his grip on your hair unyielding. You could feel the hard length of him pressed against you, a reminder of his barely contained need.

"I want..." you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I want you inside me. I want to feel you, all of you."

Daemon's grip tightened, pulling your head back further. "And?" he prompted, his voice a low growl.

You swallowed hard, heat flooding your cheeks. "I want you to take me. To claim me. To remind me why I'm yours."

A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled in his chest. Without warning, he thrust into you in one hard stroke, burying himself to the hilt. You cried out, the sudden fullness sending shockwaves through your body.

Daemon set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against yours with each powerful thrust. His grip on your hair remained tight, holding your head back as he drove into you again and again. The room filled with the sounds of skin against skin and your breathless moans.

"Is this what you wanted?" Daemon growled, his voice rough with exertion and lingering anger. "To be reminded of who you belong to?"

You could only gasp in response, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body. Daemon's free hand gripped your hip bruisingly tight, pulling you back to meet each thrust. The angle allowed him to hit that spot deep inside you that made you see stars.

"Answer me," he demanded, giving your hair a sharp tug.

"Yes," you managed to choke out between moans. "Yes, Daemon, please..."

Daemon's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. You could feel the tension building in your core, pleasure coiling tighter with each movement. His hand left your hip, snaking around to find your sensitive bud. His fingers circled it roughly, drawing a sharp cry from your lips.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice low and possessive in your ear. "No matter what games you play, what schemes you devise. You will always be mine."

His words, combined with the relentless assault on your senses, pushed you over the edge. You came with a keening cry, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure washed over you. Daemon didn't slow his pace, fucking you through your orgasm and drawing out your pleasure until it bordered on overstimulation.

With a final, powerful thrust, Daemon found his own release. He groaned, his hot seed coating every inch of your pulsing insides. Before you could take a breath, he flipped you once more to your back, and pushed his fingers inside of you. He wanted his seed to be buried inside your womb. As he retrieved his fingers, he brought them to your lips.

“Taste,” he commanded.

The room was spinning, but you didn't dare defy him. You parted your lips, and Daemon pressed his seed-covered fingers to your mouth. You closed your eyes, enjoying the tang of iron and salt that filled your senses.

"Mmm," Daemon purred, pleased with your submission. His grip on your hair loosened, allowing you to catch your breath. "That's my good girl."

You swallowed the evidence of his claim on you, the thick liquid coating your tongue.

Your heart was still pounding, body trembling from the intensity of what had just transpired. Daemon's weight pressed you into the mattress, his breath hot against your neck. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room your ragged breathing.

Slowly, Daemon lifted his head to look at you. His eyes, which had been stormy with anger and lust, now held a mixture of satisfaction and lingering frustration. He studied your face intently, as if searching for something. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch gentler now as his thumb traced your lower lip.

"You drive me mad," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "In every way possible."

You gazed up at Daemon, your breath still coming in shallow pants. The intensity of his stare made your heart race, a mix of lingering desire and uncertainty coursing through you. His touch on your cheek was gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before.

"Daemon," you whispered, unsure of what to say. The anger between you hadn't fully dissipated, but it had transformed into something else - a raw, primal energy that left you feeling both satisfied and vulnerable.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. His silver hair fell around your face like a curtain, shielding you both from the world outside. For a moment, you could almost forget the argument that had led to this, the schemes and secrets that had driven a wedge between you.

You couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief and exhaustion. The wounds of your actions would take time to heal, but for now, the storm had passed once again.

The tension in the room slowly ebbed as you both lay there, bodies intertwined and breathing gradually steadying. Daemon's weight against you was both comforting and overwhelming, a reminder of the intensity that always existed between you. His fingers traced idle patterns on your skin, the gentleness of his touch a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before.

You turned your head slightly, meeting Daemon's gaze. The air between you felt heavy with unspoken words, the argument that had led to this moment still hanging over you both.

"Daemon," you began softly, unsure of how to bridge the gap that had formed between you.

He silenced you with a gentle kiss, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. When he pulled back, Daemon's eyes searched yours, his expression softening slightly. 

"I know," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "We still have much to discuss."

You nodded, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. "We do," you agreed softly. "But perhaps... not right now."

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (the brave)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Note: Keep in mind how the canon timeline and plot may be altered to suit this story.

- Rating: Explicit 18 + (for blood, gore, death, violence and suggestive themes)

- Previous part: sins

- Next part: absolution

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

The days bleed into one another as the small group travels deeper into the wilderness, avoiding the main roads to evade prying eyes. The terrain grows rougher, with thick forests and uneven paths that force them to move slower. Jaime feels every ache in his body, but he keeps his complaints to himself. For once, his sharp tongue is tempered—not by fear, but by something far more unsettling: you.

You walk ahead of him, leading the way with Winter at your side. The direwolf pads silently, his coat blending into the pale underbrush. Every so often, Winter glances back at Jaime, his icy blue eyes filled with suspicion, as if he’s waiting for the slightest excuse to tear him apart. Jaime smirks faintly at the thought but knows better than to provoke the beast.

You’ve grown quieter as the days pass, your icy demeanor softening slightly into something more tolerable. You still don’t speak to him unless necessary, but the edge of your anger has dulled. Jaime doesn’t know if it’s because of exhaustion or sheer indifference, but he finds himself craving any scrap of interaction with you, no matter how small.

Brienne, ever the vigilant guardian, remains stoic and watchful, her eyes constantly scanning the woods. She speaks little, her focus unwavering as she ensures their path is safe.

The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the forest floor, when you finally call for a stop.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” you say simply, gesturing to a small clearing nestled between thick trees.

Brienne nods and begins unpacking their limited supplies. Winter circles the clearing once before settling near you, his menacing gaze never leaving Jaime.

As the fire crackles to life, the three of you sit in a loose triangle around it, the silence thick and oppressive. Jaime leans back against a tree, his hands still bound but resting in his lap, his smirk faint as he watches you tend to Winter.

“You’re remarkably silent tonight, my lady,” he says after a moment, his tone light but tinged with genuine curiosity.

You glance at him briefly, your expression unreadable. “Maybe you should follow my example,” you reply coolly.

Jaime chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Ah, but silence doesn’t suit me. You should know that by now.”

Brienne sighs heavily, clearly tired of his antics, but doesn’t intervene.

“Tell me,” Jaime continues, his gaze lingering on you, “does it ever get easier? The grief?”

Your hand stills on Winter’s fur, and for a moment, the firelight reflects something raw in your eyes. “Why do you care?” you ask, your voice quieter now, though still guarded.

“I don’t,” Jaime admits, his smirk faltering slightly. “But I’ve seen enough grief to know it doesn’t fade. It just… changes shape.”

You don’t respond immediately, your fingers brushing absently through Winter’s fur as the firelight dances across your face. Finally, you speak, your voice low but steady. “It’s not something you’d understand, Lannister.”

“Maybe not,” Jaime replies, leaning forward slightly. “But I do know something about loss. About guilt.”

You meet his gaze then, your eyes cold and piercing. “Don’t talk to me about guilt. Not after what you’ve done.”

Jaime exhales, leaning back against the tree. “Fair enough,” he says quietly.

The silence stretches again, broken only by the crackling fire and the distant rustle of leaves. It’s Brienne who finally breaks it, her tone calm but firm. “We should rest. We’ll need to cover more ground tomorrow.”

You nod, rising to your feet and moving to check your gear. Winter follows, his presence a constant shadow at your side. Jaime watches you go, his chest tightening with something he can’t quite name.

As Brienne begins to settle in for the night, Jaime speaks again, his voice softer now. “You know, I always respected your father.”

Brienne looks up abruptly, but it’s you who turns first, your gaze hard and unforgiving.

“Don’t,” you say, your voice like steel.

Jaime doesn’t stop. “Ned Stark,” he continues, ignoring the warning in your eyes. “He was… honorable, to a fault. A rarity in men like us. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

Your fists clench at your sides, but you don’t respond, your jaw tight.

“Do you think he’d approve of this?” Jaime asks, gesturing faintly to the group. “Of you traveling with the likes of me?”

Your voice is cold when you finally reply. “My father’s approval doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead. Because of men like you.”

Jaime swallows hard, your words cutting deeper than he expected. “You’re right,” he says after a long pause, his tone quieter now. “And if I could change it, I—”

“You can’t,” you snap, cutting him off. “So stop pretending like you care.”

The camp falls silent again, the animosity thick enough to choke. Jaime doesn’t speak after that, his gaze fixed on the fire as his own guilt festers inside him.

As the night deepens and the fire burns low, Jaime lays back against the tree, his eyes on the stars above. Your words echo in his mind, a constant reminder of the weight he carries.

And though he doesn’t say it aloud, he knows you’re right. He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting it.

The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Jaime sits near the smoldering remains of their morning fire, his hands still bound but his posture relaxed, watching Brienne as she meticulously checks her gear. You had left earlier with Winter to hunt, leaving the two of them behind.

Jaime finds the silence unbearable.

“Do you ever take that armor off, Brienne?” he drawls, tilting his head as he studies her. “Or is it part of you now? Perhaps it’s hiding something you’d rather keep a mystery.”

Brienne stiffens but doesn’t look at him. “You’ll find no amusement here, Lannister. Keep your mouth shut.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Jaime presses, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re so stern all the time. Doesn’t it get exhausting? Or is that how you woo the men of Tarth? With that charming scowl?”

Brienne finally looks at him, her blue eyes cold as ice. “You’ve made it clear you have no honor, Kingslayer. I see no need to engage with you further.”

Jaime chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree. “Ah, but you already have. That’s the thing about you, Brienne—you care. Even when you shouldn’t. It’s admirable, really. Foolish, but admirable.”

Before Brienne can respond, a sound cuts through the stillness—a faint rustle in the underbrush. Brienne’s hand immediately moves to her sword, her keen gaze scanning the forest. Jaime stiffens, his smirk slipping as the noise grows louder.

Then they appear.

The Brave Companions emerge from the trees, their mismatched armor and cruel faces unmistakable. Vargo Hoat leads them, his twisted smile revealing his rotting teeth. The sight of him sends a chill down Jaime’s spine, though he hides it well.

“Well, well,” Vargo says, his voice grating as he steps forward. “What have we here? The Kingslayer himself, traveling with a lady knight. A curious pairing, no?”

Brienne rises to her full height, her sword drawn in an instant. “Leave, now. You’ll find no easy prey here.”

Vargo laughs, a sound that sends a ripple of unease through the forest. His men spread out, circling the clearing like wolves. Jaime counts at least a dozen, all armed and dangerous.

“You’re outnumbered,” Vargo says, his grin widening. “Put down your sword, woman, or we’ll take it—and your head—with it.”

Jaime watches the scene unfold, his mind racing. Brienne’s grip tightens on her sword, her stance unwavering, but even he knows the odds are against her.

“Brienne,” Jaime says quietly, his voice devoid of mockery for once. “Don’t be stupid.”

She doesn’t respond, her focus entirely on the men before her.

Jaime’s heart pounds in his chest, but not for himself. His thoughts turn to you, somewhere out in the forest with Winter. For the first time in a long while, Jaime finds himself praying—not to the gods, but to fate itself.

Stay away. Don’t come back. Don’t let them find you.

“Take him,” Vargo orders suddenly, gesturing toward Jaime. Two of his men step forward, their weapons drawn.

Jaime doesn’t resist as they grab him, though his smirk returns faintly. “You’ll regret this, goat,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain.

“We’ll see,” Vargo replies, his grin never faltering.

Brienne moves to intercept them, her sword flashing in the fading light. She takes down one man with ease, her movements precise and deadly. But the others close in quickly, overwhelming her with sheer numbers.

Jaime struggles against his captors, his chest tightening as Brienne is forced to her knees.

“Stop!” Vargo commands, and his men freeze. He steps closer to Brienne, his twisted grin widening. “You’ll fetch a fine price, woman. Perhaps even more than the Kingslayer.”

Jaime spits at Vargo’s feet, his voice sharp. “Touch her, and I’ll make sure your death is slow.”

Vargo laughs, clearly unfazed. “You’re in no position to make threats, Lannister.”

As the Brave Companions begin binding Brienne, Jaime’s thoughts return to you. He can only hope you’ve gone far enough into the forest to escape their notice.

Stay away, he thinks again, the words almost a plea. Don’t let them find you.

But the forest is silent, offering no assurances.

Jaime stumbles slightly as they march, his wrists raw and unsteady now that his hands are free from the chains that had bound them. His steps are slow and measured, but his gaze keeps darting to the dense tree line, scanning for any sign of you—or worse, Winter.

He doesn’t want you here. The thought of you stumbling into this chaos, of seeing you captured or worse, is unbearable. The sharp bite of fear twists in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.

Behind him, Brienne trudges silently, her hands bound tightly, her face bruised but unbroken. The set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes tell Jaime that she hasn’t given up. Yet the odds are stacked against them, and even her famed strength feels like little more than a flickering candle against the storm that is Vargo Hoat and his band of butchers.

Vargo rides alongside them, his crooked smile ever-present. The sound of his grating voice breaks through the crunch of boots and hooves on the forest floor.

“Kingslayer,” Vargo calls, his tone mocking. “You look troubled. Perhaps you miss your father’s castle, eh?”

Jaime keeps his expression neutral, though his gaze remains fixed on the trees. “And what of it, goat? Are you taking me to him? I imagine Tywin Lannister would pay handsomely for his son’s safe return.”

Vargo lets out a harsh laugh, the sound as unpleasant as nails on stone. “Safe return? No, no, no. That is not our plan. Your father’s gold may be great, but there are others who will pay more for you—and her.”

Jaime glances over his shoulder at Brienne, who glares at Vargo with pure hatred.

“And who might that be?” Jaime asks, his voice tight.

“Lord Bolton,” Vargo replies, his grin widening. “He is very interested in the Kingslayer and his lady knight. He will reward us greatly for delivering you both to Harrenhal.”

Jaime’s jaw tightens. Roose Bolton—a man whose reputation for cruelty and cunning rivaled even his father’s worst enemies. The news twists the knot in his stomach even tighter.

“Ah,” Jaime says, forcing a faint smirk despite the unease coursing through him. “So I’m to be handed over to a man who skins his enemies alive. Charming. I suppose this is my lucky day.”

Vargo chuckles again, clearly enjoying Jaime’s discomfort. “Lucky, yes. You will see what Lord Bolton has in store for you soon enough.”

Jaime doesn’t respond, his mind racing as he considers their fate. The chances of escape seem slimmer with every step, and his thoughts inevitably circle back to you. Were you far enough away when the Brave Companions attacked? Did Winter sense the danger and keep you from returning?

“Kingslayer,” Vargo snaps suddenly, his gaze locking onto Jaime. “You keep looking at the trees. What are you so distracted by? Hoping for rescue?”

Jaime forces a laugh, though it rings hollow even to his own ears. “Rescue? Hardly. I’m just admiring the scenery. It’s not often I get to see the wilderness in all its… muddy glory.”

Vargo narrows his eyes, unconvinced. He leans forward in his saddle, studying Jaime with a calculating look. “You’re hiding something,” he says slowly, his grin fading into suspicion.

“I’m hiding nothing,” Jaime replies smoothly, though his hands clench involuntarily at his sides. “But if it keeps you entertained, feel free to keep guessing, goat.”

Vargo sneers, his gaze lingering on Jaime for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to the path ahead.

Behind him, Brienne speaks for the first time since their capture, her voice low but firm. “If you have a plan, Lannister, now would be the time to share it.”

Jaime glances back at her, his smirk returning faintly. “A plan? Do you think I’m hiding an army in these woods, waiting to spring us free?”

“You’re always scheming,” Brienne retorts, her blue eyes blazing. “Don’t play coy with me.”

Jaime exhales sharply, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “The only plan I have,” he says quietly, his gaze drifting back to the trees, “is hoping she stays far away from this.”

Brienne frowns. “Don’t speak of her aloud.”

Jaime spoke no more. Instead, he focuses on the path ahead, the rhythmic crunch of their steps blending with the rustling of leaves.

As they march deeper into the forest, Jaime’s mind refuses to quiet. He can’t shake the image of you standing with your bow drawn, Winter at your side, ready to face down anyone who threatened you. The thought should bring him comfort, but instead, it fills him with dread.

Because if you came back, if you appeared now, Jaime knows there’s nothing he could do to protect you. And the thought of losing you—of watching you suffer because of him—feels like a fate worse than death.

The camp is eerily quiet, the only sounds the crackling of a meager fire and the occasional rustle of the trees in the cold night breeze. Vargo’s men lounge around the clearing, their mismatched armor shining faintly in the firelight. Jaime sits to one side, his hands resting on his knees, Brienne not far behind him. His body aches from the forced march, but his mind is clearer than ever, his senses heightened by the dread that hangs in the air.

Something feels wrong.

The first scream shatters the stillness.

It’s a guttural, panicked sound, cutting through the night like a blade. Everyone freezes, heads snapping toward the trees where the noise originated. The firelight dances on the faces of Vargo’s men, their expressions shifting from irritation to alarm.

“What was that?” one of them mutters, his hand already on his sword.

Before anyone can respond, a figure is dragged into the shadows with terrifying speed. The man lets out a blood-curdling scream, his body thrashing wildly as he disappears into the dark.

“Get up!” Vargo shouts, his voice alarmed as he jumps to his feet. “To arms!”

The camp erupts into chaos as the men scramble for their weapons, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. Jaime watches, his heart pounding as he catches a fleeting glimpse of pale fur and glowing blue eyes in the shadows.

Winter.

“Seven hells,” Jaime breathes, his chest tightening.

Another scream pierces the night as a second man is attacked, his cries abruptly silenced by the sound of tearing flesh. The Brave Companions draw their weapons, but their fear is palpable, their movements clumsy.

“It’s a wolf!” one of them shouts, his voice trembling.

“No wolf is that big!” another yells back, his eyes wide with terror.

Winter moves like a ghost through the trees, his white and silver coat blending into the shadows as he strikes with lethal precision. Jaime can barely keep track of him, the direwolf’s speed and ferocity unlike anything he’s ever seen.

Vargo snarls, drawing his curved sword as he scans the darkness. “Kill it! Kill the beast!”

Before anyone can act, an arrow whistles through the air, striking one of the men in the throat. He gurgles, collapsing to the ground as blood pools beneath him.

“Archer!” someone shouts, pointing wildly toward the trees.

Another arrow flies, finding its mark in a second man’s chest. He stumbles backward, clutching at the shaft before crumpling to the ground.

Jaime’s breath catches as he realizes what’s happening. It’s not just Winter—it’s you.

A third arrow claims another victim, the chaos escalating as the Brave Companions break formation, rushing blindly into the woods in search of their unseen attacker.

“Stay together, you fools!” Vargo roars, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

Jaime’s eyes dart to the treeline, his heart racing. He knows you’re out there, somewhere in the shadows, and the thought both thrills and terrifies him.

Another scream echoes through the forest as Winter attacks again, his massive form taking down another man with ruthless efficiency. The clearing is now a mess of blood, bodies, and panicked shouting, the Brave Companions falling apart under the assault.

And then he sees you.

You step into the clearing, your bow in hand, your face illuminated by the flickering firelight. There’s a fierce determination in your eyes, your movements swift and precise as you draw another arrow.

“Y/N!” Jaime calls out before he can stop himself, his voice cutting through the noise.

Your gaze flicks to him for the briefest moment, your expression unreadable. But it’s enough of a distraction for Vargo to strike.

He lunges forward, grabbing you by the arm and yanking you back with surprising speed. Your bow clatters to the ground as you struggle against his grip, your face twisting in anger.

“Let me go!” you shout, your voice raw with fury.

Winter lets out a deep, guttural growl, his eyes locked on you as he moves to attack.

“No!” you scream, your voice desperate. “Run, Winter! Go!”

The direwolf hesitates, his massive form still and tense as he watches you.

“Run!” you shout again, tears glinting in your eyes as you thrash against Vargo’s hold.

Winter snarls once more, his gaze flicking between you and the Brave Companions before he turns and disappears into the trees, his silver form vanishing like a ghost.

“No,” Jaime mutters under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. He steps forward, but two of Vargo’s men grab him, holding him back.

“Enough!” Vargo snaps, his grip on you tightening. “The wolf is gone. And now we have her.”

Your breathing is ragged, your face pale but defiant as you glare up at him. “You won’t get away with this,” you say through gritted teeth.

Vargo laughs, the sound cruel and grating. “Oh, my dear, I already have.”

Jaime’s chest burns with fury and frustration as he watches you struggle, his mind racing for a way to intervene. But with his hands unbound and his guards distracted, he knows his moment will come.

For now, all he can do is watch as Vargo drags you with him.

The clearing is chaos. The fire crackles weakly, casting jagged specters over the carnage of bodies and blood. Vargo Hoat holds you firmly by the arm, his sickly grin widening as his men begin to realize just who he has captured. You continue to struggle against him, your breath ragged, but the defiance in your eyes burns brighter than the flames.

“Well, well,” Vargo sneers, his voice grating like steel on stone. “We’ve caught ourselves a Stark. A fine prize indeed. Imagine the price your brother will pay to get you back.”

Your struggles intensify, and in one sudden, vicious movement, you lunge forward and sink your teeth into the side of Vargo’s neck. The sickening crunch of flesh giving way is followed by a howl of pain as blood pours from the wound.

“You little bitch!” Vargo roars, shoving you back with such force that you stumble. He lifts his hand and strikes you across the face with a brutal slap that echoes through the clearing.

Jaime’s breath catches, his body going numb as you fall to your knees, clutching your cheek. Fury surges through him, hot and unrelenting.

“Get her in line!” Vargo snarls, his eyes wild as he presses a hand to the bleeding wound on his neck. “Or I’ll do it myself!” His next words drip with malice, his voice lowering. “Maybe a night in my tent will teach her some manners.”

Brienne struggles against the two men holding her, her teeth bared in a feral snarl. “You dare harm her, and I will kill you, goat!”

Vargo laughs, a twisted sound filled with cruelty. “You’re in no position to make threats, wench. But perhaps you’d like to join her. I hear the women of Tarth are… sturdy.”

Jaime’s patience snaps.

“That,” Jaime says suddenly, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade, “would be a very bad idea.”

Vargo turns to him, his eyes narrowing. “And why is that, Kingslayer?”

Jaime steps forward, his posture deceptively relaxed, though his smirk carries a dangerous edge. “Because she’s a Stark, you imbecile. Do you have any idea what Robb Stark will do if he hears you’ve so much as touched her? Let me enlighten you: he’ll behead every single one of your men. And you? He’ll save you for last. Maybe he’ll even let his direwolf eat you piece by piece.”

Vargo’s expression falters for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes before he sneers. “You think I fear the boy king in the North?”

“You should,” Jaime replies coldly. “The Starks are known for their vengeance. And trust me, you don’t want to find out just how far they’ll go for one of their own.”

The men around Vargo exchange uneasy glances, the weight of Jaime’s words sinking in. Even the most hardened among them seem to hesitate, their weapons lowering slightly.

Vargo hesitates, his eyes darting between Jaime and you. Finally, he lets out a growl of frustration, shoving you roughly to the ground.

“Fine,” he snarls, spitting blood onto the ground. “But keep her quiet. And if she causes any more trouble, she’ll regret it.”

Jaime moves to your side, kneeling as he places himself between you and Vargo. He doesn’t reach out to you—he knows you wouldn’t welcome it—but his presence is a silent reassurance.

“You’ll regret it if you touch her again,” Jaime says evenly, his voice low but filled with venom.

Vargo sneers but doesn’t reply, turning away to bark orders at his men. The tension in the clearing lessens slightly, though the atmosphere remains charged.

Jaime glances at you, your face pale but your eyes still burning with defiance. Blood trickles from your lip where Vargo’s slap split the skin, but you refuse to show weakness.

“You’re insane,” Jaime mutters, his tone somewhere between admiration and frustration.

“And you’re pathetic,” you snap back, your voice steady despite the trembling in your hands. “Don’t think this changes anything, Lannister.”

Jaime smirks faintly, though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Brienne is finally released, her captors stepping back as she moves to stand beside Jaime and you. Her gaze flicks between you, Jaime, and the others, her grip on her sword tight.

“We need a plan,” she says quietly, her voice calm but urgent.

Jaime nods, his mind already racing. He doesn’t know how they’ll escape this mess, but one thing is certain: he’ll ensure you make it out alive, no matter the cost.

Because for the first time in years, Jaime Lannister feels something he thought he’d lost—a flicker of honor. And he’s not about to let it die here.

The camp has grown quiet, the earlier chaos fading into an uneasy stillness. The Brave Companions, though brutal, are not fools; they’ve doubled their watch, their muttered conversations filled with unease as they huddle around the dying fire. The woods seem to press closer, the shadows deep and impenetrable, a eerie reminder of the blood spilled earlier.

Jaime sits near the edge of the clearing, his back against a tree, his body aching but unbroken. His hands, though unbound, rest loosely on his knees, and he watches as Brienne, bruised but defiant, is seated under close guard across from him. Her eyes flick toward him briefly before returning to her captors, her posture one of quiet vigilance.

And then there’s you.

You sit a short distance away, your arms wrapped around your knees as if trying to keep yourself steady. Your face is pale, the faint bruise from Vargo’s slap barely visible in the dim firelight. Winter is nowhere to be seen, and Jaime wonders if the direwolf is still close, lurking just beyond the camp’s edge.

When you glance toward Brienne, your expression tightens, your gaze lingering on the bonds that hold her before finally shifting to Jaime. For a moment, you simply study him, your eyes narrowed in thought. Then you speak, your voice quiet but firm.

“Are you unharmed?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t know you cared, my lady.”

You scoff, the sound cold and unimpressed. “I don’t. But you need to remain intact. If you’re not returned to the capital, my sisters won’t be returned safely. That’s the only reason I asked.”

Jaime chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree. “Ah, of course. My worth as a bargaining chip. Good to know where I stand.”

Your expression hardens, and you look away, your focus shifting to the forest beyond. “Just answer the question, Lannister.”

“I’m fine,” Jaime replies, his tone more serious now. “Though I can’t say the same for your goat friend. You left quite the impression on him.”

You don’t smile, though there’s a flicker of satisfaction in your eyes. “He deserved worse.”

Jaime nods slightly, his gaze steady on you. “That he did.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the crackle of the fire filling the space between you. Then Jaime speaks again, his voice quieter now.

“They’re taking us to Harrenhal,” he says, his smirk fading. “By any luck, Tywin will be there. Along with your dear friend Roose Bolton.”

Your head snaps toward him, alarm flashing across your face. “Bolton?”

Jaime tilts his head, watching you carefully. “Yes. Apparently, Vargo thinks Lord Bolton has some interest in us. I suppose he sees an opportunity to curry favor with both sides.”

Your brow furrows, your mind clearly racing. “Bolton is my brother’s bannerman,” you say, your voice tinged with confusion and disbelief. “What business would he have with Tywin Lannister?”

Jaime shrugs, though his eyes don’t leave you. “That’s the question, isn’t it? But if I were you, I’d start asking why one of Robb’s trusted men is even speaking to my father in the first place.”

The realization hits you like a physical blow, your eyes widening as the pieces begin to fall into place. You mutter something under your breath, too quiet for Jaime to hear, before clenching your fists at your sides.

“I have to warn Robb,” you say suddenly, your voice low but urgent.

Jaime watches you carefully, his smirk returning faintly. “And how do you plan to do that, my lady? You’re a prisoner now, in case you’ve forgotten.”

You glare at him, your jaw tight. “I’ll find a way.”

Brienne, who has been listening silently, finally speaks, her voice steady. “If what he says is true, your brother must be told. The Boltons have always been… different. But this would be treason of the highest order.”

“Treason?” Jaime interjects, his tone almost amused. “Such a quaint word. Let’s call it what it is: survival. Roose Bolton knows how this war will end. He’s simply choosing the winning side.”

You rise to your feet abruptly, pacing a short distance away as your thoughts churn. Jaime watches you closely, noting the hesitation in your movements, the fire in your eyes.

“I won’t let him betray my family,” you say finally, your voice firm.

Jaime leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “And what exactly will you do, Stark? You’re in no position to stop him. Neither am I, for that matter.”

You stop pacing, turning to face him with a glare that could cut through steel. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lannister. You might not care about honor or loyalty, but I do. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my family.”

Jaime holds your gaze, his smirk fading as he sees the resolve burning in your eyes. He feels a flicker of something unfamiliar—respect.

“Well,” he says quietly, leaning back against the tree once more, “then I suppose you’d better start planning, my lady. Because if we reach Harrenhal, it might already be too late.”

Your jaw tightens, but you don’t respond. Instead, you return to your place by the fire, your eyes fixed on the flames as your mind works tirelessly.

Jaime watches you in silence, the weight of your determination settling over him like a storm cloud. And he finds himself wondering if perhaps there’s still a way out of this mess—if not for him, then for you.

[luvsfics]

LADY OF THE LAKE — House of the dragon

Aemond Targaryen x Tully!Original character

Description: The one-eyed prince is betrothed to a Tully. A fish and a dragon, a horrid match. Perhaps, with time, the two find they fit each other well after all. A dragon rules the skies, while the fish rule the sea.

Chapter warnings: mentions of arranged marriages.

Authors note: it’s been forever since I’ve posted, let’s hope I’m not too rusty. I tried to keep on theme with the Sesame Street names and I didn’t really like ‘Abby’ for a Tully so Natasha it is!

As beautiful as the maiden herself, many said about the daughter of Elmo Tully. Long locks of auburn hair and eyes as blue as the ocean, the perfect image of effortless beauty and innocence. Yet, beauty wasn’t all that mattered to the one-eyed prince. A pretty face isn’t all he wanted in a wife. What if she was dull, or just plain dumb?

“An alliance with the Tully’s will be a great opportunity for us, Aemond.” His mother explained, her face painted with annoyance. His eyebrows furrowed, why must he suffer the same fate of a loveless marriage just like his mother and father? Many thoughts raced through his mind.

He would’ve much preferred the solace of never marrying and becoming commander of the city watch. Many women have expressed behind closed doors their distaste for the prince, how hideous his scar was, or how he would never have time for a woman with his studies and training. why would he want to condemn anyone to such a fate of being wed to the maimed prince?

Yet, sometimes, late at night, he imagines what it would be like to have a wife. Someone to hold close, someone to protect, someone to start a family with. Nothing like the marriage between his parents, he would be good to his wife unlike his father.

“It is not up to you, anyway. You will meet the girl and you will serve your part as prince of the realm.” Alicent said, huffing out a sign of anger.

His nostrils flared. Aemond stormed out of the council room where few lords sat, swiftly making his way through the halls of the castle. His head swirling with anger as he made his way to the training grounds to begin his practice for the day.

Natasha’s heart raced in fear. Many accounts of people have spoke of the second son of the king’s gruesome looks and rough attitude.

“It is a great opportunity and honor to be considered for this,” her handmaiden said as she laced up her corset. Her father had broken the news to her earlier that morning. They were preparing to set off to kings landing in before noon to reach kings landing by the morning.

She gulped. The horrid feeling of nausea flooding her stomach.

What if he didn’t think her worthy of him? What if he was the cruel man rumors say he is? What if he is ugly? Her thoughts racing around her head.

Of course, she dreamt of becoming a wife to a loving husband and mother to beautiful babies. Yet, it felt as if her world came crashing down at the thought of her betrothal to the prince of the realm.

“You will be a princess!” The young girl exclaimed with excitement as she tied the laces into a bow. Natasha let out a nervous laugh, attempting to lighten her own mood.

She prayed to all seven gods for their mercy, for she might need it in the days to come.

The roads to kings landing were long, with her brothers Oscar and Kermit’s immature mocking, singing of their sisters betrothal to the prince.

“Nattie will be a princess! All prim and proper!” Oscar exclaimed, Kermit laughing as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

Natasha scoffed. “So hilarious, Oscar.” She rolled her eyes.

“Imagine having to marry AND bed the prince Aemond, commonly know for his horrific looks!” Kermit was almost dying of laughter as he spat out.

“Father!” Natasha turned to her side, the lord of riverrun barely listening to his children as he shoved his nose in scrolls.

“Stop tormenting your sister, boys.”

The brother’s laughter just barely died down as they whispered jokes to themselves.

Natasha shifted her gaze outside the window of the carriage, taking in the beautiful scenery of the kings road as dawn rose. Her nerves slowly returned, nausea seeping back into her stomach as they approached kings landing.

The heavy sound of gates opening made her heart stop, they were there. They were finally there.

The carriage came to a stop. “Lord Elmo Tully, Lord paramount of the trident and Lord of Riverrun and his children, Kermit, Natasha, and Oscar Tully.” The Guard announced.

Her father stepped out of the carriage to be greeted by the hand of the king, Otto Hightower. The boys went next, bowing to the Hightower lord. Lastly, Natasha.

With her beautiful grey-blue dress with sliver embroidery to represent her house, which contrasted prettily with her Mahogany colored hair and blue eyes. Fitted perfectly to her features and picked by her hand-maiden herself.

“My daughter, Natasha.” Her father gently took her hand and presented her to the hand. She gracefully curtsied, “A great pleasure, my lord hand.”

“Indeed, my lady. The Queen asked me personally to escort you all to the Godswood where she and the Prince Aemond await your arrival.” The hand said with a soft grin.

Natasha took in a breath, which was hard with how tight her handmaiden, Elissa, tied it. The hand led the family through the keep. Elissa quickly caught up to them from the other carriage, linking her arm with her lady’s.

The beautiful weirwood tree came into view as the guards opened the doors to the Godswood. Standing under it, the Queen of the seven kingdoms and the Prince Aemond with Guards and maids roam the area.

“Please, we have refreshments over there. Help yourselves.” Otto said as he made his way over to his daughter and grandson, most likely to prepare everyone for this meeting.

Elissa and Natasha stood to the side as her brothers raided the table of food and drink. “My heart feels like it might burst.” Natasha whispered.

Her back was turned to the prince, she was too frightened to meet his gaze. “It is alright, my lady. You are kind and smart and very beautiful. What isn’t there for the prince to like?” She caressed her arms.

Elissa peaked beside Natasha to look upon the prince. His sharp looks and long silver hair weren’t completely…unpleasant to look at.

“He is actually quite handsome, my lady.” Elissa smiled.

The River-lady slowly turned her head to the weirwood tree. Her eyes meet the side of the prince. His face chiseled and strong, his long silver hair pulled half-up, his Valyrian features graced her vision.

Her gaze raked over his form. His strong arms in his tunic and small waist she was almost jealous of. He looked as if he walked out of one of her romance books. A dashing knight for her to love and to hold.

Aemond’s gaze met her own. Her heart hammered in her ribcage as if she looked upon the face of a god. His own eyes widened, mimicking her own.

Through his own eyes, he felt the same. Her long, locks of red, shining in the sunlight of dawn, almost like a halo. Her striking ocean blue eyes staring into his own, and her delicate features. She was like an angel, cursed to live her life with him.

Her dress fitting her body perfectly, though he shamed himself for the those thoughts. For all have said she was beauty of the maiden herself.

“She’s quite beautiful, is she not, Aemond?” Otto asked his grandson.

“Quite.” He hummed.

[stormborns]

GAME OF THRONES 4.09, The Watchers on the Wall

[jdmorganz]

PEDRO PASCAL as Oberyn Martell Game of Thrones: S04E01 - Two Swords

[aneurins-barnard]

GAME OF THRONES 1.01 Winter is Coming | Dir. Timothy Van Patten

[cheryroseart]

Rhaena Targaryen and Dreamfyre🩵

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Please don’t repost without credit❕

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[iheartemiliaclarke]

[calirph]

𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐘 as 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐈 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

Game of Thrones S02E07.