#h; lannister

[gameofthronesdaily]

GAME OF THRONES "Mhysa" (2013) dir. David Nutter. HOUSE OF THE DRAGON “The Red Dragon and the Gold” (2024) dir. Alan Taylor.

[stormborns]

GAME OF THRONES 2.06, The Old Gods and the New

[la-pheacienne]

Some People : Ohhh Daenerys will be S O mad when she finally meets Jaime she will want to burn him alive for treason

What Daenerys will actually do : stare at Jaime for a long while in sheer amazement and then just say "tell me about T H E M".

[empressnaviersupremacy]

The logic of some people in this fandom looks something like this:

Heinrey: A cruel and two-faced liar, a creepy stalker. He killed innocent people, tracked down and killed the entire family of the duke and their servants. He tortured and killed the duke quite severely. A very strange, shitty person (he said it himself), and besides Heinrey is an obvious psychopath.

TRE fandom: OMG what a nice little boy, just look at him aww i love that little virgin boy. He deserves the whole world, a brilliant and kind ruler, his kindness is amazing.

Sovieshu: *just breathing*

TRE fandom: ugh, what a freak! How can he be so evil, I hope he gets k*lled! How dare he breathe at all? His actions are unforgivable, he should be punished for everything!!!

[novaursa]

The Northern Heart (1/2)

- Summary: Your father, King Robert, gives your hand to Eddard's oldest son. A decision that might change the future of the North.

- Paring: baratheon!lannister!reader/Robb Stark

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: 2/2

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

The journey north had been long and tiring, and the wind was colder than you’d imagined. Winterfell loomed ahead, dark stone against an overcast sky, its towers casting jagged shadows. The North was starkly beautiful in a way the warm halls of the Red Keep could never match. You adjusted the fur-lined cloak clasped at your neck, the black of House Baratheon contrasting with the lion clasp, a quiet nod to the Lannister blood that ran through you, though it was not yours to display openly.

Your mother, Cersei, rode beside you, her green eyes scanning Winterfell with an air of disdain barely hidden beneath her serene mask. She sat tall, ever the queen, her golden hair gleaming in the pale sunlight. Your brothers, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, rode behind, their bright golden heads standing out against the muted grays of Winterfell’s walls. And your father—no, King Robert—was ahead, already bellowing greetings at the sight of the Stark family awaiting them in the courtyard.

As the procession slowed to a halt, you dismounted gracefully, though your legs ached from days of riding. Your mother’s eyes swept over you, a flicker of approval in them as you adjusted your cloak, falling in line with her and your siblings. As Robert strode forward, eager to greet his old friend Eddard Stark, you remained back, your place clear beside Cersei. You caught her eye, and she offered a subtle nod, a reminder to stay poised, as she always did.

Ahead, Robert greeted Eddard with a boisterous hug, their laughter carrying through the courtyard. Your gaze wandered to the family gathered at Lord Stark’s side. Lady Stark, her auburn hair swept back, her expression cool but welcoming. The young ones were gathered around her, curiosity and interest clear in their eyes. But it was the young man at Eddard Stark’s side, tall and broad-shouldered, that drew your attention.

Robb Stark.

His auburn hair matched his mother’s, and his face, though youthful, already held the strength and quiet intensity of his father. He was watching you—or rather, he’d been looking toward your family in general, but now his gaze lingered on you, his blue eyes tracing your features with a kind of hesitant awe. He was handsome, undeniably so, and the confidence you’d honed over years of court life faltered, just slightly, under the weight of that gaze.

You looked away, hoping the color rising in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joffrey watching the Starks with open disdain, but you ignored him. Instead, you found yourself glancing back at Robb, curious despite yourself, and caught him still looking at you.

“What do you think of the Starks, sister?” Myrcella asked beside you, her sweet voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned closer to her, eyes flickering toward Cersei before answering. “They seem… honorable,” you murmured, struggling for a word that felt right. The North was a world apart from King’s Landing, and the weight of the Northern air, the forthright gazes, all of it felt different—real.

Meanwhile, Robert’s booming laughter filled the air as he clapped Eddard on the back. “It’s been too damn long, Ned!” he declared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. “Seven hells, I’ve missed this place. And your family—look at them, already grown!”

Lord Stark’s smile was reserved, but you could see warmth in his eyes. “The years have been kind to us both, Robert. And you’ve brought your own family north. It’s an honor to welcome them here.”

Robert looked back over his shoulder, waving an arm toward you, Cersei, and the children. “Aye, they’re a fine brood, aren’t they?” His gaze settled on you briefly, pride flickering there. “My eldest,” he said, his tone softening. “She takes after her mother in beauty, but she’s got her father’s spirit, I’d say.”

Your mother’s lips curved into a perfect, practiced smile at his words, though you could sense the strain in her. She inclined her head gracefully, accepting the compliment on your behalf.

“Princess Y/N,” Eddard said, nodding in your direction, “Winterfell welcomes you.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” you replied, keeping your tone formal, though your voice was soft. Cersei’s fingers brushed your arm briefly, a reminder not to be too bold or warm. “The honor is ours.”

But it was not Eddard’s gaze you felt lingering on you. Robb stood a step behind his father, his blue eyes keen and watchful. There was something gentle, almost reverent in the way he looked at you, and for reasons you couldn’t quite place, that small expression made your heart race.

“Robb,” Eddard said, his voice low but carrying the authority of a father and lord, “come and meet the king’s family.”

Robb stepped forward, his movements steady, though he appeared young and nervous beneath his composure. He nodded to Robert first and then looked back at you with an intensity that seemed almost out of place in the quiet courtyard. “Princess,” he said, his voice steady though softer than you’d expected. “It’s an honor.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you fought it back, simply inclining your head. “The honor is shared, Lord Robb,” you replied.

It was a simple exchange, but in that moment, it felt like more.

The air in the crypts was cold and heavy with the scent of stone and earth, the silence settling thickly around Eddard and Robert as they descended the worn steps into the shadows. Torches flickered in their iron brackets, casting long, twisting shadows over the figures immortalized in stone, ancient Stark kings and lords gazing solemnly from their resting places.

Robert paused in front of a statue, his face softened by the flickering light. His eyes, usually sharp with mirth or tempered with anger, now held something else—a quiet, lingering sadness that Ned hadn’t seen in years. Robert reached out and placed a rough hand against the face of the woman immortalized there in cold stone: Lyanna Stark, her face carved with a gentle beauty that no craftsman’s hands could ever fully capture. Flowers lay scattered at the base of her statue, their colors muted in the dim torchlight. Ned had left them there just the day before, a gesture of memory and honor.

“She was always so damn beautiful, wasn’t she?” Robert’s voice was low, almost reverent. “And all of this, everything, might have been different if she’d been mine. If Rhaegar hadn’t…” He trailed off, bitterness tightening his jaw.

“Aye,” Eddard replied, his voice as soft as the stillness around them. “The gods saw fit to tear us all down that day.”

Robert nodded slowly, lost in thought, his fingers brushing over the stone flowers woven into Lyanna’s statue. “I asked you here for more than just memories, Ned.” He turned, his gaze sharpening. “The realm is… not as it should be. I am surrounded by vipers and whisperers. I need someone I can trust.” His voice lowered, taking on a familiar intensity. “I need you, Ned. I want you to be my Hand.”

Eddard met Robert’s gaze, his heart heavy. “Robert… I’m no statesman. The North is my place. I don’t belong in the South, nor do my children.”

“That’s exactly why I need you.” Robert stepped closer, his face earnest, imploring. “You’re honest, Ned. You’ll do what’s right, even if it’s hard, even if it costs you. The realm needs someone like you. I need someone like you.”

Ned sighed, his eyes drifting back to Lyanna’s statue, the ache of old wounds stirring within him. “And what of the North? My children… they need me too.”

Robert nodded, understanding yet unyielding. “Bring them with you,” he said, voice steady. “Let them know the court. Let them see the world beyond the walls of Winterfell.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting, something almost hesitant in his expression. “In fact… I have an idea. A way to unite our Houses, as we should have done, as Lyanna and I would have done.”

Eddard turned back to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Robert’s eyes gleamed, a spark of hope breaking through the sorrow that lingered in them. “A marriage pact, Ned. We unite our bloodlines, our families.” He straightened, his voice taking on the tone of a king. “My son, Joffrey, and your daughter, Sansa. And…” He paused, eyes narrowing in thought. “My eldest daughter, Y/N, to your son, Robb.”

Eddard’s expression tightened, surprise flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth, hesitating, his mind racing with the implications of Robert’s proposal. “A match between our children…” he murmured, almost to himself. “You truly wish this, Robert?”

Robert nodded, his voice softening. “It’s what I always wanted, Ned. To be part of your family, for our blood to be bound together.” He glanced back at Lyanna’s statue, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “I wanted your sister… and though the gods were cruel enough to take that from me, this… this could be a way to bring our houses together, as it should have been.”

Ned felt the weight of the proposal settling on him, his mind turning over the idea of Sansa with Joffrey and Robb with Y/N. “Sansa is still a child,” he began carefully, “and Robb… he’s young yet. I’d want to speak with them both. And Catelyn.”

Robert nodded. “Of course. But think of it, Ned. You have a son and a daughter, and I have a son and a daughter of age.” He straightened, the gleam of determination in his eyes returning. “Sansa would be queen one day. And your son… Robb would be heir to the North, united to the blood of both Baratheon and Lannister.”

Ned frowned. “The girl… Y/N,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “She has Lannister blood, Robert. I know how you feel about her mother’s family.”

Robert’s face darkened briefly, his gaze hardening. “Aye, Cersei is a Lannister. But Y/N is my daughter too. She carries the blood of my House, and though she bears the lion on her face, there’s stag in her heart.” His tone softened, almost pleading. “Ned, she’s not her mother. She’s…” He paused, searching for words, “She’s got fire, spirit, and I want her to know a man like your son. One of true honor, not some… viper of the South.”

Eddard considered this, his mind drifting to Robb. His son, dutiful, strong, and honorable—a match for any in the realm. And Y/N… she’d seemed poised, striking in the courtyard, with that quiet grace he’d seen in only a few women. He thought of Sansa, who had dreamed of becoming queen since she was a little girl, and his heart ached.

“Let me speak with Catelyn,” he said finally, his voice steady. “And with my children.”

Robert clapped a hand on his shoulder, a grin breaking through his somber expression. “I knew I could count on you, Ned. Together, our families could be what the realm needs. Strong, united.”

They turned to leave, but Robert lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Lyanna’s stone face, his eyes shadowed with memories.

“Tell me, Ned,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “do you think she would have loved me?”

Eddard’s heart ached, the answer lodged somewhere deep, known only to him. “She was her own woman, Robert,” he replied softly. “And the gods alone know what lies in the hearts of the dead.”

Robert nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, tinged with sorrow. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, his voice growing firmer. He tore his gaze away from Lyanna’s statue, focusing on the path ahead.

“Come then,” he said, his tone lightening as he turned to face the stairs. “Let us speak of the future and leave the past to rest.”

And together, they left the crypts, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the silent halls where shadows lingered, bearing witness to the choices that would shape their families and the realm.

Here, by the fire’s light of private chambers, shadows softened, and the familiar scents of woodsmoke and winter roses made the space feel like a retreat. Catelyn sat across from Eddard, her brow furrowed as she listened to his words, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Nearby, Robb and Sansa sat side by side, both listening intently. Bran, Arya, and Rickon were sprawled around the room, though Arya’s restless gaze and occasional sharp glances made it clear she was as engaged as her older siblings.

Eddard took a breath, letting his gaze move from his wife to each of his children in turn. “King Robert has suggested a marriage pact to unite our families,” he began, his voice steady, though he felt the weight of the decision pressing down. “He has offered Joffrey’s hand to Sansa… and Y/N’s hand to Robb.”

Sansa’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile breaking across her features. “I would be honored, Father,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “To be Queen someday, to be married to Joffrey… it’s everything I’ve dreamed of.”

Catelyn’s face softened as she looked at her daughter. “Are you certain, Sansa? It is a serious decision, one that would take you far from home, to the capital.”

Sansa nodded, almost eagerly. “I understand, Mother. But I’ve dreamed of King’s Landing—the court, the feasts, the tournaments.” Her cheeks flushed with excitement. “And Joffrey… he’s handsome, and he’s a prince.”

Ned exchanged a glance with Catelyn, her expression mirroring the concern he felt. Sansa’s eagerness was not unexpected, but it still struck a chord. He was about to speak when Robb cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

“I would accept the match as well,” Robb said, his voice calm, though there was a quiet intensity to his gaze. “To join our Houses… it would be an honor.” He hesitated, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. “And… I saw her today. Y/N. She seems… dignified.” His cheeks colored slightly, a rare vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a match with her, Father. I think I could be happy.”

Eddard raised an eyebrow, surprised by Robb’s swift acceptance. Robb was young, and Ned had half-expected resistance or at least more hesitation. Catelyn, too, looked taken aback, her mouth parting slightly as she considered her son.

“It’s a big decision,” Catelyn said gently, her voice measured. “You would be bound to her for life, Robb. Have you truly thought about this?”

Robb nodded, his gaze meeting hers with quiet conviction. “I have, Mother. She seems strong, and I would welcome the chance to learn more about her. If it’s what the realm and our House needs, I am willing.”

“Robb, you’re not actually thinking of marrying her, are you?” Arya’s voice broke through the quiet, incredulous and disapproving. She scrunched her face, her expression mirroring her distaste. “And Sansa, Joffrey’s awful. He’s arrogant and cruel.”

“Arya!” Catelyn chided, though her tone was soft, almost indulgent.

But Arya only shrugged, crossing her arms. “It’s true. I’ve seen him, Mother. He’s unkind to everyone around him just because he’s a prince. I’d never want a marriage like that.”

Sansa’s expression tightened, her smile fading as she glanced at her sister. “You don’t know him, Arya. Joffrey is a prince. He’s noble and brave. You just don’t understand.”

Arya rolled her eyes, but her expression softened slightly as she turned her attention to Robb. “But… I like Y/N. She doesn’t act like the rest of them. I saw her today, and she didn’t look down on anyone.” She looked at her father, her gaze challenging but hopeful. “If Robb has to marry someone, I’d rather it be her.”

Rickon, sitting on the floor beside Bran, looked up, his young face alight with curiosity. “What’s she like?” he asked, his voice filled with innocent wonder.

Bran shrugged, glancing at Arya. “She looked quiet, I guess,” he said, thoughtful. “Not like Joffrey, anyway.”

Ned sighed, feeling the weight of his children’s varied reactions. He’d expected Sansa’s enthusiasm and Arya’s protests, but Robb’s quiet acceptance had caught him off guard. The North had always been his family’s home; the thought of binding them so closely to the South troubled him.

He looked at Catelyn, catching her eye. She nodded, understanding his silent request, and rose from her seat, placing a comforting hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Robb, Sansa,” she said softly, “this is a decision that will shape your futures. We don’t take this lightly.”

Sansa nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation, while Robb simply inclined his head, calm and steady. Arya huffed, but Catelyn silenced her with a look, and Arya fell back, though her gaze remained defiant.

As the children continued to murmur among themselves, Ned took Catelyn’s arm and led her a little way from them, lowering his voice. “There’s something more,” he said quietly, his gaze drifting back to his children, his heart heavy. “Robert asked me to be his Hand.”

Catelyn’s face tightened, her concern immediate and clear. “Ned… the Hand? I thought you’d never return to court.”

He nodded, his voice low. “Neither did I. But Robert… he says he needs me. And with Jon Arryn gone…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “The realm is troubled, Cat. If I can help Robert, I feel I must. But I would bring all of you, as Robert suggested.”

Her hand tightened in his, her expression a mix of worry and resignation. “You know what lies in the South, Ned,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Whispers, plots. I fear for you—and for our children. They’d be far from the safety of the North.”

“Aye, I know,” he replied, his heart heavy. “But if I refuse him… Robert will be left to those who would only drag him down further. I owe him my loyalty, Cat.”

Catelyn studied his face, her eyes searching. She knew his sense of duty ran deep, and she understood the bonds that held him to Robert, the memories of war and brotherhood that could not be so easily dismissed. “Then let us think on it,” she said finally, her voice steady. “We’ll decide together, Ned. For our family.”

He nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand grounding him amid the storm of decisions and uncertainties. For now, they would hold to each other and to the North. 

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with music and laughter, the warm glow of firelight casting rich hues across the long tables laden with food and drink. The Northern lords and ladies feasted heartily, their voices mingling in a cheerful cacophony. At the high table, you sat beside your mother, your attire shining like a jewel against the muted, sturdy colors of Winterfell.

You sat poised, your gaze serene yet attentive as you watched the revelry unfold around you. From time to time, you’d lean in to speak to your mother, Cersei, your smile soft but polite. You laughed at something your younger sister Myrcella said, the sound gentle, like a secret shared with the night. Across the hall, Robb Stark found himself wondering what it would be like to be the one to make you smile, to hear your laughter up close.

“You’re staring, Robb,” Theon Greyjoy’s voice interrupted his thoughts, a teasing grin on his face. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? The lady staring at the lord?”

Robb gave him a playful shove but felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I’m not staring.”

“Oh, but you are,” piped up one of his other friends, a grinning Northern lad named Domeric Bolton. “She’s certainly caught your eye.”

Robb sighed, shaking his head but unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face. “She’s… well, she’s different,” he admitted, his voice low. “Not like the Northern girls.”

“Then go speak to her,” Theon urged, raising his cup in a mock toast. “Ask her for a dance.”

Robb hesitated, glancing back at you. Your presence was poised and refined in a way that made him suddenly feel rough and unpolished. But then he met your eyes, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the noise of the hall faded away. You gave him a shy smile, your eyes meeting his across the distance with a glimmer of interest.

Taking a deep breath, Robb rose from his seat, ignoring Theon and Domeric’s encouraging grins. He made his way through the hall toward the high table, his heart pounding with each step. When he reached you, he bowed slightly, his gaze meeting yours.

“Princess,” he said, his voice steady despite the quickening of his heart. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

You looked up at him, your expression one of mild surprise before your lips curved into a soft smile. You glanced at your mother, who gave a curt nod, her gaze unreadable, before you turned back to Robb and inclined your head. “I’d be delighted, my lord.”

He offered his hand, and as you took it, the warmth of his touch sent a thrill through you. Together, you stepped onto the floor as the musicians struck up a new tune, a melody both gentle and lively, and Robb led you into the first steps of the dance.

“You seem well-versed in Northern customs, my lady,” he said, his voice warm with amusement as you moved through the steps. “I hadn’t expected a girl from the South to dance so well to Northern music.”

You laughed, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze. “It seems the North is full of surprises. But I’ve had a lifetime of lessons in court dances. I only hope my dancing is… acceptable.”

“More than acceptable,” he replied, his own voice softening as he looked at you. “I’d wager even the most graceful Northern ladies would be envious.”

You lowered your gaze, a light blush coloring your cheeks. “You flatter me, my lord.”

He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes from you. “No, I speak the truth.” He hesitated, then leaned in slightly, his voice lowered. “I hope you’re finding Winterfell… welcoming. I know it must be different from King’s Landing.”

You looked up at him, your expression thoughtful. “It is different,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I find I like it here. There’s… a warmth here that I hadn’t expected.”

“That pleases me to hear,” he said, his tone earnest. “This is my home, and one day… well, I hope to make it a place that someone like you could be happy in.”

Your gaze softened, and you felt the connection between you both grow as you moved through the steps, as if the hall and the people around you had faded into the background. “I believe I could be happy here,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s… quieter than I’m used to, yes, but there’s something about Winterfell. A sense of peace.”

Robb looked at you, his expression earnest as he gathered the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind since he’d learned of Robert’s proposal. “And… do you think you could see yourself here one day, as the Lady of Winterfell?”

For a heartbeat, you felt surprise flicker in your gaze. But then you smiled, a shy, genuine smile that made his heart race. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice as soft as snowfall. “If the North would have me.”

You shared a quiet, lingering look, the unspoken promise between you both as delicate as the touch of his hand in yours. For a moment, Robb could imagine a future where you walked these halls as his wife, where your laughter and warmth brought light to Winterfell even in the deepest winter.

Robb led you through the steps of the dance, his touch gentle yet firm, his eyes locked on yours with a sincerity that warmed you even amidst Winterfell’s drafty stone walls. Around you, lords and ladies cheered and clapped, voices blending into the joyous hum that filled the hall.

But just beyond the laughter, at the high table where the royal family sat, an animosity simmered.

Cersei sat rigid, her fingers clenched around her goblet as she watched you move across the hall in Robb’s arms. Her green eyes were sharp, like cold emeralds, and her displeasure was barely hidden behind her carefully composed mask. Robert, beside her, laughed heartily with Eddard Stark, his voice booming over the din as he recounted tales from their youth. But Cersei’s simmering anger finally spilled over, and she leaned toward him, her voice low and venomous.

“So, this is your grand plan?” she hissed, her eyes never leaving you. “To bind our daughter to this… Northern boy without so much as a word to me?”

Robert’s laughter cut short, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at her, irritation flaring in his gaze. “What are you going on about, woman?”

She turned to him fully, her voice barely louder than a whisper, though her anger crackled beneath each word. “You’ve condemned her to this cold, dark place. My daughter, Robert. You would give her to a Stark—to live in this fortress far from court, from her family, from me. And you did this without consulting me?”

Robert took a long drink from his goblet, his brow furrowing as he tried to keep his voice steady, though a vein ticked at his temple. “Our daughter is old enough to wed, Cersei. And a match with the Starks would make her the future Lady of Winterfell. She’ll have a strong husband, and her place will be secure. What more do you want?”

“What more?” Cersei’s voice tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “She is my daughter, Robert. Do you understand that? My blood. And you’d give her away as if she were some toy in your games with Eddard. She was supposed to be in King’s Landing, to be part of the court, to learn her place. But here…” Her gaze flicked toward you with something like desperation. “You’ve taken her from me.”

Robert’s face grew dark, his patience wearing thin. “Taken her from you?” he muttered, shaking his head. “She is my daughter, too, Cersei. Or have you forgotten that? I’m doing what’s best for her.”

“Best for her,” Cersei repeated, bitterness coating her words. “And you think binding her to the North is what’s best? To send her to this frozen wasteland, where she will be as isolated as I am?”

Robert’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his goblet. “Enough,” he growled, his voice low. “This is not the time or place.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a cold smile, her eyes blazing. “Oh, so now you find restraint? Now, when it suits you to ignore the voices that oppose you?”

His gaze flicked back to you and Robb, who were laughing softly as you spun in perfect rhythm to the music, the two of you oblivious to the conflict boiling at the high table. Robert’s irritation softened slightly, replaced by a look of contemplation. “Look at her,” he muttered. “She’s happy, Cersei. You would deny her that because you think this match is beneath her?”

“Beneath her?” Cersei scoffed, her gaze icy. “I would deny her nothing, Robert. I would give her everything. A place in court, a life of comfort, of power.” She turned back to him, her voice low and scathing. “But you would cast her away to the ends of the realm, to live out her days as some Stark’s quiet wife in the cold.”

“Enough, Cersei,” he said again, this time more forcefully. “Our daughter is a Baratheon, and this is what I’ve chosen for her. The North is good for her. It’ll give her strength, and a place to call her own.”

Cersei’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression tight with fury barely held in check. “You would know little of what’s good for her,” she spat. “When have you ever thought of what’s best for her? For any of us?” She cast a sharp glance toward the hall, where Robb was speaking softly to you, your face illuminated by a soft smile that made you appear every inch the regal lady Cersei had trained you to be. “That smile,” she murmured bitterly, “is what you think will last here?”

Robert’s expression shifted, his face darkening as he met her gaze. “Do not presume to lecture me on what’s best for our daughter, Cersei,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’ve let you have your way with her long enough. This match is good for her and good for the realm.”

Cersei leaned back, her gaze hard and unyielding, her lips pressed into a grim line. “And when she comes to hate you for this—when she realizes you tore her from her family, her home—don’t expect me to soften her heart toward you.”

Robert’s patience snapped, his voice rising just enough for a few heads to turn in his direction. “She’ll come to understand, and she’ll thank me. You may not see it, but I know what I’m doing.”

At that, Cersei gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “If only you ever knew what you were doing, Robert.”

With that, she turned away, her gaze icy as she stared out over the hall, the tension between them leaving a chill in the air despite the warmth of the feast. Robert returned to his drink, the brief flash of guilt in his eyes fading as he watched you dance with Robb, your smile and laughter filling the hall as you swayed together in time to the music.

Though a bitter silence now lay between Robert and Cersei, neither could deny the spark that lit up the hall as you danced.

The early morning air was crisp, and a light mist clung to the ground as you walked beside Robb through the godswood, surrounded by towering trees that stretched their branches skyward. Robb had invited you out for a quiet walk, promising you a glimpse of the heart of Winterfell, where even the lords and ladies came to find peace. In the early light, the godswood was serene, the scent of pine and earth mingling with the soft murmur of the nearby stream.

You found yourself laughing easily with him as he recounted tales of his childhood in Winterfell, his face lighting up as he described the antics he and his brothers would get into. There was a warmth in his smile, a genuine ease that seemed to set you at ease in return.

“And then,” he was saying, barely containing his laughter, “Theon got the idea to sneak into the kitchens at midnight for pies, but Jon and I told him we had to outsmart Old Nan first. Well, we barely made it through the kitchen door before she caught us. Sent us all back to our beds with an earful.” Robb chuckled, shaking his head. “Theon tried to blame me, of course.”

You laughed, covering your mouth to stifle the sound, imagining a young Robb caught in the act, eyes wide with guilt. “And what about you? What did you do to make up for it?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eye. “What every good brother would do—I blamed Jon.” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “He took it rather well, actually.”

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet as you walked side by side. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and you’d find yourself caught in his gaze a moment longer than expected. There was an openness in Robb that felt… different from the formality of the court and the rigid politeness you were used to in King’s Landing. Here, it felt easy to just be yourself.

“So,” Robb said, his voice softer, “are you finding Winterfell to your liking?”

You hesitated, feeling his gaze on you, before nodding. “I am. It’s… quiet. Peaceful. I think I could grow to love it here.”

Robb’s smile softened. “I hope you do.” He looked out over the godswood, as if envisioning a future that included you here, walking these paths together in the years to come. “I’ve spent my whole life here, you know. These woods, this castle… it’s in my blood. I can’t imagine calling anywhere else home.”

You glanced at him, feeling a strange tug in your heart as he spoke. “You speak of Winterfell the way a poet would speak of his muse.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy smile. “I suppose I do. I never thought of it that way.” He paused, turning to look at you, his expression growing serious. “But I think, perhaps, if you were here… Winterfell would be all the more beautiful.”

Your breath caught, and you felt your cheeks flush as his words hung in the air between you. You opened your mouth to reply, but just as you were about to speak, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the quiet.

A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, came rushing toward you. “My lord!” he gasped, his face pale. “My lord Robb—it’s your brother. It’s Bran.”

Robb’s smile vanished instantly, his expression tightening as he turned to the servant. “What happened?” His voice was sharp, tinged with fear.

The servant swallowed hard, catching his breath. “Young Bran… he fell from the tower, my lord. The Maester… they’re with him now.”

Robb’s face went pale, and his hand dropped from where it had been resting near yours. For a moment, he seemed frozen, his eyes wide as he processed the words. But then, as if a switch had flipped, he straightened, his features hardening with determination.

“Take me to him,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet urgency.

The servant nodded, glancing between you both before hurrying back toward the keep. Robb took a shaky breath, looking at you, the vulnerability in his eyes making your heart ache.

“I’m sorry… I have to—”

“Go,” you said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Your brother needs you.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched, and without another word, he turned and strode quickly in the direction of the tower. You watched him go, feeling a pang of worry settle in your chest as you thought of young Bran, whom you’d only just met, a lively boy with a boundless curiosity.

Left alone in the godswood, the peace and warmth of your morning with Robb faded, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press down on you. You glanced back in the direction of the keep, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you considered what had happened.

After a moment, you began to make your way back toward the castle, hoping, praying, that the news awaiting you would be better than what you feared.

[daenystheedreamer]

faith dashboard simulator

💙 maidenlover Follow

its actually so faithphobic that so called "friends of rhaena" have appropriated maiden devotion... it sexualises a very personal relationship with a real facet of the seven that many of us have ACTUALLY DEVOTED OUR LIVES TO

⚢ rhaelissatruther

girl you forgot to private your likes you're one of us

💎 mothermaidenhoe

🕯️traedwyfe Follow

🎶 red orange yellow green blue indigo purples in the sky

summer's in the air and baby, seven heavens' in your eyes 🎶

#the rainbow faith #rainbow not rhaena #laena of dell rae AKA the lady bard #dollaette #coqaette #faithofthesevenedit #please i'm a star #septa urge #lady manipulator #light acaedaemia

⚔️ knightofthefaith

FUCK they're sending me to be the septon of the night's watch... girl you know what they do to sexy slender wide eyed septons like myself!!!

#PRAYING theyre sexy murderers not uggo ones... manifesting

⭐️ brideofhugor Follow

No. You know what? F*** Y'ALL.

As many of you know I have recently been assigned to a certain castle in the stormlands and have been aiding the maester in reorganising the large library.

I just found several illuminated manuscript of an er*tic nature detailing s*xual acts of septas and septons. Including one of Hugor (blessed he be) Himself.

I don't expect much of you SINNERS (we all know of the recent poll circulating...) but sexualising those who devote themselves to loving only the gods... and crucially making the choice to remain celibate in this mission... the audacity. Enjoy the Seven Hells!

🫦 swordinyourstar

im gonna go to a septry fuck all those bald brothers so hard the hair in their tonsures grow back cos my seed is THAT strong

#why are they called holy brothers if im not supposed to fuck their holes

🔘 old-friends-senior-seven-septry-deactivated-101AC

I just want to get dicked down again =/

🌠 faith-struggle-posts

official faith struggle post

🌟 starrysepta

i do finally feel at home finally out of my noviciate and as a full septa of the faith but they do NAWT tell you how catty your sisters will be... they sent me to a motherhouse in the WESTERLANDS just outside of lannisport 💀 if another one of these fake bitches tries currying favour with house lannister im gonna get myself sent to the silent sisters.

🌟 starrysepta

beheading myself omg another suspiciously blonde-haired green-eyed hill surname haver has joined the noviciate please mother above get me reassigned to the vale id rather risk getting stolen by a mountain clansmen over having to deal with this whore

#girl he's not gonna legitimise you #and she's having an affair with the laybrother too but like whatever im not a lickspittle

🪽 rivermaiden

the mother of my motherhouse 100% got dicked by our local lord back in the day maybe now too and its ruining my life. she keeps speaking in metaphors about the warrior entering the maiden and its making everyone soooo uncomfortable. AND he's the lord of a certain castle in the riverlands stars with h ends in arrenhal and i swear he's bringing the fucking demons into our sept everytime he visits

#cryyyyingggg i survived the riverlands for one-and-twenty years only to die of blood curse cos knights love chasing septa pusswah omg cant have shit in the riverlands

🌈 septa-septon-suggestions Follow

forever hoping that the light of the seven will one day shine over all westeros ✨

🍁 hearttreehugger Follow

don't go near any weirwoods bitch im watching you 👁️

[claymoresword]

We Bleed The Same | Part: 1

Cersei Lannister x Stark Fem!Reader 🐺

Summary: On the road from Winterfell to King's Landing, Cersei and y/n find themselves reconciling with both old and new feelings as fate seems determined to tear them apart.

Sequel to 'Where's My Love'.

Wordcount: 4k

Pairing: Cersei x Reader

Warnings: smut, g!p reader, mentions of sexual violence & domestic abuse, breeding kink, blowjob/deep throating, unprotected sex, dubious consent, co-dependency, y/n & cersei are soulmates argue with the wall

Note: This was actually a lot of fun, I already can't wait to put out the second part! Anyway, hope you enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it (smut after asterisks)

You have been on the road for what feels like an eternity, the children are growing restless, and so are you, but King's Landing is still weeks away. Your next destination being Castle Darry, by order of the king.

Robert Baratheon is rather fond of his pit stops, and you have half a mind to strangle him for that.

What is meant to be a few weeks on the road has turned into months of long-winded journey.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat for the hundredth time, leaning back against the cushions.

You are certainly looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed, whenever that might be.

Just as you start to grow somewhat comfortable, the litter jerks to an abrupt halt, forcing you to lean forward.

Ned places a firm arm in front of his girls to prevent them from falling forward the same way you had.

“Why have we stopped?” You ask, exasperated. Subsequently, pulling aside the curtain next to you to look out the window, only to be greeted with darkness.

You hadn't realized it was already nightfall.

As you squint, you only manage to make out an open field– the scenery does look beautiful, but this isn't the castle.

“Maybe the king needed a piss again.” Arya remarks, trying her best to look over your shoulder.

You narrow your gaze at your niece, and her inability to keep her thoughts to herself. Although there is full possibility that the girl was correct.

The king had delayed the possession half a dozen times today to relieve himself.

“No..” Sansa utters. “He's being sick.” She observes, and it is swiftly followed by the sound of Robert dry heaving.

You grimace at the noise, no longer concealing your annoyance.

Robert has stopped the journey half a dozen times to do that as well.

“Perhaps if he didn't drink so much..” You start, although your brother interjects before you can say anything else.

“Be quiet, the lot of you.” Ned scolds, and you have to bite back a retort as you petulantly glance out through the curtains again.

Eventually, the litter resumes movement, and you rest your back once more, allowing your mind to wander.

Cersei is no doubt feeling as miserable as you are, if not more.

Had you been given leave to ride with her, perhaps this journey would not be half as excruciating.

You missed her, you crave to hear her voice, to touch her, kiss her.

If you fail to reach Castle Darry by tonight, you aim to find a way inside the queen's litter. Robert is certain to be too drunk to notice anyway.

The journey continues on for several more hours, the repetitive movement of the carriage begins to lull you, you could only fight it for so long before a deep and dreamless slumber manages to take over.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

“Y/n.” You stir to Ned's voice, his hand on your shoulder is like a jolt to your system; you sit up abruptly.

As you come to your senses, you notice that the litter has stopped, Arya and Sansa are no longer beside you.

“We're moving into the castle, I need your help carrying in the food crates.” Ned explains, pulling open the curtains next to you.

“What hour is it?” You ask groggily, still trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“I don't know.” Ned responds truthfully. “but I reckon we'll see first light soon.” He finishes, yet you fail to move.

“Come on, you've been asleep for hours.” Your brother insists, he grabs ahold of your hand, forcibly hoisting you up.

As he tugs on your arm, you stumble out of the litter, leaning your weight on Ned as you attempt to find your footing.

You shove him away after you do, scowling at your brother, and his very successful attempt at manhandling you.

“When we get back on the road I am riding on horseback. I'm sick of sitting in that damned thing.” You grumble, gesturing to the carriage behind you before smoothing out your cloak and running your fingers through your hair.

“As you wish, but I refuse to listen to you whine about saddle sores.” Ned says, approaching the stack of crates.

“I am a woman grown, I do not whine.” You contend defensively.

Ned does not heed your remark, nodding towards the large crate impatiently, he braces his hands on the underside of it. “Come, help me.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Castle Darry sits atop of a hill in the Riverlands, the climb was steep enough to knock the wind out of you.

By the time you enter through its doors, your chest is heaving. “Seven hells–” You mutter under your breath, although you are quickly distracted by the interior of the palace.

Darry had decently high ceilings, the castle is larger on the inside as it appeared on the outside. Somehow modest and grand all at once.

The stairs, large and winding, are set at the center of the main hall leading up to the bedchambers.

Robert picked a decent place this time around, you'll give him that much.

You stroll past the stairs towards the castle's great hall, observing as Ned approaches the table in the far right, next to a window that overlooks a view of the river.

You spot your nieces and nephews enjoying an early breakfast. Next to them are Cersei's youngest children, Myrcella and Tommen.

Sansa and Myrcella appear caught up in conversation, whilst Arya and Tommen are on their knees, busy feeding Nymeria pieces of charred meat.

Joffrey is nowhere to be seen. This doesn't surprise anyone, in truth. The prince along with his sworn guard often wander about on their own. The boy was always eager to find trouble where he can, that much is evident.

You begin scanning the rest of the hall, you notice the kingsguard along with the queen's men, but no sight of the king or queen themselves.

You can't help the disappointment that settles in your belly, you were hoping to get at least a glimpse of Cersei before heading to bed.

“Where is the queen?” You ask as you take a seat next to Robb and his half-brother, Jon.

You reach for the flagon of spiced wine, pouring it into a cup as you await a response.

Robb merely shrugs as he stuffed a piece of bacon into his mouth, and your other nephew decides to opt for a smart answer.

“With the king, I presume?” Jon remarks, insolent and juvenile.

You quickly wipe the smirk off his face by placing a firm smack against the back of his head.

Jon yelps, reaching up to rub the same spot you had just struck him. “What was that for?”

“I meant, which room is she in?” You rephrase, unamused before lifting the rim of your cup to your lips, taking a large drink.

A burst of nutmeg and cinnamon coats your tongue, when accompanied with the warm, bitter taste of wine, it manages to soothe you.

“I saw her enter the one upstairs, at the end of the hall.” Sansa chimes in, making sure to swallow her food first before addressing you.

You turn your attention towards your niece, a look of gratitude paints your features. “Thank you, Sansa.”

“Hopeless, the both of you.” You remark, reaching out to mess up Robb's head of auburn hair.

You relished the way both boys scowled at you as you left the dining area.

-

You trudge up the steep stairs leading to the bedchambers. Glancing at the row of rooms to your left, and then to your right.

You mentally curse yourself for failing to clarify with Sansa exactly which room the queen had taken as her own.

After a moment of deliberating, you decide to take a risk, approaching the room on the far left, one hidden behind a large pillar.

You knock twice before resting your hand on the pommel of your sword.

A beat passes and no one answers, though just as you move to walk away, the door opens, and a golden-haired beauty emerges from the dark room.

Your smile happens involuntarily as you pale greys catch Cersei's emerald gaze. Though the queen doesn't reciprocate, instead she pulls you in for a sudden hug.

After a fleeting moment of confusion, you embrace her in return. Your hand rests on the small of her back, the other gently threads through her golden curls.

As your gaze wanders, it is only then you notice a tear in her robe. The silk material fails to cover the bruising on Cersei's arm; the sight makes you stiffen.

The queen fails to speak, so you decide to break the silence first.

“Is everything alright?” You ask, expecting the answer, but Cersei does not grace you with a verbal reply, merely hugging you tighter.

“Do you want me to stay here tonight?” You whisper instead, your lips brush against the shell of the other woman's ear.

Cersei remains quiet for a while, as though considering your request. She pulls back slightly to look at you, her gaze softens as she traces your features with her thumb.

“You can't, Robert's in my bed.” She finally says, and your brows furrow at the prospect.

That old brute laid his hands on her again.

You open your mouth to protest, but as if expecting it, Cersei places her hand over your mouth, stopping you. “Don't– do not say anything, just kiss me.”

With that, the queen leans in, capturing your mouth with her own. The kiss is desperate, and anguished. Cersei moans softly into your mouth as your tongues make contact.

She tastes like lemon and arbor red, and you are content to feel her like this, for all eternity, although the way your lungs burn for air proves your desire to be an impossible one to uphold.

You break away first, tilting your head to kiss her neck. Cersei gasps at the sensation, her fingers clenched tightly around your hair as your mouth finds the base of her jaw.

“I want–” The queen starts, her voice trembling ever so slightly as your mouth continues to move along her tender flesh.

Eventually, Cersei finds the strength to tug on your hair, guiding your face to her own.

“I want to name you my sworn protector, when we get to King's Landing.” The older woman says suddenly. “I will declare it to the council myself.” Cersei adds, and she simply rakes her fingers through your hair at your lack of response.

“Then you'll have reason to be in my quarters.. in my company.. elsewise people will talk.” She explains, and finally, you nod.

The queen's sworn protector. Like you intended to be all those years ago, before things went wrong between the two of you.

“As you wish.. I am your servant.” You conclude, and for the first time tonight a smile covers Cersei's enchanting features.

Striking, delicate and so damned breathtaking.

“Good.” She says, pulling you in for another lingering kiss.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

--

The following week at Darry had been at best, quiet and uneventful. You spent most of your days with your brother and his children and nights waiting for everyone to fall asleep just so you could visit the queen.

Although, you did not have the privilege of seeing her last night. After a long day of hunting with Ned and Robert, you don't recall how you got back to the castle, only that you had awoken this morning with a pounding head.

Not exactly fond of hunting, you did so mainly out of courtesy– as to not give the king cause to be upset.

Robert is as unpleasant on a hunt as he is on any other day, if not more.

Naturally, you drank to dull the ache his company caused, as well as pass the time.

In truth, all you wanted to do is spend your days and nights in bed with Cersei. You had managed to steal moments here and there, but nothing enough to satiate your need for her.

All the more reason to look forward to King's Landing. Once you get to the city you'll be allowed to spend time in the queen's bedchambers under the guise of guarding her from harm.

Then, you'll finally be allowed to do whatever you desire with each other without the danger of being seen.

-

Tonight, in a welcomed change of pace, you find yourself in the Godswood with Ser Jory Cassel, dull blades in hand.

He is a capable sparring partner, however predictable he might be.

You remind yourself once more that he is a knight, he fights clean like most of them.

Most knights are predictable.

“I cannot be out here for much longer, M'lady. Lord Eddard has tasked me to watch over his daughters tonight.” Ser Jory says as he resumes his stance, lifting his blade.

You shrug, doing the same.

“I understand, Ser. I only mean to fight you until I grow bored.. which shouldn't take long at all.” You jest, and it manages to hit a nerve, as the knight takes a large swing at you.

You deflect the blow before swiftly maneuvering your body away with one foot, causing the knight to stumble forward.

Ser Jory recovers quickly, this time you strike first, and your dull blades kiss with a large clash.

You take the opportunity to get out of the position by flicking your wrist, as a result your sword is released from the blade lock. You twist the blade in your hand once before pointing it at the knight's neck.

The quickest win yet.

Ser Jory sighs, lifting his arms in surrender. “I yield.”

You lower your blade with a grin. Though the man yields quickly, far too easily.

Suddenly, you find yourself hoping the knight isn't letting you win on purpose, or perhaps he is just eager to get inside and resume his post.

Either way, you are not yet satisfied.

As you are just about to request for another round, voices in the distance steal your attention.

You glance over to see men from the kingsguard standing under the Weirwood, gossiping– albeit not very discreetly.

“They were arguing again, the king and queen..”

Ser Jory has since set aside his sparring blade. He walks over to a wooden bench in the corner of the Godswood to fetch his sword belt, fastening it onto his person.

“See you inside, m'lady.” Jory announces as he rushes back into the castle. Although you hardly hear him at all as you inch closer to the pair of knights standing under the Weirwood tree.

You remain partially hidden by the darkness as you listen to their conversation whilst pretending to focus your attention elsewhere.

“I heard she broke his nose.” The kingsguard says.

“He broke hers more like. That's why she sent her handmaids to fetch her a cold compress.” The other knight chimes in, and his words send an unpleasant shiver down your spine.

You turn away, thoughtlessly discarding the practice blade you were holding before grabbing your own sword.

You slip past the main doors of the castle before sprinting up the stairs. You pushed past the pair of guards at the foot of it as they took a moment too long to step aside.

As you reach Cersei's bedchambers you notice that her door is left ajar. You push it open, stepping inside in a panic frenzy, only to nearly trip over Robert's large frame.

The king lays motionless by the door, on a beautifully crafted Myrish carpet. His large belly spilling out of his tunic.

A compelling sight.

You look up to find Cersei standing by the window, a goblet of wine in hand. She smiles as your eyes meet.

Her hair is unkempt, her robe falling off one shoulder, but there is no blood anywhere on her, in fact she appears entirely unharmed.

You turn to shut the door, wincing as it accidentally slams into place. Yet, Robert remains on the floor, unfazed.

“Is he dead?” You quip, circling the king's motionless body and it earns a bitter chuckle from Cersei.

“No, just passed out from drinking too much, I'm afraid.” The queen responds, her own voice slurred.

The queen is drunk.

“Pity.” You remark, as a large noise erupts from the king. The boisterous and grating snore continues every time he breathes.

You tilt your head at the sight of him, Robert Baratheon is a beast, and the worst kind.

You sigh at the thought before turning around, only to find Cersei standing right behind you.

She reaches up instinctively, wrapping her arms around the back of your neck.

“Did he hurt you?” You ask softly, your own hands finding her waist.

Your jaw tenses as Cersei nodded in response.

A blind rage overcomes you then, the sound of Robert snoring agitates you beyond belief, fueling your resentment.

“I could kill him.” You mutter through gritted teeth, and Cersei merely re-focuses her gaze on you, an amused smile playing on her lips.

“You are so adorable.” She whispers, almost mockingly, her lips then meet your neck.

The feeling of her kisses upon your skin slowly causes your anger to dissipate, you find yourself conflicted.

“Cersei–” You attempt, but the queen's mouth against the shell of your ear causes your words to die in your throat.

**

“Take me to bed..” She says, the scent of lavender in her hair invades your senses, and you find it nearly impossible to think. You are urged to do as she asks, but logic and reason forces you to consider otherwise.

“What?” You ask, and you feel Cersei's teeth graze your ear, she bites your earlobe before pulling back slightly to look at you.

“I want you to fuck me– you do it so well.” She pleads, in a tone that nearly makes your knees buckle.

Cersei runs her fingers through your hair, uninterested in hearing you protest any further.

She escapes your embrace, though not letting go of your hand as she steps over Robert.

The king continues to snore loudly, you are beginning to think the man will not wake for anything at all. He might as well be dead.

“Come.” Cersei coaxes sweetly, tugging on your arm.

You let her guide you without a moment's thought, stepping over the king to follow the queen to her bed.

Cersei lets go of your hand to unlace her robe, she shrugs it off, allowing it to fall on the floor, leaving her as naked as her nameday.

The queen watches you disapprovingly as you stand frozen in place. You observed the way her hips swayed languidly as she approached you.

She reaches south to unfasten your sword belt, gripping your blade by its scabbard before placing it on the floor.

“You are not naked enough.” Cersei points out, with a slight pout. The way she continues to slur her words causes your heart to constrict in your chest.

Even like this, she is breathtaking.

Beautiful.. and so utterly twisted.

You are so in love with her.

Cersei sets her bottom lip in between her teeth with palpable excitement as you obliged her. Unclasping your dark grey doublet, tossing it aside before lifting your tunic over your head.

The queen decides to assist you with your bottom half. Brazenly palming your cock through your breeches, her shoulder slumps in disappointment, unsatisfied with the current flaccid state of your shaft.

“What's wrong?” Cersei asks, her hands move up your body to cup your breast before resting on the nape of your neck once more.

You are unsure of how to respond, you remain overtly aware of the fact that Cersei's husband remained asleep only a few feet away.

You turn to glance at the man but the queen is quick to force your head in place. “Don't look at him.” She scolds before leaning in to capture your lips with her own for a long kiss.

As you aim to slip your tongue inside of her mouth, Cersei pulls away with a demand. “Take off your breeches, come here.”

You observed as Cersei climbed onto the bed, settling on her knees at the edge of it.

The sight admittedly manages to excite you; you feel your cock begin to stir.

You remove your breeches in haste, ridding them heedlessly as you approach the golden haired woman.

Now you stand in front of the bed and Cersei remains in a kneeling position on the edge as she grips the base of your semi-erect shaft. Bringing it up to her lips, she kisses the tip, all while maintaining eye contact.

“Fuck–” You groan aloud as Cersei finally takes you into her mouth, her tongue flat against your cock as she begins to suck.

You let out an unsteady breath, reaching down to grip a fistful of her hair, wary of not grabbing too tightly as you allowed Cersei to set her own pace.

The queen continues bobbing her head, taking your cock inside of her mouth in its entirety.

You feel her breathe out through her nose as she takes you in even deeper, pulling another groan from you as the tip of your shaft meets her throat.

You gasp as Cersei keeps going, you notice as tears begin to well up in her eyes before they flutter shut as she takes you further in.

The feeling of her swallowing around your cock makes you see stars, and it nearly causes you to finish right then and there.

“Gods above, Cersei–” You curse incoherently.

The queen chokes on your girth before leaning back to let your cock lay flat against her tongue once more.

She continues to suck dutifully, and you grunt, this time gripping her hair harshly to pull her head back.

You needed to take her, now.

“Enough, come here.” You state, and Cersei lets your cock fall out of her mouth.

She makes a noise of surprise as you harshly met her lips. Cersei kisses you passionately in return, pulling you down on top of her.

As the queen parted her legs for you, you don't give her much warning before reaching in between both of your bodies.

You line the tip of your shaft up to her entrance, and with one swift thrust, you enter her completely, filling Cersei to the hilt.

The older woman lets out a guttural noise at the sensation, followed shortly after by a whimper.

Cersei's nails dig into your back as her entire body trembles uncontrollably.

You turn to check if the king had perhaps awoken at the sound, but again, Cersei does not give you the chance, pulling you in for another kiss.

You decide not to heed caution any longer, you begin moving your hips, steadily increasing the pace.

If the king wakes, you will kill him.

Cersei mewls into your mouth as your cock hits the perfect spot within her, again and again.

Soon, you brace your hands against the bedding on either side of her head as you begin to rut into her wildly.

Cersei lets out a series of broken gasps and moans, followed by a louder whine when she suddenly reaches her peak around your cock.

You observed as the queen writhed underneath you with every thrust afterwards, she wraps her arms around your back weakly, pulling you in even closer.

You steal at the opportunity to take Cersei’s breasts into your mouth. Licking and sucking at them greedily.

She gasps at the feeling, and you soon earn another whine as you maintain your slow thrusts.

“Please..” The queen pleads, and the sound of her desperation alone makes you drunk.

“Fill me with your seed,” Cersei utters against your ear, her legs wrapped around your waist as though not allowing you the opportunity to disobey her.

“I want to feel it quicken inside me. I want to bear your children, your heirs. Only yours.” She continues, deliberately clenching her walls around your girth.

That does it.

Your release comes just as sudden, it is violent and unyielding.

Before you can even think of pulling out, your seed spills out in ropes, thick and warm, filling Cersei's womb, just as she wanted.

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 12 | chapter 13

Long golden blonde hair. Captivating green eyes as green as the grass in the meadows back in Dorne or from the Reach. Her laugh. Her voice.

Her voice. Agitated. Hurt. Lonely.

I love you.

The first time you stirred awake, it was some time in the evening. You could tell from the darkness in the room, with only the light from the candles lit on your table helping your vision. And as if triggered on, the pain all around your body made itself known.

You let out a small groan, stopped short when you could feel movement on your left. Craning your head to look, you could see someone with golden hair sleeping with her head on her arms.

Cersei. No, it couldn't be her. Because the woman beside you was holding your left hand tight in hers as she slept. And Cersei was not known to be that affectionate. Surely, you were not that worthy to be cared for by the Queen Mother.

Another pain shot up in your head, making you grunt and shut your eyes.

"Y/n?" Cersei's sleepy voice made through your ears before darkness has taken you once again.

~~~

It was day time the next time you were awake. Cersei wasn't there with you, making you think if you had only been dreaming about her.

Instead, there were Oberyn and Ellaria, welcoming you with full smiles on their faces. You could no longer feel any pain in your body. In fact, you were feeling elated, as if you were floating.

"Wa. . . Water," you managed to croak out. Ellaria hurriedly helped you up to give you a tiny sip of water. You had never felt your mouth so dry since the last time you made that silly expedition to Braavos as an act of rebellion against your father.

You looked around the room, looking for a certain woman that had been haunting your dreams. "Cersei?"

Ellaria chuckled. "She left for the Maester."

Oberyn snorted another laugh. "You just woke up from defeating the Mountain and the first two things you look for are water and Cersei."

You smiled from ear to ear, as you raised your arm before you, forefinger tracing the ceiling. "I feel like I'm . . . I'm flying."

"Qyburn has given you milk of the poppy for the pain," Oberyn said. "Probably a lot, I guess."

Eventually, your eyelids droop to a close as you went back into deep sleep, still smiling.

~~~

It was Tyrion who visited the chambers next when you woke up the third time. He was reading from a scroll when he noticed you stir awake.

"Lady Y/n," Tyrion said, climbing over a small ladder to see you. "The one who finally beat the Mountain."

You softly chuckled, a dull pain in your head.

"I'm forever in your debt, Lady Y/n," he went on. "Whatever you need, I'll do everything I can to give you."

"Water?" you suggested.

Tyrion only laughed as he helped you drink from a water goblet.

"You know . . . I was wrong."

You glanced at him, your mouth too weak to utter, as you lay back on the bed.

"I thought my sister will never be able to care for someone other than her children. I swore there was one time she almost beheaded one of the handmaidens who took care of you," he chuckled before he went silent, his eyes on the golden necklace with a lion pendant laid on the bedside table. Cersei's necklace. "But I believe you're no longer obliged to marry her, given the news about you offering Yronwood to set you both free from the marriage. Gone are the days of torment."

It made you feel sadness. You had no idea why. It was you who had fully decided to offer it to Tywin the first place. "H-How did she react?"

He only shrugged his shoulders. "I can tell she was a bit taken aback. But I haven't always been able to read Cersei growing up. She doesn't let her emotions show. You don't have to worry though, the future is not yet written. Just take a rest now."

~~~

Oberyn was there to visit you some time later, after Qyburn had changed the dressings of your wound. Apparently, you had broken some of your ribs and there were some bones disalignment, but none the Maester couldn't handle.

Taking advantage of the privacy, Oberyn began discussing to you in whispers that you'd be heading to Dorne soon and that he had something to show you about your birthright.

A lot had happened the time you were asleep. Stannis was executed by the Boltons, led by Lord Ramsay of House Bolton, who was said to be married to Sansa Stark. You could tell luck hadn't been good to Sansa, as you heard tales about Ramsay being a much worse monster than Joffrey.

"Winter is coming," Oberyn said out of nowhere. Your eyes only widened. You knew what he was talking about. You had read about the White Walkers and heard myths about them, but you always thought it was only a drunkard's gossip.

"The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jon Snow, sent a raven to every Lords in Westeros," he continued, pulling a scroll from his pocket, the same one you saw Tyrion was reading. "He witnessed it firsthand. And I think it's urgent that we moved south as quick as possible, knowing north would be attacked first."

"But . . . We couldn't just leave—"

"She's not your obligation anymore, Y/n," he said, knowing you were referring to Cersei. "But the sooner you get home, the sooner we'll figure out what to do about your succession."

"What do you mean? Daenerys is the Queen."

"You're four years older than her. Your sister Daenerys was born in Dragonstone where your mother Rhaella was last seen, before Stannis . . . before Stannis executed them all."

You could only grit your teeth. "But I'm a bastard. I'm not the rightful heir."

Oberyn looked around the room to ensure it was empty before he went on, "Daenerys is the Queen, Y/n. We're not contesting to that. Do you know why the Martells was the last house to swear fealty to King Robert? It was because we always believe Targaryens are the rightful heirs to the Iron Throne. But whenever someone wants to get that throne, what awaits them?"

There was a small pause. "Death," Oberyn said, "It's going to be difficult for Daenerys to get back the Iron Throne, it might even kill her. That's why she would need you by her side. You're the last two living Targaryens."

~~~

You awoke alone some time that night. Hearing the door creak open, you turned to look at the intruder.

It was Cersei. When she noticed you awake, she hesitated to enter until she stepped forward then closed the door behind her.

And gods, she looked so beautiful, you thought you were already dead upon witnessing such beauty.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she approached the bed slowly.

"Like I just got beaten by the Mountain," you responded, giving her a weak smile.

She chuckled softly, reaching the side of your bed. Her laughter rarely contained genuine amusement, but not when around you.

"You have the most beautiful laugh I've ever heard," you said, making the Lannister woman meet your gaze. "I've been dreaming about it. Your face. Your eyes. . . Sorry, Maester Qyburn said there might still be after effects from the milk of the poppy."

Cersei laughed as her hand went to hold yours, before letting go, turning her head to avoid your eyes.

"Oberyn said you're leaving the day after tomorrow," she said.

"So I've been told," you confirmed. "Oberyn might be too proud to admit it, but I think he misses their children."

Cersei smiled back before her lips turned into a frown, her eyes meeting yours.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you offer Yronwood?"

You threaded your fingers with hers and she took them. "I . . . I just thought you've been tortured enough that you don't deserve this. You should be allowed to marry someone you love at least. Or not to marry anyone at all if you don't feel like it."

There was silence. Cersei then went to sit on the side of the bed, eyes glistening with tears. "Are you sure it's not just me you're avoiding?"

You lifted your other hand forward and cupped her face, thumb tracing the tear off her cheek. She leaned unto your touch, closing her eyes.

"I will always love you, Cersei," you declared. "But you don't have to love me back."

She opened her eyes slowly, meeting yours. And you could tell hers spoke of uncertainty and adoration.

~~~

"I just can't believe it." Oberyn had been staring at you for a while as you helped the crew of the Martell ship.

When you didn't bother answering, your uncle only laughed. You sighed and placed the crate you were carrying on the floor. "What?"

"Y/n Martell," he announced proudly. "The one who finally killed the Mountain. The one who obtained justice for her aunt and cousins' death. I'm sure your father would be proud."

You forced a smile his way as you went back to what you were doing. You were sailing back home that day. Tywin had agreed to trust the Martells after the trial that almost got yourself killed.

Yet, you weren't sure what to expect back home. Oberyn told you there was something he'd show about your birthright. And with the fact you now knew Prince Doran was your real father, it didn't sit well on you how he'd react if he knew the truth.

With Trystane being your half brother, who you only heard from Ellaria that morning was engaged to Cersei's daughter, Princess Myrcella, things only got more complicated.

But that wasn't what you were sad about. It was because Cersei didn't show up and said her goodbyes to you when you left the palace. She wasn't even in the dining hall when you were all breaking the fast with the Lannisters, sending you blessings for your trip.

You didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. Not that she hadn't visited you since that night she cried on your bed with her hand in yours. The only souvenir you got was her necklace, hidden underneath your tunic. Cersei gave it to you that night, saying it was a gift from her mother, that it was special to her. And that was all you needed to know that you were special to her too.

You missed her terribly and you hadn't even left the Capital yet.

"Someone's going to get a farewell's kiss." Oberyn's voice brought you back to the present, making you straighten your posture and glare back at the Dornishman.

Oberyn then motioned his head behind you. And when you turned to glance, there she was, in her red flowing dress and golden hair elegantly braided. Cersei was heading your way, with what appeared were knights, handmaidens and servants trotting along behind her.

You bowed and greeted her when she reached the deck. "Your Grace."

"Lady Y/n," she said with a smile. "Prince Oberyn. I apologize for such a short notice but Tommen has advised me to visit Myrcella following the news of her engagement with Prince Trystane. A daughter will always need her mother's counsel, whether her suitor is good enough for her or not." Cersei's eyes were on your neck, the golden chain of her necklace visible. "Besides, it'll be nice to see Myrcella. I haven't seen her for a long time now."

Your eyes never left Cersei, stunned about what she said. Is she telling you she's going with you to Dorne?

When Oberyn nudged your arm, you finally snapped out of trance. "Yes, yes, we will set you a cabin, Your Grace."

Cersei thanked you before walking past you both, her perfume lingering around. Her servants, handmaidens and queensguard followed her through the ship, your eyes expecting a certain tall golden haired man with a fake gold hand.

"Where's Ser Jaime?" you couldn't help but ask.

"He couldn't come," Cersei replied as she turned back to you, giving you a somewhat mischievous smile before she let herself be led by one of the Dornish crew to her cabin.

[catsteeth]

Sugar & Violence

Podrick Payne x reader 

+:✿ Chapter 6 ✿:+ : Dreamer

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: You’re a Mormont being held hostage by House Lannister.  You are acting now as the Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell, whom you’ve grown quite close with. But it seems that a squire has caught your attention as you have caught his. 

CW: MDNI, afab reader, pining, NSFW themes, Threats of non-con, misogyny, Violence, mention of violence, mention of arranged marriages, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of NSFW themes.

A/N: I am dedicating this chapter to all the Podrick girls who have stuck with me through this incredibly long hiatus, and even supported some of my other works. I truly love you all so much, you know who you are. 

Word Count: 4.7K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You had been traveling north with the rest of the Knights watch for a few weeks now. Yoren was serving you well, keeping the men far from you and in line. Although not many of them were ignorant enough to say anything disrespectful to their Lord Commander's daughter. 

That was until some man on a horse began to take offense that you weren’t working like the rest of the men.

As you practiced your aim with an arrow, your brain felt clouded, you kept having a thought of Lannister horses trotting in the night, coming closer and closer. 

You tried to push it out of your head as you exhaled and shot the arrow hitting a tree, right on the mark you aimed for.

As you walked over to the tree to retrieve it you overheard two men, one in the river fetching water, and the other who sat on a horse.

“Why doesn’t she work like the rest of us?” The man on the horse said, louder than necessary. You ignored it as you pulled the arrow out from the tree bark, walking back to your mark to try again.

“She aint a Knights Watchman.” The man in the river said, 

“Ain’t it a girl's duty to cook and fetch water?” The man on the horse paid no attention to the man in the river's remark, he stared at you as he said it.

The man in the river stood to his feet, “She’s a Mormont, you’d better mind your tongue.” He warned. Maybe out of actual respect for your name, or maybe out of fear of your father.

“A Mormont is she?” The man on the horse said, He smirked. You began to aim with your bow and arrow, you exhaled about to let your arrow fly when the man shouted, “Bear girl! How would you like to warm my tent tonight?” It was loud enough to get the attention of all the other men in the camp. It fell silent. 

You dropped your bow and arrow. Finally looking over and acknowledging the man who had been bothering you.

You walked over, with a huff, and stood in front of the man on the horse. You petted the horse's snout with a smile as you ran your hand along the horse's neck, and along its body, until you were facing the side of the beast. You looked up as the man looked down upon you. 

“Is that a yes?” The man smirked, you smirked back as you grabbed hold of the man's saddle and with haste pulled the horse off its balance, making it fall on its side and the man with it.

The horse's weight on the man's leg broke it. As the horse got back up the man stayed on the ground, holding his leg and wailed, “She broke my fucking leg!”

As you walked away, you said back much more calmly, “I didn't, your horse did.” 

As you went to grab your bow and arrow that were on the ground, Yoren walked up to you, “We need men for the night's watch, not cripples.” Somewhat disapproving but also amused by your display.

“He’s got a clean break in the lower bit of his leg.” You said, aiming your bow and arrow, “A split and a crutch and he’ll be fine before we get there.” You said as you released the arrow, hitting in the exact spot you did before.

“How do you know that?” Yoren asked, his eyes were narrowed and his brows furrowed. He was suspicious at the same time he was curious. 

“Mmm.” You shrugged, “The way he fell?” You said dismissively. 

Yoren huffed, turning his attention back to the man wailing on the ground, “Get him up.” He said to the men surrounding him “And quit your whining!” He shouted to the man on the ground.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Podrick was staying in an Inn just a few miles outside of Winterfell. 

Neither of you were aware of just how close you both were to one another. However Podrick grew more and more on edge as time passed. He was thinking of you constantly. When he was training with a sword he thought of you, when he was eating he thought of you, when he was bathing he thought of you, when he lay down for the night he especially thought of you. He often stared at the scar on his palm, a constant reminder of you. 

As he looked at the scar, he looked up to see Brienne staring at Winterfell. She knew Sansa was there, and in danger. She tormented herself with the thought. 

“She’s far away from the Lannisters. This is her home. Maybe Lady Sansa is better off here.” He said, partially wanting to comfort Brienne while partially wanting to be done with this mission and get on with finding you. 

Brienne turned to Podrick, “Safe with the Boltons? Who murdered her mother and brother? She is dangerous even if she doesn’t realize it.” She said with annoyance. As she did an old man came into their room, he placed new firewood beside their door. “Thank you. You live here a long time?” Brienne asked just before the man was about to leave.

“Aye.” The man nodded,

“Did you know about Lord Eddard?” Brienne questioned, Podrick looked at her with concern. He knew it was dangerous to discuss such things now. 

The old man narrowed his eyes at Brienne, “I knew him. And his father before him. Starks are gone now-” 

Brienne interrupted, “Not all of them. I know who's inside that caste.” she said with confidence. 

The man scoffed, “Everyone knows. The Boltons.” 

She shook her head, “I’m not talking about the Boltons.” Brienne walked closer to the man, “I need to get a message to her. Sansa Stark.” She was fearless, it reminded him of you, it was his only comfort now that you were gone.

“Who are you?” The man questioned, 

“Someone who swore to keep her safe.” Brienne said with the same cold tone as the man had with her.

“Swore to who?” He practically spat at her, 

“Her mother.” She said, again matching the hostility of the man, showing she was not afraid of him.

The man smirked, “Her mothers dead.”

“That doesn’t release me from an oath. I served Lady Catelyn. I still serve her. Who do you serve?” That took the air out of the room.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

That night, you and the rest of the night's watch slept in an old abandoned barn.

Your dreams as of late were stranger than normal. More real, but vague at the same time. And tonight it was worse. You felt the heat of fire, you could smell the smoke of the fire ripping through dry grass. You heard the horns of battle, heard the sounds of men grunting, the sounds of fighting. You saw fire, and two arrows released. You felt the pain of a knight cutting into your side. That's when you woke up.

You sat up with a loud gasp, your eyes were wild and wide. Yoren who slept beside you always was awake and immediately took you in his arms. 

“Calm yourself, Lass!” He said as you panted, 

“Fire, a sword, and arrows!” You said breathlessly clinging onto his coat,

“What?” He asked with narrowed eyes. Though before you could speak you and Yoren heard horns of battle ringing outside the barn you were all staying in, Yoren released you and stood “GET UP, YOU LAZY SONS OF WHORES!” He shouted waking the men up, “ARM YOURSELVES!” He continued to shout and wake up more of the men, He turned to you grabbing you by the shoulders, “You need to leave. You need to go far North.”

You shook your head, “You said my father would kill you if you didn’t take me with you. He’d kill me if I left you.” He looked at you as if you both knew that wasn’t true, you shrugged, “Well maybe not kill but he’d be ashamed and that's worse.” you conceded, “I can fight you know that.” 

He huffed and shook his head, “I’m not fighting you. You’re staying out of sight and going North.” He said as he turned his attention back to the men “THOSE MEN OUT THERE WANT TO FUCK YOUR CORPSES– OUTSIDE NOW!”

As he and the rest of the knights watched, one of the men holding a torch accidentally set the dry grass aflame. You smelt the fire and knew it was the same smell from your dream. 

“Where's the bastard?” A Lannister guard shouted, 

“More than a few here. Who's asking.” Yoren asked gruffly.

You paid little attention to what they said. You were too busy attempting to stay out of sight of the Lannisters. If you were found the consequences would be worse for both you and the Knights Watch. 

“Last chance. In the name of King Tommen. Bring us your bastards.” He said threateningly. 

“No I don’t think I will.” Yoren said, confidently. 

“So be it.” You finally looked over at that exact moment, to see Yoren shot with an arrow through the chest. You wanted to scream but you held it in. 

Even with an arrow in him, he was just as brave, “I always hated crossbows. It Takes too long to load.” Yoren said as he cut through the man with the crossbow. But he was no match against the rest of the Lannister guards. He was slaughtered before your own eyes. 

You knew there was nothing more for you to do, so you ran, ran as fast as you could. Though a man intercepted your path. A balding man wearing Lannister colors. He smirked at you as you tried to run past him. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” The man said as he grabbed hold of you, his hand covering your mouth. You saw him pull out a dagger and shove it deep in your side. You cried out, and he laughed. But then you bit down as hard as you could. The man screamed as you bit his finger off, finally letting you go. The horrid taste in your mouth lingered as you ran. 

Ran until your legs stung. The pain from your side only worsened as you ran. Becoming more and more intense and less and less easy to ignore. 

You stopped for a moment beside a river. You kneeled down to take a drink from it. You knew it wouldn’t help, but your mind and body were slipping out of consciousness rapidly as the pain grew. Soon, it was all fuzzy. You had no balance, and no feeling, your hearing was leaving you as well but you heard one last thing before it did. 

SPLASH

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You awoke in a warm bed beside a fire. You looked around at the room, it looked like an Inn though you’d no money. 

You saw a woman in the corner of the room ringing out a wet cloth into a bowl, as she began to walk towards you, she smiled.

“Who are you?” You questioned, your eyes were hardly opened. You were so weak and clearly slightly frightened. 

“Baelise.” She said sweetly as she dabbed your forehead with the damp cloth.

“Where am I?” You asked, trying to sit up, but the pain in your side was too horrid. 

“A brothel. I found you in the river.” She said as she pushed you back into the bed,

“A brothel?” You asked with wide eyes, 

She held a laugh, “Don’t worry, I own it.” You looked around the room, looking for any sign of a man who might have come in, “No one has touched you.” Baelise assured you, knowing what you were afraid of. 

“I need to leave.” You said panting from the pain. 

“You need to rest, and eat. Lay down.” She said as she put the damp cloth back onto your head, “What happened to you, sweetling? Did men do this to you?” 

“Lannister guards attacked the knights watch.” You said pained.

“You were with them?” She questioned, it was odd for a woman to be accompanying the Knights watchmen.

“My father is their commander.” You said with a husky voice,  “I dreamt of it,” You said, you weren’t sure why you said it but you did. 

“Of what?” She stopped dabbing the cloth on your head, almost stunned by what you said. 

“Death. An arrow, a sword, and fire.” You said, your eyes closed now, trying to block out the pain. 

“Do you do that a lot?” She questioned, 

You realized you’d said too much, “How long til I can leave.” 

“Whenever that nasty cut heals.” She said with a huff, continuing to dab your forehead. You pulled down your covers, revealing your naked form. You saw the stitching she had done on your side. It was well done for a Brothel Madam, well done for anyone in fact. “I cleaned it, and sewed you up.” She said sweetly as she pulled the cover back over you.

You grabbed her wrist, “Milk of the poppy, please I need it.” You pleaded, 

“I’ll give you what I can. One of my girls is expecting a child soon, we’ll need it.” She said soothingly as she stood to get it. 

“She should give her essence of nightshade for that, not the milk.” You said with expertise, 

Baelise looked back at you with a smile as she rummaged through her various remedies and elixirs. “You have dreams don’t you?” 

“We all do.” You said almost frustrated that she remembered what you said before. 

“You have dreams that come to fruition.” You looked back to her, as she approached with a spoon full of the milk, “You lose yourself in thought, when you do, your mind goes to the future. You hear them speaking, you see visions of what is to come. Only brief moments, but enough.” 

“How do you know this?” You asked as you drank the milk in, 

“I saw you coming, (Y/N).” She said removing the spoon from your mouth. “I saw you fall in that river. Saw your lifeless body drift up the stream towards my brothel. I stood outside waiting for you.” 

You laid there, debating whether or not you could trust her. Whether or not you should tell her any more. Though you felt you could trust her. She knew your name, maybe her talent was much more powerful than your own, maybe you could learn from her, “It only started a few moons ago.” You said softly, 

“It comes to us when we are ready. Like our moonblood.” Her tone was soft and gentle like a mother.

“I saw the attack before it happened. I think at least. How do I stop it before it happens?” You said pained although this time it wasn’t from the cut in your side.

“It is sometimes beyond us to stop such outcomes. You can try, but no one will listen. They’ll think you are mad.” She said as she continued to dab the damp cloth on your forehead.

“This is a curse.” You scoffed,

“Gifts are not good nor bad. They are given.” She smiled at you softly, “You’re a healer yourself aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” You said, your voice soft and gentled from the milk.

“You always know how to treat a person's wounds do you not?” 

“I studied for-”

She interrupted you, “The most knowledgeable masters make mistakes. Outlook symptoms. Prefer to take shortcuts. You do not. You can place someone's hand in yours, examine a cut with your eyes alone, even hear the way a bone breaks and just know exactly what needs to be done.” She said, and you nodded. “It’s part of your gift.” You felt your eyes grow heavy, from the poppy no doubt. As you felt yourself drift into sleep, Baelise, tucked your hair beside your ear and whispered, “Sleep.” Before leaving you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

That night Podrick dreamt of you. Not unusual but this time it felt as if it were real. 

He saw you in his chambers back in king's landing, wearing the dress you wore when you first laid together. “Podrick?” You asked softly, though Podrick tried, he couldn’t speak.

He tried to reach out to you, but each time he tried he felt further and further away from you.

“Podrick!” Brienne shouted, waking Podrick up from his deep sleep. He sat up disorientated, he held onto his head as he tried to come back to reality. “You sleep heavier now that we are sleeping in an inn. Perhaps we should return to the ditches.” Brienne said sneeringly. 

“Just… Having strange dreams.” He grunted, 

“As long as they do not affect our mission.” She said looking back to Winterfell.

He shook his head, “They won’t, My Lady.” 

Brienne looked over to him. She felt badly for always being so short with him.

“What are they?” She asked reluctantly. Podrick looked at her confused, not knowing why she would want to know. Brienne sighed, “We have been cooped up in this inn waiting for a sign from Lady Sansa, with little to discuss. This might be something of interest.” She conceded, 

“A woman.” He said, the longing very apparent in his tone.

“Never mind, I do not need to hear that.” Brienne said with disgust.

“Not like that.” Podrick shook his head, “I knew her from Kings Landing. She was Handmaiden to Margaery Tyrell. A Mormont who was held captive in the south.” She smiled as he recalled the memory of you, “She was a brave woman.” He nodded.

Brienne hesitated to add to what he said, “I remember her.” she said, thinking it might offer him some comfort.

“You do?” He asked, perking up like a starved dog who smelt food.

“Yes, she was practically connected to Margaery Tyrell’s hip.” Podrick sat closer as if he were a child listening to a story before bed, Brienne looked at him with furrowed brows but continued.  “She did not speak much. Handmaidens rarely do. But she complimented my sword. Unusual for a Lady I thought.” She said looking out the window, thinking that was the end of it.

“She’s an unusual woman.” He said as a compliment with a smile on his face, he looked back up to her, “She told me about you.” Brienne looked down at Podrick with curiosity,  “Said you were exactly what she wanted to be as a girl.” 

“A very unusual woman indeed.” Brienne scoffed. “Do you think she poisoned Joffrey?” She asked, her curiosity taking over her, “Mormonts despise southern houses. Despise the Crown. She had the opportunity to do it-“

“No. My Lady.” He said in haste, “She would spit in Lord's drinks. Never poisoned them.” He shook his head.

“The armored girl the boy from the inn talked of. You think that was her?” She asked softer than normal.

“He said she was a Mormont. No other Mormonts are that far south.” His tone was slightly deeper

“I gave you chance after chance to leave. Why didn’t you go find her?” Brienne asked as she turned her attention back to him.

Podrick looked down, slightly disappointed in himself, “I don’t know where she is. Don’t even know how to try and look.” 

“Once Lady Sansa is safe, I’ll help you.” Podrick smiled as was about to thank her before he noticed something behind her,

“My Lady!” Podrick shouted as he pointed towards the broken tower, where a candle was lit.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Back in the brothel, Baelise continued to teach you more of your gift, as you tried to get your body out of bed. 

“Did you dream of anything tonight?” Baelise asked as she watched you attempt to get out of bed. 

“Just a brown horse, with a-” You grunted as you finally stood. “A white spot on its head.”

You finally were able to stand without assistance. Baelise knew that your time with her was coming to an end. She smiled at your progress but knew that she’d one last thing to teach you.

“Have you heard of the Lord of Light?” She asked softly, 

“Ramblings of it, here and there.” You grunted as you got accustomed to limping around the room. 

Baelise lit the fire, “The Lord might offer you further clarity.” She said as she fed the fire another log. 

“My family served the old gods.” You said dismissively, trying to pay closer attention to your unsteady steps.

“And yet the Lord of Light might allow you vision through fire.” She said as she stood, dusting her hands clean from the wood, “Peer into it. Deeply.” She said as she took you by your shoulders and turned you towards the fire.

You huffed, “I see nothing.” You shook your head, “Perhaps the Lord of Light does not like me.” You said as a jest.

Baelise rolled her eyes, pushed you closer to it, “It does not happen in an instant. Keep looking.” 

You did, as you did you could swear the fire morphed before your eyes. 

“Wildlings cross the wall. Welcomed in by some man… pretty as a girl.” You blinked hard as you looked away. You struggled to stand on your own, Baelise helped you up.  “My father is dead, or is going to be. I must leave here now.” You said as you hurriedly began to put your armor on. 

“Are you certain?” Baelise asked as she helped you, 

“You don’t know my father.” You said, finally finishing putting on your armor. As you rushed to the door you looked back to Baelise, “Thank you.” You said earnestly, she smiled and nodded as you made your way out.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

In Winterfell Podrick and Brienne were determined to find Lady Sansa. 

They heard the sounds of men and hounds in the distance and followed. As they approached the men shouted ���It’s a bloody woman!” As Brienne pulled her sword out, so did Podrick. Brienne kills most of the soldiers on horseback, then knocks one off his horse before slitting his throat. 

Podrick, his fighting skills having improved under Brienne's teaching, fights and kills a Bolton soldier, but falls off his horse in the process. He then challenges another Bolton soldier, killing him as well. He thought you’d be proud of him for that.

Once all the soldiers are dead, Brienne steps towards Sansa. She laid her blade on the ground before her, kneeling, “Lady Sansa, I offer my services once again. I will shield your back and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear by the old gods and the new.” She vowed,

Sansa began “And I vow… that you shall always have a place by my hearth- and…” 

“Meat and mead at my table.” Podrick said, helping her along with her vows. 

“Meat and mead at my table.” She stumbled, “And I pledge to ask for no service that might bring you dishonor. I swear by the old gods and the new. Arise.” Sansa vowed in return. 

Podrick smiled, as what was Brienne’s only wish finally came true. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You however, were in Winterfell's woods at the same time. Limping your way North, the pain in your side, still greatly disabling you. 

“Who is this?” A Bolton Soldier said, “Not the redhead we're looking for.” Another Soldier said. 

You paid them no mind, not even looking at them. You had your bow and arrow, and your sword. If anyone dared try and fight you, you were confident even now you would win. 

“No, but she is a pretty thing-” The first soldier said, “Oi little girl!” He shouted, 

“Fuck off.” You rasped, 

The man scoffed, “You don't look like you're in much of a position to be a cunt.”

“I said fuck off.” You rasped even louder, 

“Come on, birdy. We’ve been out here a while. Give us a little fun and we’ll get you a ride wherever you like!” The second solider said. 

You finally looked over, and saw one of them was on a brown horse with a white spot. Just as you dreamed. You smirked, 

“Yes you will.” You mumbled, “Alright then.” You said louder, voice still raspy from the pain.  

The men laughed as they got off their horses, “That's a good lass.” The first solider said taking a step towards you,

The second solider however grabbed the first one, “You ain’t going first, I’m the one who convinced her-” 

“I don’t want used cunt-” The first solider argued back, 

You interrupted, “No need, I’ll take you both at once.” You said with a smirk.

They both chuckled as they undid their trousers, “You are a whore sent from the Gods aren’t you?” The first solider said, you stepped towards them. 

“Perhaps.” You said before pulling your sword out and stabbing through the second soldier’s chest. Before the other could pull up his pants to get his own sword, you pull your blade out of the solider and cut through the other with just as much ease as the first. 

You huffed, over exerting yourself in an already fragile state. Though you were more upset by the blood that had gotten on yourself. 

You looked up at the horse with the brown coat and white spot, and smiled at it. “Come on,” You said it to as you mounted the horse, “We’re going North.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As Podrick and Brienne made their way into the Castle Black gates. He looked around for any sign of you. He knew that this was the place you would go if you had gotten away. And when he didn't see you, it worried him terribly.

As he watched Jon and Sansa reunite, he looked over to Brienne hoping this would comfort her in some way. And hoping she still meant what she said about helping him find you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱ The pain had gotten considerably worse over the next day as you rode, never stopping once. You rode hunched over in pain grasping at your side. 

Both you and your new horse which you’d given no name, were exhausted, and starved. But it would be worth it, as you approached the gates of Castle Black, two men stood above the gates wall, looking at you with confusion.

“Open the gate.” You rasped, your voice was weak and breaking. 

“You a Bolton?” The man shouted back down at you.

You huffed, looking up at him though still hunched in pain, “Do I look like a fucking Bolton?” You said your voice husky, “I’m a Mormont! Open the fucking gate!” You shouted though your voice was still unable to carry very far. 

“Open the gates!” The men shouted. 

As they did you rode in on your horse, everyone starred at you. Three men rushed to your aid as soon as they saw the blood that coated your side.

The men helped you off of your horse, you almost cried out from the pain of it all. 

“The horse needs to eat.” you said to some man who then dragged the horse off to the stables. 

You looked around for a moment, hopping your father was still there, somewhere. But when you looked around you saw Wildlings, and you knew your father was dead. You didn’t hate them, you didn’t know them. But your father would rather die then see them beyond the wall. That much you knew. As you kept looking, you saw Jon Snow, and Sansa Stark, looking at you with confusion and surprise, you looked at them with the same look. 

A sharp pain ripped through your side once more, you hunched over gripping at your side, wincing in pain. 

As you did you felt familiar hands on you, as you looked you saw the same brown eyes you loved for so long. 

“(Y/N)...” Podrick said softly, his eyes were wide and worried. He wanted to smile and embrace you but your state concerned him far greater. 

Before you could say anything the pain overtook your senses. Your hearing and vision left you just as they did in the river and you fainted. Thankfully this time, in the arms of your lover.

“You’ve a way with women.” A tall wildling man with red hair who was standing near by said. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE: NEXT ONE WILL EAT I PROMISE JUST LET ME SET IT UP OKAYYYYYYYYYY IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG AND SUCKS THE NEXT ONE WILL BE BETTER AND COME WAY FASTER... K, love you… xoxo 

-Bambi

BELOVED TAGS: 

@ryn-away @boojaynaqueen @holierthancunt @symonedoesart

@siimiasoi

@evilunicorns4minions

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Yan!Daemon T. NSFW A-Z

(I couldn’t resist, I needed to make this, this was one of the most requested things I’ve ever had so I hope that you love it!)

A stands for AFFECTION: how would they show affection?

•Daemon shows affection through physical touch, he always wants to be touching you in some way whether that’s with his arm around your waist, you sat across his lap (which is a near constant position for him to put you in) or possibly just as simple as holding your hand

B stands for BLOODY: how bloody are they willing to get for their object of obsession?

•As bloody as physically possible!

•Daemon will protect you with everything he has and the idea of getting bloody will not deter him for a moment. You had better hope that blood doesn’t make you sick to see or smell because with how often Daemon believes (true or not) that men are flirting with his Princess, there’s going to be a lot of bloodstains on his clothes…and yours

C stands for CRUELTY: would they ever hurt their object of obsession?

•If you push Daemon too far he can get violent with anyone

•He would never harm you the way he harms other people, however you are in no way exempt from his rage

D stands for DARLING: would they cross their object of obsession’s limits?

•If you try and keep yourself from him then yes, he will absolutely cross any limit he believes he needs to. You are Daemons wife and that means you will perform the duties of a wife as you are meant to as long as you are healthy and strong enough to do so

E stands for EXPOSED: how much do they expose their own feelings to their object of obsession?

•Daemon is actually quite open with you about his feelings in your marital bed, which is really the only place he is willing to talk about anything personal or private

•He actually surprises you a bit with how open he is with you on your wedding night. After your third round he snuggled you to his chest to allow you a break and he began talking, ending up telling you quite a lot about himself for much longer than you expected

F stands for FIGHT: how would they react to their object of obsession fighting back?

•Daemon would find it comical to see his cute little wife fighting back

•He will happily pin you down and fuck the fight right out of you for as long as he needs to

G stands for GAME: do they think this is just a game?

•Daemon does not play games in any facet of his life (unless he’s teasing assholes/idiots like Otto Hightower or Gerold Royce), certainly not in his marriage

H stands for HELL: what would be their object of obsession’s worst experience with them?

•The worst experience you have with Daemon is when you make the mistake of spending the afternoon that he is out for a ride on Caraxes with an old friend that you hadn’t seen in a long time

•That afternoon was spent in the library getting to know each other all over again, however as he walked you back towards your rooms for the evening, you ran into your husband who did not like you in the company of another man

•Daemon, being Daemon, would not listen to reason and that night your husband took you while covered in the blood of your friend, covering you in his warm, sticky blood while his corpse laid 10 feet away from your bed with his eyes open and unseeing

•Strangely enough, Daemon was happy to comfort you from the nightmares that you suffered for months after the incident

I stands for IDEAL: what are their plans for their object of obsession?

•Daemons plan is to breed you full of as many babies as physically possible

•He plans to fill you with an entire litter of Targaryen babies which is why he spends so much time fucking your cunt as full as he possibly can

J stands for JEALOUSY: how they react when jealous? Do they get jealous?

•110% he does!

•You learned on your wedding day that Daemon was a jealous man when you made the mistake of accepting the proposal to dance from a Lannister

•Growing up your mother always taught you to never turn down a request to dance but as you stood behind your husband while he was crouched over the Lion bashing his head in with a wine goblet from the Kings table, you quickly learned that your husband did not want other men to touch you in any way whatsoever

K stands for KINDNESS: how they act around their object of obsession?

•Daemon is a sweet, loving man…to you and you alone

•No one else should or does expect that kind of treatment from Daemon. The only other people you have hope for are your children since the second you became pregnant Daemon was somehow even more protective of you

•He spends hours every day touching and rubbing your belly, talking to the babies at night in your bed after he has finished fucking you for the evening

•’I want to be sure that they know who I am when they’re born. They’ll know you, you’re their mother but should they not like me I do not know what I would do.’ It was a rare moment of vulnerability that Daemon was showing, something he only did with you.

‘Of course they will know you, my Dragon. You are their father, their protector and they will absolutely adore you!’ You assured him, not liking to see your confident, cocky husband in any kind of self doubting mind set.

‘You always know what to say to calm my nerves…I’m going to keep speaking to them though, just in case.’

L stands for LOVE LETTER: how would they approach their object of obsession?

•You found out about Daemons interest the day that you were told you would be marrying the Targaryen prince

•It had only just been announced that his lady wife had passed tragically in a riding accident and then suddenly your father was telling you that the Prince had all but demanded your hand in marriage and your father had no choice but to say yes (not that he would have said anything else)

M stands for MASK: how different are their public persona from their true selves?

•Daemon isn’t the type of person to hide who he is, what you see is what you get

•He is just as cocky, sarcastic and angry behind closed doors as he is in public when someone upsets him, the only difference is a soft side with his wife and babies where no one else can see

N stands for NAUGHTY: how would they punish their object of obsession?

•If Daemon has to punish you he prefers to lock you in your chambers until you settle down, he doesn’t want to hurt you, but if he has to then you will find it impossible to sit down for a long time

O stands for OPPRESSION: how many rights would they take from their object of obsession?

•You can still do most things, but if you want to go out then you must ask him first

•Being around other men is the only big difference, Daemon doesn’t even want you around your own male family members lest they have an unhealthy obsession with his beautiful wife

P stands for PATIENCE: how patient are they with their object of obsession?

•The man has zero patience and zero chill. None.

Q stands for QUIT: if their object of obsession died or escaped, would they ever be able to move on?

•Died: Daemon would genuinely be torn up about your death and he would have a hard time being close to the child that you brought into the world before dying on the birthing bed

•Escaped: You would never get beyond the front gate and if you did you would be corralled by an angry Blood Worm Dragon blocking your way so escape wasn’t worth the hassle

R stands for REGRET: would they ever regret harming their object of obsession? Would they ever let them go?

•He will never let you go however, every once in a while he will regret harming you when he lets his anger get the best of him, making up for it in his own way by bringing you gifts or taking you for an evening flight (which he knows is your favorite)

S stands for STIGMA: what made their yandere tendencies bloom?

•The moment he saw you he went to the Vale and murdered his wife to ensure no one (the King) could tell him that he could not have you

•He demanded your hand right after and Viserys said he would have to wait at least a week out of respect and to not seem suspicious before he “asked your hand” despite the fact that everyone knew it was no question, you would be his one way or another and the ‘permission’ just determined whether your father needed to die first

T stands for TEARS: how would they react to their object of obsession crying/breaking?

•Daemon hates your tears and when you break down and cry, that is usually the moment he knows that he’s gone too far

•Your husband is the first person to comfort you, especially during your nightmares (that he caused) as he hates seeing you sad or scared

U stands for UNIQUE: something different they would do compared to others yanderes.

•Daemon would often have Caraxes eat whatever man he suspected had an interest in his wife

•He would also leave you with Caraxes when he had business to attend to, knowing Caraxes had taken a liking to you and would viciously protect you (especially when pregnant), the Dragon loving you quite a lot and enjoying the scratches you gave him when he was ordered to protect you. He had killed countless men and women for getting too close while he was on guard (whether they meant you harm or not)

V stands for VICE: what weakness their object of obsession could use against them?

•All you had to do is point and someone is dead

•Also if you want Daemon to be soft and sweet, all you need to do is come up with a ‘reason’ to cry, it was the one thing your husband genuinely could not handle seeing

W stands for WIT’S END: would they hurt their object of obsession?

•Never in any way that would have a lasting impact on you

•Locking you in your chambers wasn’t something that ‘hurt you’ and the only pain Daemon ever caused you physically was when you disobeyed him or questioned/challenged his authority in front of others, and even then it was only blistering your ass (which he would then soothe with creams that he had gotten from the maester once you had truly apologized)

X stands for XOANON: would they worship their object of obsession?

•Daemon is obsessed with you, worship is the word most people would use to describe how he looks at you

•Worship actually didn’t quite capture the true feeling once you had announced your first pregnancy to him and the court, he very nearly fucked you right there in front of the King and the Court, his protective streak instantly growing x10 which no one would have thought possible until they witnessed it

Y stands for YEARN: how long would they pine after their object of obsession before they snap?

•Daemon did not ‘pine’ at all

•The moment he met you he decided that you would be his and since your father was actively looking for a husband for you, he immediately took himself to the Vale and ensured the death of his lady wife Rhea Royce

•The only length of time that he waited was the allotted week that his brother ordered him to wait so that no one would think anything that happened had been Daemons doing, and during that week he had fed 3 different lords to Caraxes for daring to try and court you

Z stands for ZENITH: would they ever break their object of obsession?

•Daemon would not want to break you, he wants you to love him and eventually he does make that happen

•You did try to hold out and not fall for his charm, knowing that everyone around suspected that he had killed his wife to marry you so in a sense once you gave yourself over to the feeling of loving him you did ‘break’ in a way but who wouldn’t when they’re being worshipped and loved by a Targaryen Prince and his giant red dragon?

Daemon T. Masterlist

[gameofthronesdaily]

GAME OF THRONES — 2.07 "A Man Without Honor" HOUSE OF THE DRAGON — 2.01 "A Son for a Son"

[stormborns]

They threw a cow pie at you, so you decided to kill them all? They’re starving, you fool! All because of a war you started.

[paulyenvol6]

Bound by Flame (Chapter 15)

Contains: smut, fingering (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dubcon, possessiveness, edging, overstimulating, biting, bruising, gagging, dirty talk, degrading, mentions of words like slut and whore, jealousy, dom!Daemon, incest

Wordcount: ~4.24k

Masterlist of this story

Lord Jakor led Maera on the dance floor and just like she had done before with Daemon she let him put his hand on her waist.

Of course she preferred to feel her husband's hand but she didn't mind Jakor. He was a kind man and his eyes didn't have this maliciousness inside of them that she had seen in Cylvin's. And as Maera now found out, Lord Jakor was a fantastic dancer. He twirled her around so quickly that she let out a gasp but broke out in laughter shortly after.

"Too fast for you, princess?" he smiled but she shook her head.

"No no, my lord. I just wasn't expecting it."

The two of them moved to the music for another two songs until Maera wiped the sweat off her forehead and greedily inhaled for air.

"I think I need a break, my lord."

"Of course, princess. As you wish."

With these words he bowed deeply but her attention was suddenly drawn somewhere else. It was Daemon who just made his way through the crowd and he didn't look amused. Maera straightened up and breathed in a couple of times. He wouldn't be angry, she would just explain to him what happened. The girl knew very well about her husband's jealousy that even faded into possessiveness at times but this was a different case.

She looked at him as sweetly and adoringly as she could and reached out for his hand once he stood in front of her.

"How was it, my love?" she asked and he raised his eyebrows.

"Good."

She sensed that he was a little sulky so Maera thought it was best to distract her husband from his anger and instead continued to ask him about his friend.

"What did you talk about?"

"His life. My life."

She toyed with his fingers and lovingly ran her thumb over the back of his hand.

"Well, it seems like there wasn't a lot to talk about," she smiled but Daemon's face tensed.

"You're honestly surprised that I'm not in the mood to tell you about our conversation? After I've come back to find you dancing with another man? After I've told you not to do anything stupid."

She sighed and rested her hand on the side of his face.

"Daemon, we were only dancing. I love you and you only. I'm not interested in being close to anyone who's not you."

"Then why did you dance with him?" he hissed but then leaned down to kiss her forehead. This gesture made his niece smile because it hinted at the fact that he wasn't as angry with her as she had feared.

"He asked me and I didn't want to refuse after he saved me from Ser Cylvin Lannister. He was bothering me and I wanted to flee from the conversation with him which Lord Jakor noticed and so he stepped in."

"Cylvin Lannister?" Daemon spitted.

"Yes. He wouldn't leave me alone."

The rogue prince blared his teeth and threatingly looked around in the room.

"Where is he?"

But Maera, who most definitely didn't wish for any escalation tonight quickly grabbed his arm.

"It's fine, uncle. Really. Perhaps he has even left the feast already."

Daemon mumbled something she couldn't understand but seemed to let it go because his eyes wandered to Maera again. He chewed on his lips as if he intended to say something but changed his mind and just searchingly watched her.

"Should we go back to the table?" Maera asked after a while but Daemon didn't even twitch.

"Please, Daemon. You really are dramatising this."

Faster than she had been able to foresee it, his hand grabbed the side of her neck and he threatingly stroke her thin skin.

"Careful. You're forgetting yourself."

He lightly squeezed her throat but not so much that she was unable to speak.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and looked up to him under her lashes.

Daemon was satisfied with her answer and his hand wandered up to her cheek to soothingly caress her.

"Come," he then said shortly and started to make his way back to the table while pulling Maera with him.

Once Viserys spotted the couple she could see a crease between his eyes but she didn't have any time to think about it because she was already gently pushed to her chair which she took her seat on.

Daemon sat down as well and immediately poured some wine in his cup. And then after he had taken a sip he rested his hand on Maera's thigh; a possessive and owning gesture. He wanted to let everyone know that his niece wasn't their's to look at. She had always been his and just the thought of some lord lusting after his girl during the years of his exile when he hadn't been in king's landing to look after her made the blood in his veins boil. He would get her with child again, Daemon thought. So everyone would see that she was his alone and that they weren't to even think about her.

His hand on her thigh tightened and he knew that his nails digging in her flesh must hurt her but she didn't let anything show. Then his other hand took hold of her chin and he softly but firmly turned her head towards him.

"Look at me," he whispered and the image of Maera's big eyes made his cock swell. "You're mine."

She nodded, just a very slight and yet conscious movement.

"Yes. I'm yours."

In this moment he wished for nothing more than to be buried inside of her warm and inviting cunt and to pound into her until she was a whimpering mess underneath him. Make her eyes roll back, leave bite marks on her neck and feel her soft breasts in his hands. Toy with her nipples until they were hard.

Daemon dropped his hand from her cheek and the hand on her thigh left her body as well. Maera couldn't hide her displeasure and disappointingly waited for an explanation from her husband. But he just stared at the feast below with narrowed eyes while crossing his arms in front of him.

"What is it, uncle?" she asked but he fully ignored her which was why Maera sank back in her chair sulking for he didn't give her any further attention.

Viserys had only caught half of what was going on between his brother and daughter but now observed them with a furrowed brow. Neither Daemon nor Maera noticed him though so both just kept their eyes to the scene before their eyes until the rogue prince tilted his head to glare at his niece.

"We'll go back to our chambers now."

Maera wasn't thrilled and frowned at him.

"Can't we stay a little longer? I wanted to talk to my brother again."

"I said now," Daemon said quietly.

She exhaled loudly but obeyed and stood up abruptly. Swiftly the girl approached her father and kissed his cheek.

"Goodnight, father."

Viserys clearly was overwhelmed with all of the things happening around him but he had no choice but to nod and dismiss her. Then Daemon got off his chair as well and bowed his head.

"Goodnight, your grace."

3 minutes later the couple entered their chambers. They had only exchanged a few words during their short walk but now that they had their privacy again Daemon sighed deeply and took off his coat.

"Draining," he just spoke while Maera took out her earrings.

"What is?"

Her uncle scoffed and then sank down on a chair as if he had never been more exhausted.

"All of it. These false courtesies and everyone being nice to each other although they secretly hate each other."

Maera didn't answer him and instead concentrated on undoing her hairstyle. But then Daemon's voice cut through the air and she stopped in her motion.

"Come here."

She turned around and saw her husband with a challenging look on his face. Maera followed his order and walked towards him, not sure what he wanted of her.

"On my lap," he gave further instructions and she pulled up her dress and then let herself down the wrong way around on his thighs.

Daemon immediately pulled her closer by gripping her arse and shoving her until she was above his cock. She gasped out and grabbed his shoulders to steady herself.

"Someone's being a little jumpy, mhm?" he chuckled and then pushed the hem of her dress up until he had access to what he had been looking for. Her smallcloth still covered his absolute favourite part of her body but the picture of her parted thighs alone made him sigh in satisfaction and he felt his cock twitch.

Maera apprehensively watched her uncle who took his time in observing her but then his hand wandered between her legs and light as a feather he brushed over her slit with his pointer finger. He was so teasingly and slow that Maera could already sense in what direction this was heading so she closed her eyes and surpressed a moan.

"Please… No teasing," she pleaded and Daemon sarcastically lifted his eyebrows.

"Oh so you think you deserve to just come immediately? You think you don't deserve a bit of suffering?"

"I do," she whined because he had started to rub her pearl very lightly. It was torture because while she loved the attention on her throbbing bundle of nerves it only increased her desire and Daemon wasn't eager to fulfill her wish yet.

"But please just… Please don't tease me."

His finger flicked her pearl and Maera whimpered quietly. She needed him to properly stimulate her nub, seven hells. This was tormenting, she thought and wished she could close her legs just to get rid of some of the tension in her lower belly. But then just as she was about to complain again his thumb pressed into her pearl and he started to circle it with so much intensity that she choked on her breathing.

"Fuck," Maera pressed and her head dropped to her uncle's shoulder.

But Daemon let out a disapproving sigh and yanked her head back by grabbing a fistful of her hair.

"You will look at me, little one. You will look into my eyes when you come. Well… if you'll come."

He was evil, she declared in her head. But she loved it at the same time. His fingers were so skilled that she already after merely a couple of minutes felt like she wouldn't be able to even stand on her own. Let alone bring out a coherent sentence. He now used two of his fingers to rub her pearl and now and then enclosed it to gently squeeze it. To be able to smoothly caress her he collected her wetness that leaked from her hole and spread it all over her cunt.

His focus was her pearl for now because that was the quickest way to bring her close to her release and that was what he aimed for right now. Daemon knew her body so well; every twitch and shiver and moan was familiar and he knew exactly what to do, where to intensify the pressure and what patterns she preferred when he rubbed her nub. Soon Maera felt the tension in her thighs contradict but just when she expected the pleasure to roll over her and she was already relieved that he would let her finish Daemon stopped and his niece cried out.

"No, please. Please let me come."

She had grabbed the fabric of his shirt and pulled at it in order to bend him to her will. Little did she know that her uncle was evil-minded tonight.

"Oh sweet girl," he purred wrongly and caressed her cheek. "You will come when I allow it. And I'm not yet sure if I will allow it."

With these words he suddenly picked her up and carried her to the bed as if she weighed nothing. Daemon carefully threw her onto the bed well aware that she was already too weak to properly catch herself. She was sprawled out on the bed for him, her dress pulled up and her eyes fluttering. Daemon inspected her smugly and then climbed on the bed to hover over her.

"Open your eyes. I want you to look at me."

His gaze was so heated and full of lust, he was like a predator looking at his prey. Once she had obeyed him Daemon's hand parted her thighs and he continued his torture. He circled and rubbed, flicked and pulled at her pearl, sometimes quick, sometimes slow, at times with so much pressure that she jumped and other times so lightly and carefully that she wasn't even sure if it was his hand or a blow of the wind.

The tension was heavily hanging in the air and Maera had the indescripable urge to stretch her limbs. The only sound was her loud and hectic panting as well as the sound of the slickness between her legs.

Daemon's left hand that wasn't occupied with her cunt had pulled down her dress a little so he could see more of her skin. Her left breast was slightly exposed so his hand had started to trail patterns on the swell of her breast that felt like fire to Maera. It didn't take him long until he sensed that she was close again. It was the way her eyelids fluttered, her whines became more frequent and her back arched. He just stopped his touch before she could release and his niece cried out again, close to tears now.

"Please, Daemon, please… Please I just want to…"

He was utterly cold to her begging and wrongly cooed her when he noticed the wetness in her eyes.

"Oh babygirl… There's no need to cry. Am I not taking such good care of your little cunt? She likes it so much, doesn't she?"

She was shaking but managed to nod.

"Y-Yes… but please…"

Her uncle cut her off by leaning down and kissing her trembling lips. In the meantime his hand came back to her pearl once more and he continued his evil play. Her moans and whimpers were smothered by his mouth but her hands clutched tightly at his muscular arms.

Daemon had obviously grown more eager and desireful as well so he finally managed to undress her so that her breasts and nipples were bare on display for him and he trailed his finger over her small chest. Additionally to the stimulation between her legs Daemon now also toyed with her nipples and Maera felt like exploding every second. He couldn't do it again, he couldn't deny her again. Despite feeling so powerless a voice in her head foresaw what might happen now and forced her to open her mouth.

"P-Please uncle…," she breathed quietly.

Daemon kissed her neck which left red marks while slowing his movement down until he eventually stopped and Maera was yet another orgasm denied. Now there were actually tears spilling from the corner of her eyes and she uncontrollably sobbed beneath him. He acted all pitiful but she knew better than to misinterpret it as that. He was the one making her feel that way after all and when Daemon leaned down to steal another kiss she tilted her head so that his lips landed on her cheek. Additionally a complaining sound escaped her mouth but then he forcefully turned her head to his liking by gripping her chin. He eventually got what he liked and savoured the taste of her pink lips while touching her all over her chest and collarbone.

Meanwhile Maera continued to pull at his shirt and pushed at his arms which Daemon ignored at first but then he growled dangerously and took both her wrists in one of his big hands and pinned them down above her head. She squirmed and shifted and lifted her hips to get closer to him and perhaps release herself of the tightness in her core but Daemon just firmly pressed her down.

"Mhmm," she mumbled against his mouth, clearly an attempt to ask him for more. That made him stop and he broke away from her lips. Instead he now traced her swollen lips with his thumb and watched her smugly.

"Aren't you such a little whore between the sheets? You know that this is not the kind of behaviour fit for a noblewoman. You're supposed to take what I give you, look pretty and keep your little mouth shut. Instead here you are whining and begging and asking me for more."

He shoved two of his fingers inside of her mouth and Maera moaned in surprise.

"You're a slut. A dirty pathetic slut who's so fucking eager to get her holes stuffed. It's embarrassing."

He pushed his fingers deeper until he hit the back of her throat and his niece choked.

"Yes, that's right. Do you wanna cry for me? Feel free to." He fucked her mouth with his fingers and made sure to keep her on the edge by brushing over her pearl every now and then. All of her senses were so overstimulated that she soon actually started to cry again but Daemon just kissed her tears away.

"You look so fucking pretty for me like this," he groaned in her ear while Maera struggled to take his fingers that continuously pushed deep inside of her mouth making her gag.

After a few more minutes he removed them again and she hiccuped a few times which made him smirk. Her face was red and sweat covered her forehead and the crying had made her eyes swollen. Now his finger left her nub as well and Maera looked up to him with submissive eyes. She couldn't even bring herself to beg him again because what good would it do? He wanted to make her suffer and no pleas of words out of her mouth would change his mind.

She almost didn't realized what he was doing at first but then she saw how Daemon removed his pants and breeches and his cock stood hard against his stomach. There was precum leaking from its tip which he collected with his hand and brought it to Maera's mouth. Obediently she licked his hand clean and Daemon contendly grinned. But then his hand suddenly reached out to the back of her head and he yanked her back so her neck was exposed.

"You want your cunt to get fucked?" he hissed and with the space he granted her, she nodded. "Want me to spread you open, mhm?"

Maera let out a yearning whine and then he actually brought his tip to her cunt. He pressed it against her throbbing and pulsating pearl which almost made her cry out but then he was fast to circle her entrance and then entered her.

These first few seconds were perhaps his favourite moment when he was fucking his wife, apart from releasing inside of her of course. When he felt the tightness of her cunt and the way her walls pulsated around him; when he stretched her open and Maera's eyes were big as coins. He panted heavily and then without giving her a second to adjust he started to pound into her. She would be able to take it, Daemon was certain. He didn't want to hurt her too much but it would be good for her to feel a little bit of uncomfortability. He cupped her breast with his right hand while his left held the side of her face.

"Taking me so well, babygirl… S'that want you want, mhm? Getting your slutty hole fucked like a common whore?"

She whined and threw her head to the side but Daemon wanted to hear her voice so he tilted her head. "Say it."

"Y-Yes… I want it, oh fuck…," Maera cried.

"Oh yeah I see how you enjoy it. Just like you enjoyed Lord Jakor's attention, didn't you, wife?"

She couldn't bring herself to answer him despite figuring that his anger about the situation at the feast would only reduce her chances of finishing.

"Did you enjoy his attention? Do you like it when men look at you like that? Is my admiration alone not enough for you, little niece?"

Maera bit her lip and wrapped her arms around his back bringing him closer to her.

"I-It is enough, D-Daemon… I-I only want your attention…," she managed to tell him eventually.

"Is that so?" he growled against her cheek and then his mouth wandered south to press kisses to her chin and neck. Well, at first they had only been kisses but soon he sucked on the soft and delicate skin of her neck in order to bruise and mark her. At times he used his teeth as well and bit her softly. Firm enough so she would have bite marks but not so much that she was in real pain.

"I'm gonna let them see," he growled while delivering sharp thrusts into her core.

"Gonna let them see that you're mine. If it's not enough I'm gonna fill you again with my see and make you all swollen with my child. Maybe that way the whole court, all those lords who lust after you will see who owns you, whose baby you're carrying and who fucks your pretty little cunt every night. I'm gonna show them that you're mine. My niece, my wife and mother of my children. And my little fuck toy to dump my seed into."

Maera felt her eyes rolling back at his words and gasped when his teeth dug into her flesh once more. The sting brought tears to her eyes but it was the good kind of pain, the kind that made her long for more. She was still craving a release though and just wished that her uncle would finally set an end to her suffering but he was busy fucking into her and marking her neck.

"Please, uncle," Maera pressed and her shivering hands gripped the sheets next to her.

"You wanna come?" he whispered and she was almost too scared that he would deny her her release again to answer him.

But then suddenly she felt his finger on her pearl again and the feeling was so intense that she thought she was going to come right on the spot. His deep and forceful thrusts in combination with the pleasure her bundle of nerves was receiving drove her closer and closer to the edge and Maera clung to the sheets as though her life was depending on it.

Soon Daemon noticed how close his niece was but this time to her suprise he didn't stop and the waves of pleasure washed over her. It was even more powerful because she hadn't expected it. Maera had assumed that he would stop once more and tease and edge her until she would pass out and so when the tension in her belly exploded she let out a surprised cry and arched her back. Her whole body was shaking and Maera helplessly searched for Daemon's body to hold on to him.

He didn't stop his thrusts into her cunt and neither did his hand leave her pearl. That was why once she had come down from her high her body twitched under his movement and it felt uncomfortable. She was overstimulated and now she squirmed to get away from him rather than seeking for more. Daemon noticed her attempts and laughed about it.

"Someone's getting a little overwhelmed, isn't that right?"

She looked at him with big eyes that started to fill with tears again.

"Does it hurt?"

She nodded and sniffed but Daemon didn't stop. He just continued what he was doing until eventually her cunt seemed to have recovered slightly and she found his touch welcoming again. That was only until he made her come a second time, this time by flicking and enclosing her pearl with his fingers. Maera moaned loudly and when he still kept up his assault on her center she threw her head to the side and pushed against his chest.

"Please stop… Please it hurts so badly, Daemon."

He pursed his lips and stroke her hair.

"Shhh babygirl… You can take it. I know you can."

She desperately shifted her hips and tried to close her legs around his hand. No, she couldn't. She couldn't take it, it was too much. Her body was on fire only that this time it was in a negative way. His fingers made her uncontrollably tremble and her core was so swollen and overstimulated that she already knew she wouldn't be able to walk after this. His thrusts were simply too forceful and rough.

"Stop, uncle. Please… It's too much, I can't…," she pleaded and Daemon bit her neck painfully before bringing his face to her level again and grabbing her chin.

"Shut your mouth. You will take it because I want you to. Here you were begging me to let you come the past 30 minutes and now I let you and you're still not satisfied. Don't give me those tears now. I won't stop until I'm content and I'm not sure how long that will be. And if you don't want to lose your voice you better shut your mouth and be glad that I haven't stuffed your dirty mouth with my cock."

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@smashee0789 @classicsimpforaaronwarner @hangmanscoming @ninihrtss @coffeebooksrain18 @aleemendoza2425-blog @chiminies-noona

[tolerateit]

"fortunately following the right people" okay bestie who are these right people because my dash is so dead 😫

will keep adding to this as i remember the right urls! @wineonmytshirt @thegreatimpersonator @iamnotawomanimagod @antoniosvivaldi @disenchanteds @daenerys-targaryen @jennifersbod @cruellesummer @cellphonehippie @singlethread @sadgirlautumn @littleoblivions @iftye @cosmiclove-heavenstruck @h-f-k @kingofmyborrowedheart @blushingallthewayhome @anditscoolbabywithme @andtosaturn @placeinthisworld @thatwasthenightthingschanged @theone @lookwhatyoumademedo @sheslostupstate @seeinhindsight @joanna-lannister @lorenlily @lesbiansayaishii @amygardner @itolduthings @redesignfrankenstein @towersofpaperbacks @domperignonubroughtit @lonelyisthe @jeanmoreaux @itstimetogo @loveaffairmaimyou @skywalker-swift @reputatiion @hozierswift @thenighttrain

[novaursa]

Legacy (the calling)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: future of the realm

- Next part: under lion's gaze

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

Preparations for departure began in earnest. Servants bustled through the courtyards, loading carriages with trunks of clothes, provisions, and gifts from House Tyrell. The faint scent of roses still hung in the air, but the once-vivid atmosphere of Highgarden now carried the muted anxiety that often accompanied the end of a visit.

In one of the castle’s spacious chambers, you stood near the cradle where Damon lay, watching as he grasped at the air with his tiny hands. Beside you, a nursemaid folded his blankets with meticulous care, her movements precise.

“You’ve been restless all morning,” Tywin remarked as he entered the room, his eyes immediately finding yours. His presence was commanding as always, his expression unreadable.

You glanced at him briefly before returning your attention to Damon. “It’s a long journey back to King’s Landing, and much has happened since we left. I cannot help but think of what awaits us.”

Tywin approached, his measured footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. “What awaits us is what we left behind: duties to the crown, the continued stability of the realm, and the family we are building.”

You turned to face him fully, folding your hands neatly in front of you. “And Cersei? She was barely civil when we left. I doubt time has softened her.”

Tywin’s expression remained neutral, though there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Cersei will be managed, as she always is. Your focus should remain on our son and the strength of our union.”

Your lips curved into a faint smile, though your thoughts remained heavy. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is,” he replied curtly, his tone leaving little room for argument.

The nursemaid, sensing the weight of the conversation, excused herself with a polite bow, leaving you and Tywin alone with Damon. You stepped closer to the cradle, smoothing the blanket over your son as he began to coo softly.

“What of the Tyrells?” you asked after a moment, breaking the silence. “They’ve been generous hosts, but I can’t help but feel their hospitality comes with expectations.”

“Of course it does,” Tywin said, his voice low but firm. “Every gesture of generosity in this realm is calculated. Mace will no doubt seek further favor, and Olenna… she will continue to scheme in her own way. But they understand their position. They need us more than we need them.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “And yet they’ve become invaluable allies. Perhaps it would not hurt to acknowledge that.”

He met your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “You’ve already done more than enough to maintain their favor. Your presence here has solidified the bond between our houses in ways words never could.”

There was a knock at the door, and a servant entered, bowing deeply. “My lord, my lady, Lord Mace requests your presence in the courtyard. He wishes to discuss the arrangements for the journey.”

Tywin nodded curtly, dismissing the servant with a wave of his hand. He turned back to you, his gaze lingering for a moment before speaking. “Are you ready?”

You glanced down at Damon, who was now peacefully drifting off to sleep. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Tywin extended his arm, and you took it, allowing him to guide you through the halls of Highgarden. The sound of preparations grew louder as you approached the courtyard, where Lord Mace and Lady Olenna were already waiting. Mace was gesturing animatedly, his voice booming as he directed servants and guards, while Olenna observed with her usual air of sharp amusement.

“Ah, Lord Tywin, Lady Y/N,” Mace exclaimed as you approached. “I trust everything is in order for your departure?”

“Everything is proceeding as planned,” Tywin replied, his tone clipped. “Though I hope your enthusiasm for our journey does not delay it further.”

Mace laughed heartily, clearly unbothered by Tywin’s sharpness. “Of course not, of course not. We’ll be ready to leave on the morrow. I was simply ensuring all the gifts we prepared for young Damon were accounted for.”

“Your generosity is noted, Lord Mace,” you said, offering a polite smile. “I’m sure Damon will appreciate it in time.”

Olenna stepped forward, her gaze flicking between you and Tywin. “It’s not every day we send off a Targaryen and her lion lord. The least we can do is ensure your journey is comfortable.”

“Your efforts are appreciated,” Tywin said, his tone neutral. “Though I trust the journey will be uneventful.”

Olenna smirked, her gaze lingering on you. “One can only hope. After all, the roads can be unpredictable, and your enemies… well, they never rest, do they?”

You exchanged a brief glance with Tywin, both of you recognizing the underlying meaning in Olenna’s words. The game of thrones was never truly at rest, and your return to King’s Landing would undoubtedly bring new challenges.

“Then we’ll have to ensure we’re prepared,” you said calmly, your voice steady. “For whatever awaits us.”

Olenna’s smirk deepened, and she inclined her head slightly. “Spoken like a true dragon.”

The carriage rocked gently as it made its way along the winding roads of the Reach, the sounds of horses’ hooves and the clatter of wheels mingling with the soft murmur of conversation outside. Inside, the space was warm and comfortable, lined with embroidered cushions and silks bearing the sigils of both House Tyrell and House Lannister. Damon sat on your lap, his tiny hands grasping at the edge of the window as he peered outside with wide, curious eyes. His soft coos and delighted gurgles brought a faint smile to your lips as you adjusted his position.

Across from you, Lady Olenna Tyrell reclined gracefully, her sharp gaze flitting between you and the boy. The servants seated discreetly at the far end of the carriage remained quiet, their eyes downcast, while the rhythmic sway of the journey provided a lulling backdrop.

“He’s quite taken with the scenery, isn’t he?” Olenna remarked, her tone light but perceptive as always. “Perhaps he’ll inherit more than his mother’s eyes—an appreciation for beauty, perhaps.”

You chuckled softly, brushing a hand over Damon’s silver-gold curls. “He’s curious about everything. It’s as though the world is a story he can’t wait to read.”

“A rare quality,” Olenna mused. “Especially among Lannisters. They tend to think they’ve written the book already.”

You glanced at her, noting the slight smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re not wrong, but Tywin is… more complicated than that.”

“Complicated, yes,” Olenna agreed, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “And calculating. But there’s always more to such men than meets the eye, isn’t there?”

You hesitated, curious where this conversation might lead. Olenna’s gaze lingered on you, her expression unreadable for a moment before she continued. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, my dear. Something I wasn’t sure you knew—or if you cared to know.”

“What is it?” you asked, your tone cautious.

Olenna leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering just enough to keep the conversation private from the servants. “It’s about your husband. Tywin.”

You frowned, your heart skipping a beat at her words. “Go on.”

“I’ve known Tywin for a long time,” Olenna began, her eyes meeting yours. “We’ve danced around each other in this game for decades, though we’ve rarely played on the same side. But back when your father was king—before the madness consumed him—Tywin was a very different man.”

You listened intently, feeling Damon shift in your arms as Olenna spoke. “Different how?”

“Ambitious, of course,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “But also… vulnerable, in ways you might not expect. Your father humiliated him time and again, undermining his authority, mocking him in front of the court. Yet Tywin stayed. He served loyally, even when the rest of us thought he was a fool for it.”

You nodded slowly, recalling some of the stories you’d heard from your time in the Red Keep. “He stayed because he believed in duty. And perhaps because he hoped to secure a stronger future for his house.”

“Perhaps,” Olenna said, her tone skeptical. “But there was more to it than that. There was a time when he sought more than just power. He sought… respect. From your father, from the realm, and perhaps even from you.”

“From me?” you asked, surprised. “I was a girl at the time, barely more than a child.”

Olenna’s gaze softened, though her words remained pointed. “A girl who would grow into a princess. A symbol of everything Tywin wanted for his house. He saw potential in you—perhaps more than he should have.”

You felt a knot tighten in your chest as you processed her words. “He never… acted on anything improper.”

“Of course not,” Olenna said quickly. “Tywin’s not a fool. But there were moments, subtle ones, when it was clear he admired you. Respected you in a way he rarely shows anyone. And when your father refused his proposal to marry you…”

“He resented him even more,” you finished, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

“Exactly,” Olenna said, her calculating smile returning. “And now, here you are, his wife. It’s as if Tywin has finally rewritten that chapter of his life, correcting the humiliation your father dealt him.”

You stared at her, the weight of her revelation settling heavily on your shoulders. Damon’s soft babbling drew your attention briefly, grounding you in the present even as your mind raced. “Why are you telling me this?”

Olenna’s smile turned enigmatic. “Because it matters. Understanding Tywin means understanding the decisions he’ll make for you, for your son, and for the realm. He may be a lion, my dear, but even lions bleed when old wounds are reopened.”

The carriage hit a small bump, jostling you slightly as you absorbed her words. You met Olenna’s gaze, searching for any hint of ulterior motive, but her expression remained steadfast.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice steady but thoughtful. “For your honesty.”

Olenna leaned back, satisfied. “Honesty is a rare commodity in this world, my dear. Treasure it when you find it.”

The carriage continued its journey, the rhythmic sound of wheels on the road filling the silence between you. As Damon reached out toward the window, you found yourself gazing at the passing landscape with new eyes, Olenna’s words echoing in your mind. Tywin’s past, his motivations, and his vulnerabilities were pieces of a puzzle you hadn’t fully understood before. Now, as you held your son close, you resolved to use that knowledge to protect your family—and your place in this ever-changing game.

Tywin rode at the head of the column, his stern gaze fixed on the path ahead. Beside him, Lord Mace Tyrell was in full form, chattering incessantly about everything from the wine harvests of the Reach to the opulence of Highgarden’s feasts.

“And I told them,” Mace was saying, gesturing animatedly, “that the Arbor’s finest vintage simply wouldn’t suffice for the wedding. It had to be the gold-tiered barrels, you see, the ones kept under the castle—”

“Mace,” Tywin interrupted, his voice curt, “perhaps you could save your tales for the evening. I prefer to keep my focus on the road.”

Mace chuckled, unbothered by the sharpness in Tywin’s tone. “Of course, of course. Always the pragmatist, Lord Tywin. It’s why we all hold you in such high regard.”

Tywin didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as the horizon ahead seemed to blur with movement. The horses around him began to shift uneasily, their hooves stamping the ground in agitation. A distant, unearthly shriek pierced the air, cutting through the usual sounds of the march. The men riding in the column tensed, their hands instinctively moving to their weapons.

“What was that?” Mace asked, his voice suddenly quieter, tinged with unease.

Tywin’s sharp gaze darted upward, his instincts already on edge. The shriek came again, louder this time, and with it, a shadow passed over the procession. The sun dimmed momentarily as something vast and winged soared across the sky. Gasps and shouts rippled through the ranks as men turned their faces skyward, their eyes widening in disbelief.

There, descending from the heavens, was a creature of old stories—a dragon. Its scales gleamed like cream and gold in the sunlight, its wings casting a shadow over the procession. The creature’s roar tore through the air, a sound so primal and fierce it sent a shiver down even Tywin’s spine.

“Hold your positions!” Tywin barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Protect the carriages! Do not let the horses scatter!”

The men scrambled to obey, but the sheer presence of the dragon threw the entire procession into disarray. Horses reared, their frightened whinnies mingling with the shouts of riders attempting to regain control. The carriages rocked as the steeds pulling them panicked, their hooves kicking up dust and dirt.

Tywin turned in his saddle, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the cream-and-gold beast circling lower. Its leathery wings beat the air with deafening power, stirring up wind that whipped through the banners and cloaks of the soldiers.

“Barristan!” Tywin barked, his voice carrying over the din. “Get to the carriage! Protect them!”

Ser Barristan Selmy, ever vigilant, was already spurring his horse toward the carriage where you, Damon, and Olenna were. You had leaned out of the window, your face was pale as you tried to calm the nursemaids inside. Damon, startled by the commotion, let out a wail that seemed to echo against the distant hills.

The dragon shrieked again, diving lower. Its immense shadow rippled across the procession, and its proximity sent men diving for cover. A few brave souls notched arrows and loosed them, but the projectiles bounced harmlessly off the dragon’s hard scales.

“Idiots,” Tywin muttered under his breath, his hand tightening on the reins of his horse. “Stand down! You’ll only provoke it further.”

The dragon swooped low, its golden eyes burning with a feral intensity as it skimmed over the heads of the men. The wind from its wings sent cloaks and banners flailing wildly, and more horses broke free, bolting in terror.

“Hold the line!” Tywin shouted, his voice thunderous. “Do not scatter!”

Lord Mace, pale and trembling, clung tightly to his reins. “A dragon! Gods, what madness is this? They’re supposed to be gone!”

“Clearly, they are not,” Tywin snapped, his gaze never leaving the beast. “Now control yourself, or I will leave you to it.”

The dragon let out another bone-rattling roar as it angled its wings and began its descent. The ground trembled slightly as its massive claws touched down not far from the column, the earth groaning under its weight. Dust and debris were thrown into the air as the creature reared its head, a final, deafening roar escaping its throat as it planted itself firmly between the procession and the path ahead.

Silence fell, broken only by the ragged breathing of men and the whimpers of frightened horses. Tywin’s jaw tightened, his mind racing as he surveyed the scene. The dragon’s cream-and-gold scales shimmered like molten light, its golden eyes locked onto the procession with a terrifying intelligence.

Tywin dismounted slowly, his movements deliberate as he barked another order to his men. “Form a defensive perimeter around the carriages. Do not attack unless I command it.”

The dragon’s gaze shifted toward him, its nostrils flaring as it exhaled a plume of smoke. Tywin stepped forward, his figure imposing even against the might of the beast. He raised a hand, signaling for calm among his men as the tension in the air thickened.

The creature’s roar had silenced the world, and now, its presence demanded answers. Tywin Lannister, ever the master of control, stood firm, ready to face the impossible.

Soldiers clutched their weapons tightly, though Tywin’s barked orders had kept them from making any foolish moves. The carriage door creaked open, and you stepped out, cradling Damon tightly against your chest as Olenna’s protests followed you.

“Stay in the carriage!” Tywin’s voice cut through the din like a whip as he turned sharply, his expression a mixture of fury and concern. “Get back inside, now!”

You didn’t answer, your gaze fixed on the dragon that stood before the procession, its form almost surreal against the landscape. Smoke curled from its nostrils, and the faint glow of fire flickered in its throat.

Damon, startled but oddly calm in your arms, let out a soft coo as though sensing the gravity of the moment. You kissed his head gently before handing him to the trembling nursemaid who had stepped out behind you. “Take him back inside and keep him safe.”

“Lady Y/N—” the nursemaid began, but you silenced her with a look.

“Do as I say,” you commanded firmly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions coursing through you.

The nursemaid nodded reluctantly, retreating into the carriage as you turned to face Tywin, whose expression had darkened dangerously.

“Get back inside the carriage, Y/N,” he ordered again, his tone leaving little room for argument.

But you ignored him, your eyes locked on the dragon. A memory stirred in your mind, fragments of whispers from Varys about your sister and her three dragons across the Narrow Sea. Your heart pounded as realization dawned—this was no ordinary beast.

“Viserion,” you whispered, the name trembling on your lips as though it carried the weight of destiny itself.

The dragon’s head snapped toward you at the sound of its name, its eyes narrowing. It let out a shriek that sent shivers down your spine, but you held your ground, your legs steady beneath you as you took a step forward.

“Y/N!” Tywin barked, his voice sharp with authority. “You will get back inside that carriage this instant!”

You turned your head briefly, meeting his furious gaze. “I know what I’m doing,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “Trust me.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenching as he watched you take another step toward the dragon. The soldiers behind him exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether to intervene or remain still.

Viserion’s stance shifted as you approached, its massive claws digging into the earth. Its gaze bore into yours, unblinking and intense, as though it were weighing your intentions. You raised your hands slowly, your palms open in a gesture of peace.

“Viserion,” you called again, your voice carrying over the stillness that had fallen around you. “You know me. You can feel it, can’t you?”

The dragon let out a low, rumbling growl, its tail swishing behind it as the dread in the air thickened. Tywin took a step forward, his voice cutting through the quiet. “This is madness! If that beast kills you—”

“It won’t,” you interrupted firmly, your gaze never leaving the dragon. “It’s not here to harm me.”

Viserion let out another shriek, its wings spreading slightly as it lowered its head toward you. Your heart raced as you took another step closer, your hand trembling slightly as you reached out.

“I am Y/N Targaryen,” you said, your voice steady despite the rapid pounding of your heart. “Daughter of Aerys, sister to Daenerys. You know me, don’t you?”

The dragon’s nostrils flared as it sniffed the air, its massive body lowering further until its head was level with you. Its eyes, molten gold and alive with intelligence, fixed on yours. Slowly, cautiously, you extended your hand, your palm open and facing upward.

Tywin stood frozen, his mind racing as he watched you approach the beast. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, though he knew that no weapon could protect you if the dragon chose to attack.

The moment seemed to stretch endlessly as your hand made contact with the dragon’s scaled snout. Its skin was warm, almost hot, beneath your palm, and the texture was rough yet oddly familiar, as though it had always been meant to meet your touch.

Viserion let out a low rumble, its eyes softening as it leaned into your hand. A wave of relief washed over you, and for a brief moment, the chaos around you faded into silence.

The dragon trusted you.

You turned your head to glance at Tywin, whose expression was a mixture of disbelief and something deeper—perhaps awe, perhaps fear. “It knows me,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of wonder. “He’s my sister’s.”

Tywin took a step closer, his gaze darting between you and the dragon. “And what does your sister’s dragon want here, in the middle of the Reach?”

You didn’t have an answer, but as you stood there, your hand resting on Viserion’s snout, you felt an undeniable connection—a bond forged not just by blood, but by something far older, far deeper. 

The procession stood in stunned silence, the dragon looming over the gathered soldiers and carriages. Its long tail swished behind it, sending up clouds of dust, while itsp eyes remained fixed on you, calm but unyielding. The sun glinted off its scales, making the beast seem almost otherworldly as the men whispered nervously among themselves.

Lord Mace Tyrell, disheveled and pale, hurried toward Tywin, who stood at the head of the halted column. Mace’s expression was a mixture of fear and confusion, his normally booming voice hushed as he addressed Tywin.

“Lord Tywin,” Mace stammered, “this... this is a dragon. A real dragon, here in the Reach. What do we do? Should we send for more men? Inform the capital?”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver from the sight before him: you standing boldly beside the dragon, your hand resting on its snout. The creature’s massive chest rose and fell with each deep breath, but it made no move to harm you.

“No,” Tywin replied curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We will not involve the capital, not yet.”

Mace blinked, clearly not expecting that response. “But surely the king—”

“The king,” Tywin interrupted, his voice sharp as steel, “has no need to know of this until I deem it necessary. We are redirecting our path.”

Mace frowned, confused. “Redirecting? To where?”

“Casterly Rock,” Tywin declared, his green eyes narrowing as he turned to face the Tyrell lord. “We cannot bring a dragon into King’s Landing without understanding its purpose, its intentions.”

Mace glanced toward the dragon nervously, then back to Tywin. “Casterly Rock? That’s... a considerable detour.”

“Would you rather it fly over the capital, inciting panic?” Tywin snapped, his patience wearing thin. “No, we head west. The dragon remains under my protection, and until I am satisfied with what this means for the realm, the crown will not be involved.”

Mace nodded quickly, clearly not wanting to press further. “As you say, my lord.”

Tywin’s attention returned to you, standing calm and resolute beside Viserion. He took a steadying breath before unmounting his horse and stepping forward, his movements deliberate as he approached. The dragon’s eyes shifted immediately to him, its body tensing slightly as it tracked his every step.

You turned your head as Tywin neared, sensing the unease rippling through the soldiers behind him. “He won’t harm you,” you said softly, your hand still resting on Viserion’s snout. “He knows I wouldn’t allow it.”

Tywin’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flicking between you and the dragon. “You’re certain of that?”

“I am,” you replied, meeting his piercing gaze. “Viserion recognizes me, Tywin. He came here for a reason.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened as he stopped a few paces away, close enough to feel the heat radiating from the dragon’s body. “And that reason is?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. “I don’t know yet. But he’s not here to harm us.”

Viserion let out a low rumble, its massive head dipping slightly as if acknowledging your words. Tywin’s hand rested briefly on the hilt of his sword, a reflexive gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by the dragon, whose gaze sharpened.

“Do not,” you warned, your voice firm. “He’ll see it as a threat.”

Tywin’s hand fell away, though his expression remained guarded. “I trust you’ve considered the implications of this,” he said, his voice low but edged with steel. “A dragon appearing in the Reach, tethered to you, a Targaryen. The lords will talk. The realm will talk.”

“I’ve considered it,” you said evenly. “But right now, all that matters is ensuring he’s safe—and that we understand why he’s here.”

Tywin studied you for a long moment, his calculating mind clearly weighing every possible outcome. Finally, he nodded. “Then we ride for Casterly Rock. The capital will not know of this until we are certain of what it means.”

Viserion let out another low rumble, its golden eyes fixed on Tywin with an intensity that made even him pause. Tywin stood his ground, his commanding presence unwavering despite the creature’s sheer power.

“You’ve tamed beasts far more dangerous than me,” Tywin remarked to you quietly, his tone carrying a rare note of dry amusement. “Perhaps this will be no different.”

You smiled faintly, though your focus remained on Viserion. “He’s not a beast. He’s a dragon. There’s a difference.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he turned to address the gathered soldiers, his voice ringing out with authority. “Form up! We’re changing course. We ride west to Casterly Rock.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed, their movements swift as they adjusted the formation. The air buzzed with tension as Tywin turned back to you.

“Keep him close,” he said, his tone softer but no less firm. “If he remains with you, the men will hold their nerves.”

You nodded, your hand gently stroking Viserion’s snout as you felt the weight of Tywin’s words. The dragon let out a soft growl, its eyes still following Tywin with a keen awareness that seemed almost human.

“I will,” you promised, your voice steady. “We’ll keep moving.”

As the procession began to shift, the dragon remained beside you, its massive form a looming reminder of the power and danger you now carried. Tywin’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned, his sharp mind already calculating the next move in this ever-complicated game.

[aelenavelaryon]

Robert Baratheon x Reader (pt.2)

Summary: in which the Queen gets her revenge on her husband

The return of dragons came to a surprise for the realm. It was unexpected yet a blessing, especially for Rhaenyra. Finally, dragons returned to the world. Robert was not on board with having them in King's Landing at first but after watching Rhaenyra be happy after the loss of their child he agreed. Robert, despite marrying her without love came to enjoy her company as the two enjoyed making children.

Rhaenyra choose to let her dragons roamed free in a place where they were all away from people, to avoid harming innocent people. Prince Daemon was born in the year 283, near the end of the year. His brother Orys came days after his first name day in 284. In the year 286 came the twins, Aemon and Aemond. Just a year later in 287 she lost a child, it was then that Dragons were reborn.

By 290, Rhaenyra's dragons had grown a lot. The year prior they disappeared and when they returned they were the size of an adult dragon. So, for the first time in centuries a Targaryen finally took to the skies on dragonback. Balerion, the dragon she rode flew her to a part of the Keep that was abandoned and where he kept dragons eggs.

Rhaenyra brought Dragon Keepers to the Keep to help with the dragons and their eggs. The eggs, which were enough to give to each one of her children and brother, were kept warm and ready in the children's room. Finally, after five years of trying for a daughter, a girl finally came. Well, more like two. Rhaena and Helaena came during the summers of 290. By then, her children all had dragons eggs. Prince Daemon had claimed Caraxes, while his brother's hatched their eggs. Orys named his Eros. Aemon named his Moonfyre and Aemond named his Meraxes. Princess Rhaena and Helaena's dragon eggs hatched the same day of their birth.

King Robert threw a feast in honor of their first name day. By then, queen Rhaenyra had given him four sons and two daughters. Princess Rhaena was said to be as wild and defiant as her mother in her youth. Rhaena had the Targaryen hair and eyes, while her twin, princess Helaena had black hair and blue eyes like his father but she was as quiet and calm as her late grandmothers, queen Rhaella and Lady Cassana Baratheon. Robert was a decent king who took the input of his queen. They had a quiet a decent marriage.

Since the day they married Robert kept to his wife's and his own chambers. He slept with no other woman that was not his wife. Some had said he changed for the better and Eddard Stark could attest to that. Rhaenyra's life was good. She had no worries. Everything was just perfect.

The news reached her a few weeks later. Robert Baratheon had slept with Cersei Lannister or so she claimed. Cersei was a girl of three and twenty. She was yet to be married as her father hadn't found her a good match yet. Rhaenyra when she heard said nothing. Robert even thought she hadn't heard but she had. She knew, thanks to her little birds that Jaime was Cersei's lover. So, her plan was to take Jaime from Cersei. It was her goal to make him loyal to her.

Her plan began the very next day. She had asked Robert for a new guard. Stating that with six children it was better for them and her to have extra security. The king agreed. She smiled and acted as if nothing was happening. When Cersei was forced to move the keep by her father's order, Rhaenyra was forced to confront her husband.

Robert entered their shared chambers. "Nyra" she looked away. Rhaenyra was two and twenty. She had given her husband six children. She never complained nor did she cause him any problems. She simply did her duty, ever the dutiful her mother used to say. "I have never asked anything of you, nor have I ever caused you trouble or any problems. I have stood by you for the last seven years. I married you despite everything. I am no saint, nor have I ever been. I brought a son into a marriage that was not yours. You loved him and took care of him as if he was your own. And in return I gave your four sons with your blood and two daughters with your blood" there was a brief silence. "Where our children not enough?" she asked. "Was I not enough?" she asked.

Rhaenyra had never been insecure. How could she? She was a Targaryen, their beauty seemed to be god like and now, with her dragon being a god seemed far more possible than before. "I love you, Robert. But I will not be the person you treat like a common whore. If Cersei gives you a bastard child I will give you one too. And if she gives you another so will I" she said. Robert was too stunned to speak. She gave him on chance to speak before she left their shared chambers, Arthur and Jaime following behind.

Rhaenyra knew Cersei's greatest love was Jaime, and she rarely even allowed him to wonder far from her. Jaime didn't mind, watching over her gave him some sort of relief as he felt guilty for killing her father years back. He also wanted to keep her safe as he could not keep Elia and her children. Jaime was also avoiding his sister, as much as she would try to find him but he would walk the other way or ignore her pleas to talk. Over the months the good relationship between the queen and king perished in the blink of an eye. King Robert returned to his drunken and whoring ways.

Cersei Lannister gave birth to a son who she named Joffrey Baratheon, a boy with black hair and green eyes, he seemed to be all his father but the eyes. A year later, in the year 292, queen Rhaenyra gave birth to a son, a boy she named Rhaegar Targaryen and a daughter who she named Rhaella. The boy had blonde white hair. His eyes were the same eyes of princess Alyssa Targaryen, wife of Baelon Targaryen. One green eye and purple. Her daughter, princess Rhaella had a her grandmother's looks. Ser Jaime Lannister was the first one to hold his two children. A little princeling he used to call him and his little baby girl. Jaime and Rhaenyra were the ones who picked the names.

Robert knew but he said nothing as the guilt of returning to his old habits returned. Prince Jacaerys came four years after his sisters, then, a year after him came Lucerys. Princess Rhaenyra had always loved those names and had always wanted to name one of her sons like them. Prince Jacaerys had dark brown hair and purple eyes, his brother Lucerys was just like his brother. Queen Rhaenyra bore thirteen children at the short age of thirty. Her last two children were girls. Daughters. Visenya and Daenerys, daughters of Ser Arthur Dayne.

Eddard Stark never married, instead he served his queen Rhaenyra his entire life. And of course he took care of their two sons. Ned had became her closest companion alongside Arthur and Jaime Lannister. She had no other allies at court but them. At least, she didn't trust anyone else but them. Cersei gave Robert three more children. Tommen, Myrcella and Joanna but they were known as bastards since they were not married.

On the queen's name day, a thirtieth name day celebration was made in her honor. Every house in the realm attended, including Dorne, Driftmark and the North. By then, Prince Jaehaerys was nearly six and ten, Daemon was five and ten, Orys three and ten, Aemon and Aemond were one and ten, Helaena and Rhaena were eight, Rhaegar and Rhaella were nearly six, Jacaerys was four, prince Lucerys three and his sisters had just turned one.

Queen Rhaenyra, despite birthing thirteen children looked far better than most, she was grateful, she also took care great of her figure, she wanted to preserve herself as much as she could. Robert knew that seven of those children where not his. Jaehaerys had been claimed as a Targaryen despite Tywin's insistence to keep him as a bastard. Rhaenyra did not wish for her son to bear the name Baratheon or Stark. Brandon had written to her often wanting to know about his son but he not once had asked for the boy to visit him nor to be claimed as a Stark. She knew Catelyn did not like the idea of Brandon's bastard sons being in their home and possible taking Robb's birthright.

During the Queen's name day celebration things are said and revenge is plotted. They say when you play the game of thrones you win or you die, there is no middle ground. Queen Rhaenyra is going to win, no matter what. The question is, will she succeed or will she fail?