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novaursa · 14 days ago

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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.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #house of the dragon #hotd #got/asoiaf #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #got robb stark #robb stark #robb x reader #robb x you #robb x y/n #the northen heart

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daenystheedreamer · 5 months ago

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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 👁️

#had this in my drafts for ages adding fake posts at like 1am when inspiration would strike. letting her free now #asoiaf #dashboard simulator #yinnie artgallery #had to navigate picsart to make that banner it was evil #faith of the seven

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loggiepj · 2 months ago

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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.

#cersei lannister x reader #cersei lannister #lena headey #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #g!p reader #angst

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claymoresword · 4 months ago

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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.

#cersei lannister x reader #cersei lannister #cersei x reader #cersei lannister smut #g!p reader #fem stark reader #stark reader #ned stark x reader #g!p

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catsteeth · 5 months ago

Text

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

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gameofthronesdaily · 5 months ago

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

#hotdedit #house of the dragon #game of thrones #gotedit #alicent hightower #cersei lannister #tyrion lannister #welighttheway #usermali #usermal #userjulia #userdesirae #useriselin #h s2 #h 201 #g s2 #g 207 #g #by tanya

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stormborns · 10 months ago

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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.

#gotedit #gameofthronesedit #tyrionlannisteredit #joffreybaratheonedit #lannistersource #game of thrones #got #tyrion lannister #joffrey baratheon #house lannister #show: got #show: s2 #h: house lannister #ch: tyrion lannister #p: joffrey tyrion #*mine

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klaus-littlestwolf · 7 months ago

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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

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aelenavelaryon · 1 year ago

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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?

#aegon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #game of thrones x reader #house of the dragon x reader #harwin strong x reader #house of the dragon #alicent hightower x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #robert baratheon #jaime lannister #cersei lannister #arthur dayne #rhaegar targaryen #ned stark #brandon stark

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taranthese · 2 years ago

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SWEET LITTLE WIFE !

husband!aemond x innocent!reader

★ warning , suggestive slight smut

his eye sharp as his jaw clenched staring at you dancing with the lannister man. you were smiling, a smile that was only reserved for him ━ your lord husband. his grip on the chalice tightened as the lannister man spun you around, your blue dress that matched his sapphire eye twirled in the moonlight, the hand that was previously on your waist was slowly going lower, making aemond’s eye twitch in anger. the prince could feel a burn coming from his sapphire eye, not knowing if it was truly pain or the product of his anger.

aemond watched as the golden haired lannister whispered something in your ear, in which you nodded and took his hand which in stead, let you out of the ballroom with the man. fearful and steaming, aemond stood up, placing his chalice down with force, shaking the table, pausing everyone’s activities to look at him.

aemond stepped outside only to see the lannister man leading you to his quarters, making aemond seethe in anger. how dare a feeble and lowlife lord take advantage of his innocent sweet darling wife? you’re his, his to love, his to cherish, his to touch, every part of you belongs to aemond and what was this lannister doing? taking his belongings away.

“lord lannister, i don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.” aemond greeted with malice behind his subtle kind acknowledgement of the lord who suddenly jumped of fear and surprise.

“lord husband!” you smiled and skipped towards him, holding onto his cold hand against your warm ones. “lord lannister had just invited me for a wine tasting in his chambers, how delectable!”

the lannister man’s eyes widened in fear as he took a step back, in a speedy second, aemond spun the man, his back hitting the wall as his engraved dagger dug into the skin of the lord lannister’s throat.

“you touch my darling wife again, i will personally cut your cock off and feed it to vhagar.” aemond said calmly as you stood beside him, in fear, yet you felt a tingling between your thighs ━ seeing your husband become extremely protective of you was a real treat indeed, even though you couldn’t fully comprehend why you needed protection from lord lannister. “understood?” he dug the dagger harder into the skin, drawing dark red blood from the poor man.

“yes, my prince.” the man choked out as aemond released his grip and took the hand of his wide eyed wife, rushing her to their shared quarters.

as soon as they arrived, aemond pushed his little wife against the wall, his face inches away from yours as he stared at your brightly coloured eyes. “tell me wife… what were you doing with the lannister?” he whispered as his hands moved from the small of your back to groping at your thighs.

“h-he said we were just going to have wine.” you shakily stuttered as you shut your eyes tight, he moved his grip towards your waist, gripping it like it were the end of his life. “i d-didn’t know -”

“oh yes! my darling little wife, ever so innocent.” aemond’s right hand moved from it’s previous position on your waist to your face, his knuckles softly caressing your cheeks. you shed a tear, which aemond quickly wiped with the back of his hand. “what am i going to do with you?”

aemond then forcefully dragged you over to the cushions where he sat down, legs wide. “bend over.” his voice stern as you shakily moved to bend over his thigh, your chemise damp with your wetness. “this is your punishment, ñuha dōna.” aemond cooed as you start softly sobbing.

“h-husband, please…” you beg as he lifted up your skirts, revealing your wet chemise.

“my, my” he snickered as he teased you, making your sobs louder. “my sweet wife was wet the entire time, tell me, who made you like this?” he asked as his long slender hands rubbed your bundle of nerves through the chemise. "was it the lannister lord?"

“n-no! all for you. you! husband! all for you!” you exclaimed as he smirked and hummed, lifting up your chemise to reveal your bare bum. “aemond, please…”

“patience, little wife.” he hummed as he caressed your soft milky cheeks, your juices leaking towards his thigh, covering his leather garments in your wetness. “before you have your pleasure, your punishment comes first.” his hand struck your bare cheek, making you whimper and sob.

the entirety of the red keep could barely anything other than you and aemond that night, as your sobs of pain and pleasure had swallowed any sounds left.

my first piece of writing on tumblr ever ! so sorry if there were any mistakes as this was a bit of a rush piece ♡

#ivy's works #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond smut #hotd imagine #houseofthedragon imagine

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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The Dragon's Right (11)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 800+

- Previous part: 10

- Next part: 12

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

The Sept near Casterly Rock was a grand structure, its towering spires reaching high into the sky, casting long shadows over the golden hills surrounding the Lannister stronghold. The sun was bright in the sky, its warm rays cutting through the otherwise somber mood that lingered inside the Sept itself. The vast interior was filled with the nobility of Westeros, all gathered to witness the union of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Lord Jason Lannister. It was an event that had drawn powerful lords and ladies from every corner of the realm, eager to see one of the most important political marriages of the age.

The Sept was decorated lavishly, with red and gold banners hanging from the high arches, the Lannister colors boldly displayed alongside the dragon sigils of House Targaryen. Flowers were strewn along the aisles, filling the air with their fragrance, a stark contrast to the heaviness of the occasion. Seated in the front rows were the most prominent figures of the realm, their faces a mixture of anticipation and curiosity, but there was an undercurrent of tension beneath the gilded ceremony.

Jason Lannister stood at the altar, dressed in the finest silks and gold, his lion sigil prominently displayed on his chest. His posture was proud, his expression smug, as though this marriage were another jewel in the Lannister crown. His twin brother, Tyland, stood beside him, his face more composed, though his eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction. Jason’s gaze, however, frequently flickered toward the entrance, waiting for the arrival of his bride. It was clear he took great pride in having won the Targaryen princess, even if she had not come willingly.

Whispers echoed through the Sept as the ceremony was about to begin, the lords and ladies murmuring to one another, casting curious glances toward the entrance. They had heard the rumors, of course—rumors of Rhaenyra’s defiance, of her refusal to bow to the will of the Crown and be married off like a prize. But here they were, all gathered to see it happen, to see if the wild princess could truly be tamed.

Suddenly, the great doors at the far end of the Sept swung open, and all eyes turned as Rhaenyra Targaryen entered.

She was resplendent in a gown of deep red and black, the colors of her house, the fabric embroidered with intricate dragons that seemed to swirl around her as she moved. Her hair, pale as silver, was pulled back into an elaborate braid, adorned with small gems that caught the light. The gown flowed around her like molten fire, her figure regal, but it did nothing to soften the sharpness in her expression.

Her face was set in a mask of cold defiance, her violet eyes scanning the crowd with thinly veiled contempt. She walked slowly down the aisle, her steps steady, but each movement carried a weight of rebellion. She was not walking toward her future; she was walking toward her doom, and everyone present knew it. Her gaze flickered toward her father, King Viserys, who sat near the front, his expression one of barely concealed disappointment. Rhaenyra shot him a sharp look, filled with anger and betrayal, the tension between them palpable even from a distance.

The whispers grew louder as she approached the altar, her displeasure clear for all to see. It was no secret that she had been forced into this marriage, and her rebellion was written in every step she took. She refused to look at Jason Lannister, whose smirk remained firmly in place, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. To him, this was victory.

As Rhaenyra reached the altar and stood before the Septon, her hands clenched tightly around the bouquet of flowers she held. Her chest rose and fell with the weight of her fury, but she kept her composure, her face set in stone. The Septon stood before them, draped in the white and gold robes of his office, the Seven-Pointed Star gleaming on his chest. He raised his hands, his voice loud and booming as he began the ceremonial rites.

“Before the eyes of gods and men, we gather to join this man and this woman in marriage, to bring together the houses of Targaryen and Lannister,” the Septon intoned, his voice echoing through the great hall.

But even as the words filled the Sept, Rhaenyra’s mind was elsewhere. She barely heard the Septon, barely registered the murmurs of the crowd, the weight of her situation pressing down on her like a boulder. Her eyes flicked toward her father again, her heart burning with resentment. How could he have done this to her? How could he have forced her into this farce?

Jason glanced at her, his smirk widening as if he could feel her resistance, and Rhaenyra clenched her teeth, her grip tightening on the flowers until the stems dug into her skin.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud from above, and the entire Sept seemed to shudder. The ground beneath their feet vibrated, and dust began to fall from the high ceiling as the massive structure groaned under the sudden impact. Gasps of shock and alarm rippled through the crowd, lords and ladies looking around in confusion.

“What was that?” someone whispered, their voice filled with fear.

The Septon paused, his eyes widening as he looked up toward the ceiling, where more dust and debris began to trickle down. The Sept shuddered again, the sound of stone grinding against stone filling the air. The once orderly crowd began to stir, whispers growing louder as panic started to take hold.

“Something’s on the roof!” a man shouted from the back, his voice trembling.

Jason Lannister’s smirk vanished, replaced with a look of confusion as he glanced at his brother, Tyland. “What in the Seven Hells is happening?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes snapped upward, her heart pounding as she felt the familiar rumble in her chest. The ground beneath her feet trembled again, and this time, the shaking was stronger, sending more debris falling from the ceiling. The crowd, sensing the danger, began to rise from their seats, voices rising in panic.

Another thunderous impact rocked the Sept, and now it was clear—something massive had landed on the roof, and whatever it was, it was not gentle. The ancient stone groaned under the weight, cracks beginning to form along the arches of the ceiling, and the once majestic hall began to crumble.

The Septon backed away from the altar, his voice trembling. “This… this is an omen…”

But before he could finish, a loud, piercing roar echoed through the air, shaking the very foundations of the Sept. Panic erupted, people screaming and scrambling toward the exits as the ceiling above began to crack and crumble, chunks of stone falling to the floor.

Rhaenyra stood frozen for a moment, her eyes wide, her heart racing. She knew that roar.

And she knew exactly what—or rather, who—had just arrived.

The piercing shriek of a dragon cut through the panicked cries inside the Sept, echoing off the stone walls as if the very gods themselves had arrived. Rhaenyra’s heart leaped in her chest at the sound—it was unmistakable. Silverwing. You had come, just as you had promised all those moons ago. The ground beneath her feet trembled with each movement of the great dragon above, the stone walls groaning under the immense pressure. Chaos erupted around her as lords and ladies screamed, scrambling for the exits, their finely embroidered cloaks and gowns tangling as they tried to flee.

Rhaenyra's eyes darted around, searching for a way to escape the suffocating madness. She had to reach you. The ceremony was forgotten, the image of Jason Lannister and the Septon dissolving into the chaos. Without hesitation, she pushed past the panicking nobles, her heart racing as she ducked through the panicked crowd. She could hear her father’s voice shouting her name over the din, “Rhaenyra!” but she didn’t stop.

She had no time for explanations. All that mattered was getting to you.

Behind her, Jason Lannister shouted as well, his voice rising in anger, “Where do you think you’re going, Princess?” He lunged forward to follow her, but the crowd surged between them, cutting off his path.

The Kingsguard, stationed near the aisle, saw her running and immediately gave chase. But Daemon, standing casually near the edge of the Sept with his arms crossed, watched the chaos unfold with amusement. As the guards ran past him, Daemon shifted subtly, stepping in just the right way to trip them. One guard stumbled into a pillar, his armor clattering against the stone, while the other fell flat on the floor, his sword sliding across the polished marble. Daemon smirked and gave Rhaenyra a small nod, knowing she would understand. He wasn’t letting anyone stop her today.

Rhaenyra pushed through the grand doors of the Sept, her breath coming in short gasps, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. The sunlight hit her face like a slap, the chaos of the Sept replaced by the sight of Silverwing descending, her massive wings outstretched, stirring up the dust and dirt around her as she landed just outside. You were atop her, your silver armor gleaming in the sunlight, and the sight of you filled her with a sense of relief so strong she almost forgot to breathe.

You locked eyes with her as Silverwing let out another fierce roar, sending waves of heat into the air as her claws scraped the ground.

"Brother!" Rhaenyra gasped, running toward you as if her life depended on it. The wind from Silverwing’s wings whipped through her hair, but she didn’t stop. She had been waiting for this moment for what felt like an eternity.

“Rhaenyra!” you called down, your voice filled with urgency as you extended a hand to help her up onto Silverwing’s saddle.

Without a second thought, she took your hand, her fingers gripping yours tightly as you hauled her up, pulling her onto the saddle behind you. Her gown tangled beneath her as she climbed, but she didn’t care. The feel of the leather beneath her and the solid presence of Silverwing’s powerful body beneath her legs was enough to make her forget the world below.

“Hold on!” you shouted over the sound of Silverwing’s wings beginning to flap, preparing to take flight once more.

Before Silverwing could ascend, a roar echoed from the skies above. Syrax. Rhaenyra turned her head just in time to see her golden dragon soaring overhead, her wings outstretched as she circled, waiting for her rider to follow. A bond between dragon and rider that could never be severed.

From the doors of the Sept, Viserys stumbled out, breathless, his hand clutching his chest as he tried to call after his daughter. “Rhaenyra!” he shouted again, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. His health had been deteriorating, and the strain of running out of the Sept left him gasping for breath, but he pushed forward, determined to stop her.

The king halted abruptly as he saw you, his son, for the first time in two long years. His face was a mixture of shock and disbelief as he stared up at you, sitting tall atop Silverwing. The reunion he had imagined was not like this. His eyes, wide with emotion, met yours for a brief moment, and in that glance, you saw everything—relief, sorrow, and the knowledge that things had changed far more than either of you had expected.

Alicent rushed to his side, her gown sweeping the ground as she took her place next to the king. Her breath hitched as her gaze shifted from Viserys to you, her eyes widening with realization. You had returned—but not for her. No, you had come for Rhaenyra. For your sister, for the woman you had always protected. She knew then, in that instant, that whatever hope she had harbored of your affection, whatever foolish dreams she had let linger, were gone.

Her face twisted in a mixture of shock and resentment, though she hid it well, standing dutifully at Viserys’s side. She had been left to endure her fate in silence, to bear the weight of the crown’s decisions without complaint. But Rhaenyra, as always, had found a way out.

Silverwing’s wings beat heavily as she lifted into the air, the powerful gusts of wind scattering dust and leaves across the courtyard. The people from the Sept, now spilling outside, watched in awe and terror as the great dragon ascended into the sky. Syrax let out another piercing roar as she followed closely behind, her golden form cutting through the clouds.

You turned to look at Rhaenyra as the two of you soared higher, away from the madness below. Her arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, her face buried against your back, but you could feel the tension in her body begin to ease. She was free now, at least for a moment.

“You came,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. “I knew you would come.”

“I made you a promise,” you replied, your voice steady as you guided Silverwing higher into the sky, away from Casterly Rock, away from the Sept. “I’ll always come for you.”

Rhaenyra tightened her grip on you, her heart racing, but for the first time in months, it wasn’t from fear or anger—it was from relief. Together, you and Rhaenyra flew, with Syrax trailing close behind, the roar of the dragons echoing through the skies as the people below watched in awe.

The Sept of Casterly Rock, once filled with nobles and royalty, now stood silent and stunned as the two Targaryens flew away, leaving nothing but whispers of rebellion in their wake.

The winds howled around Dragonstone as Silverwing descended onto the rocky terrain near the ancient Valyrian chapel, her massive wings folding with grace as she landed softly on the ground. The air was thick with the scent of the sea, and the sky above was a deep shade of crimson as the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon. The island felt almost otherworldly, shrouded in mist and history, a place of old magic and forgotten traditions.

Syrax followed shortly, her golden form cutting through the sky before she landed on a high perch, her piercing eyes watching over her riders with a protective gaze. The dragons, majestic and powerful, seemed to sense the gravity of the moment, their usual restlessness subdued as if in reverence to the events about to unfold.

You dismounted Silverwing first, your boots sinking into the loose gravel as you turned to help Rhaenyra down. The flight had been long, and the winds had battered her appearance, her once-perfect braids now unraveling, her gown wrinkled and slightly torn. But to you, she was still as radiant as ever. She looked up at you, her violet eyes filled with emotion, a mixture of relief, hope, and love. It was the first time you had truly looked at one another in two long years, and in that moment, the world seemed to stop.

Your hand reached out, fingers brushing gently against her cheek, caressing the soft skin as if to reassure yourself that she was real, that this moment was not a dream. Rhaenyra leaned into your touch, her breath catching in her throat as your eyes locked, the intensity of your shared bond clear in the silence between you.

“I’m here,” you whispered, your voice low but firm, as if the words held all the promises you had made and kept. “I’m always here for you.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she quickly composed herself, her lips curling into a soft smile. “I knew you’d come.”

You held her gaze for a moment longer before you gently took her hand in yours, guiding her toward the ancient chapel that stood on the cliffside, overlooking the churning sea below. The chapel was old, far older than any other building on Dragonstone, its architecture a testament to Valyria’s glory, carved from black stone with intricate designs depicting dragons and flames. It had been abandoned for centuries, used only for the rarest and most sacred of Valyrian rites.

Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of incense and saltwater. The flickering light of torches illuminated the stone walls, casting long shadows that danced like ancient spirits. At the far end of the chapel stood the Dragonkeeper, an elderly man whose skin was weathered by time, his long silver hair tied back in a neat knot. He wore the traditional robes of old Valyria, a deep shade of crimson and black, with a silver dragon embroidered across his chest.

He greeted you both with a solemn nod, his eyes filled with the weight of tradition and duty. “Prince Y/N, Princess Rhaenyra,” he said, his voice gravelly but reverent. “You have come to be wed in the ancient rites of our ancestors.”

Rhaenyra stood beside you, her hand still firmly in yours, her heart pounding in her chest. This was what she had dreamed of—the only marriage she had ever wanted. Not to Jason Lannister, not to any of the suitors her father had paraded before her, but to you, the brother who had always stood by her, protected her, loved her.

The Dragonkeeper gestured for you both to step forward, toward the altar, which was adorned with ancient Valyrian relics—dragons carved from obsidian, vials of dragonfire, and a single silver chalice filled with wine. The flames of the torches reflected in the obsidian, creating an almost ethereal glow that bathed the entire chamber in an otherworldly light.

“By the old customs of Valyria, where dragonlord and dragonrider were bound not only by blood but by fire, you stand here today to unite your lives,” the Dragonkeeper began, his voice echoing through the empty chapel. “Fire and blood, as it has always been, will seal your bond before the gods and dragons.”

He extended his hands toward you, and from a hidden compartment within his robes, he produced a small dagger—the blade was Valyrian steel, its edge sharp and gleaming in the firelight. He handed the blade to you, his eyes locking with yours. “As is tradition, your blood will bind you.”

You took the dagger in your hand, its weight familiar and ancient, and turned toward Rhaenyra. She met your gaze with unwavering trust, her eyes never leaving yours. Without hesitation, you gently took her hand, holding it steady as you pressed the blade to her palm. The sharp steel cut through her skin with a precision that was both swift and ceremonial, a single drop of blood welling up from the wound.

Rhaenyra didn’t flinch, her eyes burning with determination as she watched you. You handed her the dagger, and she did the same for you, the blade gliding across your palm, a mirror of the mark you had made on her.

The Dragonkeeper stepped forward, holding the silver chalice beneath your hands. “Blood of the dragon,” he intoned, his voice low and reverent, “from the same bloodline, from the same fire.”

Together, you pressed your hands over the chalice, letting the blood drip into the wine, mixing with the ancient liquid as the flames around you flickered and danced. The Dragonkeeper took the chalice and raised it above his head.

“From this union of fire and blood, let no man tear you asunder. By the will of the gods and dragons, you are now one.”

He lowered the chalice and handed it to you. You took it in your hands and brought it to your lips, tasting the metallic tang of the blood mixed with the wine. Then, you handed it to Rhaenyra, who drank deeply, her eyes never leaving yours.

The Dragonkeeper stepped back, his hands raised in final blessing. “You are wed. Let the dragons bear witness, and may your union be strong, unbroken by time, as Valyria once was.”

As the final words were spoken, the air in the chapel seemed to hum with an ancient power, a presence that filled the space around you, binding you and Rhaenyra together in a way that no other ceremony could.

You turned to her, your hand still clasped tightly in hers, your hearts beating as one. Her face, despite the disheveled state caused by the flight, was radiant, her violet eyes gleaming with a mixture of triumph and love. Without a word, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against hers, a gesture more intimate than any kiss. In this moment, words were unnecessary.

“I love you,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice barely audible, as if the very walls of the chapel were not worthy of hearing such a declaration.

“And I love you,” you replied, your voice thick with emotion.

The ancient flames flickered as you pulled her closer, your hands still intertwined, the bond of fire and blood sealing your union as husband and wife.

Outside, Silverwing and Syrax roared in unison, their mighty cries echoing across the cliffs of Dragonstone, the sound carrying on the wind like a herald to the gods.

The Valyrian wedding had been completed. The blood of the dragon was bound once more.

The grand courtyard outside the Sept was a flurry of stunned and panicked nobles. The once-anticipated wedding of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Lord Jason Lannister had dissolved into chaos in a matter of moments. Eyes lifted to the sky, where Silverwing, with Rhaenyra and you on her back, flew higher and higher, disappearing into the distance toward Dragonstone, Syrax trailing close behind. The sound of Silverwing's powerful wings still echoed faintly in the air, but the shock remained heavy in the courtyard.

King Viserys stood rooted in place, his hand resting on his chest as his breath came in labored gasps. His gaze was fixed in the direction of his children’s departure, his eyes distant as if already resigned to the inevitable. He had watched you fly away with his daughter, both of you slipping from his grasp like sand in an hourglass. His children—both of them, so intertwined by blood and fate—had rebelled together, and now they were gone.

Jason Lannister emerged from the Sept, his face red with fury, his hand clenched so tightly around the hilt of his sword that his knuckles turned white. His twin, Tyland, stumbled out behind him, still dazed from the sudden turn of events, his usually calm demeanor shattered by the sight of you taking Rhaenyra away. Jason's eyes blazed as he stormed toward Viserys, his voice loud and full of indignation.

“Your Grace!” Jason spat, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “I demand that my bride be returned to me! This is an insult to House Lannister. I will not stand for it!”

Tyland, his composure slowly returning, reached out a hand to his brother, trying to calm him. “Jason…” he began, but Jason shrugged him off, his fury unchecked.

Before Viserys could respond, Daemon Targaryen, who had been standing off to the side with Lady Laena Velaryon at his arm, let out a scoff loud enough to draw the attention of those around him. His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, and his smirk was as sharp as ever as he stepped forward, his arm loosely draped around Laena’s shoulders.

“Your bride?” Daemon drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It seems, Lannister, that my nephew came for what was his and took it. He did what any dragon would—he claimed what belongs to him.” His violet eyes gleamed with amusement as he surveyed the angry Lord Jason. “You should be thankful this farce is finally over.”

Jason's face turned even redder, veins bulging in his neck as he glared at Daemon. “I will not tolerate this mockery! Rhaenyra was promised to me!”

Daemon chuckled, the sound low and mocking. “Promised? By whom? Your coins and titles? Dragons do not care for gold, Lannister. My nephew and niece have decided their own fate, it seems.”

Laena stood beside Daemon, watching the exchange with a cool expression. She was poised and composed, clearly more intrigued than surprised by what had unfolded. Her dark eyes flickered toward the sky where the dragons had disappeared. “It seems the dragons have chosen their own path,” she murmured, almost to herself, her lips curving into a faint smile.

Otto Hightower stepped forward, his face tense, his mind already calculating the ramifications of what had just occurred. He turned toward King Viserys, his tone carefully measured but insistent. “Your Grace, this... act of rebellion by your children cannot go unanswered. If we do not act swiftly, the realm will begin to question your authority. House Lannister will not be the only one demanding answers.”

Viserys remained silent, his gaze still fixed on the distant horizon. The weight of his crown and the crumbling control over his family weighed heavily on him, the burden etched into the lines of his face. He could feel the eyes of his council on him, waiting for his decree. Waiting for him to bring order to this chaos.

“Your Grace,” Otto pressed, his voice more urgent now. “If there is any chance of changing Rhaenyra’s mind, of preventing her and your son from... doing something that could destabilize the realm, we must act. Now. We cannot allow this defiance to go unanswered.”

Jason, still seething, nodded in agreement. “The crown must uphold the promises it has made, Your Grace. House Lannister demands retribution for this insult.”

But before Otto could continue, Viserys lifted a hand, silencing the crowd around him. His face was pale, his hand trembling slightly as he took in a slow, deep breath. His eyes, weary and filled with sorrow, finally turned toward Otto and the assembled nobles.

“No,” Viserys said quietly, but with finality. His voice, though soft, echoed in the stunned silence that followed. “I will not stop them.”

The nobles exchanged shocked glances, whispers immediately breaking out among the gathered lords and ladies. Otto’s mouth fell open slightly, and Jason’s expression turned to one of disbelief.

“Your Grace,” Otto began, trying to keep his voice level, “this is not—”

Viserys cut him off, his voice firmer this time. “I will not chase my children down like criminals. My daughter… and my son… have chosen their path. And I will not stop them.”

Jason stepped forward, his voice rising in frustration. “This is madness, Your Grace! You’re allowing your heir to defy your will and to steal away with the woman promised to me!”

But Viserys didn’t respond to Jason. His gaze remained distant, filled with a deep sadness, as though a part of him had already accepted what had transpired. His hand, still trembling, fell back to his side, and he turned away from the gathered nobles, the weight of the crown heavier than ever.

Otto’s face tightened with frustration, but he didn’t dare press further. The king’s decision had been made, and despite the chaos it would surely cause, Viserys was unyielding. The silence that followed was deafening, save for the whispers of the lords and ladies who could scarcely believe what they had just witnessed.

Daemon, standing off to the side, let out a low chuckle, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Well,” he said, his smirk widening as he turned to Laena. “It seems the crown is more flexible than we thought, my love.”

Laena raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her amusement mirroring Daemon’s.

As the crowd began to disperse, the tension still thick in the air, Otto stepped closer to Viserys, his voice lowered so that only the king could hear him. “Your Grace, this will have consequences.”

Viserys glanced at him, his expression one of quiet resignation. “It always does, Otto.”

But for the first time in a long while, Viserys had chosen to side with his heart rather than his crown. And the realm, for better or worse, would have to live with the consequences of that decision.

The air in your chambers at Dragonstone is filled with the scent of fire and salt from the sea that laps at the fortress’s shores. A soft, golden glow flickers from the hearth. The chill of the evening is driven away by the warmth of your body, of her body, and the moment you've both craved for so long stretches before you, heavy with anticipation.

Rhaenyra stands before you, still adorned in the remnants of her Valyrian wedding attire. The delicate fabric clings to her figure, and you can’t help but marvel at her beauty, your wife now, in every sense. Her pale hair cascades like molten silver over her shoulders, loose and wild, a stark contrast to her earlier regal appearance. Her violet eyes, so much like your own, burn with intensity as they meet yours.

It has been a long road to this moment — years of stolen touches, whispered confessions in darkened corridors, and glances that lingered far too long for any brother and sister. You’ve always known, though. From the moment you both understood what it meant to be Targaryen, to be dragonkind. Bound by fire and blood.

Yet, it was tonight — after the ceremony, after the sacred words spoken in High Valyrian — that the weight of the bond truly settled upon you both. You are husband and wife now, joined in the eyes of the gods of Old Valyria.

And now, finally, here you stand, ready to consummate that bond in the most intimate of ways.

Rhaenyra steps closer to you, her fingers trembling slightly as they reach for the clasps of your tunic. You catch her hands gently, your thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"You need not rush, Rhaenyra," you say, your voice low, thick with the emotion of the moment. "We have all night. We have forever."

She smiles at that, a rare softness gracing her lips, though there’s a hint of something else in her gaze — something vulnerable.

"I know," she whispers, stepping closer still, so close that the warmth of her body reaches you. "But I’ve waited long enough to have you like this, truly. I don’t wish to wait any longer."

Her hands slip free of yours, and with careful, deliberate motions, she begins to undo your tunic. The fabric slips from your shoulders, revealing the hard planes of your chest, the scars that mar your otherwise flawless skin, souvenirs of the battles and skirmishes at the border of Dorne. Rhaenyra’s eyes trace them, her fingers following the paths of old wounds.

Her touch is reverent, and she says nothing for a long while as she explores your body. Her fingers linger on the deepest of scars, the one that runs across your abdomen, the memory of an enemy's blade.

"This one," she murmurs, her hand pressing lightly against the raised flesh. "Does it still pain you?"

"Not anymore," you reply, your hand coming up to cup her face, lifting her gaze to meet yours. "Not when you touch it."

Rhaenyra’s breath hitches at your words, and you see the desire in her eyes deepen. She leans into your touch, her lips parting as she exhales a shaky breath.

"I am sorry," she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of the confession. "Before you left for Dorne, we argued. And I regret it."

"I know," you say, brushing your thumb over her lower lip. "But it doesn't matter now. This is where we were meant to be from the start."

She nods, a tear escaping her lashes, though it’s not one of sorrow. You kiss it away, tasting the salt on her skin as your lips move to her cheek, her jaw, and then finally her mouth. The kiss is slow, languid, a promise of what is to come. Her hands are in your hair, tugging gently as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours, warm and soft.

You can feel her heart racing beneath your touch, and yours beats in time with hers as you guide her back toward the bed, the silken sheets cool beneath your fingers as you lower her onto them. Rhaenyra watches you with half-lidded eyes, her chest rising and falling with anticipation as you strip away the last of your clothes.

When you turn your attention to her, you take your time, untying the intricate knots that hold her gown in place, layer by layer. She shifts beneath your touch, her body trembling with each brush of your fingers, until finally, she is bare before you, the soft glow of the fire casting her skin in a golden hue.

"Beautiful," you murmur, your voice reverent as you kneel before her.

She reaches for you, her fingers curling around your wrist as she pulls you down to her, and you follow willingly, pressing your body against hers, the heat of her skin igniting something primal within you.

For a moment, neither of you move. You simply lie there, holding each other, breathing in the scent of each other’s skin, feeling the steady thrum of life between you.

"You’re mine," Rhaenyra breathes, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "And I am yours."

You answer her with a kiss, deeper this time, more urgent, your hand sliding down her body, feeling the curve of her waist, the softness of her hips, until you reach the place where she is already warm and wet for you.

She gasps into your mouth, her nails digging into your back as your fingers slip inside her, her body arching beneath you.

"Please," she whispers, her voice strained. "I need you."

And so you give her what she asks for, positioning yourself between her legs, your heart hammering in your chest as you finally press inside her, slow and steady, until you are fully seated within her warmth.

Rhaenyra lets out a soft cry, her hands clinging to your shoulders, and for a moment, you both simply hold still, lost in the sensation of being joined, of finally being one.

Then you move, gently at first, then with increasing urgency as the need to feel all of her overtakes you. Rhaenyra meets your movements with equal fervor, her body rising to meet yours with every thrust, her cries growing louder with every passing moment.

The room is filled with the sound of your bodies, the crackle of the fire, the soft whisper of your names on each other’s lips.

When you finally reach the edge, you bury your face in her neck, your teeth grazing her skin as you spill yourself inside her, her body trembling beneath yours as she follows you into bliss.

You stay like that for a long while, wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies still connected, your breathing slowly returning to normal.

"I never want this to end," Rhaenyra murmurs, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.

"It won’t," you promise, pressing a kiss to her temple. "This is just the beginning."

And as you hold her close, the two of you tangled together beneath the warm embrace of the dragonlord's legacy, you know that you will keep that promise. You are bound by fire and blood, and nothing, not even the gods, will tear you apart.

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