#has he no right to defend himself? has he no right to a throne?

[thoodleoo]

hmmm. thinking about a version of theseus and the minotaur where theseus goes to crete but it's the minotaur that comes back to athens

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

#letters were sent to the lords of westeros!! #many many letters were sent! #BUT ONLY ONE WAS ANSWERED ❤️‍🔥 🗡️ 🦌 #stannis was the only one living up to the title - protector of the realm #and the only other guy living up to the title is a depressed 7/11 teenage shift manager #who isn’t even the king!

One found Dragonstone, and a king who still cared. A thousand leagues south, Sam knew, his father had joined House Tarly to the cause of the boy on the Iron Throne, but neither King Joffrey nor little King Tommen had bestirred himself when the Watch cried out for help. What good is a king who will not defend his realm? he thought angrily, remembering the night on the Fist of the First Men and the terrible trek to Craster's Keep through darkness, fear, and falling snow.

The King Who Cared is honestly such a boss title. A lot of the titles in ASOIAF are basically about how cool and mean or how pretty or how nice at killing stuff someone is. There was nothing for the workaholic…until Stannis. This is a title given to him because he clocked in to king-work and actually gave a damn. It’s basically medieval fantasy’s employee of the month because literally only Stannis chose to WORK. Everyone else clocked in to work that day but then dipped one hour in and went on extended break, and some never came back. Stannis was the one who stayed. The one who filed all the paperwork. He is Westeros’ greatest city hall employee!

[college-cryptids]

thinking about telemachus recently and how odysseus was gone for like. his entire life. strictly speaking, telemachus wasn't the child of a single parent but he may as well have been. do you think that showed through, when odysseus did finally return home?

certainly, he was always a mama's boy. no one doubted that. he had no one else, after all. there was laertes, and the men around the palace (who harbored a disgust for the horde of suitors that almost rivalled penelope's) and he loved them all dearly, but it was not the same. telemachus grew up loving his mother with all of his heart, and defending her with all his strength.

and then this man comes home, and he has telemachus' smile and he knows things that only telemachus' father would know, but he is a stranger. odysseus arrives home as a creature of myth, the misty stuff of fables that you could almost touch if you reached, but never quite grasp. telemachus does not know this man, but seeing him that day in the throne room is the first time in twenty years that penelope has shed tears of joy instead of pain, so he decides there must be something to him. he smiles at this man's jokes and listens raptly to his stories (and he does have so many stories!) but there is always that distance there. a gap in the planks of the bridge, a crevasse that's just too wide to jump across. he tries to know him, but it is not as easy as either of them would like it to be.

it is penelope that finally bridges the gap. telemachus finds her in tears again one day, tucked away somewhere odysseus would not see, and he rushes to his mother's side, but when he reaches her she cups his face the way she did when he was a boy. her hands are thinner now than they were then, and there are lines on her face that had not been there before, but behind the glimmer of tears is that spark. that strong, intelligent spark that first drew odysseus to her; that spark that convinced young telemachus that his mother could rival athena in wisdom if she wished to be so bold.

but these tears, he finds, are not the ones he expected. as penelope takes her son into her arms she whispers, you're just like him. you're so much like your father, and i am so proud.

and that sticks.

telemachus meets the stranger with his father's face and thinks, he's just like me. he watches him laugh the way he himself does, he compares his face and odysseus' in a mirror and the similarities make him smile this time. he hears others in the palace tell of the king's courage and his wit and he thinks, perhaps i can be like him. perhaps he is like me.

telemachus greets odysseus that night and calls him father, and for the first time, the word does not feel strange on his tongue.

it feels right.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Tear Down My Reason

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader Warnings: Canon typical incest, dubious consent with allusions to no consent, smut. Word count: ~4.6k

Summary: When Rhaenyra returns to King's Landing to petition Lucerys's claim to Driftmark, Aemond is eager for revenge for the loss of his eye. However, what he does not anticipate is the object of his ire becoming his niece instead of his nephew.

Author's note: No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Aemond sits in his chambers, beside the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other. His eyepatch is discarded on the table in front of him, his index finger absentmindedly running the length of the scar that ravages the left side of his face.

It had itched incessantly since he had learned the news that his half sister, Rhaenyra, and her family would be arriving in King’s Landing to defend Lucerys’s claim to Driftmark. His scar always grew irritated at the mention of Luke, a reminder of the boy who had permanently disfigured him and left him without an eye. It was a crime for which Luke had never been reprimanded, and so Aemond had spent almost a decade allowing his anger and resentment to fester, thinking of all of the ways he would seek revenge should he ever see him again. 

He knows exactly when they have arrived the next day as he spars in the training yard with Cole; he spots the two dark haired boys circling, and takes a moment to lean against the table of weapons before him, steeling himself. He imagines grabbing a blade and carving out one of his nephew’s eyes in exchange for his. Luke had taken his left, perhaps he’d take his right, a fair exchange.

Snapped out of his reverie by Cole beckoning him forward, he picks up his blade and advances towards him. He knows that Jace and Luke will be watching, and so he works hard to put on a display that will show he’s no longer the sullen, little boy they used to torment. He is a man grown, a warrior that they should respect and fear. He ducks and weaves against Cole’s morningstar, throwing away his shield as it splinters under impact, until finally he seizes the advantage, the point of his blade directed towards his opponent’s neck. 

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Criston tells him, “you will be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I do not give a shit about tourneys,” he utters, turning to face the two dark haired boys who stare up at him in shock. “Nephews, have you come to train?”

He is unable to stop the malevolent smirk that tugs at his lips, seeing fear in their eyes as they gaze at him. There is revenge enough in knowing that while he has advanced in training with the sword, transformed himself into a foe which any man would find themselves unlucky to cross blades with upon a battlefield, they have remained frightened, sniveling little boys that still cling to their mother’s skirts for protection. It is not enough to satisfy him though. Not yet.

Having bathed and changed, he joins his family in the throne room, as the court gathers to hear the petitions for the succession of Driftmark. He stands tall and proud beside his brother, sister and mother, as his grandsire sits the throne in his father’s stead.

His eye sweeps the hall, seeing Vaemond Velaryon, Rhaenys Targaryen and her granddaughter, Baela, standing to one side. On the other is Rhaenyra, Luke, Jace, Joffrey, his uncle, Daemon, and his daughter, Rhaena. And then he spots her.

Aemond had utterly forgotten of her existence; born a year after Jace, and a year before Luke, his niece. She is as tall as her mother now, and has her father’s hair - her real father’s hair - long, dark curls that, despite being half pinned up, fall almost to her waist. She is soft featured, with Rhaenyra’s striking blue eyes. It baffles him that a Strong bastard could be so pleasing to look upon, and he purses his lips in disgust, forcing himself to look away as he reflects back upon what she had been like as a child.

She never joined in with the relentless teasing that Aegon, Jacaerys and Lucerys had subjected him to. She had spent all of her time with Helaena, from what he can remember, the two of them sat side by side, Helaena holding up insects and describing them to her, as she flicked through the pages of books trying to see if records of them already existed, so that they could learn more about them.

The night that he had lost his eye, she had remained next to his sister, looking on with concern as he had his wound stitched closed. He remembered thinking it odd at the time that she was not with Luke and Jace, but his mind was so addled from the effects of milk of the poppy that nothing is clear, beyond the image of her mother bursting into the hall of Driftmark and tugging her away, back to her own family.

As the petitions are heard, even when his own father arrives unexpectedly, announcing he will sit the throne today, he finds his attention drawn to her, unable to focus on anything else. She appears to be a meek little thing, keeping her eyes downcast, seeming ashamed of her own presence in the room. A trait that all Strong bastards ought to possess, in his opinion. Yet as the moments pass by and she does not look up, he finds himself growing increasingly irritated that she won’t look at him, despite how desperately he wills her to.

“Her children are bastards!” Shouts Vaemond, before turning to Rhaenyra, his voice lowering, “and she is a whore.”

Elation spreads like a warm glow through Aemond’s body, his attention finally pulled away from his niece to look upon the horrified expressions of his nephews and half sister. Serves them right. Finally someone is saying it out loud. 

When he casts his gaze back upon his niece, her eyes are still fixed upon the floor. However, he sees the subtlety with which her bottom lip trembles, the light flush of her cheeks. She is about to cry.

Look at me.

The room falls silent as Daemon’s sword slices through Vaemond’s head, and it is only then that her head snaps up, her eyes tear filled and wide with shock, meeting Aemond’s. He finds himself smirking again, a quiet victory. Not only had the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s children been brought loudly into question once more, but now he had the attention of his niece. He had forgotten her in the passing of so many years, but now she is within reach again, he will ensure she certainly never forgets him. The next time tears fill her pretty eyes he wants to be the cause of them.

Aemond groans when his mother informs him that the following evening they are to dine as a family, a request from his father to unite them all, having reestablished Luke’s inheritance. He resents the idea of breaking bread with people he does not like, that do not like him, to have to sit at the same table and make pleasantries with the boy who half blinded him.

But she would be there. He wonders where she is now. Her mother had been swift to hurry her from the throne room after the decapitation of Vaemond Velaryon, and he is unsure of which apartments within the Keep she now occupies.

He finds himself stalking the corridors of the usually unoccupied quarters of Maegor’s Holdfast, his eye scanning every closed door, wondering which is the room that she occupies. He pulls to a stop at the top of a staircase as he sees familiar long, dark curls flowing down slender shoulders, disappearing into a doorway before it closes behind her.

Her chambers are unguarded, and before he has a chance to stop himself, his feet carry him down the steps towards them, his knuckles rapping at the wooden door. It’s only when he hears the rustle of movement from the other side that his mind begins to race.

What if she is not alone?

What did he even intend to do if she was unattended?

He briefly considers turning on his heel and leaving, however, no sooner has the thought occurred to him than his niece is opening the door, startling at the sight of him, lips parting in shock. She is even prettier up close, despite her reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“Aemond?”

Despite the confusion that laces her voice, it is soft and dulcet toned. He wants to hear her say his name a hundred times over, for it has never sounded sweeter than coming from her lips.

He inhales deeply through his nose, preparing himself to speak. “You are understandably upset by that business with our uncle and Vaemond. I have come to check on you, to make sure you are alright.”

Her eyebrows raise for a moment, blinking a few times as she regards him carefully. “Oh…that is…kind of you. My mother has said I ought to rest.”

“Perhaps you might welcome some company?” He offers. “It would be unwise for you to be alone after witnessing something so bloody.”

She draws back a little at the suggestion, her mouth opening to speak before closing again, her brow furrowing.

Aemond fights the urge to smile at her hesitation. Reaching forward, he crooks a finger beneath her chin. “Do I frighten you so much you cannot bear to be in the same room as me?”

Gasping, she shakes her head fervently as his hand drops away. “N–no! It is just…it has been such a long time, and the last time I saw you, you…my brother…your eye…”

He cocks his head, pushing down the resentment that bubbles to the surface at the mention of what had happened to him. “But have you not heard? My father is hosting a dinner for us all tomorrow, to unite our families once more. There is no need for you to be so cautious, allow yourself to be reacquainted with your uncle.”

Her gaze lowers for a moment, as she appears to consider his offer. “Yes, I suppose that would be nice,” she finally says, looking back up at him.

She steps to the side, allowing him to enter.

Too easy, he thinks to himself as he steps inside. There would be almost no sport in this if the fight she means to put up is so feeble.

He strides into the room, hands clasped behind his back, noting the lack of personal effects within the space, a reminder that she is a visitor. This is his home, not hers. He has the upper hand.

“Apologies, Uncle,” she utters nervously, shifting from foot to foot as she fidgets restlessly with her fingers. “I had not anticipated your visit, this room is ill equipped for guests. I have no chair to offer you.”

“That is quite alright,” he tells her amicably, forcing a soft smile before sitting upon the edge of the bed. “We are family, are we not? Such formalities are not necessary.”

He pats the space beside him. “Come, join me, we have much to catch up on.”

She hesitates a moment, before sitting next to him. There is something about the feeling of the dip in the mattress beside him, combined with the floral scent of her filling his nostrils that sends the thrill of a shiver through his body, and he turns to look at her, eyeing her much like a cat would a mouse.

Such a pretty little thing.

“I am truly sorry, for what Luke did to you,” she begins, “I—”

He waves a hand dismissively, forcing down the anger that threatens to burst forth. “Let us speak no more of it. It is in the past. Tell me, how is life upon Dragonstone treating you?”

She chews her lip, hesitating a moment before she speaks. “Truthfully, it is lonely. I miss King’s Landing. Jace and Luke have one another, and mother is preoccupied with her pregnancy and Joffrey and the babes. Daemon pays me no mind, and while I am grateful for Rhaena’s company, I can tell she misses her sister. I am a poor substitute for Baela.”

He hums with faux concern, allowing a moment of silence to present his next words as thoughtful. “You could never be a poor substitute for anything. And I expect you will soon be away from there anyway. I can imagine you have no end of suitors all vying for your hand.”

The hint of a blush turns her cheeks pink as she casts her gaze downward. “No, not yet. I have overheard Rhaenys talking with my mother. They wish to betroth Baela and Rhaena to Jace and Luke. There are no such plans for me. What about you? Are you to be married?”

“Not yet,” he says softly, meeting her eye as she looks up at him. “I have been waiting for the right woman to capture my interest. Perhaps it is fortuitous that we both find ourselves unattached?”

“What do you mean, uncle?” She asks, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Baela and Jace, Rhaena and Luke,” he shifts his hand across the bed, entwining his fingers with hers. “You and I.”

She gasps softly, though she does not wrench her hand away as he had anticipated. “Is this some sort of trick, Aemond?”

“Not at all,” he reassures her, moving closer. “What better way to unite our family once more?”

“We hardly know each other,” she utters softly.

“And yet you have scarce left my thoughts all these years,” he lies. “Let me kiss you.”

Before she has a chance to respond, he is pressing his lips to hers. She stiffens at first, taken aback by his forwardness, but soon responds, her supple mouth moving against his. He brings his hand up to her cheek, cupping it softly, the skin soft as peach fuzz beneath his calloused fingertips.

She sighs softly as he deepens the gesture, her inexperience showing as her tongue retreats from his as it slips into her mouth. It serves only to stoke the fire that rages within, tightening  his breeches as the sensation of her saliva causes his cock to swell.

Pulling away from her mouth, he moves his hand from her cheek, sinking it into her silky curls, anchoring her in place as he places hot, open mouthed kisses to her jaw and neck, making his way down towards her clavicle, relishing the way her head tips back slightly and her eyes flutter closed.

Tugging down the neckline of her bodice, he fights to suppress a groan of desire at the sight of her bared breasts, the hardened peaks ruddy and inviting. She is putting up so little resistance that it emboldens him to press forward, capturing a rosy bud between his lips and suckling as his tongue flicks against it, causing her to arch and mewl.

A whore, just like her mother, he thinks, shifting his attention to the other and repeating the same motion. His blood feels like liquid fire in his veins as her breaths turn to soft pants. One hand massages the breast that he is currently not latched upon, while the other creeps beneath her skirts.

It is only when his fingertips ghost upon the top of her stocking that she suddenly pulls free of him, eyes wide and breaths ragged as she hurriedly readjusts her dress.

“We should not have…forgive me, I…” she stumbles over her words, flustered and looking on the verge of tears again, before hurrying from the room, leaving Aemond alone on the bed.

He growls in frustration, smacking his hand down upon the edge of the mattress. “Ilibītsos,” he mutters angrily. Little slut.

When he returns to his own chambers, he comes harder than he ever has before, such is the force with which he fists his cock, imagining the entire time that his niece is splayed beneath him, sighing softly with pleasure as she had for him earlier that day.

As his pleasure induced haze wears off, a feeling of shame settles over him. He does not quite understand how his infatuation with her has taken hold so quickly, but now that it is, he is unable to shake it. Worse still, when she ran from her bedchamber, what if she had gone straight to her mother and told her of what he had done to her? It would be a disgrace from which he would never recover if his own mother were to be privy to such information.

He hides himself away the next day, embarrassed to face any of his family for fear they will know of his transgressions, until finally he is summoned to the feast that he has been dreading.

Much to his surprise, the entire day has passed without angry confrontation or a tongue lashing from his mother, and as he enters the dining hall there are no looks of shock or disgust to be met with, simply the shy smile of his niece as she looks up at him from her seat between her two brothers.

She has not told anyone, and she does not appear to regret what had transpired between them.

Aemond settles into his seat at the head of the table with a smug sense of pride. The dinner is a tawdry affair, musicians playing tunes he does not care for are stationed in the corner, while endless trays and bowls of food are brought out to them all. 

He listens to his family toast to each other with a sneer, watching with barely concealed anger as Jace invites Helaena to dance. His only reprieve are the shy glances and smiles that his niece directs his way across the table. Perhaps all is not lost.

It is not until a suckling pig is brought out and settled before him that he is no longer able to contain his temper. Seeing Luke smirk at him, a reminder of the pig he had been taunted with in place of a dragon as a child, is too much. Is it not enough that his nephew has taken his eye, but now he continues to mock him too? He will not stand for such an insult.

Abruptly, he slams his first upon the table, halting the music and chatter within the room, as he rises from his chair, raising his wine cup.

“Final tribute,” he announces, eye scanning the room, careful not to include his niece in his speech, lest he foils the plans he has especially for her. “To the health of my nephews; Jace, Luke, Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…strong. Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

The ensuing scuffle passes by in a blur for Aemond, resulting in him pushing Jace to the floor before they are all dismissed to their quarters. He hangs back, out of sight, waiting for Jace and Luke to disappear from sight, before striding after his niece.

She whips around, looking angrily up at him, eyes blazing with fury. “Why would you do that? You’ve ruined everything!”

“Forgive me,” he utters gently, taking her hands in his, “I lost my temper, but you have to know that my anger was never directed at you.”

She sighs, her shoulders sagging. “Jace and Luke’s betrothals were announced tonight. I was hoping we could announce ours too. Now my mother will never agree to it.”

Pride and satisfaction swell within his chest as he gazes down at her. He raises an eyebrow. “You wish to marry me? I had thought you were refusing my proposal, considering how quick you were to flee from me yesterday.”

“It all happened so fast. I have never been touched in that way before, and I allowed it to frighten me, I am sorry for it. But having had time to think on it, I do want to be your wife.”

He smiles down at her, seeing eye shining malevolently. “Then let the news of our betrothal be the balm that soothes all hurts upon the morrow.”

She smiles happily at him. “Then I shall bid you goodnight, Uncle.”

“So soon? I thought perhaps we might pick up where we left off yesterday.”

She flushes a delicate red. “Would it not be better to wait until we are wed?”

“I will not push you further than you wish to go,” he whispers, before kissing her deeply, walking her backwards into her bedchamber.

He is quick to cover her body with his own as she topples back against the softness of the mattress, kissing her fiercely as his hands push her skirts roughly up and over her hips.

“I thought you did not wish to push me?” She whispers breathlessly, pulling back from his lips.

“I shall not, talus,” he reassures her, his fingers absentmindedly stroking her the bare skin of her thighs, “but that does not mean I will not make you beg for it.” Niece.

Kissing her deeply once more, he shifts down her body, dragging her small clothes down and off of her leg in one fluid movement, before spreading the plushness of her thighs, his single eye drinking in the glistening sight of her cunt spread out before him.

He smiles to himself as he drags the tip of his tongue through her folds, hearing the way her breath hitches, his hands forcefully holding her down, keeping her still, as she attempts to buck her hips. He almost groans at the tart taste of her, his mouth quick to envelope her, alternating between sucking messily at her pearl and laving the flat of his tongue against her.

She writhes, pinned to the bed by her pelvis by his forceful grip, wanton sounds of pleasure escaping her as she clutches the bed sheets so tightly her knuckles turn white.

Lapping greedily at her as she falls apart against his tongue, he almost spends in his breeches taking in the sight of her arched back, tousled hair, ruddy cheeks and trembling thighs. But he is not finished yet.

The moment she settles back against the bed, her body spent and pliant, he begins his assault anew, this time crooking two fingers inside of her, rubbing urgently against the rough patch inside of her as his tongue focuses purposefully on her sensitive nub. The desperate sounds she makes are music to his ears. She is impossibly tight, he wonders how he will ever fit inside, but is all the more determined to find out as he sends her hurtling and crying out once more into the throes of another torturous release.

“Stop, stop!” She whines, attempting to back up the bed away from him, as he attempts to settle his face between her thighs a third time. “I cannot take it anymore.”

“If I am inside of you, it will not feel quite so intense,” he whispers, not moving an inch from where he lays between her legs, his chin shiny and sticky with her arousal.

“We are not yet married, Uncle, we should not,” she protests feebly.

“But we will be,” he insists, “so what does it matter? And I am afraid I have not had my fill of you, talus, so we shall have to continue as we are if you do not wish for me to be inside of you.”

“Gods…please…no…anything, just no more of that, it is too much.”

He smirks at her ruined state, bringing himself up towards her face, his voice dark. “Beg me for it.”

“Please, Aemond, please,” she cries, “put it inside, I cannot stand anymore.”

He grins wolfishly, as his fingers move to the lacings of his trousers, untying them and shucking the material past his hips.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he places the swollen head of his cock against the wetness of her opening, his eye flickering to her face for any signs of hesitation. She still looks utterly wrecked, her expression one of hazy bliss, her eyes glassy. Taking this as silent permission, he presses forward, hissing through his teeth at the resistance he is met with.

She whimpers softly, in clear discomfort, as he continues to push inward slowly, looking between her face, her brow furrowed and lips parted, and where their bodies are joining together.

He feels something give way, before he is fully rooted within her.

Her maidenhead.

Aemond fights the prideful grin that wants to spread itself across his face. His nephew had taken his eye, now in turn he had taken his niece’s virtue.

He stills, waiting for her to adjust, before moving slowly, dragging his hips back before pushing softly forward, repeating the motion. He desperately wants to snap his hips against hers, to make her cry out in pain, to disregard her comfort, but he is not a monster, he reasons. Her innocence soaking his length is payment enough.

Remembering how her body had responded so positively to his affections the previous day, he tugs down her plunging neckline with two fingers, freeing the softness of her breasts, leaning down to press gentle kisses against them, before suckling a nipple into his mouth.

She moans quietly, her body loosening up, becoming less tense beneath his, making it feel more pleasurable for him in turn. He means to be gentle with her, he really does, but feeling her grow wetter around him makes it impossible for him not to speed up his thrusts, driving into her faster, harder, causing her to whine and whimper as he trails his mouth across her chest. So lost in the sensation of her, he barely registers her delicate fingers clutching desperately at his hair and shoulders.

He knows he is done for when she squeezes around him, he knows he ought to pull out, to spill himself across the creamy white skin of her lower belly and thighs, but she is so warm, so wet, so tight around him that he cannot bring himself to leave her. He finds himself chasing his own end inside of her, his hips moving of their own accord, until finally, with a blinding white heat that tingles at the very base of his spine, he groans loudly, pulsating and spending inside of her in hot, powerful spurts.

Allowing himself a moment to settle against her, he basks in the warm afterglow of his peak, before pulling slowly out, disentangling his limbs from hers as his breath comes in shallow pants. He kneels up on the bed, pulling his trousers back over himself and fastening them. He allows himself to drink in the sight of her, her dress and hair in utter disarray, the sticky mess between her legs, her kiss swollen lips and faraway stare. Utter perfection.

It is not until he stands from the bed, smoothing over his clothing and hair with his hands that she finally comes back to reality and pulls herself up to rest upon her elbows. “Where are you going?”

“Back to my chambers,” he says coolly, “I have gotten what I wanted.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, worry lacing her tone, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Your bastard brother took my eye. Now I’ve taken the only thing that makes you worth a damn.”

Her voice wobbles, tears rimming her eyes as they widen in realisation, pulling at her dress to cover herself. “You said you would marry me…”

“I lied.”

“Why?! Why me?!”

He shrugs. “You made it easy. You might want to have the maester brew you a tea though, unless the bastard also wants a bastard.”

“I will tell my mother,” she whispers tearfully.

“Go ahead. I will deny it. Who will believe you? If you birth a silver haired babe, there is nothing to suggest that it is not a result of my brother forcing himself upon you, or perhaps our uncle. Your mother was younger than you, I believe, when he first started to show an interest in her. So if I were you, I would have the tea brewed and keep quiet, unless you wish to be branded a whore as well as a bastard.”

“You are a monster!” She spits, shoulders shaking as she sobs.

“Drīves, talus,” he utters, turning to leave her bedchamber. “Ñuha drīva issa.” Justice, niece. I have justice.

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

"Please stop asking how I got in here," the white haired kid said, annoyance laced in his voice, "All I want to know is if any of you can do detective work in the supernatural world!"

Constantine just barely opened his mouth before the kid turned on him, "Not you! You have terrible reviews!"

Bruce tensed as Lazarus green eyes locked on him, "How about you? You're the worlds greatest detective, right? I know you probably won't take gold as payment since Bruce Wayne is your sugar daddy, but I can offer up information on the Infinite Realms instead!"

Batman, calm and collected even as Green Arrow and Flash snickered from across the room, "Infinite Realms?"

Phantom grinned, "Is that an agreement? Cause Prince Psaro could really use your help. He has so many questions, and the answers may save his life. You want to save the life of a teenage boy surrounded by demons and monsters, don't you?"

Bruce stared at the teen, not looking away even with Constantine motioning not to agree, Bruce nodded.

And in a moment, they were gone. They reappeared in a grand hall with a ruby eyed teenager looking impossibly small from his place on the massive throne. Silver hair shined oddly in the light of the purples flames that danced in the sconces, making the boy seem more ethereal.

"Hey Psaro!" The white haired kid from before greeted, "I brought you a detective like you asked. Don't forget you have to teach me magic now!" The first teen vanished without a trace leaving Batman and what he now recognized as an angsty goth alone together.

As it turns out Psaro had many questions and offered to pay him a generous amount in gold each day.

Some of his questions include:

What kingdom was my human mother a princess of?

Why can't I remember key information from my childhood, such as my brothers very existence?

I was framed for the murder of all of the "Chosen Heros" loved ones. How do I prove im innocent before he comes to take off my head?

Why do Rose's tears shatter?

Is there a way to stop his younger brother from destroying the world without caging him or killing him?

Ect.

Bruce has his work cut out for him, but between the mysterious white haired kid popping in now and then to give him cryptic conversations, the team on litteral monsters he was given to defend himself with, and his access to royal libraries and vaults this might not be so bad

[firefly-fez]

As a proud promoter of ‘Morgana was right all along, actually’ rhetoric I would like to reblog this with my support and clarify what I mean

Like, yes. She was evil. She became evil. She lost a desire for justice and became fixated on vengeance and cruelty.

The reason she lost her desire for justice is so… beautiful? To me?

It’s just. She stops being obedient, stops listening to authority. The virtues of obedience depend entirely on the virtues of the authority one is obedient to, and in Morgana’s case, authority is unjust and cruel, so she’s justified to disobey. She tries to go to people that she trusts for help, telling Gaius about her dreams, but he lies to her. He literally gaslights her about her own magic, and to a lesser degree, so does Merlin. So she doesn’t listen to anyone around her. She doesn’t have support, doesn’t have community, she feels so alone and terrified that she jumps at the first chance to connect with someone who tells her the truth about her magic - Morgause. She’s so alone and isolated and desperate to not feel like she’s crazy that she’s so vulnerable and it’s the perfect recipe for someone to take advantage of her, and that’s exactly what Morgause does. She wants to bring Uther down, but she doesn’t really hnderstand what she’s doing when she is made the vessel for the curse upon Camelot, she’s alone and afraid and by some force of mercy, Merlin is helpful and kind so she trusts him… and he poisons her. He didn’t have another choice, not really. But everything she trusted failed her. She stops trusting anybody but herself. There’s no one to tell her when she’s gone too far, not anymore. Arthur has accountability around him when he makes a mistake, and that drives him to make amends when he kills out of cruelty or vengeance. Morgana doesn’t. She was persecuted in Camelot and abandoned by Gaius and made an outcast in the only home she’d ever known. She goes too far when she tries to have Uthur killed after Gwen’s father is executed and at first, she is repentant when she sees Uther’s remorse. But Uther’s mercy is fickle and few, and Morgana’s mercy to him dies alongside his mercy to others. The next time she tries to have him killed she doesn’t regret it. At first, it’s just Uther she hates. When she learns her parentage, that she has a claim to the throne of Camelot, it’s a turning point for her. She sees Camelot as rightfully hers. With so much denied to her, so much of her own safety and security denied to her, the perception of Camelot as rightfully hers changes her. She turns against Gwen as a threat to something that she, Morgana, deserves. By this point, it’s all hatred and revenge fuelling Morgana.

Arthur is a good man, but he wasn’t always. He used to be arrogant prat who killed sorcerers on his father’s orders. He saw sorcerers persecuted and stood by and watched. He turned a blind eye to suffering time and time again out of a desire to prove his worth to his father. People stood by Arthur and supported him and that helped him to change for the better.

(Merlin made mistakes, too, but he had support from people who knew who he was from the start. Lancelot and Freya knew his identity as a sorcerer and validated it, and Gaius was a moral support who understood his magic that he had from day one.)

No one did that for Morgana.

It just makes so much sense that she was driven to hatred.

Her emotional character arc is just…. *chefs kiss*

Morgana conquered Camelot twice and declared herself Queen. And what she did after that?

She killed innocent civilians. She burned their crops. She let their children starve. She tortured and killed the Knights. She tortured Gwaine by forcing him to fight for her own amusement. And then she tried to help magic users like her! ah no, she didn’t lol

I mean, i love Morgana because she’s a good villain and Katie is freaking amazing, but DON’T TELL ME she was fighting for freedom and justice 😭 Don’t tell me she was fighting for her people. She didn’t care about them.  As someone said in another post “Morgana’s quest was personal vengeance disguised as revolution”. She wanted vengeance and power, she wasn’t doing all this horrible things for revolution and for a change. Mordred KNEW she was bad, but he joined her because at some point he had something to avenge himself.

Just because you sympathize with an antagonist or villain, doesn’t mean they aren’t an antagonist or villain^^“ Morgana had good intentions in season 1 and 2, but after that? Nope!

[franzkafkagf]

Thinking about the three times Criston Cole is mentioned in the main series. The first two mentions of Criston come from the POV of Arys Oakheart, a member of the Kingsguard whose soiled white cloak mirrors Cole’s own. He thinks about Criston, it's clear he does not really know what to make of this man; what were his motives, what goals did he chase? Criston and Rhaenyra. Arys and Arianne. Duty and Love.

All things come round again. The dragon eats its own tail, just as House Targaryen once cannibalized itself. The wheel turns, and the same patterns repeat. One knight kneels to defend the birthright of two women while the other took up the sword to cast a woman down from her throne.

When Arys sinks to one knee before Arianne and swears his sword to her, he casts himself as her champion and protector, a righteous defender of her claim. He is everything Criston Cole was not—or so he believes. Criston abandoned Rhaenyra for ambition or resentment, while Arys protects Arianne for love and justice. Ser Arys the Righteous, the knight who will stand where Criston faltered. A Queenmaker come to set right the wrongs a Kingmaker wrought long ago.

The final mention of Criston Cole comes from Jaime's POV as he gazes upon the White Book.

The White Book is sparse, reduced to titles and deeds, devoid of the messy truths behind them. Ser Criston did not simply make a king—he destroyed a king’s will. He did not merely defend the customs of the Andals—he sparked a war that tore the dragons from the skies and broke the might of House Targaryen. Ser Criston Cole, a knight of a house so minor its sigil is forgotten, shaped the fate of empires. "Kingmaker," they call him. Not oathbreaker.

"Kingslayer," they call Jaime. A villain. A man of no honor. Oathbreaker. Like Criston, he betrayed his king—but the meaning of that betrayal is lost in the shadow of the act itself. Jaime slew Aerys to save thousands. Criston betrayed Rhaenyra for Aegon, for ambition, for duty—or perhaps for nothing more than wounded pride. The truth of Criston’s motives, like Jaime’s, has been buried.

The wheel spins endlessly, grinding down the truth until only fragments remain: Criston the Kingmaker. Jaime the Kingslayer. One who made a king, the other who killed one. And what goes around comes around.

[jedimaesteryoda]

Every once in a while on Twitter (not X, Elon can go screw himself), someone circulates a complaint about A Song of Ice and Fire that is basically some version of "GRRM's series is nihilistic where everyone is gray, there are no heroes and villains, or heroes die and villains win compared to Tolkien's magnum opus where there are clear heroes and villains with the heroes being upright and good always wins."

It's written by people who either never read nor understood the series nor understands the author.

Firstly, Martin himself is a fan of Tolkien stating "I revere Lord of the Rings, I reread it every few years, it had an enormous effect on me as a kid," and is such a huge fan of Tolkien he complains of "Tolkien imitators" who "cheapened it. The audience were being sold degraded goods. I thought: 'This is not how it should be done.' "

Tolkien was a clear inspiration for Martin's magnum opus given in the same interview he stated "I wanted to combine the wonder and image of Tolkien fantasy with the gloom of historical fiction." You can even find nods to Tolkien throughout the series from names like "Oakenshield" to a dwarven heir to a mighty mountain fastness filled with gold. Underneath the gloom on the surface, there is a layer of Tolkien-esque romanticism.

ASOIAF isn't nihilistic. No one would call characters like war criminal and murderer-rapists like Gregor Clegane, Ramsay Bolton and Euron Greyjoy or the vivisectionist and torturer Qyburn morally grey. There are heroes like Brienne of Tarth who risked her life in a hopeless fight to save an inn full of orphans, Sam who stayed with Gilly and her babe beyond the Wall in a forest filled with wights and Dunk who defended a puppeteer from a prince. Then, there is Daenerys whose experience as a domestic abuse victim and child bride lead her to put her plan to take back the Iron Throne on hold to liberate slaves.

My own heroes are the dreamers, those men and women who tried to make the world a better place than when they found it, whether in small ways or great ones. Some succeeded, some failed, most had mixed results… but it is the effort that’s heroic, as I see it. Win or lose, I admire those who fight the good fight. -George R.R. Martin

These characters go out of their way to help others and live up to their ideals in a world they know won't reward them for it. That's what helps to make their actions truly heroic. In the end, it's their striving that sets them apart.

The ones who are villains don't seem to win in the end. Tywin was killed by his own abused son on the privy over his mistreatment of a peasant girl, and his legacy is already crumbling. Jaime lost his sword hand and is becoming increasingly disillusioned with his house, slowly realizing that they're not the good guys. The Boltons are facing a rebellion and their new bannermen don't want Ramsay as their liege lord. More Freys have been killed as a result of the Red Wedding than fighting for Robb, and they're being overextended. Not to mention, one of their victims has come back from the dead to enact vengeance on their house. House Greyjoy is destined to fall to ruin as the Greyjoys suffer and die in their fruitless pursuits for crowns.

It's also a superficial reading of Tolkien. Tolkien has moments in his series where heroes fail like Isildur, the guy who slew Sauron, failing to do the one thing he needed to do to end the threat for all time by keeping the One Ring, and Frodo, the purported hero of the series, doing the same thing at the end. Thorin Oakenshield refused to provide money to the people of Lake-town over the destruction of their city at Smaug's hands as a result of his party's actions. There's also plenty of stories of heroes failing in The Silmarillion like Turin.

Both are great series in their own right, and if you don't like Martin's series, that's okay, no series is for everyone. But don't mischaracterize it and pit it against a dumbed down, mischaracterized version of Tolkien's work.

[wareagleofthemountain]

Here’s a compilation of all my behind the scenes HCs that I imagine Thranduil and his queen shared in their domestic lives

Being that they often stayed up late working on paperwork, battle strategies, and other royal duties, Thranduil and his wife had a mental cookbook of DIY recipes. This came from the countless times they’ve whipped up a last minute dish made from leftovers at 2 AM. Including desserts and, as a law, they feed each other a spoonful of whipped cream whenever one of them takes the container out.

Thranduil’s wife loves to tease him for having a “Doriath accent” whenever he speaks in Elvish. Which he of course passes on to Legolas. Sometimes, when he’s pronounced a word particularly heavy in his Doriath inflection, she’ll chuckle and repeat it back to him just as he said it so he can’t deny his accent as he always does. But, for all her teasing, she thinks his speech is adorable.

Thranduil has a slightly lopsided smirk due to the burn scars on the right side of his face. Even with his masking spell, the right half of his lip droops down when he smiles.

Thranduil’s wife always takes care when approaching him on his blind side, touching his shoulder and gently brushing her body against his side to make him known of her presence before she speaks lest she startle him.

Thranduil wears low cut v-necks at his wife’s request. She loved to brush her fingers over his collarbone whenever she passed him as a sign of affection so he made it a point to keep that area accessible to her.

No personal space for the queen. Although she had her own throne, Thranduil much preferred to hold her in his lap with his chin atop her head during meetings.

Every night before bed and every morning before breakfast, Thranduil rests his head in his wife’s lap and holds her free hand as the other works healing salve into his scars. She’s the only one, besides his healers when he��d first been burned, that he allows himself to drop his protective shield around. He was fearful at first that she may be put off by what she saw, but she only loved that part of him fiercely and shamelessly.

Thranduil’s elk and the queen are very close. He often follows her around whenever she goes for a walk, and he’ll still try to follow her even when Thranduil is trying to ride him in a different direction. The king will have to tug on his reigns and put in a good deal of effort to get his mount on a different path.

The white gems were a just because gift for his wife, as Thranduil was so thankful to be married to her that he often surprised her with gifts.

When meetings become long and dull without any important topics being discussed, Thranduil and his wife will entertain themselves by passing a paper back and forth. The rest assume that they are just taking notes, but really they’re drawing. Someone starts on the picture and they pass it around, adding on to it until the meeting is over. The end result is always interesting and Thranduil has a locked drawer in his office where he keeps them.

The queen and baby Legolas often drop by the king’s throne room and bring him flowers they’ve picked while out on a walk.

The night Thranduil was crowned king, before his official ceremony, his wife and son crowned him in their bedchamber after everyone had finished getting dressed. They didn’t have a silken red carpet so the queen rolled out a long red bath towel. They didn’t have a royal scepter so toddler Legolas fetched a branch he’d brought inside. But they did have the crown, so Thranduil took a knee before his wife and she said, “by the power vested in me by Prince Legolas Greenleaf of the woodland realm, I name you king Thranduil Oropherion. Leader, protector, and defender of our land.” She placed the crown atop his head, Legolas tapped his shoulders with the stick, and Thranduil tackle hugged them both. He’d never felt more like a king than in that moment, and he always considered this his true right to rule.

The king and queen dislike being apart longer than absolutely necessary, and never tire of each other’s company. The queen considers their marriage as having an eternal sleepover with her best friend. Which is accurate as I think they have been close since childhood.

They made a game of hiding one of Legolas’s stuffed toys in various places around the palace. Once it’s found, it’s the other’s turn to hide it.

They can’t sleep unless they’re cuddling.

Whenever someone new moves into their kingdom, Thranduil and his wife make them a welcome gift basket filled with local plants and foods, as well as a few household staples.

The couple are good friends with Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian. However, the Queen and Celebrian are on another level. They’re practically sisters and declare a “no boys allowed” hang out session whenever they visit. They just wanna drink wine, try on dresses, and plot to take over the world (but you didn’t hear that from me).

When they were pregnant, the ladies took turns hosting vacation weekends at their estates.

Thranduil gets rather possessive of his wife when around human men, keeping his arm wrapped around her at all times and glaring if someone stares at her a moment too long. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her, it’s just that he knows human males aren’t as well mannered as elven men. Plus they tend to stare more and he hates that. Same for dwarves.

They rarely ever argue as the couple has always made it a point in their relationship to be open with one another. There is truly nothing that can’t be discussed between them.

The first time the queen saw how terrifying and brutal Thranduil could be in a battle, she was actually quite scared and it took him a few days to ease her back into feeling comfortable around him.

Whenever they go out for a ride in winter, Thranduil always seats her on the saddle in front of him and hides her in his cloak with her back pressed against his warm chest.

He’s definitely the type to shamelessly check out his wife from atop his throne as she walks by. They also playfully flirt with one another whenever they can.

Thranduil loves to nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck from behind, his arms wrapped around her waist.

Sad, but the Queen’s body had been so brutalized by orcs that there was not enough of it to bring back for a proper burial, so Thranduil ordered the statue be built in place of a grave. On his worst nights, when he’s absolutely sure no one is around and fails to drink himself to sleep, he’ll curl up on the forest floor at the foot of the statue for some sort of comfort in order to close his eyes. He also sometimes pays it a visit just to plant more flowers and tell it about his day or how much Legolas has grown. Obviously he knows it’s an inanimate object, but he misses her so much.

He and the Queen have an inside joke involving Elros. Thranduil had hired the guard himself without the presence of his wife, so it wasn’t until the next day that Elros encountered the Queen while standing watch at Thranduil’s side during a public audience. The Queen was never one for formality so she was easily mistaken by him as a commoner due to her simple attire. When she’d attempted to step out onto the stage beside her husband as he spoke, Elros drew his blade and told her that she was standing too close to the king. Now, sometimes when she’s standing near Thranduil, she’ll take a few steps back and say “wouldn’t want to stand too close to his Majesty” with a wink. It makes Thranduil grin in amusement and Elros blush terribly.

Thranduil is constantly holding his wife’s hand.

During holidays, the queen sees to decorating the palace herself and always comes up with at least one fun craft for her and Thranduil to try each season.

[nighthaunting]

I know we’re all just clowning here on tumblr dot com but I do think the perception of Morgott as like, ultra-religious and sort of blindly following the Golden Order despite their hatred of Omens is a really contextless reading of his situation.

If we read the description of his great rune it says:

That the Omen King was born of the golden lineage, and that he was indeed the Lord of Leyndell.

Morgott was the rightful ruler of Leyndell, Omen or not that was his golden city full of people who would revile him if they knew of his true origin.

I think his motives are less someone who’s tricked themselves into believing in something that hates him and more someone who’s wanted a place where he belongs for so long that now that there’s finally a place that he provably has a right to he’s never leaving.

Morgott isn’t deluded about what the Golden Order is or he’d never have invented the Veiled Monarch. Even the lines about his becoming the Erdtree’s protector don’t really indicate he had a particularly faith-based reason for doing so, but rather that he found that he came to love the Erdtree despite not knowing love.

Morgott is the gothic heroine who just inherited a big cursed estate but he wants a place that’s his own so bad he moves into the haunted house anyway and starts loving the architecture despite it being full of ghosts that hate him.

Morgott who led the Night’s Cavalry to hunt Tarnished, and beat the shit out of Rahdan, and launched the Seige of Mt. Gelmir and prosecuted the bloodiest and most costly war in the Shattering is not a guy who is getting his blind fundamentalist on, he’s a guy who’s decided that he’ll pile up a mountain of corpses before he lets anyone take away or threaten his place and is willing to be extremely proactive about defending it.

Editing to add:

And see the thing is, I think there’s even more nuance to it than just Morgott finally having a scrap of something to call his own and being willing to defend it with all his might!

In hindsight, I actually think Morgott had a better idea than anyone what the Tarnished would eventually have to do to get to the Elden Throne.

His dialogue as he’s dying makes it clear he’s known about the thorns blocking the way into the Elden Throne and been considering every way anyone might get through them.

In his dialogue as Margit in Stormveil, he says very specifically “the flame of ambition” and speaks of snuffing that flame.

I think Morgott realized that the only way a Tarnished could get into the Elden Throne would be to burn the Erdtree, and not only has he come to love this fixture of the haunted house he chooses to live in, but he knows that burning the Erdtree would destroy the place he calls his own.

Is it any wonder he’s so proactively trying to stop any Tarnished from even approaching Leyndell in the first place, when in his eyes it wouldn’t be unreasonable to view a sufficiently powerful Tarnished as a direct threat to the piece of the Lands Between that he’s carved out for himself?

[helenofsparta2]

One thing I’ll never be able to forgive Game of Thrones, especially the later seasons, is the way they warped the conception of so many characters, and completely dumped down their complexity.

Jon Snow is not my favourite character because he is this perfect, always noble hero, who is a great, badass swordfighter.

He is my favourite character because, while he is more morally righteous than a lot of other characters, he can be bitter, and sarcastic and ruthless. Because he used to be arrogant and thought of himself as better than his brothers at the nights watch because of his upbringing but learned to overcome his prejudices again and again and again, first towards the men at the watch, then later towards the wildlings. Because he has always been jealous of Rob and secretly dreamed of being lord of Winterfell, but still refuses Stannis’ offer to get legitimized because of his oaths and because he defends Sansa’s and Arya’s claims. Because he has a strong inner conflict between his intense, often romanticized, desire to someday have a wife and children, he could name after Robb, and his position as a bastard and as Lord Commander of the Night’s watch. Because he tries so hard to be a son Ned Stark would be proud of and tries to be as honorable as he has always been taught, but would still drop his oaths to save his family any day.

Because he makes mistakes as Lord Commander, which cost him his life in the end, but is one of the only characters who sees the big picture and whose efforts will be vital in defeating the Others. Because he is hunted by the ghosts of teh dead. Because he is a Warg, and deeply involved in the magical side of a song of ice and fire, but most of the time acts as pragmatic as possible. Because he is able to win the respect of Stannis, of Aemon, of Lord Commander Mormont, of many brothers of the night’s watch, in spite of his parentage. Because in a world, where bastards are mostly seen as deceitful and dangerous, and their existence has often caused rebellions and wars, especially within the Targaryen dynasty, he loves his family more than anything and is seen as a symbol of safety and home by Arya, Sansa and Bran. Because while Catelyn Stark feared he would someday endanger her children’s birth rights, he is the one, that defends it the most.

Daenerys Targaryen is not one of my favourite characters because she is a Targaryen queen who has dragons and burns slavers, but because she is a young girl who has gone through immense suffering, but still tries desperately to be a good queen.

She makes mistakes, she can be hypocritical and ruthless, she lacks wisdom and experience. She is the mother of dragons, and has close to no idea how to raise and train them. She is disillusioned about Viserys and her father, and is the antithesis to the entire Targaryen dynasty, but still clings to every new piece of information about her brother Rhaegar. She desires to have a home and a family, and wants power not for the sake of power, but because she wants the ability to make the lives of other people better and protect those who can not protect themselves. She wants her kingdom to be beautiful, full of fat men, and pretty maids and laughing children. She is one of the most powerful characters in the books, the one who brought dragons back, and will break the system, but often does not know how to do that and sometimes does not know how to deal with the consequences of her actions. She listens to the smallfolk and nobility alike. She is barely 16 years old in a dance with dragons but acts as an older sister figure to Missandei and a mother figure to her people.

Arya Stark is not one of my favourite characters because she is a cold assassin, and “not like other girls”, but because Arya “underfoot” gets along with soldiers and smallfolk alike and finds friends wherever she goes.

Because she has the wildness of the north in her, and is tomboyish, but doesn’t look down on feminine women and girls. She uses her list as a coping mechanism after seeing her father die. She tries to become this strong assassin, but clings to the memories of her family, especially Jon, and her home. She is (probably) the second strongest Warg in the Stark family. She thirsts for revenge, and doesn’t hesitate to kill, but still has a strong sense of justice, and doesn’t lose her ability to socialize.

I could go on and on and on. I could talk about how Cersei is no cold, calculating player of the game, but a delusional, unpredictable, but very entertaining narcissist, or how Tyrion is becoming a revenge-obsessed, bitter villain. I could talk about Sansa, or the entirety of Dorne or about Stannis Baratheon, or so amny other characters.

George R. R. Martin has crafted so many complex, and fascinating characters in this rich wolrd and narrative, and their treatment in the later seasons of the Tv-show adaptation really make my soul bleed.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 7)

cregan x reader

A/N: yay more lord husband! (does a little dance) we're getting closer to the wedding and i can promise more trauma :)

series masterlist

word count: 1,182 words

You don’t find joy in Winterfell. You find a small sense of peace in its beauty but you are far too stubborn to be happy in the castle. There have been attempts at friendship. Sara Snow had likely been encouraged by her brother for her to try as many times as she did. You do like her but you also do not want to give anyone the idea that you may be settling in. This isn’t where you belong and everyone knows it. The servants talk just like the noblewomen that have begun to arrive for the wedding. They seem to enjoy the irony of your position, the fire princess whose heart is cold like ice. Perhaps the North was where you were meant to be after all. That is, if your life was a poem in a book. The servants also like to say that the fire in your hearth is always blazing so you can burn out your demons when you aren’t drowning your sorrows in the bathtub. The rumours always swirl around you. Perception is a fickle thing but you can’t bring yourself to care all too much, not when you know that talking about you is the most amusement they’ve had in all of their dull lives. Just a chance to look at your dragon would forge a story they would pass down for generations. You ride a dragon and all it takes for them is a glance.

Your family arrives today for the festivities. How kind it is of your mother to entrust her throne to your grandfather so she may attend her only daughter’s wedding. What a joyous occasion it is. You hear the murmurs as you stand next to Cregan in the welcoming party. You look tense and he notices it. You feel a large hand incase yours; you glare at him.

“It would be rude to let go.” He says softly as he looks ahead. You pull your hand from his grasp anyhow and he just huffs.

The carriages roll up. Your mother and Daemon step out first, a pleasing smile gracing the Queen’s face. It’s strange how proprietary causes you not to greet each other until the whole family is present. You just kind of look at one another awkwardly until your siblings walk up as well. Though, you find that little Aegon doesn’t seem to care much for proprietary. As soon as your little brother lays eyes on you, he’s running right over. He calls out your name before launching himself into your arms and you hold him close.

“I missed you so much! Joffrey has been such a bother since you’ve left.”

You laugh. “Oh, has he now?” It seems that the formal greetings have been forgotten as Joffrey comes over as well.

“I have not been a bother.” He defends and he lets you pull him in for a side hug. You didn’t know you could still smile like this.

Cregan knows he shouldn’t be surprised by the affection. It is common knowledge that your family was happy even in the isolation of Dragonstone, but to see you act so tender, it shocks him. He’s never seen you behave in a way other than cold and yet, your little brother is in your arms and looking at you like you’re about to give him the world on a platter. It makes his heart soften.

~~~

After settling in, Rhaenyra visits your new chambers with Baela, Rhaena and a servant in tow.

“Your rooms appear to be comfortable.” Your mother comments.

“They are.” You say in response. Conversation used to flow freely between the two of you but now small talk is all you can seem to accomplish.

“Your dress is finally ready. We were almost worried that the seamstress’ wouldn’t complete it in time.” Rhaena says, gesturing to the servant to bring over the gown.

“It will definitely live up to your vision.” Baela comments. 

You wanted something different, something new. You admire your mother’s style greatly but you wanted to have your own in your new home. That’s why the skirts of your dress are fuller and the sleeves more puffed. You will wear black and red to show where you came from but the style of the gown shows how you’re your own person. The gown still holds much of the King’s Landing structure so you can make the change in style gradual and it holds hints of how northern women dress so it’s more likely for them to copy you, even if there’s no reason for them to not copy the Lady of Winterfell. Well, you perhaps shouldn’t say that. There is still one reason. You are not one of their own and bringing in elements of how they decorate themselves will never change that.

“It’s perfect.” You say in a pleased tone.

“It’s more than perfect.” Baela cuts in. “I’ll be getting married to Jace soon. How am I ever supposed to top that?”

“You simply will not.” You say in a cheeky tone and she slaps your arm.

“The both of you will be more than beautiful on your wedding days, just in very different ways because you are very different.” Rhaenyra muses before she grabs your hand. “How are you?” She asks you and you know how much your mother cares about the answer.

“Cold.” You say. You aren’t quite sure what she wanted to hear.

“Well the warm months will come soon. Have you settled in nicely?”

What do you even say to that? Does she want the truth or the assurance that she hasn’t done something to ruin your life?

“I’m not too sure of that answer yet. It truly doesn’t feel like I have been here for long.” Perhaps you will ruin her day tomorrow instead.

“Things will likely fall into place after the wedding. Once you take up your new status, you will see how these things are for the best, my sweet girl.” Her words don’t feel like assurance as much as a command. Calling you her sweet girl barely softens it.

“Of course.” You confirm but don’t hide a single emotion. The irritation you feel is clear on your features.

Not wishing for an argument to come forth, Rhaena speaks up. “Winterfell is so beautiful and i’m quite antsy from the travel if you would be so kind as to give me a tour, sister?”

“Oh yes!” Baela chirps in. “You ought to take us to the gardens. I want to see if Weirwood trees truly have the faces of the old gods trapped in them.”

“Is trapped the right word?” Rhaena asks as you all stand.

“Will you accompany us, my Queen?” You ask Rhaenyra formally.

“I’m very tired. I think I will rest in my chambers.” 

You just think that talking to you pains her more than she wants to put up with. You try not to care as you take each of your sister’s arms but you won’t play nice to fix a relationship she ruined. You miss your mother but your stubbornness won’t allow it.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi

Lord husband: @feyres-fireheart @possiblyafangirl @hb8301 @marihoneywk @youn-jo @velvet-spider @janelongxox @ninastyless @nyctophilic0vitnir @m-a-s-h-k-a @delicious-xx @weepingfashionwritingplaid @happinessinthebeing @betelrus @joliettes @black-swan-blog27 @mxtokko @valeridarkness @karolalolla @satan-s-ass @synindoodles @a-beaverhausen @petertingle3000 @lunnnix @hermaeusmorax

lmk if i forgot u

[chibsandchill]

It all starts with a smile

Fandom: HOTD (House of the dragon)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x AFAB!reader (no use of Y/N or pronouns)

Summary: Aemond must learn how to move on from the past and lead his people into a time of peace. Only, he has forgotten how to live without war.

Warnings: Grammar and spelling errors (english is not my native language), short (1322 words), some angst if you squint

Masterlist

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

The smell of lavender fills the room as you fuss with his hair. It is shorter than it has ever been – reaching just above his shoulders. It feels freeing, in a strange way. His long hair had been a shield, but he is done hiding. It is only right that you be the one to cut it for you had been there to witness his victory. 

“And what do you want?” 

“A smile, Aemond, ‘tis all I ask for.”

His lips quirk ever so slightly. He hasn't smiled in what felt like centuries – hasn't had a reason to. It doesn't fit him anymore (he doesn't know how). 

A mere twitch is all he can manage. 

“Perhaps my lady should wish for something more… attainable. A king has as much need for a smile as a-” 

A frown appears on your face and he wonders where he misstepped. His father had smiled. Plenty. Though not at him or his siblings. And he had almost led their house to ruin. A smile did little when faced with dragonfire. 

“It is time for peace now. And a king of peace has as much use of a kind smile as he does his right hand. The people need soothing – reassurance that all will be well again. That they will not have to send their sons to die or their daughters to pillow houses.” You move closer and Aemond holds his breath. He does not fear your touch, but his skin crawls at the thought of it. He can almost feel the water of that damned lake filling his throat again. 

“Your grandfather taught you much, Aemond, but this? The art of keeping the power he took and pleasing the smallfolk, that evaded him. In the end he was too much like the dragons he surrounded himself with.”

He wants to defend Otto, the words burn in his throat. “He was a great man.”

“Yes, he was.” You nod. “But not a good one.”

“No, but few men are.”

His eyes glance at the door, almost expecting his grandsire to storm through it shouting at him. His body prepares for a strike, but it never comes, just as the door remains shut. Otto is dead, but his mind still screams at him to defend his blood. His skin crawls at the neglect, at the words of weakness he let slip. 

Your hand cups his face. You’re on his weak side. He refuses to turn. 

“A soft touch.” You say. “The realm has been ruled by an iron fist for so long that even the ground has forgotten what it is like.” 

So you had noticed him stiffening. Another crack in his crumbling mask. Vulnerability seeps out like blood from a wound. Somewhere under it lay a scared boy, Aemond is sure. He still feels like he’s in the halls of Driftmark sometimes, with his eye in his hand and his father with his back turned. All alone. Scared. Scarred. 

He has no more allies. None bound by blood. And blood was all one could trust, Aemond had learnt that the hard way. And even then it is not guaranteed. His family cut him deeper than any. 

“A smile. A soft touch,” he repeats. Aemond grasps your hand in his and gently pulls it off his skin, “will not bring stability to a realm of chaos. A smile will not sway the hands of the thieves, or the rapists lurking in the dark. A soft touch will not bring back the sons or husbands of the thousands of widows. It will not bring back sisters, brothers, dragons.”

“No.” You agree. A frown pulls at your lips. Aemond almost puts your hand back on his face. “But it will not take any more. You cannot be a man of war in a time of peace, Aemond. Your life did not end in the battle above the Gods Eye.”

But Vhagar’s did. Vhagar fell. He is one half of a broken whole cursed to sit a throne that mocks him at every turn. His brother’s laughter haunts him when he sits on it, his grandfather’s leers scrutinizing his every decision from the place of the Hand, the smell of his mother’s blood followed by phantom pain when he misstepped. 

“No. It did not.” 

Your hand is back on his face, grasping at his jaw to guide him to you, to force him to meet your eyes. He allows it. Aemond doesn’t like the sharpness to your eyes as you look at him. What in him do you see that displeases you so? 

“You were shaped by bitter hands and hatred, but you are free of it now. We are free. Free to make mistakes. Free to… love.” 

Your eyes soften. 

“It is okay to grieve them just as it is okay to love them despite their faults, but you cannot let the memory of them keep you chained to the past. The future is yours for the taking, you need only grasp it.”

“I do not know how.” He confesses. The words were heavy on his tongue, and yet they are even heavier between you.

“A smile, My King. It begins with a smile.”

Again he tries, and again he fails. His lips twitch but it is more like a grimace than a smile. He knows anger, he knows sadness and he knows disgust. He doesn’t know this – doesn’t know the softness you spoke of, doesn’t understand the peace in your heart or the lightness to your steps. Rhaenyra never forgot. She smiled even in the end as Sunfyre devoured her whole. 

“Do you remember the night you claimed Vhagar?”

His scar itches. 

“Of course I do.”

You move closer again, though you do not reach for him. You kneel by his feet, your hands flat on your thighs. Your voice is as soft as the Maiden’s when you speak again. “What did you feel when you took to the skies as one for the first time?”

The words tumble from him before he can stop them. “Whole. Worthy. Happy.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

Aemond inclines his head, confused by the request. Unable to deny you, he thinks back on that night, before it all went wrong. And so he tells you of how he met Vhagar. Of how his legs shook terribly when he walked across the sand, how his heart stopped beating when her eyes met his and the bond was formed. Of how her scales felt against his calloused hands, her warmth against his skin, and her breath on his face. He tells you the color of her eyes, the scars on her legs, chest, the horns on her head, the shape of her scales and the stories her body carried. Aemond describes the climb up to her saddle and how he had to tie the heavy chains several times around his waist, barely managing to finish the last knot before Vhagar started moving. Vhagar was so large and heavy that each step shook the earth and he had never felt as small and yet so large as when he sat upon her. 

Somewhere in the story, Aemond loses himself, and the words keep coming but he no longer hears what he is saying. He’s back there – back on Vhagar. He feels her muscles moving under thick skin, feels her every inhale, every exhale and every grumble as she moves. Hears the thundering crack of her wings in the air, the wind through his hair. His heart feels full again, whole. 

The story ends, but the feeling stays. His chest feels lighter than it has in years.

“See, Aemond,” you say, “it – healing – starts with a smile.”

His fingers tremble as he raises them to his face. 

And there, 

stretching his lips in a motion so wholly unfamiliar that his face begins to ache, 

is a smile. 

Maybe there is hope for him after all. 

[the20thangel]

The Dragon and Raven

Chapter 7 (The Battle of Rook's Rest)

Chapter Summary: The Greens have made their move; it's time for the Blacks to defend. Aemma and Benjicot will lead their men in supporting Princess Rhaenys.

Note: There will be spoilers if you have yet to read the books or see ep 4.

Tags: Fluff with angst

Word Count: 2766 words

Keep track of the story: Masterlist

A war council was immediately called, and Aemma was frustrated. She barely had enough time to enjoy her night with her husband before the greens had to ruin it. As she waited for the council to start, Benji’s hand caressed her inner thigh, trying to relax her and ground himself. Rhaenyra walks into the room, prompting everyone to rise and bow to her before sitting back down in their seats. Rhaenyra sits at the top of the table as she signals for Jacaerys to start the meeting. 

Jace clears his throat, “We apologize for the early morning, but we received a letter from Lord Staunton, stating that the greens, specifically Criston Cole, have murdered Lord Darlyn and taken hold of his castle in Aegon’s name. He has pleaded for help to free him from their clutches, promising to join us in the fight for the Iron Throne should we succeed.” 

Everyone looked at each other tensely as the letter’s contents were read to the room. Aemma felt that something was not quite right. Why would the greens ransack Duskendale? She assumed they would have tried to avenge little Jaehaerys instead. Poor Jaehaerys, the little boy, was more Heleana than Aegon, another innocent lost to this war because of Queen Alicent’s delusions, thought Aemma as she closed her eyes. Benji, seeing his wife’s distress, squeezed her thighs, trying to ground her, receiving a slight grin. 

Aemma took a small breath and asked what the council was thinking, “Are we going to answer the call? This sounds like a trap…”  

Rhaenyra nodded. “Indeed, but trap or no trap, we need to show the people that we will support them in their struggles and not sweep away or ignore them. I will not start my reign ignoring my people like my father…. I loved my father, but he tended to ignore his oath as a protector of the realm.” 

The only one who outwardly agreed with the Queen’s statement was Daemon, who was always the one with first experience in those situations. 

“Who will be sent out to liberate Lord Staunton and his people?” asked Cregan, turning to the council, asking them more than the queen. 

Rhaenys raised her head proudly, “I will go in the queen’s name to liberate them; Meleys is one of the fastest and largest dragons we have.” 

As Rhaenyra fully agreed, four others did not agree Jacaerys, Aemma, Balea, and Corlys. They could not deny the Red Queen’s power, but they thought it was too risky to send just one dragon. 

“ Mother, I think we need to send more than one dragon… I do not doubt Meley’s power… but if Vhagar is there…having two or three dragons against one… it can ensure we finally get Aemond and avenge Luke.” Explained Aemma, knowing how to play her mother; if she saw it as the plan to get Aemond, she would be more easily influenced to allow other dragons to go and support her grandmother. 

“Yes, but sending three dragons would prove too risky, princess. Should the green knights harm a dragon, it will cause the possibility of losing more allies and dragons.” countered the knight representing the Vale. 

Aemma huffed; these knights have never seen dragons up close or the power of them. She understood their worries, but if they lost Meleys and Rhaenys, they would lose a significant advantage on the greens. 

“Then we don’t send the dragons alone. Allow me and my men to be the ground support for the dragons,” replied Benjioct, staring at the knight, tempting him to counter back. 

The Knight wisely bowed his head and returned his attention to the queen, who was trying not to smile at her good-son. 

Daemon agreed, “Then, with the Blackwood knights, we need to send another giant dragon and one of our juveniles; I wil-” 

“ Doar, Kepa , I will accompany my grandmother and husband. Sliverwing, is larger than Caraxes and can take on Vhagar if need be.” Countered Aemma, holding Benji's hand and quickly squeezing it. 

As much as both Rhaenyra and Daemon wanted to argue, they could not; Aemma made valid arguments on why Sliverwing should go and not Caraxes. Rhaenyra nodded as she turned to Baela and Jace, the only ones with Juveniles. 

Baela, noticing, quickly answered, “I will go with my cousin to protect our grandmother-” 

“No!” exclaimed Daemon, “I will not send out two of my three daughters!” 

Rhaenyra tried to comfort her husband, knowing that Daemon loved all three of his daughters fiercely. 

Aemma rose, “We are your daughters; you taught us the Creed of Prince Baelon. You taught us how to sword fight. We are the blood of the dragon and are ready to defend our family from those trying to cause harm; you cannot stop Baela or me.” 

Baela looked at her step-sister with gratitude. Aemma always had a calm fire compared to her raging fire. Aemma had enough of Daemon, Leanor, and Rhaenyra. While Baela had more of her father. 

Daemon and Aemma stared at each other, neither wanting to back down. Benjicot could only move his gaze to his wife, then to the prince, and back to Aemma. He was often pleasantly surprised with how much fire his wife burned. Benji then glanced at the queen, who made eye contact with him. Rhaenyra, noticing Benjicot, could only grin, sighing as she shook her head fondly. She knew who would break first. Then, after another beat, the council saw Daemon grumble before sitting down and taking a gulp from his wine. Aemma gave a victorious smile that many people stated looked like her mother’s as she backed down and turned to her husband, who could only smile loving back at her. 

Rhaenyra cleared her throat, attracting the attention back to her. “Then it's been decided: Princess Rhaenys, Princess Aemma, and Lady Baela will all go to Rooks Rest, with Lord Blackwood’s men following on the ground. My ladies and lord, I wish you a safe journey and swift victory for us. May you come back safe.” 

The four stood, bowed to their queen, and then walked out to prepare for the journey and potential battle. Aemma noticed her husband walking with her to her dragon; she raised an eyebrow in confusion. She wasn’t complaining about spending time with him but assumed he would have gone to his men. Benjicot noticed his princess’s confusion and grinned but didn’t answer. As Aemma came to her dragon, she noticed that her dragon looked different. Aemma greeted Sliverwing with a rub under her chin, causing the dragon to purr in delight. 

Walking towards the back, she noticed the difference. Her saddle had been replaced with a new one. It was still black and red but had little ravens etched in the sides. Her saddle was also wider than before. Aemma gasped at the beauty and turned to her husband, who let Sliverwing sniff his hand. 

“Was this your doing, Ben?” questioned Aemma. 

Benji smiled at her, a dazzling smile that made Aemma’s heart flutter. He walked towards her, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. 

“Yes, it is my wedding gift to you. I hope you like it...” Benji said as he stared into his wife's violet eyes, seeking approval. 

“I love it, and it's wider… possible to allow the said lord to accompany me more on flights,” answered Aemma, staring lovingly at her raven. 

Benjicot smirked before leaning closer towards her, the lips barely touching as he replied, “That was the plan, my wife…” 

Aemma hmmed as she closed the gap between them, passionately kissing her husband. Benjicot answered by playfully biting her lip, asking permission to enter her mouth. Aemma allowed her husband as their tongues danced with each other, placing her arms around his neck. Both felt the fire in their bellies grow again, Benjicot growling as he continued to devour his wife in kisses. Aemma was about to unbutton his shirt when they heard a sharp cough. Aemma and Benjicot jumped and turned; to their horror, Princess Rhaenys was staring at them with a brow raised. Quickly, the couple separated from each other. 

Rhaenys chuckled, “Lord Blackwood, I would assume you would be with your men preparing to depart for Rooks Rest, no?” 

Benjicot gulped as he nodded. Glancing at his wife, he gave a wistful smile before turning and rushing back to camp. Aemma sighed, watching Benji leave in a hurry before smiling bashfully at her grandmother, who turned and came to her and caressed her face. 

“I’m glad you and your lord husband are growing to love each other, but I need to remind you duty must sometimes come first, sweet girl. Do not get distracted, especially when going to battle.” 

Aemma nodded, understanding her grandmother, as she turned to her dragon, ensuring Sliverwing was prepared. Baela later came with Moondancer, and her lips also looked slightly swollen. Aemma gave her a knowing smirk as Baela's eyes widened before turning away. Rhaenys stared at her granddaughter before chuckling again. 

“Go say your goodbyes. We will be departing soon.” 

Aemma turned and returned to camp, looking for her husband, bumping into Aly. As she hugged Alysanne, she asked if she had seen Benjicot, who pointed out that he had turned to his tent after preparing the men. Nodding in thanks, she walked to the tent. Entering, Aemma noticed many gifts laid out in front of the bed. Benjicot was clamping on his red cape with the Blackwood clamp, seeing his wife. 

“They brought in the gifts from last night; I haven’t looked at them. I wanted to wait until you came.” 

Aemma nodded before going towards him, ignoring the gifts. She straightened out his cape before taking his hand and kissing it tenderly. 

“You will be careful. Don’t do anything rash, and come back to me.” She whispered, staring at her husband's eyes, who softened and stared back. 

“As long as you keep your promise as well.  If Vhagar is there and it seems too dangerous, let Sliverwing roar as a signal to fall back and turn to camp,”  Benjicot replied as he placed his forehead to hers. 

For a moment, a dragon princess and her raven lord stood there. Taking solace in their company before, Benjioct gave her one more kiss and walked out to his men. As Aemma followed, she saw him get on his horse, his aunt next to him, before he waved at her and commanded his men to start riding. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aemma and Baela were flying around Rook’s Rest, High enough to be safely covered by the clouds as they waited for their Grandmother and the Blackwood army to arrive. They did not need to wait long once, hearing Meleys roar and seeing the Red Queen dragon burn a lot of machines from the green’s side. Aemma squinted and noticed in anger they were scorpions. Those nasty worms wanted to use scorpions on their dragons. Aemma had to breathe; she knew the plan and would only fly down if Vhagar appeared. She saw red and black men meet green, and Aemma wondered how Benjicot was doing. Before she could wonder more, in the distance were two dragon roars, one smaller than the other. In shock, Aemma and Baela turned to see Sunfyre and Vhagar flying towards Meleys. 

Aemma turned to Baela, “Let me go first. I will catch them from behind. After a moment, join us, but stay away from Vaghar. Keep your attention on Sunfyre.” 

Baela nodded as she watched Aemma fly away, passing Sunfyre and Vhagar before turning around and down. As Aemma came behind the two dragons, Aemma and Rhaenys shouted Dracarys. Fire came from both sides, causing the Green brothers to swerve, trying to avoid the flames. Aemond turned to Aemma angrily as the dragon princess smirked tauntly, the same one that reminded him of Lucerys. Aemond turned Vhagar to Aemma and commanded the giant dragon to attack. Sliverwing, swifter and younger, turned away. Aegon stared at Aemma. She was here, fighting against him, but she was here nevertheless. She was so beautiful and fearless in fighting his brother. He knew his duty was to fight her, but he couldn’t as Meleys and Sliverwing continued to fight Vhagar. Aegon heard another flap close, turning he saw Baela speeding toward him. Aegon turned and shouted Dracarys, grunting as Moondancer easily dodged the flames. 

As the Dragons danced and screeched a head, Benjicot and Alysanne led the assault on the ground, killing as many green knights as possible. With their arrows and swords, both Blackwoods led a bloody mess. Benjicot grinned wildly, eyes rabid, noticing Ser Gwayne Hightower and Ser Cole becoming more upset with their armies. Benjicot commanded his aunt to send another wave of arrows as he rode forward, trying to reach the two knights. Then, Screams were heard from the sky, making everyone pause and stare in horror. 

Baela, at one point, flew too close to Vhagar and retreated to get away, causing Vhagar and Sunfyre to get to Meleys and rib the wings from the she-dragon. Rhaenys slipped from her saddle, and Aemma and Baela screamed in horror and anguish. Baela commanded Moondancer to fly fast, trying to reach her grandmother. Aemma made Sliverwing send fire to Vhagar, causing Aemond to turn. Moondancer scratched Sunfyre’s side when the dragon passed, causing Aegon to lose his balance and nearly slip off. Aemma, in anger, commanded Sliverwing to attack Sunfyre. When Sliverwing clamped her jaw on the yellow dragon, Aegon’s leg was close to Sunfyre’s side. Aegon let out a heart wretched yell as he and Sunfyre crashed to the ground. Aegon's last sight before blackening out was seeing Aemma's eyes filled with Hatred, and he thought, was that hatred for him? Baela yelled faster, and at the last second, she could catch Rhaenys, her grandmother’s body, crashing into Moondancer’s saddle unconsciously. Aemma breathed in relief before noticing Vhagar coming back. 

“Baela, take grandmother back; let a maester or healer look at her. We need to fall back. Go!” Aemma ordered. 

Baela nodded as she flew away, tears streaming down seeing Meleys’s body in flames. 

Benjicot raised his head as everyone in shock stared at where the two dragons had fallen. Cole rode off to get to Aegon. As Sliverwing screeched, Benji knew that was the signal. 

“Fall Back, we need to fall Back! Return to camp!” Shouted Benjicot, upset at the retreat but remembering his promise to his wife. He turned him and his aunt and led their troops back to Harenhall. It was a defeat for the Blacks but a small victory as well. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemma reported the events to her mother. Everyone was upset at Meleys death but happy that at least Rhaenys had survived. Aemma tiredly walked back to the tent, seeing Benjicot in the tent taking off his cloak. Aemma sighed as she hugged her husband from behind. 

“How is your grandmother,” asked Benji, turning to Aemma, who smiled weakly. 

“She is unconscious but is expected to have a speedy recovery,” Aemma commented, leaning her head to his chest and breathing in his scent, a woody scent mixed with blood from his clothes. 

“Come join me in a bath; I think we both need it,” asked Ben as he walked to the washing room, Aemma eagerly following him. 

Once bathed, Aemma, only wearing a silk and robe, began looking at the gifts they had; she noticed a small green box with a card attached to it, as she began to open the letter. When one of her mother’s ladies came in. Aemma walked towards her, with Benjicot coming to stand where she was, looking at the letter; as he listened to the news of Rhaenys waking up, he could not feel joy for his wife; he felt cold, staring at the letter before him. 

Aemma was overjoyed that her grandmother had awoken and told the lady that she would visit her in the morning, wanting to let her rest. She turned to Benji, smiling, but quickly lost it when she saw her husband's hardened eyes staring at the gift she had been looking at earlier. 

“Ben…. what’s wrong?” asked Aemma worriedly, flinching as his angered eyes turned to her. 

Benjicot closed his eyes and breathed. He did not mean to make her flinch. 

“Benji…” whispered Aemma. 

He opened his eyes, “What does he mean by ‘You know my heart is yours as yours is mine?” Benjicot asked, his eyes turning to hurt. 

Aemma stared at her husband and then to wretched gift, for she knew who sent it…. Aegon.

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Icy cool kittens

How the frostheim boys would be like as cats

Wc: 720

Jin

The fluffiest white Persian cat, he even came with his pedigree papers detailing his bloodline.

And as if he knew the fact he acts pompously too, specific about his wet food and how much you can touch him before he snaps and scratches you.

Fucker sleeps every hour of the day at the top of the cat tower, it's so hard to find him awake other than when he meows loudly at you to brush his hair

He will only meow when asking ordering something, be it the food you are eating, a door he wants open or for you to get Thoma off of his ‘throne’

If you want to cut his claws or do anything he would normally refuse to, for some reason classical music mellows him quite a bit.

Even if doesn't do it often when he screams at the kittens Luca and Kaito they stop everything immediately and keep quiet for about 10 whole minutes before causing a ruckus.

Thoma

He was the meanest but prettiest street cat you had ever seen on the streets, a beautiful coat even if it was matted and dirty with dust and cut in some places with scars from previous fights. Luckily he allows you to pick him up and after a shower and brushing he looks perfectly dashing like a show cat like Jin

For some reason he bonds with him really fast!! Seeing how Jin refuses to put in the effort to groom himself, unless it's to bring you the brush so you groom him, Thoma quickly steps up to lick him every morning like a mommy cat would with her kitty.

He doesn't like touch beyond minimum care but catnip tea gets him so high off of his mind he allows himself to sprawl on your tummy and make biscuits on it.

He is much more involved in whipping the kitties in line, quite to swipe a paw at them if they stand on the counters or claw at the furniture. He might even grab them from the scruff and hiss at them.

Kaito

A small cream Scottish fold with big eyes that don't have one single thought behind them.

He is the smallest of his bunch, when you rescued him from the alleyway his ribs were showing and his fur really matted and stiff. Luckily soon after you got him his appetite picked up and his weight became normal.

The cuddliest baby ever, whenever you sit down or lay down for any reason he is the quickest to rush to your lap or chest and starts purring up a storm. When you go to sleep please be careful to not kick him because he will be right next to your feet.

Every hour is zoomie hour dashing around the house, be it to burn energy or to run away from Luca who was attempting to play fight with him.

Luca

Another pedigree kitty, a beautiful British shorthair.

The man who gave him to you told him he has a habit of escaping to seek his littermate he was separated from too soon so be careful with your doors and windows.

Luckily enough his attempted escaping acts stops a few days after coming home and meeting Kaito he seems to have taken him as his missing brother and is stuck to him most of the day.

He seems to recognize his name and will go to you if you call him, but looks so sad if you call him ‘lucas’ rather than ‘luca’ for some reason, almost as if he was about to get scolded like a child. But at the end he is your child so it kind of fits.

When you open your eyes in the middle of the night he will be around your bed or door guarding you, fearful that you might get attacked at night and not be able to defend yourself, and sleep while you go to work/school and the others are wandering around.

He picks so many play fights with Kaito it isn't even funny, at first you even though he might be a bully! But, given how Thoma doesn't step up to break them up and how after getting hissed he relents, you think he might just have a whole lot of energy and decided to make that Kaito's problem.

[acourtofquietdreamers]

In ACOWAR, Azriel was faced with the choice of defending Mor or making sure the Night Court’s alliances with Keir and Eris were secured. Azriel chose politics over his feelings for Mor.

“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.” Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”

Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

I snorted. “What about Azriel?” So much for my decision to stay out of it. Mor resumed picking at the melon. “Az … He had a tough call to make, when Eris found him. He …” She chewed on her lip. “I don’t know why I expected him to side with me, why it caught me so off guard.”

Azriel has apparently loved Mor for 500 years, but he still chose politics over her. In his ACOSF bonus chapter, we see Azriel is again faced with the choice of politics to secure alliances or the woman he has feelings for.

“I know." Rhys's eyes flickered. "And your doing so will rip apart any fragile peace and alliances we have, not only with the Autumn Court but also with the Spring Court and Jurian and Vassa." Rhys bared his teeth. "So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her."

Right away we see Azriel push back against Rhys, but the conversation is ended when Rhys pulls rank and threatens Azriel.

Azriel snarled softly. "Snarl all you want." Rhys leaned back in his chair. "But if I see you panting after her again, I'll make you regret it." Rhys had rarely threatened punishment or pulled rank. It stunned Azriel enough that it knocked him from his rage.

This is clearly not the last we’ll see of this storyline and I think this time, Azriel will choose differently. We’ll see him choose Elain over politics (if she’ll have him of course) and it would be a great opportunity of character growth for Azriel. He’s the male who always puts his court and work first, often at the expense of himself. He feels unworthy of good things and thinks his hands are sullied from the work he does for the Night Court.

Azriel choosing to pursue his feelings for Elain, despite Rhys’s order, would be Azriel for once choosing himself. It would mean he thinks he is worthy of happiness and love for once in his life and that he is willing to fight for it.