#haunted by war longing for home but sworn to do his duty

[wildsaltair]

More Gladiator 4K shots from Paramount / Universal Studios!

[universe-of-heart]

Pain in Repeating Cycles

A Rewritten History of Fire and Blood Ocs in fic

Author's note: This chapter takes place during the entirety of episode 2. Imagine me actually getting a whole episode in one chapter, insane right?? Anyway, this one is a doozy, we get a side of Jae we haven't seen fully before and truthfully we still haven't. Get ready for some drama! As always, Jae and Fallon belong to my beautiful, handsome friend @dreaming-of-illusory-flowers who allows me to torture them daily.

Word count: 5,362 (I'm actually impressed all my word counts have been above 4k)

Warnings: AGGRESSIVE tactics, very clearly speaking of marrying underaged girls to a fully grown man, grooming tactics vaguely mentioned/hinted at. It's everything that happened in episode 2, we all know it won't be nice, unfortunately. And if it's not abundantly clear, I DO NOT SUPPORT THE BAD THINGS I WRITE ABOUT. It's fiction for a reason, people, and I make it VERY CLEAR the characters aren't happy about it. Ty that has been my ted talk

Jae realized two things very quickly following Aemma’s death and Rhaenyra’s crowning.

The first was just how deeply the death of the queen affected the entire Keep. Many of the queen’s former maids and the maesters who had been in the room as she had struggled in labor barely lifted their eyes from the floor, an air of grief following them like a storm cloud. A handful of the maesters acted the same. Many of them had grown close and fond of the late queen during the last few months of her pregnancy and the sudden loss had rocked every single one of them. Many of the knights seemed quieter, Jayse had noticed, when they passed the room that had been hers. None would even dare to meet the King’s eye when he retired for the night.

Everyone had expected the King and princess to reel from her death. Except for Small Council meetings, it was rare to see Viserys outside of his chambers. His model of Old Valyria had grown significantly in the handful of months, more excruciating detail put into the walls and structures that slowly built a miniature version of their old home. It was haunting in a beautiful way, like a distant memory that only appeared in dreams. The ghostly white of the stone only served to further that thought. If they spent too long in the King’s solar, looking at it, some nights they would find themselves back within the towering structure of the true Valyria, the shadows dropping down around their feet to swallow them whole.

They’d wake up in the same place every morning; on the floor beside their bed, sheets ripped from claws and burns marking the wooden floor beneath them. The horrible voice of their father echoed in their head. What a monster.

The princess was entirely different from her father, almost finding comfort from her grief in the duties of court. She seemed to thrive under her new responsibilities as crowned heir, though there was a hidden weight that caused her shoulders to square and chin to lift all the same. Much to her sworn sword’s dismay, she had chosen Criston Cole as a new member of her father’s Kingsguard, though Fallon could hardly fault her for her reasonings. Many of the tourney knights were just that. It had been decades since a true war had been fought under the king’s command and to truly protect the crown, one would have to have some combat prowess outside of a jousting lance and decorative sword. Still, the way her lip curled as he smiled up at the princess was instinctual, her hackles raised just like a guard dog.

If Cole noticed, he didn’t seem to care.

The second thing Jae noticed was how little the Small Council seemed to care for a grieving period. Many of the king’s advisors were already urging him to remarry, to bear more heirs should anything unforeseen happen again, yet barely half a year had passed since Aemma had left them. The idea made Jae bristle in their seat, nails scratching dangerously at the table.

Grand Maester Mellos hadn’t said anything about it since seeing the long lines etched into the marble one day.

Otto was an entirely different story, however.

Jaeda had all but posted herself in the King’s solar during the day ever since she realized how often Alicent was sent to keep the king company. She was still very young, barely a year Rhaenyra’s elder, there was no reason as to why she would be requested within the king’s chambers. However, when Jae began to notice how often she wore dresses that she had never seen the young girl wear before, the wheels began to turn and click into place. Alicent never spoke of who or why, ever the dutiful lady of court that she was, but there was a way that she held herself, shaking at first and guarded after, the way her eyes always looked like she would cry any moment, that had Jae itching to storm out of the keep to the Tower of the Hand and drag Otto out by his collar.

Instead, Jaeda seethed silently as Viserys spoke of the histories he poured over to have the stonemasons craft such delicate works of art. Alicent, as dutiful as she always was, smiled politely and listened, adding small comments and compliments where it was appropriate. She was the perfect image of a lady, Jaeda was certain even the most dutiful would pale in comparison to her manners, her behavior. The worst was, she knew Viserys no doubt saw it as well.

“Do you believe that Westeros can be another Valyria, Your Grace?”

“That depends, whether you speak of the Freehold at its height or at its fall.”

Jaeda stepped forward to curl an arm protectively around the young girl’s shoulders. “There are many things that separate Westeros from Old Valyria, my dear. Valyria had hundreds of dragons of enormous sizes, a navy that could span the entire sea…Westeros will have its own glory and does, but such a sight as what was will never be seen again.”

The king nodded solemnly, turning over a stone dragon in his hands. She wondered which one it was modeled after. He had asked her endless questions to make each detail nearly perfect and every dragon she could recall had its own place on the replica, seated regally to crown the old kingdom.

Alicent jumped under her arm as Viserys fumbled, the dragon breaking in two on the floor. He muttered a curse under his breath as he moved to grab it, though she was quicker, gingerly picking the pieces up so as to not cut herself on the jagged edges. The king takes it from her hands gently, lingering too long for Jaeda’s comfort. She didn’t miss the way Alicent froze, shoulders going stiff before she could stop herself. 

“Tell me, how is Rhaenyra?”

“What do you mean?”

It was an odd question. How could the princess’ father not know how she was, what she was doing? The reclusive nature Viserys had leaned on to heal from the loss of his wife hadn’t lessened as the months passed by; it had almost worsened. The pressure from the Small Council for him to remarry had added to the strain of the crumbling family and Rhaenyra had had to step into roles as an heir that kept her busier than when she was simply the princess, studying with Alicent, flying on Syrax, and begrudgingly learning needlepoint with her elders.

“I think she might find it difficult to discuss…personal matters.”

Alicent nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. “It will take time. It did when I lost mine own mother.”

Jaeda felt her heart break for the poor girl. It hadn’t even been a full year since Alicent had lost her mother and she was comforting a grieving man mourning his wife. She should be with Rhaenyra, the advisor thought bitterly. They had more in common than the young Lady Hightower and the King who was barely younger than her father. Both mourned for their mother, forced to move past their sorrow quickly as the court swirled around them. She only watched, taking on her brother’s role for a moment, as Alicent steadied herself again as she raised her gaze back to the king.

“I think she would open herself to you if invited.”

“It is wise council, Your Grace,” Jaeda’s arm slipped through Alicent’s, tugging the girl into her side. “The hour grows late. Shall I escort the Lady back to her chambers, my King?”

There was a hidden edge to her voice only Viserys knew. It was often used against Daemon within council chamber walls with honeyed words that were appropriate for court. It had been so long since he had been on the receiving end of Jaeda’s venom, that he had forgotten how it could sting.

“Yes,” his voice dropped to just above a whisper, whatever he was about to say to Alicent dying on his tongue. “Yes, that would be best, thank you.”

Alicent dropped a small curtsey as Jaeda nodded, the look in her eyes telling him she would return with a discussion he would not enjoy. The king returned to his stone model of Old Valyria, gazing down at the broken dragon on the table. The small model of Balerion with his wing detached stared back.

“Did I say something wrong, Lady Briarwood?” Alicent’s small voice barely broke the silence of the halls as they walked, her arm still looped around Jaeda’s as if she were her anchor.

She looked so small then. Years ran together for Jae more often than not and they were often abruptly reminded of how young Rhaenyra and her closest friend were at times like that. Both had barely become young women and in the same amount of time had taken on more than boys their same age.

“Of course not, sweet one,” Jaeda sighed softly, left hand covering the younger’s hand on her arm. “I just thought it best to take a step back for the night.”

Alicent nodded silently, letting her head droop slightly as if she was embarrassed. Or maybe it was shame.

“You do not have to keep him company every night,” the old advisor spoke gently, allowing the girl her silence. “You are but a child and he is grown. Sympathy is appreciated and your comfort is great, but do not forget your own feelings in times such as this.”

“It is not every night, my lady,” her voice was only slightly stronger than before, her eyes still trained on the floor that passed beneath them. “I only go when my father suggests it.”

“Suggests or commands, my sweet?”

Alicent hesitated and Jaeda received her answer.

Outside of her chambers, Jaeda placed a gentle kiss to the young girl’s forehead, smoothing the wispy curls that hung near her temples back with a comforting hand. Alicent thought for a moment that it felt motherly and comforting and allowed herself to forget how foreign she had felt for nearly a fortnight now in her own late mother’s gowns. Even if it was only for one night, she would allow herself to be free of the fear of what her father might say in response to Lady Briarwood’s words. She would sleep comfortingly in her bed and in the morning, she would seek out Rhaenyra and all would be well.

The door creaked closed and Jaeda heard the lock click into place. The fire crackled again deep in her chest. A standing guard watched as she turned on her heel and stalked back down the hall, the stone echoing with each footstep. For a moment, the poor guard watched as an old nan’s tale seemed to come to life; an ancient witch come to storm the castle’s halls in search of the man who wronged her.

He did not envy the man set in her sights.

Jae, truthfully, didn’t even know which man was in their sights that night. Otto had been the one they had first thought of laying into, then the King had watched the girl in a way that made their skin crawl. And yet, Otto was still at the forefront. He was the cause of it all, he had all but told his daughter to become the King’s chamber wench, it seemed, and it didn’t bother him at all. He still had the same cold aloofness in each Small Council meeting, his stare turning its focus to whatever he could intimidate at the marble table. When he couldn’t, it turned dark, dangerous. It always reminded them of a horrible drunkard who didn’t care who was at the receiving end of his wrath. 

Truthfully, it reminded them of their father.

The door nearly bounced off the stone wall behind it with the force Jaeda used to open it and it caused the Hand to jump as he penned a letter, ink spilling over half the parchment. He muttered a curse as he reached for a cloth to dry the mess, but stopped his efforts as Jaeda’s palms connected with the smooth wood of the desk, rattling everything not fastened down with enough power to spill the ink further. She was breathing hard through her nose, eyes blazing even in the low firelight far on her left, and Otto nearly feared that would be the moment he would die.

“What game are you playing at?” She hissed, bearing her teeth as she did.

To his credit, Otto’s mask didn’t slip. “I haven’t a clue what you mean.”

The gold of her iris seemed to melt into molten liquid for only a moment, reminding him of the descriptions of the Doom. “Your daughter is six-and-ten years of age, unmarried, and vulnerable in her grief. Tell me, which of your Seven deemed it right and good to have her meet with the King in secret in his private quarters?”

“She is extending her sympathies to the Crown.”

“Fuck the Crown,” she growled and the Hand wondered for a moment if she would grow fangs and claws, “and fuck your sympathies. Do not pretend to me that you care of the Crown for, if you did, you would not feel the need to join in on the pressure for Viserys to remarry so quick after Aemma.”

The Hand barely blinked, keeping his eyes on the advisor. It was almost as if he feared the moment he looked away, there might truly be a dragon in place of a woman. “It is for the betterment of the realm that the king, while strong and able, produce further heirs to protect his claim to the Iron Throne.”

“Are you truly so terrified of Daemon coming to power that you would sacrifice a man and daughter’s grief so soon?” Her eyes searched his for only a moment before her lip curled. “Or do you simply crave your blood on the throne so deeply you are willing to sacrifice your own daughter?”

“Such accusations could have you tried for slander, perhaps even treason.”

“If you think I fear you, Lord Hand, then you truly do not understand your place in this court.”

Jaeda stood from her bent posture over the desk, eyes skimming the puddle of ink on the ruined paper. There were no words she could make out any longer and she felt all the better for it, feeling an odd satisfaction that he would have to begin again completely or simply leave it until the morning. Otto just glared up at her, brow furrowed deeply against her words. 

It irked him deeply that she was the one he could never force under his thumb. Beesbury and Strong were easy to talk down, even Corlys could be skirted around until he relented and sat seething at the foot of the table. Mellos was loyal to the Hightowers, Otto never found trouble on that front, and Daemon was never around enough to give him any true concerns. Jaeda, however, had been a thorn in his side since he became Hand under the Old King and she only wormed her way deeper, twisting as she went. It felt impossible to worm his way into the King’s close confidants with her around and with each step it seemed like she forced him back two more.

“Was that all, Lady Briarwood?” His tone betrayed his annoyance, dry and frustrated as he lost yet another battle against her.

Jaeda’s chin tilted slightly, her eyes following the line of her nose down to him. “If I see your daughter dressed as the ghost of your late wife within the king’s chambers again, I will see to it you are removed from your seat and Daemon named as your successor. Even if I must stand vigil in the king’s chamber day and night. You’d do well to remember.”

Otto nodded once, watching as she left his study with the door still wide open. 

The king’s door was opened with less aggression, though the king flinched all the same. Jaeda calmly entered the room, shutting the door behind her easily before moving to a chair at the table within his solar, picking up the two bits of the broken dragon. The growing silence made Viserys’ skin crawl, though he didn’t have a clue himself how to break it. Instead, he stood like a child about to be scolded by a parent for acting out, hands tucked behind his back and head down to stare at a fixed point on the model of Old Valyria.

The advisor simply continued to turn the stone pieces in her hands, paying him no mind. 

“Nothing has happened.”

The words nearly caused her eyes to roll.

“Have I implied anything has, Your Grace?” Her tone was nearly cold, entirely unwilling to allow emotions to play into it.

Viserys sighed, rubbing at his temple before sitting across from his oldest friend. “She has been merely keeping me company to allow me to talk without fear of ulterior motives. It hasn’t even been half a year and still I am pushed to remarry.”

“If you merely needed a listening ear, you know I am more than willing.”

It was more than that and they both knew it. The king longed for a companion as many did, even after suffering such a loss. It was human nature to crave such connections. However, Jaeda knew it would’ve been far better for him to seek out his own daughter for such matters, to offer the same comfort he sought after to someone hurting much the same as himself. To entertain and seemingly welcome the company of a girl so young, not to mention unmarried herself, well…if word would reach outside the Keep, there was no telling what rumors may swirl.

“You have always been there for whatever I needed,” the king whispered, fingers tapping at the table. “And you will never know the depths of my gratitude for that. Your dedication to my family is truly unmatched.”

“You are not to entertain this further, Viserys.”

His violet eyes raised to meet gold. “Do you think I request her?”

Jaeda sighed heavily, letting the dragon rest on the table. “She is Rhaenyra’s friend and companion. Have you even considered how she may feel about her father having the Lady Alicent visit his chambers?”

The king fell silent.

“Have you spoken to her at all since she was named heir?”

His head shook slowly, as if hesitant to admit any fault. 

Jaeda pinched the bridge of their nose before sighing again. “You are her father before you are king. She has already lost her mother; do not make her believe she has lost more.”

A stretch of silence settled between them, merely allowing the words to sit in the air. The sun set outside the window, casting long shadows against the wall. The looming image of the old kingdom eclipsed their own dark reflections, swallowing the image into inky darkness.

Finally, Viserys sighed, folding his hands in his lap. “I will…attempt to speak with her over dinner.”

That wouldn’t fix everything, something Jae was very aware of. However, they never expected a single action to mend such a gap between a father and daughter. It was simply a move in the correct direction, guided perhaps not as softly as many would like, but guided nonetheless. Jaeda managed a smile at her old friend and Viserys returned it, the tension of the night bleeding into the fading rays of sunlight. 

“There is…more,” the king spoke after a time. “Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys met with me earlier today so that I could assure them of the Crown’s support and appreciation for their fleets. To reaffirm how great an asset they are. Lord Corlys even apologized for his outburst at court.” Jaeda remembered it clearly. The outrage over the Crown not being willing to join the fray of battle at the Stepstones, allowing the Free Cities and, more notably, the Crabfeeder to continue their assault and occupation of both the land and sea. It had costed many their ships and more their lives and yet the king refused to go into war with them. It was admirable, in a way, they thought, to continue the line of peace that had been started by his grandsire, but the cost continued to grow the longer he waited. It was only a matter of time until the Triarchy grew in strength and power and moved beyond the Stepstones. It wouldn’t have been the first time in history for such things to happen.

“Lord Corlys is greatly affected by the attacks of the Triarchy,” was the calculated reply. “He spoke from a place of passion, not treason. I am sure he meant his apology.”

“I am afraid this war has soured things between the houses Targaryen and Velaryon,” Viserys sighed, fidgeting with his hands. A ring on his finger was his source of nervous comfort, twisting it around his fingers three times before looking back at his advisor. “They warned me that my house now seems fragile and vulnerable. That many outside of us…may have painted a target on mine and Rhaenyra’s backs.”

Jaeda nodded slowly. They had assumed as much themselves. After centuries of learning how both the world and court worked, it was easy to follow the patterns of history. One heir was simple to be rid of, especially with a widowed king, and when such turmoil boiled elsewhere, it was easy to sneak quietly until it was least expected. An uprising could happen easily. The king had broken tradition that many held above laws and Jae had no doubt many loyal Westerosi civilians were less than pleased at swearing fealty to such a young girl. Rebellions had happened over far less and far more.

“They also suggested I wed Laena.”

The dragon in Jae reared, eyes going wide as they struggled to maintain their composure. “Laena?”

If they didn’t know the Lord and Princess of Driftmark as well as they did, Jae would’ve assumed that was a joke. A sick joke, Laena Velaryon was only two-and-ten years of age. A betrothal at such an age wasn’t unheard of, especially not within the line of the Targaryens. There had been some betrothals set up upon the birth of a second child, simply to ensure the strength of the House.

“It is a strong match-”

“She is a child, Viserys, you cannot truly be considering-”

“I do not know what else to do, Jae!”

For once in a long time, the advisor fell silent as Viserys stood and crossed the room. The action was muddled with anger, frustration, and laced through with sorrow to complete a horrible twisting emotion that had no name. They had felt it before. It was what they imagined death was like.

“My kingdom demands a new queen, my council demands more heirs, my daughter refuses to see me, and my brother tries to tear our House down around our heads!”

The crown always weighed heavy on those who did not deserve it, to a devastating degree on many occasions. King Viserys had nearly reached his breaking point, his will and patience finally bending at the whim of all around him. It was obvious then; how had it not been before?

Jaeda rose from her seat and crossed to him, placing her hands on both of his arms and holding him firmly. “You are the king. The decisions and choices set before you are great, but they are set before you for you to choose. Not Lord Hightower, not Lord Corlys, not even Rhaenyra. Not even me.”

He hadn’t looked up to meet her eyes yet, but he nodded along with her words.

“Let them demand all they wish. Let Daemon try. Marry again when you are ready, my king, and do not allow anyone to pick your second wife for you. Such things lead to unhappiness and unneeded trials of both heart and mind.”

“Your council is wise,” he spoke, voice shaking, “as it always is.”

“One does not live as long as I have without growing wise. Visit with Lady Laena if you wish, speak to her, but do not entertain the thought. Corlys is desperate for support and he will seek it out in many places. Princess Rhaenys no doubt had to bite her tongue at the thought of wedding her to you for the mere sake of bloodlines.”

Viserys huffed out a laugh, finally peering at Jaeda with a bit of mirth. “Perhaps it would be easier to wed Rhaenyra to Laenor.”

“Only if you wish to tell her that yourself. That is one dragon even I fear.”

He laughed again, letting his hand grasp her elbows affectionately before stepping away. “Thank you.” “You forget you are a man as well as a king, old friend.” Jaeda watched as he moved about his room again, picking up the fragmented pieces of Balerion. “You wear yourself thin and then stretch further.”

“I learned from the best.”

Jaeda huffed before taking the broken model from him. “And just for that, you will not get this back until it’s mended.”

In the days and weeks after, Rhaenyra and Alicent fell back into a routine together. Alicent was quick to accompany her friend on simple duties around the Keep, trailed behind by the princess’ knight to keep them out of trouble. She returned back to her dresses, lighter in color and looser in shape. Rhaenyra seemed far happier, openly smiling with her arm linked with her companion’s and talking animatedly about how she was the one to choose Criston Cole for the Kingsguard, how Lord Corlys spoke of the war beginning in the Stepstones, and whatever else she heard during the Small Council meetings. It led to further gossip, usually including how often ravens from Harrenhal arrived at the Keep with letters addressed to Fallon with the intent of slowly winning her favor. Many of them remained unopened until the younger ladies got their hands on them and read them dramatically, the affectionately named Maiden Knight listening to them as she tried to will her face to not match the red fabric under her cuirass. 

For a while, there seemed to be genuine peace within the Red Keep and even King’s Landing. Jae had even begun to relax, as best they could, when talks of the king remarrying seemed to calm and ease and no talks of war were brought up at the last meeting.

However, the gods were often their cruelest when it was the quietest.

First, it had been news that Daemon had taken his paramour to Dragonstone to roost, as well as stolen an egg from Dreamfyre’s clutch. The egg had been picked by Rhaenyra for her late brother and had been one of the last remaining pieces of her life before the collapse. He had taken it and placed a crooked claw over her birthright after desecrating her mother and brother’s memory yet again. The princess had been heartbroken and furious, it was evident on her face as she looked at her father, and Jae felt as though they could fly at that moment and not fear the consequences of what they would do to the rogue prince. One look at the princess, however, had them leaning back in their seat trying to reign in their instincts as the king ordered Otto to go with a detachment of guards to confront his brother. Jae knew that look all too well; it had crossed the faces of many in their past.

Rhaenyra would be a great queen, they decided in that moment.

Otto and his accompaniment returned with the egg safely enclosed within a great black cauldron and the princess returned on dragonback soon after. The king had been furious with worry, summoning her the moment he was notified of her return before Jae could even begin to soothe the overwhelming emotions within the Keep.

Alicent chewed at her fingers in the courtroom, glancing nervously from behind her father’s seat to Rhaenyra in front of the tray of wine and cups. Rhaenyra smiled gently at her, itching to motion her over to hold her hands to keep her from worrying alone.

That was the second thing. After Viserys had his daughter brought to his chambers and scolded her for acting so carelessly with her life in confronting her uncle, they had made up and spoken softly, mending the beginning of a few fractures between them. It had been good for the both of them.

The next day, the king had called his Small Council to order, waiting patiently as everyone sat and waited. Jayse settled into the spot behind Jaeda on the king’s left, bumping Rhaenyra’s arm when he noticed her still watching her companion. He gave her a small smile before she crossed the room behind her father and took Alicent’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. Jaeda let a soft, affectionate smile slip through, watching them with a spark of hope within her chest. They had recovered, it seemed, thicker than thieves again and already whispering amongst themselves eagerly. Whatever poisonous seeds Otto had tried to sew within the Targaryen family had withered and died under the heat of the dragon guarding them.

Jaeda looked to the king with the same smile, though it faded quickly when she caught his gaze on his daughter and her companion. Viserys had never truly been good at masking his emotions nor his thoughts and the glimpse of longing and guilt swirling behind his eyes and the set of his jaw betrayed more than he no doubt wished.

A chill lanced down their spine and they wished they were able to grab both the girls and get them away.

“Your Grace,” she started, nearly hissing through her teeth.

“I have decided…to take a new wife.”

Lord Corlys nodded before shifting in his seat to sit forward, expecting an answer to the proposal he had offered. Jaeda’s stomach turned within her and Jayse forced his eyes to focus on a distant point across the room.

Rhaenyra smiled at her father, clinging to Alicent. Her father did not return the smile. Alicent stopped breathing.

“I intend to marry the lady Alicent Hightower before spring’s end.”

The smugness radiated from Otto even as panic and fear rolled off in waves from the two girls. Rhaenyra watched her father with clear heartbreak as the subject of the meeting dug her fingers into the princess’ sleeve. The princess decided at that moment it would hurt less to be stabbed by the blade that sat at her father’s hip, to feel the point enter flesh along with the prophecy he held dearer than anything else.

Corlys stood from his seat and Jaeda rose to meet him, golden eyes shifting to glower at him from where they had been fixed on the king.

“This is an absurdity,” he seethed, hands flat against the table as if it anchored his words there. “My house is Valyrian, the greatest power in the realm.”

Viserys did not flinch. “And I am your king.”

Jaeda’s words rang back in her head to haunt her again. Marry again when you are ready. Do not allow anyone to pick your second wife for you. They are for you to choose. Not even me.

Corlys turned his glare to Otto before storming out and Alicent nearly burst into tears when the chair scraped the floor. She hadn’t even dared to look up from staring at the floor as she trembled in Rhaenyra’s arms. The king risked a look to his daughter who stared at him in defiance even as her eyes brimmed with tears.

“Rhaenyra-”

The princess tugged Alicent with her as she left the room, fleeing the oppressive eyes of the men around them to flee to the godswood. 

Jae found them there later, curled together as they wept for the girlhood they had both now left behind them.

The cycle of pain in House Targaryen had begun anew and once again the watchful dragon stood over the wreckage sharing in their grief.

Tag list: @dreaming-of-illusory-flowers @soup-entity @yippeecore (I know yall already read it before I posted it but still)

[rockislandadultreads]

Haunting Historical Fiction: Books to Read

A Lullaby for Witches by Hester Fox

Two women. A history of witchcraft. And a deep-rooted female power that sings across the centuries. Once there was a young woman from a well-to-do New England family who never quite fit with the drawing rooms and parlors of her kin. Called instead to the tangled woods and wild cliffs surrounding her family’s estate, Margaret Harlowe grew both stranger and more beautiful as she cultivated her uncanny power. Soon, whispers of “witch” dogged her footsteps, and Margaret’s power began to wind itself with the tendrils of something darker. One hundred and fifty years later, Augusta Podos takes a dream job at Harlowe House, the historic home of a wealthy New England family that has been turned into a small museum in Tynemouth, Massachusetts. When Augusta stumbles across an oblique reference to a daughter of the Harlowes who has nearly been expunged from the historical record, the mystery is too intriguing to ignore. But as she digs deeper, something sinister unfurls from its sleep, a dark power that binds one woman to the other across lines of blood and time. If Augusta can’t resist its allure, everything she knows and loves—including her very life—could be lost forever.

Mr Cadmus by Peter Ackroyd

The arrival of an enigmatic stranger wreaks havoc on the denizens of the idyllic English village of Little Camborne; most notably two apparently harmless women. Miss Finch and Miss Swallow, cousins, have put their pasts behind them and settled into conventional country life. But when Theodore Cadmus – from Caldera, a Mediterranean island nobody has heard of – moves into the middle cottage, the safe monotony of their lives is shattered. The fates of the two cousins and Mr Cadmus, and those of Little Camborne and Caldera, become inextricably enmeshed. Long-hidden secrets and long-held grudges threaten to surface, drawing all into a vortex of subterfuge, theft, violence, mayhem . . . and murder

When Ghosts Come Home by Wiley Cash

When the roar of a low-flying plane awakens him in the middle of the night, Sheriff Winston Barnes knows something strange is happening at the nearby airfield on the coast of North Carolina. But nothing can prepare him for what he finds: a large airplane has crash-landed and is now sitting sideways on the runway, and there are no signs of a pilot or cargo. When the body of a local man is discovered—shot dead and lying on the grass near the crash site—Winston begins a murder investigation that will change the course of his life and the fate of the community that he has sworn to protect. Everyone is a suspect, including the dead man. As rumors and accusations fly, long-simmering racial tensions explode overnight, and Winston, whose own tragic past has followed him like a ghost, must do his duty while facing the painful repercussions of old decisions. Winston also knows that his days as sheriff may be numbered. He’s up for re-election against a corrupt and well-connected challenger, and his deputies are choosing sides. As if these events weren’t troubling enough, he must finally confront his daughter Colleen, who has come home grieving a shattering loss she cannot fully articulate. As the suspense builds and this compelling mystery unfolds, Wiley Cash delves deep into the hearts of these richly drawn, achingly sympathetic characters to reveal the nobility of an ordinary man struggling amidst terrifying, extraordinary circumstances.

The Stars Are Not Yet Bells by Hannah Lillith Assadi

Off the coast of Georgia, near Savannah, generations have been tempted by strange blue lights in the sky near an island called Lyra. At the height of World War II, impressionable young Elle Ranier comes to the island when her new husband, Simon, is dispatched by his industrialist father to find the source of the mysterious lights. There they will live for decades, raising a family while employing much of the island's population in a quixotic campaign to find and exploit the elusive minerals rumored to lurk offshore. Fifty years later, as Simon's business is shuttered in disarray, Elle looks back at her life on the mysterious island--and at a secret she herself has guarded for decades. As her memory recedes, her life seems a tangle of questions: How did the business survive so long without ever finding the legendary Lyra stones? How did her own life crumble under treatment for depression? And what became of the other man they brought to the island--handsome, raffish Gabriel, who risked everything to follow the light to its source?

[dear-yandere]

[ spirit blossoms ]

yandere! thresh, yone, yasuo x reader. scenarios, spirit blossom au.

› art credits: nicolenazooie, 16395606 ,7675856.

what a pretty little catch you are, a wildflower amidst souls equally as tempting. he loves all his children equally, but even thresh isn’t immune to... obsession. your unusual presence in the spirit realm is enough to peak his interest and stoke his obsession — though he much prefers to call it a ‘parental love’ rather than such an unsightly word. but, it isn’t until he has you in his grip that possessiveness and manipulativeness take over. coming off as the ever-protective and benevolent Father of lost souls he masquerades as, it’s hard to think otherwise of his actions for his words are sugary and his presence welcoming.

he is death itself, and death does not discriminate.

surrounded by countless spirits — his own children, blossoming with unseen potential — and yet, he’s only ever tasted the bitter ache of loneliness. it is a constant in his life, a truth he’s come to hold close to his heart. home is where the heart is, and his is but a facade crafted from lost souls and a sense of family that isn’t quite... fulfilling.

until he met you.

you managed to win his heart. an ancient demon in all his right, enamored by the doe-eyed gaze of a lost human on soil they do not belong. his heart beckons to you, yearns for you — he wants to cherish you, to watch you bloom in his hands like a flower that would put spirit blossoms to shame; he wants to taste the power and warmth, that will bring. to know that you are sorely and wholly his, to know that you met him of all kanmei and akana, to know that you chose him.

"do not fear me. i am but a servant of the natural order that guides us all."

as an akana, he takes great pride in his work, delighting in the torment of flawed spirits. to him, they are blossoming with potential, flower buds crying out for attention. his attention. it wouldn’t be fair to favor you over the rest of his sweet little children — he wouldn’t be a good Father, now would he? but he is ancient, and you... you are human. a species so flawed, so selfish, and yet you helped him retrieve his lantern. he misjudged you, truthfully; he thought of you as someone who needed to be molded against his claws, remade into something more beautiful. 

all you made him realize is that even he is flawed.

"those privy to my secrets? they are safe with me now."

as benevolent and well-meaning as he seems, he is a harbinger of chaos and torture wrapped in the pretty facade that seems to tempt human souls so. humans believe whatever is most convenient for their own prejudices, after all; to have him appear before them, a demon in appearance but a light of hope in pretense, any human would fall prey to what he has to offer. eternal salvation, so long as your soul is in his possession. tempting are his words, for humans are so easily swayed from their path to salvation in the afterlife, until all that accompanies them are their own memories. to be haunted by memories of your past life — all your good deeds, all your bad actions... is that not true suffering?

perhaps not. not for him. not with you by his side, not with you in his possession. you’re his favorite pet, darling, just be a good girl /boy and don’t tell his other children. jealousy has no place in this family, not when every soul belongs to him. you are an exception in only one regard: you belong with him.

"a human, neither dead nor alive, surrounded by endless hoards of spirits alike. that, is a tragedy i do adore. but do not fret, my dear, for in death, you are safest with me."

he is undeserving of love. 

of all the truths yone has been forced to witness as a warlord, he has never once questioned this. the war he wrought, the battles he led, have only resulted in one thing in the end: death. death, carnage, blood, and... loss. he has watched countless weep over the bodies of the men he’s slain without thought, and he knows then that love has abandoned monsters like him.

love is out of reach.

renowned for his adherence to honor and duty, he is strict in his ways. the moment he saw you caused a stir in his spirit, a dull ache against his soul. your existence is implausible, impossible; you do not belong here. you... you are human, and all he has ever done is kill humans. he is no different than the obsessive and oft cruel akana, and yet he is a kanmei, beloved by all spirits. he does not deserve such reverence, he does not deserve to guide you. you are better off away from him. his sword, he once thought, was a guardian, a protector of humans.

he will only hurt you.

"a festival of flowers to remember those lost... i think i'd rather be forgotten."

humans are such fickle creatures, selfish and stubborn in their ways. he knows this truth best; it is a testament to his selfish desire to defend a country which forced him to strike his own brother down. so when you stayed, clung to his side like a petal to its stem, he was unsurprised. you were enamored by his poems, or so you claimed. humans deceive so often, he’s learned to accept their words at face value; he’s no stranger to donning a mask of deceit, himself, after all.

but your eyes. they would light up like festival lanterns, welcoming and bright in their hues. a more peaceful time, he recalls — one unmarred by the tragedy of war. when he looks at you, he is reminded of such peace; when he looks at you, he is at peace. when he looks at you, he is no longer a lone spirit wishing for a peace only death can bring. when he looks at you, he feels... forgiven.

"forgiveness is... complicated."

he does not deserve it, just as he does not deserve love; and you, you are the embodiment of both. like the scent of fresh blossoms against tree branches and a season anew, your eyes carry a light far more tempting than that of death’s, a light that only living can bring. you make him want to live — you are everything he does not want.

and yet he wants you.

if his life were to be written as a story, it would surely be a tragedy. a tale of redemption far out of reach, a tale of betrayal and blind faith. he has seen the end of worlds — both of war, and of his brother’s — and he has lived. to die is to no longer feel pain, and the greatest repentence is to live with the truths of what he has done. struck his own family member, his own brother, down with a sword sworn to herald justice; yone is undeserving of anything short of suffering.

and yet, such an innocent spirit you hold, he’d almost forgotten those existed. you are unmarred by the tragedy of war and suffering; he is envious, but equally joyous. to see that there is still carefree love in the physical realm, perhaps living is not so bad after all. being with you is natural; being with you is like home. words flow freely when he is in your presence, and you are at peace when he speaks in prose and haiku. dreams he was forced to abandon to take up the sword, he can freely pursue in your presence and be met with applause rather than disdain. the blissful fluttering of eyelashes, the slight twitch of lips pulled into a smile — it will never be enough to make him feel loved, to make him feel forgiven. but it’s a start.

he wants to start over with you.

“with you, there is no need to hide. many have gazed upon this mask and seen their end. somehow, you saw a future.”

renowned for his roguish demeanor, yasuo is familiar with bloodshed and death. he has grown to accept it, unlike his prideful brother; and yet, he desires a life enlightened by music and travel all the same. fate has smiled upon him bitterly, doomed him to spill blood in life and hunt spirits in death.

if this life is cursed, he wishes to be reborn. a songbird, a human — either will do. his soul yearns for music.

"just looking for a road home."

when he saw you, unaccustomed to the ways of this spirit world, he was intrigued. something new, someone to talk to that could actually, well... talk back. spirits aren’t known for their talkative nature, and he can’t really fault them; confusion is all they know, having woken up in another world after death. the azakana are no better — they remind him of himself, bloodthirsty and reckless as he once was. their only fate is to be cut down by his sword... life has not changed in the slightest. fate is truly unkind to him.

but unlike spirits, you are someone. your gaze speaks not of scorn or awe, because when you look at him, he feels seen. the real him, the one he’s pushed down in order to be a swordsman that could live up to his brother. you listen to his flute with keen ears and a sway of your body — the sight alone makes his heart jump. he’s always wanted to see the effect his music has on people, and you’re the first. having greater interest in music rather than swordsmanship is frowned upon in his clan; expectations were thrust upon him the moment he left the womb — to live up to his brother, to live up to his clan name.

"follow the wind, but watch your back."

but you don’t expect anything from him. to you, he is another spirit, another being, an entity that was once a person with hopes and dreams and feelings worth something. under your gaze, he is free from expectation, free from duty. until he was accused of crimes against his country, and forced to take up arms against his own brother, yasuo lived a life unsaddled by the same burden of expectation his brother endured. it was never enough, for even in death, he still envies the freedom birds enjoy. but you offer a taste of such liberty simply by existing; by listening — truly listening. a drunkard as he is, how is he expected to let go of such pleasure?

he can’t, he won’t.

when you convince him to find his brother and begin anew, he was certain. that after all is said and done — that after he has forgiven his brother, and has been forgiven himself — he wants to travel the world with you. he’s seen everything there is to see in the spirit realm, but the world is different with you at his side. you are his freedom, you are his muse. because even if he promises the illusion of choosing your path, it will always cross with his.

it’s hard to part with freedom after you’ve tasted it.

“traveling alone has left me wanting for companionship, and honestly, a sword's poor company for a long road. say... what would you do if i asked you to accompany me? your call, sweetheart.”

dear-yandere 2019-2020, all rights reserved.

[tea-and-conspiracy]

Vicious Spiral

Eliane’s job was to know -- but it had become impossible to keep up all of the sudden.

She’d seen disquieting portents in the sky moons ago, true -- even the Dragon Star had begun to burn again. But if Nidhogg was slain, then for what purpose would the greatwyrms again stir? The answer came in time sure as the Spire, as dragons were sighted as far south as Thanalan. Fool her, for doubting what she’d read in the heavens.

That was also around the time the towers had appeared, around the time the Temple Knights, but recently returned from Ghimlyt, were marched right back out the gates again. The Lord Commander was conspicuously absent from Parliament, leaving a rotation of the four Counts to serve as Lord Speaker in his stead. Then came the rumors of peace with the Ixal, the Vanu, the Gnath. Since when? Of a cure for tempering. How? Of the Empire everywhere in Eorzea, from Ala Mhigo to Dravania to Vylbrand. What, overnight? How were so many troop transports missed? Where did they come from?

Absolutely nothing made sense anymore, and the fact that the entire Alliance seemed to have turned mute made her nervous. This was a game she knew quite well. In times past, the Church reacted to the curious in three very distinct ways: they’d censor; they’d turn belligerent; or they’d simply clam up. The realm’s careful silence despite utter chaos apparently breaking out was quite telling indeed.

It was only natural, then, that the moon changed as well. Why not, at this juncture?

Blazing hollowed orange, it'd grown suddenly intent on celestial dominance. That was the sun that House Durendaire called the banners. They called her knights. Eliane was forced to watch her husband and her brother march off to, of all places, Cartenau. She stared at the tiny cluster of blue and silver soldiers, gleaming like fish as they shrugged on bell shields and vanished into the snow. And she stared at where she’d last seen them long after.

Now she watched. She haunted her observatory with a full glass of wine and glowered at the moon. Eliane should have been at Barengar’s side, but there were three important reasons she needed to stay home now, and quite frankly she was not of much use to anyone on the front lines anyroad. But this was ever the lot of an Ishgardian family, wasn’t it? It was a sun she knew would come sooner or later.

The door behind her chimed quietly as someone entered from below. The murmur of skirts and gentle tap of flats on the floor informed her it was Mother.

“How many times I stared out this window when they called your father and brother away,” Olivie hummed. At her daughter’s side, she almost appeared a twin herself; Eliane and Jules had both taken after her likeness.

“I don’t dare read their fate; I care not to know,” Eliane muttered into a sip.

“Mm.” Something Mother apparently also understood. “Well if is any consolation, I received this in my own readings.” She pulled the Balance from her sleeve, arching her brows.

That one always appeared, for some reason, whenever the Warrior of Light got involved.

“If anyone witnesses them in the flesh, t��will be Jules.” Eliane forced a smile. “And we can finally settle upon what they actually look like.”

“Indeed.” Olivie chuckled, but her mirth did not last long. Instead she, too, found her gaze transfixed upon the inflamed moon. “...so I’ve been in contact with your grandmother and grandfather recently. They should very much like to see the children.”

Eliane managed a slightly more genuine smile this time. “They are welcome to!”

“Yes, but...” Mother glanced sidelong at her. “They are far too old to be making the trip from Sharlayan now. I was thinking we might go to them instead, make something of a trip of it.”

“When this nonsense is over, I would be delighted,” Eliane said.

Olivie hesitated. “Eliane...conflict with the Empire has been ongoing for a generation. When Ishgard joined the Alliance, we gave up one eternal war for another. If you wait for that end, you will never leave these walls again.”

“And all of us are sworn to defend this city unto our death. Be it against drake or man, Ishgard’s defenders do not abandon her. That is the duty Halone charged us with.“

“Then I will take the children.”

Those words triggered some sort of primal instinct in Eliane, causing her to bristle. She slowly turned to regard her mother.

“...Why are you so intent on this? Are Grandmother and Grandfather ill?”

Olivie drew in a long inhale, squarely meeting Eliane’s gaze. “I think it would be best,” she said, carefully, “that this family relocate to Sharlayan for the time being.”

“Abandon Ishgard! Abandon Barengar!”

“Of course not Barengar!”

“He will not leave his knights and I’d not ask it of him, you know that!”

“Eliane, please--”

“You think the world is ending!”

Mother laughed to that. “I know it isn’t.”

Eliane froze.

“...Consider it, sweetling. For me. For the children. Please.” Olivie’s voice was soft, her eyes pleading. “Duty is a splendid thing, but you’ve many now. As Astrologians it is ours to safeguard the future. Ishgard’s future and the childrens’ future needn’t be mutually exclusive...but if you could ensure the latter, why wouldn’t you?”

Eliane turned away, bowing her head. “...What aren’t you telling me?”

“...I need you to trust me this time. Please.”

And with that, the contents of Eliane’s cup magically vanished. Funny, that.

“...I’ll not make a decision until he’s home. ‘Tis his as well as mine.”

“Of course, sweetling.” Olivie turned to go, but lingered in the doorway. “...The others are welcome too, of course. Lord Marquaile, and his paramour. I am certain I could secure them passports.”

Eliane did not respond.

She floated over her wine bottle from the nearby table and went back to her staring contest with the baleful moon.

[itsmypeach13]

[Please welcome my first ever fanfic series chapter 1🤭The story contains of f/f relationships, centres around Asassins Creed Valhalla women female Eivor, Soma Jarlskona(the Bear Heart is my own nickname I gave her will be often used 😁), Randvi, Valka and other fictional characters. It is for +18 readership as it may contain explicit language, drinking, sexual intercourses, fighting in battles. Please bare these in mind before reading.]

TALES OF THE BEAR-HEART:SOMA

CHAPTER I.

A Letter from the Wolf-Kissed

Soma's POV:

I opened my eyes swiftly , my head was heavy with the thoughts swirling inside after a sleepless night. A warming beam of light brightened my room as the sun was rising slowly outside. I turned to my side and looked at the empty side of the bed. I ran my fingers slowly on the cold pillow and let out a sigh. It doesn't matter how many girls of Gratenbridgeshire offered themselves to me , this place belongs to Eivor. Well, only in my dreams..she haunts me like a she-wolf hunrgry to taste meat and blood. And I would always face this wolf, giving in and letting my walls down for her, but this world was apart from reality.

I had a jarldom to rule and protect my people, today was no different either. Just when I finished dressing up I heard knocking on the door like a bear would rant at me from outside.

'Splendid morning Soma, I know you had fun with that blonde amazon last night, I came to make sure we arrive on time , so get your ass out here.'- Revna greeted me with her raspy voice. She was my right hand in ruling the town , my finest warrior and my best friend in one tall, brunette woman. She was even taller then Eivor and always carried two hammers on her sides. Her weapons put many fine men in the grave , Revna was a beast on the battlefield, but a big hearted puppy to her loved ones. She and I grew closer after Birna left us, I needed somebody to trust.

'You think yourself a seeress of all.I haven't slept a bit, even without any ladies invited in my bed-I stepped out of the door grinning, and placed my hand on her shoulder.' Don't worry my friend, Cheolbert must be still sleeping like a baby.

We both headed to the longhouse as Cheolbert arrived late at night and asked an assemby in the morning. I didn't know what was it about, so I felt curious to know. I peaked towards the main entrance seeing jarls arriving on horseback from the neighbouring jarldoms. It must be either a wedding or war ahead of us, I thought to myself.

'What is on your mind Soma? You seem a bit worn-out this morning.-Revna questioned me by gently pushing my right arm. I didn't want to tell her the truth , that Eivor was the cause of my insomnia.

'Everything is fine Revna , it was full moon yesterday and you know well I can't sleep when it comes'-I assured my shield maiden. 'We have a long day ahead of us, I count on you if we have to fight side by side again.'

Revna silently nodded and hurried to the front of the assembly. The longhouse was filled with people, curious eyes were glued to Cheolbert who stepped in , wearing a glorious red and white cloak and black learher tunic. Our eyes met and he signalled me he wanted to speak in private at the side first.

We both went to the map room, his blue eyes were narrow and mysterious. I gave him a welcoming hug.

'Cheolbert my dear friend, I swear you've grown a feet since we last met.'-I teased.

' Soma, good to meet again, I wish the circumstances were different.'

'What happened? '-I grew impatient and started walking up and down.

'Eivor told me to hand over this letter to you first'.-he held out a letter with a raven seal. I turned my back so that he can't see my face, and I felt the world around me spin. Is she in trouble? Is she alright?

Dear Soma,

I write you in haste now, as your rotten friend Brina , whom you kept so close to your heart as a pet has betrayed all of us. She is a serpent who slyly earned your trust. She got married to Ivarr the Boneless and they sworn revenge on both Ravensthorpe and Gratenbridgeshire. Ivarr wants to be king of this continent...son is like farher. Their fleet is now close to us, we must unite our men and act swiftly. Please come as fast as you can to Ravensthorpe. I already informed your neighbours, I sent Cheolbert to gather all the men at Gratenbridgeshire.

When we win there will be a cause of celebration I sware to you dear. With all my thanks.

Eivor the Wolf-Kissed

My heart grew heavy with disappointment and sadness over hearing what Birna brought for our people. After all I had two friends betray me, I will cut the throat of this traitor too I swore to myself.

I felt blood rush to my cheeks as the word 'dear' was ringing like a bell in my head. The wolf could play mind games with me even if she wasn't here.

The assemby was quick, I told my people to gather every man to fight for the woman who made this place a safe home for us. I climbed up to my black mare after putting on my silver and blue gear and dictated a rushed tempo for our horses on the way to Ravensthorpe, so our army arrived the same afternoon. I held my back tightly and confident in my straddle to show people a firm leader. As we rode closer to the gates a flood of excitement gripped my stomach. It was funny because I feared not the bloodshed of war or heavy strikes of axes, but seeing the deep blue eyes of Eivor again. Too afraid what I would see in the reflection of her endless iris. Just when I was confident enough to let the idea of the two of us together go , I knew it well the depth of her eyes will eat me alive again. Somehow Freya threads our paths in the same direction? Why does she condemned me to suffering?

***

As I got off my mare at the entrance of the longhouse Valka humbly walked up to me and greeted with a tusk of her best mead. It was a secret recipe I was obsessed with so Eivor sometimes sent a few barrells to me. Valka made the sweet liquid with a hint of star anise and petals of orange jasmine.

'Now that you are finally here the universe is balanced'- she winked handing over the mead. I had no idea what she mean by that, but I gratefully accepted and took a long shot.

'Thanks Valka, I am happy to see my favourite seeress. -I winked at her and slightly raised my tusk.' May this give me strength and fortune on the battlefield.

'Freya will have her hand on your shoulder , she has plans with you.'

This conversation made me suspicious Valka had a vision of the future and it seems I am the part of it. Anyhow, I was sure of one thing, my duty is to be here and help.

'I can't wait to fulfill my destiny, my friend. Whatever the future holds I am ready to take it in.'

In that moment Eivor rushed out of the longhouse seeming quite annoyed with something her rough hands forming into fists. She looked astonishing, deadly in her black and gold armor, the axe of her father as a token swagged on her side. Even if it was a brief moment, I saw her eyes widened at the sight of me, her look pierced into my soul when she smirked at me. She was saying without words that she was grateful that I came and trusted me, this filled my heart with warmth and my chest swelled.

'Dear Soma' -she spoke with her deep, raspy voice that was stealing my sanity every time I heard her close.'I knew you would come and aid us in the moment of need.'-she took my right hand for a moment then let it fall back.

'You know I'll always be there like a true friend. It's my pleasure.-Eivor's smile ended at the word friend, but people around us were staring and we weren't more than that behind their backs either.

To cut off our slightly awkward meeting, Randvi stormed out of the wooden bulding her cheeks burning, and arms folded. She looked like a child who didn't get the piece of cake. I wondered what happened between those two in there. In the second she caught a glipse of me and Eivor standing quite close , Randvi joined between us and politely thanked me to bring a huge force here. She was a perfect diplomat and an impeccable service around me after that.She arranged a dinner for only the leaders and jarls to lay out the plan for tomorrow's battle. We decided to surprise Birna and Ivarr and hide our best archers in the woods until they ride towards the gates. I must admit I can see now why Eivor loves Randvi. The copper-haired woman was not only beautiful with soft features, but intelligent in a way that humiliated the man leaders here.

It felt extremely hard to look at Randvi and listen to the details as I felt my helpless jealousy hit me like a wave. It angered me how Eivor drunk every word she uttered her eyes sometimes wandered lover than Randvi's lips.

After dinner I wanted to retreat to my tent as soon as possible , the sight of Eivor and Randvi in the same room sickened me. Before I could do that Randvi came to me with a letter.

'Soma, wait. Let me give this letter to you.' she instructed quickly.

'Who is it from?'-I enquired furrowing my brows with second guessing.

'It's uh..from me actually...-she hesitated then blurted out' there are certain things you better read than hear me say it out loud.'

This fucking woman had guts to speak to me like that..I knew it was intently personal. She must have heard rumors of Eivor's visits to me sometimes, but hardly knew the wolf was only hers not mine for a single bit.

'How thoughtful of you. The rumors are true , you really have balls in spite of being a shieldmaid. I will read your bedtime story later, now if you excuse me.' Randvi 0-Soma 1. Every inch of me wanted to tear off she seal and read it right away but I waited until I was left alone in the provacy of my tent.

Jarl Soma,

Please let me be honest and plain with you. Eivor's invite here was merely political. I know more than anyone how she behaves around women to get what she wants. I have firsthand experience in that. But you have to know Eivor doesn't look at you like a woman, she told me she sees a long lost older sister in you. If I were you, I would think twice what I let people gossip about and make a fool of myself.

Randvi

In the second I finished reading I crumpled the piece of paper and thowed behind my back. Her words were agressive and protective just like a female wolf and I could feel Randvi's bite marks on my neck.

I decided not to believe anything until I asked Eivor.. oh but how could I do that? The wolf would realise I cared about her in a different way, and I couldn't let that happen until she gives me something. A flickering sign in the hollowing darkness I am living in.

I decided to visit Valka and have drinks together, I desperately needed somebody to keep my mind of this mess I became part of.

***

The little hut stood with watchful eyes on the slight hill close to the village. There were died flowers hanged outside and a sweet smoky and flowery scent filled my nostrils. As I get close I recognized Valka now wearing a red gown with hood on her head. She looked like Freya preparing a love potion as she was pouring something in a tusk and put some petals on the top.

'Good Evening Valka.. I hope you don't mind my late night visit. I just needed some of your special mead I guess and my feet brought me here' I stared to her fiery reddish brow eyes. She had neat tattos on her face forming dots and gentle marks on her smooth skin.

'I knew you would come tonight, so I prepared this mead with some herbs that will rock you in a pleasant slumber.'she handed over the tusk , the liquid looked like shiny rubies.

'How is that you always know better what I need than myself?-I smirked at her and found comforting in her eyes.

'A gift from the gods my lady-her eyes had a mysterious spark in them, a little dimple formed on her face from smiling.

'Come sit with me inside, it is getting cold out here.'

I nodded and followed the seeress into the firm hut, theought the entrance ornamented with animal bones and more dried flowers.

There was a freshly lit fire inside warming up my limbs and cheeks. It also colored the space with wrath orange that played on our faces like the sunset.

'Now tell me, what makes your heart heavy?'-she asked with care.

'I think I feel a bond to Eivor that is irrational and grows between us every time we meet. It is like an invisible string pulls me towards her maybe it's the wish of the Gods.-I sipped bitterly in the mead , a slight soothing feeling ran through my body.

'We both know our fate is inevitable, so you have to show what's inside your heart first.' -Valka looked deeply in my eyes. -You are Soma, our fearless Bear warrior sent by Freya to our aid and to fight on Eivor's side.

'Randvi told me Eivor loves me with a sisterly care.. I image she is right., look at her, she could have anybody.

'Don't listen to Randvi , she is hurt and trapped in her own feeling of helplessness. If she can't have Eivor accepted by the public, then nobody can'-Valka nodded and squuezed my hand.

'I just can't trust people anymore Valka. My love towards people turned into a bitter storm inside me.-Except for Revna, I couldn't trust a soul, not even Eivor. She didn't reveal her hidden side to me.

'Just talk to her in the morning, it will ease your turmoil Soma.-she winked and headed to bed. To my utter surprise she started to undress in front of my sleepy eyes, they popped in surprise no matter the mead.

Valka's toned back was shining under the wrath orange fireligt, she revealed her impeccably and naked body.

'Good night Valka, I have to get some sleep now. Thank...you...for uh.. everything!' I mumbled to her and hurried to my hut until I was able to stand still. Before sleep my head was filled with Eivor's piercing eyes and... I was a bit surprised but Valka's slender back flashed through as well. Damn, this woman was also fine. Like all women!

My eyelids felt to heavy , soon enough I was fast asleep like a newborn baby.

[edenmemes]

game of thrones (s3) starters

❝ did it ever occur to you that i might be the one who deserves your confidence and your trust? ❞ ❝ you’re lucky to be alive. ❞ ❝ it doesn't matter what we want, once we get it, then we want something else. ❞        ❝ you’ve been so kind. i’d feel terrible if anything happened to you. ❞     ❝ i'm apologizing. i’m sick of fighting. let’s call a truce. ❞       ❝ you are the finest man i’ve ever known. ❞   ❝ by what right does the wolf judge the lion? ❞       ❝ your jokes are not appreciated. ❞  ❝ no point in trying to hide behind that face. i know fear when i see it. ❞         ❝ the truth is always either terrible or boring. ❞   ❝ you are an ill-made, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning. ❞  ❝ as much as i appreciate a walk in the sunshine, i’m wondering why you sent for me. ❞ ❝ that’s a lovely gown, my lady. ❞   ❝ you’re very kind. someday it’ll get you killed. ❞   ❝ you're so dangerous, aren't you? saying scary things to little girls. killing little boys and old people. ❞ ❝ there it is. that’s the look. i’ve seen it for years on face after face. you despise me. ❞  ❝ do you have a family? a mother and a father you'd return to if you had the choice? ❞ ❝ there's a beast in every man and it stirs when you put a sword in his hand. ❞   ❝ you’ve come to a dangerous place full of dangerous people. ❞   ❝ the lowest among us are no different from the highest if you give them a chance and approach them with an open heart. ❞   ❝ all men must die. but we are not men. ❞ ❝ you have a taste- one taste of the real world where people have important things taken from them and you whine and cry and quit. ❞ ❝ you think you're the smartest there is. that everyone alive has to bow and scrape and lick your boots. ❞ ❝ i'm the simplest man you'll ever meet. i only do what i want to do. ❞ ❝ sometimes severity is the price we pay for greatness. ❞ ❝ you coward. a little misfortune and you give up. ❞ ❝ fighting bravely for a losing cause is admirable. ❞ ❝ big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their hearts. ❞ ❝ plenty of little men tried to put their swords through my heart. and there's plenty of little skeletons buried in the woods. ❞      ❝ we can’t all have a king’s bravery. ❞   ❝ my sword is yours, my life is yours, my heart is yours. ❞ ❝ i think what you want most of all is to be a hero. ❞   ❝ back away. keep backing away till you're outside this establishment. then back away some more. ❞   ❝ could you do it? could you kill something? ❞   ❝ not another step. unless you want to drown in your own blood. ❞   ❝ i’ve heard some troubling tales. is there any truth to them? ❞   ❝ you’ve chosen the darkness. ❞   ❝ my enemies think they’ve destroyed me. they’re laughing at me. ❞   ❝ i would not speak to the dead. ❞   ❝ you said i should come to you with any problems. ❞   ❝ you’re a dangerous person. i like dangerous people. ❞   ❝ this is becoming one of the most boring conversations i've ever had. ❞   ❝ even the bravest men fear death. ❞   ❝ i would sit at this window everyday when the sun came up, waiting. ❞   ❝ it’s too beautiful a day to argue. ❞   ❝ it’s not easy for girls like us to dig our way out. ❞         ❝ what do i want? a little bloody gratitude would be a start. ❞   ❝ you’re clever, but you’re not half as clever as you think you are. ❞   ❝ if i wanted to kill you, do you think i'd let a wooden door stop me? ❞   ❝ the man who cut me lost more than his nose. ❞   ❝ you’re going to make me cry. ❞   ❝ you don’t have the strength. it would kill you. ❞   ❝ i’m not so easily killed. men have been trying for years. ❞   ❝ you refuse to tell me where you’re going? ❞   ❝ i got no fear of what’s out there. ❞ ❝ i don't pay you to put evil notions in my head. the ones already there don't need company. ❞   ❝ let’s not go back. let’s stay here a while longer. ❞            ❝ wait for me. wait for me and i’ll come back to you. ❞   ❝ i like to fight up close. i like to see a man's face when i put the steel in him. ❞   ❝ here, come sit next to me. i’m much less boring than these others. ❞   ❝ it’s not slander if it’s true. ❞ ❝ if blood is your desire, blood shall flow. ❞ ❝ you waste time trying to get people to love you, you'll end up the most popular dead person in town. ❞   ❝ i'm not afraid of you. ❞   ❝ i’m stupid. a stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns. ❞      ❝ i've never heard a kind word from your mouth. ❞        ❝ i've never had a family. ❞     ❝ i'm sorry. here i am complaining to you. ❞   ❝ i want very much for you to be happy. ❞        ❝ i'm almost as generous to those who help me than unpleasant towards those who don’t. ❞       ❝ when you are dead, i will gather your bones in a little sack and let your widow wear them around her neck. ❞   ❝ stay alive a little longer, my friend. ❞      ❝ i am sworn to no man. ❞     ❝ i love you. do you hear me? i love you. ❞   ❝ every time i come back, i’m a bit less. pieces of you get chipped away. ❞          ❝ i like you, but if you lie to me, i'll pull your guts out through your throat. ❞     ❝ i want us to be friends. good friends. ❞     ❝ i have prayed day and night for you to come to me. ❞       ❝ maybe you were as good as people said once.  /  or maybe people just love to overpraise a famous name. ❞      ❝ i want you. ❞   ❝ people work together when it suits them. yhey're loyal when it suits them. they love each other when it suits them. and they kill each other when it suits them. ❞  ❝ i did what i did for the good of the realm. ❞   ❝ you’re paying for my sins. it’s not fair or right. i’ll remember it. ❞   ❝ sorry. were you sleeping? ❞   ❝ chaos isn’t a pit. chaos is a ladder. ❞       ❝ it's you and me that matters. / don’t ever betray me. ❞   ❝ you were trembling like a leaf. ❞   ❝ if you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention. ❞   ❝ i see a darkness in you. ❞   ❝ it’s quite flattering, really, you feeling such dread in the prospect of me getting what i want. ❞   ❝ i will not breathe further life into a malicious lie by further discussing it. ❞   ❝ you’re not doing this for your god. you’re doing this for gold. ❞   ❝ it’s not getting any easier, you know. ❞     ❝ i feel like i’m in a dream. ❞ ❝ nobody cares about what your father once said. ❞      ❝ but i promise you one thing. i won't ever hurt you. ❞ ❝ i think mothers and fathers made up the gods because they wanted their children to sleep through the night. ❞   ❝ we do not choose our destiny, but we must do our duty, no? ❞   ❝ i hope you’re better with a sword than you are a lie. ❞   ❝ is that what you think? that it's all for a reason? all these bad things happened because the gods got big plans for you? ❞ ❝ i'm just trying to say, very badly- i just- just want to say i know how you feel. ❞   ❝ men who fight for gold have neither honor nor loyalty. ❞   ❝ you don't want to be alone out here. someone worse than me would find you. ❞ ❝ if we die, we die. but first we'll live. ❞   ❝ how many men have you killed? fifty? a hundred? ❞   ❝ i don’t care what you swear because you’re a liar. you’ll lie to anyone. ❞     ❝ i want it to haunt you to the end of your days. ❞       ❝ i stole it. it's mine. if you want it, come steal it back. ❞ ❝ if you meant to murder me, then bloody well get on with it. ❞     ❝ i am a godly man. ❞   ❝ there’s no one worse than you. ❞   ❝ the god’s wouldn’t spare a raven’s cold shit for you or me or anyone. ❞     ❝ well, you rip my pretty silk dress, i’ll blacken your eye. ❞ ❝ not talking, eh? that’s a first. ❞ ❝ you’re a delight to me. ❞   ❝ show them how it feels to lose what they love. ❞ ❝ haven’t you wondered where your strength came from? your talent for fighting? ❞ ❝ i could have your tongue for saying that. ❞       ❝ you have a very suspicious mind. in my experience, only dishonest people think this way. ❞ ❝ you think a crown gives you power? ❞ ❝ every time we deal with an enemy, we create two more. ❞ ❝ it was just a bit of blood. ❞ ❝ next time you’re going to do something like that, tell me first. ❞ ❝ does fuck off mean something different where you’re from? ❞ ❝ deserve? start trying to work out who deserves what and before long you'll spend the rest of your days weeping for each and every person in the world. ❞ ❝ this will never be your home. ❞ ❝ i stopped being a child when i was nine. ❞ ❝ forgive my manners. i don’t see many ladies these days. ❞   ❝ first time i met you, you put a knife to my throat. ❞   ❝ any man who must say, 'i am the king' is no true king. ❞       ❝ you should be thanking the gods for this. this is more than you deserve. ❞   ❝ i could be your family. ❞   ❝ what i know is what i saw. and if you saw it, too, you'd run the other way. ❞       ❝ there are a lot of stories about this place. horrible stories. ❞ ❝ everyone is mine to torment. you’ll do well to remember that. ❞       ❝ i'll tell you what i prayed for this morning. let's see, for my family's health and happiness, for an end to the war, for a short winter. boring and traditional, i'm afraid. ❞ ❝ i do know some things. i know i love you. ❞ ❝ but if you don’t kill me, i’ll kill you. ❞   ❝ oh, i'm a monster? perhaps you should speak to me more softly, then. ❞ ❝ i hope i’m not a disappointment to you. ❞   ❝ i know how to skin a rabbit. ❞   ❝ you think you’re good with that bow? ❞   ❝ have you ever seen a war where innocents didn't die by the thousands? ❞   ❝ leave this place. leave tonight, i beg you. ❞   ❝ i choose my allies carefully and my enemies more carefully still. ❞   ❝ it’s getting dark. we could stay here for the night. ❞ ❝ you know i didn’t have a choice. you always knew who i was, who i am. ❞   ❝ my enemies have made my kingdom bleed. ❞     ❝ roses are boring, dear. ❞  

[kpopfanfictrash]

Paralian (II)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Rating: 18+ 

Warnings: reader is a virgin, oral (female), body worship, hand holding  

Genre: Pirate!AU + Merfolk!AU + Royalty!AU

Synopsis: Far away, under the sea exists the merfolk Kingdom of Venetus. Y/N is a warrior princess, sworn to protect the nation she loves. Each night she and her unit are tasked with patrolling the ocean, until one night they come across an unmarked ship. The ship carries a dangerous secret which tears Y/N’s ideals apart. In the midst of escaping said danger, Y/N is forced to rely upon a Prince. The Prince of Pirates, whose fate and Y/N’s seem inexplicably entwined. Whether their meeting will end in joy or heartbreak remains to be seen. (A -very- loose retelling of The Little Mermaid).

Word Count: 6,530

A/N: This one shot takes place after Paralian, a one shot which can be found here. I highly recommend you read Paralian before reading this.

Leaning your hands on the rail of the ship, you stare at the inked sea before you.

The night is calm, as is the dark surface of the ocean. It is not yet the season for storms – that will come later, when the air of the city is heavy and stifling with heat. When it weighs upon skin as heavily as the water. This is what Jimin explained when you asked about Paralian seasons.

Turning, you survey the deck of the schooner. It has been several weeks since you arrived in Venetus. Already, you miss the warmth of the ocean, the familiarity of home and the faces of friends. Of course, Paralian is not all bad. Taehyung came with as an assistant of sorts. Ever since you met Jungkook’s crew, the young merman has harbored a fascination with humans.

You have made new friends as well; some of whom may one day mean as much to you as your merfolk. Still, everything about this land is different. There are many sectors of Venetus, but each Lord and Lady who presides respects your father as ruler. This is not so in Paralian. Many despised the old King and now, with Jungkook as monarch, they remain skeptical of his rule.

Each time you see Jungkook, he seems tired. Dark circles ever-present under his eyes and you hear from the servants he sleeps little at night. Even when he locks himself in his tower, it is only to work. He pours over histories of past, treaties of present and pushes himself to create new solutions. His tenacity is one you recognize and so, you respect it.

It is why you have not sent for him since your arrival. The best way to help is by doing your duty and so, you go about your daily business, meeting with foreign dignitaries at your father’s request. Your presence has provoked mixed reactions at best. Paralian remembers the war, even if you do not.

Still – you have achieved a few noteworthy items. Yoongi’s position on the Council is accepted and the slave trade in Paralian has ended. You initiated a coalition of aid to be sent to Aurelian in the hopes of ending their land-locked battle.

With a sigh, you glance again at the sea. There is still much to be done, but as your father always warns, permanent change takes time. He is right, but you have never been known for your patience.

Tightening your grip on the rail, you glance at the rich silk gown you wear. Earlier tonight your deck held a party. One thrown by Taehyung in an attempt to meet more of the Paralian nobility. For the most part it worked – although now, multiple women from Jungkook’s court are madly in love with the young, blonde merman.

Laughing softly, you drain the rest of your champagne.

Champagne is another thing you have tried since coming to Paralian. It is not available, nor is it practical under the sea – on land though, it is considered a delicacy. You cannot help but agree, since the fizzy sensation is wonderful, although you must be careful not to overindulge. The first time you drank, you did not understand and Taehyung spent the better part of an evening holding your hair over a bucket.

Vomiting is an unpleasant human sensation. Grimacing at this, you step away from the rail. Only a few Paralians remain onboard your ship. Taehyung is surrounded by admirers, as he usually is. Bringing him instead of Hoseok was a purposeful decision. Hoseok is many things, but charming is not one of them – this is something he knows and embraces. Taehyung is here to smooth over the feathers you ruffle.

He laughs at someone’s joke, the mercurial noise booming over the deck. Most of the party’s attendees have staggered to land, filling the halls of Paralian taverns until the wee hours of the morning. You will not follow – you cannot. Instead, you return to your cabin and prepare for tomorrow.

Another long day awaits, filled with small talk and meetings. Handing your glass to a server, you gather your skirts and cross towards your rooms. Taehyung catches your eye when you pass, beckoning to join the crowd at his side. The glass in his hand is still full, as are those of the people around him. Chuckling, you shake your head no and continue. It was a polite gesture, more than anything else; Taehyung knows the nobles are uncomfortable around you, due to your title.

Your cabins are at the far end of the hall, taking up the entire stern of the ship. It seemed extravagant when you boarded, but Taehyung insisted upon the arrangement. Half of politics is presentation, he argued and you reluctantly agreed.

The door creaks when it opens, pausing in darkness to fumble for a light. This is another difference between Paralian and home. In Venetus, all rooms are lit by bioluminescence but here, the lamps are oil and fire. Your fingers are clumsy striking the match; you nearly burn yourself twice in the process. In your first few days ashore, you burnt yourself often while becoming accustomed.

Your Paralian servants are always here to help, but you shoo them away. It is not because you do not trust them – although, come to think of it, perhaps you should not. You trust Jungkook and certain members of his court, but you cannot deny that animosity exists. You have experienced it often from the deck of your ship.

Releasing a sigh, you stare at yourself in the mirror. These quarters are another source of discomfort. Removing pins from your hair, you place these on the dresser. Living in Paralian, you are confined to this ship. Jimin once spoke of a wing Jungkook intends to build in the palace, one ankle-deep in water, but that is years away at best. In the meantime, you are forced to live within a few thousand square feet.

The claustrophobia is a far cry from your endless Kingdom of water. Glancing outside your window, you stare at the night sky. The stars seem dim in comparison to the town. Another oddity, in your opinion. Why bother to use artificial light, when the stars and moon are brighter than anything conjured?

Shaking your head, you begin to undo your laces – apparently, it is frowned upon for Paralian women to wear trousers – when a knock sounds at your door.

Your head jerks up, hands falling to your sides. It is unusual for someone to call upon you at this hour. Taehyung would not, unless it was an emergency and hurriedly, you rush to the door. Since leaving Venetus, you have not carried your sword on this ship. It lies, polished and unused, upon the oak of your desk. You stare at this for a moment before deciding against it. If someone truly wished you dead, they would not bother to knock.

Gripping the handle, you open the door.

Jungkook stands in the hall, framed by the moonlight.

You blink. Since your arrival, he has not visited once. Likely, this is due to his aforementioned schedule, but you cannot deny it hurts. After all that transpired between you, you thought – perhaps wrongly – he would wish to see you.

Jungkook clears his throat. “Good evening, Princess.”

“Evening?” Your brow raises despite yourself. “It is nearly midnight, Your Majesty.”

Jungkook makes a face. “There’s no need for such formality.”

“I believe you started it, Majesty, by calling me Princess.”

Jungkook stares for a moment, then smiles. “I suppose I did,” he admits.

He seems tired. Dark circles shadow his eyes, the crease of his jacket is wrinkled and his posture, normally impeccable, is slouched. The weight of his crown seems heavier than gold upon his brow. Still, he is beautiful and you cannot look away.

“Jungkook?” you prompt when he says nothing more. “Was there something you wanted to ask?”

“I – er, yes. No. Kind of?”

Your lips press together, hiding your amusement. “Well, which is it?”

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck. “I actually... came here to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Careful, you keep your words light. “Whatever for?”

“Please,” Jungkook murmurs. His gaze glints in the darkness. “I think you know what for. I have not been a very gracious host.”

“On the contrary.” Turning around, you re-enter your rooms. Leaving the door open, you invite him over the threshold. “My living spaces are adequate, my food always warm, my meetings arranged. It is everything an Ambassador could hope for.”

“You are not only an Ambassador to me.”

Your feet freeze, heart hammering your ribcage. His tone conjures memories which have haunted you for months. The press of his lips near the water, the whispered entreaties against your skin. You yearn for this, long to hear those words again – much in the same way you long for the sea.

The topic has not been revisited since your arrival and in this, you wondered if you were alone. Perhaps it was merely grief which caused him to kiss you. Perhaps he has forgotten, or time has lessened his wanting.

Behind you, the door softly closes. “Y/N.” Jungkook sounds distressed. “Say something.”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your dress. “Say what?” you ask, hardly daring to breathe. If you turn around now, if you see him, there is no telling what you might do.

Jungkook’s footsteps grow closer behind you. “I would understand if you are angry.” He walks until he faces your front. “I – I know I should have come sooner.”

Tilting your chin up, you meet his gaze. “I don’t fault you for that.”

“Maybe you should.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Mm.” Jungkook looks at you strangely. “But that isn’t why I stayed away.”

Reeling backwards, you attempt to compose your features. That is not what you thought he would say. “I – oh,” you stammer, uncertain what to do now.

Swiftly, Jungkook catches your hands in his. “I kept wanting to come,” he admits, slightly hoarse. “I did. And I was busy, but that wasn’t the main thing keeping me from you.”

“Oh?” Gaze roaming his face, your brow furrows. “Then, what was?”

“I was scared.”

“Scared? That doesn’t sound like the fearsome pirate I know.”

“Not a pirate anymore,” he reminds, glancing up at his crown. “In my short time as monarch, I’ve found Kings are afraid of all sorts of things.”

His words are reminiscent of your father. An entire Kingdom at his fingertips and what your father feared most was losing you, losing your mother. Slowly, you begin to understand what is bothering him.

“Jungkook,” you say kindly. “What frightens you?”

“Many things.” His grip tightens on yours. “I’m scared of leading my country to danger. Scared my instincts are all the wrong ones. I’m afraid of becoming attached,” he admits, “only to be hurt in the end.”

Heart constricting, you look down. Jungkook is still healing, that much is obvious – with the way his father died, you are not surprised. It is difficult for him to trust and you wonder if it was the wrong move to wait for him to come to you. Initially, you thought you were giving him space but maybe not. Jungkook has already told you his feelings, after all. You have yet to say anything.

Stepping closer, your hands find his arms. Jungkook inhales, startled.

“I can’t make you trust me,” you whisper. Your words echo what he once said to you.

Jungkook does not respond. His gaze is hesitant, looking at you.

“I can tell you what I feel, though.” Heart beating erratically, it elicits a similar sensation to the champagne.

Slowly, he nods, waiting for you to continue.

“I petitioned my father for weeks to let me be the Venetun Ambassador,” you quietly admit. “He didn’t want me to be, at first.”

“No?” Jungkook seems confused. “Why not?”

“It’s funny.” Gently, you laugh and shake your head. “I asked him the same thing. I think everyone else knew I was falling in love before I did.”

Jungkook freezes in place.

“Hoseok, my father...” Giving a shrug, you trail off. “I didn’t know what I was feeling. I didn’t know what to do with these feelings, what to call them – but Jungkook.” You seek out his gaze. “I have not stopped thinking of you since I left. I… I have only ever felt this way before with the sea.”

“The sea?”

With a nod, you step closer. “I have only ever felt this,” you inhale, “longing for the ocean before.”

Gaze darkening, Jungkook stares when your body presses to his. He is so close, your entire body throbs from the pulse of his heart.

“Everything I learn makes me want to know more,” you whisper. “Your kindness, your sincerity, this mark on your cheek.” Finally, you brush the scar with your fingers. “Everything that you are – I want to know more.”

“And what if you find me lacking?” Jungkook’s lips hover over yours. There is such joy to his expression, your legs nearly buckle.

“Impossible,” you say, eyes shining. “I find the opposite more likely.”

Jungkook makes a dismissive sound. “As though,” he exhales, pushing hair behind your ear. “I could ever lose interest in you.”

His hand does not stop. Tentatively, Jungkook trails fingers down your throat, your collarbone and hesitates at your shoulder. Repressing a shiver, you stare brazenly back. Without stopping to think, your hand closes over his and tugs the garment aside.

Jungkook inhales at your exposed skin. As though hypnotized, he bends to brush a kiss to your body. A moan escapes you before you can stop it, clutching his arms to hold yourself up.

“Y/N.” He looks upwards, hunger to his gaze. “What do you want from me?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Truthfully, you do not. You have not the words to describe what you want from him. All you know is you want more; you want him here and now, you do not want to wait.

Jungkook’s thumb brushes over your collarbone. “Is this…?” He hesitates, rethinking his words. “Have you ever…?”

Slowly, you shake your head no.

The idea of loving another is different for merfolk. Marriage is a relatively new concept, introduced through centuries of human interaction. Despite this, your kind has always been monogamous. You refer to the practice as mating, and it is not legally binding. Copulation is also different to your kind – there are theories amongst your people this is where human origin comes from.

Merfolk attain legs while standing above the water. It is in this form you procreate, and this is what merfolk do once they are mated. You have never felt the inclination to be mated and so, you have not tried.

Jungkook’s gaze becomes hesitant. “I don’t wish to do anything before you’re ready.”

“Then, only do as I tell you.”

His gaze darkens. “What would you have me do?”

Boldly, you lift your chin. “Kiss me, Jungkook.”

The request changes something between you. Insecurities banished, Jungkook’s hands slide to your face. He bends, brushing your lips with his and a fervor ignites, deep in your soul. The flames twist and dance, threatening to destroy if you do not give them more.

Feverishly, your lips open with his. Jungkook groans as your tongues slip together, bodies carefully distant until you take a step forward. Crushing yourself to his chest, Jungkook’s hand winds in your hair while the other slides to your back. You cannot breathe; there is no thought aside from this dizzying, drowning need for him.

Breaking away, you tug him along. Kisses softening, you press your lips against his until your knees hit the desk. Jungkook bends, grasping your thighs to hoist you onto the table. His right hand hooks your knee, pulling you forward as your bodies collide. Spread out against him, you can feel the entire tenuous length of his body.

Jungkook’s forehead presses to yours, right hand under your knee and his eyes mostly shut. Your hand slides up his neck, seeking his face. Gently, your thumb brushes his chin, his lips and the scar on his cheek.

Jungkook’s eyes flutter open. “What have you done to me?” His voice is ragged. “I have never… I am not in control around you.”

A smile creases your lips. “Whatever spell you speak of,” you say, stroking his cheek. “It has ensnared me, as well.”

Turning, Jungkook brushes a kiss to your thumb. “Tell me what else you want, Princess.”

“Undress me.”

His eyes widen. “I – are you certain?”

Jungkook sounds strained, as though holding himself back. You appreciate his concern; the clarity of his effort to give you what you want. You wish this to be pleasurable for him, too though. Gently, you move to press your lips against his.

Jungkook melts into the kiss, seeking further reassurance. His tongue turns hot and needy, tracing your own. “I,” he breathes, breaking away. “That is all very well, but Princess…” He pauses. “I cannot say I have been chaste with others before. This is different, though. This is…”

“More,” you finish quietly, threading your fingers in his hair. “I understand.”

Jungkook gives you a searching look. “It might hurt,” he says, softer. “I have heard that from others before.”

“I trust you,” you say, knowing the truth in the statement. Jungkook has your heart more than he might realize.

“And I, you.”

Leaning forward, he reignites the kiss in between you. Nose nudging yours, he parts your lips with his own. Sinking into the sensation, you allow his warmth to pull you under.

“Wait,” Jungkook pants, suddenly breaking away. “I – uh, what about protection?”

Heat singes your veins at the thought. “You don’t have to... worry about that,” you assure him.

Jungkook’s brows knit together. “I don’t?”

“You,” you flush. “You see… Yoongi gave me a few potions before I left. He said that I might have need…”

Trailing off, you wave lamely towards your dresser.

Jungkook’s lips press together, as though fearful of laughter. “Oh,” he murmurs, a darker gleam entering his eyes. Gripping your waist, he pulls you roughly against him. “Do you find a need for them now, Princess?”

Lips parting, your eyes widen at the press of his length to your core. Head floods the willing space between your thighs. Gaze darting lower, you seek out his manhood but see nothing but skirts and trousers.

Gaze snapping upwards, you frown. “Undress me,” you say.

Grasping your thighs, Jungkook lifts you off of the desk. “Not here,” he insists, wrapping your legs tightly around him. Walking across the cabin, he comes to a stop at your bed. “I wish,” he exhales, lowering one knee to your mattress, “I could have you in my bed. It seems awfully unfair for you to keep these memories to yourself.”

“Mm.” Letting go of his neck, you let him lower you to the sheets. “Perhaps one day.”

Jungkook hovers above you, one knee in between yours. “What do you mean?” he asks, curious.

“I didn’t want to say anything until it was certain.” His fingers reach underneath you, so you arch your back. “Not until I knew it was an option, at least.”

Finding your laces, Jungkook loosens these with deft pulls of his fingers. “Y/N.” Sitting back on his heels, Jungkook removes his crown and places this on the floor. “What option? What aren’t you certain of?”

He has stopped undressing you, which you find most inconvenient. “Well.” You prop yourself on both elbows. “I asked Yoongi to look into something for me. He is still learning his magic, you know – his father didn’t have a chance to teach him much. What he can and can’t do is uncertain and I asked him to… Well…”

“You asked him to do what?”

“I asked him if merfolk could transition to human on a more… permanent basis.”

Jungkook pauses, hardly daring to hope. “Is... such a thing even possible?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “There are stories, but I always assumed them to be just that – stories.”

“But if they are not…”

You stare back at him, unwilling to voice it aloud.

Jungkook’s expression changes. “I don’t want you to be anything you aren’t, Y/N.”

“I know,” you murmur. “I would still be me with fins or with legs, though. This way... at least we have options.”

He stares at you silently, at war with himself. If the possibility is not certain, it is hard to let himself hope. But if it is – lowering his head, Jungkook presses his lips against yours. The gesture contains all the intimacy of a promise. He hovers over you for a moment, not opening his eyes.

“Jungkook.”

He opens his eyes.

“Why am I still in this dress?”

His lips quirk; a humor quickly dispelled. “How rude,” Jungkook drawls, hands sliding beneath you. “In Paralian, those who question the King are punished.”

Rather than be a deterrent, the words send an ache to your core. You would like to be punished by him. “Are they?” you whisper, arching a brow. “This seems the very kind of thing I was sent here to stop.”

With a chuckle, Jungkook pushes himself to his knees. Grasping your ankles, his hands slowly slide up the hem of your skirt. With each inch of skin revealed, his gaze becomes focused. Candlelight illuminates the long length of your legs, crimson silk draped around them. Lowering his head, Jungkook presses a kiss to your knee.

Quietly, he inhales. “I have often imagined,” he says, gaze flicking upwards. “The taste of your body beneath me.”

You have no response – indeed, all words die in your throat.

Grasping your waist, he pulls you into a seated position. “Up,” Jungkook demands, lifting your arms overhead.

When you hold them in place, he tugs your dress off. The lace of your bustier remains, but the shape of your body is obvious, seated before him.

Without further ado, Jungkook lowers his lips to your jaw. From there, he trails kisses down the slope of your neck. Mouth brushing your breast, he admires the way you peak at his touch. Repeating the gesture, he glances up from your skin. Blowing gently over your nipple, he watches you harden. Slowly, Jungkook closes his lips over the peak.

Arching beneath him, you release a small gasp of pleasure. Jungkook’s hand cups your breast, keeping you still while he sucks over the lace. Depths, you have never experienced something like this before. His tongue swirls against you, making you clutch at the bed. Knees rising to cage his waist, you wantonly press your body to his.

“J-Jungkook,” you moan.

Head lifting, he smirks at your expression. Rather than stop, he merely switches to the other breast. All common sense drifts as an indescribable need takes over your body. Arching against him, the space between your thighs grows uncomfortably wet, despite you being on land.

Panting, Jungkook breaks from your breast. The lace of your bustier is obscenely damp from his sucking, licking and swirling. It makes your core ache, but he does not stop there. Hands stroking your body, Jungkook’s gaze travels towards the apex of your thighs.

“What else do you want from me?”

“Your shirt,” you say, grasping the material. “Take it off.”

His eyes glint but he obeys, sitting back on his heels to pull this overhead. Toned, tan muscles are revealed by the motion. Staring at him, you rub your legs slowly together. There is an unbearable friction which makes you ache to be filled.

Jungkook’s gaze drops to your thighs. “I want to see you,” he confesses. “All of you.”

Nodding, you begin to undo the buttons and laces. Paralian women certainly take pride in making things as difficult as possible. When he grows impatient, Jungkook joins you to help. His fingers rip at the lace, making you laugh as more skin is revealed. Well, if he has no respect for the garment, neither do you.

When the bodice is shoved from your shoulders, Jungkook can only stare. His touch becomes gentler, spanning your waist and stroking your thighs. Tugging the bodice from your legs, he leaves you naked beneath him, but for the sea air.

“Sails,” Jungkook whispers, staring at you. Gaze darting upwards, he seeks out your own. “May I kiss you, Y/N? I promise it will feel good.”

Roughly, you nod.

Inhaling, he lowers himself to his front. Turning his head, Jungkook presses a lone kiss to your knee. Moving higher, he drifts towards the source of your tension. At the apex of your thighs, he hovers before pushing your legs apart. Watching him do this, your heartbeat quickens.

When he looks up, his gaze is dark and hungry. Slowly, Jungkook drags a finger up your slick center. The digit comes away wet and, while you watch, he places this on the tip of his tongue. Jungkook sucks, keeping his gaze firmly on yours.

“Oh,” you breathe, uncertain why you like this so much.

He smiles, unrepentant and lowers himself further. He starts off slow, placing soft kisses along the edge of your folds. His lips move up and down, getting you used to the warmth of his mouth. When you relax, Jungkook adds the flick of his tongue. Short, teasing bursts while he eases you forward.

When his tongue sweeps higher, over a forbidden place, you jolt from the pleasure. Jungkook halts, glancing up from your thighs. “Did that feel good?” he asks, sounding strained.

His lips are wet with arousal and while you watch, his tongue darts sideways to lick up his mess. Groaning, you spread your legs wider. “Please,” you beg, not caring how you sound. “I need more.”

With a smirk, Jungkook lowers his head. Now, he does not tease. Now, he buries himself closer to seek out your pleasure. His tongue moves roughly against you, tracing circles to draw moans from your lips. It soon becomes too much, body shaking beneath him. Everything feels heightened, on edge and spiraling out of control.

Jungkook slows in response, pressing soft kisses against the mound of your sex. When you cry out, you have no idea what you need, but Jungkook reads your body and responds to the motion. When he has you limp, begging beneath him, his fingers trail down to your sex. Sucking hard on your mound, he sides a finger inside you, forcing you apart at the seams.

This is what it feels like – a shuddering wave of pleasure which drags you under. Your vision pulses, darkening as you arch on the bed. Jungkook guides you though it, kissing and licking as you come down from your high.

Grasping the sheets tight in both hands, you open your eyes. The ceiling above you is the same and yet, everything is different. Your body feels loose and tight at the same time, unbearably sensitive. Jungkook drops a kiss to your thigh and looks upwards.

“Did you like it?” he murmurs.

“I – depths,” you swear, still catching your breath.

He smiles, eyes crinkling adorably. Pushing himself upwards, Jungkook hovers over your body. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, lips brushing your cheek.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Some women don’t like –”

Bringing his lips to yours, you silence his question. He tastes different, salty but you like it, tongue hesitantly brushing his lips. Jungkook kisses you eagerly, lips molding to yours – which is when you feel his length, hard against your thigh.

Pulling away, you glance down. Jungkook still is wearing his trousers but even so, you see evidence of his arousal. Your body still feels pleasantly buzzed, but you find your need far from being satisfied. Somehow, it feels worse. To have had Jungkook’s mouth, his finger inside you – you cannot stop wondering what else there is.

Slowly, your gaze lifts to his. “Take off your pants.”

Jungkook’s brows rise. “But… we just…”

“Jungkook.” Lacing his fingers with yours, you bring both your hands to rest between your thighs. His eyes turn glassy at the mess he just made. “I want you – all of you.”

Instantly, Jungkook pushes himself back on the bed. Stripping himself of his trousers, they join your dress and his crown on the floor. When he is fully naked, you prop yourself on your elbows to drink him in. Jungkook’s cheeks flush; lips wet from your body, dark hair falling into his gaze.

Between his legs is his cock. It looks just as it felt, pressed against your thigh – thick, veined and hard to the touch. Reaching out a hand, you brush your thumb over the tip.

Jungkook shudders, catching your hand in his. “Unless,” he pants, clenching his jaw. “You wish me to come undone right now, I would advise not doing that.”

Staring at him in amazement, you realize how badly he wants you. Jungkook grips himself with one veiny hand, squeezing his length as a bit more pre-cum seeps out.

“Clearly,” he murmurs, “you see how much I want you. It’s more than that, though.” Shifting, Jungkook presses his body to yours. He inhales deeply, feeling your skin against his. “My feelings haven’t changed, Y/N. When I’m with you, I feel –”

“Complete,” you echo, brushing your lips with his. “Jungkook. I want you like this.”

Nodding, he kisses you slower. Hand parting your thighs, he savors the mess he just made. “You’re so wet,” he moans, sighing in satisfaction.

“Is that a good thing?” 

“Mm. Very good,” he says, sinking a finger inside you.

Gasping, you grip his arms tighter. It feels tight but good, your body clenched around his. Jungkook stills for a moment, allowing you to adjust. When he moves, he goes slow, curling his finger inside you. When you moan out his name, he adds another finger.

The second one hurts a bit more. Jungkook seems concerned, but you shake your head and urge him to continue. He obeys and before long, it feels just as good as the first finger. Even better – arching satisfactorily, your hunger only deepens.

“More,” you say, head thrown back on the pillow.

Lowering his head, Jungkook kisses your throat. When he does, he slides in a third finger. You groan, clenching hard around him as he pants. “You’re so tight, Y/N. I – sails, I don’t think you know what you’re doing to me.”

“I can see what it’s doing to you,” you say, wickedly glancing at his cock.

Jungkook’s length twitches, harder than before. He smirks, gently rubbing your clit with his thumb. As you adjust to the feeling, his fingers sink further inside you. When you groan, Jungkook begins scissoring your walls.

Grasping his arms, you roll your hips slowly against him. “Jungkook,” you whine, unable to take any more.

“Yes?”

“Please,” you beg. “Please, I need you inside me.”

When he withdraws, you protest but already, Jungkook aligns his cock at your center. Mouth drying, you stare at the thickness of his length. You thought three fingers would be enough to prepare you but now, you are not certain.

Jungkook presses a kiss to your shoulder and you slowly relax. He will take care of you – you know this. Resting his tip at your center, Jungkook rolls your clit with nimble fingers. When you mewl, arching against him, he slips in an inch.

This is enough for you to gasp, eyes watering from the stretch. “Oh,” you blurt, burying your face in his chest.

“We can stop,” Jungkook pants, beginning to withdraw.

Frantically, your hands move to clutch him in place. “No,” you say, looking up. “Keep going.”

Seeing your determined expression, Jungkook slowly nods. He continues to play with your clit, making you moan as he pushes another inch in.

“Oh,” you groan, arching against him. You feel split, torn by the sensation but it is not unbearable. Indeed, there is an odd mix of pleasure from the wetness you feel.

His fingers continue to play with your sex, making you moan as he slips further in.

“Almost there,” Jungkook murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Halfway and already,” he whispers, hot in your ear, “you’re the tightest, wettest thing I’ve ever had wrapped around my cock.”

His words make your lips part in a daze. It sounds obscene, coming from such lovely lips but you find you want more. Hands sliding into his hair, you open your legs further and Jungkook groans, sinking in. It burns, but less so than before. There is this deep, throbbing need to have him fill you entirely.

“That’s it,” he groans, rubbing your clit. His cock pulses, hot and needy inside you. “Just a little bit more, Y/N. You’re doing so well.”

Hearing his praises, you arch a bit further. Jungkook thrusts deeper with a grunt and you gasp, feeling a last wave of pain. It makes you see stars and you wonder if the dampness between your legs is more than only arousal. Already, it fades from the press of his lips to your skin.

“There,” Jungkook croons, lips tracing your jaw. “That’s it, Y/N. That’s all.”

Clasping him tightly, you slowly adjust to the feeling. His cock is so large, buried in you to the hilt. You have never felt a fullness like this before. Jungkook continues to touch you, tracing your waist, your chest and whispering how lovely you are. Preening at his words, you arch and feel him slip deeper inside.

“Oh!” you blurt in surprise.

“Y/N?” Worried, Jungkook’s gaze snaps to yours. “Are you alright? Does it hurt? I can –”

Grasping his chin, you bring his gaze to yours. “I – do that again,” you say, breathless.

Jungkook’s gaze darkens. Slowly, he withdraws and pushes deeper inside.

“O-oh,” you groan, legs shaking beneath him.

Your body is sore, perhaps a bit overstretched but all this is overshadowed by the thrust of his cock. Seeing the change in your expression, Jungkook pulls back a bit further. Slowly, he aligns and sinks into your center. A low, needy whine is pulled from your lips.

“Harder,” you gasp, clutching his body.

Gaze darkening, he nods. Withdrawing gently, he snaps his hips forward. It feels so good to have him move deep inside you. Jungkook thrusts again, rougher as tension mounts in your body. The sensation is different than before, with his tongue on your clit.

Now, his entire body moves against yours. Now he is fully inside you, urging you to come. His arms gather you close, hooking an ankle over his ass to grind into you deeper. Jungkook thrusts harder, faster and you begin to see stars.

“Jungkook,” you groan, biting down on his shoulder to stifle your moans.

“No.” He thrusts harder. “I want to hear you. Want to hear how you feel, what you want.”

“I want more,” you gasp as he fills you. “Want you harder, Jungkook. Deeper – oh! Oh!”

His name leaves your lips, louder as he fucks into you harder. You are aware the walls of the ship are thin; you should really be quieter, but cannot seem to care. Let them hear. Let them know how badly you want him, how badly he wants you.

Slowing down, Jungkook thrusts into you deeper. His hips roll as he enters, making you feel his whole length. You gasp underneath him, groaning his name when your hips rise to meet him.

“I want you to come like this,” he whispers against your lips. Rolling his hips slowly against you, he makes your toes curl. “Want you to come, soft and moaning. You can scream my name another night.”

“Another night?” you moan, gripping his waist with your thighs.

Nodding, Jungkook presses his lips against yours. His fingers interlace with your own, hips continuing their relentless motion against you. Each time he withdraws, you whimper and each time he enters, you moan. Rolling his hips, Jungkook grinds himself against your clit.

“Mm, another night,” he agrees in between kisses. “Every night. C-come for me, Y/N.”

Hearing how close he sounds, you do not think you could stop if you tried. Clasping him tightly, you fall over the edge. With his name on your lips, you shudder apart underneath him. Jungkook swears, feeling you clench and finally, he lets go. You feel him release, warm cum filling your body with thrust after thrust.

When he is finished, Jungkook half-collapses against you. His lips drag over your skin, messy as he slowly pulls out. Glancing around, he spots a towel on your bedside and reaches to grab it.

“What are you doing?” You blink, shutting your legs on his hand.

Jungkook’s lips quirk at your response. “Cleaning,” he says, gently wiping your body. “The, uh – well, my… I don’t want to make a mess of your sheets.”

Realizing the meaning, your cheeks heat as you open your legs. Jungkook is fast, cleaning himself and lowering the rag to the ground. When he is finished, he resumes looking at you.

“What are you looking at?” you whisper, feeling oddly exposed.

Smiling, Jungkook bends to brush his lips against yours. He lingers and your arms slowly rise, circling his neck and pulling him down. Jungkook’s legs entwine with yours, kissing you gently until he breaks away, breathless.

“What I was thinking…” Pausing, he wraps your fingers in his. “Is that I want this every night.”

“This?” you ask, arching a brow.

Chuckling, Jungkook traces your arm with a finger. He cannot seem to look away, mapping your skin with his gaze. “Well, yes, that. But also, you. In my bed.”

He shuts his mouth and you sense there is more to the sentence but for now, that will do. Lifting your hand, Jungkook slowly kisses each one of your fingers. He lingers on your ring finger, lifting his gaze and, although your heartbeat quickens, he moves on to your pinky.

Lowering your hands, Jungkook interlaces the fingers.

“Stay with me tonight,” you whisper, pressing closer.

He nods, a sleepy smile on his lips. “However long you want me, I’ll stay.”

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Paralian character ask game found here

[stardustjem]

The Meadow

First fanfic and first post so I have no idea if I’m doing any of this right. Please help.

Includes: Darkling, Alina, mentions of Mal

Set almost 60 years after Ruin and Rising.

It had been 58 years since the Shadow Fold fell and Ravka was free. It had been 56 years since the young man and the white-haired woman had moved to Keramzin and reopened the orphanage. In those years the couple was rarely seen apart. They could often be seen standing in the corner of a crowded room holding onto each other as if there wasn’t the chaos of a dozen children screaming around them. Often, the young man would steal soft kisses from the white-haired woman and in return she would quietly gaze at him in adoration and flush lightly through her cheeks. Time did not dull their devotion to one another, but slowly the young man’s hair turned gray and his strong back began to hunch. The white-haired woman’s skin began to leather from years of working out in the sun and slight feathered laugh lines formed around her eyes from years of smiling at the young children around her feet. But she did not age quite so drastically as the man. Eventually, she began to be very grateful for her thick white hair that hung around her shoulders. Otherwise, she would have begun to look like a daughter than the devoted wife she was.

Tonight, again, sleep was elusive. It had been 6 months since the white-hair woman felt the arms of her husband wrap around her lithe waist. 6 months since his lips pressed softly to her forehead. 6 months since she laid her head on his chest and listened to him breathe in the dark. The old familiar ache of loneliness had begun to creep into her bones. During the day, the shadows danced out of the corners of her eyes and she expected to feel her beloved sweep in next to her and shower her with kisses like he had for so many decades before.  At night, she lay cold and empty in the bed they once shared. After all these months his scent was finally fading from his pillow that she clutched to her and hers was once again wet with quiet tears.

She had been sickly and thin for most of her life, but now even she noticed the bones protruding from her rib cage and the hollow, sallowness of her face. She heard the whispers and couldn’t miss the looks of pity and concern from her staff, but she never acknowledged them with more than a weak smile when they offered to take on her duties for the day. Sighing deeply, the white-haired woman climbed out of bed and picked up a light shawl that she had carelessly dropped in the corner of her room days ago. Perhaps a walk in the meadow would be good for her?  

The night air was warm for late September. The white-haired woman slipped silently out of her room and down the stairs, careful to tip-toe around the boards she knew so well that would creak or moan and give her away. She carried a small lantern and a blanket with her, intent on sleeping in the meadow, their meadow, for a few minutes or hours.

When she was a child the darkness petrified her, but as a young woman she grew to appreciate the balance of the cool darkness to bright heat of the sun. Even still, a shiver ran through her despite the thick air as the shadows swirled around her and her lantern. She walked slowly into the field and spread her blanket on the sun-dried golden grass, listening to it crinkle under her slight frame as she laid down. At 75, she had no business stepping as lightly and easily as she did, or sleeping on the ground for that matter, but truth be told, she could pull her hair under a hat and be mistaken for a young 30-year-old. Her body only showed signed of neglect, of not eating or sleeping, not age. The scar on her shoulder, given to her in a different time, a different life, twinged lightly as she rolled onto her side to look at her surroundings.

She lay there listening to the songs of the crickets and the rustling of mice and owls. She had begun to doze off, enveloped in the symphony of night creatures when she felt a foreign, but familiar, tug in her gut. She pulled the threadbare shawl closer to her, pressed her eyes together tightly, and beseeched her body for just a few moments of rest, of forgetfulness. Again, she felt the tug and her body responded, opening her eyes and her chest before her mind could fully remember what that feeling could possibly mean.

As she opened her eyes, sitting in front of her on her blanket, a dark figure with pale skin surveyed her. His grey eyes studied her face and her tightly coiled body, knees to chest. He didn’t speak but slowly moved to tuck a stray strand of silvery white hair behind the woman’s ear. She stared at him in disbelief, blinking in the lantern-light until his cool fingers touched her cheek. At his touch, she gasped and scrambled to her feet, her whole body shaking in shock and more than a little fear. “I’m dreaming,” she finally whispered. “You’re dead. I watched your body burn. I killed you.”

“All of Ravka watched the Sankta’s lovely body burn as well. And yet, here you stand in front of me.” The man cocked his head and gave a wry smile. The shadows from the dying lantern swayed over his face. The woman could see thin white scars marring his otherwise perfect skin. Her shoulder burned in a way it hadn’t done in years.

When she found her voice in her dry and raspy throat she croaked out, “How are you here? Why are you here? I’m and old, powerless woman. What indignity can you possibly wish on me now?” Suddenly, she thought of the children innocently sleeping in their beds a few stones throw away. She glanced nervously up at the house and began to slowly move to put herself between the scar-faced man and the house.

As if reading her mind and sensing her concern, the man made a guttural noise. “I have never put children in danger. Do you really still think so lowly of me even now, my Alina?’

She sucked her lips to her teeth as if she’d been slapped. Only her husband used that name with her. No one else had used that name for her in over 50 years.

“Why…How…Are You Here?” She demanded, punctuating her question. Her voice had lost the edge of fear and was now low and hard. Her fists clenched tightly over her chest.

Groaning lightly, as if he was trying to mask a deep pain, he pushed himself to his feet to stand across from her, his eyes took in the woman in her entirety. He lingered on her frail arms, pulling her thin, golden shawl tighter in an attempt to cover her sheer shift, before moving on to her bare collarbone. Her chest rose and fell quickly and he was momentarily mesmerized by the hollow in her neck filling as she tried to control her breath.  Slowly he met her angry, fearful eyes.

“I would have hoped you’d be happier to see me,” he said coldly. “Living as an otkazat’sya has made you weaker” he spat the word. “You look so frail, Little Saint.”

The woman bristled at his words. Her eyes flashed and anyone watching would have sworn the dimming lantern flared.

“So, you’re here to insult me, Darkling?” her voice was strong and briming with hurt and anger. “Yes. I have lived a safe, happy life as an otkazat’sya. No war. No Lies. Not being used as a pawn. My husband and I have given love and a home to hundreds of children. You may have lived for centuries, but my “insignificant” and “weak” life has brought more into the world than you ever could.”

Ignoring her anger, the Darkling looked around, feigning concern, “Ah yes, where is the Tracker? It’s been so long since I’ve seen his scowling face. I would like to give my regards to the old man.”  

The woman’s sun-kissed face went pale. She clutched her chest as if the man in front of her had actually taken a dagger to her heart, mimicking what she had done to him so many years before. Her demeanor fell and her anger and fear were replaced with fresh grief and the empty pangs of new loneliness. Her shoulders slumped. She lowered her head and turned away so her aggressor wouldn’t see the diamond tears glimmering on her raw cheeks. In a flash of black and shadow, she was caught as she wavered and sunk to her knees.

“I’m sorry, Alina. That was cruel of me. Truly, I’m sorry for your pain. I warned you that their lives were fleeting. You deserve to be happy and shining.”

The woman called Alina stared at him incredulously as deep sobs bubbled up inside her chest. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? I am a powerless old woman. If I’m lucky, I will die soon as well!”

The dark man shook his head and held her to his chest.  “My Sun Summoner, Grisha power cannot just disappear. It’s not magic, it’s science. It’s in your blood, bones, core. You have been powerless for all these years because your subconscious thinks it’s safer. Because you have suppressed it. Like when you first came to me all those years ago, you’ve blocked your own abilities to live this life. Haven’t you wondered why you barely age? If you had been using your powers all these years, you would not have aged at all.”

Alina suddenly felt dizzy and waves of nausea rolled over her. She pushed herself away from the man who had haunted her dreams for years after his supposed death. Her skin felt hot and cold all at once. She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face, and finally choked out, “You think I didn’t try? You think I wanted to give them up? You think I wanted to live all these years … empty?!”

“I think your body and mind did what they had to do to protect you and give you the easy, uncomplicated life you had longed for.” The man sighed and brought his hand to his chest, absently rubbing the spot where the Sankta’s dagger struck.

Noticing the movement, Alina pulled herself up and attempted composure. Glaring at him through unshed tears she hoarsely whispered, “I’m going to ask you again. How are you alive? And why are you here?”

The Darkling sighed again, appearing more tired and ragged than she had ever seen him. He stared thoughtfully into her deep brown eyes.

“By all rights, I should be dead. Or should have stayed dead. I did die. But, like your…Mal…,” the Darkling said her husband’s name for the first time, out of respect for her pain, “the power tied to me from my grandfather, from Morozova, showed mercy. You’re not the only one with followers, Sankta Alina,” he jeered, “there are some powerful Grisha who did and still do support my cause of saving our people. I’m still healing. Or maybe I’m not, maybe the pain of your dagger will stay with me for eternity. At least I will always have something to remember you by.” He put his hand over his old wound and gave a grim smile, then put his head down to break her gaze. “I’m here because I’ve felt your sorrow for months and I couldn’t bear it any longer. I haven’t felt anything from you all this time, I truly believed you dead. But then I felt a deluge of raw pain and loneliness and I knew it must be you. I could only assume what had happened since you were closed to me. Tonight, I called and you opened the gate. So here I am, Alina. I’ve waited so long for you. You are my forever, after all.”

He looked up again, his grey eyes shimmering in the moonlight. Alina sat back on her heels, trying to take everything in.

“So, I…called to you? I have my power to summon… you?” she sounded incredulous. She had lived a lifetime of feeling not-quite-right. While filled and fulfilled through the love she shared with her husband, there was an emptiness that couldn’t be explained. She thought her power had vanished. In her mind it had been a fair trade. Her power for Mal’s life. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t long to roll the balls of light between her fingertips or feel the power of the sun course through her.

Suddenly, without thinking, she flung out her hand and grabbed the bare skin of the Darkling’s wrist in one hand and held the other open. Her shawl fell off her frail shoulders to the ground next to her. She closed her eyes and willed her power back. To her shock, she felt the barriers that had stood for so long crack and crumble insider her. After a moment, she felt a hot flash of pain searing through her and she cried out to the night.

“Alina…” the Darkling whispered, almost reverently.

She looked down and in her palm she held a small sun.

“Alina, my Alina. You’re glowing.”

A soft but powerful light was pouring from the white-haired woman seated in the meadow. She glowed golden under the moonlight, as if every inch of her was on fire.

After half a century of separation, the Darkling leaned over her and gently kissed her cheek. Still glowing, and suddenly not empty or alone, Alina released his hand and met his lips with her own. She cupped his cheek with her hand gently. As their lips pressed together, her soft glow flared out, racing over the dry grass like the noonday sun. The Darkling shut his eyes tightly to keep from being blinded and called the shadows around them to keep the balance. The kiss was not hungry or needy, or with the heated passion of her youth. It was gentle and healing. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. She pulled herself away from his lips, but laid her head on his chest.

“Oh, Aleksander,” she breathed, “Thank you.”

Her light dimmed and extinguished. He pulled back his shadows and the two held each other silently in the moon bathed meadow.

“Alina, I’ve missed you.”

[bbrandy2002]

My Love

Chapter Three: Yesterday

A/N: Want to give proper credit to @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore whose thoughtful comments on the previous chapter inspired some of the sentiments and title of this chapter (even though she killed Liam this week and I had to declare war against her).

*One day I will create a moodboard, but, today is not that day.

Warnings: Language and brief mention of infant loss THAT HAS NOTHING to do with this chapter. I was asked by several people how Ellie will be able to continue feeding and it will be explained. Just wanted to be on the safe side there.

Series Summary: After losing the love of his life, Liam is forced to endure another social season. Not wanting to move on, he finds help from an unlikely ally...his late wife

__________________________________

Hana squinted as her car drove through the crowded gates of the palace; the sun hadn’t fully risen above the horizon yet and its rays were projecting a blinding glare. She slammed her brakes to a halt when she pulled into her usual spot, causing the car's tires to slightly squeal. The car door swung open wildly and she walked with purpose at a quick step, hastily swiping at the tears on her cheeks -- a woman determined to fulfill a promise she made months ago. 

She had received the call from Drake only an hour ago, and without hesitation, threw on a pair of white jeans, a tank, and flats. She sobbed as she brushed her hair and tossed it up into a loose ponytail, knowing she had more to do than just grieving the loss of her best friend. Hana, never one to shirk from her duties, had an obligation, one that meant more to her than her own life. 

Approaching the rear landing of the palace, she ignored the chatter and bellows that could still be heard from a great distance outside of the gates. For a split second earlier, as she drove in through the seemingly hundreds of mourners and press crowded at the entrance, she contemplated running them down. It was one thing to offer their support and want answers, however at what cost? Did they even know Riley Brooks? The real Riley Brooks? The American behind the Cordonian Crown who befriended a woman from Shanghai and helped her see she was more than some object -- a show-thing -- her parent’s means to success and notoriety. When Constantine was killed during the Costume Ball, she thought, she didn’t recall him receiving this much outpouring of sympathy and heartache. Riley’s death has yet to be officially announced and yet there they were, waiting anxiously for any word on their beloved queen.

Maybe, they did know her after all.

A Royal Guardswoman watched Hana ascend the stairs rapidly with a fierce look.  She was quite familiar with Her Majesties, best friend, and didn’t hesitate to open the door for her knowing if she didn’t comply quickly, Hana just may bust through it herself.

The atmosphere inside was somber as Hana continued her quest through familiar passageways; she disregarded the greetings and condolences that were offered to her. Even at a time like this, her mind was sharp and clear. She’d be damned if anyone was going to stop her right now. 

When she neared closer to Riley’s office and slowed her quickened pace -- not wanting to make a lot of sounds. Hana had not planned to knock, however what she heard from inside stopped her before her hand could reach the knob.

The voice was gruff but soothing and the song melted her shattered heart. Drake.

“Baby mine, don’t you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine ...”.

Hana had heard Riley sing it to the baby more times than she could count. It was obvious, Drake did as well.

She twisted the knob and eased the door open and closed it softly behind her. Riley had her office completely remodeled weeks ago to accommodate Ellie spending the majority of her time with her when she returned from maternity leave. In the corner of the room, next to a large, open window, Drake sat in an old wooden rocking chair that he refurbished as a baby gift for her office, gently rocking Ellie in his arms. 

With Ellie’s tiny fingers wrapped around his large, calloused thumb, he sensed Hana’s presence and began to blush, “I...uhhh...was just..”. 

She smiles softly, “I know.”

She walked over to Drake and the baby and crouched down beside them. As her hands glided lovingly over the fine hairs on the top of Ellie’s head, knowing she was fulfilling the promise she made to Riley, she looked up at Drake, both with small tears in their eyes. 

“Mind if I sing with you?” She asked; her voice cracked and wispy.

Drake pondered for a moment, not really wanting to in front of Hana, but, nodded..

______ 

Within the hour, Maxwell and Bertrand made the two-hour drive from Ramsford to the Capitol. The limo was subdued for most of the drive; Maxwell glanced at old photos of he and Riley on his phone while a dismayed Bertrand stared out the window, not saying a word. 

Maxwell had wept from the time he found out, that was just the kind of man he was. He is and has always been a very emotional person and shows no fear nor remorse in that fact. Bertrand, on the other hand, accepted the news like a Duke learning his monarch had lost any random member; he had work to do.

After arriving at the palace, Maxwell knew Drake was in Riley’s office, having received the text from Hana several minutes ago. As he headed in that direction, Bertrand moved towards the grand staircase, causing Maxwell to take notice in what appeared to be insensitive behavior on his brother’s part.

“Bertrand, where the hell are you going? I told Hana we would meet them in Riley’s office”.

Bertrand turned to his brother just as he climbed the first step, “Yes, yes...please offer up my sincerest condolences to your friends. I will be in the press office should I be needed...and Maxwell...don’t need me”. 

“But the press office is on the first floor”, Maxwell shot back.

Bertrand straightened his jacket and his posture, “Indeed it is”, before turning away and continuing up the stairs.

The eldest Beaumont, weaved his way through the corridor he had walked literally hundreds of times, stopping in front of one particularly large, wooden door. He peered down both ends of the hallway, ensuring no one was the wiser to his presence. 

Knowing there would be no one inside, he pushed the door open and entered. Everything was exactly the same as he remembered. 

He took a deep breath, the scent of lavender and rosewood painting a clear picture in his mind, one that haunted him deeply.

“This is the girl you’ve chosen to represent House Beaumont?”

Bertrand notices the large closet across from the bed and is surprised to find it still full of familiar clothing and accessories; every single piece he remembers fondly as he trails his fingers over each one. The pink derby dress and flashy hat that nearly bankrupted him to purchase and the white gown she wore in Lythikos that showed entirely too much cleavage.  

His eyes narrowed as he thumbed across the Applewood peasant costume and removed it with a growl, “Those two nitwits”.  

Riley and Maxwell had sworn to him they had returned it to that stage production company he borrowed it from -- quite convincingly so. Bertrand spent nearly a week on the phone defending the two of them and insisted the production company must have misplaced this one-of-a-kind piece of Cordonian history. After losing the battle and his temper, he set up a payment plan to pay off the 35000 Euros the heirloom cost.

He rolled his eyes thinking about how insufferable those two were during the social season: staying up all hours of the night giggling like two schoolgirls, the never-ending jokes at his expense, and those god-forsaken, drunken duets as they traveled from one event to the next.  If he never heard, ‘We Will Rock You’,  while stomping on the floor of the limo, it would be a day too soon.

 Riley and Maxwell caused him more anxiety and agitation than any two people have since, yet at that moment, he would do anything to go back and relive every annoying minute of it. 

He held the costume up, looking over it for rips and stains, thinking maybe he could still get his money back, yet that thought quickly dissipated. 

“Long live the Apple Queen.” He smiled, then held it close to himself briefly before placing it back on the hook and shutting the door.

He took in the entire room, recalling all those early mornings: their arguments over propriety and cutlery, her backtalk, and lessons upon lessons that somehow the waitress from New York aced each time. Riley knew he was proud of her, Bertrand was confident in that fact.  

He glanced down at his watch, contemplating whether or not he should meet up with the others. He opted instead to stay longer, to be alone in this room, with the thoughts and memories of his sister, fresh on his mind and heart.  As he sat on the corner of her old bed, he let the pain that had festered within him since leaving Ramsford finally break him down. 

His face fell into his palms as he let out a painful sob.

____________

Liam was still curled in the same spot on the floor in front of the sofa; still clinging to her throw blanket and still wondering what the hell happened just a few hours ago. His eyes were dry, having nothing left to secrete from them. He needed to get up because there is so much to do: arrangements needed to be made, meet with Madeleine to make an announcement to the public, and accept phone calls and messages from international leaders expressing their condolences. 

He pushed himself up from the floor, still holding on tightly to her blanket, and turned to take in the vast living quarters that had become their home. 

On the table in front of Liam were the purple lilies he sent her yesterday -- just like the ones he sent her every week for over a year.  

The flowers he would never send again.

Yesterday, everything was fine. Yesterday, he was a happily married man that was more in love with his wife than he thought was possible. Yesterday, he woke up with his arms around her and she taunted him about the plans she had for him that evening. Yesterday, life was normal, happy, and everything he ever envisioned a life with Riley would be like. 

Liam tossed her blanket on the couch and wondered: if all those things were true yesterday, how can it not be today? 

Their home seemed so empty without her and he shuddered thinking about the finality of that thought: she wouldn’t be home again.  He wouldn’t hear that laugh again, dance with her in the kitchen, or arrive late to another ball because he just couldn’t keep his hands off her. Those thoughts grew, and the anger that it manifested took root in the pit of his stomach and was now pushing on every nerve ending in his body. Liam could feel his face redden with heat and scorn. His heart surged, and his mind became muddled with rage. He lurched to the vase full of flowers and threw them across the room. The shattering of glass against the wall only propelled him further as he turned to the sofa table and flipped it over.

“You said you would never leave!" he yelled towards the heavens, “after everything we went through to be together: the scandal, the assassination attempts!!". 

He swiped a lamp and book off a nearby end table, "Was it all a fucking lie Riley? .Answer me, goddammit!!! Liam shouted.

Liam shoved the couch corner into the glass cabinet and continued to push and slam again with each remark, “We had a life..We had a marriage. We have a baby!". 

He reached for the fireplace poker and didn’t hesitate to bust out the glass covering of the stone hearth, "Damn you for leaving me, Riley Brooks! DAMN YOU!" 

He swung furiously over and over at anything and everything in his path while continuing his emphatic curses of damnation against his wife. The glass of picture frames broke, wood splintered, walls pelted with tiny holes, fabrics stripped.

In all of his rage, he didn’t hear the footsteps that were quickly approaching him from behind, Suddenly, there were two strong arms wrapped around him with a tightened grip and pulled him down to the floor.

“Get the fuck off of me, Drake.” Liam struggled to loosen himself as he laid face down on the floor with his best friend holding him in place.

Drake jerked the poker from his hand and tossed it away, “This isn’t the way, Li. She wouldn’t want --”

“Fuck what she would have wanted and your self-righteous indignation, Drake Walker.”  Liam continued to fight his way out of the constraints Drake had on him, “I remember the looks you would give her, I bet the two of you were going at it behind my back the entire time. Did you enjoy my wife Drake? Did she fuck you and ...”

“STOP IT!”

As much as Drake wanted to punch him, he knew his friend well enough to ignore his gibes; Maxwell, on the other hand, had enough.

Liam and Drake both snapped their heads back to Maxwell, never seeing him that furious or hearing his voice that raised.  “You will never, ever speak of her like that again, treason be damned. Do you understand me?”

A dispirited look crossed Liam’s face, replacing the rage and adrenaline he felt. His face lowered and rested on the floor, having nothing more to give.  “I...I just miss her so damn much.”

Drake quickly moved off and Maxwell closed in on them; the two comforting their lifelong friend as he draped his arms over his head and wept.

“Is it okay to come in now?” Hana asked as she peeked around the corner, holding the baby in her arms.

“Yeah...we’re good,” Drake shouted back.

Liam lowered his arms and looked to Hana when he saw his daughter, “Ellie”, he whispered.

Maxwell and Drake helped Liam up and watched as he crossed through the carnage in the living room to retrieve his baby.

Hana asked if he was okay, wanting to be sure he was calm enough to hold her; he assured her he was.

He held Ellie close to him, taking in Riley’s features, feeling ashamed of the words he never meant to say about her mother. 

Drake, Maxwell, and Hana spent the rest of the day with Liam and Ellie, joined later by Bertrand. 

Riley had pumped enough breastmilk to last several days and Miss Talbert, Riley’s personal assistant, found that bereaved mothers who lost their babies after birth, donated their breast milk to help deal with the loss. Liam gave her the go-ahead to look into that option further and get back with him.  

Liam informed Madeleine to release the news to the press and public, but insisted on privacy, although he knew not only the Cordonian press would be all of this, but the American’s, as well.

As Ellie slept in Maxwell’s arms, the group picked and prodded at their lunch, not one of them feeling like eating, when the doorbell rang.

Liam answered the door and stepped aside to let Bastien in.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed.

“Bastien.”

Bastien handed him an envelope. “I received this moments ago. You’ll want to see this, sir.”

Liam turned it over, studying the large, yellowish envelop skeptically, His brows knitted.  “What is this?”

The head guard stiffened his postured and let out a heavy breath. “It's the results of Her Majesty's autopsy.. You may want to sit". 

[regretless-spy-and-culper-master]

Halemadge Week Day Seven - The Last Hours and the Aftermath

Loneliness.

Isolation.

He had never dealt with these well and now, in his last hours of life was trapped in a greenhouse, his only company was his jailer.

Nathan Hale had been caught, recognized and turned it. They barely allotted him the courtesy of a trial, he had been found out of uniform, they had the papers he thought were safely coded in Latin and kept in his shoe, the game was up. When they handed him his sentence it wasn’t the promise of death itself that chilled him, he had been ready to meet that or at least he thought he was, it was what his sentencing would do to those he was leaving that terrified him.

“So,” the Provost Marshall started as he took a swig of rum. “A Captain huh? Pity. You had your uniform you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Nathan frowned at his jailer, “I know sir. Sir? If I am to be hung may I- may I have a chance to prepare.,I’d like to request that a minister be sent for.”

He laughed, a rough, cruel sound. “I don’t think so.”

“May I request a bible than? Please.”

He shook his head and tossed the empty bottle across the greenhouse. “Don't think so.”

He jumped as it shattered, the sound curry g through the silence like a cannon blast.

Nathan was left alone to order his thoughts. To pray to whoever would listen to him. In those long hours he had to accept what he was about to do the army. To Ben.

He had promised he’d come home, swore he’d be careful. As he was marched to the tree the next morning the weight of his failure sat heavily upon him.

“Does the accused have any last words,” a British officer barked as Nathan was shoved up the ladder.

“I do sir.”

“Speak them now!”

Blue eyes stared out at the crowd, watching as other eyes of all colors and emotion stared back at him. “It is the duty of every good officer to obey any order given to him by his commander in chief. I have obeyed an order and I am here.”

He could have sworn he saw Ben’s blue-gray eyes among the crowd, staring at him, demanding an explanation as to why he hadn’t kept his promise.

“I only regret I have but one life to lose for my country.”

The cry of ‘swing the rebel off’ sounded and Nathan’s body was wracked with pain before nothingness clawed its way in to his being.

Sunday, September 22nd, 1776 at ten in the morning Nathan Hale breathed his last.

He never had been one to allow himself to grieve, at least not probably. He ran from his sorrows, literally and figuratively. When his mother died he spent hours away from home; he’d wander along the waters’ edge, watching as the tides came in and out; steady, constant. He’d pour over his studies;’reading and rereading the same passages until they’d been committed to memory. He’d do anything to keep his mind from going back to the emptiness that had settled in.

For a while it worked. He held on until he could get away. That patience allowed them to meet and while he could never take the place of a mother the two motherless boys filled in each other’s emptinesses.

Now that emptiness was back with a vengeance.

Benjamin Tallmadge had taken the news of Nathan Hale’s death well, at least that’s what those who had been present said. Those who saw the man on the way back to his tent confirmed their words, for all intensive purposes Ben looked fine, maybe a little tired but the summer’s campaign, which still wasn’t over, had been grueling. Everyone looked tired.

Like before he threw himself into work; he had a war to fight, people died everyday, he didn’t have time to mourn. No one did.

*****

He heard his brother was searching for him or for news of what had happened to him. Enoch had been riding for weeks, searching for anyone who might have information to either confirm or deny the news his beloved little brother was dead, and if he was in fact dead where his remains and earthly belongings might be.

Ben never got a chance to meet with his classmate, it was out of his power to allow the man to first hear the news from a friend.

Ben had stared at a blank sheet of parchment for hours, how could he start? He had met Enoch at the same time he met Nathan and became friends with him just as fast as he had Natnan. The three of them had spent their collegiate careers together; cramming for endless exams, whispering their hopes and their fears to each other in a darkened room when no one else could see their truths.

Enoch had watched Ben and Nathan grow closer, took a step back when their friendship started blooming into something more. Had promised to keep their secret when he found them curled up together one night. Turned away and smiled as he allowed his brother to share stollen kisses with Ben.

Where could he start; I regret to inform you of your brother Nathan’s untimely death. He served gallently and was prepared to meet the risks of his task.

No, Ben could never express Nathan’s death to Enoch.

“If it wasn’t for me,” Ben mumbled, “he may have never enlisted, never would have needed to volunteer to spy, never would have died.

“Major? Major? Tallmadge!”

Ben snapped to attention as the voice calling his name grew louder “sir?”

“Benjamin, it’s me, it’s Asher. You don’t need to sir me.”

“Sorry Asher. I- I don’t know where my mind is these days.”

“My condolences Major. I… I was told to speak with you in regards to Captain Hale and what we should d-”

“No!” Ben snapped. “I can’t now Asher. I don’t know when I’ll be able to but now isn’t convenient. The army will contact his family through the proper channels and they will receive his belongings.”

Asher tensed at Ben’s sudden outburst and still hadn’t relaxed by the time he had finished. His voice was meek as it trembled past his lips, “Benjamin?”

“You are to report to your superior officers, they will either ask you to stay on or will be given a discharge. You are dismissed Private Wright.”

“Ben please-”

“Dismissed.”

Asher saluted Ben before turning to go. As he left to be mumbled to himself, “Nathan would be heartbroken to see you like this.”

Ben tensed before snarling and slamming a book down on his desk. “Damn!”

He’d return to him at night, visiting in dreams that would leave him trembling. Ben would see Nathan again, see his smile, see his bright eyes shining with a hope that dazzled him. He’d see his body hanging limply from the tree, his face frozen in fear and self loathing.

His laugh would ring through his ears as he slept, drawing him back to summers when hours passed like minutes and they believed in everything. There were nights when the wind would blow through his tent flap and bring with it what sounded like singing. Night sir bringing back fragments of a lullaby that soothed a feverish Ben to sleep, a half remembered melody that dried tears before they stained cheeks, a faded chorus that used to echo down the streets and linger among the cobblestones long into the night. He’d hear his wails. Heart wrenching sobs that Ben had only bore witness to twice now haunted him. Had Nathan cried like before he died? In those hours spent alone awaiting the dawn with only his memories to comfort him, had Nathan allowed himself to release?

He could never thou h him. Anytime he reached out to hold the man he’d vanish, melting into a mist that was impossible for Ben to hold. His hands would never be his own, the soft hands of the school master never found their place in Ben’s.

When these dreams faded away the harsh light of morning would find him with tear stained cheeks and less energy than he had the night before.

He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. 

(I think I'm going to turn this into a longer piece so here are a few completed sections.)

[foreverreadingbeautifulbooks]

Jonsa Fic Recs: Season 7 and 8 Fix-It Fics

So I started to make a rec post per a lovely anon request and honestly I couldn’t stop once I got started (my love for these fics knows no bounds and I ranted about each of them in italics below). There are so many talented writers in this fandom and tons of them have poured so much time and energy into writing such amazing fics that I wish they’d been given the reins to write the ending of the show. I tried to arrange all my recs below the cut in order of when they diverge from canon. Enjoy these fics and be sure to give these authors all some love cause they deserve so much of it! <3 

wolf, circle north by MissFaber

   Rating: Explicit      Word Count: 130,532

    Canon Compliant through: 6x10

Summary: Sansa and Jon fought to take Winterfell, now they will fight to keep it— against a dead army and their king, a dragon queen, a lioness, and a schemer with a poison tongue.  + an alternate season 7 & season 8

I just found this fic a few days ago and even though I’m not entirely caught up yet, I had to add it to the list because I am already in love! Every interaction between Jon and Sansa is so in character and so well-written. The slow burn is already killing me and I need more of it immediately. 

and no net ensnares me by @athimbleful

    Rating: Explicit      Word Count: 130,532

    Canon Compliant through: 7x07

Summary: Since Jon left, Sansa has struggled to keep things together and she longs for his return. However, when he does return things only become worse. Jon learns about his parentage and doesn't know how to make sense of anything, how to fix the inevitable mess the reveal will create, or how to protect the people he loves. But at least, after all these years, the pack is finally back together. Then, one day, Sansa disappears. Post season 7 fic.

I adore this fic so much!  Seriously, I pulled an all-nighter when I found this fic because as soon as I started reading it I couldn’t put it down! It’s that good! The plot is incredible  the characterizations are great, the endings of the villains work perfectly in the story, all the Starks are so smart and actually use the abilities they’ve spent seasons gaining, and the ending is perfect! (I mean every fic by @athimbleful is amazing, but this one in particular is probably my favorite because I found it right when I was feeling down about the S8 finale and it helped remind me why I love Game of Thrones and Jonsa so incredibly much!) 

they tumble down by @athimbleful

    Rating: Explicit     Word Count: 165,196     

    Canon Compliant through: 7x07

Summary: He meets her gaze for the shortest moment before turning to look out over the woods, gesturing at it with a gloved hand. “Is this why you brought me here? To talk about memories?” 

“No. I wanted to talk about marriage.”

When Sansa suggests it's time for her and Jon to marry, she means they should make marriage alliances with the other Northern houses. Jon, though, assumes she means they should marry each other.

A post s7 story where Jon and Sansa struggle to navigate their new political landscape while suppressing their feelings for one another, Arya does everything in her power to protect her pack, and Bran and Sam try to figure out how to kill the Night King.

This fic is amazing. I adore the plot of the fic and I always love a good Arranged Marriage AU. But I love this one in particular because Jon and Sansa are so soft with each other and it just melts me every time!  <3

what do you want (that you do not have) by @athimbleful

   Rating: Teen     Current Word Count: 80,865

    Canon Compliant through: 7x07

Summary: When the Winterfellians learn that Cersei has hired men to kidnap Sansa, they decide that Sansa needs to run away and Jon volunteers to protect her. During their travels the tension builds between them--especially after Jon suffers an injury and they're taken in by an older couple. Because, in hopes of protecting their identities, Jon and Sansa have to pretend to be happily married and in love. Every day. In close quarters. For quite some time.

Takes place after the war against the NK is won. Not a kidnapping fic.

I love every second of this incredible fic, even when it hurts how in love both Jon and Sansa are with each other when neither believes the other could love them back. Fair warning that the slow burn is ssslllooowww (thimbleful is literally the queen of the slow burn) and every painful second of it is amazing! The result of this author’s fics are always so satisfying and I hope you all love it as much as I do!

A Heart That Offends by @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

    Rating: Mature     Word Count: 44,583       Canon Compliant through: 7x07

Summary: Jon comes home. Unfortunately, he brings Daenerys with him. The Northerners are furious, Arya can hardly look at him, Bran needs to tell him something important, and Sansa -- well, Sansa is haunting Jon's every thought. Just another post-S7 fic.

As with everything this author writes, this fic is so satisfying in the best possible way! All the characters are so beautifully written and the conversations and fights between Jon and Sansa are absolute perfection! Lyanna Mormont and Arya are both incredibly badass and the politics are amazing! I loved every second of reading it!

we are buried in broken dreams by annabeth_writes

    Rating: Explicit   Current Word Count: 49,373     Canon Compliant (mostly) through: 7x07

Summary: Sansa and Jon sleeping together before he goes to Dragonstone and when he comes back he finds out she is pregnant.

A full on s8 fix-it fic at this point.

This fic is so full of Jonsa feels that it makes you want to burst. Pregnant Sansa is so brave and amazing. I adored watching her find out everything she could about Daenerys and then use that information to her advantage. The fic is very well-written so enjoy if you check this one out! 

victory is in my veins (oh ye of so little faith) by LadyAlice101

    Rating: Explicit   Current Word Count: 131,955     Canon Compliant (mostly) through: 7x07

Summary: “Jon,” Sansa says quietly, her hands twisting together in front of her. “Tell me the truth. Do you love her?”

He starts, eyes widening. “Love her?”

That’s all the confirmation she needs, but Jon rushes onward, stepping closer to her, hands outstretched and voice nervous, reassuring, as if he were a husband swearing to his wife that he loves only her. 

“Sansa, no, no, gods, after this, I hope I never have to see her again.”

// 

The Season 8 we deserved. (and that the characters deserved) (yeah i'll die mad about s8, sue me)

This fic was fabulous. It was genuinely so satisfying to read something with a better plot for the Starks (who actually talk to each other, what a concept?!) for every single episode of Season 8. (Seriously, any good therapist will recommend this as a cleanse for your soul! lol) 

At Dawn We Break, At Dusk We Stand by misspensandscribbles

    Rating: Mature    Word Count: 55,758      Canon Compliant through: 7x07

Summary: "Forgive me," he tells her, his voice is almost inaudible but there is no mistaking the pleading in his tone. He must only fall to his knees before her, and then he'll be no different from the slaves and beggars she had seen in King's Landing.

"For what, your Grace?" she asks, her voice cold and detached. She sees him wince as though her words have cut through his skin, yet she remains unmoved. She cannot afford to let herself feel now.

He doesn't answer her question. Instead, he offers an explanation. "I couldn't allow the North to go through yet another war, Sansa, especially not one against dragons."

Oh my gosh, this fic! I’m in love with the plot and Sansa is so brilliant and badass throughout every second. The politics are to die for and the tension between Jon and Sansa is sssoooo intense. Also, I am also always a fan of Jaime Lannister as the sworn sword to Sansa and I adore their relationship in this fic!

oh you fool, there are rules (the reckoning begins) by by @cat-stark​

    Rating: Mature    Current Word Count: 39,051     Canon Compliant through: 6x08 

Summary:For some reason, it’s Theon Greyjoy’s voice in Rickon's head as he begins to run. “If you ever find yourself on the wrong end of a bow, don’t run straight.”

- or - 

Baelish bastard. Lady Lannister. Lady Bolton. All names for one woman, the caged wolf who had learned how to play the game better than anyone. She would win the game for her family. She would do her duty to her king and country. 

Never let it be said the daughter of Eddard Stark was without honor.

I adore literally everything about this fic. The plot is amazing and the characters have been written so beautifully. The author has managed to perfectly capture Sansa’s headspace, which is incredible to read. It’s been absolutely heartbreaking to watch her deal with some of the situations handed to her, but she does it with such love, grace, and political acumen that I can’t get enough of it.  Please note that this is a complete Season 8 rewrite that has major departures from Season 7 and a few from Season 6. 

To Be In Your Arms Again by ScullyLikesScience

   Rating: Mature    Current Word Count: 43,500    Canon Compliant through: 8x03

Summary: Jon goes south to help Daenerys win the Iron Throne. Sansa goes south to save him.

"In winter, I plot and plan. In spring, I move." ~ Henry Rollins

It’s amazing just how much the Starks communicating with each other makes me happy in fics now, but this fic has them working together very well and I loved it! I also truly enjoyed the political conclusion of this fic. 

The Triumph of Winter by @foreverreadingbeautifulbooks

    Rating: Mature    Current Word Count: 28,754     Canon Compliant through: 8x05

Summary: Jon's heart constricted at the thought of his Sansa standing proud and defiant as dragonflames consumed her. “How could you do that?” he yelled. “How could you think that your death was an acceptable outcome?” 

“You hypocrite!” she responded, throwing the accusation in his face as she stepped in closer, chest heaving in time with his own. “As if you hadn’t used your own life as a bargaining chip to save the North - to save our family. I can play the same game, Jon. I’ve watched too many members of my family die for me to surrender you to the flames, not when I might be able to save your life with mine! Not- ”

“Sansa!” Jon cut her off, aghast at her words as he stepped in and gripped her arms. “Your life is far more important than mine could ever be.”

She met his eyes defiantly, a fury contained in them that ignited his bones. “Not to me.”

- or -

The political landscape has changed in the aftermath of Daenerys Targaryen's decimation of King's Landing. As the wolves and the dragons prepare for another battle, the realm can only hold its breath and wonder who will win the Game of Thrones after this.

I hope it’s not too presumptuous to add my own fic to this list as I’m having so much fun writing my own Season 8 fix-it fic. This is my attempt to answer all the questions I was left with at the end of the season as most were never addressed. It’s filled to the brim with Stark sibling moments, Pol!Jon, friendships, political intrigue, magic, and, of course, Jonsa.  

Brave, Gentle, and Strong by @the-last-of-the-starks

    Rating: Not Rated    Current Word Count: 12,991       Canon Compliant (mostly) through: 8x05

Summary: Jon and Arya return to Winterfell proceeding the sack of King's Landing to help rebuild their childhood home and a fallen Westeros. But will Jon and Sansa be able to rebuild their trust in one another and finally reveal their deepest, darkest secrets, or will those secrets tear them apart forever?

This fic is lovely and so far it’s been really interesting to get inside Jon and Sansa’s heads as they contemplate their relationship and everything that’s happened to them since they were first separated when Jon left for Dragonstone. As with many fics, I want to lock the two of them in a closet and not let them out till they talk to each other! I’m looking forward to more updates for this fic whenever they’re posted. 

there is a crack, a crack in everything (that’s how the light gets in) by sansaswildlinglover

    Rating: Not Rated    Current Word Count: 12,991       Canon Compliant (mostly) through: 8x05

Summary: When King's Landing falls, Sansa marches south, still unaware that the future of the Seven Kingdoms lies in her hands, and that the peace she will broker comes with a price...

Sansa finds herself back in Winterfell, separated from her family by distance, duty and yet another secret, raising another bastard child as she rebuilds herself, the castle and the North.

Jon heals in the True North, finding his own worth again, and discovering that even after being lost, he can find purpose in his own heart and mind again, even burdened by the crippling guilt and resentment which will take him many years to learn how to carry and let go.

Ten years is a long time, but they say time heals all wounds. But what if time only adds more complications? Winter is always coming, and even family, duty and honour are at odds sometimes.

This one is currently on hiatus, but I am looking forward to when it comes back because so far the characterizations are really good and I absolutely adore the premise of Sansa raising a Lannister bastard in Winterfell! 

Dear Jon by @sansa-in-the-north

    Rating: Not Rated    Current Word Count: 12,053         Canon Compliant through: 8x06

Summary: Sansa drops the quill onto the wooden table carved with the leaves of the heart-tree and leans back in her chair, letting out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Why do I struggle to find the words?”

Her sister’s grey eyes study her face attentively for a heartbeat. “Perhaps you don’t know what to say.”

“I do,” Sansa states without hesitation. “I know what to say.”

“But?”

Sansa shrugs, the thick grey furs draped over her shoulders rising and falling. “I don’t know if he’d like to hear from me.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

[…]

Jon rises from his seat and folds the letter, holding it tight in his hand, and strides towards the exit doors of the common hall. He looks for some parchment and a quill, and when he finds everything he needs, he takes a deep sigh and prays that his words do not fail him. She apologised, but I’m the one who should ask for forgiveness.

***

Post s8 (partially) epistolary fic in which Sansa and Jon begin exchanging letters to find comfort, solace and, eventually, forgiveness.

This fic is exactly what I hoped it would be when I found a link to it. The letters are sweet and sad and it’s good to see my darling Starks reaching out to each other after everything they’ve been through. 

all that's left are your bones by @cat-stark

    Rating: Not Rated    Current Word Count: 26,214          Canon Compliant through: 8x05 and part of 8x06

Summary: A raven flies North.The King of Westeros has need of a Stark once more.

- or - 

A reluctant king must learn to rule.

Jon is such an angry version of himself, but it works so well in this fic where he has been forced to rule a country he never even wanted to reside in. The position and his own resentments have slowly been eating away at his soul and I’m so excited to see where the fic goes next with his character. Sansa is such an amazing queen and it is lovely to see her conducting herself with such grace and dignity no matter what is thrown at her. 

wolves without teeth by @cat-stark​

   Rating: Not Rated    Current Word Count: 55,329        Canon Compliant through: 8x06

Summary: It was a common saying in the North, in the endless stretch of years following the Long Night, and the after. The pack survives, whispered the North. A time for wolves will come again. Not like this, Sansa thought desperately.

- or -

Five years after the destruction of King's Landing, Starks emerge from the godswood of Winterfell. Starks who should be dead.

This genuinely might be my favorite Jonsa fic ever. I adore the way my favorite characters get a chance to confront their family members on the ways that they’ve been hurt by them. It features all of the Starks that have been lost throughout the show and it’s lovely to see them again even as they struggle to make sense of the situation that they’ve found themselves in. The characters are all perfectly written and I’ve adored every interaction that each of them has had.

Check out more of my Jonsa fic rec lists here!

[itsgameofthronesimagines]

Sandor Clegane x Fem!Reader

Warning: Angst, Triggers, Season 8 predictions, but no spoilers

~~~~~~~~~

Everyone who knew you and Tyrion Lannister knew the two of you were inseparable. So when the smoke cleared, and he was found dead on the battlefield after defeating the Night King, no one blamed you for locking yourself away.

Winterfell had fallen, and so all of the survivors took refuge in Dragonstone after the dead and undead were burned. The stink was so vile, that the Ravens feasted on everyone’s stomach contents once they emptied them.

Tyrion was burned separately and was given a northern funeral despite his family’s southern customs. It’s not like his family had anything to say about it. The entire House Lannister was dead anyway. Half either sacrifice themselves helping defeat the Dead, or the other was killed when Daenerys stormed King’s Landing out of the grief of losing her Hand. No matter what she did, she couldn’t erase the smirk on Cersei’s face, even when she was burned alive. In the end, Cersei died laughing, knowing what happened to her brother.

You wished you were there when Daenerys killed her, otherwise her death would have been much slower and far more painful than being burned alive. You would have made sure of that.

Up in the tallest tower of Dragonstone, far away from everyone else, you hid away in your chambers, doing nothing but staring out the window, looking out onto the sea. Missandei would come in every day with food, catching you up on everything you were missing, even though you weren’t listening, let alone responded to anything she had to say.

Apparently, your sister Sansa was determined to rebuild Winterfell. She had gone back there with several men to labor themselves into putting back up the stone ruins. Along with her was Bran, Arya, what remains of the Brotherhood Without Banners, Brienne, Podrick, Tormund, and Sandor Clegane.

Jon would be staying in King’s Landing with Daenerys, for obvious reasons, along with Missandei, Grey Worm, Jorah Mormont, Varys, and a few chosen others. None of them had gone back yet as King’s Landing was in repair and being flushed out by the Unsullied of any Cersei followers. So for now, their chain of command would stay in Dragonstone, until it was safe to take the Iron Throne.

It would take months before you spoke another word again, but in between that, you had started to train to fight again. Even though there was no more fighting needed, you trained day in and day out. Eventually, you started talking again and you could have sworn Jon’s face went pale as snow when you first croaked a “Good morning, cousin,” in his direction.

Another few months would pass before Jon received word from Sansa that she required more supplies and more men to help repair Winterfell, and Jon gladly gave them to her. Upon discussing in the War Room who else would go and help the North with their thin resources, you volunteered.

“No, absolutely not,” Jon was quick with a response, “You’ve barely eaten for months, and you’ve trained and trained until you’ve passed out in the training yard. The journey to Winterfell alone would kill you, not to mention the work there needs to be done once you arrive there. For now, you are not strong enough to help.”

“I can go,” Gendry Waters, Robert Baratheon’s bastard spoke up, “I am a smith. I can help with whatever repairs they need.”

“You’re just going because Arya is there,” you muttered under your breath, in return, Gendry glared at you.

“Or maybe I’m going because you can’t.”

“Listen, Lady Y/n. Jon Snow is right. You have other duties you can attend to here,” Ser Davos explained.

“Our Queen could have you as a new advisor, or maybe even a Hand,” Jorah mentioned, and that was all it took to make you snap.

“Enough! One more man tells me I can’t go, and I’ll cut their balls off!” You screamed.

The room went dead silent, no one dared to speak up, not even Daenerys.

“You can’t go.”

You spun around, knife at the ready, until you realized, to even your astonishment, that Varys, Theon, and even Grey Worm had spoken up to you. Yara snorted, even holding her hand to her mouth to refrain from bursting out laughing all the while you growled, pointing your knife dangerously at the three men.

“That... That isn’t funny!”

You failed to sound threatening, as Varys smirked proudly and even Theon tried to twitch and smile. Grey Worm just glared the way he normally does, but it was clear he had tried to make a joke, as Missandei was staring at the ground and smiling to herself. Throughout the whole room, one by one, others started to laugh, if not smile, just a little bit. Once you noticed this, and once you noticed that Jon had begun to smile at you, you started to relax.

“I think you should go.”

To your astonishment, it was Daenerys who spoke up for you, and when you turned to look at her, she smiled with a haunting look in her eye, “I give you permission to ride off to Winterfell and help rebuild its walls.”

She didn’t say it, but you knew just by looking in her eyes that what she was really saying was that she understood your pain. She knew what it was like to lose someone you loved. And not saying no one in this room knew that feeling, but Daenerys had probably understood it the most. And besides, apart from you, she was close to Tyrion.

She knew you wanted to go back to where you lost Tyrion, and she thought that maybe, deep down, your heart might heal faster if you did.

So, along with Gendry and Ser Davos, you took another hundred men out of Dragonstone and made your long journey to Winterfell, with the instruction to send your siblings Jon’s love.

The road wasn’t easy, but once you saw the familiar outline of home even through the strong and heavy snowfall, you had begun to relax and smile a little. When the gates opened, you were welcomed by Sansa, who gave you a strong hug once you carefully swung yourself off your horse.

“Y/n! Jon didn’t tell me he was sending you!” She exclaimed as she held you close. When she pulled away to examine you, she felt her smile falter, “What... What’s happened to you?”

You didn’t answer, and you made it blatantly obvious that you didn’t want to talk about it as you changed the subject, “Jon sent a hundred more men... a hundred and two men if you count Ser Davos and--”

“Gendry!” Arya had sped past you once she caught sight of the young smith. As the bastard swung off his horse, he smiled at the sight of the young Stark girl and mocked a bow when she stood in front of him, only to laugh when she punched his shoulder and crushed him in a hug.

“Finally. Anything to get that Stark brat from bothering me.”

You turned your head back around to find Sandor Clegane standing behind Sansa now. He looked the same as before, wearing fur and sporting a long beard and hair to keep warm... or maybe to hide the scar. You have known him for as long as Sansa, since you with her when the two of you, including Arya and your father, rode to King’s Landing all those years ago. 

“Hound,” you nod to Clegane, “Still alive I see. I thought Arya would have slit your throat by now.”

“She can’t. I forbade it,” Sansa responded with a warning look directed at your younger sister, who has now walked up to hug you finally.

“Wouldn’t stop her and you know it,” Sandor grumbled.

“And you may be my trusted council now, but sometimes your brutal honesty can get carried away,” Sansa shot back to which Sandor bows his head to her.

“Council? Since when does a former sell-sword and member of the Brotherhood Without Banners become the Lady of Winterfell’s council?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Since he’s the more honest person I know and the more loyal.”

“Hence the dog name, I know,” you roll your eyes and push past her, “Got any food? I’m starving.”

Sansa and Arya exchange a look after observing your behavior, all the while Sandor just grunts in response to your insult. Arya turns to Gendry, who has finally walked up to join her, “Is she alright?”

Gendry sighed, “You saw Tyrion’s body, you tell me. She hasn’t gotten any better.”

“In fact, she’s gotten worse.” Ser Davos also walked up to join the others, “She’s got quite the foul language now and has dropped any lady duties she used to take part in. She drinks most of the wine supply dry back in Dragonstone so I’d watch your wine cellar if I were you.”

Sansa sighed while wearing a thoughtful look in her eye when watching you leave, looking up at sharing a knowing look with Sandor, “Let’s get inside and treat our guests to some supper.”

Once inside, it appears you acting like you were hungry was a ruse to keep Sansa busy. Once the food was placed in front of you, you only pushed it around and pretended to take bites out of it as everyone is gathered around the one table. Everyone is all around quiet, as it’s been a long journey for you, Gendry, and Davos. The only other one who didn’t appear to be eating was Bran, but that was normal now for him. Instead, he took his time observing you.

“And how are you, dear sister?” He asked.

You sometimes loathed the fact that he was the Three-Eyed-Raven, because obviously, he knows how you’ve been, but all the same, you put on a fake smile, “I’m well, Bran. Thank you for asking.”

“You’ve been tiring yourself,” he notes in response, “Have you been training all day and night?”

“Training?” Sansa looked up from her food to stare at you, “Training for what?”

“You don’t sleep anymore,” Bran adds.

Everyone was now looking at you, and the attention was making you turn hateful. One look and you could even see the Hound staring at you, so you wear a fake smile and aim it towards your brother, “...I find sleep a waste of time,” you tried to grin, even if it didn’t turn out right, “Why waste your time on sleep when there’s work to be done?”

“Tyrion Lannister said something similar like that to you once, back in Meereen.”

You froze, eyed widening at Bran, and Sansa nearly elbowed him to stop him, but it was already too late. The damage had been done. You shouldn’t be surprised that he knew about the memory, but it still shocked you because you barely remembered that day yourself.

Back in Meereen, in the mid-afternoon, you were sitting by the window, but you weren’t looking outside. Instead, you busied yourself with sketching a small portrait, every once in awhile looking up then back down at the parchment again to get the details right.

Across from you, Tyrion was fast asleep, snoring slightly as he did every night, except last night apparently, otherwise, he wouldn’t be asleep in the middle of the day.

He makes a startling noise, signaling that he was waking up and you couldn’t help but giggle, “Don’t open your eyes yet!”

Tyrion groans, stretching slightly but obeys your command, keeping his eyes closed with wearing a tired smile, “Why?”

“So I can get your eyelashes right.”

“Pardon? Are you drawing or something?”

“Well, I’m definitely not sculpting,” you spoke sarcastically.

“Gods, I hope not. No one ever gets my nose right,” he joked, “Now why in Seven Hells are you sculpting me?”

“Because I was bored and you were at my disposal since someone didn’t get any rest last night,” you teased.

“Why waste the night on sleep when you can stare at the most beautiful woman in the world? A man would be foolish not to, staying awake to memorize the details of your smile or the crinkles by your eyes or furrow of your brow.”

You smile to yourself, staring at Tyrion’s face for as long as you could since he hadn’t opened his eyes yet since you haven’t said otherwise. He was loyal like that. You get up from your spot and set the picture down, walking up to Tyrion and leaning down to whisper right in his face, “You can open your eyes now.”

And when he does, he’s rewarded with a kiss.

You sat there, eyes wide, staring at Bran like he just killed Tyrion himself. Sansa stands and reaches over the table towards you, and you startle when she got too close and you rush out of your chair.

“Y/n--”

“I’m going to bed,” you stammered, turning your back and walking away.

“The war’s over, Little Wolf. We all lost someone, and they’re not coming back. We made sure of that, so you might as well get used to it.” Typical Sandor. Always so blunt.

But this time, you wouldn’t have any of it as you turn your heels back to him with a dark snarl, “I wouldn’t expect YOU to understand. How could you possibly understand what it’s like to lose someone you love? You’ve never loved anyone!”

He doesn’t flinch. He barely even blinks. Not being able to get a rise out of him, itching for a fight, you turn away and go to find a room to lock yourself in, and maybe then you’ll punch the wall to feel better.

That night, like every night before it, you didn’t sleep. You sat on the edge of your bed, bandaging your knuckles since you punched the stone wall like you promised yourself. Your skin was purple and your whole hand was a little swollen, blood running through your fingers from your knuckles. You barely noticed the pain, too busy staring at the fire in front of you. Over the past couple of months, the pain had eventually numbed.

What startles you from your dazed expression is the knock on your door, and half screams not to open it. But instead, you stood up and walked to the door, opening it and shocking yourself to see Sandor Clegane standing there, towering over you like a tower. He didn’t look you in the eye, clearly uncomfortable being here. His usual sad eyes looked as if they had something to say, but he was too busy psyching himself up to say it. His eyes looked down to notice your hand, loosely wrapped in already bloody bandages. The two of you stood there for what felt like an hour, but really only a few minutes, before he spoke up.

“You might want to get that looked at by a maester. Or your sister will have my head.”

You don’t respond, but your surprised expression quickly turned into a glare, since you finally remembered his comment from earlier and was hoping he’d be the last person to be standing here. And by the looks of it, he was thinking the same thing.

“My sister.”

You arch an eyebrow up at him, “Excuse me?”

“I lost my sister. A long time ago,” Sandor grumbled, eyes squinting when he finally met your eyes, like this was probably the first time in a long time that he talked about this, but ti wouldn’t surprise you that it was, “Gregor killed her... back when we were lads, and I won’t even bother getting into the grimy details.”

Again, you don’t respond, tapping your fingers onto the door frame leading into your room. When you didn’t say another word, Clegane takes that as his cue to leave.

As he moves from the doorway and back into the dark halls, you find yourself calling out to him, “Sandor?”

The Hound looks back at you, stunned, not remembering the last time you said his name. Not even back in King’s Landing, when you were a girl, did you ever say his real name.

You nod your head slightly, barely looking him in the eye as you spoke, “Thank you.”

He scoffed, finding himself no longer nervous while rolling his eyes to the best of his abilities, “For what? My sister didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Not just that, but...” you took a deep breath, “I never thanked you before, for guarding my sister and I back at King’s Landing. We’ve never forgotten it.”

He doesn’t respond at first, too busy wanting to shout about how he left the two of you after the Battle of Blackwater, but was wise enough against it. “Get some sleep, Little Wolf,” then he turned away and left.

And for the first night in a long time, you slept.

[shadin24]

The connection between Dany , Ashara Dayne, and Ned Stark:

I found evidence that ashara dayen is Dany’s mother and Ned Stark is her father.

Ned stark stole Dany from ashara and toke her to Dragonstone to protect her.

Barristan was talking to him self about ashara that make the connection between Dany and ashara.

“Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara’s smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes. Daenerys has the same eyes. Sometimes when the queen looked at him, he felt as if he were looking at Ashara’s daughter …”

Excerpt From

A Dance With Dragons: A Song of Ice and Fire

“But Ashara’s daughter had been stillborn, and his fair lady had thrown herself from a tower soon after, mad with grief for the child she had lost, and perhaps for the man who had dishonored her at Harrenhal as well. She died never knowing that Ser Barristan had loved her. How could she? He was a knight of the Kingsguard, sworn to celibacy. No good could have come from telling her his feelings. No good came from silence either. If I had unhorsed Rhaegar and crowned Ashara queen of love and beauty, might she have looked to me instead of Stark?”

Excerpt From

A Dance With Dragons: A Song of Ice and Fire

George R. R. Martin

Then Meera story to bran about Harrenhal that made the connection between Ned and ashara.

“The crannogman saw a maid with laughing purple eyes dance with a white sword, a red snake, and the lord of griffins, and lastly with the quiet wolf”

Excerpt From

George R. R. Martin's a Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Cerci `said something to Ned that made me believe Ned is dany’s father and he stole her from ashara.

“How dare you play the noble lord with me! What do you take me for? You’ve a bastard of your own, I’ve seen him. Who was the mother, I wonder? Some Dornish peasant you raped while her holdfast burned? A whore? Or was it the grieving sister, the Lady Ashara? She threw herself into the sea, I’m told. Why was that? For the brother you slew, or the child you stole? Tell me, my honorable Lord Eddard”

Excerpt From

George R. R. Martin's a Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Varys talk to Ned and asking him to lie for his daughter’s life (dany’s life).

“So what is your answer, Lord Eddard? Give me your word that you’ll tell the queen what she wants to hear when she comes calling.”

“If I did, my word would be as hollow as an empty suit of armor. My life is not so precious to me as that.”

“Pity.” The eunuch stood. “And your daughter’s life, my lord? How precious is that?”

A chill pierced Ned’s heart. “My daughter …”

Excerpt From

George R. R. Martin's a Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Then old nan told bran a story about the wildling that proved Ned stole Dany from ashara.

“He remembered the hearth tales Old Nan told them. The wildlings were cruel men, she said, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with giants and ghouls, stole girl children in the dead of night”

Excerpt From

George R. R. Martin's a Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

George R.R. Martin

I also believe that quaith is ashara dayen and she is taking care of dany’s from a far and she is wearing a mask to hid the resemblance between her and Dany.

“Dany had not noticed Quaithe in the crowd, yet there she stood, eyes wet and shiny behind the implacable red lacquer mask. “What mean you, my lady?”

Excerpt From

George R. R. Martin's a Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Dany was talking to quaith and she told her this.

R

“To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.”

Asshai, Dany thought. She would have me go to Asshai. “Will the Asshai’i give me an army?” she demanded. “Will there be gold for me in Asshai? Will there be ships? What is there in Asshai that I will not find in Qarth?”

“Truth,”

Excerpt From

George R.R. Martin asoiaf

To go north, you must journey south. Meaning her home where the Starks she needs to go south to Dorne which I think we will see in season 8.

To reach the west, you must go east Dany had to go farther south to get the ships and an army to get to Westeros.

At the end she will learn the truth.

“Xaro Xhoan Daxos had watched the whole exchange from his cushions. When Dany climbed back into the palanquin beside him, he said, “Your savages are wiser than they know. Such truths as the Asshai’i hoard are not like to make you smile.”

Excerpt From

George R.R. Martin books asoiaf

This material may be protected by copyright.

We also have the three sisters in the east of Westeros.

The most important part that the big war in season 8 is going to be between the sisters.

Baldish said to Sansa in the show

" how should the north rally behind a motherless Bastard (dany) or a true born of Catelyn and Ned Stark"

We have three sister that are the head of the dragons as we were told in the books the dragons head were Aegon’ s sisters. And we might see Jon marry both Sansa and dany’s both one for love and one for duty like Aegon the conquerer did. And the ending would be better and sweet like GRRM promised.

“Aegon himself took both his sisters to wife, and fathered sons on each. The Targaryen banner is a three-headed dragon, red on black, the three heads representing Aegon and his sisters. The Targaryen words are Fire and Blood.”

Excerpt From

George R. R. Martin's a Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Farther to prove my points :

-Look at messandi’s pin three dragon fighting each other’s.

Jon breast plate is to wolfs that growls to each other’s.

And I also believe dany is the sun (day, morning, dawn)

The Dayne house had a sowrd called the sowrd of the morning that has a sun on the pommel

And Sansa is the moon ( darkness, night, dusk)

The fish of house Tully looks like half a moon

Ned is talking to Arya and explain to her that they are sisters they Ned to stick together.

“So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa … Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you … and I need both of you, gods help me.”

Excerpt From

George R. R. Martin's a Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

George R.R. Martin.

Septa Mor(dane) is a good woman, and Sansa … Sansa is your sister.

House dayen dany’s mother side.

About why would Ned take her to Dragonstone

Because he want to protect her from Robert because he might think she is a targ and kill her if he saw her with him

And from cat how can he explaine two bastard children to her

And I believe that Ned has connection with the faceless men and Varys to protect dany from asassines

We have a dany in the books telling us that she never saw or remembered asassines following then unfortuanly i could not find it in this moment but is i did i will post it

So i wanted to add two of the many visual clue that prove the theory

I will add the original picture then the same picture with a marker to show you were to look

L

[azulaahai]

A prompt for you! Jon and Sansa are in an arranged marriage and Sansa finds out that Jon has been leaving WF to visit the brothel in Wintertown a few times. What she doesn't know is that he's there because he's making sure that the Wildling women who now work there aren't being mistreated as he feels responsible for them.

Hey, thanks so much for the prompt, sorry it took a while - this became longer than planned, and pretty melodramatic lmao but anyway - hope you like it! :)

Also put this on AO3

* * *

I: SANSA

Those songs Sansa loved always ended when the war in them did, when the giant was slain and the castle retaken. She’d never heard a song that spoke of how the giant never stopped haunting your nightmares, or how the castle for evermore held ghosts. Her search for guidance in them was therefor fruitless, and more than in a  long while, Sansa missed her mother - her soothing words and clever advice.

Lady Catelyn had always known what measures to take, though Sansa was certain her mother would not be too glad at her eldest daughter’s situation had she lived to see it.

Sansa would like to think her marriage was not an unhappy one. She was fond of Jon and he of her, and there was a mutual respect, a quiet understanding that stopped the silence that filled most of their time together from becoming uncomfortable.

But there was silence, aye - too much of it. In addition, Sansa had been getting the feeling that her husband was hiding something from her lately - it was subtle, and had she confronted him about it, he’d surely have denied it. But he’d seemed so distant of late. Were they still so broken, had the scars not healed, was it still the war that haunted him?

Perhaps her husband was just burnt out to exhaustion by the workload. The wildling settlements in the Gift kept them all busy. Sansa knew Jon was preoccupied with his duties - by the gods, did she now know the weight of a crown - but he appeared even more burdened lately, stumbling into bed just an hour or two before dawn, and spending more and more of his waking time away from her.

So when the news came, Sansa wasn’t as surprised as she might have been, but the revelation still hit her like a punch.

“Are you certain?” she asked aloud. The lady before her curtsied and nodded, looking up at Sansa with glittering, intelligent eyes. She was newly married to a lesser lord sworn to house Stark, and likely eager to gain the queen’s trust by being the first one to bring her the news - no matter how disturbing those news were.

“Positive, your grace. My husband saw him, in broad daylight, stepping out of the establishment, as if he didn’t care who saw.” The lady blushed, and though Sansa knew her embarrassment was likely for show, she admired the girl’s acting abilities. She’d fit in King’s Landing. “I’m so very sorry to have to tell you this, your grace. But I thought you ought to know.” Sansa lowered her eyes, having to gather herself before responding with the proper regality.

“I appreciate you coming to me with this.” She wasn’t sure she truly did. Sometimes naïve innocence was to prefer over knowledge and a broken heart. “I shall handle this matter in private. I must ask for you to speak of it no more, not to anyone at all, do you understand me?” The girl once more curtsied gracefully.

“Of course, your grace. You can count on my discretion.” Sansa wouldn’t at all count on that, but there wasn’t much to be done since she wasn’t about to bribe or scare the girl to silence. Besides, if the things she spoke of were true and Jon continued with this behaviour … there would be no stopping the rumours, then.

She dismissed the girl, and when the chamber door closed and Sansa was alone at last, she closed her eyes, trying to keep the feelings of betrayal and grief that threatened to overwhelm her at bay by analysing the situation as rationally as she could manage.

So.

Her husband had - allegedly, Sansa reminded herself - been visiting a brothel in Wintertown.

Sansa could hear how naïve it sounded even as she thought it, but the only thing she could think was - not Jon. Jon would never. Jon, her sweet Jon, who’s first words to her after their wedding in the godswood had been that Ghost was her wolf now as much as his (which was so adorable and silly that Sansa never failed to smile when she thought about it), who knew exactly what it meant to grow up a bastard - would that man start visiting a brothel without explanation?

The thought calmed her. No, he would not. It could not be true. She would not believe it.

Not until she saw it with her own two eyes, Sansa thought, a plan beginning to form in her head.

* * *

To Sansa’s fright, an opportunity to put the plan to work presented itself the very next day. Jon was taking his mid-day meal with her and their friends, for once not eating alone in his solar whilst continuing to work. Though he was there in the flesh, his mind seemed to be far away somewhere, and it pinched Sansa’s heart to see him so distant.

“Jon?” she asked gently, placing a hand on his arm. Her husband blinked at her, startled.

“Forgive me, my love.” His love, now - was she? “I was thinking of something else.” Sansa managed a smile.

“I just asked if you’d like to take a ride this afternoon? It’s been a while since we rode out together.” She wasn’t a very fond rider, but she treasured the little explorations of the northern woods Jon took her out on. (Or used to take her out on.)

The moment she uttered the words, her certainty about Jon not being involved began to fade. His face became stern, closed - by the gods, he was hiding something from her.

“I can’t this afternoon. I have business in Wintertown.” Sansa’s heart sank.

“Perhaps I could accompany you there”, Sansa said smoothly, hating the pleading streak in her voice but unable to stop herself. She had to know. Had to find out.

“I’m afraid my business would only bore you”, Jon said, making Sam - who was seated at his other side - look up from his meal with a surprised look upon his face. Jon wasn’t usually so dismissive about Sansa’s role in the rule of the North, both of them careful to put up a united front even in matters where they disagreed. Sansa’s cheeks heated from embarrassment and anger. Anger was good, she thought - made it easier to push other feelings aside and focus on her goal.

To find out the truth.

* * *

“We should not be here, your grace”, Brienne said nervously, looking around with a hand on the hilt of her sword. “It is a bad part of town.”

“We’ll go back to the castle soon”, Sansa assured her, trying to hide the fact that she too felt a little nervous. “And don’t call me your grace”, she added in a whisper. “I’m Salys now, remember?” Brienne scowled, but nodded.

They walked down the street, Sansa keeping her head down and hoping the black hood she wore covered most of her features. A northerner recognising their queen now could quickly become awkward - and potentially dangerous.

Embarrassed, but lost, she had to stop and ask for directions, not looking into the eyes of the woman who with a grin pointed down the street. Brienne followed as Sansa hurried down the street, feeling like quite the spy as she spotted the sign marking the brothel - she stopped by a street-corner a few houses away, the allyway before her deserted.

As good a place as any, she thought, nodding to Brienne as she took a few steps forward before she stopped, attempting to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

Now, they could only wait.

* * *

They had been there for an hour or so, repeatedly been mistaken for women of the street (which was rather ironic, considering why they were here) and been soaked through by the gentle spring rain that had begun falling, and Sansa was just about to give up and ask Brienne to take her back home, when the street’s atmosphere suddenly shifted to one of delighted shock - the very air seemed to quake with the gossip that was to come.

For stepping out from the brothel - in broad daylight, just as the lady had claimed, walking towards his horse without even attempting to conceal his identity - was none other than the king in the North himself.

* * *

II: JON

Sansa hadn’t come down for supper that evening.

He’d been told his wife had a headache and was resting, but Gilly had refused to look him in the eyes as she said it, making Jon rather puzzled. His confusion only increased when he, after a rather awkward dinner during which no one seemed very talkative, found the door to his and Sansa’s shared bedchamber locked.

He knocked.

No reply.

“Uhm, Sansa?” he called out gently. Perhaps she was asleep. Had she locked the door by accident? “My love?” Still no reply, but now he heard movement on the other side of the door. He knocked again, irrational worry - never far from him since the war - making him tense. Silly visions of southern assassins or wild beasts having broken in flashed before his eyes.

“Sansa? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Jon”, she answered him, at last. “Just … you can sleep in your old chambers tonight.” Something about her tone was off. What in all the seven hells was going on?

“Of course I can, if you need me to”, he replied. “Do you need me to send for Sam?”

“No. I am well. Just leave me be.” Still, he hesitated. Her voice was strangely muffled, sounding almost as if she’d been weeping. Something was wrong.

“Sansa”, he said, frustrated. “What’s the matter?”

No answer.

“Would you open the door, love?” he tried again.

To his surprise, she did so.

Jon wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the sight that greeted him. Sansa was still dressed in her dark-blue gown, her hair hanging loosely, messily. Her eyes were reddened from crying, making Jon’s heart ache, but that wasn’t what took him by surprise - it was the rage in them.

Sansa was furious.

“What…” Jon began, but Sansa stopped him by abruptly stepping aside, a rather hostile invite for him to enter. He did, and she shut the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

“Sansa. What is going on?” He was getting desperate.

“You tell me”, Sansa replied in a low voice. Remembering her curtesies, even when she was so obviously enraged. “You tell me what in all the seven hells” - Jon was startled to hear her curse - Sansa never cursed - “you were doing at the Wintertown brothel.”

Stupified, Jon stared at her. There were several things he could not believe about the situation - the fact that Sansa had just used the word ‘brothel’, the fact she’d even found out, the fact she’d been crying over him - and most importanly, how big a fool he’d been.

* * *

III: SANSA

He looked absolutely mortified at her words, and for a second Sansa’s heart broke all over again. It was true, then, and he wasn’t even going to explain himself, it seemed.

But then he spoke, startled, rushing through the words so quickly Sansa could barely keep up.

”Sansa, love, no – that’s not at all what – I don’t think you realise -”

”Do you deny it?” she asked quietly, hating her voice for breaking. ”I saw you, with my own eyes, stepping out of that brothel. I dare you to look me in the eyes and deny it.”

”Sansa”, he said, again grasping for words. ”I don’t deny being at that brothel, no -”

”Then go. I don’t want you here.” She turned away from him in a vain attempt to save face and gather herself without his eyes drilling into hers.

”Sansa”, he said again. ”Sansa. That brothel – there are wildling women working there.”

“I don’t want to know”, she snarled.

“That’s – not like that! I just – I learned they’d been coming to Wintertown and that some of them had turned to the brothels …” Jon looked away, clearly embarrassed. “I – I don’t want to shock you, my love -” Sansa rolled her eyes. Once, a million years ago, she might have objected to him speaking of such matters to her, but she was a woman grown, wed and bed, war-torn and strong.  

She could hear of a brothel. Aspecially one it seemed her husband frequented.

“- but several wildling women has started working on that brothel,” Jon continued, still rambling, “and – I wanted to make sure that they were looked after, is all. That the brothel keep didn’t see it as an opportunity to take advantage of the wildlings being new to town.”

Finally, he stopped for a breath, looking up at her with sadness in his eyes.

“I didn’t – I’d never touch anyone, of course.” He lowered his voice, straightening his back. “No one but you.”

“Jon”, she said. “I’m not a fool, nor am I nearly as frail as you clearly think me. If you …” She looked down at the floor, the words stuck in her throat. “I – there’s no need to make up stories for me. If you’d … I mean, if you’ve ever …” She trailed off again. By the gods, they were hopeless at this, weren’t they? “I’d just want to know.” It came out nearly a whisper.

“Sansa”, he pleaded. “I swear to you. I … There’s only you.”

Then - in a voice so low Sansa barely heard, softly - he said the three words Sansa’d been waiting to hear. Three words they’d been tiptoeing around - ‘my love’, he called her, ‘lovely’ sometimes, but at no point during their marriage had he uttered those three words aloud -

- three words that changed everything.

* * *

IV: BRIENNE

“You’re going to Wintertown, your grace? Again?” Brienne asked, glancing down the table at Jon, who had looked particularly infatuated with his wife this morning, smiling sheepishly towards Sansa more than once as they broke their fast. Sansa, too, seemed more chipper than usual, returning Jon’s smiles with almost girlish giggles.

Brienne was glad of it, of course - they must have worked out the issues of yesterday - though she still found it hard to forgive so grave an insult to lady Sansa as the one Jon had inflicted upon her yesterday. There must be something I don’t know, otherwise they wouldn’t be so upbeat.

“Yes”, queen Sansa replied to her question, eyes glittering. Then, in a lower voice - “But you needn’t come with me, this time. I am accompanying Jon on a supervision of the working conditions of wildlings in Wintertown.”

[tarthsoath-blog]

⚔️ | Plotted Starter for @zcldrizes​

Catelyn Stark had implored her to follow. Renley lay dead at her feet and the answer of all about her had been to run. Like a coward! Leaving the man she had sworn to protect behind her with his people still hunted by a shadow haunted with the face of Stannis Baratheon. 

Brienne was many things this world may struggle to accept but she was no coward and she trusted Lady Stark to see to her own welfare. Whatever happened, his men needed to know the truth of what happened and they needed to know that they could not protect themselves from what had come. 

She was not foolish enough to think they would take her freely. When the guards came her sword was down and her hands raised, asking on a firm voice - for she never wavered - if he was truly gone. It was a night in the cell before Lady Margaery came to her in kindness. She told her the court might not believe in a shadow, but they believed that Brienne did not harm him. Not after hearing the story of how they met. Whilst they would not call for her head they would not accept her service any longer.

Exile was not a mercy, not in Westeros but Tarth was no place to return too. One day she would find the shadow that had murdered her friend but to do that she had to find someone knowledgable on magics and evils. Those answers would not be found here.

Not for the first time her sword became her living. She gave protection to women in need of it, Lady’s too fearful of being alone with a man but knowing that alone entirely was no better. She gave protection to children with only a silver or copper to their name and in the end mentions of respect and privacy caught the ears of a ship captain. 

Tarth was far closer to the free cities than any of the other isles in the kingdom, she had never thought to go to them again but it would not be her first time. When she had been younger her father had a meeting with one of the runners in the bays, he had brought her to see how others lived. Her first dagger had come from across the sea, a beautiful gold and curved at the blade.

Now she returned with a straight blade and heavy armor, not a nobles daughter but a protector. The captain had asked that she guard his crew. They would be carrying precious cargo of soughts and she, alongside three paid swords would be on duty to ensure it arrived unpillaged. 

In the dock she learnt the truth. Precious cargo was infact a small band of killers. Quite by accident she had stumbled on them readying, demanding identity for the ships listing of crew to be sure they were not stow aways. 

They were not. They were worse.

Brienne never saw herself in the company of assassins and butchers, the kind that once would have targeted her father for enough coin and when she bound them, some dead, two not - the captain admitted to knowing their plans. Calling her a fool for slaying them and with holding her pay. 

As it would seem they were bound for mereen. The last of them had been a mouthy one, new she thinks for assassin's should be far better at not bragging about it. Hired by the Lannisters to kill a girl. A Queen, some would say. 

She knew only the stories of the Targaryen girl but as she moved on horse back - given by the captain, admittedly not willingly - it seemed more and more like she was someone to be admired. First she had freed yonkai, now the slaved that once were collared had names and families but it angered many, didn’t it always? Men who wanted nothing more than to sit atop a pile of bodies with a glass of wine.

Brienne may not be able to return to the home she once knew but perhaps she could find something more. This Mother of Dragons must surely know something of magic with her children? And perhaps she could bring the justice and life that Renley once dreamed of offering the kingdoms. 

Standing before a throne is always strange but her father had taught her well and Brienne holds the rope about her wrists tightly, keeping the captive wide eyed and afraid at her heel. It may not be a conventional gift but he had tried to kill her, with luck it might prove her capability and perhaps her time. 

There is little knowledge on what to expect. She had been a girl when the wars raged and never seen a Targaryen in person. Her father keeping her far from the brutality of war as long as he could, as any parent would but Daenerys is the sort of woman you expect when you think of a queen. Her hair is long and braided, soft as snow and she walks with a grace that is deadly. She’s beautiful to many, if the eyes of all the men in the hall are to be believed. 

They are to be believed and the finds herself adjusting her sword at her hip, yanking hard at reigns to bring the killer down to his knees as well in apology. Glaring the filth from his mouth into silence.

“My Lady.” 

Her bow is not a courtesy but it is neat, bending at her waist before dropping to one knee in offering. All of her life she had looked for a cause worth fighting for and she wanted so badly to believe that whilst Renley may be dead there would be other people, good people, fighting for the same. She could only see with her own eyes if it was true. 

“I am Brienne of Tarth. I was guarding a ship docking at the bays when I realised the people I guarded were killers sent after you by the Lannisters of kings landing. I bring an offering - one of their men, and I ask only your forgiveness that I had been part of it without my knowing.”