#house tyrell profile

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝑜𝑓 𝐻𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑛

𝑴𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒐: "Growing Strong". 𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒍: Is a golden rose on a green field. 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔: Members of the family tend to have curly brown hair and brown eyes.

Lords Paramount of the Mander and the liege lords of the Reach. House Tyrell is a large, wealthy house, its wealth is only surpassed among the Great Houses by House Lannister. The Tyrells control much of the agriculture in the Reach, making them influential players in the politics of Westeros.

Unlike most other Great Houses, the Tyrells never ruled as kings. Instead, they trace their line of descent through the female line to the legendary Garth the Gardener, the mythical first King of the Reach reigning in the Age of Heroes, and the son of the equally mythic Garth Greenhand.

After the fall of House Gardener, the Tyrells rose to prominence by supporting Aegon I Targaryen. In return for their loyalty, they were granted the title of Wardens of the South and became one of the most powerful houses in Westeros.

During the reign of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, the Tyrells hosted the famed Tourney of the Field of Roses.

As the Dance of the Dragons began, Lord Lyonel Tyrell was an infant, and his regent mother was judged likely to align the Reach with the House's "overmighty" bannermen, the Hightowers, and the greens.

However, House Tyrell decided to take no part in the war. The Tyrell bannermen, on the other hand, were split during the war, with men of the Reach fighting on both sides. Later Ser Ulf White attempted to claim Highgarden for himself, as House Tyrell had taken no part in the Dance and he believed they should be considered traitors.

During Robert's Rebellion, House Tyrell stayed loyal to King Aerys II Targaryen. Lord Mace Tyrell's forces achieved victory against Lord Robert Baratheon at the Battle of Ashford.

[witchofhimring]

Loyalty Chapter 13

Synopsis: Synopsis: A Battle rages over Harrenhal and your path is not just dark, its destroyed.

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Ellyn Baratheon

Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

Jaecerion Targaryen x Reader

Jason Lannister x Reader (minor)

(more to come!)

Y/n Tyrells Profiles

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, moontea/abortions, suicide, mentions of rape (not to the reader), Plot twist at the end!

The first memory of Lady Jenna was at the funeral your father. Back then she was dressed in a deep green that reminded you of the deep tonics your father took. Towering over you she was more than intimidating. Years later and you still felt at similar sinking sensation. "Y/n. It has been some time." She smiled, warm and friendly. That was what Lady Jenna attempted to project. However as Lady Jenna pulled you into a hug there was a tension. When the two of you broke apart you noticed something steely in her eyes. "Follow me." The greeting was quick and Lady Jenna lead the way inside. Up the stairs you went, attempting to remember everything. The entrance hall was lined with portraits of Highgarden's past lords and ladies. The images of your ancestors looked down at the newcomers. The second last one displayed your parents, Lord Owen Tyrell and Lady Amelia Tarley. This was the first time you had laid eyes on a decent image presenting their likeness in years. The little locket which held miniature portraits was miniscule in detail. You recognized your eyes in Lady Amelia Tarley.

"We best hurry." Lady Jenna sounded slightly impatient. With a hasty apology you caught up. Jaecerion took hold of your elbow. "You're trembling." Suddenly you became aware the your breathing had become erratic. With a beating heart you felt sweat collecting on the brow. You took his hand and whispered "Just hold me, please."

Lady Jenna welcomed everyone into her solar. The scent of pine greeted you. Trying to remember, memories of a time before Lady Jenna surged. When Lady Amelia had owned these rooms they had smelt the same. There was a perfume scent in the air that you could not quite names. Green curtains had hung in a similar fashion, showing the garden bellow. Lady Jenna sat in a great oak chair and beckoned for everyone else to sit. Immediately servants came in and started serving refreshments. A few of them cast you looks, Lady Jenna was quick to shoo them away. "I hope the journey was not a hard one." You were ready to reply when Jaecerion stepped in. "Unfortunately as we were not provided with a sufficient guard the journey was quite perilous." There was an edge to his voice. Lady Jenna sent him a thin smile. Looking at her closely you noticed a muscle in her jaw spasm. Then you looked to Jaecerion. What was with the sudden hostility? A sudden tension had risen and it put you on edge.

Lady Jenna then turned her attention to Lady Mara. "Lady Mara, it has been some time. I hope you are well." Your lady gave her a bright smile. Or at least it would have passed as such to the eyes of most. Lady Mara had always been somewhat closed up when it came to emotions. But you had spent enough time around Lady Mara to see it was forced. And could you blame her? The horror's of war and Rhaenyra's tyranny had left their marks on all.

"I am well. And I hope the same can be said of you too." Lady Jenna nodded. "Wonderful. All of you must be tired, I will have my servants show all of you to your quarters." It had been so abrupt that you had not even considered the fact that Lady Jenna had yet to properly converse with you. After all, you had been her eyes and ears, a member of her house. As a servant lead you away, you decided that once settled in you would speak with her. Not rudely of course, she was the head of House Tyrell. But the topic needed to be breeched.

Your room was high up in a tower overlooking Highgarden. From this height you could see all three walls and beyond. "This is where I was born." You held baby Owen so that he could look out. Even if he could not fully comprehend the scene before him you wanted Owen to see. This is where his family, or at least in the maternal line, dwelled. Since the Andals sowed their roots long ago his and your ancestors ruled. In time, Gods willing, so would he.

You're room was circular in shape and had a four poster bed, a writing table and a dresser. Yet something about this room felt empty. There were tapestries, but the ones in this room were a plain brown. The curtains hanging around your bed were also plain. Hardly a residence worthy of the former Lady of Casterly Rock. Even during your tenure as the Dowager Queens' lady-in-waiting, the rooms had been more sumptuous. And would it be enough when Lady Mari moved in? Speaking of Lady Mari, where was she? Walking over to the door you pushed it open. Instead of swinging open it hit metal. Alarmed you jumped back and the knight in front jerked forward. He turned around as you apologized. "Quite alright My Lady. Lady Jenna will be up soon." You thanked him and closed the door.

True to his word, Lady Jenna entered, alone. "My dear Y/n. It must have been a long journey." She gave you a hug and then looked down at Owen. "He is a very handsome boy. You named him after your father?" "Yes, My Lady." A door opened and a maid entered holding a tray. She placed it on the writing desk and departed. Lady Jenna waited till she left before telling out to sit. "It is good to see you after so long. And you have been a wonderful source of information." This felt more than slightly demeaning. You felt no more than a prop used by Lady Jenna. In return for all your service she had situated you here. "When will I have my ladies?" Lady Jenna took a sip of wine. "I will have Lady Cerilla attend you." She might as well have poured a bucket of cold water over your head. 'P....pardon my Lady Jenna. Lady Cerilla." You prayed that it was a mistake, perhaps there was another Lady Cerilla. But that hope was quickly dashed when a familiar red headed girl slunk in, a sneer upon her pale face.

You were quick to summon Lady Mari up. Even if you had to endure Cerilla's presence you might at least have company. Not for one moment would Cerilla have unfiltered access to you without witnesses. Cerilla seemed slightly disappointed to not have you alone. Normally you would be quite happy to rebuke he. Especially since you greatly outranked her. Unfortunately this was Lady Jenna's domain and woe to those who disobeyed her. When you had been very little a maid had disobeyed an order. You could not recall the crime but only a bloody result. As the bloody maid was dragged away Lady Jenna had come up behind you. "Remember Y/n, loyalty to your house."

Once Cerilla was gone, following orders to ask a maid when dinner was, you could finally breath. Closing the door a sigh of relief was let loose. "I had no idea she was sent here." Lady Mari stared at the door. "Me neither. Perhaps we should have expected it." Someone knocked at the door. If it was Cerilla you would jump out the window. When Jaecerion entered you felt relived. His silver head was still hidden under a hood. Walking towards him you hugged Jaecerion. You would miss him greatly. During the past few weeks you had forgotten what life was like without him. "Lady Mari, could you give us space?" Lady Mari curtsied and left. Now it was just you and Jaecerion. "I will have to leave tomorrow. A pang thundered against your heart. Trying to hide the tears you looked up at him. "I will miss you. Jaecerion." His face was close to your. Saphire eyes lingered on every inch of your face. He took hold hands in his and pressed a delicate kiss to the fingertips.

You were shaking. Once Jaecerion left you and Owen would be alone. Lady Mari and Lady Dara would remain. But they were no substitute for those who had been near and dear since childhood. "When the battle is over I promise we will met again." You brought his hands into a close grasp. "But you will come back?" Jaecerion let go of your hands and placed them on your waist. Bringing you close, Jaecerion's lips were inches from yours. Hands went to Jaecerions shoulders. Looking into Jaecerion's eyes you noticed his eyes were black. He was looking deep into yours, taking in every inch of you. His pink lips were not far from yours. If either of you chose to lean forward then they would met. Jaecerion's grip tightened and his breath became shallow. Warmth spread down your back, over your chest and to every orifice of your body. Never before than you felt such deep emotions of this nature. Even towards your lawful husband. Jaecerion had always loved you, or at least for a long time. You wanted him, you needed him. Making up your mind, you leaned in close.

Cerilla stepped in, a creaking door announcing her entrance. Neither you nor Jaecerion moved. Both of you stared at a stunned Cerilla. She looked ready to say something, and she would have, if Jaecerion had not been there. "My Prince." All Cerilla did was curtsy and come back out the way she came. You watched her retreating form with mounting fury. No doubt this was an action born out of her hatred of you. Cerilla must have been under the impression that just because her sister was married to the heir that it was appropriate to show such disrespect. "I will show her different." You thought. If Cerilla thought she was getting away with anything you would be more than happy to dispel the fantasy. At this time she was no more than your servant. And just as how Ellyn treated you with scorn, so would Cerilla know how it felt.

Jaecerion too watched her retreat with dislike. "Is that the little bitch that followed you in Kings Landing?" You laughed at him calling Cerilla a bitch. Well, it was true. "Yes that is too. And it seems Cerillas' dismissal at Harrenhal has done nothing to temper." "What, she was dismissed?" Jaecerion looked at you in surprise. "Yes. It was actually your brother who did." Your grip on Jaecerion increased and you looked up at him. His lips were so close to yours. If only you could....

The chance was lost when once more the door was opened. Your luggage came in carried by those who had spirited you here. "My Prince, everything is ready." One of the knights bowed. "You are leaving now?" Looking up at Jaecerion your eyes were near tears. Seeing this, Jaecerion's thumb gently caressed your cheek. "Not for long. I am needed but call and I shall come." Jaecerion bent down and pressed his warm lips to your hand. He bid you farewell and you watched as he and the others left. The last thing you saw of Jaecerion, for now, was the tips of his silver hair disappearing through the door. Something sickeningly heavy was pressing against your chests. There was something so final about this meeting. A tear rolled down your cheek, and your shadow changed into a hooded figure.

That night dinner was brought up to you. Normally a woman of your station would dine in the great hall. But you were under cover and therefore had to remain hidden. Your ladies had not come back yet. It was no surprise that Lady Dara was not yet back. But Lady Mari was another matter. Anxiously you waited by the window, wrapped in a green shawl. A goblet of wine was in hand. Little Owen was fast asleep in his colt. You were not just waiting for Lady Mari, but Lady Jenna. Hence why you were still dressed in your day clothes'.

Your eyes were feeling very heavy. "I shouldn't have drank." But you were so comfortable in this chair. Time wore on by and slowly you drifted away from the working the world. The last thing you remembered the cold feeling in your wrists.

The forest was dead. All the leaves lay like corpses on the ground, lifeless. There was no wind. You watched through the forest, footsteps not making a sound. Your green dress, tighter than it was in the waking world, constricted you uncomfortably. There was no goal in mind, just the notion that you had to keep on walking. The shadows stretched out like boney fingers. Faces stared out at you from the Weirwood. This had ceased to frighten you like it used to. These dreams had a normalcy to them. That was not to say there was no unease. The unexpected could still happen. Blood spirting from the ground. A corpse grabbing you. Any of these things could happen.

And something did happen. A sudden sting appeared on your wrists. Blood stained the green dying it red. Shaking, you held them up to eye level. Blood ran down your arms like thin rivers. What was the meaning to this? The ground before you started to tremble. Just barely were you able to avoid falling over. A hooded figure like that of the Seven rose up to greet you. Opening its arms, the creature smiled showing two rows of sharp teeth.

A horrid jolt brought you back. Owen had started to fuss and someone was climbing the stairs. You could not hear anything, but rather you sensed it. On instinct you went for Owen. Scooping him up you held him securely. Owen was starting to calm down, only slightly. Lady Jenna, dressed in a magnificent emerald dress and a sweeping headdress glided in. Carefully you curtsied. "Y/n." She smiled and took you in her arms. Despite being forty years of age Lady Jenna maintained her youth. Only slight lines could be found if one looked close enough. Thin lips touched your cheek in a gesture of welcome. Thin hands then grasped your elbows. "I trust your accommodations are comfortable." You placed on a smile. "I thank you for the consideration." Lady Jenna lead you over to the chair. "Your son is beautiful. I heard you named him after your father." One of Lady Jenna's fingers stroked his thin hairs. Owen's eyes opened and surveyed the newcomer.

Nervously you tried to find the words. Lady Jenna could hardly be here simply for idle chit chat. There was something she wanted. Was it information you had been unable to pen? Your thoughts went to Cerilla and you wondered if Lady Jenna was angry. After all, they were in-laws, Lady Jenna's son being married to Cerilla's elder sister. "I heard that my husbands uncle wishes to confirm my sons rights." Seeing Lady Jenna's face you were quick to add "None of Owen's family have seen him." Lady Jenna, thank the Gods, was not angry. "Do not worry. They are ready to see you tomorrow. However I believe you need to rest. I apologize for not speaking with you alone earlier." "Of course, we are all busy. These are dark times." You replied. Lady Jenna smiled.

"There is something I wish to bring up." Lady Jenna stood to her full height. She looked down at you with her imperious gaze. Lady Jenna had sharp bright green eyes. They focused on an object, predator like, and struck. It was always best to avoid her displeasure. "Cerilla Swann will serve you. I hear you dismissed her at Harrenhal." The nausea swirling in your belly was almost unbearable. Throwing up was not out of the option. Trying to make yourself feel small, you spoke. "I never meant any offence. Lady Cerilla was spreading rumors which could impact our house." Lady Jenna's eyesbrows furrowed. "Lady Cerilla has put our houses honour to wuestion." You knew you had Cerilla at that moment. She may be Lady Jenna's in-law, but no threat towards house Tyrell would be tolerated. Not even by her.

"I will speak to Lady Cerilla. In the mean time I expect everyone to be on their best behavior. You will be expected to remain here, under the best care, of course. If you desire anything you need only ask." She shot you a dazzling smile and swept out of the room. Relief swept through you. Slumped over, cast under a sudden spell of exhaustion, you felt like sleeping. You blew out the candle casting your surrounding into darkness. Owen seemed just as sleepy as you. For the first time since being married you went into bed without one of your ladies. Owen sniffed and nuzzled in closer. A smile appeared on your face.

"Its okay. We will be alright." You drifted into a quiet sleep.

Days passed in a sleepy lull. Stuck in your room there was not a whole lot to do. It nearly felt like a prison, though in all fairness the room was not uncomfortable. Thankfully Lady Mari and Dara could join you. Less thankfully was the presence of Cerilla. You took great pleasure in sending her out on long errands. There was nothing she could do about it really. Her pale face would turn bright red every time, followed by storming off. There was the added benefit of not seeing her face as often. Days were spent reading, sewing and taking care of Owen. Your son was growing at a rapid rate and thankfully healthy.

On the fourth day of your stay routine was broken when Lady Jenna summoned you to her study. A group of lords including your deceased husbands uncle was also in attendance. "My Lady. It is good to see you again." Lord Tynar Lannister bend forward and kissed your hand. "Likewise my lord." Then the attention was given over to your son, their future lord. Proudly you showed him off to the men present. Once greetings were over everyone sat down. "My Lords, Lady Y/n. We are here to discuss Lord Owen succession to the head of House Lannister." It felt odd to hear your son referred to as "Lord Owen". "Lady Y/n will take on the title Dowager Lady Paramount of the West. We will ask that you return with us to Casterly Rock at the earliest convenience. Here you will remain for now. Once the false Queen Rhaenyra is overthrown you will be take your rightful place." Lord Tynar pulled out a piece of paper and set it out. "Normally the Lord Paramount will sign this himself. Given Lord Owen's age we will ask that you as his mother sign. It is just as legal and binding. In these situations the Lord Paramount will sign when he is older. But in the mean time this contact is just as binding."

You looked over the paper. Everything seemed to be in order. You could go back to Casterly Rock and rule from there. Naturally you would need help. The thought of being of charge of such a large wealthy region was terrifying and thrilling in equal measure. You would wield more power as regent than wife.

You signed your name.

Lord Tynar clapped his hands together. "Wonderful. That is everything in order." Lady Jenna raised a hand, cutting him off. She turned to you. There was a shrewd look in her eyes. What had you done? Hands clutched together you waited for it to fall. "Your son is heir to Casterly Rock. My sons' daughter is the same age. I suggest a marriage between our houses. It will unite two of the greatest houses in Westeros." Thank the gods she was not angry at you. You were so relived that you immediately said yes. And anyways, it was not a bad match. It would likely have happened anyway.

"Pardon me Lady Jenna. But this is rather sudden. Should we not all talk about it." Lady Jenna quickly spoke over you. "It is a perfectly fine match. Do you object?" Lord Tynar looked between Lay Jenna and yourself. He seemed to make up his mind.

You were stumbling around in the darkness. The forest was gone, hand been for some time. You would have preferred that over this impenetrable darkness. Somehow you were walking despite there being nothing under your feet. Yet you were able to move forward and back. Supposedly you could walk wherever. Not that this was any help. Everything was dark.

"You had a choice." The booming voice reverberated through you. Curling in on yourself it took everything to to faint from pure fear. Horrified you were rooted to the stop. Rocking back and for you wanted to be anywhere but here. Always you had hated these dreams. "You had a choice. Farwell." And then you were falling. As you fell the faces of nameless gods peered down at you. Everything was falling away. A figure reached forward and her eyes were upon you.

Something hand fell towards your face. Having just woken up you could do nothing to stop it. "Ouch!" Jerking out of sleepiness you now feel a burning on your nose. "What in the Seven." You realized the guilty culprit was a hand. Your hand. Sitting up you were still shaking. The dream was like a brand on your mind. It hurt something deep inside and instilled fear. It took you a bit to realized Cerilla was looking at you. "What." You snapped. She sneered and flounced out of the room. Now all alone you looked around for Owen with a feeling for dread. Thankfully he was safe and sleep in his crib. Reaching over you pick Owen up. He coos and opens his eyes. "Good morning." You kissed his nose. Owen smiled and you gently touched his ingrowing hair. It pained you that breast feeding was out of the question. Calling a wet nurse over you reluctantly handed him over. Once done you immediately took him back.

Afterwards you were able to walk along the battlements overlooking a courtyard. A slight wind brushed your hair, causing it to catch the light. Owen was bundled up in a blue blanket, his eyes looking around. Today had a serenity to them, the weather in perfect harmony. A guard was leading and Lady Dara brought up the rear.

The day was cloudy and slightly cool. "Do you think winter will come soon?" Lady Dara asked. "I suppose so. The maesters say it will." At your words Lady Dara looked up. "They might be wrong." She said hopefully. You doubted it. One could see an outline of the sun, obscured by clouds. A few were practicing in the courtyard. Yet it seemed that they were young, boys really. You guessed most of the able bodied young men were gone. "Most likely dead." A voice in your head said. The green cloak you wore felt heavy, the velvet pressed against skin. Other than that there was an eerie quiet that settled over Highgarden. Not even a bird in the sky. Despite the wind you had the sensation of someone holding their breath. You likened it to a scenario several years back. A tournament had been held in honour of the King and Queen. Two knights, you forgot their names, were jousting. They came at each other with great force and one of them flew off. You remembered Flora seizing you arm, and the vice grip seizing your stomach. For those few moments you held your breath, waiting in anticipation. Moments later it was pronounced he was dead. Your stomach had sank and the anticipation turned into dread. You were having the same feeling for reasons unknown.

"Is anyone else cold?" Lady Dara had an anxious look upon her face. "Are you alright?' You noticed she possessed a slight grey heugh. She looked as anxious as you felt. "Have you overheard anything?" You questioned Lady Dara. She fell into step beside you, leaning in. "They are saying Daemon Targaryen is looking for Prince Aemond." Chilled, you remembered the man. He had always off set you. "Has he found Aemond?" You asked. "I do not think so." Aemond had left Harrenhal and the place was currently deserted. Now only ghosts were the inhabitants. Was Alys there right now? It would feel appropriate, given she was a witch. You wondered how she was doing? Alys must be terribly angry at you. In her position you would. Trying to press down the guilt you continued to probe Lady Dara for information.

"They say Daemon has taken a mistress." Shocked, you stared at her. "This is only gossip, I do not know the truth. But its some little thing of a girl, only skin and bones I hear. No great but either and of no noble blood. Would you think it of him." Pondering, you wondered how Rhaenyra would take it. "Does she know?" You inquired. Lady Dara shrugged. "Who knows. If she's smart she will keep her mouth shut. You know they say he killed his first wife." Everyone had heard of Daemon Targaryen's infamous temper. A Targaryen trait if there ever was one.

If Prince Aemond and Daemon met, what would happen. Aemond held Vhaegar. You tried to convince yourself that the old she dragon would be enough. But Daemon, despite his age, was a veteran of many wars. Even before his birth the prince had been laying armies to waste. Apparently when waging war on the Triarchy he had cut their leader clean in two. If the two came to blows Daemon stood a good chance at winning. Perhaps his age would give Aemond a chance, though many said he was unchanged in physical prowess.

A great black cloud passed over the sky. "Look!" Lady Dara pointed up and the scene was almost unnatural. This cloud was not just dark, it was black. A pure oily black that put out the sun. Everything was plunged into dark, light was snuffed out. And that was when the sensation of holding your breath was replaced with the aftermath. An unexplainable feeling of dread. The wait was over and now a horrible feeling had crept in. The worst part was that you did not know what it was. Everyone continued to look up until the cloud passed. Even when the light came through nothing changed. The feeling did not go away.

Sleepiness crept upon you. Feeling sluggish you leaned back and allowed yourself to relax. You had spent the rest of the day bearing this dreadful feeling. Now at night you were too tired to feel anything but exhaustion. The bed was so warm and you were so comfortable. Owen was already asleep. A full moon made it easy to see outside. Large, it peered down from up on high. Somehow it offered a sort of comfort. Not thinking much about it you dozed off into sleep.

"Y/n." Your eyes shoot open. But when you tried to move, nothing. Your body was completely immobilized. Panic starting to set in you tried to move. Still no luck. You became aware of a presence on your left hand side. Where Owen was. Struggling you tried to break whatever this was. "Do not be afraid." The voice was low, but not deep. It was a woman's, low, slow and melodic. A figure rose up. She was dressed in white, hair hanging to her waist. You recognized her from portraits. Your mother was a shadow to you. She had died twenty years ago yet you hardly knew her. Such a non entity she had been that never once had you tried to figure anything about her.

The bed dipped when she sat down. You would have though this was a dream. But you knew it was not. The past few months had taught you that.

Lady Amelia gently brushed the hair off your head. Silently she took in every feature. Her fingers traced your cheekbones and lightly touched hair. A tear rolled down her cheek. "It is not too late. Go to the hidden gave by the Rose Door. It will appear for you and only you." And then she was gone in a wisp of smoke.

"Are you well My Lady?" Gazing out the window you watched the sun rise. Slowly is rose. The night was slowly retreating giving way to light. "Can you hear the birds?" Early morning dew wafted from the gardens bellow. It had been so long since you had walked in a garden. Somberly you watch the morning unfold.

"I would like to be alone." Silently Lady Mari left. All alone you were left to battle your misery. What a beautiful morning. It was so sad that it brought sadness. When was the last time you had truly been happy? Likely when Owen was born. Yet the grief you carried eclipsed all else. Closing your eyes a tear rolled down. You were so, so tired of everything. The past two years were hell. Not even the Seven Hells compared. There was no balm that covered these wounds. No satisfaction that soothed the anger. Fear was your constant ally. There was no way to pry it from you. Soon more tears joined and soon they all came together in a waterfall. Silently you stood there, taking it as you always did. Those small victories meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. This morning would only bring greater pain.

You did not know why this was. It was a sixth tense tugging at your very soul. Whatever was going to happen would rip your very soul apart.

The door opened and still you did not turn. No one would see you cry. Especially if it was Cerilla. "Lady Y/n, there is a messenger. He carries a letter from Prince Jaecerion." Panic overrides your pride. In a panic you seized Lady Mari by the shoulders. "Is he alright." Alarmed Lady Mari nearly jumped back. "Y...yes My Lady." Behind her stood Cerilla holding a message. Snatching it you order them from the room. Now left alone you ripped the seal off.

My Dearest Y/n,

I regret to inform you that Aemond has died. He fought Daemon Targaryen over Harrenhal and both fell with their dragons. I know this news will bring you anguish. I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. I know you loved him. His mistress Alys Rivers and bastard have disappeared. They say she is a witch.

We will bear Aemond's body back to Kings Landing when we take the capital back.

I want you to know that I am eternally your servant.

Love, Jaecerion

There are pains too great to put into words. You did not scream, or cry. Like a wounded beast you hunched over. Cold stones met your hands. Like a child hurt you doubled over onto the floor. You had your fair face of agony, both physical and mental. Humiliation and a loss of self had been heaped upon you. It all paled to this. He might have been a stranger during these past two years, but Aemond still held your heart. You remembered the young boy, and your last day with Aemond down at the alcove. How you smelt the water on his skin, and his silver hair in the wind. It all faded before you. Aemond was gone from this world.

He was gone from you.

Notes: I'm back! School had me very busy and I needed to rest. This chapter was hard to write which is the other reason this chapter took so long to write. For now updates will be more frequent. This story is close to wrapping up (at least part one).

Some of you might ask why the reader is so subservient when it comes to Lady Jenna. Despite the reader having backbones there are several reasons for his. Firstly, the reader has been taught to respect authority, sense why she allows her life to be used by others around her. Lady Jenna is the family matriarch and the reader has seen her word as law since she was a child. Two, she has little choice. A war is going on and Lady Jenna is far more powerful than her.

I want to thank everyone for their patients!

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[theforgottenmcrmy]

Growing Strong: Oaths, Parts 1-3 preview

THIS IS NOT A DRILL, IT'S DONE it's been written and it only took me over 6 months to do it I don't have excuses, just apologies.

If you are new to this story, the masterlist for this fic can be found in on the pinned post on my profile.

Coming in at just over 19,000 words...

Oaths, Part 1/3 - to be posted 11/21

But the core issue at hand was not of your own fate, or even your husband’s. You did not think yourself as strong as Rhaenyra; having to bury any one of your children just might destroy you. And Rhaenyra had pleaded with you to consider all of your options. If betraying a friend of many years and sacrificing whatever semblance of honor House Tyrell still had could ensure the safety and survival of your children, why would you not consider it?

Oaths, Part 2/3 - to be posted 11/23

One would be more hard pressed to find two individuals whose styles, both in dress and beyond, contrasted more. To all who were not known to either you or Rhaenyra, it most-assuredly provoked wonder as to how the pair of you had ever taken a liking to one another at all… But, as two women, who had once been but girls, that had been tasked with shouldering the burden of a legacy far grander than themselves, common ground had to have been easier to find than one might initially suspect.

Oaths, Part 3/3 - to be posted 11/25

Would Lord Corlys turn his back on Rhaenyra, when in doing so meant he severed his relationship with his granddaughters? Moreover, would Princess Rhaenys continue to steadfastly stand by him if he did? The love the typically stoic Targaryen princess held for them was a secret to none.

[howyourideyourdragon]

Masterlist

main account: howyouloveyourdragon dividers from: mikeykuns

anyone under 18 will be blocked

icon - my profile picture was made by the wonderful and talented midnightisquiet, check them out! ♡

House of The Dragon

Rhaenyra Targaryen

fics - omega sister presenting with alpha rhaenyra - alpha rhaenyra betrothal omega sister - alpha rhaenyra x omega sister x alpha daemon - alpha rhaenyra punishing bratty omega sister - alpha rhaenyra x omega powerplay - heartbeat - pearls – sugar mommy rhaenyra au (ft. alicent)

headcanons - alpha rhaenyra x omega half!sister x alpha daemon - alicent's politically savvy sister - alpha rhaenyra x omega dragonseed pt 2 - yandere rhaenyra takes half!sister from greens

Alicent Hightower

fics - pearls – sugar mommy rhaenyra x reader x sugar mommy alicent (ft. rhaenyra) (pending)

headcanons

Daemon Targaryen

fics - remnants - alpha rhaenyra x omega sister x alpha daemon (breeding kink) - the heat (pending)

headcanons - alpha rhaenyra x omega half!sister x alpha daemon

Aemond Targaryen

fics - namesday - sweet girl (ft. aegon)

headcanons

Aegon Targaryen

fics - sweet girl (ft. aemond)

headcanons

Jacaerys Velaryon

fics - namesday

headcanons

Game of Thrones

Daenerys Targaryen

fics - alpha daenerys x bratty omega

headcanons

Margaery Tyrell

fics - Taking Charge – ft Robb Stark (request)

headcanons

Robb Stark

fics - Taking Charge – ft Margaery Tyrell (request)

headcanons

Misc.

Visenya Targaryen

fics

headcanons - alpha visenya x lower born house omega

[atopvisenyashill]

What kind of jobs do you think asoiaf characters would have in the real world?

jon - history podcaster, famous in lefty circles, robb keeps begging him to get a real job so the stans of his haters stop review bombing robb's law practice

dany - political twitch streamer, they have beef bc jon is an anarchist and dany is an ML.

barristan - he's an econimist and a landlord and dany gets dragged constantly for being friends with him and retweeting his shitty medium articles.

grey worm - he has A Real Job as a low level agriculture engineer but he does political commentary in his free time which is why he's friends with dany & barristan.

arya - runs a coffee shop and is everyone's favorite manager because she's super chill and drives them to protests on her days off. has a burner twitter account and ratioed barristan online once.

sansa - a small business owner that has one of those cute little storefronts where four or five small businesses band together to be one shop.

robb - has a law practice doing something Important like immigration help or something. lives in a nice apartment above his practice.

theon - literally just freeloads at robb's apartment.

jeyne westerling - receptionist at robb's practice, the power dynamic IS weird but also kind of sexy. they are both clearly fucking theon as well, ned has no idea this is happening and keeps asking about grandkids even tho jeyne has an IUD.

catelyn - she clerked for a scotus judge and she is NOT modest but she IS modest about the thanksgiving she spent at RBG's house. her instagram is dedicated to promoting sansa's business because she is sooo proud.

jeyne poole - the only non nepo baby in the group who lucked out in befriending two rich girls in the art fair circuit and got a storefront with them.

loras tyrell - think mayor pete but with more personality.

margaery tyrell - the third business owner with sansa & jeyne, but she uses her mother's maiden name so no one associates her with her brother's tacky lib poitics or accueses her of being a nepo baby (she definitely is, but she takes the accussation personal)

renly baratheon - a fed from a family of feds, and the FACE of a pinkwashing campaign

cersei & tyrion - political family but for local politics like the daleys or cuomos or castro brothers (as in joaquin and julian). they fucking hate loras for primarying tywin from the center and winning but also lowkey hate each other because they both want Tywin's seat as like, Lieutenant Governor or some shit.

jaime lanniser - was supposed to be in politics but got ptsd from his time in the military and became a professional hater and freeloader until brienne talked him into getting a degree and helping people instead of just giving donations to charity for tax write offs.

brienne of tarth - i have no idea what she does but she works for a non profit and is solidly middle class as a child.

the martells - they own a local chain grocery store and they have a rivalry with arya but they keep it classy. oberyn posts thirst traps all the time and doran made him put 12 disclaimsers on every social media profile about not speaking for the store but otherwise he does what he wants. yeah man pour milk over your tiddies for charity who gives a fuck.

[cambion-companion]

OMG some Black stans attacked you again. I kinda hoped before Christmas everyone will just mind their own business but no, even in this special time of the year people care about drama. I was in GoT fandom for many years but it never came down to this going on with House of the Dragon, people became so rude since 2019. I was a fan of house Tyrell and Martell and I didn't like Lannisters, but I remember having really nice conversations with people who were pro Lannisters, we managed to have respectful talks without being mad that we don't love the same houses. Some people are really incapable of talking without being disrespectful towards person they speak to. This fandom made all polite talks without insulting each other seem like a miracle. I know that in GoT there were many perspectives and more houses, but if people are insulting others just because their opinions are different I am speechless. It's really that hard to be respectful instead of acting like a jerk? And I can't see the point of Black stans coming to your blog. If they don't like Aemond just visit profiles about Rhaenyra or her sons. It's really that simple. And it's possible to support different houses/characters and still be polite to each other. Black stans, I hope Christmas will inspire such joy in your life that you will treat Green stans with respect they deserve as everyone and not hating them and writing hateful comments just because they support someone else. Thanks for reading my Ted talk.

I think it started when I began using the hotd x reader tag...lmfao it says so much honestly that some people feel the need to come to my blog, peruse it, and then send ridiculous messages expressing their displeasure 🤣

Fan behavior 💅

[galeforged]

{ ooc } And on that last note (aside from: "Hey! Zephyr has internet again!")...

FORWIN NOW HAS A DEDICATED CARRD PAGE (for your convenience)! Consider his old About links decommissioned for the time being, if not indefinitely.

It's... pretty rudimentary, aesthetically speaking, I know. It took me the better part of a week or so since I've poked around trying to figure out how Carrd works, and my god the number of times I hit the 50-element limit nearly made me give up and drop the whole thing. But at last! It is finished! Most of the things in here are copy-pasted from the old links, but I did update some of the game-inspired info and quotes to better suit him where relevant!

I do have a Toyhou.se set up now too, so I might ease off some of the extra details and move those over, all in order to free up more elements for prettier bells and whistles... but don't expect me to rush this. Same goes for Carrds for the other OCs on this blog; they will come, but... just now right now. Please, I need rest-

[omerflorent]

The Ruling Lord of Brightwater and Lord Commander of the Reach Kingsguard as written by Maester Ronan

note; this is the canon reputation of omer florent throughout the realm. he might argue with his cousin on things but omer refuses to get involved with profiles about himself because of integrity. 

Childhood 0-7; Spending the first 7 years of his life in Brightwater the folk across the villages loved seeing their little lord arriving to this manor to hear their complaints. This set the tone for how the people would see Omer. Allun Florent didn’t go to the manors once he was old enough and after his father died the people of Brightwater went many a year without seeing a Lord until the young raven haired boy began showing up to the manors at the of 4. Far too young to be of any true use to those who came to share their grievances but the folk knew a true Fox had been born. 

Becoming a man in the Vale 7-17; For the next 10 years Omer would be raised in the Vale with his aunt and uncle, the ruling lord and lady of Heart’s Home. During his time his reputation as a swordsman began to develop. Training alongside his cousins and fighting against those mountain clansmen who came to raid. While taking part in tourneys and melees he began to develop a reputation of arrogance which stands out in the Vale where men are far more quiet in their arrogance. The loud and brash lord of Brightwater represented the kindness, temperament, and pride people came to expect from the folk of his lands. 

Returning to the Reach 17-23; Upon his return to the Reach at the age of 7 and 10, Omer immediately began to travel around the villages of Brightwater, staying in the Florent Manors where the village representative lives and for the first year and a half Omer stayed in every Brightwater Village and continued to make these visits returning to the Florent way. He travelled around the Reach taking up different causes from fighting against bandits, capturing criminals, and doing what knights do. Omer desired being more than being a tourney knight and could often be found among young knights, both hedge knights and landed knights alike. There are at least 15 men in Brightwater alone thank the young Fox for their Knighthood and 3 who thank him for their lands. 

The Reputation of a Knight 23-26: Across the Reach and the Riverlands (another place Omer spent a great deal of time.) Lord Omer Florent earned a reputation for being the perfect knight. A man of honor and holiness. His youthful reputation with women slowed as the young lord became the picture men referenced when speaking of knighthood in the Reach. Fine armor, seen in the the sept, a proud guard for maiden’s day, and some whispered if he were not heir he would have joined the dragons kingsguard. This is untrue as no one ever felt a pure hatred for the House of the Dragon than Omer Florent. 

The Dance; House Florent didn’t take part in the Dance. Omer spent much of his time protecting their lands and fighting any who came to bring them trouble. Little is known about Omer during this time because of how much time he spent away from all who once knew him, a puppet on the string of his treacherous father only to be saved by our rightful king Cedric Tyrell, the Eyes of Brightwater as the folk have taken to calling him. 

The Damage; After being abducted Omer’s reputation took sharp turn. While some did start to think less of the Lord Commander more felt a pity for the man who once could be described as the pride of his lands. They whispered how sad it was to see such a man fall so far from his drinking and his whoring and his late nights it seemed nothing would pull the lord from the darkest place in his life. If not for the friendships he forged with men like Harlon Tarly, his brotherhood with Cedric Tyrell, his sister Rhea Florent, and his dearest companion Lucrezia Redwyne, this maester believes we would have lost him. 

The Iron War; Lord Omer Florent found sobriety at the cost of losing half of his left arm and spent a month on bedrest in a stupor of poppy’s milk. When the fever broke it seemed the man all knew once before came back in a way. Proud, honorable, and strong. For the Gods tested his will and he has continued to show his worth. May the mother shelter him. May the father protect him. May the smith keep his sword strong and the warrior keep him might. May the maiden protect what is left of his innocence and may the crone share her wisdom. And may the stranger stay away for a while longer.

Note; Basically, Omer never had a reputation for whoring as he reached what most would consider manhood (basically by his second summer at the arbor the most people could say of him is he has a fondness for flirting). Omer has always had the reputation of a man with honor and integrity. No one has ever questioned whether or not Omer is a good man. And anyone who does is often considered to be speaking foul or from a place of jealousy. Yes, there are some fathers who didn’t want this young man around their daughters but it’s no different than any other father’s response to a good looking and charismatic knight. this is not to say omer is perfect because he is rude and abrasive, he is snobby and judgmental but we’re not going to pretend he’s been a drunken whore his whole life.  

[p0rkbun]

GAME OF THRONES ORIGINAL CHARACTER

THE ADVISOR ; Sun Ernest / Sun Bethel

NICKNAMES: Sunny, Nabi

DATE OF BIRTH: 284 AC

ALLEGIANCE: House Bethel (by birth), House Ernest (raised), House Tyrell (by oath)

RELATIVES: Ango Bethel {Biological Father; Deceased}, Unknown Adoptive Parents {Deceased}, Azul Adamus II {Mentor}

CULTURE: Yi ti

HEIGHT: 152cm

WEIGHT: 57kg

HAIR COLOR: Jet black

EYE COLOR: Maroon red

INTERESTS: Weaponry, mystery, art, painting, books, calligraphy, animals and scarfs.

DISLIKES: Coldness, heights and lemons.

ADDITIONAL TRIVIA

CONCEPT ART BY ME: 📂, 📂

Sun's personality type is INTP 5w4 and her zodiac sign is a capricorn

Her sexuality is unlabled but she is more interested in women rather than men

Her role in game of thrones is a deuteragonist advisor

She is fourteen at the start of game of thrones and twenty-one at the end of the series

She is allergic to flowers and lemon

She is a fan of baking and would often bake some sweets in her spare time

Despite being an introverted and prefering to have solitare, Sun is a chatty person and have a habit of infodumping especially about her interests, she is smart person that figures things or situations out quickly, she is also full of curiosity that can sometimes lead her to trouble, though she is clever enough to get away with it.

She is rather blunt sometimes and can come off as rude, though it isn't the case, she is an intelligent person but she doesn't have good understanding of people's feelings. She won't know you're hurt by what she said unless you address it. As well as she is oblivious to some manners of others and not understanding their jokes. Despite this, she is a good person that cares very much even if she doesn't have a good way of showing it.

She has autism

Her adoptive parents died from an unknown illness, for a while she has been on her own until she met her mentor Azul

Azul was the person who introduced her in weaponry when he taught her basic defense

She has sensitive hearing and can easily hear any noise a field away

She lives in the north, even in her years of living there, she still dislikes the cold

Her face claim is Park Eun-bin

Her possible romances are: Daenerys, Sansa and Margaery

The name Sun means "descendant, grandson" in chinese origin

The Surname Ernest means "serious" it's derived from the germanic word 'ernst'

The name Bethel means "house of god" it's a gender-neutral name from hebrew origins

She is an asian based character of chinese ethnicity

Note: Sorry if there's any grammar mistakes or mispellings! English is not my native langauge haha, some of my oc profiles might be edited due to corrections or adding more things so things might be different if you check them everytime. 😀

[writervaul-t]

tears in a letter

synopsis: not believing her reasons of coming back, the prince of westeros questions naexes's return to king's landing

pairing: aemond targaryen x naexes cai (oc)

note: this is just a small part of a big story i'm writing. all for fun and the idea wouldn't leave me :)

"Why did you decide to come back?" Aemond asked, eyes never leaving Naexes.

"Because I was summoned. It is my responsibility as a magus to follow our family's death rites." She responds, looking up at him as if he of all people should have known what duty for family was like, which he had of course. Aemond, if anything, had done more than Aegon ever could when it came to following familial expectations for the crown.

Still, he couldn't quite grasp that same concept as he stared at Naexes, a girl he clearly remembered loathed her time at the Red Keep. Even now, he can't help but remember the young girl, gripping her arm so tight during feasts and dinners, he was sure it would tear off. Yes, she was still there; just older and seemingly better at hiding her tears.

"Your brother mentioned to me he was expecting one of your older sisters to come and initiate the ceremony." He explains, watching Naexes's face morph into an indecipherable one. "Imagine our surprise when we saw your dragon breaking through the skies. We thought we would never see you after all those years."

Believe me, I didn't either. Naexes was so desperate to respond back, but she held her tongue, remembering the moment she had been informed of her sister's illness

She had been ready to beg her father to send someone better, someone more suited to go to King's Landing. Her time at the Red Keep had been anything but peaceful, the memories of Marrah Tyrell and her bully of campions still fresh in her mind.

She would have rather have dealt with tending to the Dragon Caves for the rest of her life instead of coming back to Westeros, she remembered saying to herself when she had flown home all those years ago... And yet she found herself looking at the letter that was so obviously written by Verra, a girl who had been so young when Naexes left, she was sure she hadn't remembered her.

And yet she had, from the way Verra spoke of her.

My Aunt Naexes,

Mother's fever has broken but I am afraid to report she is not recovering well. She has sent for your attention to be made at King's Landing, instruction about proper rites being made. It has been many years since we have last seen each other, so I hope you find this letter with well fitted intentions. Valera and I hope to see you soon.

Mother made us aware of your hardships here in King's Landing and I understand if you do not wish to come. She still insists you consider it, but if not, please send this to Lord Cai to let him make the decision on who to send for The Celebration.

If you intend to come, please come quickly; I do not know when the Stranger will come to claim her, but I believe she is holding on long enough to see you. She speaks highly of you, Aunt Naexes, and I do not discredit it. I share many fond memories with you and hope to share more if you do oversee the rites.

Verra Cai

Guilt had consumed her when her first thought had been to immediately reject to lead The Celebration, a tradition of sending off the dead so deeply ingrained in House Cai, it was considered a high profiled event no matter how rankings went with clan members.

Her guilt worsened as she spotted the tears that stained the ends of the letter, Verra's name almost becoming a blotch of ink. In that moment, Naexes understood the girl's desperation and grief; watching her own mother disappear in front of her but needing to follow through with family duties before anything can become of her wallowing.

She was frightened of coming back, she had to admit. Visions of mud pies thrown at her face during lessons, being tripped by the highborn children, and the looks of fear thrown at her wherever she went haunted her memories, becoming tenfold when she found herself stepping into the castle.

She did her best to hide the feelings, however, wishing for Verra and Valera to only know she had come back to Westeros with a mind at ease instead of unrest. It was an easy feat to show, she had to admit; years spent at her father's halls and mother's temple taught her to become as expressive as a rock.

However, she was sure others saw right through her, specifically the unsavory kind she wished hadn't seen through her act. Aegon, Marrah Tyrell--she had her suspicions they knew from how they leered at her during her presentation to the Queen and her consort.

Aemond's words only confirmed whatever thoughts erupted from her. Still, she hadn't wanted herself to give herself away that easily, opting to give Aemond a controlled expression as she said, "Sometimes we have no control on what our gods have for us. My gods call for me to bring my sister to their homes..."

Her voice fades a moment, unsure if she really does believe if the gods truly did want her. Aemond offers a huff of a laugh.

"I'm sorry your gods sent you back to this place then. Nothing but the stench of shit and brown water here, I'm afraid." Was all he offers, making Naexes offer him a stare of amusement before fading her expression back into nothing.

His lips quirked at the movement, remembering to etch the glint in her eyes into his memory before he spoke once more. "Now, let me take you to the library; surely you can find some peace of mind at the idea you're somewhere Aegon is not, hm?"

[westeroslive]

where could you see chris hemsworth or ben barnes?

since  they  have  a  similar  profile,  i'll  list  the  houses  that  work  for  both  of  them  but  chris  will  get  pink  for  my  personal  faves  and  bed  green.  i  think  house  bolton,  house  royce,  house  frey,  house  blackwood,  house  rowan,  house  westerling,  and  house  caron  for  existing  ones.  i  think  chris  has  the  vibes  of  a  westerlander  +  crownlander  while  ben  is  more  of  a  northerner  +  valeman  if  you  want  them  in  a  new  house.  for  connections,  trystane  tyrell  is  looking  for  a  cousin  which  would  give  you  house  graceford,  klahan  rogare  is  looking  for  spies  and  so  is  dantae  dagareon,  alara  dayne  is  looking  for  a  bestie,  and  lady  maesella  targaryen  seeks  a  love  interest  !

[witchofhimring]

Loyalty Chapter 9

Synopsis: Kings Landing falls and Rhaenyra calls for your head. A life comes into the world, another is taken.

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Ellyn Baratheon

Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

Jaecerion Targaryen x Reader

Jason Lannister x Reader (minor)

(more to come!)

Y/n Tyrells Profiles

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, Plot twist at the end!

Amelia Tarley had her back towards the New Gods. The Sept had secede to be a place of comfort. Once all her family was gone she pulled up her hood and headed into the garden. Today it was empty and for that she was grateful. H/c fell around her face, obscuring the girl. From around her neck she pulled a heavy iron key. Looking around to check, Amelia plunged it into a keyhole in the ground. With a click the secret door was open. Ameila grunted as she forced open the trap door. Carefully she slipped inside, one hand on the door. With some difficulty, she had a lamp in her hand, stabilized herself on the stairs. Down she went, one step at a time. The steps were not damp, but years of wear mean the once prominent form of the steps were worn down. Finally her feet hit the dirt ground and she padded down the hallway.

At the end was a wooden door. It was so dilapidated that there was no need to unlock it. Faintly one could see a white Weirwood tree painted onto the pealing wood. With a light push it opened onto a small room.

Y/n, Ameila Tarley's daughter, eyes the needle as it slid between two pieces of thread. You had been lucky. The first few months had been easy on you. But at the sixth month your belly expanded alarmingly. The maester on hand told you that it was normal. Sometimes a woman will not show until later on in the pregnancy. Exploring had been halted as walking had become somewhat difficult. Thankfully all your dresses had been made to accommodate the belly. It seemed Alys Rivers was aware beforehand of your pregnancy. The thought unsettled you. Even Prince Aemond and Ellyn had not been aware. Servants gossip perhaps?

The Gold thread was delicate between your fingers. All alone in this great big tower you felt at peace. One might think that being away from the glittering court of Casterly Rock to the bleakness of Harrenhal would make you sad. On the contrary you were more at peace than you had been in months. No eyes on you, no judging husband or insolent mistresses. Just you and the baby. There was just two individuals you saw frequently, Marisa and Alys. Marisa was a young willowy woman with heaps of brown hair. She was to be your maid. Alys had taken what you felt to be an unusual amount of interest. Frequently she had asked how you slept, at and whether the babe was well. It was just so strange.

Alys entered the room with a steaming pot of mulled wine. She placed it next you and looked at the result of hard labor. "A family tree." This familiarity might have earned her a rebuke. But Alys held some sort of power that made such comments feel unwarranted. "Yes." You flattened the fabric to show long, thin lines of gold connecting names. You had just gotten to your mothers name, Amelia Tarley, an archer situated underneath. Seeing her name, Alys had a look of frank curiosity. Green eyes drifted up to another name,

"That is a northern house." Alys Rivers commented. "Yes, the Reeds...." Trailing off, it hit you that your First Men heritage had never concerned you before. Your mother had been a Tarley, and her mother before had hailed from house Reed. The northerners had always seemed so alien to you that it never crossed your thought their blood flowed through those same veins. Your right hand traced the black thread. House Reed, like most other Northern houses fought for Rhaenyra. Those who were close in blood were your sworn enemies. How would your grandmother Laura Reed feel about you taking the side of her houses enemies? Although few could chose their marriages your belly curled in on itself.

"Do you know the words of house Reed?" Alys Rivers sat down in front of you. Any other time you might have been offended. But your thoughts lingered on old lessons. The Starks went by "Winter Is Coming". The Boltons went by "Our Blades Are Sharp". But other then that no other came to mind. It was embracing really, you knew the names and mottos of every house in The Reach. But outside of any prominent family in Kings Landing you were completely ignorant. "They swear by ice and fire"." Cryptic words. A shiver passed through you.

An old book you had pillaged from the library lay open. It was late and hardly a soul stirred (although some certainly still did). The candle light flickered illuminating old parchment scribed a century ago. You flipped through the pages until they landed on house Reed, signified by its telltale lizard.

House Reed is situated in the Neck, making it the most southern of all the northern houses. They have ruled from there since the Marsh Kings defeat thousands of years before the conquest (the exact date is unknown). They make their oaths by the words "Ice and Fire".

It was the oddest name. Was the motto in reference to an old grudge? You continued to read.

There are no contemporary accounts as to why House Reed chose there exact words. However members of their houses insist it is to remind Westeros of The Others.

The Others, a northern superstition. Though this was hardly the most wild northern superstition. They believed in all sorts of things. With a thump the book was placed aside. The baby had given a kick and you winced. "Hey." You said quietly. With a puff you blew out the candle and laid back on fluffed up pillows. Hands rested on a belly whose occupant was suddenly very active. You could almost not believe it. Motherhood had always been a woman's duty but every time the babe turned it felt unreal. For everyone else this was the heir to Casterly Rock, but to you this babe was previous, whether male or female. A safe delivery was all you asked for. Even if it was a girl she would still be important. You thought to your fate after the birth. Where would you go next? Casterly Rock was an option. Or would they make you go back to the Red Keep? It was not as if you had a choice in the matter. You were not some great lady who could call on loyal bannermen and family for defense. What if they separated you from the baby?! That outcome was not unlikely. At nineteen you were still young and would likely be remarried. Ellyn may even convince them to do so, out of resentment for her continuing bareness. A hand touched your belly.

You flipped through the page until a terrifying face leapt out at you. Alarmed and curious, you flipped back. In ink were rotting corpses walking eerily along the snow. At least you pictured them walking in an ungainly fashion. Images of sickly arms swaying back and forth like branches on a tree came to mind. Empty eyes with no signs of life. Gaping mouths with the stench of death on them. A thrill of horror passed through and you dared to read.

White Walkers. No man and perhaps even the Gods do not know where these creatures hail from. In the Dark Night they came to claim the lives of every man and woman in Westeros. Gods know they could even have taken the world. The Great Wall was erected and brave men stand watching. But they may come again.

The passage was short. Nevertheless your mind raced at the thought of dead corpses ravaging Westeros. Furiously you put the book away. This was ridiculous. Of course white walkers did not exist. What, did talking trees and fairies exist too? No. You were being silly.

But for the first time your dreams were filled, not with blood, but a cold landscape. And a woman with h/c flittered in and out.

Your ladies would arrive any day now. For that you were grateful. On the day they were to arrive a young man no older than yourself raced into Harrenhal, breathless. Everyone had been breaking their fast, a usually dull affair. The tense silence was broken when the double doors were unceremoniously thrown open and a boy staggered through. "Your Grace." He was winded. One of the women stood up and filled a glass. After several gulps he places it down, a line of red down his chin. "Your mother had me come. Your Grace, Kings Landing has fallen."

No one dared move. Everyone stayed in the hall, awaiting their fate. Was the war won for Rhaenyra? If so what did that mean for you? And what of your ladies, had they been waylaid, or a worse fate? Soon tales came in. Thankfully the King and the children had fled. But it seemed the women were not important enough as Dowager Queen Alicent and Queen Helaena were prisoners. At least the children were safe. Rhaenyra was not a merciful, not after the loss of her sons. Vaeron's screams invaded your ears. A tic developed in your right hand and soon that arms was full of pins and needles. Your left hand came up to your hair. Nervously you played with the ends.

An hour later another came, this man one of Rhaenyra's. He was younger than you, eyes anxiously flitted between everyone. He was dressed in Targaryen black and red, you wondered if that was wise. Prince Aemond stood looming over the boy. The youth quaked beneath Prince Aemond. The boy pulled out a scroll with shaking fingers. "Read it. Aemond ordered." The boy stammered and then red. "Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name and rightful Queen pf Westeros commands Aemond Targaryen to submit himself to the Iron Throne, without the company of Vaehgar. We will have you know that the Dowager Queen and Princess Helaena-" "Queen Helaena." Prince Aemond snarled. A borderline hysteric gasp left the boy. He looked like to faint. You did not blame him. "-are in our custody and will suffer the Queen's wrath if Prince Aemond does not come before Her Grace. Lady Y/n Tyrell will also be brought before the Queen to suffer judgment for the death of her son Prince Vaeron." Everything before you was blurry, the ground beneath solid as water. E/c eyes rolled into the back of your head as a scream filled the room.

You remembered nothing after that.

Rivers of blood danced around you in torrents. It ripped at your very being, threatening to sweep you away. Blood ran down your body, from the chest to the legs. Running down your body in a great morbid waterfall. A shrill cry was lost in the howl of the storm. It pressed in from all sides while pooling at your feet. You were reduced under this storm, weak against its power. Standing there with the certainty of someone doomed you allowed the walls to close in.

A cold towel lay across your forehead. As your senses came back you felt a warm feather bed underneath. The roar of a crackling fire. The howl of a storm outside. Then the sensations of your body awakened. Everything was sore and your head pounded. A slight sting could be felt on your right cheek. The first thing to move were your fingers. A flash of cold shuddered through them. Opening your eyes was a hard task. Then you felt fingers graze your face. Suddenly opening your eyes was not such a hard task. Alys Rivers hovered over you, jet black hair falling like a waterfall around you. Her piercing green eyes regarded you, seeking out something. "My Prince, she wakes." A creak came from the foot of your bed and Prince Aemond Targaryen stood up. "Lady Y/n?" He sounded uncertain, the title not coming out naturally.

"Well, she certainly caused a scene back there." Ellyn, how wonderful. Alys Rivers helped you sit up slightly, propped up by pillows. "Lady Y/n!" Lady Mari darted forward, her normally immaculate hair askew. "Your here....all of you?" Something dark passed over Lady Mari's face but it quickly passed. A painful throb passed through your head. With a hiss you lay back down. "Everyone is here. Lady Clarissa and Dara are in their rooms right now. Prince Jaecerion will be back in a moment." Your heart leapt at the thought of Jaecerion. It may not have been love but there was certainly affection.

The letter. Anxiety set in as the words came back. Rhaenyra Targaryen wanted you dead. "The letter." "What letter?" Lady Dara looked to Prince Aemond. Prince Aemond's eyes closed and his fist tightened. "Lady Y/n recived a letter from my sister. It seems Rhaenyra means to take revenge for the death of her son." "But that is hardly the lady's fault." Oh how comforting the words were. How you wished those words were true. But Lady Joan's words had prevailed. Shame, regret and a whirl of emotions passed through. "Don't you start crying. Now that woman's wrath will fall on us for your folly." Everyone looked to Ellyn. "I beg your pardon?" An astonished Lady Mari regarded Ellyn. "Oh please. Her wrath would have fallen here regardless. Have you forgotten your own husband slew Lucerys?" This only fueled the flames of Ellyn's rage. She stalked towards you. A palpable vengeance emanated from her very soul. In that moment you knew if Ellyn had the chance she would run a knife right through you. Even Prince Aemond stepped back. "Do you think you're safe? That a child protects you?" Her deep crimson dress rippled as step by step she came closer. In that moment she look almost as terrifying as Alys Rivers. Tall, with flowing dark hair and eyes that seemed to light up with a fire of their own. But unlike Alys who's eyes were hard to read Ellyn's were easy. Hatred.

"And what will you do?" Not one to back down from a confrontation, you fully sat up. No one stooped you, too transfixed. "Because one day something bad will happen. And when that happens your will wish you had never crossed-." "Quiet." Now their eyes landed on you. A lady challenging a princess. Every part of your body ached. Anger prevailed as you stood up on shaky legs. The train of your gown trailed behind you, rippling over old stone. Light illuminated the two figures standing. Yet nothing compared to the hate illuminating Y/n and Ellyn's eyes. Their wrath was more hateful than when Balerion's flames smote upon Harrenhal all those centuries ago. It carried malice akin to all the tormented souls that paced these old halls. An enchantment had been cast over Prince Aemond, Alys Rivers and Lady Mari. Mute horror dwelled on the prince's and lady's face, Alys River's was hidden in shadow. "And if you were to do that, what would happen? Do you simply think I will leave such a challenge unanswered?" Ellyn sneered. "What would you do then, Lady Y/n?" You stepped closer. Her sickly breath was upon your face. "It is not what would I do. It is what have I done. Did you think all those slights went unpunished?" Ellyn let lose a derisive laugh. But you waited. When she realized you did not continue she stopped. Because there was a cold look you bore, one that boded ill for her. "Have you wondered why you have never fallen with child?" Lady Mari gasped. Prince Aemond inhaled sharply. But none of those reactions mattered. All that existed was Ellyn and the pain you meant to cause. "You allowed a woman you hated near you. Allowed me to handle your robes, drinks and cakes. I reigned freely over every morsel that entered your mouth. How easy it would have been to simply slip something in." There was nothing for Ellyn to laugh about this time. Nor anyone else but you. Ellyn swayed precariously on her feet. You thought she meant to lunge at you. Back she went. Ellyn collapsed to the cold hard ground.

You never thought yourself a cruel woman. Growing up with the Maiden and Mother in mind such leanings should be crushed. But the past few months had fed such notions. Different being now called out to you. These voices were not so benevolent. They told you to maime, hurt. The despair of Ellyn tasted sweeter than any pastry. More nourishing than any meat. You had a greater need for it than life itself. You sat alone in your room. Ellyn had been hurried away. The rest had left, although Alys Rivers had asked to stay. Prince Aemond, not having it, ordered her to depart. So with reluctance Alys Rivers obeyed, but not before casting you once last glance. There was appraisal in her eyes. Then they left you.

You reclined on a chair by the window. One hand absentmindedly stroking your belly. The other rested on the windowsill. A full moon ruled the sky tonight. The woods bellow looked like something savage and mysterious on the very boarders of civilization. Taking a deep breath you tasted the nighttime air. Even up here you could smell every tree. Pine, birch, aspen, spruce, oak, and another scent that was familiar but whose name escaped you. Little whispers drifted up to your perch high above. You wondered what was in those woods. Perhaps one day you might like to take a look. There was something that drew you to that forest.

Prince Aemon stormed in, you had not expected this. There was such a stark look of rage upon his face that had he looked at you like that a year ago there would have been tears. Now there was only a lurch and dulled feelings. It was like looking at something through a frosted window that was once clear. You could see what was on the other side but it was blurred, the true scope a mere shadow of what it once was. No tears were shed, although your face did heat up, but not out of bashfulness or guilt. You remembered a time when you had begged Prince Aemond in that amoury. How weak you had been then. Your pride ached from that memory, throbbing like an open wound. So all you did was coldly stare at him.

Prince Aemond did not speak for a moment. A few time he opened his mouth, unable to find the right words. The shadow of a smile ghost your lips. "That.....that was-" "Cruel? It is no less than what she has done to me." If he excepted remorse then Prince Aemond had come to the wrong person. You relaxed against your chair, eyes coolly regarding the Prince. Once again Prince Aemond seemed to loose his words. It was an odd sight truly. The last time Prince Aemond had behaved with anything less than certainty had been during childhood. When he had two eyes instead of one, had no dragon and clung to his mothers skirts. In those says you had been his greatest friend, always by his side. Now all these years later the two of you stood in opposition instead of side by side. He only had one eye with a slightly gaunt look to him. His hair hung limply about the Prince's pale face. You on the other hand regarded him with little affection in your eyes. Red robes flowed out around you. If one had walking in at that moment they might have thought you a queen. Straight backed, an imperious disposition and looking at the Prince as one would to those beneath them.

"Who am I, Prince Aemond?" "Y/n." "No. I am Y/n Lannister. Dowager Lady of House Lannister and you are far to familiar in your behavior towards me. You will leave this room so that I can get properly dressed." Prince Aemond looked as if you had slapped him across the face. But he did as you bid and a moment later a maid came in. "I will have one of mine." The maid left and the Prince shot you one last look before leaving. Eventually Lady Mari entered bearing a crimson gown. She dressed you and your hair was plated into a braid. Prince Aemond only entered once you were prepared and Lady Mari was dismissed. Prince Aemond decided to side across from you. This pleased you. He should treat you as you were, a great lady of the realm, not some little girl he could chastise. "I understand your grievances these past few months. The war has been hard on us all. But you must understand my wife has been out of sorts as of late." You did not care. "That does not concern me. I expected to be treated as befits my station. Yet Princess Ellyn spreads rumors and throws mud on my reputation." Prince Aemond's fist clenched ever so slightly. "I am aware that my wife has been tackles as of late-" "Tackles is not quite the word I would use." Prince Aemond's first came down, right onto the arm of his chair. You jumped back when a resounding "crack" echoed across the room. There was a fire in his eyes that suddenly frightened you. He stood up, looming over you. In one stride Prince Aemond's hands seized the arms of your chair. His face was inches from your own.

"Your spite, My Lady, is quite something. I never would have thought it of you." A shaky breath shook your body which had suddenly run cold. Prince Aemond was not done. "I would turn you out after what has transpired. If it was not for my mothers remaining fondness for you I would." You wished you could say this was little more than words. Pain came roaring back with a vengeance. A year ago, would Prince Aemond have spoken this way to you? The thin veneer of detachment you had worn was stripped away. Now you felt lesser than ever before. It was one thing for Ellyn to rage at you, quite another for it to be a former friend. "Then you are as fickle as I thought. Though I suppose that is a common quality of a kinslayer." Prince Aemond shot back as if you in turn had struck him. Ragged breaths escaped him. There was anger in both your eyes. Suddenly Prince Aemond darted towards and seized you by the arms. "Aemond!" You cried out. His grip was bruising as he hauled you out of the chair. The babe in your belly lurched with his force. The wind was immediately knocked out of you. "Let go of me!" You snarled, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp. But the Prince was stronger. "I will not have you calling me kinslayer. Not you." The last words stumbled out of his mouth. They carried a weight that caused you to pause. Your eyes met.

The momentary tableau was broken when you broke away. Gone was the coolness of your eyes, replaced by hot tears. "Leave." It was all you could say. You wanted to be left alone. But Prince Aemond ignored you. "I never asked for this." He said. The momentary anger was gone, replaced by a look of utter defeat. "And I never asked for this either. And yet you discarded me as if I were less than nothing. So do as you have done these past months and leave me." Yet here he still stood. "Did you ever think I wanted to?" Prince Aemond took a step towards you, though this time not in anger. "I doubt it bothered you." Anger clenched your belly when he had the audacity to look hurt. You would rather he be awful to you. It would have made it so much easier on your consciousness. "You know I have duties." He said. And it hurt because it was true, there was little he could have done. It was also not his fault you loved him and he did not. That was the worst part. He had as much freedom as yourself and the guilt suddenly weighed on you. But your hurt was still great and as so often your emotions took precedence. This time around your pain won out. "Please, just go." The conversation was cut short. Perhaps if things had gone different your life would have gone a different way. Not this time around.

Prince Aemond finally left. He was no longer glowering down at you but diminished, exhausted, and looking older than his twenty years. You watched him go and only then did you break down a weep.

At least you had your ladies. Lady Dara especially has a joy, for she always had gossip and enjoyed wine and sweets. Although you would have to abstained from drinking the cakes were free for taking. Lady Clarissa had become very quiet and even though you attempted to comfort her she abstained from divulgence. From what you heard Ellyn was still bedridden. Apparently your words had done Ellyn quite the turn. "Her skin is an unpleasant hue and some of her piss is..." "Is what?" You demanded impatiently. The maid leaned in close. "Is black, My Lady." Had your words truly done so much damage? Although it should be mentioned Ellyn had not look good before her collapse. If this had been another woman you would have felt sorry. The young ladies of Ellyn's retinue were no longer so bold. They took care to avoid you these days. Perhaps they were mindful for the future. A future where your power could preside over their destinies. Now, they might have realized that you might determine their futures. King Aegon was unlikely to have any more children, and if Ellyn died then Prince Aemond would be free to marry. As Y/n Tyrell, a relative of the Tyrell family might not be seen as a suitable bride to the second prince, the Dowager Lady of Casterly Rock might be seen in a different light. The notion did come to mind. Once the idea of marrying Prince Aemond might have excited you, now it was a mere speculation.

There were more pressing matters. Rhaenyra Targaryen had vowed to kill you. Even in this great place you were not safe. Rhaenyra could take Syrax and fly up to Harrenhal, doing what her ancestor Aegon the Conqueror had done over a hundred years ago. But no wings echoed in the sky. Soon, you would know why.

"Go back!" The words were howling in your mind. Between sleeping and waking the voices howling in your room. A burning rubbed against your wrists, the babe turned in your belly. There was only darkness. No images of blood or trees. Only the encompassing darkness. The voices were telling you to turn back. And suddenly Weirwood trees smeared in blood burst up in front of you. And now out of the darkness you were thrust back into that bloody forest. It surrounded you, seeking to drag you into its depths. A great bell went off and it went still. A darkness fell over the forest, a great full moon rising. A large Weirwood tree started to move, twisting inwards onto itself. You staggered back as it morphed into a little person. Except it was not a person. Smaller than an adult, its skin was green and eyes wide. All seeing, the creature gazed upon you. "Time must turn."

"My Lady!" Lady Clarissa had shaken you awake. The sound of shutters being slammed closed shook the room. "What were those shutters doing open!' Lady Mari's irate voice made your head throb. You sat up with the help of Lady Clarissa. She pressed a cup of some barley smelling liquid to your lips. With a sigh you reclined back onto the pillows. Lady Mari stormed out only to come back in a moment later, Alys Rivers on her heel. "This....this fool opened the shutters!" You had never seen Lady Mari so angry. Alys Rivers did not seem perturbed. "Fresh air is good." Alys Rivers justified. "Not for pregnant women!" "My Lady, I recon I know more about pregnancy than you." Alys Rivers nonchalantly retorted. "I am well Lady Mari." Lady Mari looked ready to argue, but seemed to think better of it. So she relented and dismissed herself. Lady Clarissa busied herself with a wooden box of herbs she had brought from Casterly Rock. Alys Rivers seemed intrigued, for she advanced forward and peered in. "You have a good collection. Who taught you?" 'My mother." Replied Lady Clarissa. You looked up at the canopy overhead. What would your mother have taught you had she lived? Rarely in recent years had you thought of Amelia Tarley. She had given you life but had been little more than a shadow. If you died in the childbed, as so many women did, would your child think of you? Even Queens fell in this most womanly of battles. Queen Alyssa bad been cut open, as had Queen Aemma. Even if you survived the child might perished, like with Rhaenyra who accounts said was ill after. Would you be lucky? Childbirth had no remedy, so ironclad security of your safety. The place of birth would likely be here, in these haunted halls. This place claimed the lines of all those who ruled here. At least this was not your castle so perhaps the ghosts would leave you alone.

But ghosts were not the only otherworldly things that stalked the halls. And Alys Rivers had no intention of leaving you alone.

Despite having your ladies back Alys River and Marisa stayed on in service. Marisa remained hard working and Alys Rivers being mysterious as ever. When you woke from those odd dreams Alys Rivers was by the fire. It was waking from one of these dreams that grave new came. At the hour of the wolf you were woken. In your dream little green children darted in and out between trees. Sometimes you were able to make out what they said. Their favourites were "turn back" and "time". When your eyes opened the fading imprint of a tree slowly disappeared as the waking world summoned you. Gravely Lady Mari approached you. Thoughts ran through your mind. Who had died? For someone surely had. "Casterly Rock was invaded. They managed to repel the Ironborn from the castle but they have sacked Lannisport. Two thousand are dead, hundreds of women have been abducted. The late Lord Lannister's uncle was killed as was his (Lord Lannister) mistress Lady Redwyne with her youngest daughter." The words stumbled out and you were left stunned. Thousands dead or abducted. Although there was no sadness for Lady Redwyne you pitied the babe. Your deceased husbands youngest bastard had only been a little girl. What monster could kill a child?

"Is there any word from Kings Landing?" "The Usurper Rhaenyra is on poorer terms with Ser Corlys Velaryon. But they still hold firm." You threw the covers off you and picked up a silk robe. "Thank you. May I have a moment?" Lady Mari took that as dismissal and curtsied. You did not dismiss Alys Rivers. Going to the window you looked down. At the seventh month your belly had expanded still further. The baby was now kicking. The first time had been when Alys Rivers had been helping you out of the tub. When her thin pale hand rested on your belly the baby kicked out. The pair of you stared in wonder. Since then the babe was busy. It brought relief that the baby was at least healthy. Worries about a stillbirth seemed more distant these days.

You thought of all the mothers who had lost their children, either through death or kidnapping. How women bore the loss was beyond you. And frankly, you never wanted to. "You are concerned." Alys Rivers appeared by your side. The two of you stood there looking down at the forest bellow. "I am. I pity the mothers who have lost their children." Alys Rivers tensed and now you wished the topic had never been broached. They said Alys Rivers had nursed children. In order to do she she must have been with child. But never once had a child been seen. You wondered, if Alys Rivers, had lost children, how she bore it. The desire to ask was there. But to ask such a question felt cruel.

"Would you like to read, My Lady." It was less of a question, as often you asked Alys Rivers to grab one book or another. You gave her leave and called for Marisa to bring food. Shortly later you were curled in a chair eating and reading away. This book was one of the older books in the castles library. It had come all the way from Winterfell as a book by a Stark lord. It was on older things that the sept might consider borderline heretical. Fascinated, you flipped through the pages observing every symbol. Someone had left in a bookmark. Curiously, you went to that page. On its surface was the drawing of a circle, a carved face in its center. Engravings of symbols marked the outside of the circle. According to ancient northmen this symbol represented time. Once there had even been a God created by the northmen, a difference from their many nameless Gods. Of course it fell out of fashion. But the symbol had been used by certain houses, to remind those of the shortness of time and anything related to it. The words "Ice and Fire" came to mind. You still had not worked out what it meant. But they stuck with you.

Prince Aemond left with Ser Criston Cole, Ellyn's health was spiraling and your due date drew closer. Another month passed in tense silence. At eight months you were so close to giving birth. Your room was getting ready for the birth. Several midwives and been brought in along with two wet-nurses. A maester arrived to give advice along with a septa. You spent most days of laying in bed in a crowded room. There was not a moment you spent alone. Lady Mari and Lady Dara spent time sewing by the fire. Lady Clarissa and Alys Rivers hovered over herbs, the septa giving them dirty looks. "Herbs accomplish not what the Seven provide." Was her favourite saying. Once a day the maester would come and ask questions, but was not allowed to touch you. The three midwives presided with Lady Mari over the arrangements. They said all you had to do was lay back and rest. But restlessness stirred within you. Being forced to stay in this room nearly drove you mad.

"The mother comforts all good women. She gives them strength through their trials." The septa read out of the Seven Stars. Tired, you laid on the bed. These words were memorized by heart as you learned them at Elinor's knee. Once they had meant something, and you wished they still did. So much of you had been lost this year. The girl from Kings Landing was dead. Left behind was a tired woman who could no longer find comfort in the Seven.

Despite you reclusiveness words from the outside world still made their way in. Prince Aemond had set the Riverlands ablaze with Vaehgar. Lady Baela Targaryen had been taken prisoner by King Aegon who chased her on dragon back, killing her dragon. You never would have thought it of the King. Lazy and given to vice, King Aegon had never been one for formative action. But he had regained some strength and broken both legs in the battle with Lady Baela. Now she languished in prison, dragonless. "Daemon must be frantic." You thought. It gave you some pleasure to think that Daemon was wracked with fear for his child. After what he had put Helaena through, what he had put you through, there was no pity left for him. Not that you bore personal ill will towards Lady Baela, but your hatred for the Rouge Prince was great.

"The whole realm is in flames." Lady Clarissa looked up from her work. She was pale with the hue of someone plagued with insomnia. It alarmed you how haggard she looked these days. Something had happened yet no one would reveal anything. You did notice Alys Rivers stuck by her side. You supposed Alys Rivers had the ability to ingratiate herself towards others. Some people were like that. 🤍

Time slowly passed by, the time of the birth came. But for Ellyn it was the hour of her death.

The babe would be ready soon. The ninth month was upon you and the castle held its breath. Not just for you but Ellyn Baratheon. By now the woman was throwing up black bile. You wondered if it was poison. Who hated Ellyn enough to kill her? It was worrying that there were those who might point the finger at you. Many new the rivalry that had transpired. When she died there would be those who would think it was you. Your fears were told to Lady Mari who told you not to pay them any mind. But you wondered if she was only saying that to keep you calm. You might have gone to Prince Aemond but your pride was great. Exhaustion had also greatly depleted your strength. You could hardly get up much less run about.

That night you slept peacefully in bed. Lady Clarissa slept beside you that night. A midwife rested in a chair by the fire. The last thing you saw before rest was the full moon, and the last thing you heard was the rustling of leaves. The last thing you felt was the stirring of the babe in your womb.

You waded through a sea of blood, dead butterflies floating on the surface. Their wings had been blue, but was died red. On you was a heavy green cape. It weighed you down. You stooped down and collected a butterfly. It lay there still. The blood swirled before you and Helaena rose from its depths. "You will change your coat." Then she was gone, back under the waves. It splashed your green cloak, staining it with unsightly splotches. On you walked through the blood. Weirwood trees stood every few feet. Faces stuck out at you, their faces unreadable. Looking down at your wrists you noticed thin lines of blood on them. The ground underneath you quaked and you stumbled forward. Into a tree you went. When you looked ahead the symbol of time was engraved on the bark. The red blood from your wrists stained it red. Thin trails of blood ebbed into the wood. It dripped down, your gaze following. Between your legs was a pool of blood.

The pain woke you. With a cry you alerted Lady Clarissa and the midwife. Lady Clarissa pulled back the sheet and gasped. Blood was pooling between your legs. Your body was both hot and cold, a deep ache that could have crimpled anyone emanated where the baby was. Alys Rivers suddenly burst in followed by the other two midwives. Lastly Lady Mari and Lady Dara rushed in. You pulled you to your feet and quickly changed your nightgown. With a midwife on each side they walked you up and down. Meanwhile the sheets on your bed was changed. When Lady Mari attempted to close the shutters you cried out "don't!". All day you were forced to labor. The only thing keeping you sane was the frantic rustling of the branches. Voices whispered to you through the pain, pushing you onwards. It carried you onwards to night. The sun set and you wondered if this would be your last sunset. Where you doomed never to see it rise again? They finally allowed you onto the bed. "She is ready. Get the chair." Hoisted off the bed, they had you on a birthing chair, legs spread. Gritting your teeth you bore down. Blood spurted onto the ground. "Almost there." Alys Rivers was beside you. Her hand rested on your arm. "It hurts." You were breathless and exhausted. "I know. But you have done so well. Just a bit longer. Your mother has done this. Laura Reed was brave. And so will you." A scream tore through you and a great force was pushed through you. Leaning back, you groaned as the weight which had been borne for months was lifted. A thin cry tore through the air as the hour of the ghosts came. Alys Rivers helped you sit up and the reality sunk in. You were a mother. Tears welled in your eyes as the newborn, your baby, cried and squirmed in the midwifes arms. She looked up at you, looking nearly as exhausted but happy. "It's a boy. You have a son My Lady."

You cradled your son, all the ladies crowded around the witness the first breaths of the new Lord of Casterly Rock. As this new boys life begun, Ellyn Baratheon's drew to a close.

Notes: I'm back! I had to take a break due to being sick, school and having writers block. I am also making a few edits for continuity sakes, but nothing too extreme that will change the story. But now that this month is finally drawing to a close scheduling is back on track so expect more frequent updates. Part two for this series is now being worked on so that it will be ready right after part one. Merry Christmas /Happy Holidays/ Happy New Year everyone!

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[theforgottenmcrmy]

Scars (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 16 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found on the pinned post on my profile. Tumblr is being mean and is not letting me post it here. :( ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, mentions of death of previous characters, thoughts about characters having previously unalived someone(s), subtle but still there references to miscarriage

Summary: But did you even dare to go back that far? If you did, at what point would you realize that you and Harwin had been puppets controlled by Larys’s strings for years?

A/N: As always, thank you all who have continued to read and support this story🖤🖤🖤 the kind words are really encouraging me to see this through to the end.

I'm sorry for the delay. This chapter's a bit of a doozy length wise, so I hope that helps compensate for the temporary absence. I think I've said it before, but just in case and for reference- I did age up the boys a bit. Luke/Selwin are around 14-15ish, and Jace/Derrik are 16, almost 17. This chapter's a little bit heavy still in regards to the topics, since there was a lot of sh*t that went down last chapter, so please be aware. But it ends with two POVs centered on characters I haven't gotten to write a whole lot for yet, so there's a little change of pace there.

I hope you enjoy, and that you have a good rest of the week/weekend!🖤🖤🖤

To Lord Larys, Master of Whisperers The Traitor of House Strong:

Strength from honor.

Though a viper wears his skin, my brother is dead. You are unworthy of the name Strong, for weakling kinslayers are the most dishonorable of us all.

May the gods have mercy on you, for I will not.

Lyonel Strong shall be avenged.

 King Viserys Targaryen, the first of his name, was dead.

As you stepped out onto the deck of one of Lord Darklyn’s several ships, that was the primary thought that reverberated within your mind.

Almost immediately, you spotted a few of Lord Darklyn’s men- the ones carrying out essential tasks to keep the ship sailing- but, like the rest of your traveling party, most of them were below deck, presumably asleep. Still, you would not be deterred. You wandered about aimlessly, your footfalls creating taps upon the planks beneath your feet, while the hull of a hip as a whole groaned as it cut through the waves.

Above you, the red, white, gold, and black banner of House Darklyn flew proudly. The rippling of the billowing sail joined the rocking waves and the croaking of the hull of the ship in filling the air of the otherwise silent night.

By the time you, Harwin, and the rest of your men had reached Duskendale, the young Lord Gunthor Darklyn had already set sail for Dragonstone. But his wife, the Lady Meredyth Darklyn, was as gracious a host as her husband. She apologized for his sudden departure, but insisted that time had been of the essence. To compensate for this, Lady Meredyth had extended the same protection her husband had offered your children and the rest of your party in Harwin’s temporary absence. Once you had reconvened with the rest of your party in Duskendale, she had offered you the use of one of her husband’s ships.

You had set sail for Dragonstone at once, despite it having been in the middle of the night.

Even now, you were still indebted to Lord Darklyn, as the ship sailed through the Narrow Sea under the protection of his house’s sigil. Any ships you happened across would be none the wiser to the guests currently aboard Lord Darklyn’s vessel. Most of your own banners had been destroyed back in Duskendale- save for two, one for House Tyrell, and one for House Strong. Once the ship neared Dragonstone, the two banners would be flown, but in the meantime, they’d been tucked away below deck. Being intercepted and caught with those in your possession could spell a great deal of trouble for all involved. The banners could be replaced; the lives of you and your traveling party could not.

It appeared that neither House Darklyn’s hospitality or generosity had been overstated by Princess Rhaenyra.

…

Queen Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra was now queen. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

And King Viserys was dead. No man lived forever, but the implications of his passing had weighed heavily on your mind for many years. Now that the said implications lay right beneath your feet, you found yourself able to think of little else.

But of course, that was not the only thing that plagued your mind. There were the lifeless eyes of Ser Vaemond Velaryon. There was also the man whose face you did not know, but whose blood was on your hands. Several more troubling, if not downright terrifying, things.

…

You were pulled from your near-suffocating thoughts upon seeing the back of a familiar stature across the deck. The figure, donning his cloak, was facing away from you, looking out towards the sea.

Harwin.

You had awoken from a dreamless sleep to find the space on the bed beside you empty, and had suspected to find your husband here. However, that was not the sole reason you had chosen to rise from bed yourself. With all the thoughts plaguing your mind, it was little wonder that any sort of decent sleep had yet to find you that night. You had hoped, perhaps naively so, that a bit of fresh air would help calm you.

You were tempted to go to him, but without much deliberation at all, decided against it. It was best to leave Harwin to his own thoughts, at least for the time being. The horrid realization you had all made only a few short days ago impacted him more than anyone else.

You turned away from Harwin and took up post by the closest railing. With your hands firmly pressing into the wood beneath your fingers, you lifted your chin and looked up to the sky.

It was dark, but littered with a copious amount of stars. The moon, nearly full, provided one of the only sources of light around for several leagues. A few sparsely lit torches provided some guidance for those on the ship, but beyond that, it was nearly impossible to tell what lay ahead.

But you knew what was waiting for you. You may not have been able to see it yet, even if you were standing in the rays of the sun instead of the moon. You knew the predetermined destination that the ship would reach early on the morrow.

Dragonstone.

“Mother?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, despite the softness of your eldest son’s voice, for you had not even heard him approach. Your skirts rippled from the light wind and from the movement as Derrik came to stand beside you.

“Derrik,” you greeted him as you regained your composure. “What keeps you awake? The hour grows late.”

Derrik shrugged nonchalantly. He looked out and over the dark sea, just as you had a moment before, and refused to meet your eyes. “The same things as you, I suppose.”

He placed his hands on the railing to steady himself. As he did so, you stood up straight, mentally preparing yourself for what was sure to be an interesting, and perhaps challenging, conversation with your eldest son.

“I cannot stop thinking of what happened,” Derrik clarified. “About what could have happened… and what has yet to pass.”

You looked away, joining him in focusing upon the crashing waves as your guilt began to eat away at you once again.

After your near encounter with the Stranger, which was prevented only by the timely arrival of Harwin and several of his own men, you had made for Duskendale with great haste. When you arrived, your sons, who were well aware of the King’s abrupt passing and your obvious delay to rejoin them, were among those who gathered inside the gates of the Dun Fort to greet you.

The only comfort you could take from that moment was that Brynna had opted to stay within the keep with Luciya, and that your youngest had been spared from seeing you in such an alarming state.

“I should have ridden out with Father,” Derrick asserted, his voice suddenly severe. His knuckles whitened as his grip on the railing in front of him tightened with his conviction. “I would have been of far more use than I was in Duskendale, merely sitting around and waiting for you to return.”

You shook your head vehemently. “I would not have wished what we encountered on the road upon anyone, let alone you, Derrik.”

What a sight you must have been, riding through Duskendale and up to the gates of the Dun Fort with Harwin riding beside you, and the rest of your men flanking you on all sides. You could not have prevented Derrik and Selwin, who had joined those gathered to receive you, from seeing the ghastly amount of blood on your dress. But you so desperately wished you could have.

Derrik and Selwin were intelligent; in light of everything else, and the fact that you insisted that you were well and uninjured, it was easy enough for them to infer that something foul had befallen you.

“You’ve said so little about what actually happened… I can tell you do not wish to speak of it,” Derrik inferred, ever astute. “But, when you do wish to speak of it, I hope you know that I am here for you, Mother.”

You smiled sadly, sincerely touched by the gesture. “A generous offer, Derrik. But I would not burden you with it anymore than I already have.”

“You are my mother, not a burden.”

“I have your father I can speak to about it, when I am ready to do so.”

Derrik turned to look at you imploringly. “And who does he have?”

You turned, matching his stern and searching gaze. “He has us.”

Shortly after entering the Dun Fort, Derrik and Selwin had bombarded you with questions. You and Harwin had no choice but to take them straight to the chambers that Lord Darklyn had prepared for the both of you. Your sons deserved to know, no matter how difficult it was for you and Harwin to share, and for them to hear. You had sat them down, and proceeded to tell them the harrowing discovery that had been brought to light. When words began to fail Harwin, you had found them for him.

But you had spared your sons some of the details, for you could not bring yourself to admit that you had killed a man by your own hand. Even now, the dagger with which you had carried out the act was strapped to your side, hidden beneath your cloak. Despite the repulsiveness you intermittently felt about what you had done, you did not dare to go anywhere without the dagger in reach.

Derrik and Selwin may not have been told the entirety of what happened to you and your escort on the road. But they knew the core, fundamental truth.

Their uncle, Larys Strong, had betrayed you all.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what is running through Father’s mind.” Derrik looked away from you. Even from his side profile, you could tell that the look that washed over his face was a dark one. “The thought of Selwin doing something like that…” He shook his head. “‘Tis impossible to fathom.”

The thought of doing such a thing to Derrik’s namesake, your elder brother Derron, was impossible for you to fathom as well. You spared a glance over your shoulder, seeing that Harwin remained where you had seen him a few moments before, with his back still facing the two of you.

Your heart wrenched for him.

Harwin’s own brother, Larys, had attempted to kill your entire family in the Harrenhal fire. He had succeeded in killing their father, Lord Lyonel Strong, that very night. And, for reasons still not fully known to either of you, Larys had attempted to claim your life for a second time. The situation would be immensely difficult for anyone to fully comprehend, let alone someone like Harwin, who had always regarded his family, particularly his younger brother, as very dear to him.

There weren’t words fitting enough to describe what such a betrayal must have felt like.

“My uncle will pay,” Derrik vowed, his tone low and grave. “Justice will be served. Not only for Grandsire’s life, but for the attempts on all of our own. And he will answer for any other atrocities he may have committed, but which have yet to come to light.

How deep did your Good Brother’s foul plots run? …  If Larys had been responsible for the fire at Harrenhal, then what of your brother, Lord Derron, and his mysterious sudden death? … And just where had your cousin Lord Garrett Redwyne, who had never been particularly ambitious, gotten the notion that the lordship of House Tyrell was available for the claiming after Derron’s passing? … And what of the misunderstanding that led to Lord Loreon Lannister accosting you the night before your wedding feast?

But did you even dare to go back that far? If you did, at what point would you realize that you and Harwin had been puppets controlled by Larys’s strings for years?

You nearly gagged.

“Do not allow your thirst for vengeance to consume you,” you pleaded with Derrik instead. “Doing so will blind you to most everything else. This is a dangerous time, and we need to be more present and aware of our surroundings than ever before.”

“Will there be war?”

You regarded him carefully.

Derrik had favored Harwin in looks more than he had ever favored you. But as to who he was, the person within- when you looked at Derrik, it often felt as though you were staring at your own reflection. Despite all the evidence suggesting the very conclusion that he had surmised, a gleam of small, yet indisputably hopeful optimism still clouded his hazel eyes. It was the same optimism a younger version of yourself had once held proudly- before the realities of the harsh world you lived in had forced you to abandon most of it.

Lying to Derrik would do him no favors. But neither would throwing him to the wolves.

You proposed, albeit half-heartedly, “Bloodshed is likely to be the last resort, not the initial course of action. The Queen may yet offer the Usurper generous terms.”

“Which he will undoubtedly reject, no matter how fair they may be,” Derrik denounced bitterly. “And what then? Will blood be spillled?”

Your small smile faded. “Mayhaps.”

Derrik nodded stiffly, and clenched his jaw.

“Nothing will happen to you,” you promised him quickly, wanting to dissuade any of his concerns. “Your father and I would not allow you anywhere near a battlefield.” Let alone one where dragons survey the skies above.

“I’m all but ten and seven, Mother, and a fair swordsman at that. Should war come, I will do my duty to defend our Houses, and our Queen.” Before you could protest, Derrik added, “But it is not myself whom I worry about… It’s you.”

You blinked, not having expected such a declaration from him.

Seeing your confusion, Derrik elaborated, “I worry for you. For Father. Selwin. Luciya. And everyone else dear to me. If the realm goes to war, you will all be in danger… And I am but one person. How can I ensure that all of you will be safe?”

A bittersweet smile played on your lips. You reached out and grabbed Derrik’s hand that was closest to you. “My Heart, it is not your job to protect us. It is your father and I’s responsibility to look after you. Though I am touched you feel so strongly about this, you are too young to shoulder such a heavy burden, so I bid you not.”

“I am all but ten and seven, Mother,” Derrik said for the second time, his patience never wavering.

Ten and seven. You had been so close to his age when you had first come to King’s Landing, all those years ago. That one event had set you all on the path that led you to be right where you were, at that precise moment. An ominously calm moment, on the precipice of something. War? Most possibly. Something far greater, by the way of the reign of the first Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? If the gods had any pity left for you, maybe.

“If anything should happen to you, what would I do?” Derrik wondered despondently. “Who would I be without my family?”

You pushed the dark thoughts down and away from the forefront of your mind. “You would be you, Derrik. You would be the young man your father and I raised. An intelligent, courteous, and loyal young man.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you pressed on.

“All this talk is premature,” you insisted earnestly, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “None of us can truly know what lies ahead, so there is little use in dreading it. Brace yourself for it, if you must. But do not burden yourself with worries that may never come to pass.”

Derrik mused over your words for a few moments, before eventually giving you a conceding nod.

You felt encouraged that your words had begun to resonate with him, even if they did not serve a dual purpose in alleviating your own worries. “I think you will feel more settled on the morrow, once we reach Dragonstone. We will be under Princess -the Queen’s- protection then. We will reaffirm our loyalty to her cause, and see how best we can serve it.”

“And then?”

… And what then?

You did not know.

Would second-born sons always be meant to bring doom upon their families?

Harwin was reluctant to put any merit into such an unprovable and unfair generalization, but he had truly begun to wonder.

King Viserys’s first born son, though also the second of all his children, was a usurper. The actions of his staunchest supporters and his mindless willingness to go along with them had put the entire realm right on the brink of war. By his failure to reject the ambitions of those around him, he had robbed his elder sister of her birthright. A birthright their shared father desired for no one else but her. He was a fool, and such foolishness had enabled him to become a witless participant in a scheme beyond his comprehension and traitor to the realm.

Harwin’s father, Lyonel Strong, was a second son. Had his uncle, Lyonel’s older brother, not been taken by the Stranger at such a young age, and without heirs of his own, his father most likely would have been alive, even to this day. Regardless, Lyonel would not have been encouraged to produce heirs of his own, and would have never sired a son who would so heartlessly orchestrate his downfall.

Larys. Perhaps the most damning evidence, if it could even be considered as such, for Harwin’s broad generalization. The second born son of a former Hand of the King. The Master of Whisperers for the same king his father had served. Perhaps Larys still served in that position for the Usurper.

But there was only one title that Harwin would ever acknowledge Larys Strong as again.

Kinslayer.

There weren’t enough feelings in the world to adequately describe how Harwin felt about the man who had once been his brother. The man whom Harwin had spent years of his youth looking out for, defending, and the man whom Harwin had always gone to great lengths to reassure that any inadequacy he might have felt was only imagined.

But if there was a primary feeling Harwin felt, it was pure, unbridled anger. As Harwin wrestled with his own thoughts, it was of little surprise that sleep had yet to find him. He’d been on the deck of Lord Darklyn’s ship for a while now, perhaps an hour or two. But Harwin would stay put and breathe in the salty air for as long as he needed to in order to feel something other than the dangerously stormy anger brewing within.

Said anger was now reserved solely for the scum that was Larys the Kinslayer. Not for you, or your children, or for anyone else traveling with you. If Harwin needed to keep some distance in order to refrain from outlashing upon an unintended recipient, then it was a necessary evil. Leaving you alone in bed while he carved some time for himself did not sit well with Harwin, but he would live with it readily if it meant you’d be spared witnessing just how much damage Larys’s blow had done to him.

You did not need a husband who was distracted with a desire to deal out personal justice, or a husband completely devastated by the betrayal of someone he had once held so dear. You had taken another’s life with your own hands, even though it was completely in your own self defense. Harwin was relieved that you had been able to do what needed to be done to protect yourself, but that did not make a difference in how you felt about it.

You need Harwin to be strong, now more than ever.

… So why was he here, up on the deck of Lord Darklyn’s ship, and away from you?

Further internal reflection could wait until later. The closer the ship grew to Dragonstone, the further you and the rest of your family were out of the Usurper’s grasp, and the more at ease Harwin began to feel. It was all a bit ironic, considering what was looming on the horizon.

Harwin turned away from the sea, and made to head back below deck. However, the sight of you and Derrik across the way made him pause. How long had the two of you been up here, whilst he was completely consumed in his own thoughts?

He walked across the deck with light steps, not wishing to disturb whatever conversation the two of you found yourselves in at this late hour.

“... I think you will feel more settled on the morrow, once we reach Dragonstone,” you were saying to Derrik. “We will be under Princess -the Queen’s- protection then. We will reaffirm our loyalty to her cause, and see how best we can serve it.”

“And then?” Derrick questioned.

“We will cross that bridge once we’ve reached it,” Harwin answered.

Despite the softness of his tone, Harwin couldn’t help but notice how you and Derrik flinched at the sound of his voice. It faintly wondered what subject the two of you had been discussing prior to him announcing his presence.

“Good evening, Father,” Derrik greeted him, recovering from his slight startle with ease. “We were just taking in a breath of fresh air.”

“As was I,” Harwin lied. His eyes briefly scanned the area, before finally landing back on Derrik. “Where is Selwin?”

It was a fair question; when it came to your sons, where there was one, the other was usually not far behind.

But in response, Derrik shook his head. “He is doing a much better job at trying to sleep than what I have the patience for.”

A soft smile threatened to break through Harwin’s otherwise brooding composure at the thought.

Upon Lord Darklyn receiving word of the death of the King, both Derrik and Selwin had insisted on riding out with Harwin to find you and the escort on the road. Derrik had been difficult enough to persuade to remain behind in Duskendale; convincing Selwin to do the same had been nearly impossible. Your youngest son had a fire within him that reminded Harwin so greatly of the one he harbored within himself. It was a fire fueled by loyalty and the desire to fiercely protect one’s own. Selwin, like Harwin, wore his heart on his sleeve. He was no lamb in sheep’s clothing, like Larys had revealed himself to be. Selwin was not capable of the treachery that his uncle had devised.

No, Harwin happily amended mentally. Not all second sons are destined to bring ruin upon their kin.

“Let us hope his efforts are not futile,” Harwin suggested. “We could all do with a good night’s rest.”

Whilst we still can. Those were the unspoken words that lingered uncomfortably for a few fleeting moments.

“I shall try and follow his example then,” Derrik agreed, breaking the mild tension. “Good night, Mother, Father.”

“Sleep well,” you told him, smiling lightly when Derrik kissed you fondly on the cheek.

Harwin also mustered up a small smile to give Derrik, and clapped him briefly on the shoulder as the younger man passed him. As Derrik walked away, Harwin turned his full attention to you.

It must have been a skill, Harwin supposed. Or, rather, simply a natural talent. Whatever it was, you looked as beautiful as ever, and effortlessly so, despite the horrors you both witnessed and experienced over the past few weeks. As you stood before him, the moonlight bathed you in a subtle but attractive light.

But when your eyes flickered up to meet his own, Harwin noticed immediately that they betrayed your otherwise serene and undisturbed appearance. Such sadness, stress, and mayhaps grief, lingered in your eyes, the likes of which Harwin had been fortunate enough to seldom see. In fact, the last time you had looked at him in such a way, you had just lost your brother, and were torn between fighting your cousin, Lord Garrett Redwyne, for possession of House Tyrell’s titles and holdings, or simply giving up. You had been seeking answers.

Perhaps you were seeking them again.

“You could not sleep either?” Harwin deduced.

You shook your head, turning to face the railing once again. Harwin stepped forward, coming to a stop beside you. Your arms brushed against one another’s due to the close proximity, but neither of you felt particularly inclined to move or step away.

Harwin looked over at you, but your gaze had returned to the dark waves before the pair of you. The hypnotic swirling movements spanned as far as the eye could see. There was no land, nor anything other to focus on. Only waves. Only darkness.

“Talk to me,” Harwin begged gently.

You clenched your jaw, still refusing to meet his eyes. “‘Tis nothing to speak of.”

“If that is truly how you feel about it, then I shall be gravely concerned for you.”

At Harwin’s poor attempt at a joke, you tore your eyes away from the sea and looked up at him. You gave him a disapproving look, but Harwin could’ve sworn that the heavy look in your eyes was lightened- if only a little bit.

“Please,” Harwin coaxed softly, hoping the break in your reserve would encourage you to continue to lower your heightened guard. “If speaking about it will help-”

“Lord Husband, you have just discovered that your brother conspired to have us killed, succeeded in killing your father, and attempted to take my own life once more. And yet you wish to discuss how I am feeling?”

“Yes,” Harwin asserted firmly, ignoring the twinge of hurt he felt at the use of such formality. “I can not bear the thought of you suffering in silence, My Love.”

You looked away from him once again and shook your head to yourself.

It was hardly appropriate conversation to have over dinner. But there had been some nights, when the memories became too much, too burdensome to contain with the perils of his own mind, when Harwin confided to you about it. Harwin had been Lord Commander of the City Watch, and had served on it for years prior to his promotion. He might not have commanded with the iron fist that his predecessors had, but he never shied away from doing what needed to be done. He’d been trained with weapons at a young age, and had grown up the eldest son and heir of a lord who was expected to carry out justice in the name of the King within the border of his own lands. He’d been knighted, and had participated in many dangerous tournaments over the years.

Harwin had witnessed a great deal of death in his life. And some of those deaths had been by his own hand.

Killing in the name of justice or honor did not make it any easier for Harwin to rationalize or accept what he had needed to do. And, he imagined, killing in the name of self-defense would not make it any more tolerable either.

“There is more blood on my hands than your own,” Harwin reminded you somberly, the volume of his voice softening significantly under the pure weight of his words. “I understand how impossible it may seem to wash it all away, despite the urge you may feel to rid yourself of the memory. If you need more time to mull it over, then take it. But I beg of you, please do not keep it all to yourself. You cannot simply ignore it- I know this, because I have tried. If you never face it, it will drown you.”

You clenched your jaw tighter.

For a few moments, all was quiet. The longer you did not speak, the more Harwin’s concern for you grew. If there was one thing that could overpower his desire to avenge his father, it would be his pure care and love for you.

Finally, you sighed. “Every time I close my eyes, I see his.” Abruptly, you turned, and looked up at Harwin with a pleading, almost pained look. “And when I do not see his, I see Ser Vaemond’s instead.”

Rumors about the unfavorable conclusion of the Driftmark succession petition had reached Duskendale only a day or two after Ser Vaemond’s head was detached from his shoulders, courtesy of Prince Daemon. Harwin knew you would not have been likely to be far from Princess Rhaenyra’s side during the petition, which led him to the inevitable conclusion that you were likely to have witnessed the grotesque act. Another horrendous and, frankly, unnecessary, chain of events that you had bore witness to over the past few weeks, and largely in part to the impulsivity of Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Harwin had many things he wished to say to Prince Daemon. Unfortunately, not many of them were likely to come to fruition, given the man’s recent escalation to Prince Consort.

Harwin could not, and would not, lie to you. “They will likely haunt you for some time.”

You did not look pleased by this, but neither did you look particularly surprised.

“The memories may be foul, but they serve a purpose,” Harwin contended delicately. “They prove that you have compassion. Guilt, even. It stands to reason that, had there been any other way, you might have taken it. But make no mistake, Y/N- there was no other way. Not this time.”

“Will it ever stop?” you wondered, your voice wavering with emotion. “Will I ever stop reliving what I’ve seen? What I’ve done?”

Harwin wished for little else in that moment but to find it within himself to lie to you. What he would do to give you whatever little comfort he could in this particularly trying time. But if it was a false hope, it would not be worth offering at all.

“You will always remember, but the shock will fade with time. You come to terms with it; you accept that it cannot be undone.”

Once more, you did not look pleased nor surprised. Rather, you looked resigned. “... Thank you, Harwin. I do not believe this is the last we will speak of the matter. But your words have helped, if only for tonight.”

Of course, Harwin would have wished for you to feel more reassured than for merely the span of the night, but that was a tall ask. He would not count it as a loss, and would be content with helping to soothe what plagued you in the time being, no matter how little it was.

It felt that the conversation had reached a natural conclusion. But just as Harwin was about to suggest that you both return back to your temporary quarters to retire, you continued.

“And what of you?”

Harwin froze. “What of me?”

“You insult me to think I am so foolish, Dearest. How fair is it for you to offer me words of comfort in my time of need, but to not have the same courtesy extended to you?”

Harwin was given a small start when you suddenly placed your hand on top of his own.

“Please,” you steadfastly bid him. “The revelation that your brother is not who you believed him to be is deeply troubling, but you need not conceal your thoughts about it for my sake. I can see how deep his betrayal has wounded you. Our sons can see it. And I am certain even Luciya can sense something is amiss.”

You were stubborn. But Harwin loved you for it. “... I would not even know where to begin.”

“You can begin by telling me what you wrote to him.”

May the gods have mercy on you, for I will not.

That was what Harwin had written to Larys, amongst other things.

Upon the realization that both scrolls found on two of the men who had waylaid your traveling party en route to Duskendale bore Larys’s seal, Harwin could not have torn them open fast enough.

Larys must have made himself out to be a clever man by having given his men the letters, each addressed to Harwin, and each able to have been sent on by raven once the task was done. Given their varying contents, one would have been selected depending on the course of action his tongue-less men had deemed appropriate to take. While one had conveyed Larys’s deepest sympathies that he had discovered you’d been killed in a skirmish during a robbery gone astray, the other regretfully informed Harwin that you had been taken hostage by the brigands instead.

But Larys was not clever enough. Keeping the firefly pin a secret between Harwin, you, and his steward and castellan, Lord Dannis, had proven to be most wise. Had Larys discovered the connection you and Harwin had made between it and the fire at Harrenhal, he might not have been so bold whilst devising his most recent attempt on your life.

Harwin made the most of the opportunity to write a short, but plain, letter back to his brother. He had not even bothered to sign or seal it, but Larys would not be able to mistake who had sent it.

You had read both of Larys’s scrolls, but Harwin had not shown you what he had penned back to the Kinslayer. The raven carrying the message had departed Duskendale for King’s Landing just as you departed Duskendale for Dragonstone. Larys most likely would have received it by already. Harwin could not deny that the thought of Larys pacing restlessly in the Red Keep as the realization that his wicked schemes had been found out brought Harwin some joy.

“He knows that I am aware of what he has done,” Harwin paraphrased his letter, ultimately deciding that revealing the entirety of his words was moot. Then, another thought crossed his mind, and he grimaced. “But perhaps I was too careless with my words. Keeping Larys in the dark, at least for a few days, might have offered us an advantage against him.”

You gripped his hand more firmly. “No. Let him toil away for now, knowing that justice will be had.”

Harwin had thought, more than once, about sending you and your children onwards to Dragonstone whilst he returned to King’s Landing alone. The thought of barging into the Red Keep and dragging Larys out to face that justice was extremely appealing. But Harwin knew, beyond a doubt, that if he stormed through the gates of the Red Keep, he would not be simply allowed to leave. He was the Lord of Harrenhal now, a lord suspected by many, for more reasons than one, to be unwaveringly loyal to Queen Rhaenyra. The Usurper would leap at the chance to lock him away in the dungeons, at least until he thought of a way he could be use to serve his false cause.

A day would come when vengeance could be served, and Larys would be paid his due. But, much to Harwin’s chagrin, that day would have to wait.

“You should write to your sisters,” you suggested to him. “They deserve to know the truth about Larys.”

Harwin glanced at you anxiously, and his shoulders tensed. With all his mental turmoil, he had yet to consider how his sisters may react to the news. “Do you truly think they will believe me? It will be my word against his. Larys has had us fooled for years, My Love- who is to say his venomous words will not charm our sisters and turn them against me?”

“And what could Larys say to sway them?” you countered. “That you’ve gone mad? You’ve never given either of your sisters a reason to fear you, My Love. I do not believe that would start now. And, should they be insistent on proof, we still have the other letter in our possession.”

Harwin took care to choose which one of his brother’s letters he would return back to him, and kept the most damning one for himself. He’d tucked it safely away amongst his few traveling possessions, where it would remain. The letter, written in Larys’s own hand and which detailed your death, which had yet to actually transpire, was likely to raise some questions at the very least.

“Your sisters deserve to be informed of such a thing in person,” you acquiesced thoughtfully. “But that is a luxury that we cannot afford now. Write to them- tell them the truth, and warn them of what we suspect will soon come, so that their houses can start their own preparations.”

Successfully convincing Lilyan and Eyla that their brother orchestrated the murder of Lord Lyonel would appease Harwin some, but it would never be enough. Even if Harwin could find it somewhere deep within himself to one day forgive Larys of such an atrocity, that was not the whole of Larys’s sins.

The failure to properly execute a plan could not erase the intent of it. The fire at Harrenhal had been orchestrated to eliminate you all. Larys had meant to kill you. He had meant to rid himself of your sons.

And for that, Larys could rot in the deepest pit of the Seven Hells for all eternity.

“That will not be enough to satisfy,” Harwin confided to you in a dark, low tone.

“Once this business with the Usurper has been dealt with, the Queen shall hold them all accountable for their crimes. The Master of Whisperers may receive a trial, but the truth cannot be soiled. Larys will meet his deserved end.”

Harwin paused to allow the deeper meaning of your words sink in.

Larys would die.

But what all would transpire before that came to pass?

Suddenly, a particularly strong gust of wind came barreling through. As you readjusted your grip on the railing, Harwin placed a hand at the small of your back to keep you steady. Once the wind had passed, you shivered.

Without a thought, Harwin unfastened and shrugged off his traveling cloak. Ignoring your feeble protests, he placed it over your shoulders. His hands remained there for a few moments past what would have been necessary to secure the fabric.

“Thank you,” you told him, speaking so softly Harwin had to strain to hear you over the noise of the waves. “But I have little need for two cloaks, and without one of your own, you will catch a chill.”

“If that is the cost for ensuring you will not, then it is a price I do not mind paying.”

For the second time, Harwin felt the conversation had reached its natural conclusion. But then, you took a slow step to the side, creeping your way towards him. He lifted an arm and could not help but chuckle at your thinly veiled attempt to be subtle about it. Once you tucked yourself into his side, Harwin dropped his arm, securing you to him.

You had both been through great ordeals. It was, almost fearfully so, too easy to forget that it had been weeks since you had had a true moment alone. A moment unencumbered by the most recent conversations of traveling, betrayal, usurpation, or war. A moment where the two of you could just be.

“I do not think I have ever felt more relieved than when I realized it was not too late,” Harwin found himself saying.

Finding you amidst a struggle with a mysterious attacker was frightening enough, but you were alive, and at that moment, after weeks of tormenting himself about the extent of your wellbeing, that was all that had mattered to Harwin. The fear of not finding you, or worse, finding you after something grave had befallen you and your escort on the road, still haunted him. 

You burrowed your head into his chest to make yourself more comfortable. “As was I. What use would I be to our Queen if I had fallen into the clutches of the Greens?”

Harwin could not help but be appalled by your words. Did you truly not understand? Though loyalty was admirable, the severity of the situation could not be ignored.

Harwin tightened his hold on you. “You could have died.”

“I know,” you breathed shakily. “It’s just… easier to entertain the alternative.”

Harwin understood that feeling all too well.

You wrapped your arms around his middle. As if it were even possible, you pressed yourself further into his side. “I am truly sorry about your brother, Dearest.”

“Don’t be,” Harwin replied, speaking truthfully. “He may be of my blood, but he is no brother of mine. I still have my family, my true family. And I still have you. That is all that matters.”

For a few minutes, the two of you stood there in a comfortable silence.

“These are dark times we’ve found ourselves in,” you mused joylessly.

Harwin sighed. “Aye.”

“All of this mess, is it worth it? Is all this misery we’ve endured worth whatever awaits us beyond?”

“We are no oathbreakers,” Harwin reminded you, treading lightly. “We chose this path years ago.”

“But what if we chose wrong?”

Harwin was stunned to a loss for words at your suggestion. You had rarely expressed any doubt in supporting Princess Rahenyra, and for as long as Harwin had known you, you had known her.

Eventually, Harwin pondered, “How could we have chosen wrong, if we chose to walk this path together?”

You contemplated his words.

“It would serve neither of us to dwell on the past,” Harwin discouraged, pulling you even closer still. “This path we have chosen might not be easy. But it is what we have chosen.”

There was another choice before you now. Formally pledged oaths and informally reassurances of loyalty aside, the question was a simple one.

Aegon, or Rhaenyra? … The Usurper, or your friend?

“What do you think awaits us at Dragonstone?” you asked him then.

Harwin did not fail to notice your convenient change in rhetoric, but he would not press the matter. “If Lord Darklyn could not delay his own departure to Dragonstone, even for a day or two so that we might have joined him, then the situation must be dire.”

“I should write to my uncle. If war is upon us, he needs to know.”

Harwin understood your sense of urgency. Dragons were one thing, but armies were another. If Oldtown deposed reinforcements to King’s Landing to defend the Usurper’s claim, Highgarden, fixed along the Rose Road, would be in their direct path.

“And you shall,” Harwin assured you. “On the morrow.”

There were no ravens aboard that were available to carry such a message.

Fortunately, you did not disagree. Instead, you gave him a relenting nod. “It seems that a lot of hope has been placed on our issues being resolved ‘on the morrow’.”

“As you told our son- we shall at least feel more at ease.”

You scoffed. “Excellent. Well, now that you’ve put it that way, I look forward to it earnestly.”

Harwin must’ve made a strange face, for as soon as you saw it, your own expression softened. As you turned to face him fully, the sarcasm faded quickly, leaving only empathy in its wake.

You placed your hands on his chest and looked up to him with wide eyes. “Forgive me.”

The corners of Harwin’s mouth twitched as he covered your hands with his own. “There is nothing to forgive, My Love.”

And when you stood on your toes to press a tender kiss to his lips, it was incredibly easy for Harwin to imagine that the two of you were somewhere, anywhere else. Not sailing towards an uncertain fate.

What he would have given to turn back time, if only a month or two. What he would have given to have you and your children back in Highgarden, away from what was becoming an increasingly volatile world. What he would have given to have spared you the horrors you had endured.

What he would give to have the opportunity to knock some sense into himself, to force open his own eyes and take a deeper, more insightful look at his brother.

The path you had chosen to walk together had taken its toll. Most of the wounds had healed, though the scars of them would always remain. But, as Harwin had argued, you had chosen to walk the path together. You would not abandon the path now, not when the end was so near. However strenuous the final stretch of it would be, you would continue to draw your strength from each other.

You pulled away first, but did not stray far. Your next words escaped you in a hushed whisper. “Whatever comes next, promise me that we’ll face it together?”

“Together,” Harwin avowed, knowing no other way.

The sun had just begun to rise over the island of Dragonstone.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had already been awake for some time, but the lightening of the sky gave him a proper excuse to finally slip from his chambers.

He found who he needed to without much searching; it seemed there were many walking about the castle as of late, even at early hours of the morning. Almost all of them would jump at any chance to be of service. Jacaerys gave the order to his mother’s- well, perhaps now his- steward, and did not dawdle long after giving it, lest it be protested.

The Queen was not to be disturbed.

Of course, his mother had no idea of Jacaerys’s command. In fact, once she learned of it, she was likely to be cross with him. But Jacaerys would willingly subject himself to her scolding, for he felt it was for the best.

The day before had been difficult. Terribly so.

In the morning, they had given the funeral rights before a much, much too small pyre for his sister. Visenya, his mother had named her. By midday, Ser Erryk Cargyll had arrived from King’s Landing to present his mother with the crown of the Old King. It was same crown his own grandsire had worn for six and twenty years, and his great-great-grandsire for five and fifty years before that. By the afternoon, most everyone had gathered in the Chamber of the Painted Table, where strategizing waged on for what felt like a few more hours. Lord Otto Hightower’s arrival on the shores of Dragonstone in the evening brought that discussion to a grinding halt. He’d delivered proposed terms of peace to the Queen, and to the rest of her pledged supporters who had not already received them. No one had felt like reconvening after that.

Three days. His mother had promised the Usurper’s Hand that the Greens would have their answer in three days. In three days, it would be known whether the realm was to go to war.

But until the Sea Snake arrived, or until the scouts his mother had sent to the mainland to locate and retrieve their additional key allies returned, it felt as if all further progress at amassing support for the Queen’s cause was at a standstill. And so far, there had yet to be word on either of those fronts.

No need for his mother to rise any earlier than what she might naturally. If Jacaerys could do her this small kindness, it would be more than worthwhile. His mother was the Queen, and the Seven Kingdoms were hers to protect now. But she had also protected Jacaerys his entire life. Now that he was nearly a man grown, it was high time for him to return the favor.

With the Queen indisposed with sleep, only Prince Daemon might have been able to undermine Jacaerys’s command to leave her undisturbed. It was most fortunate that his step-father was doing… only the gods knew whatever he was doing, coming and going from the castle at all hours, and as he saw fit. Jacaerys could only hope that he wasn’t off threatening even more of the limited few who had already pledged their support. That would be the easiest way to invoke the wrath of the Queen.

There was already tension between them, between his mother and step-father. But Jacaerys could not discern the real cause. Was it the loss of their daughter, the death of their father and brother respectively, or another matter altogether?

The only comfort Jacerys took was, although his step-father was undoubtedly plotting for someone, he could not possibly be plotting for the Greens. The Greens might welcome many of the Queen’s defectors to their side in the days to come, but so deep was the history between the Rogue Prince and the Usurper’s Hand, Prince Daemon would never be one of them.

Finally alone with his thoughts, Jacaerys leaned against the stone barrier of a balcony that looked out and over the sea. With some good winds and a fair amount of luck, vessels bearing the Sea Snake’s banner would sail through the waters by the end of the day.

A small glance at the sky behind him, all the way across to the other side of the castle, proved his suspicions. Nearly a day had passed, and yet the faint white wisps of smoke rose into the pink sky.

What remained of Princess Visenya Targaryen’s funeral pyre still simmered.

Jacaerys turned back away. What he would give to take to the skies with Vermax at that moment. Being on dragonback and looking down at the world, where even something as grand as the castle looked miniscule, had an uncanny way of clearing one’s mind.

But that was not possible. Not today. With his mother taking a well-deserved rest, Jacaerys knew he needed to be on the ground and easily within reach, in case there happened to be need of him. At least he could carve away a few moments of calm peace, before the rest of the castle began to truly stir.

And peace he had, until a small movement beside him gently nudged him from his heavy thoughts. Jacaerys turned towards the oncomer and was surprised at who he saw beside him.

“Luke,” he greeted. He shifted, taking his weight off his forearms, which had been resting on the barrier before him, and rose to his full height. “I did not expect you to be up at this hour.”

“Nor I you,” his younger brother replied, avoiding his gaze.

An awkward tension fell over them.

“Did you sleep well?”

Lucerys’s answer was quick and resolved. “No.”

“Me neither.”

The awkwardness dissipated, and when Lucerys finally turned to meet his eyes, he gave a small smile, which was easy for Jacaerys to return.

“Before too much time has passed, there is something I wished to tell you,” Jacaerys said then, carefully adjusting his tone so as to properly convey his sincerity. “I wanted to apologize for the other day. How I behaved… it was uncalled for.”

Jacaerys was not sure what had gotten a hold of him. He and his brother had been sparring with one another since they were young boys, and none of those bouts had ever resulted as it had two days ago. Never before had Jacaerys knocked his younger brother down to the sand, nor yanked him around, let alone so roughly. Jacaerys supposed that he had yet to recover the involuntary exposure to his uncles in King’s Landing, which had brought out the worst in him. But even if that were so, Lucerys had not been deserving of the treatment he’d received.

“You are a prince,” Lucerys disagreed. A true peacekeeper, he was. It was little wonder mother tended to favor him; Jacaerys would have done the same, if he’d had a son like that.

“As are you.”

“You are the Prince,” Lucerys amended, uncharacteristically stoic. “The Heir to the Iron Throne, future Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jacaerys countered, “And who was I before?”

Lucyers waited for his response.

“Your brother,” Jacaerys answered, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder. “Whether they call us princes or bastards, whether I am to be a king someday or nothing at all, none of that matters to me. None of that matters, so long the histories remember I was your brother in the end.”

He could tell his words touched Lucerys deeply; the rising sun did little to mask the water behind his younger brother’s eyes. But Jacaerys would not speak of that. By the old gods and the new, never again would he belittle Lucerys so.

“My Prince!”

Jacaerys dropped his hand and turned towards the call.

It was Baela.

There he was, at nearly ten and seven, and just the sight of his recently betrothed had the tendency to make him grin like a love-stricken boy.

“Good morrow, Lady Baela!” Jacaerys greeted her heartily. He did a double take as he took in her appearance. Baela was walking towards them, taking off her gloves one by one. Her silvery white curls, riding cloak, and dress fanned out behind her with the winds that blew in from the sea. She looked rather majestic, but Jacaerys would have rather been caught dead before he dared to make such a declaration in the presence of his younger brother.

Seven Hells, Baela herself might have even thumped him upside the head for it.

“Did you go for a ride this morning?” Lucerys asked her politely, also having noted her unusual state of dress for the early hour.

Moondancer was not the biggest of their dragons, but had recently grown large enough to seat her rider. And Baela had taken advantage of that development as much as her young dragon’s stamina had allowed.

Baela nodded. “I thought I might keep an eye out for Grandsire’s fleet.”

“Any sight of it?”

“No,” Baela answered, the disappointment evident in her voice. “However, I did spot a lone ship, with its course leading straight here. I knew I needed to return at once.”

Jacaerys frowned. The Usurper’s Hand had not been gone half a day, and his mother had told him she would need three in order to consider the proposed terms. Surely the Usurper was not so conniving, nor stupid, to send a single vessel to Dragonstone for the sake of merely antagonizing the Queen? If it was an enemy ship, it would never even reach the harbor.

“What is the banner being flown?” Jacaerys implored.

“The sail was of House Darklyn’s,” Baela recounted. “Was Lord Gunthor expecting more men?”

“Not that I can recall.” Perhaps it was a ploy or something of the sort.

Jacaerys turned with the intention to head back inside, rouse his mother, and inform her of the news. But when Baela reached out a hand to stop him, he halted at once.

“There were two others,” she told him. “They were smaller banners, like what soldiers might carry. I did not dare to fly too low or too close, but I could make out the colors.”

“What were they?”

“One was a golden sigil on a field of green.”

Jacaerys looked to his younger brother, who gave him a knowing look. He looked back to Baela. “And the other?”

“It was blue, red-”

“And green?” Lucerys interjected hopefully. “On a field of white?”

Baela looked stunned. “Yes.”

For the first time in days, Jacaerys let out a small laugh. Upon seeing Baela’s confusion from his understandably bizarre response, he explained, “There is no need to worry, for that is no enemy ship.”

It was plain to see that Baela was not entirely reassured. “There are so many house sigils, My Prince. You cannot know them all.”

“I do not,” Jacaerys admitted. “But I know of two houses whose members were recently due to be hosted by Lord Gunthor. The same two we have hoped would soon reach our shores.” 

Jacaerys turned back to his brother next. Lucerys looked about as happy as Jacaerys felt.

“Go to the Queen,” he bid Lucerys, “Tell her what Baela has seen. I will alert the guards and greet our guests myself.”

“Come here, Lucy.”

The young Lord Derrik Strong smiled as he took his younger sister into his arms.

You had all arrived in the harbor at Dragonstone shortly after the sun had risen. Since the arrival had not been previously announced, there were no horses, carriages, or other means by which to make traveling with everyone’s belongings up to the castle more feasible. The majority of the traveling party had elected to remain behind until such assistance could be procured, while the rest of you were to head onwards on foot.

The walk from the harbor to the gates of the castle was not a long one, at just under half a league. But the youngest among you would not be able to make the walk herself, and leaving her behind with the rest of the party was simply out of the question. Neither you, Harwin, Selwin, or Derrik could ask Brynna to carry Luciya all that way, even if the loyal nursemaid might have done so.

Instead, Derrik took turns with his brother carrying and otherwise entertaining their sister for the short trek. Every now and then, you and Harwin would spare a glance behind you at your children, ready to take over and assist with Luciya if needed.

But you and Harwin had enough on your mind at the moment, and an undoubtedly long day ahead of you. If Derrik could keep his sister preoccupied, it would be the least he could do for you.

You had visited Dragonstone once or twice with Princess Rhaenyra- when she had only been the princess- in your youth. Over the years, you had come to tell Derrik and Selwin many tales of it. But no amount of whimsical words could have prepared Derrik for the sheer grandness of the land before him.

Behind the castle, still some ways ahead, looming tall and imposing, the Dragonmont kissed the sky. The blackened smoke rising from its depths created streaks against what would have otherwise been a clear blue.

The castle itself was fodder for awe due the splendorous architecture. Many dragons, carved from the very stone that built up the island, had been installed in its foundations. They rivaled the size of the few dragons Derrik had seen in his lifetime, but were most likely small in comparison to the other dragons of old.

Unfortunately, the impressive scenery had caused more harm than good for others. It was of little wonder how a babe as young as Luciya could not appreciate the finer aspects of the castle’s design. The dragons in particular seemed to pose a viable threat.

Luciya turned and buried her face in Derrik’s shoulder. He could tell she was on the verge of tears by her audible sniffling, and Derrik reacted hastily, wanting to avoid such an outcome. He patted her lightly on the back, saying, “There, there, Lucy. You have no reason to fear the dragons. They will not harm you.”

At his words, Luciya lifted her head cautiously, but her lip still quivered.

“They are good,” Selwin added helpfully, simplifying Derrik’s words so that she might understand. “They will keep us safe.”

Fortunately, it worked, and their sister did not cry. But once she had buried her head in Derrik’s shoulder once more, she did not lift it again.

Only when they had reached the castle’s guarded entrance gate and had begun to make their way across the bridge did Derrik and Selwin give in to Brynna’s insistence. He managed to hand his sister off to her nursemaid without a fuss from Luciya.

As the small group crossed the bridge, Derrik took a moment to fully appreciate the full vision of the castle. But the closer they drew, the more his eyes trailed downwards. Many guards stood tall at the foot of the castle. Most donned the Targaryen red and black, but there appeared to be several White Cloaks among them. In the middle of them all stood a lone figure, positioned right at the bottom of the castle steps.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

It had been years, but Derrik would have been able to recognize his childhood companion anywhere.

Prince Jacaerys looked most pleased as they approached. It was a sentiment that Derrik wished to return, but then he caught sight of you.

As you walked, you looked over to the right of the castle steps. A small trail, lined with large slabs of jagged rock, led to a small stone altar. The surface of the stone was lined layer upon layer with what appeared to be hardened wax. On top of the altar, what looked like remnants of a fire simmered with a faint and dull orange glow. Little remained of whatever had been aflame, but even now, small tufts of white smoke rose into the sky.

Whatever the altar before you had been used for, Derrik could tell that you were deeply disturbed by it. Your jaw clenched, your eyes hardened. When you turned back to face the prince, your neck tilted stiffly. Derrik continued to watch carefully as Harwin looked at you concernedly with unspoken questions lingering in his eyes.

The group came to a halt before Prince Jacaerys, and for a brief moment, all was still. Then, in unison, the ladies of the group curtsied, while the men among you bowed.

“Our deepest condolences for the loss of your grandsire, My Prince,” you said to him as you rose back to your normal height. Your voice sounded a bit strained.  “King Viserys was a good, kind man. The realm shall mourn his loss for many years.”

Prince Jacaerys nodded to you cordially. “You are too kind, Lady Tyrell… Lord Harwin.” The look on Prince Jacaerys’s face as he appraised Derrik’s father was indiscernible, but it was soon replaced with a polite smile. “Know that you and your companions are most welcome on Dragonstone. I have already sent horses and carriages to retrieve those who remained at the harbor. In the meantime, the rest of you will be shown to your quarters.”

Prince Jacaerys gestured to a few of the knights around him, who immediately stepped forward and began to address others among the group.

“Lady Tyrell, Lord Strong,” Prince Jacacarys called then, “If you will follow me. The Queen will wish to speak with you at once.”

The Dragonstone throne within the Great Hall of the Stone Drum was second in splendor only to the Iron Throne. Large slabs of black stone, masoned from the same rock that had been carved from the Dragonmont, fixed it to be a rather intimidating structure.

But neither you nor Harwin had more than a few brief moments to admire it before a door on the opposite end of the room opened.

Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen stepped out of the shadows and into the small streams of light that filtered into the room. As she strode over to the two of you, she subtly commanded every bit of attention and respect with which her new title bestowed upon her. She was dressed in a narrow black gown, which flowed minimally behind her with each step.

Most oddly, her hands did not come to rest upon her stomach. That gesture had always been a habit of hers whenever she was with child. It was a habit she still indulged in, as you had noted during your short time in King’s Landing over a week prior. Instead, her hands swayed by her side, with her thumbs hidden beneath tightly clenched fists. Naturally, your focus drifted towards inwards, towards her middle.

When you realized how truly thin she looked, you almost choked on the horrid feeling that suddenly overcame you.

The altar. The pyre.

As Queen Rhaenyra came to a halt before you and Harwin, your mouth felt dry, and your gaze fell down to the ground beneath your feet. Harwin kneeled beside you. You tucked your chin and forced your legs to bend as you followed his example.

“My Queen.”

You rose slowly, but were encouraged to move more swiftly when the Queen gently pulled you up to your feet and embraced you. For a moment, the two of you stood still. You knew you ought to have said something, anything. Perhaps you should have offered your condolences on the loss of her father… or perhaps you should have extended your deepest sympathies for the second loss you now suspected she had suffered. But you could not. You did not dare to move or speak, not unless she did.

When Rhaenyra finally pulled away, she kept a hold on your arms. Her eyes shone with a mixture of sadness and relief. “It is so good to see you again, my friend.” She looked over to your husband, and gave him a soft smile. “And you, Lord Harwin.”

Harwin bowed his head respectfully.

“I am glad to see the two of you safe… And what of your children?”

“They are well, Your Grace,” Harwin promised her.

The Queen beamed at his words, though her eyes still shone with something more somber. Seemingly invigorated, she turned back to you. “Come now, my friends. There is much to discuss.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know any and all of your thoughts. I hope you all have a wonder end of the week!🖤

[clutchofmuses]

OKAY! Bios on the Carrd are up for:

Abrogail Strong

Helaena Targaryen (including headcanon approaches)

Margaery Tyrell (I still need to expand on her personality and headcanon approach but I'm still figuring that out)

Myranda Greyjoy (unnamed Dalton Greyjoy sister with GoT verses as well)

Sara Norrey (my heavily canon divergent Sara Snow - I DO HAVE A SARA SNOW VERSE)

Laura Kline (stranger things OC. It's short and to the point)

Who is left?

Queen Rhaenys Targaryen

Jaehaera Targaryen

Alys Karstark

Laerryn Rogare (OC, House Rogare of the Rogare Bank in Lys)

Daena Targaryen

Queen Guinevere

If you'd like to plot with any of these lovely people platonically/romantically/enemies/pen pals, please DM me! or like this post and COMMENT on who you would like to write with.

I understand that some of these profiles are a bit bare boned, but I at least wanted to get something up and then go back and start building out and expanding.

[cambion-companion]

Okay me is officially simping so I was wondering if you could do a one shot where aemonds betrothed is shy/innocent/short/ladylike (you catch my drift) is still kinda scared of him cause of his reputation but there is a feast ans he protects her from a handsy lord? And that breaks the ice

Thank you!!! Your writings are literally amazing

Of course, Nonny(s)! And thank you for that lovely compliment as well :3 And of course Sir Handsy is gonna be a Lannister because who else would it be lmao

Oh also so ya'll don't have to look it up "drab" is a medieval word for whore. :)

Word count: 1189

Aemond x f!reader | protective/angry Aemond | Shy reader

Betrothed to a dragon.

That’s not something a lot of ladies could say for themselves, and not a prospect that thrilled you overmuch.  Rather, it petrified you.  What was more, Aemond Targaryen was rumored to be a cold and coarse man, the socket of his left eye filled with ever burning flame.  Naturally, you didn’t believe that last part, but it was still with nervous curiosity you observed the man you were destined to wed as he sat across from you at the dining table.

Upon first meeting, you had been taken aback by his appearance.  From the gossip, you’d expected a deformed monster of a man…certainly not an appealingly angular face, prominent nose, curved lips and beautiful silky hair of the classic Targaryen silver.

Perhaps you’d blinked too many times in surprise as you greeted him, noticing the slight downturn of his mouth as he read your expression.  His one remaining eye was a cool lilac color, unlike anything you’d seen before, while he had elected to wear an eyepatch over where his other eye had been.

“Lady Y/N.” He gave you a small, stiff bow.  

You curtsied back, blushing and looking abashed at your feet.  You’d offended him.

The welcome dinner that night had come swiftly, the darkening skies and cool breeze wafting the smell of many varieties of cooked foods throughout the Red Keep.  There were other members of noble houses seated around you as you picked at your food, glancing occasionally toward Aemond who seemed to be studiously avoiding your gaze.  His profile sure was a lovely thing to look at, as he raised a goblet of steaming mead to his lips, his hand was equally defined, long fingers grasping the pewter cup.  Aemond’s eye flicked to meet your face, his expression unreadable as he lowered the drink, tapping the metal with a finger.  

You quickly looked away, staring intently at your plate, before Alicent turned from her conversation with a member of the Tyrell family and engaged you in light banter.  You were grateful for the distraction from her son, answering her questions while all too aware of Aemond still observing you from your periphery.

Music began to play and you rose from your seat, crossing to where more drink and desserts had been placed on several oaken tables.  You grabbed a pitcher of dark wine, pouring yourself a generous helping, probably more than was strictly wise.  

A light touch at the small of your back alerted you to the presence of a man dressed in gold and scarlet, his shoulder length hair falling loose in gold waves.

 His eyes were a deep green as he appraised you, smiling. “Lady Y/N was it?  I am afraid I was too far away to properly introduce myself.  Tytos Lannister, at your service.”

His hand was still at your back, even after you’d tried to move away slightly.  The discomfort must’ve been evident in your face, but he didn’t seem to notice, not that he was looking at your face to begin with.

The man leaned in close to you, the smell of strong drink upon his breath causing you to flinch away, trying unsuccessfully to distance yourself from his leering grin.  To your dismay his grip upon your dress only tightened. “I can name several ways in which I would like to service you this evening, my lady.”

“I can name several ways in which you don’t leave this room with all of your limbs.”

A smooth, velvet voice interrupted the Lannister lord.  Both you and he looked around to see Aemond looking down his nose into Tytos’ blanched face.  The Targaryen prince grabbed the hand at your back, ripping it away and holding the ringed fingers tightly in what would look like an amicable greeting were it not for the way Tytos winced in pain.  “This is my betrothed to whom you speak as though she were a drab, and you are in a castle not a brothel."

The Lannister struggled against Aemond’s vicelike grasp, yanking his hand back from the prince with a curse.  “I am a lion of Casterly Rock and will not be treated with such impudence, not even from you.”

“Ah yes.” You watched as Aemond’s lip curled in a sneer.  “What are your house words once more? ‘Hear me roar’?”

His violet eye was cold and calculating.  “Yet all I hear is the mewling of an impotent kit.”  Aemond stepped forward, invading Tytos’ personal space, causing the man to step backward as he spluttered.

The prince set a finger lightly against the Lannister’s chest.  “Touch my betrothed again, and I will exact my vengeance with fire and blood.”

Not waiting for the lord to gather his shocked senses enough to release a diatribe, Aemond took your elbow firmly and guided you quickly away.  

You looked up at him, his profile sharp in the flickering torchlight. “I apologize, my prince.  I didn’t know how to get away from him.”

Aemond glanced down at you, surprise flickering over his face. “Do not apologize, Y/N.  You did nothing wrong; it is he who should be asking your forgiveness.”  He stopped once you two had walked out of Tytos Lannister’s line of sight, turning to you with a small smile. “Your beauty is a siren song for lecherous fools such as he.” Your lips parted in shock as Aemond ran the back of his forefinger down your cheek briefly. “Later, I will teach you a trick my sister showed me. It involves a swift upward movement accompanied by a hasty departure from the scene.”

You laughed, your giggles seemed to delight the prince as one of his large hands came to rest atop your hip, his eye alight with mirth as it drank in your crinkled nose and rosy cheeks.

He looked over your shoulder, expression falling slightly, you turned to follow his gaze just in time to see his mother, Alicent, finish motioning him towards the dancefloor.  She averted her eyes, turning in her seat hurriedly to continue eating and chatting.  This caused another ripple of giggles to erupt from you, covering your mouth with a hand as you glanced back at Aemond’s bemused face.

“Oddly, I suddenly feel the urge to dance, Y/N.  Will you join me?”  Aemond held out a hand to you, which you accepted, still smiling broadly.

“Of course, my prince.”  

He led you, hand in hand, to the center of the stone floor. “Please dispense with the formalities, I am simply ‘Aemond’ with you.”

You placed your other hand atop his leather-clad shoulder, swaying as he led you in a slow waltz.  “I like the sound of that… ‘simply Aemond.’”

He chuckled low at your cheeky reply.

This man was no monster, no flame-eyed outcast.  He was the dragon you’d been betrothed to, a prospect that now sent thrills of anticipation down your spine.  As volatile as flame, fiercely protective of what belonged to him.  Beautiful as a cloudless night, devastating as burning wildfire.  You found yourself wanting to be his wife, to explore what shaped him into the man who now held you in his arms.  Your journey together had just begun, and for the first time, you felt a tender excitement for what the future promised.

[unfortunate-arrow]

𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐚 | hphl character profile

Warnings: Mentions of death, a fatal house fire, blood, and hemophilia

✧ IDENTITY ✧

Full Name: Simon Percival Theodora Battersea, the twelfth earl of Wexford 

Nicknames: Lord Wexford, Wexford, Wex, Lord Simon

Name Meanings: Simon → Hebrew or Greek, “he has heard” or “flat-nosed” ; Percival → French, “one who pierces the valley” ; Theodore → Greek, “gift of god” ; Battersea → Anglo-Saxon, meaning unknown. 

Date of Birth: June 21, 1881

Gender: Male ; he/him 

Sexuality: Heterosexual 

Blood Status: Muggleborn (ish) 

Nationality: Irish, American, British 

Residence: Tyrell Castle, County Wexford, Ireland ; Battersea House, Dublin, Ireland ; Wexford House, London, England (birth to 25) ; Dublin, Ireland (25 to death) 

✧ APPEARANCE ✧

Faceclaim: William Moseley 

Height: 5’10” 

Build: Average 

Hair: Blonde hair that’s kept short and neat 

Eye Color: Blue 

Scarring:

Childhood & Hogwarts: Simon only has two scars, a small one that’s hard to see by his left eye and a burn scar on his right ankle. 

Adulthood: None

Modifications: (glasses, piercings, tattoos, etc.) None 

Other Distinguishing Marks: Simon often has bruises littering his body and there’s the occasional swelling at a joint. 

Clothing Style: Aristocratic ; simple ; jackets ; waistcoats ; shirts ; suspenders ; cravats ; breeches ; trousers ; newsboy caps ; ties

Accessories: A pocket watch ; his title’s signet ring ; tie pins ; cufflinks ; a wristwatch 

What’s in His Pockets: His wand ; his pocket watch ; a pocket square ; wallet 

What’s in His School Bag: Textbooks ; quills ; ink ; parchment ; gloves ; his correspondence ; the occasional ledger

✧ SPEECH & LANGUAGE ✧

Voiceclaim: William Moseley 

Accent: Irish 

Dialect: Dublin Irish 

Languages Spoken: English, French, some Irish Gaelic, some Arabic  

Languages Understood: English, French, Latin, some Irish Gaelic, some Arabic 

✧ PERSONALITY ✧

MBTI Type: ISTJ — the logistician 

⤷ ISTJs are steady, productive contributors. Although they are Introverted, ISTJs are rarely isolated; typical ISTJs know just where they belong in life, and want to understand how they can participate in established organizations and systems. They concern themselves with maintaining the social order and making sure that standards are met.

Enneagram Type: 9w1 — the dreamer 

⤷ The Nine wing One type is a Nine who has many of the same features as the Type One personality. This type is hardworking, friendly, modest, and generally more serious and diligent than other Nines.

Positive Traits: Intelligent, very responsible, reliable, honest, strong-willed, dutiful, thoughtful, practical, calm, observant, organized 

Neutral Traits: Cautious, reserved, quiet, stubborn, direct, jack-of-all-trades, realistic, perseverant, loyal, serious 

Negative Traits: Tactless, inflexible, a bit arrogant, prone to blaming himself, can be judgmental and insensitive 

Common Stressors: Fire ; potions ; bruises ; swelling ; finances ; his guardian ; exams

Comforting Things: His dog ; reading ; the piano ; card games ; the crisp morning air ; quiet ; alone time 

Interests & Hobbies: Reading, writing, piano, cards, fencing, boxing (with proper protection to avoid bleeds), golf 

Description: Simon hadn’t always been such a serious young man, but a combination of a bleeding disorder and becoming an earl at the age of nine led to him gaining a very serious disposition. He had always been a responsible person, but his sense of responsibility and a misplacement of blame grew quickly. He felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, adding to the already heavy weight of survivor’s guilt he carried. In addition, Simon is intelligent, hardworking, reserved, reliable, stubborn, and kind.

✧ MAGIC ✧

Wand: Simon’s wand is made of fir wood with a unicorn tail hair core and is 11 ¼ inches long with a supple flexibility. 

⤷ Fir wands demanded staying power and strength of purpose in their true owners, and that they were poor tools in the hands of the changeable and indecisive. Fir wands were particularly suited to Transfiguration, and favoured owners of focused, strong-minded and, occasionally, intimidating demeanour. Fir wands were called 'the survivor's wand'.

Other Magical Abilities: Simon has an ancient healing magic that doesn’t heal his own wounds, but can heal others and lessens the impact his hemophilia has on his body. 

Patronus: Saint Bernard 

Patronus Memory: Christmas morning, the year before the fire and the last one Simon spent with his family

Boggart: A house fire with the voices of his family screaming at him, blaming him for everything 

Riddikulus: The bonfire turns into jam and splashes all over the silhouettes of his family 

Amortentia:

Simon smells like basil, petrichor, cinnamon, sandalwood, and clean laundry. 

Simon smells chocolate, strawberry jam, peat, coffee, and lilies. 

Mirror of Erised: Simon sees himself, without bruises or swelling, and he’s surrounded by his family. 

✧ HOGWARTS ✧

House: Hufflepuff

OWL Classes:

Astronomy — Acceptable 

Charms — Outstanding 

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Exceeds Expectations 

Flying — Exceeds Expectations 

Herbology — Exceeds Expectations 

History of Magic — Outstanding 

Potions — Acceptable 

Transfiguration — Outstanding 

OWL Electives:

Arithmancy — Acceptable

Study of Ancient Runes — Acceptable 

NEWT Classes:

Charms — Exceeds Expectations 

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Acceptable

History of Magic — Outstanding

Potions — Acceptable

Transfiguration — Outstanding  

Extracurriculars: None

✧ EMPLOYMENT ✧

Affiliations: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry ; the Earldom of Wexford 

Professions:

Age 9 to death - the twelfth Earl of Wexford 

✧ FAMILY ✧

Father: Harrison James Albert Battersea II, the eleventh earl of Wexford [deceased, 1845-1890]

Born in 1845, Harrison James Albert Battersea II was the eleventh earl of Wexford. He became the earl at the tender age of eighteen, after his father passed away from a stroke. Pressure soon grew on Harrison to marry well and continue on the family name, while also furthering the wealth and power of the Wexford earldom. However, Harrison’s heart became set on a mysterious American woman with a small fortune. So, in 1868, Harrison married Lydia O’Dwyer. Their marriage was a true love match and they maintained a close and loving relationship for the rest of their lives. Together they had four surviving children: Harrison III, Marcus, Simon, and Hermione. Unfortunately, Harrison’s life was cut short one summer night in 1890. The family’s wing of Tyrell Castle was set on fire and the only member of the Battersea family to survive was Harrison’s youngest son, Simon. 

As the third son, Simon had never been extremely close with his father. However, Harrison had always made time to spend with his youngest son. They got along quite well, and in fact, Simon and Harrison were rather similar in personality. However, Harrison could be rather protective, especially after Simon was diagnosed with hemophilia at the age of five. Despite the friction caused by that protectiveness, Simon was heartbroken by his father’s death. He misses Harrison fiercely and on bad days, he will sometimes think of all the things that he should have told Harrison when he was alive.

Faceclaim: Samuel West

Mother: Lydia Edith Battersea née O’Dwyer [deceased, 1850-1890]

Born in 1850 in New York City, Lydia O’Dwyer was the youngest daughter in the pureblood O’Dwyer family. Lydia had always had a fierce independent streak, most likely due to the fact that she never displayed any signs of magic and that her family held an intense shame surrounding Lydia’s status as a squib. Thus, at the age of 16, Lydia fled the United States and landed in London. She had a small fortune hidden with her and while attempting to find the British Wizarding bank, she ended up in the stables where the earl of Wexford’s horses resided and met Harrison, the earl himself. She fell hard for Harrison, and despite the obstacles they faced, Lydia married Harrison in 1868. Their marriage was a true love match and they maintained a close and loving relationship, albeit suffering multiple mishaps in regards to childbearing. Together, they raised four surviving children: Harrison III, Marcus, Simon, and Hermione. Unfortunately, Lydia’s life was cut short in 1890 when the family’s wing of Tyrell Castle was set on fire. Lydia never did tell Harrison the truth about her family and didn’t live long enough to notice her youngest son’s signs of magic. 

Simon also wasn’t overly close with his mother either. They definitely spent time together and Lydia always made sure to spend one-on-one time with her children. However, she also grew quite overprotective after Simon was diagnosed with hemophilia at the age of five and although, she never expressed any shame around her son’s disorder. He tried not to, but he started to resent his mother (and father) a little, especially when he saw what his brothers and sister were allowed to do. Simon was heartbroken by her death and on his bad days, he will think about what he should have told her when she was still alive.

Faceclaim: Laura Dern

Brother: Harrison James Albert “Harris” Battersea III [deceased, 1869-1890]

Born in 1869, Harrison James Albert Battersea III, better known as Harris, was twelve years older than Simon and thus, the heir to the Wexford earldom. Harris was taught the ways of the earldom from childhood and he loved every aspect of it, eager to follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather. He worked hard in every endeavor and took what duties he was given very seriously. However, Harris never got the opportunity to take the duties of the earldom as he was killed in the Tyrell fire in 1890. 

Simon often followed his older brother around like a puppy. He deeply admired Harris and thought he knew everything. He misses Harris a lot and sometimes imagines what it would be like if Harris had actually been able to become the earl. 

Faceclaim: Jeremy Irvine 

Brother: Marcus Edgar Charles Battersea [deceased, 1872-1890]

Born in 1872, Marcus was nine years older than Simon. As the spare and second son, Marcus was also taught the ways of the earldom, but not to the extent that Harris was. In many ways, he was the complete opposite of his two brothers. Marcus was a bit of a troublemaker and whenever possible, he took the easy path. However, he did take the role of spare seriously, even as he fled from it. He knew that his role was important, and his parents had always assured him then a replacement for Harris. Yet, Marcus never got the opportunity to try and find himself as he was killed in the Tyrell fire of 1890. 

Simon might not have looked up to Marcus the same way he did Harris, but he did greatly admire his older brother. He admired how Marcus tried to make people see beyond the title, surname, and age.

Faceclaim: Callum Woodhouse

Sister: Hermione Edith Battersea [deceased, 1883-1890]

Born in 1883, Hermione was two years younger than Simon. As the youngest and only daughter, Hermione was a little spoiled, especially by her father. Her favorite thing to do was dance and she loved learning all of the different dances required by a girl of her status. She even got her parents to pay for her to be given private ballet lessons when the family was in residence in either London or Dublin. Sadly, Hermione never got the opportunity to dance with anyone besides her family as she was killed in the Tyrell fire of 1890. 

Simon was probably the closest to Hermione, as there’s only a two year age gap between them. He didn’t love being his sister’s dance partner, but it always meant that Simon was in good health and allowed to do more strenuous activities. He loved his little sister.

Faceclaim: Georgie Henley 

Pets: 

Childhood: A Dalmatian which he named Ford, three foxhounds, four horses  

Adulthood: A Dalmatian named Conry and a foxhound named Morrigan ; a few cats belonging to his wife ; a barn owl 

✧ ROMANCE & CHILDREN ✧

Love Interest: Nilüfer Mihrimah Sultan (@endlessly-cursed)

⤷ Simon first officially met Nilüfer Sultan during their first ever flying class. However, a friendship didn’t begin to form until their fourth year, although they had been acquaintances since their first year. They didn’t truly become a couple until they had graduated from Hogwarts, though, shortly after Simon suffered an accident. They’d had a simple estrangement, after a big argument at the end of their seventh year. Simon and Nilüfer married in May of 1907.

Son: Sidney Harrison Mehmet Battersea 

Hufflepuff | b. January 12, 1909

Simon has a good relationship with his eldest son. He does his best to be supportive and not show any favoritism. There is a bit of friction when it comes to the fact that Simon is the last earl of Wexford, and that Sidney spends much of his early years under the impression that he is going to inherit, not that Simon really encourages any superiority about the heir and the spare. Overall, though, they have a good relationship and Simon loves Sidney very much. He is quite proud of his eldest son.

Faceclaim: Ekin Koç

Son: Niall Albert Selim Battersea 

Slytherin | b. June 15, 1911

Simon has a good relationship with his second son. He does his best to be supportive and is quite proud of his son. He tries to replicate some of how he saw his father parent his brothers, Harris and Marcus, as they were the heir and the spare. Simon loves Niall very much and is quite proud of him and everything that he accomplishes. 

Faceclaim: Gürbey Ileri

Son: Louis Edgar Hamid Battersea 

Gryffindor | Chaser | Demisexual | b. March 29, 1913

Simon has a good relationship with his third son. Louis is sorta similar in personality to Simon, which makes it easy to connect to his son. He loves the boy very much and he’s quite proud of his son. Simon does his best to be supportive and sort of relates to Louis’s position in the family, as he was also the third son. 

Faceclaim: Joshua Rush

Son: Oliver Marcus Erol Battersea 

Ravenclaw | Seeker | Heterosexual | b. August 22, 1917 

Simon has a good relationship with his youngest son. He finds it easy to get along with his youngest, who is a lot more impulsive and reckless than he ever was, because they both have a decent age gap with their brothers. Simon does tend to worry about Oliver more than he does his other three sons, but he is quite proud of Oliver and everything that his son accomplishes. He loves Oliver very much and tries his best to be supportive.

Faceclaim: Tomaso Sanelli 

✧ OTHER RELATIONSHIPS ✧

Guardian: Horace Randolph Dormer [deceased, 1855-1900]

Born in 1855, Hoarce was one of Simon’s distant cousins. He was the son of Simon’s father, Harrison’s second cousin. The combination of growing up in relative poverty and as the spare to the Wexford earldom, Horace easily formed a sense of entitlement. He believed that he would get the Wexford earldom, a desire which led him to make some very terrible decisions that resulted in the deaths of most of the Battersea family. In 1890, he petitioned the court and was labeled the guardian of Simon, the only Battersea to survive the Tyrell Castle fire. Horace’s greed only grew, as he found that the earldom was suddenly at his fingertips and he was once again the spare. He arranged for “accidents” to befall the young earl and when those failed, heeded to doctors’ words that it was unlikely that Simon would see his thirteenth birthday. Horace grew bitter and unpleasant, when Simon passed his fourteenth birthday and given that the boy was healthier than ever. In 1900, at the age of 45, Horace passed away in an accident that was likely his own doing. 

Simon never liked his cousin and guardian. The two of them were often in a stand-off and when Simon learned what Horace had done, he was horrified and wished that Horace was still alive, so he could question Horace about it.

Best Friends: TBD

Close Friends: TBD

Friends:

Henry of Alderly ; Malcolm Stolberg-Burke (@gaygryffindorgal)

Josie Edwards (@slytherindisaster)

Danny Gibson (@catohphm)

Fintan Hopper (@thatravenpuffwitch)

Antonio Rosier (@hufflefluffs)

Acquaintances: TBD

It’s Complicated: TBD

Hogwarts Dormmates:

Henry of Alderly (@gaygryffindorgal)

Fintan Hopper (@thatravenpuffwitch)

Colin Moss (@usernoneexistent)

AVAILABLE to mutuals

Rivals: Horace Dormer

Enemies: TBD

✧ HISTORY & BACKGROUND ✧

Place of Birth: Tyrell Castle, County Wexford, Ireland 

Hometown: Tyrell Castle, County Wexford, Ireland 

Childhood: 

Simon Percival Theodore Battersea was born on June 21, 1881 to Harrison and Lydia Battersea. He was their third child, joining elder brothers Harrison III and Marcus. Two years later, he was joined by his younger sister, Hermione. Simon always seemed to be a little bit more accident prone than his older brothers and younger sister. He bruised easily and it seemed like he was a fragile boy. These symptoms were explained when Simon was diagnosed with hemophilia at the age of five. He had tripped down the stairs and skinned his knee. When the bleeding persisted at a steady pace after thirty minutes, the doctor was called for and the hemophilia diagnosis was made. Unbeknownst to the Battersea family, Simon only had about 2% of the normal clotting factor. 

Aside from being diagnosed with hemophilia, Simon had a good childhood for those first nine years of his life. Sure, his parents were a little overprotective and he wasn’t allowed to do some of the things that his brothers had been allowed to do, like riding horses. However, Simon didn’t mind that much, especially when he was allowed to roam the halls of Tyrell Castle. For his ninth birthday, Simon was allowed to pick a puppy from their carriage dog’s litter to raise and train. He chose a small male puppy which he named Ford.  

Everything changed, though, one hot summer night when Simon was nine. It was a sweltering night and Simon couldn’t sleep, so he started to wander around the family’s quarters. At perhaps two am, he smelled smoke and fled the family wing. He didn’t stop running until he reached the lake and saw that the family wing of the castle had gone up in flames. He spent the remainder of the night searching for his family. Eventually, the family’s nursemaid found Simon roaming the grounds in his bathrobe and slippers. She led the boy back to the house where he was gently told that his family had perished in the fire. Simon was heartbroken and it felt like the weight of the world had been settled on his shoulders.

Shortly after the fire, Horace Dormer, a distant cousin, was named Simon’s guardian as he was still a minor. Simon and Horace did not get along. In fact, several strange occurrences befell Simon in the first two years that Horace was his guardian. However, each time Simon escaped with only a few non-serious bruises… thanks to his magic.

Hogwarts Years:

At eleven, Simon began attending Hogwarts and was sorted into Hufflepuff. Simon was a shy and cautious student. He wasn’t the most social and preferred to spend time by himself, often spending hours in the library returning correspondence with the Wexford estate’s solicitor and others. Slowly, Simon grew out of his shell and allowed people in, but he was always rather prickly and often grew tired of explaining his hemophilia to the ignorant. Among the people he let in was his future wife, Nilüfer Sultan. 

Adulthood:

After graduating from Hogwarts, Simon settled fully into his role as the earl of Wexford while also navigating through the wizarding world.

At the age of 19, after a six month long legal fight, Simon emancipated himself from his guardian. Horace Dormer died two months later.

At the age of 24, Simon experienced a horrible accident. He tripped and fell down a set of marble stairs and was knocked unconscious. No one believed that Simon would survive, as he bled for hours and the doctors struggled to stem the bleeding. Simon remained unconscious for four days, before he finally awoke. 

The biggest, most notable change in Simon’s adulthood came in December of 1922 when the Irish Free State was finally established. For a long time, Simon struggled with what to do. He had never felt English and despite being a peer, he had never spent much time with the English aristocracy. Eventually, he agreed that the title would end with him. His sons would be free to pursue whatever life they wanted and never feel like the eldest was better simply for being born first.

Simon also married Nilüfer in a small, yet fancy, ceremony in May of 1907, approximately a month before Simon’s twenty-sixth birthday. They had four sons together. Their eldest son, Sidney Harrison Mehmet Battersea, was born on January 12, 1909. Their second son, Niall Albert Selim Battersea, was born on June 15, 1911. Their third son, Louis Edgar Hamid Battersea, was born on March 28, 1913. Their fourth and youngest son, Oliver Marcus Erol Battersea, was born on August 22, 1917. 

Old Age:

Simon spent most of his old age putting his affairs in order and spending time with his sons and grandchildren. He was a doting grandfather, who adored all of his grandchildren. 

Death: 

Simon passed away in 1968 at the age of 87. He suffered a bad fall and eventually bled to death in his sleep which was also accompanied by a stroke. He had lived a full life, though, and left behind a wife, four sons, and twelve grandchildren.

✧ MISCELLANEOUS ✧ 

Favorite Color: Blue

Favorite Food: Roasted garlic potatoes 

Favorite Drink: Butterbeer 

Favorite Weather: A drizzle 

Favorite Season: Autumn 

Favorite Books: The Headless Horseman, Sherlock Holmes stories, Oliver Twist 

Dislikes: Fire ; being bedridden ; being babies ; being treated like he’s fragile or could break at any moment ; bullies ; cabbage ; hotcakes ; eggs ; golf 

Trivia:

Simon has hemophilia. His case would be considered moderate in modern terminology, as he has about 2% of the normal clotting factor. 

As the sole survivor of the Tyrell fire of 1890, Simon is terrified of fire. His fear of fire is one of his biggest fears, even more than most of his hemophilia related fears.

Simon was almost murdered a few times between the ages of nine and eleve, thanks to the schemes of his guardian, Hoarce Dormer. However, Simon survived each time because of his ancient healing magic. 

Simon’s hemophilia begins and ends with him, as he only has sons and his hemophilia gene is carried by his X chromosome. 

Simon sold Battersea House in Dublin in 1922, after the Irish War of Independence. He sold Wexford House in London in 1934. Shortly before his death in 1968, Simon donated Tyrell Castle to the Irish government to create a museum and let the funds go to helping people in need. He hadn’t lived until he castle since he was a teenager and that was the last shred of his identity as an earl. 

Being an earl means that Simon has no time for another profession. He spends most of his day balancing ledgers and carrying out other duties. However, things start to change in 1922, when he’s 41. Simon still carried out his duties until his death, but the Wexford title ends with him. 

Simon discovered a struggling piece of property in the English countryside in 1923. He stumbled upon it by accident and discovered that the tenants were aging and barely holding on to what they had.

Simon’s descendants include his great-grandson, Luke, and his great-great-great-granddaughter, Shreya.

Important Links:

Simon’s tag

More information about Simon’s sons, Sidney, Niall, Louis, and Oliver