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weclassygirl · 4 months ago

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scheme

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: reader meets her shadow in the flesh as two riders enter Eregion

warnings: some blood (fake wound)

word count: 2,8k

author’s note: he's finally here! might take a moment before i update (i need to rewatch season 2 for him), but the next chapter.... ugh i can't wait to post it. enjoy! (previous part -> deception)

He doesn’t, for weeks he doesn’t reach out, does not even give you a sign he’s alive. You wish you could rip him to shreds once you see him again even if his very essence would slip through your fingers.

Celebrimbor notices you’ve become distracted, your work becomes sloppy, where once was attention to details and strive for perfection now lay curses under your breath when another piece of work is ruined.

He comes to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Rest.”

You turn to face him, the hammer still in your hand as well as the chisel. “I have to finish—“ he places your tools down, you don’t protest.

“You’ve been working yourself to the bone and your mind is not where it’s supposed to be.” you sigh, he’s right even he does not know the true reason. You take off your apron and put it on the stool before leaving the forge.

You wander to the gardens and around Eregion trying to clear your head. You try to see past the trees, behind the horizon, maybe he’s out there. Wishful thinking.

You’ve heard of the attacks on the Southlands, men fighting against orcs and the destruction it placed over the land. They call it under a different name now. Out of the corner of your eye you see horses, a rider clad in armor and a man. A messenger, probably. Eregion always had news to answer and these days it seemed more than ever.

You come back to the forge after a while despite Celebrimbor’s refusal. You needed to occupy your mind, the blade you’ve been working on was nearly finished. You’ve been mixing metals to try and combine them into a nearly ethereal glow, mithril was far out of your reach. You’ve helped with the construction of the tower, not like the might of the Dwarves but your work has been appreciated.

Elrond came before spring to help Celebrimbor and he secured it when Prince Durin sent his for forces to Eregion. The secrecy has been languid, you knew what Celebrimbor was hiding, he knew of mithril, knew that the very light of the Elves was fading, yours included. You felt it, more than the others, you considered Sauron’s offer to bound yourself to him completely but called yourself a fool for such thought. This is not the time you spoke of, you know it, see it as behind a mist, the future of Eregion and all Middle-Earth. Glimpses that always end with fire and blood.

A guard comes into the forge and calls out your name. Your head whips around as you look at him.

“Your assistance is needed in the healer's quarters.” he informs you.

“What of the Warden?” you ask, surely the master of healers would accommodate to the unexpected guests who arrived through the gate, should one of them be injured.

“Busy with other matters.”

You sigh but put away your tools once again. “Very well.” you say and follow the guard.

You didn’t mind healing others but sometimes the injured or ill irritated you to the point your started to regret you were acknowledged as a healer in the first place. People came to you with the smallest cut or barely a cold, a proper herb and warm water would do most of the work.

When you arrive in the healer’s quarters your feet feel stuck to the ground at the sight of the person in front of you.

“Galadriel?” you couldn’t believe it. “I thought you left for Valinor.”

She’s clad in armor, her face dirty and sweaty from the journey. If she stayed in Middle-Earth you hoped she only heard the good things you’ve done while in Eregion, you do not wish to have her as an enemy.

“Fate decided I stay here.” she responds. She looks you up and down, the scars visible from your days under Morgoth, however no black fingertips. The darkness hasn’t consumed you or so she thinks. “I’ve heard of your progress here.”

You feign flattery. “Yes, I owe it to Lord Celebrimbor.”

“It’s impressive how much you swayed from darkness, not many can.”

You chuckle slightly, oh if she only knew.

“Yes, well, my punishment here proved to bear fruits.” you respond and you remind yourself why you’re here. You look her over. “Are you injured? I’ve been summoned as a healer rather than a smith.”

“My friend is, if you could tend to him.” she starts walking down the hall and when you enter the room you see him, his face so familiar to his but you don’t want to make false assumptions.

She tells him who he is and you turn to her with a question on your face. “King of the Southlands? How is it your path crossed with his?” you come closer to the man on the table and lift up the bloodied piece of clothing, he grunts as the dried blood tears away with the fabric. When you look to Galadriel her eyes tell you everything you need to know. Her task in Middle-Earth was not yet complete.

You inspect the wound and Halbrand watches you carefully, you dare not to speak. Is it him? After all this time? Should you voice your thoughts? The questions plague your mind.

“I’ll leave you to it.” she says as Elrond comes closer, you’ve conversed with him while he remained in Eregion and helped Celebrimbor in securing the work force to assemble the Great Forge. He’s been travelling constantly between Eregion and Khazad-dûm, the High King deceived him of his purpose here at first but the alliance between Dwarves and Elves grew.

When they are out of your sight you look to Halbrand. An interesting name he has chosen, so many meanings, every single one fitting his image. Admirable, shadowed, exalted. You nearly laugh under your breath.

“Is my state that amusing to you?” he asks and the corner of your lips rises.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” you’re still unsure if you can speak freely in front of him, he may just be a face that he saw once, that felt suitable for him to wear when appearing in your visions. You tear the fabric that laid on his wound, you discard it and grab a cloth with warm water. “What has happened?”

“Enemy lance, six days ago.” he responds and grunts as the cloth makes contact with the wound. You wonder if he truly sustained the hit or it was another illusion. You were certain the red blood was.

“Is it truly like they say? Turned to dust and ashes?” you ask, curious as ever.

“The Southlands?” you nod. He watches as you tend to him, grabbing a bit of Elvish herbs, athelas and mixing them in a mortar. The paste thickens with each turn and you put it aside to grab other herbs needed. After a while, he gives you the answer. “Yes.”

You grab an herb and bring it up to his mouth. “Chew on it.” you tell him.

“What is it?” he eyes it warily before taking it.

“It will replace the taste of iron from the blood in your mouth.” you don’t answer his question directly but he listens. As you smear the paste you mixed up he smiles under his nose, the sight doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Most people would be in pain and yet you react as if it’s a common cold.”

You’ve seen people wither in anguish from a single touch of Elvish medicine before it took its desired effect, it’s strange for a common man to not react to it. Perhaps he wants to show that he’s stronger than many. You go to the table to gather a clean dressing when you hear his response, so silent but makes you freeze in your steps. “Now I’m the first to give myself to you at my deathbed.”

Was it him or your persistent shadow speaking? Could you distinguish the two now? The voice so familiar but not muffled like many times you’ve heard it, this was real, raw.

You turn to him but his sight is already set upon you. Any evidence of pain gone from his face as you step closer to the bed with a bandage in your hands. You search his face for any sign of falsehood and he awaits your reaction. You smack the piece of cloth you were holding onto him when he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer. You lock eyes but yours slip down to his lips, he notices and smirks. It feels as if he’s drawing down to him, if he did you could just…

“Violence goes against what you should stand for.” he taunts and lets you go. You glare at him, you told yourself you would rip him to shreds the next time you see him.

“I should let you bleed out.” you retort, he looks down and gathers some of the red blood from the wound.

“So it’s a convincing illusion, I take it?” he smears it on his fingers and it turns pitch black. You huff in annoyance.

“You’re insufferable.” you clean your hands in the basin, leftover herbs floating in the water as you dry your hands. You hear him shift on the bed.

“Are you not glad?” he begins to get up and stalk closer to you.

When you turn he’s met with your brows raised and laugh on your lips. “Glad? I believed you to be dead.” you deadpan.

“Did you mourn?” he asks.

“Would you care?” you bite back.

It takes a moment before he responds, his voice soft. “Yes.” he stands right in front of you and takes your hand. The illusion you cast is perfect, leaving not a speck of dark that would have peeked from it. He inspects it, so much power that could come from them. “Don’t hide it.”

Your anger starts to disappear as he holds your hand. You never thought that you would see the day where he’s in the same room as you, in the flesh and not a black mass. “Defeats the point if I don’t.” you look up at him with question. “Why Eregion?”

“You’ve gained his trust, I intend to use it.”

“For what?”

He smiles. “Everlasting peace over all Middle Earth.”

You pull away from his touch.

“Under your rule.”

His answer comes quickly with no hesitation as if his mind is already set upon it.

“And yours.” you’re confused. He bound you to him, not completely but alas, you did not expect that answer. He looks to the entrance, listening if anyone comes by before looking down at you. ”Our paths are already intertwined, tangled whether you wish to cut them. I do not intend to let your talents go to waste after I’m done.”

His words compel you, a malicious intent behind them and yet you fall for them like the stars from the sky.

“A power over flesh?”

He nods. “I owe it to you, this idea, this scheme.”

You don’t have the time to respond when you hear someone walking down the halls, as the master of the healers enters, you step away from Halbrand or rather Sauron to you.

“Your Majesty, you should be resting.” he says as he sees him standing next to you, the blood on his fingers red.

“I needed to test my strength.” he lies swiftly and goes back to the bed. The Warden nods at you and tells you that he will take over. You bid Halbrand goodbye and glance at him one last time before leaving.

Not a day passes when you hear him talking with Celebrimbor. The workshop was quiet in the morning and you needed to gather your notes. The High King ordered every Elf to be moved to Lindon, one last gathering before your time passes.

You did not expect for Sauron to take actions so quickly but it does not surprise you.

“Might there not be some alloy to amplify the qualities of your ore?” he asks Celebrimbor as he hands him the piece of mithril.

“Well, that is… an intriguing suggestion.” you remark as you enter. You nod in greeting towards both of them and walk closer. Halbrand takes his eyes off of you.

“Call it… a gift.” Celebrimbor inspect the mithril in his hand before you stride to your work bench. Notes scattered, splashes of ink spilled on the table.

“You should be packing for Lindon.” he tells you and you gather whatever you can, some of the ink making it’s way onto your hand.

“I needed to grab my notes, shame to let them go to waste.”

Would any Men take them after you have passed to the Undying Lands? Would they appreciate them?

“You’re leaving?” Halbrand asks you, surprise in his voice.

You look between the two men. “High King’s orders, as much as I would like to stay. I have no choice but to obey.”

It pains you to say it, a witch following orders of a King, but the ruse must hold. Celebrimbor’s mind seems to be at work, Halbrand’s words resonating with him. It is then he remembers that you may not know who he is.

“This is Lord Halbrand, King of—”

“The Southlands, yes we’ve met.” you interrupt. “Galadriel sent for a healer at hand and I was the only one available at the time.” you look to Halbrand. “You should be resting.”

“No use if I’m bedridden when your people need aid.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You wish to help?”

“If you allow me.” he directs these words to Celebrimbor and he smiles as he looks between you two.

“I believe we can work something out.”

The three of you part your ways when he caughts up with you. The halls are empty, occasional guard posted but nothing more, the vines flow down the vast architecture surrounding you.

“I never realized you’ve made quite a name for yourself here.” he expressed as he started walking next to you. You nod occasionally at the guards as you pass through, some other smiths you work with.

When out of their sight you speak. “It was demanded.” you stop in your tracks, both of you now standing on the parapet connecting two buildings. “Would you let an Elven Witch roam around your kingdom so freely? Her darkness poisoning the very air you’re breathing?” your voice low should anyone listen to your conversation. He studies you closely, eyes softening in his low-man form.

“You, yes. Another I might consider throwing over the walls.” he remembers why he joined you. He has an occasion to properly talk to you, no visions to hold him back now. He goes back to his first statement. “People talk.”

You look down at the few Elves roaming in the courtyard, Fëanor’s statue illuminated by the soft light of the morning. “And what have they said of me?”

He leans against the balustrade. “An Elf once cast out by her people, called Morgoth’s servant despite doing it to survive and when fled chained once again by her own kind. Fulfilled her punishment here in Eregion and started to move away from darkness within her, became a trusted Elven smith and a healer where her work only blossomed.” he looks down to the ring on your finger, worn out by time however you never corrected it, the broken stone still held. He says it like reading a passage from a book, you don’t turn to look at him. Your voice barely above a whisper.

“They trust you so easily.” you’re almost jealous and he knows.

“They have not come to know me like they did you.” he reassures you. Once they do they will cower in fear.

You turn to face him, you sense the scheme within him. “You plan to use mithril. For what kind of weapon?”

“Not a weapon, it shouldn’t be too obvious. Something far more precious.” he looks down at you and smiles. “You’ll see, I believe it will be to your liking.”

“You think that Celebrimbor will let you into his workshop, a low-man?”

“Why wouldn’t he? I suppose I left a good impression.”

“Ah, of course.” you shake your head and smile under your nose.

The silence weighs between the two of you, some guards pass you by and the morning sky shines mercilessly. You start walking away from the parapet and into the streets, the small crowds surround you as you go by the merchant stalls, tall towers and small courts.

“It’s refreshing. Seeing you here, feeling your presence, it’s… stronger.”

“Few hundred years had made their mark.” you respond and stop by a fountain, the water hums in your ears.

“So did I.”

You look up at him and try not to roll your eyes. You admit he gave you tremendous help but the years you’ve spent in Eregion fell upon your shoulders. You knew you had to endure your stay a little longer, for his sake and yours.

“Thank you.” you find yourself whispering. He knows you well enough to give you a small nod in exchange.

“Do not think that I will release you of the practice over your craft.”

You smile, this is what you needed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

next part -> bewitched

#seriously need to rewatch season 2 for what's to come #in that time.... hope you like it #sauron x reader #annatar x reader #halbrand x reader #rings of power #lord of the rings

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angstywaifu · 7 months ago

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It's Nothing - Bodhi x Reader

Request: do u think you could write something for bodhi? maybe the rider is also marked and people start targeting her for it and he finds out? or like literally anything bodhi i love him so bad. Minor book spoilers around Xaden's signet. Mentions of violence. Masterlist

It never use to be this bad. I never had to be scared walking down the halls. Hell, I’m a dragon rider. I shouldn’t be scared of anything. I laugh in the face of death every single day. And yet here I am, worried to walk these halls alone. My eyes scan every hall I walk into, every crevice they could be hiding in, waiting to pounce on me.

I was still recovering from yesterday. Too stubborn to go to the healers about it. I didn’t want to appear weak. And honestly I didn’t want anyone to know about it either. Too scared a healer might say something to someone I knew. No one could know. I could handle this on my own.

I’m too caught up in my thoughts to hear the approaching footsteps at first. But their voices carry down the now empty hall I’m in. Shit.

”You never learn do you.” One of them calls from behind me.

My body shudders at their voice as it carries down to me, echoing off the walls as if to emphasise I was alone. No one here to help me. All alone.

”You make it so easy for us to teach you a lesson. To teach you your place in the quadrant.” Another calls out.

A yelp escapes my lips as one jumps out at me as I try to rush away from them. Their hands gripping my shoulders painfully.

”When will you learn that you don’t belong here. That you were sent here to die just like your parents.” He spits out at me as he tightens his grip on my arms.

All I can do is look at them wide eyed. Listen as the other two approach from behind. It had started out as bearable. One of them requesting to challenge me one day. Which they’d won with ease due to using their signet. It was subtle enough that no one knew. Then it turned into shoving in the halls, snide comments towards me, jumping out at me and trying to scare me. But somehow I knew this was going to be worse. He had a glint in his eyes. One I didn’t like.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the other two take their place behind me. There was no point struggling or fighting to get away. They’d proven time and time again they were stronger, faster, better. I didn’t stand a chance. All I could do was try defend myself as best I could.

”Everything all good?” A familiar voice calls out to us.

My eyes snapping open to see three familiar figures standing at the end of the hall. Three figures I couldn’t be more relieved to see right now. But the rider in front of me doesn’t seem remotely phased by their presence.

”Nothing to worry about Riorson. We’re just having a friendly talk.” They call out over their shoulder, cocking their head towards them.

Their hands tighten on my shoulders, a small whimper escaping my lips as they do so. A silent warning to play along. My blood runs cold when something sharp presses against my back. Even through my leathers I know what it is. A dagger. Shit.

”I highly doubt that. How about you put that dagger away?” He calls out as he takes a few tentative steps towards us.

”You don’t want to do this Riorson. Just let this happen.” The rider behind me warns, the dagger pushing further into my back.

Xaden’s laughter echoes off the walls, almost like a warning. It’s then I notice the shadows pooling slowly around my feet and the riders surrounding me. So subtle you wouldn’t notice unless you knew what to look for.

”See that’s the issue. I can’t let this happen.”

It happens so fast I barely have time to react. Xaden’s shadows springing up from the floor, plunging the riders around me into darkness, pulling them away from me. As soon as the dagger drops from my back I shove the cadet in front of me away. I pump my arms as fast as I can in an effort to get away faster. Two figures rush past me, causing me to turn my head. I watch as Xaden and Garrick rush towards the riders still consumed by Xaden’s shadows. Another yelp escapes my lips as I slam into someone. Panic consuming me as I worry it’s another one of them that was waiting just out of sight. My hands trying to shove them off me in an effort to get away.

”Hey, it’s just me! You’re ok!”

I look up to see Bodhi’s familiar brown eyes looking down at me as his hands cup my face. His eyes laced with worry as he takes me in. I fling my arms around him, pulling him into a bone crushing hug that he returns immediately. His chin resting atop my head as I relax into his embrace. His hands rubbing up and down my back to try calm me down

I was safe. I was alive and safe. I’d gotten away.

The words continue to echo in my mind, a mantra that anchors me in the moment. I cling to Bodhi with all my might, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. Every time I blink, a wave of dread washes over me, a fear that this could all be a figment of my imagination, a cruel illusion. But the steady beat of his heart, the solidness of his presence, it all reassures me that this is real. That I am safe. And I'm not alone.

Bodhi manages to pull me off him, his hands grasping my shoulders as he looks down at me. “Did they hurt you at all?”

”Not tonight.” I admit, shifting my gaze down to my hands as I pick at a fingernail. A nervous habit of mine. One Bodhi constantly told me to stop.Z

”What do you mean not tonight?” His voice dropping, anger evident in his tone. A tone I don’t usually associate with Bodhi’s voice. His voice usually the calmer and levelled of our group.

I look up, gasping in shock at the intensity in his eyes. The phrase if looks could kill comes to mind. But I know it isn’t directed at me. No, the look is for the riders behind me. Rider’s I’m very certain are no longer conscious and probably barely alive.

”This isn’t the first time.” I admit shyly.

Bodhi’s eye’s darken at my words as he looks behind me. Due to being in different squads, Bodhi hadn’t witnessed any of the interactions I’d had with them. And if he had, it just looked like normal challenges. Nothing out of the ordinary. Bodhi’s grip on my shoulder’s tighten, a small his escaping my lips as his fingers dig into a particularly nasty bruise that had been forming. Bodhi reacts immediately, pushing my flight jacket off my shoulder and pulling back my shirt. Bodhi swears under his breath at the sight of it before tugging my jacket back into place, his hand slipping down to mine as he drags me down the hall towards the dorms.

”Where are we going?” I ask, stumbling to keep up with him.

”My room. Where I’m going to give you something to help with that bruise, as well as any other one’s you’ve been hiding. And you’re going to tell me what the hell has been going on.” He replies gruffly as he pulls me into the stair case.

”It’s nothing. It will heal eventually.” I insist before colliding with Bodhi’s chest for a second time tonight.

”Darling, that is not nothing.” He practically growls out, before his face softens. As if realising the tone he’s used. “Just let me take care of you, ok?”

With a smile and a nod, he squeezes my hand before leading the rest of the way back to his room. The riders in the hall below long forgotten.

#fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing #the fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing imagine #the empyrean #bodhi durran one shot #bodhi durran #bodhi durran x reader

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damn-stark · 6 months ago

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Chapter 14 Autumn sadness

Chapter 14 of Moonlight

A/N- Aemond stop being horny for your wife challenge (Impossible)

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy, Aegon!, mentions of sexual harassment, angst, fluff, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x04

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

“Here again?” You query while you shade your eyes from the luminous sun starting to peek over the roof of the Dragonpit. “Another rendezvous?” You smile.

Aemond looks away from Aerion in his arms and shakes his head. “No, it’s something else.”

You squint your eyes and probe for more. “Like?”

Before Aemond can answer a Kingsguard shouting catches your attention. “Stand back!”

You look over and notice some Smallfolk trying to approach the stairs in an attempt to reach you. “Princess!”

“Princess!”

“Over here!”

Unlike before this time the calls aren’t born from admiration and excitement, you can hear the desperation in their voice as they try and steal your attention. You can see the plea for help in their eyes, the helplessness, and the hunger.

“Bring us some food, please!”

Your help wasn’t widespread, you would feed and give money to those few people you came across. You were never allowed to do more than that, but your charity is well known now that they’re looking for any kind of help. Anything that can feed their growling stomachs, and needing children.

“<I told you,” Aemond remarks in High Valyrian. “Feed one stray dog and others won’t fail to follow to beg too.>”

You glance at him with a disturbed look before you take a look at all the people you can’t help when they need you the most. You have money, but what good is that when there’s hardly any food for them to buy? All you can do is offer them an apologetic look before you ignore them and drive your attention to this early morning adventure Aemond has yet to explain.

“So are you going to tell me why we’re here?” You pressure him to fill your curiosity.

Yet he just smirks at you, making you roll your eyes and focus on the building holding sacred power just under its surface.

Which is pretty unbelievable! These powerful dragons your family can ride, that you can use to burn down towns and people to ash are kept in chains under a stone building that they can easily destroy, or that can also easily be their death.

It’s crazy to think about, but it’s true isn't it? If your mother decided to come in secret with all the dragons at her side they could attack the Dragonpit, and the rubble could be the dragon's death. Your dragon's death…

Thinking of Astraea dying is worse than thinking of someone you love dying. You’ve known your dragon since you were a babe, literally, she hatched when you were only a few months old, and you haven't been apart a moment since then. She's your soulmate. Losing her would be like losing yourself.

But your mother wouldn’t be so desperate as to attack the Dragonpit and kill the power of your house, they’re sacred, powerful, and majestic. Better than any army of men…

“I wish we had more family to ride dragons,” you express what springs to mind.

“What do you mean?” Aemond quickly follows up on your comment.

“Just that,” you counter with growing excitement as this idea keeps unfurling. “If we had more family we could trust, they could ride the other dragons that reside at Dragonstone. All who had riders in the past.”

Aemond gives you all his attention as his interest is completely stolen by what you’re trying to get at.

“There’s Vermithor,” you list the dragons that live in Dragonstone, on your fingers. “Silverwing, and…my father's dragon, Seasmoke.”

Thoughts turn behind Aemond’s eye before it all seems to come to a halt as he comes up with a conclusion. “We don’t need the other dragons, we have Vhagar.”

You scoff and get closer to him to argue for a sole worry, his safety. “Yes, but Vhagar and Sunfyre alone won’t win against my mother's dragons. They have 5 to your two, or three if you count me,” you add.

“There’s Tessarion,” he brings up the forgotten son, making you quickly brush him off.

“Still not enough, he’s young—Do you want to know what Daemon wanted to do when he found out Aegon was crowned?” You share with a bit of desperation, which is why you don’t let him answer. “He wanted to attack King’s Landing with all the dragons. Tell me if Vhagar would’ve survived that?”

Aemond looks ahead and answers with silence because he knows you’re right. He doesn’t want to admit that though, so instead he deflects with a question that he’s been wondering about since the war started. “Would you have attacked me with them?”

There’s nothing to think about, you know this answer as clear as day. “No,” you admit confidently. “I wasn’t mad at you then. I told you…I missed you.”

Aemond’s guard falls, and his eye falls on Aerion before he looks back at you with his eye reflecting the sun's beams peeking over the roof.

“You know,” you finally have a chance to admit something you haven’t talked about, and something he hasn’t asked out of fear of what you’d say? Who knows.

“If I knew what Daemon wanted to do I…don’t think I would have let him go through with it. Even if I thought I hated you at the time.” You swallow thickly and a breath escapes past his lips, making him collect himself to finally dig into this matter that has been running in his head.

“Where were you?” He asks.

You sigh and briefly steal a glance at the approaching entrance. “We were in the North,” you say quietly. “When we arrived at Dragonstone Daemon was not there anymore. I didn’t even know about his plan until the next day after I returned from Driftmark. And when I did find out,” you pause and sigh deeply before you meet his curious eye as he waits for more.

“Before Jacaerys could finish telling me what actually happened I was struck with fear…my world went dark when I thought you were killed,” you admit and feel yourself grow flustered as he keeps his eye on you. “And then when Jacaerys finished telling me the news I was horrified. You believe me right? I would never have let Daemon kill Jaehaerys.”

Panicked tears well in your eyes and he quickly assures you.

“I know.”

You nod in comprehension and breathe out that slight panic that just rattled you. “Anyway,” you continue with what you started with. “I couldn’t fathom you being killed, so it’s lucky that you were gone,” you feign a laugh. “I mean I’m not glad where you were, but it saved you so.”

Aemond comes to a stop, and you climb to the top before you stop and face him with a quizzical brow.

“I was not at the brothel because I sought lust,” he says again to get it through your mind and heart, but this time he adds something else that makes your heart skip a beat. “I did not think you would return home, I needed to talk to someone.”

A smile slowly spreads on your lips and you climb down to be in front of him before you assure him of one thing. “We would have found our way to each other eventually. I believe that. We’re one heart, one soul, one flesh. We literally drank each other's blood.”

He scoffs softly and you grin, making bliss glimmer in his eye and pull a soft smile to his own lips before he reaches over to cup your cheek and gently stroke your flesh.

You swoon at the touch and can’t help but reach over to grab his hand and hold his warmth.

There’s so much both of you can say on the aspect, you can reminisce about the past when getting married was a prospect that excited you both, and that you wanted more than anything. You could admit that fear is something you don’t feel when he’s close, but it is something he does feel because of the love he harbors for you. Yet neither of you says anything.

Your love is shared through the windows of your soul, right there on top of the steps, under the soft morning sky, with your son as a witness. Actually, he’s the one who interrupts the moment when he notices you just a hair's breadth away by reaching for your cheek with his little hand to try and grab you the same way Aemond was grabbing you.

When Aemond and you notice, you both share a laugh.

“<Beautiful, huh?>” Aemond directs at Aerion with a proud smile, making you giggle before you fall by Aemond’s side and hook your arm around his.

“Now,” you move this moment along by making him continue forward, and by moving on with this conversation. “Will you tell me why we’re here with our son?”

The corner of his lips tug up and he looks at you with a mischievous look that intrigues you.

“Spill,” you encourage him.

“Shrykos, the dragon egg chosen for Jaehaerys hatched the other day,” Aemond reveals, making your lips part with surprise—“I wanted to bring Aerion in hopes they will bond.”

You blink in surprise, but that quickly transforms into nothing but worry that knits your eyebrows and pushes you to share your concern. “But won’t Aegon be mad that you’re trying to bond Aerion to Shrykos?”

Aemond scoffs. “Why should he?” He retorts as walks you inside the dimmed arena. “Shrykos is free to claim now. It doesn’t belong to him.”

Is that what he said about Vhagar too?

“Hm, I suppose you’re right, but Aerion is still a babe,” you express more building-up worry. “He can’t defend himself if it doesn’t work.”

“I will have my blade ready,” Aemond makes sure to quickly assure you, but nothing he says actually gets rid of that feeling weighing down on you. Especially not when you reach the hall where the hatchlings and eggs are kept. It starts to feel like you’re lacking fresh air to breathe.

If anything happens to Aerion you’ll go mad.

“Aemond,” you try to express your worry, but he turns to assure you again.

“It will be fine, the keepers are here, and I have my hand on my pommel. I won’t let anything happen to our son.”

You hold his gaze to take more of that reassurance you need before you approach the stone table where Aemond sits Aerion, and where they have Shrykos’ carrier.

“<Since the one trying to bond is a babe, there won’t be commands, we will have to trust they communicate from within, the way you also communicate with your dragons.>” One of the keepers explains, making you clench your fists before you press your hands on the table to be ready to snatch Aerion if it all goes wrong.

“<Ready?>” The second keeper asks and looks between Aemond and you, making you and Aemond share a short speechless look before he answers with a nod.

The keeper then unties the crate's latch and lets a small swamp-green hatchling slowly crawl out of the darkness of her crate.

At first, it seems too timid to fully leave its crate, it stands there and tilts its little green head while her orange eyes focus on Aerion directly ahead of him.

Aemond and you share a curious look that's also mixed with worry that steals more of your breaths, and triggers your heart to race; causing the blood in your veins to pump rapidly, whilst also making your hands tremble.

Aemond notices your fear taking over, he senses it too because he feels concerned too, so he reaches over and wraps his hand around yours, letting a deep breath escape through your nose, and making your racing heart find some ease.

Yet not enough, it still thumps as you watch the hatchling completely leave her crate with her eyes locked on Aerion. All the while your babe glances over at you with no idea what’s going on; he doesn’t seem to be scared, he just steals a glimpse at Aemond and you before he returns his attention to the dragon and tries to reach for it.

Shrykos seems curious by Aerion’s movements so she crawls forward without that initial timidness that held her back before. She comes to a stop in front of Aerion and tilts her head to the side to look at him.

Aemond lets your hand go and uses both hands to hold his blade's handle and pull half of it out of his sheath. You lift your hands off the table and leave them out to be ready.

Aerion coos and leans forward to try and get a hold of the dragon, seeming to attract Shrykos to Aerion’s legs. That's when the babe finally brushes his little fingers over the dragon's head and smiles.

Shrykos blinks and her pupils seem to dilate before she coos back and suddenly climbs on Aerion to wrap itself around his shoulders and nuzzle her head against his cheek, making Aerion squeal.

You gasp and turn to look at Aemond at the same time he turns to look at you. Nothing is shared at first, but when you grasp that Aerion bonded with Shrykos you both share a proud smile.

“<It's done,” one of the keepers confirms what you concluded. “They are now bonded.>”

All the tension escapes you and you can’t help but grin and hug Aemond’s arm before he reaches over and takes Aerion in his arms with a proud grin on his long face.

“Good job, my boy,” you coo at Aerion as you stroke his cheek, but the boy is too focused on his dragon to pay any attention to you.

“Now no one will look down on you, my boy,” Aemond whispers to Aerion before he presses a kiss on the side of his head.

Your gaze drifts to look at Aemond as you take in what he said, as you detect the hurt in his voice brought by his childhood trauma when he was dragonless and picked on for that reason alone.

“We would never have let that happen if this hadn’t worked,” you tell Aerion whilst you also reassure Aemond. “And if they tried I would have protected you like I protected your father.”

Aemond hums and leans over to press a kiss on the top of your head.

“What time is the council meeting?” You ask him as you grab his arm.

“Not until noon,” he says. “Why?”

You offer him a mischievous smile and even if you know that he takes his responsibilities seriously and that the war outside this city's gates brings a tension within the Red Keep that takes a grip around everyone's throats, what’s wrong with a little escape? What’s wrong with getting carried away in the joy and pride that is brought by Aerion bonding with a dragon?

You aren’t making him abandon his responsibilities, you’re just asking for a little escape. And surprisingly he accepts your proposal and lets you take Astraea out so you both can mount your dragons and take them to the skies with Shrykos mounted on Aemond’s shoulder since her wings are still delicate to fly long distances, and she wants to be close to Aerion, who is strapped to Aemond’s chest.

It’s true, perhaps being on dragonback out of enjoyment is insensitive, tragedy has struck the kingdoms and you are royalty. Perhaps it’s also reckless considering the blockade that doesn’t stand too far away, and maybe it’s also a bit irresponsible. There are other moments and places to take time for yourselves where there aren’t millions of desperate souls watching, but neither Aemond nor you care. What other people might think doesn’t cross your mind.

All that exists is each other upon the skies; feeling the cold sea water splash over your face as Astraea grazes the tip of her wing in the water as she flies within Vhagar’s shadow. After a moment she straightens out and flaps her wings to fly forward. When she's past Vhagar, Astraea tilts up before she spins upward to reach Vhagar’s level and cut her off.

You chuckle and it's soon carried away by the rushing breeze, but your beaming smile is something that can’t be blown away, just like the bliss that completely fills your heart. It’s actually a contagious thing, your bliss. It’s a wonder that heightens Aemond’s own happiness the moment you beam at him over your shoulder.

Now he isn’t as expressive as you, that’s something that’s always been true. You have always been the one that shines the most and it’s something that never bugged him, not then and not now. He does get bothered when other people stare too long in awe at you, but that’s only because they might try taking you away from him, that’s it. He’d never try and diminish your light, and he’s glad it hasn’t snuffed out after what he did.

He fears that this war will diminish you, but even then that wouldn’t matter, he’d still look at you with the same admiration. He’d just have to work to revive that divine light; even if his presence alone is a spark of life itself. As long as you have him close, as long as he’s alive, that luminous light that he sees but you don’t, will never die.

Doesn’t he know that he’s like the moon and stars that you cherish with your heart? He’s cool like the moon in the night sky. And like the moon and the stars, it’s impossible not to admire and love him when he’s not looking or even when his attention is focused on you, like now. He looks at you with that cool blue eye that glimmers under the sun's kiss, and you just get lost on his face not tense with trying to look intimidating; he's smiling softly without stress, his long hair is flowing back, and he’s nothing but playful in this stolen moment as you fly next to each other in understanding that whoever lands on the empty patch of land first is the winner.

However, the winner is an easy guess. It’s you and Astraea. He may have cheated by taking a shortcut, but Astraea is faster since she isn’t as old or gigantic.

Your dragon actually ends up swooping around Vhagar and Aemond, and neither of you loses eye contact, causing a tense need for each other to burn hot and only escalate when you’re on the ground with your back pressed against his chest, his lips brushing over your ear, his breaths unfurling over the goosebumps on your skin, and his hand over yours as he shows you how to practice a certain action.

“Okay, I got it. Let me do it,” you whisper and slide your feet back to your usual fighting stance; something which makes him push your feet back to the way he’s been teaching you.

“Why do you keep standing like that?” He queries.

You glance down at your stance and realize that it’s the way Cregan stands with his sword.

“When you watch different fights you pick up on different things,” you throw out as an excuse which is actually kind of true. There’s been so many others you have taken notes on so you have grasped different techniques.

“I can still kick your ass,” you tease and he huffs softly, so you show off by swiftly managing to push him back with your elbow. You then swiftly spin around and flip the sword in your hand to point the tip to his throat. In the exact same way, you saw him do it once.

“Your own move on you, my love,” you taunt with a wink.

Aemond’s eye falls on the sword before he meets your gaze and can’t help but smirk.

“You caught me off guard,” he points out, making you snort and nod.

“That’s the trick to winning isn’t it?” You tease him and start to lower the sword, leaving him the opportunity to lunge forward and capture your wrist to twist you around and yank you against him with your back pressed against his chest again.

“No fair,” you complain in a whisper as he slides his hand down to cup your hand and press it gently so you can let his sword go and be left unarmed.

“That was not right,” you add and let out a punctured breath as he drags his other hand around your torso, letting his fingers brush over the flesh your gown leaves exposed.

“I really like this gown,” he whispers against the shell of your ear and feels his way all over your body covered by the sea-green gown you wear, making you shiver and draw in the same deep breath he stole.

“You’re distracting me,” you don’t actually mean a word you say, you want him to keep touching you with those firm yet gentle touches that light your skin on fire.

“A warrior doesn’t get distracted,” he rebuttals.

You laugh breathlessly and tilt your head to the side to let his lips touch your cheek because you’re starting to ache for his mouth to be on yours, but don’t want to move away from his touch.

“This is not fair,” you keep saying and he lowers his head to press his nose against your neck and take in a deep breath of your sweet scent.

“I hate when you do that,” you murmur without actual meaning and bring one hand down to wrap it around the hand he has around you and slide it down to your hips, causing him to grip onto you with a mischievous grin.

“Aemond,” you coo out and turn your head, making your lips touch and driving you to insanity. You can’t hold back anymore, you turn around to meet his hungry eyes before you glance at his inviting lips and indulge your desire for a heated moment. You don't linger too long, you pull back rather quickly, leaving a string of saliva that connects you both until he leans in and presses a gentle peck on your lips.

“You remember what I have to do today,” he brings up.

You sigh and nod stiffly. “Yes,” you say back and pull back to meet his gaze. “I was hoping I could leave Astraea out to just protect the city while you and Vhagar are gone. I will feel better knowing she’s out on the ready.”

Aemond holds your gaze and you plead speechlessly and hope desperately.

“In truth, I would feel better if she was out too,” he says, letting you let out a relieved sigh. “I will tell Aegon, but leave her out regardless.”

Now you can send your mother her warning without risking you or anyone else.

No one will keep track of Astraea's whereabouts, and if they ask where she is you will say she’s hunting for her meal. She likes to eat fish after all.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a sweet smile.

He hums and presses a kiss on your cheek before you part away, and both speechlessly decide that you should head back to the Red Keep now.

Nevertheless, when you go to Aerion you find him asleep with his arm around Shrykos neck as she too is lost in deep slumber.

“Oh my,” you muse and touch your heart as it completely melts inside you at such a precious sight. “Look, Aemond.”

Said man sheaths his sword that was left on the ground and then walks to you. When he’s behind you also watching what you’re watching, you look back at him with a wobbly smile and happy tears in your eyes, catching him smile in awe and pride because now he doesn’t have to worry about his son getting bullied the same way he was because he didn’t have a dragon.

——

*LATER*

It’s never hard being quiet when you’re sneaking through the secret tunnels. You always make sure to take your shoes off so the heels don’t reveal your presence, while any jewelry that dangles and makes noise is tucked away. That’s easy to control, but natural occurrences like coughing or sneezing are always an aspect that terrifies you.

You'd be caught right away and there would be no excuse that could save you from any consequences.

It’s not to say you feel any urge to cough or sneeze, but it crosses your mind as you approach the window and listen to the council meeting.

“Fuck you,” is the first thing you hear Aegon spat. Graceful. “I told you we should’ve sent our dragons. And now look what’s happened. Daemon, of all people, has taken Harrenhal.”

Does he mean that in a good or bad way? Because if it’s bad then maybe he needs to really reveulate his uncle's capabilities. Not to toot Daemon's horn, but he did win the battle at the Stepstones, he knows more about war than Aegon does. It should not be surprising that Daemon took Harrenhal. He should be surprised that he has no army to defend his stance there.

“I give you a job, and now you just sit there,” Aegon’s voice rises with his frustration. “It's your fucking castle!”

“Well, that castle is more crippled than I am, Your Grace,” you hear Lord Larys defend himself, making Aegon scoff— “It’s like to drive Daemon to madness as he attempts to make use of it. It is beyond his faculties. It’s also penniless,” he adds to try and reassure Aegon. “As I happily control all of its gold. So, as Harrenhal saps Daemon’s resolve, the false Queen remains trapped on her Island and Ser Criston continues felling castles in the Crownlands.”

“Wh—” Aegon stammers whilst you hear his feet stomp about the room. “I need to be informed of these things if I’m to make informed rulings. I will not be made to look a fool in front of my allies and enemies.”

“Harrenhal must wait,” Aemond interjects, causing a breath to escape past your lips. “Ser Criston is marching on Rook’s Rest.”

So he’s finally telling them.

“Rook’s Rest—a pathetic prize,” Aegon stammers. “I gave no such command—”

“The castle is small,” Aemond cuts Aegon off as you hear a chair creak before you recognize your husband's footsteps strike the floor. “Weakly defended and Lord Staunton sits on Rhaenyra’s council. After Cole smashes it, we’ll have Dragonstone effectively cut off by land. This war will not be won with dragons alone but with dragons flying behind armies of men.”

And that is why Aemond and Ser Criston have been secretly planning because Aemond is obviously the most strategic. Sure, his plans don’t favor your family, but you can still be proud that you married someone smart right?

“No! Have him turn about,” Aegon wastes his breath. “I want Harrenhal back.”

Aemond’s footsteps once again hit the ground and you imagine he’s returning to his seat while he responds. “Cole is already preparing his attack.”

Which is why after Aemond leaves you have to send word to your mother.

“Uh, how-how do you know this?” Aegon demands to know in a more perplexed way than upset.

“He sent word to me,” Aemond reveals half the truth as you hear him sit back down.

“To you?” Aegon asks, and you can’t help but detect a bit of hurt. “The two of you have been…plotting…without my authority?”

A second of silence passes before you hear Aemond fill the hall in Valyrian. “<You had more pressing matters to attend to. Such as holding court, choosing your sobriquet, and naming imbecilic lickspittles to our Kingsguard.>”

You can’t help but smirk at Aemond’s counter, knowing damn well that Aegon is only understanding part of that.

“Mm,” Aemond hums before he goes on as if trying to make Aegon look a fool. “<Do you have a wiser strategy, my King?>”

Oh, that rolls off his tongue so smoothly that it makes you tingle.

<If so, you should voice it to your council. We all wait your answer,>” Aemond finishes saying, making that smirk on your own face deepen, while a pride grows within you and grows exponentially as Aegon takes a moment to answer.

“<I can have to…” he responds in High Valyrian hesitantly. “Make a…war?>”

You cover your mouth to stifle your laugh.

Please! His own daughter probably knows more Valyrian than he does!

What a joke.

“Mm,” Aemond hums back, causing people around the table to clear their throats in response to Aegon’s failed attempt.

“Harrenhal is a useful morass,” Aemond continues in the common tongue. “It will keep Daemon well-occupied while we strengthen our host and weaken Rhaenyra’s support on the mainland. We will deal with it in the Riverlands in time. But right now. Rook’s Rest is an easy target and a worthy effort. Don't you agree, my King?”

You lean your ear towards the window and wait for him to agree. What else can he say? He had no other plan up his sleeve that could actually rebuttal Aemond’s plan, so all he can do is agree to that plan, and Aemond’s plan to go with Vhagar too.

Maybe this will teach him to be more strategic so he doesn’t get made a fool again, which is a bit pitiful, you do admit. If he were anyone else you would feel bad that his brother keeps upstaging him and planning behind his back, but he’s Aegon. You don’t feel pity or remorse, especially not after the way he treated Aemond not long ago in that brothel. Just like your husband, you relish in his torment.

If only you could witness more, yet Aemond is left satisfied and you depart from the shadows to return to your chambers before the meeting is done and Aemond accidentally discovers you.

And leaving at the time you did ends up being a lucky choice because the moment you sit down with your book, and pretend that's what you were doing, Aemond walks in.

“My love,” he greets and marches over to grab his sword right away before he finds his way to you on the ground keeping Aerion company.

“How was it?” You pretend to be clueless.

“As you would expect,” Aemond shares and crouches down to give Aerion some attention as the boy spends time on his tummy. “Aegon is fruitless when it comes to war, he’s bloodthirsty, thinking boldness is the better option. He’ll have all our dragons killed if we act out his plans.”

You close the book and tilt your head up to look at him. “Which is why it’s a good thing you sit at his table. How did he take the news?”

Aemond scoffs and a sly smirk plays on his lips. “What do you think?”

You sigh and guess. “Whiny and offended.”

Aemond nods before he snickers. “He tried speaking Valyrian, but he butchered it. He couldn’t even form a sentence.”

You laugh softly, but not as much as you would want knowing the actual context. Then again not like it matters because your amusement is quickly killed because you know you can’t escape the inevitable.

“Will you stay for dinner at least?” You try to make him linger behind.

Aemond lifts his eye off Aerion and catches the gloss in your eye that accompanies your speechless pleas, so he looks back at his son and gives you his answer. “I have indulged in my pleasures today. Rhaenyra might have already heard about our approach and may attack soon, I cannot risk leaving Cole defenseless.”

Your eyes flicker down and you sigh deeply with worry, pulling Aemond to his feet, and attaining his gaze that attracts you to look up and meet his gaze before you listen to your impulse and follow him up.

“I will return,” he reassures the worry creasing a frown on your features. “Sooner than you think.”

You close the empty space left between you and gently place your hands on his chest before you slowly trail them up his shoulders and bring them to a stop on his jaw, noting his armorless body left vulnerable to any deadly attack.

“I wish you would armor,” you express your concern.

Aemond’s gaze hardens and he grabs your elbow to remark. “Do you doubt me? Why is it that you never seem to trust my capabilities? I am met with doubt every time.”

Your eyebrows pinch together and your eyes harden as you’re confused by this outburst, but just as you want to argue, your anger fades when you realize that he doesn’t really understand where your doubt is coming from. So you sigh softly and look at him with a softening gaze that fills with admiration, and brings a teasing smile to your face.

“No matter how many times I tell you, you still don’t understand,” you quip and bring your hand down to smack his shoulder. “You may be smart with war plans, but there is something you do not seem to understand.” You scoff and your smile widens as your eyes perk up with bliss. “I do not doubt your skill Aemond, not on dragonback and not with a sword, I worry. It’s concern that I share because I love you.”

Aemond holds your gaze for a moment before he looks down as he loses that hardened demeanor brought by self-defense, and instead grows flustered.

“I do not wish to have your corpse returned to me,” you continue softly and try to find his eyes. “Vhagar may be the biggest dragon, she may have more battle experience than any other dragon, but she nor you are invincible. It takes one arrow, Aemond, raging fire, or a lucky bite from the other dragon's jaw and I am left a widow. Do you understand that?” You push your love into his heart, making him express nothing but love and awe in return as he finally lets you find his gaze.

“I just would feel more comforted if I knew something protected your face and your body. That’s all.” You say and slide your hand up to cup his cheek.

This time Aemond moves his hand up to meet yours so you can keep it pressed against his cheek and he can take in all the comfort you offer, while also making sure to stroke your knuckles with his thumb.

“I will be careful,” he assures you. “I won’t fall today. Nor tomorrow for that matter.”

You scoff in amusement and pull his face closer to you. “I need you to come back,” you express what torments your heart. “To me. I…can’t do this without you.”

Aemond’s breath catches and after a second he drags his hand up your arm while also raising the other one to grab your face with both and reassure you sweetly. “I will be well protected with Vhagar, I will return. I will be okay and I do not need armor to assure me of that. I will come back.”

Your breath trembles and you nod softly before you lean in and share your love with a deep kiss you linger in to keep him with you a bit longer, while also hoping that a deep kiss will convince him to stay. Yet he begins to part away.

But before your lips can be greeted with a cold abandonment he takes you in for a second kiss that’s shorter, but surpasses the passion that already fueled your first kiss.

Unfortunately, there’s no third indulgence, you do stay close and press your forehead against his to linger in each other's presence for a moment longer. Not letting anything penetrate this moment in time where all that exists is each other, your intertwined hearts, and your interconnected souls.

“I love you,” you break the silence after a while and caress his cheeks.

Aemond presses a kiss on the heel of your hand and whispers back. “I love you too. Come see me off?”

You scoff at the ridiculousness of his question. “Of course.”

After getting the last things he needs, and after bidding goodbye to Aerion, you walk with him all the way to the last gate, but no further because he doesn’t want you returning to the Red Keep alone.

“Astraea is allowed to roam the skies as freely as she wants while Vhagar and I are gone,” Aemond lets you know and unknowingly connects the missing link you had to help your mother. “If you mount her, don't approach the blockade or do anything reckless.”

“Reckless?” You feign innocence and touch your chest. “Me? Never.”

His lips tug to a smile before he goes serious and presses that. “I am being serious.”

You offer him an assuring nod and whisper. “I know. I will stay out of trouble.”

He hums and before he can leave, you reach for your neck to take off your necklace that holds the sigil of both of your houses, Velaryon and Targaryen. “I do want this back, it’s my favorite,” you say and grab his hand to give him your pendant. “For luck.”

“Your favor?” He teases with a smug smile.

You hum timidly and watch him snatch your hand before all he has is your haunting touches, and slowly brings it up to his thin pink lips to press a gentle kiss on your knuckles, causing your heart to skip a beat and a giggle to escape past your lips.

“Everything will be fine,” he adds in his soft voice that works like a trance. It keeps you under its spell now, but you know later it will wear off and your concern will drown you again.

“<Be careful,>” you tell him one more time, but this time you pass him a confident look also oozing with pride.

Aemond steals one more touch from your warm cheeks before leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours to steal one last sweet moment before he steps back and stands tall to show off the intimidating persona he’s built over the years, but never scares you. You see his confidence and his determination, but he does not intimidate you.

“<Goodbye, my love.>” He bids.

You offer him a last smile and whisper back so only he can hear. “Goodbye.”

You wave at him and linger where he left you behind to watch him get further and further away until not even his long shiny silver-white hair is visible. Now when you're sure that he won’t walk back for something he forgot you turn to head back inside, but the moment you do face the Redkeep, you catch Aegon looking out one of the windows of a high tower.

His eyes are unmistakably on you, letting you know he saw your last goodbye with his brother.

Was it with envy? Annoyance? Anger?

You don’t know, you can’t see the expression that paints his features from where you stand. Besides, when your eyes meet he turns away and abandons the window, letting you head inside.

At first, you walk at a normal pace, but when you’re inside you hurry back to your room to write that warning to your mother in High Valyrian so there’s less of a risk of someone unwanted reading your note. Which is unlikely because Astraea will carry your letter, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry.

“<Ser Criston Cole is preparing his attack on Rook’s Rest. Vhagar and Aemond will be there too in hopes of catching one of your dragons by surprise, which means he will be leaving the city defenseless for today and tomorrow. I will write more soon.>

You don’t sign your name, nor do you address it to anyone out of caution. You keep the letter short even if you wish to write more. And before anyone can interrupt you, you rush off using the tunnels so no one can stop you, or see you and report your comings and goings to anyone who shouldn’t know.

Once you make it out to the cove behind the castle, your dragon is already waiting for you.

“<Good girl,>” you praise her and caress her snout. “<Now go to Dragonstone and deliver this message. Be careful.>”

Astraea brings her head down to let you attach the note to one of her long horns.

“<Now go,>”, you tell her and press your forehead against her before you step away and watch her fly off to Dragonstone, wishing that there wasn’t a raging war happening so you could go too without worry or fear.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“The powerful are powerless to someone aren’t they?” Helaena comments and leaves you pondering about the actual significance behind such a simple comment.

“Yes,” you muse and prop your elbows on the stone railing to rest your chin on your hands and admire the crimson blood that stands out like shining rubies on Astraea’s purple feet as her large claws puncture her prey while she drags their lifeless silver body with her.

You like to think that your family got your message, you went to see Astraea a few hours after she returned yesterday and neither the letter nor the ribbon was attached to her horn anymore. Do they have to send anything in return? No, but maybe they could send back a different colored ribbon or something small like a shell in your satchels hanging on her saddle. You looked and looked but it was all empty, so you were left hoping the letter did not fall in the water when she flew there.

You’ll have to let them know to send you some discreet message in return next time to let you know that they got your letter.

“Even the King's answer to someone…” you add to your forming thought. “They may be powerful, but that power can easily be taken by anyone really. They just need the right motivation.”

Helaena hums and her eyes then slide to watch you watching your dragon.

“How are you feeling Helaena?” You ask and turn your attention to her. “I haven’t asked today.”

“About?” She probes.

You push yourself up and carefully bring up what worries you about her. “Your boy. This war. You being Queen.”

Her chest raises high and when it goes back down she looks out at the horizon. “Well…being Queen comes with more attention, I can feel them all looking at me, waiting for me to do something. But I don’t want to. I don’t want them looking at me.”

“Hold your head up high,” you try to advise her sweetly. “Paint on a facade and they won’t really see you. Just worry about caring for your daughter, that’s all that matters.”

Helaena blinks and her eyes fall. You study her face closely to watch for any change in emotions, but she’s harder to read than her brothers, so you wait for her to give you her response.

“Alright.”

You offer her a kind smile and look back at the horizon past the window, coming out surprised when she continues to share what troubles her soul.

“And Jaehaerys,” she pauses and your eyes return to her. “My sadness isn’t as grand anymore. I miss him, but he’s not suffering anymore.”

You swallow back and can’t help but frown with pity and sorrow that you don’t hide so she knows it’s okay to be sad, that if she wants you can be sad with her.

Yet she puts on a brave face so all you can offer her is a faint smile.

“Daeron sent me a letter,” she shares with glee. “And he sent me a butterfly with it. It was dead of course, but I added it to my collection because I did not have it yet.”

“That’s nice of him. I would like to see it after we see the maester that is.”

She nods. “Of course.”

Silence follows but she doesn’t let it last. “Are you scared?” She asks back which is a general question, but you answer with what plagues you the most.

“Yes…I have a lot to lose,” you murmur and step back, making her wait for you to start walking forward to be able to follow at your side.

“But I know I must put my trust in them,” you add and fiddle with a starfish that decorates the golden chain around your waist. “They are strong in their way. I just…don’t want to lose anyone anymore. I don’t want to…end up alone.” Your voice breaks without warning.

“But,” Helaena’s parting lips echo down the lonely hall. “You won’t end alone.”

The corner of your lips form a quick smile and you can’t help but show it off to her. “I will have you that’s true—”

“No,” she cuts you off, and her eyebrows furrow as she seems to grow impatient. “But you won’t end up alone.”

Your smile disappears, and your anguish leaves with it, letting conflict push your eyebrows together, and part your lips as a small gasp leaves your mouth.

Helaena watches you and she can’t seem to get a hint of what you’re feeling, but her impatience to be heard gets lost.

“No?” You ask for reassurance even if a part of you warns you not to believe her simply out of self-protection, while the other part of you completely trusts what she just said.

“You,” she pauses and comes to a slow stop, making you stop, and bringing Ser Jason and her guards to a stop behind you. “You believe me?” She asks softly as she doesn’t see that same pitiful smile everyone offers her when she shares something ominous she needs them to understand.

“I believe you,” you throw all your trust in her and offer her a sweet smile.

Helaena’s gaze lingers on you as her thoughts swirl behind her eyes. “Okay,” she breathes out. “Thank you.”

You hum softly and continue down your path back to your chambers. “Why shouldn’t I? We are part of a special family, my favorite ancestor is Daenys the Dreamer, she’s the one who saved our house thanks to what she dreamt. And even still we follow the rule of men when it’s women who have saved us from doom.” You grumble and roll your eyes.

“Well, men—”

“No,” you cut her off and scold her. “Don't well men me. Women are just as capable as men. In ruling and combat if given the chance. And we are not afraid of blood…well some of us at least, because we bleed all the time. Do you see what I’m trying to get at?”

She shrugs lazily. “I suppose.”

You loll your head to the other side and click your tongue in disappointment.

“Anyway,” you drag out and clasp your hands together. “Sunfyre and Astraea were nuzzled against each other yesterday when I went to take her out. Isn’t that so cute?” You change the subject to a more lighthearted matter that doesn’t really catch her attention, but she still shares a comment nonetheless.

“I’m sure Astraea is happy to be out.”

You smile and nod. “Delighted. She has been spoiled beyond belief with her freedom, which makes it hard for both her and me when it comes to putting her in chains here.”

“I’m sure she knows it’s not because of ill intent,” she tries to comfort you.

You huff. “Yes, she knows that. She just…prefers her freedom.”

Before you know it you reach your chambers and Maester Orwyle is already inside preparing what he needs for your examination.

“Your Grace,” he greets Helaena first before he greets you. “Princess.”

You offer him a faint smile and a warm greeting. “Hello Maester, I hope you haven’t been waiting long. We were taking a stroll after breaking fast.”

He shakes his head and responds. “No, I got here a moment ago myself. Now will you tell me what you have been feeling so I can conclude to the right results.”

You sigh and watch Helaena take a seat on one of your couches before you let your eyes wander ahead as you tap into your memories. “Well, it has been a month since I last bled. I…started feeling more exhausted than usual a couple of weeks after the war started. I have been craving foods more than usual, and…well I have had more frequent headaches as well as stomach aches.”

The maester hums and he studies you before his gaze goes to Vanessa. “How has she eaten?”

Oh because he couldn’t ask you?!

“Not well, but it also varies, some days she tends to eat like normal, while on other days she hardly touches her food,” she happily obliges with sharing…well a lot of what you would have not shared.

“Ok, Princess, if I may ask you to change into a lighter gown so I can do your examination.” He orders while you pass Vanessa an annoyed glare she doesn’t fret to brush off as she pushes you behind a divider to help you undress.

“You did not have to share all of it. I eat,” you whisper sharply, and she turns you around harshly to untie the corset, while you pull the halter strap over your head.

“Define what eating is to you,” she rebuttals and you try to sass her.

“Eating is when you—”

“Prince Aemond would have my head if I did not reveal the truth to the maester. He already pressed me to feed you more,” she cuts you off and shares what you didn’t know.

“He shouldn’t have,” you mutter as you purse your lips together.

Vanessa sighs. “He's just worried…in his own way, that's all. And why shouldn’t he be? You haven’t told him.”

A perplexed look flickers on your face before all that paints your face is anguish. “I just…need to be sure first. I mean I need to hear it from a maester.”

“I understand,” her voice eases off the frustration. “Ok, it’s done.”

You let the gown fall to your feet before you step away from it and slip on a lighter gown to rejoin the maester out in your room.

“It does seem that you have lost weight,” The maester points out now that he takes a second look at you in a less busy gown. “But that may be grief as well. I’m certain it has not been easy.”

You scoff and gently shake your head as you make yourself to your bed, and he follows suit with gadgets that he uses inside you…

“Okay just try and hold still. We have done this before so you remember the procedure, right?”

You gulp and offer him a breathless response that gives him the okay to proceed and examine you carefully so as to not miss something, or diagnose you with the opposite of what you may have.

Like he said you have gone through this before, but it still is quite uncomfortable. You get lost on the ceiling above you and wait for him to stop before you move so he can press your belly with his fingers, and also feel your breasts to check if they are tender.

Once his quiet examination is done he steps back from your bed and stands formally before he finally addresses your anticipation. “Congratulations Princess, you are indeed with child.”

It’s meant to be a happy moment, but you’re tormented by anguish as the truth is finally proven and you can no longer hope that it's all some silly mind game played by all your troubled emotions.

Now…the possibility of your passionate night with Cregan resulting in a joyous bundle is more real. Then again you hide behind the hope that one night did not lead to a child. You convince yourself that Aemond is the father because it is true, your fear is just wicked and playing with you.

“Twins?” You ask and he blinks with surprise before he nods hesitantly as if surprised that you know what isn’t meant to be obvious yet.

“Yes…there are two babes. Two different placentas.”

“I told you,” Helaena blurts over the couch before she returns her attention to the books you have spread all over the couches since Aemond has his map on the small table.

“But,” he adds and your heart drops. “I would like to keep a closer eye on you. It seems one babe is smaller than the other.”

You drag yourself to the edge of the bed and press him for more. “Wh-what does that mean? Will they be okay?”

Maester Orwyle lets out a deep breath before he makes your heart hurt with his honesty. “I cannot say for certain, that’s why it’s important for you to eat princess. If you are not healthy and strong the babes will not be. This time you will have to eat for three which will take that much more energy.”

“I understand,” you whisper your comprehension.

“Like I said I will come and check on you more often. I want to make sure that the babes are growing as they should.”

You nod and he bows his head before he offers you one more congratulations and then turns to talk to Vanessa about teas and different foods that you should and shouldn’t eat. And before he left he did not forget to tell you to share your news with Aemond, as if he didn’t already plan to do it himself because apparently you are incapable of controlling your own life.

Regardless, now you know. Now there’s no use hoping you’re simply overthinking and that Helaena’s head is too lost in the clouds, she was right, and you are with child. You are going to have twins with Aemond.

Okay…maybe that prospect does excite you more than you thought. You might have your own Daenys soon, and maybe another girl or more boys!

Whatever they may turn out to be your worry turns to overwhelming bliss you can hardly contain. If only Aemond was here to tell him, but he’s too far and you would be too reckless to fly to him just to share the news.

You have half the mind to go, but that would be oh-so stupid. You’ll have to wait and maybe think of baby names?

Or embroider a nice cover? You are terrible at sewing, but you have the urge to.

Maybe you’ll sing to them and Aerion! You would sing to Aerion when he was in your belly all the time and he would kick like crazy when he got older because of it.

So yes! That’s what you’ll do! They may be too small now to hear, but you need to do something that will release your excitement. Besides you can take advantage and learn more of the songs and ballads that are in the book Aemond gave you.

They’re all so beautiful and full of rich stories. And as sad as some are, knowing that these songs were sung by people in Valyria does delight you as well as make you feel honored that you now get to know them, sing them, and cherish them. It makes it easy to get lost in the songs and have the day pass. Before you know it, noon has already crept in.

The sun is still high so the entire day didn’t pass under you. The only reason you do break your attention from your book is because a persistent knock raps on the door.

Is it Aemond?!

You beam at the possibility.

“Come!” You welcome the visitor as you throw the book on the couch and stand up to spin and face the door.

Nevertheless, who comes in isn’t your tall long-haired husband, it’s his brother, Aegon.

“Your Grace,” you mumble in confusion and look him up and down as you note that he looks smaller than usual in such historic armor that Aegon the Conqueror once wore.

“Niece,” he greets and flashes you a smile before he closes the door behind his guards.

“Aemond is not here,” you state the obvious even if the hairs on the back of your neck rise as they warn you that he’s not looking for your husband.

His heavy footsteps thud as he begins to make his way toward you with a mischievous glint in his eyes that deepens that smirk on his face.

“Yes, I know of my brother's comings and goings.” He says, causing fear to strike your heart. “But I am not here for him.”

You glance at his Kingsguard for help, but you should have known better, they look away, and at that very moment they let you know that you’re alone and defenseless against whatever antics creep into Aegon’s mind.

“Then why are you here? In armor.”

He shrugs. “I am going to battle. Obviously,” he chuckles and his smirk turns to a grin.

You see that he’s past the couches so you continue to back away until you’re behind a couch. “That seems rather reckless. You are King—”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he spats and his grin falls back to a smirk that keeps that mischievous outward.

“Why are you here Aegon?” You ask again and he keeps making his way toward you, not caring that you’re obviously trying to keep your distance.

He huffs. “I’m here for your favor,” he finally reveals and you swallow thickly and run into a chair.

“I already gave it to Aemond,” you try to keep Aegon away. “And you have a wife. Ask for her favor.”

He lets out a sigh. “It's not the Queen's favor I desire,” he quickly brushes you off and hops over the living area to hurry over and trap you against the chair so you cannot keep running away.

“It’s yours,” he whispers and leans his face closer to you, letting his strong wine breath whaff all over you which causes you to try and slide away, but he throws his hand out to grab the chair and block your exit.

“Aemond—”

“Is not here,” he cuts you off again and uses his other hand to start reaching out for your arm, but you grab your golden waist belt to avoid his incoming touch.

“Aegon,” you hiss. “Leave.”

“After a kiss goodbye hm?”

You shake your head and rebuttals by throwing his hand around your arm, but he doesn't pull you anywhere, he just grabs your arm and makes you feel utterly powerless. You hold so much battle knowledge, you know how to make someone unhand you, you can sweep someone off their feet, and so much more, but at this very moment with his hand on your arm and his wine breath unfurling over your cheek, you can’t move a muscle.

“Aegon,” you try to call him off you again, but his hold loosens and the tip of his fingers travel to your hips.

“Stop,” you mutter with a quivering lip. “Please,” your voice trembles.

He spares you a glance before he tilts his face to the side to force you to kiss his cheek first.

You don’t want to, you want to push him away, to scream, but he won’t move and you can’t find the strength; it hides like a coward under Aegon’s presence. Thus you’re left with no choice, you pucker your lips and lean your face forward to press a light kiss on his cheek so it can make him leave faster, feeling disgust swirling what little you have in your stomach.

When you pull back you expect him to back away and leave you alone, but his hand presses against your hip and you feel the warmth of his hand start to travel up.

“Aegon stop it,” you sneer shakily.

Said man’s hungry eyes start to lower to steal a glance at your chest exposed by the v-neck your bodice was designed with.

“Aegon,” you call out desperately, making him find your gaze and smile.

“Wish me good luck,” he says in return.

You swallow back nervously and part your lips, but before you can utter a word the doors get thrown open, pulling your eyes to the welcoming visitor, and seeing Ser Jason with his sword halfway out of his sheath, and his face hardened.

“Ser,” you call out with relief.

Aegon looks over his shoulder and his smile dies.

“Your Grace,” Ser Jason greets coldly without letting his sword go but making Aegon’s kingsguard grab their own swords to prepare for an attack.

“Just in need of my niece's favor,” Aegon is quick to throw out an excuse. “Ser.”

Aegon proceeds to snap his head back around to steal one more glimpse at you before he slides his hand off your body, letting you finally breathe when he backs away and gives you his back.

Even then, though, as he's leaving he makes sure to take his sweet time more so to taunt you that he has power over you now.

“Ser,” Aegon directs at Ser Jason with a taunting smirk that he makes sure is the last thing you see before he disappears down the corridor, knocking out any sort of confidence you could show off to Ser Jason as he remains there past your doors.

“Th-thank you,” you clear your throat and fight the urge to cry as you’re left defeated and feeling powerless. “Ser. For coming to my aid.”

Ser Jason finally lets his sword fall back in his sheath and his blue eyes soften to pity as he watches you fight back your tears.

He wants to ask if you’re okay, but he also knows that would be a stupid question considering he can see you shaking, and hears you heaving.

“Princess,” he whispers and you pull your eyes up to give him your attention through a teary gaze.

“I’m—I’m okay, Ser” you stammer and nod even if you feel violated.

Ser Jason whispers his comprehension, but rather than walking out and standing guard outside your doors, he steps further inside and comes to a stop shortly after to watch you with a certain conflict battling in his deep blue eyes, a conflict that you pick up on before you turn away and clutch onto the chair to try and calm yourself down after something you feared the most happened.

You tried so hard, but you were utterly useless. You couldn’t move a muscle, or find the right thing to say back. You were nothing at that moment but something else he can now order around.

You feel so stupid, so weak, and—

“Princess,” Ser Jason calls out and now you hear that he’s closer than before.

“Ser,” you breathe out and turn around, seeing at that moment that your eyes fall on him, that his eyes express his pity while also trying to offer you the comfort you need the most.

“You…you are not alone,” he says and you can’t help it, you break down and all you want is your mother or Cregan…

He was always there when you felt the most anguished without a fault.

But he can’t be here, nor can you go to your mother. And even Aemond is gone to feed his hunger for battle, leaving only your sworn protector.

“Okay,” you whisper with relief and he slowly starts moving toward you with his hand slowly rising off his side in an attempt to offer you a comforting touch.

Albeit before he can even get near, your eyes find Lord Larys limping toward your open doors, causing you to drop your head to hide your tears.

Not like it was a fruitful act, the Lord takes note of your anguish.

“Lord Larys,” you address his presence, making Ser Jason almost throw himself back as he backs away from you so the Lord doesn’t get the wrong idea.

“Princess,” the lord greets in return. “Forgive my intrusion. I was coming to pay you a visit and I came across an open door.”

You shake your head to dismiss his apology. “Do not worry about it, Lord. You are welcome.”

You glance up at him and catch an exchange of looks between Lord Larys and Ser Jason before your sworn protector walks out of the room in a hurry, leaving Lord Larys and you alone in the confinements of your chambers.

“Please take a seat,” you point to your table. “I would offer a seat in front of the fire, but I’m ashamed to say Aemond and I have a mess.”

Lord Larys shakes his head. “It’s quite alright,” he reassures you and limps toward the table to take a seat on a wooden chair.

You turn to walk towards the flagon of water and wine so he won’t see the tears that leave your eyes red.

“Water? Wine?” You offer as you wipe your cheeks and draw in a deep breath.

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

You nod in comprehension and serve yourself some water before you turn and face the Lord in hopes he will reveal what brought him here.

“I hope you have found yourself well, a gaze stuck between two sides must be heavy on the heart,” he says.

You bring your gaze down to watch the water within the golden goblet. “I find myself quite well,” you lie with a smile you direct at the Lord. “It was difficult at first, but now…my conflict has been resolved, and the only weight I carry is the worry for my husband and son's safety.”

He hums and you notice him dig his hand in his pocket as he interjects. “As you should be, with Prince Daemon on a path of revenge, who knows what else he might do.”

Your gaze narrows to a glare for a brief second before you take a small sip and take a seat across from him.

“I have been meaning to thank you for telling me about Prince Aemond’s whereabouts when I was gone,” you address the matter and set your cup down, but keep your fingers around the neck of the goblet. “Telling the truth really helped us reconcile.”

The Lord brings a fisted hand up to hang over his cane while he offers you a faint smile. “I’m gladdened. It’s important that the realm sees the picture of unity among the royal family. Now more than ever.”

You scoff. “They need food. Not a glimpse at our marriage, they could care less about us whilst they’re starving,” you rebuttal bitterly and take a glance out the balcony.

“That’s easier said than done with the blockade cutting off any transport of food,” he adds, making you return your gaze to him.

“If only there could be something done about it,” you mumble bitterly and leave out the fact that the crown could spare food, or send a dragon to break that blockade.

“Maybe you can,” he suggests, piquing your interest. “You have Prince Aemond’s ear, and he has a seat upon the council. You could ask him to give an idea to the council.”

You tap the neck of the goblet as you think about what he just said. Which is honestly not a bad idea, but would they even agree to offer any help?

Doubtful.

You could bring it up nonetheless. Maybe.

“That is a great idea, I might do exactly that,” you don’t hesitate to give Lord Larys his props.

Lord Larys bows his head to offer you his thanks before he moves his fisted hand and pushes it over the table. “I did come to give you this…back.”

You slowly sit up straighter and press your hands on the table as you watch him put down a small brown wooden box on the table.

“It seems you lost it recently,” he pauses and pushes the box toward you with the tip of his finger, causing curiosity to tug the corner of your lips to a faint smile.

“…in the North.” He finishes and your hand freezes just as you’re reaching for the box.

At first, you were completely in the dark about what he was reeling up to, but now that he pulls the truth out of the murky waters, you start to realize what the box might hold, and the insinuation he might have as bait.

And alas, when you grab the box and bring it toward you to open it, you see exactly what you suspected; the sapphire ring you had lost in Castle Black. The ring Aemond had gifted you when you first returned from the North. The ring you dropped as you were kissing Cregan.

“It was brought to me from Winterfell,” Lord Larys adds with a certain change in his tone of voice. “It seems someone found it in the bed chambers of the Warden of the North.”

So the ring was given back to Cregan. That’s…nice.

“Any idea why the Lord would have such a meaningful ring in his chambers?” Lord Larys presses, and you start to hear it, the insinuation he does not directly say.

“I had lost it,” you try not to express your horror and close the box to hold Lord Larys' gaze without fear. “He obviously found it. Are you suggesting Lord Stark stole from me?”

Lord Larys scoffs in amusement and shakes his head. “No, I could not see Lord Stark doing something so below him. Albeit it seems his honor does dwindle when it comes to a much more valuable Gem of the Sea.”

The nonchalance you wore falls, but you don’t break. You are not stupid either, you know who Lord Larys is referencing when he brings “Gem of the Sea.”, but you do not let him bait you, nor do you find yourself powerless like when Aegon was here moments ago. What is Lord Larys?

He’s no King. No Warden, no knight, he only holds the title of Lord because his family has not tried to fight him for the title and lands, and the other part of his family is dead. He’s not fearsome, he’s a man with a club foot.

You will not cower behind a shadow that cannot even overshadow yours.

“Lord Larys,” you feign a laugh and open the box to pull the ring out. “Answer me this…do you take me for a fool?”

Lord Larys sputters and ends up saying nothing after he did not expect you to rebuttal as fearless as you did.

“I know what you are insinuating,” you continue and slide the sapphire ring back on your ring finger. “And it really is a nasty thing,” you roll out and snap your eyes up to look at the disbelief he’s trying to wipe off.

“But just so we are on the same page, tell me what exactly you are referring to,” you lull out and bat your eyelashes while a large winged shadow suddenly flies past the windows before a chitter breaks in the sky, and a growl soon follows.

He nor you need to look out to know it’s your dragon, it’s why he swallows back nervously and parts his lips, but you interrupt him because you know a bunch of shit was going to come out of his mouth.

“That’s what I thought,” you mutter with your voice losing that sweet honey and growing intimidating. “Did you know that rats are easy to kill here? Be that with traps, poison, or corner them where they nest and burn them.”

A loud roar rattles the room and a smirk begins to grow on your face, making Lord Larys clutch onto his cane and lean back against the chair.

“Come at me with that shit again, or threats and some bait to try and control me,” you spat. “And I will not need someone to get their hands dirty for me, my Lord. I enjoy chasing and catching my own prey.” You giggle. “It’s exhilarating. And I bet seeing how fast you run will be quite amusing.”

You stand up from your chair and point to the door. “There’s the door my Lord. It was,” you pause and drag out a deep breath before you finish. “Refreshing speaking with you. Come again.”

Lord Larys gets up from his chair and bows his head before he mutters his goodbye. “Princess.”

You raise your nose in the air as you watch him leave between your lashes.

“Oh,” you add as he’s making his way out. “And if I hear that wicked rumor spread about, I know who to look for, so don’t worry trying to hide, my Astraea is a great tracker.”

Lord Larys doesn’t add anything in return, he walks out in defeat. It’s only once the doors close behind him, and you’re enveloped in silence that you let out a deep and exhausted breath.

Having Jacaerys and a stranger find out is completely different, your brother wouldn’t out you to anyone, or spread your secret like a plague, but a stranger would so you had to show your teeth. You had to be threatening, which is new! It’s such a new feeling, but…it’s such a rush seeing people squirm in fear under you!

You can’t say you dislike having that power or any power at all for that matter. You can’t say you dislike showing it either, you want to relish in it. You want to bear it proudly.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“And…” you trail off and lower the wooden bow your hands embrace to watch the sharp metal arrow puncture the bullseye. “That’s how you do it.”

You spin on your heels and stretch your arms out like a dragon spreads its wings.

“Eagle eye,” Ser Jason mocks, and you chuckle and jump up to go and collect another arrow from your satchel.

“I mean that—” Ser Jason begins to stumble over his words as he realizes he was perhaps too bold, so you cut him off.

“Hush, it’s okay. And! Actually, my friend Lady Arra Norrey, Lord Stark’s wife, used to call me that because well…at first I was not a good shot.” You muse with a growing smile. “Do you mean it mockingly, Ser?” You shoot him a pointed look that makes him squirm and ends up making you grin. “I’m messing with you Ser.”

He scoffs and lets the tension fall from his shoulders.

“Now watch this,” you keep his attention on you as you turn on your heels and position your arrow before you break into a jog and bring your aim up.

Yet just before you can shoot your arrow, in the flash of a second, you swiftly spin on your heels and hastily aim at the third dragon head on an ugly green banner, before you let the arrow fly.

The arrow whizzes through the air rapidly, and the sharp arrowhead rips through the third dragon right in the beady eye.

“Fantastic!” Ser Jason praises you as he claps for your wickedly good shot.

You bow again as you laugh with glee.

“Lucky shot, but my ego will grow nonetheless,” you tease as you walk over to grab another arrow.

Albeit just as you take the arrow and turn to walk to your spot a guard walks over and clears his throat to let you know he means to talk to you. “Princess, Vhagar is approaching the city.”

A smile breaks on your face and you let the arrow and bow go to pick up your skirts and run through barriers of space thinking of no one else but Aemond, the cure to your solitude, and the warmth that left you in the cold.

Ser Jason is quick to follow after you in a hurry to make sure nothing happens to you whilst you run from courtyard to courtyard and swerve busybodies. When you reach the last gate that leads to the city you come to a stop and he doesn’t fail to come to a stop a few paces behind, making sure he never lets you out of his sight as you wait for your husband to appear down the cobble street, and slightly worrying of what he will do if your beloved husband doesn’t return alive.

It’s an outrageous thought, but he plans ahead just in case. Plus he can’t help but plan ahead. It’s how his mind works.

Nevertheless, his relentless planning is for naught because from one moment to another your fidgeting hands relax, the corner of your lips slowly rise, and your searching eyes lock on him, your husband, your Aemond.

From afar he seems unharmed, but that’s something you still need to make sure of before you truly thank the gods for his return.

Yet checking for his well-being is not what pushes you away from your spot, when his eye finds you just outside the gate your breath catches as you’re riddled with relief over the fact that he’s walking to you on his own two feet and not lifeless on a carriage.

All while Aemond himself comes to a stop, not because he’s overcome with relief that you’re alive, he never feared for your death whilst you stayed in the Red Keep. He freezes and is riddled with disbelief because no matter what, he did not expect you to be waiting for him past the gates of the Red Keep. He expected to find you in your chambers even if he knows how much your excitement can drive you.

And he's not thinking that catching you outside the Red Keep gates bothers him, his heart skips a beat as he realizes that you’re not some fever dream, you’re there, beaming at him before you break into a sprint to rip through barriers of space just to join together in a clashing embrace.

“Aemond,” you chuckle and cry with joy.

Said man is still caught by surprise for a second so he remains stiff before he melts in your warmth and returns your embrace with a much tighter hold that assures you that it's really him.

“I was worried,” you share softly against his neck.

Aemond caresses the back of your head and nuzzles his nose against your neck, letting himself display his affection for you around bypassers because he wants people to know that he is loved and that he loves someone dearly.

“I’m alright. I told you, didn't I?” He whispers and you can't help but hold him tighter as his voice travels in your ears.

“I will always worry,” you mumble before you pull back and grab his arms to look him up and down to check for any injuries. When you find nothing but soot and his messy hair your heart jolts nervously, but you also feel relief wash over another part of you as you reassure yourself that he came back to you in one piece.

“Nothing hurts?” You still ask him and slide your hands down to grab ahold of his. “Vhagar?”

His eye falls on the ground and he hides a timid smile. “No, I’m fine. I did not get hurt. And Vhagar is fine too.” He says quietly.

You study him one more time before you raise your hands to grab his face. You don’t say anything, nor does he. Aemond just slowly brings his eye up and looks at you with admiration while you watch him completely enamored. At that moment, without the need of opening your mouths, expressing how much you love each other, and how much this time apart was like a strain on the heart. It ached you both.

You also keep expressing how glad you are that he’s back, but it’s that twinkle that joy brings to your eyes that makes his jaw clench, and a deep breath to furl through his nose as he remembers the news he bears, news that will break your heart.

“Uh, I did not have time to warn you, but you must have seen,” you interject and fall on his side to hook your arm around his and head back to the safety of the Red Keep. “Aegon and Sunfyre went to Rook’s Rest.”

Aemond nods and rolls his eye in annoyance. “Yes, we unfortunately crossed paths.”

Your hand stiffens around his arm as you remember Aegon’s visit before he left. “Where is his Grace?” You mutter.

Aemond answers with silence for a moment before he gives you his response. “Aegon got hurt during battle.”

The corner of your lips threaten to pull into a happy smile, but you manage to feign worry. “What? How?”

Aemond stops and slips his arm away, but makes sure not to let go. He grabs a hold of one hand, while he uses his other hand to grab your shoulder.

“<Aegon,” he says in a High Valyrian accent before he continues in the same language. “Was fighting another dragon.>”

You hold his gaze and try to find his concern or pity, but rather than finding any flicker of worry, you catch a darkness dancing in his blue eye.

“<And the dragon burned him,” Aemond continues to add stiffly. “It was…a foolish act on his part to go to battle and challenge the dragon, but that act was repaid with dragon fire and broken bones.>”

You can’t pretend to be worried, you don’t care if he’s hurt or close to death. If you could you would clap and celebrate, but you hold it all back behind a shocked expression that raises your eyebrows and parts your lips.

“<What…” you hesitate as the other part of you that had begun to worry slowly starts to take over you. “…Dragon was it?>”

Aemond doesn’t answer right away, he keeps holding your gaze, and the corner of his lips twitch up, while that darkness brings a malicious gleam to his eye that you don’t miss.

It’s not difficult to read into these small expressions, for you at least. For anyone else who doesn’t really know Aemond beyond the facade he puts up wouldn’t realize the truth he masks behind that lie, but you do. You see it clear as day. Is it because he let you read him? Or because you know his soul?

Both, but regardless, you know it was no other dragon that brought Aegon down. Not after Aegon humiliated Aemond at that brothel, not after knowing the tension between the brothers, the pranks Aemond never forgave. It was Aemond and Vhagar. You don’t need him to put it in simple words for you to know.

Nor do you care that it was him. You’re actually proud it was him, and he sees that pride, just like he also reads your speechless praise between your lips twitching up and that gleam in your eye.

What a cruel pair you make huh?

“It was Meleys,” Aemond finishes sharing in the common tongue, bringing that relief and that pride to an end as the worry that only captured a part of you now takes over you completely.

“Meleys?” You mumble and clutch onto his hand while your eyelashes bat frantically as you try to find the reason why she would be there. You warned them. You sent it early so they’d know!

“Yes,” Aemond mutters and brings down the hand he had on your shoulder to grab your hand. “Listen to me...”

He says it. He shares the cruel truth and it all comes crashing down.

You don’t want to accept it at first, you can’t accept what came out of him, but he wouldn’t lie about it. What reason was there to lie about your grandmother dying along with her dragon Meleys?

Yet you want it to be a lie. You want it to be a cruel jest.

“Please,” you beg in a quivering voice. “Do not lie.”

Aemond doesn’t respond, he swallows back nervously and that only helps to reaffirm the truth; your grandmother Rhaenys is dead. She’s gone and so is Meleys.

Your grandmother…is gone. Someone else is dead, and you don’t need to ask who it was, you see that victory in his eye. It was Aemond again.

But right now that’s not what occupies your mind, right now all you know is grief once again. Agonizing, and heart-tearing grief.

It doesn’t let you breathe, it doesn’t let you think of nothing else but the pain. There’s so much pain.

You can’t breathe, it all weighs down on you. You want to be numb to it to not feel a thing, but you feel it all in all its glory.

“No,” you croak and feel streaks of tears rush down your face. “No,” you cry under your breath. “Please no.”

Aemond tries to pull you into an embrace, but you push yourself away and try to catch your breath, you try to take it all in to try and calm yourself down. However, your blood is rushing in your ears, making everything inside you hectic, making the noises around you louder than they are, and making the world move faster than it is which disorientates you.

You don’t know where you are, that knowledge is lost. All you know is the pain and the deep need to see your grandmother again. You want to see her one more time. You want to hold her longer. You don’t want her to be gone forever.

“Please,” you beg under your breath. “Help me.”

She told you that if you needed help to let her know, to tell her. You’re telling her now, you want her help now. You need it like you need to breathe.

But it won’t come, she won’t come to your aide. She won’t embrace you, or tell you that it will all be fine, she’s gone, and you can’t breathe because of it...

Everything around you begins to spin, and you start to feel lightheaded. You want to keep yourself stable, but you can’t find a wall. You actually stumble and the world that was once spinning around you stops, but only because a darkness begins to consume you.

You try to call for help, but your lips part and nothing comes out. You do however hear another voice, but it doesn’t belong to you, as you get swallowed by the darkness you recognize Ser Jason’s panicked voice. “Princess!”

Yet it’s not him who catches you, you know that much. The last thing you see is clear, it’s Aemond’s worried face above yours...

A/N- You reacting to Aegon is how Daemon thought Rhaenyra would react to Blood and Cheese

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @callsignwidow @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips

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inkedcerulean · 3 months ago

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an alliance in waiting | chapter two

jacaerys velaryon x fem!frey reader

summary: after the war is finally over, you meet the prince.

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of war & death

general notes: semi-non-canon-compliant. rhaenyra permanently succeeds in taking her throne. jace and baela are not betrothed. ulf and hugh do not betray rhaenyra. helaena lives. following canon, daemon, aegon, and aemond are dead.

reader does have a backstory, but she has no name or descriptors. i have added some minor ocs (her siblings) and some of them do have silly names, but so are some of the names in asoiaf.

jace taglist: @hotdhoe @chimmysoftpaws chocotorta2027 @drvcosstuff @emilly-adopted-mcmann @charlottelaffin @suniika @princessofthereach @twilightzone24 @ghizlana @yohanseyebrowmole @fairyjuhak22 @francislovergirl @viserraslawyer @ackerman0-0

TWO YEARS LATER

Morning light seeped in from the high windows of your chambers. You shivered; there was a chill in the air, even though it was mid-spring. Muffled footsteps told you that the handmaidens scurrying about. You paced around the room, taking in the quiet of the early hour.

The door opened then.

Fara, your handmaiden, widened her eyes. “My lady…” she began.

“Good morrow, Fara,” you said, smiling, though however forced.

Fara was carrying a tray with a snood. “Might the lady want to have her hair out of the way when she goes sailing?”

“Yes.” You think of the dozen times that you had forgotten something for a journey or for the day in the towers, and Fara had always been there to remind you. “It always escapes me, doesn’t it?”

Your dress, which Fara helped you put on, was gray and muted, but you much preferred simplicity. The shawl over your dress was wolf fur from the North, protective for the bracing breezes. The Prince was soon to arrive, as Fara told you, and you could not help but feel an anticipatory fear of him.

You stepped out into the hall to break your fast in the Great Hall, your footsteps quick and loud. You kissed the five of your siblings on the cheek, who were already seated, albeit groggy. Your mother most likely forced them to get up, to save herself from any embarrassment of not having the host family up first before the guests.

Thimbus and Dannis, your youngest brothers, were looking at you expectantly.

“Sister,” Gunther started. “Are you nervous at all about the day’s schedule?”

“Yes, I am,” you said, not wanting denial to stir up any teasing.

“That is wise,” he responded, splitting his roast ham in half. “I will miss you when the day finally comes when you will be so very far away from us.” Despite his kind words, the familiar mischievous look graced his face, as if he found your lack of agency amusing.

Marsella and you exchanged a look of quiet camaraderie; you smiled to thank her.

It was hard to believe that the wedding would take place in about a month. Weeks ago, when the guest list had been presented to you, you had looked over it with a transformative pain in your gut. This was all too real. The arrangement was made two years ago, but that time had moved quickly in your own waiting.

As you looked out your window to the Green Fork, you remembered how you dreaded this day at first. It was a cautious thing, facing a dragon and its rider. The Dance of the Dragons, as the maesters were keen on calling it, was infamous for its violence in dragonfire. But the war was no longer, and your betrothed unharmed, or so the maesters said. You heard whisperings of a scar on his neck. The specifics were unknown to you, but you were curious as to find out if the Prince was willing.

Though curious as you were, you could not help but wonder what violence you were marrying into. Calm as you tried to be, you were still anxious. Your mother would not have secured this if she thought it was a danger, so you had no choice but to trust her.

“The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of Dragonstone has arrived.”

You hesitated for a moment, looking down at the crumbs on your plate. The food in your stomach was turning. After taking a deep breath, you got up to treat with your parents and the Prince on the bridge outside. As the guards led the way, your heartbeat quickened. Although they were there to protect you, you felt as if they were leading you into a dark pit of which there was no escape.

The first thing you saw when you took your first steps outside was the dragon. It was not as monstrous as you imagined, his frills the color of the orange pastries you loved, and scales as green as the hills around you. You held your gaze eye-level.

Queen Rhaenyra had sent twenty of her men, two dragonkeepers, and two of her Queensguard to oversee his stay. Many at the Twins thought it aplenty, but you could not blame her; times of war bred caution. That was not something so easily shed.

You stood at the West Tower, your lady mother and lord father beside you, looking out as the Prince now stood before you, his men behind him. There were several things you noticed about him: his short stature, his striking red cape perched atop his shoulder, and the furrow of his brow that was because of the sunlight, mayhaps.

“Good morrow, my Prince,” you said, curtsying.

“And you, my lady,” the Prince said. “The Riverlands have not much changed since I last set foot here,” he continued, looking at both of your parents. His gaze drifted from you three to the Green Fork ahead. A flicker of amusement visibly phased over him. Perhaps, you thought, that he was thinking of how he won the Crossing for his mother.

Your mother spoke. “This time, I hope, is a much less distressing reason.”

“I will see to it that it is.”

“We are glad that you are here, my Prince,” you said. “And that the rightful queen took her place on the throne, as she should have long ago.”

“My thanks to you.”

You nodded.

“How fares King’s Landing?”

“Well. My mother sends her greetings in good faith.”

“To her as well.”

You and your parents began with a tour of the Twins. You approached Jacaerys, giving him a curt nod. “We would like to begin with a tour of the castle, if it pleases Your Grace.”

“Yes, of course,” came his reply.

You followed both the guards and your parents to the Water Tower, walking next to the Prince with a few feet’s distance between. It was not difficult to keep pace with him.

The Water Tower was the lone turret that stood at the center of the bridge, equidistant from both towers. It was where all your guests stayed. Your friends and their families would frequent this accommodation. Until two years ago, when you had a falling out and the war started soon after. You had written letters to them in this peace time, and had gotten only some responses. And from this, a great despondency grew within you.

Would this be the same with the Prince? You had held your friends near to your heart, but time and abandonment had turned your heart to stone. If, gods be cruel, there was another war, would it take your to-be husband from you too? And to be partners in marriage was no cure to your loneliness. You wanted romance but needed friendship, and you feared that your wishes for the latter would go unanswered. A betrothal would only distract you.

You ascended up the curved steps in silence. It had been so long since you’d been here that it felt intimate yet foreign. How could it be, that this was part of your own home, and yet you felt uneasy in this space? His experience in this new place for him was a microcosm of your own future; you were soon to be sent somewhere new for eternity.

The guest chambers of the water towers were generously furnished. When there weren’t any guests, Thimbus would sneak out here at night, for he often swore that these featherbeds were more comfortable than his own.

“Here are your chambers, my Prince,” your mother says.

“This looks very comfortable indeed,” he smiled.

The Prince stood there, several feet away from you and your family. He looked somewhat out of place there. It was then that you realized that it was silly and foolish to think of proceeding with the courtship in your home rather than at the Red Keep. Choosing to show your heart to a stranger and how lonesome it really was, compared to a bustling setting where people and distraction were common, was a shameful, impractical choice.

The boat departed when the air was still chilly. Your parents had left, which you were grateful for. However, the only presence that remained were Prince Jacaerys, and the guards, who remained mute.

You took advantage of the ample room on the small boat as you sat next to the Prince. It was turning into a beautiful day and the wind was calming, but the same could not be said for your nerves. You knew that it was impolite to stay quiet for so long, but you could not think of anything to say.

“I have not taken a boat in some time,” Prince Jacaerys said, looking around you. “I had forgotten what it’s like to travel by air.”

You turn to look at him. “You sailed in King's Landing?”

“A little, the first time I lived there. Ser Laenor taught me all he knew.”

You looked out at Vermax flying in the distance over the hills. Many times you had seen birds fly in the same area, but now there were none; it was a simple, banal sight then, but now you ached for the mundane. Would everything in your life be replaced by the Prince’s company?

He noticed that you were looking at his dragon, and he told you about how Vermax’s egg was put in his cradle, and how when he was a boy, he would train him in the Dragonpit with the supervision of the dragonriders.

“The day I taught him to breathe fire, he burnt a goat. I was happier before than after the fact. Proud of the fact that he burnt a goat alive, but saddened to see what remained of it.”

You nodded.

“Would you like to meet him?”

“Now, you mean?”

“After the boat ride. I can inform one of my guardsmen to go to the dragonkeeper to feed Vermax. He is more temperate if he has just had a meal.”

You chuckled, though it was a small distraction from such a prospect. It was inevitable for you to cross paths with his dragon one of these days, and you felt it was more convenient to make your introduction sooner rather than late. Imagination could sometimes be more monstrous than reality.

“I would like that,” you said.

Prince Jacaerys smiled, close-lipped but apparent.

It was dusk by the time that you both made your way to the western hills. There were stone steps leading through and a few trees littered through the landscape. You looked up at the clouds, then down at the steps. At quiet times like this, it was easy to see everything as gray and sullen. This, you thought, was the reason why it was one of your house colors, the blue towers on an expansive gray field. The dragonkeepers made their camp here to keep watch on the dragon.

At once, your ears perked up to the sound of the dragon’s call. You startled imperceptibly, and Jacaerys eyed you. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said.

You both carried on in silence, though it was uncomfortable for you because of your reaction. You then spotted a flash of orange amongst the green, and then you saw golden eyes peering at you.

One of the dragonkeepers, to the left of Vermax, bowed before the Prince and yourself. He greeted Jacaerys in High Valyrian and then turned to you. “My lady.”

You curtsied at him.

Jacaerys approached before you, walking slowly but with confidence. If it weren’t for his eyes, Vermax looked asleep, his head pointed low on the ground so that some blades of grass brushed his chin. The dragonkeeper was near, seated on a log now.

The Prince came to a stop. “Dohaeris, Vermax.” Without hesitation, he reached out, placing his hand on his snout. Vermax’s mouth curved upwards, closing his eyes as he breathed like a cat purred. You saw the gentleness of Jacaerys’s manner. He stood straight, proud, but not overbearing with it.

He turned towards you, the movement swaying his shoulder-clasped cape. Keeping his other hand placed on the dragon, he held his other hand out towards you and raised his eyebrows. You stepped forward and took it, letting him lead you all the way to his scales. They were coarse against your skin, but you kept them there.

“Iksis ziry jāre naejot kipagon?” asked the dragonkeeper, frowning.

You frowned too, though for the reason of not understanding what he was saying.

“Lo jaelza naejot,” he responded. “Would you like to ride with me?” Jacaerys asked.

You imagined it, taking to the skies on a marvelous creature. You knew the power that you were being offered, even though you were only borrowing it.

“He is beautiful,” you said. “But if it does not offend you, I will forgo.”

“Offend me? Why?”

“Rejecting an offer from the Prince is generally ill-advised,” you said.

He smiled, pleasant and comely indeed. “You needn’t worry about that.”

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #꩜ inkedcerulean

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 year ago

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 8 all chapters

-Your birthday falls on a beautiful spring day, and of course, you have to work. When a new customer growls into the parking lot on a shiny black motorcycle everyone crowds behind the counter to see who it could be.

It takes so little to entertain all of you, sometimes.

The boys titter excitedly about the sweet bike and torque and ccs, whatever that means.

When the rider takes off his helmet there’s a fall of fabulous dark hair, and something inside you utterly purrs at the sight.

It’s Mr. Wick.

Maybe you should have known. His padded motorcycle jacket makes his shoulders seem impossibly broad, and as he crosses the parking lot on long legs you hear Cassie sigh behind you.

Same, girl, same.

Cassie had made you a little birthday crown to wear out of a to go cup, a la Princess Peach. You forget about the silly adornment clipped to your head, until Mr. Wick approaches the counter to make his order.

“One coffee…your Highness?” He lifts one of those dark brows with a small smirk, and fuck if it doesn't make you blush.

“It's my birthday,” you sheepishly tell him. His expression actually softens.

“Happy Birthday, then.”

“Thanks.”

“Not fair you have to work today.”

You shrug. “No rest for the wicked.”

This makes him smile a little wider, and you feel that’s a good present for today.

“Hopefully you have something fun planned for later?”

Is he fishing, or just making conversation? You can never tell with this man.

“Not really,” you admit with a shrug.

Your parents are divorced and remarried, living far away from you in their new lives, with their new families. You know they’ll call you later, when they remember you. You’ll have an awkward little conversation that will only serve to grind up your heart into smaller pieces, rather than lift your spirits like its meant to.

Your friends are busy too. One, with her new baby who never has time for you anymore, and you totally understand (and endorse) her priorities, even if it still hurts. The other’s work schedule is exactly the opposite of yours, and you never manage to hang out anymore.

Maybe you’ll go to the thrift store after you get off work, or treat yourself to an ice cream. Nothing too extravagant. You’re saving every penny you can for your upcoming trip.

“Well, maybe something will come up.”

It’s a nice thought.

You make him his usual coffee order, and don’t think much about it the rest of the day. This warm spring day has everyone out and about, stir crazy after the thaw, and you were running full speed from open to the end of your shift. For some incongruous reason, people were extra rude too, and as the clock strikes 2 you are at the end of your rope, your smile more closely resembling a baring of teeth.

Your whole body hurts, and you think you are too exhausted to do anything fun for yourself, until you go to your car in the lot behind the brick building to find Mr. Wick—and his motorcycle—parked next to your old Rav4. He looks utterly scrumptious, if you’re being honest, those legs going on forever as he leans against the seat of his bike. His hair is waving down around his face as he browses something on his phone to pass the time.

Good on you, for only pausing for a moment to ogle him.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

You look between him and the bike with your lip between your teeth, wondering what he’s doing, your treacherous heart fluttering in your chest.

“I thought…it might be fun to go for a ride? If you want.”

You cannot suppress a wide smile, touched to the marrow that he thought of you on your special day. “That does sound like fun,” you admit, and not just because the thought of sitting behind him on a bike makes you a little weak in the knees. The sunshine that day truly feels like a gift from the gods after such a harsh winter. “But…”

He tilts his head inquisitively.

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

He shakes his head, a lock of his dark hair falling over his eyes, and your fingers physically ache to brush it away. “There’s nothing I’d rather do,” he assures you, and damn if that isn’t enough to convince you.

“Full disclosure: I’ve never actually been on a bike before?”

His smile is nothing less than gentle, and he could have pushed you over with a feather.

“All you have to do is hold on to me,” he assures you, and you think you lose your mind a little at that.

There is slightly more to it, he instructs you as you put on a helmet and he helps you clamber on behind him. He tells you to lean slightly with him into the turns, but not too much. The bike grumbles like a fire-breathing beast beneath you as he starts it up.

The feeling of his slim hips and taut backside between your thighs crosses some wires in your brain.

He takes you to the winding backroads of the countryside and up the mountain. You feel like you’re flying, snaking through the curves on this powerful machine, with a man you find you trust implicitly at the controls.

You laugh out loud more than once.

At a straightaway he asks through the helmet mic, “Want to see what she can do?”

“Sure,” you answer, even though you can’t imagine what more this beautiful bike could offer.

“Lean into me, and hold on.” You obey, looping arms around his trim waist, plastered to his backside as he hunkers down for aerodynamics. You were already going fast, but when he shifts a gear you take off like a shot.

A sane person would have screamed, but all you can do is laugh.

This is the purest joy you’ve felt in longer than you can remember.

John pulls over at a scenic overlook, parking the bike so you can have a little break. You sit together on a picnic table, looking over the valley below. A stream snakes through it like a silver ribbon, shimmering in the sunlight. You sigh and lean back on your arms, lifting your face to the sun.

This has turned out to be a perfect day. John smiles a little as he looks over at you, but says nothing, just lets you soak it in.

“Thank you for this,” you finally say. “I was having such a shitty day.”

“You’re welcome.”

You sit up and rub at your neck. You have an unrelenting ache in the muscle over your left shoulder blade. It never really goes away, but its definitely worse after a long day on your feet bending over coffee.

John looks worried, bless him. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not at all. I just…have this thing. I think there’s a demon living in my shoulder.”

After a pensive moment he lifts his hands in offering, moving very slowly as though he might spook you. His hands are…beautiful. Large, long fingered, calloused too. You wonder what he does, when he’s not sitting in the coffee shop or binding books. The thought of them on your body gives you a forbidden little thrill.

You do not even consider the missing digit, until he looks at his left hand and frowns, closing it to hide it at his side. “Sorry. I still forget…”

But you take his hand in yours, inspecting it closely for the first time. He allows it, though there is something vulnerable in his eyes as you do. The healed skin almost looks jagged, like it wasn’t severed with a clean cut or a surgical blade. You feel the urge to press your lips to it, as though you could kiss it better, but you just rub your thumb over the fine dark hairs there.

“What happened?”

“Someone…” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sound. “I had an accident.”

You sense there’s much more to the story, but you don’t press him yet.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Sometimes, I get the phantom aches. Mostly it’s fine though.”

You nod and angle your back to him, placing his hand on your shoulder as you shoot him a pointed look, granting him permission to touch you. His sigh is almost imperceptible, but you sit up a little straighter as he squeezes your shoulder lightly. You get the slightest taste of the strength in those hands, yet you know he could rip you to pieces if he chose to.

He slays you in a different way, knowing exactly how to use them on your sore muscles, and you can’t help but moan as he squeezes the kinks out of your shoulders. For a second he freezes at the sound, before continuing to work his magic.

“God…that feels so good.” You’ve been in pain for so long that it’s damn near better than sex.

Maybe it’s been too long for that too, though.

“You are a mess.” You know him well enough now to know he’s frowning as he says this. He kills a knot with the well-placed blade of his thumb. You feel it release and you jump a little. Though it doesn’t really hurt you, you’re not sure why there is suddenly moisture in your eyes.

It’s been a long time since anyone’s taken care of you like this, you suppose.

“Job hazard,” you sigh.

“Do you ever do yoga?”

You laugh a little at that for some reason. “I used to practice, when I was younger.” It kind of fell by the wayside. You’re always so tired when you get home.

“Well, stretching is good for you, as you age. Take it from an old man. It helps.”

“You’re not old,” you immediately protest.

“Nice to know I still have some curb appeal.” His words are laden with sarcasm, and yet you can tell he is pleased.

He finishes the massage with a lighter touch, to stimulate blood flow, that gives you delicious chills all over. Your shoulders are your kryptonite, and you are putty in his hands. You look back at him from beneath your lashes, curious what exactly it is the two of you are doing here. Does he like you, or is he just being impossibly nice?

He doesn’t avoid your gaze, but you find you can’t read him, not one bit.

“Want to get something to eat?” he asks.

It is almost dinner time. “Okay.”

You’re a little sad as you ride back down the mountain towards town. But he pulls up to the local diner, and you have sinfully greasy cheeseburgers and shakes. Despite your protests he pays, because: “No one should have to pay for their birthday dinner.”

You know he’s fucking loaded, so you let him have his way.

“This is the best birthday I’ve had in a long time,” you admit, munching on a fry. “Thank you, Mr. Wick.”

You know he’s told you to call him John before, but fuck if you haven’t noticed how his eyes darken just a little when you call him Mr. Wick, or even just Sir at the coffeeshop. You feel like you stumbled onto something you don’t entirely understand, but it fills you with a forbidden warmth all the same.

He gives you a hooded look from across the table, and you fancy he knows that you know what you’re doing.

“My pleasure, y/n.”

He doesn’t insist that you call him John again.

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #john wick fic #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine #i miss my bike lol

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marthawrites · 2 years ago

Note

Could you do inexperienced Aemond with an experienced partner

Teaching A Dragon New Tricks

Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 3.2k+

About: You and Prince Aemond have been giving each other eyes for some time now, and he finally makes the first move. After that, you feel comfortable showing him a few things. His drive for knowledge extends beyond books.

Includes: Aemond being a cute noobie (nerd), having an awakening to the magic of women, and explicit sexual content! Featuring male masturbation, vaginal fingering, and fem receiving oral.

Note: Hello lovely reader! My first ever request ahhhhh! This was seriously so much fun to think about and write. It's my first time writing this dynamic. I hope I did your request justice! As always, please enjoy! ♥

The first time Aemond kissed you he almost missed your lips. That’s not how any prince in the storybooks acted – they always knew how to make pretty maidens swoon.

Surely Aemond’s misaim was a jest? Although… you’d never known, or witnessed, him being the jesting type.

You looked up at him wide-eyed and surprised. You held your breath high in your throat, and Aemond must have too, judging by how his nostrils flared. Blood bloomed beneath his alabaster cheeks. His single eye desperately searched yours.

Had he misunderstood all of your shared experiences? Brief and in passing as some of them might have been? Had Aegon told him to “kiss her, brother. Why haven’t you yet? When you do, make sure to hold her throat like this and move your tongue through her mo–” he’d stopped listening at that point, blinking puzzlingly at the mental image of choking you for a kiss. He couldn’t imagine how that’d be enjoyable.

Yet, now he wondered if he should have done exactly what Aegon said.

“I– I’m sor–,” he started, taking half a step back. Embarrassment burned his pride.

You blinked, then, eyes sparkling with some sort of secret amusement. “Aemond Targaryen… dragon prince and rider of Vhagar…,” you said slyly. “Have you never kissed anyone before?”

If he blushed before, he damn near combusted with the absolute ease in which you read him. “Am I that obvious?”

A giggle answered his nervous question. Light, and airy, the sound full of magic like spring-pink flowers twirling in the wind. Were it anyone else you might have turned away with no intention of seeking a second. But, with Aemond? Since becoming a lady-in-waiting for Helaena you’d been smitten by him. You stepped forward, toe to toe with the tall, lithe, sheepish prince, and placed your hands on his chiseled face. “Let’s try that again, silly prince…,” you said before standing on your tippy toes to press your lips to his in a much more well-aimed kiss.

It was that day, in the soft sunbeams of Helaena’s empty bedchamber, that you showed Aemond the art of kissing until both of your lips were swollen. He learned wickedly fast.

After breaking fast it was a ritual for Helaena and her children to spend time in the gardens – rain or shine. Luckily it’d been sunny for a few days and last week’s downpour finally dried from the top soil. During these hours there never seemed to be a dull moment. You were sent off by the kids with nothing but a linen bag and a mission of finding bugs. They were putting together an insectarium and needed any and everything that crawled. It was a fun break. Fresh air and sunshine brought out the natural colors of your hair as it slowly loosened from its careful bun.

Before you knew it you were away from the main crowds and pathways. Insects buzzed in the air; quiet and secluded.

Just as you crouched down, a familiar voice called your name right when a jumping spider inspected your palm. “Shouldn’t you be training, my prince?” You asked as you looked over your shoulder to regard Aemond with your little bug friend.

If he cared about the spider he showed no sign of it. He crouched beside you and gently pushed you onto your back, grinning down at you like the trickster you were learning him to be. Sunlight hit his face and softened his otherwise sharp features. “Not with the sword. I’d rather train other things,” he said in a voice much too huskily. His mouth was on yours. With any luck the spider successfully jumped away and not into yours or his hair. “I haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you since the last time I did.”

For someone who literally just learned how to do that he was really good at it. A soft moan vibrated your lips against his. Your hands trailed up the front of his chest and neck, pushing away a stray bit of hair that tickled your collarbone. “Greedy prince…,” you giggled against his mouth, daring to nip his bottom lip.

“Perhaps you should have thought twice before showing me such things,” he replied. His free hand lifted to carefully lay over your throat; putting to first use the trick he learned from Aegon. Your reaction – arching beneath him – had his pupil swelling. "You like that?"

You nodded with a breathless smile. "Yeah. Not too hard though. It feels good just there," you purred, thighs pressing together as warmth built and collected in your core. The heavy kissing and exploring nibbles felt as if you were making up for lost time; Aemond One-Eye starved of affection. Muscles in your belly tightened and it took all you had to pull away from him, eyes dreamy and half-lidded. "Aemond… I want you to touch me. Please," your voice rasped. Wanton.

He looked at you curiously. "I am touching you," he answered, dipping to rub the tip of his nose against yours.

You fought another giggle. "No, my prince, I mean really touch me." You bent an elbow to lean up on it and carefully grabbed his hand with your other. In a guided trail, you swept his palm from your neck to your thigh and watched his expression all the while. "Have you ever pleasured a woman before?"

Color rose in his face, and even in the midmorning sun his pupil swelled. The strained tightness in the front of his trousers throbbed against where he leaned against you. "No," he half croaked. "Will… will you teach me like you did the other day with your kiss?" He squeezed your thigh with his question, marveling at the softness.

"Yes," you answered with an inward hiss. Gripping his wrist you added, "not here. Anyone could be around. And I am to be with princess Helaena all day. Tonight?"

"Not tonight. Now," he said.

“I cannot just leave her and her children behind!”

Some might not believe it, but Prince Aemond had tiny dimples when he smirked. Dimples. He leaned into the crook of your neck and kissed, then bit, and kissed again. Goosebumps tickled his lips when he said, “good thing the princess is my sister and I’m not obliged to her law.” Without giving you a chance to protest he stood and pulled you to your feet. He guided you back to the main path and paid little mind to bystanders.

“Brother, where are you taking her?” Helaena asked once she saw the two of you – his arm wrapped around your back as if for support.

“I found her off the path. She’s fainted. I’m taking her to her room,” he replied swiftly; the dirt on your back making his lie appear genuine.

Once inside the Red Keep, instead of taking you in the direction of your sleeping quarters, he took you to his. You two were able to sneak inside and latch the door without anyone seeing. You'd been in here before, but never under these circumstances. Excitement fluttered in your core and when his mouth found yours again you buzzed with anticipation. "Someone is eager…," you muttered playfully against his lips.

"Says the maiden who's given into the carnal desires of flesh outside of wedlock," he scolded against the side of your neck, nipping. "You unholy creature."

You gasped at the sensation of his teeth. "You might be surprised to know things aren't as strict among the smallfolk as it is with you nobles," you whizzed in response. "I'm quite glad to be born where I was. You royals are so uptight."

Through the banter Aemond led you towards his bed until the backs of your legs bumped against the edge of it. When you fell backwards with him above you, his silky pale hair like a curtain around your face, you wanted nothing else than to stay there for countless hours. "Are you going to keep babbling or show me how to make you feel good?" His smirk had an edge of darkness and you wondered if he was being entirely honest with you in regard to his experience.

Aemond wasn't lying. Truthfully, he hadn't any experience. That didn't mean he hadn't "accidentally" read about things here and there in sordid library books. And having Aegon as a brother meant he was victim to unsolicited advice and peer pressure often. The books were out of curiosity, whereas Aegon’s taunts were simply annoying.

He had an idea of how things worked. Though, he never had the opportunity to act upon such things.

"Aemond… if you don't start doing something I think you'll drive me positively insane."

Following the passive command, his hand began slowly trailing up your leg. He pushed your skirts up as he did so, allowing the fabric to bunch up until it barely covered your smallclothes. His gaze shifted from between his hand and your face – eager to see your reaction. "Something like this, right?"

Against your will, you arched beneath him and grinned breathlessly. "Yeah," you replied. The scratch of his skin on yours had your core flexing with a need beyond your control. "A little higher still…," you said, smiling.

Shifting his weight, he laid on his side, now, able to look from your face to the space between your thighs that was becoming more and more exposed. The backs of his fingers brushed along your covered mound and you jolted, narrowly missing crashing your forehead to his chin. "Are you okay?"

Blushing, you squeaked, "yes."

"Are you sure? You nearly headbutted me."

"Shh.. shut up!" You laughed, embarrassed. "Gods. Keep doing that, there, feels so good," you said as you pulled your skirts higher up your front. Intentional or not, his teasing made you, somehow, want him even more. "Actually… these are just in the way," you added, tugging your own underwear off.

He watched you with surprise in his eye. He'd never seen this side of you – or any woman, in that fact – and with each passing moment the prince felt an undiscovered part of himself roar to life. He liked it. Pulse drummed in his chest and behind his ears, and he had to steady his hand as he lowered it to cup your bare mound. Breath quickly hitched in his throat. "You're so warm," he whispered, shuddering. The pads of his fingers pressed curiously along the outside of your folds and he bit down on his own lower lip to stifle a sound he’d never quite made before. “And slick.”

You allowed the sound he bit back to flow freely from your throat. “Surely you know how it works…,” you teased, thighs opening more than they already were. “Women get wet where men get hard.” His touch was curious and inexperienced, yet something about it was endearing and made your belly tighten. When he grazed your clit you whimpered, melting into the mattress. “Right there,” you whispered thickly. “Is my pearl. It’s very sensitive and the center of a woman’s pleasure,” you added, voice and cheeks sultry alike.

The front of Aemond’s pants had never been tighter. He turned quickly off the bed to kneel at the end of it, pulling your legs until you were right where he wanted. His attention flickered between your face and that needy space between your thighs; glistening and pink with desire. One hand held you open while the thumb of the other grazed all over your parted slit, exploring. Soft wet sounds accentuated your panting. The pressure of his thumb shifted from firm to light, and he tested different types of strokes, tearing his focus from your cunt only to watch your face for your reaction. “Here?” He questioned, sliding over your swollen bud.

Your hands tightened in his bedding. A moan came from your slackened jaw and you nodded down at him, watching him observe you. “Yes.”

He circled it, slid across it, and stroked along it. The sounds you made shot right to his cock and made his head heavy as if he’d drank too much wine. In tandem with some of his motions he saw the way your little opening clenched and relaxed around nothing; arousal seeping out of you lewdly, pleadingly, driving him to the brink of madness. He throbbed in his pants. Without entirely realizing it, he opened the front of them to let his cock free. He sighed at the freeing sensation. He groaned something in High Valyrian, cuntdrunk at the sight of you spread open so prettily.

"Push a finger in. I want to feel you," you said down at him breathlessly, one of your hands moving to gently cup the side of his head. If you thought him roguishly dashing before, seeing him here and now, knelt and learning the ways of your body, made him tenfold. It was all too much. Aemond Targaryen, despite his virginity, might very well bring you to the height of pleasure.

He did as instructed: thumb slipped easily into you and you both gasped at the same time. He'd never felt anything quite like the sensation of you. Warm – no, hot – slippery, and spongy.

"Oh fuck…," you moaned softly. The hand at the side of his head squeezed into his hair, practically tugging at his ear. "More, my prince, please. Try a different finger and move it around inside me." It was a surprise you could speak so clearly as lust blazed through your entire form.

Aemond slipped his thumb out and replaced it with his index. The moan that elicited from you sent him crazy. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered reading something from somewhere: using one's mouth to get a woman ready for coupling. He hadn't a clue where, or how, or what, but before he could talk himself out of it his mouth was on you. If his touch felt good on your pearl, then surely his tongue might too.

"Oh my Gods..! No.. you don't have to do that," you blushed, fingernails clawing into his scalp as you stared down at him dumbfounded. In your experience men rarely did this to women, and less enjoyed the act of it.

"Does it feel good?" He asked with sincerity, not wanting to hurt you with his inexperience.

"Yes!"

He smirked and went back to it. Tongue and lips were tentative and unsure, as was his finger still pressed into you, but it hardly stopped you from finding both amusement and bliss in it. He licked all over your folds with the flat of his tongue; tang and salt and a hint of sweetness overtaking his senses. He hadn't a clue how he'd gone so long without experiencing this. Remembering what you said about moving his finger, he did just that. He swirled it around between your slick velvety walls and reveled in how you felt wrapped around his digit.

"Mmf…!" You panted, gripping tighter into his hair. "Keep doing that. With your tongue on my pearl, too," you simpered, the low muscles in your belly flipping and tightening.

The young prince was eager to listen and learn. He followed your instruction. He even dared to add his middle finger too, slowly moving and curling them around. You were so wet, and warm, and tight around him. If you felt like this around his fingers he could only imagine what you'd feel like around his cock. He moaned at the thought, lapping your clit with more confidence and enthusiasm.

You were trying so hard to keep your legs open and relaxed for him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. For someone who claimed to never have done this before it still felt wonderful. Any time his mouth would begin to stray away from where you wanted him, you pushed him back where he needed to be. The combination of your gently rolling pelvis, pleasured sounds, and hold in his hair, kept him on track. Shifting your legs around a bit, you slung one over his shoulder. The slight change had him finding a spot along your walls that had you seeing stars. "Right there!" You preened, thighs squeezing to lock him in place.

"Is it too much?" He asked, a little taken back with your sudden reaction to whatever it was he'd been doing.

When you looked down at him you nearly lost it. Your arousal glossed his mouth and he looked, somehow, innocent and wild alike. "Yes! But no… keep going. Please don't stop," you whined, desperate, using your hand still tangled in his hair to guide him back down to you.

Even with his jaw aching for a break, he obeyed. He kept his fingers right there where you seemed to really like it, curling and massaging along a section that felt a little different than the rest of the area. He stayed on your bundle of nerves, too, flicking and lapping and relishing every single noise his attention pulled from you. His free hand pumped along his cock; aching and rigid and feeling like it could burst at any second. He moaned into you. He wasn't going to last.

Pleasure peaked and your thighs squeezed around his head again. "Aemond!" You mewled at the top of your climax, the entirety of your womanhood pulsing and shuddering with release.

He couldn't hold back his own release. Never before had he heard his name said like that or called out like that – never experienced the excitement of a spasming cunt. He spent himself as he groaned into you. The last spills of his seed dribbled down his fist while the earlier, more powerful, ropes already began to soak into his bedding.

Your thighs finally relaxed around him and you gently pushed his head away, too sensitive for more. A sheen of sweat collected on your forehead and you felt heat high in your cheeks. Blushed, panting, and satisfied, you looked down at Aemond with bright sparkling eyes. "I don't believe you. You had to have done all of that before."

Slick coated his mouth and chin. His single eye was black with more emotions than you could read and he looked damn near wicked. "More," be said greedily as he squeezed your thighs; already a man addicted.

What had you awoken in the dragon prince? Your chest rose and fell with labored breaths, eyes communicating more than your mouth was currently capable of.

Just then, a knock on his door broke both of you out of the post-orgasm stupor.

He cleared his throat and said, "what is it?" in only a slightly trembling voice.

"Prince Aemond, you are being summoned to the small council meeting."

Annoyance washed over him and he swallowed it with a sigh. "I will be there shortly."

When no other sound came from the door, he tucked himself away and stood from where he'd been kneeling. "You're lucky, my lady, to be off the hook." He grinned cheekily and self-satisfied. He offered his clean hand to help you up before going to wash the other along with his face.

"There's more I can show you another time, if you'd like," you said as you straightened your garb to return to regular duties – as if Aemond hadn't just given you one of the best, if a bit clumsy, orgasms. "You're a very fast learner."

"We can continue to put that to the test," he said with a dark glimmer behind his eye. His angular features were sly in a way you'd never seen before, and you wondered what sort of things simmered in his mind.

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feelmyskinonyourskin · 24 days ago

Text

April 15th

Character: Frank Castle (a little Frank x Matt Murdock if you squint)

My Masterlist

Summary: Based on my calculations, this spring will be the canonical 10 year anniversary of the death of Frank's family. So I wrote an angsty thing about it. This is also a lil Fratt coded.

WC: 2,692

Ten Years

Those two words rung in his ears on repeat over and over again.

Very few people were in the park this early, still cozy in bed as the city began to wake. But sleep was never something he found easily, especially this time of year. A few early morning joggers passed by, barely noticing the tired looking man as he sat on the bench, staring ahead. It was off-leash time in the park as well and he gave the sweet black lab that sat beside him a few pats before it ran off to rejoin it’s owner.

He stared at the green tarp in front of him, blank expression on his face as the sun rose and painted the park in golden light. The air was crisp and the dew clung to the growing grass on the hill in the distance. It was free of the crimson stains that haunted his sleep, long since washed away with the passage of time.

Ten Years

The click-clack of heels against the pavement, louder with each step as they approached him, almost tore his gaze away from the covered structure in front of him and the hill in the distance.

Almost.

The source of the percussive walking sat down beside him. She tucked a loose wisp of her blonde hair behind her ear before reaching out, offering him a to-go cup from the bakery down the street. He took it without a word and without turning his gaze to her.

“Brought you coffee.” she said softly

How did she know where to find him? There were a number of places he could be - the cemetery was obvious, or in an alleyway bloodying some poor lowlife, or drinking his sorrows away in whatever apartment he was squatting in for the time being. Was she looking for him long? Or just got lucky and picked the right spot? Was she just stopping by on her way to work or planning on staying beside his pitiful ass all day?

“Thanks, Karen.” he finally replied, quietly

They sat in silence together for a while, staring as the city and the park came more to life. Eventually, she reached out and took his free hand in hers with a squeeze.

“You have my number, Frank. I know you’ll act like you don’t need anything, but please call or text me if you do. You know I don’t mind.”

He replied with a nod.

“I gotta get to work.”

He nodded again.

She let her hand fall away from his and stood. With care, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and the tapping of her heels faded away.

Ten Years

Just as the school groups seemed to be arriving in the park for their springtime field trips and the tourists filed in with their cameras pointed towards the blooming trees, two more people arrived.

Two Central Park employees, dressed head to toe in forest green uniforms, began removing the tarp he had spent all morning staring at and opening the carousel for business for the day.

They had repainted it in the years since he had lost his family. Probably after he stained it with Billy’s face. The colorful animals shone with fresh lacquer against the spring sunshine. A line had already begun to form with families eager to ride. The employees finished their rounds then the music started up. The same music the nauseatingly played over and over in his mind.

“You know it’s creepy for an old dude to just sit and stare at a kiddy ride all day.” the voice from beside him said, sitting down on the park bench

“Pft. Don’t wanna hear it from you about being ‘creepy,’ Lieberman,” Frank replied, still watching as the carousel began to spin around and around for the first riders of the day.

“Honestly, wouldn’t have remembered what day it was if Sarah hadn’t reminded me.”

“How is Sarah? And the kids?”

“Good. Zach is officially committed to NYU in the Fall and Leo is already packing for an internship she has in Italy this summer.”

“That’s great David. Really.”

“How are you, Frank?”

Frank replied with only a shrug before taking a sip of the last of the coffee from Karen.

The two men sat side by side for a while, watching the carousel get busier and busier. David slapped two hands on his knees and rose to his feet.

“Welp. I gotta get going. You know where to find us Frank.”

Ten Years

As the day wore on, families came and went. People laid blankets on the hill, enjoyed picnics on the cool April day. He saw so many kids that reminded him of Lisa and Frankie, running around joyfully without a care in the world. So many mothers that passed by he swore he saw a glimmer of Maria for a moment.

He didn’t notice how the sun now beat down, heating the skin under his thick jacket. He didn’t notice hunger growing inside his stomach or the discomfort of how he’d been sitting in the same position for a little too long.

“Keep staring like that Frank and the park is gonna paint you bronze. Make you a permanent statue here.”

“Hey Curt.”

“You’d make a helluva ugly statue, Frank.”

“Yes I would.”

The man sat beside him in the same spot where David and Karen had before, placing a brown paper bag between them. He let out a sigh as he watched his friend continue to be lost in the memories.

“You eat anything yet today?”

Frank shook his head.

“Ain’t hungry.”

“C’mon Frank, you gotta eat something” He said, shaking the bag in the air “I brought sandwiches. From that shitty deli you like.”

“You come to just lecture me –”

“No, I came to be a friend,” Curtis cut him off “And get your sorry ass out of your own damn head.”

“Preciate it Curt, I really do, but I ain’t looking for anything today. Just let me be.”

“Fine. But only if you eat.”

Frank gave a half nod as Curtis opened the bag and handed Frank a sandwich. The men sat in silence and ate for a while, continuing to watch the families come and go.

When the last bite of his sandwich was gone, Curtis stood and gave his friend a clap on the back.

“I’ll see you at group on Thursday?” he asked

“Yeah.”

“Promise you’ll be there and not sulking in some alleyway somewhere bashing some guy’s head in?”

“Ain’t makin’ no guarantees.”

Ten Years

As the sun began to get low, many of the families cleared out, anxious to get home to dinner and an evening of relaxing. The post 9-5 runners now passed by in droves as the air began to cool back down.

Once again the clack clack clack of heeled shoes echoed somewhere in the background of Frank’s thoughts.

“Well Castle, you look like shit.”

“Good to see you too, Madani.”

The woman, with her curly hair blowing gently in the breeze and polished briefcase tucked under her arm, sat on the bench beside him with a sigh.

“Curtis said you were in rough shape, so I stopped by.”

“You talk to Curtis?”

“You’re not the only one who needs someone to talk through all the shit we’ve seen.”

“That’s good – yeah real good” Frank said with a nod, wringing his hands “Say, you ever come back here?”

“To where I got shot in the head? No.” she replied with a snort

After a moment of pause, she cleared her throat. Her eyes remained cast toward the pavement as her feet shuffled against it anxiously.

“Why do you come back?” she asked with a certain quietness to her voice

“To remember. Them. Him. Why I do what I do. Cause some sick twisted part of me thinks if I just stare at that damn carousel long enough or look at the stupid field hard enough, I’ll just see em’ coming over the hill, smiling at me like they were on that day. That if aliens can invade this damn city or make half of us disappear for five years then maybe somethin’ll happen and it’ll all have just been a bad dream and…”

Frank could feel tears welling in his eyes for the first time that day.

“... and maybe I could have ‘em back.”

Dinah pretended not to notice the way Frank wiped at his eyes as he continued to stare ahead at the carousel. She had avoided gazing at it at all since she’d arrived and had no intention of starting now.

“You know Frank, you ever need a distraction from…” she gestured vaguely “... all this. CIA could still use a guy like you.”

“Told you Madani, I ain’t coming to work for you. ‘Preciate the offer though.”

“Offer will still be there, if you ever change your mind.”

She sat for another moment, before gathering her bag and tightening the belt on her crisp trench coat.

“Take care, Frank.”

“You too, Dinah.”

Ten Years

The sun was now long gone as the carousel took it’s last spin of the night. The late hour meant very few children were even still there to ride; most of the families and tourists and runners had gone home.

The two evening shift employees came out from their hut minutes later, sweeping the area of debris and re-covering the carousel in the green tarp. They finished up their duties and also headed out, leaving Frank alone in the yellowy glow of the park lamps.

But still, he sat, not sure what he was waiting for anymore or how much longer he planned to stay. Any other person would have felt alone in the quiet of the night, but his head was still buzzing as loudly as when he arrived this morning. He nearly gasped at the air filling his lungs, so overwhelmed in his grief, he’d forgotten to breathe for a moment.

Only when the clang of metal scraping concrete rang out from just below his feet did he startle out of his trance.

Nervously, he reached down to inspect what had landed just beneath where he sat, flashbacks to enemies coming for him with a pipebomb or grenade running through his brain.

The maroon baton shone under the lamplight as Frank held it up, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips.

“Jesus, Red. The hell you tryin’ to do?!”

“Warn you that I’m here so you don’t accidentally shoot me,” a voice replied from the darkness behind him

“Still considerin’ it…”

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen made his way around the bench, hands held up in surrender.

“Ya know most people just say ‘hello’ or walk real loud if they don’t wanna startle someone.”

Matt shrugged, with a glimmer of mischief to the smirk poking out from under his mask. Frank rolled his eyes.

“Karen mentioned…” the man in crimson changed the subject

“Course she did…”

“I just wanted to come by. Make sure –”

Frank cut him off.

“Make sure I wasn’t spillin’ some criminal’s blood too close to your turf? Came by to try and convert me to your shitty code —”

Matt now took his turn to cut Frank off.

“No. I came by to make sure you were okay.”

“Ain’t exactly peg you as the sentimental type, Red.”

“Well, I mean, I am Catholic…”

Frank let out a scoff and shook his head, leaning back. Matt took the vague gesture as an invitation and sat beside him, removing his horned helmet.

“You know every year —on the day my dad died, I usually go to church.”

He felt the way Frank shifted rigidly beside him; unsure if it was the topic of death, or his personal past, or religion that made the large Marine beside him uncomfortable.

“It’s the one where he took me when I was a kid and where I grew up after he was gone,” he continued “But I do this too. Just sit and think and miss him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And for the longest time, I did it alone. I turned away everyone who came to help me; the other kids, the nuns, eventually Karen and Foggy.”

Frank shook his head at Matt’s story, always annoyed at his ramblings on a normal night but extra irritated on this particular evening.

“There a point to this?” Frank asked.

“Getting there. I spent so many years isolating myself, dividing myself from the people that cared. I thought I could do it all alone.”

Frank parted his lips, tempted to make another snarky comment, but he decided against it, letting Matt get out whatever he needed to in those hopes it’d make him go away faster.

“I lied to myself for a long time that the people who got close to me were better off without me and the danger I bring. That I was God’s perfect soldier, meant to suffer alone for my great purpose.” Matt continued

“So what changed?”

“Time. And people who were more stubborn than me and refused to give up on me. They helped me realize I needed them. And that I was only pushing them away to avoid getting hurt myself.”

“So that it, huh? You refusin’ to give up on me?” Frank scoffed

“Something like that.”

Frank shook his head.

“So what do you do now?”

“Hm?”

“The day your dad died, Red. What do you do?”

Matt smiled at Frank’s question and stretched his head upwards, glassy eyes shifting side to side as if trying to see his father in the sky above.

“I still go to the church. But Karen and Foggy come with me. Sometimes my mom walks over from the abbey and brings food.”

Frank’s eyebrows shot up at the statement, more surprised to find out that Matt’s mother was a nun and wondering the story of how that all worked. But he stayed silent and let Matt continue.

“And you know what? I don’t feel angry anymore; at him or the man that killed him or God. And little by little, every year since it gets a little–” He paused, trying to find the right word. “Lighter.”

“Look Red, I appreciate the sermon but I ain’t you.”

“No, but you’re one good day away from being me.”

Frank fully rolled his eyes this time and muttered a “Christ” under his breath, agitated that Matt could use his words from years ago when they first met and flip them around on him.

“You wanna know what else I do?”

“What?”

“After I let myself be with the people who care, I go home to my apartment. Alone. A few years ago Karen found videos of some of his old fights on the internet. My dad was a boxer. I listen to them and I drink.”

“That sounds more my speed, Red.”

“What do you say Frank, wanna go watch some old boxing matches and drink?”

Frank pondered the offer for a moment.

“No. I got some other places I gotta be.”

“Right.”

Matt removed the helmet from his lap and brought it down on his head, wiggling it a few times to get it in place and stood.

“Take care, Frank.” Matt said with a nod

“You too, Red.”

Frank watched as Matt disappeared into the shadows of the park. With a sigh, he finally stood, taking one last look at the carousel before heading down the path out of the park. He walked for blocks, still mulling over Matt’s words as he made his way down the empty sidewalks.

By the time he reached Hell’s Kitchen, he finally felt cold, zipping up his jacket to protect from the chilly night.

When he finally reached his destination, he hesitated for a moment. Taking in the large red doors in front of him, he wasn’t sure why he had come or what he was hoping to find. But if it helped Red, maybe it could help him.

Frank reached forward and pushed open the door, stepping into the chapel at Clinton Church.

Ten Years

#frank castle #the punisher #jon bernthal #matt murdock #daredevil #nmcu #fratt #frank x matt #frank castle x matt murdock #angst

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its-all-stardust · 10 months ago

Text

Guardian Angel

Masterlist

Joel Miller/GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Prompt: Sometimes guardian angels don’t have a lovely singing voice and a set of fluffy wings, sometimes they have a deep frown on their face and a very bad attitude. (from creativepromptsforwriting)

Notes: this was meant to be a lot shorter 🥲 (not that it's technically long, but still). this is me attempting to write shorter fics/prompts as a way of refining my writing for oneshots so they don't drag on. this fic isn't anything special/impressive, but exists as a writing exercise.

You never considered yourself useless, but you were pretty sure Joel Miller thought you were.

He came to Jackson in the spring with a teenage girl in tow. He said she wasn’t his daughter, but everyone could see the relationship all the same.

Joel got put to work right away. As a right of passage for anyone looking to go on patrol—one of the only things Joel was truly interested in—they shadowed you in the stables. You’re technically not Jackson’s stablemaster, but you had the best attitude when it came to training newbies on how to handle and take care of a horse.

You were a good teacher and had the patience to deal with both an angry rider and their annoyed mount. A talent few possessed, so you’ve been told. Your bright attitude, helpful nature, and unwillingness to give up truly allowed you to flourish in your role.

“Have you ever worked with a horse before?” was the first question you always asked a resident who hadn’t come from Jackson.

“I’ve ridden one before,” Joel said, his voice low, like he didn’t want to be heard.

“Okay, but that’s not what I asked.” Riding a horse was different from working with it, trusting it. You couldn’t race along the paths around Jackson, running from or chasing Infected if your mount’s instincts differed from yours.

Despite how gently you said it, the words still made Joel frown and eye you up and down like you’d lost your mind. He hadn’t said anything, though, so you counted it as a win.

A couple of months later, Joel still greeted you with a scowl.

He’d graduated from stable work, riding and caring for his horse with ease, having become one of your top students. You still saw him at the end of every one of his rounds when he returned to the stables.

You tried not to take his gruff demeanor and permanent frown to heart. Despite his apparent dislike of you, he’d never actually said anything rude or condescending. He was always polite, even with his lack of interest in conversation. No matter how hard you tried to pull him in, get him talking, the most you would get was a word or two amongst the volley of grunts that typically served as his answers.

You kept talking to him anyway because, well, he never told you to stop.

The times you got him to talk, though, were always circumstantial and more often related to something you were about to do or something about to happen to you.

“Watch it,” Joel called, grabbing your arm and yanking you away from the carelessly tossed shovel left near one of the stable doors. “You gotta look where you’re going.”

You knew the stables like the back of your hand; you didn’t need to look up to see where you were going—at least, you never thought you did. You were focused on the torn harness in your hands, examining it and wondering if it could be salvaged or if it was better going into the scrap pile. The last thing you were worried about was watching where your feet were stepping.

Startled by Joel’s sudden outburst and handling of you, you stared at him wide-eyed for a moment before noticing the shovel. It wasn’t anything major; the most that would have happened to you would have been your foot catching on the curve where the wooden handle met the metal. You were around horses all day, every day; you’ve experienced worse than a stumble from a shovel.

Nevertheless, you wholeheartedly thanked Joel.

“I really should,” you said, smiling at him. “But my mind is always somewhere else.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said under his breath.

And it continued like that for months. By the end of fall, Joel always seemed to be there, rescuing you from things that wouldn’t have amounted more to a bump or bruised ego.

“Don’t hit your head,” he said when you tried to stand too soon after crawling under a table chasing after a runaway buckle for the harness you were repairing. Joel’s hand had been hovering over your head, and when you tried to rise, the back of his hand scrapped against the table.

You thanked him again and politely didn’t say anything about why he felt the need to suddenly crouch at your side to save you from some scrapped skin.

“Like this,” he said when he saw you trying to repair a stall wall. He took the hammer from your hand before you could say anything and promptly started hammering the exact same way you had been. “Gotta move your hand once you get the nail in so you don’t hit yourself.”

“Thanks…” you said awkwardly, less enthusiastic than all the other appreciative words you’ve given out. The man had apparently never seen you do repair work around the stables in all the time he’d been in Jackson.

“Let me,” was said when you were mucking out the stalls. You had the wheelbarrow full and were about to take it outside when Joel stepped up. That, you were fine with him handling, but part of you wondered if he thought you were incapable. Did he really think shoveling shit was beyond you?

It was all, admittedly, a little much.

You didn’t usually get annoyed at people. No one quite got on your nerves enough. And if they came close, you were a master at redirection—either of their attention or your work—which helped to avoid much direct conversation.

Joel, on the other hand, was like your shadow. No amount of running or insisting you didn’t help couldn’t keep him away from you. There was even one instance where you thought he was on patrol, only to turn around and see him staring you down from the stable doors.

Then, one day, one of the horses returned from patrol with a nasty scrape on its shoulder. It had slammed into a tree during a chase with a small group of Infected. The rider managed to get it back to Jackson okay, but once it was in the stable, the stallion started fighting back, not wanting to be touched.

All the horses in Jackson trusted you more than they trusted any of their riders. You figured you’d be able to calm the beast down so he could get treated.

“Woah, woah!” you called, hands raised in front of you, and you stepped back as the stallion, Ash, reared up. “It’s okay, you’re okay, boy.” You kept your voice soft, gentle, after screaming at everyone around you to keep quiet. Loud sounds weren’t going to help a skittish horse.

All four legs down on the ground again, Ash was still wide-eyed, chest heaving. He realized he was surrounded, looking around and stamping his feet at the circle of people trying to wrangle him. One of the other stablehands, thinking he could lasso the stallion, got too close to Ash’s rear. Ash spied him and kicked out a back leg, nearly catching the man in the chest before he stumbled back just in time.

After that, you waved everyone away. You thought nothing of the new shadow in the doorway behind Ash.

“Now, now, I’m not gonna hurt you,” you continued to soothe. You said nonsense a horse couldn’t understand, but you needed him to hear your voice, recognize you, and realize he was safe.

Ash’s breathing steadily started to even out, and you braved taking a step closer. He was still in his harness, the reins hanging down. If you could grab it, you could lead him back to his stall, giving him more time to settle away from people and other horses until he could get treated.

But Ash wasn’t as calm as you had thought. Instead, he had apparently been readying himself to lash out again.

You didn’t see it, not until it was too late, until you were too close. But someone else did.

“Move!” A voice shouted just as Ash reared up again. The next thing you knew, you were tackled to the ground, a loud grunt of pain sounding in your ear just before you landed.

There was shouting and Ash neighing, but you could only focus on Joel.

He hovered above you, staring down. “Are you alright?” he asked, voice strained. Ash had kicked him, you realized. Ash would have kicked you square in the chest if Joel hadn’t intervened.

His brow was furrowed, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the pain or concern for you.

“Are you alright?” You sat up, needing to check Joel over. Depending on how hard Ash got him and the angle, Joel could have had a broken shoulder or ribs.

“‘M fine,” he said, trying to brush you off. He kept staring at you, his hands twitching as if he wanted to reach out and touch you.

“You just got kicked by a horse, Joel.” You gently touched his right shoulder and caught him wincing.

You heard Ash squeal then and tensed, preparing for another outburst. But, thankfully, the others had finally caught him. He wasn’t happy and still struggling, but they were able to lead him to his stall, where they could leave him until he would let someone approach and tend his wound.

Able to breathe a sigh of relief, you turned back to Joel.

“Why did you do that?” you couldn’t help but ask. You were pretty sure Joel disliked you at best. What would have made him take a kick from a distressed horse for you?

“Someone has to watch out for you,” he said, somehow looking both inconvenienced and…shy.

You stared at him, stunned, unable to move even as he stood and held out his hand.

Joel Miller couldn’t…

Could he?

You took so long to do anything, Joel started to drop his hand. Your hand quickly shot out, grabbing his in a death grip. As he pulled you to your feet, pain flashed across his face. He used his bad side to help you.

Without letting go of his hand, you said, “Let’s go get you checked out.”

Joel’s protest died on his lips when he saw the look on your face. You wouldn’t take no for an answer.

After that, you let Joel take care of you however he saw fit, and on occasion, you returned the favor.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #x reader

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atinylittlepain · 2 years ago

Note

Could I request a Joel and F/reader where the reader is scared of Horses, but really wants to pet one, but is worried it will bite her, so one day Joel shows her they are friendly and soft as well as telling her he likes her and wants to be with her.

I just need some soft Joel after everything that has happened.

this is such a sweet and tender idea, i had to write it <3

gif by @a7estrellas

Spring Foals

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

She's not so sure about horses. He shows her there's nothing to fear.

warnings | 18+ the mildest angst, fluff abounds

......................

He doesn’t mind patrol shifts, but given the choice, Joel would always prefer working at the stables in town. He had grown up with horses, spending weekends at his grandparents’ ranch outside of Austin, riding hard alongside his brother just for the sake of it, joyous yelps as they bounded over the land. His grandfather had taught him how to take care of the animals, how to set horseshoes, how to birth foals, and how to treat those wild creatures with respect. So any chance he got to take a shift at the stables in Jackson, he jumped at it.

It’s a lucky spring day that he does get to work at the stables, warmth starting to thread through the afternoons that coaxes people into t-shirts and out onto their porches. They had three successful births over the winter, and he’s helping out with training the foals in one of the smaller pens. He’s a bit distracted though, watching what must be a class of school kids being led around the stables on a makeshift field trip. His eyes keep darting over to her, the pretty schoolteacher who lives two houses down from him and Ellie.

They had shared some friendly conversation with each other, at community meetings and whenever they ran into each other around town, and she always offered him a smile that made his heart squeeze. Ellie had been giving him endless shit for the so-called “dopey look” he got every time he talked to her, and had also been hounding him to “make a move already.” He’d been staving off her pestering with noncommittal grumbles. The truth was, he wanted to make a move, more than anything. But it was clear to him that this was a complete pipe dream. She was her, younger and lovely and liked by everyone in town. And Joel was– well, enough said. So, he resigned himself to the reality that it was never going to happen, stealing glimpses of her when he could, trying to tamp down his ridiculous crush.

He’s broken out of his swimming thoughts by the sound of shrieking kids coming his way, being led by another teacher and one of the stable hands . She’s pulling up the rear of the group and Joel has to look twice to confirm the furrowed look of worry across her face. He’s always been good with kids, and has no problem holding court as he explains to the small group what it takes to train the young horses up so they’ll be ready for riding. As he finishes speaking, two of the other people working at the stables offer the kids buckets of grain to feed the foals, guiding them into the pen. They take to it with obvious enthusiasm. She however, hangs back along the railing of the pen, biting her lip as she watches her class. Still in the pen, Joel sidles up next to her, offering her a crooked smile.

“Not a fan of horses, huh?” She shakes her head, a small smile across her lips.

“I think they’re beautiful, really. I just– ugh it’s embarrassing– but I guess I’m a bit afraid of them.” Joel raises his eyebrows at her and she bites her lip again, looking down at her hands where they rest along the railing.

“Have you ever been near one, up close?” She sighs as she looks up at him, squinting lightly in the afternoon sun.

“Only really when I first came here. I’m sure you’re familiar with the, uh, welcoming committee.” Joel hums at that, indeed remembering the ring of riders he and Ellie had encountered, what had really been an ambush of terror.

“I can see why you’re not too keen on them then. But I promise you, that was more the humans than it was the horses acting tough. Here– can I show you?” That furrowed look settles across her face again as she bites her lip, but she nods. He murmurs a quiet “be right back” before stepping back into the middle of the pen in which kids are still petting and feeding the foals. He grabs one of the buckets of grain and coaxes one of the foals along with it, back over to the edge of the pen where she’s standing.

She jerks away from the pen just slightly as the horse comes closer, a breathy laugh leaving her lips as she looks to Joel questioningly. He nods, an easy smile across his face as he holds his hand out to her. When she takes it, stepping closer, Joel’s mind goes hazy for a moment with the feeling of her palm in his. He clears his throat, letting go of her hand to offer her the bucket of grain. She takes a handful and stiffly holds it out, but the instant the horse comes closer, she shuffles back, letting out another nervous laugh. Joel can’t help but chuckle a bit.

“It’s ok, I promise. Here–” He holds out his hand to her again and she very tentatively steps forward. This time, Joel slides his palm under the back of her hand, encouraging her to hold her hand out flat with the grain in the center of her palm. He lightly curls his fingers around her wrist, guiding her hand down as the horse shuffles closer. He can feel the muscles in her wrist jump as the horse sniffs at her palm, but he holds her steady with his thumb lightly stroking the side of her hand. She laughs, eyes crinkling as she looks between Joel and the horse. He grins watching her.

“If I’m remembering right, they named this one Dolly.” She whispers the name to herself, smiling lightly.

“She’s so pretty.” Joel can’t take his eyes off her, the wonder clear in her expression.

“Yeah, she is.” The words leave his mouth before he can even think about them, and from the way she looks at him, a shy grin on her face, it’s clear she knows that Joel wasn’t talking about the horse. They look at each other for just a beat too long, but are quickly snapped out of it by the snuffling whinny of the horse. She jerks her hand away and out of Joel’s hold, letting out another nervous laugh.

“Well, um, thank you, Joel. I think you may have just proved me wrong about horses.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as they watch Dolly trot away. He looks back at her and she offers him a grin.

“You were right, the humans make all the difference.” Before he can respond to that, she’s already moving away to call her class to come back together. The other teacher on duty starts leading the group away as she brings up the rear. Joel sighs, turning to get back to work with the foals, but he’s quick to twist back around when he hears her call his name. She jogs back to the pen, pressing up against the fencing as he walks over. Before he can say anything, she’s lifting onto her tiptoes to lean over the railing, laying a fluttering kiss to his cheek. He’s pretty sure his heart stops for a few beats as she leans back, a small smile across her face.

“I’ve really gotta go. But would you like to come for dinner some time? I’d like to repay you for the, um, free exposure therapy.” All he can do is laugh, he’s so stunned by her question. She glances over her shoulder to her class that’s continuing to walk away before turning back to look at him. He’s pretty sure if Ellie were here right now, she’d be laughing at the “dopey look” that’s definitely plastered across his face. He clears his throat, nodding at her.

“Um, yeah, yes. Dinner– I’d like that.” Real smooth. She offers him a broad smile, laughing lightly as she starts to walk back toward her class.

“I’ll see you soon, Joel.”

Ellie was smugly excited to hear that night that Joel had finally made his move, with just a little help from a horse.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #tlou

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p-artsypants · 13 days ago

Text

The Pale Rider (9) Finding Sanctuary

The Isle of Berk is cursed. Like, extremely cursed. It has been for generations. The extent of the curse has been forgotten over time, but no descendants of the original village are able to leave the island, lest they suffer a gruesome fate. Three years ago, the Blacksmith invited the Pale Rider to town. He’s a creature that’s haunted the forest and childhood campfire stories for centuries. Now, he arrives every day at noon. One day, Astrid Hofferson decides to be brave and talk to him. He’s actually really nice…for an eldritch abomination. A Beauty and the Beast AU.

I have heard your lamentations! To the Castle!

TW: There's an illustration with blood in it halfway down.

Ao3

It had been a week since Astrid saw the Rider. A storm had rolled in, drenching Berk in heavy, oppressive rain. The Rider had told her not to come out in weather like this. He didn’t want her to get sick.

But she was missing him an awful lot.

She made lunch for her and her mother. The rain would keep customers away, and there weren’t many flowers left to sell. If she didn’t have her nest egg from the Rider, she’d be up a creek for the winter. But as it stood, she could get through until spring.

There was a heavy knock on the door.

“Come in!” She called, too busy chopping veggies to answer.

Snotlout blew in, drenched. “Wow! It is wet outside!”

“No kidding,” she snorted at his appearance. He looked like a drowned rat.

“This is my last delivery for the day,” he explained. “Mind if I hang around for a bit and warm up?”

“That’s fine. I’ve got hot water on for tea.”

“Oh yes please! With cream and sugar?”

“You know where they are,” she gestured over her shoulder. “I’m not your maid.”

He pouted. “You know, I could hold these letters ransom. My price is one cup of tea, served by the prettiest girl in town.”

She smirked at him. “Heather’s not here, Snotlout.”

He gasped. “I can’t believe you!”

“I have eyes and ears. I see you flirting with her.”

He took his soaked boots off and rested them by the fire. “Yeah, well, what you call flirting, I call being friendly. I’m nice, and friendly.”

“Then give me the letter.”

“Touche!” He conceded. “One for you, and one for your mother, both from your spooky boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” She snatched the envelopes, not surprised to see the one for her already opened. “You’re lucky we don’t talk about anything private in these.”

“Yeah, you prefer to talk about that stuff in person at the field.”

Her face flushed. “How did you know about that?”

“I have my ways.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He crumbled under that look. “I still have friends in the guard and they said you’ve been leaving early in the morning every day to go pick flowers.”

“As I’ve always done for years now.”

“But—” he added. “You’re gone for a lot longer now. Ever since the Rider was banned. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.”

Her mouth formed a weak line, biting her lip awkwardly.

“I don’t care. You like the…guy? Thing? Whatever floats your boat, Astrid. If you want to rendezvous with the mysterious creature in the woods, that’s your prerogative.”

“It’s not like that! Honest! I just…I was going to tell everyone I was seeing him in person but…I liked having time alone with him. It felt special.”

“Oh barf!” He laughed. “Astrid, as someone who was personally invested in you, I guarantee he appreciates the one on one time too.”

“Was?”

“Weren’t you just teasing me about Heather?”

“Then why are you always coming over to my house and bothering me?”

“I’m being friendly!” He argued again.

She couldn’t help but chuckle. It was really nice to be able to talk to Snotlout as a friend and not worry about him trying to twist the conversation into a marriage proposal.

His attempts to woo Heather were rather mild as well. Nothing like the behavior he had earlier this year. Before the Rider had talked to him.

For the dozenth time that day, her thoughts circled back around to him. She felt rather silly for how desperate she wanted to see him. It had to be the change that happened when she finally ‘saw’ his face.

There was a normal human being underneath all that horror, and she wanted to see him. See him for real, and not with her hands. Lifting the curse was feeling more like a new project rather than a far off dream. She wanted it so badly. He deserved to have his life back, or maybe a new life.

A new life with her?

That was a stretch. She’d been adamant for how many years now that she wasn’t looking for a man. And now she was thinking these thoughts about a man that was depressingly cursed and she didn’t even know the name of.

It had to be the mystery of it all. Picking and prodding until his story unraveled and the truths became known. She was enjoying it, learning about him. Watching him develop. It was captivating.

Snotlout stayed for about an hour, until her dinner was done cooking and apparently his socks were warm enough. Then he left with a promise to return for her reply letter the next day.

Astrid scooped up two bowls of soup and took them upstairs to eat with her mother.

“I have dinner, mother.”

Phlegma Hofferson peeled her eyes open and cracked the tiniest smile. “Smells good.” She couldn’t hold the spoon on her own anymore, so Astrid had to help her sit up and feed her.

“I heard a boy,” Phlegma smiled.

“Just Snotlout. He stole some tea and brought letters from the Rider.”

“He responded?”

“He sure did. I’ll read it to you once we’re done with dinner.”

“Such a nice boy, I really like him. Handsome too.”

Astrid couldn’t help the confused frown that pulled on her lips. She knew under the mask, he had a normal face, but she would not call his normal, everyday appearance ‘handsome’.

“He knocked his mask off,” Phlegma continued, “he was so scared of my reaction. Poor boy.”

“Mother, you saw his face?”

“Mmmhmm. A real cutie patootie.”

“He told me his face reflects your worst fears, that’s why he wears the mask.”

“Well darling, I don’t fear anything anymore, remember?”

“Oh.” That’s all she could say. If the Rider looked normal to her, that had to be proof. Proof that the end was coming.

She didn’t know if she could handle it.

There was another loud knock at the door, and Astrid assumed it was Snotlout again. He must have forgotten something.

“It’s open!” She called.

She heard the door open, and several footfalls on the floor below.

“Hello?”

The footfalls came to the stairs, and the intruders, Dagur and two guards, appeared at the doorway to the loft.

Astrid swallowed harshly. “What do you want?”

“Astrid, darling, I’m here strictly for business.”

“This is about the cart then?” She bit. “The one you burned?”

“Oh no no. No, we took the loss on that. It’s only fair. I lost control of my temper for a bit there.”

She sneered. She had her own anger management issues, but never burnt down anything.

“No, I’m here to talk about the loan on your house.”

Astrid felt cold. Like fingers of death were pinching her bones. “What?” She whispered. “What loan? Oswald…he forgave it when dad passed away.”

“No,” said Phlegma, weakly. “He paused it.”

“What?!” She whirled around to her mother. “I thought—why didn’t you tell me!?”

“I thought you knew, darling…I’m so sorry…”

Astrid really couldn’t find it in her to be angry with her mother. She didn’t mean to lie. And the poor woman was so sick, Astrid didn’t want to bear any anger towards her.

Dagur took a step closer, but still stayed a healthy distance away from the sick woman. “That’s right. We paused the payments. Now, with the interest accrued…”

She wanted to cry. This wasn’t fair. This was beyond cruel.

“Why now?” She breathed. “Why…why are you talking about this now? Don’t you have any sympathy? Any mercy?!”

“Well,” Dagur feigned an innocent face, folding his arms and tapping his fingers on them. His voice was soft and almost sweet, if she hadn’t known any better. “We wanted to talk to you about it before your dear mother passed. Once she has, we’ll be repossessing the house.”

“Repossess—? No. No way! I’ll pay it off! How much do I owe? I can make payments!”

“Darling, it’s okay!” He smiled sickly. “Because you’ll be married to me, and you won’t need this little shack.”

“…what?”

“Think about it, Astrid.” His voice became much colder. “You have no more family, no one else has the means to support you. Your debt is far too steep for anyone to touch you. Anyone that takes you in will be responsible for your debt. And I own every other property in town. I simply won’t sell you anything with an outstanding balance.”

“I can get money to pay you. I can pay it in full.” She really didn’t like asking the Rider for money, but this was an exception. She needed to buy her freedom.

“Oh, from the Pale Rider, hm? I’m afraid his gold is worthless to me. I won’t accept cursed gold. I’m making a very generous offer.”

“Generous? Not remotely.”

“Everyone else on this island owes us oodles and oodles of gold. But for you, I’m willing to completely erase your debt. You’ll have a home, a warm bed and meals, and I’ll make sure you’re bedded properly every night.”

She cringed, her entire body repulsed by the idea.

“So…marry me or become my servant and work off your debt.” He shrugged, after delivering this news so casually. “Or I suppose we could jail you for refusal to pay.”

A snarl ripped from her throat. “I’d rather die in the woods!”

He tsked. “Oh Astrid, poor, wayward, stubborn Astrid. Have it your way. I’m sure it’s just the grief talking. Don’t worry though, after you bury your mother I’ll be here with a cart to collect all your earthly belongings. Most of this belongs to me now anyway.” He gestured around him.

“I hope you choke,” Astrid sobbed.

“Brave words, my bride. I won’t hold it against you though. I’ll see you at the funeral.” He waved with a smile and descended the stairs with the two men in tow.

Astrid fell weeping at her mother’s side. “I can’t! Mother I can’t! I won’t! What do I do?!”

Phlegma reached a weak hand out to Astrid’s head and petted her hair. “You don’t have to marry him.”

“B-b-but he’s right! There’s no one else I can live with!”

“There is, darling. The Rider.”

She swallowed thickly. “You really think—?”

“Oh Astrid, he must be so lonely up there. He’d be so happy to have you.”

Astrid clenched her eyes shut. “He’s given me so much, I don’t want to take advantage of him.”

“You won’t. My Girl, if you live up there in his world, I don’t doubt you can end the curse. Won’t that be worth it?”

Of course it was. But there was still so much uncertainty surrounding her, ready to pounce and drown her.

“I want you to be with him,” Phlegma added. “He has proven himself to be the best for you.”

“But—“

“He’s a man who respects you, supports you, and only asks for companionship in exchange. He is a true friend. Even if that’s all he ever is, it’s not wrong to have him on your side.”

Astrid hugged herself.

“I’m tired, my darling. I’m going to rest. I want you to go to him now, tell him what has happened. He will confirm what I have said. Make a plan for the future. Get closure.”

“Mother…”

Phlegma smiled. “Dagur’s timetable is wrong. I still have plenty of time left. I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.”

She knew her mother was right. She was always right, in that way that mothers are. Astrid left the Rider’s letter to her on the bed so she could read it when she had the strength.

She put on her boots and coat, and grabbed her lantern. If Snotlout could make this journey daily, so could she.

She exited the house, locking the door behind her, only to hear the clearing of a throat.

“Going somewhere?” Dagur asked.

Astrid reeled back in horror. He was still there, waiting. He knew what she was going to do.

She growled at him. “Get out of my way.”

“Now now. You really shouldn’t be out in the rain like this. It’s not good for your health.”

Anger like she had never felt before burned her from within. She tightened her grip on the ring of the lantern…

And then sent it crashing into his face.

Dagur staggered back in pain, crying out violently and boisterously.

The two guards with him sprang into action, trying to subdue her. But she was too fast. She dodged away from their hands, dropping the lantern and losing a boot in the process.

Then Astrid ran out into the rain. Consumed with grief, anxiety, and desperation, she ran. She ran across town, her sock and boot soaking through from the mud and puddles. She travelled down the hill, and then through the town gate.

To the right, the path to the docks, to the left, an old stone bridge that led to the mountain. She’d never crossed it before. But she did today. The bridge led to the old arena, an old amphitheater that sat abandoned from the early days. Then, beyond that, the cairn that marked the beginning of the road to the castle.

The sun would be setting soon, and the scant light through the storm would disappear. Darkness would settle, and she’d make this trek alone. But she dare not go back. Not when Dagur was waiting.

There was a wide open path that a carriage could take, and then a more secluded footpath that she could hide in.

She hadn’t even gotten very far and her feet hurt. Tree roots formed stairs that led up around the jagged rocks. She felt with her hands as she went, now that it was too dark to see within the trees.

She tripped, slipping on the mud and skinning her knee and the palm of her hands. It was uncomfortable, but she’d had worse in her life. She was a fighter, after all.

Her hair hung flat to her head, her braid weighed down with water. Her bangs stuck to her face. She used her muddy hands to push them out of the way, but they just kept falling back into place.

Her aching feet screamed in pain as she crested the mountain path. It had taken her over an hour, but she was certain she could see the silhouette of towers in the distance.

She staggered towards it, the iron gate coming into view.

With a loud whoosh, two huge flames burst forth in braziers upon the wall, illuminating her surroundings. They were undeterred by the deluge of rain. The iron gate groaned and swung open to reveal a new bridge.

This close, her energy surged and she ran to the doors. The closer she came, the more torches illuminated to cast dim light upon the foreboding fortress. Another gate opened, and she was in the courtyard.

It was still too dark to see the plants that Snotlout had described, but she saw the dragon fountain.

The large wooden door laid just before her, illuminated with fire light. A large iron knocker, in the shape of a dragon holding a ring, awaited her.

She swung it, slamming against the wood in a deafening crack. Then she stepped back, and waited.

Several heartbeats passed, and she desperately tried to make herself more presentable. She probably looked horrible, covered in blood and mud. Her dress was torn.

The doors creaked open, and she saw the tall, horned silhouette of the castle’s master.

“Astrid!” He gasped.

She shivered, cold to the bone and full of adrenaline. “Can I come in?”

“Please!” He stepped out into the rain to wrap an arm around her and lead her in. “My gods, you’re soaked!”

She still trembled, though the castle was slightly warmer than outside. The room was bigger than she imagined, bigger than Snotlout could describe. A ceiling over a hundred feet high, with a dozen heavy wrought iron chandeliers. The walls and floor were carved of heavy stone. Black and red satin curtains draped dramatically to the walls. More standing candelabras lined the walls between several doors. There was a balcony halfway up, revealing another series of doors, and then another balcony up even higher. Two huge staircases took up the far side of the room, leading to the balconies and up farther to two large doors.

Between the two stairs was a large painting, though Astrid couldn’t make out the subject from here.

“Rider, Dagur—he came to my house—” She spoke through chattering teeth.

“You can tell me all about it in a minute. Let me get you something warm and dry to wear.” Then he considered, “There’s no emergency, right? You don’t need me to kill him?”

That cheered Astrid up a bit. “N-no, I got away.”

He nodded, and continued to lead her away.

As they approached the stairway, she could finally see the painting Snotlout had mentioned. Exquisitely painted in painstaking detail, was the portrait of a man. He wore nothing but a sheet on his lap, as he awkwardly reclined in a wood chair. He had black hair and a beard, and a face that she found profoundly untrustworthy. A stab wound was painted onto his chest, oozing blood down his chest, and staining the sheet. There was even a puddle on the ground.

“Ugh,” she said, unintentionally.

“Don’t look at that,” he told her, stepping in between the grisly painting and her line of sight.

He led her up the stairs to the second story, then down the balcony to a room, and inside. The room was a spacious dressing room, with a changing screen on one side. A couch in the center had a sheet over it.

“Here,” he led her behind the screen. “Go ahead and get out of that dress. I can clean and mend it for you.”

“Y-you don’t have to do that.” She still shivered as she pulled off the heavy dress. It fell to the ground with a splat.

A clean, warm nightdress draped over the top of the screen, followed by a towel. “Here, it might be an older style than you’re used to. I hope that’s okay.”

“This is more than I could have asked for,” she said sincerely, already feeling better without the sopping wet dress on. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

She dried off with the towel, then slipped the nightdress on. It was silk, and so soft on her frigid skin. Whoever it belonged to before was close to her size, but the skirt was longer than she would have wanted.

As she stepped out from the screen, she found the Rider waiting, holding a robe up for her. “That dress probably isn’t warm enough on its own.”

She allowed him to help her put it on, as he held up the sleeves. Then he pulled her over to sit at the chaise lounge while he knelt at her feet. He took her boot and socks off, growling at the blood that stained her unprotected foot.

“Where did your other boot go?” He said, voice hard.

“I lost it in a scuffle,” she said softly. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I want to,” he toweled her feet off. “It's like when you cleaned my leg wound back then. I never got to thank you for it.” Then he caught a glimpse of her hands, and started to clean them too. He was delicate and tender, trying not to hurt her. “Did you trip?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. She hiked up the skirt to show her scraped knees as well. “The mud was slippery.”

“Oh Astrid,” he tutted, cleaning her knees as well.

“Thank you.”

“It really is no problem.”

She didn’t need any bandages, as the wounds were mild scrapes. But once cleaned, he crouched and wrapped an arm under her legs and one around her back.

“I can stand!” She protested.

“Yes, but please allow me this act of hospitality.” He stood, lifted her from her seat.

She had to wrap her arms around his shoulders to hang on.

He carried her back to the foyer, then down the stairs and into another room. It was still larger than the main room in her mother’s house, though it was supposed to be more intimate and cozy. It was painted a deep green, with an arched ceiling broken up with dark wood beams. Intricate and ornate moldings lined the ceiling and floor. There was a handsome rug, woven with reds, blacks, and golds. Taxidermied deer and elk heads decorated the walls. The room was only illuminated by the fire in the dark fireplace. Two paintings hung on the mantle, one of a man and one of a woman. “This is the green drawing room, where I spend most of my evenings.” He set her down on the red and black couch. The cushions were plush and made in a luxurious manner she’d never experienced before. She sank into it with a sigh.

“Wait here, I’ll be back with some tea. My parents will watch you.”

“Your parents?” She asked, but he had already fled.

Astrid looked around the room again, finding it empty of people except for the two paintings on the wall.

“Oh,” she seemed to realize what he meant. His parents were just paintings. Just the image of people he loved.

How tragic. How sad.

She looked at them, studying the divine details. The woman sat in a chair, and faced the left with her hands in her lap. She had long brown hair, braided in the style most viking women wore. She had a green dress, with a fur shawl over it.

The man was large, though the painting was only of his bust. He had a mighty red beard, braided into several plaits. He wore a black fur cape, pinned to his shoulders with ornamental pendants. His eyes were green and downcast.

As she studied them, she tried to imagine the Rider’s face. What traits of theirs did he have? His father’s eyes? His mother’s hair?

After a while in silence, with only the crackling of the fire, both of the people in the paintings turned and looked at her.

She gasped in a silent scream.

“Boo!” The paintings both shouted, big smiles on their faces.

“You—you’re alive!” She shrieked, nearly falling off the couch.

“In a way,” said the man. “As much as canvas and paint can be alive.”

“Sorry to scare you, lass,” said the woman. “We just couldn’t resist! Not every day we have a guest in the castle!”

“First in centuries!”

She took a moment to catch her breath. “You…are you really his parents?”

“That’s right,” said the woman. “You can call me Valka, and this is my husband, Stoick.”

“And you must be Astrid,” said Stoick. “He’s told us all about you.”

Her face warmed. “He did?”

“Aye. His new dear friend, the flower vendor.” Valka grinned.

Astrid then noticed the dried bouquets around the room, placed in various vases.

“A beautiful blonde with eyes as blue as the ocean!” Stoick sang. “You know how ecstatic we were to hear he had a human friend? He’d been glued to Toothless for years. I feared he’d forget how to interact with people completely. He got close, not going to lie. I’ll be forever thankful for that Blacksmith.”

Astrid found herself dumbstruck. She had so many questions for them, so many things she hoped they’d explain.

“Are you two trying to embarrass me?” Rider asked, as he returned with a tray. It had a kettle, two cups, and cream and sugar. He set it on the low table in front of the couch.

“Always, darling,” cooed Valka. “I’ve always wanted the chance.”

The Rider sat beside Astrid and took her hands. “Now, what brings you up here on such a night and in such a state? What happened?”

Astrid tried to figure out where to begin. She gnawed on her lip and asked, “could I—?” but she trailed off. “Dagur said—” she tried again, but felt tears biting at her eyes.

“Take your time,” he reassured.

“Dagur came to my house,” she finally explained. “He came to tell me that…well, the payments to Oswald hadn’t been forgiven like I thought. They were only paused. He said that once my mother died—” she choked, and covered her mouth with her hand. “He’s repossessing my house!”

“Oh dear,” said Valka, with a pained gasp.

“How much do you need?” The Rider asked, immediately.

She shook her head. “He said he won’t accept gold. He said that I—I have to marry him!”

“No,” he said firmly.

“He’s not giving me a choice!” She wept. Then she stood and started pacing. “He said he’ll be there the day my mother is buried to take me to his home. He won’t sell me another home or land! I can’t stay with the others either! He says whoever takes me in is responsible for my debt! It’s been accruing interest for years! My only other options are to become his servant and work it off or–” she sobbed. “Or prison!”

“Then stay here,” he said calmly. “Live with me, with us.”

She cried harder, mostly in relief. He said it so easily, so casually. Her mother was completely right. She covered her face with her hands.

He stood. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“Please,” she hiccuped. “I want to. I didn’t know what to do. My mom told me to come here, but I didn’t know if you’d let me, or—or—!”

He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Astrid, you are always welcome here. I’d love to have you.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, she collapsed against him, holding him tightly. His touch was so different from everyone else’s but she didn’t mind at all. “Thank you…thank you…”

Delicately, he wrapped an arm around her, and brought her to sit once again.

“You said you lost your boot in a scuffle. Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No. I…I think I hurt him pretty good. He was waiting outside my house. I think he knew I was going to come here. I don’t know what he was going to try to do, but…I hit him in the face with my lantern.”

“Good on ya, lass!” Stoick praised.

“He had some men with him that tried to grab me, but I broke free and ran. That’s when I lost my boot.”

The Rider was quiet a long time. He tightened his hold on her shoulder very lightly, almost imperceptibly. “Is your mother alright?”

“She should be, until morning.”

“Then you should stay here tonight. I’d rather you didn’t go out in that storm. In the morning, I’ll bring you back to town on Toothless.”

“I would greatly appreciate it.”

There were three loud cracks from the foyer, the iron knocker on the door.

“Who could that be?” Asked Valka.

“I have a guess,” the Rider said as he stood.

Astrid grasped his cloak. “Don’t answer it! He’s here for me!”

“Wait here. He’s not welcomed inside, so he won’t enter.”

Reluctantly, Astrid released his cloak, but followed to watch from the doorway.

Another crack echoed through the hall.

The Rider raised his hand, and the candles that illuminated the foyer dimmed considerably, casting her into shadow and making the hall look wholly unwelcoming.

He opened the door, and the heavy rain filled the silence.

“Pale Rider!” Dagur yelled. “You are harboring my bride! Release her to me, and no harm will come to you!”

From her vantage point, Astrid could see a glint of a sword, pointing right at The Rider’s throat.

The flames in the candles flickered violently, as the Rider’s cape flourished and whipped around. A dark haze fell over him, almost like smoke. In a voice she had only heard him use once before, he told Dagur, “Astrid Hofferson is now under my protection. Anyone who dares to harm her will answer to me.”

The sword trembled, before plunging forward into the Rider’s chest. It tore through and emerged from the back.

“Rider!” Astrid shrieked.

“There you are, harlot!” Dagur called, pushing the Rider aside in his violent desperation.

He took one step inside the castle, and immediately collapsed against the doorframe. “...wha…?” He uttered.

The Rider, still impaled, grabbed Dagur by the arm and threw him outside. “You are not welcome here. I will give you this warning once, and only once.” He slowly drew the sword out of his chest. “You cannot stop me. If I find you have hurt a single hair on her head, I will come for you. No door will keep me out, no blade will cut me down. I am inescapable. And I will kill you.” He held the blade up, as if to inspect it. “I think I will keep this. Much too dangerous in your hands. Good night Dagur.” And he shut the door.

A second later, the hellish roar of Toothless echoed from outside, followed by several blood curdling screams.

Astrid ran to him. “Are you alright!? How are you still standing!?”

He withdrew the side of his cloak, revealing his chest. There was very clearly a bleeding wound in the center. “It will heal soon.”

“But—!”

“It’s alright, Astrid. I can’t die, remember? Though…that did hurt. I will go and clean it up. Please, return to the drawing room and wait for me there.”

She wanted to protest. She found herself fighting for words, though none came out.

He nodded to her and left up the stairs.

With no other options, Astrid returned to the drawing room.

“What happened? What was all that?” Asked Stoick.

“D-Dagur came and he…he stabbed him! He ran the Rider right through! And he says he’s fine!” She cried, hysterical. “But it went all the way through!”

Stoick and Valka just laughed, before Stoick explained, “oh dear, he’s had much worse than that!”

“He did lose a leg after all, and that was before the curse.”

She sucked in a breath, trying to calm down. Everyone else seemed so calm about it, but she had never seen someone be stabbed, let alone fully impaled like that. It was shocking, and traumatizing. She attempted to focus on something else. “Do you remember how he lost it?”

“Aye!” Said Stoick, mightily. “Why don’t you sit down and pour yourself some tea? It’s a riveting story!”

Astrid all but collapsed onto the cushion, her knees weak from all the excitement.

“He doesn’t remember, but you do?”

Valka and Stoick nodded sadly. “His most important memories, the ones that define who he is, were stolen from him with the curse. We’ve told him the story several times over the years but…”

“He blacks out and forgets them,” she concluded.

“Exactly,” said Valka. “It happened with you?”

“He recalled how you guys came here, and that he fought a dragon. But he blacked out shortly after and forgot about it.”

“Sounds about right,” sighed Stoick. “Poor boy. Over the years, we stopped trying to get him to remember. He just never will.”

Astrid hugged herself around the waist, cold. And it wasn’t still lingering from her little shower.

“He was born early,” said Valka. “The smallest baby in the tribe. It’s tradition for our people to name the runt of the litter…” she paused and screwed up her face, her brows furrowing and mouth pulling into a hard line with wrinkles.

“You can’t remember, can you?”

Valka shook her head, sadly. “No, not anymore. How terrible of a mother am I? I can’t remember my son’s name…”

“But it’s the curse,” Astrid reassured. “It has nothing to do with how good of a mother you are, the curse stole his name.”

“I know,” she wiped a tear from her cheek. “It just hurts.”

“For hundreds of years, our people were at war with dragons,” Stoick continued. “Every viking’s rite of passage was to kill a dragon, and our boy was just as excited about it as everyone else. However, because of his size, he wasn’t able to swing a sword or hold a shield. He tried to find other ways to kill the beast, but he had such a clumsy streak that he did more harm than good.”

He would…pick me up, just by the back of the shirt. He was mad at me a lot, Astrid remembered the Rider saying.

“He made this machine, like a catapult, that would launch a bola to capture a dragon. He shot it one night, and caught himself a Nightfury,” Stoick explained.

“Nightfury?” Asked Astrid.

“The Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death. At least, that’s what some people called it. Personally, I thought he was more like an oversized kitten.”

“Our boy had accidentally ripped the tailfin off the dragon and grounded him. Instead of killing him, like our tradition dictated, he built a prosthetic tail and helped him fly again.”

“Oh!” Astrid sat up. “This is Toothless!”

“Aye, his best friend,” said Stoick. “To be honest, I was livid when I found out that he had befriended a dragon. I even disowned him.”

Astrid folded her legs underneath her, captivated by the story.

“Our son told us he and Toothless had discovered the reason the dragons kept raiding us. They had a tyrant queen that demanded food sacrifices, and only a dragon could find her. Despite his warnings, I took his Nightfury, and we went after the queen ourselves.”

Astrid could see on the horizon where this story was going, but stayed quiet.

“Even though he was disowned, even though he had nothing, and the village hated him, our son still came to fight. He has this way with the beasts, and he trained several to carry him into battle.”

“You should have seen him, Astrid,” Valka said, fondly. “This little boy, so small for his age, flying into battle on a dragon.”

“The queen was huge, the size of a mountain! I’ve never seen anything like it, even to this day. And my son took that Nightfury, and they fought it.”

“...but they lost,” finished Astrid, sadly.

“Aye, they lost. The beast knocked them out of the sky with an explosion of fire, burning his foot to the bone. Only half the tribe escaped the battle. He took it hard, blamed himself for a long time. I did too. If only I had listened…But eventually, we convinced him that he was right. We came to accept that the dragons were just as much victims as we were. He and I struggled a lot, trying to see eye to eye. He’s stubborn, you know. He asked me over and over to go and finish the fight with the queen. But I didn’t want to lose him. He had already lost a limb, what would happen next time?”

“The queen didn’t give up,” said Valka. “She sent more raids, and nearly burned our home to the ground. Eventually, we decided to flee, and we came here.”

Astrid released a pained sigh. “And you didn’t have better luck here.”

“At first, we were fine! It was only until—”

“Alright,” The Rider announced, walking in the room. “Took a little longer than I wanted to get it to stop bleeding, but I’m alright.”

Astrid whipped her head around to look at him. He had a bandage wrapped around his chest, right over his heart.

“See? No harm done.”

She stood and went to him, resting a hand on his chest oh so delicately. “If you had been anyone else, that would have killed you.”

“If I had been anyone else, I don’t think he would have stabbed me. He’s afraid of me. He sees me as a threat that needs to be destroyed.”

“This is my fault…”

He took her hand in both of his. “Not even close, my lady. I’ve been run through by villagers countless times. And for dumber reasons. It would have happened at one point or another.”

He once again led her back to the couch, and finally poured them both a cup of tea.

“Were you two kind to Astrid while I was gone?” He asked the paintings.

“Of course! Told her all sorts of embarrassing stories of when you were a child.”

“Someone has to, I can’t,” he chuckled.

Stoick and Valka didn’t think it was funny.

“They told me how you met Toothless,” she elaborated.

“Ah, that’s a good one…what I remember of it.” He scratched his chin under his mask. “I’m grateful the curse didn’t steal all of those memories. Just some of the more…impactful ones.”

Astrid was about to ask if he meant like losing his leg, but worried it would trigger a black out, so she said nothing.

“That man,” Valka began. “At the door. You said his name is Dagur? Who is he?”

Astrid mimed a gag. “Ugh! He’s the worst! Dagur the Deranged, of the Berserker clan.”

“Berserker,” Stoick and Valka stated in unison.

“Ruffians.”

“Troublemakers.”

“Dangerous!”

“Utterly unstable!”

“I take it you knew his ancestors?” Astrid asked.

“That we did! Ravi the Ravager they called him. Excellent in a fight, but you never wanted to stand by him.”

“Sounds like the crazy runs thick in the blood?” Valka asked.

“He was the one that kicked me out of town,” said the Rider.

“Oh that’s right, his father is some sort of businessman?”

“He owns everything in town,” Astrid explained. “Including my house…”

“And he’s going to repossess it once your mother passes, and expects you to marry him. I see, I believe we’re all caught up now.” Valka nodded.

Astrid took a sip of her peach tea, thinking briefly of Heather. “I’ve known him my whole life. He’s only become scarier and more violent with age. When we were younger, I think I considered him a friend. Then once puberty hit, he and Snotlout became unbearable. At least Snotlout had the decency to turn off the flirting on occasion, but Dagur was relentless. He didn’t care about me. He’d just call me whatever he wanted, touch me inappropriately…I learned how to fight back, and I’d hit him if he touched me. But now he’s stronger, and I have to hit harder. There may come a time where I can’t hit hard enough.”

“You don’t need to worry about him anymore,” The Rider assured. “I’ve made it clear he’s not to touch you.”

“But you can’t always be there. Especially since you’ve been banned from the village.”

“I have my ways of looking out for you. Trust me.”

Astrid figured she really only could take his word for it.

They chatted for a while longer. Astrid listened to stories of years gone by, stories of the old world where her ancestors came from.

“And what of the Hofferson clan?” She asked. “What were my ancestors like?”

“Fearless Finn Hofferson!” Stoick boomed. “Now he was a warrior! First to enter, last to leave! He saved hundreds of lives! Including my son! Several times!”

“Back when I was small,” the Rider clarified.

“Not much older than you either,” said Stoick. “Weren’t you friends?”

“No, not really,” the Rider said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

“Well, at any rate, Astrid, you should be proud to come from such a legacy.”

Eventually, she yawned and the Rider decided she needed to rest.

“I’m not that tired,” she protested.

“You’ve had an exciting day. Come, let me show you to your room.”

As she stood, she felt a soreness settle into her bones. Perhaps she was more tired than she thought.

The rooms next to the drawing room were connected to each other, and she followed him as he went. As he opened the doors, the candles ignited, illuminating the room just enough to see. The next room was similar to the last, but had a wide table in the center. The walls were covered in wooden wainscotting and paintings of landscapes. There was a large fireplace and two windows on either side. In the middle of the table, a small cedar tree grew from the floor and up, the tip just barely missing the chandelier in the middle.

“This is where I take my meals,” he explained. “The Cedar Drawing room.”

As they moved, she watched as Stoick and Valka followed along as well, hopping between paintings on the walls. It was a relief to watch them travel, as she imagined being trapped in a painting had to be unpleasant, but unable to see your spouse only a foot away had to be torture. As they walked through a painterly field, they held hands and smiled.

The next room was gold, and had several more paintings. The walls had a sheen to them, and reflected the candle light. All the frames were gold, and even the floor had flecks of gold in it. “Let me guess, the gold Drawing room?”

“You are very keen, aren’t you?” He hummed. “I don’t come in here much, so it will offer you some privacy. This next room is yours.” He unlocked the door and held it open for her.

“Oh…my…Thor…” she breathed.

The room was decadent, lush with luxuries she didn’t know existed. The bed was on the far wall, hidden within a thick red velvet canopy trimmed in gold. The exquisite white molding was bordered in gold. Even the ceiling held detail, as it was her favorite light blue and garnished with gold scrolling ribbons. A large crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, sparkling in the firelight. There was a fireplace on the right wall, and several chests and drawers for belongings. Another door was tucked next to the fireplace, and led to a dressing and washing room with large windows that looked out into the garden.

Most miraculously, the light blue wallpapered walls were covered in vines, crawling up to the ceiling. The vines held white, trumpet-shaped flowers that looked like morning glories. They glowed a soft blue in the evening shadows.

“I couldn’t…”

“Astrid…” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Ever since we became friends, I imagined this room belonging to you. I dreamt that maybe you’d agree to come and visit here for a few days every once in a while. It deserves to be used, and you deserve to use it.”

“It’s so beautiful…”

There was a large portrait of a woman on the wall, and she remained still even as Valka appeared in the frame and leaned on her. “While we can jump from most paintings in the castle, Stoick has already agreed to stay away from these. I can come here if you need anything.”

It almost was more comforting that she could be here. The room was so big, it was daunting.

“Then I shall leave you tonight. In the morning, I will meet you in the Cedar Drawing room for breakfast. Alright?”

She nodded, still starstruck.

“Goodnight, Astrid.”

#fanfiction #httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccup #hiccstrid #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #the pale rider #viggo grimborn #beauty and the beast

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honeybeefae · 2 years ago

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Valentine's Mini Fic // Lucien Vanserra

It is no longer February but who doesn’t want a super cliche, romantic story with Lucien? This was such a cute, fun story to write and totally reminded me of something disneyesque lol. I hope you guys like it!

WARNINGS: Dead animal

Trope: Damsel in distress

Tree branches scraped across your arms as you ran through the woods, skirts gathered in your hands to avoid tripping over them while desperately looking for somewhere to hide.

You hadn’t meant to anger the animal chasing you. It was just that you were starving and when you stumbled across their den you couldn’t resist the look of the various berries and vegetables they had collected into a small pile. The hunger had been gnawing at your stomach since you had escaped the king of Hybern’s claws, if you hadn’t taken advantage of the food you would probably be dead in a ditch.

“Mother above, please help me!” You begged, hearing the pounding hooves getting closer. It was dusk and the stars beginning to sparkle above in the Spring Court. You were running out of time as the sun began to start its departure to sleep.

The animal roared loudly, the birds in the trees fleeing while the ground seemed to tremble from its anger, as you took a sharp left turn. You saw a large maple tree with branches just low enough for you to grab and began to sprint towards it, your lungs feeling as if they were on fire as you scurried up as fast as you could.

As your fingers dug into the rough bark the animal stopped underneath your hiding place, snorting as it smelled your scent. By the time you were halfway up the tree, it started to ram its horns into the base of it. You screamed, wrapping your entire body around the trunk to hold on for dear life.

Your eyes squeezed shut in terror, memories of your life and what you had just escaped flashing through your mind as the tree began to slowly move. You knew that with only a few more hits both you and the tree would go tumbling down.

And as you began to pray your last prayer, you heard the animal let our terrifying shriek. You could feel your heart in your stomach as you peeked down, your mouth dropping open when you saw it laying on its side with an arrow through its skull.

A horse whinnied through a clearing of the woods up ahead, approaching your tree slowly as the rider gave it hushed commands. You immediately started to climb higher, afraid it was one of the king’s men coming after you. The branches were getting smaller and smaller as you heard leaves crunching under the stranger’s boots, a flash of red hair the only thing you could make out.

“What were you chasing after, hm?” The stranger wondered aloud, a small piece of cloth at the bottom of the tree catching their eye. “Or should I say who?”

You froze, your heartbeat in your ears, as you tried to be as quiet as possible. The voice didn’t sound like anyone you knew but you couldn’t risk it, you had worked so hard to escape.

“Is anyone up there?” The voice called, scanning the lush branches.

A deep breath was all you allowed yourself to take, trying to assure yourself that you were safe…until one of the branches you were holding snapped in half.

“No!” You cried, scrambling to find another one to hold onto only to cause the other one in your right hand to break as well. The wind wooshed loudly in your ears as you fell several feet, your hands desperately trying to grab onto something as your body took several hits.

The ground was quickly approaching and just as you were sure you were going to snap your neck, two arms wrapped around you and caught you in the nick of time. You instinctively throw your arms around their neck, looking into the most beautiful face you had ever seen.

His skin was tan with hair as red as flames, tucked behind his ears and flowing down past his shoulders. You traced his scar with your eyes, noticing his golden eye, before moving to his lips that were parted in surprise. It took you several seconds to remember what was happening, and whose arms you could potentially be in.

The man grunted when you roughly shoved his chest, freeing you from his grasp so that you could take off back into the woods. It wasn’t the smartest idea but it did provide you with the most cover. You heard him yell, ordering you to stop, but you pushed on.

When you felt like you had successfully outrun him you decided to rest on a large willow tree for a moment, needing to catch your breath before looking for shelter for the night. The sun was now almost completely gone, the sky painted in shades of purples and oranges that you admired for a few seconds.

However, it was a few seconds too long as you suddenly found yourself staring down at the edge of a blade, the man from before on the other end of it.

“Who are you? What are you doing in these woods?” He asked, jaw tense. You held your hands up shakily, swallowing the lump in your throat while trying not to cower in fear.

“Please do not take me back, sir. I have money, I can pay you off. Just let me go.” You pleaded.

“Take you back where? What are you running from?”

You glanced down at the knife, seeing yourself in the reflection, before looking back up at him. He didn’t seem like one of Hybern’s soldiers now that you studied him but you also knew that Hybern had allies all over the continent. Could you tell him the truth? Was it smart?

He could tell you were terrified, your entire body was shaking. He also knew you were injured, the cuts from the fall staining your already muddy dress. You were both sizing the other one up before he sighed and stepped back, sheathing his weapon.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He said, removing the coat he had and laying it down on the ground for you. “Here, before you freeze to death.”

His kindness made you pause, hesitating to pick it up in fear of a trick until a breeze had goosebumps rising up your arms. You bent down while maintaining eye contact just in case, snatching the coat and throwing it around your body.

Warmth immediately encased your upper body while the smell of earth and spice warmed your insides. It made you feel safe and for the first time since your escape, you felt peaceful.

“Thank you.” You whispered, offering him a small smile.

“You’re welcome.” He nodded, fighting the way he wanted to return your smile. “Now, will you tell me your name?”

“Tell me yours first, then I will tell you mine.” You bargained, trying to stand taller. This time he could not resist smiling.

“First you trespass on our land, then I save your life, twice, and yet you think you are the one who can make demands?” He chuckles, crossing his arms while leaning against the tree behind him. “I do believe you’ve got our positions twisted, girl.”

You roll your eyes while gathering the jacket tighter against you. “I want to know I can trust you.”

He clicks his tongue and looks you over once more, shaking his head. “It would be naive of you to trust any stranger, even the ones that save your life.”

If he were with Hybern, or anyone nefarious, he wouldn’t entertain you this much. You did not know who he was, what he did, or why he was out in the woods, but you felt deep in your soul that you could trust him.

“My name is Y/N, Y/N L/N.” You say softly, gazing up at him as the moon begins to rise.

“Y/N…” He repeats, your name rolling off his tongue in the most enticing way. Despite your injuries and hunger, your knees seemed to go weak at the sound of it. “What are you running from, Y/N?”

“Hybern.” Your eyes fell to the ground as a shudder rippled through your body. “I’ve lived there my entire life and what they did, what he did to my family…I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get out.”

The man gave you a sympathetic look, his eye softening as you tried to hold yourself together. You didn’t mean to cry in front of him, or even divulge this much information, but again something told you that he was safe. You needed safe…desperately.

“Please-” You paused, realizing you still did not know his name.

“Lucien.”

“Please, Lucien. Please do not make me go back.”

You drew in a shallow breath while he looked on, conflicted. Hybern was not something he, nor the Spring Court in general, wanted to get involved in but he also couldn’t return you. If it were anyone else he would have left them in the woods to fend for themselves, wishing them luck and sleeping soundly at night.

But when you looked at him, your eyes teary yet trusting, something deep within him shifted. He wanted to help you.

Without warning he lifted you off the ground, carrying you bridal style as he walked back to his horse. You were gingerly put in front before he climbed behind you, wrapping one arm around you to keep you secure while the other took the reigns.

“Where are you taking me?” You asked, voice tense as the horse began to follow whatever path it knew.

“Somewhere safe.” Lucien answered, enjoying the way your body felt against his as you relaxed against him. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep before you got to your destination, snoring softly which made him smile again. This was going to be interesting.

#lucien vanserra x reader #lucien x reader #acotar reader #acotar #lucien acotar #lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x reader acotar #lucien vanserra x reader acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #spring court #vanserra

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koskela-knights · 1 year ago

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Random Koskela HCs

Headcanons partially based on what I've seen in the game so far, which includes some of the manuscript pages & the commercials (*Some spoilers ahead thus*)

Ilmo is the younger twin with an age difference of 3 solid minutes

Ilmo's entrepreneur & creative spirit is balanced out by Jaakko's no-nonsense attitude.

However, I like to think that Jaakko has had his share of wacky, wild ideas but happily gives Ilmo the credit for them since most residents already view Jaakko as the less quirky brother.

It was actually Jaakko who came up with the floats they can't show on television.

The Koskelas are inseparable from each other and also from their baseball cap and beanie.

They probably lived in Watery their whole life.

Ilmo looks up to his brother, even though he doesn't always say this out loud.

The brothers have a bunch of tapes with bloopers from their commercials that they watch when drinking beers together after a long day of work.

Every now and then, when the weather's good, they like to race each other on their motorcycles. It got them in trouble more than once with the deputies, but fuck the government and police!

They also like to make long tours on their bikes, taking in the views of the landscape.

Extended Family

Jaakko met his wife who was a tourist visiting Bright Falls. They had kids but in the end it didn't work out with them because his wife was a city woman, plus Jaakko's involvement with so many Koskela businesses left him with little to no time for her.

Still, he has an okay bond with his ex and a good relationship with his kids. They mainly keep contact through e-mail and occasional phone calls. During some holidays, the kids visit Jaakko in Watery.

When the kids were young, Jaakko's built them some toys and mini attractions (like a mini moose spring rider)

Ilmo tried his best to be The Cool Uncle but didn't always succeed where he wanted to. Being a smalltown resident, he was often out of touch with the big city customs and cultures.

Other random stuff

Although the local government isn't always too happy about so many things being owned by the Koskelas, it gives the town their fair share of income and it helps locals get jobs and keep a community feel.

Ilmo took evening classes to become an entrepreneur

He had to grow into his more extroverted persona.

Ilmo hates it when tourists pronounce or write his name wrong. No his name is not Elmo and he doesn't know who that furry red thing is. (There have been instances where Jaakko told naive tourists that 'Elmo' is the correct English version they could use instead)

Ilmo once considered doing tour guides on his motorcycle but Jaakko talked him out of it.

Angsty

Ilmo sometimes feels he has to overcompensate in his achievements. Since he looks up to Jaakko, who is his business partner and has a family, Ilmo fears he will fall behind.

Jaakko wishes his kids would stay in Watery, but knowing how shady the place is, he is glad they live far away from their hometown.

Jaakko was initially afraid to become a dad, but Ilmo hyped him up and supported him through the process.

No matter how many Taken they've killed, it hurts each time. Especially if they've known the person who got transformed.

Jaakko was the first one to kill a Taken, which he did after Ilmo initially hesitated which almost got him heavily injured.

Ilmo isn't superstitious, but there always remained a lingering fear that one day he would turn out like the historical figure Illmari. After the events of AW2, he blames himself heavily for Jaakko's death.

Ilmo has survivor's guilt.

After Jaakko's death, Ilmo can't immediately grieve, because there is still an evil to defeat, plus he still has all his responsibilities for the multiple businesses he runs. But keeping up a facade isn't easy.

Ilmo doesn't know what to tell Jaako's kids. How is he supposed to explain what happened to their father? The only "consolation" is that Jaakko's death was quick, he didn't have to bleed out or anything. Still, it was super messed up and Ilmo has nightmares.

#alan wake 2 spoilers #koskela brothers #jaakko koskela #ilmo koskela #alan wake 2 #alan wake #my posts #headcanons #There it is my random HCs and ideas #my ramblings #my hcs

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josefavomjaaga · 1 year ago

Text

Dragon AU fluff (involving Mortier)

A rather pointless fluff scene, inspired by @cadmusfly's dragon marshalate AU. Basically a dragonized version of what might or might not have happened in 1798/9 Koblenz. I'm not sure if I've taken too many liberties with the world's rules and general settings, if so, please pretend it's all just a misunderstanding by humans with very little knowledge and understanding of these things.

„Girls!“ Anna-Margarethe yelled, her voice echoing through the house. „Run and hide, girls! The French dragons are back!“

Eva heard the desperation in her mother's words, the tears barely held back. She shooed her younger sisters down the ladder into the basement, where they would be safe until the danger was over. Then she closed the door and went to find her mother in the kitchen.

The inn „Zum Wilden Mann“ was quiet, its rooms empty since the last French troops had moved out. They had occupied the inn for quite some time – and for free, of course - until being called to join a larger army gathering nearby. An army with several dragons, and those, on their arrival two days ago, had scared Eva's poor mother almost to death.

They seemed so much more ferocious. The dragons in the Austrian army they had seen earlier had always been accompanied by several Habsburg Dragon Wardens and had never dared to as much as look too closely at the humans living in Koblenz.

Not only did French dragons roam around freely, often even without any rider, they even held titles and military ranks within the Revolutionary army. They commanded soldiers! One of the dragons had interrogated Eva's mother, and she claimed to still have a headache from hearing his booming telepathical voice echoing through her thoughts.

„Mum? Will you be alright? Are you sure the dragons are back? It's still dark outside.“

„Oh, I saw him well enough.“ Her mother gave a nervous laugh. „He was hard to overlook, the beast must be as big as our house. He's just landed on the pasture, in front of the cowshed. Probably to get the last of our cows, after he devoured the other yesterday.“ Eva saw her shaking.

„Somebody should go out and ask what he wants“, she suggested.

„No. I'm not going out there! Just let him eat poor Gertrud and be done with it!“ She started sobbing uncontrollably.

Usually, Eva was not somebody to take the initiative. On most occasions, she was quite happy to let others make the decisions and to fade into the background. But seeing her mother in tears strengthened her resolve. Without a word, she turned around and left.

There was still one large ham left in the larder. They had kept it hidden from their French guests. But sacrificing it to the appetite of the dragon lurking on the pasture behind the house would still be preferable to loosing their last cow.

Carrying the ham in both arms, she ran out through the backdoor. Morning dawned on the horizon.

Eva stopped hard in her tracks. When her mother had estimated the dragon to be as big as their house, Eva had naturally assumed her to exaggerate. None of the French dragons she had seen before had been much bigger than a horse. Maybe a ´small carriage. A hay wagon, at most.

But this one was … huge. He covered half of the pasture, cowering on four legs and, at least that's the impression Eva had, trying to make himself as small as possible. He had his tail curled up around him and his wings neatly folded on his back.

To Eva, it still looked as if a mountain had grown out of the ground.

The idea to feed this … thing with the tiny ham she carried in her arms suddenly seemed ludicrous. Even a cow could not mean more than an appetizer to him.

„Excuse me?“, she said nevertheless. „May I … uhm … help you … sir?“

He heard a voice calling for him, somewhere down in the shadows. Mortier squinted. It was a young woman, tiny as all humans. Though this one looked small and fragile even by human standards.

Her voice however pleased him greatly. It reminded him of birds singing in the trees in spring. Mortier liked those little birds, especially when they were singing.

He lowered his head carefully, so as to not scare or hurt her – he sometimes found it difficult to correctly estimate the distances when dealing with humans. He once had knocked over half a batallion of grenadiers just because he had not been careful enough with his tail.

Things like that embarrassed him greatly.

Good morning, Mademoiselle. - She had adressed him in French, so obviously she knew the language. - Very pleased to meet you. I hope I did not wake you up? Apologies for calling on you so early in the morning. It was the only time I was free. And, to be honest, a soldier's sleeping schedule tends to be thoroughly messed up. - She nodded, but did not reply. Maybe he had already scared her. Mortier wished he was a little less clumsy. - You see, I've come because of your cow.

Eva was stunned. Never had she expected a dragon to be that … polite. Considerate. Almost nice. As a matter of fact, this soldier dragon seemed a lot nicer than most human soldiers she had met over tha last months! If one ignored his size (admittedly, that was more easily said than done), he did not even look all that threatening. Maybe it was because, while his long body was covered in reptilian scales, some brown, fine fur spread from his long snout over his enormous head and down his chest. The two large horns winding backwards and down from the top of his head gave him the look of a large, floppy-eared dog.

Unlike her mother, she also found hearing the dragon's voice in her thoughts far from unpleasant. To the contrary. It was a warm, guttural … sound, for lack of a better word, that reverberated through her and made her feel safe and relaxed.

The feeling evaporated as soon as the dragon mentioned poor Gertrud.

„Please“, she blurted out, „do not eat Gertrud! She's the last cow we have!“

He seemed astonished, almost shocked. - What? No! I didn't mean to eat your cow. I came to apologize because I ate the other one yesterday.

„Oh. So you did eat Bella?“

The dragon gave a sheepish nod, the movement causing a draught that made Eva's hair and skirts fly. - But merely because it was the only food I could find close by. I have a lot of work to do here, so I need to keep up my strength. If not...

Eva nodded. Everybody knew about dragon stupor.

But I did not mean to cause you any grief. So I wanted to let you know that as soon as we have got some cattle from the Austrians, I shall send you another cow to replace the one I ate.

„How kind of you to care. This would indeed help us greatly. You see, since my father’s death, my mother had to run the inn alone, with only us girls helping. And war has not helped business, as you can imagine.“

I can! - Again the excited nod, this time the draught almost made her stagger backwards. - So you are all alone here, only women in the house? With all those soldiers roaming about? But that will not do, that will not do at all! I’m afraid for your safety. Shall I send you a safeguard? Some trusted men who would make sure nobody bothers you?

The offer rendered Eva almost speechless. This was the nicest soldier she had met so far! „We’ve had some problems in the past, that is true… Could you really do that?“

The girl looked up at his face with huge brown eyes full of trust, gratefulness and … well, something that bordered on admiration. Or at least that’s what Mortier chose to see. It was a very flattering feeling.

What a nice girl this was. Now he felt twice as bad for having eaten her cow yesterday. But he had been so damned hungry. Truth be told, he still was. He always was. Given his size, he could have eaten half a dozen of cattle – but what would be left for the humans then? Resources were always scarce. So he usually restrained himself to what was strictly necessary in order to keep him going. He had gotten used to his stomach constantly growling, and to feeling a little dizzy and sleepy most of the time, because whenever he strained himself even a little too much, he was immediately on the edge of falling into stupor.

But how could he act otherwise, when truly satisfying his hunger meant hurting innocent little humans like this girl?

Of course I can give you a safeguard, he bragged, raised his head a little and carefully clawed at the fur covering his breast. - I’m a general, you know. They gave me a sash and all. I’m wearing it now, but it always gets lost in the fur.

He discovered the large tricolor sash, twisted and out of place as usual. - Could I ask you a favour, Mademoiselle? Would you be so kind as to properly rearrange it for me? That’s the kind of thing I will never manage to do with these claws… Oh, but I see you are carrying something. Is that – is that a ham?

Mortier’s stomach gave a painful little growl.

Eva found her situation rather surreal. Here she was, on a dark pasture with a dragon looming over her, and having a polite conversation. The most surreal thing, of course, being the fact she was thoroughly enjoying herself in the presence of said dragon. His awkward attempt at correctly placing the signs of his military rank on his chest were so cute she immediately would have come to his aid, had it not been for the stupid ham.

„Yes, indeed“, she said sheepishly. „I had brought it out, hoping to trade it in for our cow. Of course I had no idea at the time what a small gift this would mean to you.“

Oh, but it isn’t! - His enthusiasm seemed real. Even the end of his tail, that he had curled up around himself, started to wag up and down, tapping on the ground every time, like that of an excited dog. - What a kind thought of you! If you really want to part with it, I would love to taste it. Is it smoked?

„Boiled actually. Oh, I never wondered! Can dragons even eat cooked food?“

Well, there are of course such purists among us who demand a dragon’s diet must only consist of raw meat. - The dragon general rolled his eyes. - But, let’s be honest, everbody who has been living around humans knows that cooked food just tastes so much better! When we celebrated a victory over the Austrians last, the boys roasted two oxen, only for me. With a filling, made of bread and potatoes! It was heaven!

The dragon tail wagged again and almost made Eva laugh. She could not help but feel that this huge scary dragon general had a lot in common with a hungry stray dog.

I see you smiling, Mademoiselle, the dragon’s voice echoed in her head, but let me assure you, in a soldier’s life pleasures are simple. A good meal, a friendly conversation with a beautiful lady, like we are having right now, this is all we aspire to most of the time. In this aspect, a soldier dragon differs very little from a human soldier, and a general very little from a private.

„Well, in this case I surely shall not be so harsh as to deprive you of this tiny pleasure.“

And tiny indeed it seemed to Eva, as the dragon general eagerly opened his mouth. She prepared to throw the ham over the fence of – stunningly white – dragon teeth but a pink tongue, wide enough for a blanket, slipped out of his mouth, and Eva gingerly placed the ham on it.

The dragon consumed it eagerly and even made a bit of a show chomping on it, despite the fact he probably could have swallowed it whole. Then he gave a deep, content sigh.

What a wonderful treat this was! I have not felt this sated in ages, she heard him exclaim in her thoughts.

„You are very kind, general, but I can tell that you are only saying this to please me. You can hardly have tasted the ham.“

But that was the weirdest thing about it: Mortier was telling the truth. The ham, as small as it was, had really satisfied Mortier’s hunger to a stunning degree. It should not have had such an effect on him. But it had.

Then maybe it was not so much the meat but the conversation with this kind (and pretty!) human girl?

Mortier had never given much thought to the metaphysical background of human-dragon bonding. Truth be told, he did not give much thought to metaphysical stuff at all, at least compared to some of his comrades. Mortier knew there were humans whom he liked, just like there were dragons whom he liked, and he knew that the presence of humans he liked made him feel a lot better, less hungry, less sleepy, sharper and more energetic. More alive, in a way. This knowledge sufficed for him.

Now he realized that he had rarely felt as alive as in the presence of this human lady.

Maybe he should have paid more attention to this whole „bonding“ thing. He only knew about the official practices, standardized by the government of the French Republic, that had young ladies, usually the daughters of politicians and wealthy citizens, function as dragon riders at parades or festivities. These girls were nice enough, and Mortier felt comfortable and somewhat flattered in their presence.

But it was nothing compared to what he felt when the girl in front of him now touched his fur in order to rearrange the twisted tricolor sash. It wasn’t any particular instance he could have put his claw on, no feeling that struck him like a lightning bolt or anything. Yet he started to realize that his body was tingling all over with contentment. If that even made sense.

And she seemed to realize. Or to experience something similar? Mortier almost felt as if he could sense an echo of her thoughts in his mind. He also suddenly realized he had neither introduced himself nor even asked her name yet.

Eva was astonished. She had expected the dragon fur to be rough and scratchy. But it felt softer under her touch than that of a kitten. She could not help but bury her hand in it and stroke it. „What wonderful fur you have!“

Do you like it? I’m rather proud of it, if I may confess such vanity. It’s not all that common for our species to have any fur, and mine surely is not among the worst. If you want to feel, it’s even softer here…

He eagerly started to turn a little to the side to offer her a view of his underbelly. There was a sound, a crash, of breaking, splintered wood, and he froze mid-movement, his eyes bulging.

Oh god! What was that?

„I think it was old Cesar’s shed“, said Eva.

Cesar?

„Our dog.“

I killed your dog? - The dragon almost shouted in Eva’s thoughts.

„Oh, no, no“, she reassured him. „Cesar died last winter, of old age. We have not gotten a new dog since.“

Good. I mean, not good of course, I’m very sorry for the poor animal but … The dragon general seemed equally relieved and confused. His next question came somewhat unexpected.

Mademoiselle, may I inquire: Are you afraid of heights?

„Of heights?“ Eva was too astonished to ponder the reason for the question. „No, I do not think so. I often need to climb the roof of our stables as we have some hens who love to fly up there. It never bothered me.“

Perfect! Do you think you would enjoy flying over your town? I would love to take you. I regularly have riders during military missions but with you it would be a pleasure…

Another sound interrupted him. One by one, the church bells of Koblenz started ringing.

Oh dear. Is it so late already? They’ll start the battle without me! - Mademoiselle, quickly, what’s your name?

„Eva Anna Hinnes.“

Ève! What name could compliment you more! - It sounded as if he tasted her name on his tongue like he had done with the ham, but then the church bells rang again, and he sighed.

I need to leave. - He abruptly unfolded his wings and narrowly avoided taking down Gertrud’s cowshed in the process. - Please do not go anywhere, Mademoiselle Ève!, she heard his voice in her thoughts, as the draught from his wings almost knocked her off her feet. - As soon as we have killed the Austrians, I’ll be back. I’ll bring you cows and oxen and … maybe a new dog? Whatever you like. But please do not go anywhere!

„I won’t“, Eva said silently, somehow convinced that the dragon could hear her even if he was already hovering high above her. She of course did leave the pasture however, once she could not see the dragon general anymore, in order to get back to the inn’s kitchen.

Her mother almost cried with relief.

„Eva! For heaven’s sake, you’re fine! Where have you been, what took you so long? I was scared the dragon had eaten you!“

„Mum?“ Eva said, deep in thoughts. „You know I always wanted to one day take over the inn? I think I have changed my plans. I think I want to become a dragon rider.“

Anna-Margarethe was too stunned to answer.

#dragons as cavalry au #dragon marshalate au #@cadmusfly #napoleonic dragon au #marshalate dragons au

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