#i wish you good fortune in the wars to come

[iamthemaestro]

Oh boy. I have a lot to say on this. I 1000% think that one of the biggest issues in AWI reenactment is the failure to reach the younger generation and I also wish the article had talked more about this and how it intersects with the inclusion of historically marginalized groups within the hobby.

I’ll put it this way: as of 2024, the BAR has an article in their constitution that prohibits women in ranks. As a young, non-male, and only sometimes white-passing reenactor, this has caused me issues in the past. People from the BAR have complained about me—a young, fairly new, dedicated reenactor—being on the field as a musician. Now, I’ve had the good fortune to be part of a unit with significant influence in the hobby, who have gone to bat for me in these instances and allowed me to feel relatively safe coming to these events, but I still can’t take up a musket at a BAR event if I want to. Over the past year I have become acutely aware that if it weren’t for the fact that I do music and not hat company, I would not be able to interpret at these events in the way I have repeatedly proven myself capable of doing.

So you have the primary overarching association responsible for organizing large-scale AWI reenactments literally denying interested, dedicated people from the younger generation the opportunity to participate in the hobby. And this is just one official organization—this is to say nothing of the culture. At the end of the day, sexism, racism, homophobia and transphobia is rampant in these environments. I do think the culture is slowly improving with time, but still, there are spaces where I do not feel safe in the hobby, and I spend a lot of time considering what my future as a reenactor might look like if I ever decide to medically transition, for example. My love for this hobby means I put up with a lot, even within my own unit, but I cannot fault other people who take one look at this mess and decide it’s not worth it. Of course there are going to be less reenactors. If individual units and the overarching organizations are going to actively resist a new generation of young living historians, interest in the hobby is going to waver.

I also think there’s an important distinction to make between so-called “progressive” units and a broader sense of historical accuracy, because ultimately reenactment is a hobby. I strongly believe that no issue of historical accuracy should take precedent over actual issues of discrimination (if we were going to really pursue historical accuracy, we would be excluding probably 90% of the reenactment community as it is!). But I also believe that the spirit of this hobby is one that is educational and authentic: second to having fun and staying safe, of course, I think the priority should be pursuing as accurate of an impression as you can in the meantime. “Progressive” units often get kind of a bad rap but ultimately I think they have the right idea. They’re what’s going to keep this hobby relevant as an educational tool and pursuit, as opposed to just being a bunch of grown men running around playing war with each other. Progressive units are, in my opinion, the future of this hobby. And yet a lot of more conservative units have this weird resistance to this philosophy simply because they don’t… want to have to adapt to what it means, I suppose. But I really do think that if that philosophy prevails, we won’t have educational reenactment—it’s possible we won’t have much in terms of reenactment at all. Ultimately I want to believe this, too, will improve in time, but the fact that we have to violently contest, for example, whether British soldiers had to shave (which they did) just because some reenactors desperately want an excuse not to… does not bode well for garnering interest from historians and enthusiasts in time for the 250th.

Anyway, that’s been my experience. I should probably stop talking about this because I think about it constantly and could go on forever. But that’s my (admittedly rather scathing) two cents on why this is the case.

Who has Wall Street Journal access I heard there’s an article about 250th reenactors and I need the tea

[the-girl-in-the-high-castle]

Me about Warrior Nun before: What kind of stupid ass show is this, why are they spamming every shitflix post?

Me to the Warrior Nun fandom now: 

[gor3-hound]

CRY FOR ABSOLUTION - LEON S. KENNEDY

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

a/n: heyyy :3 had to make the priest collar edit on picsart so don't look at it too close... um... title from 'absolution' by ghost. thank you @ottermarbles for beta reading !! been working on this slowly while writing commissions... finally here !! rbs and feedback appreciated as always <3

cw: 18+ content, priest!leon, non-religious!reader, dead dove, non-con to dub-con to non-con, victim turned perpetrator, forced breeding, mentions of forcing marriage, religious themes, p in v, creampie, degradation, name calling, breath play

word count: 1.6k words

Leon can sense your presence in the church before he sees you. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his whole body going rigid. He starts murmuring under his breath, eyes shut as he recites the prayer. He’d tried countless times to pray to the Virgin Mary, to strengthen his faith in God so he may resist your advances. To Saint Mary Magdalene, to guide you away from your life of sin. To God Himself to plead that you would leave him alone.

He was sure you were the Devil. Almost certain that you were some cruel test that God had bestowed on him.

He grips the rosary dangling around his neck as your footsteps get closer, whispering one final prayer to God, a desperate plea to give him strength before he faces you, hands trembling as his eyes open to meet yours. Leon couldn’t quite understand how you always managed to avoid the crowds, to worm your way into the Church between services, narrowly avoiding the other priests. You did not care for them, for your faith. You had your eyes set on Leon, a succubus in the flesh that had targeted him so callously.

”While I appreciate your dedication to the Church, I’m afraid the service has already drawn to a close, and there is a lot of work for me to get through before tonight’s service. Perhaps if you return later with the other parishioners, we can s-“

”Father, I hoped to speak to you before the service.” You say as you stalk closer, your heated gaze trailing him. He almost doesn’t hear you speak, the ringing in his ears dampening the sound around him, making your voice nothing more than a faint echo. He’s looking at you, but he’s not seeing you. His gaze is far away as he tries to think of something, anything else. A lump forms in his throat that he cannot dislodge no matter how hard he tries, swallowing to attempt to clear the passage enough so that he felt he could breathe, but with no success. His vision blurs, and he vaguely registers the tears forming in his eyes as you coo, cupping his cheek to wipe the few that fall.

”Please,” he whispers, voice cracking as he gazes at you fully, your face slowly coming into focus. What did he do to deserve this? He was a good man, wasn’t he? He’d tried his best to help the less fortunate, to be kind to everyone he spoke with. Had he committed some sin without realising it? Some blight against God that meant he deserved this? "Please, I don’t want this. You’re misguided, that's all. I can help you. You don’t have to do this.”

As always, his protests fall on deaf ears. He feels the steady stream of tears running down his face, brows pinching together as you back him up into the confessional. His chest continues to grow tighter and tighter until his lungs constrict painfully with each breath. The air gets caught in his throat and makes him choke, his brain shutting down as he just lets you free him from his vestments and tug down his trousers. He's glad to be rid of the collar, at the very least. It feels less like God was bearing down on his throat to drag him to Hell for letting this happen.

The first sob forces its way from his chest as your lips wrap around his cock. He wishes that he could hate the way it felt. It makes him nauseous - makes his head spin, but it feels good. He's at war with himself as to what this means, if enjoying the wet warmth wrapped around him means he's no better than you. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists as he tries to distance himself from your touch.

You pull yourself off of his cock with a pop, rustling around for something in your pocket. The crinkle of a packet has his eyes snapping open again, his eyes honing in on the foil you're holding up between two fingers. Panic seeps into his very core, his breath coming out in harsh puffs. “Thought we could try something new.” You say with a giggle, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

No. No, this couldn't happen to him. He's a priest - he's meant to stay far, far away from the pleasures of the flesh. He had to do something, anything to stop you. He swallows hard, eyes flickering around the confessional, trying to figure a way out of this before you lead him down a path of sin.

Leon isn't sure what happened. One minute, you were tearing open the condom with your teeth, and the next minute, he pounced. His hand gripped your throat to pin you down in the confessional, squeezing tight. His eyes are wide, almost feral as they meet yours, his free hand yanking your underwear down. His movements are clumsy as he prods as your cunt, trying to push his way in. After a few attempts, he manages to hook the tip on your entrance, and he slides home in one thrust.

“Oh.” He breathes out, eyes squeezing shut again. Maybe God wasn't testing him. Maybe this was his reward for being a good follower - all he had to do was breed this pussy full and wed you, and he'd be able to do this as many times as he pleased.

No. This was a test. He must have passed. He succeeded, and this was his reward. A pretty housewife for him to keep bred and safe in his grasp. A woman to cure his cold, lonely nights. He could finally have the family he always wanted. He was angry at you now, yes, but he would forgive you when you accepted his proposal and his seed.

“Temptress.” He hisses between gritted teeth, the hand on your throat tightening. The pressure against your windpipe is bruising, leaving you desperately trying to gasp in breaths through too tight of a passage. “Indecent whore. This is what you wanted, wasn't it? You didn't care when I told you ‘no’, did you? No? Then take it.”

He scoffs as you plead for him to stop again, his brows narrowing in frustration. He didn't want to do this. Leon was a good man. He was a holy man. He couldn't let you ruin him. What if the word of this got out?

“You wanted to ruin me, didn't you? You thought you couldn't take what you wanted from me without consequences? That… fuck… that God wouldn't punish your sins? I'm going to make you take my seed. You're going to be my pretty little wife, and no one will hear about this.”

He thrusts forward particularly violently after his words, his grip on your throat tightening enough that you start thrashing, cunt clenching around his cock enough that he has to halt his movements to stop himself from cumming too soon.

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will drag you down into the deepest depths of Hell with me. I swear it on the Lord Himself.” He grits out, finally releasing his hold on your throat.

He ignores your protests, a muddy mix of guilt and anger swirling in his chest with each plea that falls from your lips. You had shown him no mercy, and yet you expect him to spare you? You were nothing more than a Godless nymph. He would show you the light.

“Do you know your prayers, hmm?” He coos, gripping your chin. The pads of his fingers dig into your cheeks harshly, drawing a pained moan from you. He starts fucking into you again now that his orgasm has fully subsided, letting out a shaky breath at the drag of his length against your gummy walls. “No, of course. You have no respect for the house of the Lord - you just wish to defile it.”

He lets go of your face to hitch your legs over his waist, breaths coming out in heavy pants as he pistons his hips into you, sweat beading against his skin from exertion, bangs stuck flat against his forehead. “Repeat after me.”

‘Lord God, in your goodness have mercy on me:’

The words fall past your lips in a daze as you repeat them, his hand reaching up to your throat again, but not squeezing. A warning to continue as he speaks the next line.

‘Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt.’

He's close now, barely able to hold back as he ruts into you helplessly, reduced to nothing more than a dog in heat as you clench around his cock.

‘Create in me a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.’

His hips stutter as you repeat the last words of Contrition back to him, his head dropping to the crook of your shoulder as he gasps out sharp breaths. His cock jumps as he orgasms, stuffing you full of his cum with a noise more akin to a whimper than a moan.

He leans back, eyes taking in your appearance. There was some kind of sick satisfaction seeing you broken like this, knowing God had allowed him to take back the part of him you had aimed to destroy.

You would be his. He would keep you as his wife, his prize. He was given a chance to relinquish the sins you had bestowed upon him.

He would not let the opportunity pass.

[yandere-sins]

Just saw your greek god works and they're top notch! Could you do something with yan Apollo? There's just soooo much stuff to work with with him... Thanks!

Thank you for requesting!! I love writing about them ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Very little could speak more about your skills than a personal invite to present them at Olympus.

The morning Apollo arrived in his golden chariot was an exceptionally bright one. Naturally, because his body emanated the rays of sun that broke through your window, his radiant smile widening on his youthful face the second you stepped out of your hut. Your mother was crying—tears of joy as you realized when she hugged you tightly, telling you how proud she was. Even your father seemed choked up when he told you you were special.

So, as you finally stood before the handsome stranger, the god whose shrine you visited regularly, you were utterly speechless, overcome with emotions you couldn't place. You could only listen as he spoke to you, his voice silken like the soft breeze on a summer's day yet as cheerful as the anticipation for an exciting festival.

"I want you to play," he made his intentions known, his hand falling to the side of your head, letting a lock of hair glide through the gaps in his fingers. His touch was warm and gentle, beyond anything you expected an immortal to feel like. "For us, for me."

"It would be an honor," you honestly muttered back after your mother urged you with a slight push, reminding you not to be rude to the god who was blessing you with such good fortune. Most people were honored in war, because of their devotion to their deity, in the pursuit of knowledge, or in death. To be chosen solely for your lyre play was rare, and you felt overwhelmed with gratitude, tears filling your eyes.

Apollo smiled, promising to come back in a mere three days time. Not enough to memorize all the songs you wanted to play, but while your parents packed you a small bag with the essentials and exempted you from your duties on their farm while making sure you were fed and clean, you kept practicing your craft until your fingers were raw and bloody. Apollo had assured you that there was no perfection in music. Still, you wouldn't have been able to endure the shame of hitting the wrong note to a song everyone knew—even the gods. And so you practiced, day and night, until finally, it was time to leave.

That morning was colder yet auspicious. So many burdens weighed on your shoulders—your performance, bringing honor to your family and yourself, the payment you heard your parents whisper about. There had always been food on the table for your big family, but you noticed their excitement when they talked about the boon that the gods would give you for performing well. You gulped nervously as you fiddled with the newly strung lyre in your hand when, with loud neighs and the warmth of a sunny day washing over you, Apollo arrived. When he smiled at you, you couldn't help but grin back, excited for this day, his brilliant mood instantly captivating yours.

You bid your parents farewell as they wished you a good performance and safe travels. They waved after you as the heavenly chariot took off into the morning sky, announcing another beautiful day. You got to stand close to the sun god as he performed his duty, chatting carefreely about how excited he was to hear you play and how everyone was expecting you eagerly. It made you nervous, but being close to him, his arm around you to keep you secured, Apollo's presence made your worries simply melt away. You could have never seen yourself as his equal, but he didn't make you feel any less than a friend.

He took his time cruising you through the sky, showed you the magnificent temples of the gods, let you taste the richest grapes the land had to offer, and took you to places that most humans wouldn't see in the span of multiple lifetimes. Always with a hand outstretched to help you step down from or into his chariot, and watchful eyes looking out for you. You learned a lot that day, the excursion long but magical, especially with a god by your side as your guide. To him, it must have been boring stuff that he saw every day, but to you, it became the most incredible day of your life very quickly.

Until you were brought before the entrance to the Olymp, that is.

Chariot parked, you could still feel Apollo standing behind you, protectively but encouragingly. His frame towered massively next to you, cutting you off from the human world behind his radiant form. The sun was setting, leaving you with a chill. But perhaps you were only imagining it, your performance anxiety rising. His warm hand gently pressed into the small of your back, urging you with determination to step ahead and face the rest of the pantheon of gods that had collected, to play them the songs you had come for.

With weak knees, you took one step in front of the other, Apollo always by your side. He ensured you wouldn't falter as all eyes in the grand hall seemed to turn towards you the moment you stepped through the entrance. There were all kinds of eyes—wise and godly and mythical. But you were more surprised by the human ones, tired ones, downright exhausted ones that raised to watch you. Their presence felt out of place, but then again, so did yours. However, there was something deeply unsettling in the dullness of their eyes, the sloppy movements as they walked around the hall, seemingly without vigor, their stares the only reaction to your arrival contrasting starkly with the boisterous and booming voices of the immortals greeting you.

"Apollo, is this your new charge?" a faun asked, curiously eyeing you and your lyre. "Your new songbird, eh?"

Apollo laughed, waving off the comments from all sides as he moved you forward, guiding you through gods and servants alike, their hands reaching out, touching you, admiring you. You couldn't help but startle at the different sensations of these touches—cold, sharp, unnatural. It made you cling to Apollo more, his presence way more comforting, and although he had grown in size—appearing mighty godly now—he made sure that his arm stayed around you like a shield.

One dull-eyed human after another tried to serve you food and drinks that you declined respectfully. It was hard enough to keep up with the pressure, and you didn't have the stomach for any kind of intake—at least not until you were done. And with Apollo's urging, you didn't stick around to talk to them or even watch them, although you felt their eyes drill into your back.

You were led to the seats at the very top of the grand hall, guided to the ones at the side which were vividly red with golden threads. Sitting down on them was like sinking into a cloud as Apollo helped you up, lowering you down gently. The surrounding lounges and pillows on the floor were quickly filled with eager eyes looking up at you, waiting for your play just like your patron god had promised them. You couldn't help but look around, cross eyes with some of the nymphs and minor goddesses and gods that you probably had heard from but were never educated on properly.

But the gathered gods were easily recognizable by their trademarks—Dionysus, Athena, Aphrodite, and Artemis, just to name a few of them—and you were surprised to see them keeping one or more humans by their sides, looking very different from the ones you had seen before. These ones were clothed and prepared with great care, love, and devotion to their god. Their cheeks were plump, and they smiled when their patron spoke to them, albeit hesitantly. However, the unsettling feeling you got from the dull-eyed ones before didn't vanish as you watched these devoted humans. Something about their posture and expressions didn't match the festivities. They looked uncomfortable, and some of them even sad.

"It is time," Apollo spoke softly beside you, his voice gentle but intent. This was his party, and you were the special performance; of course, he didn't want you to be distracted and unable to play. His touch tore you out of your observations. It drew your attention back to him, strong fingers wrapping around your shoulders, squeezing you encouragely, but it was almost a little hurtful. You nodded, thankful he didn't make you look incompetent in front of everyone, and his grip softened in satisfaction, although it didn't disappear. Still, you couldn't help the anxiety from rising, your mouth dry, and your fingers jittery. Even when you tried to calm yourself, you couldn't entirely focus, panic rising inside you.

Now that you had come so far, you couldn't fail.

A hearty and a beautiful laugh rang out from your side, Dionysus and Aphrodite exchanging knowing looks before the goddess handed one of her humans a golden chalice and encouraged them to get up. "Go," she chimed, and her stunningly beautiful charge sauntered their way over to you, handing you the chalice. They were undeniably beautiful, even when clothed in the simplest garments. But their gaze was unblinking as they handed over the cup. "Don't," they hissed sharply in a whisper, their eyes flitting to Apollo for just a second, and you felt his fingers dig into your skin before the human left you again, trotting quickly and without a detour back to Aphrodite's side. The goddess patted their head before returning her attention to you, gesturing for you to drink. "To your nerves, you ray of sunshine," Dionysus laughed merrily, and everyone raised their chalices in a toast.

You nervously crossed eyes with the human that brought you the drink, seeing their expression hardening in a deep frown unbecoming of their beauty. Then you looked to Apollo, his own cup raised to his lips, but he had yet to drink from it. He observed you from the corners of his eyes, smiling when he noticed you looking back. "It's just a little bit of wine," he reassured you, assuming you were unsure if it was okay to drink.

You nodded, feeling pressured not to refuse the gods' hospitality, and raised the chalice to your mouth to take a tentative sip. It wasn't more than two gulps before you set it down, letting it be taken away by a nymph that sat at your feet. Immediately, the tension became lighter, your worries melting away, especially when Apollo drew you closer to his body, his warmth seeping into you. He steadied you for your play, letting you lean on him as much as you needed. With all the pressure and anxiety you had felt, you had almost forgotten that playing the lyre was fun. That you enjoyed doing it, and practiced hard enough to even perform before the gods. With the first chord echoing through the hall, all the tension finally left your body.

It was glorious.

Gods and humans alike sang along to the well-known songs you had picked; they listened when you added nuances to your play, and some of them got cozy with each other, cuddling and kissing as you presented them with the romantic notes everyone adored. By the time your hands were tired, fingers roughed up by the strings, and your concentration fading, everyone was in awe and satisfied with your performance, gods clapping their hands and cheering at you as you finished.

However, you immediately looked up at Apollo, greeted by his radiant smile beaming down at you. His hand raised to pat your head as he announced you as the magnificent talent of the night. The relief mixing with pride swelled in your chest, heating your cheeks as you took some humble bows, smothered in the cheers. Another cup was handed to you, and after performing for so long, you were glad to wet your throat.

Most of the night was spent talking to eager fans of music, letting them play your lyre, and hearing their own songs. Drinks would be passed to you, food almost shoved into your mouth by the merry folks, and you laughed along with them over their silliness. You felt lighter than ever before, so caught up in the moment and with the alcohol only adding towards the sense of mirth. The mystics were as playful and cheery as they had always been described, but you knew it would only be for that night, so you enjoyed their company.

Apollo wouldn't leave your side even as gods approached him, congratulating him for finding such a treasure amongst the humans and asking if he'd let them "take" you for their celebrations sometimes. You didn't get to hear his answers as your attention was drawn away by humans joining in with the conversations, telling you about their boons and how they were accepted into Olympus. They were all extraordinary people, and you felt quite small next to them. But they didn't make you feel unwelcome in their midst, and you were glad to hear about their experiences. Nymphs would braid everyone's hair, decorating them with flowers, fauns were playing around, everything seemed like the perfect idylle that all humans imagined the lives of gods to be.

"You shouldn't agree if they ask you to stay," the human beside you suddenly whispered. She was a cute, dainty woman, a follower of Artemis clothed in silver and pelts. Immediately, her hair was yanked back as one of the nymphs hissed at her. You caught the words 'insolent' and 'behave', but others crowded around you so fast, talking over the two and asking you questions as that woman was taken away, so you were forced to shift your attention.

It wasn't until you felt a warm hand graze over your back that you looked up at Apollo again, his gaze very gentle. He seemed satisfied with how the evening went. He might have even held some affection for you after the performance, which put him in good graces with everyone. Relief flooded your senses, and you bit back a yawn as exhaustion suddenly crashed into you, taking hold in your body.

"Are you tired?" he asked, and suddenly, you couldn't hold back the signs in front of him. You had kept it together so well, but you figured that playing for hours, talking for even longer, and drinking the sweet, fruity wine was coming back to haunt you now. Leaning into his comforting touch, you gave him a small nod and he understood, standing up and helping you get to your feet.

There were lots of disappointed aws and ohs at the announcement of your departure, nymphs and fauns seeing you off and waving after you as Apollo brought you back to his chariot, your legs even weaker now than when you entered the Olymp full of anxiety. No human came to see you off, but you barely registered that in your tired mind. Instead, you put on a smile and waved back at everyone after getting on the chariot.

"Did you have fun?" Apollo asked as he urged his horses to go. The night had long set, yet you two moved across the sky like a shooting star in the darkness.

"A lot," you confirmed. "This was an amazing experience; I am very grateful to you for this opportunity! Although it makes me sad that it is already over."

You could hear your own words slurred by the intoxication and exhaustion, yet you managed to form a tired smile for him. Apollo stepped closer, helping you stay upright as he urged his horses forward before returning your smile.

"It doesn't have to end," he hummed cheerfully, not a hint of tiredness in his demeanor. "You could play for us every night. Party with everyone, be merry. Would you like that?"

You chuckled at his suggestion but shook your head as you looked out into the night sky, stars passing you by at a speed that made them look like the shooting stars.

"It was a lot of fun, but I got to go home. My parents need my help on the farm, even if I love playing the lyre."

Apollo hummed thoughtfully, and you felt closer and closer to sleep as his warmth enveloped you. You only realized you had dozed off when you felt the soft thud of the chariot landing beneath your feet, followed by two hands guiding you off it. Your eyes fluttered open, but you were too tired to really do much but let yourself be picked up, nuzzling your face into Apollo's comforting warmth.

His steps were less gentle than his touches, his hold on you bouncy as if he was in a rush. The sounds around you turned from the peaceful night wind passing you by into complete silence, only his steps echoing as they hit marble floors. A rush of coldness threatened to envelop you, but Apollo pulled you closer to him, not letting the cold get near. You felt something reach out for you again, like the gods had, curious and uncaring of your privacy. It didn't feel familiar, your senses slowly reawakening, but something inside you seemed to want to keep you dormant for a while longer.

However, the feeling was interrupted when you were laid down into the softest cushions, with Apollo's warmth brushing over your head as you felt his weight dip the mattress you were on top of. Even with your drowsy mind, you knew you weren't in your own bed, concern rising. "Where are we?" you sighed, stretching your neck to receive more of his incredibly comforting warmth while a shiver ran down your spine. Why was it so unusually cold in this place, or had you just gotten too used to having Apollo's warmth around you that you only realized the shift in temperature now?

"Home," he answered your question, and you pried your eyes open, looking at the blurry, radiant form of the god sitting by your bedside. Then, slowly, every movement paired with so much discomfort, you let your head fall to the side, looking around at the vast darkness surrounding you. Not even Apollo's light could banish the pitch-black shadows all around you, and no sound penetrated the room.

" 's not my home..." you mumbled, brows furrowing, your deduction taking an awful lot of time. This place felt weird compared to all the wonderful ones you had visited. If this was his home, you had imagined it to be bright and beautiful, a golden palace of light and warmth. But instead, you feared for your little toes as the shadows seemed to reach out, wanting some of your warmth instead of giving it to you.

"It is now," he reassured you, sounding unusually stern even though his hand caressed you gently, brushing away your hair and cupping your cheek to turn your head towards him again.

"But my parents..."

"They knew the price they'd pay in this trade."

Leaning down, Apollo connected his forehead with yours, the depth of his eyes impalpable, especially in your muddled brain. You couldn't read him well, but he seemed... satisfied? He didn't seem to be ridden by confusion or worry like you were; rather, he was confident and calm. Something stirred in you, a sense of anxiety, but it was beaten down by a sweet-tasting tiredness immediately.

"Welcome home," he muttered, kissing your temples. "Catch some sleep so you can fulfill your duties to me tomorrow with the same brilliance as you did today. I'll be right here, making sure you are well-rested for your next performance, Sunshine."

"Duties?" you mumbled, already getting lulled back to sleep with his warmth now enveloping you like a blanket. You didn't hear his answer, even when you saw his lips move. Perhaps Apollo sang to you rather than spoke about what you wanted to know, but you wouldn't know.

You were plunged into the darkness of uncertainty, but even when you opened your eyes again, all that awaited you were more shadows that seemed to reach out for you. A sense of panic and unease spread throughout you, the uncertainty turning you into more of a wreck than you already felt after waking up with a splitting headache and no idea where you were.

It was no wonder that you immediately ran to Apollo when his light lit up the room. He gently wiped the tears from your face and assured you everything would be alright before pushing your lyre into your hands. You didn't even remember bringing it back from the Olymp, but he didn't seem to mind your carelessness.

"Now, play," he asked, and you gulped. You were barely awake, your fingers still hurt, and you were in an unfamiliar place that gave you the creeps.

"Here?" you asked, unsure as you looked around the depressing, dark room.

"Exactly here. Brighten up our home for me, will you? It's been too long since someone made it bearable to stay here. You won't disappoint me, right?"

"How... how did they do it? Will my playing be enough?"

"We'll see," Apollo said, gripping your arms tensely, his eyes glazing over with impatience.

"And if not?" you asked anxiously, unsure if a song could disperse the discomfort that seemed to reign in this home.

This time, Apollo hesitated, mouth opening briefly before his lips turned into a gentle smile. "Don't disappoint me, Sunshine. I can't stand this darkness and silence in my home anymore, and your parents assured me of how much life you could bring to any place. Seeing you perform before the gods, I immediately knew you could do it. You'll make this place a home again, one for us to live happily for the rest of our time. And if not..."

Letting go of your arms, Apollo stood up, turning around and heading for the door at the far side of the room. You wanted to follow him as the shadows lapped at you, but you felt glued to the floor, frozen in fear. With Apollo opening the door, you watched as the clouds passed by right outside, a complete drop into nothingness spreading out in front of this house, the chariot parked on seemingly no ground just outside of reach.

"If not, you'll learn what happened to the person before you that disappointed me," Apollo explained, not even pointing outside and towards the ground to make his crypticness make sense. "Play," he demanded. "Turn this place back into a home. Our home, Sunshine."

And with dread etched into your face, you strung the chords.

[aperrywilliams]

If Anything, I Find it Educative (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

------------------ 

Author Masterlist

------------------

Part 1: If Anything I Find It Educative

Part 2: It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t

Part 3: Douchebag Falls Short in This Case

------------------

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Spencer is not happy attending the annual FBI Gala this year. Having to socialize with a woman who only wants to seduce him makes it worse. But one not-so-fortunate incident could improve his night somehow.

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: Awkward Spencer. Morgan is stubborn about Spencer getting 'game.' Spencer spills facts about seafood (oysters), human biting, and cheating. Mention to Spencer's dick (only a phrase). Someone choking on food is described. A toxic relationship and job insecurities are described too. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: Okay, people. This is kind of an experiment: I want to know how you think the relationship between Spencer and Reader might evolve (if it evolves at all). Good friends? Romantic relationship rom-com style? An angsty romantic relationship? Friends to lovers? Just lovers? What important things do you imagine could happen to them? (canon or not). What could be the Reader's whole back story?

This is just a one-shot, but I am considering continuing it based on your thoughts and suggestions.

Part 2

-----

Spencer's POV

-----

There are few things I hate more than being surrounded by many people at an event. Standing in the middle of a crowded party dressed in formal attire is one of them. 

It is an uncomfortable occasion highlighted by uncomfortable clothes.

And this time, it's Hotch's fault.

Tonight, I should have been at home, wrapped in a cozy blanket and enjoying my new edition of War and Peace. But the annual FBI gala and Hotch's adamant request blew my plans.

"Strauss wants to see the whole team at the venue this year. And we are in a very thin line with her to ignore her wishes."

No one seemed conflicted with the idea of attending this fancy party. Even some of my teammates looked excited about it. While JJ and Garcia chatted animatedly for days about what dress they would choose, Morgan saw it as a chance to get to know the new female agents working at Counterterrorism. Rossi only wanted to know how good the scotch would be this year, and Prentiss took it as an excuse to have free drinks. For his part, Hotch seemed as calm as any day at work.

But me? I wasn't excited at all.

Reluctantly, I purchased a tuxedo for the gala. At first, I thought about renting one since I would hardly use it again. But my germophobic self made me think again, and I decided the expense would at least make me feel less uncomfortable.

Keyword: a little less uncomfortable.

Now, I'm standing at the entrance, scanning the venue, searching for a familiar face. The place is packed with agents from all divisions and their plus ones, so it's hard to find anything at all.

But a familiar voice pulls me from my struggle.

"Boy genius! Over here!"

Penelope is calling my name from a table in the corner. As my gaze lands on her, I can see Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Hotch there too.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips, and quickly, I stroll where my teammates are.

"Spence! You made it!" JJ greets me as I pull a chair next to Morgan to sit.

"We thought you weren't coming," Emily added before sipping her drink.

"I understood it was a requirement," I quipped, looking at Hotch. The aforementioned man nodded in agreement.

"It was, indeed. Have I to remind you Strauss is still mad about the whole ordeal with you stepping into a building with no vest and no gun?"

Hotch is right. Strauss made his life hell for a whole week until he notified my suspension.

I wince, remembering the incident in question.

Self-note: don't leave behind the vest and the gun again.

"You look very handsome, boy wonder," Garcia chimes, waving her hand and pointing at me.

I can't help but blush at the compliment. It's not she hasn't done it before, and I know she means well, but-

"Maybe pretty boy gets some game tonight," Morgan claps his hand on my shoulder, grinning.

That's why I don't like that kind of attention. At every chance, someone pips up and tries to play wingman or wingwoman for me. And although I appreciate their efforts, I like to move at my own pace. Even if some say my pace, it's more like a turtle's speed.

Giving him a tight-lip smile, I reach for a glass of water. I don't know how I'll survive this night.

Surprisingly, it is okay for now. I fall into conversation with Garcia and JJ, although it is more like me listening and them talking. Occasionally, I add some to the topic, and they seem receptive.

But Derek looks impatient to stand and march to a group of women talking on the opposite side of the venue, next to the bar. I don't look much into it until I feel his hand on my shoulder.

"You're oddly quiet tonight, pretty boy. What's up?" My sight darts from JJ and Penelope to Derek.

"Nothing?" I offer. My eyebrows creace. Derek snickers.

"I know what you need! Come on, let's enjoy the party and come with me to chat with those beautiful agents at the bar over there," he proposes. I shake my head.

"No. I'm good. You can go if you want. I don't think you need my help."

Derek rolls his eyes.

"Don't get dismissive with me. It'll help you to lose a little. I promise," he insists. And I know I'm losing my battle with him tonight.

"As if I had something interesting to say to them," I mumble, loud enough for Derek to hear.

"Don't say that. Surely, some would like to hear about, I don't know, oysters? And how they became a symbol of glamor or whatever. Because I'm sure you know that, right?" Derek points, grabbing an oyster from the tray a waiter offers him.

"Actually, oysters were not considered a status symbol until the 11th century, when the Crusades trunked access to seafood in Europe. Some researchers believe that-"

I'm about to explain the whole thing when Morgan cuts me off.

"See? Now, don't waste that knowledge with me, and let's share it with those gorgeous, shall we?"

I'm screwed.

I reluctantly stand to follow Derek. I know he's the best intention even if I won't tell him that. Maybe he's right, and I need to step out of my comfort zone occasionally.

As smoothly as only Morgan can be, he interrupts the conversation between three women by the bar. You would think they would return annoyed looks from the sudden interruption, but they did not. It is everything but that.

"Excuse me, beautiful ladies. Hope you don't mind some company. My friend and I thought it would be an honor to share part of your precious time tonight."

How the fuck can he do that?!

The result shocked me almost more than it impressed me. The three turn to us with flirting smiles flashing to Derek. And me?

That's new. And, of course, I have to blush furiously at that.

"Hey, handsome. Sweet talk, uh?" One of the girls teases Derek while the others giggle.

"I know I can do better, but you make me nervous, sweetheart," Morgan banters as smoothly as the beginning.

And that's it. We have their full attention now. Scratch that; Derek has their full attention now.

He asks for their names, and that's how I know the woman who spoke first is Vivian, and her friends are Julie and Ashley. The three of them work in the Counterterrorism Division.

"And who is your good-looking friend?" Ashley asks, skimming at me.

Why is she looking at me from head to toe?

Derek glances at me, and I understand it's time for me to say something.

"I'm Spencer," I wave.

Short and precise.

"Hi, Spencer. You are cute," Ashley points, and suddenly, my mouth goes dry.

As Emily once said, my IQ slashes to 60 when I'm in front of a beautiful woman. And Ashley is a beautiful woman. Her long, stylish blond hair, blue eyes, tan skin with perfect makeup, gorgeous smile, and a dress that accentuates her body in the right places. It would be stupid to say she is not attractive.

"Why don't we go to the dance floor while Ashley and Spencer get to know each other better, uh?" Derek offers to Julie and Vivian, winking at me.

Oh, Lord. Help me.

I don't think Derek or Ashley would appreciate it if I refused to stay here and run to the nearest exit. So I give Ashley a tight smile and prepare myself for whatever comes now.

"Well...?" she prompts, and I don't know what the fuck she expects me to say.

"Yeah. Nice party," I offer, hoping my attempt to small talk works.

Ashley's smile suggests it does.

"It is. Are you having fun?"

No.

"Yes! A lot! Are you?"

"Yeah. But I think it turns out better now," she says, subtly closing some distance between us with a playful look directed at me.

Is she flirting with me?

I clear my throat to appease some of my nerves. I need to cool off. If Derek can do this, I should try.

A waitress approaches us and offers some drinks. Ashley picks a glass of wine, and I prefer a flute of champagne. I don't usually drink alcohol, but I need it now.

"Slow down, boy. People would think I make you nervous," Ashley points seductively when she notices how I quickly down the liquid.

My eyes widen when she rests a hand on my chest and leans to whisper in my ear.

"I don't bite. Unless you want me to."

Okay. That sounds very straightforward.

I should feel flattered. An attractive woman is more than insinuating me right now; I barely said anything. But it doesn't feel like that.

Derek surely would tell me, 'Take it and play it, pretty boy,' but I don't feel like it. If we could engage in a kind of conversation, I would feel more comfortable. Don't get me wrong. I know what a potential one-night stand means, but I'm not good at it. That's how I am. Sue me.

I want to turn her down gently, so I do what I know to do, and people usually hate me for it: spit information.

"Compared with other mammals, like dogs and bears, humans don't have the strongest bite. Scientists measure the pressure exerted by an animal's bite in pounds per square inch or psi. The human bite force is 162 psi. The bite force of some dogs can reach 250 psi, while some bears have a bite force of over 1,000 psi. It's interesting, actually-"

Ashley is now looking at me, confused. She retreats his hand from my chest and hums, faking interest in what I'm saying.

As I go on with my info dump, I notice how Ashley changes her empty glass of wine to a filled one when a server offers it.

Aside from 'interesting,' 'oh,' and 'uhm,' she doesn't add more to the conversation - or more likely, my rambling - and by now, you would think she's tired of me. But no. For God knows what reason, she is persistent. I give her that.

Typically, I can ramble on and on, which is not the exception. The waiters and waitresses keep coming with drinks and food, and even I pick some for myself.

When they offer us a tray with oysters, I can't help but recall what Morgan told me before.

As I see Ashley ushering one to her mouth, I deliver an exciting fact about it.

"Did you know that raw oysters are still alive? Indeed, some people argue oysters might feel pain, and others say that because they don't have a central nervous system, they don't feel pain like other seafood species might."

Not looking at her, I focus on my oyster, inspecting it before continuing.

"If it's that so, the question is when they die actually. This is likely to happen when they are shucked rather than when they are chewed or swallowed. Scientists think this because an oyster's heart is right next to the bottom adductor muscle, so separating it from the shell kills it."

I should have known the lack of response wasn't due to the interest in the topic, although speaking was impossible for her. Her face's blueness and her hand on her neck now tell me something is wrong.

Fuck. She is choking.

I don't know what to do. She is choking on an oyster, and I'm paralyzed. The people around us start to scream as they see her turning blue. That picks everyone's attention, and I want to dig a hole to get into right now. But first, I should do something to help her. Before I can reach for her, a pair of arms hugs Ashley from behind and applies the Heimlich Maneuver. After a few thrusts into the abdominal area, we see the oyster fly from her mouth to somewhere on the floor.

At the same time, Vivian, Julie, and Derek rush to us to find out what is going on.

Ashley starts coughing, and some of her natural color returns to her face. The arms around her torso loosen, and that's when I notice the woman who just saved her life from choking.

Everything happens so fast that I barely register the slap across my face—Ashley's courtesy.

A collective 'Uhhh' is heard around us.

Before I can say anything, Ashley starts a rant full of anger and frustration toward me.

"Are you fucking crazy? Why would you say something like that? It's disgusting!"

Ironically, I'm speechless now.

What is wrong with talking about oysters?

"You fucking weird!" Ashley continues with her rant. It's like she has been holding it since we were left alone.

The woman who helped Ashley now looks between me and her with her eyebrow creased.

"Hey. You should take it easy. You're just recovering from-" 

She can't finish the sentence since Ashley turned to lash out at her.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do! I almost died because of this pathetic nerd here who can't stop rambling about alive oysters! Just thinking about it makes me sick again!"

"Could it be a hint for not eating them anymore?" I muse, gaining a chuckle from the woman - let's call her the savior - and a deadly glare from Ashley. I recoil from saying anything else, and it is the wiser.

"I should have known better than to engage my time with you. Even if you actually pack a big dick, it doesn't worth it!" she whisper-yell at me, but loud enough for Derek, Vivian, Julie, and the mystery-savior woman to hear.

I'm utterly confused and embarrassed. What have to do my dick with all of this? 

Derek is now dispersing the crowd around us as Vivian and Julie try to soothe her friend's anger, rubbing her back and arm.

I bet they see Ashley's wrath boiling and the high probability of her launching towards me to punch me. Their efforts to subdue her seem to work because, after a loud huff, Ashley only grabs her coat from Vivian's hand and spits at me: "Thanks for ruining my night!"

The three pass by my side to one of the exits venue.

I don't even know how I should feel.

I feel upset because my escape plan didn't go as planned. I feel relieved because Ashley didn't die. Hurt? Yeah, that, too. I didn't deserve a slap on my face. She calling me a pathetic nerd? Sadly, I'm not surprised. And it only confirms my theory I'm not good at this kind of setting.

With the show over and people not focused on me anymore, Derek approaches. I know what he wants to say, but I don't want to hear it. I'm done for tonight.

"Don't say it," I cut him off.

"I wasn't gonna say anything," he tells me with a sympathetic look, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Sure you not," I grumble. "And what was about that comment about my… dick?" I whisper to him.

Derek's face tries to remain neutral, but I know him better.

"What did you do?" I demand to Morgan, and he sighs.

"I may or may not have suggested a rumor about your attributes."

I look at him in disbelief.

"Shut the fuck up! You did not!"

"Come on, pretty boy. It worked! You caught their attention, didn't you?"

I shake my head, trying not to snap at him in public. Morgan can see the distress I'm carrying right now and relents.

"I'm sorry, Reid. I thought it would be a good chance for you to show yourself around. You're a good kid; you deserve to have a good time."

It's useless to engage in this argument again. I understand his good intentions, but like this? No, thanks.

"I better get going," I mumble, walking backward. I'm done for the night.

"Reid..." Morgan starts, but the shake of my head cuts him off. He sighs as I turn to head to one of the exits.

Walking through one of the venue's doors, I find myself on a lateral terrace. I stop for a moment to look around. 

If there were different circumstances, I would be enjoying this view. To the front, you can see a beautiful and thick green shrubbery. Several fountains with little waterfalls and statues recreate a neoclassical garden. It is no coincidence since the property where the venue is located is a typical Jefferson's Neo-Palladian construction with high ceilings and large columns.

My architectural appreciation stops when my eyes land on a woman with her back leaning against one of the columns, her left hand resting on the concrete railing, and her right hand with a glass of wine. Her face is turned to the side, and she is observing the beautiful garden in front of her.

I know her. I've seen her before.

Although it is dark outside, the light from the venue's long windows illuminates the terrace enough.

My brain comes up with the answer in a fraction of a second.

Is the woman who saved Ashley from choking. 

After what she did, nobody even thanked her. The worst part is knowing Ashley behaved that poorly with her. It's not fair. And it's my fault.

With that in mind, I approach her.

She seems too concentrated to register I'm just a foot of distance from her. I clear my throat to call her attention.

She turns her head with a confused look at first. But she offered me a kind smile when she realized who I was.

It's my first chance to look at her; with everything happening so fast, I barely noticed her trying to talk back to Ashley moments ago. 

And now that I'm in front of her, I feel weirdly struck.

Besides her beautiful smile, her eyes hold a piercing gaze, but not the kind that frightens you. It's more like she actually sees you and gives you her undivided attention. With light makeup, her face lets you see some of her freckles. With her hair tied to one side, you can see her neck adorned with a simple gold chain with a compass-shaped pendant.

My not-so-subtle scrutiny is interrupted by her voice.

"Can I help you?" She asks, and my cheeks turn pink. But I'm here for a reason, so I clear my throat before speaking.

"Sorry. I - uh. I'm sorry for bothering you, but I wanted to thank you. For what you did back there," I say, pointing to the inside. "And, well, I want to apologize too. Ashley wasn't very kind to you, considering you mostly saved her life."

She tilts her head slightly, a frown forming, while contemplating what to say.

"Well," she starts. "I'll take the thanks. But I can't take the apologies."

Now, it's my turn to frown.

"Oh, okay. Uh - Why not?"

Not that she should do it. It's her right to do it or not, but I'm curious.

"Because you didn't do anything wrong to me, so you don't have to," she shrugs, like it's obvious.

"I kind of did. I mean, Ashley behaved awful, and I didn't -"

Before I can continue, she shakes her head to stop me.

"No. Don't do that. Why on earth do you want to apologize for someone else's bad manners, considering she treated you like garbage?"

She doesn't say it as if she is upset at me, more likely as if she doesn't understand why I would do that. And yes, she has a good point. But someone has to do the right thing, and that's what I say next.

"It's just the right thing to do."

She takes her time, mulling over my words and whether she believes me or not.

"Okay. You're correct. It's the right to do. And it's a shame most people don't do it. But I still believe it is not your responsibility here."

Something is telling me her statement concerns more than Ashley being impolite. But it is not my place to point that.

"But some people do. And that must count as something, I guess. "

It's curious how her look changes from pensive to more light-hearted.

"Okay. You win this time..." she trails off, not knowing how to refer to me.

"Spencer," I supply. She hums.

"You win this time, Spencer. And being that said, I accept your apology too," she added, sipping the remaining wine from her glass.

I smile, nodding appreciatively. It's a little gesture, but I feel better after what happened.

Silence settles between us, and I take that as my cue to leave. I had already taken enough of her time.

"Uh, well. Thank you again..."

I trail off, realizing I don't know her name.

"(Y/N)," she says.

"Thank you again, (Y/N). Hope you enjoy the rest of your night."

With that said, I should get on foot to leave the venue, as I had planned to do ten minutes ago, but for some reason, my feet didn't want to move, and I kept standing there. (Y/N) look at me as if I'm going to say something else due to the lack of movement on my part.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and now I have the same question for myself.

"Yeah. Yeah. Totally okay. Sorry, I'm leaving now."

Turning in my heels, I'm about to walk away when I hear (Y/N) 's voice.

"I didn't know that, you know? And, for the record, I didn't think it was disgusting."

I stop in my tracks to look at her with a raised eyebrow. When I catch what she is referring to, my eyes cast to the floor, and my cheeks turn pink again.

"If anything, I found it educative," she adds. I try to decipher if there is some teasing in her words, but I find none. She's being oddly genuine. Oddly, because I'm not used to people saying that when referring to the things I tend to ramble about.

"Thank you," I sheepishly say, my hands finding home in my pant pockets. "People don't tell me that very often."

A puff leaves (Y/N) 's lips before she says, "Ungrateful fuckers." 

I chuckle at her choice of words.

Weird. It's the first time all night that I don't want to run away from here.

"Yeah. Something like that," I agree, and she smiles. Now I'm comfortable enough to make some conversation.

"Uh, are you from Quantico?"

"Yeah. A very adrenalinal position," she prompts, and I raise an eyebrow. "Finance Division."

I can't help but snort, and she laughs. "I told you. What about you?"

"Behavioral Unit Analysis," I reply. (Y/N)' s eyes wide in recognition.

"Wow. The one and only BAU."

"You know us?"

"Sure. I wouldn't forget a unit that has its own jet. I'm the one who enters the travel expenses from all Quantico," she explains. I hum, trying to figure out the amplitude of that sole task. "Like I told you, very exciting."

She is mocking herself regarding her job. But I find it impressive for a desk job. Not all people have the skills to run financials.

"Well, I agree it is not very adrenaline but very important. I mean, we have to travel around the country all the time. Our job depends on traveling."

(Y/N) has now an amused expression on her face.

"It's nice to know someone truly values what you do. Not even our boss does it," she points before letting a deep sigh escape from her lips. "Gosh, I'm being very judgmental right now. You're going to think I spend my life complaining about everything. I do sometimes, but I'm not always like this," she explains. I shake my head.

"I'm not judging you. Everyone has the right to say what things don't like or would change about their jobs."

"Well, thanks. Although I'm sure you guys have more reasons to be concerned. You risk your life on the field every time. That's huge."

She rests the empty glass on the concrete rail, adjusting her coat around her body. The air is chiller at this time of the night.

"You know? People say that a lot. And I agree. It's a dangerous job, but it's not better than anyone's for that reason, or whatever another reason for that matter.

Her eyes are analyzing me with curiosity. I'm not sure, but it's like she's having difficulty believing what I'm saying.

"Can I ask you something, Spencer?"

"Sure."

"Why are you here tonight?"

My eyes narrow at her question. Isn't the reason obvious?

"What do you mean? It's the FBI annual gala," I point out, knowing she already knows that too. She nods.

"Precisely," she starts. "And at the risk of being impertinent, I can say this environment makes you uncomfortable. When you were with that girl talking - scratch that, when you were talking, and she looked at you, trying to devour you with her eyes - you seemed like you didn't want to be there. Above all, knowing this kind of event is basically to show off to other bureau agents, I don't think is your notion of an ideal night."

If I wasn't impressed when we started talking - which I was - I am now. 

She assumes my awe as discomfort.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to overstep."

"No, no. You are okay. And let me tell you, your observation is completely accurate," I hasten to clarify.

"Yeah?" (Y/N) asks, and I nod earnestly.

"Yeah. Have you not considered applying for a position as a field agent?"

An amused laugh leaves her lips.

"No way! I would be a total disaster! And carrying a gun is not my idea of a dream job anymore," she points out, still laughing. 

I chuckle, but her answer makes me think. Before I can ask for clarification, she calls me out.

"Hey, you didn't answer my question."

I didn't, although the answer is simple.

"My boss made me."

(Y/N) scoff in disbelief.

"What? Did he put a gun against your chest?"

Well, thinking better about it, maybe the answer is not that simple.

"Not quite, but you can say I felt it that way."

I tell (Y/N) how my team always worries about my lack of social interaction, which isn't that accurate if you ask me. However, some of the pressure of doing things that people my age would generally do is finally getting me and pushing me out of my comfort zone.

She listens to me with undivided attention and seems to understand what I'm talking about.

"Peer pressure, uh? I can relate to that to some extent," she agrees.

"That's why are you here tonight, too?"

My question makes her let out a deep sigh as her eyes focus on the garden beside us for a second.

"Not really. Who knows, maybe I do enjoy being here?"

(Y/N) phrases it more like a question than a statement. And I can tell she doesn't believe it either.

"Enjoying being apart from the crowd, in a lateral terrace barely illuminated and exposed to the chilly night air? I can think of several other places to do the same thing without the trouble of a gala environment."

Her cheeks turn a shade of pink, which tells me I'm right.

"Not fair, you are a certified profiler," (Y/N) complains, faking annoyance.

"And you haven't answered my question either," I remind her. She rolls her eyes playfully.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Well, let's say I came here to prove myself something. Spoiler alert: I failed. That's why I have been mostly spending the night here."

I hum, knowing she is vague in explaining, but I'm not in a place to pry.

"Look, I would tell you more about it, but I'm sure you have to return inside. Your teammates are surely wondering where you are."

I can't help but snort, and she raises an eyebrow at my reaction.

"I'm sorry, but your assumption is far from reality. Considering what happened inside, they think I ran home. What I was actually doing before spotting you here," I admit.

"Ha! So it's true I'm holding you back but for a different motive," she triumphantly concludes.

"I didn't say that!" I complain with a hint of exasperation, to which she breathly laughs.

"I know. I know. I'm messing with you. Honestly? There are two reasons why I'm avoiding this topic right now. First, I don't think you want to hear the mess my life is these days, and second, I would kill for a coffee and a sandwich-" she pauses, stifling a chuckle before continuing. "Considering oysters are out of the table."

"Oh, come on!" I groan, seeing how she falls into a fit of laughter, so contagious that I can't help but join her.

"Sorry, sorry. Not very kind of me, I know. But I couldn't help it," she apologizes, still giggling. I bit my lower lip in amusement.

"Alright. It's okay. It's frankly funny," I admit, my words leaving my mouth before I can think of them. "Well, I could tell you more of those moments in my life - many of them - if you let me join you with the coffee and sandwich. I know a good place that is open at this hour. And you can tell me what kind of thing you wanted to prove yourself tonight."

Spencer Reid. Is that you? 

I'm surprised by my sudden confidence, and it seems (Y/N) is, too. She hums, scrubbing her fingers under her chin while contemplating my offer.

"Okay, I'll take it. But don't tell me later that I didn't warn you about the mess of my life," she points her index finger at me.

"I won't. I promise."

-

Grabbing a cab is relatively easy since the FBI considered transportation outside the venue for people who won't be driving.

The fifteen-minute ride allows us to have a light conversation. That's how I know (Y/N) has been in the bureau for almost four years. Being an Accountant by profession and with a Master of Science in Finance from Georgetown, she was recruited for the FBI precisely considering her outstanding skills in the financial department.

She asks me about my trajectory in the FBI as well. I tell her about Gideon and the start of my life at the BAU.

Arriving at our destination, I insist on paying for the ride despite her resistance. I assured her that she could invite me to the coffee.

It must be a curious image for the patrons to see two fully gala-dressed people stepping inside a diner at eleven pm.

We sit on a bench facing each other.

A girl who can't hide her curious expression comes to take our order. As promised, (Y/N) asks for two coffees and two sandwiches.

"So, Agent Gideon recruited you for the FBI. Why did you accept? I would have thought you would be more comfortable in academics," (Y/N) asks, stirring a spoon of sugar in her coffee.

"I thought the same at the time. But Gideon saw something I didn't. He knew I wouldn't settle with learning and teaching for the rest of my life, and I needed it to be useful beyond that environment."

I explain how profiling has helped us to catch unsubs around the country and how worthy it is for me. I can't think of myself doing anything else. (Y/N) listen to me with raptor interest; it is nice to be heard that way.

"You know? I haven't heard someone speak passionately about their work in a long time. It's good you feel that way," she says with a hint of longing that doesn't go unnoticed by me.

"It is bold of me to assume you don't like what you do?"

Maybe I'm overstepping, but I'm curious. And (Y/N) doesn't seem bothered by my question. Shifting in her seat, she leans, resting her elbows on the table.

"Not bold at all, mister profiler," she teases. "But not always has been that way. I would say I started to feel uncomfortable not long ago. A couple of months, perhaps?"

I hum, thinking about what could have made her feel that way.

"It has to do with why you were at the gala tonight?"

She chuckles, nodding.

"Kind of. Remember I told you I wanted to prove myself something? Well, it has to do with what has been bothering me," she prefaces.

(Y/N) relates how things have gone well since she got into the FBI. She felt respected, wanting to do many things and learn everything she could. 

That's how she met her boyfriend.

"I wasn't looking for a romantic relationship, much less at work. I wanted to be professional, separating my private life from my job. But he was so attentive and supportive. He always told me he was happy I felt fulfilled with what I was doing. He was so perfect I thought I had found my soulmate."

I don't know exactly where she is going, but sure as hell, that prick wasn't her soulmate.

"What happened?"

"One day, I wasn't good enough for him anymore. After two years of relationship, he started with harsh comments and criticism about everything I did and didn't do."

A humorless chuckle escapes her lips.

"I should have noticed. By then, he was promoted from desk duty and junior trainee to field agent. He had always wanted it, and I felt so happy for him. But that changed everything."

(Y/N) tells me about how her boyfriend stopped listening to her, and instead, every topic of conversation turned to his job, implying - sometimes saying it explicitly - that it was more important than hers.

"It's not only the fact we stopped communicating; it was realizing how low he thought about me and my accomplishments. At first, I tried to understand. Of course, he was dazed by this new life, full of danger and adrenaline. I could understand it. But when he started comparing me to his female colleagues and the things they were doing, way more important than the ones I was doing, it made me insecure."

(Y/N) takes time to collect her thoughts, sipping the remaining coffee from the cup.

"The insecurities got the best of me. At some point, I just wanted to run away and leave it all behind. I knew it was irrational, but I believed him. I even thought about changing my career and training to be a field agent. Good thing we broke up before I could do that," she admits.

"What stopped you? I mean, like you're telling this, you were going to change for him," I ask. She cast her gaze, averting mine. Her cheeks turn pink.

"I don't like to admit it, but the reason we broke up wasn't because I realized how stupid the situation was. We broke up because he cheated on me. I discovered it two months ago, breaking the camel's back."

Fuck. That prick was not meant to be her soulmate. And I feel the urge to have one or two words with him right now.

"I'm sorry." It's the only thing I manage to say. (Y/N) shakes her head.

"Nah. If anything, I'm glad it happened. Even if it broke my heart."

"He was at the gala, right?" (Y/N) nods.

"With the coworker that he chose to cheat on me. His current girlfriend."

Everything makes perfect sense now. (Y/N) was trying to prove to herself that the wound had healed. And from what she said earlier, it didn't turn that way.

She bitterly chuckles.

"Yeah. It's pathetic, I know."

Spencer, do something.

"No! It's not. Unfortunately, cheating is not uncommon, particularly in men. In 2020, IFS released a report stating that 20% of men have admitted to cheating, and only 10% have. In 2021, the Health Testing Centers asked 441 people who admitted infidelity to their partners and asked how long it took for them to tell their partners about it. 47.7% of the respondents told their partner within a week that they'd cheated. 26.6% of those have waited for a month, and 25.7% took six months or longer to tell their partner about the infidelity. And 60% of them said the affair started in a work environment."

And then again, the rambling. But instead of giving me a blank look, (Y/N) seems to consider what I just said.

"Maybe I shouldn't feel so bad about it then. Anyway, it hasn't been easy to get out of this. I thought going to the gala and forcing myself to see them together would be enough to get a closure," she reflects.

"But it still hurts," I supply, making (Y/N) hum.

"Yeah. I'm not ready, and it sucks. Not for him, but for me. I hate feeling so out of place, so dissatisfied with everything," (Y/N) retorts, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest.

Her eyes look sad, and I want to do something to fix it, although I know that nothing I can say would be enough. Maybe joking will at least get her off the topic.

"And there I was talking about oysters all night," I sigh, feigning disapproval. Genuine laughter escapes her lips.

I didn't know that making her laugh could fill my heart so much with satisfaction.

"That's life," she adds, now checking the time on her cell phone. "I think I'll get going," she announces, collecting her things and preparing to stand.

"Can I walk you home? It's very late already," I ask.

"Oh no, don't worry about me. My building is not far from here."

I know she doesn't want to cause trouble, but it makes me uneasy about what could happen to her walking alone at this hour.

Thank you, BAU.

"Please?" I insist. (Y/N) raises an eyebrow.

"Aren't you already fed up with me?" she asks curiously.

"Non yet," I grin.

Not having the energy to put up a fight, she accepts my offer, and after paying the bill, we leave the restaurant.

The night is colder now, and both of us walk in silence with our hands in our pockets.

I can't know what exactly she's thinking, but at least I can't stop thinking about tonight. For someone like me, it's hard to fall into spontaneity, but with (Y/N), it wasn't a problem. That amazes me, and I like it at the same time.

When she stops walking, I get out of my thoughts.

"Here," she says, looking at the building we are standing by. "Thank you for walking with me," (Y/N) states, smiling. It's the same warm smile she offered when I found her on the venue's terrace a couple of hours ago.

"Of course. It's the less I could do."

And I mean it. She saved my night in so many ways she doesn't even know.

"Well, I need to say it was a pleasure to share this shit of a night with you and turned it less shitty," she says, grinning and satisfied with her remark.

I laugh at her statement. I couldn't have said it better.

"Thank you. It's the best compliment I have had in a long time," I joke, making (Y/N) giggle.

"You are welcome."

I have the question on the tip of my tongue. I would love to see her again, but what if she doesn't think it's worth it? I opt for the vaguest thing that comes to mind.

"See you around?"

(Y/N) thinks about it for a moment. Am I being too obvious? Before falling into a spiral, she smiles at me again.

"Yeah, sure. Why not."

I can't help but feel the excitement pouring from me.

"Great! Well, I - I'll go now. Good night (Y/N)," I say goodbye, slowly walking backward.

"Good night, Spencer," she retorts before entering the building.

I watch her disappear behind the door, and I think that while neither of us got what we wanted, maybe we got what we needed.

-------------

Next -> Part 2: It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t

-------------

A/N 2: I'm excited to know your thoughts about this!

-------------

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity

[inknopewetrust]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐮𝐬𝐭 [Part One]

Summary: When the longevity of sin is threatened by the factions of a feuding family on the brink of war, a choice must be made to protect the secrets of a heart torn in two. [ser erryk cargyll x targaryen!fem!reader] [wc: 10.7k]

Warnings: minors dni (18+ only), smut, angst, mentions of death/war, themes consistent with show, spoilers for the show (season 3).

quick links: masterlist | this is a love letter, albeit a sad one. comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. @zaldritzosrose for banner source.

There is no duty without sacrifice, nor reward without submission. In a world as cruel as this, you often pondered in wilted daydreams of a world at peace.

As golden springs and chilled autumns once brought virtue and good fortune, the hallowed corridors of Dragonstone in the middle of a long, bleak war brought nothing but a faded memory of the past.

The halls whimpered with the martyrs it kept.

And the phantoms snickered at those in wait and the sacrifices one makes for the duty of their house bears scars on those left in their tormented wake.

Night fell with a deep, dark shadow lingering above. A hand gripping the castle as the maids scrubbed the blood from the chamber floor of the Queen.

He was dead.

And you felt a piece of you die with him.

“Sister,” Rhaenyra spoke but her voice was distant.

In an echo chamber of your mind, the noises funneled around you. A heavy weight of air pressed upon you as your hand picked at the wooden edges of the chair beside the fire.

“Leave us,” the Queen spoke to her guard and Elinda quietly.

The door shut behind her and in careful steps, she could see your eyes trained heavily on the spot now covered in a yellow rug. Toys remained from her young boys which struck the shell of her own heart with a fury.

Death lingered in Rhaenyra’s chambers and there was never a moment to mourn. A war roars on the mainland in her name; people perish in acts of heightened emotions and sacrifice puddles even the strongest of soldiers.

“Sister,” she cleared her throat. “To what—“

“When Harwin died,” your voice was hoarse from a weary day, “did you mourn the man you loved?”

Rhaenyra halted behind the settee. Her hands settled to trace its carvings.

“I beg your pardon?” She inquired.

You were lost in a haze of self destruction. Lost within yourself with a haphazard will to move on. Hours had passed, mere hours, and those on the council that sit around a painted table forget the tragedies that have befallen a great house in a matter of weeks.

You mumbled incoherently and Rhaenyra furrowed her brows. She seldom saw you blink in the light of the fire; the waterline of your eyes pooled with tears. One slipped down the cheek closest to her.

She had watched you absent in your own mind as dirt filled the grave in the early morn. It should not have come as a startle that those feelings remained.

“I fear I do not know what to do with myself,” you whispered. “I-I d-do not know what to do.”

“What for, sister?” Rhaenyra approached as she would her smallest child. “You needn’t do anything at this moment.”

She took a seat on the cushion and reached for your hand. It barely brushed your own before something snapped. A arrow shooting from its bow, breaking your stupor and sending you out of your seat.

You removed yourself from the chair and stepped away from her. Your hands shook as your lip trembled.

The death that grieves in isolation swells. Ribbons of torment become suffocating, choking until awoken with a shake.

“I do not wish to be alone,” you all but wailed. “I’ve been alone for so long, so long…”

“Do you speak of sleep? Or, or marriage?” Rhaenyra drew confused. You had been adamant for years, threatening your life and title to remain a spinster the history books would forget.

The Virgin Princess, she imagined the books may speak of.

You let out a weak, strangled laugh at her. Eyes cutting and red, she felt the tremors of Harwin’s pain bubble inside of her. It made her uncomfortable in her skin.

“I loved him, Rhaenyra.”

For the first time, you saw your sister truly look at you.

And she did not see her elder sister.

She did not see the girl, simply two name days older, who was fond of reading and politics.

She could not see the girl who would beckon Rhaenyra to braid her hair while recalling stories of Old Valyria and the conquests of their ancestors.

She did not see a now grown woman who sought independence; someone who tried to subvert the traditions of a name such as the one you shared.

Rhaenyra saw a widow.

She spoke your name softly and you shook your head at her.

“I loved Erryk. I loved him so.”

Rhaenyra let your confession sit.

“I followed you to Dragonstone,” you spat. “I left the only world I’d ever known to remain in your court because you’re my sister, Rhaenyra. But this place,” your eyes trailed along the vaulted ceilings and the wet stones. “This place has done nothing but bring us suffering.”

“Sister,” Rhaenyra sat forward. “We all make sacrifices—“

“No!” Your voice raised as tears fell consistently. “We are weak, Rhaenyra! This would not have happened if we had been prepared!”

“You speak as though his choice was my fault.”

You let silence fall. Diverting your eyes away from Rhaenyra, she felt a grip on her heart go numb. You believed it to be her fault.

“My grief,” you closed your eyes to darkness. “My grief pokes holes in the agony of my life. It heaves within me for a purpose that is not there and I do not know what to do with myself because of it. He is gone. He’s gone, Rhaenyra. I loved him and he’s gone.”

“Is that why you have never agreed to take a lord husband?”

You nodded your head and sank down on her bed.

“Did you truly love Harwin Strong?” You asked, following it with an awkward chuckle. “I find it to be quite amusable that we two daughters loved men in the cloak.”

Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I did.”

“And when he died, did you grieve him as I do Erryk?”

“I did.”

“But you have a memory of him; pieces of him always with you.”

She never spoke aloud the paternity of her sons. Rhaenyra was not daft in knowing people knew, but even to you, her dear sister, she never spoke of it.

Rhaenyra did not shy away from having Harwin keep a long distance between their children. She had seen you and Harwin get along well in the presence of her children and often wondered what the world would be like had she been able to marry him in place of Laenor.

Everyone would have ended up in a much happier place, she believed.

“I do," she whispered against the dead of night. "I do, yes."

"And I will never have that," you stressed. Gaze more frantic than before. You shook your head at the thought. "I never would but I still wanted something to be mine. For me to hold and love and cherish but there is nothing I can do now but sit and ponder the "what ifs." But at war, I am not meant to dwell on them."

"Yet here you are, asking about them anyway."

That dreaded silence fell between you once more. It did not escape her that the lives of innocents were at stake while this war met on the steps of each great house. Her son, Helena's son, good men, and kind women were killed for nothing more than fodder.

It was moot; the tragedy of errors.

“I loved him,” your repeated. “I loved him dearly.”

"Tell me," she tried to offer a tight-lipped smile. "How did it begin?"

"Oh, Rhaenyra," you bemoaned. Sniffing and trying not to focus hard on the spot where he fell on his sword. "I do not-"

"But I would like to hear it," she got up and joined you at your side. Rhaenyra took one of your hands in hers. "I do not wish to hear all the details, however."

You envisioned him in your memory. His eyes, smile. How in the shadows of your chambers he was a different man than he one who served your father, your sister.

He was magnetic and quiet.

Erryk was a lover and a fighter.

You laughed and she smiled. "There was something about men in the cloak..."

"I would have to agree," she said. Her eyes gleamed with a memory of Harwin. She loved him. "Dutiful men indeed."

"It felt so scandalous... but he served me."

"In more ways than one," Rhaenyra blushed and you knocked her shoulder with the back of your hand. She had given birth to five children and still remained a form of pious when broaching the subject.

Your tears still fell but Rhaenyra felt the joy of love bloom.

“I was simply jesting,” she started but you gave her a cutting, mischievous glacé.

"Did you not say you wished not to hear of it? Do you want me to tell you all the details? He was quite good, you know? A very fine fuck indeed."

"Oh Gods!" Rhaenyra laughed loudly and for once, you forgot the pain. "Please, spare me of it!"

“He was b-“

“Please!” She spoke your name in a shriek. “I do not wish to think of you in that way!”

"You truly did not know of it?" You questioned her in a striking bewilderment. You never thought yourself to be shroud in secrecy but surely someone had to have noticed your folly in his presence.

He was your father's, then her own, sworn sword.

"I had my suspicions on occasion," Rhaenyra admitted. "It was Harwin who first spoke of it. I did what I could to protect you. It was not long after the wedding. Harwin said he had crossed paths with him," she smiled sheepishly, "though he was not sure of which twin at the time."

Rhaenyra heard a small intake of breath from you. You squeezed her hand.

"But it happened more than once. The happenstance was too peculiar to not think of it in that way, sister. But Harwin was the one to believe it was Erryk. After a while it became easier to tell them apart and he appeared sure."

"I truly did not think it that hard."

Rhaenyra gave you glance of disbelief yet you had been serious.

"Laenor favored him, as did Harwin. That is why I knew he could be trusted. Not only as a fine Kingsguard but with my sister's heart as well."

"Rhaenyra," you sighed in kindness. A tear from your eyes dropped onto your intertwined hands.

"Harwin spoke of his candor. How devoted he was. Yet he broke an oath for the sake of his honor."

"As we all do."

Rhaenyra hummed and thought of her own indiscretions for the sake of love. How Daemon had taken her to the Silk Streets at the same time you were discovering womanhood with one of the Kingsguards. A peculiar life; one caged and riddled with power.

"I would have married him... had he wished to break his oath," you admitted to her and the sheen in your eyes returned. Kingsguard were only released from their duty in death. "But the Gods had other plans it appears."

"I do not doubt it," she replied in turn. "Do you think father knew of it?"

You shrugged your shoulders in indifference. "I fear the Hightower's may have. Even more so now. It takes much to strike a Dragon so deeply. Surely their motives were amplified when he deserted their cause."

Rhaenyra nodded, looking at the children's toys on the rug. She wanted to find the good in the gloom.

"Tell me of him. Tell me of the Ser Erryk I did not know."

“Rhaenyra…”

“Please,” she nearly begged. “Let us find a happiness. As you spoke there had been nothing but pain. There is a part of you that I do not know of and I wish to know now.”

You were not sure when to begin.

The first time you met? The first time you spoke? Those times were trivial and basic. She did not want to hear of your scandals in detail but you could start at the night where it changed. Where womanhood came to you in a way you were not expecting and the wine settled too deep in your bones.

You should have known it was doomed to fail because on that same night, a man died at Rhaenyra’s wedding feast.

But you were too wrapped up in Erryk’s arms to notice that evil lurked in the Red Keep.

The wedding of Rhaenyra and Laenor was no small affair.

It was said that an entire week was to be planned full of tourney's, feasting, and ending in the penultimate betrothal of your sister to your cousin, Laenor, who had all but been absent for the entirety of both your childhoods.

He knew nothing of her but appeared kind.

As the drums beat and the violins soared in the great hall, the two-to-be-wed danced a traditional Targaryen dance that entranced the scope of the room before the guests who dreamed of dancing on the same floor as the heir to the throne joined them.

You sat at the table as Alicent conversed with her uncle in the corner and Daemon squandered his late wife's relative with the pad of his thumb. You downed your goblet of wine as Gerold Royce backed away in embarrassment and Daemon smirked in victory.

“Do you not feel sorrow for your late lady wife?” You asked Daemon who’s look always reminded you of being hunted.

“We were not fond of each other. So, no, I do not.”

"You are a cunt, Daemon," you cut. Your father made a noise of objection and Lord Hand Lyonel Strong choked on his wine.

Daemon laughed. He spared you a glance before turning it back to where Rhaenyra was dancing.

You knew of her infatuation with your uncle. Her eyes kept darting to the table as if no one would see.

Viserys muttered your name in dissatisfaction.

"Brother," Daemon snickered, "it is fine. The Princess was just expressing her admiration for me."

You scoffed as a squire refilled the goblet to the brim. The wine spilled over and the young man went to make apologies but you brushed him off with the wave of your hand.

The wine was gone faster than it had taken to refill it.

"The ire may lay elsewhere I inquire," Daemon gave a smoldering squint of his eyes. "Tell me, good niece, how it feels to be second in a tourney where you have always been first? Seeing the heir of the throne marry before you?"

"You overstep, Uncle," you cut.

"But I am a cunt, remember?"

You sat back in your seat as the air around you became uncomfortable and suffocating. Alicent returned with a strained greeting to which she received nothing in return from you.

It perturbed you that a girl, years your junior, had become your stepmother.

The squire returned to fill your cup but nearly spilled it over your hand as it covered the top of the goblet.

"Squire," Daemon's playful voice was etched with a sinful glee. "I do not believe the Princess needs any. She needs something a bit more sturdy to lift her spirits." He motioned with his pointer finger up to the sky lewdly. “A good fuck would do you well.”

"Daemon," your father spoke and Alicent looked away in a rose-colored blush.

"All in good fun, Brother," Daemon defended as he said your name in a question. The squire escaped quickly from the table; the music changed in the room and the dancers from noble houses joined at a more jubilant pace.

Lord Lyonel eyed the floor as his son, Harwin, danced with Rhaenyra.

Daemon leaned into Lyonel's personal space with a quiet voice.

"Have you been to the Silk Streets, Princess?"

"Daemon!" Viserys ordered loudly. His voice caught the attention of the Velaryon's at the end of the table. "I will not have such talk at this table on this day! It is my daughter's wedding!"

"Of co–"

"It's alright, Father," you turned to him as the weakened look on his worn face became more present. "I believe the eve has gotten the best of me."

Rising from your seat, Viserys objected and Alicent latched herself to your hand.

You felt an evil burn your skin.

"You mustn't go," she pleaded on your father's behalf. "It has only just begun."

"I assure you tomorrow will be a much better day," you told her and wiggled your arm out of her grasp.

Viserys sighed in defeat. He scoured the room for Ser Criston to escort you to your chambers but you had not allowed him the chance to speak. You turned away and stepped down from the risen floor and towards the exit to the left of the Iron Throne. In his sight, Ser Erryk caught his attention.

He could only tell the difference because his helmet had been removed.

"Ser Erryk!" Viserys barked.

Ser Erryk had been a Kingsguard for near three years with his brother, Ser Arryk, alongside him. They had been nothing short of loyal to Viserys in the time since their joining.

"Your Grace," Erryk stopped before the King as he turned around and pointed to his eldest daughter's escape from the Throne Room.

"The Princess wishes to retire," Erryk turned his head to watch you disappear beyond the archway. "Please escort and stand watch until Ser Thorne can return to his station outside of the quarters.”

"Yes, Your Grace."

Erryk did his duty and followed obediently after you. Daemon remained laughing quietly as the reminders of you were left. Wine on the table, a plate untouched of food grew cold as the night wore thin.

You traced your hand along the stones of the hallways of the Red Keep. Ancient and sturdy, the ancestors who crafted these corridors knew not of the stories they would tell; how much each turn of the stone would witness as the years passed and the shadows became ingrained in its pattern.

The wine you had been drinking began to catch up with you.

It had been not more than three cups and you felt flushed and warm. Still with your senses, you felt angry and jolly at the same time.

Yet the frustrations of your family still lingered heavier. You felt the steam roll from your shoulders, loosening itself into tendrils of anger as the sounds of jubilance became faint and the halls became darker and filled with the candlelight of night.

You continued to walk in slow steps as the weight of tiredness fell upon you.

Sounds of armor approaching caught your ears, nonetheless.

You breached the foyer of the grand staircase and turned to rest against the stones. Hands grasping the corners behind your back, you looked down the golden hallway to the armored guard approaching.

"Ser Erryk," you acknowledged as the light illuminated his features before you.

You felt the danger dissipate from your body.

"Princess," he spoke. His accent was notable among those who rallied between common-folk and high-born in the Crownlands.

In the years he and his brother Arryk had served the crown, your paths have crossed. They both presented a fine and reputable record of loyalty and devotion to the cause.

They were good men. A rarity, in the world as you lived it.

But Erryk had always captured your attention more than his brother had. Taller and more attentive to your sister and yourself, he had always caught your eye. You wasted countless minutes of your life simply looking at the knight in hopes that he would look back.

You had memorized his face in a matter of seconds.

"May I ask why you are following after me in such a haste?"

"Your Grace has asked me to escort you, Princess," he continued his approach without explicit permission.

As he came into a closer view, you took stock of the man. A strong face with determined eyes; lips plump and shoulders square yet fitted by the silver of his armor. He had a mole on the left side of his cheek above his lip.

He was beautiful. You were not sure you had ever seen a man with such refined beauty before he had joined the Kingsguard some three years ago. In the times his eyes caught yours in the midst of the chaos of your house, your opinion did not change.

You felt your heartbeat pulse faster.

There was something alluring about his eyes. So focused and intent on the subject upon whom he was speaking to, the unwavering devotion of his trade ever present beyond the armor he wore.

"I see," you muttered. "And what of Ser Thorne? He sees to be my escort often."

"Occupied, Princess. It is a busy evening for the family."

Erryk used your title in a way the others did not. He held it in such high regard, you felt.

You hummed and turned back toward the direction in which you were headed originally. The stairs loomed in the darkness like a warship approaching its moor. The wine that had settled let a small chuckle escape your lips.

"I do wish there were magic in these walls, Ser Erryk. Then I may simply float into bed and there would be no need to leave the nice party."

Erryk was not sure how to respond. He knew you not to be a silly woman. The eldest of Viserys' daughters had always appeared to him to be attentive and near motherly in the wake of Queen Aemma's death.

In the times he had spoken to you, you never feigned such girlish impulse before. It was new. And it surprised him.

Therefore, Erryk took his own leap of difference.

"Princess," he caught your attention and in the light, he wished he had never taken the oath.

Your eyes gleamed with such delight; pupils blown wide from what he deduced to be the wine of the evening and lips plush and slightly parted. The bodice of your gown fit every curve and plush part of your skin in an entrancing way that sent his mind to the places he neglected to attend to.

He knew of what the men in the Kingsguard did. He listened to the conquests of his brothers, both blood and by sword, while he refined himself to his oath.

But his heart nearly stopped at the sight of you. It had never happened before.

He felt ashamed for feeling such a way. For him to imagine what it would be to feel your skin above and below your skirts, listening to the soft sounds of content as he let his lips draw new patterns on your collarbones.

You were a Princess. He should not have such thoughts.

"If I may speak plainly?" Erryk asked you and you nodded for him to continue. He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet.

"Dragons exist in this world. I do not see why magic could not exist as well. There are whispers of such people amongst the townsfolk. Though, I cannot say their rumors are true.”

The sides of your lips began to quirk up into a smile. "Yes. I suppose you are right about that."

You smiled at him and he could not look away. The sides of your eyes creased in delight in regard to the silliest of items: a childish want to be lifted into bed because your feet were too tired.

It was not often that a naive nature still remained in adults.

"Do you not wish to return to the celebration?" You queried. “I saw even Ser Harold tap his feet at the music.”

"I have a duty to you, Princess. The celebration will not miss me."

Erryk did not miss nor question the way your eyes flicked between his lips and his own eyes. He could not resist the urge to do the same to you.

You wet your lips with your tongue in a small jut. Your top teeth tug the bottom lip in before releasing it gently. Attention falling to the chest of his armor before you blinked in a rapid succession and he felt your body radiate a warm sensation.

You pulled the back of your hand to your cheeks to sense the heat.

“My,” you said breathlessly. “I seem to have let the wine get the best of me.” Sheepishly looking down, your gaze returned to him with doe-like admiration.

He felt the blood rushing. Erryk swallowed his nerves.

“It does happen, Princess.”

Your heart beat rapidly against your ribcage—you felt as though it were going to explode.

His eyes were piercing you. Dim in the light of the hall, you could barely decipher where he was truly looking but you felt the stare. You could have felt it a million miles away.

“Ser Erryk—“

Gustily, he cut you off. “Erryk, Princess. You may call me Erryk in confidence.”

It was your turn to swallow the nerves that built up in your throat. You observed him again and in the way he stood. An arm limp on his side while the other held onto his sword tightly.

There was no fear, nothing helpless within you.

Your curiosity painted what his hands looked like under the white gloves. How strong and handsome they must be to match the face of the man. You wondered how they’d feel pressed against you; holding you in ways no woman should wonder.

The feel of them on your breasts, the way they’d play differently than your own in the dead of night.

You released a staggered breath from your nose and he caught the shake that emitted from your chest.

“Erryk,” you clarified your previous mistake. "Please use my title sparingly, then. I wish to be informal when able."

"Of course," and he tried your name on his lips for the first time.

For the first time, you felt at ease.

"I've never asked, but do you enjoy the Kingsguard? After all that is asked of you, your brother, and those in the cloak?"

"It is a honor," he stopped himself short of using your title. "I cannot envision a life outside of it."

To be one of the seven to protect the family was the most profound honor. Only the finest of knights were bestowed the honor.

"I suppose you do get to sleep in the most grand of castles," you quipped.

"And you? Do you like being the daughter of a King?"

Erryk observed the way you pondered deeply. Even if he spent every waking minute with a family of high stature and of the utmost importance, he would never truly understand the perils that came with great privilege.

"Would it be silly if I said no?"

"No," he shook his head. "There are many who wish to be you, however."

"I do not envy them," your gaze saddened at the prospect.

"What is not to be envious about?"

"Freedom... or the lack-thereof it."

The wine was making you feel all sorts of ways that evening.

"Freedom," he reiterated. "That may be more rewarding than both of our positions, Princess."

You narrowed your eyes at him to which he returned with a sly, small smirk and his own look was playful. Erryk was subverting your expectations beyond a reasonable doubt.

Your heart leapt at the idea that he was dallying with you.

You were both young and engaging in a fools errand.

Down the corridor from which you originally came, footsteps began to heighten. You could barely make out the silhouettes of more guards making rounds.

"I wish to retire to my room, Ser Erryk," you called out loudly enough for those to hear.

In an instant, a wall had gone up between the two of you and the wine was drained from your body. Erryk offered his arm in the way a Lord would as you conquered the steps one by one.

The guards surpassed you by changing their route and following down another corridor as the two of you made it to the middle landing of the grand steps.

"Oh," you feigned in their absence.

"There was nothing improper of our conversation, Princess," Erryk reassured you.

Everything and the Gods were improper for a high-born lady–even one unmarried and passed over as an option of heir.

"I know," you replied, feeling the cold metal of his armor simmer the heat of your palms.

You continued up the stairs with him and did not let go once the journey was complete.

"Do you see me a spinster, Ser Erryk?" You asked him and once more, he found himself a loss for words in your presence. No other high-born lady would give conversation so willingly. Yet you always had in your short meetings together.

“Spinster?”

“I am a few years beyond my sister. I am unwed and untethered. Not ideal for a husband to seek, no matter if my father is the King.”

"I do not believe it appr–"

"I really do not mind," your face concentrated on the passage of doors and miscellaneous objects littering the living quarter hallways. "You are not a stranger."

"Nor am I a friend," he felt the need to clarify.

"Then what are you?"

You stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to look at him. The skirt of the dress twirled and scuffed his hand. His fingers twitched to grab onto it.

"I am a sworn member of the Kingsguard, Princess. I have a duty to your name, to the crown."

"And such forsakes you from being a friend?"

Lust.

"Do you wish me to be your friend?" He asked boldly.

In the same moment, a rumble of thunder roared through the sky. The open courtyard that found itself in the center of the wing of the keep whirled with a ruinous swirl.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing voiced itself into words.

“I do not believe that would be appropriate.” You completed his previous sentence.

The earthy thunder echoed in the sky.

"What would be appropriate?" Erryk tested the waters.

He sensed the colors of his white cloak becoming sullied by his own greed. He took a step forward as the rain began to spill from the clouds above.

"My young sister is to be married," you cautioned. "Before I am to be and I–"

"I cannot take a wif–"

"No," you shook your head and sighed. "I do not wish to marry."

"Princess."

"I do not want to be the wife of a Lord twice my age. I want to make my own choices."

Erryk saw the determination in your eyes. He and Arryk had the same as they left home and declared themselves to be willing trainees for the Kingsguard. They gave everything to live a life of stewardship.

"The guards spoke of your abstention," Erryk admitted. "How you abdicated your inheritance and now Princess Rhaenyra is heir to the throne."

"I am clear of the understanding that you cannot take a wife, nor bear any children. I do not seek that either."

Erryk breathed in deeply. "What do you ask of me, Princess?"

Your observances were flicks of nervous ticks. The way your gaze was scattered across the hall; shades of gray became wet with rain and the fires that lit the way began to waver.

"I fear I ask something the Gods deny me."

Freedom.

The two of you stared at one another for seconds before you turned away and returned walking in a wade of self-destruction.

As the rain poured heavy, chaos erupted in the Great Hall as it did in the quarters above. Erryk looked to the sky through the pillars of stone to listen for a sign.

The Gods rumbled in fury.

But Gods be damned.

The clang of his armor filled your ears faster than the force of his hand encircling around your bicep and spinning you around without much warning. His other hand grasped the bottom of your jaw, filling the space of your cheek and brought his lips impatiently to your own.

You could not hear the rain when time ceased to move.

Erryk's hand let go of your bicep and wrung an arm around your back to meet the top of your dress' bodice. His fingers gripped the back of it and you could feel the fabric of his gloves itching against your skin.

The giddiness of the anxiety that had formed with you made your hands shake. They found purchase on his chest plate. Erryk's thumb caressed your chin and then exchanged its position to the back of your head.

You broke the kiss in breathlessness before he brought his lips to yours again.

Your body buzzed without thinking.

There was no returning to the therebefore.

Not a year into Rhaenyra's marriage to Laenor did she give birth to her first son, Jacaerys, who appeared more like a common boy than a Targaryen.

In the following years, another boy was born with the same complexion and you questioned it not as she had come to you nine months prior and declared her third pregnancy happily.

It was an unkempt secret.

It was also one that you were fortunate not to share.

Ten years to the date of the wedding, both your and Rhaenyra's lives were inexplicably changed. Your father's condition worsened to where it was a battle to walk from bed to door. Alicent's ascent into her own form of motherhood rivaled Rhaenyra's as you kept your distance the best you could.

Alicent made efforts to get to know you better as an adult but you saw what she was. She was a devil disguised as a saint.

She was younger and tried yet to replace what your mother left vacant inside of you. You ignored her with what snide nature the Gods had granted you as you had gotten older.

It was your solitude that kept you sane as the keep grew louder.

That, and the life you kept in the shadows. Though, your nephews did bring a smile to your face.

"Jace!" You shouted with a laugh as the boy stumbled in the courtyard. His wooden sword went tumbling out of his hands after one strike from his brother, Lucerys.

They were so little and innocent.

"You must hold onto it if you want to be a great knight!"

"I was!" His little voice argued back as he went to pick up the word and Lucerys lifted his fist in victory.

Ser Harwin Strong stood on the sidelines of their small battle circle as you took a seat on the bottom step not far from their escapade. The yard was full of workers and knights, both those of the Kingsguard and City Watch.

"Not strong enough, My Prince," Harwin gave him a stern glare that sent Jace into a rigid stance wanting to prove his worth.

The boy was ten yet he wished to be a knight at that very moment.

"You must listen to your Aunt if you want to be a good knight," Harwin pointed at you to which you shook your head, scoffing at his words. "She has fought many a battle; can swing a sword as furious as an axe!"

Harwin laughed as you rolled your eyes.

You could see why Rhaenyra loved him. Why she would risk her entire being to bear his children in absence of Laenor's.

"You lie!" Lucerys accused him.

Harwin knelt down beside Lucerys. "I jest, My Prince. But you should know," he leaned his face closer to his sons, "your brother has a weakness..."

Harwin's voice went quiet and Jace put his arms up in defeat. You went to stand but as you gathered your skirt in your hand and went to push upwards, a hand was presented to you.

You looked up nearly blinded by the sunlight that peaked through the clouds and was met with Erryk's face.

He too had changed over the years.

His hair long was reminiscent of the Targaryen tradition of not cutting it so long as they remained the winner in battle. A beard now flocked his face in full but his heart remained the same.

"Princess," he mumbled as you took his hand, lifting yourself from the stair.

It had been two days since your last meeting but for both your hearts, the beat had not changed since the first night.

"Ser Erryk," you greeted. Lost in yourself, you neglected to drop his hand. "Thank you."

"I bring news. Princess Rhaenyra has begun her labors," he alerted you. “She has asked for your presence.”

You looked to Harwin and the boys, the prior already staring in your direction, eying Erryk with inspection. You dropped his hand in an instant.

"That is wonderful news," you replied with a kind smile. Erryk scanned your face for a sign of dejection at the admission. You noticed he had been doing that as of late and it irked you.

Harwin approached in heavy, quick steps.

"Ser Erryk," he greeted with a nod. "Are you to train with the boys today? Ser Cris–"

"I would not call this training," you clarified. The boys were but 10 and 6. "Play fighting may be more applicable."

"I came to tell the Princess that Princess Rhaenyra has begun her labors, Ser Harwin."

Erryk watched as Harwin's eyes contorted in a way he knew nothing of. A sliver of hope, joy, he was not sure. But it changed the way he felt inside.

"May the Gods grant the Princess good will," Harwin declared.

"Yes indeed," you added. Harwin glanced between the two of you as Erryk's eye-line focused on Jace and Luke putzing in the dirt.

“The Princes’ are most excited to meet their sibling. They have talked of nothing else for the past few days.”

“Speaking the truth, Ser Harwin,” you chuckled. “I pray it not be another boy for her sake. I do not know if she can handle such behaviors.”

Lucerys began to hit the ground with his stick in hard, deliberate strokes.

"I should distract the Princes then," he spoke lowly. "Thank you, Ser Erryk."

"Lord Commander," Erryk bid Harwin farewell as he walked back to the boys. Jace was occupied hitting the wooden sword on his feet and Lucerys came running towards the two of you.

"Ser Erryk!" The boy called jubilantly. "I took down my brother!"

"Oh?" Erryk responded in kind. "A very fierce battle ensued, I am sure."

"Yes! And I will do it again!" Luke smiled at him and it made your heart grow three sizes. “I wish to be a fine knight as you are, as Ser Harwin is.”

“One day, My Prince.”

"Luke," you looked down at the boy to which he put his small hand in yours. "I think it is time to choose an egg for the babe.”

The small boy's eyes lit up like a holiday. "Do you think so!?"

"I do," you squeezed his tiny fingers. "Go to your brother. Tell Ser Harwin that he must take you and then return you to your chambers once the egg has been collected."

Luke hugged at your leg tightly before running off to his brother with a screech.

"Take me to my sister," you told Erryk. "I must be with her."

"Of course, Princess."

Every corner of the keep was filled with spectators as the news of Rhaenyra's labors filtered through the castle. Erryk walked steadfast on your heels as your pace became more quick with noises of her strain making itself known.

"Gods," you said exasperated by her shouting.

"It will be alright," Erryk reassured quietly.

“I am inclined to say you have never seen a labor.”

“No,” he said quietly as you passed a guard walking in the opposite direction. “I have not had the privilege.”

“Far from a privilege, Erryk. It is gruesome.”

As her labor chambers came closer with your steps, the fewer guards and people were permitted in the hall.

"The Septa's once told us that boys were never easy. I fear this one will be a repeat of before."

"A boy?"

Without thinking, you replied: "the genes are far too strong."

But Erryk knew what you meant because in the corridors behind the walls of the keep, Harwin and Erryk had crossed paths in their escapes on more than one occasion.

He spoke your name and pulled at your arm to come to a stop outside of her chamber door. You could practically feel her pain emitting from the wood.

There were no guards standing watch outside of the door which you knew was the fault of the Queen.

"All will end well. Rhaenyra will see it to be true. Your sister is a hearty woman."

You nodded at him. "I know it to be so."

And you planted a quick kiss on his lips.

"Come find me tonight," you pleaded. "I wish to see you."

"I will do my best, Princess," Erryk glanced down the hall before cupping the back of your head and kissing you tenderly. "I will do my best."

"Oh," you gasped. The breath had been taken from your lungs as your airway cast a shudder. One of your arms around his shoulders, hand snaking itself to cradle the nape of his neck under his hair while the other hand danced along the side of his face and its thumb traced the line of his lower lip as a set of trembling pants melted together to make a seamless one.

Erryk's hands, worn and calloused from a day's work, trailed the sides of your body and traced the curve of your hips to your thighs. His grip wavered between the harshness you had craved for and his gentle mask.

“These days,” he grunted, teeth clenched tightly together as his jaw flexed with concentration, “have been unforgiving, Princess.”

It had taken him five days to find time with you after the birth of Prince Joffrey.

And so much had changed in those five days.

You lifted yourself up in a rhythmic careen as your heart began to pound against your chest. His eyes seldom left your face. Erryk watched for every bated breath and each staggered exhale while his hands helped guide your hips in genteel rolls.

Between your legs, the feel of his cock was slick and hot. Entering in and out, in and out as he helped try to ease the burn of your thighs working toward elation.

Your hand fell from his face down to his arms. A ghostly light dusting to meet his right hand that had been assisting your movements.

Loosely bringing his hand to your mouth, Erryk’s lips parted as you covered all his fingers with your own except the middle, and brought it to your lips. You kissed the pad of his finger gently.

As you kissed his finger, you lifted yourself from his cock to the tip. He waited for the cool air to hit but it never came as you sank back down and opened your mouth with a mewl as he filled you again.

At that moment, you took his middle finger into your mouth and wet it with your tongue.

He could not speak. For his words were lost in the warmth of your cunt and mouth as your tongue swirled around his digit with a wanton pant. Erryk let his head fall to your chest; lips lingering on the skin of your breasts with nipples taught and pert beckoning to him.

Erryk’s other hand loosened from your hip and grasped your left breast. He palmed the skin before squeezing and letting his palm run over the nipple. You sucked on his finger a bit harder at the sensation.

The hairs from his beard scratched your skin in an insatiable pattern. It was familiar in an exact moment where the past was no more and the future was everclear.

You wanted it memorized. You wanted it traced upon your body.

He tilted his head lower to latch onto your nipple before letting go with an audible “pop” against the lewd sounds of the room. It was morning but the whispered breaths of lovers and the sound of their coitus woke with the rising sun.

You released his finger from between your lips and he lifted his head. His eyes met yours and they glimmered with the same refractions of light one gets as the sun peaks between curtains.

His heart was as large as the sea.

“Lay down,” you wet your lips and held his hand no different than before.

Erryk used his free hand to keep you steady as he laid back on the bed. He bent his knees and planted his feet against the duvet to give you leverage.

“As the Princess commands.”

You bit back a smile. The butterflies in your stomach never ceased to exist.

With your hand eclipsed with his own, you guided his now wet finger down to your clit and he needed no further instructions. The pressure of his finger felt like a lightning bolt shooting through thunder. You gasped as your legs quivered in delight.

And then you smiled fully. Erryk smiled in return and Gods, did you feel the world open up before you.

You placed a hand on his chest before leaning down to kiss his lips still quirked upwards in a sheltered grin. The ministrations of your pleasure not stopped at the joy.

Erryk laid back against the ends of the pillows and watched you lift yourself back up, hand grasping his wrist of the hand to your clit, and began to move faster. He could not help but become entranced in the way his cock disappeared in your core. Your tightness aching for him as it became more slick every passing second.

You breathed in deeply. A hitch in your timber sent his eyes back to yours and you rolled your body deeply—feigning coy in the smoked out candlelight. He could not his gaze roaming the way your breasts moved with every bounce.

The sun was rising behind you.

Enchanting or entrancing, he was captivated as always by his royal woman.

With his hand on your hip, he raised it to trace your spine and felt your muscles begin to shake. Bumps on your skin from his touch made him groan.

You faltered and leant forward. Hands now planted beside his face, your eyes met his own and Erryk gave a small nod. He removed his finger from your clit and ran both hands up your back as you laid your weight on him.

He held you tightly and began to move his hips at an aching pace. Your eyes closed as you hummed in content. Erryk let his face fall beside yours, mouth beside your ear.

"Is this alright, my darling?" he barely whispered and you smiled, he could feel it.

"Yes," you gasped. "Yes."

He laid a kiss on your earlobe in response. With your eyes closed, you could feel bursting colors inside of you. You imagined them swirling behind you eyelids in intertwined wisps of reds and pinks. Yellows of happiness adjoined with the blues of bliss.

In the years you laid together, Erryk was not one to speak loudly nor much during those times. He admired you in its absence. Watching and waiting with bated breath of what pleasure would bring you and he to follow.

It was when he held you close that he felt the oaths he sinned against were foolish.

The touch of a woman, the touch of you, brought him a fantasy he'd never thought of chasing.

You inhaled deeply, legs shaking as he worked you to your orgasm with precision. You turned your head to capture his lips with yours; swallowing his groans when you utilized the last bits of your strength to move your hips at his actions.

Crying out as your body jolts, your right hand snaked itself into the hair that fell on the side of his face.

"Gods," you whimpered. There was little more you could do to hang on.

Erryk's low grunts matched his thrusts the faster they came.

He gripped the back of your thigh and brought your leg upwards, changing his angle. Your shoulders tensed at your growing inability to hold on. A string was snapping inside of you, waiting for it all to be enough.

And at once, it became enough.

You tilted your head upwards with a high-pitched gasp; the sound elongating the second he felt your muscles tighten around his dick and loosen a second later with a fury. He continued to thrust through your tremors. The jerking of your body erupting his own orgasm and with three thrusts, his breath became staggered and wanton.

Against his chin, you rested your forehead uncomfortably to gather yourself. A droplet of sweat beaded from your breasts pressed against his chest and to his skin.

As he recovered his own breathing, a hand of his own rubbed careless lines on your back. Erryk could feel the pulse of blood rushing to your center. He took his hand away from your back and brought it to your face to turn it to him.

Your breath was hot against him as he was certain his own was against yours.

"I apologize," his voice had grown ragged. He spoke softly yet you could hear the hoarseness of his throat. "For not fulfilling your request."

"Come find me tonight," you pleaded. "I wish to see you."

"No," you brushed back hairs from his face. "It warrants no apology."

Erryk sighed deeply. You moved a finger to trace the edges of his beard lightly. He looked at you with a furrowed brow. You pressed a finger to the worrying crease.

"What worries you, my love?"

He appeared hesitant to speak freely in that moment. The comfort of guilt had been eating at him as of late. Act that soiled his cloak in sin, he had forsaken his duty to chase what he had denied himself for so long.

It was the evening chatter amongst the Kingsguard as they sat for supper that churned in his stomach.

"I do not worry," he answered. You did not believe him.

"Your face tells different story, Erryk."

"Do you regret this arrangement, Princess?"

You stopped your movements and locked eyes with him. Just as your heartbeat had started to slow, it picked up again at a rapid pace.

"I– " you paused to find your words. "Where might have gotten that impression?"

"No impression," he clarified. "It was simply Princess Rhaenyra's children–"

At the mention of your sister, you lifted your hips and removed him from you with a shallow shudder before rolling to your side and sitting upright in search of your dressing gown.

"I do not wish to speak of my sister while I lay with you," you informed him. It had never been a subject discussed in the decade of knowing one another. "That is the last person I wish to think of."

"I do not mean it in that way."

"Then in what way do you mean?" You gathered the gown from the floor and put it on in rapid movements.

"It is no secret that the King continues to search for a Lord Husband befitting of your status," Erryk spoke as he sat in the bed you shared. "I never imagined–"

"What?" You drew defensive immediately.

Something deeper lingered inside of you. He knew nothing of the matter.

"When I swore the oath of the Kingsguard I did not imagine being the one who stands in the way of the King's desires."

"He does not know, Erryk. I stand in his way. I refuse the proposals."

"Because you love me."

"Yes!" You exclaimed. "I told you that I wished to carve my own life with what little power I do have of it. This," you stuck both hands outward to him, "is that power."

"And if he were to find out, my fate would be far more severe than being exiled to my homelands."

Ser Harwin left yesterday morning at the instruction of the King.

Rhaenyra would not see anyone in her quarters for hours.

You did not question his comment.

"Have you found someone else to warm your bed?" You asked an impossible question. Erryk let the sigh of disbelief pass his lips.

"I would not inflict such pain on you. Do you truly question my devotion? After what I risk to love you?"

A piece of you constricted with the knowledge you held. How this was likely your last morning together for some time and you were leading it to a deep crevice of spite.

"You question my own devotion for what cause?" You countered. "I do not regret this. I will never so long as I live because we chose to do this, together."

Erryk moved off the bed and slipped on his trousers and linen shirt with the ties undone.

"I do not ask out of a want to be removed from my circumstance."

"Then why ask it?"

"Do you never feel guilt? Of allowing me to besmirch your honor–"

"Please," you begged him and sat on the settee that was littered with books of old. "I do not wish to hear it."

You did feel some guilt. Guilt of a secret that had been eating away at you for a day.

The troubles of life had long settled itself within the walls of your chamber. These conversations had been occurring more often as of late and you knew not the cause but had a rousing suspicion that his honor, duty to the crown levied a darkening cloud over his consciousness.

The culpability of a sin unforgettable to his stature buried him. Now having witnessed the removal of the Lord Commander, and Hand of the King, for the consequences of lust weighed like torture.

A dam of large proportions was meant to break in the keep.

The blood of Rhaenyra's childbirth was still being washed from the halls and with it, the stones cracked under pressure.

Erryk picked up the pieces of his armor from the floor and laid them before himself on the bed. Ingrained in his mind, he assembled each piece to the best of his ability before moving toward you as the birds began to chirp outside of your windows.

The cool breeze of autumn filtered in through the curtains.

It was then he saw the wetness of your cheeks. A silent cry had formed in his wake and he had not seen it. He had given no time for care; he feared your needs were not satisfied.

Before he could stumble out words, you coughed out the admission.

"Rhaenyra is leaving for Dragonstone on the morrow."

Oh.

"She asked for my council... to go with her."

Erryk felt a terrible wall grow in front of him.

"I do not wish to leave you."

"Are you to go with her?" He asked.

A part of him knew the impossible task. He and his brother were inseparable. Being twins, perhaps it was expected of him to be close as thieves but the bonds of a sister had tethered two souls closer than even he could ponder.

He would die for his brother, as you would your sister.

"Yes," you cried. A sob escaped your lips and you let your head fall into your hands.

Erryk tossed his armor back onto the bed, kneeling before you and wrapping his arms around you as his heart stung.

"It is not my place to beg you to stay," he admitted. "You must do as your future Queen commands of you." Spoken like a knight.

"What if my leaving is the last that I will see of you?' You questioned. You lifted your head and cupped his face. "I love you, Erryk. I do not regret my actions."

"And I you," and instead of Princess, he said your name soothingly. "I speak in fear. You speak of what little you have, but with what I do have, my body and soul are yours to keep."

"I do not think I can bear being parted for long. I will not take a husband, I will not take another lover," you declared.

You made your sentiments known. He was not going to question it again.

"Nor I," he agreed. "Nor I."

You pulled your lips to his own.

"I wanted to tell you," you wept, “but I could not find you. I wished not for this to be our parting ways. I do not want to you to remember me this way."

"In what way?" He hummed with a strained, sorrowed smile. "You are as beautiful as the day we met. If this is to be our last moments together, my only regret is not holding you longer."

You let out a wet, sad laugh.

"We will find each other again," he reassured you. His blue eyes shining in the golden glow of morning as the sun blessed the skies in a red and pink dream.

"I swear it, by the old Gods and the new."

You rubbed your thumb across his cheek to catch a tear most of the Kingsguard would never admit to falling in the presence of their lovers. You nodded at him.

"I love you," you whispered.

You wouldn't see him for another six years.

The gates of King's Landing were tall and colored in an ugly terracotta.

You peered out the slim slivers the grated windows of the caravan allowed as it trudged the rocky roads along the shoreline of the city. Glimpses of a cooling fall air, the sun was shielding itself behind clouds with every inching second that wheels churned closer to the keep.

"Surely the city cannot have changed that much since our departure, good sister," Daemon's words were shrouded in a snicker. His eyes are always cutting and looking for a battle.

Eyes tearing themselves away from the outside, you looked at Daemon as he studied you.

"It has changed greatly, Uncle," you retorted. "Perhaps if you had spent more time canvasing it during the light of day you would be able to say the same."

Daemon's lips lifted themselves into a sly, cunning smirk as Rhaenyra shook her head.

"Must we bicker as such? Play civil for only a day and then we shall return home. Might we find some excitement beyond the boor?"

When Daemon became Rhaenyra's husband after Laenor passed, you wished your dragon would swallow you whole.

Rhaenyra said you were being dramatic.

"Vaemond is a peddler," you reassured her, taking her hand in yours and peering back outside of the slits. "Your sons have little to fear."

In the years that have passed over Westeros, every soul had been changed by the tenants of the Red Keep and those who watch over them like vultures at a feast. Rhaenyra's ascendance to Viserys' heir should not have been a catalyst for the pain suffered by those in their watch but yet it could not help itself.

Your fingertips ghosted the wooden edges of the carriage as the latches of the gates began to swing outwards and opening themselves up to you once more.

Rhaenyra understood that her sons had nothing to fret regarding their futures. Viserys had turned a blind eye for years and the sentiment would not change so long as he remained on the throne for the years to come.

She squeezed your tender fingers with her own.

Daemon's eyes wandered from the trusted hands of two sisters to his wife's face.

"I do wonder," Daemon cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat. His sheathed sword knocked the golden accents of the interior. "If there is something of worry for you, good sister."

Rhaenyra's face twitched. A challenge, he imagined.

"I've heard that the Queen has been looking to secure a marriage match for her children."

"Daemon, you forget yourself," Rhaenyra spoke. Your eyes were lost in the courtyard that began to form around you.

"She has evaded such for years," Daemon defended. "I know of no other high-born lady, a princess, who is beyond marrying age and still remains relevant. Alicent is playing chess against an enemy that stays hidden on a cliff."

"Why is the concern so pressing?" Rhaenyra questioned, her eyes narrowing as her hand gripped yours tighter.

"You said it yourself, if Vaemond has the will to bring into question Jace and Luc, then the family will fall into a pit before being able to hoist itself up again. A match may not be out of the question to cease the concerns of other houses who question our ability to rule."

"No." Rhaenyra shook her head. "My father-"

"Knows nothing. The green bitch does his bidding. We all know about it."

The wheels of the carriage struck a bump causing the three of you to lean in one direction before falling back. The sounds of Kingsguard and City Watch members clambering for the arrival of such a caravan began to make themselves known.

"Where do you hear such secrets, Daemon?" You tired of hearing your life being planned without your consent. You narrowed your eyes at the blonde man. "I am near twenty years elder of her children. I am far too old to be the wife of–," there was a part of you that could hardly speak it.

And Daemon chuckled at the prospect.

But then again, he was older than both you and Rhaenyra.

It may have been the proper way of great households, but it was one that you detested. You had seen what marriage had done to your sister, your family, and closest friends. So many lost to what they had known for the sake of alliances and duty.

The memories of your trysts lay present in your mind. He was there.

A piece of Rhaenyra and your mother's stubbornness had harbored itself into you for the last sixteen years when womanhood had finally made sense to you.

There had been a glint in Rhaenyra's eyes at one time and you'd be dammed if you let your family take that from you as well.

"Besides," you diverted. "Father has tried many fine men of great houses to force my hand and yet," you lifted a hand void of jewelry besides a golden dragon that slithered up ornately on your pointer finger.

"Trying times call for trying actions."

You needn't respond to Daemon for him to understand the conversation had ceased. Rhaenyra put pressure on your hand once more before removing it and placing her own back on her belly that grew another child of her and Daemon's.

Outside the caravan of black banners and red sigils, the scattered sounds of court disappeared behind walls rattled with the hooves of the steeds. The carriage came to a rough stop and Rhaenyra gave you a stressed smile.

There was no fond greeting for those who escaped to Dragonstone six years ago.

"I sense the welcome is not as it once was," you whispered to her. Her brows furrowed as she had not paid any mind to the sounds and sights beyond her small party. A sinking feeling landed at the pit of your stomach.

The clatter of tools and wooden planks stopped as the caller announced the members to descend the steps.

And as you thought, the welcome was as the keep had become: vacant of the reverence it once had.

Each member of the Targaryen's who had been nothing short of exiled for their own safety waltzed into the pit of a raging green beast with a poor reception on behalf of the crown the heir expected. It spoke plainly of the disagreeable nature floating between two sides.

With a creak, the doors to the Keep's entrance opened and one soul, Lord Caswell, looked ridden with worry which struck a chord within Daemon, Rhaenyra, and yourself. He approached the heir with a solemn face before bowing.

"Welcome home, Princess."

"Lord Caswell," Rhaenyra responded in kind. His eyes bounced between each of you. He hadn't welcomed any of you to the keep in six years time.

It was as though a century had passed in a second.

"The King is anxious for your return," he continued. "He spoke of nothing but for these past two days. As well as to see his grandchildren, so grown and presentable." Lord Caswell nodded at them.

"Take us to him, if you please, Lord Caswell. It has been a weary journey," Rhaenyra began to walk off as he stuttered.

"Surely you would like to rest first, Princess? I will have your things taken to the visiting quarters."

"Visiting quarters?" Rhaenyra questioned, stopping in her tracks. Daemon was on her heels and her eldest son, Jace, halted with the rest of the children beside you.

Your eyes danced around the courtyard in a silly hope to find a pair.

'Of course he would not be there,' you scolded yourself.

You wondered if you had changed since your last meeting. Would he be able to recognize the woman you had become in the desolate castle?

"The Queen has taken residence in your former quarters, Princess."

Rhaenyra paused before speaking with an understanding that while here on the business of securing her son's legacy, her bygone friend has seized more than just your father.

But as you took in the surroundings you envisioned a world differently than the one that presented itself to you now. One of freedom and without greed; no one playing a long game of power and where lives were not seen as pawns, but as people.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath. She held her hand to her stomach and rubbed a thumb across it gently as the overcoat she wore buried the chill with everything she had lost inside. She glanced at you as your eyes looked everywhere but hers and followed as they met every Kingsguard in the court.

She saw the light dim in the slightest.

"Lord Caswell," She spoke clearly, "take us to my father please." 

Seldom would have prepared you for the state your father was in.

Forced with an eternity of pain, Viserys was a shell of himself in the bed he laid. Each minute he suffered in the stillness of the Milk of the Poppy and it guided him only to lead him astray; every swing of an ax, a sword in the courtyard, would bleed the remnants of happiness that lingered in his dusty room.

He barely recognized you as you held his hand.

It struck your soul when he mistook you for your dead mother.

"Aemma," he croaked as though it took all his strength to talk."

Rhaenyra stilled beside you. You put on a brave face.

"No, father," you reminded him of you. "We are all here now."

He repeated your name brokenly.

"Sister," Rhaenyra approached you with her own son, Viserys by name, on her hip.

You had resigned yourself to inspect the dusty model of King's Landing that had once been a prized possession of the man who could not will himself to stand. The disease had overtaken his body to the point of immobility.

Viserys groaned in pain in his bed.

It was a sound you wished not to hear once more.

"Why don't you find your nephews and reintroduce them to the Keep?" She proposed. Her attitude was emitting more positivity than it should.

"I am sure they have already made their way," you took a finger and swiped it through the dust.

"And they could do well with a guide," she pressed.

You sighed, taking a glimpse behind you and surveying your father as he hid behind the curtains of his bed and cooed at Rhaenrya's other son, Aegon.

"He will be alright, sister."

"I do not share the same confidence, Rhaenyra."

She bounced Viserys on her hip. The boy played innocently with her hair without worry of the world evolving around him.

It was turning sour.

"Go to them," Rhaenyra ordered. "I would start at the training ground... you know how my boys are."

You heard the sound of swords before you saw them.

For once Daemon had been right about the Red Keep: it truly hadn’t changed from your time spent away. The same people found themselves completing the same mundane tasks each and every day until the Father called them home.

At the top of the long steps, you took in the sights you had missed.

It smelled of shit and metal. The people were loud and crowding around a scene of two men sparring along the edges of the yard. In your vision, Jace and Luke were fumbling through the materials they reminisced of as young children.

A chunk taken out of the stone, the wooden swords still available to train with.

You leaned against the barrister of brick. Below, just out of sight, two knights sparred in their time away from the king. Their fierceness caught the eyes of the two Targaryen boys who were in awe of the sights around them.

“Look,” Jace put his arm around his brother and pointed to Erryk and Arryk’s valiant efforts.

The eldest was in awe of such gallantry.

“It is just as we remembered, isn’t it?”

Luke watched as everyone stared at them unabashedly.

“They have always been valiant fighters,” Jace continued. “I remember Ser Erryk helping us adjust our stances. We were all but six and ten.”

"That was not Ser Arryk?"

Jace laughed. "Ser Erryk was the one to help you after I pushed you into that pile of horse shit when you were four. He gave the best advice about watching your opponents."

“And what good did that bring you?” Luke jested and received a slap on the head. He caught you monitoring them from above on the landing of the steps.

“It seems motherly is untrusting of us on our own,” he told Jace who clocked you watching before the sounds of metal swords clanging caught your attention.

“She will not object to us,” Jace picked at the swords on the cart. “She let us hit each other with these same sticks when I was not yet ten. I do not think our Aunt minds if we explore our old home.”

“I do not think she cares about us at all,” Luke spoke of you as he watched the two brothers push one another backwards.

They let up with a shake of their hands and if he could tell them apart, he would say Arryk looked up at you and paused.

“Brother,” Arryk called to Erryk as the latter went to reestablish his footing.

“What?” Erryk heaved in a tired breath. “Again, Arryk. We do not have much time.”

“Brother,” Arryk now insisted and pointed his sword upwards to the tops of the steps.

When he turned around, it was as though all life paused around him. Two worlds gone completely still because for the first time in six years, you and Erryk had finally converged to one place. 

It took his breath away.

A/N: I lied! I made this into 2 parts because it was getting far too long. Next part will cover the reunion, more smut, and of course the remaining bits of Erryk’s story.

As always, thank you for reading. Comments and reblogs, as well as likes, are greatly appreciated. I loved that this character has captured our hearts so much. There truly are no small roles.

[rushtoprove]

the deepest melancholy

pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader rating: mature (18+) word count: 5.9k+ summary: you wished you were strong enough to fight against the life that had been planned for you, but instead you cower at the thought of marrying the dreaded kinslayer, and you were sure he wished to be marrying someone else too. but neither of you could escape this marriage. duty always prevails. chapter summary: the realm was left a mess after the war between the targaryen kin. aegon may have won but the city despises those who almost destroyed the realm. the greens have become the most feared family in the realm, and prince aemond the most frightening figure of them all. that is why the townsfolk weep as your carriage passes them. they pity the sweet girl who is to be sacrificed to the kinslayer and his family. warnings: smut. arranged marriage. uncomfortably smut. forced marriage. angst. it will get better. beauty and the beast au (?) authors note: I have a bad habit of disappearing to remain mysterious. I see my flaws. But truthfully... I never left.

masterlist

It had been six days since your arrival on this foreign shore, but you were still consumed with the sickness that comes with travelling upon the sea. Your stomach seemed to tighten with every bump or shift of the carriage, and every jolt had your dress being pulled tighter into your fists. The echoing voices and cries made it known that your arrival to the red keep had gained an audience, so you slowly pulled back the curtain of the carriage and peered out to see the villagers who you would soon preside over.

“They have experienced hell little one.” Your brother sighed pitifully as he leaned over your shoulder to view the commotion. The folk looked solemnly on the moving carriage, shaking their heads and bowing towards your hidden figure. Some wept pitifully for you leaving the bile in your stomach no choice but to race upwards, and when you made eye contact with an old nun crossing herself in a silent blessing, you hastily tugged the curtains back into place and push yourself into your seat.

“You would leave me here.” You chocked out in anguish. He simply laughed. All he ever did was laugh at you.

Your brother would not support you in your sorrows. He would not weep, nor would he pity you, because it was he who was forcing you into this torment. He was the one marrying you off to the second prince of the realm. He was the one orchestrating your misery. Your brother will simply dump you at the feet of the most hated family of the realm and walk away with more land and title.

“You can thank father for your predicament sister. It was that reckless old man who fought for the traitor Rhaenyra. It was he who lost our good will with the crown. It is I who is simply trying to win back our favour and our riches.”

“They will think me a traitor like they think our father was. He fought for her because he made an oath to support her claim. They will not differentiate who was under our banner on the battlefield. They will take out their anger on me. He will take out his anger on me.” The chills that tingled your spine when you thought of your future husband should be familiar by now, but it still frightens you.

“Father was blinded. Being obligated to risk all our fortune over a pathetic oath forced upon him by the late King Viserys. He worked beside Otto Hightower that whole time. He should know better than anyone the power that man held. He should have known the battle was won before Viserys was even dead.”

“Our father was a loyal subject to Queen Rhaenyra and he fought for her because he knew she would be an admirable ruler. She would have ruled as peacefully as her father. Now we are left with a drunken fool who has started a war with the stepstones once more and his brother who is using his new position as Commander of the City Watch to use cruelty and violence on the folk of Westeros for his on pleasure.” Your father’s death was still raw and the slight against his name lit a dangerous passion in you. It was horrifying listening to your brother talk about your poor dear father so carelessly, but he simply clicked his tongue in mock shame.

“Careful now or you may lose your tongue. Aegon is King, and your dear Lord Commander shall soon control you for the rest of your life. You shall have to worship the ground he walks upon if you wish to be a dutiful wife and not anger the King’s Mother. Although I do not think you are in too much danger of him touching you as I hear you are not his type dear. There are whispers he prefers to fuck witches and hags.” You shook with rage at his condescending tone.

“He burnt countless amounts off innocent farmers and villagers and left nothing but ashes wherever he went. You would give your sister to a man who murdered his own family… twice. He is Aemond the Kinslayer and you would…”

“You should be proud sister. I’ve matched you with a prince! A disfigured, cruel man who reduced half the realm to ashes, but a prince no less. Just ignore the bloodlust and violence and I’m sure it will not be so bad. All you need do is bare his heir and look pretty.” His childish snickers as he cut you off had you seeing red, but you understood you could do nothing but seethe silently. How could he be so proud to sell off his sister to the notorious brute that had burnt cities to the ground and slayed anyone who got in the way of his family as they usurped Rhaenyra’s throne. His bloodlust had even led to the murder of his own kin. How could such an animal be expected to make a suitable husband?

The sound of the city guards yelling for the gates to be opened, and the grinding and rattling that followed meant that you had finally arrived at the red keep, and that your life was over at the meek age of one and twenty. Your brother wasted no time jumping from the carriage the moment the door was swung open, but you stayed for just a second longer. Hovering the tips of your fingers over the stitching of your family's sigil that was engraved in the cushions around you, you let out an unsteady sigh. You thought of your father, of his kindness and his love. His bravery and his wit. He would have let you marry someone you were comfortable with; he would have wanted you to have a peaceful life. Your brother was to throw you into the dragon den.

“May I present my sister to your graces?! She’s a shy little thing forgive her!’ You brother boasted with a joyous laugh. His hand reached into the carriage and grabbed blindly for you, leaving you no choice but to straighten yourself, and swallow the melancholy that came with remembering your past. You did not take his hand, but instead stepped slowly from the carriage with a bowed head, allowing almost no vision of what was in front of you. You let yourself fall into a graceful curtsey and remained low. There was large audience lined around the courtyard of the Red Keep, leaving you nervously tremble.

“Your graces.” You whispered, slowly letting your eyes raise. There were many figures that had lined up to welcome you, but it was the four at the very front who demanded your attention. King Aegon sat in his wheelchair; half his face taken up by the burnt scarring the late Princess Rhaenys had left him upon her death, looking bored by the entire meeting. His wife, Princess Heleana stood beside him, but her gaze was towards the empty spot to the left of us, and her incoherent mumbling seemed to be ignored by everyone around her. Her mother, Alicent Hightower, had a hand on her daughter's elbow but you could not decide if it was to support her daughter or herself. She seemed overcome by exhaustion and the lines on her face seemed to age her more than she was. Her hair had begun greying and the unkept strands made you think she had run her hand through it vigorously.

“Welcome to our court. We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” The smile that the dowager queen forced gave you no source of comfort, but you took the welcome as permission to stand at your full posture, and you finally allowed yourself to gaze upon your future husband. You would be lying if you did not admit to letting your gaze be drawn straight to the ugly scarring that peaked out from beneath his leather eye patch. It seemed to match the tight leather attire that fitted his lean body. He was a true Targaryen prince, with his perfect white hair and bright purple eye, so you were not shocked by his beauty. After all, Targaryen's were closer to the Gods than men. His looming figure was so still you could mistake it for a statue but proving not to be only by the slightest bow of his head as he gazed at you. His blank expression gave you no hint of whether he was satisfied by you and the silence that followed his mother's greeting left much to be uncertain of.

“I am much appreciative to be welcomed so kindly.” You wish you had the prowess to stand tall, or the courage to say something spiteful about this dreaded situation you had found yourself in; but you were scared.

“Pretty little thing you are my dear future sister. So innocent and quiet. I don’t know if my dear brother shall know what to do with you.” The King mocked Aemond boldly leaving a few courtiers to snicker, and Aegon turned his gaze knowingly towards his younger brother, eager for a reaction, but Aemond Targaryen simply stared at you. Trying politely to avert your gaze, your eyes moved to stare at his feet, but something drew your attention back to him not one minute later. His gaze was still on you.

“My sister shall allow whatever Prince Aemond desires. She is the most dutiful thing. I’m sure she will make a devoted wife.” You tensed at your brother’s demeaning comments and felt a swell of rage as the young king whistled in delight.

“Perhaps I shall wed her than! Take two wives just as my namesake did. Or perhaps I shall get rid of… that.” All eyes but one was drawn to Queen Heleana, but she did not notice and instead continued whispering with a sad smile. You could not help your brows from furrowing in empathy for the broken princess. It was no secret to the realm what horrors the woman had been through. The anguish that would come with watching your oldest son slain before your very eyes. The disrespect her husband spewed made your skin crawl. Feeling choked up by the pity, you averted your gaze towards Aemond Targaryen.

His eye had not left you.

You both stood in silence for a beat before Aemond slowly took a step forward. The quiet chatter of the courtiers stopped instantly and suddenly the atmosphere was heightened with anticipation of what the prince was about to do. Your breath was caught and with each step he took forward, you heart hammered harder. The lurching your stomach felt in the carriage was nothing compared to this very moment. It was as if time stretched longer than you ever thought possible, leaving you to feel as if you had been stuck in that one spot for eternity, waiting for the strides of your future husband to reach you. His lean figure was straight, and his gaze remained intense, inspecting your reaction as he moved towards you. When he finally reached your frozen figure, he towered over you, looking down with an almost cruel amusement in his eye. He finally moved his gaze from your face to give you a once over, slowly letting it fall down your entire body, before crawling back up.

“Shall I show you around the keep my lady?” His hand slowly extended, and you felt yourself hypnotised, reaching for it without a thought.

“I would be thankful for the tour of your home my prince, but I would not want to keep you from your duties.” You breathed out. If you were of the right mind, you would curse yourself at how kindly you greeted him, but alas you were overwhelmed by how close he stood, and how godly he looked up closely. Without breaking eye contact, Prince Aemond raised your knuckles to his lips and lightly let them brush against your skin, leaving the feeling of fire to consume your body.

“It would be my pleasure,” His voice was low as he finished the sentence with your name, and you were hypnotized by the way it rolled of his lips. If he had any idea of the sudden intoxication that had overpowered you, he did not show any hint of it, and you were thankful he did not boast of it. You were already to humiliated to bare. You were never the type of foolish girl to be besotted with a man, let alone a monster like this, but Aemond Targaryen seemed to conquer your very being with his mere presence. You were smart enough to recognise this was going to cause nothing but trouble for you.

“I would not wish to burden you.” You whispered softly for only his ears but threaded your arm over his awaiting arm all the same. You fell in step with his powerful strides and did not spare your brother a second glance as you passed him by. The prince breezed through the crowd who had come to gawk at the poor young girl who was getting sacrificed to this vicious man, and you found yourself revelling in the way they quickly scurried to the side to let you pass. Your amusement was short lived due to a hand reaching out and clutching at your elbow, leaving you staggering away from your future husband and into the body of a nameless courtier.

“Bless you sweetheart. Bless your poor soul. Let the Gods protect you from him.” The crowd around you began feverously whispering to one another, shocked by the man’s audacity, but the room was quickly silenced as two knights hoisted the man back with a shout and dragged him so fast, he had no chance to gain any footing. His body was dragged away as he cried and kicked his feet like a little boy leaving you once again unable to breathe. It was as if you had iced water thrown over you. The spell was broken, and you suddenly remembered who you held onto so eagerly. You were overcome by the smell of smoke and rot, as if you had been transported to the fields that Aemond Targaryen had so happily burnt to ashes. You swear you could smell the burnt flesh of his ghosts in that very moment.

“Come now my lady. Let’s get you away from this noise.” Aemond stared at the man being heaved away, expressionless. It was as if he was used to the scene that unfolded and was almost bored by the antics of the courtiers. You tried not to let him see your trembling fingers as you laced your hand upon his elbow and looked down in shame.

“What shall happen to him?” You don’t know why you asked, because you know what happens to those who speak out against this Targaryen family. Aemond began his pace once more but this time you could tell he was surveying every movement around them, waiting for another attack.

“He will be executed. We do not allow disobedience in our court.” He said your name as he finished his sentence and gazed down at you.

You understood the warning.

+++

Your wedding was a solemn affair. You had imagined when the time came around, there would be laughter and dancing, flowers and wine thrown around. Colourful and delightful with a husband who would steal kisses at the wedding feast and spend the night spinning you in his arms. Your family surrounding you. Your father hiding his tears as he watched you give your hand to the man you loved.

It was nothing like that. The crowd was silent as you walked. Not one person in the room smiled. The crowd bowed their heads in respect or pity, you cared not to know, and you had no energy to try and feign delight at the altar. Your husband was no different. He stared ahead with a grimace, but continued preforming the duty that was marrying you. You tried not to look at him during the ceremony but failed only once. He looked disconcerted by the whole experience making your heart ache. You wondered if he wished he was marrying the witch your brother had so carelessly mentioned. Your cursed heart ached at the thought. Not from jealousy, but from the desire of wanting to marry someone who wanted you. You were being chained to this man forever, and he wished for you to be someone else. But you could not fault him in that. Gods knows you too wished to be marrying someone else.

The wedding feast felt more like the wake at a funeral. There was a band playing some music in the balcony above, but no one moved. You sat stiffly by your new husband as you both stared ahead, trying to ignore the soft murmurs of the crowded hall. His finger were clenched around his chair and he did not speak as numerous courtiers steeped forward to present you both with your wedding gifts. It was left up to you to utter your appreciation at the useless artifacts while they scurried away, fearful of angering the prince with their presence.

“Please smile Aemond. Or do something that is not sitting there and scowling.” You pretended to ignore it when your new mother-in-law hissed into her sons' ear, then tried not to cower when he moved his hand to rest on yours above the table. The whole crowd would have seen the way you both flinched at the contact.

“Smile sister. This is a joyous occasion.” Your brother muttered lowly beside your ear, sometime after Alicent had ordered the same thing. You felt Aemond’s hand clench around yours just slightly, and you knew that he had heard your brother. Slowly you inched closer to your husband and gave him a slight smile, but you were sure it came out as a grimace instead.

“How will the Kingsguard handle tonight without their leader?” Whether it was out of politeness or awkwardness, you do not know, but the conversation you tried to start was quickly shut down by the monotone voice of your husband. He did not react to your words and let his gaze remain on the crowd below.

“I will be joining the patrols once we are finished our duty tonight.” You slipped your hand from his and clenched your wedding dress tightly in discomfort. You felt his gaze turn to you leaving your skin burning under his gaze.

“I see.”

You turned away from him and did not look at him until an hour later when he stood from his seat. The music halted at once and the room was silenced. The guards around the room quickly stood tall as Aemond surveyed the audience.

“My wife and I have grown quite tired from the festivities. It is time we retire to our bedchamber. Please, continue enjoying the feast my mother has so careful crafted.” Your new ladies-in-waiting quickly moved to your side from all corners of the room while the wedding party moved to walk you both to your doom. You were allowed to step into the room without your husband so that your ladies could help you ready yourself. On the other side of the door, Aemond was doing the same. It seemed he was joining you in your quarters tonight, in your new bed. There would be no safe place for you to escape the man.

“Are you alright my lady?” One of your ladies whispered as she undid your tight corset. The silk ribbon was unravelled and with each breath you released the closer you were to crumbling to the floor. You had spent the last two weeks in a constant state of fear and melancholy, and it all seemed to be coming to ahead at the worst time possible.

“I am alright Alyssa. Just tired.” You ignored the look the three women around you gave one another and instead moved your gaze elsewhere and landed on the worst possible spot. You had left your bed a crumpled mess this morning, after a night of restlessly tossing and turning, but you could not tell that anymore. The sheets were perfectly straight and tightened in the corners, folded down with such precision it made you feel sick. Your mother had died in childbirth, and you had no sisters so your knowledge of what was about to happen was limited, but you knew to expect the pain and blood at the hands of your husband.

“I hope you are not truly tired Brother. Your night has only just begun.” King Aegon slurred voice was muffled by the door but still audible. If you were not already filled with dread then, you sure as hell were now.

“Aegon, please just leave your comments for one night.” Alicent’s tired voice sighed back. You could not help the tears that began falling as your ladies began the final touches, fluffing your hair and untying the sleep gown so that it would be easier to remove. Without so much a glance at those in the room, you clamoured into the bed and wept.

“My lady, you cannot let them see this. They will think you ungrateful. It would do Prince Aemond great dishonour.” The three girls rushed to their lady in crisis and were quick to brush your hair from your face and hold you in comfort. You hardly talked to these girls, as they were a gift from your new family, and you assumed them to be spies for your husband and his scheming mother. But in this moment, you could only think of the comfort of being held.

“I’m scared.” You whimpered as they tried to sooth you with their murmurs.

“It is a scary thing my lady, but do not fret. It is over quicker than you can imagine.” Caitlyn, a relative of the Tully’s assured you as she stroked your hair.

“Oh yes. Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” Margaret, a distant relative of the Stark’s agreed with the assurance. It did not help but you appreciated the before. You wished to be held longer, but a stiff knock to the door echoed around your room.

“Is the Lady prepared?” The girls were quick to pat away your tears, and with a quick curtsey they moved to open the door. You instead turned your face to the side and stared at the new moon that was almost in the centre of the window frame. You did not need to look to know who had knocked.

“Yes, my prince. She is awaiting you.” With a curtsey they rushed out the room, leaving a silence that was only disrupted by the slight crackle of the candles that lit your room. You had tried hard to replicate the warmth of your room back home, but it had never felt colder. Time seemed to once again slow, and it felt a lifetime before you heard the click of the door closing. It remained quiet, and you thought for a second that your husband had perhaps decided he could not bear this just as much as you. Perhaps he had stormed off to the city to lead his guards in slaughtering the criminals within the walls of this wretched place. Perhaps you could sleep peacefully tonight, safe from the beast for one more night. The candles going out one by one let you know that your dreams were crushed, and that you were not alone in the room. He was silent as he crossed the floor, putting out all sources of light until you were left in the darkness of the night. The darkened moon did nothing to help you see.

“Do you know what to expect?” His voice sliced through the silence, choking you. You squeezed your eyes closed and did a small nod.

“I know enough.” You whispered as the bed beside you dipped. He sat beside you for a moment, and even in the darkness you could feel his eye on you.

“I shall try not to hurt you, but it will be uncomfortable.” Your eyes remained tightly closed and your fingers began to tremble. You did not expect any truth in his words. This man was vicious, known for the way he revelled in pain and torture. Why would he treat the daughter of a traitor any different?

“I would be most grateful.” You choked out and quickly turned away as you felt more tears build up. Aemond’s breath caught and for a moment it felt as he if was grieved by your whimper, but with a soft grunt he still turned to you and mounted his body atop of yours. The close contact of his chest on your chest sucked the breath from your lungs and you reached for his arms to stop him from crushing you, but he never did. He seemingly balanced his weight perfectly atop of you and slowly allowed his hand to rest on your hip.

“Please breathe. I do not wish to watch you suffocate wife.” He whispered as his fingers moved delicately across your clothed stomach. The reminder had you sucking deep in through your nose and exhaling staggered though your lips. His hand continued to dance lightly over your clothed torso, and you could not help but squeak as his hand moved towards your breast. You had never even kissed a man, let alone have one like this. He could not choke back his soft chuckle at your innocence, as he firmly pushed his palm down.

“Oh.” You whimpered in confusion. He pushed his hips down against yours and let out an almost relieved sigh at the contact. He began a slow movement of his hips as one hand groped you and the other clung to your hip. Your body felt alight with fire, and you could do nothing more but clutch at your husbands' arms in confusion. His teeth moved to your ear and your body arched against his at the feeling of them grazing your neck. Your brain seemed to stop and the overwhelming feelings that were all happening at once was almost too much to bare.

“Breathe.” He ordered in a soft murmur as his lips pressed on the skin between your jaw and ear. You wanted to tell him the truth in that very moment. You were trying to breathe, but you are worried you have forgotten how.

“Sorry.” Was all you could muster. His hand moved from your breast to trailing back down your body and began bunching the bottom of your nightdress up. You could feel the lace of it brushing up your legs leaving bumps to litter your skin at the soft caress. Your body froze in fear at what was about to happen. Once the dress was secured above your waist, you gasped at Aemond’s hand moving to clutch at your thigh. You were shocked at the feeling of someone else’s skin gripping yours.

“Have you prepared yourself?” He breathed out as he pushed his hips forward. It seemed to brush something that left you once again arching into him, only this time you were much more desperate to keep that contact.

“My ladies prepared me.” You stuttered out in confusion. Had he not already asked that to your ladies? His amused sigh made you think you had misunderstood his question.

“I sure hope they haven’t prepared you the way I ask about.” He grunted. Getting up on to his knees, you found yourself shivering at the loss of his body heat. Your arms dropped from his arms leaving you lying breath him, trying hard to steady your panting breaths.

“I have been bathed and pampered to.” His soft hum filled the room as you explained your answer, then he began moving his hand towards the inside of your thighs.

“My Prince!” You cried out, pushing away his fingers as they moved towards his destination. Your cheeks reddened with a deep crimson that only you could be aware of in this dark room.

“Do you want this to hurt? I promised I would help, and this is the only way.” He peeled your hands away and continued as if he had not been interrupted. Your irregular breaths began heavily, and you wondered if the whole castle could hear the noise.

“Prince…” You gasped as you felt his finger run up your most sacred area. He let out an almost disappointed sigh, and you were overtaken by the shame. Was there something wrong? Your fears were cut short as you felt him begin dancing the tips of his fingers down, then once again back up.

“You are not ready yet. But I shall prepare you.” His voiced was that of duty, with no shift of tone or colour. You had no choice but to lie in utter confusion at what was happening. No one had warned you about this part of consummating a marriage. The feeling of his fingers felt foreign, but you found your muscles almost relaxing under the touch.

“Aemond…” You sighed out his name without a though of his titles or nobility and this small gesture seemed to be enough for your husband to begin applying more pressure.

“Relax under my touch. This will help.” His voice whispered into the darkness. When he moved his finger up to begin circling your bud you almost flew from the bed. He seemed to expect such a reaction from you as he had already pushed his free hand into your stomach to keep you unmoving. You whimpered out his name again as he began to pick up speed and you found yourself trying to push away from his touch, even though you weren’t sure you wanted it to end. It felt as if a soft tremor was building inside your stomach, and you soon found your body clenching out of its relaxed state.

“Please don’t.” You don’t know what you were saying this but the fear at the feeling building inside you had you beginning to panic beneath his touch.

“Shhh, trust me.” He whispered your name above you before slowly moving his fingers to push inside you. The foreign feeling was too much, and you quickly gripped onto the second prince and screwed your eyes shut. His thumb remained circling your bud as his finger began stroking your inner walls leaving you crying out in shock. Your body tensed with each stroke of his fingers, and you soon began whimpering incoherently. You felt that pressure suddenly overcome you and it was no longer a soft tremor, but an overwhelming sensation that only kept building. It began the panic in your mind, and you clung tighter onto Aemond.

“Please…” You chocked out in desperation, pushing your hips forward into his palm. He began quickening his pace and you could not help but throw your head back and moan.

“You’re doing so well, good girl.” You don’t know what happened at his words, but your body arched, and you cried out as the waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you crying out and clutching Aemond’s shoulders. The pressure suddenly broke and you felt your voice disappear and instead seemed to scream out silently. Your body trembled and clenched throughout this feeling and Aemond did not halt his movements once. It was only when your body seemed to jolt from his touch that he slowed his movements pulled his fingers from you, leaving a slick trail to follow his touch.

“I’m… my prince, forgive me.” You were horrified by the way your body reacted at his touch.

“You did everything I had hoped you would.” He murmured before moving to unlace his pants. Your mind was too busy spinning to register the gesture, so you just stared dumbly as his hand slid underneath them. You watched in silent curiosity as his hand seemingly began moving and Aemond’s eyes furrowed in frustration.

“Could you… touch my arms or something?” He grunted as his hand seemed to quicken its movements. Your mouth was gaping like a fish as you cautiously nodded. With the gentlest touch you began tracing his arm upwards, blushing like madwoman. His movements did not halt once as you nervously ran your fingers up to his shoulders. You thought of his hand gripping your thigh, and how pleasing the firm grip he used was, so you nervously tightened your grip. It seemed to work because Aemond began adjusting himself out of his trousers. He allowed himself to fall forward to his original position of lying atop your body making your body still in anticipation of what was to come.

“Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” Margaret’s words were a reminder for you, so you turned your gaze to the window and tried to count how many stars you could see. You managed to get to twelve before he pushed himself into you and stole your gaze back greedily.

“Agh Aemond.” You were choked by the feeling as Aemond’s irregular breaths consumed your hearing.

‘I know, just…” He did not finish as he sunk deeper, and you cried out at the sharp pain inside you. It was not unbearable, but there was a great discomfort. You found yourself burying your head into his shoulder as he slowly began a slow movement with his hips leaving you gulping out a groan of pain.

“Just turn your gaze to something else in the room and it will be finished before you even settle on an object to admire.” One star. Two stars. Three stars. Your bottom lip trembled as the pleasure of your night seemed to finish and instead you were left trying not to squirm away in pain. Aemond’s silver strands kept moving to block your vision, so you finally turned back. Your nosed grazed his and you saw his eye widen in the darkness before his entire body stilled. He groaned deeply as he pressed his hips further into you and you could feel him twitching against you.

“It is done.” He breathed out. His movement was quick as he pulled out and moved to sit on the side of the bed. You were shocked by his quick movements and watched in a frazzled state as he quickly began relacing his pants. Following his lead, you pulled your dress back down and moved to rest against the headboard of your grand bed.

“I must attend the city watch now. I shall visit your chambers again tomorrow night until we…” You could tell a distant though had cut him off, but you knew what he meant. Until a child was conceived you would have to suffer him in your bed most nights.

“Did I…. Did I do something wrong?” You pulled the sheets to your chin in confusion at how desperate the man was to leave your company. He stood up and began pulling on his jacket that he must have taken off when he entered your rooms.

“You did everything perfectly. It is done now.” He moved towards the door, leaving you alone and disorientated by him. He turned back to look at you and you wondered what you must have looked like to him. Blushing and breathless, your hair a mess and your chest heaving, you assumed you looked a fool to the prince.

“Good night ābrazȳrys.” He mumbled. Your breath caught at his Valyrian, and you felt your brows furrow as the door quickly opened then closed swiftly. He was gone but you could hear a small commotion on the other side of the door.

“Aemond…”

“It is done mother; I have done my duty. Now leave me in peace.”

[simphornies]

A/N: Thanks to some help from a wonderful writer ( @markster666 my new writer bestie ) this story might be longer than I think. Filled with a lot of emotions. I can't wait for you all to see what we've come up with.

Word count: 4.2k (4,240)

part 1, part 3, part 4

Deal Breaker [ Vox x Angel!Reader ] part 2

His second day was filled with the same trust exercises that Vaggie did earlier on. Vox and the other guests were thrown into another turf war once again to fight alongside each other. Alastor decided to join this time around, seeking entertainment in Vox's attempt at the exercise.

Vaggie hoisted Vox up into the air and threw him down the building. You watched over them, making sure that they don't get too injured. Alastor walks next to you, tapping his microphone as he watches Vox get punched in the stomach and saved by Angel Dust.

"Y/N, my dear, do you truly believe that this 'courtship' is real and not some frivolous stunt?" He asks, "I have grown accustomed to your friendship and it'd be a shame if he pulled strings to whisk you away from us and the hotel."

"To be quite frank with you, Alastor, I am not quite sure myself. Rest assured that I shall have my wits up." You put a hand on his shoulder, "I will not fall for meager attempts or tricks."

He hummed, "I rarely share this advice but do stay safe, darling. I will not find entertainment in failure from you. And I would hate to be disappointed in failure."

Though Alastor is...Alastor, you two have formed a bond. With you working to free him from his chains and him providing you with insight on how Hell functions, you became close friends. As sadistic as he is, he truly wished you good fortune.

You hear a scream coming from below and you quickly fly down to the source. Vox got surrounded and a demon managed to land a hit on him, stabbing him through his side. You opened up your wings fully to create distance and whisked him back up, blasting the perpetrators away with light. You gently sat him on the ground, kneeling beside him.

"Vox, where did they get you?" You ask in a hurry, trying to find the source of the bleeding. His side was covered in blood. "Take your shirt off, let me heal you."

"Take my shirt off? You want to see me naked that bad?" He weakly laughed, his screen glitching due to the pain, "And you can heal too? Hah. What can't you do, angel?"

"Now is not the time for jokes. Take your shirt off or I will rip it off of you." Your voice was stern, making him unbutton his shirt. You applied your magic to close off the wound and stop the bleeding. "My powers can only close wounds and stop bleeding. The pain will be there so take it easy."

You stood up, "I think that's enough. Let's all go home." And with a snap of your fingers, you all were transported back to the hotel through a portal.

"Vox is injured. No sudden or rash jerks to him until he's recovered. My magic's sped up the healing so he should be fine tonight. Alastor, no punching the injured please." He squinted at you in disappointment to which Vox flipped him off.

Charlie was apologizing profusely to Vox, offering him every kind of drink or snack that the hotel had. Vaggie drags her away so you can deal with him. You sat next to him at the bar, "A drink?"

"Yeah. That'd be great. Shit hurts like a bitch." He got a glass of rum from Husk and you got the same. Vox looked at you, a little bit in disbelief before smiling. "Thanks for saving my ass, angel."

"Do stop calling me that. But you're welcome." You chug your drink rather quickly, impressing Vox.

"Rum tonight huh? What made you decide to switch it up?"

"Mm. You." You smiled at him before asking Husk for the whole bottle and he gladly handed it to you. You and him clinked your bottles together before you pour it into your glass. Vox caught himself blushing at your response but he quickly wiped it off of his face.

He couldn't think of how to keep the conversation going so he drank in silence. He stared at the ice floating in his drink, messing with it with his claws.

"I have something to discuss with you Vox. In private." You say before getting up, face flushed from the stronger alcohol. "Please, meet me in my room after your drink." You take the bottle with you as you teleport into your room.

Angel elbows him on his good side, "Oooooh~ The angel's tryna fuck." He teased making Vox glitch a bit.

"Fuck! You! Don't jump out like that. Where did you come from?" He groaned before getting up, taking his glass with him. "It's probably business."

He walked up to your room, limping a bit from pain. He knocked on your door and entered as soon as you told him to. You sat at your desk, reading something in front of you.

"I want to discuss something and I sure do hope you consider this. Please, sit." You pointed at the seat across the table.

"Talking business early on? Are you going to agree to the deal?" He grinned mischievously, putting his hand under his chin to prop his head up on the table.

"No. It's about one of our patrons. Angel Dust." You slide a copy of his contract over to Vox, "This is a personal request of mine. I would like his contract, his deal with Valentino, to be terminated."

He was taken aback at your boldness. "Oh shit, okay. Well..." He leaned back, sucking air through his teeth somehow, "Yeah...I'm not sure, angel cakes. Valentino is pretty possessive over who he owns."

"I understand but I am willing to form a deal of some sort with you to get this to happen. Please, give me offers in exchange for this favor." You looked at him pleadingly. After seeing Angel Dust get hit and insulted by Valentino at the bar stirred something in you and you promised to find a way to break his deal.

Vox perks up at this opportunity. "A deal to break another deal?" He laughs, "You don't start small with your offers, do you?" He sat and pondered a bit.

"I'll accept your deal and get Valentino to break the contract on the condition that you make a deal with me."

You noticed his left eye beginning to spiral. Was he trying to hypnotize you? You laugh at the attempt, "Sorry. I'm not laughing at the offer but are you trying to hypnotize me?" His facial expression changes at the realization that he got caught. "That doesn't work on me, unfortunately for you. But what condition are you looking for?"

He retreats his attempt in shame, crossing his arms a bit. "Worth a shot." He huffed, “But I want you to work with me for the same length that you have me here. 3 days. And on top of that I want 3 dates with you. Let’s make a deal with that and I promise you that I’ll try to get Valentino to break his contract.”

You extend your hand out to him and he shakes it, sealing both of your words into a contract. He grins, knowing that he left out what exactly you have to do with him in his company. But a new feeling bubbled within him. The moment he held your hand he felt sparks in his system. He felt himself heating up with such a simple gesture and he couldn’t shake the feeling even hours after it had happened.

Hours had passed after your deal with him and at this point everybody was already fast asleep except for him. He couldn’t forget the way your hand felt in his. He paced around his room anxiously, trying to pinpoint the source of this pit he felt in his chest and stomach. He tried to distract himself with the technology provided in his room but every now and then he’d stare at the hand that held yours. Vox would replay the way you swooped in to take him away from danger and heal you. Your words echoed in his head over and over. Your smile slowly became a goal for him to maintain.

On his third and final day at the hotel, it was a party. Everyone wanted to go to the same bar Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb took the hotel staff to when Charlie was out. Alastor opted out of this because of “proximity reasons” or so he said. It was you, Vox, Husk, and Angel going this time.

You dressed yourself into an outfit that wasn’t the usual “I’m the famous angel that fought for Hell” look. Instead you wore shorts, courtesy of Angel Dust, and a crop top that Cherri gifted you a while ago. You were indecisive on which boots to wear and with Alastor off doing something you probably didn’t want to know about, you called Angel Dust.

He stood in your room as you frantically gathered all the shoes you owned and dropped them in front of the two demons. “I am not one to typically go out but I will absolutely not go out looking a mess. Please help me.” You practically begged. Angel helped you put together your outfit, fixing your hair up into a ponytail. He was proud of how you looked in the end.

The two of you walked to the lobby, chatting and laughing about how you can’t style yourself outside of your comfort zone. Vox stared at you, engulfed in your beauty. He was not used to seeing you outside of your usual attire and he was stunned. He couldn’t pry his eyes off of you and he was convinced it was purely due to your angelic powers. You wore black heels with eyes on the back, a shredded crop top that had a spray painted eye in the middle of it and simple black shorts. It was simple enough for you to be comfortable in but, in Angel’s words, slutty enough for you to blend in without getting immediately recognized as the angel that fought for Hell.

“Your ass looks nice in that, sweet cheeks.” Angel jokes. “I bet you’re gonna get eyes all over you at the club.”

“You flatter too much. It’s just a simple outfit, unworthy of such attention.”

But Vox agreed with him. His eyes wandered all over you. Your waist, your legs, your curves. He devoured the sight of you. It wasn’t until you made eye contact with him that he snapped out of it.

“Apologies! I was unable to settle on what to wear and if Angel hadn’t come to my rescue, I think I would have had to sit this one out.” You hugged Angel, proud of his work.

“What can I say? Sex isn’t all I’m good at.” He laughs.

You created a portal that led to the entrance of the club and the four of you immediately ordered drinks. Angel suggested drinking games and by the end of it, you were wasted. A sight that even Husk had only seen once. Your head was spinning, your vision fuzzy. Husk took another shot away from you, making you pout.

“One more shot!” Your words were slurred, “Please.”

“Absolutely not, you’re going to throw up and I am not cleaning it.” He shook his head and took your shot for you. “Shot’s gone.”

You whined and leaned into Vox’s arm, who was still sober. “Vox~ Can youuuu get me a shot?” You whispered.

Your voice sent shivers down his spine in a way he never expected. He almost caved but decided against it. “No. I think you’re done for tonight.”

You huffed and got off of him to his disappointment. You made your way onto the dance floor and uncharacteristically went all out. You followed what the crowd did and soon enough, they all lost track of you which sent them into a panic.

“Shit, where’s Y/N?” Angel asks.

“I saw her go towards all the dancing but I think she’s deep in the crowd.” Husk stated before running in there to search for you alongside Vox and Angel. Vox felt panic but he didn’t understand why. He didn’t know why he felt it urgent to get you in front of him and secure your safety. He was here to steal you from the hotel but yet he’s working with the staff to look for you. He pushed and shoved until he finally saw you. You were surrounded by three drunk demons with lust-filled eyes that danced on you a bit too sexually for his liking. The moment he saw one of them rub their hand from your hips to your waist, a fiery rage blazed within him. He quickly grabbed your hand, pulling you away from them and out of the crowd. He regrouped with Angel Dust and Husk who called Lucifer to portal them back to the hotel.

You were slumped against a flustered Vox, hugging onto his arm mumbling nonsense even after you all arrived back safely. He sat you down on the couch to which you immediately laid down.

“Wow. I haven’t seen an angel this wasted before.” Lucifer spoke, leaning over you. “Y/N, are you alright?” You giggled in response, not answering with words. “Yeah, I think she needs to go to bed. With lots of water!”

Everyone eyed your savior Vox and he groaned, “Why me?”

Alastor phased from the corner of the bar and next to him, “Because you were the one that wanted to court her. If you truly desire a relationship with someone in our staff, you should be able to take care of them as well as we do.”

Vox rolled his eyes at him, “Yeah well it wasn’t my idea to do a drinking game and get her fucked up knowing she’d lose.” He eyed Angel Dust who threw his hands up in the air, “Hey! I didn’t know her tolerance was shit. She took fifteen shots! Husk and I can handle more than that.”

“They have a point Vox. Please, take care of her for the night while the rest of us. You’re free to skip out on tonight’s activity.” Charlie says, “She likes getting tucked in.”

Vox carried you up to your room. You messed with the edges of his screen, tracing it with your finger. “So smooth.” You said. “Do you clean your screen? Can you stick your tongue out? If you can stick your tongue out, can I stick my hand in there?”

Vox was bombarded with questions but his focus was on your finger as it continuously went up and down the side of his head. He was blushing and flashed a couple of error screens until he finally got you into your room. You stumbled in and grabbed your usual dress. “Y/N, what are you doing?” He asked to which he received no response from you.

You began to take your clothes off sloppily, tripping over your own feet. Vox panicked and turned around. “Y/N! I’m still here, what in the unholy hell are you doing?” Though he was turned around, he shut his eyes for safety measures. He wasn’t one to get flustered at the sight of nakedness especially with Valentino on his team. He was confused why he felt and heard his heart pounding out of his chest.

“Yeah? If you’re here, why don’t you help me?” You whined. “Help me get into my gown.”

Vox turned and saw you on the floor, shorts stuck to your ankles and your top half off. He immediately began to scream and glitch. “Y/N!” was all he could say before he ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He yelled down the stairs from the railing, “For fu-ucks sake someone please dress her!” Everyone snapped their heads at Vox who was a glitching mess, “She is half-naked on the floor stuck in her shorts. I ca-cannot do this.”

Vaggie and Charlie ran up to get you into your night own as everyone else laughed at his flustered self.

“Holy shit! The big bad overlord got shy over that!” Angel was on the floor, clutching his stomach, absolutely dying. “What’s wrong? Never seen a naked angel before?”

He covered his face with his hands in shame. “I swear I brought her in there and the moment she was on the floor she started stripping. I turned around and when I looked back she was like that!” He groaned.

“Yeah, forgot to warn ya but…” Husk drank his bottle before continuing, “Last time she got fucked up like that she started changing in the lobby.”

“What’s wrong, old pal?’ Alastor teased, “Afraid of a little skin?” He laughed, mocking his rival.

“You know what. Fuck you. I’m going to my room to reboot myself. I cannot wait to get the fuck away from you.”

Alastor grinned at his frustrated and flustered self, his shadow doing the same.

.

You woke up surprisingly with a terrible hangover. You found yourself tucked into bed and in your nightgown. You had no recollection of the night before and the last thing you remembered was taking your 10th shot. After that, everything was gone. You stretched before you started to pack a couple of bags for your stay with Vox.

Charlie came into your room to check in on you, “You’re awake? How are you feeling? And…what are you doing?”

“I made a deal with Vox.” Charlie’s face dropped at the news, worried for you and your safety. “It’s a chance to get Angel Dust free and on the path to redemption. I…I can’t bear to see him come home after a rough night and I can sense his sadness.”

Charlie hugs you, “Be safe, okay? I know you’re strong but please…don’t get hurt.” You smile in return, placing a hand on her rosy cheeks.

“Thank you. I promise. I’ll be safe.”

Vox was waiting at the lobby entrance for you. Alastor was more than glad to get him out and was practically trying to throw him out the door with Angel and Husk watching in delight, munching on some popcorn.

“I’m waiting for Y/N! She’s coming with me!” He protested, dodging his black tendrils.

“She is not going with you.” Alastor hissed, static in his voice, “She would inform me if she would and she has not.”

You heard the commotion from the stairwell and flew down the stairs, using your body to keep distance between the two rivals. “Alastor! I apologize but I am. I have made a deal with Vox.” Vox straightened himself out, a smug smirk on his face. “I…want to get Angel Dust’s deal broken off. He and I have discussed and agreed that I shall stay and work with him for 3 days.”

Alastor squinted at you, reverting back to his regular form. “A deal with him? My…That is the most foolish of decisions you have ever made.” He scoffed, ears pinned to the back of his head. You step closer to him, holding his hand in comfort.

“Alastor, I apologize for not informing you sooner. I shall remain safe. My duty and loyalties remain with the hotel. I have told you before and I shall tell you again, I must work on breaking the deals that harm the staff the most. You, of all people, should understand that.” His eye twitched a bit at the reminder of his own chains but he did understand. He sighs and nods.

“If anything brings harm to you, inform me immediately.” That was Alastor’s way of telling you to stay safe. You smile and give him a hug, whispering a ‘thank you’ to him. He hugs you back before letting you go off with Vox into a portal you had created.

Upon arriving in his lobby, he was immediately greeted by Velvette and Valentino arguing about how Valentino had, yet again, destroyed one of Velvette’s models. Vox groans and looks at you, his face saying ‘See what I have to deal with?’ before approaching them.

“What the fuck’s happened now?” He says, “And please do not rip each other apart in the lobby.”

“This little piss baby ripped apart not one but two models. I have a show tomorrow and I would have been able to work with but he went ahead and ripped apart two unlucky bitches!” Velvette growled.

“That little bitch Angel Dust texted me to fuck off last night! Me!” Valentino screamed, “I will murder that little whore.”

“Enough.” His voice distorted, left eye spiraling before clearing his throat, “That is no way to act in front of our new temporary guest, Y/N.” He held his hands out and pointed at you. “She’s going to be here for three days and I do believe she’d be a good candidate as a model for you, Velvette. Is she not?”

Velvette squinted at you, eyeing you up and down, “Oh I don’t think I’d be a good-”

“Shush. Shut the fuck up for a bit.” Velvette raised a finger at you before swiping with her other hand, quickly switching your outfit. You were now suddenly in a red dress that showed your curves. She hummed and walked around you. “I suppose she could work. Do you know how to work a catwalk, angel?”

“I-” You cleared your throat, “I certainly know how to walk.”

“Not the fucking question. Pop your little wings out and walk in a straight line.” She ordered. You complied, revealing a set of wings before walking forward, “Alright…now turn. On your heel. Quickly.” You pivoted on your heel and walked back towards Velvette.

“You know what…This could work.” Velvette lit up a bit, “Pleasure to finally meet you. I’m the famous Velvette. One of the better Vees.” She shook your hand quickly before going on her phone.

Valentino slid over to your side, leaning down to your height, “Ah…the famous angel that fell from Heaven to fight for Hell.” He gave you a big smile. You had a vendetta against him because of what you know. He takes you hand and spins you before pulling you close, “I’m Valentino. If you ever decide to drop that tacky hotel and make real money. Let me know~ I can make you a star.”

Vox pulled you away from him, noticing your discomfort. You laugh nervously and fiddled with the dress you were now suddenly stuck in. “Thank you kindly for the offer but I am alright. I have no intentions of partaking in…your art.”

Valentino’s smile didn’t falter, “You know how to find me~” He states before walking away. You see him angrily typing away at his phone to probably harass Angel. You let out a sigh, putting away your wings before looking at Vox.

“I know. A handful, right?” He rolled his eyes, “You’ll get used to it.”

He leads you to your room, “This is where you’ll be staying. Don’t worry, I won’t spy on you.” He winked, “Unless you want me to.” You rolled your eyes in response. “Let me know as soon as you’re settled in. I want to go over what we’ll be doing for the next 3 days.”

“Alright. Thank you for your hospitality.” You nod. You were about to turn around to unpack when you felt his hand grab yours. He gave you a gentle kiss on the back of your hand before teleporting off into the nearest camera.

.

Vox sat in his office with the Vees while you were in your room.

“So what’s the plan here, Vox? Why is the angel in our building?” Velvette asked, a bit on the edge of the fact that someone as strong as you was in close proximity, something she didn’t allow you to see earlier.

“She wants me to break Angel Dust’s contract with Valentino.” He responds. Valentino slammed his fist on the table in anger. “She made a deal that in return for me trying, she’ll be here for 3 days working with us.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Valentino growled. “You can’t make me break that deal. That little whore makes me the most money!”

Vox simply grins menacingly, “I can make this all worth it, Valentino.” A plan brewed in his head. He just had to get you to put your guard down around him.

“And what if this shit doesn’t work and I lose that motherfucker because of your deal?”

“It’ll work. And I’ll find somebody better for you. You have so many whores, Val. Angel Dust is just one whore. He’s already going against you, don’t you want somebody that’s a little weaker? Somebody easier to control? By the end of this, we can have all of Hell to recruit.”

“Who would be better than Angel Dust?”

Velvette rolled her eyes, “Why don’t you try and get that popstar in? Verosika Mayday’s her name.”

Valentino calmed down a bit, “Hmm…If I can get Verosika on board, then I might just consider it.”

“Then we have a deal. I get you Verosika and in return, you break Angel Dust from his contract completely.”

Valentino grins, “Deal.”

“Are you really into this angelic bitch?” Velvette asks, aimlessly scrolling through her phone.

Vox laughs, “Absolutely not! I need her power and after those 3 days, I think I have just the plan to get her on my side.”

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Dandelion

Summary: You usually preferred the company of dragons to most people. The presence of a certain Targaryen prince threatens to upend your quiet life. Pairing: Soft dark!Aemond Targaryen/F!Reader (No Y/N, could be read as an unnamed OC)

Warnings: Familial abuse, negative self talk, canon typical violence, dub-con bordering on non-con, obsessive behavior, power imbalance, canon typical sexism. Please do not read if this will upset you. You are responsible for what you consume. NO MINORS ALLOWED A/N: No Civil War AU! I will borrow a bit from other events that will eventually happen in ‘The Dance’ but I give them a different outcome because I do what I want. Reader is from an original Valyrian house and the only physical characteristics they have are purple eyes and silver hair. She is also a few years older than Aemond. Enjoy!

Word Count: 21k :)

You’d never been good at running. You were too slow. Too clumsy. Too self-sacrificing.

No.

You were terrible at running. You couldn’t outrun your brother as he swore and raged and tugged at your hair. You couldn’t outrun your mother’s prized stallions when they turned course toward you in the field. You couldn’t outrun your father when he saw the mess you’d tracked into your family’s manse alongside your sister.

But you were able to hide her in her rooms and take the blame for all of it. She was so small. She didn’t need to be hurt like that. You could take it, couldn’t you? If you were feeling brave, you’d take her hand in yours and sneak out to the rolling valley that was always spotted with wildflowers.

“Do you know that you can make wishes on dandelions?” Your sweet sister, Vaella, asked one day, holding a bunch of dandelions in her hand. Most of the stems had started to wilt in her too-tight childish grip. But you eased them out from between her fingers with a smile and let her tell you about the “magic” she had heard about from her friend, a little lady from House Tyrell. You righted the stems as best you could, smiling as you did. Wouldn’t that be nice? To blow away a few petals and have your wildest desires come to fruition?

“Shall we make a wish then?” You asked, holding out a few for her to take again. Her jagged little nails, something your mother always scolded her for, caught on your fingers and you tried not to hiss as you felt your skin give way beneath them. Blood bubbled to the surface as your sister quickly apologized over and over again even as you waved her off. “Make your wish!”

Vaella dutifully shut her eyes and then sucked in a deep breath before quickly blowing away all the dandelion seeds. You knew her wish, Seven knew she had told you about it enough: a kind, loving husband, with enough gold to rival kings.

You followed suit but frowned as you tried to find a wish worthy of asking. But, as you heard Vaella’s melodic giggles beside you, you knew. You tightened your blood-tinged fingers around the flowers. I wish for Vaella to have everything good and beautiful in this world.

Then you heard your father on his horse barreling toward you. You knew it would only hurt more if you tried to escape his wrath and you’d never outrun him anyway—your mother knew how to breed and train the fastest horses this side of the Red Mountains and Dorne.

So, no. You weren’t good at running. But you were almost decent at playing the part most everyone else wanted from you. You learned what to say and how to act to stymie your parents’ rage and your brother’s annoyance. You knew how to do your duties as a highborn lady who had a fortunate Valyrian bloodline. Your family had always been dragonkeepers. Even before The Doom, your family had tended to the dragons that had conquered most of Essos, knowing their likes and dislikes, calming and caring for the animals and their riders. It had been a noble profession then and it was a noble profession now. Of course, not all of your bloodline had taken up the mantle, but it was expected that at least one of every generation, no matter their gender, would take up the duties as the decades passed, even before the Dragonpit had been constructed.

Loyal to the Targaryens and their dragons. Always. (Even if your family had tried to dissuade to no avail the royal family from constructing the Pit, saying that the dragons were never meant to be caged so.)

Your family had been adamant about the Valyrian blood in their veins staying pure. When they tired of marrying Velaryons or Celtigars, and House Qoherys died out, they sought spouses from across the Narrow Sea, from Volantis and the Old Blood who could prove unbroken Valyrian ancestry, or from Lys, the city where Valyrian Blood was (said to be) strongest. But never a Targaryen. They had never asked and your family had never reached so high. You were servants to no one but the dragons and the Targaryens. Your allegiance and skillset had made your House wealthy beyond measure, it was only bolstered when accompanying Velaryons on foreign voyages or devising new money making schemes with the Celtigars. Advantageous marriages with dowries worthy of princesses helped, too.

Being a Keeper was a family tradition you couldn’t run from. And, if you were being honest, it was one of the few things about your family you did not resent. Your duties in The Pit kept you away from your father’s anger and your mother’s sneers. Your elder brother Rhogar’s duties in The Pit were easily circumvented and you knew enough to steer clear of him. You found purpose and camaraderie amongst the dragons and hatchlings. They could not speak, true, but they were your truest friends since your sister’s wish had come true and she had absconded to Volantis to live the life of a noblewoman of the Old Blood with her doting husband. It was a quiet life. But you knew better than to ask for more. You still wished for something on dandelions every time you had the chance. For a friend. For love. For the continued prospering of Vaella and her growing family on the other side of the Narrow Sea. You knew better than to wish for the love of your parents or brother. No amount of blood or dandelion magic would ever grant you that.

However, when the war with the Triarchy and the man known as the Crabfeeder proved enough of a problem that the conflict-averse King Viserys finally started to treat it as a war, you were happy to accept the summons to Dragonstone. There were a handful of dragons now roosting there, ready to be flown out by their riders to aid the Velaryon and royal fleets. After you arrived, you had been handpicked by Lady Laena Velaryon to care for Vhagar. It had been the honor of your life, alongside being Laena’s handmaiden for the day of her wedding to Prince Daemon. She had been a fierce warrior astride Vhagar, an even fiercer mother to her twins, Rhaena and Baela. She was not but a three namedays older than you but it might as well have been decades. She was so different from you. So poised and lovely and kind—and her family adored her. Her brother, Ser Laenor, whom you also saw frequently with his dragon Seasmoke, had named Rhaena the heir to Driftmark just after Baela had been betrothed to Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin Strong’s firstborn son, Prince Jacaerys. The celebration Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys had thrown to mark the occasion was lavish and lovely. You had wished upon three dandelions that night, wanting the best for Baela and Rhaena.

“One day,” Laena said to you, climbing down from Vhagar’s saddle as you held one of the twins’ hands in each of your own, “you will make a fine mother.”

“Someone will have to learn to stomach the scent of dragon if they want to bed me, my lady.” Not to mention that you were nearly considered an old maid already. You were sure the only reason you hadn’t been married off was because your parents hadn’t deemed you worthy of the dowry they’d once set aside for you. They’d prefer to keep their gold which you added to with each moon. And their repeated, cruel comments about how you’d never marry because of your looks, ‘horrid’ personality, and court ineptitude and made you believe you would be alone for the rest of your life, only accompanied by dragons.

Laena laughed and let her twins leap into her arms. “You are the blood of Old Valyria, my dear. Anyone would be lucky to have you, smell of dragon or no.”

She had been kind to you. Effortlessly, so.

Then, when she had been killed by a scorpion bolt fired by devotees to the Crabfeeder, your world tilted on its axis. The twins’ hatchlings, Morning and Moondancer, had cried and trilled for ages, feeling her riders’ grief in their small nests. They only rested on the short boat ride to Driftmark as they nestled in your hold. You did your best to help them, to make sure they fed, as Daemon tried to prepare for the rest of the royal family who were descending on Driftmark for the funeral. Daemon himself was a mess. How could he not be? Everyone who knew the couple saw how in love they had been. How in love Daemon was still. You’d heard whispers that Corlys had blamed Laena’s death on Daemon’s pride. The Rogue Prince had flown out to meet the Triarchy’s forces alone and Laena had been the only aerial defense to keep him safe. And, perhaps a small part of you believed that.

The night before their arrival, Vhagar finally landed back on the island. You’d heard whispers of how she had raged against the Triarchy’s fleet after feeling Laena’s death and watching Corlys pull her body from the water. The old dragon had nearly destroyed the entirety of the enemy’s fleet singlehandedly before disappearing into the clouds. But now?

You took careful, slow steps toward her as the moon continued to climb higher into the sky. Her giant head swiveled as you approached and she grumbled, shaking the ground beneath your feet, before she recognized your scent. Laying your hand to the near-scalding scales on her neck, you tried to press all the love you could manage into the touch, your sorrow, your calm. “I miss her, too,” you whispered in Valyrian. “But it is good to have you here.”

The old dragon gave another rumble and it almost broke your heart at how sad she sounded. How much heartbreak could one beast endure?

“We will get through this together, won’t we?”

**

You stood behind Baela and Rhaena and watched as ships with black and red sails docked. Morning and Moondancer were coiled around their shoulders, finally sleeping after a night filled with more crying and your desperate attempts to feed them. Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin disembarked first, followed by their sons, Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys. King Viserys followed soon after with his hand being held by his youngest, Prince Daeron. Queen Alicent was next with her other three children, Princess Helaena and Princes Aegon and Aemond, following closely. The family was greeted solemnly but warmly by the Velaryons and Targaryens—aside from the icy stares you saw thrown in Daemon’s direction by Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, and Ser Laenor.

It would not be the first time you’d heard of troubles in the royal family. There had been rumors of a feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent after the latter’s marriage to Viserys. It had been quashed eventually, the pair falling back into their close bond soon after Alicent’s father, Otto, was dismissed from his position as Hand of the King and replaced with Princess Rhaenys. Apparently Otto had tried to convince Alicent that Rhaenyra would kill her friend’s children to keep her promised crown—which was preposterous because, even tucked away on Dragonstone, you’d heard how Rhaenyra had doted on her half siblings. You knew for a fact that it had been Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent together who had pushed for the new law which allowed daughters to inherit titles and lands. The princess had also been the one to pick the dragon eggs for each of their cradles, too. Only two had hatched, unfortunately. Aegon’s Sunfyre and Daeron’s Tessarion, but you had been told that Princess Helaena had claimed Dreamfyre just a few moons ago.

That left only Prince Aemond.

He was a few namedays older than the twins and offered them a small smile when he reached their side. His purple eyes flittered over to you for a moment and something passed over his face, something you could not name. But it was quickly over and he was offering a few hushed words of comfort to his cousins.

Princess Rhaenyra was the first to actually greet you, cradling her pregnant belly. “It has been some time, has it not, my lady?”

You managed to smile as you curtseyed. “It has. I hear Syrax is faring well; expecting another clutch soon, no?” You’d once been one of the half dozen of keepers tasked with the princess’ dragon and had been the most indulgent with Rhaenyra wanting to constantly be on dragonback despite the others knowing she was supposed to be humoring lords vying for her hand. You had also been the only one to be able to calm Syrax during Prince Jacaerys’ early birth while the Princess and her husband were visiting Dragonstone. Three other Keepers had perished, either burned or eaten, as the little prince was born but not you. You had calmed her. You had been the one to discover that Syrax had laid a clutch of eggs alongside her rider. The Princess had been kind and gracious when you told her of the news.

The Heir Apparent smiled, sweeping a hand over her stomach. “It is quite a blessing, truly.”

You continued to speak for a little longer, watching as Rhaena and Baela walked to their father’s side as he spoke to Alicent. Rhaenyra was just as pleasant as always. But, despite the important company, you heard something that nearly had you frowning.

“Who is that?” Aemond asked Baela. A quick glance to the side let you see the prince pointing at you.

Baela gave your name with a small smile, making sure to enunciate your House’s name, too. “She is Vhagar’s Keeper.”

The night continued and you were dismissed as the family gathered for supper. It was only when you were in the comfort of your chambers did you allow yourself to cry. Hot, giant tears slid down your face as you tried to muffle your sobs beneath your fingers. It felt like your ribs had cracked open to reveal your broken heart.

When you found little respite from your grief with sleep, you slipped out of your rooms and toward the shore where you knew Vhagar roosted for the night. She once again greeted you with a huff, nudging her head into your stomach and nearly bowling you over.

“I know,” you murmured, smoothing your hand down her dark scales. “Me too.” Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and it took you a moment to realize it was Prince Aemond, trying unsuccessfully to sneak back into High Tide. His shoulders slumped when he caught your gaze and he dragged his feet to your side after you waved him over. “It is late to be out of doors, my prince.”

His mouth pulled into an even deeper frown. “I know, my lady. But you are out at this hour, too.”

You nodded, continuing to lathe attention on Vhagar. “I am not royalty. The Triarchy may have been pushed back to Essos, but it would still be deemed unwise to be without an escort for someone of your status.”

The young prince looked down at his feet, digging the toe of his fine leather boot into the sand. “I just wanted to see Vhagar. Uncle Daemon said she was the biggest dragon in the world.”

His boyish countenance had you softening. You could only imagine what it was like to be the last Targaryen without a dragon, a birthright. “She is. The last of the Conquerors’ dragons. Come, stand by me. She is tired now; she’s usually much more agreeable like this.”

Even in the dark, you saw Aemond’s entire face light up and he was quick to do as you instructed. He followed your quiet guidance to let Vhagar learn his scent before touching her, placing his hand beside yours. “She’s a beauty.”

You hummed and Vhagar shifted the slightest bit, the sand spitting beneath her giant body. “She is. A great and terrible beauty. And she mourns with the rest of you for Lady Laena.”

Aemond hummed in response and you watched his shoulders slump the slightest bit, as if he needed to be reminded of the loss his family had just suffered, or the reason why he’d been put on a boat and shuffled away from his home. He had been so enthralled with simply being near Vhagar. And you knew it was foolish of you to do anything of the sort, but you smiled and shielded his eyes when Vhagar took flight again, sending sand into the air.

“Come, I have something else to show you.”

The prince followed dutifully as you led him toward the small patch of grass near High Tide’s outer curtain. Small white and yellow flowers had sprouted not a few hours ago and you were quick to grab two. You were even quicker to grab a knife from your belt and cut across your thumb when he was not looking, instead tracking Vhagar across the sky. You let the crimson stain the flower’s stalk before handing it to him.

“This is a weed.”

You laughed at how he scrunched his nose as he stared at the flower. “There’s magic in those petals, my prince, just as there is magic in our blood, in our words. Trust me when I tell you that you will have a dragon one day. You need only wish for it and wait.”

Aemond’s face twisted, like he was ready for you to tease him, or laugh at him. But you simply held up your matching, blood-lined dandelion and blew its petals away into the ocean breeze. I wish for him to have a dragon and be happy. He watched you for a moment longer before, almost delicately, blowing the petals away to float alongside yours.

A light coming on in the fortress had you turning. Someone was probably looking for the prince. “It is time for you to retire, my prince.”

The young prince nodded as he turned to you, the pale moonlight bleeding across his silver hair. “I would have no other hands tend to my dragon.” His hands curled to fists at his side for a moment before releasing, as if he were scolding himself. “We are the Blood of Old Valyria.”

**

It had been nearly six years since you saw Aemond. Much had changed.

The war with the Triarchy had fizzled. It still lingered, of course. There were whispers that the Triarchy was attempting to hire any and every sellsword company in Essos but nothing had come of those whispers though. Not yet, anyway. Most of their forces had been pushed back (again) by Princesses Rhaenys and Rhaenyra while Prince Daemon and Ser Laenor destroyed their food and weapon stores in the Disputed Lands. It was not a surrender, unfortunately, but Westeros was thankful for the reprieve.

You had become Morning and Moondancer’s main keeper, too, your duties shifting after Vhagar disappeared into the clouds and didn’t return. It was a blow, to be sure, to lose another link to Laena even after you and the twins were moved permanently to Driftmark while Prince Daemon stayed to command the armies from Dragonstone while also flying to the Free Cities of Essos to try to broker alliances (some whispered that Prince Daemon took his nephew, Prince Aemond, alongside during his mission but you could never know for certain). But Baela and Rhaena were growing into their own and you were so happy to guide them, in any way they needed. Their dragons were now large enough to be ridden for short distances and you had nearly cried when you watched them circle the island for the first time. The twins often came to you for anything they were too embarrassed to ask their father or too impatient to ask their septas or grandmother Rhaenys. Daemon doted on them, indulging their almost every whim and laughing alongside them on dragonback whenever he had a moment to visit. Seeing them together almost always twisted at something in your chest. They were a family. You wouldn’t have that, would you? You were far past the age of majority and had stopped attending any sort of function where you could even attempt to find a suitable match. What was the point? No one had ever been interested in you in that way and you had all but resigned yourself to simply being a Keeper.

It would be a quiet life for you.

But your quiet was disrupted when Baela and Rhaena were invited to the capital for King Viserys’ nameday celebrations alongside their father. They insisted on bringing their dragons—who were you to deny them? So, you found yourself wrinkling your nose as the large boat approached the capital, the familiar and awful scent of the city wafting toward you. After docking, you were met with a few familiar faces that helped you lead Moondancer and Morning to The Pit to be safely sequestered alongside the other royal dragons. The pair took to their temporary roosts well enough, recognizing the scent of Meleys and Seasmoke through the stone halls. As Caraxes settled near them, they were more than content.

“The lost daughter finally returns home, eh?”

The grip you had on Moondancer’s reins suddenly seized at the sound of your brother’s voice. Slowly, you moved to loop them around the chain on the wall before turning to face him. Rhogar had not changed much. His mouth was still curled in a scowl. His silver hair was still cut short. His periwinkle eyes were still cold as ice. And you knew better than to instigate anything. “Lady Rhaena and Lady Baela requested I accompany their dragons.”

Rhogar hummed. “They do seem fond of you. I was sure they’d send you away after Lady Laena’s demise and Vhagar fleeing your care. It seems they were taking pity on your failure.”

“Yes, they’ve been very kind to me.” He had always been good at cutting down to bone with few words. He’d also once literally cut you down to the bone after you were selected to be Vhagar’s Keeper. You could never win with him. Ever. There was no negating his hatred of you. It had started when you were born a girl instead of a boy and Rhogar thought it meant he was ‘forced’ to be the Keeper of your generation. If he had forgotten that your aunt had also been a Keeper until her death, you could not and would not say. He had wanted to be knight, apparently, despite his poor form with a sword and shield. “You forced this on me!” he had once spit at you. When you had taken up the mantle of Keeper, you’d half-hoped that his malice would fade. It did not. If anything, it grew like a raging fire. With every compliment from another Keeper or Targaryen directed toward you, he only hated you more. It was almost as if he stayed in The Pit to show anyone and everyone that he was the better Keeper. He tried. You would give him that. But the other Keepers turned to you for advice. They asked you for the balm you had created to soothe any wayward burns. They respected you. And the dragons preferred you. Before you had been moved to Driftmark, you could easily move between duties for all the dragons, each of them never minding your presence in their stall. You would never forget when Meleys had snuffed in Rhogar’s face before turning to you. And you had a feeling that Rhogar would never forget it either.

It had been Rhogar who had first called you a witch, the word dripping with venom. After all, how could one person, a woman, be so adept at caring for the dragons? The other keepers found it hilarious and adopted the nickname for you, too. They called you a witch. Sure, it was usually said with a teasing smile or an accompanying wink, but the moniker remained and endured. You didn't deny it. The blood you always knew to spill on dandelions was your secret. If you were a witch, so be it.

“Mother and Father will expect you home tonight.”

The small fortress built just outside the walls of King’s Landing hadn’t been your home for years. Hadn’t been a home since your sister sailed away and even then, you would make the argument that it had been Vaella alone that had been your home. Your one solace. Stepping through those doors again would not be a homecoming. But you knew better to deny them. “Of course.”

You had been surprised to have your pick of the handmaidens at the Red Keep after you spoke with Lady Baela about your family requesting your presence. You had been fully prepared to be ridiculed by your parents for smelling of dragon in their fine house, but you were bathed in a fine copper tub and then lathered in rose oil before Rhaena came in with a dress she promised would look lovely on you.

And the simple gesture nearly had tears coming to your eyes. Rhaena was quick to notice and all but threw the dress onto the bed before grasping gently at your hands. “What troubles you?”

“N-nothing, my lady. I fear I am just a touch overwhelmed. It has been some time since I have been in the capital.”

Rhaena frowned, a knowing look. “Do you wish to return here perma-”

Your grip tightened on her hands before you could even think to stop yourself. “No! No, never. I am happier with you and your sister than I have ever been in this city.”

The brilliant smile Rhaena gave you as she nodded was enough to calm your rapidly fraying nerves and she was quick to change the subject to the tourney starting tomorrow, the first part of the celebrations. “But mostly I am hoping that my toes will not be crushed each night—I’ve heard the men from the Riverlands are particularly awful at dancing.��

It was with Rhaena’s tinkling laughter still in your ears that you tried to brace for the hurricane that was your family. The smallfolk of King’s Landing called your family’s home the Little Red Keep for how your forebears had modeled it after the Royal palace. There were verdant rose bushes still lining the outer walls. There was still a small pond beside one of the turrets, filled with water lilies. There was still the large white dragon of your house’s sigil painted across the grand front door, gold keys in its mouth. It had not changed.

It was not home.

The door was opened by an unfamiliar servant and you were led toward the large hall where you could already hear your family chattering. It quickly halted once you stepped inside. You father stood from his chair with a placid smile on his face which you knew only meant he hadn’t had his first drink yet.

“There is my daughter.” He skirted around the table and hugged you, smashing your cheek against his chest. The medallions on his doublet were sharp against your temple, biting and cold. “It has been too long since you have been home.”

You hummed and tucked your chin to your chest as he held you at arm’s length. “You’ve been receiving the gold I’ve sent, haven’t you?”

He laughed and you tried not to recoil as his meaty hand curled over your upper arm. “Yes. You have been a dutiful daughter. It seems being sent away from the frivolities of the capital turned you into a respectable Keeper.”

There it was. The first sting. You knew better than to argue, to say that Princess Rhaenyra had often preferred you to care for Syrax, that Prince Daemon was always pleased with your care of Caraxes, that the other Keepers (aside from your brother) seemed to defer to you for any sort of special care that the royal mounts may need when you were still stationed at the Pit. “I am happy to have pleased you.”

“Come, come,” he said with a final squeeze to your arm that nearly had you wincing, “we’ve had all your favorite foods prepared.”

A single glance at the spread of food let you know, for the umpteenth time, that they didn’t know you at all. There wasn’t a single dish you favored in any capacity. There was your brother’s favorite roasted boar alongside your mother’s favorite lemon cakes, and everything else had your father’s favor all over it. You were nowhere to be seen. But you still took the seat your father pulled out for you and hoped for the best.

You only had to bite back tears twice and hadn’t needed to dodge a punch or a slap or even a fork thrown in your direction. Perhaps it was a good night. Maybe the years away had softened their disdain for you. That happy thought quickly disintegrated when you were pulled to a stop near the manse’s front door. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Father, Mother. You as well, Rhogar.” You smiled, almost convincing yourself that you hadn’t been sitting on needles the entire time.

“Where do you think you’re going? It is nearly the hour of the owl.”

While it may have been an innocuous and reasonable question from any other parent, this was your father. “Prince Daemon has been kind enough to have chambers reserved for me at the Red Keep-”

“So your family’s home is not enough for you now?”

Your eyes closed. You shouldn’t have come.

**

“Are you well?”

You nearly recoiled from the question but managed to smile instead. “I’m fine, my lady. Thank you.”

Baela frowned, amethyst eyes traveling across your swollen cheek and the way you were favoring your left side. “Are you certain?”

“Truly. Just a bit of a tumble last night.”

She didn’t look like she believed you and Rhaena who sat beside her didn’t look convinced, either. Thankfully or not, the doors to Baela’s rooms opened and a flurry of servants filed in and set out a spread of food on the table near the window where you all sat. One of the handmaidens who had accompanied you all from Driftmark, Isla, you thought her name was, turned to Baela with a smile as she set a plate filled with boiled eggs on the table. “Are you excited, my lady?”

Baela nodded, lips turning up a brilliant smile. “Of course! And I am so pleased that you will be at my side, too.” The pair spoke for a little longer before the group was dismissed and the three of you turned toward the lush breakfast.

You slowly spread a bit of cherry jam across a hunk of bread, eyes darting between the twins as they filled their plates. While it was normal for them to invite you to break your fasts together, you did not want to gain their ire, too, by prying.

Thankfully, it seemed Baela was happy to speak anyway. “I have news.” She set her utensils down and looked at her twin and you with another smile. “Princess Rhaenyra has invited me to stay at the capital so that I may spend time with Jace and learn the ways of court.”

Rhaena beamed, reaching to lace her fingers with her twin’s with a matching giggle. “Grandmother has said it is time for me to learn how to rule High Tide.”

Your heart felt like it was being crushed beneath a blacksmith’s hammer. While you always knew this day would come, you’d half hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. You listened as they laughed, excited about their futures, before they cried about being separated, before laughing again at remembering they’d never be too far away on dragonback. But you’d wished for them to be happy, hadn’t you? They sounded so happy. Both of them looked at you, matching smiles on their faces and you hoped your smile was convincing as you reached out to lay a hand over theirs on the table. “You both will be wonderful. I am so proud of you.”

The next morning, after another cruel night under the shadow of your family, only continued to squeeze at your battered heart as Princess Rhaenys pulled you aside with a small smile and quietly relieved you of your duties for caring for Morning as there were “plenty” of Keepers in the Velaryons’ employ on Driftmark. “I’m sure you understand,” she said, squeezing your arm.

You nodded with your bruised heart in your throat. “Of course, my princess.”

“You have been an exemplary Keeper to my daughter and granddaughters. But I would not ask you to choose, so I have made the decision for you.”

The compliment did give you a small bit of levity as you walked to the Dragonpit to see to your duties—you were an exemplary Keeper. Morning was not set to leave for another fortnight and you still had Moondancer to care for, didn’t you?

“I’ve been given orders to tend to Moondancer,” another Keeper said before you could even question her presence in the dragon’s roost. “Were you not informed of it, my lady?”

Apparently not. “Oh, my mistake,” you muttered. “I-”

“You would have your hands full, my lady. I am happy to be selected to be Moondancer’s keeper. It is not of your station, anyway.”

What did that even mean? It echoed in your mind as you listlessly moved through the Pit, finding mundane things to do now that you were unanchored. Morning was already being tended to by the Keepers that had sailed from Driftmark. The most fulfilling thing you did was helping a few of the newer Keepers care for the clutch of eggs Dreamfyre had laid two moons ago. You were willing to bet that the eggs would eventually be given to the babes that would be born to Rhaenyra or Alicent’s children. Being this close to the majority of the royal family once again let you be privy to a fair bit of gossip. Apparently there had been rumors that Alicent and Rhaenyra were using the lull in the war to strengthen alliances within the Seven Kingdoms. Most believed it would be Aegon to be married off first.

You just hoped they were happy.

“I thought you’d be out in the valley,” one of the Keepers said as you helped them fit the last egg into the crackling fire pit to keep it warm.

You frowned as you pulled off your thick gloves, pushing them into your belt. “The valley?”

The other Keeper frowned, too. “Have they moved? Seven Hells, no one tells me anything!”

Before you could ask just what they meant, your attention was pulled by the sound of metal on stone which you knew only meant one thing: a knight had been foolish enough to come into The Pit. Had they not heard the stories of men being boiled between breastplates by dragonfire? You never cared for the noise and you knew most dragons did not either, the grating sound too sharp for their liking. But soon enough, two whitecloaks rounded the corner and set their sights on you.

They called your name and you stepped forward, expecting to be summoned to the Great Hall or one of the twins’ chambers. “Prince Aemond requests your immediate presence.”

You wordlessly let them lead you away, fully prepared to be deposited into the Great Hall of the Red Keep. Instead, you were all but hefted onto the back of a horse and moved through the city that had all but cleared out to attend the first rounds of the tourney just outside the Lion Gate. You could hear the cheers from the crowd, a dull roar muffled by distance. The knights escorting you said nothing, two silent sentinels on matching white destriers on either side of your horse. They led you through the Dragon Gate and a little further north where the start of the unnamed valley started to slope. “We take our leave of you here, my lady,” one of the knights said. “The prince waits for you below.”

All of this just felt so strange but years of keeping your mouth shut and your head down kept you from asking any questions. You urged your horse down into the valley, dismounting when you reached the shade of one of the few trees. The valley was speckled with wildflowers and dandelions, not unlike the small valley that had been your sanctuary with Vaella during your childhood. The grass was high and soft as it brushed against your legs with each step. It was beautiful and empty. Prince Aemond was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, you thought of getting back on your horse and riding away, far away, until you passed The Wall in the North and then kept going. No dragons. No family. No bruises. No lies.

Just as quickly as the thought came, it left. The dragons were your life. Whatever duties you were to be assigned, no matter how low or asinine, you would welcome them. Then, something prickled at the base of your skull and you turned your head toward the sky just in time to see the sun blotted out by a hulking, winged form. The ground shook but you hardly cared as you finally set eyes on Vhagar again. A familiar ladder was unraveled and you watched a tall man descend as you approached the old dragon. Her massive head swiveled in your direction and you could not help but smile as she rumbled in greeting. She remembered you.

“Good. You’re here.” The voice was cool and raspy. Dangerous.

“Prince Aemond?“ You asked, feeling more and more stupid by the second.

As soon as his boots hit the ground, he turned to you, long silver hair catching the wind as your heart leapt into your throat. A cruel cut was jagged and slashed down his face, only broken by the finely crafted eye patch securely fastened over it. And while it embarrassed you to even think it, you thought him... handsome. Almost excessively so. He had all the refinement of old Valyria now with a hardened edge. The type of beauty usually reserved for portraits in the books your family hoarded and never touched, smuggled from a home long ago destroyed in The Doom. The barest trace of a smile pressed at his already upturned mouth as he strode toward you. “Do not tell me you have forgotten me.”

“I-I have not, my prince. I...” You shook your head as if that would stop the improper and impossible thoughts from turning and quickly dropped into a shallow curtsey. “It has been some time, has it not?”

“Six years,” he said simply, taking another step toward you. “You have not changed in the slightest. You are just as I remember you.” His remaining eye drank you in, moving from your silver hair to the tips of your boots. And you felt every inch of his gaze.

“It seems I have been left uninformed about quite a number of things. I had not known you had claimed Vhagar.” At the sound of her name, the dragon huffed. It brought a smile to your face and you reached out to press a hand to her giant neck. “She is a worthy mount.”

The small smile the prince gave you grew by a fraction. “Yes. I’ve heard a few of the smallfolk call her Queen of the Dragons.”

“A fitting name,” you said, smile growing. With a final pat to her scales, you turned to him again. “Now, I’m assuming you are wanting my opinion on the other Keepers at the Pit to care for her, no? So, I-”

“You have been left wildly uninformed, my lady.”

The ice in his tone had you freezing. “I apologize, my prince, I-”

“Did I not say that I would have no other hands tend to my dragon?” He took a single step toward you and the instinct to run immediately rushed down your spine. The only thing keeping you still was the heat of Vhagar at your back. “You are to be in the valley from now on. I have been told your other duties have been relegated to other Keepers.”

It all slid into place, the strange dismissals, the aversion. All of it. “Everyone knew of this assignment, my prince?”

And his strange smile widened. “Of course. I thought it polite to let you finish your time with my cousins, but everyone knew you were to be mine.”

**

You slowly shifted in your seat, trying to relieve some of the ache in your back from your father’s latest rage as you clapped alongside Baela and Rhaena for the winner of that round’s joust. The tourney was nearing its end and you were dreading every second that passed. Your entire life had been turned on its axis. Being reinstated as Vhagar’s sole keeper meant you needed to live in the Capital once again. Your family’s ire and disappointment had become daily battles, only broken by your escape to the valley or by invitation by the twins to accompany them to the festivities. It was a strange and almost sad moment for you to realize that a valley had once again become your solace and safe place and it had been less than a fortnight since you’d docked.

Despite Vhagar’s immense size and age, she had always been easy to care for. Her scales kept her from harm from anything manmade. You were sure even scorpion bolts would do little more than annoy her. Holes in her wings, from battles long since relegated to story and song, did not grow in size nor hinder her flight. You kept an eye on them regardless. The most pressing of your duties was actually maintaining the saddle atop Vhagar’s back, making sure it was still safe for the prince in any and every capacity. The only trouble you ever had with Vhagar was when she ate too much, ten aurochs instead of her usual seven, and her stomach protested. It was an easy enough fix. At least for you. Some of the other keepers called you insane for coaxing the old dragon to eat a large bundle of flowers you had collected from the valley and then spending an hour or so pressing at the hardened scales of her stomach to help her ache.

It was easy for you to settle back into a routine with her. Even with Prince Aemond standing, unmoving, beneath the shade of the valley’s tree with his eyes trained on you. He liked to watch, you found. Quiet. The day you had met him for the first time in the valley had been your longest conversation with him, even when he handed you new robes and requested you wear them when attending to Vhagar, he said less. The clothes were finely made, of course, and had the same treatment as your other Keeper robes to keep the heat and any accidental flames from burning too quickly...not that it would be of any use against Vhagar’s flames, but you still appreciated it. What gave you pause, however, was the strange crest stitched over the heart. It was the standard Targaryen crest except it was in an unmistakable shade of blue. Deep and bright. It was Aemond’s personal rendition of the signal, his personal coat of arms. You caught him looking at it a handful of times when you told him that you needed this or that for Vhagar, a strange gleam in his eye. But you would take his strange looks and almost unnerving quiet over your family any day. Every day. You learned that the whispers of him brokering alliances in Essos alongside Prince Daemon had been correct—and that was how he’d lost an eye. An overpaid assassin had come at him in the dark of his bedchambers in Qohor and had not expected the younger prince to be so adept at defending himself. For better or for worse, the blood spilt had gained Qohor’s favor and Aemond had allowed the mages of that city to work their strange magick on his face to keep the injury from hurting him as time went on. There were also whispers that the night the assassin came was the night Aemond had claimed Vhagar. “She could smell the dragon blood in ‘im,” one of the smallfolk had said, voice carrying across the stalls of food and linen of the early morning market just a few days ago. Was that true?

“You are fidgeting more than little Viserys.”

You immediately stopped your obvious poor attempt at moving discreetly and sighed, ignoring how Baela was looking at you. “Apologies, my lady.”

Baela sighed, shaking her head. “You have nothing to apologize for. I simply wish to know what has you so agitated.”

“Tis nothing. I think I am simply nervous about the feast tonight.”

At the mention of the feast, the last of the name day celebrations for the King, Rhaena leaned around her sister with a broad smile to look at you. ”You are finally coming? You have missed all the others.”

That was true. Every night after you finished your duties, you were all but summoned back to your parents’ manse, once again trapped within the walls of your family. But apparently, tonight they deemed you “enough” to be seen in such a public arena. Or perhaps they’d tired of the questions about your whereabouts and thought the last event would calm them.

You weren’t even sure if you wanted to attend. It had been too long since you’d been invited to anything of this level of pomp and pageantry and you were certain you’d either have absolutely no fun or you’d make an idiotic spectacle of yourself if you did manage to find a bit of frivolity in it all.

After promising the twins that you would save them a dance at the feast after the tourney’s jousting finished, you excused yourself, knowing you were expected back at your family’s manse sooner rather than later. It was almost a miracle that they’d let you attend this portion of the tourney anyway after learning that Prince Aemond had dismissed you for the day after his morning flight.

“I will see you this evening, my lady.” He had said it with such certainty that you didn’t even try to argue that he’d be much too involved with other guests to even notice you, so you simply agreed and thanked him again for the time away from your duties.

The trek back to the manse was short, much to your dismay, but you straightened your shoulders as you were let inside and heard your mother chattering away with one of the other highborn ladies of court in the solar. Just for a moment, you thought you could go upstairs to your chambers, unnoticed by anyone.

“Ah, there you are. You’re late.”

But the hope was all for naught. You turned and greeted the other woman at your mother’s side after dipping your head toward your mother. “Is there something you need of me, Mother?”

Your mother gave a tittering laugh and she pointed at a rumpled bit of cloth draped over an opened box near the end of the settee in the corner of the room. You moved toward it, pulling away the fabric that must have served as a wrapping for the box, and opened it to reveal a gown. Inky black damask fabric was lined with the deepest blue beads you’d ever beheld, stitched carefully to detail a three headed dragon over the breast. Crimson hued eyes were looped on each, twinkling in the dying sunlight spilling in through the open windows. The cut would show off your shoulders and the curve of your neck, dipping only slightly between your breasts, while your arms would only be slightly covered by loops of more black fabric, cut loose to give you freedom of movement. Simply put, it was gorgeous.

As you pulled it fully from the box, you noticed a small bit of parchment tucked into the folds of the skirt. You retrieved it, careful to have the dress’ bodice lay over your arm to avoid wrinkles, and unfolded it. A small token of my gratitude. The small note was not signed but there was only one person you knew it could be. A blue dragon. Gratitude. He didn’t owe you gratitude.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” The woman at your mother’s side said with a dreamy sigh.

“Yes, it is,” you murmured. After all, there was no way you could deny it. The gown was exquisite. You would need to speak to the prince about this. It wasn’t necessary. “I-”

“I was telling Lady Webber that we’ve decided that I will wear that gown to tonight’s feast,” your mother said, a smile on her face.

“But…” The rebuttal died on your tongue as you looked at your mother’s growing smile and the unknowing look on Lady Webber’s face. This was a trick. Your mother knew you wouldn’t refuse her in front of company because the consequences would be catastrophic. So, you pushed a smile to your face and nodded, swallowing your pride and argument. “Of course. And I know she’ll look radiant as always.”

Your mother’s chin tipped up, pleased. “I’ll have one of the maids bring Vaella’s gold gown for you.”

You nodded again. The gown was beautiful but nothing like the one you held now. But still, you carefully folded it back into the box and took your leave, hiding the note between your fingers as you trudged back to your chambers and tried to keep your head held high. Letting them know they had won by crying or screaming or pouting wasn’t an option. You weren’t a child anymore.

Handmaidens eventually filed into your room and lathed you with oils that made your skin soft and made you smell like the roses that were growing outside the manse’s walls. They tightened the corset on the back of the gown until you winced and only then gave a final tug to finish, saying, “the lady of the house said you are to look your best.” They then made sure you had a dainty gold necklace around your throat, golden dragon pendant falling just above your cleavage, to finish the look after you slipped into the soft soled shoes Vaella had left behind alongside the gown. You did look beautiful. There was no denying that—there was also no denying that this gown held no candle to the one Prince Aemond had sent. And you could not forget that the necklace around your neck had been discarded by your mother years ago for being out of fashion in her mind. Your family wouldn’t have you looking like a lowborn beggar, but that did not mean they would ever allow you to shine on your own. You just hoped Prince Aemond would not be insulted. But, again, you knew he’d be too busy to notice anyway.

But it was fine. This was what you grew up with—this is what you knew how to survive. This was them being almost kind. It was a kindness that they did not remark on your poor posture on the carriage ride up to the Red Keep as the setting sun started to bleed red over the city. Your family was announced as you walked in and your parents hissed for you to behave yourself, “don’t embarrass us more than you already do,” before getting swept away by their friends to enjoy the festivities. Rhogar quickly fled your side, too.

You managed to find a seat near the doors and the others at the table greeted you politely but largely kept to their own conversations as you picked at the food in front of you. Large crowds like this always made you nervous. Mayhaps that was why you’d never found a husband. As promised, you danced with both Rhaena and Baela but when you saw Prince Jacaerys walking toward his betrothed, intent on a dance of his own, and Rhaena had tugged at your sleeve and nervously asked if she looked all right when she spotted Lord Corwyn Corbray walking toward her, you assured her that she was beautiful, and quietly excused yourself back to your seat and another few bites of dinner.

You glanced up at the head table, unsurprised to see it filled with silver haired royals. Of course, Rhaenyra’s sons inherited their father’s dark curls, and Alicent’s auburn tresses were as beautiful as ever, but it was still silver silver silver as far as the eye could see. But there was one silver-haired prince missing from the table: Aemond was nowhere to be seen.

But you hardly had the time to think of his absence when Rhaenyra’s carefully braided hair almost seemed to sparkle in the torchlight as she and Alicent stood, each with a golden goblet in hand. A hush quickly blanketed the crowd.

“We thank you all for joining us tonight as we celebrate my father, the king’s, nameday. It has been a trying few years so to be able to come together like this is a blessing from the Seven themselves.” The crowd cheered, raising their goblets in response. “And we have more to celebrate.”

Rhaenyra looked to Alicent who was smiling softly at the princess, her goblet curled close to her chest. Rhaenyra whispered something to her, a matching sweetness in her gaze, before Alicent nodded and raised her goblet higher and you heard the crowd around you murmur, trying to discern what she was about to say. “It is my honor and privilege to announce that all of Westeros will be unified with the marriage of Prince Aegon to Prince Qoren’s heir, Princess Aliandra Martell.”

The crowd erupted in applause and, as if on cue, the doors beside the head table opened and orange and gold spilled out into the hall and a Dornish delegation swept in, headed by a man you assumed to be Prince Qoren Martell. At his side was a stunning woman, draped in similar gold and yellow with a golden headpiece fashioned to look like the sun settled over her dark hair—that must be Princess Aliandra. Prince Aegon rose from his seat and walked to Aliandra’s side and dipped his head before holding out his hand for her to take. She readily did and preened as he kissed her fingers.

The crowd cheered again and room was made at the tables for the Dornish company to join the feast as Qoren and Aliandra were given seats at the head table. King Viserys stood and welcomed Qoren himself before they sat beside each other. It was only then that Aemond reclaimed his seat on his mother’s right, leaning to the side only slightly to murmur something in Helaena’s ear which coaxed a small smile from her.

But it seemed that the announcements were not finished as Rhaenyra and Alicent still stood. Again, Alicent raised her goblet, “And I am blessed to announce that Princess Helaena and Lord Stark will be married, joining the houses of ice and fire!”

The crowd erupted, again, and you watched as Helaena stood while Cregan Stark moved through the crowds and up to her side. An adorable pink had settled on both their cheeks and you weren’t sure if anyone else would notice, but Cregan slowly held out a hand toward her, low and mostly hidden, and Helaena took it, curling her fingers over his. That simple bit of affection had your heart leaping. You knew Princess Helaena had an aversion to most forms of touch, so to see her happily accepting his hand was beautiful. The men of the North were known to be loyal and devoted—the look on Cregan’s rugged features made it seem as if he were already besotted—and that was what Helaena deserved, the gentle princess who always spared a kind word whenever you crossed paths in the Pit.

You joined in the raucous applause and raised your goblet along with the rest of the crowd before Viserys stood again and announced that Aegon and Helaena would take the first dance of the night with their betrothed and soon the hall was filled with music. Aliandra and Aegon were a swirl of black and yellow fabric as they turned about the floor, a command of the dance. Cregan and Helaena were more content to take up less room and smile at each other as they moved through the steps. It was entertaining to see how vastly different the couples were, but you thought it suited them.

Soon the floor was filled with more couples as one song bled into the next and then the next. You had no girlish hope that you’d be asked to accompany someone for a turn about the floor, so you happily took advantage of the extra room at your table and let your posture fall from its rigid line and indulged in a few more bits of cake, too.

Rhaenyra danced with her sons and Ser Harwin. Alicent was swept out onto the floor by Prince Daeron. There was love there. In that large, powerful family. Ser Harwin eventually took Helaena for a spin around the floor, making her laugh, as the Princess and the Queen regained their seats at the head table. You watched them between bites of cake. They bent their heads toward each other, whispering for only the other to hear with smiles on their painted lips.

They may both be married and they may love their spouses, but you knew there was something special, something other, between them. Something that usually only existed in song and story. Just for a moment, you wondered if anyone would ever look at you like the Princess was gazing at the Queen. You wondered if anyone would ever hold you like how the Queen was tugging at the Princess’ wrists, pulling her close, like you were something to be treasured, protected.

Probably not.

“My lady.”

You nearly dropped the piece of cake you were trying to bite. Turning in your seat, you saw Prince Aemond standing behind you, hands neatly folded behind his back. His purple gaze dragged across your face as you stood and curtseyed, hoping you didn’t have any cake smeared on your lips. “Prince Aemond.”

Without a word, he curled his fingers and turned, ordering you to follow him into the shadows behind one of the many pillars of the hall. You nearly slammed not his back when he suddenly stopped before turning to you again, close enough for you to feel each of his breaths against your hair and surround you in his scent of cold mint and dragon, tinged with steel. His thin lips were set in an even thinner line as he reached out and touched the edge of your golden sleeve before you had the chance to step back. “Was the gown I sent not to your liking?”

Your heart dropped to your knees and you resisted the urge to curl into yourself, as if you could hide your dress from him. “I…I adored it, actually. It is the most beautiful gown I’ve ever beheld. But, my mother requested it for tonight’s feast. And,” you cleared your throat, trying to pass the lump growing behind your teeth. It always felt wrong to speak of your family so kindly. And it felt wrong to lie to Aemond who had only been trying to treat you kindly. Hadn’t he? “And who am I to refuse my mother anything?”

But some small voice at the back of your mind was whispering that you needed to apologize and make sure it never happened again, for both your sakes. “I am truly sorry if you feel as if I have slighted you. It was never my intention and never will be.” You paused and tried not to recoil when Aemond’s gaze did not waver from your face. “I would not be comfortable accepting such a fine gift again,” you added, keeping your voice low. “I would not have you debasing yourself in any way-”

The words stalled on your tongue when his fingers skimmed up your arm before sliding across the ridge of your collarbone to pluck at the golden chain of your necklace. He pulled until the golden dragon pendant rested in his palm. “I will give you anything I deem suitable.” Then, before you could do anything, his hand closed over the pendant and he yanked. The clasp snapped against your skin and the rest of the necklace fell slack, broken. He pocketed the necklace before reaching into the finely constructed doublet stretched over his chest and pulled out a small silver chain. A necklace. Even in the dim light, you saw that it was finely crafted, its twisted rings braided together delicately. And, at the very bottom was a charm of a dandelion, no bigger than the nail on your forefinger. And Aemond was quick to fasten around your neck, long fingers sliding over your pulse and tapping—just once—against the vertebrae just beneath the base of your skull. “It’s perfect.”

The metal, warmed by being tucked so closely to his skin, was almost scalding. The dandelion charm slipped beneath the edge of your gown and hung between your breasts. Against your heart. “Th-thank you. But, I don’t feel as if I can accept it.”

“But you will,” he said, lilac eye burning into yours. “I had it fashioned in Qohor.” He whispered it like a secret.

“I…” What could you possibly say to that? Questions upon questions started to storm through your mind but the only thing you could say was an unsteady, “you were in Qohor ages ago, my prince.”

“I was.” Then he reached out his hand. “Dance with me.” His tone broached no argument. But didn’t you owe him that much? He’d sent you a gown that you didn’t wear. You’d once again tried to refuse a gift from him. This wasn’t…this didn’t feel right. You were just a Keeper. He was a prince. You’d overstepped with Lady Laena but that had felt different, almost reciprocal, in your affections for each other but you were always aware that you were a servant of sorts, no matter your highborn status and Valyrian bloodline. This didn’t feel like that…this felt different.

You couldn’t say no.

You placed your shaking hand in his and let him lead you out toward the dancing masses. You watched the crowd part for him as you took your places off toward the side as the next song began. Eyes were crawling all over you. You could feel them. The answering whispers sounded like a buzzing fly behind your ear but you could not discern what they were saying—not when Aemond looked at you, even as your hands dropped for a moment. You were quick to wipe your sweaty palms on your gown as the song began. The dance was fairly simple, one Vaella had drilled into you during your childhood, but as Aemond reached for you, long, roughened fingers curling over yours, you nearly forgot the steps. If he noticed your fluster, Aemond didn’t say anything, continuing to lead you through the dance with all the grace princes of your childhood stories possessed. As you spun beneath his arm, his other hand sliding along your waist, you tried to steady your heart with little success, his fingers searing through your gown to brand your skin. As he pulled you closer as the dance intended, your eyes shot to the long expanse of pale skin of his throat.

“Are you going to speak or should I be content with your silence?” He asked, voice low enough just for you to hear.

The barb stung and you tried to not flinch when he pulled you closer and then urged you backward in time with the song. “What would you have me say, my prince? I am sure I would bore you with my stories of my time in the Pit or on Dragonstone.”

“Will you not let me be the judge of my own feelings, my lady? Or will you rob me of that, too?”

“What have I robbed from you, my prince? If I have offended-”

“Offended? My lady, you have done more than offend me.”

Aemond’s grip on your hands tightened when you tried to pull back, continuing to drag you along in the dance. “I am sorry, my prince,” you whispered, the words cracking on your throat. “I did not know that my mother would take your gift. She is…she takes everything she wants from me.” You hated the words coming out of your mouth, hating how weak you sounded. “I never-”

Aemond yanked you to a stop, your chest colliding with his with each hurried breath you took. The song continued on, the couples dancing beside you were a blur of colors at the periphery but all you saw was Aemond’s light eye staring down at you as he leaned closer, wrapping his arm around your back to drag you ever closer, your other hand pinned with his between your chests. “Is that what you think? That a gown has soured your presence for me?”

Your brows furrowed as you tried to understand what he was saying over the roaring of blood in your ears. All of this was inappropriate. All of this was near scandalous. All of this was Aemond.

And, just for a moment, it was silent between you, only buffeted by the music continuing to play. “You alone have consumed my thoughts. For years.”

That didn’t make any sense but you still let him push and pull you through the next few steps as you tried to understand what he was saying. “If my presence has caused you discomfort, I shall remove myself from your employ, I swear to you. It was never my inten-”

The hand that had been holding yours swept to your face and his calloused thumb pressed against your bottom lip, robbing you of your thoughts and stalling the words on your tongue. The heat of him was near scalding, even through his leather and your fine gown, enveloping you, surrounding you, like a dragon’s fire.

He hummed, pausing for a moment to think—he always chose his words carefully. “No. No, my dandelion, you will not rob me of your presence. I have waited too long for this.” He pulled in a low breath, like he was trying to restrain himself. “I shall see you tomorrow after your duties finish. I expect you do not need reminding as to where, yes?” He asked, nearly demeaning.

You shook your head, his thumb sliding across your lip and heat burning your throat.

He hummed, again, and leaned down a little further, just enough for his breath to bloom across your parted mouth before he stepped back just as the song finished. He clapped along with the other dancers for the minstrels, never once taking his eye off you. He grabbed your hand and pressed a firm kiss to the back of your fingers before turning and walking away without a word.

It was not until you were home again, hours later, that you realized he’d called you my dandelion and your neck had bled from where he’d snapped your necklace.

**

How does one say no to a prince and keep their head?

Trick question: you don’t.

It had been nearly a moon since the feast and the dance you’d shared with Aemond. While he continued his silent watching as you tended to Vhagar, he would usurp any time you might have had to yourself. He had luncheon brought out to the valley. He would have you take tea with him and Helaena in the gardens if Vhagar decided she needn’t be tended to that day, searching for sharks to eat out of Blackwater Bay. He’d have you climb up into Vhagar’s saddle as they landed to see something that he thought needed tending to or mending. (And while he never moved to touch you, he burned like a fire at your back as you worked.) He had you inspect the hatchlings’ nests to make sure they were properly cared for (as he loomed behind you). He did the same with the clutches of eggs kept within the Pit as well.

It soon became something of a common occurrence for you to be “accompanied” by the Prince to the Dragonpit. While most of the Keepers took it in stride, having trusted you in the past, your brother once ground his teeth so hard as you halfheartedly looked over the chains on Sunfyre that you could’ve sworn you heard one of his molars crack.

And when Aemond asked why your eye was swollen shut the next day, you knew he didn’t believe you when you said you’d fallen off your mother’s horse. But you never denied him anything else. Anything he asked of you, you gave. That was what you were raised to do. Loyal to no one but the Targaryens and their dragons. If Aemond felt the need to investigate, he never gave you any indication other than a soft hmm rumbling in his throat.

You told yourself that you should be thankful the prince was doting on you so. If his strange affections at the feast had been any indication that he felt more for you (which was preposterous–you were nearly ten namedays his elder!), he had not acted on them other than the infrequent murmurings of the nickname My Dandelion. The heat you had felt vanished the moment he stepped away. The only habit of his you could not truly comprehend was his nickname for you.

Lucky. Yes, that was what you were, to know he appreciated your care of Vhagar. He cared enough to essentially install you as the overseer of the Keepers. Or perhaps it was making sure that the gold you were paid was being earned and he felt the need to give you extra duties as Vhagar was fairly easy to keep appeased. Lady Laena had doted on you as well, hadn’t she? Of course, her affections had been overtly platonic and familial, and Aemond’s were decidedly not in some instances. But there was no way you had garnered his attention in that way. How many times had you been told by your parents and brother that no one would ever want you in that way?

You scratched at your chin, trying to ignore your racing thoughts as the sky was starting to bleed an inky purple. It was the first light of dawn and you had hoped to check on the hatchlings before Aemond took his morning flight. One of the other Keepers had mentioned that two of the smallest dragons had been fighting and some blood had been spilled. While dragons were largely hard to kill, they were still not immortal, especially when they were so young. You’d wanted to make sure there hadn’t been any infection in the wounds and to see if you could settle them separately.

You heard whispers from the smallfolk as you passed. Whispers of the Targaryen madness, whispers of their dragons being an abomination to the Seven, whispers of how Rhaenyra would never be a suitable queen, whispers of the crown inching closer to the Old Gods instead of the Seven with the betrothal between Helaena and Cregan. Or how the blasphemous, bloody gods of the Rhoynar would come to usurp the Seven because of the match between Aegon and Aliandra. And you wished this had been the first time you had been privy to such whispers, but only having taken true notice of them a fortnight ago.

Whispers.

Whispers.

Whispers.

They unnerved you. They weren’t…right. You heard them too often to be idle gossip and too outwardly for them to be a true passing thought. Something or someone had come to King’s Landing and had started the whispers. Purposefully.

The whispers came to a head as you hurried toward the Pit. A crowd had assembled, far larger than you’d ever seen this early in the morning, filling the street to near capacity, all of them looking toward one man that stood atop the edge of a fountain, proselytizing. He was missing one of his hands and was wearing roughhewn clothes. His unkempt, grey beard swayed with each exaggerated word that spilled from between his half-rotted teeth.

“These Dragon Filth will lead us all into ruin! Think of your families! Think of your eternal souls!”

The words themselves had your blood turning to ice in your veins but it was the answering, near-gleeful shouts that had you running. And, as if on cue, you heard the crowd turn and start to follow.

You nearly fell through the Pit’s open floors as you careened by the guards stationed near the doors, shrieking at them to be ready, that an attack was coming. But you scarcely heard if they replied as you sprinted down, down, down. You undid the chains on Dreamfyre first, screaming at her to flee, to fly. Her dark eyes nearly blazed as she looked at you before she tore past you with a roar, stretching out her wings as soon as she was able. Screams from the crowd were nearly musical as you set about freeing Vermax, Syrax, and Arrax next.

“Go! Fly!”

The thundering footsteps of the crowd were growing closer. You could hear the scrape of swords being unsheathed, of axes battering against the door or sliding against the stone floor. They were coming.

Just as you were reaching for Sunfyre’s chains you were yanked back by a rough hand grabbing at the back of your tunic. You were thrown to the ground with a scream that quickly died as your skull bounced against the stone.

A man you didn’t recognize loomed above you with a rusted sword in hand. “Dragon filth!” He raised his foot and stomped it down onto your stomach twice before you could even try to move or defend yourself but you were able to grab his ankle and roll as he went to do it again. You felt his bones twist and break beneath your fingers as he screamed and you stood, your ribs protesting. A flurry of movement to your right had you screaming, matching the scream Sunfyre let out, snapping his chains before he let out a bellow of fire just as you ducked, reducing his attackers to charred flesh and bone in moments before spreading his wings and taking flight. You scurried out of the roost and toward the next, knowing that was where the hatchlings were kept, and your heart plummeted as you heard the sounds coming from within.

The hatchlings were screaming—dying. You threw open the door to see two men hacking away at the nest, their daggers bloody.

“Stop!” You wailed, throwing yourself forward and catching one of the men’s arms. Wrestling for control of his dagger was a short affair as the other man’s fist quickly connected with your cheek and nearly took you from your feet again. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t give up. Not when you could still hear the little dragons crying for help. You lurched toward the nest and managed to curl your hand around one of the small dragons before you screamed, a dagger thrust through the meat of your forearm. But still you curled toward the nest, trying to keep them safe—if you could just save them-!

Blood coated your tongue as you picked up the dragons and you barely had the wherewithal to look down to see the handle of another dagger buried into your side as the men beside you called you a “dragon’s whore!” and a “demon’s servant!” Your knees knocked together as the dagger was pulled from your side and you clutched desperately to the hatchlings as you teetered backward, heartbeat roaring in your ears, but they were cruelly ripped away from you.

For the second time, you hit the stone floor and a heavy boot collided with your cheek as a final cry came from the nest. Just as your vision started to blur, you saw the roof of the Pit shake, raining down stone and dust. There was a thunderous roar that you could feel in your marrow just before the world went dark.

**

The world swam back into focus slowly, in a swirl of creams and blacks and reds. It took you a moment to realize you were in one of the many chambers inside the Red Keep, carefully propped up against a small mountain of pillows with a blanket across your waist, embroidered with a familiar three headed dragon in black thread that shimmered like gems in the muted sunlight, seeping into the room from around the edge of a heavy curtain. You only had a moment to appreciate the fine furnishing before a stab of pain which seemed to pop and fizzle across every inch of your body had you wincing, eyes clamping shut as you bit your lip to keep your whimper quiet.

That’s what you knew how to do. Stifle your noises. Make yourself silent. It always helped. And you could not stop the flinch which shot through you when someone’s hand settled on your shoulder.

“Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to scare you!” The Septa at your side squeaked as she yanked back her hand.

Your eyes opened again and you had to breathe through the sudden nausea that rushed over you in a wave. “N…no apology necessary.”

“I will call for the Maester. And I believe your family has been waiting to see you, shall I let them in?”

Before you could answer–a polite but firm no–the door opened and your parents and brother stormed into the room. You briefly saw a handful of handmaidens trying to keep them back before the door was firmly shut behind them. Your mother burst into tears at the sight of you, fat droplets falling down her cheeks, before all but hurling herself toward you with a cry of, “oh, my daughter!”

You bit back a yelp when her hands, covered in rings, grabbed at your arms, poking and prodding at you as her touch moved higher and higher until she was grasping at your face. If she noticed your wince when her nail scratched against what could only be broken skin, she didn’t reveal it nor did she pull back.

“My lady,” the septa started gently, rising from her seat, “the maester said-”

“I do not care what that old man has said!” She screeched, nails biting into your skin for a moment. “My daughter has been…” The rest of what she was going to say, and you were sure it was going to be quite the show, was drowned out as more tears spilled and she shook her head.

You’d only seen your mother like this once before. It was when Vaella was getting married. Of course, those were supposed to be happy tears; she was sure to cause a scene so more people looked at her than at the bride. It was all a show. Crocodile tears dabbed away with a silk kerchief. Fanning her face. Whispering to anyone who would listen that she was the mother.

Despite the throbbing of each of your limbs and the stabbing pain behind your eyes, you looked to see your father and Rhogar standing beside the bed, doing their best to look concerned as the Septa walked out of the room. If you were an outsider, you may have believed their pantomime. But you knew. They didn’t care. All of this? All of it was for show for anyone who was watching. They were the distressed family of the person being cared for by the royals.

Your father stepped to yourself and pressed a flat, unmoving hand against your shoulder, a frown tugging at the sides of his mouth. “How are you faring? You look ghastly.”

“You look like you have nearly-single-handedly saved the Targaryen dynasty from an immeasurable loss.”

Everyone in the room turned to see Aemond stride in, shoulders back and eye entirely focused on you. Your family was quick to curtsey or bow and then shuffle back to make way for him to step to your side. Aemond paid them no mind before he cupped your face. His grip was surer as he touched you, almost familiar. The touch of his thumb skirting across one of your many slow-healing bruises had you shivering, or perhaps that was the way his light eye was focused entirely on you.

“You are healing well, my lady,” he said quietly, just as his finger looped around the necklace still at your throat, pulling the dandelion charm out from under the chemise (which was definitely not yours) you were wearing.

That same, strange heat started to smolder in your stomach as you looked at him, watching that small smile you saw so infrequently start to push at his lips. But now was not the time to ponder that–after all, it could just be a bit of nausea–as you had other, more pressing, concerns. “The hatchlings, my prince, did they-”

“You saved all you could, my lady.”

That meant some had died. Hot, angry tears immediately stung your eyes as you shook your head, only exacerbating the pain radiating across your body. “How many? H-how many of the little ones-”

Aemond moved to grasp at your hands, gently, softly, as he shook his head. “You need not worry about that now. They will be avenged.”

“We apologize for her childish tears, my prince,” your mother said, voice pulling you away from the prince’s gaze. Her comment only made the tears burn hotter as you tried to blink them away. Shouldn’t you know better? Tears gained you nothing. Tears changed nothing.

“They are not childish,” the prince said, still not turning to give them a glance. “She mourns with my family.”

The Septa swept in again and cleared her throat, thick eyebrow arching high enough to disappear into her habit as she looked at your mother for just a moment, before curtseying in Aemond’s direction. “The maester has been summoned, my prince.”

The prince nodded but did not move from his place at your side, long fingers sweeping lightly over the bandages you saw over your arm and then brushing against your temple.

“We are grateful you have extended your family’s maesters and healers for her care, my prince,” your father said as he stepped forward.

“As I said,” Aemond started, not pulling away from you at all, not moving his gaze from your face, “House Targaryen owes her a great debt. It would be in poor taste for her not to receive the finest care this land offers.”

Everything burned. The skin he touched, his minted breath against your lips, his unrelenting gaze on you. It burned. For better or not, you could not tell. All it was, was consuming.

“If we may, my prince,” Rhogar said, voice low, almost shaking as he spoke for the first time since coming into your temporary chambers ears, “I know my sister would be well rested in her own bed. We can never repay your House’s kindness-”

It was only then that Aemond looked away from you, dropping his hand to his side. “I would not have my lady withdrawn from her chambers until she has fully recovered.”

“We understand the debt you feel you must repay, my prince.” Now it was your mother’s turn to try, once again dabbing at her damp cheeks with her kerchief. “But it is unnecessary. We know she is but a guest here. We would not repay one debt with another for her care.”

“Tell him,” your mother said through gritted teeth, varnished smile starting to wane. “Tell him you do not need to be coddled so!”

There would be hell to pay if you didn’t. Your mouth opened and-

But Aemond simply waved his hand, a flick of the wrist as if he were batting away a gnat. “I will hear nothing of it. The Queen and Princess Rhaenyra both have ordered daily reports on her health.”

“We understand that, my prince.” Your father argued, tone low and placating, as his own periwinkle eyes bored into the Prince. “But we have been kept from my daughter’s side since the attack. She belongs with her family-”

“She belongs here.” Aemond’s tone was cold, broaching no argument. It was the tone of a king. The tone of a dragonrider. And why did something twist behind your ribs at the sound of it? Or was it because his simple sentence had your family looking as if they’d all been collectively slapped. Your mother’s mouth dropped and you saw your brother look to her, questions in his eyes, before they both turned to your father.

“The maester is due shortly. I would advise you all make your goodbyes now and I will have word sent when it is suitable for you to come again.”

After a stretched silence, your mother came first, pressing a too firm kiss to your temple and whispering a rushed, “do not embarrass us,” into your ear before stepping back. Rhogar was next, each of them murmuring his best wishes into your cheek just loud enough for Aemond to hear but not convincingly in the slightest. Your father was last, taking your hands in his in a strong grip that had you wincing, heat rippling up your arm to burrow beneath the bandage where you were certain dozens of sutures were holding your skin together. The look in his eyes had you instinctively trying to pull back, out of his hold, but he held firm.

You knew that look well. Too well. It had been the face of your nightmares since you could dream.

“Daughter mine, I trust you will-”

His words, threats or otherwise, were drowned out by the door opening and the maester being brought in, a flurry of other healers behind him. Aemond stood back, spine pressed against the wall as you were looked over, poked, and prodded. You learned that your stab wounds were healing well, possibly aided by the three days you spent unconscious. “You didn’t move at all!” The maester said with a smile. He also said that he would leave Milk of the Poppy at your bedside to help with any residual pains you were bound to have and that he would come back after dinner to check the mobility of your arm.

It was only when he and his entourage were finished that you noticed Aemond had not left the room at all during the commotion. He stood sentinel near the door, arms crossed over his chest. And, as the chamber door closed softly behind the last of the parade of maesters, you were left alone with him. Again.

A nervous tickle started to grow at the back of your throat and you tried to will it away, head a little lighter thanks to the few drops of Milk of the Poppy you’d been given beneath your tongue a few moments ago, as you awkwardly tried to push yourself higher onto the pillows with only one arm when he started to walk toward you. The effort was only marginally successful and a sharp pain from your side nearly buckled your uninjured arm anyway. By the time you settled again, you were strangely out of breath. But still, you knew you had to say something. “I am once again in your debt, my prince.”

“There is no debt. I would do it a thousand times over, Dandelion.” He then looked you over, something you couldn’t place in his eye, a look you’d seen a dozen times before and couldn’t name. “I will have the handmaidens tend to you before the maester comes again. Dinner will also be delivered. I am assuming you still like the honeyed chicken and carrots.” It wasn’t a question and the prince didn’t give you time to say otherwise before striding out of the room as a gaggle of handmaidens—who you knew usually tended to Queen Alicent—streamed in. They were quick as they helped you move from the bed with delicate, careful movements.

A shining tub was hauled in soon after and filled with steaming water. And, even when the group of handmaidens squawked about waiting for the water to cool a little, you were quick to submerge yourself in it, only relaxing when you were enveloped and sunk down until the water hit your chin. They eventually sat at your side and scrubbed you clean, mindful of your injuries, and added rose oil to the water and massaged more of it into your damp skin.

And while they seemed to be content to work in silence, you had to ask, the question pressing on your tongue like salt, “what happened?”

“Oh, it is just the most wondrous story,” one of the handmaidens said, punctuated with a dreamy sigh. “The prince himself carried you out of the Pit and flew you across the city on Vhagar to the Red Keep where he demanded the maester see to you immediately.”

“It was fit for song,” another handmaiden said. “I would not be surprised if artisans use the scene of him standing amongst the rubble and blood and fire for their finest paintings for years to come.”

“Prince Daeron has already commissioned a tapestry of it to be made.”

An embarrassed heat started to claw at the back of your throat as they continued to chatter away, only stopping their recounting of the Storming of the Dragonpit (as you learned the attack had been dubbed by the city) to sigh, wistfully. They eventually helped you out of the tub and into a silk robe with a blue, three-headed dragon stitched over the heart, just the same as your Keeper robes. Aemond’s sigil.

“But, what happened?” You asked again, ignoring the strange swooping feeling in your stomach. “Who were they? Why?”

One of the handmaidens gave a tittering laugh. “Oh, Sevens. Please excuse us, my lady. We thought you would want to know who rescued you, but of course you would want to know who nearly killed you! The Shepherd—that rag-covered old man—was a zealot who the Triarchy paid to come to King’s Landing. He believed he was doing the Seven’s work. But they knew he would simply cause a riot—apparently he’d already done so in Lys and they offered him freedom in exchange for listening to how King’s Landing was ‘in desperate need of his teachings.’”

The revelation left something aching behind her ribs. While the Triarchy may have been outmatched before, striking at the heart of the Targaryen dynasty’s power was a well calculated and cruel move. Truthfully, you cared only for the fate of the dragons.

The handmaidens eventually helped you back into bed after the maester deemed the mobility of your injured arm as “suitable.” He also made the passing comment that your “womanly duties” would not be affected by the wound on your side, nor the repeated kicks you had sustained to your stomach. “But you may want to hurry it along. You are far past the age of majority, my lady.”

And with that unhappy reminder, you slept fretfully despite your belly being full of your favorite foods and being surrounded by the finest bedding gold could buy. You woke the next morning before the sun, wounds aching, and let a few drops of Milk of the Poppy pool beneath your tongue. Your head swam unpleasantly almost immediately, like undercooked meat in unsalted broth, but your veins no longer felt serrated after a few moments. And it seemed it was almost fortuitous as you didn’t particularly feel embarrassed when the handmaidens came again and helped you into a gown you passively did not recognize and gave you a cheese filled pastry to eat as they guided you through the winding halls of the Red Keep. It did little to settle your sloshing mind and actually seemed to make you feel nauseous the more you ate.

“Where are we going?” You finally asked, essentially shoving the half-eaten pastry into the hand of the nearest handmaiden as your stomach gave an impressive lurch.

“The Prince has asked for your presence on the steps outside the Keep.”

Well, that didn’t answer anything and your next step had your side lighting up with a sharp pain. You gritted your teeth as they continued to lead you forward and through the winding Keep and its halls and courtyards until you were gently ushered outside. Kingsguard were set out in three lines on either side, flanking the steps, their armor shining in the growing sunlight. At the center stood Aemond, sunlight framing him in a glow so bright you had to shield your eyes for a moment.

“She has arrived, my prince,” one of the knights said, taking a step to the prince’s side.

Instantly, Aemond turned and set his eye on you and moved to grasp at your hands, pulling you forward to stand at the edge of the top step. The sudden movement had your stomach rolling and your eyes shuttered. “It is good to see in the sunlight, my lady.”

“I…” The words you wanted to say were heavy on your tongue, tangling behind your teeth. “My prince, what do you need of me today? Is Vhagar-”

“Vhagar is happily roosting in our valley. She only settled once I learned of your prognosis. I shall have you back at my side shortly, where you belong.”

You heard him step to your back, his scorching heat bleeding through your gown, and nearly jumped as one of his hands settled on your hip and you could feel his next exhale against your ear. Your stomach rolled again and your breath was ragged in your throat. You needed to sit down. Needed more Milk of the Poppy. The stabbing pain in your side started to splinter out toward all of your extremities and the swimming of your mind was growing more pronounced. “My prince…”

“Keep your eyes open, Dandelion,” he prodded. “I’ve kept him alive just long enough for you to see him die. All of them.”

His words had you frowning. Who? You opened your eyes and looked out, nearly retching at the sight of it all. From the steps of the Red Keep and down into the city, all of the Shepherd’s men were tied to posts. They looked haggard and hungry. Bloody and bruised. As you pulled in a breath to try to steady yourself, all you could smell was pitch. There were puddles of it beneath the feet of each man.

“What are you doing?”

Aemond hummed. “Dragon fire would reduce the city to ash. Uncle Daemon suggested a substitute.” He grabbed a torch from one of the knights and held it in front of you as he kept his post at your back. “Light the first.”

“I-I cannot, my prince. It is the King’s justice, not mine.” And could you kill a man? Truly?

“You saved the Targaryen dynasty from ruin and nearly lost your life in the process. The King, the Queen, my sister, they all know you have saved us. Protected our dragons at the cost of your blood.” The hand on your hip skimmed up your side, thankfully light in his touch over your covered sutures, to trail up and over your shoulder blade and to the delicate bit of skin hiding your rapidly beating pulse. “You deserve vengeance, my Dandelion. Let the world burn for the blood you spilt, just as our ancestors demanded in Valyria.” Aemond paused and the roughened pads of his fingers pressed into the base of your skull, an oddly soothing pressure. “Consider it a betrothal gift.” He then reached around you and made sure you curled your hand around the torch. Then, slowly, with deliberate but careful steps, he led you toward the first man on the right as everything faded to a high pitched ringing in your ears.

Betrothal gift.

You chanced a glance at the man tied to the pole and he snarled at you from beneath the gag in his mouth, eyes blazing.

Betrothal gift.

Then, with a gentle, guiding pressure of Aemond’s hand over yours, you dropped the torch into the pitch.

One by one white cloaks and gold cloaks stepped out from their formation to drop their own torches, each man set alight, consumed by licking red flames. Further on through the city, trailing up to the still-smoldering Dragonpit, the Shepherd’s men were strung. At the base of the ruins of the Pit stood the Shepherd himself.

Aemond had carefully set you atop the saddle of his favored steed, a Courser just as silver as Valyrian hair, and led you through the city so you could see all of it.

When the flames came for the Shepherd, he screeched like the hatchlings had in their tiny nests, drooling through the gag. But you couldn’t take your eyes away from the sight and the ringing in your ears had not ceased.

Betrothal gift.

Just as the smoke started to blot out the morning sun, you heard Vhagar’s distinct roar in the distance and your eyes rolled back in your head and you were lost.

**

The war had come again in the night. Boats had come ashore, striking under moonlight. They’d targeted the Isle of Tarth, Driftmark, Duskendale, Maidenpool, and Gulltown. Only Driftmark managed to push back the assault with Princess Rhaenys atop Meleys and Lord Laenor on Seasmoke, aided by Lord Corlys’ Velaryon fleet. The others were left in ruin and the marching bands of mercenaries and Triarchy soldiers pushed further inland, dividing the crown’s armies and raining terror down on low and highborn alike.

And you were shuffled off to Dragonstone with Vhagar and Aemond. From there, the Prince would help command the royal fleet which was now dispersed around the crownlands, to keep any other forces from arriving and to keep any from running back to Essos. Prince Daemon and Caraxes were there, too, and the Bloodwyrm had trilled happily when he’d noticed your presence on the island only to be snuffed at by Vhagar—just once.

And while you were happy to be away from the stench of King’s Landing and to say hello to Vermithor who still roosted in the depths of the volcanic mountain, you found it…boring. You had thought the war would at least be a bit exciting (and you knew you should use a different word but the notion still persisted) but it was strangely boring. There were meetings between commanders and the like with Aemond and Daemon and then more meetings between the Targaryen princes and the castle’s castellan and then the island’s sworn lords.

And you should have been thankful for it. You should’ve been happy that Aemond’s attentions were elsewhere. But it only left you more confused. He had called the pyres of the rioters a betrothal gift and then had said nothing else to give you even the slightest indication that he had meant it or was expecting something in return. And by the end of the first moon since you had relocated to the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, you had deduced that he hadn’t meant it and perhaps you had even imagined it, your mind altered by the Poppy. There was no plausible way a prince would be interested in you. But you were still thankful for the quality care you had been given for your injuries, the scars the only reminder of your brush with death with no other lingering aches. And something almost good came from the storming of the Dragonpit; it had been decided that the Pit would not be rebuilt and the dragons would no longer be confined to the stone roosts when not ridden and could roost anywhere they wanted outside the city. The Keepers would still tend to them and make sure they were well fed so no farmers would lose their livelihoods (and no one would lose their lives) because a dragon was hungry. It was good—dragons were meant to be free.

You also learned that Princess Rhaenyra and her son Prince Viserys had become the official dragon-riding guardians of King’s Landing. Helaena and Dreamfyre had taken to aiding Cregan and his armies in the northern border of the Vale and Riverlands. Aegon, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Daeron had flown out to burn any enemy encampments that had cropped up and had been successful, from what you had learned, while Baela and Rhaena were stationed at Driftmark with their grandmother and uncle, as another line of defense between Westeros and the Triarchy. You wished them well. But still…you were bored. Even news of Daeron’s betrothal to a young lady of House Lannister and Lucerys’ betrothal to the only daughter of Lord Tyrell had you excited for just a moment.

In an effort to have a bit of adventure and escape the gloom of the island, you would swim to one of the small islets that surrounded Dragonstone every morning when you weren’t tending to Vhagar in between her and Aemond patrolling out toward the Stepstones. Your favorite was just a small stretch of land with sweetgrass and wildflowers and a handful of looming trees, barely big enough to withstand the crashing waves of the surrounding ocean. Bodies of Triarchy soldiers would intermittently wash up on the shore and you would drag the corpses further inland in an attempt to help the fisherman nearby—no one wanted a dead man in their nets or on the end of their hook. You took a sharp stick and stabbed at their tattered clothes or armor and pulled them onto the wet sands, one by one, listening as the dragons roared overhead.

In the growing light of dawn, you tugged the last corpse beneath the tree you’d dubbed ‘the grave’ and haphazardly shoved it toward the rest of the mess of rotting skin and sun-bleached bone before turning away, letting the tall grass lick at your legs as it moved with the wind. The rains from last week had dotted the islet with flowers, and you stooped to pluck a dandelion. The stem was almost warm beneath your fingers as you twirled the wildflower in your grip, watching the early morning dew catch the first bit of sunlight and start to sparkle.

What would you wish for now?

You nearly yelped when you felt a sliver from your stick gouge into your thumb. And then a dragon roared overhead. By the sound alone, you knew it was Grey Ghost, one of the wild dragons of the island. He was free.

You switched the stick into your other hand, letting the smallest bit of blood smear against the stalk. You pulled in a deep breath and readied to blow the small seeds away and watch them disappear over the water. But just as you were about to exhale, something prickled at the base of your skull. A sensation you hadn’t felt since you started your Keeper training and it had your breath stalling in your throat.

Slowly, lowering the stick in your hand to a less antagonistic angle, you turned. Every curse you could have muttered dried on your tongue as soon as you locked eyes on the dragon looming at your back. Angry, blazing green eyes were locked on you. The rest of the dragon was as black as pitch with gnarled, grey scars littering his broad neck and chest, leading up to a mess of sharp teeth, left exposed on the left side by a chunk of missing flesh. The dragon rumbled and you could not look away.

This was the wild dragon known as the Cannibal. The fact that he hadn’t devoured you yet was a miracle, truly. The dragon huffed, bathing you in a green-tinged smoke for a moment and blowing away the small flower in your hands. Through watery eyes, you saw the bodies you had pulled from the sea, stacked messily together. Had the dragon done that?

When it didn’t look like he was going to eat you or burn you to ash, you slowly walked backward, keeping your head down. Submissive posture usually did wonders for an unruly dragon—it had saved your skin half a dozen times when Sunfyre had thrown a fit when Aegon was raging about something—and it seemed it worked with the Cannibal, too, because all he did was huff again before turning to feast on the dead.

And then you went back, again and again, pulling more bodies from the sea. But now your intention was less selfless and more selfish. No one had ever been able to get that close to the Cannibal and live to tell about it, their demise only being whispered by unfortunate bystanders or when their burnt husk of a corpse was discovered weeks later. But you survived. You came back to do it again, pulling more and more bodies from the sea and eventually stopped jumping when the large, scarred dragon nudged at your stick, urging you to fetch his meal from the waters. As strange as it was, you considered the large dragon a friend. Mayhaps your only friend on this side of the Narrow Sea. You would speak to him about your duties, point out the other dragons and their riders, telling him anything and everything that came to your mind. And then, when you, as delicately as you could, fed him another arm, you nearly shrieked when his jagged teeth suddenly sunk into your sea-soaked robes and all but threw you onto his back.

The scream that bubbled in your throat was short lived when he swiveled his long neck to look at you, as if making sure you were secure. He was mimicking the other dragons. The thought that this dangerous, old, angry dragon was playing pretend with you almost had you laughing. You adjusted your seat, slotting yourself between the large barbs and ridges down the dragon’s back and then grabbed at two of the curved spikes just at the base of his neck. Then, you spoke the word that changed your life irrevocably.

“Sōvēs!”

Fly.

And then he kept letting you up onto his back, letting you suggest where to go—he mostly listened. But you never truly cared if he wanted to go South when you had hoped to go North that day. He was yours. Truly, strangely, you felt as if his heart had wedged itself beside yours behind your ribs. The bond you had studied and kept sacred was now yours. You were a dragonrider. A dream, a wish you had never voiced. And you knew that if anyone ever knew, it would cost you your life.

But then you had a terrible, bordering on stupid, idea. You could see Vaella again. You could fly your dragon to Volantis and see your sweet sister again in days instead of the months it would take you to sail to her city. You could be free of all this. Of your family’s waiting wrath. Of the boredom. Of Aemond’s confusing actions. You had never been given even the opportunity to think of such things; your life was a series of going and doing what was expected of you. Pondering the possibility of true, if not brief freedom, and the repercussions that would surely follow, you stroked at the Cannibal’s flank as he ate the corpses you had piled for him earlier. The waning sunlight cast him in dark shadows as you both found solace in the seldom used western beach outside the castle’s curtain.

“Would you like to go to Volantis?”

The dragon rumbled between bites.

“Vaella tells me they have elephants there. You’ll have to promise not to eat them.”

He rumbled again and you couldn’t stop the soft laugh from escaping your lips. You could do this. Somehow. You’d offhandedly learned that Aemond and Daemon were considering flying to Braavos to meet envoys from the city to possibly form an alliance. You had heard rumblings about Braavos and Pentos both claiming dominion over the Stepstones and the Targaryen princes had hoped to resolve the issue and strengthen their armies and naval fleets in the process. It could be the perfect distraction.

A large, dark shadow suddenly washed over you in a wave and you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. But the angry bellow Vhagar let out had you freezing. You couldn’t fight her, you wouldn’t. Even if the Cannibal rivaled her in size and ferocity, Vhagar was still your charge: you wanted her happy and healthy. Having two dragons fight to the death would destroy you. You needed to leave now.

Vhagar landed, sand spitting into the air under her weight, just as you pushed at your dragon’s side and screamed at him to fly, starting to scramble up to your perch. But before you could even try to move or take to the skies, the great dragon’s maw opened and closed around Cannibal’s neck and bit down.

You screamed alongside him as you were thrown back down onto the sand from the force of the impact, green fire spitting out from between his teeth. It nearly burned you but just as soon as the attack came, it paused. The prince’s dragon held yours down against the charred and crystallized sand. Dark blood slithered down the Cannibal’s neck to pool near your boots as you stood on unsteady legs. In a singular moment, he had been subdued. Just as you had been. Atop Vhagar sat Aemond and even as the sun blotted his features out, you knew he was entirely focused on you.

“Please,” you whimpered. “Please, let him go. He has done nothing against you.”

“On the contrary, my dandelion. He has nearly taken you from me. Did you think I did not see you climbing on his back, day after day?”

Tears gathered at the edges of your vision as you shook your head. “I am not yours, my prince. I am not-”

“Enough.” Aemond’s voice cut over the grumbling of his dragon and the seething of yours. “You have tested my patience. It is time to put this charade behind us. You are mine. You have always been mine. Just as I have been yours.”

“When have I ever been anything more than a keeper to you? I have done nothing to warrant these feelings. You are misguided.” You tried to quell the tears to no avail. Not when you could feel your dragon growing weaker by the moment. “When were you ever mine?”

But the prince was undeterred and swung out of the saddle and down the ladder to step toward you, lilac eye nearly burning. “I have been yours since you placed that dandelion in my hand as a boy that night on Driftmark and swore to me that I would have a dragon.” His hand slid against Vhagar’s neck as he stepped ever closer. His dragon released her bloody hold on Cannibal’s neck but kept her head close to his, effectively keeping him pinned.

More blood pooled in the sand as you shook your head. “You just needed a bit of kindness. That was all it was. Nothing more.”

“But it was more.” His voice was ice. “It was everything.” He moved closer still. “My entire life I have been nothing more than a spare, falling further down the line of succession with each birth. No titles of my own. I have had to fight every day to simply have my father’s attention, to make a name for myself, to be anything more than a footnote in a history book. Tis I who studies histories and battle and who rides the largest dragon in the world and leads the charge against our enemies. I have pushed them back across the Stepstones and into the Disputed Lands to lick their wounds but it matters little. Everything I have ever wanted is beyond my reach or shared with others, divided up before I can claim what is mine.” His eye blazed as moved ever closer. “Why should I not have something that is entirely mine?”

Heat crackled down your spine at his words, at his unblinking gaze anchored on you. “My Prince…”

“Mine to have. Mine to keep. Mine. You always have been and you always will be.”

“Y-you don’t mean that. I am nearly a decade your elder! I am not… My family serves yours and your dragons. We do not marry,” you tried to argue, thinking of every reason why it should not and could not come to pass. “I have no court refinement. My family reviles me. You ar-are a prince! You are the one who rides the largest dragon in the world, and you are a learned warrior worthy of song. And I cannot be the one-”

Aemond was in front of you in a flash, long fingers curling around your wrist. “You are. No matter what you think of yourself, I have seen you. I have known you. You are my only equal. Your family will be dealt with and I will give you the option as to how for their mistreatment of you.”

Still, you shook your head. “Your family will never-”

“My family has known I would wed you since I was a boy. They knew you simply needed time to see it. While my mother and sister tie the Seven Kingdoms together, you and I will maintain the old ways. Valyrian. Fire and Blood. Do not try to hide yourself from me. I knew what you were since my time in Qohor and I remembered how your blood shone on that little dandelion in the dark. You said it that night: there is magic in our blood. You would not be able to tame this beast without it,” he said, inclining his head to your dragon. “And so easily. Just as easily as you calmed all the others. They sense it in you, as I did. As I do now.”

And what could you possibly say to that?

But Aemond did not care to give you time to formulate a response and tugged you away from your coiled dragons and toward the castle. And, just as soon as the heavy door closed behind you, your back hit the cold, stone wall of the corridor and Aemond’s mouth was on yours. The kiss was not kind. Not the stuff of songs and girls’ whispered dreams. It was all hard edged lips and searching tongues after his hand fell to your jaw, pressing until your mouth opened with a whine. He stole your breath in an instant, seeming content to have you gasp against his tongue as he plundered. And then he was tugging at the laces of your trousers until they fell loose at your waist before falling with a single twist of his wrist.

You turned your head as you felt it, letting his next echo of a kiss smear against your heated cheek. Fear and something else crawled up your spine like a slow-moving spider.

He rucked up the edges of your tunic to curl his long fingers over your smallclothes and pushed them down to hang uselessly around your ankles and join your trousers. The moment he touched your clit had you keening, your own hands fisting at the leather stretched across his shoulders. To push him away, to pull him closer, you could not know. “My prince, please, you will ruin me. I am not what you want.”

“But you are,” he said. “You are all I want.” His fingers trailed lower, gathering slick as he pressed into your folds and then curled them into you without preamble. Your body shook with the intrusion, a strange burning sensation bleeding out into a pleasurable pressure as he continued to push push push in and curl his fingers, then he retreated just enough to have you gasping before he pushed back in. Again and again he pressed in, dragging the flat of his hand against your clit with each pass until you were whining against his mouth. An embarrassed heat licked up your chest when you realized what you had done. How could you like this?

“There we go, my dandelion. You sing so sweet for me.” Aemond bent his head just enough to drag his lips across the hollow of your throat, the wet, sucking sounds of your cunt nearly drowned it out. A heat was coiling in your belly, winding tighter and tighter with each flick of his wrist but you felt him shift, just slightly, and his next press had your knees buckling, sparks rippling up your spine.

“My…” Your tongue couldn’t form the words. Every inch of you was buzzing, pulling tighter, inching towards something that-

You came with a cry and Aemond kept you upright by shoving his knee between your legs, his other hand coming up to press at the base of your throat. As he slowly, carefully pulled his fingers from your sopping cunt, you couldn’t look away as he pressed his fingers into his mouth. He let out a soft noise, eye closing as his tongue wrapped around the digits to get them clean.

“You are sweet everywhere,” he said before slamming his mouth against yours in a harsh kiss that tasted of you as he pried your lips open to lick inside.

Your tenuous grip on his shoulders tightened as your blood sang through your ears. A sudden, warm pressure against your thigh almost had you retreating but the wall and his grip falling to ensnare your waist halted any movement.

“I want it all,” Aemond murmured against your mouth. “And you will give it to me.”

“Aemond-” The rest of your rebuttal choked you, stalling like a rock in your throat, as you felt like you were being split in two as he sank into you. He pushed and pushed and pushed, seeming to go on forever, and punched the air from your lungs when his hips were finally flush with yours. The prince stilled for a moment as your body throbbed with an almost uncomfortable heat and his lips dragged against your pulse, humid breath wetting your skin.

“My perfect little dragon.” And then he moved. Sliding out just enough to punch back in, dragging a yelp from your throat, and then doing it again and again and again until your yelps turned into wet, pathetic keens as the coil returned. It looped around your stomach and pulled as Aemond’s thrusts had you shoving up onto the tips of your toes, completely at his mercy. Each drag and push of him was hitting that spot inside of you that you didn’t know could possibly exist, and brushed against your swollen bundle of nerves and sent more sparks up your spine. All you could do was hold on and sob as he took what he wanted and drove you closer to another terrifying euphoria.

And then it was crashing over you, seizing your body and making you shake in his grasp, but he was not done, continuing to thrust until he suddenly stilled and a scalding heat pooled inside you before you felt it start to slip down into the crux of your thighs.

Aemond did not pull out as you thought he would, but instead stood straight and smoothed a hand across the side of your face before pressing an almost gentle kiss to your quivering mouth, just a touch too firm to be truly careful. “Let us retire. I fear we have tempted fate too much by cavorting in such a place.” Only then did he pull out, hands squeezing at your hips as his release started to slide further down your legs. You burned with something almost like shame, but the residual tingling from your own kept it from truly consuming you. “Your body is for my eyes only, those little sounds you make are for my ears only. You are mine. And I plan to have you again before I call you my wife in front of the gods of our ancestors.”

And Aemond did. He took you apart on his featherbed and he had you screaming into the hand he cupped over your mouth as he drove into you until your legs were too weak to sustain your weight when you tried to stand afterward. But it mattered little because he still had you bathed and dressed in the traditional robe of a Valyrian wedding and he’d led you out to the beach like a lamb to slaughter where the priest wed you to Aemond in the Old Ways. He cut your lip and you cut his with unsteady fingers, knowing you could not run now.

**

Much had changed.

With the tenuous allegiance of Braavos and Pentos gained with careful political maneuvering by Daemon and Aemond, the war with the Triarchy was over in three moon’s time. King Viserys lived long enough to see it and welcome the entirety of his family back to the Red Keep again in victory before succumbing to his age.

Queen Alicent was the one to place the crown on Rhaenyra’s head and proclaim her Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in front of the crowds assembled.

Your lip scarred and your husband liked to press his mouth to it whenever you were alone and you could feel his smile against your skin. And, just as he had said he would before your wedding, he had his first heir growing within you. His warm hand would curl around your ever-growing bump at every opportunity, no matter the company present. Advisors, siblings, knights, low and highborn alike. All of them saw the possessive curl of his fingers over you. You had come to expect it, almost welcome it.

It was strange…to be wanted. And to be wanted to completely. It was stifling and terrifying and all consuming. When you had come into your shared chambers and murmured the news that you were with child, Aemond had taken you again but slower than he had ever before. It was almost as if he were nervous to move too quickly, despite the power behind his thrusts, and hurt you or your babe.

The next day, he had the tongues of your mother, father, and brother delivered to you, wrapped in the dress Aemond had gifted to you and your mother had stolen. Aemond had given you a choice as to how to deal with them. You had asked for them to never speak ill of you again but for their lives to be unaltered. Horrified, you realized he had done as you had bid. They would never utter a word against you. They would never try to use you as leverage in a scheme. Aemond had taken it a step further to have you known as a Targaryen Princess rather than your House’s name.

“You make him so happy,” Alicent said as she cupped your cheeks in her soft hands, a matching smile on her face. “I cannot thank you enough.” The Dowager Queen had been endlessly kind to you and the rest of the family had welcomed you with open arms.

As if they had always expected you to be one of them.

Your dragon healed, new scars to add to his collection. He still allowed you onto his back but only when Vhagar was near. Your freedom still had caveats. But you still felt the wind beneath you as you soared through the air with your husband at your side. You still knew what it felt like to fly. You still knew the taste of clouds after a storm. You still knew what the city looked like from miles in the sky. And Aemond had sworn that he would fly with you to Volantis to visit Vaella after your babe was born.

“I love you,” Aemond spoke the words first, just after your bump started to show, only a week before you were set to fly North to see Helaena marry Cregan under the heart tree in Winterfell’s godswood. “I love you,” he said again after watching Aegon happily kiss his wife in Sunspear under the blazing Dornish sun. “I love you.” And you wanted to believe him. One day you would. And, perhaps one day you would say it, too.

A few months shy of your suspected due date, Queen Rhaenyra summoned you both to the throne room from the chambers you shared. “You may have any land you wish, brother,” Rhaenyra said with a small smile. “You have fought valiantly for this kingdom, often without reward or gratitude. It is a paltry sum for what we and the crown owes you, but I hope this is a start.” She waved a hand and a serving man handed Aemond a small scroll. “If you wish to rebuild any castle or keep on that list, you will have any materials and skilled workers you may need. If you would prefer something built new, you shall have the same. You need only ask.”

Aemond unfurled it to reveal a list of islands, vacant lands, and ruined castles. You recognized a few; Red Deer Island in the Riverlands, Bloody Isle near Oldtown, and Whispers which was the ruined castle near the tip of Crackclaw Point. But the list was extensive. Aemond had his pick of lands. He could take you anywhere he selected. How far would he take you? And why did you hate that you didn’t care? As long as it was him? It would be just you and him—forever

A/N: thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!

[hottpinkpenguin]

Nighttime

Tommy Shelby X Fem!Reader WC: 1380 Content warnings: PTSD, drug use, alcohol use, mentions of war Summary: When your brother, Daniel "Danny Whizz-bang" Owens, comes back a broken man from WWI, Tommy Shelby is the only one who seems able to put him back together. And the more Tommy helps your brother, the more you realize he's helping you, too. Author's Note: First time writing for the incomparable Tommy Shelby and the PB boys! Thoughts on a part 2, anyone??

Nights like these made the dark parts of you wish that Daniel hadn’t come home from the War. Nights when he couldn’t remember your face, when he got so lost in the bottom of a bottle or the smoke of his pipe that even you couldn’t find him anymore. The brother Daniel was when he’d left in ‘14 hadn’t come home four years later. Most times, sunlight and a hard day’s work help him hide that fact well enough. Nighttimes were the hardest. Especially starless, rainy nights like this one. Something about the rain reminded Danny of the dark tunnels where his innocence had died. It’s always night in the tunnels, he told you. The sounds of his pathetic whimpering from the room next door fractured the ice you’d been forced to pack around your heart to keep life together. 

Yet, nights like these were the only times you saw Thomas Shelby. So, in some ways, nights like these made the darker parts of you grateful that Daniel was as broken a man as he was. You were certain that, if it weren’t for the destructive acts of “Danny Whizz-bang”, you wouldn’t be fortunate enough to have the second-eldest Shelby brother sitting in your kitchen, sipping tea. 

“You’re good to ‘im, you know.” 

You met Tommy’s eyes over the lip of your teacup as you took a sip of the bitter, bitingly hot liquid. His eyes were strikingly blue and steady. He regarded you evenly from the other side of your table, his expression guarded but not unkind. 

You smiled softly and sadly as you swallowed the hot tea, focusing on the way it seemed to melt through your chest.

“He’s my brother,” you replied matter-of-factly. “I love him. He’s not the same, but I won’t turn him out.”

You knew that’s what Tommy was getting at. You were good to Danny because you hadn’t turned your back on him, despite his broken parts. Most men who’d come back from the War with cases of shell-shock as bad as Danny’s had been turned out by their families. In some cases, it was because of embarrassment. Sometimes it was purely for safety. In your case, you were both ashamed and afraid of Danny’s fits, so you couldn’t say for sure why you hadn’t told him to leave. You wanted to believe that it was because of compassion, as you were happy to let Tommy believe. But there was a gnawing guilt deep in your gut that suggested other, more self-serving motives. 

The sound of Tommy’s teacup clinking into the saucer dragged you out of the downward spiral of your own thoughts. 

“More tea?” you asked, wondering if Tommy could hear the hopeful edge in your voice. He nodded gratefully, and you poured him another serving. He pulled out a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit it, the glow from the match casting his handsome face in sharp shadows. You busied yourself with pouring yourself a second cup as well, if only to distract yourself from staring. 

A particularly sharp yelp of terror from Danny’s bedroom set your nerves clanging. You nearly dropped the kettle on the floor as you stood, reflexively, and hurried towards the barely ajar bedroom door. You heard Tommy’s strong, sure footsteps behind you. 

From the other side of the door, you could hear Danny sobbing in his bed. You’d left all the lamps burning brightly in his room to dispel the darkness that tormented him. He was curled under the covers, laying on his side and rigid. 

“Danny?” you called quietly. He jumped at the sound. You pushed open the door, gently so as not to slam it against the wall. 

“Danny, it’s me. It’s your sister. You’re alright, Danny. You’re home.”

It never mattered what you said. It was the sound of another voice that dragged Danny out of his reveries. Surely, as the words kept flowing, you saw Danny’s tight muscles begin to unwind. 

“It’s OK, Danny. You’re safe. Home in Birmingham. This is your room. And Mr. Shelby is here, too.” 

Tommy was no stranger to the scene before him, and he picked up on your cue easily. He stood behind you, so close you could smell his cigarette and the twang of whiskey on his breath as he spoke. 

“They’re gone, Danny. No more tunnels. No more Germans. The War is over.”

Danny rolled over in his bed, his eyes wide but focused. He honed in on Tommy like a moth to a flame. You could hardly blame him: the deep tone and firm, unhurried cadence of Tommy’s voice reminded you of ocean waves. Undeniable, strong, and magnetic. 

“Mr. Shelby-”

“It’s alright, Danny. Just rest now.” 

Tommy never let Danny talk to him when he was like this. You had never asked him why - you didn’t dare to - but you suspected it was because Thomas Shelby didn’t want to be reminded of the things that haunted Daniel Owen’s nights. In fact, if you’d been a betting woman, you’d have guessed that the same horrors stalked Tommy’s dreams. There were dark pools in the back of Tommy’s eyes sometimes that reminded you of the way Danny looked when he got like this. 

“Yes, Mr. Shelby.”

Danny nuzzled down under the covers, his eyes darting to you in questioning. Finally convinced of his lucidity, you stepped forward to tuck your brother into bed. You bent over and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, dabbing away the sweat that had beaded there with the hem of your sleeve. 

“Rest now, Danny Boy,” you whispered, using the name your mother had called him. Danny’s eyes drifted shut, and exhaustion took him quickly. He didn’t sleep well these days, and as the clock in your kitchen heralded the arrival of 3am, tonight was quickly shaping up to be a similarly wasted venture. 

With Danny calmed, for the moment at least, you followed Tommy’s retreat out of the bedroom. The lamps still burned merrily, burning through the precious oil you struggled to purchase at a rate comparable to the demand generated by Danny’s nightmares. Once his bedroom door had been pulled almost shut, only a sliver ajar, Tommy spoke again. 

“I should be off, y/n. It’s quite late.” 

You hated nights like these, and most of all this part of the night. The part when Thomas Shelby left. 

You didn’t trust yourself not to beg him to stay, so you bit down on your lip and said nothing. You watched as Tommy gathered his hat and wool coat from the coat rack next to your apartment door. He turned back to you, his eyes shining like pools of clear springwater. 

“Thank you for the tea,” he offered with a gracious, half-bow. So genteel and gallant. 

“Tommy, this bitter excuse for tea is the least I can offer, and you know that. Please stop thanking me for it.” It sounded bitter and outside of convention, but you meant every word. Thomas Shelby had saved your brother’s life in the War, and he continued to save it on a daily basis. The work that Tommy supplied to Danny through the Peaky Blinders gave your brother the only sense of purpose that he’d found after coming home. And Tommy’s steadfast guidance on nights like these was no small feat. You knew Danny loved you, and after almost 3 years, you’d learned how to handle your brother’s shell-shock, but Tommy had an effect on him that even booze and opium couldn’t replicate. Tommy grounded Danny. To say nothing of the effect Tommy had on you. 

As if to underscore the point, Tommy let out as close to a smile as you’d ever seen as he donned his hat. The sight made your heart twirl between your ribs like a little girl around a maypole. 

“It’s never a bad thing to express gratitude, even for humble gifts,” he replied easily. “And I am grateful.” The sincerity with which he delivered these last words silenced any retort you might have had. You could only smile back as he turned and showed himself out your front door into the dingy hallway. You didn’t close the door fully until Thomas Shelby’s footsteps had fully faded in the stairwell and down the cobbled street outside… 

**if I write a p.2 and you want to be tagged, shoot me a message!

[misguidedasgardian]

The Winter Sun (25)

25. A sea of doubt

MASTERLIST

Summary: The final battle approaches 

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader 

Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoiaf customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, mentions and implied non-con and involuntary imprisonment, birth of a baby and all that comes with it,, fear of miscarrying, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 2.9 k

Notes: uffff HERE IT ISSSS OUR SECOND BABY

Aemond was preparing it all, he found in the small town adjacent to your castle a willing Septon, and your castle had a small chapel where the ceremony could be held.

Like his mother’s favorite child, he was close to the Gods, it meant quite a lot to him for you to be his in their eyes, under the faith of the seven, not under those false, Old Gods like the pagan Cregan Stark

He couldn’t be happier, you were getting heavy with his child, maybe two months shy of giving birth, it had to be soon.

But as he was getting ready to fetch you, having already prepared a dress and jewelry for you… he received an important letter from his men on Harrenhal

They were a week away to be surrounded by the Northerners and the Knights of the Vale, all of them together had come to destroy them. The spies had just spotted the great army marching past the Crossroads Inn

“The greatest army the seven Kingdoms had ever seen”

He only smiled because the bigger the army, the slower they were, and the easier way for him to burnt them all with his Dragon

But he needed to gather his own army , with the Baratheons and the Royal army, it was going to be easy to surround the army between them and Harrenhal, and from there it was going to be an easy defeat.

But he had to postpone the ceremony

His child might be born a bastard

But no matter, his brother will declare him legitimate, and he was going to marry you afterwards anyways. 

He went to say goodbye to you, he found you as he always did, with a sad look on your eyes and a tight line as your lips. 

The only thing you said to him was

“I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come, my prince”, and the only thing he said was to promise you he was going to come back before the baby comes, you didn’t want him to

With that in his mind, he left you in your home once again, climbing into Vhagar’s back, and flying away 

You saw the monstrous dragon flying away from your home and you could only feel relief, your own dragon flying around the cliffs she knew so well, and you prayed to the Old Gods that Aemond would never return again.

Because every breath that you drew was agony, when you think about Rickon, it had been months in which he had been growing without you, and your only wish was to see him again, to take him in your arms and hug him against your chest. Your hand went instinctively to your belly, feeling so conflicted

Was it Cregan’s? or was it Aemond’s?

You couldn’t escape Aemond, you couldn’t escape him taking you, and possibly impregnating you, but, you could escape being married to him.

Aemond had left, and he didn’t marry you before he did 

After that… threat, it felt like threat to you, marrying Aemond, there wasn’t really much you can do to avoid it, he couldn’t make you say the words, he couldn’t make you marry him, but right now, you didn’t feel like you had the strength to fight him, this baby was draining you of your energy constantly

If the Baby was Cregan’s, your due date should arrive very shortly… a few weeks maybe, your belly button had popped out of your belly, which happened right before Rickon was born… 

But your belly wasn’t as big as RIckon’s had been

The uncertainty was killing you. The prospect of your baby having dark hair will give Aemond exactly what he needed to send it back to Winterfell, another child you would not be able to raise as your own. The thought alone made you cry and as a deep ache had settled in your chest, you whined when you felt a pressure in your lower belly

“Ah!”, and then… a strong contraction. 

If it was Aemond’s baby, it was too soon

Too soon

And a crippling fear got a hold on you, thinking you might lose your unborn baby

“No no no, please!”, you cried, “please”, you didn’t think you could survive losing a child, so fat bitter tears fell down your eyes, “not yet, not yet ARGH!”, a contraction wrecked your body again, it was all so sudden

Your screams could be heard so loud in the castle, a maid was by your side in a second

“Your grace”, yes Aemond had insisted you would claim back your title of princess, “what is it?”

“It’s the baby”, you whined, “I think it’s coming!”, and if it was like you were calling it, your water broke, wetting the floor beneath you. You whimpered, more scared than in pain

It happened so quick

A cloud of pain numbed you, as the maid called in the castle’s midwife, who brought in a young assistant, they helped you out of your dress and put on you a soft night shift, they released your hair, and soon it stuck to your forehead with your sweat

They help you to the bed, it all happened so quickly.

“You are doing it great”, the midwife said sweetly

“What if it is too soon?”. you whined, “it’s a little over seven moons”, you explain. She look at you sweetly

“All is going to be fine, your grace”, she reassured you, and you believe her

You had felt your baby kicking all week, so you became certain it was going to be alright.

“AH!”, a strong and painful contraction made you rethink that statement, it was pain, pain all over. 

It was the worst pain you ever felt in your entire life.

With Rickon it all had been sudden, you had never felt anything like it, but it happened rather quickly, you had heard of women who had suffered for hours and hours, but Rickon came quickly and without much fuss

You were lucky

But you felt like your luck was running out

You whined when you saw the faces of the midwives and maids constricting more and more in worried gazed as minutes turned to hours.

It was tortuous, the pain came and went lin waves, hitting you hard like a storm against the rocks

“Push your grace! it’s time!”

And you did, with all your strength, you did, in what it seemed like hours of excruciating pain with no end.

And then… with a last push you expelled your baby from your body

And even though there was an end to the pain… there was nothing else…

Only silence

You stopped crying in relief, to start worrying

The midwife wouldn’t look at you, you trying to raise your head to look over the bloodied sheets but you couldn’t see anything either

“What is happening?”, you cried, “why isn’t he crying?”, they were tense minutes in which the only thing that could be heard was your labored breaths and then…

A cry, your baby’s cry

You cried with relief 

“It’s a healthy baby boy, your grace!”, the midwife said, “a little small, but he is strong as a horse!”, you were so relieved, so relieved to hear that, that you didn’t care when she placed your baby in your arms, and you saw his silver strands on his head.

Another son

You cuddled against your chest, he was crying his little lungs out, but as soon as he felt you, he got quiet, trying to open his eyes

He was so beautiful, still covered in afterbirth, but he was so small 

“Hello little one”, she was right, he was small, very much so, but still, he looked healthy, he had all his toes, all his fingers. You kissed his bloodied forehead, “my baby”, you whispered, “and mine alone”, you whispered

You felt incredibly relieved, he was well, healthy, and that is all that mattered

The maids cleaned your son, cleaned you, the bed, all of it. And let you be with your baby

A million thoughts were going through your mind once the maester came to see you and gave you milk of the poppy to soothe your aching body. You watched your son right next to you, sleeping, and you believed he didn’t look like Aemond nor Cregan, he was only a newborn.

Perhaps you were never going to know

But the white hair… he was small, that truly made you think, doubt, fear

Maybe Aemond was never going to come back to the castle, perhaps he was going to die, and he was going to leave you alone, in your home at least

What then?

If Aemond is not here, would you return to Winterfell? What about your new baby? was he going to be welcomed? Rickon needed you, he needed his mother, he needed you, the North had Sara to lead them until Rickon comes of age, but he was going to need you, but… Was the people of the North going to receive you?

There was so many things in your mind, that you barely heard when a maid entered your room slowly and gently 

“What is it?”, you asked softly

“I need to speak to you, your grace”, she said, she seemed nervous

“Speak”, you encouraged gently, caressing your son’s cheek, you wondered how you were going to name him, Aemond had barely suggested names.

“Your grace, now that the baby is here”, the maid, the oldest one, that had known you since you were a child, approached you, “I need to tell you something”

“What is it?”, you asked, concerned

“Prince Aemond went to fight the Northerner army”, she said, and that truly surprised you, “and the knights of the Vale, but also… Daemon Targaryen''

“Daemon?”, you asked, amazed, “really?”, she nodded enthusiastically. 

“I heard him talking to the maester, the Northerner army gathered, it is one of the greatest the seven kingdoms has ever seen”

Daemon was the only one who could face Aemond and actually have a chance, but his chance will certainly increase if…

You helped him

“Why are you telling me this?”, you asked her

“Queen Rhaenyra sits the iron Throne”, you gasped, “the only Green army left is in Harrenhal, the last stand of the Greens!”, she said

“Rhaenyra sits on the Iron Throne?”, you asked, wanting to cry from happiness

“Yes!”, she said, “and the final battle is going to be fought in Harrenhal!”

You looked at your baby in your arms, it could only take two days for you to be ready again. You could go to Harrenhal, nobody was going to stop you, you could leave your baby here, he was going to be safe… but you doubted, what if Aemond made it, and attacked you? he could kill you… 

And then, your baby, with silver hair, he opened his eyes and revealed a pair of icy blue eyes, gray almost, just like Cregan’s

You gasped.

He truly could be Cregan’s, you had to fight for the Northerners!, you had to help them, you had to help end this madness

Aemond had arriveD before everyone, but thanks to his spies he knew the army was within a two day march away from the castle

He was tempted to go and meet them halfway and burn them all

But his army was halfway as well

It needed to be decisive and a powerful hit to the Black forces.

And after this, he was going to retake the capital and save his mother and sister. His drunk of a brother could be gone for all he cared, he was going to be King next. 

ALL WAS GOING TO BE WELL 

He had the girl, he was going to have a child, he was going to become king, who cared if he had to betray and force his way into it? it is what he deserved

As he grabbed the stones of the battlements of Harrenhal, and looked beyond those lands to the North, he breathed in all the excitement for the battles to come. 

But as soon as the sun set on the very next day, Aemond, with horror, saw the wood surrounding Harrenhal lit up with a hundred thousands of torches. Threatening him,  teasing him, they surrounded the huge fortress completely, there was no way out for him

If he had been only a simple man.

That night Harrenhal, and all the men within didn’t sleep. The Northerners and the Knights of the Vale blew horns and played the drums all night long, to completely destroy the morale of the soldiers within the burnt walls.

And it had worked

Aemond haven't sleep a wink the whole night, he didn’t even attempt to go to bed, he just stood over the battlements until the very first light, were this own soldiers started to prepare

The captains of the small group of soldiers came to him, asking him what they were going to do about the huge army waiting like a hungry wolf to a dying prey in front of it, and yet not doing anything.

Aemond had to win some time, his own army could surround them, press them against the castle, and then they could hit them from above and from inside, and the Baratheons and the royal army led by Criston was going to kill them from the back

Oh if only

As he was organizing the boiling of thousands of gallons of oil that was going to be dropped over the heads of the savages from the North, when Aemond heard a sharp growl that made him tremble, although he was never going to admit it

The biggest army in the world was not alone

His uncle had come for him

“I want her to know I’m here”, said Cregan,a s he looked amongst the trees at the high walls of Harrenhal

“She probably believes you are dead”, muttered Deamon, looking at him, the love he saw in the Stark’s eyes was incredible

“I don’t care, remember what I said, no destruction to the castle, we don’t know where she is…”

“Yes, I know”, he said, almost bored. Daemon put his helmet on, and then walked towards Caraxes, climbing to his saddle, and then he commanded him to fly

And the battle started.

Caraxes flew over Harrenhal teasing Aemond and Vhagar. The greens distributed their efforts in all points of the battlements, following the lead of the Blacks that had surrounded the castle, but now, early in the morning they marched towards the weakest point of the walls, focusing all the efforts in one point of the walls. 

The wall was overrun was the Knights of the Vale siege weaponry pretty easily, half day in and they already where breaching the walls

The battle was brutal

Specially when the Baratheons and the remains of the usurper’s royal army arrived and attacked the forces of the blacks that were yet to enter the castle wall’s

A battle that was going to be told throughout the ages,

The castle was quickly overrun, but every soldier of the black forces waited for Cregan’s command. The Stark had clear instructions that he was to be the one to enter the castle first with his best twenty men. The goal was to find you, and the people inside didn’t suffer the cruelties of war. He wanted to secure you first, before he could let his soldiers take the castle.

But he couldn’t find you anywhere

You weren’t here

He felt a desperation inside his chest.

You knew that monster might hurt you, the way sick men harm women, but he could never guess that he could… actually end your life

No, he couldn’t lose hope, he had survived to find you, you couldn’t be gone. No, he believed Sara’s visions, you had so much to life together, you had to be still of this world.

As he was hastily walking towards a huge window… he heard it.

He ran towards it so he could see outside towards the skies, he would recognize that growling anywhere.

Just as Vhagar and Caraxes intertwined in a mortal embrace to kill each other, another dragon soared the skies, a white, huge dragon 

Vhaelar

Vhagar met Caraxes in the skies, he was quickly to bit his wings, but the blood wyrm turned in the air, scratching the Queen of dragon’s chest and making her release him. That is when Vhaelar appeared from between the skies.

Aemond couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

For a second he believed you had come to his aid, but his idea quickly disappeared when Vhaelar close her huge jawa surrounding VHagar’s neck

Caraxes took the opportunity to burn the old dragon’s body and then bit off one of his huge wings.

You were in the air, fighting with dragons.

Cregan saw with wide eyes as you took the Queen of Dragons off of the skies. Vhaelar released Vhagar, that fell limply to the lake underneath. The water column that formed when VHagar fall into the lake was as tall as the castle, but nobody would ever believe it. 

Your huge she-dragon kept herself on the air with the help of her huge wings, and just as Daemon’s Caraxes was also trying to keep himself in the air, he was hurt, but he was going to be alright in time. 

But under Cregan’s and Daemon’s surprised gaze, you made your dragon turn around in the air, and flied away

Cregan whined, concerned, as fast as you had came, you were leaving Harrenhal without even stepping a foot within its walls

Without the support of a dragon the Green forces were done for.

They were completely alienated, having captured Lord Borros Baratheon, Criston Cole and another important men

But Cregan couldn’t care less about that.

He needed to find you. 

More notes!: So... are you still with doubts? hehehe, so he is small... so he could be Aemond's... and has silver hair, but it has eyes with a similar color as Cregan's... and reader did spend a rough period with Aemond without much eating and drinking... so it could be that... anyways I'm not a doctor JEJEJE

A little messy I felt, but I really wanted to write this, up next we will see the reader's POV and FINALLY THE REUNION

TAGLIST!

@severewobblerlightdragon @missusnora @stargaryenx @poppyreader @chainsawsangel @court-jester-stuff @batprincess1013 @eddiepicker 

@lyannesworld @arujee @kamisunshine @​​mss-nthng @partypoison00 @grimistangel @elleclairez @may-machin @prettykinkysoul @justagurlwithships @champomiel 

@laura-naruto-fan1998 @zoleea-exultant @devotedlythoughtfulanchor @zoleea-exultant @llleon666 @dark-night-sky-99 @bitchigoteverythingissues @harrypotteranna23-blog@esposadomd @ajanauia @phantomtea19 @let-love-bleeds-red @kishie8 @dreamingofyourmoons @esposadomd @sandronebabyy @kemillyfreitas @​​trifoliumviridi @dreamingofyourmoons @darling-jace @biblichorr @ivvypg @mendes-bae @borikenlove @tssf-imagines @praline357 @alitaar @prettykinkysoul @aelora-a @a-mexican-waffle @ateliefloresdaprimavera @alexa40400 @lrboyd @anditsmywholeheart  @weaselyss  @scarlettqueen190 @deeeeexx @cloudroomblog @dreaming-of-the-reality @yentroucnagol @crazymusicgirl104 @toodlesxcuddles @thanyatargaryen

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 20

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

hello hello! As promised the tattoo reveal.

I survived getting half my sleeve lined but boy am I sore. Tattoos on your hand are the absolute pits. Like no joke, hand tattoos are rough my guys. 10/10 do not recommend, but I'm doing it because it looks cute LOL.

This tattoo will be a tea themed sleeve. Featured on this half: hibiscus, chamomile, green tea leaves, raspberries + raspberry leaf, and lemons. I have another appointment in December and January to get the shading done but for now just lines!

I did not have tea with this chapter but that is okay- let's get into the notes!

I was so hung up on Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu's relationship that I totally forgot an entire war is brewing. Well. Here we go LOL

unrelated but important question- what is their ship name???

Okay we are starting the chapter strong with SQQ's gay panic LOL Re: SQQ lying to himself, the reader, and the gods about him actually meaning that he missed the light of his life LBH p241

These two!!!!! "Then why didn't you come look for this master inside the dream realm" p242

"Whenever Shizun is at Cang Qiong Mountain" Luo Binghe said quietly, "When Shizun is with other people, he always smiles so happily. So I thought you wouldn't miss me". p243 This guy is the absolute master manipulator or he just requires unlimited amounts of reassurance. Either way My HEART!

The cat and mouse game at this point is wild. Really Shen Qingqiu needs to figure his shit out because the "accidental" flirting is horse shit. p245

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 "Why does it sound like i've become your father" p246. NO THANKS. But also no wonder it feels weird as fuck- SQQ does not want to be LBH's daddy (in that way).

OOP! FINALLY. Luo Binghe is totally sus about SQQ's knowledge about the future and other things he really shouldn't know. I really hope it's revealed that he is from another world and Luo Binghe is chill with it. p248

Liu Qingge walks into any room in which SQQ was seemingly alone: p250

This is a side note but I really like Qi Qingqi, this woman is fierce as fuck. Like no nonsense I would 100% trust her with my life, death, and rebirth. I do suspect that she doesnt play a large role in the story but I wish she was present more. I do totally want to eventually read some fics with her in them because she is such a badass. p254

Dang! So the realm merging begins! I am sad though that they don't want SQQ to go, but I get it; he keeps running away or getting grievously injured. Also it's so weird that no one is really questioning how he has this much knowledge of future events, they just kind of accept it and run with it LOL (except Luo Binghe who has done the most questioning). pp256-257

Xuan Su is so fucking cool!!!!! p257

Well I am sure that LBH reputation points will increase now that he's saved Zhao Hua Monastery! p260 Thank fuck too, because I really wasn't seeing a positive end game for him and SQQ if he wasn't able to turn his reputation around.

This cheeky guy LOL "Shizun I have missed you, it's been so long" like the fool wasn't sitting in his lap the night before LOL pp261-262

SO AWKWARD LOL. LBH telling everyone who is important that he only cares for SQQ and will only do what SQQ wants him to do and will do absolutely anything for him. Meanwhile SQQ: . I DIED: "Peak Lord Shen has truly raised a good disciple. He's become our cultivation world's tremendous fortune." Though he said "raised a good disciple" the tone was no different from the way he might say "married a good husband." pp262-263

Well. I thought it was embarrassing before, but then we get hit with the "Luo Binghe nodded solemnly. "Yes." His face spread into a smile. "And Shizun is mine.". p265

I really love every conversation between SQH and SQQ. The understanding they have and the banter is so good pp266-267

LOL LBH : I am sooooo tired, let me fly with you? p268

LBH really is shameless! The public hand holding!!! Now it makes me want to read fics from LBH POV- we get SQQ this entire time, but I want to see what LBH has going on in there LOL. p269

He really was yeeted

RIP SQH. May you not die in that hole. pp270-271

[ultimateshixiongfuckertournament]

Noncanonicals Tournament Round 1, Match 7

Match 7 is between John 'Jack' Seward from Dracula (shizun/mentor: Abraham van Helsing) and Obi-Wan Kenobi from Star Wars (shizun/mentor: Qui-Gon Jinn)

Propaganda under the cut! (Warning: Propaganda may include spoilers about the characters and their media)

John 'Jack' Seward:

Actual quotes from the letter in which John Seward introduce Van Helsing:

"I am in doubt, and so have done the best thing I know of. I have written to my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing, of Amsterdam, who knows as much about obscure diseases as any one in the world. [...]

Van Helsing would, I know, do anything for me for a personal reason, so no matter on what ground he comes, we must accept his wishes. He is a seemingly arbitrary man, this is because he knows what he is talking about better than any one else. He is a philosopher and a metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists of his day, and he has, I believe, an absolutely open mind. This, with an iron nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, and indomitable resolution, self-command, and toleration exalted from virtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that beats, these form his equipment for the noble work that he is doing for mankind, work both in theory and practice, for his views are as wide as his all-embracing sympathy."

I feel like this speaks for itself tbqh.

Also, here's Van Helsing's answer to Seward's offscreen summons:

"When I received your letter I am already coming to you. By good fortune I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of those who have trusted me. Were fortune other, then it were bad for those who have trusted, for I come to my friend when he call me to aid those he holds dear. Tell your friend that when that time you suck from my wound so swiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that our other friend, too nervous, let slip, you did more for him when he wants my aids and you call for them than all his great fortune could do. But it is pleasure added to do for him, your friend, it is to you that I come.[...]"

The Gangrene Incident is never explained beyond this. Just. Jack sucked Van Helsing canon and real

Rest assured that they are like this from here to the end of the novel

--

See above; also, let's remember the fact that Jackie can apparently do a bang up Dutch accent to give full bodied performances mimicking his professor. Van H also implies that he and Jack are blood-married.

--

Even though they are mentor/student, Van Helsing strongly believes Jack is his equal in many ways and confides in him just for emotional stability. Stereotypically the mentor pushes the student outside of his comfort zone, but it is Jack who introduces the professor to everyone else in the story. Van Helsing tells another character that Jack helps alleviate his loneliness. He writes his "in case I die" memos to Jack specifically, because there is no one else who would understand him better.

Oh also Van Helsing has a running theme of barging into Jack's room unannounced, waking him up gently from his sleep, invading his personal space with little protest.

Obi-Wan Kenobi:

None submitted

[aesthetic-day-dream]

I was planning on keeping this away from this blog, seeing as I want to use it as an escape and a place of good, but l've been so anxious and scared and mad about the current state of the world that I just need to rant about it.

This may sound ignorant or delusional, I don't know anymore, but l'm really hoping we end up okay. I've been telling myself that there's still a lot of good in this world. Good things are happening every day, but they don't get as much traction as bad things do in the news.

News media has become more and more focused on only spreading the bad over the years and I just refuse to believe that the bad outweighs the good. Call me childish, I don't care.

I feel as though I can't pray for answers because I don't feel as though I'm being heard anymore. I hope I'm wrong. I want to grow up. I want to get a head full of gray hair. I want to experience life and everything that comes with it. I want to find love. I want to buy my own house. I want to decorate said house with all the stupid, small little things that make me happy. I want to decorate for Halloween and Christmas. I want to see my nieces grow up and start families of their own. Aging is a privilege and it is something that I will never take for granted. I have been blessed in my life and I am eternally grateful for that. I know that others have not been as fortunate as me and my heart is entirely with them.

It’s childish to say that I wish we could all get along, but I don’t care. I have never understood the hatred that some people have for others who are different than them. We are all human beings. There has been too much hatred, bloodshed, war, and everything awful you could think of in this world. I hate that everything we stand for, everything people strain their voices for in the hopes of change goes unheard of by people in power. The people who actually have the money and ability to help our planet - the very same people who just don’t care. The money hungry, greedy politicians who make everything a political war to turn us against each other.

I just want to go outside and enjoy the weather. I want those around me to be able to do the same. Scientists have been warning us about Climate change for YEARS!!! It pisses me off more than anything that we have had the time to fix things and yet here we are. Why did no one listen?! Why didn’t they fix things before it all spiraled out of control?? Maybe this is the ignorant, delusional, hopeful part of me, but I really do believe we can fix things before it’s too late. It’s just, the people who really need to change their ways for this planet to get better just don’t care. They like to put the pressure on us, the little people, when it’s them who are the problem.

You don’t have to read this. If you did, I hope I didn’t cause you any anxiety or discomfort, but I needed to get my own feelings out.

I believe that we’ll be okay, but we need to actually take the steps to get there. I hope people start to listen, if anything good can come out of Hurricane Milton, I hope it’s that it opens peoples eyes to the traumatic state the world is currently in.

If you’re in the path of Hurricane Milton, I hope that you’re okay. If you couldn’t evacuate or stayed behind to be with your pets or loved ones or you’re a healthcare worker who stayed to help, I wish the best for you. Please stay safe💚💚💚

I’m not sure if I will see any damage from Milton yet, I’m hoping we will be okay. I’ll update later if anyone cares to know. Be safe out there! 💚

[annaphoenix1994]

Aftershock

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

A swift knock on General Herschel Shepherd's oak door disturbed him of his duties. With an irritated and curious "Come in!", Shepherd was pleased to see Station Chief Kate Laswell. Shepherd knew she meant business when she came to speak with someone one-on-one, but the news he was prepared to hear was not what he was in the mood for. "Laswell." He greeted, setting his pen aside.

"General Shepherd." She nodded, presenting herself in a respectful stature.

"Boy, do I know that look," He sighed, sitting back in his chair. "Are we at war?"

"You would be the first to know, sir."

"Damn right I would. Now talk to me."

She sighed, nodding before presenting her digital tablet to him, zooming in on an artificial map. "We have a hit on Ghorbrani's second in command."

Shepherd chuckled in disbelief, taking the tablet in his hands. "Hassan Zyani. Quds Force Major."

"He's taken up the mantle for Iran."

"Supplying terrorists."

"Money, weapons, intel."

"Well, he's ambitious."

"He's dangerous, sir. He wants retaliation for the Ghorbrani strike. He's planning something."

"We can't take him in Iran."

Laswell leaned over his desk, using her index finger to open a new page on her tablet. "He's not in Iran, sir. He's on the ground in Al Mazrah."

"What the hell is he doing in Al Mazrah?" Shepherd scoffed.

"There is only one way to find out, sir."

"Well, let's get him."

"When?"

"What time is it now?" Shepherd cocked a brow as if he were challenging her.

"Who do we send?"  

»»-------¤-------««

Are you kidding me? I'm helping take out a hit on a wanted terrorist and having to babysit, too?

I had been on holiday for the last seven months, pushing my body to its limits while training as I was a highly respected Lieutenant on my Task Force, which consisted of three other men: Captain Price, Sergeant Garrick, and Sergeant MacTavish, and only one managed to really get under my skin. 

I sighed at the familiar name, knowing that this was definitely going to be an interesting mission. Soap always found ways to get under my skin, taking advantage of the fact that he had the backbone to actually aggravate me, knowing I wouldn't do much about it because I let it go through one ear and out the other. The only thing I could do was shoot him a death glare and spew hateful comments, but neither seemed to faze him, like he was pleased with how well he could piss me off. I haven't seen Soap since 2020 when we and Captain Price were assigned with Shepherd to carry out a hit on one of our most valued targets: Vladimir Makarov, which ended up being a bust. We caught him, but Soap lost his composure and nearly shot him in the helo after our target misled us.

Fortunately for Makarov, he got to live to see another day, but that still wasn't good enough. The Russian rat could eat shit for all I cared, and I wish that Soap would've pulled that trigger, regardless of Price's command to stand down.

Maybe one day.

Soap jumped down from the back of the truck, smiling and nodding at me before approaching me, "Let's get ourselves a win, yeah, L.T.?" He questioned, playfully fist-bumping my shoulder. "I'll save you a seat, sir."

Of course, we'll get a win, Soap. We always bloody do, at least when I'm a part of it.

"Fucking hell." I sighed, watching him walk away through my tired eyes. I hadn't slept in almost twenty hours, and it was starting to take its toll on me if I didn't make myself move.

Plenty, but it'll do me no good to tell you about it. 

»»-------¤-------««

»»-------¤-------««

I had the pleasure of leading Bravo Team while Alpha Team kept close by. We cleared a structure completely before taking on heavy enemy fire, causing one of our cover-fire helos to go down, resulting in unfortunate casualties. There were many questions as to if we were to move ahead and secure the crash site, but I made it clear that if we did that, we were compromising ourselves, so we needed to push forward and clear the closest buildings before securing the crash site.

There were more snipers than I was expecting, but Soap and a Marine did me proud by taking out the snipers effortlessly as me and the other men on the ground could proceed with clearing the next building. Hassan was everywhere – like a God to these ignorant bastards. It was disgusting how someone could blindly lead a band of loyal followers.

Eventually, all enemies were neutralized. All except for one – Hassan himself, and I was sure he got away when we secured the crash site. Soap questioned if we shouldn't have helped the downed helo in order to catch our target, but I made a stern statement that all actions have consequences, and this was a prime example.

We secured a perimeter around the complex to make a last-minute attempt to search for Hassan as all of us didn't want to go back empty-handed. When a Marine used a heartbeat sensor, he informed us that there was movement detected in what looked like a vacant warehouse. "L.T., that warehouse has a lot of windows on the top floor. Broken glass, too."

"Yeah, that's where a lot of enemy fire was coming from." I shrugged.

"Detecting over a dozen heartbeats in there, sir," A Marine informed me, flashing the screen of his heartbeat sensor at me. "I'm willing to bet he's in there."

"Maybe not. Regardless, we need to neutralize it. Might be something worth finding. Spread out. I'll take point."

"I'll be right behind you, L.T." Soap said.

"Keep up, Soap."

"I always try to, sir."

The warehouse erupted with enemy fire when we forced entry, most of the bastards wearing armor and relying on frags and flashbangs. They were definitely protecting something, and I was going to find out what it was. I was a man on a mission, and nothing was stopping me. These bastards couldn't even come close to the force that I was.

"Ghost! All clear!" Soap shouted from his cover position.

"It's not clear until I can confirm, Sergeant," I grumbled, moving up and taking cover against a shipping container. "Sergeant Miller, ensure the upper level is clear."

"Yes, sir. My sensor isn't detecting any more heartbeats. Brooks, watch my six."

"On it."

"Hopkins, keep that door secure."

"There's no movement up here, sir!" Miller shouted from the upper level as me and the rest of the Marines moved up to secure a position near the shipping container. It was suspicious that a single shipping container was laying in the middle of the warehouse, a flat trailer and few crates nearby. What was in this thing?

"What the fuck is this?" Soap grumbled, opening the door to see a discharge station – the same one I had seen prior to when I was assigned to Al Mazrah with General Shepherd and his PMC group to conduct a missile strike on General Ghorbrani seven months prior to this. Why do they have something like this?

"It's all in English!" I scoffed in disbelief, stepping in to view the discharge station closer, confirming my suspicion.

"Al-Qatala's got some serious shit in here." Miller commented, keeping his eye on the rear entry point of the warehouse, his rifle aimed.

I could've scolded Soap for the curious pull he did to one of the levers, and perhaps I should have, but for once in a long while, I was too stunned to speak. Soap and I stepped back as we looked up towards the sound of hydraulic cylinders in action, watching a massive unit moving into a firing position. Fucking hell, we definitely have a problem now.

"Ballistic missiles." I sighed.

"It's a mobile launcher, no?" Soap asked.

"These'll go a thousand miles..." Miller commented.

"Yeah, at least."

"How the hell did Iran get their hands on this?" Soap cursed, walking towards the side of the container to climb the stack of pallets to get a better look at it.

"7-6, get us through to Laswell."

"Roger. Standby."

"Uh, Ghost... Take a look at this." Soap said, breaking my focus when he looked down at me, moving to the side before I saw an American flag painted on the side of the unit itself. Bloody fucking hell, these were stolen missile launchers. But how?

»»-------¤-------««

"All right, clear the room," Shepherd stated, entering the conference room of the Pentagon. His face stayed stationary with defeat, frustration, and anger. His employees looked at him stunned, each of them jolting when Shepherd raised his voice for urgent response. "Now! Everybody out! Let's go!"

Laswell stayed behind, standing at the foot of the table, eyeing her laptop as she looked as confused as he was. She knew she was about to get an earful for something that he could blame her for if he wanted to, even though it slipped through everyone's hands, not just hers. 

"Iran is in possession of American missiles." He said, confirming what Ghost had told him from the mission.

"American missiles in AQ's hands."

"Hassan has been passing out our ballistic missiles like it's fucking Halloween and we didn't know about it?" He shouted.

"Gives Iran plausible deniability," Laswell replied.

"Oh, plausible deniability my ass – Iran's all over this. I wanna know how many they have and where they intend to use them!"

"If Hassan is moving missiles, then he has a smuggling partner."

"Well, then I would advise you to figure out who that is."

"Give my team two hours with those missiles, sir. I will know everybody who's even breathed on them."

"Negative. I want them destroyed!"

"General, there's valuable intel there."

"This is an intelligence failure, Laswell! It's not gonna be a tactical one. There will be 500 enemy soldiers on that site by sunrise. We need a win fast!" He stated, leaning for his radio. 

A few moments pass by...

"Amsterdam..." Laswell said.

"What the hell's Amsterdam got to do with this?"

Laswell breathed a laugh, "It's a smuggling hub. Ports and canals are insecure. Iran has friends there. We do too..."

"Who?"

"The Captain," she said with a slight smirk, pulling up Captain Price's file. "He's tracking an AQ cell in country as we speak."

"Well, that's the first good news I've heard all day."

"I'll link up with him and handle this myself, sir."

"Kate Laswell back in the field?"

"I want this done right."  

[daffi-990]

Daffi, beloved 🌼

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love ✨

Ohh thank you for this!

stuck now so long, we just got the start wrong

aka rival firefighters 🚒

This baby is 85k and I adore her so much. If I can encourage anyone to read one of my fics it’s this one. It’s just SO GOOD (yes I’m tooting my own horn).

Summary:

Probational Firefighters Evan “Buck” Buckley and Eddie Diaz meet on a call which ends with them at odds with each other.

As the months roll by, they keep running into each other on the job, much to Eddie’s dismay and Buck’s delight.

Can they put aside their first opinions and misunderstandings and allow the seeds of friendship, and possibly something more, to take root?

LA Lonely

My latest fic which has all the feel good and rom-com vibes. I really adore this one.

Summary:

Buck meets Eddie one night at a bar and sparks fly. Buck feels an instant connection but after Eddie leaves in a rush the next morning, he puts it down to his imagination because he’s only good for one night, no one wants him for keeps.

Cue him running into Eddie almost everywhere he goes, like the universe keeps putting Eddie in his path. And Eddie is kind and never makes their interactions feel awkward and the way he smiles at Buck has something warm fluttering to life inside him.

Is his crush unrequited or is there a chance Eddie feels the same?

remember to remember me

aka the lightning amnesia fic. And my first fic. This one is very special to me and I’m so proud of her and I really wish she got a bit more hype.

Summary:

Buck and Eddie finally get together only for lightning to strike a few days later, leaving Buck with no memories of them ever becoming a couple.

I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20 year dark night (now I’m wide awake)

Now this one is part of a series called Daylight, but can be read as a stand alone. It’s cosy and soft and lovely and yes, I do have plans to continue the series, I’m just waiting for the writing beans to return from war.

Summary:

Buck is tired of the fame, fortune and loneliness of a life that doesn’t even feel like his own, so he packs his bags and runs away, ending up in the small beachside town of Hartlan Shore where he decides to begin his life anew.

turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you

A little angsty fic that came out of nowhere. It has a happy ending like all of my fics do <3

Summary:

To protect his heart, Eddie pulls away from Buck when he starts dating Natalia. When he decides to move to B-shift, Buck finally confronts him and certain feelings finally come to light.

Thanks again Hippo for this ask! ❤️