#lady caswell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nyrasvoid · 6 months ago

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In the Heat of Battle ⚔︎

♡︎ Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

𖤓 Summary: Lady Caswell defies her family to become a healer in the war of the Stepstones. Amid the violence, she forms a bond with Ser Gwayne Hightower.

⚝ Warnings: violence, sexual assault attempt (nothing happens), includes themes of war and injury and explicit sexual content

♜ Things you should know: reader is from a minor house of the Reach (House Caswell), when the news of war are spread the ladies are given the choice to serve as healers. Reader prefers to serve as a healer in the battle camps than becoming a septa or marrying.

⚝ A/N: this is a bit like the relationship between Robb stark and his wife in GOT, just a reminder that my requests are open 😊

- Word count: 6k words (ik I went a bit crazy this time)

The hall of your family’s keep is quieter than usual, though tension hangs in the air.

You sit at the long table, your hands resting om your lap, trying to keep calm as your mother and father exchange worried glances from across the room. The fireplace is the only sound that fills the room. Your sisters sit nearby, their faces show their concern, while your two brothers stand at the back of the room.

You know why you’re all gathered here. It’s a conversation that’s been pending for weeks, ever since news of the war of the Stepstones reached your lands. You and the rest of the ladies were given a choice, but it’s clear that your family doesn’t see it as one.

Your father clears his throat, breaking the silence. "My daughter, you are the youngest of House Caswell. You must understand the choices before you. There are...expectations. It is time to think of your future."

Your mother nods. "We’ve spoken of this before. You could marry, my dearest. There are lords who would gladly take a girl like you. Or, if marriage isn’t your path, the septas will gladly take you in."

You’ve heard this all before. Marriage or the Faith. Those are the only options anyone sees for you. But they don’t understand. You don’t want to spend your life praying in a sept or playing the dutiful wife. You want something else.

“I don’t want to be a septa,” you say firmly. “And I have no interest in marriage, not right now. The war… they need healers. I can help.”

Your father’s brows furrow. He sits back in his chair, eyeing you with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "The battlefield is no place for a woman, especially not a daughter of mine."

“I agree,” your sister, Melissa, interrupts from across the table. She’s always been the dutiful one, her nose always buried in the books of history. “The gods have plans for us. You could do good in the Faith, sister. Don’t let the horrors of war tempt you from a safer path.”

“Safe?” You scoff. “The Faith doesn’t call to me, Melissa. I’m not like you. I do not hear the call of the Seven like you do.” You look at your sister. “I want to do something that matters, to help people. People who are suffering because of this war.”

“Being a septa helps people,” she tries to convince you, “you’d bring the Light of the Seven to those in need.”

“But that is not what I wish for,” you insist, “I want to help with my hands. Healing those who are wounded. Saving lives.”

Your older brother, Ser Arthur, steps forward, his voice firm. “Do you know what you’re asking for, sister? You’ve never seen war. It’s not some grand adventure. It’s blood and death, and it will haunt you long after the fighting is over.” He pauses briefly. “If you think healing will spare you from that, you’re wrong.”

Your younger brother, Theo, who’s barely old enough to hold a sword, speaks up, his voice shaky. “He’s right. I’ve heard the stories from the soldiers who’ve returned. The screams, the smells. The battlefield is no place for a lady.”

You turn to them. “I am not asking for a knight’s life. I know what war is. I’m not foolish.” You glance between your siblings and your parents. “But I will not stand by while men die if I can do something about it, let me help. It is my choice.”

Your father slams his hand down on the table, startling everyone. “And what of your duties to this house? You think you can just abandon them, throw yourself into the mud and blood of battle?”

Your mother’s eyes fill up with unshed tears, and she whispers, “You’re our daughter, sweetling. We just want you safe.”

You swallow hard, trying to fight back the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “I know you want what’s best for me. But I need to do this. Not because I want to run away from my duties, but because I want to make a difference. If I can save even one life out there, then that’s worth it to me.”

Melissa stands up, coming closer to you and resting her hand on your shoulder. “Please, sister. You’re smarter than this. You don’t have to go looking for death. The gods have other plans for you, if you’ll just listen.”

You turn to her, “I love you, Melissa. But I can’t live my life praying every single day, locked up in a sept.”

Everyone turns quiet, you could only hear your mother’s sobs and the fireplace.

Finally, it is your father who breaks the silence, his voice rough. “If this is truly what you want…” He shakes his head, sighing. “Then go. Serve as a healer. But do not say I didn’t warn you.”

You meet his gaze, nodding. “Thank you.”

Melissa looks like she wants to keep trying to convince you, but she just sighs in defeat. “May the gods protect you, sister.”

Arthur steps forward, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re doing”

“So do I,” you murmur, though you know this is the path you must follow, you still have some doubts in your mind.

As you rise from your seat and begin to make your way out of the hall, you feel the guilt of not listening to them, but you’ve made your choice. The battlefield may not be a place for most women, but you are not most women.

You will go, and you will help. No matter what anyone else says.

The morning you leave for the war, the sky is heavy with clouds, as if the gods were trying to tell you it was the wrong path. Your family stands around you, silent in disappointment.

Your mother is the first to approach you. She takes your hand, into hers. Her eyes are still red from the tears she shed last night. "Please, my dearest, be careful," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I know you think this is the right choice, but I can’t bear to lose you. You’re still my little girl."

You feel a bit of guilt but gently squeezed her hand in return. "I’ll be careful, mother. I promise. I’ll write whenever I can."

Your father stands a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest. He hasn’t spoken to you since you made your choice.

"My daughter," he says, "If you find that this is too much, if you wish to come home, there will always be a place for you here."

You nod. "Thank you, Father. But I won’t be coming home until I’ve fulfilled my duty."

Your sister Melissa approaches next, she’s spent the entire night in prayer. "I will pray for you every day," she says softly. "May the gods guide you and keep you safe."

You smile at her, grateful for her words even if you no longer share her faith in the Seven. "Thank you, sister. But I will be relying on my own hands to keep me safe."

Arthur steps forward as he pulls you into a firm embrace. He doesn’t speak, but the hug says enough. "You’re braver than I thought," he says. "I just hope you know what you’re getting into."

"I do," you reply, meeting his gaze. "and I will come back, brother. Do not worry."

Your younger brother Theo, looks up at you with sadness in his eyes. "If I were old enough," he murmurs, "I would be going with you."

You ruffle his hair, "Well, I am glad you’re not. Stay here, and keep the family safe for me, all right?"

His smile turns into a pout, but he nods, "Fine," he mumbles. "But you better come back in one piece so we can play like we do."

You give him a small smile, although you want to do this, you do not like the idea of leaving your family behind. “I will come back in one piece, I promise.”

With one last glance at your family, you get on the back the carriage. You know this journey will change you. There’s no denying that. But you also know you’ve made the right choice.

As you ride away, the gates of your family’s keep slowly close behind you, and the view of your home begins to fade.

Your journey to the Stepstones begins, it is a long trip, longer than you expected, and after just a few hours on the ship, you’ve already had enough of the sea.

It’s uncomfortable, and filled with rough men, mercenaries, and knights—making their way to the battle in the Stepstones. Among them, you are one of the very few women, and the looks you get remind you of it.

But you are not alone. On the second day of the journey, you meet Lysa, a fellow healer, although her skills lean more towards battlefield survival and self-defense. She is very brave and before long, the two of you find yourselves sticking together, watching each other’s backs.

One evening, you and Lysa sit on the deck, talking about your families and why you both chose to leave them behind for war.

“So,” Lysa says, “you chose to be a healer instead of a septa. I have to say, I would have done the same, given the choice.”

You smile at her. “I couldn’t bear the idea of spending my life in a sept. Too quiet, too… restricting.”

Lysa laughs. “I get it. I couldn’t stand being tied down either. I’d rather be out here, risking my life, than sitting at home waiting for a husband.”

As you share stories, the bond between you strengthens. You find that you trust her in a way you’ve trusted few people in your life. It’s comforting to have a friend, especially on a ship full of strange and dangerous men.

But not everyone aboard the ship is as decent as Lysa.

That same night, as you make your way to your shared quarters, a man blocks your way. He’s an older knight, his face scarred, his breath stinking of ale.

“Now what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” he slurs, leaning in too close.

You step back in disgust. “I am a healer, here to tend to the wounded. Nothing more.”

The man chuckles, his eyes roaming over your body. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be doing plenty more. A pretty girl like you… I’m sure the men will find other uses for you.”

You feel sick to your stomach at his words. “I’d rather be eaten by sharks than entertain men like you.”

The man’s smile fades, “You ought to watch your tongue, girl. Do not forget your place.”

“Trust me,” you say loud enough for the surrounding men to hear, “I know my place. It is not in your bed, and certainly not besides a man who reeks like a wet dog.”

You can hear the laughter from the other men around, and the knight’s face flushes with embarrassment. You ignore his presence and go inside your shared quarters.

Lysa claps you on the shoulder when you reach her, smiling widely. “That was brilliant,” she says. “You put that dog in his place.”

You shrug, “I just hope he takes the hint.”

Unfortunately, the old knight doesn’t. Later that night, while you’re asleep, you hear footsteps in the darkness. Before you can react, a rough hand covers your mouth. Your heart pounds in your chest as you struggle to break free, kicking around as hard as you could.

But before the man can do anything more, he’s pulled away from you, and you hear a familiar voice. “Get your filthy hands off her, or I will slice your throat myself.”

The man growls, but Lysa doesn’t back down, she presses the knife to his neck and slightly cuts it.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Lysa whispers, standing over him. “Try something like that again, and I’ll throw you overboard.”

The knight, humiliated and angry, mutters something under his breath before retreating back into the shadows.

“Are you all right?” she asks, turning to you.

You nod shakily, your heart still racing. “Thanks to you.”

She sits down beside you, her expression softening. “Us women have to stick together out here. There aren’t many people you can trust on a ship like this.”

You take her hand, squeezing it. “I won’t forget it.”

The rest of the journey passes with fewer incidents, though the tension never quite leaves. You and Lysa keep a careful eye on each other, making sure that no one else tries anything again. When the ship finally reaches the Stepstones, you’re relieved to set foot on solid ground.

When you arrive at the healers’ tent, you’re greeted not by the woman you were expecting but by an old maester. He introduces himself as Maester Aegred, and though he is kind, you could see the surprise in his eyes the moment he saw you.

“You’re the healer?” he asks, raising his brow slightly.

“I am,” you reply, straightening your back, “Lady Caswell, sent by my family to serve here.”

Maester Aegred nods slowly, though he seems uncertain. “You’re one of the only women in this camp, I’m afraid. It will not be easy for you.”

“I’m not here because I thought it would be easy,” you say firmly. “I’m here because I want to help.”

The maester gives you a small approving nod. “Very well. Welcome to the Stepstones, Lady Caswell.”

He gives hands you a basket filled with herbs and bandages. “You’ll be starting with the fevered men,” he says, “Boil these herbs for teas, and keep their wounds clean. Watch for signs of infection.”

You get to work without hesitation, the first man you attend looks barely conscious, his face wet with sweat. You dip a cloth into cool water, before placing it gently on his forehead.

“There now,” you whisper, “Rest easy. I’m here to help.”

You prepare the herbal tea as the maester instructed, bringing the it to his lips. He barely sips it, but you’re persistent, bringing him to drink more. His skin is hot to the touch, and you pray the fever will break soon.

As you continue tending to the soldiers, the hours pass by. There’s little time for anything else besides cleaning wounds, applying creams, and offering them tea.

Days pass like this—hard work from dawn until dusk. You grow more accustomed to the sight of blood. Your hands become more skilled.

One afternoon, after days of dealing with nothing but fever and infection, you’re called to tend to a knight who’s been brought in from the front lines. His armor is dented, and his face is pale beneath a layer of blood. His men carry him into the maester’s tent.

“Bring water!” the maestro yells at one of the younger healers before turning to you. “Caswell, I need you over here!”

You rush to his side and assess the knight’s condition. His leg is badly wounded, a deep cut through the muscle. Blood keeps coming through the wrapped bandage.

“I’ll need to clean this and stitch it closed,” you say. The sight of such a severe injury would have once made your stomach turn, but now, you see only the work that needs to be done.

The knight’s eyes flutter open as you begin to work, and he lets out a low groan of pain.

“You’re… the healer?” he rasps, his voice rough from pain and exhaustion.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice calm as you clean the wound. “Stay still, and I’ll cure this soon.”

He’s in pain but does his best to remain still. “Not what I expected,” he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his tone despite the situation.

“And what were you expecting?” you ask, keeping your focus on his leg.

“An ugly old maester with cold hands,” he says gritting his teeth. “Not… someone like you.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” you say in amusement.

He lets out a weak laugh before groaning in pain. “I’m not disappointed… just surprised.”

“You’re lucky to still be alive,” you say as you finish cleaning the wound. “The cut was deep. If you hadn’t been brought in when you were…”

The knight nods weakly. “Thank you… for saving my life.”

“I haven’t saved it yet,” you reply, threading your needle. “This will hurt, but it needs to be done.”

He grits his teeth and nods again, preparing himself for the pain. You work as quickly as you can, stitching the wound closed. Despite his discomfort, the knight bears, only grunting occasionally.

Once you finish, you sit back, wiping the sweat off your face. “There you go. It should heal well if you keep off it and give it time.”

The knight exhales, “Thank you… Lady—?”

“Caswell,” you say simply, not offering your full name. There’s no need for it here.

His brow lifts as if trying to place your family name, and you see the moment he realizes that your house is one of little significance. “Ah,” he says simply, “a Reach girl, then. Far from home.”

“I go where I’m needed,” you reply “as do most of us who serve.” You pause before you realize that you still don’t know his name. “And you are?”

“Ser Gwayne Hightower,” he says, giving you a small smile. “Of Oldtown.”

You pause at the name. You’ve heard of him before, of course—who hasn’t? The eldest son of Otto Hightower, the hand of the King.

You nod, standing up to gather your supplies. “Rest, Ser Gwayne. You’ll need your strength.”

As you turn to leave, he calls after you. “Lady Caswell?”

You pause, turning around. “Yes?”

“Will I… see you again?”

You can’t help but slightly smile at the question. “Only if you’re foolish enough to get yourself injured again.”

With that, you leave the tent, though his words linger in your mind.

The days pass on, and Ser Gwayne Hightower stays in the maester’s tent, recovering from his wounds. Despite the chaos and demands of the camp, you find yourself drawn to him more often than you’d expected. Every time you pass his bed to check on other patients, his eyes follow you. Sometimes, he even offers a tired smile.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just another soldier in need of care. But there’s something about him that keeps him in your mind.

One morning, as you tend to another patient, you hear his familiar voice call out from across the tent. "Lady Caswell!"

You sigh, trying to focus on the soldier’s arm, but Ser Gwayne does not give up.

“Lady Caswell,” he says again, this time louder, "I am dying of boredom over here. Come and put me out of my misery."

You finish your task, shaking your head, but you can’t help but smile. This has become routine, Ser Gwayne calling for you whenever you pass by, always with some comment or complaint. You try not to encourage him, but the man is relentless.

As you approach his bed, you find him sitting up on the bed, looking far better than he did when he first arrived. The color has returned to his face, and his leg, still bandaged, seems to be healing well.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” you ask, crossing your arms as you look down at him.

He shrugs. “Resting is boring. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for days now. I think I’m going mad.”

“And what would you have me do about it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Talk to me,” he replies, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the only one in this place with anything interesting to say.”

You roll your eyes, but the truth is, you like speaking with him. “And what exactly do you think is so interesting about me?”

He leans back against his pillow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “For one, you’re the only woman I’ve met who’d rather patch up wounds than sit in some lord’s castle or pray to the gods.”

You tilt your head slightly, furrowing your eyebrows. “Is that your way of saying I’m strange?”

His smile widens. “Strange? No. Unusual, perhaps. A good kind of unusual.”

You suppress a laugh. Despite his status, he doesn’t seem to carry the same arrogance as some of the other knights you’ve tended. Still, you remind yourself why you’re here. You’re a healer, not some maiden looking for a knight’s attention.

“Well,” you say, “I’m here to heal wounds, not provide entertainment. If you’re well enough to chat, perhaps you should be focusing on getting better so you can leave the tent.”

“Leave?” Gwayne looks offended. “And abandon the finest healer in all the Seven Kingdoms? Never.”

You smirk. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Ser Gwayne.”

He chuckles but falls silent as you reach for the bandages around his leg. Carefully, you peel the cloth to examine the stitches. The wound looks clean—no signs of infection, and the stitches are holding well.

“You’ve been keeping your leg high, I hope?” you ask, meeting his gaze.

Gwayne nods, “Mostly.”

“Mostly?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, “A man can’t lie around forever. I’ve been getting up—only for a short walk around the tent, of course.”

You sigh, “You’ll undo all my hard work if you push yourself too soon.”

“Aye, but how else am I to win your favor?” he teases.

You shake your head, standing up. “You’d better focus on getting well before you concern yourself with winning anything.”

As you turn to leave, he calls after you again, this time more serious. “My lady.”

You pause but don’t turn around. “Yes?”

His voice is softer this time. “Thank you. Truly.”

You nod once before continuing on your way, trying to push the thought of him from your mind. You don’t have time for distractions, not with so many lives depending on you.

Over the next few days, Ser Gwayne’s persistence doesn’t fade. Every time you pass his bed, he finds some excuse to speak with you, to ask you how your day is. You try to remain professional, to keep your distance, but it becomes harder and harder to ignore the way his presence makes your heart skip a beat, even if only for a moment.

One evening, you find yourself alone for the first time in what feels like weeks. You’re sitting outside the maester’s tent, the cool breeze making you feel relieved at least for a moment. For a second, you allow yourself to close your eyes and breathe.

But, as if summoned by your thoughts, Gwayne appears, limping slightly as he approaches. “Lady Caswell,” he greets you.

You open your eyes and look up at him, surprised to see him outside of the tent. “You shouldn’t be walking,” you say.

He lowers himself onto the ground beside you, groaning as he does. “I needed some air,” he says quietly. “And I think you could use some company.”

You sit beside Ser Gwayne in the quiet of the night.

“You know,” Gwayne begins, his voice soft, “this is the longest conversation I’ve had in a while that didn’t revolve around injuries or strategy.”

You chuckle lightly. “I can imagine. It’s not easy finding moments of peace in a place like this.”

Gwayne nods. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before. About how you came here to make a difference.”

“Yeah?” you reply, looking at him.

Gwayne meets your eyes, “You’re doing more than most of us, you know. You’re saving lives, giving hope.”

You blush slightly, “It’s not always easy. Sometimes I wonder if I’m making any real difference.”

“You are,” he insists, reaching out to gently touch your hand. “I see it. I’ve seen the way you care for everyone, how you give everything you have.”

You feel a shiver at his touch, the warmth of his hand against yours.

Gwayne leans closer, his eyes searching yours. “I know this isn’t the place for… this,” he says softly, “but I needed to tell you how much I admire what you’re doing. And how much I appreciate you.”

Before you can say more, he gently closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. You respond, feeling the passion and longing in the moment.

But as the kiss deepens, a wave of realization hits you. This isn’t the time, and it’s certainly not the place for such feelings to complicate matters. You pull back gently, your breath quick.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, standing up. “We shouldn’t… We’re both here for important reasons, and this—” you gesture between you, “—isn’t right.”

Gwayne looks at you with understanding, his expression a mix of regret and affection. “I understand,” he says quietly. “It was a mistake.”

“No,” you correct him, “not a mistake. Just not the right time. We both have too much to focus on right now.”

He nods, his eyes filled with warmth and a touch of sadness. “Goodnight, Lady Caswell.”

“Goodnight, Ser Gwayne,” you reply, offering him a soft smile before turning away.

As you walk back to your tent, your mind is a whirl of emotions. The kiss was a moment of connection, but the reality of your situation settles in. You need to stay focused on your duties and not let personal feelings distract you from the important work ahead.

The next morning you found Lysa outside the tent, sitting on a barrel.

“You know,” she said as you sat down besides her, “I’ve seen the way that knight looks at you.”

You sigh, not in the mood for this conversation. “He’s recovering, Lysa. His mind is clouded with fever and pain. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying.”

Lysa chuckled, shaking her head. “No, his fever broke days ago. Trust me, that man knows exactly what he’s saying.”

You glance at her. “It’s nothing.”

“Is it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I see the way you talk to him. You like him.”

You roll your eyes, “Lysa, I didn’t come here for this.”

“Maybe not,” she said, leaning back, her gaze shifting to the distant horizon, “but sometimes life gives you things you didn’t expect.”

You and Lysa were still talking near the tent when the distant thud of footsteps reached your ears. The sound wasn’t normal. It was too loud, too fast. Then, the shouting started.

“Attack!” someone yelled from the other side of the camp.

Soldiers were rushing to grab their weapons as a group of enemy soldiers burst through the camp, moving with terrifying speed.

You turned to Lysa. “We need to get the wounded out of here, now!”

Together, you rushed into the tent where the injured men lay, Ser Gwayne among them. He was awake but clearly in no condition to fight.

“What’s happening?” Ser Gwayne asked, struggling to sit up.

“The camp is under attack,” you replied quickly, moving to help another soldier out of his bed. “We need to move everyone before the raiders get here.”

Ser Gwayne tried to get up, but his leg gave out, and he collapsed back onto the bed. You hurried over to him, “You’re coming with us. No fighting.”

He frowned but didn’t argue.

More healthy soldiers rushed into the tent, and together, you began lifting the wounded onto a cart that had been brought to the entrance. You worked quickly, heart pounding, as the sounds of the attack grew closer.

One of the soldiers, helped you carry Ser Gwayne onto the back of the cart. “Let’s get them out of here!” he shouted.

The man climbed onto the driver’s seat, grabbing the reins of the horses. You and Lysa jumped up on the cart sitting with the wounded.

The horses raced forward, pulling the cart through the camp. You could see the flames now, the camp had been set on fire.

The wounded moaned and shifted with every bump, but there was no time to stop.

“We’re almost there,” the man muttered, his eyes scanning the horizon. You could see the cliffs that bordered the camp, and just beneath them, the mouth of the cave you had mentioned earlier.

The cave was deep enough to hide in, and for now, it was your only chance of getting everyone to safety.

As you neared the entrance, one of the soldiers riding beside the cart let out a sharp scream. You turned to see him clutching his side, an arrow protruding from between his ribs. He fell off his horse, but you couldn’t stop.

“No!” Lysa screamed in disbelief.

“We need to hurry!” you yelled, gripping the edge of the cart.

With a final burst of speed, the cart entered the cave’s mouth.

“We made it,” Lysa breathed, her voice trembling with relief.

You jumped down from the cart to help unload the wounded. The soldiers who had made it into the cave with you began pulling the injured men off the cart, laying them down on the cool stone floor. Ser Gwayne was the last one off, his face pale.

“Thank you,” he said quietly as you helped him to his feet.

“You can thank me when we’re safe,” you replied. Outside, you could hear the distant sounds of fighting in the camp, but for now, the cave was safe.

“We need to stay quiet,” Lysa whispered, moving to stand beside you. “If they find us here…”

“They won’t,” you said. You turned to Ser Gwayne, who was leaning against the cave wall. “How’s your leg?”

“I’ll manage,” he replied through gritted teeth. “But what now?”

You looked around the cave, your mind racing.

“We wait,” you said after a moment. “Just long enough for the fighting to stop. Then we move again.” See Gwayne nodded, although you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

The wounded soldiers groaned softly as they tried to make themselves comfortable on the rocky floor. Lysa sat beside one of them, her face tight with worry as she tended to their wounds.

The night dragged on, and the once distant sounds of battle now sounded closer every moment. You and Ser Gwayne sat at the back of the cave, listening to the clashing steel and the cries of men in the distance.

You stared up through the small opening at the top of the cave’s ceiling, where you could perfectly see the moon high in the sky. You glanced at Gwayne, who was leaning against the wall, his face pale and tense as he listened to the battle. His leg was stretched out in front of him, still causing him pain despite the bandages. Every now and then, you saw his hand twitch toward his sword, as though he were ready to fight again despite his injuries.

"They're not going to stop," you said softly, breaking the silence.

Gwayne looked at you, "No, they won't."

The battle was drawing closer. You had been hiding for hours, and the hope that the fighting would stop had vanished. Even if you went back, the camp would likely be destroyed, the supplies either burned or taken. There would be no help, no rescue.

"We might not make it through the night," you whispered.

Gwayne's gaze softened. He reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. "We might not," he agreed, his voice quiet.

“You ever think about how strange it all is?” Gwayne whispered after a moment. “One minute you’re fighting for your life, the next you’re here… staring at the moon.”

You smiled. “It is strange. But I suppose that’s life. Never quite what you expect.”

He laughed softly at that. “You’re far too calm about all of this. Most people would be panicking out of their minds.”

“Trust me, I’m frightened,” you admitted, meeting his gaze. “I just hide it well.”

He reached out, his hand brushing against yours, the touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself shifting closer to him.

“You’re something else,” he said softly, his voice low. There was an edge to his tone, something raw and unguarded.

You felt your pulse quicken. “Is that a compliment, Ser Gwayne?”

“It might be,” he replied, a teasing glint

You looked down at your joined hands. "I never thought it would end like this," you murmured, "In a cave, with nothing left but a few wounded men and no chance to save them."

Gwayne’s grip tightened. "It's not the end yet," he said, "But if it is…"

You took a deep breath, "If this is it… if this is the last night…" You said with a shaky voice, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes. "I don't want to spend it in fear."

Gwayne looked at you, he gave you a small chuckle. "You know… I've thought about that too. If we're going to die, why waste the time we have left in misery?"

You look at him, your gaze fixated on his lips "Then let's not."

Gwayne's eyes searched yours, and then, without another word, he pulled you toward him.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender, filled with a need that went beyond mere desire.

He pulled you closer with his good hand. The kiss deepened, growing more desperate. You pressed yourself against him, your heart racing as his lips moved down pressing soft kisses against your neck.

He looked back up to you, “My leg’s no good for much, but I’m not about to let that stop us,” he whispered.

You smiled, “Then let me take over.”

Gently, you guided him down to the ground on his back, careful of his injured leg. He watched you with desperate eyes as you sat on top him, adjusting yourself carefully so as not to cause him pain. His hands instinctively slid to your hips, his touch firm but gentle.

Your hands rested on his chest, you could feel his heartbeat racing, matching the wild rhythm of your own. You leaned in close, pressing your lips to his with a tenderness that contrasted with the fierce urgency you both felt.

You broke the kiss for just a moment, sitting up to pull your shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you with raw hunger, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your sensitive nipples.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, leaning up to press his lips against your collarbone, kissing his way down.

You gasped softly as his lips found a tender spot on your neck. Your hands moved to undo the ties at your waist, slipping out of your pants, leaving you completely bare before him.

With his help, you shifted slightly to tug his trousers down. He was already hard, his length pressing eagerly against your thigh as you settled back atop him. The tension between you both was almost unbearable as you pulled yourself up, the tip of him brushing against your wet entrance.

He groaned softly as you lowered your body and began to roll your hips against him. His hands gripped your waist tighter, helping to guide you as you moved.

“Does it hurt?” you whispered breathlessly.

He shook his head as he looked up at you. “No… it feels good. Don’t stop.”

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, his voice filled

with pleasure. He tilted his head up, capturing your lips in a kiss. Your bodies moved in sync, the sound of your panting breaths and the sounds of your bodies clashing filled the cave.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as you kissed him harder, your hips rolling harder. You could feel yourself nearing your climax.

“Gwayne…” you gasped his name, breaking the kiss.

He groaned again, his eyes locked on yours as he thrust up into you with what strength he had,“I’m right here,” he whispered, his voice low.

That was all it took for you to come. Your body trembled as you reached your peak, your head falling back. You felt Gwayne follow moments later, his grip on you tightening as he came too, his body trembling beneath yours as he filled you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your breaths in uneven gasps. You collapsed against his chest, your bodies still connected.

His hands moved lazily up and down your back, a gentle, reassuring touch. You lifted your head, pressing a soft kiss to his jawline.

“That… was worth it,” Gwayne murmured, his lips quirking into a tired but satisfied smile.

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I think so too.”

“I think I can die at peace now.” Gwayne sighed gazing at the moon.

“I think so too.” you nodded smiling at him.

Pt.2???

#gwayne fanfic #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne imagine #gwayne x reader #gwayne x you #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon

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thewriterthatghostedyou · 3 months ago

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New Series Release Starting on Oct. 31st

Here is something that I have been working on for a bit and I am far enough ahead in writing it so I decided to start posting! I also plan on releasing a chapter a week on Fridays after this week so that I actually keep up on updating it. We’ll see if my adhd brain will be able to stick to the plan lol.

This is an AU where the Greens win and all of the Blacks are dead except for Aegon III and Viserys II. (Baela, Rheana, and Corlys are also alive after Corlys switches sides as he did in the books).

Also, this is heavily inspired by the Selection series since I just reread it lol but obviously in Westeros and a lot darker and more adult. There are no warnings for this prologue besides canon typical violence.

Divider by @zaldritzosrose

Westeros’ history was a bloody one. Starting when the Six Kingdoms became one under the rule of Aegon the Conqueror, blood had seeped through the very pages of its existence. More blood was spilled with the coming of Meagor the Cruel, a cunning and ambitious man that was only stopped by his mysterious death on the throne itself. And finally now, the Dance of the Dragons. A war that pitted family against family and ripped the realm apart in the process.

Blood and violence always seemed to follow the Targaryens and yet you found yourself drawn to them all the same. You were on Dragonstone when the news of King Viserys’ death reached the realm.

Your hands trembled as your future mother by law gripped her stomach in pain before being rushed out of the war room by the maesters. “Lady Caswell.” Princess Rhaenys’ voice brought you back to her as she placed a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. “There is news that I must tell you as well.”

“What’s wrong? What else has happened?” Jacaerys gripped your hand tightly as Baela rushed over.

“After my cousin’s death the Green Council found your father trying to escape the Red Keep.” Your blood had run cold as she continued. “He was trying to warn the Queen of what was happening, of the treason that was occurring.” You prayed to any god, old or new that this was all a dream. “When I was able to finally leave my own chambers he was hung from the outer walls of the Keep along with any others who refused to bend the knee to Aegon. I’m very sorry-”

The princess’ words seemed to rise to a searing pitch as she continued and you felt Baela reach out to steady you as you wobbled forward. Your father couldn’t be dead. He had finalized your betrothal to Jace and Baela yesterday. He had just embraced you warmly yesterday. He had promised to visit you on Dragonstone some time yesterday. He was alive yesterday.

You had watched from the sidelines as the war began. Lost in grief as death after death seemed to occur in quick succession. Your father, Luke, Princess Rhaenys, and Jace. Your sweet Jace. You were inconsolable when the news reached you of Jace’s death, unable to accept that the man that you loved, the kind man who held you when you cried and made you smile in the face of tragedy, had been killed. You found yourself clinging to Baela after his death, aching for your shared love and finding comfort in your shared losses.

When King’s Landing Fell, you followed Rhaenyra to the capital, hoping to be reunited with your mother or even one of your brothers, Tom Flowers, your bastard sibling who had been leading your family’s forces as your youngest brother, Edric, was only five and now Lord of Bitterbridge. There were no tearful reunions as you had hoped as Tom was leading an armored battalion to Honeywine and your mother and two younger brothers remained at Bitterbridge.

A fortnight after the taking of King’s landing, a young squire, coated in soot and blood was brought before the Queen, his eyes in another place as he recalled the losses at Honeywine and the deaths of Owen Costayne and Tom. You didn’t remember much from that day, only Rhaenyra’s pitying expression as she sat with you after that report. Her once close relationship with you dimmed as it was tainted by grief and the Queen visited you less and less.

The next piece of your life to fall was when Baela was captured in the loss of Dragonstone. You felt numb as the death of Moondancer sank in. Although not a Targaryen yourself, your fondest memories had been of your two loves taking you on their dragons and flying around the bay. Both Vermax and Moondancer were dead now and you didn’t know if you wanted Baela to survive to experience whatever hell her cousin would inflict upon her for burning him before her defeat.

Barely a week after the capture of Baela, you and the court were surprised to see the head of the young prince Maelor sent from your own mother who had written you a letter with a frantic scribbled explanation.

My Dearest Daughter,

I fear what our people have begun. News of the queen’s bounty on the young Prince’s head has spread throughout the realm. And the young boy- gods- he was torn apart by a mob that had gathered. Never has such horrific violence been brought before me and yet I fear that this is only the beginning. The men responsible were executed for this horrific act but Lord Ormund Hightower marches towards us with Prince Daeron on his Tessaron. I sent them the young prince’s egg in an effort to make this wrong right in a way, but I fear that it is not enough. We have no dragon to meet theirs and barely enough men to keep the garrison.

I find myself glad that you are safe my sweet daughter as I fear that we may soon join your father in whatever life there is after death. The gods will curse us all for this but I pray endlessly that they spare you whatever fate we face.

Be strong my daughter and know that your brothers and I will love you to our dying breaths and beyond.

True to what your mother had written, Bitterbridge fell that very night. As reports came in from the many refugees you felt sick to your stomach, puking for what felt like hours before returning to hear the rest of their stories. Your mother had yielded to the stronger force immediately and begged Prince Daeron for mercy to be shown to her sons, your brothers. Apparently he had only scoffed before and replied that he would grant them the same terms that had been given to his nephew before beheading Edric and Kelyn. They were only five and two. At that moment any grief you had was burnt away as anger raged through your body. You were the last Caswell alive.

Hatred for Daeron coursed through your every vein as you listened to a seamstress who had escaped the slaughter tearfully recount the rape and abuse that happened. Even septas, old women, and children were not spared from the cruelty of the Hightower army. Tales of how your home’s men, women, and children were slaughtered turned your once happy heart to one of stone and contempt for the Greens. You had trashed part of your chambers after hearing the news that Daeron had escaped death from a burning tent and lived to fight another day.

Rhaenyra had grown ever paranoid about impending betrayals that may never come, keeping her surviving sons under close watch and even pushing away her husband. A fact that she later regretted deeply as she wept into your arms after hearing about his death. Daemon had risen up to meet his nephew Aemond Targaryen in what was already being heralded as the Battle Above God’s Eye. The actual battle itself was unable to be witnessed as flames had filled the sky and dragon silhouettes were all that was seen. All that was known was that Aemond emerged victorious on Vhagar and Daemon and Caraxes were lost to the lake below.

In what would be the final nail in the coffin for Queen Rhaenyra was the taking of King’s Landing. Surrounded by Hightower and other Green Hosts, along with Tessaron and Vhagar, the retaking of King’s Landing was laughable. Rhaenyra’s own men turned on her as they saw the enemy approaching and she and her remaining sons were imprisoned in Rhaenyra’s chambers until the arrival of King Aegon.

You were thankfully not important enough to be forced to watch your Queen’s death, only hearing of how she was viciously eaten by Sunfyre, with Joffery and Aegon III watched.

You were instead kept with the other Lords and Ladies, only being released from a large dining hall to be brought before Aegon and asked to bend the knee. Your father had died for refusing to do this very action, your mother and brothers had followed, and yet you refused to be another casualty in this war. Your house had suffered enough and if you were not careful the Caswell line would end with you. It could not all be for nothing. So you bent the knee with every other lord and lady in attendance, feeling as if you were selling your soul to the stranger themself.

#fanfic #reader insert #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #dark aemond x reader #hotd #dark aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader

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dontforgetoctober3rd · 6 months ago

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A Keen Eye

(Aemond Targaryen X Rhaena Targaryen)

Summary: Aemond and Rhaena aren't actually in the fic themselves, its just a scene with the way that some highborn girls at the keep view Aemond and Rhaena's relationship and them gossiping about it soooo technically this fic is still Aemond X Rhaena! The fic is bite sized as well, I doubt it's even 100 words but enjoy anyway!

Rating: E (everyone and their mom)

The marriage between Aemond and Rhaena went well, healing a long festering wound between the two families. Several highborn maidens often gossiped about it.

"Do you think she is afraid of him?" Catherine Redwyne quipped in her group's embroidery gathering one day.

"I would be!" One of the Caswell twins put in.

"Why on earth would she have reason to be afraid of him?" Sara Umber asked with a scoff.

The girls all stopped their needlework and looked at her.

They all liked her well enough but Sara Umber was not ladylike and, quite often, her views conflicted with theirs.

It was a consensus among the southern girls that all Northern girls were wild, almost on par with Dornish women. Wild or not, Sara was still highborn and so they had accepted when their mothers bade them to make her part of the group. It certainly brought more interesting conversations, like now.

Catherine sighed as she responded. "Anyone with sense is afraid of Aemond Targaryen."

"Why, though?" Sara persisted. "He seems to treat her well enough. I saw them laughing together a few days ago."

Their Septa Maya, who had heretofore been forgotten over in her spot by the window, spoke.

"It is not difficult to understand the collective fear towards the Prince, Lady Sara. He controls the largest, most fearsome power in this world. Imagine having such a fearsome beast completely under your command!" Septa Maya called out, as she examined her own needlework with the help of a magnifying glass.

"A keen eye could say that is a more apt description of the Princess Rhaena." Sara said with a smile, returning to struggling with her own needlework. The girls all laughed in agreement as their Septa shook her head.

#NEW RHAEMOND PROPAGANDA COME AND GET Y'ALL JUICE #Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen #Aemond x Rhaena #Rhaemond #aemond targaryen #Rhaena targaryen #rhaena of pentos #hotd #hotd fanfiction #geddit? cuz he would be so whipped for Rhaena #*Jeb Bush voice* plz clap

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horizon-verizon · 1 month ago

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Medieval norms of warfare often dictated that settlements offering no resistance and agreeing to terms of surrender were spared from destruction. This principle served multiple purposes:

Preserving Resources: Sparing peaceful settlements allowed defeaters to benefit from the city's economic and logistical resources, rather than destroying them.

Maintaining Reputation: Honor and legitimacy were crucial in medieval warfare. Leaders who upheld terms of surrender strengthened their moral standing and ensured future settlements would be more likely to negotiate rather than resist.

At Bitterbridge, Lady Caswell and the townspeople offered no resistance, instead preparing to deplete their resources and accept surrender terms. This act signaled a willingness to negotiate, which should have spared them from destruction under typical medieval conventions. Yet, Daeron chose to sack the town anyway, denying them any terms. If Daeron’s aim was to avenge Maelor, punishing Lady Caswell alone would have sufficed rather than targeting innocent civilians unnecessarily. By violating the norms of surrender, Daeron risked his reputation among allies and enemies alike, weakening his moral authority as a leader. Such actions likely discouraged future settlements from surrendering, as they could no longer trust promises of leniency. This could lead to prolonged resistance and higher casualties in subsequent campaigns.

Unlike Bitterbridge, the attacks on Lannisport were calculated and strategic. Dalton’s raids served as a method to pressure the Lannisters into shifting their allegiance to Rhaenyra. This aligns with medieval practices where raids were often used to:

Weaken Opponents: Raids disrupted the enemy's economy, morale, and logistical support.

Force Negotiations: By targeting Lannisport, Dalton sought to force the Lannisters into a position where aligning with Rhaenyra became their most viable option.

Since the Lannisters remained loyal to Aegon, Dalton’s attacks were a justified consequence of their allegiance. The responsibility for Lannisport’s fate rested with the Lannisters’ decision not to negotiate. If the Lannisters had switched their loyalty to Rhaenyra and Dalton had continued his raids, his actions would have crossed into true injustice. However, as long as the Lannisters resisted, Dalton’s raids were an acceptable means of exerting pressure until his actions went beyond calculated violence, risking harm to Rhaenyra’s political goals and alienating potential allies. In contrast to Dalton’s overindulgence, Daeron’s sack of Bitterbridge reflected a direct violation of norms surrounding surrender. Both actions undermined the legitimacy of their campaigns, but in distinct ways:

Dalton at Lannisport: Started as a strategic action but escalated due to lack of discipline, leading to unnecessary harm. Daeron at Bitterbridge: Represented a deliberate betrayal of surrender terms, entirely unjustified.

Truly, I LOVE this post, thanks! I WILL be using this post often!

#asoiaf asks to me #fiction vs reality #asoiaf war #daeron the daring #prince daeron #daeron targaryen #dalton greyjoy #the blacks #the greens #the lannisters #bitterbridge #the dance of the dragons #lady caswell #asoiaf fav posts #european history

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coldraindropsss · 2 years ago

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Elinda Massey was a noblewoman of House Massey and a lady-in-waiting to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen during the Dance of the Dragons.Elinda was the youngest and the gentlest of Rhaenyra's ladies-in-waitingSupposedly she gouged out her own eyes at the sight of her queen being devoured by the dragon Sunfyre.

Lady Caswell was the wife of Lord Caswell, the ruling Lord of Bitterbridge and the head of House Caswell during the reigns of kings Viserys I and Aegon II Targaryen.Lord Caswell was brought before the King's Justice and beheaded for refusing to bend the knee to King Aegon II Targaryen.

#elinda massey #lady caswell #digital #game of thrones #hotd #asoiaf art #asoiaf fanart #asoiaf #got #gotfanart #house targaryen #valyrianscrolls #a song of ice and fire #digitalart #asoiaffanart #housetargaryen #housetargaryen🐲#asongoficeandfire

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addaerontruther · 7 months ago

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hello!! i must admit i have not heard much about addaeron ship but i am increasingly curious!! would you mind sharing what it’s all about perhaps i’ll join the club

PLEASE JOIN OUR CLUB!! Sorry this took me so long to answer, but I knew it was going to turn into a dissertation and I was right. HOPE IT'S AT LEAST A GOOD READ!

It starts with Daeron being sent to Oldtown. At this point in the story, he's the only Targaryen, ever, to be sent to ward. He's at the center of the anti-Valyrian club with no one around that looks like him or understands where he comes from. He was a Targaryen prince with a pretty dragon in a city notorious for hating Targaryen's and dragons — which would've been hard enough, without the differing races & customs, considering his sexual identity. He was a baby gay of 12 when he was sent to Westeros's Vatican.

Cue: Addam of Hull, shiphand to his mother, Marilda, constantly working on one voyage or another. The biggest port in Westeros is King's Landing, right near Driftmark, but the second biggest port is Oldtown. My theory, and most other shippers, is that this is where they met. I like to think Daeron and Addam met by chance on the docks, and Daeron decided to take a closer look because he was the first person he'd seen in Oldtown with the silver hair and purple eyes that signaled Valyrian heritage. Once they actually met, and talked, the connection was instantaneous.

I believe Daeron fought it at first, and tried to just keep him as a friend, but the more time they spent together, the harder it became. Addam ultimately made the first move, but from the moment he did, Daeron was all in. They both were, really.

They spent the next few years falling in love and having their moments when they could. Daeron took him flying on Tessarion whenever he was able, and Addam loved both dragon's. When Mouse (Addam's mother's ship if you're unfamiliar) was docked in Oldtown, they were together every single second possible. When they weren't, they sent letters back and forth through other shipwrights moving between them, but that was rare for fear of being found out. Mostly they just spent their time apart wishing they were together.

And then the war started, and Addam was no longer able to visit Oldtown. They were unable to send any messages back and forth, but Daeron had anticipated this day and made the decision long ago that there was only one person in his life worth fighting for, and it was not the Greens. When Ormund set out with his army, Daeron stayed put; thus Ormund begging King's Landing for a dragon despite his squire having one.

When the Red Sowing happened and Corlys came to Addam and Alyn, Addam saw an opportunity to rise up to a level where he, a bastard, would be good enough for a prince — a dragon prince at that — and give himself a chance to earn amnesty for his lover. Having learned High Valyrian commands from his time with Daeron and Tessarion, Addam succeeded where Alyn failed, and claimed Seasmoke.

After the Gullet, Addam and Corlys had a conversation that not even Mushroom reports on; I believe this is when he confessed to his grandfather, now hand of the Queen, that he loved Daeron, and would fight as hard as he could as long as he could, but he needed Daeron to live.

Unfortunately, Daeron did not get that memo. He heard a bastard from Driftmark named Addam claimed the dragon of the late Laenor Velaryon, and that was enough. Addam actively fighting for the enemy on dragonback meant he was now on Aemond (long since Prince Regent at this point) and Vhagar's radar. So, he climbed onto Tessarion's back, and joined the war himself.

His victories were all honorable and/or bloodless for a long time. He was, mostly, used for intimidation and scouting. And then Maelor was ripped apart by the smallfolk after Lady Caswell barred her gates to him, and the rage and stress and pressure bested Daeron, and he sacked the city so hard they renamed it Bitterbridge (previously known as Stonebridge).

Despite this, Corlys still tries to spare Daeron. He asks Rhaenyra to let him live, but she refuses, sends Hugh and Ulf on Vermithor and Silverwing to kill him, and asks Addam to stay in King's Landing to protect her and her sons.

Things don't go as she planned, of course. Hugh and Ulf join Daeron rather than fight him, and Rhaenyra, understandably, unravels. Mysaria convinces her that Daemon betrayed her for love, and then she decides that Addam, too, is a traitor, and should be sharply questioned to prove his innocence... something that is, more often than not, fatal in Westeros. Her having such a strong and immediate change of opinion in him after these betrayals makes a lot more sense if you believe she knew he loved Daeron and feared he had something to do with Ulf/Hugh and/or would betray her alongside them.

Addam was no traitor, even if the love of his life had, as far as he knew, lost his damned mind. Addam had no way to know Daeron hated the betrayers and was actively planning their deaths to rid himself of them despite their extra fire power changing the tides of the war, or that he hadn't actually been involved in the carnage of First Tumbleton, or that he had, in fact, begged the Hightower in charge to make it stop.

So, Addam raised an army and turned it to fight Daeron. The actual killing of his lover was the first thing he did when he got to Tumbleton, because he knew he would never be able to do what he had to do if he saw him. Despite setting the tents on fire, he still turned towards Tessarion the second she "took to the skies, shrieking and spitting flame." I believe he wanted to see if Daeron was on her back, and that was why he kept spinning around her on Seasmoke in the beginning.

Once he saw her saddle was empty, he knew his mission succeeded, and he lost all heart. Tessarion was riderless and had a taste for blood, yet he couldn't get himself to make a fatal attack... or attack at all, really. This was Daeron's dragon. A dragon Daeron had his whole life, the only friend he had in Oldtown when Addam was gone, and a dragon Addam himself was familiar with and loved dearly. He couldn't do it.

Tessarion couldn't do it either. Daeron might be dead, but he was still her only rider ever. She could still feel him, his loves and hates, and she couldn't get herself to hurt Addam or Seasmoke. When Vermithor started getting too close, she left.

But Addam and Seasmoke didn't. They slammed into Vermithor, a dragon twice their size, in what could only be a suicide mission, and Addam proceeded to attempt to eliminate Jaehaerys's creature (derogatory).

He would've failed, and who knows what carnage Vermithor would've inflicted after, if Tessarion hadn't come back. There was no reason for it. Daeron was dead, not forcing her to do this. But Daeron was dead, and Addam was the thing on earth he loved most. She slammed into them, and it became Seasmoke, Addam, and Tessarion against Vermithor.

Ultimately, Addam died in the same field where he killed Daeron, alongside his dragon. Tessarion, the smallest dragon of fighting size in the entire war, one third of Vermithor's size, avenged them. She was not in good shape after and bitch ass Benji Blackwood had her put out of her misery, but she, ultimately, killed herself in an attempt to protect, and then avenge, the man her rider loved.

It's worth noting that Silverwing was also present at this battle, and her and Vermithor had been mated for around 100 years at that point. She, too, was riderless, and she did nothing to help him. She actually said fuck all that and flew away. Tessarion and Seasmoke may have known each other as hatchlings (and I believe they did/they were both Meleys's children), but we know Vermithor and Silverwing did. We know they had a bond. And yet they did nothing to help each other.

Tessarion didn't mate with Seasmoke for no reason. She didn't kill herself trying to help him and Addam for no reason. Daeron and Addam loved each other so much that even in death, Daeron's dragon, who had seen them fall in love and felt it right alongside Daeron, still felt it, and gave her life trying to preserve it.

TLDR; their relationship explains 75,000 plot holes for them both and George couldn't have made it more obvious, in my humble opinion. It's about love, and youth, and war, and two boys that felt alone for much of their lives being together even in death.

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ashblooddragons · 1 month ago

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Tides Of Love (Chapter 1/?)

Series Masterlist

Kingslanding

105 ac

Laenas Pov

Today is the day I finally get to mount my beautiful Brightfyre. I can't help but look at the hourglass each second hoping and praying the sand would fall faster. I know I am missing important information from Maester Tytos, but I find I don't care that is until he slams his ruler on my desk catching my attention.

I look up at the old Maester who somehow still has the golden hair of his Lannister kin. I have no idea why Papa agreed to take him and not the Caswell. Probably because the Lannisters gifted us two ships after we agreed to take this buffoon.

“Is the lesson not to your liking my Lady?” He asks with a raised brow.

I can’t help the smirk that rises to my face, for does he truly think he is scary? How can he be when he is skinnier than Joffery and shorter than any grown man I’ve ever seen? I suppose the only things scary about him are that disastrous mustache and greasy hair of his.

“No Maester, it’s not that. I’m only excited for my first flight.” I say as if that were obvious.

He only hums, turning back around to that blasted tapestry of all the houses. “House Frey, where do they reside?” He asks not even checking to see if I’m paying attention again.

“The Riverlands, they are the easiest way for the North to make the journey down South.” I respond bored out of my mind.

I could be in the sky right now, feeling the wind in my hair and the heat of a dragon under me, but instead, I have to be here learning. The thought alone brings a frown to my face.

“Very good.” He responds moving his ruler to another house when I notice the hourglass is empty.

“Thank you for the lesson, Maester Tytos, but I have to get ready for my first flight!” I say as I stuff all my notes in the satchel Papa gave me before rushing out of the room. I rush to my chambers to change into the new riding leathers I know Papa must have had made.

I ignore the Maester demanding I come back as I rush down the halls. I can’t wait to fly on my own dragon, I no longer need to fly with Mama or stay on the ground watching.

But most of all I get to prove I’m more than the Sea snakes and Princess Rhaenys daughter. That I am more than my parents, that I can do or be anything.

When I make it to my chambers I burst in looking around until my eyes land on what I was looking for.

I make my way towards my bed picking up the light blue and brown riding leathers. Next to them is a pair of brown lace up boots. I can't fight the smile that rises to my lips.

Papa made them perfect. I think as I reach behind me trying to find the ties of my lavender dress.

Once I have it all on I notice a note on my bed.

I hope these riding leathers are to your liking. I brought the finest tailor money can buy for these. Treat them well.

I flip it front to back over and over trying to find any indication of who sent it but find none.

Papa must have, for who else would? I think before tying my boots and leaving my chambers to find my Mother for my first flight.

“Well, aren't those lovely.” Mother says with her gentle smile.

The one that too most would seem like nothing but a slight lift of her lip. But I know she is smiling, I know she is proud.

“I found them in my room, Papa outdid himself.” I say not noticing how she frowns in confusion before shaking it off.

“Well, your Father should be down there then. Though I was thinking we could wai--" She says in a teasing tone before I cut her off.

“No! I have waited a whole year for this. I am flying Brightfyre even if it means I need to sneak out tonight!”

She only chuckles as she stands. “I was only teasing.”

“You shouldn't joke about such important things.” I say taking her hand in mine as I practically drag her out of our apartments.

The whole way down to the wheelhouse Mama laughs. It's so joyful many Lords and Ladies stop in their tracks for they never heard ‘The Queen Who Never Was’ Laugh so openly.

I watch each house that passes on the way down to the Dragonpit. I can't sit still no matter how many times Mama reminds me to.

“Now you won't be up long, and you won't be doing any tricks. But you will fly on your own dragon.” Mama says when the Wheelhouse finally stops and she sees I'm ready to bolt out of it.

“I know, but I get to fly.” I say as I smile ear to ear.

Mama smiles before letting me run out and towards the Dragonkeepers.

I can barely hear the Dragonkeeper who speaks to me as I watch Brightfyre walk out. But what confuses me is that Caraxes is right behind her.

“Mama, why is Caraxes coming out?”

But it isn't Mama who responds, no far from it.

“What, don't want me to join your first flight?”

I spin around so fast I almost fall over when I hear the Prince Daemon speak behind me.

I feel a blush of embarrassment rise to my cheeks when I see his amused smirk. I look down and whisper incoherent words even I can't hear properly.

“I'll take that as I'm welcome.” He says patting my head as he walks past me towards his dragon.

I cover my cheeks as I know I've become a tomato.

“Did you know he was coming?” I demand when I hear Mama chuckle to herself.

She only smirks before responding with a teasing tone. “I don't know what you speak of, Sweetling.”

I stare at her shocked as she moves over to her red beast.

She knew, I know she did. I think fighting the urge to hide my face again.

I should have never told her of my crush, I should have known her and Papa would tease me forever!

I take a deep breath before turning to find Brightfyre looking at me already. I still can't believe I claimed this gorgeous beast.

Her scales are a vibrant pink with some golden flecks and membrane. Eyes of vibrant green stare into my very soul in all the best ways as I walk towards her.

I breathe in the scent of sulfur and chard meat, most would turn away from it but I find it beautiful, powerful.

“Time to climb on.” Mama says from behind me.

I know she will want to help me up as it is my first time riding alone. So instead of fighting it I let her lift me to the ropes along my dragon's ribs and stand under me as I climb onto the saddle.

“Do you remember the words?” She asks voice full of anxiety.

Instead of responding with yes, I scream the words she was asking about.

“Sövegon Brightfyre!”

I ignore Mama's cries of worry as Brightfyre leaps into the air.

And gods, I knew flying would be magical but this is godly. The feel of Brightfyre's wings beating against the wind, the warmth under me, the fresh wind in my hair. How is anything to compare to this? But it is not this that make me feel free at last. No, it is the way my very soul sings with each beat of Brightfyre's wings. The way I feel whole with each ray of warmth meets my calves. The way I can finally breathe with the wind against me with its strong breeze.

I now know what it feels like to feel the other half of my soul completely. And no one, no man, woman, or god will take it from me.

I turn when I hear another set of wings beating only to find my furious Mother. But I can't seem to find that I care, she can give me any punishment and I will take it with a smile on my face.

“You almost scared me to death!” Mother yells in that tone that means I most definitely will be in trouble when my feet touch the ground again.

Instead of responding I turn forward watching as the world turns miniscule. I know Brightfyre isn't isn't war dragon, nor a ferocious one. But looking down at the people walking through the streets, the people who used to seen so tall that now seem like tiny ants. It is no wonder dragons conquered these lands.

And with that thought I let out the most joyful scream, letting all the happiness and joy that fills me out for the world to see and hear.

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @themoonlitquill @athzhowakar @thelastemzy

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chasingthedragons · 2 years ago

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Events that went down in History during the Reign of Viserys I Targaryen 7/8

The royal audience to decide Driftmark's succession

In 131 AC, LORD CORLYS VELARYON was seriously wounded while fighting at the STEPSTONES, the incident caused uproar in HOUSE VELARYON as the succession established by the LORD OF THE TIDES was challenged by his brother, SER VAEMOND VELARYON, who took the matter up to the crown. Causing the arrival of HOUSE VELARYON (PRINCESS RHAENYS VELARYON [Acting LADY OF DRIFTMARK], SER VAEMOND VELARYON and LADY BAELA TARGARYEN) and the royal family of CROWN PRINCESS RHAENYRA TARGARYEN to KINGSLANDING.

All the circumstances surrounding this audience were an absolute scandal. The first to arrive were PRINCESS RHAENYS VELARYON and her granddaughter LADY BAELA TARGARYEN [possibly on dragonback], while CROWN PRINCESS RHAENYRA TARGARYEN and her family arrived days later, being greeted in an obscenely inappropriate manner by none other than LORD ALLUN CASWELL.

That same day SER VAEMOND VELARYON arrived, who unlike the CROWN PRINCESS, was properly received and escorted by the personal guard of HOUSE HIGHTOWER, with the purpose of having a private meeting with the HAND OF THE KING and the QUEEN, prior to the royal audience.

The day of the royal audience arrived and the HAND OF THE KING [SER OTTO HIGHTOWER] sat on the throne, hearing first the claim of SER VAEMOND VELARYON. When it came time for PRINCESS RHAENYRA TARGARYEN to defend the claim of her son, PRINCE LUCERYS VELARYON, KING VISERYS I arrived to preside over the hearing, relieving the HAND of his arbitration duties.

KING VISERYS I began by clarifying that the matter of the succession of DRIFTMARK was a settled matter, giving the floor to PRINCESS RHAENYS VELARYON, wife of the LORD OF THE TIDES, confirming the agreed succession, renaming PRINCE LUCERYS VELARYON as heir to HOUSE VELARYON, further informing of the engagement of PRINCE JACAERYS VELARYON to LADY BAELA, and PRINCE LUCERYS VELARYON to LADY RHAENA, with the royal blessing.

It was then that SER VAEMOND VELARYON interrupted the KING himself to do nothing more and nothing less than discredit the decision taken and commit treason against the heir to the throne, in the presence of the monarchs, being executed on the spot by the husband of the slandered, PRINCE DAEMON TARGARYEN, concluding on a black note this scandal for the HOUSE VELARYON.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

#hotd #house of the dragon #asoiaf #got #game of thrones #ser vaemond velaryon #house velaryon #prince lucerys #house caswell #house targaryen #king viserys #prince daemon targaryen #lady baela #lady rhaena #princess rhaenys #prince jacaerys #queen alicent

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mega-delicatelysuperbcollector · 1 year ago

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INTERVIEW WITH A SHARK

Interview with a shark, Turned suddenly from a lark… Serious stuff He’d had enough, Getting out before the scarf! – Jonathan Caswell

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#a Caswell limerick #a conversation with a woman #a lady shark #a lark?#casual conversation #escaping #potentially betraying is wife!#scarfed down--almost #serious situation

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nobodysuspectsthebutterfly · 6 months ago

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Hello! Since the historic characters of ASOIAF are/were so clearly meant to be reflections of the current ones, like Criston-Jaime, Maekar-Stannis etc, can you think of any characters who reflected Catelyn? Tully or otherwise? Have a great day <3

Thanks! But well, please note that Jaime (and Arys Oakheart, don't forget him) directly compare themselves to Criston, a character they know well from history books. And Maekar is so well portrayed in Dunk & Egg that the Stannis parallels are obvious. Whereas the only historical character Catelyn compares herself to is Alyssa Arryn, who is so legendary that (a) we know nothing about her except that her family died and she didn't cry, and (b) predates F&B and D&E by several thousand years. (Also, for the record, GRRM says he doesn't consciously parallel historical characters with current ones, so it's not certain we'd find reflections of every current character within F&B characters.)

Nevertheless, I'd say there's some elements of Catelyn in Alyssa Velaryon. Not a ton, but some similar tropes regarding being the widowed mother of a teenage king, seeking allies for him, being pulled between the needs of her children, suffering losses of her children, etc. (Though to be honest, Alyssa really reminds me of concept letter Catelyn, who had to flee Winterfell with her children and seek refuge elsewhere.) Alyssa's daughter Rhaena Targaryen also has some of that war widow aspect of Catelyn, as well as her resiliency/despondency in the face of loss, and one could even see Rhaena's later life in Harrenhal (when her hair turned pure white and people thought she was a witch) as an echo of Lady Stoneheart.

But on the whole I'd say Catelyn is a very unique character. I mean, it's also that F&B as a historical document flattens out the characters, with only a few that are well-defined even without internal narrative, so we just don't know if characters like Lucinda Tully or Jeyne Poore or Johanna Lannister or Elenda Baratheon or Lady Caswell had any thoughts and feelings that could compare to the Catelyn we know from her POV chapters in ASOIAF. Also, consider that Catelyn isn't even mentioned in TWOIAF except as one of "Lord Tully's daughters". As they say, well-behaved women rarely make history...

#worlds-best-sippycup #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #valyrianscrolls #catelyn stark #alyssa arryn #alyssa velaryon #rhaena targaryen #westeros history #fire and blood #asoiaf parallels #such as they are

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thewriterthatghostedyou · 3 months ago

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Chapter Two

Hey guys, I meant to post this yesterday but completely forgot after all of my classes and Halloween activities. Lol. Either way I hope you enjoy! The next chapters for this will be released weekly on Fridays.

Word count: 3173

Warnings: slight language

Divider by @zaldritzosrose

You scoffed slightly as you watched a flock of ladies run ahead of you to the great hall giggling and gossiping as they went. Their frivolous desires that you once shared, seemed to pale in comparison to the duties you had to attend to. You sigh wistfully, wishing that you still enjoyed things as trivial as dresses and gossip.

“I heard the King isn’t going to remarry!” A lady with dark brown hair spoke, fanning herself slightly.

“Truly?” Another lady asked, eyes wide.

“That means Aemond will be king one day.” The first girl snapped her hand held fan in her hands open before fanning towards her overexposed bosoms. “And I plan on being Queen.”

“But doesn’t it bother you that he brought his bastard and mistress to the keep?” A brunette chimed in nervously twisting her skirts in her hands. “I mean the shame of it alone makes me lean more towards Prince Daeron.”

The first lady scoffed loudly and placed her delicate hands on her hips. “I couldn’t give a damn how many mistresses he has now. When I’m Queen they’ll be sent away within a fortnight. He’ll only need me anyway.”

You shook your head ever so slightly, but froze as the proud lady shot you an unexpected smile. “Your dress looks lovely, was it made in the capital?”

You stammered, caught off guard by the unexpected question and ran your fingers through the silky folds in the gown and felt heat rush to your cheeks. “Uh- yes I had it hand tailored by a woman named Myranda.”

“Well you simply must tell me more after the feast tonight, I must confess I’m a bit behind on the capital’s fashions. A sad side effect of being holed up in Rain House for the past few years that I plan on fixing.” The other ladies seemed to flock around her magnetic personality, and you found yourself giving her a genuine smile as she looped her arm in yours.

“I would be delighted to.” You replied politely, as the proud woman led you deeper into the main throne room, leaving behind the ladies that had fawned over her before.

The imposing room had been reconfigured to allow for four long tables the length of the room to be placed and all four tables were filled with food that made your mouth water. There were roasted ducks, platters full of quail, and even a large slab of venison on each of the tables all surrounded by leafy green vegetables and broths that had steam rise from them. You particularly were looking forward to the spiced mutton that had a lovely splash of cinnamon and nutmeg. Although you did notice that there was a notable absence of suckling pigs that had you curious.

There was also a large band of musicians that were crooning songs about brave knights that wore the color green. You tried not to grimace as you and the other lady passed them, but felt your legs turn stiff as you realized that she was leading you towards the Master of Laws and Prince Aemond. Although you had never seen the man before his unmistakable eye patch was enough of a clue to his identity.

“Father!” The dark haired woman said cheerfully as she inserted you and her into the conversion that Lord Wylde was having with Prince Aemond and a few other lords that you didn’t recognize.

“And here is my daughter, Lady Carina Wylde, as I was telling you, your grace. Although I must confess that her companion's name escapes me.”

“Lady Y/n Caswell, I believe.” A strained voice answered before you had the chance to, and you felt the blood rush from your face as you were face to face with Daeron. Your heart was beating so loudly that you thought that the group could hear it, or perhaps just you as it muffled your hearing.

You could barely make out a fat lord laughing loudly due to the ringing in your ears as the conversation quickly flowed away from you for the moment.

The lady beside you, Carina, was looking at you sadly, her perfect eyebrows arched in a way that seemed wrong on her porcelain face. You felt multiple eyes on you as your mouth became sandy at the sight of the man who murdered your family.

You jolted back into consciousness as Carina’s arm lightly tapped your side, and you shot her a small, grateful look, the nearby sounds of the feast returning to their normal pitch. “Yes, my prince. I am she.”

The youngest of the Targaryen siblings swallowed slightly as he looked at you. His own pale face seemingly paler if possible. While his older brother gave you an appraising look. “Ah yes, the traitor’s daughter.” He gave a cruel smirk as both you and Daeron looked anywhere but at the other. “It’s a wonder you were included in my mother’s little ‘wife hunt.’”

“An interesting perspective on the festivities my prince. If not a tad pessimistic.” You looked over to the hooded figure besides Daeron, his face completely covered by the silk cloth.

Aemond hummed slightly, taking a long sip of his wine and eyeing Carina with interest, his gaze on you forgotten. “Well I suppose you’d feel as such, Tyland, after all you are in search of your own wife are you not?”

The name he spoke connected the pieces you could not place as you realized that this was the Master of Coin. The same man the Queen had tortured near endlessly in pursuit of the Crown’s gold.

Although the Lannister line was already secured with Lord Jason’s son as the new lord, you didn’t consider Tyland as a suitable husband. He may be a second son, but as the Master of Coin his position would keep you in the capital. A place that had too many memories of that you would rather forget.

“Perhaps I may have to take advantage of all of the eligible young ladies in attendance.” Another lord cut in and you fought the urge to cringe. He seemed to be as old as the Iron Throne itself and far too old for anyone in attendance.

To your disgust, this remark earned a laugh from all the men present except for Daeron who seemed sullen and quiet, his eyes occasionally flicking towards you.

A younger man with an easy smile, closer to your age waved over a servant carrying a tray of goblets. “Well regardless of the circumstances you must try the arbor red, my ladies!” He handed both you and Carina a glass with a smile. “After all, the crown is paying for it tonight. Aren’t they, cousin?” He nudged Daeron softly with his elbow, and the younger man shook himself out of whatever stupor he was in.

“Ah, yes indeed! My brother must have bought out all the wine in the city for the festivities.” He scoffed with a laugh. “We might as well enjoy it!”

Aemond rolled his eye at the remark, but said nothing as a few of the other lords began to converse. You shifted uncomfortably from side to side as the group split into smaller groups, seemingly already acquainted with each other. You squeezed your cup tightly, your knuckles turning white at the gesture as you looked around for Carina, only to find her and her father talking with Aemond and Daeron.

Although disappointed at the sudden departure of the kind woman, it was the perfect opportunity for you to mingle with the surrounding lords and ladies. And more importantly to escape the somber gaze that the younger prince kept shooting you. A task easier said than done as you scanned the room for any that may be open to a stranger butting into their conversation.

“At least I am not the only one who does not seem to know anyone else.” A smooth voice came from behind you, causing you to jump slightly at the sound, your wine sloshing slightly out of your glass. Although you miraculously seemed to not spill any despite the sudden jolt.

“Oh! My apologies, my lady, I did not mean to startle you.” You released a small laugh at your jumpiness before answering the young men in front of you. His young face had a slight blush dusting his cheeks as he reached out to steady you. Your own face felt as if it were on fire as you took in his handsome features and light blonde curls that crowned his head.

“No, it’s my fault, my lord, I must have been too preoccupied in my own thoughts.” You apologized profusely. “Although I do have to agree with your earlier statement.”

The young man smiled kindly at you before leaning in closely. “I suppose that is due to where our houses were aligned in the war.” He whispered softly, seemingly choosing his next words carefully but you understood the message. Whoever he was, his house, and most likely himself, supported Rhaenyra’s claim.

“Oh gods, am I that obvious to everyone?” You joked quietly, taking a small sip of the sweetened wine.

The man shrugged. “I don’t believe so, but to be fair I think I’m the only one truly sober enough to notice.”

You giggled slightly before returning your cup to a nearby servant. “Well as another mostly sober guest I would like to introduce myself. My name is Y/n Caswell.”

The young man’s dark purple eyes lightened up at your last name as took your hand and gently laid a kiss to it. “Well met, my lady. I am Alton Celtigar.”

That explained the purple eyes. Most likely a remnant of his own Valryian ancestry. You certainly seemed to find yourself gravitating towards Valryians. “You are Lord Clement’s brother.” Your mind conjured an image of a tall imposing man, with similar purple eyes who had been in the capital the same time you were.

“I am indeed.” Alton spun a golden ring around his finger as he spoke. “He spoke highly of your composure at court, although he seemed to leave out tales of your beauty as well.”

You snorted softly before stopping yourself. You could almost feel your septa’s switch slapping your knuckles at such an unladylike action. “My apologies, I just- That was a bit-” You carefully thought on how to word yourself while laughing slightly.

“Too much?” Alton finished for you with a rich laugh of his own. “You must forgive me, I do not have the privilege of speaking to many women while at Claw Isle, I tend to avoid these things in all honesty.” He gestured around at the feast and dancing that was occurring. “My brother; however, insisted that I join him.”

“Well, overdramatic flattery aside, I am glad you came.” You found yourself being honest as you realized that you had been smiling long enough to make your cheeks hurt. Something that you had not done in a long time. “If feasts are not your interest then I must ask: what is?” You suddenly heard the chattering of several women and turned your head slightly to see what the commotion was about, only to look back at the man in front of you when you realized that the One-Eyed Prince and his younger brother were positively swarmed with young women trying to make an impression.

“I enjoy sailing. Although I am partial to hunting as well.” Alton replied, scoffing at the sight of the two Princes surrounded. “It appears that our hosts spent more time training with a sword rather than how to dodge power hungry ladies.”

You giggled again at that before joining in. “I fear blood may be drawn before they take one of them to the dance floor.” At the sound of your laughter, Aemond looked over at you and seemed interested in your proximity with the young Celtigar before returning to gaze at the throng of women around him.

“Speaking of, would you do me the honor of taking to the floor?” Alton offered his hand to you with a shy smile and you took it gladly. “Although I must warn you I am not the most proficient in dancing, you may want to guard your toes.”

You blushed as you felt his warm hand hold yours and followed him closely to the open floor in front of the throne. There were only married couples dancing as the eligible women were surrounding the princes and the single men were drinking themselves towards an early grave. And you and Alton lined up next to them as a cheery jig started to play.

Allowing memory to take over you, you hopped in tune with all of the steps, twirling quickly around your partner you managed to follow the male part’s lead well. Although his steps were clumsy compared to your fluid ones, made second nature by years of practice, the two of you were smiling and laughing happily, enjoying the moment.

“You must tell me more about the Claw Isle!” You huffed out of breath, holding his arm gently as you swayed to the slower tune that had replaced the faster dance.

“I’m afraid that there is not much to tell.” Alton said, breathing as heavily as you, but still in high spirits as he twirled you around. “The Isle itself is small, but I suppose the water is what makes it so special.” The two of you chatted softly as Prince Aemond took Carina to the floor and Daeron followed shortly after with a Peake girl.

You found yourself relaxing in Alton’s presence, and conversation flowed easily between you both. Perhaps the gods had decided to show you their favor for once. Alton was a second son from a good family and logistically would make a good husband for you. But there were also the butterflies that brushed against your stomach as he looked at you that had you considering him as much as you were. You did not think that you would feel it again after Jace, but instead of feeling guilty you knew he was proud of you for pursuing happiness. You were about to begin your third dance in a row with him when a low voice cleared itself from behind you.

“My prince.” Alton said respectfully, bowing slightly and you followed curtsying as well as Aemond made himself known.

“Lord Celtigar.” He said with a forced smile that made your skin crawl. “You seem to be quite taken with Lady Caswell.” He noted and you noticed Carina looking at the three of you from a distance with her father.

“Well, she is a wonderful young lady and-” Alton was interrupted as the prince huffed out a humorless laugh.

“Although I do suppose that makes sense, what with you both being…” He paused slightly. “‘Reformed’ traitors to the crown I’m sure you have much in common.”

You felt your heart race as Aemond stepped closer. “I do hope you think about how that may look to my brother. Lady Caswell,” He turned to you and grabbed your hand firmly, “You must do me the honor of a dance. I do not wish to miss out on what has captivated Lord Celtigar and my bastard nephew so much.” You flinched slightly at the mention of Jace but followed Aemond reluctantly as he dragged you away from Alton who shot you a somber glance before retreating into the crowds.

As the next song began, a slower ballad, Aemond placed his hands on your hips, much lower than Alton had and led you through the steps. You felt your face set on fire again, but for the wrong reason as he leaned in closer.

While your dance with Altan had been full of hushed conversation and comfortable glances, your dance with Aemond was cold and polite and the two of you were silent until he spoke. “I must confess I’m disappointed.” He said finally, sliding his hand up your back in a way that felt too intimate for an unmarried couple. “I expected more from you.”

“I do not know what you mean, my prince.” You said politely, looking at the surrounding festivities instead of him.

“Well you were all too willing to whore yourself out to my nephew for a crown. I assumed you would try the same again with me.”

You slipped out a derisive laugh at that, unable to stop yourself and earning a glare from the prince. “I didn’t agree to marry Jace for a crown, I did it because I loved him.”

Aemond’s face curved into a cruel smile as he looked down at you. “How sweet. And look what that love got him. Floating dead in the bottom of the gullet.”

Your chest rose quickly as you stared at Aemond, barely containing your anger at his mock sympathetic words. Your fear being the only thing stopping you from yelling at the man.

“And you, still unmarried. How sad.” His eyes glinted in sick enjoyment as you focused on calming your breathing.

“A matter I plan to fix soon.” You declared, once again looking to the side instead of at Aemond. ‘Gods how long was this fucking song?’ You wondered in your head as the bard droned on longer and longer.

“As flattering as your affections are, I'm only indulging you for appearance’s sake.” Aemond sneered, gripping your wrist tightly as he leaned closer to your ear. “And I have no interest in my bastard nephew’s spoils.”

You let out another laugh at that and stepped back from his hold, giving yourself space. “I’m heartbroken, my prince, truly.” You replied sarcastically. “Although I had no such interest in your hand, but I am sure that the other ladies at court will be all too happy to have you to themselves.”

Aemond’s jaw ticked slightly at that as the song finally came to a close and you sighed in relief. “Well if it is such an inconvenience to accompany me on the floor you will simply hate joining me tomorrow in the family box.” You gave him a confused scowl as he spoke about tomorrow’s joust as if you were to join him. “Daeron and I are allowed a guest each and I think you have some unresolved issues to fix with my brother.”

You felt your hands grow damp and shake in rage as he continued. “That is a wonderful honor, Prince Aemond; however, I am not worthy of such a gesture. There are-”

“You will join me tomorrow to watch the joust, Lady Caswell.” Aemond shot you a smirk as he regained control of the situation again. “I will see you on the morrow.” He said decidedly before placing a slow kiss to the top of your hand before departing as quickly as he had appeared.

Feeling a familiar wave of powerlessness wash over you, you turned away and took to your seat at the long tables, hoping to avoid any further conversation for the night. Perhaps the gods did not favor you after all.

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