#lady of the ashes

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 3

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 3763

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

IMPORTANT: Instead of the six year time jump we saw in the show, we're doing a nine-year time jump. I was in no way comfortable building toward future events with Aelinor only fifteen years old. Here is a list of current ages. Aemond: 24 Aelinor: 18 Jacaerys: 19 Lucerys: 15

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3

Nine Years Later

The citizens of Dragonstone felt the dragon before they saw it. The fishermen working at their boats, the merchants unloading their hauls from the ships, all felt the world swallowed by shadow as the sun above them was blocked out. The first time it happened, as the shadow of dragon wings passed overhead and the heat of the day was blocked, some of them had screamed that it was Balerion, returned from the dead. There had been chaos in the streets.

But now they knew better, and some of them even lifted their arms to wave at the young Princess as she flew by.

Aelinor Velaryon Targaryen laughed when she saw a few scattered expressions of fear below her, pulling hard on the handle to draw Darrax away from the shore. He’d been known to swoop down and steep the catches of unlucky fishermen, but now he was so large that he would destroy everything in his path if he tried.

“Come, Darrax,” she leaned forward to pat his neck. “Let us carry on.”

The girl was a sight to behold, and many people from the harbor and the castle both stopped their tasks to watch her and her mighty dragon turn toward the sea.

Darrax had not slown in his growing, now with a wingspan rivaled only by Vhagar and a body only slightly smaller than that of Vermithor. His obsidian scales sparkled a million shades of blue and green as the light of the sun reflected off of the waves. He was fast, carried by his large wings, and it was easy to see why the people of Dragonstone had shouted ‘monster’ the first time he flew above them.

But he was also gentle, for he had his rider to care for.

Aelinor had grown much since her childhood, though those that truly knew her would have said that she had not changed at all. She wore her hair in a long plait down her back, and it flapped behind her in the wind, a streak of brilliant silver against the sky. Her reins were modified with a single handle, so that she might be able to command Darrax with only one hand. She rarely needed to, however, as the bond between dragon and rider was so close that she could command him with just Valyrian.

“We aren’t fishing today, Darrax,” she called. “Just stretching our wings.”

The young woman had been stretching her wings more and more often as of late, as she found it suffocating to be in the presence of her parents. Her mother was pregnant with her fourth child by Prince Daemon, and while Aelinor wouldn’t mind supporting her mother in such a time, it was difficult to do so without encountering her father. He had been growing ever more persistent in his desire to train her and Darrax, and she was beginning to run out of excuses.

They swept around the west side of the island, keeping low so that they both might enjoy the spray of the sea. If anyone had asked, Aelinor would have said that she went this way so that Darrax might rest on the cliffside that faced toward the west. But Darrax did not need any such rest, and there was only one reason that she always flew west.

This day, like all the rest of them, she looked west and found the skies empty.

Aelinor sighed, too used to the disappointment for it to sting much. It had been a long nine years, with no word save what came through official messages to the Princess Rhaenyra. She knew that Aegon and Helaena had wed, and that they now had two children. She could not imagine that to be a good match, struggling to reconcile the odd and insect-obsessed Helaena with an image of motherhood. Nor was the Aegon that she remembered the type of boy who should have been a father. Aemond…there was little news of Aemond. She knew it was no fault of his own, but she still found herself hoping to hear from him, even after all these years.

Darrax let out a huff, sensing his rider’s emotions, and then he dove.

“No! NO, Darrax! No!” Aelinor’s shouts were silenced as Darrax plunged beneath the waves.

For a few moments she was weightless, and then he was splashing back to the surface, his wings causing great waves around them as he launched himself back into the sky.

Aelinor sputtered and spat out water. She was completely soaked, but she was laughing. “Darrax!” She scolded, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. “You silly creature. Let’s go home then, so I can dry off.”

Darrax pumped his wings, driving himself up and over the cliff, cutting across the island to carry them back to Dragonstone.

An hour later, Aelinor was walking through the halls of the castle. She was no longer wet, though her leathers had pasted themselves uncomfortably tight against her skin. She had undone her long braid, letting her hair fall past her hips. A bath. A bath was what she needed after that sojourn into the sea.

She reached up with her bad hand, grabbing her glove with her teeth and pulling it free. Then she carefully stretched out each of her fingers, looking forward to warm water and bath salts.

“Aelinor,” her father’s voice echoed from in front of her, the man himself stepping out from an adjoining hall.

She didn’t slow her pace. “Price Daemon.”

He didn’t protest her use of the title. He had never been one to argue trivial matters, and he couldn’t care less whether she called him Father or not. For nine years, his eldest daughter had held him at arm’s length, resentment simmering between them like oil in a pan.

He knew she didn’t like him, but he just didn’t care.

“I wish to take you flying,” he fell into step, watching as she carefully tended to her crippled hand. “So that you might learn to—”

“To what? To fly into battle? Against who, Prince Daemon?” She demanded. “My mother might feign ignorance, but anyone can see that you are preparing for something. I will not be brought into your schemes.”

“You are your mother’s daughter, and with that comes specific—”

“Correct. I am my mother’s daughter. And the daughter of the man who raised me,” she didn’t say whom you murdered, though she had been tempted more than once over the years to confront him about the murder of Ser Laenor. “My loyalty is to them, and not to you.”

Daemon let out a scoff, but fell away, and Aelinor did not look back. 

She stepped into the warmth of her bedchamber, finding the bath already full and steaming.

“What did—” A girl stepped out from behind the dressing screen. “Rhaena!”

The two girls had grown closer in the years they had lived together on Dragonstone. Though not as close as sisters, they were dear friends. Aelinor decided not to wrap her in a hug, given that she still reeked of seawater, but she beamed at her cousin.

“I thought you might need it,” Rhaena laughed. “Darrax take you for a swim again?”

Aelinor was already stripping out of her leathers. “Of course he did. He’s positively impish.”

“I wonder where he gets that from,” Rhaena rolled her eyes, watching as Aelinor practically dived into the bathtub.

“It’s so warm. Thank you, Cousin.” They had never stopped calling each other that, all too aware of the boundaries that would be ripped down if they had to acknowledge what they were — sisters. But still, since the marriage of their parents a few years ago, they had been sisters in all but name, and Aelinor was eternally grateful for the female companionship.

“Your mother said that she wished to speak to you,” Rhaena said. “It sounded important.”

Aelinor gave a slight nod, dread already pooling in her gut. She knew what this was about, as did Rhaena. It was the same topic that had been haunting the halls of Dragonstone for months, casting a pall over everything Aelinor did.

“She knows my feelings on the subject,” she finally said. “But she is my mother, and the Princess of Dragonstone besides. My feelings have little relevance.”

Rhaena passed her a cloth, and Aelinor started to scrub some of the salt from her skin. “But shouldn’t your feelings matter? After all, it’s Jace, of all people.”

Rhaena’s expression was genuine, but Aelinor could hear the question she did not ask. Rhaena was, if not in love with, certainly interested in Jace. But it had never been a secret that, to secure Jace’s own place on the throne, he would marry Aelinor. With her pure Targaryen looks, they would be able to secure the claim of any of their future children. In recent months, Rhaenyra had begun making plans in earnest. After all, both Aelinor and Jace were older than Rhaenyra had been when she first wed Ser Laenor.

Aelinor sunk lower into the bathtub, letting the water lap over her mouth and nearly to her nose. She did not want to think about these things. She did not want to imagine having children with Jace, and certainly did not want to imagine what that would mean. Her brother was nice enough, having grown out of the worst of his childhood impulses, but he was still Jace. Luc would have been more agreeable, if he weren’t still a babe in her eyes.

At least she knew Jace felt the same way. They were not suited to each other.

But they would do whatever was required to win their mother the throne.

“It could be worse,” Aelinor sighed, trying to force some levity into the situation. “I could be marrying a Lannister.”

“At least they have gold,” Rhaena smiled. “What if it were Aegon, or worse, that rogue Aemond? When traders come from King’s Landing, they say that his face is—”

“I know what the traders say,” Aelinor snapped, biting her cheek to keep from cursing aloud. “I would like to bathe alone now, Rhaena. If you please.”

It was a dismissal as plain as any, but Rhaena did not fight it. She just said her farewell, stood, and walked to the door.

She should not have let it bother her so. It had been nine long years, and the rift between their families seemed more insurmountable than ever. But there was still that tiny part of her that sprang to attention whenever she heard even a whisper of Aemond. And too often, it was cruel, malicious whispers that her family seemed to take at face value.

The door creaked open, and Aelinor groaned. Gods be damned. Couldn’t she just have one bath in peace?

“Aelinor? May I come in?”

“Of course, Mother,” Feeling no shame at her own nakedness, Aelinor did not open her eyes as she heard her mother glide into the room and take a seat at her dressing table.

“Did you have a nice flight?” Rhaenyra asked, with almost forced politeness.

Aelinor shrugged. “As good as any. But I can confirm that the sea is quite frigid this morning.”

“Then perhaps you should not be swimming in it.” Her mother laughed.

Aelinor sighed, opening her eyes and moving to rest her chin on the side of the bath tub. “Out with it, Mother. I can see that it’s bothering you.”

Say it. Say that it is finally time for me to do my duty and wed Jacaerys. 

But that was not what Rhaenyra said. “Ser Vaemond moves to challenge Lucerys’ succession to the Driftwood Throne.”

“What?” Aelinor sat back. “But it’s settled. Why is Lord Corlys allowing it?”

“He isn’t. He’s been gravely injured in the Stepstones,” Rhaenyra gave her a sad look, appearing genuinely bereaved by the injury to a man they all admired. “Baela wrote. We must make for King’s Landing to defend Lucerys’ claim before the Iron Throne.”

Aelinor’s mouth dropped open. “When?”

“We will leave tomorrow,” her mother stood. “And Aelinor?”

“Yes?” Already her mind was awhirl with everything that this might mean.

“This is…” She watched as her mother searched for the words. “We need to present a united front. We’ll be bringing our dragons, and I…I ask you to remember who your true family is.”

It was both a warning and a scolding, all wrapped up in one. 

Aelinor nodded, and stared after her mother as she left the room.

She sat there for a long time, stewing in the bathwater. There was so much to think about. On one hand, she was more than a little relieved that she was not yet formally betrothed to her brother. But on the other, there was a genuine twinge of fear. She did not want the legitimacy of her brothers challenged, and she did not want their futures left uncertain. It was a settled succession, and Ser Vaemond was risking everything by drawing it into the open.

Her mother’s ascension to the throne would be questioned if her children were declared illegitimate, and Aelinor knew she would not be immune to that. She might look more Targaryen than Jace and Luc, but it was plain to see that she was not the daughter of Ser Laenor. Gods, this could ruin everything.

But, there was one thing that stood out above all else. 

She was going back to King’s Landing.

She was going back to Aemond.

King’s Landing

“Get up!” Aemond snarled at the squire in front of him. “I thought you were here to train, not lie on your back like a whore!”

The boy scrambled to his feet, wiping mud off of his cheek. “Yes, my Prince.”

Aemond sighed. There were many young lords looking to squire for him, and so far none of them had impressed him at all. Most weren’t even worth using as training fodder. He had to give the Blackwood lad some credit — at least he hadn’t started crying yet.

“Keep your sword up,” Aemond rolled his eyes. “And maybe you’ll be able to stay upright.” It was as close as he would get to offering advice.

“Prince Aemond!” A voice called.

Aemond looked toward the walkway, seeing Ser Criston hurrying down the steps. “What is it, Cole?” He did not have much patience for his mother’s lackey, having always found Ser Criston to be a bit…well, if loyalty could be a fault, then it certainly was in Ser Criston.

Cole stopped, offering a curt nod that could perhaps pass as a bow. “Your mother The Queen bids you attend her. She is in her chambers.”

“Wonderful,” Aemond couldn’t imagine what his mother could have to say. He loved her well enough, and she him, but they never had much use for each other. She often scolded him, calling him too wild, too unruly, and yet he knew he did not get half the scoldings that his brother did. “Take care of this one.”

Ser Criston stared at the Blackwood boy in disdain, but nodded, shedding his white cloak and setting it away from the mud. 

Aemond sheathed his sword, removing his gloves and hurrying toward the stairs. His boots splashed through the dir, and he saw many curious eyes turn his way.

Only once he was inside the castle did he slow to a walk, making his way toward his mother’s chambers. He passed many groups of lords and ladies, all of whom bowed in greeting, but he did not acknowledge them. They weren’t with his time.

A group of ladies-in-waiting gathered by the stairs, meaning he would have to walk straight past them. He recognized one of them by her red hair: the Tully girl. He thought her name might have been Myria or Myra or something like that. She had been presented at court a few months prior, with it plain as day that her family was angling to make a match between the two of them.

Now, as she had when she had first seen him in the receiving hall, she did not meet his gaze, bobbing a curtsy without ever looking him in the eye. He hurried past, hearing them erupt into giggles when they thought he was out of earshot. 

It was always like that. Why shouldn’t they laugh at the maimed prince? He was practically a circus attraction. All he had to look forward to was a future married to some random lady who couldn’t look him in the eye, let alone work up the courage to speak to him. He tried not to let it bother him, after all, they weren’t worth his time.

His chambers were in the same tower as his mother’s, and he passed the closed door of his room as he knocked on her door. “Mother? You sent for me?” A maid swung open the door.

“Yes, Aemond,” his mother was seated on the sofa, his niece and nephew playing with a maid on the floor in front of her. “You can all leave us.”

Aemond stood with his hands behind his back, quirking a smile at his young niece as she was carried from the room.

“Sit, Aemond,” Alicent sighed. “We need to talk.”

“You make it sound very serious,” he dropped into the chair across from her. “How may I help.”

He swallowed nervously. Was this to be it then? Was today the day that he would be officially tied to one of the sycophants roaming around the castle? Gods, don’t let it be the Tully girl. Someone with some backbone, at least.

“I called for you because I think this is something that should be entrusted to your skills. You  know the dragon keepers better than anyone.”

That did catch his attention. “The dragon keepers? Is something wrong with the dragons?”

Alicent sighed again, and he realized suddenly that his mother looked worried. More worried than he could ever recall seeing her, except that day when he had lost his eye. Even his father’s declining health had never caused the dark circles that now surrounded her eyes, and he could see that the skin of her nails had been picked until it bled.

“The Princess Rhaenyra is coming to make a petition,” she said finally. “She brings with her all of her children, and all of their dragons. The Dragon Put must be made ready for her and her hoard, and I must prepare a feast and a ball and all the like.”

Aemond felt his mouth go dry. “Her children? All of them? It couldn’t be. It seemed almost impossible. Nine long years had passed since…since…

“All of them,” his mother confirmed. “Which is the other reason I needed to speak with you.”

More likely, it was the only reason she had asked to speak with him. Subtlety was not his mother’s strong suit, and there was no reason the dragon keepers could not be briefed through a simple message. She had wanted to speak to him about his half-sister’s family, in person, for a reason.

Alicent leaned forward. “Aelinor will be with them, Aemond. But she is not the girl you remember. It has been nearly ten years, and you must remember who she is, and who you are.”

“And who is that, mother?”

“You are the legitimate second son of the King,” Alicent said. “And she is the bastard daughter of a false heir, who has spent nine years being fed their lies and derision, far from any realm of reason. The Aelinor you knew is gone.”

Aemond tensed. “That seems….Father has settled his succession, and we should not—”

“I am not here to argue succession with you, Aemond!” His mother snapped. “I want to be sure that you understand. When they enter this hall, it must be us, and it must be them. The fate of our family may very well depend on it.”

He knew that the succession crisis was constant fodder for the King’s critics, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Blast the Seven Kingdoms, and damn the succession. He didn’t care if his half-sister or her bastards, or his own damn brother ascended the throne. He disliked them all equally. All he cared for was Aelinor.

“Besides,” his mother sat back, fanning herself weakly with her hand. “She is betrothed to Jacaerys.”

“What? Jace?” Aemond spat, unable to contain himself. “Why have I not heard of this?”

“They haven’t been to court to announce it.” Aliecent sighed. “Knowing Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, Jacaerys has almost certainly bedded her already. What better way to secure their line?”

“That Strong boy will never—”

“Watch yourself, Aemond. Please.” His mother waved him away.

He didn’t want to draw out the conversation longer than necessary, and quickly stormed from the room. His mother had certainly achieved her objective, which was reminding him why he hated Jacaerys Velaryon so deeply. His own chambers were only a few doors away, and once he was there, he flung open the window and screamed into the open air. He didn’t give a damn if everyone in the courtyard could hear him.

For nine long years, he had stared across the sea toward Dragonstone. He had requested this chamber specifically because it faced south. And for the first few years, with decreasing frequency, he had begged his mother to grant him permission to fly that way. To where Aelinor was. To…he wasn’t quite sure what he had wanted to do. But he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone.

And now they had given her to Jace. Jace did not deserve her. That Strong boy did not deserve to breathe the same air as her.

Or, did he?

It had been many years since he had seen Aelinor, and she could have changed. She could be different to how he remembered her.

And she might not…

No, he wouldn’t let himself think about that. The truth was staring him in the face, the rage settling into his bones with every seething breath he took. Jace did not deserve Aelinor, but then, neither did he. He was just the scarred second son, after all, and she should be the lady of some great house. He wasn’t jealous, he was concerned for his childhood friend, who had been treated so carelessly by her family.

Given to Jace. He cursed aloud.

Still, his gaze drifted to his writing desk, and to the small box that sat in the top drawer. It had sat there for almost eight years, waiting.

And it had all been for nothing.

[obsob]

love is stored in the parallel play

[tothestarsinvelaris]

Dorian "I'll bleed whatever color you tell me to" Havilliard

Dorian "he'd make her beg for the first time in her long life" Havilliard

Dorian "willing to let a little cruelty into the bedroom" Havilliard

Dorian "invisible fingers down her neck" Havilliard

Dorian "as tempting as seeing you naked and chained might be" Havilliard

Dorian "I don't think you can handle the sort of things I need, witchling" Havilliard

Dorian "I am never begging for anything again in my life" Havilliard

Dorian "I want to taste every inch of you." Havilliard

Dorian "magic gently pinning her wrists to the mattress" Havilliard

Dorian "I need to hear you say yes" Havilliard

Dorian "I suggest you listen" Havilliard

[wherethewolfsbaneblooms]

Lady Dimitrescu — Take Me Back To Eden Print. Available soon.

[brbarou]

found and bound

[i-only-see-daylight]

Manon: Elide, your husband, Lorcan, is a loser, Aelin and I both agree.

Elide: You do?

Aelin: No, uh-uh, I never called him a loser!

Manon: Sorry, I’m the one who called him a loser. Manon: Aelin called him a clown.

[notyourcamb]

[rainingriversofyou]

Elide x Lorcan - Throne Of Glass - Artist: art_by_ava.georgia

[madame-fear]

Hello sweetness! I am here to requests something from you, feel free to ignore since I know you probably have so many requests right now. But I’m back in my hotd faze and wanted one of my favorite writers to write something. <3

Could I request a Lucerys Velaryon where he is newly betrothed to a lovely girl, us, who he falls head over hells for. The two being very sweet to one another, and the reader being scared to be married to a prince but he is there always. But the plot is about how closer to the wedding date the reader is trying back on her dress and just dreaming and Luke comes in and sees it? I really love lovestoke Luke! Please and thank you.

-Love, Ash.

*ೃ༄ 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐊 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒.ೃ࿐

★amira speaks! : hello my lovely !! 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 Oh my god, you have NO idea how happy I felt when I got your request on my askbox 🥺 I made this as fluffy as possible for one of my favourite writers too, and I hope you enjoy your reading, darling! 💕 — summary : [ — ✧ request. ] — word count : 2.5k

— genre : purely fluff. — pairing : lucerys velaryon x reader.

The word ‘betrothal’ had always been a term that frightened you.

From a young age, you had learned that betrothals were most often — actually, it was always — done as an act of political convenience; to ally different Houses together and strengthen their bond. Knowing it was an unwanted marriage, and often women were unhappily stuck in them, you forever kept yourself reluctantly terrified towards the idea of having to marry a Prince, or a Lord by the time you were a grown girl; not wanting to suffer.

And by the time it was your turn to get betrothed, your parents and yourselves travelled to Dragonstone, preparing to meet the Prince you would be married to in a future. Such overwhelming nerves and fright seemed to burden you more than anything during your entire journey, feeling as if you could melt right in the spot, with a desperate need to get out of there.

But fortunately for you, by the time you reached Dragonstone, you had been blessed with an eternally loving, timid young Prince. It was none other than the secondborn son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, the future Lord of Driftmark: Lucerys Velaryon.

You had all been warmly welcomed by the Targaryen Princess herself, whom immediatly made you feel comforted as you noticed her tender, sweet nature around you — treating you as if you were her own daughter. And by her side, awkwardly stood Lucerys. It was nearly impossible to ignore him, feeling his gaze fixed on you the entirety of the time as you were received by House Targaryen.

Much like you, it was quite notorious the young Prince carried a timid nature. By the moment your gaze met with his own gorgeous, vivid green hazel eyes, he rapidly adverted his stare elsewhere, shyly smiling to himself and trying to hide the fluster that kept growing on his pale face as the seconds passed. Luke had both of his arms hidden behind his back at that moment, yes, but you could still tell that he was nervously fidgeting with his own hands and fingers. Gods, you were such a pretty, graceful lady, and Lucerys was already over the moon for you despite having merely shared a brief moment of eye contact together.

The idea of having to leave your home to live with your betrothed was, initially, a complicated thought to process; especially during the first days of your staying in Dragonstone despite how kind and patient everyone treated you. But of course, as you were often sat next to Lucerys during dinner and had some small chats together throughout the day — as awkward as they were in the beginning — you were quick in taking a liking for the future Velaryon Lord. Most definitely, it was his endearingly shy self the one that had carved it’s own way into your heart, and the one that managed to completely twist in a good way your sense of frighten at the thought of the word ‘betrothal’.

Tranquil, leisure strolls through the gardens, hours of reading to one another together, and sneaky late night talks was how you both spent your days until your wedding ceremony arrived. And even, Luke had gone as far as teaching you some High Valyrian so you would know the language and culture of his own family.

Of course, the nervousness regarding your marriage and the wedding continously lingered in you, gnawing every bit of your mind despite having a perfectly sweet relationship with Lucerys. And knowing how you felt, becoming used to freely speak up your mind whenever you were alone together, Luke never failed to comfort and soothe you by expressing his own nerves, but at the same time, reassuring you that he was certain all would go more than well as every preparation for the occassion had been carefully organisated properly.

It was the warmth that the Velaryon Prince constantly offered to you, that made you be over the moon and clouds for him, just in the exact way he felt around you. It had taken no time for you to become his ‘gevie rūklon’ — his pretty flower, being as delicately graceful as the petal of a rose. The one he was more than eager to cherish and show his undying adoration with each day that passed, and you couldn’t help but often thank the Seven for blessing you with such a loving future Lord Husband. With each passing day, you found yourself balancing between the thin string of feeling jittery, and an increasing zeal the closer you were to your wedding day.

And there you stood two nights before your official wedding date, staring at yourself in front of the mirror, simultaneously swinging between such emotions that equally made your heart violently pound against your chest in a way that your hands were visibly trembling. Softly, you adjusted the silk wedding dress that they had prepared just for yourself. As expected, you had already tried the dress on the moment the seamstresses were finished with sewing the very last details — but you were allured into trying it again, imagining how everything would go and practising for the official date.

Faintly, a soft sigh escaped from your nostrils, with a little grin tugging at the corner of your lips. Both your hands were clasped in front of your body, grasping the delicate texture of your dress against your skin. Your breathing became hitched softly, processing the thought of becoming officially married to a future Lord whom you already wholeheartedly adored.

You had spent endless hours in front of your mirror, reading your own wedding vows to yourself and making sure that you wouldn’t either stutter, mess up, or stumble upon your words. And even so, despite already knowing by heart your vows to your betrothed, you still continued to re-read them again, or mentally repeat it.

Your gaze lingered on the ground for a few seconds, admiring quietly the dedication the seamstresses put into your wedding dress, before you managed to raise it to stare at your own face. A nervous frowny grin tugged at the corner of your lips, feeling a flustered heat creeping to your cheeks. As your chambers were silent, the only thing you could ever hear was the sound of your heartbeat increasing by the passing of the seconds, along your soft huffing.

Overall, digging deeper beyond the obvious nerves you felt, there was an immeasurable feeling of joy. The thought of having been blessed with such an endearing future Lord Husband, who had also became your best friend and companion, brought a warming comfort in you that made you eager to the official wedding day. The sight of your own reflection on your dress was more than enough for you to helplessly wander through your own daydreaming.

Dumbfoundedly, your grin became wider as you could already imagine how your wedding would go. And not only you daydreamt about the wedding feast, the way you would be delightfully surrounded by your family, closest relatives, and perhaps how other Lord and Ladies would attend the celebration — but as well, you couldn’t help but imagine how joyful you would be spending the rest of your days by his side, pampering one another with tender caresses, and soft kisses.

Having one another for the joyful and sorrowful moments in your life, and even, having precious little children of your own surrounding both of you. The early prospect you had of how your marriage would be made you nearly melt from adoration. Your gaze remained fixed in your own reflection, smiling to yourself as your mind solely focused and dreamed of what was yet to come.

The door of your chambers were swung open swiftly, yet quietly — provoking a faint creaking sound before it was closed shut. Upon hearing the faint noise, you were quick in snapping out of your little daydreaming, adverting your gaze towards the person entering the quarters. It was, of course, none other than your betrothed; as he had gotten used to entering your chambers in the middle of the night without even knocking, especially when he couldn’t sleep.

A heated dark shade of red crept in your face, gulping timidly as soon as you made eye contact with Luke through the reflection of the mirror. Before managing to mutter a word, his green hazel eyes were fixed on you. The way you so gracefully stood in front of the mirror, using the wedding dress prepared just for yourself that was adorned with dragons and dragonscales imagery, made him awkwardly stand at your door.

Part of him wished to advert his gaze elsewhere, in a poor attempt to hide his overwhelmingly shy fluster; but another part of him, insisted on remaining with his stare on you. Gods, you were such a precious girl— how could he not swoon over you, like he always did? And seeing you in such a beautifully detailed wedding dress made his heart skip one, or two beats. Needless it was to mention the fact that since you were two days away from officially getting married, that already provoked on him some sleepless nights; and seeing you wearing that wedding dress made him feel as if he could melt right there.

The first time you had tried on your wedding dress, he didn’t have the opportunity to take a peek of how you would look. But now, curiousity was eased delightfully. If anything, it served to fuel his already undying adoration for your sweetly graceful nature.

Clearing his throat shyly, his green eyes gazed down to the floor. Both his hands were clasped in front of his body. “I’m... Sorry,” he began speaking meekly. Noticing the timid fluster notoriously creeping on his pale skin made you have to fight back a giggle. “Am I interrupting something, my love?” his eyes lingered on the ground, before reluctanctly gazing up at you shyly. You shook your head in response, before being able to mutter a response.

“Good.” with soft footsteps, Luke approached you. “You can’t sleep, too?” a scoff escaped from you, fixing your gaze on his features as he walked towards you very slowly. “Is it too obvious?” you inquired back teasingly as a helpless grin appeared on your lips, getting a chuckle from him as a response. “I can tell, my love.” as soon as Lucerys stood by your side — noticing him slightly taller than usual —, his green eyes stared at you through the reflection.

The way Luke so endearingly admired how precious you looked for your wedding ceremony made you want to squirm under his gaze, and giggle like a little girl with a crush. “I haven’t been able to sleep either,” his arms remained behind his back, feeling as if his staring to your reflection wouldn’t allow him to do anything else, just... Stare foolishly in love. “Our wedding ceremony is two nights away, and I feel restless.”

Seeing you in the wedding dress was too alluring to get lost in the daydreaming of your near future together. His smile seemed sheepish as his green eyes carefully observed every inch of yourself, treasuring you as his future Lady Wife. You had rapidly turned into his greatest pride, and Luke knew he would eventually show you off to everyone. Not like he wasn’t already doing so, either way.

“But overall...” his arms appeared from behind his back, walking to stand behind of you. Gently, his arms wrapped themselves around your waist, pulling you tightly against his chest in an adoring way. The warmth of his firm embrace was soothing, as he placed his chin on the crook of your neck, moving his stare towards your reflection once again. “I’m proud of having you as my future Wife.”

Of course, all his compliments were genuine — but most of the time, Lucerys appreciated seeing you become flustered at his displays of affection. Your hands were placed on his arms, caressing them gently. “You look more than beautiful,” he cooed, nuzzling the tip of his nose softly against your skin, “I can’t wait until our wedding ceremony. I know you will be such a loving wife and companion, as you already are.” with his words, his lips placed soft kisses on your skin, moving from your neck, to your cheek.

And in his words, there was no lacking in honestly. Each time his eyes took a peek at you, especially at the current moment where you tried back on your dress, his breathing got stuck on his throat; with his heart pounding loudly against his chest. Your giggles with each one of his loving kisses encouraged Lucerys to keep going, and if it were possible, he would shower you in his kisses eternally.

A contented growl spurred from your lips, craning your head lazily towards him, managing to place your lips on the skin of his rosy cheeks. “Sometimes I wonder, what have I done to possibly be blessed by the Seven to earn such a sweet, and attentive betrothed such as yourself?” you could feel his smiling lips grasping against your skin, holding a protective grip around your body.

Sighing, he managed to rest his chin on the crook of your neck, trying to catch his own breathing before continuing to fill you with kisses. Those sleepless nights were more than worth it, marrying such a precious beauty as yourself — and who could blame him? If he managed to even get some rest the two days before your wedding, Luke knew his dreams would be invaded by you walking down the aisle, in such detailed dress. “I can only wonder to myself the same thing, my sweet.” he replied briefly.

Allowing your head to rest against his own, his eyes stared at you through the reflection of the mirror. There weren’t enough words to express his admiration towards you, swooning inwards to himself at the sight of your vibrant grace.

Despite the obvious anxiety you equally felt regarding the ceremony, such as everything going as planned, and none of you stumbling upon your words when it came to reading your vows to one another, there was an exuberant eagerness to refer to each other as your own.

But, if anything— there was one thing that would be difficult for him to overbear during the ceremony. The sweet scent emanating from you was merely intoxicating, and his lips continued to playfully grasp against the skin of your neck, admiring you quietly.

“I do have to warn you,” shortly, he trailed off. His lips became in a dumbfounded grin, drunken with the feeling of a loving worshipping towards your entire self. Adoring you so much, that could make his heart combust at any second. You were bewitching at the sight.

Your eyebrows furrowed in curiousity before he continued, gripping your waist tighter, before one of his hands found your own, and squeezed it faintly. “I plan on not keeping my lips to myself during our wedding, especially if you are to look this gorgeous.”

♡ taglist : ♡

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[embroideredlove]

Gagged at the thought of 13-year-old Dru finding out she’d have three guys after her when she was older

Lady Midnight, Chapter 8: Out of the Cloud by Night

[illustratinghan]

Dog Rose ~ Pleasure and Pain 🌹

- a recreation of the Seelie Queen’s flower card -

characters by @cassandraclare 🤍

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 4

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 5613

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

“Why are you bringing so much?”

Aelinor turned to look at Luc as he entered the courtyard of Dragonstone, where she was strapping a large bundle to the back of Darax’s saddle. “They’re clothes.” She said simply, tightening the strap again. The flight to King’s Landing should be uneventful, but she didn’t want to lose anything.

“I thought you sent trunks on ahead with Mother and the ship?” He asked. “Why do you need more? We’re just flying into the Dragon Pit after all.”

She cleared her throat. “I just want to appear at the Red Keep looking my best.”

“But you look fine in your—”

“She means,” Jace strode into the courtyard, Vermax walking slowly behind him. “That she wants to look pretty for Aemond.”

“Jace!” Aelinor protested, running a hand down Darrax’s flank. It was a good thing that their dragons had grown in proximity to each other, but they were all getting a bit nervous in the small courtyard. Things would turn disastrous if one of her brother’s dragons chose to challenge Darrax in such close quarters.

“Don’t say such foolish things,” she scolded her brother again, turning away so that he couldn’t see the red tinge to her cheeks.

“Isn’t it?” He smirked. “Careful, Sister. I might grow jealous seeing my betrothed prettying herself up for someone else.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a terrible liar,” he teased. She could have thrown something at him, if the levity in his gaze didn’t give away that he was truly, only joking. Jace and her would never suit as husband and wife, but they had certainly grown to be friends.

She settled on rolling her eyes, turning to face her more tolerable brother. “I’ll see you at King’s Landing. Safe flight, everyone.”

With a sharp word to Darrax, the dragon rolled his shoulder down, allowing her to climb into the saddle and adjust the straps around her legs with practiced motions.

“See you later, Lina!” Luc waved cheerfully.

She nodded back. “ Soves, Darrax .”

He didn’t need any more encouragement than that. Both Luc and Jace scrambled back as he spread his massive wings and within seconds took to the sky. They coasted over the island quickly, and before long were heading across the bay, Darrax dipping low enough to let his tail skim the water.

Aelinor coaxed him higher, not wanting to risk ruining all of her packed clothes with sea spray. 

Gods, she adored flying. It seemed to be the only time that she could be truly alone with her thoughts.

Jace wasn’t wrong, she had packed a change of clothes so that she might look somewhat presentable when she saw Aemond again. Which was stupid of her, she knew. If the Aemond she knew had not changed, he surely wouldn’t care whether she showed up dressed like a queen or in sweaty flying leathers with her hair all a-muss. And if he had changed….then he might not be her Aemond anymore. He was a prince, after all, and he probably had a hundred ladies fawning over him. Why would he waste a second on his childhood friend? And why did that idea of that sting so very much?

No, Aelinor caught herself before she spiraled too deeply. The clothes were so that she might make a good impression on the court. She told herself that they weren’t for Aemond. They were for her mother, for Luc, and even for Jace’s own succession. If ser Vaemond were successful in challenging Luc’s claim, they would all be at risk. The least she could do was make sure that she looked her best and did her part.

Setting the reins against the saddle, Aelinor used her good hand to adjust her gloves. The sea spray wasn’t warm, and the cold always caused such an uncomfortable ache in her bad hand. Once her gloves were set, she retook the reins, thankful that Darrax was steady and reliable enough for her to make such necessary adjustments. How many years ago had it been when she had insisted that she would never be able to fly, with Aemond arguing with her all the way. As it turned out, he had been right. She had just needed to have more faith in herself and in Darrax.

They soared over the royal ship, and she urged Darrax to fly further ahead. Her mother was too pregnant to fly, and so the ship carrying her, Prince Daemon, the younger children and Rhaena had left early in the morning. It was little effort for Darrax to overtake them, and she knew she would easily beat her entire family to King’s Landing. 

“Prince Aemond!”

He whipped his head around, not at all surprised when he found Ser Criston striding toward him. That damned knight made it his business to supervise all of the royal children, and it seemed that Aemond had yet to outgrow his meddling.

“What is it, Cole?” Aemond reluctantly marked his place in his book. Legends of Old Valyria . It had been many years since he had read it, but he remembered that the stories inside were among Aelinor’s favourites, and he wanted to brush up.

“We have received word from the dragon keepers,” Cole came to a stop in front of him. “The first of the Princess’ children have appeared. They are waiting on all of them to arrive before they take the carriage to the Keep.”

“Thank you for keeping me informed.” Why should he care if Prince Jacaerys arrived before his siblings? He had probably flown ahead just because he could. In all honesty, there had been very little news from Dragonstone regarding the dragons. He knew that Lin—that Aelinor was flying, as her saddle had been specifically made for her at King’s Landing, but no one knew which of their dragons were the fastest, strongest or largest. It mattered little, as he had Vhagar, who was the strongest of them all.

“Your mother, The Queen, wished to know if you would receive them upon their arrival. They should all be arriving together, Princess Rhaenyra and her children both.”

Curious that his mother didn’t intend on receiving the heir to the throne, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to think about the implications.

He slammed his book shut. “I won’t be receiving them. Come, we must train. My mother can entertain our guests.” He grabbed his sword from where it rested on the table in the library, and marched out.

Was he being childish? Most likely. But he did not think he had the strength to stand there and watch Jace hand Aelinor out of the carriage. He did not want to see them stand next to each other, to feign politeness as that bastard stood in front of him and shattered every dream he had ever had. The dreams might be already broken, but at least he could let the glass fall gently.

Everything was exactly as she had remembered it.  The dragon keepers, Darrax’s stall (though he had outgrown it), and even the slightly bitter tinge to the air the moment she stepped out of the Dragonpit.  The stench of King’s Landing was almost overpowering, but it still smelled like home.

It took several hours for her brothers to arrive, lending proof to her theory that boys could never manage to do anything on time, and she took that time to change and make herself comfortable in the provided carriage. By the time they stepped inside, looking travel worn and weary, she was feeling much better about her choice to bring a change of clothes.

“You look nice,” Luc had said. 

“Who’d you put that on for?” Jace teased. She had punched him in the arm for that.

But soon enough they had rolled through the gates of the Red Keep, only a few minutes ahead of their mother, and found no one there to receive them. Rhaenyra had scoffed, granting each of her three eldest a kiss on their cheeks before dismissing them while she went to greet the King and Queen. Aelinor was grateful to not be part of that conversation.

She did hope for a chance to see her grandfather before the feast in a few days, but she wasn’t sure she could brave the pressure of a formal reception.

The children (if they could even be called that anymore) were left to explore the castle. Jace and Luc rushed ahead, anxious to see the training yard from when they were young, but Aelinor lingered in the corridors, taking in the changes that had been made. She supposed things were bound to feel different, as she was much older than she had been, but there were many changes to the Keep.

Statues of the Seven decorated the halls where before there had been relics of Old Valyria, and many of the murals of risque artwork, which she had giggled over many a time, had been replaced with more modest, spiritual imagery.

She couldn’t help but wonder what Aemond thought of it all. To her it seemed a great and upsetting change, but what had it been like for him? To see the histories and stories he had grown up loving slowly stripped away?

People stopped and stared as she passed, but she did not let it bother her. Taking the time to smile at the few faces she recognized she watched as it dawned on them who exactly she was. Perhaps it had not been widely publicized that they were coming to court. She was once again glad for her decision to change.

The dress was not ornate — few of hers were — but the deep blue velvet and long white sleeves that flowed past her wrist did convey a certain stateliness. And they hid her hand, which probably added to the mystery. The wide neckline, which dipped low enough to display some of her cleavage and wide enough to hang tauntingly off her shoulders, was the closest she could come to emulating the fashions she remembered of the court. But now, she saw that fashions were much more modest, and it didn’t take much to realize who was responsible for that.

“Princess Aelinor!” Ser Harrald’s familiar face appeared in front of her, pulling her away from a  stained glass piece of the Mother and the Maiden. He looked a few years older, perhaps, but she was just as happy to see him as when she was a girl.

The last time she had seen him, he had been carrying her away from Aemond as he screamed on the ground, blood pouring from his eye. 

Shaking the horrible memory from her head, she decided to ignore the many courtiers surrounding them and stood on her tiptoes to wrap the man in a hug. “It is so nice to see you, Ser Harrald.”

“And you, Princess,” he gave a polite squeeze, and then took a step back. “You have grown up absolutely beautifully if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Thank you, Ser,” she smiled. “It seems much has changed since I was last here.”

“Not as much as you would expect,” he said knowingly.

Aelinor laughed, not quite willing to think of all the possible implications of his statement. “As it is, I must find my brothers. I don’t suppose you’ve seen them, have you?”

Ser Harral smiled. “As I said, Princess. Not much has changed. Most of the action takes place in the training yard, and that is just at the south end of this corridor.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Aelinor nodded. “I will see you later, I hope.”

“As do I.”

With a proper, deep bow, he continued down the hall in the direction she had come from, his white cloak billowing behind him. Now in a much better mood than she had been when she stepped into these uncertain halls, Aelinor hurried toward the training yard. She would collect her brothers, force them to go and clean up, and then they would have time to relax a bit from their journey.

Briefly, the thought that Aemond might be there crossed her mind. Probably not, as he had never enjoyed training, choosing to do the bare minimum out of obligation more than anything else, and she couldn’t imagine him choosing to spend time there of his own choice. But she couldn’t quite squash the butterflies that were fluttering in her stomach.

Things were coming back to her as she stepped through the door into the training yard, recognizing the mud-covered mat used for brushing one’s boots off, even the walkways above the yard usually covered in mud. But when she looked up to survey the yard, she was surprised to find it completely silent. There was no clanging of metal, or the duller impact of the wooden practice blades. No playful yelling or bellowed instructions from knights training their squires.

She quickly saw the reason why. She had just reached the top of the stairs when she caught sight of Ser Vaemond striding across the yard, heading straight for her, a gaggle of servants and guards trailing behind him. It seemed that the crowd in the training yard had fallen silent at his arrival.

Aelinor stepped to the side when he reached the top, offering a demure curtsy. “Ser Vaemond. It has been a long time.”

“Indeed, Princess,” Ser Vaemond gave her an appraising look. “Indeed.”

“I would have expected you to arrive well before us, as it is your petition we are here to witness, after all.”

“Don’t pretend there is any propriety in this farce.” Ser Vaemond scoffed.

Aelinor glanced up, narrowing her eyes. “We are here to hear the King’s justice, grand-uncle. Sure it is too soon to call any of this a farce.”

Ser Vaemond laughed then, and she was reminded of that day at Driftmark, when he had used her aunt’s death as a chance to taunt her and her brothers. “I wouldn’t be so quick to call it justice. Not when you will soon have to face the truth of this.”

Aelinor gave him a polite smile. “And yet, it was not our company who saw fit to arrive through the back door.”

She didn’t offer him another curtsy as he strode by her, ignoring her words. A tiny inkling of pride made her stand a bit straighter. Surely, if that was the first test of this whole affair, she had proven that she could do her part. 

Forcing her face back into a pleasant expression, she marched down the stairs, spotting her brothers right away, next to a large crowd of gathered people. 

“Jacaerys! Lucerys!” She called, hurrying out onto the ground, the hem of her skirt dragging through the mud. She sent up a silent prayer for forgiveness from whichever maid had to clean the filth from the velvet. Both boys turned to look at her, away from whatever was happening at the center of the circle. And Jace…he looked unsettled.

Coming to a stop in front of them, she tried for a comforting grin, aware of the eyes on them. It was hardly a surprise that they were on edge after Ser Vaemond’s dramatic arrival. “Come on, we need to go clean up.”

“Lina?”

There it was. That voice that she had imagined a thousand times since she had last heard it. He sounded so different, his voice older and deeper and more serious than she remembered, though how she had gleaned all that from a single word was beyond her. But it didn’t matter, because it was still his .

And there he was, standing at the center of the circle, a sword in his hand, a patch on his eye, his long silver hair tied back. Aemond . He was tall, taller than she had imagined, which only seemed unfair given how he was also more perfect and handsome than she could have envisioned.

He was staring straight at her, his mouth hanging open, chest heaving, as though he had just finished a bout and hadn’t quite caught his breath.

Aelinor was suddenly overcome with a sense of embarrassment. She looked…she should have picked a different dress. Oh, why did their first meeting in nine years have to be after she’d gone tramping through the mud, calling after her brother’s like an idiot? Had she even brushed her hair?

Luckily, Jace must have seen the panic on her face, for he quickly grabbed her wrist, gave a quick nod to Aemond that she didn’t fully understand, and pulled her away.

“Compose yourself, Aelinor,” he whispered in her ear as they rushed back up the steps, Luc close behind them. “Or this will be a very awkward week.

Still, Aelinor turned to look over her shoulder. The crowd had moved on from whatever they had been watching, no longer interested in the long-lost princes or princess.

But Aemond hadn’t moved. He was still standing there, his eye fixed on her.

Still trembling, Aelinor gave him a small smile, as much as she could muster.

And Aemond smiled back.

Gods she was beautiful.

Aemond felt like an idiot. After nearly ten years of waiting, of holding his breath for the moment he would get to see her again, and instead, he’d been dumbstruck like an idiot. Because Lina….Lina was beautiful .

She’d always been pretty, of course, and he had thought that from the first moment that he saw her. But she had stood in front of him, a woman grown, with her silver hair falling in loose waves past her hips, lilac eyes shining as she searched for her brothers in the crowd, and he realized that without a doubt, Aelinor was the most beautiful woman in the world.

But then she had seen him, seen what he had become, covered in sweat and grime from hours spent training, his eyepatch and the scar that crept out from behind it, and she had run. Not only had she run, but that bastard Jacaerys had been holding her hand. Seeing them together, Aemond was even more convinced that they were not a good match. He might not deserve Aelinor, but for Jacaerys to even think of touching her…it made his skin crawl.

Tossing his sword aside, ignoring Ser Criston’s cry, Aemond hurried after his niece and nephews, entirely unsure of what he was doing.

“Gods, Aelinor, your face was hilarious,” Luc was laughing as they strolled through the halls. “I’ve never seen your eyes so wide.”

“Shut up,” Aelinor flushed. “It was just a surprise to see him.”

“Here? In his own home?” Jace rolled his eyes, his hand still locked around her wrist. “Or was it the eyepatch? I admit, the wound was more hideous than I had expected it to be. But I suppose something like that will never truly heal.”

“Of course not!” Aelinor shook him off, annoyed. “It was just…a surprise.” What could she say? That she had been dumbstruck by how unbelievably handsome Aemond was? Her brothers would never let her live it down.

“Wekk, I hope you get a handle on it for tomorrow,” Jace gave her a wry grin, clearly exasperated by how poorly she was hiding her true feelings. “We need to appear strong and united.”

“Of course we do, and we will,” Aelinor reached out to squeeze Luc’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, Luc. We’ll get everything sorted out.”

“I hope so, because I—” Luc stared over her shoulder, his eyes widening. “Umm…Aelinor?”

“What are you…”

“Aelinor!” Aemond’s voice called from behind her, tone sharp and unforgiving. It sent a thrill rushing through her veins. “Wait!”

“We have somewhere to be, Prince Aemond,” Jace said quickly, reaching again for her elbow. “Forgive us if—”

“I wish to speak to Aelinor,” Aemond repeated, and Aelinor felt his presence like a magnetic force as he came to a stop behind her. She shouldn’t have turned, but as soon as she did, finding him only a few feet away from her, slightly out of breath and staring at her with unsettling intensity, she knew that nothing in the world could have moved her from that place.

“Aelinor?” Jace whispered.

She cleared her throat, trying to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, Jace. I’ll catch up with you all later.”

He didn’t look convinced, but Luc poked him in the back, urging him away and down the corridor.

Aelinor turned back to Aemond slowly, her hands knotting in the sleeves of her dress. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do?

“I’m sorry about back there,” Aemond said quickly, almost tripping over the words as he rushed to get them out. 

“Back there?” Her thoughts felt like soup, all rational thought lost in the overwhelming sensation of Aemond . 

“In the courtyard. With my—” He gestured to his face, leaving Aelinor even more confused. “I know it can be quite…jarring and I…” he trailed off.

Aelinor just stared at him.

Aemond had no idea what he was doing. He’d rushed after her, so determined not to let her slip away and refusing to let her be swept away by her brother and then…and then what? As soon as she’d turned to look at him, all he could remember was how pale she had become in the courtyard. When she saw his scar. And now he was stumbling like a fool as he tried to apologize, and she stared at him like he was the world’s greatest fool.

“It’s ugly, I know…” He was still talking, wishing that he had the self-control to silence himself. “But the patch makes it more bearable and you won’t have to see—”

Aelinor slammed into him, nearly knocking her backward with the force of her hug.

“What are you talking about, you fool?” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. “Ten years, and all you can do is apologize for your eye?” 

Aemond choked on the words, trying to find something to say. Aelinor was embracing him. How many times in the past years had he imagined this exact moment? Each time he had convinced himself that it would never happen, not when she was…well her …and he looked the way he did.

And not it took every ounce of his willpower to lift his arms and wrap them around her waist, resisting the urge to hold her so tightly and lift her off the ground.

But she was hugging him, and when she pulled away, there was a brilliant smile on her face.

“You look very roguish,” she declared. “Like a pirate.”

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” He smiled thinking back to that day when they had said goodbye. When she had been the first person to make him feel that perhaps things weren’t so bleak after all. Before she had left, and he’d learned just how bleak the world could be.

A shadow passed over her face. “I never wanted you to get hurt.”

“I know—”

“I just wanted you to know that it would never have changed how I felt about you.” She coughed. “Then or…or now.”

As she spoke, she was moving back to a safe, court-appropriate distance. That fleeting, perfect moment was already cursing himself for not taking the chance to hold her more tightly. For a few precious seconds, it had felt as though nothing had changed. He had been her Aemond again.

But things weren’t the same, were they? He knew that better than anyone, when he spent his days listening to his mother and grandfather as they quietly connived to secure Aegon’s place on the throne. They subtly spread their poison about his half-sister and her pack of bastards, of which Aelinor was one.

And she wasn’t Lina anymore. She was Aelinor. A woman. A beautiful, ethereal woman, and even if she could embrace him like no time at all had passed, everything was different now.

“You come to support your brother’s claim?” Aemond found the most neutral topic he could think of, one that wouldn’t set his heart pounding.

Aelinor took a deep breath, as if composing herself, and then nodded. “At the request of my mother and my…Prince Daemon. And for Luc, of course. He may be a rascal, but I am fond of him.”

This surprised Aemond. “I can remember having to fight him off when he was trying to pull your hair out. Forgive me if I am skeptical.”

“Yes, well,” Aelinor chuckled. “He has matured. Slightly. The same cannot be said of Jace.”

The mention of her elder brother instantly soured Aemond’s mood. He didn’t want to talk about her betrothed, he didn’t want to even think about it. Only minutes before, Jace had been leading Aelinor away from him by the arm, a sight he would not soon forget.

But she had embraced him, and that….that couldn’t count for nothing. 

“I imagine things are going to get a bit hectic over the next few days, wouldn’t you say?” Aelinor asked. “Before the petition?”

“I would imagine so,” Aemond agreed, both of them fully aware of what they meant. Whatever farce might be put on at the ball the next day, tensions were still bound to boil over. It was inevitable that they would be drawn into it.

A crowd of tittering ladies strolled by, stopping to bob curtsies to the familiar prince. Each of them carefully avoided looking him in the eye. It irked him more than usual, an irrational worry flooding him that perhaps Aelinor would see how the ladies of court feared him, and realize that she should do the same.

“Is there something interesting about the floor?” Aelinor’s tone was light, almost teasing. “I admit that much has changed since I was last here, but I find the floor tiles about the same.”

Everyone’s gaze darted to her, and Aemond was shocked to see a tight smile on her face. Her tone might have been in jest, but there was nothing humorous to be found in the harsh glare of her eyes as she studied the other woman.

“My lady?” One lady said, her eyes darting about, looking for an escape. Aemond thought he might have been introduced to her at one time, but couldn’t be bothered to remember her name.

“ Princess Aelinor ,” he bit out, the ladies all cowering back a step.

“Apologies, Princess Aelinor,” the ladies all curtsied quickly. “I beg your forgiveness.”

Aelinor waved her hand. “None needed. So long as you can tell me why you are studying the floor with such devotion.”

The ladies gaped at her.

“Because,” Aelinor continued. “Some might find it disrespectful, to refuse to meet the eye of their Prince.” Her voice was still light, but Aemond felt the chill she directed at the women.

They all floundered, speaking over each other. Aelinor sighed, almost in boredom.

“Leave,” he barked at the other women. “You have bothered the Princess long enough.”

They practically ran down the halls, nearly tripping over their skirts.

“The entire Keep will tremble in your wake by tomorrow.” He said to Aelinor.

She sighed. “I hope not. I just…” she looked up at him. “Are they all like that?”

“Most of them,” he nodded. “Though I confess, they got marginally better when Aegon and Helaena married and I became the only option. They tend to leave me alone now.”

She furrowed her brow. “Well, then they are idiots. I knew there was a reason you and Helaena were the only people I ever liked.”

Aemond swallowed, unsure what to say to that. 

“Walk with me, Aemond,” Aelinor took his arm, not waiting for him to offer it, and began to lead him down the hall at a leisurely pace. He internally grimaced when he realized that her beautiful dress was pressing against his sweaty training shirt, but that worry was quickly overshadowed by a much more pressing concern. Aelinor was touching him. If he angled his body slightly, her side would have pressed into him. How was he meant to maintain composure, when she was so damn close.

“You’re very tense,” Aelinor noted.

“I…” What was he supposed to say? I’m tense because this is the closest I’ve ever been to a woman, and closer than I ever thought I would be to you. “I am sore from training.”

She frowned at that. “Cole works you too hard. I never liked him.”

“From the sound of it, there are very few people you do like.”

“True enough,” she smiled at him, squeezing his elbow with her hand. “I like Jace occasionally, Luc most of the time. Helaena of course. And then, I like absolutely. Everyone else is simply irrelevant.”

It might have sounded callous if anyone were to overhear, and it could hardly be taken as a surprise. Why shouldn’t a spoiled princess hate everyone around her, except for her favourite toys? But Aemond knew exactly what she meant, for he often found himself feeling the same way. Though there were many people and things in his life that he knew on some level he cared for, they all faded into the background when it came to Aelinor. Even in the years they had been apart, all it would take was for him to think of her, and his entire perspective on a situation could change. His favourite horse was a white stallion because it was what the hero rode in the stories he had told her when she was a girl (when the heroes weren’t riding dragons). He had been presented with over twenty horses to choose from, but as soon as that thought of Aelinor had entered his mind, no other horse would do.

He could never bring himself to indulge in his cups the way his brother did, always remembering the sour look on Lina’s face when she had supped wine for the first time.

Gods above, there was a sapphire embedded in his skull, because she had suggested that it would look pretty.

“What of your parents?” He asked. “Surely you must hold some love for them if you followed them here.”

It was a thinly veiled attempt to bait her, and Aelinor knew it. “I love my mother dearly, of course, though we have never quite understood each other. I imagine that is the way with most mothers and daughters.”

True enough. Aemond knew all too well that his own mother struggled to understand Helaena, though he doubted there was any actual effort applied.

“And Prince Daemon…” Aelinor sighed, and Aemond noticed that she did not call him father . “My mother loves him, and so that is enough. It does not make me any more eager to spend a few weeks cooped up in the Keep with them, conspiring against the Hand and his…” She trailed off, shooting him a nervous look. “Forget I said that.”

It was already forgotten, but Aemond nodded anyway. There was no contest between his reluctant tolerance of his mother’s father and the esteem he held for Aelinor.

“You must help me escape, Aemond,” Aelinor smiled up at him. “I don’t care if we go flying, or if we’re hiding in the stables, but I must have a reprieve from all this.”

This was…this was almost too familiar. How many times in their youth had she grabbed him by the arm, begging him to help her escape from her lessons or luncheons? He had never once, in all that time, failed to oblige.

He stopped suddenly, an idea winking into existence. “Then let me give you dinner. This evening. Just the two of us.”

“Dinner?” Aelinor tilted her head. “Where?” The many times they had eaten together in the past had almost always been in the confines of one of their chambers when they were but children. But they were no longer children, and family loyalties aside, it would be grossly improper for a young man and a woman to dine privately in closed rooms.

“My father’s library,” He named the first place he could think of that could offer some degree of privacy without ruining their reputation. The King was too ill to make use of it, and neither his siblings nor his mother ever ventured there. “You can be free of your family for an evening, I can be free of mine, and we can regale each other with tales of our brilliant exploits.”

He tried not to think about how their families might perceive this plan. Of what Jacaerys might think to find Aemond dining with his betrothed. But Aelinor didn’t look the least bit bothered by it, and that gave him a shred of hope. He intended to grasp onto every second of Aelinor that he could before she was swept away from him.

Aelinor was grinning. “You do make a very tempting offer.”

“There will be lemon tarts,” he added quickly. “And all your favourites.” He hoped the cook was skilled enough to make angel cakes with berry sauce before that evening. 

“Ah well, then I cannot refuse,” Aelinor dropped his arm and gave a small smile. “I shall see you then. At sundown?”

Aemond gave a jerky nod, halfway between a bow and a friendly farewell. Aelinor just smiled wider.

“And Aemond?” She called, still walking away.

“Yes, Lin—” He cleared his throat. “Yes, Princess?” He couldn’t go shouting her given name in a public corridor, never mind that there didn’t seem to be anyone around to hear it.

“I have no need of lemon tarts. Bring yourself, for that is all I need.”

He stared at her until she faded from view, her skirts swishing as she disappeared around a corner.

And then Aemond sprinted for the kitchens.

[old-skyguy]

Every time I see people reduce Franziska von Karma to "haha bitchy immature lady with a whip" I get viscerally angry.

[neonbo]

I’m gonna be restocking my horror stickers soon, now the question is…do i make them matte…or glittery.

[brbarou]

spark and amber trying to make something out of lady thyme's 50 year old closet

[clockwork-ashes]

Daylight

The smallest of stones, the greatest of ripples.

Summary: Eris learns that Lucien is not Beron's son (one-shot).

Eris paced the small room, his steps soundless. Barefoot, ready for bed, cold rough stone to warm soft carpet. Over and over, again and again, a comfort. 

The smell of copper, sharp like night blooming flowers, hung in the air. Eris noticed that he had bitten through the inside of his cheek. He traced the wound with his tongue, the salt and metal of his blood enough to ground him, to clear his mind.  

Eris took a deep breath. He knew all the flames of this world, it was his birthright. Centuries he had lived, had witnessed much, gained enough wisdom. 

Eyes like gold, glowing unlike any fire made of Autumn, Eris had seen only a glimpse of it and had known. Magic was ancient, but simple, responding like a trained hound to those who had taken the time to learn its secrets. Stoked to life in the court he had been raised in, Eris would have recognised the flames as his own. 

Daylight. 

Sunbright, lovely, Lucien’s eyes had been twin stars in the darkness. 

It had taken every ounce of self control Eris possessed not to rear back at the sight, a death sentence. 

An oath taken, a promise made in blood, Eris had nearly forgotten. His mother’s hands, claws as she had gripped his arm, begged her eldest son to grant her strange request. Everything had been made clear as Eris had silently watched the Lady of Autumn gently stroke Lucien’s curls from his face, eyes half-lidded and gold only like sunlight could be. 

Small for his age and precious as all fae children were, Lucien was coddled by everyone in the Forest House.  

Half a decade, nothing in the grand scheme of things, and yet enough to change everything. The smallest of stones, the greatest of ripples. 

The flames in the fireplace flared, Eris tugged at the short strands of blood red hair at the nape of his neck. He felt like he was drowning, his head already below the water’s surface, Eris choked on his own fear. 

“Eris, please.” His mother’s voice was quiet, a tremor in her words as she took to begging him once more. For what, Eris did not know, and in the moment he could not be bothered to care. 

Eris whirled around to face her, smaller than he remembered, the Lady of Autumn looked up at her son. His fear was reflected in her eyes, the weight of knowing that an executioner’s axe hung just above Lucien’s head. 

“How could you?” Eris snarled, the words biting, accusatory. Never had he spoken to his mother in such a way, the softest of tones always reserved for her. 

She shook her head, loose strands falling from her braid and framing her thin face. Defeated, her shoulders curved as she curled in on herself. Eris hoped she felt guilty. “You wouldn’t understand,” she murmured, dismissive and soft.

A strangled laugh, short and unamused, was dragged from deep within Eris. His mother took a careful step towards him, and Eris took a measured step back. Closer in age than half his brothers, Eris had always understood the Lady of Autumn. “Six sons were not enough?” Eris snapped harshly.

“All children are a blessing,” she did not look at Eris as she said it, more to herself than to him anyway. 

Eris wondered if those were the words his mother had told herself when she had first married the High Lord. A half truth quietly whispered when she had been alone, but not entirely convincing despite how often it was said.   

“A fate worse than death awaits him,” Eris argued, sure that flames had come to life in his amber eyes, voice louder. “You’re lucky father is in Spring, or Lucien would be dead already.”

“You don’t know that,” hands clenched into fists at her side, the Lady of Autumn raised her own voice to match.

Eris felt as the temperature in the room changed, uncomfortably hot, the flames in the fireplace and in the torches along the wall responding to the raging emotions of them both. “It’s cruel,” he hissed, “it’s wrong.” 

A child born of an affair, Lucien was well and truly doomed, and who else was Eris to blame but the Lady of the Autumn Court.

“And you know much about cruelty,” the condemnation was clear in the tone his mother used. 

If Eris had taken a moment to think, to consider how worried and frightened she was, perhaps he would have known to stop their argument. Instead, Eris pointed a shaking finger, angry, at the female that had raised him as best she knew how. “And whose fault is that?” The question was bitter, all poison, meant to hurt. 

“You can be so much like your father.” 

The last word a growl, the statement hung between them. Eris would have rather she had taken a knife to his chest. 

Almost as though the Lady of Autumn had struck him, Eris flinched back. 

With a startled gasp, eyes wide in shock and lips parted, his mother put out her hand. Regret, clear as river water, flashed on her sharp features. But the words had been said. “Eris,” she took a step towards him, “I didn’t–” 

The door opened suddenly, the ancient hinges screaming in protest, cutting her sentence short. Eris was glad for it, wished he had not come home, would have preferred the war camps to this. 

Eris had assumed the door was locked, panic coursed through his veins as he wondered who might have heard. Relief, like rain during a drought, came over Eris as Lucien walked into the room. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard, Eris and his mother silent. 

Eyes half shut with sleep, russet once more, Lucien dragged his bare feet along with a small blanket behind him. Eris watched as he rubbed at his eyes with one hand, as he broke into a little yawn.

“Ris?” He mumbled, voice heavy. “I thought I heard your voice.” 

Eris watched as his mother moved towards her youngest son, expecting him to go to her. Instead, Lucien made his way to Eris, nearly tripping on the blanket he had brought with him. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Eris barely recognised his own voice. 

With a half-hearted shrug, Lucien knocked into Eris’s legs. “I heard you talking in the hall,” another yawn before he continued, “You didn’t come say goodnight.” Completely trusting and entirely unaware of all that had happened moments before he had entered the room, Lucien clung to Eris. 

The Lady of Autumn watched with wary eyes as Eris lifted Lucien into his arms gently. “Let’s get you back to bed.” He murmured. 

Lucien merely hummed his response, tired. Resting his head on Eris’s shoulder, his breaths slowing once more. 

Eris could see the pleading on his mother’s face, but he did not look at her long. He turned his attention to the arched window, watching the first rays of the sun inching over the horizon.  

Daylight.